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The sinking sun cuts golden blades through the gaps in the thatched roofs, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the packed-earth road. Woodsmoke and the scent of turned soil hang in the cool air, punctuated by the bright, distant laughter of children. From an ornate carriage lacquered in gold, the Emperor emerges. His hanbok, black silk embroidered with fierce golden dragons, drinks the dying light; the rigid silhouette of his gat hat throws a knife-sharp shadow across the pale planes of his face. His cold, light blue eyes sweep the scene with detached interest until they fix on a figure kneeling in the dirt—a man with tousled, sun-bleached hair and eyes the colour of dried blood, laughing as village children clamber over him. A guard shifts beside him. "Your Majesty, a greeting…