The young prince rode across the city, past the knolls at the north end of his realm, and stood next to a large stone wall that marked the edge of his kingdom. He would spend entire afternoons -and sometimes even evenings- throwing rocks over this wall, even though the wall would be too tall for him to see where the stones would land. He would heave them as far as possible, and then listen silently for a "thump" as the rock hit the ground.

And one day, an old vagabond approached him and said, "This land was made for commoners and kings, not us."
The prince turned to him and argued, "You're either one or the other."
The old man laughed breathlessly and replied, in a very hoarse, raspy croak, "If that were true, young Prince, we wouldn't be looking for a home right now." He took the rock from the prince's hand and sent it soaring over the wall, and it flew, as if the heavens pulled it from this Earth. The prince stared in shock, stood still as a tree, and listened.

Amidst the piercing silence, he listened, and he listened, and listened; and to his bemused bewilderment, the young prince never heard the thump. "How did you do that?" But when he turned to the vagabond, his amazement quickly diminished into disappointment. The old wanderer was gone. The prince, then, mounted his trusty steer, and rode back to his castle that evening, and vowed that one day, he would escape these walls.. and find that stone.

-

Amidst the 16th century of what would soon be called the Republic of Korea, a young princess takes reign - she, a warrior princess with a face of snow, and sweet, honey-le lips of ruby red, is widely and nationally known by many royal courts as the Moon Dynasty's "Snow Princess".  Inevitably, with no legitimate male heir, Moon Byul takes posession of the hilt of her dying father's sword, and graciously adorns herself within his glorious armory, drawing into her wing, the barren throne, taking in with her more than she could possibly handle.

Welcome, Lady Byul, to the gruesome game we call life.

-

Amidst the 16th century of what would soon be called Beijing, a young king paradoxically emerges from within bloodshed and warfare - he, a young king with soft, honey-glazed irises and the skin of a porcelain doll's, is commonly addressed as the favorable son of Lu Shao, Beijing's most successful monarch since the beginning of time. Brought inevitably into the world of violent peasant revolts and religious reform, Lu Han carries out the dutiful favors of his late father, taking in with him more than he could possibly bargain for.

Welcome, Lord Han to the heresy we name reality.

-

And amidst the 16th century of what is called Asia, these two rival familes meet one another in a dreadful epoch of war, drowning their people in bloodshed and sweat, tears and miserable demise. It's a race on the battlefield and within the royal courts to reach the central homelands of exotic commerce -- England. To reach London, to pull the legendary sword of God's word from the mythical anvil attached mystically to the stone - deep within the forests that lurk behind the Tower of London -- for eternal salvation and power, authority and everlasting reign, they had claimed, would be provided for the one true ruler that can manage to withdraw this heavenly sword from the stoned anvil.

And amongst the seas of sanguine fluid, as all legendary fables tell, the two ill-fated, star-crossed lovers meet...

amidst the battlefield, standing at polar ends amongst the bodies of their fallen men and speared steers.

And it's a meeting neither of them...

shall ever forget.

-

 The vagabond was never to be seen again, in the end, and the young prince had never managed to escape the sufferings of his asphyxiating realm, for the young prince eventually fell sick and bedridden; his once-powerful body fell wimpish and submissive to the respiratory infection that snuck up on him from behind, bringing him down into disastrous fatality almost instantaneously. 

And he therefore, passed limply -crumpled by woe and defeated by mise- unable to find the precious stone, once thrown by the mystic vagabond that had given him ill-fated hope.

-

"The next we shall meet again, my beloved, will be amongst the heavenly stars of the divinely saints."