"Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge."

- William Shakespeare ("The Tempest")

Past is Prologue: Everything flows from this moment

Interlude: Past is Prologue (Emperor Jiwoon, Prince Taehyung and Prince Jimin) 

Taehyung existed in the white.

Absently, distantly, he understood that he’d once existed outside of the white, outside of the gaping void. He could remember flashes of the outside, colorful world. They came to him in the scent of smoke, in the flashes of starlight and distant sounds of screams.

As even those disappeared in a haze, they were replaced by happier flashes of reality, of family, of his friends, of his life. As fast as they would come to him though, he would be taken by the void.

The void was peaceful, it was soothing.

The blissful lulling of the endless spiral, and the dull drone of the background noise guided him along.

“Your Highness, breathe!”

And with a shove, Taehyung found himself careening face first into reality. In that single instant, the void was gone, and the peace dissolved. In that single instant, the horror was setting in on him.

However, that horror was quickly swallowed by the pain.

The pain.

His entire body was racked with it, from his feet to his head. When his rescuers pressed a breathing mask to his mouth, the noise that he let out was a cross between a choke and a scream.

It was perhaps the pain, and only the pain, that was keeping from crying, begging and perhaps pleading to be taken back to that white light.

It had to be better than reality.

“The reports are confirmed,” Hyun Bin lowered his head in genuflection. “Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that the Prince and Princess-Imperial have succumbed to their injuries.”

Park Jiwoon remained still, completely and utterly still.

He supposed that his real reaction to the news was delayed.

In all of the chaos, he was still trying to save his official face. Or, perhaps he’d already accepted the fact that it would take a miracle for his son and daughter in-law to survive.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he’d already accepted this outcome.

Either way, he was twisted with guilt.

Guilt.

Not anger, or grief – those would come later, in private.

No, it was guilt that he felt.  

No matter which way he attempted to digest the fact that his child was dead, his thoughts only rounded back on one conclusion. It was that albatross that had colored every single human interaction that he’d ever had in his life. In the simplest terms, he was more concerned and beside himself with the loss of his delicately groomed heir than he was with his only child.

As of late, he’d been made keenly aware of the fact that he had more years behind him than he had ahead of him. Foolishly, blindly, he had become content with aging and dying, so long as he could go to his grave with the knowledge that he was leaving the empire in capable hands.

Now, he had to come to grips with the present.

He’d always tried to be a good father and husband. It had taken a while and had he'd suffered his share of bumpy learning curves, but he’d hit a happy medium. Jiwoon would be the first to admit that he’d never been the best in either role. He’d loved his wife, he’d loved his son, but the role that fate had foisted on him had consumed everything. He and his wife had loved each other, in their own way and had coped with their situation in life. The relationship that he had with his son wasn’t nearly as neatly put together, but despite the aloofness between them, he still loved him.

When Jimin was born, he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t be aloof with him.

When Taehyung came along, it only served to strengthen that resolve.

They were his pride and his joy.

“And Taehyung?” Jiwoon broached quietly.

The initial reports had suggested that Taehyung had been caught in the blast. The first real confirmation did confirm that Taehyung had been affected by it, and that he’d been airlifted to the same facility as his parents. It was in Taehyung that he was receiving the only good news to come out of this. He’d been stabilized quickly enough, and his physicians had assured them that he would make a full, physical recovery.

Still, it remained to be seen when he would awaken from his unconsciousness – his mental recovery would hinge on that, completely and utterly.

Jiwoon had no doubt that his youngest grandson’s emotional recovery was less than certain.

He was breathing though, and that was enough for now.

“He regained consciousness, but he’s heavily sedated,” Hyun Bin answered. “The surgery to repair his fractured tibia was successful, it was a clean break – he’ll have to keep the screws for a year.”

For a moment, Jiwoon could breathe.

As quickly as that moment passed, his thoughts the present, and he couldn’t breathe.

For a moment.

Of all of the duties that he thought he would ever have to undertake in his life, the most pressing one was not on that list. If he was about to tell his grandson that his life, as he knew i