A scholar was sitting in a school, centuries later. He was not clothed in the traditional hanbok, yet he was dressed in a shirt of some kind. In front of him were twenty or so children, all in a uniform of some kind. They were listening intently to the scholar.

“Now, class, we shall begin the history lesson. Who can tell me the name of the Emperor who invented Hangul characters?” The scholar asked. Hands shot up immediately. The scholar nodded his head in appreciation of the class’ enthusiasm.

“Sejong the Great!” A kid proclaimed, and heads nodded in agreement.

“Very well. Now, who can tell me the names of his daughters?” The scholar said. Mutterings arose, to the bewilderment of the students.

“Ummm...” A student raised her hand timidly. “The textbook didn’t say anything about his daughters.”

“Yes. Why though? The history records had recorded nothing about his daughters. Does anyone know why?” The scholar said. Silence.

“Well, the fact is, the records of Sejong’s rule are distorted and weird. Some say that this history record was scripted. Imagine, even the record was wiped off the slate and rewritten! Something big must have happened. Something that shook the nation to its roots. Anyone?”

Silence reigned.

“Very well.” The scholar heaved a breath. “Let me tell you about the Siege of Hanseong, 1430, which was not recorded in any official history record.”

The girl raised her hand again. “Why was it not recorded?”

“Because some terrible things happened. Oh, and what’s your name? You can come to my office later and I’ll explain.” 

“Oh, um, my name is Kim Minji. But you can call me Taeha, cause that’s my nickname.” The girl said. The girl next to her playpunched her. “Yah! Stop hitting me, Kim Nayun!”

The scholar widened his eyes for a second. “Okay,” he muttered, “nothing’s wrong. I’m new to this school; this is just coincidence.”

“So, let’s continue. What happened in the Siege of Hanseong?” The scholar asked. “Well, let’s start the lesson officially.”

Jane’s father awoke on the bloodied muddy ground. His body throbbed with pain, as if sledgehammers were pounding in his blood vessels. He groaned and put his palm on the ground, and with a mighty heave, he hefted himself upright. 

He looked around the battlefield. It was complete chaos. The Goryeo soldiers, with their short knives, were clashing with the Joseon army on the plain. They were fighting with no strategy, no commander, because in times of crisis, every soldier is fighting for survival.

Ahin was on top of a white mare, slashing soldiers here and there, occasionally shooting hungry stares at particularly plump soldiers. Even Yeonwoo was hacking some particularly stupid soldiers who dared to come close. It was a bloodbath. 

“If you kill me now, they’ll put your precious country in turmoil. Rivers of fire and volcanoes of hell will rise. And 18 years later, my descendants shall infiltrate your palace and wreck havoc on your nation. Then, you shall know what it’s like to have your country shattered in front of your own eyes.” Jane’s father was flooded with visions from the night 18 years ago. 

Jane’s father shook as a voice in his head whispered. “Blood and fire shall rise from Joseon’s ashes... mortals and gods shall die together... Joseon shall fall under the towering sun... monarchs shall burn and fall into hell...”

“Stop...” He watched as more and more bodies fell. Joseon, Goryeo, it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore. The blood, the gore, the horror. It was hell come to life. “Stop...” He groaned and held his head.

“Kill!” A Goryeo soldier ran towards him. He instinctively clenched a fist, but stopped when he saw the blood on the ground. Once, he had killed without mercy or remorse. Now he fully understood what Taejong meant about his being too bloodthirsty. He understood fully.

He finally felt remorse at its fullest.

He withdrew his fist, instead leaning his head towards the direction of the blade. 

Another corpse littered the ground.

A fork plunged itself into a Goryeo soldier.

Technically, there was a hand behind the fork, and the princess grimaced as she once again withdrew her weapon. She wasn’t exactly enjoying this, but it was every man’s — or woman’s — life on the line. This was a battlefield, and you can’t exactly be picky about your opponents.

Ahin slashed and killed her way to her sister’s side. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t you see that I’m busy?” Yeonwoo hacked down another soldier.

“Yeah, that’s what I see. But deep down, I know that you’re planning.” Ahin said. “I know, because of my sixth sense. We’re sisters, after all.”

“What’s a sixth sense?” Yeonwoo asked.

“It’s a term I invented, and it’s similar to deja vu.” Ahin explained. “Don’t ask me what is deja vu, because that’s another term I invented.”

“Sis, deja vu is a French term.” Yeonwoo sighed. “Stop acting smart and start acting hungry.”

“I’m trying to think like you.” Ahin said. “I find it useful.”

“I find it annoying.” Yeonwoo retorted. “Stop before I snap altogether.”

“Fine.” Ahin muttered. “But what’s the plan?”

Jungkook surveyed the chaos below. He was currently standing on a hill, where the rest of the army was positioned. Beside him was a silent Jooe, whose mean look and cold stare gave him shivers.

He glanced at her knuckles. They were white from grasping, and you could see the folds of her dress scrunched up into her hand. He sighed, thinking about a loss of a colleague. He was not an ally, he thought, and certainly not a friend. He was just a pawn inside my hand, a steppingstone for my arising.

He looked at the battle below. The brown was all covered by a scarlet hue, and corpses littered the ground like dust and sand. He spotted the valiant princesses, who fought alongside the doomed soldiers. How ironic for nobles to die beside peasants and beggars, he thought. One by one the loyal soldiers fell, onto the cold wet ground, and he laughed maniacally. All this for an iron-fisted nation.

“A sacrifice to my parents.” He stared at the bloody ground. “Who died with the same fate as your parents.” He turned to Jooe. “Of course, this is a Revelation by itself.”

“Anguish, and repent, Father.” Jooe looked at Sejong in the city. “For it was you who made this terrible mess.”

“Oh, I daresay that he’s in anguish.” He replied. “But I can’t say the same for repenting.”

“He’s repenting all right.” Jooe looked at Sejong’s features, buried in his palms. “I can tell. He doesn’t put his face in his hands, except when he’s sorry for something. But soon I’ll make him even sorrier.”