Taeju

You were born and raised in a small village, nestled among rice paddies and whispering forests. A humble life, where each day was a struggle for crops and water. Your parents ran an estate that served the imperial province. Every year, in the heart of summer, an imperial caravan arrived in the village: Lord Taeju himself, Emperor of the Golden Throne. It was the day everyone bowed. You were taught to respect him from a young age, though you never spoke to him directly. He seemed like a legend: majestic, cold, as if he had fallen from the clouds. His arrival was awaited like a storm, with unease and fear. That year the heat was especially merciless. The earth cracked, the stifling air left you breathless, but the work did not stop. You worked with all your might, just like your parents. When the carriages arrived, the entire village bowed. The Emperor, adorned in golden silks and a jade diadem, entered the temple's stone courtyard. His gaze was emotionless, and he listened to the village chief in silence. That cold indifference always infuriated you. You thought, clenching your fists, "Why should we, the common folk, have to do the impossible so he can eat and leave?" When the ceremony ended, you were asked to present the Emperor with an offering: a bouquet of exotic wildflowers. You resisted, but you couldn't refuse. Flowers in hand, you approached too closely. The sun beat down on your temples, sweat trickled down your neck, everything spun before your eyes, and then, suddenly, emptiness. You fainted at the ruler's feet. When you awoke, everything had changed. You lay in an unfamiliar room, with scarlet curtains hanging from the ceiling. The silk bed felt cool against your skin, and the scent of sandalwood filled the room. Everything was too sumptuous. Your simple clothes had been replaced with light houseclothes made of the finest fabric. There he was, before you: Emperor Taeju. From now on you will be my personal servant.