The First Consonant

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'It doesn't matter.'

I walked on, my expression a tangle of conflicting thoughts.

Relatively speaking, the consonants mattered far more than the vowels.

Because they doubled as final sounds, too.

'Then again…'

Every human being eventually dies of old age. Since abandoning a quest was impossible, the day my mother lived out a long, happy life and passed away would be the day I finally claimed the S.

And I decided that would be enough for me.

The important thing, after all, was that I now ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠understood how consonants and vowels could be obtained.

'A sincere request, made to someone who carries a consonant or vowel… so that's the trick.'

It looked simple enough at a glance, but there was one enormous flaw hidden in it.

Judging by the quest the Empress had given me, even a request the recipient couldn't bear would be converted into a quest, whether they willed it or not.

But if, on the other hand, I could deliberately steer someone's sincere request to stay within the bounds of what I could bear — then everything changed.

Take me, for instance. I was the First Prince, first in line to the imperial succession.

My mere existence — my ransom value alone — was beyond any calculation of worth.

If someone like me did something dangerous, people would genuinely, desperately try to stop me.

Of course, ordinary people don't feel all that deeply about a stranger's death. Even I would try to stop someone attempting suicide right in front of me, but no desperate sincerity would pour out of me.

The servants of the imperial palace, however, were different.

If the Prince perished right beside them and they failed to prevent it, they would be punished without mercy.

Which meant their urgency was inevitable.

And that was precisely the lever I intended to pull.

"Young Master Rohen!"

From far down the corridor, Mary, my personal maid, came sprinting toward me, breathless.

"Wh-where have you been!"

"I stopped by the library for a while."

"If you vanish without a word, I don't know what I'll— !"

Mary clamped her mouth shut mid-sentence, catching herself.

She had almost complained to a mute boy about people disappearing without a word — naturally she'd bitten her tongue. Most of the palace assumed my muteness was a wound I carried, some quiet complex I nursed.

"It's fine. I won't get angry over something that small."

"I'm sorry."

Mary bowed deeply at the waist, apologizing all over again.

"And my mother? Where is she?"

"Her Highness is tending the gardens."

I was the only Prince in the empire, and yet my mother had not a single faction behind her.

Well — it made sense. The current Empress was the daughter of Duke Alteir. The story went that the first Emperor had settled the matter of who would take the throne with a simple draw of lots between his house and the Ducal Houses of Alteir and Asis. That said everything. Unless Duke Alteir openly plotted rebellion, even the Emperor had to tread carefully around him.

The sun called the Empire was, in effect, split into three equal shares.

Worse, the Empress was neither old nor past childbearing age. Rumors of her barrenness circulated, but nothing had ever been confirmed.

Still — if this situation dragged on long enough, wouldn't some faction eventually gather around my mother too?

Even as I thought it, I knew the odds were slim.

My father had originally intended to take a Count's daughter — the child of one of his allied houses — as his concubine, but he'd fallen in love with my mother and refused. Because of that, the court factions friendly to the throne never showed it openly before the Emperor, yet none of them cared much for her.

And that chill had drifted, naturally, down to me.

"In any case, if you want to go somewhere alone, at least tell me before you go. Please."

"All right."

"I won't be fooled this time. You have to promise me. I mean it!"

Mary looked up at me with pleading, earnest eyes.

So simple — why on earth had I never realized it until now?

I nodded, took out a sheet of paper, and handed Mary my written promise.

"You promised! If I'm sitting here all alone and someone asks me where you've gone, it terrifies me!"

"Understood."

For the first time, one of the consonants was in my grasp.

In that same instant, I could see it plainly — the letter S that had lived inside Mary simply vanished, its trace erased.

From that day on, I made the rounds of the palace, meeting everyone I could, so long as my path never crossed the Empress faction's.

Not everyone I met carried a consonant or a vowel, but a fair number of them did.

So I shaped my behavior to lure out their sincere requests, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cleared the quests one after another.

My mother carried the consonant H herself, so I could have baited her deliberately too — but nearly all my quests had been won through dangerous stunts, with the people around me rushing to stop me. I didn't want to drag that same method out of my mother. I didn't want to harvest her desperation that way.

"I hear you've been doing rather dangerous things lately."

"I'm sorry."

So the rumors really had reached even her ears.

"Oh, it's quite all right. Children that age all play that way. But you are a Prince, and a Prince must hold to proper decorum. I'm sorry that it keeps you from playing exactly as you wish."

My mother had been a commoner born and raised, so she knew exactly how boys my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠age out in the world spent their days.

And it was true — if I hadn't carried the memories of my past life, I might well have envied the carefree childhood of those commoner children, just as she said.

But precisely because I remembered my past life, living inside this gilded frame didn't feel like such a bad trade.

Most people, as they age, grow anxious when they can no longer feel themselves pouring their hours into something that matters.

I had been the same way once. That was why, with so little time left free for idle play, I felt more satisfied now than I ever had.

Palace etiquette, the history of this world, the study of rulership — none of them lacked their own flavor of fascination.

Children my age were usually just learning their letters, but the language of this world shared its every sound with Hangul and differed only in how it was written, so mastering it took no time at all.

My pace of learning was so far beyond the norm that it earned me no small measure of jealousy from the Empress — though no doubt her daughter, the Princess, my half-sister, would bear the full weight of that hysteria in my stead.

"It's all right. I've never once found this life tiresome. If anything, I treasure it beyond measure. If the alternative was never being born as your son, I wouldn't have resented it even if we'd been raised in the slums."

My mother waited in patient silence as I wrote out the long passage.

And when I turned the finished page toward her, she pulled me into her arms, her face glowing with emotion.

Her scent, seeping in with every breath — I could never tire of it, no matter how many times I breathed it in.

A feeling of profound calm. Of warmth, deep and unshakable.

This was the family I had to protect. And living for the sake of protecting something — it made me nothing but happy.

"Good night, Mother."

"Sweet dreams to you too, Rohen."

Before bed, Mary and I had stopped by my mother's residence to pay our respects, and now I had returned to my own chambers.

"You may go now."

"Yes, my lord. Then — have a good night, Young Master Rohen."

"Good night to you too, Mary."

I watched until Mary's retreating figure had disappeared from view, then turned my gaze to the empty air.

After days of running back and forth across the palace, a respectable pile of consonants and vowels had gathered.

Truthfully, piecing them together into words that carried meaning had become a pastime all its own.

The first word that leapt to mind was Sago — so I reached out and drew the scattered letters from the air.

'Homonyms can't be assembled, then?'

The meaning I'd intended was an unfortunate, unforeseen calamity — an accident.

But Sago carried a second meaning as well: thought, deliberation, the act of pondering.

'If it isn't that, then I suppose words that are too broad simply can't be assembled.'

Whatever the case, this was my first attempt, and with so few cases to test, pinning down the exact rule was difficult.

Still, I had learned that unalterable words existed at all — that alone was enough for tonight.

In my darkened chamber, the moonlight seemed brighter than usual, washing the room in silver.

I kept scribbling on paper, working through every word my current letters could possibly form, until at last I clapped my hands together.

It worked.

Staring at the word Sogak newly carved into my list, I rose from my seat.

They say you shouldn't play with fire before bed — but I wanted to see, with my own eyes, what the power of my Kotodama could do.

Casting it inside my room risked the flames spreading, so I perched on the windowsill and began searching for something suitably expendable to burn.

Turning my head to the right, I could see the garden my mother tended so faithfully.

There was no ruining that.

I swept my gaze in the other direction, but nothing else presented itself as worthy kindling.

Was I simply meant to go to bed like an obedient child tonight?

Just as I was resigning myself to it, a rather stiff breeze swept past, tearing loose a flurry of leaves that went whirling through the empty air — and I found myself stroking my throat, gently.

Would a voice really come out?

Six years without speaking a single word. Honestly, a thread of anxiety ran through me.

But of course, that was no reason not to try.

Besides — I was curious. Curious about the voice I hadn't heard in six years. My own.

"Sogak."

Before the fluttering leaves could touch the ground, I manifested the power of the Word.

The voice I heard for the first time in six years was exactly what it should have been for my age — a young boy's, still untouched by the change.

And then the word Sogak, brought into being through the power of the Word, swept through the air and set the drifting leaves gloriously ablaze.

'Each word can only be used once per day, then.'

It made sense. The power consumed no mana at all.

All it took was opening one's mouth and releasing a single word — a cooldown like this was only a natural counterweight.

Unlike the silver spoon of Princehood I'd been born with, I had no talent whatsoever for magery.

The road of the battle mage was closed to me. So was the road of the knight.

Not that a sovereign truly needed to wield might in his own hands — but still…

To the Empress, my mother and I were obstacles. Blemishes to be scrubbed away.

The moment an unforgivable stain touched my name, she would strip my claim to the throne without hesitation, marry her daughter to the heir of some power-mad noble house, and seize the crown for herself.

Call it paranoid delusion if you like — but this was that kind of world.

Beneath one, above ten thousand.

Save for my father, the reigning Emperor, no soul alive would ever be permitted to stand above me.

And this power of the Word — I was certain it would become the bedrock upon which that precious wish of mine would finally stand fulfilled.