The morning mist clung to the Nakdong River like a lover's embrace, reluctant to part with the water's cool surface. King Baek Seon-jo stood at the riverbank, his ornate hanbok bearing the weight of royal emblems that seemed to whisper of his solitude rather than his power. His servants waited at a respectful distance, knowing that their king sought something the royal court could not provide.

Seon-jo's fingers trembled slightly as he removed his jade-embellished headpiece. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but in that moment, he was not merely shedding a symbol of royalty—he was abandoning the facade that had sustained him through years of governance. The crown's absence revealed strands of silver that had begun to appear at his temples, testifying to burdens that even the most powerful man in Gyeongseong could not escape.

"Three years," he whispered to the river. "Three years I have made offerings, and still my kingdom lacks an heir."

He knelt and placed his palms against the cool earth, feeling the dampness seep into his skin. The simplicity of the sensation reminded him of his childhood, before royal duty had built walls between himself and the elemental world. A profound weariness settled into his bones—not from age, though he had seen forty winters, but from the hollowness that echoed through the palace corridors where children's laughter should have resounded.

The mist before him seemed to ripple, though no breeze disturbed the morning calm. Seon-jo blinked, certain his eyes were playing tricks born of desperation. But the rippling continued, coalescing into a ghostly silhouette that gradually acquired substance with each passing heartbeat.

"Who seeks to disturb my slumber?" The voice that emerged from the mist carried the gentle cadence of flowing water, yet beneath it lay currents of ancient power.

Seon-jo found himself unable to rise, not from fear but from a sudden awareness of standing at the threshold of destiny. "I am Baek Seon-jo, King of Gyeongseong," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "I come seeking—"

"I know what you seek, King of Men," the apparition interrupted, fully materializing into the form of a woman whose beauty transcended mortal understanding. Her hanbok shimmered with droplets that caught the early light like constellations, and her dark hair flowed around her as though underwater. "You are not the first ruler to kneel before my waters, hoping for the blessing of continuation."

"Then you know my sincerity," Seon-jo said, finally finding the strength to stand. "My kingdom deserves a lineage worthy of its people."

The river spirit—for he now understood that was what she must be—studied him with eyes that reflected centuries of human supplication. "And do you believe yourself worthy of such a blessing? Many come to me speaking of kingdoms and bloodlines, but few understand the true weight of what they request."

Something in her tone broke through the diplomatic veneer that had become second nature to Seon-jo. "No," he admitted, surprising himself with the honesty that spilled forth. "I do not know if I am worthy. I have ruled as justly as my flawed wisdom allows. I have defended our borders and preserved ancient traditions. But in the silence of night, when the weight of the crown is set aside, I wonder if what I truly seek is not an heir for the kingdom—but something to fill the emptiness within myself."

The confession hung between them, as tangible as the mist. The river spirit's expression remained impassive, but something shifted in the depths of her gaze.

"You are the first in seven generations to speak truth rather than ambition," she said finally. "I am Gaya, guardian of these waters since before your ancestors raised their first palace walls."

She approached him, each step leaving damp impressions that evaporated moments later. "I will grant what you seek, Baek Seon-jo, but know that divine gifts carry divine consequences. The son born of our union will surpass ordinary men in strength and virtue, but his life will follow currents that neither you nor I can fully control."

"Our... union?" Seon-jo echoed, the implication of her words slowly dawning on him.

Gaya's smile carried the mystery of deep waters. "Did you believe children of destiny could be conceived through mere blessings and prayers? Divine blood must flow through mortal veins."

She extended her hand, the gesture simultaneously an offer and a challenge. Seon-jo hesitated only briefly before taking it, feeling a strange coolness that gradually warmed at his touch. In that moment of connection, the king glimpsed visions of what was to come—a son with strength beyond measure, battles that would shake the foundations of the kingdom, and sorrows that would carve channels through generations.

"What you have seen are mere ripples of possibility," Gaya said, reading the widening of his eyes. "The future flows like water—powerful in its course yet adaptable to the shores it encounters."

As the sun broke fully through the morning mist, Seon-jo made his choice—not as a king seeking dynastic security, but as a man embracing fate with open eyes. The consequences would reshape not just his life but the destiny of Gyeongseong for centuries to come.

Behind them, the royal guards exchanged concerned glances as their king walked into the river with a woman who had seemingly emerged from the waters themselves. They would later swear that the mist had played tricks with their vision, for it appeared as though the king and the mysterious woman had dissolved into the gentle current, leaving only ripples to mark their passage.

Three days later, when King Baek Seon-jo emerged from the river alone, his eyes carried the distant look of one who had glimpsed realms beyond mortal understanding. He spoke little of what had transpired, but the servants noted how he would often pause at the sound of running water, listening as though for a voice that only he could hear.

Nine months later, as the winter snows began to melt, a child's powerful cry echoed through the palace halls. The royal physician marveled at the infant's unusual strength and the strange birthmark on his shoulder that resembled flowing water.

"What shall we name the crown prince, Your Majesty?" the court astrologer asked, already preparing the celestial charts that would predict the child's destiny.

Seon-jo gazed at his son, seeing in the infant's eyes flecks of river-blue that mirrored his mother's gaze. "Baek Mu-hyeon," he declared, the name coming to him as though whispered by the distant rush of water. "For he shall be without equal in loyalty and strength."

As if in response to his naming, the infant's tiny hand closed around his father's finger with surprising force. Outside the palace windows, the Nakdong River surged with unusual vigor, as though celebrating the birth of one who carried its essence in his blood.

None present could have known that this child—born of mortal ambition and divine mystery—would one day stand as both the greatest defender and the greatest tragedy of the kingdom. The first thread of an epic tapestry had been spun, its pattern yet to be revealed in the complex weaving of fate, choice, and consequence that would become the War of the Twin Dragons.