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The capital of Seoul had always been a place where time seemed to stand still. Its towering palaces loomed over sprawling streets, where merchants called out from their stalls, selling wares from every corner of the kingdom. Magic was ever-present and it pulsed through the veins of the noble estates. It was a birthright, a legacy, and a source of power that had shaped the kingdom for generations.

For those born into nobility, magic was more than an ability; it was an inheritance, proof of their lineage. It set them apart, set them above. But in recent months, that certainty had begun to waver, and there was certainly a reason for it.

A name that had been but a concept in the past was now being whispered in the dark corners of the capital. The SSE, formally known as the Seoul Shadow Enclave.

No one knew where they had come from or how they had gathered such strength. They struck at the edges first – at isolated outposts, lesser noble houses, places where their presence would go unnoticed until it was too late. Those who encountered them spoke of curses unlike any seen before. Not mere wounds or spells meant to break the body, but something deeper, something that clung to the soul like rot. The afflicted were left changed forever – if they were left to feel the changes at all.

For now, the capital remained untouched. But unease coiled around its gilded halls, an unspoken dread that even the most powerful families could not ignore.

It was undeniable—something was happening. The nobles, long untouchable, were no longer secure in their power. Those who had once commanded magic with certainty now feared an unknown force.

Magic-tainted afflictions left nobles incapacitated, their minds lost to darkness. Attacks on cities and towns left no trace of the assailants. Fear was spreading faster than answers.

Across the kingdom, people whispered their own versions of the truth. Some claimed the SSE were just rebels with no real strength. Others insisted they were no longer human, that their magic had become something unnatural. There were murmurs that the nobles’ magic itself was turning against them, that the SSE had found a way to corrupt it. But these were only rumors. No one could say for certain what was true—only that something was coming.

Even in the capital, where power was absolute, the air hung thick with the kind of silence that only comes before a storm.

And far beyond the palace walls, in places untouched by war, the first cracks in that silence had already begun to spread.

—

Far from the capital, nestled beyond rolling fields and forests where the world still moved at its own pace, three sisters lived under their father’s careful watch.

Na Youngseok had raised them away from the politics of the capital, away from the burdens that came with noble blood. There had been a time when they might have lived among the elite, trained in magic, and held titles that placed them above others. But their father had denied them that life, teaching them to survive without magic, without privilege.

At twenty-one, Yujin was the eldest and the family’s unbreakable pillar, the one who stood as the family’s pride. Though Youngseok’s magic was Aegis, Yujin was like their shield. Their father had trained her not in magic, but in the ways of survival—how to fight, how to endure, how to become something that even the world could not break. She was strong, capable, practical. Yet deep within her, something stirred—something that she could not name. It wasn’t just the frustration of growing up without magic, nor the pressure of knowing she would one day bear their father’s burdens. No, it was something else. A pull in her chest, an ember waiting for air. A quiet sense that there was more to her than what she had been allowed to become.

Jiwon, at nineteen, was the heart of the family; she was their warmth, their steady presence. She was emotional, deeply empathetic, and reckless in the way only someone who cared too much could be. She had always been able to read people in ways others couldn’t, sensing the truths that even they did not yet understand. And unlike Yujin, she had awakened magic young. Water had answered her since she was five – rising and falling with the tide of her emotions, rippling with her joy, churning with her fear. But water was not the only thing she could bend.

At seventeen, Hyunseo was the youngest, their playful baby tiger. Where Yujin was their shield and Jiwon their heart, Hyunseo was their light. She was vibrant, sharp-witted, and deceptively open. People mistook her carefree nature for innocence, but there was wisdom in her that went unnoticed by most. She had never shown signs of magic, but if it bothered her, she never let it show. At least, not outwardly. But even she had begun to feel it lately. There had been changes in the world around them. The feeling that the stories their father had left untold were coming back to haunt them.

Their world was small, but it was safe – they had believed.

And yet, something was shifting.

The change wasn’t sudden, nor was it loud. It crept in like a slow-moving tide, subtle yet undeniable. Jiwon noticed it in the tides, the way the water pulled in directions it shouldn’t. Hyunseo saw it in their reflections, glimpses of something that didn’t belong. And Yujin – though she had no magic – could feel it in the air, in the spaces between movement. A strange displacement of energy, a flickering, an unseen force shifting like a candle flame before the wind.

On that fateful  night, the world they knew would be gone.

—

In the heart of the capital, three noble girls lived an entirely different life. Jang Wonyoung, Naoi Rei, and Kim Gaeul had been raised in a world of wealth, magic, and expectation. Their futures had been decided from the moment they were born. They were not just heirs; they were the future of their bloodlines, young champions of the noble houses.

At twenty, Wonyoung was the face of House Jang; beautiful, brilliant, powerful, and utterly unshakable. Her magic burned brighter than most, a prodigy whose flame had never been challenged. Confidence was second nature to her, expectation woven into the very fabric of her being. She was their strongest, their untouchable star. And yet, in the quiet corners of her mind, she had long wondered; what was the purpose of all this training if she never had a true enemy to fight?

Gaeul, her childhood friend, was her counterbalance. If Wonyoung was fire, Gaeul was her figurative water — always steady, deliberate, and unwavering. Her magic was healing, a talent that demanded more than just skill. It required patience, control, and an understanding of life itself. Though only twenty-two, she carried the weight of responsibility with the grace of someone twice her age. Wonyoung’s fire burned high, but it was Gaeul who made sure it never burned out of control.

And then there was Rei, Gaeul’s cousin, unpredictable and impossible to pin down. Her magic was strange—an ability to absorb and redirect energy, making her an unorthodox presence in battle. Her sharp wit was a weapon of its own, hiding a fiercely loyal heart beneath a carefully crafted mask of indifference. To those who didn’t know her, she was distant, arrogant. But to those she let in, she was warmth, mischief, and a force all her own.

The three of them had been raised with purpose, with certainty. But nothing had prepared them for the night when whispers turned to screams.

The night when nobles began to fall.

The night when a woman cloaked in shadow, with a scar curling around one eye, stepped through the halls of House Jang.

They didn’t know her name. They didn’t understand what or who she was.

But the moment she arrived, they knew that nothing would ever be the same.

—

Miles away, in the quiet countryside, the Na sisters would soon feel it too.

The shift in the air, the tremor in the earth, the unseen forces that stirred beneath their feet.

Their lives had always been separate from the capital. But these changes were unprecedented; it was possible  that the peace they knew might never return. In times of hardship, even the unlikeliest of bonds can shape the course of fate itself.

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• MIRROR MAGIC

Abilities & Growth:

Mirror Reflection – Hyunseo’s primary ability is to create and control mirrors, which she can use for both defense and offense. These mirrors are magical constructs that reflect light, energy, and even physical attacks. Her magic works in the following ways:

• Foresight: The most basic and frequent use of Hyunseo’s mirrors is to see future events. These are unpredictable, and often nonlinear. 

• Reflecting Energy: Not only can she reflect physical objects or spells, but Hyunseo can also reflect energy, including elemental magic (fire, water, etc.) or even mental magic (illusions, telekinesis). The mirror works as a perfect conduit, sending the energy right back at its caster or the original target.

• Defensive Shields: Hyunseo can create large, solid mirrors that act as shields. These mirrors can block attacks, shield herself or others from harm, and even reflect beams of light or magic away from her allies. She can adjust the size, shape, and position of the mirrors depending on the situation.

• Mirrored Barriers: She can also summon large, reflective walls of mirrors to trap enemies or create barriers that disrupt the movement of attackers. These mirrors are not as solid as physical walls but can deflect magic and slow down physical movements when placed in strategic areas.

• Illusion Manipulation: The mirrors Hyunseo creates are not just passive reflective surfaces; they can also be used for illusion magic. She can manipulate them to create false images or illusions of herself or others. Some of her illusion abilities include…

• Mirror Image Duplication: Hyunseo can create illusions of herself using the mirrors to confuse enemies. These clones are visual representations, and while they can’t physically interact, they can make it difficult for enemies to target the real Hyunseo. The number of duplicates depends on her skill and how much energy she can channel into creating them. The illusions are not perfect, so anyone who’s skilled enough might notice the difference, but they work well in combat scenarios to buy time or escape.

• Mirror Shifting: Hyunseo can shift her appearance through the use of mirrors. She can alter the way she looks temporarily, such as changing her hairstyle, clothes, or even her physical build (making herself seem taller or smaller, for example). The longer she maintains this illusion, the more energy it drains from her.

• Illusion of Surroundings: Hyunseo can use mirrors to project fake environments or surroundings, fooling enemies into thinking they are in a different place. For instance, she might create a false alleyway or a seemingly empty room, leading an opponent into a trap.

• Mirror Portal (Advanced Ability): As Hyunseo’s magic advances, she may learn to create portals or pathways using mirrors, which allow her to travel short distances instantly. She can create a “mirror door” through which she can step into another space or even send objects and people through temporarily. This ability would be taxing and difficult for her to control at first, but as she learns, she might be able to create multiple doors for herself and others.

• Short-range Teleportation: She can use mirrors to teleport herself short distances, like crossing a room or a narrow area, or even switching places with someone standing near a mirror. However, this requires a lot of concentration, and if she is not careful, she could end up in the wrong place or expose herself to danger.

• Mirror Trap (Advanced Offensive Ability): Hyunseo can use her mirrors offensively by trapping enemies in a reflective surface. By creating multiple mirrors around them, she can imprison enemies or manipulate their reflections, causing confusion or even disorientation. This ability takes significant energy to execute and requires precision, as the mirrors must be perfectly aligned to trap someone effectively.

• Emotional Influence: Like many of the other girls’ powers, Hyunseo’s magic can be influenced by her emotional state, especially her fear or stress levels. If she’s afraid or anxious, her mirror constructs may become more erratic, unstable, or might reflect unintended energy. Her mirror images and illusions are harder to control when she’s emotionally distressed.

• Fear-Induced Mirror Cracks: In particularly high-stress moments, Hyunseo’s mirrors can become cracked or fragmented. This can either weaken their power (such as breaking the reflection or causing them to shatter on contact) or cause them to reflect things that aren’t actually there, leading to moments of chaos and confusion.

• Calm Control: When Hyunseo is calm, her mirror magic works with more precision. Her ability to form shields, reflect attacks, and create illusions becomes much smoother, allowing her to coordinate with her allies more effectively. Her emotional growth and control will be key to mastering her abilities.

• Mirror Growth Potential: As Hyunseo’s skills progress, she’ll gain more advanced techniques, such as creating larger reflective surfaces, more durable mirror constructs, and stronger illusions. Her control over her mirrors will improve, allowing her to use them in more versatile ways. She may also learn to reflect more complex magical energies, such as light or telekinetic forces.

Mirror Dream:

• Hyunseo often dreams about future events. She may see them in visions, which she draws to keep them fresh in her memory. She can see others’ dreams too, if she has a strong connection with them.

Of course, it would be too easy to have such abilities without any limitations…

Limitations

• Reflection, Not Creation: She can only manipulate what already exists. If there’s no light or reflective surface, her magic is ineffective.

• Fragile Illusions: Copies or illusions can flicker, distort, or break if touched or if she loses focus.

• Energy Drain: Using her magic for too long exhausts her, limiting how much she can do in a fight.

• Distorted Perspective: Reflected images may be warped, reversed, or incomplete, making it hard to gather accurate information.

• Emotional Instability: Her magic can malfunction if she is overwhelmed, causing unpredictable distortions.

• Limited Physical Effect: She can disorient or deceive enemies but struggles to cause direct harm.

• Breakable Mirrors: If she relies on actual mirrors, breaking them could weaken or disrupt her abilities.

• Echoes of the Truth: Reflections might expose hidden truths, which can be dangerous if she unintentionally reveals secrets. However, this would also be useful for revealing someone’s true self if they were trying to disguise their identity or appearance.

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HEALING MAGIC: AURA RESTORE

Gaeul’s Aura Restore is a relatively rare form of healing magic that mends injuries by channeling her own life energy into others. Unlike conventional healing, which relies on external magic, her ability restores vitality by stabilizing a person’s mana flow and accelerating natural regeneration. However, excessive use drains her stamina, making prolonged healing dangerous if she overextends herself. Despite this, her calm, nurturing personality aligns well with her abilities. 

Abilities & Growth:

• Basic Healing: At first, she can seal minor wounds, reduce pain, and speed up recovery for cuts, bruises, and fatigue.

• Life Stabilization: As she improves, she can halt bleeding, prevent shock, and stabilize life-threatening injuries, though it drains her energy significantly.

• Revitalization: Later, she learns to reverse cellular damage, allowing her to heal broken bones or severe burns, but at the cost of her own strength.

• Purification Potential: If she grows strong enough, she might be able to cleanse poisons or weaken dark magic’s effects, making her an essential counter to SSE’s curses.

Ability Foreshadowing:

• When she touches an injured animal, it calms down almost immediately, even if she doesn’t fully heal it.

• Passive Healing Aura: People around her feel less fatigued or relieved of minor pain after spending time with her, even though she doesn’t realize why.

• After a particularly draining magic lesson, her hands glow faintly when she subconsciously rubs her sore wrists, and the ache fades.

• After sparring practice, Rei complains about sore muscles. Gaeul instinctively rubs her shoulder, and the pain fades faster than normal.

• After an exhausting day, she tries to heal a classmate’s deep cut, but she becomes lightheaded and has to sit down, realizing healing takes a toll on her.

Limitations & Weaknesses:

• She can’t heal herself. The best she can do is relieve minor discomfort (like soreness) through meditation and deep breathing.

• Healing drains her aura. The more serious the injury, the more energy it takes. If she pushes too far, she risks passing out or becoming unresponsive.

• She must maintain physical contact. The healing isn’t instant, so if someone moves away or she’s interrupted, the process stops.

• She’s affected by emotions. If she’s stressed, anxious, or upset, her abilities become unstable or weaker. A calm mind is essential for her to heal properly.

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MAGIC ABSORPTION & NULLIFICATION

She can nullify incoming magic if she sees it coming, but the catch is she has to react in time. Otherwise, her default is magic absorption and redirection.

Abilities:

• She can absorb magic and store it like a battery.

• She can release absorbed energy as a “Rei Beam” (like a concentrated energy blast) or a “Rei Gun” (smaller but faster shots from her fingers).

• Different magics have different effects on her absorption. Some magic is unstable, meaning if she absorbs it, it hurts her or causes weird side effects. For example, absorbing fire magic might overheat her, absorbing too much dark magic might make her feel nauseous or lethargic.

Ability manifestation:

• In a sparring session, a fire attack aimed at her suddenly fizzles out before it can do damage because her body instinctively nullified it.

• While joking around, she points at a candle like a finger gun, and suddenly the flame shoots out in a tiny spark, catching others off guard.

• If she touches an enchanted object, it immediately loses its glow. Then her hand briefly glows instead.

• She would be a wildcard in combat; fairly unpredictable, and with notable risks if she absorbs too much power.

Limitations:

• Capacity – Rei can only absorb a certain amount of magic before reaching her limit. If she exceeds this threshold, the stored energy destabilizes, potentially causing backlash or forcing her to release it uncontrollably, which may affect her allies.

• Selective Absorption – She cannot nullify or absorb magic indiscriminately. Certain types of magic, especially those deeply tied to a user’s life force (like curses or innate abilities), may resist her absorption or even harm her if she attempts to nullify them.

• Physical and Mental Strain – Absorbing and nullifying magic takes a toll on her body. The stronger the magic she suppresses, the more exhaustion she experiences, potentially leading to dizziness or loss of consciousness if she pushes herself too far.

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WATER & ICE MAGIC

Jiwon’s emotional nature directly fuels her magic.

At first, she only manifests water in small ways, like sensing moisture in the air or unintentionally making things damp when she’s overwhelmed. When she’s angry, frost starts to form on nearby surfaces as the temperature surrounding her drops.

Jiwon has the ability to control water in its natural state, moving it, shaping it, and directing it to her will. This is her primary power, and she’s been able to use it since childhood, often unintentionally when she’s upset or in emotional turmoil.

Abilities:

• Water Manipulation: Whether it’s manipulating water in rivers, lakes, or from nearby sources, she can make water flow, shape, and rise at will. She uses this ability to form shields, attack opponents, or create barriers of water to protect her friends.

• Water Constructs: Jiwon can use water to form temporary constructs like weapons (whips, spikes, or shields) that she can control and attack with. These constructs can be used for both offense and defense.

• Ice Creation (Advanced Ability): As Jiwon grows and learns to control her emotions better, she unlocks the ability to turn her water manipulation into ice. This can manifest as any of the following:

• Ice Formations: Jiwon can freeze water into solid ice, using it to create barriers or weapons. She can form jagged ice daggers, blades, or spears that she can wield with precision in combat. The ice she forms is sharp and cold enough to freeze or cut through obstacles.

• Ice Constructs: Her power will eventually allow her to form complex ice shapes, such as walls of ice for defense or even ice creatures like wolves or birds to fight for her, though they melt quickly after use. The longer she maintains them, the more drained she becomes.

• Ice Storm: In moments of great stress or when she’s particularly emotional (like in the heat of battle or fear), Jiwon can trigger a powerful ice storm. The storm can freeze enemies or cause large areas of the battlefield to become hazardous with slick ice. This ability is still hard for her to control but can be devastating when unleashed.

Passive Abilities:

• Temperature Control: Jiwon has the ability to lower the temperature around her, allowing her to create environments where she can freeze the water in the air or even make objects turn cold and brittle.

• Aquatic Healing: Although not her primary skill, Jiwon can channel water to heal minor wounds by using the natural properties of water to cleanse or soothe. She’s not as advanced in healing as Gaeul, but her water abilities help with simple wounds like cuts and bruises.

• Emotional Influence: Much like Wonyoung’s [redacted], Jiwon’s water manipulation is influenced by her emotions. If she’s calm and focused, her control over water is precise and refined. However, when she’s upset or overly emotional (especially when crying), her abilities become more erratic:

• Tears as a Source of Power: When she cries, her tears can amplify her water abilities, though this often makes her power unsteady. She can use her tears to create more water or even manipulate them for more aggressive attacks, but this can leave her drained emotionally.

• Emotional Catalysts: Her ice abilities are more likely to manifest when she’s angry, determined, or frustrated. The colder her emotions, the more likely she is to create ice rather than water. In moments of fear or sadness, her water powers may become uncontrollable, flooding areas or overwhelming her opponents with torrents of water.

• Growth Potential: As Jiwon matures and hones her abilities, she will be able to combine her water and ice manipulation in more creative ways. She’ll learn to master creating larger ice structures and controlling multiple water streams simultaneously. Her emotional growth will be key to improving her control, especially over her ice abilities, allowing her to focus better in battle and avoid inadvertently freezing her allies or causing collateral damage.

Limitations:

Environmental Dependency – While she can generate ice and small amounts of water from the moisture in the air, her abilities are significantly weaker in arid environments. In dry conditions, she tires faster and struggles to produce large-scale effects.

Delayed Precision – The more complex or controlled her magic needs to be, the harder it is to execute on the spot. If she’s overwhelmed by emotions, she might be able to unleash a powerful wave or an ice spike, but precision attacks require more focus, making it difficult in high-stress situations.

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FLAME MAGIC

Emotionally-Linked Flames:

• Wonyoung’s flames react to her emotions. The more intense her emotions, the more powerful and volatile the flames become.

• For example, when she’s calm or focused, her flames might be steady and controlled, but when she’s angry or stressed, the flames will grow larger, fiercer, and harder to control.

• Sometimes her hands give off steam when clenched.

Blue Flames:

• Blue flames signal an intense emotional state, often indicating a surge of anger, passion, or deep focus.

• These flames are hotter and more destructive than regular fire and can be harder to manage. Blue flames are a sign of her heightened state, and if she’s pushed to her limits, they may even overwhelm her.

Green Flames (Cursed Flames):

• If Wonyoung were ever cursed, her flames could turn green. This could symbolize a tainted or corrupted version of her power.

• Green flames could reflect a negative emotional state, a curse, or the influence of dark magic. They may be unstable, harder to control, and could even hurt the people she cares about, unlike her regular flames.

Immunity to Her Own Flames:

• Wonyoung’s fire doesn’t hurt her. This immunity is a result of her deep connection with her flames—she’s learned to wield them without harm to herself.

• This also ties into her strong control over the fire, where her body naturally adapts to her powers, preventing injury.

Skilled Flame Control:

• Wonyoung is highly skilled at controlling fire. Her control allows her to use her flames for offense (attacks) and defense (shielding), as well as for various tactical purposes like creating barriers or walls of fire.

• She can adjust the size, intensity, and even the form of the flames, allowing her to wield them with precision.

Personality and Power:

• Wonyoung’s fiery nature mirrors her powers. She’s sharp, witty, and quick to act, just like her flames.

• The more confident or self-assured she is, the more effortlessly she controls her fire. However, if she’s caught off guard or feels unsure, her flames can become erratic.

Limitations:

• Energy Drain: Using her flames,  blue flames, rapidly depletes her stamina. Prolonged or large-scale fire use can exhaust her, leaving her vulnerable. She can keep herself warm with her ability passively, but doing so takes energy.

• Environmental Dependency: While she can create fire at will, external factors like heavy rain, extreme cold, or water-based magic can weaken or suppress her flames, making it harder for her to fight effectively.

• Emotional Volatility: Because her flames are tied to her emotions, losing control of her feelings—whether through anger, fear, or extreme distress—can make her fire unpredictable, potentially endangering allies or causing unintended destruction.

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LIGHT MAGIC

Abilities:

• Instinctive “Lightstep” Movement: In moments of high adrenaline, Yujin unknowingly moves at the speed of light for an instant, appearing somewhere else before realizing what happened. At first, it’s disorienting—she thinks she just got lucky dodging attacks.

• Light-Based Magic Resistance: Since dark magic thrives in shadows and corruption, her latent light aura weakens or deflects certain dark spells. She can’t fully nullify them, but the stronger she gets, the harder it is for dark magic to take full effect on her.

• Solar-Boosted Strength: Her light magic is strongest when the sun is out, as she unconsciously draws energy from its light. It acts almost like an aura booster, subtly enhancing her reflexes, endurance, and awareness.

Ethereal Weapon Manifestation (Advanced Ability):

Yujin will eventually be able to summon a blade of pure light, infused with her aura (which glows blue). Unlike a normal sword, this weapon exists on a spectrum—its stability depends on her willpower.

• When her confidence wavers, the blade flickers like an unsteady flame, its light thin and insubstantial. A flickering, unstable blade won’t cut through anything substantial, phasing through attacks without stopping them.

• However, the more resolute she is, the more solid and lethal the weapon becomes, its light sharpening into an unwavering, glowing blue sword.

• Since the blade is forged from light and her own aura rather than metal, it doesn’t have weight in the traditional sense, meaning it moves as fast as she does.

• Against shadow-based or cursed entities, the blade becomes especially potent, able to disrupt dark magic at its core. However, it does not automatically “purify” or “erase” darkness—it’s a tool, and its effectiveness depends on how Yujin wields it.

How She Discovers It:

• In desperate moments, she unknowingly “flashes” away from attacks, leaving a faint trail of light in her wake.

• Someone else might notice it first, maybe during a training/sparring session, where Yujin appears somewhere in an instant without meaning to.

• The catalyst for full realization would likely be during a major battle when she instinctively blocks a dark spell with an unconscious burst of light, shocking everyone—including herself.

Limitations:

• Short-Burst Speed Only: While she can move at light speed in an instant, she can’t sustain it. Each “Lightstep” is a brief flash—using it repeatedly in quick succession is exhausting and disorienting. She also needs clear sight of where she’s going; if she panics, she might miscalculate and crash.

• Light Blade Instability: The strength of her blade depends on her emotional and mental state. Doubt or hesitation causes it to flicker and weaken, making it unreliable. A shaky resolve means the blade won’t cut through solid objects, while strong determination keeps it sharp and effective.

• Vulnerability in Darkness: Her powers naturally thrive in well-lit environments, meaning that in complete darkness or places devoid of light, she struggles to harness her magic, and her passive abilities are greatly limited. Shadow-based attacks could weaken her abilities or interfere with her movement.

Chapter Text

Flashback

“Ya, Yujin-ah. I know you don’t want to keep looking at all of this stuff, but it’s important, okay? I need to know that you’ll be able to handle things when I’m gone,” Na Youngseok spoke to his eldest daughter, his voice steady but tinged with a layer of concern. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, and he adjusted them absently as he watched her from over the rims.

Yujin sat slouched across from him at the worn wooden table. Her long fingers drummed against the edge in a rhythmic pattern as her eyes scanned the papers before her. The documents detailed trade routes, supplies, labor needs, and other bureaucratic minutiae that someone like her was expected to know.

“Dad, I know these things already. I go with you on your trips every month. I know the routes and how much food to bring to the towns downstream. And I know how the noble leader from Gongju charges us more for wool since they’re in the mountains,” Yujin groaned, leaning back in her chair. She tapped her fingertips a bit more roughly against the tabletop as her patience began to wane. “Why do I have to study this every day? It’s just… numbers. I mean, the important things are subtle semantics that I pick up in person, right?”

Her voice betrayed the restlessness in her spirit. She had always been a ball of energy, the kind that could never sit still for long. While she understood the importance of the information, after several hours spent poring over the same monotonous material, it felt like her mind was suffocating. She was itching to be outside, to move, to do something that mattered more than just signing papers and constantly reviewing contracts and documents. For all intents and purposes, with her father being the leader of their town and serving as their mayor, she was a glorified regional economist. 

Yujin routinely studied the economic factors that would influence the growth and development of the surrounding geographical areas. She found that by being one of Youngseok’s daughters, she was typically only seen as such by many of the elders in their town.

Outside, through the small, dusty window, Yujin could see her two younger sisters, Jiwon and Hyunseo, as they played in the sun-dappled yard. Jiwon, with her water magic, was laughing as she directed gentle streams of water at Hyunseo, who ran in wild circles, giggling as the water flowed past her. Their carefree joy struck Yujin like a sharp pang in her chest. Her brow furrowed in barely restrained disappointment. She wanted nothing more than to join them, to feel the rush of freedom that only movement could bring.

Youngseok watched his eldest daughter for a long moment, his expression unreadable. There was a softness in his gaze, but it quickly shifted to something more guarded. He knew his daughters well, and Yujin’s restlessness reminded him too much of himself.

“You’re just like I was,” he murmured, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though it was tinged with regret. “Always wanting to go, always ready to be outside.” He too glanced out the window at the girls for a brief moment before continuing, “I know you’d rather be out there with them, but we need to spend at least another hour on these documents from last week’s skirmish with those SSE outliers.” His voice turned more serious. “We can’t afford to have them getting close to town.”

Yujin’s shoulders sagged in frustration. She met her father’s eyes, her gaze sharp and determined. “I know that, Dad. But that’s exactly why I need to be out there, training. My body is just as important as my mind. You’ve seen what happened last time,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. Her eyes were wide with unspoken fear. “You can’t always handle everything alone, Dad. I can help.”

There was a moment of silence. Her words hung in the air, as if she was offering a piece of herself that she didn’t know how to fully express. She didn’t want to just be the daughter who was waiting for something to happen. She wanted to be the one who could act, who could fight back, who could protect the people she loved.

Youngseok’s brows pinched together, his expression hardening. Anger flared briefly, but it was quickly extinguished by something deeper. Something older and worn down. He looked at his daughter, and for a brief moment, his eyes seemed haunted. “If this is you asking me about magic again,” he began, his voice quiet but sharp, “just drop it. Jiwon is able to use magic, but it’s a fluke. Hyunseo can’t do magic either, Yujin. Your mother never had magic of her own. She grew up far from the heart of the kingdom. You’re not like them.”

Yujin’s breath caught in her chest. The words stung more than she expected. There wasn’t any compassion in his tone, only finality. He was dismissing her like he had countless times before, but this time, it was different. She wasn’t a child anymore, and the magic she longed for felt like a door that was forever closed to her. Though today, it felt as though it were slammed shut in her face. 

“You’re still holding onto this idea that I’m just like Mom,” Yujin said, her voice low, barely above a whisper. “But you’re wrong, Dad. I’m not her.” She didn’t want to be reminded of the life her mother hadn’t had the chance to lead. She was lost to them, far too soon. She had only been four years old when their mother had passed away. Jiwon was two, and Hyunseo was only a baby. 

Having been so young, she could never clearly remember the details, just fleeting memories of the panic she felt back then, and then confusion at her mother’s absence. Her father had told her that she was gone and that she wouldn’t be back, but she had no prior experience with death and couldn’t fully understand its complexities.

He said it was a tragedy, that their mother was weak from something that poisoned her; that she was never able to use magic, but her body had become flooded with mana, and her system couldn’t handle it. She was a normal person who suffered from mana poisoning.

From that story, Yujin had heard nothing but the word ‘weak’.

She didn’t think that any member of their family was weak, but she didn’t want the same fate for herself or her sisters. It was almost as if she could feel in her bones that she was meant for more.

“I’m not weak, Dad.”

Youngseok exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Yujin.” He stood up abruptly, his hand coming to rest on the table as he looked down at her, his expression softening just a fraction, though his action stilled her hands’ constant motion. “But there are things you don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you. Magic, that life… it’s not what it seems.”

Yujin opened her mouth to protest, but her father cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Don’t ask me about it again. Just… trust me on this. I’m an old man, and I’ve been around. There’s more to the world than what you see here.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding, her thoughts swirling. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why her father, who had always been her protector, was so adamant about hiding the truth from her. Because that much was clear; he was hiding something. She needed to know what she was capable of, to find out what she was meant to do in this world. But that wasn’t a conversation she could have with him. Not now, and maybe not ever, if he had his way. 

But this was why he would never know about the hours stolen before dawn and long after dusk, the moments spent pushing her body to its limits in solitude. She refused to be weak – her body would be as unyielding as her will, forged through every drop of sweat and every ache she endured. If she kept moving, she wouldn’t be weak. 

And despite that—in addition to the workload her father insisted on—she didn’t mind being busy one bit; it made good use of her energy. If she kept moving, she wouldn’t be weak. 

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, Yujin huffed, snatching up the papers before her, exasperation coating her tone. “Fine. I’ll study the documents. But it’s only because I don’t want to disappoint you.”

She stood up, brushing past her father and making her way toward the door. As she stepped outside, the sunlight hit her face, and for a moment, she felt the tension in her chest ease and released a sigh. But she knew, deep down, that there were things hidden from her. And one day, she was going to find out what they were.

——————

The carriage rocked gently along the dirt road, the familiar rhythm of its wheels against packed earth blending with the steady clopping of hooves. The weight of trade goods shifted with each bump, but it was nothing Yujin wasn’t already used to. She adjusted her grip on the reins, idly rolling her shoulders to shake off the stiffness creeping in from hours of travel.

They had been on the road since dawn, and though the journey home was always long, this particular trip felt slower than usual. Maybe it was just her usual restlessness after sitting still for too long. Or maybe it was the silence.

Overhead, her messenger pigeon, Azzo, did slow loops to stretch his wings, his pale feathers catching the dimming sunlight. With no messages to carry, he too, had been restless for hours. She had left his crate door open, letting him fly freely, but even he seemed unsettled.

Behind her, Youngseok lay on the makeshift cot inside the carriage, taking what little rest he could before his next turn at the reins. The curtains were drawn, shielding him from the sun’s last light, and the occasional creak of shifting wood reminded her he was still there. Yujin pulled her coat closer to her neck as a cool breeze sent a shiver down her spine.

Usually, they would pass other traders returning from their supply trips. Maybe a lone rider cutting through the countryside, or the occasional merchant cart kicking up dust in the distance. But the road had been empty for hours. And for this particular route, that was distinctly unusual.

The silence wasn’t just the absence of people. The usual sounds of the countryside—the chirping of crickets, the rustling of wind through the trees—felt distant. Muted. As if something unseen pressed down on the landscape, quieting even the smallest of creatures.

Yujin exhaled slowly, shaking off the unease creeping into her thoughts.

A crow cawed from a tree branch overhead. A single, harsh cry that made her glance up toward the sound. The dissonant screech caused Azzo to dart back into the carriage in a flurry of wings. One of the horses chuffed at the sudden noise, ears flicking back. Yujin clicked her teeth in reassurance, tightening her grip on the reins as a faint voice mumbled from the back.

Youngseok, still half-asleep, muttered something about the bird enjoying his flight. A moment later, the clang of the crate door signaled Azzo’s return. Then, just as humorously, her father’s snoring resumed.

The sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, the sun dipping lower, stretching their shadows long across the road. Home wasn’t much farther now.

Then, up ahead, the road narrowed slightly, flanked by uneven hills. Nothing unusual about that. They had taken this path dozens of times before.

But something was off. And she couldn’t place it, but she didn’t often doubt the feeling in her gut.

Yujin’s fingers tightened on the reins as she noticed the deep ruts in the road—faint, almost faded, as though no carts had passed in days. A trail usually well-traveled now looked abandoned.

She slowed the horses slightly, her breath steadying as she tried to dismiss the gnawing unease in her gut. Just a few more hours. Half a day, and they’d be back.

Then she felt it.

A shift in the air.

The breeze had stopped.

The silence that had pressed against the landscape now felt suffocating, wrapping around them like a held breath. One of the horses let out a low, uneasy whinny.

Yujin sat up straighter, eyes scanning the narrowing path ahead. Her pulse picked up, though she couldn’t place why.

Then, just as the last trace of sunlight stretched over the hills—

A piercing, startled neigh shattered the quiet.

The world seemed to still for the briefest of moments.

Then everything descended into chaos.

—————

The hearty scent of simmering broth filled the modest kitchen, the soft bubbling the only sound accompanying the rhythmic chopping of herbs and vegetables. Jiwon worked methodically, dicing roots and greens with practiced ease. Cooking was a simple task, and one she had done countless times before. 

She languidly mused that her father and unnie should be back any moment now. 

She glanced toward the window, where the last light of day stretched long across the fields. They weren’t quite late enough for it to be alarming just yet. But still, she felt a quiet tug of unease in the back of her mind.

The front door creaked open, breaking her thoughts.

“I’m home,” Hyunseo’s voice rang out, followed by the familiar sound of her kicking off her shoes at the entrance. She smelled faintly of old books and ink, a normal scent after long hours spent at the church’s study hall.

Jiwon glanced over as Hyunseo set her satchel down and stretched with a groan.

“How’d it go?”

“The usual,” Hyunseo huffed, flopping onto a chair. “Maths, equations, writing. I don’t get why I still have to practice scriptwork when I already write just fine.” She pulled out a parchment covered in neat but slightly uneven lettering and made a face. “Father Jeong says I have ‘lazy strokes.’”

Jiwon scoffed. “I could’ve told you that.”

Hyunseo shot her a glare. “Yeah, well you’re not the one sitting through hours of ‘the old ways of the kingdom’ nonsense.” She propped her chin in her hands, sighing. “Seonghyun fell asleep today, so now he has to copy an entire chapter by hand as punishment. Father Jeong made an example out of him, but honestly, any entertainment is good entertainment in that place.”

“Ya, you forget I went through the same lessons as you?” Jiwon quirked a brow. “It’s just history, Hyun. And with how late you stay up these days, you better hope you’re not the next one dozing off.”

Hyunseo rolled her eyes, but Jiwon caught the small smirk tugging at her lips. This was the kind of conversation they could have any day, at any given time. Just part of life. Normal.

And yet, as she turned back to the stove, stirring chopped vegetables into the meaty broth absently, the nagging feeling in her gut didn’t fade. That feeling made things feel decidedly abnormal.

They probably should have been home by now.

But Jiwon knew she was a worrier by nature. No point in making Hyunseo anxious, especially since things were probably fine.

“Whatever, unnie. That was forever ago,” Hyunseo dismissed with a wave of her hand. Then she perked up. “But anyway, we played Jegichagi for like an hour, so I’m starving. How much longer?”

Sprinkling in the herbs, Jiwon released the spoon and set it on the counter. She then twirled her finger above the steaming food and used her magic to manipulate the liquids in the pot. She hummed. 

“I think…” she turned back to Hyunseo, her dimple appearing. “It’ll be ready exactly when you finish the work Father Jeong assigned!” She playfully raised her eyebrows while smiling in a slightly unhinged manner that somehow fit her nature. 

Despite the older’s goofy look, the youngest knew she had no choice but to oblige. Hyunseo dutifully reached into her satchel and grabbed her scrolls and records, making sure to whine dramatically while doing so. 

A snort. “What a well-behaved baby tiger,” Jiwon cooed, seeing the younger girl pout while reading over her schoolwork. She mentally made a note to give her an extra scoop of the stew and even left a small scrap of bread loaf for the girl to snack on while she completed her work.

——

After about forty-five minutes had passed and the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Jiwon used a careful flick of her fingers to guide the stew into two wooden bowls. The liquid swirled in the air, gliding seamlessly from the pot to each vessel before settling with a gentle ripple.

She didn’t take out the extra bowls. The ones meant for Yujin and their father still sat untouched on the shelf. Their bowls were different sizes, carved to match their preferred portions—her father’s larger, Yujin’s slightly smaller but still generous. Jiwon traced the familiar shape of hers absentmindedly, running her thumb over the smooth, worn rim.

She remembered the day they made them.

It had been a long outing to the forest, filled with the crisp scent of fresh bark and the rhythmic thunk of their father’s axe. She and Yujin had followed him eagerly, watching in awe as he swung the heavy tool with practiced ease, felling two thick walnut trees in clean strokes. Hyunseo had run between the stumps, collecting leaves in her tiny fists, while Jiwon crouched by the freshly cut wood, mesmerized by the patterns in the grain.

The axe had glowed faintly when their father touched it.

Jiwon had seen it—just the barest shimmer of light along the metal surface. She had asked about it then, her young voice laced with curiosity, but Youngseok had only chuckled, smoothing her hair down as he set the axe aside. “It doesn’t glow, Jiwon-ah,” he had said, brushing off her words as a trick of the light.

But she knew what she had seen.

Hyunseo had tried to grab the axe’s handle when he wasn’t looking, giggling at her own mischief. Yujin had stopped her, pulling her away with a half-scolding, half-amused sigh. Their father had simply shaken his head and continued working, guiding them through carving their bowls—patiently showing them how to sand the edges until they were smooth, teaching them which oils to use to make them safe for eating out of.

Now, years later, those very bowls sat before her. Solid. Real. A quiet reminder of that day.

Jiwon glanced toward the door, her fingers tightening slightly around her spoon. The stew’s warmth drifted up in gentle curls of steam, but the house felt colder without Yujin’s restless energy or their father’s deep, steady voice filling the space.

They definitely should have been home by now.

Shaking off the unease creeping into her chest, she turned her attention back to the stew, lifting a spoonful to her lips. Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe the axe had never glowed, just like Youngseok had said.

But still… she knew what she had seen.

———————

The first thing Yujin noticed was the horses. A sharp neigh and panicked rearing. Eight hooves tearing into the dirt, kicking up dust in a frantic scramble.

The carriage lurched violently. The scent of disturbed earth filled her lungs as the wheels skidded, sending a jolt through her spine. Her grip on the reins had long since tightened, but now her knuckles turned white, fingers locked in place even as the leather straps burned against her skin.

Then—impact. A heavy slam against the ground.

Someone had fallen—or landed?

As the dust began to clear, Yujin barely had time to process it before the wrongness in the air became undeniable. The shadows along the roadside twisted unnaturally, curling and shifting as though they had minds of their own. A figure stepped forward, emerging from the gloom.

A woman. Cloaked like a traveler, but there was something off about her—something that made the hair on the back of Yujin’s neck rise. Then she saw it. The jagged scar that cut across the woman’s face, cleaving through where her left eye should have been. The wound looked deep and unnatural, and it pulsed with the same inky darkness that coiled at her fingertips.

Before Yujin could move, before she could even think—

The woman raised a hand.

An unintelligible whisper. A flick of her wrist and curl of her finger.

The lead horse let out a guttural squeal.

Yujin could only watch, mouth agape in horror, as something unseen—something unnatural—tore through the creature’s body. There was no steel, no visible wound, yet its entire frame convulsed as if seized by an invisible force. Its cry was brief, strangled. Its legs buckled, and it crumpled to the dirt with a sickening finality. A single, shuddering breath. Then stillness.

Yujin couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She had seen violence before. She had seen magic before. But never like this. To torture an animal, the woman had to be vile, Yujin was sure.

The air itself seemed to clench around her body—not a physical grip, but in the form of a smothering force weighing her down, rooting her to her spot.

Behind her, the carriage creaked. A sluggish rustle of fabric. Then Youngseok’s voice called out to her—groggy, half-awake, confused. The soft parting of the curtains as he moved to step out.

Though he never got the chance.

Another incantation. Another flick of the woman’s wrist.

Youngseok’s body stiffened. His breath hitched—just for a second, barely a sound—before his legs gave out beneath him.

Yujin turned just in time to see him collapse.

Her father crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, his form slumping into the carriage with a dull, breathless thud. His hand, once gripping the curtain, slipped as his arm fell limply to the floor.

Yujin’s mind went blank. Then thousands of memories with her father seemed to flash before her mind’s eye in a millisecond before she made the decision to move.

She lunged to her feet, breaking through whatever had been holding her back. She moved—not at the woman, not to fight—toward her father. She had no plan, no weapon, no magic—just instinct.

Then the hit came.

A crushing force slammed into her chest. Not a blade. Not an arrow. It was weight, an overwhelming, suffocating presence, pressing into her like the air itself had turned solid. The impact tore the breath from her lungs. Her body lifted from the coach box, weightless for a fleeting second.

Then pain.

The world twisted, blurred. The ground rushed toward her, and before she could even brace for it, she hit the dirt, the force rattling through her bones.

Her heartbeat pounded, the sound drowning out everything else as her vision swam.

––

Somewhere, beyond the roaring in her ears and the numbness creeping in, a voice cut through the haze.

“You’re too slow, girl.”

A soft chuckle. Receding footsteps.

“But perhaps you’ll wake soon. And if you do—”

A very faint rustle of fabric and shift of movement.

“You’ll remember me.”

Yujin wanted to move. She wanted to fight. She wanted to do something.

But she couldn’t.

The pressure in her chest hadn’t faded. It only spread, sinking deep into her bones, sapping her breath, clouding her thoughts. A cold, awful realization gripped her.

I might die here.

Out in the middle of nowhere. With no one to help them, and no way of letting her sisters know what happened.

The thought barely had time to settle before the pain swallowed her whole.

Then—nothing.

Chapter Text

Wonyoung stood at the balcony of the Jang estate, her gaze sweeping over the sprawling capital. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the marble walls of the courtyard below, but the warmth of it was comforting, almost reassuring. Yet something in her chest felt tight, a subtle unease that had been growing for weeks.

She wasn’t accustomed to feeling like this. Wonyoung had been raised to stand confidently under the weight of the kingdom’s expectations. Every step of her life was planned, every motion calculated.

She was the heir to House Jang, the daughter of Jang Jaesuk. He was the man who had once stood as a figure of unshakable authority in the capital. No one had ever questioned her place, not even her father. Until recently.

“You’re still standing out here?” Rei’s voice broke through the quiet, pulling Wonyoung from her thoughts.

Wonyoung turned to see Rei leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Rei was like a firebrand–quick-witted and ever-courteous, though her charm was tempered by subtle childishness coupled with a hint of rebelliousness that Wonyoung found both frustrating and admirable.

Rei was one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by Wonyoung’s title, a trait that was mildly unnerving in the past but was now welcomed and refreshing.

“It’s beautiful,” Wonyoung said, though her voice was tinged with frustration. “But it’s not… enough . Do you ever wonder if there’s more to the world than this?”

Rei raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room and moving to stand beside her at the balcony.

“More than the palace? More than being the future head of House Jang?” Rei leaned her hip casually against the railing, her arms crossed. “Sure. But what do you mean, specifically?”

Wonyoung sighed and looked down, eyes tracing the intricate patterns in the courtyard’s greenery below. “Father… he still won’t trust me with the important things. He says I’m not ready, that I need more ‘training.’ But all I’ve done my entire life is train. What is he expecting from me that I can’t give? What more could there be?”

“You’ve only ever been the perfect daughter, haven’t you?” Rei said with a soft laugh, though there was no mocking in it. “I think that’s the problem.”

Wonyoung’s eyes snapped to Rei, surprised by the bluntness in her voice. “What do you mean?”

Rei shrugged. “He’s afraid of your potential, Wonyoung. He’s scared you’ll outgrow him.”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s my father.” Wonyoung’s words were more defensive than she intended. 

“That’s exactly it.” Rei’s tone softened. “You’re not just any noble’s daughter. You’re the daughter of Jang Jaesuk, a man who has built his power with control. He doesn’t know how to let go, especially when it’s his precious daughter.”

Wonyoung fell silent. Rei’s words struck something inside her that she hadn’t been able to put into words herself. She had always done what was expected of her, constantly walked the fine line between perfect grace and cold detachment. But now, more and more, she felt like a puppet on strings, unable to cut herself free from her father’s shadow.

“Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for his approval,” Rei added, her tone less playful now, more serious. “You have your own path to walk.”

Just as Wonyoung opened her mouth to respond, Gaeul entered the room, her presence always tranquil, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch her in the same way. Her dark eyes flicked between Wonyoung and Rei, reading the energy in the air.

“Is this about your father again?” Gaeul asked quietly, stepping closer to join them at the railing. “You’ve been thinking about it for days.”

Wonyoung nodded. “He doesn’t trust me to handle things, unnie. And I’m starting to wonder if I can trust myself either. There must be a reason he’s not letting me take on more responsibilities,” the tall girl ran a hand through her wavy hair, sighing.

“The more he holds me back, the more I feel like I’m just… wasting away in this gilded cage.” The girl looked at her hands where they rested on the stone edge of the balcony and conjured a tiny flame, mindlessly juggling it across her fingers in a casual display of skill.

“You’ve always been the shining star of your house and of the palace, Wonyoung,” Gaeul reminded her, voice steady but warm. “But maybe you need to let yourself burn a little brighter, even if it means stepping outside the light your father wants to cast on you.”

The words hit Wonyoung harder than she anticipated. Her friends, perceptive as they were, always seemed to understand her better than she understood herself. They saw the cracks in the facade she so carefully maintained. They saw her potential, even when she couldn’t quite grasp it herself.

Rei and Gaeul were pillars of Wonyoung’s unshakable confidence.

For the first time in a long while, Wonyoung allowed herself to feel some of the weight of her emotions. She had spent so many years perfecting her role, adhering to the expectations set for her, that she had never stopped to ask what she truly wanted. What was she willing to fight for?

“I’m not sure where to start,” Wonyoung admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll find your way,” Rei said, a grin once again playing on her lips. “You’ve always been destined for greatness. The question is whether you’ll choose it for yourself, or let someone else choose it for you.”

Wonyoung’s gaze drifted back to the horizon, her mind whirling with possibilities. Her heart thrummed with the quiet, insistent rhythm of something stirring deep within her. She didn’t know what that was yet, but she felt it; a growing need to break free, to prove that she wasn’t just the future of House Jang. She was Wonyoung. She had her own heart, her own power.

But it would take more than just a moment of realization. It would take time… but there would be a catalyst.

As the sky darkened and the first stars began to blink into existence, Wonyoung made a silent vow to herself. She would not remain in her father’s shadow forever.

——

The morning was cold. As Wonyoung swung her legs out of bed, the chill bit at her skin the moment her bare feet touched the floor. She shivered, her gaze flicking to the empty torch sconces lining the walls.

With a flick of her fingers, the flames flared to life, bathing the room in warmth. The tension in her shoulders eased as the temperature began to rise.

As she moved through her morning routine, her thoughts drifted absently to breakfast.

What might the kitchen staff have prepared today?

  Once dressed immaculately, her hair smoothed to perfection, she stepped out of her quarters and nearly collided with a servant – one she didn’t recognize. A young girl, no older than thirteen, stiffened at the sight of her, her hands clenching the fabric of her uniform.

“Well, good morning,” Wonyoung’s voice was as light as ever, though she tilted her head slightly. “Are you newly assigned to my wing?”

The girl nodded hastily, her posture rigid, her lips pressed together as if afraid to speak.

Wonyoung sighed inwardly. She was used to this reaction. Rumors followed her like a shadow; whispers that she was cold, arrogant, impossible to please.

None of them were true, of course. Wonyoung gave off a warmth that could rival the flames she summoned if given the chance; she had always been polite to the staff, gracious even.

But people loved to twist stories about those they envied, and Wonyoung had always given them plenty to be envious of, even though it was out of her control.

Still, the girl’s obvious discomfort tugged at her. “What’s your name?” she asked, softening her tone.

“Sua, my lady,” the girl stammered. Wonyoung hid a quiet giggle behind her hand as her face scrunched up for a second.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sua. But just call me Wonyoung-ssi. My mother is the lady of House Jang, not me.”

She offered the girl a reassuring smile, waiting until Sua hesitantly returned it.

“Okay… Um, Lord and Lady Jang took their breakfast earlier and asked me to inform you—” Sua faltered, as if expecting a sharp reaction.

Wonyoung merely hummed softly in acknowledgment. When no further response came, the girl relaxed, finally finding her footing.

“Is there anything you need before heading to the dining hall, Wonyoung-ssi?” Sua’s youthful energy was muted in a way Wonyoung didn’t think was fitting for a child.

“No, I’m quite alright. You should go have your own breakfast too.”

Sua’s eyes widened, as if Wonyoung had hung the stars in the sky. She bowed deeply before scurrying off, leaving Wonyoung alone in the quiet corridor.

With a soft sigh, Wonyoung ran a hand through her hair.

Why would Father and Mother eat without me?

It wasn’t uncommon for them to take their meals in the private dining quarters, but to do so without her?

They must have wanted to discuss something in private…

As she walked, the rhythmic clink of armored footsteps echoed faintly around her. The royal guards stood at intervals along the hallway, their presence an ever-present reminder of the authority that loomed over the noble houses. They weren’t oppressive, nor did they make a show of watching her, but they were there. Always.

She had long since learned to move past them without thought, though today, for reasons she couldn’t quite name, their presence felt heavier.

Lost in thought, she nearly collided with someone rounding the corner. A steadying hand reached out–

“Ah, my apologies, Wonyoung-ah. Are you heading to the great hall as well?”

The smooth voice belonged to Park Sunghoon, heir to House Park. He was taller than her, with the easy confidence of someone used to standing in noble circles. The two were friendly, having been part of the same social circles all their lives.

Wonyoung smiled politely and offered a nod with a slight bow in greeting.

Sunghoon grinned in return, then turned to the figure beside him, guiding him forward with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Wonyoung-ssi! Seems like the hall will be packed today!” Kim Sunoo chirped, his usual bright energy on full display.

Before she could question what he meant, the two moved along, their hushed conversation lost in the vastness of the corridor. Wonyoung watched them go, idly wondering—for neither the first and likely not the last time—if there was more to their friendship than met the eye.

Up ahead, just beyond the looming solid oak doors of the dining hall, more guards stood at attention. Unlike the ones in the halls, these men were unwavering, their hands resting lightly on their weapons in perfect formality. Their presence was normal, expected even, yet Wonyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that today was anything but.

She barely had time to dwell on it before familiar figures came into view. Her own closest friends.

“Wonyoung-ah! We’ve been waiting for ages over here. You know, you really don’t need any more beauty rest; I think you should leave some for the less fortunate,” Rei teased with a demure wave, though she called out in a voice that was anything but.

The tall girl couldn’t help the uninhibited cackle that escaped her at her friend’s words. Rei was always unpredictable, and she loved that about her.

Wonyoung sighed, feigning exasperation as she approached. “Rei-ya, if I didn’t sleep well, do you know who would suffer the most?”

Rei tilted her head, playing along. “Who?”

“You,” Wonyoung smirked. “Because I’d be cranky, and guess who shares all the same lessons as me?”

Gaeul chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. “Gods, that’s a scary thought.”

“I know, right?” Wonyoung said, grinning as the guards pushed open the heavy doors. “Sunoo oppa made it sound dramatic, but surely it’s not as packed as—”

The words died on her tongue as the sight before her unfolded. The dining hall was crowded. Not just a bit busy, but packed, bustling and filled to the brim with heirs of varying ages and a few instructors and scholars.

Staff and servants alike sat and ate as well; their area was smaller, less ornate, located in a corner of the room. Every meters-long table had already been claimed, a murmur of voices layering over the clinking of silverware and the occasional rustle of parchment.

Rei let out a low whistle. “Well. Guess he wasn’t being dramatic after all.”

Gaeul frowned, scanning the room. “Where are we even supposed to sit?”

There were many bodies obstructing their view, however it didn’t take long for the answer to present itself. There was only one available space left. The single, untouched table near the center of the room.

Of course, it was their table.

Wonyoung’s fingers twitched and a few sparks harmlessly fluttered to the floor before fizzling out, though it went unnoticed by her. It wasn’t unusual for the dining hall to be busy, but this… this was something else. The sheer number of people, the air of forced normalcy—something about it set her on edge.

She exchanged a glance with Rei and Gaeul, her earlier amusement giving way to quiet apprehension.

“I’ve been overhearing some pretty outlandish things about that group of errant mages,” came the voice of a younger boy Wonyoung didn’t recognize.

The three girls exchanged looks.

Everyone knew what group they were referring to. The name itself wasn’t spoken, but it didn’t have to be. The whispers had existed for years—perhaps for as long as Wonyoung could remember.

“They say it’s the SSE—”

The name had barely left the boy’s lips before someone shushed him harshly.

“ Don’t say it ,” another noble hissed, glancing around with wide eyes as if the mere mention of the name might summon them. The brief lull in conversation passed as quickly as it had come, but an unease lingered.

“People have been saying they’re getting bolder,” Rei muttered, lowering her voice as her expressive eyes peered around the room from beneath her bangs. “But no one seems to know what that actually means.”

“Well, outlandish is right,” Gaeul said, arms crossed and face pensive. “If half the rumors are true, I would think the council would have acted long before now.”

Wonyoung said nothing, though her expression gave away that she knew more than she let on. Unlike many of the others, she had been raised to be mindful of every word she spoke in public—especially in moments like this, when fear had made even the nobles reckless.

She simply began eating her meal after a servant brought it over to her table, thanking them quietly. She didn’t add anything else to the conversation, mind occupied by what she might say to her father when she eventually saw him.

——

  Practical Magic was probably Wonyoung’s favorite part of the day. It wasn’t that she disliked lectures— quite the opposite—but she loved the feeling of letting her flames burn freely. It was like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room, or a soothing floral bath after a long day—not that her work was the kind to get her dirty. Still, she had singed many a cloth and drape over the years. She’d have to thank the servants who took care of her wardrobe.

Wonyoung had swapped her usual skirt and polo for a relaxed-fit pair of trousers and a matching front-fastened jacket. Stepping into the courtyard, she waited for her instructor and fellow classmates.

The early morning air was cool against Wonyoung’s skin as she stepped out onto the training grounds, her footsteps light and measured. She preferred to be the first one outside—before the world woke up fully, before the prying eyes of her fellow students could find her. In the stillness, she could breathe and move without restraint.

Wonyoung closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. The air felt crisp, but as her breath filled her lungs, warmth began to stir from within, a soft hum of energy. She stretched her arms above her head, fingers pointing toward the sky, and with the movement, tendrils of flame flickered along her fingertips, vanishing just as quickly as they appeared. It was as though the very air around her bent to her will, warming gently in her presence.

Her legs shifted smoothly, fluid and graceful, as she transitioned into a deep lunge. The flames followed her motions, swirling up her arms like ribbons, lighting the air with their ethereal glow. Her breathing was slow, deliberate—each exhale carrying away the tension from her body, each inhale drawing in warmth, focus, and balance. Power.

The flames were an extension of her, just like the stretch of her limbs, the elongation of her body. She didn’t even think about it anymore—it was as natural as breathing. As she flowed from one posture to the next, her movements became a dance, her body bending and twisting with an effortless elegance. The flames traced her form, creating a mesmerizing pattern in the cool morning air, like a spell cast in slow motion.

Even though she had long become accustomed to the attention, it never failed to irk her. But today, she didn’t care. She was lost in the rhythm of her breath and her magic, her body stretched in a perfect arc, the flames surrounding her like a halo of light.

She barely noticed the group of onlookers who had gathered at the edge of the courtyard, their gazes drawn to her without her doing a thing. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, wasn’t seeking the eyes that lingered, the whispers that followed.

Yet, as she held the final stretch—a delicate balance, both physical and mental, her eyes closed in deep concentration—the flames around her flared for a moment in a barely-there flash of blue before they dimmed and returned to their normal color.

She could feel their eyes, the attention now, even if she chose not to acknowledge it. Still, she finished her stretch, slowly exhaling, and when she opened her eyes, she met the gazes of her peers.

Wonyoung didn’t smile, but there was a soft, knowing glint in her eyes—a silent acknowledgment of the beauty she had created without using much more effort than it took to tie her shoes. And just as she started to step away, the voice of her instructor, Lee Taemin, broke the stillness.

“Don’t just stand there gawking,” he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet air with a sharpness that brought the group of students to attention. “You should all be following Wonyoung’s lead and warming up. Get moving.”

Wonyoung didn’t look back. She gave no response, as was her way, but the slight smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips was unmistakable as she turned, the warmth of her flames dissipating with each step.

—

After everyone had warmed up, Taemin signaled for the class to form a semi-circle. His eyes scanned each student as they took their positions, his expression impassive and sharp. There was no need for unnecessary words yet; the tension in the air was enough to get everyone to straighten up.

“Today’s sparring session is simple,” Taemin began, his voice cutting through the quiet with a tone that demanded attention and discipline, yet not unkind. 

“I’ll pair everyone up, and you’ll spar until your opponent is at your mercy or vice versa. But remember—control is key. I want to see focus and skill, not showmanship.

“No flashy moves or wild swings; each movement should be precise and calculated. You’ll each be given a moment to demonstrate your skills, but don’t mistake that for an opportunity to show off. We are here to learn, not entertain.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze landing on Rei, who stepped forward with a quiet confidence. Though her posture appeared almost timid, everyone in the room knew better.

Rei had mastered the art of subtlety—her movements were always calculated, always poised for precision. She positioned herself in front of her opponent, Yuna, whose electricity powers crackled with energy, the thrill of competition charging the air around her.

“Yuna, Rei,” Taemin continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ll go first. Rei, keep your focus. Yuna, don’t underestimate her.”

The class watched in silence as Rei took a deep breath, preparing herself for the match ahead.

Yuna was excited, and her electricity seemed to react to or mimic her energy. The girl immediately sprang into action, quickly extending her left hand, shooting out five separate jolts of tangible electricity.

The air crackled with the intensity of her attack, sparking in all directions.

She didn’t give Rei a moment to think about countering, quickly repeating the motion with her right arm raised. The electricity sizzled through the air, each bolt more aggressive than the last, yet Rei remained calm.

Her movements were measured, each step fluid as she shifted her weight and redirected the attacks, letting the electric energy pass around her. A soft hum of the electricity’s force lingered in the air as Rei absorbed the minor surges into her body, only to release them harmlessly through her limbs.

Rei’s eyes narrowed, assessing Yuna’s eagerness. The girl wasn’t reckless, but her enthusiasm was a bit too apparent. As Yuna took a brief moment to prepare for another attack, Rei saw the opening.

She took a purposeful step forward with swift motion, gathering the lingering electric energy around her in an instant.

With a sharp exhale, she unleashed a concentrated beam of raw energy from the palm of her hand, a burst of electricity so powerful and focused that it seemed to tear through the air with a brilliant flash that had a new slightly purple hue—the color of Rei’s aura.

Yuna didn’t have time to react—she was caught off guard by the sudden surge. The beam struck her squarely in the torso, and before she could regain her balance, the force sent her tumbling backward, landing hard on the ground with a breathless thud.

Taemin stepped in, raising a hand to signal the match’s conclusion, his voice firm. “Rei takes the win.”

He looked around the semi-circle, his gaze sharp. “What did we learn from this match? Anyone?”

Rei, having already walked over to Yuna, extended a hand with a friendly smile. Yuna took it, and the two bowed to each other in mutual respect. As the room remained silent, Taemin sighed, clearly expecting a more immediate response.

“Alright,” he began, breaking the stillness. “Let’s talk about it. Yuna has powerful magic, no doubt. But her eagerness to act quickly led her to make rapid movements, which didn’t leave her time to think ahead. She didn’t consider the long-term effects of her actions during the fight.”

He glanced toward Rei, his tone shifting as he continued, “Rei, on the other hand, took a more calculated approach. She let her opponent come to her, observed her movements, and waited for an opening. It’s not just about the magic you wield, but how you wield it—and Rei showed the importance of that today.”

The sparring continued as Taemin paired off the remaining students, their movements fluid and sharp as they tested each other’s strengths.

Each match was a display of various styles—some students relied on quick, precise strikes, while others used their magic to control the environment, shifting the terrain with subtle, calculated movements.

Yuna’s swift defeat was a reminder of how easily overzealousness could lead to mistakes despite possessing clear talent and skill. As the others sparred, there was a noticeable change in the air. Each student was more focused now. They took their time, measuring their opponent’s every move.

Still, the matches progressed quickly, with Taemin offering brief but constructive feedback after each.

As the final pair was called up, the tension in the air was palpable.

Wonyoung stepped forward with a steady, calm grace, her eyes already locked on her opponent. Zhanghao, a fellow noble with a fierce reputation, stood opposite her, his posture confident, his movements controlled.

“This will be the final match for today,” Taemin announced, his voice firm as he observed both combatants. “Keep in mind that I am testing more than just your magic—this is about your strategy, your patience, and your ability to adapt under pressure.” He paused, giving each of them a knowing look. “Be sure to make it count.”

Wonyoung stepped forward, her expression calm, focused, and giving nothing away as she approached the center of the sparring area. She offered a small nod of acknowledgment to Zhanghao, who stood opposite her, his posture poised and unwavering. He gave her a two-finger salute, making some of the girls on the sidelines swoon.

Despite his reputation for being steadfast and reliable, there was a quiet tension in his eyes. He was known for his magical mastery over metallurgical defenses, the ability to harden his skin as if it were forged from steel itself.

Wonyoung, with a quiet grace, bowed to him. Zhanghao returned the bow just as respectfully, his movements precise. It was an unspoken understanding between them—though they were peers in many respects, Zhanghao was a few years her senior, a leader in his own right, and Wonyoung would always acknowledge that.

The air between them crackled with unspoken anticipation. Zhanghao straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as his focus sharpened, while Wonyoung adjusted her stance, ready to face him in what promised to be a match of both physical endurance and strategic finesse.

Taemin, standing to the side, observed them both with a careful eye. “This may not be quick,” he remarked, the air around him steadying as he made his final assessment. “Take your time. And remember: strategy will be just as important as your magic.”

As the match began, Zhanghao took his stance, unwavering in his defense. His skin shimmered faintly, the telltale sign of his metallurgical ability activating. He was well-known for his endurance, an impenetrable fortress against even the strongest attacks. Against someone like him, brute force wouldn’t be enough.

Wonyoung knew that. She also knew that he expected her to come at him with speed and aggression, as most fire wielders did. But she wasn’t just any fire wielder.

She moved lightly on her feet, circling him, the faintest flickers of flame curling around her fingertips. At first, she didn’t strike with full intensity—just glancing bursts of heat, like embers drifting too close. Her fire coiled and danced, licking at the edges of the courtyard, casting a golden glow against the polished stone.

Zhanghao barely reacted, standing firm, letting his hardened skin absorb the heat without flinching.

Undeterred, Wonyoung shifted, her flames growing bolder. She feinted a step forward, twisting at the last moment, sending a sharp arc of fire streaking toward him. The flames collided with his defense and scattered harmlessly, flickering out against the metal sheen of his body.

He didn’t smile, but gave her a knowing look, as if to say, is that all?

But Wonyoung wasn’t discouraged. She had expected this.

Instead of relenting, she raised the temperature around them, her flames intensifying with each measured strike. Her brows lowered, and her expression matched the intensity of the fire.

Heatwaves rippled in the air, distorting the space between them.

She wasn’t just attacking—she was changing the very atmosphere of the battlefield. The ground beneath them darkened as embers danced along the surface, and Zhanghao, though unyielding, was forced to adjust.

His movements, once effortless, became heavier, more deliberate. Sweat beaded along his temple, evaporating before it could roll down his skin. The air shimmered, suffocatingly thick. He shifted his stance, subtly bracing himself.

Got you.

Wonyoung surged forward, unleashing a concentrated column of flame. Zhanghao responded instantly, raising his arms in defense. His metal-coated skin glowed faintly from the heat, but he held firm, his endurance unmatched.

Wonyoung wasn’t trying to burn him. She was testing him.

Every clash, every deflected strike, every flicker of heat sinking into his defenses—she was learning. She noted the way his hardened skin absorbed energy, how it reacted under constant pressure. He was enduring, but even metal had its limits.

Then she saw it. A moment’s hesitation. A lapse in judgement, movements a fraction too slow.

She feinted another sweeping flame toward his right side, forcing him to brace. At the last second, she twisted, snapping her wrist in the opposite direction and sending a concentrated burst of fire straight toward his left flank. The flames struck true, and Zhanghao, caught mid-pivot, flinched. His defenses held—but only barely. A flicker of surprise crossed his features.

Wonyoung didn’t give him time to recover.

She exhaled, and for the briefest moment, the flames around her body flickered out. The sudden absence of heat was jarring, but only for an instant—because when her fire reignited, it wasn’t gold or orange.

It was blue.

A searing, otherworldly brilliance erupted from her palm, casting the entire courtyard in an ethereal glow. The heat was different—sharper, more intense, like the air itself was splitting apart under its pressure. Zhanghao’s eyes widened as the fire crashed into him, not in a reckless inferno, but in a precise, deliberate strike. His defenses, already worn thin, cracked under the sheer intensity. He staggered back, his footing faltering for the first time.

He groaned, defenses spent, and took a knee.

Silence fell over the courtyard.

Wonyoung straightened, exhaling slowly as the last of her flames receded. The blue light faded, leaving only the lingering warmth of victory.

She met Zhanghao’s gaze. He was spent, though still strong—but there was a new glint in his eyes. Not just respect, but understanding.

Jang Wonyoung was not to be underestimated.

Chapter Text

Wonyoung didn’t like being dismissed.

She was Jang Wonyoung—the daughter of one of the most powerful councilmen in the kingdom. She thought her position as daughter to be more fulfilling than that of heir—if her father would just acknowledge her a bit more often. Of course, she loved her mother, though she rarely saw her. As it was, she knew her parents loved her. That should have been enough.

But as she stood outside her father’s annex, straight-backed and expectant, she was met only by a polite bow from his assistant.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the man said. His tone was calm, impersonal. He was one of the few she could never dissuade from formalities. “Your father is still in a meeting. His schedule is full today—I can’t guarantee he’ll be available.”

Wonyoung’s nails pressed into her palm, but her expression remained serene. Only a flicker of her brow betrayed her irritation.

“Is the meeting so urgent he can’t spare a moment for his daughter?”

The assistant hesitated, fingers adjusting the bifocals perched on his nose. “It pertains to national security.”

Frustration simmered beneath her skin, but she knew better than to show it. She only nodded, turning on her heel with practiced grace.

She’d find Rei and Gaeul instead.

—

They reconvened not long after. Wonyoung didn’t even need to ask—one look at their faces told her everything.

“Nothing, then?” she guessed.

Rei sighed, shaking her head. “Not a single one of them was available. My father wasn’t even in his office. They kept telling me to come back later.”

Gaeul crossed her arms. “Something’s wrong.”

Wonyoung exhaled sharply. “Of course it is.”

The feeling in her gut had been twisting all morning. Now it solidified into certainty. Their parents—all of them—were together, unreachable. If someone wanted to strike at the kingdom’s heart, this was how they’d do it.

But hours passed, and nothing happened.

The girls lingered in the palace halls, tension simmering just beneath their skin. Every moment felt stretched thin, like a string pulled too tight. The palace was too quiet. There were no sounds of footfalls. No murmurs from staff or officials. Just silence.

Then, just when Wonyoung began to think that maybe she was overreacting—the air shifted.

A ripple of magic… subtle at first, but then came the boom.

Not a sound, but a force—like something vast tearing through the very seams of the palace.

Alarms screamed to life.

A beat later, the emergency wards surged—then shattered. A protective barrier cracked like glass, breaking apart in jagged lines of light, leaving shimmering trails of mana in the air.

They all felt it.

Wonyoung’s head snapped up. Her pulse spiked.

The palace was under attack.

She barely heard Rei and Gaeul shout her name. She was already running toward her father’s wing, which connected to the conference quarters.

Smoke—thick and acrid—curled through the air with unnatural grace.

And through it—a figure emerged.

Wonyoung skidded to a halt, breath catching.

A woman. But not an ordinary one.

Her eye—or what was left of it—was ruined. A jagged scar carved through her face, and from the hollowed socket, something pulsed. Something dark. A living energy, thick and wrong, spreading like ink beneath her skin.

That same darkness coated her body like a second skin. It writhed and shifted, as if it breathed.

Wonyoung’s stomach turned.

She didn’t recognize her. Didn’t need to.

The woman had come from the direction of the council chamber.

Her mind raced. The alarms. The shattered wards. The silence. None of them had been able to reach their parents.

She had been right.

This woman—this thing—had attacked them.

And now she was trying to escape.

Not if Wonyoung could help it.

She stepped forward. The air around her ignited. Blue flames surged to life, stretching across the corridor. A wall of fire roared three meters high, blocking the path to the nearest exit.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Wonyoung hissed.

The woman didn’t flinch.

If anything—she smiled.

Taunting her.

Wonyoung gritted her teeth and pushed. The flames rose higher, the heat curling the air, distorting the hallway. But the woman moved—fluid, precise—slipping through gaps in the fire like she’d studied every flicker.

Wonyoung pressed harder. The fire screamed—hotter, hungrier. The heat made the walls groan.

And then—

A rush of smoke. Thick, gray, swallowing everything.

When it cleared… she was gone. Only drifting wisps of smoke remained.

Wonyoung’s breath hitched. Her fists clenched.

No.

No, no, no—

A raw, guttural sound tore from her throat. Her scream was wordless, violent.

Fire erupted outward. Uncontrolled. Furious.

Heat warped the stone under her feet. The flames devoured everything they touched.

And she didn’t notice.

Not the fire lunging toward the ceiling, greedy and wild.

Not the smoke pouring through the corridors, choking out the light.

Not the people running—guards, staff—faces covered as they fled the suffocating air.

Until she saw them.

The smoke on their clothes. The way their lungs fought for air.

She was fine. The flames were hers. They’d never burn her.

The smoke filled her lungs, but she exhaled it normally.

They weren’t fine.

A hand grabbed her wrist. Not harsh or forceful.

Rei.

Her aura was second nature—gentle, familiar—pressing against Wonyoung’s own as she reached for her.

“Wonyoung.”

Her voice was raw. Wonyoung blinked, dazed. She finally saw her.

Rei was sweating, skin flushed red, shoulders trembling. She was forcing herself into the heat.

Wonyoung could feel it—Rei’s mana pulling at hers, trying to take in the fire, to nullify it.

That’s what Rei did. She absorbed energy—magic, heat, momentum—and redirected it through her own body. But only in measured amounts.

Too much, and it would overload her system. Burn her from the inside out.

Wonyoung’s stomach twisted.

“Wonyoung, you have to stop,” Rei rasped. “You’re—”

Her voice broke off, body jolting slightly.

She was taking in too much.

“Rei, stop,” Gaeul’s voice came hoarse, almost lost beneath the roar. She grabbed Rei’s arm, pulling her back. “It’s too much. You’re overheating—”

Rei winced, breathing shallow.

Gaeul turned to Wonyoung. Her face was streaked with soot. Her expression—usually calm—was edged with fear.

“Wonyoung, look at me.”

She did.

“Please. You need to stop. You’re hurting people.”

The words hit her like a bucket of ice.

Wonyoung inhaled sharply. The flames stuttered—wavered—then collapsed in on themselves, fading into embers.

Smoke still choked the halls. Heat still radiated from the walls, but the raging inferno was gone.

Only destruction remained.

And in the center of it all, Wonyoung stood—shoulders heaving, hands trembling. She couldn’t believe she had lost herself like that when she’d never lost control before. 

She looked to her best friends, in pain, struggling to breathe through the chaos she aided in creating. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall—despite things falling apart.

Before anyone could speak, someone found her.

Her father’s assistant—Junhui. Of all moments, she suddenly remembered his name.

“Lady Wonyoung,” the blonde man spoke, breathless and urgent.

She turned toward him, eyes still wild.

Junhui bowed. “Your father and the council—they were attacked.”

The air left her lungs.

“They aren’t dead,” he added quickly, as if he knew what she was already imagining. “But incapacitated. The woman—they called her Sojang. They tried to track her with omniscient seeking, but—”

His voice faltered.

Wonyoung didn’t need the rest. She already knew.

She had seen the woman vanish—slipping between cracks in the stone like smoke.

It looked impossible, but she had seen her. 

And she had let her escape.

__________________

The den was quiet, save for the faint crackling of embers in the hearth. Jiwon and Hyunseo had decided against eating in the kitchen, so they sat beside the low wooden table in front of the fire, their soup bowls barely touched.

Hyunseo stared into hers.

At first, there was nothing—just the dim glow of firelight reflecting back at her. Then, the surface rippled. The reflection warped, shifting like a disturbed pond. A shape began to form.

A face.

Hyunseo inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the bowl. The image flickered—then vanished.

The soup surface was still. It was calm again, though internally, Hyunseo wasn’t.

Her breath was uneven and her heart rate spiked.

What—?

“Hyunseo?”

Jiwon’s voice broke through the silence, gentle but laced with concern.

The younger girl startled slightly, but she forced herself to calm down.

“What’s wrong?” Jiwon asked, frowning.

For a moment, Hyunseo considered telling her. But how could she?

I don’t even know what I saw.

“It’s nothing,” she said quietly, expression subdued. She loosened her grip on the bowl and set it aside. “I’m just tired.”

Jiwon studied her for a long moment before sighing. “We should try to get some sleep.”

Hyunseo only nodded.

Jiwon laid down where she sat, too exhausted to make it to her bed. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out.

Hyunseo watched her a moment longer, then stood.

She grabbed the blanket from the couch and carefully tucked it around Jiwon’s shoulders, smoothing the edges to keep her warm.

Then, she moved to the kitchen. Their soup sat untouched on the table.

The sight of it made her stomach twist.

Quietly, she carried both bowls to the stove, pouring them back into the cauldron. The ladle clinked softly against the pot as she stirred, but she barely registered the sound.

The house was silent—except for the firewood crackling in the hearth.

But her mind was loud.

She didn’t know why she felt so unsettled. The memory of that warped reflection clung to her skin like a chill.

When the food was put away, she returned to Jiwon’s side. She curled up beside her with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.

She stared at the dying embers.

She didn’t know what she had seen, nor why it had frightened her so deeply.

She didn’t want Jiwon to worry.

But she wished her dad were here. She wished Yujin would hug her tight and make her forget she was ever afraid.

But they weren’t here.

—

Jiwon stirred to the soft, golden light of morning slipping through the window. She yawned, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs—only to freeze.

Hyunseo sat in the exact same position as the night before. Knees drawn to her chest. Arms wrapped tightly around them. Her small frame was still curled into itself, unmoved.

Dark circles hung beneath her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all.

Jiwon’s heart clenched.

“Hyunseo-ya,” she said gently, her voice hushed in the stillness. She sat up and scooted closer, rubbing at her eyes. “Did you sleep?”

Hyunseo shook her head.

Jiwon sighed and reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her sister’s ear. “You should’ve woken me.”

“You were tired,” Hyunseo murmured.

Jiwon frowned, but didn’t press. She let the silence sit between them, soft and steady.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“I saw something last night.”

Jiwon straightened, alert. “What do you mean?”

Hyunseo’s fingers curled into the fabric of her pants. “In the soup. The reflection…”

She hesitated, like she was still trying to believe it herself.

“At first, I thought it was the firelight. But it wasn’t. I saw something. Someone.”

Jiwon held her breath. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” Hyunseo shook her head. “It changed too fast. But I felt something. And I know it wasn’t just a trick of the light.”

Jiwon watched her carefully. Hyunseo had always been strong—but right now, she looked so small. So unsure.

Jiwon reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “We’ll figure it out,” she said softly. “Maybe it was nothing. Maybe we’ll get a message from them today.”

Hyunseo didn’t answer, but she leaned into her sister’s touch—just slightly.

Then she looked up.

“Do you remember the glowing axe?”

Jiwon blinked. “What?”

“The axe. From years ago. The one Dad was using.” Hyunseo swallowed. “I don’t know why I keep thinking about it. About what we saw then—and what I saw last night. Like they’re connected somehow.”

Jiwon’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t thought about that day in years—until now.

She gave Hyunseo’s arm a light squeeze. “Tell me everything you remember.”

And as Hyunseo began to speak, Jiwon listened—because deep down, she knew none of this was a coincidence.

__________

The afternoon sun stretched long over the clearing where Youngseok worked, its light flickering through the trees like tiny golden birds flitting across the ground. The fresh scent of pine mixed with the crisp bite of early autumn, and the rhythmic thunk of an axe striking wood echoed through the air.

Jiwon sat on a nearby stump, hands resting on her knees, watching intently as their father worked. 

Yujin, never one to stay still, darted around the clearing, her little boots kicking up leaves, arms outstretched like she might take flight if she just ran fast enough. 

Hyunseo trailed behind Yujin, waddling with determination, but it was clear she would tire out soon. She always did, as no one could match Yujin’s seemingly endless energy reserves.

“Jiwon-ah, catch!” Yujin called out, tossing a handful of leaves into the air like confetti.

Jiwon barely flinched as they rained down around her. She was focused on the axe in their father’s hands.

It wasn’t just any axe. It was his axe—the one he never let them touch. The one he kept wrapped in cloth when it wasn’t in use. And for a moment, just as the blade struck the wood and splinters flew, she saw it.

A faint shimmer. A glow along the edge of the blade. Not light. Not shadow. Just… something.

It vanished before she could be sure she’d seen it.

Hyunseo had frozen mid-step. Her wide eyes fixed on the axe.

Yujin, already halfway through another loop around the clearing, didn’t stop—but she slowed a little. Her head tilted, just briefly, toward where their father stood.

Youngseok lowered the axe with a sigh, wiping sweat from his brow. “Alright, that’s enough for today,” he called. “We should head back before your sister falls asleep on her feet.”

Jiwon stood slowly, brushing off her pants. She wanted to ask—Did you see that?—but Youngseok’s expression was calm and unreadable.

She hesitated.

Hyunseo didn’t.

“Appa,” she said, her voice small but steady. “It was glowing.”

Youngseok’s fingers twitched.

It was subtle—anyone might’ve missed it. But Jiwon didn’t.

“What was?” he asked casually, crouching to fix the knot of Hyunseo’s scarf, like it was just a normal moment between errands.

“The axe.” Hyunseo pointed at it, resting now against the tree stump. “It glowed.”

A beat of silence.

Then Youngseok chuckled. A warm, easy sound. “You’ve been listening to too many stories, little one.” He tapped her nose lightly. “Axes don’t glow.”

Jiwon narrowed her eyes at him.

He was lying.

She didn’t know how she knew. But she did.

Hyunseo’s brow scrunched in that serious, thinking-too-hard way she had. But she was only four. And Dad was Dad. He built them little wooden animals and carried them on his shoulders and knew everything there was to know.

So she didn’t argue.

Jiwon let it go, too.

Yujin, oblivious to the quiet tension, grabbed Hyunseo’s hand and started swinging it.

“Let’s go, let’s go! I wanna race home!”

“You always wanna race,” Jiwon muttered.

“You’re just mad ‘cause you always lose.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.”

Jiwon groaned, and Hyunseo giggled while Yujin grinned triumphantly, taking off ahead of them.

The moment passed—swept away in the laughter and leaves.

Behind the girls, Youngseok picked up his axe. He wrapped it carefully in its cloth before following, his face stoic.

—

Jiwon never forgot what she saw. 

Neither did Hyunseo, apparently.

And thirteen years later—while the capital burned, while their father and Yujin were nowhere to be found—when Hyunseo whispered in the dead of morning about ominous reflections (visions?), Jiwon finally understood what that memory meant.

Youngseok was afraid of magic. But it wasn’t because he didn’t understand it.

He was afraid because he had it.

And if he had it…

Then maybe Jiwon’s own water magic wasn’t just a fluke.

Maybe Hyunseo wasn’t just imagining things.

Maybe Yujin wasn’t as powerless as she believed.

___________

Darkness pressed in, heavy and suffocating.

Yujin tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. A crushing weight pinned her down—pain threading through every inch of her body. Searing hot. Then cold. Then nothing.

She gasped, but no air came. Smoke filled her lungs—thick and cloying. It wasn’t like ordinary smoke. It moved inside her, like it was searching.

The world spun sideways, shadow and light bleeding into one another in a powerful dance she couldn’t recognize, but distantly felt its significance.

Her surroundings blurred into motionless chaos—figures flickering in and out of focus.

Twisted silhouettes. Limbs where there shouldn’t be limbs. Faces that dissolved when she looked directly at them.

And voices. So many voices.

Not loud, but present enough that she noticed them. Whispering in a language she didn’t understand—yet still understood. It didn’t make sense, but one of the voices sounded like her own.

Stay down.

You can rest.

You were never enough.

You were always meant to break.

Something sharp ripped through her chest—phantom or real, she couldn’t tell. Agony licked through her veins, burrowed into her bones, coiling tight beneath her skin. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died in her throat.

The pressure built—deeper, darker, a pulse in her ribcage that wasn’t hers.

And then a hand.

It wasn’t holding her gently. It was gripping viciously. At her throat.

Next came a voice, low and newly familiar.

“You should have stayed down.”

Yujin choked, her vision swimming. The pain swelled, coiling tighter, suffocating—

Then it was gone.

—

She gasped awake.

Air rushed in as if she had surfaced from drowning. Her body convulsed, lungs struggling to remember how to breathe.

The pain was gone.

Or—muted.

Still there, humming beneath the surface like an echo. Her limbs twitched involuntarily, reacting to injuries that no longer—or never?—existed.

Cold earth pressed into her palms. Dew dampened her fingers.

She blinked up at the sky.

Pale blue and streaked with subtle reds and oranges.

Dawn.

Slowly and shakily, she sat up. She panted unsteadily, muscles sore as if she’d been exerting herself for hours. Her hands shook as they roamed her arms, her torso—searching for wounds.

There were none.

No cuts. No bruises.

But she had felt it. She knew she had.

Her head spun, thoughts entangled. The dream—or whatever it had been—slipped away like smoke through her fingers. She tried to hold onto it, but every detail unraveled, frayed and fragile.

Only the ache remained.

Then, she noticed something in her peripheral vision.

The carriage.

Yujin turned, instinct overriding confusion. She barely registered the damage—the splintered wood, the broken axle, the jagged tear in the curtain.

Through it, a boot jutted out.

Dad!

She was on her feet before she could think. Her body moved on instinct, like it knew time was still precious.

She scrambled to the side, gripped the frame, and athletically hauled herself up into the carriage.

He was lying motionless on the floor.

Unconscious. His body was slumped awkwardly, but his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

Yujin’s breath shuddered in relief. A small part of her wanted to scream at the insane situation she found herself in, but she held it down. She had at least one reason to be thankful.

Her father was alive.

That was all that mattered.

Yujin was thankful that she had grown to be her father’s height; it wasn’t much for her to lift his body and place him back onto the cot. If she pretended, she could almost believe he was just asleep.

But she knew better than to delude herself.

She had no time to dwell on what she had seen—or what happened to her. She couldn’t afford it.

Climbing out of the carriage, Yujin turned toward the horses.

Only one remained standing. It shifted anxiously, ears twitching, the reins pulled taut and digging into its sides.

The other horse—

A large, dark-coated draft breed—lay dead beside the wreck.

Yujin swallowed hard. She didn’t have time to grieve it.

She crouched beside the carcass, eyes scanning what she could use. The harness was still intact. The leather was thick—worn and smooth where it connected to the carriage. She grabbed the straps and yanked them free of the fittings with effort, bracing one boot against the frame for leverage.

Then she reached for the bit.

Her stomach turned, but her hands didn’t hesitate. She pried the metal mouthpiece from the horse’s slack jaw, wiping it off on her sleeve. She didn’t know if it would work—but she had no other options.

Before anything else, she had to clear the road.

Yujin moved to the rear of the horse’s body and crouched again, grabbing the loosened harness straps for better grip. The weight was immense—easily over six hundred kilos—but she didn’t let herself hesitate. She dug in her heels, muscles straining, and pulled.

At first, nothing.

Then, inch by inch, the body began to shift—heavy and slow, the earth resisting her with every drag. Her arms shook. Her back screamed. But she didn’t stop.

She pulled until the horse’s body was several feet from the wreckage, just far enough to give the carriage clearance.

Only then did she stagger back, chest heaving, fingers still curled tight from the strain.

The carriage axle had splintered in the crash. Not fully broken, but a sizable crack intersected the wood’s grain.

She knelt beneath it, wedging the cold iron bit into place as reinforcement. Then she fastened it with the leather straps, looping them tightly around the joint to brace the structure.

It wasn’t elegant or permanent. But it would be enough, she hoped.

She rose to her feet, wavering slightly.

Her arms ached. Her chest still burned. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably—but she reached for the reins anyway.

Just one more thing.

She turned to Azzo.

The pigeon flitted in his cage, alert, waiting.

Yujin grabbed the nearest scrap of parchment, scribbled out a hasty message, and tied it to his leg.

“Town hall,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. “Hurry.”

Azzo didn’t need a second cue. He launched into the sky, wings slicing through the dawn.

Yujin exhaled a shaky breath and hauled herself onto the coach seat.

She gave a low click of her tongue, and the remaining horse stepped forward.

The carriage groaned in protest—the temporary brace creaked beneath the strain—but it moved.

The road ahead stretched long, its end still unseen.

Yujin didn’t know what she had survived.

But she wasn’t done yet.

Chapter Text

The church was quiet, save for the hushed murmurs of the healers tending to their patients. Incense burned faintly in the air, barely masking the sterile scent of salves and dried medicinal herbs. Yujin barely registered any of it… 

She had been running on sheer willpower alone, and now that she was back—now that her father was safe—her body screamed for rest.

She stood at the doorway of the private room where Youngseok lay, still as stone beneath the warm glow of lantern light. His breathing was steady, his expression serene, but his complexion was pallid, frame appearing fragile. It didn’t suit him, and she didn’t like seeing him that way.

Father Jeong, an older man with gray hair and kind eyes, stepped beside her. “He’s stable,” he assured her gently. “But we don’t know when he’ll awaken.”

Yujin swallowed hard. A pit formed in her stomach at his words, but she pushed it down. She had done what she could. She had brought him home.

One of the healers, a woman with tired eyes, approached with a careful glance at Yujin’s face. “You should let us look at you,” she offered. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” Yujin insisted, her voice firm but quiet. She bowed respectfully to the woman. “Thank you. I just need sleep.”

The healer hesitated, but Yujin shook her head. “Please save your energy for my father. He needs it more than I do.”

Father Jeong studied her, his gaze lingering on the barely-concealed weariness in her eyes. But he didn’t argue. He only placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest, Yujin.”

Yujin nodded, turning to leave, but as she stepped forward, her legs wavered beneath her. A strong hand caught her elbow.

She looked up, eyes hazy with exhaustion, and sagged in relief when she saw the familiar face.

“Shownu oppa…”

His grip was firm and steady. “Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

—

The cool night air was a relief against Yujin’s burning skin. She hadn’t realized how warm the church had been, or maybe it was just her fatigue catching up to her, making her skin flushed. Shownu walked beside her, his pace slow and measured—as if making sure she wouldn’t collapse on him.

For a while, he didn’t speak. Yujin appreciated that, as talking felt like too much effort in the moment.

But then, after they had left the church far enough behind and were away from any listening ears, Shownu finally broke the silence.

“What happened?”

Yujin exhaled through her nose, eyes fixed on the dirt path ahead. “You already know.”

“I know what was in the message,” he corrected. “But I want to hear you recount it, with detail. And I know you’d never tell the full truth in front of Jiwon and Hyunseo.”

She almost smiled. He knew her too well.

She let out a slow breath. “It was an ambush.” The words felt distant, like she was recounting something that had happened to someone else.

“I felt useless. She came out of nowhere—this woman with an awful scar—she killed one of the horses with some kind of magic. Just like that. It was so… brutal.” Yujin cleared her throat before continuing.

“Dad tried to see what was happening, but she struck him down before he even had the chance to fight back.”

Shownu’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“I tried to get to him,” she said quietly, “but something hit me. There was no weapon, no solid form—just force. Like the air itself turned solid. It knocked me clean off the carriage,” Yujin hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t even remember hitting the ground.”

That was the worst part. She hadn’t even seen what happened next, or where the woman disappeared to.

“When I woke up, dawn was breaking. She was gone. The carriage was nearly wrecked, and the dead horse was still attached—I could barely move it, but I had to. Dad was…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know why she left him alive. But—I mean, I’m grateful.”

They walked in silence for a moment, Yujin’s fingers curling into fists. “If I had been stronger—or faster…”

“Stop,” Shownu said gently, but firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Yujin didn’t reply.

She stumbled slightly, her exhaustion catching up to her, and Shownu caught her arm again, steadying her before she could fall. She didn’t protest, just let him hold her up for a moment before regaining her balance.

He didn’t say anything about it. Neither did she.

—

The second Yujin stepped through the door, she barely had time to breathe before she was nearly tackled.

“Yujin unnie!”

Jiwon and Hyunseo rushed to her, grabbing at her arms, her clothes, crowding her in their concern.

“You’re okay—”

“Are you hurt?”

“Unnie, you look awful—”

“Did you eat?”

“I’m fine, guys,” Yujin said, her tone mildly exasperated but soft with fondness.

Hyunseo’s eyes welled up. “You almost weren’t fine.” The shorter girl hugged her tight and buried her face in her shirt.

Yujin faltered.

Jiwon, sometimes hesitant in her displays of affection, reached out and lightly gripped at Yujin’s jacket. She wasn’t really the type to smother with words or touch, but the way she held on—like she was grounding herself—was enough to make Yujin’s throat constrict. She put an arm around each of her dongsaengs and brought them in. The hug was brief, but meaningful. Safe.

Hyunseo pulled away and reached up, brushing Yujin’s messy hair back from her face, her long fingers careful and searching. “You scared us,” she murmured.

Yujin swallowed hard. They had been waiting, worrying, reading that message she’d sent over and over again, clinging to the hope that she would come back with their father soon.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Jiwon shook her head fiercely. “Don’t be—just don’t do that again.”

Yujin didn’t promise anything.

But then, Shownu stepped forward, his presence steady and grounding. “Alright, let her breathe.” His voice was firm but kind. “All of you, sit down.”

The girls hesitated, still lingering around Yujin like fluttering birds, but at Shownu’s gentle insistence, they settled at the table.

He sighed, glancing at them—three girls he had known their whole lives, three girls he had sworn to protect in his own way.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“There are things you need to know. Things your father never told you.”

And just like that, the warmth of home was replaced by something heavier.

Something that would change everything.

__________________

It was late at night, the ornate halls of the palace quiet save for servants here and there completing their nightly tasks. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting long shadows across the room. Wonyoung sat curled in the armchair closest to it, her legs tucked beneath her, a book open in her lap.

Philosophy—dense, something meant to make her think. Something which would typically pull her mind away. But she hadn’t turned the page in a little while.

Her fingers toyed idly with the edges of the cover, her thoughts adrift. She hadn’t conjured a single flame since that day. Not even a flicker. The fire that burned before her had been started by one of the attendants, as all of them had been of late. It was funny how easily the staff adjusted, how they didn’t ask questions. Though she supposed they probably weren’t allowed to.

Footsteps passed in the corridor, followed by hushed voices.

“She hasn’t used it since,” one murmured.

“I know. Not even for a candle.”

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper—“Do you think she’s afraid?”

They must have thought she couldn’t hear. Wonyoung closed her eyes.

There was no surge of anger at their words. Only nausea. A slow, curling sickness in her stomach.

Because they weren’t wrong. She did feel a bit of apprehension at the thought of summoning her flame again. Hell, she nearly scorned the flame that danced in the lantern beside her. 

Her grip tightened around the book, but it wasn’t enough to steady her thoughts. She had never feared her own power before. Fire had always been an extension of her—something effortless, something free.

But now, all she could see was the look on Rei’s face, the moment pain twisted her features, the way her body trembled as Gaeul had poured her own aura into her. She had hurt both of them, not to mention the countless others who suffered from smoke inhalation. 

She pressed her lips together, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

She didn’t want to reject this part of herself. It was hers. It had always been hers. But the weight of it, the destruction it had caused, sat too heavy in her chest.

Beyond the window, the ruins of the Jang annex still scarred the landscape, construction moving slowly. Charred beams. Walls stripped to their foundations, and scaffolding along the exterior palace walls. Proof of what she had done.

Her breath came unsteady. She needed to move. Needed to act.

She couldn’t sit here, drowning in guilt while nothing changed. Her fire was part of her, after all. She would need to use it again. Her mental state would improve with time, she was certain.

But what was uncertain were the whereabouts of that wretched woman. The SSE attacker was still out there. The shadows she used were a clear identifier of her allegiance, the royal guard’s general had determined.

The councilmen and her father were still unconscious. The healers assured that the life forces of the councilmen were intact, but that their mana was weakening the longer they remained in their comatose state; almost as if it were being siphoned away. There were no answers.

And Wonyoung believed it may be time for someone to go and look for them. People always said that she was a star that burned brighter than most; she would use that light to guide her way.

—

Wonyoung had, of course, extensive knowledge of the estate grounds. She knew it like the back of her hand. The Jang annex, despite its current state, was no different. Even with half the structure damaged and restoration moving at a crawl, she knew the pathways which were still intact, the stairwells not yet closed off, the corridors with fewer eyes watching. If she moved now, with the halls nearly empty and the staff winding down for the night, she could slip out unnoticed.

But then what?

The question irritated her. She had the instinct, the need to act, but she hadn’t let herself think past leaving. That night still lingered in flashes behind her eyes—the chaos, the pain, the helplessness of losing control.

Wonyoung clenched her jaw. She didn’t have time for that kind of thinking. Not now.

Her steps were swift but soundless against the stone. The hallway stretched ahead, empty in the dim glow of moonlight. She moved past the first turn, then another. The outer corridors were close now—just a little farther and—

“Where are you going?”

Her breath caught.

At the end of the corridor, silhouetted by the pale moonlight spilling in from a side window, stood Gaeul and Rei. Waiting for her.

Wonyoung forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but her stomach churned as she slowed to a stop.

“I was just—”

“Leaving without us?” Rei’s voice was light, but the look in her eyes was anything but. “Again?”

Wonyoung swallowed, trying to buy time for her to think of the right thing to say.

“Wonyoung-ah,” Gaeul spoke softly, but her words carried weight. “You can’t forget that we’ve known you forever. We knew you were planning something.”

She couldn’t help the frown that formed on her face, feeling silly all of a sudden. She wasn’t sure why she’d even tried; of course they had known.

For a long moment, no one moved. Wonyoung stubbornly held her ground, fingers tightening around her cloak, but the quiet stretched between them, heavy with understanding.

Then Gaeul sighed. “Come back with us.”

Wonyoung wanted to fight it. She wanted to tell them she wasn’t running away, that she wasn’t being reckless—she was doing something. But when she met their eyes, she saw nothing but patience and genuine concern.

And she couldn’t fight that.

The return walk felt longer. Wonyoung hadn’t even made it that far, yet somehow, she felt tired. When they finally reached Gaeul’s quarters, she sat stiffly in the chair closest to the unlit fireplace, unwilling to meet their eyes.

Rei was the first to break the silence. “We need to talk.”

Wonyoung knew this—agreed, even—but words were escaping her. She felt scolded like a child, despite her friends both radiating a calming aura.

“We’re talking about your guilt,” Rei said simply when Wonyoung said nothing. “And how you won’t let yourself stop carrying it.”

Wonyoung inhaled sharply. “I—”

“I made a choice that day,” Rei interrupted, her voice unwavering in her conviction. “I chose to step in. Gaeul unnie chose to help however she could. And you—” She paused, searching Wonyoung’s face. “You chose to step up to her. You were the only one who tried to stop her.”

Wonyoung shut her eyes, jaw tightening.

Gaeul’s voice was gentle but firm. “All three of us made our decisions, Wonyoung-ah. We knew what we were doing.”

“I’d make the same choice again, you know,” Rei added, softer now. “No hesitation.”

Wonyoung’s breath became unsteady. She didn’t want to cry or feel the warmth building behind her eyes. But the weight she had been dragging with her since that night—the suffocating, crushing feeling of responsibility—lifted just a little.

Gaeul nudged her lightly, that sweetheart soft smile playing on her lips. “It’s because you’re our best friend. And that’s what best friends do. We look out for each other.”

Rei huffed, leaning back with a small smile. “Yeah, so don’t try to go places without us.”

A huff of laughter escaped Wonyoung’s lips.

Maybe she wasn’t as alone in this as she thought.

“You’re right,” Wonyoung began, finally cracking a smile. Her companions seemed pleased with her change in attitude. She felt steadier now, like the pressure that had lived beneath her ribs for days had finally begun to lift.

Feeling free and playful, she expertly tossed a few embers towards the fireplace, creating the beginnings of a fire before she spoke again.

“Besides, any plans made without you guys would probably crash and… burn…” The tall girl trailed off and waited for the recognition to flash in their eyes, and while it did, she was met with two equally deadpan expressions. 

“No? Tough crowd.”

____________________

Shownu sat at the head of the solid oak table, unintentionally in Youngseok’s seat. 

He hadn’t meant to, but the weight of what he was about to say must have pulled him there instinctively. He could tell by the way the girls reacted—the way Jiwon’s fingers curled against the table’s surface, the flicker of Hyunseo’s eyes, and how Yujin, despite her exhaustion, paused slightly before getting up while murmuring something about needing coffee.

The house was quiet for a few minutes, save for the soft clunk of the kettle as Yujin set it down on the stove after pouring herself a cup. She didn’t sit. 

Instead, she braced herself against the counter, hands wrapped around the mug, staring into the dark liquid deeply, as though it held answers. Shownu knew that look. She wasn’t just trying to stay awake—she was trying to keep herself from slipping back into the memory of the attack. He’d felt that way before, and a part of him ached that Yujin would know what it was like to have PTSD so young.

He exhaled slowly, fingers steepling together as he tried to decide where to start. There was no easy way to tell them. No way to soften the truth. So he sat there, gathering his words, while the three girls sat opposite him, waiting.

For a brief moment, Shownu felt a surge of frustration. He didn’t want to be put in this position, but his relationship with this family made him the only other person who could tell the girls the truth. 

Still, he couldn’t help but resent his hyung for hiding the truth for so long, and making Shownu also hold his tongue. He’d tried to reason with the older man, get him to come clean, but he was stubborn and adamant about his decision. They were his children, and Shownu was not to interfere. The younger man knew Youngseok’s fear had control over him in ways he couldn’t understand, as he had no children of his own.

He could see that the girls were anxious, and their energy was beginning to transfer to him. 

“We waited for a big storm,” Shownu said at last, his voice quiet but steady—like the words had been weighing on him for years. “The rain was so loud, I could barely hear Youngseok hyung speaking, even indoors. He told me to get you girls and take you to the place he’d prepared.”

He glanced at Yujin and Jiwon. The way they stiffened told him they already suspected this wasn’t just a memory from childhood.

“When I reached your room, your mother was already there. She was holding Hyunseo.” His throat worked around the words. “She was crying.”

He paused. “She was saying something to you—I couldn’t hear it. But when she called me closer, she started showing me how to wear the baby sling properly. So Hyunseo would be secure. She didn’t need to say it outright. I knew then she wasn’t coming with us.”

The weight of that truth settled in the room like fog.

“She was too weak,” he continued. “The mana poisoning had taken too much from her. Still, she held on long enough to say goodbye.”

Jiwon’s breath caught audibly. Shownu had expected it. He had expected all of it.

“I don’t remember,” Jiwon whispered. “Not really.”

“You were only two,” he said gently. “But you still knew something wasn’t right.”

He shut his eyes for a moment. “You asked me why she wasn’t coming. I didn’t know what to say. I stood there too long, trying to find the words. And then you started crying.”

Jiwon looked down, embarrassed by the idea of her younger self breaking down. But Shownu shook his head.

“No one blamed you. Least of all her.”

He inhaled. “I was sixteen. Just a kid. I had Hyunseo strapped to my chest, and two toddlers clinging to my hands, and no idea what I was doing.”

His voice tightened. “I was terrified of being caught. The guards were still patrolling the area, and I kept thinking, ‘If one of them hears us, if they see us…’”

He stopped—and looked directly at Yujin.

“You let go of my hand.”

She didn’t flinch. Just watched him, calm and unblinking.

“You walked straight to your sister,” Shownu said. His voice was softer now. “And wrapped her up in a bear hug. The kind your dad used to give you. You didn’t say anything. But Jiwon stopped crying.”

Jiwon turned toward Yujin, eyes wide. Yujin only winked and took a sip of her coffee.

“That moment was the only reason I didn’t fall apart,” Shownu said. “Because you didn’t.”

Silence again. Until Hyunseo, who’d been quiet the whole time, finally asked, “What happened after?”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face. “We hid in the stables. We waited for your dad.”

He didn’t say how their mother had watched them walk away, knowing it would be the last time. He didn’t say he had turned back once and caught the look in her eyes—a look that still haunted him.

Instead, he let the silence speak.

“The rain had turned the ground to mud,” he said at last. “The horses were restless from the thunder. I told you all to stay close, but you didn’t need reminding. You wouldn’t let go of each other.”

His fingers flexed slightly on the table. “I brought you up to the loft above the stalls. I remember undoing the sling and realizing my hands were shaking too hard to think straight. I thought I’d drop Hyunseo. But Yujin reached out before I could even ask. Four years old. Soaked through. And you held your baby sister like you’d done it a hundred times before.”

Yujin tilted her head, as if trying to recall it. Hyunseo’s lips parted in surprise.

“I remember the hay sticking to everything,” he murmured. “You sat there with Hyunseo in your lap, and Jiwon curled up beside you. I told you to stay quiet no matter what.”

He paused, then added, “And then the guards showed up.”

Jiwon inhaled sharply.

“They were sweeping the area. One wrong move, and it would’ve been over. I climbed back down, intercepted them before they got too close. Told them I’d been ordered to stay with the horses during storms—that it helped keep them calm.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “One of them didn’t buy it. Kept looking around like he knew something was off. My only hope was that he’d rather be dry than right.”

“They left,” he continued, “but not before warning they’d return. I knew we were on borrowed time. And if Youngseok hyung didn’t show up…”

He tapped his knuckles against the table, once. Then looked directly at Yujin.

“There’s one more thing.”

She met his eyes.

“I never heard what your mother said to you,” he said. “But I think… you did.”

At first, it was just a flicker. A whisper lost beneath the downpour, buried under years of silence. But as Shownu spoke, the memory unraveled, delicate as a thread pulled from an old tapestry.

She saw herself—

—Small, with fists clenched tight. The fabric of her mother’s nightgown was soft beneath her fingers as she gripped it, refusing to let go. She hadn’t understood, not fully. But she knew even then that something was wrong.

Her mother knelt before her, weak but steady, her fingers tracing Yujin’s face as if memorizing the shape of her.

“Magic doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” she had whispered, her breath warm despite the chill in the room.

Yujin’s throat tightened.

“If you should be blessed by it, promise me to always use it to protect yourself and your sisters.”

Her mother’s hand had been so warm on her cheek. Warmer than it should have been. Her sickness had ensured that she withered away slowly, like the last flicker of a candle before the flame gave out.

“I love you so much, Yujinie. My sweet Popo.”

Popo…

The nickname settled over her like a phantom embrace, gentle yet it was crushing. She had forgotten. She thought that maybe she had forced herself to, in order to cope with the trauma of it all.

A breath shuddered through her, and in an instant, the room around her felt… brighter. Not by much. Just a margin. A subtle glow against the edges of the candlelight. It flickered, unnoticed, as her pulse thrummed in her ears.

The words her mother had left her with, the last thing she had ever said… had been about magic. 

The very thing Yujin had spent her whole life avoiding—or rather—being forced to avoid.

But why would she say that?

Something deep inside her cracked, like ice under pressure.

She didn’t notice the way the light hit her fingers differently. Nor did she see the faint shimmer that traced the outline of her wrist before fading into nothing.

Shownu did.

He narrowed his eyes, though he didn’t speak. Was it a trick of the lantern light?

Yujin sat there, staring at nothing, as something long buried inside her finally stirred.

The eldest daughter seemed lost in her mind and in no hurry to return. Jiwon sat anxiously, trying not to chew on her cuticles, but failing. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, unaware that her nervousness was passively lowering the temperature in the small kitchen.

“Oppa, are you thirsty?” Hyunseo asked, ever thoughtful and doting of her elders. She stood without waiting for an answer and grabbed four cups and began filling them from the reserve.

Dutifully, she placed a cup in front of each person and retook her seat, taking a small sip as she waited for Shownu to continue.

Hyunseo admittedly wanted to check the reflection of the water, but at the same time was afraid of what she might see. 

So she held her cup near her lips, elbows resting on the table. It kept the surface out of sight—just far enough that she couldn’t see whatever might be waiting there.

The girl only wanted to focus on what Shownu was trying to tell them, not on what her mind wanted to show her.

“What happened after that? Did dad ever meet us at the stables?” Jiwon asked with mild impatience. Waiting for Shownu to finish the story was getting to her. She could tell that he hadn’t even dropped the bomb yet; while he hadn’t said it was anything bad, the blonde still felt a sense of foreboding.

It was as if Jiwon's question brought him back from the depths of his mind; what he had seen moments ago had already faded from the forefront.

“Yes, your father did eventually make it,” Shownu said, tracing the rim of his wooden cup. “I woke up because I saw light coming in. That’s how I knew hyung was there. I don’t even remember falling asleep—but we all did, despite the cold.”

He frowned, remembering the discomfort of wet clothes and straw clinging to his skin. Shownu had always been empathetic. Even then, he had felt for the girls—so young, so unaware their entire lives had just changed.

“This next part,” he began, making intentional eye contact with each of them, “might change how you see things. But I hope you won’t hold it against your father. Or me. We were in an impossible position.”

“Please don’t draw it out, oppa. We need to know,” Yujin said, finally breaking from her silence. Her coffee was long gone, and while she still desperately needed rest, any more caffeine would make the tremor in her hands impossible to hide.

Shownu ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

“I woke you all and said it was time. So we made our way down—back into the rain.”

His voice dropped.

“Your father was pulling the carriage himself. A massive one. Built for two draft horses. And he was dragging it like it weighed nothing.”

Jiwon’s brows furrowed. “How?”

“Magic,” Shownu said simply.

Disbelief flickered across their faces, but he didn’t pause. “He was using it to mask the carriage—and us. The whole thing was glowing, wrapped in this pale gray light. His aura. It covered the wood, the wheels, even the tracks in the mud. If anyone had been watching… they wouldn’t have seen anything at all.”

He paused. “But magic like that… it takes a toll.”

The image had never left him: Youngseok soaked to the bone, his shoulders shaking with effort, deep grooves in the mud behind him.

“When we reached him, he was already moving. Already hitching the horses. He didn’t even look at me when I called out.”

Shownu exhaled. “He just said, ‘Get inside. Now.’ Like we were out of time.”

“I’d never seen him like that before. He wasn’t careful. Not calculated. He was desperate. Terrified.”

And that was when Shownu had realized: whatever they were running from—it was something even Youngseok feared.

“I didn’t ask questions. I just got you inside.”

“Dad… he does have magic…” Jiwon’s voice was tight, clipped. The disbelief on her face warred with the truths she couldn’t unhear.

“So what were we running from?” she demanded, standing abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Where? Why? If he could do all that—then why was he scared?” Her voice rose, each question sharper than the last. “And why did I have to feel like a magical outlier my whole life?”

“Your magic isn’t a fluke, Jiwon-ah,” Yujin cut in, trying to slow her down before she spiraled further.

But Jiwon barely heard her. She turned, eyes flashing—not at Yujin, but at the weight of everything crashing down. “I knew he was lying! That day in the forest, when he showed us how to chop trees—the axe was glowing. Didn’t you see it?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. “He always told us there was nothing special about us. That magic wasn’t something we needed. But look at this!”

The water in her cup was trembling.

No—not trembling.

Rising.

“Unnie—the water—” Hyunseo warned, but Jiwon was already slipping.

“None of this makes sense! He tried to raise us without magic, but he had so much of it! Why? Why am I able to do this—?”

The water lifted higher, spiraling upward, tugging droplets from every cup on the table. Jiwon’s breath hitched. Her hands were raised, fingers curled, strands of her hair floating from the charge in the air.

And this time—she didn’t stop it.

With a sharp exhale, she gathered the liquid into a single, undulating sphere. Then, lowering it toward the table, she flattened it outward, stretching it to the edges, the surface rippling—but never spilling.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she turned her palm over.

The water stilled. A crackling sound filled the space. And in the next instant, it solidified—into a flawless sheet of ice, smooth as glass.

Its surface shone, reflecting the light like a mirror.

Silence fell.

Hyunseo gasped. She couldn’t look away. Something about the ice pulled at her. Called to her.

“What’s going on? You okay?” Yujin asked, placing a steady hand on Hyunseo’s back.

The youngest let out a quiet hum, brow furrowed. “Unnie, I’ve been seeing things in reflections… I—I don’t know what they mean, but I’m sure now.” Her voice trembled. “I’m sure that it’s magic.”

Yujin stiffened. Her gaze darted from the ice to Hyunseo. “What do you see, aegi?” she asked gently. “What have you seen?”

But Hyunseo didn’t answer.

Her breath was shallow. She remembered the face—the woman she’d seen before. And now, even here, she saw wisps of smoke curling through the reflection. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see that face again.

Then—

Shownu let out a long, heavy sigh.

It broke the trance.

Yujin called softly to Jiwon, who took a deep breath, grounding herself. She nodded at her older sister as if to say I’m okay now.

Still, Jiwon turned to Shownu, urgency in her voice. “Well? What were we running from?” The girl had retaken her seat, but the tension hadn’t left her body.

Shownu hesitated. His jaw clenched, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at them—measuring the weight of the truth against the burdens they already carried.

Yujin felt it before he spoke.

She had always suspected something. Felt it in her bones. Her memories had never aligned perfectly with her father’s stories. Part of her had hoped she was wrong. But the hope had already started to crumble.

“We weren’t just running,” Shownu finally said. His voice was heavy with regret, and guilt. “We were fleeing.”

Yujin’s stomach turned. The feeling she’d carried all her life—that she was meant for something more—was no longer just a whisper.

It was a fact.

It was fate.

She’d been four years old at the time, but the memories were still there—shadows of another life, another place. Now, the memories didn’t feel distant anymore. They felt real.

Before anyone could speak, Shownu pressed on. He had to finish this—had to say it while he still could.

“I don’t know everything,” he admitted, his expression tightening. “But I know this.”

He exhaled.

“You’re from the capital—Seoul.”

His voice was steady, but the words shook the room.

“Your father discovered something he wasn’t supposed to. Something dangerous. And it put all of us at risk. We had no choice but to run—to flee as far as we could. That’s how we ended up here.”

He let that settle for a beat.

“Technically, you have noble blood. But that was never something we could say out loud. The royal guard’s reach stretches far beyond the capital. And the SSE… they were making it worse. Turning non-mages against nobles. It wasn’t safe to have magic. It wasn’t safe to be you.”

His jaw tightened. The weight of it pressed into the space between them.

“That was something your father would never allow.”

No one spoke. And what could they say?

Their lives hadn’t just been shaped by lies. They’d been built on a truth too dangerous to face.

Yujin swallowed. Slowly, her hands curled into fists against the table.

“So the ambush yesterday…” she said quietly. “It wasn’t random. Someone was targeting us.”

Chapter Text

The Seoul Shadow Enclave earned its name when rogue mages, consumed by hatred, became one with the shadows of dark magic. They did not wear uniforms—each bore a mark of shadow on their flesh. This was a sacrifice required to wield the dark mana that coursed through their bodies.

Among them, Sojang was a name whispered in fear. Only the most unfortunate crossed her path, and those who did rarely lived to tell the tale. Unlike others who lurked in secrecy, she embraced notoriety, her belligerence matched only by her confidence in her abilities. With her mastery of dark magic, she could vanish into the shadows at will and curse her victims with parasitic afflictions.

The SSE’s followers were not all cursed by the shadow itself, but their loyalty to the cause made them just as dangerous. Their numbers may have been few, but there was a reason the name SSE was known throughout the kingdom; their reach spread far, and their ruthlessness knew no bounds.

However, the Shadow users moved like a hive mind, bound by the darkness itself. A disembodied voice guided them, leading them toward their next prey—those with high concentrations of mana. Those of noble blood.

—

Shadows pooled at Sojang’s feet, slithering irregularly as though alive. They curled toward her as she stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The cavernous space hummed with dark mana, the air thick with the presence of her kind. Three figures waited before her.

Seungri, draped lazily against a stone pillar, was the first to acknowledge her. His closed-lipped smile was manic, almost hungry. “Took your time,” he drawled, tapping the sharp end of a blade against his palm. “I was starting to think we’d have to start without you.”

Sojang didn’t bother responding. The idiot thrived on provocation.

Harin, perched neatly atop a worn wooden crate, didn’t look up from the parchment spread across her lap. “She isn’t late. You’re simply impatient,” she said, tone light but laced with something sharp. “Though I suppose I would be too, if I had your… habits.”

Seungri’s menacing smile widened, but it was Taeil who spoke next. “Enough,” he said, his voice low, resonant. He was perched near the back, where the shadows were deepest. They clung to him like a second skin, flickering unnaturally even in the still air. “We have a new target.”

Harin finally looked up, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “And,” she added, “a problem.”

Sojang didn’t react immediately, only tilting her head, waiting.

“There’s someone interfering with our mana farming,” Harin continued, tapping a slender finger against the parchment. “Someone with just enough foresight to keep out of our reach. Whoever they are, they know how to stay hidden. It’s becoming quite the nuisance.”

The darkness pulsed around them, responding to the weight of their malice. Sojang smirked, but it was not a kind nor attractive expression. “Then we’ll just have to make sure our next move is unforgettable.”

___________________

Afternoon sunlight gently filtered through the open window, navy blue sheer drapes fluttering slightly as the breeze made its way in. A rock dove was perched on the stone sill, its head turning this way and that.

The girl who sat cross-legged in the center of the room cracked open one eye. She recognized this bird as one that often got into quarrels and often came to her window for relief. The bird probably wasn’t aware of why it sought out this window, but that was her aura at work.

Gaeul spent a lot of time meditating. Many knew her to be genuine and serene in nature. Her aura was calming, but only few knew that even her passive healing abilities could tire her out if she wasn’t careful with how she chose to disperse her energy. 

Meditation was the best way for her to calm her own body and mind. It was a figurative and literal approach to rejuvenation.

While Rei and Wonyoung had magic that was more tangible and physical, Gaeul’s magic truly relied heavily on the stability of her mental state.

This wasn’t to say that she didn’t train her body—quite the opposite, really. She had a graceful air about her, and moved lightly but with purpose; each move she made was almost like a perfectly choreographed dance. All of the heirs knew basic self defense, and Gaeul was no different.

Her two younger friends—ever since she could remember—would leave to go to training, and Gaeul would go to her “thinking place” as she’d called it when she was a child.

The room wasn’t overly large or ornate, nor was it heavily decorated. There was a soft mat in the center of the room, and the walls were a soft sand color rather than the usual gray of the remainder of the palace. It was peaceful. The drapery was made from imported materials, though it didn’t matter much to her.

She had candles in the corners of the room, away from where the drapes blew from the wind, and away from her, so the aromas wouldn’t distract her from achieving her zenith meditative state.

But even as she breathed in deeply, she couldn’t deny that lately she had been sensing a strange, quiet disturbance. She likened it to ripples on still water. It wasn’t quite enough to rattle her, but it was there—an almost imperceptible change in the air, like the faintest tremor before a quake.

She exhaled slowly, acknowledging it but not allowing it to break her focus. Whatever it was, she knew she would face it when the time came.

The room, her thinking place, was where she was when her two best friends entered—slowly, thankfully. Too many times had her peace been nearly violently shattered. When her peace is broken, it can affect her focus, making her skills slightly off during times when she needs precision.

One last deep breath. 

In… and out…

Honey brown eyes opened slowly, blinking owlishly at the two new arrivals.

“Hey. You two are finally up,” the older of the three greeted, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

The two younger girls had an air of something similar to excitement surrounding them, though their energy had yet to reach her, as she slowly stretched her arms above her head, listening for the gentle pop.

Mind at ease and her session over for the time being, Gaeul stood and walked over to the low bench near the door where her friends were waiting for her.

“Unnie, we had an idea for how to figure out our next steps! Also, good morning,” Rei exclaimed, bouncing on her toes.

Gaeul blinked, taking in the way Rei practically vibrated with excitement. Beside her, Wonyoung looked just as eager, though in a more contained way—her hands were clasped behind her back, but there was a spark in her eyes.

“Good morning?” Gaeul echoed, her head returning to its upright position. “It’s well past noon.”

Rei laughed. “Details, unnie.”

Wonyoung stepped forward, her voice carrying a hint of urgency beneath her usual grace. “We were thinking—it might be possible to track Sojang if we use seeking magic. The council’s seekers lost her after the attack, but if we ask them, they might be able to find her last known location.” The fire prodigy had a look of disgust as she said the SSE member’s name, as if the name itself carried its own bitter taste.

Gaeul studied them both for a moment before exhaling softly. So that was the source of their excitement—an idea that would set their next course of action into motion.

She wasn’t against it. As long as they weren’t stepping into danger blindly, she would support them. She, too, wanted to do something to help the councilmen and put an end to the problem the SSE had become—by any means necessary.

Once the three left Gaeul’s thinking place, they made their way through the palace corridors to a common lounge nestled between the annexes. The scent of freshly cleaned fabric and polish lingered in the air as staff worked diligently, shaking out the long rugs that lined the halls and scrubbing soot from the walls—lingering remnants of the attack on the capital.

They settled onto a set of cushioned seats, and before long, one of Rei’s servants, a young boy, approached them with a polite bow. “Would you like lunch brought here, my ladies?”

They agreed, and not long after, the trio found themselves enjoying neatly prepared sandwiches while Wonyoung focused on drafting a letter requesting an audience with the royal seekers.

The seekers operated under the council’s employment, guarded by the royal security, yet their allegiance was not entirely bound to the court. They decided for themselves whom they would see and whom they would deny. While Gaeul and Rei offered occasional input, they ultimately let Wonyoung craft the message, trusting her precision with words.

Around them, the palace staff moved with well-practiced efficiency, dusting, sweeping, setting things in order. It was a familiar rhythm, one that should have felt normal. But something felt different.

Gaeul noticed it in the way the servants’ gazes lingered a beat too long on Wonyoung, in the way their expressions didn’t quite hold the same quiet reverence as before.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, tuning in to a hushed conversation just within earshot.

”—Well, you can’t deny she was the only one who encountered her. She’s the strongest, so how did Sojang get away?”

The speaker was a young woman—kitchen staff, judging by the apron she wore. She was older than Gaeul but not yet senior, the red fabric with white accents marking her lower rank.

A sharper voice cut through the whisper. “Hush. You speak out of turn. And you misjudge Lady Wonyoung’s character. What do you know of Sojang’s power? Focus on your work; the heirs can hear you.”

Gaeul recognized the speaker instantly—Soyou, one of the senior staff, whose white apron signified her authority. She was a woman of sharp words and serious demeanor, yet those who earned her favor knew the warmth hidden beneath. Tough love had always been her way.

Still, Gaeul was surprised. The name Sojang had already spread among the staff? She knew Wonyoung had not spoken it aloud, and even in her unconscious state, the girl had never once uttered it. That meant someone—likely the guards—had already begun whispering about Wonyoung’s encounter with the rogue mage.

A small part of her ached at the thought of how Wonyoung must feel.

At the very least, she wasn’t without defenders.

Gaeul glanced at Soyou, relieved that someone outside their small circle was willing to speak up for Wonyoung. She had known the woman since childhood—Soyou had worked in the palace longer than she could remember. The woman had always had a soft spot for her and Wonyoung, as they were never troublemakers like Rei had been in her younger years.

Rei had since redeemed herself in Soyou’s eyes as she matured over time. The proof lay in the extra strawberries that always seemed to find their way into her meals.

Gaeul shook the conversation off, deciding against telling Wonyoung about it. The younger girl didn’t need to shoulder any more burdens—especially not ones born from petty gossip.

It was then that Wonyoung set her quill down, her face composed, posture steady as always.

“It’s done.”

Popping a strawberry into her mouth, Rei sprang out of her seat with renewed energy.

“Let’s not waste time, then, shall we?”

Wonyoung chuckled at her friend’s enthusiasm but gave a small nod. She rolled up the scroll, attached a seal, and carefully placed it into the side pouch of her satchel before rising to join her.

From her seat, Gaeul glanced up at the two, feeling every bit as short as she always did beside her vertically-blessed best friends. With a quiet sigh, she gathered the remnants of their lunch, tidied the space, and rose to her feet—ready for the next step in their fledgling journey.

—

The walk to the tower was silent, each footfall swallowed by the grass that grew thicker the closer they came. It was oddly unkempt for palace grounds—long blades curling against their boots, with sprigs of wildflowers peeking through in irregular patches. Here, nature didn’t follow the rules of the royal gardeners. Here, it lived as it pleased.

Surrounding the path were trees that didn’t match the rest of the capital—tall, contorted things with twisted trunks and branches that stretched across the sky like reaching limbs. The bark on some was silvery and smooth, while others bore knotted surfaces, almost like faces caught mid-scream. They bent and leaned unnaturally, forming an archway that filtered the late afternoon sun into a murky green hue.

Gaeul slowed as she looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “These trees… I’ve never seen anything like them. Not even in the palace gardens.”

“They’re not from anywhere else,” Wonyoung murmured. “They’re from here.”

Above them, the croaks of ravens and crows echoed through the air. Black shapes lined the twisting branches, staring with glinting eyes. Dozens of them, unmoving. Watching. Yet despite their presence, no true menace hung in the air—only a strange, unnerving calm, as though the birds were simply curious… or waiting.

The tower emerged between the trees like a monolith, carved from dark stone, smooth and silent. No windows, no carvings. Just an unbroken wall that stretched skyward, impossibly tall and solemn. The structure gave no sign of life. No guards. No doors.

And yet, the moment the girls reached its base, three royal guards stationed nearby bowed without word or question, as though they had been expecting them.

Wonyoung stepped forward without hesitation. She stood before the tower’s wall, its surface cool and unyielding beneath her gaze, and bowed low. Rei and Gaeul followed suit, their movements synchronized by instinct rather than rehearsal.

“Greetings, great Seekers,” Wonyoung said clearly. “We have a letter requesting your audience, if you will have us.”

For a breath, there was nothing. Then, silently, as if reacting to the recognition of her voice, the stone rippled.

A slot appeared.

It was thin and square, like a parcel box embedded in the wall—though no seam had been visible before. Wonyoung reached into her satchel, retrieving the scroll with delicate fingers, and slid it into the opening.

Before her hand could fully retreat, the scroll was yanked from her grasp by an unseen force.

Wonyoung gasped and stepped back, instinctively brushing her fingers.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. The wind picked up faintly, carrying with it the rustle of feathers from the trees.

Rei began to open her mouth to complain that they had been rejected—but just as she did, a second ripple distorted the tower’s surface.

This time, a door appeared. It was no more than four feet tall, its outline forming with a clean seam of stone where there had been nothing before. The material shimmered faintly, as though struggling to hold its shape.

“…That’s the door?” Rei asked flatly.

Gaeul shrugged. “Better crouch.”

One by one, the girls ducked into the narrow passage and stepped into the darkness beyond.

Inside, the air was heavy—thick with magic, memory, and the weight of time itself. Cool stone pressed in from all sides, the walls glowing softly with veins of mana that pulsed like distant lightning behind clouds. It was silent, save for the hush of their breath.

The floor was covered in straw, and the upper walls were dusty, like they hadn’t been touched in years. There was an unnatural glow that emanated from sconces on the walls, one that took the place of flame. 

Despite the light, the room was still dim. The room they stood in seemed too small for the looming size of the tower. Gaeul looked around in confusion, thinking that there must be more to the tower’s layout. 

Then, without warning, the air in front of them shimmered and began to warp.

From the darkness ahead, light began to swirl—shimmering streams of magic collecting like stardust until they formed the shapes of three young women, each standing just above the ground. Their forms were translucent, glowing with soft, luminous auras that painted the chamber in waves of color.

The first figure stood at the center, arms crossed, radiating calm strength. Her glow was a pale violet, steady and still. Though her face was youthful, her presence felt like it belonged to an older soul.

The second projection to her right bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, flickering with yellow light like fireflies. Her grin was crooked, her eyes bright with mischief.

The third leaned forward slightly, hands clasped, orange aura curling around her like candlelight. There was a gentleness to her projection—dreamy and warm, but tinged with quiet curiosity.

“Welcome,” said the violet one, her voice clear and resonant, echoing softly around the chamber.

“Please tell me you brought snacks,” the yellow one whined, tilting her head with hopeful eyes.

The orange one let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yena unnie. Not now. I can’t believe you ruined our entrance again.”

The violet woman turned toward the other two, glaring in a way that had them both snapping back into poise.

“Sorry, Eunbi unnie.” Their tones were well-scolded and apologetic. 

“We’ve read your request,” Eunbi continued, refocusing on the trio. “But we have questions before we choose to assist you. Seeking what you seek is no small thing.”

The three girls nodded, unsure of what to expect—but Wonyoung stepped forward with graceful confidence despite the slight tremor in her hands.

“We understand. Please ask what you must,” she said. Her voice didn’t waver.

The seekers exchanged a look—brief, wordless, but full of meaning.

Then Eunbi, the violet projection, gestured. The air shimmered again as the walls around them began to shift. Symbols carved into the stone flickered to life, and the floor beneath their feet seemed to dissolve into a swirling void, though they remained grounded.

“This tower sees through masks,” she said simply. “So let’s begin with this: what drives you?”

One by one, the girls felt the pull of something stirring deep inside them. Memories rose to the surface, eliciting emotions they hadn’t touched in a while. And it became clear: this was not a simple test of words.

It was a test of truth.

“The tower sees through masks,” The third—still nameless—figure spoke this time, repeating Eunbi’s earlier words, her orange spectral form facing each of the girls as if probing their thoughts. 

“It will show your intentions to us, and you won’t have to say a word, because your heart’s truth will be spoken.”

“Not everything is a matter of the heart, Yuri-ya,” Yena rolled her eyes at the third girl—Yuri—and turned to the girls waiting anxiously. “But let’s see what you’ve got to hide!”

Yena’s words echoed in the stillness, and then the chamber responded.

One by one, the girls felt something stir beneath their ribs—like a thread being tugged loose. Not painful, but unsettling. Then, visions began to flicker in the space around them.

From the swirling air rose echoes of memory…

Wonyoung, standing in the battered hall outside the council chamber, her hair flowing behind her and eyes flashing righteously as she tried her hardest to stop Sojang.

Rei, nullifying and absorbing the powerful flames, protecting as many people as she could during the SSE’s ambush, magic flowing into her through her palms.

Gaeul, not standing idly by and watching things unfold during the chaos, stopping those who were injured and providing first aid before choosing to follow her friends into the unknown.

These were not rehearsed words or diplomatic appeals. They were glimpses of who the girls truly were—fear, strength, conviction, and all.

When the visions faded, the Seers remained quiet for a long beat. Then Eunbi gave a slow, approving nod.

“Pure of heart,” she said.

“With a noble cause,” Yuri added, her voice soft but sincere.

“Boring~,” Yena drawled, arms behind her head as she floated upside down. 

Yuri cut in. “Where’s the drama? At least one of you must have had a scandalous romance, right?”

Wonyoung blinked. “…No?”

Yena groaned. “Ugh. What a waste of a vision test.”

Rei stared at her, unblinking. “Are you seriously disappointed we’re not emotionally or morally compromised?”

“Of course I am,” Yena replied with a dramatic eye roll. “That’s where all the good character development comes from.”

Yuri ignored her, eyes fixed curiously on Wonyoung. She floated a little closer, tilting her head. “But you… burn brightly. Like there’s fire sleeping just beneath the surface, and I’m not talking about your magic. I wonder…”

Wonyoung stiffened slightly. “What do you wonder?”

“Oh nothing much,” Yuri replied airily. “I just see the red threads of fate. And your red threads are connected to someone else’s.”

Wonyoung felt an unfamiliar heat creeping up her neck. “What?”

Yuri just smiled knowingly with her hands behind her back, orange light flickering playfully like a candle in the dimness. “Oh, nothing.”

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes. “No, not nothing. What does that mean?”

Yuri’s lips widened to a grin. She was teasing the taller girl. “I just told you. Your red threads are connected to someone else’s.”

Rei looked between them, intrigued. “Wait, so—like, romantically?”

Yena snickered. “Oh, definitely romantically.”

Wonyoung’s ears burned instantly. “That’s preposterous. I don’t even have time for romance.”

“Is it?” Yuri hummed, spinning in the air, her glowing form shifting as if made of embers caught in a breeze. “The threads don’t lie. They weave, tangle, and rarely—break… but they never appear without reason.”

Wonyoung scoffed, but the heat she felt told her that the color of her ears betrayed her. She could feel the others looking at her now—Gaeul with curiosity, Rei with a knowing smirk that made Wonyoung want to shove her (gently, but still).

“I don’t have a red thread,” she argued, folding her arms.

“Oh, you do.” Yuri’s voice was smug. “And it’s connected to someone else’s. Quite stubbornly, I might add.”

Yena let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my gods, is this a fated connection situation? Are we about to witness destiny unfold in real time? This is so much better than the boring noble cause thing.”

“Why are you acting like this is entertainment?” Wonyoung snapped.

“Because it is,” Yena and Yuri said at the same time.

Rei was definitely smiling now. “So, Wonyoung-ah, what do you think he or she looks like?”

Wonyoung didn’t have any relationship experience, but the kingdom as a whole was accepting of relationships—regardless of how they presented themselves. She didn’t know if she preferred men or women, but that didn’t matter. She had been too focused on other things… outwardly.

“I don’t know,” Wonyoung answered a bit too quickly for it to be believable. Surely she had an ideal type?

Yuri just hummed in amusement, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. I can’t see faces, but… they’re tall, like you. There’s a quiet strength to them. I saw a glimpse of broad shoulders—like someone who carries a lot, even if they never say it. They’re careful with their heart, but when they choose to care… they’ll move mountains for the people they love.”

Wonyoung looked down before she could stop herself, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her ears were already warm, but now her heart felt like it had skipped a beat.

It wasn’t just flattering—it was comforting. Familiar, even if it didn’t make sense to her.

She didn’t understand yet why the thought made her feel like smiling. Or why her fingers suddenly longed for something to fidget with. Or why, deep down, it felt like something had quietly clicked into place.

Is it true?

And if it was, why did the idea of someone like that—someone she hadn’t even met—make her feel… seen? Seen differently than how she was usually seen as Jang Wonyoung—like maybe she could just be Wonyoung to someone other than her best friends.

Before she could dwell on it, Eunbi straightened, her gaze shifting. “Enough teasing, you two. We’ve seen enough.”

Yuri and Yena pouted dramatically, but they relented.

The three projections turned to each other suddenly, as if carrying out a silent conversation.

Eunbi’s violet-tinged form raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “Are you sure? There’s no going back if we do this.”

Yena, glowing in flickering yellow, poked her lips out in an exaggerated pout, looking at Yuri expectantly.

Yuri crossed her arms and met Yena’s gaze with an unimpressed stare. Five long seconds passed before her shoulders slumped, throwing her orange-glowing limbs into the air in a gesture of surrender. “Fine! Let’s do it.”

Rei hesitated, raising a finger. “I’m sorry—do what?”

Before anyone could demand an explanation, Yena grinned and stuck out her tongue playfully. “You’ll see!”

And with that, the three projections vanished.

The chamber plunged into complete darkness. The faint veins of mana in the stone walls dimmed until the space felt unnervingly empty. A hush fell over them, thick and expectant.

Gaeul shifted uneasily. “What is going on…”

Wonyoung attempted to summon a flame for light, but when she willed the fire forth, all that flickered into existence was a pitiful, matchstick-sized ember hovering above her index finger.

“What the—” she muttered, perplexed, until a disembodied yet familiar voice answered.

“It’s a defense ward. Any magic that can be used to harm is greatly suppressed here.”

Then, a new sound reached them—soft, rhythmic taps, like tiny footsteps against stone. But something was off. The steps were oddly light, almost distant, yet steadily approaching.

Then came the silence. The sort of quiet that pressed in from all sides, heavy with anticipation.

And then—

A small white bunny hopped into the faint glow of Wonyoung’s dying ember.

It moved with purpose, paws landing with soft, deliberate weight. Its fur was pristine, its eyes sharp.

Next, a bright yellow duck waddled in, webbed feet slapping against the stone. Atop its back, nestled comfortably in its downy feathers, was a tiny hamster, its round body twitching with barely contained energy.

The three girls stared.

The bunny stopped in the center of the chamber, its large ears flicking forward. The duck plopped down beside it, tilting its head. The hamster, still perched on the duck’s back, looked them over with what could only be described as amusement.

A beat of stunned silence stretched between them.

“Uh, Eunbi-unnie,” the duck started, its voice clear and casual, “are they broken? I’ve never seen humans look like this before. I don’t even think they’re breathing.”

The words broke the stillness.

Gaeul took an instinctive step back. “You… talked?”

Wonyoung grabbed her arm, wide-eyed. “Unnie, that duck just spoke! Don’t get closer!” Her voice was slightly shrill with her disbelief.

“Ha! I find it annoying when that duck talks, too,” the hamster piped up, laughter somehow evident in its tiny face.

Rei, unfazed, crouched slightly while peering at the bunny. “Can you talk too, little one?”

The rabbit scoffed. “I’m older than you. Call me unnie at least.” One pink-lined ear folded as she appraised Rei with amusement. “And yes, obviously, I can talk. We’ve been speaking this whole time.”

The other two girls were still frozen in disbelief when Eunbi continued, tilting her head. “Why do your friends look so shocked? We live in a kingdom blessed by magic.”

“On that note—” the bunny’s other ear twitched. “Why don’t you seem surprised?”

Rei hummed, finger tapping her chin. “Well, I wasn’t born in Seoul. My family moved here from Nagoya when I was little. There were animals with the gift of speech there, too. I even spoke to a fish once. Though…” She glanced between them, eyes sparkling. “You three are definitely the most adorable.”

The Seers exchanged glances. They agreed without speech that Rei was an adorable human, if they were to describe her.

“How come you’ve never mentioned that before, Rei-ya?” Wonyoung asked, still gripping Gaeul’s arm.

Rei shrugged. “I dunno. I guess it just never came up.”

The duck nodded sagely, an oddly wise gesture given her previous antics. “People don’t believe we’re real. I don’t blame her for keeping quiet, even if she didn’t mean to.”

Rei, now fully at ease, extended her hand, palm open in a silent offer. The duck leaned forward, letting Rei brush her fingers gently over its head. She closed her eyes in contentment—only for it to be short-lived when Yuri abruptly hopped onto Yena’s head, successfully stealing Rei’s attention.

The girl giggled, stroking the tiny hamster instead.

Eunbi watched, her gaze lingering on each of them—not scrutinizing, but searching. Assessing something beyond their sight.

“You’re like the princesses of prophecy,” she murmured at last, voice quieter than before, yet carrying a weight that settled over them. “Your souls are truly kind. Each of you.”

A brief pause. 

Then, the three Seers spoke in unison.

“We will help you search for what you seek.”

The three human girls exchanged high-fives, whooping excitedly before remembering where they were.

“Thank you, Seers,” Wonyoung said with practiced grace, just as Rei beamed and chirped, “Thanks, unnies!”

Gaeul bowed instead, finding quiet amusement in her friends’ differences. The other two quickly copied her.

“You three are peculiar,” Yuri observed, nibbling at her fur with short, distracted motions.

“That’s for sure. But I like this one,” Yena declared, flapping a yellow wing in Rei’s direction.

Yuri paused mid-groom, narrowed her eyes, then delivered a small but swift slap to the duck’s wing. The motion was light, but pointed.

“Ya! What was that for?” Yena squawked, burying her head in the bunny’s side. “I didn’t even do anything…”

“Oh, Yenduck,” Eunbi sighed. “When will you learn?”

Somehow, everyone understood that she never would.

“I think Rei might already be spoken for,” Yuri added with a sniff, bouncing lightly on Yena’s back. “Besides, I’m your soulmate, you dummy. I don’t want to hear about you liking other girls.” She paced in a tiny sulky circle in the yellow fluff before settling back down.

Rei blinked. She wasn’t sure if the prediction meant much yet, but… she smiled to herself. It felt nice to know she might find love, too.

“So, Eunbi unnie,” Rei said, lifting the bunny into her arms, “where’s the last place the SSE attacked? Was it near the capital?”

She stroked the soft fur between Eunbi’s long ears, gentle and curious. “I’m trying to figure out whether they’re moving in a straight line—or targeting something specific.”

Gaeul nodded slowly. “If they hit Seoul last, maybe they’re still in the region,” she offered, though doubt crept into her tone by the end.

“Anything you can tell us will be a great help, unnies,” Wonyoung added. Her voice was calm, as she adopted the same familiarity with the seers that Rei had. Her eyes displayed her determination.

Eunbi finally hummed. Magic hummed softly beneath her fur, a quiet strength hidden in a small vessel. Then she raised her head.

“As you know,” she began, her voice lower now, more solemn, “our kingdom is split into six regions. Each one is shaped by the mana that flows through it—aside from where it doesn’t.”

“The capital rests in Seora,” she continued. “Where the sun lingers longest and the land offers more than it takes. The fields are rich with naturally silted soil. The people are privileged. Mana flows as easily as water.”

Yena shifted before waddling over to sit on Rei’s foot. “Nagoya’s near there, isn’t it? I heard the trees sing if you listen hard enough.”

“And the fish glow,” Yuri added. “But they bite.”

“Nagoya is an island just beyond Seora’s reach,” Eunbi said. “Tropical. Wild. Unpredictable. Mana behaves differently there—too much in some places, none at all in others.”

“Like magical geysers,” Yena whispered, earning a nudge from Yuri.

“To the far north lies Bingha,” Eunbi went on. “The glacier region. Icy, treacherous, and always cold. The wind has teeth, and the skies are dark year round.”

“No thanks,” Rei mumbled.

Eunbi nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe we would freeze to death if we went anywhere near there, truthfully.”

“To the south is Meulbi,” Yuri chimed in, her body letting out an involuntary shiver at the thought of being that cold. “It rains constantly there. Rivers and fog are commonplace. The deeper you go, the air is thicker. Daily storms reduce visibility greatly.”

“That sounds fun,” Yena muttered.

“Yup,” Yuri replied, popping the ‘p’. “And the people, much like the fog, are hard to see through. They are typically more guarded, but I guess it’s just the way of life out there.”

The girls weren’t sure what to make of that, but there was more to learn, so they didn’t linger on the information.

“And Samag,” Eunbi said next. “The desert. Nothing grows without sacrifice. It’s a region that takes more than it gives. Most pass through it only if they must.”

“And the last?” Gaeul asked.

“San-Namu,” Eunbi replied softly. “The furthest region. Mountains, valleys, and forests so deep they silence your thoughts. Magic cannot reach it, thus the lands are significantly less fertile, but people still travel there to find solace.”

The girls stilled.

“It sounds peaceful,” Wonyoung offered, though her tone was cautious.

“It was meant to be,” Eunbi said. “But peace never lasts forever.”

“Is that where we’re going?” Rei asked.

Eunbi’s gaze turned distant. “No. What you seek lies past Samag’s inhabited border. In the Samag Wastelands. Places that have been erased from most maps.”

“And how do we even get there?” Gaeul asked. “We don’t exactly have wings.”

“The Mana Rail is one option,” Yuri replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It runs beneath the capital. It’s a remnant of an ancient civilization. However, it responds only to mana from those of noble blood.”

“I had no reason to believe the rumors about a secret train… I can’t believe they were true,” Rei muttered.

“I heard the conductor’s a border collie,” Yena whispered dramatically.

“Focus,” Eunbi reprimanded. “The rail is unstable. Mana is not flowing as it should. You might overshoot, stall, or become lost entirely. If the train doesn’t have access to enough mana, it will stop in the nearest area that is dense with it.”

“Still, it sounds faster than crossing a barren desert on foot,” Wonyoung said.

Eunbi cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps. Like its name suggests, The Mana Rail utilizes mana to move. Typically, the Silo powers the train, but regular interruptions in the flow have caused its instability.” She hopped over to a particularly tall pile of straw and settled onto it. 

She continued. “But remember this: magic can carry you… but it cannot truly protect you.”

The room fell quiet.

The girls weighed their options silently for a minute, but when they locked eyes, it seemed that they had come to a decision.

“We’ll use the Mana Rail,” Wonyoung declared with certainty. Her companions nodded their affirmation, and she continued. “The pros outweigh the cons; and if we’re lucky, it’ll get us farther out much faster.”

The Seers, nestled among mismatched heaps of straw, flicked their gazes up in unison. Their sanctuary was nothing like the regal towers or pristine libraries Wonyoung had grown up in. The floor was covered entirely in hay, and random shavings from nearby trees clung to the walls like windblown memories. There was no seating, no furniture, no real decor—just piles of vegetables scattered across the room in what could only be described as organized chaos.

“I told you it was a good idea to stock up,” Yuri huffed proudly, grabbing the edge of a broccoli stalk she’d retrieved from beneath a mound of straw. “You never know when hungry guests might arrive.” She then began trying to fit the entire piece in her mouth.

Yena muttered something under her breath about being the only one actually doing the gathering, but she was ignored.

“Then you’ll need to know where to find it,” Eunbi said, brushing a tuft of hay from her paws as she finally rose to her full (still modest) bunny height. Her voice dropped into something quieter, more measured—like someone reciting from a memory long buried. “The nearest station lies beneath the fallen shrine at the edge of the old pine woods. You’ll know it by the sound the earth makes when you stand on the stones—like a heartbeat under the ground.”

Wonyoung nodded solemnly, committing the words to memory. “We’ll find it.”

“I’ll take your words seriously,” she added, glancing toward Yuri. Her ears warmed again, unbidden; thoughts of red threads and intertwining fates curled at the edges of her mind like smoke from a fire. She didn’t speak of it, but it lingered.

Yuri made a happy squeaking sound in response, making her way up Rei’s pant leg and eventually hopping onto her shoulder as though she had done it many times before. “You’d better. Fate can be funny, but it isn’t frivolous.”

Rei reached up, steadying the hamster with gentle fingers. “We’ll see you again, right?”

“If your story calls for us,” Eunbi answered, her gaze distant. “But not a moment sooner.”

Yena flapped once, sending hay flying. “Group hug before destiny kicks in?”

Gaeul shook her head with a soft smile. “I think I’ll leave that for next time.”

Rei reached out and gave a gentle hand—wing?—shake to Yena and giggled a bit. “No hugs from me—stop annoying Yuri unnie, okay?”

The girl received a ducky pout and a nod from Yena, and a gesture that was meant to be a thumbs-up from Yuri, who she lowered back to the floor.

The three noble heirs gathered together, finally ready to take the first step into their journey. 

Still, they hesitated one more beat at the threshold. The three Seers stood together in their absurd little sanctuary, surrounded by chaos and roots and forgotten things—and somehow, they looked more timeless than ever.

When they eventually turned away from the magical beings, a full-sized door appeared before them. 

“Why is the door normal this time??”

“Because we like you. Now get out!” 

At that, the girls took their leave, and the door shut behind them and the stone was smooth once again.

Gaeul placed a hand on the surface briefly, heart feeling especially soft in a way she wouldn’t have expected.

“Guess it’s time to go, then?” she asked aloud but not to anyone in particular, feeling many things and not sure which feeling was going to be first to the forefront. 

She kind of wanted to go back to her thinking place but knew her friends’ patience probably wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps she’d have a chance to meditate on the train…

Wonyoung sighed as they began walking back from whence they came, removing a leaf that had found its way into her hair. 

“We’re leaving home for the first time. But I don’t know if I have any goodbyes to give. I feel like I should feel guilty about it,” she toyed with the leaf before it fell apart and drifted slowly to the ground. 

Rei watched it fall, eyes flicking up to meet Wonyoung’s. “Maybe it’s not about guilt,” she offered quietly. “Maybe it’s just the kind of goodbye that takes a while to feel.”

No one responded right away. The weight of their decision lingered—quiet, unspoken, but present.

They continued walking while behind them, the forest rustled almost like a person trying to find a comfortable position.

And somewhere in the kingdom, far beneath the stillness, something ancient was lying in wait.

Chapter Text

Nahae wasn’t a place people went to. It was the kind of place people ended up in.

Nestled deeply between mountains and cut off by thick woods, the town clung to the edges of the kingdom like a forgotten sock at the bottom of a storage trunk. No mana flowed through its soil, just as no noble banners flew from its rooftops. But it was safe and quiet. And always full of work to be done.

In Nahae, the working days began before the sun could grace the sky. Old men stoked morning warming fires while children fetched water from the river to put in the reserve. Women gathered herbs and stacked firewood with rough hands and gentle voices. It was the kind of place where everything had a purpose, and everything had a cost. The sense of community that was permeated the populace ensured that no one ever paid it alone.

Yujin, Jiwon, and Hyunseo had grown up in the middle of it all, with their father holding them all together—villagers included—with his steady hands.

They were known, in the way that everyone in Nahae was known. Not as heirs or anything highborn, but as Youngseok’s daughters. They were known as the girls who climbed trees too high, helped the nuns peel roots in spring, and snuck bread and rice balls to the children during scripture readings who pretended not to be hungry.

There may have been no magic in Nahae, but there was warmth. The value that warmth brought was immeasurable.

Youngseok’s daughters each had their own role, a way for them to contribute the way everyone needed to in order to keep the village running steady.

Sister Hyejin’s voice could be heard echoing through the church every morning, calling all the town’s children to breakfast with a soft laugh and a toothless threat about cold dakjuk.

Hyuk, the grumpy blacksmith who only ever smiled for well-behaved children, would let them “guard” the forge when he was out back having lunch. He knew fully well that they just liked being around the heat when it was too cold to play outside.

The market wasn’t much, just two rows of tired stalls and a lumber and coal trader who bartered more in gossip than in coin. Despite the scarcity of items, Nahae’s market had everything that mattered, and people had access to their necessities.

Life was hard. But it was theirs.

The people worked for their food. They mended their own clothes. They celebrated every small joy as though it were a grand day: a good harvest, a repaired roof, or the birth of a new citizen—livestock or human. The distinction didn’t matter much; in a place like Nahae, all life was treated as precious.

Youngseok was their mayor, and his role was bigger than just making rules and appointing those to enforce them. The man was a jack of all trades; he was something like a politician, a lumberjack, and a carpenter all in one. 

If someone had something that needed fixing, Youngseok was the one they called to help. He would smile and work hard with his head down, never asking for anything in return. 

When young couples fought, he would make it a point to mediate and diffuse the situation. He was always ready to help others, not to mention his trips out of town.

Youngseok was good to the people of Nahae, and his daughters knew this. But growing up, they often longed for his presence and found themselves wishing from time to time that he would spend more of his time at home.

Naturally, even sadness had its place— the silence at dinner when they missed their father. Or the way Jiwon sometimes stared too long at the road, hoping to see Youngseok coming home. But it wasn’t a hopeless sadness. It was just… part of life.

And for all the weight they carried, the girls had each other.

Especially on summer afternoons, days when the river was warm and the sun was unforgiving, and no one expected anything more than a reprieve from the heat.

———————————————————

“Don’t go near the ropes! Play in the shallow water,” Sister Hyejin called from her position on the shore, her feet bare as the waves gently lapped at her ankles.

It was sweltering outside, with the sun blazing down on anyone who dared bear it. Indoors, the air was thick and still, so Father Jeong had decided some time spent down by the water couldn’t hurt. He’d even switched out his long-sleeved clerical shirt for a short-sleeved variation, though he still sweat through it.

Still, the town’s children ran uninhibited, unbothered by the sun’s heat, as they splashed around in the water, squealing with delight. The smallest of them, including Hyunseo, sat by the edge, only dipping their feet into the water while Father Jeong kept watch, a comforting presence to them all.

Yujin, always the protector, kept a close eye on her younger sister. Jiwon clutched her beloved stuffed cat, gazing longingly at the water, and Heuningkai, a boy one year older than Yujin, teased her gently, holding the toy just beyond her reach. It was harmless—he was just playing around, and it was fun. Yujin, ever the good-natured older sister, let it happen. Heuningkai was older, after all, and his teasing didn’t feel malicious.

But then—without warning—he threw the toy too hard, and it landed with a light plunk across the water’s surface. It began to drift away, carried by the current, sliding farther than Jiwon could reach.

“Cheez!” Jiwon cried, small hand reaching out but only grasping air.

Heuningkai knew enough to look apologetic as he awkwardly mumbled out a ‘sorry’ before quickly leaving to go play with a group of other boys a bit older than he was.

Yujin’s heart sank. She saw the fleeting look of devastation on Jiwon’s face—the sudden realization that her most cherished toy was slipping away. Her instincts kicked in before she even had a chance to think, and she started toward the water.

“I’ll get it,” Yujin said, her voice soft, but resolute, trying to offer comfort to her sister.

She waded into the shallows, the water creeping higher as she moved, her small body barely able to fight against the rising tide. The current was stronger than she’d expected, pulling at her feet with each step. The water tugged harder as she reached for the drifting toy, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of Jiwon’s stuffed cat, and she tucked it into the front of her shirt as she turned to return.

But then, the ground under her feet gave way. She slipped suddenly, ending up going deeper than she’d known the water to be. The pull of the current was far stronger than she could fight. Her small body wasn’t strong enough to keep her treading water. Soon enough, her head had dipped below the surface and she began choking on the cold, rushing liquid.

Her breath was stolen from her lungs and was rapidly being replaced with water as panic set in. Her arms flailed in desperation, but she couldn’t reach the shore, couldn’t swim against the relentless current, couldn’t do anything, and her body was growing weaker. 

From the shallow waters, Jiwon was frozen for a moment, staring at her sister’s form as the world tilted around her. A surge of panic shot through her chest, her hands forming tiny fists as her anxiety grew. Her mind, still new to critical thinking, didn’t quite understand what was happening, but her heart knew: Yujin was drowning. She was going to be gone.

And just as quickly as the fear flooded her, a surge of something else did, too—a desperate, unspoken wish, a plea to the universe to save her. Jiwon didn’t understand magic—had no sense of it, as Youngseok had wanted it—but the intensity of her desire acted as the catalyst. Her panic reached deep inside her and released power. Without thought, without conscious control, the water responded.

The current began to shift, moving toward the shore instead of away from it, pulling Yujin’s limp body against its flow. The toy was still pressed against Yujin’s stomach, her fingers weakly clutching it even in unconsciousness. 

The water rushed in the wrong direction for another moment, dragging the girl near the barrier. The current slowly started to flow naturally again, Yujin almost drifting away, but by some miracle she was close enough to get her clothes snagged against the rope that lined the water’s edge.

Jiwon could see it all, and was so focused on the scene before her that she didn’t even notice her own hand was extended under the water. That had been the cause of the tide’s reversal, the reason Yujin was almost close enough to touch, but she was still on the other side of the barrier. Jiwon couldn’t get closer, couldn’t reach her.

Sister Hyejin had seen what happened and —though she was in her early forties—she found herself sprinting hard across the sand. She reached the water’s edge in a blur with an expression full of panic but she was focused. 

The nun plunged unceremoniously into the water, splashing madly as she reached for Yujin, tugging her free of the barrier rope and holding her limp body in her arms. Hyejin’s heart pounded in her chest as she rushed toward the shore, half dragging and half carrying the seven-year-old with urgency.

She laid her down on the ground, pressing firmly on her chest in rhythm, trying to push the water from her lungs and maintain circulation. Hyejin’s hands trembled as she forced breath into the girl’s lungs, praying for her to wake, feeling as if it were her own life she was trying to save.

Father Jeong stood at the water’s edge across the way, watching helplessly as the scene unfolded. His heart was in his throat, and his eyes never left Yujin. His mind was racing, but he couldn’t leave the younger children. Not near the water. All he could do was watch, unable to intervene.

It felt like ages before Yujin’s small body jerked suddenly, coughing as water was expelled from her lungs. Her eyelids twitched once then twice, before her eyes fluttered open.

“Yujin,” Sister Hyejin breathed, her hands still holding the child, as she offered her a tiny smile. “You’re safe now.”

As Jiwon finally stepped closer, Sister Hyejin relinquished her hold on Yujin. Jiwon had been terrified of the sight she’d seen. Her relief was so strong that she couldn’t help the tears that raced down her cheeks as she slid to her knees beside the older girl. 

“U-Unnie,” she stuttered, but ended up unable to say anything else as she wailed, drawing the attention of the other kids nearby who somehow hadn’t noticed the prior commotion.

The other girl was disoriented, but she looked at the other girl and sluggishly lifted her arms—they felt so heavy—and pulled a soggy stuffed toy from her shirt. 

“I got… Cheez,” she held the toy out to the younger girl with a tremor in her hands, but found herself crushed by its owner. She groaned, but wrapped her arms around the smaller girl.

Sister Hyejin watched for a few moments before she ran a soothing hand down Jiwon’s back.

“We need to get Yujin back to the church, okay? Don’t squeeze too hard,” she spoke to the younger of the two gently, her voice threatening to break but holding strong.

Jiwon didn’t let go, her arms curled tight around Yujin like she could anchor her to the world with sheer will. Her cries softened into hiccups, face buried in Yujin’s damp shoulder, fingers tangled in the fabric of her soaked shirt.

“I thought you weren’t gonna wake up,” she mumbled, her voice quiet and quivering. “I didn’t want you to be gone.”

Yujin was still groggy, her limbs heavy and her throat hurt, but she turned her face toward the sound. Her eyes fluttered again, landing on her sister with a faint smile that barely graced her lips.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Especially not without Cheez.”

That earned the smallest, watery laugh from Jiwon, who clutched the cat toy tighter between them.

Sister Hyejin watched them both for a moment longer, then looked over her shoulder toward the church in the distance. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting golden streaks across the water. The worst had passed, but the ache in her chest hadn’t fully eased and likely wouldn’t until all the children were safe inside the church and away from the water.

“Come on,” she said softly, rising to her feet and aiding Yujin gently into a standing position. “Let’s go home.”

——

Later, when most of the children had fallen asleep or wandered off with drowsy limbs and heavy lidded eyes, the church was quiet save for the soft crackling of the fire. Yujin lay curled beneath a big and heavy blanket on the rug near the hearth, her body still recovering from the shock. The elders would probably keep a close eye on her in the coming days.

She was awake now, though only barely, with eyes half open and unfocused. The warmth of the fire soaked into her limbs, grounding her, and she could feel the steady weight of Jiwon curled up beside her and Hyunseo’s tiny form sprawled across the both of them. They were close, warm… safe.

For a while, there was nothing but silence; not unlike the kind that settles after a storm. Then came the hushed voices of the grown-ups just beyond the edge of the firelight, sitting on the steps near the altar.

“She… shouldn’t have survived,” Father Jeong murmured, his brow knitted deep, voice low and tone disbelieving. “The current was entirely too strong; I watched it pull her under. And then… it just turned. The tide reversed itself.”

Sister Hyejin sat beside him, her hands still trembling faintly, as if the adrenaline hadn’t quite left her. “I saw it too. That water moved like it was being pulled by something. Someone…?” She swallowed hard. “There was no time to think. I only saw her drifting, like the current had carried her to us. If it hadn’t, if she hadn’t gotten caught on the rope…” she trailed off, not needing to continue her sentence, but still feeling a chill run through her at how close things had been.

Father Jeong rubbed a hand over his aging face, the sixty-year-old priest staring into the darkened corners of the church, but not seeing anything in particular. “How do we even begin to explain this? We were lucky. We don’t know what caused it.” He exhaled slowly, the weight of what could’ve happened sinking in. “Youngseok… He’s going to want to know everything that happened when he gets back, naturally.”

Sister Hyejin shook her head faintly, lips downturned in a frown. “I dread that conversation.”

They both looked back toward the fire, where Yujin lay, quiet but breathing—thank the stars. The girls were curled together like a cluster of kittens, and the sight brought a small measure of comfort. But it didn’t ease the gnawing question in either of their minds: what had turned the tide?

Yujin didn’t hear all of it—just quiet rumbles of their voices. Her entire body ached and her throat burned, but still, she felt thankful. What mattered to her was the warmth at her side, the soft rhythmic rise and fall of Jiwon’s small frame pressed against hers, and the faint grip of Hyunseo’s sleepy hand.

Jiwon hadn’t said much since she’d gotten her toy back. She still clutched it to her chest, but not with the joy she usually did. There was something in her eyes—something deeper. She stared into the fire with a look far too solemn for someone so young.

Yujin stirred slightly, and Jiwon noticed, immediately scooting closer.

“You okay?” Jiwon asked softly, the words barely above a whisper.

Yujin nodded, slow and sleepy. “Mhm… are you?”

Jiwon looked down at the cat in her arms, then up at her sister. “I got my toy back… but I almost didn’t get you back.”

Yujin blinked, watching her.

“When I’m scared, Appa holds me,” Jiwon began, voice quivering. “But you’re here when he’s not around. And I thought if you went away… I wouldn’t have anyone left to hold me. Just the toy,” She didn’t cry, but she sniffled a bit. “I don’t want just the toy, unnie.”

Yujin’s heart ached—not from the water in her lungs, not from the soreness in her limbs, but from the look on Jiwon’s face, the little crumple of her brow as she tried to stay brave.

She reached out, arm weak but steady, and tucked her sister under it, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “I promise.”

Jiwon sniffled, then nodded, pressing closer. “Good.”

Hyunseo shifted in her sleep, her small hand tightening its hold on the blanket the three of them shared as if she needed reassurance too, even in her dreams.

And in that moment, Yujin let her body relax, feeling the quiet warmth of her sisters against her and the rhythmic sounds of their breaths. Whatever had happened, whatever strange magic had stirred the tide—none of it mattered right now.

They were safe and together. Inseparable.

And it was enough.

___________________________________

The fire in the den had burned low, casting warm shadows on the worn hardwood floor. The weight of what they’d just learned still clung to them like static, but Shownu had suggested they shift gears—stretch their legs, breathe a little easier, change the scenery a bit. 

Thus, the four of them padded into the smaller room tucked behind the kitchen. It was a space layered in quilts and faded cushions where a few of the church orphans occasionally played or napped. The air was gentler here, though not any less thick with truths now spoken.

A soft light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, and the thick, woven blankets tossed over the low furniture offered comfort none of them spoke of but each of them needed.

Shownu lowered himself into an armchair against the wall farthest from the fire, his arms crossed but posture relaxed. He was regretful about the way the girls had to find out the truth, but he couldn’t deny that he felt lighter. The burden that had been weighing him down with guilt for years had finally been lifted. 

Every interaction and conversation with the girls before was absolutely genuine—he loved them like they were his blood, and he knew it was mutual—but he had to be careful any time the girls asked what his life had been like before living in Nahae. 

Every word had to be measured, and while he didn’t have a large abundance of mana like Youngseok—his aura didn’t glow when he used his magic—he had to be careful not to accidentally use his gravity magic.

His ability allowed him to manipulate the gravity of any object that he touches. But as he was born with limited mana, he was only able to make subtle adjustments relative to the weight of the items he touched, so he had to be strategic about when he used it. Luckily, when the girls were young, they just attested his ability to his physical strength. He was just glad to finally have things out in the open. 

Yujin sank slowly onto the cushioned floor, her movements careful and deliberate. She considered saying some words of reassurance about her physical condition but decided against it. She didn’t speak as she leaned back against the worn settee, letting her eyes slip closed for a moment.

Her tiredness felt bone-deep. She honestly felt like hell, but as much as she had wanted to be home, to see her sisters… She was tired of the attention; she felt like everyone was watching her, waiting for her to fall to pieces, or show some sign of weakness. Then she felt guilty for thinking that, knowing everyone she encountered only wanted the best for her. 

Her breaths came shallow and quiet. The deep ache in her back and shoulders—from pulling the horse, from the fall, from the spell—made it hard to draw in a full one.  

It would pass. She decided she would have a soak in the bath after Shownu left. That should help loosen her up, and then maybe she could get some sleep.

Jiwon lit incense before lying down on the settee, fully extending her long legs. She laid an arm across her midsection and locked her gaze on the support beams that made up the ceiling. 

On one hand, she was thrilled at the prospect of not being the only one in the family with magic; on the other, their father had lied to them their entire lives. The girl wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the cognitive dissonance the situation had brought upon her.

She would never stop loving her father, but she couldn’t deny her anger at him for his actions. She didn’t want to resent him, but right now, the questions burned hotter than her love could soothe.

She knew the backstory, but she didn’t hear it from his mouth. 

It wasn’t the same, and she prayed that she would get the chance to ask him all the questions she had; after a night’s rest—hopefully in her bed, this time—she was sure to have even more questions. She needed to hear it from him.

Hyunseo was last to settle in, and she grabbed a quilt from the settee Jiwon lounged on, dislodging a pillow behind the other girl’s head unintentionally. 

“Oops, sorry unnie,” the youngest let out a soft sound in surprise, reaching out to fix the pillow. 

Jiwon waved her off. “It’s okay, go ahead.” She didn’t seem put off at all, but she looked distracted, so Hyunseo let her be. She positioned herself in a way that she could see everyone in the room. 

She wrapped the quilt around herself before sitting on the area rug in front of the fire. The heavy fabric covered the top of her head like a hood, and she sighed, feeling drained from the gloomy energy in the room. 

“It’s weird,” she said after a long stretch of silence. “Knowing.”

Jiwon didn’t respond at first. She rolled her head to the side and made eye contact briefly before looking into the fire this time. “Yeah,” she murmured eventually. “It makes a lot of things feel… different.”

Hyunseo’s eyes flicked between the two older girls almost nervously. “But we’re still us, right?”

Jiwon nodded resolutely, then looked toward Yujin. “Right?”

It took Yujin a few seconds to answer. She blinked slowly, lifting her head just enough to meet their eyes. “We’re still us.” Her voice was quiet but sure. “But I don’t want us to stay exactly as we are… Right now, we’re vulnerable.”

She didn’t have to say that it was largely due to their father’s… illness? Ailment? She wasn’t even sure. And that was something else that she needed to get to the bottom of.

Hyunseo’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Yujin paused, deciding how to express her point. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again. Helpless.”

A dull throb pressed behind her ribs and she grunted but masked it by clearing her throat.

Shownu raised his eyebrows and got up from his seat. 

“I know it’s barely noon,” he walked over to the curtains and peeked out through the window, letting a few rays of sunshine in the dim room. “But I know exhaustion when I see it. All of you girls need to get some rest.”

He stretched pointedly, yawning as if to make the others realize their tiredness. 

“Listen. I hear what you’re saying about not wanting to be vulnerable anymore,” He looked at Yujin when he said this, knowing it would gain the eldest’s attention. The man walked over to the doorway, and all of the eyes in the room followed him silently.

“I might be able to help with that. Come to the church for some food after you’ve rested, and we’ll talk. But no sooner, you hear?”

“Yes, oppa,” Hyunseo, Jiwon, and Yujin all replied to him in unison, more out of reflex than anything, but it was true—they were all drained. Rest would be great. 

It had been about thirty minutes or so, and the incense Jiwon had lit was burned out. One by one, the girls each stood and together they walked with Shownu through the house back toward the front door.

“I’ll see you all later. I mean it, about resting!” He gave one last look before he departed, back down the dirt path towards the church. Whether he had work to do at town hall or not, the girls didn’t know. They didn’t know much about what he did for work outside of the labor that every able-bodied citizen had to contribute to. 

“We’d better do what he says,” Yujin urged, turning toward the staircase. 

“If you guys need anything, just yell. I’ll be in the bath.” She felt bad just leaving like that, so she placed a hand on either of their heads and mussed their hair gently before ascending the steps.

Hyunseo and Jiwon, both already bathed from the previous night, simply followed upstairs and went to their shared room.

—

The bathwater turned murky faster than Yujin expected. Dirt clung to her skin in places she hadn’t even realized—behind her ears, the backs of her knees, the nape of her neck. She scrubbed carefully, methodically, like someone trying to wash away more than just grime. After the first rinse, the water was almost opaque. She drained it, refilled the tub, and did it all over again.

By the end of it, she could barely keep her head upright. Her body slumped forward, eyelids fluttering closed as the heat cocooned her. When her chin dipped low and her face nearly slipped under, she jerked upright with a sharp inhale—but didn’t fully wake. The aches from earlier were faded now, her senses dulled. She didn’t see the faint, dark mark that had bloomed near her left shoulder. Didn’t register the way her chest still felt slightly off. All she felt was sleep, calling her like a soft knock on the door.

She didn’t remember dressing herself. Just that her limbs moved on muscle memory, tugging on clean clothes, her damp hair a cold weight down her back. She grabbed an extra towel for no real reason and flung it across her pillow. Then she collapsed face-first onto the bed without so much as pulling the blanket over her.

A few loose feathers drifted into the air as she landed—whether from the pillow or Azzo’s latest uninvited visit to her bed, the girl didn’t know. She was asleep before the feathers even reached the floor.

In the room across the hall, sunlight crept in through the half-closed shutters, casting slanted stripes across the floor. The quiet hum of afternoon in Nahae drifted through the walls—distant chatter, birdsong, the occasional clatter of footsteps on dirt.

Jiwon was already lying in bed, eyes open, fixed on the ceiling once again. She hadn’t moved since they’d gone upstairs, since Shownu had told them to rest. Her thoughts were loud and tangled, looping back to things she didn’t have the energy to process.

Hyunseo padded across the room, gathering a few scattered things and organizing them just to give her hands something to do. She wasn’t ready to sleep, not really—but she was tired. She had stayed up the entire night, and Jiwon slept on the floor to keep her company. They were both tired.

Eventually, she climbed into her own bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Good night, unnie,” she said softly.

Jiwon yawned before returning the sentiment. “Good night.” 

Of course, it didn’t matter to either of them that it wasn’t actually nighttime.

Once more, the house was left in silence.

Their residence, larger than most in Nahae thanks to Youngseok’s craftsmanship and careful planning, stood sturdily under the steady afternoon light. Inside, it held only soft breaths, dreamless sleep, and the heavy stillness of a family finally having a much-needed rest after a very stressful couple of days.

__________________________________

The Mana Rail Station shouldn’t have existed. Or at the very least—the girls had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the myth they’d grown up hearing about was actually true.

It was too vast, too ancient, too advanced. No lights guided their way, but the station gleamed with an eerie inner glow, as if the walls themselves possessed magic that was waiting to be released. 

Wonyoung was the first to step forward, her boots clicking against the stone floor. She moved with confidence, her eyes scanning their surroundings.

“This place is way too clean,” Rei whispered behind her. “Clean spaces usually mean someone is around. But this place is empty and clean… That combo doesn’t give good vibes at all.”

“That’s encouraging,” Gaeul said, tone dry but calm.

Rei shrugged. “I’m just saying. I don’t trust places that don’t have dust.”

The structure around them pulsed faintly—slivers of violet and silver mana glowing beneath the green metal that made up most of the walls and floor. It was beautiful in a way that felt wrong, like an angel’s trumpet flower; 

The train was already there. Waiting.

They paused at the edge of the platform, staring at it.

“So… are we supposed to knock?” Rei mused curiously. “Or do we just… assume it knows to take us somewhere?”

No one had an answer for her. A moment later, without a sound, a doorway shimmered into existence on the train’s side and slid open.

“…Déjà vu,” Rei muttered, quirking a brow. “This is like the tower all over again.”

“But we didn’t need to write a letter this time,” Gaeul added.

“Remember, Eunbi unnie warned us,” Wonyoung said as she stepped inside. “She told us the Rail was unstable.”

They all remembered. But none of them turned back.

Inside, the train was eerily pristine, much like its station. The walls were smooth and seamless. There were no visible engines, operational panels or controls. Only curved benches, shaped to hold passengers—but they looked more like installations in a gallery than actual seating.

Wonyoung took a seat without hesitating, back straight, posture perfect, as if she were being watched. Her knees were pressed together, hands resting lightly on her thighs. She didn’t let herself relax. This was unfamiliar territory, even if they were still in Seoul.

Rei sat beside her with much less ceremony, slouching a little, hands on legs swinging slightly over the edge of the bench. “It’s so clean. That’s worse, right? Like… creepier than if it were falling apart?”

Gaeul didn’t answer. She had stayed standing, brushing her fingers lightly along the wall. The metal was warm, just barely. Her brow furrowed.

Whatever this place had once been, it wasn’t gone. Not entirely.

The doorway sealed behind them with a quiet breath.

And then the train moved.

The acceleration was instant. Rei yelped and grabbed the nearest handle. Gaeul stumbled slightly, but Wonyoung reacted without thinking—she reached out and steadied her before Gaeul caught herself.

“Thanks,” Gaeul murmured. She settled across from them on the opposite bench, folding her hands in her lap as she kept her eyes on the walls.

There was nothing to see out the windows. Just darkness streaking past.

For a few minutes, they said nothing. The silence was heavy but not suffocating—until it started to settle into their bones.

The fatigue came slow, creeping in like fog. Rei blinked hard, her posture drooping. “Anyone else feel like we’ve been walking for hours? Or is that just me?”

“It’s draining us,” Wonyoung said quietly. “Our mana.”

Rei groaned. “Seriously? Why?”

Gaeul looked up, meeting both their eyes. “The Silo usually powers the Rail,” she said. “But it’s not drawing from it now. So it’s using us instead.”

Rei straightened. “Wait, it can do that?”

Gaeul nodded. “Our mana’s from the same source. The Rail recognized it.”

There was a pause.

“Okay,” Rei said finally, rubbing her temples. “But does that mean we’re like… lunch?”

“No,” Gaeul said gently. “Not eaten. Just… borrowed.”

She paused, gaze distant. “It’s like giving blood. It pulls from us to keep moving—but it doesn’t destroy what it takes. It’s cycling it back slowly. That’s why it feels like this. Lightheaded. Weak. But it’ll pass once we recover. It’s just the transition.”

Wonyoung didn’t respond, but she was clearly fighting it—still upright, still resisting. She pinched the outside of her thigh, sharp enough to ground herself, but her body betrayed her. Her vision blurred at the edges. Her thoughts swam.

This was always going to be a losing battle.

Rei leaned her head on Wonyoung’s shoulder, not asking permission, just there. Wonyoung didn’t flinch.

“I liked this more when I thought it was haunted,” Rei murmured.

Gaeul gave a soft breath of a laugh. “You still might be right.”

The Rail hummed. Warmth pooled beneath their feet.

Wonyoung blinked once. Twice. Her spine stayed straight, but her head began to tilt.

And before they realized it, the three of them had drifted off, lulled into sleep they hadn’t chosen.

The train surged on through the dark, its path unknown to them.

But it was moving forward.

_____________

They woke to darkness.

Somehow, the sky had already faded into ink, scattered with stars and the barest trace of moonlight. The hearth had long gone cold, but none of them moved to relight it.

Their shared home, once brimming with warmth and noise, felt quieter than usual.

They sat around the low table in silence, each of them only half-dressed, their thoughts still slow from sleep. The plan had been to wake before nightfall—to prepare, to decide what to bring—but somewhere between exhaustion and nerves, time had slipped through their fingers.

Yujin rose first, her movements quiet, unhurried. She crouched beside her pack and sifted through its contents. A battered first-aid kit, long overdue for replacement. Their handmade bowls, carved nearly fifteen years ago when their hands were still small and clumsy. The bowls had been made too big for them back then—on purpose—so they would grow into their portions. And they had. The wood was worn smooth by time and use, but the uneven curves and awkward engravings remained, proof of their childhood, and the love they poured into shaping each one.

Jiwon drifted toward her own bundle, then hesitated. With a glance over her shoulder, she gently tucked something into the bottom of her bag: a faded, plush cat with one ear sewn back on crookedly. Cheez.

She pressed it down between folded clothes and drew the string tight.

They didn’t say much after that. When it became clear that they were only lingering to avoid the inevitable, Yujin pulled on her coat and nodded toward the door.

“Let’s go.”

The walk to the church was familiar, but the night made it feel unfamiliar—like they were seeing it all for the first time. The dirt path stretched ahead in soft curves, and the only light came from the distant glow of windows and the stars above.

It was the cold season. Almost every home they passed had smoke curling into the sky from their chimneys, rising steady and slow.

Yujin faltered, just slightly. The smoke caught her off guard.

She didn’t let it show, but her mind went back—unbidden—to the night of the attack. The moment before everything changed. The scent in the air. The dread pressing down on her chest. Not fire exactly, but something deeper. Something wrong.

She blinked, adjusted her collar, and kept moving.

Jiwon and Hyunseo didn’t speak, but they unconsciously slowed their pace to match hers. Neither of them noticed doing it. They just moved as one.

Each of them had their own thoughts. Jiwon kept going back to Youngseok. She hadn’t seen him since it happened. None of them had, except Yujin. And Jiwon didn’t know what she would feel when she did.

Hyunseo’s gaze stayed on the path ahead, but her fingers fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve. She was quieter than usual, more thoughtful.

They reached the church soon after.

The largest building in Nahae, it stood at the town’s center like a quiet sentinel, windows lit with a warm, flickering glow.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around them immediately.

They slipped off their outside shoes and stepped into their indoor pairs, the rhythm so routine it almost masked the weight of the moment.

There were a few quiet voices in the distance—some of the staff girls chatting in low tones—and the occasional sound of children snoring from the far room. A fire crackled steadily nearby.

Sister Hyejin spotted them first.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded once and turned to the kitchen.

Two younger girls moved to assist, stepping toward her with eager hands, but she waved them off with a decisive shake of her head.

This meal, she would prepare for them herself.

Not out of obligation, but out of love. For her, it was a ritual. Something to keep her hands moving, something to anchor her thoughts. A last offering before the girls walked into a world she couldn’t protect them from.

Beyond the kitchen and near the fireplace on matching stools, Shownu and Father Jeong spoke in hushed tones, their faces drawn and serious. Neither noticed the girls right away.

They took their seats at one of the several tables with attached benches. It didn’t take long for the food to be ready.

The stew—more a vegetable ramyun than anything else—was simple but hearty, the kind of meal that had filled their bellies on countless nights.

Sister Hyejin moved with quiet focus, setting out bowls and placing a warm bread roll beside each. She filled the bowls not equally, but intentionally—each portion matched to the way she knew they liked it: Jiwon’s with extra noodles and barely any broth, Hyunseo’s with a mountain of bean sprouts, and Yujin’s balanced, everything in measured harmony.

She handed them their bowls with care, smiling faintly, and waited for them to speak.

Almost in unison, the girls bowed their heads and said, “Thank you for the meal,” in the soft, sweet cadence she had drilled into them when they were little.

It nearly broke her.

For a moment, they were toddlers again in her mind—bare feet on cold floors, sleeves too long, clumsily scooping rice with oversized spoons. Her throat tightened, and she turned away before they could see her expression.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, disappearing briefly into the kitchen.

When she returned, she carried a small covered pot and set it down at the center of the table.

The girls leaned forward, catching the scent before the lid was even lifted. Tangy, rich, and unmistakable.

Kimchi jjigae.

Not a feast, not by the standards of the capital—but here, in Nahae, it was rare enough to feel extravagant. The fermented spice and slow-simmered pork marked it as something that had been saved for a special occasion.

She set down small plates for each of them, her hands careful, reverent.

“I thought you’d like something warm,” she said. “Something… special.”

No one spoke right away.

Jiwon looked down at her bowl, then blinked hard and gave a quiet “Thank you.”

Hyunseo didn’t look up either, just murmured the same words, voice soft with surprise.

Yujin let out a small contented hum and gave another bow of her head, her hand closing around the handle of her spoon.

The stew and ramyun were familiar—safe. But this? This was love in a form too rich for words.

They ate slowly, their movements quiet. The air in the room felt thick with memory. Not quite grief but not quite peace. Just a tender ache shared between them, like a thread running from one girl to the next, and from all of them to the woman who had raised them alongside the others in town.

The scent of the kimchi jjigae lingered warm and sharp in the air, but Sister Hyejin hadn’t come back with just one pot.

Behind her, carefully balanced on a wooden tray, was a plate of bulgogi—tender slices of marinated beef, glistening with soy and sesame.

Gasps were stifled before they could leave anyone’s mouth, but the stunned silence that followed spoke volumes.

It was a feast by Nahae’s standards. Kimchi jjigae and bulgogi. Most kids in the village would go years without seeing a spread like this.

This wasn’t just generosity. It was farewell.

Sister Hyejin said nothing as she portioned out the jjigae and bulgogi. She didn’t need to. Her hands moved with practiced grace, reverent and slow. This meal was her way of saying what words couldn’t.

They didn’t ask where it had come from. Whether it was saved, bartered for, or pulled together in a desperate act of love. None of it mattered.

Jiwon stared at the slices of meat in her bowl for a long moment before lifting her chopsticks. She didn’t say a word, just bit into the first piece and chewed slowly, as if trying to memorize the flavor.

Yujin was more reserved, but she accepted each bite with quiet gratitude. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until the warmth of the jjigae settled in her chest.

And Hyunseo—blinking down at her portion—didn’t speak at all. She just lowered her head and ate with a kind of reverence, her brows furrowed in quiet concentration.

They all said thank you. Barely above a whisper. It was all they could manage.

The meal passed slowly, unhurried. There was no rush, no conversation to fill the space. Just the sound of chopsticks clinking gently against ceramic and the occasional sigh as someone took another bite.

It wasn’t meant to be joyful. But it was sacred.

A true goodbye.

It would be a long time before they tasted anything like it again.

When the last bites were taken and the bowls nearly empty, Sister Hyejin rose quietly, reaching for the emptied dishes.

Before her hand could close around the first dish, Hyunseo gently caught her wrist.

“Please let us,” she said softly. “Just this time.”

Jiwon nodded beside her. “We won’t be able to help out around here for a while.”

Yujin was already standing, collecting her bowl and the others’. The unspoken sentiment hung in the air—Let us do this. Let us care for this place the way it cared for us.

Sister Hyejin hesitated for only a moment, then gave a slow, tearful smile and stepped back.

They cleared the table in easy rhythm. The kitchen smelled of broth and soy, the warmth clinging to their clothes and hair. It was a force of habit, a bit of muscle memory… It was home.

Once the dishes were stacked neatly and the last crumbs brushed away, the girls drifted to the couch that sat a few steps away from the fire. Its cushions sagged under years of use, but it was familiar, soft in all the right places.

Shownu and Father Jeong sat nearby, their conversation falling quiet as the girls approached. Both men turned slightly, welcoming them into the space with a shared nod.

Shownu’s face was calm, though there was a weight behind his eyes.

“We were just talking about next steps,” he said, folding his hands loosely in front of him. “Figuring out what's best for you. For all of you.”

Shownu and Father Jeong fell quiet for a moment, sharing a final look before the elder spoke.

“There’s a man in Beongae,” Father Jeong said, voice calm and deliberate. “His name is Sohan. He trained Shownu as well as many others over the years. He has always believed that magic was not something to be feared—but something to be understood and strengthened, like a muscle.”

Yujin’s eyes flicked toward Shownu, who gave a small nod.

“He’s relatively easy to find, once you’re within Beongae’s limits,” Shownu added. “And if your heart’s in the right place, he’ll know. He’ll help you. That’s who he is.”

Father Jeong leaned forward slightly, folding his hands together. “It won’t be easy. But it’s the best path forward—for protection, for growth, for understanding what’s happening to you.”

No one spoke for a few breaths.

Then Yujin nodded once. She trusted these people with her life and her sisters’ lives. If her elders were presenting her with a path, then she’d take it without hesitation.

“We’ll go.”

Jiwon nodded, and Hyunseo gave a small, quiet hum of agreement from Yujin’s side.

And so it was decided.

The conversation fell into a gentle stillness after that. Not heavy—just full. The kind of quiet that settled over people when a decision had been made and the weight of it was understood by everyone in the room.

The fire crackled softly beside them, its warmth fading slowly as the logs burned low.

Then Sister Hyejin rose once more, moving with quiet purpose toward the small chest tucked beneath a shelf. She knelt and opened it, sifting through layers of cloth and paper until she found what she was looking for.

When she returned to the girls, she held something wrapped in oilskin. It was flat, lightweight. Carefully bound.

“I want you to have this,” she said, placing it in Yujin’s hands.

The girls leaned in as Yujin unwrapped it—revealing a folded map, the parchment aged but well-kept, inked with delicate markings and faint golden threads that shimmered when the light hit just right.

“It’s not finished,” Sister Hyejin said softly, almost with a smile. “It never is.”

Yujin looked up, a question forming, but Hyejin only gave her a gentle pat on the arm and stepped back.

Hyunseo reached out and gently traced a faint mountain range with her thumb. The lines pulsed faintly beneath her touch.

“I can’t walk with you beyond Nahae’s border,” Sister Hyejin said. “But this… This is my way of keeping you company.”

“Thank you,” Yujin whispered. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Sister Hyejin gave a small nod, then looked between the three of them—so grown now, but still, in her heart, the same girls who used to run barefoot through the vegetable garden and fall asleep to her stories.

She stepped back. “Go say your goodbyes. He’d want to see you before you go.”

—

They didn’t rush.

The hallway to the back room was cool and quiet, each footstep muffled against the old wooden floors. No one spoke.

Yujin opened the door first. She knew what to expect.

The room hadn’t changed. Same faint smell of herbs and worn fabric. Same dim lamplight casting soft shadows along the wall.

Youngseok lay still, tucked beneath a blanket that rose and fell with slow, deep breaths. His skin had gone pale, lips drawn thin. If there was a mark from where he’d been struck, it was hidden beneath bandages and sleeves.

He hadn’t moved since Yujin last saw him.

But for Jiwon and Hyunseo, it was their first time.

Jiwon walked in like she was bracing for something that might shatter her. Her eyes flicked over his form, drinking in the image, trying to make sense of it. She waited for the tears. For the lump in her throat.

Nothing, other than a strange, hollow ache.

She was too conflicted to cry.

Too angry, worried, and unsure of what she was supposed to feel.

He’d lied. Kept truths from them. And now he looked like this—half-gone, unreachable. She needed him to wake up. Not for comfort. But for answers.

Beside her, Hyunseo stood frozen. Her fists were clenched at her sides, not in anger, but uncertainty. Her shoulders rose and fell with quiet breaths.

Yujin didn’t speak. She just stepped beside her youngest sister and supportively wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Hyunseo leaned into her almost immediately, her arms sliding around Yujin’s waist as she tucked herself into the warmth.

For the first time in what felt like days, she let herself be small again.

She didn’t say what was in her head. She didn’t feel pressured to.

Jiwon lingered near the bed, her arms folded tightly over her chest. After a long pause, she said quietly, “I hope… he’s here when we come back.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even quite hope. Just a thread of something too fragile to name.

The girls stood there for a while, saying what they could—what little could be said—and eventually, when the silence had stretched on long enough, Yujin turned toward the door.

“We should go.”

They stepped out one by one, leaving the room just as quietly as they had entered. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

And with it, a chapter of their lives finally came to an end.

Outside, the hallway was no different from how they’d left it. But something in the air felt changed now—like the stillness before the first drop of rain.

They didn’t look back.

They didn’t need to.

Whatever lay ahead, it was no longer just about running from danger or chasing answers.

Now, it was about becoming strong enough to handle both.

They stepped into the night.

The worn wooden boards creaked beneath their feet as they descended the steps of the church and continued into the cold. Their breath curled into the air, fading into the shadows of the trees at Nahae’s edge.

They passed the stone markers at the far end of town—signaling their exit—without speaking.

And just like that, they left behind the only life they could clearly remember.

Chapter Text

The railcar slowed before any of them opened their eyes.

No announcement, just the constant hum of energy—until it stopped. All that remained was the grating, unfamiliar sound of the brakes catching, the faint shudder of the Mana Rail easing itself to a stop.

Inside the compartment, the draining sensation they hadn’t fully noticed until it was gone lifted like a weight. As the vehicle stopped siphoning mana from their bodies, it began to return to them—sluggish, slow, but steady. The sudden shift jolted them awake.

Rei blinked first, groggy and disoriented. “Huh. Did this thing… stop?”

Wonyoung sat up, her brows furrowed as she looked out the window. “Where are we?”

Gaeul was already on her feet, rubbing her arms. “I don’t know. It’s a lot colder here.”

The windowpane beside them had started to fog with condensation—the temperature inside the cabin was clearly much warmer than outside. 

Outside, a field of tall, frost-kissed grass swayed in the evening wind. The sun hadn't quite dipped behind the hills, so its final rays casted long shadows across the land ahead of them. 

In the far distance, they could make out what looked like a cluster of rooftops—a town, small and tucked into the earth like it was trying to disappear.

The double doors materialized and slid open with a soft hiss. No one came to greet them, and there was no voice echoing through the cabin.

And the wind that swept in felt frigid when compared to what they were used to. 

Rei let out an involuntary squeak and immediately wrapped her arms around herself. “This is illegal,” she muttered. “I’m from Nagoya. I don’t do well in the cold.”

“I don’t think any of us packed for this,” Wonyoung added through slightly chattering teeth. Her magic stirred weakly beneath her skin, not strong enough to warm her the way it usually did.

“I told you both to work on your aura control,” Gaeul said with the faintest hint of I-told-you-so in her voice. Her breath barely fogged the air—her aura had already activated, forming a subtle buffer around her skin.

“We tried,” Wonyoung grumbled.

The oldest gave a knowing look. “You gave up when it didn’t work the first time.”

Rei didn’t dignify her statement with a response. She was too busy pulling her sleeves over her hands.

With no other choice, the girls stepped onto the platform, squinting through the wind at the distant town.

“How are we on the grass right now? We were literally underground,” Rei asked, throwing her arms up in confusion but quickly regretting it when the wind sliced through, unforgiving.

Gaeul shook her head, amused at the other girl, who continued drily, answering her own rhetorical question. “My only guess is—the magical train did magic,” She rolled her eyes at herself. 

The oldest spoke curiously. “Regardless of how or why… here we are, stopped with no way to know where it’s taken us.”

Wonyoung shivered and tucked her hands into her pockets, hoping to preserve their warmth until her mana was restored enough for her to create a fireball to keep them warm.

The silence was eerie. There wasn’t any conductor—border collie or otherwise—nor any explanation. Just the wide, frosted land and the inaudible hum of mana slowly reintegrating itself back into their bodies. It was a strange feeling that they weren’t used to. 

They weren’t at full strength. They weren’t sure where they were at all. 

But they could see the city’s lights in the distance.

So they started walking.

—

They reached the outskirts of the development just as the sun was lowering behind the hills for the night.

Still shivering—though less now as their mana slowly continued to return—the girls ambled past a sign. It was made of a large piece of slate stone affixed to several wooden support posts, with ‘Welcome to Undeok’ painted in white on its face.

Undeok didn’t look much like home. No, not like Seoul, or like the palace or the market and shops they were used to. The buildings weren’t as tall. The streets were slightly uneven, packed with mismatched stone, while the side roads had been left as dirt paths.

Wooden signs swung overhead, etched with names they didn’t recognize. But for all its rustic charm, it was likely still better off than the smaller villages they’d seen marked on the map.

Rei had pointed one out earlier, wondering aloud why it was even listed if it was that small—then quickly retracted the comment when she realized it was in poor taste. She hadn’t meant to sound dismissive.

People milled about, doing this and that, but it didn’t escape their notice that the citizens’ clothes were not as thick as the girls would have expected, based on the current climate.

Wonyoung tilted her head in confusion after a chill ran through her. “Do people here not feel the cold? No one is wearing any furs but there’s a layer of frost on everything…”

“Maybe they’re accustomed to it,” Gaeul said thoughtfully. Then she smiled. “Or maybe they’re using their auras to stay warm too.”

“Oh my God, unnie,” Rei whined, head thrown back in mock frustration while Wonyoung sighed, so very done with her unnie as well. The oldest just laughed softly, perpetually amused by her dongsaengs.

Some of the people nearest looked at the girls, though none of them spoke. Their eyes showed mild interest, but also vague distrust. 

Gaeul watched them too, blinking curiously.

“I guess we must look strange to them; our clothes are different, we’re tall—”

Wonyoung and Rei snickered at that, which earned them a glare from the shorter girl, who continued.

“—We’re tall, and we stick out like sore thumbs.”

With some humor still present in her tone, Wonyoung spoke. “That’s true, unnie.” Then she shook her head. “But why won’t they speak to us? It’s not like we’ll bite.”

Shrugging one shoulder casually, Gaeul replied. “I can’t blame them. Plus, the seers warned us that it’s just in their nature to be more guarded.”

“It must be a product of living in this environment,” Rei wondered, looking around.

They passed a clinic with a red cross painted on the front. Low lighting was visible from the window, though shades were drawn, so they could not see inside. 

It was more than a village, that much was clear. The streets were worn but orderly, the buildings sturdily built from stone and wood, their signs carved and painted with care. Market stalls lined the main road, and a few meters past the clinic was the presence of a proper inn that hinted at stable infrastructure.

Despite this, it lacked the shimmer of magic that touched everything in Seora. There were no enchanted streetlamps, no mana-powered carts or floating delivery crates. Every bit of work here—farming, smithing, construction—was done by hand, by people.

It wasn’t wrong or backwards, it was just …different. Certainly slower, more difficult, and less efficient. But it was human, and the girls saw a beauty in it that they didn’t expect.

A gong rang out suddenly, breaking the calmness of the moment. 

Without delay, the townspeople began moving in a frenzy. 

Something was wrong.

Eyes suddenly wild, Wonyoung’s hands ignited weakly, small flames encasing her fists. “There’s no way the SSE are here, too—?!”

Shopkeepers were packing up fast, hands flying as they slammed shutters down and pulled tarps over produce. Mothers were shouting for their children, voices sharp with urgency. Doors thudded closed one by one, and wooden bars were pulled tight across them.

A woman hurried past them, nearly colliding with Rei, who asked about the gong, but she avoided eye contact and kept moving. She didn’t stop until she reached her home and shut the door firmly behind her. Rei looked on in stunned bewilderment.

A young child—a boy who looked to be about eight or nine years old ran in their direction, likely towards his house. Gaeul reached a hand in his direction gently, her calming energy prompting him to slow his gait and coaxing him nearer.

He approached cautiously, even though he didn’t feel threatened at all. His mother would skin him alive if she found out that he’d stopped to talk to strangers after the evening gong had been rung.

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Her voice was soft, and the boy nodded even as his eyes darted from left to right. 

“The monster comes out at night! The gong means everyone has to go inside,” the boy anxiously hopped from one foot to the other. 

“Well, if animals can talk, I guess monsters exist too…” Wonyoung mumbled dryly, her hands extinguishing themselves in an instant.

The boy shook his head and made a noise of disagreement. “Mmm. No, noona, the monster is a sloth bear. But it’s huge, and when it attacks people, they don’t heal right!” The fear in his voice was palpable. 

Gaeul nodded in understanding. “I see; that definitely sounds scary. But thank you for telling us.” She gestured to the road behind them, presumably towards the boy’s house. “You should hurry and get home so your parents won’t be worried about you.”

With one last look in awe at the nice lady who made him feel secure—even after the gong sounded—the boy took off running again, in the direction of his home. He idly thought that he probably shouldn’t tell his mother about the interaction.

“Jeez. I guess that’s a good reason to run inside,” Rei mused, feeling a bit warmer from the brief flare of heat that had come from Wonyoung’s flames.

“Yeah, but you’d think they would warn us and not just stare like we’re the ones who made the sloth bear go wild,” Wonyoung was slightly peeved. She called off her flames, needing to preserve her energy for now. The girl was perhaps a bit on edge after having her mana drained and being treated like an outcast. 

But this was something the girls would all have to get used to. In other regions—even in Seora but outside of Seoul—they were not revered. It didn’t matter to others what their clothes were made from, or what their birthright was. They were just people who weren’t worth a second glance here. 

It stung a little.

“It’s just a different environment out here; we can’t take it personally,” Gaeul was always the voice of reason. She rationalized the citizens’ actions to herself, and came to the conclusion that herself and her friends were the outsiders in this place. 

They just needed to take it in their stride, and move forward. “We should get inside before we encounter the ‘monster’ the boy was talking about.”

Wonyoung pointed a little ways down the road at the inn with a small sign reading “JMJ’s” hanging in the front window.

Like the other buildings, JMJ’s had no magical lighting. Just lantern sconces mounted on the exterior walls. The inn was the only building whose torch was still lit, beckoning the girls closer.

The door was a heavy wooden one, though very different to the enormous palace doors the heirs were used to.

Wonyoung tried to push the door open when they finally reached it, but it wouldn’t budge.

She frowned, attempting to pull instead but was met with the same response. Nothing. 

Distantly, the three could hear animalistic huffing and slurping sounds. It sounded much too large to belong to cattle. 

They froze.

Rei started to look around, fear beginning to coat her features as the three of them still stood outside the door, unable to enter. 

The sounds came again, distinctly from the direction they had come from. 

“What are we going to do? I still don’t have enough mana to fight anything right now,” Rei lowered her voice, worried the animal might hear her.

Wonyoung’s fingers trembled slightly, tiny sparks flying and showing her anxiety. 

But before they could spiral into a panic, they heard the sound of a heavy latch being lifted, followed by the sound of many locks unlocking.

A young woman—smaller in stature than all three girls—pulled the door open with a flabbergasted expression on her face. 

“Are you crazy? Why didn’t you use the knocker? Get inside, quick!” The unknown woman ushered them inside, and they obliged and watched as she reapplied a thick plank of wood that was acting as a barricade. It extended past the doors’ width, ensuring that it would not open from the outside without a great deal of force. 

Inside, there were booths lining the walls, rounded tables spaced out in the center of the big room, and a bar spanning the back wall.

There were mostly older adults at the tables, tall mugs overflowing with beer. The energy was loud and boisterous. 

The place buzzed with conversation, mugs slamming, and laughter rising and falling in volume at regular intervals. Rowdy, yes—but oddly jovial. The calmness in the face of the apparent common knowledge of a rogue beast ravaging the community at night was unsettling, to say the least. 

After ensuring all—nine–of the locks were secured properly, the woman sighed to herself and turned back to the girls. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners? Welcome to JMJ’s Bed, Beer, and Breakfast,” the woman smiled, and it looked genuine but felt awkward for some reason. No one mentioned it. The woman continued.

“You can call me Winter. Just let me know how many beds you need, and I’ll set you right up whenever you’re ready, okay?” Before waiting for a response, she fluttered off to help some patrons at a corner table. 

“Uh, that was nice,” Rei said, but her expression said that she actually thought the interaction was slightly weird.

“Oi, travelers! Over here!” The voice came from behind the bar. 

The girls turned toward the bar.

A woman stood behind it, pouring with practiced ease. Her hair fell in perfect waves over one shoulder, not styled so much as effortlessly arranged, and her shirt—cut just low enough—kept a steady stream of dazed men stumbling up to the counter for “just one more round.”

She wasn’t much taller than Gaeul. Still shorter than Rei or Wonyoung. But something about the way she stood—arm resting on the bar, eyes glittering with mischief—made her presence feel towering.

“You must be freezing,” she said, eyes on them and already reaching for glasses.“Come on over—I’ve got just the thing to warm you up.”

Wonyoung hesitated, but it wasn’t as if they had a better option. One by one, they moved toward the bar and perched on the stools in front of the woman, who smiled disarmingly in a way that felt distinctly fox-like.

“Mead?” the woman asked, ready to pour it into medium-sized mugs.

Rei frowned. “What’s mead?”

The bartender blinked at her, then slowly shook her head. “Oh, sweet child.”

Without missing a beat, she swapped out the mugs for slim crystal stems and reached for a different bottle—something darker, richer, and definitely more expensive.

“I can tell,” she said with a smile, “you’re wine girls.”

She poured them each a glass and leaned casually on the bar. “Karina. I’m the owner of this fine establishment, and the first glass is always on the house. And before you ask—” she nodded toward the shorter woman wrangling a table of rowdy drunks across the room—“that’s my wife. Don’t let the scowl fool you, she’s the fun one.”

Winter glanced over just in time to catch the comment, narrowed her eyes in warning, and went back to her pitcher-pouring without breaking stride.

Karina blew her a kiss.

“She likes me best when I’m humble,” the woman stage-whispered with a wink.

That earned the first laugh from the girls all evening—confused, tired, but genuine.

Karina’s smile lingered, then dipped into something more curious. Her eyes flicked over their outfits—not just the fabric, but the fit, the stitching, the state of it. It wasn’t the only thing she noticed; their posture, their stature, mannerisms—those said a lot more than words might. 

“You’re not from around here,” she said lightly. It wasn’t a question. “Seora, maybe? The Inner city?”

There was a pause. The girls stiffened just a little—caught.

Before they could respond, Winter appeared like a well-timed spell, menus in hand and a subtle warning in her tone. “Don’t interrogate the guests, unnie.”

Karina held up both hands. “Curiosity isn’t a crime, is it?”

Winter rolled her eyes. “You’re making people nervous.” She turned to the girls, her tone shifting—gentler, but still matter-of-fact. “You must’ve come a long way. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

They all nodded, a bit too quickly for it to be casual.

“You don’t strike me as stew-and-roots types,” Winter said, not handing out the menus.

Rei blinked. “What are the options?”

Karina snorted. “Ah. I know your type.”

The girls looked at each other, unsure whether they’d been insulted.

Karina waved it off with a smirk. “Relax. We don’t have any extravagant stuff here, but don’t worry.”

Winter disappeared into the back without another word.

Moments later, she returned with three steaming bowls of pork ramyun and a plate of golden fried chicken. The smell hit them before the sight did—crispy, savory, familiar.

Karina slid the bowls in front of them like a magician revealing a trick.

“We don’t have the royal spread,” she said. “But this should remind you of home.”

—

The wine and food disappeared fast. Much too fast for how slowly they tried to eat. They wanted to savor the flavors that were reminiscent of the place they left behind but also the new spices they’d never had.

“Enlightened your palate, right?” Karina was all smiles as she received the nods she was expecting. “I’m glad. Another round?”

Three pairs of eyes locked. They should have said no. But when those sculpted eyebrows waggled across the bar at them, they collectively decided to indulge—it was their first night away from home, after all.

—

Warmth bloomed in their chests, the kind that came from full stomachs and good wine—Karina had chosen well. Smooth, expensive, familiar. A taste from home that paired far too easily with letting one’s guard down.

She didn’t hover, but she didn’t stray too far either. Between pouring rounds and shots alike for patrons and wiping down the bar, she kept returning. Always with a smile, always with another pour.

“So,” she said casually, “what brings three travelers like yourselves through Undeok now of all times?”

The girls exchanged a look.

Wonyoung was the one to reply, slow and careful. “We’re looking for answers.”

Karina arched a brow, wine bottle still in her hand. “Answers?”

“To some… recent events,” Gaeul added. “We heard there’s been unrest across the kingdom.”

“Unrest is one word,” Karina muttered, then leaned her hip against the bar. “You looking for someone?”

Rei shook her head. “Not exactly. But we are hoping to find someone who can point us in the right direction.”

Karina hummed, gently swirling the wine in the bottle, as if aerating it.

Winter passed behind her, carrying a tray of empty mugs to the bin, and cut her eyes toward the three girls. “They’ve got good manners,” she said aloud, almost like a test.

“We’ve had good teachers,” Wonyoung replied, not missing a beat.

Karina smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mm. Bet you did.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward, but watchful. Then the bartender leaned forward, setting the bottle down.

“Well, I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “You stay the night, get some rest. And if you’re still around tomorrow… We might have something you can help with.”

“A beast,” Winter added bluntly. “Perhaps you’ve heard about it. A mana-corrupted sloth bear has been haunting the hills for weeks. It’s too clever for traps, and too big for anyone here to handle.”

Wonyoung straightened, lowering her chin, expression searching. “You think we can?”

Winter gave a thin smile. “I think you think you can.” The woman sauntered off, carrying the bin of empty dishes to the kitchen.

The atmosphere shifted to something less warm but not quite hostile after that. 

They finished their final glasses of wine slowly. Karina stopped asking questions and Winter kept the rowdy crowd in check with little more than pointed glances and a well-placed coaster toss.

The girls didn’t offer any more information. They’d trained for this—for how to say just enough. How to smile without agreeing. How to leave a conversation with nothing exposed but charm.

Eventually, Karina returned with three keys, setting them on the bar with a faint clink.

“Upstairs. Third floor. Rooms are warm, beds are decent.” She smiled. “And the locks work.” Reassuring.

They stood, a little buzzed, the quiet weight of wine pulling them into that liminal space between comfort and caution.

It was their first night out. Their first stop on the road. They didn’t speak about it, but there was a shared thought between them—a quiet christening of something new.

No one looked their way as they drowsily climbed the stairs. They bid each other sleepy goodnights before retiring to their rooms.

——

When morning finally came, Rei still slept soundly. She snored slightly, her mouth open a fraction. They might’ve been on a journey, but rest was important, wasn’t it?

She’d later justify her near-afternoon rising by stating that Karina-ssi had given them too much wine.

Eventually, the sun’s light found her face, and she cracked one eye open, groaning into her pillow. There was a very specific ache behind her eyes—the kind that came from cheap wine disguised in expensive bottles. Or maybe the other way around.

Whatever. It was still Karina’s fault.

She sat up slowly, dragging the scratchy blanket off, and blinked around the unfamiliar room. A little drafty, but clean. Wooden floors, a small washbasin, and her travel pack half-unzipped where she’d abandoned it the night before.

She shuffled over and began digging through her things until her fingers brushed against the familiar fabric of her skincare pouch. Victory.

A few minutes later, she stood in front of the basin, splashing cold water on her face and muttering about “rustic living” under her breath. She didn’t have many supplies with her—Gaeul had said something about ‘packing light’ or ‘Rei, you can’t bring 13 stuffed toys and your wardrobe with you’—not that it mattered. She had her soap and moisturizer with her; those were the most important. Some habits couldn’t be compromised, even out in the middle of mana-starved nowhere.

When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she gave a satisfied nod. “Not bad.”

One step at a time. Pants, coffee, and hopefully no beast attacks before noon.

—

From her room in between her two counterparts, Gaeul could hear nothing but silence. When the sun rose, the girl followed suit.

Her body’s internal clock was telling her that she would have ample time to meditate before either of her friends would awaken. While she preferred to be in her thinking place for her morning routine, she logically knew it was impossible and let go of the longing. 

Gaeul resolved to make the most of what she had. And right now, the quiet stretched on beautifully… so she would do the same.

—

After two hours, even Gaeul was rather… bored. She wanted to explore a bit, but knew Wonyoung and Rei wouldn’t be happy if she went without them. 

As the thought crossed her mind, her stomach reminded her that it required sustenance. With a final exhale, Gaeul mentally exited her meditative state and opened her eyes.

“Maybe just a small snack until they wake up,” she spoke to no one as she shrugged and stood from her cross-legged position on the floor.

The stairs creaked gently beneath her feet as Gaeul descended into the tavern. The noise was different this morning—faint and familiar. No raucous laughter, just the occasional clink of cutlery and the low murmur of conversation from the few early risers.

Winter looked up from behind the bar, a rag in one hand and a glass in the other. Her gaze flicked over Gaeul without expression. “Just you this morning?”

Gaeul nodded once, offering a polite smile. “For now.”

Winter set the glass aside and wiped her hands on a towel. “Today’s breakfast is imported beer paired with imported waffles.”

There was a beat.

“…Beer?” Gaeul asked, one brow raised. It was early…

Winter shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Trust me.”

There was no menu. Just that.

Gaeul hesitated. “Do you have… a very small glass?”

Winter didn’t argue. She simply nodded and disappeared into the back.

Gaeul glanced around while she waited. The light through the windows was thin and cool, casting long shadows over the wooden tables. The scent of batter and browned butter slowly drifted in from the kitchen, followed by the soft clink of bottles.

Soon enough, Winter reemerged, balancing a plate of steaming waffles and a tiny beer glass—no larger than a juice cup.

She placed both gently on the bar in front of Gaeul, saying nothing.

Gaeul took a cautious bite—and then another, slower this time. The waffles were crisp at the edges, almost caramelized. The beer was light, subtly spiced, and somehow complimented the dish perfectly.

“You should give my regards to the chef,” Gaeul said softly.

Winter tapped the bar with two fingers. “You just did.”

“Oh.” Gaeul lowered her head respectfully. “Thank you. It’s really good.”

Winter leaned her elbows on the bar, regarding her for a moment. “You’re not like your friends.”

Gaeul didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure how to take that.

Winter continued, matter-of-fact. “I like you better.”

There it was again—blunt, honest. Not cruel, but sharp-edged in its own way.

Gaeul almost bristled, then stopped herself, remembering. People here were different. They didn’t flatter. They didn’t hide behind niceties. So she responded plainly.

“They can be a bit outspoken, yes. But they mean well. And as their unnie, I take responsibility for them.”

Winter tilted her head, something flickering behind her eyes. “That’s noble of you.”

Before Gaeul could reply or inquire about her choice of words, she felt a presence approaching—familiar, playful.

“Are you flirting with the guests again?” Karina’s voice, still half-laced with sleep, floated in from behind.

Winter didn’t move, but the corners of her mouth lifted. “I’m not.”

Karina stepped forward, barefoot and effortless, slipping behind the bar. She wrapped her arms around Winter’s waist and pressed her nose to her hair, resting her chin lightly on her shoulder. Their height difference was small, but enough for the embrace to fit just right.

Winter squirmed instinctively… then relaxed into it.

Karina stayed there for a moment, nuzzling softly, before the shorter woman escaped her grip to take empty plates from a nearby table. Karina’s gaze followed her for a moment before eventually returning to Gaeul.

Her tone, when she finally spoke, was gentle. “She smiled. That’s rare.”

Gaeul smiled back, a small thing. “I’m honored.”

Karina chuckled under her breath and reached for a fresh paper cup, filling it with something dark and fragrant, adding a splash of something light.

“Coffee,” she said, sliding it across the bar without spilling any. “In case you want to wait for your friends without falling asleep.”

Gaeul accepted it with both hands. “Thank you.”

Karina’s gaze lingered for a moment longer. It wasn’t sharp like last night—just curious. Warm. “They’re still knocked out?”

Gaeul exhaled slowly. “They sleep very well.”

That earned a laugh from both women.

As Gaeul turned to leave, she heard Winter’s voice behind her. She had returned to the bar and spoke—low, barely more than a murmur.

“She’s alright. I… like her.”

And Karina’s response, softer still:

“Yeah. Me too.”

—

Upstairs, Gaeul’s footsteps were careful as she returned to her room. From one side, she heard the faint rustling of sheets and blankets—Rei, finally stirring. On the other: continued silence.

Wonyoung would sleep for at least another hour or so.

Gaeul sat on the edge of her bed, cradling the warm cup in her palms. She took a slow sip, let its warmth settle, and smiled.

She knew her friends. And she loved them as they were.

—

A dull thump sounded from the room to Gaeul’s right.

Moments later—groaning. A shuffle of blankets. A pillow hit the floor with soft finality.

From the room on her left, she could hear the soft patter of water, the muted clink of glass. Rei, mid-skincare. Everything was on schedule.

Gaeul didn’t move from her seat by the window. She sipped the last of her coffee and called out into the quiet, knowing the walls were thin enough:

“Afternoon.”

A beat passed.

“…What?” Wonyoung’s voice was gravelly and betrayed. “What time is it.” She was so groggy that she didn’t even  bother phrasing it as a question.

“We’re going to the clinic,” Gaeul replied, calm and matter-of-fact.

From across the hall, Rei’s voice chimed in lightly, “Because of the incurable ouchies.”

Eventually, Rei appeared in the hallway—face dewy, wide awake—and let herself into Gaeul’s room without knocking. She wore socks of two different heights and carried her hairbrush in one hand like it was an extension of herself. “Is this a formal gathering or…?”

“Just come in,” Gaeul said with a fond sigh.

She didn’t need to call for Wonyoung. The taller girl arrived a few minutes later, looking significantly more presentable. She entered already combing through her long, slightly damp hair, her expression still somewhat muzzy from sleep but composed in the way she usually was.

She stood in front of the mirror by Gaeul’s washbasin, combing sliding through the strands in slow, practiced strokes.

“I can’t believe you woke me up before breakfast,” she said flatly, not turning around.

“I didn’t,” Gaeul said. “Your internal clock is just slow.”

“Betrayal,” Wonyoung muttered, finishing a final stroke and setting the comb down delicately.

Rei plopped down near the edge of the bed, biting into an apple. “So what exactly are we doing?”

“We’re going to the clinic,” Gaeul repeated. “To see if anyone will talk to us about the bear.”

“Ah,” Rei said, chewing. “So we’re causing a scene.”

“No,” Gaeul corrected, standing. “We’re asking questions. Kindly. No fireballs, no sass, no sudden declarations of nobility.”

Rei raised both hands. “You wound me.”

Wonyoung turned from the mirror, fully dressed and officially glowing. “I can be diplomatic.”

Gaeul raised an eyebrow.

She finished meekly. “…When I want to be.”

—

The tavern was quieter than the night before, but still carried the steady buzz of mid-afternoon chatter. A few tables were occupied by locals nursing drinks or eating what looked like late breakfasts. The air smelled faintly of syrup, toasted bread, and something herbal from the bar.

As the girls stepped into the common room, Winter glanced up from where she was pouring something fizzy into a clean glass.

“You missed breakfast,” she said simply. No sharpness. Just a statement.

Rei shifted on her feet. “That’s fair.”

Winter set the glass aside. “What’ll you have instead?”

There was a beat. Wonyoung blinked. Rei tilted her head slightly.

The tone was… different. Not exactly warm, but not suspicious anymore either. Curious, maybe, with a hint of familiarity.

Rei cleared her throat. “Strawberry milk and a muffin, if that’s alright?”

Wonyoung added, “Banana yogurt smoothie, please.”

Winter gave a short nod and disappeared as usual, to the back. The order was placed, but they didn’t see how—she didn’t speak or ring a bell. She simply left through the doorway, only to immediately return. In her arms was a tray, which she set gently on the counter without a word.

She gestured for Gaeul’s empty cup and when she received it, refilled it perfectly, without even needing to be asked.

The girls quietly picked up their drinks. Rei grabbed her muffin, which was soft and warm to the touch, much to her delight.

All three girls bowed in thanks.

“Thank you,” Wonyoung said, taking a sip and instantly relishing the taste.

Winter didn’t smile, but she dipped her chin in acknowledgment with a neutral expression. “See you tonight.”

The girls turned to go.

But Wonyoung lingered.

Rei and Gaeul were already at the door, halfway out into the street, when she stepped back toward the bar.

Winter was speaking to another customer and didn’t seem to notice. Karina was nowhere to be seen.

Wonyoung reached into the inside pocket of her coat and placed a small, neatly folded pouch on the far corner of the counter. Its contents barely made a sound, but the weight was unmistakable. Enough to cover meals, drinks, and lodging for far more than three people, far longer than necessary.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just straightened her posture, looked at the space between her and the bar, and then quietly spoke:

“We’ll be back.”

Then she turned and walked out the door.

Outside, Rei looked up from her muffin. “What was that about?”

Wonyoung waved a hand. “I just told them we’ll be back for dinner.”

Gaeul sipped her coffee and said nothing, but she hid a knowing smile behind the rim.

—

Despite the late noontime sun shining down, the streets of Undeok still felt distant. People moved about with purpose, but none of that purpose included the three girls. Vendors adjusted their stalls without so much as a glance their way. Shoppers stepped aside—polite, but cold—and one man even crossed the street entirely to avoid walking past them. A chill of unwelcome silence hung in the air, as if Gaeul, Wonyoung, and Rei were ghosts drifting through a town that wished they weren’t there.

Rei huffed, breaking the uneasy quiet. “You’d think after surviving a monster attack and eating their food, we’d get at least a nod,” she muttered, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

“We never even saw the monster,” Gaeul pointed out matter-of-factly. “And they didn’t see us eat the food.” Her eyes flicked around at the stares that quickly slid away whenever she met them. She kept her tone light, but her shoulders were tense.

Wonyoung stayed quiet, gaze alert as she scanned the road ahead. It was strange not being the center of attention—strange that people here actively avoided looking at them—but she found she didn’t mind the change. Still, the hostility was palpable. She could feel it in the way the villagers’ backs remained turned. It set her on edge.

They soon spotted the slate-grey signpost reading “Undeok Clinic,” and a familiar red cross painted on the building just beyond. The small clinic sat a little back from the road. Its front window shade was drawn down, making it appear closed.

“It still looks like it’s closed,” Wonyoung said under her breath, eyeing the darkened front window. The iron sconce by the door was unlit, unlike the warm torchlight outside other shops. That was odd—most places kept an exterior flame burning during business hours, even in daylight, as a sign of life within.

Wonyoung raised a hand, a tiny spark of magic dancing at her fingertips. She considered igniting the clinic’s torch herself to be helpful, but thought better of it. The townspeople already seemed to dislike them; better not to give anyone more reason to complain about outsider magic. She let the spark fizzle out.

When they were finished, the  girls discarded the waste from their drinks and Rei’s muffin in a nearby bin.

Rei stepped up and knocked on the heavy wooden door. Once—twice—waiting in between. No answer. She exchanged a glance with the others and tried again, louder. Still nothing. Inside, she could faintly hear shuffling and muffled whimpers, but no one came to greet them.

Gaeul pressed her lips together. “Well… we’re not breaking in,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone, “but I think they’re open.” She reached for the handle and turned. To her surprise, the knob gave way freely. The door wasn’t locked.

The hinges protested with a harsh creak as Gaeul pushed the door open. It dragged against the wooden floor with a scraping noise, sticking halfway. Gaeul had to shove her shoulder against it to open it wide enough for them to slip through. The grating sound drew every eye inside the clinic.

A few heads lifted from pillows and turned toward the door. The reaction was immediate and unwelcoming. Those who noticed the newcomers quickly averted their gazes again, as if eye contact might invite trouble. Some just stared outright, wariness etched on their faces. One woman sitting on a cot tightened her arm around the small, trembling girl in her lap. The mother shifted, positioning her body protectively between her child and the strangers who had just entered.

Rei offered the woman a tentative smile, trying not to be discouraged. She opened her mouth to say hello or something reassuring—but the woman flinched before any words came out, clutching her daughter as if a wolf had wandered in. Rei’s greeting died in her throat.

Okay… Not a great start.

Inside the moderate-sized clinic, rows of low cots were crammed so tightly there was hardly room to walk between them. Every bed was occupied. Men, women, and children lay injured and pale, their wounds bound in hurried bandages or old cloths. Many patients shivered with fever or pain. A few were whimpering; others just stared listlessly at the ceiling or rocked in silent agony. There were no privacy curtains, no partitions—just one open room suffused with suffering.

A cloying mix of odors hit the girls at the doorway. The sharp tang of dried blood and sweat overpowered the sweeter scent of medicinal herbs burning in a censer at the corner. It was clear the herbs were there to mask the blood smell, and equally clear that they were failing.

No one welcomed the girls or asked if they needed help. The only two attendants in sight—a young man grinding herbs in a mortar and an older woman wrapping a bandage—barely spared the newcomers a glance. Their expressions were tight with exhaustion and distrust.

Rei’s heart broke at the sight of so many hurt people, but the cold reception was fraying her nerves. After everything they’d been through in the past day, being glared at like this was too much. Finally, she couldn’t hold back. “Is there anyone here who will speak to us?” Rei called out, her voice cutting through the low moans and murmurs. Frustration edged her tone. She tried to sound polite, but it definitely came out more irritated than she intended.

For a moment, the only response was a heavy silence. Then a man with a bloodied rag pressed to his leg gave a derisive snort. “Why should we?” he growled. His eyes, hard with pain and suspicion, traveled over the trio’s clean clothes and uninjured bodies. He sneered openly. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

Wonyoung bristled and took a step forward, unable to hide her indignation. She opened her mouth—whether to apologize or snap back, even she wasn’t sure. But before she could say anything, Gaeul’s hand appeared in front of her like a bar across her chest. The oldest girl gently but firmly stopped Wonyoung in her tracks. A subtle shake of Gaeul’s head said, Don’t. They weren’t here to argue, and getting into a shouting match would do no one any good.

Wonyoung clamped her jaw shut, swallowing her retort. She could feel her cheeks heating in anger and embarrassment. Gaeul was right; this wasn’t the time.

Gaeul stepped forward calmly, lowering her hand from Wonyoung and raising both palms in a placating gesture. “We’re here to help,” she said evenly, her voice as soothing as she could make it. She swept her gaze across the room, taking in distrustful faces and weary, wounded eyes. These people were scared, hurting, and clearly in no mood to trust outsiders. Words alone wouldn’t convince them.

So Gaeul decided to show them.

Her eyes fell on the nearest patient—a little boy curled up on a cot just a few steps away. He couldn’t have been older than six or seven. His face was ghost-pale under a sheen of sweat, and he whimpered softly with each shallow breath. A crude splint bound his left arm, which was twisted at an odd angle. By the way he squeezed his eyes shut, the boy was in considerable pain, even unconscious.

Without hesitating, Gaeul crossed the short distance to the child’s bedside. The boy’s mother—the same woman who had flinched away earlier—watched in alarm as Gaeul knelt down. The mother’s lips parted as if to protest.

“It’s okay,” Gaeul whispered gently, looking up at the woman and slowing her movements. She kept her voice low and calm. “I only want to help him.”

The mother’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. Gaeul’s face was open and earnest, and after a beat, the woman gave a tiny nod, loosening her grip on her son’s shoulder. She was desperate enough to let a stranger try.

Gaeul exhaled in relief and turned her focus to the boy. Very slowly, she laid her hand a few inches above the child’s chest, not quite touching him. She closed her eyes and summoned her aura. A soft, golden glow blossomed around Gaeul’s hand and spread outward, enveloping the boy in a faint shimmer of light.

Wonyoung and Rei watched in silence as Gaeul’s calming aura washed over the child. The effect was almost immediate. The boy’s ragged breathing eased into a deeper, steadier rhythm. The pained creases in his brow smoothed out. A tiny sigh escaped his lips, and the tension in his small body unwound as soothing warmth radiated through him.

“He… he’s stopped whimpering,” the mother whispered, half in disbelief. She brushed damp hair from her son’s forehead, her fingers no longer trembling. For the first time since the girls entered, the woman’s eyes met Gaeul’s with something other than fear. It looked like gratitude.

A murmur rippled through the other patients who had been watching warily. The warm light from Gaeul’s aura was hard to ignore, and so was the visible relief on the boy’s face. A few people shifted, craning their necks to get a better view. Was the outsider actually healing the child?

Rei, still standing near the center of the room, glanced around. The suspicion in the air had dimmed slightly, replaced by curiosity—and a fragile hope. But the man with the bloodied leg was still eyeing them with a scowl, clearly unconvinced. His injury looked severe; dark, dried blood stained his torn pant leg around the makeshift bandage.

Gaeul’s approach was gentle comfort. Rei’s style was more direct. If showing was what it took, she’d show them too.

Rei approached the injured man, hands held open at her sides to appear non-threatening. He watched her warily. “What do you want?” he snapped. There was pain behind his bravado—his leg was shaking and he was sweating through clenched teeth.

“I want to help,” Rei said. She tried for a smile, but it came out crooked. Up close, the corruption in his wound was palpable to her sixth sense. The air around his injured knee shimmered with traces of dark mana, like heat off a road. No wonder the regular medicine hadn’t fully worked here—this wasn’t a normal injury. It was laced with magic, malignant and festering.

The man grimaced. “We don’t need—” He cut off with a gasp as Rei knelt and carefully peeled back the blood-soaked cloth from his knee. The gash beneath was deep and ugly, edged with blackened flesh that spiderwebbed into the surrounding skin. Black veins… the mark of an infection by dark magic. Rei’s stomach turned at the sight. The injury looked days old but was clearly not healing properly.

He tried to jerk his leg back reflexively, but Rei placed a light hand on his shin. “Please,” she said softly. “Trust me for one minute.” Something in her tone made the man pause. Maybe it was the steadiness of her gaze or the way she didn’t flinch at the grisly wound. He released a shuddering breath and reluctantly nodded, letting his leg rest within her reach.

Rei pressed her palms together, calling up her own magic. A faint violet aura flickered to life around her hands as she held them over the infected gash. Unlike Gaeul’s comforting glow, Rei’s magic felt cooler, more electric. She closed her eyes, attuning herself to the pulsing throb of corrupted mana embedded in the man’s flesh.

Come here, she beckoned silently, drawing the dark energy toward herself. At first it resisted, clinging to its host—then, slowly, black tendrils of magic began to unwind from the wound, invisible to the naked eye but searingly clear to Rei’s senses.

She grit her teeth as a sharp, icy sting lanced up her arms. The dark mana coiled and writhed as she siphoned it out of the man and into herself. It felt wrong—oily and wild, like trying to hold onto a thrashing snake. This wasn’t a regular magical attack she could nullify, nor some alchemist’s poison she recognized. It was raw, untamed mana, chaotic and feral.

Rei’s head swam as the corrupt energy flooded into her system. Her vision blurred at the edges, nausea rising. This… This feels different from normal mana I’m used to, she thought dimly. More like… primal mana. Images flashed through her mind: the Silo they’d heard about back home—an old repository of raw mana beneath the hills, supposedly sealed. Could it be leaking? Was that what tainted the sloth bear that likely gave this man his wound? It certainly didn’t feel like any engineered magic she knew.

Her heart pounded. Too much. It was too much to absorb all at once. A hissing sound filled her ears; only belatedly did she realize it was her own strained breath.

“Rei, stop!” Wonyoung’s voice cut through the haze. Rei’s eyes snapped open just as her knees buckled.

Wonyoung was there in an instant, catching Rei under the arms before she could collapse to the floor. Gaeul’s golden glow winked out as she, too, looked over in alarm. The room filled with gasps—some from patients, some from the helpers tending them.

Rei panted, trying to steady herself. Her arms shook violently, the last wisps of violet light fading from her hands. She’d pulled as much of the infection out as she could handle; more than she could handle, really. A dizzy spell washed over her, and she leaned gratefully into Wonyoung’s support.

Her fingers tingled faintly. The magic she’d absorbed hadn’t dissipated yet—it coiled in her, heavy and strange, like a stormcloud that hadn’t broken.

The injured man blinked in confusion, looking from Rei to his own leg. The black veining around his wound had receded visibly, the flesh there losing its sickly hue. Though the gash was still raw and open, the surrounding swelling seemed to lessen as they watched. He flexed his foot and let out a surprised breath. “The pain… it’s not nearly as bad,” he said gruffly, almost in disbelief.

Across the room, whispering broke out among the townsfolk. “Did you see that?” an older woman hissed. “Her hands were glowing.” — “Is the child asleep?” — “My gods, they are mages…”

Hope, cautious but growing, flickered in their faces. A few even looked remorseful for the hostile greetings. The mother of the little boy was openly crying now—soft, relieved sobs as she stroked her sleeping son’s hair and mouthed thank-yous to Gaeul. She managed a small reassuring smile in return, though concern furrowed her brow as she glanced toward Rei.

Wonyoung helped Rei straighten up. “Are you okay?” she whispered, scanning her friend’s pale face. Rei nodded weakly, brushing a few strands of hair from her already damp forehead.

“I’m fine,” Rei insisted softly, though her legs still trembled. Wonyoung didn’t let go of her arm, staying close just in case. The three girls exchanged looks—Gaeul’s eyes asking are you alright? as well. Rei gave a tiny nod in response, and Gaeul exhaled, relief easing her tense shoulders.

The atmosphere in the clinic had changed. The crackle of resentment and fear was slowly giving way to a buzz of amazement. Patients propped themselves up to get a better look at the strangers who wielded such magic. The volunteer attendants hovered uncertainly, no longer sure if they should intervene or welcome the help. For the first time since they entered Undeok, the girls saw faces that were not just frowning or blank—some were wide-eyed, some even cautiously grateful.

Then, cutting through the murmurs, came a new voice—calm, firm, and decidedly authoritative: “What,” they asked, “is going on out here?”

All heads turned toward the rear of the clinic. A small figure stood in a doorway that led from the main room to a back storage area. It was a woman—short and slight, but with an unmistakable presence that filled the room. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun with a few stray wisps sticking to the sweat on her forehead. 

A stained canvas apron hung over her simple beige tunic and trousers, the apron pockets bulging with rolled bandages, vials of herbs, and other medical paraphernalia. She had the look of someone who hadn’t rested properly in days: shadows under her eyes, a hint of a slump in her shoulders. Yet her gaze was sharp and attentive, and her voice did not waver.

The clinic’s lone doctor swept her eyes over the scene—taking in the three unknown girls, the softly glowing aura around one patient, and the stunned expressions of everyone else. She had clearly expected to find trouble; one hand was still poised on the doorframe as if she’d rushed in ready to scold a disturbance. But the sight before her gave her pause.

Gaeul rose slowly from the boy’s bedside, and Rei gently extricated herself from Wonyoung’s supporting grasp, both of them turning to face the newcomer. The woman’s eyes narrowed as she noted the little boy now sleeping peacefully, and the man with the corrupted wound breathing easier. It didn’t take a genius to realize something significant had changed in the last few minutes—and these outsiders were at the center of it.

Silence fell as the doctor stepped fully into the room. Though she wasn’t even five feet tall, she carried herself with confidence, and the townspeople’s reactions said everything: relief flickered in some faces at her arrival, respect in others. A few patients even managed tired smiles or nodded to her. It was obvious this woman commanded both trust and authority here.

She approached the child’s cot first. The boy’s mother sniffled and managed a watery smile. “Dr. Nako… Minsu, he seems a bit better,” the woman stammered softly, not taking her eyes off her boy.

“I can see that,” Nako said, voice gentler now. She placed two fingers on the child’s wrist, checking his pulse. The little boy remained fast asleep, breathing in a steady rhythm—so different from the frantic panting she’d heard all morning. Nako’s eyebrows lifted in mild astonishment. Her limited healing magic could only ever dull pain a little, never this.

She looked up at Gaeul, who stood respectfully off to the side. The golden glow around Gaeul had faded, but Nako did not miss the traces of warmth in the air. “That aura… Was that you?” the doctor asked. There was no accusation in her tone, only professional curiosity.

Before Gaeul could answer, Nako’s attention shifted to the man with the leg wound, who was gingerly probing the skin around his injury. Nako briskly crossed the room to him, the crowd of patients parting automatically for the diminutive doctor. She knelt to examine the wound herself. Her lips parted in surprise as she noted the reduced dark veins and the man’s far more stable condition. She had been tending that injury since yesterday with little progress; now, in a matter of moments, it looked noticeably improved.

Slowly, Nako straightened and turned to face the three girls, who watched her with a mix of caution and hope. The doctor’s eyes shone with fatigue, but also with a spark of interest. She wiped her hands on a rag tucked into her apron and addressed the strangers directly.

“I’m Doctor Yabuki Nako. But Dr. Nako is fine,” she introduced herself, calm and straightforward. Her voice was soft but carried clearly in the hushed room. “I’m the only physician here in Undeok—at least until my partner returns.” She glanced between Gaeul, Wonyoung, and Rei, taking in their youthful faces and lightly travel-worn clothes. They were outsiders indeed, but evidently not just any travelers. “Now, would one of you mind explaining,” she continued, tilting her head with a measured curiosity, “what sort of magic you just used on my patients?”

Her tone was firm, but not unkind. In it was the slightest hint of wonder—professional intrigue from a healer who had just witnessed something remarkable. She crossed her arms over her tiny frame, waiting patiently for an answer, while all around them injured townsfolk looked on in wary, newfound hope.

Gaeul was the first to move, and she immediately bowed to the doctor in respect. She hadn’t meant to intrude in the woman’s space, but when she saw the little boy in pain—instinct had taken over.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. It isn’t our intention to overstep,” she said, lifting her head. Her gaze met the short woman’s steady one, and after a moment, Nako gave a small nod—silent permission to continue.

“My friends and I only came to help however we could. Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”

Nako looked them over again—Gaeul’s steady calm, Wonyoung’s watchful stillness, Rei’s trembling hands—and then turned briskly toward the back of the clinic.

“Follow me.”

They passed the cots slowly. A few murmurs followed them, hushed now, some even hopeful. One child waved faintly at Gaeul. Another patient made the sign for thanks across their chest as they walked by.

Nako led them past the wall of supply shelves and through a narrow doorway the girls hadn’t noticed before. It opened into a small, quiet annex—a private room barely large enough for two beds and a cramped bench. A wide glass window set into the wall offered a view of the rest of the clinic but insulated this space in heavy stillness.

Two patients lay inside.

One was an older man with a sunken chest, gray sweat slicking his pale skin, and labored breaths that sounded like paper tearing. The other was a teenage girl—maybe five or six years Gaeul’s junior—with dark mana veins crawling like roots across her collarbone and jaw. Her body was curled in on itself, locked in some unconscious attempt to hold the pain in.

Nako stepped fully into the room, letting the door swing closed behind them. The hush was immediate, heavy.

She exhaled slowly.

“These are my worst cases.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“They’ve both been here for days,” she said, nodding toward the girl. “She was attacked by something in the woods near her family’s grain shed. They think it was a bear—but no one saw it clearly. They found her unconscious, burning up, with claw marks on her shoulder. The infection spread fast. The mana in her blood is like sludge. Nothing I tried held it back.”

Rei remained near the doorway, quiet. The moment they’d entered the room, the thick dark mana hanging over it had made her stomach clench again. Not violently—but enough to remind her that some of what she pulled into herself still hadn’t dispersed. It clung to her bones like smoke.

She rested a hand on the doorframe and took a deep breath. Nako noticed. Her brow furrowed in concern.

“You absorbed the corruption?” Nako asked, not unkindly.

Rei nodded, one hand pressed lightly to her midsection. “Mhm. Some of it.”

Nako reached into one of the many pockets of her apron and pulled out a small cloth bundle. She unwrapped it to reveal a chunk of pale ginger root marked with glowing etch lines.

“It’s enchanted to calm the stomach,” she said, offering it. “It’ll keep you steady until the worst passes.”

Rei blinked, surprised—but took it gratefully. “Thank you.”

Nako gave a slight shrug. “Can’t have you fainting in my clinic. I’ve got no more open beds.” There was a humor in her tone that the girl didn’t expect. But she smiled at the woman, and received one in return.

Wonyoung, quiet up until now, stood beside Rei. She hadn’t missed the look of confusion that passed over Nako’s face earlier—when the doctor registered her presence but hadn’t called on her for help.

She had watched Gaeul move, flames flickering just under her skin. For the first time, she wasn’t sure her magic belonged. Not that she was useless… but she wasn’t sure she could contribute.

Wonyoung folded her arms, voice low. “I use flame magic,” she offered, a touch defensive. “I didn’t think it would… Help. Not in a place like this.”

Nako glanced over, lips twitching faintly. “Fire is destructive when it’s wild. But contained heat is still one of the most ancient tools in healing. Steam. Sterilization. Fever breaking. Sometimes you just need the right vessel.”

Wonyoung’s brows knit together.

Nako didn’t elaborate.

Instead, she turned back towards the man lying motionless in the other bed. She approached slower this time.

“He was gored straight through the ribs. Both lungs pierced. I stopped the bleeding—for a while—but…”

Her hand hovered near the edge of his bed, not quite touching him.

“He shouldn’t have survived the first night. He’s been mostly unconscious, but he’s breathing. I don’t know how.”

Gaeul watched the man’s chest rise and fall—barely. The air rasped from his throat in shallow, watery gasps.

“I can ease people’s pain,” Nako said, quieter now. “And I can help the body try to heal. But this… this is beyond that. This is something I don’t understand. My partner, Doctor Honda Hitomi, left three days ago for Beongae. It’s a technologically advanced city, so she’s visiting their hospital; doing research and trying to find someone who is familiar with wounds like these—caused by corrupted mana.”

She turned to Gaeul then. Her tired eyes were unwavering.

“There’s no guarantee he’ll make it through the next few hours.”

Silence.

“But maybe,” Nako said softly, “you can help him rest easier than I could.”

She didn’t ask what she was expected to do. She already knew. That was all Gaeul needed to hear.

She stepped to the man’s bedside, moving slowly so as not to jostle the air. Her magic couldn’t repair shredded lungs. She knew that. But maybe—she could quiet his pain. Maybe she could give him peace before the end.

She knelt beside him, steady and reverent, and hovered her hands above his chest. Her aura answered her call in a soft bloom of golden light, pulsing low and warm. The sound of his breathing didn’t change—but the tension in his brow did. The muscles in his face softened. His arms finally unclenched.

A long exhale slipped past his lips.

And then—just for a moment—his eyes opened.

They were clouded. Unfocused. But they found her. His lips parted, cracked and dry, but no words came.

Gaeul leaned in slightly. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “You can rest now.”

He blinked once. And then his eyes closed again.

The breathing slowed.

Stopped.

Nako stepped forward, placing two fingers to his neck. She didn’t speak right away. She closed her eyes. Counted the absence. Then gave a small, solemn nod.

“…Thank you,” she said quietly.

Gaeul bowed her head, lips pressed into a line. She didn’t cry—but she felt the weight of what had passed. Of what she hadn’t been able to change, and what she had.

Nako laid a hand briefly on the man’s chest, a silent goodbye. Then she turned toward the teenage girl still curled on the next bed.

“Now,” she said, her voice steady again, “maybe we can still save her.”

Gaeul looked over, and the shift in her posture was subtle but clear—there was still more work to be done.

She rose slowly, the faint shimmer of her aura flickering at her fingertips. 

 A deep breath. 

In. 

Out. 

Gaeul was centered once more. But before she could move to the girl, Nako stepped back from the bedside.

“I have to check in on the others,” she said softly. “I’ll be in the front if you need me.”

Gaeul gave a faint nod.

Rei and Wonyoung remained behind a moment longer.

Wonyoung glanced toward the girl, then back at Gaeul. “We’re going to look around. Ask questions. See if there’s anyone who’s seen injuries like this… or anyone who’s survived them.”

Rei nodded. “We won’t be gone long.”

Gaeul didn’t turn, but she heard the weight in their words. And she knew what they weren’t saying: Don’t push yourself. Don’t carry this alone.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “She shouldn’t be alone.”

Rei hesitated, then stepped closer and placed a hand on Gaeul’s shoulder. A squeeze—brief, grounding. “You’re doing more than anyone else could.” Her voice was soft to convey her sincerity.

Wonyoung didn’t disagree. But she lingered in the doorway, eyes catching the light off Gaeul’s hands as her aura stirred again.

“We’ll come back,” she said eventually, softer than before. “With someone. Or something.”

Gaeul managed a small smile, though she didn’t look away from the girl.

“I know,” she said. She didn’t need to look up. She had all the belief in the world in her friends.

Not wanting to distract the older girl any further, Rei and Wonyoung stepped out.

At their departure, the room had gone quiet again. But this time, hope lingered with it.

Gaeul remained near the teenage girl’s bedside, her fingertips bathed in golden light, and brow lowered in concentration. 

She was glad she had taken the time to meditate this morning.

Chapter Text

The rain followed her into the dream.

Hyunseo stood ankle-deep in dark sand, the sky above bleached of color. It wasn’t what she would’ve expected the desert sky to look like.

Wind brushed past her cheeks—hot and dry. Not like Meulbi, and nothing like home. It felt older. Heavier, somehow. As if it had traveled from some ancient place and forgotten to leave.

Around her rose the remnants of a ruin. She looked on in wonderment and pondered briefly what it might’ve been in its prime. Towering pillars—some cracked in half, others bowed with age—circled a hollow in the earth. They looked as if they’d once supported something great. Now they only leaned, quiet and broken.

This looked like more than a desert.

It reminded Hyunseo of a graveyard.

Jiwon stood nearby. Not beside her, but close enough to feel. She didn’t speak. Her eyes were open but not focused on her. The other girl’s mouth moved without sound. It was as though she was speaking to Hyunseo through water—or from another time? Or maybe she wasn’t talking to her at all? Either way, Hyunseo couldn’t hear her.

She opened her own mouth to speak but said nothing, because she realized something.

Yujin wasn’t with them.

That fact hit her harder than the heat. They were always together. All three of them. Even when Yujin started doing more with their father, even when she got her own room, she still came back. Still checked in. Still carried their weight like her own.

But here? She didn’t see her anywhere.

And something in her lurched with a feeling akin to fear.

Before she could look again, a golden glow flared ahead. Hyunseo whirled toward it.

There, suspended between the tallest pillars, was a ring.

It floated in the open air, humming faintly. There was no chain. No platform. Just magic. 

It shimmered as if underwater, casting no shadow, and its energy pulsed slowly—steadily—as if alive.

She took a step in its direction.

The closer she came, the more its size unraveled. It looked massive, wide enough to encircle a beast. Then suddenly—barely big enough to fit around her wrist.

A… Bangle? Or a doorway?

She couldn’t tell.

She raised her hand. Not to touch it, just to gauge how far away it was, and maybe that would help her determine its size…

But the sand gave way beneath her feet.

Hyunseo gasped, trying to step back, but her body sank. Relentlessly.

Jiwon reached for her. Their fingers met. But the sand pulled them both.

Hyunseo sank faster. Jiwon held on, but neither of them had any leverage.

“Unnie!” she called—but her voice was mute. Soundless. Like her vocal cords had never known how to vibrate in order to produce sound.

Then she heard a voice. It wasn’t Jiwon’s.

It was her own.

It sounded mature. Calm. Echoing from somewhere behind her.

“You can’t interact with this world,” it began. 

Hyunseo turned, thrashing—

“Because you’re not really here yet.”

She saw herself.

Not in the flesh, but reflected in a shard of black glass half-buried in the sand. Obsidian. Her own eyes stared back at her—sharper, wiser, and worn with something she couldn’t quite place.

The ring flared again, louder, enveloping everything in her sight with a blinding light.

And then—everything caved in.

——

She jerked awake, breath catching in her throat.

The lean-to above her head still held, rain thundering against the patched cloak that formed its roof. Their makeshift shelter was pressed up against the trunk of a wide, gnarled tree. Its roots arched like ribs and it kept them elevated and off of the muddy ground. The storm still hadn’t let up. Wouldn’t let up, apparently.

Jiwon was asleep on the edge, closest to where the rain cascaded down in a steady waterfall. Her body didn’t even twitch when cold mist splashed across her shins.

She used to flinch at any and everything.

But after discovering her magic—after establishing that first connection to water—rain no longer disturbed her. She was still the same Jiwon: tender, reactive, quick to feel. But storms… the different manifestations of water didn’t rattle her anymore. They grounded her.

One arm lay across Hyunseo’s stomach like a tether.

Yujin slept to her left, back leaning against the base of the tree. Her arms were crossed, her face calm, but there was tension in her body, like she wasn’t truly resting. Her cloak had been used to patch the roof, and the fabric of her undershirt had slipped slightly in its dampness, exposing a thin scar beneath her collarbone.

Hyunseo blinked.

She was sure that wasn’t there before.

Back in Nahae, the three of them had shared a room all their lives. Before their father had moved her into the study a year ago—he’d said something about her needing a quiet space to focus on the documents—they’d bathed together, dressed together, bickered over blankets and stolen socks. She would’ve seen it.

Even now, after they had all gotten used to the change, Hyunseo still thought she would’ve noticed a mark like that.

Yujin would’ve told them. Wouldn’t she?

Hyunseo let out a quiet hum, unsure.

Then she rolled onto her side and reached out with one finger—poking Jiwon’s cheek.

The older girl stirred with a small groan, swatting at the air. “Mnnh—don’t,” she mumbled.

Hyunseo let out a sigh, relieved. Okay. She could hear her. She wasn’t going crazy.

The slight movement stirred Yujin next.

She moved, eyes squinting open in that groggy way she always did. “You alright?” she murmured, voice low.

The youngest glanced at her, eyes lingering on the scar.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… A weird dream.”

Yujin yawned and tilted her head slightly.

That was all Hyunseo needed.

She nudged her sister’s arm a little.

Yujin didn’t say a word, but she opened her arms anyway, always seeming to know just what the other girl needed without even having to ask.

Hyunseo scooted forward and tucked herself beneath Yujin’s chin, curling into the crook of her body like she always used to. The steady thump of Yujin’s heartbeat echoed faintly in her ear. It was grounding. Familiar. 

She closed her eyes and let the sound lull her into a comfortable state, nearing sleep. The dream was slowly drifting to the back of her mind.

Behind her, Jiwon stirred again and instinctively shifted into the space Hyunseo had left behind, fitting into it without waking.

Hyunseo opened her eyes for a moment, blinking through the dimness. Yujin’s scar was still there—right in front of her drooping gaze.

She didn’t ask about it.

She would later.

For now… they needed rest.

There was more floodwater in their future. Mud. Climbing. And the worst of all—hunger. This stretch of Meulbi’s edge was probably the most unforgiving yet.

But tonight, she had everything she needed.

So yeah. She was just fine.

——

By the fifth day, the rain no longer felt like weather.

It was the sky’s way of emoting. Constantly.

The girls moved through it without flinching, boots caked in mud, soaked through from collar to cuff. Their cloaks, once passably waterproof, now clung to them in damp folds. Everything was wet—their food packs, socks, even the corners of their map—though the material of it seemed to hold up better than most everything else. Every night ended in silence, and every morning began with wringing out sleeves before the first step forward.

The final stretch was steeper than they expected—jagged terrain with little footing, and the trees thinned as they climbed. The higher they went, the less cover there was. No real path to follow. Only the slope of the mountain, the blur of stormlight above, and Yujin’s steady gait leading them forward.

They didn’t talk much.

Even Hyunseo had stopped filling the quiet.

And when they finally crested the ridge, soaked to the bone and breathless, they saw it.

Beongae.

It glittered in the storm like the world’s most stubborn ember. Smaller than the capital city on a map, but taller in places, built from steel and stone—its rooftops pitched to catch lightning, its skyline crowned with spires that hummed with harnessed magic. Cables stretched from tower to tower like spider silk, crackling faintly where raindrops met current. Streetlamps pulsed with a warm, recycled glow, powered by rods that forked skyward like claws.

As the girls descended into the basin city, their boots struck paved stone—the first solid road they’d felt in days. Drainage grates carved into the curbs whisked the water away with quiet efficiency. No mud. No sinking.

Jiwon stared. “I think I forgot what dry ground feels like.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Yujin muttered, eyes scanning the unfamiliar street layout.

Buildings here weren’t charming or quaint—they were practical. Iron-reinforced walls. Seamless gutters. Doorways arched with riveted plating instead of carved wood. The smell of burnt ozone lingered in the air, not from failure—but from function.

“Why’s it so bright?” Hyunseo whispered, blinking up at the golden lamps.

“It’s night,” Jiwon said, frowning. “Isn’t it?”

They kept walking, uncertain, until one particular man caught their eye. He was sweeping the front steps of a closed shop, the bristles of his broom slicing water into ribbons. He looked up and met their gaze—not startled. Just… curious.

Yujin hesitated. Then stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” she said. “What time is it?”

The man leaned on his broom and tilted his head. “Quarter past ten.”

Hyunseo’s eyes widened. “But—it’s so lit up.”

The man chuckled softly. “Since the storm harnesses were developed, we haven’t needed to rely on fire. Doesn’t help much in our rain, anyway. And the sun’s no good half the year. So now?” He gestured upward at the lightning rods. “We work when we need to. Day or night.”

He eyed their drenched boots, their tired stances. “You girls just got in?”

“Yeah,” Yujin said. “From the mountain ridge.”

He blinked. “The ridge?” A beat. “You walked that?”

“It was the fastest way here,” she replied, as if it weren’t obvious.

“You know there’s a paved route around it, right?”

Jiwon groaned faintly. “Not until just now.”

The man whistled under his breath. “The manafields along that ridge are dangerous. There’s been reports of surges.” He looked them over—soaked, mud-streaked, but upright. “You’re lucky you weren’t affected.”

Yujin shrugged. She didn’t know what he was talking about; if she wasn’t so tired, she might have asked him to elaborate. “Honestly, we’re just glad we made it.”

The man didn’t argue. But he set his broom aside and pulled open a waterproof crate that was sitting near the curb.

“Here,” he said, holding up three pairs of black rubber-soled shoes. “Have these. They should help with the current—lots of loose energy in the air. You’ll feel it if you wear the wrong soles too long.”

Hyunseo accepted hers with a quiet nod. “Thank you,” she began. No one had moved to put on the shoes, so she didn’t either. Weariness was weighing heavily on her, so she couldn’t help but ask. “Do you… know anywhere we can stay?”

“Ah well, I don’t own a business, if that’s what you’re asking,” the man shrugged and held his broom out like he was presenting it, the rainfall apparently not a bother to him. “I sweep. Keep things tidy. I work nights. There’s another guy who handles the days.”

He pointed down the street toward a tall building with a metal awning and shuttered windows. “But, I’d try that building down there. It’s an old boarding house. Doesn’t advertise, but it’s warm, quiet and dry. You’ll need that after what you walked through.”

They followed his finger. The place didn’t look like much—just another metal-gray building in a row of them—but it had a small light above the door, flickering at regular intervals.

“Thank you for your time, sir.” Yujin bowed her head in thanks. The girls began walking away from the man, who watched them with a quiet curiosity.

“This might be good since we can’t meet the trainer tonight,” Jiwon said quietly, only for the other two girls to hear. She could hardly wait to sleep in an actual bed. She loved the water and accepted it as part of herself, but couldn’t deny that wet clothes were very uncomfortable when worn for extended stretches of time.

Hyunseo hummed tiredly, agreeing. “Yeah… it’s really late.” Her words came out low and monotone. The youngest’s feet were dragging, and her energy reserves felt depleted. She was in need of a shower and a bed, ASAP. She felt so slow and soggy, as if the constant exposure to the rain had zapped her vitality. 

Yujin nodded. “We’ll find him in the morning.” The eldest glanced at Hyunseo for a moment. Then she silently reached over and took the bag that was in the other girl’s hand and slung it over her own shoulder.

Hyunseo sagged in relief as the weight lifted and gratefully bumped Yujin’s arm with hers as they headed towards the building where they hoped to find lodging. 

The man tipped his head as he watched them go. “Rest well, travelers.”

They departed with a wave.

—

The building creaked faintly as they stepped inside. It was warmer than they expected—dry, too. A faint hum vibrated through the floorboards, pulsing softly like a distant heartbeat. Somewhere above them, a light flickered to life on its own.

“Storm-powered,” Yujin murmured.

Hyunseo paused to take it all in. The hallway was narrow, but the walls were clean. Not polished—just… lived-in. Cables ran along the ceiling, insulated and rune-etched, channeling storm energy from the rods outside. It was quieter here. Not silent, but insulated from the storm.

They didn’t speak much as the innkeeper led them up a set of stairs and to a door near the end of the hall.

As Yujin handed the man enough coins to pay for their stay, Hyunseo pushed the door open to reveal three neatly made beds. A rack of towels. A single glass lantern glowed in the corner, its runes faintly thrumming with mana. A muted copper door led to a narrow adjoining room.

Jiwon poked her head inside. “Is that… a shower?”

Hyunseo darted past her and peeked in, eyes wide.

It was small—barely wide enough to stretch one’s arms out—but there was a copper basin on the floor, a drainage channel carved into stone, and a long pipe overhead wound with etched spirals.

A pull cord hung from the wall. A glowing rune pulsed faintly at its base.

“This is…” she breathed, “So cool.”

“You’re just excited because there’s no bucket,” Jiwon said, nudging her.

Hyunseo didn’t deny it. “Can I go first?”

Yujin had already dropped her bag on the far bed, shoulders sagging. “Go ahead.”

Jiwon sighed, but it was playful. “Spoiled.”

Hyunseo beamed and darted in with her towel.

The door clicked shut.

Moments later, they heard the pull of the cord—and a sputter. Then a rush of water.

Jiwon jumped. “Did you hear that?! It started on its own.”

Yujin sat on the edge of her bed, tugging off her boots. “Yeah. I guess that’s how things work around here.”

“Well… it’s still weird.” She paused. “And amazing.”

By the time Hyunseo emerged—damp-haired and glowing, practically bouncing as she towel-dried her face—Jiwon was already grabbing her own towel.

“‘Kay, unnie. I won’t take long!” she called as she shut the door.

She accidentally took a little longer than she meant to. The warm water was too good to rush.

When Jiwon returned, steam clinging to her sleeves, she looked dreamlike.

“That was… Incredible.”

Yujin rose wordlessly, towel over her shoulder. She didn’t need to say anything. Just seeing her sisters relaxed, clean, and safe for once was enough.

Her shower was the shortest, though she still took the time to wash all the grime off and relax her muscles. She, too, enjoyed the soothing heat of the flowing water after being outside under nature’s unending showers.

When she returned, dressed in her driest set of clothes, she found Hyunseo already tucked into the leftmost bed—blanket up to her chin, looking way too proud of herself.

“I claimed this one earlier,” she said with a grin.

Jiwon grumbled as she flopped onto her back on the middle bed. “Why do you always get to pick first?” The girl had no issues with her choice, but couldn’t pass on an opportunity to tease Hyunseo.

“Because I asked first.”

“No you didn’t. Not fair.”

“I think it’s pretty fair.”

Yujin just shook her head fondly. She didn’t argue—just moved to the remaining unclaimed bed and sat down. The bedside lamp dimmed on its own while she stretched her legs out and found a comfortable position. Outside, the rain still poured—but here, there was only warmth, safety, and the soft sounds of settling in.

Hyunseo yawned loudly. “This is the best day of my life.”

Jiwon reached over and flicked her arm. “It rained nonstop and we almost died.”

“But now we have a shower.”

Yujin leaned her head back against the wall and smiled. “It is a nice shower.” She couldn’t deny that.

For the first time in days, she felt the weight on her shoulders ease.

Residual steam lingered from their showers, but it offered a welcome warmth. Their towels were bundled unevenly on the racks in the bathroom, and they left their cloaks hanging to air dry. Each girl was awake, but relaxing in their own space, each taking everything in.

Yujin sat up slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her back. Then she reached toward her bag at the foot of the bed and pulled out the worn map Sister Hyejin had given them. The edges were slightly curled from travel, but the material, much like everything Sister Hyejin touched—seemed to resist wear better than it should have.

She unfolded it carefully and spread it on the bed in front of her. The movement caught the attention of Hyunseo and Jiwon, who arched their necks to see it as well.

At first, it looked the same. Familiar markings. Creases from repeated use. Her eyes scanned it with practiced focus, half-expecting nothing—

Then, right near the center of the page, the ink shimmered.

A new name began to emerge, slowly forming itself in elegant script:

Beongae.

It pulsed faintly, like it had been waiting for them to arrive.

Hyunseo gasped, kicking her blanket off in excitement. She hopped from her bed to Jiwon’s. “It moved!”

Jiwon leaned over from her bed, squinting. “It didn’t, the name just appeared.”

Yujin nodded, her voice quiet but sure. “It definitely wasn’t there before. I checked it last night.”

They all stared at it. A name that hadn’t existed yesterday—now clear as anything. Proof they had made it.

Sister Hyejin hadn’t explained how the map worked. But this felt like her—quiet magic that showed itself only when it mattered. Yujin didn’t smile often lately, but she did now. A splash of familiarity in an unfamiliar place. 

“It’s following us,” Hyunseo murmured, gaze still fixed on the glowing name.

“Or keeping track of us,” Jiwon added.

Yujin brushed a thumb over the map’s surface. “Same thing, maybe. It’s almost like she’s with us, in a way.”

There was a comfort in it. Like the map was a tether—not just to their journey, but to where they came from. A little bit of home, still watching over them.

Hyunseo sat back with a sigh and reached down, pulling the food bag onto the bed. “We should eat. Even though it’s not much.”

They unwrapped the last of their snacks—soggy rice balls, a few pieces of jerky, a strip of dried seaweed that wasn’t actually dry. Not elegant nor warm.

But enough.

Jiwon tossed the flatter rice ball to Yujin. “Oldest gets the squished one.”

Yujin caught it, and spoke drily. “The honor is overwhelming, thanks.”

Hyunseo grinned, mouth already full. “I’m sure it’s not that bad…”

They ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, there was simply no need to fill the air. The map stayed open at the foot of Yujin’s bed, its faint glow now dimmed, but still visible.

After a while, Hyunseo’s voice came muffled from beneath her blanket. “Are we really gonna meet him?”

“Sohan seonsaeng-nim?” Jiwon asked.

Yujin nodded, settling deeper into her pillow. “We’ll find him. We have to.”

Her voice wasn’t hard, but it was certain.

Jiwon didn’t doubt her. She pulled her blanket up after Hyunseo returned to her own bed, rubbing at one eye. “Good. Because I really didn’t wanna walk another day.”

Yujin exhaled slowly, then added, softer than before, “You both did well.”

The room stilled a little.

Neither sister responded right away. But Jiwon’s lips tugged upward, and Hyunseo tucked herself deeper beneath her blanket, visibly pleased.

The lantern dimmed until it was little more than a nightlight, and the storm outside carried on.

Here, in a rented room illuminated by frequent lightning and automatic lamps, they had arrived and would soon experience everything Beongae had to offer.

—

The following day, the rain still hadn’t stopped, but it had softened. The mist was almost nice in comparison to the torrential downpour from the previous day. It gave the early morning light a silvery sheen, cast across the city’s gray surfaces.

Hyunseo stretched as she stepped out of the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Again. Her towel-dried hair faintly curled at the edges. The rubber shoes she wore squelched wetly as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

Jiwon and Yujin each sat on their already-made beds, bags ready. 

Yujin looked at the youngest disapprovingly, and the girl had the sense to look meek. She probably shouldn’t have taken a second shower—she hadn’t needed to, but it was so nice—when it was close to the time they needed to check out. 

“Sorry, unnies,” Hyunseo started shoving her items into her pack haphazardly. “I’m almost ready now.”

“Relax, just put your things in there neatly. You’ll have more space that way,” Yujin said, voice patient as she stood and crossed the room in three long strides.

She took the balled-up t-shirt from the younger girl’s hands and folded it, prompting Hyunseo to do the same with the pair of pants she had previously buried under her toothbrush and the soap from the bathroom. She figured it would be useful later.

Jiwon shook her head. “Ya, we told you to get your stuff together last night. We could’ve been halfway to some breakfast right now,” she complained, waving her arms around.

Hyunseo whined, making baby noises to annoy the other girl. “I already said I was sorry. Plus we’re done now.” She hopped up, closed her bag, and put on her—thankfully dry—cloak. 

Yujin just laughed, already used to the bickering between the two youngest.

“Alright guys. Let’s go.”

—

Downstairs, the innkeeper was polishing a copper panel near the bar. He looked up as they approached—eyes sharp beneath a storm-slicked fringe of hair. His name tag read “Jon,” but he didn’t offer it aloud.

“You girls are leaving early,” he said, voice gravelly and deep. “Luckily the storm’s quieted down.”

“That’s good to hear,” Yujin replied, voice polite but reserved. “Thank you for the room.”

Jon nodded once. “If you need dry clothes, the quartermaster’s stall opens at noon. Other than that—watch your step. Beongae hums when it’s quietest.”

Hyunseo tilted her head, confusion painting her features. “What is that supposed to mean?”

But Jon had already turned away. The girls decided not to linger.

—

Outside, the air smelled like metal and moss. The storm spires above still forked into the sky, channeling errant lightning into glowing cables that laced from rooftops to streetlamps like a web of power lines. Their shoes echoed faintly on the stone—click, squelch, click.

Shops were just beginning to open: steam rising from apothecary vents, clinks of mana tools being unwrapped and reset for the day. One woman was wringing out herb bundles over a lightning-forged drying rack. Another shouted at a delivery cart that had gone rogue, sparks trailing behind it like fireflies.

Jiwon leaned closer to the others. “It feels so alive here. It’s like the whole city is awake before us.” Her curious eyes shone as they reflected lights from nearby buildings.

“No wonder people don’t sleep,” Hyunseo muttered, watching a street lamp flicker back to life as they passed.

“The lights come on automatically. That’s so strange…” Yujin mumbled, eyeing the unfamiliar technology.

They were seeing multitudes of new inventions—things that would be impossible to have in Nahae. It was showing them just how hard their way of life was in comparison.

“These shoes don’t really fit me,” Hyunseo said after a few minutes of walking. 

Jiwon waved her hand and removed the water from the inside of her rubber shoes, easily directing it back to the ground.

“Ah, can you do that with mine, too?” Hyunseo asked, her shoes still squeaking. 

Jiwon shot a mischievous glance her way.  “Nope.” She laughed at the youngest, who pouted cutely in response.

“Alright, let’s stop somewhere and get some new boots,” Yujin said decisively, looking around for a shoe vendor. “We’ll need them in our size with the rubber soles if we’re gonna be training here.” 

The other two agreed, and they circled back toward the shops. Yujin was glad that she had brought Youngseok’s emergency money with them; they wouldn’t be able to get by easily without it.

After a couple of stops, the girls were able to acquire proper waterproof cloaks, the boots they were looking for, and a modest breakfast before they were ready to set out to find Sohan.

—

They followed the directions from the night before, turning toward a quieter path lined with reinforced buildings. The stormlight was gentler here—filtered through thinner clouds, casting a pale glow across the runes carved into the walls. A metal sign swung lazily overhead.

Institute for Mana-Affinitive Development – Beongae

A narrow gate stood just ahead, slightly ajar.

Beyond it was a training complex. They could see people inside, sparring and using magic.

They walked inside.

The Institute’s inner courtyard was already alive when the girls arrived.

Steam coiled from warm gutters. A soft charge lingered in the air, clinging to skin and breath. Students were already in formation, feet pivoting through a quiet drill. No shouting. No instructors barking orders. Just rhythm. Precision. Control.

It was relatively quiet, but not empty. The low volume surprised the girls; there were around forty students running drills and sparring in neat formations.

Then the energy in the courtyard shifted.

From the shadows beneath the overhang, a woman stood. She didn’t emerge. She just stood there, watching.

She was short, still. Severe in posture.

The already quiet courtyard hushed further. Bodies moved with utmost precision, faces lined with focus and determination. 

Her presence didn’t ask for attention. It took it.

She stepped out from the overhang, revealing a woman in her mid-thirties with a stern expression.

The students straightened instantly, halting all prior movements.

“Good morning, Taeyeon ssaem!”

The greeting rang in unison, trained and respectful.

The woman—Taeyeon—gave a subtle nod. One hand rested against her side; the other slipped behind her back as she turned her attention toward the three unfamiliar girls.

She didn’t speak. She studied them. The air in front of her shimmered, though the girls had no way of knowing what it meant. 

One glance from her felt like being cracked open, every layer turned outward. Not violated—just… Seen.

Yujin stiffened slightly, unsure why.

The other trainees watched with subtle interest. Newcomers weren’t rare—but attention from Taeyeon ssaem was.

“You aren’t here to observe.” It wasn’t a question.

Taeyeon’s eyes moved between the three newcomers—measured, quiet. The air pulsed strangely again.

“Come with me,” she said, then turned.

The Nahae girls followed wordlessly as Taeyeon led them beneath the covered corridor, their footsteps muffled on the tile. The sounds of the courtyard became muted behind them, replaced by the echo of their footsteps on stone. 

Etched lanterns pulsed faintly overhead as they navigated the narrow halls. The air inside was still charged, but heavier somehow—like entering the core of something alive.

They stopped in front of a thick wooden door. Taeyeon slid it open with a simple gesture. The space inside was enclosed but not sealed—open at the top to let the light and lightning through, but shielded on all sides by reinforced walls. The opening also ensured that water would come through in abundance. Jiwon was probably the only one of the three who didn’t mind that part.

A bench lined one wall.

“You’ll go one at a time,” Taeyeon said, gesturing for them to sit.

Hyunseo blinked. “In what order?”

“From youngest to oldest.”

Jiwon’s brows lifted. “Why?”

Taeyeon didn’t respond. She was already turning away. 

Yujin gulped, not knowing how to feel. She hoped the other two weren’t as nervous to go first as she was to watch them go.

“Hyunseo.”

They didn’t ask how Taeyeon knew her name. The woman seemed especially perceptive.

The youngest girl stood, exchanging a brief glance with her sisters, then followed Taeyeon back the way they’d come in. The door closed behind them.

The space Hyunseo found herself in was nearly devoid of sound. The air smelled faintly of rain and copper.

Taeyeon didn’t move to stand across from her. Instead, she stood beside her.

“There’s nothing to attack in this trial,” she said. “You’re not here to fight.”

Hyunseo hesitated. “What am I here to do?”

“You’re here to see.”

Taeyeon stepped back, allowing space between them. “Focus. Don’t overthink it. Just… Look.”

Hyunseo furrowed her brow. Just as she was about to ask what she should be looking at, she caught it—

An odd shimmer on the far wall. Barely there, like light bouncing unnaturally. But it wasn’t a light or a shadow. There wasn’t any glass, nor anything reflective. Just a sheen.

A closer look. And in it—her own reflection. But she was older. Taller. Poised. 

Her eyes were familiar to her. It was the same version of herself from her dream.

She was startled, but didn’t step back.

“Who is that…?” she whispered, even though she knew deep down.

Taeyeon didn’t answer her, as if she knew the question wasn’t meant for her. She probably did.

Hyunseo stared, deeply focused as the reflection moved independently. It raised a hand, pressing two fingers gently to the air.

Hyunseo instinctively mirrored the action, her body completing the motions before she realized what she’d even done.

The space between her hand and the wall vibrated—once.

A sound, like the chime of glass under tension.

And then, without warning, the shimmer snapped outward, twisting and turning into something tangible but amorphous, morphing—until a mirror formed.

It wasn’t crafted, or transposed from someplace else. 

She summoned it.

Hyunseo stepped back with a gasp.

She turned to Taeyeon, eyes wide. “I didn’t—how did I—?”

But Taeyeon was smiling. Just slightly.

“You have a gift that reacts to what’s already there,” she said softly. “And you’re beginning to see it.”

The girl was stunned. It made her think of the night Shownu had told them the truth about their heritage. When Jiwon covered the table with water and then expertly turned it to ice; she saw something back then. She’d been too confused to answer Yujin when she had asked her about it—she didn’t even have the words to describe what she’d seen.

But knowing she could apparently summon mirrors made things make sense; her power had been manifesting in reflections the entire time… She’d definitely have to talk to Yujin and Jiwon about it. 

Taeyeon called out to her, features schooled as though the smile had never been there. “Come. Your trial is complete.”

Hyunseo turned to follow the woman back to the waiting area.

When  Taeyeon waved her hand and the door opened once more, Hyunseo hurried toward the bench, ready to get into what happened in her trial. But before she could—

“Jiwon.”

“Guess we’re not wasting any time, then…” the girl mumbled under her breath as she stood, Hyunseo stifling a snort at the words.

Jiwon followed with a wary look, clenching and unclenching her fingers before wiping her palms on her cloak.

“I’m not sure what you expect from me,” she admitted, her voice low with shyness. “I haven’t trained formally.”

“I’m not looking for polish,” Taeyeon said simply. “I’m looking for presence.”

She stepped back and motioned to the center of the room, where a shallow pool had begun to form from an overhead drain.

“Move the water.”

Jiwon frowned. “That’s it?”

Taeyeon simply watched her, not repeating herself.

Jiwon turned away from the woman, repressing a shiver at the no-nonsense look in her eyes. Shaking it off and attempting to focus, she knelt by the pool, hovering her hand above it. “Okay, move the water,” she murmured, like talking to herself would help. “It’s not that hard. You’ve done it before.”

But the pool resisted her. It trembled, pulled in two directions at once. She tried again—harder—and the water snapped upward, splashing back into her face.

She exhaled slowly, directing the water that she could move away from her. 

She let her eyes slip shut. 

It’s not about control all the time. At least not right now. 

Focus. 

Find the connection.

She let her hand dip lower. Let herself feel the movement instead of forcing it. She felt a warmth, a familiar sensation, like the water was talking to her.

The pool’s surface stilled.

And then, like answering a call, the water rose—gently, coiling like a ribbon into the air.

Jiwon’s fingers twitched, and the water followed. It danced. Not in a showy way—but in sync with her. Connected.

Maybe the water matched her pulse, or her pulse matched the water. She wasn’t sure. But she knew with connection, control would follow. 

Taeyeon finally spoke. “Water responds to emotion. Yours runs deep. Your next step is learning how to channel that, and shape it for you to use as a tool.”

Jiwon swallowed, but nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, breathless. If this was just the trial and she felt this enlightened… Jiwon had a good feeling about the training.

Taeyeon inclined her head. “Come. Your trial is complete.”

Once again, Taeyeon returned to the waiting room, Jiwon following her and reentering.

When it was Yujin’s turn, she stood slowly. Her muscles were sore from days of trudging through rain and mud, but that wasn’t what made her hesitate. Pain was simple. This wasn’t.

She had watched Hyunseo and Jiwon go in and come out visibly changed—shaken, but sure. They looked like they’d been cracked open, only to find something waiting inside.

She wasn’t sure what would be waiting for her.

Taeyeon waited by the doorway. Her presence was quiet but undeniable.

Yujin followed her.

The space they entered was different from the others. It was darker. No water pooling on the floor, no shimmer on the walls. Just a solid block of iron in the center of the room. Not glowing. Not runed. Just heavy. Stark.

She frowned. “Is… Is this it?”

Taeyeon studied her. “This is your trial.”

The door shut behind them with a dull click.

Taeyeon stepped into the other girl’s aura field. Yujin felt it—like a ripple in the air, like something tugging at the edge of a part of her that she couldn’t name.

“There’s a storm in you,” Taeyeon said quietly. “But I can’t see its eye.”

Yujin shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

The woman eyed her calmly. “I can read aura. I have perception magic. I can sense what people are feeling. Their pain, intentions, their potential and how that translates to power—even if it’s latent.” Her gaze sharpened. “But you’re like a stone wall.”

Yujin opened her mouth to respond, but Taeyeon wasn’t finished. There was a hint of vexation in her tone as she continued, though Yujin could tell it wasn’t direct at her.

“You’re the strongest of your group physically. But there’s something underneath that strength. I can sense your potential—but it’s buried under something I don’t recognize. It isn’t fear. And it’s not self-suppression. It’s something else.”

Yujin’s jaw tensed. “So, what do I do?”

Taeyeon turned to the iron block. “I want you to move it.”

“That?”

“Yes.”

Yujin stared at it. The dimensions of the slab were comparable to the size of a large beast. The shape was too familiar. The longer she looked at it, the more it resembled the outline of the horse she’d dragged off the road that night. She had been alone, bruised, heart pounding, mouth dry.

She hadn’t cried.

Not when the horse died. Not when she realized she had to clear the path herself to get her father home. Not when her hands bled from the reins.

Now, the memory hit her like a blunt force to the gut.

“I can’t use magic,” she muttered, trying to focus on the present. “So what’s the point of this?”

“You have magic,” Taeyeon said firmly. Yujin looked at her sharply, disbelief flickering in her eyes. The woman continued, undeterred. “I just can’t see why it’s locked away. So I want to see what happens when you’re asked to push. With no tricks or tools. Just effort.”

Yujin took a deep breath and stepped toward the block.

She crouched. Braced her feet. Planted her palms and shoulders against the cold metal and pushed.

Nothing.

The weight was immense—but it wasn’t just physical.

It was grief. She didn’t know how else to describe it, but that’s what it was.

She pushed again, and her muscles screamed. Her body leaned into it, trembling from the strain. Sweat pooled at her brow, dampening her sleeves.

The weight reminded her too much of the moment after the attack. Of the moment when her childhood truly ended.

She gritted her teeth.

This wasn’t a block. This was every second she hadn’t let herself cry.

She pushed again. Harder.

The block shifted—an inch. Then two.

Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. But she didn’t stop.

She didn’t know why—but she had to finish this.

By the time she moved it to the far marker, she was trembling with exertion.

She fell to her knees, chest heaving.

And she still didn’t cry; but now she understood why she had wanted to.

Taeyeon stood still for a moment longer.

Her gaze flicked to Yujin—not cold, but clinical. And something else. Something akin to curiosity.

She exhaled softly through her nose. “Like I said. There’s potential in you,” she said, voice low. “But it’s buried.”

Yujin’s brows pulled together at the use of that word again. “Buried?”

“I’ve seen strong auras. I’ve seen fractured ones. But yours is…” She tilted her head slightly, as if studying her from a new angle. “It’s not simply restrained. Something is actively working to hide it—distort it.”

The words landed like a stone in Yujin’s chest.

“Whatever the case may be… I can’t see through it.” Taeyeon’s voice didn’t falter, but there was a rare edge of intrigue behind it. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met whose aura refuses to show itself.”

She shook her head, unsatisfied. “Don’t worry. I’ll look into it further… I don’t like not knowing.”

She didn’t elaborate—didn’t need to. The look in her eyes made it clear: she was going to find out why.

But not right now.

“Come. Your trial is complete.” Taeyeon offered Yujin a hand, and the tall girl took it, not at all surprised at her strength as she pulled her to her feet. The woman before her seemed like a mystery, but her energy was powerful. Yujin respected her.

She followed her back to the waiting room, but Taeyeon made her wait at the door, beckoning Jiwon and Hyunseo to come to them.

She studied the three again, but her mind was elsewhere, several steps ahead. She would need to speak with Sohan about what she had seen in each of the girls. He would approve their training, without a doubt. But she wouldn’t be the one to tell them that.

“You’ll meet Sohan sabomnim tomorrow,” she said, already stepping toward the hallway that led deeper into the complex. “I’ll inform him of your arrival.”

She paused once more at the threshold.

“There’s a room set aside down this hall. It’s the first door on the left. There is a generic lunch in the cooler. Rest. You’ll need it.”

With that, she turned and disappeared through a secondary passage, her steps silent despite the stone floor.

They wasted no time in heading to their new accommodation. The door to their temporary room opened with a faint creak.

It wasn’t fancy—just a small space with a low table, a small cooler, a pot of warm water, and three floor cushions. There was a narrow cot against the wall and a rack of blankets in the corner. But it was dry. Clean. Quiet. 

Good enough.

None of them spoke as they stepped inside.

Yujin sank onto the cushion closest to the wall, her back leaning against it as she let out a long, slow breath. Her forehead was still slightly damp with sweat.

Jiwon followed after her, crouching next to the other cushion but not sitting yet. She turned toward the other girl and studied her face closely.

Jiwon didn’t ask what the older girl had done—but the question was in her eyes, clear as day.

Yujin glanced at her, feeling eyes on her. She leaned forward and unstrapped her shoes with practiced movements, rolling her neck once.

“I’m good,” she said after a pause. Then quieter– “I just need a minute.”

Jiwon didn’t push her. She let her be and went to lie on the cot, rubbing her thumb along the curve of her wrist. Her expression was distant now—half-thinking, half-feeling. There was a surprising amount to unpack mentally from the brief moment in the chamber.

Hyunseo had already wandered over to the blanket rack. She pulled one free, draped it over her shoulders, and curled up across both of the remaining cushions.

She glanced at her unnies but said nothing. She wanted to tell them about the mirror she had summoned, but for now, she kept it to herself. Hyunseo just wanted a moment to understand before she tried to explain it. And even then, she wasn’t sure if she’d even be able to put it into words. So for now, she held her tongue.

In that silence, something settled.

Not finality. Not even clarity. Well, maybe a little clarity.

But presence.

Each of them was processing what had happened—what was still to come—in their own way.

Tomorrow, they would meet Sohan.

———

The next morning, the rain had lessened into a fine mist again. It seemed Beongae was offering a reprieve for prior harsh conditions. The city’s early hum had returned—vendors setting up, steel grates clicking into place, the crackle of residual lightning whispering through the spires overhead.

They could also hear quiet chants and cadences of the trainees as they completed their morning routines. 

Yujin missed her ‘miracle mornings’. But she had no doubt that she—all three of them—would be joining the other students in training soon enough. Assuming the meeting with Sohan went well, that is.

There was a lot on her mind after what Taeyeon had told her the previous day. She didn’t have much to say over breakfast. None of them really did.

There wasn’t much to say. Not after the trials. They’d felt stripped down, laid bare—and now they were about to meet the one person who could tell them if it all meant something.

Taeyeon appeared without warning, which seemed to be a habit of hers. She didn’t speak until the door was closed behind them and they were in motion.

The woman led them down countless hallways—making so many twists and turns that the girls began to ponder about the size of the premises.

After several minutes traversing the labyrinthian facility, the three sisters somehow found themselves outside. 

Nature surrounded them, and though the mist lingered, the atmosphere here felt distinct from the rest of Beongae. It was peaceful—untouched by the city’s technology.

The elder woman directed the girls down a path that naturally bisected the grass. The walkway gave way to a building of an entirely different architectural style; dark red brick lined its face, while the roof peaked in arced tufts lined with reinforced gray ceramic shingles. It was beautiful, though they didn’t have time to stop and marvel as Taeyeon ushered them up the building’s front steps.

They were mildly perplexed as they stood in front of a pair of traditional lattice doors.

Stepping off to the side, Taeyeon gestured from the girls to the doors. 

“Sohan sabomnim will see you now.”

She didn’t wait for them to enter. No sooner than the words had left her mouth, she was already halfway down the steps, her form soon disappearing beyond cherry blossom blossom trees.

There was a brief silence.

Jiwon held a finger in the air, looking from Hyunseo to Yujin. “I have no idea how to get back to our room from here. Just saying.”

No one said anything. They exchanged a glance.

In a moment of levity, laughter suddenly bubbled out of each of them before they quickly hushed—hoping no one had heard the untimely outburst.

Once the moment had passed and the girls had schooled their expressions, Yujin made eye contact with Hyunseo and Jiwon. They each nodded, as if saying ‘I’m ready’.

Yujin raised a hand to knock, but before she could—

“Come in.” The voice was distant, but clear.

No sooner than the words were spoken, the doors had parted, seemingly on their own.

Entry granted, the girls stepped through.

The dojang was quieter than the rest of the complex. Tucked near the rear of the Institute grounds, it wasn’t flashy or sprawling—but everything about it felt… solid. It breathed reverence. 

Once inside, the girls removed their shoes and left them near the door. The air was cool, filtered through latticed windows cut in intricate patterns. Polished wood floors. Tall pillars. Hanging scrolls bearing runes none of them could read.

They followed the light in the dim space to a side hall, bare feet soft against the floorboards. The hall led to a room with an open partition—walls slid back to let in the overcast light. At its center sat a man cross-legged on a cushion. His back was straight despite his age. His limbs, though slimmed by time, still held the quiet strength of someone who had once done extraordinary things.

He didn’t look up at first.

But he knew they were there. Long before they entered, though the girls were none the wiser.

“Step forward,” he said, voice low but resonant. “All of you.”

They did.

Yujin led, the other two flanking her instinctively.

Sohan lifted his gaze.

His eyes were sharp. Not unkind—but discerning. Like he had already measured them in the time it took them to walk in.

He gestured once, and with surprising strength in his voice, said, “Sit.”

The girls knelt on the cushions arranged before him.

No ceremony. No pomp. Just presence.

“You’ve come far,” he said. “From the southern valleys, yes?”

They exchanged a look. Yujin nodded once.

“Yes, seonsaengnim,” she said. “From Nahae.”

The old master’s eyes softened for a brief moment. “I remember Nahae. Its soil is dark with memory.”

He leaned forward ever so slightly. “And Father Jeong sent you?”

That gave him pause—not in disbelief, but with something like respect. “He does not recommend lightly.”

Then, for the first time, his hands moved—not to reach out, but to draw something invisible through the air.

A thin thread of light unraveled before him. Magic, but not like any they had seen before.

Jiwon blinked. “What is that?” she whispered.

“Aura,” Sohan replied, voice quiet but clear. “Not yours—mine. This is how I see.”

The strand of light expanded, splitting into three. Each thread curved, shifted, and drifted—one toward Hyunseo, one toward Jiwon, and one toward Yujin.

As they moved, faint colors began to bloom in the air.

Hyunseo’s thread flared yellow, delicate but vivid, with mirrored shimmers that spun at impossible angles. It danced like sunlight on glass, flickering gently—bright and alive. It seemed to mimic her youthful energy.

His eyes held a quiet warmth, though his mouth never curved into a smile. He hovered a hand near her aura, and Hyunseo felt his presence—almost more than she saw him in front of her.

“You have a bright spirit; the kind meant for reflecting. I see potential for foresight. Your magic will grow with clarity—if your mind does the same.”

Jiwon’s aura drifted upward in soft cyan coils, fluid and reactive like water. It ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of her breathing. It was not unlike the relationship between the moon and the earth’s tides. 

The man looked up from Jiwon’s aural projection and locked eyes with her.  “You are a tide-walker. You will float on water, glide on ice. You’ve already bonded with your element. But you must learn to let your emotions be your strength as well as your weakness. There is always a balance.” Jiwon didn’t know exactly how, but she felt it in her chest. It made sense in a way that couldn’t be explained—only earned. She always wore her heart on her sleeve—and she knew it wasn’t a weakness.

Sohan’s eyes turned to Yujin last.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—like something cracking through ice—her aura flared blue. It didn’t unfold like the others. It sparked in jagged bursts, rimmed in pale white—unstable, flickering, like it couldn’t decide what shape it wanted to take. The glow around her was fainter than the others—but dense. As if it were being actively compressed.

The man’s gray eyebrows furrowed, the only shift in his otherwise composed expression.

He didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then he said, “Yours is… Different.”

Sohan narrowed his eyes. His aura thread pulsed faintly—hesitation, or recognition, the girls didn’t know. He was seeing something they didn’t understand. 

Yujin kept her eyes trained on his face, as if the aging lines held the answers she sought. Her jaw tightened. What is going on with me?

Sohan raised a hand, tracing the space in front of her with two fingers. “Your potential is clear. But something is holding it back. It’s not suppression—it’s distortion. Like your mana is being contained from within.”

Hyunseo glanced at Jiwon, confused. Jiwon’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Neither knew what to say. They wouldn’t interrupt the man, deferring to his implied and clear authority.

Sohan’s gaze lingered on Yujin a moment longer. Then, with a faint exhale, the strands of aura dissolved—each one unraveling like smoke in the wind.

He settled back against his cushion.

“You’ve all come here bearing something,” he said. “Potential. Purpose. Pain.”

The girls remained still. Listening.

“I won’t pretend your training will be easy. It won’t be the same for any of you. Some paths are walked straight, others must be carved.”

His tone didn’t change, but the air around them felt heavier. Not with warning—but with weight.

“You will begin with foundations,” he continued. “Understanding the relationship between body, breath, and energy. Then, you’ll learn how to listen. Not just to your surroundings, but to yourselves. Most never do.”

His eyes drifted toward the paper screens, though not as if distracted—more as if sensing someone beyond them.

“I have students who assist me,” he added. “One in particular who will take an interest in your progress. She’s loud. Difficult. But you’ll find she knows a great deal more than she lets on.”

Jiwon and Hyunseo shared a glance. Yujin didn’t move.

Sohan finally looked at her again—not probing this time, but steady. Assured.

“You may not see it yet,” he said, “but you have not come here by accident. You were meant to arrive at this time, in this place, together.”

He nodded once, the gesture final but not dismissive.

“You may return to Taeyeon. She will instruct you from here—”

He winced.

The motion was small, but jarring. A pause in the current.

His eyes shut. A soft grunt escaped through his closed lips. One hand braced against his knee. The other trembled—just once.

The room shifted.

But it wasn’t the ground. Not the walls.

The air.

It warped like the haze from an intense heat, then tore like cheese cloth. A ripple of unreality peeled sideways at the far edge of the room—and through it came a young woman.

But she hadn’t entered.

She had always been there.

“Abeoji…” she sighed, her voice half-scolding, half-affectionate. “I told you not to push yourself so hard.”

She walked with irreverent ease, the last threads of her illusion magic burning away from her boots like ash. Her coat flared behind her in a breeze that followed her. The scent of ozone trailed in her wake.

Only now did it register just how quiet the room had become.

The girls didn’t speak. They were dumbfounded, staring blankly.

The young woman crouched beside the mana master and slipped one arm around his back—gingerly, and with familiarity. She didn’t look much older than Yujin. But her presence filled the room like she was born in it.

“Let’s go before you start coughing blood again,” she muttered. Then, to no one in particular, “He does this every time.”

Sohan’s face was pinched. He didn’t argue, though he didn’t seem particularly pleased at her words.

She adjusted her grip, gathering her magic again. Reality around her wrist shimmered like the sun on a rippling lake.

Then she looked at the girls, surprised as though she just remembered they were still there.

She gave a peace sign and grinned toothily.

“Don’t mind me. I was never here,” she said cheerfully, eyes glinting with chaos. “Or maybe I was everywhere. It’s hard to say.” She shrugged with one shoulder exaggeratedly, taking care not to jostle the old man.

And with a flick of her fingers—

They vanished.

No flash. No sound. Just gone.

A beat passed.

Then the door slid open. 

Taeyeon stood there, arms crossed and eyes calm as ever—and still giving nothing away.

“When you’re done,” she began drily, “I’ll show you to the dorms.”

The girls turned to look at her but didn’t move. 

The woman turned back to address them again, as if understanding.

“Oh. That.” Taeyeon looked down toward her feet. She actually laughed before she shook her head at something only she knew. “That’s just Youngji. You may get used to a lot of things around here, but she is… not one of them.”

Chapter Text

It had snowed the night before.

Less than an inch had fallen—just enough to coat the rooftops and soften the icy ground. Snow meant the air had warmed slightly, though the cold was still stubborn. 

Nako had always liked this kind of weather. Clear and crisp. She didn’t know why, but she likened it to honesty. 

But she didn’t linger in it.

The morning’s light hardly touched the windows of the clinic as she moved between rooms, checking vitals and enchantments, refreshing the mana flow on the wards she’d placed. It had been three days since Gaeul had collapsed, having depleted her aura. 

It hadn’t been a melodramatic display in the heart of the clinic; the girl had just assisted a toddler who had gotten a nail stuck in his foot. After the offending item was removed, Nako’s eyes had followed Gaeul as she walked into the back room for supplies to clean and dress the wound.

But when the younger woman hadn’t reappeared after a couple of minutes, Nako halted her treatment. Her patient had fallen asleep, soothed by the enchanted salve she’d placed on his wounds. She stood and went to check on the girl she’d grown fond of far faster than she meant to.

And she found her—slumped against the wall, legs folded beneath her and head tilted at an angle that looked incredibly uncomfortable.

With a soft gasp, the Doctor hurried over to her, fingers fluttering to Gaeul’s neck. She let out a huff of relief when she felt a sign of life. Then she hovered a hand over the girl, using what little magic she was able to—assessing her condition: low blood pressure, decreased pulse, slightly elevated temperature. 

And the doctor’s assessment? Exhaustion. 

The young mage had run herself ragged over the past few days, giving pieces of herself to help as many people as she could. Neglecting proper care of herself in the process.

And since it had happened, the older hadn’t allowed her ‘patient’ to stray too far from the cot—not because she couldn’t walk, but because Nako didn’t trust her to stay put.

And despite Gaeul’s halfhearted protests, she hadn’t pushed her luck either. She’d seen what that kind of damage could do—giving her aura a break could only help her.

This rest was necessary—for both of them. One for rejuvenation, the other for reassurance.

In truth, the cot had been for overflow cases, not recovery. But it served a purpose. Gaeul had made it hers without meaning to. Books lined the crate beside her pillow. Her coat was folded just-so over the chair. She slept facing the door.

Nako was in charge of the girl’s return to form, making sure the young healer ate and drank. While her physical strength had returned, her aura replenishment was a bit slower to catch up.

It had been five days since the trio had arrived in Undeok. While Gaeul was recovering at the clinic, Wonyoung and Rei came to see her daily in a newly forming routine. They brought breakfast and coffee from JMJ’s and tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, even away from home. But they were beginning to discover that ‘home’ was a feeling more than it was a place.

Before they left her each morning, Gaeul always made sure to tell them to take notes for her. In exchange, they always returned with tales that could rival epic tomes for the older girl, complete with wild tales about their encounters, half of which Gaeul believed, the other half she only pretended to.

And right now, they were collecting information to weave into a detailed story for their friend—and to solve the issue of the sloth bear once and for all. 

—

Wonyoung had never been to a town like Undeok. And it made sense, considering she had never left Seoul’s walls before the catalyst that caused her to. 

With Undeok, it wasn’t just the cold—it was the quiet. The mostly clean streets. The way the market vendors greeted each other without posturing, without deference. Even the way the mana lines here thrummed underfoot felt… faint. Nothing like the constant vibration of pure energy one could truly feel in Seoul. 

Wonyoung was starting to realize that Seoul might be the outlier, not the other way around—and for the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel the need to impress anyone.

She walked beside Rei, their steps slow but deliberate. Most shops had reopened. A few were still rebuilding after the most recent sloth bear attack that had occurred the previous night. Lanterns flickered in suspended glass cages above them, chasing away the last of the night.

It had been nearly a week. And though Wonyoung hated to admit it—she had learned more here, in this ice-choked town on the edge of nowhere, than she had in years of private instruction.

Their magic meant something different here. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for honor.

It was for survival.

“I think that woman recognized us,” Rei murmured, nodding her head toward a bundled shopkeeper stacking baskets of dried herbs and steamed vegetables.

“She probably did,” Wonyoung replied, brushing snow off her shoulder. “And she’s not bowing,” she noted—not sharp, just factual.

Rei made a small, thoughtful sound. “True. But it’s… Kind of nice, right?”

Wonyoung didn’t respond right away. Her eyes followed a pair of children chasing each other up a slope—one with a handful of glowing mana ants, watching the small insects light up in a natural sequence as the two tittered with youthful glee. Their mother watched them from a distance, letting them play.

“Yes,” she answered eventually. “It is.”

She couldn’t deny how freeing it felt to not have to worry about saying the wrong thing—she could just exist. 

People tended to stare at beautiful things anyway. Wonyoung didn’t care why—she just knew they did.

The two moved from street to street, taking the long way around the city square, which was where the clinic and food vendors were. Asking questions wasn’t easy—not for them. But people talked, if treated with respect—which they were, of course. Rei and Wonyoung were perfectly polite, something which helped them the longer they went on.

“Can’t lie though. The stares remind me of being back in Seoul.” Rei clutched her bag with both hands as she walked. Her face was serious, her mouth almost a pout. She was adorable without even trying. Then she smiled suddenly, eyes closing for a second. “But I’m glad we left. I don’t miss it yet.”

Wonyoung hummed in agreement. “I know what you mean. But I still hope we get all the answers we’re looking for.”

They continued on. It seemed their reputations preceded them in the sense that the townspeople saw them and judged them. Most were wary at first, but warmed quickly once they realized Rei and Wonyoung weren’t just sightseeing nobles. Not here to command, only to understand. The biggest shift came from Gaeul. Her steady presence at the clinic had softened the way people looked at them.

The more they asked about the beast itself and the attacks, the clearer the picture became.

The sloth bear hadn’t always been a threat to human life.

At first, it was property damage. Crops destroyed. Fences splintered. Then the chickens went missing. Pigs. Cows.

Then came the first death.

An older man caught outside after nightfall—his wounds unnatural. Like something had struck him again and again, but not to harm. To rage. Gaeul had tried to save him, but it was too late. She had only been able to give him peace in his final moments.

Since then, the attacks had grown stranger and more aggressive. Less predictable. Some nights, there was nothing. Others, terror. And they didn’t happen only at night anymore.

People whispered about ‘the ridge’. They said creatures that passed through it didn’t come out the same.

And naturally, Wonyoung and Rei had asked questions about the aforementioned area.

“Animals from the ridge come back changed,” one older woman insisted, handing them toasted soybeans in paper cones. “They always have. It’s cursed, that place. You feel it, don’t you?”

Her breath had formed clouds in the space in front of her as she had considered the woman’s words. Wonyoung wasn’t sure. Though she knew there was a way to obtain surety.

They walked those streets for days. And yet, never once did the bear return when they were near. Not once had the sloth bear returned when the two were in its vicinity. 

At first, they hadn’t noticed. But after three silent nights in a row, the pattern began to stand out: when they were nearby, nothing happened.

Something about their presence stilled the chaos.

It was almost as if the creature could sense their power and actively avoided them.

But that wasn’t possible, was it?

Rei dusted her hands off, finishing her edamame snack. “The ridge might be the key.”

Wonyoung nodded, more to herself than to Rei. She knew if they could understand what was happening up there, they might find out what exactly was happening, and why.

She told herself they were asking for Gaeul’s sake. But it was undeniable that part of her wanted the truth, too.

Meanwhile, in the not-so-distant, storm-veiled city of Beongae, another pair of boots had already begun that climb—for reasons far more reckless, and far more personal.

—————

It was no surprise that it was raining again.

The courtyard stones were slick beneath their boots, the overcast sky casting a gray wash over the training grounds. The rain didn’t fall hard—just constant. A misty drizzle that clung to clothes and skin like sticky tree sap.

Jiwon inhaled deeply, rolled her shoulders back, and turned her palms upward. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel the mana in the air, reacting to her inner power and being drawn in, manifesting as her magic.

Water gathered at her feet, responding more readily now than it had in the beginning. More than it ever had. It lifted like silk, spiraling upward in sync with the movement of her fingers. Her breathing steadied, and her pulse slowed to match the rhythm of the rain. Connected.

She was learning.

Beside her, Hyunseo knelt low, two fingers skimming the surface of a shallow puddle. The girl didn’t need to touch the water, but she was probing the lingering latent mana that she could sense nearby; the reflection was waiting to show her something, and she was trying to coax it out. 

The surface flickered—just briefly—before a shimmer moved across it. A fractured sliver of an ornate wooden-framed mirror materialized in the water, holding its shape for longer than it had yesterday. Ninety seconds this time.

That, too, was progress.

Around them, other trainees moved through drills—practicing strikes, centering mana, cycling through elemental forms—but Taeyeon’s gaze never left the two girls from Nahae. She didn’t call attention to it, didn’t praise or critique the others aloud. Her focus was steady. Intentional. Always on them.

The others had begun to notice.

Not that they said anything. Not to the girls, anyway. While each person was unique, there was an unspoken agreement that the girls who had Taeyeon ssaem’s attention were different. It set them apart, made them seem less approachable.

And the girls were laser-focused on getting stronger, training hard, heads down. None of the three noticed the trivial whispers of people they didn’t know.

The courtyard buzzed with the low murmur of magic, the scrape of boots, the snap of movement—but Jiwon and Hyunseo were tuned to something else. A quiet rhythm beneath it all—beneath that laser-focus. A space where a third presence should have been.

Jiwon glanced once toward the covered walkway. The one that led toward the deeper chambers of the Institute. She didn’t say anything. Just adjusted her stance and continued.

Hyunseo pressed her palm fully against the puddle, watching it tremble. The mirror didn’t return. Still—her magic had answered her call. She could feel it, and that was enough for now.

Taeyeon, standing just under the edge of the eaves, hummed softly, audible only to her own ears.

She idly wondered what fresh hell Youngji was putting Yujin through. Knowing the other girl as well as she did, the woman was sure it was likely something unorthodox. Or unnecessarily dangerous. It was probably both.

She shook the thought away.

“Stop,” she said, voice crisp, cutting through the moment.

Jiwon and Hyunseo froze in place, the mana slipping back into dormancy around them.

“Take a lap around the courtyard. One full loop. Let your limbs breathe and your minds rest.”

Neither girl hesitated. Their feet met the rain-slicked stone as they began to jog the five-kilometer perimeter, side by side. The air was cool and the rain sharp, but they welcomed it.

Their muscles were sore, their lungs pulled tight from exertion—but the ache meant they were growing. Getting stronger.

And somewhere within Beongae’s deeper halls, they trusted Yujin was doing the same.

As the days went by, the girls felt their bodies begin to adapt. Magic was shaping their muscles, sculpting their minds, and shaping their capabilities. 

On the fifth day of their training, the lightning was too frequent and too erratic—even with mana wards and transmitters to protect and convert the raw power into electricity respectively—for them to be outside.

And so Hyunseo and Jiwon had found themselves herded into a massive indoor athletic center within the same dojang where they had met Sohan for the first time.

Jiwon had been nervous the first time they were there, so she hadn’t taken the opportunity to see how big the outer area really was. 

The dojang was only a part of the Institute’s campus, but it was huge.

The landscape was lined with pink-leaved trees that were familiar to her now, and the green of the grass extended far past the point she could see. The Institute had to take up an enormous amount of Beongae’s land.

The dojang itself was made up of a primary dwelling hall, a practice hall, a gymnasium, and a handful of smaller buildings—each spaced out across a perfectly manicured yard. 

The building where they met Sohan was the primary dwelling hall. It was where he lived, and it looked the oldest and most traditional of them. The others were of varying size and age of build—Taeyeon had told them that the gym was the most recently built of all of the ones in the area.

It was made to withstand various types of magic, and was reinforced with wards they couldn’t see.

Once inside, both girls found that the indoor training was no less demanding. They were led to a rubber-matted space used for Ssireum. And so they grappled and wrestled for hours, strengthening their endurance and will.

There, Jiwon had discovered a quiet joy in physical competition. She could manipulate grip just enough to gain the upper hand, her aura weaving into the moisture around her opponent’s palms. It wasn’t brute strength that made her formidable—it was instinct and clever use of ambient mana.

Hyunseo wasn’t quite as strong yet. But she never stopped. 

Taeyeon had said it once, offhandedly. “You never lose your footing; you dig in. That makes you a threat to your opponent.”

It was as close to a compliment as she’d been, and Hyunseo had held onto it. And she worked harder. 

That was what Nahae had taught them. Perseverance.

———

Some days, rain came down gently. Today, outside the city limits, it was a steady downpour—the kind that soaked through everything before you realized it had started.

Yujin stood at the base of a sloped ridge, drenched to the bone, staring at the sheer incline ahead. Her chest heaved from her last run up and down, but her jaw was set with determination. Behind her, Beongae was a blur. Up here, all she could hear was wind, her own breathing, and the distant crack of thunder.

Youngji reappeared beside her—materialized, like she always did. One moment the space was empty. The next, there she was. Not even a poof. Just hello, I’m inside your personal space again. Complete with dramatics and a strangeness that always seemed to follow Lee Youngji.

“Yay, you’re not dead,” she noted casually, sipping rain from a leaf like a forest gremlin. “I love that for you.”

Yujin didn’t answer. She was too busy trying not to inhale rainwater. Or strangle the girl beside her.

Youngji tilted her head, discarding the leaf. “Alright, Killer. Let’s keep goin’.”

Yujin wasn’t one to complain, but they had been at it for at least an hour now. 

“Again?” She rasped. Internally, she was a little miffed at Youngji’s energy, but she supposed the aggravation was good fuel.

“You want a flower crown for making it halfway up the ridge?” Youngji blinked. “I’ll make you one when you make it to the top without slipping. With your eyes closed.”

Yujin narrowed her eyes. “You can’t be serious.” Yeah, she was getting good fuel right now.

Youngji just grinned. “As serious as a lightning strike.”

That wasn’t encouraging. Especially not with the way thunder continued to roll overhead. But there was no room for hesitation. There hadn’t been for some time now.

She started running without another word to the older girl.

This wasn’t like training back home—Nahae, where her mornings started with warmth and rhythm. She knew the terrain like the back of her hand.

But here? Everything was slippery and unpredictable. Her magic still wouldn’t answer her. She couldn’t sense mana. Couldn’t even feel the pull of it in the air. It was like something had sewn her power shut.

But that was why Youngji was teaching her something else.

Ki.

The quiet, internal energy that lived in her bones, her gut, her instinct. Everything in the world gave off Ki. It didn’t flow the way mana did. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t spark or crackle. It was barely-there, like the touch of a feather. A whisper. 

And Yujin was trying to listen.

She closed her eyes. Took a step forward. Then another. She focused on her breath and the rhythm of her limbs as they pumped, propelling her forward. The slope came fast. Her boots slipped once, but she corrected without overthinking. Her muscles were screaming—but that wasn’t new. 

Keep moving.

Somewhere above, the sky flashed white.

Yujin flinched. The strike didn’t hit close, but the feeling did. Like pressure in her ribs. Like a signal, or a sixth sense. She could almost track the miniscule shift in the air before it struck.

So this was what Youngji was trying to show her.

When she opened her eyes again, Youngji was halfway up the slope, perched on a boulder like a smug gargoyle. Dry, somehow. Impossibly so.

“You’re listening now,” she called down, voice casual like they weren’t a meter away from being electrocuted. “Took you long enough. Ki flows where you flow. AKA, you stop fighting yourself, you’ll be able to feel the Ki.”

Yujin didn’t respond. She ran harder.

Up. Then down. Then up again.

By the fifth pass, she wasn’t sure if she was wet from rain or sweat, as there was no way to make the distinction. Her lungs burned. Her legs trembled. But her footing never slipped again.

She couldn’t see the mana in the air. But she could feel when the lightning was coming now. A fraction of a second before the strike, something inside her tilted.

Like gravity giving her a warning.

By the seventh pass, Youngji raised both eyebrows. “Damn. You’re actually doing it.”

Yujin collapsed into the mud at the top of the ridge, panting. “Doing what?”

“Running. Sensing the ki. Not dying.” She paused. “You’re also probably reinforcing your body with light-based magic,” She tilted her head, looking up and then blinking repeatedly when rain got in her eyes. She continued, unbothered. “At least, that’s what it looks like to me. I feel like it’s not Ki, exactly, but something similar. Which is cool—except, like… How did you not know you were doing that?” She shook her head, chuckling.

Yujin blinked up at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ was clear in her expression.

Youngji just waved a hand. “Eh, we’ll get into that later. For now—good job, Lightbulb.”

Yujin groaned, limbs splayed out like a starfish. “Please don’t call me that.”

The other girl laughed loudly, unaffected by everything, it seemed. “No promises.”

Yujin lingered on the muddy rocks, letting the burn in her limbs settle. Her heartbeat eventually slowed. The rain had eased briefly, but the mist clung to everything and brought fog with it. She exhaled.

Even with the cold sinking into her sleeves, she wasn’t ready to move.

Then she heard a low sound.

Rasping. Not wind. Not rain.

Something living.

She looked up.

Just beyond the ridge, light moved. But it felt wrong. It wasn’t from the stars or the moon. Yujin squinted and saw that the light was shadowy, coming from the air itself. She couldn’t see any point of origin. The shimmer wavered unnaturally, almost like the way heat haze makes the air appear to undulate above the ground. But it was cold out. Too cold for it to be heat-related.

She didn’t see the animal that made the noise; it sounded relatively far away.

Far past the strange shimmer in the air, nestled at the base of the distant mountains, was the faint glow of a town. She could see torches. A city. Alive. But too far to reach before whatever she heard had descended.

And this—whatever it was, warping the space ahead—was definitely closer.

She sat up, turning slightly. “Youngji-ssi—?”

“You’re fine!” The voice rang from behind her, flippant and breezy.

Yujin whirled around. Youngji was already halfway down the path, her coat flaring out behind her as if the wind obeyed only her.

“What do you mean I’m fine—where are you going?!” She jumped to her feet and threw her hands up, indignant.

Youngji turned, walking backward now with her arms out like a stage performer. “I forgot our lunch. Stay sharp, don’t die. I’ll be back soon!”

What?!

Yujin didn’t even have time to explain the weird sight in the distance. The air behind Youngji stuttered, bent, and distorted, the girl vanishing mid-step like a curtain of reality had dropped shut. It was probably exactly like that. 

Yujin stood there, utterly alone. The wind shifted. Far off, in the horizon, thunder rumbled.

She narrowed her eyes toward the skyline where she had looked before. Something in the dark was pulsing—gathering.

She couldn’t feel it, but she could see it. Something was telling her that it was mana… so that was what continued to disturb the air like a mirage.

But… from what she knew, mana wasn’t visible. So, what kind of energy was this? It didn’t make sense, and she didn’t exactly have Youngji around to ask. Still… how could it be anything but mana?

Yujin listened closely. The energy before her didn’t hum the way she’d been taught—the way mana was supposed to. But something inside her told her to move. The same way her instincts did before lightning struck.

Did that mean that even this energy gave off Ki, too?

It would be nice to ask Youngji about it. But of course, she couldn’t do that.

She decided to listen to her gut. And so she took steps toward the center of the ridge, where the energy continued to pulse with a dark gray color, nearly blending in with the stormy night sky.

She didn’t know what she expected to happen when she reached it.

The shimmer didn’t move when she approached—it didn’t shrink, didn’t expand. It simply existed there.

She paused an arm’s length away, taking it in. The ridge was silent now. No wind, no wildlife. Just her and the eerie pulsing energy. 

She wasn’t sure if this was something only she could see; again, Youngji being there would’ve been helpful. What a great mentor. 

Yujin shook off the thoughts and looked closely at the space in front of her.

It looked wrong. Like a negative of a photograph—color pulled from its spectrum, flickering in near-monochrome.

She hesitated. Then, she reached out.

The moment her fingers grazed the edge of the shimmer, her knees nearly buckled—not from pain, but from sudden relief.

A pressure she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying peeled back from her lungs like it had been vacuum-sealed. Her breath came easier. Her ribs expanded wider. The tension behind her eyes eased. Her limbs felt lighter, her blood warmer.

She gasped—and then laughed. Just once, in surprise.

It felt good. So good.

The burn in her legs dulled. Her spine straightened instinctively. She could move.

More than that—she felt sharp. Clear. Her body thrummed with a strength she hadn’t had moments ago, like someone had removed the barrier between her and her power.

Was this… her magic?

No. Or at least not fully. Not yet.

But something had changed, she could feel it.

She didn’t feel like she was glowing. But the possibility was there. Maybe.

Yujin stepped back from the mana pool slowly, still facing it. Her hand tingled where it had made contact, faint lines of light flickering beneath her skin—white, faintly blue. Barely there.

She flexed her fingers once. The light vanished.

Far in the distance, thunder cracked again. But it sounded… different now. Sharper. Closer.

The clouds were shifting.

Yujin glanced back toward the shimmer. The haze still writhed in place, but she didn’t approach it again.

Whatever this was—it had changed something. Unlocked something.

She just didn’t know what it would cost.

——————

The streets of Undeok were quieter than usual.

Vendors had long since shuttered their stalls. Only the faint clink of metal charms swaying from doorframes and the rustle of snow-crusted branches broke the silence. A thin dusting of white clung to rooftops and lanterns, catching what little light remained in the sky.

Wonyoung’s flame danced lazily in her open palm as she and Rei made their way toward JMJ’s. It illuminated their path, soft and elegant—like everything about her. But it also made them visible. Always.

Rei didn’t mind. She walked slightly behind Wonyoung, her hands in her coat pockets, head tilted up like she was watching the stars—except there were none. Only clouds.

“Wait,” Rei said suddenly, stopping short. Her brows drew together, knitting low beneath her bangs.

Wonyoung turned, fire shifting. “What?”

“Do you feel that?”

Wonyoung frowned. She didn’t. But Rei was already stepping off the path, eyes scanning the open space beyond the market.

“The mana,” Rei said. “I can feel it moving.”

Wonyoung joined her, the flame growing. “Like… someone is using it?”

“No,” Rei murmured. “Like it’s reacting. to something. Moving in and out. Like tides.”

Her tone wasn’t fearful. Just observant. Grounded. The way she always got when something was about to happen.

They were steps from JMJ’s when they heard it—

A distorted roar.

It didn’t echo through the buildings. It ripped through them. Any remaining stragglers made haste to their dwellings at the sharp sound.

Wonyoung’s flame surged in her palm, doubling in size and intensity. Rei removed her hands from her pockets, a subtle violet glow forming around them. She was ready to nullify something.

They didn’t look at each other. Years of sparring alongside one another assured them of the others’ presence.

“Finally,” Wonyoung said, lips parted in an anticipatory smile. “It’s here.”

—

The sloth bear was already in the market.

Wreckage trailed in its wake—splintered carts, upturned crates, steam rising from cracked stones as cursed mana soaked into the earth. The beast hunched near the well, its fur matted and twitching, black mist leaking from every joint like the shadow of something worse.

Wonyoung didn’t hesitate.

Fire sparked in her palm, illuminating her eyes as she moved forward, boots skimming over ice without sound. Rei flanked her, steps slower but deliberate—no less dangerous. Her aura pulsed, violet edging into silver, reacting to the tension thick in the air.

Then the bear roared.

It didn’t echo—it detonated. Windows rattled. A lantern exploded behind them in a burst of broken glass and heat.

Rei moved first.

She entered its mana field like stepping into deep water. A breath in—corruption coiling toward her. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t block. She let it flow through her.

A sharp inhale.

Then her hands snapped forward—and the energy slammed back into the bear like a tidal blast.

It stumbled, screeching, limbs skidding across the slush-streaked stone.

Wonyoung was already moving.

Her flames surged with her momentum, licking at the hem of her coat as she launched into the air. She pivoted mid-leap, spun, and landed in a crouch with both palms slammed into the ground. Fire erupted outward, roaring across the market in an arc of blinding heat.

The bear reeled, retreating—driven back by coordinated force.

They gave it no time to recover.

Wonyoung’s fire swept sideways, cutting off its path. Rei struck again, her aura rising in a smooth, deliberate wave—absorbing, redirecting, releasing. A perfect cycle of force, wielded like muscle memory.

The beast lunged.

Too fast this time.

It barreled toward Rei, jaws open, claws raised—but Wonyoung was already moving. Not to meet the blow head-on, but to redirect it.

She slid across the stone, flames trailing from her heels, and struck the ground with her palm. Fire burst outward—not toward the bear, but beneath it. A sudden burst of heat turned the snow slick into steam, then mud, then unstable footing.

The bear’s lunge slipped.

Its front paw skidded sideways. Its momentum faltered—just enough.

Wonyoung pivoted, snapped her fingers, and sent a vertical column of flame up from beneath the beast’s exposed side.

It screamed, off-balance, staggered.

Rei seized the moment.

She stepped into the mana field, the corruption tugging at her skin like vines. But she was ready now. She let it pass through her, wrapped her fingers around its force, and slammed it back into the bear with a surge of her own power.

A brief moment of stillness.

Then impact.

The blast wasn’t loud—but it was final. Energy pulsed outward in a clean arc, piercing the darkness clinging to the beast’s form.

And just like that—the mana broke free.

It unraveled mid-air, curling like smoke. The sloth bear collapsed, and the black mist dissolved into the air like volcanic ash.

Silence reclaimed the streets.

Their breaths fogged the air. Wonyoung let her flames gutter out with a flick of her wrist. Rei brushed hair from her damp forehead, hands still glowing faintly.

Snow drifted, steam coiled upward from stone, still hot from Wonyoung’s fire.

But there were no more monsters here. No more attacks. At least for now.

Stretching out her arms, Rei cracked a grin. “Do you think anyone saw that?”

Wonyoung exhaled a laugh, head turning toward the other girl. “Does it matter?”

Rei pouted playfully. “Kind of. It took us five days to solve the problem. But we looked good doing it.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes. But she still cracked a smile.

They turned to face the ridge in the distance.

The sloth bear was dead. But the real answer was still waiting.

Rei locked eyes with the taller girl.

“So… We’re going there. Right?”

They were riding the adrenaline high, and feeling confident in their abilities. What did they have to lose?

Wonyoung nodded, looking briefly at the area around them—now devoid of snow. “Let’s do it.”

—

The ridge was darker than it looked from town, with mist coiling low between rocks. The clouds purpled like bruises overhead, pouring rain onto them relentlessly. Their cloaks were soaked through despite the enchantments, and their boots—though sturdy—weren’t made for terrain like this. It wasn’t miserable, exactly, but it wasn’t far off.

Rei had gone quiet a few minutes ago, her violet aura humming faintly under the downpour. She had mistakenly stepped in a mud pit and her right foot would need more than just a little extra washing. She tried to ignore it and focus on the fact that she could feel the mana in the air again. It was distorted, like a tide pulling in then washing out. Something was coming.

Wonyoung’s own aura shimmered red beneath the rain, pulsing in place of fire. It wasn’t as bright as her flames, but it was visible. The rain had made it harder to conjure anything steady, and the ever-present fog didn’t help. Her fingers twitched anyway, summoning a flicker of flame to light their path. 

The two hiked for several minutes, noticing how the air here felt denser. Wonyoung’s confidence wasn’t dampened, despite her clothes being damp.

Up ahead, she saw something that caught her eye.

A figure ahead. Alone. Standing at the edge of the ridge where the slope dropped sharply into darkness.

Wonyoung slowed, eyes narrowing. The figure was dressed in black, head slightly bowed. Definitely female—cloaked, athletic build, unmoving despite the wind. The way she stood was strange. Tense. Alert.

“She doesn’t look like a local,” Rei said behind her, low and certain.

“No,” Wonyoung murmured. “I don’t think she is.”

They drew closer. Slowly. Cautiously.

The girl didn’t move.

Something about her made Wonyoung bristle. Her aura wasn’t visible—but her presence was undeniable. She didn’t look afraid. She looked like she belonged there somehow, in the middle of nowhere, during a thunderstorm.

Wonyoung stopped a few paces away.

“You,” she called, voice sharp. “What are you doing out here?”

No answer.

The girl didn’t even flinch. As if she’d already known they were there.

Rei tilted her head. “Hey,” she tried. “We’re talking to you.”

The stranger lifted her head at last, looking in their direction.

Wonyoung blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected that face.

There was something rugged about her—tired, but steady. Like something the weather had carved rather than worn down. Her black cloak clung to her frame, soaked through at the edges. Her hair was dark, plastered to her cheeks. Her expression was unreadable.

“Are you from around here?” Wonyoung asked again. “Or are you affiliated with the SSEs forces?”

A lightning strike a few feet to the girl’s side illuminated the furrow in her brows at Wonyoung’s question, though she didn’t answer her.

Wonyoung’s frustration simmered. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m not… Affiliated.” Her voice was low, a bit husky. The tone implied that she was insulted by the question. But that answer wasn’t enough for Wonyoung.

She stepped forward once more. “Then who are you?” Wonyoung was aware of Rei behind her, ready for anything, as she was.

There was a long pause before she spoke again, as if weighing the pros and cons of answering her question.

“… Yujin.”

The name was short and plain. And she hadn’t offered a surname. But something about it resonated with Wonyoung. She stared, not offering her own as she pondered the person before her.

“Yujin?” Rei echoed, and the girl gave a barely perceptible nod. Her eyes flicked to Rei’s swirling aura, then to Wonyoung’s own, which flickered in unpredictable movements—much like flames.

“You have magic,” Yujin said again, stepping down to their level. Rain rolled off the edge of her hood. “Something isn’t right here. Can’t you feel it?”

Wonyoung turned to Rei.

“Do you think it’s the same thing people have been talking about back in town?” Rei asked, unease flickering behind her eyes.

“It has to be, right?” Wonyoung replied, though she didn’t sound certain. They were here to find out.

She frowned, turning back to Yujin. “What do you mean—?”

Thunder cracked.

But this wasn’t the slow rumble of something miles away. It was close. Sharp. Heavy. A split-second warning.

Yujin didn’t hesitate.

She moved without thought, one hand catching Wonyoung’s wrist—then her waist—pulling her in hard just as a bolt of lightning struck the stone behind her.

The flash was blinding. The heat from the strike swept over them, sudden and sharp.

Wonyoung collided with Yujin’s chest, her breath catching somewhere between her throat and lungs. For a moment, the world held its breath with her.

She could hear a heartbeat. It was indistinguishable; it could have been Yujin’s. Maybe her own—frantic, confused, loud in her ears.

A skipped beat.

Their bodies were flush. Yujin’s grip was strong, but not forceful. Protective.

They were eye-level.

Wonyoung had never stood this close to someone and not looked down. It was disorienting in a way she hadn’t expected—like she was seeing herself reflected in someone else for the first time.

She could see everything—the rain trailing down Yujin’s jawline, the soft curve of her lashes, the furrow between her brows. Her hands were calloused, but warm. Steady.

Wonyoung’s fingers curled into the fabric of Yujin’s cloak without meaning to.

When did that happen?

What in the world was that?

It wasn’t fear. She knew fear. This was something else—unnamed, unfamiliar, and unwelcome only in how much it lingered.

And Yujin didn’t even look fazed.

That made it worse.

She wasn’t sure who moved first. But Yujin’s grip loosened slowly, as though making sure she wouldn’t stumble before letting go. Her hands dropped back to her sides a second too late.

Wonyoung stepped back quickly. Her face was burning beneath the curtain of her wet hair and cloak.

Rei appeared at her side in an instant. “Are you okay? That was way too close!” she gasped, grabbing Wonyoung’s hand and pulling her into a hug.

The contact steadied her—barely.

“You could’ve warned me,” Wonyoung mumbled at Yujin, trying to salvage what little composure she had left.

Yujin exhaled, palms raised slightly. “If I’d waited even one second, you wouldn’t be standing.”

Rei made a sound like a startled laugh but didn’t let go of her hand.

Wonyoung scowled, eyes still fixed on the stranger. “You live out here or something?”

Yujin didn’t answer. She turned instead, gaze fixed on the far edge of the ridge.

Wonyoung frowned but before she could press again, Rei squeezed her hand lightly—subtle, but grounding—and stepped forward.

“I’m Rei,” she offered easily, tone lighter than the mist swirling around them. “And this is Wonyoung.”

There was a beat of rain-heavy silence.

Yujin’s eyes flicked back toward them. Not hostile—just… weighing. She nodded before her gaze returned to the ridge’s edge.

Wonyoung followed it. The mist had thinned just enough to reveal the faint glow of Undeok in the distance—but the stretch between here and there looked like something out of a dream. Or a warning. The air felt… changed. Charged. Like it was waiting for something.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked again, softer now.

Yujin didn’t look at her. “Training.”

“Alone?”

“I’m not alone.”

That answer gave her pause. Wonyoung’s brow furrowed. This girl wasn’t exactly offering clarity—but she didn’t seem like she was lying, either.

Wonyoung stepped back again, adjusting her cloak like it could cover up the way her pulse was still racing.

She was fine.

She just needed a moment.

She didn’t get one.

The air shifted—warped like heat off pavement—and a figure stepped through it as if parting a veil.

She stood taller than all of them. Hood down, hair damp, grin wide like this was all some kind of fun.

“Miss me?” the girl asked, chipper and bright.

Rei shook her head in bewilderment. “Who in the hell—”

“That’s… Lee Youngji,” Yujin muttered. Her tone was flat, like someone whose parade had just been rained on.

Wonyoung didn’t know what surprised her more: the fact that this girl just phased into existence—or that Yujin sounded vaguely annoyed about it.

Youngji looked them over with a casual, amused air. “New friends?”

“No,” Yujin and Wonyoung said at the same time.

Youngji snorted, clearly entertained.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be normal. Just came to get her,” she added, nodding toward Yujin. “She’s been out here on stormwatch while I grabbed food. Time to roll, Lightbulb.”

“You left her?” Wonyoung asked, appalled.

“She’s freakishly strong,” Youngji said, waving away her concern, like that answered everything. “Also, I had forgotten the food at home. That was my bad.”

Yujin muttered something under her breath in response, but Youngji didn’t seem to mind. She slung an arm around Yujin’s shoulders, nudging her forward like a tall bean sprout herding a grumpy wolf.

Rei nudged Wonyoung. “She’s hot, isn’t she?” Her voice was quiet, so the other two wouldn’t hear.

Wonyoung’s mouth dropped open. “What?” She hissed. Her stomach did a strange flip.

“You know. Yujin,” she waggled her eyebrows for effect.

Wonyoung stared at the figure walking away. She felt… she wasn’t sure what. But she decided she didn’t like it. “I don’t see it.”

Rei grinned, nudging her shoulder with her own. “Are you blind?”

Wonyoung didn’t answer. But… she kept looking.

The moment held. Until it didn’t.

From somewhere beyond the misted treeline, a sound tore through the ridge. It wasn’t the low chuff of a small animal. Nor was it the guttural growl they’d heard the other night. This was something deeper. Deadlier.

All four of the girls turned around at the sound.

The ground shook.

And then they saw it.

The sloth bear that stepped into view made the one that Wonyoung and Rei killed look miniscule in comparison. 

Its muscled shoulders rolled like boulders beneath skin matted with dark, spiked fur. It was patchy in places, black ichor filling the spots that used to be hair follicles. The hulking creature didn’t just gleam with corrupted mana—it bled it. Drool leaked from its gaping mouth, dripping shadows that stained the rocks. The same glistening tar pooled between its claws, tainting the earth as it moved.

“That’s the mother,” Rei said tightly, voice certain.

Wonyoung’s breath caught. “How do you know?”

“Because… that’s what my mom would look like if someone killed me,” Rei whispered.

The bear roared.

Reality bent before its cry.

Youngji’s coat snapped around her as she stepped forward. “Okay. So we’ve got… a minor inconvenience incoming.”

The bear charged.

Rei and Wonyoung split instantly, each peeling away in opposite directions, several meters apart.

Yujin didn’t move.

Her eyes followed the monster’s steps—slow at first. Then faster. Then faster still.

Lines. Ki.

She saw them again—the glowing paths that broke from its shoulder, curved past its flank, coiled near its claw. She couldn’t feel mana, but Ki lit the creature up like a map. Its next strike—a lunge right. Its shoulder would drop. The paw would swing wide. She saw it before it happened.

“Get down!” Yujin called out, and Wonyoung dove, narrowly avoiding a swipe that shattered a tree trunk behind her.

Wonyoung rolled and caught herself on one knee. “We can’t take this thing down in the same way as the baby,” she said. “It’s too strong.”

“We don’t have to kill it,” Rei called from across the clearing. “We just have to stop it.”

“Suggestions?” Youngji asked, glancing around. Her eyes scanned the immediate vicinity; she needed to mentally place markers in order to bend reality to her whims.

A second passed, and the enraged bear reared its head back and released an aggressive snarl.

“I can redirect its mana, but I need to get close in order to do it,” Rei replied, eyes flickering with a violet glow. She widened the distance between herself and the bear despite her next words. “Really close.”

“What?” Wonyoung snapped. “That thing will kill you.”

“I can see where it’s going to move,” Yujin cut in. “I just need to… trust the process.”

“What are you talking about—?” But it was too late. The girl was already running.

Yujin darted across the ridge, leaping over a gnarled tree stump as the bear roared again. Its body surged toward her, all fury and weight and darkness—but she slipped past it, ducking under a slash that tore an unforgiving crater into the earth.

She tried her best not to think about how close of a call that was.

Lines. Just keep reading the Ki. 

The arc of its fury played out in front of her like a storm on string.

“Youngji!” she shouted. She was sure the older girl would forgive her slip on honorifics. Since this was a life-or-death situation, and all.

“I’m on it!” The older girl held her hands out, wrists shimmering as reality twisted around her. One second the creature could see Yujin—within striking distance. In the next—gone. The scene shifted again, terrain splitting into false paths, illusions layered like a broken mirror. The bear stumbled, distracted by three versions of the same rocky landscape.

The splinters exploded outward.

Wonyoung’s cloak clung to her frame. Rei was panting beside her, aura pulsing in short, bright bursts as she held her hands up again, trying to draw more mana toward her fingertips. She launched several bursts of flame in its direction, making contact but not doing much damage.

The sloth bear let out another guttural roar, its blood-matted fur burning slightly, giving off steam and smoke. Its claws slammed the ground, shattering stone and cracking tree roots. “I can see its movements,” Yujin breathed, her voice low, steady despite the storm. Like she was trying to convince or reassure herself. “The Ki—”

She faltered. At that moment, the warped reality was affecting the Ki lines too—she couldn’t see them properly.

Her breath hitched. The energy she had been reading so clearly, glowing paths through the bear’s limbs and body, flickered erratically. The flow of Ki twisted in her perception, bending back on itself, colliding with what felt like static. She couldn’t read it.

Chaos.

Youngji was casting again.

“Hey, can you stop reality from folding in on itself in this area?!” Yujin shouted, barely dodging a jagged root, shooting outward violently as the terrain distorted like a funhouse mirror.

“I’m helping!” Youngji called from somewhere to the left. “This is wide-range magic, I can’t control it like that!”

The bear lunged.

Yujin spun too late.

The lines were all wrong.

She collided hard with Rei when they both moved to evade the bear’s lunge, nearly throwing each other off balance.

“Move!” Rei yelled, shoving Yujin out of the way just as the bear’s paw came crashing down.

Rei’s aura flared violet—bright and sharp—and took the brunt of the blow. She winced, but didn’t take much damage from the hit.

Yujin wasn’t so lucky.

The push had saved her from the first impact, but a second claw came faster than she could dodge.

It caught her.

Not fully—it scraped along her left side. 

The force knocked her back against a low boulder with a sickening thud. Her jaw clenched to keep from crying out. Pain flared white-hot across her ribs. But she didn’t fall. Didn’t show it.

Didn’t let it slow her down.

She pushed herself upright with a grunt.

Rei looked at her in alarm, but Yujin was already waving her off.

“I’m fine,” she lied, voice tight.

“You’re not—”

“We need to focus.” Her eyes were determined. Rei let it go.

Lightning cracked overhead.

The bear was staggering now, breathing heavier, movements slower. Wonyoung’s fire had found new strength—red and gold blooming like sunbursts in the rain—and Rei’s force magic was whittling away at the corrupted mana still clinging to its form.

Yujin bit down against the pain and surged forward again, launching off the ground with more force than she should’ve had. It didn’t matter. They needed to finish this. Wonyoung’s palms ignited. The rain sputtered her flame, but her aura burst instead—blazing red and sharp.

“Now, Rei!”

Rei dashed in.

She dove beneath the bear’s swiping arm, a ribbon of violet light tracing her path. As she reached the core of the beast’s aura, she stretched both palms toward its chest.

Dark mana poured off of it like smoke.

She braced.

And let it pass through her.

She held the channel open, letting the corrupted force wash over her skin like a riptide and forcing it outward again. Her hair lifted with static. Her aura crackled and popped.

Ready to release!

“Wonyoung!”

Wonyoung didn’t hesitate.

She slid across the wet ground, flames sparking at her heels, and kicked a kitten-heeled boot upward. Fire met the redirected force. The combined energy struck the bear directly in the jaw.

It reeled back.

Yujin was already moving.

She grabbed a heavy branch that was lying nearby and swung with all her might, landing a disorienting blow to the rear of the bear’s head. It staggered, slowed down for the moment.

She knew it wouldn’t kill it—but it had bought them time.

Rei’s violet aura pulsed a final time.

She cast out the dark mana she’d absorbed, a wave of pure force slamming into the creature’s chest.

The bear hit the ground.

Silence fell.

And then—

It breathed. Shuddered.

Tried to rise.

But Youngji was there in an instant, one palm pressed to the ground.

“Sleep,” she said softly, reality distorting around the bear like a net of suggestion.

The beast blinked, swayed—

And collapsed.

Not dead.

But no longer fighting.

The four girls stood there, soaked, panting, glowing faintly in the aftermath. The ridge had quieted except for the rain, which hissed as it met Wonyoung’s flickering aura.

The bear lay slumped in the mud, breathing deeply. Rain pattered against its heaving sides. The mana that once blackened its claws dissipated like smoke, leaving behind only a faint shimmer in the air.

It was over.

Yujin let her eyes drift over the others. Wonyoung was standing rigidly, her cloak clinging to her tall and lithe frame. Rei, still catching her breath, flickered faintly with violet energy. Youngji had already crouched near the bear, and was weaving another layer of distortion to ensure it stayed asleep for a while.

No one spoke right away.

Finally, Wonyoung broke the silence, her voice rough from the cold. “Just who are you?”

Yujin’s mouth tugged upward slightly, but she didn’t meet her gaze at first. She stared down at her hands instead—bruised, scraped. She remembered how they had faintly glowed when her magic had surfaced. Just for a second.

“I already told you,” she said simply, voice low. “I’m Yujin.”

Before Wonyoung could ask anything else, Youngji rose, shaking water from her sleeves.

“Well. Lightbulb here needs to get checked out before she tries to bleed out without telling anyone,” she said dryly, jerking a thumb toward Yujin.

It was only then that Wonyoung noticed the way Yujin’s posture was favoring one side—subtle, but telling.

Rei’s eyes widened. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Yujin muttered, but even as she spoke, she pressed a hand against her side—and it came away stained with red.

Youngji clicked her tongue. “She’s lying. But don’t worry, she does that.” One could assume Youngji made light of things as her way of processing them. Or that she was actually a bit insane.

Wonyoung stepped forward without thinking. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the memory of that earlier moment—the way Yujin had pulled her close without hesitation—protecting her like it was instinct. Or maybe it was something harder to name.

Either way, she caught the faint stumble in Yujin’s stance. She reached out a steadying hand, letting go only after being sure the other girl would remain on her feet.

Yujin winced and lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to see—

A wound, sliced across her side. But it wasn’t raw or even bleeding. It glowed—soft blue and white—cauterizing itself from the inside out.

They all stared at the sight, awed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rei whispered.

Youngji whooped. “Ha! I knew Lightbulb was a good nickname! You’re literally healing with light magic. I told you! I’m a genius.”

Yujin looked less convinced.

“I didn’t even know I could do that,” she said hoarsely.

“Well, you can,” Youngji said, patting her on the shoulder amiably. “It’s badass. And convenient!”

Wonyoung’s flame, barely a flicker in the rain moments ago, flared to life for just a second, as if attracted by the light emanating from Yujin’s torso. She didn’t even notice the pull. Not consciously, anyway.

But Yujin did.

Their auras brushed. One muted—less now. The other a vibrant flame.

And for a fleeting moment—shorter than a breath—it felt like something unseen stretched between them. A thread, pulling taut.

Yujin shivered. But not from the cold.

Youngji, oblivious, clapped her hands together lightly. “Alright. You two,” she pointed at Rei and Wonyoung, “you look like you’re debating running off back to town, but listen—”

Wonyoung straightened, guilt knotting in her chest as she remembered. “We have someone waiting for us. She’s expecting us back in the morning. We promised.”

Rei nodded. “We can’t leave her.”

Youngji’s expression softened. “You won’t have to. Come with us to Beongae tonight. Get Lightbulb’s ribs checked. I think you should get checked too, Rei. Just to make sure there are no side effects of that mana.” Youngji looked at Rei, who nodded reluctantly. 

The tallest continued, satisfied.

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you a way to contact your friend in Undeok. You can explain. And,” she added, flashing a cocky smile, “there’s a paved road around the ridge. You won’t have to climb through the storm again to get back.”

Wonyoung hesitated, her fingers curling into the soaked-through fabric of her cloak.

Yujin saw it. She saw all of it—the way her shoulders squared against the uncertainty. The way her lips pressed together like she hated the idea of trusting them.

But she also saw the way Wonyoung glanced once, quickly, at her. As if she was torn.

Yujin cleared her throat, pulling her hood further over her face.

“This is where we part ways,” she said. Her voice was steady, but there was a heaviness to it. Like she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted that, either.

Something twisted inside Wonyoung’s chest.

She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Youngji rolled her eyes. “Why are you so dramatic? You’re literally walking in the same direction. Come on.”

She started off toward Beongae without waiting, Yujin trailing after her silently.

Rei nudged Wonyoung’s arm. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Wonyoung said slowly, staring at the shadowed forms disappearing into the mist a few feet ahead of them, “we don’t have any better options right now.”

But it wasn’t dread she felt.

It was something else entirely.

Something urging her forward.

They followed.

The ridge faded behind them—nearly eerie without the bear’s snarling they had become accustomed to over the past several minutes. The corrupted mana had dispersed; the storm above them rumbled lowly, like a sky reluctantly settling to sleep. The thunder was still present, but had become subdued, as if it had been reacting to the corrupted mana as well.

The path sloped downward as they left the ridge behind, winding into a shallow descent. Rain whispered against the trees, softer now, as if the worst of the storm had passed.

Ahead of them, Youngji trudged forward with unbothered ease, occasionally muttering under her breath about “kids these days” and “dramatic exits.” Rei, still half-charged with lingering violet energy, kept pace a few steps behind.

Wonyoung found herself walking beside Yujin.

Not on purpose.

Not exactly.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Wonyoung kept sneaking glances—at the way Yujin’s hood drooped over her eyes, at the faint, stubborn tightness in her jaw. She was hurt. Tired. So why did she still move like she wasn’t willing to let anyone see it?

It frustrated Wonyoung. And, somehow, it also made her want to… stay close.

To do something.

The words rose up before she could stop them.

Say something normal.

Go.

“You’re really okay?” she asked, keeping her voice casual. Or attempting to.

Yujin glanced sideways at her. In the dim light, her expression was difficult to read—half hidden, half curious.

“I’ll live,” she said lightly, with a small shrug that pulled slightly on her side. She flinched but covered it fast.

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes. “That’s not the same as being fine.”

“Good thing you didn’t ask if I was fine, then,” Yujin replied, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in something dangerously close to a smile.

Wonyoung blinked. Is she… bantering?

She bit back a smile. “You’re not how I expected you to be.”

“What were you expecting?” Yujin asked, courteously and mindlessly pointing out a hazardous dip in the ground as they continued forward. She glanced at Wonyoung, head tilted to the side curiously.

Wonyoung stared for half a second longer than necessary, brain short-circuiting.

Puppy. She’s literally a puppy.

She snorted under her breath before she could stop herself.

Yujin blinked at her, looking genuinely confused.

“What?”

Wonyoung shook her head quickly, holding back a genuine laugh.

“Nothing,” she lied, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Yujin frowned like she didn’t buy it—but let it go, hunching her shoulders against the rain.

Wonyoung didn’t know why it made her feel absurdly warm.

But it did.

She backtracked slightly. Weren’t her flames all she needed to feel warm? Clearly not, a voice inside her spoke.

Inwardly, she sought composure. Outwardly, her gaze was even, and her tone was carefully neutral.

“I don’t know. Not… this.”

Yujin made a thoughtful noise. “Hmm. That’s vague.”

Wonyoung scowled, but it was half-hearted at best. “You’re infuriating.”

“Maybe. But that also wasn’t an answer.” Yujin’s tone matched hers—cool, but intentionally light. As if she meant to imply that she didn’t mean any harm.

Wonyoung opened her mouth to snap back—and stopped.

Because Yujin was smiling at her now, just a little.

And somehow, Wonyoung’s heart did that stupid thing where it forgot how to beat for a second.

Wonyoung idly thought she should probably be concerned with how easily a single gesture from the other girl could rattle her entire thought process.

She fumbled through it.

“You seemed… harsher. I thought you’d be colder. Meaner, maybe.”

The other girl looked amused, her brows pitching upward. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Wonyoung made an indignant noise, her voice coming out slightly whiny before she could correct it. “I’m not mean!” Why did people always think that? That was just her face!

Yujin’s grin widened—just enough to show teeth—and Wonyoung kind of hated the way it made her want to smile back.

“I didn’t say you were,” Yujin said. Then, almost too quickly—like she said it without meaning to—she added, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Wonyoung frowned. “About me being mean?”

“No.”

Yujin’s voice softened.

“About you not being what I expected.”

It was quiet between them for a second.

Quieter than the rain.

Wonyoung didn’t know what to do with the way her chest fluttered.

She didn’t know what to do with the way Yujin kept looking at her like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t mind being stuck on.

Their shoulders brushed—once, twice—both pretending not to notice.

The thread between them stretched tighter.

Neither of them said anything more.

But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was something else entirely.

Like standing in the first second of a sunrise.

Before the world realizes it’s waking up.

And when the lights of Beongae finally shimmered into view through the mist, Wonyoung thought, without really meaning to—

I hope this isn’t over yet.

And somewhere, in the bones of the kingdom, destiny stirred.

__________________________

The shadow chamber was dark.

Not because of any absence of light—torches still burned in their sconces, steady and low—but because the shadows clung hard to everything they touched. They had weight. Depth. A pulse of their own.

Taeil sat furthest back, always hanging back where the shadows clung thickest. They folded around him like a cloak, flickering unnaturally even in the still air. His voice broke the silence.

“We have a problem.”

No one replied.

Not yet.

It was Harin who moved first. She stepped forward, expression unreadable, her fingers grazing the edge of a parchment pinned to the center table. Symbols marked the map—some glowing faintly, others already extinguished.

“The mana pool we dropped in Meulbi is gone,” she said, voice clipped. “Dried up. Energy dispersed.”

Sojang didn’t speak. Not at first. She simply tilted her head.

“And the one in Bingha?” she asked.

“Gone,” Harin confirmed. “Same pattern. Different methods. But the resonance is… familiar.”

“Familiar how?” Taeil asked, eyes darkening with malice.

“It’s in the way they aren’t exactly identical,” Harin admitted, “but close. Similar frequency. Similar strength. Someone’s interfering. And they’re getting better at it.”

The parchment rippled beneath her fingers as though reacting to her touch. One of the extinguished sites blinked—then stayed dark.

“The resistance is spreading,” she said. “If we don’t contain it now, we risk losing the others.”

Seungri exhaled sharply through his nose. “They’re not strong enough to find the rest.”

“They don’t need to be,” Harin said coolly. “They’re lucky. Or guided.”

Sojang’s hand flexed at her side. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They don’t even know what they’re doing,” Seungri added. “The ridge site was unstable already.”

“No,” Taeil murmured. “Someone polluted it with something foreign. Then it was dismantled. That’s why it collapsed.”

That earned a glance from Harin.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Taeil nodded once. “The mana responded. It didn’t shatter. It unwound. Like something was pulled loose. Not corrupted. Cleansed.”

Harin’s eyes narrowed.

Sojang finally stepped forward, gaze sweeping the parchment like she could burn through it with her thoughts alone.

“We gave the kingdom poison,” she said. “And now someone’s trying to spit it out.”

A pause. She hummed until it turned to laughter.

“I guess there’s nothing wrong with a little force-feeding…” The woman sighed, settling down with mirth remaining.

Seungri perked up. “Did I hear you say ‘force’ just now?”

As if the shadows told them to, the three other operatives rolled their eyes.

Sojang ignored him again, as she often did.

Then she tapped her finger on the only region still faintly glowing.

“They think they’re undoing something,” she said, still amused. “Let’s give them something worth unraveling.”

The shadows shifted again, pulsing to the rhythm of her voice.

“The loss of the pools… that is intel for us to obtain.”

She looked at Harin.

“Move the next site. Let them chase the wrong ghost. Let them feel safe. And then we’ll strike where it hurts.”

She smiled.

“And this time, we won’t just leave a pool.”

“We’ll flood it.”

Chapter Text

The outer walls of Beongae didn’t loom the way Seoul’s did.

They vibrated.

Threads of stormlight wove through the stone—tiny veins of captured electricity, pulsing just beneath the surface. Damp fog wrapped around the city like an opaque curtain, lit faintly from within by hidden mana lines.

Wonyoung pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders pointlessly. The wet fabric clung to her frame, heavy with rain. Beside her, Rei adjusted the strap of her bag, the faint sheen of violet still clinging to her hands from the earlier fight. Youngji led the way without hesitation, humming to herself, while Yujin trailed just behind her, head bowed slightly against the drizzle.

Their boots scraped over wet stone as they approached the gate.

Yujin perked up slightly. “When I first came here, we didn’t come through a gate. Was… was this here before?” Her voice was low, not really meant for anyone to hear her. But she was confused; she swears she would’ve remembered the scene she saw before her.

The guards—two men dressed in identical charcoal waterproof uniforms—posted there didn’t so much as blink when they saw Youngji. One raised a hand in lazy salute; the other simply nodded.

Youngji waved breezily, her voice carrying through the mist.

“Yo. I brought guests. Try not to tell the whole city.”

The gate swung open without ceremony.

And just like that—they stepped inside.

The city unfolded around them in clean, deliberate grids.

Buildings rose between wide courtyards, their walls forged from ironwood and reinforced slate, every rooftop crowned with copper-thread lightning rods. Mana conduits crisscrossed above them, strung between stone columns like spiderwebs catching stormlight.

The air smelled of wet stone, copper, and the sharp, almost sweet tang of mana saturated by rain.

It didn’t feel like any city Wonyoung had ever known. Of course, the grand total of cities she’d visited only sat at three. But to her, it was still worth noting. She was sure now that she would see more of the kingdom before long.

Beongae felt… alive.

The streets buzzed with a low, constant hum—too subtle to hear unless you listened for it. Trainees of varying ages donning soaked cloaks hurried between buildings. Researchers in dark uniforms carried books and devices that crackled with latent energy. Floating orbs bobbed lazily along the pathways, gathering static and dispersing it harmlessly into the air.

Wonyoung slowed without meaning to, her gaze sweeping the scene.

Seoul had been towering palaces and cold marble, despite the warmer weather.

Beongae was strength, intelligence, and magic.

Seoul had been ruled by fear of nature.

Beongae had molded it to fit its needs.

She couldn’t tell if it was awe or unease that threaded through her as the four moved deeper into the city. They were naturally led by Youngji, who described buildings and their uses and as well as any notable landmarks or technology as they passed them. 

The mist coiled low along the ground. Their steps splashed quietly through shallow puddles.

Ahead of them, the hospital loomed.

Youngji had warned them.

She’d said the Institute would be bigger than they expected—that it was Beongae, not just a part of it.

But even with the warning, Wonyoung wasn’t prepared for the sight that unfolded before her. 

It certainly wasn’t a modest place of healing hidden in some corner.

The hospital was a piece of the Institute itself—hewn from the same storm-kissed stone, lined with the same breathing mana conduits. It rose four stories high, with windows lit warm against the rain, framed by archways of dark iron.

Wards shimmered faintly over the entrance—pale blue, like moisture trapped between glass.

Youngji reached the door first, pushing it open with her shoulder.

Warm air rushed out to meet them, carrying the faint smells of medicinal herbs, parchment, and something sharper—something metallic, like captured lightning.

“Alright, Lightbulb,” Youngji said, glancing meaningfully at Yujin. “You’re looking dim. Time to let the healers fix that.”

Yujin gave her a look that would have withered most people on the spot.

Youngji only laughed at her expression, utterly unaffected.

Inside, the hospital buzzed with quiet, efficient energy.

Healers moved between glass-paneled rooms. Mana diagnostic tables lined the far walls, humming softly. Some healers wore robes embroidered with the Institute’s sigil—a spiral of storm clouds encircling a blade of light.

No one stopped them.

No one questioned why two strangers had walked in dripping wet, looking like they’d survived a war.

In Beongae, it seemed like strangeness was just another effect of the weather.

Wonyoung drifted a few steps further inside, tugging her hood off to get a better look. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks. She was soaked, exhausted, running on stubbornness—but her mind catalogued everything anyway.

The walls were reinforced with fine copper inlays. The floors were slate, but covered in layered mats that buffered impact. Above them, long strands of enchanted filament traced the ceiling, siphoning off excess ambient mana so it wouldn’t pool dangerously.

It was a place built by necessity.

It was a place built by survival.

Seoul had taught her how to hold magic tightly.

But Beongae—

Beongae had learned to let it breathe.

Rei stepped up beside her, looking around with wide, dark eyes.

“This is honestly an entirely different world…” Rei murmured. Her dark eyes jumped all over the space, as if she couldn’t decide what to focus her attention on.

Wonyoung nodded slowly.

She didn’t know how to put her feelings into words. Life in Seoul contrasted vastly from the rest of the kingdom—something that was only becoming clearer the longer she was away from it.

At the reception desk ahead, a woman glanced up, caught sight of Youngji, and immediately waved them over.

“Get checked,” Youngji said, nudging Yujin forward. “No arguing.”

“We’re already here. Why would I,” Yujin muttered, voice hoarse.

Well, at least she didn’t downplay it again. It was a start.

Wonyoung caught the faint hitch in her step as she moved.

Saw the way her hand drifted, without thinking, toward her injured flank.

Something in her flickered.

She didn’t say anything.

But as she followed Yujin through the heavy doors into the heart of the Institute’s medical wing, Wonyoung felt the thread between them pull again—quieter now, but no less real.

She didn't have a name for it. She wasn’t even aware of it.

She pulled Rei along with her as she trailed behind the girl—who she’d learned was a year older than her. Rei needed to be seen as well, but the other girl provided her with the perfect internal excuse for why she had followed Yujin in the first place.

Youngji, not one to be left behind, moved with a confidence that told Wonyoung that she belonged there as she moved through the corridors. Staff nodded to her, patients and students waved and spoke. It made Wonyoung wonder who she really was since so many seemed to know and respect her. 

It reminded her of how she’d been treated back in the palace. Before the attack, that is. Before her flames scorched people’s opinions of her beyond recognition.

She sighed softly, letting that go. That was only a few weeks ago. It felt more like a lifetime. So many things had happened since then.

Her eyes flicked to Yujin. 

The older girl wasn’t looking her way, so she felt safe to watch for now. She was in the process of removing her cloak, leaving her in a torn white undershirt. Wonyoung wasn’t sure why, but her eyes never seemed to stray from her for long.

“… Safe to assume you haven’t been listening to anything I said.” Rei’s voice suddenly drifted into her consciousness. 

Her eyes snapped to her, startled. 

“What?” 

The girl shook her head, bangs swishing softly, having dried faster than the rest of her hair. 

“I was talking about a research project that I heard Youngji’s boyfriend talking about a second ago,” Rei explained. That gave her exactly no sense of what had been said.

“Oh cool, I—Wait what? Youngji’s boyfriend?” Wonyoung began, confused. When was another person introduced to her?

“Maybe you would’ve heard Youngji unnie introducing him if you weren’t so busy watching Yujin unnie taking her clothes off,” her tone was innocent, and she batted her eyelashes. But the implication was not.

Wonyoung sputtered inelegantly, actual steam rising from her ears. She reigned in her shock and fixed Rei with a glare. 

“What the heck, Rei.” Wonyoung sighed, calming herself before she realized what Rei had said. “Wait, you’re calling them both unnie already?”

Rei shrugged in response. Her expression was earnest. It was why she was so endearing to everyone who met her.

Wonyoung sighed fondly and let it go. Rei did what she wanted to do, that was one thing that she hoped would never change. 

The reception area buzzed with quiet energy.

Rain tapped softly against the high windows, mist curling low around the building’s edges like it didn’t want to let them go.

Youngji leaned against the check-in desk, laughing quietly with a staff member—a man with short, neat hair and a warm, reserved smile that softened the longer he talked with her.

Kyungsoo, Wonyoung heard someone say distantly.

They looked like a strange pairing—Youngji wild and vivid even when soaked to the bone, Kyungsoo calm and steady—but somehow, they fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Before Wonyoung could wonder more, a woman approached.

White coat. Bright, intelligent eyes. A smile too disarming to be accidental.

From where she was, Wonyoung could see that the woman was shorter—nearly 10 centimeters shorter—and had to lift her chin slightly to meet Yujin’s gaze properly.

It didn’t stop her.

Her focus locked onto Yujin with magnetic precision.

“I’m Dr. Kim Minju,” she said, voice warm and professional. “Let’s take a look at you.”

Yujin blinked once—startled, maybe—but nodded without hesitation.

Minju smiled wider and gestured toward one of the glass-walled exam rooms.

Wonyoung stood frozen for a beat longer than necessary, something prickling under her skin.

Then she moved, dragging Rei with her to sit awkwardly along the wall as Yujin disappeared behind the frosted glass.

Inside, Wonyoung could just make out the figures: Yujin sitting on the exam table, boots still on, black trousers ripped and soaked, white sleeveless undershirt torn and bloodstained where the scratch had gouged across her side.

She looked worn.

But—somehow—still more solid than anyone Wonyoung had ever known. Her thoughts were traitorous. Melodramatic. She didn’t even know Yujin…

She barely noticed Rei sliding into the chair beside her, arms folded, lips twitching.

Her eyes stayed pinned on the exam room.

Minju said something, too low to catch, and reached out—fingertips brushing along Yujin’s wrist to check her pulse.

Her touch lingered longer than strictly necessary, thumb resting lightly against Yujin’s skin.

Without thinking, Wonyoung’s hand clenched around her own wrist.

The tension was immediate, sharp, and utterly without reason.

Yujin didn’t look uncomfortable.

She didn’t look particularly interested either.

She was… polite. Distant.

Somehow, that didn’t make it easier to watch.

Wonyoung turned away sharply, heat creeping up the back of her neck.

Rei was watching her.

Smirking.

Wonyoung scowled. “What?”

Rei shrugged, her expression criminally innocent.

“Nothing. You just seem… tense.”

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” Rei said sweetly, leaning back in her chair like she had all the time in the world to wait for Wonyoung to explode.

Across the room, Youngji glanced up from her conversation with Kyungsoo.

Her eyes flicked between Wonyoung, Rei, and the faint silhouette of Yujin behind the frosted glass.

She said something low to Kyungsoo, something conspiratorial, and he snorted quietly, shaking his head.

Youngji grinned—wide and wicked—and bumped his shoulder like she was sharing the best inside joke he’d ever heard.

Wonyoung was too busy losing her mind trying to look casual to notice any of it.

Inside the exam room, Minju conjured a thin thread of glowing mana—soft blue, almost mist-like—and stitched the wound with deft, practiced movements.

Each pass of her magic closed the torn flesh, sealing it neatly, leaving behind a slender crescent of slightly raised skin just below Yujin’s ribcage.

A scar. A subtle but permanent reminder of today’s events.

Wonyoung couldn’t hear a word they were saying.

But she could see—the easy way Minju smiled, the gentle brush of her hand along Yujin’s arm as she finished the spell.

And worse—

She could see Yujin’s small smile in return.

Not a flirtation. Not encouragement.

Just… that quiet, reserved softness that Wonyoung was starting to recognize.

And miss.

And want to gatekeep…?

She ground her teeth.

“Tell me about that research project,” she said to Rei, voice clipped. She didn’t know how, but her own thoughts were beginning to annoy her. She sought out a distraction.

Rei’s grin widened almost imperceptibly.

“I could,” she said. “But you seem a little distracted.”

“I’m not,” Wonyoung snapped.

Rei just hummed, clearly enjoying herself.

Youngji and Kyungsoo continued their conversation a few feet away, throwing the occasional glance in their direction.

Wonyoung, mercifully, didn’t notice.

If she had, she might have set herself on fire just to escape the embarrassment.

The minutes stretched, taut and humming.

Eventually, Yujin stepped out from the exam room, cloak slung over one shoulder, movements careful but steady.

Her gaze found Wonyoung immediately.

Yujin maintained eye contact. She smiled softly, testing the waters. Wonyoung knew how to swim. She returned the smile, figuratively treading.

And for a moment—just a breath—the world outside the hospital walls quieted.

Wonyoung forced herself to stand, smoothing her wet cloak with shaking hands.

She told herself it was just adrenaline.

Just the exhaustion of the day.

Even she didn’t believe that.

And across the room, Youngji nudged Kyungsoo again, murmuring under her breath with a grin.

“First crush, you think?”

Kyungsoo smiled, quiet and sure.

“Looks like it.”

It didn’t take long for the healers to pull Rei into an exam room after Yujin’s checkup.

Wonyoung stayed outside, arms folded, trying not to look like she was waiting.

Trying not to watch Yujin tug her cloak over her shoulder, hiding the faint shimmer of the newly stitched scar.

Trying not to feel the weight still hanging in the air around her.

Near the reception desk, Youngji chatted with Kyungsoo—Dr. Kyungsoo, Wonyoung realized now, catching sight of the embroidered name tag on his coat.

It suited him.

He had the quiet, steady energy of someone who knew exactly who he was and didn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Beside them, a woman in a white coat conferred with Dr. Minju.

Wonyoung’s gaze caught on the small metal badge pinned to her chest: Dr. Hitomi.

The name struck a distant chord.

Undeok.

Nako had mentioned her—her partner, her colleague, the one who was away gathering information.

Wonyoung blinked, feeling a strange sense of connection snap quietly into place.

She didn’t know this woman.

But she knew of her, and somehow, that mattered.

She caught pieces of the conversation without meaning to.

“…closer than we thought,” Hitomi was saying, low and urgent. “The mana-conversion arrays — if we apply the stabilization methods immediately after exposure—”

Minju nodded. “It’s still risky. The dark mana can mutate too fast. But with the right timing…”

Kyungsoo’s voice was calm, thoughtful. “We could prevent full systemic poisoning. Maybe even reverse early stages.”

Hitomi smiled faintly. “It’s a start.”

Across the room, Yujin had gone still.

Wonyoung didn’t need to look to feel it—the way tension wound through her like a live wire, silent but vibrating under her skin.

Several feet away, Yujin was trying to make sure she heard the doctors properly.

Mana poisoning.

The same words Youngseok had spoken to them, so long ago.

The same poison that had stolen their mother away, slow and relentless, when no cure had existed.

Yujin’s fists curled tighter at her sides.

She didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

The thought that there might have been hope—felt like a knife twisting slowly between her ribs.

Before the spiral could drag her under, Rei reappeared, bouncing on her heels and flashing a grin.

“Good news,” she announced. “I’m gonna live.”

Youngji ruffled her hair as she passed. “Eh. Give it a week.”

Rei huffed and elbowed her lightly, but her smile didn’t fade.

“You’re so funny, unnie.” Youngji smiled at the term, but didn’t say anything about it or correct her otherwise.

Minju closed her clipboard with a snap and looked up at their group.

“You’re all cleared for travel,” she said, voice brisk but kind. Her gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer on Yujin. “I’d still recommend rest tonight. No more heroics.”

Yujin nodded once, sharp and silent.

Hitomi stepped forward, offering Wonyoung and Rei a warm smile.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” she said.

“Sort of,” Wonyoung mumbled, glancing awkwardly at the name badge again. “Dr. Nako mentioned you.”

Hitomi’s smile widened, something quietly proud in it.

“She’s one of the best. Be good to her while I’m away. Tell her I’ll be back soon.”

Before Wonyoung could stammer a response, Youngji clapped her hands together, slicing through the atmosphere.

“Alright, let’s move out before someone falls asleep on their feet.”

Kyungsoo chuckled under his breath, pulling Youngji gently by the sleeve as she passed.

She turned easily into him, leaned a hand on his chest, and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth—casual, practiced, easy.

Kyungsoo smiled — a small, private thing meant only for her — and tapped his fingers lightly against her lower back before letting her go.

It happened so naturally that Wonyoung almost missed it.

But she didn’t.

And somehow, it left a weight in her chest she couldn’t quite explain.

As they walked, the hospital faded behind them, its warm light swallowed by the thickening mist.

They moved together through Beongae’s storm-slick streets, toward the guest quarters tucked against the northern end of the Institute campus.

The storm above rumbled low and distant, like a great beast turning in its sleep.

And somewhere inside her, Wonyoung thought—not for the first time—that she was changing too.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

The walk to the guest dorms was short, but Yujin had insisted on escorting them anyway.

She didn’t say much — just tugged her hood up against the drizzle and kept a quiet, steady pace beside them.

Wonyoung didn’t say anything either.

She was too busy trying to ignore the way her heart kept tripping over itself every time she caught Yujin’s silhouette in the corner of her eye.

Rei was suspiciously quiet too. That was somehow worse.

The dorm wing sat at the edge of the Institute’s northern grounds — a long, low building wrapped around a small courtyard.

Lanterns glowed softly along the pathways, their artificial light blurring into the mist.

Yujin led them there without hesitation, her steps sure even though she’d only been in Beongae for a handful of days before getting whisked away to the ridge.

Wonyoung shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her cloak, trying to play it cool.

Trying not to notice how nice it felt to walk like this—tired, wet, aching—but together.

When they reached the door, Yujin hesitated.

She shifted her weight, boots scuffing softly against the stone.

“I, uh,” she started, voice low. “Just wanted to make sure you got here okay.”

Rei, thankfully, didn’t say anything.

But Wonyoung could feel the weight of her smirk even without looking.

“Thanks,” Wonyoung said, and hated how breathless it sounded.

She cleared her throat. “You didn’t have to.”

Yujin smiled—small, shy, almost self-conscious.

“I know,” she said. “Just… figured I should.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly.

But it wasn’t easy, either.

Neither Wonyoung nor Rei moved to open the door.

Yujin lingered a second too long.

Her mind was a mess—full of flickering memories she hadn’t dared to examine yet.

The feel of Wonyoung’s body pressed against hers when she’d pulled her close.

The heat of her breath, the shock of the lightning flashing past them, the visceral certainty that she would do it again—without hesitation, without thought.

That feeling hadn’t faded.

It clung to her now, in the mist and the quiet, making her chest feel too tight and too light at the same time.

She didn’t know why she wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Didn’t know why the thought of turning away—of letting go—made her feel like something important might slip through her fingers.

Creepy, a voice in her head muttered.

Pathetic.

She wasn’t supposed to want this.

Not closeness. Not comfort.

Not… anything more.

But she did.

Finally, Yujin dipped her head slightly—a farewell.

“Goodnight,” she said, voice rougher than it should’ve been.

“Goodnight,” Wonyoung echoed, barely managing to get the word out.

Rei saluted lazily, pushing the door open and dragging Wonyoung inside by the sleeve.

Yujin watched them disappear into the dormitory’s soft golden light.

For a second longer than she should have.

Then she turned away.

Her feet carried her instinctively back toward the inner halls of the Institute, weaving through the mist like a shadow.

It wasn’t until she reached the familiar courtyard near the trainees’ quarters that she realized where she was heading.

Jiwon and Hyunseo.

Her people.

Her family.

The sight of the dormitory lights—warm, steady—loosened tension in her chest she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto.

She quickened her pace.

Tomorrow would bring new problems.

New decisions.

But tonight?

Tonight, she just wanted to see them. Recharge and bask in the familiar energy. Even if she didn’t have the words for everything twisting inside her yet.

The door creaked open under her hand, spilling light and familiar voices into the mist.

And for the first time since the ridge, Yujin felt like she could breathe again.

—

Yujin slipped into the dormitory like a shadow.

The door creaked faintly as she eased it open, but neither Jiwon nor Hyunseo stirred.

They were sprawled across the narrow beds, blankets tangled around them, breathing slow and deep in sleep.

Yujin stood there for a moment, letting the quiet wash over her.

Letting the sight of them—alive, safe, whole—anchor something inside her that had been adrift for days.

She hadn’t realized how much she needed this.

Silently, she crossed the room and lowered herself onto the empty cot tucked against the far wall.

Boots still on, cloak wrapped tightly around her, she let her body sag into the thin mattress.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Just a few minutes, she told herself.

Just long enough to exist in the same space as them again.

The gray light of pre-dawn was already pushing through the curtains by the time she woke.

For a while, she stayed where she was, eyes half-lidded, watching Jiwon and Hyunseo stir softly in their dreams.

Just breathing. Just being.

She knew they must be working hard if they didn’t stir in their sleep. She was proud of them, and held onto the soft feeling for as long as she could.

But she couldn’t stay.

Not really.

Eventually, she stretched out her body—quietly groaning at the feeling—and stood again, moving carefully across the room.

On the bedside table between them, she found a scrap of paper and a pen.

She hesitated for half a second, then bent over and wrote.

Hey,

I stopped by to check in but you were both resting so I didn’t wake you.

I’m doing okay, hope you are too. I’ll see you soon.

Rest well

—Yujin

It was short. Not much.

But it would have to do.

She folded the note neatly and left it there, weighted under the base of a cracked ceramic lamp.

Hyunseo mumbled something in her sleep and shifted, but didn’t wake.

Yujin lingered a second longer than she should have, memorizing the shape of them against the dawn-dimmed room—the people she loved more than anything in the world.

Then she turned and slipped back into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click.

The mist outside was thick, coiling low around the stone paths like living smoke.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She only knew she couldn’t stay inside.

Her feet carried her toward the outer archways of the Institute, to the place where the courtyard met the open mist, where the rain pattered quietly against the paving stones and the world felt soft and far away.

She leaned against the damp stone pillar, hood tugged low over her eyes, and let herself breathe.

And wait.

For what, she didn’t know.

Maybe for the weight in her chest to lift.

Maybe for the sky to break open.

Maybe for something—or someone—to find her.

She didn’t know.

She just knew she wasn’t ready to move yet.

And somewhere behind her, through the thick hush of the morning, quiet footsteps approached.

Soft. Hesitant.

Yujin didn’t turn immediately.

She knew who it was.

———

Mist, rain, moisture; three things that were ever-present in Beongae.

This morning was no different. 

The dormitory windows glowed faintly against the pre-dawn haze, a soft blue light bleeding into the small room Wonyoung and Rei had collapsed into sometime the night before.

Normally, Wonyoung would have slept through sunrise, and remained that way until hours later.

She liked her sleep. Needed it.

She was good at curling deep into blankets and ignoring the pull of daylight for as long as possible.

But today, she woke early.

No dream jolted her awake. No sudden sounds pierced the quiet.

She just… opened her eyes to the gray hush of a Beongae morning, heart beating a little too fast for reasons she couldn’t name.

For a few minutes, she tried to burrow back into the thin mattress.

Tried to shut her eyes. Tried to fall back asleep.

It didn’t work.

Something restless buzzed under her skin, like a carpenter bee trapped inside her chest.

Eventually, she gave up.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, cloak bunched in her lap, blinking against the slow burn of fatigue.

Next to her, Rei stirred—but didn’t wake.

She mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over, stealing half of Wonyoung’s discarded blanket in the process.

Wonyoung smiled faintly, then stood from the shared bed. She walked over to the mirror briefly and regarded her reflection.

Slender and shapely eyebrows sat above her curious eyes. She didn’t look visibly different, but she felt like there had been a near-imperceptible shift somewhere. It was as though she was waiting to see the changes she was already beginning to feel.

She looked away.

They’d barely had the energy to stumble through quick showers the night before. The Institute’s washrooms hadn’t been overly extravagant, but they were warm and blessedly clean. The technology made the experience different from Seoul. But she noted that nearly everything was different from Seoul.

Even so, Wonyoung still felt the tired ache in her bones as she pulled on fresh clothes. Stepping back to the mirror briefly, she brushed her hair until it fell perfectly. 

With one more glance at Rei—she would probably wake soon—Wonyoung stepped back into her newly mud-free boots and slipped out into the hall.

The Institute’s dorm corridors were quiet at this hour, the storm-slick stones glinting faintly under scattered mana lamps.

Mist curled low against the floor, hiding the worn patterns in the tile, muffling her footsteps.

At the end of the hall, she found a familiar figure leaning against the outer archway—a dark shape against the silvered fog.

Yujin.

Of course.

She stood with her hands tucked into her cloak, staring out into the mist like she could see something Wonyoung couldn’t.

For a second, Wonyoung just watched her.

Something twisted low in her stomach—sharp, unfamiliar, and impossibly soft all at the same time.

Before she could overthink it, Youngji’s voice broke the quiet.

“Yay,” she said, grinning as she emerged from the shadows near the stairwell. “I didn’t have to drag you out of bed myself.”

Wonyoung startled, ears burning.

“I was up,” she muttered, slightly defensive.

“Good, good,” Youngji said, breezing past her. “C’mon. Let’s get this done before the storm gets grumpy again.”

Rei stumbled into view a few seconds later, yawning hard enough to crack her jaw, and fell into step beside them without protest. She waved at Youngji and Yujin, who greeted her in return.

Together, the four of them made their way through the Institute’s still-sleeping courtyards, the mist parting around them like heavy curtains.

Youngji led them to a squat stone building tucked between two larger training halls.

A single mana lantern flickered above the door, casting strange, shifting shadows against the threshold.

Inside, the air buzzed faintly with magic.

A polished mana mirror stood in the center of the chamber—a tall oval framed in ironwood, its surface swirling with a silvery haze.

It pulsed softly, responding to their presence.

“This’ll do,” Youngji said, stepping back to let them approach. “It’s keyed to Undeok’s relay point. The message should get there in under an hour.”

Wonyoung swallowed hard.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on this until now.

Gaeul.

Waiting for them.

Expecting them.

Probably worried sick.

Wonyoung clenched her fists at her sides, trying to steady her breathing.

Rei nudged her shoulder lightly.

“It’s okay,” she said, voice quieter than usual.

Wonyoung nodded once, stepping forward.

The mirror’s surface rippled as she approached, clearing from mist to shimmering clarity.

Her reflection stared back at her—tired, not quite disheveled, not quite herself.

She hesitated.

Then, taking a steadying breath, she spoke.

“Gaeul unnie,” she said, voice low and slightly rough with emotion. “We’re okay. We’re sorry we couldn’t come back right away. We ended up in Beongae. There was—”

She faltered.

Glanced back once, catching Yujin’s steady gaze anchored on her like a lighthouse through the storm. The older girl didn't speak, but there was a sort of comfortable aura coming off of her in waves. 

“There was trouble,” Wonyoung finished when she turned back, voice firmer. “But it’s been handled. The sloth bear—”

Rei cut in. “—There were two!” She held up two fingers as she pressed into view momentarily.

Wonyoung nodded and continued. “They shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Oh, and we saw Dr. Hitomi. We’ll be back soon. I promise.”

The mirror pulsed once, gently, recording the message.

Then the haze swallowed her reflection again, carrying her words into the storm.

Silence fell.

Youngji tapped her lightly on the back.

“Good work,” she said, softer than usual.

Rei just smiled and pulled her into a quick, awkward side hug before pretending she hadn’t done it at all.

Wonyoung stood there for a second longer, staring at the empty mirror.

She felt like she had finally exhaled something she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

And behind her, Yujin said nothing—but somehow, Wonyoung felt steadier anyway.

Like she wasn’t carrying the weight alone.

Outside, the mist curled tighter around the Institute’s spires, and somewhere beyond it, the storm rolled slowly over the horizon.

Waiting.

Watching.

But—for once—not chasing them.

_____

The Institute had everything.

That was Wonyoung’s first thought as Youngji led them through a cluster of low, steel-framed buildings tucked against the northern gardens.

The stone pathways beneath their feet were slick and shiny from the ever-present rain.

Lines of channeled mana pulsed faintly within the pavement, guiding them without needing signs.

Ahead, a wide glass storefront glowed invitingly—a restaurant, Wonyoung realized, even though it didn’t look like the sprawling palace dining halls she had grown up with.

It was smaller, warmer.

Humming with quiet magic and energy efficiency.

It smelled like sizzling meat and sweet pepper smoke.

Familiar—to an extent.

Like Seoul, she thought instinctively.

But different.

There was a richness here too—the gleam of polished floors, the hum of mana-imbued kitchen wards—but it wasn’t about ostentation.

It was about practicality.

Efficiency.

Comfort.

Wonyoung didn’t realize she had slowed down until Rei bumped her elbow.

“Come on,” Rei muttered, tugging her forward. “I’m starving.”

Youngji grinned back at them, pushing open the door.

Inside, the restaurant buzzed softly with morning diners.

The tables were sleek stone circles with built-in mana grills set in the center.

A faint shimmer of enchantment kept the heat perfectly regulated.

It was… casual.

But it had a comfortable and intimate atmosphere.

And it was entirely unlike anything Wonyoung or Rei had ever experienced.

“Find a table,” Youngji said, waving to a waitress who immediately recognized her. “I’ll order.”

They picked a spot near the back where the misty light from the windows softened the edges of the room.

Wonyoung ran a hand over the smooth tabletop, curious.

No gilding. No ornate carvings. No personal chefs.

Just clean, simple magic, humming quietly beneath her fingertips. She liked the feeling of it.

When Youngji returned, she plopped down with a grin.

“You’re gonna love this,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “You cook it yourself.”

Wonyoung blinked.

Rei blinked harder.

“You do what now?” Rei asked flatly.

Youngji snorted. “You cook it. On the grill… Yourself.”

Wonyoung exchanged a look with Rei—and they both laughed, helpless and a little sheepish.

“…We’ve never done that,” Wonyoung admitted finally.

Rei shrugged, tossing her braid over one shoulder. “We grew up in the palace. We had… staff.”

She said it casually, but Wonyoung felt a faint flutter of nerves in her chest anyway.

It wasn’t something she was used to admitting. 

Not outside of Seoul.

But Youngji just barked a laugh and leaned back in her chair.

“Okay. I can see it,” she said, grinning.

No judgment.

Just easy teasing, like it was obvious and not a big deal.

And Yujin—sitting across from her, hood down, sleeves pushed up—didn’t even react.

She just nodded slightly, like she was filing it away in her mind somewhere important but not for criticism. She seemed less tense and broody today. More laidback, easygoing. It made her look softer. 

When the food arrived, it came stacked high: thick slices of samgyeopsal, marbled wagyu beef, bowls of garlic and green onions, dishes of spicy red pepper paste.

Yujin picked up the tongs without hesitation and started arranging the meat across the sizzling grill.

The pork fat crackled loudly, the beef searing to a deep, mouthwatering brown almost instantly.

Wonyoung reached for the beef first without thinking—thin slices, tender and rich, practically melting against her tongue.

She closed her eyes briefly, savoring it.

And from across the table, Yujin noticed.

Wonyoung reached for another piece of beef without thinking.

Tender, rich, perfectly grilled.

She barely tasted the pork anymore.

And across the table, Yujin adjusted the tongs, nudging more slices of beef onto the hotter part of the grill, spacing the pork farther away without saying a word.

It took Wonyoung a minute to realize what she was seeing.

She glanced at Yujin’s face—

Steady, focused, a little shy around the edges—

And something inside her twisted. She didn’t know how to decipher the feeling, so she didn’t try.

She’s paying attention, Wonyoung thought, startled.

Not because she asked.

Not because she made a scene.

Just because she noticed.

And cared enough to act on it.

Wonyoung sat back a little, watching her across the rising steam.

Yujin didn’t talk much.

She acted first, and gave reasoning afterwards.

She didn’t overexplain things.

But maybe she didn’t have to.

Maybe Wonyoung could learn who she was through all the things she did without thinking.

Through the quiet ways she looked after people when she thought no one was watching.

Maybe words weren’t everything after all.

She picked up another slice of beef, smiling faintly to herself, and let herself believe—for the first time—that maybe she could understand Yujin even without having all the answers.

Maybe that was enough.

For now.

Rei leaned in with a smug little smirk and whispered, “Huh. She knows what you like.”

Wonyoung nearly dropped her chopsticks.

“I—what—”

Rei just grinned wider and stole another piece of beef from her plate.

Wonyoung made a soft, indignant sound at her.

“Don’t be annoying.” Her cheeks burned, and she ducked her head, pretending to focus on her food.

The meal was loud—mostly thanks to Youngji—and messy and wonderful.

Youngji teased Rei mercilessly for her monstrous appetite.

Rei shot back by daring Youngji to a spicy pepper-eating contest.

Wonyoung laughed so hard she thought her ribs would crack.

And Yujin—steady, quiet Yujin—kept the grill moving, always making sure there was more beef than pork, always nudging the best pieces subtly toward Wonyoung’s plate.

Wonyoung idly wondered if the older girl would ever come out of her shell, or if she was always so… Reserved.

Despite her apparent shyness, she still grinned charmingly—her dimples always made an appearance—she made brief remarks, and stole quick glances while manning the grill. 

She made eye contact with Wonyoung at one point, and both girls looked away immediately, as if caught. But her gaze always found its way back, whether Wonyoung noticed or not.

It wasn’t Seoul.

It wasn’t a palace banquet.

It wasn’t anything Wonyoung had ever known.

But.

It felt… good.

It felt right.

Maybe even—she thought, spearing a glistening slice of beef and pretending she wasn’t catching glimpses of Yujin out of the corner of her eye—

Better.

She smiled secretly towards the table as she chewed on the tender sirloin, with a heart lighter than it had been in days.

She honestly felt like she and Rei had made two new friends.

Maybe.

After a while, the food had been finished and drinks emptied. Wonyoung looked around, trying to find out how to pay when Youngji caught her eye. 

“I know what you’re thinking. And it’s already paid for,” Youngji winked with a chuckle at Wonyoung’s surprised face, her mouth slightly gaping. “Doesn’t matter how much you have; save it for the journey. You never know when it might come in handy.”

The foggy mist had thickened again as they left the restaurant behind.

Youngji led them through winding alleys between steel-lined buildings, their boots slapping quietly against the wet stone.

No one spoke much as they finally left the Institute behind them, transitioning from packed streets to the outskirts. The gate they had entered through the previous day was on the other side of the city.

Yujin spoke up then. “So this is the way we came in. We never even saw a gate. Or the paved path,” she shook her head and shrugged. 

Wonyoung didn’t say anything, just looked the other girl’s way, wondering who she meant by ‘we’.

The warmth of the meal still lingered in her chest—but underneath it was a low, pulsing ache she couldn’t name.

She didn’t want to leave.

She hadn’t realized it until now.

The road they followed curved slowly upward, cresting a small hill that overlooked Beongae’s outer district.

There—waiting like a silvered thread against the mist—was the paved road Youngji had promised them.

It cut cleanly through the landscape, a smooth, mana-tempered path that disappeared into the distant woods.

A safer route. Their guaranteed way back to Undeok.

Youngji stopped at the edge, hands on her hips, grinning despite the heavy air.

“There you go,” she said. “Your very own magic carpet ride. Minus the carpet and the ride. You guys are the magic.”

Rei laughed under her breath, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Wonyoung stared at the road ahead; it was wide and certain, but somehow it felt smaller than she had imagined.

More final.

Yujin stood beside her, shoulders tense under her cloak, hands shoved into her pockets.

She wasn’t looking at the road.

She was looking at Wonyoung.

Youngji cleared her throat.

“Once you hit the first fork, follow the leftmost path. It’ll hook around the ridge and bring you straight back to Undeok. Should get you there before dinner time.”

Rei nodded, adjusting her bag.

Youngji rocked back on her heels.

“Well,” she said, too casually. “Guess this is where we say awkward goodbyes.”

Wonyoung opened her mouth—

then closed it again.

Yujin shifted like she wanted to say something, too, but the words caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.

Instead, she stepped forward.

Not close enough to crowd, but close enough that it was obvious that she had intended to do something.

Just close enough that Wonyoung could see the raindrops clinging to the tips of her hair.

She hesitated—then held out her hand.

Definitely awkward. Uncertain.

Wonyoung stared at it for a second, heart hammering.

Then she reached out and took it.

Yujin’s hand was rough with calluses, warm even through the mist-chilled air.

She squeezed once—gentle, grounding—and then let go as if it had cost her something to do it.

“Take care of yourself,” Yujin said, voice low.

Wonyoung swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat.

“You too,” she managed.

Beside them, Rei slung her bag over her shoulder and rolled her eyes fondly.

“Are you two gonna do this all day or can we actually start walking?”

Wonyoung flushed scarlet.

Yujin ducked her head, and ran a hand through her hair, a habit she had whenever her hood wasn’t up.

Youngji laughed—a bright, careless sound that split the tension.

“Go on,” she said, nudging them toward the road. “Before I decide to adopt you both.”

Rei grabbed Wonyoung’s sleeve and started tugging her gently down the path.

Wonyoung let herself be pulled.

But just before the fog obscured them, she glanced back.

Yujin was still standing there.

Hands in her pockets.

Watching.

She was caught, but this time didn’t look away. Her head tilted slightly and she lifted one hand, looking almost embarrassed.

Wonyoung grinned and turned away before her heart could make a fool of her.

The mist curled around them, cool and damp, and the paved road stretched on ahead—

Winding, long, unfamiliar.

They walked on.

And for some reason, Wonyoung swore she could still feel the shape of Yujin’s hand lingering on her own.

They had never actually said the word ‘goodbye’. 

Wonyoung decided she was fine with that.

Chapter Text

The paved road stretched behind them, a silver thread swallowed by the dark.

Ahead, the faint golden glow of Undeok’s torchlights flickered steadily, growing closer with every step.

Rei kicked a loose pebble down the path, arms tucked tightly against her sides, her breath rising in sharp white clouds.

Wonyoung walked beside her, cloak dragging heavy and sodden from the rain they had left behind.

No mist clung to the road here.

No storm hummed overhead.

The air was clear now—dry and cold.

The rain from Beongae had soaked through their clothes, and now, with the freezing Undeok air pressing against them, every step felt sharper, harder.

Their wet boots squelched faintly against the frozen stone—slipping a few times.

Their fingers stiffened against the chill.

Without thinking much about it, Wonyoung called a small flame to life between them.

It was subtle, just a low, steady burn hovering near her open palm.

It didn’t roar or blaze.

It simply existed, a soft pulse of heat against the creeping numbness. She increased the intensity just enough to melt the ice beneath their boots. 

Rei gave her a grateful glance but said nothing, shifting closer so the warmth brushed her too.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn’t heavy, just… full.

Full of everything they had seen, everything they hadn’t said yet.

Wonyoung breathed out slowly, watching her breath curl and vanish.

Somewhere beneath the cold ache in her body, she could still feel it—that lingering weight in her chest.

The memory of Yujin’s hand catching hers.

The stubborn steadiness of her presence.

The way she had watched Wonyoung disappear into the mist without trying to pull her back.

The way she had let her go.

Wonyoung tightened her fingers briefly around the flame, feeling it respond.

Alive.

Warm.

Waiting.

The lights of Undeok sharpened as they crested a small hill.

The town stretched out below them—still humble, still small, but… different.

Torch sconces burned along the buildings.

Lamps flickered warmly in the windows.

People were out, even at this hour, voices low but lively.

The town looked lighter somehow.

It looked alive.

As they walked into the heart of Undeok, heads turned.

Faces lit up.

People smiled at them—not warily, not with suspicion, but with a kind of quiet, exhausted pride.

Rei blinked, surprised.

Wonyoung smiled back reflexively.

It felt… strange.

But it was nice.

The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread spilled from JMJ’s, wrapping around them like a memory.

Their stomachs clenched painfully.

But they didn’t stop.

The flame hovered quietly between them, burning steady as they hurried through the streets.

The clinic’s windows glowed ahead.

It was a small but certain beacon against the cold.

A woman stepped in front of them then, obscuring the view of their destination.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you,” the woman held her hands out, palms open to show that she meant no harm. She was middle aged, hair shoulder length and graying slightly. Her gaze moved from Wonyoung to Rei.

“I have been looking for you for days; I wanted to thank you personally.”

Rei looked at the woman, confusion lining her features. She didn’t recognize her, and wracked her brain to figure out where they could’ve interacted. She came up empty and stared helplessly. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I remember meeting you.”

The woman shook her head. “We haven’t. But a few days ago, my husband told me that you helped him,” she stopped and waited for a flash of recognition. “You took away the corruption in his leg. We never got the chance to thank you for that. So I just needed to, when I saw you.”

The woman bowed to her, and in shock, Rei did the same, almost automatically. She grabbed one of Rei’s hands in between both of hers and squeezed softly but firmly enough to convey her gratitude. She released her hands and stepped back. 

She hurried off as quickly as she appeared, Rei following her with her eyes. 

Wonyoung took in her friend’s dazed expression and smiled softly. She shifted her flame to her other hand and without thinking about it, looped her arm through Rei’s. 

They moved on, the fire dipping low as Wonyoung tucked it closer to her chest, as if guarding it, until they made it safely inside.

Ahead of them, the clinic’s wooden door stood slightly ajar, light spilling into the night like a beacon.

This time, the torch above the door was lit.

Rei didn’t hesitate.

She nudged it open with her shoulder, letting Wonyoung slip in first.

The warmth hit them immediately. 

Not just the heat from the hearth, but the feeling of it.

The feeling of life.

Inside, the main room buzzed with quiet activity.

A few townsfolk sat bundled on benches near the far wall, murmuring in low voices.

Lanterns cast a soft gold light over the worn floors and crowded shelves.

At the center of it all, perched behind the counter, was Gaeul.

Her head jerked up the moment the door creaked wider.

Her hands, mid-sorting through a pile of clean cloth, froze.

For a second, no one moved.

And then—

“Wonyoung-ah, Rei-ya!” Gaeul’s voice cracked a little on the name, soft with relief.

She was across the room in seconds, skirts swishing, boots thudding lightly against the floor.

Wonyoung barely had time to step fully inside before Gaeul collided into her—wrapping her in a tight, fierce hug.

The impact knocked the breath out of her, but Wonyoung didn’t complain.

She hugged back just as tightly, the cold of the road still clinging to her skin but chased away by the human, stubborn warmth of Gaeul’s arms.

Rei grunted from somewhere behind her, clearly not wanting to be left out.

Gaeul laughed—shaky but real—and pulled Rei in too, squeezing both of them until Wonyoung’s ribs threatened to ache.

“You’re freezing,” Gaeul scolded them as she finally pulled away.

Her small hands immediately started checking Wonyoung’s cheeks, her forehead, her fingers—like she could catch whatever had happened to them by touch alone.

“I’m fine,” Wonyoung said, voice gentle.

She smiled though, unable to help it.

Rei bumped Gaeul’s shoulder lightly with hers.

“We’re tougher than we look, unnie.”

Gaeul gave her a teasing look that said she didn’t believe it for a second.

Before any of them could say more, another voice called out from deeper in the room.

“You found your way back.”

Wonyoung turned to see Dr. Nako emerging from the side hall, wiping her hands on a clean cloth.

Her small frame was wrapped in a familiar white coat, and her face—normally calm—was visibly relieved.

They had spent five days under her quiet care before leaving for Beongae.

Her presence felt grounding now, like another piece of the world clicking back into place.

“We heard the message,” Nako said, smiling faintly. “Youngji delivered it to the relay point. It came early this morning.”

Wonyoung exhaled slowly, tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying easing out of her chest.

Gaeul brightened too.

“I knew you’d come back,” she said, voice sure in a way that made Wonyoung’s throat tighten.

The relay point—Wonyoung remembered now—was tucked into the side of the square near the clinic, a mana-imbued post where messages could be transferred instantly between settlements.

Simple but reliable magic.

“We didn’t do it alone,” Rei spoke up then, voice low but certain.

She stepped a little closer to Wonyoung, glancing briefly at her before facing Nako again.

“There were others.”

Nako nodded, her gaze sweeping over them again with a kind of quiet understanding.

“You stopped the corruption,” she said simply. “That’s what matters.”

Wonyoung tightened her hands around the warm mug Gaeul had pushed into them moments earlier.

The weight of everything they had endured, the things they still hadn’t found the words for, sat heavy in her chest.

But here, in this moment, under the soft lamplight and the scent of clean linen and boiling herbs—it didn’t feel unbearable. It felt… Manageable.

“Oh,” Wonyoung said suddenly, remembering.

She straightened a little, setting her mug down carefully on the nearby bench.

“Before I forget—Dr. Hitomi asked me to tell you she’ll be back soon. She’s still gathering information, but she’s planning to return.”

Nako’s smile deepened slightly—still subtle, but real.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That’s good to know.”

Gaeul tucked herself between Wonyoung and Rei, looping an arm around each of them with easy familiarity.

“You can tell us everything after you’ve eaten something and gotten warm,” she said firmly.

“Clinic’s quiet tonight. No emergencies. Just rest.”

Wonyoung leaned into her unthinkingly.

For the first time in days, her bones didn’t feel like they were holding her together out of sheer willpower.

They were home. Together.

—

The next few days passed quietly.

Undeok, once half-shrouded in fear and silence, slowly bloomed back to life.

The market square reopened in full.

Lanterns strung between rooftops glowed warmly even through the freezing air.

Children skated on the ice-crusted puddles without looking over their shoulders anymore.

And the clinic thrived and pulsed with steady, sustainable life.

Thanks to their help clearing the ridge, patients stopped pouring in by the dozens.

The infection rate dropped. The fear lessened.

Hope, cautiously, took root.

Dr. Nako, calm as ever, had rallied her two assistants into a well-oiled team.

She moved through the small building with quiet authority, her presence an anchor more than ever before.

On the third evening after their return, after checking bandages and warming hands and restocking supplies, she turned to Wonyoung, Rei, and Gaeul with something close to a smile.

“You’ve done more than enough,” she said simply.

The woman, as they’d come to learn, didn’t waste words.

The three of them exchanged glances.

They knew what the doctor had been implying.

They were no longer needed here.

And it was time to move on.

—

Later, huddled together in Gaeul’s room at JMJ’s, the girl in question tapped her finger lightly against her knee, considering.

“We could,” she said slowly, “try to get back to the Mana Rail.”

Wonyoung stiffened before she could stop herself.

The thought of it—

Returning to that strange, humming train, so much like Seoul, so far from here—

It made something inside her twist uncomfortably. Made her feel uneasy.

She didn’t know why.

Or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to look too closely at it.

Rei noticed immediately, of course.

Wonyoung could feel her friend’s gaze flicker sideways, sharp and knowing, but Rei said nothing.

Not yet.

“I just think it would make sense,” Gaeul continued, missing the silent exchange. “If it’s still there, we could—”

“—We can go back,” Wonyoung said quickly, cutting her off, voice too bright, too tight.

Rei pressed her lips together, clearly biting back a comment.

Gaeul nodded, pleased.

“Good. Then we’ll check tomorrow.”

They agreed, Wonyoung and Rei retiring to their rooms later that night. 

Wonyoung lay staring at the low ceiling beams, heart thudding heavily, anxiety keeping her awake.

—

The next morning was biting cold, the air sharp enough to sting. 

They set off after a late breakfast, cloaks wrapped tight, boots scraping over frost-stiffened stone.

The road out of Undeok was familiar now.

It should have felt comforting.

It didn’t.

Wonyoung’s pulse quickened the closer they got.

The clearing came into view—the wide, flat platform where the Mana Rail had once waited, huffing like a living thing.

But now—it was empty.

Just a hollow stretch of worn stone, dusted with frost, leading into nothing.

No tracks. 

No train.

Just open space.

Gone. Like it was never even there.

Gaeul stared, blinking like she couldn’t quite trust her own eyes.

“How…?” she started.

Wonyoung let out a soft, strangled noise that could have been a gasp or a relieved laugh.

She pressed a hand lightly to her mouth, covering the tiny, uncontrollable smile that tried to break through.

Oh no, she thought, almost giddy.

Looks like we can’t go this way.

Rei caught her immediately.

Of course she did.

A slow, knowing smirk curled across her mouth as she slung an arm lazily around Wonyoung’s shoulders.

“Well,” Rei said, way too cheerfully. “Looks like we’re heading in the opposite direction now.”

“It’s gonna be a bit of a walk.”

Gaeul blinked at them both, clearly still processing.

“What?”

Rei gave Wonyoung a conspiratorial side-eye.

“I’ll tell you the story on the way,” she said with a wink.

Wonyoung elbowed her in the ribs lightly, cheeks burning.

But she didn’t deny it.

—

It was too late in the day to start the long trek to Beongae again, especially with the freezing weather settling in with the evening.

They turned back toward Undeok, breath rising in thin clouds, Wonyoung’s heart lighter than it had been in days.

That night, they ended up at JMJ’s one last time.

The little inn was lively, full of woodsmoke and laughter, old beams groaning softly under the weight of winter coats and damp boots.

Karina and Winter—their ever-gracious hosts—greeted them with wide grins and barely disguised amusement.

“You’re back? Thought you’d left town already.” Winter chirped, sliding bowls of steaming stew across the counter toward them. Over the week, the girls had started ordering whatever Winter offered them. Eventually, she would just serve them, and they would simply eat. The food was always good; no losses for either side.

Karina leaned over, elbowing her in the side gently. 

“I told you they’d miss us.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but smiled, feeling the warmth soak into her chilled skin.

They sat together at one of the rickety tables, bowls in hand, letting the noise and heat of the room melt some of the exhaustion from their bones.

Tomorrow, they would start the walk to Beongae.

Tomorrow, they would leave Undeok behind.

But tonight, they rested. They wined, they dined, and they remembered how it felt to belong somewhere, even just for a little while.

And early the following morning—much to Gaeul’s surprise—the three girls set out. Destination: Beongae.

___________

The mist curled low against the edge of the Beongae path, swallowing the paved road piece by piece.

Yujin still stood there, hands still buried in her pockets, hood low over her eyes, staring into the empty dark.

Wonyoung and Rei were long gone.

The storm had faded to nothing.

The only sound left was the slow drip of rainwater from the eaves above.

Youngji stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed casually, leaning against a battered stone marker.

For once, she didn’t speak.

She just watched—quiet, steady—as Yujin stayed frozen in place, even when there was nothing left to see.

Normally, Youngji would have cracked a joke by now.

Teased her.

Poked at the obvious.

You’re standing there like a lovesick puppy, you know that?

But for some reason, she didn’t.

This time, she just let Yujin be, let her feel it.

Only when the mist thickened enough to swallow even the path beneath their feet did Youngji finally say,

“Alright. You had something to eat. You had your moment. Ready to get back to your training?”

Her voice was light, but it pulled Yujin back like a tether.

Yujin blinked, slow, almost confused.

For a second, she just looked at Youngji—like she couldn’t quite believe she had forgotten about that part.

Then, slowly, the tension melted from her face.

A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Soft. Real.

“Let’s go,” Yujin turned away from the path, her tone sure. She injected some enthusiasm she wasn’t sure she felt into her tone.

She adjusted the strap of her bag across her shoulder, brushing the damp fabric out of her face. “Lead the way… Youngji unnie.”

Youngji’s eyebrows shot up briefly—surprised, but not displeased.

She only smiled, wide and warm and real.

“Come on,” the older girl called easily, turning back toward the heart of Beongae.

“Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

Yujin fell into step beside her, boots scuffing against the slick stone.

The mist drifted behind them, the road vanishing into memory.

But the fire burning quietly in Yujin’s chest? That stayed.

—

Youngji didn’t lead them straight back to the training yard.

Instead, she angled toward the heart of the complex where the older buildings stood, heavy with age and tradition.

Yujin recognized the path instinctively.

The main dwelling hall.

Where Sohan spent most of his time.

The hall’s sliding doors were already ajar when they reached it, the soft glow of lamplight spilling across the threshold.

Youngji rapped her knuckles lightly against the frame before widening the opening so the two could enter. They removed their shoes, as always.

Inside, Sohan sat cross-legged on a low platform, his robes pooling around him, his posture straight despite the clear strain it must have cost him.

He looked up as they entered.

His gaze—sharp and endless and seeing—landed on Yujin immediately.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Yujin felt that familiar, bone-deep stillness settle over the room.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but watching.

Sohan studied her without speaking.

Not judging. Not measuring.

Just… seeing.

Finally, he smiled.

Small. But real.

“You’ve changed,” he said simply.

Yujin didn’t know what to say.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She always got emotional at inopportune times.

Youngji, sensing it, spoke for her.

“Abeoji. She’s ready,” she said, voice carrying the easy certainty Yujin hadn’t quite found in herself yet.

Sohan nodded once, like that assurance from her was all he needed.

He lifted one frail hand and beckoned Yujin forward.

Without hesitation, she stepped closer, dropping into a respectful bow just beyond the platform’s edge.

When she rose, he was still smiling that small, steady smile.

“Your path is opening,” he said quietly.

“But the real work begins now.”

He reached for a small object resting beside him—a simple strip of cloth, dark blue, embroidered with a single silver thread.

A training sash.

He extended it toward her without fanfare.

Yujin accepted it with both hands, bowing her head again.

Behind her, Youngji grinned proudly.

Sohan’s voice was soft, but carried no less weight for it.

“You are not yet whole,” he said.

“But you are ready to become.”

Yujin’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t fear.

It was something closer to hope.

She bowed deeply one last time, then stepped back beside Youngji.

Sohan closed his eyes, settling deeper into his meditation.

They were dismissed.

They didn’t need words to know it.

Outside, the cold air hit her like a baptism.

Youngji clapped her on the back lightly, steering her toward the training grounds with easy familiarity.

“You heard the man,” Youngji said, a little smug.

“Shit is gonna get real now.”

Yujin let out a breath that turned into a thin mist in front of her face.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t dread it.

She wanted it. She was—

“I’m ready.”

Youngji led her back across the training grounds without saying much.

The morning mist was thin now, the coolness biting sharper in its absence.

Instead of steering her toward the open practice yard, Youngji paused near one of the side buildings.

A low, narrow hall Yujin recognized vaguely.

The place where trainees kept their gear and personal items.

Youngji pushed the door open and nodded for Yujin to step inside.

“I’ll meet you out there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the yard.

“Get yourself ready.”

Yujin nodded silently, stepping into the dim, stone-floored room.

It was simple.

Rows of wooden pegs and low benches.

No frills.

Just purpose.

The pegs that were occupied were labeled with the names of the trainees using them.

She walked toward one of the empty pegs near the far wall and untied the training sash from her belt.

The cloth felt heavier now that she was holding it.

Not physically—emotionally.

It wasn’t just fabric. It was a marker.

A promise.

She reached to hang it carefully—and froze.

Two other sashes already hung next to the empty one.

They were simple. Slightly worn.

Dark blue, like hers.

One was looped with surprising neatness.

The other was a little more haphazard, like someone had thrown it there without thinking.

She didn’t need to check who they belonged to.

She knew.

Jiwon. Hyunseo.

They had stood here too.

They had taken this same step before she had. I’m glad they had each other.

Yujin swallowed, blinking against the sudden, ridiculous sting in her eyes.

She hung her own sash beside theirs, fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary.

Then she straightened and walked back into the cold.

Toward the training yard. Toward the future.

—

The cold seemed to have teeth here, in the open courtyard. It bit sharply when coupled with constantly falling droplets of rain.

Mana lamps burned low at the edges of the stone field, casting long, thin shadows against the wet ground.

Clusters of trainees moved through their drills; stances, strikes, footwork. Their breaths rising like smoke in the brittle air.

Yujin paused at the threshold, the blue sash tucked safely away in the gear room behind her, heart thudding in her chest.

She was nervous. She didn’t show it, as she tended not to. Still, it was there, buzzing low under her skin.

It wasn’t fear of failing, but fear of not living up to the trust placed in her.

Youngji came up beside her, easy and steady, and nodded once.

Without a word, they stepped forward together.

Across the courtyard, Taeyeon stood waiting—arms folded, expression unreadable.

When she spotted them, she moved immediately, cutting across the field to meet them.

The chatter around the courtyard stumbled.

A few trainees faltered mid-strike.

Everyone noticed.

Everyone felt it.

Whoever Yujin was—whatever she was about to become—mattered.

Taeyeon exchanged a brief nod with Youngji, then turned her gaze on Yujin.

“Ready?” she asked simply.

Yujin didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, ssaem.”

Satisfied, Taeyeon jerked her chin toward the center of the yard.

“Then let’s see it.”

Yujin stepped forward, flanked on either side by Taeyeon and Youngji, like a soldier being led to battle.

Around her, the other trainees scrambled back into tighter formations, hands tightening on practice weapons.

Jiwon, halfway through a spin with her staff, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and stumbled.

Hyunseo elbowed her lightly, whispering something sharp under her breath.

But both of them were staring too.

Yujin caught their gazes briefly.

A soft flash of recognition. A brief and subtle nod.

But no time for more. Not now.

Training didn’t stop for reunions.

—

Hours blurred into a haze of movement.

Strike. Block. Sidestep. 

Feint. Another strike.

Yujin matched the drills, muscle memory kicking in, body straining under the relentless pace.

Taeyeon’s commands were sharp as whip cracks.

Youngji’s corrections came in low, steady murmurs between sets.

Her legs burned.

Her arms ached.

Her lungs clawed for air against the wet cold.

At one point, between weapon shifts and stance resets, Yujin staggered a step off balance.

She caught herself, barely.

Under her breath, she muttered, “Damn… this is what you’ve both been dealing with?” Referring to the training her sisters had been completing while she was at the ridge.

The thought drifted unbidden.

Half a joke, half a genuine wheeze of disbelief.

For a moment, it almost made her smile.

Almost.

And then, her mind flashed to the storm-soaked ridge.

The split-second decision. The way Wonyoung’s flame had flared alongside her own light.

The memory hit her like a weight to the ribs.

She faltered.

Just for a beat.

Long enough for Taeyeon to snap, “Focus.”

Yujin gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

It didn’t matter how many times she stumbled.

It didn’t matter how many times she fell.

She would get up.

Again.

And again.

As many times as it took.

Until her body learned to match the weight she already carried in her heart.

—

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when she noticed the shift.

Thick, roiling black clouds stacking against the edges of the sky.

The same kind of angry clouds that had boiled over the ridge.

She knew what was coming the moment she saw them.

She didn’t wait.

When the first bolt split the sky, she was already moving.

Sweat dripped down her face as she panted heavily, shoulders heaving with the effort of staying upright.

The courtyard spun slightly around her in a blur of cracked stones and silvered mist.

Above, lightning flared, scorching the sky into blinding white veins.

Yujin pressed a hand flat against her ribs, feeling her heart pounding wildly beneath her palm.

Just a small break.

Just a moment.

Then she would continue.

She squeezed her eyes shut for half a breath—felt something inside her, something she couldn’t name.

Coiling tighter, brighter.

She didn’t know if it was magic.

She didn’t know if it was something older than that—maybe something she’d carried long before the word mana had ever been whispered to her.

But whatever it was, she grabbed it.

Clutched it like a lifeline. And refused to let go.

The next bolt of lightning split the sky with a deafening crack.

Yujin moved.

Not away from it. Not in fear.

She slipped between flashes, her body responding before her mind could think.

Step.

Dodge.

Leap.

The light caught in the corners of her vision—and caught herself thinking, absurdly, about Wonyoung.

The way she’d looked at her that night on the ridge.

Not like she was a burden.

Not like she was in the way.

Like she was—like she was something strong. Something safe.

Yujin’s chest squeezed so tight she almost stumbled.

She didn’t know if she was imagining it.

Didn’t know if she was just projecting her own desperate need to protect someone—anyone.

But at that moment, it didn’t matter.

She pretended she was saving her again.

Pretended she was cutting through the storm to reach her. Pretended that the light crackling under her skin meant something.

And somehow—it made her faster. It made her stronger.

Another bolt ripped across the sky, and Yujin flashed through it, a streak of raw, unpolished light barely tethered to the earth.

The storm didn’t ease.

Neither did she.

Because for the first time in a while, she wasn’t just fighting to survive.

She was fighting to be someone worth surviving for.

—

Yujin stayed low to the stones, panting harshly, sweat cutting frozen trails down her cheeks.

Her ribs screamed every time she inhaled; a burning, pulling ache just beneath the surface.

She pressed a hand against her side, feeling the tender pull of stitches through her shirt.

A vague, scolding voice surfaced in her memory.

“Take it easy,” Dr. Minju had warned, tapping her fingertip lightly against Yujin’s forehead like she was branding the words into her brain.

Yujin grimaced faintly.

She felt… Apologetic, almost.

Maybe she should go back to see her.

Maybe she could have someone check—make sure she hadn’t torn anything open.

No. Minju was busy.

She had actual patients to tend to.

Worse injuries. Real problems.

Not just some idiot too stubborn to sit still.

At least, that’s what Yujin told herself.

She wouldn’t burden anyone.

She was fine.

Her body was just exhausted. That was all.

She hadn’t been standing still since Taeyeon dismissed them hours ago—hadn’t rested.

She wasn’t ready to stop.

After the courtyard cleared out, after the last groups of trainees shuffled back inside, Yujin had slipped away too.

Not to the gear room.

Not back to the shared quarters where Jiwon and Hyunseo were undoubtedly waiting.

Her feet had carried her somewhere quieter. Where no one would look for her.

Somewhere she could pretend she didn’t feel guilty for avoiding them. Because that’s what she was doing.

So, of course she felt guilty.

They were her family. Her heart.

But she wasn’t ready yet.

Just a little longer.

She missed them too much to stay away for too long.

—

Now, hours later, the courtyard was a battlefield of broken mist and trembling light.

Her body ached.

Her muscles burned.

Her stitches pulled tight with every breath.

But she pushed to her feet anyway, using one hand to steady herself against the chill-soaked stones.

Overhead, the clouds still rumbled low, furious, restless.

Yujin tilted her chin up to meet them.

Chest heaving. Bones rattling. Blood pounding.

Fine.

If the storm wasn’t finished—neither was she.

She shook out her arms, rolled her shoulders against the deep, gnawing ache, and took a step forward.

Another round, then. She was ready.

She would always be ready.

Yujin staggered upright, dragging in a shallow breath that scraped against the inside of her ribs.

Her vision blurred at the edges, silvered out by exhaustion.

The storm above rumbled low, like a living thing too stubborn to sleep.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing sweat and rain and God only knew what else, steeling herself for another round.

She had to.

She wasn’t done.

She was never done.

She squared her shoulders, ignoring the screaming protest of her muscles, and took a step forward.

Another.

A third—

Then a hand caught her arm.

Not roughly. Not unkind.

Just firm enough to stop her.

Yujin blinked blearily up into the rain-smeared dawn light—and saw Youngji.

She stood there, steady as stone, her usual playful grin absent.

No teasing. No jokes.

Just quiet, steady eyes.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

For a second, Yujin swayed, breath hitching in her throat.

And the warmth of Youngji’s grip grounded her.

Not forcing. Not dragging.

Just there, steadfast.

Waiting.

Yujin hesitated, pride and exhaustion warring inside her…

And then, slowly, she let herself lean into it.

Just a little.

She wasn’t giving up. She was choosing to let herself be supported.

Choosing not to stand alone for once.

Youngji shifted her grip, slinging Yujin’s arm lightly over her shoulders, taking some of the weight without comment.

“You’re gonna kill yourself trying to be invincible, you know,” Youngji muttered, voice light but not mocking.

Yujin huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a choked gasp.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she rasped.

Youngji grinned, finally.

“Yeah, well. You’re stuck with me now, genius. So it better be the last time.”

She adjusted her footing and started steering them back toward the alcove, Yujin stumbling but stubbornly staying upright with her.

Behind them, the last of the lightning flickered weakly against the thinning clouds.

The storm was spent.

Yujin wasn’t.

Not yet, probably not ever.

But for now, she let herself lean into Youngji’s stability.

And Youngji didn’t let her fall.

Yujin stumbled beside her, half-conscious, the freezing air scraping raw against her skin.

Now inside, Youngji led them to the right rather than going straight, where Yujin’s room was. The spare rooms were much closer than the dormitories, tucked behind the older stone halls, where trainees sometimes meditated or crashed after brutal drills.

Perfect.

Safe, and also close enough for the two to trudge to.

Youngji guided her to a thin futon in the corner of an empty room, easing her down carefully.

Yujin barely registered the movement.

Her limbs sagged the second she touched the mattress.

Her boots clunked softly as Youngji pulled them off and set them aside.

A rough sheet—smelling faintly of rain and old stone—was tugged up around her shoulders with care.

Yujin shivered once.

And then, for the first time in days, let herself sink.

She was almost asleep when she felt it—the feather-light touch of Youngji’s magic settling over her.

It wasn’t binding, not forcing—just smoothing the frayed edges of her body’s stubborn refusal to rest.

A quiet permission to stop fighting.

Yujin didn’t resist.

She slipped under.

Deep. Heavy. Safe.

—

She slept through the night.

And the day that followed.

And into the next night beyond that.

No drills. No lightning.

Just rest, warmth, and stillness.

—

When she finally woke, the light was thin and gray outside the narrow windows.

The mist had rolled back over Beongae, soft and slow.

Yujin lay there for a moment, staring up at the low ceiling, heart beating steadily and calm for the first time in… she wasn’t sure how long.

Her body hurt, but it was a good hurt—the clean ache of healing, not the ragged throb of overexertion.

She shifted carefully, feeling the worn linen scrape against her palms, and pushed herself upright.

Her boots were sitting neatly beside the futon, so she slipped them on.

She refolded the bedsheet and carefully placed it at the foot of the bed, making sure it looked presentable.

On the small table nearby, a scrap of paper weighted by a stone caught her eye.

She picked it up, squinting blearily at the familiar handwriting:

“Take the day off or I’ll tie you to the bed myself. <3 — Youngji”

Yujin huffed out a laugh, pressing the paper against her forehead for a second.

Her chest squeezed—not in pain this time, but something better.

Warmer.

—

The hallways were mostly empty when she slipped back into them, her cloak hanging loose over her shoulders.

The world outside the meditation halls was quiet—

the soft clack of practice swords, the low murmur of trainees moving through morning drills.

But Yujin didn’t turn toward the training grounds.

Not yet.

Her heart tugged her somewhere else.

Somewhere she hadn’t been able to face before.

She found the dormitory door ajar, mist curling around the threshold like it was breathing.

She hesitated for only a second before lifting her hand and knocking once lightly, almost unsure.

Inside, she heard a scrape of footsteps, a sharp breath, and then Jiwon’s voice:

“Come in.”

Yujin pushed the door open, looking around with eyebrows gently raised, expression soft.

Jiwon was standing near the beds, Hyunseo perched on one of the low trunks nearby.

Both of them turned the moment they saw her.

There was a beat of stunned silence before Hyunseo launched herself across the room, crashing into Yujin’s chest with enough force to make her stumble.

Yujin caught her, laughing under her breath, barely holding herself upright before Jiwon closed the distance too, arms wrapping tight around both of them.

They stayed there like that, no words or accusations. Just relieved to be together again.

Yujin squeezed her eyes shut, letting the weight of them soak into her bones.

When she finally pulled back enough to speak, her voice cracked:

“I’m sorry,” she rasped.

“For not coming sooner. For—”

Jiwon shook her head, fierce and quiet, cutting her off without anger.

“We don’t care,” she said simply.

“You’re here now.”

Hyunseo nodded against her shoulder, sniffling without shame.

“That’s what matters.”

Yujin laughed—a broken, half-sobbing sound—and tightened her grip on them both.

She didn’t need to be forgiven.

She didn’t need to be perfect.

She just needed to be there. 

And they had never stopped waiting for her.

——

Taeyeon stood in the center of the courtyard, arms loose at her sides, a patient and consistent weight in the fog.

Today, the girls weren’t focusing on drills like the rest of the trainees spread out.

Only the steady hum of focus hung in the cold, damp air.

“You’ve learned to touch mana,” she said.

“You’ve learned to call it into the world. Now, you must learn to wield it around yourselves.”

She stepped lightly forward and tapped the ground with her foot—

and a faint ripple spread outward, the mana there bending, cloaking her in a soft shimmer.

“Aura reinforcement,” she began.

“It won’t stop a blade. But it will turn a killing blow into something survivable.”

Taeyeon’s words echoed softly across the stones, blending into the mist and the hush of rain clinging stubbornly to everything.

“You must learn to wield it,” she said. “To call it. To shield yourself with it.”

Yujin shut her eyes and reached inward, feeling the slow coil of mana threading itself through the air, through her skin, deeper, deeper. It wasn’t a thing to be seized. It had to be invited. Welcomed in. Like coaxing a wild animal closer with a steady hand.

The warmth built behind her ribs, slow but relentless, until it spilled outward. A vibrant shimmer of blue clung to her arms, and wrapped around her shoulders, until it encompassed her entire body. Her aura, alive at last.

The moment it stabilized, the world tilted.

A tug—sharp and certain—jerked through her chest so suddenly that her eyes flew open. Her hand twitched against her side, fingers clenching reflexively as if to catch something already vanishing.

She staggered a step but caught herself, masking the stumble as a shift in stance. Hyunseo glanced over but said nothing. Jiwon hesitated mid-movement, sensing something but unable to name it.

Taeyeon’s gaze lingered for a beat longer than necessary. She said nothing either.

Yujin ground her boots into the wet stone, steadied her breathing, and forced herself back into position. She would ask about it later—maybe. Probably not.

Some things, she was beginning to realize, weren’t meant to be explained.

The training moved on.

But deep inside her… beneath muscle, flesh, and bone, the tether stayed tight.

The thread had been pulled.

And far across the city, it pulled something else taut as well.

————

Wonyoung shifted restlessly in her sleep, tangled in stiff hotel sheets that smelled faintly of detergent and rain. Outside the window, the lights of Beongae bled into the mist, blurring edges into soft glow.

A pulse of something—not pain, not fear—woke her.

She blinked up at the cracked ceiling, heart racing, hand pressed hard over her sternum as if bracing for an impact that never came.

The sensation wasn’t violent.

It was worse.

It was yearning.

It was the deep ache of reaching out in a dream, fingertips grazing something vital—only to wake with the ghost of it still clinging to her skin. Only to wake with an empty hand.

She sat up slowly, blanket falling to her waist, the chill of the room biting through her thin sleepwear. Rei mumbled in her sleep across the room. Gaeul rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around her.

Only Wonyoung was awake.

Only Wonyoung felt it.

She rose, bare feet whispering against the wood floor as she padded to the window. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she stared out over the slumbering city.

The mana in the air pulsed softly. It brushed against her skin like the echo of a whisper she couldn’t quite hear.

She knew what this was.

She just didn’t know what to call it.

All she knew was that somewhere out there, something was waiting.

Or maybe someone.

Her hand curled into a loose fist over her heart, her eyes searching the mist as if she could see through it if she just stared hard enough.

She thought of Yuri’s words—vague and distant now, like a half-remembered dream—but they didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

Because all she could think of was mist and rain. And a figure standing still while she walked away.

She thought of eyes that hadn’t asked her to stay but had made her want to anyway.

Wonyoung closed her eyes against the sudden sting behind them.

She didn’t have a name for this.

The city breathed around her, and she stayed there by the window, chasing a feeling she had no words for, chasing a ghost she refused to let slip away.

Somewhere beyond the mist, red threads pulled tighter.

Silent. Sure.

It didn’t matter that they couldn’t see each other.

It didn’t matter that they couldn’t speak.

They had already fallen.

They just hadn’t hit the ground yet.

Chapter Text

The ground was frozen so hard that every step cracked faintly underfoot.

Even through her boots, Chaewon could feel the sharp bite of black ice under the thin crust of packed snow.

The wind cut low and vicious through the abandoned ruins at the edge of the Bingha region’s eastern outpost, carrying with it the bitter scent of spent mana and something colder—emptier.

They were already too late.

She knew it before she even saw them.

She could feel it in the way the world around them held its breath.

Ahead, under the skeletal remains of what might have once been a watchtower, the SSE operatives moved with clinical precision. There were no shouts, no struggle. Just the steady, deliberate stripping of life.

The cursed victims lay sprawled across the ice—unmoving, breath misting faintly in the brittle air. Fragile. Already drained nearly to nothing.

Chaewon tightened her grip around the hilt of her short blade, jaw clenched so tightly she felt it grind in her ears.

They had seen this scene too many times.

Always arriving just minutes too late to stop the worst of it.

Always saving scraps when they needed to save everyone.

Kazuha moved silently to her side, waiting.

Yunjin bristled, fists clenched and ready but held in check by sheer willpower.

“I’m pissed we can’t just fuckin’ kill them right now,” her voice was hushed but cross. 

Chaewon understood how she felt. She glanced at the tall girl and shook her head subtly. “We can’t rush in, Jen. We have to wait. And see.”

Sakura and Eunchae fanned out behind them, steadying themselves against the biting cold.

There were two figures standing at the heart of the carnage—two that didn’t move like the rest.

The first was fairly tall, dressed in stark black noble robes that caught the faint light and threw it back coldly. Blond hair. Glasses glinting. Calm as a winter grave.

Junhui. Their intel had mentioned him, but this was the first time they’d actually seen him in the flesh.

The second was shorter, thinner, and had brown hair parted neatly down the center.

Taeil. She had seen him before. She knew he was one of the SSE’s core four.

Chaewon’s stomach twisted as she watched them.

Taeil moved from victim to victim with an awful, casual ease—his hands glowing faintly, pulling the wisps of broken auras from their bodies and feeding them into the orb cradled carefully in his other hand.

The orb pulsated hungrily with each intake, the trapped mana swirling like smoke under glass.

The cursed ones didn’t scream.

They didn’t thrash.

They just… dimmed. Like a lantern extinguished.

Collapsed further into the ice, their breath slowing, their souls slipping away without a sound.

Junhui watched with clinical detachment, the faintest shimmer of a glowing doorway pulsing to life beside him—a rip in the cold air, a silent exit ready for use.

Chaewon’s pulse thudded against her ribs, sharp and urgent.

This wasn’t random violence.

This was a harvest.

And these were executions.

And it was organized, and apparently sanctioned.

And if Junhui was here… If a noble’s right hand was calmly helping to orchestrate this—

The rot went deeper than they had ever dared to believe.

“What are the orders?” Kazuha hissed, voice raw with held-back rage.

Chaewon swallowed against the taste of bile in her mouth and answered in a voice that didn’t shake.

“Save who we can.”

It wasn’t about victory anymore.

It hadn’t been for a long time.

Eunchae moved first—silent as a blade through the bitter air. The rest followed, breaking cover in a tight, practiced formation.

But even as they moved, Chaewon knew it wouldn’t be enough.

They might pull a few broken bodies from the ice.

They might steal a few threads of hope back from the maw.

But Junhui was already stepping through the glowing doorway, the orb heavy with stolen life tucked safely into Taeil’s gloved hands.

The portal closed behind them without any sound.

And by the time Chaewon skidded to a stop beside the nearest victim, the only thing left in the freezing wind was the brittle echo of failure.

Later, when the five of them huddled in the remains of a collapsed building, trying to warm their frozen fingers over a guttering flame, no one spoke.

Not about what they saw.

Not about what it meant.

The truth hung too heavy between them.

Chaewon stared at her scraped, bloodied knuckles and thought—

We thought we were fighting monsters.

Her chaemmu-green aura flickered weakly against the cold, barely visible.

We were fighting the system itself.

And the worst part?

They were already losing.

____________________________

The hotel breakfast was lukewarm and forgettable, but none of them seemed to care.

Rei balanced her chin in her palm, poking half-heartedly at a plate of watery eggs. Across the table, Gaeul sat upright, as if sheer stubborn posture could make up for the gray sluggishness hanging over the city—and over them.

Wonyoung didn’t have much of an appetite. She sat sideways in her chair, watching thin streams of rain snake their way down the window glass. The sky outside was the same muted silver it had been for days, and the streets below were slick with water, mana engines humming low as carriages splashed past.

It had been a week since they arrived in Beongae.

A week since the mirror message had arrived at the front desk of the hotel, barely an hour after they checked in.

Wonyoung could still remember the way the surface of the mirror shimmered, Youngji’s bright grin appearing in the warped reflection:

“I know you’re here. Welcome back! Don’t ask how I know what hotel you’re at, okay? I’m very well connected. Anyway! I’m working on setting you guys up to stay at the Institute. But you gotta wait for me to call you in. Sit tight. Have fun. See you soon!”

At first, it had made her smile.

Made them all laugh, even.

Typical Youngji.

But now, days had passed.

Long enough for the humor to sour into frustration.

“We’re wasting time,” Gaeul muttered, fingers tapping a rhythm against the table.

“We’ve been wasting time,” Rei corrected softly, voice more gentle than usual.

She didn’t tease Wonyoung—not when she could see the way her friend’s shoulders sagged, the way her gaze kept drifting, unfocused, to the blurred horizon.

Wonyoung dragged her attention back to the table, forcing herself to listen.

“We can’t just sit here forever,” Gaeul said. “We’re not helpless. You two know where the Institute is.”

“Yeah,” Rei said, a little more wryly. “We just don’t have a way in yet. Minor detail.”

Silence stretched between them, padded by the soft patter of rain against the windows.

It wasn’t that Wonyoung didn’t want to act.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care.

It was that she felt… stuck.

Somewhere between what was and what might be.

Caught on something—or someone—she couldn’t shake loose.

“You okay?” Rei asked her quietly.

Wonyoung flinched out of her stupor, surprised, and found Rei watching her—not teasing, not smirking, just steady and soft-eyed.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

Rei didn’t argue. She just nudged Wonyoung’s mug closer to her hand, a silent offering. 

She grabbed it, smiling gratefully, hands wrapping around the warmth of the ceramic.

Gaeul leaned back in her chair, considering them both.

After a moment, she said, almost lightly, “You should try meditating with me.”

Wonyoung blinked. “Meditating?”

“Yeah. Might help you settle your mind a little. You’re buzzing like a lightning rod.”

Wonyoung opened her mouth to argue, then shut it.

She didn’t have anything better to do.

—

Later that afternoon, they sat cross-legged in their small hotel room, the windows cracked open just enough for the sound of rain to whisper in.

Gaeul closed her eyes easily. Rei laid back on the bed and half-heartedly pretended she was participating.

Wonyoung closed her eyes too.

And after just a few minutes—

She felt something.

Like catching the end of an elusive thread between two fingers.

Taut. Electric. Burning faintly red against the darkness behind her lids.

Her breathing halted in her shock.

The thread pulled—soft but certain—drawing her deeper, farther, toward something warm and bright and achingly familiar (more so than she thought she should be, this soon).

Toward—

She wrenched her eyes open, heart hammering.

“I don’t think meditation is for me,” she said stiffly, voice a little too loud in the stillness.

Gaeul cracked one eye open and smiled gently, almost knowingly.

Rei raised an eyebrow but didn’t push her.

Wonyoung stood and quickly busied herself with meaningless tasks—folding a blanket, adjusting a lamp.

Time went on, as always. But all day, she felt it.

The weight of that invisible thread against her skin.

A hum that lived just beneath the rush of her blood.

It didn’t let her go.

—

Later that night, when the rain fell heavier and the city lights blurred into long, trembling smears beyond the window, Wonyoung woke from an uneasy sleep.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a mana lamp across the street.

She lay still, listening to the soft breathing of her friends nearby.

And she heard it.

A heartbeat.

Not her own.

Her hand shot to her chest instinctively—palm flat against the steady thrum beneath her skin.

But the rhythm was different.

The timing didn’t match.

The beat was slower, steadier—

Familiar in a way that knotted sharp and sudden, a longing she hadn’t given a name to yet.

The rain.

The ridge.

The moment when she had leaned into a warm body that caught her without hesitation.

The heartbeat she had heard pounding through the chaos—strong, sure, and safe.

Yujin.

She closed her eyes again, throat tight.

She didn’t know how she knew.

She didn’t know why she could feel her across a city, across storms, across distance.

But she did. And she knew with certainty that it was her.

The thought that someone she knew for only twenty-four hours could both rattle and soothe her, have such a hold on her…

It should’ve scared her. 

But all she felt was calm.

And when she finally drifted back into sleep, the echo of that broadcasted heartbeat continued on in her dreams. Alive.

—

Morning crept in through the thin curtains, dragging muted light across the hotel room.

The rain hadn’t stopped.

It misted the windows and glazed the streets below, but it didn’t roar the way it had the night before.

The world felt softer somehow, washed clean.

Wonyoung stirred, awake now.

She stretched, yawning before sighing softly, the way someone does after sleeping soundly.

Her limbs felt heavy, her mind sluggish.

A memory—faint but bright—brushed the edges of her mind.

A rhythmic sound from the previous night.

It slipped away before she could catch it.

Dissolving into the fog of morning like a dream. She didn’t chase it.

Instead, she dragged herself upright, muttering something about needing coffee under her breath.

Across the room, Rei was already up, tying her hair back in lethargic, sleepy motions.

Gaeul stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city stir beneath the heavy clouds.

“Morning,” Rei said around a yawn.

Wonyoung hummed in response, still half-dreaming, still half-searching for something she couldn’t explain.

With one last lingering thought to the inexplicable events of last night…

Wonyoung let it go.

—

It didn’t start as a plan.

Not really.

It started with three girls sitting around a chipped hotel table, trying and failing to pretend they weren’t frustrated out of their minds.

The rain hadn’t let up.

The city outside was a slurry of gray stones and shivering lantern light, mist crawling low across the ground.

Inside, the room buzzed with unspoken tension.

“We’ve waited long enough,” Gaeul said, flipping the pages of a worn travel guide idly between her fingers. Her voice was low, even.

“You make it sound so easy,” Rei said, stretched across the bed, hands folded behind her head.

“It is,” Wonyoung said, sharper than she meant to.

She straightened her cloak with crisp, irritated movements. “We know where the Institute is. We know who we need to find.”

“And when the guards inevitably stop us?” Rei asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wonyoung’s eyebrow arched in silent challenge. “Then we’ll improvise.”

Gaeul’s lips curved faintly. “Very noble of you.”

Rei smirked. “Very reckless of you.”

A pause.

Wonyoung shrugged once, a slender shoulder lifting. “Sometimes the two are the same.”

Rei rolled onto her back, grinning at the ceiling like she couldn’t help it.

Gaeul closed the booklet and tucked it away. “If we’re doing this,” she said quietly, “we’re doing it carefully. No unnecessary risks.”

Wonyoung nodded.

The thread pulling at her chest had only tightened since morning, tightening still now—taut as a bowstring.

She wasn’t sure if it was recklessness or inevitability.

Maybe both.

—

They left the hotel without fanfare.

No hoods pulled low.

No sneaking through alleyways.

Just three girls walking briskly through the rain-slick streets of Beongae, cloaks snapping around their ankles, faces steady.

The Institute’s silhouette rose ahead—huge, sprawling, stone and steel braided together into a fortress.

The main entrance was guarded, of course.

Massive iron doors set into archways, magic seals glimmering faintly against the rain.

But Youngji’s message hadn’t mentioned other ways in.

“Just wait,” she’d said.

“I’ll call you.”

Well.

They weren’t waiting anymore.

Gaeul led them down a side street that curved sharply around the outer wall.

The alleys narrowed, slick with puddles, the hum of mana lines vibrating faintly under their boots.

“There,” Rei whispered, pointing.

A servant’s gate—low, narrow, half-hidden behind crates of supplies stacked against the wall.

It wasn’t unguarded.

Two figures stood posted there—their uniforms simple but unmistakably bearing the faint blue insignia of the Institute.

“Options?” Rei asked, voice pitched low.

“Talk our way through,” Gaeul said.

“If that fails?”

Wonyoung smiled faintly, repeating herself. “Improvise.”

————

Across the city, within the sturdy stone walls of the Institute, Yujin stretched her arms above her head until her joints popped.

She groaned under her breath, rolling her shoulders, feeling the stiffness of yesterday’s training melt slowly away.

The outside air was cool but heavy with humidity, the faint scent of storm-soaked stone drifting through the open archways.

Somewhere beyond the training courtyard, the bells chimed once—a low, resonant sound.

It was early.

Still misty. Quiet.

The best time to move, to think.

Still nestled in their beds, Jiwon and Hyunseo would likely wake in an hour or so. She’d see them at the training grounds a bit later. 

Yujin pulled her boots on, laced them tightly, and stepped out onto the damp stones of the yard.

The ground was slick underfoot, but she barely noticed anymore.

She felt good. Better than good.

There was a lightness in her chest she couldn’t explain. Like  the usual weight she carried had lifted, even if only a little.

She could breathe deeper.

Move easier.

Her focus was sharper.

It’s not just the training, she realized distantly.

It wasn’t just discipline or routine.

Something inside her had changed, and it was steady and blooming.

She wasn’t sure where it had come from.

She wasn’t sure she needed to know.

Yujin’s lips lifted slightly—a small, private smile—and squared her shoulders against the mist.

Time to work.

She moved into the proper formation automatically, summoning her aura with a focus that felt almost effortless now.

The faint blue shimmer wrapped around her body like mist, like a second skin.

Not heavy. Not wild.

Controlled.

Alive.

Taeyeon watched from the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, face unreadable.

Youngji lingered beside her, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“She’s leveling up faster than expected,” Taeyeon murmured.

Youngji made a face. “I believe I underestimated the power of… certain distractions.”

Taeyeon snorted quietly but didn’t argue.

They both watched as Yujin moved—faster, sharper, her aura blooming and flexing with every strike.

And somewhere, without knowing it, without even trying, Yujin’s soul reached outward—

Threaded itself deeper into the tether she didn’t know she had already tied.

_______

The rain slicked the stones beneath their boots, mist clinging to the hem of their cloaks. The city around them was awake now, the hum of mana engines mixing with the distant clang of carts and voices, but in this alley, tucked between the looming walls of the Institute, the world felt smaller. Tighter. 

Wonyoung led them without hesitation, her stride clean, precise, cloaked in the easy, quiet confidence of someone who had spent her life being obeyed.

The servant’s gate loomed ahead—a narrow break in the wall, guarded by two figures in simple uniforms, the faint blue insignia of the Institute gleaming wetly on their shoulders.

The guards straightened as they approached, hands drifting to their weapons. Suspicious. Wary.

“This area’s restricted,” one said, young but sharp-eyed, scanning them quickly.

Wonyoung didn’t slow. Didn’t flinch.

When she spoke, her voice was smooth and unhurried, low enough to command but soft enough to disarm.

“We’re expected,” she said.

The guards hesitated, exchanging a glance.

“Expected by who?” the second asked, more guarded.

Wonyoung’s mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Lee Youngji,” she said.

She let the name fall into the space between them like a stone into still water.

It rippled.

The guards stiffened visibly. Their hands jerked away from their weapons. Their posture shifted, no longer defensive but uncertain.

Everyone in Beongae knew that name.

Most knew better than to question it.

The first guard cleared his throat, voice less certain. “Wait here.”

He disappeared through the narrow door, boots splashing against the wet stone.

The three girls waited in the rain, letting it bead on their cloaks, dripping from their sleeves.

They didn’t fidget.

They didn’t pace.

They were taught better than that.

Rei glanced sidelong at Wonyoung once, a smile tugging at her mouth—not mocking, not teasing, just quietly impressed.

Wonyoung was looking straight ahead, chin lifted, eyes distant.

Waiting.

Feeling the pull.

The thread that tied her chest tight pulsed, steady and insistent.

She could feel it, pulling her forward.

Drawing her toward something—someone—just beyond the next door, the next gate, the next breath.

The guard returned a moment later, face tight, jaw clenched.

“You can enter,” he said stiffly, stepping aside.

“Straight to the secondary intake hall. Don’t wander.”

“Of course,” Wonyoung said, her voice so sweet it nearly stung.

She stepped forward, water flicking off her boots with each stride, and the guards instinctively shifted aside, creating a path without even realizing they had.

Because when Wonyoung moved, people watched.

When she walked into a space, people felt it.

But Wonyoung didn’t notice the ripple she left in her wake.

She didn’t notice the way heads turned, or the way the guards fumbled slightly as they closed the gate behind them.

She wasn’t looking at them.

She was looking forward.

Looking through the stone halls and storm-wet walls.

Looking for something she couldn’t name, but knew she would recognize the moment she saw it.

The halls of the Institute’s many campuses were a labyrinth of polished stone and humming mana lines, the air thick with the scent of rain and charged energy.

The girls moved briskly, their cloaks leaving damp trails across the floor, the sound of their steps muffled by the storm rumbling outside.

They followed the gentle slope of the corridors downward, toward the central courtyards.

Wonyoung felt it before she saw it—the thrum.

The pulse of mana dense in the air.

A sound echoing faintly, insistently, just out of reach.

They stepped through a wide archway into the open courtyard, rain misting down in a soft, persistent drizzle.

The space was alive.

Trainees sparred in the rain, their movements sharp and deliberate, their auras flickering like ghostlight against the storm.

And standing near the center, back straight, hands flexed loosely at her sides, aura gleaming like a pale blue flame—

Yujin.

The world seemed to narrow.

The storm muted.

The sounds of combat dulled.

Wonyoung’s chest tightened painfully, like a bowstring pulled too taut.

Because everyone turned to look at her—the girl who didn’t belong here but moved like she did—

But she wasn’t looking at them.

She was looking at her.

At the girl whose heartbeat had called to her through the night.

At the girl whose light found her even through rain and stone and silence.

Yujin hadn’t seen her yet.

Didn’t feel her yet.

But Wonyoung felt it.

The invisible thread coiling tighter.

The pulse in her ribs falling into sync with a rhythm she hadn’t known she missed—needed—until now.

Yujin had been in the middle of fully activating her aura, and had been about ninety percent finished when Wonyoung came. Yujin sensed something behind her, but held onto her focus until she mentally reached one hundred. 

Then Yujin felt her. 

She whirled around, eyes searching. She wasn’t frenzied, but her gaze was sharp, determined.

Both of their auras surged the moment their eyes locked in a subtle, undeniable flare of color that graced the misty air.

Yujin’s blue light deepened, threaded with flecks of bright white, while Wonyoung’s aura came forward, blooming pink against her skin, darkening to crimson as it radiated outward.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t violent.

It was cosmic.

The connection between them cracked through the atmosphere like a silent chord, and the mana around them—usually invisible, passive—shivered in response.

The rain softened to background noise.

The air thickened with a subtle tension.

Magic bent toward them unconsciously, the very fabric of energy in the courtyard drawn tight around the thread that snapped between their hearts.

Trainees flinched, startled by the sudden shift they couldn’t explain.

Taeyeon’s head jerked up, eyes narrowing sharply as she perceived the change in latent mana. Her shoulders stiffened. The woman thought inwardly that the mana surge felt out of the ordinary, and made a mental note to discuss it with Sohan soon.

But Wonyoung didn’t notice.

And Yujin didn’t notice.

They were looking only at each other.

And in that impossible, aching moment—

The world seemed to rearrange itself around them.

The energy was still resonating from the collision of their auras—a subtle tremor humming through the mist-heavy air, lingering even after the light faded.

Trainees whispered behind their hands.

Mana curled tighter against the courtyard walls.

Taeyeon’s gaze sharpened—she didn’t shout, didn’t scold. She simply said, “Focus on your drills.”

The words cut clean through the courtyard, sending trainees scrambling back to their positions with quick, guilty glances.

But the mark had been left.

The moment had shifted.

Nothing would settle quite the same again.

Footsteps splashed lightly against the stones, easy and unhurried.

Youngji sauntered into view, rain misting off her shoulders, a grin so wide it practically split her face.

“I knew it,” she announced, arms thrown out like she was greeting the storm itself. “I knew you’d do this. Honestly. I’m not even mad.”

Several trainees startled at her volume. Yujin flinched faintly, eyes wide, but didn’t move. Wonyoung, standing straighter than ever, pretended not to flush under the attention.

Youngji folded her arms, shaking her head with exaggerated fondness. “Come on then, you beautiful little chaos demons.”

She gestured with her head and led the Seoul girls forward—Wonyoung, Rei, and Gaeul falling into step naturally.

In the middle of the courtyard, Youngji wasted no time.

A subtle distortion rippled outward from her, a shimmer of air that obscured the view without raising suspicion. It was chaos illusion magic—surprisingly gentle and elegant for Youngji’s bold nature—meant to give them privacy without announcement.

Across the courtyard, Yujin stayed where she was, working on her assigned task.

Break down her aura. Reactivate it. Build control.

Simple in theory.

She lifted her hand—focused—and the blue light stirred faintly at her skin.

But something tugged at her attention, delicate and impossible to ignore.

Inside the distortion, Wonyoung moved—just a step, just a tilt of her head—and the energy in Yujin’s chest tightened like a fist.

Her aura surged to life, steady and strong, white light threading through blue. She let it fall away and called it again. Faster. Cleaner.

It was almost easy now—as natural as breathing.

She didn’t think about why.

Didn’t question it.

Inside the mana walls of the distortion, the girls were being assessed quickly and efficiently.

Wonyoung went first—fire blooming around her hand, a fierce, controlled blaze that flared without struggle. Her flames were undamped by the precipitation around her. Feeling cheeky, she knelt and used her index finger to write her first name in hangul on the ground, steam rising from where her flames made contact with the water pooled there. Youngji’s approving ‘Oooh’ was almost lost to the rain.

Next, Rei followed. She was a flash of violet, slightly chaotic but powerful, like a storm barely restrained. She pulled mana from the air and turned it into force. It wasn’t perfect—but it was strong. Real. She loaded the energy, raised her arm straight up into the air and extended her pointer finger and thumb. 

“I call this one a ‘Rei beam’, unnie,” the girl winked at her before releasing the mana. It sailed into the air before dispersing in a violet-colored mana firework.

“I want you to do that on my birthday,” Youngji said immediately. She held up a finger. “And on Kyungsoo oppa’s birthday; he’ll be so surprised.”

Rei giggled, eyes closing, but nodded agreeably. It didn’t even matter that she didn’t know either of their birthdays. 

Gaeul was last, ever steady and composed. Her navy aura shone with glints of healing gold. She demonstrated the healing process of a minor wound—she’d noticed a small scrape on Youngji’s arm the other girl had gotten a few days ago. She had even guessed correctly on how the other girl had obtained it. Afterward, she conjured a basic aural shield around herself.

Youngji bobbed her head with clear satisfaction before snapping her fingers—the distortion peeling away into the mist.

The courtyard’s hum returned. Most of the trainees stole glances but quickly ducked their heads again at Taeyeon’s quiet pressure.

Yujin couldn’t look away.

She didn’t even try.

Youngji clapped her hands once, sharp and bright. “Alright. Let’s go see the big boss.”

She turned, heading toward the upper halls without waiting.

The Seoul girls adjusted their cloaks, preparing to follow.

Yujin moved instinctively—her boots tapping softly as she crossed the courtyard to join them.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply fell into step beside Wonyoung—head dipping in a quick bow of greeting toward Rei and Gaeul, who bowed back politely—but it was Wonyoung she stood closest to. Their shoulders brushed once, then again, and without thinking, they matched pace perfectly.

Neither of them disturbed the silence.

Youngji noticed first. She slowed, squinting over her shoulder.

“What are you doing, Lightbulb?” she called, mock-stern. “Don’t you have to work on your task?”

Yujin glanced at her, silent, and lifted her hand again.

A soft pulse of blue-white light flared around her skin—quick, seamless, second nature now—and then faded.

Answer given.

Youngji’s eyebrows shot up—mouth parting slightly in real surprise—before she laughed and shook her head.

“Ahhhh, Yujin-ah,” she said, voice thick with affection. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They moved through the halls together, boots scuffing wet stone.

Wonyoung stayed close to Yujin without meaning to, the faint warmth of her body an anchor in the mist.

The thread between them tightened—so naturally it almost hurt.

Gaeul hung back slightly with Rei, watching the pair in front of them.

“That’s Yujin?” she murmured to Rei, voice low, layered with something almost awed. “She’s handsome and pretty at the same time…”

Rei smirked and nodded her agreement but didn’t add anything.

Gaeul kept studying—she had observed how Yujin’s bow had acknowledged Rei and herself politely. And how her full attention, every unguarded glance, was magnetized to Wonyoung like gravity.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Gaeul added under her breath, almost smiling. “But it’s like she doesn’t have to.”

Rei’s smirk softened.

“I think,” she said slowly, “some things are a little too weird to be just coincidence.”

The unspoken reference to Yuri’s words hung between them like a spark.

Ahead, Yujin and Wonyoung walked side by side, twin flames hidden under storm-soaked cloaks, their steps synchronized as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

The world outside the courtyard faded as they stepped under the alcove.

They left the main campus and headed down a western hall that led to a different area outside. There was grass here, and large step stones formed a path. 

The rain hissed softer against these stones.

For once, the road ahead didn’t feel lonely.

It felt inevitable.

—

The door to the dojang’s main hall opened with a slow, weighted creak.

Inside, the world felt… suspended.

The space was vast but not empty—at the far end of the polished bamboo floor, a great cherry blossom tree rose straight through the foundation, its trunk thick with age, its blossoms shedding a slow, endless rain of soft pink petals. The scent of old magic and drifting flowers filled the air. Warm. Heavy. Sacred.

The tree hadn’t been there before.

Even Rei, normally so blithe, was quiet as they stepped in.

Gaeul’s mouth parted slightly in wonder.

Wonyoung just stared upward, wide-eyed, the petals falling like a memory around her.

Yujin barely glanced at the tree.

Her eyes found Sohan immediately.

He sat near the far wall—no longer cross-legged on the ground as he had been weeks ago, but upright in a wooden chair, one hand curled loosely around a cane at his side. His face was pale today, the lines around his mouth drawn deeper than usual. The weather must have been bad on his bones.

Youngji moved to stand just behind him, her energy shifting and becoming more subdued.

Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, gaze downcast, almost protective.

Sohan raised his head slowly as they approached.

The petals drifted around him—some catching in his hair, some disappearing into the folds of his robe. His presence was still as iron, but his eyes gleamed sharply as he regarded the four girls.

When they came to a stop a respectful distance away, Sohan spoke.

“You’ve come far,” he said, voice low and steady, like distant thunder rolling over a lake. “Stand before me. Let me see what you bring.”

Youngji stepped forward and gestured with a short tilt of her head.

“One at a time,” she said quietly. Yujin took note of this. When she had come with her sisters, Sohan had read them all at the same time; she pondered the status of his condition.

Rei was first.

She smiled crookedly and ambled forward with a thin confidence that only barely masked her nerves.

Sohan didn’t reach for her. He didn’t need to.

The moment she entered the circle of the tree’s petals, her aura rose naturally—violet, sharp and crackling around the edges, like a storm gathering on a bright day.

Sohan’s mouth quirked slightly, approving.

“A mind quick as lightning,” he murmured. “Unruly, but potent. Be wary of the storms you touch, young one.”

Rei’s grin widened, but she gave a respectful bow before retreating.

Next was Gaeul.

She moved more cautiously, but there was an unshakable steadiness to her steps.

Her aura unfolded like a slow tide—navy at the core, dark and deep, but with flecks of bright gold flashing near her hands and heart.

Sohan’s smile turned faintly wistful.

“You were born with a healer's hands,” he said. “But your heart yearns for more than mending. Guard that hunger carefully.”

Gaeul dipped her head, cheeks coloring, and stepped back.

Then—Wonyoung.

For a moment, she hesitated.

The air around her seemed to breathe with her, holding its breath as she moved.

When she crossed into the petals, her aura blazed to life—not with violence, but with certainty.

A rich, luminous pink glowed from her chest outward, deepening into red at the very edges, alive with motion. Her magic thrummed like a living flame.

Sohan’s brows lifted slightly.

His eyes sharpened.

“Your fire does more than destroy,” he said slowly. “It protects. It carries the weight of those you would shield. You will burn brighter still—but beware. Even the brightest flames must rest, or risk consuming themselves.”

Wonyoung’s hands tightened briefly at her sides. She remembered the wall of her blue flames in the palace halls—but she bowed, hair falling like a curtain around her face before stepping back.

And then—Sohan’s gaze turned to Yujin.

For a second, everything stilled.

The cherry blossoms seemed to freeze in midair.

The mana in the room pulled inward, sucked toward her without a sound.

Yujin stepped closer, within Sohan’s immediate manafield.

Her boots scuffed lightly against the polished wood.

She kept her chin high, even though her heart was drumming insistently against her ribs.

She didn’t even have to call for her aura.

It rose the moment her foot crossed into the circle of petals—blue, pure and blinding, with veins of white light lacing through it like lightning trapped in glass.

But at the very center of her chest—

There was a void.

A dark, blackened fissure—small, but throbbing faintly, hungrily.

Sohan’s posture shifted, expression darkening.

He leaned forward, his breath catching sharply. His eyes, always calm, flared wide for the briefest moment—he recoiled slightly as though he had been struck.

Youngji moved slightly, instinctively—but Sohan raised one trembling hand and she stilled immediately.

The hall seemed to dim around them.

Everyone felt it—the wrongness hidden inside the light.

Yujin froze.

She knew.

She knew.

The day she and her father were attacked.

That pressure smashing into her chest—the force that had flung her like a ragdoll off the carriage—the searing pain that had felt like it would crush her lungs, stop her heart—

It hadn’t gone away.

It had just… hidden itself.

Grown stronger as she did.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

The air tasted like iron and rain.

Sohan’s voice, when it came, was low and grave.

“You carry something not meant for mortal hands,” he said. “It grows with you. It feeds on you.”

A parasite.

Yujin’s breathing shortened.

Shallow. Controlled.

She forced her gaze down to her hands.

They didn’t look sick.

They looked strong.

She felt stronger than she had ever been.

So how—how could she be getting worse?

Her chest ached.

She tried to steady her breathing. Without success. 

And then—

A hand brushed her wrist.

Warm. Gentle. Keeping her feet on the ground.

Wonyoung.

No words. Just touch and her comforting presence.

The moment Wonyoung’s fingers wrapped lightly but sure around her wrist, Yujin felt the pressure ease.

Like something inside her sighed in relief.

She returned to her previous position, this time a step closer to the younger girl.

She didn’t look at her, feeling oddly embarrassed. But she didn’t need to.

Neither of them spoke.

They just—breathed.

Together.

Sohan watched them quietly.

His face was unreadable—but somewhere deep in his pained and weary gaze, there was a flicker of understanding.

He let the moment hang before speaking again.

“You will not face this alone,” he said, more softly now. “Some lights are not meant to shine in isolation.”

The blossoms stirred in the stillness, drifting again.

The room seemed to breathe out.

Sohan leaned back in his chair with great effort.

Youngji moved to stand beside him, her hand hovering near his arm—offering support without needing to touch.

“You have my blessing,” Sohan said finally, voice rough but certain. His gaze found Rei, Gaeul, and Wonyoung. “You are part of us now. Permanent rooms will be arranged.”

He looked at Yujin last.

“And you,” he said, tone shifting to something almost fond.

“You shine too bright to vanish quietly, little light.”

Yujin bowed deeply, her heart calmer but still racing.

As they turned to leave the hall—Wonyoung’s fingers still clasped around her wrist, the thread between them tugging with every step, Yujin knew.

This wasn’t the end of the storm.

It was only the beginning.

The rain had softened by the time they stepped out of the dojang.

The air was heavy, cool against the heat still burning in Wonyoung’s chest. She released her grip on the older girl when they stepped out, not wanting to overstep or overwhelm—Yujin or herself, she wasn’t really sure.

Stone pathways glistened under faint lamplight, and the sprawl of the Institute stretched wide ahead of them, quiet for now.

Yujin lingered just outside the doorway, her hand brushing lightly against the old wooden frame.

She drew in a shallow breath, exhaled slowly.

When she spoke, her voice was low—almost careful.

“Can we keep this between us for now?” she asked, not looking at any of them directly. “I want to be the one to tell Jiwon and Hyunseo… when I’m ready.”

Youngji nodded first, solemn for a change.

Rei and Gaeul followed with quiet assurances.

Wonyoung simply inclined her head, a silent promise anchoring itself inside her chest.

Yujin didn’t smile, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

They set off across the campus together, boots splashing lightly through shallow puddles.

The lamps along the paths cast long, yellowish reflections on the stones underfoot.

As they neared the heart of the main campus, voices carried across the damp air.

Training had just ended for one of the morning groups.

A loose collection of students was dispersing across the wide courtyard, some conversing and laughing, while others grumbled about the next set of drills.

Youngji steered them naturally along the main path, but Wonyoung’s gaze was already drifting—watching the students, the movement, the life.

That’s when it happened.

From within the crowd, two figures broke off from the rest—moving briskly, and with purpose.

The taller girl’s face lit up the second she caught sight of them, her whole posture lifting.

“Yujin unnie!” she called.

Wonyoung blinked, startled by the familiarity—by the sudden, sharp rush of recognition that slammed into her before her mind could catch up.

She hadn’t known who Jiwon and Hyunseo were when Yujin had spoken their names only minutes ago.

But seeing them now, it was undeniable.

The taller girl, quick to smile, fierce in her gaze—Jiwon.

The smaller one, quieter but with a stubborn tilt to her chin that mirrored Yujin almost perfectly—Hyunseo.

The resemblance was immediate and striking.

Not just in the lines of their faces, but in something deeper.

Something that felt like Yujin.

Family.

The two girls jogged the last few steps, stopping just short of barreling into them.

Jiwon beamed, her energy infectious even through the chill mist.

“Unnie, you’re back! I was hoping we’d catch you!”

Hyunseo lingered closer to Jiwon’s side with a grin, peering up at Yujin with eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

Wonyoung flicked a glance sideways just in time to catch it—that brief, unguarded look on Yujin’s face.

Softness. Relief. Guilt.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something steadier.

Stronger.

Yujin smiled—not big, not bright, but real.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and warm.

Before she could say more, Jiwon’s brow furrowed slightly, studying her with a mix of fondness and sharp intuition.

“You okay?” she asked. “You look kinda… I dunno. Tired.”

Yujin opened her mouth—maybe to brush it off—but Youngji, ever quick, slipped in with a laugh.

“She’s fine,” she said breezily. “I’ve been pushing her pretty hard. Training’s brutal this week. My fault.”

Hyunseo crossed her arms, fixing Youngji with a surprisingly fierce glare for someone so small.

“Don’t overdo it,” she said sternly. “Unnie’s strong, but that doesn’t mean you can break her.”

Youngji raised her hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Alright, alright. Noted.”

Rei leaned toward Gaeul and whispered, “She’s so cute,” in a tone that made Wonyoung bite back a smile.

The tension bled out of the moment naturally, softening into something warmer.

Youngji clapped her hands together lightly. She was always clapping. “Alright! Everyone’s here now. Formal introductions—let’s not be heathens.”

They gathered loosely into a circle.

Rei, Gaeul, Wonyoung on one side.

Jiwon, Hyunseo, Yujin and Youngji on the other.

Wonyoung bowed slightly, voice smooth.

“Wonyoung. Pleasure to meet you.”

Jiwon grinned wide. “Jiwon. Nice to meet you too!”

Hyunseo followed, more reserved but still genuine.

“Hyunseo,” she said simply.

Rei introduced herself with a wink, and Gaeul offered a small, respectful bow.

The names passed easily between them—but the undercurrents were harder to name.

Wonyoung felt it deep in her chest.

The closeness.

The history she wasn’t part of—yet.

And the quiet way Yujin stood among them, shouldering so much without ever saying a word.

Wonyoung’s heart twisted, sharp and sure.

She wanted to be there.

Not just standing nearby.

There.

Part of whatever this was. Part of her.

Youngji clapped her hands again, a bright grin spreading across her face.

“Alright, enough sentimentality. Dorm assignments next! Hope you guys didn’t unpack too much.”

As the group began moving again, casual chatter picking up between them, Wonyoung lingered a half-step behind.

She let her gaze drift back to Yujin—still walking, still steady, but carrying a weight Wonyoung could almost see now.

Without thinking, Wonyoung brushed her fingertips lightly against her own side—where the ache of missing something she hadn’t even named yet lingered quietly.

She just wanted to know the older girl.

Hopefully she would get the chance soon.

—

Mercifully, Youngji didn’t lead the girls back outside. Their cloaks were nearly fully dry now as they ascended the stairs to the second floor of the dorm house.

Youngji led the way, hands stuffed in her pockets, humming something tuneless under her breath.

The girls followed in a loose line. Gaeul and Rei walked ahead, their voices a soft murmur. Wonyoung stayed quiet, her steps measured, but her gaze drifted more often than not toward Yujin.

She was walking just a few paces ahead, posture relaxed, shoulders rolled back, hands at her sides.

She looked… different here. Calmer. Softer.

And she was always calm, wasn’t she? But this was something else. Like being around her sisters grounded her. Made her feel steady in a way that had nothing to do with magic.

Wonyoung wasn’t staring. Not really. But she was noticing. That was all.

“Alright,” she said, turning to face them as they exited the stairwell and emptied out into the front hall. “Yujin, Jiwon, Hyunseo—you’ve had your room since day one. Fifth door on the left.”

Hyunseo nodded, eyes on the older girl.

Youngji pointed across the hall. “This one here’s empty. It’s got three beds. Conveniently across from theirs. Fifth door on the right. Boom. It’s that easy.”

Everyone took in the information, shuffling silently and exchanging looks. 

Youngji—as expected—clapped, startling Jiwon, and made a shooing motion with her hands toward the group.

“Why are you just standing here? Disperse! Unpack,” She ordered, her tone spirited. “I’m out of here! Gotta go bother my Jagi before his meeting.” And with a waggle of her fingers, reality distorted and she was gone, the space she occupied seconds before now empty.

There was a tiny moment of stillness before Rei poked her head into the open doorway on the right. “I’m taking the bed by the window.”

Gaeul laughed softly before strolling inside, Rei following close behind.

Yujin tilted her head to the side, watching as Wonyoung remained. She glanced at her sisters, who looked at each other before slipping into their room with quiet snickers.

She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling awkward all of a sudden. “Uh, well. I guess we’ll just leave you guys to it… Chow time is in an hour, if you’re hungry.” Her lips were pressed into a straight line, a silly expression that wasn’t quite a smile, but definitely wasn’t a frown. 

Wonyoung smiled faintly at her and realized that she found the older girl cute. Adorable, even. 

And she liked the contrast from the mysterious and brooding girl from the ridge and the soft and steady dimpled one who stood before her. 

“Okay,” Wonyoung’s voice was soft with fondness. It didn’t show on her face—years of perfecting her outer image assured that—but on the inside, she was squealing.

She nodded in return, and when it became clear that Yujin was waiting for her to go inside first, her ears pinked and she retreated into the room. Wonyoung shut the door behind her, eyes briefly scanning the space. It was neat, functional, and far cleaner than she expected. She set her bag down by the bed opposite the window and smoothed her cloak, letting out a soft sigh.

When she looked up, both Rei and Gaeul were watching her with matching smirks on their faces. 

Wonyoung fixed them with a deadpan stare.

“Don’t start.”

——

The lunch bell rang—a low, resonant chime that vibrated through the hallways and down the stone corridors.

No matter where she was on campus, Wonyoung thought she would be able to hear it. It wasn’t shrill, but the sound carried well across distance.

Wonyoung adjusted the cuffs of her blouse absently, stepping out of the dorm room a few minutes after Rei and Gaeul had already disappeared down the hall.

She hadn’t realized she was lingering until she caught sight of the figure leaning against the wall just outside the door.

Yujin.

Her arms were folded casually across her chest, one boot braced against the stone behind her.

At the sound of Wonyoung’s soft footsteps, she pushed off the wall and straightened—falling into step with her silently, naturally, like it was something they’d done a thousand times before.

For a few beats, neither of them said anything.

The halls around them buzzed with life—new students joining old ones, laughter bouncing off the tall ceilings, boots squeaking on wet stone.

Yujin kept her gaze forward, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

Stop being a loser. Just talk to her. She’s just a person. A really beautiful person. But still. A person.

Finally, she cleared her throat lightly.

“The lunch bell means the cafeteria’s open,” Yujin said, voice low and even. “There are other places to eat—like the restaurant we ate at before—but most new people head to the mess hall for their first few days. To get acclimated.”

Wonyoung nodded, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she walked. “Good to know.”

“It’s… a little overwhelming,” Yujin admitted, glancing sideways at her. “Still is for me, honestly.”

Wonyoung looked at her then, curious.

Yujin smiled before she could stop herself—an easy, crooked thing that deepened the dimples in her cheeks.

Wonyoung blinked once, thrown off balance, but kept her expression composed.

The mess hall doors loomed ahead—massive steel frames swinging open and closed as a steady stream of students flowed inside.

It was even bigger than she’d imagined—larger than the great hall in the palace, but less… showy. No gilded columns or glittering chandeliers. Instead, everything was clean, practical.

Booths lined the walls, long rows of tables filled the center, and beyond several sets of glass doors, a grassy courtyard hosted enclosed cabanas. They were topped with pale-blue mana domes to shield them from rain.

Wonyoung took it all in with a practiced, discerning gaze.

She didn’t realize she’d slowed until she felt Yujin’s presence lingering a step behind her.

“I’ll show you where to get the best tteokbokki,” Yujin offered, voice low and conspiratorial, like it was their secret.

Wonyoung glanced at her—and found Yujin already looking, unabashed.

It wasn’t a heavy stare.

It was just… soft. Open. Like Wonyoung had a gravitational pull that Yujin had stopped fighting.

A tiny smile tugged at Wonyoung’s mouth before she could think better of it. She tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded once. “Lead the way, unnie.”

Yujin’s cheeks went pink for half a second.

But her smile only widened, dimples deepening.

She didn’t say anything—just walked ahead, weaving through the crowd until they caught up with the others at the food line.

One everyone had plates of food on their trays, they found a table.

Hyunseo, having been first to sit, spotted them and immediately waved Yujin over, patting the seat beside her with enthusiasm.

Without thinking, Wonyoung slid into the seat opposite, angling her tray with quiet precision.

Yujin sat down next to Hyunseo, elbow bumped, easy affection between them.

Wonyoung watched it out of the corner of her eye—the way Yujin softened without even realizing it when her sisters were around.

It made something warm and cautious stir in her chest.

Lunch passed in a blur of noise and clattering dishes. Rei and Jiwon bantered shamelessly across the table, meshing quite well. Gaeul observed the two with mild, amused horror. Hyunseo giggled at everyone’s antics.

Wonyoung sat quietly, soaking it in—and enjoying the tteokbokki.

It wasn’t like Seoul.

It wasn’t like anything she’d had before.

And she decided it wasn’t a bad thing. 

And that maybe Seoul shouldn’t be the basis for her future experiences. 

Afterward, when the trays were cleared and the crowd began to spill back toward the dorm towers, Wonyoung found herself drifting beside Yujin again.

The afternoon air was heavy with the promise of rain, but for now, the sky only rumbled distantly.

“It’s loud here,” Wonyoung said, almost absentmindedly, smoothing the sleeve of her blouse again.

Yujin hummed, thoughtful.

“Yeah. It gets overwhelming sometimes.”

They walked a few more paces.

“Well,” Yujin said finally, kicking a small pebble off the path, “I did offer to show you around. I can show you the quieter spots too. If you ever wanna clear your head.”

Wonyoung smiled, her heart skipping strangely behind her ribs.

“That sounds nice.”

Yujin shrugged lightly, definitely pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Whenever you want.”

Wonyoung hesitated—then, with practiced calm she barely felt inside, said, “It’s a date.”

Yujin didn’t flinch.

She just smiled—genuine, dimples and all—and nodded once.

“Okay.”

Wonyoung turned her head quickly, hiding her face as she focused on some imaginary flaw in the stone path.

Why did I say that?! Is she going to think I meant a date–date? That would be ridiculous. Completely—

She cut off her spiraling thoughts, stealing a glance back at Yujin—who was calmly watching the path ahead, content, slight golden retriever energy in her steady but carefree stride.

Wonyoung breathed out slowly through her nose.

Look at that face, she thought helplessly. She’s so considerate. Her dimples are so cute. She rolled her eyes at herself. Stop it.

Maybe maintaining her inner zen around Yujin was just a lost cause.

Cue another eye roll. 

She let it go, getting out of her head and focusing on the moment. 

Behind them, the laughter of their friends floated on the breeze.

Ahead of them, the wide world of the Institute stretched open, waiting.

Chapter Text

They stood shoulder to shoulder across the center of the courtyard—six figures in full alignment for the first time.

It had been nearly three weeks since the day they’d all found themselves in Beongae. Three weeks of early mornings and soaked uniforms, of bruised palms and cracked concentration, of failure and forward motion.

They were powerful, though unpolished.

But it was true that they were no longer strangers to each other. Not fully, anyway.

They had trained and failed together while improving steadily.

And now, they wore the proof.

The Institute’s uniforms weren’t gifted. They were earned. Stitched in silence, fitted with care, and enchanted only once a trainee was deemed ready to shoulder something greater than themselves.

Each girl now bore the emblem of the school’s crest on her lapel—a lightning bolt encased in a fractured steel ring, six notches etched into the rim.

The uniforms were more than symbolic. Each had been tailored with stitching magic—imbued with aura, responsive to its wearer’s core.

Yujin’s threads shimmered with dusk-blue calm, a quiet steadiness that anchored the group without asking for attention.

Wonyoung’s trim burned crimson and rose, coiled like a flame held with precision—poised, powerful, and sharp beneath the surface.

Jiwon’s cyan accents glinted like water catching the sun—fluid, curious, always in motion.

Hyunseo’s stitching flashed yellow-gold, bold and unfiltered—an echo of laughter, light, and the chaos she barely tried to hide.

Rei’s violet seams pulsed slow and steady, quiet strength beneath cool shadows—gentle, but never fragile.

Gaeul’s navy base gleamed with touches of gold, serene and composed—a steady current, always guiding.

They hadn’t known what to expect when they were summoned after the first bell had rang.

But then Taeyeon stepped into the courtyard. Her presence was their answer.

She walked with quiet certainty, her hands clasped behind her back. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

Her gaze swept over them, steady and unreadable—but there was something new in it. Not softness, exactly. But something close.

Pride, maybe.

“A uniform is not a reward,” she said, her voice low and unmistakably firm. “It’s a reminder.”

She paced slowly before them, her boots making soft clicks against the stone.

“That you carry more than your own strength now. That when you move, your actions speak for six, not one.”

She paused.

“You’ve completed your solo development. You’ve proven your magic isn’t accidental. You’ve learned to breathe with it, shape it, survive it.”

Her gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

“But survival doesn’t make you a team.”

The words landed with a quiet, collective weight.

She stopped. Turned fully to face them.

“From this point on, you’ll rise and fall—together.”

Her eyes lingered on each face, like she was memorizing them. She lowered her chin, letting her words sink in. 

And then, with her eyes knowing and tone just a fraction softer—

“Let’s see what kind of unit you turn out to be.”

—

The rain had lessened. The same couldn’t be said for the tension in the air.

Fog clung low to the cement of the training grounds, like the earth itself was sighing. 

The simulated terrain sprawled before them—twisted trees, uneven rock, patches of water-soaked undergrowth—and somewhere in the haze, the target waited.

This was the third attempt. Maybe the fourth. The count didn’t matter anymore.

All six girls stood in formation. Barely.

Taeyeon and Youngji watched from the overlook. Between them, an illusion shimmered—a small, translucent window conjured by Youngji’s magic. Behind it, seated and silent, was Sohan.

He didn’t need to speak to be felt. His presence alone shifted the air. They knew he was watching.

“I’ve got a visual! Two o’clock,” Hyunseo called out, a summoned mirror hovering at eye level just in front of her.

The polished surface showed a flicker of movement. She adjusted the angle with precision, but the vision fuzzed and vanished.

“I lost it—”

“Maybe try finding it again,” Rei called sarcastically, already sweeping the mana fog with a flick of her wrist. Her aura pulsed violet, sending a ripple outward, latent energy dispersing momentarily.

Jiwon was already moving.

“I think I got it!” she shouted, throwing her hand forward. Ice bloomed from beneath her boots in a perfect arc, slicking the ground toward the moving blur.

But it was too smooth.

Their target hit the patch of ice and skated straight on, its momentum doubling.

“Oh, come on!” Wonyoung hissed, fire flaring in her palm. She hurled it low across the ice, trying to melt it before the thing could get away.

It worked. Partially.

The ice dissolved—but the water turned to steam, thick and cloying, blinding them instantly.

“Wait, I’ve got it—” Rei stepped forward, pushing out with both hands. Her aura unraveled through the fog, pulling the mana into threads and peeling it away from the field.

But it was too late.

The target was gone.

Again.

The terrain shimmered—vanishing in a pulse of white light—leaving behind only stone, puddles, and silence.

Wonyoung’s hands dropped to her sides. “That’s the third time.”

“Fourth,” Gaeul corrected glumly. She hadn’t moved far from the center point. Neither had Yujin. 

They’d both been watching, waiting—trying to assess. But neither had struck, and the opportunity had slipped away.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Gaeul admitted.

“Same,” Yujin said. Quiet. Honest. “Everything was happening too fast.”

Across the field, Taeyeon’s arms were still crossed. Her discerning gaze cut through the distance.

Youngji leaned against the railing, chewing on a snack. “Well,” she muttered. “That was… something.”

The illusion window beside them faded. Sohan had seen enough.

Down below, the six girls stood scattered.

Yujin looked down at her hands. Her aura hadn’t surfaced once. Not enough to actually do anything, anyway.

Hyunseo glanced between them. “So… now what?”

This time Yujin answered. “Most likely? We'll do it again.” Her voice was calm, but the words were heavy.

No one argued, they only stood there, six silhouettes in the rain. The steam still lingered around their bodies—much like the sting of failure.

Youngji sprung off the post after her snack was finished, addressing the girls. “Yujinie had the right idea! Again!” Her tone was almost chipper.

The girls looked up at her in disbelief—even Yujin, and she was the one who’d called it.

The chaotic girl grinned from where she stood above them, one foot casually propped up on the railing. “You heard me. The reset is already queued. The next simulation is gonna start in five.”

“Five minutes? That’s—” Jiwon started.

“Nope,” Youngji cut her off cheerfully. “Seconds! So don’t think too hard. Just move. That’s the whole point.”

She turned on her heel and walked off, Taeyeon following without a word.

Yujin blinked toward the overlook where they’d stood. Sohan’s projection had vanished.

The bell chimed.

The simulation began again.

—

The quiet of the dojang’s interior was a stark contrast to the drizzle and static outside.

Sohan sat at the low table, one hand resting on a carved wooden cane, the other cradling a steaming cup of tea. Youngji poured for Taeyeon next before sinking onto the cushion beside him.

“They’re not ready,” Taeyeon said bluntly.

“Obviously,” Youngji said, voice mild. “That’s why we’re training them.”

Taeyeon shot her a look. “That simulation was the fourth failure.”

“And that uniform was a test of pressure, not promise,” Sohan murmured, setting his cup down with care. “It showed us where the cracks are.”

“Cracks?” Taeyeon echoed. “Those are more like fault lines. None of them trust their magic enough to move without second-guessing. Jiwon was the only one who didn’t hesitate—when she probably should have. The ice ended up hurting their efforts more than it helped.”

Youngji tilted her head. “True. She froze the field too literally today,” She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Not her finest moment.”

“They don’t know each other yet,” Sohan said. “But they will.”

“They don’t have the luxury of time,” Taeyeon replied, more quietly. Her gaze flicked toward the storm-glazed window. “If they keep failing like this—”

“They won’t,” Youngji said firmly.

Sohan’s eyes closed briefly. He knew her well, after all.  “You’ve already chosen the next step, haven’t you?”

Youngji smiled, lifting her cup. “Ne, Abeoji.”

Taeyeon sighed. “Let me guess. You’re sending them into the Mire.”

“I’m not sending them,” Youngji said. “I’m accompanying them. Big difference.”

She leaned back, one hand supporting her, while her other hand waved errantly. “I’m not telling them that I’m gonna be there. That’s the catch. I’m just going in case things get out of hand.”

“Regardless. That place could break them.” Taeyeon was standing firm.

Youngji’s smile didn’t waver. It widened. “Or it could make them.”

Sohan looked at her, eyes clouded with more than pain. “You’re certain?”

“I’m hopeful,” she said.

Taeyeon looked away. “Hope isn’t enough.”

“It’s a start,” Youngji replied, eyes narrowing with rare focus. “And I’ve already made arrangements. Supplies, travel permissions. We’ll leave at the end of the week.”

Taeyeon said nothing at first. Then, quietly—“It’ll destroy them if they go in as six.”

Sohan opened his eyes, gaze sharp. “Then they must become one.”

—

The sky above the courtyard rippled—just slightly—as the illusion fell.

A final surge of white light flickered across the training field, signaling the end of the simulation. Again.

Youngji and Taeyeon stood at the edge of the covered path, returning just in time to see steam rising off the drenched grass, the girls scattered, silent, some bent over in exhaustion.

Taeyeon exhaled slowly through her nose. “It unraveled before it even started.”

“You felt it too?” Youngji asked, though she didn’t sound surprised.

“I always feel it. They’re forcing it instead of letting it flow. Still.” 

A beat passed.

“What attempt was that?” Youngji called down, her tone casual—but her eyes narrowed.

From where she stood, Rei lifted her head, damp hair clinging to her cheek. Her voice was flat. “Eleven.”

Youngji arched an eyebrow. “Mm. Lucky number.”

Taeyeon didn’t smile. She was already walking away from the scene.

Youngji watched the woman’s silhouette until she left her line of sight, silent for a moment. She exhaled through her nose, glanced at the six girls, and rolled her shoulders like she was brushing off the tension that still clung to the courtyard.

“We’re done here,” she said, already turning. “Walk with me for a sec.”

No one asked where they were going. Maybe it didn’t matter. The group fell in step behind her automatically, still damp with sweat and rain, boots scuffing lightly against the stone path winding out of the training grounds.

Wonyoung walked near the back. She didn’t glance at anyone, but she felt Yujin behind her. Not beside her—not yet—but close enough to sense her presence like static humming along her spine.

It wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet.

“Have you guys ever heard of the Mire?” Youngji asked after a few turns through the campus. Her tone was conversational, almost too casual. A couple of them perked up. The rest glanced between one another.

“Mire?” Hyunseo repeated. “Like a swamp?”

A scoff. “Probably more like a death swamp,” Jiwon muttered.

Youngji snorted. “Overdramatic, but not totally inaccurate.”

She slowed her pace just enough that the others closed in tighter behind her. The path narrowed as they passed one of the quieter wings of the Institute. Damp stone glistened beneath the constant mist that never fully left Beongae.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you until tomorrow,” Youngji continued, “but since you all seem just about ready to pass out and cry at the same time, I figured now was as good a moment as any.”

No one laughed or even smiled, exhaustion shutting off most of their positive emotions.

She didn’t stop walking.

“You’re being sent off-campus.”

That got a reaction.

Wonyoung raised her head. Gaeul blinked. Rei stopped mid-step.

“Are you serious?” Rei asked.

“As a lightning strike,” Youngji shrugged. It was one of her favorite responses. “You’ve got no teamwork. That last run was the clearest proof of it so far. You’re powerful, sure. You’ve got all the pieces. But right now? You’re a set of scattered puzzle tiles—nowhere near a finished picture.”

“So you’re sending us into the wilderness?” Jiwon asked, raising both brows.

“Yes,” Youngji replied, smiling too sweetly. “But not just any wilderness. The Mire.”

She let the name settle, waiting just a moment before she elaborated.

“The Mire is… wet,” she finally said. “Or more accurately, it’s the wetlands. It’s south of here, so it’s warm, sticky, and highly unforgiving. It stretches for miles. You camp in trees or you get soggy boots and trench foot.” Youngji couldn’t help but cringe and shake her head as she said the last part, having conjured a rather graphic mental image. She continued. “And probably most importantly? The mana currents there are unpredictable; the terrain will challenge every instinct you’ve got.”

Wonyoung swallowed. Hyunseo looked visibly uneasy.

“And we’re just being thrown into it?” Rei asked, tone sharp.

Youngji grinned. “With my intermittent supervision. Sort of.”

Silence.

Then Yujin—quiet for so long—finally spoke.

“What’s our objective?”

Youngji’s grin faded into something more grounded. She looked at Yujin—at all of them.

“Survival. But more than that? Synergy. You’re going to be paired up within your group.”

Wonyoung straightened just slightly.

Rei perked up. “Can we pick?”

Youngji gave her a pitying look. “No.”

“Wishful thinking,” Rei shrugged with a pout. Truth be told, Rei didn’t really care who she was paired up with. Would she be more comfortable with Wonyoung or Gaeul? Sure. But she was highly adaptable, and she became attached quickly. Therefore, she could be happy with whoever they chose to be her partner. She simply enjoyed messing with Youngji, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Stopping in the middle of the path, Youngji turned to face them.

“You’re being paired with who you need to be paired with—not who you want to be paired with.” Youngji shook her head, bangs swaying gently. “It’s not going to be a sleepover. Hell, you might even find it uncomfortable at times. But… You want to get stronger? Learn how to work with someone who challenges you.”

Wonyoung didn’t react outwardly, but she was… disappointed. That statement alone told her who she wouldn’t be paired with.

Well played, Youngji. 

She didn’t need to look at Yujin to know where her hopes were. And still, somehow, she already knew they’d be dashed.

It’s fine, she told herself. It’s better this way.

But she couldn’t help it. She glanced toward Yujin anyway.

The older girl’s expression was, as always, hard to read—except it wasn’t. Not to her. After weeks of being around Yujin regularly, she could see the subtle rigidness in her posture. A tiny shift in the furrow of her eyebrows. Wonyoung caught it all. She was starting to understand that stoic didn’t mean unfeeling.

Yujin felt things. She just didn’t know how to convey them sometimes.

And maybe that’s what made it worse for Wonyoung.

Before anyone could ask any questions, Youngji spun on her heel and continued walking. It was a clear dismissal—coupled with how Taeyeon had left them earlier… The girls didn’t follow her.

They wouldn’t know their assigned pairings until they were posted later on.

—

That evening, the girls found the announcement tacked to the message board in the dormitory common room—names displayed in crisp ink across two columns.

Wonyoung         x         Hyunseo

Rei                    x         Jiwon

Gaeul                x          Yujin

Wonyoung’s gaze flicked down the list, and for the briefest moment, her expression didn’t change. But she lingered longer than necessary. Not surprised. Not disappointed, exactly. Just… taking it in.

Beside her, Rei gave a low whistle. “Well. That’s going to be interesting.”

Jiwon was already squinting at the list. “How do I always end up with you?” She said it with a smirk, so the other girl knew she didn’t mean it negatively. 

“I guess fate has a sense of humor,” Rei deadpanned, nudging her with an elbow.

Hyunseo looked vaguely pleased. “Wonyoung unnie and I will be fine,” she said with the easy confidence of someone who hadn’t considered whether Wonyoung agreed or not.

Wonyoung offered a tight smile in return. “Of course. We’ll manage just fine.”

Of course, she’d said. She had no issue working with the youngest girl; she only wondered what they could do for each other in the grand scheme of things—wondered what their instructors saw that she couldn’t.

She felt proud of herself—she didn’t look at Yujin. Yujin didn’t look at her either. As if there was some unspoken agreement between them. More like an elephant.

Instead, Yujin glanced toward Gaeul, who stood with her hands tucked behind her back. The two of them exchanged a small nod of acknowledgment—quiet, calm. If they were surprised at being partnered, neither of them showed it.

—

Packing was a… chaotic symphony of motion and muttering.

It was the kind with zippers half-done and cloaks folded wrong, with sharp exhales and low muttering under breath. With too many hands reaching for the same spare bandage roll. With all of them moving around each other instead of with each other.

The Institute’s staff had provided the necessary supplies in advance—knee high waterproof boots, compact enchanted satchels lined with protective spells, rations pressed into leaf-wrapped cubes, swamp-thread cloaks, and blister balm that smelled almost medicinal if you ignored the mint.

All six girls were gathered in one room, checking in with each other to make sure no one had forgotten to pack anything important.

Rei shoved half her gear into her bag with reckless abandon, then dropped onto her bed like the moment had exhausted her. “Smells like someone crushed a candy under their armpit,” she announced. No one knew what that meant, so the comment was ignored.

“Give me that,” Jiwon grunted, pulling the pack away from her. “You didn’t even close it properly.”

Wonyoung’s side of the room looked like a catalog spread—until she paused, hands hovering over her perfectly folded cloak. “Wait,” she said aloud to no one. “The rain gear.”

She undid everything and started again.

Yujin was nearly done. She wasn’t fast, just practiced. Her movements were deliberate—measured like someone who had packed in worse conditions, with less time, for much longer stays. Actually, that was the case.

She was closing the flap on her satchel when Gaeul stepped into her peripheral vision.

“I’ve got a few extra flask charms,” Gaeul said, holding them out. “These ones filter water the best. You can have them.”

Yujin hesitated—not because she didn’t want them, but because she hadn’t expected the offer. Gaeul had been around, sure. But they hadn’t really talked. They trained on opposite ends of the field, and slept in rooms across the hall. Their connection was quiet. Unsettled.

“Thank you,” Yujin said, accepting the charms.

Gaeul nodded. “We’ll look out for each other.”

“Right.”

It was the right thing to say. Still, the silence that followed was… off. Not exactly tense. Just hollow and stiff.

Silence.

Neither of them tried to fill it.

—

That night, the dormitory buzzed with false calm.

No one said they were nervous, but no one fell asleep quickly, either. They sat longer than usual in the common room, a circle of unspoken questions stretched tight between them. Eventually the mana lamps dimmed, signaling an implied bedtime.

No one asked if they were ready. Answering that would’ve required someone to lie.

—

Dawn rose gray and heavy with what was to come.

The Mire loomed ahead like it had been waiting for them specifically.

Mist clung to the reeds and swirled above the waterline like breath from some unseen creature. The dock groaned beneath their boots but stood firm. At the end of it bobbed a single rowboat. Worn and barely large enough to fit the six of them, but modest.

“Is that it?” Wonyoung asked, staring with clear apprehension. Her flames tried to come to the surface, but the air was so humid that only steam emanated from her palms. She definitely didn’t like that.

Youngji, already crouched to undo the mooring knot, called back without looking up. “Yup.”

Jiwon was the first to move. “I’ll handle the steering.”

Youngji looked up. “Confident, are we?”

Jiwon gave a little shrug. “We fished tons of times growing up. I know how to handle a rowboat.”

She swung in, took hold of the wooden paddles like they belonged to her, and adjusted her position with practiced ease. She didn’t need the oars, obviously—not with her control over water. But part of her liked the nostalgic feeling that using them gave her; memories of a simpler time.

Rei followed her, equally unbothered. “And I’m from an island originally, so water’s not really an issue for me.” She and Jiwon high-fived at that.

The boat rocked gently. The marshy waters were surprisingly still for the vast amount in front of them. Youngji had told them it went on for miles—that somehow felt like an understatement.

Wonyoung took a step closer, then stopped. Her gaze cut to the water—dark, murky, and full of things she would prefer not to know about.

“I hate this,” she muttered to herself, though apparently not quietly enough.

Hyunseo, already halfway in, stopped to look at her. “You said you were fine.”

“I am fine,” Wonyoung said, basically pouting and trying not to snap at the younger girl. “I am decidedly… unhappy about it.”

She didn’t move. During her moment of hesitation, Gaeul calmly slipped past her, steadily making her way onto the boat.

Yujin was next. She stepped in without hesitation, adjusting her balance as the boat tilted, body reflexively accounting for weight and sway. Years of fishing with her father and siblings made it almost second nature.

But she didn’t sit. She turned to face Wonyoung. The younger girl’s expression was schooled—but Yujin knew better. She saw the way her fingers tapped on her thigh in a nervous rhythm, and the way she continually took deep breaths, as if trying to relax.

It was easy to understand why a fire-user wouldn’t like water, but Yujin wondered if she had a reason to be fearful of water, much like she herself did. But, if Yujin put the past experience out of her mind… she could pretend she was fine with water. 

Maybe if Yujin helped Wonyoung, the younger girl could also be fine with being out of her comfort zone—for now, at least.

Yujin refocused on her. She was still standing stiffly on the dock, glaring at the boat like it had personally wronged her.

Clearing her throat, Yujin held out a hand casually. Balanced, reliable.

Wonyoung blinked at the extended hand, before her gaze shyly lifted to meet Yujin’s. 

Yujin showed her dimples in an unintentionally cute and reassuring expression. “I won’t let you fall.”

For some reason—Wonyoung knew she wouldn’t. She hadn’t let Wonyoung down once in the time that she’d known her, so the younger had no reason to doubt her now. Besides; she couldn’t exactly stand on the dock all morning, anyway. 

Wordlessly, she gripped onto her warm and calloused hand, allowing herself to be guided forward.

Wonyoung’s grip wasn’t delicate. But it trembled slightly as the vessel shifted again, and Yujin’s fingers closed around hers with quiet assurance.

Internally, all Wonyoung could think about was how the older girl’s hand was larger than hers despite them being the same height. And the way they were soft and still so capable…

She promptly ended that train of thought and stepped into the boat, not letting go of the hand in hers immediately. It was almost as if Yujin was the buoy that was keeping her afloat.

The skiff bobbed once. Yujin adjusted her stance, one foot grounding against the bench where Wonyoung had instinctively braced herself.

Yujin didn’t say anything else.

But she didn’t let go of her hand, either.

And for one small moment, Wonyoung was glad she wasn’t paired with her. Because this was already too much.

“Ah, unnie,” Hyunseo whined, cutting through the moment, wedging herself beside them with a backpack nearly twice her size. “You’re blocking the space.”

Yujin stared dumbfounded. She snapped out of it a second later and gently let go of Wonyoung’s hand, glancing down shyly as she stepped back.

Wonyoung cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the warmth behind her ears. She was glad her hair was down, if only to hide the redness. It always seemed present as long as Yujin was. 

Hyunseo didn’t look smug. Not outwardly, anyway.

But the way she bumped Yujin’s arm as she settled in said enough.

The youngest girl didn’t like sharing.

Especially not when it came to her unnie.

Yujin finally sat, and Gaeul shifted across from her, careful not to let their knees touch. Their gazes met once. Then dropped away.

“That was cute, guys,” Youngji smiled teasingly at the girls before continuing. “Remember, you’ll need to follow the mana glowstones and use them as your guides to determine if the area is stable or not.”

She made eye contact, waiting for the girls to show her that they had packed their maps. 

The student-instructor spent the walk to the dock explaining to them what they would be doing while at the Mire.

Maps and guides were held up. Youngji nodded in satisfaction. 

They needed to use their maps, supplies, and survival skills to complete a 25-mile hike through the Mire. Their path would only be lightly labeled with glowstones as place markers to guide them. 

It was hurricane season, so the girls would have to deal with unsavory weather conditions in addition to their own dynamic shifts. But as long as they worked together, Youngji was sure they could handle it.

“If a route doesn’t have glowstones, then you probably went the wrong way. So if you don’t see glowstones, well… you’ll find out. Check the legend on your maps if you forget what the stone colors mean.”

She stepped back from the dock after speaking, arms crossed and watching as their rowboat slowly drifted away from her. “You’ll follow the eastbound route. Stick to the shallows. The deeper the water, the more cursed it may be.”

Jiwon nodded. “Got it.”

Youngji used a nearby staff to give the girls a push, Wonyoung squealing quietly as the water splashed her slightly. 

Rei leaned toward Jiwon as she started moving them at a moderate speed. “You are steering us away from the cursed water, right?”

Jiwon didn’t answer. She just smiled toothily.

With a wave from Youngji, the six girls glided off.

The city disappeared within minutes.

Water lapped gently at the sides of the skiff. The sky gained bluer hues the farther they traveled away from the city of storms. Up ahead, the Mire unfolded like an ancient secret, teeth bared beneath the vines.

Behind them, Beongae faded into the fog. Before them—something else entirely waited.

—

The landing they arrived at was barely a landing at all.

Just a bend in the riverbank where the ground rose slightly above the waterline—muddy and mossy, with roots sprawled like the twisted fingers of some buried thing. The air felt thicker here. Mana clung to it in damp particles, like dust that feels impossible to get rid of.

They hadn’t seen Youngji since the dock.

No rustle of movement in the trees. No sudden laughter or tears in reality.

It was just the six of them now—trudging forward under the weight of heavy humidity and sweat.

They disembarked slowly, one by one, boots squelching as they stepped into the soil.

The Mire did not welcome them.

It tolerated them, the way a puma tolerates a fox in its territory—watching, waiting, ready to attack if needed.

They could all feel the differences in the mana here. 

By unspoken agreement, the girls separated into their assigned pairs.

Jiwon and Rei moved like they were made for this.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. Jiwon took the lead, her steps confident even when the ground softened underfoot. She used short bursts of ice to bridge over mud-slicked roots or to cool overheated swamp gas pockets. 

Rei followed close behind, observant. Her humor was tucked away for once—sharp eyes scanning the trees, hands occasionally brushing Jiwon’s arm to steady her when the terrain shifted.

She didn’t say “be careful”, but only because she didn’t need to.

Their balance spoke for itself.

Yujin and Gaeul, on the other hand, weren’t out of sync… but they hadn’t found harmony yet, either.

They walked beside each other, one always slightly a step ahead or behind. Not awkward enough to be uncomfortable—just enough to notice. 

Gaeul was methodical. Efficient. She moved like she understood the shape of the ground before she stepped—or was at least cautious but sure-footed. Yujin appreciated that.

Yujin, meanwhile, stayed alert—not just to the trail, but to the Ki around them. 

She didn’t speak of it aloud, but the energy pulsing under the water was constant. Not too close to be concerned, but there.

She knew how many creatures moved just beneath them. Snakes slithering between their boots, not striking… just observing.

How the alligators watched them from the water and shifted when they passed. How many more of them waited in the marshy brush on the opposite side of the water.

She kept her breathing even. She didn’t want Gaeul to ask.

“Are you okay?” Gaeul asked anyway, likely sensing the younger girl’s tense energy.

Yujin hesitated. “… Yeah. I’m just watching.”

“Ah. You don’t blink when you’re watching,” Gaeul said mildly. “You freeze up.”

Yujin almost smiled. “I guess it’s a habit. I don’t even realize I’m doing that.”

Their eyes met. Something flickered. A slight warmth—like a nut waiting to be cracked. But it was clear they were beginning to understand each other.

Behind them, a high-pitched giggle cut through the air like a ripple over still water.

Wonyoung’s eyebrow twitched.

“Hyunseo,” she said—measured, polite, but tight at the seams. “You’re supposed to be walking with me.”

“I am,” Hyunseo replied, an innocent smile in place, though she was once again lingering just a few steps behind Yujin.

Wonyoung didn’t stop walking. “I’m your partner,” she reminded her, cool and clipped. “Yujin unnie is Gaeul unnie’s partner.”

“I know,” Hyunseo chirped, the too-bright smile still in place. “But unnie walks fast. I didn’t want her to get too far ahead.”

The look she tossed over her shoulder was casual. But her timing hadn’t been.

Yujin didn’t turn around. But she had to know—had to notice the younger girl’s antics.

And of course, Wonyoung knew Hyunseo knew what she was doing.

That giggle had been on purpose.

A perfectly sculpted brow twitched in barely restrained vexation. The humidity didn’t help.

The temperature rose. And the sun wasn’t the sole culprit.

—

The silence between them filled with heat—not from the sun, but from something older, quieter, more layered.

Then the humidity surged, thick as ever, and the moment passed It only seemed to worsen as the sun climbed higher.

By midday, their clothes clung to them like second skins. Hair frizzed. Boots sloshed through unseen puddles with every other step.

Rei had stopped pretending to be unaffected. “If I collapse, leave me,” she muttered. “Tell Gaeul unnie I was funny.”

“You’re not dying,” Jiwon replied, rolling her eyes. Still, she reached for her water flask anyway and passed it back without another word.

Rei took it. “See, this is why we work.”

Hyunseo and Wonyoung were less in sync.

Hyunseo whined about the heat every ten minutes.

Wonyoung didn’t humor her.

Instead, she held her head high, face flushed from exertion, neck damp but posture impeccable. If she was suffering, she didn’t show it. Except, maybe, for the subtle flick of her eyes—always toward Yujin, always when she thought no one was watching.

Hyunseo watched. Often.

And she was smiling.

The sun began to lower.

Shadows stretched long across the marsh. Fog curled low over patches of standing water, and the sky dulled to a pale bruise.

Then the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated a spot of color in the foliage.

“I see one,” Jiwon called, crouching down beside the base of a gnarled tree. “A glowstone. I barely saw it under the moss.”

The others gathered around. A faint blue light pulsed beneath the surface, slow and even.

Rei leaned closer. “So does blue mean ‘safe’ or ‘we die slower here’?”

Yujin stepped forward and knelt beside it.

Closed her eyes, feeling her senses stretch.

She didn’t speak for several seconds.

When she opened her eyes, she looked directly at Gaeul. “There’s nothing overly close to us here.”

Gaeul nodded, accepting it without question.

Yujin touched the stone gently. “Anyway, it’s blue. The guide says that means the mana nearby is calm. No distortion.”

Gaeul exhaled. “Then we should camp here.”

No one argued.

They didn’t know if they were supposed to regroup or split.

Youngji hadn’t told them.

So they gathered anyway.

Because no one wanted to sleep alone.

—

They ate quietly.

Not around a fire—there was no firewood, and the risk of mana flare was too high. Instead, they unwrapped dried rations with damp fingers and filtered water that still tasted faintly of moss. The humidity wrapped around them like a wet cloak that no one could shrug off.

The glowstone pulsed nearby in soft blue intervals—gentle, unbothered. Its light cast faint shadows up their necks and against the undersides of their chins.

Gaeul was the first to rise after she finished her meager meal. 

She walked the small perimeter of their temporary camp without a word, checking the slope of the terrain, the sturdiness of the roots, and the closest branches overhead.

“This spot above us is too exposed,” she said, more to Yujin than anyone. “If the fog thickens, we won’t see beyond ten feet.”

Yujin joined her as she got to her feet, looking several meters up, mentally pondering if the branches that high up would support their weight.

“I agree with you; we’ll need to camp farther up. But this tree might not be strong enough.”

Eyes scanning, Gaeul pointed toward a tree with a wide trunk and long, angled limbs. “That one. Higher ground. Stronger branches.”

They followed her lead without argument.

The terrain was too irregular. Water was essentially everywhere, so they didn’t pack tents. They only had extra large cloaks, sleeping bags, and enchanted camping hammocks to hang from sturdy branches. The magic woven through the hammocks was meant to keep out moisture and pests like insects or tiny amphibious creatures.

Climbing the tree proved to be a difficult task. It wasn’t pretty, but they had no other choice but to make it work. 

Jiwon was the MVP of the climb—she created footholds with quick bursts of ice. Her accuracy had greatly improved, and the frozen shards stuck out like horizontal stalactites. Rei followed her up like a squirrel, unbothered. Hyunseo scrambled as if she’d done it before, making little huffs of effort that echoed through the leaves. Wonyoung muttered something unladylike when her cloak snagged on a branch—again. 

Yujin waited until everyone else was up the tree before she began her ascent. She moved smoothly; climbing itself was a no-brainer. But she kept glancing down and around every few feet. Her senses were attenuated with so much Ki around. The trees, the insects, the animals—all of them gave off Ki. wide like a net, scanning for shifts. “Still reading the Ki?” Gaeul asked from a branch above. 

“Yeah. Always.”

“Let me know if it changes.” 

Yujin looked up at her senior, the leaves above casting long shadows across her cheekbones, not unlike eyelashes. For the first time that day, she gave Gaeul a real, unguarded look. 

Quiet appreciation.

She hadn’t realized she had been holding her at an arm's length unintentionally. But the older girl had gotten a step closer, whether she knew it or not.

“I will.”

—

They slept close to one another—Jiwon and Rei huddled closely together, Gaeul’s sleeping bag was awkwardly splayed across uneven limbs. After the climb, they were all more than ready to sleep—the day hadn’t been kind to them; new aches and pains would likely be felt in the days that followed. 

Wonyoung curled against the crook of a sturdy branch, letting her hair fall forward to hide her eyes. The bark dug into her back, damp and uneven, but she didn’t shift.

Below, Hyunseo was already curled against Yujin—again. The younger girl’s head rested comfortably on Yujin’s shoulder, as if the spot belonged to her.

Yujin didn’t move. She didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. Like it was just a habit she had gotten used to.

Wonyoung did.

Her hand twitched around the edge of her cloak.

She told herself it was fine. That Hyunseo was just being Hyunseo. That she didn’t care.

But her thoughts felt too loud, and the tree felt too small.

She pulled her knees in tighter.

She hoped the forces at power would be merciful and sleep would find her soon.

Despite her equally confusing and conflicting feelings, she was glad they were there together. 

Safe.

—

The Mire never really slept. It was like Beongae in that way. Beongae was alive with technology and hustle and bustle. The Mire was almost eerie in the way it felt like it breathed, crawled and lurked. It was always awake and alive with motion.

Yujin’s eyes opened before she realized why.

No dream. No sound.

Just that feeling—like something brushing the edge of instinct.

She stayed still. Let the silence wrap around her. Let her senses reach out.

Nothing in the Ki. No threat. No movement.

Just the weight of mana sitting quiet in the trees.

She blinked. Her heartbeat slowed.

Everything was fine.

Her body didn’t believe it yet, but she wanted to.

She turned her head first. Checked Hyunseo—still tucked against her side, one arm thrown across Yujin’s middle like she wanted to make sure she stayed there. Curled in on herself like she always had, even when they were younger. One boot had slipped out from under her cloak. Her hair was a mess.

Yujin smiled without realizing. The youngest was especially cute when she was sleeping.

Across from them, Rei and Jiwon were tangled in their hammock. Their heads had ended up pressed together, Rei half-tucked under Jiwon’s shoulder. One of them snored—softly. They didn’t notice. They didn’t care. They looked… comfortable. Like they belonged there.

Gaeul was across two uneven branches, balanced like it was nothing. Her arms were crossed, her back perfectly straight, her mouth slack with deep sleep. She hadn’t moved once.

Her eyes drifted toward Wonyoung.

She was tucked into her hammock a little higher up, wrapped in her cloak, one arm folded beneath her cheek. Her breathing was steady. Soft. A crease between her brows made her look like she might wake up, but she didn’t. Her lashes twitched once, and then stilled.

Yujin let herself look.

She didn’t get to, normally—not like this.

Every time those eyes met hers, it felt like her thoughts stopped mid-step. Like she was being watched back too closely. Like she was seen too clearly. And Yujin wasn’t good at that. Not yet.

They still hadn’t had their date. She didn’t want to assume anything so she didn’t put any kind of label on it whenever she thought about it.

Wonyoung had called it that so casually—a date—and Yujin had nodded, said yeah, of course, without even thinking. And then everything had gotten busy. Beongae training, prep for the Mire, this whole mission.

They hadn’t gotten the time.

But Yujin still thought about it.

She didn’t know what Wonyoung had meant when she said date. She didn’t know what she had meant, either. Only that something about it had made her heart kick just a little harder in excitement.

She wanted to be there for Wonyoung. Whatever that looked like.

As a friend, at the very least.

Because she wasn’t even sure if they were friends yet. Not officially.

They were friendly. That much was true.

And Wonyoung smiled at her now—sometimes with real warmth, not just politeness.

And she was on good terms with Rei.

And she was learning to understand Gaeul, even if they hadn’t quite found rhythm yet.

But with Wonyoung, there was a pull.

Some kind of gravity.

There was something that always ensured that Yujin would be thinking about the younger girl if she wasn’t looking at her. 

It was something she didn’t have the language for.

Maybe she’d always wonder what it meant.

Yujin leaned her head back against the tree.

The moment passed. The fog didn’t shift. The Ki didn’t stir.

She kept her senses open anyway.

And she slept lightly after that—just enough to rest, not enough to forget what she tasked herself with doing.

Keeping watch over the girls she’d been grouped with.

The ones she was grateful for.

——

The following morning, dense fog wound through the reeds lowly, painting the ground in gray light. The air didn’t just move; it pressed in, thick with moisture and the scent of stagnant water, as if the swamp rose to meet them from their perches in the trees.

Yujin was the first to descend. Her gear was already packed, her body moving on quiet instinct. It was the kind of discipline that was born out of necessity, not pride. And though the fog had yet to burn off, she moved as if she could see everything. The Ki helped her to sense what her eyes couldn’t see, anyway.

Above, Hyunseo watched her go. She sat on the branch beside Wonyoung, legs swinging slowly, her hood low over her eyes.

“You look at unnie,” Hyunseo said softly, “like you’re trying to understand something important.”

Wonyoung stilled. That wasn’t what she expected to hear.

Well. Yujin unnie is important. And I do want to figure her out…

The words weren’t cruel. They were curious. Honest. The kind that slipped out before doubt could catch them. Hyunseo was like that, a bit pragmatic, but also had an ability that transcended typical reason. She was observant, and it only made sense that she had noticed the behaviors Wonyoung had unintentionally displayed.

And Hyunseo wasn’t wrong in her observation either.

Because there were things she couldn’t explain. A constant tug she felt when Yujin was near. A marked stillness that she noticed when she wasn’t. It was more than curiosity. It was something that didn’t have a name yet. But she wanted to understand it anyway.

By the time Wonyoung turned to respond, Hyunseo had already stood up and started climbing down, her movements light.

Wonyoung followed after a second, breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve said to the maknae anyway. So maybe it was for the best, for now.

But after that moment, she made a quiet decision: to be patient. Hyunseo would come around. Wonyoung just had to earn it.

—

Fifteen feet ahead, Rei was singing under her breath.

Not an actual song—mostly noise. Half jokes, half complaints. Jiwon had stopped replying somewhere around the third verse of “Swamp Jerky Soup.”

“Come on,” Rei muttered, poking at a knot of vines with a stick meant to make walking through muddy terrain easier. “That one was funny.”

Jiwon didn’t answer.

Rei sighed. “Okay, are you mad at me or the entire ecosystem?”

Jiwon stopped so abruptly that Rei nearly walked into her.

“This isn’t a joke,” Jiwon said, voice low. “This place is—awful. The mud, the heat, the sky practically spitting on us. You don’t have to laugh through all of it.”

Rei blinked. “I’m just—trying to make it lighter.”

“I know,” Jiwon said. “But it doesn’t have to be. It’s okay to let things suck. Just for a little while. I just want to see you. Not the jokes. Just you.”

Rei was quiet.

Then, without smiling, she gave a small nod.

And they walked together again. The mood was somber, but not soured.

—

An hour in, the path split in two.

Blue glowstones curved eastward—winding low through thickets and shallow bogs. 

But Gaeul turned west, toward the rocks. The climb looked brutal, and notably lacked a pale blue glow along the mud. Still. She had made up her mind and resolved to follow through. 

“Higher ground,” she said. “Might help later.”

Yujin followed her without hesitation.

Wonyoung watched them go. Her feet shifted instinctively, her eyes drawn toward them—but she stopped herself.

That wasn’t her path. Her partner was here.

If she abandoned Hyunseo now, Yujin would never forgive her.

And more than that… Wonyoung wouldn’t forgive herself.

She turned, and followed the glowstones.

Hyunseo remained in step with her, no questions asked.

—

They walked in silence until Wonyoung couldn’t stand it.

“Have I done something to upset you?” she asked carefully.

Hyunseo didn’t break stride. “No.”

“You’ve just… been quiet.”

“I’m just being observant. Watching things,” the girl replied, her tone suggesting that she was choosing her words carefully.

Wonyoung tilted her head. “Watching what?”

Hyunseo exhaled, but her tone was even. “How you treat Yujin unnie.”

Wonyoung looked down at her boots.

“I want to be someone she can rely on,” she told her earnestly, moving a strand of hair away from her face. “And I don’t know what this is—what I feel—but… I can tell you that it matters.”

Hyunseo stopped walking.

“Well. She matters to me too,” she said simply. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Wonyoung unnie.” She looked at her, made eye contact so she could convey her feelings with more than just her words. “I’m just trying to decide if… I can trust you with her.”

Wonyoung looked at her, steady. She wouldn’t say that she could, because it wasn’t up to her to decide. She could only be honest. “I hope you can.”

Hyunseo nodded once with a slight smile. Then turned back to the trail.

And Wonyoung stayed close. This felt like progress. 

—

The climb ended up being worse than it looked.

The rocks were slick. The moss was thick. And the mud—despite the elevation—seemed determined to swallow their boots.

Gaeul slipped once. Yujin caught her wrist before she could fall.

“Careful. You alright?” Yujin asked.

Gaeul nodded. “Thanks.”

After a few humid minutes of silence, Gaeul spoke up. “I didn’t mean to take charge—we probably shouldn’t have taken this route. I just… felt like I was supposed to lead. Since I’m the oldest.”

Yujin tilted her head. “Do you want to lead?”

Gaeul hesitated. “… No.”

“Then that’s okay,” Yujin said. “You don’t have to. We’ll all work together, unnie.”

Gaeul’s breath hitched slightly.

“You’re reliable,” Yujin added, voice quiet. “I followed you because I trust you and your judgement.”

Gaeul blinked. She thought about what to say to Yujin as she carefully stepped around a neon colored venomous frog.

“Everyone follows you well, you know,” she said. “You’re younger than me. But somehow you’re so… responsible. It’s like you were made for this. You remind me of Wonyoung in that way, sometimes.”

Yujin’s face flushed red. “That’s—ah,” she cleared her throat, looking down and running a hand through her hair. It was a habit. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Gaeul smiled. “It is.”

It was the first time she felt comforted by someone younger—other than her childhood friends. She wasn’t flattering Yujin. She was just being honest.

The shift in the environment was subtle—at first.

The Ki in the air went still. Not absent—just muffled, like something heavy had laid itself across the land.

Yujin stopped. Her fingers twitched. 

She felt something tug at her subconscious. The energy she had been aware of all along suddenly felt… different. Wrong. 

“Something’s off.” She looked around, seeing the familiar lines actively swirling vertically. They looked almost… Distorted. 

Gaeul inclined her head, eyes narrowed. “You’re right. The latent mana is moving at a high speed… upwards?” It was almost phrased as a question. She had never felt mana move like this before.

Then they heard it.

A single hiss—then another. 

Yujin hazarded a glance below them, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

There weren’t just two.

Dozens of them.

Snakes, winding up the ridge. Long and wet and strange. Some were colorful, some blended in with the terrain, only identified by their eyes. They glowed faint red with corruption—but they didn’t strike.

They were fleeing.

“Is that corruption…?” Gaeul asked, unable to look away. 

There was a milky film over their eyes, as if under a trance. The serpents slithered past them without seeing them, only moving toward some unseen objective.

“I’m not sure. These things look different from the sloth bear we fought,” Yujin replied, horrified and standing stock still, afraid any sudden movement might draw unwanted attention from the cold-blooded reptiles.

“What are they running from?” Gaeul whispered. The girl felt like apologizing to Yujin. This path clearly couldn’t have been the right one—she hadn’t seen a single glowstone.

She was cut off from her train of thought when the pressure changed.

Like something yanked the air upward.

The only thing they could hear after that was the loud rush of water descending from the clouds with force—the sound was reminiscent of the deafening roar of a waterfall.

And then the deluge descended upon them.

—

On the lower trail, Jiwon shouted over the downpour. “Over there! We have to climb!”

They bolted, rain lashing their faces, the glowstones flickering before vanishing under the rapidly rising water. Wonyoung grabbed onto Hyunseo’s wrist, and together they hauled themselves onto the first ledge they could find—a plateau high enough to escape the flood. At least for the time being. 

They found themselves atop a wide stone span, partially sheltered by scraggly trees. Fine for sitting underneath, but not sturdy enough to climb.

Rei fell onto her bottom with a grunt. “We made it.”

Jiwon stood at the edge, scanning the flooded path below.

No sign of Yujin or Gaeul.

The group was split.

Wonyoung tried to spark a flame—nothing. The rain killed it instantly.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, eyes scanning the distance.

Then she caught sight of something partially submerged in the floodwaters.

A long, textured shape gliding ominously through the shallows. Too smooth. Too quiet.

An alligator.

It wouldn’t reach them up here.

But it was watching them, waiting for them to come down.

Even if the Mire never truly slept, the girls had never seen it this alive.

———

From the edge of the Mire, just beyond where the glowstones faded, Youngji crouched beneath a crooked tree, cloaked in an enchantment that kept the rain from soaking her too badly. Water splattered around her boots, and the humidity clung to her like a second skin.

She chewed her bottom lip, watching.

One group huddled on a plateau—Wonyoung’s posture tense, Rei flopped dramatically in the mud, Jiwon pacing the edge. Hyunseo sat still, eyes fixed on the stormclouds like she could outstare them.

The other two were harder to see—she spotted flashes of Gaeul’s cloak, the pale flicker of Yujin’s aura as she braced against the wind.

Youngji narrowed her eyes. “Split up already, huh…”

The rain intensified.

A distant crack of thunder rolled through the Mire.

The accompanying flash of lightning illuminated the large alligator—multiple of them—cornering the plateau, and her hand twitched. She could get rid of those monstrous creatures for them… But it was fairly likely that they’d retreat when the water receded, anyway.

She sighed and stood, dusting her hands on her pants. “Aish. They’ll be fine. Probably.” 

She looked back once more, lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. She didn’t doubt them. They only doubted themselves.

“Nah, definitely.”

With a snap of her fingers and a shimmer of reality, she vanished.

_______

The rain had slowed to a steady patter by the time Jiwon unfastened her pack. The others watched her sift through its contents, pulling out soaked supplies with increasing alarm.

“…No,” she said flatly.

Rei, seated on a slick stone beside her, leaned over. “‘No’ what?”

“I have all the food.” Jiwon’s voice was hollow. “I—I packed all of it.”

Hyunseo blinked. “What do you mean all of it?”

“I mean all of it,” Jiwon said, emptying the entire ration pouch into the center of the group. “I packed everything. Every dried strip. Every filtered root. All the blister balm snacks. It’s all here, in this bag.”

Wonyoung leaned in. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m stupid, okay? I didn’t think we’d get separated. I thought it’d be easier to manage if one person handled the food. Less to keep track of.”

Rei’s eyebrows lifted. “That didn’t turn out well.” For once, there was no sarcasm in her tone. Just an honest—if slightly unnecessary—observation.

Jiwon didn’t reply. She didn’t seem to notice Rei’s statement at all. She stared down at her knees, hands curling in her lap. “I’m so stupid.”

Rei immediately went quiet.

Jiwon started to shake her head, muttering. One hand had a rough grip on her hair, tugging. “What if they didn’t eat? What if they think we left them on purpose—”

“Ya.” Rei shifted onto her knees. “Jiwon.”

“I messed up. I—”

Rei placed a hand over hers. Gently. Palms cold from the rain but steady. Her voice, when she spoke again, was low and serious.

“You didn’t know. None of us did. It’s not your fault.”

Jiwon swallowed hard. Her breathing was uneven.

“Look at me.”

Jiwon hesitated. Then lifted her eyes.

Rei gave her the softest smile she could muster. “You’re not stupid. Don’t say something like that about yourself.” She used her other hand to gently guide Jiwon’s hand away from her hair, stopping the assault on her scalp.

“We will find them. As soon as the weather clears. They’ll feel bad for making us worry.”

For a long moment, Jiwon said nothing. She wasn’t used to this—being comforted by someone outside of her family. Especially not physically; she was sometimes awkward with tactile communication. But Rei’s hand over hers felt right. Like it belonged there.

“I don’t usually like this,” Jiwon whispered quietly after she caught her breath.

Rei tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Touch. Closeness.” She exhaled. “But with you, it’s… I’m okay with it.”

Rei squeezed her hand, warmth blooming in her palm and on her cheeks. “Good. I’ll be careful.”

Wonyoung glanced at the two girls from where she crouched under one of the trees. She was grateful they had each other. But that train of thought made her eyes scan beyond the slope again—toward the path Yujin and Gaeul had taken.

There was still no sight of either of them.

It gave her a sense of anxiety that she was unfamiliar with, and she decided she did not like feeling that way. Her hands constantly fidgeted and trembled faintly, and she felt a gnawing pit in her stomach. These factors assured that she wouldn’t be able to relax until she knew Yujin and Gaeul were safe.

Taking a deep breath to try to influence the calm she didn’t feel, Wonyoung looked away from the horizon and faced her partner instead. 

Hyunseo sat quietly—as she had since Jiwon had admitted to packing all of their shared food in one bag.

She observed as Hyunseo stared intently into a mirror she had conjured.

Wonyoung looked at the mirror’s face, but all she could see was rain, storming down at an unforgiving pace. It wasn’t very different from what they were barely being shielded from. 

“What are you doing?” Wonyoung asked finally, unable to figure out what she was seeing.

“I’m trying to find Yujin unnie. and Gaeul unnie,” her voice was low and clipped with concentration. But her brow was creased in frustration. “I can only see the storm. I can’t figure out where they are…” Hyunseo trailed off, letting the mirror fade away into nothingness. The younger girl didn’t cry, but her face betrayed her feelings of fear and worry. 

“Don’t worry. It’s like Rei said. We’ll find them.” Wonyoung told her, eyes fiery despite the water constantly raining down on them.

She knew her words to be true. She didn’t doubt them for a second.

Jiwon and Rei faced them after a few minutes. Their fingers were interlaced. Wonyoung and Hyunseo both saw, but neither spoke about it. 

Silently, Jiwon handed out their rations with the hand that wasn’t linked with Rei’s. 

Wonyoung took her share with mumbled thanks and immediately set it to the side. She wasn’t sure if she had an appetite. She wanted to lie to herself and insist that she wasn’t worried. But she couldn’t even do that. 

Secretly, she longed for the connection she had felt with Yujin weeks before. The steady sound of her heartbeat—it told her that the older girl was safe, wherever she was. Wonyoung wasn’t sure if that was the case right now.

She hesitated, thinking maybe she would sense her as she did back then. But she felt nothing.

She tried not to assume that meant anything.

Hyunseo broke her line of thinking before it could turn into something negative. The youngest didn’t speak, but she held out a piece of dried mango that she had torn in two. Half she kept for herself. 

Touched at the gesture, Wonyoung took the fruit and chewed on it mindlessly, unable to enjoy its sweetness in her quiet distress.

Rei looked around at the three girls in front of her. “Things are really… crappy right now,” she looked down, her expression crumpling, but her voice wavered only slightly. “I know we saw them earlier, but I miss Gaeul unnie and Yujin unnie. It’s not the same unless we’re all here.”

Jiwon nodded her agreement, not trusting her voice at the moment. The unexpected solemnity of Rei’s tone and the realness she had requested—it tugged at her heartstrings. Instead, she tried to comfort her as she was just comforted. She squeezed Rei’s hand tightly and pretended not to notice the perturbation on Hyunseo and Wonyoung’s faces.

Morale was low and the mood was notably melancholic without the two oldest girls around. The four together each noticed it in their own way. 

They weren’t the same without all six of them present; something they wish they didn’t need the Mire to show them.

——

The cliff they found themselves stuck on was little more than a muddy ledge, halfway between a flooded drop and a steep rise too slick to climb. Gaeul crouched at the edge, one arm braced against the rock wall, breathing hard. Yujin stood rigid beside her, droplets falling from her hair, cloak clinging to her back.

There was no way forward. And due to the high waters, no safe way down.

Gaeul had led them to this point.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Yujin didn’t look at her. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

Yujin turned, slowly. Her body was tired—more than tired. Her limbs felt heavier than they should’ve. The air wasn’t just thick with moisture; it was pressing into her lungs with a dull force. Her ribs ached, subtly, like her weeks-old wound was bothering her. But she said nothing.

“You’re not the only one suffering, unnie,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing, just true. She wouldn’t ask for pity, but this was the only way she would admit she was in pain.

Gaeul blinked at her.

Yujin gave her a faint smile. “We’re soaked, starving, and stuck. It’s no one’s fault.” She wasn’t going to go into the specifics. 

“I led us off the path.” The shorter girl hung her head low.

“You did what you thought was right.”

They fell quiet. The wind howled past them, carrying the scent of wet stone and churned earth. Below, the water surged—rising inch by inch.

Yujin sat down slowly, positioning herself on the small strip of ledge. Her body protested. Her vision swam for a second, dizziness flaring—but she blinked it away.

Gaeul lowered herself beside her, careful not to slip.

The two sat in silence.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Gaeul asked.

“I think so,” Yujin said, quiet but sure. “They followed the glowstones. And they’re all really capable. I’m sure they’re safe.”

“Wonyoung would’ve followed us. Back at the fork. I was a bit surprised when she didn’t.”

Gaeul, of course, was referring to the connection she had observed between Yujin and Wonyoung, but it wasn’t only that. 

While Wonyoung was a bright light that shone and she was a star in her own right—she had a habit of following her unnies. Antics, actions, phrases. She had always done it since they were children.

And it was only natural that the quiet and observant Gaeul would notice it when Wonyoung started to follow Yujin in that same manner.

Yujin’s smile faltered. “Yeah. But look at where we are. I’m glad she didn’t.”

Another pause. 

Yujin let out a groan, leaning her head back against the wall and shutting her eyes.

Gaeul’s voice lowered and she turned to look at her. “Are you… okay?”

Yujin didn’t respond right away. Her scar—still hidden beneath her soaked tunic—ached faintly. Her stamina was down, her breath a little short. But weakness was a word she had buried years ago.

“I’m tired,” she started. She didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled. There’s nothing I can change in this situation, so I might as well have a good attitude.

Yujin had a mindset like that.

Gaeul looked at her. Really looked. She looked worse for wear, but she never complained. Gaeul hoped that she would feel secure enough to confide in her one day.

She decided not to press the younger girl. She was clearly carrying enough at the moment. “Me too.”

The sun had vanished. The Mire’s heat gave way to a creeping chill. Moisture coiled around them ensuring they would not be dry at any point, and the ledge was just barely wide enough to let them sit shoulder to shoulder.

They didn’t speak again for a long time.

At one point, Gaeul relaxed as much as she could in her precarious position. Her body leaned slightly against Yujin—not to be clingy, just enough to exchange some warmth.

Yujin didn’t mind; she was cold, too.

Even as the wind bit through their cloaks, even as the night deepened, even as her body betrayed her with small, traitorous pulses of ache—

Gaeul had stayed.

She had led them astray, yes.

But she had also stayed. 

And to Yujin, that mattered.

—

After Yujin fell asleep—it only took a few minutes after Gaeul had last spoken to her—Gaeul decided that she would stay awake until the weather broke. 

She eyed her sleeping form.

Strong jawline, sharp nose. But there was a distinct softness to her that wasn’t present when she was awake. Not unless she wanted it to show.

Gaeul had never really taken the time to see her like this—unguarded, exhausted, serene. It made something twist inside her with gentle affection. For once, Yujin didn’t look like the person who carried everyone. She looked like someone who needed to be carried, too.

Gaeul would stay awake. She would protect Yujin from whatever came their way, and she wouldn’t let her fall. 

She would prove that Yujin wasn’t wrong to place her trust in her. 

Her stomach growled and her teeth chattered. Her legs were numb from pressing against the stone beneath her, trying to keep herself and Yujin upright.

She couldn’t protect Yujin from whatever was happening to her internally. Her mind still showed her the black spot—the anomaly that she’d seen in the younger girl’s aura weeks ago, in Sohan’s dojang. And she couldn’t stop them from being hungry or cold at the moment.

But Gaeul wouldn’t concede.

She would turn this harrowing place into a temporary thinking place. She closed her eyes and began to meditate.

Mental fortitude was strength.

And Gaeul was strong. 

Chapter Text

The sky hadn’t yet softened, but the water had.

Gaeul blinked into the murky stillness, her body aching down to the marrow. The ledge beneath her was still slick with dew and runoff, but the river below had quieted overnight, its violent surge giving way to slow eddies and half-buried roots. The snakes were gone. The hush they left behind was heavier.

Yujin was slumped beside her, limbs long and awkward in sleep. Her breaths were steady but shallow. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were chapped, split faintly at the corner. She hadn’t stirred once all night.

Gaeul shifted, wincing as her muscles screamed in protest. Her joints felt rusted. Her back had gone half-numb from bracing Yujin’s weight. Still, she didn’t regret it.

She reached out, hesitated for half a second, then touched Yujin’s shoulder. 

“Yujin-ah,” she whispered, voice rough from disuse. “We should move.”

It took a moment, but Yujin’s eyes blinked open, glassy and unfocused. She didn’t speak—just breathed through her nose and sat up slowly, expression unreadable.

“You good?” Gaeul asked, her voice soft and concerned.

Yujin gave a faint nod. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Just stiff.”

They both were. Moving hurt. Standing hurt more. But they had no other choice.

The descent was slow. Every step down the mud-slick incline was a gamble, the terrain still soft from last night’s storm. They leaned on tree roots and half-submerged stones, boots squelching as they slid and corrected and kept going. Yujin didn’t complain. Gaeul wouldn’t have expected her to—but she noticed the tightness in her jaw. The way she paused slightly longer between steps, hissing quietly through her teeth. She was in pain, but pushing through it, as she always did.

Gaeul didn’t comment. She just kept pace beside her.

They retraced their route diligently, and though it took hours, the two girls were eventually able to find their way back. This time, they would follow the glowstone path. The soft blue shimmer finally reappeared through the thickets, faint but certain—like a lifeline waiting to be grasped.

By the time they spotted the plateau, the sky had begun to lighten. Not sunrise, not yet—but the air had changed. Crisp, cool, and impossibly clear. The storm was gone without a trace. It was like the Mire had forgotten its temper tantrum overnight and greeted them with a bright disposition.

Yujin’s boots slipped on the slope, and she caught herself with one hand, teeth clenched hard enough to ache. Gaeul didn’t comment. She just leaned in, steadying her with a small hand at her back.

They climbed in silence.

By the time they reached the upper ledge, Yujin’s limbs trembled from exhaustion. Her breaths came in shallow puffs. Gaeul saw the way she blinked, too slowly. She looked like she could fall asleep standing.

Jiwon was already crouched near the drop-off, hands extended.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, almost awed.

Gaeul helped Yujin step onto solid ground, then took Jiwon’s hand. The moment their boots made contact with the stone, Jiwon pressed food into their hands—half a ration bar and some dried root slices.

“Eat,” she said. “Please.”

Yujin took it silently. Her fingers quivered unsteadily, so Gaeul gently pried it from her hands, unpeeling the wrapper. She guided it to her mouth, not saying anything when the younger girl leaned into her slightly, just enough to stay upright. She was burned out.

Gaeul was both disappointed and proud of herself. Disappointed that she had taken the wrong path; but proud of herself for getting past that disappointment and being able to move forward. Though Yujin having faith in her had helped greatly. Still, she was satisfied now. They had made it back safely, so her temporary mission had been accomplished.

The rest of the girls began stirring at the sounds of the three girls near the plateau’s edge. Rei sat up, rubbing her eyes. Hyunseo blinked hard, doing a double take as if to make sure she was really seeing them in front of her.

Wonyoung—who’d been sitting under the meager shade of a small tree—stood slowly. Her gaze landed on Yujin.

They hadn’t been apart that long, and yet she felt so much.

Hyunseo was the first to close the distance. “Unnie,” she breathed, soft as a sigh. Then she threw her arms around Yujin’s middle. The hug was tight, conveying all the worry and relief the youngest had been feeling. 

Yujin’s arms lifted, wrapping around her instinctively.

“I’m okay,” she murmured softly, tone drowsy. “You’re okay. That’s what I care about.” 

Jiwon came next, less effusive but no less sincere. She touched Yujin’s arm briefly in a firm squeeze. She didn’t speak, but Yujin nodded anyway in silent reassurance. We're alright. 

Yujin was half-awake at best, but she was acutely aware of a pair of eyes on her.

She was still standing near the edge of the plateau, chewing slowly, blinking sleepily, when she felt the weight of her presence.

Yujin turned her head slightly, and there Wonyoung was—half-hidden in the thin morning light, arms at her sides, brows drawn with a look that was more than just concern.

Yujin’s voice was quiet, hoarse. “Are you okay?”

Wonyoung looked startled. “You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Yujin offered a small smile—more a twitch of her lips than anything else. “I felt your eyes on me.”

Wonyoung’s breath hitched. She stepped forward without replying, gaze sweeping over Yujin’s face, the exhaustion in her posture, the trembling in her fingers. That lopsided smile made her want to scream.

She didn’t answer the question. Instead, she closed the distance in two strides and threw her arms around Yujin’s shoulders—tight, sudden, and unrestrained.

Yujin blinked at the contact but didn’t resist. Her body reacted slowly, limbs heavy and clumsy, but her arms lifted and wrapped around Wonyoung’s waist like they were meant to. She rested her chin against Wonyoung’s shoulder, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Wonyoung didn’t let go.

Not even when the hug eased.

She pulled back only slightly, her arms slipping down until her hands found Yujin’s bicep. She gripped it gently, fingers curling there with instinctive softness—part steadying, part something else.

“Come on,” she said, voice quiet but certain. “You need to lie down.”

Yujin let herself be guided. She was too tired to argue, but she was sure she wouldn’t have anyway. Not with Wonyoung, the girl who made her feel soft inside.

Wonyoung led them to the far edge of the plateau where the rock sloped into a small natural incline, shaded by a cluster of moss-covered roots. The space was uneven but dry. Yujin sat slowly, groaning under her breath, then let Wonyoung coax her backward until she was reclining against the curve of the slope.

Wonyoung crouched beside her.

Yujin opened her eyes, glassy and unfocused. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“For what?”

Yujin hesitated.

Wonyoung expected her to shrug it off—but instead, Yujin reached up, hand catching Wonyoung’s wrist, and gave the gentlest tug.

“Just—stay.”

Wonyoung stilled, caught off guard. “What?”

Yujin didn’t repeat herself. She just tugged again, guiding her down, until Wonyoung was lying on her side next to her, the fabric of their sleeves brushing.

Wonyoung didn’t move. Her face was only inches from Yujin’s shoulder now. She could smell the rain in her collar, the salt of dried sweat.

The quiet between them was comfortable—until Wonyoung broke it with words she had been deliberate in considering.

“If I’m asking if you’re alright,” she said carefully, “it’s because I care.”

Yujin watched her with soft eyes, expression open.

“So… Please just be honest with me.”

There was no room left for dodging. No witty retorts. No stubborn shrugs.

Yujin blinked slowly, eyes glassy in the pale light.

For a second, Wonyoung thought she might fall asleep before answering.

Then, Yujin whispered, “I’m not doing great right now.”

Wonyoung stayed quiet. Let her keep going.

“But I’ll be fine,” Yujin added after a beat. Her voice was rough—barely there—but not fake. “I just need a little time. This place… it took more out of me than I thought it would.”

Wonyoung exhaled, satisfied with that response. “That’s okay. Just rest. I’ll be here for you.”

Yujin gave the smallest nod.

Their arms were still brushing. Wonyoung didn’t pull away.

She looked down at their hands—how they were almost touching, then up again. “Can I ask you something else?”

Yujin turned her head slightly. “Anything you want.”

Wonyoung smiled, lips twitching. Then she said it—soft, but clear.

“That…” she paused, unsure how she should word it, but ultimately gave up. Nervousness was foreign to her, so she banished it for the time being. “The date. Did you still want to go?”

Yujin blinked. Internally, she cheered and shouted Yes! but externally, she couldn’t get her mouth to move just yet.

“I mean,” Wonyoung continued, trying to keep her tone light, “we never really got the chance. We’ve been so busy. Saving towns from corrupted animals. Getting stitches after the corrupted animal attacks,” She looked away with a pout then, her mind flashing back to Dr. Minju before she let it go. “Not to mention being separated during a torrential rainstorm. You know. Normal schedule interruptions.”

Yujin let out a quiet and breathy laugh, her eyes shrinking to crescents. Cute.

“Wonyoung-ie,” she said, and there was something different in her voice now. A little more alert. A little bit careful.

“Yeah?” Wonyoung couldn’t deny how her heart did a little flip at the way the older girl had called her name. She had to remind herself to pay attention, as Yujin had continued speaking.

“I thought you meant it like… an actual date.”

Wonyoung froze. She didn't want to give anything away with her expression until she knew what Yujin was getting at. Because—let’s be honest—Wonyoung wanted it to be. That was why she had internally freaked out after she said it. She worried she had dashed her chances to be close to the other girl before they could even begin a… relationship. In any capacity.

Yujin looked at her—not teasing, not even shy. Just open. “That’s why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I didn’t want to… mess things up.”

Wonyoung let out a small disbelieving laugh. She couldn’t believe the relief she felt. “You wouldn’t have.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“I might’ve,” Yujin insisted. Stubborn. “Sometimes I don’t know how to be close to people unless I’m protecting them. Helping them in some way. It’s part of how I measure my value. But with you, it’s…”

She trailed off, staring at the canopy above.

Wonyoung didn’t press. She knew how hard that was for her to say.

After a few seconds, Yujin spoke again, quieter. “I’m not always good at figuring out what I want.”

Wonyoung shifted, her voice barely above a whisper. She decided to be direct. “Do you want that date?”

Yujin turned her body fully, wincing a bit but making eye contact.

“Yeah,” she said, softly but without hesitation. “I do.”

The moment hung there between them.

Wonyoung swallowed. “Then when we get back—let’s do it. Just us.”

Wonyoung’s hand found hers. Their fingers didn’t intertwine, but the contact was steady and welcomed.

Yujin’s eyes fluttered closed. “Just pick the day. I’ll be there.”

“You better be,” Wonyoung added, lower but no less sincere. After a beat of hesitation, Wonyoung squeezed the hand beneath hers. “Unnie.” She worried she was being too indulgent as she stroked Yujin’s knuckles gently.

A soft and sleepy closed-mouth grin was the only response from Yujin before she eventually drifted off to sleep. This time around, she was much more comfortable.

And so they stayed like that, huddled close and quiet.

The others gave them space. Jiwon passed by once to check on them but didn’t say anything. Rei kept to the edge of the plateau, humming something under her breath as she sat beside Hyunseo. Gaeul had gone quiet, watching the sky from where she rested with her arms tucked behind her head.

But Wonyoung didn’t see any of that.

All she could feel was Yujin’s warmth beside her. The gentle breeze of her breath as it ghosted across her skin. The tiniest twitch of her fingers against her own every now and then, like she was still trying to stay alert even while giving in to rest.

And even if they didn’t speak again for the rest of the morning, Wonyoung didn’t care.

She’d be there when Yujin opened her eyes.

After several—potentially creepy—moments of watching the older girl sleep, Wonyoung finally tore her eyes away to observe the others.

The sun caught Rei’s hair, Gaeul’s knees were drawn to her chest, and Hyunseo stared quietly into space. They were all here. And yet… things were still far from over.

——

Sometimes, Hyunseo thought the scariest part wasn’t the storms or the snakes or the monsters in the dark.

It was waking up and realizing she still didn’t have all the answers.

They were together again, which was supposed to make things better. But even now, with the sun warm above them and everyone safe, there was still that weight in her chest. A question that hadn’t been asked. A truth that hadn’t been shared. She could feel it sitting between all of them like a second shadow.

Jiwon was the first to break the quiet.

“I didn’t think we’d all get here,” she said, not looking at anyone in particular. “Not in one piece.”

Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just honest.

Rei, sitting nearby with her knees pulled up to her chest, glanced over but didn’t smile. Her fingers curled into her sleeve as she considered her words. “I kind of… thought we were gonna die.”

Hyunseo’s eyes widened. “I’m glad you didn’t say that out loud when we first got here.”

“She’s not wrong for thinking that way,” Gaeul murmured. “I led us down a dangerous route. If we’d stayed separated any longer…” She trailed off, thinking about all the hours she had braced herself along the cliffside, keeping herself and Yujin from falling—quite possibly to their deaths.

“You made it back,” Jiwon said. “That’s what matters.”

Hyunseo looked down at her hands. They were scratched and raw in places. She didn’t remember when that happened. Probably somewhere in the mud or when she’d tried to tear a thorn root out of frustration after it had scratched her. Quietly, she said, “I was scared. Like… ever since we left home.”

No one laughed. The stillness that followed wasn’t awkward—it was soft. Shared.

“You and me both,” Rei shrugged.

“I think that’s fair,” Gaeul said. “I was too.”

Hyunseo lifted her gaze. Jiwon’s eyes met hers briefly, then flicked toward Rei.

Jiwon tilted her head. She figured she should add something too. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still afraid. I mean—we don’t know what’s going to happen. I think it’s only natural.” 

Rei was quiet for a moment, then glanced toward Jiwon—almost as if she felt her gaze. She wasn’t fully sure she should say it out loud. But, she reasoned that full certainty wasn’t always guaranteed

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Rei said. “All of it. About why we’re even out here. Doing… all of this.” She gestured vaguely to the air around them. But they knew she wasn’t only talking about being in the Mire.

Hyunseo waited.

Rei’s voice was steady as she continued. “I think I’ve been trying to pretend that we’re just on an adventure. You know? Having fun. Something we’ll laugh about later. But it’s not. I’m not here just because I felt like helping.”

“You don’t have to explain—” Jiwon started, but Rei shook her head.

“No. I do. Because we’re all acting like this is normal. Like we woke up one day and decided to follow a map and fight monsters and… I don’t know. Get strong.” She exhaled. “But that’s not true. I came because I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t.”

Jiwon was surprised—not unpleasantly—at the change she noticed in Rei. She hadn’t made a joke or even a sarcastic quip in over an hour. It seemed as though she had taken her request for realness to heart. Either way, Jiwon was touched. She felt like she was truly seeing the other girl now. She was certain that she wanted to see even more of her.

She found herself leaning toward the girl, allowing their shoulders to brush slightly. She hoped Rei understood what she was trying to convey: I see that you’re trying. And I’m here for you, too.

Rei didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. She just stayed there, letting the warmth from Jiwon’s shoulder seep into her skin like sunlight through fog. It was quiet, but it steadied her.

The quiet fell again—thicker than before.

Gaeul nodded slowly. “Me too.”

Glancing toward Rei, Jiwon spoke as well. “Same here.”

Hyunseo’s heart thudded a little faster. She looked over at the sleeping pair across the plateau—Yujin’s head tucked against Wonyoung’s shoulder, their hands loosely touching, faces turned toward each other.

If they were coming clean about why they were there, then it was a conversation the six of them would need to have together.

Because one thing this trip had taught them so far was that being together as six was the most important part of their dynamic.

So moving forward without all of them present wasn’t an option. That was something that had been established and wouldn’t change.

Hyunseo rose from her seated position. She would do the honors of waking them. Continuing as a unit wasn’t only ideal anymore. It was necessary.

———

They had all known each other for almost two months now—forty-something days of shared meals, missed sleep, sweat-soaked training, and quiet moments beside campfires and clinic beds. And still, they barely knew anything that mattered. Not really. Not what had pushed each of them from their homes. Not what kept them from collapsing on the days when exhaustion hit hardest. They had fought beside each other. Bled for each other. And yet this… this was the first time they’d sat down as six girls—not fighters, not travelers—just themselves. Ready to speak the truths they hadn’t yet dared to say.

The six of them gathered in the half-shade, their backs against stones and their knees drawn up for warmth. It was the first time all of them had sat still like this without tension pressing against their spines. There was no more pretending they were strangers, or that their reasons for being here didn’t matter.

Wonyoung spoke first.

Rei plucked a twig from her boot and tossed it into the dirt. “We’ve known each other for, what… a month and a half now?”

“Forty-seven days,” Jiwon said without missing a beat.

Everyone turned.

“…Seriously?” Rei blinked.

Jiwon shrugged. “I like keeping track of things.”

Hyunseo stifled a giggle. “You keep track of days?”

“Some people count rations,” Jiwon replied, unbothered. “I count time.”

Wonyoung leaned back on her hands. “That’s my point. We’ve been living side-by-side for seven weeks and I still don’t know half of you well enough.” Her traitorous eyes cut straight to Yujin. 

Rei rolled her eyes. “We know who snores.”

“You are the one who snores!” Hyunseo chimed in.

“Exactly.” Rei pointed at her. “See? Progress.”

Gaeul laughed. “We’ve been surviving together. That’s a kind of knowing.”

Wonyoung nodded. “Yeah, but… I think it’s time we actually talked.”

She glanced around at the circle—at the tired eyes, the scraped knees, the people she was ready to trust.

“We’re from Seoul,” she said, voice steady. “The three of us.”

“Technically,” Rei cut in, raising a finger. “I was born in Nagoya. But I moved to Seoul when I was seven, so. Close enough.”

Gaeul rolled her eyes fondly. “We know, Rei.”

Rei gave a mock gasp. “Not everyone. Sorry for embracing my roots.”

Gaeul smiled faintly, continuing. “Anyway. Our parents are on the royal council. That’s how we knew each other.”

There was a beat of silence before Yujin nodded. “We’re from Nahae.”

Blank looks. Wonyoung tilted her head. “Where?”

Yujin, Jiwon, and Hyunseo shared a laugh at the reaction. Yujin spoke. “Most people have never even heard of it.” She shrugged, gesturing toward the three girls who had never heard of their hometown. It proved her point.

“It’s a village in the San-Namu region,” she continued, fully extending her long legs. “It’s tiny, isolated by forests. Mana doesn’t reach it.”

Rei blinked. “But… Then how do you have magic? All three of you?”

“Surprise!” Hyunseo cut in, waving her hands in a silly way.

Jiwon hummed, folding her arms. “It’s complicated.”

“We grew up there,” she said after a pause. “And it’s the only life we’ve ever known.”

Hyunseo nodded. “We were raised without magic. We never had it until recently… Except Jiwon unnie. She’s been able to use magic for ages now. What a show-off,” she shook her head as Jiwon scoffed at her and stuck out her tongue.

No one minded their slight bickering. Anything to lighten the mood without diminishing the importance of the conversation was welcomed. They left it at that. The miniscule details weren’t important yet—not the grief, not the loss, not the quiet things that lived in their silences.

The conversation shifted, almost naturally, toward the thing that loomed larger than geography or childhood: the SSE.

“They’re bolder than anyone expected,” Wonyoung said, her voice low but tight with restrained emotion. “Honestly. They attacked the capital. It left our parents cursed from something that is apparently incurable...”

Gaeul nodded solemnly. “We’ve determined that the curse isn’t random. They’re targeting nobility. Council members. People with power.”

Jiwon’s jaw tensed. “They attacked our home too.”

Yujin spoke quieter. “Our father and I were ambushed while traveling. He was cursed too.”

A hush fell over them again.

No one asked for details. But the looks exchanged—Rei glancing toward Jiwon, Wonyoung watching Yujin—spoke volumes.

The realization clicked quietly into place: this wasn’t coincidence. Whatever paths had brought them here, they had all been shoved from safety by the same shadowed hand.

The SSE had torn apart their lives. That was something they all had in common.

But it wouldn’t be the end. It was only the beginning.

And for the first time, being together felt like something solid. Something that might carry them through whatever came next.

————

The sun had begun its descent, bleeding gold across the upper edges of the Mire. The air still clung to the day’s humidity, but a breeze had finally rolled in, curling between the branches with enough strength to stir the girls’ hair.

They were gathered close now, seated around a small fire—courtesy of Wonyoung, whose flames burned neat and controlled. No crackling chaos, no flying embers. Just a steady glow.

They sat in a circle, shoulders brushing in quiet solidarity. Gaeul leaned gently into Hyunseo’s side. Wonyoung and Yujin sat beside one another, the former occasionally reaching down to poke at the fire with a stick. Jiwon rested with one knee tucked up, and Rei sat next to her, arms loosely around her legs, chin balanced on her knees.

They weren’t talking much anymore. The big things had been said.

And then—like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to ruin it—Youngji emerged from the treeline.

“Well, well, well,” she said, hands on her hips. “Am I interrupting a therapy circle or a summoning ritual?”

Six heads turned. No one looked surprised.

“You’re late,” Wonyoung said flatly, not looking up from the fire.

“Late implies I was meant to be here at a certain time,” Youngji shot back. “I was just checking that you guys were still alive. You know, in case someone got eaten by a tree.”

“Do trees eat people here?” Hyunseo asked, genuinely curious.

“Depends,” Youngji replied. “Have you angered the wetland spirits recently?”

Jiwon sighed. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I have charm,” Youngji said. “And trauma.”

Rei snorted.

Youngji stepped fully into the clearing, arms swinging as she strolled up to the fire. Her gaze moved over each girl as if taking mental inventory—lingering on Yujin just long enough to confirm she was upright, then flicking back to Gaeul with a nod that might’ve meant good job.

“Anyway,” she said, crouching by the fire like she belonged there, “pack your stuff. We’re heading out at sunrise.”

“Seriously?” Rei groaned. “We just got emotionally stable.”

“Too bad. You can process while walking.”

Hyunseo narrowed her eyes. “You have food, right? We’re out of rations.”

Youngji patted her satchel. “Three dried plums and half a rice cake. Fight me for it.”

Rei immediately reached over.

Youngji pulled the bag away. “I said fight, not steal.”

Wonyoung finally looked up. “You’re lucky we don’t set you on fire.”

“I’d be honored,” Youngji deadpanned, then turned to the rest of them. “Get some sleep, Circle Club. Tomorrow we’re climbing out of this swamp.”

And just like that, the peace was gone—but it was replaced by something lighter. Easier.

Because if Youngji had shown up, it meant things were moving again.

And for once, that didn’t feel like a bad thing.

—

Morning came as it always did in the Mire.

With bugs, dew, and air thick enough to drink. There was no rain though, so that alone felt like a victory to the girls.

They rose quietly when the sun did, packing what little they had left. No one complained. Their limbs ached, their faces were worn, but something about the air made it easier to move. Easier to breathe.

They just moved like people who had made peace with something. Or maybe started to.

Wonyoung smothered the fire with precision, her hands steady as she covered the last glowing embers. Gaeul tied off her satchel and gently nudged Hyunseo to lace her boots tighter. Jiwon checked the water flasks. Rei stretched, yawned, and muttered something about how her legs were still asleep even though she was awake.

Yujin just stood there for a long moment, eyes turned eastward, watching the sun climb higher.

Youngji appeared behind her.

“Still tired?” she asked casually.

Yujin didn’t look away from the horizon. “Less than I was yesterday.”

“Good,” Youngji said. “Because the only direction now is forward.”

The group gathered at the edge of the clearing, facing the narrow trail that led upward—out of the Mire and toward the rising hills beyond. It wouldn’t be an easy climb. But it would be a new one.

And that was enough.

They fell into a loose line, the six of them naturally shifting into new pairs this time. Youngji noticed it, but she decided not to comment. 

Hyunseo strolled beside Gaeul, and Yujin and Wonyoung spoke softly amongst themselves, gaits in sync. Meanwhile, Jiwon helped Rei tie her boots before they hurried to catch up to the rest of the group.

They weren’t the same girls who had entered the Mire days ago.

They had cracked themselves open, said things that were difficult and listened in kind.

The most important thing had been the unanimous, unspoken decision to stay together.

And now, as they walked toward a new unknown, shoulders brushing, boots crunching damp earth, there was a quiet sense of agreement among them.

Not everything had healed. But something had restarted.

Something in them had reset.

Chapter Text

There was no sign. No marker. Not even a gate.

Just a sudden shift in the trail—a slope of cobbled stone where the dirt ended, and a modest wooden archway sagging between two trees.

“Where are we?” Rei asked, squinting ahead.

Youngji adjusted her bag. “Technically? A Beongae outpost. Unofficially? West bumblefuck.” No one was surprised by her swearing. Youngji was a wildcard in every sense of the word.

The path widened as they walked, revealing a cluster of stone buildings with sloped metal roofs and tangled laundry lines. The air smelled less like mildew and more like fresh bread and river clay. A few children ran barefoot down the lane, chasing a runaway mana kite that sputtered harmless sparks every few seconds.

Wonyoung blinked. “Wait. Is that… civilization?”

Rei clutched her chest dramatically. “I could cry.”

“I am crying,” Hyunseo whispered. She wasn’t crying.

They were still covered in dried mud. 

Still smelled like swamp rot and trauma.

“We need to shower,” Jiwon said, her voice flat with conviction.

Gaeul nodded. “Immediately.”

Youngji glanced at them. “Damn. Y’all are nasty.”

“Whose fault is that?” Wonyoung snapped.

Youngji grinned. “Alright, alright—I got you.”

She led them down a quiet alley and rounded a corner. After a few minutes, she stopped in front of a quaint blue house with a picket fence and blue and pink hydrangeas in garden beds out front. Before anyone could ask any questions, she knocked on the front door.

A middle-aged couple opened the door. The woman gasped. “Lee Youngji!” The way she said her full name was with clear fondness.

“Eomma!” Youngji sang, diving in for a hug and kissing her cheek. “Hi! You look great!”

The girls stood frozen behind her. Dirty. Confused. Mortified.

Rei muttered, “Why does she look clean?”

“Reality magic,” Hyunseo answered solemnly. She shook her head, idly wondering if Youngji’s magic could’ve kept the rest of them from being dirty, too.

Youngji turned and gestured behind her casually. “Oh—these are my friends!”

She looked back at the girls. “These are my boyfriend’s parents.”

Six mouths dropped.

Rei blinked. “Boyfriend’s what now?”

“Unfortunately,” Youngji began brightly, ignoring the stunned silence. “We just hiked through hell. Like, almost literally. One of them might have eaten a leaf.”

“I only licked it,” Hyunseo protested, pout firmly in place. She determined it best not to mention how her tongue had itched afterwards. Details.

The woman—early fifties, but still with a full head of dark hair pulled into a low bun—looked the girls up and down. Her expression flickered from surprise to instant concern.

“Oh, you poor things,” she said, ushering them forward before they could protest. “Come in, come in—Kyungsoo’s not home right now, but I can’t let you stand there looking like that.”

Her husband appeared from somewhere behind the door. The man was of medium height and wiry with kind eyes and a deep voice. His hair was fully gray and styled similarly to how Kyungsoo wore his hair. “The upstairs toilet doesn’t work, but the downstairs one works just fine. Do you girls like noodles?”

Jiwon nearly collapsed in her hurry to bow her head. “We love noodles, sir.”

Within seconds, they were being waved inside—six muddy girls ducking awkwardly into a modest but lovingly kept home. The scent of roasted garlic and something savory filled the air, and every surface was cluttered in that comforting way—too many photo frames, a cat figurine on the shoe rack, a vase with wildflowers and a chipped rim.

One by one, the girls took turns in the bathroom while the parents laid out towels and lent them old t-shirts and sleep pants from a basket of “donation clothes” that had apparently never made it out of the house.

Wonyoung emerged first, hair damp and skin glowing, wearing an oversized orange shirt that read ‘I RAN THE 109TH BEONGAE MARATHON’ and shorts that stopped mid-thigh. Her legs were so long that they appeared shorter than they were meant to—the shorts belonged to Kyungsoo’s mother, who was at least twelve centimeters shorter than Wonyoung. 

Jiwon followed in a neon green tee that said ‘Doh Family BBQ Pit—Est. 1996’.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe she brought us to her in-laws,” Rei laughed, emerging seconds later.

“Youngji unnie is insane,” Wonyoung replied. “I think I love her for it.”

When everyone had finished, they gathered around the low table in the kitchen, bowls of warm noodles placed in front of them, steam curling upward. Gaeul tried not to tear up at the smell. Hyunseo actually did.

They ate quietly at first—exhaustion doing most of the talking—but soon, conversation picked up. Kyungsoo’s mother sat beside them and asked where they were headed. Her husband shared a story about a stray dog that got into his garden and wouldn’t stop eating his tomatoes. Yujin offered to help with the dishes and was gently waved off. Rei somehow ended up with a third bowl of noodles without asking.

Afterward, the girls curled up on the floor with full stomachs and clean skin, nestled in spare blankets. Someone fell asleep mid-sentence.

Youngji sat in a corner chair, sipping barley tea, smiling to herself.

“You didn’t tell us your boyfriend’s parents were angels,” Jiwon murmured, half-asleep.

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be weird about it,” Youngji whispered back.

Yujin stirred nearby and mumbled, “You’re weird about it.”

“Exactly,” Youngji said. “So it cancels out.”

The house hummed with night sounds and soft breathing. For the first time in days, they weren’t cold, damp, or hungry.

It was the kind of quiet that made you feel safe without even realizing it.

A security blanket after constantly having to be vigilant was exactly what the doctor ordered.

—

The next morning, they woke to the smell of breakfast rice and grilled vegetables. Kyungsoo’s mom insisted they eat again before leaving—“You’re all bones and bruises!”—and Kyungsoo’s dad packed them a paper bag of snacks wrapped in twine.

When they finally stepped outside, the sun was bright overhead and the air smelled like dry stone and clover. The dirt road they’d arrived on now led to a shimmering platform set just past the edge of the outpost—metallic rails arcing from the earth like vines laced with starlight.

“What… is that?” Hyunseo asked.

“A bus,” Rei answered, eyes lighting up.

“A what?” Jiwon blinked.

“A mana-bus,” Wonyoung corrected, already smiling. “We had these in the capital. We used to take them to school when it rained.”

“You had school buses?” Hyunseo’s voice cracked with disbelief.

“They hover,” Gaeul informed them, looking up at the mana-bus station schedule posted on a wall near where they stood. 

“Kind of,” Rei added on, hands clasped in front of her as she swayed gently to a song no one else heard. Their circumstances vastly improved—literally overnight. She had reason to be happy.

They didn’t have to wait long. The air buzzed faintly—then, without fanfare, a sleek vessel coasted into view. It floated inches off the ground, humming softly, its doors hissing open with a pressurized sigh.

Hyunseo screamed. A little.

Yujin flinched, hiding behind her defensively raised hands. “Is it supposed to do that?”

Wonyoung covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Yeah. It always does that.”

The driver—a cool-looking woman in mirrored shades—nodded once to them in greeting and said, “Beongae Central. Thirty minutes.”

“Thirty—” Jiwon staggered. “Minutes?”

Hyunseo looked personally offended. “It took us hours to walk here. Eung.” She actually made a pouting noise. Alas, she was the baby for a reason.

“Should’ve waited for me,” Youngji said, clearly enjoying this. She paid their fare without making a fuss and sat near the front, amused at the girls’ different reactions.

They boarded in stunned wonder—half of them, anyway. The other three girls were simply happy to see the familiar sight of the transportation they’d grown up with. It brought a sense of nostalgia that was not unwelcome.

None of them said it, but they all noticed how natural it felt—climbing in one by one, without hesitation. Like the six of them made sense now.

Once inside, the seats adjusted to fit their heights and posture. Cool mana breeze drifted from unseen vents. The glass windows shimmered faintly, displaying route markers in glowing script.

“I feel like I’m in a dream,” Hyunseo whispered, hugging the snack bag. She couldn’t stop looking at everything—there was so much to see!

“Honestly,” Wonyoung said, dropping into a seat beside Yujin. “This is what not-suffering feels like.”

Yujin chuckled, resting her head back, but keeping it tilted so she could still see the younger girl. “Let’s never go into a swamp again.”

Rei whooped from somewhere behind them. “Agreed.”

“I’m going to remove the word ‘humid’ from my vocabulary. Jinjja.” Jiwon announced from next to her, stretching her arms above her head.

Gaeul had settled in the aisle seat next to Hyunseo. The youngest seemed to have forgotten all about the bag of snacks in her lap as she continued to marvel at the features in the bus’ window and seats. 

She smiled but didn’t interrupt her. She was glad to see the childlike joy in Hyunseo’s expression; she’d decided she much preferred that to the stressed-out one the girl had worn in the Mire—worrying about whether she was good enough or strong enough. No, this suited her much better. All of them were better off as a result of their experiences there, but Gaeul was simply pleased that it was over, and content to observe calmly—as she was wont to do.

The bus began to move, gliding back across the rails without sound, as if gravity was merely a suggestion. Fields and low mountains rushed by in a blur, and for once, none of them had to walk, fight, or flinch.

So they leaned back and allowed themselves to enjoy the ride.

———

The sun had climbed high by the time they reached the Institute, and the scent of the city was sharp with iron and storm-dried stone. Beongae felt different now—not just louder, warmer, but somehow smaller. Or maybe it was that they had grown.

The courtyard was waiting for them.

Taeyeon stood just inside the gate, arms crossed, posture sharp. She looked them over once—mud-washed boots, sun-reddened cheeks, backs still straight despite it all.

“You’re late,” she said dryly.

Youngji waved her off. “Blame the bus schedule.”

Taeyeon’s mouth twitched. Just barely.

Then, without another word, she turned and led them deeper into the courtyard.

Sohan was already there.

He stood near the central stone ring, not seated this time. His cane was tucked beside him, but he wasn’t leaning on it. The sunlight caught on the folds of his robe. The breeze stirred his hair. And beside him, six neatly folded uniforms rested on a length of deep blue cloth atop a stone platform—carefully arranged, waiting.

The girls lined up instinctively, six across. Boots dusty from the outpost trail. Hair still damp from hurried morning washes. But cleaner, brighter. Different.

Taeyeon paced in front of them like a quiet storm gathering force.

“You were given uniforms before you left,” she said. “Do you remember what I told you then?”

No one answered. No one dared.

“I said you weren’t ready to wear them,” she continued, pausing with her hands clasped behind her back. “You lacked synergy. Purpose. Trust.”

Rei fidgeted. Wonyoung glanced at Yujin, who stood still as stone.

Taeyeon nodded once. “You’re ready now.”

Jiwon let out the faintest breath. Even Hyunseo straightened slightly, eyes wide.

She stepped aside.

Sohan’s voice came next—quiet, but commanding. “Come forward.”

The six of them moved as one, drawn toward the low stone dais where the uniforms waited. Each set was folded with care: cream and navy fabric, minimalist trim, durable weave. The same ones they had seen before leaving—but this time, the meaning had changed.

“You’ve endured more than physical hardship,” Sohan said. “You’ve withstood the worst of each other—and chosen to come back standing side by side.”

He looked down at the folded fabric, then up again.

“The word is uniform,” he said softly. “Its prefix is uni. One. This isn’t just something you wear. It’s a literal representation of your unity. Let it remind you, from this point on, that you move as one.”

No one spoke. But something passed between them—unspoken, warm, and real.

“Go on,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

One by one, they stepped forward.

Wonyoung’s fingers brushed the fabric like it might vanish. Rei held hers up and immediately hugged it to her chest. Hyunseo nearly dropped hers in excitement. Yujin accepted hers with both hands, her expression unreadable but her posture straighter. Jiwon’s mouth twitched with pride she didn’t voice. Gaeul smiled down at hers, then looked up and met Sohan’s eyes with a steady nod.

When they stepped back into formation, Taeyeon studied them once more.

Then—softly, almost too softly—she said, “Well done.”

It was the most praise she had ever given them.

Hyunseo’s lip twitched. Rei elbowed Jiwon gently. Wonyoung tried not to smile and failed.

Taeyeon’s brow arched. “Keep grinning and I’ll make you run laps.”

They all froze.

Taeyeon turned away, but the corner of her mouth curled upward.

Sohan chuckled faintly. “You have some time to yourselves. Use it wisely. You’re not done here. But for now—rest. Recover. And wear your uniforms proudly.”

And they did.

For the first time, not just as six girls thrown together by circumstance.

But as one.

The girls barely had time to process the ceremony before Youngji clapped her hands and pointed toward the Institute’s east wing.

“Alright, heroes. Time to get your aura patched up before you collapse in public.”

Rei groaned. “We just got patched emotionally.”

“This is physical,” Youngji said. “Also emotional. Everything’s emotional when you’re dehydrated.”

They followed her, still glowing faintly from Sohan’s words and the weight of their new uniforms, all cream and navy and pride. As they passed through the wide, sunlit halls of the Institute’s hospital, passing staff turned to look. Some offered nods. One quietly said, “They’re the ones from the Mire,” as if they weren’t standing right there.

The Institute’s hospital wing was bright and quiet, with soft green light bleeding through the glass runes overhead. The scent of tea tree oil and something sharper—pure mana, maybe—hung in the air. It felt sterile and sacred all at once.

As they entered the main corridor, two healers stood waiting.

One was a woman with long, dark hair tied back in a ribbon, her expression composed and unreadable. Dr. Minju. The other was a slightly shorter man in a pristine lab coat, standing a little straighter the moment Youngji approached.

Dr. Kyungsoo.

Minju gave the girls a brief nod. “We’ve prepared two rooms. Come.”

Before anyone could speak, Youngji clapped Yujin gently on the back. “You, me, and Wonyoung—this way. Oppa’s waiting—and he’s extra cute today, so let’s move.”

Yujin thought to follow Minju out of memory of the last time, but paused mid-step. She glanced at Wonyoung—just for a second—and saw the hesitation there. The way Wonyoung’s mouth had tightened. The faint shift in her stance. Not fear or overt discomfort. Just… something wary?

So Yujin turned, agreeing with Youngji. “Right. I’ll see Dr. Kyungsoo.”

Minju blinked once, but nodded. “Very well.”

Inside the first room, the walls shimmered faintly with enchantment, cool and humming with stored energy. Wonyoung stepped in beside her, still close, fingers gently catching Yujin’s sleeve without thinking.

Yujin noticed the contact—and didn’t mind. She didn’t move or shy away, in fact, she walked a bit closer to the younger girl.

Two padded chairs formed a half-circle around a floating rune ring—silver, with inlaid channels of green crystal. Each girl would wear one around their wrist or ankle, and the ring would sync with the body’s natural aura, rebalancing and strengthening it. It wasn’t something you could just walk in and ask for. It had to be approved, not unlike a prescription.

Wonyoung sat first, then Yujin beside her. Kyungsoo moved quietly, checking readings, adjusting the flow. His movements were confident, precise, almost invisible.

“Your output was quite high,” he murmured to Yujin, voice gentle but professional. “This might take a little longer.”

Yujin nodded. She didn’t ask questions.

The rings activated with a faint sound, tinny but melodic, like wind passing through metal chimes. Green light bloomed from the channels and wrapped around their limbs like a warm tide. Wonyoung let out a sigh, getting comfortable. Yujin closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her strength slowly returning to her.

Wonyoung’s glow faded first. Yujin’s kept pulsing—brighter but steady.

Wonyoung opened her eyes and watched it silently.

She could see that it was glowing stronger than before and opened her mouth, before closing it after a moment. Kyungsoo wasn’t saying anything, didn’t seem concerned—and that told her enough.

The doctor didn’t say a word, focused on maintaining the levels for the remainder of Yujin’s treatment.

Down the hall, the second room had a cozier feel—two enhancement chairs, and a low bench.

Rei claimed the bench immediately and threw her legs over Jiwon’s lap. “This feels like a spa.”

“It’s a hospital,” Jiwon muttered, but didn’t push her off.

Dr. Minju moved smoothly around the room, activating the green glow on each ring with a flick of her fingers. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t need to. Her care was precise, her hands steady. She adjusted Hyunseo’s settings first—“You’re holding more strain than expected”—then moved to Gaeul.

Hyunseo leaned forward on the chair, watching the light with wide eyes. “Is it supposed to feel like… mint tea?”

“Yes,” Minju said without pausing.

“Cool,” Hyunseo whispered.

Gaeul chuckled softly, reaching out to fix the collar of Hyunseo’s enhancement robe. It had twisted to one side.

Minju passed Rei and Jiwon without glancing at them and began fiddling with the controls. “You’ll need to sit still for fifteen minutes.”

Rei grinned. “That’s doable.” She reclined further, practically lying on Jiwon. The girl only smiled, a dimple appearing near the left side of her mouth. Rei reached up and poked it. 

“Why have I never noticed this? It’s so cute!” Rei cooed at her, and Jiwon covered her quickly reddening face with her hands, making strange noises that only she understood.

“This wasn’t what I meant by sitting still,” Dr. Minju muttered, shaking her head but not scolding them. They’d just have to wait longer if the technology lost its calibration to their auras.

Back in the first room, Wonyoung’s treatment concluded. She slowly uncurled from the chair, glancing at Yujin’s still-glowing ring. Kyungsoo gave her a reassuring nod from his spot at the computer desk.

“She’ll only be a few minutes longer.”

Yujin opened her eyes, blinking. “I feel... so good, Wony.” The girl gave two thumbs up.

Wonyoung giggled at both the nickname and Yujin’s delivery.

Youngji laughed. “You sound high, Yujin-ah.”

She tilted her head in perfect puppy confusion. “Eh? What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Kyungsoo answered, playfully glaring at his girlfriend, who held up her hands innocently.

Wonyoung stayed near her for a moment, but Youngji stepped in before either of them could say more.

“Move girlie,” she said, cheerfully. “It’s my turn.”

Kyungsoo sighed, but didn’t argue. Unsurprisingly, he had a lot of patience (and patients). As Wonyoung stepped aside, she turned just in time to see the doctor pull a small bouquet from the drawer beneath his desktop—soft yellow flowers, wrapped with a strip of apricot-colored cloth.

“Welcome back,” he said, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I missed you.”

Youngji blinked, stunned for only a moment. Then she grinned. “You’re so cute when you flatter me in front of other people.”

Wonyoung stared. “Wait—what?”

Yujin’s head straightened from its previous position. “Did he just say—?”

“You were in the Mire?” Wonyoung asked, eyebrows raised.

Youngji slid into the chair like it was her throne. “Obviously.”

“You never told us,” Yujin said slowly.

Youngji shot Kyungsoo a wink. “It never came up.”

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes. “Wait. So you were there the whole time?”

Youngji shrugged, flowers in hand. “Reality magic’s good for more than making dramatic exits. I kept one of the quadrants stable. Just didn’t want to be a distraction.”

Yujin blinked again. “So when we were climbing cliffs and nearly drowning—”

“I was keeping the bugs out of your sleeping bags,” Youngji said cheerfully.

Kyungsoo chuckled quietly. “And ‘watching the drama unfold’ as you put it, right?”

Wonyoung and Yujin exchanged a look. They laughed simultaneously—that definitely sounded like something Youngji would say.

Wonyoung looked down at Yujin’s still-glowing ring, then back at Youngji. “You’re actually ridiculous,” she shook her head and continued. “But kind of amazing.”

“I know,” Youngji said, already settling back as the green glow began to wrap around her like it had the others. Peaceful and deserved. “But—thanks for saying it.” Despite her tone, the oldest girl was actually sincere.

Kyungsoo stood and stretched, then looked between them. “The annual festival starts tomorrow. It should be a nice break, if either of you are going.”

Before either girl could respond, Youngji added, far too casually, “You two going together?”

Yujin blinked. Wonyoung sat up straighter.

“I—”

“We haven’t—”

They both stopped. The silence lingered a beat too long.

Youngji grinned like she’d won something. “Just asking.”

Kyungsoo gave her a look. “Behave.”

“I am behaving.”

Treatment concluded and cuff removed, Yujin stood first but didn’t head for the door.

Not until Wonyoung rose, too.

They walked out side by side, the morning light still slanting low through the corridor windows.

Behind them, Youngji muttered, “I’m just saying, oppa. They’re definitely going together.”

Despite hearing her, neither of them said a word.

They just kept walking. Two shadows moving in sync, unsure what the following day might bring.

One thing they could be certain of, at least, was that they’d face it together.

Chapter Text

The dome above their heads shimmered like bottled starlight, holding the rain at bay with sheets of translucent mana. The city outside was soaked and gray, but inside the stadium, everything glowed, remaining dry.

Vendors lined the outer circle, each stall brimming with food or mana-infused wares—floating lanterns, sparking charms, confections that shimmered faintly with spell residue. A band played somewhere out of sight, upbeat and brassy. The air was warm, sweet with roasted nuts and something fruity and sticky.

Youngji stood near the entrance with her hands on her hips, wearing loose pants, a cropped jacket, and a smug grin that dared anyone to question her fashion choices. Kyungsoo stood next to her in simple black slacks and a clean button-up, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the charm etched into the watch on his left wrist.

“Okay. You guys know the drill,” Youngji said, already backing away. “This is the week of the annual festival. So… you guys have free time. Don’t get arrested, don’t set anything on fire—Wonyoung—and don’t follow strangers into side alleys.”

Wonyoung scoffed at the—frankly, preposterous—implication but didn’t comment otherwise.

“We won’t,” Jiwon said, already eyeing a dumpling stall.

“Good. Bye!” Youngji chirped, sending them double finger-guns and spinning around.

Kyungsoo gave a polite wave, then followed her at a calm pace—until Youngji reached back, (lovingly?) snatched his hand, and walked off with fingers lacing together.

Hyunseo tilted her head. “Are they always like that?”

“Probably,” Yujin huffed in amusement as she watched them go.

The stadium’s central floor opened into a wide plaza of mana-lanterns and live performers, some levitating on discs of light. The girls spread out instinctively, but didn’t stray far. Gaeul and Hyunseo veered toward a table of glowing flower crowns. Wonyoung drifted after Yujin as if guided by a soft, silent tether. And Jiwon found herself slowing beside Rei, who was looking at a sign advertising explosives.

“I want to set off a mana firework,” Rei declared.

“We literally just got here,” Jiwon replied, but she was already smiling.

They approached a small booth with rotating shelves of glittering wands—each topped with a compressed mana crystal. A sign above read: One spark per wand. Please aim and release away from crowds.

Rei selected a violet one. “This one matches me.”

“Violet is pretty close to your aura color,” Jiwon noticed, nodding gleefully. Rei’s excitement was contagious as well as cute.

“Exactly,” Rei beamed. “It’s thematic!”

She stuck her tongue out, pointed it at the sky, and twisted the base.

But nothing happened.

She twisted it again, her smile dropping abruptly. “Is it broken?”

“Try a different one,” Jiwon suggested, grabbing a pale blue wand from the rack. She handed it over, then picked up a soft gold one for herself. With a slight shake of her wrist, a ribbon of mana-based light spiraled into the air and burst into cascading sparks.

Rei pouted. “Okay, what gives?”

Jiwon grinned. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”

“Maybe I’m bad luck.”

Jiwon stuck her tongue out at that answer.  She handed her a third wand—a soft cyan one that glowed faintly in her palm. “Here. Try this one.” It matched the color of her own aura, but she didn’t mind sharing. Having two sisters, she was definitely used to it.

Rei took it. The glow flickered.

Then—poof. It snuffed out completely.

They stared at it.

“Oh! There!” Jiwon pointed at the base with her eyes wide as she caught sight of the last dregs of cyan-colored light sinking into Rei’s skin before it disappeared. “You absorbed the mana!”

Rei blinked, her mouth forming a tiny circle. “I didn’t mean to do that, though.”

“Doesn’t matter! Just do it again, but release the energy you absorbed instead.”

Rei held the wand up with mock seriousness, pointed it toward the sky uselessly—and with her other hand, she fired a ‘Rei beam’ straight upward.

The charged mana burst into a wild spiral of white and violet sparks that exploded in a much larger flash than the toy firework would’ve provided.

Jiwon clapped enthusiastically. “Incredible. Ten out of ten.”

“I’m basically a cannon,” Rei announced proudly.

Behind them, Wonyoung sighed. “They’re going to be unbearable all night.”

Yujin smiled faintly. “They’re practically already a couple.”

“Not even official—I think you’re right,” Wonyoung replied.

Yujin glanced over. “You think they care?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

They both watched as Jiwon looped her arm around Rei’s waist, and Rei leaned into her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not far behind them, Gaeul and Hyunseo returned, each wearing matching flower crowns that glowed with soft, shifting light—Gaeul’s flickered with dark blue, Hyunseo’s a dreamy yellow. The crowns reacted to the wearer’s aura, and presented lights in the corresponding color.

Gaeul sighed with mildly irritated affection at the sight of Rei and Jiwon tangled together, seeing the festival’s sights without thinking about the other four. “We’ve lost them.”

Hyunseo snorted. “They were never ours to begin with, unnie.”

Her eyes flicked toward the other end of the plaza, where Yujin and Wonyoung stood side by side, the colorful lights of the festival reflecting off their uniforms. They weren’t touching, but they might as well have been. Wonyoung leaned slightly into Yujin’s side whenever she laughed. Yujin’s head dipped every time Wonyoung spoke, like she didn’t want to miss a single word.

“I have a theory,” Hyunseo said slowly, already starting to smirk.

“That sounds precarious,” Gaeul replied, meeting the youngest’s gaze.

Hyunseo kept going, undeterred. “Wanna make a bet? Ten silver coins that they can’t stay apart for fifteen minutes.”

Gaeul raised both brows. “You think I’m taking that bet? They haven’t been able to do that since they met, I’m sure.”

Hyunseo’s grin widened. “Come on. Think of it like… a field test!”

Before Gaeul could argue, Hyunseo broke off and skipped toward Yujin.

“Yujin unnie, come with me!” she said, grabbing her sister’s hand. “I saw something I wanted to show you!”

Yujin paused in surprise but followed without resistance, glancing once over her shoulder at Wonyoung—who had barely taken a step before Gaeul slipped in and smoothly redirected her attention.

“Hey,” Gaeul said, linking their arms. “I need your opinion on something.”

Wonyoung tilted her head. “On what?”

“You’ll see.”

The plan lasted all of six minutes.

Hyunseo dragged Yujin toward a booth selling enchanted wind chimes, trying to get her to look at the different mana harmonies. But Yujin kept drifting toward anything pale, pink, or pastel.

“Don’t you think Wonyoung would like this?” she asked, gesturing to a fluffy stuffed bear and then a pink silk bracelet strung with tiny charms. “She always notices cute stuff like this.”

Hyunseo gave her a long, blank look. “You realize this is supposed to be our time, right?”

“I’m sorry! I was just saying,” Yujin replied, not unkindly. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling scolded.

Meanwhile, Gaeul guided Wonyoung along a rack of various apparel items—short cloaks, metal-stitched gloves, urban-style streetwear imported from the capital.

Wonyoung stopped short in front of a black leather jacket with an angular silver clasp and a high collar. She studied it for a moment.

“…This would look good on Yujin unnie,” she said, half to herself. Then she looked at Gaeul. “Don’t you think so?”

They had just started and Gaeul was tired. She didn’t even blink as her eyelids lowered. “Sure.”

By the time the four of them reconvened at the base of the central fountain, they all knew what was coming.

Hyunseo crossed her arms. “This was impossible.”

Gaeul sighed. “Seriously.”

Yujin and Wonyoung glanced at each other briefly.

They didn’t know what Hyunseo and Gaeul were talking about, but it didn’t matter. They partner-swapped back without even realizing they had done it.

No teasing or fanfare. Just an easy shift, like magnets pulling together.

Gaeul and Hyunseo stood back and watched them fall into step again.

“…At least we tried,” Hyunseo shrugged, not mad or even surprised.

Gaeul nodded. “They’ll figure it out eventually…” She nudged the youngest toward a kkochi stand. “Feeling pretty glad I didn’t take that bet, now, though.”

The plaza buzzed with music and light, the crowd thickening as night wore on. Performers juggled glowing orbs near the fountain, and mana lanterns began their slow rise into the dome’s artificial sky. It all shimmered—happiness, color, comfort.

Yujin lingered near a prize stall, brows furrowed in focus as she maneuvered a glowing claw toward a pink bunny plush in the back corner. She’d overheard Wonyoung point it out earlier—“That’s actually really cute”—in a tone she probably hadn’t meant anyone to catch.

The claw dropped. Caught. Tugged. Landed.

Yujin smiled, slipping a few coins to the vendor.

Wonyoung, meanwhile, had slowed in the crowd. Her eyes were fixed on someone.

A tall man—taller than anyone nearby—stood just beyond the rows of lantern stalls. No glasses. Dark, wet sleeves, as if he had just come in from the rain. His hair was slightly disheveled and his coat was creased.

Wonyoung blinked. “Junhui-ssi?”

His head jerked up.

Even without the glasses, she knew that face. It was sharper now. Less polished. His eyes, always quiet before, scanned the area like he was actively searching for something.

“What are you doing in Beongae?” she asked, stepping toward him. She had to ask. “Is there any update on my father?”

Junhui didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to her, then to the crowd, then back again. “No update. He remains stable.” His eyes moved to Gaeul and Rei. “They all are.”

His voice sounded the same. But flatter. Like the edges had been filed down.

“I thought the royal guard was investigating the capital attack,” Wonyoung said, trying to keep her voice casual. “Why are you here?”

Junhui’s mouth twitched slightly. “I’m following a separate lead.”

“For the royal court?” Gaeul asked next.

He didn’t answer.

“Since when do personal assistants handle military investigations?” Rei cut in, arms crossed as she stepped up beside Wonyoung. Her tone wasn’t hostile, just firm. Curious.

Junhui’s eyes shifted briefly toward her, then past her, scanning again. “I’m only gathering information. The crown is stretched thin. Sometimes we have no choice but to act without waiting for orders.”

Rei didn’t look convinced. And his wording was strange. Jiwon stayed quiet, but her grip on Rei’s hand tightened.

Wonyoung’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Are you alright, Junhui-ssi? You look…”

Different. 

She didn’t say it out loud, but Gaeul, now hovering nearby, noticed the hesitation. She also noted his bedraggled appearance—a stark contrast to how put-together he usually was.

Then Junhui’s attention snapped—just over Wonyoung’s shoulder.

Yujin had just turned, plush prize in hand, ready to hold it out and call for Wonyoung—but she paused mid-step. She saw that Wonyoung wasn’t alone. Her posture was rigid and her smile had faded. She didn’t look afraid, but something in her body language had pulled tight—like a bowstring drawn back, waiting to snap.

And as she approached, something beneath Junhui’s jacket began to glow.

It was faint—barely there. A slow pulse of amber through the inner seam. But Junhui saw it, and his entire posture changed.

He stiffened.

His eyes locked on Yujin.

Not in recognition. Nor in confusion.

Analysis.

From where she stood at the edge of the lantern row, Hyunseo saw it—the way Junhui’s gaze moved. Not just to Yujin, but over her. And it wasn’t out of curiosity. Down, up, assessing her like she was… prey.

It wasn’t how anyone should look at her unnie. She decided immediately that she didn’t like him.

Wonyoung tensed beside him. Gaeul, too, caught the shift—Junhui’s gaze wasn’t just sharp. It felt wrong. Too precise. Focused like he was taking stock of something that wasn’t his to study.

Yujin saw it, too. The way he looked at her. She’d felt the unnatural shift in his Ki. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it made her pulse spike.

Junhui pressed a hand over the inside of his coat, as if to calm whatever tool or charm had activated. His expression didn’t change.

“I should go,” he said suddenly.

“Wait,” Wonyoung started. “Are you—?”

“I’ll report back with anything relevant,” he said, voice clipped. He turned. “You should enjoy your evening.”

Rei didn’t move. “You didn’t answer the question.”

But he was already walking away, a glowing doorway appearing briefly as he walked through it. 

Then he was gone.

Yujin stepped beside Wonyoung, brows lowered and gaze steady on his retreating form. “That was weird.”

Wonyoung stayed close. Even more  than before. She didn’t say anything at first. Just held onto Yujin’s arm and didn’t let go. Not until she was sure Junhui was really gone, until the residual mana from his hasty retreat dissipated fully.

“He’s usually quiet,” Wonyoung murmured. “And not like… Whatever that was.”

Gaeul didn’t say anything. She just looked at Yujin. The glow had faded. Whatever had pulsed in Junhui’s coat was gone, along with the man himself.

But it had reacted. And it had reacted to her. 

Why?

None of them said what they were all thinking. But something was wrong.

That man hadn’t come for research. He hadn’t stumbled onto them.

He’d been looking.

And clearly, he’d found something.

Rei was the first to speak. “Should we… Tell Youngji unnie?”

Rei was still staring in the direction Junhui had gone, jaw tight. Jiwon stepped closer to her, squeezing her shoulder this time.

Gaeul hadn’t moved much either. She hovered like she was weighing her options—fight or flight.

Even Hyunseo, who had cracked jokes earlier, looked subdued. Her flower crown had dimmed to a dull mustard yellow.

“What would we even tell her?” Yujin shrugged, trying to bring the mood back. “Besides, she already left with Dr. Kyungsoo. Let’s just try and enjoy the rest of the night.” She wasn’t sure if she believed the energy she put into her words, but she didn’t want everyone to continue looking so somber.

They didn’t all move at once. 

The festival carried on around them—mana lights pulsing above, performers calling out their finales, couples laughing over drinks—but none of it touched them now. The warmth had gone out of it. Even the air felt colder, like the dome was holding its breath.

Wonyoung didn’t relinquish her grip on Yujin’s forearm.

She didn’t really know why, only that she didn’t want to. The plush fur of Yujin’s jacket was soft beneath her fingers. It should have grounded her, but it didn’t. Not when her mind was still stuck on the way his eyes had moved—cold, measuring, wrong.

Junhui’s gaze had stirred something ugly in her chest. It wasn’t exactly fear. Something closer to possessiveness. It felt sharp.

She wasn’t used to that. And she didn’t know how to put it into words, and definitely wouldn’t say it to Yujin. How would she describe that? 

He looked at you and I didn’t like it. Because you’re mine?

Where did that come from? Now her ears were beginning to warm. 

Embarrassing.

Yujin noticed the shift in the younger girl, but didn’t say anything. Her own thoughts were tangled—half-focused on what she’d felt when he looked at her, that strange flicker of heat inside her chest, right below her collarbone. The toy bunny was still clutched in her grip.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Wonyoung said quietly, her fingers tightening gently into the fabric of Yujin’s jacket. “Come on.”

She led them away from the crowds—just a few steps, to a quieter corner where the glow dimmed and the music softened. A wide circular fountain shimmered at the edge of the plaza, water cascading down runes etched in stone. The noise was gentler here. It faded to the background.

Wonyoung sat first, smoothing her skirt. Yujin followed suit to her right, still quiet.

They didn’t speak right away.

Eventually, Yujin held out the plushie.

“I was gonna give this to you earlier,” she said. “Before all of… that.”

Wonyoung looked at it. Pink. Soft. Thoughtful in a way that made her chest hurt.

She reached for it slowly and took it in both hands. The plush was warmer than she expected. Something about that made her throat tighten.

“It’s still perfect,” she said, eyes shining as she looked at her for a second, quickly turning away as if the sight of the older girl’s bright boba eyes burned her. “Thank you,” she added quieter, looking down.

“Of course. I wanted to win it for you.”

Yujin watched her turn the bunny over once, then press it to her lap, fiddling with its right ear. She seemed to be having an internal conversation, so Yujin didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t like how he looked at you,” Wonyoung said after some time. She looked up, but not quite at the girl beside her.

Yujin turned her head. “Me either. But you know him, right?”

“I don’t care,” she replied, voice quiet. “It felt wrong.”

That was the first time she admitted it to herself—not just the unease. But the way she’d felt something sharp and specific the moment Junhui had shifted his gaze. The moment she saw the glow beneath his coat.

She didn’t know what it meant.

But it seemed clear that Yujin was involved somehow, if Junhui’s look was anything to go by. 

And that she didn’t want anyone—even someone as quiet and polished as her father’s assistant—to treat Yujin like a puzzle to solve. Or a target.

Especially not when Yujin looked tired like this. Almost all the time.

“You’re not supposed to carry everything alone, you know,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Yujin blinked at her. “I’m not.”

Wonyoung looked down at the bunny in her lap. “You still do. And all I'm asking, unnie,” She finally looked up at Yujin. “—Is for you to share everything with us. Even if it feels mundane. Because we are one.”

Yujin didn’t have a verbal answer for that.

But she felt it, deep inside. And she was better with actions than words, anyway. 

So she silently reached over and took hold of Wonyoung’s hand that was fiddling with the ear of the toy. 

A soft intake of breath was the only reaction Wonyoung gave. Yujin tightened her grip and stroked the back of her knuckles with her thumb.

“Your hands are so soft,” Yujin breathed. It was the only thing that came to mind.

“And we’re the same height. But your hands are bigger.” Wonyoung marveled at the differences, taking her free hand and holding it up for Yujin to align hers. 

Wonyoung’s palm was delicate, her fingers long and dainty. Yujin’s hand was rougher, with callouses, indicative of the work she’d done growing up—the way their childhoods contrasted was visible physically.

Yujin smiled, the words finally coming to her. “I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t a habit for me to keep things inside. But I’ll do better,” She said, but went to amend her statement a second later. “I’ll try my best,” For you, she didn’t say. But it was implied. 

“That’s all I ask.”

And Yujin knew—if she couldn’t share her deepest thoughts with anyone else, she could start with her. There wasn’t any higher power telling her to do it, but it just felt like a natural progression. She trusted Wonyoung, much more than the girl probably even knew.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The bunny sat forgotten between them, soft and ridiculous.

But Wonyoung’s hand stayed in Yujin’s. And Yujin didn’t let go.

After enjoying their moment together, they would go and reunite with their friends, who had dispersed to give them space.

——————

Junhui walked until the lights faded, until the music was gone. The tracker inside his coat had gone dark. He didn’t touch it again.

He wouldn’t report this to the court.

He’d report it to Taeil.

The tracker bestowed upon him had reacted.

But it couldn’t be.

The cursed weren’t supposed to walk.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t stopped raining heavily all week.

But inside the suite, it didn’t matter.

Their shared space stretched between two quiet hallways, anchored by a common room that smelled like warm tea and clean linen. 

Six beds, three bathrooms, a kitchen that magically replenished their groceries, and enough shelving to pretend they had a system. They didn’t.

It wasn’t perfect. But it had quickly become home.

This was the living accommodation upgrade they’d been granted after returning from the Mire. Wonyoung, Rei, and Gaeul weren’t strangers to having their own rooms. Even Yujin had a bit of experience with it. 

But for Jiwon and Hyunseo, this was their first time having their own designated spaces. Hyunseo loved it, much to everyone’s surprise—the maknae could be clingy at times. But where Hyunseo thrived, Jiwon struggled. The older of the two was used to feeling someone else’s presence beside her at night; the stillness made her paranoid.

The very first night—about two weeks ago, now—Jiwon had laid awake, mind racing, feeling unsettled. Until she suddenly sat up, and padded barefoot from her room to Rei’s. She kind of never ended up back in her own room since then.

—

Wonyoung stood by the stove in a soft and oversized gray hoodie, stirring honey into a mug. The sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and her hair was twisted into a loose, uneven bun. She looked almost unfairly pretty in the morning light. 

Her fingers moved like they’d done this before. Because they had. Nearly every morning since moving in.

On the couch, Gaeul flipped through one of their issued field guides, legs crossed and one sock slipping down below her heel. Hyunseo was curled beside her in a tangle of blanket and hoodie, trying to look awake and failing.

Yujin strolled barefoot from of the hallway, a towel looped around her neck, her tank top still clinging slightly from the shower steam. She crossed behind Wonyoung without a word, reached overhead to the cabinet—and as she leaned, she placed her hand lightly on the small of Wonyoung’s back.

Familiar.

Wonyoung handed her the tea tin without looking.

Yujin took it gratefully. Their rhythm didn’t need commentary.

Rei and Jiwon were probably still in Rei’s room—muted whispers, occasional laughter, the sound of blankets rustling but never falling. Gaeul glanced toward the hallway once but didn’t say anything about their absence.

None of them were in a rush, anyway.

Yujin poured her tea and leaned her hip against the counter. Wonyoung stood beside her, close enough that their arms touched. Neither moved away.

It was quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty.

Then the door opened—no knock, no warning.

Youngji walked in with a soft swirl of magic trailing at her heels, her coat almost appearing damp from the rain outside. Somehow, not a drop clung to her otherwise.

“Okay,” she said, like she hadn’t just shown up in the entryway. “Wake whoever’s pretending to be asleep. Abeoji wants to see you guys.”

She set a folded envelope on the table and adjusted the sleeve of her jacket.

“You don’t need full gear,” she added. “Just wear your boots. The courtyard’s a mess again, so we’re heading to the dojang.” She was, of course, referring to how wet one could get during the long walk to Sohan’s quarters.

Wonyoung blinked. “Right now?”

Youngji raised her eyebrows. “You want him to wait?”

Gaeul closed her guidebook.

Hyunseo groaned into the couch cushion. “Is it sparring?”

“Nah,” Youngji said. “Threshold stuff.”

She stretched, cracking her shoulders once. “He’s in a good mood. Try not to ruin it.”

Then she nodded to Yujin, stole a slice of fruit from a bowl that didn’t belong to her, and left the way she came—like she lived there.

The girl didn’t even bother using the door—simply shifting reality and dematerializing as though she was never there to begin with.

No one moved with haste despite the instruction given.

Then Wonyoung set down her tea with a sigh.

“I’ll get Rei and Jiwon,” she announced and left the kitchen.

Yujin watched her go, gently blowing the steaming tea in her mug.

Wonyoung headed down the hallway toward Rei’s room, her footsteps muted and light.

The room was technically still called Rei’s, but that was only a formality; each of the girls knew it was their room. Jiwon had dragged her mattress across the floor after literally only one too many restless nights. Their two beds were pushed together now, sheets tangled across the divide like they’d never been separate. Jiwon’s old room had quietly become an office, mostly used by Gaeul for meditation.

The door to Rei’s room wasn’t locked. Luckily, it never was.

Wonyoung knocked—three gentle taps—then eased it open.

Light from the hallway spilled across the oversized bed, where a heap of blankets rose and fell with soft, sleepy breaths.

The room smelled faintly of lavender and something citrusy—probably Rei’s. One arm was draped lazily across Jiwon’s waist, the other tucked under her own cheek. Jiwon was curled inward, half-buried, hair messy and face calm and unguarded.

For a moment, Wonyoung didn’t say anything.

There was nothing scandalous about the way they slept—just something so natural about it. They acted like… something long established. Like they’d found safety.

She lingered in the doorway just a second too long, then cleared her throat gently.

“Hey.”

No response. Just a quiet exhale from the blankets.

“Sohan-seonsaengnim wants to see us,” Wonyoung said a bit louder. “Like now.”

Jiwon stirred first, groaning into the pillow. “Rain check.”

“Very funny,” Wonyoung replied, arms crossed now. “Get up.”

Rei cracked one eye open. “What if we pretend we’re not home?”

“Already tried that. Youngji unnie didn’t buy it.” It wasn’t as if they’d know it was a lie, anyway.

There was a rustle of sheets and a long, dramatic sigh from Rei as she flopped backward like waking up was the greatest injustice in the world.

“You have five minutes,” Wonyoung added. “Don’t make me come back in here,” she warned, a small flame hovering above her finger as she pointed at them before she extinguished it.

She shut the door with more fondness than force and turned toward the hallway, shaking her head as she walked back toward the kitchen.

She smiled, not fully sure why. But a soft feeling lingered.

——

Their uniforms still felt new. Not stiff exactly—Taeyeon had made sure they fit—but new in the way things were when not fully broken in. 

They walked in quiet pairs toward the dojang, avoiding small puddles in the stone paths.

Youngji stood near the door as they entered but held up a hand before anyone could step forward.

She looked at the girls. “He asked to see Yujin first.”

The others looked on with varying levels of surprise and confusion. Yujin paused but nodded and entered the room alone.

As she moved into the space, Sohan was waiting for her. He was seated at the middle platform, his posture straight as ever, perhaps in spite of the cane resting beside him. The space was dim, but warm with incense and the storm-filtered light that was a Beongae staple.

She kept her expression steady and neutral as she reached the center.

Sohan dipped his chin ever so slightly in greeting, gesturing for her to kneel across from him on the mat.

Yujin bowed deeply in response before kneeling in front of the man without hesitation.

Sohan didn’t waste time with small talk. His deep voice was calm. “May I examine your aura?”

“Yes, sir.”

He extended his hand—not to touch, but to hover in the space between them. Light sparked faintly around his fingers, and then the air shifted.

Yujin’s aura rose into view—soft at first, then sharper, more layered. The blue of it was dimmer than before. At its center, near her chest, a thick, jagged shadow pulsed in time with her heartbeat—parasitic, sickly. The edges of the darkness had spread farther than he’d seen before.

Sohan didn’t flinch. But Yujin saw the pause in his breath. She wanted to reach up and touch the scar she’d noticed. But she resisted the temptation.

The man lowered his hand, and the projection faded, Yujin sighing at the feeling of her aura returning to dormancy.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked.

This time, she paused. “Fine,” Yujin answered automatically—reflexively. But still she hesitated, before amending her words. 

“Well. I’ve been able to… manage it. It’s mostly fatigue. Occasional tightness in my chest. Dizzy spells when I push myself too hard.”

“Any pain?”

“Nothing currently. Should… I expect to feel any pain?”

Sohan leaned back at her question, posture settling into a lean. He looked up, as if the answer were somewhere on the ceiling. He certainly wished things were that simple.

“It’s hard to give you a definitive answer. Do you have any idea what may have caused this?” That would likely be a good starting point.

It happened faster than anyone could’ve predicted.

Yujin’s body tensed, color draining from her face. Her breaths shallowed while her pupils blew wide—unfocused and lost.

Sohan recognized her reaction and knew he had to act.

He wouldn’t normally do this. It was clear that his question had triggered some sort of trauma that caused an immediate physiological response in the girl before him.

He raised his hand again—not that Yujin noticed it while enduring her silent panic—and sent out his aura. The gray light rose from his body and reached for Yujin, bringing forth her aura once more. But instead of interacting with her physical body, his aura accessed her mind.

Within it, he sought only the answer to his question. 

He moved carefully through the memories her aura revealed—shapes unformed, sounds fractured. Smoke, wet ground, a female voice. A cold rush of wind. A figure with one shadowed eye.

Then, impact.

Sojang.