Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Take your clothes off.”

Ha-ru blinked. “What?”

The guard tapped on his arm impatiently, “Protocol.” He gestured to the shackles supporting both her arms and legs. “Now, if you please.”

Ha-ru snorted, amused. As if she would be able to smuggle weapons the way she was now. The guard scowled at her, but her eyes had already fallen on something behind him. Something he could not see.

Maniacal laughter echoed in the girl's ears. “What’re ya lookin’ at me fer? You heard ‘im!” The man spat out between laughs. His green hair, which was sported in a high ponytail, danced from side to side as he threw his head back.

Ha-ru gritted her teeth. If the man had not been dead for over two millennia, she would have sworn to kill him with her own two hands a long time ago.

Focusing back on the guard, she pulled down her plain colored robe as much as the shackles would allow before raising her hands above her head. Blood dripped from behind her fingernails and into her hair as she waited for the guard to do a patdown, making sure she hadn’t been able to obtain any weapons or store them somewhere on her body.

The guard’s hands were slick with a grimy mix of sweat and mud, but Ha-ru had no choice but to accept them if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her days behind bars. She had been locked away for the past year, yet even now, the memory of sunlight felt like a distant dream, as if an eternity had passed since she last felt it on her skin.

Once he was done, he pulled the robe back over the young girl’s shoulders, not caring enough to make sure she was fully covered. He unlocked the shackles on her wrists with a rusted-over key. At that moment, she felt as if she could fly, feeling as light as a feather. It did not last, however, as her eyes soon fell onto her feet. “What about my legs?”

The guard spared them a glance but did not answer. He gestured towards the door. “Follow me.”

Ha-ru took a few steps, careful not to trip over herself. She shot the green-haired man a look, one which took him by surprise. “Ha-ru dear, you must just adore me.” Her eyes twitched; it took everything in her not to respond.

The guard led Ha-ru into the servants' bathhouse, because she could not enter the palace looking as she was, she had been told. She did not mind, however. Any bath would have felt like heaven now.

“Your Ladyship, might you need anything?” one of the maids asked with a too-sweet smile—polite on the surface, but laced with quiet condescension.

Ha-ru didn’t bother replying. She dismissed the girl with a flick of her hand, watching as the guard took his place by the door. She was almost surprised he hadn’t offered to join her in the bath, considering how forward he'd been earlier.

When she was finally free of the clothes she'd been forced to wear for the past three months, she nearly dove into the steaming tub. Only the memory of how raw her feet were stopped her.

She eased them in first, slowly, wincing as the heat kissed her blistered skin. Then, bracing herself, she slid the rest of the way into the water, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out.

"Shu-ten? Are you here?" Ha-ru's voice echoed through the empty, steam-filled room.

A figure materialised before her—green hair slicked back, grin already in place. "You planning to give me a show?"

Ha-ru leaned back against the rim of the bath, shifting her legs with a wince. "Only if it ends with finding your corpse and setting it on fire."

"Pervert," came a third voice, cutting through the mist. "Ryokuryuu, you disgusting pervert."

Shu-ten snickered. “Abi, dear — if you want one, just say so.”

He turned to face another man whose hair was as unusual as his own, only blue this time.

A bird that had slipped in through a cracked window trailed the blue-haired man, beating its wings uselessly as it tried to land on a shoulder that held no weight. The bird let out a sharp, disdainful peep.

“Die.” The man snarled in response as he settled beside Ha-ru’s folded arms on the bath’s ledge. Despite his eyes being covered by a white cloth, Abi seemed to look straight at her. “You’re out,” he said flatly.

Ha-ru inclined her head. “Thank you for the gracious welcome, Abi. It’s my cousin’s birthday, you see.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Ha-ru feigned shock, then laughed softly. “And I didn’t ask for my only friends to be ghosts when I grew up, but here we are. Friends listen, Abi Dear, don’t they?”

Shu-ten snorted and collapsed into laughter on the floor. Abi pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed. “Don’t add ‘dear’ to the end of my name,” he huffed. “I’ll kill you”

“Sure you will,” Ha-ru hummed, dry and amused. Abi scowled, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the hint of a grin.

She slipped one hand beneath the water, scrubbing away the last traces of dirt from her feet. The cold metal of her shackles grazed her toughened skin, sending a shiver through her.

The bird that had followed Abi in fluttered down to perch on her shoulder just as she reached for the shampoo. The brief silence between them lasted only a heartbeat before the two dragons resumed their usual bickering.

“Your voice is the most aggravating thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Want me to puncture your eardrums with my spear, you sissy?!”

“You don’t have a spear anymore, you witless lizard!”

It was easy to forget that they were merely remnants of the dragons' power that once dwelled in the palace two thousand years ago. Ghosts, in a manner of speaking. Only Ha-ru could see them—and even she didn’t know why. At first, she’d thought it was because she was a descendant of King Hiryuu, but Soo-won, her very own older brother, did not seem to know that they were there.

Steam curled around her as she sank deeper into the water, eyes half closed. Her chest began to tighten and forced her to spring upright, knowing what was to come. A sharp, dry cough escaped her lips, echoing against the tile walls. She coughed again, harsher this time, her hand instinctively rising to her mouth. The water sloshed around in her frantic movements.

The men immediately stopped yelling at each other, concern growing on their faces, just as a metallic taste found itself mixing with Ha-ru’s saliva. The moment she was finally able to breathe, another fit began. Her chest rose with her uneven breaths.

When it was over, she blinked, her gaze falling onto her hand now covered in crimson. She prepared herself for a third one, but it never came. She let out a puff of air as she fell into the bottom of the large pool of water.

“D’you die?” The first to speak was the green dragon. Despite the sarcastic question, it was clear he hoped for a positive answer.

“Nope, too soon for me, I’m afraid.” Her voice was weary now, drained from the coughing. It had been a long time since she had last suffered such a harsh attack.

She began to move quickly after that, her wet hair clinging to her neck, fingers fumbling with the edge of a towel. Water streamed in rivulets down her arms and legs as she stepped out of the bath.

Just beyond the window, the soft thudding of horses’ hooves pulling carriages echoed faintly—a clear sign that the guests would soon start to arrive. Ha-ru cursed softly under her breath, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, when suddenly a voice called out from beyond the wooden doors that stood between her and her guard. “Are you finished yet?” the voice asked, carrying a tone of impatience.

“Just about!” Ha-ru replied quickly, trying to steady herself.

The doors creaked open a crack, and he tossed a neatly folded bundle of cloth toward her. “Put these on,” he instructed firmly.

She caught the fabric and glanced down at the clothes, realising it was time to prepare for whatever awaited beyond those doors. With a quiet breath, Ha-ru unfolded the garments — fine silk in pale lavender and white, embroidered with faint patterns of cranes and clouds.

She dressed quickly but carefully, layering the robes one over another until the soft weight of them settled around her shoulders. The silver sash came last, drawn snug at her waist, the jade clasp cool against her fingers.

She glanced behind her, but Shu-ten and Abi had already gone — their absence filling the room with a silence that felt heavier than the robes themselves. Taking a breath, she called out, “I’m ready!” Her voice wavered at the edges, but her hands stayed clenched.

The door slid open with a soft scrape. The guard appeared, expression unreadable beneath the lamplight. Without a word, he motioned for her to follow.

Ha-ru stepped forward, the hem of her gown brushing against the polished floor. The faint clanking of her shackles echoed with each step as she left the quiet of the bath behind.

As they left the bathhouse and entered the gardens, the warm spring breeze welcomed them, brushing against Ha-ru’s cheeks like an old friend. The grass, still damp from the night’s rain, clung coolly to her bare feet.

Her escort walked a few steps ahead, silent and composed. Then from somewhere beyond the cherry trees, a voice called out— hesitant but bright.

“My Lady…?”

Ha-ru turned, startled. A boy stood at the edge of the path, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, he didn’t move, as though afraid she might vanish if he blinked. Then, with a burst of motion, he ran toward her.

“Mireu,” she breathed, the name leaving her lips like a memory.

He stopped before her, breathing hard, his face bright with emotion. “It’s really you,” he said, his voice trembling with something between relief and guilt. “They said you wouldn’t be allowed outside again—I didn’t think I’d ever—”

She smiled faintly, cutting him off with a small shake of her head. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

The guard at her side shifted uneasily but said nothing. The garden around them was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the faint clinking of Ha-ru’s cuffs.

For the first time in what felt like years, she met a familiar gaze without fear.

The wind stirred the branches overhead, scattering a gentle flurry of cherry petals between them. For a long moment, the world felt still—just a girl and a boy who had never stopped waiting for her return.

Ha-ru kneeled, placing her hand on the young boy's cheek, stroking it gently with the tip of her thumb. He leaned into her, his expression lightening. He was no older than twelve, and it pained Ha-ru that he was barely allowed to act his age.

“Would you escort me to my cousin's birthday celebration this evening?” She waved off the guard who began to protest.

Mireu’s face brightened, “You’re coming?”

Ha-ru smiled softly at his surprise, “I am,” She said. “If you’ll walk with me.”

Mireu nodded so quickly his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it back, trying to stand a little straighter, though his grin gave him away. The guard beside them exhaled in quiet resignation but motioned them both to follow him.

He led them from the garden, the air growing still as they passed beneath the archway that separated the outer palace from the royal wing.

Mireu slowed, glancing at Ha-ru. “This is…” He trailed off.

“I know,” she said quietly. Her gaze remained steady ahead, though her fingers tightened briefly around the young boy's hand.

They stopped before the tall doors that marked the guests' quarters. The guard gave a respectful bow before sliding one open.

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of ink and candle smoke. Soo-won stood by the window, the faint light from outside tracing the edge of his profile. He didn’t turn when Ha-ru entered; he didn’t need to.

“I was beginning to wonder when you’d come,” he said softly.

Ha-ru stepped inside, her bare feet silent against the polished floor. For a moment, she only looked at him — the same brother who used to braid flowers into her hair in the garden, now standing like a man made of steel and shadow.

Her voice broke the stillness. “It’s tonight, isn’t it?”

The silence that surrounded them was familiar — the one that had settled over their few secret meetings since her imprisonment. He had sent a messenger for her about a month before. Soon, he had whispered. When the time comes, you’ll understand.

Now, standing here, she did.

Her gaze wandered over the maps and letters strewn across his desk. The faint stench of ink circled them.

Soo-won finally turned to meet her eyes. There was no denial in his expression, only quiet resolve. “You already knew it would be.”

“I did,” she murmured. “I suppose a part of me hoped you’d change your mind.” Mireu shifted uncomfortably at her side.

Soo-won sighed softly, and for a fleeting moment, his voice was not that of the man she’d come to know, but of her brother. “You were never meant to be locked away, Ha-ru. I freed you so you could stand in the world again — not so you could stop me.”

“I won’t stop you.” She shook her head, though her voice wavered. “You gave me my freedom. I owe you more than words.

He turned fully to face her, studying her with an unreadable expression. “Then you understand what must happen. You’ll keep quiet, no matter what you see or hear.”

Ha-ru’s fingers curled in the fabric of her robe. “And Yona?”

A pause — brief, heavy. “Yona will be safe — if she stays where she belongs.”

Ha-ru looked away, her chest tight. The memory of them in the snow felt so distant now. She wondered how a thing like that could be true, but knew all the same. She understood the futility of trying to reason with fate.

Her throat dried, but she bowed her head. “If this is your path, Lord Brother… then I will walk beside it, even if I must look away.” She exhaled. “I’ll do as you ask.”

When she looked up again, Soo-won’s expression was one of sorrow at the thought that her younger sister had bowed her head before him. He stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face like he used to when they were children — the last trace of gentleness she would ever feel from him.

Regret flickered across his glossed-over eyes. “You were always better at seeing the truth. So see it now, and survive it. When the night turns… walk away.”

Ha-ru nodded once, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Then I’ll do what I must.”

When she turned to leave, he called to her one last time. “If tonight destroys all that’s left of us—”

She interrupted him with a sad shake of her head. “It already has.” She said no more. Because she knew — if she spoke a single word of warning, everything he’d built, everything he believed he was avenging, would collapse before dawn.

And when the door closed, she sank to her knees, her shackles a reminder to do what had to be done. Mireu sat next to her, pulling her into a warm embrace, his hair brushing her face, soft as the cherry blossoms.

Then, the first firework of Yona’s birthday lit the evening sky — beautiful, fleeting, and soon to burn out.

Chapter Text

The celebration hall shimmered between golden lanterns and draped silk. Musicians played soft, curt melodies. Laughter echoed through the nobles as servants drifted between them with trays of fruit and wine.

Ha-ru lingered at the entrance, the scent of ink faintly clinging to her hair. It had been so long since she’d stood in such warmth — too long. Every voice felt distant, as if she were standing in a dream she had once forgotten. The metal of her shackles was cold against her ankles, grounding her to reality. Mireu stayed close, his hand tightening around her sleeve, a small motion, begging her not to go any further.

“It’ll be alright,” she smiled softly. “I’ll be alright.”

Mireu hesitated, glancing up at her. “You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I know.” She refused to waver now. “It means I’m still alive.”

There was a shift in the polite laughter of the nobles when she entered their view. It was small — practically unnoticeable — but to Ha-ru, who had all five senses in overdrive, it was as clear as a bell.

She had been gone from their world for twelve months; their unease was only to be expected.

The last they’d seen of her, her hair had been shorter and gleaming, brushed smooth each morning by palace attendants. Now it hung long and darker, a shade of gold, dulled by both time and neglect.

“Go on then,” she spoke gently, kneeling to meet Mireu’s gaze. “I’ll find you later.”

He paused, lip caught between his teeth, eyes scanning the room with quiet worry. “Are you sure?”

Ha-ru pressed a tender, fleeting kiss to his forehead. To him, it felt too much like a goodbye, but he knew better than to question her. So he stayed still and watched as Ha-ru melted into the crowd.

Every step carried a silent resolve; the faint chime of her shackles echoed softly beneath the rustle of her robes. And then her eyes found her — Yona.

She was radiant, her laughter ringing across the hall like sunlight, and her hair shining like a brilliant flame. For the first time in months, Ha-ru felt a flicker of ease. Her cousin was a reminder that the world could still hold warmth even during the coldest of nights.

Then their gazes met. Surprise turned into delight as Yona pushed herself through the sea of people.

“Ha-ru!” Yona’s voice rang bright and urgent. “You made it!”

Before Ha-ru could honour an answer, Yona had thrown her arms around her. The smell of lavender enveloped her as she held her cousin in a gentle embrace. Ha-ru froze for a moment before allowing herself to melt into the warmth. She had almost entirely forgotten the heat others held.

“Of course I did,” she murmured. “How could I ever even think of missing your special day?”

Yona laughed breathlessly, pulling away to inspect Ha-ru’s face. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Soo-won told me you’d been ill. I do hope you are feeling better.”

“I am as healthy as I have always been,” Ha-ru said smoothly, her smile steady. “My brother takes good care of me.” A flicker of jealousy flashed in Yona’s eyes at the thought of being cared for by Soo-won.

Across the hall, Ha-ru’s gaze drifted to her brother. His lips were curved in a gentle smile, but his eyes were sharp, sending her a silent warning. The look lasted only a moment, but it was enough to remind her not to stay careful, not to become too comfortable.

Turning back, Ha-ru softened as Yona brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “What happened to your hair?” Yona asked, her tone light but curious. “I loved it so much before.”

Ha-ru nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Do you not like it? I quite like it long,” Yona shook her head sharply, earning a giggle. Their eyes met. “But I love your hair most of all.”

Yona blinked, her smile brightening. “Really? You do?”

“I do,” Ha-ru replied simply. 

Yona’s laughter deepened, her eyes glimmering. “You always say that — even when you don’t mean it.” Her eyes wandered through the crowd until they found Soo-won. “But…” The thought lingered unfinished, yet clear.

Ha-ru noted it — the longing Yona had always felt towards her brother. Amusement touched her face. “Go,” she whispered.

Yona turned back to her, startled.

“He’s waiting,” Ha-ru said, the corners of her mouth curving faintly. “You shouldn’t keep him.”

Yona hesitated, a warm blush clinging to her cheeks. “You’ll come join us soon?”

“I will,” Ha-ru promised. “I’ll go give my regards to your father first.”

Yona nodded, a smile on her cherry lips, before slipping back into the crowd. Ha-ru watched her go, her warmth lingering.

As she reached Soo-won, he turned to greet her with that same patient smile he gave everyone else — but Ha-ru saw the difference. She saw the quiet fondness, the careful restraint, and the guilt.

Her amusement faded. It was not her job to inspect every bit of emotion her brother would show tonight. It was to remain unseen, as always.

Ha-ru’s steps were measured, almost silent if not for the metal clinking of the chains. The hall was warm with the laughter and chatter of nobles, the light from the crystal chandeliers glinted off her silver-blonde hair. She had imagined this moment thousands of times in her head, yet now that it had come, her pulse quickened.

And then his gaze found her.

Il.

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her even before she found him. For a heartbeat, she nearly forgot to breathe. As her eyes found his, her hands shook ever so slightly. His expression stayed perfectly neutral, formal as always, but Ha-ru caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. He had not known she’d been freed, and the thought of that settled like a stone in her chest.

She lowered her head into a shallow bow, careful not to meet his gaze for too long, hiding the rapid beating of her heart. His scrutiny was relentless; she could sense him measuring her every movement.

“Ha-ru…” He said her name in a whisper, carrying an unspoken meaning. It was as gentle as she remembered, but behind it all, she could feel the hostility. And for a fleeting second, despite herself, she recognised him the way Soo-won had: the man who had taken their father’s life, the man unfit to rule.

Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Yes, your majesty,” she replied, voice steady. “I could not miss my cousin’s day.”

Il’s expression did not change, but his eyes lingered on her longer than they should have — searching, weighing, as if trying to decide whether the girl before him was still the same one he had ordered locked away.

“You seem well,” he said at last. A statement which offered nothing, yet demanded everything in return.

Ha-ru kept her head low, refusing to meet his eyes. “Your concern honours me, sire.” The formal tone felt foreign in her mouth, something she had never once before used to address her uncle.

The air between them fell thin, one wrong move and the carefully built facade would crumble — and then, as if on cue, a familiar voice cut through it.

“Your Majesty,” In the shadow of a nearby pillar, Hak leaned lazily, arms crossed, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t take you for the type to corner guests without offering them a drink first.”

Ha-ru turned, and for the first time that evening, her chest loosened. The sight of him — dark hair tussled, the same unreadable expression, and the effortless confidence wafting off him — grounded her in a way she would never openly admit.

Il’s eyes softened with amusement. “Hak, arriving at the perfect moment, as always.”

Hak’s grin widened. “Someone has to make sure the guests don’t mistake the evening for a battlefield.” His gaze flicked toward Ha-ru, sharp, assessing. “It’s good to see you, Lady Ha-ru. You’ve been bedridden so long, I was beginning to think you’d turned into a ghost.”

Ha-ru inclined her head slightly, her smile returning. “Only half a ghost, I assure you.”

Hak huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve never been the type to let a fever win. I’m glad that didn’t change.”

A hint of displeasure glistened across Il’s features, barely noticeable. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said evenly. “It would have saddened Yona had you not been present tonight.”

“Then I’m glad to be here,” Ha-ru answered, voice calm.

Il nodded, his gaze shifting briefly, and his voice carrying a quiet authority but softer than before. “Hak,” he said. “Find Yona for me. I’d like her by my side when the formal greetings begin.”

Hak’s eyes flickered briefly toward Il, expression unreadable, then turned to Ha-ru. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

Ha-ru stepped closer, hoping the chiming of her shackles remained unheard. “I’ll come with you.”

They matched each other's pace. Together, they cut through the crowd, nobles staring at Ha-ru as if they saw an illusion returned to life.

“You know,” Hak murmured, leaning slightly toward her, “for someone rumoured to be at death's door, you’re walking just fine.”

“Rumours tend to exaggerate,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied, half smiling. “So do kings, I’ve learned.”

That earned him the faintest hint of a chuckle, and a look that could almost be called amused — before her gaze drifted ahead.

It didn’t take long to spot Yona. Through the archway of the veranda, the Princess stood, her flame-red hair catching the lantern light, cascading down her shoulders as she brightly laughed at something Soo-won had said. Her eyes sparkled as a soft blush climbed onto her cheeks.

They crossed the hall, stopping at the threshold.

“She’s… lively,” Ha-ru muttered softly.

“Always,” Hak replied, sharp and matter-of-fact.

Ha-ru studied him, her own chest tightening slightly. She’d seen that look before, the way his jaw set ever so slightly when Yona laughed, the sudden tension in his shoulders as if ready to move in a moment's notice. He cared for her — more than he would ever admit out loud. He’d always been good at hiding it.

Ha-ru let herself linger on the thought for a moment, turning her eyes back to Yona, so bright, and Ha-ru hoped she would stay that way forever.

Ha-ru stepped back softly, careful not to draw attention, and spoke in a low voice, meant only for Hak. “You’ll stay by her side forever, won’t you?”

Hak blinked, caught off guard by the question, a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. His mouth parted as if to speak, then he simply straightened, shoulders firm, and then answered with certainty. “It’s my job.”

Ha-ru let out a quiet breath, a small, barely noticeable smile touching her lips. She didn’t need him to say any more. She already knew. “I’m glad.”

Turning on her heel, she left him standing there, unwavering. Ha-ru moved through the crowd, her steps lighter than before, knowing that no matter what the night would bring, at least one person’s loyalty and devotion remained the same.

Her room was smaller than she remembered, simpler. The space was warm with the last light of the sun, spilling through the window and painting everything in shades of gold and rose. Specks of dust drifted lazily in the air; it smelled faintly of old parchment. Everything looked the same, yet the absence of life made it feel almost frozen in time.

Ha-ru moved to the window and leaned against the sill, letting the soft breeze brush her face. It was the first time in over a year she felt at peace. She sank into the chair by the window, allowing herself the time to relax.

A familiar presence made her pause. Almost instinctively, she turned her gaze to the corner of the room.

Gu-en stood there, broad and muscular. His white hair was dishevelled, the bandage around his right arm peeking from beneath his worn armour. Sharp blue eyes scanned the room with that same intensity Ha-ru had come to recognise over the years.

He shifted his weight slightly, the movement carrying the casual recklessness she had always associated with him. Though he had no physical form, to Ha-ru, he seemed as solid as any living person.

“Finally decided to show yourself,” Ha-ru said softly, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile.

Gu-En grinned, leaning slightly as if the air itself could support him. “Ah, you noticed me,” he said, voice carrying that same carelessness it always did. “I was waiting until you had a moment to yourself. Wouldn’t want to startle the young lady after a long imprisonment, now would we?”

Ha-ru laughed, the tension of the day slowly melting away. “You missed bath time,” she remarked. “It was quite eventful.”

Gu-En’s grin widened. “Yeah? There’s just something about seeing my niece naked that doesn’t exactly appease me.” Ha-ru smiled, allowing herself to appreciate his presence for a moment. He had always regarded her as a niece — whether it was because she was his former king’s descendant, not even Il treated her with such consideration.

“Didn’t seem to bother Shu-ten or Abi much.” She mused.

Gu-En shook his head, laughter escaping him. “Those two,” he murmured. “I’ll go teach them family etiquette.”

Ha-ru let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. “A bit late to play the big brother.”

The man clicked his tongue, his gaze falling down where the shackles glinted faintly under the hem of her robe.

“He’s telling me I can’t run,” Ha-ru whispered, the words stuck in her throat, more weary than bitter.

Gu-En’s eyes narrowed, the lightness in his face dimming. “Then he’s a fool if he thinks chains have ever stopped a dragon,” he announced flatly.

Ha-ru’s lips curved faintly. “You forget,” she said quietly, eyes drifting toward the window, where the last light of dusk shone red, “I’m not a dragon.”

Gu-En snorted, folding his arms. “Close enough.”

She turned to look up at him then — this reckless spirit who still spoke as though the world bowed to his strength — and for a moment, it almost comforted her. “Maybe once,” she breathed. “Before they started feeling like home.”

She shifted slightly in the chair, her eyes lingering on the window, following the delicate curves of each rose petal in the garden. Her hands rested lightly on her lap, as she let the silence stretch between them, the only sound the rustle of leaves.

A shimmer of movement caught her attention in the corner of her eye, and two familiar figures slowly materialised from in the doorway. Shu-ten appeared first, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Abi followed, his expression a mix of impatience and something close to boredom.

“Well, well,” Shu-ten spoke first, lips curled into a sly grin. “Look who’s fin’lly here,” he directed at Gu-En.

Ha-ru let them speak without interruption, closing her eyes. She basked in the safety of their presence, wishing that life could remain the same forever, but she knew such a dream was unattainable.

A light brush of air grazed her ear. She opened her eyes and found Abi standing before her. Even with his eyes hidden, his sharp gaze was more than evident. “You can’t keep up appearances, soon it’ll be revealed.”

“How ominous,” Ha-ru breathed a laugh. “I was wondering why you’d come, but it’s for that, huh?” She leaned back, scanning the small crevices on the ceiling, as she contemplated an answer.

“Asta,” Abi said, the name almost void of meaning.

Ha-ru sighed. “Yeah,” she said finally, “I know.”

She hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep until the loud pounding of her door woke her. The sun had fully set, and her three dragon companions were nowhere to be seen, leaving her alone in the darkness of her room.

“Lady Ha-ru!” A faint voice called from behind the walls. Ha-ru recognised the tone – the franticness, the panic — and who it belonged to.

She sprang up from the seat, almost tripping over her shackles as she hurriedly went to open the door. There she found small Mireu, heavily breathing, fists and cheeks red. He stood there ready to burst into tears, hands prepared to strike the entrance again.

Ha-ru kneeled beside him. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She tried keeping calm so as not to worry him more.

“It’s—It’s Lord Soo-won!” He yelled. “He— Princess Yona— it—” His words stumbled; he wasn’t capable of putting it into words, but Ha-ru knew. She knew what had happened since she had closed her eyes.

“That idiot!” She cursed, standing up.

She had told him she would not interfere, not with the king, but she refused to let her cousin suffer the same fate.

“Show me the way,” she ordered Mireu, taking off the outer layers of her robe, giving her better mobility.

Chapter Text

The night was silent.

Even the wind had become still, the faint glow of lanterns the only light illuminating the desolate halls. The only sound of the echo of treading footsteps followed by croaking, harsh breaths.

Ha-ru’s pulse pounded in her ears as she ran, the chains on her ankles clinking against the polished floor. The air was heavy with melancholy — as if the palace itself was holding its breath. Every corner she turned brought another shadow, looming over her, screeching in agony.

Mireu struggled to keep up pace with her. Whatever he had seen haunted his every move. They swept through the corridors — the guard posts all empty. The usual watchmen were all gone, as if they had never been there. And Ha-ru knew the reason all too well.

She paused only for a moment, her eyes scanning ahead. “Where are they?” She demanded, sharp, low.

“The courtyard,” Mireu choked out. “I saw blood— I—”

Ha-ru was on the move before he could speak another word. Sharp rocks scratched at her bare feet as she ran through the dirt of the gardens. Yet she did not stop.

With every second, the voices grew louder. And as they reached the inner courtyard, her chest tightened, filled with a sick heaviness. The air smelled faintly of iron — metallic, sharp, unmistakable. She slowed, one hand braced against the stone wall. “Mireu,” she called quietly, “I can’t promise to shield you from what lies ahead. Make your choice.”

Mireu nodded, his voice gone. He grabbed her hand in his and continued forward.

Ha-ru managed a smile, squeezing his hand in comfort — more for herself than him.

The king's chambers loomed close ahead. Then, the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn echoed in the night air. Beyond the final archway, she saw it. A shadow — standing tall with purpose, certainty, and soaked in blood.

Soo-won.

Ha-ru, without hesitating, let go of Mireu’s hand.

“Soo-won!” She shouted, her voice cutting through the thick silence.

He turned.

For an instant, even time seemed to falter. The lamplight framed him — golden and red, blood streaked across his clothes and face. His sword hung low at his side, still dripping crimson.

The guards who should have been defending the castle now stood by him, led by Kye-Sook — a man Ha-ru had never fancied. Before them, Hak planted himself firmly in front of Yona, a shield of defiance amid a sea of soldiers pressing spears toward him.

Ha-ru surged forward, eyes fixed on her brother. The soldiers tensed, hands hovering above their weapons, but Soo-won, with a single wave of his hand halted them in an instant.

“What are you doing? You told me Yona was going to be safe,” she growled.

Kye-Sook bowed his head to her. “She was a witness,” he said flatly, “even if she were to live, she would only suffer.”

Ha-ru shot him a disapproving glare but remained silent. Her gaze shifted to her cousin, who sat huddled on the ground, cheeks flushed and eyes wet from tears. Her body shook with quiet sobs, and her hands trembled on her lap.

She then looked to Hak, whose usual calm had been replaced by a storm barely contained behind his dark eyes. “Lady Ha-ru…” His voice was low, tight with restrained fury. “Why are you here?” The anger that had once been aimed at others now seemed to linger on her.

She swallowed, her eyes flicking to Soo-won, standing calm and composed despite the blood painting his face and clothes. “I think you know,” she said quietly, stepping back to fall in line beside her brother. It was a silent declaration of where her loyalties lay.

Yona, still curled on the ground, cheeks streaked with tears, looked up, eyes wide with disbelief, her voice trembling, “Y-you knew?” she choked out. “And you… And you still kept silent?” Her voice broke.

“Yona—” Ha-ru started, but her words were cut short.

Kye-Sook stepped forward, the sound of his boots striking the floor echoing through the night. His eyes were sharp and unflinching as he spoke.“They have never been on your side, Princess,” he said coldly, the words carrying an unyielding authority. “You see, the girl you have called ‘Ha-ru’... never truly existed. The one who stands before you now is none other than Lord Soo-won’s younger brother, Lord Asta.”

A hush fell over the crowd, broken only by Yona’s sharp intake of breath and the quiet scrape of armour. Even Hak’s posture stiffened, his jaw clenching – either in anger or disbelief.

Ha-ru—no, Asta—stepped forward, eyes burning with intensity. “Kye-Sook,” he said sharply, trying to keep himself together. “That is enough.”

His eyes swept over the courtyard, lingering briefly on Soo-won, before returning to Yona: his cousin and childhood friend. “Understand that I never wanted to hurt you,” his voice was soft, a hint of sadness hiding in it. “Everything that has happened tonight was to protect this kingdom.”

Hak took a step forward, unflinching as the blades pressed close enough to graze his skin. “Protecting? By killing our kind king? You call that protecting?” He spat out, harsh and cold.

Asta's gaze flicked to him. “It had to be done—”

“No,” Hak snapped, every word laced with fury. “There’s nothing you could ever gain from killing him!”

“You think I haven’t paid a price?” Asta’s voice rose, raw and strained. “That this—” hid expression faltered, pain flashing across his face. “All of this — came without a cost?” His hands trembled, though his voice did not. “You don’t have to forgive me–” he glanced at Soo-won — “us.” He corrected, “But you will understand one day.”

His eyes shifted to Yona — softening. “Yona—”

Hak moved instantly, placing himself between them. Asta froze, the corner of his mouth tightening into a faint, sorrowful smile. “Then hate me if you must,” he said quietly. “But live. That is all I–” he hesitated, voice breaking, “—no, that’s all his majesty ever wanted.”

A sharp whistle split the air.

An arrow split the ground between them with a heavy thud. The impact scattered a cloud of dust, and for an instant, every soldier’s gaze darted toward the source — confusion rippling through them.

In that fleeting second, Hak pulled Yona against him, his arm sliding firmly around her waist as he lifted her off the ground. In a heartbeat, he pushed through the confusion — darting between the guards. The shouts of the soldiers grew behind them, but by the time they had realised what had happened, Hak was gone.

Asta’s eyes found Mireu, the boy standing small and tense in the corner. His gaze was steady — too steady for someone his age. For a moment, neither spoke — only a faint understanding passing between them. Then Asta gave a small, faint nod.

Mireu returned it once, wordless, before turning away and slipping quietly into the shadows.

“You let them escape,” Kye-Sook’s voice cut through the air, filled with accusation.

Asta ignored him, looking to his elder brother. “I’d hope one murder was enough for you tonight.”

Soo-won’s fingers stilled against the hilt of his sword. His shadow stretched long and thin as the fire of the torches hissed.

“Watch your tongue, Asta.”

“Then watch your hands,” the younger snapped, stepping closer until they could feel their body heat radiating from each other. “You’ve drenched enough of the floor tonight.”

He reached for his brother's sword.

The movement was unhurried — not a threat, not contempt. Kye-Sook flinched, one hand half-raised as if to stop him, but something in Asta’s face froze him where he stood. There was no rage, no pleading — only a hollow calm, a silence that had seen too much blood to be startled by more.

Asta’s hand closed around the hilt. The weight of it was familiar in a way that made his stomach churn. He drew it from Soo-won’s hand, his reflection staring back at him on its bloodied blade.

Without sparing a glance at anyone, he lifted the hem of his robe, revealing the iron clasped tightly around his ankles. The skin beneath them was bruised purple and raw where the metal had rubbed bone.

One breath.

Then another.

He swung.

The chain shattered. The broken links leapt across the wood like fallen stars. The cuffs remained, gleaming like silver ghosts around his ankles.

Asta lowered the sword. A man he did not recognise mirrored him in the crimson-stained steel — pale face, hollow eyes, and the look of someone who had once believed in peace. He let the weapon fall from his grip. It struck the floor, the ring of it like a bell mourning for the dead.

“I hope you’re happy now,” he said. The words were quiet, low, but they held an indescribable kindness when spoken.

He turned away before anyone could answer. He didn’t turn back at Soo-won, or Kye-Sook, nor did he try to search for Hak — because he knew that when the thunder beast made a promise, he always kept it. He just walked the way he had come.

His bare feet left faint smears across the floors, a trail of red with every step. And behind him, the silence held, as if the world itself was afraid to breathe.

Chapter Text

When Asta was born, the name for what he was did not exist. The midwives hadn’t known what to call him, chanting prayers as they wrapped him in silk. A son, a daughter, a mistake — he was an abnormality.

His mother, however, did not care for what he was. She had named him Asta, a word that meant “between stars.”

In the palace records, the truth had been written only once — a single line buried beneath layers of ink and secrecy. It was never spoken of aloud again, and eventually, people forgot. But Asta never did; it followed him everywhere he went, haunting his every move.

He was a sickly child, more so than his brother. The illness had cuddled him soon after his birth, leaving him alone in between four walls and familiar faces. Servants mourned him even before he was gone.

It was only after the passing of his father, when he was seven, that he was finally able to step beyond the confines of his chamber. Not long after the funeral rite, Soo-won came to him with the true story of their father’s death. 

It was then that he asked Asta a favour. He would take him into the palace under a false identity, knowing no one would doubt he was a girl. It would make gathering information much easier, he explained. It was only a request, one Asta could refuse. But he agreed. Not only because he wanted the truth of his father’s fate, but after so long being confined to his bed, he was glad at the chance to move freely.

And he wanted to help his big brother.

So, they gave him the name Ha-ru, a word that meant “one day”.

Over time, even he began to forget that it was not his name. He grew to be unsure whether the person he presented at the palace or the one he was with his family was the real him.

He had never imagined the time would come when he would face that realisation. That he was no longer “Ha-ru”, the one he had been for ten long years.

A shell of Ha-ru, though faint, remained. For she had been more than a name — she had been the face the world believed, the careful mask he had woven to navigate society. And in the very back of Asta’s mind, the mask had become a part of him.

It was not only because of the face the world demanded, but because Ha-ru knew a freedom Asta never had. As Asta, all he’d done was lie ill in bed, but Ha-ru lived a life without illness. Over the years, the line between the two blurred until he could not remember where one ended and the other began.

And so, slowly, he chose to embrace her. In Ha-ru, he had found a strength he had not known he was capable of having. Even when the name Ha-ru had been burned from records, yet in choosing her,  he honoured both — the child born between stars and the child born for revenge.

She was not a lie; she was a life shaped by choice, not bound by expectations nor reality. And her hollow shell found itself in Asta, just as fierce, if not more so, than when she was in control.

Asta had not seen the dragons since that day. She wasn’t sure whether they were avoiding her on purpose or if their energy had finally faded.

She herself had not stepped outside her room since either. She lay in bed, leaving her long hair to gather tangles. Time had blended for her; whether it was day or night, she was unsure.

She ate only when forced, she did not bathe, and she let her wounds rot. She slept the days away, not knowing how many had passed. It could have been one day or one week.

The few links that had stuck to each cuff on her ankles scratched at her in desperation, but she never moved.

There was a knock on the door. She did not answer.

“My Lord?” It was Mireu. His voice was faint behind the wall. “A five tribe meeting is about to begin. Sir Kye-Sook asked if you would attend.”

For a brief moment, Asta’s eyes snapped open, only to realise quickly that Hak wouldn’t have returned for a meeting like that. They must have summoned Mundok in his stead. Seeing him wouldn’t have been so bad, but she knew she couldn’t face him, not the way she was now.

“My Lord?” Mireu’s voice sounded again, but when he received no answer, his footsteps echoed on the wooden flooring as he left the room back into its deafening silence.

Asta did not move. The faint light from the window fell across her face, illuminating the elegant curve of her jaw and the shadows beneath her eyes. Every breath felt heavier than the last as the seconds ticked by.

Asta dreamed of the beginning that night.

An untold tale from 2000 years ago, and it started with the scent of rain.

It was a courtyard of white stone and flickering lanterns. The temple bells rang in slow, distant tones, and the wind carried the sound like a song of mourning.

Under the rainfall, there stood a woman.

Her robes clung to her, dark and soaked. Her hands were clasped together, whether in prayer or in some silent pleading, Asta could not tell. The rain streaked down her face, tracing the lines of sorrow too old to name. Her head was raised to the heavens, her eyelids gently closed.

Her breathing was slow, falling in rhythms with the rain. When her eyes opened, she blinked away the droplets from her lashes that had been glimmering on them like small pearls. And when her gaze shifted, it did not merely pass through Asta but settled on her.

She smiled faintly.

“You look like him,” she whispered. “The one who fell from the stars.”

Asta’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache wandering through her. She felt as though she should know her, and yet, she didn’t.

The woman’s eyes softened, like she were recalling a memory. “Do you remember him?” She asked, tilting her head slightly. “Or are you too young to carry the weight of the skies?” Her words carried an unspoken sadness.

Asta stepped closer, soft and careful. “Who are you?”

The woman’s gaze lingered on her, unblinking, until a soft smile of sorrow captured her lips. “I am the one who guides gods,” she breathed. “The one who brought them into this world.”

Asta’s pulse quickened. “The… gods?”

The woman nodded slowly, her wet hair clinging to her face. “Yes,” she murmured, voice almost lost beneath the rain. “The sky, however, does not belong on earth. Or so I told them.”

The words felt heavy in the damp air.

“They chose, despite my warning,” she continued, eyes distant. “To give a fragment of their powers to humans. A shard of themselves, their strength…” She finally let her hands fall. “In return, they asked the humans for a singular thing. They asked them to protect their brother.”

Asta’s brows furrowed, her lips parting before tightly shutting again without letting a single sound escape.

A silence fell over them, only interrupted by the steady rhythm of the rain as it reached the grass.

The moment was interrupted as a soldier ran into the courtyard, breathless, armour worn and smeared with blood. He looked straight through Asta, as if he was unable to see her where she stood.

“Lady Saorin! They’ve breached the northern border!”

The woman’s eyes flickered toward the soldier, calm and unreadable, though the faintest crease in her brow betrayed a shadow of worry. She did not flinch at the words, nor did she move to flee.

“So it has begun,” she said. “Inform King Hiryuu, I will hold the mountain pass as long as I can.”

The soldier hesitated. “You’ll die there.”

The words hung in the air like a weighted stone. Saorin’s smile did not flicker; it only grew a still resolve.

“My fate has long since been written in the stars,” she replied as the rain fell to a sudden stop. “The most I can do is die where the sun shines.”

The soldier wavered before eventually bowing low. “Then I will carry your words, My Lady.”

Saorin inclined her head once — it was soft, sorrowful, not a command but a farewell. “Go.” She said, “Be a witness for the new dawn.”

He turned and fled, boots striking the ground beneath.

The courtyard fell silent again. The clouds remained thick even once the shower had ended. Saorin stood alone in the grass, her gaze still lingering where the soldier had gone.

She eventually lifted her hand toward the sky, fingers trembling. “The gods were foolish,” she murmured. “But so are we.” She let her eyes fall on Asta for one final time. “When the sky weeps again, I pray that you remember me. Remember your purpose.”

Asta’s throat tightened as she next spoke, only able to let a single word escape it. “Purpose?”

Saorin smiled tenderly at her. With a single step, she closed the space between them, pressing her forehead lightly against hers. Asta froze, the warmth of her touch anchoring her to the moment.

“Guide them,” she whispered. “Guide them the way I could not.”

When she stepped back, turning away, she lingered but a second longer. “Do not falter,” she said. “For I will be with you.”

Asta remained still as Saorin began to walk, and yet, an unseen force seemed to draw her away. The courtyard shrank in her vision, the white stones and flickering lanterns until they vanished entirely.

When she woke, Saorin’s warm touch and the taste of rain still lingered.

Asta had long since her childhood carried the habit of scratching her arms whenever anxiety clawed at her. Now, pale skin was etched with the faint, restless marks of old and new alike. This was the reason she’d always kept her nails short, but now they had grown long and sharp.

She’d begun doing so even unconsciously, as if it had become a language she could not stop from speaking. Every line on her arm felt alive, a whisper of her unease, and that the day ahead — Soo-won’s coronation — was one she could not flee.

Beyond her walls, the palace buzzed with life. The faint sounds of hurried footsteps, the clatter of armour, and the rustle of silks filled the air — each sound a reminder of the day's purpose.

Asta lay in bed, her back half turned to the light seeping in through the thin curtains. The sounds felt distant, like they belonged in a world she did not.

She curled her fingers slightly, feeling the sting of the fresh scratches lining her arms. The room smelled faintly of dust and blood, untouched since Mireu’s visit from the day before.

She pressed her nails lightly onto her skin, leaving shallow crescents behind. Ha-ru would have smiled on this day, would have stood with the crowd and cheered for the new era. She would have rushed to assist in setting up, to do whatever she could for the sake of her brother. But Ha-ru no longer existed, and in her stead, Asta remained.

A stranger who could not find the strength to move, even for her brother's coronation.

“My Lord?”

Asta’s eyes flickered open, unfocused. She hadn’t noticed when Mireu had entered the room— hadn’t heard the creak of the door or the soft click of boots. The boy stood by the doorway, hesitant, his hands clasped at his side.

His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his hair neatly brushed for the ceremony. “I’ve been— uhm…” He drifted off, as if he had forgotten the words he’d been meaning to say.

Just then, the door creaked wider, hinges groaning in quiet protest as it slammed against the wall. A woman stepped through, unhurried and as though she had never needed permission to enter.

The hem of her robes brushed across the floor, echoing a whisper. She paused only long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and then her gaze found Asta. A small, knowing smile curved on her lips as though she’d expected to find the younger girl exactly like this.

“Young Master,” she spoke with a confidence that heavied the air. Looking down with clear condescension, eyes painted with a fury no one else could carry while speaking to royalty.

She tugged harshly at the sheets that cloaked Asta, almost as if commanding her to rise.

When she realised the young lady would not stir, she instead delivered a sharp kick, sending her sliding off the bed.

“Hina!” Mireu shouted, fear cracking in his voice; it almost sounded like he was scolding her.

Asta raised her head for the first time that day. Her eyes, heavy and glassy from sleep, blinked slowly. For a moment, she seemed unsure of where she was. Then, recognition settled over her features, fleeting but unmistakable.

“...Hina,” she croaked, her voice raw, almost alien even to herself. She tried to pull herself up, but her limbs felt like jelly, refusing to obey. “You’re back…”

The woman stood at the foot of the bed, the curl of her smile never faltering. Her ash blonde hair flowed in smooth curls along her back, a crown braid sitting neatly through her hair like a halo. She ignored Asta’s words, as if she had never spoken. “The day is already upon us, and it waits for no one.”

Asta wanted to shrink back beneath her covers, to vanish entirely, but the glaring eyes staring at her rooted her to her spot.

“Hiding will not serve you today,” Hina said, her voice softer now. Her gaze shifted to Mireu. “Make sure she bathes while I go fetch her clothing.” As if sensing Asta stiffening in silent protest, she turned to her. “You do not have a choice in this, Young Master.”

And with no warning, she disappeared just as fast as she had arrived.

Asta blinked, staring at the space where Hina had been moments before. The room felt colder, quieter, as if the air itself was mourning the commanding presence. Mireu shifted nervously by the door, clearly unsure how to proceed.

For a heartbeat, Asta remained frozen, every instinct urging her to curl back into her silk sheets and pretend the day did not exist. But Hina’s words remained, echoing in the silence— hiding will not serve you today.

Asta knew those words to be the truth, and perhaps it was hearing them that made her truly understand their weight.

With a trembling breath, she forced herself upright, letting the heaviness of the moment settle on her shoulders. The formal robe she had yet to remove — despite multiple days passing — rustled as she moved.

Light from between the curtains shone across her face, illuminating the faint but certain glow of sorrow in her eyes. “Mireu,” she spoke, almost a whisper. The young boy flinched at the call of his name, for the lady had not spoken a singular word to him since that night. “Accompany me to the baths.”

Mireu halted but a moment before slowly lowering himself into a bow. He did not speak, in fear of Asta changing his mind if he did.

The bustling of the palace halls seemed to stop upon the first step Asta took outside her chambers. It was as if time itself had stopped; no servant dared to speak. They avoided the girl’s gaze like it were a plague threatening their lives. Faint echoes of whispers bounced off the walls, all repeating the same question — “What happened?”

Asta moved slowly, carefully, as if her legs had forgotten the act of walking. Her bare feet pressed against the wooden floor, the links on her cuffs clinking on it faintly, announcing her presence to all they passed.

Mireu stayed close, just behind her, keeping his head down, eyes flickering between her and the surrounding staff.

When they reached the bath chamber, Asta paused at the threshold, the faint scent of herbs swallowing her. She did not let herself hesitate, and so, with a shuddering exhale, she stepped inside.

The servants quickly retreated, giving her space. Steam clung to her hair and skin as she slowly let herself remove the robe that had almost become one with her skin. Her trembling fingers traced the scars on her arms, a feeling of fear touching her.

Mireu stayed close beside her, guiding her toward the bath's edge. He held her hands as she lowered herself onto the stone ledge, the surface rippling when her feet slipped into the water. A sharp shiver ran through her as the heat met her skin — the sting of open wounds blooming through her like fire.

Mireu tended to her with gentle care, wiping her skin with a warm, damp cloth. When he noticed she could not bring herself to fully submerge into the rippling water, he said nothing — only fetched a small basin, filled it, and began to wash her hair instead. His fingers moved tenderly through the tangled strands; his touch was soft and careful, as though touching something invaluable and fragile.

Asta sat still, her shoulders slumped, eyes unfocused on the steam curling in the air. The warmth that should have comforted her instead made her chest ache— a harsh reminder of what life once was.

A few strands of hair clung to her face. She lifted a trembling hand to push them away, flinching slightly at her own touch as if she hadn’t felt it in years. “Thank you,” she murmured, barely audible, her voice so thin it could snap like a string at any moment.

Mireu paused, hands frozen in her hair, his eyes wide. It had been so long since she’d spoken to him without it feeling as if she was somewhere far he couldn’t reach. “You don’t need to—”

“Mireu,” she cut in softly. “You’ve been here every day, haven’t you?”

He hesitated before nodding. “Yes, my…” he halted. “Yes, Young Master.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Then you already know I don’t deserve it.”

The words hung in the air as a silence grew, a silence Mireu was unsure if he was allowed to break. So instead, he continued brushing his hands through her hair; it was an answer, in and of itself.

Asta leaned her head back, eyes closed, her hands resting on the white marble next to her. “Everyone is waiting for him,” she whispered, her voice trembling, as if she were telling a confession. “For Soo-won. For everything he promised but I—” Her words faltered.

“I can’t seem to remember what I was waiting for.”

The quiet that followed was heavy, but Mireu simply continued rinsing her sandy hair. The act was gentle, patient, a promise that even if she couldn’t remember, she would not be alone.

The sound of the door sliding open broke the stillness.

Hina stepped into the chamber, her confidence still as clear as day. Draped over her arms were layers of cloth and silk. She paused by the threshold, her eyes scanning the steam-filled room.

“Glad to see you’ve risen,” she nodded in approval. She received no answer, but there was no expectation on her face for one.

She crossed the chamber in only a few but graceful steps, footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. The faint scent of jasmine trailed behind her, a clear sign that she’d just come from the medical ward. She set the folded garments gently on a nearby bench before kneeling to Asta’s level.

“Start drying her,” she said to Mireu. “I’ll see to the bandages,” she spoke almost in a way that sounded as if Asta wasn’t there.

Mireu only nodded, moving quickly to fetch a dry towel.

Hina unwrapped a roll of clean linen, beginning to gently bind Asta’s wounds. Her expression remained unreadable as she worked, focused only on covering the wounds.

“You’ll wear long sleeves today,” she spoke, at last. “No one needs to see this.”

Asta’s lips parted, but she said nothing.

Hina tied the last bandage, her hand briefly resting on Asta’s arm. “When you leave here,” she said softly. “Remember who you are— whose name you bear.”

She stood, laying next to her the clothing she had brought. “Dress. The ceremony will begin soon,” she brushed a strand of hair from Asta’s face. “It will not wait for you.” With that, she turned and left.

Asta stared at the white silk, eyes unfocused, her gaze following the small golden details embroidered into the cloth. After a long pause, she rose, her long golden hair falling neatly down her back.

“Help me dress,” she murmured, barely audible, but carrying an unspoken resolve.

Chapter Text

Asta’s long hair had been tied into a thin braid, swaying lightly with the wind. She stood hidden among the nobles, but close enough to the stage to be considered royalty. Her hair shimmered softly in the morning sun, strands catching the light like burnished gold.

The ceremony had already begun by the time she had arrived, and yet it felt like it had been waiting for her all the same.

Her eyes traced the figure on stage— the man dressed in white and gold, with a calm so cold it almost seemed cruel. The same light that blessed him seemed to burn her. Soo-won. Her brother, and now, the king.

His gaze swept through the crowd as it hushed. Asta was supposed to be unseen— simply another face among the people, but the moment his eyes fell on her, it was as if the world had broken in half— a clear line now drawn between the siblings, one that could never be undone.

His expression did not falter, not even slightly, but his eyes lingered on her longer than they should have.

And for nought but a second, who Asta saw before was not a king, but the boy she remembered. The boy who used to laugh too easily, who’d run through the gardens with her, who held her hand and whispered stories to chase away her fevers.

The moment lasted a single moment before Soo-won pulled away his gaze, as if she were no more but a loyal subject attending his coronation.

Asta’s chest tightened, tears stinging her eyes that she refused to let fall.

Her heart beat too loudly for her to hear the cheers, the yells. Her bandaged fingers tightened around the sleeves of her robe until her knuckles turned white. She tried telling herself that this was for the better, that this was what they wanted, but she could not ignore the growing lump of guilt in the back of her mind.

Her gaze turned toward the sky, like a refusal to see her brother don a crown. She gently shut her eyes, mourning for the boy she once knew.

Asta couldn’t make it too far from the ceremony when a familiar voice called out, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

“Lady Asta!”

She froze, going over a thousand greetings in her head. Turning, she was met with the elder of the Wind Tribe — Lord Mundok — striding toward her with the exact strength she remembered from childhood. Behind him, followed a young man, his dark hair tussled and a lazy yawn escaping as he walked with his hands tucked behind his head.

“Lord Mundok,” Asta greeted, steadying her breath and straightening her posture. Her voice was calm, composed—betraying none of the turmoil boiling inside. “It has been far too—”

Before she could finish, Mundok pulled her into a rough, grounding embrace. His arms were still strong despite his age, smelling faintly of dust and smoke.

“Thank the gods you’re safe,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “I tried to see you before, but those blasted guards turned me away.” His blue eyes softened when he finally stepped back, studying her face. “Even told me I was using the wrong name.”

Asta blinked, caught between surprise and guilt. “...I’m sorry, Lord Mundok. You shouldn’t have troubled yourself.”

“Trouble myself?” he huffed, a small scowl decorating his features. “Grandkids are all but trouble.” An unspoken memory glinted in his eye. “Don’t you apologise for still breathing, girl.”

Asta, even if only for a moment, allowed herself to relax as the man held her shoulders. Her gaze shifted to the young man; he couldn’t have been much older than she. He blinked at her, his expression one of boredom.

“And this is?” she asked, curiosity slipping into her tone.

“Tae-Woo,” Mundok announced, jerking his thumb toward the youth. “The next general of the Wind Tribe.”

Asta twitched, but kept her composure, refusing to let the surprise show. The new general, however, seemed to notice, though he stayed silent.

The girl’s lips curved into a tight and knowing smile. “A pleasure, Lord Tae-Woo.” She started to lift her hand for a shake but drew it back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the layers of bandages wrapped around her fingers.

Tae-Woo gave a short nod. “Just Tae-Woo’s fine.” His voice was casual, as if he were greeting an old friend instead of a royal.

Asta blinked, a hint of amusement softening her guarded expression. It had been far too long since anyone had referred to her without ceremony. “Then,” she said after a beat, “you may simply call me Asta.”

The air stilled, the words hanging in silence for but a moment before a loud bark shattered it, not allowing either of them to speak.

“Boy!” Mundok roared, his eyebrows furrowing. “You will not address her that casually! Ever!”

Tae-Woo shrugged, as if the angry words had nothing to do with him. “Yes, yes, Elder Mundok, I’ll carve it into my heart.” He muttered under his breath, though his expression remained unreadable.

Asta almost laughed. Almost. The smallest flicker of warmth crossed her features before it disappeared as fast as it had appeared, as the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall.

Kye-Sook appeared from the archway, his posture precise and cold. He bowed swiftly, eyes flicking between her and the Wind Tribe pair.

“Your Highness,” he said, voice smooth like polished glass. “His Majesty requests your presence.”

Asta paused at the title, the momentary peace vanishing as if it had never been. Her smile fell, replaced by the same poised stillness she had learned to wear. She gave Tae-Woo a nod, Mundok a fleeting look of apology, and turned toward the chambers where Soo-won waited.

As she walked, her robe had shifted, creeping up just enough to reveal the bandaged skin of her feet and the metal cuffs that still bound her. Panic fluttered in her chest as she yanked the fabric down, almost as if she could erase what had been shown.

She risked a glance back, her heart pounding only louder. Tae-Woo — though his expression remained easy and relaxed — had caught it. His eyes had flicked down and lingered, if only for a moment.

Asta met his gaze, searching for judgment and finding none. She couldn’t speak there, not freely. Instead, she brought a finger to her lips— a silent plea asking to keep what he had seen a secret.

Tae-Woo inclined his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge her signal, his calm, laid-back demeanour never wavering.

The stillness of the moment was no more than a few seconds, yet it felt much longer. And then, as if nothing had happened, Asta straightened her posture, following Kye-Sook without sparing another word.

Asta stepped into the office, the faint scent of sandalwood and ink washing over her. Papers lay strewn across the desk— remnants of a chaos unknown to her.

Soo-won stood near the tall window at the back, back turned to her, his hands clasped loosely around his back, posture flawless. Light poured through the curtains, tracing the sharp line of his profile.

Asta crossed the room with soft, cautious steps. Her eyes drifted across the desk— among the papers, ink pots, and pens, there rested something that didn’t belong.

Tied with a small silk ribbon lay a lock of red hair.

Asta froze. The colour was unmistakable, glimmering in the morning light— vivid as a flame.

She reached out, her fingers trembling as she brushed them over the strands, cold to the touch.

Her breath hitched, chest tightening. She knew what it meant, yet she refused to accept it.

When she spoke, her voice was low, edged with disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

Only then did Soo-won turn, his expression calm and composed— filled with a quiet restraint. His gaze refused to fall on the hair, instead stopping at his sister.

For a beat, neither spoke. Only the sound of the wind filled the silence.

When he answered, his tone was almost too gentle for what he said. “Yona is dead.”

The world seemed to still.

Asta blinked, her breath catching in her throat. “No—” she started, shaking her head.

Her voice faltered, the lock of hair slipped from her fingers, falling soundlessly onto the floor. The words hit her like thrown stones, one after another, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. A sharp, violent cough tore itself out of her— harsh and raw. The faint taste of iron touched her tongue, careful but unmistakable.

She staggered a step back, her hand flying to her lips as she tried to muffle it, but the sound echoed loudly in the quiet room.

Kye-Sook, who had remained stationed silently at the doorway, stepped toward her— something that could almost be called concern flickering across his features.

She waved him off, her other hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. “That’s not—” she rasped, her voice unsteady. Another dry cough wracked her chest, staining her sleeve with drops of crimson. She pulled her hand behind her back, hiding it from her brother.

When she spoke again, her breath came in shallow bursts. “That’s not possible,” her voice was a hoarse and trembling whisper. “She was with Hak—”

“She fell,” Soo-won interrupted softly, a faint break in his composure visible in the tightening of his jaw. “They both did. The cliffs on the border of the Fire and Wind.”

“You sent people to confirm?” she steadied herself, her tone a prayer. But she already knew the answer from how he stood— he’d already accepted it as truth.

“There’s nothing left to confirm,” he said.

Asta blinked, her eyes flickering toward the clump of hair at her feet. “How can you say it like that?” Her voice cracked, betraying the hurt she’d tried to hide. “Like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t—”

“Because if I don’t,” Soo-won said. There was no arrogance in his voice, no justification. There was only weary conviction. “Then we’ll never be able to move forward, the way this country needs.”

Asta scoffed, disbelief in her voice. “She loved you, Soo-won. She loved you, and this is how you repay that love?”

“You think I don’t love them?” The question hung between them in the stillness— too gentle and too human.

She raised her head to meet his gaze, then. Something unreadable glimmered in his eyes. “Yet it feels as if you’ve already buried them.”

Soo-won answered, unyielding. “A king cannot mourn like you can, brother—”

“Sister.” Asta interrupted, her voice cut through the air, sharp and deliberate. “You buried your brother ten years ago.”

Soo-won hesitated, turning away his gaze. “You shouldn’t have come here, Asta. Not today.”

Her laugh was hollow. “And yet, you called for me.”

He said nothing.

Asta’s eyes turned once more toward the strands of hair, hiding in the shadow of the desk. And when she finally looked back at him, she understood.

“You’re already mourning her,” she murmured. “But you never let her linger long enough to forgive you.”

That struck him— faint but recognisable. The small twitch in his hand, the breath he held in for a little too long, and the quiet sorrow that flickered across his features.

Asta turned to leave, the air heavy behind her.

When she reached the door, she paused, her hand frozen midair. And when she spoke, her tone was low, stricken with a grief she tried desperately to hide.

“Congratulations on the coronation, Your Majesty.” She didn’t look back.

The door shut softly behind her.

Outside, the hall was cold. She pressed her back to the wall, sliding down, eyes closing. For the first time since the ceremony, the tears finally came— quiet, restrained, unstoppable.

Meanwhile, in a secluded valley, hidden away from the world, a man kneels in silent prayer. In response, the gods whisper to him a soundless melody.

In the hush between moonset and dawn, the gods whisper of a silver star.

Born of crown and blade, her blood remembers both mercy and wrath.

Her hands, wrapped in white, shall bear the weight of unseen sins.

Her voice will call ruin upon kings and solace to the broken.

The Dragon’s gaze will falter in her wake.

The king shall know her face and tremble before it.

The Wind will carry her name to those who should not hear it,

And the Earth will tremble when she stands beside the sun once more.

When the rivers run red and the moon turns its back,

The silver star stands at the world’s divide.

And she must choose—

To mend what was broken,

Or to let the kingdom drown in its own sins.

Chapter Text

The doors to Hiryuu’s shrine hung slightly ajar, as if the wind itself had pushed them open. The great hall beyond them stood silent and dark— no guards, no priests, no burning incense. Only the heavy air of forgotten prayers left behind.

At the heart of the shrine, before the great coffin of Hiryuu, a girl knelt. Her blonde hair spilt over her shoulders and stone, like sunlight streaming through a dusty window. Her breathing came in soft, shallow gasps that filled the stillness.

The bandages wrapped around her hands had become loose, hanging in tatters. The tips of her fingers were raw, the skin torn and reddened, blood blooming faintly where she’d clawed at the sealed coffin, desperate and relentless.

Her forehead rested between her arms against the lid now, her shoulders trembling from exhaustion. The stone felt impossibly cold beneath her skin, but she refused to move away.

Her mouth moved with a whisper, something too faint to hear— whether a plea, a curse, or a confession, even the gods could not tell. And her eyes stung red, evidence of tears long since dried.

“...Please,” her voice was weary and trembling. “Where are you?”

After a long, unmoving silence, she finally lifted her head. A loose strand of blonde hair fell across her vision, blurring the world in front of her— an unwelcome reminder of her brother. Then, something shifted inside her— slowly at first, then all at once —fury drowning out the grief that had consumed her. 

“You!” The cry burst from her throat, raw and vicious, tearing through like a wound reopening. Her trembling hands went to her hair, clutching fistfuls of it before ripping them out, one after another. The sound of her breathing turned ragged, breaking into a sob that was no longer sorrow but rage.

Her gaze fell upon a sword displayed along the far wall. She stumbled toward it, seized the hilt, and swung without thought— wild, reckless strikes that sent golden strands scattering across the cold floor.

Outside, a low rumble rolled across the sky, the first growl of distant thunder.

“You— You— You—!” she shouted again and again, the sound of her rage echoing off the shrine walls. By the time the blade stilled, her once long hair now fell in short, uneven waves that framed her face and brushed lightly against her neck, the jagged ends curling from the damp of her sweat.

The sword slipped from her trembling grasp. She sank to her knees, surrounded by a sea of gold, and this time when the sobs came, they didn’t stop. They poured out endlessly, like a rippling river, and for the first time in a long time, there was no one to comfort her.

What good was being a descendant of Hiryuu if all he did was shorten her life?

She lost track of time, sitting there until a second rumble rolled from the heavens, deeper and louder than before. She heard the faint fall of droplets touching the ground and the ancient hinges of the doors whispering with every coming breeze.

She watched the entrance in quiet stillness, the smell of rain reaching her nostrils like a burning incense. There, she remembered the words told to her nights earlier, in a dream she’d long since forgotten.

“When the sky weeps again, I pray that you remember me. Remember your purpose.” Saorin had pleaded with her then.

And now, Asta remembered. She remembered the warm touch of the lady in grey and the same scent of rain that surrounded her now. Her legs shook as she rose, trembling under her weight. Steadying herself, she began to slowly stumble toward the threshold.

When she stepped out of the shrine, she was immediately met by a torrential downpour, rain lashing against her skin and soaking her clothes.

Thunder rumbled, a sudden flash of lightning illuminating her and only her, as if it were the heavens themselves calling for Asta. She bolted up the stairs, each step slipping beneath her drenched feet.

As her balance faltered, her gaze remained focused on the clouded sky, waiting for a second light in between the dark clouds. And when it came, her eyes followed the brilliance until the moment it vanished.

But she knew exactly where it guided her— and where she had to go now.

The Earth Tribe.

Asta stood before the tall mirror, her reflection framed by the soft glow of candles. The sound of rain tapping against the roof filled the room, steady and insistent, as if it was the heartbeat of the palace itself. She took in a short breath, letting the rhythmic patter of the water calm her nerves.

Carefully, she slipped into plain white harem pants, the fabric soft against her legs, then drew on a matching dress shirt, its frilly sleeves brushing lightly against her wrists with each movement. She adjusted the blue sash around her waist, tying it securely, and letting her fingers linger on it a beat more than necessary.

It had been far too long since Asta had been able to dress so comfortably for anything— it gave her the space to breathe.

She watched herself in the mirror, the reflection unfamiliar. She tilted her head, eyes tracing the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her shoulders, the darkness under her eyes. She reached up and fastened feathered earrings in each ear, the tiny plumes dancing lightly with every movement.

Cautiously, she peeled away the bandages that had encased her hands for so long, the faint marks of old injuries visible beneath. She replaced them with white gloves, stretching the soft fabric over her fingers, and flexed her hands, enjoying the small sensation of freedom.

For a long moment, she simply stared at herself, letting the silence fill the room. That minute was fragile, suspended between what had been and what was to come. Then, with a quiet exhale, she called Mireu’s name.

Almost instantly, a small knock sounded at the door. Asta opened it without hesitation. There stood the small boy, his eyes wide, taking in her appearance— the less than noble outfit, the short hair —and he paused, unsure of what to say.

“Bring me a sword,” she instructed, leaving no room for argument.

Mireu’s lips parted, then pressed together as he nodded. Slowly, he stepped back, retreating to fetch the weapon. His small figure seemed heavier than usual, burdened by the weight of uncertainty.

Left alone once more, Asta moved back to the mirror, her fingers brushing the smooth surface as if seeking assurance from her own reflection.

She pulled out a few hidden strands of Yona’s vivid red hair she’d taken from Soo-won’s office. She held them alongside her own blonde hair and began braiding them together, the motion slow, deliberate— a silent prayer and a quiet promise. It was a small reminder of the warmth and humanity she could not yet allow herself to lose.

When Mireu returned, he carried a sword with a hilt of deep, polished blue. He hesitated at the doorway, knowing of what was to come.

“Young Master…” he murmured, voice low, almost afraid to speak at all.

Asta turned, her eyes meeting his, and a faint, gentle smile touched her lips. She reached forward, patting his head softly, trapping them both in this fleeting, fragile moment of comfort.

“Please… don’t try to stop me. This is something I must do,” she said, her voice calm, yet carrying a quiet urgency.

Mireu swallowed, slowly shaking his head. “I won’t,” he answered, his eyes glimmering with a mixture of pride, fear, and sadness. “I know I can’t hold your hand forever,” his gaze faltered, holding back tears. “When you’re ready to go, you should.”

Asta’s fingers curled around the hilt of the sword, the weight of the metal painfully familiar. She inhaled deeply, listening to the growing storm outside— the constant tap of the rain on the roof, the low rumble of thunder, the scent of wet earth mixing with the faint perfume of lavender incense.

She took one last glance at her reflection, her golden hair catching the brilliant light of a flash of lightning. She took in a long, slow breath, coming to terms with the path she had chosen. She tied the scabbard onto her waist, hiding it beneath her sash.

The world outside the palace walls waited. Asta stepped forward, her eyes on the wooden flooring as she passed Mireu without a word. She’d never been good at farewells; there was always something left unsaid.

“Asta,” she froze; it was the first time he’d called her without ceremony. She raised her gaze to meet his for the last time. “You’ll return, won’t you?”

Asta’s lips curved faintly, sorrow flickering across her face— something she could no longer hide. “I promise,” whether or not the words were empty, even she couldn’t tell.

Then, she turned, her every step carrying a quiet and radiant determination. Each movement she made spoke of pure gratitude for the boy who had stayed by her side through it all.

As she crossed the gardens, she refused to spare a single glance at the castle that had destroyed her.

Chapter Text

What Asta was grateful to her brother for was teaching her how to hunt with a sword. What she wasn’t grateful for, however, was that he’d never taught her how to build a fire— or cook what she caught.

She had lost track of how long it had been since she left the palace. Now, she sat alone in the forest, the world around her cloaked in shadows. The ground was still damp from the earlier rain, and the scent of wet earth clung to the air as she studied her map beneath the faint light of the moon, trying to remember which way she was supposed to go.

Her stomach growled, a low, miserable sound swallowed by the rustling of leaves. She sighed, leaning back against the trunk of a broad oak. The cold from the soaked earth seeped through her clothes, making her shiver.

She watched the pitiful little flickering fire beside her— little more than a few damp twigs stubbornly clinging to life. Smoke stung her eyes, and every time the wind stirred, the flame threatened to die out entirely.

Balanced on the tip of her sword was a small, uneven chunk of rabbit meat, burnt on one side and raw on the other. The smell was faint, but it was enough to make her mouth water.

“Better than nothing,” she muttered, watching grease hiss as it hit the embers. The firelight flickered across her features, catching in her hair, shimmering like moonlight.

When the meat was done — or close enough — she tore off a piece, grimacing at the taste. She brought a hand to her mouth, forcing the bite down her throat before a cough escaped her. Leaning back against the trunk, she caught her breath, feeling as though that one swallow had stolen a year of her life.

Through the gaps in the trees, she watched the pale stars glimmer faintly against the dark sky. Asta let out a soft, half-hearted laugh, the sound trembling carefully through the air. “You’d laugh at me for this, wouldn’t you, Hak?”

She drew her knees close, wrapping her arms around them. The damp fabric of her trousers clung to her skin, and her breath puffed in shallow clouds. “You’d probably tell me I’m hopeless,” she whispered, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Then you’d take over and complain the whole time.”

Her voice faltered as she spoke, the humour fading from it. For a heartbeat, she imagined Hak sitting beside her, shouting inaudibly into the night, yet his gaze was soft— the way it always was when he had been with Yona and Soo-won. The image slowly morphed into the last time he’d seen Asta, the fondness replaced by betrayal.

The memory stung more than the cold.

She blinked hard, ridding her eyes of the forming tears. The dying fire slowly dimmed beside her until the last embers flared. She sighed as her world turned to darkness once more.

The wind sang in the forest, brushing her hair across her face. “I’ll manage,” she told herself, as if saying it would make it true.

She rested her head on her knees, wishing the warmth of the palace or even Hak and Yona’s presence could reach her here.

But there was no one. Just the forest— endless, silent, and indifferent.

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, and her heart leapt. She gripped the hilt of her sword, scanning the shadows, but no figure emerged. Only the trees swayed, their leaves whispering secrets she could not understand.

The night pressed in around her. Her stomach growled again, a reminder of her meagre meal. She glanced down at the damp ground, at the ashes of her fire, and shivered. There was no one to help her rebuild, no friendly voice to offer guidance. She was alone.

Her eyes closed briefly, but sleep was a stranger here. There was no one she could rely on to keep watch, no one she could lean her back on, except for the lonely trunk of an oak tree.

And just for a heartbeat, she regretted leaving the safety of the palace walls— she missed her brother.

Her eyes wandered onto the map lying beside her. The inked lines blurred together in the dark, and she realised she had no idea how far she’d walked— or how far she still had to go.

“I’ll manage,” she whispered again, like a secret she wasn’t sure she could keep. The dark offered no answer, only the distant call of owls and the occasional drip of water from above.

The realisation hit her like a wall of bricks. There was no one coming to save her. No Soo-won, no Hak, no Yona, no Mireu. She was alone. Completely, utterly alone.

And yet, she kept repeating it to herself, like a mantra to stave off despair: “I’ll manage. I’ll manage. I’ll manage.”

Asta had lost all sense of time. Days blended into nights, and nights into more days, until the world had shrunk to a narrow rhythm: walk, stumble, breathe, survive. She stopped only when her knees buckled, leaning against a tree to catch herself before she fell.

Food had become a fading memory. She couldn’t recall her last proper meal. Perhaps it’d been berries, maybe a piece of meat she’d caught and burned over a stubborn little fire. Maybe it’d been days— or maybe weeks. Hunger had dulled into a constant ache that clung to her stomach like a shadow, never leaving, never quite painful enough to demand attention.

She remembered one morning, or was it evening? She could not be sure. She had stopped at a river to wash her feet. That’s when the bear came. It had appeared from nowhere, black and enormous, with eyes like coals. She hadn’t though— she had only run, slipping through the water, losing everything but her sword.

Now, she walked barefoot, the forest floor cruel against her soles. Roots dug into her heels, mud clung to her toes, and rocks clawed her skin. Each step was a sharp reminder of her fragility.

The metal cuffs around her ankles clinked faintly with every movement, the only sound she could call her own. They were a strange comfort, accompanying her when no one else was— something familiar in a world that had been stripped bare. She had hated them once; now, the cold weight and the soft jingling were a constant reminder she was still alive.

Her hair, once golden, was now streaked with grease and mud, matted against her face and neck. Her gloves were torn, her shirt shredded where branches had caught it, and her teeth were chipped from biting into whatever she could find to eat. Dark circles framed her eyes, proof she had abandoned sleep long ago.

And yet, she walked.

She had learned to keep going. Pain had become constant; a hum beneath her skin, never leaving.

Weeks passed like this. Until, finally, she saw something different.

A dirt road.

It was rough and uneven, but unmistakable. Her pulse quickened, and she froze, not daring to let the hope ignite in her chest. But then she heard it: the faint creak of wooden wheels, the clop of hooves on dirt. A carriage.

She moved almost without thought— waiting for the carriage to pass before stumbling to follow after it. Her bare feet slapped against the dirt, leaving a string of red behind with each step.

Below, a town nestled between the rock formations, bathed in sunlight. Beyond it, stretching into the horizon— something she had never seen before.

Blue. Endless, breathtaking blue. The ocean.

Her breath caught, and her chest tightened. And for a heartbeat, she forgot everything— the hunger, the fatigue, the darkness. All that was left was the vast blue before her. Almost like the sky, yet not quite. It was water— beautiful, rippling, and alive.

She took a step forward, then another, drawn towards it like a moth to a flame. She stumbled over loose rocks, her feet dangling halfway over the cliff’s edge.

She took in the air like she had never breathed before, spreading out her arms to take in this fleeting moment of freedom.

She let out a large exhale, but as she turned to continue down the dirt road and into the town, her body betrayed her.

Her legs gave way. The energy that had carried her this far drained away entirely, the world around her tilting. Her vision blurred, colours blending into one another, the ocean merging with the outlines of buildings.

Then the ground disappeared.

The last thing she could remember before her eyes fluttered closed was being weightless as she tore through the air.

But after that, nothing.

Chapter Text

When Asta first saw Princess Yona, she was hiding behind the back of her older brother.

She remembered it clearly— though it felt like another lifetime. The grand hall had been crowded that day, filled with nobles and guards. The room had seemed impossibly large back then— too polished, too bright, too odd. It was her first time in a crowd, near people whose voices never rose above a whisper.

She had been only seven, her small hand clutching the hem of her brother's robe. Every sound and smell was new to her— she’d gotten used to the scent of medicine covering every wall of her home. She peeked out from behind him, eyes landing on the little girl across the room, a flash of scarlet hair blooming like a burning fire; it was mystifying, enchanting— like a fairytale.

She looked untouchable— smiling as though the world were gentle. Her eyes flickered across the room until they came to a stop at Soo-won, her smile seeming to brighten when their gazes locked. Her shoes tapped lightly against the marble as she slipped through the nobles like a soft summer breeze.

Soo-won had nudged his sister forward. “Yona, this is Ha-ru,” he’d said gently, no indication that what he’d spoken was a lie. “My little sister.”

Yona blinked, curiosity growing along her features.

Asta’s gaze fell to her feet, feeling unworthy to meet the Princess’s eye, guilty of fooling someone so pure. Her hand outstretched, trembling slightly as she offered it for a handshake. “Hello,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why did you do it?”

The voice cut through the air like a blade.

Asta’s head snapped up— and Yona was there. Not the small, innocent child she’d seen moments ago, but Yona as she had been the last time they’d seen each other. Eyes full of a pain that Asta could never forget.

Asta’s breath trembled, caught in her throat. Her hand was still reaching forward, but when she looked down, her fingers were red. Wet. Dripping.

“Why did you lie to me?” Yona’s voice shook — not with anger, but with hurt so deep it embedded itself within Asta’s heartstrings.

Asta shook her head. “No— I didn’t mean to— I didn’t—” Her words fell apart, frantic and desperate.

From beside Yona came another presence. Soo-won, now fully grown, his face calm and unreadable, the same distant expression he had worn the night of King Il’s death. Blood still stained his clothes, his face.

“You shouldn’t have come, Asta,” he said, his voice heavy, carrying the cold scent of betrayal.

Asta staggered backwards, her mind scrambling. “Soo-won…?” she whispered.

Her back hit something solid. She turned her head.

Hak.

He was there, just behind her, silent and immovable. His dark eyes bore into her, flaming with an intense hatred, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt truly cornered.

The weight of their presence pressed down on her from all sides— and it made her feel impossibly small.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice breaking as tears formed in her eyes.

But it was too late.

They were already fading, one by one, their faces started to blur, dimming into nothing. Yona’s voice lingered, echoing through the empty hall:

“Because of you.”

And then, the world shattered like glass.

Asta jolted awake.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her chest tight as if she’d been running for miles. Sweat clung to her skin despite the chill in the air. For a long moment, she didn’t move— only stared at the wooden ceiling above her, trying to remember where she was.

The world swayed.

It was subtle at first, a slow, rocking motion that made the lantern hanging from the ceiling creak softly. Her eyes flickered toward it— the light flickering with each sway.

Asta pushed herself upright, her limbs heavy, her throat dry. The sheets beneath her were rough, coarse against her skin. It took her a moment to understand. She was on a ship.

Her shirt was missing— someone had cleaned the mud from her skin and wrapped her cuts. A clean blanket had been thrown over her.

Her cuffs were still on.

Deep, jagged scratches ran along their surface, a testament that someone had tried to force them off her by brute strength. The faint clink of metal around her ankles felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

A table stood at her side, marked by years of use— the fragments of ink still visible, though faint.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the sharp ache behind every move. The wooden floor was cool against her bare feet. When she tried to stand, her legs gave way, and she caught herself against the wall. Her limbs felt like an external force, not her own.

She swayed against the wall, trying to catch her balance, when a soft knock sounded at the cabin door. She jumped, her heart hammering as she shrank into herself.

The door creaked open, revealing a young man. Around her age, light brown hair peeked out from under a faded pink bandana, and his eyes were wide, gleaming with something between shock and fear.

After a heartbeat, he sprinted out of the room without letting either of them speak, but Asta could hear his thin, high-pitched voice on what she presumed was the deck.

“He’s awake!”

And within moments, the small cabin was crowded. Rough, broad-shouldered men pushed in — faces tanned from the sun and clothes smelling faintly of salt and smoke. They froze the moment they saw her, staring with wide eyes and slack jaws, as if she had stepped out from another world entirely.

Their voices rose all at once, words blurring together, overlapping together with the heat and pounding in her ears. She caught fragments, but none that could make sense to her.

Then, all at once, the noises stopped.

Footsteps sounded from the doorway— slow, echoing through the floorboards. The men froze, shuffling aside without a word as a figure stepped in.

An older woman entered—small in stature but carrying a presence that filled the room with authority. Her grey hair was pulled into a tight bun, bound tightly with a purple ribbon that swayed slightly as she moved. Smoke curled around her lazily from the pipe in her hand.

Her sharp, unyielding eyes swept over the room before they settled on Asta. Her gaze lingered for a heartbeat on her cuffs before rising to meet her eyes.

When the woman spoke, her voice was blunt, with an unflinching, commanding tone. “My men found you two days ago,” she said. “Fallen off a cliff.” There was no softness in her words, no patience— just fact.

Asta’s chest tightened as the memory came rushing back— the air ringing past her ears, the jagged rocks, the searing pain as her body hit the ground. Her hands grasped the soft linen of her pants, a futile effort to keep her grounded in the moment.

The woman stepped closer, the faint jingle of her earrings marking each movement. “You should consider yourself lucky,” she continued, her voice sharp, yet not unkind. “Most wouldn’t have survived that fall.”

Asta stepped back, shrinking under the commanding gaze of this woman. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, opening and closing her lips before accepting no word would leave.

The woman exhaled a slow plume of smoke, letting it drift across the cramped cabin. “If you’re well enough,” she said, nodding toward the door, “go. We have no room for dead weight on this crew.”

The men erupted instantly, voices clashing, shouting and arguing loudly against the decision. Asta flinched, her head spinning from the noise, her heart pounding in her chest.

The woman’s eyes flicked over them sharply, something between annoyance and fondness crossing her features. And with a single command, the shouting came to a stop. “Quiet, you brats.”

Asta’s throat burned, raw and parched. Her lips trembled as she forced her voice through the dryness. “Wait!” she rasped, stepping forward unsteadily as the taste of metallic iron touched her tongue. Her legs felt like lead, too heavy to lift, her bare feet barely dragging themselves across the wooden floor. “I… I’m looking for someone,” she said, her voice merely a whisper. “A girl… about my height… red hair… violet eyes…”

The woman narrowed her eyes— just slightly, calculating more than only Asta’s words; the unsteady breathing, the slumped shoulders, and how her hands trembled uselessly at her sides. Her eyes, glossy from sleeplessness and hunger, pleaded without saying a single word— for both everything and nothing.

The woman’s lips tightened around the stem, flicking her gaze toward her crew, who were all watching the scene with a mixture of different emotions. Then, she slowly shook her head.

Asta understood, her heart dropped, and her chest tightened. She bit back her tears, adamantly refusing to let them fall and show more of her weakness in front of strangers. She nodded once in turn, her neck stiff, before turning away.

The wooden floorboards creaked under the weight of her dragging feet, the only sound in the still air. No one dared to breathe as her knees threatened to buckle with each step. The cabin door beckoned her into the evening light just beyond.

But just as Asta reached it—
“Say, lad.”

Asta froze mid-step, her hand hovering above the doorknob.

The woman’s voice was calm, steady, and almost bored. “How good are you with a sword?”

Slowly, Asta looked over her shoulder. Sweat clung to her skin; strands of hair stuck to her face. She swallowed, the act painful in her throat. “I’m… decent,” she managed. Her voice was hoarse, rough, but honest.

The woman exhaled a long line of smoke, eyes scanning her again. “What else can you do?”

Asta shifted her stance, her legs trembling under her. Her mind scrambled for anything useful. “Embroidery… hunting…” her voice faltered, suddenly aware how small those skills sounded in a cabin full of experienced sailors. “I know basic medicine, too.”

The woman studied her for a heartbeat longer. Waves swayed the ship like a silent whisper. “You can stay aboard,” she said at last, “while you wait for her.”

Asta blinked, the words floating between them like she was afraid of false hope. But her expression betrayed her— a cautious, fragile hope shone down on her features. “Really?”

“If,” the woman added, her stone sharp as if cutting through the air. “You assist us with our goal. No dead weight onboard this vessel.” She reminded, eyes narrow.

Asta didn’t know what that goal was. She didn’t care. If there was even the faintest chance that Yona or Hak would come— no matter how long it would take, she was ready to take that risk. “Sure. Yes,” she said, breathless.

That earned a subtle grunt of approval. The woman took the pipe from her mouth, tapping its ash against the edge of the table. “Call me Captain Gi-Gan.”

Asta turned fully now— slowly, carefully so she wouldn’t stumble. The crew erupted into cheers, their earlier tension dissipating. The noise washed over her— a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.

The corners of her lips curved into a careful, weary smile.

“I’m Asta.”

The sun had set beyond the horizon by the time Asta made it onto the deck. Stars reflected brightly on the water's surface, the night sky void of clouds. The breeze brushed softly against her face, blowing at her hair— a warm embrace of someone long gone.

She leaned against the old bulwark, which creaked as it caught her weight. She listened in silence to the soft drumming of the waves against the ship’s hull— like a lullaby.

She rested her head between her arms on the gunwale, exhaling with an emotion even she couldn’t name. “Human trafficking, huh…?” she murmured, her eyes tracing the creases of her gloves. “Was Uncle truly someone who’d allow such a thing to happen during his reign?” She and the previous king had never gotten quite along, yet it was a terrible feeling to think he may have known about it all.

The ship lurched, as if answering her.

What finally broke the stillness was a thin, hauntingly beautiful melody drifting from the bow.

The notes quivered like a voice caught in sorrow. They were fragile in telling a story of confession, weeping in the night air.

Asta found herself drifting towards the sound of the melody, without even realising she’d begun to move. She glided across the deck as if she were no more than a spirit called into the world just to hear this song.

The silhouette of the musician was illuminated by the light of the moon, his arms moving in steady rhythm as he played each note— careful, like he was exposing his most vulnerable parts of himself through his melody.

As she drew closer, the shadows began to part, taking the shape of a lone man— shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed, and— Asta paused.

Without thinking, she broke into a run. No way. No way. No way. The words pounded in her head with each step. It can’t be.

Her hand shot out and clutched the musician’s shoulder, harder than she intended. The music cut off mid-note, leaving an unnerving silence. He turned toward her, a trace of surprise flickering across his face. Asta loosened her grip, her head bowing in quiet defeat, her smile fading. Of course it wasn’t Shu-Ten— how could it be?

A faint gasp of surprise left her lips as she stumbled backwards. “Ah… sorry…” her voice was barely a whisper.

A soft laugh escaped the man as he leaned back slightly, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that,” he spoke, his tone teasing, almost theatrical. “Though I must admit,” he added, tilting his head and letting a stray lock of hair dance with the wind. “It’s rather flattering to see someone run straight into my arms. How… daring of you.”

Asta froze, an entirely new emotion taking hold. “Sorry?”

He smirked, flamboyant and unbothered. “No harm done, my good sir. In fact, I rather enjoy surprises—especially beautiful ones.” His grin widened, playful and confident. “Though perhaps next time, try announcing yourself first… unless, of course, you enjoy the thrill of chasing me.”

Asta blinked, hardly daring to believe this man was the same one who had made that melody— to think someone so bold, so alive, was capable of making a sound so raw and tender, so achingly beautiful.

She murmured another apology, turning away, not wishing to interrupt any more than she already had. But just then, the music rose again, soft and insistent, curling around the deck as though drifting through time itself. She couldn’t help herself—her feet swilveled, her gaze snapping back to him, meeting his eyes as he tilted his head and gave a subtle nod toward the gunwale on which he sat. It was a small invitation, unspoken, but clear.

Asta hesitated, heart hammering in her chest in warning. Yet against her better judgment, she cautiously climbed up, the wood creaking softly beneath her weight.

The bow of the erhu stilled, letting the last note faintly echo in the air. “I hear you’re a new recruit,” he said, regarding her with a knowing, amused glance. His voice was smooth, teasing, but not unkind.

“Temporarily,” Asta replied, trying to steady her voice. “I’m Asta.”

“Well then, Asta dear, it’s a pleasure,” he said, leaning back as he spoke. “I am Jae-Ha.”

There was a pause, and for a moment the night air felt heavier. Then, without warning, tears sprang in her eyes, the delicate shield she’d held around her emotions the entire day cracking like glass. Hot against her cheeks, they fell like a last prayer for the unhearing gods.

Beside her, she could feel the man stiffen, flinching slightly, his mask of confidence faltering.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hurriedly wiping her face. “You just… You remind me of an old friend.”

Jae-Ha’s lips twitched into a small, playful smile. “Was he as handsome as me?” he asked, his voice light, as if the question alone could chase away some of the tension in the air.

Asta blinked, then laughed softly, the sound mixing with the lapping of the waves against the hull. “Yeah… he was,” she admitted, an ache in her chest.

Jae-Ha chuckled, letting the bow rise again to the strings, the music flowing around them as though it accepted them wholeheartedly— all the faults, and all the truths.

Asta closed her eyes, leaning her shoulder lightly against his arm without even thinking, letting the sound wash over her. The moon cast silver patterns across the endless sea before them, whispering secrets of things yet to come. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, she let herself breathe. Her body relaxed, her thoughts slowing until they became nothing as sleep claimed her.

That was the first time in months she didn’t see Yona in her dreams.

Chapter Text

A few days before the reunion she had waited so long for, Asta saw Lady Saorin again.

This time, Saorin was younger— Asta’s age, perhaps. The sight struck her like a blow. It was her own reflection standing there, shaped into another life: the same features, the same posture, only divided by Saorin’s long flowing hair and the tiny beauty mark resting above her lip.

They stood in the narrow stone corridor of a temple, where the air was filled with drifting incense and lit only by flickering candles in brass sconces.

Saorin’s gaze was soft, gentle, the same as it had been the first time. Her lips curved upwards only slightly— as though she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. And when she spoke, her voice was restrained.

“The one who fell from the stars,” her tone was hushed, low. “Welcome.”

Asta’s throat went dry, an inferno of nervousness growing inside her. She remembered those words, though she was still unaware of what they meant. The candlelight cast long golden streaks between them, landing their faces in shadow.

Her feet took control before she managed a word, stepping forward cautiously, the cold stone floor sending chills up her legs. The cuffs of her shackles remained, even in dreams, echoing like a timid whisper.

“You…” Asta’s voice faltered, her words trembling like a leaf in the wind. “You’ve died…” Her words clumsily came to a stop when she realised such a statement made no sense in this context.

Sorrow brushed across Saorin’s features as her expression softened further. “Perhaps I have,” she acknowledged. Her hand lifted slowly, cupping the air around Asta’s cheek, not touching yet somehow grounding Asta to the moment. “Perhaps I have.”

The silence of the corridor was only disturbed by the faint drip of wax from the candles. Asta’s chest tightened, and her fingers twitched, yearning to reach the warmth she remembered of the girl before her. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged; a silent cry of helplessness.

And yet, Saorin’s eyes held understanding. She lingered for a moment before withdrawing her hand. “Time bends strangely,” she murmured. “Moments long past, yet still present.”

Asta’s eyes followed hers, drawn to a mural that stretched across the stone wall. Painted in muted, weathered colours, it depicted four dragons circling a lone human, their scales shimmering in the flickering candlelight. The man at the centre was striking, his features almost too perfect, but the weight in his stance told that he carried the burdens of worlds on his shoulders. The scene was breathtaking, nearly alive, and Asta felt a tug in her chest— a quiet, unspoken sorrow that lingered between every stroke of the painted lines.

It was clear what story it told— one Asta had heard over and over since her birth.

“A reunion awaits you,” Saorin murmured, her gaze unwavering from the mural. Her voice was calm, measured, but carried a weight that pressed on Asta’s chest. “When it comes, you will see those who seek guidance, though they do not yet know it. Once more, I ask of you— show them the path I could not. Show them what I failed to give.

Every word felt heavier than the one before— pressing into Asta’s ribs like thrown stones. The candlelight danced across their features like a weeping memory smiling down on them.

“How… how do I do that?” Asta’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Saorin’s gaze lingered on the lone man the dragons coiled around, and for a long moment, said nothing. “The gods did not favour me,” she said, almost as if confessing a long-held secret. “I could not give them the light they sought. I tried, and I fell short. My life ended before I could lead them further… Perhaps because I lacked what you possess— the blood of their king.”

Asta felt her heart tighten at the mention of it. Hatred at the implication rose inside her— she hated that the weight of destiny seemed so inevitable. She clenched her fists, trying to still the tremor in her body, but Saorin did not flinch.

Saorin exhaled softly, turning her eyes fully back towards Asta. “I did not have what it takes to lead,” she confessed, her tone quiet yet resolute. “My purpose was only to bring the gods down into this world. If the heavens deemed me unworthy to live beyond that purpose, then it was my fate… a fate I have come to accept.”

The corridor seemed to shrink around them with every second that passed. But Saorin continued to stand tall, her voice refusing to show signs of weakness. 

“But you… You are not me,” Saorin continued, pulling her gaze away from Asta’s, as though she was afraid for their eyes to meet for too long. You walk a different road, Asta. A road, I believe, was meant for you from the start. You have a strength I never had, and perhaps a fate I could not claim. You are the one who will see this through, not me.”

Her voice fell into a whisper. “Please, Asta… do not falter.”

Asta’s breath hitched. She had not expected her name— spoken so gently, so softly— from the lips of someone who felt both like a stranger and a forgotten memory.

Saorin’s lips curved upward only slightly, as if she were casting a silent prayer. “When you hear the world sing,” she murmured, the candlelight flickering out. “Remember me. Remember your purpose.”

The words echoed in the empty stillness of the temple corridor as Saorin once more became nothing.

A month after Asta arrives in the Port city of Awa, the day of reunion falls on her unexpectedly.

She’d been feeling strange for the past few days— her chest was tight and her heart hammered in her chest as though trying to break out from inside her. She couldn’t be sure whether it was due to the image of Lady Saorin’s warning or because of something else entirely.

She watched her image in the clear surface of the sea, light reflecting and glistening upon her gentle features. The bandages wrapped around her skin had become fewer, yet they continued to cover the worst of her wounds. Over them, she wore soft white and lavender robes, the layers settling delicately over her frame, the wide sleeves brushing her wrists as the tide breathed. A brown sash cinced the garments at her waist, grounding her into a delicate moment of stillness, and the white gloves remained covering her hands, as though a protective layer for the eyes of others.

The feather earrings brushed her cheeks in the wind, whispering secrets, and the soft clinking of her cuffs sounded as though they weren’t coming from her but from some place far in the distance.

In the quiet stillness, where the only noise was the sound of water rippling in waves, a commotion from the ship’s deck caught Asta’s attention. It was never nearly that loud— not during the daytime. 

She gently tucked her hands into her sleeves, taking careful and measured steps toward the large wooden vessel towering over her. The gangway had been pulled down early in the morning, creaking softly under her weight.

Once she reached the deck, someone came hurtling toward her. The sudden flash of motion caught her completely off guard, and she stumbled back, her heart pounding in her ears. She instinctively jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding a collision.

Then, she spotted Jae-Ha leaning casually against the outer wall of the accommodation cabin. His posture was relaxed—maybe too relaxed—as though people weren’t being launched left and right across the deck at alarming speeds in front of him. His arms were crossed, and one of his legs was bent, heel resting lightly against the wood. He looked annoyingly elegant despite the chaos.

When he noticed her, his smile curved in that familiar, easy way that Asta had grown accustomed to. He lifted a hand and waved her over.

Asta approached him, watching another pirate stagger by. “What’s happening?” she asked, confusion scratching he voice.

Jae-Ha tipped his head toward the commotion at the centre of the deck. “New recruits,” he said cheerfully.

Asta’s curiosity stirred. “Really?” She’d been aware of the older male’s determination to recruit someone; she couldn’t say she was expecting it to work, however.

She slipped past him to get a better look— just a few steps more—

And then she froze.

Her breath hitched.

Her chest tightened.

Her mind emptied.

Because there—amid the sprawled and half-beaten pirates—stood a face she knew.

A face she had long since burned into both her heart and memory.

Yona.

She was different now—hair shorter, posture stronger, clothes unfamiliar—but Asta would have known her anywhere; there was no mistaking her. A tiny squirrel perched on Yona’s shoulder, nibbling one of her earrings.

And beside her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, his back turned toward Asta. The familiar stance. The familiar silhouette. The familiar presence.

Hak.

“Asta Dear?” Jae-Ha murmured behind Asta, noticing her shift, but she didn’t hear him.

Her voice was already escaping her before she could stop it.

“...Yona?” Her voice was small. Fragile. Barely a whisper.

All five newcomers—Yona, Hak, and their three companions— turned back to face her. Yona’s eyes widened, her hand slowly lifting to her mouth. Hak’s expression hardened instantly, his posture shifting like a blade unsheathed.

Asta couldn’t hear the voices spreading across the ship, of confused pirates— nor could she see them.

For her, in this moment, no one else existed.

And then her knees buckled beneath her.

Tears spilt down her cheeks and onto the deck in small droplets.

“You’re alive,” she gasped. “You’re alive… thank you.” Her breathing came in short, uneven bursts, as though she had entirely forgotten how to breathe. “Thank you… thank you…”

Hak stepped forward, hand instinctively raising his glaive, his gaze sharp and unforgiving.

Asta remained still, unmoving.

“Ha-ru.” Asta flinched upon hearing that name. The name that had once brought comfort— now carried nought but dread and hatred with each letter. “Why are you here?” Hak’s tone was low, dangerous, enough to tell Asta he would not hesitate to kill her if she said anything out of line.

Asta opened her mouth, but nothing came out for a moment, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. All she was able to do was apologise over and over again between broken breaths, her head bowed so low her forehead could touch the deck.

Hak’s voice sharpened, his jaw clenching. “Answer me.”

When Yona finally found her voice, she sounded not like the girl Asta remembered. She was trembling, her eyes turned glassy at the idea of the past and present colliding. “Why…” she whispered, her tone a mixture of terror and what could not be described as anything other than hatred. “How are you here…?”

Asta swallowed, pushing away her fear, when she finally found her voice— it was fragile, soft, and cracking.

“I— I want to… I want to go with you…”

A breath.

“And I’m so sorry.”

The words weren’t the right words— they told nothing of her feelings, of her hope, and her regret. This she knew, yet the words allowed her not to think of them before they spilt unguarded from behind her lips.

Hak cut in before anyone else had the chance to speak, his tone ice-cold and decisive. “No.”

Asta’s heart sank, the tears falling harder now.

“Get off this ship,” Hak continued, his gaze growing harsher with each passing second. “Now.”

“Hak—” Asta tried calling his name— a name that now sounded almost foreign to her.

“Don’t,” his grip tightened around his weapon. “If you stay here, I’ll cut you down myself.”

Silence swallowed the deck.

Mercy, Asta hadn’t expected that, not from Hak.

Her tears slowed; she’d run out of breath trying to keep up with them. She pushed herself shakily to her feet. Her legs barely held, but she tried her best to stand tall.

She nodded. Once. Twice.

Jae-Ha reached out, grabbing her sleeve in a gentle grip as she passed him. “Asta—?”

She gently pulled free, giving him a faint, sorrowful smile. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Really,” she promised.

And then she walked. Through the deck of confused pirates, across the gangplank she’d moments ago walked up on, until she was off the ship.

She expected to cry more now, once alone— but the tears never returned.

Instead, something wiggled beneath her sleeve.

A tiny head popped out. Asta recognised it as the squirrel. Yona’s squirrel.

She blinked, startled, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh—hello, friend. Are you… going to help me investigate?” Her voice was steadier now.

She had planned to investigate the human trafficking that very day— she would not abandon it, no matter how much her heart ached. She could not abandon the mission her comrades had entrusted her with— not again.

Following the clues she’d gathered on days prior, she made her way to a small storefront. A man greeted her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Looking for work?” he asked. Asta nodded. “You’re hired,” he declared. “Come. This way.”

He led her to an empty room and told her to wait there.

The instant he left, the floor split open beneath her.

Asta only had a fraction of a second to think— barely enough time for instinct to take over. She grabbed the squirrel and threw it upward, out of the collapsing trap.

“Go, friend! Get back!”

And then she fell into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Ao returned first.

It didn’t take Jae-Ha too long to notice her missing compatriot. His steps were quick but measured as he approached Ao, who perched quietly on Yona’s shoulder, her whiskers softly twitching.

“Where’s Asta?” He asked, as if the small creature would answer him. His voice was calm, yet it carried an edge of concern.

Ao blinked slowly, tilting her head.

Jae-Ha’s smile slipped. He had only known Asta a short while, but long enough to recognise when something had gone wrong. She wouldn’t leave work unfinished— Jae-Ha feared the worst.

A voice rose from behind, hesitant and low. “You don’t think he…?”

Yona stiffened as she leaned closer to Jae-Ha. A shadow of uncertainty mixed with something one could only call concern fell over her features. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What… what does that mean?”

Another voice, rougher, muttered curses under their breath. “He wasn’t supposed to go alone.”

Asta had no sense of how long the fall had lasted. Maybe only a few seconds. Maybe much longer. Darkness swallowed her existence, and when she woke, a sharp throb pulsed through her arm like a separate heartbeat.

She found herself lying on a damp wooden floor. Her hand rested stiffly in front of her— a heavy bruise spreading across it, colour shifting from dark violet to a disturbing green. She hissed when she tried moving her fingers, pain flaring like fire.

For a moment, she just breathed, wincing with every sharp movement. It was then that she heard it— quiet, ragged breathing not belonging to her.

She wasn’t alone.

Blinking, she allowed her eyes to adjust slowly to the dark.

Shapes came into view, and her stomach churned. Women—dozens of them.

They sat huddled against the walls, their clothes torn and dirtied. Some were younger than she expected, some older, yet they all had the same look in their eyes: wide, hollow, terrified.

Everyone must have noticed her absence by now, but Asta couldn’t be sure whether or not they’d come looking for her. All she could do was hope, even when doubt grew in her chest, feeling heavier than her injury.

A voice trembled from somewhere near her side. “Are… are you okay?”

Asta pushed herself up with her good arm. A girl—no older than Yona—was staring at her with eyes so wide and frightened. “I’ll be alright,” she whispered, sounding calmer than she felt. “I’ll be alright,” she repeated, as though it was either a chant or a prayer.

It must have been a day or so, maybe longer. Asta had stripped off every bandage she’d had, winding them tightly around her injured arm, layering them until the limb was swaddled in a thick, makeshift brace. It wasn’t proper treatment—nor was it elegant—but it was enough. It was something to shield her injury so she could keep on moving.

Her thoughts raced restlessly as she sat among the frightened women, waiting for any moment of distraction— for a door to open, or for footsteps to approach, any opening that would let her run. She needed to get back to the ship, to tell the crew everything, before she would have to return to the palace inevitably.

Because she had to go. She knew that now.

She had accomplished the only reason she’d left in the first place: Yona and Hak were alive. That truth alone filled her chest with a warmth so fragile she feared it would shatter. If returning meant being dragged into the same stone cell she’d been kept in for a year, then so be it. She wouldn’t put it past Soo-won to lock her up again— yet the thought felt strangely insignificant.

She remembered Saorin’s words— they drifted through her mind like the soft smoke of a candle. Guide the dragons, she’d said. But Asta doubted that path belonged to her. The moment she’d seen them—those men who resembled their ancient predecessors so closely it made her chest ache—she’d known they already had what they needed.

They had Yona’s resolve, and they had Hak’s unwavering strength. They had purpose, each other, a future. All of which Asta lacked.

It wasn’t her they needed. It had never been her.

Maybe, someday, a day would come when she could stand before them without fear—when she could offer a true apology, one worthy of everything she owed. But that day was not today, and she had long since come to accept that.

Time dragged on slowly. The only thing that kept her from drowning in the sound of a dozen frightened, ragged breaths was the soft hum trembling in her own throat— a fragment of the lullaby her mother used to sing when she lay ill in bed.

She could barely remember the melody now. Just one fragile piece of it, looping again and again, broken and incomplete.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door creaked open, revealing three different, distinguishable silhouettes. Two of them stepped inside, and Asta’s heart sank.

The first thing that landed in her vision was a familiar colour of crimson, before her gaze fell onto the face she knew too well— Yona.

She stumbled, being unceremoniously shoved to the floor. Asta bit the inside of her cheek, her fists balled instinctively, ready for action. Yet she pressed herself against the wall instead, reminding herself that she had no place to act; she had lost that right long ago.

The one who had come in with Yona knelt beside her, eyes darting around as though expecting danger to jump out any second. The way she moved struck Asta as protective, though she couldn’t tell why— their statures weren’t too different. She couldn’t be much help against whatever it was she was trying to shield Yona from.

Then, the room was filled with a deep, low laugh echoing off the walls. Asta stiffened, her nails digging into her skin. A man had appeared at the doorway, with broad shoulders and lips curved upward in a smug smirk. His gaze lingered on Yona as though she were nothing more than an object.

“This is a bigger catch than I expected,” he said, his voice sharp and even. Malicious. “I guess Awa’s not totally worthless.”

“Lord Kum-Ji, what’s happening?” one of the women in the room spoke up nervously, her words trembling. Asta didn’t know her name; she hadn’t bothered learning it. “I heard I could get a job here—”

The man laughed, interrupting her. “I do have a job for you. A very important job. Right now, I need you all to stay here until tomorrow night.” Asta’s chest tightened at that. Tomorrow night? That was faster than she’d expected.

So this man was Yang Kum-Ji. She’d done her best to avoid him whenever he had gone through the town, in fear he would happen to recognise her.

After a moment of silence, he grabbed Yona by the hair, roughly yanking her upright. “Red hair, hmm? Well, now, that’s unusual. Between that and your pretty face… you’ll fetch a high price. Although it’d be a shame to sell you—I’m sure I could keep one of you girls for myself.”

Asta’s chest tightened. Her fists tightened, her nails biting harder and harder in her palms. She wanted to scream, to lunge at him, but she stayed frozen, knowing any sudden movement could draw attention; could destroy whatever the plan Yona and the crew must have. The person kneeling, however, spoke up, once again trying to shield Yona.

Asta hated it. She couldn’t understand why someone with no power would do such a thing. Was she incapable of understanding the danger she was in? And then something clicked— Asta remembered him. He’d been in the background the last time she’d seen him, nothing noteworthy. He’d been there, on the deck, standing behind Yona and Hak. He wasn’t a girl. And despite his small frame, he’d dressed up as one to sneak into a human trafficking ring.

Asta wouldn’t admit it, refused to, convincing herself it was impossible, but maybe, just maybe, she’d underestimated him.

Yang Kum-Ji’s attention shifted to him, tilting his chin up with casual cruelty. “You’re rather stunning in your own right. But…” And with a sudden, swift motion, he kicked him away.

He landed on the floor with a loud thud. Asta’s chest tightened, not for the boy but the fact that she felt nothing upon such a sight. Nothing close to how she felt when it came to Yona. She hated herself for that.

Kum-ji’s foot came down harshly, stomping on the young boy's face. “I despise crude girls who interrupt me when I’m having fun.”

One of his men stepped forward, trying to calm him. “Please stop, Lord Kum-Ji. You’ll damage the merchandise.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Barked Kum-Ji, a sound so loud it filled the entire room. Once more, harsher this time, he stomped on the boy's face, grinding his foot on it until he groaned in pain. “The best women know the beauty of obedience.” He announced. “Be more like the red-haired girl, who has the sense to let fear shut her mouth—”

Turning back to the girl still tight in his grip, he froze mid-sentence. Her glare was unwavering, fierce, as though flames sparked in her eyes. Asta leaned forward, ready to strike the man if he were to harm her any more. But he threw her aside instead.

“Girl, are you from Awa?” He asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady, almost calm.

The man’s gaze lingered, memories flickering across his face as he spoke of someone he’d seen before. With hair as bright and red as hers. It was as though he almost recognised her, yet refused to believe it to be true. The tension grew with every second until it exploded all at once. “Is it possible that…” Kum-Ji started, hesitating for a moment, “You are Princess Yona?”

Asta perked up, scrambling through the crowd of women long before she could even think of her actions. But before she could make it, Yona, ever careful, bowed on her knees, voice steady despite the fear that must have burned within her. Asta froze, exhaling slowly and loosening up slightly.

“I am the daughter of a poor merchant here in Awa. I heard that I could find good work here. I know nothing of a princess with hair like mine. But if calling myself by her name would be of benefit to you, my lord… I’ll gladly do so.”

Asta’s heart beat in her ears far too loudly for her to be sure what it was that the man said before finally leaving the room. The tension remained, relaxing only by a fraction.

After being sure the man had left, Yona approached the boy on the ground, concern etched across her face. Asta let out a long sigh of relief, slowly beginning to back away back where she’d come from. Her mind raced, thinking of all the reasons why it was that Yona had been brought here. Only one person could have made her believe everything would be fine, that it would be safe enough: Hak. If he’d let Yona come without him, then Asta knew, somehow, that they would be fine.

Asta thought she’d remained unnoticed, hoping her cousin wouldn’t see her. But it was too late when Yona’s gaze found hers. Asta froze, heart beginning to hammer louder than it ever had before. It wasn’t happiness or hope she felt; rather, it was a mixture of fear and dread. Surprise flickered over Yona’s features before a sorrowful smile took over her lips. Her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgement, before she looked away.

Asta shrank back against the wall, hoping to melt back into its shadows.