"We will be there soon."
Tien's voice cut through the rustle of the wind, once again full of hope that failed to land in Seo Reun's chest. He didn't answer. He had lost count of how many times Tien had uttered that same line, at least five times in the past two days and Seo Reun could sense Tien's unease, each passing watch without reaching the village seemed to fray his nerves, as if he feared that the journey's delays might drive him to abandon it altogether. And each time, Seo Reun had nodded or muttered a response, but this time, he let the silence stand.
The road stretched endlessly through winding hills and pine groves, and it seemed to Seo Reun that Tien's words were no longer a reassurance, but a chant to keep his own restlessness at bay. The younger man was twitchy, his fingers flexing as though preparing for a flight he had not yet committed to.
Ah Li was asleep, his tiny hands clinging to Seo Reun's shoulders. The boy insisted that being in contact with Seo Reun was essential for his sacred necklace to "protect them on their journey" whatever that meant. More likely, he just wanted closeness, an anchor amid the uncertainty of travel.
Seo Reun ears picked up something and no one had to tell him what he heard were voices, probably children playing and Tien was saying the truth.
"Let me carry him," Dong Ha offered, stepping beside them.
Seo Reun nodded, he was never allowed to carry Ah Li for long whenever he falls asleep, Tien told him Ah Li was their responsibility so he shouldn't get strained out carrying the boy.
Dong Ha gently shifted Ah Li from his back into his arms. The boy hardly stirred. Seo Reun's shoulder had recovered well even though the journey was long, and a small burden could wear on healing bones but his shoulder feels fine.
They walked for what felt like a long time, and Seo Reun couldn't help but wonder what kind of village awaited them. A quiet anticipation stirred in him, weaving curiosity with the hope of something unfamiliar, perhaps even a sense of peace and now they all could hear the voices clearly.
"We have arrived," Tien breathed, stepping ahead and parting the thick reed mesh that marked the entrance of the path.
Seo Reun stepped forward and stopped.
Before him lay a quiet hollow nestled between low green hills, bathed in the soft golden hue of late afternoon. The village was small, intimate. It seemed forgotten by time. Thatched roofs sat like sloped hats atop earthen homes, with walls made of packed mud and straw, darkened by rain and age. Thin plumes of smoke curled from chimney holes, and clothes hung on lines between wooden beams, swaying like pennants. A few wooden totems - jangseung - stood guard at the village's border, their worn faces etched with fierce expressions meant to ward off evil spirits.
The path twisted between homes, some standing on stilts where the land dipped. It was peaceful here, the air held the smell of pine resin, firewood, and the faint sweetness of fermented soybean paste.
Children broke the stillness.
"Oh! brother Tien and brother Dong Ha!"
"Ehhhhhh..."
"Brother Tien ehhhhh...."
"Brother Dong Ha... eh..."
Small figures burst from behind a low fence, children dressed in worn white hanboks with grey collars and muddied hems, their feet bare or wrapped in cloth. They rushed forward like a wave, laughing and shouting. Some clung to Tien's arms, others bounced excitedly around Dong Ha, their bright eyes taking in Seo Reun with curiosity.
Seo Reun furrowed his brow, glancing around. The village seemed oddly quiet, no elders tending to chores. It struck him as strange, this absence of adults.
Then, just beyond the bend of the path, someone emerged. At first, she was just another figure in the distance, walking with an unhurried pace down the central lane. But as she drew nearer, the atmosphere shifted, quieting in a way that was almost reverent.
She was around their age, perhaps a little younger but she held herself with the poise of someone who belonged to the earth and the wind at once. Her hanbok was the color of pale wisteria, the fabric light enough to flutter with every step. Her hair was braided down her back in a thick, glossy plait that glinted like lacquered wood beneath the sunlight.
Her face was... unforgettable.
Not for the sharpness of her features or any display of vanity, but for the sheer softness she carried. Her skin was luminous, the hue of polished rice paper. Her eyes, dark and almond-shaped, held a quiet sadness, tempered by strength. There was grace in the way she moved as if she had never stumbled a day in her life.
For a moment she reminded him of his aunt, not in appearance, but in the way she held herself, that silent, knowing beauty that didn't ask to be seen but could never go unnoticed.
The girl's gaze met his for the briefest moment. It was calm, steady, unreadable. Then, she looked away again.
"Biggest sister Hae Rin!" one of the children called.
She didn't respond immediately, only continued walking, as if her mind was elsewhere.
Hae Rin.
Even her name felt delicate, like something whispered rather than spoken. It lingered in the air long after the child had said it.
Ah Li already told him about his beautiful older sister but the boy had never mentioned her name.
Seo Reun finally looked away, relieved that she hadn't met his gaze. It would've been strange - both of them just standing there, staring. Not that he cared, of course. But still, it was the first time he had studied someone purely for their appearance. She didn't look like a warrior, or dangerous in any way. No weapon tucked at her side, no tension in her stance, no cleverness in her eyes that hinted at hidden tricks. Just... a girl. So, really, analyzing her physicality wasn't strange. It was practical. Observational. Nothing more.
"I'm here for my brother," she said, firm and confident despite her age.
Dong Ha's cheeks flushed a soft pink, the color creeping up to his ears as he nodded shyly. Seo Reun blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected gentleness, as he watched Dong Ha carefully lower Ah Li into her arms, hands steady, movements almost reverent. The boy murmured something in his sleep and nestled against her. Hae-rin held her brother with a practiced ease, shifting him against her shoulder like a mother might.
"I'll take him home," she said with a nod. "The Shaman and the elders are meeting in the old council hut. You can go in."
Her tone was casual, but it carried authority, the kind children have when they've grown up fast. Then it seemed she to notice Seo Reun because he was now surrounded with the children looking at him curiously, there was nothing unusual about his dressing and he carried his box and wrapped sword, his hat was tied loosely around his neck and rested on his back and the one of the children was even jumping so he could touch his box.
Seo Reun glaced at her when he noticed she was looking at him, when he met her gaze, it faltered just for a moment as if the world has shifted and she's trying to understand why.
"You.. are..." Her breath seemed caught and she doesn't look as confidence as before, she tilted her head, as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear - she looked away.
Her eyes returned to him again, slowly, cautiously not with boldness. And their eyes met, she didn't hold the gaze long as she glanced away quickly, as though caught doing something forbidden. But just before she looked away, there was softness trembling light in her eyes, unreadable, fleeting, but unmistakable.
Her lip slightly parted, an almost imperceptible sigh, like the first stir of wind in the morning.
Now Seo Reun could feel Dong Ha eyes boring into his. He also didn't know if Hae Rin just asked who he was so he didn't reply.
Then she turned walking away, cradling Ah Li.
"Let's go report." Tien said as he started leading the way to one of the largest hut Seo Reun had ever seen.
The council hut.
It stood at the village's heart. It was low and wide, its thatched roof sun-bleached and uneven. The wooden planks creaked beneath their feet as they stepped up. Carvings of dragons and clouds danced around the entrance frame, faded from generations of weather but still visible.
Inside, it was dim and thick with smoke, the air laced with the scent of burnt herbs and old wood. A single oil lamp flickered in the corner, casting trembling shadows that moved like ghosts along the walls. The smoke curled low over the woven ceiling like a dense fog, making everything appear softer, older like the room itself had memories it refused to let go of.
The space was taller than Seo Reun expected. Not the cramped hut he had imagined, but a hall, modest, yes, but dignified in its own way. Woven mats of reeds covered the floor in overlapping layers, and along the sides of the hall, elders sat in solemn silence, their posture upright and unmoving, as if carved from wood. At the entrance stood some teenagers, their eyes cautious and alert, watching every movement as though trained to.
In the center, adults stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a loose gathering, their forms obscuring the view ahead. But one by one, as though signaled by an unspoken command, they began to move aside and file out, parting slowly like mist before a rising wind and some of the teenagers followed except one.
And then, at last, Seo Reun saw.
At the far end of the hall sat an old man, poised upon a large wooden chair, the arms draped with worn deer hide. He was not the burly, broad-shouldered man Seo Reun had imagined. He was older, perhaps well into his seventh decade with a lean, sinewy frame and skin like weathered bark. But his presence was undeniable. His posture was straight as a pine tree, and his gaze carried the weight of command. His eyes were sharp beneath heavy lids, the kind that missed nothing. When he looked at you, it was as though your excuses died on your tongue.
He did not need to speak to command respect. His silence was its own authority. He guessed him to be the village chief and was probably done having a meeting with the adults and that was why they left.
Beside him stood another figure, far less commanding, yet somehow far more unsettling.
The village shaman.
A narrow-faced man with high cheekbones and sunken eyes that glinted with something unspoken, something not quite human. His eyes, small and sharp, held no warmth, only watchfulness, as if always measuring, always judging. There was something in the way he looked at people like he was peering beneath skin, through bone, and into the deepest parts of them.
His robes were plain white, unadorned but pristine, giving him an austere presence. His hair, streaked with silver, was neatly tied back, revealing the sharp lines of his face. In his hand, he held a long staff - elegantly carved with intricate patterns that wound around the wood like creeping vines, each detail etched with the care of a master's hand.
The shaman's presence was not loud, but it filled the room like smoke, slow, creeping, and impossible to ignore. He even seemed to look more like a priest than a shaman.
And yet, amidst all this authority, silence, mystery.
As Seo Reun and the others stepped into the hall, the low murmur of voices faded into silence. All eyes turned toward them. The shaman, looked up and offered a slow nod not of surprise, but of quiet confirmation, as if he had known they would come yet he wore an annoyed look.
"The chief isn't here," Dong Ha whispered under his breath.
Seo Reun blinked in confusion. Wasn't the elderly man sitting grandly on the deer-hide-draped seat the village chief? He glanced again, but Dong Ha's certainty left no room for question, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
"I swear, old man Choi is always up to something, probably snuck into the chief's seat again," Tien muttered, not bothering to lower his voice much.
Just then, a wooden door in the far corner, nearly hidden by the shadows and smoke, creaked open. A man stepped into view. He moved with quiet ease, dressed in plain dark robes with no sign of rank or ornament but he wore a string necklace that was identical with Ah Li's sacred string. There was something unmistakable about him. His features echoed those of Ah Li but older, weathered by time and the sun, but clearly cut from the same cloth.
Seo Reun didn't need anyone to tell him. That was the village chief.
The old man seated on the deer-hide throne - presumably Choi - rose without a word, stepping aside with a lazy sort of amusement. The true chief approached and sat down in his place, without ceremony or grandeur, as though the title was merely a garment he wore when needed.
Without hesitation, Tien and Dong Ha dropped to one knee in a respectful bow.
Seo Reun, however, stood stiffly beside them, unmoving, like a stick planted in the earth and now all eyes were on him.