They walked in silence through the Jade Hollow Forest—an ancient grove of silverwood trees that swayed even when the air was still.
Wheee...
Sun-Ho's boots crunched softly on the damp path, each step measured. Behind him, So-Ri walked with her hands in her sleeves, eyes distant, as if her thoughts were trailing further behind than her feet.
Their journey had slowed. There was no enemy at their heels, no grand destination ahead. Only the weight of the fire inside him and the quiet between them.
---
Unseen Training
At a clearing near dusk, Sun-Ho stopped and turned toward a moss-covered boulder.
He raised his hand.
Fsshh...
A flicker of flame sparked to life, hovered above his palm—and immediately flared too bright.
He clenched his jaw, sweat beading at his temples.
> Steady...
He focused on the flame's shape, not its heat. It pulsed. Hesitated. Then thinned into a soft, petal-shaped ember.
So-Ri sat nearby, watching. She didn't interrupt.
After several minutes, the flame vanished into his skin.
Wshhh.
He exhaled. "Better."
"Still uneven," she noted. "But cleaner than yesterday."
"You're grading me now?"
"Someone has to."
---
The Village of Threads
They stopped that night at a forgotten weaver's village, tucked between mountain cliffs. The buildings were small, hand-built, with colored fabric strips strung between rooftops like festival flags.
But there were no festivals anymore.
A kind woman offered them food in exchange for helping hang new cloth over her family's well. Sun-Ho climbed onto the rooftop without question. So-Ri held the ladder.
As he worked, he heard her voice below—quiet. Hesitant.
"This place reminds me of home."
He glanced down.
So-Ri wasn't looking at him. She was staring at one of the fluttering banners—a blue one, marked with a silver crescent moon.
> Moonveil...
He climbed down silently.
---
Memory in the Loom
Later, after dinner, they wandered past a loom house. Inside, an old man worked a shuttle back and forth, weaving what looked like a burial cloth.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
So-Ri paused outside, staring through the open window.
"My mother made that pattern."
Sun-Ho looked at the weave. Subtle ripples, curved lines like running water and petals falling sideways.
"It's a memorial design," she whispered. "Only used for the dead of noble families."
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
"I was ten," she said, eyes fixed forward. "When the Alliance declared Moonveil 'non-compliant.' They came with fire. Not even soldiers—just approved disciples from bigger sects. We never stood a chance."
Her voice didn't shake. But her fingers dug into the sleeve of her robe.
"My father died buying time for the women to escape. My mother led us into the mountains... but only I made it to Dustcloud."
A long silence followed.
Sun-Ho finally said, "Did you ever think about revenge?"
"No," she said. "Not revenge. Justice. But justice has no hands. Only people do."
She looked at him.
"And people get scared. Or tired. Or used."
---
Connection
They walked back to the inn in silence.
As they neared the door, So-Ri stopped suddenly.
"I don't talk about that."
"I know."
"But I wanted to. To you."
He nodded slowly.
She looked down at her hands.
"I'm not sure what you're becoming. You scare me a little."
Sun-Ho met her eyes.
"Me too."
Then he smiled, soft and tired.
"But if I do lose control... I want you to be the one to stop me."
A breath passed between them.
Then, quietly, she reached out—and took his hand.
Not for warmth. Not for comfort.
But for promise.
---
Far Away – A Laugh in the Mist
Deep in the Riverroot Caverns, Master Jang Cheol-Oh kicked the unconscious body of a bandit aside and chewed on another onion stalk.
Beside him, a pale boy sat cross-legged, humming tunelessly and drawing spirals in the dirt with a stick.
"You've got power," Jang muttered. "But your brain's scrambled eggs."
The boy laughed. "Eggs can become fire."
Jang grinned.
"Oh, you'll do nicely."
---
[End of Chapter 13]