Orla:

I woke up slowly, my body heavy and my head pounding like it had been hit with a hammer. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but everything was still blurry—shapes and shadows blending together in a strange, disorienting haze. My heart raced for a second, hoping, please, let it be a dream. Maybe I’d wake up in Nara’s apartment, safe and sound, the smell of fresh coffee filling the air.

But no. The smell here wasn’t coffee. It was something earthier, more herbal. As my eyes began to focus, I saw jars lining the shelves, their contents dried and twisted. Jars of deep red and murky brown liquids stood alongside them, the colors dark and ominous. One jar caught my attention, holding the small, curled form of a fetus—an animal, perhaps—suspended in a clear liquid, its delicate limbs frozen in some eternal slumber. Dried herbs hung from the rafters like strange decorations, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. Fear crept up my spine at the sight of those containers, a chill settling in my bones. I sat up a little, confused, disoriented.

Where am I?

Then I saw him—Milo. He was slumped in a sitting position near me, leaning against the wall, fast asleep. He was still wearing those strange ancient robes, looking like some kind of warrior or bodyguard. My breath caught for a moment, and the tension in my chest began to ease. It wasn’t a dream. This was real, as much as I wished it wasn’t. But seeing him there, close by, the fear began to dissipate, replaced by a flicker of relief.

“Milo?” I whispered, my throat dry and scratchy. I wasn’t even sure if he could hear me.

Before I could say anything else, a voice from the other side of the small hut hushed me. “Shh, let him rest.”

I turned my head slowly, my muscles stiff, and saw someone sitting near the hearth. A man—no, a stranger. His face was partially hidden by the hood of his cloak, and the firelight cast strange shadows over him. He was stirring something in a pot, the smell of hot broth filling the room. It was him—the stranger I thought I’d seen in the haze of my restless sleep. The one who had appeared when everything went dark.

He stood up and brought a small bowl of broth over to me, crouching down to help me sit up properly. I winced at the effort, my body still feeling weak, and he moved with surprising care. “Drink this,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It’ll help.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Milo again. He was still out cold, breathing softly, his face relaxed in a way that made him look so different from how I’d seen him lately—calm, peaceful. I could see the dark circles under his eyes, proof that he hadn’t slept in a while. My heart twisted a little at the sight.

The stranger noticed my hesitation and spoke quietly. “He’s only just fallen asleep. He watched over you through the night. Let him rest now.”

I looked up at him, my mind racing with questions. How did we end up here? And how, of all things, had Milo found someone knowledgeable in medicine in a place like this? The thoughts swirled in my head, but I pushed them aside, focusing on the one thing I needed to know most.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, and asked, “Who are you?”

The man sat back a little, studying me for a moment before answering.

“My name is Jin-hoon,” he said. “I’m a healer. Not many know of me, though. My methods are... unconventional. Un-Buddhist, you could say.” He gave a half-smirk, though there was something sad about it. “That’s why I was exiled to this place. Out here, away from people.”

Exiled? Who even got exiled anymore? The thought sounded ridiculous until I reminded myself—I wasn’t in the world I knew. As I processed his words, I studied his face, the grime and harsh lines telling one story, while his eyes—sharp, young, and strangely intense—told another. There was something about them, something striking, even through the dirt.

I sipped the broth carefully, feeling the warmth spread through me as it went down. It was comforting in a way, though the stranger’s presence still had me on edge.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, though the question I didn’t ask lingered in the air. Why are you helping us?

Jin-hoon caught my gaze as if reading the unspoken question. He paused for a moment, then shrugged slightly, his voice low and calm. “If it weren’t for your friend there,” he said, nodding toward Milo, “you’d probably be dead by now.”

I blinked, surprised by the bluntness of his words. His tone wasn’t cruel or callous, just... matter-of-fact. It made me realize just how serious things had gotten, how close I’d come to—well, I didn’t want to think about that.

Jin-hoon turned back to the fire, stirring whatever was left in the pot, as if saving my life had been no more than routine for him.

I sipped the last of the broth when I heard Milo stir. He blinked a few times before his eyes found me, and he immediately sat up straighter. “Orla,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep. “How are you feeling?”

I touched my head, where the ache still lingered, but it was duller now, not as sharp. “I feel... surprisingly better,” I replied, offering him a small smile. “Still a headache, but nothing like before.”

Milo let out a breath of relief and leaned back slightly, running a hand through his long hair.

“Good, I’m so glad,” he said softly. He then turned toward Jin-hoon, who was still tending to the fire. “Thank you... seriously, for helping her.”

Jin-hoon didn’t even glance up from the pot. Instead, he chuckled under his breath. “It’s not you who should be thanking me,” he said. "I should be the one thanking you. That woodpile outside? Immaculate. I haven't seen such dedication to a task since I tricked a novice monk into rearranging temple stones for a full day just to ‘find inner balance."

I furrowed my brow, confused. “Woodpile?” I asked, glancing between them.

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Milo shifted awkwardly, avoiding my eyes before giving me a lopsided grin. “I’ll tell you later,” he said, clearly embarrassed.

Then, with a more serious look, he reached out and gently placed his hand on my forehead, checking for any lingering fever.

The warmth of his touch sent goosebumps racing up my arms, and I suddenly became hyper-aware of how close he was. My breath caught for a second as his fingers lingered against my skin, his concern clear in his expression. For a moment, the room felt smaller, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

“You’re definitely feeling better,” Milo said, his hand slowly pulling back, though his eyes didn’t leave mine. And just like that, the warmth of his touch lingered, leaving me feeling both relieved and strangely flustered.

Milo caught my gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt like he saw it too—the spark, the unspoken tension hanging between us. His expression softened, his eyes searching mine, but then, almost as quickly as it had come, he pulled away abruptly, clearing his throat as if to shake off whatever had passed between us.

Jin-hoon stepped forward, breaking the silence, and handed Milo a bowl of steaming broth. “You should eat,” he said gruffly. “It’ll help keep your strength up.”

Milo shook his head, waving it off. “I’m fine. Really, I don’t need it.”

Jin-hoon’s gaze hardened, and he pushed the bowl closer. “It’s not a suggestion. You’ll need your strength for later. Trust me.”

Milo hesitated, glancing at me as if weighing his options. With a sigh, he finally relented, taking the bowl from Jin-hoon. “Fine,” he muttered, as he began to sip the broth, clearly not wanting to argue.

Jin-hoon turned back to his work, the firelight casting shadows on his weathered face.

“Good choice,” he said quietly, though his words carried weight. I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by "later." Something about his tone made it feel like we weren’t quite out of danger yet.

Just as the tension began to settle, the door to Jin-hoon’s small hut creaked open. A cheerful, young man stepped inside, a broad grin plastered across his face. He carried a burlap sack slung over his shoulder, plopping it down heavily onto the floor with a thud.

“Jin-hoon! I’ve got your weekly rice!” he announced with a lively energy, filling the quiet space.

Milo shot up from where he was sitting, his eyes widening as he pointed at the man. “Yoo?”

The man blinked, his grin faltering slightly as confusion crossed his face. “Who’s Yoo?” he asked, glancing between Jin-hoon and us, clearly puzzled.

Milo ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “This is getting ridiculous…”

The man, still looking confused, set the sack of rice down near the hearth and shot Jin-hoon a questioning look. “What’s this about? Got guests now?”

Before Jin-hoon could answer, Milo cut in. “We’re just passing through. Needed a place to rest for the night. But don’t worry, we’ll be leaving soon.”

I shot Milo a look, confusion tightening in my chest. "Leaving? Where? We don’t even know where we are, let alone where we're going."

The man raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know where you are? That’s unusual.” He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Well, you’re in the middle of nowhere, that’s for sure. This is Jin-hoon’s territory now, though I wouldn’t say it’s by choice. He’s been ex—”

Jin-hoon cleared his throat, the sound sharp enough to cut through the air. His eyes flicked to the man in a silent warning.

There it was again—that word. Exile. Jin-hoon had already told me about it, so why did it seem like something to keep from Milo? The way the man cut himself off, the way Jin-hoon’s eyes flickered with warning—it was strange, but maybe it wasn’t a secret, just something he didn’t care to explain twice.

The man chuckled, waving his hand as if brushing off the tension. “Ah, right, right. No need to bring up old stories. Just saying, if it weren’t for me dropping by every week, this guy would have no one to talk to out here.” He gave Jin-hoon a playful nudge. “Not that he’s much of a talker anyway.”

Jin-hoon didn’t react at first, just gave a small nod toward the burlap sack, clearly more interested in the rice than the conversation. The man picked up the bag and hefted the sack onto the counter with a heavy thud, turning back to us with an easy grin. “I’m heading out to Seongjin-ri soon. Quiet little town, couple days’ travel. If you’ve got nowhere else to be, I can take you there. It’s a lot better than sticking around here.”

Jin-hoon shot the man a stern glance. The man merely chuckled, shrugging it off like it was nothing.

“Hey, just offering some help. Better than leaving them lost in the woods, right?”

Jin-hoon grunted in response, seeming uninterested in the conversation.

I glanced over at Milo, unsure of what to do next.

“What do you think?” I asked. “The stranger’s right… We can’t stay here in this tiny hut forever. As much as I’m grateful for Jin-hoon’s help, we should get moving.”

Milo hesitated, his eyes darting between me and the man leaning casually by the door. “I don’t have any money to pay for this,” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The man waved it off with a dismissive grin. “Forget about it. No one’s asking for your money. Just some company for the road.”

Milo glanced back at me, uncertainty written all over his face.

I nodded, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “We don’t have any better options.”

“Great,” the man said, clapping his hands together. “It’s settled then. Meet me out front when you’re ready, and we’ll get going.”

With that, he turned and strolled out of the hut, leaving Milo and I to exchange a final, uncertain glance before preparing to leave.

As Milo and I gathered what little we had, the atmosphere in the tiny hut shifted. There was an unspoken tension in the air, like something was being left unsaid. I could feel the weight of Jin-hoon’s gaze on us, though he stayed quiet as we got ready. I packed the small cloth satchel Jin-hoon had given me earlier with some herbs and a bit of dried food, my fingers moving over the rough fabric absentmindedly.

Milo was by the entry, adjusting his robe before slinging his quiver over his shoulder and securing his bow on his back. The stranger—Jin-hoon's visitor—had already left to his rice cart, promising to meet us by the end of the walking path when we were ready to go.

Just as we were about to step outside, Jin-hoon cleared his throat, stopping us in our tracks. His rough hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a tiny vial filled with a murky, brown liquid. He walked over, his expression as unreadable as ever, and pressed it into my hand.

“Take this with you,” Jin-hoon said gruffly, his voice low but insistent. “But don’t use it just yet. A time will come when you’ll really need it.”

I frowned, turning the vial over in my hand. The liquid sloshed inside, thick and mysterious. Beside me, Milo shifted, his gaze flicking to the small bottle before meeting mine. We exchanged a quick, curious glance, both of us unsure of what to make of this strange gift.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice filled with confusion.

Jin-hoon’s expression didn’t change as he looked me in the eye. “Promise me,” he said, his voice low and firm, “you won’t take it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

My brow furrowed even deeper. I looked at Milo again, his own confusion mirroring mine. “But when would that be?” I asked, still turning the vial in my hands.

“You’ll know when the time comes,” Jin-hoon replied, his gaze shifting between me and Milo, as vague as ever. It felt like he was speaking to both of us, leaving no room for further explanation. Without another word, he turned back to his work, leaving the air thick with unanswered questions and an unsettling sense of mystery hanging between us.

There was more I wanted to ask, but Milo cut through. "We should get going. If this town is far, we don’t want to waste any more time here."

He was right. Lingering in a hut in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t do us any good. If there was civilization beyond this place—someone who could actually help us, maybe even get us back to the city—we needed to start moving now.

I tucked the vial into my satchel and tightened the strap.

As Milo and I stepped outside with Raven in tow, the crisp air stung my skin, but it did nothing to shake the unease twisting in my gut.

Why was Jin-hoon being so cryptic? What could be so important that he wouldn’t just tell me? The vial felt heavier in my bag with each step, as though whatever was inside carried secrets I wasn’t ready to uncover.

©Sky Mincharo