Orla:

A sharp, pungent smell dragged me back to consciousness. My head throbbed, pain pulsing behind my eyes as I struggled to open them. The light was too bright, making me question if I was still dreaming.

For a moment, I thought I heard Nara’s voice—soft, distant—but then it was gone, swallowed by something else. A faint rhythmic beeping, quick and sharp, flickered in and out like a sound out of place. It came and went so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure I heard it at all. Then, silence. Heavy, pressing.

Darkness crept back in, and the air thickened with a deep, earthy scent that clung to my throat with every breath. My surroundings blurred, like looking through a clouded window. I lay on a low bed, the soft linens beneath me offering little comfort against the stifling warmth of the room. Something was off. I could feel it, but I couldn’t quite grasp what.

As I opened my eyes, my vision still hazy, the space around me slowly took form—tall wooden pillars stretching toward an ornately carved ceiling, candlelight flickering against gold inlays woven into the beams. Silk banners draped along the walls, embroidered with swirling lotus, their deep reds and purples adding to the richness of the room. Incense curled through the air, blending with the remnants of medicinal herbs, making it hard to tell if I was in a place of healing or something else entirely.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind, and that’s when I saw them—women in embroidered hanboks standing in a circle around me. Their faces were unreadable, their eyes watching, waiting.

A voice cut through the haze. "Finally, you're awake."

I turned my head, vision still swimming, to see an older woman at the foot of the bed. Her presence was commanding, her robes more elaborate than the others. Her hair was braided with precision in a tight chignon, and her sharp gaze studied me carefully.

"Where am I?" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry.

The woman’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "You’re safe now." Her tone was calm, but something about it unsettled me.

Safe. The word felt wrong. My head pounded as flashes of memory surfaced—being chased, black cloaks, an ambush. I tried to sit up, but the room spun, and I collapsed back onto the cushions. "My head…"

"Rest," the woman instructed, stepping closer. The others remained silent, their gazes still fixed on me. "You’ve been through quite an ordeal."

I wanted to ask more—where I was, who they were—but my mind was too foggy. The warmth of the room, the weight of the herbal scent, made my eyelids heavy again. I fought to stay awake, but sleep pulled me under.

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The last thing I saw was the woman’s quiet, knowing smile as she whispered, "We’ve been waiting for you."

***

When I woke again, the pain in my head had dulled, but the ache remained. My vision was clearer now, the fog lifting. The room, though still unfamiliar, didn’t feel as suffocating.

This time, only the older woman remained. She sat beside me, dabbing a cool cloth across my forehead. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and something about her presence felt oddly familiar.

"Good," she murmured. "You should be well enough to eat now."

I blinked, still disoriented. The scent of herbs lingered, but another aroma reached me—something savory and warm. Before I could move, she reached over to a tray with a wooden bowl filled with dark liquid.

"Drink this first," she said firmly. "It will help you recover."

I eyed the thick, unappealing liquid warily. The bitter scent made my stomach turn. "What is it?"

She didn’t answer, just watched me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure what to think. Here I was, in a stranger’s home, drinking another bowl of some unknown remedy, recovering from yet another concussion. By all logic, I should be dead. So why was I still here? Still breathing? Whatever she was feeding me, it couldn’t be worse than death—not if I was supposed to be dead already.

Reluctantly, I took a sip. The taste was worse than I expected—bitter, sour, almost rancid. I barely swallowed without gagging.

"All of it," she urged.

I forced down the rest, each swallow harder than the last. By the time I finished, my stomach churned, but the woman looked pleased. She handed me a cloth to wipe my mouth, then reached for another saucer, this one filled with steaming broth. The aroma was different—richer, deeper. Something savory, almost comforting. A consommé, maybe?

"Here," she said. "This will go down easier."

I took it hesitantly, realizing just how weak and hungry I felt. The warmth of the broth settled in my stomach, but it did nothing to quiet the growing panic in my chest.

"Milo." The name slipped out before I could stop it. My heart lurched. "Where’s Milo? Raven? Sang-min?"

The woman blinked, her expression unreadable. "Milo? Sang-min?" She tilted her head slightly. "I don’t know who you’re talking about."

Panic flared. "The people I was with," I insisted. "Where are they? What happened?"

"Hush now. You’re safe. This is your new life, child. There’s no need to worry about anyone else beyond these walls." Her words sent a chill through me.

New life? Walls?

My stomach dropped. "What do you mean new life? I need to find them!"

She placed a calming hand on mine. "You’ve healed well. The attendants will come to dress you soon."

I glanced down, confused. My old hanbok was gone, replaced by a simple white robe. "I’m already dressed."

The woman chuckled, amused. "Oh, child, you can’t meet the king in those."

The blood drained from my face. "The… king?"

She rose gracefully, smoothing her robes. "The attendants will arrive shortly. You must be presentable for your audience…"

I wasn’t listening anymore. Panic seized me, but the woman’s words echoed in my mind.

This is your new life.

Had Milo and Raven ever been real? Were they still out there, or had I made them up—some desperate attempt to hold onto something safe? Or was I still trapped in this nightmare, just in a different part of it? The thought sent a chill down my spine.

I looked around again, the sheer opulence of the room pressing in on me. The mention of a king. The attendants. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.

But how was I supposed to get out of this? Without Milo or Raven, I felt trapped—helpless and completely alone, with no clear way out.

©Sky Mincharo