It was underwater.
When she tried to breathe,
her breath snapped in her throat.
She could not even tell whether her body was sinking or rising.
With above and below overturned,
it felt as though only time were stretching on.
Bido flailed both arms.
The water did not part at her fingertips.
It clung to her like a sticky film,
slowing the movement of her arms.
‘Where... is this?’
Even in the moment she spat out the thought, her body sank deeper into the water.
And far away,
she saw a faint light.
A cold, round light like moonlight.
Bido turned her body toward it.
She tried to stretch her feet toward the bottom, but her toes touched nothing.
Instead, it felt as though something were pulling at her ankles.
Then—
the water before her eyes
suddenly grew still.
Like a mirror.
Bido stared at that surface.
Reflected there was a vaguely familiar shadow.
A broad-shouldered man.
A hand gripping a sword.
A twisted posture.
And,
eyes spreading with madness.
Bido’s breath stopped.
‘Back then...’
The man was holding a sword.
It was not merely crude in shape.
Red scales covered the blade and hilt in patches,
forming an uneven shape.
And the scales writhed faintly, as if alive.
The man raised his head.
Those eyes in the mirror stared straight at Bido.
At that moment,
Bido realized.
That face—
little by little,
was overlapping with her own.
“No...”
She opened her mouth,
but water rushed in at once.
Her throat burned with pain.
Soon, the mirror-like surface before her eyes distorted.
The ripples grew larger.
And then, suddenly—
the surface shattered.
The water gave way as if collapsing downward.
Bido curled up as though clutching at herself.
At that moment, weight settled into her hand.
A cold,
hard, familiar weight.
She tried to open her palm, but her hand would not open.
Bido looked down at her own hand.
A sword was gripped in it.
And that sword—
was covered in red scales.
The scales wrapped around the hilt had spread all the way to the back of her hand.
No, they were stuck to it.
It was not that Bido was holding it,
but as though the sword and her hand were joined.
Bido swallowed her breath.
She tried to let go.
She tried to loosen her grip.
But her hand would not move.
Then,
a shadow rose up ahead of her.
As if someone were approaching through the water,
slowly.
As the form drew closer, she saw the face.
It was Mendel.
She looked at Bido without saying a word.
“Lady Mendel...?”
Her voice broke apart in the water.
Mendel did not answer.
She simply had her back turned.
As if waiting for something.
Bido tried to take a step back.
But her feet moved against her will.
Forward.
‘No.’
Her body was walking.
Against her own intent.
The sword grew heavy.
No—
it was being lifted.
Bido twisted her wrist.
She tried to let the strength leave it.
“Don—”
But the tip of the sword did not stop.
“Don’t!”
The water split apart.
The sword swept through.
The resistance of cutting through flesh was conveyed clearly into her palm.
Soft,
and severing.
Something warm splashed across Bido’s face.
Mendel’s body shook violently.
And as her back split open,
red spread slowly outward.
Bido’s breath stopped.
She tried to release her hand again.
She even tried to tear it away by force.
But the red scales held firm,
joining the sword to her hand.
Mendel turned and moved her lips.
But no sound reached her.
She only—
looked disappointed.
Mendel’s body shook again.
The blood did not spread.
Instead—
her form warped,
blurring from the edges.
Like a shadow spreading through water, her outline collapsed.
Her fingertips vanished first.
Her shoulders grew hazy.
But her gaze remained on Bido until the very end.
And then—
she scattered into a dark shadow.
And only quiet ripples remained.
Bido drew in a breath.
No,
she tried to.
No breath came in.
And once more, before her eyes,
another shadow rose.
Though it was underwater, where there was no wind,
something cut through the current as it approached.
A familiar presence.
White hair swayed in the water.
It was Miryeong.
Her eyes went straight to Bido.
“What are you doing?”
The sound echoed, warped.
Close,
yet far away.
Bido tried to shake her head.
“No... I—”
The sword was lifted again.
Not held by the hilt,
but as though it were fused to her.
Toward Miryeong.
“Stop...!”
Bido clenched her teeth.
She put strength into her arm.
She tried to wrench her wrist aside.
The scales stuck to her split apart with a creak.
Her muscles trembled painfully, and the tip of the sword wavered.
A little—
just a little,
the trajectory twisted.
But it did not stop.
Something inside pushed harder.
The sword straightened again.
Slowly,
yet irresistibly.
And once more, it moved toward Miryeong.
Bido’s breath shook as though it would break.
“No... no...”
Her hand went numb.
Sensation burned away.
Even so, the sword came down, heedless of her will.
Miryeong’s eyes met Bido’s without wavering.
“Wake up.”
A short command.
At that moment—
the sword was about to fall for the last time.
Just as the sword was about to fall—
the light split apart.
—
“Hah!”
Bido sucked in a breath.
Her eyes flew open.
It was no longer darkness.
An unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar grain of wood.
And—
her own trembling arm.
It had stopped mid-swing, cutting through empty air.
Her fingertips continued to shake.
Her breathing rose raggedly.
Bido slowly looked at her own arm.
She thought it would be stained with blood.
But what she saw was—
faint red scales.
They had sprouted thinly along her arm.
They resembled what she had seen in the dream.
A trace that had not yet fully subsided.
Bido tried to clench her fingers.
Then the scales brushed against one another with a creak.
Not flesh,
but the sensation of touching something hard.
Bido’s breath caught again.
‘A dream...?’
Yet a warm sensation remained at her fingertips.
The sensation of blood splashing.
Bido hurriedly rubbed her hands.
There was no blood.
But—
the scales did not disappear.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
It was a familiar voice.
Bido turned her head.
Miryeong was wrapping bandages around Mendel while supporting her back upright.
The white cloth was stained slightly red.
“Where...”
Bido’s lips barely moved.
Her voice cracked as though her throat were dry.
Miryeong answered briefly.
“A place to catch our breath for a moment.”
Her tone was calm.
Bido’s gaze rested on Mendel’s back.
Beneath the bandages,
a red line clearly cut across it.
At that moment—
Bido’s palm went numb.
The resistance of flesh being cut.
The warm sensation splashing across her face.
Her breath broke short.
“I...”
The words did not finish.
The bandages before her eyes seemed to waver for a moment.
The scene from her dream overlapped with reality.
The moment the sword came down.
Mendel’s back.
That warm sensation.
Bido’s hand slowly trembled.
Her arm, still bearing scales, entered her sight.
There was no blood.
And yet—
it would not be erased.
Mendel slowly turned her head.
The bandaging was not yet finished.
Her breathing was a little labored,
but her eyes were gentle.
“Lady Bido.”
Mendel called softly.
“Are you all right?”
Her tone was full of concern.
Even while supporting her own back with bandages,
she was asking after Bido first.
Bido’s throat closed up again.
“Lady Mendel...”
The next words would not come.
They only circled inside her mouth.
I’m sorry.
In the end, they never emerged.
Her gaze dropped once more to Mendel’s bandages.
Her palm went numb again.
That sensation was too vivid.
Bido bit her lip.
She could not raise her head.
“Don’t move.”
Miryeong’s short words cut in.
Her hands did not stop as she tied off Mendel’s bandage.
Moonlight, not yet fully gone, was filtering in through the window.
The slanting light dimly illuminated one spot.
There—
lay Tiamar’s sword.
Its form was crude, as always.
The blade was not dull, but neither was it ostentatious,
and the hilt was wrapped roughly.
It looked no different from usual.
And yet,
in Bido’s eyes—
red scales overlapped it.
From the hilt to the blade,
an uneven shape like the one she had seen in her dream was laid over it.
It looked as though the scales were writhing.
Bido blinked instinctively.
The moonlight wavered.
The overlapping shape vanished.
Once more,
it was the sword she knew.
But her heart would not easily settle.
Bido’s hand twitched ever so slightly.
Then her hand slowly rose.
Toward the sword.
Her fingertips brushed the air.
If she reached just a little farther, she would touch it.
But—
her hand stopped.
Her fingers remained frozen in place.
The sensation she had felt in the dream brushed past her again.
Warmth, resistance,
the feel of splitting flesh.
Bido’s hand trembled faintly.
Miryeong saw it.
And spoke briefly.
“Hurry and gather your things before morning comes.”
Her tone was calm.
“Before the priest catches our scent.”
Bido did not answer.
Mendel steadied her breathing and said,
“...Lady Bido. Rest a little more.”
Miryeong let out a small sigh.
Short,
and suppressed.
“We don’t have time.”
As the moonlight slanted further,
the darkness of the forest was growing thin.
Bido’s hand moved again.
It was still trembling.
The sword lay unchanged beneath the moonlight.
Clearly a crude-looking weapon with nothing like scales upon it.
Even so, the closer she came, the tighter her chest felt.
‘I don’t want to...’
A small voice arose within Bido.
She wanted to run away.
She wanted to leave that thing behind and go.
But—
she herself knew she could not.
Bido squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.
And reached out once more.
The moment she gripped the hilt,
an unpleasant ferocity seeped in along with the cold sensation.
A presence like something scraping at the inside of her heart.
For an instant, it overlapped with the sensation of the scales from her dream brushing against her.
Her breath surged as though it would stop.
Bido clenched her teeth.
And did not let go.
She slowly lifted the sword.
As if nothing had happened,
it was a familiar weight.
But it was not familiar at all.
Without a word, Bido slung the sword across her back.
Moonlight brushed the hilt one last time.
And then,
slowly disappeared.