Bido looked once more at the earth with the stone set atop it.
The soil was still wet.
A place that seemed as though it would lose its shape at the slightest brush of wind.
Feeling the inside of his throat go dry, Bido asked quietly.
“Lady Miryeong…”
Miryeong did not answer.
Bido chose his words, then in the end spoke first of the practical matter.
“Won’t this… become a problem?”
Miryeong’s shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.
Bido continued.
“If she was an imperial knight…”
“People might come looking in our direction.”
Miryeong looked at the grave for a long while,
then turned her head just a little.
“Who knows.”
Her words were brief.
Miryeong’s voice was still cracked,
but now what mingled in it was not fever, but exhaustion.
“Rina… was a knight. That much is true.”
Miryeong paused for a moment at the end of her sentence.
The fact that her “is true” belonged to the past now
felt louder than the words themselves.
Miryeong added in a low voice.
“But as far as I know, a knight who has lost their Fibula…”
“By their rules, it’s the end.”
Bido felt his fingertips grow cold at those words.
The end.
Because the phrase was far too simple.
Bido asked again.
“Then… is it over?”
Miryeong did not shake her head.
Nor did she nod.
She simply let out a breath.
“I don’t know either.”
That was Miryeong’s true answer.
“If the empire moves only according to its rules…”
“Nothing will happen.”
Miryeong turned her gaze back toward the grave.
“But do those bastards always move only according to the rules?”
For the first time, a thin edge entered Miryeong’s voice.
Bido shifted his gaze to the grave.
The wet earth was still holding its shape,
yet everything beneath it had already been summed up with the word “end.”
If one lost their Fibula, it was the end.
That was the rule.
Its decisiveness was what made it frightening.
Rules could save people,
but when they abandoned people, they were sometimes far too swift.
Bido felt his throat dry even further.
The words that “the end” might not be the end were not comfort,
but another name for danger.
In the end, Bido could not answer.
There was nothing he could say.
A gust of wind passed once between the two of them.
When Miryeong’s hair stirred in that wind,
she started to lift a hand, then stopped.
Her fingertips were trembling ever so faintly.
Seeing it, Bido wordlessly held out his own hand.
Miryeong did not take it right away.
Instead, she lowered her eyes for a moment.
Bido’s hand.
And her own.
Miryeong lowered her hand.
Her fingers touched the back of Bido’s hand as if brushing it,
then stopped there.
An awkward contact, neither holding nor letting go.
Bido did not pull his hand away.
If he tugged, it felt as though Miryeong would waver even more.
Her fingers trembled thinly,
and that trembling traveled over the back of his hand just as it was.
Miryeong put no strength into it.
A hand that wanted to hold on but could not,
as though it would collapse the moment it did.
Bido let out another divided breath.
For now,
it simply felt right to keep his hand here.
Miryeong said in a low voice.
“Bido.”
Just hearing his name called made Bido draw in a breath.
Miryeong could not continue for a long while.
Then she forced out a single phrase.
“I’m sorry.”
Bido’s eyes widened.
Without lifting her head, Miryeong went on.
“I didn’t mean to make you see something like this.”
When she finished speaking, Miryeong’s throat moved once.
Her breath broke for an instant.
Miryeong immediately swallowed that breath,
then forced herself to hold on to her next words.
“…And thank you.”
Because those words felt so unlike Miryeong,
Bido’s heart sank all the more.
Bido shook his head.
“No…”
“I was the one who followed you.”
Miryeong moved the corner of her mouth once,
very faintly.
It was not a smile.
It was simply a motion to keep her expression from crumbling.
Miryeong tore her gaze away from the grave.
Then she turned around.
“Let’s go back now.”
Bido could tell those words did not mean they should run away.
Miryeong took one step,
then staggered for a moment.
Bido immediately moved to her side.
This time, Miryeong did not refuse.
The two began descending the hill.
They did not look back.
Still, the wind briefly brushed past the earth behind them.
That the Fibula remained beneath it—
both of them knew that much.
The two came down the hill.
The wind pushed at their backs, then let them go.
The earth beneath their feet made a drier sound than it had in the morning,
and the grass, once pressed down, bowed its head and stayed that way.
Miryeong no longer walked ahead.
Her steps lagged by half a beat at a time.
Bido did not urge her on, staying beside her and walking at the same pace.
The forest changed its face several times.
The smell changed,
and the height at which the wind brushed past changed.
The sun rose and tilted.
Even without saying it, their bodies knew first.
Miryeong’s fever did not come down easily.
When they stopped after walking,
the heat instead became clearer.
Miryeong closed and opened her eyes now and then, her breath divided into shallow pieces.
Each time, Bido listened first to the sounds around them.
The sound of leaves rubbing together,
the sound of water flowing far away,
the sound of his own heart beating far too loudly.
Words were of no help.
Instead, Bido brushed the back of his hand once against Miryeong’s forearm.
Just enough to check that she would not fall.
Miryeong made no response,
but she did not reject that check either.
The fever seemed to cool once, then rose again,
and the headache only changed its shape, tugging dully at the back of her head.
Instead of speaking, Bido rummaged in his pouch and handed her dried meat.
Miryeong pretended not to see it, but eventually took it and chewed.
She swallowed water slowly as well.
Her throat moved once.
Bido did not ask.
After that, too, the two walked on without speaking,
stopping every so often before moving again.
By the time the scent of evening settled over the forest—
and at the point where the trees began to thin,
the space ahead opened up.
It was only an old, abandoned shrine.
The roof was tilted, and the foundation was low.
And yet, strangely,
the forest seemed to stand aside from this place alone.
Miryeong stopped there.
The sun had already slanted down.
Evening was right before them.
Standing beside Miryeong,
Bido held up the water skin once more.
“Do you want to drink a little more?”
Miryeong shook her head briefly.
Then she said in a low voice.
“Let’s go in.”
The end of her words trembled ever so slightly.
Bido nodded.
Miryeong walked around to the back of the shrine.
Bido followed close behind her.
Behind the shrine, beneath the vines.
Miryeong bent down first and went in.
Bido swallowed a short breath so his sword would not catch, then followed.
Stairs appeared.
Short, steep stone steps.
At the end of the stairs was a plain cave wall.
Bido instinctively held his breath.
Even the first time he had come,
he had hesitated once here.
The wall said nothing.
The answer—
could only come from the inside.
Miryeong stood before the wall.
She raised her hand
and knocked on the stone without hesitation.
It was a rhythm like a rule.
An interval only someone who knew its meaning could repeat.
Bido held his breath as he listened to that sound.
Though the stone wall remained unchanged,
it felt as though somewhere was “waiting.”
Miryeong’s hand did not shake.
Despite her fever, despite her pain.
That steadiness seemed like the key that opened the door.
Bido endured the sensation of his sword strap pressing against his shoulder.
Without taking a deep breath,
he simply waited in silence.
A brief stillness passed.
And then—
little by little, came the sound of stone sliding.
One side of the cave wall split open by the smallest amount.
A gap appeared, and that gap widened.
Cold air flowed out once
from inside to outside.
As the door opened like that,
a single shadow appeared through it.
It was Muryeong.
The moment he saw the two of them, his eyes swept over them before any words came.
Bido,
and Miryeong.
Miryeong’s face was pale,
and dried sweat remained at the nape of her neck.
Her body also seemed heavier than usual.
Muryeong’s gaze paused briefly on Miryeong’s fingertips,
then immediately rose.
Without a word, he stepped aside.
Once Bido and Miryeong entered,
the stone wall slowly closed again.
The gap disappeared,
the sound disappeared,
and the forest outside disappeared as well.
All that remained was the smell of stone and the quiet sound of breathing.
From behind them, Muryeong asked in a low voice.
“So.”
Muryeong’s voice was calm, as always.
“Is it over?”
Miryeong stopped for a moment.
Then she drew in a breath and let it out.
She answered briefly.
“Yeah.”
Muryeong did not ask right away.
He came a little closer and looked at the height of Miryeong’s shoulder.
“Really?”
Miryeong’s lips tightened once.
Miryeong nodded very faintly.
“Yes… really.”
Muryeong did not ask anything more after that.
Instead, he raised one hand and took hold of Miryeong’s arm.
The strength of his grip was not great.
Only enough to keep her from falling.
Muryeong said shortly.
“Then let’s go in.”
Miryeong did not refuse.
Bido watched the sight from a step behind.
He felt Miryeong’s breathing, which had continued from outside all this time,
finally settle a little.
Muryeong looked back at Bido once.
A gaze that seemed like confirmation rather than a question.
Bido lowered his head briefly.
“I’m fine.”
The words came out before he knew it.
Muryeong gave a short,
very short nod.
Then he led Miryeong farther inside.
Bido followed behind them.
The chill of the stone wall lingered on the hem of his clothes,
and the smell of earth they had brought in from outside slowly faded.
The rock at the entrance closed.
And with it, so did the events of today.