The sound of the door closing was not loud.
Even so, with that single sound, the wind and smell of earth outside were cut off.
The room was dark and narrow.
The bedding was folded,
and a small lamp hung on the wall.
The rooms of the Eunwoldan were always like this.
There was nothing unnecessary.
Bido did not take off his sword.
He only loosened the leather strap, leaving it on his back as he sat at the edge of the bed.
Miryeong leaned her back against the door for a moment,
then remained standing there, steadying her breath.
She said nothing.
Bido tried to breathe evenly.
Inside the room, only the thin sound of the lamp burning could be heard.
Miryeong’s breathing did not settle easily.
It felt like the breath of someone trying to hide pain.
From the moment Bido noticed it,
it took him even longer to choose his words.
Bido’s gaze studied Miryeong once more.
Her face was as indifferent as always,
but that indifference seemed thin somehow.
“...Lady Miryeong.”
Bido called to her carefully.
Instead of answering, Miryeong rubbed her temple once with the back of her hand.
Bido clearly saw her fingertips tremble for an instant.
As if trying not to let him notice,
Miryeong immediately lowered her hand.
“You sleep first.”
Miryeong spoke shortly.
Bido shifted his gaze toward the bed,
then looked back at Miryeong.
“Are you all right?”
Without turning her head, Miryeong said,
“I’m fine.”
The words were the same as always.
But this time, the moment they fell into the room, they sounded somehow cracked.
Bido opened his lips, then closed them.
He did not know what to say.
No,
it felt as though if he spoke, Miryeong would crumble even more.
Miryeong pushed herself away from the wall and moved.
She did not even come to the center of the room,
but turned back toward the door.
“I’m going to talk to Rangnan for a bit.”
Miryeong let the end of her sentence trail off ever so slightly.
Normally it would have been as firm as an order,
but now they were the words of someone holding herself together.
Bido instinctively tried to take a step closer, then stopped.
Miryeong placed her hand on the doorknob,
then turned her head only a little toward Bido.
“Don’t worry.”
And she added,
“Sleep first.”
—
Miryeong stopped in front of Rangnan’s room.
The corridor was quiet,
and that quiet only made her ears sharpen further.
Miryeong knocked on the door with the back of her hand.
Knock, knock.
“Rangnan. Are you there?”
No answer came right away.
From inside, there was a sound like paper being turned.
“Come in.”
Miryeong took hold of the doorknob and opened it.
The room was orderly.
The lamplight burned low,
and on the desk, an open map and thin sheets of paper were neatly arranged.
Rangnan only lifted her head from where she sat.
“Yes. Miryeong.”
Her words were calm as usual.
But her gaze paused after sweeping once over Miryeong’s face and fingertips.
A gaze that checked her condition with the eyes.
Miryeong closed the door and stepped inside.
The words did not come out immediately.
Rangnan asked nothing.
That silence was, instead, a place telling her to speak.
Miryeong opened her mouth first.
“Rangnan.”
Her voice was low.
“That knight who was chasing us. Rina.”
Miryeong’s tongue caught briefly on the name.
“She died by my hand.”
Miryeong put no strength into the end of her words.
But that calmness made it hurt all the more.
Rangnan’s eyes rested once more on Miryeong’s fingertips.
Miryeong started to open her palm as if to show it, then stopped, placing it on her knee instead.
Her fingers moved on their own.
Even though there was no blood on them, it was as if the sensation of today still remained.
Rangnan did not answer right away.
Her expression did not change much either.
She merely steadied her breath once,
and looked at Miryeong as she was.
Rangnan waited, without a word.
Miryeong pulled out a chair on one side of the room and sat down.
She did not lean back.
She placed her hands on her knees, but her fingers could not stay still.
Without looking at Rangnan, Miryeong continued.
“I... Arkin awakening.”
She swallowed her words once.
“I think I managed it.”
Rangnan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Miryeong added in a low voice,
“I always wanted to reach that realm.”
The end of her words trembled.
“But... this wasn’t the kind of situation I wanted.”
Rangnan listened quietly, then asked,
“How was it?”
It was a precise question.
Miryeong raised her head.
This time, she looked into Rangnan’s eyes.
“Earlier... I was too out of it to really know.”
For a moment, Miryeong’s eyes seemed to drift somewhere far away.
“But I think I understand.”
Miryeong clenched and unclenched her palm once.
“I always thought only of wind. Flow, compression, release.”
She drew in a breath.
The inside of her throat still stung.
“But suddenly... I felt it.”
Miryeong spoke slowly, as if choosing her words.
“The air. Not as just one mass... but as if it were layered.”
“As if heat and cold... were clinging together.”
Miryeong bit her lip, then let go.
“I tried to blow Rina away. Like during the full moon.”
And very quietly, she added,
“But... it pierced through.”
A single word fell into the room.
At that moment, Miryeong’s neck bent once.
Rangnan tilted her head very slightly.
“Any abnormalities in your body?”
Miryeong answered immediately.
“Yes.”
“My body was hot. Like I was burning inside.”
“My eyes were... hot too.”
Rangnan closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.
A short moment to organize her thoughts.
Then Rangnan spoke.
“Good. First, remember this.”
Her voice was low and firm.
“Do not put your emotions first.”
Miryeong let out something too faint to tell whether it was a laugh or a breath.
Rangnan continued, driving the point in.
“And if the headache starts, stop.”
“If your fever rises, all the more so. You must not just let it pass.”
Rangnan’s gaze paused briefly on Miryeong’s eyes.
“Arkin awakening is not simply power. It is a gap.”
“Right now, you have set your foot on that gap—”
Rangnan cut her words off a little.
“If you fall, it will take a long time to recover.”
“And right now.”
Rangnan’s gaze swept once more over Miryeong’s fingertips,
the nape of her neck, and the corners of her eyes.
“This is not the time to increase your ‘techniques.’ You must establish a standard.”
Miryeong closed her lips.
Rangnan said in a low voice,
“The moonless night is approaching.”
Those words alone made the air grow a little heavier.
“As you know, Arkin cannot be used during the moonless night.”
Rangnan laid it out neatly.
“That ‘heat’ you felt today is a sign that the way you handle wind has changed.”
“But if you try to force yourself to hold on to it during the moonless night, you will lose even the wind.”
Miryeong’s eyes wavered for a moment.
Rangnan drove the nail in.
“So for the time being, only the basics.”
“Compression and release. Training to make what you originally did ‘unshakable.’”
“Tomorrow morning, in a very quiet place, you will only grasp the sensation and then cut it off immediately.”
Rangnan paused for a moment,
then added in an even lower voice,
“And one more thing.”
Miryeong raised her head.
Rangnan spoke without emotion.
“From now on, if you move by emotion, Bido’s time will collapse first.”
“That was what happened today as well.”
It was not a rebuke, but a fact.
When Miryeong could say nothing, Rangnan concluded at last.
“You did well. Since you went and ended it, at least the ‘aftermath’ has been settled.”
“But from tomorrow onward, we will be busier. Rest while you can.”
“And don’t forget.”
Rangnan’s eyes fixed precisely on Miryeong.
“You did not open that gap in order to become strong.”
“You opened it to survive, and to endure.”
—
When she stepped into the corridor, the warmth of the room was cut off.
Miryeong drew in a breath once, then let it out slowly.
The inside of her head still throbbed dully.
The heat had not completely cooled.
Even so, Rangnan’s words remained.
Stop.
Only the basics.
Miryeong held on to those words alone as she walked.
Each time she walked down the corridor, the inside of her head rang with a dull thud.
Miryeong did not put her hand against the wall.
Not because she thought she would fall if she did,
but because it would feel like admitting that she might fall.
Instead, she moved her feet more carefully.
Each time the tips of her feet scraped the floor,
she felt as if the heat were being dragged down little by little.
She endured with that one illusion.
When she arrived in front of the room, Miryeong took hold of the doorknob and stopped for a moment.
She could hear breathing from inside.
Miryeong opened the door.
Bido was still waiting.
The lamplight burned low,
and Bido was sitting on the bed.
Without even covering himself with the blanket, his eyes were turned toward the door.
The moment Bido saw Miryeong, he tried to get up, then stopped.
The words asking if she was all right rose to his throat,
then were swallowed back down.
Miryeong noticed it.
She closed the door and stepped inside as she said,
“Bido.”
Bido raised his head.
Miryeong could not toss it out as she normally would.
Her throat caught once, and her breath broke shallowly.
Even so, Miryeong spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
Only after those words came out first
did Miryeong close her lips once, as if searching for what to say next.
Miryeong did not avert her eyes.
“And... thank you.”
Bido could neither nod nor shake his head.
Instead, strength entered the hand gripping the edge of the blanket.
Afraid that saying “it’s all right” would sound too light,
Bido steadied his breath before finally forcing his voice out.
“...It’s all right.”
Bido spoke softly.
Miryeong nodded once.
“Let’s sleep now.”
Miryeong spoke shortly.
After hesitating for a moment, Bido nodded.
“Yes.”
Miryeong lowered the lamplight further.
As the light thinned, the shadows in the room deepened.
The two of them said nothing more.
Miryeong sat at the edge of the bed, steadied her breath, and lay down quietly.
Only then did Bido pull the blanket up.
The lamplight flickered one last time,
and the room slowly sank into sleep.