Rain arrived before sunset.
Not violent storm rain, but steady mountain rainfall that drummed endlessly against the caravan canopies and turned the roads into rivers of darkened earth. By evening, the entire camp smelled of wet cedar wood, smoke, soaked leather, and steaming broth from the cookfires.
The caravan had halted at a dangerous crossroads.
Two ancient routes split ahead through separate valleys.
One curved eastward through narrower mountain passages toward hidden monasteries and old noble estates.
The other descended south toward the outer roads leading eventually to the capital of Silla.
General Hwan Ryuk had ordered the camp tightened early.
No unnecessary wandering.
No long walks.
No river excursions.
Even the mood around dinner felt quieter than usual.
The officials spoke in lower voices. Soldiers rotated patrols more frequently. Messengers moved constantly between fires carrying sealed orders beneath rain cloaks.
Something was wrong.
Everyone felt it.
Inside the covered meal pavilion, the rain muted the outside world into a steady silver roar.
Sunwo still attempted to keep spirits alive.
Tonight he served roasted chestnuts glazed in pine honey beside warm rice cakes filled with sweet bean paste.
“Eat,” he ordered Jiho sternly while slapping another serving into his bowl.
Jiho looked exhausted already.
“You intend to feed me into battle.”
“You look better with meat on your bones.”
“You say this every day.”
“Because every day you continue being stubbornly alive.”
Even Claire smiled faintly beneath her veil.
But beneath the warmth, tension remained.
Taejin barely touched his food.
Hanul kept glancing toward the outer tents.
And General Hwan Ryuk spent most of the evening in discussion with Scholar Danyal ibn Safir near the rear lanterns.
Maps lay open between them.
The astrologist’s expression remained unreadable.
By full dark, the camp settled early beneath the rain.
No music.
No late fires.
Only watch lanterns glowing faintly through the wet night while soldiers moved like shadows between the caravans.
Inside the priestess pavilion, the women prepared for sleep quietly.
The sacred relics had been hidden once more.
Crystals sewn into quilt linings.
Pearls concealed inside stitching.
Scrolls tucked beneath false wagon panels.
Nothing appeared valuable at first glance.
Which was exactly the point.
Claire lay awake listening to the rain strike the canopies overhead.
The tiny northern dogs slept near Hanul’s bedding, curled together beneath wool blankets while Bokjin snored softly nearby.
Everything felt strangely peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Then—
A sound.
Not thunder.
Movement.
Very slight.
Canvas shifting.
Claire’s eyes opened instantly.
One of the dogs lifted its head sharply.
Another low sound followed.
A blade cutting fabric.
Then chaos exploded.
The tent wall split inward.
Dark figures surged through the opening in the rain.
Masked men.
Northern clothing.
Fast.
One of the maids screamed immediately as lantern light crashed sideways across the floor.
“Protect the priestess!”
A hand grabbed Mirae violently, dragging her backward as another attacker overturned a storage chest searching desperately through blankets and stitched bundles.
The dogs erupted into frantic barking.
Hanul shouted.
Bokjin fell sideways off his bedding in complete terror.
Claire moved without thinking.
One attacker lunged toward Nari and Claire slammed a bronze lantern stand directly into his arm with enough force to send the blade clattering sideways.
Not priestess behaviour.
Pure instinct.
The man cursed in a foreign dialect and seized her wrist violently.
Claire twisted hard, driving her knee upward exactly as years of modern self-defense classes had once taught her.
The attacker staggered backward in shock.
Unfortunately—
That drew attention.
Another masked man grabbed Mirae fully now, wrenching her upright with a knife pressed to her throat.
“She is the priestess!” he barked.
“No!” Nari screamed.
Claire froze.
Mirae’s terrified eyes locked with hers instantly.
The attackers had mistaken her.
Because of the veils.
Because of the rotations.
Because the deception had worked.
For now.
Outside, soldiers shouted.
Then steel rang against steel.
Jiho reached the pavilion first.
He and Taejin burst through the entrance almost simultaneously, rainwater streaming from their armour as swords flashed beneath lanternlight.
The entire tent erupted into violence.
One attacker lunged immediately toward Jiho.
Steel collided hard enough to spark.
Taejin drove another backward into a support pole while Hanul desperately dragged the remaining women toward the rear divider.
Claire tried pulling Nari behind overturned bedding just as another intruder grabbed her arm violently.
For one terrifying second she thought they realised who she truly was.
But the man shoved her aside instead while trying to reach the stitched blankets beneath the storage mats.
The crystals.
That was what they wanted.
Not just the priestess.
The relics.
The fight turned brutal fast.
Jiho moved with frightening precision, forcing two attackers backward despite the confined space.
Then one of the northerners struck Taejin across the side of the head with a metal hilt hard enough to drop him instantly.
“Taejin!”
Jiho turned—
Too late.
A blade drove into his side beneath the armour plating.
Claire heard the sound before the scream.
Jiho staggered sharply as blood spread instantly across dark fabric.
Rage flashed across his face anyway.
He still managed to drive his sword through the attacker’s shoulder before the remaining intruders fled into the rain carrying the screaming Mirae with them.
Then they vanished.
Gone into darkness.
Only rain remained.
And blood.
Everything after became confusion.
Soldiers flooded the camp.
Lanterns everywhere.
Shouting.
Horses.
Search parties.
General Hwan Ryuk barking orders loud enough to cut through the storm itself.
Claire barely heard any of it.
Jiho collapsed against one of the support beams clutching his side while Taejin groaned weakly nearby, blood running down his temple.
The wound was bad.
Too low for the heart.
But deep.
And bleeding heavily.
“Get the physicians—”
“There’s no time,” Claire snapped instinctively.
Everyone looked at her.
Even she looked startled by her own voice.
But modern knowledge had already taken over.
“Boil water. Clean cloths. Alcohol — strong alcohol if you have it.”
Hanul blinked rapidly.
“What?”
“NOW.”
Something in her tone must have carried authority because people moved instantly.
Jiho looked pale already.
Rainwater and blood soaked through his armour as Claire knelt beside him.
“You’re not dying tonight,” she muttered.
Jiho actually managed a weak laugh through clenched teeth.
“That sounds encouraging.”
“Be quiet.”
The physicians arrived halfway through her work and looked horrified.
Not because she failed.
Because she was succeeding.
Claire had already cleaned the wound as best she could using heated spirits while removing broken fragments of leather from the stab site.
Modern first aid.
Pressure control.
Cleaning infection risks.
Basic stitching knowledge from another lifetime entirely.
Jiho hissed sharply once as she threaded the curved needle.
“You’ve done this before,” he said quietly.
Claire hesitated.
“In another life.”
The answer somehow felt true.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long despite the pain.
Rain hammered outside the pavilion while soldiers came and went carrying reports.
No sign of the attackers yet.
No sign of Mirae.
Hours later, the camp finally settled into grim silence.
Jiho remained propped against folded bedding while fresh bandages wrapped tightly across his side.
Taejin sat nearby with an ugly bruise forming across half his face while repeatedly insisting he was “perfectly conscious” despite clearly swaying.
Claire sat quietly near the lanterns, hands still stained faintly with blood and medicinal herbs.
Jiho spoke first.
“If they realise they took the wrong woman…”
The rest remained unspoken.
Claire lowered her gaze.
Mirae would suffer for their mistake.
Interrogation.
Threats.
Torture perhaps.
And all because she looked enough like the priestess to die in her place.
A heavy silence followed.
Then the pavilion entrance opened.
General Hwan Ryuk entered.
Rain dripped steadily from his cloak while several officers followed behind him.
His face had hardened into stone.
“There are spies within the caravan,” he said bluntly.
No one argued.
“We approach the outer territories of Silla within days. Once we reach the first southern estates, the priestess will disappear from the caravan entirely.”
Claire looked up sharply.
The General continued.
“She and one remaining attendant will travel disguised as noblewomen under private household protection outside the capital walls.”
His gaze shifted briefly toward Jiho.
“You and Taejin will continue escort duty.”
Taejin looked deeply offended. “I was struck unconscious.”
“You are still breathing.”
“…Unfortunate.”
Even wounded, Jiho snorted softly.
For the first time all night, Claire almost smiled.
But General Hwan Ryuk’s next words extinguished the moment entirely.
“Every servant, translator, merchant, and soldier will be questioned before we reach the capital.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains.
And somewhere beyond the rain-dark roads, Mirae was still out there.
Before dawn, the caravan divided.
Rain still lingered in the mountains, though lighter now — drifting silver mist instead of full storm. The campfires had been deliberately overfed with damp cedar and pine through the night until thick smoke rolled heavily through the lower camp.
A screen.
A distraction.
Perfect for concealment.
Under General Hwan Ryuk’s orders, one smaller carriage was quietly prepared near the eastern ridge while most of the main caravan continued making noise and movement along the southern road.
Blankets containing the remaining relics were bundled carefully into hidden compartments beneath the carriage floor. Crystals sewn into quilted lining. Pearl cases disguised as medicine boxes. The Tears of Amalion concealed beneath common wool wrappings blackened with ash to resemble cheap smoked trade cloth.
Nothing sacred appeared sacred anymore.
That was survival.
The carriage itself was smaller and lighter than the priestess wagons used before.
Built for rough terrain.
Fast movement.
Escape if necessary.
Taejin sat rigidly upon horseback despite the bruise still darkening half his face.
Claire had personally pointed at him earlier while wrapping fresh cloth around Jiho’s side.
“You are not allowed to lose consciousness again.”
Taejin blinked slowly. “That feels unreasonable.”
“Stay awake.”
“I was struck by a man built like a fortress.”
“Still awake.”
“…I liked you better when you were pretending to be quiet.”
Jiho had laughed hard enough to regret it immediately afterward.
Now, as dawn finally bled pale gold across the mountains, the smaller escort descended the eastern path away from the main caravan routes.
The road narrowed sharply through the highlands.
Wet cliffs.
Pine forests.
Steep rocky turns overlooking valleys drowned in morning fog.
Most of the escort remained mounted to keep the carriage light enough for the dangerous descent.
Inside, Jiho rested against layered blankets near the rear wall while Claire sat opposite him checking the bandages beneath his armour wraps.
“You are staring at the window again,” she murmured.
“I am guarding the priestess.”
“You are supposed to be resting.”
“I can do both.”
“You nearly died.”
“I only got stabbed a little.”
Claire narrowed her eyes.
“That sentence alone explains why soldiers have short lives.”
The corner of Jiho’s mouth lifted.
“There she is again.”
“Who?”
“The real you.”
Claire looked down quickly to hide her smile.
The carriage rocked steadily over uneven ground.
Outside, horse hooves struck wet stone while distant river water echoed somewhere below the cliffs. Occasionally the canopy curtains shifted with the wind, allowing flashes of green valleys and cloud-covered mountains to spill briefly into view.
For long stretches neither spoke.
Not awkward silence.
Comfortable silence.
The kind that forms only after surviving fear together.
Jiho watched her often when he thought she wasn’t looking.
And unfortunately for him, Claire noticed almost every time.
At one point she caught him staring outright.
“What?”
“You fight strangely for a priestess.”
“That again?”
“You throw things.”
“You stabbed people.”
“That is soldier work.”
“And throwing lanterns is apparently priestess work.”
Jiho laughed softly, then winced immediately at the pull in his side.
Claire leaned forward automatically.
“See? That is what happens when you annoy the person who stitched you together.”
“You stitched me together surprisingly well.”
There it was again.
That curious look.
Like he was trying to solve her.
Eventually his questions began properly.
“Where did you learn to move like that?”
Claire leaned her head lightly against the carriage wall as she considered the safest answer.
“My home.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is enough of one.”
Jiho folded his arms carefully. “Most noble daughters learn poetry, music, and marriage etiquette.”
Claire snorted softly before catching herself.
“Then I suppose I disappointed everyone terribly.”
“You do not behave like someone raised only for marriage.”
“Good.”
The answer came too fast.
Jiho’s eyes flickered with amusement.
Claire sighed dramatically. “Where I grew up, daughters were expected to know many things.”
“Such as?”
“How to survive.” She gestured vaguely. “Trade routes. Movement. Languages. History. Healing. Defense.”
Jiho studied her carefully.
“That is uncommon.”
“So am I.”
That made him smile again.
The carriage jolted slightly over stone and Claire steadied herself with one hand against the wall.
Outside, Taejin’s voice drifted back from horseback.
“If either of you begins flirting loudly enough for the entire mountain to hear, I am throwing myself off this cliff.”
Claire nearly choked.
Jiho looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“We are discussing education,” he called outward calmly.
“That somehow sounds worse.”
As the morning stretched onward, Claire slowly found herself speaking more openly than she intended.
Not about the future.
Never directly.
But about home.
The mountains around Cradle Lake.
The way the morning fog settled over the cedar forests.
Festival lanterns reflected across still water.
Training courtyards.
Dance.
Music.
Prayer bells layered with movement.
Jiho listened carefully to every word.
“You miss it,” he observed quietly.
Claire looked toward the passing mountains beyond the carriage curtains.
“Yes.”
More than she could ever explain.
She missed electricity. Music players. Modern clothes. Her family. Late-night city lights. Dancing freely beneath neon instead of moonlight.
She missed choice.
And suddenly, painfully, she missed Mirae too.
The carriage grew quieter.
Jiho noticed immediately.
“You are thinking about her.”
Claire nodded faintly.
“If they discover she is not the priestess…”
Neither finished the sentence.
Rainwater slid softly along the carriage roof overhead.
For a long moment only the sound of wheels and horses filled the silence.
Finally Jiho spoke.
“We will find her.”
Claire looked at him.
He said it simply.
Not dramatic.
Not comforting for the sake of comfort.
A promise.
Soldier words.
The kind built from duty rather than hope.
And somehow that made her believe him more.
Later, as the road widened slightly near a descending ridge path, Jiho shifted carefully against the blankets.
“Can I ask something dangerous?”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“That depends entirely on the question.”
“Are priestesses truly magical?”
She burst into laughter before she could stop herself.
The sound startled even the horses outside slightly.
Jiho stared openly now, fascinated again by how unlike every other priestess she seemed.
Claire wiped her eyes lightly.
“No.”
“That sounded very certain.”
“We are not spirits floating through the clouds breathing fire.”
“You dove into a river fully clothed under moonlight.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was being dramatic.”
Jiho laughed despite himself.
Claire settled back against the cushions, quieter now.
“We are not magical,” she said softly. “Not the way stories tell it.”
“Then what are you?”
The question lingered heavily between them.
Claire looked toward the mountains disappearing behind them.
“We know things we are not supposed to know,” she answered finally.
“Dreams. Feelings. Patterns. Sometimes… glimpses.”
Jiho’s expression softened slightly.
“And people fear that.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Claire thought about it honestly.
The dreamscape.
The memories.
The impossible crossing between centuries.
The strange feeling that destiny itself had wrapped invisible threads around her life long before she understood why.
“…Sometimes.”
Outside, the escort continued descending toward the southern estates of House Yeon — one of the noble families loyal enough to shelter royal secrets outside the capital walls.
Ahead waited Silla.
Politics.
Interrogations.
Palace courts.
Danger hidden beneath silk and ceremony.
But for now, inside the rocking carriage with rain fading behind them and mountain roads stretching endlessly ahead, Claire found herself laughing softly again at something Jiho said.
And for a little while longer, neither of them felt entirely trapped by destiny.
