By the third evening upon the southern roads, the caravan had begun to settle into rhythm.
Travel.
Watch rotations.
Meals.
Prayer.
Movement beneath endless skies.
The camp that night rested beside a wide riverbed where pale stone cliffs curved protectively around the water like the arms of an ancient giant. The sound of the river softened everything — the soldiers’ boots, the murmuring traders, even the restless groaning of camels settling for sleep.
Lanterns glowed warmly across the camp.
And for the first time since entering the dreamscape, Claire found herself genuinely looking forward to nightfall.
The evening meal had been unusually lively.
Master Jae-un, the royal architect, argued passionately with one of the northern traders over bridge structures while several scholars attempted translating foreign poetry badly enough to offend nearly everyone involved.
Meanwhile Lady Bae Hirin — despite her lofty title — had apparently formed an alliance with the caravan cooks and now wandered camp personally distributing “improvements” to meals.
The cheerful chef assigned to the inner officials’ fires had become particularly popular among the soldiers.
His name was Sunwo, a broad smiling man with flour permanently dusted across his sleeves no matter the hour.
He adored feeding people.
Especially Jiho.
Claire noticed immediately.
As prayers concluded, Sunwo appeared carrying small lacquered bowls filled with chilled pear slices soaked in honey and pine syrup.
“Special dessert,” he announced proudly.
Taejin looked suspicious. “Last time you said that, Bokjin cried.”
“That was fermented plum vinegar.”
“It burned my nose.”
“You drank three cups.”
“I thought it was tea!”
Sunwo ignored him completely and instead shoved an extra portion toward Jiho.
“You’ll waste away if I leave you with soldier rations.”
Jiho smirked. “You say that every night.”
“And every night I am correct.”
The familiarity between them softened something in Claire unexpectedly.
It reminded her of backstage friendships.
Dance crews.
Actors sharing food after rehearsals.
The feeling of people surviving long exhausting days together.
Different century.
Same warmth.
Later, as the campfires dimmed lower, Seolhyun sat near the pavilion entrance beside Mirae while Hanul fussed over the northern lap dogs like a disapproving grandmother.
One of the creatures had somehow stolen a dried fish from somewhere inside the supply tents.
“This animal is criminal,” Hanul whispered gravely.
“It likes you best,” Nari said.
“That is not the point.”
The tiny dog barked triumphantly around the fish.
Claire almost laughed aloud.
God, she missed normality.
Freedom.
Movement.
Music.
Without thinking, the words escaped softly beneath her breath.
“I wish to dance.”
Mirae blinked.
“You walked half the kingdom today.”
“That is not dancing.”
Nari looked scandalised. “You wish for more exercise?”
Claire hesitated carefully before answering.
“I dreamt of dancing beneath the moon.”
The women exchanged uncertain looks.
Claire lowered her voice slightly.
“Is it not also prayer? Movement beneath heaven? Offering breath and motion to the stars?”
That sounded priestess-like enough.
Hopefully.
Mirae studied her for a long moment before sighing dramatically.
“You truly have changed on this journey.”
“Is that bad?”
“…No,” Mirae admitted quietly. “Only strange.”
Hanul overheard enough to look horrified.
“The priestess cannot simply run wild beside rivers.”
“I said dance,” Claire corrected.
“That is worse somehow.”
Nari hid laughter behind her sleeve.
But after enough pleading — and after Mirae pointed out that Jiho and Taejin had proven themselves trustworthy during escort duty — permission was finally granted.
Only briefly.
Only near the river.
Only with full escort.
Hanul muttered prayers the entire time preparations were made.
The moon had risen fully silver by the time the small group reached the riverbank.
Away from the central camp, the world felt transformed.
The river widened here into smooth pale stone and stretches of cool sand reflecting moonlight like scattered glass. Wind moved softly through the reeds while the water shimmered dark blue beneath the stars.
For the first time in days, Claire breathed deeply.
Really deeply.
No walls.
No wagon ceilings.
No suffocating curtains.
Just open sky.
The moment they moved beyond sight of the main campfires, Seolhyun immediately untied several outer layers of ceremonial robes.
Hanul nearly fainted.
“Priestess—!”
“I am removing fabric, not starting a war.”
Jiho coughed suddenly to hide laughter.
Taejin outright turned away muttering, “I am not paid enough for this escort.”
Claire pushed the heavy veil back from her face, allowing the cool night air against her skin.
God.
Freedom.
Before anyone could object further, she darted lightly across the smooth river stones.
And then—
She moved.
Not ceremonial movement.
Not court dance.
Claire’s movement.
Spinning barefoot across the sand. Stretching arms toward the moonlight. Cartwheels across the flat stone banks with effortless momentum.
Jiho froze completely.
Taejin stared openly.
Even Mirae’s jaw dropped.
“What in heaven’s name—”
Claire laughed breathlessly as she spun again, skirts twisting around her legs while her fingers snapped rhythmically against the night air.
The body she occupied had been trained for grace.
But Claire’s modern life had trained strength.
Balance.
Flexibility.
Freedom of movement utterly foreign to women of this century.
She flipped lightly over a narrow ridge of stone and landed smoothly.
Hanul made a strangled noise.
“The priestess has lost her mind.”
“No,” Mirae whispered faintly.
“She looks… happy.”
That silenced everyone for a moment.
Because she did.
Radiantly so.
Moonlight caught against her loosened hairpins while the river breeze lifted dark strands free around her face. The quarter-moon marking beneath her eye seemed almost luminous now.
Alive.
Human.
Not sacred.
Not untouchable.
Just young.
Jiho could not stop staring.
After several glorious minutes, Claire’s breathing finally turned ragged with exertion.
Sweat clung lightly at her temples.
She grinned wildly.
And without warning—
Walked straight into the river.
“Priestess?” Nari squeaked.
Claire only laughed harder.
The cold water climbed her legs as she stepped deeper, deeper still until the current curled around her waist.
Jiho immediately moved forward.
“Careful—”
Too late.
Claire dipped completely beneath the water.
Everyone panicked at once.
Hanul nearly screamed.
Mirae covered her face.
Taejin cursed.
Jiho waded several steps into the river before Claire suddenly resurfaced laughing, drenched entirely, dark hair plastered against her shoulders.
For one horrifying second absolute silence fell.
The eunuchs instantly tried covering the soldiers’ eyes.
“Do not look at the priestess!”
“I am actively trying not to!”
“You failed immediately!”
“That was not my fault!”
Claire stood waist-deep in the river laughing so hard she could barely breathe while Hanul pointed accusingly at the heavens.
“The mountains have broken her spirit entirely.”
Mirae finally doubled over laughing too.
“What has gotten into you?”
Claire pushed wet hair from her face, still smiling helplessly.
“Perhaps travelling has made me mad.”
“That,” Taejin muttered, “is the first believable thing anyone has said about priestesses.”
Even Jiho laughed then.
A genuine low laugh she felt straight through her chest.
Eventually they coaxed her back onto shore where Mirae and Nari fussed endlessly while wrapping dry outer layers around her.
Claire still giggled under her breath as Hanul complained dramatically about dying from scandal.
Jiho stood slightly apart near the rocks watching her quietly.
Not judging.
Studying.
Finally he spoke.
“There is something different about you.”
The others quieted slightly.
Claire looked up carefully.
Jiho shrugged faintly.
“I could recognise you among every woman travelling this caravan.”
Hanul groaned softly. “Please do not encourage this.”
Jiho ignored him.
“Your eyes are different,” he continued thoughtfully. “Like deep water.” His gaze flickered briefly toward the tiny mole beneath her left eye. “And that mark there makes you easy to find.”
Claire felt strangely breathless.
“You move unlike anyone I have ever seen,” he added quietly. “Not delicate. Not fragile.”
He searched for the proper word.
“Trained.”
The word landed heavily.
Because he was right.
Dance.
Stage movement.
Combat choreography.
Years of balance and conditioning from a world centuries beyond his own.
Things no woman here would understand.
And somehow…
Jiho noticed anyway.
Not the truth itself.
But the shape of it.
The difference beneath the veil.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then Taejin abruptly interrupted everything.
“If the priestess attempts river diving again,” he announced flatly, “I am resigning from escort duty.”
The entire group burst into laughter once more beneath the moonlit sky.
And for that single perfect moment beside the river, Claire forgot she was trapped between centuries at all.
