Sona Vein lay nestled in the southern reaches of Samul Gaya, cradled by the sacred slopes of Mount Sona. Here, hidden deep within the ancient woods, stood a royal shrine—its gates sealed to all but the gahns of Samul Gaya and their kin.
To one side of the shrine's stone courtyard stretched a rock face, behind which opened a narrow cave. It was within this cave, so the old legends said, that the very first Gahn of Samul Gaya attained enlightenment. That wisdom birthed the foundation of the realm, and ever since, the cave had been forbidden to all but the bloodline of its founders. To guard it, the royal shrine had been raised—a temple not just of stone and rites, but of history and blood.
Down the mountain's winding path, a narrow stream gurgled quietly beneath the canopy. A girl sat by the water's edge, no more than thirteen, wrapped in silks far too fine for her age. She let out a long, tired sigh, one that didn't belong to a child but to someone who had seen too much of the world.
"No matter how many times I tell them the truth… no one listens. Princess Somi is dying."
She stared blankly into the flowing stream, her expression heavy with dread. Memories of her mother's voice returned—Mongrieng the Sybil, the seer of the sacred shrine.
"Never speak of what you see, never repeat what you hear—not all truths belong in the light, Yuri."
Yuri remembered that night clearly. Mongrieng had arrived late, her robes damp with dew and her eyes dark with something she could not name. Though Yuri had already been fast asleep, Mongrieng had roused her gently, sat her between her foster parents, and persuaded them, almost tearfully, to send Yuri into palace service—specifically, to serve as a maid to Princess Somi.
Yuri had always known. The woman who visited the shrine so often, who lingered too long when placing her hands upon Yuri's head, who looked at her not like a priestess but like a mother—she was her mother. Her foster parents, gentle nobles, never denied her the right to visit the shrine. But that day, everything changed.
Princess Somi had just returned from years of study in Michuhol, where she had stayed with the Jin household. The moment she laid eyes on six-year-old Yuri, she had embraced her tightly, laughing with delight.
"She looks just like I did when I was little," the princess had said, refusing to part with the girl.
The other maids were scandalized.
"A child? A maid-in-waiting?"
"She'll be more trouble than help."
"We should send her back to Gahn Shingui at once."
But the princess had been firm. "If she's too young to serve, then I'll raise her myself."
And so, Yuri remained.
Somi doted on her like a little sister. Yet the princess was still royalty, and Yuri's care fell squarely on the shoulders of other maids. Time passed, and Yuri began to see things others could not.
A dark cloud—slow and sinister—clinging to the princess like a shadow that grew heavier by the day.
It had started when Somi received a gift: a necklace of black coral and deep-sea jade, fused by strange, arcane means. The princess had been overjoyed, calling it a priceless treasure sent from a Baekje official. Yuri had recoiled at the sight of it, whispering, "You must get rid of it… something's wrong…"
But Somi had laughed. "You just don't understand. You're a child."
The other maids had dragged Yuri away and scolded her harshly.
"A maid must never disturb her mistress's mood. You forget your place!"
As punishment, she had been ordered to write that very phrase down on a flat stone a thousand times.
From that day on, Yuri stopped speaking of the cloud. She remembered her mother's warning—some truths must remain unspoken. But the darkness only spread.
Somi's appetite waned. Her limbs grew weaker. Then one day, she collapsed.
Yuri had bathed her unconscious body, weeping in silence. When the princess stirred faintly, Yuri had leaned close and whispered, "Throw it away. Please... that necklace…"
But the look in Somi's eyes had changed. For a fleeting second, there was something cold, something wrong—a fury that did not belong to her. Then she fainted again.
Physicians were summoned. None could find the cause. Those who dared speak of her impending death had their heads taken by Gahn Shingui himself.
Royal priests followed. They, too, failed. Finally, they advised the court to send the princess to the royal shrine at Sona Vein. "The guardian spirit of Samul Gaya may yet save her," they had said.
And so, they came.
Yuri, ever by the princess's side, had followed the entourage up the sacred slopes. But the moment she crossed the shrine's threshold, her breath caught.
Why… why is this place so thick with darkness…?
She had wanted to scream. To beg them to turn back. But she was nothing—a servant girl. And now it was too late.
A royal guardsman and a royal priest had just arrived, commanding that someone be sent to Guidan Temple, to fetch the great master Dongjin.
Yuri bit back a curse.
That senile fraud? Blind to spirits, deaf to omens—and he's supposed to be a priest? What a joke.
Still, leaving this cursed shrine didn't seem so bad. Somi… was already…
The stream's surface caught the waning light of late afternoon, glinting like burnished silver. A memory surfaced—of Somi laughing, holding Yuri's hands, calling her little precious.
Tears welled in Yuri's eyes.
"My poor princess… my precious sister…"
Her tears, once quiet, grew into sobs—loud, messy, unrestrained. For the first time in what felt like forever, Yuri let herself cry. Truly cry. There was no one to stop her, no voice to hush her or hands to scold her. The pain flowed out in waves, and for a time, she simply let it be.
But as the sobs began to subside, she caught sight of something—or rather, someone.
A swordsman stood nearby, watching her.
Handsome, she thought immediately. Then, flustered, Oh no… how embarrassing.
Quickly, she wiped her cheeks with the flat of her palms, attempting to hide the swollen redness of her face. She dared another glance.
The man stood with an easy stillness, a sword at each hip, his eyes calm but attentive. She meant to wave him off, to tell him she was fine—but something stopped her.
What… what am I seeing?
This time, she stared—eyes wide, no longer crying. And now it was Goi who looked uncertain.
"I… I might be imagining it," she said at last, tilting her head slightly, "but… your body—it's glowing."
A flicker of something—surprise? Amusement?—crossed Goi's face.
"Ah," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "That might just be the bath I took earlier in the stream. Guess it left me a little… radiant."
But the girl wasn't fooled. Her gaze shifted deliberately, from the bronze gladius at his side, to the mirror over his chest, to the bells tied near his waist. She looked not with wonder, but with the eyes of someone who saw through.
Feeling her stare tighten like a net, Goi cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"Well then… what's going on up there, on the mountain?"
She glanced toward the shrine at the peak. "Mount Sona? Well… it is a big deal. But no one believes me, so…"
She sighed again, deeply, like an old sage burdened by the folly of youth. Goi couldn't help but grin.
He lowered himself into a crouch, settling at her eye level.
"Would you tell me what's happening?" he asked gently. "I'm the kind of person who believes almost anything, you know. So go ahead."