The morning mist clung to the mountainside like the breath of sleeping spirits, wrapping around the ancient pines and painting the world in shades of pearl and silver. In the village of Dalbit-gol, nestled in the shadow of Mount Taebaek, the first light of dawn filtered through the fog with a quality that seemed almost sacred—as if the mountain itself was whispering prayers to the awakening sky.
Yeon Dalbit knelt beside the village well, her reflection rippling in the dark water as she dipped her wooden bucket beneath the surface. At nineteen, she possessed a beauty that was both earthly and otherworldly, with eyes the color of midnight that seemed to hold depths far beyond her years. Her long black hair was braided simply down her back, adorned only with a small silver ornament that had belonged to her grandmother—a woman whose gifts had been both blessing and burden.
The water was cold against her hands, shocking her fully awake from the half-dream state that had plagued her sleep. Again, the visions had come. Again, she had seen the great palace with its curved roofs reaching toward heaven, its gardens blooming with flowers she had never seen but somehow knew by heart. And again, she had felt the pull of something vast and inevitable, tugging at her soul like the tide pulls at the shore.
"Dalbit-ah." The voice belonged to her adoptive mother, Widow Kim, who approached with her characteristic mixture of concern and resignation. The older woman's face was weathered by years of mountain living, but her eyes held the same wisdom that seemed to run in the bloodlines of those who served the spirits. "You're up early again."
"The spirits are restless," Dalbit replied, her voice carrying the musical quality that had marked her as different from birth. "They whisper of changes coming, like wind before a storm."
Widow Kim's expression tightened. She had raised Dalbit since the girl was three years old, when her true parents had died in a plague that swept through the mountain villages. But even then, even as a child, Dalbit had been touched by something beyond the ordinary world. The old woman had hoped that love and normalcy might quiet the girl's gifts, but the spirits, it seemed, had their own plans.
"Come," Widow Kim said, taking the water bucket from Dalbit's hands. "Help me prepare the morning meal. The village council will meet today, and there are matters that concern us all."
As they walked toward their modest home—a traditional hanok with its graceful tiled roof and wooden pillars—Dalbit felt the familiar prickle of otherworldly awareness along her skin. The spirits were indeed restless, circling the village like protective guardians sensing approaching change. She had learned to read their moods as easily as others read the weather, but today their urgency felt different, more pressing.
The interior of their home was simple but comfortable, with ondol heating beneath the floors and traditional furnishings that spoke of generations of careful maintenance. Widow Kim busied herself with preparing breakfast—rice, kimchi, and soup made from vegetables grown in their own garden. But Dalbit found herself drawn to the small shrine in the corner, where offerings of fruit and incense honored both Buddha and the mountain spirits that had watched over their family for generations.
"The dreams are becoming clearer," Dalbit said quietly, kneeling before the shrine. "I see a palace of such beauty it makes my heart ache. And there is a man... a young man with eyes full of loneliness, carrying a weight that bends his shoulders."
Widow Kim's hands stilled in their work. "Dreams can deceive, child. The spirits sometimes show us what we wish to see, not what is meant to be."
"But what if they're showing me what I need to see?" Dalbit turned to face her adoptive mother, her dark eyes intense with conviction. "What if this is why I was given these gifts? What if I'm meant for something more than village life?"
The older woman's face softened with the kind of love that comes from years of watching someone grow, of sharing in their joys and sorrows. "You have always been meant for great things, Dalbit-ah. Even as a child, you spoke with the voice of the ancients. But greatness often comes with great sacrifice."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of voices outside—urgent, frightened voices that spoke of trouble. Dalbit rose gracefully and moved to the window, pushing aside the hanji paper screen to peer out into the village square. What she saw made her blood run cold.
Young Pak Jinsoo, the blacksmith's son, lay convulsing on the ground while his parents knelt beside him in desperate prayer. His body arched and twisted as if invisible hands were pulling him in different directions, and from his mouth came sounds that were not quite human—a keening wail that seemed to echo from some vast, empty place.
"Spirit possession," Widow Kim whispered, appearing at Dalbit's side. "The boy has been touched by something dark."
Without hesitation, Dalbit moved toward the door, but Widow Kim caught her arm. "No, child. This is not for you to handle. We must send for the mudang from the next village. She has the experience—"
"There isn't time," Dalbit replied, her voice carrying a new note of authority that surprised them both. "Can't you feel it? The darkness is growing stronger. By the time the mudang arrives, it may be too late."
She pulled free from Widow Kim's grasp and stepped out into the morning air, which had suddenly grown thick and oppressive despite the early hour. The villagers had formed a circle around the possessed boy, their faces pale with fear and uncertainty. Some clutched protective amulets, others muttered prayers, but all seemed frozen by the supernatural terror that had invaded their peaceful community.
As Dalbit approached, she felt the familiar expansion of her consciousness that came when her gifts awakened fully. The world around her took on a different quality—colors became more vivid, sounds more layered, and the invisible currents of spiritual energy that flowed through all things became as visible as streams of light.
The boy's parents looked up at her with desperate hope. "Please, Dalbit-ah," his mother sobbed. "Help our son. The spirits love you—they listen to you."
Dalbit knelt beside the writhing boy, placing her hands just above his chest without touching him. Immediately, she felt the presence of the malevolent spirit that had taken hold of him—a hungry ghost, one of the restless dead who had been denied proper burial rites and now wandered the earth seeking to inhabit the living.
"You do not belong here," she said softly, but her voice carried to every corner of the village square. "This boy is not yours to claim."
The possessed boy's eyes snapped open, but they were no longer his own. They were ancient, filled with a rage that had been festering for decades. When he spoke, it was with the voice of an old man, cracked and bitter. "Who are you to command me, girl? I have wandered hungry and alone for thirty years. I will not be denied!"
"I am Yeon Dalbit," she replied, her voice growing stronger with each word. "I am the mountain's daughter, beloved of the spirits, and I speak with the authority of the ancestors. You have suffered long enough. It is time to find peace."
The crowd around them had grown silent, watching in awe as this young woman faced down a supernatural threat with nothing but her voice and her will. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Dalbit closed her eyes and reached out with her consciousness, seeking the thread of connection that bound the hungry ghost to the world of the living. She found it—a thin, dark strand woven from pain and unfinished business. With infinite care, she began to untangle it, whispering words of comfort and release that seemed to come from some deep well of ancient knowledge.
"Tell me your name," she said gently. "Tell me what keeps you bound to this world."
The boy's body shuddered, and when the spirit spoke again, its voice was filled with grief rather than rage. "Kim Dalsoo... I was Kim Dalsoo. I died in the plague thirty years ago, but no one performed the proper rites. My family was dead, my body thrown into a pit with others. I have been lost ever since."
"Kim Dalsoo," Dalbit repeated, and the name seemed to carry weight in the spiritual realm. "Your suffering is seen. Your pain is acknowledged. You are not forgotten."
She opened her eyes and looked directly at the boy, seeing through his physical form to the tormented spirit within. "I offer you what you have been denied. I offer you peace."
Rising to her feet, Dalbit began to move in the ancient pattern of the spirit dance, her body flowing with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Her voice rose in a song that had no words but somehow spoke directly to the soul, a melody that seemed to bridge the gap between the world of the living and the realm of the dead.
The villagers watched in wonder as the air around her began to shimmer, as if she were surrounded by invisible flames. The oppressive weight that had pressed down on them began to lift, replaced by a sense of peace that felt like cool water after a long drought.
"Go now," Dalbit whispered, her dance slowing to a gentle sway. "Your name is remembered. Your story is told. Find the light that leads to the next world, and walk in peace."
The boy's body gave one final shudder, then went completely still. For a moment, no one dared to breathe. Then young Pak Jinsoo's eyes fluttered open—his own eyes, clear and confused but undeniably alive.
"Eomma?" he whispered, reaching for his mother.
The woman fell upon her son with tears of joy, holding him close while his father knelt beside them, both laughing and crying at the same time. The other villagers began to murmur among themselves, their voices filled with amazement and gratitude.
But Dalbit stood apart from the celebration, her face pale and distant. The effort of the exorcism had drained her, but more than that, she felt the weight of what had just occurred. She had not simply banished a spirit—she had performed a ritual that was the province of trained shamans, mudang who spent years learning the proper ceremonies and protocols.
"How did you know to do that?" Widow Kim asked, approaching with a mixture of pride and concern.
"I... I don't know," Dalbit admitted. "The words came to me, and I spoke them. The dance felt as natural as breathing. It was as if someone else was guiding me."
"Perhaps someone was," said a new voice from the edge of the crowd.
They turned to see an elderly woman approaching, her white hair arranged in the traditional style of a court lady and her hanbok of the finest silk despite the early hour. Her eyes were sharp and knowing, and she moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Who are you?" Widow Kim asked, instinctively stepping closer to Dalbit.
"I am Baek Miryeong," the woman replied, bowing slightly. "I serve as chief shaman to the royal court. I felt the disturbance in the spiritual realm and came to investigate. What I found was... unexpected."
Her gaze fixed on Dalbit with an intensity that made the young woman feel as if she were being examined by some divine judge. "Child, what you just accomplished should have been impossible for someone without formal training. You performed the Ritual of Peaceful Departure with a skill that would be impressive in a mudang with twenty years of experience."
"I simply did what felt right," Dalbit replied, though her voice carried a note of uncertainty.
"Nothing about what you did was simple," Baek Miryeong said firmly. "You communed with a hungry ghost, learned its true name, and guided it to the afterlife without any protective rituals or sacred tools. Either you are exceptionally foolish, or you possess a gift that appears perhaps once in a generation."
The court shaman circled Dalbit slowly, her eyes never leaving the young woman's face. "I have spent sixty years studying the ways of the spirits, learning to read the currents of the otherworld. And I have never seen anything like what you just did. The spirits don't merely listen to you—they obey you. They love you."
"What does that mean?" Dalbit asked, though part of her already knew the answer.
"It means that your life as a simple village girl is over," Baek Miryeong said gently. "The kingdom has need of your gifts, child. The spiritual realm is in turmoil, and the royal court requires a shaman of extraordinary ability. I have been searching for someone like you for years."
Dalbit felt the ground shift beneath her feet, not physically but spiritually. This was the moment she had been sensing in her dreams, the change that the spirits had been whispering about. The pull she had felt toward the distant palace was not merely imagination—it was destiny calling.
"I don't understand," she said, though her voice was steady. "I know nothing of court life. I'm just a mountain girl who talks to spirits."
"You are the mountain's daughter," Baek Miryeong replied, echoing the words Dalbit had spoken to the hungry ghost. "But you are also something more. You are the bridge between the world of the living and the realm of the dead, the voice that can speak to both kings and spirits. The court needs you, and I believe you need the court."
"What about my life here?" Dalbit asked, looking around at the village that had been her entire world. "What about the people who depend on me?"
"They will remember you as the girl who saved young Pak Jinsoo," the court shaman said. "They will tell stories of your kindness and your power, and those stories will become legend. But your true purpose lies elsewhere."
Widow Kim stepped forward, her face etched with the pain of impending loss. "If she goes with you, when will we see her again?"
"That depends on many things," Baek Miryeong replied honestly. "The life of a court shaman is not an easy one. There are duties and responsibilities that cannot be abandoned lightly. But I promise you this—she will not be forgotten, and she will not be alone."
Dalbit looked at the woman who had raised her, seeing in her eyes the same love and sacrifice that had defined their relationship from the beginning. "Eomma," she whispered, using the title she had called Widow Kim since childhood. "What should I do?"
"You should follow your heart," Widow Kim replied, though her voice broke slightly. "You have always been meant for great things, my daughter. I have known since you were small that this day would come. The spirits have been preparing you for something beyond my understanding."
Turning to Baek Miryeong, Dalbit felt the weight of destiny settling around her like a cloak. "If I come with you, what will be expected of me?"
"You will study the ancient ways, learn to channel your gifts properly, and serve the royal family as spiritual advisor. You will live in the palace, dress in court attire, and learn the protocols of noble society. It will be difficult, but I believe you have the strength to succeed."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you will remain here, and your extraordinary gifts will be wasted on minor village problems while the kingdom faces spiritual crises that only you might be able to resolve. The choice is yours, but choose knowing that some opportunities come only once."
Dalbit closed her eyes and reached out with her consciousness, seeking guidance from the spirits that had been her companions since childhood. Their response was immediate and unanimous—a sense of rightness, of pieces falling into place, of a path that had been prepared long before her birth.
"I will come," she said, opening her eyes with new resolve. "But I need time to prepare, to say goodbye properly."
"We will leave at dawn tomorrow," Baek Miryeong agreed. "Pack lightly—you will have little need for mountain clothes in the palace. And rest well. Your old life ends with the rising sun."
As the court shaman walked away, Dalbit felt Widow Kim's arms encircle her in a embrace that spoke of years of love and the pain of letting go. Around them, the village continued its normal rhythm, but everything had changed. The mountain's daughter had been called to a destiny beyond the peaks and valleys of her birth.
That night, as Dalbit lay in her simple bed for the last time, she listened to the wind singing through the pine trees and tried to memorize the sound. Tomorrow she would enter a world of silk and ceremony, of political intrigue and spiritual responsibility. But tonight, she was still the girl who had grown up with the spirits as her playmates and the mountain as her sanctuary.
In her dreams, she saw the palace more clearly than ever before—its soaring architecture, its gardens blooming with impossible beauty, its halls filled with the music of court life. And in those dreams, she saw him again: the young man with lonely eyes, carrying a burden that seemed too heavy for his shoulders.
She did not yet know his name, did not yet understand that he was the king of all she surveyed. But she felt their connection like a thread of light spanning the distance between mountain and palace, between the world she was leaving and the destiny she was about to embrace.
The mountain's daughter was ready to become something more.