The city blurred behind us, the early morning sun spilling across the windshield in long, gold streaks. The sedan hummed along the highway, smooth and silent.
Seok-min sat beside me, seat reclined just enough to look comfortable but alert. His long blue hair caught glints of light that danced with every turn. The driver—an older man with a polite smile—kept his eyes fixed ahead, hands steady at ten and two.
For a while, none of us spoke. The city noise had faded, replaced by the rhythmic thrum of tires and the occasional whistle of wind. Then Seok-min broke the silence.
"Do you always stare out the window that intensely?"
"Professional habit," I said. "I look for crimes, suspicious shadows, and free coffee."
"Efficient."
"I try."
He reached into a bag at his feet and pulled out a pack of honey-butter chips. "Breakfast?"
"I knew you were the responsible one," I said, grabbing a handful. "Partner material."
"I'm not your partner," he said, half-smiling. "I'm your cosmic babysitter."
"Even better. Do cosmic babysitters provide lunch too?"
The driver snorted softly, trying to hide his amusement. Seok-min shot him a look through the rear-view mirror. "You find us entertaining, Mr. Kim?"
"A-ah, no, sir. Just… lively conversation."
"Good," I said. "Lively means we're not dead."
Seok-min shook his head, eyes drifting toward the passing hills. "You're remarkably calm for someone heading toward an anomaly."
"I'm saving my panic for later," I said. "Maybe after lunch."
By noon, the sky turned hazy, the horizon blurring in pale heat. The driver tuned the radio, cycling through static until an old station came alive—soft ballads from the early 2000s.
"Love is a memory, love is a dream…"
Seok-min hummed under his breath, tapping fingers against the window frame.
"You know this one?" I asked.
"My sister used to play it," he said quietly. "Back when the world made more sense."
"What happened to her?"
He glanced at me. "She forgot me."
I blinked. "Like… literally?"
He gave a faint smile. "Truth does strange things when you live too close to it."He then smiled and said he was joking.
I didn't press. The car filled with music again. For a while, it was just voices on the radio and the endless road.
Afternoon drifted into early evening. We'd stopped at a rest station hours earlier—snacks, coffee, Seok-min explaining how the vending machine was an example of human over-engineering.
Now, as the sun bled orange across the sky, I found myself staring out at the landscape. The roads had narrowed, the signs had grown old. Buildings looked older too—stone instead of concrete, thatched rooftops replacing neon.
"Seok-min," I said slowly, "we didn't… take a wrong turn, right?"
"No," he said. "The road's right where it should be."
"Because it feels like we time-traveled."
He glanced outside, watching the scenery morph in silence. "That's what happens when places forget they belong to one era."
"Comforting," I muttered. "Next you'll tell me the Wi-Fi's gone."
He chuckled. "I wouldn't count on service."
The driver, oddly calm, just kept driving. His eyes never left the road. The radio faded into a low hum, distorted—voices stretched and bent, as though the song itself couldn't keep up with where we were going.
Night came. The car's headlights cut through thickening mist. The hum of the tires slowed; the air outside seemed heavier.
I leaned my head against the window, watching faint lights flicker far away—lanterns, maybe, or stars close enough to touch.
"Can I ask something?" I said.
"Go ahead."
"You ever wish you had a normal job? You know, one without fog, gods, and artifacts that kill people?"
He thought for a moment. "Sometimes. But things has a gravity. Once you notice it, pretending becomes impossible."
"That's depressing."
"Realistic," he corrected. "You?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "Sometimes I think I'd like a quiet life. Rent paid, family healthy, girlfriend happy. Then something weird happens, and I end up in a car heading into medieval cosplay land."
He laughed softly. "That's one way to describe fate."
I closed my eyes. "Fate can pay my rent then."
"Tell that to your landlord."
"I have," I murmured, half-asleep. "She didn't like it."
Seok-min smiled faintly, leaning back. The car's rhythm lulled us both into an easy silence.
Somewhere past midnight, I woke again. The mist outside had thickened so much it looked like clouds had fallen to earth. Shapes moved faintly beyond the glass—stone towers, faint torches, silhouettes of walls and spires rising in the distance.
"Seok-min," I said quietly. "You seeing this?"
He opened his eyes, glanced out, and nodded once. "We're close."
The driver slowed. Through the fog, outlines sharpened—a massive gate, carved stone walls lined with banners that fluttered even though no wind blew. Beyond it, faint lights glowed like stars caught in glass.
"What… is this place?" I whispered.
Seok-min's gaze didn't leave the view. A city or what do you expect ."
The driver stopped before the gate. The fog around us shimmered faintly, curling upward like breath. He turned to us, face pale but steady. "We've arrived, sirs."
I stepped out first. The air was colder—cleaner, almost sharp. Beneath my shoes, cobblestone instead of asphalt. Above, the night sky stretched wide, littered with unfamiliar constellations.
Seok-min joined me, adjusting his coat. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Ederne," he said quietly. "Our next truth waits inside."
I looked up at the towering gates, the mist curling through their iron bars, and let out a slow breath. "You know," I said, "I was planning to take a nap."
"Too late for that," he replied. "Come on, Mr. Mystery. Let's find what shouldn't exist."
Together, we walked toward the gate as the first light of dawn spilled over the horizon, painting the ancient walls gold.