"Ow! Ow! Ow! Geumhi, that hurts!"
"Good! Maybe if it hurt this much last time I did it, you wouldn't have repeated the same mistake!"
Geumhi pressed down on the bruise harder than Sun knew she should. That damned official whipped harder than a demon at the harvest festival. Sun hissed through clenched teeth and jerked away, but her sister's grip was iron.
"Stop moving," Geumhi warned, her usually calm face set in a dangerous frown. "If you keep wriggling like a worm, it'll get infected."
"I'd rather be infected than tortured," Sun muttered under her breath.
Geumhi gave her a sharp look, and Sun responded with her most innocent smile. It didn't work. It never worked.
The little old hut smelled faintly of herbs and burned apples—because someone (Sun) had knocked over the pot earlier trying to sneak some stew yesterday. The shelves were cluttered with dried plants, bundles of roots, and more bottles than Sun could ever count. A small fire crackled in the hearth, filling the space with a dim orange light.
Outside, faint sounds from the forest floated through the shutters: a rooster crowing somewhere far off, insects chirping somewhere in the bushes. This far out near the forest, they rarely heard the sounds of other people. No one in their right mind would live next door to outcasts after all.
"You're lucky they didn't drag you straight to the magistrate," Geumhi said as she dabbed something stinging onto Sun's back. "What were you thinking, stealing in broad daylight? Again."
"I wasn't thinking, I was hungry, we had nothing to eat this morning," Sun shot back, glaring at the floor. "And besides, it's not like they'll miss a few apples. They're rich! Apples practically fall from their trees in gold baskets."
Geumhi sighed, the long-suffering kind. "That's not how baskets or apples work, Sun."
"It's called exaggeration," Sun mumbled.
"You're so childish, Sunnie."
"I'm definitely certain that the ripe old age of nineteen is not a child!"
They bickered like this often. It was their normal. Sun caused trouble; Geumhi scolded; Sun made jokes; Geumhi sighed. Somewhere in between, they loved each other fiercely. It was the only way they survived.
After a few moments, Geumhi's stern expression softened just a little. She reached out and adjusted the bandage around Sun's arm with gentle fingers. "You're always so reckless," she murmured, not quite meeting Sun's eyes. "One day you'll pick a fight with the wrong person."
Sun grinned, trying to lighten the mood. Her sister was always too serious from having to grow up too fast for the both of them to survive. "Please. I'm quick. Like a fox. Or maybe a really clever squirrel."
Geumhi shook her head, her chestnut brown hair falling in soft wisps over her forehead. "A squirrel with no sense of self-preservation."
Sun laughed, and for a heartbeat, the heaviness of the morning lifted.
Once the poultice was secured and Sun was bandaged like a dramatic hero returning from battle, Geumhi leaned back and folded her arms. "You heard the rumors, didn't you? At the market."
Sun froze. "...Maybe."
"Sun."
"Yes, I heard."
Her sister's eyes softened, but her voice didn't. "Then you know it's dangerous. If something is killing people out there, the last thing we need is you getting curious."
Sun feigned offense. "Me? Curious? I'm deeply responsible now. Ask anyone."
Geumhi didn't even blink.
"Okay, fine," Sun admitted, slumping into the mat. "It's just... it's weird, isn't it? Drowned and desecrated bodies showing up near the forest? What kind of creature even does that?"
Geumhi shook her head. "Rumors. Probably wolves or bandits or some unlucky traveler who crossed the wrong stream."
But Sun wasn't convinced. She'd grown up beside the Dark Forest. She'd seen things her sister refused to believe. Strange lights at night, claw marks too large for wolves, shadows that slithered like snakes. And if the rumors were true…
"They say it's a serpent, or at least it looks like one." Sun whispered, leaning closer as if the trees outside might be listening. "A huge one. That it drags its prey into the rivers and offers them to the mountain spirits."
"People say many foolish things," Geumhi replied flatly, stirring the pot on the hearth. "And you should stay far away from them all."
Sun sat up and watched her sister for a long moment. There was something about the way Geumhi said it, too quickly, too firmly. "You sound like you've heard that story before," Sun said.
"I've heard a lot of stories," Geumhi replied without turning. "Most end with someone getting eaten or cursed."
Sun frowned. "You never talk about the forest much, even though we practically live on the edge."
"Because smart people avoid it."
"Ugh, how can we when half our supplies for our potions come from the forest."
Her sister didn't respond.
Sun rolled onto her stomach, ignoring the sting of her back, and propped her chin on her hands. Her eyes gleamed with that dangerous spark Geumhi recognized too well.
"Sun," her sister warned.
"I'm just saying," Sun said innocently, "if someone found the beast and proved it wasn't us, maybe the village would stop blaming us for every burned corpse and missing chicken. Maybe they'd stop looking at us like we're cursed."
"Don't," Geumhi said sharply. "I know that look. You're planning something."
"I'm not!"
"You are."
"I'm really not!"
Geumhi turned and gave her The Sister Look™—the one that saw through lies like thin paper. Sun immediately looked away.
They sat in silence for a while after that, the fire crackling softly between them. Geumhi busied herself with stirring the stew; Sun picked at the hem of her sleeve. Despite their arguing, the small hut felt safe. Warm. Sun knew most people in the village would never believe it, but Geumhi was the only thing that kept her anchored.
Later that night, when Geumhi finally drifted off to sleep, Sun sat awake by the small window. The forest loomed in the distance, dark and endless, its treetops glowing faintly under the moonlight.
The night was colder than usual. A soft wind slipped through the cracks in the shutters, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and pine. Somewhere, an owl hooted. In the far distance, the river gurgled, steady and unbothered, as if daring her to come closer.
She traced the bandage on her arm absentmindedly. Somewhere out there, something was killing people. And somewhere in the village and in the other towns, people whispered the Kim sisters' names with suspicion. Master Shin's words confirmed that much and it was only a matter of time before they came for them.
She clenched her fists.
No more.
If no one would believe them, she'd prove it herself. She'd find this creature. She'd drag it out if she had to. And when she did, they'd have no choice but to see her differently. Maybe she was doing it for their reputation, maybe for their dead parents but the point remained that she wanted to do it.
She could already imagine it clearly: marching into the village square, dragging a massive serpent behind her by its tail, everyone gasping in awe. Master Shin dropping his stupid hat. The whispering women at the well choking on their gossip. Her sister standing at the edge of the crowd, half furious, half proud.
Sun grinned to herself. "I'll catch that overgrown snake," she whispered, a firm promise. "Before it kills anyone else."
The night air carried her words toward the forest. The trees didn't answer. But if they could, they might have laughed.