Snow fell like ash.
The northern provinces of Haneul were a world away from the gilded courts — all smoke, salt, and silence. Eunha rode beside Jiheon, her hood drawn low, the sea wind cutting through the narrow mountain pass. The horse's hooves sank deep into frost-bitten mud, leaving behind two lonely trails that led nowhere and everywhere at once.
They'd been traveling three days since the observatory burned.
Every night, Eunha dreamed of it — Daejun's grin before the flames took him, the mark on her wrist glowing like a brand, the Emperor's cryptic words in that cursed journal.
And every morning, Jiheon caught her staring at the horizon like it might speak back.
---
⚜️
They stopped at a rundown inn clinging to the cliffside. The signboard had long since lost its letters, but the smell of broth and cheap ale promised a kind of sanctuary.
Jiheon went in first, scanning the dim room — two merchants asleep by the hearth, a farmer snoring into his soup, and an old woman stirring stew with the same rhythm as a ticking clock.
Eunha entered silently behind him, dropping a few coins on the counter. The innkeeper didn't look up — just nodded toward the back room. "You'll want the one without a window," she rasped.
"Why?" Jiheon asked.
"Because the last guest with a window got shot through it."
Charming.
They took the room anyway.
---
⚜️
By the time the stew arrived, Eunha had spread the old journal across the table, the wax seal now broken and the pages protected beneath a thin layer of oilcloth.
She pointed to a series of symbols drawn beneath a map of the empire — six stars arranged around a circle.
Each star bore a name.
> Vara. Joon. Kira. Sun. Myung. Ae.
"These aren't places," she said. "They're names of the original alchemists who signed the covenant."
Jiheon frowned. "And what does the circle mean?"
"It's called the Axis. It's what ties the cycle together. When a soul bound to it dies unjustly, the clock restarts — not for everyone, just those within the covenant's reach."
"So you, me… and the Emperor's line?"
She nodded slowly. "The curse wasn't meant to bless immortality. It was designed to trap corruption in a repeating loop — until the empire purified itself."
"And if it never does?"
"Then it eats itself from the inside."
---
⚜️
A knock at the door.
Jiheon's hand went to his blade.
Eunha mouthed silently — Hide it.
He slid the journal under the loose floorboard.
The door creaked open, revealing a teenage courier in tattered uniform, carrying a leather satchel stamped with the sigil of the Imperial Post. His voice trembled.
"Message for… Lady Haneul."
Eunha's heart stopped. That name — her name before execution — hadn't been spoken aloud in ten years.
"How do you know that name?" Jiheon demanded.
The boy flinched. "A man gave it to me at the crossroads. Said I'd know her by her eyes. He made me promise not to look at her directly."
Eunha took the satchel, her fingers cold. Inside was a single strip of parchment, folded twice.
She opened it slowly.
> Eunha — The mines hold more than ghosts. The Axis breathes there. Come before the solstice or all resets again.
— E.
Her pulse skipped.
Eunho was alive.
---
⚜️
That night, she couldn't sleep. The northern wind screamed through the shutters like a warning, and Jiheon sat by the fire sharpening his sword in silence.
Finally, she said, "When you first saw me — after I came back — what did you think?"
He didn't look up. "I thought I was being punished."
"For what?"
"For believing that death could absolve me."
She studied him, his features hard but honest — a knight who'd seen too many wars, and carried too many ghosts.
"You still believe that?" she asked softly.
He met her gaze. "I'm starting not to."
The silence between them wasn't heavy — it was electric. Like a string pulled too tight but refusing to snap.
Eunha turned toward the window, voice barely above a whisper. "Then we're both cursed — not to die, but to remember."
---
⚜️
By dawn, they were already back on the trail.
The snow deepened as they climbed higher, the world narrowing into a frozen labyrinth. Smoke rose from distant mining villages — proof of life, or of something worse.
At the ridge, they found the remnants of a burned carriage. The imperial crest still gleamed faintly on its wheels.
Jiheon crouched beside it. "Scouts."
Eunha's hand tightened on her reins. "Seojin's already reaching north."
They pressed on until the trees thinned, revealing the entrance to a sprawling mining settlement carved directly into the mountainside — black tunnels yawning open like mouths, torches flickering in the gloom.
A sentry stepped out, bow in hand. His armor was pieced together from scavenged scraps, his eyes sharp and distrustful.
"State your business."
Eunha lifted her hood. "We're looking for the one they call The Seer of Ash."
The sentry stiffened. "No one calls him that anymore."
"Then what do they call him now?"
He hesitated. "Eunho."
---
⚜️
The tunnels swallowed them whole.
The deeper they went, the louder the hum — not of mining tools, but of something alive. The air vibrated faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the earth.
Jiheon touched the wall. It shimmered faintly, veins of silver light running through the stone.
"Alchemical residue," Eunha murmured. "They built the empire on this."
At the tunnel's end, a door of black steel stood half-open. A voice drifted from within — low, tired, but unmistakably familiar.
"You finally made it."
Eunho stood before them, older, scarred, his once-boyish face carved into something harder. His right arm was mechanical — a lattice of alchemical runes glowing through brass plates.
He smiled faintly. "Welcome to the last heartbeat of the empire."
Eunha stepped forward. "You sent the letter. You knew the Axis would awaken."
Eunho nodded. "I did. And I know what happens next."
He reached for the glowing vein of silver behind him. "The cycle's breaking, sister. But if we don't control it…"
The light flared.
"…it'll control us."