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AFTERWARDS, Na Bori can only look at Jihye—her trembling hands, slick and coated in the blood of their friends; the way she falls, knees folding to the linoleum tile, fumbling to clutch desperately at Na Bori’s own slim fingers.
“Bori—” her voice cracks clean down the middle.
Na Bori swallows her despair before it can rise in her throat. “We have to go,” she tells her and stands. When she tries to pull Jihye along with her, she finds she has no strength left in her to do so. Even so, she does it anyway.
She squeezes their interlocked hands together so hard it hurts. “Close your eyes. Don’t look.”
“I’ve already seen it all,” Jihye murmurs, but Na Bori turns back to look at her and she closes her eyes obediently. They weave past the bodies of people they’ve known for years and leave them untouched.
Outside, the hallways are splashed with blood, viscous and wet over blue lockers, repainted over recently recoated white walls. Na Bori’s mind whirs with static fear even as she tows Jihye down a hallway and two flights of stairs, nearly flying over the steps in her haste. They have to go. They have to run.
Jihye stops abruptly just before they can reach the main entrance. “We should look for other survivors,” she says, knuckles white against Na Bori’s. Even so, she tightens her grip. “Maybe—”
“If they survived, they must have killed someone,” Na Bori says, barely hearing the words roll off her tongue over the cold panic that washes over her. “How can you know they won’t kill you too?”
“We didn’t—”
“Use your brain,” Na Bori presses. “Did anyone in our class realize we could kill insects to live?”
Jihye hesitates. “No, but—”
“You can’t take that risk,” Na Bori says desperately. She tugs Jihye along a few more inches then turns halfways when she doesn’t move. Locks eyes with her, and sees her own grief reflected back . “The system told us to go to Chungmuro. You saw what just happened when we didn’t listen. What do you think will happen if we take too long?”
Jihye opens her mouth, closes it. After what feels like hours, she finally says, “We’ll die.”
“Probably,” Na Bori agrees. And even if they won’t, she can’t take that chance. Jihye has to live. She opens the scenario screen again and skims it again, just long enough to confirm that Chungmuro is the destination before squeezing Jihye’s hand. “Hey,” she says, softer. “It’ll be fine. We’re going to make it to the station and then…”
“We’ll be five hundred coins richer,” Jihye finishes with a weak smile.
“Exactly,” Na Bori says. “That’s basically upper-middle class, right? Then we can go out in the countryside and farm strawberries until we die of old age.”
Jihye says nothing in response. Her lower lip wobbles. Na Bori reaches over and carefully hooks a stray hair in Jihye’s eyes around her finger, tucking it gently behind her ear, the ghost of her fingertips lingering over the shell of her ear.
“It’s going to be fine,” Na Bori repeats quietly and lets her hand fall to Jihye’s warm shoulder. For a fleeting instant, she imagines a world where this had played out differently; a world where they could stand in this same hallway at the same time, hand in hand, and Na Bori could open her arms and fold Jihye into her. Head in the crook of her neck. Ribs against ribs, skin against skin, so they both understand each other.
At home, her forgotten flowers must be dying too.
She shakes out of her reverie. “Come on,” Na Bori says. “We have to go.”
They walk out of the front door together and into the crumbling streets of Seoul. The city is brimming with monsters where there used to be people. They run when they can and hide when they can’t. Jihye receives a sword from her sponsor; Na Bori forbids her from using it.
“You don’t know how to use that,” Na Bori stresses in hushed whispers. A zombie-like creature shambles unwittingly past the smoldering red car they’ve ducked behind. She checks if the coast is clear, then pulls them both to the other side of the street. “You’ll die!”
[Constellation ‘Maritime War God’ advises…]
Na Bori flicks the notification shut viciously and spins to face Jihye. “Listen to me. You can’t die, so don’t try to fight anything unless you know you can win. Understand?”
“If you had a sponsor—”
“I wouldn’t throw away my life for nothing either,” Na Bori hisses. She seizes Jihye’s shoulder with one hand, half-dragging her behind the cover of a building so they’re partially hidden. “Do you know how to swing a sword?”
Something complicated flashes across Jihye’s face quickly. “No.”
“But you know how to run fast,” Na Bori says. “And I know how to run fast. I’m not saying we should run forever, but it’s just—you can’t— we can’t…” she stutters, grip tightening on Jihye’s shoulder, and squeezes her eyes shut. “Please,” she continues, unsure of where she’s going to end the sentence or even what words to use. “Please.”
Jihye’s expression softens, then. She reaches up to her own shoulders and takes Na Bori’s hand in her own. “Okay.”
They reach Chungmuro station in the night and descend the steps in twos. It’s mostly empty so they claim an innocuous spot on the wall and curl up there. Jihye suggests watching in shifts; Na Bori, too tired and relieved to argue, falls asleep first.
She dreams in darkness. When she wakes up, Jihye is on her feet, talking to a stranger in all black. Na Bori nearly trips over herself scrambling to her side in panic.
The man hardly even turns, though his gaze flits coolly over her face when she enters his line of sight. If possible, his scowl gets even deeper. Still, he steadfastly ignores her in favor of continuing his conversation with Jihye.
“Come with me,” he says, short and blunt and to the point. “I can teach you to become stronger.”
“You keep saying that,” Jihye snarks back, clearly exasperated, “but we’re all the same right now, aren’t we? How can you be—”
He draws his sword from his scabbard in one swift motion. Na Bori flinches—shoves Jihye back against the wall, her own body covering hers—but instead he turns and slices a wide arc, across roughly twenty feet of concrete and rail track, and carves a deep slice into the arch of the tunnel which explodes upon impact.
That part of the tunnel crumbles and collapses in on itself. The man turns back to Jihye, impassive.
Na Bori shifts aside, slightly embarrassed, and lets Jihye step forward. Even before she speaks, she already knows what her answer will be. Her eyes are shining at the display.
“You can do more than that, too,” Jihye says. It’s less a question and more of a statement, but he nods shortly in confirmation anyway. She considers this for a while.
It’s clear she’s enamored by the idea of using a sword—of being strong enough to do these kinds of flashy things with no consequence. Na Bori doesn’t know anything, but even she can tell that this swordsman has the kind of power that people will come to covet if they haven’t already. This is the kind of opportunity someone would kill for.
It’s for the best if Jihye goes with him. Na Bori is halfway through convincing herself this—that if Jihye becomes his student, she can become strong enough to protect herself and more and failing that, he can be strong enough to protect her in her place—when Jihye does the unexpected.
She reaches over and takes Na Bori’s hand in her own. Lifting her chin, she says, steady and unflinching, “I’ll have to talk to my friend about it. Can she come too?”
Something flits over the man’s face before he can suppress it. “Why?”
Na Bori starts. “Jihye—”
Jihye squeezes her hand. “I told you,” she says to the man. “She’s my best friend. If you won’t take her too, I won’t go with you.”
He struggles over this for a bit before acquiescing. “Fine.”
For the next few days, they follow him around the station—well, Jihye follows him and Na Bori follows her. They find out his name is Yoo Joonghyuk and that he’s very interested in Jihye’s sponsor and her skills and not at all interested in Na Bori. If anything, he treats her with a vague suspicion and distrust that’s very nearly hilarious considering she’s a teenager with no sponsor or skills whatsoever and he’s a grown man with maybe too many combat skills.
Well, that probably explains it. There’s nothing going on in his brain other than cool sword sounds, so of course he’s an idiot. It doesn’t make Na Bori trust him any more, but Jihye is happy and getting stronger by the day, so she can just be vigilant enough for them both.
…Although, if Jihye keeps at it, she may end up just like him. It’s a frightening idea to have, so Na Bori decides not to think about it. Whatever keeps her alive.
Two days in, Yoo Joonghyuk comes directly to her while Jihye is hunting for their food.
“You haven’t left,” he says.
Na Bori bristles. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she says, “but Jihye is still here. I’m not going to leave her alone if I can help it.”
“Hm,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. She gets the impression he’s tacitly disapproving of her. Then, bluntly and without reserve: “Why aren’t you dead?”
This comes unexpected. It takes some time for her to process this. Na Bori says, slowly, “Do you wish I was dead?”
He says nothing. She rises to her feet to face him, ignoring the pound of her heart against her ribcage. His gaze is cold and steady on her face, as if methodically parsing her into parts; the useful and the not. Jihye’s best friend and his burden to bear.
Na Bori rises slowly to her feet. “I know you only care about Jihye,” she says, tone slowly heating with a bitter, low-simmering anger, “but I didn’t expect you to sink this low. If you want me dead, you’ll have to kill me yourself. I don’t have plans to die anytime soon.”
She lifts her chin and meets his gaze evenly even as adrenaline thrums through her. It’s a ridiculous sight; he towers over her in every aspect, height and power and knowledge alike. He could kill Jihye in a flick of his wrist; he could kill her in less than that.
Na Bori sets her jaw anyway. “But it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “As long as Jihye stays alive, you can do whatever you want to me. Understand?”
Joonghyuk frowns at that, an unreadable thing flickering in his dark eyes. He looks like he wants to say something else but instead, he sheathes his sword and turns, walking away.
Na Bori stumbles back and slumps in relief against the subway wall. She’s alive. Jihye is alive. They’re together. That’s enough. That has to be enough.
The sound of a notification startles her out of her reverie. She glances at the panel.
[Constellation ‘Maritime War God’ is touched by your devotion]
[Constellation ‘Maritime War God’ has sponsored 100 coins]
[Constellation ‘Maritime War God’ says…]
“Shut up,” Na Bori says and drags a hand down her face. Fucking constellations. She hadn’t realized they were such voyeurs. “Don’t tell her I said any of this, okay? She’ll cry if you do. For a long time, too. She’s a crybaby.”
[Constellation ‘Maritime War God’ asks…]
Na Bori closes the screen and goes to find Jihye. She should be finished hunting by now; if she’s lucky, maybe they can take the food and eat in their own corner without Yoo Joonghyuk.
—
In her dreams there is darkness and shadow and a single voice that pierces through it.
Na Bori, it calls her by name. And it says: How much longer will you run?
—
The next day, they get new arrivals to Chungmuro Station. They immediately piss off Yoo Joonghyuk which is just about good enough to earn Na Bori’s immediate favor. Their leader—a prophet, apparently—looks at her like he’s trying to puzzle her out but he also seems to enrage Yoo Joonghyuk frequently so she can’t exactly hold it against him.
“Kim Dokja,” he says, and holds a hand out to shake. He seems pleasant enough, if calculating, but Na Bori is painfully aware that to survive, he must have somebody’s blood on his hands so she watches him closely anyway.
“Na Bori,” she says and shakes. “If you wish I was dead, please feel free to say so now. That bastard—” she jerks a thumb in the direction Yoo Joonghyuk had disappeared off into, smiling, “—has no qualms about it, so you shouldn’t either.”
Kim Dokja considers this thoughtfully. “He wants you dead?”
“He said I should be dead,” Na Bori informs him cheerfully.
“I see.” Kim Dokja scrutinizes her for a moment. His eyebrows pinch together minutely—he’s frustrated about something. Na Bori unconsciously closes her hands in fists. Still, he doesn’t seem to notice her sudden discomfort because he continues, almost casually, “Has he tried his Sage’s Eye on you yet?”
Na Bori regards him, struggling to decide whether this is information that could be used against them. “Aren’t you a prophet? Shouldn’t you be able to tell?”
“I can’t spend all my waking hours following that bastard’s actions,” Kim Dokja grumbles. “Just being in his presence some of the time is enough of a burden to carry. Forget I asked. I’ll catch up to him.”
He walks off before Na Bori can ask him what the hell that was about. She sighs and turns around to almost immediately bump into one of the women in his party—Jung Heewon, she thinks. She’d heard Kim Dokja say her name when they’d arrived.
“He went over there,” Na Bori says, pointing for the second time in ten minutes in the direction a man she doesn’t care about had strutted away in. Seriously, men. She was starting to hate them.
“I was actually looking for you,” Jung Heewon says. “Na Bori, right? Jihye asked me to come get you so she can show you a cool sword trick.”
Jihye’s name sends a mild thrill through her. Na Bori pushes it down and casually lifts her eyebrow. “Is it cool?”
Heewon smiles mildly. “It’s alright.”
“I’ll take it from you, then,” Na Bori grins, ignoring the swoop of her stomach. “You’re probably better with that than she is.” She motions at the sword strapped to Heewon’s belt.
“I’m not awful,” Heewon says, but it’s clear she’s understating her skill.
“Compared to Jihye,” Na Bori says, “I bet you’re sword of an expert.”
Heewon gapes at her, completely silent. Even the typically rowdy Landlord Association upstairs falls quiet.
“Jesus,” Heewon says at last, shaking her head. High schooler, she mouths to herself, as if trying to reassure herself that Na Bori is simply too young and inexperienced to make good puns. “And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“An expert.”
Na Bori laughs politely, trying to figure out a way to squirm out of revealing her hand. “Why does it matter to you?”
“If even Yoo Joonghyuk can get a prodigy,” Heewon says, “then I should try and beat him by getting one myself too, right?” She smiles at Na Bori, the implication clear.
It’s surprising. Na Bori nearly denies the offer outright out of shock, then again out of her own reservations. But…
It won’t be for too long. Kim Dokja’s group will finish the scenario with them and they’ll separate and Na Bori will never have to cross paths with them again. They won’t be able to use her talents (or lack thereof) against her. It will be fine. This way, she can protect Jihye.
“Consider me your new devoted apprentice,” Na Bori says, and turns to bow just for the flair of it. “When do we start?”
Heewon hums. “Do you have a sponsor?”
Na Bori considers lying, decides not to. “No.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I don’t either yet, you know. I’ll just nag Dokja to get you a sword since you won’t be sponsored one—and we can start as soon as possible after that. Do you have any cool skills? Attributes?”
Na Bori stares blankly at her. “Skills? Attributes?”
It’s Heewon’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know what those are? Have you checked?”
“Jihye has them,” Na Bori says defensively. “I don’t think I have any, though. There’s nothing on the screen when I look at it.”
“That’s impossible,” Heewon says, frowning. “Everyone has an attribute, at the very least. Are you sure you tried opening it? Maybe you did something wrong?”
Na Bori opens her mouth to respond, but before she can—
“Heewon,” Kim Dokja reappears, looking mystified. Probably, he’d met up with Yoo Joonghyuk and they’d shouted at each other for a while before he’d found out whatever he needed to. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt and continues, “We should go over the plan briefly before the scenario starts.”
Heewon nods. Turning to Na Bori, she says, “I’ll talk to you later, then. Try opening your attributes window again. There’s no way you don’t have any.”
Na Bori nods. Just in case something has changed, she tries to open it again—and just like before, the window comes up completely blank. At that moment, a notification pings and catches her attention; she switches to that screen and her mouth goes dry.
[You have gained the attribute ‘One-Dimensional Existence’ (Uncommon)]
[You have gained the personal skill ‘Escaper of Fate’ (Legendary)]
“What the hell?” she mutters aloud.
Predictably, no one answers. That night, the voice comes again in her dreams.
—
The scenarios come and fall like dominoes, one after the other. Though she can hardly match Jihye in talent, Na Bori grows proficient enough at the sword arts under Heewon’s tutelage.
Kim Dokja wins the Absolute Throne, then destroys it; Na Bori and Jihye are sent back to Taepung alone. They leave the building the same way they had the last time and the same way they had done many times before—together.
At night, Na Bori takes first watch. Jihye’s head is warm and heavy in her lap, made warmer by their fire and heavier with sleep. She smooths a hand over her hair. Under the secrecy of darkness, it’s harder to swallow it—the unbearable fondness molten in Na Bori, the flapping wings of a million butterflies taking flight below her ribs.
Neither of them know which way to go, so they pick a direction at random each morning and travel in it.
As it turns out, this is not in the least bit effective.
“You brought us back to school,” Jihye says, dumbfounded. She sheathes her sword and turns incredulously to face Na Bori. “We’ve been travelling for a week in a circle.”
Na Bori elbows her. “How is this my fault?” she protests. “You were the one who—”
“—you picked the direction today—”
[Constellation ‘Lily Blooming in Aquarius’ informs you that both of you are at fault]
“See!” Na Bori points hysterically at the message. “Look, we’re both—”
She finally processes the words. Na Bori shuts her mouth with an audible click.
Most constellations sending her messages are looking to gain footing with either Kim Dokja or Yoo Joonghyuk. This is the plain and simple truth—because she’s crossed paths with both of those two powerful beings and because she’s unremarkable in nearly every aspect, she’s considered to be two things by thos constellations. Number one: a hidden gem of an incarnation (a notion of which they were quickly disabused from), and number two: a possible tool to sow favor with the men (ugh).
When they were separated by the destruction of the Absolute Throne though, most of those constellations clearly found Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk more interesting than her and had left her alone to follow them. So why was Lily Blooming in Aquarius suddenly here?
She looks up at the sky as if it might give her an answer.
[Constellation ‘Lily Blooming in Aquarius’ says she was just bored]
[Constellation ‘Lily Blooming in Aquarius’ informs you that she has a lot of duties so she won’t watch much]
[Constellation ‘Lily Blooming in Aquarius’ warns you not to mention this to your teacher]
“My teacher,” Na Bori says blankly. She catches Jihye’s eye and mouths silently, what is going on. Jihye just shrugs. “You mean Jung Heewon?”
The constellation is silent. Na Bori wracks her brain—Heewon had mentioned just before they split that a constellation was interested in sponsoring her. What was the modifier? The Demon of Fire, maybe? The Judge of Fire? The Judge of Demons?
Well. It was something like that. Maybe that constellation had introduced someone to Jung Heewon and Na Bori had been there just enough to pique their interest.
“Hey, constellation,” Jihye says bluntly, “why don’t you sponsor my friend?”
[Constellation ‘Lily Blooming in Aquarius’ is...]
“Hey, Jihye,” Na Bori says, grinning, “why don’t you shut up? We’re having such a nice conversation without your stupid mouth.”
Jihye shrugs, loose and unaffected. “You talk too much and say too little. This is my duty as your best friend in the entire world.”
“I should probably get a new best friend then,” Na Bori says. She lifts a bit of her sword from its sheath, enough that just a sliver of metal peeks through, and wiggles it with a smile. “I can think of a few ways to get rid of you.”
At this Jihye laughs, gently knocking into Na Bori’s side with the force of it. “You love me too much to let me die.”
Na Bori’s smile turns soft. “Yeah,” she says. If it turns out her voice is fonder than usual, then so be it. She has nothing to hide from Jihye. “Maybe I do.”
You walk through the valley of death, the voice said. It will take one or it will take the other, but it cannot leave both.
I understand, she says. Before her, a tapestry of connections stretches out as far as the eye can see. She reaches out and takes the knotted thread inside herself and tears it loose.
—
They meet Kim Dokja and his party again because of course they do and Yoo Joonghyuk follows not long after like a grudging shadow. They’re the same as ever presumably, though Na Bori barely has time to confirm this before Heewon drags her off to a secluded area by the ear.
“Have you been practicing?” she demands.
“It’s a bit difficult not to,” Na Bori says dryly. She unsheathes her sword and offers it to her, still speckled with spots of monster blood. “Have you noticed the state of the world recently?”
“Ha, ha,” Heewon deadpans, but the corners of her eyes are crinkled playfully. She eyes the blade. “I thought I told you to clean your weapon every now and again.”
“This is between the now and again,” Na Bori says with a roll of her eyes.
Heewon clicks her tongue. “No respect for your teacher. This will be reflected in your final grade, you know.”
“I’ve never had a final grade that was worth being proud of,” Na Bori says cheerfully, “and I don’t plan on starting now. I still have to reap the benefits of the school system being destroyed, you know.”
“Jihye runs around following Yoo Joonghyuk adoringly like a duckling,” Heewon says, “I don’t see why you can’t do the same to me.”
She rolls her wrist and pulls her own sword from her hip, twirling it in her hand. Na Bori takes a step to the side to put more distance between her and the very sharp, spinning blade.
“It’s because you’re a health hazard,” Na Bori complains. “If I follow you too closely, I’m going to end up as minced meat.”
“Hey,” Heewon objects, “Yoo Joonghyuk is a health hazard too! He’s worse than I am!”
“Jihye has no regard for her own safety,” Na Bori says. “On the other hand, I enjoy living.”
“That’s why you should follow me,” Heewon says with a sharp grin. She takes two steps back and without preamble, lunges towards Na Bori with a flash of her sword. Na Bori raises her own blade in time to block the strike, then another as Heewon draws again to attack.
Heewon lowers her sword. “Good reaction time,” she praises. “Your arms are still stiff though, which hinders your blocking speed. You just need time to get familiar with the motions.”
“Thanks,” Na Bori says. Speed is about the only thing she has going for her fighting style, but she’ll take it over nothing. Not that it particularly matters.
Heewon runs her through a few more exercises and they spar again—this time with wooden swords, because even she concedes that using actual sharp items in any extended training scenario is obviously dangerous—roping Jihye into it at the end too before they return back to the group.
“We should do this more often,” Jihye says as they’re walking back. The score: Jihye, with four wins of the four times she fought; Heewon, with six wins of six; Na Bori, with a resounding zero (and a quarter, if breaking her sword by slamming it into the sidewalk counts).
“Yeah, yeah,” Na Bori says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your ego is already big enough, crybaby. You don’t need me to feed it anymore.”
“It’s not feeding my ego if it’s true,” she whines. They arrive back at camp and Jihye immediately lights up when she sees Yoo Joonghyuk. “I’ll be right back,” she promises. “I’m just going to—” and runs off.
Na Bori shoes her along. Turning to Heewon, exasperated, she says, “She’s going to brag to Yoo Joonghyuk about how she kicked my ass. Is that even worth bragging about? That’s just bullying, honestly.”
“It’s a shame you can’t do the same to me,” Heewon says, patting her on the shoulder. “Your master would love to hear some good news about your development.”
“Be quiet,” Na Bori says fondly. They sit down next to each other. Na Bori plucks a blade of grass from the ground, turning it between her thumb. The sun is setting, orange and deep as the day it had all started.
She knows there are words she has to say before she goes, but she can’t find the strength to dig them out where they’re buried in her sternum. Instead, she finds a clover flower in the dense foliage of the grass and lays it between them, both an offering and a bridge, spanning between them.
Night falls. Heewon gets up to confer with Yoo Sangah and start a fire because apparently Kim Dokja is too incompetent to do it himself. Jihye takes her place beside Na Bori, stretching out in the grass.
Someone else takes first watch, so for the first time in a while, they roll their bedrolls out side by side and settle in them, bodies curved towards each other like closed parentheses; everything inside stays within them.
Jihye’s knee touches Na Bori’s between two layers of blankets.
Na Bori smiles in the dark. She reaches out and lets the pads of her newly calloused fingertips brush over Jihye’s cheek.
Jihye swallows and brings her own hand up to curl over Na Bori’s.
“Close your eyes,” Na Bori whispers. The fire crackles outside of them. Jihye smothers a smile and shuts her eyes obediently.
I think I’m in love with you, Na Bori mouths in the dark. Her soft exhale stirs the few strands of hair over Jihye’s face. “What did I say?”
“This isn’t fair at all,” Jihye grumbles quietly. She guesses You’re a baby and Na Bori tells her she’s right. As they’re both drifting off to sleep, Na Bori sees a butterfly, white wings lined with the silhouette of the sparking fire like an imitation of a sunset.
In the darkness, she steps forward and surrenders herself whole.
Welcome back, says the voice. Na Bori opens her mouth to respond but instead of words, hundreds of butterflies emerge from her throat and dissolve into shadow until only dust is left.
—
Na Bori is dead, so we will take an interlude; a shift in the narrative. To go forward, we must first understand where we are at present.
Scene: some night after the destruction of the Absolute Throne, at some place near Taepung Girls’ High School. The characters: Lee Jihye and Na Bori as they often are, pressed side by side.
“I keep having the same dream,” Jihye said lowly. The dim light of the dying fire flickerd over her face, washing it in deep shadow.
Na Bori reached over and took her pale hand in her own, equal parts comfort and encouragement to continue.
“You’re dying,” Jihye said slowly. “I’m killing you. We’re back in the high school and I’m—” her breath hitched but she continued like she couldn’t stop, “—my hands are around your neck. I’m choking you. That’s the only way I can pass the first scenario.”
The first scenario. How long ago it felt, even then. Na Bori still remembered it vividly; Jihye stumbling back to avoid the swing of a textbook, scraping her hand against the concrete windowsill trying not to fall, falling anyways. The notification of success, the black dust remains of ants on her palm.
She had raised her hand to look at it, stunned. A butterfly, white wings turned molten and golden at the edges from the deep orange sunset, flapped its wings.
Time ran out. The girl attempting to kill her had stumbled back and her head cracked open like a soda can, spewing blood over them both. Jihye said, Na Bori, desperate, and Na Bori had understood (they always understood each other perfectly). She reached out and crushed the butterfly in her fist.
They had both lived. They were both still alive.
(Jihye dreams she is drifting in darkness)
And:
Kim Dokja, who had lived and died and lived again twice, took Heewon aside and said, “Your student will die tonight.”
She tensed immediately, hand going to her sword. “How do we prevent it?”
Perplexed is not a good look on Kim Dokja, but he’s too distracted trying to connect the dots—Na Bori’s inexplicable survival despite her fate in the novel, the razor-thin balance of destiny and that impossibility—to erase it from his expression.
Maybe she was trying to do the same thing he wanted to. The solution came to him then in a flash—really, weren’t they too similar? Even originally…
Well, at least the answer was simple. He smiled, and opened his mouth to speak.
And:
In the morning, Lee Jihye wakes up alone and knows without being told what has happened. She sits frozen, heart stopped in her chest. The ghost of Na Bori’s touch lingers on her face. She brings a hand to her cheek without even realizing she is moving, tracing the lines of her movement with her own fingers.
The fire has burned to embers in the night. Every inch of her is cold.
“Give her back,” she says, whisper harsh against her dry throat, cracked and misused from the freezing. Who is she talking to? Who can even listen?
She opens her mouth again. Throughout the Star Stream, others follow in her echo. Gabriel lifts her head. Jung Heewon grips Kim Dokja’s shoulder. Even Yoo Joonghyuk raises his eyes to the dark, starry night.
The words that emerge are beyond all of them, etched stark and clear on the lines of the universe: GIVE HER BACK.
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In the darkness, a flap of the wings. A twist of destiny. Though the natural order has been satisfied, the story calls for you still. Will you be able to live as someone greater than yourself?
A breath, a flutter.
[Your attribute ‘One-Dimensional Existence’ is evolving!]
[Your attribute has evolved to ‘Fully Realized Creation’ (Rare)!]
[Your exclusive skill ‘Escaper of Fate’ (Legendary) is activating!]
Na Bori draws her sword and cuts through nonexistence with a single motion. The shadows rise at her ankles and shape into dozens of butterflies which tear through the rip viciously, opening the way forward. Na Bori sheathes her blade and steps through, into the emerging sunrise.