Meanwhile, the rhythmic clatter of hooves ceased outside Elder Park's estate—the largest tile-roofed house nestled among the thatched roofs of the Southwest Village. Morning mist still lingered in the air, curling along the stone walls like breathless whispers.
Queen Genie, astride her steed in a simple yet commanding royal riding robe, surveyed the structure before her. The tiled eaves were grand but aged, speaking of a lineage long rooted in the village's history. Her guards, clad in muted armor befitting a royal visit rather than a battlefield, flanked her silently.
The village governor stepped forward and knocked on the broad wooden gate, his fist striking firm but respectful against the weathered frame.
A moment later, a voice called from inside. "Yes?"
The gate creaked open to reveal Elder Park's longtime male servant, his graying hair tied back neatly. His eyes flicked to the governor, then froze the moment he noticed the regal figure standing just behind him.
"Oh! Sir, what brings you he—"
Then his gaze fully landed on the Queen.
Time seemed to catch in his throat. His mouth parted in silent astonishment before he stumbled back and dropped to his knees on the stone threshold.
"Y-Your Majesty…! I… it is… a g-great honor to meet you."
His voice cracked with both awe and fear.
From deeper within the courtyard, a pair of sandals shuffled quickly across the flagstones. Elder Park appeared, adjusting his robes hastily as he emerged.
"Magistrate, what is the m—"
He stopped mid-step.
There she stood.
Even in her modest travel garments, Queen Genie's bearing radiated unmistakable authority—the kind that made even the wind hesitate. Her gaze met his with calm, contained force.
The magistrate cleared his throat and bowed. "Her Majesty has come to see Minister Jade."
Elder Park's eyes widened, realization dawning far too late for protocol. He dropped into a deep, respectful bow.
"My deepest apologies for not recognizing you at once, Your Majesty," he said quickly. "I am Park Hoon of Westen Village. It is the greatest honor to welcome you."
Genie gave a gentle nod, her voice low and even. "I heard Minister Jade is recovering here."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Elder Park answered quickly. "He's staying in the detached study at the back of the estate."
Without needing to be told, male servant rose shakily to his feet and bowed again, then motioned toward the interior courtyard.
"This way, Your Majesty."
They passed through the wooden gate into the quiet expanse of the Park estate—stone paths lined with trimmed shrubs, a koi pond to the left, and the distant scent of medicinal herbs wafting from the kitchen.
The study came into view. A low-roofed annex with dark-lacquered wood and paper doors partially open to let in light. Outside the door, the servant paused, visibly trembling. He turned to the Queen, bowed once more, and gestured with a shaky hand.
"Your Majesty… Minister Jade is inside."
With a soft creak, he slid the door open.
Inside the quiet study, Minister Jade sat upright on a thin pallet, shoulders bound tightly in white bandages. His robe had been discarded, and his torso was bare, a sheen of sweat visible along the collarbones from the tea he had just sipped. His dark hair fell loosely around his temples, and his eyes—those clear, thoughtful eyes—lifted at once.
Their gazes locked.
For a breathless moment, nothing stirred.
Then, "Your Majesty," he said, startled.
With practiced reflex, he reached for his shirt and struggled to shrug it over his shoulders, pain flashing across his face but quickly buried beneath duty.
At his side, Enna had risen, her face a portrait of composed surprise. She lowered her gaze, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.
Queen Genie's expression did not change, but her eyes took in the scene in a single sweep: the half-sipped tea, the folded blanket, the soft light of afternoon warming the paper windows, the girl beside her commander.
'That woman…'
Slightly upturned eyes, a delicate nose, thin red lips—there was a resemblance. Not exact. But enough to stir memories. Enough to bring Lee Jan's face to mind. Yet there was no sharpness in Enna's features. No defiance. Her eyes, when they lifted briefly, were calm. Transparent. Almost reverent.
Genie's voice, when it came, was even and firm.
"Are you all right, Jade?"
Jade straightened, wincing as the motion tugged at his wounds.
"I'm recovering well, thanks to Elder Park's hospitality," he replied. "The injuries were not serious. I apologize for not sending word earlier—I didn't wish to trouble the court unnecessarily."
Her gaze lingered on him, then shifted back to Enna—this quiet girl who had been at his side when Genie could not.
But her voice betrayed nothing.
"You were not the trouble," she said coolly. "The people's safety is my concern, and your service to them is something I do not overlook."
Enna lowered her head even further.
"I simply offered tea, Your Majesty," she murmured.
Genie didn't respond right away. She looked once more at the room—at its stillness, its intimacy—then turned to Elder Park, who stood just outside the door with the magistrate.
"Elder Park," she said, "you and your daughter have shown great care to one of my most trusted men. I thank you."
Elder Park bowed deeply. "It was our honor, Your Majesty."
Genie looked back at Jade, her eyes unreadable.
"Rest well. I expect to see you standing beside me again soon."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned, her steps measured and graceful, her cloak whispering against the floorboards as she exited the study. Her guards followed in silence, the wooden floor creaking faintly under their disciplined march.
As she passed through the courtyard, the air felt heavier than before—as though the stillness had absorbed her unspoken thoughts and locked them within the walls.
Behind her, Jade remained seated, silent, the warmth of the Queen's unexpected presence lingering like a shadow across his chest.
On a quiet hill draped in twilight shadows, two young soldiers from the Ash Kingdom crouched low beneath the tangled undergrowth. The sun, now a blood-red smear across the western sky, cast long silhouettes over the distant village below, where warm lantern light flickered behind thin paper windows and the faint hum of evening life rose into the still air.
Wanan, the younger of the two, pushed a strand of sweat-drenched hair from his brow and peered down the slope. His breath caught.
"She… she really came?" he asked, voice hushed but tight with disbelief.
Mobo, older by a few years and visibly more cautious, kept his eyes trained on the village.
His jaw was clenched, as though fighting the words before letting them slip. "Yeah," he finally said. "I was hiding near the back gate, just behind a cart of firewood. I heard the villagers whispering. They said the Queen herself came here—to fetch Jade."
Wanan's eyes widened, gleaming like wet stone in the fading light. For a moment, he didn't breathe.
"This… this is it," he whispered. "The perfect chance. Everyone thinks we're dead or long gone. No one would expect this."
He turned to Mobo, face burning with a strange, feverish excitement.
"I'll take the Queen. You go for Jade. We end this war in one stroke."
But Mobo didn't share his fervor. He stiffened, eyes darting toward the tree line.
"Are you out of your mind? There are guards. We'll be dead before we get within ten paces. Let's head back to Ash while we still can."
Wanan's expression twisted in frustration.
"Then go," he snapped, voice low but cold. "Run back to Ash and live the rest of your life in silence. But I'm staying. I'll shoot her—right through the heart." He paused, lips curling into a smile that was more desperate than proud. "Can you imagine it? The Queen of Hana, falling by my arrow. I'll be remembered forever. A hero."
Mobo hesitated, conflict rippling across his features. After a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod.
"Alright," he muttered. "Then I'll go for Jade."
With that, the two broke from cover and crept down the hillside like shadows, staying low beneath the ridge, weaving between rock and brush. The village loomed closer, its rear wall just ahead. They pressed themselves against the cold stone, hearts hammering.
A door creaked open.
Soft voices echoed through the narrow alley.
Then she appeared.
Queen Genie stepped into the night, her presence unmistakable even without her crown. Her robes shimmered faintly, woven with silken threads that caught the lantern light. Her gaze was firm, her bearing regal despite the modest surroundings. She turned to speak to her guards, her voice calm and composed, yet edged with urgency.
Wanan's breath caught in his throat.
"This is it," he hissed.
In one fluid motion, he slid an arrow from his quiver. His fingers, though trembling, found their mark with practiced precision. The bowstring groaned as he pulled it taut, the wood resisting under tension. His knuckles whitened.
He aimed.
His vision narrowed, the world falling away until only one figure remained—Queen Genie, standing like a beacon against the dusk. Her expression unreadable, her hands folded gently before her, unaware of the arrow trained upon her heart.
Time slowed.
A breeze stirred the leaves.
A lantern flickered.
The arrowhead gleamed.
His finger twitched.
He exhaled.
And let go.