Chapter 4 – The Capital of Shadows

The march to Gyeongsa lasted ten days.

Han So-yeon rode near the rear of the column, her satchel always at her side. The army carried its wounded in carts, and she spent each night tending them by firelight. Though exhaustion pulled at her, she refused to rest until every man under her care could at least breathe without pain.

The soldiers had grown used to her now. Where once they had watched her with suspicion, now they greeted her with nods, even gratitude. Some offered her food, others small gifts—a polished stone, a length of thread—as tokens of respect.

Yet the shadow of their commander loomed over everything.

Jin Seung-hwan rode at the head, as unshakable as a mountain. He rarely spoke to her, but when he did, his words struck deep. He asked about her herbs, about her training, about the techniques she used that no temple healer dared attempt. Always calm, always watchful.

And though she told herself to despise him, she could not ignore the truth: when the wounded cried out, he always sent them to her first. When raiders threatened again on the third night, his first command was to place guards around her tent.

It was infuriating—and confusing.

He calls me his bride, yet treats me like both prisoner and treasure.

So-yeon shook the thought away. She would never be his bride. Never.

---

On the morning of the tenth day, the gates of Gyeongsa rose before them.

So-yeon gasped despite herself. She had never seen anything like it.

The capital sprawled across hills and rivers, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. Beyond them, tiled roofs stretched for miles, broken only by towering pagodas and the golden spires of the royal palace. Banners snapped in the wind, and the air carried the mingled scents of incense, roasted chestnuts, and smoke from a thousand hearths.

Crowds gathered as the army entered, cheering their War God. Children ran along the roadside shouting Seung-hwan’s name. Women threw flower petals, their eyes alight with adoration and awe.

But their cheers were not for her.

When they saw So-yeon riding among the soldiers, whispers began. Fingers pointed. Some faces twisted in disgust, others in fear.

“Is that her?” someone murmured.

“The healer… the one he brought from the border.”

“They say she can raise the dead.”

“A witch. A curse.”

So-yeon lowered her gaze, heat burning her cheeks. She had spent her life healing in quiet villages, welcomed by those she served. Here, in the capital, she was already condemned by rumor alone.

Beside her, Do-jin muttered, “Do not mind them. The people fear what they don’t understand.”

But So-yeon heard more than fear in those voices. She heard hatred.

---

They reached the palace by midday.

The gates opened with ceremony, revealing vast courtyards paved with jade stone, lined with cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom. At the center rose the Hall of Ascendants, where the king’s court convened.

Seung-hwan dismounted first, striding with the unshakable confidence of one who knew he needed no permission to enter. His soldiers followed in disciplined silence.

So-yeon was led behind him, her heart pounding.

Inside, the hall was cavernous, its pillars carved with dragons, its roof painted with constellations of gold. Ministers in embroidered robes lined the chamber, their faces masks of careful disdain. At the far end sat the king—frail, thin, his crown heavy on his bowed head.

The whispers began again as soon as So-yeon entered.

“Is that the girl?”

“She dares walk into the sacred hall?”

“She is dangerous.”

One voice rose above the rest.

“Commander Jin!” cried Shin Na-ra, the high priestess, stepping forward. She was a tall woman in white robes, her eyes sharp as hawks. “What is the meaning of this? You march into the capital with a foreign witch at your side?”

“She is no witch,” Seung-hwan said calmly, his voice cutting through the hall like a blade. “She is Han So-yeon, the healer who saved dozens of my men with her hands alone. And she will be my wife.”

Gasps swept the court. The king’s head jerked up, his face pale. Ministers exchanged frantic glances.

So-yeon’s knees nearly buckled. He had spoken it aloud. In front of the king, the court, the gods.

The priestess’s eyes blazed. “Blasphemy! Have you forgotten the prophecy? War and Healing united shall bring either ruin or rebirth. To bind yourself to her is to gamble the fate of the entire realm!”

Seung-hwan’s gaze did not waver. “Then let us gamble.”

The hall erupted in shouts. Some ministers protested, others demanded her arrest, still others urged the king to intervene. But the king remained silent, his eyes flickering between Seung-hwan’s towering figure and So-yeon’s trembling one.

At last, he spoke, his voice thin. “Commander Jin… you are the sword of this kingdom. Without you, we would have long fallen to our enemies. If you insist upon this union…” He trailed off, fear heavy in his tone.

The priestess stepped forward again. “Then the gods themselves will judge it. I demand the healer be tested. Let her prove she is no witch, no threat to our world.”

The ministers murmured agreement. All eyes turned to So-yeon.

Her breath caught in her throat. Tested? What did that mean?

Seung-hwan’s hand settled briefly on his sword hilt, his eyes narrowing. But before he could speak, So-yeon straightened her shoulders.

“I will take your test,” she said clearly, her voice echoing across the chamber. “For I have nothing to hide.”

Gasps rose again, but this time with surprise.

Seung-hwan’s gaze snapped to her, sharp with both anger and something else—something like pride.

“You are braver than they deserve,” he murmured.

But inside, So-yeon’s heart quaked. She had faced wounds, disease, even death. But what trial could priests devise for one who dared defy prophecy itself?

---

That night, within the palace chambers assigned to her, So-yeon sat in silence. The city’s noise drifted faintly through the windows: laughter, drums, the hum of a world far bigger than her village.

Her hands trembled as she held her satchel. Already the court called her witch, cursed, and dangerous. Tomorrow, the test will begin. If she failed, she would not only lose her freedom—she would doom herself and perhaps even him.

The door creaked open. Seung-hwan entered without announcement, his presence filling the room.

“You should not have agreed,” he said flatly.

So-yeon looked up sharply. “Would you rather they condemned me without a chance?”

“They will condemn you regardless.” His gaze was steady, unreadable. “The priests fear you. The ministers hate you. Even the king lacks the spine to protect you. This court will not welcome you—they will only sharpen their knives.”

“Then let them,” So-yeon said, surprising herself with the steel in her voice. “I will not cower. If I am to stand at your side—” she caught herself, flustered—“if I am to survive here, then I must show them I am not afraid.”

For the first time, his expression shifted. A flicker of something—admiration, perhaps—passed through his eyes.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “They call me cursed. They will call you worse. But if you endure, if you defy them… then perhaps you are truly the one the gods have bound to me.”

So-yeon’s breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to push him away. Yet a part of her, the part that had seen him fight like a storm and yet guard her life like treasure, wondered if the gods had indeed tied their fates together.

She forced her voice steady. “Then we will see tomorrow, won’t we?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Rest, healer. Tomorrow, the court will bear its fangs.”

And with that, he left her alone with the weight of fate pressing on her shoulders.

---

Beyond the palace walls, the bells of the temple tolled midnight.

And somewhere in the shadows of the capital, unseen eyes watched, waiting for the chance to strike at the woman who dared stand beside the War God.

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