The hidden Path

Hong Sam-nom moved through the darkness with the certainty of someone who had mapped every shadow. Daliah followed, her breath visible in the cold air, each step taking her deeper into impossibility.

The palace grounds stretched vast and labyrinthine. They skirted walls where carved dragons seemed to writhe in the moonlight, passed gardens where bare winter branches created skeletal archways. Daliah's modern sneakers whispered against stone pathways that had been worn smooth by centuries she could not have witnessed. Yet here she was, walking on them.

"Stay close," Sam-nom whispered. "The guards change position soon. We must reach the outer buildings before then."

Daliah wanted to ask a thousand questions. Instead, she focused on moving quietly, using the controlled grace that years of ballet had ingrained in her muscles. Her body understood discipline even when her mind reeled.

They rounded a corner, and Sam-nom's hand shot out, pressing Daliah back against the wall. Voices carried across the courtyard. Two men in uniform strode past, their torches casting wild shadows. Daliah held her breath, feeling the rough stone cold against her back through her sweater. The guards' conversation faded, and Sam-nom tugged her forward again.

"You move well," Sam-nom observed quietly. "Quietly, for someone so... out of place."

"I'm a dancer," Daliah replied, then wondered if that word even translated properly. "I was. I am?" Verb tenses felt slippery when past and future had somehow tangled.

Sam-nom glanced back, curious. "A dancer? Like the court entertainers?"

"Different," Daliah said, though she was not sure how to explain ballet to someone from whatever century this was. "It's... it doesn't matter now, does it?"

They reached a smaller building, tucked away from the grand structures. Sam-nom produced a key and unlocked a door so quietly it barely breathed. Inside, the space was simple but tidy. A sleeping mat rolled in the corner, a low desk with papers weighted down by smooth stones, books stacked with careful precision. A single candle, which Sam-nom lit with practiced efficiency.

In the flickering light, Daliah saw her guide's face clearly for the first time. Delicate bone structure, intelligent eyes, and something unguarded in that momentary expression before Sam-nom's careful mask slipped back into place. This was someone accustomed to hiding.

"You live here?" Daliah asked.

Sam-nom nodded, gesturing for Daliah to sit on a cushion. "I work in the palace. I transcribe documents, run errands, make myself useful enough to be kept around but insignificant enough to be ignored." There was a wryness to those words that suggested layers of story beneath them.

Daliah sank onto the cushion, her legs suddenly weak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the flight was draining away, leaving only the crushing weight of her situation. "This can't be real," she said, though without conviction. "I should be in a hospital. Or dead. Not... wherever this is."

"The thirteenth year of King Sunjo," Sam-nom repeated patiently. "Though I wonder if that means anything to you. Your Korean is fluent, but strange. Your face..." Sam-nom hesitated. "I have never seen anyone who looks like you. Your skin, your features. Where do you come from?"

"New York," Daliah said. "America. And it's not the year that's my problem, it's the century." She watched Sam-nom's face for comprehension. "I was born in 2004. I'm twenty years old. The year should be 2024."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the candle's soft hiss.

"Two hundred years," Sam-nom finally whispered. "You're saying you've traveled two hundred years into the past?"

Hearing it spoken aloud made Daliah's chest tighten. She pressed her palms against her eyes, fighting the panic that threatened to crest. "I don't know. I don't understand. There was a car accident. Metal and glass and light, and then I woke up here. It's impossible."

"Yet here you are," Sam-nom said gently. "Impossible or not."

Daliah lowered her hands. Sam-nom was watching her with an expression that combined sympathy and calculation, as if weighing options and outcomes. "Why are you helping me? You don't know me. I could be dangerous."

A slight smile crossed Sam-nom's face. "You're terrified and lost. Also, you asked what year it was. No spy or intruder would ask that." Sam-nom stood, moving to a small chest in the corner. "Besides, I know something about being out of place. About hiding what you are to survive."

There was weight in those words, secrets acknowledging secrets. Daliah thought of the way Sam-nom moved, spoke, carried themselves. The almost-but-not-quite masculine presentation. The careful word choices.

"Sam-nom isn't your real name, is it?" Daliah asked quietly.

Sam-nom froze, then slowly turned back. Their eyes met, and Daliah saw the flash of fear there, quickly controlled. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you said it. Like it's armor, not identity." Daliah held up her hands, placating. "I'm not threatening you. I'm just... I see you. Whatever you're hiding, I won't expose it. You're helping me. That matters."

The tension in Sam-nom's shoulders eased fractionally. "My name is Hong Ra-on," came the whispered confession. "But here in the palace, for my safety, I am Sam-nom. A young man. Insignificant. Invisible."

"Ra-on," Daliah repeated, tasting the name. "Thank you for trusting me."

Before Ra-on could respond, voices erupted outside. Shouts, running footsteps. Both women froze.

"Someone breached the eastern wall," a guard's voice carried through the walls. "Search every building. Find the intruder!"

Ra-on moved to the door, pressing her ear against it. Her face had gone pale. "They know someone entered. They will search here soon." She turned to Daliah, decision crystallizing in her eyes. "Your clothes will give you away instantly. You need to change, now. I have extra hanbok, but..."

"But what?" Daliah demanded.

Ra-on's expression was grim. "But we need to decide. Do I dress you as a woman, which will raise questions about who you are and why you're here? Or do I dress you as a man, which might be safer but require you to play a role you do not understand in a culture you do not know?"

The footsteps were getting closer.

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