'If Kim Jin hadn't found me… If Ash Kingdom hadn't raised me, believed in me… I would still be alone out there, forgotten.'
A quiet fire stirred in his chest.
He lifted his gaze again to the palace — to the symbol of everything that had given him a name, a place, a purpose.
And once more, without words this time, he renewed his vow.
He would protect the Ash Kingdom.
He would be worthy of the life they had given him.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The soft sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from sleep.
Jade's eyes blinked open.
Moonlight filtered in through the wooden shutters, casting silver slashes across the floor. His breath formed faint clouds in the cold morning air. Throwing off his blanket, he rose swiftly, muscles honed by years of training already alert.
Across the room, the deputy commander still lay fast asleep, snoring gently under heavy quilts.
Jade moved with care.
Silently, he crossed to the door and eased it open, letting the faintest creak echo into the corridor. The scent of morning frost and old wood greeted him. He stepped into the hallway, letting the door click softly shut behind him.
As he walked, he passed several chambers where the royal guard still slept, their chests rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. They had trained hard. Fought hard. They deserved their rest.
But something had stirred Jade awake.
A presence. A sense of movement.
Then, as he stepped into the open courtyard, the chill of early dawn bit into his skin.
Jade moved down the quiet corridor, the chill of the wooden floorboards seeping through the thin soles of his training shoes. The lanterns that had burned low the night before were now nothing more than blackened wicks, their holders casting long, skeletal shadows along the walls. A soft gray stillness cloaked the passageway, as if the entire palace had fallen into a spellbound slumber.
He passed door after door, each cracked open just enough for moonlight to spill in. Inside, the royal guards slept where they had collapsed—some curled into themselves beneath rough woolen blankets, others sprawled across straw-filled mats, limbs askew, boots discarded, armor set aside in careful piles. Their breath rose and fell in quiet unison, the rhythmic sound of bodies pushed to their limits by weeks of relentless drills and sleepless watches.
Jade moved like a whisper, his footsteps measured, his breath shallow, careful not to disturb them.
At the end of the corridor, he reached the side door leading out. He eased it open.
A gust of winter's breath greeted him—sharp and sudden. It swept across his face and clawed at his exposed neck, instantly waking every nerve in his body. The courtyard beyond lay silver and still, the stones underfoot coated with a thin sheen of frost that glittered faintly beneath the deep blue of a sky not yet surrendered to dawn.
It was the heart of winter's morning—when even time seemed reluctant to move.
No birds sang. No wind stirred. There was no sound but the soft exhale of his breath and the quiet thud of the door closing behind him.
Then—movement caught his eye.
A lone figure emerged from the arched gate of the tile-roofed house across the courtyard. Shrouded in shadows, the figure moved with an elegance too practiced to be mistaken. A quiver hung across one shoulder, and in one gloved hand, she held a single arrow like a torch bearer of silent war.
Queen Genie.
Jade's posture snapped instinctively to attention. Even in the low light, her presence commanded reverence. Yet something in her manner unsettled him—she moved not as a ruler flanked by loyal guards, but as a lone wolf slipping out of her den before the pack could notice.
"Your Majesty?" he called out, voice low but firm, meant more for her ears alone than the night itself.
She didn't respond.
Without pause or hesitation, she passed through the gate, her cloak whispering against the ground behind her like a dark wave against the shore. Her stride was calm, fluid, with the steady confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going—and why.
Jade frowned.
The sun hadn't even graced the edge of the mountains. What was the queen doing wandering alone before dawn with a weapon in hand?
His unease deepened. He crossed the courtyard in long strides, his boots making soft contact with the frozen stone. Slipping through the same gate she had passed, he emerged onto the village street beyond.
The world outside was frozen in indigo stillness. Rooftops shimmered under a coat of frost, trees stood bare and unmoving, and the path stretched ahead like a ribbon of moon-dusted silence. It was a world suspended between night and morning—a place where secrets wandered freely.
There she was.
Queen Genie moved ahead of him, her silhouette barely distinguishable from the trees lining the street. Her steps were swift, precise, almost too graceful for someone of her station. There was no one with her—no chambermaid, no sentry. Just the queen, the quiver on her back, and the arrow still gripped in her hand.
To any stranger, she might have looked like a hunter on a predawn outing, not the sovereign of a fractured, war-shadowed kingdom.
Jade followed, careful to stay out of her peripheral vision. This was clearly a private mission—some ritual or discipline she had long since kept to herself. Yet something deeper pulled at him: instinct, perhaps, or something he couldn't quite name. The queen moved like a figure out of rhythm with the world—as though danger had awakened her when others still dreamed.
Then—suddenly—she stopped.
The silence broke under the sharp stillness of her movement. Her shoulders stiffened. Her feet planted firmly into the frost-bitten path. Her cloak stilled.
"Who's there?" she asked softly, her voice calm but undercut with an unmistakable edge—steel hidden beneath silk. Her right hand flexed ever so slightly around the arrow, as if preparing to turn and throw it.
Jade paused, not wishing to startle her further. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, bowing his head even though she hadn't yet turned to face him.
"It's me, Your Majesty," he said gently. "Jade."
Only then did she turn and face him.
The first blush of dawn had begun to rise behind her, painting the edge of the sky with streaks of crimson and gold. The soft light caught the fur lining of her cloak, haloing her in a faint, ethereal glow. For a moment, she stood still, framed by the awakening horizon—regal and wild, like something born of myth.
Jade stopped in his tracks, momentarily caught off guard not by her rank, but by her presence.
The two of them stood in the middle of the silent village street, facing each other beneath the slow-burning sky. Breath curled from their mouths in pale clouds, mingling in the frozen air between them.
Queen Genie tilted her head slightly and offered a teasing smile.
"Why are you following me without saying a word?"
Jade's ears burned with embarrassment, though it might have just been the cold. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I thought perhaps Your Majesty was seeking solitude," he admitted. "So kept my distance… But I couldn't bring myself to let you go alone."
Her smile lingered, faint but genuine.
"Then come with me," she said simply.
Only then did Jade step closer.
His boots crunched softly against the frosted path. With each step, the distance between them narrowed, though it felt like more than just space he was crossing. Genie watched him approach with a gaze that softened, almost against her will.
His eyes, clear and steady. That high nose bridge, the way the morning light caught in the planes of his face. His broad shoulders framed by the fur-lined cloak he hadn't fastened properly. And that smile—quiet, balanced, somehow both respectful and disarming.
Even in the bone-deep chill of early winter, the sight of him warmed something deep inside her chest.
Jade stopped a few paces away and bowed his head slightly.
"May I ask… where were you going, Your Majesty? All alone, before the sun?"
Instead of answering, Genie lifted the arrow still resting in her hand. The tip gleamed faintly with condensation.
Jade's eyes narrowed with curiosity.
"You're training?"
She nodded, but offered nothing more.
Genie caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled faintly, as if acknowledging it without explaining. Then she pointed toward the mountain that loomed behind the village, its shadow still steeped in night.
"Shall we go?" she said, her breath catching in the cold air. "Before the rest of the world wakes?"
He nodded, and they began walking side by side, their footsteps quiet over the frozen earth.
The path wound through a narrow valley dusted in frost, the trees brittle and skeletal, the ground hard beneath their feet. Above them, the sky bled into a deeper orange, and the sun began its slow climb over the ridges.
The cold morning air turned Genie's cheeks a soft, glowing red.
Then, without warning, a rustle came from the underbrush ahead.
A low growl. A thunder of hooves against frozen ground.
A wild boar—massive, tusked, and furious—burst through the trees, charging straight toward them with terrifying speed.
Jade instinctively stepped forward, one hand reaching for the hilt at his belt—but he stopped himself. Something in Genie's stillness held him in place.
She didn't flinch.
Her breath steady, her stance grounded, Queen Genie drew her bow with practiced ease. The string stretched taut in her fingers, the arrow gleaming like a shard of dawnlight.
Her gaze locked on the beast, unwavering.
And beside her, Jade stood silent—not out of fear, but in awe.
As the boar came barreling toward them, a blur of muscle and fury, Genie didn't hesitate.
She released the bowstring.
Whoosh.