The sun beat down on the dirt road where the caravan had paused for rest. Horses snorted lazily, and the scent of dried dates and travel-worn leather filled the air. Do Yeon stood beside a battered cart, laughing as he argued prices with a grumpy farmer over a chipped vase. A ring of children watched him work—wide-eyed, silent, mouths half open—enthralled by his charm.
He winked at one of the boys, passed the vase with a dramatic flourish, and closed the deal with a grin that could melt coin from stone. "Pleasure doing business," he said, tipping his hat before moving to the next buyer. It was smooth, it was effortless—and it was the result of years clawing his way out of filth.
Do Yeon had once been just another nameless orphan. Dirty, barefoot, quick to smile but quicker to steal. He and Jin Seol had met in those early days of chaos before the sect, before structure. They had joined the Beggar Sect around the same time—just two scraps in a sea of forgotten children. Jin had been quieter, always watching. Do Yeon had talked enough for both of them.
Where Jin sharpened his mind in silence, Do Yeon learned to disarm with words. He became the kind of boy everyone liked. And when an opportunity to join a merchant caravan arose, he took it. Not out of betrayal—but out of necessity. He wanted more. And he was good at it.
For a time, he had thrived. Bartering spices across provinces, turning dried fish into coin, and lies into contracts. His wit bought him favors, and his smile opened gates that stayed closed to men ten years his senior.
He had returned now only because trade brought him back through the region. And because, one night before fate's collision, he'd wandered toward a nearby lake just to rinse off the travel grime under moonlight.
There, beneath the pale reflection of stars and water, he saw a boy.
Or rather—a young man.
Jin Seol, waist-deep in the dark lake, scars stretched along his ribs, silently scrubbing blood from his knuckles. He didn't seem to notice Do Yeon watching from behind the trees. And Do Yeon didn't call out. Something in the stillness told him not to.
But his heart had thudded in his chest like it was trying to escape.
Five years.
He never thought he'd see him again—especially not alive.
And then, the next day, they met on that crooked alley in the lower quarter. No rooftop, no theatrics. Just footsteps and silence.
Jin stepped forward, slow and steady. His eyes were damp, though his expression stayed hard. He gave Do Yeon a short, firm hug—just a moment—and then let go, like it never happened.
Do Yeon didn't speak right away. He couldn't. That hug said more than any words could. But later, after a laugh and a few awkward comments, he'd leaned in, grinning like old times, and muttered under his breath:
"The idiot didn't die."
It was all he could say. Not an insult—just shock mixed with warmth and disbelief. Jin had always taken risks, and some part of Do Yeon had long feared he'd vanished like the rest of them. But here he was, breathing, scarred… and alive.
He didn't know what Jin had become, what he was planning. But it didn't matter.
He was back.
And Do Yeon, as always, would find a way to stay close—whether through trade, charm, or coin.
Far across the city, in a smoky back room of a tavern built into an old watchtower, So Taek leaned over a thick scroll. His face was unreadable, brows drawn tight. The light of the candle made the veins in his temples pulse.
"…It's confirmed?" he asked the man opposite him.
The man nodded, swallowing hard.
So Taek rolled the scroll up slowly.
"War is coming."
Outside, traders gossiped about a new weapon sweeping through underground circles.
A silent crossbow—crude but deadly—was changing hands faster than coin.
And no one knew who had made it.
Not yet.