"Baeksan, a tribal clan that lived along the distant borders of Joseon."
Consciousness returned in fragments.
Warmth first.
Then scent—burnt herbs, incense, something bitter and sharp that clung to the back of her throat.
Meera's eyes flew open.
Pain rushed in instantly, pounding behind her temples, spreading through her limbs as though she had been dragged from deep water. When she tried to move, her body refused—heavy, weak, unfamiliar.
This was not her bed.
The ceiling above her was low and wooden, dark beams etched with age. Sunlight slipped through a narrow opening, cutting the air into golden lines that dust floated through slowly, lazily—too slowly.
The room was silent. Not city-silent.
Ancient silent.
Her breath caught.
Where am I...?
Before she could gather her thoughts, hurried footsteps approached.
A young woman appeared beside the bed, her face pale with worry. She wore loose tribal garments in faded browns and greens, tied simply at the waist. No phone. No modern fabric. No hesitation in her movements—only urgency.
"Agassi!" the woman exclaimed. "You're awake!"
The word struck Meera like a slap.
Agassi?
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
The room blurred. Her gaze darted everywhere at once—the wooden walls, the earthen floor, the strange bowls of crushed herbs near her bedside.
This looked wrong.
Too familiar... and yet impossible.
Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palm.
Pain shot through her skin.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
This hurts.
The girl tilted her head, clearly confused by Meera's sudden stillness. "Agassi... are you feeling unwell?"
Meera swallowed hard.
The smell.
The light.
The weight of her own body.
None of it faded.
A chill crept up her spine.
"No..." Meera whispered, her voice shaking. "This can't be..."
Her chest tightened as realization crashed over her, fast and merciless.
This wasn't a dream.
Panic surged.
She screamed.
48 Hour Ago – Present time
The concert lights flashed across the stadium, fans screaming in sync. FLASH, the globally famous boyband, was on stage, and Ji Kang—JK—their main vocalist, held the microphone like he was born to command it. The crowd roared at every note, waving light sticks that painted the arena in waves of color.
Meera was lost in it, heart pounding, every fiber of her being hoping for just one glance from her favorite idol. And then it happened. Across the sea of cheering fans, she felt it—eyes on her.
JK looked straight at her.
"Meera... Meera..."
His voice echoed, distant at first, then fading, fading, until reality hit her like a splash of cold water.
A knock.
"Meera! Meera!"
No response.
Another knock, firmer this time. And then—BAM! A file hit the desk next to her elbow.
Her eyes shot open.
She wasn't at the concert. She was back in the office.
Shock ran through Meera's body. Her heart pounded. She scrambled up from her chair so fast that it scraped against the floor, and she stood there, hands trembling slightly. Her hair fell into her face, and her blouse was rumpled
Her HOD of the Accounts Team, a man in his forties with a sharp, hawkish face, was standing over her, arms crossed, and his dark eyes glared down at her. "Meera! Sleeping at your desk again? This is your third report this week that's late! How do you expect the team to meet deadlines if you can't even stay awake?"
The whole floor seemed to turn toward her. Colleagues whispered and stared. Some looked curious, some judgmental, some barely hiding their amusement.
The HOD stepped closer, pointing at the file on her desk. "Do you even care about your work? Deadlines are not optional! You need to pull yourself together, Meera!"
Without waiting for a reply from Meera, the HOD muttered something irritated under his breath and walked off.
This wasn't the first time it had happened to her. Nor would it be the last.
Meera, slowly sat back down, picked up the file, and began working. Spreadsheets filled the monitor — charts, reports, endless rows of numbers waiting to be reviewed. Her fingers moved across the keyboard almost on their own, typing corrections, adjusting figures, clicking between tabs.
Meera is a simple, naturally beautiful girl. But for her, beauty was not just about looks. She believed real beauty came from carrying oneself well—kind, focus, wisdom, confidence, and the ability to handle any situation calmly at work that was exactly how her colleague Riya is.
Riya was confident, kind, well-dressed, and always perfect at her work. Most of the men in the office followed her with their eyes wherever she went. Meera noticed it, but she never felt jealous. Instead, she quietly admired that confidence and focused on perfecting her own work.
Riya pulled her chair close to Meera's desk. "Don't let him get to you," she said softly, giving Meera a small smile. Then she placed two or three more files on Meera's table. "You can handle this."
Meera smiled back. That little motivation was enough. She took the files and got back to work.
Hours passed.
Meera stretched her arms, rubbed her tired eyes, and checked her phone. It was 6:00 PM. She wanted to leave, badly. But when she looked at the unfinished work on her desk, she sighed and continued working.
Riya packed her bag and waved. "Bye, Meera. Don't stay too late."
Meera nodded with a faint smile.
After some time, a familiar voice broke the
silence.
"Meera!"
Rohan from the Planning Team her office buddy appeared at her desk. Always energetic, cool by nature, and good-looking, he pulled a chair and sat beside her. "Pack your things," he said with a grin. "I have good news for you."
Meera kept working. No reaction.
Rohan blinked. "Did you hear me?"
Still no response.
He tried again, leaning closer, but Meera didn't even look up. She was completely focused on her screen.
Rohan stood up, shaking his head. "What a waste," he said loudly. "I have JK's meet-and-greet ticket, and no one seems interested."
That worked.
Meera instantly shut her laptop, grabbed her bag, and walked past him.
Outside the office building, she suddenly pushed him from behind. "You actually got the ticket?" she asked, eyes wide, excitement clear on her face. "Seriously?"
Rohan turned around dramatically. "Excuse me, do I know you?"
Meera crossed her arms. "Stop acting. Give me the ticket."
Rohan laughed. "Wow. Do you have a split personality or what? In the office you're quiet and simple, and outside you're completely different."
Meera smirked. "The office is a different place. I can't be this messy there."
Rohan laughed. "True that. If people there ever experienced your straight-forward and sarcastic nature, they'd kick you out on the very first day."
Meera hit his foot lightly with hers. "Stop it. I'm not that bad."
"Aww," Rohan said dramatically. "That hurt."
Meera clasped her hands together in an exaggerated, dramatic way. "My only real friend," she said, batting her eyes, "could you please give me that ticket?"
Rohan grinned. "No."
Meera groaned.
Then he added, teasing, "But how about a pizza treat from Munchies? Then maybe I cou—"
"Okay, done," Meera said instantly, cutting him off.
Rohan laughed, shaking his head, and together they headed toward Munchies Café.
After few hours, Meera came home with the meet-and-greet ticket clutched in her hand. Her mother was in the kitchen when she entered.
"Mummy, I had dinner outside," Meera said quickly. "I won't eat tonight."
Without waiting for a reply, she went straight to her room.
Her room was simple, but it clearly showed one thing—her love for FLASH. Posters covered the walls, light sticks were neatly arranged, albums stacked on her shelf, and almost every photo featured JK. It wasn't hard to tell she was an obsessive fan—especially when it came to him.
She jumped onto her bed, plugged in her earphones, and played JK's solo songs. His voice filled her ears, calming her instantly. She picked up the ticket again and stared at it, smiling.
For the first time ever, Flash was holding a meet-and-greet in Mumbai, India. For Meera, this was her only chance to see her favourite idol, JK — not through a screen, but in real life.
She placed it carefully beside her pillow and picked up her phone and opened her fan club account.
And froze.
Her latest post — the one where she had defended JK during the rumoured girlfriend controversy — had exploded overnight.
Thousands of likes. Shares. Notifications flooding in.
Most of the comments were supportive.
"Thank you for saying this."
"Real fans stay."
"People are so quick to judge."
A small smile curved on Meera's lips.
At least in her own way, she had helped.
But of course—
Not everyone agreed.
She tapped open the comments and let out a dry laugh.
Someone had written, "This comeback is boring. They're overrated now."
Meera smirked and replied, "Still good enough for you to watch and comment."
Another said:
"He's probably too busy with his rumoured girlfriend to care about fans."
She replied:
"Yes, I'm sure you personally manage his schedule."
Next:
"Flash is overrated. All hype, no talent."
"Amazing how you follow someone you dislike so closely," she shot back.
Another comment:
"He's losing his charm. Old JK was better."
"Growth is scary when you're stuck in the past," she wrote calmly.
Then—
"Fans like you are delusional."
Meera smiled at her screen.
"Confidence and delusion look similar to insecure people."
Haters were loud but they were also predictable.
Satisfied, she locked her phone, the music still playing softly in her ears. Smiling to herself,
Meera closed her eyes.
Next morning, Meera dressed up carefully, standing in front of the mirror for a long time.
She tilted her head, studying her reflection, then frowned. "Should I change?" she murmured.
She tried another top, then sighed and finally decided on a light-colored blouse paired with dark satin midi skirt. Simple, neat, and comfortable. She left her hair loose, neatly brushed, and kept her makeup minimal—just a touch of lip balm and liner. It wasn't flashy, but it felt right.
She would take a half-day from the office, she decided. The event was at 4 PM, and she didn't want to be late—not today.
As always, she met Rohan at the railway station. The moment Rohan saw her, he stopped short. "You look... different today," he said.
Meera frowned. "Stop teasing me."
"I'm not," he said with a grin. "You actually look really nice."
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved slightly.
Meera checked her ticket again and then once more, holding it tightly.
Rohan laughed. "Relax. That ticket isn't even worth a thousand. Anyone could steal it."
She looked at him seriously. "For me," she said softly, clutching it closer, "this is worth millions. Billions."
She turned away.
Rohan sighed, half worried, half amused. "You and your obsession with JK," he said. "That will never change."
Meera didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on the ticket, her heart racing as the train moved closer to her dream.
The excitement slowly settled as Meera stepped out of the train with Rohan and walked into the office building which was across the street. At the entrance, they waved to each other before heading to their respective floors—he to Planning, she to Accounts.
By the time Meera reached her desk, the fan inside her was neatly folded away, replaced by her usual office self. The Accounts floor was busy—keyboards clicking, calculators tapping, phones ringing, and murmurs about reports and deadlines filling the air.
Meera placed her bag on her desk and powered on her system. She glanced at the clock. Still hours to go.
She opened her ledger and tried to focus, but her thoughts kept drifting to the meet-and-greet ticket safely tucked inside her bag. She told herself she would finish her work on time—no mistakes, no scolding today.
At least, that was the plan.
Later, few colleagues stood near Meera's desk, chatting.
One of them laughed. "Some people are lucky. They stay so quiet that no one expects much from them."
Another added, smiling, "Yeah. Very safe strategy."
Soft laughter followed.
Meera froze.
She knew they weren't joking with her. They were joking about her.
She opened her mouth to speak.
Then stopped.
What if I say too much? What if I say something wrong? What if someone gets hurt?
She looked back at her screen and continued working.
The laughter faded.
Meera stayed silent—reserved, thoughtful, and unsure—wondering when speaking up started to feel harder than staying quiet.
Two hours later, once Meera saw that Naik her HOD had returned to his cabin, she slipped the meet-and-greet ticket into her skirt pocket and headed to his cabin. She planned to request a half-day.
But Naik didn't just refuse. He scolded her more harshly than ever, shaking his head and lecturing her about deadlines and responsibilities. Inside,
Meera wanted to fire back, to argue, to demand what was rightfully hers. But something inside her held her back. She lowered her head, listened silently, and nodded when necessary, swallowing her frustration.
When she finally stepped out of his cabin, she walked straight to the washroom and sat on the edge of the commode, holding the ticket in her hands. Tears blurred her vision. "Why... why... why?" she whispered to herself. "I didn't even say no to him. Don't I deserve my leave?"
Outside the washroom door, laughter drifted in.
"Riya, you're amazing! You shift all your work to Meera and go off for holidays all the time!" one girl laughed.
Riya stood before the mirror, carefully applying a fresh coat of lipstick. She pressed her lips together, examining her reflection with quiet satisfaction.
Her voice floated out, casual but edged with mockery.
"Meera is stupid," she said, adjusting a loose strand of hair. "She never even realized she's been finishing most of my work."
A small smirk curved her lips as she tilted her chin, admiring the polished image staring back at her.
"My work gets noticed," she added lightly, "hers never does."
The three of them laughed together and finally walked away.
Meera's heart sank, slowly, painfully. She had never imagined that Riya—the one she admired, the one who seemed so confident and kind—could look at her with such quiet cruelty. The laughter still echoed in her ears even after the voices faded, leaving behind a hollow silence that felt louder than the mockery itself.
She didn't argue. She didn't cry then. She simply walked out.
Each step away from the building felt heavier than the last, as if the walls behind her had taken something with them—her excitement, her pride, her fragile hope. Outside, the city moved on as usual. People passed by, talking, laughing, living.
No one noticed the girl whose world had just cracked a little more.
Meera reached the sidewalk and sat down on the cold bench facing the fountain. Her shoulders sagged. With trembling fingers, she tightened her grip around the ticket.
She stared at it, her vision blurring. All the days she had worked late, all the moments she had endured in silence, all the dreams she had clung to—everything seemed foolish now. A tear slipped free, then another, dropping onto the ticket and leaving faint, uneven marks.
She brushed at her face angrily, hating herself for caring this deeply, for dreaming when she should have known better.
Then the wind came.
Not gentle. Not kind.
A sudden, sharp gust tore through the space, snapping against her like a warning. Before
Meera could react, the ticket was ripped from her grasp, yanked out of her hands as if the world itself was taking it away.
Her breath hitched.
No—!" Her breath caught as she lunged forward on instinct, her voice breaking as she reached for it.
The wind carried it straight into the fountain.
Meera rushed to the edge and leaned forward, stretching as far as she could. The ticket floated on the water's surface. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and finally caught it.
But even as she held it, her heart sank.
Even if I save it, I'll never get the chance to meet him, she thought.
Still... I want to meet you.
Her grip loosened. She let the ticket slip from her fingers and watched it float away. She sat back slowly, wiping her tears and trying to steady herself.
Then something caught her attention.
The ticket began to shimmer.
Meera froze. Her breath hitched as she stared, her eyes widening in disbelief. Sunlight reflected off the surface, and slowly, impossibly, the paper started turning gold.
"What...?" she whispered.
Her heartbeat quickened. Without thinking, she leaned forward again, drawn to it, reaching out to catch the glowing ticket.
Before her fingers could touch it, a sudden force pulled at her hand.
The water in the fountain churned violently.
Meera gasped as she lost her balance and was dragged in.
The fountain that had once been shallow suddenly felt deep and endless.
Something unseen pulled her deeper.
She struggled, kicking and flailing, trying to reach the surface. Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred.
Just as her strength began to fade, she saw a hand reaching toward her through the water.
And then—
Everything went dark.
___
Rohan paused at Meera's desk, half-expecting that she might have left by now.
The chair was empty but her bag still lay on the table, neatly placed—exactly the way she always kept it. That made him pause. She hadn't come to lunch either.
He checked his watch.
She should've left by now for the event, he thought.
A small knot tightened in his chest.
Rohan turned to Riya, who was still working at her desk.
"She went to Naik sir's cabin," Riya said without looking up. "That was about an hour ago. She didn't come back after that."
Rohan frowned. That wasn't like Meera to get disappear for so long, he pulled out his phone and called her—once... then again.
No answer.
The uneasiness grew sharper.
Without waiting, he began searching the floor, moving quickly past rows of quiet desks. He checked near the meeting rooms, near the washroom, then the staircase leading down.
Nothing.
A thought crossed his mind.
What if she left the office already?
He exhaled slowly. "She can actually do that..." he murmured to himself. "Especially for JK. Such a devoted fan she is."
Still, the thought didn't fully settle his worry.
With no other option, Rohan returned to his floor, the image of her untouched bag lingering in his mind.
Back at Baeksan
The young woman frowned, clearly confused by Meera's behaviour. "Agassi? Are you feeling unwell?"
Meera's breath grew uneven. Her thoughts raced.
Her eyes darted around the room again—wooden walls, tribal patterns carved into pillars, animal-skin rugs laid neatly on the floor.
This isn't a dream.
Reality hit her all at once.
She screamed.
Her voice echoed through the room as she curled into herself, fear flooding every part of her body.
"What is this place?" she screamed. "Where am I?"
The young woman froze, panic flashing across her face.
"Agassi... this is Baeksan."
Meera's scream faded into silence.
Baeksan?
Meera tried to clutch the memory, to anchor herself to the fragments of the world she had just left.
I held the ticket tight and then—it slipped. My fingers scraped the edge as it fell... the dull paper shimmered, turned golden, and I reached for it, desperate, but something grabbed me—strong, unyielding and dragged me inside the water.
Her world had vanished. And she had crossed into another one.
Meera pushed the bedsheet aside and slowly got off the bed. Her legs felt weak, but she steadied herself. As she stood, she glanced down—and froze.
She wasn't wearing her clothes.
A long, elegant dress flowed around her, soft yet heavy, made of fine fabric in deep, muted tones. The layers were neat and graceful, fitted at the waist with a simple belt. The sleeves were long, brushing her wrists as she moved. It felt unfamiliar... yet strangely natural.
Her heart raced.
She turned sharply and walked straight to the mirror beside the bed.
Her reflection stared back at her.
It was her face—same eyes, same features—but something felt different. Like she didn't belong to the world she had come from anymore.
"This has to be a prank," she whispered. "Someone is messing with me."
Fear crept in.
She turned and ran toward the door, pushing it open and rushing outside. The hallway stretched long and quiet, wooden floors echoing beneath her hurried steps.
"Agassi, wait!" a voice called behind her. "Please, wait!"
Meera didn't stop. She ran faster, glancing back only to see the same girl still following her.
Suddenly—
She collided with someone.
She stumbled back, startled, and lifted her head at once.
"I'm so—"
The words faded on her lips.
A man stood before her, dressed in dark robes that fell in clean, effortless lines. The fabric was plain, almost severe, broken only by a wide belt at his waist, worked with delicate gold patterns that caught the light. A sword rested there, secured and unmoving, as if it belonged to him as naturally as his own shadow. Beneath the dark layers, a glimpse of white showed at his collar—crisp and immaculate.
He was handsome in a quiet, commanding way. His features were calm, restrained, like someone drawn from another age.
Meera's breath stopped.
It was JK.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice steady.
Her heart pounded wildly. The hallway spun around her.
And then everything went dark.
After few hours
Meera slowly opened her eyes.
Her head felt heavy, but the room was quiet. Warm light filled the space, softer than before. She lay still for a moment, blinking, trying to understand where she was.
A man stepped closer to her bed.
He was in his sixties, tall despite his age, with a broad frame that spoke of authority. His hair was streaked with grey, tied back neatly, and his face was lined with deep marks of time and command. His eyes were sharp yet filled with concern. He wore layered tribal robes in dark, dignified colours, simple but clearly different from the others—he looked important.
"Yeon Seo," he said gently, coming closer. "You are awake. How are you feeling now?"
Meera stared at him.
Then she turned her head slightly, looking around the room. The same young woman from earlier stood nearby, watching her closely.
The man spoke again, worry edging his voice. "Yeon Seo."
He reached out and held her hand.
Meera's breath caught. She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him.
"Yeon Seo?" she repeated softly. "Who... who are you?"
The moment the words left her mouth, her eyes widened.
She froze.
I'm speaking... Korean? Even understanding Korean language?
She had never learned this language. Never understood it. Yet the words flowed naturally from her lips, clear and effortless.
The man's expression changed instantly—his worry deepened.
"Yeon Seo," he said carefully, tightening his grip on her hand. "It is me."
"I am your uncle," he continued, his voice steady but troubled.
"Han Gyeom."
Meera's heart pounded wildly.
Han Gyeom's expression suddenly changed. His brows drew together, and his voice rose with emotion.
"How can you forget your only uncle?" he said, his words heavy. "We may be uncle and niece by blood, but you were always like my own daughter."
His voice trembled. Tears filled his eyes as he kept speaking, one hand still holding hers.
Meera tried to sit up, confused and overwhelmed.
"Physician!" Han Gyeom called out loudly.
"Ui-gwan!"
The young woman from earlier bowed quickly to him and ran out of the room.
Within minutes, an old physician entered, dressed in simple robes. He bowed deeply before Han Gyeom, then came closer to the bed. He gently checked Meera's wrist, then lifted her eyelids, studying her eyes carefully.
Han Gyeom spoke anxiously. "She does not recognize me."
The physician nodded thoughtfully. "She may have hit her head when she fell into the water. There is no injury on the outside, but there could be shock within."
He reached into his pouch, took out a few dried herbs, and mixed them in a small bowl.
"Let her rest for some time," he said calmly. "Give her warm food and this herbal medicine. She should recover slowly."
Han Gyeom nodded. The physician bowed again, then turned and left.
Meera sat quietly, trying to process everything.
Han Gyeom looked at the young woman and gave a small nod. She bowed in response. Soon after, Han Gyeom left the room, though worry still lingered on his face.
Silence filled the space.
Meera turned her head toward the young woman.
Her fingers curled tightly into the sheets.
"No... no... no... no..." she muttered, shaking her head. "This can't be—"
The girl stepped closer, alarm flashing across her face.
"Agassi? Are you still feeling unwell?"
And then Meera laughed.
At first, it was a soft, breathless sound. Then it grew louder—uneven, almost hysterical. The girl froze, panic spreading fast.
"Agassi... what is happening?"
The laughter stopped abruptly.
Silence fell.
Meera lifted her head slowly. Her expression changed—no fear now, only clarity.
"No," she said quietly. "This... this is real."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
No matter how much I deny it, she thought, the truth won't change. This is really happening.
Opening her eyes, she looked straight at the girl.
Let's try this, Meera decided. Just like those Indian daily soaps.
She put on her most confused expression.
"I... I don't remember anything," she said carefully. "Can you tell me about Yeon Seo?"
She paused, then corrected herself quickly.
"I mean—about me. And this place. Everything."
The girl hesitated, then nodded.
"You are Princess Yeon Seo," she said softly. "The only daughter of Lord Baek Mu-jin, the head of our tribal clan."
Meera listened, forcing herself to stay calm.
"This is the Baeksan Kingdom, near the border of the Joseon," the girl continued. "Lord Baek Mu-jin died in a battle last year,"
Meera swallowed.
"And the man earlier," she asked slowly, "the one who called himself my uncle?"
"That is Lord Han Gyeom," the girl replied. "Your father's younger brother."
Her thoughts moved quickly, fitting pieces together.
"Last year's battle..." Meera murmured.
"And my mother?" Meera asked, already bracing herself.
"She passed away while giving birth to you," the girl said gently.
Meera exhaled shakily.
"And who killed my father..." she whispered. "Who did it?"
The girl hesitated.
"He is the man you are to marry."
"What?" Meera's head snapped up.
"Yes," the girl said carefully. "You are expected to marry him—to bring peace between the two lands. And today... you are alive because of him.
He saved you when you fell into the water. If he had not pulled you out, you would have drowned."
Meera jumped to her feet, ignoring the dizziness.
"That's not the point!" she burst out. "Why would anyone arrange a marriage with my father's killer?"
She paced the room, words spilling out.
"I haven't even met him properly! I don't know if we'll understand each other. What if we can't even talk without fighting?"
The girl stared, clearly lost.
Meera ran a hand through her hair.
"I don't even know what he looks like! I'm beautiful and what if he's not handso—"
A quiet presence lingered near the doorway.
Someone cleared his throat.
Meera turned.
He stood there.
Dark robes. Calm posture. Unmoving.
JK.
Her idol.
Her breath vanished from her lungs. Her mind went blank.
He stepped forward just enough for the lantern light to touch his face.
"Gongju-nim (Princess)," he said evenly, his voice controlled, unreadable. "It appears you have recovered."
He inclined his head slightly—formal, restrained.
Then he turned and left.
Just like that.
The room seemed to exhale after him.
Meera remained frozen, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled beyond repair.
I'm really here, she thought faintly.
Only when his footsteps faded did the servant girl dare to step closer.
"Agassi
..." she whispered. "You are to be married to him. General Jin Seok-nim, Junior Commander of the Joseon."
The title landed heavily, far heavier than the name itself.
Meera's fingers curled at her sides, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain it could be heard.
In the adjoining hall
The chamber beyond was larger, built of thick timber beams polished smooth by time. Oil lamps lined the walls, their flames wavering gently, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor. The scent of pine smoke and medicinal herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the cold of the night.
Jin Seok stood near the low table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable.
At his side waited his personal attendant, eyes lowered in silent attention. A short distance away stood two elders of the Baeksan tribal clan, their fur-lined cloaks marking them as men of influence, though they spoke only when invited.
After a moment, Jin Seok spoke.
"Her condition appears stable."
His voice was measured, carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"We will depart at dawn tomorrow," he continued. "As previously decided, the marriage rites shall be conducted in Joseon."
The men bowed in unison, acknowledging his decision without question.
Outside, the wind brushed against the paper windows, causing the lanterns to sway softly—an unspoken witness to a fate already set in motion.
The night settled quietly after that.
Meera stood alone in the chamber, the girl servant having withdrawn after bowing once more. The lamps burned low, their light trembling against the walls, as if unsure whether it belonged to this world either.
She exhaled—slowly, shakily—and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
"So this is real," she whispered to no one.
Not a drama. Not a dream. Not a hallucination born from grief or obsession.
Real.
She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling her heartbeat—fast, unsteady, alive. The silk of her sleeve felt unfamiliar against her skin, too fine, too delicate, like borrowed clothes meant for someone else. For Yeon Seo, not Meera.
A princess of Baeksan.
Daughter of a fallen clan head.
A bride promised to a man she had just collided with in a hallway.
And that man—
Her thoughts halted there.
JK.
No—General Jin Seok-nim, she corrected herself instinctively, the way everyone else did here.
She let out a soft, breathless laugh that bordered on hysteria and quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.
"My idol," she murmured, half-disbelieving. "And I'm supposed to marry JK."
Next day, the carriage waited at the edge of the compound, wheels creaking softly in the morning light. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and herbs. Meera adjusted the folds of the soft cream-and-green dress around her waist, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the fabric and the neatly braided hair pinned with small beads and leather cords.
She looked at the servant girl standing nearby.
"Thank you," Meera said automatically, bowing lightly. "And... what is your name?"
The young girl blinked, surprised. Being thanked by a princess was new to her. She lowered her gaze politely and bowed again.
"It is... my honour, Agassi," she stammered softly. "I am Soorin."
Meera nodded, smiling faintly.
Han Gyeom stood near the carriage, his long robes flowing in the morning breeze. His stern face softened as he watched Meera. "Travel safely, child. Commander Jin Seok will see that no harm comes to you."
Yeon Seo bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Uncle Han."
Han Gyeom nodded once and stepped back, giving her space to climb in. Meera stepped into the carriage. The polished wood smelled faintly of leather and pine, the gentle sway of the carriage rocking her slightly as it began to move along the winding path.
Ahead, Jin Seok rode steadily on his horse. His dark robes flowed in clean, disciplined lines, the sword at his side silent and secure. Even from this distance, the sight of him made her chest tighten.
The hills of Baeksan stretched wide on either side, mist curling through the valleys. Birds chirped in the cool morning air, and the faint scent of earth and herbs carried on the breeze.
Meera closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. When she opened them again, a quiet smile touched her lips. This is real. I am Yeon Seo now. Until I find a way back... I have to live this. And I'll cherish this life, especially with him, she thought.
The sun climbed higher, casting golden light across rivers and forests. Hours passed as the carriage rolled on, hills fading into distant mountains, streams glinting in the sunlight, and small villages appearing here and there.
As dusk approached, the sky turned dusky orange and purple, and the first stars began to twinkle.
The air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of earth and distant fires. Yeon Seo exhaled slowly, letting the rhythm of the carriage calm her racing thoughts.
The road to Joseon stretched ahead, darkening with the night, carrying her toward a future she could not yet imagine.
A lantern hung near the small window, swaying gently with each movement, its warm glow casting shifting shadows along the wooden walls.
Yeon Seo sat very still, her hand rising at last to draw the curtain aside and look ahead.
Jin Seok rode before the carriage, upright and unwavering. Moonlight brushed against his figure, catching the edge of his dark folds of his robes. He never once turned back, yet his presence felt constant—firm, inescapable, as if the path itself followed his lead.
As dusk deepened into night, the carriage finally slowed.
Wooden gates came into view, tall and solemn, guarded by lanterns that glowed softly against the dark. Beyond them stood Jin Seok's residence—a traditional hanok, built with quiet authority.
The tiled roof curved upward like folded wings, and the wooden beams were dark with age, polished by time rather than ornament. Stone steps led up to the entrance, clean and orderly, reflecting the discipline of the man who lived within.
The carriage came to a stop.
Servants moved swiftly and silently, bowing low as Jin Seok dismounted his horse. He handed the reins to an attendant without a word and turned slightly toward the carriage—not looking inside, but clearly aware of her presence.
A servant stepped forward and gently opened the door.
Yeon Seo gathered her courage and stepped down. The cool evening air brushed her face, carrying the scent of pinewood and oil lamps. She stood still for a moment, pressing her hands to her lap, trying to steady herself.
And I ended up in the Joseon...
And he's here too...
Jin Seok spoke then, his voice calm, measured.
"Escort her inside."
No harshness. No warmth. Just authority.
As Yeon Seo crossed the threshold of the residence, lanterns flickered along the corridor, illuminating a path she had never imagined walking. Behind her, the gates closed with a quiet thud.
There was no turning back now.