Episode 3
“So this is Sari Village…”
Sohwa murmured as she looked around.
Trees and tangled vines crowded together so densely that the sky was barely visible. Damp air clung to her skin, carrying the scent of rot mixed with raw wood. Colorful strips of cloth were tied to branches here and there, fluttering softly, and on one crumbling wall was a faded mural of a god holding a peach of immortality.
She had only heard rumors before. Seeing it with her own eyes felt strange—and fascinating.
“Miss, let’s go back,” Kkotbun whispered urgently. “This place is far too dangerous.”
Unlike Sohwa, who felt a spark of excitement, Kkotbun and Pandong were trembling.
“If you’re that scared, don’t follow me. Just wait here,” Sohwa said curtly.
“And what if something happens to you, Miss?” Kkotbun cried.
“You’re all such cowards.”
Sohwa clicked her tongue and strode forward. Even if there truly was a terrifying Taoist here, would they dare harm the daughter of Muyeon’s great general? The thought seemed ridiculous.
The road was lined with hastily erected tents. Faces peeked out from within, watching the three in silence. No one approached. No one spoke.
Whispers spread among them.
She’s really here.
Didn’t they say she’d come?
Just like the flower girl said.
She really came.
Then, as if guiding her, every single one of them lifted a finger and pointed in the same direction.
…You want me to go there?
As though drawn by something unseen, Sohwa followed where they pointed.
At the end of the path stood a small red tent. Unlike the others, which looked on the verge of collapse, this one was neat and well-kept. Though it appeared just large enough for three people, a soft glow seeped through a gap in the fabric—someone was inside.
Sohwa turned to look back. The villagers nodded slowly, as if to confirm she had found the right place.
She approached the tent cautiously and stepped inside.
“What… is this…?”
Her eyes widened.
Startled, Sohwa immediately turned and rushed back out.
Kkotbun and Pandong, already pale with fear, froze in place.
“M-Miss? What’s wrong? What’s inside?” Pandong asked shakily.
Sohwa circled the tent with a grave expression—then suddenly laughed.
“It’s truly mysterious.”
“What is it?”
“Come inside and see.”
She reentered the tent.
Gathering their courage, Kkotbun and Pandong followed—only to burst right back out again, staring blankly at the entrance.
“What… what in the world…?”
“Hurry and come in!”
Sohwa’s voice echoed from within.
They stepped inside once more.
And then they saw it.
The interior was at least ten times larger than the outside suggested—spacious enough to hold twenty people with room to spare.
“You’re impressive,” Sohwa said calmly, her gaze fixed ahead. “A true witch.”
Before her sat a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a mysterious violet robe, seated before a mirror. Perched atop the mirror was a black cat, its amber eyes gleaming.
“It looked tiny from the outside,” Sohwa continued, smiling faintly. “But inside, it’s vast. You knew I would come, didn’t you… Celestial Taoist?”
The woman said nothing.
“Then please,” Sohwa said, taking a seat with the poise of a noblewoman, “read my fortune and my compatibility. I have a fiancé.”
The woman studied Sohwa with an unreadable expression, then handed her a brush and paper.
“Write your name.”
“Just my name?” Sohwa asked. “To read my fate, don’t you need my fiancé’s name and birthday as well?”
“Your name is enough.”
Though puzzled, Sohwa complied. She wrote her name and handed the paper over.
The woman stared at it for a long moment.
“…Is this truly your name?”
“Huh?”
“Is it flower… or fire?”
On the paper was written:
文小火
—Moon Little Fire.
It wasn’t the name her parents had given her. It was the name she had given herself.
Sohwa blinked, her cheeks flushing.
When did I write that?
As she reached for the paper, the woman spoke again.
“I usually don’t ask names. But I saw two. Two paths lie before you. The name you choose will decide your destiny. Your future will change completely.”
“…”
“Will you live as a flower—or as fire?”
Silence fell.
Sohwa swallowed hard. She felt it—the moment she answered, her future would be sealed.
“What happens… if it’s fire?” she asked softly. “And what if it’s flower?”
“You may choose only one,” the woman replied. “Life allows no certainty.”
“Miss… please say flower,” Kkotbun whispered desperately from behind.
Sohwa felt it too. Every instinct screamed that choosing flower would grant her peace.
Flowers.
Bloom quietly.
Live gently.
“…Fire.”
Her instincts betrayed her fear.
She didn’t want a life spent rooted where someone else planted her—blooming prettily, fading quietly. She wanted to burn. To blaze fiercely. To spread her passion until it consumed the world.
The moment she answered, visions of her chosen future unfolded.
The woman watched them all—then finally spoke.
“I’ve seen my share of lunatics, but this one takes the cake!”
Kkotbun burst out the moment they escaped Sari Village, her face red with outrage.
“A moth to a flame? Jump straight into fire? Is she insane?!”
“Then why didn’t you argue back in front of her?” Pandong asked. “You were shaking.”
“That’s—well—!” Kkotbun sputtered. “Aren’t you angry? She said such terrifying things!”
Sohwa rolled her eyes, recalling the woman’s words.
“You are a moth drawn to flame. You are fated to leap into a fire that burns like hell.”
Like a moth to a flame…
“Oh, right,” Sohwa said casually. “That’s why I didn’t ask about my compatibility with Ju-an.”
“Don’t even think about going back!” Kkotbun snapped. “Never again. Absolutely not!”
“I’m not going,” Sohwa replied lightly. “But you have to admit—it was interesting.”
Clicking her tongue, she headed home. Though curious, the words about fire had unsettled her more than she liked.
Inside the tent, the woman sat in silence, replaying the visions she had seen.
Flower and fire led to entirely different futures. Different lives. Different men.
A flower’s life was comfortable. Not free of sorrow, but bearable. The man beside her would offer quiet happiness—nothing overwhelming, nothing devastating. A life one could call peaceful.
Fire, however…
Fire meant turbulence. Extremes. A man who would give her unimaginable joy—and equally unimaginable despair. He would make her laugh through tears, and bleed through love. Once entangled, neither could escape without cutting the other—or themselves.
A dangerous bond.
Perhaps she had already been drawn to that man. Perhaps that was why she chose fire.
The girl was already walking toward him, unaware.
“A tragic fate… yet a brilliant one,” the woman murmured, turning to the black cat. “Isn’t that right, Priestess? Born a noblewoman—destined to become a witch.”
The cat flicked its ears, purred softly, and slipped out of the tent. It climbed higher, leaping from pole to pole, until its golden eyes found a noble lady walking away, her skirts fluttering gently.
The cat bowed its head.
A greeting—
to the future great witch.
For a time, Sohwa forgot what happened in Sari Village. She was busy learning how to be a proper wife, busy indulging in her secret romance with Ju-an—though her parents had already noticed.
But fate, like a moth, slowly beat its wings toward the flame.
Two years later, the Taoist priests of Hanya revolted.
In a single day, the Moon clan fell.
And upon the Yeonban Peninsula, the Kingdom of Muyeon collapsed—replaced by a new realm ruled by Taoists.
Doya (道惹國) was born.
