She asked casually, "Why is that room the only one with a wooden door?"
The instructor didn't miss a beat. "It's to prevent the students from entering while guests are inside. The younger ones have a habit of barging in without knocking. We've found this to be the most effective way to maintain order."
His answer was smooth—too smooth.
He reached for the handle and opened the door. The faint scent of cedarwood drifted out from the room.
"Please," he said, holding the door open with a courteous smile. "Wait inside. I'll bring you some warm tea."
Genie and Jade exchanged a brief, silent nod before stepping inside.
The instructor bowed politely, then turned and quietly closed the heavy wooden door behind them, the soft click echoing in the stillness.
The room was spacious yet cozy, its walls lined with dark wooden bookshelves filled with well-worn volumes and neatly arranged drawers. The faint scent of old paper mingled with polished wood, creating an oddly calming atmosphere.
Jade's eyes flicked to a white cushion placed invitingly before a low table near the corner.
"Why don't you sit and rest for a bit?" he suggested gently, concern threading through his voice.
His worry ran deep—not only for the Queen's well-being but because he, too, had been battling a relentless headache on their journey here. He had gritted his teeth to endure the pain, unwilling to show weakness.
Genie nodded faintly and took a step toward the cushion, but just as she did—
Thud!
She collapsed abruptly, her knees buckling beneath her.
"Your Majesty!"
Jade sprang forward without hesitation, catching her before she hit the floor. His arms cradled her carefully as if she might shatter at any moment.
"Are you all right?!" he asked, his voice sharp with alarm as he searched her face.
Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared past him into some distant void.
To Genie, Jade seemed to blur and double—like two overlapping figures caught in a flickering shadow.
"Jade…?" she whispered weakly, barely audible.
"Please wait! I'll get a physician immediately!"
Jade acted without hesitation, carefully lifting Genie onto his back. His heart pounded as he reached for the reception room's door—only to find the knob unmoving.
Click.
The door was locked from the outside.
His breath hitched.
Startled but refusing to panic, he tried the knob again. No luck.
"Someone! Open the door!" he shouted, pounding his fist hard against the wood.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Silence.
A cold shiver crept down Jade's spine, threading through his pounding headache like ice. Despite the throbbing pain clouding his mind, he kept knocking—urgently, desperately—but the only answer was an eerie stillness.
His fingers fumbled inside his coat, drawing a slender dagger with a metallic hiss.
Cradling the Queen against his back with one arm, he jabbed the blade at the lock.
The metal resisted stubbornly.
Swallowing a rising wave of frustration, he gently lowered Genie against the wall, her weight pressing softly into his arm.
Steeling himself, Jade rose fully and gripped the dagger with both hands, driving it fiercely into the doorknob.
With a grating scrape, the lock began to give.
But just as the barrier started to relent, the world around Jade tilted and wavered.
Dark spots bloomed at the edges of his vision.
"No… not now…" he muttered through clenched teeth, fighting the dizzying tide threatening to pull him under.
At that very moment, a solemn air cloaked the grand assembly hall of the palace.
Only about twenty high-ranking ministers had convened—those entrusted with the kingdom's gravest affairs. The hall, usually alive with the low murmur of counsel and ritual, now stood engulfed in a heavy silence. At the front, the sovereign's throne sat conspicuously empty, its ornate curves casting long shadows beneath the flickering lamplight, amplifying the cold tension that clung to every corner of the room.
In the Queen's absence—Her Majesty Genie having departed on a secret journey—it was the Minister of Culture, Han Son, who presided over the gathering, bearing the temporary mantle of regent.
His voice, when it finally broke the silence, carried the weight of deep concern. "It has now been two full days since Her Majesty and Minister Jade departed," he began gravely, "and they have yet to return by the appointed hour, nor have we received any word from them.
As the one charged with safeguarding the realm during Her Majesty's absence, I fear we can no longer afford the luxury of waiting in hopeful silence. Therefore, I have called this emergency council to determine the wisest and most prudent course of action—to confirm Her Majesty's whereabouts and ensure her safety."
The officials shifted in their seats, their expressions unreadable. Then, from among them, a man stepped forward. It was Moonsen, an official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He bowed respectfully before speaking.
"May I offer a suggestion?"
Han Son inclined his head.
"You may."
Moonsen took a slow breath and turned, meeting the eyes of his fellow ministers one by one as he spoke.
"Her Majesty has now been missing for two days, without message or sign. As Minister Han has already noted, it would be both careless and dangerous for us to do nothing. And yet, if we mobilize a large force to search for her, we may risk compromising the very mission she set out to fulfill—quelling the unrest among the coastal scholars and restoring peace through dialogue, not intimidation.
Therefore, I propose we dispatch a small, discreet unit—an elite detail trusted above all—to travel quietly to the coastal village where Her Majesty was last seen. Their task will be to locate her and assess the situation without alarming the local populace or disrupting the Queen's intent."
Silence followed. Then, gradually, nods of agreement passed among the officials.
Han Son observed the room carefully, reading the unspoken accord.
"What say you all?" he asked.
One by one, voices began to rise—quiet at first, then firmer.
"A sound proposal."
"I second it."
"Indeed, the wisest course."
"We should act immediately."
Han Son's voice rang with quiet urgency, cutting through the murmurs that had settled in the chamber. With the council's consensus now sealed, he turned once more to Moonsen, his gaze steady.
"Then tell me—who do you believe should lead this unit?"
A moment of silence.
"I will go."
All eyes turned sharply toward the speaker.
Moonsen stood firm beneath the flickering torchlight, his expression composed, his tone unwavering. For a fleeting moment, the hall was frozen in surprise.
"I may not be intimately familiar with that particular village," he continued, "but I spent much of my youth journeying between rural provinces—visiting outpost schools, speaking with village elders, learning the cadence of life in places untouched by courtly airs. I know how to move among them without stirring fear or suspicion." He paused, then added, "And with Minister Jade currently away, I humbly request that a detachment be placed under my command—granted by the authority of the Deputy Commander."
Han Son regarded him in thoughtful silence. The weight of the decision was not lost on him. Then, with a slow, measured breath, he nodded.
"Very well," he said, his voice low but resolute. "The responsibility is yours. Lead this mission with the care it demands. Ensure Her Majesty returns safely—but above all, see to it that her mission remains untainted. Do not allow her purpose to be compromised under any circumstance."
Moonsen bowed deeply, the folds of his official robe brushing the polished stone floor.
"Understood. I will confirm Her Majesty's safety with my own eyes," he said solemnly, "and I will act in such a way that her intentions remain protected—unobstructed and undisturbed."
"…Ah…"
A faint groan slipped past Jade's lips as his eyelids fluttered open, heavy with frost. His lashes, rimmed in white, felt stiff as twigs, and his breath emerged in ragged wisps that vanished into the air like smoke.
An unbearable cold gripped his body—not the sharp bite of winter, but something far more sinister. This was a deathly chill, the kind that settled deep into the bones and made the blood sluggish, the mind foggy. It felt as if his very nerves had been frozen solid—dulled, silenced, forgotten.
His body refused to obey.
With excruciating effort, he turned his head to the right, the movement scraping pain through his neck like rusted gears grinding back to life.
There, across from him, sprawled atop a low wooden cot, lay Queen Genie.
Still.
Lifeless.
Her figure looked fragile beneath the tattered blanket of frost that clung to her like a shroud. Her skin was pale—far too pale—and her long lashes had iced over. Even her breath, if there was any, had become invisible in the cold. A thin layer of white crystals had formed along the delicate curve of her eyebrows, glittering faintly in the dim, bluish light.
"Y…Your Majesty…" Jade's voice cracked—dry, brittle, barely audible. It rasped out of a throat that felt like sandpaper, raw from the icy air.
But she did not stir.
Not even a flicker of her fingers.