The night the sky changed, A-reum wasn't making a wish.
She stood at the edge of the river, arms folded tightly around herself, as if holding her body together might quiet the heaviness in her chest. The city lights behind her flickered on the water's surface, stretching into trembling lines that looked fragile—like they might shatter at any moment.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
Tonight wasn't meant for noise. It was meant for the sky.
People had gathered along the riverbank, their voices rising and falling with excitement. Some laughed. Some took pictures. Others counted down softly as the moon slowly slipped into shadow.
A lunar eclipse.
A rare one.
A-reum tilted her head upward. The moon looked wounded, as if something unseen was slowly swallowing it whole. She felt an unexpected ache in her chest, sharp and sudden, like grief she couldn't explain.
Why does it feel like goodbye? She wondered
She had always felt this way during moments that were supposed to be beautiful—like she was standing at the edge of something important, but never close enough to touch it.
The air grew colder.
A shiver ran down her spine, though the night hadn't been cold when she arrived. The chatter around her faded, not all at once, but slowly, like sound being pulled underwater.
Her ears rang.
The moon darkened further, glowing a deep, unsettling red.
A-reum took a step back.
The ground beneath her feet trembled.
"What the—" she whispered.
The river surged violently, waves crashing against the banks. Someone screamed behind her, but the sound felt distant, distorted, as though it came from another world.
Then the sky cracked.
Not with lightning. Not with thunder.
But with silence.
A crushing, absolute silence that pressed against her chest until she couldn't breathe.
The ground gave way.
A-reum fell.
Cold water slammed into her body, stealing the air from her lungs. She struggled, arms flailing, panic exploding inside her mind. The river dragged her downward, darker and deeper, until the moonlight vanished completely.
Her thoughts blurred.
I don't want to die
The last thing she felt was a strange warmth wrapping around her heart—gentle, almost comforting.
Then everything went black.
A-reum woke to the sound of breathing.
Not her own.
Soft footsteps echoed nearby. Fabric brushed against fabric. A faint scent filled the air—something floral, unfamiliar, heavy.
She tried to move.
Pain shot through her head.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
The ceiling above her wasn't concrete or steel. It was wooden, carved with delicate patterns she had never seen before. Long silk curtains swayed gently, stirred by a breeze that shouldn't have existed indoors.
Her heart began to race.
"This isn't…" Her voice came out hoarse. Weak.
She pushed herself up—and froze.
Her body felt wrong.
Too light. Too fragile.
She raised her hands. They weren't her hands.
The skin was smoother, paler. Her fingers were slender, nails neatly shaped. She was dressed in layers of soft fabric, embroidered with fine silver threads.
"No," she whispered.
Her breath came faster. Her chest tightened.
"No, no, no—"
The curtains were suddenly pulled aside.
"She's awake!"
Several women rushed toward her, their hair styled intricately, their clothing flowing like something out of a painting. One of them dropped to her knees immediately, forehead touching the floor.
"My lady," the woman said, voice trembling, "thank the heavens."
A-reum stared at her in disbelief.
"My… lady?"
Another woman stepped forward carefully. "You collapsed by the lotus pond. We feared the worst."
Lotus pond?
A-reum swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the dizziness. The floor beneath her feet was warm stone, polished and smooth.
"This is impossible," she muttered. "Where am I?"
The room went silent.
The women exchanged terrified glances.
"My lady," the second woman said slowly, as if afraid of her answer, "you are within the inner chambers of the Moon Palace."
A bell rang outside.
Deep. Slow.
Once.
Twice.
Each sound sent a chill through A-reum's bones.
She rushed to the open window.
Beyond it stretched towering palace walls, curved rooftops glowing under lantern light, and guards standing at attention in armor she had only ever seen in history books.
Her knees weakened.
"This isn't real," she whispered. "This can't be real."
But her heart knew otherwise.
Somewhere far beyond the palace, voices rose—angry, sharp, filled with ambition. The sound of steel echoed faintly in the night.
Power was shifting.
And Areum, a girl who didn't belong to this world, had somehow been placed directly in its path.
She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling a heartbeat that wasn't entirely her own.
Whatever had pulled her here hadn't done so by accident.
Outside, the moon emerged from shadow—whole again, silent and watching.
And A-reum understood, with sudden terrifying clarity, that surviving the fall had only been the beginning.