From Their Respective Positions (3)
"I wish you good fortune."
"Thank you, Abbot."
Yonghwa Seonnyeo returned the abbot's concise farewell with a matching prayer gesture. The earth's energy, meant to blanket the world in warmth, grew colder day by day, while the sky's pure, clear aura turned murky. Whether prophecy or not, freak weather or something more, there was no reason for the people gathered here to stand idle. They had come together with that resolve from the start.
Some had cast off all worldly attachments to take refuge in the Buddha's path; others had traded ordinary human lives for the burdens of shamanism. Their roles, triggers, and justifications differed, but they all strode toward the same goal—and so they prayed for each other's fortune.
Any animal instinctively senses its own "end" approaching and quietly prepares. Just as they hide in unseen places to meet their quiet deaths, unwilling to show humans their demise, so too do humans steel their resolve and kindle their final flame. Some call it huigwang banjo, that last burst of light before the end; the ignorant dismiss it as futile thrashing. But one vital truth remains: all such acts are fueled by individual will.
Will exists in lowly beasts, exalted humans, and even gods who transcend all. My shoulders feel so heavy.
From the day she chose to bear the shaman's burden—perhaps even from her orphaned childhood far earlier—her shoulders had always weighed heavy. The merciless gods and world showed her no mercy. Surrounded by spiritual entities from a tender age, she, a mere human, was forever alone.
Adopted by Shin-eomeoni at the orphanage and taken as her spiritual daughter, it changed nothing. Shin-eomeoni was mother in name but not blood; she was daughter in spirit but not flesh.
The snow-blanketed path to the Cheonje Altar stretched like an endless white quagmire. Each step sank deep into the snow, dragging her soul toward the abyss. She had faced mighty evil ghosts and evil gods without flinching, yet here, even Yongsin's sustaining presence felt absent. The path seemed to silently rebuke her: You must climb this alone. No one pulled or pushed her forward—not Shin-eomeoni, not Yongsin, not the gratitude of those she had aided. In this blank white world devoid of all aid, she dragged her heavy feet onward.
Climbing it once with Shin-eomeoni had been effortless. How could the great star-reader falter on such a well-trod path? But now? She charged blindly up a snow-choked trail like a madwoman. Despite the temple's thick mittens, scarf, and fur hat, bone-chilling cold pierced her core. The snow beneath felt not like flakes, but the souls of all who had perished in this world, countless tendrils reaching to snag her ankles.
But I must go. I have a duty. I must fulfill this karma!
Wasn't it Yongsin, guardian of the Han River—Korea’s heart, waist, vital core—who entrusted this karma to an eight-year-old girl? Even in her twenties, she still didn't know why her of all people, or what lay at its end. Honestly, she'd fantasized quitting countless times, craving a normal life like everyone else. But she never threw tantrums or clung to Shin-eomeoni's skirts. Not out of fear of scolding, but realization: it wouldn't change her path.
If only she'd stayed an ignorant child. Her spirit's senses had awakened too soon, broadening her vision to extremes. So she never even tried. She knew she must walk this path, ignorant of its outcome. It was unchangeable truth, the world's law.
Perhaps that's why she snapped at that man so sharply—a vent for her unalterable fate. She preached endlessly of destiny and cosmic order, yet he shattered it all with a casual grin. A man unbound by fate. Untouched by providence. Defying reason and rules. And there he stood, at the end of her path.
The path's end was invisible, but he alone proved it existed. He was her milestone. Her lighthouse. Her North Star. A sun of incomparable brilliance. Because he stood at her journey's close, she could walk unafraid. He gave purpose to her aimless, meaningless life. You exist, you live, you stand at my path's end—so I can move.
"Ah."
At the end of the all-white path stood Dangun Shrine, unnoticed until now. Its sliding doors were firmly shut, just as when she'd come with Shin-eomeoni—deceptively easy to open, yet unyielding.
Dangun Shrine was the domain of the god-man linking heaven and earth, the progeny of Hwanin—primordial divine on this land—in human form.
As Yonghwa Seonnyeo looked up, heaven's gates parted, and three gods descended slowly to earth. Pungbaek, wind god. Usa, rain god. Unsa, cloud god with gleaming sword. The primordial deities who first brought Hwanin to this peninsula. Their awe-inspiring presence—even Yongsin and Dragon Kings dared not trifle with it—made her body tingle.
Had she not clenched her teeth until blood filled her mouth, not fixed her gaze until veins burst in her eyes, she might have failed to open the doors again, as on "that day." But now differed vastly from then. Duty and will.
Duty birthed will; will fulfilled duty.
"I have a duty!"
Life's meaning had eluded her just yesterday; now her goal burned clear.
"I seek to borrow the power of this land's guardian to fulfill it! I know that's the only way to clear my karma!"
Blood spewing from her mouth, she unfurled her steel fan, channeling spiritual energy.
Pungbaek and Usa stood silently at the shrine's entrance, gazing down; Unsa aimed his radiant sword-cloud blade at her.
"Do you know what you face?"
The god's voice, heavy with earth-shaking pressure, prompted her to seize the bell at her waist and shake it fiercely.
"Do you grasp the resolve with which your 'karma' brings chaos to this land?"
"A desperate resolve beyond ordinary humans' imagining. That man's life was utter darkness, without a single light!"
"Indeed."
Grab ghosts wailing in resentment, refusing death; corpse ghosts craving life anew—they armored themselves in untouchable malice, rejecting death itself, blurring lines between living and dead, good and evil, saved and damned. They sought literal destruction of all.
"That man wants true equality for all beings in this world—even if it means plunging everything into ruin and chaos. That's why we must stop him!"
"And you think you can stop it?"
Unsa's sword shot like a bullet for her throat, but she barely deflected it with her spirit-charged fan.
"If not me, who?!"
"......"
"No one else can! Heap every curse and flay every inch of flesh upon him, pile on grotesque sins and inevitable death—he'll laugh and refuse it. No god can break that will!"
"And you can?"
"Once. Just once. I need absolute power for that chance!"
Yongsin's might, Dragon Kings'—insufficient. Heavenly power was required. As Hwanin once descended from heaven to link with earth and spark human flourishing, so heaven's force must reconnect now.
"So open the way! I'll open that 'gate' myself. I'll be the link between heaven and earth. Grant heaven's chance to match the one I've seized on earth—I won't waste it!"
"......"
"Enough, Unsa."
"...Are you sure, Pungbaek?"
"Two millennia since heaven and earth severed ties in the founding year. Human civilization's limit on mortal power: barely two thousand years. Heaven and earth must reconnect—soon or late."
As Pungbaek spoke and Unsa withdrew, Yonghwa Seonnyeo vomited blood mingled with her pent-up fury. Absorbing divine power in a human body without ruin would be the anomaly.
"The first 'link' awaits. Enter."
The three gods stepped aside; the sealed sliding doors glided open like automatics. Dragging her broken body to the threshold, Yonghwa Seonnyeo heard Pungbaek's quiet word.
"Remember: what you attempt now failed once before."