No Place Safer Than By My Side
What possible significance could it hold? I possess no marble.
To a gumiho, the fox marble was an existence of utmost importance. One thousand years, and another thousand years. The marble that condensed a total of two thousand years was no different from a heart to every gumiho.
To lose it meant that even if the title of gumiho were stripped away and one were reduced to a mere yo-ho, there would be nothing left to say in protest.
Cheon-sin, who had been quietly staring at him, furrowed her brow by the slightest degree.
“So it is because of that human child.”
Merely uttering the words human child instantly altered the atmosphere. A chill swirled through his irises, and his signature oppressive aura settled over the surroundings.
“I heard she is the descendant of the child who stole your marble. Even with the marble in her possession, she shows no greed. She is an exceedingly ordinary human.”
“Did you command Mu-ho to observe the child in order to confirm this?”
“Yes. Since it was my order, do not be too harsh with Mu-ho.”
She knew. Before Shin-wol had arrived at the Heavenly Palace, a colossal whirlwind had torn through Mount Gonok and left it in ruins. Humans would have seen only a natural disaster, but to their eyes it was unmistakable.
The crimson hellfire laced within the storm.
When the mountain’s lesser creatures came fleeing in terror, Cheon-sin had worn a troubled expression for the first time in several hundred years.
“The marble and the human have fused considerably over the past several hundred years. The situation is delicate, yet not entirely without solutions. You cannot be ignorant of them, and yet you refuse to act. My concern deepens with each passing day.”
Cheon-sin spoke to him with a face of genuine gravity. She paused, considering her words, then continued slowly.
“You must have your own thoughts on the matter, so I will not press you further. Instead, I offer you one proposal. I will look after that human child. In return, you will enter the Heavenly Palace and take the seat of my attendant.”
Cheon-sin stroked Shin-wol’s cheek with a gentle hand and spoke in a voice as soft as silk.
“We may not meet every day, but I will permit you to see her several times a year. I give you my word that you may devote an entire day entirely to the child without the other gods ever noticing.”
Shin-wol, who had shown no flicker of expression until now, narrowed his eyes openly and drew his brows together. That was how shocking her suggestion had been.
The notion that a human would dare come and go from the Heavenly Palace—home only to the most sacred and noble beings—was an event that would not occur even if heaven and earth were remade hundreds of times over.
Yet Cheon-sin desired to draw him into the Heavenly Palace so badly that she was willing to go to such lengths.
Even without his marble, Shin-wol possessed power that could easily surpass most gods. His strength would be needed in the past, the present, and across the eternal future; she could not allow him to be swayed by a mere human.
For now, hatred and affection were tangled together, clouding his reason. But once the human child died and the marble’s spiritual energy returned to him in full, he would regain his clear judgment. Cheon-sin believed this without the slightest doubt.
“I cherish you. Were it not for that day, that incident, you would have succeeded me. It was a regrettable affair, yet I do not consider your worth diminished by it.”
A human life span was, at most, a hundred years—scarcely more than the blink of an eye to the gods.
For the sake of the future, and for Shin-wol’s own sake, caring for the human child for a mere century was something she could readily endure.
“To think that Cheon-sin would favor me to this extent. If the other spiritual beings heard of it, they would be aghast.”
“Do not twist my meaning. On that day I staked everything I possessed to shield you. Think for even a moment and you will understand. It is safer for the child to remain at my side.”
Safer. Safer. As Shin-wol turned the word over in his mind, another fragment of the past flickered through his thoughts.
There was nothing to which he could attach the word safe.
Every action he had taken to keep Mun-a safe had returned to him as nothing but blades.
Yet he had believed in her and waited, and what finally came back was only cruel betrayal.
As a menacing aura gathered around Shin-wol, Cheon-sin reached out, seized it in her grasp, and continued.
“These sinister forces that pour from you are not something a human can withstand. One day they will close around that human’s throat. Do not allow momentary emotion to cloud your judgment. Shin-wol, I ask this of you not as the Heavenly Deity but as your old friend.”
When he lowered his empty eyes and smiled, Cheon-sin’s own eyes widened in shock.
A vast and malignant power that made everything he had shown Mu-ho and Nak-mae earlier feel like a lie swallowed the area whole.
Darkness descended upon the Heavenly Palace where warm sunlight had been pouring down. The grass that had glistened with moisture suddenly lost its vitality and withered.
“Myeong-an, it seems even you have aged.”
Myeong-an had been her name before she became Cheon-sin. No matter how close their bond, to casually speak the Heavenly Deity’s true name was an act deserving of divine punishment.
Yet Cheon-sin had no room to rebuke him. Shin-wol now looked every inch an evil god.
He took one step closer and tilted his head at a crooked angle. In the eyes that had once sparkled more brilliantly than anything, filthy things—desire, possessiveness—wriggled like worms.
“Even if one combed the entire heavenly realm and the mortal realm, there would be no place safer than my side.”
An abyssal darkness seemed to rise. The instant Cheon-sin widened her eyes to keep from being consumed, a small spark bloomed pitifully between them and burst with a faint pop.
The spiritual power so wretched it could bring tears to the eyes belonged to Cheong-sil. It was a kind of signal flare.
When he had brought Yeo-won home, he had given the order in passing. If her presence vanished from the vicinity, Cheong-sil was to use his power to summon him.
The fact that Cheong-sil had triggered it meant Yeo-won had disappeared—and that the malevolent spirits had begun to move.
The menacing aura that had blanketed the area wriggled like snakes before gathering at Shin-wol’s feet. He turned away as though nothing had happened.
To leave without a word of farewell was improper, but since she had spoken the word friend, there was no longer any need for courtesy.
Cheon-sin watched Shin-wol’s retreating figure with regret and asked calmly.
“You are going? To the child’s side?”
“Yes.”
“Malevolent spirits have attached themselves. You could not be unaware, so did you leave them there on purpose?”
“Yes.”
Cheon-sin laughed weakly, as if the answer left her speechless.
“Your heart is as wicked as ever. The human child is fragile. Treat her that way and she will die in no time.”
Shin-wol stopped abruptly and offered a twisted smile.
“She cannot die. She possesses something more precious than life itself.”
At those words Cheon-sin squeezed her eyes shut. The absolute certainty in his voice sounded only ominous.
“Shin-wol, I pray you will not repeat the same mistake you made in the past.”
He regarded Myeong-an with indifferent eyes and gave a soft laugh.
“I will keep your counsel in mind. However, if you touch my child once more, remember that it will not end so peacefully next time.”
Leaving the murderous warning behind, Shin-wol vanished completely into the mist. Cheon-sin recalled the human child Mu-ho had described. The moment she had seen her, she had sighed.
She had never imagined the girl would resemble her so closely. She had expected Shin-wol to run somewhat wild because of it, but she had not foreseen those eyes.
Eyes stained with desire and obsession—emotions he had never shown even to the child named Mun-a in the past.
It had not been long since he met the human girl, yet in that short time something had clearly happened. The thought alone made her head ache.
“…His temper is the same now as it was then.”
Cheon-sin waved her elegant fingers and carefully coaxed the withered plants back to life.
*
Drip.
A single droplet of water that had pooled on the ceiling fell onto her cheek. The vivid sensation drew a low groan from Yeo-won as she forced her heavy eyelids open.
A candle flame flickered in her blurred vision, and beside it stood a pitch-black silhouette.
As Yeo-won blinked slowly, a bright voice rang out above her.
“Ah, you’re awake?”
The dark figure approached with the candlestick and suddenly thrust something toward her. The cold touch against her cheek made Yeo-won flinch. When she turned her head away, a troubled sigh followed.
“Was the dose too strong? She still can’t come to her senses.”
“……”
“Aren’t you thirsty? Want some water?”
“……”
“Ah, you’re tied up so you can’t drink on your own. Shall I help you?”
With a sharp crack the cap of a plastic water bottle was opened and pressed to her lips.
At that moment, focus slowly returned to Yeo-won’s eyes. Her pupils trembled violently. As her vision adjusted to the darkness, the person before her grew clearer. Fear flooded her, and her breath came in ragged bursts.
“Drink, sunbae.”
In the gloom, Jae-young was smiling with a brightness that turned her blood to ice.