The morning mist clung to Yoki's village like a final plea.
She stood at the edge of the rice fields, a small bundle tied with twine slung over her shoulder, her sandals damp with dew. The little bundle contained all her earthly possessions. The mountains rose behind her, ancient and watchful, their peaks swallowed by cloud. Ahead lay the narrow dirt road that wound down into the unknown - toward the city she had only heard about in whispers and warnings.
Yoki did not look back, If she did, she feared she would stay.
The village of Shílu had always been quiet, its days measured by the rhythm of farming and the weight of tradition. Girls were meant to marry young, to bow their heads, to live small lives beneath the sky they were born under. Yoki had tried, truly, she had. But something inside her had never been still.
The night before, the elders' lanterns had glowed too brightly. Their voices, sharp, fearful had sliced through the dark.
The signs are returning, she did not need them to finish the sentence.
Yoki's fingers curled as a memory flickered behind her eyes: the cracked well repairing itself under her touch, the wind bending unnaturally when her heart raced, the way shadows sometimes leaned toward her as if listening. She had hidden it for years, hidden herself.
But secrets rot when buried too long.
The road sloped downward, and with every step, the village sounds faded—the crow of roosters, the distant clang of tools—until only her breath remained. Fear settled in her chest, heavy but familiar. It had lived there her whole life.
By noon, the path widened. Travelers appeared: merchants guiding donkeys laden with silk, soldiers with polished spears, women laughing too loudly for the open road. No one spared Yoki a second glance. She was just another girl running from something she could not name.
That was when it happened.
A sudden heat bloomed beneath her skin.
Yoki staggered, clutching her arm as pain - sharp and bright - raced through her veins. The world around her blurred. The dust at her feet began to tremble.
"No," she whispered, dropping to her knees.
The air thickened. Wind spiraled around her, lifting loose stones, tugging at her hair. Gasps rose from nearby travelers as the ground cracked in a delicate circle around her palms.
Yoki squeezed her eyes shut.
"Stop please", she whispered.
The wind obeyed.
Silence fell, broken only by her ragged breathing. When she opened her eyes, the stones lay still once more, as if nothing had happened.
People stared. Fear flickered across their faces.
"A witch"! they gasped
Yoki did not wait.
She rose and ran, heart pounding, until the city gates finally emerged on the horizon, towering walls of stone and iron, banners snapping in the wind. The city loomed like a beast with its mouth open, ready to swallow her whole.
As she crossed beneath the gate's shadow, Yoki felt it again, this time not fear, but certainty.
Her life had split into before and after.
And somewhere within the maze of crowded streets and hidden magic, her destiny was already moving toward her.
She just didn't know yet that it wore the face of another girl.