The first snow fell quietly in the night.
By morning, Mount Hwa was blanketed in white. The once familiar stone paths had softened under the frost, and the bare branches of the pines were dusted like brushstrokes on parchment. I stood in the courtyard where we had laughed just days ago, now watching the flakes descend in slow spirals.
So-Yeon was the first to join me. She wore a thicker robe, her breath visible in the cold. She didn't speak, just folded her arms and stared out into the snow-covered trees with that same calm presence she always carried.
Dan arrived second, grumbling as he stomped snow from his boots. "Why does winter always feel like punishment for surviving autumn?"
I didn't answer. My hand rested on the hilt of my sword—not to draw it, but to remind myself it was there. The trials were behind us, but the mountain had not grown quieter. If anything, it had grown heavier.
"The air feels different," So-Yeon said finally, her voice softer than usual. "Still, but... alert."
I nodded. "Like something's watching."
Dan snorted. "You both sound like old men."
"You're the one who groaned three times walking up the path," I replied without looking at him.
"Three? It was two. I'm still young and flexible."
A snowball hit him in the back of the head. He turned, sputtering.
So-Yeon didn't even look at him.
I allowed myself a smile before the wind reminded me of the season. The cold here wasn't harsh, not yet, but it settled into the bones if you stood still too long. And I'd been still for days.
"We should train," I said.
Dan groaned again, but didn't argue. So-Yeon just nodded.
We moved to the outer field—a flat stretch near the edge of the cliffs, where snow had been cleared by the morning disciples. My breath came in clouds as I unwrapped my sword and planted it upright in the snow. The steel reflected the pale sky, and for a moment I saw my own face, drawn and thoughtful, mirrored in the blade.
I began slowly—stance, breath, motion.
The form was the same, but the weight was different. Since opening the gate, since the trials, the sword felt lighter in my grip but heavier in meaning.
Each swing pushed through the cold air, each step kicked up flurries. Dan practiced beside me with a staff, unrefined but full of fire. So-Yeon moved like snowfall—silent, sharp, precise.
Hours passed. The sun never quite broke through the clouds.
When we finished, I collapsed into the snow, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. The cold didn't bother me now. It was part of the mountain—part of me.
"I heard the Sect Leader is sending us on a task soon," Dan said, sitting cross-legged beside me.
"What kind of task?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Could be a mission. Could be a delivery. Could be standing guard over a dusty scroll for three weeks. Nobody knows."
"It's not just a task," So-Yeon added, sitting with her arms resting on her knees. "It's the beginning of movement. We passed the trials. Now we step into the world."
The words lingered.
The world. I had barely thought of it since joining Mount Hwa. It had become something distant, like a story whispered in the back of the library. But now that we had survived the mountain's tests, the mountain itself no longer felt like the entire world.
I looked to the distant peaks where snow rolled in quiet drifts.
"Are we ready?" I asked quietly.
Dan was the one who answered. "No. But we're going anyway."
So-Yeon's smile was faint, but present. "Readiness is an illusion. Resolve is enough."
I nodded, then stood, brushing snow from my robe.
The first winds of winter carried with them a promise: change was coming.
And with it, the world beyond Mount Hwa would no longer wait.