Chapter Forty-Eight Sunny
Chapter Forty-Eight
Sunny
My father transfers his life force to me in much the same way as Hwanin—my great-grandfather?—did.
And this time, I don’t let the divine life force touch a hair on my husband’s head. I use Hwanin’s gi to create a barrier between us as I absorb my father’s life force. As an added bonus, focusing on protecting Ethan from harm is a great distraction from the pain of the process.
The light from Dangun’s gi and the Yeoiju fade as they settle inside me, and my father withdraws his hand from my heaving chest. Ethan lets go of my waist and spins me around.
“Are you okay?” Cradling my cheek, he searches every inch of my face, eyes dark with concern. Even so, his worry barely penetrates the numb place where I had to go to get through it.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though I’m not really sure.
“You did well, Daughter.” Dangun’s smile shines with unbridled pride.
“Thank you.” I peer at him in the dimness of the cave. “How do you feel?”
“Fragile.” He tips his head to the side in thought. “It is wonderful.”
“It is?” I crinkle my nose.
“Mortality is a . . . gift.” He smiles wistfully.
“If you say so.” I don’t bother hiding my skepticism.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ethan’s gaze hasn’t left my face.
“Yes,” I reassure him with a too-bright smile, but this time I know I’m lying.
Absorbing Dangun’s life force went as well as it could have.
But containing his gi within me is another question.
The gi of Mountains and the gi of Sky clash inside me like mortal enemies, each life force fighting for dominance.
The Yeoiju strains to hold on to them, but I feel like I’m being ripped down the middle.
How can I absorb two more divine gi? It’s already too much. I take a shuddering breath, panic sharpening the struggle of the divine life forces inside me. I can’t do this. I can’t . . .
“Try not to hold on too tight.” My father lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Expand your Yeoiju, like spreading your arms to invite an embrace.”
I give him a grateful nod and exhale slowly through my mouth.
I concentrate on opening the Yeoiju, imagining a lotus flower blooming wide.
The two divine life forces, swirling at opposite ends, calm once they flow through the white light at my heart’s center.
And strand by strand, they begin to intertwine.
“Phew.” I huff an unsteady laugh. “That’s much better.”
“You said you were fine.” Ethan narrows his eyes at me.
“Fine is such a broad, fluid word,” I hedge, wincing with guilt. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to worry.”
Rather than responding, Ethan turns to Dangun, a muscle working in his jaw. “Will the next two be even harder on her?”
I open my eyes wide and silently beg my father not to make him worry even more.
“Uh.” My father glances between me and Ethan. “Nothing she cannot handle.”
“So that’s a yes.” Ethan’s voice is flat and hard.
“Yes.” Dangun sighs. “Stay by her side and help her through it. Anchor her with all your heart.”
Ethan gives him a curt nod. Then, not quite meeting my eyes, he says, “I’ll give you two a moment to say goodbye.”
He spins on his heel and walks out of the cave, and my heart sinks. He’s so angry with me.
“He is worried more than anything,” Dangun says quietly.
“I know, but I shouldn’t have lied to him.” I kick at the pebbles on the ground. “He sensed something was wrong, and hiding it from him only made him worry more.”
“Then that is a good lesson learned.” My father chuckles. “My parents always told me that marriage is a lot of work, even though theirs was a love destined by the heavens like yours. But they also said that it was worth every bit of effort they put into it.”
“Your . . . parents?” I blink. “Hwanung and Ungnyeo?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “Your grandparents.”
“Wow.” It’s strange that my grandparents are characters from old stories. I can’t wrap my head around it.
“You would have liked them,” he continues. “Your grandmother was the first animal spirit.”
“But the folklore says she became human . . .”
“And you believe everything in human folklore?” Dangun arches his brow.
“To be fair, your grandfather granted her wish to become human first. But later in their marriage, he saw that she missed the freedom and power of being a bear, so he gave her the ability to shift—to be both a human and a bear.”
“It sounds like he loved her very much,” I murmur.
“Yes, every part of her,” he says softly. “He loved her so much that he cut ties with his father, Hwanin.”
“Cut ties?” My stomach sinks. “Why?”
“Hwanin did not approve of his only child marrying an animal spirit.” His lips twist with bitter memory. “But his prejudices cost him his beloved son.”
Come to think of it, where is Hwanung? Other than in Korean folklore, I have never heard of the god of Earth. As far as I know, there are only the four gods of each life source.
“Wh-what happened?” I ask.
“When I was still a young boy, my mother moved on to the next life, and my father’s heart became untethered, setting his soul adrift.
He could not go on without his fated love.
” Dangun takes a pained breath. “I was not born a god. I was a being of the Shingae with the blood of the gods running through me. Like you, I stopped aging at eighteen and was nearly immortal.”
“That’s why,” I gasp as relief courses through me. I can’t believe I finally got an answer to that mystery. A part of me had been afraid that I’d been subconsciously stealing nature’s life force, like the Shinbiin. I shake my head and ask, “Then how did you become a god?”
“Soon after I turned eighteen, my father asked me to absorb his divine gi so he could be with my mother. I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt for an eternity, so I agreed.
” His eyes take on a faraway look. “I became the god of Mountains, and my father . . . A bond destined by the heavens is unbreakable. Once he became mortal, he simply faded away.”
My heart breaks for Hwanung. “How did Ungnyeo die?”
“My father never told me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, the old frustration unforgotten.
“I assumed she died from old age or illness, because she was mortal. But as the years passed, I began to have doubts, and those doubts kept growing. Living in the Realm of Four Kingdoms should have granted my mother near immortality. She should have lived for hundreds of more years.” Then fury ripples across his face.
“I believe Hwanin and the other gods had something to do with her death.”
“What?” I gasp. Is this the atrocity those gods spoke of? The wrongs they were trying to right? “How?”
“I do not know.” Dangun wipes a weary hand down his face. “With my father gone, I couldn’t prove anything. Then I left the Realm of Four Kingdoms and that selfish lot behind.”
“I’m so sorry you had to lose your parents like that,” I whisper. I need to find out what happened. What did those arrogant gods do to my grandmother? “The grief never fades, does it? Time only makes it hurt less often.”
“Your grandmother was strong, noble, and brave.” My father cups his hands around my shoulders. “You remind me so much of her.”
I glance away from him with an embarrassed snort. “Why? Do I look like her?”
“You are her mirror image, but your strength, courage, and capacity to love also come from your grandmother.” He grasps my chin and turns me to face him. “Do not be afraid, Daughter. Trust yourself as I trust you. You will choose correctly.”
“You speak in riddles, Father,” I say softly, even though I understand him. Whatever happens next, I will choose to do good—regardless of the price I have to pay. “I hated it when the Seonangshin, the ancient cypress trees, did that.”
Daeseong’s undead assassins would probably have gotten Ethan and me if the lone cypress tree hadn’t told me about the dark mudang’s return. The Seonangshin helped me face my destiny when all I wanted to do was run from it. That . . . was my father too. He was never far.
“Even a god cannot speak the secrets of the Shingae, but I did my best to help you figure it out on your own.” Dangun smiles, looking every bit the proud father, but he swiftly sobers. “I wish I could hurt for you, Daughter. But the best I can do is hurt with you from afar.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have to hurt at all.” I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. I wish I had more time so I could make him happy, but . . . I don’t. The best I can do is give him time to find his own happiness.
“Go now.” He leads me toward the cave opening. “Ethan is waiting.”
I don’t want to leave. I’ve only just found him. What if this was my one and only chance to be with my father?
“Just five more min—” I begin, turning toward him.
But he’s gone.
“Father.” My throat clogs with emotion. He left first so I wouldn’t have to walk away from him. He knew how hard that would be for me. “Thank you. I will make you proud.”
I run out of the empty cave without looking back. I won’t cry—I bite my lip until I taste salt and iron on my tongue—it would break my father’s heart.
Ethan pushes away from the tree he was leaning against and watches me approach with a hooded gaze. But the moment he sees my face, he rushes toward me and gathers me in his arms, his anger forgotten.
“It’s okay, Sunny.” His warm breath ruffles my hair. “You’ll see him again. I promise.”
I cling to him for a heartbeat, then step back with a bracing breath.
Every minute counts.
“Our friends are waiting.” I hold out my hand. “Are you ready?”
“Define ready.” He offers me a crooked grin before linking his fingers through mine. “Let’s do this.”