The Sky Between Two Kingdoms

The water from the pool still clung to his skin, even though the night had long dissolved into mist. After falling into the water with Sri—bodies soaked, clothes clinging, breath tangled between adrenaline and awkward laughter—Chen returned to his quarters with anything but a calm heart.

He fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

But his mind didn't rest with him.

In his dream, the ruined chamber they had plunged into transformed into a secret garden.

The moss-covered walls now shimmered with the glow of soft torchlight.

The pool water, once icy, turned warm—inviting, not with threat, but with a kind of pull.

Sri stood there—no longer in armor, but draped in a thin Medang silk wrap, damp and radiant.

Her sharp gaze no longer commanded… it called.

Half her hair had come undone, and under the wavering waterlight, her golden skin gleamed.

Chen wanted to look away.

But his feet… were already walking.

 "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Her voice in the dream was softer—deeper—and no longer distant.

He moved toward her slowly, as if every step were part of a dance that needed no music.

 "Because… you look like you belong here.

 Like the goddess of this water."

Sri laughed, a quiet sound that made the air feel warmer.

She reached for his arm, the smallest pull unraveling all of his defenses.

As the water rose to their waists, the rest of the world disappeared.

No Yi Dynasty.

No Medang Kingdom.

No titles, wars, or diplomacy.

Just two humans…

and the water that cradled them like silk.

His hand traced her shoulder—not with hunger, but with a dizzying curiosity.

He pressed a kiss to her skin, unsure if the scent he inhaled was real, or just a perfume spun from longing.

Sri moved closer, her eyes half-lidded, and whispered:

 "Chen..."

His name sounded like a spell.

Their lips met.

And in that touch, the water stilled.

Only their breath remained—soft and shared—dancing in the blurred line between dream and reality.

The water slid gently between them.

The imagined torches cast liquid shadows across Sri's skin, making her look as if she were made of light and water.

Chen leaned in, now a breath away.

His hand, once hesitant, grew bolder—fingertips gliding from her arm to her waist, discovering the warmth in her wet skin.

Sri didn't pull away.

Instead, she looked at him with a gaze she'd never given him in the waking world—one that didn't interrogate, didn't push, didn't measure.

Just… received.

 "Are you afraid?"

Her voice was low, daring… and yet tender.

Chen shook his head slowly.

But inside, he trembled.

 "If this is a dream," he whispered, "don't wake me up."

Sri didn't answer with words.

She only drew him in, letting his chest press against her soaked back—warm, pulsing, real.

Chen's head sank to her shoulder.

His arms wrapped around her, lips brushing her damp nape.

He kissed it gently, breathing in the quiet spice of clove and cinnamon—somehow, it felt unmistakably like her.

His hand found her hair—half-wet, silk-soft—and slid down to the back of her neck, then along her spine…

Sri slowly turned.

And this time, they faced each other—fully.

Nothing between them.

In that dream, Chen embraced her completely—with no shame, no fear of rank, duty, or borders.

They kissed.

At first, soft—like touching the surface of a lake without disturbing it.

Then slowly, deeper.

Hungrier.

As if they both knew this world was fleeting.

And they had only this moment.

Sri exhaled slowly as their lips parted.

She looked at Chen, her voice barely a whisper.

 "Why aren't you like this in the real world?"

Chen didn't answer.

His hand was still holding the soft fabric on her shoulder—only now, he let it go.

He pulled her into another embrace.

Warm. Gentle. Real… or at least it felt real.

They fell together into the water, still holding each other.

And just before anything more could happen—before the dream followed through on desires Chen never dared admit—

a voice shattered everything.

A voice too cruel.

 "YOUNG MASTER! TIME FOR MORNING TRAINING!!"

Chen's eyes flew open in a panic.

He shot up in bed, breath ragged, drenched in sweat.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, devastated.

 "Damn it... why is a rooster's voice stronger than a grown man's longing?!"

He sat up slowly, wiped his face… and froze.

He looked down.

 "Oh no..."

In a flash, he yanked the blanket over himself and rolled back onto the bed, face buried in a pillow.

 "It was just a dream… just a dream… but why did it feel so real—!!"

That morning, Medang's air was fresh and shrouded in fog.

Chen stood stiffly outside the training grounds, half put-together in formal wear—hair mussed on one side, his left shoe still untied.

He hadn't spoken a single word since waking up.

Not even to Han Yue—who got no more than a distracted nod.

Han Yue eyed him suspiciously.

 "Young master… are you unwell?"

 "No. I'm… suffering."

 "Suffering?"

 "Emotionally. And spiritually."

Before Han Yue could dig deeper, the echo of measured footsteps rang through the corridor. Chen straightened up like a startled deer.

Leather-soled boots. A steady, assertive rhythm.

Only one person walked like that.

Sri.

Hair tied high, body wrapped in a crisp training outfit that framed her broad shoulders—

Sri looked exactly like the vision from his dream.

Except now… she was real.

And somehow, that made her even more lethal.

 "Prince Chen," she greeted, her gaze sharp but slightly curious,

 "You look... sleep-deprived."

Chen blinked rapidly. Then coughed.

 "Me? Sleep-deprived? Who said that? I slept like a rock. A granite boulder. Very firm."

 "Firm?" Sri raised an eyebrow.

Chen coughed harder.

 "I mean, firm as in… couldn't move… because… nightmare. Yes. Nightmare!"

 "Oh?" Sri folded her arms. "What kind of nightmare?"

Panic bloomed.

Chen's brain hit a wall.

He glanced at Han Yue.

Han Yue narrowed his eyes: Don't you dare.

Chen forced a laugh.

 "Hehe... dream… water… drowning… very deep… I… I sank."

Sri nodded slowly. A faint smile tugged at her lips.

 "Water, huh?"

She stepped closer.

 "Next time, if you're sinking in a dream—just grab onto something. So you don't go under."

Chen froze.

His mind went straight to the moment in the dream—his hands gripping Sri's clothes underwater.

By the Gods… if he could bury himself right then and there, he would.

 "I-I-I'll remember that," he stammered.

And I'll hold on even tighter…

 "What?" Sri leaned in.

 "Nothing! Nothing at all! I'm ready for training!" Chen blurted, then promptly banged his head against the pillar behind him.

The training field shimmered under the morning dew and the echoes of soldier's footsteps.

Sri stood in the center, wearing her signature Medang training garb: short-sleeved top accentuating her shoulders and waist, with a neatly folded side sash for ease of movement.

Her gaze was sharp, her voice clear.

Chen stood opposite, gripping a wooden staff.

His left hand was sweaty.

His right one too.

Actually… his whole body.

 "You want to learn our basic technique?"

 "Yes," Chen replied softly.

 "Ready to take a hit?"

 "I've been wounded... since last night..."

 "What?"

 "NOTHING! PLEASE PROCEED!"

Sri gave a curt nod and struck the staff to the ground.

 "Attack me. Don't hold back."

Chen swallowed.

The image of Sri in the water, her wet hair, her glowing skin beneath the moonlight—

It returned with full force.

He blinked rapidly.

He needed to focus.

And he really needed that rooster to shut up tomorrow.

 "It was just a dream… just a dream…"

But his legs still faltered the moment Sri began to move in a circle, preparing for his attack.

Chen stepped forward, swinging his practice staff.

But then—Sri turned sharply, leaping ever so slightly to dodge.

The movement was flawless.

So graceful, so fluid…

The same exact movement from his dream.

WHACK.

Sri's staff struck his, knocking it clean from his hands.

Chen landed flat on his back.

 "You're slow. Your focus is all over the place," Sri scolded, voice neutral.

 I am focused… just too focused… on the wrong thing!

Chen scrambled up again.

Sri extended her hand to help him—

and when her fingers brushed his arm, a jolt ran through him.

So warm… so soft…

Just like in the dream…

 "Prince Chen?"

 "Yes?"

 "You're looking at me like you're about to kiss me."

 "WHAT?!"

Chen flinched, took two steps back—

and fell over again.

Some soldiers nearby had started whispering.

From across the field, Han Yue silently covered his face with one hand.

 "Young master… whatever dream that was, you better snap out of it… before she beats it out of you."

Sri looked slightly puzzled but calm.

She crouched beside him.

 "Are you hurt?"

 "Only… my pride."

 "Good thing your pride isn't a rare commodity," she muttered, rising.

Chen finally got back on his feet, unsteady.

But then Sri tossed her hair back over her shoulder—

and in Chen's eyes, it moved in slow motion.

 "Chen?"

 "Permission to… step out for a moment…"

 "Why?"

 "I need water. Cold water. Very cold."

Sri blinked, confused, but nodded.

 "Fine. Just don't run from training."

 "I'm running from desire, not duty."

And with that, Chen half-jogged to the nearest well, dumping water over his head with zero hesitation.

From a distance, Han Yue sighed.

 "One dream… and we lose a week of training."

That evening, dusk settled slowly over the Medang encampment.

The sound of insects replaced the noise of training.

Han Yue sat quietly beneath a large banyan tree, polishing his sword in smooth, precise motions.

Above, leaves rustled in the breeze.

Everything felt peaceful.

Until—

 "HAN YUE!!"

The sky seemed to darken.

Han Yue closed his eyes.

Counted silently.

One... two... three... don't react…

 "Han Yue, you have to hear this. It's a psychological and emotional emergency!"

Four… five… argh.

He opened his eyes slowly.

 "What now, Young Master?"

Chen flopped dramatically onto the grass beside him, staring up at the sky.

 "I... I had a dream I can't even describe…"

 "Again?"

 "No. Not just a dream. This… this was a thought crime."

Han Yue was silent.

 "It was me and Sri. In the water. With… not a lot of clothes."

Han Yue half-stood, ready to flee.

 "Sit!" Chen begged, grabbing his robe.

 "Master, I sincerely believe a mountain cave would bring me far more peace."

 "Just hear me out!" Chen stared at him, dead serious.

 "I can't take it. Every time she moves, sweats, even breathes, I remember that dream. I'm tormented."

Han Yue covered his face, muttering,

 "Why was I born your bodyguard… and not just a humble fish in a quiet lake…"

Chen sat cross-legged, gripping the grass.

 "I need to purge this feeling. But how? Every morning I wake up with... you know! That!"

 "I don't want to know."

 "Han Yue! This is emotional trauma! I think… I think I'm in love.

Or maybe just seduced. But maybe love. But definitely seduced. I'm confused!"

 "You're drunk on hormones," Han Yue replied flatly.

Suddenly, Chen leapt to his feet, pointing dramatically like a war General.

 "You! You know meditation techniques! Teach me how to cool my mind!"

 "They're for suppressing stab wounds, not... this."

 "This wound is in my heart! And… other areas."

Han Yue finally stood up and patted Chen's shoulder, solemn.

 "I'm going to the forest."

 "Why?"

 "To find a big tree… and bash my head against it until I forget this conversation."

Chen grabbed his robe again.

 "You can't leave me like this! I need you! Han Yue! Don't abandon me!"

Han Yue (internally):

 "Please don't say that in a whiny voice while shaking me like a kitten. Please."

Han Yue took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.

 "Very well, Your Highness. I'll teach you."

God help them both.