The winter he never left

Chapter 10: The Garden of No Return

The wind carried an unfamiliar stillness as Ji-hye stepped out into the night, cloaked in an old trench coat and the faint scent of sandalwood lingering from her dream. The garden wasn't far, but each step she took felt like she was walking deeper into the folds of a forgotten memory. Her phone read 11:52 p.m.—eight minutes to midnight.

The town was unnaturally quiet. No passing cars. No dogs barking. No lights on in the neighboring houses. Even the wind seemed afraid to make a sound, as if the very air was suspended, holding its breath in anticipation.

She passed through the park near her school, her boots crunching softly on gravel. The familiar bench she and her friends used to share lunch on looked faded, almost translucent. With every step, the edges of the world blurred, like reality was slipping into watercolor.

When she arrived at the gate to the garden, her breath caught. Rusted iron bars curled into twisted floral patterns, just like the ones etched in the journal. The gate groaned as she pushed it open, the sound echoing louder than it should have. It welcomed her.

Inside, the garden was both breathtaking and terrible. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—vivid blues that glowed, roses as black as night, orchids made of frost. The air smelled of jasmine, but also of something faintly metallic. The fountain at the center, once a symbol of peace, flowed not with water, but with ink-dark liquid that shimmered under the red moon.

And there, standing beneath the arbor overgrown with moonflowers, was Eun-woo.

He didn't look surprised to see her. He looked tired, like a man who had seen the same nightmare too many times.

"You came," he said, voice quiet but steady.

Ji-hye stood frozen. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Was this where you killed her?"

Eun-woo didn't flinch. "Yes."

The truth settled between them like fog. Ji-hye felt it creep up her spine, icy and undeniable.

"Then why ask me here?" she said, stepping closer. "To kill me again? To finish whatever fate started?"

He shook his head slowly. "To stop it. Or try to."

She studied him. There was a sadness in his eyes that didn't belong to a teenager. It was centuries old.

"You remember everything, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded. "I do."

"And Seorin? Was she me? Or am I her?"

Eun-woo hesitated, then spoke. "Seorin became you. Because she couldn't let go. Because I couldn't."

He reached out into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was thick, black, and shimmered with flashes of red and silver.

"This is memory," he said. "Distilled from the lake in the palace dream. Every time the cycle restarts, it appears somewhere. This time, I found it before it found you."

Ji-hye stared at the vial, unease crawling through her.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Eun-woo looked up at the moon, now deep crimson and flickering like a dying star.

"Because tomorrow, time resets. Again. And you forget. Again. And I lose you. Again."

Her breath caught. She clenched her fists.

"Then help me break it."

He gave a faint, bitter smile. "I tried. Every time. But the loop corrects. It punishes. It finds new ways to bring us back. You were Ji-hye. Before that, you were Hae-won. Before her, Min-seo. It always ends the same. With your death. With my guilt."

Ji-hye turned her gaze to the obsidian fountain. "Then this time, it ends differently."

He handed her a key. Small, silver, its bow shaped like a broken hourglass. The symbol from her dreams. From the journal.

"What does this open?" she asked.

"A door. In the palace. One you haven't found yet. It's where everything began. If we can reach it before the reset, maybe we can end this."

A tremor passed through the ground. The flowers in the garden wilted all at once. The moon dimmed.

Ji-hye held the key close to her chest. "Then I'll find it. Even if it kills me."

"It might," Eun-woo said. "But if you don't try, the loop kills you anyway."

Before she could respond, the shadows twisted. Vines recoiled as if in fear. The air grew cold and dense. From behind the fountain, the child in white stepped forward.

Their feet made no sound. Their eyes glowed faintly.

"You shouldn't be here," the child said. Their voice was layered, a chorus of past lives.

Ji-hye didn't step back. "Who are you really?"

The child's face shifted, morphing into Seorin's, then Ji-hye's, then a regal woman she had never seen. Then a faceless void.

"I am memory," the child whispered. "The part of you that remembers what the world wants you to forget."

They reached out and pressed a fingertip to Ji-hye's forehead.

Visions burst behind her eyes:

Seorin screaming in a tower drenched in moonlight. Eun-woo kneeling before the Empress, holding a scroll. A blade inscribed with ancient runes being dipped in blood. A decree: "One must die for the other to live."

She collapsed to the ground, gasping. When she looked up, the child and Eun-woo were gone. So was the garden.

She was alone.

The fountain cracked and crumbled behind her. The flowers dissolved like ash.

Only the key remained in her hand, pulsing with warmth.

A whisper echoed in the fading night.

"This time, remember."

Ji-hye stumbled to her feet, heart racing.

She didn't know what the door would show her. What it would cost.

But she knew she had to try.

As she stepped outside the garden gate, the first drops of rain began to fall. Soft. Cold.

And somewhere, deep beneath the earth, something stirred.

She walked into the storm, her coat clinging to her back, the key warm against her palm.

Midnight had passed.

There was no going back.

Only forward.

Toward the palace. Toward the truth.

Toward the door that waited in the dark.