The drive began in silence.
The estate vehicle detached from the Arrival Gate with a soft surge of light, slipping smoothly onto the private skyway reserved for the Jjejuk bloodline. The cabin sealed itself, glass walls tinting to a muted dusk as the city lights blurred beneath them.
Junpyo stood near the window at first, then finally took a seat across from Vivian—not because he wanted to, but because the vehicle subtly encouraged balance. The House systems always preferred symmetry.
Vivian noticed, of course.
She rested one leg over the other, posture relaxed, hands folded neatly in her lap as if she were attending a gala instead of being escorted into a life she had orchestrated. The faint glow of her crest reflected off the glass, pulsing in time with the engine's hum.
"You look like you're preparing for battle," she said lightly.
Junpyo didn't turn. "I am."
She smiled. "With me?"
he didn't reply.
Below them, Neo-Incheon stretched endlessly—tiers of light, floating markets, suspended gardens, transit lines weaving like veins through the air. Storm domes flickered as they passed, lightning trapped and controlled, fury kept obedient.
Vivian leaned closer to the window, eyes bright. "This city still fears storms," she said. "Even after all this progress."
Junpyo's jaw tightened. "Storms remind people that control is temporary."
"That's why your father likes them contained," she replied. "And why he dislikes surprises."
Her gaze slid back to him, sharp and knowing.
"I didn't expect you to come yourself," she added. "I thought you'd send a proxy. Or hide."
"I don't hide," Junpyo said flatly.
"No," Vivian agreed softly. "You endure."
The word settled uncomfortably between them.
The vehicle curved upward, leaving the crowded skyways behind. Traffic thinned. The air grew clearer, colder. Private space. Private power.
Junpyo finally looked at her. "Why now?"
Vivian blinked, innocent. "Now?"
"You could've crossed dimensions years ago," he said. "You didn't. So why now?"
She studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Because the board stabilized. Because your House reached its peak. Because you ran out of excuses."
He scoffed. "You really think this is about timing?"
"No," she said gently. "It's about inevitability."
The word scraped against his nerves.
"You talk like this is already done," he said. "Like I don't matter."
Vivian's expression softened—not with kindness, but with certainty. "You matter," she said. "That's the problem."
The vehicle slowed slightly as it approached the upper sector. Ahead, the Jjejuk Estate was already visible through thinning clouds—a dark silhouette rimmed with light, floating like a crowned island above the world.
Junpyo felt it then.
The pull.
The estate's wards reached for him, recognizing his crest, tugging at something older than choice. His skin prickled as the systems prepared to welcome him home.
Vivian felt it too. Her breath hitched—just once.
"So this is it," she murmured. "The place that made you."
Junpyo's voice was quiet, edged with something raw. "And the place that thinks it owns me."
The vehicle aligned with the estate's landing corridor, slowing to a near-hover. The sky around them darkened as the wards engaged, sealing off the outside world.
Vivian turned to him, her gaze steady, unreadable.
"You can fight this," she said. "You can hate me. You can hate them."
Then, softer: "But you can't pretend you're not part of it."
Junpyo looked straight ahead as the estate gates opened, light spilling into the cabin.
"We'll see," he said.
The vehicle passed through the threshold.
And behind them, the city disappeared from view.