…and re-forms into a world smelling of old paper and ink. Kisa bites her lip to contain her shout of joy as she takes in the worn mahogany walls crammed with yellowed scrolls and leather-bound volumes, spinning around on the dust-covered, uneven planks of the well-trodden floor to stare at the precariously balanced towers of books that nearly scrape the domed ceiling hundreds of feet above. It is a maze of literature, a forest of forgotten books. The book towers are the trees, the softly falling motes of dust their leaves, illuminated by grimy windows from which sunlight—real, pure, dazzling sunlight—streams. Bats hang from the darkness-obscured wooden beams above, and moths flutter from book to book, as if they believe themselves to be nectar-drinking butterflies. The forest stretches on and on, growing deeper and darker through narrow corridors and swooping staircases that look rickety at best. Despite the cold, despite the stagnant air, the Heavenly Library is the most beautiful thing Kisa has ever seen.

She turns to Seokga and presses a shaking hand to her mouth.

His green eyes glimmer in both hope and concern. “I told you,” he says. “Cold, dusty—”

“And messy,” Kisa agrees, but she’s smiling, joy blooming in her chest. “It’s nothing that the Dewey decimal system and a crackling fireplace can’t fix, really.”

“I have to admire your tenacity,” he murmurs, drawing closer. Her breath hitches. “But are you sure, Kisa, that this is where you’d like your soul to be bound?”

For a gwisin must always be bound to one location or another, whether it be the place of their death, an active haunting site, or a point in the underworld like the SRC Flatliner. Without a binding, a gwisin will wander. They may wander for centuries without becoming lost to themselves or the physical worlds, but wander long enough and it will happen.

Seokga’s binding will be gentler than Yeomra’s. She will be able to dance in the sun, or visit her friends atop a rushing underworld river, but eventually, she will always be called back here. Here, to this new world. Her forest of forgotten books.

Kisa knows that there are stars in her eyes as she takes in the library, as she feels the secrets surrounding her like a shimmering blanket. There is no telling where the Heavenly Library ends. It is an entire realm in itself, and one in which she is content to stay. “Oh, yes,” she whispers. “This is home, Seokga.” Her fingers brush over his lips. “With you.”

—I love her—so much—can barely breathe—Kisa—Kisa—Kisa—

As the morning sunlight streams into the library and envelops the god and the gwisin in its shimmering glow, Kisa presses herself up to her tiptoes and kisses Seokga with all of the deep, endless love that swirls within her soul.

Somewhere, far away, the god of laws and kept promises smiles.

For an oath has finally been fulfilled.