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Fern flower blooms once a year, a mythical flower that reveals to its owner treasures and secrets of the world, giving clairvoyance and power over evil spirits. Many don’t even believe in its existence. Well, Jiwoong doesn’t care much about other people’s opinions. Never cared much since childhood. Kids called him names and adults used strange word for a child to understand — “eccentric”.
He was always drawn to the unusual and mysterious, to something unexplored, lost to the known world...
This is why he is here, in a forgotten village, staying in a small wooden house that's starting to be invaded by mold. Here he seeks refuge to study rare plants for his self-indulgent herbarium project, which has become the subject of ridicule among his colleagues at university.
Refuge from himself, from his thoughts, his feelings…his heartbreak.
The morning forest did not welcome him.
It did not repel him either — but it watched. Trees leaned just slightly more inward as he passed, birds quieted like they had swallowed their own calls. The deeper Jiwoong walked, the more the world blurred at the edges, soft as watercolor of his botanical paintings and just as dreamlike.
His compass had spun wildly hours ago, and his phone had died. But he kept going.
Suddenly he could feel the warmth of a hand — pale fingers brushing his wrist — and hear the singing voice that didn’t sound quite real:
“If you follow the birches, I will let you find me.”
So he did.
Now, in the shade of thick pine and a sky that glowed green from the canopy, he finally stopped.
Something shifted in the light. Not wind. Not animal.
A figure stood just beyond the thicket — boy of similar age to his, barefooted, with bark spiraling up one leg like a vine. His hair fell in moss-colored waves to his collarbone, and his eyes the color of amber.
“Who are you? What is your name?” Jiwoong whispered in a single breath.
The figure smiled, deep dimples showing, somehow making it look kinder.
“You can call me what village folks call me,” the boy scoffed, “Leshy, guardian of the forest, monster.”
Jiwoong couldn’t sleep that night. He heard the forest calling him, in a whisper, in a familiar voice.
Summer solstice. Time for the fern flower to bloom.
A hush settled over the ancient forest, not of fear, but of reverence. Moonlight filtered through the thick branches, tracing silver lines along the moss-covered clearing where Jiwoong sat, wrapped in a woven blanket, his damp clothes steaming in the warmth of the hidden grove. Before him, the fire crackled low. Beyond it, the boy—spirit, the forest monster—sat cross-legged on a flat stone, elbows resting on his knees, long fingers playing absently with a pinecone.
“You’re not... you’re actually not human, are you?”
“I was.” The voice came finally — deep, gentle, crackling like branches in fire. “Once.”
The lone crow flew off the tall tree, startled by the sound.
“What happened?”
“I forgot.”
Jiwoong frowned. “Forgot what?”
“My name. My shape. My reason.”
The Leshy looked away. “That’s how we become the forest.”
Something about that line made Jiwoong's heart ache. The way Leshy said we, like there were others who had been lost. Others who had once had names and piercing laughter, dimpled smiles and soft hands to hold.
Jiwoong watched the forest spirit, his heart beating loudly. He could still feel the phantom touch of vines guiding him through the dark, the way the forest had opened its secret places for him. Or for this—for him. For the boy who had no name, but whom Jiwoong had come to know like one of his dried flowers.
He took a slow breath.
“You saved me.”
The Leshy didn’t look up and only smirked.
“You nearly drowned in a puddle.”
Jiwoong smiled softly.
“You were worried.”
Birds chirped, then stilled.
“I’ve been dreaming,” Jiwoong said, eyes drifting to the fire. “Dreaming of a voice calling me. A name I can’t quite catch.”
The Leshy shifted. Jiwoong looked up and met his eyes—green and gold, sharp as foxglove, soft as fern. He had never looked more human.
Jiwoong’s hand curled tighter around the blanket.
“Tonight… I heard it. The name.”
That got the Leshy’s attention. His gaze flickered.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because once you say it,” the boy whispered, “I’ll belong to the world again. And…” his breath hitched, he fidgeted and nervously jabbed thumbs into his knees.
He fell silent for a moment that felt like centuries, “… I don’t know what will happen, maybe you will stop seeing me or worse...”
He looked up again, fire flickering in his irises,
“you will forget me.”
Jiwoong leaned forward slowly, touching the soft moss with his palm until they were face to face, the fire glowing between them.
He looked straight into the Leshy’s eyes and gently said—
“Taerae.”
Something shifted, as if it moved the whole world beneath Jiwoong’s feet, like the earth plates collided and settled in their new place.
The Leshy froze. His whole body shivered even though he didn’t move a bit. He settled into the ground like a seed not yet ready to sprout.
There was a chuckle. Then another.
Then he smiled.
Not the crooked, teasing smirk Jiwoong had grown used to. But something raw and warm and open. A smile with lovely dimples, the kind you only give once you’ve been truly seen.
“You remembered,” he said quietly, almost like he breathed air anew. “I didn’t think anyone would.”
Jiwoong reached out and brushed his fingers over Taerae’s hand.
“I didn’t remember. I recognized you.”
The trees leaned in closer. The wind murmured in a forgotten language.
Taerae’s hand turned under Jiwoong’s. Fingers laced, hesitant.
“I think I’ll stay,” Jiwoong whispered.
“As long as you keep saying it.” Taerae answered.
Red glow fell over the dewy grass, and soon the whole forest was basking in it. A flower bloomed from a place it was never meant to.