Chapter 92 - A Name of Her Own

A gentle breeze stirred, weaving softly through Jia’s hair and brushing her cheeks with warm fingers. It carried a hint of summer and the faint scent of the countryside below. The late afternoon air felt alive, as if the wind itself whispered secrets only she could hear.

For a moment she studied the drifting clouds, feeling the subtle shifts in the atmosphere.

Rain teased the air—but Jia knew it wouldn’t come.

“What’s on your mind?” Zilly asked.

Jia turned and shrugged lightly. “Oh, nothing much. Just the weather.”

“Looks like rain,” Zilly said, glancing at the sky. “Maybe we should head back down the hill.”

“Nah.” Jia smiled with quiet confidence. “It’s not going to rain.”

Zilly laughed. “Somehow I believe you. Like you know exactly what’s going to happen.”

Jia chuckled. “Maybe I do. But still… we should probably head back. It’s getting late.”

They stood together for a moment while Jia looked out over the city below.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “I’m going to miss it.”

“Oh, you’ll be back someday,” Zilly said. “I have no doubt.”

“You’re probably right.”

Jia started down the winding trail, pausing once more to take in the skyline of Seoul glowing in the fading light.

“I’m really glad you were able to come over.”

“Yeah,” Zilly said, her voice softening. “Nice of your dad to think of me. He must’ve known how much I meant to you.”

“Yeah… how did he find you?”

“He used your phone,” Zilly said with a grin. “Just called. You don’t exactly have great security on that thing.”

Jia laughed. “Yeah… I should probably fix that.”

They walked quietly for a moment.

Jia’s thoughts drifted through everything that had happened—the magic, the battle, the funerals of Dae-Won and Jun-Young, the strange new family she had discovered, and the life she would soon return to in California.

Magic was powerful.

But it wasn’t armor.

It couldn’t stop death. It couldn’t erase grief. And drawing too deeply on it came with a cost she now understood all too well.

Her mother’s absence still lived inside her—sharp and stubborn. But something else had taken root beside it.

Strength.

Understanding.

She and Zilly had spent hours talking about the amulets and the strange legacy they carried—bloodlines, ancient magic, and a history that had shaped Jia’s life long before she knew it.

Maybe her parents had understood more than they ever told her. Maybe they hadn’t.

Even her father had admitted he didn’t fully know what would happen.

But here she was.

And there was no going back.

Keeping any of it from Zilly had never been an option. Zilly had been the one to decipher the inscriptions, to chase the mystery when Jia barely believed it herself.

She was more than a friend.

She was part of the story now.

The goodbyes at the airport had been emotional.

Kim and Ji-Won had come to see them off, and the hour-long drive from the compound had been filled with talk of the future. Ji-Won confirmed he would come to California in three weeks to help mentor Jia before school started.

Her father promised to stay for a week.

There were still practical things to deal with—the money problems her mother had left behind, and the legal process of helping Jia become an emancipated adult so she wouldn’t be forced into foster care.

“If you can’t take care of yourself after what I’ve seen the past few weeks…” he had said with a quiet smile.

Zilly and Jia had talked for nearly the first hour of the flight before exhaustion finally caught up with them.

Outside the plane windows, night swept across the Pacific. Jia started doing the math in her head, estimating the plane’s speed, the rotation of the Earth, and whether they might actually outrun the darkness long enough to see the sunrise.

She never finished the calculation.

Sleep claimed her first.

A few hours later they woke again, already talking about music.

“We need a guitarist and a drummer,” Zilly said.

“At our school?” Jia snorted. “Not possible.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Zilly laughed. “Which means we’ll just have to go to the same college.”

Jia grinned. “Not a bad idea. I knew I liked you.”

After dinner trays were cleared, Jia turned toward the window, watching the darkness stretch endlessly below.

“Hey,” she said. “I want to run something by you.”

Zilly raised an eyebrow. “Sure. What?”

“Well…” Jia hesitated, then turned back toward her.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jia said, smiling. “But seriously. If this whole becoming-an-adult thing is happening… and the I’m-really-a-sorceress thing is happening… I figured it might be time to decide who I actually am.”

Zilly tilted her head. “Which means…?”

Jia paused, letting the moment hang.

“Changing my name.”

Zilly blinked. “Changing your name? Really? Like a superhero name?”

Jia laughed and shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”

Her smile softened.

“It’s more about… choosing what feels like me. My grandma and my mom always called me Peach, remember?”

Zilly nodded slowly.

“Even after Mom died,” Jia continued quietly, “Grandma showed up almost immediately. And the first thing she said was ‘Peach.’ Like nothing had changed.”

She gave a small shrug.

“I didn’t know her that well before that. But somehow it still felt… right. Like that name belonged to me.”

Zilly listened carefully.

“And my Korean family—Mee and Min-Jun—they’ve been kind. My dad’s been amazing. But ‘Park’ doesn’t really feel like me.”

“And O’Connor?” Zilly asked.

Jia shook her head gently. “Not really that either.”

Zilly leaned back in her seat. “What would your mom say?”

Jia smiled faintly.

“You know exactly what she’d say.”

Zilly nodded. “She’d tell you to be your own person. No matter what it takes.”

“Exactly.”

A warm current of air slipped through the cabin vents and brushed Jia’s cheek.

For a moment, she closed her eyes.

And there it was again—

her mother’s voice.

Quiet. Certain.

You’ve always had me.

You always will.

Jia opened her eyes, smiling.

Zilly leaned forward. “So… what’s the new name?”

Jia paused.

Then she said it.

“From now on…”

She smiled.

“Call me Jia Peach.”