The forest breathed around them—ancient, dense, and heavy with mist. Gnarled trees stretched toward a pale sky, their roots twisting like veins beneath the moss-covered ground. Every step crackled with damp leaves and broken twigs, but Tae-hyun moved like a shadow, his senses sharpened by purpose. Beside him, Jinhwan walked with a quiet discipline, the silence between them no longer hostile but reflective.
Tae-hyun crouched beside a snapped branch, fingers brushing against faint indentations in the earth. "Here," he muttered. "Someone passed through recently. Light steps. She's trying not to leave a trail."
Jinhwan narrowed his eyes. "Yul?"
"She always moves ahead. But she doesn't mask her qi as well as she thinks when she's anxious." Tae-hyun stood, gaze tracing the horizon. "Something's wrong. She wouldn't just vanish."
Jinhwan scanned the treetops. "This place... it's too quiet."
He was right. No birds, no insects. Just the whisper of wind through leaves and the low thrum of tension pressing against their skin. The forest wasn't merely vast—it was watching.
They moved on, threading through undergrowth and past collapsed ruins swallowed by vines. Tae-hyun's thoughts churned beneath his focused expression. He didn't just want to find Yul—he needed to. She had become something more than a mission partner. A tether. A reminder that some things were worth holding onto.
"How far do you think she went?" Jinhwan asked, finally breaking the silence.
Tae-hyun didn't answer immediately. He scanned a patch of scorched bark on a tree, qi residue faint but recent. "She fought something here," he said. "But she won. There's no blood. No drag marks."
Jinhwan stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Then she's still alive."
Tae-hyun nodded. "But being alive isn't the same as being safe."
For hours, they tracked her—climbing cliffs, wading through shallow streams, even leaping over ravines where the forest canopy broke into shafts of golden light. And all the while, Tae-hyun's expression darkened. The forest wasn't just vast—it was disorienting, laced with illusions, as though deliberately distorting their direction.
"They don't want us to find her," Tae-hyun said, almost to himself.
Jinhwan glanced at him. "You really care about her, don't you?"
Tae-hyun didn't look back. "She believed in me before I believed in myself."
They paused at the edge of a clearing. Strange symbols had been carved into the earth in a spiraling pattern—old runes that pulsed faintly with residual qi.
"A teleportation array," Jinhwan said grimly. "It's been used."
Tae-hyun's eyes flared with frustration. "Then she's not in this forest anymore."
"No," Jinhwan said. "But the one who took her is still nearby. I can feel it."
A growl rolled through the trees—deep and primal. The forest trembled.
Tae-hyun stepped forward, twin daggers in hand once again. "Then let's start with whoever stayed behind."
—-
A guttural snarl echoed through the clearing.
Tae-hyun stepped forward, his stance low, twin daggers humming with awakened qi. Beside him, Jinhwan unsheathed his new blade—repaired hastily but sharp enough to draw blood. The strange runes in the earth began to glow faintly once more, pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
Then, from the shadows of the trees, it emerged.
A figure cloaked in pitch-dark robes, faceless beneath a mask of bone. Their presence distorted the air—no footsteps, no scent. Just dread.
Tae-hyun narrowed his eyes. "You're not from the Pavilion."
The masked figure tilted its head slowly, like a marionette studying its prey. "You shouldn't be here," it said, voice hollow and layered. "The girl passed the threshold. You should have let her go."
Jinhwan stepped forward, muscles coiled with tension. "What did you do to her?"
"She is where she was meant to be. Her path lies beyond yours. Turn back, or die here."
Tae-hyun's breath was slow, steady. "No."
In a flash, he moved—daggers lashing out like streaks of silver lightning. The masked figure vanished into mist, reappearing behind him with a sweeping strike of its clawed arm. Jinhwan intercepted, parrying the blow with a metallic shriek.
The forest erupted with chaos.
Tae-hyun and Jinhwan moved in tandem—one a blur of instinctual precision, the other a hammer of iron discipline. Their attacks tore through branches and sent tremors into the earth. But the masked figure was relentless, a phantom flickering between planes of reality. Every strike that landed barely scratched it. Every counterattack came with a blast of corrupt qi that corroded trees and stone alike.
"What is this thing?" Jinhwan growled as he deflected another clawed thrust.
Tae-hyun's gaze sharpened. "Not human. Not a beast either. Something in between. Like it was made... not born."
The masked figure's voice slithered between the crashing sounds of battle. "She was chosen. You were not. Turn back before the forest devours what remains of you."
Tae-hyun answered with a furious cry, qi exploding from his core. He twisted mid-air, daggers tracing a twin arc that carved a gash into the figure's side. Dark ichor sprayed across the ground—but the figure didn't fall. Instead, it laughed.
A sound like wind through graves.
Jinhwan lunged in, shoulder-slamming the creature into a tree, following up with a crushing downward strike. "We're not leaving without her!"
The tree shattered. The figure vanished into smoke once again—but this time, it didn't reappear immediately.
Tae-hyun landed beside Jinhwan, panting. "It's retreating."
"For now," Jinhwan muttered.
The clearing fell silent again—but not at peace. The runes beneath their feet shimmered once more, and Tae-hyun knelt beside them.
"She went through this array," he whispered. "Whoever that was... they were guarding the path. We're close."
Jinhwan wiped blood from his chin. "Then let's finish this."
Tae-hyun looked up at him—no longer a rival, but a comrade.
"We go together."
And with that, they stepped forward—toward the remnants of power, toward the next trial, toward Yul.
---