The air was still as Ji-hyeon walked along the moss-covered path back toward the edge of the village. Trees loomed above him, their leaves whispering softly in the wind like a thousand forgotten voices.
Tonight felt different.
The moon hung low, heavy and golden, casting long shadows that danced as if alive. Even the stars seemed to watch him, their light distant but unwavering. And Ji-hyeon… he felt them all—like invisible threads pulling at his soul.
He stopped by a small clearing where an old shrine stood, half-consumed by ivy. A broken statue of an ancient deity leaned slightly, its features weathered by time.
Ji-hyeon knelt in front of it.
Not to pray.
But to remember.
He didn't know why he came here. There was no logic, no planned path. Just instinct. Like something—someone—was calling him.
And then he heard it.
A single note.
Clear. Soft. Barely more than a hum.
He turned his head. Behind the shrine, a girl stood.
Young, maybe his age. Her hair was white as snow, falling in quiet waves around her shoulders. Her eyes glowed faintly—not with magic, but with sadness. She held a stringed instrument in her hands, delicate and old.
Ji-hyeon didn't speak. Neither did she.
She played.
The melody was slow. Haunting. Beautiful. It wasn't made for crowds or festivals. It was a song made for the forgotten. For the broken.
For someone like him.
As she played, Ji-hyeon closed his eyes. Memories stirred—not of the Demon King, not of war or magic—but of loneliness. Of nights spent staring into the abyss, wishing for something more than power.
When the song ended, she spoke.
"Your soul… it's cracked," she said, voice quiet like falling snow. "But the pieces are still there."
He opened his eyes, watching her. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Not yet important. But you'll see me again. When the path begins to twist."
She stepped backward, vanishing into the trees like mist in moonlight.
Ji-hyeon sat there for a long time after she was gone, staring at the spot where she stood.
Another piece of the puzzle.
Another ripple in the still water of his rebirth.
He whispered to the shrine, as if it might carry his words:
"This world is more awake than I thought."