The Gate had opened.
That alone would have been enough to shake the balance of the Nine Factions.
But it had not just opened — it had responded.
To him.
Far across the continent, within the floating fortress of Sung Jeon, the highest chamber of the Council of Nine trembled subtly. Few mortals would notice. But the nine seated figures felt it instantly.
A single bell rang through the chamber — deep and pure, carved from Babelsteel.
The voice that broke the silence was cold and male.
"He has merged with the Core fragment."
Another voice followed, ancient and crackling with restrained energy.
"That Gate was locked by sacrifice. It should not have responded."
A third voice — smooth, amused:
"And yet it did. He bleeds myth."
High above the circle, veiled behind floating scrolls and whispering paper wards, a shadow moved.
"Summon the Crimson Disciple."
The temperature dropped.
Even the other Council members paused at that name.
In the distant Red Province, in a scorched temple buried under layers of ash and broken moonstone, a single figure knelt before a massive obsidian mirror.
Her name was Maeryn.
They called her the Crimson Disciple — the only wielder of the Seventh Core who had survived the full merge without losing her sanity. Her hair was dark red, her eyes burnished bronze, and her presence felt like the moment just before a wildfire devoured a city.
She did not speak as the mirror shimmered.
A voice — hollow and regal — emerged from its depths.
"The boy has touched the Ninth."
Her eyes flickered.
Still, she did not speak.
"You are to intercept him. Observe if he awakens completely. If he does—"
"I kill him?"
"You test him."
Maeryn rose.
She wore no armor. Only thin ceremonial cloth. But the Core within her pulsed with such intensity that the very air hissed. Her blade — Shinma — was already humming from its sheath, as if eager.
"If he holds the Ninth, I won't need to test him. He'll come to me."
Meanwhile, in the depths beneath the Gate, Jinryu moved through corridors that didn't follow the rules of the world.
Stone became shadow.
Time twisted.
The cat said nothing, but its ears were flattened. It could feel it too — this place was older than Qi, older than Murim. It was pre-language, pre-memory.
At the end of the corridor, a shrine awaited.
And in that shrine, scrawled in letters of fire that only Jinryu could see, was a single name:
Maeryn.
He frowned.
"…What is this place?"
The shrine pulsed.
A vision struck him:
Flashes of flame.A girl, eyes bronze, blade red.Blood dripping from a Core split clean in two.
Jinryu staggered.
The cat's eyes widened. "You saw her."
He nodded.
"Crimson," he muttered. "And familiar."
"She walks the line between control and collapse," the cat whispered. "Like you. But her path isn't broken. It's burning."
Far above, Maeryn stood atop a dune overlooking a long-dead battlefield.
She closed her eyes.
And for just a moment… she smiled.
"I felt you too, stranger."
"Let's see whose Core sings louder."