The fog was back.
It rolled in quietly, swallowing the world before I even realized where I was. My breath came out cold and heavy. The same endless marble hall stretched before me, the same distant murmurs echoing through the mist.
The congregation was already seated. The same familiar silhouettes—Mr. Star, Mrs. Justice, Mrs. Warrior—each cloaked in fog. And, of course, the man on the high throne.
Mr. World.
His voice drifted through the mist, calm but carrying weight. "You've arrived, Mr. Mystery."
I bowed slightly. "Wouldn't want to miss the meeting, sir."
A ripple of laughter spread across the fog. Mrs. Justice's voice, soft and melodic, followed. "Still as witty as ever."
"Occupational hazard," I said, taking my seat.
Mr. World's tone turned thoughtful. "We've had… disturbances. People disappearing. Not ordinary vanishings—spiritual traces erased completely."
That got my attention. "So you mean… something devoured them?"
"Something, or someone," he replied. "The boundaries are thinner lately. We suspect an unregistered artifact is in play."
Mr. Star spoke next, his calm tone cutting through the mist. "We've traced activity near the southern sector. But the aura is unstable—chaotic."
I leaned forward. "And I suppose that's where I come in?"
"Not yet," Mr. World said. "First, you need understanding."
From the mist, a thick, black-covered book floated toward me. Its pages fluttered as if breathing.
"This," Mr. World said, "contains knowledge of Sequences, Pathways, and the truth of the world's foundations.
I stared at the book. "So… bedtime reading material, then?"
The fog rippled again with faint amusement.
"Take it," he said. "Learn carefully. And remember—knowledge demands a price."
The meeting ended soon after, the fog thinning as everyone began to fade. Just before I disappeared, I caught Mr. World's gaze—or at least, the vague shape of it through the mist.
Then everything dissolved into white.
When I opened my eyes, I was sitting upright in my bed. The morning light bled through the curtains. My head throbbed faintly, and my fingers were clutching that same black book.
I stared at it for a moment. "Alright," I muttered. "No pressure."
Later that day, I went to check on Min Jae-hyun at the rice shop. He was still wearing that tired, too-polite smile, hands dusted with grains.
"Back from your mysterious detective work?" he asked.
"Something like that," I said, leaning against the counter. "Hey, remember what I told you about making a local ghost myth?"
He blinked. "...You mean the fake haunting?"
"Yeah," I said. "I might use that place for some experimens. Rent's too high for cosmic enlightenment elsewhere."
Jae-hyun laughed. "You're insane, you know that?"
"I've been told," I said, and waved goodbye.
The "experiment ground" was an abandoned house on the outskirts of Seoul, rumored to be haunted by a woman who cried every full moon. In reality, it was just mold, leaky pipes, and bad acoustics.
Still, when I stepped inside, it was… quiet.
Too quiet.
The air felt heavy, and every sound echoed twice. I set my bag down and pulled out the black book. Its cover was cool to the touch, like holding shadow itself.
"Alright, let's see what you've got for me."
I opened the first few pages, eyes scanning lines written in shifting symbols that seemed to rearrange themselves the longer I looked.
Artifacts are living truths bound by law. To touch one is to touch the concept it embodies.
Pathways are the ladders by which men climb toward godhood. Sequence by sequence, they shed their sanity in exchange for understanding.
My head pulsed. The letters shimmered, dancing at the edges of my vision.
Then came the whisper.
Soft. Gentle. Close.
"Why are you reading this?"
I froze. The voice wasn't in the room—it was in my head.
My heartbeat quickened. I slammed the book shut, breathing heavily. "Okay… too much for one day."
For a few minutes, I just sat there, staring at the wall until my pulse slowed. Knowledge really was dangerous.
I decided to be smart about it—read only what I needed.
After flipping through, I found a section on charms—basic tools for lower Sequence Unlimiters. One caught my eye:
The Fire Charm—birth of light from one's spiritual thread.
Perfect. I needed something practical.
I gathered the materials mentioned—some chalk, salt, and a tarot card I'd found in my coat pocket (no idea when I picked it up).
The book instructed:
Draw the sigil. Channel your inner thread. Burn the falsehood within.
Sounds easy enough, right?
Wrong.
I knelt in the middle of the room, chalking the sigil on the dusty floor. My hands trembled slightly as I placed the card in the center.
"Alright, Jihoon," I muttered. "Let's not burn the house down."
I whispered the words from the page. The air shifted. The sigil began to glow faintly red.
Then everything caught fire.
"AHHHH—!"
Flames erupted around me, racing up my sleeves. My skin burned, pain slicing through every nerve. I staggered back, flailing, but the fire didn't stop—it crawled beneath my skin, like my soul was combusting.
I couldn't even scream properly. The world blurred, molten and red.
Then instinct took over. I ran, stumbling through the hall, and dove straight into a half-broken bathtub filled with stagnant rainwater.
The flames hissed out. Steam rose. I stayed there, panting, half-conscious, as smoke curled from my clothes.
"...Okay," I wheezed. "That could've gone better."
I glanced down at my arms. The skin was charred black—but then slowly, miraculously, it began to heal. My regeneration was working overtime, patching me up like I'd just respawned in real life.
The pain lingered, but I was alive. Barely.
"Note to self," I muttered. "Don't summon fire using a book that literally whispers in your head."
I leaned against the wall, coughing. "I'll… try again later."
When I finally left the building, dusk was settling in. The streets outside were quiet, wet from earlier rain. I could still smell smoke on my clothes.
My phone buzzed—a text from Ha-Eun.
Hello detective
How you are holding up?
I stared at it for a moment and smiled faintly.
Barely.
She replied instantly.
Take care of yourself well, Jihoon.
No promises, I typed back.
I tucked the cursed book into my coat, glancing once more at the horizon. The city lights blinked to life, each one a small, distant truth trying to shine through the fog of night.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still heard faint whispers—murmurs that faded in and out, never quite words, never quite silence.
But for now, I ignored them.
I had fire to learn, a rent to pay, and a world full of secrets still waiting to be unwrapped.