Dying was not on my to-do list.
But apparently the universe missed that memo, because here I was; flat on my back, staring up at a sky made of... mist? Fog? Mood lighting? Hard to say. There were no stars, no sun, no ambient birdsong to welcome me to the afterlife. One moment I was crossing the street, earbuds in, and the next, I was here. It wasn't Heaven. It wasn't Hell, either. Not exactly. The air was still. Heavy like it had forgotten how to move. The sky—if you could call it that—was a ceiling of pale mist that glowed without warmth. Light with no source. Time with no hands.
I sat up, dazed, my body intact but my pulse gone. My first instinct? Check my phone. Of course. It was still in my hand, its battery half-full. No signal. No Wi-Fi. Just the mocking words: No Connection. Figures. The afterlife didn't come with 5G.
My purse was slung over my shoulder like I'd just stepped off the bus instead of out of life. Lipstick. House keys. Candy I meant to throw out. Earphones wrapped around my neck like a noose. Everything came with me. Well, everything but my pulse. And my cat.
From the moment I stepped past the threshold, something pressed in on me— not with hands or walls, but with presence. The air was thick, as if it clung to my skin with invisible damp threads. Every inhale tasted faintly metallic, every exhale felt like I was letting out more than just air.
The colors were wrong, too. Not in a glaring way, but subtly, like someone had turned the world's palette just a few shades too deep. The greens of the moss underfoot were so rich they looked painted. The trees weren't black or brown, but dark enough that their bark seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it.
It prickled the back of my neck, and I couldn't tell if it was in my ears or in my bones.
It was only later—after the wandering, after the sinking realization that no doors existed here—that I started to notice the others. People. Things. Some looked human. Some didn't. But they all had the same look when they passed me. Not fear. Not pity. Recognition. That's when I noticed their eyes; blood red, every last one of them. Like wine lit from within. Some glowed softly, others blazed like fire. And I could feel one pair of crimson staring at me like I was an odd commodity.
So, like an idiot, I did what someone should never do when they find themselves being stalked in an unknown foreign place. I walked away to find somewhere secluded. But hey, I was dead already, so it's not like I could be killed, right? I probably looked like a wreck too, after having been hit by a truck, so it's not like I was being stared at for my beauty. Unless the stalker had concerning taste.
When I finally turned around, I took my sweet time to take a good look at the stranger. Tall, lean, and dressed like he'd stepped out of a Joseon dynasty museum exhibit. Layers of white and navy robes, perfectly tied sash, and long black hair like he was auditioning to be a royal tutor in a historical drama. So either this guy died in the middle of a photoshoot, or he was hella old.
His hair was dark, loosely tied back, and he had the kind of stillness that made you nervous. Not aggressive. Not threatening. Just too calm. Just stared at me with the vague expression of someone waiting in line for coffee but already regretting it.
"Okay," I said, breaking the silence. "Are you Death, or just cosplaying as my bad decisions?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at me with this unreadable expression like I was a mildly interesting glitch in his routine.
"Are you going to say something," I asked, tilting my head instinctively, a habit I do sometimes when I'm confused, "or are you just into long stares?"
Still nothing. Not even a smirk.
"Okay…?" I raised a brow, "You're either a very committed cosplayer or an actual ghost from the Joseon Dynasty."
His mouth quirked. Just barely.
"So, old man," I said, slowly walking closer to him. "You speak English? Korean? Telepathy? Charades?"
His brow twitched. Possibly in judgment. "You're awake. So soon" He finally spoke, voice smooth and low. Man, if I wasn't literally dead right now, I'd probably comment about how good his voice sounded. Actually scratch that thought, my life status won't stop me. He exhaled dramatically. "You're louder than I expected."
"Wow," I muttered, crossing my arms. "The first thing I hear in the afterlife is sass. This is going great."
"Mm. Welcome to the Veil. We get all kinds." His tone dripped with judgment, the way only a man in five layers of silk could manage.
He said nothing else. Just watched me. His red eyes faintly glowed, like embers under glass. Seriously, I was actually starting to think he doesn't speak English. Awkward for me, because my lousy Korean would put me to shame.
I glanced at his eyes, glowing red, intense and oddly elegant. "Okay, demon cosplayer. What's with the crimson gaze? Are those contacts or are you about to open a portal?" I said jokingly, but who knew if he could tell.
He didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, he reached into the sleeve of his robe and—because of course the mysterious death man had pockets—he pulled out a small, ornate mirror. Silver frame. Delicate etchings. Very elegant, very vintage, very "grandma's cursed heirloom" vibes.
"Look," he said, thrusting it toward me as if I was the one being difficult.
"Awh, man, I know my makeup is probably a mess right now but I just got hit by a truck, so-" With a sheepish squint, I took the mirror and glanced at my reflection, only to end up cutting myself off as I froze. My eyes were gold. Luminous. Ethereal. Like sunlit amber, and somehow unsettling. I blinked. They still glowed.
"Okay," I blinked slowly before looking back at him and pointing to my eyes. "Do you see that, or am I just developing an ego postmortem?"
"I see it." He said it as if it was normal, who knows, maybe it was in here.
"Never really understood how the golden eyed worked," he continued, tone neutral. "Most souls who end up here made deals. Traded their souls. They're marked with blood-red eyes. You'll see them. All of us here in the veil, we don't have souls. That's why we're here, and not in heaven or hell."
"Huh. So I don't have a soul? Spooky." I mumbled, a slight shiver passing through my bones.
He rolled his eyes. Like a full, elegant, sarcastic, aristocratic roll. "And I love the chatty ones."
I crossed my arms again. "Okay, Hanbok Dracula. Since you're clearly my tour guide-slash-emotional support corpse, what now?"
"You rest. Or wander. Or pace dramatically like the rest of the newly dead. I don't care."
"You don't care?" I scoffed. He seemed like the type not to. "Wow, what a warm welcome. Do I at least get a welcome drink? A cursed cookie? A pamphlet that says 'Congrats on dying'?"
"You get silence, fog, and your own voice echoing until you finally shut up." I felt like I was getting nowhere. Wanting to slam my head or hell, maybe his for being so cryptic.
"Wait. I sighed before pointing at him. "You still haven't told me your name."
"You didn't ask nicely." He said it so quickly, I wonder how many souls he's been told to guide around in here, maybe not a lot with his attitude.
"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fine. What's your name, oh elegant and overdramatic one, gracing me with your ancient fashion and boundless disdain?"
He actually smirked. "Seungyong."
"Of course it is," I said. "You sound like someone who writes sad poetry and critiques wine."
"And you sound like someone who once insulted a toddler and thought it was character development."
I narrowed my eyes. "You are weirdly mean for a man in spiritual purgatory."
"Purgatory implies punishment. The Veil is… quieter. Gentler. Especially for golden-tier souls like you." What was that even supposed to mean?
I sighed as I looked around. "So what do I do here? Wait for my soul to get cold-pressed into enlightenment?"
"You do whatever you want." He turned, already walking into the mist. "Just don't expect me to hold your hand."
I shouted after him, "Wait, that's it!? You're leaving?"
"I've met you. That's enough." I let out a frustrated groan, screw the man for being so straightforward.
"You're lucky you're hot!" I yelled angrily.
He waved over his shoulder without turning. "I know." I could already tell he was smirking. Seungyong disappeared into the fog like he had dramatic exit clauses written into his contract.
The sound of my own quick footsteps felt loud. "I don't know where I am or how to get out. I can't—"
"That's not my problem." He didn't slow.
"Then at least tell me where I'm supposed to go!"
"There's no 'supposed to.' Only where you end up. And the Veil decides that, not me."
I clenched my jaw, still trailing him. The mist swallowed everything except the path his figure cut through it. "I'll just follow you, then."
He stopped abruptly and looked over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. "You think this is safer?"
"It's safer than being alone."
His gaze flicked over me—modern clothes, useless handbag, the phone I still held like a lifeline. Something in his mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smile.
"Fine," he said at last. "Follow me if you like. But don't speak unless you must. And if something tries to talk to you, don't answer."
Something? My throat tightened, but I nodded.
We passed shadow-thin trees, their branches twisting like fingers. Some had ribbons hanging from them, fluttering despite the still air. The farther we went, the more the ground began to shift beneath my feet—sometimes sand, sometimes smooth stone slick as glass, sometimes patches of brittle grass that crumbled into ash when I stepped on them.
The silence after that wasn't empty. The Veil breathed around us, watching. I stayed close to Seungyong, not because I trusted him, but because the alternative was something I didn't dare imagine.
Naturally, I kept following him. I had nowhere else to go, and besides, he was my guide. At least that's what I thought.
"You know," I called, jogging to keep up, "most guys would kill for a girl to chase after them. You could at least act flattered."
He didn't walk so much as glide, hands behind his back, every movement soaked in disdainful grace. His robes—yes, still looking like he fell out of a period drama—fluttered even though there was no wind.
"I can do this all day," I warned. "I have zero shame and eternal time. You will get sick of me before I get tired."
He sighed through his nose like it pained him to share the same plane of existence as me. Well, the feelings were quite mutual.
"Are you going to trail after me forever or will you eventually dissolve into silence like a good little soul?"
"Funny, considering we don't have souls anymore." I said, finally catching up beside him. "And nope. I'm clingy and inconvenient. You'll have to smite me."
The Veil was merciless. Mist wrapped around me like fingers trying to pull me into nothingness, and the ground shifted beneath my feet. I stumbled once, and his hand shot out, gripping my elbow with surprising gentleness, steadying me. "Not that I care, but try to keep upright, won't you?" His words were cruel, yes, but the weight in his hand told a different story. He didn't need to touch me; he could let me fall. And yet, he didn't.
I trailed behind him, careful to stay just close enough that he could see me. Seungyong's sharp words cut through the fog thicker than the mist itself. "Try not to trip over your own feet, will you? It'd be embarrassing even for the dead." I bit back the sting, forcing a small laugh that didn't reach my eyes. I'd learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless. His insults were endless, but strangely… almost comforting in their constancy.
I bit back a response, swallowing down my gratitude, because admitting relief in his presence felt like weakness. But I kept pace, skirting the denser fogs and watching the way his boots brushed aside the wisps. Every so often, he slowed without a word, as though sensing my hesitation behind him. I could feel the careful calculation in his pauses—the silent allowance for me to catch up.
"Careful where you step. You'd ruin the aesthetic of the Veil if you fell face-first into it," he said, voice sharp, yet he reached back once, fingertips brushing my elbow to steady me.
I stayed close, following the cadence of his stride, pretending not to notice the way he always glanced back at me. Always, just for a moment, making sure I wasn't too far behind. I didn't know if it was habit or a flicker of something else, something human buried deep beneath the centuries of scorn. I couldn't read him, not really, but I didn't want to be alone anymore. Not here. Not in this endless gray that made even my heartbeat feel foreign.
I kept following, step by step, heart hammering, mind spinning. My hands brushed against the cold, mist-slicked vegetation, my breath shallow and uneven, and I couldn't help but notice how his figure seemed to carve a path through the Veil—effortless, predatory, yet somehow careful. It made no sense. Every insult was a blade, every pause a balm.
I didn't know if I should hate him for confusing me, for making me feel that faint tug of safety, or be thankful for it. My chest ached with both longing and frustration. I wanted to reach out, just once, to show him I noticed—the small gestures he didn't even realize he was making. But of course, I didn't. I wasn't brave enough. And he, of course, would have only mocked the sentiment if I dared.
We walked until the fog shimmered a few feet ahead, like heat rising from cold stone. Something about it tugged at me; soft, humming, familiar.
"What's that?" I asked, stepping toward it.
"Don't touch it," he said flatly, not even looking up.
I rolled my eyes and reached anyway. "Why not–"
His hand caught my wrist, fast and firm. I stared at it. Then up at him.
"You're going to get yourself unmade, and I don't want to deal with whatever whiny mess that looks like," he snapped.
"Oh my god, you do care." I said, with teasing and sarcasm dripping down my every word.
"If I cared," he said coldly, "I'd have let you walk into it just for the peace and quiet."
Despite the venom in his voice, he was still holding my wrist. So much for not caring.
The shimmer flared. The fog peeled back.
And suddenly I was looking into my old childhood bedroom.
My mom was there.
She looked older; just slightly, but tired in a way that made my stomach hurt. She was holding my jacket like it still smelled like me. I couldn't breathe.
Seungyong's voice came again, low, closer now. "You see what you've left. Congratulations."
I didn't answer. My hand hovered at the edge of the vision.
"She talks to me," I whispered. "She misses me."
"She's mortal. She misses everything eventually."
I turned to him with a glare. "Do you ever shut up?"
"Do you ever think?"
The vision started to fade.
"No– wait–!" I begged as I reached out as if I could grab it, I knew I probably couldn't but was it so bad that I still did it?
"Don't beg the fog," he groaned with a sigh. "It doesn't care." Of course it didn't. I'm starting to think no one here cared.
And when my knees buckled a little, when the ache behind my eyes turned physical, he stepped forward just enough for me to grab onto his arm without falling.
"You know, most people would be a bit nicer after clearly watching someone witness something traumatic." I muttered, wiping away tears that welled up in my eyes.
"I'm not most people," he said. "I'm damned, and you're worse."
He stepped back into the fog, hands behind his back again.
What was that even supposed to mean?
"Excuse me? Worse?"
His eyes flicked over me with that cold, assessing tilt of his head, like he'd just found a particularly annoying insect in his path. "Look at you, smiling. Chip-chipper, even. And you just died, haven't you? Quite impressive, really, to cling so desperately to… whatever it is you call joy."
I stiffened, feeling the words land on my chest like stones. I wanted to shrink, wanted to curl up and disappear into the spectral haze, but the absurdity of my own survival instincts pushed me forward. I smiled anyway, though it felt fragile, almost foolish.
Before I could even open my mouth, a soft wind stirred the fog, carrying with it a voice that was calm but firm, slicing through Seungyong's sharp words like a knife through silk.
"That's enough, Seungyong."
Something inside me shifted at that voice. The world went oddly still for a second, and a memory flared — not like the fog visions, but like a small film reel from years ago. School corridors, a laugh that belonged to someone sunlit, a boy who always drifted to the edge of the group with his hands in his pockets. My chest did a stupid, human flip before I could stop it.
"I think you've had your fun," the newcomer said, his tone measured but carrying a sharpness that brooked no argument. "She's barely been here a day, Seungyong. Let her breathe."
Seungyong's smirk faltered only for a heartbeat before he raised an eyebrow. "Haneul," he said, almost like greeting a bothersome old acquaintance. "I didn't take you for the sentimental type."
Haneul. Ju Haneul.
The name punched a hole through the fog.
I knew that face. I knew that tilt of chin. The years peeled back faster than the Veil could manage. In an instant I was seventeen again, small and stubborn, trailing behind him down the high school river path while he fed the crows stale bread and pretended not to notice my corny jokes. He always wore that half-smile like a secret. He'd been the one whose hoodie smelled like clean rain, the one I followed when I had nothing better to do because being near him felt like being in the warm part of a sweater.
Haneul's eyes didn't waver. "Sentiment, maybe. Or maybe it's simple decency. Something you're clearly incapable of understanding. I've known you long enough to see when your theatrics cross the line," Haneul continued, stepping fully into view now. His eyes were sharp, observant, and there was an edge of frustration in the way he looked at Seungyong. "Aureal just arrived. She doesn't know the rules here."
My name—in his mouth—sounded like rain on a roof. For a frightening second my brain refused to accept that he was dead too.
Seungyong chuckled mockingly, rolling his eyes. "And here I thought you'd finally learned to stay out of my business."
"I stay out of everyone's business," Haneul replied evenly, taking a slow step closer. "Except when someone decides to be cruel for sport. Especially to someone who hasn't even had the chance to know what this place is."
Seungyong smirked, but there was a caution in his eyes now, as if the air between them had stiffened. "Oh? And since when did you care about niceties, Haneul? She just died, after all. Isn't that… the perfect time for some harsh honesty?"
Haneul's expression didn't waver. "Some honesty is necessary. But what you're doing isn't honesty—it's provocation. She doesn't know you. She's already lost everything, and yet you think belittling her is clever. It's petty."
I blinked, startled, and for a moment the haze around me seemed to brighten slightly. Haneul felt like a tether, a counterbalance to Seungyong's biting presence.
"Haneul?" My voice came out too small, clumsy in a place that had no ears.
He looked at me, and for a breath the old familiarity softened his face. There was something like pity there, and something worse: an unreadable distance that stretched between the life we'd both once lived and whatever this was now. His presence should have been a bridge; instead it was a reminder that bridges can collapse.
If Haneul was here, then—my brain did that horrible slow-motion slide that made all the letters blur into something blunt and awful— he's dead.
The realization didn't come with the cinematic scream I expected. It came as a hush, a small, stunned knot in my throat. For a second, there was only the faint sound of the Veil breathing around us and the tiny, ridiculous rattle of my phone's "No Connection."
My feet moved of their own accord. I wanted to close the distance—reach out, maybe touch the side of his robe the way I'd once reached for a careless smile—but something inside me tightened. The Veil was not the place for reckless curiosity. Even then, when the panic was loud in my bones, a small, practical voice whispered that some things were private, that grief could be a wound to be handled only by the person who bore it.
"Haneul," I said again, softer this time. "What happened to you? Did—did you—"
I wanted to ask him a thousand things, to demand closure for the teenage girl who had followed him down the river path like a shadow. But the Veil had its own etiquette, its own brooding rules that favored silence over interrogation. Besides, we hadn't been close enough in life to justify the intimacy of such questions in death.
Now he was here—older, or maybe just older-looking because everything in the Veil had that filtered, mythic quality—and though the years should have made him a stranger, the wrecking ball of recognition was immediate and total. My chest hurt with it.
His jaw tightened the tiniest fraction. His hands remained folded behind his back, volume control set to "silent reserve." The silence felt like a closed door. It was a real, solid thud of a thing in my ribs when I understood that there were things in this place you didn't pry into without permission.
So I backed off, like slipping off a ledge I'd been leaning on.
"I—sorry," I stammered, immediate shame warming my cheeks even though warmth was a concept the Veil only could pretend to understand. "That was—wrong. I'm sorry." The words felt small and useless. "We—uh, we didn't— I mean, it's been a while."
"You don't owe me explanations," he hummed, and the sound of his voice—soft, familiar—made a small, dangerous thing inside me unclench. There was no reproach in it. Just a steadiness that said he remembered me, in the way that matters, even if the words between us had thinned.
He had a right to privacy, even in death. The realization that I had stepped into something private made me feel like a trespasser.
If I'd had the guts, I would have reached for his hand like I did with my mother in the shimmer, the stupid impulse to connect, to confirm he was real and not just a trick of grief. Instead I folded my hands into my sides, forcing my fingers to unclench. "I shouldn't have asked," I muttered, half to him, half to myself.
Seungyong watched the exchange with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Boundaries," he said dryly, as if narrating a nature documentary. "We pretend to have them even here."
Haneul's lips twitched once. Just the barest motion, like a tide stalling, and then he turned toward the path again. He said one word to Seungyong, soft and deliberate. "She's new."
That was it. No explanation, no confession. Just a placement. Placing me in space, time, and context. Placing him as someone who had known me enough to be an old orbit.
I forced myself to step back, to give him space, reminding myself with sharp little reasoning that we weren't close enough to demand answers. That respect existed even in the Veil. That dignity could still be given to ghosts.
"You don't have to answer," I said hurriedly, because silence felt like pressure and this was already an intrusion. "I— I just—" My sentences fell apart. "I thought—seeing you—" I stopped, because the self-pity would flood in if I didn't.
It was small. It was everything. The Veil hummed around us, indifferent and watchful. Seungyong straightened, irritated by the softness in the air, and my pulse—whatever mechanism had once been wired for panic and want—thudded a rhythm that felt dangerously like something alive.
"You should rest," Seungyong interrupted brusquely, trying to reclaim the stage. "There's no use poking at fresh things. Things unsettle the Veil."
We walked in silence for a while, the fog curling around our ankles like slow smoke. Seungyong led the way, saying we should reach a spot to safely settle, his boots gliding over the shifting ground while Haneul stayed a step behind, quiet but present, the contrast between the two men impossible to ignore.
I couldn't help but notice the way they exchanged words. Short sentences, clipped tones, voices low but loaded. There was an ease between them, a familiarity that wasn't just casual—it was honed, earned. Each word carried weight, a history I didn't know. Seungyong teased, Haneul replied with quiet, almost imperceptible sarcasm, and Seungyong snapped a remark that made Haneul incline his head, eyes glinting with something sharp and knowing. They weren't friends, at least not in the ordinary sense of the word, but they were something else. Old acquaintances? Colleagues in the strange bureaucracy of the Veil? Something more complicated that had no name I could put to it? I watched them, trying to catch the rhythm of their dance of words, noting the small, subtle deference Seungyong gave when Haneul tilted his head, and the way Haneul's gaze softened for a fraction of a second when Seungyong's lips twitched in amusement.
There was a familiarity there, subtle but clear, and I couldn't help but wonder: how long had Haneul been dead for? Long enough to know Seungyong well, apparently.
I caught myself staring. Haneul's presence demanded attention, whether I wanted it to or not. My eyes traced his height first. He was taller than I remembered—so much taller. Back in our late teens, I had barely reached the level of his cheek. Now, I was only at eye level with his jaw. It threw me off in ways I didn't expect, made me conscious of my own height, my own movement, my own existence beside him.
His hair caught my attention next, dark and almost iridescent in the strange light of the Veil. Back then, it had been carefully tousled, more for style than for function, giving him that soft, untouchable "pretty boy" aura he'd cultivated without even trying. Now, it fell in natural waves, fuller, and somehow heavier with maturity. It framed a face that had always been striking, but now—now it was the kind of beauty that demanded attention without even trying. The lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the subtle shadows beneath his cheekbones—they all spoke of someone older, someone who had been through things I could only imagine. Back then, he had been a pretty boy. Now, he was a beautiful man.
And his face. My heart ached with recognition and disbelief. He had been pretty, undeniably, back when we were teenagers, all angles softened by youth and innocence. But now…he was beautiful. Truly, impossibly beautiful. Not in a way that demanded attention, but in a way that pulled it naturally, like gravity. The jawline I had been at eye level with before was stronger, more defined. His cheekbones caught the subtle light of the Veil, sharp and sculpted, yet softened by the gentle curve of his mouth. Every feature seemed measured, balanced, and somehow elevated beyond what I had remembered.
I couldn't help the way my eyes lingered, tracing the curve of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders beneath the robe-like jacket Seungyong had insisted he wear. There was maturity in him now, a presence that had grown stronger than memory allowed me to account for. I realized, with a pang, that I had no idea how long he'd been dead, how much time he'd spent here in the Veil before I arrived. Days? Weeks? Years? He carried himself as if he'd been here long enough to learn the rules, to understand the quiet, to navigate this strange in-between, and yet his eyes softened for me in the briefest moments, hinting at the boy I had once known.
"You know," Seungyong's voice broke through my thoughts like a whip, flat and cutting. I jumped slightly, realizing I'd been staring so hard I hadn't even heard him approach. "First it's me, now it's him. I suppose you like to keep your options…comprehensively cataloged?"
I flushed immediately, heat prickling my cheeks despite the Veil's chill. "I—I wasn't—" I stumbled over my words, glancing at Haneul to see if he'd noticed. He hadn't— or maybe he hadn't cared. He was focused ahead, serene and unreadable, which only made my flustered state worse.
Seungyong's sharp eyes followed mine, unrelenting. "You do realize it's blatantly obvious, don't you? You stared at me long enough for an untrained observer to note it, and now you've transferred that…unrestrained admiration to him." His tone was clipped, but there was a hint of amusement underneath, just enough to make me feel even more exposed.
I flushed immediately, heat rushing to my cheeks even though there was no sun, no warmth, nothing in the Veil but the chill mist and strange, unfeeling air. I opened my mouth, then closed it, and tried again. "I—I wasn't staring! I mean… I was…looking. Observing. Strategically taking in details!" My voice cracked somewhere in there, betraying the sheer panic of being called out.
Seungyong's eyes narrowed slightly, and a small, dry smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Ah. Observing. Of course. A most convincing excuse." He tilted his head, letting the smirk deepen. "Though I have to admit, it's rather…admirable, the way you can recognize beauty where it exists."
I exhaled, trying to calm the heat rising in my chest. "Okay, fine," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than anyone else. "I see it. Beauty. I get it."
Seungyong's laugh, low and amused, followed me through the Veil like a soft chime of warning. "Careful," he said, voice cutting through the mist. "Admiring is one thing. Obsessing is another. Don't let yourself get carried away, it's unbecoming."
Haneul, quiet and radiant in his angelic composure, remained oblivious, or perhaps politely choosing to ignore me. Either way, it only made my thoughts spiral further. How was I supposed to focus on the Veil, on survival, on understanding any of this, when the two most confounding presences in my existence were so close—and so impossibly beautiful?
I kept my head down, cheeks hot, daring not to look directly at either of them again…though I knew I would. Inevitably, inevitably, I would.
Seungyong must have sensed how hard I was trying not to look again, because his voice cut through the silence with that familiar sharp edge. "If you think Haneul is distracting, wait until you see the others. You'll have a feast for the eyes before the night is over."
I blinked, caught off guard. "The others?" My voice wavered between curiosity and suspicion. "What do you mean by the others?"
Before Seungyong could answer, a new sound rippled through the mist—a voice, rich and low, carrying a husky resonance that seemed to vibrate in my chest. It wasn't threatening, but it had a weight to it, like someone used to commanding attention.
"Seungyong," the voice drawled, deep as thunder rolling through a canyon. "Still scaring the poor girl, I see."
I stiffened, my pulse leaping even though I technically didn't have one anymore. Then, before I could process, another voice followed—still masculine, but smoother, warmer, and threaded with a brightness that felt almost playful.
"Don't lump Haneul in with him, Sejun," the second voice teased. "You know the kid's more radiant than frightening. Hello, Seungyong the eternal grump. Hello, Haneul the beautiful." A pause, and then, more softly, with sudden enthusiasm: "Hello there, stranger! You're even lovelier than I imagined. Absolutely gorgeous. I can see why the Veil glows a little brighter tonight."
The words hit me like a flare in the fog. Compliments—direct, unflinching—spoken with such warmth that for the first time since arriving in this dreadful Veil, my shoulders eased just a little. I could feel my face heating up despite the chill, my lips parting with a nervous, awkward laugh. The terror of disembodied voices faded, dulled by the sheer normalcy of being noticed, admired even.
Before I could stumble further, Seungyong's hand settled firmly on my shoulder. His touch wasn't tender—more like a silent order to hold steady—but it anchored me nonetheless. With his other hand, he made a subtle gesture, and the mist began to peel away in ribbons, dissolving like smoke.
The fog's retreat unveiled a massive tree towering above us, its trunk gnarled with age, branches sprawling like veins into the gray sky. At its base stood two figures, finally given shape.
One was broad-shouldered, towering, his stance wide and sure. A great sword rested against his back, its hilt gleaming faintly even in the dim light. His frame looked carved from stone, every line of him powerful, battle-ready. His expression was calm, serious, eyes shadowed with quiet calculation. I instantly pegged him as the owner of the husky baritone: Sejun.
The other stood slightly shorter beside him, his build leaner, face striking in a completely different way—sharp, youthful features framed by a neat two-block haircut, lips curved into a faint, amused smile. His face was sweet enough to draw trust instantly, the kind you could imagine laughing with over coffee instead of lurking in purgatory. I didn't even question it. Obviously, this had to be the one with the warm, charming voice.
My pulse—or whatever the afterlife equivalent was—raced, but I managed a shaky smile. "Um… thanks for the compliments." I chuckled, directing it toward the cute one. My voice wobbled, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "You're not so bad yourself, you look twice as good as your voice sounds." My tone slipped softer, almost teasing. Maybe I was flirting—hell, maybe I was desperate for something normal.
The boyish one's smirk deepened, a single brow quirking up in amusement. He looked at me like I'd just handed him the punchline to his favorite joke. "You might regret saying that," he replied, his tone rich and low, carrying a weight that made my pulse stutter.
I stared, my entire body jerking back a fraction. My eyes darted between his deceptively baby-faced grin and the sound rumbling from his throat like stormclouds. "Wait—what the hell?"
The taller swordsman snorted, a low, rough sound that carried unhidden amusement. His crimson eyes danced as his lips curved into something just shy of a smirk. "Didn't expect that, did you?" He gave the shorter one a pointed glance before bowing his head, just enough to seem like mockery. "Allow me to save you from your confusion. I'm Daeho. And the sweetheart you're trying to flirt with—" he gestured toward the baby-faced man, who still looked insufferably amused "—is Sejun."
And Seungyong? When I dared to glance at him from the corner of my eye, his crimson gaze was already on me, sharp and knowing, his smirk stretching slow and wicked across his face. He didn't have to say a word for me to hear it loud and clear: Got caught staring at me, got caught staring at Haneul, and now flirting with Sejun while thinking he's Daeho? Golden soul, you really are a disaster.
Oh I am never going to live this down.
The air around the tree hung thick with tension, and I could practically feel every eye on me. Seungyong's sharp crimson gaze flicked back and forth between Daeho, Sejun, and me, his expression narrowing as if he were trying to calculate exactly how much of my utter humiliation was his fault—or mine. Daeho, towering and imposing, tilted his head slightly, the smirk he'd worn earlier fading into a faint frown. Sejun's smirk, once playful and teasing, had softened into an almost sympathetic arch, though his crimson eyes still held that glint of amusement. And Haneul…Haneul just stood a little off to the side, watching quietly, his sharp features unreadable, but I could tell he'd noticed my mortification.
Curse them all, I thought furiously, letting the mental hiss echo in my head like a storm. Curse every grin, every smirk, every smug, infuriating, beautifully infuriating thing about all of you. May your robes wrinkle at the worst possible time. May your swords get stuck in trees you don't want them in. May every handsome smirk be eternally paired with the urge to sneeze at the exact wrong moment. May your eyes betray you with your smug amusement whenever someone embarrasses themselves. May you feel, someday, the unbearable scorch of exposure, the way my cheeks feel now, multiplied. May your hearts hammer so hard they cannot think, may your senses betray you with heat and helplessness, may your bodies shiver under the weight of what you cannot control. May you never be able to look away when someone's gaze is fixed on you, burning in ways you cannot comprehend.
Men are the worst, I thought bitterly, gritting my teeth. All of them. Every single one of you. In the Veil, in life, in any universe—curse you all. I didn't even have to say it out loud; the words rattled silently in my mind, a storm of pure frustration and mortification.
And then something strange happened. My vision flickered, and I felt a warmth gathering behind my eyes. The next instant, I caught a reflection of my own eyes glowing—not the faint amber I'd noticed before, but bright, golden, almost like molten light radiating from my pupils.
Seungyong's head snapped toward me immediately, crimson eyes widening slightly in recognition. "Wait—what—?" His voice was sharp, alarmed, almost predatory, and he took a step toward me, hand lifting instinctively as if to steady or stop me.
Haneul and the others followed, their expressions shifting rapidly from curiosity to concern. But before any of them could reach out, my mind surged with the desperate, childish wish to escape—to be anywhere but here, hidden from their sharp eyes, from the lingering embarrassment of my own audacity.
If I could just—just teleport to the top of the tree. Where they can't see me. Where no one can see me.
The instant the thought crystallized, my body seemed to vanish in a puff of golden smoke, curling and twisting upward like tendrils of sunlight, leaving nothing behind but a faint glittering trail that lingered for a heartbeat before fading.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the fog shifted, and all four men were left standing, exchanging confused, worried glances. Seungyong's crimson gaze narrowed, sharp and calculating, though worry crept into the edge of his expression. Daeho, taller and broad-shouldered as ever, began to shift his weight from foot to foot, unease flickering across his strong features.
"Did…did she just…" Daeho's voice trailed off, deep with worry. "She didn't…disintegrate, did she? We didn't make her panic that badly, did we?"
Haneul, always more attuned to subtle shifts, lifted a hand, frowning. "Wait. Do you guys hear that?"
All four froze, straining to listen. Then it started—a high-pitched, panicked, unmistakable scream echoing from above. It reverberated through the mist, cutting through the oppressive quiet of the Veil, bouncing off the tree trunks and the thick air like some living thing.
"Up there!" Seungyong barked, moving toward the base of the enormous tree, eyes scanning the branches as Haneul's own crimson gaze followed the sound.
The scream came again, closer this time, and my golden form tumbled through the branches, spinning, screaming, until I collided with the broad chest of Daeho, who had finally leapt up or reached just in time—I wasn't sure which.
Daeho caught me before I hit the ground, strong arms wrapping around my torso and legs with a precision that made my body go rigid in both shock and relief. I gasped, lungs heaving, and the gold in my eyes dimmed to a soft glow as I clung to him instinctively, still trembling from the fall. "Holy—she's alive!" Daeho muttered, his voice rough but edged with relief. He glanced around at the others, voice rising slightly in panic. "She's fine—she's fine! Just…a little…uh…teleport-fall thing!"
"Are you insane?" Seungyong's voice was a mixture of worry and exasperation, and I could feel the tension radiating off him.
Sejun appeared beside us, crimson eyes darting between me and Daeho, brow furrowed, still smirking faintly but with genuine concern now creeping in. "You really have a talent for dramatic entrances, don't you?" His voice carried amusement, but also curiosity.
Haneul's expression softened, his gaze tracking me like he was taking stock of every detail, his voice quiet but steady. "Are you all right, Aureal?"
I blinked up at him, heat flaring across my cheeks again, and whispered, "I think…I think I need a moment." My voice trembled, caught between relief and mortification. Why did I just curse men silently, glow my eyes, and then teleport like a golden puff of shame?
Daeho adjusted me in his arms, still holding me with a firmness that was meant to steady, but also careful, as if he knew my panic had only barely subsided. "Take all the time you need," he said quietly, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his worry.
And for a few heartbeats, the four of them—Sejun, Daeho, Haneul, and Seungyong—stood around me, watching, waiting, unsure whether to intervene, comment, or simply marvel at the chaos I had brought into the Veil. I wanted to disappear again, but the golden glow of my eyes had dimmed slightly, leaving me suspended between shame, awe, and the faintest flicker of relief that at least I hadn't actually hurt myself.
It was going to be a very long afterlife.