At first, it just felt like drowning.
As soon as the dark blue liquid went down his throat, Heechan's lungs clenched like they forgot how to breathe. His hands flew to his chest, his eyes wide in panic. He tried to inhale but no air came. No sound, either. Just the world shrinking — tight, crushing, like he'd been dropped into the deep ocean without warning.
He fell to the ground, twitching, his lips parting uselessly.
The silence of the dungeon faded, replaced by the low hum of water pressure. His ears popped. His limbs felt slow and heavy, like every joint was wrapped in thick seaweed. His vision warped — the others disappeared, and all he could see was blue.
Not just any blue.The kind of blue that went on forever.Endless. Heavy. Alive.
"Why does it feel like I'm inside a giant fish tank?" Heechan thought in panic, struggling to move.
Then — a voice. Not his mother's. Not his uncle's.
"Do you want to breathe?"
Heechan flailed, bubbles escaping his lips. He nodded instinctively, eyes stinging.
"Then stop breathing like a human."
Wait, what?
"You've lived like one. Trapped. Afraid. Weak. But your blood remembers the ocean. Just let go."
Heechan's lungs screamed. His brain begged for air. But that voice — it wasn't loud. It was calm. Deep. Ancient. Like whales speaking in dreams.
Let go.
So… he did.
He stopped fighting.Stopped trying to breathe.Let the panic slide off like wet clothes.
The pressure in his chest broke with a soft crack — and suddenly, water wasn't choking him.
It was part of him.
His body felt… right. Fluid. Lighter. He could move faster, sharper. He looked down at his hands — thin membranes shimmered between his fingers, almost invisible. His skin faintly glowed with a sheen like fish scales under moonlight.
And he was floating.Not drowning. Not swimming. Just... there.
Then the ocean peeled back.The dungeon returned.
Heechan sucked in a huge breath — this time, air — and rolled onto his side, coughing and laughing between gasps.
"Whoa… That was… so weird. I think I have gills?"
Byeol-ha, leaning lazily against a dungeon pillar, grinned. "Nice. You didn't die."
Kim Bitna rushed over, panic on her face, but Heechan gave her a thumbs-up from the floor.
"I met a talking jellyfish," he said proudly. "I think it was my grandmaster."
Bitna blinked. "…What?"
"Long story."
Behind him, tiny puddles formed from where his hands had touched the floor. His aura shimmered faintly — deep water blue, with a soft, pulsing rhythm like the tide.
Byeol-ha nodded to himself."Hydrokinesis. But with sentience. Not bad, kid."
Heechan grinned. "Can I summon a shark?"
"…Let's start with a cup of water."
.
.
If Heechan's awakening felt like drowning, Hwa-jin's felt like a migraine from the gods.
The moment he drank the pink vial, he clutched his head and let out a screech that echoed off the dungeon walls. Not a heroic scream. More like a banshee having a tantrum. His small body trembled, and big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he crumpled to the floor, wailing in full 8-year-old glory.
"Make it stop! My brain is LOUD!"
Byeol-ha, casually sipping tea he somehow brewed in the dungeon, glanced over. "Yep, that one's starting."
Kim Eora shot up from her seated position, her still-sensitive eyes narrowing. "What's happening to him?"
But Hwa-jin wasn't listening anymore.
He was inside something. Or something was inside him.
Everything was inside him.
The pain in his head? It was pressure. Pressure from thoughts that weren't his — but also kind of were. The roots of trees brushing against each other underground. Wind brushing across mountaintops. Leaves whispering secrets. Soil sighing as it drank morning dew. Birds bickering over worms.
It was overwhelming. No wonder his head hurt.
But in the chaos of it all, a single thread wove through it — calm and curious.
"You hear us, little sprout?"
"W-Who's talking?" Hwa-jin muttered inside his mind, eyes wide and wet.
"The forest. The wind. The wild. You've always listened. You were just too noisy before to hear us properly."
He didn't know what to say. He was eight. He barely knew how to fold socks.
But this voice… it didn't expect answers. Just presence.
So he sat in his mind. Let the noise roll in and out. Let the ground speak. Let the wind hum. He thought about sunshine, and warmth, and green leaves. He thought about his mom's gentle touch and Eora's humming when she braided his hair.
And then—A bloom.Somewhere deep inside, something grew.
He gasped, clutching his chest now, not in pain—but in wonder.
Tiny glowing flowers sprouted around his feet — right there, in the dungeon — pushing through the cold stone. The dungeon reacted. The shadows softened, and light trickled in from nowhere.
And in that moment, Hwa-jin awakened.
His aura bloomed like spring: warm, golden-pink, and earthy. The kind of aura that smelled faintly of cherry blossoms and fresh rain.
Kim Eora covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes.
"Oh… it's him. His power… it's so gentle."
She had felt cruelty from powers before. Even her own had once turned violent when her Star contract soured. But Hwa-jin's power? It didn't want to dominate.
It wanted to heal.
He stood up shakily, eyes still glistening with tears but now with a big dopey smile.
"I think I just made a tree fart."
Byeol-ha choked on his tea.
"…I think you're a druid," he muttered, blinking at the new flora growing in a literal dungeon.
Hwa-jin giggled, wiping his nose on his sleeve and hugging Eora the moment she reached for him.
She held him tight, feeling the warmth of the aura that now naturally wrapped around him. A protective warmth. Like a forest shielding a sapling.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered.
"I thought I was dying," Hwa-jin admitted. "But the dirt was talking, so I stuck around."
Byeol-ha came over and ruffled his hair, grinning like a mischief god seeing his disciple ascend.
"Welcome to the world of the awakened, Tree Whisperer."
Hwa-jin squinted at him. "Does this mean I can make plants dance?"
"You can try," Byeol-ha shrugged. "But start with moss. Less sass."
.
.
If you asked Han Seo-jin what his least favorite feeling in the world was, he'd give you a confident answer:
Sticky.
Sticky food, sticky sweat, sticky conversations—he hated them all. But right now? This was another level. It felt like his very soul was sticky.
He was squirming on the cold dungeon floor, his limbs twitching. The blue vial Byeol-ha had given him felt innocent enough going down—cool, minty even. But then…
Then came the itching.
Not surface-level. This was deeper. Under his skin. Inside his bones. In his marrow, crawling like fire ants riding wasps made of regret.
He clawed at his arms, gagged, rolled over, and groaned like an ancient cursed mummy waking up in the wrong century.
"I think I'm going to puke up my childhood," he whimpered.
"Better out than emotionally repressed," Byeol-ha quipped, sitting cross-legged, chin resting on one hand.
Seo-jin didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because now… the memories hit.
And these weren't the fun "remember that birthday where you wore a watermelon hat" memories. No, these were the rot. The nights. The basement. The locked doors. The hands.
Memories he had buried so deep that even nightmares had to knock politely to reach them.
The man.
That man.
The one from three days ago. The one Byeol-ha saved him from. The one who—
Seo-jin curled up tighter.
In his mind, he was back in that room. The door was locked again. His voice gone again. Powerless again.
"Stop," he whispered. "Stop, stop, stop…"
The dungeon dimmed around him, a mirror of his emotions. The shadows grew thicker, darker, restless. They responded to his mind. His pain.
And then… he saw something strange.
Himself.
A version of himself standing in the same room, staring back at him. Except this version wasn't trembling. He was taller. Stronger. Shoulders squared. Eyes fierce.
This version wasn't prey.
He was a predator.
"What are you waiting for?" the other Seo-jin asked, voice firm but not cruel.
"I… I can't," the real Seo-jin muttered. "I don't know how."
"You know how. You've just been too afraid to believe it."
"I'm not strong—"
"You don't have to be strong to fight. You just have to choose not to run anymore."
That sentence echoed. Like a thread snapping and retying into steel wire.
Seo-jin's breathing slowed. His body stilled. His fingers, still trembling, relaxed.
And then — something changed.
From the shadows, thin streams of dark-blue mist slithered into his arms. Cold. Sharp. Electric.
The blue energy didn't feel clean. It wasn't holy, or radiant, or even comforting. It was raw. Like broken glass. But it was his. It matched the scars, the silence, the ache. It didn't ask him to be perfect.
It just asked him to get up.
His body convulsed once more, and then—
A surge.
Energy exploded from his chest in a burst of blue light, sharp and jagged like lightning shaped into armor.
His eyes snapped open, glowing dimly, and the very shadows bent around him like loyal dogs.
A new aura wrapped him — sleek, spectral blue, edged in silver — like he belonged to the dusk, a hunter cloaked in twilight.
Byeol-ha blinked. "Oh? Oh-ho? Look who decided to go full ghost-assassin."
Seo-jin slowly sat up. He was sweating, breathing hard, and clearly exhausted.
But there was a difference now.
He wasn't trembling anymore.
He looked at his hands — not scared, but curious.
"I felt it," he said softly. "The fear. The pain. It didn't vanish… I just stopped letting it choke me."
Bitna, now recovered enough to sit up, smiled faintly. "That's power. It doesn't erase what you went through… but it makes sure you're never that helpless again."
Seo-jin turned to her, and for the first time in days, he smiled back.
Eora, wiping tears from her eyes, muttered, "That aura… it's a soul-type."
Byeol-ha nodded. "Soul and shadow affinity. Rare. Wildly useful. Pain in the ass to train."
He walked over to Seo-jin and offered a hand.
Seo-jin hesitated — then took it.
Byeol-ha yanked him to his feet, smirk still lazy. "You didn't puke. I'm impressed."
"I almost did."
"Doesn't count unless it hits the floor."
They stood there for a moment — the kid with trauma deep in his bones and the man rejected by the gods — staring at each other like mismatched puzzle pieces finally clicked.
Then Byeol-ha clapped him on the back and gestured to the others.
"Well, congrats. You're officially broken and reborn like the rest of us."
Seo-jin laughed.
It was small, hoarse… but real.
And somewhere, in the brokenness of a ruined dungeon, that laugh felt louder than any battle cry.