The following days brought an unusual stillness to the village.
It wasn't the quiet of peace, but the kind that pressed against your skin—like the pause before thunder.
Ji-hyeon felt it every time he walked past the ancient tree. Though no one else seemed to notice, the birds no longer sang near it. The wind refused to rustle its leaves.
He began to dream.
---
In the dreams, he stood atop a throne of obsidian, his hands drenched in magic so dense, it bent the air.
Below him, thousands knelt—creatures of shadow and flame, chanting a name he had long forgotten.
> "Your Majesty."
But the name they called wasn't Ji-hyeon.
It was something else. Something darker. Ancient.
And when he looked into the mirror beside the throne, his eyes weren't his own.
---
He woke up drenched in sweat.
His breath came in short bursts, like he had just climbed a mountain.
> "Not yet," he muttered. "I'm not ready."
He couldn't tell if he meant himself—or the world.
---
Outside, the village buzzed with news.
A stranger had arrived.
A man in deep green robes with a silver clasp at his throat. He claimed to be a scholar from the capital, passing through to collect herbs and "observe rural traditions."
But Ji-hyeon didn't believe that for a second.
This man had the presence of someone who'd seen war. His eyes didn't wander like a traveler's. They calculated. Measured.
And when their eyes met, the man paused.
Only for a heartbeat.
But Ji-hyeon saw it.
He knew something.
---
Later that night, Ji-hyeon slipped away to the edge of the forest.
He placed the carved stone fragment on the ground, tracing the sigil with a twig.
> "What were you protecting here…?" he whispered to the dirt.
Behind him, a voice answered—not in words, but in pressure, like the forest itself leaned in to listen.
Then a second voice echoed behind the trees.
Soft. Female.
> "You're not from this world, are you?"
Ji-hyeon turned sharply.
A girl stood there—around his age, but her presence was calm and unreadable. Her hair flowed like ink in water, and her eyes... were not human.