The full moon rose heavy and bright above the city, its pale light spilling through thin clouds like liquid silver. The world beneath seemed hushed, caught in a fragile moment between night and dawn. In a quiet apartment, scattered with notes and the soft glow of a desk lamp, the air felt thick—like the calm before a storm.
Woon moved slowly, his footsteps measured and careful. The letter in his hand trembled slightly as he folded it one last time. The paper was crisp but worn at the edges, as if holding the weight of unspoken goodbyes. His breath caught in his throat; the decision that had brought him here was a knot tightening deeper than any wound.
He reached the desk, placing the letter down with almost reverent care. The faint rustle of the paper was the only sound breaking the silence. His eyes lingered on it, as though willing the words to change.
A soft creak from the doorway pulled his attention. There, standing like a shadow woven from the night itself, was Ryu. Antutu nestled quietly on his shoulder, her luminous eyes alert and shimmering faintly in the dim light.
Neither spoke. Their shared silence said enough: the weight of what they were about to do settled on them both like a cold cloak.
Outside, the city breathed faintly beneath the moon’s gaze. The cool night air whispered against the windowpane as Woon and Ryu stepped out together. Their figures merged with the darkness, moving towards the outskirts where the city’s noise dulled into an echo.
The park greeted them in near-complete silence, the kind that feels too heavy to carry. Sparse street lamps cast sickly yellow pools of light onto the cracked pavement, shadows stretching and twisting like dark fingers. The scent of damp earth mixed with a faint, almost forgotten fragrance of moss and old wood.
They walked slowly, feet crunching softly on fallen leaves, until the ancient tree rose before them—a silent titan rooted in time. Its bark was cracked and gnarled, veins like scarred skin tracing stories unknown.
Woon hesitated a moment, fingertips brushing the rough surface. The texture was cold and real, grounding him even as his heart raced.
Ryu stepped beside him, placing his hand over Woon’s. The connection was quiet but undeniable. Beneath their palms, a faint pulse stirred—a hidden power lurking just beneath the surface of the earth.
The pulse grew, slow and steady, until a soft glow emerged from the base of the tree, trembling like a fragile flame in the wind. The light deepened, expanding into a cocoon of warmth and power that began to envelop them both.
Woon closed his eyes, feeling the glow seep into his skin, mingling with his breath, until the world blurred and folded away. When he opened them again—nothing remained but the vast unknown.
Dan Oh pushed open the door with a quiet sigh, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting her like an old habit. Her heels clicked softly against the wooden floor as she stepped inside, setting her bag down near the door. The apartment welcomed her with the same soft warmth it always did—but tonight, something felt off.
The full moon hung heavy above the city, its pale light spilling through the windows and onto the walls like liquid silver. Thin clouds veiled it just enough to blur its edges, casting a strange stillness across the room.
Scattered notes and manuscripts lay untouched on her desk. The soft glow of the desk lamp was still on, illuminating the paper like it had been waiting for her. Tthe atmosphere was suffocating in its stillness. Dan Oh entered quietly, the weight of emptiness settling over her like a shroud. Every corner was too silent, too cold. She called out softly, her voice fragile.
“Woon? Ryu?”
Only shadows answered.
Panic rose slow and icy in her chest. She searched methodically—rooms, closets, the small spaces where Antutu might hide—but no sound, no sign. The absence was deafening.
Her gaze caught the letter, its edges catching the lamp light as if begging for attention. She unfolded it with trembling hands, the words cutting sharper than any blade:
“Dan Oh... I’m sorry...
I waited as long as I could. I wanted to say this to your face, but I knew if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave.
I don’t belong here. I never did—not really. Your world has been kind to me, more than I deserved, but every step I took here was a step away from who I was meant to be. A step away from the world that’s falling apart because I ran from it.
I thought love would be enough to quiet the fire inside me. But it hasn’t. It’s only grown louder.
And you—your smile, your stubborn hope, your stories—they made me want to stay. They made me forget everything else. But I can’t forget anymore. The balance between our worlds is breaking. I can feel it. You saw it too. In your dreams. In your bones.
I have to go back. Not because I want to leave you. Never that. But because if I stay, everything will fall. Maybe it already has.
I don’t know if I’ll survive this. Or if I’ll ever find my way back to you.
And I won’t ask you to wait for me. I won’t be that selfish.
You deserve more than a wandering fire king from a dying realm. Maybe Kyung was right about that. Maybe you deserve someone who can stay. Someone who belongs in your world.
But if there's even one piece of me worth remembering, I hope it's the one that loved you. In every quiet morning. In every stolen laugh. In every choice I made, even this one.
—Woon
Her vision blurred as tears fell, the letter slipping from her grasp onto the desk. The room spun around her as the truth settled deep—Woon was gone. And with him, so was Ryu.
Her breaths came quick, uneven. Desperation fueled her next actions—throwing clothes into a bag, grabbing her coat—heart pounding wildly against ribs that felt too tight.
She ran through the neighborhood, lungs burning in the cool night. Her mind replayed every moment, every memory with Woon—every smile, every touch—now haunted by the silence of his absence.
Then, unexpectedly, she collided with Kyung.
His eyes widened with concern, instantly reading the fear etched in her face. “Dan Oh, what’s wrong?”
She swallowed hard, voice cracking, “They’re gone. The gate… it’s closed, but the moon’s still out. Maybe there’s a crack. I have to find them.”
Kyung’s brow furrowed, skepticism and worry battling across his features. “You’re chasing ghosts. That world’s no place to go back to—especially alone.”
Her eyes flared with stubborn hope. “I can’t just wait.”
His expression softened, but his voice was firm. “Then I’m going with you.”
Her breath caught—fear and relief mingled. “You don’t understand what you’re stepping into.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it’s crazier to let you go alone.”
A silent pact passed between them, and side by side, they set out toward the park where the boundary between worlds had flickered just moments before.
Far away, in the hills of Hwon, the armies gathered silently on opposite ridges. Thousands of soldiers stood at attention, their armor glinting faintly in the moonlight, breath visible in the cold air.
Between the forces, the valley lay empty, a stark scar of tension stretching like a wound.
Gwi stood at the edge of his races, eyes locked on Siera’s distant silhouette across the divide. The woman he had trusted with everything—the anchor in his storm—now stood ready to face him as a foe.
His heart wrenched, a tempest of pain and anger and longing roiling beneath his calm exterior. His fists clenched, knuckles whitening, but his voice was steady when he spoke to himself: I will protect her. Even if it means standing against her.
Siera’s gaze was hard, eyes glittering with unspoken grief. She did not waver, but the tremble of a breath betrayed the battle raging inside. The woman who had once been his closest ally now carried the weight of betrayal like a heavy cloak.
And deep within the forgotten land, where no eyes dared wander, an ancient fire burned softly in a ring of weathered stones.
Its flames flickered gently, balanced and steady, a guardian of elemental harmony.
But the fire shivered, tiny sparks trembling like the first flickers of a storm.
The flame’s glow wavered, shifting from calm gold to restless blue, flickering unevenly, as if struggling against an unseen force.
The air grew heavy with unspoken warnings. Leaves rustled in the stillness, the earth beneath thrumming softly as if breathing a prayer for balance.
The flame flared—bright and fierce—but then faltered, shrinking back into uncertain shadows.
The fire’s struggle was a silent herald of the chaos soon to come.
Night deepened, heavy and expectant. The world held its breath as the threads of fate stretched taut between love and loss, war and peace, balance and destruction.
The storm was gathering, and the first flickers had begun.