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Seori

The Rooftop Pact

There’s something wrong with me. I’ve redrawn my protection wards three times tonight. Re-shelved my weapons. Lit incense. Burned sage. Chanted old rites until my voice cracked.

Still—his name is carved behind my eyelids like a spell I never cast.

Rheon.

That mark on my hand—our mark—it’s glowing again. Faint. Feral. Alive. I’ve tried to cover it, to suppress it with fae-dampening balm, but it thrums beneath my skin like it belongs to him now.

Maybe it does. Maybe… I do.

I didn’t plan to leave. Didn’t dress for war. Didn’t carry my blade, and yet—my feet move. My body knows.

It walks a path I haven’t chosen… straight toward him.

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The rooftops of Seoul blur under my boots. The city lights flicker like warnings, like omens. Neon signs hiss curses in Hangul as I pass. Still, I keep moving—pulled by something invisible, magnetic.

I know where he is. I shouldn’t know. But I do.

He’s waiting.

He’s there. On the edge of a forgotten rooftop in Itaewon, standing against the skyline like he belongs to the night itself. Arms crossed. Shadows twisting at his feet.

“Seori,” he says, like a sin.

I hate that it sounds like a prayer.

My steps slow. I should leave. Run. Bury this in holy fire.

But instead—

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I blurt.

The words hang there, raw and jagged.

He tilts his head.

“Good.”

Silence blooms between us—heavy, trembling, electric. I stand in front of him, chest heaving from the run. He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t need to.

I feel his magic brushing mine, lapping at the edges like Shadowfire. I feel… the bond. It coils between us, tugging softly at my ribs, whispering a single truth:

We belong to each other.

And it terrifies me.

“We can’t do this,” I murmur, eyes flicking to the mark.

His gaze lowers to it, and his voice dips low.

“Then why are you here?”

"Because I needed to see if it was real," I whispered. "If you were real. Or if I'm just losing myself."