“What does that mean?”
He leans in, voice low.
“It means your little Guild has no idea what they’re poking with their holy sticks. And neither do you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“He saved a child. Why?”
Jisoo smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Because he remembers what it means to lose something precious.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know why that hits me so hard. Jisoo takes one last step forward, and suddenly, I can feel his aura curl around me like velvet blades. Not threatening — not exactly. But heavy. Immense. Ancient.
“You think you’re resisting him, but you’re not. The bond already knows. It’s pulling you toward him because youbelongto him.”
I shake my head.
“No,” I say. “I’m not his.”
He smiles. Slowly. Cruelly.
“Then why do you keep looking for him in the fire?”
He leans in close, breath brushing my cheek.
“You can fight it all you want, Seori. But here’s the truth—”
“When he falls, you’ll fall with him.”
He turns, coat swirling, and walks into the fog without another word. I stand alone under the dying moon, heart hammering, unsure if I want to scream or sob.
--------???--------
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Not after Jisoo’s warning. Not after Rheon’s mercy. I lie on my side, the apartment silent around me, my fingers tracing the place where the mark glows faintly beneath my skin. It’s quiet now. Dormant.
But itfeelsawake.
Like it’s waiting. When sleep finally takes me, it doesn’t come gently. I’m five. Maybe six. Too small to carry the blade strapped to my back. Too wild to know fear.
I’m standing in the middle of the old shrine. The one beneath the Guild’s training grounds — the one no one speaks of anymore. Red banners sway in stale wind. Lanterns burn with cold flame.
And she’s there.
My adoptive mother.
Only… notreallyher.
Not the way I remember. This version of her is younger. Her hair spills down her back in waves, glowing like starlight. She’s dressed in ceremonial black. Her eyes shine with something fierce and unknowable.
She’s holding a bowl of blood.
There’s chanting in the background — low, guttural, in a language I don’t recognize butunderstand.
I step forward. Ishouldn’t, but I do.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
