Lee Ju Min's world changed after the duel with Dae Kwan. What had started as a defensive act had become a declaration. He wasn't invisible anymore.
The streets buzzed with rumors. Whispers of a boy who used forgotten magic spread like wildfire. Some called him lucky. Others feared him. And a few began to watch him closely.
Maerun had warned him. "Magic isn't just power. It's rebellion in a world like this. They won't forgive you for showing it."
Ju Min tried to lay low, but it was no use. Every alley, every market, every quiet corner seemed to hum with tension. He felt eyes on him that he couldn't see. Some friendly. Others not.
His days with Maerun became more intense. The old man pushed him harder, forcing him to confront deeper truths about his own mind and emotions. Magic, Maerun explained, was drawn from memory and spirit as much as skill. One's past was a wellspring—and sometimes a prison.
"Don't run from your pain," Maerun said, watching Ju Min struggle through a difficult spell. "You'll need it to survive."
At night, Ju Min's sleep was broken by strange dreams. In them, he wandered ancient forests lit by floating runes. He saw his parents in flashes—his mother's kind hands, his father's calm voice—just before they disappeared in smoke. He woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding.
By day, he trained relentlessly. He could now manipulate light, creating illusions and blinding flashes. He learned to shift energy through his hands and use it to disarm or defend. But he also learned the limits of his body. The cost of drawing too much magic at once left him dizzy and aching for days.
One evening, after a long session, Ju Min sat with Maerun at the edge of a rooftop overlooking the city. Below them, lights flickered as the city carried on, unaware of the storm that brewed above.
"Why are you helping me?" Ju Min asked finally. "Why me?"
Maerun didn't answer right away. He looked out at the skyline as if searching for something far away.
"Because I failed once," Maerun said quietly. "There was another... long ago. Someone with power like yours. I didn't guide them well. I won't make the same mistake again."
Ju Min saw something different in the old man's face then. Not just wisdom—but regret.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the street below. They rushed to the edge and saw a small crowd forming. A woman screamed. A child ran. Then a group of black-clad figures emerged, their auras cold and cruel.
Cultivators. Not just any—they wore the mark of the Iron Circle, an elite faction loyal to the High Sorcerer. Their presence wasn't routine. They were hunting.
Maerun's voice was sharp. "Go. Now."
Ju Min fled across the rooftops, his heart hammering. He didn't know if they had seen him, but he couldn't risk it. The city became a maze, and every shadow felt like a trap.
Back in his hideout, he tried to calm himself. He focused on the flow of magic, trying to create a shield spell Maerun had taught him. It flickered, then failed. He cursed under his breath.
But in that frustration, he remembered something—his first successful spell had come not from control, but from emotion. He closed his eyes, thought of his parents, of Maerun's faith in him, and let the feeling rise.
A soft glow formed around his body. The shield held.
He didn't smile, but something inside him steadied. He wasn't running anymore.
Out there, enemies were closing in. But so was his strength.
This wasn't the end.
It was only the spark.