The wind over Seoul carried no warnings.
No smoke. No screams. No sign that a war was crawling just beneath the surface of reality.
To the people of the city, it was just another morning.
But to Yi Ji-Hyuk — standing atop an unfinished skyscraper, wind tugging at his coat — it was the calm before a storm that had already begun.
He had visited Han Min-Soo first.
The boy had stayed hidden, just as instructed. His apartment was cluttered with notebooks, rune sketches, and half-finished charms. Ji-Hyuk had burned most of it the moment he stepped in.
"I was just trying to protect myself," Min-Soo had said.
"I know," Ji-Hyuk replied, "but protection without control is just a delayed disaster."
Then he handed the boy a charm — a real one, forged in battle, one that had saved generals and assassins both. "Wear this. Don't take it off. Don't speak the Old Tongue. And if anything watches you… look away."
Min-Soo had nodded. Fearful, but obedient.
Ji-Hyuk left him with Yeonho after that. If anyone could shield the boy from the growing darkness, it was the old relic dealer. And if not... well, Ji-Hyuk had given him a second chance. He rarely gave thirds.
Now, Ji-Hyuk stood high above the waking city, breathing in the air that smelled too clean.
Too normal.
His fingers brushed the hilt of a short blade tucked beneath his jacket — a weapon smuggled from Berafe, forged in the forges of the Sun-Eaters. It had slain beasts that melted mountains. Now, it would have to kill something worse:
A ghost that remembered how to dream.
He moved that afternoon, traveling toward the outskirts of Seoul where the land grew quieter — fewer people, more space, and one location that had drawn his attention through the threads of magic still pulsing beneath the Earth.
An old church. Burned and rebuilt. Then burned again.
Rumors said it was cursed. Accidents. Disappearances. Paranormal investigators who never returned.
Ji-Hyuk didn't need rumors. He had the truth.
This was one of the anchor sites — places where Berafe's reality had touched Earth before. A thinning point in the veil. And judging from the scent in the air, someone had used it recently.
He stepped inside.
Charred pews. Broken stained glass. A ruined altar.
And in the center of the floor: a spiral surrounded by seven etched circles.
Just like in Soriel's memory.
He knelt beside the pattern and touched the stone. Still warm.
They'd been here yesterday.
He stood slowly.
And heard the rustle of breath behind him.
Four figures emerged from the shadows. Robes. Masks. Each carried an artifact that pulsed with corrupt mana.
Cultists.
Their leader stepped forward, holding up a crystal that bled red light. "You were not expected, outsider."
Ji-Hyuk didn't speak. Just studied their positions.
Two to flank. One with a ward glyph ready. The last with the crystal — the anchor to this summoning site.
"You're interfering with the reawakening," the leader continued. "Leave now, or be swallowed with the rest."
Ji-Hyuk tilted his head. "You're not even pretending to be subtle anymore."
The leader raised the crystal.
"Too late for subtlety."
Then they attacked.
The first cultist lunged forward, spell blazing. Ji-Hyuk moved faster.
A twist. A palm strike. Bones shattered.
He flipped the body into the second attacker before the spell could finish forming. The glyph backfired, exploding in green light.
The ward user launched a defensive barrier.
Ji-Hyuk broke it in one hit.
He moved through them like a storm — no wasted energy, no hesitation. This wasn't war.
This was cleanup.
Only the leader remained, gripping the blood crystal with both hands. "You… You're the one they warned us about!"
Ji-Hyuk stepped forward, boots echoing on stone. "Good. That means I'm doing it right."
The cultist screamed and drove the crystal into the ground.
A rift split the altar behind him — violet and black, flickering wildly. Something began pushing through — a claw, curved and pulsing with heat.
Ji-Hyuk didn't hesitate.
He leapt forward, seized the cultist's arm, and shoved the entire spell back into him.
The man convulsed as the rift magic burned through him — uncontrolled, wild, poisonous even to its wielder. His body crumpled, face locked in a permanent scream.
The portal flickered.
And died.
Silence returned.
Ji-Hyuk stood over the remains, heart steady.
That was the third gate in a week.
Each stronger than the last.
Each closer to being stable.
He looked down at the blood-crystal, now cracked and blackened.
"Vernox," he muttered. "Where are you hiding?"
Later that evening, he sat across from Yeonho again. The shop was closed. Shields were up. The city outside was laughing over Friday drinks and weekend plans.
But in here, only war existed.
Ji-Hyuk set the crystal on the table. "They've reached the anchor sites."
Yeonho's face darkened. "Then they're accelerating."
"They're scared," Ji-Hyuk said. "They know I'm here."
Yeonho looked at him, voice low. "Can you stop them?"
Ji-Hyuk didn't answer right away.
He stared at the crystal. At the flickers of dying mana still swirling inside.
"I can kill them," he said at last. "But I don't know if that's enough."
Yeonho exhaled. "Then we need allies."
"No." Ji-Hyuk's tone was final. "We need time. And we need them to keep thinking they're winning."
Yeonho nodded slowly. "Then we'll bleed them until they think they've bled you."
That night, Ji-Hyuk sat at his window again.
The stars above were the same ones he'd seen in Berafe.
But back then, they'd watched him fall.
Now, they watched him prepare to rise.
This time, he wouldn't just survive the storm.
He'd end it.
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