The house was simple—whitewashed stone with wooden beams and clean, creaking floors. A low-burning stove filled the air with the faint scent of roasted garlic and lemon. Shin's eyes moved quickly, cataloguing details as Anna set the baskets on the counter: few photos, no visible electronics besides an old tv, well-maintained furniture gave the house a modest, grounded charm.
Thommo stepped out from another room, drying his hands with a towel. He was taller than Shin expected—broad, with thick forearms and a relaxed posture that carried quiet presence.
He didn't speak right away, just gave Shin a polite nod.
"Visitor?" he asked, glancing toward Anna.
"He helped carry my things," she said plainly. Thommo nodded once, his eyes lingering on Shin—not suspicious, but attentive. "Nice place. I like the classic design," Shin said with a mild smile.
"Thanks," Thommo replied.
A beat passed. Thommo folded the towel slowly and set it down. "It is not a well known. Most people come here for wine or fishing."
"Well, sometimes," Shin said, "people just need to disappear for a while."
That got a flicker of something behind Thommo's eyes. Anna, oblivious, began unpacking vegetables.
Shin didn't press further. He walked to the window and studied the garden outside: large, tiered, full of herbs and a few stubborn trees. Stone-lined rows, good soil.
He could feel it—the faint but undeniable trace of divine power clinging to the walls, seeping into the ground. It didn't shimmer like wind or hum like lightning, but it pressed—heavy, settled. It was rooted in the ground and air like an ancient tree. This concentration—it's not just ambient. It's coming from him.
Thommo moved to the kettle and poured water into a cracked ceramic mug. His movements were casual. Heavy, but quiet. A natural motion that carried an unseen weight behind it. Shin watched his hands—there were no visible artifacts, but he trusted his instincts.
"You've got good soil here," Shin said softly. "Balanced minerals. Stable foundation. Seems like a great place for a garden."
Thommo raised a brow. "Didn't think tourists cared about that."
The silence stretched. Thommo's shoulders straightened slightly. Shin let it sit a few seconds longer, then smiled and turned toward the door. "Thanks for the tea," he said—though none had been offered. "Nice meeting you both."
Anna gave a faint wave, still unpacking. Thommo followed him out with a nod—habit, not courtesy. But just before Shin stepped off the porch, Thommo said, "You weren't just passing by."
Shin paused, turning slightly to meet his eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"You looked at my hands first. Not my face." Shin's expression didn't change. "Maybe I was just curious what kind of man lets his sister carry two full baskets through town."
That almost got a smirk.
Almost.
Thommo brushed his palms together, though they were already clean. He then moved toward the small garden where tools leaned against the fence. "I've got work to finish."
"I'll walk with you," Shin said. "I'm curious what kind of plants grow this well in early spring." "I've got work to finish," he said over his shoulder.
Thommo didn't stop him.
They moved into the rows quietly, bees drifting among lemon flowers while the sun filtered through thin branches. Shin felt it clearly now—the divine power was thicker here. It didn't twist or surge. It pressed. Rooted. Even the grass seemed to grow straighter than it should.
Shin watched as Thommo crouched beside a patch of rosemary, checking its base. "How long have you been here?" he asked.
"A few weeks," Thommo said. "Settling in."
"Not from here, though."
"Nope."
"Must've been something big, leaving home like that."
Thommo didn't answer, but Shin didn't need him to. The weight in the air spoke for itself. His gaze shifted to the shovel by the fence—old wood, steel chipped, but standing upright in perfectly packed dirt despite the breeze.
"You know," Shin said lightly, "I've met a few people recently. People who… saw things they couldn't explain." Thommo raised his head, looking at him.
"Things that changed them."
A long silence followed. Then Thommo stood, wiping his palms again. When he looked at Shin, it wasn't as a stranger anymore. "You didn't come here for sightseeing, did you?"
Shin didn't deny it.
"Did you really help Anna just to get in the door?"
"She didn't complain."
Another pause.
"I don't know what you're looking for," Thommo said evenly. "But you're not going to find it here."
"Maybe," Shin replied. "But there's one way to know for sure."
He stepped back, slowly—just one pace—and dropped into a stance. He didn't need to hold the sword. Thommo immediately understood.
"…Really?"
"I just want to test something," Shin said. "It won't take long." He said, and the air changed. Tension passed in the wind like a leaf passing in the storm. Thommo exhaled once, long and slow. He didn't seem afraid, just… disappointed. Still, he stepped forward.
Shin narrowed his eyes as he focused on the target before him. He hadn't planned to fight like this—not without a mask. But the moment was too delicate now. They'd already seen his face. Putting one on now would only make things worse.
Well, he did have a backup. Shin knew: one note from his flute, and they'd forget everything.
His leg muscles compressed like a spring. Then—
Shin's strike passed within a hair's width of Thommo's ear—his blade grazing Thommo's skin before he could even say a word.
Sword!?
Thommo blinked. That was close. He'd never seen anyone move this fast.
He didn't have the luxury of hesitation. A pulse rippled through the soil as he raised his hand, and from it rose a massive hammer that seemed carved from the earth itself. Its body was earthen brown, capped by a head dense as iron. Green etching glowed faintly through the base, humming like ancient roots.
He caught it in a smooth motion and swung with a brutal arc, wide enough to flatten anything in its path. He's faster than me, he knew, but if I cover enough space…
He never finished the thought.
Shin was gone before the hammer could even touch him. Not dodging. Repositioning. By the time Thommo noticed, Shin was already balanced atop the swinging hammer. Mid motion. Thommo's eyes widened. "What—?"
The stranger's free hand curled into a low palm, aimed squarely at his chest. Thommo reacted instantly, dropping the hammer and raising both arms to protect the core.
Too slow.
BOOM—
The impact didn't land on his body. Rather, it landed on the space around him as if air itself condensed into a wall and slammed forward.
He was thrown back, dirt cracking beneath his boots. He hadn't even felt a strike, yet he could barely breathe. Across from him, the stranger lowered his palm. His sword was facing backward. He wasn't even trying.
"You're not bad," Shin said casually. "As expected. You also cleared a tower, right?"
Thommo froze. Also…?
Realization hit faster than the pain. This wasn't a fight for dominance. It wasn't even a warning.
It was a test.
And Shin had already gotten his answer.
A rustle behind the garden fence made them both turn slightly. Anna stood there, one hand clutching the porch rail, her eyes wide—not panicked, but clearly shocked.
Thommo didn't move. His heart was still hammering. Shin met his gaze with a quiet, unreadable look. Not hostile, but not apologetic either. Then he turned away, speaking almost conversationally. "Sorry. Just had to be sure."
Thommo's breath slowed. He gripped the hammer tightly, as if to reaffirm his position. His eyes stayed sharp. "You done?" he asked quietly.
Shin didn't answer immediately. He let the wind settle. The dust began to fall and his gaze passed over Anna, who still stood a few paces away.
They both saw more than they should have.
Not ideal. He hadn't meant for it to go this far—he'd even bought a mask two days ago for this very moment. It wasn't supposed to happen in the open, with his face revealed. But the opportunity had appeared suddenly, and he had to adapt. And now, the price of certainty had to be cleaned up.
"Phone," he said.
Thommo blinked. "What?"
Shin stepped closer—calm, but without room for negotiation. "Give. Me. Your. Phone."
The hesitation lasted a fraction too long. The wind stirred again. Thommo grunted, pulled the device from his pocket, and handed it over. Shin opened it and copied the number into his own encrypted phone before handing it back.
"I'll contact you eventually," Shin said. "Don't run."
Thommo's jaw tightened. "I won't."
"Good."
He raised the flute. Anna flinched, but Shin's tone stayed calm. "Don't worry. I'm just making sure it stays clean."
The melody that followed was different from Milo's—softer, almost lazy. A low, layered hum that rose and fell in slow spirals, bending instead of cutting. It wrapped around them like fog over wet stone, a rhythm that coaxed forgetting. The sound of a detail slipping away the moment you tried to hold it. A subtle bend in the line of memory.
As the tune lingered, Thommo's vision dimmed for a heartbeat. His pulse slowed. Something blurred and disappeared. Anna blinked twice, tilting her head faintly as if trying to recall the end of a half-remembered dream.
When their focus cleared, the wind had already stopped. Shin was already gone without a trace. Not even footprints were left on the ground.
Thommo turned to Anna. "What just—"
"I don't know," she said, rubbing her temple. "He was here, right? I mean… obviously. He helped me carry—"
"Yeah. But… what did he look like?"
She hesitated, her brows furrowing from concentration.
"I… I can't remember."
"Tall?" Thommo asked. "Short?"
"…Maybe average?"
"Hair color?"
"Dark? I think?"
They stared at each other. They remembered the words, the pressure, the fight. But not the face. His shape had already faded—too smooth, too fast, like trying to hold water through cloth. The flute's final note still echoed faintly in their minds, like a secret they'd already agreed to forget.
A breeze stirred the garden, carrying the scent of rosemary. Somewhere beyond, Shin walked the old path with measured steps, as if he hadn't just carved a scar into the day. As if nothing had happened at all.
The sky brightened overhead. And time moved on.
Four Months Later – Somewhere in the Netherlands
The radio in the small café buzzed faintly under the sound of clinking mugs.
"Reports continue to come in following the third and most widespread tower emergence. Over ninety new sites have been confirmed globally. Several nations are urging civilians to evacuate high-risk zones. As of this morning, the UN Council has—"
Click. The audio cut. Shin's finger hovered on his phone screen longer than necessary. He hadn't been listening. Not really. Not when his breath was this slow. Not when his pulse had dropped into silence.
He stood alone in a clearing of broken wind, surrounded by tall white pines. The sky was overcast, the clouds shifting as if they sensed the charge in the air. His eyes closed, then opened—sharper, colder. The change came from within.
A pulse of power. Clean, certain. His limbs moved with unnatural precision. His heart beat once, and the air obeyed.
Finally, it happened. The threshold he'd been chasing clicked into place—not as an explosion, but a perfect stillness that fractured the moment.
Fifty percent.
And with it came the change.
His body adjusted rapidly. Muscle fibers tightened. His posture refined without thought, honed like a drawn blade. He wasn't bulkier; he was perfected. Power rippled through every motion, compressed and absolute.
The air shaped itself around him, dense metallic threads spiraling like divine armor. The suit was not heavy. It wasn't even solid—not really. It shimmered like alloyed pressure sculpted into form, decorated in silver and white with faint touches of gold. The Plates were sleek and streamlined, with fabric-like seams breathing at the joints. The helm slid into place last—faceless, ceremonial in its simplicity.
His hair, once ash-brown, darkened like midnight storm clouds. His eyes swirled silver, shining with a faint hue like the rising moon. This wasn't magic. It was a transformation.
Battle Form—unlocked at 50% compatibility.
The mark of a Grand Dajin's chosen.
And more than that, it was Shin reborn through discipline, resonance, and will.
For a long moment, he stood listening. Then came a sound—like a blade drawn across silence. Wind. Not the element, but the being. A shimmer in the trees shaped itself into a figure: motion and stillness bound together.
Wind had returned.
Shin didn't speak. But Wind did.
"…You have grown."
Shin's mouth curved faintly. "Huh. As expected, you were just hiding inside me." He glanced at his armored hands, flicking his fingers. A faint breeze answered. "So? How is it? Not too shabby, is it?"
Amusement stirred faintly in the air. "You're progressing faster than expected. But power always invites danger."
Silence pressed between them, sharp and unbroken. Shin's eyes narrowed. "…Leaving already?"
"This world cannot hold me much longer. Our time is brief."
Shin stepped forward. "Wait. Tell me something, before you leave. Are there others? I mean, dajins worth remembering. Those more dangerous than the rest."
Wind blurred, his form half-gone already. Then his voice returned, heavy with warning.
"You've grown stronger…
But Remember this…
Whatever you do… avoid the Spider."
"And beware…" The voice thinned, scattering into the air, as if the world itself buckled under its weight.
"The Stag."
The wind calmed, and Wind was gone.
Shin stood alone, silver-storm eyes reflecting no fear. Only thought.
"A spider. Of course. Nothing good ever comes from spiders." His gaze lifted. "But just who the hell is this stag to make Wind give such a warning?" Shin closed his eyes, listening to the whistles of the birds above.
"Alright then." He turned, shadows rippling at his heels.
"Time to put that plan into motion."