The morning came with the sound of rain tapping against the balcony rail.
The world outside looked like a watercolor—streets glistening, umbrellas blooming like dark flowers. Inside the house, warmth pooled in the kitchen where the smell of cinnamon pancakes drifted lazily through the air.
Lila, wearing her usual gloves, flipped the pancakes with perfect precision. "I call this 'Rainy Morning Recovery'—for emotionally complex women with mysterious pasts."
Re-ha, half-asleep at the table, sipped her coffee. "That's oddly specific."
"Art demands honesty," Lila said with mock seriousness.
Agani walked in, phone in hand, a frown tugging at her lips. "The university just messaged. Professor Lee wants us to come by later today—she found something."
The room paused, energy shifting.
Nira looked up from her notes. "Did she say what?"
Agani shook her head. "Only this—'It's about the word at the bottom of your page. Be careful with it.'"
"Be careful?" Re-ha repeated. "That's comforting."
Lila flipped another pancake, her tone light but eyes thoughtful. "Maybe we're famous now. You know, the international women of mystery club."
Everyone laughed, but beneath it was a shared spark of curiosity—the kind that never really fades once it begins.
---
The Forgotten Hall
Miles away, at the edge of Jeonju, stood an old hall—once a museum, long closed to the public. The stone façade was covered in moss, the wooden doors carved with symbols that time had almost erased.
Rain trickled down the gargoyles perched along its roof. Inside, the air was cold and heavy, smelling of iron and forgotten books.
A man entered through the side door.
His coat was dark, rain-speckled, his steps slow and deliberate. He carried no umbrella, only a small black notebook bound in leather.
He paused in the center of the grand chamber. Shafts of light cut through the dusty air, falling on rows of covered exhibits—old scrolls, rusted compasses, broken pieces of clocks.
The silence was so deep it had a pulse.
At the far end of the hall stood a massive clock—built into the wall itself, its frame made of brass and wood, its face cracked but still beautiful. It hadn't moved in years. The hands were frozen at 11:11.
The man approached slowly, his reflection warped in the cracked glass. He stopped just before it, eyes narrowing.
Then—
tick.
A sound. Faint but sharp.
The second hand, which had been still for decades, gave a hesitant twitch. Then another.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The man exhaled, a shadow of a smile crossing his face.
"So," he murmured in Korean, his voice quiet but steady,
> "The time starts now."
The rain outside deepened. The hall's lamps flickered once, twice—and somewhere inside the walls, a low hum began to echo, as if the entire building had awakened.
The man took a step back, opening his notebook. Inside, drawn in black ink, was the same symbol found on Nira's torn page—the one Professor Lee had called memory.
He touched it lightly, almost reverently, and whispered,
> "Four fragments… and the last one is found."
Then he turned and walked away, the ticking of the clock following him out into the rain.
---
Back at the House
By noon, the rain had stopped. The four women stood under the small awning of the bus stop near the university, holding takeaway cups and umbrella handles tangled together.
Lila, still teasing, nudged Re-ha. "Do you think 'be careful' means we'll be cursed with good luck?"
Re-ha smirked. "If that happens, I'll finally finish my fashion line on time."
Agani smiled, but her eyes stayed distant. Something about Professor Lee's message had unsettled her—a faint vibration beneath the surface of reason, like a song she almost recognized.
---
The Translation
When they entered Professor Lee's office, the woman was already waiting by her desk, the torn page under a magnifying lamp.
"I won't keep you long," she said gently, "but you should hear this in person."
The four sat down, glancing between each other.
Professor Lee took off her glasses. "The word at the bottom of your page—Agani—I thought it was just a name. But it's also an archaic term. It appears in an old manuscript I found last night."
Nira's voice was barely a whisper. "What does it mean?"
The professor looked at her, then at each of them.
"It means returning flame or that which reignites what is forgotten."
Silence spread like ripples through still water.
Re-ha frowned. "That sounds poetic, but… what does it mean in context?"
Lee hesitated. "In the manuscript, it's part of a prophecy—or perhaps a memory written as myth. It mentions four souls bound by time, each carrying a mark, a craft, or a word. They are drawn together when the world forgets something it once promised to remember."
Lila blinked. "You're saying this is fate-level stuff?"
The professor gave a small, cryptic smile. "I'm saying that coincidences are just stories waiting for meaning."
She slid the page back toward them. "Whatever you do next… document everything. Especially any symbols or dreams you see. Sometimes memory returns in strange ways."
---
The Rain Returns
On their way home, the clouds gathered again, gentle thunder rolling in the distance.
Re-ha drove, Nira sat beside her, and in the back seat, Agani watched the road blur past while Lila hummed to herself softly.
The words returning flame echoed in Agani's head. She thought of the diary's torn edges, of Nira's haunted calm, of Lila's gloved hands that never came off, and Re-ha's way of mending fabric like it could heal time itself.
When they reached home, the first drops of rain began to fall again.
---
Night
Later that night, when everyone had gone to bed, Nira sat by the window, the diary page open before her. The rain made soft music against the glass.
She traced the word Agani again and again until her fingers trembled. Something about it pulled at her—like an echo she couldn't place.
Outside, in the courtyard below, a shadow moved. A figure stood by the old stone wall, barely visible in the dim streetlight.
Nira froze. For a moment, the figure seemed to look up, as though aware of her gaze. Then it turned and disappeared into the mist.
Her heartbeat quickened, but she said nothing. She only closed the diary and whispered,
> "Returning flame… what are you trying to tell us?"
---
Elsewhere
In the old hall miles away, the massive clock ticked steadily now, its rhythm matching the pulse of the rain.
Each swing of the pendulum echoed through the dark corridors, stirring dust from long-forgotten shelves.
The man had not returned, but the air felt alive—as if someone had spoken a name that time itself had been waiting to hear.
From within one of the sealed display cases, a single candle—centuries old—flickered for the first time.
---
Back at the House (Final Scene)
Lila woke suddenly in the night, heart pounding. She didn't know why. The room was dark, the sound of rain constant.
She got up, went to the kitchen for water, and noticed a faint light under the living room door.
Agani was there, asleep on the couch, the diary open beside her. But what caught Lila's eye was the symbol glowing faintly on the page—the same one Professor Lee had translated as memory.
The glow faded before she could blink again.
Lila whispered to the sleeping Agani, "Whatever this is… I hope it's not as scary as it looks."
She smiled faintly, set the glass down, and walked back to her room, missing the small, burnt mark that began to form on the diary's edge—like something old remembering fire.
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