Third-person Cinematic POV
The riverbank grew quieter as the night deepened, the soft ripple of water masking the distant hum of city traffic. Yerin stood slowly, her hand still resting in the stranger's—no, the demon's—grasp. His touch was surprisingly warm, neither threatening nor possessive, simply steady, as though he understood she might collapse if he offered anything less.
He released her once she found her footing but stayed close enough to catch her should her knees falter again. His eyes scanned the road, the rooftops, the shadows, every corner where something unseen might lurk. The chain at his side shifted with each subtle movement, pulsing faintly as though listening.
Yerin dusted the gravel from her skirt with trembling hands. "Where… where are we going?"
"Somewhere shielded," he replied. "A place shadows cannot cross easily."
She swallowed. Nothing about that sentence made her feel better, but there was no viable alternative. Her bicycle lay broken on the ground; walking home alone was impossible. And though he frightened her, the memory of the shadow lunging toward her frightened her far more.
He gestured down the riverside path, and she followed, keeping half a step behind him. Her breaths warmed the cool night air, each one steadying her, reminding her she existed in this moment—real, breathing, awake.
As they walked, Yerin studied him cautiously. His gait was smooth, almost regal, as if centuries of confinement hadn't dulled his precision. His hair fell loosely against the back of his coat, shifting whenever a breeze caught it. The chain around him was unlike anything she had ever seen: part armor, part restraint, part living entity. It lay still now, but she remembered how violently it had reacted moments ago. How it had protected her.
Suddenly, as though sensing her gaze, he spoke without turning.
"You should keep your distance from shadows tonight."
Yerin pulled her arms closer to her chest. "I wasn't planning to get near any."
He didn't respond, but she sensed a faint ripple of amusement in the air around him, subtle enough she questioned whether she imagined it.
A few more steps brought them beneath the overpass, where the river's current echoed louder. The streetlamps thinned here, casting long shadows between the concrete pillars. Yerin slowed, her instincts whispering a warning.
He noticed instantly.
"The danger isn't here," he said quietly. "If it were, I would know."
"How?" she asked.
He lifted his hand, and the chain around his torso shifted in response. "This bond guides me. It reveals threats before they reach you."
The mark beneath her skin pulsed faintly. Yerin rubbed her wrist reflexively, unable to shake the strange sensation that it was now a part of her.
"You said others will come," she murmured. "Why?"
He continued walking, his voice steady. "Because the moment the bond awakened, your presence became visible to those who seek power through the forbidden."
She shivered. "Forbidden?"
"Your existence threatens what they desire," he said simply. "And it has for a very long time."
A chill washed through her, separate from the night air. She didn't understand how someone as ordinary as she was could possibly threaten ancient supernatural forces. She had lived a quiet life—school, work, friends, nothing spectacular. Nothing extraordinary.
But the mark glowed again, faintly, like a heartbeat stubbornly refusing to fade.
The demon stopped suddenly.
Yerin tensed. "What is it?"
He raised a hand. "Quiet."
She obeyed without thinking.
For a heartbeat, the world held itself still. Even the river seemed to hush.
Then, slowly, he relaxed.
"There is no danger," he said. "Not now."
Yerin exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
He turned to her then, fully facing her for the first time since they began walking. His expression remained unreadable, but his tone softened just enough to break through the fear coiled in her chest.
"Your name," he said. "I do not know it."
Yerin hesitated. After everything she had seen tonight, giving her name felt strangely intimate.
"…It's Yerin," she finally said.
The wind brushed against them as though carrying her voice away.
He nodded once. "Yerin."
Her name sounded different when he spoke it. Grounded. Heavy with recognition she didn't understand.
She cleared her throat. "And your name?"
A brief pause.
"Jin."
Just Jin. No family name. No embellishment. The simplicity of it drew her attention.
"How long were you trapped?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked toward the river, the faintest shadow crossing his features. "Two hundred years."
She stopped walking. "Two… hundred?"
"You awakened me from a prison meant to last much longer," he said. "On the night our bond resurfaced."
Yerin wrapped her arms around herself. "I didn't awaken anything. I just fell. I didn't even know you existed."
"That may be true," he replied. "But the soul remembers what the mind forgets."
She shook her head. "This is too much."
"It will become clearer," Jin said. "Piece by piece."
They resumed walking, the road stretching out before them until the dim shapes of small shops came into view. Most businesses were closed at this hour, their shutters locked and lights off. But at the very end of the block, a narrow alley led to a small shrine half-hidden by vines and weathered stone.
Jin stopped there.
Yerin blinked. "A shrine?"
"It is older than your city," Jin said. "And it recognizes the bond. As long as we remain near it, no shadow can cross the threshold."
Yerin crossed her arms tightly. The idea of entering a shrine with a demon felt almost comical in its contradiction. But the exhaustion in her bones outweighed her doubts. Fear, adrenaline, and confusion had drained her until her legs trembled from the effort of standing.
"Will… will we stay here long?" she asked.
"As long as necessary," Jin replied. "Until I determine who sent the shadow and how soon the next will come."
Yerin lowered her gaze. "And me?"
Jin studied her quietly. "You will rest."
His tone held no room for argument, but neither did it sound commanding. It was simply the most logical truth in a night filled with impossibilities.
Yerin stepped toward the shrine. The air within the boundary felt different—lighter, warmer, as though something protective hovered just out of sight.
When she finally turned back, Jin remained outside the threshold, watching the road with guarded intensity. The chain coiled at his side, sensing the night with its own silent awareness.
He did not look at her again.
But he did not move from his post.
She understood then, without needing to ask:
Whatever nightmare had broken out into her world tonight, it wasn't over.
And Jin would not let anything reach her as long as he stood guard.