Darkness...

  Total darkness...

  One that left me with no thought for escape. A suffocating, endless void, there was nothing here. No presence, no feel...nothing

  I simply drifted alongside its nothingness. The shadows stretching endlessly seeping into my body, my skin looked pale one moment and then complete black just like the scenery around me.

  It was...serene, in a way that felt almost wrong. Stillness so complete it made peace feel foreign and dreadful.

  The endless shadows were enveloping every aspect of me.

  Not just around me—but through me. Like, I was a part of here, yet an anomaly of this place.

  I tried to think, but I couldn’t remember the last think I was doing. Perhaps, I was training, I was eating or just having a casual chat with someone...someone close...

  I tried to remember, but somehow everything was a blank. I knew my name, my face and who I was.

  But somehow, I felt strange the more I drifted in this void. This feeling was oddly similar to when I had died in my past, before I was wrapped by a beacon of light and somehow ushered through space and time.

  Regression...I thought. That is what had happened to me. A phenomena so abstract that no one could give me an answer for. Perhaps, the only who could may as well be... Primordial.

  I remembered a name then, the one who had made me go through all this, given me the system, the one who had pushed me into these trials.

  I remembered so much in so little time that I felt relieved and burdened all at one. When panic and certain memories that I didn’t wish to remember started to rise, they were soon placated by the comfort brought by this unfamiliar place.

  The helplessness that I was pushed in to. Alone. Unsure what I could do. Pushed around like the plaything of fate.

  But, among all those pessimistic thoughts, a realization came to me. I wasn’t alone in this life anymore. There was someone who was there to support me now.

  Who would even risk and give his own life for me.

  Yes...a name surfaced inside my head immediately, like a veil set aside, revealing nothing but the truth. A name I could never forget.

  Mordian...

  With a push, every thought was pushed aside inside my mind and a face drew itself like a canvas taking form—first like smoke, that gradually thickened and took shape of a giant, long limbs, slender tail, neck shrouded by countless obsidian scales that shimmered like gems. Golden eyes, horns curved from the side of its head that resembled daggers.

  It was Mordian, but in his dragon form, then soon like a ripple in still water, the image distorted a few times, like the first hues on the surface of a lake, several colours and shapes ran alongside one another and soon, a face as hard as stone formed there, replacing the dragon.

  Long wheat blonde locks framing a face that looked so symmetrically aligned, like it was carved by the greatest sculptor, the line of his nose, the curves of his cheeks, the strokes of his eyes brows.

  But, what pulled me toward him most were his eyes...those golden eyes that burned like suns. They looked...warm.

  For a person who didn’t know him long, those same eyes would’ve looked cold and indifferent. But, for me, they had the slightest change.

  He wore confidence like a veneer, polished and smooth, but I could still see the ache beneath it all, curled like smoke, silent and choking.

  But, deep down I knew just how well we wore his facade. Everyone saw him like a walking threat. A member of a race that seemed untouchable, who were revered as deities.

  But, after meeting Mordian and some of the ancient remnants, I knew that was far from the truth. The ash’ari were ancient, indeed, their linage, their strength, their comprehension of magic and history firmer than others.

  But, that didn’t mean they weren’t vulnerable. Mordian had been the prime example of that.

  Mordian had changed so such since I’d met him. He was so grumpy, antisocial, broody...but, deep down, he was a kind-hearted person who had bad things happen to.

  He was broken...trying to place those pieces together...and, along the way, he had helped me more than I could have ever asked for.

  He was trying to help me, even when I had attacked him in that berserk state in the orcen world. That was the moment, when we both had finally opened up to each other.

  Mordian had seen all of my vulnerability and so had I. Both of us were hiding parts of ourselves, but that moment had turned out be a turning point for us both.

  But, the one question still remained fresh inside my mind. What was I doing in here? I thought with a raise of my brow, or if it could be considered that inside this void.

  How did I get here? What was I doing right before I woke up in here?

  I stirred slowly, perhaps the action held no real meaning inside this void, but, the sensation felt oddly abstract, my limbs, if they were even that now, felt weaker and more vulnerable than ever.

  Even after every battle I’d fought, I hadn’t felt this tired. But, soon that fatigue was pushed down, like a warm blanket had been placed over me.

  The more forcefully I tried to move, the more restriction I felt. I wasn’t bound by anything heavy or something that could be perceived in the physical sense.

  It was difficult to describe...different, yet profound. Like I was suspended in zero gravity. The more I struggled, the more effort it took me. That was just that.

  But, for some reason, this place reminded me of the multifaceted keystone—the realm inside it—the more force I tried to exert inside here, I was pushed back even harder. As if two forces and wills were trying to collide together and cancelling each other out.

  So, I did what I could do. I let go. And slowly, I started to drift again, but, my mind was fully focused on the rules which the trial inside the keystone realm adhered to.

  At first I wasn’t able to even access the keystone realm, then when I somehow did, I wasn’t able to understand what the trial needed me to do, because of the ravings and the stress that my mind was subjected to all of a sudden.

  But, when I was finally able to access the keystone in its correct method, the placement of the trial had also changed, it didn’t directly take me to the metaphysical wall, it showed me a void similar to this, but with mana inside it.

  But here, there was no mana, there was nothing. And the idea, that I was stuck inside the keystone realm was not feasible. Because, whenever I felt the burden of remaining in the keystone for too long, I was automatically pushed out.

  Just silence.

  Just... me.

  I didn’t know how long I drifted in this void. Time felt like a peeled fruit—soft, sticky, and stripped of meaning.

  Then—almost like a ripple.

  Not of light exactly.

  But of presence. Something happened around him.

  The space around me twisted—not outward, but inward, like the void was folding into itself. Like it was turning a page inside my mind I didn’t even know existed.

  And in that moment, I saw it, I felt my mind opening by itself. Like how I’d felt when I’d been in the thalassalithions’ world, under the unstable effect of Ruler’s Authority.

  It wasn’t a vision.

  Not a dream.

  But a memory—unfolding before me.

  One I had never lived, yet knew deep in my bones.

  The wind blew harder in this dream than it ever had in real life. The strong rustle felt just right outside the closed window.

  There, I saw a child, who stood beneath a dark ceiling, the room barely had any light, it was dim, so eerie and haunting.

  The clouds outside were torn around like paper, dark clouds, heavy wind that blew too hard and too soft in short seconds.

  I turned my head a little, and saw that I had appeared inside a small apartment. I wore my own skin, touched my face and hair, it was all there, I was standing on a hard wooden floor.

  But, something felt off.

  The world was quiet. Too quiet.

  And immediately, I recognized the place...because, I had once lived in the same place before.

  It started like every other dream. Blurry. Weightless.

  But this one...this one felt familiar in the worst way.

  A dark, small apartment, the living room, the kitchen connected to it and the hallway that led to the door. I turned to look at the rooms that were right beside me, the living room, that I’d seen when I’d returned home as Jiwoo.

  The warmth and comfort of this place looked stripped. It was nothing but a nightmare compared to what I’d seen.

  And there—

  A boy, no more than eight years of age, stood barefoot in the centre. His face looked grim, limbs weak and slender, baby fat still visible on his face.

  His hair was longer. His shoulders hunched, but his eyes were dull, like I’d last seen. Scarred. Unsure. Cold.

  Eyes that a child shouldn’t have.

  I knew this memory. But, couldn’t fully remember from where or when. When I had witnessed Jiwoo’s—the real Jiwoo’s memories, it had happened so fast that I was unable to witness and understand some of them.

  Perhaps, this could be one of the many I wasn’t able to fully comprehend.

  But, I gulped hard, feeling my breathing hitch, because, this feeling brought by just looking at the atmosphere, I knew it better than I wanted to.

  The boy looked up, toward someone, I couldn’t yet see in the dark—then the little body spoke.

  “Don’t leave,” He said. Voice weak and desperate. Just hearing it left me vulnerable.

  His voice was softer than I last remembered.

  “I can get stronger. Just give me more time. I will really do it. Please, Jihye.”

  Silence answered him. And my eyes finally adjusted to the dark and I saw a familiar face.

  The same pristine features, dark hair and soft eyes—no, her eyes...they looked haunting. I felt my chest restrict, my heart full of pain, my mind begging to look away, but , I didn’t this time. I finally remembered from where I’d seen this. This was a memory after Jiwoo and Jihye’s parents had passed away, perhaps some time had passed by now.

  I bit my lips, feeling my nails dig into my palms.

  I wanted to scream, to stop them both. But, I knew better. I wanted to reach out. But I couldn’t as much as I wanted to.

  The closer I looked, I saw Jiwoo’s shirt stained with dried tears. Shoulders shaking. Breath heaving.

  Me. The real me. Even if I had inherited all of Jiwoo’s memories, I still didn’t think I was him. Deep down, I was a new person, moulded by both Shun and Jiwoo’s memories and actions.

  My gaze slowly went to Jihye. Fourteen, arms clenched by her sides, jaw tightening. Trying to look strong when she clearly wasn’t. Her eyes weren’t angry. They were tired. Distant.

  I remember this day.

  I remember this version of myself.

  Not just the pain.

  Not just the tears.

  But the resignation. The defeat. When Jiwoo had finally let go.

  He wasn’t expecting warmth. He didn’t even flinch when Jihye’s voice got cold—he didn’t resent Jihye, he loved her until his final breath, he just didn’t want to be a burden over his sister. He’d stopped hoping a while ago.

  Seeing that broke me. He was just a child. They both were. Children who had lost their parents too soon and then left to fend off for themselves.

  But still...he spoke.

  As if those words needed to be placed out there one last time. For himself, before he locked himself away forever.

  “I’m sorry…” the little boy said, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t run faster that day…”

  The silence that followed was the kind that made your skin itch. I watched his throat tighten.

  Upon his words, a distant memory, from long ago surfaced inside my mind. It was when I had first seen Jiwoo in a memory when I’d collapsed inside my dorm room in the academy after returning.

  “I am sorry I let go of mommy in that crowd. I should have stayed close to her, held her hand, but I panicked when the monsters came.”

  He said it like it was truth.

  And maybe, in his heart, it was. A fabricated truth, made from despair and self-loathing.

  I felt something crack inside me. Not because of what he said—but because of how certain he looked.

  As if, that dungeon, and their parents’ death had been his sole fault.

  And then he said it.

  That one thing I never let myself remember. It was something that gripped at my throat like a vice. So tight.

  “Jihye...I am all alone. Don’t abandon me, please...”

  It was so quiet, I could hear her breath catch.

  She looked at him—no, at me—and I saw her crumble. The way her expression shifted wasn’t dramatic. It was subtle. Slow. Like something inside her had just shattered into pieces too fine to ever piece back together.

  And I understood something, standing there as a spectator to a past that was mine now. A burden that I needed to carry.

  Jihye never hated me—Jiwoo.

  She was just...a child. Like me. Lost. Broken. Struggling to carry the weight of two parents buried too soon. And now, she needed to take care of her little brother.

  Here, in this moment, I finally understood what I had seen back then, in that memory where Jihye was looking at me like I was something inhuman.

  I had finally seen a side of that memory that I’d missed before.

  The multifaceted side of Jiwoo’s memories. I was only able to see and understand this, because I wasn’t Jiwoo, not originally, but I shared a bond with him deeper than any words could describe.

  But I—I thought her pain was blame.

  I thought her silence was judgment.

  I thought her distance was punishment.

  So I stopped asking.

  I stopped hoping.

  Because, I was afraid. Not of rejection...but of truth.

  I didn’t try to think further. Because, I was scared too. That...what if Jihye actually hated me? What if she was only being kind to me because she pitied me? Because, she pitied Jiwoo.

  He kept smiling. Pretending. Even when he was bullied in the academy, he didn’t tell her. He watched her give up her dreams to work, to support him—to survive. He didn’t want to burden her with his weakness.

  He thought he owed her.

  No...I do owe her.

  But that child in the dream—he didn’t want to owe her. He just wanted to be held. He just wanted to know he wasn’t alone.

  He wasn’t asking for the world.

  Just one hug.

  Just one word: You’re not a burden.

  That’s what Jiwoo wanted the most.

  My throat felt dry.

  Because watching it now—watching him break—I realized he never healed. He just moved forward with the wound open. Bleeding out, until he couldn’t hold on any longer.

  I gritted my teeth, so much that I felt my jaw ache.

  But, a memory popped up inside my head, when I’d fought the mimic as a trial quest to acquire the multifaceted keystone from Indra.

  When the mimic had taken Jiwoo’s form, reflected that twisted part of him—the hatred, the desperation, the screaming ache he buried deep that he never let surface—I finally understood why it hurt so much.

  Because it was me. He was like me. He had buried so much pain and guilt inside his heart, that when the time came, he gave up and let go.

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  Feeling like there was no one there to help him.

  Just like how I did.

  The part of me I tried to erase. Escape. Hide.

  The part that deserved to cry.

  I choked. Even though I wasn’t really there, I felt it like glass grinding behind my ribs.

  I’d lived his life. I carried his pain.

  But I never understood just how deeply he needed her.

  Not until now.

  Jiwoo’s eyes welled up with fresh tears, he wept silently, as if his tiny voice could even annoy his sister.

  But, that was not true. When I looked at Jihye’s eyes—into them. All I saw was pain and warmth for her little brother.

  She was lost. Confused and desperate. Just like her brother. She was only fourteen, but, she was forced to grow up faster, for Jiwoo and for herself.

  I saw Jihye move closer to Jiwoo. Each step was quiet and slow, like time was moving slower by each second. My heart jumped inside my chest like a drum, my hands shaking and breath quivering.

  Jiwoo looked up at her, his mouth shut, tears rolling down his round cheeks, as he held his hands and clenched his shirt.

  Jihye raised and brought a hand forward, Jiwoo shrank, eyes closed, tears still fresh, but, his eyes opened rapidly, a gasp of surprise left his mouth.

  Jihye wrapped him in her arms tightly. Jiwoo buried in her grasp, Jihye had a sombre expression, guilt oozing from her eyes.

  “I-I,” she tried to speak, but her words were stuck inside her throat. “I sorry for making you feel like this. For leaving you alone.” Her voice was low and contrite.

  Jiwoo didn’t respond. He just stood there, small and unmoving, his face buried in her shoulder. Jihye slowly sank to her knees, holding him tighter, as if afraid he’d slip away again.

  “I thought...if I kept it all inside, if I stayed strong, it would hurt less,” she whispered. “But it didn’t. It only made me blind to how much you were hurting.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “I wasn’t mad at you, Jiwoo. I was just…lost. And I left you behind in the dark. All alone.”

  A small sniffle came from him, but he didn’t speak.

  “I should’ve been there. Not just as your sister…but as the only person left who should’ve held your hand.”

  She pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes rimmed red. The dark expression disappeared and replaced by a kind one.

  “You were just a kid. You didn’t deserve to go through that alone.”

  She brushed his messy hair gently, trying to smile through the tremble in her lips.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Jiwoo.”

  He kept crying more softly, until the tears became more silent than sound. Just little gasps and broken breaths against her shoulder.

  Jihye didn’t rush him. She just held him there, rocking gently, as if trying to cradle the time she’d lost too.

  His small fingers clutched at the back of her sweater, not wanting to let go. As if he was afraid that the moment he did, she’d disappear again.

  “I missed you,” he mumbled at last, the words muffled and wet.

  Jihye closed her eyes, her heart breaking all over again. “I missed you too, baby,” she whispered. “I missed you every day.”

  And for the first time since the funeral, neither of them had to be strong. They wept in each others arms, both consoling one another like this moment was the only thing they had wanted for so long—like the world had stilled to finally allow them to grieve.

  I just stood there, no word, no objections. With a relieved breath.

  So, this was what that memory led to.

  My confusion, my distrust, all of it was gone. Because, from the beginning, Jihye and Jiwoo both were scarred by their parents death. What child wouldn’t be, if out of nowhere, their entire world was turned upside-down. It affected them both, but in the end allowed them to grow closer as siblings.

  They only had one another to rely on.

  Jiwoo...I thought.

  He was a good brother. Even after I took over his body, his life, his emotions and memories remained fresh inside me, like an instinct left as a reminder that he once lived.

  When he had appeared during the mimic trial—when that monstrosity had taken his form—he showed true worry and regret for Jihye.

  I looked at Jihye one last time...the young girl, who had taken care of Jiwoo all on her own.

  Perhaps, I was wrong about Jiwoo all along...he was more human than I ever could’ve been in my past life. He felt, regretted, but, did what he could, he didn’t give up on the one thing that mattered most to him.

  Jihye.

  Soon, the walls around me started to blur, there was no flash, no shift, just a snap and everything was black again.

  Darkness again. But this time, not empty.

  A low hum. Flickering light.

  Jiwoo—older now. Around twelve, maybe.

  Hair messy, longer with loose strained, slight bangs under his eyes.

  The obsidian in his eyes was sharp, although tired, but focused.

  He sat alone at his desk in his room, pencil scratching paper in a silent rhythm, a cheap desk lamp casting a dull yellow glow that didn’t illuminate his surroundings very well. His books were worn at the edges, pages filled with underlines and smudged notes.

  He filled through page after page, taking notes, correcting mistakes he had made and then continued doing so for who knew how long.

  Time passed.

  I saw a clock near the edge of his desk, it blinked red: thirty-seven past twelve AM.

  He leaned back in his old chair that creaked with each movement he made, he brought his head backward, stretching a little to loosen his stiff limbs.

  Then, he rose quietly. The inside of his room wasn’t grand, there was only a simple bed as I remembered, a cupboard with a thin wooden door where he kept his clothes and accessories.

  A window near one end, blinds pushed to the side, but there was barely any moonlight due to dark clouds outside.

  I watched him, taking the blanket from over his bed, folding it a little and then taking a step back.

  He slowly turned the knob and opened the door to his room, stepping into a dim hallway that led into the living room. The same living room that I was in moments ago.

  The TV was still on—some late-night variety show, full of chaos and exaggerated laughter.

  I registered the only other person who lived here.

  Jihye sat on the couch, her head tilted to the side, fast asleep. Her breathing seemed so peaceful and quiet.

  She looked older too—eighteen now. Her face, usually serious when she was awake—whenever she was doing something work related, that was always the case—seemed...soft like this. Fragile. Her work uniform was wrinkled, her shoes still on, and her hand had fallen beside a stack of paperwork she hadn’t finished.

  I focused on the fragments that I had inherited from Jiwoo, and I finally remembered, this was around the time, a few months into her first full-time job at the guild she had joined—the guild where she had been abused and overworked for many years, but because of the slightly better pay, she had persisted for the sake of her brother.

  The guild which was later dismembered by Park Yujin.

  But, it didn’t matter right now. I was fully immersed in the memory that I was witnessing right now. To be honest, these memory played a big party for me to better understand Jiwoo and Jihye.

  Jiwoo silently made his way to the sofa, stood there for a second. Not moving.

  His expression didn’t twist in pity or affection.

  Just—

  Empty.

  A blankness no child should wear. I thought again. An expression that felt too familiar, I myself, had worn an expression like that so much as Shun.

  He padded forward in his slippers, blanket in hand.

  Carefully, he draped it over her shoulders, then gently shifted her head so it wouldn’t strain her neck.

  Her long hair moved, slightly dishevelled, but the glow in them looked fresh. Despite her tired state, she still retained her beautiful appearance.

  She didn’t stir.

  Then he sat beside her. Slowly. Quietly.

  Eyes scanning her sleeping face.

  It was the only time she ever looked free.

  At peace.

  His voice was barely a whisper, but the memory captured it as if the world had stilled to listen.

  “Why do you struggle so much?”

  A pause. His hand tightened slightly on his knee. There was so much unspoken emotion burning inside his dull eyes,

  The shift was almost…imperceptible.

  Like a tremor in still water, too subtle to notice unless you were already looking.

  He didn’t frown. He didn’t sigh.

  But something in him sank.

  Collapsed inward—

  Like he had accepted a weight he knew would never leave.

  Not guilt. Not sadness.

  Something quieter.

  Resignation, maybe.

  A boy far too young to understand sacrifice—

  And yet, carrying it like he was born to.

  “What worth do you see in me?”

  There was no answer.

  Just the TV chattering in the background.

  Some over-animated host with bright hair and sunglasses yelled across the screen, waving a handful of playing cards like he was summoning ancient spirits.

  “Choose ONE! Just ONE! But only show the CORNER! The tiniest sliver!”

  “That’s right folks! Reveal your truths with the smallest lies! Hah!”

  Laughter erupted from the contestants, who exaggeratedly flipped over the corners of their cards—one with a chicken, another with a sock, one with a drawing of a crying man labelled ‘Me at three AM’.

  The studio lights flashed. Confetti fell like snow.

  Jiwoo didn’t laugh. Like the joke had not reached him, stopped by the wall of indifference he had built around him, which only crumbled in front of Jihye.

  He just stared at the screen blankly.

  Not because he didn’t understand the joke.

  But because it felt like a metaphor too close to home.

  And somewhere behind it all, I was also reminded of myself within that metaphor. Shun. All that pain, sorrow and guilt. I had made myself a prisoner of my own regrets.

  But, it was true, even if I was no longer him, Shun was still watching. A ghost hidden beneath the layers I’d built in this life.

  Like a faded reflection.

  Not part of the memory. Not part of the laughter.

  Just a presence, that reminded me that I was not Jiwoo, yet I was no longer Shun. But, something in between...trying to change, to become someone better.

  I took a breath, the scenery around me shifted, the living room was more lively now, the bright sunlight from outside made the environment inside filled with something close to hope and joy.

  Like winter had passed and spring had finally come. I say Jihye running around frantically, her steps ever rushed, almost nervous.

  She looked older, so did Jiwoo, he looked right about how he did when I’d regressed into his body—maybe he looked healthier here, cheeks rounder, eyes sharp and slightly more confident.

  Jiwoo sat on the couch, legs crossed, a laptop placed on his lap, he didn’t look nervous, yet he couldn’t control his anxious quiver seeing Jihye move all fidgety, unable to control her jittery movements.

  “Come on,” she shook Jiwoo’s shoulder lightly, her expression anxious now. “See if you passed the test. Did you get in?”

  Jiwoo kept his gaze over the laptop screen, his fingers moving over the pad, tapping in his credentials on some page, I looked closer and saw him entering his student id and name into the Lock’s administrative website, to check whether he passed the entrance exam or not.

  “Give me a second would you,” he said back, his tone dry but full of care just for his sister. “Even I’m starting to get nervous now.”

  Jihye pulled back a little, apologising as she took a step back, bringing both of her hands together and praying silently to the heavens for her brother to pass.

  Just as Jiwoo hit the enter key, the page shifted, and soon his name, id and all his credentials were displayed on the screen palpably.

  Jihye covered her eyes, almost to hid and wait for either the excitement or disappointment yet to come.

  Even I cracked a smirk seeing her like this. These were moments that made me realize just how Jihye had made me change so much the moment she had come into my life.

  Jihye gulped, her hands still stuck to her eyes. “So?” She asked, her voice almost quivering, Jiwoo set the laptop aside, walked to Jihye and took her hands in his, their eyes locked on to each other.

  “Did you pass?” The question seemed like a whisper barely holding back the tremble beneath it. Jihye looked almost childlike and comical.

  This side of her always made the caring side of me automatically come out. Like an instinct to protect her.

  Her breathing was starting to turn heavy, her eyes glistening from the golden light that hit her pupils. Jiwoo’s grip tightened on her hands, his face looked impassive, and for a moment, Jihye looked heartbroken, ready to console her brother who had failed his entrance exam for lock.

  But, a cheerful smirk replaced Jiwoo’s face, which looked almost forceful to me—remembering what I’d just witnessed. “Guess, I better start packing.”

  Jihye’s eyes widened like full moons, her mouth agape, hands covering it as she gasped in surprise, jumping into her brother’s arms, hugging him with a motherly warmth.

  And, to be honest, it was deserved, she was more of a mother to Jiwoo than sister. She had raised the boy all alone with no one their to rely on.

  Jihye pulled back, holding the tall boy by his shoulders. “We have to celebrate. My little brother is going to the most prestigious academy in the world.” Her excitement was almost infectious, a cheerful shout that was barley restrained, making my chest feel relieved and at peace.

  I saw Jiwoo smiling, his lips stretched almost genuinely this time. “Sure, let’s do that.”

  But, something about that smile didn’t sit right with me, he was smiling, but not. Witnessing a boy slowly learning what it meant to smile…

  Just so the person who gave up everything for him wouldn’t cry.

  It was a heart-breaking, yet peaceful and joyous moment in their life.

  I felt a smile pull at my lips, watching Jihye brag about how good of a brother Jiwoo was. She puffed her chest out a little, her head held high, arms crossed.

  I turned away, feeling the memory disappearing, the distance between us growing further until both of them were barely recognizable.

  I was slowly being pulled into the void again, and the memory, the two of them slowly vanished from my eyes.

  Then the void shifted away before I could adjust to it again, soon I was brought to a room.

  It was subtle—almost imperceptible, like a breath caught between blinks. And suddenly, I was standing in a place that tugged at the back of my mind with familiarity.

  The dorm room.

  Not mine. His.

  Jiwoo’s. The one I had found myself in the moment I had regressed back.

  The apartment room wasn’t particularly small like I remembered, but it wasn’t anything grand either. A single bed pressed up near the far wall, a desk littered with notebooks and letters, a shelf with textbooks about mana theory stacked sideways, and an attached bathroom with a broken door handle. The soft hum of the fluorescent light flickered faintly above, casting the space in a dull, cold glow. It was lived-in—but lifeless.

  And there he was.

  Sitting at the edge of the bed, slouched forward in a chair with his phone in hand, Jiwoo looked like a hollow shell of a person. His skin was paler than I had just seen only moments ago. There were dark half-moons carved under his eyes. His hair was unwashed, messy, like he hadn’t looked in the mirror in days.

  His appearance was similar to what I’d worn a long time ago.

  But it was his eyes that stopped me.

  They didn’t reflect sadness.

  They reflected nothing. Just like how he had looked when he was alone.

  Like someone had turned off the lights inside, locked the door, and walked away.

  My chest felt tight. A familiar weight of dread pressed against my ribs as I watched him scroll—his thumb moving slowly, like even that small action took effort.

  ‘What happened to you, Jiwoo?’ I whispered, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

  This was him only a few months into the academy. When his life was turned upside-down by Thomas, the constant bullying, no one he could trust or rely on. The sheer helplessness in a hostile environment that only cared about the strong.

  I stepped forward, my gaze falling over his shoulder. His bank app was open.

  My eyes narrowed for a moment, peering at the screen.

  There it was—thirty million won.

  That number was something I remembered as clear as day. A massive loan I’d been forced to inherit, with no idea why it existed in the first place.

  I hadn’t questioned it. Not seriously. Life moved fast. Too fast with things progressing so unpredictably.

  And I had to put my mind on survival than other things.

  But, in the end, I had no choice but to pay it back after I got the funds together.

  But now…

  “This can help with some of Jihye’s treatments.”

  His voice was a ghost of itself. Dry. Barely audible. It cracked like old paper, and his eyes flicked toward the screen with a kind of hollow hope. The kind that already knows it’s going to be crushed.

  I felt my eyes still...my mouth quivering as I felt my body zapped by the truth. That money...

  It was for Jihye.

  His older sister.

  So, Jiwoo knew about Jihye’s condition long before I inhabited his body.

  I looked at the weak bot with unsteady eyes, my face contorted by guilt and for judging his actions as a young mistake, for not digging deeper.

  He rose from the chair, pocketed the phone with stiff fingers, and walked out. I followed. I had to. Something in me screamed for it.

  I knew I wasn’t being shown these memories without a reason. These were a necessary part for me to understand Jiwoo and his decisions.

  Down the hallway. Out the dorm building. The light was bleak, the air biting.

  Jiwoo made way through an all too familiar garden I used to visit frequently, even after I had changed rooms and shifted to Hydra building.

  From the direction, perhaps he was going to the portal facility.

  But then, in his steady stride, he was stopped by three individuals.

  Thomas Carter. I clenched my jaw just by looking at his face.

  But, my eyes moved to register two others.

  Mutts. Hyenas in school uniforms. Faces I didn’t recognize—maybe I’d seen them once or twice in passing after waking up in Jiwoo’s body. But back then, I didn’t remember them. I didn’t remember this.

  Because, I didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t show me anything.

  They smirked the moment they saw him, like it was routine. Like spotting prey was just another Tuesday.

  Jiwoo’s steps slowed. His hands trembled. He looked like a deer that knew the trap was already sprung.

  Thomas grinned. His blonde hair was slicked back neatly. His uniform was pristine, the golden trim catching just a sliver of sun.

  A boy who was strong, and made himself appear stronger by harassing the weak. A wolf in well-ironed clothes.

  “Yo, Jiwoo.” His voice was mocking, sing-song. “I heard from some where...you came into some money.”

  Jiwoo said nothing, but I could see his limbs quivering slightly.

  He couldn’t.

  His throat must’ve closed up from fear. The fear that I once felt so vividly through him.

  They circled him like shadows and dragged him, half-shoved, half-pulled behind the training facility like usual. I recognized this place too well. The backlot. Where the cameras didn’t reach and no one approached.

  I clenched my fists. My breathing turned sharp. My eyes bloodshot as I glared at the three standing in front of Jiwoo with mocking grins.

  Thomas pushed Jiwoo against the wall, leaned in close, and smiled with teeth.

  “You look nervous,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m just curious. Thirty million, huh? That’s a pretty big deal for a dirt-stain like you.”

  I knitted my brows. How did Thomas even knew about the amount? I thought. But, could there even be anything that he couldn’t find out if he wanted to?

  He was so my arrogant because of his lavish upbringing and his father’s influence in the hunters’ association.

  He held out a hand.

  “Phone.”

  Jiwoo hesitated, then pulled it out with shaking fingers. His hands barely functioned. He fumbled, almost dropped it, but eventually unlocked it.

  “You know,” Thomas said, scrolling, “people like you shouldn’t be trusted with this kind of money. You don’t know what to do with it. So I’ll help.”

  His thumb moved over the screen.

  “What…are you doing?” Jiwoo’s voice cracked. It was barely defiance. More like a dying spark. His face so broken and desperate, that the grip over my ethereal hands grew tight enough that it could draw blood.

  “Relax,” Thomas said, grinning. “Just donating. To a good cause. I know a good charity, why not help them, it would be a useful thing from trash like you.”

  Thomas signed into his banking app, perhaps he had pulled the info out of Jiwoo long ago. His credentials.

  The transfer was made. All of it.

  Gone.

  Jiwoo lunged to stop him, but Thomas kneed him in the gut. The movement fast enough that Jiwoo couldn’t see it at all.

  He collapsed, gasping, clutching his abdomen. Thomas wasn’t finished. He grabbed Jiwoo by the collar and slammed him into the ground, and place this boot over his head.

  “You didn’t want me to?” His voice was dripping with mockery. “Then cry harder.”

  Then he threw the phone. It clattered near the wall and it went blank.

  The others laughed as they walked away.

  And Jiwoo—he just lay there.

  Curled up like a broken thing.

  He didn’t scream. He didn’t wail.

  He wept. The tears streaming down his face silently. This was the first time I’d seen him cry after he and Jihye cleared their misunderstanding.

  His face was buried in his arms, shoulders shaking, his entire body caved in on itself like it was trying to disappear.

  I stood there frozen, watching, unable to move, unable to breathe. Like the world itself had dropped over me. Clenched my heart so tightly that I couldn’t even feel my own beat.

  Because that was the moment I understood and found the true reasoning behind his actions.

  Why he took the loan.

  Why he endured.

  It wasn’t for himself.

  It was for her. It was always for her.

  His sister. His family. His last shred of light.

  And now it was gone. Scattered like slipping sand.

  Ripped from him by the people who thought his life was worth less than dirt.

  And I—

  I still remembered vividly, how I had killed Thomas. Severed his head so easily, like brushing away a fly.

  And honestly, I had felt this sense of relief burst from inside me when I had killed him. Perhaps, it was Jiwoo’s way of letting me know that he was thankful...

  I had worn Jiwoo’s face, his skin, his bones. I’d lived a life I didn’t earn. Wielded memories like a burden that wasn’t mine. And I never even asked why the debt existed. Never thought to look deeper. Never wondered what pain had birthed it.

  Now, standing here, I felt it.

  All of it.

  The guilt hit like ice—sharp and sinking. A pressure that wrapped around my lungs and heart, squeezing until I could barely stay upright.

  My gaze fixed on Jiwoo’s curled up from.

  He didn’t deserve any of this.

  None of it.

  And yet, he bore it all quietly.

  Because someone had to.

  Because he didn’t want his sister to suffer.

  Because no one else was going to help. He had no one to rely on except Jihye. But, he didn’t want to be a burden to her any longer.

  My throat burned.

  If I could tear time open and rewrite it all, I would.

  But I couldn’t.

  All I could do was stand there in the shadow of his pain and mourn a boy whose kindness had been drowned in silence.

  Jiwoo…

  I’m sorry.

  I didn’t know.

  I didn’t deserve to know.

  But I will remember. I said as the scenery around me began to shift slowly, like time stuck in a very thin thread.

  And I won’t let your suffering be buried with your name.

  You were stronger than me.

  And maybe, just maybe…

  Now I understand why you let me in.

  Why I woke up in your body.

  Why you never fought me.

  Because in the end, even when the world shattered you…

  You chose to protect someone.

  Even me.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them, there I was again, alone in this place—this void—but my body was no longer adrift, I was standing upright, my body felt mine again, no restriction.

  I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling right now. It was complicated, difficult.

  It wasn’t peace I just felt. It was something colder—like resignation stitched with guilt, and the dull acceptance of a truth I could never take back.”

  ‘Maybe this was what remorseful acceptance felt like. Not forgiveness, not healing. Just a quiet collapse inside.’

  But, this moment, it had made me realize something very important.

  I had accepted another part of me, a part of Jiwoo. Becoming a better whole, albeit not complete, but still more...

  This pain, his shared suffering and memories...these were what made me who I was. Shun, but now with pieces of Jiwoo’s life that we’re mine to live and accept.

  I smiled, no longer afraid of this void anymore. It seemed like I had fulfilled my purpose in here.

  But just as I had that thought, I felt a presence behind me. I turned immediately, wasting not a fraction of a second, and my eyes were widened in shock, my expression almost dumfounded.

  He was there. The child I had seen a long time ago. The same boy I had seen that day perched over Jihye’s back, unconscious.

  The boy whose eyes had reminded me of myself. But now, they looked warm, filled with care, the shadow of indifference I once looked at was now gone.

  “You have taken another step forward.” Jiwoo said, his voice soft and clear.

  He turned to face me fully, the child who had once looked so broken now stood with quiet strength in his gaze.

  Then, he added with a childlike smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “You keep trying to fix everything...even the things that were never yours to carry. Even mistakes I left behind that you had to take care of.”

  I froze, feeling my limbs tighten for a moment longer.

  Not because the words hurt.

  But because they didn’t.

  They settled into me like a truth I had ran from. Like a reflection that I had ignored for so long even if it was right in front of me the whole time.

  He smiled gently, then looked up, at a sky above us. The void had shifted around us, becoming a beautiful golden sky, and an endless field of grass that was swayed by a gentle breeze.

  But, it felt odd. Like a sky that wasn’t really there, yet somehow shimmered with light.

  “You thought becoming me would mean erasing me.” He spoke, the wisdom in his voice seemed to scrap at the back of my mind. Knowing that he was right. “But I was always still here. Waiting for you to remember. To accept me. Because, I’m a part of you now, Shun.”

  My throat tightened, thoughts stuttering as I almost spoke.

  I wanted to speak. To question. To explain.

  That just how sorry I was for everything. To ask the reason why he had chosen me? To tell him that I will take care of Jihye, I will heal her no matter the cost...

  But I didn’t. Because, no amount of words could describe what I was feeling right now.

  The pain, the guilt, the anxiousness brought by all of these emotions which tied me together—my soul.

  Not this time. This feeling, it was so close to acceptance, yet, I knew I wasn’t fully there yet. There was still this uncertainty that stopped me.

  And perhaps, Jiwoo understood that, because he was a part of me, and I was a part of him.

  “...Thank you,” I said quietly, feeling my chest free from the burden for once.

  Like a mountain had been lifted from it. The breath that came after that left me with so much relief.

  Nothing more.

  Because sometimes, silence held the best answers.

  Jiwoo gave me a final look, his eyes held so much care, and I was grateful.

  Soon, the endless field around me dissolved, I felt my body stirred, feeling my consciousness at the verge of waking up.

  “Let’s meet again, Shun.” His smile lingered in the fading light, voice almost above a whisper. “Next time...let’s have a proper conversation.”