Morning came, but it felt like a lie.
The sun filtered weakly through the curtains of Suho's room, casting pale light across the wooden floor. It should've brought warmth, a sense of normalcy. But the night's events clung to him like smoke — too real, too sharp to dismiss.
The voice inside him had gone quiet again. No cryptic riddles. No chilling commands. Just silence.
But the mark on his arm pulsed faintly beneath the fabric of his uniform, reminding him that the bond — the power — was still there. Alive. Waiting.
He got dressed in silence, brushed his teeth like he hadn't just met ancient cloaked figures beneath a cursed bell tower the night before. Like he hadn't cracked the earth with a thought.
His mother knocked once before poking her head in. "You're up early," she said, surprised.
"Couldn't sleep," Suho replied.
She looked at him a second longer, concern lining her features. "You... look pale. Are you eating enough?"
He offered a half-smile. "Yeah. Just... school stuff."
She nodded but didn't look convinced. "Alright. Be safe."
He stepped into the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder. The apartment felt smaller today. Or maybe he had just grown larger — more than just in strength. More... uncontainable.
By the time Suho reached Hanwol High, the campus buzzed with its usual early-morning chaos — students chattering about homework, clubs, weekend plans. But something was off again. A subtle shift in how people looked at him.
Not like before, when he was ignored.
Now they noticed him — but pretended not to.
A girl in Class F-2 whispered something to her friend, eyes flicking briefly toward him. Two third-years paused mid-conversation as he passed, then walked faster in the other direction.
Even the security guard at the front gate gave him a longer look than usual.
"Power leaves footprints," the voice inside him whispered suddenly. "You can't hide what's already begun."
He winced slightly.
In Class F-3, Mr. Go didn't even attempt eye contact.
The desk beside Suho — the one Jaeho had claimed for so long — remained empty. A thin layer of dust had begun to gather on it. Like it belonged to someone long dead.
Suho stared at it for a long moment.
He could still hear Jaeho's voice in his head. Laughing. Mocking. Cruel.
But louder now was the scream from that day — the raw terror as something ancient had crushed Jaeho's will like paper.
Suho didn't regret it. But he didn't feel proud either.
He felt... changed.
It happened during lunch.
Suho sat alone under the sakura tree behind the gym — his usual spot. Quiet. Secluded. The other students gave it a wide berth now.
He was mid-bite into a convenience store sandwich when a fluttering noise caught his attention. A bird — small, black-feathered — perched on the branch above him.
It tilted its head, studying him with strange intelligence.
Then it dropped something from its beak.
A folded parchment.
Suho blinked. What...?
He picked it up. The paper was rough, hand-cut, and smelled faintly of ash. Unfolding it revealed more shimmering ink — blood-colored, like the card from before.
"You touched the veil.""Others have noticed.""We can no longer protect you from afar."
At the bottom, a symbol burned itself into the paper — like hot metal searing wood. It wasn't in any language Suho knew, but somehow, he understood it.
A warning.
The Watchers weren't the only ones aware of him anymore.
That evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Suho took a different route home — one that led through the quiet alley behind the school gym. A shortcut.
But halfway through, he stopped.
Something was wrong.
The air had changed — thickened, like the world itself was holding its breath. Shadows stretched too long for the hour. There were no birds. No wind.
And then...
A figure appeared.
Not like the Watchers. This one wasn't cloaked.
It looked... human. A tall boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with spiky silver hair and eyes the color of molten gold. He wore the uniform of a different school, blazer unbuttoned, a strange silver pin shaped like a dragon fang gleaming on his lapel.
But his presence — it was wrong.
Suho's skin prickled. Every instinct screamed danger.
"You're the one," the boy said, voice flat but sharp.
Suho took a step back. "Who are you?"
"I am Kain. Sentinel of the Ninth Flame."
He stepped forward, and the air sizzled. Suho could feel the heat radiating from his body — like a furnace barely held in check.
"You opened the book," Kain continued. "You shouldn't have."
Suho's breath caught. "So what? You're here to kill me?"
Kain didn't answer. Instead, he raised a hand — and the alley behind him burst into flame.
The fire danced along the walls but didn't consume them. It moved with intent, curling toward Suho like a snake sensing prey.
Instinct kicked in. Suho raised his own hand, the mark flaring with blue light.
The flame recoiled.
Kain narrowed his eyes. "You've awakened more than I expected."
Suho's voice trembled, but he didn't lower his hand. "Why are you after me?"
"You carry a key," Kain said simply. "And every key is a threat."
The ground beneath Suho trembled. His power surged again, chaotic and raw. The alley cracked under his feet.
"Let me guide your hand," the voice within urged.
He allowed it.
Power exploded outward in a shockwave — meeting the wave of fire rushing toward him.
Blue met gold. Light clashed against heat.
For a moment, the world turned white.
Then silence.
When the dust cleared, the alley was scorched but intact. Kain stood with a new gash across his cheek, steam rising from his coat.
He touched the blood, then smiled.
"I see. You're not just a vessel."
Then, as suddenly as he came, he turned and vanished — flames curling around his body before he dissolved into smoke.
Suho stood panting, hand still raised, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
He'd survived.
But just barely.
That night, Suho locked his door and sat on the floor of his room, legs crossed, hands open on his knees.
He needed answers.
"Talk to me," he whispered. "I know you're listening."
For a moment, nothing.
Then:
"I warned you," the voice returned, colder than before.
Suho clenched his jaw. "Who was that? Kain? He tried to kill me."
"He was a test. Others will not be so merciful."
"I need to know what I am now. What this mark is. What the throne means."
A pause.
Then a presence — not just a voice — seeped into the room. The air dimmed. The shadows deepened.
And the Watchers appeared.
All three of them.
The tall man with the hood. The scarred woman. And a third figure Suho hadn't seen before — a child, no older than ten, but with glowing white eyes like distant stars.
"You've drawn attention," the woman said.
"We can no longer stay hidden," the tall man added.
Suho stood. "What is the Ninth Flame?"
"A covenant. An order of beings sworn to prevent ascension," the child replied. "They fear what you may become."
"Ascension to what?" Suho asked.
The room seemed to tremble at the question.
"To the Throne," the woman whispered.
Suho's mouth went dry. "It's real then?"
"As real as gods and demons. As real as the war they wage," said the man. "You have been marked not just by power — but by potential."
"Then teach me," Suho said, voice steady.
The Watchers looked at one another.
Then the child spoke. "We can show you the path. But the steps... you must take alone."
They knelt in a triangle around him.
Symbols began to form in the air — glowing, shifting, ancient. The mark on Suho's arm responded, burning but not with pain — with purpose.
"Repeat after us," the child said.
Suho did.
Word by word, he recited the vow. A pact not of servitude — but of acceptance. A pact of awakening.
When the final word left his lips, the mark exploded in light. Not blue this time.
Black.
Dark, obsidian tendrils wrapped his arm to the shoulder, and then vanished.
"You've taken the second step," the woman said. "Now the real trials begin."
And then they were gone.
No mist. No exit.
Just gone.
Leaving Suho in his room, alone again.
But not afraid.
He looked at his arm — then at the window where stars now gleamed overhead.
The throne was real.
The war was coming.
And he had chosen his side.