That night, the stars hung low in the sky like glowing seeds, scattered across the heavens. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, filling the cottage with warmth and golden light. The smell of grilled galbi and sweet soy lingered in the air, mixed with the gentle perfume of fresh herbs Hana always placed in the corners of the room.
Jae Hoon lay curled up on a thick floor cushion, a full belly and a full heart, eyes heavy with sleep. His baby sister had already drifted off in her bassinet nearby, tiny fingers twitching in dreams.
His father sat by the window, sharpening a blade that hadn't seen use in years, the rhythmic scrape of steel against stone the only sound besides the fire. He wasn't smiling anymore.
Outside, the wind had changed.
Hana stepped beside him, folding her arms, her eyes also on the trees.
"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned the blade, catching a sliver of moonlight on its edge.
"I felt it the moment his core awakened," he said at last. "Something old stirred."
Hana knelt by his side, voice low. "They'll come, won't they?"
"Maybe not right away." He slid the blade into its sheath. "But eventually."
She sighed and glanced toward Jae Hoon. "He's still so small. Just a child."
"So was I," he replied, "when they came for me."
A long silence settled between them, thick with memory.
Then, Hana placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll protect him."
He covered her hand with his. "With everything we have."
Outside, far beyond the clearing, in the shadowed underbrush of the forest, something moved.
It was not a beast. Not a man. But something between.
Its eyes glowed faintly blue, almost invisible, flickering like candlelight through the trees. It crouched low, its form obscured, watching the cottage. Watching Jae Hoon.
Not out of hatred.Not yet.
Out of recognition.
This was the one. The boy of the old path. The spark of a new beginning… or a very old end.
The next morning, Jae Hoon awoke to the sound of birdsong and the smell of hot soup.
He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. "Mmm… Mom?"
"In the kitchen," came her voice, cheerful as ever.
He pushed himself up and padded toward the table, hair messy, one sock missing.
His father sat at the table, sipping from a steaming bowl.
And then—next to the bowl, set on the wooden table like a quiet promise—was a small dagger.
Jae Hoon paused.
His father looked up. "Today, we start your real training."
Jae Hoon blinked. "With… that?"
"It's not for fighting," his father said. "It's for learning. You'll need to understand the weight of a blade before you're ever allowed to use one. Mana is power. But power without discipline is just destruction."
Jae Hoon stepped closer, eyes wide.
"Can I hold it?"
"Only if you promise to respect it. Never point it where you don't intend. Never draw it unless you need to."
"I promise."
His father nodded and slid the dagger forward.
Jae Hoon reached out, lifting it with both hands. It was heavier than he expected. The handle was wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth from years of use.
"This was mine," his father said. "When I was your age."
Jae Hoon stared at the blade in awe. "Did you ever… fight with it?"
His father didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the forest.
"Only when I had to."
Far beyond the trees, past the hills and rivers, in a hidden chamber lit by crystal torches, a cloaked figure stood before a mirror of silver flame. In the reflection, a child with glowing eyes held a dagger.
The figure leaned forward, whispering in a voice like rustling leaves:
"The child has awakened. The cycle begins again."