Lee Hwan stood on the icy steel beams of Mapo Bridge, the fading glow of dusk sinking into the Han River below. His heart pounded, drowning out the distant rumble of cars and the buzz of neon signs flickering to life along Seoul's skyline. His fingers gripped the railing, slick with evening dew, and for a brief moment, he shut his eyes, letting the cool night breeze sweep his thoughts away.
When he opened them, the world seemed to shrink. Behind him, Seoul sparkled: skyscrapers glowing with bright LED advertisements, ferries gliding silently across the water, and trees along the riverbank lit with soft lanterns. Ahead, the dark void of the river yawned, cold and unforgiving. He'd been here before—six months ago—curled up in his jacket, tears streaming as the ambulance carrying his parents sped off without him. He'd sworn then he'd never feel so powerless again.
But tonight, that helplessness was back, heavier than ever.
His mind wandered to the moments that had brought him here:
• The hospital's dim, flickering lights as his father's heart monitor flatlined.
• His mother's trembling hand slipping from his as she whispered, "Be strong for me."
• The endless bills stacking up, scholarship deadlines looming like storm clouds.
• Jiho's cruel laughter in biology lab, mocking his shaky hands: "Can't hold a pipette, can't hold a life together."
• Minseok and Daeyul's pitying glances as he studied under a streetlamp, hiding his slipping grades.
• Yura's final text, sharp and distant: "I can't keep saving you when you're drowning in your own sorrow."
Hwan let out a shaky breath, the damp chill of the river stinging his lungs. The pain burned through him, fierce and unstoppable. He thought of his backpack that morning, weighed down with textbooks, and the empty space by his apartment door where Yura used to wait for him.
If even she had given up—if everyone had—what was left to hold on to?
Something hard pressed against his thigh. He reached down and pulled out his wallet, his phone, and a crumpled photo of his parents at his graduation, their smiles frozen in time. Kneeling, he smoothed the photo with his thumb, their faces blurring through the sting in his eyes.
"Mom, Dad," he whispered, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
He stood, his feet pulling him closer to the edge. One foot hovered over the railing. For a fleeting second, he pictured the plunge—the icy water swallowing him, the river carrying him away. A strange calm settled over him, the weight in his chest lifting just a fraction.
Then—a flicker of light.
It started as a faint glow behind his eyes, then spread, warm and golden, tracing arcs along his skin from his shoulders to his hands. The world froze: traffic lights stuck mid-blink, a pigeon's wings locked in midair, the river's ripples stilled like glass.
SYSTEM MESSAGE (Glowing Arcane Script):
"Traveler caught between life and death. Fate offers a path. Will you accept the Rite of Awakening?"
Hwan blinked, his chest tightening. He reached out, half-expecting the words to vanish, but they hung there, shimmering like liquid light. His instincts screamed to pull back, to say no, but his hand moved on its own, trembling, and tapped the glowing script.
The light exploded. The world shook—and then it was gone.
When Hwan woke, his cheek was pressed against damp moss. Silence enveloped him—no cars, no neon, just the soft sigh of wind through towering trees. He lay still, sweat beading on his forehead, his body aching as if he'd been asleep for centuries.
He sat up slowly. His head throbbed with the memory of that blinding light, both fierce and gentle. He touched his chest, expecting to find the photo or his wallet, but instead, a silver pendant rested against his shirt—a sigil shaped like a broken flame. It pulsed with a faint warmth, like a heartbeat.
He tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through his ribs and thigh. Wincing, he sank to one knee, pressing a hand to a fresh bruise. The pain anchored him, proof this wasn't a dream. Around him, massive trees stretched toward the sky, their bark carved with glowing symbols older than anything in Seoul. Glowing mushrooms sprouted at the base of ferns, and a distant waterfall murmured softly.
He swallowed hard. Where was he?
SYSTEM MESSAGE (Arcane Script):
"Welcome, Chosen Traveler. Destination: Velguard Realm. Status: Injured but functional. Equipment: Dagger. Skill Tree: Unlocked."
Hwan stared at the words, a mix of awe and dread washing over him. The letters flickered like firelight, ancient yet alive. He reached for his waist and found a dagger in a worn leather sheath. Its steel hilt felt familiar, like an old friend. He drew it, tested the blade's edge, and slid it back. His phone, backpack, and photo were gone—no trace of his old life. Just the dagger and the strange, warm sigil.
He stood, each step a protest from his bruised body. The clearing around him was alive with mossy stones, glowing vines, and a canopy of emerald leaves blocking out the sky. The air smelled of earth and mushrooms, cool and sharp. The forest felt watchful, like it was sizing him up.
His breath quickened. He pressed a hand to his temple, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. How had he gotten here? Why him? What was Velguard, and what did it want from him?
He shook his head, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Fear was just a guest—he didn't have to let it stay. He sheathed the dagger with deliberate care and stepped toward a shadowed path leading deeper into the forest. Every nerve buzzed, every heartbeat a reminder to stay alert.
At the path's edge, he paused, listening. The waterfall's soft hum and the faint glow of runes carved into stones along the trail were all he could sense. The path dipped into darkness, promising answers—or danger. Maybe both.
He glanced at the sigil again. It warmed his hand, pulsing in sync with his heart. It reminded him of Seoul, of the weight he'd carried: grief, guilt, and the stubborn promise to keep going, to survive.
He tightened the straps of a backpack that wasn't there—a habit from his old life. He flexed his fingers, remembering how weakness had once broken him. Not this time.
He took a step forward.
As Hwan moved down the path, slivers of moonlight pierced the canopy, casting patches of silver on the forest floor. His boots sank into soft earth, leaves crunching beneath them. He stopped by a gnarled oak, its bark etched with glowing symbols that pulsed in time with the forest's rhythm. He touched the trunk, feeling a faint hum, like the tree itself was alive.
SYSTEM MESSAGE (Arcane Script):
"Environmental scan: High mana density. Ambient magic: Stable. Recommendation: Proceed with caution; gather herbs if safe."
Hwan nodded to himself, his heart still racing. Caution first, always. He knelt by a patch of blue-tinged ferns, their leaves soft and curled inward, as if guarding something precious. He'd studied botany back on Earth—these reminded him of plants used for healing, but here they glowed with a strange, otherworldly light.
He plucked a frond and tucked it into his shirt. Food could wait; medicine was priority. His father's words echoed in his mind: "A healer tends to wounds before facing the fight." He exhaled, grounding himself.
He pushed deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller, their trunks twisting like living sculptures. Strange flowers, delicate as stained glass, hovered above the ground on slender stalks, their petals glowing softly. A breeze carried their sweet, sharp scent, like nothing he'd ever smelled.
The sound of water grew louder. He followed it to a small waterfall spilling into a jade-green pool. Moonlight shimmered on its surface. Hwan crouched, cupped his hands, and drank. The water was cool and sweet, easing the dryness in his throat.
As he drank, the forest felt less menacing, almost welcoming, as if it had decided to give him a chance. He caught his reflection in the pool: dark hair matted to his forehead, gray eyes wide with wonder, cheeks gaunt from exhaustion. He barely recognized himself—a stranger, yet somehow more alive.
A rustle snapped him out of his thoughts. He spun, hand on his dagger, but saw only a flicker of movement: a small white fox, its fur speckled with star-like spots, darting behind a boulder. It paused, one golden eye meeting his, then slipped into the underbrush.
SYSTEM MESSAGE (Arcane Script):
"Encounter logged: Celestial Fox. Rare creature. Interaction: Observed. No immediate threat."
A faint smile tugged at Hwan's lips. Even in this strange place, there were small wonders. He dipped his hands into the pool again, filling a flask he found at his belt, and slung it over his shoulder. Night would linger for hours—he needed water, shelter, and a moment to rest.
He scanned the bank. A fallen log, thick as a barrel, lay nearby. He dragged it closer to the water, piling ferns and moss at one end for cushioning. Settling against it, he peeled off his shirt to check his bruises. His ribs ached, but nothing felt broken. He tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve and wrapped it around his arm, tying it snugly.
He leaned back, watching moonlight dance on the pool. Memories of Seoul crept in—rain-slick streets, his mother's soft humming as she cooked, the warmth of their apartment's tiled floor. The grief was still there, sharp as ever, but beneath it burned a new spark: a drive to understand this world, to survive its challenges, and maybe find a way back home.
He lay back, hands resting on the sigil, and closed his eyes. The forest's sounds—water, wind, distant creatures—lulled him toward sleep.
Before he drifted off, he whispered, "I'll keep going."
The sigil warmed against his chest. The world beyond sleep hummed with promise.
And somewhere, a new dawn waited for a boy who'd fallen twice—and chosen, once again, to stand.
Chapter 1 ends.