That night, she dreamed again.
The same garden. The same rain.
And him.
He stood beneath an almond tree in full bloom, petals falling like snow. His dark hair was wet from the storm, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes, black as ink and just as deep, searched for something. Or someone.
And this time, Yoorin stepped into the dream with more clarity than ever before.
"Who are you?" she asked.
But her voice came out strange—like it didn't belong to her. Softer. Older.
He turned to her slowly, his expression unreadable. As if he'd waited centuries to hear that question, and still didn't know how to answer.
"I knew you before time learned your name."
The wind stirred. The petals swirled.
"And I waited… through every season. Even after you forgot me."
Yoorin's heart ached.
Not because of his words—but because some part of her believed them.
She looked down.
She was wearing something unfamiliar—flowing silk robes, pale as clouds. Her hands weren't her hands. They were smaller. Thinner. But her soul… her soul felt the same.
"Why do I keep dreaming of you?" she asked.
The man stepped forward, close enough that she could see the shadow of grief in his eyes.
"Because this is not a dream."
And then—
She woke.
In her bed. Moonlight on her pillow. Heart pounding like a war drum.
And on her desk, the mysterious book lay open again.
With new words written in silver ink:
"Dreams are how the soul remembers."