The butcher's shop reeked of old blood and salt. Do-hyun pressed his back against the wall, his shadow-wreathed arm throbbing in time with the **pulse** he felt beneath the floorboards—a slow, steady beat like a buried heart.
Ji-hoon knelt beside him, prying up a loose board with his dagger. "It's here," he muttered. "The first relic."
Above them, the butcher's cleaver thudded against wood—a deliberate rhythm. **A warning.** The White Masks were close.
---
**The Screaming Sword**
The hole in the floor revealed a **wrapped bundle**, blackened cloth stiff with decades of dried blood.
Do-hyun reached for it—
—and the world **split open.**
**Vision:**
- *A man who shares his face—his father—snapping the blade of a gleaming black sword across his knee.*
- *A whisper: "The seal must break before it can be remade."*
- *Then fire, screams, and the Dowager's laughter.*
Do-hyun gasped, clutching the **broken sword** in his hands. Its hilt was icy, its jagged edge humming with a sound like distant thunder.
Ji-hoon's face paled. "It's damaged. That's why they couldn't sense it."
A crash from the front of the shop. **They were out of time.**
---
**Lady Han's Gambit**
The back door slid open. Lady Han Seol stood there, her blue robes muddied, a **burned scroll** clutched in her hand.
"You're alive," she breathed. Then, sharper: "They're coming. Choi Yeong leads them."
Ji-hoon stepped between them. "You followed us?"
"My father remembers what the Dowager tried to erase. So do I." She thrust the scroll at Do-hyun. "This says the sword *chooses* its wielder. If you're unworthy, it will burn you to ash."
The parchment showed an illustration: a shadowy figure impaled on the very blade in his hands.
Do-hyun tightened his grip. **Let it try.**
---
**Choi Yeong's Reckoning**
The front door exploded inward.
White Mask Guards flooded the shop, their leader's **blood-weeping mask** fixed on Do-hyun.
Choi Yeong's voice was raw. "The last Jin. How poetic."
Ji-hoon drew his dagger. Lady Han backed toward the door.
Do-hyun raised the broken sword—
—and the shadows **answered.**
Darkness surged from his arm, twisting around the blade like a living thing. The relic **glowed crimson**, its fractured edge humming with power.
Choi Yeong hesitated. Then, with a snarl, he ripped off his mask.
**His eyes were voids.**
*"Gyeonma hungers,"* he hissed—but the voice wasn't his own.
The first strike came faster than light.