The summer sun poured through the classroom windows, gilding the empty desks with light. Jiho leaned against the corridor railing, looking at the groups of students laughing below. His gaze softened as his thoughts drifted, and he whispered to himself, almost like he was narrating their story.
"Time changes everyone. Even Kim Jun-ung…" Jiho sighed, recalling how their once reckless and hot-headed friend had begun to calm down. Jun-ung no longer picked fights in the hallways or disrupted classes for attention. Instead, he spent more time buried in books, quietly supporting his peers, and often helping juniors with their studies. Jiho could see it—how Jun-ung had matured, like the rest of them. They had all grown, forced to by time and circumstance.
Yet one thing had not changed—Gyeonwoo's relentless devotion to archery. He trained as if every arrow carried the weight of his past, and every victory was an offering to something greater than himself. Every time he won, he would return to his coach with quiet respect, placing the gold medal in his hand.
"I couldn't have done this without you, Coach. These belong to you too," Gyeonwoo would say, a small, humble smile on his face. The coach often scolded him, telling him to keep the medals for himself, but Gyeonwoo never stopped. To him, it was a gesture of gratitude, a way of sharing his triumphs with the man who guided him when his heart was breaking.
One late afternoon, Jiho noticed Gyeonwoo walking ahead of him down the street. His tall figure was unmistakable, but it wasn't his usual stride to the archery range. Jiho's curiosity sparked when he saw a bouquet of fresh flowers in Gyeonwoo's hands.
"…Flowers?" Jiho muttered, tilting his head, before quietly following.
He trailed him through winding streets until Gyeonwoo stopped in front of the hospital. The automatic doors slid open, and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air. Jiho froze in place, his eyes wide, as realization struck him. Hospital? Who could he be visiting?
Inside, Gyeonwoo walked steadily, his grip tightening around the bouquet. His chest felt heavy with both nervousness and relief. He turned into a quiet ward, and there—sitting on the bed near the window—was the friend he thought about more often than he admitted.
She had been scarred in the fire accident, her body and spirit enduring months of treatment. But now, her face carried a gentle glow of recovery. When her eyes lifted to meet his, they softened with familiarity.
"Gyeonwoo…" she whispered, her voice delicate, as though it hadn't been used in days.
He smiled faintly, his usual calm demeanor breaking into something more tender. He walked over, placing the bouquet on the bedside table. The bright petals lit up the dull white room.
"You look well," he said quietly, his voice carrying both relief and unspoken longing. "I heard… you're finally being discharged, going back home after so many days."
Her lips trembled, forming a smile. "Yes… it feels strange. Like I'm waking up from a very long dream."
Gyeonwoo sat beside her, his eyes never leaving hers. "I never forgot you. Not even once. The competitions, the medals, the practice… all of it, I carried you with me."
For a moment, silence enveloped the room—thick with emotions too deep for words. Jiho, standing just outside the door, watched quietly. His chest tightened as he realized how much weight Gyeonwoo had been carrying all along, how much of his victories were tied to a face he had been waiting to see again.
The room smelled faintly of lilies now, the bouquet's freshness softening the otherwise sterile air. She touched the flowers gently, her fingertips brushing over the petals as though she couldn't believe something so vibrant was really hers.
Her eyes shimmered, filling with unshed tears.
"After the fire… I thought everything was over for me," she whispered. Her hand instinctively went to the faint scar near her wrist, half-hidden by her sleeve. "I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe without pain. And I thought… I thought no one would wait for me. That by the time I opened my eyes, everyone would have already moved on."
Gyeonwoo's chest tightened. He leaned forward, his voice deep but soft.
"I never moved on," he said firmly, his gaze locking onto hers. "Every day, I kept thinking of you. Even when I stood on the archery field, holding the bow… I saw your face. When I hit the target, I wished you were there to see it. When I missed, I thought… maybe you would have cheered me anyway."
Her lips trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away, embarrassed, but he reached out, catching her wrist gently.
"You don't have to hide it," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "You've suffered enough."
She looked at him with wide, watery eyes, and for a moment, she couldn't find the words. Finally, she whispered,
"Why? Why did you still care… after everything? Even when I disappeared from your life, why didn't you let go?"
Gyeonwoo's throat tightened, but he answered honestly, without hesitation.
"Because you're… unforgettable. No matter what I tried to do, I couldn't erase you. You're here—" he touched his chest lightly, over his heart, "—and I can't remove you, even if I wanted to."
Her tears finally spilled freely, her shoulders shaking as she let them fall. The weeks, months, of loneliness and pain seemed to pour out all at once. She covered her mouth, trying to quiet the sobs, but Gyeonwoo leaned closer, his voice firm and steady.
"You don't need to hide from me. Cry if you want. I'll stay right here."
And so she did. She wept openly, leaning slightly towards him, as though the weight she carried finally had a place to rest.
From outside the half-open door, Jiho watched quietly, his heart heavy with emotion. He had never seen Gyeonwoo like this—so vulnerable, yet so strong. So that's why he kept giving away his medals… Jiho realized. Every arrow he shot, every gold he won, it wasn't just for himself. It was for her.
Jiho stepped back, not wanting to intrude. He whispered to himself as he walked down the corridor,
"Even after all this time, he never forgot her… and she never really left him either."
The next morning, the hospital felt brighter than it had in months. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden streaks across the floor. Nurses came in with papers and forms, packing away the last of her things.
She stood by the bed, her hands trembling as she folded her small bag of belongings. Every movement felt surreal.
"I never thought I'd leave this place walking," she murmured, half to herself.
Gyeonwoo smiled softly as he stepped closer, his hands brushing the strap of the bag.
"Then let me carry it," he said. Without waiting for her protest, he lifted it easily onto his shoulder.
She blinked at him. "You don't have to…"
"I want to," he cut in, his tone gentle but resolute.
The nurse handed her the discharge papers, and for a brief moment, her hands shook too much to sign. Gyeonwoo moved closer, steadying her wrist with his hand, his touch warm and firm.
"You're not alone anymore," he whispered, low enough that only she could hear.
When they finally stepped out into the sunlight, the world felt too loud, too alive. She squinted, lifting her hand to shield her eyes, as if afraid the light might burn. Gyeonwoo noticed and shifted slightly, walking ahead just enough so his shadow covered her.
Her lips parted softly, almost a smile. "You're still the same… always standing in front of me."
He looked back, his gaze lingering on her. "And I'll keep standing here. As long as you'll let me."
Without thinking, she reached for his hand. At first, it was tentative, her fingers brushing against his palm like she wasn't sure she had the right. But Gyeonwoo immediately tightened his grip, strong and sure, as though he'd been waiting for this moment.
For a while, they just stood there, their hands linked. The hospital doors behind them slowly closed with a heavy thud, sealing the past, while the street ahead stretched open—unfamiliar, uncertain, but shared.
From across the street, Jiho leaned against his bicycle, pretending to adjust the brakes. His lips tugged into a small, knowing smile as he watched them.
"Finally…" he whispered. "He's not carrying that weight alone anymore."
As Gyeonwoo guided her carefully down the steps, Jiho turned away, pedaling off slowly. For the first time in months, he felt like maybe the air was a little lighter, and the future not so heavy.
The auditorium was alive with laughter, applause, and the rustle of graduation gowns. Proud parents filled the rows, cameras flashing with every name that was called.
Jiho and Gyeonwoo walked side by side, each holding a bouquet of flowers. Yet between them, they left a small, deliberate space—just wide enough for one more person.
It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't an accident.
It was for Seong Ah.
Jiho's gaze lingered on that space, his throat tightening. "You said this day would be the happiest one for us, didn't you? We're here… but without you."
Gyeonwoo's eyes softened as he looked toward the empty gap. His lips curved in the faintest smile, not bitter, not sad—just full of quiet remembrance. In his heart, he imagined her laughter, her bright eyes as she adjusted her gown nervously.
When their names were called, they stepped forward together, still keeping that space. The teachers and classmates didn't question it, but for Jiho and Gyeonwoo, it was as though Seong Ah was right there, walking with them, just as she had dreamed.
After the ceremony, when the caps flew high into the air, Jiho and Gyeonwoo gently placed their bouquets on the empty chair they had saved for her.
Gyeonwoo spoke softly, his voice calm but carrying weight, "You made it with us, Seong Ah. Even if we can't see you."
Jiho added with a trembling smile, "We'll carry your dream wherever we go."
And in the middle of all the noise, celebration, and joy, the two boys stood quietly, leaving that space untouched—because for them, Seong Ah was still there, always.
The courtyard buzzed with chatter, groups of students crowding together for one last photo in their school uniforms. Flowers and ribbons filled the air with their sweet scent, and the sound of camera shutters echoed like tiny bursts of memory.
Jiho and Gyeonwoo stood side by side, gowns flowing in the breeze, a quiet seriousness between them. But when Doyeon spotted them, she quickly rushed over, waving her camera like a weapon.
"Yah! You two look like you're about to enter a history textbook. Lighten up! Stand properly."
Jiho chuckled nervously, scratching his temple. "We are standing properly…"
"No, no. What's this empty space between you two? It looks like you're fighting," Doyeon said, squinting at them.
Jiho and Gyeonwoo exchanged a glance. Then, almost at the same time, they murmured,
"It's for Seong Ah."
Doyeon froze, her smile faltering. The laughter and chatter around them dimmed for her in that moment. She knew what they meant. That invisible place they left between them wasn't just empty—it was sacred.
Her throat tightened, but instead of letting tears win, she took a deep breath and slapped her cheeks lightly. "Fine. If you're going to save space, then at least do it right."
She marched up to them, dragging Jiho a little to the left. "Okay, Jiho, Seong Ah's shoulder would've been about here, right?" She raised her palm to the air, measuring an invisible height.
Jiho couldn't help but laugh. "A little lower, I think. She'd complain if you made her taller than me."
"Oh right," Doyeon adjusted her hand, crouching slightly, "then here."
Jiho leaned sideways, pretending to tilt his head toward Seong Ah. "Like this? As if she's here scolding me for not wearing my gown straight."
Even Gyeonwoo, normally quiet and composed, shifted to make space near his shoulder. His lips quirked into the faintest smile. "She'd definitely nag me too… for standing too stiff."
"Aigoo," Doyeon muttered, swallowing the lump in her throat as she raised the camera. "Fine, fine. I'll take it properly this time. Smile. One… two… three…"
Click.
The shutter captured the three of them—Jiho grinning a little too wide, Gyeonwoo holding a soft, steady smile, and that space between them glowing with golden sunlight. To strangers, it would look like an odd gap. But to them, it was Seong Ah's place.
When Doyeon lowered the camera, she couldn't stop herself from whispering, "She'd love this picture…"
Jiho peeked at the screen, his laughter coming out shaky. "She'd probably complain about my hair first."
"And then tease me for looking too serious," Gyeonwoo added quietly.
The three of them stood there for a moment, their hearts heavy yet warm. Around them, students laughed and families cheered, but within that small circle, they carried a different kind of celebration—one that belonged to them and Seong Ah.
---
That evening, after the ceremony, the friends gathered at their favorite little café near school. The place was cozy, with paper lanterns glowing above the tables and the familiar hum of the old ceiling fan.
Jiho scrolled through the graduation photos on Doyeon's camera, stopping at the one where the empty space shone between him and Gyeonwoo. He set the camera on the table so they could all see.
"She would've stood right here," Jiho said softly, tapping the screen. "And she'd probably be holding the biggest bouquet of flowers, just to brag."
Doyeon smiled through her tears. "And she'd force us all to take at least twenty more pictures until she got the angle she liked."
Even Gyeonwoo's lips curved upward, his eyes fixed on the image. "She always said graduation would be her stage. That she'd shine brighter than anyone."
Silence wrapped around them, but it wasn't empty. It was filled with Seong Ah's laughter, her nagging voice, the echo of her dreams.
Jiho raised his glass of soda. "Then… to Seong Ah. The brightest one of us."
The others lifted their glasses, touching them gently together.
"To Seong Ah."
The clink rang softly, but in their hearts, it was as if she was there with them—smiling, laughing, and celebrating their last day of school together.
The night sky was painted deep indigo, stars scattered like grains of rice across velvet. Gyeonwoo carried the bouquet of fresh flowers up to the terrace—the very place he and Seong Ah used to sneak away, whispering about dreams, laughing over secrets, and finding comfort in each other's presence.
He set the flowers down carefully, almost reverently, where she used to sit. The wind ruffled his hair as he whispered, "You should've been here, Seong Ah. Today was graduation… we saved a space for you."
For a long while, he stood in silence, listening to the hum of crickets and the faint sound of the city beyond. Then, with a firm step, he turned away. His heart had decided—he couldn't just wait anymore. He needed answers.
---
The chamber house loomed ahead, its wooden doors creaking faintly in the night wind. It was quiet… too quiet, like a place that had forgotten what life felt like. Gyeonwoo pushed the door open, the musty air wrapping around him as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
The shrine stood at the far end, candles long extinguished, dust covering the wooden floor. The figures of gods sat solemnly, still and eternal—the very same deities Seong Ah and the shaman once prayed to.
His chest tightened as memories pressed against him. He whispered almost to himself, "It's empty… like it's been waiting for her."
Then a voice broke the silence.
"Oh, you are here?"
Gyeonwoo spun around. Yeomhwa stood in the doorway, her figure half-shrouded in moonlight. She stepped forward, her tone calm yet heavy.
"This house… once belonged to the shamans," she said, her eyes drifting to the altar. "They worshipped these gods faithfully. But now? This home is nothing but silence. The shamans are gone. Dead."
Her words struck like a cold blade.
Gyeonwoo clenched his fists. "…Dead?"
Yeomhwa moved closer, her gaze sharpening. Then, as if remembering something, she knelt down near the altar. "How about we check inside this box?"
She dragged out a wooden chest, its surface scarred with age. Slowly, she opened it. The lid creaked, and inside lay an archery bow—its surface gleaming faintly even in the darkness.
Gyeonwoo's eyes widened. "This…"
Yeomhwa let her fingers brush the bow lightly, then looked up at him, her expression grave. "Seong Ah is alive."
The words struck his heart like thunder. He staggered back a step, hope flaring in his chest. "Alive…? You're certain?"
She nodded slowly. "If she were dead, I would have received the message. The spirits never lie to me. She is somewhere out there… but listen carefully, Gyeonwoo. The Seong Ah you knew—may not be the same anymore."
His breath caught. "…What do you mean?"
Yeomhwa's eyes darkened. "She will turn into evil. She will harm people."
Gyeonwoo's entire body froze, disbelief burning in his chest. "No. No, Seong Ah would never—she can't. She's kind, she's… she can't turn into evil!"
Yeomhwa gave a bitter chuckle, her smile haunting. "I too was not evil in the beginning. But the world… people… darkness—it manipulates, corrupts. Even the purest can fall." She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes sharp like daggers. "I was turned into what I am now. And so will she."
Gyeonwoo's fists trembled as his heart roared against her words. His voice shook, filled with both fury and desperation.
"I don't care what you say—Seong Ah is not like you. She's stronger. She wouldn't break like that. And even if she is lost somewhere, I will find her. I'll protect her before the darkness can take her."
Yeomhwa tilted her head, amused at his fire, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. "You sound just like a hero from a story… But let's see if your faith will survive when the truth finds you."
Her words echoed through the hollow chamber, lingering like a curse.
Gyeonwoo tightened his grip on the bow lying in the box, his heart thundering. Seong Ah… where are you?
Gyeonwoo lifted the bow from the chest with trembling hands. The wood was strangely warm, humming faintly as though it recognized him. Without a word, he tucked it carefully under his arm and marched out of the chamber house, his heart pounding with a single thought—Seong Ah.
The night air was cold against his skin as he headed straight to Do Ryeong's quarters. The elder was still awake, sitting cross-legged before a dim lantern, reading over old scrolls.
Gyeonwoo bowed quickly, his breath ragged.
"Master Do Ryeong… I found this." He placed the bow before him. "Yeomhwa said Seong Ah is alive… but that she will fall into darkness. I can't let that happen. Please—help me find her."
Do Ryeong studied him for a long moment, his wise eyes narrowing at the boy's desperation. Then, with a heavy sigh, he reached behind him and pulled out a bundle of small, silk-wrapped amulets. The faint scent of burned herbs clung to them.
"These are ghost-hunting amulets," Do Ryeong explained, laying them out on the floor. "They will protect you from spirits who wander the in-between realms. But remember, Gyeonwoo—amulets are tools, not shields for your heart. If Seong Ah truly stands on the edge of evil… only you will decide whether to save her or destroy her."
Gyeonwoo clenched his fists, jaw set. "I will save her. Even if the gods themselves stand in my way."
Do Ryeong gave a faint smile at his determination, though his eyes held quiet worry.
---
Meanwhile, in the dim-lit courtyard, Yeomhwa sat in silence, her gaze lost in the flickering shadows of the torches. The weight of her earlier words lingered, yet her expression betrayed something darker—an unease even she couldn't shake.
Grandmother approached slowly, lowering herself beside her. The old woman's eyes, clouded with wisdom and time, studied Yeomhwa's face.
"What are you doing, child?" she asked gently.
Yeomhwa's lips curled faintly, though not with joy. "I am preparing… preparing to watch carefully. Seong Ah is not gone. She hides somewhere, in some shadow. And when she returns, she will not be the same."
Grandmother's brows furrowed. "And if she is not the same?"
Yeomhwa's voice hardened like ice. "Then I must be aware of her every step. Because if she is consumed… then Seong Ah must die."
Grandmother's face paled, her wrinkled hands tightening around her cane. "Die…? But she is still a child of fate. Is that truly what you believe must be done?"
Yeomhwa's gaze flickered toward the dark horizon, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "This world doesn't forgive the fallen. If she harms even one soul… then mercy is already lost."
The silence between them grew heavy, filled with the weight of inevitable choices.
The bow felt heavier with each step he took through the woods, as though the burden of his mission pressed down on his shoulders. Gyeonwoo remembered Do Ryeong's instructions clearly:
"Tie the amulet to the arrow. The spirit will be bound to the truth of the charm. Ask them what you must, but beware the faceless ones. They wander with no features, no voice of their own, and only the most tormented among them will know of her."
With steady hands, he knotted one of the ghost-hunting amulets around the shaft of an arrow. The moment he did, the air shifted—the faint rustle of whispers circling the trees.
His breath caught. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the path. Then, from the mist, a pale figure drifted into sight. Its face was blurred, as though erased, and its body wavered like smoke.
A faceless ghost.
Gyeonwoo's pulse quickened. He drew the bowstring back, the amulet glowing faintly against the dark. The spirit hissed, its form quivering at the sight of the charm.
"Wait," he called out, his voice trembling but firm. With his other hand, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, folded photograph—the one he carried always, the one of Seong Ah smiling with the cherry blossoms behind her. He held it up high.
"Have you seen her? This girl—Seong Ah. Tell me!"
The ghost let out a low, distorted wail. Its faceless head tilted sharply, as if recognizing.
Gyeonwoo's heart leapt. He took a step closer. "You know her, don't you? Tell me where she is!"
The spirit shook violently, its form rippling. The amulet on the arrow flared brighter, binding the ghost in place. For a moment, its blur seemed to shift—as though features were trying to appear. A cracked, broken voice forced its way through the silence.
"...alive… but… darkness…"
The words faded into a shriek as the ghost dissolved, leaving the amulet burning faintly against the arrow.
Gyeonwoo dropped his bow slightly, his chest heaving. Alive… but darkness.
---
He pressed on, hunting more ghosts through abandoned alleys, shrines, and old ruins. Each time, he tied a new amulet, showed Seong Ah's photo, and demanded answers. Some recoiled, some said nothing, but more than once he heard fragments—
"...she walks… not herself…"
"...sorrow follows…"
"...she hides… the red moon…"
The more he hunted, the more his resolve hardened.
Every time the spirits whispered her name, his grip tightened on the bow. Every arrow loosed was no longer just a weapon—it was a prayer, a demand, a vow.
By the time dawn painted the horizon, he stood at the edge of an abandoned temple, exhausted yet unyielding. His fingers brushed the photograph again, his voice low but filled with fire.
"Seong Ah… wherever you are, I'll find you. No matter what you've become."
The nights bled into one another. Gyeonwoo hardly remembered the last time he had properly slept. His quiver of arrows was no longer just lined with steel tips, but with talismans wrapped carefully around each shaft—Do Ryeong's ghost-hunting amulets.
The world around him had changed too. The woods, the shrines, even the quiet alleys seemed to watch him. He could feel the restless dead stirring as if his search pulled them closer.
---
One night, beneath a crescent moon, he found himself in the old market district, long abandoned since the fire years ago. The air smelled faintly of soot and ash, though no smoke remained. He nocked an arrow, the amulet glowing faintly.
A figure appeared in the ruins of a shop—slouched, faceless, drifting.
"Seong Ah!" he called, holding out her photograph again. His voice cracked, desperate. "This girl—tell me where she is!"
The spirit writhed violently, clawing at its own face as if trying to pull away unseen chains. The amulet's glow forced it to speak:
"...red moon… she… waits…"
"Where?" Gyeonwoo demanded, stepping closer. "Tell me where she is!"
But before it could answer, more shadows emerged—three faceless ones. They lurched toward him, screeching, their forms flickering like fire.
Gyeonwoo loosed his arrow. The charm flared midair, binding one of them before it burst into dust. He spun, pulling another arrow, his arms aching but steady. One by one, he fired—his coach's training mixing with Do Ryeong's words.
Each hit carried his heart with it, every arrow a plea: Bring me closer to her.
When the last ghost dissolved, silence fell again. His breath was ragged, sweat dripping down his brow, but his eyes burned with determination.
---
Later, he sought out Do Ryeong once more.
"You said the faceless ones know the truth," Gyeonwoo said, his voice low. "They all speak of a red moon. What does it mean?"
Do Ryeong's expression tightened. "The red moon marks a night of passage. It is when spirits bound by sorrow become strongest. If Seong Ah walks among them… it means she is caught between the living and the dead."
Gyeonwoo's grip on the bow tightened. "Then I have to reach her before that night."
---
For weeks, he continued the hunt—trailing faceless ghosts from riverbanks to abandoned temples, from forgotten roads to hilltop shrines. Each time, they gave him only fragments:
"...chains… binding her…"
"...light fading… red moon rises…"
"...she calls, but not as herself…"
And each time, the certainty grew inside him: Seong Ah is alive. She is near. But she's drowning in darkness.
---
One evening, while following the trail through a desolate forest, he shot down another faceless ghost. As its form flickered out, it let out one final whisper:
"...the chamber house… she waits…"
Gyeonwoo froze, his heart slamming against his ribs.
The chamber house.
The very place where Seong Ah once worshipped with the shaman.
1. Korea – Abandoned Temple in the Mountains
His first battles begin close to home. In a ruined shaman's temple, he hunts faceless ghosts bound by old rituals.
One whispers: "She crossed waters… chained by fate…"
This gives him his first hint that Seong Ah isn't only bound to Korea, but to a bigger, global web of spirits.
---
2. Japan – Kyoto Forest Shrines
Gyeonwoo travels to Japan, following traces of restless spirits that gather near forgotten shrines.
He uses his amulet-arrows to pin one ghost, who speaks: "The red moon rises first above the East… but her shadow travels west…"
He begins to mark the map with a red line—her trail moving outward.
---
3. India – Riverbanks of Varanasi
In India, he finds spirits lingering near the river, where life and death coexist strongly.
The faceless ghosts here are stronger, requiring multiple arrows to bind.
One faceless ghost reveals: "She lingers between prayers and curses… her soul is restless, waiting…"
The clue pushes him further westward.
---
4. Egypt – Desert Ruins near the Nile
Here, he faces faceless shadows inside ancient ruins. The air is suffocating with old curses.
When he shows Seong Ah's photograph, the spirits tremble violently. One whispers: "Her chains… carved in light… will break beneath the red moon."
Gyeonwoo feels the time limit closing in.
---
5. Greece – Abandoned Chamber beneath Delphi
The next lead brings him to Europe, into caves where ancient oracles once spoke.
The faceless ghosts are almost human-shaped now, whispering riddles.
One stares at Seong Ah's photo and mutters: "She is both your salvation and your ruin…" before vanishing.
---
6. The Final Clue – The Chamber House (Back to Korea)
After months of chasing ghosts around the world, the map leads him back to where it began.
The red lines on his map circle back into Korea—the chamber house.
The whispers align: "When the red moon rises above the chamber house, she will awaken… not as Seong Ah, but as something else."
---
By spreading the hunt across the world, Gyeonwoo's journey feels epic and relentless, like a hero chasing love through the very fabric of life and death. But in the end, all paths circle back to the chamber house—the place where Seong Ah's fate will be decided.
Gyeonwoo sat on the wooden chair, sweat still clinging to his skin, his bow resting against his knee. His coach stood in front of him, brows furrowed, voice stern.
Coach: "What is this, Gyeonwoo? You can't just vanish into the mountains at night. People will assume things… you're a national player, you carry the pride of the country. You can't risk it all for—"
Before he could finish, Gyeonwoo's voice cut sharp through the silence.
Gyeonwoo: "I can't let Seong Ah be alone. Somewhere, she's waiting for me. Somewhere, she's suffering. I shall find her… no matter what."
His words carried a conviction that silenced even the coach.
Just then, a strange chill swept into the room. The corner grew darker, as if shadows themselves were bending. Faceless ghosts appeared—thin, formless, with hollow eyes. They beckoned, whispering in broken voices only Gyeonwoo could hear.
Faceless Ghosts (whispering): "We found her… we found Seong Ah…"
Gyeonwoo's eyes widened. He stood immediately, bow slung over his shoulder, ignoring the coach's alarmed call as he followed the ghosts into the night.
---
✨ Meanwhile…
In a hidden chamber far away, shadows danced against cracked stone walls. The flicker of candles stretched across the floor as Seong Ah—her face pale, her eyes distant—sat in front of an altar. In her hand, a tightly rolled paper wrapped around a stick. With trembling fingers, she lit it with the candle's flame.
The fire consumed it slowly, curling the paper into ash. The scent of burnt ink filled the air. She began to chant softly, her voice layered with something unfamiliar, as if another presence moved through her.
The smoke spiraled unnaturally, forming strange shapes before vanishing into the dark.
Seong Ah (whispering to herself): "The path is drawn… the door will open…"
Her lips curved into a faint, sorrowful smile, eyes glistening—not of joy, but of pain and something darker lurking beneath.
The night was thick with mist, the trees in the forest bending under the weight of silence. Gyeonwoo's boots crushed damp leaves as he followed the faint glow of the amulets clinging to the faceless ghosts. Their hollow eyes shimmered dimly, pulling him deeper into the wilderness. His breath was heavy, but his determination sharper than ever.
Far away, Yeomhwa's sharp eyes caught the faint shimmer of that very same faceless ghost. She strode forward, her red robes brushing the ground, and with one swift motion she plucked Gyeonwoo's amulet from its shadowy form.
The ghost's hollow face twitched, disoriented, until Yeomhwa pressed her own talisman onto its chest.
Yeomhwa (softly, with venom): "Show me the path… not to Gyeonwoo, but to her."
The ghost's head tilted unnaturally, its body shivering as though torn between two masters, before it finally extended a trembling hand—pointing deeper into the darkness.
Yeomhwa smirked and followed.
---
The night was dense, the forest breathing with shadows and whispers. The air around the ritual ground throbbed with an eerie rhythm — candles flickering violently, the smell of burning parchment curling like a curse into the sky. Seong-ah's hands trembled as she held the scroll-stick, her face pale but her eyes determined, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. The black smoke curled into her veins, her shoulders twitching as if something unseen pressed inside her chest.
From the tree line, Yeomhwa stepped forward slowly. Her eyes glimmered, lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"Ah… Seong-ah," she said, voice smooth yet mocking. "Aren't you behaving so strangely? This isn't the timid girl who cried in the chambers… this is someone who dares call darkness to her side."
She moved closer, her gaze never breaking. "You think you can handle it? You think you can take what once swallowed me whole?"
With a flick of her wrist, Yeomhwa's hand shot out, scattering some of the talismans, disrupting the flames. The ritual trembled. The ground beneath them quivered like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Seong-ah's body jerked, her teeth grinding as if resisting a pull from within. Suddenly, a shadow darted across her face — her pupils dilated into something inhuman, and a voice layered over hers spoke:
"Oh, so you were worried about me… that's why you came rushing here?" The evil spirit's tone was cruel, mocking, dripping with venom.
Yeomhwa only smirked wider, crouching so their eyes met at level.
"Is it really worry, Seong-ah? Or… are you just eager to fall exactly where I once fell? Do you think you're stronger than me?"
The ritual light began to swell, the wind tearing through the forest like claws. Seong-ah staggered back, clutching her chest, the dual voices inside her battling for dominance.
Just then—an arrow whistled through the air. Thud! It struck the ground between the two girls, carrying an amulet that shimmered bright against the darkness.
Gyeonwoo emerged from the forest shadows, his bow drawn, eyes sharp with fury and desperation.
"Stay away from her!" he shouted, voice breaking through the chaos.
Yeomhwa turned, lips curling in amusement. "Ah… the loyal archer."
But before she could react, Gyeonwoo darted forward, his movements swift. He grabbed Seong-ah's wrist, pulling her up from the ground. Her breath was ragged, eyes glassy with the spirit's grip, but at the sound of his voice she faltered just enough.
"Run, Seong-ah! Now!"
Her body seemed to move on instinct, stumbling at first but then gaining speed. Leaves whipped at her face as she bolted into the darkness.
Behind her, Yeomhwa's laughter echoed like broken bells, mocking and cruel. "Run, little bird… run while you can. But you can't escape forever. The darkness you've touched will never leave you."
Seong-ah didn't look back. Her lungs burned, her legs shook, but her heart hammered with one truth: she wasn't safe. Not anymore.
And in the clearing, Gyeonwoo turned back toward Yeomhwa, arrow nocked once again, determination hardening in his chest.