The rain hadn't stopped for two days.
Taeyang stood in the back of the rusted cargo van, the mountains of Gangwon-do rising like jagged teeth through the fog. His hoodie stuck to his skin, heavy with sweat and rain. He hadn't slept since Seoul.
Jiwoo leaned forward from the passenger seat. "This is it?"
"Should be." Minjae killed the engine. "It's off the map, like the guy said."
The six of them stepped out into the overgrown road. No signs, no lights—just a thin dirt path winding through dense pine forest.
"This used to be a mining town," said Hana, checking her offline map. "Collapsed in the '90s. Everyone left."
"But someone lives here," Eunbi whispered. "I heard them last night."
Taeyang ignored her. She said weird things all the time. Instead, he focused on the forest ahead. It wasn't just quiet—it was hollow. The kind of silence that made your skin itch.
They hiked for nearly an hour before they saw it: broken buildings swallowed by trees. A church with a caved-in roof. A school with rusted swing sets. And a crumbling guest lodge that still had a roof.
"We stay one night," Taeyang said. "Then we figure out what's next."
But that night, while the others slept, Taeyang stepped outside to pee—and saw a light moving through the trees.
Someone else was here.The inside of the lodge was cold, but dry. A miracle.
Minjae jammed the door shut with a chair. "If the cops come, we bolt out the back."
"They're not coming," Taeyang muttered.
Jiwoo lit a candle they'd found in a drawer. It barely lit the room, but it was enough to see everyone's faces—tired, wet, scared.
"I can boil water," Hana said, rummaging through the half-collapsed kitchen. "There's an old gas line."
Eunbi was curled in the corner, drawing something on the floor with charcoal.
"What's that?" Jiwoo asked.
"A dream," Eunbi said softly. "He was here. Taeyang."
Everyone looked at him.
"I've never been here," he said flatly.
But part of him wasn't sure.
That night, while the others slept, Taeyang walked the hallways of the lodge. He found dusty photo frames on the wall—one had been smashed. He turned it over.
A group of children stood in front of the lodge, hands clasped. A man in a white suit behind them, smiling.
Taeyang dropped the photo. His hands were shaking.
Then he heard it. A creaking sound.
Someone upstairs.
The staircase groaned as Taeyang climbed. He held a rusted metal rod he'd found in the kitchen.
The top floor was colder. Mold crept along the walls like veins. A faint humming came from behind the far door.
He pushed it open.
A small girl sat on the floor, staring at the wall. Humming.
She didn't look older than ten. Her white dress was too clean. Her feet were bare.
"Hey," he said quietly.
She turned her head.
Her eyes weren't scared. They were empty.
"I was waiting," she said. "You were supposed to come back."
"Who—what?"
Footsteps behind him. Taeyang spun.
An older man stood in the hallway. Thin, pale, wearing faded military gear. His voice was calm.
"She's not real. Neither are the memories. But they'll start coming now."
"Who are you?"
The man smiled.
"We never really left. You just forgot us."