Jog Lin was falling.
Darkness stretched endlessly beneath him while freezing wind tore across his body like invisible blades.
Far beside him—
the white figure descended silently through the void.
Watching.
Always watching.
Its featureless face remained turned toward him without moving.
Jog Lin tried to look away—
but somehow his eyes kept returning to it.
Then suddenly—
the darkness above them sealed shut.
Like a giant eye closing.
Everything vanished.
"AHHH—!"
Jog Lin woke violently.
His body jerked upward as he gasped for air.
Pain stabbed through his chest.
For several seconds, he could only breathe.
Fast.
Uneven.
Desperate.
Sweat soaked his clothes.
His hands trembled uncontrollably.
"I… died…"
The words barely escaped his lips.
He remembered everything.
The rooftop.
The fall.
The hands.
The voice.
The name.
Han Seojin.
A sharp pain suddenly pulsed behind his eyes.
Jog Lin grabbed his head instantly.
Fragments flashed through his mind—
A door covered in black symbols.
A burning city beneath red snow.
Someone whispering beside his ear:
"Don't let him remember."
The vision disappeared.
Jog Lin looked around quickly.
And froze.
This was not his room.
At least—
not entirely.
The room looked old.
Too old.
The wooden walls were cracked with age, covered in faded carvings he could not understand.
An oil lamp burned weakly near the bed, its orange light barely reaching the corners of the room.
Everything beyond that light felt wrong.
As if darkness there was deeper than normal darkness.
Watching.
Three paintings hung crookedly on the wall.
Jog Lin stared at them carefully.
Each painting showed the same place—
a black sea beneath a pale sky.
But something inside the paintings had changed.
In the first painting, the sea was empty.
In the second—
a shadow stood far away near the water.
In the third—
the shadow was closer.
Jog Lin slowly looked away.
His breathing became shallow.
Books littered the floor around him.
Hundreds of them.
Some open.
Some torn apart.
Some covered in strange black stains.
A cold breeze entered through the half-open window.
And there—
sitting silently outside—
was a black cat.
Its golden eyes reflected the dim lamp light without blinking.
Watching him.
Jog Lin felt his throat dry instantly.
The cat looked familiar.
Not familiar in memory—
but familiar in fear.
As if some part of his soul recognized it.
Then—
the cat tilted its head slowly.
Exactly like a human would.
Jog Lin stepped back.
The floor creaked beneath him.
That was when he noticed the door.
Black wood.
Old.
Rotting.
And beside it—
an axe.
Rust covered the blade.
Dark stains marked the handle.
Jog Lin frowned.
"Why would there be an axe here…?"
No answer came.
Only silence.
Heavy silence.
The kind that feels alive.
Trying to distract himself, Jog Lin crouched and began gathering the scattered books from the floor.
Most were written in languages he couldn't understand.
But one book caught his attention immediately.
It was completely black.
No title.
No author.
Just rough leather stained with age.
The moment his fingers touched it—
the room whispered.
Jog Lin froze.
At first the sound was faint.
Barely audible.
Then it grew louder.
Crying.
Whispering.
Laughing.
Thousands of voices speaking over each other from somewhere deep inside the walls.
Jog Lin instantly dropped the book.
The whispers stopped.
Silence.
His heartbeat pounded painfully in his ears.
He stared at the book lying on the floor.
Then slowly—
he picked it up again.
The whispers returned immediately.
Only now—
he could almost understand them.
Not words.
Warnings.
Begging.
Fear.
Jog Lin swallowed hard.
Something inside him screamed to throw the book away.
But another feeling—
deeper and colder—
wanted to open it.
Curiosity overcame fear.
Slowly—
he opened the first page.
And his blood turned cold.
A drawing stared back at him.
A black cat.
Sitting outside a window.
Watching someone inside the room.
Watching him.
Jog Lin's breathing stopped.
The paper trembled in his hands.
Then—
the cat outside the window blinked.
At the exact same moment—
the drawing inside the book blinked too.
Jog Lin stumbled backward violently.
The room suddenly became colder.
The oil lamp flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then every book in the room began shaking.
The whispers returned louder than before.
The black book rose slowly into the air.
Pages tore free violently and spiraled around Jog Lin like a storm of dead leaves.
The voices screamed now.
Not random screams.
A sentence.
Repeated endlessly.
"HE REMEMBERS."
"HE REMEMBERS."
"HE REMEMBERS."
Jog Lin covered his ears.
"STOP!!"
The pages moved faster.
The room itself began breathing.
The walls expanded and contracted slowly like living flesh.
Something scratched violently behind them.
Jog Lin fell to his knees trembling.
Then—
KNOCK.
Everything stopped instantly.
The pages dropped.
The whispers vanished.
Even the air became still.
KNOCK.
Slow.
Heavy.
From the door.
Jog Lin looked toward it.
The black cat outside the window was gone.
Only darkness remained beyond the glass.
KNOCK.
Jog Lin stood shakily and approached the door.
Every instinct inside him screamed not to open it.
But something worse terrified him more.
The thought of whatever was outside…
becoming impatient.
Slowly—
he leaned toward the small crack in the door.
Darkness stared back at him.
Nothing else.
Jog Lin exhaled weakly.
Then—
something pale moved.
A face.
Tall.
White.
Featureless.
Standing directly outside the door.
Watching him silently through the crack.
Jog Lin stumbled backward in terror.
At that exact moment—
the window exploded inward.
Thousands of black handprints slammed against the glass from outside.
Not hands.
Handprints.
As if countless invisible things were trying to force themselves into the room.
Cracks spread across the window rapidly.
The walls whispered again.
The oil lamp dimmed.
Jog Lin crawled backward desperately.
Then—
everything vanished.
Silence.
Complete silence.
The room returned to normal.
No whispers.
No handprints.
No floating pages.
Only the sound of his breathing remained.
Jog Lin slowly turned his head.
And froze.
Written across the wall beside him—
in fresh dripping blood—
were two words.
HAN SEOJIN.
The letters slowly ran downward like tears.
Jog Lin stared at them in horror.
"Who… are you…?"
The lamp flickered violently.
Darkness swallowed half the room.
Then—
something breathed beside him.
Very close.
Jog Lin slowly turned his head to the right.
And screamed.