For a moment, the entire hall went silent.
Not the usual polite silence that had filled the room earlier.
Not the respectful quiet of mourning.
This silence felt heavier.
Real.
Every gaze in the room had turned towards the boy kneeling on the floor.
Eun Gyeol's shoulders were trembling as the last of the tears escaped him.
They came unevenly.
Like something long sealed within had suddenly cracked open and was now struggling to spill out.
He gripped the fabric near his knees harder.
His breathing was heavy .
Unsteady.
tears fell against the polished surface of the floor.
Each drop felt unfamiliar.
Not because he didn't know what crying was.
But because the feeling itself seemed a bit distant.
Strange.
Like remembering how to swim after nearly drowning.
His body knew what to do.
But the emotion behind it lagged behind.
A delayed echo.
Somewhere beside him, someone whispered softly.
"He finally broke…"
Another voice answered in a hush.
"Poor child… he was holding it in all this time."
They misunderstood.
Eun Gyeol knew that.
They thought these tears were the natural release of suppressed grief.
But inside—
He knew something was different.
This wasn't grief finally surfacing.
It felt more like something inside him had **momentarily returned**.
Returned for just long enough to break through the hollow space inside his chest.
And now…
That space felt like it was slowly closing again.
The thought chilled him.
"Hyung…"
Min Jae's voice trembled beside him.
Small.
Uncertain.
Eun Gyeol lifted his head slowly.
His younger brother stood frozen a few steps away, eyes wide and red.
For the first time since the argument began—
Min Jae looked scared.
Not of the funeral.
Not of the loss.
But of him.
Of the person standing where his brother should have been.
Eun Gyeol's throat tightened.
He wanted to say something reassuring.
Something simple.
Something older brothers said when things fell apart.
But when he opened his mouth—
The words refused to come.
They felt stuck somewhere between thought and voice.
"I…"
The sentence collapsed before it could form.
Min Jae stared at him, waiting.
Waiting for something familiar.
Something warm.
Something that sounded like *his brother*.
Eun Gyeol felt the pressure return behind his eyes.
That strange hollow space inside his chest pulsed again.
Like something inside him was being pulled away.
Slowly.
Piece by piece.
He forced the words out anyway.
"I'm here."
The same words he had spoken earlier.
But this time—
Something inside them felt slightly different.
Min Jae blinked.
Not convinced.
But not recoiling either.
The fear in his eyes softened just a little.
That tiny shift in Min Jae's eyes felt strangely important.
Eun Gyeol didn't understand why.
But it did.
Relatives quickly stepped forward to help him up.
Hands reached for his shoulders.
"Careful."
"Take it slow."
"You've been through too much today."
Eun Gyeol allowed himself to be lifted.
His legs still felt weak.
Not from exhaustion.
But from the strange pressure building inside his head.
The moment he stood again, the funeral hall looked different.
Not physically.
Everything was still same.
The same rows of chairs.
The same framed photograph of his parents.
The same burning incense.
Yet the scene felt slightly… distant.
Like watching it through a thin sheet of glass.
A strange thought surfaced.
*If I walked away right now…*
*Would anything change?*
The idea unsettled him.
Because the answer that followed felt disturbingly uncertain.
The funeral continued after that and soon the funeral came to a quite close.
(LATER AT NIGHT)
Night came quietly.
Too quietly.
The house felt eerie without any sound.
No television humming in the background.
No plates clinking in the kitchen.
No footsteps moving between rooms.
Just stillness.
Min Jae had locked himself in his room hours ago.
Eun Gyeol stood alone in the living room.
The photograph of their family was on the table.
Their parents smiled up at him.
He stared at it for a long time.
"I cried," he murmured.
As if confirming it.
As if proving something.
The tears had come.
The pain had come.
But now—
There was that gap again.
He remembered collapsing.
He remembered promising.
He remembered the weight.
But the intensity of it already felt dulled.
Why did it fade so fast?
His hand rose slowly to his chest.
There.
That hollow sensation again.
Not emptiness.
Space.
Like something used to sit there.
A sudden ringing filled his ears.
Sharp.
High-pitched.
He flinched.
The lights above him flickered once.
Then steadied.
Eun Gyeol froze.
The house had old wiring.
That was normal.
He exhaled slowly.
But the ringing didn't stop.
It grew louder.
And beneath it was a second sound.
Faint.
Like glass being scraped lightly with a nail.
He turned towards the hallway.
The sound was not coming from outside.
It was inside.
Inside the house.
No.
Inside his head.
He shut his eyes tightly.
"Stop."
The sound cut immediately.
Silence returned.
His breathing quickened.
That wasn't my imagination.
It had stopped the moment he spoke.
His gaze shifted back to the photograph.
Something felt off.
He stepped closer.
His mother's smile.
His father's steady eyes.
Min Jae laughing.
Normal.
Completely normal.
But—
For a fraction of a second—
He could've sworn his image was slowly getting blurry and disappearing from the photograph.
He blinked.
The image looked fine.
"You're tired.
That's all."
he reassured himself.
He reached out and picked up the frame.
The glass was cold.
Too cold.
His fingers tightened slightly.
"I promised," he said quietly again.
The air in the room shifted.
Subtle.
Like pressure dropping before a storm.
The lights flickered again.
This time longer.
Three pulses.
On.
Off.
On.
Off—
Darkness swallowed the room.
The power hadn't gone out.
The streetlights outside were still glowing.
Only this house.
Only this room.
His breathing grew shallow.
"Min Jae?" he called out.
No response.
Of course.
The door was closed.
He was alone.
In the darkness—
The hollow space in his chest pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
On the third pulse—
Something moved behind him.
Not a sound.
Not footsteps.
Just—
Presence.
He felt it the way you feel someone standing too close.
Breathing near your neck.
But there was no breath.
Slowly—
He turned.
The living room was empty.
But the photograph frame in his hand—
Cracked.
A thin fracture running directly across his own smiling face in the picture.
Not his parents.
Just him.
The lights flickered back on.
The ringing stopped.
The air felt normal again.
Eun Gyeol stared at the crack.
His reflection in the glass split in two.
And for the briefest moment—
He didn't recognize the eyes staring back at him.
Not because they were different.
But because they felt unfamiliar.
Like they belonged to someone remembering how to be him.
His grip loosened slightly.
The hollow space in his chest pulsed again.
And this time—
It felt less empty.
As if something had noticed.
For a brief second the air in the living room tightened subtly.
Eun Gyeol frowned slightly.
The sensation vanished just as quickly as it has appeared.
The lights steadied.
The ringing in his ears was gone.
Silence returned to the house.
Normal.
Or at least… close enough to normal that his tired mind accepted it.
He exhaled slowly and stepped away from the table.
The cracked photograph returned to normal.
He turned and walked down the hallway instead.
The floor creaked softly under his steps.
Min Jae's door remained closed.
No sound came from inside.
Good.
He needed rest.
They both did.
Without knocking, Eun Gyeol continued past the door and entered his own room.
The door closed quietly behind him.
The house fell silent again.
But outside—
Something had already changed.
Across the city skyline, night stretched quietly over rows of dim streetlights and dark rooftops.
From the ground, everything looked peaceful.
Ordinary.
But far above the empty streets—
Two figures stood on the edge of a tall building overlooking the quiet neighborhood.
Cold wind moved across the rooftop.
Neither of them seemed bothered by it.
The taller of the two stood near the ledge, hands resting inside the pockets of his long black coat.
His posture was relaxed.
But his eyes were sharp.
Observant.
Kang Dae-Hoon.
Thirty-two years old.
A veteran contractor.
His gaze remained fixed on a particular street far below.
"…It happened again."
His voice was low.
Calm.
Analytical.
Behind his consciousness, something ancient stirred.
A presence that had existed far longer than human history.
Its voice echoed like a distant whisper from a deep abyss.
Apollyon.
The Angel of the Bottomless Pit.
A being that fed upon instability in reality itself.
Its presence brushed against Dae-Hoon's mind like cold wind across deep water.
**"Distortion confirmed."**
Dae-Hoon's expression didn't change.
"I felt it."
Behind him, someone else shifted slightly.
A young woman sat casually on the rooftop ledge, swinging one leg over the edge as if the drop below meant nothing.
Seo Ara.
Twenty-four.
Sharp eyes.
Curious smile.
And absolutely no sense of caution.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her palm.
"You felt it too?"
Dae-Hoon didn't turn around.
"Yes."
Ara let out a soft whistle.
"That's rare."
Her gaze moved lazily across the quiet houses below.
But slowly—
Her pupils narrowed.
Something else began looking through her eyes.
A second awareness.
Older.
Colder.
Lamia.
The Serpent Who Sees Truth.
Unlike Apollyon, Lamia did not hunt anomalies.
She observed them.
Studied them.
And occasionally… played with them.
A faint voice coiled through Ara's thoughts.
Smooth.
Amused.
**"Threads… tangled."**
Ara's lips curled into a small smile.
"Oh?"
Dae-Hoon finally glanced back at her.
"You see something."
Ara nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
She pointed toward a single house down the street.
The same quiet house where Eun Gyeol had just gone to his room.
"That one."
Dae-Hoon followed her gaze.
From this distance, nothing looked unusual.
Just another dark window among hundreds.
But Apollyon's presence stirred again inside his mind.
**"Anomaly probability rising."**
Dae-Hoon narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I thought so."
Ara tilted her head.
"You sound way too calm about that."
He answered simply.
"I deal with anomalies."
Ara chuckled.
"Yeah… but not like this."
She leaned forward again, focusing harder.
Invisible threads began spreading across her vision.
Normally, fate flowed smoothly.
Every human life connected through thin lines of probability and consequence.
Birth.
Choices.
Death.
All moving forward in a predictable pattern.
But tonight—
One of those threads looked wrong.
Very wrong.
Ara blinked slowly.
"…That's weird."
Dae-Hoon didn't move.
"Explain."
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"There should've been three deaths tonight."
Silence filled the rooftop.
Wind swept across the concrete.
Dae-Hoon's eyes sharpened slightly.
Ara continued.
"Two threads ended."
She raised two fingers.
"Cleanly cut."
Then she raised a third finger.
"But the third one…"
Her smile widened.
"It snapped… and then stitched itself back together."
Dae-Hoon finally turned fully toward her.
"That shouldn't be possible."
Ara nodded.
"Exactly."
Behind her mind, Lamia laughed softly.
A quiet hiss of amusement.
**"Interesting human."**
Dae-Hoon looked back toward the house again.
Apollyon's voice echoed once more.
Deeper now.
Colder.
**"Anomaly confirmed."**
The veteran contractor exhaled slowly.
"If it grows…"
His voice was calm.
But there was no hesitation in it.
"I'll eliminate it."
Ara burst into quiet laughter.
"You vetrans are so boring."
Dae-Hoon ignored her.
But Ara's gaze remained locked onto the house.
Her smile slowly shifted.
Not mocking.
Not playful.
But genuinely intrigued.
"Do you know what Lamia just told me?"
Dae-Hoon didn't respond.
Ara continued anyway.
"She says that thread has already resisted fate."
Once.
"Then twice."
Dae-Hoon's eyes darkened slightly.
"That means—"
Ara finished the sentence for him.
"…that boy shouldn't exist right now."
Silence settled over the rooftop again.
Cold wind swept between the buildings.
Far below them—
Inside the quiet house—
Ha Eun Gyeol lay awake in his room.
Unaware that his existence had just been noticed by forces far beyond the human world.
Ara leaned back against the ledge, staring up at the night sky.
A slow grin spread across her face.
"Well…"
She murmured softly.
"This is going to be fun."
Dae-Hoon didn't smile.
He only kept watching the house.
Because deep inside his mind—
Apollyon whispered one final warning.
**"If the anomaly survives long enough…"**
**"…it will break the world's balance."**
And somewhere in the darkness beyond both contractors—
Something else had already begun watching Ha Eun Gyeol as well.