The system messages had gone silent.
That alone made Kim Dokja uneasy.
The Star Stream loved commentary. Constellations thrived on reactions—cheers, mockery, coins thrown like applause in a twisted theater. Silence meant something had slipped outside their script.
Dokja leaned slightly against the rooftop railing, watching the unnatural garden that had swallowed half the concrete roof.
Flowers swayed without wind.
Vines curled around broken air vents and rusted railings like living ornaments.
And in the center of it all stood Persephone.
The Queen of the Underworld moved slowly between the plants she had summoned, her fingers grazing their petals as if she were greeting old companions after a long absence.
"Your world feels… wounded," she said quietly.
Dokja raised an eyebrow.
"That's one way to describe an apocalypse."
Persephone glanced over her shoulder.
Her expression held mild curiosity rather than concern.
"Apocalypse. Scenario. Storyline."
She rolled the unfamiliar words across her tongue.
"Different names for the same phenomenon."
Dokja studied her carefully.
"So you're saying this isn't unusual where you come from?"
She gave a small smile.
"Every realm has its own version of the end."
The vines rustled softly as she approached him again.
Dokja noticed something strange then.
The constellation windows hovering around him—usually constant—seemed hesitant.
Some flickered.
Others vanished entirely.
It was as if the Star Stream itself wasn't sure how to react to her presence.
He exhaled slowly.
Great. Even the system is confused.
Persephone stopped beside one of the rooftop planters, brushing aside the dead weeds that once occupied it. Fresh black soil filled the container now, rich and dark.
From the center, a single pale flower bloomed.
She looked thoughtful.
"Your watchers are cautious."
Dokja crossed his arms.
"They don't like things they can't monetize."
Persephone tilted her head.
"That explains the hunger I felt when I arrived."
"The Star Stream feeds on stories," Dokja replied. "Conflict sells."
"Mm."
She seemed to consider that deeply.
For a moment, her gaze drifted to the sky again—where faint silhouettes of constellations shimmered behind the clouds.
"They remind me of old gods," she murmured. "Always watching. Always wagering on mortals."
Dokja smirked faintly.
"You'll fit right in then."
Persephone laughed softly.
The sound was quiet, but the garden responded instantly.
More flowers bloomed along the vines.
Dokja noticed it immediately.
"…You're not hiding your power."
"Why should I?"
Her eyes met his again.
"Does it trouble you?"
Dokja shrugged.
"It usually means someone plans to cause problems."
Persephone stepped closer.
The scent of the flowers grew stronger around her.
"And you?"
She studied his face as though searching for something beneath the surface.
"You don't seem particularly afraid."
Dokja sighed.
"I've already met outer gods, regressors, constellations, and a guy who can destroy planets with a sword."
He looked directly at her.
"You're not even in the top five scariest things this week."
For a brief moment, Persephone simply stared at him.
Then she smiled again.
This time wider.
"That might be the most refreshing thing anyone has said to me in centuries."
The vines behind her shifted gently, forming a natural arch above the rooftop garden.
The scene looked strangely peaceful compared to the ruined city beyond.
Persephone reached toward one of the crimson flowers and plucked it carefully.
The stem remained perfectly intact.
She held it between her fingers before offering it toward Dokja.
He looked at the flower suspiciously.
"…Is this going to curse me?"
"Not today."
"That's not comforting."
Still, he accepted it.
The moment the flower touched his hand, a faint system notification appeared.
[A foreign blessing has been applied.]
Dokja's eyes narrowed.
"See?"
Persephone looked amused.
"You accepted it anyway."
"…Curiosity," Dokja replied dryly.
She stepped closer again.
Close enough that their shadows overlapped across the cracked rooftop floor.
"I wanted to meet the man who confuses fate," she said quietly.
"And?"
Her gaze softened slightly.
"You're more interesting than the stories suggested."
Dokja frowned.
"You've been reading about me?"
"In a way."
She glanced toward the sky.
"When gods become bored, they listen to rumors between worlds."
That statement sent a small chill through Dokja.
Rumors between worlds.
That implied something very important.
"…You're not bound by the Star Stream," he said slowly.
Persephone nodded.
"No."
For the first time, Dokja realized just how dangerous that made her.
Every being in this universe answered to the system in some way.
Constellations.
Incarnations.
Even outer gods had rules they followed.
But Persephone?
She stood entirely outside it.
Like a reader stepping into the pages of a novel.
Dokja exhaled.
"Well… that's inconvenient."
"Inconvenient?"
Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
"For the story," he clarified.
She studied him with renewed interest.
"You care about the story's structure?"
"I care about surviving it."
Persephone stepped past him and leaned lightly against the rooftop railing.
Below them, the ruined streets of Seoul stretched endlessly—silent buildings, abandoned cars, distant monsters wandering between shadows.
A broken world.
Yet behind them, the impossible garden bloomed.
Persephone looked at the destruction quietly.
"Stories born from suffering," she murmured.
Then she glanced back at him.
"Tell me something, Kim Dokja."
Her voice carried a new tone now.
Curious.
Dangerously curious.
"If I changed the course of your story… would you try to stop me?"
Dokja didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned the crimson flower slowly between his fingers.
Then he looked at her.
"That depends."
"On what?"
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Whether you're trying to ruin the ending."
Persephone's eyes gleamed.
"Oh?"
The garden around them rustled softly.
"And if I wanted to make the story… more interesting?"
Dokja met her gaze calmly.
"…Then I'd probably help you."
For a brief moment, silence lingered between them.
Then Persephone laughed again.
This time the entire garden bloomed brighter.
"Good."
She turned back toward the ruined city, her dark hair shifting gently in the wind.
"Because I think your world could use a little chaos."
Far above them, the constellations stirred uneasily.
And somewhere deep in the Star Stream—
The beginning of a new myth was quietly taking shape. 🌑🌸📖