The walk home felt longer than usual.
Ji-hyeon gripped the old book tightly to his chest, his thoughts spinning in endless loops. The wind had grown colder, and every creak of the branches above him made him glance over his shoulder. Not out of fear… but anticipation.
The book was still warm.
It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
---
Once back in the small wooden house, Ji-hyeon locked the door behind him and sat by the lone candle flickering on his desk. His mother was already asleep in the next room, her breathing steady and soft.
Carefully, he opened the book again.
The ink had dried—but only now did the words truly take shape.
> "To the one who bears my soul,
If you are reading this, then the cycle has begun once more.
I am you. And you are what remains of me."
Ji-hyeon's hand froze.
The handwriting… it felt familiar. It was as if he had written it himself.
> "This world no longer remembers the fear that once ruled it.
They buried my name in ash and silence.
But magic, true magic, cannot be buried forever."
He turned the page. More words danced across the parchment, interlaced with arcane symbols he couldn't yet understand—but felt strangely drawn to.
---
Suddenly, a faint voice echoed in his head.
A whisper.
A murmur in a tongue he didn't know—but understood.
> "Claim your inheritance."
Ji-hyeon looked up sharply. The room was still.
But something had changed.
A part of him—long dormant—had started to awaken.
---
He closed the book gently, his heart now heavier than ever. He wasn't just a poor boy born with a sharp mind.
He was someone else.
Something else.
And tomorrow… he'd return to the altar.
He needed answers.