Nam moved silently through the snow-covered forest, the signal Kai had sent guiding him toward a secluded valley carved between jagged cliffs. The red smoke had faded, but its ghost still lingered in the air like a curse.
Every tree felt like a witness. Every gust of wind carried whispers of the past.
He stopped by a frozen stream, crouching to examine fresh footprints—light, deliberate, and recent.
He's close.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Hooded, unarmed. But Nam knew better.
"Kai," he said, voice low. "You called me. I came."
Kai removed his hood. His eyes, once sharp and loyal, now flickered with something unrecognizable—madness, grief, betrayal.
"You always follow orders, Nam. Even when they don't make sense."
"You were one of us," Nam said. "A brother."
"I was, until they made me into a tool. Just like you are now."
Nam's fists clenched. "You don't have to do this."
"But I already did," Kai whispered. "Remember Seoul? Remember the fire?"
Nam froze. The memory hit like a blade to the gut—smoke, screams, the children—
Kai stepped closer. "They told you it was my fault. That I turned. But did you ever ask why?"
Nam's heart pounded.
"You want answers?" Kai asked. "Then survive what's coming."
A sharp whistling cut the air—metal slicing fast.
Nam dove sideways just as twin blades embedded into the tree behind him. The forest erupted. Dozens of masked figures surged out of hiding, encircling him.
Kai vanished into the mist, his voice lingering—
"Welcome to the truth."