Yeon Woo walked through a forest that had become alien. The trees, once vibrant with life, now seemed like twisted statues, stretching gnarled limbs toward him. Every step echoed with dull pain through his body, his wounds burned, and blood soaked through his shirt — yet he didn't allow himself to stop. Something ahead was calling. A thin thread of power, almost imperceptible, pulled at him, promising salvation… or destruction. But he had no choice.
Night had fallen like a shroud upon the earth. Above, the stars blazed — cold and indifferent. The moon had sunk behind the clouds, leaving the world to the rule of shadows. The forest came alive in the dark, whispering forgotten names, recalling those long lost to oblivion. Yeon Woo moved through it, a stranger even to himself.
And then he saw it.
Nestled between the trees, in a small clearing, stood a temple.
Ancient. Ruined. Entwined with moss and roots. Its stone walls were cracked and covered in symbols whose meanings had long been lost. The massive doors, once majestic, now hung from a single hinge, groaning with every breath of wind. From within came a heavy, ancient silence — the kind that presses against your chest like an invisible hand.
Yeon Woo stopped at the edge of the clearing, staring at the ruins. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. No life stirred here. No birds, no beasts. Even the wind seemed to avoid this sanctuary of a forgotten god.
"What is this place…" he whispered.
And stepped forward.
Every footfall echoed off the stones beneath him, reverberating through the empty hall. The walls were lined with strange bas-reliefs: warriors battling monstrous beasts, humans bowing before something massive and formless. The floor, coated in dirt and debris, bore faint, faded symbols — circles, triangles, lines forming patterns no longer understood.
He moved deeper into the temple, drawn forward by something unseen. The spirits of the place whispered at his ears, reminding him of the cost of the power he sought.
In the heart of the temple, beneath a shattered dome, stood an altar.
Roughly carved from black stone, it was stained with blood so ancient it had merged with the rock. Above the altar floated a sphere, slowly spinning in the air. Semi-transparent, glowing with a dim silver light, it pulsed with energy that made his skin prickle.
The sphere was calling him.
Yeon Woo stepped closer, his heart pounding louder with every moment. His mind was drowning in whispers. Promises of power. Dominion. Victory. But beneath them, there was another voice — dark, cold, warning.
He stood before the altar, staring at the sphere.
And then something stepped out of the darkness.
A figure, cloaked in shadow, as if sculpted from the night itself. Faceless. Voiceless. It did not attack. It waited. A test. Yeon Woo knew this in his bones.
He raised his sword.
And in that instant, the shadow lunged.
The fight was unlike anything Yeon Woo had ever known. His strikes passed through the figure like smoke, but each swing of the shadow was real — and deadly. Yeon Woo dodged, parried, countered, each mistake met with a flare of pain. The shadow was as swift as thought, as strong as a storm.
He was not only fighting it — he was fighting himself.
Fear. Doubt. Rage.
The shadow fed on them, growing faster, fiercer.
Yeon Woo understood: there was only one way to win.
He lowered his sword.
Closed his eyes.
And let go of everything.
Fear.
Anger.
Pain.
He became empty — like the night itself.
When the shadow lunged again, Yeon Woo did not move.
He passed through it.
And the figure dissolved, as if it had never existed.
The sphere flared, glowing brighter.
Yeon Woo reached out his hand.
The sphere dissolved into his palm, cold fire spreading through his body. Pain lanced through every cell, as though he were being torn apart and reforged. He clenched his teeth, not uttering a sound. He felt something shifting inside him — the ancient forces of this place weaving into his flesh, into his blood.
When it was over, he stood alone in the temple.
Stronger.
Colder.
More dangerous.
Looking down at his hands, Yeon Woo saw fine silver lines running across his skin, like ancient runes.
"Now…" he said softly, and his voice echoed through the emptiness.
He turned toward the exit, sensing the gaze of the temple still on his back.
The path ahead was waiting.
And so were his enemies.
Many enemies.
And now, Yeon Woo was ready to face them.
He stepped into the night, where the stars shone once more above his head — as if acknowledging the new heir to an ancient power.