The fire crackled softly that morning as Ji-hyeon sat by the hearth, watching his mother stir a pot of porridge. The scent of barley and root vegetables filled the small house, comforting yet strangely distant.
She seemed distracted.
Her hands moved automatically, but her eyes—those gentle, weathered eyes—were lost in thought.
"Mother," Ji-hyeon asked slowly, "did you… ever live in another village before coming here?"
A faint tremble in her hand. A pause.
Then she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I did," she said quietly. "A long time ago."
---
Ji-hyeon waited, but she said no more.
Instead, she handed him a bowl and stood, stepping outside into the light breeze that rustled the trees.
He followed, watching her stand still in the garden, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She seemed so small, so fragile—but something in her posture, something in the silence, felt… powerful.
> "She's hiding something," Ji-hyeon thought.
"But why?"
---
Later that day, Ji-hyeon returned to the tree with the stone fragment.
This time, he brought a brush and some old charcoal to sketch the markings. As he carefully copied the glowing runes, he noticed something new—one of the runes pulsed faintly when his fingers brushed over it.
Suddenly—
> thump
He looked up.
The boy from before—the stranger with sharp eyes—stood at the edge of the clearing.
"You've touched it," the boy said, voice flat.
"That stone… it doesn't belong to this world."
Ji-hyeon stood up slowly. "Who are you?"
The boy stepped closer, gaze unflinching.
"Someone who remembers what you used to be."
---
Ji-hyeon froze.
The wind around them stirred unnaturally, and for a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.
"What… did you say?"
But the boy only turned away.
> "When the time comes, you'll remember everything."
Then he vanished into the woods, leaving Ji-hyeon alone—with more questions than ever.