Silence.
Thick, heavy silence.
The world around Ji-hyeon no longer felt real. The trees were gone. The ground was no longer soil but smooth stone, ancient and cold. Mist coiled around his feet like living snakes, and above him, the sky was… black. Not night—just empty.
He stood in the middle of a massive stone circle, inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly with crimson light.
> "Is this the first trial?" he whispered.
A low rumble answered.
From the center of the circle, the mist parted—and a gate emerged.
Not made of wood or metal, but of twisting bone and obsidian, wrapped in chains that clinked with ghostly echoes. In the center of the gate was a single eye, glowing faintly violet, staring at Ji-hyeon with unreadable intent.
> "State your Name," the gate spoke, its voice both a whisper and a roar.
"And your Origin."
Ji-hyeon hesitated.
He knew what they expected: "Ji-hyeon, son of a poor farmer."
But something within him stirred. A memory… or a presence.
> "I…"
His voice trembled. His body tensed.
He saw flashes of his past life—thrones of skulls, armies kneeling, and a sky split by fire. A title once shouted in fear across dimensions.
> "I am Ji-hyeon," he said at last. "Born of dust… and fire."
The gate fell silent.
Then, it opened—slowly, painfully—as if reluctant.
Beyond it: darkness. Not threatening, but waiting.
He stepped through.
The moment he did, the gate slammed shut behind him with a sound that echoed into eternity.
Ji-hyeon now stood in a hallway of floating steps and shattered clocks. Time moved strangely here—forward, backward, looping. His body felt light, but his mind was heavy.
Then, ahead, he saw a figure.
Cloaked in white, face hidden. They sat upon a twisted throne of hourglasses, sand pouring upward.
"Welcome," the figure said, voice neither male nor female. "You have passed the Veil of Memory. Now we begin the Trial of Identity."
Ji-hyeon took a step forward.
"Who are you," the figure asked, "when you take your past away?"