The night after Kael left, Ji-hyeon couldn't sleep.
His mind replayed every word, every glance. The way Kael looked at him—not with arrogance, but recognition. And caution.
> "You're not normal. You feel it, don't you?"
The words echoed like a spell.
Ji-hyeon sat outside his small hut, eyes turned to the moonless sky. A faint wind stirred the trees, and the stars blinked above like quiet sentinels.
That's when he heard it.
A voice—low, ancient, and buried in his thoughts.
> "He is right, child... We were not meant to sleep forever."
Ji-hyeon's heart skipped.
It wasn't the first time. For years, he had felt something... there. A murmur in dreams, shadows shifting when they shouldn't. But now, that presence was no longer silent.
He closed his eyes.
And in the dark of his mind, he saw a throne—shattered, scorched by divine fire. A crown, split in two. And a name whispered in a language forgotten by the world.
> "Az'Rakhul."
The name pierced his soul like a blade.
He gasped and opened his eyes. Cold sweat dripped down his brow.
> That name... it's mine.
Not Ji-hyeon. Not the boy.
But the one who came before.
The one who ruled darkness.
The one they once called Demon King.
---
The next morning, Ji-hyeon moved slowly through the village, but everything felt distant. Food lost its taste. Laughter felt hollow. Even his mother's gentle voice seemed to come from a faraway place.
Inwardly, something stirred.
Something... hungry.
Yet despite the storm within, he said nothing. He trained alone that evening. Repeating the basic mana exercises, the breathing techniques taught by instinct, not by tutor.
He wasn't ready to leave.
But he would be.
Because Kael was right—the world was moving.
And Ji-hyeon could no longer pretend to be just another boy from a poor family.