The morning sun was unusually soft, its light filtering gently through the wooden window slats of Ji-hyeon's modest room. Dust particles floated like stars in a calm sky, undisturbed and silent. It was peaceful… too peaceful.
Ji-hyeon sat at his desk, staring at the notebook.
The silver-inked message remained, as real as the breath he exhaled.
> "You are summoned. Preparations begin."
He ran his fingers over the page. The texture felt the same—rough, handmade paper. No enchantment he could detect, at least not with his current level of awareness. But the aura... something about it chilled his spine. Not in fear—but familiarity.
It was the kind of power that once bent nations to their knees.
It spoke without words, and commanded without raising its voice.
---
Downstairs, the smell of breakfast filled the house—barley soup, leftover greens, and a slice of dry bread. His mother's voice called out, "Ji-hyeon, are you awake?"
He answered quickly, "Yes, I'm coming."
Before leaving the room, he took one last glance at the notebook. Then, he closed it slowly and tucked it into the folds of his old, patched cloak.
He couldn't afford to tell anyone—not yet.
---
At the breakfast table, his father was unusually quiet. The man was a stoic farmer, strong-backed and proud, but not cruel. His hands bore callouses from years of work, yet he used them gently to hold his bowl.
"Strange weather," his father muttered.
Ji-hyeon looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Storms in the east, but skies are clear here. Birds flying the wrong way. And the merchant in town said the Academy's messengers have been spotted two villages over."
His heart skipped.
"The Academy?" his mother asked, eyes wide. "Do they take children this far out?"
"Rarely," his father replied. "But when they do, it's never without a reason."
---
The conversation ended, but Ji-hyeon's thoughts spiraled.
He left the house early and walked to the forest edge—the place he always went when he needed to think.
There, under the giant willow tree, he opened the notebook again. This time, a second line had appeared beneath the first:
> "Trust no one who seeks you. The true test is near."
His breath caught. A test?
Was this a warning? A challenge? Or both?
And then, the wind shifted. Not just in direction—but in presence. Something moved nearby. Not human, not beast. Something watching.
Ji-hyeon stood still, every sense heightened. His hand moved slowly to the worn staff he always carried—less a weapon, more a walking stick. But today, it felt heavier.
Then, through the leaves, stepped a figure.
A woman in silver and black robes. Eyes glowing faintly beneath a hood.
"I've found you," she said.