The sky cracked.
And the world became lightning.
Jaemin didn't even get a chance to speak.
The Abyssal Tempest Warden moved first.
Its spear surged forward like a divine judgment—no buildup, no warning, just sheer force. The space between them blurred, and Jaemin had less than a second to twist his body sideways, barely grazing the incoming arc of plasma.
The spear tore through the air with a sound like splitting thunder, slicing a deep gouge in the obsidian beneath him.
Fast.
No, not fast.
Perfect.
Jaemin kicked off the platform, both daggers drawn.
The Binary Stars flashed like twin arcs of moonlight as he closed in. He aimed low, toward the Warden's leg, intending to cripple its floating frame—
The creature twisted its torso mid-air, its free hand raised.
Boom.
Jaemin was flung backward as a shield of thunderclap erupted from the Warden's palm. His ribs rattled.
He hit the ground, rolled, slid to a halt just inches from the platform's edge. Debris spun around him, and he tasted blood.
He sprang up without thinking.
"Don't think. Don't wait."
He moved again.
Another slash.
Another dodge.
CLASH!!!
The air screamed around them.
Each strike from the Warden was meant to kill.
Every thrust of the spear was backed by hundreds of years of Abyssal battle instinct. And yet, Jaemin was dancing between them like wind on a blade.
He flared his aura—not recklessly, but surgically—driving precision into every movement. His feet glided over the symbols on the platform. The daggers gleamed with his condensed will.
And still, he couldn't find an opening.
"It knows my rhythm."
The realisation hit like another strike.
"It's adapting."
He fell back, crouching low behind a sliver of shattered column. Sparks trailed from his torn sleeve. His breathing was shallow.
"It's... reading me."
He whispered aloud.
"Analysing my intent. It learns."
The Warden hovered still, spear now resting by its side.
Waiting.
Mocking.
Two Minutes Later:
When Jaemin stepped onto the 200th platform, something deep within the Rift changed.
It wasn't just the shift in pressure or atmosphere.
It was... recognition.
The Rift acknowledged him.
He felt it—like a heartbeat aligning with his own.
The storm didn't reject him.
It watched.
He didn't know what it meant then.
But now, as he clutched his bleeding side behind the shattered column, he realized:
"This Warden was made to test me specifically???"
And that Core shard floating in the centre? That wasn't just bait.
It was the key.
The Warden moved again.
Jaemin flared his Core energy, creating a sudden burst of illusion—four afterimages broke away from him, running in opposite directions.
The Warden speared one without hesitation, then turned toward another.
But Jaemin wasn't among them.
He had gone up.
Using a nearby crumbled obelisk, he launched himself high above the Warden's head, both daggers reversed in grip. He spun in the air like a falling star—
The Warden turned, raising its palm.
"Not this time!!!"
Jaemin twisted mid-air, using one dagger to intercept the thunderblast, redirecting it just enough to spiral off course—the other dagger plunged down.
Right into the Warden's mask.
Crack!!
It didn't scream.
But the light in one eye flickered.
Jaemin landed and rolled, panting. His arm was nearly numb from absorbing the blast, but he had done it. He turned, expecting to see it faltering—
But the Warden was... still standing.
Then something changed.
The mask fell.
Behind it was a face that wasn't fully Abyssal.
It was...
"A Human ??!?!"
Jaemin froze.
His eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
The Warden's face was pale, weathered.
Its left eye glowed with crackling blue lightning. The right eye was human, dark brown, and bloodshot.
It looked at Jaemin.
And spoke.
"You're late."
The voice was coarse. But... real.
Jaemin didn't know how to respond. His grip on the daggers tightened.
"Who... the hell are you?"
The Being chuckled. A dry, rasping sound like wind scraping a tombstone.
"I was like you. Once."
A pause.
"Coreborn."
Jaemin's stomach turned.
"You were a Coreborn?"
The Warden nodded.
"Trained. Sent here. To reach the Core. To climb. To claim the storm."
Its form flickered—for just a second, Jaemin saw it clearly. A man. Young. Muscular. Armour broken in places, but face filled with fire.
Then the storm swallowed the image again.
"But I failed."
The lightning in its body surged. Its spear reformed, longer, crackling more violently.
"The storm doesn't forgive failure."
Jaemin backed away.
"Then why are you guarding it?"
The Warden raised its eyes.
"Because this... is what happens to those who reach the Core and are rejected."
Jaemin felt cold.
A beat.
"So the Core... chooses?"
He wasn't here to just take it.
He was being judged.
And the Warden...
...was proof that failing the trial meant becoming part of the Rift forever.
The fight resumed without another word.
This time, it was worse.
The Warden no longer held back. Now, its strikes weren't just physical—they carried intent. Skill. Rage.
Each movement was like facing a storm that remembered everything.
Jaemin ducked. Rolled. Countered. He fought with all he had.
But something was breaking down.
He was tiring.
"It's like fighting someone who's seen every version of you before you arrived."
And just as the spear aimed for his heart—
His foot caught something.
A sigil. Half-buried.
It flared.
And everything stopped.
Suddenly, Jaemin was no longer on the platform.
He stood in a swirling memory-space. A storm-cloud realm. The sky was red. The ground—breaking into mirrors.
In front of him was the same man.
Younger. Human. Alive.
"You want the truth?"
The man asked.
Jaemin stared.
"This Core... it doesn't give you power. It gives you burden. The right to command the storm means carrying the deaths it has caused."
"Why me?"
Jaemin asked.
The man laughed softly.
"Because you're the only one who made it without sacrificing someone else."
Jaemin blinked.
"What?"
"Everyone else... stepped on backs. Climbed over corpses. You? You endured. And the storm... noticed."
The illusion shattered.
And Jaemin was back on the platform.
The Warden stood before him again.
But this time... it lowered its spear.
And knelt.
Jaemin stood before the flickering shard of stormlight, breath ragged, body half-broken. The moment of stillness that followed was not peace—it was the eye of the storm.
A crack.
Thunder did not rumble from the sky, but from the shard itself. It trembled, floating higher, as if rejecting his reverence. The air went cold again.
The smell of ionised energy returned, tenfold. A low screech, long and drawn out like metal shearing, echoed across the platform.
Then he saw it.
The shard exploded.
From its scattered light, lightning spiralled outward like a cocoon unravelling—and within it, something was forming. Wings. Vast.
Arched like obsidian arcs etched with thunder runes. Talons sharp enough to cleave mountains. And a scream that shattered the floating platform beneath Jaemin's knees.
The Divine Titan of Tempest had come.
A sky-beast—avian in shape, divine in scale. Its feathers shimmered between storm-grey and radiant white, tipped with blue lightning that constantly rippled through them like living circuits. Its eyes… no, not eyes. Suns. Pale suns that bled with judgment.
Jaemin leapt to another fragment mid-air before the entire platform collapsed. Wind howled so loud it hurt. The Titan flapped its wings once—and the sky cracked.
It wasn't just a monster. It was the Core itself.
Jaemin didn't wait. His muscles flared, his core energy igniting from within, and he burst forward across floating debris.
His daggers—Binary Stars—were already in his hands, their edges jagged from earlier battles, but they pulsed with his will.
"You're not a memory. You're not a trial. You're something else, aren't you?"
The Titan screeched again, this time forming a bolt of divine thunder in its beak. It launched it without mercy.
Jaemin spun mid-air, aura condensing to his feet as he kicked upward off the platform, the bolt missing him by inches—but the pressure alone cracked his already-torn shirt further, exposing the bruises blooming across his ribs.
He lunged at the beast's wing. Daggers carved in—but barely.
SLASH!!!
Sparks-no, lightning blood—splashed out.
The Titan roared. With a sudden spiral, it spun its entire body midair, its tail—a tendril of glowing stormstuff—slamming into Jaemin's side.
He was thrown back into a spire of floating stone.
Crack!!
"Agh—!"
Blood spilled from his mouth.
He slumped for a breath. Maybe two.
He stood again.
Not because he had strength left.
But because of instinct. Something primal. Something divine.
The Titan of Tempest hovered above, circling him like a predator testing the worth of its prey.
"If I fall here... then I was never meant to protect anything. Not Nari. Not mother. Not even myself."
His Voice anchored him.
Jaemin burst forward again, pushing everything—his aura, his mental will, and whatever strength his broken body could lend—into a single movement. He reached the beast's chest.
SLASSHHHHHHH!!!!!!
His daggers stabbed in.
Not deeply.
But enough.
The Titan screamed again.
In fury.
Lightning exploded out of its feathers. Arcs of pure white electricity rained down like a divine hailstorm, ripping through stone, sky, and gravity itself.
Jaemin was struck three times.
His vision blurred.
He saw the Titan above. Majestic. Untouchable.
"...Unfair."
And then he understood something.
The Core wasn't just judging his strength.
It was waiting for surrender.
But not defeat. Not kneeling. True surrender—the willingness to become one with the storm, not resist it.
So this time, Jaemin didn't rush.
He closed his eyes.
The Titan flared its wings and dived, beak glowing with celestial plasma.
Jaemin opened his arms.
The bolt struck him.
But it didn't pierce.
It passed through.
Or rather, it merged.
The Titan slowed mid-air, confused. Its descent halted, the divine bolt still shimmering through Jaemin's body, now… absorbed.
Jaemin opened his eyes.
They glowed storm-gray.
He moved again.
Not with rage. Not with brute strength.
With understanding.
He dashed forward, weightless, untouchable, his aura shifting into something new—sky-shaped.
The Titan tried again, swinging a massive wing at him, enough to blow through a mountain range.
Jaemin was already above it.
SLASH!
A single slash.
Binary Stars—reborn in lightning—sliced through the beast's feathered crown.
It howled.
But Jaemin didn't stop.
He landed on its back, spun his daggers in reverse grip, and drove them into its spine.
SHINK!!!
And then whispered.
"You were never meant to kill me. You were meant to break me. So I could become the storm."
The Titan screeched one last time.
A divine, earth-splitting cry.
And then it shattered.
Like glass.
Into a thousand shards of light and thunder.
And Jaemin stood alone on the platform mid-air, his body glowing faintly. The sky cleared. The Rift trembled.
Smoke and ash danced in lazy spirals above the ruined final platform.
Jaemin stood alone, drenched in blood and sweat, body trembling under the weight of what he had just endured. The wind had quieted.
The lightning had ceased. But the core—the Core of Tempest—still hovered above, pulsing with the power of a dying god.
Then, without sound, the Tempest Warden emerged again.
Not walking. Not flying.
He simply was—manifesting like a breeze returning to its source. His long cloak of thunderclouds now trailed behind him like torn paper, and the streaks of stormlight across his cheeks glowed faint, like aftershocks of the tempest.
"You did well."
He said softly.
"Few have faced the Titan and lived."
Jaemin didn't speak. He merely looked up, eyes heavy, chest still heaving. His shirt was torn clean open, his bare chest streaked with bruises, blood, and soot.
Then the Warden's expression grew somber.
"This Rift... it is unlike others. It was not just a trial. It has a Heart."
"A Heart?"
Jaemin muttered.
"Yes. When a Rift bleeds into the real world, when the Abyssal pressure corrupts skies and minds alike, it evolves into something else. We call it a Max Raid. To stop the bleeding… the Heart must be broken."
Jaemin stared quietly.
"And you want me to do that."
The Warden nodded once.
But Jaemin took a breath and said.
"On one condition."
The air shifted. The wind froze.
The Warden tilted his head.
"…Condition?"
Jaemin's eyes met his, unwavering.
"Merge with the Core."
The silence was deafening.
The Tempest Warden's lips parted slightly, stunned.
"You… want me to become part of the Core?"
"You said you were once a Coreborn."
Jaemin replied.
"A protector of people. A guardian of life. So… why should you be locked away forever in this dying Rift?"
"I've watched too many die to the storm."
"Exactly."
Jaemin stepped forward.
"You've seen the worst. But you deserve to see the best, too. The world outside… it's not just pain and blood. It's family. It's freedom. It's sunlight. If I become your vessel, then you become my guide. Let's walk out of here together."
The Warden lowered his head.
For a moment, all was still.
Then he chuckled—a low, winded laugh that echoed across the broken sky.
"…The storm's judgment never was flawed."
He said, shaking his head.
And with that, he opened his arms.
A sudden rush of wind spiralled around the storm shard. Lightning surged through the cracks in the sky one last time. And then—
BOOM!!!!!!
The shard shattered.
But instead of collapsing, its fragments fused into Jaemin's chest, a perfect fit, as though they had always belonged.
His eyes glowed bright orange—the unmistakable radiance of his Precision Core—and a second, violent aura erupted behind it.
Blue. Storm-gray. Divine.
The Core of Tempest merged with him in full.
Jaemin's hair whipped wildly in the winds, which now bent to his will. Lightning danced between his fingers. His body felt weightless. Empowered. Whole.
No pain. No resistance. Just a strange, overwhelming sense of belonging.
"I can feel it."
Jaemin muttered.
"You… you're still here, aren't you?"
"Always."
The Warden whispered, voice faint but proud.
"I'll walk with you from now on, Lord."
Jaemin looked forward—toward a crystalline mass hovering at the edge of the last platform, beating like a pulsating, corrupted heart.
The Rift Heart.
It pulsed with energy that crackled like a dying star. Twisted. Incomplete. Wrong.
Jaemin reached for his daggers—the Binary Stars—and spun them once, their edges gleaming with both precision and stormlight.
He whispered:
"Binary Orbital Overlord."
Then he hurled the blades forward.
They didn't just fly.
They spiralled—like twin comets, forming a perfect orbit around the Heart. A lattice of light arced between them as they spun faster and faster, heat and electricity building like a dying sun.
And then—
BOOM!!
A single white pulse.
A detonation.
The daggers went supernova.
The Rift Heart cracked. Shattered. Imploded in a flash of divine thunder.
****
Back in Seoul
The sky had gone blacker than ever before.
Over the city, the clouds boiled. They twisted into a spiral. And then—
A sound louder than thunder—a skyquake—rippled across Seoul.
It was like the heavens had been torn in two.
From the very eye of the storm came a burst of wind and light, visible even from Incheon. Then, in an instant—
Rain.
Torrential. Endless. Cleansing.
The storm that had hovered, unmoving for three days, finally burst like a broken dam. Heavy drops slammed onto rooftops, splashed onto glass, soaked the roads, and washed over everything in its path.
People stepped out of shelters in stunned silence. Umbrellas bloomed across city streets like flowers.
And far in the Coreborn Association's observatory tower, a young analyst turned to her senior officer and whispered:
"…The Storm is gone. Just… vanished."
And from that place between realms, between lightning and breath, a new presence had emerged.
The Tempest Coreborn had awakened.
Not just a survivor of the storm.
But it's heir.
****
The Rift split open like a quiet breath—just above the Han River.
It didn't crack or tear. It simply dissolved, gently this time, like the sky exhaled, and Jaemin was exhaled with it.
The world he returned to was still drowning in stormlight.
Rain poured in heavy sheets, the river beside him swollen and churning, the Seoul skyline ghosted behind a veil of grey.
But the storm above had lost its voice. No more thunder. No more wind. Just silence. And rain.
Han Jaemin stumbled forward and fell to one knee.
Then the other.
He hit the pavement beside the river path like a ragdoll, arms limp, head bowed, breath ragged. His body was still marked—torn at the shoulders, chest, and ribs.
His black shirt was ripped wide down the middle, exposing his lean, muscular torso streaked with blood, soot, and cold rainwater. Steam rose off his skin like the remnants of divine fire.
His head throbbed.
His arms ached.
His legs trembled.
He slowly let out a low, tired groan as he sat back against a rusted bench that lined the walkway.
"…If I go to Nari like this."
He murmured, voice hoarse.
"she'll cry like a damn lunatic."
He turned his gaze toward the rushing river, the ripples warped and restless beneath the sheets of rain.
A single breath.
"Recover."
A soft flash.
Emerald light—bright and pulsing—rushed over his wounds like liquid silk. The healing was instant this time. Not like before. Faster. Cleaner. Stronger.
Even the dried blood across his temple dissolved into the glow, vanishing from skin and bone as if never there.
He flexed his hand, watching the fine cuts seal, the bruises fade. Not even a scar remained.
"…Huh."
He blinked.
"Guess the skill levelled up."
The entire Rift… he hadn't used Recover even once. Not when his arm was nearly broken.
Not when his head had been bleeding. Not even when his ribs cracked during the Titan's slam.
He refused.
He knew Nari would panic if she ever saw him half-dead. She'd try to hide it, but her voice would shake. Her eyes would water. So he saved the skill. Endured. Until now.
Now… he could go home looking like a soldier, not a corpse.
Well. Almost.
Jaemin looked down at himself, groaning under his breath. His shirt was practically useless—ripped from the collar to his abs, clinging to him like soaked paper.
The rain didn't help. Water ran down his lean, muscled frame, his bangs nearly covering his eyes.
He gave a soft snort, rubbing the back of his neck.
"…Fuck. Should've kept the jacket."
Even his hoodie—his usual shield from the world—was long gone.
He tilted his head back, letting the rain fall on his face for a few moments, quiet and breathing.
The wind was cool again. Natural.
No longer warped by abyssal energy.
He was back.
But he wasn't the same.
Not anymore.
****
Rain rolled in hard over Incheon, but the light came first.
It wasn't the normal, chaotic flicker of lightning.
It was a rupture—a gleam that split the heavens in absolute silence before the thunder caught up.
From the rooftop of Incheon's Central Coreborn Tower, President Gwangho and President Kwon Hyun-woo stood still, coats flapping in the wind, eyes fixed on the exploding skyline over Seoul.
Clouds twisted violently above the Han River. Like A supernova pulse surged through them, glowing like a dying star before collapsing inwards.
Then came the sound—deep, full-bodied, and hollow, like the earth had been struck from within.
Hyun-woo didn't speak for a long while.
Just watched.
Then, finally, quietly.
"…That wasn't a Rift closing. That was something else."
Gwangho's eyes narrowed.
"It was a purge."
"A purge?"
"A Rift's memory. Its roots. Whatever it had left behind."
Hyun-woo's brow furrowed.
"A full collapse shouldn't affect the real world like that. Not unless…"
He trailed off.
Gwangho finished the thought for him.
"…Unless the Rift had a Heart."
The silence between them was not empty. The air hummed faintly with residual energy, their own Cores reacting—tingling at the edges with invisible static.
Hyun-woo clenched his jaw.
"And if it had a Heart, then that wasn't just a Zone."
"No."
Gwangho said grimly.
"That was the edge of a Max Raid. Just one that never got to begin."
Hyun-woo exhaled slowly, the weight of what that meant sinking in.
"There'll be fallout."
He said.
"Always is."
Gwangho murmured.
"Politicians will bark about breach response. Association heads will want blood or a scapegoat. Public'll panic, then forget in a week."
"But we won't."
"No."
Lightning flashed again behind them.
The sky churned as if cleansed, but there was something unnatural in the quiet afterwards. Something unwritten.
Gwangho folded his arms, watching it burn itself out.
"You ever seen anything like that before?"
Hyun-woo took his time answering. Then, with a hollow shake of his head.
"No. Not even close."
Another silence. The rain began to shift from heavy to torrential.
Then Gwangho said, very softly:
"…It felt like the Rift itself chose to die."
Hyun-woo didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Together, they stood beneath the awning, the storm howling past them like a final breath from something long sealed.
Whatever had just happened—it wasn't the end.
It was the signal.
****
The rain was still whispering outside as Jaemin quietly opened the door to the small apartment.
The hallway lights buzzed faintly. Everything felt still.
In the tiny shared room, Nari was fast asleep, her head tilted awkwardly over a textbook, a highlighter still tucked behind her ear. Notes were spread across the floor like she had tried to fight off exhaustion and lost somewhere during a reading on molecular dynamics.
Jaemin tiptoed around her, careful not to wake her, and made his way to the wardrobe. He grabbed an old, faded tee and loose joggers—finally, something that didn't cling to his half-dried, sore body—and disappeared into the shower.
The warmth hit him like a sedative.
Water streamed down his neck, over his back, into the cracks of still-healing skin. His muscles were tighter than ever, like twisted cables holding him together by a thread.
Steam fogged the mirror, and for a second, he leaned against the wall—eyes closed, letting the silence soothe the storm inside.
By the time he stepped out, towel-drying his hair, Nari was awake and in the kitchen.
She was wearing a loose hoodie and fuzzy socks, hair tied up in the world's laziest bun, standing in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand.
Her eyes widened the second she saw him.
"Oppa!!! You're back!"
He blinked, drying his bangs.
"Huh—"
"Where were you?! Did you see the storm?! It's gone, like, poof! Just like that!"
She was practically bouncing as she bombarded him, her voice a blur of curiosity and excitement.
"Oye, oye—relax, will ya?"
Jaemin raised his hands in mock surrender, walking over to grab a glass of water.
"You're not even giving me time to think, let alone answer."
She pouted.
"Okay, okay… But seriously—where did you go?"
He sipped the water, eyes calm.
"…A mission. A big one."
"Mission?"
He shrugged, flashing her a faint smirk.
"One that paid off a lot. Like, house-rent-years-ahead a lot."
He wasn't exaggerating. Before the Rift collapsed, its energy had imploded into a swirling cascade of crystalized shards—Tempest Relics, as the system labeled them. One alone sold for ₩400 million won, and he'd walked out with nearly a dozen in his spatial cache.
Debt? Gone.
Overdue rent? Gone.
Credit leftovers from old academy days? Also gone.
Hotel? Trivago
He hadn't seen their landlord cry, but the man's joyful "God bless your core, young man!" over the phone was close enough.
Nari's eyes lit up.
"Wait—you're serious?"
Jaemin just raised an eyebrow and leaned back.
"I already paid off everything this noon."
"You WHAT?!"
"Yep. Even the ramen tab from the convenience store. You're welcome."
She blinked, stunned.
Then her eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.
"And the storm?"
He played dumb, tossing his towel on the rack.
"How would I know? I was out."
"But—!"
"It's just like I said. Big storms wear themselves out."
He looked at her, voice calm, almost amused.
"That's how nature works. Why're you looking at me like I summoned lightning?"
She squinted at him, unconvinced, but let it go with a sigh.
"Whatever. Come eat. I made stew."
She walked over with a little pot cradled in a folded towel and set it on the small table. Steam rose up in swirls—kimchi jjigae… or at least an attempt at it.
Jaemin leaned in to sniff it, eyes narrowing.
"…What concoction is this?"
"HEY!"
She snapped, hands on hips.
"It's my first time, be thankful I didn't burn the building down!"
He stifled a chuckle and sat down on the old couch, the springs creaking underneath him. Nari took her usual spot on the floor, too proud to sit beside him on "that crusty old cushion."
He took a bite.
The stew was hot, sharp, and actually better than it looked. A bit unbalanced, maybe, but flavorful.
"…Not bad, Nari."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
He swallowed.
"Still could use some salt though."
She threw a cushion at him immediately.
"How about you chug salt water instead?!"
He smirked, full and unguarded, like the kind of smirk that comes out after annoying your sister successfully.
For a second, the world felt normal.
For a moment, the rain outside was just rain, not aftermath.
And in that tiny apartment, with old furniture and mismatched bowls and a stew she almost ruined—
Han Jaemin let himself rest.
****
The rain hadn't stopped, but it had softened—falling like thin glass threads from the sky, almost musical as they struck the railing of the tiny balcony.
Jaemin leaned forward on the cold metal, arms crossed on the ledge. His damp black hair stuck to his forehead. A faint breeze danced around his ankles.
Below, the street was finally alive again. Cars moving. Neon lights flickering. The occasional umbrella bobbing across wet pavement.
Nari was out running errands—something about "the luxury of vegetables" and "finally buying branded shampoo."
He let a small smile slip.
It was quiet.
No notifications. No sirens. No abyssal screeches in the distance.
Just him…
…and the sound of someone else breathing inside his mind.
"You're… at peace..."
The voice came not from around him, but within. Resonant. Calm. Familiar by now.
The Tempest Warden.
"Hard to believe, huh,"
Jaemin muttered.
"A few hours ago I was fighting a god-sized bird, and now I'm worried if the rice we have at home is expired."
"You wielded judgment like a blade… and now fret over groceries. That is a rare kind of power, Lord."
He snorted.
"Don't call me lord. That's ridiculous."
"But it is what you are. The Tempest chose you—without resistance, without fracture. And I felt it. I felt you."
There was a stillness in Jaemin's expression.
The rain continued falling.
"…You saw what I did..."
He said quietly.
"I saw what you refused to do."
"You could have abandoned the heart. Taken the Core and run. No one would've blamed you. Yet, you stayed."
"Even bleeding, even afraid… your concern was for the people outside. And… for your sister."
The last part hit him gently in the chest.
Jaemin looked at his hand—the same one that now held power most people would never understand.
The same hand that reached toward his mother's still body every day. The same hand that covered Nari's eyes when things got too cruel on the news.
"Don't mistake desperation for goodness."
He muttered.
"Desperation doesn't ask for someone else's freedom...You could've taken the Core alone. Yet you offered me a world."
Jaemin exhaled, slow and deep, eyes drifting to the night sky. Lightning flashed far off in the distance—faint, harmless.
"Yeah, well… I figured someone like you deserved more than an endless Rift."
"I was forged to serve judgment. I was the spear of the storm. I never questioned it… not until you looked at me like a person."
"Not a tool."
"Not a monster."
A long pause settled between them.
"…You carry your pain like armour, Lord. And still, you smile for those you love. The world sees a shadow. I see a sun hidden by clouds."
Jaemin blinked. His throat tightened for a second.
He wasn't used to being seen.
He wasn't used to anyone seeing past the hoodie, the silence, the reputation of being "the fluke Coreborn." The one who came out of a Rift alone.
He'd been called a burden. A mistake. An anomaly.
But never someone pure.
"…You're gonna make me cry, Warden..."
He said with a faint laugh.
"I speak only truth."
"You're no longer alone. I walk with you now. And no storm you face will be yours alone to weather."
Jaemin didn't speak for a long while.
The rain fell.
The balcony lights flickered slightly from the old wiring. Somewhere, a distant car honked. A dog barked.
And inside his chest, just beneath the scar that the Core left, he felt it—a warmth.
Not thunder. Not power.
Trust.
"I'm glad it was you."
He whispered to the air.
"And I, you."
"Sleep well tonight, Lord... The sky watches with pride."