The snow persisted through December, layering the city in a fragile hush that softened even the usual bustle of campus life. Students moved more slowly, their breath curling in the cold air like smoke from distant fires. The world seemed to be holding its breath between semesters, suspended in a quiet pause that stirred something deeper within Minjae.
He didn't dislike the cold. In fact, he welcomed it. The crisp air sharpened his senses, clearing the clutter from his mind. In that clarity, he found room to think—really think—without distraction.
One afternoon, Minjae sat alone in the campus library, hunched over a dense volume on behavioral finance. The heater hissed softly nearby, pages turning with a faint rustle. His eyes traced complex graphs and notes about human irrationality in markets.
"Still reading about how people make poor decisions with money?" a familiar voice said gently beside him.
He glanced up. Hana stood there with a grin, balancing a stack of thick art books against her chest.
"Still drawing things no one understands?" he teased, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She laughed, sliding into the seat across from him. "That's the point. I draw so I can understand them myself."
They shared a quiet moment, the kind that didn't need to be filled with words.
After a pause, she asked softly, "Do you ever wonder why you're drawn to all this? The numbers, the markets, the people?"
Minjae looked back down at the page, then met her eyes. "I guess... people fascinate me. The way they act, what they fear, how they react under pressure."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Sounds more like a philosopher than a finance major."
"Maybe they're not so different," he replied quietly.
Later that week, Minjae's phone buzzed late at night. Jiha's name glowed on the screen. He answered, voice low.
"I just… needed to hear a voice that wasn't pretending everything's okay," she said, her words fragile over the line.
He said nothing, only listened.
After a pause, she spoke again. "Sometimes I feel like I'm running in place. Like the world keeps moving, but I'm stuck."
He closed his eyes, picturing her curled up in her room, the lights off, the silence around her like his own.
"You're not alone in that," he finally said.
Another pause. "Thank you," she whispered.
That was all she needed.
At home, the atmosphere was calm. His parents sat together at the kitchen table, discussing travel plans for Lunar New Year. His mother unfolded a list of affordable destinations.
"Somewhere quiet would be nice," she said, tracing a finger along the page.
His father nodded. "You've worked hard this year. We should celebrate."
Minjae smiled faintly. "Maybe somewhere near the sea."
The idea of wide-open water and endless sky felt like a balm for his restless thoughts.
That night, alone in his room, Minjae sat at his modest desk bathed in the warm glow of a small lamp. The screen in front of him displayed an article detailing early signs of instability in major U.S. mortgage-backed securities.
Everything was moving faster than he expected. But he wasn't anxious.
He was watching.
He was waiting.
Leaning back in his chair, he let the silence wash over him.
No fires blazed in the distance. No ancient wars roared through the skies. No great wings stretched beneath heavy clouds.
Just the still pulse of winter and the muffled rhythm of modern life.
Yet beneath the quiet, echoes of something deeper stirred.
And Minjae—once Valmyros—breathed it all in, letting it settle like the snow outside his window.