I had never known quiet like this.
Not the peaceful kind that came with a long night's sleep or a gentle snowfall, but the aching kind. The kind that pressed in from all sides too thick, too still, too present. Even the trees didn't seem to rustle unless someone breathed near them. There were no hums of traffic, no distant sirens, no background buzz of a city always awake.
Just the wind. And the faint sound of distant chimes strung between branches.
The villagers spoke little to me, though they watched constantly. Some curious, some wary. A few offered cautious smiles. Most didn't. I wasn't one of them, and they could sense it before I even opened my mouth.
Every day, I woke in the small room they had given me, still half expecting to see my old ceiling or the light of my phone screen blinking on my nightstand.
No phone.
No Wi-Fi.
No messages.
No city.
No Seoul.
No way back.
I sat on the wooden steps that morning with a bowl of something warm in my hands, some root-based porridge that tasted faintly of smoke and honey. It was edible. Mostly.
From where I sat, I could see the villagers beginning their morning rituals. They swept the mossy paths, lit lanterns with small bursts of pale flame from their fingertips, and called out greetings in a lyrical dialect I only half understood. Magic was as natural to them as breathing.
I, on the other hand, was the magicless outlier. The anomaly.
The Veiled One.
It sounded dramatic. Like something out of a video game or novel. Only, I wasn't brave. I didn't have combat skills. No secret powers. I had a decent memory for history and a mild coffee addiction. Useless here.
A soft voice interrupted my spiral.
"You are not eating."
I looked up. It was the older man again. Seren, I'd learned his name was. He wore robes the color of oak bark, his long silver hair tied with simple leather cords.
"It's… fine," I muttered, lifting the spoon again. "Just different."
He sat beside me, watching the village below.
"Different doesn't always mean unkind," he said gently. "You are adjusting. That takes time. Even for those born here."
"Do you really believe all of that?" I asked. "The prophecy. The Veiled One. That I'm supposed to… what, save the kingdom?"
He gave a quiet laugh. "Whether or not you believe, the story has begun. You are in it."
I didn't answer. I just stared at the horizon where twin moons still faintly lingered in the sky, slowly fading as dawn broke over Aurenholt.
This world was beautiful. But I had never felt so alone.
—
Later that day, Seren took me into the market square, a series of platforms built high between tree trunks, linked by swaying bridges. Stalls lined the edges, draped in colorful silks and enchanted lights. The air smelled of spice, smoke, and wildflowers.
Children laughed as they chased glowing orbs. Merchants sold charms etched with runes. A man strummed a strange harp, its strings glowing with magic.
But beneath it all, something felt…off.
The smiles were polite, but too quick. Whispers curled like smoke behind my back. Eyes lingered too long, especially on the disc I wore now on a leather strap around my neck.
And then I saw it.
A large notice board near the center of the square. Torn parchments. Scribbled names. Symbols. And at the bottom one word repeated in dark ink: "Fading."
"Missing?" I asked Seren quietly.
He gave a solemn nod. "The disappearances began last Emberwane. First from the outer villages, then closer to the heart. No signs. No bodies. Only shadows."
"And no one's doing anything?"
"They are," he said, his voice lower. "But trust in the royal court is…delicate."
That word again. Delicate. It sounded like code for broken.
Later, I overheard a hushed conversation between two traders.
"…if the Crown refuses to awaken the Stones, then he'll doom us all."
"He won't. Not without the Seer's sign."
"The Seer is dead. And the boy from the rift is just a distraction-"
They fell silent when they noticed me.
Something was boiling beneath the surface of this kingdom. Something darker than prophecy.
And somehow, I was already tangled in it.
—
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The silence no longer felt lonely, it felt full. Like something was watching from just beyond the edges of the trees, breathing with the rhythm of the wind.
I looked out the window to check but no one was there.
Eventually, sleep claimed me.
But I didn't fall into darkness.
I stood in a vast throne room carved of black stone and silver veins, moonlight bleeding through shattered windows. The banners overhead were torn. Blood pooled at the foot of the throne.
The Crown Prince knelt at its base, his hands bound with flame, his head bowed, hair matted with soot. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound came.
Around him, robed figures circled, chanting in a tongue that twisted like smoke in my ears. Their faces were hidden, but I could feel their hate.
Suddenly, I was standing in a field of fire, ash falling like snow. I held the prince in my arms, limp, blood staining his chest. His eyes were half-open, lips parted in a silent question.
I whispered: "It wasn't supposed to be like this…"
And then darkness again. Cold and heavy.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"Only one may walk through the veil. The other must fall."
The dream shattered.
I woke gasping, my heart pounding like a war drum.