The earth trembled subtly beneath their feet.
It wasn't an earthquake, not exactly. More like… something shifting deep under the skin of the land, as though veins long dormant had started to pulse.
Sun-Ho rose from the meditation circle and turned toward the ruined wall.
It was weeping.
Dark liquid seeped from the cracks—not blood, not water, but something in between. It glowed faintly violet under moonlight, tracing lines like capillaries into the dirt.
Yul-Rin drew her needles. "It's alive," she whispered.
"No," Ma-Rok grunted, stepping ahead to shield the others. "It's waking up."
---
At the center of the site, Yeon stood alone—his hands open at his sides, trembling with a subtle hum of power.
The veins reacted to him.
Lines in the stone flared to life as he stepped near them, etching symbols long buried under dust and moss. Glyphs that hadn't been touched in centuries now burned with recognition.
Sun-Ho approached cautiously.
"Yeon," he called.
The boy blinked, eyes distant. "It's loud."
"What is?"
"The ground."
---
Sun-Ho knelt beside him, pressing a hand to the stone.
A jolt shot up his spine—not hostile, but… curious.
He felt the energy of the basin twisting, threading toward Yeon like roots reaching for sunlight.
And at its core, he saw something strange—
A symbol. A family crest.
Not his.
Not Na-Eun's.
But older.
Interwoven lines that curved like wind and branched like trees, wrapping around a circular flame.
Sun-Ho's eyes narrowed. "That sigil…"
Yeon swayed suddenly and fell to one knee.
---
From the edge of the ruin, Ma-Rok raised his voice. "Movement. South side!"
Yul-Rin blurred into position beside him, already pulling thin, glinting blades from her sleeve.
Then came the sound—crk-crk-crk—like stone breaking in reverse.
All around the ruin, fissures opened.
Vein-shaped cracks split the earth. From within them, things crawled.
Not beasts. Not spirits.
Fragments of shape.
They moved like shadows cast by something not yet born—humanoid in outline, but smeared, blurred, their features incomplete.
One opened a mouth that wasn't there and screeched.
---
Sun-Ho stood quickly, drawing Yeon behind him.
"Guard the boy!" he shouted.
Ma-Rok didn't wait. He surged forward, arms glowing with defensive qi, and met the first of the creatures with a thunderous crash—THUMP—his gauntlets cracking its formless body in half.
It reformed.
Yul-Rin cursed. "No core. No spirit. They're echoes."
"Of what?" Ma-Rok shouted.
Sun-Ho's voice was grim. "Memory."
---
So-Ri arrived at his side, fan already open, swirling gusts of wind to repel another lunging shadow.
"These things came from the land itself."
Sun-Ho nodded. "Or from what the land remembered."
Yeon clutched his chest. "I didn't mean to wake them…"
Sun-Ho knelt. "You didn't. They responded to you. That's different."
Yul-Rin threw a blade—it vanished into the blur, struck something—squealed—but it was like cutting through mist.
"These aren't normal constructs," she called. "They're shaped by… what this place feels."
---
Sun-Ho glanced toward the altar chamber.
"Then we're inside a place with memory. And it's testing us."
He placed a hand on Yeon's back.
"Can you feel it now?"
Yeon's eyes fluttered.
"They're angry. But not at us."
"Who, then?"
Yeon shook his head. "They don't remember."
---
Ma-Rok grunted as another form slammed into his shoulder. It hissed. "They're getting stronger."
"No," Sun-Ho muttered. "We're getting closer to something they were made to protect."
He stood tall.
"Everyone! Focus on defense. No killing blows. These aren't enemies."
Ma-Rok raised a brow. "They're biting my boots."
"Even so."
---
So-Ri whirled her fan, and a strong burst of wind scattered two of the phantoms like dandelions.
"They'll just re-form," she said. "They're not whole. Just… fragments."
Sun-Ho's gaze snapped to Yeon.
"Fragments of what?"
Yeon's face was pale. "Of a child. Alone. Buried here. Forgotten. Someone like me."
Then he turned—and walked straight toward the largest crack in the ruin.
Sun-Ho moved to stop him—but froze when the crack… closed behind Yeon's step. Not with hostility. With acceptance.
---
Yeon entered a small hollow beneath the basin's altar. A room. A tomb.
A single stone carving sat in the center.
It showed a child—eyes wide, hands outstretched—not in fear, but offering something.
And at his feet, carved into the floor, was the same sigil that had pulsed when Yeon arrived.
He stepped closer.
The boy in the stone… looked like him.
---
Outside, the shadow-creatures paused.
Stopped moving.
Then one by one, they began to dissolve—not in pain, but in peace.
Their forms shimmered, flickered, then vanished into trails of faint white light.
The veins stopped pulsing.
The earth stilled.
And from the heart of the ruins, a soft voice rang out:
> "You're not alone anymore."
---
Yeon stood in the hollow, one hand against the carving.
Tears slid quietly down his cheeks.
---
Back at the surface, Sun-Ho felt the shift. He looked toward the chamber and nodded slowly.
So-Ri stepped beside him.
"His bloodline?"
Sun-Ho nodded. "It's old. Maybe older than mine."
Ma-Rok scratched his head. "What does that make him?"
Sun-Ho exhaled. "A descendant of those who remembered mercy in the age of war. Maybe even one of the last heirs to the Verdant Flame's first seed."
Yul-Rin smiled faintly. "Then he's in the right company."
---
Later, at the edge of camp, Yeon sat beside the small stone carving—now unearthed and placed by the fire.
He watched it quietly, as though trying to memorize every detail.
Sun-Ho approached and handed him a small pouch of dried fruit.
"You okay?"
Yeon nodded.
"I heard them. Their fear. Their loneliness. It was like listening to my own thoughts."
Sun-Ho sat beside him.
"And what did you say to them?"
Yeon looked into the flames.
> "I told them they didn't have to disappear."
---
End of Chapter 125 – Whispers from the Veins
---