As Jin-ho disappeared into the curtain of rain, the city exhaled—a quiet sigh swallowed by thunder.
High above the streets, the windows of Haneul Medical Center glowed faintly against the storm.
---
Inside Room 712, Han Do-kyun stirred.
The monitors beside his bed pulsed in gentle rhythm, the only sound in the sterile quiet.
For hours, he'd been asleep—trapped somewhere between dream and memory.
But now his fingers twitched.
His breathing hitched.
A voice echoed inside his skull—distant, distorted, like it came through water.
> "Run, Do-kyun!"
"Hold the line!"
"Sword God—fall back!"
He sat up with a gasp, sweat slicking his face.
For a moment he didn't know where he was.
His eyes darted to the wall clock, the soft rain beyond the window, the reflection staring back at him—a boy's face, pale and thin.
"Again…" he whispered.
"The same dream."
He pressed a trembling hand to his chest.
His heart hammered wildly, but beneath it pulsed something else—
a faint vibration, as if metal were humming beneath his skin.
A flicker of blue light danced across his palm.
Then vanished.
---
The nurse outside glanced through the glass.
The boy was awake, eyes wide, staring at nothing.
She made a note on her tablet: Nightmare episode. Mana anomaly minimal.
But she couldn't hear the faint sound filling the room now—
a single ring of steel, like a sword unsheathing itself inside his mind.
---
Han Do-kyun turned toward the window.
Rain streaked down the glass, reflecting Seoul's neon veins.
Something tugged at his memory—
a man's face, half-hidden by shadow, watching him from the doorway earlier that day.
"…Who was that?" he murmured.
His fingers traced invisible lines in the air, and for a heartbeat, faint sparks followed.
Then they faded, leaving only the smell of ozone.
He exhaled, trying to calm the tremor in his chest.
But as thunder rolled over the city, a whisper followed—soft, ancient, not from any dream he remembered.
> [Awaken… Sword of the Lost Age.]
His pupils dilated.
The heart monitor spiked.
And for the briefest instant, behind his reflection, a massive silhouette appeared—
a figure wreathed in light, holding a broken blade that bled stars.
Then the vision shattered, leaving him gasping in the dark.
---
Outside, lightning forked across the Seoul skyline—the same direction Jin-ho's train was headed.
Two fates stirring at once.
Two stories beginning to intertwine again.
The rain thickened, turning the skyline into a haze of trembling lights.
Somewhere far below, sirens howled—distant, hollow, as if echoing from another world.
Inside Room 712, Han Do-kyun sat frozen, every breath shallow.
His gaze locked onto the faint glow still shimmering beneath his skin, veins of light tracing his forearm before dying out completely.
He swallowed hard. The air felt heavier now—charged, as if the hospital itself was holding its breath.
"Awaken… Sword of the Lost Age," he whispered again, the words tasting unfamiliar yet right.
They lingered in his mind like an old song he couldn't remember learning.
The monitor beside him beeped erratically, then steadied again.
Do-kyun swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet brushing cold tile.
He felt weak—frail, even—but there was something else beneath the exhaustion.
Something alive.
He stared at his palm, half-expecting the blue flicker to return.
Nothing. Only trembling fingers and the faint reflection of a boy who looked far older than sixteen.
Then—
A click sounded near the door.
He turned sharply.
The nurse had returned, but her silhouette seemed… wrong.
She stood just beyond the light, motionless, tablet dangling loosely from her hand.
"Miss?" Do-kyun said. His voice cracked. "Is something—"
Her head tilted unnaturally.
From her shadow, a thread of black mist curled upward, twisting like smoke.
The lights above flickered.
And in the static hum of the monitors, another voice whispered—low, metallic, resonating through the air like a blade drawn from its sheath:
> [Detected: Resonance Signature — 7th Fragment. Vessel identified.]
The nurse's eyes snapped open, glowing faint silver.
Do-kyun stumbled backward, heart racing.
> [Contain the vessel.]
Her voice wasn't her own.
The mist surged forward, forming a spear of dark light.
Do-kyun flinched—his instincts taking over before thought could catch up.
His hand rose, and light answered.
Blue arcs crackled across his arm, swirling into a phantom outline of a sword that wasn't there—only remembered.
The spear met the unseen blade—
A shockwave tore through the room.
Glass shattered outward. The monitors exploded in sparks.
Wind and rain roared in through the broken window as alarms blared across the ward.
Do-kyun collapsed to one knee, panting, staring at his trembling hand.
The phantom sword dissolved like mist, leaving only the echo of that single metallic ring.
The nurse—or whatever had worn her shape—lay unconscious, tendrils of darkness retreating into nothing.
And beneath the chaos of alarms, one phrase pulsed inside his mind, written in light and thunder both:
> [First Seal — Broken.]
Do-kyun's breath hitched.
He looked toward the storm outside—
where lightning forked again, streaking toward the northern edge of the city.
Somewhere beyond that horizon, Jin-ho's train cut through the darkness.
Two awakenings.
Two echoes of an age thought lost.
The storm had only just begun.
Sirens wailed somewhere below. The smell of ozone and burned circuits filled Room 712.
Do-kyun's breath came in ragged bursts, his pulse hammering against the quiet between alarms.
For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then he heard it—faint, metallic whispers layered atop the thunder.
Not voices from outside. From within.
> [Vessel stabilized. Resonance incomplete.]
[Awaiting re-link… Sword Core—unbound.]
He clutched his head, teeth gritted.
Visions stabbed through his skull—shattered fields, burning skies, warriors made of light and shadow clashing beneath a crimson sun.
And at the center of it all—a blade, broken clean in two, its fragments orbiting like dying stars.
When his eyes opened again, the room was dim, flickering red from the emergency lights.
The nurse was gone—no body, no trace—only black residue like ash scattered on the tiles.
"W-what… what's happening to me?"
His voice trembled.
He pressed a hand to his chest. Beneath his ribs, the same hum—steady now, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something ancient.
From the hallway came hurried footsteps.
Two security officers burst in, flashlights cutting through the dark.
"Patient 712! Are you alright?" one barked.
Do-kyun opened his mouth to answer—but his words caught when he saw their reflections in the cracked window.
Behind them, a shadow moved.
The officers froze mid-step, pupils dilating.
Their flashlights flickered, and both men slumped soundlessly to the floor, not dead—just asleep.
Do-kyun turned toward the door.
A figure now stood there—a tall man in a dark coat, rain dripping from his shoulders. His face half-hidden beneath a hood, but his eyes glowed faint blue, the same hue as the flicker on Do-kyun's palm.
"Who are you?" Do-kyun rasped.
The man stepped closer, leaving wet footprints across the tile.
"You don't remember," he said softly. His voice carried an echo, like several tones speaking in harmony.
"I didn't expect you to wake so soon."
Do-kyun backed against the wall.
"Stay away from me."
The man's gaze lingered on the shattered glass, the sparks still twitching from the monitor cables.
"It's begun again," he murmured. "The Lost Age stirs."
He reached into his coat and drew something—a small metallic shard, humming faintly. Its surface reflected the same pattern that had flared across Do-kyun's veins.
The boy's eyes widened. "That—"
"Yes," the stranger said. "The second fragment."
He stepped forward and pressed the shard to Do-kyun's palm.
The contact burned—not pain, but recognition.
For an instant, the world vanished.
Do-kyun saw himself—not as he was, but as he had been: armored in silver and blue, standing at the edge of a battlefield that spanned galaxies.
Lightning fell like rain.
Voices shouted his name—not Han Do-kyun, but something older, carried by the wind like a prayer.
> "Sword God of the Seventh Heaven… lead us!"
Then it was gone.
He was back in the hospital, gasping, hand pressed against the cold metal shard now fused to his skin.
The man pulled back his hood.
His features were sharp, scarred, but unmistakably human.
"You're not ready to remember everything yet," he said. "But you will. The fragments are calling, and others will come for you."
"Others?"
He nodded toward the window, where lightning still stitched across the sky.
"Some to protect. Some to kill. The storm marks the convergence. One of them is already moving toward Seoul."
The stranger turned to leave.
"Wait!" Do-kyun called out. "Who are you?"
The man paused at the door, his profile caught in the red glow.
"An old comrade," he said quietly. "The last one who remembers your name."
Then he was gone—leaving only rain and silence.
Do-kyun sat motionless, hand trembling around the glowing shard.
Through the open window, thunder rumbled like an answering roar.
He didn't know why, but deep inside, something in him responded—an ancient will stirring awake after centuries of sleep.
> [Synchronization: 12%. The Sword's core awaits.]
The storm outside intensified, lashing against the glass.
Far beyond the city, a train screamed across its tracks—lightning splitting the darkness above it.
And inside that train, Jin-ho lifted his head as his phone flickered dead, a strange pulse echoing in his chest—the same rhythm beating inside Do-kyun's.
Two lights.
Two souls.
Two blades reforging across time.
The Age of Swords was returning.
Han Do-kyun's pulse thundered in his ears.
The shard embedded in his palm glowed faintly, its light pulsing with the same rhythm as his heartbeat—
steady, then erratic, then steady again.
His breath hitched.
The hum beneath his skin grew louder, resonating deep in his bones until the pain was too much to bear.
He staggered back, clutching his chest.
The room blurred. The edges of everything began to dissolve—
walls bending, monitors melting into streaks of blue light.
He felt weightless. Untethered.
> [Resonance surge. Vessel overloading.]
He tried to scream, but no sound came.
Every nerve in his body burned, every muscle locked.
The shard on his hand flared blinding white.
Images assaulted him—
A battlefield drowned in silver rain.
Blades falling from the heavens like comets.
A woman's voice whispering his name through the chaos—
soft, mournful, and familiar.
> "Do-kyun… remember who you are."
His vision snapped back.
He was in the hospital again, sweat soaking through his gown.
He took one stumbling step toward the door—
—and then his legs gave out.
He collapsed onto the bed, gasping. The glow from the shard dimmed, then went still.
His body convulsed once, then fell silent.
Alarms screamed as the heart monitor flatlined for a split second—
then spiked again, stronger, steadier, deeper than before.
Outside the window, lightning cracked across the skyline, splitting the clouds apart for one blinding instant.
And in that light, a faint silhouette appeared beside his bed—
a woman in silver armor, face hidden by her helm, her hand resting on the air above his chest as if blessing him.
Her lips moved silently, words lost beneath the thunder.
Then she was gone.
Do-kyun lay still, eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly.
The hum beneath his skin faded to a whisper—
but it was still there.
Alive. Waiting.
On the hospital's rooftop, the stranger in the dark coat stood beneath the rain, staring down at the glowing windows of Room 712.
He exhaled slowly.
> "He's awake now. The first blade has returned."
Far across the city, lightning struck near the train tracks—
and Jin-ho's world began to unravel.