"Geon!!!" Yun Hye‑ran burst from the shadows, sprinting as if the very thought of losing her son propelled her forward. Joo Sang‑uk turned, his face a cold mask, yet a flicker of pity lingered in his eyes.
"I told you to call me the moment anything happened. How could it have come to this?" he said, voice sharp but laced with empathy, his hands bound by the kingdom's edict—no sorcery allowed within Songrim's walls.
Yun Hye‑ran's breath hitched, each gasp feeling like a piece of herself slipping away. "He'll be fine once he absorbs human energy," she whispered, trying to convince both the mystical alchemist and herself.
"*He'll return to normal*," she pressed, desperation dripping from every word as she searched for any remedy for her son.
"*Your son has run wild and can't be controlled*," Joo Sang‑uk replied, his tone unyielding, refusing to bend to her pleas.
She stared, eyes wide, helpless as the icy water devoured the boy.
"*I'll retrieve his soul*," he added, crushing any lingering hope.
"*You can't! You can't!*" she gasped, sobbing, clutching Joo Sang‑uk's robe while pointing at her helpless child, begging for a miracle.
*"My s…sso…son…"* she sobbed, tears spilling harder, then fell silent as she stared at the boy. His face was a blank mask of wickedness, teeth gnashing, ready to devour.
He opened his mouth, hovered over her head, and began to suck her life‑force. Her energy drained, her body collapsed, turned to cold stone. The wild creature let out a menacing chuckle.
Joo Sang‑uk drew his sword, thrust it straight into the beast's chest—if left alive, the creature would grow unstoppable after feeding on a human energy. The blade pierced like a spear, the magical runes inside the sword surged, killing the wild being instantly. The force of the strike slammed the creature backward, its head shattered against the wooden table, and it too turned to stone, dead.
The mystical alchemist, aided by a novice mage in simple robes, carefully wrapped the stone bodies in cloth and placed them into a large sack. Together, they carried the burden to the river—where the lifeless remains of soul shifters were ritually discarded, their forms returned to the waters like whispers of forgotten souls.
"Why do soul shifters turn to stone when they run wild?" the young mage asked, curiosity tinged with sorrow.
"A crack forms when the body clashes with the soul they carry, causing them to lose control—and their form is petrified," the mystical alchemist explained, his gaze drifting toward the river.
The young mage followed his gaze, his voice laced with pity. "This is already the eighth soul that's run wild."
"Perhaps I should stop shifting souls," the mystical alchemist murmured, regret weighing heavy in his tone.
"*You should head to the royal palace*," the young mage said, voice respectful but laced with a hint of authority. "*His Majesty has been inquiring about the new spell you've been working on, Master.*"
The mystical alchemist furrowed his brow, puzzled. _Why the sudden interest?_ He tilted his head, mentally piecing together the possibilities—political leverage, a looming threat, or perhaps a desperate gamble. The king's summons rarely came without strings attached...