POV: Yerin
The world had not stopped spinning.
It should have. That was the first clear thought Yerin had as she sat on the cold pavement, her back pressed against the rusted railing of the small riverside path. Her breath came unevenly, tight in her chest, as if fear had curled inside her lungs and refused to leave.
The streetlamp above her flickered uncertainly, casting unsteady shadows across the concrete. Every time the light dimmed, she found herself flinching, afraid the darkness would come alive again.
A few minutes ago, she had believed monsters didn't exist.
Now she wasn't sure what to believe at all.
Her hands trembled in her lap. She clasped them tightly, trying to steady them, but her efforts only made the trembling more obvious. Everything felt unreal: the metallic taste in her mouth, the faint sting of her scraped knee, the echo of her own pulse pounding against her ears.
But the most unreal thing was the man standing several steps away, his back to her, facing the dark stretch of road as if guarding against something else that might crawl out of it.
He hadn't moved since he pushed her behind him and destroyed… whatever that shadow had been.
Yerin swallowed, trying to calm the knot in her throat.
He didn't look human. Or maybe he did, but too sharply, too beautifully, too dangerously to feel real. His long coat shifted with the breeze, revealing the silver chain wound around him, glimmering faintly with its own strange light.
A chain no human could possibly wear like that.
A chain that had moved on its own.
She shut her eyes tightly. The memory flashed again, uninvited: the shadow lunging toward her, its shape wrong, its limbs too long, its presence cold enough to choke her. And then the chain had struck out, slicing the creature as easily as air.
She had no explanation for any of it.
The wind carried a soft rustling of dry leaves, and Yerin forced her eyes open again. Her voice, when she finally found it, sounded small even to her own ears.
"…Are we safe now?"
The man turned his head slightly, as if acknowledging the question but refusing to face her fully. His red eyes glowed faintly under the streetlamp, the color muted but unmistakable.
"Temporarily," he said.
His voice was low, even, controlled to a degree that made her more nervous than if he'd yelled.
Yerin drew a slow breath. She needed to do something. Say something. Make sense of this, even if only in pieces.
"What… what was that thing?" she asked.
"A fragment," he replied. "A shadow given shape. Little more than a scout."
A scout.
A scout for what?
Yerin's stomach tightened. She wasn't sure she wanted the answer, but she pushed anyway.
"Why did it attack me?"
This time, he turned fully toward her.
Yerin's breath hitched.
His face was sharp in the way sculptures were sharp: defined lines softened only by the faint exhaustion in his eyes. His long hair fell across one side of his face, and the dim light reflected along the silver chain coiled from his shoulder to his waist.
He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, as if he had been carved with the intention to lure, to tempt, to warn.
"It wasn't attacking you," he said. "It was drawn to you."
Yerin's pulse stumbled. "Drawn to me? Why? I'm… I'm nobody."
His gaze lowered to her wrist.
To the faint white mark still glowing beneath her skin.
She followed his glance. Her breath caught sharply when she saw it again: the thin, delicate ring of light, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
"I don't…" Her voice broke. "I don't understand what this is."
He took a slow step toward her, deliberate enough that she could have moved away if she wanted to. But she didn't. She froze, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment and the strange instinct telling her that despite everything, he would not harm her.
"It is the mark of a bond," he said. "The same one that once sealed me away."
Yerin stared at him blankly.
Seal him away?
Bond?
None of it made sense.
She pressed her palms against the pavement, grounding herself as she tried to force coherence into her thoughts. "But I've never met you. I've never done anything like this. I don't know anything about demons or shadows or—whatever you are. How could I possibly have been involved in sealing you?"
His expression flickered, a faint shadow crossing his features.
"Your soul remembers," he said quietly. "Even if your mind does not."
Yerin felt the world tilt again. Fear sparked inside her, but another emotion rose with it: disbelief.
"My soul," she repeated, almost whispering. "You make it sound like… like I lived before."
"You did."
She shook her head. "That's impossible."
He didn't argue. He simply watched her, his silence more unnerving than any explanation.
Yerin turned her gaze away, unable to meet those crimson eyes any longer. The river beside them murmured softly, a gentle contrast to the storm inside her chest. She tried to breathe, slow and steady, but her breaths kept snagging on the edges of panic.
The man moved again, stepping close enough that she could feel his presence like a shift in the air. He crouched down so he was level with her, but he kept a respectful distance, as if careful not to overwhelm her.
"You are frightened," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Wouldn't you be?" she whispered.
His expression remained unreadable, but something softened in his eyes, as though he had expected anger or denial but not this quiet vulnerability.
"For what it is worth," he said, "I do not intend to harm you."
Yerin let out a shaky laugh. "That's… comforting, I guess. But everything tonight feels like a dream I can't wake up from."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he spoke with the calm certainty of someone stating a fact rather than offering comfort.
"You will wake from this," he said, "but the world you knew will not be the same when you do."
Her stomach tightened again.
She didn't want this. Any of it. She wanted her normal life back. Her part-time job at the bookstore, her quiet bicycle rides, her plans for the first year of university. She wanted simplicity, predictability, safety. She didn't want chains that moved on their own or marks glowing beneath her skin.
She didn't want destiny.
"I just want to go home," she whispered.
His gaze lowered. "I cannot take you home."
Yerin looked up sharply. "Why not?"
"Because now that the bond is active," he said, "you are not safe alone. Others will come for you until the chain is fully restored."
Her pulse quickened. "Restored? What does that mean?"
"It means," he said, standing slowly, "that whether you accept it or not… you and I are now linked."
The wind picked up again, rustling the leaves around them. The mark on her wrist pulsed once, softly, as if agreeing.
Yerin stared at him, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
She opened her mouth, searching for words she didn't have.
But before anything could form, the man extended a hand toward her.
Not demanding.
Not forceful.
Simply offering.
"Come," he said. "I will explain the rest somewhere safer."
Yerin hesitated only a moment.
Then, with a breath that trembled through her entire body, she reached up and placed her hand in his.
For better or worse, the moment she touched him, the mark flared softly with light.
And the bond tightened.