Ji-hwan was alone in the quiet candlelight of the archive after the woman departed.
"Enough to burn you. Not enough to save you."
The words hung like a curse.
He grasped the older scrolls behind the altar—records never intended for mortal touch, concealed by kings who dreaded the gods more than they dreaded death.
Most were ruined. Unreadable.
But one, wax-sealed with a phoenix crest, had the title:
"The Flame Reversed: A Record of the Second Cycle."
Second cycle.
Rebirth.
Ji-hwan shattered the seal. The parchment creaked under his touch. The writing was worn but legible:
"When love is tainted in betrayal, and death shows no mercy, the flame shall shatter and burn anew. The soul reborn shall endure thrice—once for guilt, once for truth, once for love unspoken."
His chest constricted. The words did not merely speak of fate.
They told him.
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To the manner in which Seong-min had died in the past—thanks to Ji-hwan's silence.
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He pressed a hand against his heart.
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He wasn't simply reborn in order to live.
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He was reborn to set it right.
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Before he emerged from the archive, he destroyed the scroll. No one else could read it.
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But the words cut into him now—a brand as cruel as a blade.
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As he re-emerged into sunlight, Ji-hwan breathed softly:
"I won't betray you again."
But somewhere on the sky above the palace, hidden clouds shaded the horizon.
Fate always hears.
And it always asks for a price.