The temple was half-swallowed by the mountain.
Its stone walls cracked, overgrown with ivy.
Wind whispered through the broken arches like a voice too old to forget.
Ji-hwan felt it the moment they crossed the threshold—
familiarity, like a dream he had once drowned in.
Seong-min touched his arm. "You feel it too."
Ji-hwan nodded. "Like I've been here before."
They walked together into the inner sanctum. No guards. No candles. Just dust, silence, and waiting.
He stood in the center, cloaked in shadow—an old man with silver eyes, skin like carved wood, and a stillness that didn't feel human.
"I was wondering when you'd find me," he said. His voice echoed—not in the air, but in Ji-hwan's bones.
Seong-min stepped forward, sharp and royal despite the dirt on his robes.
"You're Gojin?"
The man smiled. "I was. Once."
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Ji-hwan's pulse pounded. "The prophecy—did you write it?"
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The man gazed at him.
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And bowed.
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"No," he said. "You did."
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Silence. Cold and crushing.
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"I only wrote what I saw," Gojin went on. "You wrote it long before this life—when you were someone else. When your soul remembered too much, and your heart wouldn't forget him."
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Ji-hwan couldn't breathe. "You're saying… I cursed us?"
No," Gojin whispered. "You attempted to save him."
Seong-min shifted beside him. "Now what?"
The prophet's eyes shone softly. "Now. the prophecy truly starts."
The air quivered.
Stone shattered.
And from the darkness behind the altar—something emerged.
Not a man. Not a ghost.
But the entity that had tracked them through each life they'd ever known and lost.