On the shore, where the sky merges with the sea in one endless gray cloud, Changbin sits, clutching the pendant in his palm. The wind plays with his hair, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze is fixed on the horizon, where the line between sea and sky fades, as if even nature cannot find its way. The water continuously crashes onto the shore with a dull, powerful roar, as if resurrecting his memories. These waves have always been a part of his life, carrying pain, echoing in every breath he takes.

He whispers quietly to himself, as though speaking out an old pain that’s hard to let go of: “They took those I loved… but still, I’m here.” His fingers tighten around the pendant, as if it’s the last lifeline. The sea has always been a symbol of hopelessness, rupture, and loss for him. It never let him forget; it held his dearest ones, taken into its boundless depths.

And yet, in this place, in this fog, Changbin feels a strange tranquility. Maybe it’s just a fleeting moment, as brief as a gentle gust of wind, but still, something is changing. Mentally, he asks himself how much longer he will carry this burden, how much longer he will see the sea as his pain.

And then, on the horizon, his gaze lingers. He sees a silhouette, barely discernible among the gray waves and clouds. Like a star appearing in the murkiest of waters, he can’t look away. The wind shifts direction, as if confirming his suspicion.

But no, it’s just his imagination. He frowns, trying to see more clearly. The silhouette becomes blurry, almost dissolving in the mist. “It can’t be him,” Changbin thinks, but the sense of déjà vu won’t leave. Suddenly, the waves crash even harder, and in their crunching, powerful sound, Changbin thinks he hears a familiar voice. Only as an echo, long lost, as if from another time.

The silhouette disappears, leaving only empty space on the horizon, not allowing him to calm down.