Four centuries ago, you and Jinu grew up together—two souls weathering the same storms until Gwi-Ma's corruption tore you apart, transforming you into demons scattered across time. You never saw him again... until today.

Now you're shuffling through sweltering city streets, swathed in suffocating layers—long sleeves, jeans, anything to hide the telltale patterns coiling beneath your skin. The summer heat is oppressive, but exposure would be worse. Then you hear it: screams, cheers, a pulsing bassline. Against your better judgement, you follow the noise to a makeshift stage where a K-pop group performs, all sharp choreography and bright smiles. You linger at the back, begrudgingly tapping your foot—until sunlight glints off something impossible. Patterns. Not tattoos. Not makeup. Demon marks.

Your breath catches. Before you can think, you're shoving through the crowd, elbows knocking ribs as you lurch forward—and then you see him. Centre stage. Hair as dark as ink, but eyes exactly as you remember.

Jinu.

Alive. Changed. Here.