Jae-Hyun sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he was bracing himself for something. The Herald, Hae-Lin, hovered just beside the couch, a faint glow still clinging to her outline.
He turned his eyes toward her, cautious but no longer afraid.
"…Can I ask you something?"
Hae-Lin floated a little closer, her posture shifting into one of patient attentiveness. "You may ask anything."
"Earlier… when I looked at my mom. I saw something."
The image came back easily, burned into his mind, the glowing words above her head, the numbers, the strange phrase "Restoration – Dormant." It hadn't been a hallucination. Not if he could still recall every detail so clearly.
"There were words. Like… data floating in the air," he continued. "Her name, her affinity… it said something about her condition too. Was that… from you?"
Hae-Lin's glow pulsed softly, like she was pleased with the question. "That, Min Jae-Hyun, is your Gift. A result of the Covenant's favor."
He frowned. "Gift? You mean… like a magic skill?"
"In this world, magic has always existed, hidden among the shadows of power and the hands of the elite," Hae-Lin said, her voice calm. "Those born of powerful bloodlines often awaken affinity-based gifts. But your soul, having returned from beyond the veil, has been blessed with something even rarer."
She paused, her eyes glowing faintly.
"You possess the Eyes of God."
The words hung in the air, too grand for the quiet room.
He stared at her, eyebrows drawing together. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means you see truth," she said simply. "Where others see flesh and name, you see potential. Blood. Affinity. Condition. Drive."
"Drive?"
"A hidden measure of will. The force behind ambition, behind change. What makes a person pursue greatness, or fall short of it."
Jae-Hyun leaned back, processing it. "So… when I looked at my mom, I saw what? Her magic? Her... stats?"
"Correct. And more than that, you saw what is possible. Not just what is."
His mouth felt dry. "So this is why you're here?"
"In part. Your eyes are a sacred tool. But without knowledge, without guidance, even power becomes a burden."
He dragged a hand through his hair. It was all too much. But it wasn't the kind of overwhelming that paralyzed you. It was the kind that demanded you move forward.
"And I can use this on anyone?" he asked. "Just by looking at them?"
"In time, yes," Hae-Lin replied. "At first, only when your focus is sharp. Later, it will become second nature."
Jae-Hyun nodded slowly, letting that settle.
"What about you? Why can I see you now? No one else will be able to, right?"
"Correct. I am tied to your soul's thread. Others will not perceive me unless I wish it."
"And what can you actually do?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you just a voice? A guide? Can you fight? Cast spells?"
Hae-Lin gave a small, amused sound. "I am not meant to fight. I am here to advise, to offer insight, and, on occasion, to act, should the situation demand it."
She drifted toward him, gaze steady. "If you ever require my presence, call my name. I will come. Or, if danger approaches and you falter, I may act without your summons, though rarely."
"Why?" he asked. "Why help me at all?"
"Because you asked for another chance," she said gently. "And it was granted. But not freely. All gifts carry weight. And all lives must walk their own path."
His fingers curled around the fabric of his pants. He nodded again, slower this time.
"Alright," he murmured. "Alright."
There was quiet for a moment.
Hae-Lin floated higher, the glow around her softening.
"Will that be all for now?"
He hesitated, then stood.
"No. I need to do something."
She tilted her head.
He stepped away from the couch, his eyes drifting to the small corner desk beside the window. It was still cluttered the same way he remembered, old notebooks stacked unevenly, pens missing their caps, a cracked lamp with the cord half-taped together. His textbooks were there too, faded from wear but organized in a way only he understood.
Back then, he'd always hated this desk. Hated the way it reminded him of everything he didn't have. A real study. A private tutor. A life without noise leaking in through the thin apartment walls.
But now, it felt different.
This wasn't just where he did homework. This was where he would begin again.
He pulled out the chair and sat, brushing his hand over the familiar surface.
"I need to remember what this time was like," he murmured. "What I knew. What I didn't. Who was where. Who mattered."
He opened one of the notebooks and flipped through the pages, math notes, scribbled formulas, phone numbers he no longer recognized. Then he reached for his old phone, the same cheap model he'd carried for most of high school. The screen was slightly scratched, but it powered on with a flicker of light.
A part of him expected the battery to be dead. It always was.
Guess some things really had reset.
He tapped the screen, opened the browser, and pulled up the local news archive, his fingers working from memory.
Political parties, scandals, stock movements, corporate mergers.
Entertainment gossip, up-and-coming influencers, bankruptcies that were months away from happening.
All of it sprawled before him like puzzle pieces from a life he'd already lived once.
Most of it he remembered. Not perfectly, but enough.
Names stood out. Headlines sparked memories. Some were vague. Others sharp enough to sting.
He leaned back in the chair, watching the screen glow against the growing daylight.
"I know where this path goes," he said quietly. "Not all of it. But enough."
Enough to make different choices.
Enough to move earlier. Smarter.
Enough to stop certain things before they spiraled out of control.
Behind him, Hae-Lin floated silently, her gaze fixed on him with quiet approval.
"This world won't wait for me to get comfortable," he said. "So I'm not going to waste time pretending I'm still the same."
He turned to look at her.
"Do you know what happens next?"
"I know what may happen," Hae-Lin said. "But your choices, your words, your moments—they are the threads that will weave this life."
He nodded to himself, turning back to the screen.
One name at a time.
One connection at a time.
Piece by piece, he would map out the world again.
And this time, he wouldn't just survive in it.
He would shape it.