The flight back to Seoul was four hours of near-total oblivion for Jinho, exactly as he'd intended. He'd promised himself two things the minute they buckled in: sleep, and more sleep. The hum of the engines, the muted cabin chatter, the dimmed lights—he let it all fade. He didn't so much as stir until the landing gear slammed into the tarmac, pulling him from a dreamless, satisfying void. An achievement, honestly. He'd never managed to sleep through an entire flight before; he chalked it up as a personal record, a rare victory.
Across the aisle, Tanaka leaned toward him, an amused glint in her eyes. "You snore, you know. Loud enough that the flight attendant checked if you were okay."
Jinho rubbed his face and stretched, vertebrae crackling. "I don't snore. I breathe enthusiastically while sleeping. There's a difference."
Tanaka's smirk widened. "That's just snoring with a thesaurus. You should warn people before you weaponize it."
"It's called marketing," Jinho replied, suppressing a yawn. "You take something ordinary and make it sound impressive. It's a skill."
The nap had done its job. He still felt the residual weight of exhaustion, but it was manageable now. His limbs didn't ache quite as much, and his thoughts were less foggy—an improvement over Ban Pong, where he'd felt like a walking corpse. He rolled his shoulders, settling back in his seat as the plane taxied toward the gate. "Did I miss anything? Any disasters while I was comatose?"
Tanaka tapped the folder in her lap. "I read the briefing documents. The Phoenix Seal's origins are more interesting than I thought—supposedly forged during the Shang Dynasty, over three thousand years ago."
"Ancient trivia," Jinho said, rolling his eyes. "I'd rather not fill my brain with details that won't help find the rest. History's nice, but it won't tell us where the next Seal is hiding."
"Sometimes the past explains the present," Tanaka countered, voice patient. "If we know why the Covenant wants these relics, maybe we can predict their next move."
Jinho snorted. "The Covenant wants them because they're zealots. They think ending the world is a good idea. That's motivation enough for them. I doubt they care about dynasties or craftsmanship."
Tanaka looked like she wanted to argue, but the plane shuddered to a stop at the gate, conversation drowned out by the bustle of disembarking passengers.
Incheon Airport at 11 PM was exactly as Jinho remembered: a kaleidoscope of people, all moving with that peculiar airport urgency. Harsh fluorescent lights illuminated tired faces, travelers and workers alike. The air was thick with the scent of too many bodies, coffee, and overworked ventilation systems. Even at this hour, the terminal pulsed with energy, a city of its own inside the city.
They cut through the throng, flashing their KSID badges at security. It was one of the few advantages of their job—no lines, no questions, just a nod from the guards. Jinho never took it for granted. Smuggling a relic like the Phoenix Seal through customs would have been a nightmare otherwise.
He kept the Seal wrapped tightly in a T-shirt, buried beneath a layer of innocuous clothes. The artifact was heavy in his backpack, but not so much that it would draw suspicion. He'd slipped it past Thai security, survived the flight, and now he was back in Korea with one of the world's most dangerous objects in tow. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible—just another government agent with a nondescript bag and a tired face.
Outside, a black sedan idled at the curb, headlights cutting through the gloom. The driver was new—young, fresh out of training by the look of him. As they approached, he snapped to attention.
"Agent Seo, Agent Tanaka. Director Baek is expecting you at headquarters."
Jinho grunted, tossing his bag into the trunk. "Of course she is. Does she ever leave the office? Or does she just plug herself into the grid when everyone else goes home?"
"Maybe she's got a cot under her desk," Tanaka replied, sliding into the back seat. "Sleep is optional when you're in charge."
The city unfurled around them as they sped toward Yongsan. Seoul at night was a blur of neon, blinking shop signs, and the endless movement of people—late-night diners, groups of friends spilling out of karaoke bars, office workers catching the last train. The city seemed alive, oblivious to the secret world humming beneath its surface. Jinho watched the lights flicker by, thinking about the artifact in his bag—how nobody around them could possibly know that a piece of apocalypse had just landed in their midst.
His phone buzzed. A message from Director Baek: Briefing room C. 30 minutes.
Jinho sighed. "We haven't even taken off our shoes and she's already summoning us to a meeting."
Tanaka glanced over, expression sympathetic. "She wants a debrief while the details are still fresh. You know how she is."
"My brain's never fresh," Jinho deadpanned. "It's like old produce—past the sell-by date."
Tanaka laughed, the sound cutting through the fatigue in the car. "That would explain some of your decisions."
The sedan merged onto the highway, Seoul's skyline glittering in the distance. The city was wide awake, unaware how close it had come to disaster—and how close it might be again, now that the Phoenix Seal was back. Jinho stared out the window, mind racing ahead to the briefing, to the questions he knew Baek would ask, and to the six other artifacts still out there, waiting.
KSID headquarters hadn't changed at all. It was still the same squat, uninspired slab of concrete and glass, stubbornly refusing to acquire any character year after year. Jinho swiped his badge at the security turnstile, the scanner buzzing its flat approval. The night guard looked up—someone new tonight, not Kim, but another tired face with a crossword puzzle and a chipped thermos. Jinho nodded, kept moving. The fluorescent lights overhead gave everything a washed-out look, as if even the building itself was trying to nap.
Tanaka trailed behind, silent and watchful as always, his steps echoing down the empty marble corridor. They passed the deserted reception desk, the glass elevator doors sliding open with a reluctant chime. Jinho pressed the button for Sublevel 7—Operations—and felt the familiar lurch in his stomach as the car descended. He'd ridden this elevator a thousand times before, but late at night it always felt more like a plunge into the underworld than a normal commute.
On Sublevel 7, the atmosphere was different, thinner somehow. At this hour, only a skeleton crew worked the graveyard shift, hunched over monitors and reports in pools of cold light. The air hummed with the energy of too much coffee and too little sleep. A few agents looked up as Jinho entered—some with surprise, others with the wary curiosity reserved for people who'd returned from operations that made the rumor mill churn. But notoriety had its perks: nobody bothered with small talk or tried to rope him into awkward conversations about office drama or impending weather. He was the guy you nodded at, then pretended not to watch.
At the far end of the hall, Conference Room C waited, unchanged and unwelcoming. Jinho pushed open the door, the hinges giving a soft groan that seemed to echo down the corridor. Inside, the fluorescent lights revealed Director Baek already seated at the head of the table, the embodiment of patience and authority. Next to Baek sat two people Jinho hadn't seen before. The first was a woman in her thirties, the pristine white of her lab coat radiating "research division" so clearly she might as well have had it stitched on her sleeve. She was already fidgeting with a tablet, eyes sharp and curious. The man beside her was older, maybe in his fifties, with leathery skin and a thousand-yard stare that suggested he'd spent too many years looking at things he wished he hadn't. He wore a dark suit that didn't quite fit, and didn't bother pretending to be impressed by anything.
"Agent Seo, Agent Tanaka," Baek greeted them, gesturing to the empty seats. "Take a seat. This is Dr. Han from Artifact Research, and Master Cho from Sealing Division."
Jinho arched an eyebrow as he sat, tossing his bag onto the table with practiced nonchalance. "Sealing Division? Since when do we have one of those?"
Baek managed a weary half-smile. "We have all kinds of divisions you've never heard of, Seo. Maybe if you bothered to read the organizational charts once in a while…"
Jinho shrugged. "Organizational charts are boring."
"They're also indispensable," Baek replied, not missing a beat.
"Not mutually exclusive," Jinho shot back, earning a brief, amused snort from Tanaka.
Dr. Han cleared her throat, eager to steer the conversation back to business. "Agent Seo. The Phoenix Seal, please?"
Jinho opened his battered backpack and carefully removed the artifact, unwrapping the thick layer of cloth around it. Both pieces of jade, impossibly smooth and warm to the touch, glimmered with a deep, living crimson. The surfaces were alive with intricate carvings: flames leaping and twining, old as myth. The air around them seemed to hum with the residue of power.
Dr. Han's eyes widened behind her glasses. "May I?" she asked, barely disguising her excitement.
"Go ahead," Jinho said, sliding it closer.
She donned a pair of white gloves with a careful, almost ceremonial precision—supposedly to keep the artifact's divine residue from sparking off her skin—and lifted one of the pieces. She turned it over, tracing the glyphs with her gloved fingers, her face a mix of awe and unease. Even someone as composed as Dr. Han couldn't quite hide how much this artifact unsettled her.
"Incredible," she breathed. "The craftsmanship alone is breathtaking, but the matrix of divine energy… It's still partly intact after three millennia." She set it down as if it might shatter. "This shouldn't exist anymore. Most artifacts this old have long since decayed to dust—spiritual and physical both."
Jinho nodded. "And yet, here it is."
Dr. Han looked to Master Cho, her tone shifting from wonder to concern. "What's your assessment, Master Cho?"
For a long moment, Master Cho said nothing, merely staring at the Seal as if willing it to betray its secrets. His gaze was so intense it made Jinho uneasy. Folks in Sealing Division were cultivators, the kind of people who learned to listen for the breathing of the world itself—and to recognize the sound when something was out of place.
"It's compromised," Cho said at last, his voice gravelly from long silence. "Partially awakened. Around fifteen, maybe twenty percent active."
Jinho straightened in his chair. "Fifteen percent? Already?"
Cho nodded, weighing the other piece of jade in his calloused hand. "Whoever had this before you started feeding it divine energy. Not much, but enough to rouse it from stasis. These things are like embers—they just need a bit of breath to flare up."
Director Baek's voice was sharp. "Can you stabilize it? Reinforce the seal?"
"For now," Cho replied, setting the jade down as if it might bite him. "I can reinforce the wards, bind it tighter, slow the awakening. But if it keeps absorbing divine energy—especially from multiple sources—it'll keep charging. It's a slow process, but relentless. Divine artifacts are persistent."
"So what's the solution?" Tanaka asked, leaning forward.
"Total isolation," Cho said, matter-of-fact. "Sealed in a vault lined with suppression wards. No blessed agents allowed within a hundred feet. Continuous monitoring around the clock. That's the only way to keep it dormant." He glanced at Baek, his expression unreadable. "But it won't be cheap, and it's a logistical nightmare. And we'll have to do this for all seven Seals, once they're recovered."
Baek grimaced. "Which we don't have yet."
"Which you don't have yet," Cho agreed, a flicker of something like dark humor in his eyes.
Dr. Han was already running her gloved fingers over the Seal again, tapping notes into her tablet with her free hand. "Agent Seo, during recovery, did you feel anything unusual? Headaches, dizziness, fatigue? Anything at all?"
Jinho thought back, sifting through the haze of adrenaline and exhaustion. The fight had left him wrung out, but that was the norm. "Nothing that stands out. Why?"
Dr. Han's gaze was sharp. "Because the Seal is designed to resonate with divine energy. In theory, if a blessed agent maintains prolonged contact, you get a feedback loop. The Seal draws energy from the host, uses it to fuel itself, which makes it hungrier for more. Over time, the effect accelerates—until either the agent burns out, or the artifact fully awakens." She paused, entering more notes. "But that's theory. You only had it for a few hours, correct?"
"Six hours, tops," Tanaka confirmed. "Most of that in transit."
Dr. Han nodded, relief in her posture. "That's not enough time to trigger anything serious. But I'd recommend minimizing direct contact from here on out. Even brief exposure can accumulate; it's safer to treat this as hazardous material, not a trophy."
Master Cho chimed in, his tone solemn. "Divine artifacts have appetites. They remember every touch, every trace of power. The more you handle them, the more they remember you. Sometimes, they even start to follow you—metaphorically, if not literally."
The room went quiet for a moment, the weight of the artifact's history—and its danger—settling over them like a shroud.
"Interesting," murmured the Jade Emperor, his voice echoing inside Jinho's mind with regal calm.
"Very interesting," agreed the Phoenix, a flicker of ancient flame in her tone.
"Should we mention that we definitely felt something when we touched it?" the Demon King's voice was sly, amused.
"Let's not," Jinho decided silently, feeling the presence of his inner passengers stir. "No sense in adding more complications to an already messy situation."
Director Baek shuffled a stack of papers across the table, the edges snapping into alignment with practiced precision. "Master Cho, how fast can you get the isolation protocols up and running?"
Cho didn't hesitate. "Forty-eight hours. Sooner if I call in extra hands."
Baek nodded, barely blinking. "Do it. Don't wait. Dr. Han, I need a full analysis of the Seal—how active it is, the energy signature, any deviation from what's on file. I want every anomaly flagged and on my desk."
"Already on it." Dr. Han carefully wrapped the fractured Seal in layers of silk and containment mesh, her gloved hands steady. "But I'll need to run tests at the lab—nothing we have here is calibrated for this."
"Master Cho will accompany you. No solo trips, no deviations from route. Security first." Baek's gaze was hard, but there was an undercurrent of worry running beneath every instruction, as if the director was calculating all the ways this could go wrong. "Now, Jinho. Tanaka. Debrief. Everything from Ban Pong, start to finish."
They recounted the mission, piecing together the story like witnesses at a trial. Tanaka handled the bulk of it, her voice measured and precise, outlining their infiltration, Narin's intelligence tip, the tense crawl into the shadowed village, and the inevitable clash with the Covenant. She didn't embellish, but her words painted a picture of chaos punctuated by brief, sharp moments of clarity.
Jinho chipped in where necessary, describing the strange behavior of the blessed agents, their tense exchange with Director Kim, and, most bizarre of all, the moment when the enemy simply handed over the Seal.
"They just gave it to you?" Baek's tone was flat, but something sharp flickered in his eyes.
"Yeah," Jinho replied, shrugging, the memory still fresh and confusing.
"You're certain?"
"Unless I hallucinated a woman tossing a thousand-year-old artifact at my face and saying 'you win,' I'm pretty sure." Jinho ran a hand through his hair. "It made no sense. They fought like hell, then just… stopped."
"Strategic fallback," Tanaka offered, tapping her fingers on her notepad. "They knew they wouldn't win, so they cut their losses before taking casualties."
Baek's expression barely shifted, but the muscle in his jaw tightened. "Or maybe they achieved their objective and the Seal was just a distraction," he said quietly. "We can't afford to assume we're ahead just because we're holding the prize."
Tanaka frowned. "And that would mean what, exactly? Handing back the thing they risked so much to steal?"
"That's what's bothering me." Baek turned to a floating holographic map, tapping at glowing points scattered across Southeast Asia. "Director Kim said they've pinpointed the locations of all seven Seals. If that's true—"
"—We're in a race," Tanaka finished. "They'll be hitting the others, fast as they can."
Jinho leaned forward, tension in his shoulders. "Do we have any leads? Any idea where the rest are?"
Baek glanced at him, then the map. "We're combing through every scrap of intel we've gathered on Covenant activity in the last six months. Cross-referencing it with what little we know about the Seals' hiding places. Right now, we have some threads—the Dragon Seal might be somewhere along the Mekong Delta. The Tiger Seal… best guess, Tibet or Nepal, but the area's huge and the locals aren't talking. For the rest, we're working blind."
"How blind?" Jinho pressed.
Baek's mouth twisted wryly. "Picture a haystack the size of Asia, and we're looking for a needle that doesn't want to be found."
Jinho let out a low whistle. "Fantastic. Love a good challenge."
"That's why I need you both ready to move the instant we have anything solid." Baek closed the map with a flick. "Tanaka, you'll be embedded with Intel. Your language skills and analysis background are indispensable—use them to chase down even the thinnest lead."
"Understood," Tanaka replied, already running through mental checklists.
"Jinho, you're on standby. Rest, recharge, be ready to deploy with four hours' notice. No exceptions."
Jinho grinned. "So, business as usual."
Baek arched an eyebrow. "Your usual involves napping in convenience stores and living off instant noodles. I'm asking for actual rest. At home. Preferably in a bed."
"That's a tall order for a field agent," Jinho quipped.
For a moment, Baek's lips threatened a smile. "I think you can manage. Dismissed."
The meeting dissolved. Dr. Han and Master Cho had already slipped out, the Phoenix Seal nestled between them like a sacred burden, off to the next layer of locked doors and biometric scanners. Their absence left a strange emptiness in the conference room, as if the air was missing a crucial note.
Jinho and Tanaka walked out together, their footsteps echoing down the polished hallway toward the elevators. The tension of the briefing hung between them, mingling with the relief of having survived another impossible mission.
"You really sleep in convenience stores?" Tanaka asked, her tone a curious mix of disbelief and amusement.
Jinho grinned. "Only the good ones. Gotta have decent ramyeon, and I know which chains keep the water hot past midnight."
Tanaka shook her head. "You know that's not normal, right? You're not supposed to live like a stray cat."
"Normal's overrated," Jinho replied, pressing the elevator button. "Besides, the world's too weird for normal right now."
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open with a soft chime. They stepped in, the air inside cool and slightly stale.
"You heading home?" Jinho asked.
Tanaka nodded. "Staying nearby. I've got a temporary place in Yongsan—KSID set it up when I transferred. It's not much, but it's close to the office."
"Home for me," Jinho replied. "Mapo-gu. With luck, I'll beat rush hour and actually sleep in my own bed for once."
A comfortable silence settled between them as the elevator descended. The world outside blurred past, distant and irrelevant for a few precious moments.
"Jinho-ssi," Tanaka said, her voice softer, almost hesitant. "Back in Ban Pong. When you caught the Seal. You looked… different."
He arched an eyebrow. "Different how? I was exhausted, sure—"
"Not just tired. You looked pale. Like something was wrong, not just physically."
Jinho met her eyes, unflinching. "I'd just been thrown through a wall by a guy twice my size. That does things to your complexion."
She didn't laugh. "I'm serious."
"So am I." He held her gaze, sincerity in his voice. "I'm fine. Just worn out, nothing more. Give me a night's sleep and I'll be bouncing off the walls again."
Tanaka studied him, as if she could peer past bravado and jokes to whatever truth was hidden underneath. Finally, she nodded, but her concern didn't fade. "Alright. But if anything feels off—pain, dizziness, anything—promise me you'll go to Medical. No skipping."
"I promise." Jinho offered a lopsided smile. "They'll probably tell me to sleep and drink water, which is all I planned anyway."
She exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh. "You're impossible."
"Yeah, I get that a lot," he replied, a spark of mischief in his eyes.
The elevator reached the ground floor, doors opening to a lobby humming with late-afternoon quiet. Light streamed in through high windows, painting long shadows across the stone tiles.
Tanaka paused, hand on her bag. "Get some real rest, Jinho. Not a nap next to cup noodles and a vending machine."
"I'll think about it," he shot back, already heading for the exit. "See you in a couple days. Try not to get buried under paperwork."
She smiled, more genuine this time. " And with that, he disappeared into the fading light, the weight of the day settling around him like a cloak—heavy, but not unmanageable. Not yet.
The air hit him instantly as he stepped outside—sharp and cool, carrying that unmistakable midnight chill that belonged to Seoul alone. It was the kind of cold that didn't just touch your skin but seemed to slip straight through to the bones, a reminder that the city never truly slept, only changed its rhythm. Buildings glowed with endless lights, neon signs flickering in rhythmic patterns, painting the streets in a restless kaleidoscope. People still moved through the avenues, some in clusters laughing too loudly, others alone with their thoughts, while cars threaded their way through the night, headlights casting long shadows that disappeared into the city's veins.
Jinho shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to anchor himself against the exhaustion pressing down on him. The flight had been long, but sleep on a plane was never real sleep—he'd drifted in and out, waking with a stiff neck and a mind still crowded with the day's troubles. He told himself it was nothing, just regular exhaustion, nothing to worry about. There was no drama here, no crisis—just the body finally demanding payment for days spent running on adrenaline and nerves.
He called a taxi, standing beneath the buzz of neon and the steady pools of streetlamp light, the world around him humming with late-night energy. The city felt endless in these moments, as if the darkness only gave it more room to stretch and breathe. When the cab finally arrived, he slid inside, muttered his address, and let his head sink back into the seat, closing his eyes for a moment, hoping for a sliver of relief.
His phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Reflexively, he glanced down, half-expecting some mundane message. Instead, a chill ran deeper than the night air.
Phase one complete. Thank you for your cooperation. - K
He stared at the text, the letter at the end like a signature pressed into his skin. K. Director Kim. The enemy, or at least one of them—the man they'd been chasing, the one who always seemed just a step ahead. Thank you for your cooperation. The words twisted in his mind, at once mocking and ominous. Was it a threat? A warning dressed up as gratitude? He imagined calling Director Baek, rehearsing the conversation in his head: "The guy we fought yesterday just sent me a weird text." But what would Baek do, really? The team knew the Covenant was watching, listening, probing at their defenses. This was just another move in a long game of intimidation and psychological warfare.
With a sigh, Jinho deleted the message. No point in keeping it, no reason to let it rattle around in his mind any longer than necessary. He pushed the phone deep into his pocket, leaned his forehead against the window, and watched the city outside blur into streaks of light and color. He kept telling himself nothing important had slipped past him, that he hadn't missed anything crucial, but the nagging uncertainty refused to let go. The city rushed by, vibrant and indifferent, while somewhere beneath the surface, something had shifted.
Miles away, buried in the sterile glow of a secure laboratory, Dr. Han was still awake, her eyes gritty with fatigue but refusing to close. She hunched over the Phoenix Seal, its surface quietly gleaming beneath a mesh of sensors and containment fields. She ran test after test, determined to wring meaning from the data, while Master Cho hunched beside her, his notebook overflowing with containment diagrams and warding equations. They were a strange pair—science and mysticism, logic and intuition—brought together by necessity, both of them straining to understand what they were up against.
"Energy signature is stable," Dr. Han muttered, scribbling down numbers as they appeared, her tone clipped with concentration. "But the activation pattern's off."
Cho, fingers busy weaving the subtle gestures of a new ward, didn't look up. "How so?"
"It's not charging evenly," she said, frowning as she tapped at her screen. "Feels like someone's feeding it power, but not in a steady flow. It's coming in weird, jumpy bursts—disjointed, almost as if it's being passed around."
"The Covenant channeling into it?" Cho asked, his voice more cautious than surprised. He had seen enough to know their enemy rarely relied on one method alone.
"Maybe," Dr. Han replied, her brow furrowing as she studied the graphs. "But it's not any kind of blessing I've seen before. It's layered, as if it's coming from more than one source at the same time—stacked, like overlapping waves."
"Team of blessed agents taking turns?" Cho guessed, finally looking up, his eyes sharp.
"Could be," Han said, but she didn't sound convinced. She hesitated, fingers poised over her keyboard. "Or—" She stopped, the implication heavy in the air.
"Or?" Cho pressed.
"Or one agent with multiple blessings," she said quietly, locking eyes with him. "But that's—"
"Impossible," Cho finished, his voice grim. "Multiple blessings would rip someone apart. No one's ever survived it."
"Unless," Han said, her voice barely above a whisper, "they're strong enough to survive it. Or desperate enough to try."
For a moment, silence pressed in, thick as fog. The possibility hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. They both knew what it might mean: the rules were changing, and the Covenant was willing to gamble with forces no one truly understood.
"We should tell Director Baek," Dr. Han said finally, her voice edged with worry.
"In the morning," Cho replied, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a weight. "Let the agents rest. They've been through enough for one day. This can wait a few hours."
She nodded, but her mind was already spinning through contingencies, scribbling down everything strange about the Seal's behavior, knowing each anomaly could be the clue they needed—or the warning they failed to heed. Master Cho double-checked every line of his containment diagrams, quietly hoping the new vault would be enough to hold back whatever power the Covenant was trying to unleash.
Neither noticed when the Seal's temperature crept up, just 0.3 degrees—a tiny, almost imperceptible shift, but a change all the same. The room was silent save for the hum of machines and the scratch of pens, unaware that somewhere, something was quietly awakening.
Jinho made it home close to 1 AM, the city's noise muffled by fatigue. He dragged himself up the stairs, every step heavier than the last, and barely managed to reach his apartment on the fourth floor. He collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket, letting sleep claim him in an instant.
In the darkness of his mind, the voices of the gods stirred, murmuring just out of reach.
"He's wiped out," the Phoenix observed, its tone tinged with concern.
"More than he should be," the Jade Emperor agreed, ancient wisdom resonating through the silence.
"Think the Seal messed with him?" the Demon King asked, suspicion woven through every word.
"Could be," the Jade Emperor replied. "But it's hard to say with so little to go on. The Seal's power is changing—shifting in ways that are hard to track."
"Wake him up and warn him?" the Demon King suggested, a note of urgency creeping in.
"About what?" the Phoenix countered gently. "That we're worried? He'll just tune us out. He always does."
"Fair enough," the Demon King conceded, a hint of wry amusement in his voice. "The kid's got a real gift for ignoring what he doesn't want to face."
So the gods retreated, content for now to remain on the edge of consciousness, watchful but silent, their presence a quiet safeguard as Jinho slipped deeper into a dreamless, oblivious sleep.
Outside, Seoul kept spinning—restless, unaware, the city's pulse beating on as always. Nobody noticed the artifact locked away in the lab, the first of seven seals now sitting exactly where the enemy wanted it. No alarms rang, no warnings sounded, but something fundamental had shifted; a balance tipped, a step taken that could not be undone.
Phase one was complete. The Covenant had made their move.
Six more seals remained, each one a doorway the enemy would try to pry open—each one a test of strength, will, and sacrifice waiting in the shadows. And as the city lived on in ignorance, the real battle had only just begun.