The moon had returned to normal, but the district struggled to find its footing. The damage caused by a week-long blackout was beyond imagination, and the complaints from the residents never ceased.
In the midst of it all, the Elders—who were supposed to be offering aid—began pressuring the district’s master to “deal with” Vincent Shining, citing the flaws that had been exposed in him. Chaos reigned both within and outside.
Days of ongoing protests had pushed the man’s patience to its limits. If anyone had the right to be most furious about the way things had fallen apart at the final hurdle, it was none other than himself.
Would it be better to just wipe them all out?
He gazed at the moon, now bearing small fractures from the aftermath of the terror attack, as the thought crossed his mind. Of course, like always, it was just a fleeting notion that would disappear as quickly as it came.
“District Master!”
Without so much as a knock, his aide burst into the office, calling him urgently. The lack of proper decorum irritated him, and he frowned, but the aide was too preoccupied with delivering the news to care.
“The District 5 Master has just arrived at the mansion.”
“…Jae-hoon?”
The unexpected news sent a violent tremor through his flame-colored eyes. Before he even realized it, his feet had moved. Then, he was running.
As he sprinted down the long corridor, he spotted Han Jae-hoon in the distance, struggling against the attendants.
The once-neat and composed figure was nowhere to be seen—Han Jae-hoon was a complete wreck. His hair was a tangled mess, his clothes were torn, and his feet, bare and covered in scrapes, showed he hadn’t even been wearing shoes.
As he drew closer, the pitiful sight became clearer, and his face instinctively twisted with a flicker of distress. He barked out a command to the attendants.
“Let him go!”
Startled by the forceful order, the attendants immediately released their grip on Han Jae-hoon. Without support, Jae-hoon staggered violently, nearly collapsing to the ground. Before he could, the man caught him by the arm.
Han Jae-hoon lifted his head, his gaze meeting the other’s.
“I don’t recall hearing that you were coming.”
According to district law, a district master needed permission before crossing into another’s territory. Yet, he had received no such notice. That meant Han Jae-hoon had entered District 1 without authorization.
Jae-hoon’s parched, pale lips parted slightly before his eyes suddenly gleamed with a sharp intensity. With a rough shove, he pushed away the hand supporting him.
Unable to steady himself, he collapsed to the floor.
Han Jae-hoon, muttering incoherently like a lunatic, unable to form proper words, couldn’t be left like this. Letting out a deep sigh, the man gestured to his aide, who had followed him.
“Aide, clear the area.”
“Understood.”
With swift efficiency, the aide dispersed the gathered attendants. In an instant, the corridor was empty, leaving only the two of them.
“Jae-hoon, can you stand?”
Kneeling down to meet the eyes of the fallen man, he asked. But the eyes that resembled the absent night—a color that didn’t exist in District 1—were unfocused.
Even though he was looking at him, Han Jae-hoon wasn’t really seeing anything. The man reached out a hand toward him. Jae-hoon’s frail-looking shoulders flinched ever so slightly.
“You don’t have to like it, but just take my hand—”
“Where is my son?”
With a sudden lurch, Han Jae-hoon grabbed him by the collar, his grip desperate. The flame in his eyes flickered, but only for a brief moment before it steadied once more. Effortlessly prying Jae-hoon’s trembling hands off his collar, the man answered.
“He’s dead.”
“…Don’t fuck with me.”
At the single word—dead—Jae-hoon’s vacant eyes instantly lit up with a lethal glare. He was refusing to accept reality. But the unprecedented terror attack had taken his son away.
The man let out a hollow chuckle as he rose to his feet. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed Jae-hoon’s arm and began dragging him somewhere. Jae-hoon, too weak to even stand on his own, was helplessly pulled along.
“Let me go!”
His desperate screams echoed through the mansion, drawing everyone’s attention. The aide hurriedly followed behind, struggling to contain the commotion, but rumors would spread like wildfire regardless.
Not that any of it mattered to the man, whose vision was now clouded with fury. At this moment, he felt like he could kill Han Jae-hoon himself.
The place he dragged him to was a still-damaged section of the mansion—where the generator that powered the moon stood. And where Jae-hoon’s son had died.
The man came to a halt and roughly flung Jae-hoon forward. Off balance, Jae-hoon stumbled onto a pile of rubble. Disoriented, he flailed for a moment before realizing exactly where he had fallen. His eyes widened in horror.
“If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”
Han Jae-hoon opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Instead, his trembling hands seized a nearby rock and hurled it with all his might. The man effortlessly deflected it.
“Face reality. Your son is dead.”
His voice was merciless, repeating the brutal truth over and over, refusing to let him escape into denial. Jae-hoon, shaking his head frantically as if trying to reject the words, suddenly went slack. His eyes rolled back.
“Jae-hoon…!”
The man instinctively reached out as Jae-hoon collapsed forward. His powerless body naturally fell into his arms.
And in that moment, the scent—the one he thought he had forgotten—overwhelmed him.
His flame-colored eyes wavered, trembling like a candle in the wind. The emotions he had hidden so well, the patience he had barely managed to maintain, all crumbled.
And his outstretched arm finally moved.
By the time he came to his senses, he was holding Han Jae-hoon tightly in his arms. The warmth he had longed for but never dared to reach enveloped him, and a faint, wistful smile curled on his lips.
***
The strain of pushing himself too hard was taking a toll on him. It had happened before, but now, it had worsened to the point where even the slightest breeze made his body sway.
His aide had urged him to rest countless times, but he refused to listen. After passing through two of the remaining three villages, they finally arrived at the last one.
This was truly the end.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
As soon as he stepped out of the vehicle, the aide asked yet again. The question had been repeated so many times it grated on his ears, but he didn’t even bother responding. Instead, he simply took another unsteady step forward.
Everyone moved as planned. His subordinates scattered throughout the village, searching for remnants of Night, while he focused on finding any trace of Seo-yul.
After slipping away from the aide, he entered the village. Unlike District 1, which had no true night, this place had a distinct day and night cycle. Daytime was when most people were active. But here, everything was eerily silent.
They’re all hiding.
Beyond tightly shut doors, he could sense the presence of people holding their breath. It wasn’t just his imagination—this village’s residents were especially wary of outsiders.
This will take some time.
With that thought, he crossed the empty village square and arrived at the end of a deserted alley. As he stopped walking and turned around, he caught sight of several shadows darting away.
So they don’t even bother hiding their presence anymore.
He had noticed the surveillance from the beginning. His aide had wanted to deal with it preemptively, worried about what might happen later. But his mind had been so consumed with Seo-yul that he had pushed all other matters aside.
The observers continued to tail him without rest. But unlike before—when they had gone to great lengths to conceal themselves—their pursuit was now so careless that it made him scoff.
They must have figured it out by now.
He was pretending to be fine, but he had already reached his limit long ago. It had become difficult just to stand still, forcing him to stop multiple times. If things continued like this, how much worse would it get?
If I get attacked in this state, I’ll really die.
His sluggish fingers brushed against the gun at his waist. In the middle of the deserted path, he stilled his breathing and sharpened his senses, searching for his unseen watchers.
Rustle.
A sound came from the forest at the end of the alley.
He swiftly drew his gun, aiming at the trembling foliage. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the dense thicket parted, revealing an unexpected figure.
It was Choi Yeo-min, the second Apostle of Night.
“…Shining?”
Yeo-min staggered out of the forest, and his condition was alarming. His face was covered in dark bruises, as if he had been severely beaten, and the skin exposed through the tears in his clothes was no better.
“Why are you here?”
He kept the gun trained on Yeo-min as he spoke. On the surface, their mission was to capture the remaining forces of Night, meaning Yeo-min was an enemy who needed to be taken alive.
Even as the glowing barrel of the gun pointed at him, Yeo-min continued forward. Lowering his gaze, the man fired a warning shot at the ground to stop him.
Bang!
Only after the sharp crack of the gunshot rang out did Yeo-min finally halt. Now that they were closer, he could hear the ragged sound of his breathing.
“…It’s really you, Shining.”
With those words, Yeo-min collapsed.
Lowering his gun, the man nudged him with his foot. There was no reaction. Whether unconscious or barely clinging on, it was surprising that Yeo-min had managed to walk at all in this state.
Is this a coincidence?
Choi Yeo-min had vanished without a trace after the terror attack. And now, he appeared here, in this exact place, in such a pitiful state. It seemed too precise to be random. A strange thought flickered through his mind.
Kneeling down, he grabbed Yeo-min’s limp arm. Then, without hesitation, he buried his nose against the bloodied hand.
“…Found you.”
Faint but unmistakable, the scent of cocoa clung to Yeo-min’s skin. A scent he could never forget.
