The wind was quiet.
A red kite danced in the air, its tail flickering like flame against a pure blue sky. The clouds above were lazy — soft white drifters with nowhere to be. Beneath them, the city looked peaceful.
And in a quiet corner of the park, Ha Joon ran barefoot on the grass, laughter cracking out of him like sunlight. His little arms pulled the kite's string tight.
But he tripped.
The laughter cut short. His knees scraped the ground. The kite soared upward — string slipping from his fingers — drifting further and further until it was just a red dot in the sky.
His face crumpled.
He was about to cry when two hands lifted him up.
His father's arms. Warm. Strong. He held Ha Joon close, one hand brushing his dusty hair, the other pointing upward.
"Be a man, Joon," his father whispered. "You don't cry when the wind takes something. You chase it. You find where it's going."
Ha Joon sniffled.
"Do you see where the kite's going?"
The camera in his memory followed the kite's red shape as it vanished into the white clouds.
"That's where men go," his father said. "Into the storm. Into the sky."
---
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rain on the window. Gentle at first — then louder. It had come silently in the night, sweeping the skies of color.
Now the clouds were charcoal, low and roiling. Rain devoured the city outside.
Ha Joon opened his eyes in the backseat of a government car.
Mist blanketed the world in a dull white. The rain turned everything into shadows behind wet glass. He blinked slowly as the car moved — smooth and silent.
He sat in the front passenger seat of the second car. At the wheel was Chi Long — composed, sharp-suited, her gloved hands still on the steering wheel, dark hair tied back neatly. She didn't speak. Her eyes stayed locked on the road — and always, always, on the car ahead.
Ash's car.
It drove just ahead. A matte-black vehicle, sleek like a coffin on wheels. A man dressed in black, dark shades, drove it with a face like stone. In the back seat, Ash sat — head tilted slightly, watching the road with unreadable boredom.
Behind them followed the third car — two more men in black, agents with soulless stares. Watching Ash. Not protecting. Watching.
Ha Joon looked outside the window.
Buildings passed by — old and broken, their concrete skin split with rot. Trash piled in alleys. Some families lived in the ruins. Others fought in the street. And yet, they all stopped — froze — as the three black cars passed.
Wide-eyed. Mouths open. Some bowed. Some just stared.
It was like seeing gods move.
Ha Joon leaned closer to the glass, his voice silent in his head.
This is the only home I've ever known.
And he had done nothing. For years.
He just watched. As it all burned.
And now he was leaving.
---
A sudden flash — not lightning.
Explosions. Ahead.
Rain parted to reveal chaos.
Hunters in blood-red armor — the Red Guild — clashed with goblins in the streets. Flames burst. Weapons cracked. One hunter soared overhead riding a winged creature wreathed in red fire.
A banner waved above the battlefield — the Phoenix Crest of the Red Guild.
But something shifted.
The mist thickened. Rain drowned the fires.
A single crack of lightning lit the sky — and in that frozen second, the world saw him.
Ash's car.
Driving forward. Unstopped.
Goblins shrieked and stumbled back. One dropped his weapon, scrambling into the shadows. Their war cries turned to confusion. Then to fear.
The hunters looked up. Veteran killers paused.
One lowered her blade. Another blinked in disbelief.
For a brief second — just as the lightning gave them sight — their faces showed it.
Terror.
They parted without a word.
The battlefield opened.
And Ash's car rolled through, silent and slow, like a blade gliding across skin.
The Phoenix Banner trembled in the wind.
Ha Joon watched it all, wide-eyed.
His breath caught. For a moment, he forgot the rain. Forgot the pain in his body.
He turned his head slowly to look at Chi Long.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Her eyes stayed locked forward, full of a silent promise — a quiet threat.
She didn't have to explain Ash's power. Or what he meant.
That wasn't her job.
Her job was to break him.
---
The road split.
Ash's car turned left. The third car followed.
Chi Long continued straight. The rain swallowed Ash's vehicle — shadows devouring a myth.
And still, something felt wrong.
Ha Joon stared after the car, a strange feeling in his chest.
Why does it feel like the rain is eating him?
---
The red light glowed on the wet road. Chi Long stopped the car.
Inside the silence, Ha Joon's voice finally cracked through.
"...Why me?"
Chi Long's eyes shifted toward him. Calm. Measured.
"There's another," she said softly. "Ash chose someone else before you."
Her voice was quiet, but something in her gaze gripped him like chains.
"There is no going back."
He stared ahead.
He saw the broken streets. The crumbling buildings. The violence. The rot.
Then he saw Ash.
The sword through the mist. The fear in those eyes.
He thought of his father. Of that kite.
Of chasing the wind.
His father's voice echoed:
"You don't cry when the wind takes something. You chase it. You find where it's going."
And now, the wind was a storm.
Ha Joon looked at Chi Long, his voice steady.
"...Yes."
The light turned green.
The car moved forward — into the storm.