The convalescence was slow, painful and full of heavy silence. The energy burns on Do-hyun's hands healed poorly, leaving silver tracks similar to lightning scars on his skin. The System identified them as "symbiotic overload marks" - permanent reminders of the price paid to deflect the cosmic scalpel.
At the base, the atmosphere had changed. The victory against the Violet Eye did not arouse euphoria, but a muted tension, as if after narrowly escaping an avalanche. They had survived, but the mountain was unstable.
Ji-eun spent his days analyzing the fallout from the attack on Mapo. Satellite images showed a perfectly circular crater with a diameter of fifty meters, with vitrified edges. No radiation, no chemical trace. Just one absence: reality seemed to have been removed from this place.
"Conspiracy theories are exploding on the dark web," she reported one morning, her eyes fixed on her screen. "Some speak of a secret weapon, others of an alien test. The government closes the case and sends a "cleaning" team that looks furiously like plainclothes Bloodline users."
"They hide the evidence," commented Min-ho, who methodically combed through all their weapons, checking every charge, every blade. "But they know that something beyond vampires is at stake. It could get us into trouble on both sides."
Soo-ah, meanwhile, was strangely silent. She spent hours sharpening her spear, her movements precise but filled with anger. Do-hyun finally approached her as she trained alone in the simulator.
"Are you okay?"
She stopped her assault on a vampire hologram, the tip of her spear shaking slightly. We played with fire, Do-hyun. A fire that can erase neighborhoods from the map. We saved time, but at what cost? Next time, the Eye will not be satisfied with a scalpel. What if his next "experience" involves dropping this thing into the heart of a market? Or a school?"
His words struck Do-hyun in the heart. He didn't think of it that way. In an emergency to save the Tree, he had seen only the direct threat. Not the collateral consequences of their desperate countermeasure.
"We couldn't let him destroy the Tree," he answered, weakly.
"I know," she sighed, lowering her spear. "And I would have done the same. That's the problem. We are caught in a spiral. We are responding to growing threats with increasingly risky bets. We need to stop reacting. We need to... anticipate. Understand."
She was right. Their victory was a Band-Aid on a cut artery. They had to find the source of the bleeding.
That same evening, during the briefing, Do-hyun presented a new direction.
The Eye said it was going to "re-evaluate the parameters." He spoke of "corrupt data." Our interference with the Fruit of Links disrupted his experience." He stood up, approaching the main screen where a modeling of the filament network he had seen was twinkling. Let him experiment. But why? What is its final goal? "Drill the veil," "Look the other way." On the other side of what?"
"From the veil of reality that the Guardian is supposed to protect," Ji-eun said.
Exactly. So let's ask the question: who, or what, has an interest in piercing this veil? And to do that using the destruction of the Phoenix Tree as a lever?"
Silence set in, each following reasoning.
"Something on the other side," whispered Min-ho, the first to make the connection. "Something that wants to come in."
The idea was terrifying in its simplicity. The Violet Eye was not just a curious entity. Maybe he was a scout. A tool. A probe sent by something much larger, much older, trapped on the other side of a barrier held by the Guardian... and whose vibration caused by the fall of a being like the Phoenix could open a crack.
"Dream Devourers...," Soo-ah suddenly said. "Ligeia said they were the "guardians of oblivion," that they thought the Phoenix was a cancer. What if... what if their role was not just to clean up anomalies, but to prevent precisely this kind of scenario? To prevent the use of powers like the Phoenix as a key to unlock doors that must remain closed?"
The rooms came together, forming a nightmarish image. On the one hand, the Guardian maintains balance and rules. On the other, entities like the Eye, seeking to break through this balance. And in between, forces like the Devourers, perhaps zealous cleaners, or perhaps guardians of an even older status quo. The Phoenix, his parents' creation, was a stray ball in this cosmic power game. Too powerful to ignore, too unstable to control.
"So what do we do?" asked Ji-eun, frightened but determined. "We're hiding?" We leave the tree as it is."
"No," said Do-hyun, a new resolution hardening his features. "We're changing the rules of the game. The Eye sees the Phoenix as a key, or a lever. Something to use or to break. We... we're going to make it unusable as a key."
"How?" asked Soo-ah.
By changing it. By making it... something else." Do-hyun raised his marked hands. "The Tree developed a Defensive Echo. He learns from the threat. And my synchronization with him is not just a channel of energy. It's an exchange. I give him my will, my humanity. It gives me its stability, its connection to the earth. What if we pushed this exchange further? What if we merged our "signatures" to the point of becoming indistinguishable from each other for an outside observer? What if the Tree was no longer a separate object, a identifiable "source of balance," but an integral part of the Earth's energy landscape? Like a mountain, or an ocean. You can't use a mountain as a key."
The plan was bold, almost mystical. It was a question of transcending the guardian-protected relationship to become a true symbiont, a hybrid entity whose power would be diffused, anchored, rendered immutable and therefore unusable as a punctual instrument.
"The Balancer could help us," Soo-ah suggested. "If anyone knows the secrets of merging energies without conflict, it is he."
"And Ligeia," Ji-eun added. "If she collects stories, she must know stories of other fusions, other transformations. She might have some information."
Min-ho nodded. "Two goals then. Contact the Balancer to guide energy fusion. And to meet Ligeia to get historical and strategic information about what we are really facing."
It was a new beginning. No longer a quest for power or revenge, but a quest for transcendence. To survive, Do-hyun and the Tree had to stop being what they were and become something new. Something that could not be easily grasped, cut or used by entities with cosmic designs.
The following days were devoted to the preparation of this double mission. Do-hyun spent more and more time in meditation, deepening his connection with the Tree, not by drawing energy, but by sharing sensations, memories, the warmth of the sun on the bark, the freshness of the water on the roots. The Tree, in return, sent him the slow patience of the stone, the resilience of the wind, the ancient memory of the mountain.
Tree growth: 35%
[SYNCHORONISATION: 75%]
[Emerging SENSORIAL EXCHANGE PHONOMEN.]
Meanwhile, Soo-ah and Ji-eun tried to locate Ligeia. It did not respond to any conventional signal. But Ji-eun had the idea of leaving digital "baits" - enigmatic fragments of Phoenix data, puzzles, references to ancient stories - on occult forums and dark web networks. If Ligeia was a collector, she might be attracted to bait.
A week later, the bait bit.
An encrypted message appeared on an isolated terminal in Ji-eun. It contained only one phrase, in archaic Old Korean, and geographical coordinates in the Gangwon-do Mountains, far from any path.
"Whoever wants to stop being a key must first understand the lock. The Forest of Mirrors awaits you, Heir. Come alone."
It was signed with a simple stylized drawing of a moth.
Ligeia.
She had answered. And she proposed an appointment. In a place called the "Forest of Mirrors." Alone.
Do-hyun looked at the message, then his hands marked. He felt the Tree, far to the south, peaceful but attentive.
The next step was dangerous. Walking alone in a potential trap. But the risk was necessary. To understand the lock, you had to listen to the one that collected the keys.
The transformation was beginning. Not by a burst of light, but by a step into the unknown, towards a forest where reflections might not show what it was, but what it could - or should - become.