It was a memory buried deep within the annals of Daeho's history—a time when the land itself seemed to wither and die. The people of Daeho, led by the mages of Songrim, had prayed relentlessly for rain, for water to quench the earth's thirst. But their prayers had been met with something far more extraordinary—and far more dangerous.

It was on the eve of their final plea that the skies darkened in a strange and foreboding manner. The heavens, once silent, answered in a way no one could have foreseen.

Hailstones, icy and unyielding, fell from the sky, their brilliance reflecting the sorrow and desperation of the people below.

But these were not ordinary hailstones. As they struck the ground, each one transformed—shifting from water to fire and fire to water, in an endless dance of elemental change.

Among these droplets, one was different—a single droplet that seemed to carry with it a force far beyond anything the world had ever known.

Finally, after its transformation from water to fire and back again, it solidified into a shape—a trinket, delicate but potent, pulsing with unimaginable power. The Soul Ejector.

This small, seemingly innocuous artifact would become the catalyst for a century of strife. The Soul Ejector, with its ability to raise the dead or take the very life essence of the living, became a coveted relic.

For decades, its influence spread fear across Daeho, with no one truly understanding the depths of its power. That was until one man, Master Seo Gyeong, the founder of Songrim, decided to act.

Seo Gyeong, ever vigilant and wise, knew the devastation the Soul Ejector could cause if placed in the wrong hands. After defeating those who sought to control it, he sealed the Soul Ejector away, placing it in Songrim's vault, where its power could no longer wreak havoc upon the world.

Under his watchful eye, the relic was kept hidden, its existence relegated to myth and legend. Master Lee, Seo Gyeong's trusted pupil, inherited this responsibility, guarding the secret for generations.

But time was not on their side. Now, Park Jin, the head of Songrim, found himself standing at a precipice of his own making. The world was changing. And with whispers in the wind, Park Jin feared the unthinkable: someone had discovered the Soul Ejector and unleashed its power once again.

"I hope I'm wrong," Park Jin muttered, his voice low with concern.

"But if the Soul Ejector has truly been released, the disaster from two hundred years ago could repeat itself."

His worries were not without reason. The Soul Ejector had already caused great suffering once before. And this time, there was no telling what it might do—or who might try to wield it.

Park Jin turned to Yeom, his trusted ally, his expression grim.

"We must find the Ice Stone. Only it can counteract the Soul Ejector's power. Time is running out, and we cannot afford to waste any more."

The Crown Prince sat comfortably in his chamber, his usual poise and calm betraying the turmoil that often churned beneath his regal exterior. His thoughts were restless, the growing tension in Daeho weighing heavily on him.

But as he turned his attention to the woman in front of him, everything seemed momentarily at ease. Mu-Deok, ever enigmatic, had appeared before him once again.

"Here," he said, offering her a cinnamon drink, his eyes studying her carefully.

"You seem as if you could use something to warm you."

Mu-Deok smiled, gracious as ever.

"Thank you."

Without hesitation, she took the drink from him, savoring the familiar warmth of the spiced liquid. Her composure never wavered, nor did her demeanor. She drank, but her eyes never left his, seemingly unaffected by the surroundings.

But the Crown Prince, sharp as ever, was not fooled. Something was off. The subtle shift in her eyes, the slight tension in her shoulders—it was there, hidden behind the calmness of her smile. A fleeting moment, yet enough to trigger his suspicions.

He leaned forward, his gaze intense, his voice calm but sharp.

"Mu-Deok, you're hiding something, aren't you?"

Her smile faltered for a second, the tension in her body becoming undeniable. But then, in an instant, she did something that both bewildered and intrigued him—she vanished. Not a trace, not a sound. Just gone.

"You caught me," her voice echoed, though it came from no discernible direction. The Crown Prince's heart skipped a beat as his mind raced. This wasn't an ordinary trick. It was as though the very fabric of the space had bent around her presence.

The illusion was gone, leaving only the broken silence in its wake.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick like the air before a storm. Hae-rin kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her heart racing in her chest.

She felt the weight of the conversation press on her, each word from Seo Yul only making the ache inside her grow. He was so lost in his own thoughts, in his illusions, that she could almost feel herself fading into the background.

"She's been haunting me," Seo Yul murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and distant.

"Mu-Deok... I don't understand why, but she's there. Every time I close my eyes, it's like she's still... here."

Hae-rin's fingers tightened around the hem of her sleeve, but she didn't say anything. She could feel the heat of the words burning in her chest, but she kept them inside. She knew better than to let them slip out.

There was no use in showing how much it bothered her. She could feel it in the air, though—a heaviness, a difference in how things used to be. The way he spoke of her, as though she was more than just a memory.

Jang Uk's arrival seemed to break the fragile silence. He stepped into the room, his presence commanding yet oddly comforting, but his gaze shifted between Hae-rin and Seo Yul, sensing the shift.

Hae-rin forced a smile, but it felt hollow, like an act she was tired of playing.

"You're still struggling with it?" Jang Uk asked, his voice calm but with an edge of concern.

"The illusions, I mean?" Seo Yul nodded, rubbing his temples.

"I don't know what to make of them. It's like I can't escape them. Every time I think I've moved on, she's there."

Hae-rin bit her lip, her eyes flickering toward the window. She could feel the heat of the sun pressing through the glass, but it didn't warm her. It only reminded her of how the shadows lingered in her heart.

The illusion wasn't just affecting Seo Yul. She had seen it, the way he became distant, how his thoughts seemed to drift to someone who wasn't really there. She wanted to tell him—to ask why he let it happen, why he couldn't focus on her.

But she kept quiet, as always, a mask of calm covering the turmoil inside. She was used to it.

The door creaked open again, and Master Park stepped inside, his eyes narrowing at the group. He had been listening quietly, but now his gaze landed on Hae-rin.

"You seem troubled," he observed, but his tone didn't match the concern in his words.

Hae-rin lifted her chin, forcing a composed smile.

"I'm fine," she said smoothly, though it didn't feel right.

"Just... trying to understand all of this."

Master Park nodded, as if he didn't need any further explanation. But Hae-rin couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on.

As Master Park turned to speak with Seo Yul, Hae-rin's gaze drifted again. This time, it lingered on Seo Yul's face, the conflicted expression he wore as he tried to shake the illusion off.

He was lost, just as he always had been with things that pulled at his heart.

Why wasn't I the one in his thoughts? Hae-rin couldn't help but wonder.

Why is it always her?

But no one would ever know the answer to that. And Hae-rin was certain she wouldn't be the one to ask. She would remain in the shadows, hidden behind the veil of her own feelings.

The room grew quieter, as if the weight of everything that had been left unsaid pressed down on them. Hae-rin caught the briefest glance from Seo Yul—an apology, maybe, or perhaps nothing at all.

But it was enough to make her heart tighten. And yet, she didn't say a word. She would wait. Just as she always had.