The boy looked around.
An empty house. A hollow ruin.
While the weather across the country was bright and clear, the sky over Ulsan was muffled, veiled by banks of cloud. As if it were mourning those who had left, and offering some small comfort to the one left behind.
But that would never fill this hollow heart.
Hong Haeya stared blankly down at the floor where only soot remained.
The trace of his twin younger sibling, who—because she stepped in front of him to stop him, the fool who had rushed out to help their great-aunt—burned away without even bone dust left behind.
With a heavy flame on her gaunt back, Hong Dal-ya smiled with eyes that resembled fire.
“Oppa. Don’t resent. Anyone… or anything…”
“D-Dal-ya! N-no, no!”
“This is merely the providence of fate.”
“Dal-ya! Aaaah!”
For the sun to rise, the moon has to move aside.
The world turns that way, and stories flow in that way—toward a direction for the many.
Within fate and duty, Hong Dal-ya faded away like that.
At the final moment, Hong Haeya vividly remembers…