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A voice unlike anything he had ever heard before—so alien that even his fingertips couldn’t move in response. That was fear. A pure, primal fear directed at an unknown existence.

‘…….’

It had no eyes, yet it felt as though he’d been caught in its gaze. It spoke no human language, yet he knew instinctively that it was language.

Inside the rift—inside the space he had believed belonged only to the monsters—there was something else. A presence he had never once imagined.

Since the invasion, the only non-human beings to appear on Earth had been monsters—creatures that could be annihilated. There had been no rumors, no reports, nothing to suggest anything beyond them. And so the moment Ha-gyeom felt the power of something utterly different, the shock overtook him.

At the same time, the voice—the language—continued speaking in resonant waves, growing clearer as if to take over every nerve in his body.

That being—if it could even be called “he”—was demanding something. Though Ha-gyeom couldn’t understand a single word, the urgency and pressure of that demand was unmistakable.

The clearer the voice became, the more it felt as though something deep inside him—his very instincts—was rejecting it. And with that rejection came overwhelming pain.

Then, a surge of devastating energy struck him, but Ha-gyeom couldn’t close his eyes. That was a mistake. Because now, the presence was no longer just watching—it was staring directly into him, like a beast ready to pounce.

‘……!’

Huge, black, flickering eyes—devoid of pupils. They were impossibly deep, as if an entirely different world existed within them. The swirling, smoke-like shadows behind those eyes made it hard to breathe.

This was a depth no one had ever proven existed.

Ha-gyeom could barely draw a breath—and what he did manage to inhale, he couldn’t release.

The chaos fell away. And then came the silence—so thick, so absolute, it was terrifying.

How long had he endured it?

Everything went black.

Ha-gyeom woke from the dream thrashing, staring up at the ceiling in his room. The memory he had barely managed to bury now surged back with perfect, vivid clarity.

---

Drenched in sweat, Ha-gyeom was walking down the hallway when a mercenary called out to him. But Ha-gyeom hadn’t even registered the approaching footsteps until the man grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going at this hour?”

“…To see Baek Sa.”

When Ha-gyeom answered with a drained expression and mentioned Baek Sa’s name, the mercenary frowned and gave a dry cough. An S-class guide with a private room, Baek Sa’s assigned guide, and someone who received exceptional favor—there was nothing shocking about him sneaking off for a midnight rendezvous.

“If something like this comes up again, call a mercenary first. Don’t move around alone.”

Ha-gyeom nodded obediently, but he looked so lifeless, like a sleepwalker, that the mercenary pressed him again.

“You feeling okay? You look awful.”

“…Just not feeling well. That’s why I’m going to see Baek Sa.”

Knowing how guides and espers were symbiotic, the mercenary decided it was better to just take him there quickly. The sweat soaking the back of his neck didn’t seem normal, but whatever the problem was, Baek Sa was the only one who could help with it.

Soon they arrived at the door, and not long after a knock, Baek Sa appeared. The mercenary handed over the staggering Ha-gyeom and, with a pointed glance to show his concern, gave a polite bow and left.

“What’s wrong?”

Half-collapsing into Baek Sa’s arms, Ha-gyeom only whispered once the door was closed and the mercenary had gone.

“…I want to look through the testimonies from the other guides who participated in training.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I suddenly needed to. I can’t wait until morning.”

Ha-gyeom finally lifted his head and met Baek Sa’s eyes. Baek Sa’s gaze was skeptical. He’d seemed perfectly fine during the earlier interrogation, and he’d never just shown up like this to make a direct request for documents—so it wasn’t unreasonable for Baek Sa to question it.

But after reliving the same scene in a vivid dream—the same situation he had faced inside the phenomenon—Ha-gyeom couldn’t make any rational decisions. If he didn’t confirm whether other guides had experienced the same thing, he felt like he’d never be able to sleep again.

If it had just been a nightmare, he could’ve simply asked Baek Sa to hold him. But it was that very clarity—between dream and reality—that made it worse. The scattered fragments of memory had settled into something cohesive and vivid, and now it was unbearable.

“Hyung…”

Ha-gyeom looked up at Baek Sa with a pleading gaze. With a sigh, Baek Sa brushed aside Ha-gyeom’s sweat-drenched bangs and replied.

“Alright. Sit down and wait quietly.”

Without asking anything more, he led him to the table. It was 2 a.m. He looked tired, but he didn’t seem to have gone to bed yet. The laptop on the table was still open. Ha-gyeom already knew that no documents inside it contained anything close to what he’d dreamed. The last time he looked, the testimonies had been excluded, and anything interesting was redacted.

As soon as Baek Sa laid a stack of documents on the table, Ha-gyeom snatched them up like someone starving for answers. They were the same ones Baek Sa had reviewed in the investigation room earlier that day. If any other guide had seen the same being he had, surely there would be at least a hint of it in these pages.

Even knowing Baek Sa was sitting right next to him, watching, Ha-gyeom flipped through the papers with frantic urgency, devouring each page.

For several dozen pages, he read nonstop. Baek Sa said nothing the entire time.

It was Ha-gyeom who spoke first.

“…Nothing.”

“What’s nothing?”

Baek Sa responded like he’d been waiting for that muttered comment. But Ha-gyeom barely heard him. He just kept repeating that there was nothing, flipping the stack back to the beginning and starting over.

There was nothing. No guide had written about seeing another lifeform or any unfamiliar being. Still, it was possible that others had felt fear but had chosen not to report it.

In the end, these documents couldn’t give him any solid answers. Pressing down on the skin beneath his eyes, Ha-gyeom exhaled a long sigh. Then Baek Sa, in a much quieter voice, asked:

“Shin Ha-gyeom. What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

Only then did Ha-gyeom look up. Baek Sa’s usual warmth was absent. His gaze was cold. His long lashes didn’t so much as twitch, and his lips were drawn in a hard, thin line. He looked more composed than ever—maybe even angry.

It wasn’t surprising. Ha-gyeom had shown up unannounced, dug through files that should’ve been in Baek Sa’s hands, and hadn’t said a word of explanation.

“I… well…”

This was someone he would’ve handed his heart over to without hesitation—so why was it so hard to speak these words?

Maybe because confessing what had happened inside the phenomenon felt like sounding the alarm for a second disaster to strike humanity.

But keeping it to himself was no less painful. It was terrifying. Unlike the monsters, that presence had intelligence. It had intention. It had language.

Ha-gyeom trembled, hands resting on the table, unable to speak.

“What are you hiding?”

Baek Sa pressed again. There was no way he hadn’t noticed Ha-gyeom’s distress. The way he cut straight to the point only made Ha-gyeom squirm more. But finally, gathering his scattered thoughts, Ha-gyeom replied:

“There’s nothing. Really… I just had a nightmare.”

“A nightmare?”

“Yes, a nightmare. It felt too real, and I couldn’t shake it. I dreamed the exact same situation I experienced inside the phenomenon. Even though it was a dream, it felt so vivid. I couldn’t tell whether it was real or not. I just thought, if I could confirm that I wasn’t different from the other guides, I might finally feel at ease.”

Baek Sa still looked unconvinced. But seeing how pale Ha-gyeom’s face had become, he couldn’t fully hide the concern in his eyes.

“Then when you said ‘nothing’…”

“When I first woke up, I told you something had been there. That it felt like I was restrained by something.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“…Maybe that was just a dream I had while unconscious. I’m so confused now—I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

He said that, but Ha-gyeom knew the truth clearly: he could tell the difference between dream and reality. What he’d seen… had not been a dream. That terrifying presence—he had truly encountered it. He just couldn’t bring himself to say so, not yet—not even to Baek Sa. The consequences scared him too much.

Without realizing it, Ha-gyeom’s eyes began to redden. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the roughness in his throat. Baek Sa’s scent and warmth were vivid now, which only made Ha-gyeom realize how wrecked he must look.

It probably wasn’t the first time he’d run to Baek Sa after a nightmare, soaked in sweat like a child. But he was over twenty now. He knew how shameful it was.

As he silently berated himself, Baek Sa spoke, his voice softened.

“That must’ve been scary.”

It was a comforting murmur, as if to soothe his fears. Ha-gyeom nodded and leaned into Baek Sa’s embrace.