The morning breeze swept across the glass towers of New Seoul, rustling digital billboards and blinking drone ads. The city of 2050 had grown into a technological marvel, but some corners still whispered of the old world—forgotten alleys, crumbling rooftops, and fading memories.
Zayen stood just outside the rusted gate of Haneul Orphanage, hands deep in his pockets, staring up at the pale-blue sky.
"Another day in this so-called future," he muttered.
He wore his usual: slightly oversized hoodie, scuffed shoes, a black messenger bag slung across one shoulder. His glasses slid down his nose, and his messy hair refused to behave. At 21, Zayen had grown used to being invisible.
The city around him buzzed with hoverbikes and soft-voiced AIs guiding people to their jobs. But Zayen's attention wasn't on the noise. His eyes drifted toward Lotte Bookstore, nestled between two neon-lit cafes on Jamsil Street.
There she was.
Rhea.
Her brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, her apron already dusted with book powder as she arranged a table of morning releases. That gentle smile—effortless, warm—made something in his chest tighten.
Zayen slowed his steps. Just say hi. Ask her about the fantasy novel you saw her reading last week.
But when her eyes met his, panic struck.
"M-Morning!" he blurted, giving an awkward nod.
"Morning," Rhea replied with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
Zayen quickly passed by, mentally punching himself. Idiot. Smooth. Real smooth.
As he entered the Jongno Tech Hub, his workplace buried beneath a shopping plaza, his coworker Rico greeted him with a grin.
"Zayen? Early? Is this an apocalypse sign?"
"Maybe," Zayen sighed. "Check the news. Might be raining frogs next."
Rico tossed him a scanner and a smile. "We've got three busted AR glasses and a fried memory chip. Joy."
Zayen settled into his cubicle, but his mind wasn't on the work. It was on Rhea. Her smile. The way his voice cracked like a teenage boy around her.
Then the lights flickered.
The screens went black. The hum of machinery died. Zayen stared at the dead scanner in his hand as it sparked and burned out.
"Rico?" he called.
"Yeah, everything's dead here too. Backup isn't kicking in. What the hell?"
Zayen ran outside—along with dozens of people flooding into the streets.
And then he saw it.
Above the skyline of Seoul, the sky had split.
A glowing crack stretched across the clouds, flickering with strange energy—pulsing like a heartbeat. It widened slowly, unnaturally, casting a ghostly light over the buildings.
People gasped. Some recorded it. Others just froze.
From within the rift, shapes began to fall—dark silhouettes, cloaked in shadows, with glowing eyes and weapons that shimmered like glass blades.
The invasion had begun.
Zayen's heart pounded. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. Something deep in his bones told him...
This wasn't the start of war.
It was the start of something far more personal.
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