Chapter Text
There was a time when the world was ravaged by a chain of catastrophic volcanic eruptions that began abruptly. Every continent was shaken by thunderous explosions, wildfires spread uncontrollably, and the sky turned a deep, haunting red, choked with volcanic ash. They called it The Doomsday.
The atmosphere thickened with a dense aerosol veil, filtering the sun’s light and casting the world into dim twilight. As global temperatures dropped, there were no seasons other than an endless, dark winter. Crops failed, livestock perished, and economies collapsed. For decades, humanity struggled to survive and slowly began to rebuild.
Fifty years passed since The Doomsdays, when the world had healed its deep wounds, a strange ash began to fall from the sky as if the earth had stored up the remnants of the past, the sky once again turned pale, and the air turned into a dull grey and it’s called ash fall disaster .
They called it haze —a persistent, spectral veil that stretched across the sky. Unlike the dense, blackened smoke of volcanic eruptions, this haze consisted of finer, lighter ash particles. Researchers identified these particles as remnants of volcanic ash from The Doomsday, which had remained trapped in the upper atmosphere.
It had been decades since the ash fall disaster happened, but the haze was still lingering. The seasons became indistinct, the concept of spring, summer, fall, and winter began to fade, with only subtle variations in temperature remaining, there were just periods of warmer or colder weather. The hazy atmosphere muted the sunlight year-round, creating a world that was always dim, like dusk or early morning.
༄.°
No one but Ricky and his bright red sports car was tearing through the road covered in thick haze. It was past midnight, and the highway was nearly empty. Despite the speed, Ricky skillfully weaved past the car in front of him, taking the turn with perfect precision. Without hesitation, he drove like the wind, slicing through the haze.
The distance of nearby cars, speed, elevation, and wind resistance were calculated in real time on the dashboard. The windshield projected a clear image of the road and directions ahead. Outside, the world was shrouded in haze, but the advanced sensors and technology recreated a precise view, allowing him to see everything with clarity.
He slammed the gas pedal, and the car shot forward, tires screeching against the road. The g-forces pinned him back in the seat as adrenaline spiked. The dashboard tracked his speed, flashing warnings in the corners of his vision as he approached a sharp turn. Ricky barely glanced at them. Instead, he slammed the brakes, feeling the tires grip and shudder beneath him.
The city loomed around him, skyscrapers piercing through the haze, their lights blazing through the darkness. Ricky pressed the brakes hard, the car lurching beneath him as the tires screamed against the asphalt. The sensors recalculated, displaying a perfect line of light that guided him to drive.
He pulled his car into the underground garage of his house. The engine’s roar echoed, then gradually faded into silence. Inside the car, the dashboard dimmed, the streams of data disappeared one by one until it was dark and still and he sat there for a moment, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, despite the adrenaline still coursing through him, he felt nothing.
He blinked, and the high tech lenses switched off. The clarity they provided disappeared, and the world became hazy again.
The house was quiet.
When Ricky entered the living room, his mother was already there waiting for him. She was still dressed in her work clothes, her hair still neatly styled. She must have just gotten back from work and was now looking at her tablet before turning her gaze to Ricky.
“You’re back,” she said, her eyes lingering on his face. “Were you driving again at this hour?”
“Yes,” Ricky said, his voice flat and lifeless as he headed toward his room.
“You look tired,” she said, leaning forward. “You’ve been driving a lot again lately.”
Ricky couldn’t tell her that driving was the only time he felt even remotely in control—the only time he could make the world move at a speed he could handle. But even then, it was never fast enough.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Just tired,” he added before walking away.
But his mother wasn’t convinced. It had been three months since the symptoms started, she worried that her son was slipping further away with each passing day.
Ricky’s mother was a doctor, but not the kind who could diagnose what was wrong with her son, she couldn’t mend whatever was unraveling inside Ricky’s mind.
A week ago, she had reached out to her friend who was a therapist. The therapist recommended monitoring Ricky’s mood and behavior, keeping track of his sleep patterns, his appetite, and his level of interest in things he once loved. But none of it had helped. If anything, he seemed worse.
Before the symptoms began to show, Ricky often disappeared for days. He would leave without a word, slipping behind the wheel of his car and driving until the world outside became unfamiliar. He never said where he was going.
Sometimes, he would head toward the coast where the sea was hidden behind towering seawalls that loomed like fortresses along the coast. The walls had been built decades ago, after the global sea levels rose, coastal cities had drowned, and what remained had been barricaded behind concrete and steel to keep the water at bay. He sat there with eyes fixed on that unbroken line of gray. It felt like staring at a world that didn’t want to be seen.
Other times, he headed to the river that was flanked by high walls on either side to keep the floodwaters contained. Above the waterline, massive filtration panels stretched like iron grids to extract the ash and debris that still tainted the water. He would park his car on either side and stare at that machine working.
Driving through the city felt like moving through a half-erased world. Old neighborhoods had been swallowed by high-rise towers, elevated walkways, buildings with air-filtering windows and light-blocking shades designed to keep the haze out. Skyscrapers loomed above, their holographic displays flickering through the haze.
The streets were lined with billboards advertising air purifiers, vitamin supplements, and the latest contact lenses that promised to cut through the haze and show the world as it once was, and the longer he drove, the more it felt like he was running in circles, chasing something that he didn’t know what was it.
It happened late at night. The city was empty, the streets deserted except for Ricky’s car tearing through the haze like a bullet. The abandoned road stretched ahead, a lonely strip of asphalt that cut through the industrial zone—a place no one went unless they had urgent business or nowhere else to be like Ricky tonight.
Ricky’s foot pressed down on the gas pedal, the engine roaring beneath him. The digital dashboard blinked warnings, sensors detecting the rising speed, the approaching curve. The lenses in his eyes flashed too, highlighting the guardrail in neon red, projecting a warning.
SLOW DOWN
DANGER AHEAD
But Ricky didn’t slow down. He tightened his grip on the wheel with eyes locked on the road. He wanted to see how fast the car could go, he wanted to see if he could outrun the silence that echoed inside his skull, he just wanted to feel something.
The curve came faster than he expected. The guardrail loomed up like a wall, and in that split second, Ricky’s mind went blank. He jerked the wheel, too late. The car slammed into the barrier with a sickening crunch, the airbags exploded around him, white fabric filling his vision as the car skidded to a stop, the sound of screeching metal fading into a chilling silence sounded sore.
When the airbags deflated, Ricky was left slumped in the seat, his ears ringing, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The car’s safety system had done its job, but Ricky wasn’t unscathed. His right arm throbbed, the skin already darkening into a bruise where the seat belt had caught him. He sat there for a long time, staring at his own reflection in the cracked side mirror.
When he finally returned home, it was almost dawn. His mother was waiting, standing in the garage with her arms crossed, her face pale and drawn.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “And what’s going on with your car?” His mother noticed the damage to his car, the front bumper was dented, one headlight cracked, and there were major scratches on its side.
“Let’s talk later,” Ricky brushed past her.
“You got hurt! What on Earth happened to you?!” His mother reached his arm, but then he pushed her away. There was a cut along his forearm that made his pale turned red. He hadn’t even noticed.
That was the last straw. His mother couldn’t take it anymore. She sent Ricky to a therapist in the next three days.
Dr. Clair leaned forward slightly, her notepad resting on her knee, “So, Ricky,” she said, “Can you tell me what happened that night?”
Ricky shrugged, his gaze was still the same like when he arrived. “I was driving and I lost control... that’s it.”
Dr. Clair nodded, not taking her eyes off him. “Your mother said you hit the guardrail. Did you lose control, or did you decide not to brake?”
Ricky’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know. Maybe both.”
Dr. Clair tilted her head. “Why were you driving that fast? Was there a reason?”
Ricky swallowed, his eyes shifted to the window. Outside, the city was a blur of gray and white, buildings half-hidden by the lingering haze. “I was a racer and I just… felt like it.”
“Felt like what?”
“Like I needed to go fast.”
“Where?”
Ricky said nothing.
Dr. Clair leaned back. “Your mother said you’ve been driving a lot lately. Taking long trips without telling anyone. How does it feel when you’re driving?”
Ricky exhaled sharply, his fists clenching on his knees. “Like I can keep up.”
“Keep up?”
“With everything,” Ricky said, “The world keeps moving, faster and faster. Everyone keeps going, and I just… I can’t catch up. I’m running but I’m not getting anywhere.”
Dr. Clair nodded, scribbling something on her notepad. “Do you feel that way even when you’re not driving?”
Ricky’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I feel it all the time.”
“What about that night?” Dr. Clair asked, her voice softer now. “When you hit the guardrail. Did you feel like you wanted to stop?”
Ricky’s shoulders tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut, the memory flooding back—the screech of the tires, the impact, the airbags exploding around him. The jolt of his body slamming against the seatbelt. The feeling of everything stopping all at once.
“I didn’t care. If I stopped or didn’t. It didn’t matter.”
Dr. Clair set down her notepad and leaned forward. “Ricky, when you say it didn’t matter, do you mean… you didn’t care if you got hurt? Or worse?”
Ricky’s throat tightened. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at anything. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, his hands trembling slightly.
“I just wanted it to stop,” he said, and his voice cracked, the words breaking in the air. “I just wanted everything to stop.”
Dr. Clair’s expression softened, “You’re here now,” she said gently. “Let’s figure this out together, okay?”
Ricky nodded, but his jaw was clenched so tight because at that moment, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here or out there, driving until the world finally caught up to him or until he finally caught up to it.
Today's session ended with the same questions, the same silence. Ricky sat in the therapist’s office, his eyes fixed on the blank wall behind Dr. Clair’s shoulder. She asked about his feelings, his sleep, his appetite. He gave the same vague, empty answers.
“How are you feeling today, Ricky?”
“Fine.”
“Any urges to drive?”
“No.”
“Any thoughts of hurting yourself?”
“No.”
It was all a script now, a loop they kept replaying. Dr. Clair scribbled on her notepad, the pen scratching across but Ricky barely noticed it, he was already somewhere else.
Ricky was banned from driving since that accident, he didn’t bother leaving his room unless his mother called for him.
His mother had told his father about Ricky’s condition, but his father barely acknowledged it. He was too absorbed in his latest project that could make or break his career. When she asked what they should do, he waved her off, “Do whatever you can to fix him,” he said coldly.
One morning, Ricky’s mother brought breakfast to his room. She balanced the tray in one hand, her phone pressed to her pear with the other. Her expression was tense, her brow furrowed.
“Yes, Mom,”
“I understand. I wish I could be there, but work’s been… hectic. And I need to keep an eye on Ricky.”
She hung up and set the tray down on Ricky’s desk. Ricky was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“What happened?” he asked lazily, like he didn’t have any intention to hear the answer.
“Your grandfather’s in the hospital,” she said, sitting down beside him. “He’s been there for a week. Your grandmother just called to let me know.”
Ricky’s eyes flickered, and for the first time in months, something other than emptiness passed through them.
“I want to see him,” he said, sitting up.
His mother looked at him carefully. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” she said, “When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow?” It sounded a joke, but Ricky was sure about it.
“Okay. Just wait. I’ll make the arrangements.”
His mother left the room. In the hallway, she pulled out her phone and dialed Dr. Clair.
“I think this might be what he needs,” His mother said. “Something to shake him out of this.”
Dr. Clair agreed. “Yes, it’s a good approach. Ricky needs a change of scenery. Something to break the cycle.”
Ricky’s mother hung up and took a deep breath. When she returned to Ricky’s room, she said, “You can go tomorrow”
༄.°
Ricky’s maternal grandfather had raised him well when his parents were too busy chasing their dreams, doing global and advanced research.
He lived with his grandparents until he was ten, and those were his happiest childhood memories. His grandfather had taught him how to plant seeds and how to spot constellations through the haze. His grandmother had made every meal feel like a feast. If the haze had never swallowed their world, his parents would have stayed with him, and they would have become a truly happy family. That’s why he hated the haze—it had stolen his parents.
One day he asked his grandfather if he could outrun the haze. His grandfather hadn’t answered right away. He had just smiled and said it was possible if he was fast enough. He spent those days happily, running wild through the countryside, dreaming of speed.
Then his uncle came to visit and said he would teach him about racing—the way to go even faster. It felt like a chance to really outrun everything, to see what lay beyond the haze.
Ricky wondered, “Does the whole world look like this? Do other places have the same dull sky?” Again, his grandfather hadn’t answered. He had just said, “Why don’t you go see for yourself?”
And that’s how Ricky ended up overseas for ten years, meeting new people, learning about cars and racing. His uncle had been the director of driver development for a luxury car manufacturer, so Ricky had learned a lot from him.
Years later, since Ricky was old enough to stay on his own, his parents decided to bring him to the country where they lived and raised him. Even though his father remained distant and cold, his mother tried to make up for it, showering Ricky with enough affection.
Now, Ricky was up in the sky, staring out the plane window. Even from this height, the world looked exactly the same, it was dull and drowned in ash. The sky was a flat, endless gray, the clouds barely distinguishable from the haze that swallowed everything below.
When the clouds broke, there was nothing, just a vast, lifeless expanse, as though the entire planet had been buried under a thick shroud of dust.
He sighed, rubbing his stomach quietly. "I want to get home fast," he mumbled, "And eat grandma’s food... I’m hungry."
A driver was already waiting, Ricky got into the back seat. He had forgotten how long the ride actually felt. Thirty minutes in, his stomach reminded him it had been way too long since he ate something.
After five hours of drifting through the hazy landscape, the car finally turned onto a familiar road. On either side, rows of greenhouse structures stretched wide, their glass panels clouded with dust. Inside, crops still grow under artificial lights, the only way to keep them alive in a world where the haze blocked the sun. Along the edges, a few trees stood, their leaves coated in a thin layer of ash.
Fifteen minutes later, the car turned again onto a private road, shielded by tall hedges and lined with bright light from stone lanterns. The automatic gate slid open and revealed a large, elegant traditional-modern house.
Ricky’s grandfather was still in the hospital, with his aunt taking care of him. Visiting hours were limited to the morning and afternoon, so Ricky headed to his grandparents’ house.
From inside, footsteps approached, it was his grandmother that was wearing a fine silk traditional dress and a shawl leaning nicely on her shoulders.
“Look at my beloved grandson,” his grandmother’s voice trembling with affection. “You’ve become even more handsome. I missed you so much.”
She pulled Ricky into a warm embrace, and he returned it gently, his arms wrapping around her with the same careful tenderness he had as a child. For a second, it felt the same when he was still a little boy. Her familiar scent of herbal tea had not changed at all.
“Me too, Granny,”
She patted his back before pulling away with a bright smile. “Come inside, I’ve prepared your favorite food.”
As they stepped into the house, Ricky took in the blend of traditional charm and modern elegance. The smart panels installed on the walls and roof. Ash might have dulled the world outside, but here, everything was clean and warm.
The next day, Ricky stepped into a VIP hospital room. Dim sunlight filtered through the blinds. His grandfather lay propped up by pillows. His face lit up when he saw Ricky. “Ricky, my beloved grandson!” His grandfather said excitedly, “Come here.”
Ricky moved closer, pulling a chair beside the bed.
“Your mother said you’re sick,” his grandfather just told Ricky what he heard from his daughter a few months ago.
Ricky nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. My head’s sick.”
His grandfather’s expression tightened. “Are you okay now?”
Ricky forced a small smile. “I think so. She sent me to a therapist,” he said, the words felt so heavy. “And now that I’m back in this town… I think I feel better.”
His grandfather’s shoulders relaxed, the tension on his face easing. “Good,” he said, his smile softening. “That’s good.”
“This town didn’t change too much,” Ricky didn’t let the silence happen, he had so many things to say. His eyes drifted toward the window.
On the way to the hospital, the way was the same as he remembered. “Somehow, it makes me feel better,”
Now, sitting beside his grandfather’s bed, the ache in Ricky’s chest felt a little lighter. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all—the same scent of his earthy odor. Or maybe it was just the way his grandfather looked at him, as though he hadn’t changed at all.
“You once told me to find out if I could escape the haze,” Ricky opened his mouth again. His grandfather’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, his eyes never leaving Ricky’s face.
“So, I did,” Ricky continued. “I went overseas to live with Uncle. To see the world beyond the haze. And I learned a lot from him—about cars, about speed…”
Ricky paused, a tight, forced smile pulling at his lips. “I know it sounds childish. Trying to outrun something like that. But I’m glad I did it. Because in the process, I found something I loved. Racing—it’s thrilling. It’s the only time I feel… alive.”
His smile faded. “But now, I don’t feel that way anymore. Lately, it’s like… I can’t find the reason to keep doing it.”
Ricky looked down, his fingers curling as if gripping an invisible steering wheel. “After classes, I’d just drive. Miles and miles, I didn’t even care where, and then… I started to feel scared.”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “The world kept moving forward, faster and faster. But no matter how fast I went, it felt like I was falling behind. Like I couldn’t catch it. Like it was always slipping just out of reach.”
Ricky’s gaze dropped, his eyes glistening. “My parents are the same,” he said, his jaw clenched tight. “They’re always chasing the future, like they think they’ll live forever. Always planning what’s next, what’s bigger, what’s better. They never stop to see what’s right in front of them. And now… they’re so far ahead, I can’t reach them anymore.”
Ricky’s voice broke, and he bit down on his lower lip, trying to hold it together. Beside him, his grandfather just sat there. After a moment, he placed a hand over Ricky’s, squeezing it gently.
“You don’t have to run to catch up, Ricky. Sometimes, it’s okay to just stop and take a breath. That’s why you are here right?” His grandfather’s hand reached up, fingers brushing through Ricky’s hair before resting gently on his head. He patted it softly, the same way he always did when Ricky was a kid.
Ricky closed his eyes, a small, weary smile slipping through. That touch, that simple gesture was a comfort he hadn’t realized he was missing, a feeling that seemed to lift some of the heaviness deep in his chest. And for the first time in a long while, the ache inside him eased little by little.
It had been weeks since Ricky returned, and the change in him was noticeable. His grandfather had been discharged, and with each passing day, Ricky seemed lighter. His grandmother saw his eyes no longer looked hollow and distant but were bright with interest as he talked a lot with his grandfather.
At the dinner table, he savored every bite of his grandmother’s cooking, even asking for seconds. He laughed more, spoke more, his presence filling the room in a way it hadn’t before. His grandmother shared the good news with his mother over the phone.
Rain fell softly against the window, it brought a familiar chill, but the heater’s warmth pushed it away, wrapping the room in a gentle embrace. Ricky and his grandfather sat together in the living room, they liked this nostalgic feeling.
“I think it’s time to tell you this story from the past,” his grandfather said, leaning back in his chair. “A story that might interest you, especially now that you’re feeling frustrated about the future and how fast the world is moving forward. Let’s take a look back.”
“The past?” Ricky asked, brow furrowing.
His grandfather nodded, “It’s about the Shim family from more than a thousand years ago.”
“Shim?” Ricky straightened up. “That’s Mom’s family name.”
“Yes, it’s about our ancestors,” his grandfather said. “It’s about a young man whose story has been passed down for generations” His grandfather paused.
“Shim Cheonye . He was a nobleman—a prince, actually. But he was sick from a young age, he was frail and prone to illness. And in the palace, a sick prince was considered an ill omen.”
Ricky’s expression darkened. “So, what happened to him?”
“They exiled him,” his grandfather said, his voice heavy. “Sent him away to a small, isolated village hidden deep in the mountains. A place no one cared about, a place where they could forget about him.”
“But Cheonye didn’t let bitterness consume him,” his grandfather continued. “Despite being cast away, he didn’t become resentful. Instead, he became a source of light for that forgotten village.”
Ricky’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“He was kind,” his grandfather said, his voice softening. “So kind that his actions left a mark on everyone he met. He worked alongside the villagers, shared their meals, listened to their troubles and solved it. He was a nobleman by birth, but he lived as one of them, treating everyone as his equal. Some say he could heal people’s illness with just a touch even though he was sick, he could make the abundant harvest, others say he could calm the storms with his words. To the villagers, he became a savior, a protector, and a guardian.”
Ricky’s eyes were fixed on his grandfather now, completely drawn in.
“But his illness never left him,” his grandfather said, the warmth in his eyes dimming. “By the time he was in his early twenties, his body grew weaker. And eventually, he passed away.”
Ricky’s chest tightened. “He died that young?”
“Yes, maybe around your age now,” his grandfather said, nodding. “But even after his death, the villagers couldn’t forget him. They refused to. To them, Cheonye wasn’t just a prince. He was a divine spirit, a guardian who had watched over them in life and, they believed, would continue to watch over them in death.”
His grandfather leaned forward. “And that’s when the tradition started.”
“A tradition?”
“Yes, Cheonye had a close friend. A man who had been by his side since the day he arrived in that village. They were inseparable. Soulmates, some would say.”
Ricky’s heart thudded, a strange ache settling inside him.
“When Cheonye passed away, that man was heartbroken. He would visit Cheonye’s grave every day, sitting by it in silence until the day he too grew old and passed away,” his grandfather said. “The villagers saw his devotion. And they thought that Cheonye shouldn’t be left alone. Someone always stayed near Cheonye’s shrine—to accompany him, to remember him, to serve.”
“And that tradition still continues?”
“Yes, even after all these years, the shrine and village remain largely unchanged. It’s about an hour from here. You can visit it.”
Ricky’s eyes brighten. “I will. My car arrives soon. I’ll go then.”
His grandfather chuckled softly, reaching over to pat Ricky’s back. “Just be careful. And remember, you don’t have to run to catch up. Sometimes, the best way to find what you’re looking for is to slow down.”
Ricky nodded, a small, sincere smile on his lips. “Thanks, Grandpa. For everything.”
༄.°
People used to look at the forest as a place of life and color, where the trees stretched high and strong, and the birds sang from above. Now, the trees leaned in closer, their branches twisted and hunched over, the leaves had become larger, flatter, almost desperate to catch the weak light seeped through the haze. People said the trees were reaching for the sun like someone gasping for air.
The elders would tell stories of when the mountains stood tall, when their peaks were clear and sharp against a blue sky. Young children, born after the ash fall disaster, had never seen them clearly. The scent of the forest had changed, too. It used to smell fresh, like pine and damp earth. Now, it was a cold, a mix of wet leaves, rotting wood, and the faint, and lingering ash.
Despite the world changing around them, this place remained a pocket of the past. The shrine stood as it always had, it was meticulously maintained through generations. Its wooden beams and stone foundation had been replaced, rebuilt, and restored countless times. Yet, the shrine remained exactly as it had been hundreds of years ago like a perfect replica of the first structure that once stood in this sacred space, where the villagers had preserved the shrine as though it were a sacred ritual.
Near the shrine stood a pavilion, equally well-kept but different in its nature. While the shrine remained for the same god, the pavilion was built for a different owner , it was a tradition that had continued for centuries.
Jiwoong did it again.
His white gown with cross-collar and robe covered his body that was laid down on the pavilion. Each side was slightly covered by white clothes. They were swaying, revealing and hiding that handsome young man figure.
He closed his eyes, and after his mind reached a certain number, he quickly opened it and stared at the grey-stained sky.
Wind stirred the dust, lifting it into his nose. He coughed and covered his nose with the long white sleeves he wore. He could hear clearly the approaching and familiar footsteps.
It was a village head, he came quietly behind the haze and placed a small metal box beside Jiwoong. He greeted the man that was three times older than him with a cold stare.
“I told you not to waste your money… or the villagers’,” Jiwoong said, “Don’t you have children to care for?”
That old man didn’t even flinch or irritate with it, “Your life is more important, because of you, God Cheonye protects us.”
It was the same line again, the one that Jiwoong heard it too many times.
“Take it on schedule and cover your face,” he added. His gazes suddenly looked heavy and sorrowful, Jiwoong knew how hard the old man must have worked to buy this expensive medicine.
There was no response and when the last footsteps had faded, Jiwoong picked up the box and opened it, he crushed the capsules with his finger and blew it away, which made the fine powder inside scattered into the air, mixing with the haze.
“I’m going to die anyway,” he laughed, “I won’t serve you, stupid god.”
Jiwoong often spent his quiet days upon the pavilion. He never did anything in particular. He only waited for the sun to set before he returned to his home, even though the line between day and night blurred in the mountains, he always knew when it was time to leave. He had done this since he was ten years old, nothing had changed.
Like the village head said before, this time Jiwoong hid half of his face with a thin—almost transparent cloth. It was the symbol of devotion, and fulfilled his role as the living devotee of God Cheonye.
The veil couldn’t block his handsome face though. His delicate features still shone through the elegant curve of his high-bridged nose, his dark, pretty eyes. The contrast between his black hair and the soft glow of his pale skin, gave him an otherworldly beauty.
But there was a time when Jiwoong was busy like today.
Another old man approached. He carried a sack of rice, while a woman followed behind with a basket of apples.
They bowed deeply before Jiwoong, who sat in silence, facing them from above.
“Isn’t this too much?” Jiwoong asked, glancing down at the sack now placed by his feet.
“Thanks to the grace of God Cheonye who watches over our plants, we are blessed,” the old man said with reverence. “Surely, you have served well. What little we bring is nothing compared to what we’ve received.”
“You’ve grown into such a fine young man,” the woman added, smiling warmly as she laid down the fruit. “Even God Cheonye must look upon you with affection.”
“It seems many were blessed this harvest,” the man’s eyes drifting over the offerings left at a certain spot of that pavilion.
“I have done nothing,” Jiwoong replied with sincerity. “All blessings come from God Cheonye. If anything, I ask that you continue to offer your prayers.”
He had spoken these words countless times today just like replaying the same radio.
“Of course,” the two replied and bowed once more before they turned to leave.
“Oh, their apples are the best,” Jiwoong smiled brightly, unable to resist the temptation of the red, rich fruit. “I like it! I really like it!”
He kept munching happily, savoring each bite until he reached his fifth apple. But just as he took another bite, he heard footsteps approaching. He coughed, startled, and quickly hid the half-eaten apple behind his back, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.
He was supposed to be fasting at this hour. But, Jiwoong had never once followed that rule.
The scene had repeated itself all day from morning to evening, the villagers arriving and giving Jiwoong the offerings (for God Cheonye).
And finally, as the sun had set, Jiwoong gathered all the offerings into a wooden cart and made his way home, he hummed all his way, he didn’t harvest anything but he shouldn’t worry about what he should eat for his life.
Jiwoong always accepted the offerings with a bright smile. He lived alone, as was his fate devoted to God Cheonye whom the villagers worshiped. He had been this way for ten years, and it would remain the same until he turned forty.
He knew it well that he had to spare the offerings for the God Cheonye, but Jiwoong never did. He ate them all. He didn’t worship God Cheonye, not in the way he told the villagers to. His rebellion was hidden behind his gentle words and sincere smiles. Only he and God knew of it.
He had begun questioning the villagers’ beliefs five years after he was chosen as the divine servant.
He remembered watching a man who once served as the chosen of God Cheonye before him—kneeling in reverence day after day. That man worshiped with devotion, placing offerings on the household altar. The fruits were rotten, the rice was left to be stolen by mice.
What a waste, Jiwoong thought back then.
He had seen how hard the villagers worked to plant, tend, and harvest their crops with expensive tools, yet their offerings were left to decay for the sake of God—they thought.
When Jiwoong turned fifteen he began to quietly break the rules. He ate the offerings. He ignored the rituals when no one watched. And nothing ever happened. No sign of wrath and no divine punishment.
Strangely, the village flourished. Jiwoong didn’t know how or why, but slowly, he came to believe that perhaps God Cheonye never existed at all. It was the environment that had improved a lot.
Still, he played the role that had been handed to him by tradition. Beneath the ashen sky, draped in white cloth, he sat at the pavilion each day, offering words he no longer believed.
Jiwoong felt it the moment he woke. The familiar, searing dryness crawling over his skin like fire beneath the surface. It was a cruel sensation, as if his flesh were being torn and scorched. Even the gentlest touch sent sharp pain through his nerves.
“Damn it,” he groaned, dragging himself across the floor toward the nightstand. His hands trembled as he fumbled for the small box.
He had resisted taking the medicine for three days now, stubbornly bearing the agony. A part of him wanted to see how far he could go, to test if his body was ready to give up.
With gritted teeth, Jiwoong popped the capsule into his mouth and chewed it dry. The bitterness spread on his tongue. He clenched his jaw and collapsed back onto the bed, waiting for the relief to come.
“I thought I was ready to die,” he muttered, “But I guess my body isn’t ready yet.”
He stared at the cracked ceiling above, his breath slowing as the pain began to fade. Then his gaze dropped to a small window that showed nothing, but the sky covered by the ash-grey haze.
“If god is real,” he whispered bitterly, “Then why won’t They cure this cursed disease? Why didn’t They protect me from it, just because I didn’t get vaccinated?”
His fists punched the sheets in anger, the words spurted from his mouth like a prayer soaked in madness. “Damn that fucking god, damn it all”
Only when the tension melted from his body and the sweat began to return to his skin did he finally calmed.
“It wasn’t that damn god who protected us from sickness,” Jiwoong said in fury. “It was the scientists—the ones who discovered the medicine, the vaccines... they’re the ones who deserve worship.” He let out a bitter laugh.
“But no. No… I shouldn't praise them. They’re devils in white coats, selling the medicine at a price only the rich can afford.”
His voice cracked, “They made the cure and they pressed the poor down into the dirtiest place. Left us to suffer and rot, aching through the days in agony because we couldn’t afford to live.”
He stared at the pillbox beside his bed as he felt the effect worked. “They should be the real god.”
༄.°
Initially, people thought the ash fall disaster was a natural anomaly, but as the weeks went on, scientists uncovered a disturbing truth. The ash particles were chemically identical to the ash from The Doomsday, but altered somehow.
They discovered the ash carried microscopic reactive particles that bonded with human skin, leading to severe dehydration and irritation. In the worst cases, these particles clogged skin pores and disrupted the body’s ability to regulate heat and moisture. Prolonged exposure led to skin disorder, marked by extreme dryness, cracking, and internal inflammation. For some, particularly those with weakened immune systems would die within a few years. They called it Ash Syndrome.
In the face of devastation, scientists raced against time as death tolls rose sharply. They released the neutralizing agent to the atmosphere to make the haze less toxic.
It took nearly a decade, but eventually, they succeeded in creating a cure—an emergency medicine that could counteract the ash’s effects on the body. At first, the medicine was distributed freely in humanitarian efforts. But as production costs grew and global demand surged, the supply dwindled, and prices skyrocketed.
For years people lived in desperation, bearing the pain that was worse than death, many couldn’t survive, the scientists did more research and developed a medicine that relieved the symptoms, reopened the pores, and helped the body retain moisture.
But the ash contamination was worse than they could ever imagine, the illness embedded itself into DNA, passing down to children born from affected parents even if they had never been directly exposed to the ash. Years later, a specialized vaccine was finally developed to prevent these inherited symptoms. It worked, but it was extremely rare and expensive.
That’s why so many people fought desperately to get the vaccine, they didn’t want their children to suffer from Ash Syndrome. For most ordinary families, it was out of reach. Instead, they turned to regular medicine that was still costly, but at least within their reach. For them, having access to that medicine became a kind of luxury. It was as essential as food and water, a basic need for survival.
Over time, buying the medicine became a normal part of life. The world slowly adjusted, human bodies, especially those of younger generations, began to adapt. The symptoms weren’t as severe as in the early days, but they were still painful, difficult to manage, and persistent.
To achieve full recovery, they had to take the medicine consistently, once every week, for years, without a single interruption. If they stopped, the condition would return, often worse than before. The medicine didn't just ease symptoms, it helped the body rebuild its ability to regulate moisture and resist further ash reactivity slowly, week by week, cell by cell.
༄.°
Ricky drove down the mountain road, the tires gripping the damp asphalt. The haze was thicker here, pressing down like a heavy curtain. Unlike the artificial lights that bathed the city, the forest was darker, wet, and colder.
The trees blocking what little sunlight managed to pierce through the gray sky. The streetlights along the way were few and far between barely enough to cut through the haze that mixed with fog here.
As Ricky’s car approached an old building in the middle of the forest, something shifted. The village was still some distance away, there shouldn’t be anything here. The building was large, and though it looked aged, it was surprisingly well-maintained. Too well to be abandoned.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The feeling was subtle at first, a faint pressure pressing against his chest. Ricky’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
And then it hit him—a rush of vague memories and emotion that weren’t his. A deep, aching sorrow seeped into his bones with a strange warmth that formed in his chest like a lingering embrace.
Before he knew it, his foot slammed down on the brake, and the car screeched to a halt in front of the building’s gate, it was a shrine.
His heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes fixed on the gate. It loomed ahead, shrouded in the haze, as if the air itself was trying to swallow it up.
“What is this…?”
The sadness clung to him, heavy and suffocating, pressing against his ribs. It felt as if the air itself was carrying someone else’s grief.
Ricky stepped out of the car. The cool air welcomed his skin, and the haze—more likely the mist pressed down like a damp shroud. His lenses adjusted, sharpening the view, filtering the grayness until the world gained a fragile clarity.
Stone lanterns lined the narrow path, their weathered surfaces covered in moss and faint cracks. Despite their age, each lantern held a gentle light that created halos in the mist.
The soft sound of falling water echoed through the haze. It was a delicate melody that seemed to pulse through the empty space.
Ricky followed the sound, his eyes caught a tall bamboo spout arched over a shallow stone basin, water pouring in a continuous stream. For a moment, Ricky felt the time itself had slowed.
Beyond it stood a pavilion, its wooden structure elevated on a base of stone bricks. Four sheer white fabric draped over its beams swayed gently.
Within its open space, there was a figure at the center who captured Ricky’s attention, he was kneeling in stillness. His eyes were closed in deep prayer, his hands pressed gently together.
…
Take our sorrows into your calm,
And give us lives that do not ache.
If you are near, let us feel your warmth.
If you are far, let our voices reach you.
…
Ricky froze for a moment. The sadness Ricky had felt earlier seemed to pulse through him once more. As Jiwoong finished, his lips still whispering the last part of his prayer, Ricky took a step forward, with a quick movement, he reached down and gently lifted the veil that covered half of Jiwoong’s face.
Jiwoong’s eyes fluttered open wide with surprise, “Who—who are you?” He gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked up at the stranger in front of him.
Ricky stared down at him, “Cheonye,” Ricky answered with a soft voice.
“Our god?” Jiwoong jolted.
“Yes, I’m a god,” Ricky said casually, “People call me god of speed”
Jiwoong paused, still processing what he had just heard. “What are you saying?”
But just as suddenly, Ricky blinked twice his brows furrowing. His eyes wandered around. “Wait, what the—? Where am I?”
Everything made him confused. Ricky jerked back so fast he nearly fell off the steps, gladly Jiwoong caught Ricky’s arm fast
“Wh-who are you?!” Ricky yelled.
Jiwoong scrambled, “You tell me! You… you just showed up and started saying weird stuff and touched me!”
Ricky pointed to himself and he felt horrified. “Did I—did I say anything weird?!”
“Yes! You said you were our God Cheonye and then you said you’re god of speed”
“Well, it’s true, I mean—no! I didn’t—wait, I’m not” Ricky tousled his blond hair out of frustration. “I think I’ve lost my mind…”
Jiwoong took another step back. He had never even met an outsider before, and now here was this strange man staring straight at his face, which he had always been told to hide.
“Cheonye?—”
“God Cheonye,” Jiwoong snapped and then corrected Ricky. “Please show some respect to our god.”
“You’ve got me wrong. I’m leaving. This place is haunted or something…”
Ricky’s head was spinning, his mind wasn’t in the right state, He didn’t understand what had just happened. His heart raced in his chest, and his hands were still trembling from the unusual encounter.
Without thinking, he turned around, sprinting to the car. He didn’t care about the path or the distance anymore, he just needed to get away.
The engine roared to life as he slammed the gas pedal to the floor. His foot was heavy, the wheels spun on the gravel as he made a sharp turn, his hands gripping the wheel as though it were the only thing keeping him conscious.
By the time he reached his grandparents’ house, the only thing he could think was that he needed answers from his grandparents, but how could he even ask about the super strange thing he had just experienced?
The next day, Ricky found himself drawn back to that same place.
He didn't know what pulled him to be here, but it could be his curiosity, his instinct, or something beyond it. This time, he waited inside his car that was parked on the outer edge of the shrine grounds, watching from a distance. He only stepped out when he was sure Jiwoong was alone, when no villagers were around.
He walked up quietly.
“We meet again,” Ricky said, but something about his voice was off. It wasn’t quite his usual tone as if someone else was speaking through him.
“I’m Cheonye. Shim Cheonye.”
Jiwoong’s eyes widened. “Cheonye? God Cheonye?”
Ricky nodded slowly.
Before Jiwoong could say anything else, footsteps approached from behind. The head village came from the path.
“Are you, perhaps, Ricky? The previous governor’s grandson?” The old man asked politely.
“Yes,” Ricky nodded and replied quickly.
“No! He said he was Cheonye!” Jiwoong didn’t want to give in.
“What are you saying?” Ricky turned to Jiwoong, trying not to let the panic show on his face.
The old man sighed and placed a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “I’m the head of this village. I’ve known your grandfather for a long time”
“Oh… I see,” Ricky said, “And that man over there?”
“That’s Jiwoong. The divine servant”
“I heard a little about that story,” Ricky tried to sound casual.
“What brings you here?” the head village asked, eyeing him with a suspicion.
Ricky forced a laugh. “Just… taking a drive to clear my head. I saw this place and thought it looked interesting.”
The man frowned slightly. “This is sacred ground. Outsiders aren’t supposed to approach unless they bring an offering to God Cheonye.”
Ricky nodded obediently. “I understand. I’ll take my leave for now.”
He returned to his car, closed the door, and slumped in the driver’s seat, staring blankly through the windshield.
“Damn… damn, what the hell just happened?” he muttered, knocking his head lightly against the steering wheel. “Did I really just say I was Cheonye? Out loud?”
He was frustrated. “This is insane…”
Another day, Ricky returned, but this time, he came prepared.
He carried a box wrapped in silk, it looked expensive. Jiwoong was already at the pavilion, he was half-dreaming, his eyes opened as he heard the footsteps come closer.
“…Is that… meat?” he asked, eyebrows rising as he stood and peeked into the offering box.
He didn’t wait for Ricky to answer.
“Wait. Is this premium beef?! Are you insane? Who offers something this expensive?!”
“I had it delivered from the city,” Ricky replied, cool and effortless. “I thought… the divine should receive nothing less than the finest.”
Jiwoong smirked. “You have taste,” he muttered.
Ricky smiled faintly. “Now… can we talk properly?”
Jiwoong crossed his arms, trying to hold onto composure. “The head of the village told me your real name is Ricky. So tell me what makes you so obsessed with God Cheonye? Enough to pretend you’re him?”
Ricky’s smile faded. “What are you saying?” he asked. “I am Cheonye.”
Jiwoong was still in disbelief, “…What?”
“I’m a human—just a man of flesh and spirit,” Ricky continued, “I lived a long time ago. My life ended, as all mortal lives do… yet my soul remained, this land still calls me, and so I came.”
There was a long pause before Jiwoong squinted at him. “...Okay, so you’re God Cheonye—no, I mean, the late Cheonye.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re also Ricky?”
A subtle change came over Ricky. His expression tightened. “Do not speak that name here.”
“Who?” Jiwoong tilted his head in confusion.
“That child… Ricky. He is merely a vessel.”
Ricky blinked twice and his gaze felt distant. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone in silence, and turned away. Without a word, he walked back to his car, came in, and played a recording.
After listening to that recording, he dialed his grandfather and told him that he was going to his parents' house in the capital city.
After hearing he was merely a vessel for Cheonye’s spirit, Ricky didn’t believe it right away, he couldn’t even stomach how that spirit took over his body.
There was something hidden in this village that made him like this so he thought about escaping, he needed to go far, distanced himself from this place.
His bright red car cut through the thickening haze like a memory he couldn’t let go of. The moment he arrived at his parents’ house.
Ricky went straight to his room and slammed the door behind him and lay on his bed.
Ricky’s fists tightened around the sheets. He couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t believe it. But the way Cheonye’s voice had slipped from his mouth without his control was too real and terrifying.
It was just past 6 p.m., but Ricky hadn’t truly slept in days. The shrine, Jiwoong’s face, the story about Cheonye—they kept circling in his thoughts.
His eyes fluttered open. Outside, the haze looked thinner than usual, washed by faint golden light, it was midday and he was still in his parents’ house, moving far away from that village prevented Cheonye to ‘take over’ his body, just what he expected
༄.°
JIWOONG
The reason I could bear living in this damned shrine, doing nothing day after day, was simple. Here, I could see the world clearly. I watched the colors of the world change four times a year—the vibrant greens and colorful spring, the deep unyielding blue of summer skies that stretched endlessly, the fiery reds and golds of autumn leaves drifting to the ground, and the icy and white of winter that blanketed everything in silence.
Not just "clear" as in without haze or blur. No, it was more than that. It was like paintings that showed another world that people forgot existed. Ever since the ash covered the sky, the world lost its colors. Only the rich could afford those special lenses that showed them what a colorful world looked like.
The rest of us? We saw a world muted by haze, a dull, grayish film that hung over everything, draining life from even the brightest days. But here, in this shrine, I could see it clearly, and that was enough to keep me here. In this one place, I had that privilege. I didn’t tell anyone because it was my secret.
It’s strange. I think I’ve been here sixteen years, though I stopped counting after the first few. Every day was the same since I turned ten. Woke up, went to the shrine, stayed in the pavilion, watched the clothes sway in the breeze, and ate what people left behind, it was a repetitive routine.
I used to dream. I wanted to go to school, go to college to become a scientist, one of those people who rise above the clouds, but my fate told me to stay on the ground forever.
I received just enough education to read the books they gave me. They thought that would satisfy me. And for a time those books were the only escape I had.
No matter how many documentaries I watched on my old computer, no matter how many brilliant scientists I admired on TV, all of them were worlds I could never touch. So I buried my dreams in silence. Let them die like ashes settling on the windowsill.
For years, I tried to understand why I was here. Why me? Why was I chosen to serve a god I no longer even believed in?
They told me it was for the prosperity of the village. That my presence, my prayers, would keep the god content, and in return, the village would thrive. But I watched the world change. The air grew a little clearer than decades ago, not because of prayers, but because of science. Technology and human effort, satellites flew above the haze, scientists discovered ways to clean the air. The planet was slowly healing, not because of gods but because people fought for it.
So I stopped believing. I started thinking… this whole ritual, this isolated shrine, this lonely pavilion tucked in the middle of the dull forest—it was just a tradition, something to keep the villagers feeling safe, it was no more than a symbol.
But still, I wondered why me?
They called it an honor. They said I was special. But all they did was feed me and lock me in silence. They fed me just enough to keep me alive, to keep me obeyed their will. That was their kindness in exchange for my freedom. And my family? I was the only son and my parents died because of Ash Syndrome, so I had no choice but to live to serve their god, so that they could give me the needs of living.
They all took something from me. A normal life, my future, and in return, they gave me ‘peace’ , a prison disguised as a sacred duty.
Maybe that’s why I stopped being angry. That's what growing older did—it softened the sharp edges of rage until you were just tired. I didn’t even hate them anymore. I didn’t hate the villagers, my family, or even the god they say I serve.
But sometimes I think about dying.
I didn’t get vaccinated. My family couldn’t afford it. They said the medicine would keep me alive long enough, but I could feel it, my skin cracks faster now. Some nights it burns from the inside. I know what’s coming. I could stop taking the medicine. Let my body fall apart and just disappear from this world.
But I didn't, the moment I considered it, I looked around and I saw it again, the world in color, the way the water from the fountain catched the light and threw it in a thousand directions. No one else saw it like this, no one else felt it like I did. I thought the world kept showing me this beauty to keep me alive.
And then, in the middle of another boring day he came.
I remember it so vividly, like the world paused just to let that moment engraved in me.
He pulled down the veil that covered my face.
And I forgot how to breathe.
His hair was blond, almost white, soft like silk but neatly styled. His skin was pale, his eyes were dark grey and something shimmered on it.
When he said he was god, I believed him.
Not because of anything logical or spiritual. But because of the way he looked. He didn’t just look handsome—he looked beautiful and unreal. Like he wasn’t part of this world, like he stepped out of a myth and walked right into mine.
He was the first person I had ever seen who didn’t come from this village.
I guessed he had just graduated high school because he looked young, maybe five or six years younger than me. When I really looked, I could see the softness of youth still clinging to his face, the slight awkwardness in the way he held himself.
The moment I believed he was a god faded in an instant when I noticed the clothes he wore—a black suit, paired with a long black coat that swayed lightly as he moved. He always wore black clothes whenever he came here.
He came from a different world beyond this forest. He was tall, his sharp features and soft edges made the perfect harmony on his face.
At first, I thought he was just a weird person,
He spoke nonsense… Seriously, he just stood there rambling about being a god, I almost laughed. But then, in the middle of his speech, he paused, he blinked twice, real quick.
And something changed.
I couldn’t say what exactly, but the way his expression shifted, like he was waking up from a dream he didn’t understand. He looked lost, confused, and even scared, for a second.
It was like watching two different people flicker behind the same eyes. I thought that he might be possessed. But did something like that exist in this modern era?
Still, he seemed frustrated with himself. And I wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone else’s inner crisis, so I let him figure it out himself.
Honestly, it was fun watching him stumble around in confusion. He mumbled to himself, furrowed his brows like a confused cat. I teased him a little because he was cute.
But there was something strange too. I felt like... I had seen him before, like I had known him for a long time, like we had spoken in a dream, or in a life I couldn’t remember.
But I brushed my wild imagination off.
Later, the village head told me his name was Ricky. He had just come back from overseas and was living with his grandfather here in the province. Said he came to this village to ease his mind driving up to the mountain just for fun.
Thanks to him, I got to eat real good meat for once. He brought premium stuff, all wrapped up clean and I grilled it myself. I know how to cook. My mother taught me when I was a little, even if I was stuck here, I was not totally helpless.
When I went back to my house, my life was… quite normal. They gave me a decent and nice house probably to keep me from dying, that’s the extent of their generosity.
It had been a week since Ricky’s last visit.
I didn’t realize I was waiting for him until days turned into silence that felt heavier than usual
I closed my eyes and listened to each sound that was heard, but I was waiting for the sound of a deep growl in the distance, rising quickly as it climbed the mountain road. It was sharp, loud, almost like a scream that echoed through the trees, then came the sudden whine of the brakes.
Ricky was always coming here after I heard those sounds, but what all I could hear was the familiar footsteps from the villagers. They weren’t here often. Not unless it was a ceremonial day or harvest time. Sometimes the head of the village, or one of his staff, would drop off medicines, bags of rice, a tray of eggs, and some vegetables once or twice a week.
Then the rain came.
I hated it.
I hated the way it splashed through the edge of the roof. The way the wind shoved the cold water into the pavilion like it had a grudge against me. My clothes stuck to my skin, the dampness crawled down my spine.
I always folded myself, I trembled and hugged myself to keep myself warm.
The colder season is coming. I thought about it because of the chilly sensation I felt.
And there was warmth out of nowhere—human warmth, there were arms around me, a chest against my back, and I froze.
“…Cheonye?”
He smiled so bright it almost hurt to look at. Then he nodded slowly, like he had been waiting for me to say that name. He tightened his grip and rested his chin on my shoulders.
༄.°
RICKY
How did I end up here again? The last thing I remembered was my chest aching so much it felt like my heart was breaking into a million pieces, each day spent in the capital city weighing down on me. And then somehow, I was back here, my arms wrapped around Jiwoong, his clothes soaked through, cold and damp against me.
He was shivering, his shoulders tense beneath my grip. The rain dripped from the edge of the pavilion roof, splashing around us in relentless, icy sheets. His hair clung to his forehead, dark and wet, and he stared up at me weakly.
“…Cheonye?”
That name echoed between us again.
I wanted to tell him that I was Ricky, not Cheonye. But I couldn’t.
Unlike before, when Cheonye took over my body, I was completely unaware—blank, like falling asleep and waking up somewhere else. But now, I was conscious. I could feel every drop of rain seeping through my clothes, every shiver running through Jiwoong’s body, every beat of my own heart and Jiwoong’s.
But my mouth wouldn’t move. My lips wouldn’t form the words. I couldn’t push Cheonye out. Instead, I just stood there, arms around Jiwoong, holding him close as Cheonye used my body to speak. His voice came out soft, gentle, but it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t me.
I felt helpless, trapped behind my own eyes, forced to watch everything beyond my control. I let Cheonye speak with my voice.
“Just hold on until the rain stops,” Cheonye said.
What the hell was he talking about?
Hey, just get back to the car and turn on the heater! Cheonye, you hear me? It’s freezing.
But instead of moving, Cheonye—no, my body—stayed put, holding Jiwoong close. Jiwoong’s arms, trembling from the cold, wrapped around my shoulders.
“Tell me… that my parents are doing well in the afterlife,” Jiwoong tightened his hands, pressed my shoulders with more force.
“Yes, they are,” Cheonye said softly. “Today is the anniversary of your mother’s passing, and three weeks ago… it was your father’s, right?”
How did he know that?
“You… you knew that?”
Cheonye nodded, “Of course. We’ve been together for a long time, I know you well.”
Stop it. Stop saying things like that with my mouth.
Then about ten minutes later the rain stopped. Cheonye loosened his hold, and I felt the strange warmth leaving my chest.
I was back in control. But now, I had to pretend to be Cheonye. Otherwise, it would be too weird. I tried to keep my expression calm. But Jiwoong’s eyes were already on me.
“Ricky?” He asked.
Damn it. He knew. I felt my cheeks flush, the blood rushing to my face.
“It’s you,” he chuckled.
I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. “You… you could tell?”
Jiwoong nodded, shifting to sit beside me. “The eyes,” he said, lifting a hand to gesture at my face. “They’re different.”
“We’re completely different people, okay? So—” I didn’t even know why I was explaining this.
Jiwoong nodded. “I understand.”
He didn’t make it a big deal. Just sat there, looking up at the sky. The wind passed through, cold and biting, chilling our damp clothes. They were starting to dry, but it was still too chilly.
I sneezed. Loudly.
Jiwoong’s gaze snapped to me. My face burned with embarrassment.
“You should go back before you catch a cold,” Jiwoong said gently, his hand lightly pressing against my back as if urging me to leave and find warmth.
“What about you?” I asked, eyeing his pale face. His lips were almost blue, and his hands trembled when he touched me.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Are you… sleeping here too?”
“No, I have a house. It’s not far.”
“I see…” I hesitated, “When are you going home?”
“In about three hours,” he said, eyes still fixed on the sky. “When the sun sets.”
“That’s… still a long time.”
“That’s fine. I'm used to it.”
“Okay, then… see you—” Wait. What did I just say? “Um… Cheonye might take over my body again,” I blurted out. Why did I have to say that?
Jiwoong’s lips formed a slight, amused smile. “I’ll make sure Cheonye doesn’t do anything weird,” he said. “Don’t worry. I think he’s a good spirit.”
Good spirit? Cheonye stole my body, it was a crime and because of that damn spirit I was trapped in my own body.
I just nodded before I stepped down from the pavilion.
I found my grandfather sitting alone on the porch, staring out into the haze when I came back. The air was cool, the kind of chill that seeped through your clothes and settled in your bones.
I sat down beside him, my hands clenched into fists on my lap. “Do you… believe in spirits?”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back, his eyes still fixed on the fading light. “Why do you ask?”
“Cheonye was inside me,” I said, my voice tight. “He took over my body.”
Grandpa remained silent, but his jaw tightened slightly.
“Grandpa…” I couldn’t stand the silence. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t ask if I was joking or if I had hit my head somewhere. Just that same calm, unreadable expression.
Then, finally, he nodded. “It could happen.”
“You share the same bloodline as the Shim family,” he said. “And…” He paused, his gaze meeting mine. “You have the same birthday as Cheonye. And this year, you’re the same age Cheonye was when he died. His spirit remained that age.”
“It’s terrifying. At first, I blacked out. But then today… I was fully aware. I could remember everything he said, everything he did.”
Grandpa stayed calm, his eyes reflecting the dull, gray sky. “Did you do anything out of the ordinary while he possessed you?”
“I always went to the shrine you told me about,” I said. “He met a guy named Jiwoong. The one who stays at the pavilion.”
Grandpa’s brow furrowed slightly, “Did he do anything dangerous?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then figure it out yourself, Ricky,” Grandpa said, his voice gentle but firm. “Take it slow. Don’t rush. You’ll find the answer.”
Before I could say anything, he stood up, “It’s getting dark. Let’s go inside,” he said, heading back into the house without another word.
༄.°
Ricky returned to the shrine, carrying a portable heater and a thick coat.
“Thank you, Ricky,” Jiwoong said, smiling as he turned on the heater.
“It was Cheonye who bought it,” Ricky corrected, lowering himself onto the wooden floor beside Jiwoong. “I don’t even know how he did it without me realizing.”
The pavilion felt warmer now, more comfortable. Ricky glanced around, noticing how peaceful the place looked despite the cold creeping in.
Jiwoong pulled the coat tighter around himself. “Cheonye must’ve been watching me closely. He knows exactly what I need.” A soft laugh escaped him.
“The colder season is coming,” Jiwoong said, his gaze drifting to the gray sky. “It was the golden, crimson season—people used to call it fall. When the leaves are drifting everywhere, covering the ground.”
“Fall?” Ricky echoed. “I remember that from a documentary I watched once. And my grandfather used to tell me about it. It was one of the four seasons that used to exist.”
“You can’t see it?” Jiwoong asked, pointing to Ricky’s eyes. “Not even with those advanced lenses?”
Ricky frowned. “What are you talking about? These contacts only clear the haze. They make everything sharper, more vivid, but it’s still the same world. Nothing like what I saw in those old films.”
Jiwoong’s eyes flickered. “But I saw it. The seasons—spring, summer, fall, and winter. I thought it was just here in the shrine, hidden by the haze.”
“You’re serious?”
Jiwoong nodded, his gaze falling to the wooden floor. “But… maybe it was just an illusion.”
Ricky’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. I think I saw it too.”
Jiwoong’s head snapped up. “You did?”
“When Cheonye took over my body,” Ricky said slowly, the memory surfacing. “I saw that. It was faint, I thought I was just seeing things.”
Jiwoong’s dark eyes widened. “Do you think Cheonye gave us that sight?”
Ricky swallowed. “Since we’ve both already experienced weird things… so it could happen.”
It had been a week since Ricky started visiting the shrine regularly. He parked his car behind the shrine, hidden from the villagers’ eyes. Whenever someone came, Jiwoong’s sharp ears would catch the sound first, and he would tell Ricky to hide behind the pavilion. Luckily, not many people visited. Jiwoong was supposed to be alone, devoting himself to God Cheonye, but neither of them cared. Jiwoong could meet Cheonye through Ricky, after all.
They talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes they just lay there in silence, staring up at the pavilion’s wooden ceiling. Sometimes Ricky dozed off, feeling more at ease here than he ever did at home.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than hang out in this boring place?” Jiwoong asked one afternoon. They were both lying side by side, their heads resting on their folded arms.
“Should I scold Cheonye to stop dragging you here?” Jiwoong added, pouting slightly. It was the kind of expression that made Ricky smile. Jiwoong might have forgotten how Ricky’s lenses made it easy to see every detail clearly.
“That actually sounds like a good idea,” Ricky chuckled. “But honestly, I like it here. It’s quiet. Nothing like the city.”
Jiwoong turned his head to look at Ricky, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You lived overseas, right? Wasn’t it cooler than our capital city?”
“Yes,” Ricky said, his voice dropping a little. “And more disgusting—well, not really... It wasn’t much different. The haze was just as thick. But the city was brighter because of all the artificial lights and holograms.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Jiwoong said wistfully. “I’ve never been anywhere else. Seventeen years in the same shrine and same house, day and night.”
Ricky frowned slightly. “I always wondered about your house.”
“My house is pretty normal.”
Ricky grinned. “Then can I come over tonight?”
Jiwoong’s eyes lit up. “You want to?”
“If you’re okay with it.”
“Of course!” Jiwoong flushed realizing how excited he was, so he looked away.
As the sun set, Jiwoong was waiting at the front gate while Ricky brought his car from the back yard. The door slid open, and Jiwoong hesitated, staring at the car.
“Why are you just standing there?” Ricky asked, his hand on the steering wheel.
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Totally fine.”
Jiwoong finally came inside. The car’s interior was warm, the heater made the air warm. Jiwoong leaned back against the seat, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. The warmth wrapped around him like a thick and soft blanket. His stiff shoulders began to relax.
“Where to?” Ricky asked, glancing at Jiwoong.
“It’s a twenty-minute walk from here. Just follow the main road, then take the second right.”
“Got it.”
Ricky drove slower than usual, the car rolling smoothly over the uneven road. The headlights cut through the thickening haze, illuminating the path ahead. Jiwoong watched the scenery pass by.
He was so used to walking this road alone, pushing a cart, straining to see through the dim light and the heavy air. But now, he was sitting comfortably in a car with no more aching legs from the long walk, no more gasping for breath as he dragged his feet home, and for once he wasn’t alone.
After a few minutes, the car turned onto a narrower road, the tires crunching over loose gravel.
“Just a bit further,” Jiwoong told Ricky.
And then, they finally arrived.
Jiwoong’s house structure was similar to most houses in the rural area. It was made from reinforced concrete and metal panels designed to withstand the constant haze, the roof was slanted with a solar membrane, a modern adaptation to capture what little sunlight pierced through the haze. Small vents lined the roof, filtering out the haze and bringing in cleaner air. A narrow walkway led to the entrance, its edges embedded with soft LED strips to guide the way.
Ricky sat down on the small sofa in the simple and cozy living room.
“Want some tea?” Jiwoong asked as he moved toward the kitchen.
Ricky glanced up. “Do you have something sweet?”
Jiwoong paused, thinking. “Ah, tea with sugar?”
“No, I meant something like chocolate or strawberry milk.” Seeing Jiwoong’s uncertain expression, Ricky quickly added, “But if not, just make the tea extra sweet.”
Jiwoong’s face brightened. “Okay!”
A few minutes later, Jiwoong returned with a cup of tea and placed it on the table in front of Ricky.
“What about you?” Ricky asked, noticing Jiwoong hadn’t brought a second cup.
“I’ll take a shower first. You can turn on the TV while you wait,” Jiwoong replied before heading to the bathroom.
Jiwoong stepped out of the bathroom, the scent of fresh, soft, and clean soap lingered in the air.
Ricky looked up from the TV just as Jiwoong walked into the living room. He was wearing a sky-blue sweater, the color so light it almost looked like the sky Ricky had never seen it. The sweater was a bit too big, the sleeves covering half of Jiwoong’s hands, and the neckline dipping slightly, revealing a hint of his collarbone.
It was the first time Ricky had seen Jiwoong in anything other than the white robes he wore in the shrine.
Jiwoong rubbed a towel over his damp hair, his hair was messy but it looked good on him. He caught Ricky staring and tilted his head.
“What?”
Ricky quickly looked away and sipped his tea. “Nothing, it just looks good on you,”
Jiwoong paused, then smiled—a small, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thanks.”
He moved to sit down beside Ricky.
But then, without warning, Ricky’s gaze shifted. His eyes darkened, he came closer to Jiwoong, his hands reaching out, and before Jiwoong could react, Ricky cupped Jiwoong’s cheeks gently, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin.
Ricky’s lips curled into a tender smile. He leaned in, he inhaled deeply, the tip of his nose grazing Jiwoong’s neck. Jiwoong shivered, feeling Ricky’s warm breath against his skin.
It was too close.
Jiwoong’s heart was pounding against his chest. “Ricky… no, Cheonye?”
Ricky pulled back just to see Jiwoong’s eyes, and Ricky smiled with a dreamlike expression, it was gentle and affectionate.
“Yes,” It was Ricky’s voice, but the tenderness—was Cheonye’s.
Jiwoong’s lips parted, Cheonye’s presence was overwhelming. Jiwoong’s eyes flickered down to Ricky’s hands, still holding his face, and then back to those deep eyes beyond the lens that weren’t quite Ricky’s anymore.
Rikcy’s thumbs caressed Jiwoong’s cheeks, “You’re so warm,”
“This is how it feels to be alive as a human,” Ricky whispered.
Ricky’s eyes glistened, his tears were spilling over. They traced down his cheeks, wet and warm. Ricky’s smile widened and showed a little sadness. “Your scent... it’s the best thing I’ve ever known since the thousand years I spent at that shrine,” he said, his thumb now stroking the curve of Jiwoong’s bottom lip. “I didn’t know it could be this nice.”
Ricky’s gaze dropped to Jiwoong’s lips, his eyes dark and tender. “The nicer a human’s scent, the kinder they are,” Ricky couldn’t stop staring at Jiwoong’s lips. “Look at these red lips... Always praying for me, always cursing at me too,” he chuckled softly, “It’s so pretty.”
Ricky blinked twice.
They were too close. Ricky’s thumb was still on Jiwoong’s lips.
Heat surged through Ricky’s cheeks and Jiwoong’s eyes sparkled with relief and something else. “Ricky! You’re back!”
Ricky didn’t move, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His cheeks were so red. “I... I-I’m sorry.”
Jiwoong just smiled, “It’s okay.”
Ricky’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face. “What else did I—no, I mean, what else did Cheonye do to you?”
Jiwoong’s expression remained flat, almost too calm. “He kissed me.”
“What?!” Ricky’s voice cracked.
Jiwoong blinked at him, then tilted his head. “Wait... I thought you said you were aware when Cheonye possessed you. You mentioned seeing the fall season.”
Ricky opened his mouth to respond, but then realized his position—he was still practically straddling Jiwoong’s lap, knees pressed against Jiwoong’s thighs. His face flamed red as he scrambled back, nearly falling off the sofa in his haste.
Jiwoong reached out, steadying him with a firm hand. “Hey, be careful!”
Ricky’s pulse was still racing. “I... That was the only time I was aware. I swear, Jiwoong, I didn’t know what happened after that, the next day until today I really lost consciousness when Cheonye inside me.”
Jiwoong looked at Ricky for a long moment, then he nodded, “I believe you.”
Ricky’s shoulders sagged with relief, but the tension in his chest remained. His hands fidgeted on his lap. “So... he kissed you?”
“No, I was kidding. He just touched my cheeks.. then my lips.. with his hands!”
Ricky’s mouth fell open. “What?! That’s not any better!”
Jiwoong’s lips twitched, his eyes still avoiding Ricky’s gaze. “Well, you seemed so freaked out. I thought I’d lighten the mood.”
Jiwoong chuckled softly, “Sorry. But... yeah. He just touched my face. And...” Jiwoong’s fingers brushed over his own lips, as if replaying the sensation. “He said something weird.”
Ricky’s throat tightened. “What did he say?”
Jiwoong hesitated, “He said my scent was the best he’s smelled in a thousand years.”
“And,” Jiwoong continued, “He said... that my lips were pretty.”
Ricky’s gaze fell to Jiwoong’s mouth without meaning to, but then he quickly looked away.
Jiwoong leaned back against the sofa, crossing his arms. “So, you really had no idea when I asked you how Cheonye could enter your body?”
Ricky shook his head. “No. The only time I was aware was during that rainy day. Otherwise, it’s all a blank.”
“You seemed confused every time Cheonye entered and left your body. I asked him how it worked, what triggered it, and how long he could stay.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he can only possess you when you’re close to the shrine,” Jiwoong said, “He can’t stay for long, but it seems to last a bit longer each time. The first time we met, it was just a few minutes. Now, it’s around ten minutes at most.”
Ricky looked down at his hands, “I see.”
“Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Actually,” Ricky began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I used to record our conversations. I’d listen to them before going to bed. But after two or three days, I stopped. Nothing seemed dangerous, so I figured it was fine.”
Jiwoong’s lips curved into a faint smile. “So, you trust Cheonye now?”
Ricky chuckled. “Yeah, that old spirit is just lonely. I guess I didn’t mind letting him be chatty with you. It’s not like he’s doing anything harmful.”
“But…” Ricky’s brow furrowed. “This house is pretty far from the shrine. How did he manage to possess me here?”
Jiwoong’s expression grew thoughtful. “Good question. I’ll ask him next time.”
Ricky stood up, grabbing his coat. “Alright, thanks for the tea. Can I come over again?”
Jiwoong’s eyes flickered with excitement. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Ricky walked to the door, and Jiwoong watched as he slipped into his car. The engine roared, and the car disappeared down the narrow road, taillights diasappearing nto the haze.
Jiwoong turned back to his house, but as he stepped inside, a sharp sting spread across his skin. The burning sensation crept up his arms and neck.
“Damn,” he cursed, closing the door behind him. He pressed his back against the wall, breathing deeply. It was still bearable, but he knew it wouldn’t last long.
He just needed to wait it out.
༄.°
CHEONYE
A very long time ago, Jinam came every day.
Every morning, he would step into my grave. The sky was endlessly blue and pretty, the air clear, and sunlight poured on Earth like a blessing.
He never missed a day. Even when the seasons changed, the blossoms of spring, the scorching summer heat, the golden leaves of fall, and the cold of winter—he remained.
Each day, he sat in the same spot, “It’s getting colder, Cheonye, do you still hate winter? I wish you were warm above the sky.”
And then he kept going, his eyes drifting to the open sky. The stories were coming, looping like a lullaby. Every memory we shared, every small detail, he remembered it well.
But no matter how much time passed, his stories remained the same. He kept me alive with his words, with our memories. With every retelling, he breathed life back into those moments, painting them so vividly and I started to remember.
The moments I thought I had forgotten. The way his hand felt when he pulled me out of the river when I nearly drowned once in the summer. The sound of his laughter when we lay in the grass, counting stars in spring. The way he looked at me the night before I died, his eyes filled with something that lingered between us.
Seasons passed, one after another, repeatedly.
He stayed, even as his hair turned silver and his back hunched, he stayed.
His voice grew weaker, his hands trembled when he placed the flowers on my grave. His breaths came slower, and yet he still spoke to me. “It’s fall again, Cheonye, your favorite season.”
Some days, he fell asleep while talking. His head would droop forward, his mouth open slightly, and I would watch him, waiting for his eyes to open again.
And then came the day when he couldn’t sit up anymore. He lay on a woven mat, “Cheonye…” he said with a weak voice, “Are you still here?”
I was. I was right there, beside him. I never left. I wanted to tell him that.
His hand twitched against the mat as if reaching for mine. I reached back, my hand hovering over his, but I couldn’t touch him. No matter how much I willed it, no matter how much I screamed inside, I couldn’t hold him.
“Cheonye,” he whispered again, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. “I never forgot you.”
And then his hand stilled, then his eyes closed, and never opened again.
I didn’t know how I had ended up on this earth for so long.
People said the dead would turn into stars, like Jinam did. They said our souls would ascend, glowing brightly in the night sky. But even after a thousand years passed, even after the world lost its color and the sky dimmed, I was still here.
Even though I could not reach the stars, my body was light and no longer ached like it did when I was alive, at least I was grateful for that.
People began to pray, thinking I was a god. They sent offerings, built shrines for me. The tradition carried on. Men came and went, keeping me company, but none like Jinam. Then came that massive eruption and for decades, no one came. The village suffered more than ever, and they believed it was because the old tradition had been broken. So, they restarted it.
I was neither happy nor sad. Through the villagers’ quiet conversations, I learned of the changing world, the fading of light, the rise of haze. I thought I had stayed long enough, and existed far beyond my time, so my days became empty.
They merely prayed, trembling in fear of me, they worshipped me only to avoid disaster. They begged for protection, let their offerings rot, and ate only what the village allowed them. They accepted everything without question, as if their souls had been sold to me.
I hated that.
I hated that they gave up their lives just to kneel and worship me. It hurt, watching them grow up in this shrine, spending their entire lives here until they died. I hated how the villagers always forced someone to stay by my side, turning them into a sacrifice for their own prosperity. That was enough. I didn’t want anyone to suffer here anymore.
Until Jiwoong was chosen as the divine servant to accompany me, I felt something shifted in my heart—he was different.
Jiwoong was the boy who looked exactly like Jinam. They had the same face and body. When he first knelt at the altar, I felt it again, the thrill in my heart. It was the same as when Jinam did a thousand years ago. I thought the heavens had returned him to me. But Jiwoong didn’t even remember Jinam's life at all.
He scowled at the incense smoke. He ate offerings when he was hungry. He grumbled about the villagers. He didn’t carry even the faintest memory of Jinam. His soul was nothing like Jinam’s—and yet, I began to care for him anyway, more than I had ever cared for anyone after Jinam died. It changed into affection, curiosity, and protectiveness. Jiwoong was the only one who ever talked to me, even when he didn’t believe I was listening.
He was a boy with sharp eyes and stubborn heart, he talked to himself a lot. About the books he read, the films he watched, the things he couldn’t experience but imagined through stories. He was smart, too smart to be trapped in this shrine. He would sit in the pavilion, rambling on science and theories. I could feel his frustration, the bitterness of being stuck here.
I knew how much he hated me. He was honest when he was alone, he questioned everything. He argued with me, even though he couldn’t see me.
Sometimes Jiwoong talked to me. Unlike the others, he didn’t just recite empty prayers or ask for blessings. He told me about the world outside—the world that had changed a lot.
He spoke of the cities that had risen from the ash disaster, the aircrafts that soared high to the sky and released neutralizing agents into the sky to thin the haze, to make it safer for humans. He told me how they built massive purification towers, filtering the air, pumping out breathable oxygen, and some place on Earth that never slept, where holograms painted the streets in colors that the world had lost.
Jiwoong brought the world to me with every word, every detail. And every time he spoke, I admired him. How much had he learned? How much had he figured out on his own, without a teacher to guide him, without anyone to ask?
He described how scientists worked day and night, trying to find ways to cleanse the atmosphere, how the rich wore advanced contact lenses to pierce through the haze and skin patches to keep the ash from seeping into their blood. He spoke of vaccines and medicines, listing them like a doctor, naming their effects and side effects as if he had memorized every detail.
And yet, despite knowing so much, he barely touched those medicines himself. I could see the dryness of his skin, the way he sometimes winced when he thought no one was looking. He was struggling with the ash syndrome, suffering quietly.
When Jiwoong prayed, it was different. He prayed with such intensity, his voice soft and solemn like reciting a poem, his eyes would close gently, his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, the way he bowed his head, the way he moved his lips, it was so beautiful.
There was a time when Jiwoong cried for days and nights, when his father died. He was only fourteen then, old enough to understand loss, yet still so young to carry such a heavy heart. Two weeks later, the sorrow returned. His mother had passed away too, but again he couldn’t come to the funeral.
In his pain, he cursed at me with sharp, angry words born from frustration and helplessness. I remained by his side, aching to comfort him, to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. I wanted to tell him it was alright to run away, to leave this place and see the world he longed for.
In the middle of a peaceful day, after Jiwoong had quietly accepted everything and let go of his dreams, I felt it—a pull like a magnet, drawing me to the passenger seat of a moving car. Beside me sat a man with the Shim bloodline.
I had been exiled very long ago from the town I once called home, cast away to this isolated village. The Shim family was noble, powerful, their influence reaching far beyond these mountains. But it had been years since I last sensed one of them here. Maybe the last time was his grandfather.
He was somehow like me, but his hair was white.
Drawn by curiosity, I drifted close as he drove, his presence stirring a flicker of life within me. I reached out with my unseen hand and touched his shoulder. My essence slipped through the barrier between worlds, flowing into his form like water finding a vessel.
With this borrowed body, I guided him to stop at the shrine. Inside him, I ran toward Jiwoong, feeling the rush of real breath in my lungs, the steady beat of a living heart beneath my chest, the very sensations I had long forgotten.
I reached up, my borrowed hand trembling slightly, and gently pulled away the half-face veil that masked Jiwoong’s face. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, he saw me. For the first time, he heard me.
Our voices echoed in the quiet shrine, the sound of my own voice startling me, the warmth of his breath so close, so real. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stay like this for a little longer.
One night, I lay in silence, sifting through the fragments of memory that weren’t mine. The moments I spent inside a human body echoed in my mind like a distant dream. His life hadn’t been easy, I knew that now. After I left his body, his memories and emotions clung to me.
I remembered the name people called him Ricky. Even days after, his memories kept replaying in my mind, like a film stuck in a loop. Each time I slipped into his body, more of his life unfolded before me, those scenes were drenched in sadness, moments heavy with loss. And no matter how much I tried to shake them off, they kept coming back, one after another.
༄.°
Ricky stepped inside Jiwoong’s house with his arms full of bags that rustled with snacks and sweet drinks. He dumped the bags on the table in the living room. The room felt warmer than last time.
Jiwoong watched as Ricky began pulling out the snacks, lining them up neatly on the table. It was way too much. But Jiwoong couldn’t say anything.
“So… you’re really planning to stay?” Jiwoong asked, eyes fixed on the snacks.
“Yeah,” Ricky said, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the room. “I mean, if that’s okay. The shrine’s been packed lately, and… I just wanted to hang out with you.”
“That’s fine—”
Ricky’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled, that warm, boyish smile that made Jiwoong tickled.
They sat side by side on the floor with a warm mat, the room was dim except for the bluish glow of the screen, the documentary droning on in a monotone voice about the ash disaster and the scientists who saved humanity from suffocating.
“This is so boring,” Ricky groaned, tossing a chip into his mouth and leaning back against the sofa.
Jiwoong shot him a deadly glare. “Hey, without them, we wouldn’t be breathing without a mask.”
Ricky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But it’s just a bunch of old men talking about dust and air filters, they are more advanced technologies that have been developed, right?”
Jiwoong’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This documentary was released a long time ago. And it’s my favorite!”
“Oh?” Ricky sat up, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t there a newer one?”
Jiwoong’s mouth twisted slightly,“The recent one is still paid. I have to wait until the free access is available.”
Ricky’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You have to wait for that?
Jiwoong nodded with a pout on his lips.
Ricky clicked his tongue, reaching for the tablet he had brought along. “Well….” Without hesitation he tapped the screen. “Should I just buy it?”
Jiwoong’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!” Jiwoong didn’t need to wait, not even a second to give the answer.
Ricky chuckled, shaking his head as he completed the purchase. A few seconds later, he set the tablet on the table, and with a swipe, the screen projected the film in midair, a holographic display that hovered right before them.
The vibrant colors filled the room, the narration clearer and more engaging than the previous one. Jiwoong’s jaw dropped, his eyes locked on the holographic screen, completely mesmerized.
Ricky turned to Jiwoong, grinning, but when he saw Jiwoong’s expression—eyes wide, mouth slightly open, face bathed in the soft glow of the projection, Ricky couldn’t help but laugh.
But Jiwoong didn’t hear him. He was too absorbed, his eyes shining like he was watching a glimpse of a world he never thought he would see.
“Ricky, play it again! Play it again!” Jiwoong demanded, his eyes shining like a child’s.
“You just watched it,” Ricky said, leaning back against the sofa.
“Please,” Jiwoong tugged at Ricky’s sleeve, the combination of his big round eyes and pouting lips were so cute.
Ricky sighed. “Fine. But after this, I get to choose.”
Ricky watched him for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Jiwoong was completely absorbed in the film again, his eyes wide and fixed on the holographic screen, his mouth slightly open in awe. The soft glow of the projection highlighting his delicate profile—the gentle curve of his nose, the slight furrow of his brows, the way his lips parted unconsciously.
At that moment, Jiwoong looked younger than his age, he was innocent, pure, and cute as if all the burdens of the shrine and the weight of his fate had momentarily slipped away. And Ricky couldn’t help but watch Jiwoong till the film ended, he felt an unfamiliar yet comforting warmth in his chest.
When the film ended, Ricky stretched, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, my turn. Let’s watch something cooler.
“What do you want to watch?” Jiwoong asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“You’ll see,” Ricky said, grinning as he queued up an action movie—humans versus aliens, explosions, epic chases, the works. Ricky leaned forward, absorbed in the flashing lights and roaring sound effects.
But something felt off. Ricky glanced over and found Jiwoong fast asleep, his body slouched awkwardly against the armrest, he looked so small like that, so fragile.
Ricky shifted closer and gently eased Jiwoong’s head onto his shoulder, but then his eyelids fluttered open. “Huh?”
“What time is it?” Jiwoong’s gaze shot to the digital clock on the wall, its soft blue numbers blinking back at him.
“I have to send a night prayer,” Jiwoong said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Go ahead,” Ricky said, watching as Jiwoong shuffled to the small altar room.
Inside, the room was dimmer and simple. A small altar stood against the wall, adorned with a few ceremonial items—incense sticks, candles, and a single white flower resting in a glass vase half-filled with water.
Jiwoong knelt before the altar, lit the candles, closed his eyes, and began to pray.
When he was done, Jiwoong opened his eyes, only to find Ricky sitting cross-legged in front of him, watching.
“What are you doing?” Jiwoong frowned.
Ricky blew out the candle. “You prayed for me, didn’t you?”
Jiwoong opened his mouth to respond, but Ricky smiled first. “Well, it’s over, right? I accept your prayers.”
Before Jiwoong could say a word, Ricky stood up and strolled back to the living room.
The room fell into silence. The way ‘Cheonye’ sat was noticeably different from Ricky. His back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees, he didn’t touch the snacks, he didn’t lean back, he sat like he was still in a shrine, every movement measured and calm.
“I guess you like Ricky more than me,” Cheonye’s tone was a bit fierce.
Jiwoong blinked, “You and Ricky are the same.”
“But we’re not,” Cheonye said, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that looked almost unnatural for Ricky’s body.
Jiwoong tilted his head. “I like Cheonye, who tells me stories of the past. And I like Ricky, who lives in the present.”
Ricky huffed and looked away. “You should choose one.”
Jiwoong sighed, “Cheonye, you’re borrowing Ricky’s body. Shouldn’t you be nice to him? Asking me a question like that... It’s a bit too much.”
Ricky opened his mouth but no words came out. Jiwoong’s words struck him, and for a moment, he just sat there, stunned and speechless.
Finally, he forced a laugh, his expression stiff. “I was just joking. Jiwoong, next time, try asking Ricky about his past—racing—”
Before he could finish, he blinked twice.
“Racing?” Jiwoong muttered.
Ricky’s gaze darkened, “Racing?”
“Y—you—your car... It seems like a car with extraordinary speed, like one for racing.”
Ricky’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath, the corners of his mouth curving up into a small, relieved smile. “Yeah, I was a racer,”
Jiwoong snorted, crossing his arms. “Are you kidding me? Racing? Almost every sport vanished a long time ago, especially sports like that.”
“Well,” Ricky leaned closer, a smug grin spreading across his face, “It was limited to only a few people.”
Jiwoong’s gaze remained skeptical. “Do you have any footage of it?”
“Yes, I have!” Ricky’s expression lit up with excitement. “I’ll show you the coolest one later.” There was a spark in his eyes, that infectious confidence that Jiwoong found himself drawn to.
“So, you’ll be coming here again?” Jiwoong asked with hopes.
“Yes!”
And that single word echoed in Jiwoong’s mind, warming his chest like the glow of a candle in the altar room.
༄.°
by. blue