The afterlife sprawled as a boundless gray sea—silent, vast, a stillness that muted all edges. Byung-Gyu’s soul hovered there, a fragile shimmer of the man he’d been: the S-Rank healer who’d stumbled through fear to face Jeju’s ants one last time. Jinwoo’s voice—“Arise”—had summoned him briefly as a shadow, only to fade at Yoonho’s quiet plea, releasing him into this haze. Now he drifted, unmoored, in a realm beyond blood or breath.

  The cleansing swept over him first, a river of light, cold and unrelenting. It peeled away the terror—Beru’s claws flashing, the ants’ relentless tide, Jeju’s crimson sand. Memories slipped free: Yoonho’s gruff toast over soju, Eunseok’s steady gaze amid chaos, the trembling glow of his own hands healing the fallen. Byung-Gyu let it go, too tired to hold on. Fear had defined him too long; the emptying was a relief.

  His soul softened, blank and light.

  Then the judgment came. A presence loomed—formless, impartial—its voice a low rumble like stone on stone. It weighed his karma: every Hunter he’d pulled back from death, every wound sealed, set against the years he’d hid, the moments he’d faltered. Visions flickered—golden light over broken bodies, then his retreat from the fray. The scales settled, tipping just enough. “You’ve earned a choice,” it said, calm and final. “Rest or reincarnation.”

  Byung-Gyu lingered, a soul too faint to fidget. Reincarnation beckoned—a new life, quiet, free of strife—but rest called deeper. No more trembling, no more guilt, just silence. “Rest,” he murmured, barely audible. “I want to rest.” The presence nodded, and a void opened—not a door, but a soft darkness, whispering peace and an end.

  He drifted toward it, the gray blurring at his edges, when a hand—rough, warm—caught his arm. Byung-Gyu turned, a ripple of confusion stirring his dulled soul, and there was Eunseok. The S-Rank fighter stood as he’d been—brown hair tied back, teal eyes sharp yet heavy, blue cloak frayed, claws glinting on his gauntlets. His face bore Jeju’s weight, solemn and resolute, his grip a tether in the mist.

  “Hold up, Byung-Gyu,” Eunseok said, his voice low and steady, like it’d been before a raid. “You don’t need to go just yet.”

  Byung-Gyu’s soul quivered, lost in the cleansing’s wake. “Who are you?” he asked, words slow, groping for meaning. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything. It’s all gone.” His voice wavered, a faint ache tugging at the emptiness, but nothing took shape.

  Eunseok held his gaze, patient, unyielding. “It's not gone. Just hidden.” he said, softer, almost to himself. “It’s me, Eunseok. We fought together in Jeju. We're friends. You, me, and Yoonho.”

  The names dropped like a stone into still water, ripples stirring Byung-Gyu’s haze. “Eunseok…” he echoed, testing it, a faint thread pulling somewhere deep. A flicker came—blue against black, a shout swallowed by screeches. He trembled, his soul unsteady. “It’s—it’s like I should know you. But it’s gray. Why does it feel so heavy?”

  Eunseok’s jaw tightened, a shadow of pain crossing his face before he steadied it. “Because we’ve carried a lot,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, like he was coaxing a friend back from the edge. “The third raid—me, you, Yoonho. You kept us going with those hands of yours. I didn’t make it out. You did, ‘til now.” He paused, letting it sink in. “Look at me, Byung-Gyu. Look close.”

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  Byung-Gyu’s soul wavered, caught in Eunseok’s teal stare—sharp, familiar, a beacon in the fog. The gray shivered, and a crack split through. A memory crept in—Eunseok’s claws carving through ants, his voice barking, “Get back, Byung-Gyu, I’ve got ‘em!”—then the swarm surging, Eunseok vanishing under black. Another followed—the bar, Yoonho’s voice rough, “Eunseok went down swinging, damn it.” More came, slow, then rushing—the fourth raid, Beru’s power, Jinwoo’s power, the release. Byung-Gyu’s soul flared, tears glinting in a form too faint to shed them. “Eunseok,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I remember. You died there. I couldn’t—I couldn’t heal you fast enough.”

  Eunseok’s hand slid to Byung-Gyu’s shoulder, a quiet strength in it. “You did what you could,” he said, his voice warm now, carrying years of weight. “I saw you go back, Byung-Gyu—for me, for Yoonho, for Jeju. You faced it, scared or not. That’s more than enough.”

  Byung-Gyu’s soul steadied, memories anchoring him, heavy but real. “I was always afraid,” he said, quieter, the words spilling soft. “Even at the end.”

  Eunseok’s mouth curved, a small, knowing smile. “Me too. Didn’t stop us, though, did it?” He let his hand fall, stepping back, and nodded toward the gray. “Jinwoo’s not done yet. He’s going to rewind it all—time itself. We’re part of it.”

  Byung-Gyu blinked—or felt the echo of it—Eunseok’s words settling in. “Rewind? How do you know that?” he asked, confusion threading his tone. “You’ve been gone—dead, a soul all this time. How do you know what Jinwoo’s doing?”

  Eunseok’s gaze drifted, like he was seeing something beyond the haze. “I didn’t, not at first,” he said, his voice dropping, thoughtful. “After the third raid, I was here—just drifting, waiting. Then something woke me up. A figure, bright like a sun, warm in a way I can’t explain. It had this… presence, like it could burn the gray away.” He paused, meeting Byung-Gyu’s eyes. "It came to me, said it came from the future. Woke my soul up, gave me a task.”

  “A task?” Byung-Gyu’s soul tilted, curious now.

  “Yeah,” Eunseok said, a faint edge of purpose in his tone. “To find you. To wake you up. Jinwoo’s out there, finishing up with Jeju, but there’s more coming—god-like beings from outside this world, wanting to wipe it out. That’s what the figure said, anyway. Jinwoo needs us ready, Byung-Gyu, for when he pulls time back.”

  Byung-Gyu’s soul pulsed, Eunseok’s words weaving through the memories still settling. “Back to before Jeju?”

  “Better than that,” Eunseok said, a spark lighting his eyes. “A chance where it doesn’t break us. Where we sit with Yoonho, have a drink, no graves to mourn over.” He turned, cloak swaying, and started walking into the mist. “Come on. We’ll wait together.”

  Byung-Gyu glanced at the void—rest, silence, the peace he’d craved. Then at Eunseok, his friend, the one whose face had brought it all back. “Then what?” he asked, drifting closer.

  “Then,” Eunseok said over his shoulder, his stride calm. “He’ll call us when it’s time and we prepare. We stand. We support.”

  Byung-Gyu followed, his soul lighter despite the weight, matching Eunseok’s quiet steps. They waited in the gray, time unmeasured, until a tug came—a pull, faint at first, then sharp. The haze shuddered, the world tilting backward. Everything reversed—Jeju’s ants retreating, raids unravelling, lives unspooling. Their souls flowed with it, drawn back to their past selves, to a Korea reshaped by Jinwoo’s hand.

  Most lived anew, oblivious—hunters no more, free of battles and sacrifice. But some, with souls too strong to forget, stirred. Eunseok felt it first—memories creeping back, claws in his hands, ants in his dreams. Byung-Gyu followed—golden light in his palms, Yoonho’s voice in his ears. Cha Hae-In too, her blade sharp in her mind, and others, faint echoes of power. They remembered, slowly, pieces of their old lives—enough to stand ready, supporters in Jinwoo’s quiet war against the outer gods lurking beyond.

  The gray faded, and they walked on, not as shadows, but as something more—threads of time, waiting to weave anew.

  When the time came, Jinwoo revealed himself to the world once again.

  "Arise!" This time, it wasn't to extract a shadow but to rally humanity. "Rise up and stand beside me."

  When his call came, a number of people were ready.

  In a run-down bar in Seoul, sat three friends sharing a drink.

  "Alright, folks. It's game time."