Steam.
Thick, rolling waves of it swallowed the entire field, swirling like ghosts over a battlefield of corpses. Rifthounds with split maws and burned fur. Vulpus, twitching with final jolts of cursed energy. Overseers still crackling with failed incantations, robes soaked in black blood. Even the Mages—elusive and arrogant—lay still with wide, scorched eyes. A massacre, not a battle.
Jaemin stood at the centre of it all.
His T-shirt was torn at the shoulder. His left dagger hung limp at his side, still dripping with the thick, dark ichor of the Abyss. His breath was steady. Too steady.
He slowly twirled his remaining dagger in his fingers, eyeing the blood on its edge before lowering it again. Around him, not a single enemy remained.
"It seems… this is a special Rift."
He murmured aloud, his voice echoing strangely in the steam.
"The bosses came in hordes. Even the mages. As if it was designed to push me."
He glanced at the Rift's interface again—Tier 5. A low-class domain. The kind meant for trainees and fledglings.
He scoffed softly.
"Funny. I barely broke a sweat."
A flicker of his reflection twisted in the blade—brief, warped, unfamiliar.
He could leave anytime. That was the strange part.
This wasn't a trap. This Rift—summoned by him alone—was stable. The exit was open, lingering like a fading scar in the far distance behind him. But he hadn't moved toward it. Not yet.
Something kept him there.
His gaze rose, drawn upward by a pull he couldn't explain.
Not toward the dead. Not toward the exit. But higher. Into the Rift's sky.
Normally, that was a waste of time.
The sky in every Rift was always the same—black, dead, unmoving. A hollow ceiling for the abyss. Even Tier 1 domains had that same oppressive void.
Not this one.
Far—far—above the fog-choked air and shattered spires, the sky churned.
A storm.
But not any storm Jaemin had ever seen—not a typhoon, not a cyclone, not a hurricane. Those were the weather. This was… something else.
Clouds spiraled at impossible speeds, clashing and folding over each other like a living current—rage without sound. Energy without lightning. A maelstrom of pressure and speed.
Even from this distance, Jaemin felt it. In his chest. In his bones. A pressure that made the Rift feel deeper than it was.
He narrowed his eyes.
"That's new."
It hovered so high that most would never notice it. But his senses—sharpened since the Rift—picked it out immediately. An anomaly that didn't belong. Not even here.
"Glad it's far."
He muttered, resting the dagger against his shoulder.
"Just being close to it would be enough to shred me."
He wasn't exaggerating.
In this place where the only thing that should rise was steam from the slaughtered Abyssals, the presence of a storm this violent, this massive… wasn't just unnatural. It was a warning.
And it wasn't warning just anyone.
It was warning him.
He stood in silence.
Steam drifted like ghosts across the blood-wet floor, curling around Jaemin's legs, whispering tales of the dead.
But something stirred inside him.
An itch.
No… a need.
He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck once.
"Ugh… need an Abyssal for an experiment."
Jaemin muttered, voice flat.
And as if the Rift itself had been waiting for his words—
Something moved.
From between the corpse-pile of two Vulpus and a melted Overseer, a shadow stirred. It didn't climb. It didn't rise. It slithered upward, like death remembering how to stand.
An Overseer, its head cracked and limbs crooked, peeled itself from the dead.
It had no eyes. But Jaemin could feel its gaze. A wrongness, crawling down his spine like spiders made of wire.
He raised a brow.
"...The f—okay, y'know what? Never mind."
He flicked his wrists.
The Binary Stars sang.
Two flashes—one dull violet, one a cold cyan—as the daggers shot out of their holsters and spun forward, not toward the Overseer's neck or heart…but around it.
They rotated fast—too fast. Their orbits locked in place around the Overseer like moons refusing to fall.
Jaemin narrowed his eyes.
It was something he'd only noticed in passing—how the daggers sometimes returned from different directions than they were thrown, as if they bent space around him. He thought it was coincidence. Reflex. Muscle memory.
But now, watching them spin tighter, faster, in a stable twin-helix orbit around a living creature—
He realized it was design.
"Since Binary Stars were literally twin stars orbiting each other… maybe it was never just a name."
The Overseer hissed, claws out.But it couldn't move.
The orbit locked it in place.
And then it began.
A wave.
Color bloomed between the spinning daggers in concentric pulses:Violet. Cyan.
Each time they crossed paths in midair, a ripple shimmered outward in that blended hue—a soft, violent glow like stormlight caught in crystal. The air between them began to warp, the way heat does on asphalt. Only stronger. Denser.
"That's not normal…"
Jaemin whispered.
His boots slid slightly on the Rift floor as the gravity around the daggers shifted—not downward, but inward.
A sharp pull.
The Overseer screeched and tried to lunge away—but it was too late. So were the other corpses.
Like water spiraling toward a drain, the dead began to rise.Rifthounds. Vulpus. Mages.
All broken. All lifeless.
And yet their bodies drifted, dragged, caught in the flux that radiated from the daggers.
Not spinning anymore.
Orbiting.
"A gravitic flux… you two are creating a gravity well."
Jaemin realized, eyes wide.
"No… a binary well. Like twin stars pulling in matter until they collapse."
And that's when it happened.
As the orbit tightened and the pressure grew—The wave reversed.
From an outward ripple to an inward implosion.
Everything at the center—Overseer and all—suddenly compressed, folded in on itself as if crushed by an invisible fist.
Light.Then silence.Then a pulse— like a small, focused supernova. The bodies vanished. Not exploded—erased. The Rift floor beneath them cracked in a clean circular line.
And hovering in the air were the two daggers.
Still glowing.
Still humming softly.
They floated there, vibrating slightly, before flying back to Jaemin's waiting hands.
He caught them in a cross, sheathed them without looking.
"Oh?"
He murmured.
"Didn't know you two were capable of that... I assumed you had potential, but not this."
This wasn't just some passive effect.
This was a skill.
A real one.
[Skill: Binary Orbital Overload]
{A forbidden gravitational anomaly born of twin dying stars. When activated, the paired daggers enter a synced orbital state, creating a growing flux field. All matter within range is drawn inward. If unbroken, the orbit will collapse, creating a localized gravitational implosion capable of erasing everything in its core. Pressure output—unknown. Scaling—undefined.}
Jaemin didn't smile.
He didn't need to.
The Rift had just given him something alive to experiment on… and the daggers had answered in full.
"So… that's your base form."
He muttered.
He looked up again at the distant storm, the unnatural cyclone still turning in the Rift sky far above him.
Something about this Rift felt like more than just a random training ground. It was responding to him. Reacting.
Like the daggers.
Like the Overseer.
The moment the implosion ended, silence returned. Not the kind that settles gently — but the kind that screams in absence.
Jaemin lowered his hands.
But something was wrong.
His eyes scanned the space where the daggers had hovered a moment ago.
Gone.
Nothing but a circular scorch mark on the Rift floor and a faint distortion in the air where gravity still hadn't forgiven what happened.
"...Huh?"
His hands flexed.
Nothing.
"Oi."
He said, glancing around.
"Where the hell did you go?"
A second passed. Then three.His breath grew slightly shallow — not from fear. From instinct.Those daggers weren't just tools. They were like an extension of his own limbs. Losing them felt… wrong.
He felt off-balance.Incomplete.
He clenched his fists.
"Dammit, don't tell me—"
A flicker.
A warmth.
Suddenly, both his palms began to glow.
Soft violet on the left. Bright cyan on the right.
"...Wait."
The warmth sharpened — not burning, but dense, like a star's heartbeat pulsing just beneath his skin.
Two shapes coalesced in the air, forming out of thin strands of orbiting color. The glow intensified — and then, with a gentle hum like silk drawn across metal, the two daggers materialized in his hands.
Like children finding their way back to their parent.
He blinked.
Held them.
They were warm.
Alive.
For a moment, Jaemin just stood there, silent. The daggers pulsed once — not with power, but with something else.
Recognition.
He laughed.
Not loud.
Not crazed.
But a soft chuckle slipped from his lips before he could stop it.
"Okay… that's new."
He muttered, eyes narrowing with a kind of giddy satisfaction.
"You guys… really don't wanna leave me, huh?"
He gave each dagger a small twirl, flicking them back into holster spins before letting them rest in his palms again.
"They responded… not just to my call, but to my need."
There was something intimate in that realization. These weren't just forged weapons.They weren't even artifacts.
They were chosen. Bound. Binary.
Always orbiting back to him.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But the thought — that he possessed something like this — sent a small thrill through his chest.
A weightless kind of joy, like watching sparks under moonlight.
"Don't make me soft."
He whispered to the daggers.
"But… keep returning to me. Every time."
The Rift groaned faintly, a rumble far above — the storm in the sky still turning, still watching.
And Jaemin, now fully armed again, gave it a look.
No fear.Just the subtle lift of his brow.
Jaemin stood there, still holding the weight of wonder in his hands — the daggers pulsing softly before fading back into light, disappearing into the ether like they were part of him now.
He flexed his fingers. His body buzzed. His mind spun with possibilities.
But then—A sudden heaviness hit his eyes.
Wait… why do I feel—?
"Shit."
His brows furrowed.
He looked up, toward the sky that churned with that storm — then down to the battlefield littered with dead Abyssals, their steam rising like incense.
"I forgot… time moves weird in these Rifts."
The high of discovery was chased away by something far less epic.
Exhaustion.
Not physical — not really. His body was more than fine. Energized even.
But his brain?
That deep, soul-level weariness only real sleep could fix?
It was kicking in.
"If I don't sleep, I can't function."
He muttered.
No Rift-induced adrenaline. No dagger magic. No experimental euphoria could save him from this truth.
He turned away from the battlefield and started walking toward the Rift's exit — the one he could open or close at will now.
His steps echoed in the silence, boots crunching against scorched stone and ash, his hoodie trailing slightly as the steam coiled around his ankles.
"… anyways. I miss my bed."
As he reached the edge, his outline began to fade — the Rift responding to his will, bending reality to send him back.
And in the silence that followed his departure, the steam rolled on. The dead Abyssals lay still. The storm raged silently far above, like a warning yet to come.
The Rift closed behind him without a sound.
No flash. No tremor.
Just silence.
And then —
He was home.
Back in his dark, cold room.
The kind of cold that wasn't just about temperature, but space. Stillness. That hollow stillness that only lives in the late hours of the night.
The tiny digital clock beside the bed blinked faintly.
2:45 AM.
He stood there for a moment, unmoving — letting his eyes adjust to the dim light from the window. The moonlight carved pale silver lines across the dusty floorboards, stretching just far enough to brush against the edge of his bed.
He exhaled.
Then slowly lifted his arms and gave them a lazy stretch. His spine cracked once again, and he rolled his shoulders until they relaxed.
His legs followed. A casual looseness, like he was winding down from a normal day.
He was.
But his body didn't care.
A breath of static crackled in his hoodie as he finally collapsed into the bed, the cheap mattress creaking under his weight.
Cold.
Hard.
He closed his eyes.
Let the stillness return.
His chest rose, then fell.
Again.
And again.
And just like that—
He drifted off to sleep.
****
The morning air was crisp, the kind that stung just a little when you inhaled. Mist clung to the grass in the city park like it wasn't ready to let go of the night, and the early sun cast a faint gold sheen over the damp running trail.
Jaemin stood with his arms crossed, watching his sister mimic a few exaggerated stretches. He raised a brow.
"Didn't know you exercised."
He rolled his shoulder slowly, keeping his tone flat as he leaned into his own stretch.
"I didn't."
"But the meal you fed me last night made me feel fat."
Nari shot back, half yawning as she reached toward her toes
Jaemin snorted softly.
"How about a 'thanks for feeding me brother'"
"No thanks... I'm good."
Nari straightened up with a smirk.
He just shook his head and started his warm-up jog.
They ran in silence after that. The sound of their sneakers hitting the path became the only conversation. The world around them stayed hushed, trees swaying gently under the morning wind, city buildings still sleepy in the distance.
There was a kind of peace in that — no whispers of Abyssals, no weighted stares from the Association or Covens. Just him, his breath, the road.
Jaemin's pace was smooth, controlled. By the time they reached the 10km mark, he barely looked winded. Nari, meanwhile, was bent over with her hands on her knees, gasping.
"When... When did you get so much stamina?"
She wheezed.
"How are you even this fit now? I thought you were dying just walking stairs last month."
Jaemin didn't respond immediately. He looked out at the fog clearing between the trees, watching the rays of morning sun push through.
"I'll jog a little more."
He finally muttered.
Nari straightened up with disbelief plastered across her face.
"You've gotta be kidding me!"She threw her hands in the air.
"I'm going home. And I'm eating those leftovers, by the way!"
Jaemin offered only a half-shrug as he jogged off again, his breath already steady.
Nari turned away, muttering to herself.
"Monster-ass brother… getting hot and mysterious all of a sudden like this is a webtoon…"
****
Jaemin returned home, sweat clinging to his shirt, his breath still a little heavy from the morning run. The apartment was quiet—comfortably so. Nari had already left for university by the time he'd gotten back. Her untouched coffee mug sat on the counter, a lazy post-it note stuck beside it:
"Don't forget to clean your mess. The floor has feelings too."
—Nari
He smirked at it.
"Drama queen."
He muttered, ruffling his hair as he made his way toward the bedroom.
The bed was still a wreck from last night—blankets tangled, a pillow hanging off the edge like it was trying to escape the nightmare of his late return. He took a moment to breathe before grabbing the sheets, folding them neatly, and starting to clean the room. A soft hum escaped him, a rare moment of peace in a life that felt like it was constantly sprinting uphill.
Once the bed was done, he picked up some laundry, sorted through papers, tossed out an empty instant noodle cup, and finally sat down, feeling somewhat accomplished.
That's when he saw it.
His phone.
It sat there, screen dark and cold, exactly where he'd tossed it last night without a second thought. He picked it up, thumb hovering for a moment before unlocking it.
Buzz.Buzz.BuzzBuzzBuzzBuzzBuzz—
57 missed calls.
From a number he didn't recognize.
"…Fifty. Seven?"
He blinked.
The number stared back at him, bold and unwavering.
+82 010-xxxx-xxxxCalled you 57 times.
There was a part of him that wanted to panic. Who the hell even had the stamina to call someone that much? Was someone dying? Was the Association trying to reach him? Was it—
"Oh. Right."
He muttered, deadpan.
Do Not Disturb had been on the entire night and morning, still enabled since before he entered his personal Rift. He hadn't even realized it. He could've slept through the apocalypse and still wouldn't have noticed.
He tossed the phone onto the bed with a soft thud, rubbing the back of his neck.
"…I can't even tell if I should be stressed or relieved."
Either way, someone clearly wanted his attention—and badly.
But before anything else, he needed a shower. He could handle 57 calls from a mystery number.
Just… not while he smelled like Riftblood and sweat.
****
Fresh out of the shower, Jaemin dropped onto the couch with a towel still draped over his head like a hood. The soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the room as he finally reached for his phone.
57 missed calls...All from the same random number.
He stared blankly at the screen. Seriously?With a sigh, he debated ignoring it altogether. But curiosity itched at him. Finally, he hit "Call."
Not even one full ring.
"HYUNGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Jaemin flinched, nearly dropping the phone.
"…Uhhh. Who is this?"
He asked, already regretting pressing dial.
"Oh? You didn't recognize me from my voice, hyung?"
"No."
He was already hovering over the End Call button.
"WAIT WAIT—it's me! Taeha! Yoon Tae! The guy whose life you saved??"
"…Oh?"
Jaemin blinked, voice flat.
"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."
"…The one you called a rando the other day…"
His voice now sounded wounded.
"Aaah. That rando. The one from the Rift."
Jaemin leaned back, the memory slotting into place.
"Where'd you even get my number?"
"I have my sources, hyung~"
Something about the way he said that made Jaemin's brow twitch. It sounded almost… ominous.
And calling him hyung on top of that didn't help.
"Right. So? Why'd you call?"
Jaemin asked, tone sharpening.
"Can we meet up? :D"
Jaemin didn't need to see his face—he could hear the hopeful grin through the speaker.
"…No. I'm busy."
He ended the call without another word.
The phone rang again almost immediately.
He stared at it, unblinking.
Jaemin didn't hate people. Not really. But making friends? Getting close? That was a liability he couldn't afford. Not in this world. Not with the things he'd seen. People were unpredictable, emotional, messy. They got hurt. And when they did, they pulled others down with them.
So Jaemin lived by a simple rule: keep your distance.
And lately, that rule was getting harder to follow.
Jaemin took it easy today.
For once, he allowed himself a proper rest. No tension in his shoulders, no pressing thoughts. He cooked himself a simple meal, flipped through a few news channels while eating—just to stay in the loop—and then quickly got bored.
Figures.
He stretched lightly, joints popping as he rolled his shoulders. That itch to move, to test himself, crept in again. His eyes flicked toward the dimly lit corner of the room, and with a simple thought—
Crack.
A faint, shimmering tear sliced through space itself, light bending inward like the ripple of glass underwater. The familiar glow of a Rift opening.
"Just a quick stretch."
Jaemin muttered to himself, stepping through.
This one…It felt different the moment his boots hit the terrain.
Tier 4.
Definitely stronger than the one from last night.
The air smelled cleaner here—sharper, colder. Almost alpine. Jagged stone ridges stretched like ribs across the earth, wind howling between them in wild intervals.
"…Different location this time."
Jaemin said under his breath.
"So it randomizes each time I summon it?"
He tilted his head back.The sky was the same.
That same storm surged overhead—quiet, high, almost dignified. It never moved. Never faded. It simply existed, watching. Crackling with distant lightning in the clouds like a breathing wound stitched across the heavens.
"What's the deal with that…"
He muttered, brow furrowed.
The terrain may shift. The tier may rise.But that storm—it followed.
He dropped his gaze back to the ground.
A horde of Striders, Rifthounds, and a few One-Eyes were prowling through the field. They hadn't noticed him yet.
He cracked his knuckles.
A twin gleam of light flashed in both hands as his daggers appeared, humming low—one violet, one cyan. They shimmered, hungering.
"Alright, let's get this over with."
He launched forward, aura flaring sharp and clean. The air pulsed as he vanished, reappearing in front of the nearest swarm—
SLASH!
One clean arc.Twenty Striders fell instantly, bodies collapsing like dominoes.
Jaemin moved like wind—no wasted motion, no hesitation.
SLASH!
SLASH!
SLASH!
With each flick of his blade, another pack dropped. His strength was growing fast—dangerously fast.
This wasn't the same body from last week.
The Rifthounds pounced from behind, jaws stretched wide—but he sidestepped without even turning, slicing through them in mid-step. Their bodies split open in silent bursts of ash and sparks.
Then the shadows moved.
From the blackened ravine behind a twisted boulder, an Overseer emerged.
Jaemin didn't slow.
He spun one dagger in hand, thanks to the skill: Piercing Radiance ofStar, the armour of the overseer was longer a problem. He then flicked his wrist.
The blade vanished, reappearing inside the Overseer's armored neck.
SHHHK—
The Overseer barely had time to register the blow before it dropped to its knees and collapsed, dissolving into mist. The dagger returned to Jaemin's hand like a loyal shadow.
He stood still for a second. Listening.
Nothing.
No more movement.
He wasn't even breathing hard.
"…Yeah, that'll do."
He dismissed the daggers, their forms vanishing in twin flashes of violet and cyan light. With a half-turn, he stepped toward the still-glimmering Rift gate.
"Better get out before Nari gets home. She'd ask too many questions otherwise."