The rain in Seoul never seemed to fall gently. It poured, hard and fast, splashing against the pavement until the streets became rivers of neon and reflection. Han Jisoo tugged the hood of his jacket tighter, weaving through the crowd with his backpack bouncing against his shoulder. The air was thick with the smell of fried food from street stalls, mixed with the dampness of soaked asphalt.

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening. Cram school had ended, his math teacher had yelled about missing homework again, and his phone buzzed with messages from his best friend, Haneul, begging him to meet up at the PC café. Everything pointed to routine.

And yet, Jisoo’s feet carried him elsewhere.

He didn’t even notice until he had taken the wrong turn—an alleyway so narrow only one person could pass through at a time. The city’s noise dulled, replaced by the steady drip of water sliding down rusted pipes. The further he walked, the more the world seemed to blur, like stepping out of a photograph.

At the end of the alley sat a small, crooked bookstore. Its wooden sign swung weakly in the rain, letters almost erased by time. Noctis Books.

Jisoo tilted his head. He’d lived in this neighborhood his whole life, but he’d never seen this store. Seoul didn’t hide places like this; everything was mapped, crowded, tagged on social media.

Still, curiosity was his worst habit. He pushed open the door.

A small bell chimed overhead. Inside, the air was dry and heavy, carrying the musk of old pages. Shelves towered high, bending under the weight of books no one had touched in years. The dim lighting gave the place a dreamlike haze, and somewhere in the back, a radio whispered static instead of music.

“Hello?” Jisoo called, his voice too loud in the silence.

No answer.

His eyes drifted to a table in the center, where a single book lay open. Unlike the cracked spines and dust-covered titles surrounding it, this one looked untouched—its cover deep blue, a silver thread spiraling across it like a constellation. The title shimmered faintly when he leaned closer.

“The Boy Between Worlds.”

Jisoo’s lips parted. The coincidence was eerie. The title mirrored his own life—always feeling like he belonged nowhere, stuck between being too ordinary and wanting something extraordinary.

He glanced around. No shopkeeper. No cameras. Just him and the book.

His fingers brushed the page.

The words were handwritten, ink flowing like water, yet shifting slightly, as if alive. The story began with a boy stepping into a world not his own. A boy who found another waiting there.

Jisoo blinked. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t explain. The more he read, the stronger the pull grew—like the book wasn’t telling a story but whispering directly into his bones.

Then the letters started to move.

At first, he thought it was his tired eyes. But no—the words blurred, spiraled into circles, glowing faintly until the entire page shimmered like liquid silver.

“What the—”

Before he could pull away, light burst from the book. His hand sank into the page as if it were water. Panic shot through him. He tried to yank his arm back, but the book pulled harder. The shelves rattled, the bell above the door screamed, and the air thickened like a storm collapsing inward.

“Wait, wait—stop!”

The world flipped.

Jisoo’s vision swam with stars, his stomach twisting like he’d dropped ten floors in an elevator. His feet hit something solid, then soft, then nothing at all. When the spinning slowed, he was lying flat on his back, gasping for breath.

The rain was gone.

Above him stretched a sky unlike any he’d ever seen—deep violet, speckled with floating lanterns that drifted without strings. A pale moon, too close, hung low, glowing faintly blue. Trees rose around him, their leaves translucent, glowing as if lit from within. The air smelled of honey and smoke, crisp and unfamiliar.

He sat up slowly. His backpack was gone. The alley was gone. Seoul was gone.

“What the hell…” Jisoo whispered.

A rustle.

He froze.

From between the trees, someone stepped into the clearing. A boy, a little older than him—tall, slim, wearing clothes that looked stitched from shadows and starlight. His hair, dark with a faint silver sheen under the lanterns, framed a face both sharp and soft, like he’d been carved to be unforgettable.

But it was his eyes that pinned Jisoo in place—deep, calm, carrying an entire world of silence in them.

The boy tilted his head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Jisoo’s throat dried. “I—uh—I think I took a wrong turn.”

The boy’s lips curved into the smallest smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped closer, every movement fluid, deliberate. “Wrong turn? Into this place?” His voice was low, carrying an echo, as though the forest itself was listening.

Jisoo scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his jeans. “I was in a bookstore. A weird one. Then a book—” He broke off, realizing how insane it sounded.

The boy studied him, gaze flickering with something between suspicion and curiosity. “You crossed the boundary.”

“The… boundary?”

The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped even closer until they were only a meter apart. Up close, Jisoo noticed the faint shimmer in his skin, like starlight clung to him.

“You shouldn’t exist here,” the boy murmured, almost to himself.

Jisoo swallowed hard. His heart was beating too fast, but not just from fear. Something in the boy’s presence felt magnetic, like gravity itself was stronger near him.

“Then… where exactly is here?” Jisoo asked quietly.

The boy’s gaze softened just slightly. “Noctis. The world between.”

The words landed heavy, though Jisoo didn’t understand them. The world between what? Between who?

But before he could speak, a howl tore through the forest. Not an animal sound—something deeper, colder, like wind screaming through stone. The ground trembled under his feet.

The boy’s expression hardened. He grabbed Jisoo’s wrist. His hand was warm, steady. “We have to move. Now.”

“W-wait, who are you? What’s happening?”

“Questions later.” The boy’s grip tightened. “If you want to live, trust me.”

Jisoo hesitated for only a second before letting himself be pulled. The two of them ran through the glowing forest, lanterns bobbing above as if watching. Behind them, the howl grew louder, closer, chasing like a storm.

Jisoo’s lungs burned, but he couldn’t stop staring at the boy ahead of him. A stranger in a strange world, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

He didn’t know how, but deep inside, Jisoo felt it.

This meeting wasn’t an accident.

It was the beginning.

The forest swallowed them whole. Trees arched high like cathedral pillars, their glowing leaves shedding pale light across the ground. Roots tangled beneath Jisoo’s sneakers, nearly sending him sprawling more than once. But Taeyun’s grip was firm, pulling him forward with the kind of confidence that said he’s done this before.

Behind them, the howl rose again. This time it split into two, then three, overlapping like a chorus of broken voices.

“What is that?” Jisoo gasped, stumbling as branches whipped his face.

“Not now,” Taeyun said, voice clipped. “Don’t look back.”

That, of course, made Jisoo look back.

A ripple moved through the trees—shadows darker than dark itself, bending the light, swallowing the glow of the leaves. Shapes darted inside it, wrong shapes, too many legs and not enough form, like nightmares trying to crawl into flesh. His stomach turned cold.

“Holy—”

“Eyes forward!” Taeyun snapped, yanking him around just in time to avoid a low branch. “The more you see them, the stronger they get.”

That was all Jisoo needed to hear. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Taeyun drag him. His legs ached, his breath came sharp and raw, but the boy in front of him never slowed.

At last, the forest broke. They burst into a clearing where a river glowed faintly under the moonlight, silver water rushing fast. A bridge stretched across it, made of stone so ancient it looked ready to crumble.

Taeyun didn’t hesitate. He pulled Jisoo onto the bridge. The shadows slammed against the tree line, but they didn’t cross. They hissed, shrieking in a way that clawed at Jisoo’s ears, but stopped short of the river.

By the time they reached the other side, Jisoo collapsed onto the ground, clutching his chest. His entire body throbbed, his lungs burned like fire.

Taeyun stood beside him, barely winded.

Jisoo glared up at him between ragged breaths. “Are you—are you part machine or something? Because I almost died back there!”

“You’re still alive,” Taeyun said flatly.

“Barely.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The forest here was quieter, calmer, though Jisoo could still hear faint hissing across the river. He tried not to think about it.

Finally, he looked at Taeyun properly. Now that the immediate terror had passed, the boy seemed even more unreal. His clothes were dark but intricate, stitched with threads that shimmered when the moonlight touched them. His skin carried the same faint glow Jisoo had noticed earlier, and those eyes—deep, unreadable—felt like they saw more than just the outside of him.

“What are you?” Jisoo asked, softer this time.

Taeyun’s gaze didn’t waver. “I should ask the same of you. Outsiders don’t belong here.”

“Outsider?” Jisoo repeated. He pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his jeans. “Listen, I didn’t exactly plan this. One second I’m in Seoul, in a sketchy bookstore, and the next I’m falling through some kind of cosmic drain. So if anyone’s to blame, it’s that stupid book.”

At the mention, Taeyun’s expression flickered—just for a heartbeat, like he recognized something.

“You touched the Chronicle,” he said slowly.

“The… what now?”

“The book.” Taeyun’s tone sharpened. “That was no ordinary object. It’s not supposed to exist outside this realm, let alone drag someone in.”

“Well, it did!” Jisoo snapped, frustration bubbling over. “And now I’m here, running for my life from shadow-monsters. So maybe instead of glaring at me like I ruined your dinner, you could explain what’s going on?”

For the first time, Taeyun’s lips twitched—almost a smirk, but not quite. He crossed his arms. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re cryptic. Not a great combination.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, though Jisoo wasn’t sure why. Something about Taeyun made the hair on his arms stand on end—not from fear, but from… recognition. Like they’d met somewhere before, though he knew that was impossible.

Taeyun finally sighed. “This place is called Noctis. It exists between your world and others. Few ever see it. Fewer survive it.” He glanced toward the river. “Those things you saw—they’re called Wraiths. They hunt anything that doesn’t belong.”

Jisoo swallowed. “And I definitely don’t belong.”

“No.” Taeyun’s gaze met his. “You shouldn’t even be alive.”

Something in his tone sent a chill down Jisoo’s spine. Not a threat, but a fact.

Before he could respond, the faint glow of lanterns appeared in the distance. Small orbs floated through the trees, bobbing gently. Taeyun straightened immediately.

“We need to move. It isn’t safe to stay here.”

“Safe?” Jisoo let out a bitter laugh. “Pretty sure safety checked out the moment I got sucked through a magical book.”

But Taeyun was already walking, and after a moment of hesitation, Jisoo followed. The lanterns led them to a path paved with pale stones, twisting upward along a hill. The air grew warmer here, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and herbs.

At the top, Jisoo stopped short.

A village stretched before them—houses carved from glowing crystal, rooftops stitched with vines that shimmered under the moon. People moved quietly through the streets, their forms human but touched with the same ethereal glow as Taeyun. Some carried baskets of herbs, others guided animals with antlers that gleamed like silver. And all of them turned to stare when Jisoo appeared.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Words he couldn’t understand, though the tone was unmistakable: suspicion.

Jisoo shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… I think they don’t like me.”

“They don’t trust strangers,” Taeyun said.

“Great. Because I’m feeling so trustworthy right now.”

Taeyun ignored him and led the way deeper into the village. People parted reluctantly, watching every step Jisoo took. He tried to keep his head down, but the weight of their stares pressed on him like lead.

At last, they reached a larger building at the center. Its walls shimmered with inscriptions, glowing faintly as though written in light. Taeyun pushed the door open and gestured for Jisoo to enter.

Inside, the air was cool and still. Scrolls lined the walls, and in the center sat an elderly man with silver hair braided down his back. His eyes opened slowly as they stepped in, and when they landed on Jisoo, something unreadable flickered in them.

“So,” the man said, his voice low but resonant. “The Chronicle has chosen again.”

Jisoo froze. “Chosen… me?”

The man smiled faintly, though it carried no warmth. “You’re either this world’s salvation—or its destruction.”

The words crashed into Jisoo like ice water. He opened his mouth to argue, to laugh, to deny, but the weight of the man’s gaze silenced him. For the first time since stepping into this place, the reality of it sank in.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a hallucination.

He was caught between worlds.

And there was no way back.

The silence in the elder’s chamber pressed like a weight. Jisoo stood frozen, staring at the man who had just decided his fate in a single sentence.

Salvation or destruction.

“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Jisoo said finally, forcing a shaky laugh. “I’m just… me. Han Jisoo. High school student. Not a—whatever it is you think I am.”

The elder tilted his head, his silver hair gleaming faintly under the lantern light. “The Chronicle does not make mistakes.”

Jisoo threw his hands up. “Well, maybe it did this time!”

Beside him, Taeyun shifted but said nothing. His face was unreadable, but Jisoo felt those sharp eyes flicker toward him, as if weighing something.

The elder ignored his outburst. With surprising grace, he rose and walked to a scroll pinned against the wall. The parchment glowed softly, inscriptions etched in a language Jisoo couldn’t read. But then, right before his eyes, the letters twisted—shimmering into Hangul, his own language.

At the bottom of the scroll, written in bold strokes, was a name.

Han Jisoo.

Jisoo’s heart dropped into his stomach.

His name. Exactly as it should be.

The elder glanced at him, voice calm but firm. “The Chronicle marks those bound to the Balance. For every age, one name appears. This time, it is yours.”

Jisoo backed away, shaking his head. “No. No, no, no. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. I just—” His throat tightened. “I just wanted something different. Something more. Not… this.”

The room seemed to darken at his words.

Taeyun finally spoke. “He doesn’t understand the burden.”

The elder’s eyes softened. “He will. In time.”

Jisoo wanted to scream. None of this made sense. He was supposed to be stressing over exams, complaining about cafeteria food with Haneul, not being told he was some kind of chosen one in a glowing crystal village.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. What happens now? Am I stuck here forever? Because, newsflash, I’ve got a life back home.”

The elder studied him for a long moment before answering. “Every crossing comes with a price. If you wish to return, the Chronicle must be closed. But to close it…” His gaze flickered toward Taeyun. “…a choice will be demanded.”

Jisoo’s stomach sank. He hated the way that sounded. Like the universe had already written him into a test he hadn’t studied for.

Before he could press further, the door creaked open. A young woman entered, her long hair braided with silver threads. She bowed slightly to the elder, then glanced at Jisoo with open suspicion.

“Stray,” she muttered.

Jisoo frowned. “Excuse me?”

The elder raised a hand. “Yerim. Enough.”

Yerim’s gaze lingered, but she said no more. She set a tray of tea on the table and left, her steps light as air.

Jisoo turned back to the elder. “So what am I supposed to do? Just… sit around here while shadow-creatures try to eat me?”

“You will remain under watch,” the elder replied. His eyes slid to Taeyun. “You know the duty.”

Taeyun inclined his head once.

Jisoo blinked. “Wait—hold on. He’s supposed to babysit me?”

Taeyun didn’t react, but Jisoo swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “You’ll be safer near me than anywhere else.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Jisoo muttered, crossing his arms.

The elder settled back into his seat. “Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you will begin to understand what it means to walk between worlds.”

---

They left the chamber in silence. The village outside had quieted, the glow of crystal homes dimming as night deepened. Lanterns floated lazily above the streets, their light gentle but watchful.

Jisoo trailed behind Taeyun, glaring at the back of his head. “So, what? You’re my bodyguard now?”

“If you want to live,” Taeyun said simply.

“You really need to work on your pep talks.”

No response. Of course.

They stopped at a smaller house near the edge of the village. Taeyun pushed open the door and gestured inside. The room was simple—low bed, woven mats, shelves lined with glass jars filled with strange herbs. A faint warmth radiated from the walls, like the house itself breathed.

“This will do,” Taeyun said.

Jisoo stepped in cautiously. “Where’s your place?”

Taeyun didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the glowing forest beyond the window. Finally, he said, “Close enough.”

Jisoo raised a brow. “Do you always talk like a fortune cookie?”

That earned him a faint exhale. Not quite a laugh, but close.

For the first time, the silence between them wasn’t heavy. It was… something else. Something strange but not unwelcome.

Jisoo sat on the edge of the bed, his exhaustion finally crashing in. His body ached, his mind spun, but beneath it all was a spark he couldn’t ignore.

The Chronicle. His name written twice.

And this boy—Taeyun—whose presence felt less like chance and more like inevitability.

Jisoo lay back, staring at the glowing patterns etched into the ceiling. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. He didn’t know if he’d ever see Seoul again.

But deep down, something whispered:

You were meant to meet him here.