An Anomaly Crystal

Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) — March 19, 1996

The ground screamed.

At first, it was mistaken for an earthquake—localized and brief, like a breath caught in the lungs of the Earth. Military seismic sensors, buried under the soil of the DMZ, picked up the tremor. But the data was… off. The waveform wasn't consistent with tectonic movement. It pulsed. Rhythmic. Intentional.

The South Korean military dispatched a black ops recon unit by midnight. They expected sabotage, maybe underground drilling by the North. But what they found in the fractured basin beneath the hills of Goseong was something no human had ever documented.

A crystal.

Floating. Pulsating. Embedded within a sphere of untouched soil, surrounded by scorched roots and dead insects.

It was small—no larger than a human heart—yet impossible to move. Every tool snapped, every machine shorted. Yet somehow, it sang.

Not audibly. Not even through machines. But through thought. Those who stood near it for too long described dreams of a burning sky, of a weeping girl, and of a voice saying the same phrase again and again in countless tongues:

"When she arrives, one remnant shall emerge."

April 1996 — Seoul National Assembly

After multiple failed extraction attempts, the artifact—now code-named "Anomaly Crystal"—was placed under direct military observation. A coalition of scientists, linguists, and psychologists was formed. The government called them the Korea Anomaly Division (KAD).

At the same time, a new military unit was founded. One without political oversight. One that operated in full secrecy. Their task: defend the Seed, prepare for all threats, and monitor the impossible. They were named the South Korea Anomaly Response Division (SKARD).

Neither KAD nor SKARD could explain the object, but every major religion and ancient manuscript they cross-referenced whispered the same themes:

Two flames.

A divided god.

A judgment born from love and ruin.

September 1999 — The Prophecy

The Crystal began glowing intermittently. A ripple of light pulsed from it every 13 days. KAD began deciphering what appeared to be visual codes—etched not in the crystal's surface, but in the light itself.

These codes—later called the Crystal Prophecies—

"From the ashes of the First World, one shall arrive who bears no past, no name, and no allegiance.

She shall be loved. She shall be feared.

She shall become.

And through her, we shall be judged."

Some Prophecies using an unknown language that looks very ancient. Hard to think, hard to believe.

A specialized translation team, Korea Echo Division (KED) was assembled with the primary task of analyzing a mysterious prophecy that, up until now, had defied all attempts at proper interpretation. Despite extensive efforts, the meaning behind its cryptic language remained elusive. Within the organisation, opinions were divided regarding the prophecy’s true nature. Some believed it served as a guide — a message meant to lead humanity toward a specific path or outcome. Others, however, viewed it as a dire warning — a foretelling of events that, if ignored, could bring about catastrophic consequences. As debates continued, the urgency to unlock its meaning only grew stronger.

A year later, in the early days of 2001, something fell from the sky. It wasn’t a meteor.

It was a girl.

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