Si-Woo felt the world warp. He hadn't turned, yet he knew. The moment Eun-Hae’s fingers closed around the tiny, metallic tear-shaped charm—the Tear of the Fallen Star—a millennia-old seal fractured. The air in the Obsidian Vault, already thick with history, surged with a dangerous, icy energy that only he could perceive.

His body, which had remained perfectly still and composed despite the emotional tempest of their conversation, now betrayed him. A sharp, unbearable ache pierced his left side, just beneath his ribcage—the location of the ancient wound that had nearly taken his life, the scar he carried from the night he first loved and lost her. His knuckles turned white, clutching the cane he carried more for symbolic tradition than need.

She touched it. The silent alarm screamed in his mind. The charm was a relic of their past, a vessel containing the last essence of the oath they had sworn before fate tore them apart. For a mortal, touching it was akin to drinking pure fate—it would unleash forgotten memories, terrifying visions, and draw the attention of the very entities who enforced his curse.

“Don’t lift it,” Si-Woo ordered, his voice dangerously low, his back still to her. The professional curator was gone; only the desperate, ancient guardian remained. “Do not look at it, and for the love of the stars, do not bring it out of this vault.”

Eun-Hae, however, was already mesmerized. The charm felt strangely warm against her fingertips, chasing away the phantom ache she was so accustomed to. It wasn't just like the pendant she wore; it was its perfect twin, only this one seemed to shimmer with a faint, internal pink light, like a trapped nebula. The sheer, overwhelming familiarity of it drowned out Si-Woo’s frantic warning. She ignored him.

She rose, the charm clutched tightly, and took two steps towards his rigid back. The moment she crossed the invisible boundary of safety, a powerful wave of psychic energy slammed into her.

Vision.

It was a flash: not a dream, but a hyper-real memory. She was no longer Eun-Hae the filmmaker. She was a woman in flowing, archaic robes, standing beneath a massive, blood-red moon. Her hand was held fiercely in his—a younger, happier Si-Woo, his sapphire eyes bright with a forbidden love. They were running, breathless, amidst towering palace walls that were crumbling into dust.

"We have to leave, Hae-Ah!" his voice echoed in the vision, not in polite Korean, but in a dialect she couldn't possibly know. "The Oath will break you!"

Then, the agonizing transition: the feel of a sword plunging into his side, the warm, metallic scent of blood, and the unbearable agony of his hand slipping from hers as his body crumpled. Her scream in the vision was soundless, yet it ripped through her chest in the present.

Eun-Hae gasped, stumbling against a nearby pedestal. Her mind was reeling, the vividness of the pain and the love overwhelming her modern senses. She looked at Si-Woo’s broad, unmoving back, understanding for the first time the truth of her own, aching heart.

“You… you died,” she whispered, the raw truth catching in her throat. Her voice broke, laced with the grief of a loss from an era she hadn't lived through. “I watched you die.”

Si-Woo finally turned. The mask was entirely gone. His face was etched with a profound, crushing sorrow, and his eyes glistened, not with tears, but with the painful moisture of centuries unwept. He had spent his endless existence trying to prevent her from remembering that moment, that agony.

“You saw nothing,” he refuted, his voice a ragged edge of his former control. He strode toward her, the pace now frantic. He couldn't touch her, but he needed to shield her, to take the relic back. “It was a trick of the vault. A mirage. Give me the charm, Eun-Hae. Now.”

He closed the distance between them. The proximity was a dangerous game. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the powerful, contained energy that was his curse. Yet, her fear was now overshadowed by a heartbreaking tenderness. She saw past the flawless suit to the wounded man who had fallen for her, twice.

“It’s not a mirage,” she challenged, holding the tear-shaped charm out to him. This was the most courageous act of her life: not fleeing, but offering the object that promised to destroy them both. “It’s true. It was real, Si-Woo. And you loved me.”

The word loved hung in the air, a devastating accusation.

Si-Woo stopped a hair’s breadth away. He stared not at the charm, but at the vulnerability in her eyes. This was the moment of decision. If he touched the charm, the curse would recoil with violent, unpredictable force, potentially harming her. If he didn't, she would carry the object that held the fragmented key to his freedom and her death.

He looked at her hand, so close to his. He could smell the lavender of her skin, the sharp, pure scent of her modern life. He lowered his head, his dark hair falling over his brow, a shadow obscuring his intent.

Romantic Scene:

He didn't take the charm. Instead, his gaze lifted, meeting hers in a raw, intimate silence. He did the only thing his curse could not entirely forbid: he used his words, his proximity, and the sheer force of his longing.

He leaned in, his lips hovering mere millimeters from her ear, the warmth of his breath the only physical contact he dared.

"Yes," he whispered, the sound a ragged confession torn from the depths of his eternal isolation. "I loved you. I have only ever loved you. But that love is the curse, Eun-Hae. It is the very thing that broke me and the thing that will kill you again if you do not forget me."

His words, meant to scare her away, only tightened the invisible tether between them. The sheer, overwhelming honesty, the naked admission of centuries of heartache, poured into her soul. She felt her body sway towards him, drawn by the gravity of his ancient promise.

He held himself rigid, his arm muscles taut, resisting the primal urge to pull her against him and hide her from fate. He was the anchor, and she was the tempest.

The rain outside grew heavier, turning into a sudden deluge, and a crack of thunder exploded directly over the vault, shaking the very floor.

The power surge was real. The air chilled instantly, the lights in the gallery flickering violently. Guests cried out in confusion and fear. Si-Woo knew the sudden surge wasn't weather—it was a supernatural response to the reawakening of their bond.

He had no choice. He had to get her out.

He straightened abruptly, forcing the cold mask back into place. He couldn’t afford tenderness now. He seized her arm—not her wrist, but her forearm, a safer point of contact—and pulled her with him, his grip surprisingly gentle yet utterly unyielding.

“The pleasantries are over,” he stated, his voice now flat, efficient, terrifyingly in control. “This place is not safe. I am taking you home. You will give me the charm then, and you will forget the Obsidian Vault. If you ever return, I cannot guarantee your life.”

He towed her through the terrified, confused crowd, past the worried gallery staff, his immense presence parting the sea of people. Eun-Hae, still dizzy from the vision and his devastating whisper, followed meekly. Her head spun, not from fear, but from the dizzying realization: she wasn't just attracted to him; she had been destined for him, and their destiny was wrapped in blood, death, and a love that defied the laws of time.

As they reached the heavy outer doors, she slipped the Tear of the Fallen Star into the inner pocket of her dress, securing the evidence of their shared past. She would not forget him. Not again.