This is my first experience with writing, and I have to admit, I never anticipated that as a literature student, I would start putting my thoughts down on paper so early in this journey. It feels both exciting and a little daunting, diving into the world of writing when there's still so much to learn about the craft and the nuances of storytelling.
The golden glow of the afternoon sun bathed the small, secluded house in a serene light. It was hidden deep in a valley, surrounded by dense forests and shadowy mountains, far from the bustling metropolis of Seoul. The Geum family's life was one of quiet diligence, bound together by the noble work of healing. Yet, their methods were anything but ordinary. They used poisons—extracted from nature, refined through ancient knowledge—to cure ailments that no modern doctor could touch. It was a life of secrecy, discipline, and great risk.
Near the cascading waterfall that bordered the property, Geum Jan Di stood barefoot on the smooth stones of the lake's edge, her young figure steady despite the rush of water. At only eight years old, she showed a natural poise far beyond her years. Her father, Geum Il-bong, moved fluidly in front of her, his every motion purposeful. His hands traced arcs through the air, pulling the invisible threads of YIN and YANG energy that surrounded them. They called it Heaven and Earth Vital Energy, a technique that could defy death itself when mastered. Today, though, there was a quiet urgency in his movements, an unspoken weight in his voice.
Jan Di mirrored his stance as best as her small frame could, her brows furrowed in concentration. For hours, they had practiced the exchange of energy. She could feel the flow—warm and cold, gentle and powerful—circulating between her hands and her father's. But she was still so young, and the technique felt immense, like trying to hold the ocean in her palms.
"Appa… Why are you teaching me this today?" She asked, her voice soft but curious. Her dark eyes searched his face, trying to understand.
Il-bong paused, his steady movements breaking as he gazed at his daughter. The cascade of water behind him seemed to amplify the silence that followed. He stepped closer to her, kneeling down so they were eye-level. Despite the strength in his posture, his expression softened into something tender, almost sad.
"Jan Di-ah," he began gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I want you to remember this. Once your mother and I leave this earth, you will need to protect your baby brother. And if anything happens to us, you must take him and go to Ji Hoo Oppa and Hal-abeoji Yoon."
Jan Di's lips quivered. She wasn't unfamiliar with talk of responsibility—her father often reminded her of the importance of protecting her younger brother. But today, his words felt different. Final. "Why are you saying this now, Appa?" she whispered.
Il-bong smiled faintly, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He pulled her into a brief hug, as if memorizing the feel of her small frame. "Because the world can change in an instant, my child. And I need you to be ready."
Jan Di pulled back, her face scrunched in confusion. "But I don't want to leave you and Omma," she protested, shaking her head. "I want to stay here and take care of you both."
Her father chuckled softly, though his tone held a hint of sorrow. "You have your mother's heart," he said, placing a hand over her chest. "But Jan Di-ah, life doesn't always let us choose. You are strong—stronger than you know. You will carry our legacy, even if we are not here to guide you."
Il-bong stood, motioning for her to continue their training, but Jan Di remained rooted in place. Her tiny fists clenched at her sides. "Appa," she said firmly, "I'm not strong enough yet. I can't even do the energy transfer right."
He looked back at her with a solemn expression. "That's why we must hurry."
For a moment, the only sound was the roar of the waterfall, its mist rising like a veil around them. Jan Di reluctantly resumed her stance, trying to focus on the energy once more. Yet, her thoughts kept drifting to his words. Why was he in such a rush? Why did he speak of leaving, as if the quiet safety of their valley might vanish?
"Jan Di-ah," her father called again, breaking her thoughts. His voice was unusually stern. "Always remember this. You were born with lotuses in your body. Your blood is both a gift and a curse—it can heal or destroy."
Jan Di froze, her eyes widening. "What do you mean, Appa?"
Her father's gaze was heavy as he stepped closer, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Your blood carries the essence of the lotuses. It's rare... and dangerous. If not controlled, it can hurt you or others. That is why I'm teaching you. You must learn to suppress the lotus essence and let only your normal blood flow."
The revelation left Jan Di speechless. She had always felt different, as if a current of energy ran beneath her skin, but she never understood why. Now, her father's words explained so much—yet they also left her with more questions.
"What if... I can't control it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Her father smiled, though his eyes shimmered with unspoken fear. "You will. Because you are my daughter. And because you must."
For the rest of the afternoon, they continued their training, though the weight of his words hung over them like a storm cloud. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the valley in shadows, Jan Di's small hands trembled with exhaustion. Still, she refused to stop until her father nodded in approval.
…
That night, as the family gathered for dinner, everything seemed deceptively normal. Her mother hummed as she prepared herbal tonics, and her younger brother, barely two years old, chattered excitedly about a sparrow he had seen near the forest. But Jan Di couldn't shake the heaviness in her chest, the feeling that something was about to change.
And she was right.
As the moon rose high into the sky, Jan Di was awakened by a sound she couldn't place. It wasn't the familiar rustle of the forest or the gentle murmur of the waterfall. It was distant, yet sharp—like metal striking metal. She slipped out of bed, her heart pounding, and crept to the window. In the distance, faint flickers of light danced in the forest, moving closer.
Torches.
Her father's words from earlier echoed in her mind: "If anything happens to us, you must take your brother and run."
Trembling, she turned toward her sleeping brother. Tonight, her training would be tested in ways she never imagined.
The flickering lantern light illuminated the small kitchen as Geum Il-bong and Na Gong-joo worked meticulously, crushing herbs and preparing salves with the precision of master healers. Despite the calmness of their hands, the air in the room was heavy with tension. The night outside was unnaturally still, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.
Na Gong-joo's sharp ears picked up the faintest sound of movement from outside—too distant for most to notice, but not for her. Her keen instincts, honed by years of working in secrecy and danger, immediately made her pause mid-motion. "Yeobo," she began cautiously, her voice low, "why do they keep asking for the Book of Poisons?"
Il-bong stiffened at her words, the mortar in his hand halting. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the herbs in front of him. But he knew he couldn't keep it from her any longer. He sighed heavily, setting down his tools, and turned to face his wife.
"They were threatening me," he admitted, his voice grave. "They said they would kill the president's family if I didn't give them the book."
Na Gong-joo's head snapped up, her sharp eyes boring into his. "You mean your friend's family. Yoon Seok Young," she said, her tone more statement than question.
Il-bong nodded grimly. "Is there any other president's family I know of?" he replied, attempting a wry smile, but it faltered. The weight of the situation loomed too large.
Gong-joo's face darkened with understanding. "And when you refused to help them…?"
"They said they would take matters into their own hands," Il-bong finished, his jaw tightening. "They want me to kill him—and his grandson, Ji Hoo."
Gong-joo's eyes widened. "The boy? He's just a child!"
Il-bong lowered his head, his voice thick with guilt. "They believe I can do it without leaving any trace. That I could make it seem natural—a heart attack, a fever, a delayed effect. They know my skills, Gong-joo. But when I refused...
Gong-joo shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. "That book—it's not just a record of poisons, Il-bong. It's our family's legacy, our life's work. And now it's become a weapon in their eyes."
Before either of them could say more, a sudden, thunderous knock at the door shattered the stillness of the night. It wasn't the polite, hesitant knock of a neighbor—it was forceful, urgent, and demanding. The kind of knock that promised trouble.
Il-bong and Gong-joo froze, their eyes meeting for a tense moment. "Who could it be at this hour?" Gong-joo whispered, already knowing the answer.
Il-bong moved quickly, motioning for her to stay behind him as he approached the door. His heart raced, but his hands were steady. He glanced toward the small room where Jan Di and their younger son were sleeping. For a brief moment, he hesitated, debating whether to wake them.
"Stay with the children," he whispered to Gong-joo, who reluctantly nodded. She disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, her steps silent.
Il-bong opened the door just a crack, enough to see who was there. Standing on the porch were three men, their faces partially obscured by hoods. The torches they carried cast flickering shadows that made their expressions look even more menacing. Behind them, more figures loomed in the darkness, barely visible but unmistakably armed.
The man in the center, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward. His voice was calm but laced with menace. "Master Geum, we've come to collect what you owe us."
Il-bong tightened his grip on the doorframe, his voice steady despite the growing fear in his chest. "I owe you nothing. I told you—I will not give you the Book of Poisons. And I will not help you harm the president or his family."
The man's lips curled into a smirk. "You're a noble man, Master Geum. But nobility can only take you so far." He gestured behind him, and one of the men stepped forward, carrying something wrapped in cloth. With a swift motion, he revealed it—a bloodstained dagger. "Do you recognize this?"
Il-bong's eyes narrowed, his stomach twisting. It was the ceremonial dagger of his old friend, Yoon Seok Young—a blade that the president always kept by his side as a symbol of protection. Seeing it here, in their hands, could only mean one thing.
"You wouldn't dare..." Il-bong hissed, his voice low with fury.
"Oh, we already did," the man replied, his tone casual. "The president is resilient, but even he can't survive for long without the right antidote. And I'm sure you know how rare that is." His smirk deepened. "But perhaps you can save him… if you hand over the book."
Il-bong's mind raced. If the president had been poisoned, it meant the men were more desperate—and more dangerous—than he had realized. But giving them the book wasn't an option. Its contents, a culmination of centuries of Geum family knowledge, could wreak untold havoc in the wrong hands.
From the hallway, Gong-joo listened intently, her fists clenched. Her sharp mind was already working, calculating their next move. She glanced toward the room where Jan Di and her brother lay sleeping. They couldn't stay here.
Back at the door, Il-bong stood his ground. "You can threaten me all you want, but I will not betray my friend—or my family's legacy."
The man's smirk disappeared, replaced by a cold glare. "Then you've made your choice, Master Geum. And so have we."
Before Il-bong could react, the man raised his hand, signaling to the others. The torches behind him surged forward, and the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn filled the air.
Il-bong slammed the door shut and bolted it, his voice ringing out through the house. "Gong-joo! Take the children—go! Now!"
Gong-joo didn't hesitate. She rushed into the children's room, shaking Jan Di awake. The girl blinked sleepily, confused by her mother's urgency. "Omma? What's wrong?"
"No time to explain," Gong-joo said, her voice firm but calm. She grabbed Jan Di's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Wake your brother. We have to leave."
"But Appa—" Jan Di started, but her mother silenced her with a sharp look.
"Listen to me, Jan Di," Gong-joo said, kneeling down to meet her daughter's eyes. "Remember what your father taught you. Protect your brother, no matter what. Do you understand?"
Tears welled in Jan Di's eyes, but she nodded. "Yes, Omma."
Outside, the sound of the men breaking down the door echoed through the house. Gong-joo's heart pounded, but she pushed the fear aside. She led the children to the back of the house, where a hidden passage led into the forest. Il-bong had built it years ago, just in case they ever needed to escape.
As they slipped into the shadows, Jan Di glanced back, her heart aching as she heard the sound of her father's voice raised in defiance. "Run!" his voice echoed, a final command that burned itself into her memory.
The forest swallowed them, and Jan Di gripped her brother's hand tightly, vowing to herself that no matter what, she would keep him safe.
The dense forest seemed alive, its shadows twisting and bending as Jan Di led her younger brother through the hidden path. The sound of their hurried breaths mingled with the distant roar of the waterfall. Her small hand gripped her brother's tightly, her heart pounding with fear and a desperate determination. But behind her, Na Gong-joo slowed her pace, her instincts pulling her back toward the house.
She couldn't run. Not while her husband was still fighting.
Gong-joo's feet stopped abruptly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she turned her head toward the faint glow of firelight in the distance. She knew Il-bong had been outnumbered, and despite his formidable skills, even a master like him couldn't hold out indefinitely.
Her jaw tightened. She couldn't abandon him.
Gong-joo closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and summoned the technique she had sworn she would only use in times of dire need. Her hands moved in a precise, fluid motion, forming intricate seals in the air. Energy crackled around her, the temperature dropping as the forest seemed to hold its breath.
"Legendary Sword Formation," she whispered.
A low hum filled the air as ethereal blades materialized around her, floating in a perfect circle. Each blade shimmered like liquid moonlight, its edges razor-sharp and deadly. The formation radiated an overwhelming aura of power, one that spoke of generations of knowledge passed down through her bloodline.
Without hesitation, Gong-joo turned back toward the house, her steps silent but purposeful as she rushed to her husband's side.
When she arrived, the scene before her was brutal. The small house, their sanctuary, was now surrounded by men. Some lay dead on the ground, their bodies twisted unnaturally, evidence of Il-bong's mastery over both his physical skills and the poisons he wielded. Yet, despite his skill, Il-bong was faltering.
Blood dripped from cuts all over his body, staining the ground beneath him. His breathing was ragged, his movements slower than usual. He had already taken down five of the attackers, but more remained—at least seven men circled him now, each armed with blades or clubs.
He was holding his ground, but barely.
"Why did you come back?" Il-bong's voice broke through the chaos as he caught sight of his wife entering the fray. Despite his injuries, his tone carried both frustration and deep concern.
Na Gong-joo didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leapt into action. With a flick of her wrist, the glowing swords of the Legendary Sword Formation shot forward like streaks of light. Three of the attackers barely had time to react before the blades pierced them, striking with unerring precision. They collapsed to the ground, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them.
"We fight together," Gong-joo said firmly as she stepped beside him, her voice steady despite the fury blazing in her eyes. She raised her hand again, the remaining swords circling protectively around her husband. "Or we die together."
Il-bong let out a shaky laugh, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "You've always been stubborn, yeobo."
"And you've always underestimated me," she shot back, her lips curling into a grim smile.
The remaining attackers hesitated, their confidence faltering as they took in the sight of Gong-joo's glowing blades. But their leader—the tall man with the hood who had confronted Il-bong earlier—stepped forward, his smirk returning.
"So the wife joins the fray," he said mockingly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "A shame. I was hoping to capture you alive, but it seems you're just as reckless as your husband."
"You'll regret stepping onto my land," Gong-joo replied coldly, her voice carrying an edge of steel.
The man raised his hand, signaling his remaining men to attack. "Kill them both!"
The battle that followed was a blur of chaos and precision. Il-bong, despite his wounds, fought with the ferocity of a cornered tiger. His strikes were swift and deadly, each movement calculated to conserve his remaining strength. Gong-joo, meanwhile, was a storm of energy and light. Her legendary sword formation danced around her, the blades slicing through the air with terrifying speed.
The attackers quickly realized they were outmatched, but they fought on, driven by desperation and fear of their leader.
Il-bong caught one man's wrist mid-swing, twisting it with a brutal efficiency that sent the blade clattering to the ground. He followed up with a strike to the man's neck, dropping him instantly.
At the same time, Gong-joo directed her swords toward two more attackers, the blades weaving through the air like living creatures. They struck simultaneously, and the men collapsed without a sound.
But the tall man wasn't idle. As his men fell, he moved with surprising speed, closing the distance between himself and Gong-joo. With a growl, he lunged at her, his blade aimed directly at her heart.
"Gong-joo!" Il-bong shouted, his voice raw with panic.
But Gong-joo was ready. She sidestepped the attack with ease, her movements fluid and precise. With a flick of her wrist, one of her ethereal blades shot forward, slicing through the man's arm. He screamed in pain, his weapon dropping to the ground as blood poured from the wound.
The remaining attackers hesitated, their resolve crumbling as their leader fell to his knees.
"Leave," Gong-joo commanded, her voice ringing with authority. The glow of the Legendary Sword Formation intensified, the blades hovering menacingly around her. "If you value your lives, leave now and never return."
The surviving men didn't need to be told twice. They dropped their weapons and fled into the forest, their footsteps fading into the night.
As the last of their enemies disappeared, Gong-joo turned to her husband, who was leaning heavily against the wall of the house. His face was pale, and his breaths came in shallow gasps.
"You shouldn't have come back," Il-bong murmured weakly, his voice tinged with both gratitude and sorrow.
"And leave you to fight alone?" Gong-joo knelt beside him, her hands already moving to assess his injuries. "You should know me better than that."
Il-bong managed a faint smile. "You saved me. Again."
She shook her head, her expression softening. "We saved each other."
But even as she spoke, a sense of unease settled over her. The men had been driven off, but she knew this wasn't the end. Their enemies wouldn't give up so easily—not when they wanted the Book of Poisons so desperately.
"We need to find Jan Di and her brother," Gong-joo said, her tone urgent. "They can't stay out there alone for long."
Il-bong nodded, forcing himself to stand despite the pain. Together, they turned toward the forest, determined to protect their family no matter what it cost them.
The night was silent save for the rustling of leaves as Geum Il-bong and Na Gong-joo moved through the dense forest. The battle at their home had left Il-bong wounded and Gong-joo drained from using the Legendary Sword Formation. But neither could rest—not while their children were out there, somewhere in the shadows. Their every step was driven by a singular goal: to reunite with Jan Di and their son and get them to safety.
The forest, so familiar to them, felt strangely foreign tonight. The moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy, and the air carried an unnatural chill. Still, they pressed on, Il-bong leaning slightly on his wife for support. Despite his injuries, his keen senses remained sharp, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.
"We're close to the hidden path," Gong-joo whispered, her voice steady despite the weight of exhaustion in her bones. "The children should be—"
She stopped abruptly, her instincts screaming at her. Il-bong noticed it too—a subtle shift in the air, the faintest sound of movement ahead.
"Stay sharp," he murmured, straightening despite the pain in his body.
They stepped into a small clearing, their breaths visible in the cold night air. The tension was palpable, the stillness oppressive. And then, from the shadows, a familiar figure emerged.
"Yoon Tae-joon," Il-bong said, his voice a mixture of surprise and confusion.
The man who stepped into the light was one of the president's closest confidants, Ji Hoo's father's cousin, a trusted friend of the Geum family for years. Tae-joon had dined at their table, laughed with their children, and even trained alongside Il-bong in their youth. He was a man they trusted implicitly—a man they never thought would betray them.
"Tae-joon-ssi?" Gong-joo asked, her brow furrowing. "What are you doing here?"
But the cold expression on Tae-joon's face was answer enough. His eyes, once warm and kind, were now hard as steel. In his hand, he held a blade—sleek, sharp, and gleaming in the faint light.
"I wish it hadn't come to this," Tae-joon said, his voice calm, almost regretful. "But you left me no choice."
Il-bong's eyes narrowed, his body tensing despite his injuries. "No choice? You're working with them, aren't you? The ones who want the Book of Poisons."
Tae-joon tilted his head slightly, a bitter smile curling his lips. "I didn't want to. But they made it clear—either I help them, or I lose everything. My family, my life… You should understand, Il-bong. Sometimes, survival comes at a price."
Gong-joo stepped forward, her voice sharp with disbelief. "You're betraying us? After everything we've been through? After everything Il-bong has done for you?"
Tae-joon's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "It's not personal," he said quietly. "It's just the way things have to be."
Before they could react, a group of men emerged from the shadows, surrounding them. Il-bong and Gong-joo exchanged a glance, their unspoken understanding clear. They were outnumbered, exhausted, and injured—but they wouldn't go down without a fight.
Il-bong stepped forward, his voice steady despite the fire in his veins. "You'll regret this, Tae-joon. You think betraying us will save you? You don't know the kind of men you're working for."
Tae-joon's expression darkened. "And you don't understand what they're capable of. Hand over the book, Il-bong. It's the only way to end this."
"There is no book," Il-bong growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Not anymore."
Tae-joon's eyes widened in shock, but his surprise quickly turned to anger. "Then you've signed your own death warrant."
The battle was swift, brutal, and devastating.
Il-bong, despite his wounds, fought with the ferocity of a tiger. His movements were calculated, his strikes deadly, but the numbers were overwhelming. Gong-joo summoned the remnants of her strength, the Legendary Sword Formation flickering to life once more. The ethereal blades spun and struck with precision, cutting down several of their attackers.
But they were weakened, and their enemies were relentless.
Gong-joo let out a cry as a blade grazed her side, but she fought on, her determination unyielding. Il-bong moved to protect her, his fists and feet a blur as he took down another man.
Then, in the chaos, Tae-joon struck.
With a precision born of years of training alongside Il-bong, he slipped through their defenses, his blade finding its mark. Il-bong staggered, blood blooming across his chest as the world seemed to slow.
"Il-bong!" Gong-joo screamed, her voice raw with anguish.
She turned toward him, but the hesitation cost her. A blade pierced her back, the pain searing as she fell to her knees beside her husband.
Il-bong reached for her, his hand trembling as it found hers. Their eyes met, a lifetime of love and unspoken words passing between them in that single moment.
"Jan Di..." Il-bong whispered, his voice weak but filled with urgency. "Protect... the children..."
Gong-joo nodded, tears streaming down her face as her vision blurred. "I'll see you… on the other side," she murmured.
Tae-joon stood over them, his expression unreadable as the life faded from their eyes.
Far away, deep in the forest, Jan Di felt a sudden, overwhelming chill. She stopped in her tracks, clutching her brother's hand as tears welled in her eyes.
"Omma… Appa…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her brother looked up at her, confused but sensing her distress. "Noona? What's wrong?"
Jan Di shook her head, swallowing her sobs as she pulled him close. "We have to keep going," she said firmly, her voice breaking. "We have to find Ji Hoo Oppa."
As they disappeared into the shadows of the forest, the moonlight shone down on the clearing where their parents lay. The Geum family's legacy, their sacrifices, and their secrets were now in Jan Di's small, trembling hands.
The moonlit sky stretched above the Yoon Estate, the vast mansion standing like a sentinel amid the stillness of the early hours. Inside, Yoon Seok Young sat up abruptly in his bed, his chest tight with an aching pain that refused to subside. Beads of sweat ran down his temple, and his breathing was shallow. Something was wrong—he felt it in his very soul.
Rubbing his chest, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed a familiar number.
"Come on, Il-bong," he muttered as the phone rang, the sound echoing in the quiet room. But no one answered. He tried again. Still, the line remained dead.
His mind turned back to the last conversation he'd had with Geum Il-bong. He could still hear his friend's voice, calm but weighted with an unshakable seriousness:
"Take this book with you," Il-bong had said, handing over the leather-bound Book of Poisons, the culmination of centuries of knowledge and secrets from the Geum family. "If I am unable to answer your phone call—even if it's three in the morning—don't look for me. Just treat my children as your own, Hal-abeoji. And… keep Jan Di from seeking revenge. Please."
Seok Young had laughed off the warning at the time, unwilling to believe that anything could happen to his steadfast friend. But now, with the silence on the other end of the line, the memory felt like a premonition.
Grim-faced, he rose from his bed and draped a robe over his shoulders. Something didn't feel right. And when Il-bong warned you about something, you didn't ignore it.
As he made his way toward the entrance of the mansion, a commotion caught his attention. Two security guards were rushing through the grand front doors, their faces pale and drawn. In their arms, they carried the limp, dirt-streaked forms of two children.
Seok Young froze, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. He recognized them immediately.
"Jan Di-ah… San-ah-ah…"
The guards laid the children carefully on the plush couch in the sitting room. Their clothes were torn, their faces scratched and bruised, and their small bodies were utterly still. For a terrifying moment, Seok Young thought they weren't breathing—but then he saw Jan Di's chest rise and fall, albeit shallowly.
"What happened to them?" Seok Young demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.
"We don't know, sir," one of the guards replied nervously. "We found them collapsed just outside the gates. They must have been walking—or running—for hours."
Seok Young knelt beside the couch, his hands trembling as he brushed the dirt from Jan Di's face. Her normally lively features were pale and tight, her hands clutching her younger brother's even in unconsciousness. San-ah, though smaller and even more fragile, was holding on just as tightly.
"Why would they come here alone?" Seok Young murmured, his voice filled with worry.
One of the guards stepped forward hesitantly. "Sir, should we call the police?"
"No," Seok Young said quickly, shaking his head. "Not yet. Double the security around the estate. No one enters or leaves without my approval. And send for the family doctor—now."
The guards nodded and hurried away.
Seok Young sat back, watching over the children with a growing unease. Jan Di and San-ah had always been full of life, their presence a light even in dark times. Seeing them like this—so vulnerable, so broken—filled him with dread.
His thoughts turned to Il-bong again. The phone call, the silence, the warnings… Something terrible had happened. And now, the responsibility Il-bong had entrusted to him was here, sleeping—or perhaps suffering—right before his eyes.
The first light of dawn crept into the room when Jan Di stirred. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, she seemed disoriented. Then her gaze fell on Seok Young, and her lips moved, though no sound came out at first.
"Hal-abeoji…" she whispered finally, her voice hoarse and weak.
Seok Young leaned closer, his voice gentle but urgent. "Jan Di-ah, you're safe now. What happened? Why are you here? Where are your parents?"
At his questions, Jan Di's face crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. Her small hand gripped his robe tightly as she began to sob, her body shaking with grief.
Seok Young froze, his chest tightening as dread filled him. "Jan Di-ah…" he said again, more softly this time. "Tell me what happened."
Her words came in halting, broken whispers, muffled by her sobs. "Omma… Appa… they told me to run… They stayed behind to fight... She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "But I... I know they're... gone..."
Seok Young's breath caught in his throat, and he felt as though the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Il-bong and Gong-joo would be fine—but he couldn't lie. He could see the truth in her broken expression.
Jan Di's younger brother stirred beside her, his small face scrunching as he woke. "Noona?" he mumbled, looking at her with wide, confused eyes. "Where's Omma and Appa?"
Jan Di hugged him tightly, her tears falling onto his hair as she whispered, "They're… They're not coming back."
Seok Young closed his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. He had lost Il-bong, the man who had been like a brother to him, and Gong-joo, who had been the heart of their family. But now wasn't the time to mourn. The children needed him.
He placed a firm but gentle hand on Jan Di's shoulder. "Listen to me, Jan Di-ah," he said, his voice steady despite the pain in his heart. "Your father asked me to take care of you and your brother. You're safe here now, and I won't let anything happen to you. Do you understand?"
Jan Di looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with anguish. "But Hal-abeoji… They killed Omma and Appa. The people who did this—they"...
"Stop." His voice was firm, though not unkind. He looked her directly in the eyes, his expression serious. "Your father made me promise something else. He told me to keep you from seeking revenge."
Jan Di's lips trembled, and her fists clenched in the blanket. "But—"
"No," Seok Young interrupted gently. "Revenge will only hurt you, Jan Di. Your parents wouldn't want that for you. They wanted you to live, to protect your brother, and to honor their legacy—not to destroy yourself chasing vengeance."
His words seemed to cut through her despair, and though her tears continued to fall, she nodded slowly, her grip on her brother tightening.
"Good," Seok Young said softly, pulling both children into a protective embrace. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone."
As the sun rose over the Yoon Estate, its light touched the faces of Jan Di and her brother, who had finally drifted back into a restless sleep. Seok Young sat beside them, his heart heavy with grief but resolute in his promise.
He would protect them, no matter what. For Il-bong. For Gong-joo. And for the future.
I hope you liked the first chapter