The sky was gray, tinged by a dense layer of clouds that seemed to weigh upon the world. Jin walked in silence along a forgotten path between the valleys, shoulders hunched and eyes fixed on nothing. His breathing was low, almost imperceptible, as if even the air felt heavier than it should.
For days, he followed a path he only knew from stories — the ancient mental map that the village elders mentioned in their tales. The footprints in the snow disappeared quickly with the cutting wind, as if the very world wanted to erase his existence.
The road to Jeonghwa was long and inhospitable. Unstable rocks piled up in ravines, and twisted trees cast unsettling shadows. Jin slept out in the open, using his cloak to cover his face. In his dreams, he relived the destruction of the village, his mother's lifeless eyes, the smoke rising to the sky. When he awoke, his chest burned. But the physical pain was never greater than the emptiness he carried inside.
Upon crossing the rope bridge over the Ryogan River, he stopped. The raging current below reflected his face — distorted, unrecognizable. The boy with tired eyes and extinguished hope no longer seemed the same. He didn't know if he should keep going. But his feet, moved by an involuntary impulse, continued.
After nearly a week of walking, the walls of Jeonghwa finally emerged on the horizon. Tall, blackened by soot, guarded by sentries in stone towers. Jin stopped before the gates, took a deep breath, and entered.
The city vibrated with life. Merchants shouted offers of spices, children ran through alleys, musicians played rustic instruments. Jeonghwa was an overwhelming contrast to the silence of Baekyun. Jin felt like a specter among the living, a ghost wandering through a world he no longer recognized.
Hunger soon found him. He stopped in an alley, leaned against the wall, and observed the movement without participating. The smell of freshly baked bread felt like a cruel blow. When he closed his eyes, a piece of paper flew against his face, getting stuck in his hair.
It was a flyer:
HELP WANTED
Seokjin Transport Company
Food and shelter included.
Strength and willingness, more than experience.
Report to the west gate at dawn.
Jin read the words repeatedly. He almost decided to ignore it. But the pain in his stomach and the emptiness in his chest pushed him forward.
The next morning, he presented himself at the designated place — a dark wooden warehouse, with carts protected by runic insignias and men working since before the sun rose. The foreman, a burly man with a rough beard and thick arms, sized him up from head to toe.
— You look weak — the man said, frowning. — But you've got the eyes of someone who's buried too many.
Jin said nothing. He started moving boxes without complaint. His arms ached. His body felt heavy. But he didn't stop. With every box lifted, the image of his mother on the altar burned in his mind. With every step, he heard Chi's whispers, still absent.
At the end of the day, Choi Baekho, the owner of the company, watched him from afar. A burly man with sharp eyes and a calculating mind. His gaze lingered on Jin. When their eyes met, Baekho merely nodded to himself, as if confirming a suspicion.
— Let's see how long he lasts before breaking — he muttered before walking away.
And there, among strangers, Jin began a new chapter. Not as an heir. Not as a survivor. But as a boy searching for a purpose.