He didn't know how much time had passed. Days? Months? Years? It didn't matter. In the depths of the earth, where sunlight never reached, time lost all meaning, and silence became a companion that never left.
He was there, shackled between damp walls that reeked of rot and betrayal, as if his very existence was a sin yet to be atoned for. His name was spoken only once a year, as if the world had decided to erase him along with the family that had been executed at dawn.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He had passed that stage long ago. Tears no longer meant anything, and screaming was pointless in the deep.
He simply sat in stillness, curled up in the same corner, staring into the void ahead of him… not thinking, not reflecting—just watching. Waiting for something he wasn't sure would ever come.
That something was hope.
And hope took the shape of a single person—his childhood friend, Lin Wei. He visited once a year, bringing news about the investigation that might clear the name of the Jang family. And Jang Hun held on to the fragile belief that Lin Wei would succeed, that he would restore a fragment of his stolen humanity.
On that day, Lin Wei came again, just like always. But his expression wasn't the same. He had always carried a fire of determination—but now, his face wore the look of a man who had lost something irreplaceable.
He sat in silence for a while, then whispered, as if afraid someone might overhear:
"Jang Hun… yesterday, all the evidence we spent years gathering… it was burned. I'm sorry."
Then he forced a smile through the weight of defeat. "But don't worry… I'll keep searching. I'll find another way."
Jang Hun didn't say a word. His tongue felt paralyzed, as though the words had abandoned him—just like the world had.
Seconds passed, heavy as centuries, before he finally whispered:
"…It's okay."
Lin Wei stood, hesitating for a moment, as if he had something more to say. But the words died in his throat. He looked long at his friend, then turned and walked away, leaving behind only the fading echo of his steps.
Jang Hun remained in his cell, eyes fixed on the stone wall before him, where the silhouette of his departing friend seemed etched like a shadow.
And in his heart, the last flicker of light went out.
He collapsed to his knees, his face expressionless—like a rock forgotten at the bottom of a well. Then he whispered:
"That's enough…"
Late that night, as the final breath of hope left him, a dark thought crept in.
He crawled to the wall, sank his teeth into his tongue, hard—seeking an end to the torment.
The pain was immense. He could taste the blood.
But then… he stopped.
"I heard you."
He froze.
It wasn't his own voice echoing back. And it wasn't a dream.
It was a voice—deep, rough, as if it had risen from the stone itself… from the rot, from the void.
His eyes widened. He looked around the cell—no one.
"Who's there?" he asked, his voice trembling.
No reply.
He waited for a moment, then muttered to himself: "Have I gone mad?"
But the voice returned, clearer this time:
"I can get you out of here… I can show you the path to power. But everything has its price."
Jang Hun sat there, unsure if he believed what he was hearing.
Was this real? Or just another hallucination spawned by a broken mind?
But no—it wasn't just in his head. The voice was real.
Real enough to make his heart pound in his chest.
Then, breathing heavily, he whispered with hesitation:
"…And what do you want in return?"
Silence fell again over the cell, heavy and still. His eyes scanned the void, filled with doubt.
Was this another trap set by his own mind?
But a new question slowly took shape within him:
Why me?