⚠️ WARNING ⚠️
The following content portrays situations of vulnerability
in South Korea during the 1960s 🇰🇷
The author does not seek shock value or sensationalism.
Everything narrated is fiction 📖
Reader discretion is advised.
📝 AUTHOR'S NOTE AND IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT 📝
First of all, I wish you a belated Merry Christmas 🎄
and a prosperous New Year ✨
I haven't posted these past days because I was working
to get my first graphic tablet 🖊️💻
It arrived last week, and I decided to take some time
to practice and adapt to this new medium.
I had never worked with digital art before.
I was always more into traditional drawing 🎨
These days have been intense—trial, error, and learning,
but I wanted to publish only when I felt ready.
I hope you like the new poster 🙏
I'll be sharing it as well on my Twitter 🐦 @TholioMH
From now on, chapters will be released more frequently.
I already feel more comfortable with the tablet
(even if color theory still breaks my brain 🤯).
And yes, it's confirmed:
the comic adaptation of Polemos Tón Agion is coming 📚🔥
It will arrive on Globalcomix to avoid censorship issues
like those on Webtoon and other very family-friendly platforms.
I don't know when… but it will arrive.
Enjoy the chapter 🤍
__________________________________________________________________
Drops fell from the ceiling of that place.
Calling it a home was nothing more than daily habit.
The walls stood open,
letting the water seep inside,
as if protecting anything no longer mattered.
It was not a house.
It was only a memory of what once was.
Among all the dwellings in that place,
it was the most exposed one.
The one no one ever noticed.
The one no one ever looked at.
Inside lived a girl.
She did not truly live.
She was only trying to recover
from a flu that kept her bedridden,
from the bruises on her arms and legs.
Memories returned,
as if the house understood the girl.
The walls grew damp, like her memories,
distant from herself, as if from another life.
Maybe the house was listening.
Or maybe the girl herself was a home,
or perhaps both were.
In that broken space,
desires and memories piled up,
useless echoes of something that no longer existed.
Waiting became her punishment.
Waiting for a father
became a form of resistance,
filled with anguish, even as her heart
insisted on pretending otherwise.
Holding on to hope
was not bravery.
It was fear of becoming empty.
Because letting it go would mean
having no memories left to cling to,
no certainty beneath her steps.
That fragile thread
was the only thing keeping her standing,
anchored to a reality
she could barely endure.
Maybe it was nothing more than that:
a broken fragment,
trapped in the mind of a girl
doing everything she could
to delay the inevitable day.
Her father did not abandon her.
But in trying to save her,
in believing she would be better far from him,
he left her alone.
Not for lack of love.
But for lack of conviction.
And then, that sound born from silence
awoke the little girl.
It was like the ringing in your ears
when there is nothing,
when you know there are no sounds,
and yet something insists on being heard.
A dreadful rumble,
like the currents of the sea
before rising against the storm.
Yeon-shil opened her eyes.
The house was still dripping.
Several drops fell onto her face.
She had no reason to move.
No reason to feel happy either.
She sat up only to avoid the discomfort.
The room remained motionless,
dim, as if the fog
had managed to slip inside the house,
turning it gray.
Then, the voice spoke.
"It is your day, Yeon-shil."
"My day?
What are you talking about?" the girl asked.
"The day has come
for which our creator
has been preparing you."
The room seemed to shrink.
"The times of God have marked
this path, this horizon."
"The Hierophant of the East."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked,
in disbelief.
"Because there is nothing left
that you can do here."
Yeon-shil clenched her fingers.
"Is Dad going to come back?" she said,
gasping between tears.
She had asked this more than once,
and they always gave her the same answer,
but this time, it would not be the same.
The air changed.
Silence began to take shape.
Something sat beside her.
To her,
it was an unknown man.
Tall.
Too tall.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she closed her eyes,
slipping into a kind of trance, a calm,
as if feathers and the scent of feathers
were sheltering her.
"Your father loved you, Yeon-shil."
"He loved you with all his heart.
He thought only of you."
"Of when he would return for you."
"Of when he could go back
to the village where your mother was born
to take you back."
"Sometimes parents want what is best."
"Sometimes they do not understand
that bringing a child into the world
means protecting their soul
and guarding their heart from every cut."
"And many times they fail to see
that leaving, when a child lacks everything,
can be the worst decision of all."
Yeon-shil held him tightly.
To her eyes,
she was embracing a motionless man.
But to us,
Yeon-shil was holding
absolute nothingness.
The girl tried to wipe away her tears
without letting go of the man.
Her voice came out broken:
"I don't understand…
why are you so cruel to me?"
"You didn't protect me.
You did nothing
when those children beat me."
"You did nothing
when the woman left me
and went to another town."
"You did nothing…"
"If you are good, then
give him back… to… me…."
Yeon-shil held on even tighter.
"I don't even know their names…
I've asked you so many times."
"And yet,
I don't know what your name is."
The man fell silent.
Then he asked:
"Why do you keep searching for my name?"
"What is a name to you?"
"Something you choose,
or something given to you at birth?"
"A name is bound to the mind.
It grips the heart—this way of thinking
always leads to war, and then to slavery."
"We do not have names.
We have titles."
The man lowered his face.
"The young one you saw…
do you remember him, Yeon-shil?"
"The one who had
something strange in his chest?"
"Yes."
"You must go with him."
"He will come for you."
"It was his destiny to reach this place.
And yours, to wait for him."
The girl shook her head.
"I don't want to leave."
The man's eyes began to glow.
He gently stroked her hair.
"We cannot touch
anyone's freedom."
"We cannot force you
to do what you do not wish."
"But this time, Yeon-shil,
the fate of the world hangs by a thread."
"Many lives depend
on whether you go with him… or… whether you don't."
"I know you don't want to leave your home."
"But God does not want you to stay here either."
Silence grew heavy.
"The decision will be yours."
"And whatever you choose
will be carved into history."
The man took a deep breath.
"What many kings
longed to see with your eyes…"
"What seers, sorcerers,
and spiritualists sought for centuries…"
"Happens only
once every seven jubilees."
"And three centuries have passed
since the last hierophant."
The man looked at her.
"You are the next."
"You were born at the right time.
On the right land."
"The conditions for someone like you
are as rare as the strangest metals on Earth."
"We do not alter time."
"But whatever you decide
will change everything."
For a moment, the calm
was interrupted by a sound at the door.
The old man entered clumsily, out of breath.
"Yeon-shil! I brought you fish soup.
This will do you good… wait a moment, all right?"
She raised her hand, almost trembling.
"Mr. Deok-su…
can you see him?"
The old man looked around.
Nothing. Only the damp, empty house.
"See what?" he asked slowly.
Yeon-shil felt her chest tighten.
She remembered other times.
Other questions.
Other looks that did not believe her.
Telling the truth
always left her alone.
"No… nothing. Forget it."
Deok-su frowned.
He didn't understand, but something unsettled him.
That question did not sound like a game.
He sat beside the loose bed,
uncomfortable, unsure of what to say.
"Yeon-shil… does anything hurt?"
"Nothing hurts, Mr. Deok-su…"
The old man fell silent.
He thought about the rice he had left on the stove.
About how it might burn.
About how doing something concrete
was easier than facing the incomprehensible.
"I'll go get the rice," he murmured.
"I don't want it to spoil.
I'll be right back."
He stood up with effort
and left, worried…
but relieved to go.
Yeon-shil did not move.
Her mind was in a state
of emotional numbness.
She was incapable of being anything
but a single emotion: hopelessness.
As a response to her lack of meaning,
she bit the corner of the blanket.
From hunger.
From anxiety.
From wanting to feel something,
even if it was disgust.
Nothing.
She curled into herself,
protecting her aching legs,
clinging to blurred memories
of when they still came looking for her.
What her eyes could see
did not exist for others.
When she closed her eyes,
she avoided slipping into madness.
Inside her home, she was safe;
outside of it, the voices—
foreign to those who cared for her—
never stopped tormenting her.
The gift of Yeon-shil
was not a blessing,
but a way of existing:
a constant doubt
that lingered
even when an answer already existed.
Then, the voice spoke one last time.
"You are protected."
"So it was ordered."
"Until the day arrives,
we will not stop watching over you."
"Prepare yourself, Yeon-shil."
"We have faith
that you will answer correctly
when the young Jack Fürtz
speaks your name."
It was Jack Fürtz.
He was knocking on the door, clearly worried.
"Yeon-shil? May I come in?"
She heard him from her room.
She did not get out of bed.
She wiped her tears as best she could
and told him to come in.
She noticed the soup as soon as Jack stepped inside.
Hunger appeared without asking permission
and she began to drink it slowly.
Jack entered, greeted her first,
and asked permission before sitting down.
"Yeon-shil, we don't have much time."
"The ship is about to depart."
Jack took a deep breath.
"I've reevaluated the situation."
"Kamei-san has as well."
"We've decided to take you with us."
"We want you to come on the journey."
But Yeon-shil barely heard him.
Her attention was fixed
on the tongue of fire
burning above Jack's head.
"Why do you have fire on your head?"
Jack looked at her, confused.
He touched his hair.
There was no candle.
Nothing visible.
What Yeon-shil saw
belonged to another plane.
"Listen to me," Jack said.
"I don't know what you feel in this place,
but I want to take you with me."
"We don't know each other."
"I'm a stranger to you."
"It makes sense that you're afraid."
"Danae always says
I have no tact with words,
but I'll try to do this right."
"Come with us, Yeon-shil."
"I want to take you to a land
where time does not move forward."
"To a place where there are people
like us."
"If you say yes,
I'll carry you and take you to the ship."
"If you say no,
I'll leave and let you stay here."
The girl, uncertain, asked:
"Can you see them?"
"See whom?"
"The ones who gave you
that tongue of fire."
Jack fell silent.
"Yes," he answered.
"Not always, but I can see them."
"Maybe they're the reason
I'm here,
asking you to come with me."
"If I took you by force,
I would be doing the same thing
as someone I deeply despise."
"That's why I want to ask you
to come of your own will."
Yeon-shil shrank back.
"I'm scared."
"I don't want to leave."
"I want to wait for my dad."
"Is that why
you stayed here all this time?"
She nodded.
"I understand," Jack said.
"It's something I would have done
at your age."
"If you don't want to come, that's fine."
"At first I got excited
when Kamei-san changed his mind,
but I didn't think about yours."
"If waiting for him here
is what keeps you going,
I won't be the one to take that from you."
"I wish
I had your courage back then."
Yeon-shil glanced at him.
It was the first time
someone did not mock
her hope.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Yeon-shil."
Jack stood up
and carefully left the room.
As soon as he reached the entrance,
he saw the old man approaching
Yeon-shil's house
with a bowl of rice.
Seeing him, he asked with intrigue
and a hint of anger:
"What are you doing here?"
Jack replied:
"Nothing… I thought
I was doing some good."
Jack could not clearly express what he felt,
but if he had to compare it to something,
it would be guilt and sadness.
After that, he withdrew in silence.
The old man could barely understand
what was happening,
but he sensed that perhaps
there was only one possibility.
He closed the front door,
went to Yeon-shil's room,
and set the bowl of rice aside.
He sat down and, with the weight of his years,
held a single thought to himself.
Maybe…
just maybe.
The old man spoke carefully.
"If you go with them,
you may find something
greater than the mountains
and wider than the seas."
He fell silent.
His fingers trembled slightly
over the bedsheet.
For a moment, his gaze drifted away,
as if he had remembered something ancient.
Something he had never spoken aloud.
"You know the man
I spoke with is immortal."
Yeon-shil frowned.
"An immortal?"
The old man took a deep breath.
He thought of the years that had passed
without leaving a mark on that face.
"I've known him since he was a child," he said.
"He hasn't changed at all."
He lifted his gaze, resolute.
"And I'd wager the young man
who walks at his side
is another immortal as well."
Yeon-shil thought for a moment.
"And if I go with them?"
"What happens if they take me?"
"You will be free from this place,"
Deok-su replied.
She looked toward a corner of the room.
But her attention was not on the old man.
Yeon-shil was not looking at the room.
She was looking at a female figure,
very similar to herself,
who smiled at her with tenderness.
It felt familiar,
as if she had known her forever.
The voice, almost a whisper,
audible only to the sensitive ears
of Yeon-shil, said:
"Go…
go, my little mugunghwa."
Something ignited in her chest.
It was not courage,
it was the exhaustion of staying.
Yeon-shil thought of the door,
of the world beyond the threshold,
of a place where her name
would not weigh so heavily.
"I want to go with them,"
the girl said,
"but I can't."
She pressed her fingers
into the blanket.
"I can't walk."
"My legs hurt."
At the far end of the pier,
Kamei-san remained silent,
caught between what he had said
and what he had decided not to say.
He thought of Jack.
Of his words.
Of that habit of his
of getting involved
when the world demanded distance.
He hadn't managed to sort his thoughts
when he saw him returning along the path.
Jack walked slowly.
Too slowly for someone like him.
Head lowered, shoulders tense,
as if he were carrying an answer that hurt.
He boarded the ship without saying a word.
"Let's go," he murmured.
Kamei-san frowned.
"And Yeon-shil?"
"Isn't she coming?"
Jack did not answer right away.
"No," he said at last.
"She's not coming."
"Why didn't you bring her?" he insisted.
"Wasn't that our intention?"
Jack clenched his fists.
"I won't take her against her will."
"If she wants to stay here,
waiting for her father,
I won't be the one to take that from her."
Kamei-san looked at him for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"Sometimes I feel, Jack,
that you make life harder for yourself."
"You made me halt the journey
because you believed she would come with us,
and in the end it was the girl herself
who convinced you not to."
He fell silent for a second.
Then he softened his voice.
"You get too involved
with people you barely know."
"There are reasons
that girl was never taken to an orphanage."
But then he looked at him differently.
Not with reproach.
With respect.
"Even so…"
"I'm glad you have that heart."
"I'm glad you wanted to help her."
Jack lifted his gaze.
"Tell me something," he asked.
"Could we have taken her to Vermont?"
Kamei-san thought.
"Could we? Yes."
"Vermont doesn't close its doors to just anyone."
He paused.
He looked toward the forest in the distance.
"Although…"
"the forest only allows the chosen to enter."
"I'm not sure Yeon-shil
could have crossed without consequences."
"But it doesn't matter anymore," he concluded.
"She won't come."
"And the question will remain unanswered."
The engine began to roar.
Kamei-san looked toward the pier.
He saw the old man.
He saw the girl.
He accelerated.
"Jack," he said firmly,
"What are you doing?! Stop the ship!"
With the authority of a captain,
Kamei-san replied:
"We don't have time!"
"If you plan to go after her,
you'll have to jump now,"
"and bring her onto the ship yourself!"
"If you don't do it,
I won't take her with me!"
Jack smiled.
Not a calm smile.
A living one.
"Are you challenging me?!"
"Hurry up!" Kamei-san replied,
"saint of fire!"
And then it happened.
Jack launched himself from the stern
with a force not of this world.
The air burst around him.
Small flames bloomed beneath his feet,
brief and alive, like ignited stars
pushing him toward the sky.
He did not jump.
He ascended.
From the pier,
Deok-su and Yeon-shil
looked up, breathless.
The young man rose
higher than the rooftops,
higher than the trees,
higher than any human being
would have dared to imagine.
The world seemed to stop.
The girl's heart trembled.
Not from fear.
From wonder.
She had never seen anything like it.
Never had anyone flown
driven by fire
and will alone.
And she knew, in that instant,
that she was witnessing
something that would never
happen again.
From the air, without fear,
Yeon-shil shouted:
"Hey!"
"I forgot to ask you your name!"
Jack landed with a dull impact.
The ground creaked, as if protesting.
He straightened amid the dust,
wearing a wide, living smile,
the kind that asks no permission.
He looked straight at her.
And then he spoke,
not as an introduction,
but as a decree:
"My name is Jack Fürtz."
The name fell with weight.
As if, by saying it,
the world had no choice
but to accept it.
He took her carefully,
with an almost sacred gentleness,
and began to run.
Each step branded the pier
with black, burning marks,
living ash the ground
could not contain.
The air began to tremble.
With one final push,
Jack hurled himself into the void.
The world opened beneath them.
Yeon-shil screamed.
Fear tore the sound from her
as the pier vanished
and the sky became everything.
The boat rocked as it received them,
the planks groaned,
the water struck the sides,
as if it, too, wanted to look.
In the air, as they fell,
Jack laughed.
"Yeon-shil," he said, filled with emotion.
"Now you will come with us."
The flames burst forth again,
small and dancing,
pushing them forward.
"I will take you to the edges of this world."
"To the forest where I come from."
The wind roared.
The girl's heart raced wildly.
She kept screaming…
but something changed.
Jack's words
shattered the fear.
She felt the air like wings.
She felt her body grow light.
She felt life.
Leaving her home
was not falling.
It was flying.
Already aboard,
Yeon-shil looked back.
She saw the old man,
growing smaller and smaller.
The tears fell on their own.
"Thank you, Mr. Deok-su," she whispered.
From the pier,
he shouted with a broken voice:
"Take care, Yeon-shil!"
"Eat fish!"
"And a bowl of rice every day!"
"And don't forget about me!"
She did not answer.
She only held on to Jack.
Because she was not traveling
with extraordinary people alone.
She was also leaving behind
something that hurt more
than she had expected.
Her home.