Parth's eyes snapped open with a burning gasp.
"Wh—where…?"
He pushed himself upright, coughing up jade-colored water.
But the lake… wasn't there.
Only cracked earth.
Rising vapor.
Glowing green veins where a lake should have been.
Parth whispered, shaking,
"Did it… vanish? Or did I fall into something else…?"
His hand drifted to his chest.
The faint red pulse under his skin was steady, unnatural, alive.
He pulled the golden token out.
The Black Lotus symbol shimmered like it could breathe.
A strange tug pulled his arm forward.
"Again…? Are you pulling me somewhere?" Parth muttered.
The token's glow intensified.
"Fine. Lead the way."
He started walking through the dying forest. The air tasted metallic. The trees leaned, like they were watching him leave.
Hours passed.
Fog dissolved.
And a massive black wall rose in front of him like a dead giant.
Shadow Clan City.
Parth stepped inside. People barely looked at him—until someone slammed into his back.
"Watch where you walk, filth!"
A silk-clothed boy sneered, surrounded by armored guards.
Parth instinctively bowed his head.
"S-sorry… I didn't see—"
CRACK.
A white whip tore across Parth's shoulder.
"AAH—!"
He staggered forward, gripping his fresh wound.
The young master tilted his chin.
"You touched my robe. You should be cleaning the streets, not walking on them."
"I didn't—" Parth tried to explain.
CRACK!
The whip wrapped around his ribs and pulled.
Skin ripped in a spiral.
Blood dripped down his torso.
Parth clenched his teeth until they nearly cracked.
"Stop…" he whispered.
"Oh? It speaks."
The young master smirked.
"Put him in the dungeon. I want him executed with tomorrow's trash."
Two guards grabbed Parth.
Their fingers dug into his injuries, making him choke on his own breath.
Parth shouted,
"Let go—! I didn't—"
A guard slammed a fist into his stomach.
He collapsed instantly.
The Dungeon
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A door creaked open.
"Inside," a guard barked, shoving him.
Parth hit stone with a dull thud.
His ribs burned.
His skin hung loose where the whip tore him.
He couldn't even cry—his throat felt raw from the earlier hit.
A voice echoed softly from a corner:
"…boy. Come closer."
Parth froze.
"Who… who's there?"
"Someone who isn't dead. Yet."
Parth crawled toward the voice. His palms scraped against the cold floor.
A thin, old man emerged from the darkness, chained to the wall.
His body was a roadmap of scars.
His eyes were sharp—dangerously sharp.
"You're bleeding too much," the old man said quietly.
"If you don't stop it, you'll die before morning."
Parth asked, trembling,
"Why… why help me?"
The old man smiled faintly.
"No reason. Maybe because you look like someone I once failed to protect."
Parth dropped onto his knees.
"My chest hurts… my bones ache… I don't know what's happening to me."
The old man touched Parth's sternum—right where the crystal heart pulsed.
He froze.
"Boy… what is this?"
"I-I don't know."
The old man whispered,
"Good. That means your chains are breakable. Everyone else down here… theirs are not."
Parth gulped.
"Who are you…?"
"I am nothing now. But I was once a killer feared by every clan. Sit. I will teach you something useful before they execute me."
"Teach… me?" Parth asked.
"Yes. You want to live, don't you? Then learn."
His voice hardened.
"Lesson one: Never fight fair."
The old man grabbed Parth's wrist and twisted gently.
Pain shot up Parth's arm.
"Feel that? That's where you snap a joint."
Next, he guided Parth's fingers:
"This angle—straight to the heart. Even a monster hesitates if you strike here."
Parth nodded, swallowing his fear.
For days… weeks… months… they trained.
In the dark.
In blood.
In silence.
Parth learned how to kill.
How to hide breath.
How to break bone using the least effort.
How to read footsteps.
How to silence a scream before it forms.
The old man whispered once,
"You're the closest thing to a grandson I'll ever have."
Parth choked quietly,
"…and you're the closest thing to family I've known."
The Night Before Execution
Chains rattled above.
Guards shouted orders.
Parth sat beside the old man.
"It's tomorrow," he whispered.
"Yes," the old man said softly.
"And I want you to walk out of here alive."
"What? No— I won't leave you—"
"You will."
The old man's voice hardened.
"I am already dead. But you… you still have something inside you that refuses to die."
Parth looked down—his hands were trembling.
The old man leaned forward.
"Break the wall. Break the guards. Break fate itself if you must."
A pulse erupted in Parth's chest—
the crystal heart beating like a war drum.
His vision sharpened.
Every sound became painfully clear.
Parth whispered,
"…I'll come back for you."
The old man smiled gently.
"No. Your only promise is to survive."
The cell door slammed open.
"Time's up," a guard snarled.
Parth stood.
And the world cracked.
A shockwave burst from his chest.
Bars bent like wet metal.
Two guards flew backward, hitting the stone walls with bone-snapping impact.
Parth didn't lose control.
He embraced it.
The first guard rushed. Parth twisted his wrist—
snap—
and slit his throat with the broken bone shard.
The second guard swung a spear.
Parth stepped inside the attack, grabbed his shoulder, and crushed his collarbone with a downward elbow.
The third guard tried to scream.
Parth covered his mouth—
and twisted his head sideways.
Silence.
Blood pooled under his feet.
The old man whispered,
"…magnificent."
Parth turned to him, eyes shaking.
"I can carry you—"
"No."
The old man smiled.
"My story ends here. Yours continues."
Parth bowed.
A deep, silent bow.
Then he sprinted through the burning dungeon hallways, past collapsing stone, past dying guards, past the city he would never forget.
He didn't stop running.
Not until the screams disappeared behind him.
Not until the night swallowed him whole.
Not until he became nothing but a shadow in the forest.