The mournful cries of a crow echoed through the quiet sky, its ominous calls lingering in the darkness.
Just a week ago, the sprawling estate of a great family had once stood proudly on this land. Now, it was nothing more than a smoldering ruin. Every wall and column had collapsed into blackened ruins. While the roof, which was once as soft and cloud-like as the sky, had caved in, leaving behind what seems to be a massive stone tomb.
The beam stuck upright like a tombstone, with thick smoke emanating and drifting toward the south. Meanwhile, the northern wind had already begun to blow, signaling the change of seasons.
Half a day had passed since the flames had raged for seven long nights, has now finally died down. The sky was stained in the shade of a red sunset, as if painting the blood of those who were wrongfully slain. The only living creatures alive were the crows, their bellies swollen with the flesh of others.
The annihilation of the barren land that once belonged to the Seomun family was now a grim reminder, meant to awaken the world’s sense of vigilance and fear.
Amid the wreckage, something stirred in one corner of the land, as though it had just begun to awaken.
Burnt, jagged fragments of wood, small stones, and shattered pottery began to shake as the tiny vibrations rose from the Earth below. Moments later, a small hidden door creaked open below, and fine gray ash flowed into the narrow space beneath.
A hand, searching its way out, emerged. It was the hand of a child.
The child appeared to be about seven years old. Despite the devastation, they wore a dark blue silk garment, an incongruous sight among the ruins. The child was cooped up in the tight space for a week. His body was so feeble that he could hardly stand on his feet. When the child finally managed to step outside on his knees, his hands and elbows were already bruised and scraped by the debris.
The child sat on the ground, his face pale, as he stared at the devastation around him for a long while. Then, as if he’d grown determined to escape, the child began to crawl forward. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled which caused him to fall, leaving him no choice but to crawl.
The broken remnants of the earth crunched beneath his palms and shins, and his soft skin was quickly stained with blood. But the child could not stop. His eyes fixated on something in the distance after some effort: a towering shape that stood stark in the ruined yard of the fallen estate.
It was a large pillar, much larger than the child. It had fallen from what had once been a stone stairwell. Up close, the pillar was as wide as the child’s leg, with the sharp tip pointing upward toward the sky.
And in the middle of it was the charred, barely recognizable body of a person, impaled on the spike.
The child crawled closer, his trembling arms reaching for the body, and his hand touched the feet of the blackened corpse.The corpse had no hair, and a spear-like shaft protruded from its mouth.
The skin, rough and cold to the touch, made the child recoil, the child instinctively knew this sensation will be forever imprinted in his memory.
The child’s gaze traveled down, stopping at the middle of the corpse’s chest. There, embedded in the flesh and clothing, was a small jade pendant, no larger than a fist. The child recognized it instantly.
The moment his hand touched the body, the child jerked it away in horror, stumbling backward. Scrambling in the dirt, he retreated, vomiting the revulsion that rose up several times. The muddy bile splashed onto his clothes, but he couldn’t look away. The horrific sight of his dead kin seemed to pull him in, as though his hair was being yanked by an invisible hand.
He could not run. He could not think. All he could do was watch his loved ones die before him. The child wasn’t surviving; he was simply one step behind from ending up in the same demise.
Then, a hand gently covered his eyes.
The first thing the child noticed was the strong, earthy scent of herbs being simmered for a long time. Then came the cool warmth of a body that pressed against his face, and finally, a voice, soft like a passing breeze.The child closed his parched lips and realized the sour taste of his own vomit.
He could barely make out the words spoken to him, but after swallowing, the lump in his chest seemed to rise, and the grief erupted into sobs. The scent of herbs enveloping the child while being embraced, clinging to him like a lifeline, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss.
The child continued to retch for what felt like an eternity. Even if his lips were cracked and his throat was burning with the taste of blood, he could not stop. The child grabbed the man’s clothes in ballfists until his nailbeds were lifted. He wailed and cried like a wounded beast, shaking until his body grew stiff. Eventually, his voice stopped coming out, and instead of tears, blood was flowing out of his eyes.
That was all the child could remember. He could not remember when he passed out.
The last thing he could vaguely recall before his eyes closed was the thought that the white strands of hair looked like the feathers of a heron.
