When silence returned to the cell, it wasn't peace that followed—it was suffocation.
Two guards stood outside the iron door, exchanging uneasy glances. Finally, one muttered, "Did… you feel that?"
The other wiped the sweat from his brow and whispered, "It felt like… the room was watching us. Like we passed by a grave, but the corpse inside was still breathing."
Neither could bear it any longer. They rushed upstairs, ignoring the curious stares of the other guards.
**
In the commander's chamber, the man stood before the window, watching the training yard.
When the two guards entered, anxiety clung to their faces like threads about to snap.
One of them spoke in a hushed tone, "Sir… something strange happened."
The commander turned slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Strange? What are you talking about?"
They exchanged glances, then the other dared to say, "The prisoner in Cell Nine… the boy."
The commander's brow furrowed. "What about him? I received no reports. Did he move? Speak? Was the door opened?"
The guard quickly shook his head. "No, sir. He didn't even flinch… but he looked at us. Just a look—but his eyes…"
"His eyes? What about them?"
The guard took a deep breath. "They weren't human. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff—and he was dragging me down with just one glance."
Silence filled the room.
The commander's voice was calm but cold. "That boy? The one too weak to gather even a shred of qi?"
Yet, a flicker of doubt danced behind his eyes—as if something inside him whispered not to ignore what he'd just heard.
He moved toward the door and said, "If I find nothing… both of you will answer for this nonsense."
**
He descended the steps with firm, practiced strides—but beneath them was tension, stretched thin like wire between instinct and logic.
He halted before the cell.
No sound. No breath. No cry. Only stillness.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the boy sat among the shadows. Unmoving. Head bowed. His hair hung like a worn curtain, veiling his face.
The commander stepped inside.
The air changed.
Heavy. Suffocating. As if something unseen was pressing in from every wall—as if the darkness itself had eyes.
The boy slowly lifted his head.
Their gazes met.
Time froze.
The commander, seasoned and unshaken, felt something stir within—a shiver with no source. No qi pressure. No heat. No aura.
Yet something shifted inside him.
He kept staring.
Finally, in a low voice, he said, "Your eyes… they weren't like this before."
The boy replied softly, almost inaudibly, with no trace of defiance, "Strange… you're not like them. But you're not different enough either."
The words weren't sharp, but they pierced something unguarded.
The commander stepped closer—but there was no threat in his movement.
Only that gaze.
That impossible gaze.
He said calmly, "Stay alive… I want to see where those eyes will take you."
And he turned, walking away.
**
The cell returned to darkness… but something had changed.
The cold was no longer cruel.
Jang Hoon slowly raised his hand, whispering to himself, "What… happened? I didn't do anything. Yet they were afraid."
He closed his eyes… trying to summon that fleeting sensation.
A moment… then another… and it returned.
Heavy. Silent. Invisible.
Not qi. Not physical strength.
Something else—still, cold, but deep.
An intangible power… yet undeniable.
Then, a voice rose from the depths of shadow:
"Shadows are not a prison… but a womb for what cannot be seen."
It was the voice of the mysterious being.
Jang Hoon didn't flinch.
For the first time… darkness wasn't his enemy.