Months had passed since Joon Woo had found refuge in Songhwa. Autumn had faded away in a muffled silence, carrying with it the last fallen leaves. The days had followed one another, marked by chores, Min-jae's training, and the freezing nights spent listening to the wind strike against the house walls.
Now, winter had covered the village with a white mantle, smothering the sounds of the outside world. And Joon Woo, almost without realizing it, was nearing his nineteenth birthday.
Joon Woo watched Min-jae working furiously in the yard, his fists reddened by the cold striking the icy air. Every movement raised a cloud of white steam.
"Lower your elbows! You're punching like a little girl!"
Min-jae adjusted his stance, his face tight with effort. At fourteen, he had that fierce determination of kids who dream of glory. It made Joon Woo sick to his stomach.
"Again! Faster!"
"I… I can't anymore, hyung… my hands…"
"Your hands, your hands! You think your enemies will stop because your hands are cold?"
Min-jae clenched his teeth and resumed his drills. His knuckles bled slightly, leaving faint pink stains on the snow.
"That's better."
The boy collapsed into the snow, panting. "Hyung… were you really strong, back at the sect?"
Joon Woo froze. That question—it kept coming back. Like a knife twisting in the wound.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because…" Min-jae hesitated, his eyes shining with admiration.
For a moment, he stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the snow. Then, in a low voice, he let it out:
"Because I'd like to go there too. One day. Join the Celestial Flame. Become like you."
The world collapsed around Joon Woo. His heart raced, his hands began to tremble. No. Not that. Not this kid.
"What did you just say?"
"You heard me perfectly." Min-jae straightened up, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
"I want to become a disciple. I want to learn real techniques, not these farmer's moves you're teaching me."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do! My father says the Celestial Flame trains the most powerful warriors in the kingdom, able to split rocks, walk on water, and fly through the air. And you, hyung, you came back alive… so of course I believe it."
"Your father's talking shit."
"No! You're the one lying! You were there, you survived, you came back! You're a hero!"
Joon Woo slapped him. Hard. The crack rang out in the frozen air. Min-jae clutched his cheek, eyes wide.
"I'm not a hero, you little shit. I'm trash. A piece of garbage they spat out because I wasn't good for anything anymore."
"But…"
"Shut your mouth and listen." Joon Woo's voice had become hoarse, almost inaudible.
"You want to know what the Celestial Flame really is? You really want to know?"
Min-jae nodded, still in shock.
"It's hell. A fucking hell where they break you bone by bone, soul by soul, until there's nothing left of who you were."
Joon Woo sat heavily in the snow, his eyes lost in the void.
"I was born in the middle of winter. The old shaman in the village said it was under the sign of the White Tiger… a sign of strength and solitude. Out there, it's a season where the weak die… and the strong learn to kill."
"I was eight years old when my mother threw me into that hell. No Qi, so I was garbage. And she… she didn't give a damn about me anymore. She knew people there… a good opportunity for her to sell me like some worthless slave."
"I had a small doll sewn by my grandmother, and it was my only friend. They burned it in front of me so I'd learn the first lesson: attachment is weakness."
Min-jae looked at him, intrigued.
"On the first day, they told us: 'Look around you. In a year, half of you will be dead. In two years, ten percent will remain. And you… you will kill them with your own hands.'"
"You… you're lying…"
"Lying?" Joon Woo rolled up his sleeve, revealing forearms covered in scars.
"You see this? Every single one is from the times I failed an exercise. Every time I showed pity. Every time I cried.
Tears were now streaming down Min-jae's cheeks.
"Park So-min. Twelve years old. Dead because she shared her ration with a kid who was starving. Kim Jin-ho. Ten years old. Burned alive because he refused to torture a prisoner. Lee Hye-jin…"
His voice broke.
"Lee Hye-jin… She was your age. Brilliant, brave, beautiful. She… she liked me. We protected each other. One day, they put us face to face with swords. 'Fight,' they said. 'The loser dies.'"
"No…"
"I tried to let her kill me. But she… she was the one who lowered her guard first. She smiled at me and said: 'Live for both of us.' Then she threw herself onto my blade."
Joon Woo was trembling now, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Then he continued, his voice sinking into his memories like plunging into a frozen lake.
"You know what it's like… to become a shadow? I didn't have Qi, never had it. Just a body good for cleaning the pavilions and serving at the table. They called me 'precious' because of my mother… but that never protected me. Laughter? Never for me. Looks? Always blades stabbing me in the back. So yeah… every damn day, I learned to take the hits… to grit my teeth… and not bend."
"…" Min-jae bit his lip.
"So next time you dream about that sect… remember what I just told you."
Min-jae was pale. "Hyung… I… I didn't know… that you went through all that."
"No one ever knows! That's the trap! They sell dreams, glory, power! But all they give is death!"
He stood abruptly, swaying on his injured leg.
"You want to know why I left?"
He lifted his head, his single eye gleaming with an icy light.
"After years of living like a slave, I crossed paths with Han Seok… my brother-in-arms. And Soo Rin… the woman I dreamed of spending my life with.
But one day… that bastard Seok sold me. For a fucking stone."
He clenched his fist, his knuckles whitening.
"A crime I didn't commit. An accusation fabricated from nothing… and him… he simply pointed his finger at me. Soo Rin refused to betray me. For them, that silence was enough: she was an accomplice."
His voice broke for an instant, then he went on, even more hoarse.
"Then they sentenced me to the Black Fire Execution. Me… and Soo Rin."
His gaze drifted into the void, as if he were reliving the scene.
"Just like Hye-jin before her… she died right in front of my eyes. They tied us each to a cross, facing each other. The wood was already cracking from the heat. The executioners lit the Black Fire… that flame that doesn't only consume the flesh, but also the soul. I saw her eyes glaze over, her screams shatter in the air… and I couldn't do anything. I wanted to die with her… but fate let me keep breathing."
"Hyung…"
Min-jae was openly crying now. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, hyung… I didn't know…"
"Now you know. So forget all that crap about glory and power. Stay here. Marry a village girl. Have kids. Work your fields. Be happy. That's all that matters."
The next morning, Mi-young burst into Joon Woo's room without knocking.
"Get dressed. We're going out."
"Aunt Mi-young…" His voice was still heavy with sleep. "Can I… sleep a bit longer?"
"Not this time, my boy." She gently set a folded bundle of clothes beside him. "Get dressed, we have to go."
Joon Woo rubbed his good eye and gave a faint nod. "Fine… Where are we going?"
"You'll find out soon." Her tone remained calm but firm, the kind that told him the discussion was over.
They walked through the village under heavy falling snow. Mi-young strode ahead with determination. Joon Woo followed with his crutch, muttering curses under his breath.
She suddenly stopped in front of a small shop, so discreet that Joon Woo could have sworn it hadn't been there the day before. The dark wood of the façade bore the marks of time and weather, yet it exuded an ancient, almost intimidating aura.
Hanging above the entrance, a hand-carved sign displayed three characters worn by the years: Forgeron des Mille Lames — Smith of a Thousand Blades. The strokes, though eroded by time, still seemed to pulse with an invisible force, as if each chisel mark had been made by a hand steeped in Qi.
At that moment, a faint breath of air, almost imperceptible, brushed his cheek… as if the building itself had recognized him.
"What is this place?"
"Shut up and go in."
Inside, it smelled of sawdust and oil. An old man with white hair looked up from his workbench. His hands, covered in calluses, bore the marks of years of labor.
"Ah, Mi-young! You've finally brought me your protégé."
"What's going on?" Joon Woo asked warily.
"Sit there." The craftsman pointed to a chair. "Take off your shirt."
"Then they sentenced me to the Black Fire Execution. Me… and Soo Rin."
His gaze drifted into the void, as if he were reliving the scene.
"Just like Hye-jin before her… she died right in front of my eyes. They tied us each to a cross, facing each other. The wood was already cracking from the heat. The executioners lit the Black Fire… that flame that doesn't only consume the flesh, but also the soul. I saw her eyes glaze over, her screams shatter in the air… and I couldn't do anything. I wanted to die with her… but fate let me keep breathing."
"Hyung…"
Min-jae was openly crying now. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, hyung… I didn't know…"
"Now you know. So forget all that crap about glory and power. Stay here. Marry a village girl. Have kids. Work your fields. Be happy. That's all that matters."
The next morning, Mi-young burst into Joon Woo's room without knocking.
"Get dressed. We're going out."
"Aunt Mi-young…" His voice was still heavy with sleep. "Can I… sleep a bit longer?"
"Not this time, my boy." She gently placed a folded bundle of clothes beside him. "Get dressed, we have to go."
Joon Woo rubbed his good eye and gave a faint nod. "Fine… Where are we going?"
"You'll find out soon." Her tone remained calm but firm, the kind that told him the discussion was over.
They walked through the village under heavy falling snow. Mi-young strode ahead with determination. Joon Woo followed with his crutch, muttering curses under his breath.
She suddenly stopped in front of a small shop, so discreet that Joon Woo could have sworn it hadn't been there the day before. The dark wood of the façade bore the marks of time and weather, yet it exuded an ancient, almost intimidating aura.
Hanging above the entrance, a hand-carved sign displayed three characters worn by the years: Smith of a Thousand Blades. The strokes, though eroded by time, still seemed to pulse with an invisible force, as if each chisel mark had been made by a hand steeped in Qi.
At that moment, a faint breath of air, almost imperceptible, brushed his cheek… as if the building itself had recognized him.
"What is this place?"
"Shut up and go in."
Inside, it smelled of sawdust and oil. An old man with white hair looked up from his workbench. His hands, covered in calluses, bore the marks of years of labor.
"Ah, Mi-young! You've finally brought me your protégé."
"What's going on?" Joon Woo asked warily.
"Sit there." The craftsman pointed to a chair. "Take off your shirt."
"For what?"
"So I can take the measurements for your missing arm, young man."
Joon Woo froze. "My… what?"
Mi-young approached, her eyes shining. "You thought I forgot about your stump? Plus, you struggle doing everything with one hand?"
"I'm doing just fine, you know, Aunt Mi-young."
"My eye, yeah." She crossed her arms. "Master Cho makes the best prosthetics in the region."
The craftsman nodded. "I've spent my life fixing what war has broken. Legs, arms, hands... You wouldn't be the first damaged kid I get back on his feet."
Joon Woo looked at the prosthetics displayed on the workbench. Some were crude, others incredibly fine. Complex mechanisms, movable joints...
"How much... how much does it cost?"
"Nothing." Mi-young placed her hand on his shoulder. "It's my gift."
"Master Cho owes me a favor… one day, my brother saved his life. So today, he's repaying his debt."
"I can't accept that."
"You can't refuse either." She smiled sadly. "I had a brother, once. He died in the war. No arms, no legs, nothing. If I could have saved him..."
Joon Woo felt his throat tighten. "Why... why are you doing this?"
"Because you're family now. And we don't abandon family."
The craftsman began taking measurements. His movements were precise, professional. He wrote everything on a parchment, drawing diagrams.
"It will be ready in two weeks." He looked at Joon Woo kindly. "It won't change your life overnight, kid. But it'll give you one more chance."
On the way back, they walked in silence. The snow crunched beneath their steps. Joon Woo felt like he was floating.
"Why?" he finally asked.
"What, why?"
"Why are you kind to me? I don't deserve it."
Mi-young stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. "You think kindness is something you earn?"
"Yes."
"Then you understand nothing about life." She resumed walking. "Kindness is free. It's a gift you give without expecting anything in return."
"The people from my past, they weren't like that."
"No, surely not. But we're not the people from your past."
That night, Joon Woo did not sleep, drowning in his thoughts. He decided to train in the frozen courtyard, refusing his crutches, leaning into the pain to strengthen his legs. Each fall made him grunt. Each effort burned his muscles.
But he got back up. Again and again.
In the darkness, his breaths formed white clouds. His bare feet left bloody marks in the snow. But he kept going.
He had to become stronger. For Min-jae. For Mi-young. For this family who had accepted him without asking anything.
Days passed. Joon Woo lost track of time, absorbed by his nightly training and daily chores. He no longer even thought about dates.
Until that evening when Min-jae timidly pushed open his door.
"Hyung?"
"What?"
The kid was holding a small package wrapped in red cloth. His eyes shone with contained emotion.
"Happy birthday."
Joon Woo froze. "What?"
"It's today. The first lunar month. You're nineteen."
Nineteen. He was nineteen and felt like he was a thousand.
"How did you…?"
"You said it the other day. I remembered." Min-jae placed the package on the table. "Open it."
Inside, he found a gold pendant. A bird with outstretched wings, incredibly delicate.
"I made it myself." Min-jae blushed. "It's… it's a phoenix. Dad says it's the bird that rises from its ashes."
Joon Woo's voice broke. "Min-jae…"
"And this." The kid pulled out a plate of chocolate cakes. "Mom made it especially for you. She said everyone deserves cakes on their birthday."
At that moment, Mi-young and Dae-ho entered the room, smiling.
"So, surprised?" asked Mi-young.
Joon Woo couldn't speak anymore. Tears ran down his cheeks, warm in the cold air.
"Why… why did you…"
"Because that's what family does," said Dae-ho softly. "We celebrate."
"But I'm not… I'm not your family…"
"Yes, you are." Mi-young stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Since the day you arrived."
Outside, the snow kept falling. But in that small room, for the first time in years, Joon Woo felt warm.
He was no longer alone.
He had a family.