The cell reeked of old blood and stale urine. A single torch sputtered outside the iron bars, casting long, dancing shadows into the room that clawed at the stone walls like beasts. Jiyul lay on the cold floor, unbothered. He had slept in ditches, eaten corpses to survive, and killed men in places far darker than this.
He was just waiting. He always waited.
Heavy boots echoed down the corridor, growing louder with every step. Then came the sharp jingle of keys and the groan of rusted hinges. The prison warden appeared in the flickering light. He stared down at Jiyul, who didn't even bother to sit up.
"So," the warden said, his voice echoing in the small space. "You are the kid who killed six capital guards in broad daylight."
Jiyul didn't respond.
The warden frowned, stepping closer to the bars. "Hey. I asked you something."
Jiyul's voice came out like gravel grinding against stone. "Yeah. I killed them."
He said it just like that. No remorse. No hesitation. It sounded as if he were admitting to scratching a wall rather than taking human lives.
The warden stared, stunned by the apathy. "That is a capital crime! You are saying it like it's nothing!"
"They cheated me," Jiyul replied, his eyes half-lidded. "Then they tried to kill me. So I killed them first."
"You could have run. Reported it. There were channels—"
"They kicked me. Spit on me. Treated me like I was a dog." Jiyul finally sat up, his cold eyes locking with the warden's. "I don't kneel. Not to them. Not to anyone."
The warden stepped back slightly. There was something off about this boy. Not just off, but wrong. It was as if something inside him had broken long ago and never tried to fix itself.
"Normally," the warden said after a moment, regaining his composure, "for killing capital guards, we hang you. Or cut your head clean off and feed it to the beasts outside the walls."
Jiyul tilted his head. "So why am I still breathing?"
The warden hesitated. He hated this part.
"I don't know," he muttered. "King's orders. Strictly: Do not kill the boy. Keep him in chains. Feed him. Wait."
"Wait for what?" Jiyul asked, his voice sharp as a blade sliding from its sheath.
"Some nobles are coming to see you," the warden explained. "Higher-ups. Royal messengers. Maybe even one of the king's hands. They said they will decide what to do with you."
Jiyul's lips twitched. It wasn't a smile. It was more like a sneer trying to crawl out of his soul. "So the bastards want something now."
"Maybe," the warden admitted. "Maybe they saw your fight. Maybe they think you are useful."
Jiyul stood up. The heavy chain on his ankle clinked loudly against the floor. He walked to the bars and looked the warden dead in the eye.
"You know what is funny?" he said.
The warden raised a brow.
"They didn't care when I was rotting in alleys. Didn't care when I starved for weeks, hunted by bandits. But the moment I slice a few of their pets, suddenly I matter."
The warden didn't answer.
Jiyul leaned forward, his eyes glowing slightly under the flickering torchlight. "Let me guess. They want to leash me. Turn me into a blade they can point at others. Make me kill for them."
The warden remained silent.
Jiyul's mouth tightened. "I am not a dog."
"I didn't say you were," the warden replied carefully.
"No," Jiyul said. "But they will."
Silence stretched between them. The torch flickered in the drafty hall.
"Look, kid," the warden finally said. "You are strong. I have seen beasts with less rage than you. But you are still in prison. And unless you want to rot here for the rest of your short life, maybe shut up and wait for the nobles."
Jiyul laughed. It was short, dry, and terrifying.
"No one decides what I become."
The warden stared at him. "You aren't scared of death, are you?"
Jiyul shrugged. "I don't care for life either."
Something cold passed between them then. A heavy silence that felt like a weight in the air. Finally, the warden turned to leave.
"You will be summoned soon. Clean up your attitude before then. Or they will break you."
Jiyul watched him go. "No one breaks me," he muttered under his breath.
As the torchlight dimmed with the warden's departure, Jiyul sat back down on the stone slab. He looked at his hands. Scarred. Calloused. Cracked. They were hands made to hold a sword. Hands used to take life.
Then, he looked at the steel cuffs on his ankles and the chain leading to the wall.
"I have killed for less," he whispered to the darkness. "If they think they can chain me with words and promises... they will learn."
The wind howled through a broken window high above. Somewhere in the deeper cells, another prisoner screamed in the night. But Jiyul didn't flinch. He lay back down, arms folded under his head.
Waiting. Again. Always.