Cold wind brushed against my face.
The scent of smoke filled the air.
When I slowly opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a wooden ceiling above me.
It looked old, cracked with age, yet strangely comforting compared to the cold stone dungeon.
My body felt heavy.
Every part of me ached.
The memory of boiling water touching my skin flashed through my mind and I immediately sat up.
"Ah—!"
Pain shot through my back and arms.
Bandages wrapped around most of my body.
"Stay still."
The deep voice startled me.
I turned my head.
The bandaged man sat beside a small fire across the room. His black cloak rested over a chair, revealing a muscular frame covered with old scars.
Even now, his face remained hidden beneath layers of cloth.
"You'll tear your wounds open again," he said calmly.
I glared at him.
"So I didn't die."
"You were close."
He tossed a small wooden cup toward me.
I barely managed to catch it.
"Drink."
The liquid inside smelled bitter.
"What is it?" I asked suspiciously.
"Medicine."
I sniffed it again.
"Poison?"
The man sighed.
"If I wanted to poison you, brat, you'd already be dead."
"…Fair point."
I drank it.
The taste was horrible.
I nearly spat it out.
"Disgusting!"
"It keeps you alive."
I wiped my mouth and looked around the room.
The small hut looked abandoned, hidden deep inside a forest. A single lantern illuminated the wooden walls.
Then the memories returned.
My mother.
The dungeon.
The laughter.
My hands clenched the blanket tightly.
"…Where are we?"
"A safe place."
"You have a lot of those?"
"No."
Silence filled the room.
My chest tightened.
"Where… is she?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
His eyes lowered slightly.
"You already know the answer."
My breathing became uneven.
I knew.
Of course I knew.
But hearing it would make it real.
"She's gone," he said quietly.
Something inside my chest shattered again.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I forced them back.
"I'm going to kill them," I said.
The words came out cold.
The man watched me silently.
"My father," I continued.
"And that concubine."
"I'll kill them both."
The fire crackled softly between us.
Finally, the man spoke.
"You can't."
My head snapped toward him.
"What did you say?"
"You can't kill them."
Rage surged through me.
"I'll—"
"You're weak."
His words cut through me like a blade.
"You can barely sit up."
I clenched my fists.
"If you go back now," he continued calmly,
"you'll die before reaching the palace gates."
I hated that he was right.
"But…" he added.
My eyes lifted.
"If you survive long enough…"
His gaze hardened.
"…you might actually have a chance."
The room fell silent again.
"You're saying you'll help me?"
"No."
My eye twitched.
"What?"
"I'm saying," he said slowly, "I'll train you."
The firelight reflected in his dark eyes.
"Until you're strong enough to take revenge."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
The man looked away.
"…Because I hate that king as much as you do."
Something about his voice felt strange.
Personal.
"From today onward," he continued, "your life belongs to one thing."
"Survival."
He stood up.
"Get some rest."
"Tomorrow…"
He glanced back at me.
"…your hell begins."