📜 NEW CHAPTER 1 — THE HOUSE THAT BURNS

They came for him at dusk, when the last of the winter sun bled gold over the cracked roofs of House Ryu.

Jin Ryu sat alone in the ruined hall, an old cloak pulled tight around his shoulders to keep the chill from gnawing through skin and bone. His breath fogged in the cold. He stared at the dying embers in the hearth — the same hearth where his father once sat, laughing. The same hearth where his mother wept when they buried his sister. The same hearth where Jin, once, had sworn to make this cursed house whole.

Now, forty-eight winters behind him, his house was ash and debt. And death was coming up the stairs.

He heard the boots before he saw the blade. A single squeal of old wood. Then the door creaked inward — letting in the hiss of snow and the stink of betrayal.

It was Mun. Mun, the steward’s son — who Jin had raised like blood, fed like a brother, trusted when trust was all he had left to give.

Mun didn’t bother to hide the knife.

“You came to kill me, Mun?”

Jin’s voice was dry, almost curious. He didn’t stand. Didn’t reach for the poker near the hearth. He just watched Mun’s face twist, the boy’s mouth trembling on excuses that would never come.

“I have to,” Mun whispered. His eyes darted to the shadows behind him. Figures moved there — two men Jin didn’t know. Thugs from Baek’s personal hounds, no doubt.

“I know.” Jin’s lips cracked in a smile that never reached his eyes. “Baek promised you land, didn’t he? A steward’s son, given ten acres and a house. A pretty wife to warm your bed.”

Mun flinched. The knife shook in his hand.

“Please,” Mun said. “If you’d just bowed— if you’d given him the salt yards, the orchard—”

“Baek never wanted my salt,” Jin said. He leaned back in the old chair, bones aching under the worn velvet. “He wanted my name buried so no branch would ever stand again.”

The flames in the hearth crackled low, like bones popping under weight.

Mun stepped closer. The hounds behind him closed the door, sealing the last warmth in.

“You won’t even fight?” Mun’s voice cracked. A boy’s voice, wearing a killer’s mask.

Jin studied him. The pale scars on Mun’s jaw — from that dog bite when he was ten. The ring on his finger — Jin’s ring, once. A promise that family could be made, not just born.

How foolish he’d been.

“I am tired, Mun,” Jin said softly. “Tired of losing to dogs like Baek. Tired of watching this house rot. Tired of regrets that never die.”

He reached into his cloak and drew out the old signet — the only heirloom that still bore the faded dragon crest of the exiled founder.

“Do you know why my ancestor left the main house?”

Mun didn’t answer. The hounds shifted, impatient.

Jin closed his eyes. The heat from the last ember flickered against his lids. For a heartbeat, he wasn’t an old, broken man in a ruined hall. He was the heir of a name that should have burned kingdoms down.

In the dark, the past opened.

He saw a man — young, bright-eyed, standing on the marble steps of a grand keep. A sword in one hand, a woman’s hand in the other. Behind him, nobles spat curses like poisoned arrows.

"You will leave this house, Jin Ryu."
"You will never return."

The young man only laughed, his voice ringing like iron on iron.

"Then watch me build my own — stronger than yours. A bloodline unbroken by greed. A legacy that eats yours whole."

Snow fell around him like ash. A promise carved into the marrow of generations.

Jin gasped. The vision tore away as Mun’s blade pressed to his throat.

“Any last words?” Mun’s eyes were red now — with shame, with fear, with something Jin didn’t have the pity left to name.

Jin’s cracked lips curled. “Tell Baek the next time I come back—”

He chuckled. Blood dribbled at the corner of his mouth.

“—I’ll eat his house bone by bone.”

Mun’s arm jerked. The blade carved a red smile across Jin’s throat. Heat poured down his chest. His knees buckled as he slid off the old chair. His fingers scraped at the stone, clutching the signet.

He saw the hearth. The faces of his siblings — Tae, loyal to the end; Myung, fierce and stubborn; Soha, unbowed. He saw them begging him, again and again: Fight, Jin. Fight.

He’d failed them all.

Or maybe — maybe he wouldn’t this time.

The cold faded. The shadows behind his eyes twisted, coiled, spun backward like a spool of frayed thread. The embers glowed brighter — burning hot enough to blind.

His last thought — not a prayer, not a plea. Just a promise echoing through bloodlines.

"Watch me build it again."

When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was gone — replaced by cracked beams and faded banners, damp from rain leaking through a roof that hadn’t been fixed in years.

A thin hand trembled on a moth-eaten blanket.

Outside, a funeral bell rang once — twice — thrice. His father’s death.

Jin Ryu, age eighteen, drew a single breath and exhaled fifty years of regret.

In the courtyard, someone shouted for him: Master Jin, it’s time.

Time to bury the old man. Time to bury his own shame.

Time to rebuild the house that burns.

To be continued.