He should have drowned.
Somehow, he hadn’t.

The hands that had dragged him from the river did not loosen their grip.

Rae Jin drifted in and out of consciousness as he lay slung over the old man’s shoulder. Each step sent a dull wave of pain through his body. Burned skin screamed whenever cold air brushed against it, and his limbs felt distant, heavy—like they no longer belonged to him.

Sometimes he was aware of movement, the steady rhythm of footsteps beneath him.
Other times, there was only darkness.

Where… are you taking me…?

The thought barely formed before slipping away.

When his eyes finally opened for real, the air had changed.

Warmth surrounded him.

The scent of damp stone and bitter herbs filled his lungs as he sucked in a sharp breath. Pain flared across his body instantly. He tried to move—and failed.

Bandages.

Rough, tight layers wrapped around his chest, arms, and legs, binding most of his body. Every breath pulled against them, reminding him how close he had come to breaking apart entirely.

A fire crackled nearby.

Orange light flickered across the walls of a cavern carved deep into the mountain.

“So,” a calm voice said, “it seems you’re still breathing.”

Rae Jin flinched and turned his head weakly.

The old man sat by the fire, stirring a small pot. His posture was relaxed, almost careless, but his body told another story—lean and compact, like steel worn smooth by time. His hair, streaked with gray, was tied back simply, and the lines on his face spoke of age without softness.

He was not young.
But neither was he weak.

Roa glanced at Rae Jin once, sharp eyes stripping him bare.

Rae Jin swallowed. His throat burned.

“…Who are you?”

The old man did not look up from the pot.

“Roa.”

He stirred once, slow and unhurried, then finally glanced at Rae Jin.

“But whether you deserve to keep breathing,” he added, almost thoughtfully, “is another matter.”

Roa studied him in silence, eyes narrowing slightly.

That look…
That refusal to let go…

He had seen many people cling to life at death’s edge. Most screamed. Most begged.

Very few fought the current itself.

“Pain reveals truth,” Roa said at last. “Those who seek death welcome sleep. Those who wish to live… endure.”

He turned back to the fire.

“Sit.”

Rae Jin hesitated, then forced himself upright. Every movement sent pain tearing through his body, but he did not cry out. His teeth clenched. His hands trembled as he steadied himself.

Roa noticed.

He said nothing.

Instead, he ladled a clear broth into a wooden bowl and held it out.

“Eat.”

Rae Jin accepted it with shaking hands.

Before he could drink, Roa spoke again.

“Tell me, boy,” he said casually. “What is it that you want?”

Rae Jin froze.

No one had ever asked him that.

Fire rose unbidden in his mind—
smoke choking the air, laughter echoing in the dark, voices that never came to help.

His grip tightened around the bowl.

“I don’t want to be weak,” he said hoarsely.

Roa did not react.

Rae Jin lifted his head. Beneath the bandages, emerald eyes burned.

“I want to grasp the world in my hand,” he continued. “So I never have to fear it again.”

Silence filled the cavern.

Then Roa let out a low breath—almost amused.

“Hmph.”

He stirred the pot once more.

“Troublesome,” he said calmly. “Just when I thought the heavens were finished meddling.”

He glanced back at Rae Jin.

“Eat. If you survive what comes next… then perhaps I was meant to linger a little longer in this world.”

Rae Jin lowered his gaze to the bowl.

The soup was warm. Clean. Real.

He drank.

The liquid slid down his throat like life itself. His stomach clenched painfully as hunger surged, and before he realized it, he was slurping greedily, uncaring of manners or dignity.

Roa watched without comment.

When the bowl was empty, Rae Jin exhaled shakily.

Roa rose to his feet.

“Sit straight.”

Rae Jin barely adjusted before—

Crack.

Roa’s staff struck the stone beside him.

“Cross your legs. Spine upright,” Roa said flatly. “If you slump, you will regret it.”

Rae Jin obeyed, body trembling.

“You’re alive because I kept your blood from spilling and your breath from scattering,” Roa said. “But burned flesh does not heal itself. Shattered meridians collapse if left unattended.”

He stepped closer.

“You will learn to breathe.”

Rae Jin blinked. “Breathe…?”

Roa snorted. “If breathing were simple, healers would be beggars.”

Two fingers pressed lightly against Rae Jin’s chest.

Agony exploded.

Something shifted inside him—sluggish, faint, like embers buried beneath ash. Heat and cold twisted together, wrenching the air from his lungs.

“Do not resist,” Roa snapped. “And do not chase it.”

Rae Jin clenched his fists.

“Close your eyes. Inhale through the nose. Count to six. Hold. Exhale through the mouth.”

Rae Jin tried.

His breath hitched.

The sensation scattered instantly.

“Wrong.”

The pressure increased.

“Again.”

Minutes blurred into pain.

Each failed breath sent invisible needles tearing through his chest. Sweat soaked the bandages. His body shook violently.

“How—” Rae Jin gasped.

“You endure,” Roa replied without sympathy.

He stepped back.

“This is not a technique to make you strong,” he continued. “It is a technique to keep you alive.”

Rae Jin forced himself upright again.

Slowly… he found the space between breaths.

Something stirred.

Roa stopped moving.

“…Hmph.”

“So you can listen,” he said. “Good.”

He turned away.

“I have no patience for the weak,” he added. “If you fail, you will suffer. If you grow lazy, I will break you.”

Rae Jin swallowed.

“Then don’t fail,” Roa said calmly.

He tossed another log onto the fire.

“We begin at dawn.”