Scene 1. Go
Go.
Go away.
Please.
In the darkness, that voice echoed.
Yeonhwa's voice. Trembling, wet, on the verge of breaking apart. It circled his ears. It clawed the inside of his skull. Scraped the eardrums, bored into the brain, slid down the spine, and lodged in the heart. Go. Go away. Please. Go. Go away. Please. Go. Go. Go—
Ian did not open his eyes.
He didn't want to.
The dark was good. Cold, damp, and sightless—this dark. A dark where he didn't have to look at Yeonhwa's eyes. The terror-stricken pupils. The pupils that saw a monster. The pupils that trembled while looking at him. He didn't have to meet them here.
He wanted to stay.
Forever.
But sensation was returning.
Unwanted. Refused. His body was waking on its own.
Touch came back first. The feel of the floor against his back. Cold, hard, damp. Stone. Stone veined with the smell of moss. Stone blotched with mold. Somewhere underground. Where no light reached. Beneath the earth. A place like a tomb.
Then smell. The scent threaded through the air stung the tip of his nose. Cresol. Disinfectant. The tang of blood soaked into bandages. And beneath those, the stale reek of old stone and rusted iron. The smell of a cell. Of a dungeon below ground. The smell of a place no one leaves alive.
Last came hearing. Footsteps in the distance. Shoe heels striking stone floor. Even intervals. Tok. Tok. Tok. Drawing closer, or pulling away, or perhaps just a hallucination.
A hallucination.
Yes.
Yeonhwa's voice must have been a hallucination, too.
Go.
Go away.
Please.
It was not a hallucination.
It was a memory. Seared in vivid detail. The scene that surfaced whenever he closed his eyes. Yeonhwa curled on the bed. The small body pressed against the wall, shaking. Eyes wet with tears. Lips white with fear. The moment those lips moved. Without sound. But unmistakably. Go. Go away. Please.
She had been looking at me.
She said those words while looking at me.
At me.
At the monster.
Ian's fingers twitched.
Not trying to move. He didn't want to move. But his fingers scraped the floor on their own. Nails caught in the grooves between stones. Rough, cold, blood-crusted fingers. Whose blood, he didn't know. The military policeman's. His own. Or both.
It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
Yeonhwa had rejected him. That was the only fact. The reason he had to live was gone. That was the only fact. Doctor Jang's voice echoed inside his head. Live. You have to live. Why. Why do I have to live. He couldn't answer. He didn't want to answer.
The darkness deepened.
Consciousness tried to sink again. Into the cold, damp deep. To a place where he felt nothing. Where Yeonhwa's voice could not reach.
But.
The footsteps drew closer.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
They stopped in front of the door.
The scrape of iron. A lock turning. Hinges shrieking. Light poured in. The glow of a yellow lantern. Light that burned through his eyelids.
The footsteps entered.
Stopped before Ian.
"You're awake."
A voice descended.
Low, smooth, cultured. Korean. But the inflection was wrong. Too clean. Too polished. Not the speech of a man born and raised on Korean soil.
Ian did not open his eyes.
He didn't want to.
"Or are you merely pretending to be?"
The tip of a shoe nudged his chin.
Lightly. Not a stomp but a check. The smooth feel of shoe leather. Expensive shoes. Shoes that had no business on the blood-stained floor of a dungeon.
"Either way, it doesn't matter."
The foot withdrew.
"You'll understand soon enough."
Behind him, other footsteps. Two. Three. Heavy military boots. The sound of something set down on the floor. Metal clanking. Water sloshing.
Ian's eyelids trembled.
He didn't want to open them.
But.
He needed to know.
What was coming.
What they were going to do.
What they were going to do to Yeonhwa next.
Ian's eyes opened.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Yellow light flooded into pupils accustomed to the dark. Blurred outlines took form. A stone ceiling. Rusted iron bars. And before them, the silhouette of a man.
Backlit. His face invisible. Only the outline. A well-tailored suit. Gleaming shoes. A cane in one hand.
And behind the man.
A shadow stretching long.
"Good."
The man said.
"Let's begin."
Scene 2. Shackled
Water crashed down.
Ice-cold. It struck his face. Forced up his nostrils. Flooded his mouth. Breath stopped. Lungs seized. A cough erupted. Blood-tinged water spewed between his lips.
"Get up."
A boot drove into his ribs.
The bones screamed. Broken edges bit into flesh. He couldn't breathe in. Couldn't breathe out. His body curled.
Another kick.
Same spot.
Same angle.
"Tie him."
The suited man's voice. A command. The boots moved. Hands reached down. Seized Ian's arms. Hauled him upward. It felt as though his shoulder was dislocating. As though the necrotic left arm was tearing free from the bone.
Dragged to the wall.
Chains were waiting.
Clamped around his wrists. Cold, heavy, rusted iron. The moment it touched skin, it bit. His arms were hoisted overhead. The chain links hooked onto a spike driven into the wall. The tips of his toes barely grazed the floor. His shoulders stretched. His joints groaned.
He hung.
Like an animal.
The suited man walked forward.
Tok.
Tok.
He stopped before Ian. The yellow lantern glowed behind him. Still backlit. Face still invisible.
A hand rose.
It gripped Ian's jaw.
Lifted his face.
Light slid across the man's features.
Mid-forties. A jawline cut like a cliff edge. Salt-and-pepper hair swept back. Dark brows, a high-bridged nose, thin lips. A Korean face. But the eyes were different. Cold, moist, gleaming like a serpent's. Eyes that observe. Eyes that peer down at a frog pinned to a dissection tray.
"The tiger's blood."
The man murmured.
"So that's what runs inside you."
Ian did not answer.
He couldn't. His mouth was pooled with blood. He swallowed. His throat burned going down.
The man's thumb stroked Ian's jaw. Scraped at a dried scab. Peeled it away. Fresh blood welled up.
"Regeneration. So it really does exist."
Not admiration. Confirmation.
"They say you survived a bomb at Gyeongseong Station. Survived being shot. Survived being stabbed."
The hand slid from the jaw.
Settled on Ian's chest.
The palm pressed flat over his heart.
"I'm curious what's inside this."
Fingers pressed into Ian's skin.
Over the bandages wound around his chest. Bandages stiff with dried blood. Beneath them, the site of the broken ribs. He pushed. A bone fragment was driven deeper into the flesh. Into the lung.
Breath stopped.
No scream came.
He clenched his teeth. His jawbone creaked. Blood seeped between his molars. Foam rose in his throat. Blood trickled between his lips.
"You don't make a sound."
The man said. Interested.
The fingers pressed harder.
Bone driven inward.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Ian's body convulsed.
The chains clattered. Blood ran from his wrists. Rusted iron ground into flesh. Arm muscles contorted. His back arched like a bow.
No scream.
He wouldn't let one out.
Yeonhwa's face, white with terror, rose before him. If she hears me scream. If she hears my pain. She'll be more afraid. She'll shake harder. She'll reject me more. Go. Go away. Please.
He endured.
Swallowed it.
The pain.
The scream.
The fact of being alive.
The man's hand withdrew.
"Intriguing."
The tip of his cane nudged Ian's chin upward.
"Do you enjoy the pain? Or—"
He peered into Ian's eyes.
Empty eyes. Eyes where the amber light had gone out. Eyes that were alive but dead.
"Are you already dead?"
The man stepped back.
From his suit pocket, he drew something. A small silver case. He opened it. A syringe lay inside. Yellow liquid trembled in the glass barrel.
"You're not allowed to die yet."
He lifted the syringe.
"I need your blood."
The needle tip flashed.
It approached Ian's neck.
It pierced.
Yellow liquid pushed into the vein.
The heart beat.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Faster.
Wildly faster.
The world brightened. The darkness peeled away. Color returned. Sensation returned. Every sensation in his body. Every wound. Every pain. Every nerve that had been sleeping ignited at once and screamed awake.
Ian's mouth opened.
A scream tore free.
Scene 3. Fury
The scream struck the stone walls and ricocheted.
He didn't know if it was his. Couldn't tell. His whole body was on fire. Flames spreading beneath the skin, muscles melting, bones boiling. Lava ran through every vein. His heart hammered as if it would burst. Once. Twice. Three times. Faster. Faster. Hard enough to shatter the ribs and punch through.
His eyes rolled back.
Whites exposed.
His body convulsed.
The chains thrashed. His wrists tore open. Blood sprayed. On the wall. On the floor. It didn't matter. He couldn't feel it. All he felt was fire. Fire swallowing his entire body.
"Intriguing."
The suited man's voice came from far away. Very far. As if heard underwater. Blurred, stretched, shapeless sound.
"Ordinary humans—their hearts burst."
The footsteps drew closer.
"The tiger's blood, indeed."
How long it lasted, he didn't know.
Ten seconds. A minute. Ten minutes. An hour. The sense of time was gone. Only fire. Fire and pain and screaming. His throat shredded. His vocal cords ruptured. No more sound would come. His mouth hung open, gasping.
And.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
The fire died.
The lava cooled. The muscles hardened. The bones found their places. The heart slowed. Once. Twice. Three times. Back to normal rhythm. His pupils returned. A white ceiling came into view. No. Not a ceiling. Stone. Gray stone. The stone of an underground cell. Hanging above him.
He breathed.
In.
Out.
He was alive.
"Remarkable."
The suited man was close. Right in front of him. No syringe in his hand now. The cane instead. Its tip prodded Ian's chest.
"The ribs are fusing."
He prodded. No pain. The place that had been broken. The bone fragment that had dug into flesh. Gone. No—not gone. Fused. The bones. The tissue. Regenerating.
"The lungs will follow, I expect."
The man tilted his head.
"The drug seems to accelerate regeneration. I'll have to note that down."
Ian's eyes turned to the man.
Not the empty eyes from before. Something different now. Something was rising from the deep. Cold. Heavy. Sharp.
The man didn't notice.
He pulled back his cane and stepped away.
"Your blood will prove quite useful."
He drew a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his hands.
"I'll need to extract it regularly for research."
"…Yeonhwa."
A sound leaked from Ian's mouth.
Rough. Cracked. A sound from a ruined throat. Closer to a cry than a word. A beast's cry. A wolf howling at the moon.
The man's feet stopped.
"What?"
"Yeonhwa."
He said it again.
This time it was not a cry.
It was a question.
The man turned slowly.
He looked down at Ian. With the serpent's eyes. The eyes of someone who has found something interesting.
"Yeonhwa."
He rolled the name on the tip of his tongue. Tasting it. Savoring it.
"So that woman is your weakness."
Ian did not answer. He didn't need to. He had already answered. The moment he put her name in his mouth.
The corners of the man's mouth rose.
A smile.
A blade of a smile.
"Don't worry."
The man said. A gentle voice. The voice of someone soothing a child.
"I'm taking very good care of her."
One step closer.
"Feeding her delicious meals every day."
One more.
"Dressing her in fine clothes."
He stood before Ian.
"Keeping her looking beautiful."
A hand rose. It stroked Ian's cheek. Over the dried scab. Softly. Tenderly.
"For the wedding day."
Ian's heart stopped.
One beat.
Two beats.
Three beats.
It started again.
Violently.
"Father."
The word fell from Ian's mouth.
It didn't tremble. It wasn't anger. It was hollow. An echo reverberating from the bottom of an empty well.
The man's—Count Yi's—smile deepened.
"It's been a while since I've heard that word."
The hand left Ian's cheek.
"When was the last time you called me Father?"
He pretended to remember. As if he couldn't. As if it didn't matter.
"Ah, that's right. The day your mother died."
Ian's fingers clenched.
The chains went taut.
Count Yi paid no notice.
"Yeonhwa. That woman's eyes—they reminded me of your mother."
He turned. Walked toward the door.
"In ten days, she becomes my wife."
He stopped at the door.
Glanced over his shoulder.
"Your blood extracted, your woman taken."
The smile spread.
"A father truly reaps the rewards of his son."
Light kindled in Ian's eyes.
Faintly.
So faintly.
An amber flame flickered inside the pupils.
"…I'll kill you."
The sound leaked out.
Cracked, broken, ripped from a beast's throat.
"I'll kill you."
Again.
The chains went taut. Blood poured from his wrists. Flesh tore and bone showed through. It didn't matter. He drove force into his arms. The chains shrieked. The spike in the wall shuddered.
"I'll kill you."
A third time.
The amber glow blazed in the dark.
"I'll kill you. Father."
Count Yi laughed.
Without sound. Only his shoulders hitching. As though amused. As though he found it genuinely entertaining.
"I look forward to it. Son."
The door closed.
The lock turned.
The footsteps faded.
Darkness flooded in.
Only Ian remained.
Hanging in chains. Bleeding. But his eyes did not go out. The amber light burned. Burning through the dark. Burning through the walls. Like a curse. Like an oath.
Ten days.
Within ten days.
Scene 4. Signal
The footsteps faded completely.
The lantern went out.
Only dark remained.
Ian hung.
From the chains. From the spike in the wall. Blood ran down from his wrists. Tok. Tok. Tok. The sound of drops hitting the floor echoed in the dark. His arms were numb. His shoulders felt ready to dislocate. The tips of his toes barely touched the ground.
It didn't matter.
Ten days.
The number circled inside his skull.
In ten days, Yeonhwa becomes Father's wife. In ten days, Yeonhwa falls into that serpent's hands. Ten days. Ten. Ten. Ten.
He wrenched at his wrists.
The chains groaned. Rusted iron dug into flesh. More blood poured. Bone showed through. Bone met iron. A grinding sound.
They didn't break.
He pulled again.
The chains rattled. The spike in the wall shook. Dust fell. Powder spilled from the cracks between stones.
It didn't give.
His breathing roughened.
No strength left in his body. The drug was wearing off. Regeneration was slowing. The ribs had fused. The lungs had fused. But too much blood had been lost. His muscles wouldn't respond. His vision blurred. The darkness grew thicker.
Dying.
If I hang here like this, I die.
Bled dry. Starved. Alone in this dark.
Without saving Yeonhwa.
Ian's teeth locked.
His molars ground together. His jawbone resonated. Blood leaked between his lips. His own, or the blood he'd swallowed earlier—he didn't know.
I cannot die.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Then.
A sound.
From far away.
Very far away.
From beyond the wall.
A scratching sound. Nails on stone. Nails on iron. No. Neither. Fingernails. Someone's fingernails scraping against the wall.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Even intervals. A rhythm. A signal.
Ian's head turned.
The left wall. Near the floor. The gap between bricks. That was where the sound came from.
Scratch. Scratch. Pause.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Pause.
Scratch.
Not Morse code.
But there was a pattern. There was meaning. Someone on the other side of that wall was sending a signal.
Ian's mouth opened.
He tried to make a sound. His throat was shredded. His vocal cords were ruined. Only breath leaked out.
He moved his foot.
Kicked the floor. Thud. Once. Thud. Thud. Twice.
An answer.
The scratching stopped.
Silence.
A silence that felt long.
Then.
A brick moved.
One brick near the floor. It slid inward. A gap opened. Wide enough for two fingers. Something slipped through from the darkness beyond.
Paper.
A small, folded piece of paper.
It fell to the floor.
The brick slid back into place.
The sound was gone.
Only Ian remained.
And a single sheet of paper on the floor.
His hands couldn't reach.
He was hanging. Arms shackled overhead. His hands couldn't reach the floor.
He stretched his foot.
His toes touched the paper. He dragged it closer. It slipped. He dragged again. He wedged the paper between his toes. Lifted it. To his knee. To his thigh. He twisted at the waist. It felt as though his shoulder was tearing from its socket. It didn't matter.
His hand reached it.
His fingers gripped the paper.
In the dark, he unfolded it.
He couldn't see. There was no light. He squinted. The amber glow rose faintly in his eyes. The flame burning inside his pupils. By that light, he held the paper close.
There was writing.
Written in blood.
Three characters.
Three days.
And one line below.
Wait.
Ian's fingers clenched around the paper.
It crumpled. It smelled of blood. Doctor Jang's blood, or someone else's—he couldn't tell.
But he could tell this much.
Someone was moving.
Someone was looking for Ian.
Three days.
Hold on for three days.
The corner of Ian's mouth rose.
It was not a smile.
It was the baring of a beast's teeth.
The amber glow blazed in the dark.
Not ten days from now.
Three days from now.
Before then.
Without fail.