In the bustling heart of Hanyang, the capital of the mighty Joseon dynasty, the sun cast its unforgiving rays upon the cobblestone streets, bustling markets, and the sacred courtyards of the spiritual sects. Amidst the swarm of peasants, scholars, and martial artists, there sat a boy, Joon, on the edge of an ornate stone well. His light brown hair was tied back messily, stray locks framing his face, overshadowed by the peculiar gleam of his red eyes. People bustled past him, their eyes darting towards him with a blend of curiosity and disdain before whispering to one another and moving away.
"You see? That's the boy they speak of, orphaned and cursed," an old merchant murmured to his customer, eyeing Joon warily. "Parents had no such devil eyes, no sire."
"Yeah, heard the sect leader had a bout of foolishness thinking to harbor such a one within the walls. Brings nothing but ill omens," replied the customer, eyes narrowed in scorn as he hurriedly crossed the street.
Joon's eyes welled up, the chatter around him blurring into a cacophony of judgment. He recalled the warmth of his parents, how their understanding gaze never wavered, unlike the cold exclusion he faced now. They didn't share his peculiar eye color, a mystery that died with them, leaving him isolated in a world that revered lineage and despised the unexplained.
A group of young martial artists from the QiGong sect swiftly moved down the street, their movements fluid and confident, their robes marked with the symbols of their spiritual prowess. They balanced the energies of the universe through rigorous cultivation of Qi, their hands shaping the air as they practiced their forms, drawing curious onlookers and respectful nods.
"Not a place for the cursed," one of them uttered as their gaze fell upon Joon, the others snickering before returning to their disciplined display.
The sting of exclusion gnawed at Joon, his stomach growling in protest. No matter the whispers, his immediate concern was food, something more pressing than the judgements of passersby. Standing slowly, his legs stiff from prolonged sitting, he wiped the dust off his worn hanbok, its fabric faded from years of use. With one last cast down look at the well he had lingered at too long, Joon started walking towards a less crowded part of the market, hoping to find an old vendor who occasionally spared him some fruit or rice out of sympathy.
The animated chatter of merchants selling exotic spices, the clang of smiths at their forges, and the distant hum of a practicing shaman mingling spiritual incantations with the physical realm faded around him as he moved on, eyes downcast, focusing only on the murky path ahead. His departure marked by the soft echo of his sandals against the rugged stone, Joon disappeared into the crowd, a lone figure contrasted against the flourishing life of Hanyang.
'I hate them all. They hate me, so who cares, right? Mom…dad…where did you even go? I hate it here. I'm hungry, I'm sore…please come back.'
He kept walking, the eyes of those around him sneered, even keeping their distance.
"Those horrid red eyes of his…"
"Stay away, dear. Who knows what'll happen if he looks at you too long."
Joon began to hug himself as he walked through the streets, keeping his head down.
High above the bustling streets of Hanyang, from the vantage point of the towering stone pagoda that marked the sacred center of the Qinglong Sect, two figures cloaked in rich brocade robes stood overlooking the city. These were the esteemed guardians of the sect, Protector Ji-Woo and Elder Haneul. Their presence was as commanding as the falcons that circled the pagoda's spires.
Protector Ji-Woo, a tall, stern man with sharp black eyes that missed nothing, adjusted the deep blue sash that marked his high rank. His face, framed by a mane of neatly tied black hair, bore the scars of many battles, a testament to his prowess and unwavering dedication to the sect.
Beside him, Elder Haneul, slightly stooped with age, had a more contemplative demeanor. His silvery hair fell loosely around his shoulders, softening the hard lines of his pale face. His eyes, a piercing gray, reflected a mind that danced with thoughts as elusive and potent as the winds.
"Ji-Woo, look there," Haneul's voice was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of deep-seated unease, "the boy, Joon. His presence troubles me more with each passing day."
Ji-Woo's gaze followed the elder's pointed finger to the small figure of Joon, moving slowly through the marketplace. "His red eyes, Haneul. It's said they are the mark of the demon clans from the northern wastelands. Can we really afford to ignore such signs?"
Haneul sighed, his eyes shadowed by memories. "His parents, may their spirits find peace, were under our protection. And yet, when the child was born, we sensed a disturbance, a shadow over his soul that could not be explained by ordinary means."
"Indeed," Ji-Woo replied, his voice hard as the stones beneath their feet. "It was we who decided his parents' fate. The threat they could have posed through him demanded it. Yet, each decision comes with its shadows."
Elder Haneul looked troubled. "The decision haunts me still. Could there have been another way? Now, watching him wander alone, hunted by the very whispers we sowed... it gives me little peace."
Ji-Woo turned to look at the elder, his face a mask of resolve. "Peace is a luxury in times like these. Remember the prophecies, Haneul. 'When the river runs red, and the skies blacken, a child borne of darkness shall rise.' We cannot afford to let sentiment cloud our judgment."
"The prophecies... yes, they speak of turmoil and shadows," Haneul murmured, his gaze lost in the distance. "But they also speak of redemption and light. Perhaps the boy could..."
"No," Ji-Woo cut him off sharply. "Redemption is a thin thread upon which to hang the fate of our sect and the safety of our world. The demonic incursions have been growing stronger, bolstered by unknown powers. Joon could very well be a part of this dark puzzle."
"Then what do you propose?" Haneul queried, a trace of defiance in his tone.
"We watch, and we prepare. If the signs continue to point to darkness, we must act swiftly and without remorse," Ji-Woo declared, his eyes scanning the horizon where dark clouds were gathering.
"Alright."
Both men stood in silence, the weight of their decisions, past and potential, bearing down upon them like the stone of the pagoda under their feet. Below them, the city carried on, oblivious to the storms that brewed in the hearts and minds of its protectors. The fate of a boy with red eyes hung in the balance, a silent question mark against the backdrop of an ancient, ever-unfolding drama.
As the day waned and darkness crept over the area, Ji-Woo and Haneul remained at their post, their gazes locked onto the small figure returning home with his animal friends, a silhouette framed by the fading light.
"Keep watching," Ji-Woo commanded, his voice resolute against the evening chill. "We shall see what darkness or light this harbinger brings."
Elder Haneul nodded, though his heart clung to a hope that the innocence witnessed today might, in the end, lead them all from impending shadows. Joon, the boy with the red eyes, remained a puzzle yet unsolved, his true nature as elusive as the whispers of fate carried by the wind.
Under the canopy of stars, Joon nestled within the modest confines of his own makeshift tent, fashioned from the modest materials he could gather, yet rich with the warmth of companionship. Laying down with the tent, we're four red and black puppies and they snuggled tightly. Joon's cheeks blushed, and he smiled a little, saying, "Hey…are you guys lost..?"
The four puppies looked up at him, their eyes the same color as Joon's.
"Those eyes…we have the same eyes. Are you not scared of me…?"
The puppies shook as they sat up, pouting as they brushed up against Joon, trying to lick him. Joon chuckled, "Haha, where did you guys come from? Are you lost?"
The puppies kept going, leaving Joon to think, 'Red and black puppies…with the same color eyes as me, and they smell like ash and sulfur. Where did they come from? Can I keep them if they don't belong to anyone?'
"I don't know where you all came from, but I'm glad you're here. It's nice to not be alone," Joon whispered, his eyes reflecting the moonlight that slipped through the tent's opening. The puppies stirred at his voice, their presence a comforting aura against the harshness of the words he so often heard from the townsfolk.
Suddenly, an eerie stillness fell over the tent as one by one, the puppies' eyes flickered, glowing with a deep, ominous red. Joon startled back, his own eyes widening in response, reflecting a similar crimson hue. The air around him thickened, pulsating with a power that was both frightening and enticing. It was as though the very essence of the night had seeped into his veins, enveloping him in an aura of swirling black and red.
'What's happening to me?!'
Feeling the surge of energy coursing through him, Joon staggered outside, driven by an unseen force. The cool air of the night did little to quell the fire that burned within him. As he ran, the ground beneath his feet seemed to pulse with energy, mirroring his turbulent emotions.
'Why am I running?! Am I panicking?! Am I going crazy?!'
Others saw him, commenting, "What's going on with him?"
"Is he beginning to turn into his demon form now?"
Ji-Woo and Hanuel watched, and they gave each other a concerning look.
Ji-Woo said, "See! His eyes are glowing brighter. This calls for a meeting."
"Tch. Yeah."
"Your doubts earlier mean nothing now."
"I apologize."
Flashes of a battle unknown and yet intimately familiar haunted Joon — visions of warriors clad in radiant armor, their faces set with determination, clashing against a figure that bore his own older self. The imagery was stark, painted with stark strokes of light and shadow, and Joon felt a pang of unknown sorrow and dread intertwine within his heart.
'Is that me?! Killing those people?! It can't be!'
Breathless and overwhelmed, Joon collapsed beside a venerable oak on the outskirts of the village, the mighty tree standing solitary as though it were the custodian of forgotten tales. The night seemed to hold its breath as he tried to calm the storm within him, his mind grappling with the revelations and fears swirling inside him like a maelstrom.
He looked up, saying, "Am I really…a bad person..?"
Just as the weight of solitude and confusion threatened to engulf him, the soft, warm nuzzles of his puppies brought him back from the brink. They surrounded him, their bodies close to his, their eyes no longer glowing, just warm and filled with an understanding that transcended words. Their presence fortified him, lending him their strength and companionship amidst the chaos of his existence.
Joon wrapped his arms around them, tears mingling with the dirt on his face, as he whispered, "Thank you, for being here with me. I don't understand what's happening, but I know I'm not alone." The puppies whimpered softly, nuzzling him, their warmth a balm to his trembling soul.