Ryu stepped outside the creaky door of the shack, his feet sinking slightly into the soft, overgrown grass beneath him. The sun was warm against his skin, a sharp contrast to the cold, damp atmosphere inside the shack. As he looked out, he realized the shack sat on the outskirts of a village. Though the village was distant, its silhouette was clear—modest homes with smoke rising from chimneys, surrounded by tall trees that seemed to cradle it in a protective embrace.
At the far edge of the clearing, the old man was chopping wood. His silver hair, streaked with gray, fell in wild, untamed strands past his shoulders. His posture was sturdy and commanding, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that defied his age. Each swing of the axe was effortless, the blade cutting through the wood with precision. Ryu could see the veins bulging on the old man's forearms, a testament to his strength. The sight was unlike anything Ryu had ever witnessed in his sheltered life back in Seoul. The old man's raw power, despite his advanced age, left Ryu in awe.
"Is this my life now?" Ryu whispered under his breath, the thought creeping into his mind as he took in the serene surroundings. Birds chirped merrily from the treetops, their song filling the air, while a group of deer grazed nearby, their sleek bodies moving gracefully. Other animals, ones Ryu had never seen before, wandered through the fields, their majestic forms giving the entire place an almost dreamlike quality.
After stacking the final log of wood, the old man wiped his brow and glanced at Ryu. His sharp eyes seemed to pierce through Ryu's thoughts. "You look fine enough," the old man grunted, placing the axe down. "Come, boy, if you're just going to stand there, you might as well help an old man."
Ryu hesitated but then moved toward him. His limbs still ached, but the pain was manageable now. As they worked, collecting and organizing the wood, the old man's eyes fell on Ryu's bandaged wounds. His expression hardened, though not with pity.
"Who did this to you?" the old man asked, his tone almost casual, but the weight of the question hung in the air.
Ryu froze. He hadn't yet come to terms with the events that led him here, let alone understand how to explain them. His mind raced, but his lips stayed sealed. Silence fell between them, growing heavier by the second. The peaceful chirping of birds now felt distant, replaced by the uncomfortable tension between them.
The old man finally broke the silence, his voice low and gruff. "Everyone's got secrets, boy. Some darker than others." He paused, then gestured toward the distant village. "That place—Gyeongcheon Village—it's quiet. Small. Folks mind their own business, but don't be fooled. Every face you see hides a story, and not all of them are pleasant."
As Ryu opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. A young girl, perhaps no older than Ryu's current body, appeared from the forest path, carrying a dish wrapped in a cloth. She had short black hair that framed her round face, and her bright, curious eyes seemed to sparkle as she caught sight of Ryu. Her cheeks were flushed, and her small hands clutched the dish tightly as if she were proud of what she'd brought.
"Grandpa!" she called out with a cheerful voice. "I made this for you. Mom helped me with the spices!" Her eyes darted to Ryu, widening in surprise. "Oh! You've made a new friend, and you didn't tell me?"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "No one could replace you, little one."
Ryu, taken aback by the sudden warmth in the old man's demeanor, simply stood there, unsure of what to say. The girl skipped over, beaming, and handed the dish to the old man, who accepted it with a soft smile that seemed out of place on his usually stern face.
They shared an easy conversation, the old man making jokes about his age and the girl giggling as she proudly talked about her cooking. The tension from earlier melted away, leaving behind a quiet, comfortable atmosphere. Ryu found himself sitting down, watching them, feeling a pang of longing for something he hadn't realized he missed—normalcy. For a moment, he forgot about his confusion and fear.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and as the sky darkened, the girl said her goodbyes, promising to visit again tomorrow. Ryu watched her skip away, her small figure disappearing down the path toward the village.
By the time the stars emerged, the old man had prepared a stew for dinner. Ryu sniffed it cautiously, its aroma surprisingly familiar. It reminded him of a dish he'd had back in Seoul, but this one tasted richer, more flavorful. He ate in silence, savoring every bite.
"You should rest," the old man said after the meal, his tone softer than before. "Tomorrow will be a long day."
Ryu nodded but as he lay down, his mind raced. How could this be real? How could he have ended up in such a strange, foreign place? The weight of it all pressed down on him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all just some vivid dream—a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
But eventually, exhaustion won out, and Ryu drifted into a restless sleep.
In the dead of night, Ryu woke to the sound of hurried footsteps and muffled voices. His vision blurred as he struggled to understand what was happening, but then he felt it—strong arms holding him tightly, his body bouncing with every rapid step. The old man's face hovered above him, pale and smeared with blood.
"Stay awake, boy!" the old man rasped, his voice filled with desperation. Ryu could see the girl, her face terrified, clutched in the old man's other arm. Around them, the night was filled with strange noises—inhuman growls and shrieks that sent chills down Ryu's spine.
The old man was running at full speed, his body battered and bleeding, but he refused to stop. Behind them, shadows moved—monstrous shapes that seemed to blend into the darkness, their glowing eyes locked onto the fleeing trio.
Ryu's heart pounded as fear gripped him. What were those things? Why were they chasing them? The old man's injuries were severe, his strength clearly waning, but still, he pressed on, blood dripping onto the ground with every step.
The peaceful village, the warmth of the evening—it all felt like a distant memory now, swallowed by the terror that pursued them through the night.