Kangha lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a heavy heart. The dim light from the room casts faint shadows, accentuating the worry etched on his young face. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him, but it does little to ease the tension.
"Grandfather," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying the name aloud would summon his memories. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he doesn't let them fall.
"I know what you're thinking, Woo-Jin," he says, as if his trusted friend were there beside him, offering silent support. "I'm not afraid of death." His voice falters for a moment before he regains his composure. "Maybe… maybe I will be killed. He can make me disappear too, just like he did to my grandfather."
The thought is a dagger to his heart. His grandfather—a figure of wisdom and strength, a man respected and feared—now languishes in captivity. Kangha's fists clench as a wave of helplessness washes over him.
"My grandfather is capable," he says firmly, as though reassuring himself. "He's powerful. Even now, I believe in his strength. But me…" He pauses, the weight of his self-doubt pressing heavily on him. "I'm not powerful. I don't have the kind of strength that he does."
For a moment, silence fills the room, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside. Then, Kangha sits up, his dark eyes glinting with determination.
"But I am sensible," he continues, his voice steady now. "My grandfather always said wars are fought with intelligence, not brute force. A man who fears losing has already lost."
The words resonate in his mind, stirring something deep within him. Fear has no place here, not when the stakes are so high. He cannot let his doubts cripple him, not when his grandfather's life hangs in the balance.
"I will bring him back," Kangha vows, his heart swelling with resolve. "At all costs."
The room seems to grow colder, as though the universe itself acknowledges his determination. Kangha knows this journey will be dangerous. The enemy is ruthless, and his resources are limited. But the fire in his soul burns brighter than any fear he might have.
"I'll start by gathering information," he thinks, formulating a plan. "I need to know where he's being held. Woo-Jin might have some leads. Together, we can figure this out."
As the first rays of dawn creep through the curtains, Kangha rises, his mind sharper than ever. The fight for his grandfather's freedom has begun, and he will not rest until he brings him home.
Kangha lies back on his bed, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. His chest rises and falls with each deep breath as he stares at the ceiling. The enormity of the task ahead weighs heavily on him. He knows where he needs to go but has no idea how to get there. The paths to his destination are veiled in mystery, just as the dark forces he must confront.
Their world is unlike any other—a place where magic flows through people and resides in ancient tomes, hidden in plain sight. But alongside this mystical knowledge, their education revolves around the rigid teachings of science. In schools, referred to as "Yuta", the emphasis is on blending magic with science, turning one into the other with ease. Kangha had excelled in these teachings, mastering the delicate art of fusing logic with wonder. Yet now, faced with a foe born of pure darkness, his knowledge feels painfully inadequate.
The—dark magic—was something entirely different. Its secrets were never laid bare in books or classrooms. Learning its ways required venturing down forbidden paths, paths Kangha neither had the time nor the desire to tread. He cannot afford to lose himself in studying the art of dark magic, not when every moment counts in his mission to rescue his grandfather.
"I don't have the luxury of time," he murmurs to himself. His fists clench as he feels the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "I can't waste precious days uncovering the secrets of Kala Jadu while my grandfather remains in danger."
But this isn't a fight he can win with strength alone. The "Oula"—beings of shadow and corruption, servants of the ultimate darkness—are clever and cruel. They thrive on deceit and despair. Kangha knows confronting them head-on would be a death sentence.
"I need another way," he whispers, his voice trembling with both fear and determination. "Something that can confuse the Oula, lead them astray, and help me find the path to my grandfather."
He closes his eyes, letting his mind wander to the stories his grandfather used to tell him. Tales of courage, cunning, and battles fought not with weapons but with wits. His grandfather's words echo in his mind: "The greatest victory comes not from strength, but from outsmarting the enemy."
Kangha's eyes grow heavy, and before he knows it, he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. But then, the darkness gives way to a vivid memory—a scene from his childhood.
A twelve-year-old boy stands trembling, his small frame shaking with fear. Tears streak down his mud-covered cheeks as he sobs uncontrollably. His hair is disheveled, matted with dirt, and his clothes are torn, evidence of his recent fall.
"What happened?" a deep voice asks, steady yet commanding. A man kneels in front of him, his stern gaze softened by concern.
"Grandpa… I can't do it," the boy stammers through his tears, his voice quivering. "I won't run here again. It's too dangerous!"
The man frowns but doesn't lose his composure. He places a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, his grip steady and reassuring. "Stop crying," he says, his tone unwavering. "A man only becomes strong when adversities test him. It's in hardship that we truly discover who we are."
"But… it's a ditch!" the boy cries again, pointing to the narrow, treacherous pit ahead. His fear is palpable, and his voice breaks with desperation.
The man looks at the ditch, then back at the boy. His expression hardens slightly, though not unkindly. "Yes, it's a ditch," he replies calmly. "But life is full of ditches, Kangha. You'll face bigger ones than this." He tilts his head, studying the boy's tear-streaked face. "Do you want to give up every time you're afraid?"
The boy sniffles, his lips trembling, but he says nothing.
"Listen to me, Kangha," the man continues, his voice lowering to a firm whisper. "We are not defined by how many times we fall but by how many times we get back up. This ditch doesn't matter. What matters is how you face it. Do you trust yourself enough to cross it?"
Kangha hesitates, his wide eyes fixed on the man's face. For a moment, the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the wind. The boy wipes his tears with a dirt-smeared hand, his breathing still uneven.
The man nods approvingly. "Good. Now stand up. Look at that ditch, not with fear but with determination. You are more capable than you think, Kangha. Prove it to yourself."
The memory begins to fade as the dream shifts, but Kangha's grandfather's voice lingers in his mind, steady and unyielding: "We only recognize our true selves in times of difficulty."
The land before them is desolate, broken and unforgiving. A narrow, one-foot-wide wall stretches out in the middle, flanked by deep, treacherous ditches on either side. The wall itself is in ruins, its surface uneven and cracked, with gaps as wide as five feet scattered across its length. For a twelve-year-old child, crossing it seems impossible. The wall extends for a full kilometer, a daunting path that could easily claim a life with one misstep.
"Grandfather," the boy whispers, his voice shaking with fear, "if I fall, I'll die." His wide brown eyes are filled with terror as he looks at the perilous path.
The old man stands firm, his expression calm yet commanding. "If you run fast, you won't fall," he says with certainty. His tone is steady, offering no room for doubt.
The boy's tears have stopped now, replaced by a conflicted determination. He stands at the edge of the wall, staring at the path ahead. The five-foot gaps loom like silent challenges, daring him to try. His slender frame trembles slightly, but he refuses to give in to fear.
Kangha, a boy no taller than five feet, exhales sharply. "Can I do it?" he wonders aloud, his voice almost a whisper.
The old man's reply is immediate and resolute. "You are the only one who can. I am sure of it."
Taking a deep breath, Kangha lowers himself to the ground. He sits for a moment, his legs coiled like springs, ready to leap into action. The fear lingers, but his grandfather's next words cut through it like a blade.
"You will run, but you will not be afraid," the old man says firmly. "Fear is the true killer. It claims a person long before death does. Conquer it, and you'll conquer this wall."
As if by magic, Kangha's brown eyes shift to a pale green hue, glowing faintly with an intensity born of newfound courage. He rises to his feet and takes off, his movements swift and purposeful.
His legs propel him forward like a cheetah, each step precise as he balances on the narrow wall. The broken gaps come into view, but he doesn't falter. He leaps over each five-foot divide with confidence, his arms outstretched for balance. The wind rushes past his ears, and for a fleeting moment, he feels invincible.
The wall seems endless, but Kangha doesn't stop. With one final leap, he crosses the last broken section and lands firmly on solid ground. He stumbles slightly but doesn't fall. Gasping for breath, he places his hands on his knees, his chest heaving.
Behind him, his grandfather follows, walking calmly across the same path. When Kangha looks up and sees him, relief washes over his face, followed by an uncontrollable burst of laughter.
"I can't believe it!" Kangha exclaims, his voice filled with exhilaration. "I did it! I actually crossed it!"
His grandfather smiles warmly, pride evident in his eyes. "I knew you could do it."
Kangha stands tall now, his fear replaced by joy and a deep sense of accomplishment. For the first time, he feels the strength within him, a strength that was always there, waiting to be discovered.