Chapter 2 Forsaken
The days passed slowly in the small village, but for Shin and Jin, time felt frozen in grief. Their father had abandoned them. Not in words, but in actions.
Since the burial, he had not spoken to them. He returned only to drink himself into a stupor, reeking of alcohol, before disappearing again into the night. When he was home, his presence was worse than his absence—his silent figure, slouched in a corner, clutching a jug of wine, was a painful reminder that they were alone.
Jin, though still just a baby, could sense the heaviness in the air. His young mind was still developing, but his soul—the part of him that carried an unknown past—knew despair when it saw it. Each night, he would watch as his father sat outside, staring blankly at the sky, drinking himself into oblivion. No words. No care. Only sorrow.
Shin, however, was different. He did not wallow in sadness. He trained.
Each morning, before the sun had fully risen, he would carry Jin on his back and step outside. The village was already alive with the sounds of arrows slicing through the air and striking wooden targets. Men and boys, some barely older than Shin, trained relentlessly, their hands calloused from gripping bows, their eyes sharp like a predator's.
Shin would watch them, his small fists tightening with determination. Then, he would practice on his own.
His aim was poor, his arms weak, but he never gave up.
"I need to get stronger."
That was the only thought that ran through his mind as he loosed arrow after arrow. Most missed. Some barely hit the edge of the target. But every time he failed, he gritted his teeth and tried again.
Jin, strapped securely on his back, watched it all.
Unlike other babies, he was eerily silent. He observed. He listened. He absorbed everything around him. His young body may have been fragile, but his mind was growing sharper with each passing day.
It didn't take him long to realize one thing—this was a world of strength.
The villagers were not ordinary farmers. They were hunters, warriors in their own right. Every household had bows and quivers full of arrows. Even the children trained daily, their small hands struggling to pull back bowstrings, their faces twisted in frustration when they failed.
Jin had no memory of who he was before, but he understood instinctively—weakness had no place here.
One day, as Shin finished another grueling practice session, he collapsed onto the dirt, panting heavily. Sweat dripped down his face, but his grip on the bow never loosened.
Jin, still unable to speak, stared at his brother's exhausted form. A strange warmth filled his small chest. It was not sadness. Not fear.
It was admiration.
His brother was weak now, but he would not remain weak forever.
_ _
Six Years Later, the years had changed them.
At thirteen, Shin was no longer the small, frightened boy who had clung to his dying mother's hand. He had grown tall and strong, his muscles hardened through relentless training. The once-weak child could now lift boulders as heavy as 1,000 jin and run across rugged terrain without slowing down. His hands, rough with calluses, held his bow steady, his arrows hitting their mark without fail.
Jin, now six, was different. His body remained fragile, unable to keep up with the other village children in physical training. But his mind? Sharp. Observant. Unforgiving. He spoke little, watching and listening more than anyone realized. To the villagers, he was a strange boy—too quiet, too intelligent, too calculating. Yet, with Shin, he was different. He spoke freely, his words carrying more weight than his small frame suggested.
Together, the brothers had survived, relying only on each other.
But fate was not done testing them.
--
It was nearing dusk when the hunters returned, dragging a corpse behind them. The village gathered, murmuring as the lifeless body was dropped onto the ground.
Jin and Shin stood among the crowd.
The body was large and muscular, but the man who once carried such strength now lay broken. Deep claw marks ran across his chest, his bow snapped in two. The villagers whispered.
"Black-clawed tiger got him."
"Serves him right, always drunk on the hunt."
"He used to be a great hunter... before he lost his wife."
Jin stared at the corpse. It was their father.
The man who had abandoned them. The man who had drowned himself in alcohol instead of caring for his children.
Shin clenched his fists, but his face remained unreadable.
One of the hunters turned to him. "Will you bury him?"
For a long moment, neither brother spoke. Then, finally, Shin exhaled.
"...Yes."
The villagers seemed surprised, but they didn't question it. In this world, it was common for the dead to be left for scavengers if there was no one to claim them. But Shin and Jin were different.
They would not grieve him. But they would bury him.
---
They dug the grave themselves, outside the village near the forest's edge. Shin handled the shovel with ease, barely sweating as he tore through the dirt. Jin, though weaker, worked beside him, silent and methodical.
When the hole was deep enough, they lowered their father's body inside.
Shin stood over the grave, staring down at the man who had given them life but little else. His hands trembled slightly.
Jin, standing beside him, spoke softly. "Do you hate him?"
Shin didn't answer right away. He took a deep breath, gripping the shovel tighter. "...No."
Jin's sharp eyes studied his brother's face. "Then do you love him?"
Shin exhaled, shaking his head. "...I don't know."
Jin looked at the body once more. He did not feel sorrow. Nor did he feel anger. Only emptiness.
He picked up a handful of dirt and let it fall over the corpse.
"Then let's just bury him and move on," Jin said.
Shin nodded. Without another word, they finished the burial, covering their father's body beneath the earth.
When the last mound of dirt was patted down, they stood in silence. No prayers. No words of mourning.
Just silence.
Then, without looking back, they turned and walked away.
Their father was gone.
But in truth, he had been gone long before today.
And so, they moved forward—just as they always had.
That night, as they sat outside their home, Jin finally broke the silence.
"You don't have to push yourself so hard, Shin."
Shin, leaning against the wooden wall, gave a tired chuckle. "I don't train for him."
Jin turned his gaze toward his brother. "Then why?"
Shin flexed his fingers, looking at his hardened palms. "Because I promised Mother."
Jin nodded slowly. "Then I'll get stronger too. In my own way."
Shin smirked and ruffled Jin's hair. "I know you will."
For the first time in a long while, Jin smiled.
And under the quiet glow of the moon, the brothers sat together—two souls bound not by blood, but by the promise to survive.
The past was buried.
Their future had just begun.