A few days later...

You have never felt more afraid in your life.

Darkness, that is all you can see. The inky blackness of your surroundings causes you to feel as if you are trapped in an inescapable abyss, and you are beginning to wonder if you will ever see the light of day again.

You’ve already screamed your throat raw, and your eyes are weighed with a burning heaviness from the endless tears you have shed. You feel as if you no longer have any tears left to cry, let alone enough fight within you to continue pleading for your freedom. You are sure you have been imprisoned in the back of this moving caravan for days, and now it feels as if surviving has become nothing more than a means of exhausting time until you succumb to your fate.

You...have given up.

How long has it been since you last saw the sun, you ponder wistfully. When was the last time you felt the cool morning grass beneath your toes, or the fresh summer wind as it wove through your hair? By the gods, how you miss it. You miss everything and everyone. And while you know you were never one to enjoy the tiresome overprotectiveness of your mother, for the first time in all of your six years, you desperately long for the comfort of her arms to envelop you – no matter how tight – as she assures you that everything will be okay.

It pains you to know that you will probably never feel that sense of peace – of liberation – ever again. And it only feels worse when you realize that your life (now rendered meaningless) will forever be in the hands of the ruthless strangers who have captured you.

Being unconscious for so long, you have yet to see any of their faces. But you can hear them clearly. Their gruff voices, loud and garbled in a language you do not understand, hollering back and forth to one another as they pay no mind to your cries. You do not know what they want with you, or why they have decided to steal you away. But you know your questions will never be answered, and you are so frightened by what lies ahead that it has grown harder and harder for you to breathe. To think. To hope.

You will die by their hands, you mind taunts, and you will never see your parents or your hyung again.

Yunho-hyung.

Just the thought of him sends your reddened eyes tearing once more. Flashes of his mother’s disfigured body – her gouged eyes and mangled flesh – haunt your every thought and dream. You wonder what has become of Yunho. Of Jihye. Are they alright? Are they hurt as well? Or worse, are they…

No.

You can’t even think about something like that. You refuse to. Jung Yunho, courageous and strong and everything you aspire to be, would never perish in such a way. He would never leave you behind. He once promised you so, after all. That he would always remain by your side for as long as you allowed him to. He wouldn’t go back on his word, would he? Your hyung wouldn’t abandon you – never.

“I’ll always be here for you,” were the very words he had whispered to you, so sincere and gentle as he spoke that you had instantly felt a familiar heat rise to your cheeks.

It was hours after you had stumbled to his home from the village square, scrapes on your knees and distressed mewls flowing from your bruised lips. The other boys had tormented you – their favorite game as of late – and mocked you for being the “spoiled pseudo-prince” you were. They teased you mercilessly for your mother’s hovering, taunted you for your father’s rare appearances, and worst of all, physically harmed you just because they were bigger and older.

As soon as you had found an opening to escape their wrath, you ran to Yunho’s home without a moment’s hesitation.

When he opened his door to you and saw your condition (your bloodied clothes and trembling body), he had gasped and quickly pulled you inside. Moments later, when your wounds were properly treated and Yunho’s rage had simmered down, he said to you, “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, but...if I were to approach those children for what they have done to you...my family would suffer greatly.”

You nodded at his words, mumbling that you understood his confliction (though you both knew you didn’t), and Yunho sighed.

With a shake of his head, he reached his arms forward so he could wipe your tear-stained cheeks dry with the soft pads of his thumbs. He grinned down at your quivering pout, the moonlight which gleamed from the night sky illuminating his smile in such a way that you were left speechless.

“Do not cry anymore, Jae-yah,” he whispered to you. “I am here now, okay? I promise I will never leave you, so no more crying. I am here.”

“Yunho-hyung...” you sob, the sound muffled by your arms. You clench your eyes shut, recalling the memories of your past that were filled with endless joy. You crave so badly for them to return to you, those happier times. And while the very thought of Yunho and where he may be now makes your heart ache, more than anything, all you long for is to know that your hyung is safe.

“Rise and shine, Inko-kun.”

You jolt awake at the feeling of someone’s fingers running through your hair, and you sit upright with a gasp. Your eyes dart around, brain running haywire as you try to remember how you wound up here: in an extravagant palanquin, donned in silk robes you don’t recognize, and seated across from a strange man with blue eyes.

“You slept for a long time, you know,” the man playfully scolds, and it’s the slow curving of his lips as they form a twisted smile that sends it all rushing back to you. Your mother’s screams. Her blood, spraying across the room, and the pain that burned your lungs as your life was slowly drained from you. Laughter. Mocking laughter so shrill and deranged, permeating through your floundering mind as consciousness escaped you.

You remember it all in one rapid moment. And the agony...the agony is crucifying.

“Eomma…” you whimper, palms coming up to cover your face. Your body is shaking, each one of your limbs rising to press against your chest until you are nothing more than a ball of shuddering flesh. The soreness around your neck aches greatly, but it is miniscule compared to the anguish that mercilessly tears at your heart. Your mother was...god, your mother.

You cannot help but cry, over and over again, “eomma...e-eomma…”

“Okaa-san, you mean.”

Your head snaps up, and far too soon for your mind to handle, you are staring directly at the very man who caused all of this – your own personal demon.

“Say it, Inko-kun,” he continues lightly, as if he wasn’t the barbarous murderer who destroyed your life. “Repeat after me: okaa-san.”

You remain silent. You don’t even know if you can speak. You’re not sure what to do or say as he watches you through bemused eyes, so you decide to keep your lips sealed. Time passes by, and the two of you are merely staring at one another, Gakuto’s face patient and warm while yours is bursting at the seams with fear.

After another moment, he taps his lips with a finger, saying once more, “okaa-san.” When you still refuse to obey him, he clicks his tongue. “You have to learn at least some Japanese before we get back home, Inko-kun. Chichi-ue will not like it if—”

“D-don’t...don’t call me that.” Your voice is gravelly and pathetic, but it quiets Gakuto nonetheless. He mutely assesses you, tilting his head as he seems to contemplate what his next action should be. With how demented he is, you expect him to throw his head back with a guffaw, or to wrap his hands around your throat once more and deman