Wei wanted to breathe.
He drew in a breath—and pain flared in his chest at once.
The pain felt familiar.
As if this body had long grown used to using pain as a reminder that it was still alive.
White light suddenly exploded behind his eyes.
There was no order to it.
No before or after.
A spark of fire.
A burst of laughter.
A hand reaching out.
In the next instant—
the fire was smothered,
the laughter cut short,
the hand severed.
He didn't know what any of it meant.
But his body did.
These were not dreams.
The images flickered rapidly, crashing into each other like shards of broken glass. A sharp sting shot up his spine and slammed into his skull.
He almost cried out.
Almost.
But he bit it back, hard.
He didn't want to draw attention.
He clutched his head tightly, fingers pressing into his scalp, where dried scabs of blood still clung to the skin.
"Try to eat something."
A young voice spoke beside him, gentle, careful, tinged with concern.
A wooden plate suddenly appeared in front of Wei.
The hand holding it was slender and pale, fingers long and delicate—almost like a girl's hand.
Wei's vision swam, refusing to focus, but he caught a glimpse of the other person's ankle.
A thin chain circled it.
There were faint blood marks around the skin, half-healed, rubbed raw.
Wei froze.
That soft, concerned voice—
he recognized it at once.
It was the same person who had spoken to him earlier.
He lifted his head.
It was a boy, about his age.
Yet those hands were finer than a girl's, cleaner, almost unreal in a place like this—so striking that they were hard to look away from.
A girl?
The thought barely surfaced before something sharp stabbed into Wei's chest.
It felt as though he had brushed against a memory drifting past him—but the harder he tried to catch it, the faster it slipped away.
So he just sat there.
Didn't move.
Didn't speak.
The boy across from him sighed softly and set the plate of food down in front of him.
"If you can eat now, you should," he said. "Later on, you might not even have the strength to do that."
But when he looked at Wei, something in his gaze pricked Wei unexpectedly.
Because Wei understood what the boy was thinking.
How long can he last?
Will he be the next one to fall?
The handsome boy turned his back to Wei and sat down.
He picked up a wooden spoon and began scooping the black, sticky porridge from his plate, one spoonful after another, pushing it into his mouth.
The motion was mechanical.
Repetitive.
Empty.
It didn't look like eating.
It looked like following an instruction that had to be executed.
As he ate, he spoke quietly, still trying to persuade Wei.
"I get how you feel," he said. "The way you are now… you must have gone through something really painful."
His voice was soft and steady, carrying a kind of gentleness that had been worn smooth by time.
"I was like that too."
He sighed. "My heart felt dead."
The black porridge trembled slightly in the spoon, thick and glossy, like tar about to drip.
"When I first got here, I didn't eat for three days and nights," he continued. "That kind of hunger… it makes you feel like your soul is hollow."
He paused, as if biting down on a memory he didn't want to relive.
"I left my hometown. Left my parents. Back then, I thought that with my own abilities, I could make a better life for myself in the city."
He let out a small, bitter laugh.
"And look where I ended up."
The laugh was fragile, self-mocking, as if a gust of wind could scatter it.
"So force yourself to eat a little," he said. "Otherwise… I'm afraid you won't make it."
When he said that, he finally turned back around.
What he saw was not a dying boy.
Not someone crying.
It was Wei, holding up a completely clean, empty plate.
Wei even had a slightly embarrassed smile on his face.
A few smears of dark porridge clung to his white teeth.
He lifted the plate. "Is there any more?"
The boy froze.
In that moment, he suddenly realized—
this person might not die so easily.
Then he curved his lips, a real smile finally breaking through.
"Oh… then I'll go get you some more."
He stood up and carefully threaded his way through the tightly packed bodies in the shed, his movements light and cautious, as if afraid of disturbing some invisible monster.
—
After the meal, that strange smell still hung in the air.
Moldy. Burnt. Sour, like boiled animal organs.
It was hard to tell whether the stench came from the food—
or whether the wooden shed itself had been rotting for far too long.
The building leaked air from every direction, but no one spoke loudly.
Now and then, a whisper slipped out, pressed so low it barely existed, as if any louder sound might invite punishment.
The boy set his plate down in front of him again and lifted his eyes to Wei.
"You really lost your memory?" he asked. "You don't remember anything at all?"
His voice dropped even lower, curiosity creeping through despite his restraint.
Another boy beside him leaned over, unable to help himself.
"Then do you think you might be the son of a rebel leader?"
"A rebel… son?"
Wei looked at the boy in confusion. The boy's face was pale from long-term malnutrition, cheeks sharp as if carved with a blade. Too much white showed in his eyes, too little black.
"Hua, knock it off. Don't say nonsense," the handsome boy snapped, shooing him away.
"What do you mean nonsense?" Hua protested. "Do you know how high the bounty on the rebel leader's son is now?!"
"I've got a sweet potato here. Take it and eat."
Hua's eyes lit up. He happily accepted the walnut-sized sweet potato and turned away, grinning to himself.
"Forgot to introduce myself," the handsome boy said, looking back at Wei. "My name's Minnow. What's yours?"
"What's my name…?" Wei murmured. "What was my name again?"
"Oh. Right," Minnow said softly. "You don't remember."
Wei licked his dry lips. His thoughts felt sluggish, heavy, as he asked in a low voice,
"Um… where is this place?"
The already-thin murmurs in the shed fell silent for a moment.
Minnow glanced toward the entrance, checking the undead iron guards patrolling outside. Only after confirming none were close did he lower his voice further.
"This place is called the Ironblood Youth Camp."
He paused.
Then added quietly,
"Some people also call it—
a place where personalities are reshaped."
Wei nodded.
He didn't really understand.
But his body—
had already begun to remember the name.