The light crept in slowly.
It was not a clear light, but a pale thread, as if it hesitated before entering a world it did not know was worth illuminating.
Saō Hyun saw it with a half-dead eye.
The sounds he had heard moments before…
those footsteps…
had not left his head.
He shivered.
He tried to rise.
No.
Not rise.
Escape.
His feet moved without his command, as if his body had learned something new in the night:
survival does not require thought.
One step.
Then another.
The ground tilted.
The sky spun.
He said inside his head, in the voice of a tired child:
Just… one more step…
I don't want them to see me…
But his body did not listen.
The poison, the hunger, the pain, and the nights without sleep…
all of them gathered in that moment.
His knees buckled.
He fell.
He did not feel the ground this time.
He felt nothing.
As if someone had turned him off.
When consciousness returned…
There was no cold.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The air was not harsh, nor still like it had been on the mountain.
It was warm… unfamiliar.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling was low, made of cracked wood, thin black threads hanging from it like dead veins.
Smoke rose gently, filling the space with the scent of burning wood — the smell of a poor life, but a life nonetheless.
He wanted to move.
It hurt.
But the pain was not alone.
There was something else.
Warmth.
He looked to his side.
Fire.
A small, shy fire, surrounded by uneven stones.
Its flame was weak, but enough to push death back a little.
And then… he saw her.
A girl.
She was sitting near the fire, hugging her knees to her chest, rubbing her small hands together for warmth.
About fourteen.
Her face was thin — not from illness, but from a life that had never left room for excess.
Her skin was pale, marked by an old fatigue, as if the sun had rarely visited her.
Her hair was black and long, but not arranged.
Not messy — simply tied back with a plain string, thin strands escaping along the sides of her face, glinting in the firelight.
Her eyes…
They were not beautiful in the way stories say.
They were too wide, and inside them lived a constant caution.
The look of someone who counts escape routes before asking questions.
Her clothes were simple, old, patched at the elbows, yet clean.
As if she cared for what she could, and surrendered what she could not.
She was staring at the fire.
Then—
Her eyes met his.
She froze.
Saō Hyun felt it before he saw it.
That silence that happens when two people discover each other inside a small world.
He thought immediately:
Will they… send me away?
He tried to speak.
His mouth moved.
No sound came.
The girl stood slowly.
She did not scream.
She did not step back.
She took a small step toward him.
She said in a low, hesitant voice:
"You… woke up."
Her voice was calm, but not reassuring.
Not harsh — cautious.
He looked at her.
He wanted to say something.
His name?
His pain?
His fear?
But the words were heavy.
He only looked.
He thought, with exhausted innocence:
If I stay quiet…
will they leave me?
She came closer.
Bent slightly.
She saw his face.
The wounds, the bruised shadows beneath his eyes, the cracked lips, the cold sweat on his brow.
Her eyes widened.
"You… were dying."
She said it as a fact, not a question.
He swallowed.
His throat hurt.
He nodded slowly.
He did not know why.
Perhaps because he was used to agreeing when he did not understand.
She knelt beside him, without touching him.
The space between them was small… but respectful.
She said after a pause:
"Don't move. Your leg… isn't well."
When she mentioned his leg, the pain returned.
He groaned.
Closed his eyes.
He thought:
Why… whenever I open my eyes, does everything hurt?
He heard movement behind him.
Other steps.
Heavier.
Slower.
A young man's voice:
"He woke up?"
The girl turned.
"Yes."
The young man said from behind her, cautiously:
"I told you… he was breathing."
Saō Hyun had not seen the young man yet.
But he felt him.
He felt the presence of someone else.
Someone stronger.
His fingers curled without his will.
He thought, with a childlike fear that suddenly returned:
If they are going to hurt me…
will I be able to run?
But the exhaustion was deeper than the fear.
The girl turned back to him.
She smiled.
It was not a full smile.
Just a half-smile — small, hesitant… but real.
"My name is—"
She stopped.
As if she did not know whether she should say it.
Then she said:
"I live here."
She did not tell him her name.
And she did not ask for his.
That was the gentlest thing that had happened to him in a long time.
He looked at the fire.
Then at her.
Then he whispered, barely audible:
"I… am not bad."
He did not know why he said it.
But it was the most important sentence he knew.
She was silent for a moment.
Then she said softly:
"We know."
The fire was moved a little closer to his body.
And for the first time since the massacre…
he felt that warmth
was not a trap.