Солнце стояло в зените, возвещая наступление Часа Овцы. Его лучи, пробиваясь сквозь густую листву, падали на землю пятнистыми узорами, создавая иллюзию живого, дышащего ковра. Гора, где они поселились, была уединенным и диким местом. Ее вершина часто скрывалась за завесой облаков, а склоны были покрыты непроходимыми лесами, где редко ступала нога человека. Лишь недавно, нарушив многовековое молчание, здесь поселились два человека — мать и сын, беглецы, ищущие покоя вдали от жестокого мира боевых искусств.
Из густых зарослей леса, граничащих с небольшой поляной у вершины, вышел молодой человек. Ему было около шестнадцати лет, но взгляд его темных глаз выдавал зрелость, не свойственную его юному возрасту. В руках он сжимал лямки небольшого, но, судя по натяжению ткани, тяжелого мешка из грубой мешковины. Чон-Ёль остановился на опушке леса и на открытом пространстве. Перед ним раскинулась равнина — плато, которое он и его мать расчистили своими руками.
В центре этой идиллии стояла хижина. Это было крепкое строение из темных бревен, со скатной крышей, покрытой мхом, и небольшой верандой, где они часто сидели по вечерам, слушая пение цикад. За домом, словно стена, возвышался лес, надежный страж, а перед ним открывался вид на бескрайнее небо.
Чон Ёль глубоко вдохнул, наполняя легкие чистым горным воздухом, пропитанным ароматом сосновых иголок и влажной земли.
"У-у-у..." Тяжелый вздох вырвался из его губ, унося с собой усталость от долгих поисков трав.
Он подошел к двери и потянул за кованую ручку. Петли, совсем недавно смазанные, не издали ни звука.
Как только он переступил порог, его окутало тепло и невероятная смесь ароматов. Внутри хижина была разделена на несколько зон. Прямо у входа находилась кухня: большой деревянный стол, отполированный добела, полки с глиняной посудой и очаг, в котором весело потрескивал огонь. В дальнем углу виднелась простая, но аккуратно заправленная кровать, а за плотной занавеской можно было догадаться о проходе во вторую, меньшую комнату, которая служила спальней его матери. Особое место занимали полки у стены — они были заполнены книгами. Старыми, с потрепанными корешками и пожелтевшими страницами, они хранили знания, которые его мать оберегала, как зеницу ока.
Но самое важное в этом доме был запах. Запах был не просто еды, а дома: насыщенный аромат завариваемых лечебных трав переплетался с манящим, сытным вкусом мясного рагу. Желудок Чон-Ёля зловеще заурчал.
За столом, спиной к нему, стояла женщина. Ее длинные черные волосы были собраны в простой пучок, закрепленный деревянной заколкой. В одной руке она держала половник, а в другой — открытую книгу, которую читала с таким сосредоточением, словно искала в ее страницах тайны Вселенной.
Услышав шаги, она слегка повернула голову, не поднимая глаз от чтения.
«Ты нашла?» — спросила она тихим голосом.
Чон Ёль подошёл к столу и с глухим стуком поставил мешок на пол.
«Да. Удивительно, но мне действительно удалось найти все травы на этой горе. Я думал, что за «лунным корнем» мне придется спускаться в ущелье, но он рос прямо рядом со старым дубом».
Наконец мать закрыла книгу, поставила её рядом с миской и улыбнулась искорками глаз.
«Это хорошо. Местные "напитки" нам благоволят. Оставьте мешок здесь пока что; я разберусь с ним позже. Я приготовил суп; он почти готов. Идите помойте посуду, пока я накрою на стол».
Чон Ёль кивнул, чувствуя, как липкий пот охлаждает его спину под одеждой. Он вышел из хижины, оставив дверь приоткрытой, и направился к лесу, где доносился шум воды.
Тропа, знакомая до каждого камня, привела его к небольшому водопаду. Кристально чистая и ледяная вода падала с каменного уступа высотой в два человеческих роста, разбиваясь о гладкие валуны и образуя небольшой бассейн. Звук падающей воды успокаивал, смывая дневные заботы. Воздух здесь был особенно влажным, насыщенным мельчайшими капельками, которые оседали на коже, словно прохладная роса. На берегу, перепрыгивая с камня на камень, суетились маленькие птички с ярко-желтыми грудками, бесстрашно пьющие воду прямо из бурлящего потока.
Чон Ёль сбросил верхнюю одежду, зачерпнул ледяную воду ладонями и плеснул ею себе на лицо. Холод обжег кожу, заставив резко выдохнуть, но тут же прояснил его мысли. Он смыл пыль, пот и усталость, почувствовав, как тело наполняется энергией.
Через несколько минут, отдохнувший и собранный, он вышел из леса. Его волосы были влажными, а одежда слегка прилипала к телу. Направляясь обратно к хижине, он внезапно замедлил шаг. Его взгляд остановился на горизонте.
С этой точки открывался захватывающий дух вид. Далеко внизу, под пушистым покрывалом облаков, виднелись крошечные, похожие на игрушечные домики ближайшего городка. А еще дальше, на самом краю света, величественные горные вершины пронзали небесную синеву, их вершины терялись в белой дымке. Там, внизу, кипела жизнь: люди торговали, ссорились, любили и умирали. Но здесь, на вершине, царил вечный покой.
Дверь хижины скрипнула. Его мать вышла на крыльцо, вытирая руки фартуком. Она заметила, что сын замер, уставившись вдаль, и тихо подошла к нему сзади.
"Наслаждаешься видом?" — спросила она почти шепотом, стараясь не нарушить момент.
Чон Ёль ничего не ответил, только кивнул. Он почувствовал, как её тёплые ладони, слегка влажные от готовки, легли ему на плечи. Тепло её рук проникало сквозь ткань, даря ощущение абсолютной безопасности. Они стояли так некоторое время, молча любуясь величием этого мира.
— Пойдем внутрь, — мягко нарушила она молчание, слегка сжав его плечо. — Еда остынет.
Она ушла первой. Чон Ёль еще немного постоял, завороженно рассматривая пейзаж, и последовал за ней.
Обед прошёл в уютной тишине, нарушаемой лишь звоном ложек о деревянные. Мамина стряпня была простой, но невероятно вкусной. Горячий бульон согревал его, наполняя животворящим теплом и восстанавливая силы. Чон-Ёль ел с аппетитом, понимая, как давно он не чувствовал такого покоя.
Когда миски опустели, его мать задумчиво посмотрела на остатки еды в котле.
«Чол, — начала она, — у нас заканчивается мясо. Последнего куска хватит только на завтрак. Не могли бы вы пойти на охоту?»
Чон Ёль вытер рот тыльной стороной ладони и решительно поднялся.
«Конечно, мама. Я пойду сейчас, пока ещё светло».
Он накинул на себя верхнюю одежду, затянул пояс и, взяв охотничий нож, направился к выходу.
«Я скоро вернусь», — бросил он через плечо.
Оставшись одна в тишине дома, мать смотрела, как закрывается дверь. Тяжелый вздох, полный скрытой тревоги, вырвался из ее губ.
"Хаа..." — прошептала она, и в ее глазах мелькнула тень многолетней усталости.
Охота оказалась непростой. Словно лесные духи решили испытать юношу на прочность. Зверь был пугливым и осторожным. Чон-Ёль провел в лесу более двух часов, выслеживая добычу, пробираясь сквозь колючие кусты и замирая в неудобных позах, чтобы не выдать себя сломанной веткой.
Когда он вышел из зарослей, солнце уже начало садиться, окрашивая небо в багровые тона. Чон-Ёль тяжело дышал, капелька пота скатилась по его виску, но в руке он крепко держал задние лапы большой рыжей лисы. Ее шерсть была густой и блестящей — отличная добыча.
Во дворе никого не было. Его мать, по-видимому, уже занесла высушенную одежду в дом. Чон Ёль толкнул дверь плечом и вошёл внутрь.
Его мать стояла у стола. Таз с бельем стоял на полу, и она, снова держа в руках ту же старую книгу в кожаном переплете, что-то помешивала в маленькой миске. Она читала, ее губы бесшумно шевелились, словно она запоминала текст.
«Вот», — выдохнул Чон Ёль, с глухим стуком бросив тушу лисы на край стола. — «О, какая хитрая... Мне пришлось гнаться за ней почти до подножия горы, прежде чем я смог её поймать. Фух...»
He expected praise or at least a smile, but his mother didn't even turn around. She continued to stir the contents of the bowl, immersed in her own thoughts. Her detachment stung Chon-Yeol, but he chalked it up to her being busy.
Suddenly, she froze. Slowly turning, she looked at him with a strange, unreadable gaze.
"How... how is your wound? Does it hurt?" Her voice sounded hollow.
Chon-Yeol blinked in surprise.
"Wound?" He instinctively touched his chest, where an old sword scar—a memory of a long-ago skirmish with one of their pursuers—was hidden under his clothes. "It seems fine. Why would it hurt? It healed a long time ago."
"Lie down on the bed," she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, and walked toward him, holding the book in one hand and a bowl with some gray substance in the other.
"Mom, what happened?" Chon-Yeol was taken aback, taking a step back. "Everything is fine, I'm just tired after the hun—"
"Lie down!" she repeated sharply.
Obeying her tone, he walked to the bed and lay on his back. And at that very moment, when his head touched the pillow, a flash of pain pierced his body.
"A-agh!.." A stifled groan escaped his throat.
This was not the ordinary pain of a bruise. It was an unbearable, infernal burning sensation rising from the very depths of his chest, as if coal were igniting under his skin. Chon-Yeol looked down in horror. On his dark blue robes, right over his heart, a dark, wet stain was spreading. Blood. The old wound had opened as if it had been inflicted just moments ago.
His mother was already there. There was no panic in her movements, only cold, frightening efficiency. She placed the bowl on a stool, put the book next to it, and brought a basin of water and a clean rag.
"Lie still, I will treat the wound."
The next ten minutes passed in a blur. Chon-Yeol felt his clothes being pulled off, the wet cloth touching his hot skin. Blood flowed profusely, quickly turning the once-gray rag into a crimson-soaked, useless scrap.
His mother worked silently, her lips pressed tight.
"That seems to be it," she finally said, throwing the bloody cloth into the basin. The water in it had turned a dirty pink. "Now I will apply a restorative ointment. It will heal the wound permanently."
She picked up the bowl. Inside was a thick, oily mass of gray color, smelling of ozone and bitter wormwood. Scooping up a little with her fingers, she began to rub the ointment around the opened wound. Chon-Yeol tensed, expecting new pain, but felt only a slight chill.
"And now..." His mother scooped up a large lump of ointment, much larger than the previous one. She looked straight into her son's eyes, and in her gaze read infinite sadness and determination. "Chol, this is going to hurt. Endure it."
Before he could ask "why," she abruptly shoved the lump of ointment directly inside the open wound, pushing it deep into the flesh.
Chon-Yeol's world exploded in blinding white light.
The pain was as if his heart had been gripped by red-hot tongs and someone was trying to rip it out. It pierced every nerve cell, reverberating in his fingertips and temples. It seemed this gray substance was not healing but burning out his insides, reaching down to the very marrow of his bones. He arched his back, trying to scream, but only a wheeze escaped his throat.
His consciousness could not withstand this torture. Darkness mercifully covered him, dragging him into oblivion.
His mother, seeing her son's body go limp, slowly withdrew her hand. She was breathing heavily, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead.
"Haa..." she exhaled, with trembling hands taking the book from the table and opening it.
Chon-Yeol surfaced from oblivion suddenly. Silence.
He cautiously opened his eyes, expecting the pain to return, but it was gone. Twilight reigned in the cabin, diluted only by the moonlight falling from the window.
He shifted his eyes and saw his mother. She was sitting on the floor, leaning her back against the bed, asleep. Her head had fallen listlessly onto her chest, her hands lying loosely on her lap.
The young man's heart clenched at the sight. She had nursed him to total exhaustion. Trying not to make noise, he slowly sat up, checking his sensations. His body obeyed, though there was a slight weakness.
Chon-Yeol stood up, bent down, and carefully scooped his mother up in his arms. She was light as a feather. He felt her clothes soaked with sweat—apparently, the treatment had taken a lot of strength from her, not just physical. He gently laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket.
Turning to the center of the room, he grimaced. A heavy, sickly-sweet scent of decay hit his nose. In the darkness, on the table, lay the fox carcass. During the time he was unconscious, it had begun to spoil in the warmth of the house.
"Can't leave it like this," he whispered. "We'll suffocate."
He found his clothes in the dark and dressed quickly, trying not to make noise. Transferring the fox into a small basin, he grabbed a sharp kitchen knife and quietly, like a shadow, slipped outside.
The fresh night air hit his face, chasing away the remnants of sleep. Chon-Yeol took a deep breath, enjoying the coolness. But before going into the forest, he returned to the cabin window and threw the shutters wide open. Then he opened the front door wide so the draft would drive out the unpleasant smell and his mother could breathe fresh air.
Making sure everything was done, he picked up the basin and headed to the stream at the edge of the forest.
The work ahead was dirty but necessary. Under the light of the moon and stars, Chon-Yeol skinned the fox, methodically separating the pelt from the meat. This task, monotonous and bloody, helped to put his thoughts in order. What was that seizure? Why did the old wound open? And what kind of ointment did his mother use? Questions swarmed in his head, but there were no answers.
Time passed unnoticed. The sky in the east began to brighten, painted in soft pink tones. The first morning birds began to chirp, greeting the sun.
"Whew," Chon-Yeol exhaled, throwing the last piece of cleaned meat into the basin.
He went to the river, thoroughly washing the blood and grease from his hands and face. The icy water finally woke him up completely. Picking up the basin of clean meat, he walked briskly back to the cabin.
From afar, he noticed that the house door was still wide open.
Right, I opened it myself and completely forgot to close it, flashed through his mind. He quickened his pace, feeling a slight pang of guilt that the house had stood open all night.
Entering inside, he did not find his mother on the bed.
"Mom?"
"Ah, there you are," a voice came from behind.
Chon-Yeol turned around. His mother was walking in behind him; apparently, she had gone outside right after waking up. Noticing the basin of meat in his hands, she smiled faintly.
"Thank you, son. How are you? Does the wound hurt?"
"No, everything is fine, thank you," he answered sincerely, placing the heavy basin on the table. "I feel great."
His mother approached him, peering intently into his face. That strange anxiety flashed in her eyes again.
"Chol," she began seriously, "I need you to go down to the town and buy supplies."
Chon-Yeol nodded, already preparing to go, but she held him by the sleeve.
"And most importantly... do not rush. Okay? The wound looks healed, but if you overexert yourself or run, it could open again, and it will only get worse."
Chon-Yeol felt a strange tension in her voice. It wasn't just motherly concern, but something deeper. But he chalked it up to her fatigue after yesterday.
"Okay, Mom. I'll be careful."
The descent from the mountain took longer than usual. Chon-Yeol honestly kept his word, walking at a measured pace.
It seems the wound has healed completely, nothing bothers me, he thought, kicking a pebble on the path. Hmm, darn it... I could have just run and been back in an hour. Oh well.
He sighed, not wanting to experience that hellish pain again, and continued his descent.
Soon the forest parted, and a small town spread out at the foot of the mountain appeared before him. Even from here, the hum of voices, the ringing of metal, and the shouts of merchants could be heard. Passing through the main gates, Chon-Yeol plunged into the bustle of everyday life. People hurried about their business; wagons creaked their wheels on the cobblestones.
He headed to a familiar stall.
"Uncle Chae, can I have a sack of rice and two loaves of bread?" he asked the merchant politely.
"Of course! Haven't seen you in a long time," the fat man smiled, weighing the goods.
...
Having collected his purchases, Chon-Yeol started on his way back. Passing a row of colorful stalls and structures, he suddenly noticed movement in the shadow of an alley.
To the side, pressed against a dirty wall, sat a cat. It looked pitiful: its fur was matted, its ribs protruded, and its eyes were full of torment and exhaustion. It didn't even meow; it only had enough strength to follow the well-fed people passing by with its gaze.
Chon-Yeol stopped. His heart clenched with pity. He looked at the cat with deep sympathy.
"Haa..." he sighed, squatting down. "Are you lost, little one? Or were you abandoned?"
He reached out and gently stroked its dirty head. The cat weakly nudged his palm with its nose. Seeing its condition, Chon-Yeol unhesitatingly broke off a large piece of the fresh, still-warm bread and placed it in front of it.
"Eat. You need strength."
He straightened up and walked toward the mountain path, leaving the animal to enjoy the food. Gloomy thoughts swarmed in his head:
Is it really acceptable to treat living beings this way? Business is business, people are busy with their money, but is it really so hard to give a piece of bread to a weak creature? Merchants... they think only of their own profit, forgetting their humanity.
His musings were rudely interrupted.
BOOM!
The ground beneath his feet shuddered. A powerful shockwave, invisible but crushing, came from above, from the top of the mountain. It hit Chon-Yeol in the back with such force that it lifted him off the ground and threw him forward.
He slammed into the trunk of an ancient tree by the roadside. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. His vision went dark, and he felt his insides twist in a spasm. It felt like his stomach was about to come out through his mouth.
Coughing and gasping for air, he struggled to lift his head. His gaze turned upward, toward the mountain peak.
From there, from the very place where their cabin was located, a thick column of black smoke was rising into the sky.
Chon-Yeol's world froze.
"No..." he whispered.
He knew that on this mountain, within a radius of many li, there was no one but them. He had circled every cliff, every cave three times. It was just them. Only him and...
"Mom!"
He forgot about the pain, forgot about the promise not to run. He bolted from his spot, using all his strength to race up the slope. Branches whipped his face, stones slipped from under his feet, but he did not stop.
An hour later, which seemed like an eternity, he flew out onto the plateau.
Before him lay a scene that made his blood run cold and a lump of bile rise to his throat.
The cabin was burning down. The fire was already subsiding, having devoured everything he held dear. Only black, smoking skeletons remained of the cozy home.
But this was merely the prelude. The real nightmare lay next to the ashes.
On the scorched earth lay what used to be his mother.
Chon-Yeol walked closer, his legs giving way, his breath coming out in a wheeze.
It was a slaughter. A demonstration of transcendent cruelty.
Her arms and legs... they had been torn from her body and scattered aside like a broken doll's, and the body itself was mutilated. But worst of all was the face. That face which had smiled at him just this morning, which had looked at the world from the mountaintop... It was no more. Her head had been crushed. Crudely, brutally, as if someone had simply trampled it with a boot like an annoying insect.
Chon-Yeol fell to his knees. He didn't feel the heat of the embers, didn't feel the pain of his own bruises.
Rage, black and thick, mixed with unbearable, soul-tearing grief, rose from the depths of his heart. Tears, hot and salty, streamed from his eyes, washing away the soot on his cheeks.
"No-o-o!" he screamed, his voice breaking into a shriek. "No-o-o! No-o-o! Mom!!!"
He tried to embrace what remained of her body, ignoring the blood and horror. In his head, like a lifeline, a memory surfaced. Words she had spoken the day they first settled here.
...She sat by the hearth, her face illuminated by the flickering fire.
"Chol, your father died to save us. His sacrifice gave us a chance. We need to continue living and not dwell on the past."
Chon-Yeol had nodded then, feeling the sadness in her voice.
"Yes, okay, Mom."
She looked at him sternly, but with love.
"And promise me something, Chon-Yeol. Never show your bad side. Do not let the darkness take hold of you. And... do not dare to take revenge for your father. Live a peaceful life."
She paused, squeezing his hand.
"Do you understand me?"
"I'm sorry, Mom..." Chon-Yeol whispered, returning to reality. His voice trembled, but steel already rang within it. "I'm sorry... But they have to die. They must die in agony!"
He slowly raised his head to the sky. To the very sky they had admired together just a few hours ago. Now it seemed indifferent and cold.
"I WILL FIND YOU!" he screamed, tearing his throat. The cry echoed off the cliffs, scaring away the birds. "WHATEVER THE COST! I WILL FIND AND KILL YOU ALL! DO YOU HEAR ME?! YOU FILTHY PARASITES! I WILL SLAUGHTER YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE!"
After these words, the air around him changed. Chon-Yeol himself, in his grief, did not feel it, but the world reacted.
At the foot of the mountain, in the shadow of the road wagons, a group of people suddenly stopped. The air became heavy, viscous, as if saturated with the scent of blood.
One of them, shivering, spoke quietly:
«Сэр... может, нам не стоит задерживаться? У меня плохое предчувствие».
Лидер, лицо которого было скрыто тенью капюшона, лишь нахмурился, глядя на дымящийся козырек, но промолчал.
И вот на вершине, среди пепла и крови, Чон Ёль, потеряв последнего дорогого и любимого человека, медленно поднялся с колен. В этот момент он наконец отбросил свои слабости, наивность и милосердие. Но вместе с ними он отбросил и нечто совершенно иное...
Так начинается путь Чон-Ёля! Владыки Эпохи Разрушения...