The Dungeon

- 110 years after the apocalypse -

A few days after the incident in the library, the Westerian family was still in shock—especially the Duke. Jonan blamed himself for what had happened and locked himself in his room. Day and night, his cries and screams could be heard through the halls.

Then, one night, the Duke knocked on Jonan's door.

"Son," the Duke called out, his voice dark and heavy, "we need to talk."

Jonan looked up, his swollen eyes barely registering his father's presence. The Duke met his son's gaze with a cold, unreadable expression.

"Come with me," he said.

Jonan didn't say a word. He simply followed his father through the dimly lit corridors of their estate.

It feels like we've been walking for hours… Where is he taking me? Jonan wondered.

Suddenly, the Duke stopped in front of an old, worn wooden door. Without hesitation, he pushed it open and turned to Jonan.

"Get in," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

Jonan hesitated but obeyed, stepping into the pitch-black room.

Before he could turn back, the door slammed shut behind him. He heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place.

"Father?! What are you doing?!" Jonan cried, pounding on the door. "Let me out! Please, Father, I'm sorry!"

His desperate screams filled the air, but no response came. He continued to shout and plead until exhaustion took over, and eventually, he fell into a restless sleep.

—

When Jonan woke up, he had no way of knowing whether it was morning or night—the room was still as dark as before. He didn't know how long he had been asleep or even where he truly was.

I'm lost in this darkness…

The room was larger than he expected. He could hear faint movements in the distance, strange creatures stirring in the shadows.

And then… the whispers began.

They echoed all around him, taunting him. They blamed him for his mother's death, mocking him over and over.

But Jonan had no more tears left to shed.

He stood up, his body weak but his mind set on survival. He needed to find food—anything to keep himself from starving.

"I wish there was a torch… or anything I could use to see."

Time passed, but Jonan couldn't tell how much. Minutes? Hours? He had no way of knowing. The darkness made it impossible to track time.

"I need to find something to eat… anything… before I starve."

Then, he heard it. A faint, high-pitched squeak.

"A mouse?"

Jonan's body tensed.

Moving carefully, he used the walls to steady himself as he crept toward the sound. He stopped.

"I don't hear it anymore… Where did it go?" he whispered to himself.

He continued searching, carefully stepping forward. Then—his foot landed on something solid.

"What did I just step on?"

He bent down, feeling the object with his fingers.

A knife.

"Finally! This can help me. Now all I need to do is find that mouse… and I'll have something to eat."

Determined, Jonan pressed forward. He kept walking, deeper into the dark, his hunger driving him forward.

Then, he heard the squeak again—closer this time. He moved toward it, heart pounding.

But suddenly, something changed.

"What is that?!" Jonan gagged.

A putrid stench filled the air, thick and suffocating.

"I can barely breathe…" he muttered.

Then, something wet dripped onto his head.

"Why… why does it feel like something is dripping on me?"

Jonan froze.

Something was watching him.

And this time, it wasn't just his imagination.

A presence loomed in the darkness—something massive, something dangerous. A predator waiting for him to make a move. Waiting to strike.

Jonan gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the knife.

I won't die here. Not after everything Mother sacrificed for me.

He took a slow, deep breath, shutting his eyes. If he couldn't see, he had to rely on his other senses.

The air was colder here. He could feel a faint breeze, hear the soft dripping of water from the ceiling. The overwhelming stench of decay clogged his nose, making him want to gag.

Then—he felt it.

The creature's breath. Hot and rancid, right above him.

Jonan acted without hesitation. He gathered every ounce of strength he had left and drove the knife upward—straight into the beast's throat.

A sickening crunch echoed through the darkness.

The monster let out a gurgling screech as it thrashed, its body collapsing with a heavy thud. Blood sprayed in all directions, coating Jonan's skin, his clothes—his entire body soaked in the thick, warm liquid.

But none of that mattered.

All he could think about was food.

"I can eat."

His stomach twisted painfully at the thought. Desperation took over.

Jonan pried open his mouth and bit down on the monster's flesh.

The moment he swallowed, his body rejected it. He gagged, doubling over as he vomited onto the stone floor. His stomach cramped violently.

But the hunger remained.

Shaking, he forced another bite into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Gagged again.

Again.

And again.

Until finally, his body stopped resisting.

By the time he finished, he was trembling. His vision blurred. His thoughts felt disconnected, unraveling.

This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare.

He let out a shaky laugh, his mind teetering on the edge of madness.

"Yes… I'm going to wake up. Mother will be there. Lona and Father, too. We'll all have breakfast together outside, just like we used to."

Then—he heard it.

A lock turning.

The door creaked open.

A blinding flash of light filled the room.

A tall man in a refined black suit stood before him. His silver hair was neatly combed, and a thin French mustache adorned his face. Though his features were sharp and dignified, faint wrinkles lined his forehead. His deep brown eyes widened in shock.

This man was Grayfield.

"Young master! What happened to you?!" Grayfield cried out, rushing toward Jonan.

He lifted the boy in his arms, his voice filled with panic. But Jonan didn't respond. He had already lost consciousness.

—

Where am I?

Jonan's mind drifted between wakefulness and dreams.

How much time has passed?

A soft glow surrounded him, warmth replacing the unbearable cold of the dungeon. Slowly, his vision adjusted, shapes becoming clearer.

I can see… This is… my room?

His breath caught in his throat.

So… it really was just a nightmare?

In front of him, Grayfield stood, tense and hesitant.

"Young master… How do you feel?" he asked cautiously. "You've been through terrible things these past few days, but it's over now. The Duke has permitted your release."

He leaned closer, studying Jonan's pale face.

"Can you hear me?"

Jonan nodded. But as he did, the truth settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

It was real.

All of it.

His mother was gone.

He would never see her again—never hear her voice, never feel her warm embrace. The mother with golden hair and vibrant green eyes…

She was gone forever.

Jonan parted his lips, his voice weak, "Grayfield, how long have I been here?"

Grayfield replied, "Four days, young master."

"I want to be alone for a while," Jonan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grayfield nodded silently and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Jonan stood up, his body trembling and weak, his legs struggling to hold his weight. He took a deep breath and looked around his room—the bed he had slept in, a large bed with four pillows, a thick wool blanket, and elegantly carved wooden legs. His gaze wandered to the decorated walls, the intricate patterns on the wallpaper, and the paintings of his family hanging closely together.

Then, his eyes fell on the mirror.

He did not recognize himself.

His body was thin, his skin pale, and his once-sharp features now looked hollow. His eyes, once bright, were sunken with heavy dark circles beneath them. The only things that remained unchanged were his green eyes and brown hair, though even that seemed duller than before. Is this really me? he thought.

A knock on the door broke the silence. It was Luna, his younger sister.

He turned toward her—her tiny frame dressed in a cute pink dress, golden hair flowing down with a delicate pink bow clipped onto it, and the same green eyes as his, wide with worry. She hesitated for a moment before rushing toward her brother and wrapping her small arms around him in a tight embrace, her body trembling against his.

Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to him, her voice barely holding back a sob.

"Luna… it's okay," Jonan said in a weak voice as he returned her embrace, his arms wrapping around her gently.

And so, they stayed like that for long minutes, wrapped in silence, as if afraid that letting go would shatter the fragile moment between them.

As Luna slowly pulled away from her brother's embrace, she spoke in a quiet voice, "Father wants you to go to his office." 

She lowered her gaze, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. "He's been... different these past few days. Father really scares me." 

Her green eyes, usually filled with light, now held a shadow of fear. 

"And… he was the one who threw you in there. So please, be careful, big brother..."

Jonan gave a small nod and said, "It's okay, Luna. There's nothing for you to worry about."

He offered her a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, making his way toward his father's office—the Duke's office.

He soon found himself standing before the two grand doors of the office. They were old wooden doors, yet still in pristine condition, their surface adorned with intricate golden engravings. A silver handle gleamed in the dim light.

Jonan hesitated for a brief moment before raising his hand and knocking twice—two weak, almost hesitant knocks.

His father opened the doors and stood before him.

The Duke—a tall man with smooth brown hair and piercing emerald-green eyes—stared down at Jonan. A small, neatly trimmed mustache sat above his lips, and his broad, well-built frame carried an air of authority. His expression was cold, unreadable, yet intimidating.

Jonan felt a shiver run down his spine.

What is he going to do to me this time? he thought, his fists clenching slightly at his sides. And why did he throw me into that dungeon? Father has never acted like this before…

Back to the present.

I can't believe it's already been four years since the first time Father threw me in there… the dungeon.

Jonan stared blankly ahead as the carriage rocked gently along the road. I've been locked in there more times than I can count, but honestly? I've gotten used to it. To tell the truth, it's much easier than living under the same roof with him.

He stole a glance at the man sitting across from him—his father, the Duke. The same cold expression, the same distant eyes. He's changed since then. I don't even think he sees me as his son anymore.

Beside him sat Luna, his younger sister, her small hands resting on her lap. Unlike their father, she still looked at him with warmth, though there was a hint of worry in her green eyes.

The three of them were on their way to the princess's banquet.