The Last Shadow

Jin Tae-Hyun stood over the ruins of the once-mighty Black Moon Sect, his blade dripping with the blood of those who had dared to stand in his way. Wu-Jin was dead. His body lay lifeless, his once-dominating presence reduced to nothing but a fading memory in the wind.

And yet…

A single boy stood before Jin, unfazed.

He was young—too young to be standing here among corpses. His robes were tattered, his hands trembling slightly, but his gaze was firm. Unwavering.

Jin expected anger. Hatred. Vengeance. But the boy's eyes weren't filled with the blind fury of revenge. No, his expression was something far more dangerous.

Calmness.

"Step aside," Jin said, his voice sharp. "Your master is dead. The Black Moon Sect is finished."

The boy didn't move. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he made no effort to attack.

"I know," he said simply. His voice lacked emotion, but it wasn't empty. There was a purpose buried in those words.

Jin narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you still here?"

The boy exhaled slowly. "Because he told me to live."

—

The cold night wind howled through the Black Moon Sect's mountain fortress. A younger Wu-Jin sat in a dimly lit chamber, his back against the wall as he watched the child before him struggle to hold his sword correctly.

"Again," Wu-Jin ordered.

The boy gritted his teeth and raised his blade, his tiny hands barely able to control the weight. He struck forward—too slow, too weak.

Wu-Jin sighed. He's nothing like me.

The boy had everything Wu-Jin never had—food, warmth, safety. He was given things Wu-Jin had to steal, had to fight for. And yet, despite all of that, he trained harder than anyone.

"You're too soft," Wu-Jin muttered. "You're not ready for this world."

The boy wiped the sweat from his brow and met Wu-Jin's gaze. "Then make me ready."

Wu-Jin's grip on his own sword tightened.

For the first time in his life… someone was looking at him not with fear, not with obedience, but trust.

—

Jin Tae-Hyun studied the boy before him. He wasn't trembling out of fear. He wasn't standing here to avenge Wu-Jin's death.

Then what the hell was he fighting for?

Jin let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around his sword. "Is that it?"

The boy finally took a stance. "It's enough."

And then he moved.

Faster than Jin expected.

Their blades clashed, the impact sending a shockwave through the broken battlefield. The boy's attacks weren't wild or desperate—they were controlled. Precise.

Jin countered, effortlessly parrying the strikes, but something was off. The boy wasn't trying to win.

He was surviving.

—

Wu-Jin sat across from the boy, a rare expression of amusement flickering across his face.

"Most people fight for something," he said, swirling the wine in his cup. "Power, revenge, ambition."

The boy remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"But you?" Wu-Jin chuckled. "You don't care about any of that, do you?"

The boy shook his head. "I just want to be by your side."

Wu-Jin's amusement faded. Those words…

They struck something deep within him. Something he didn't want to acknowledge.

He had spent his entire life alone. No family. No teacher. No guiding hand.

But here was this boy—**his successor, his shadow, his son in everything but blood—**who only wished to remain by his side.

For the first time, Wu-Jin felt an emotion he couldn't name.

—

Jin pushed forward, forcing the boy back with a powerful swing. "You're strong," he admitted. "But strength isn't enough."

The boy steadied his breathing. "I know."

He charged again, this time adjusting his footwork. Jin deflected the strike, but the boy didn't falter. He adapted. Learned from every mistake.

Wu-Jin had trained him well.

Too well.

Jin's patience wore thin. He had to end this.

He sidestepped the next strike and brought his sword down in a powerful arc—but stopped inches from the boy's throat.

The battlefield fell silent.

The boy didn't move. He didn't even flinch.

Jin's expression darkened. "Why aren't you afraid?"

The boy exhaled. "Because I know you won't kill me."

Jin's grip on his sword tightened.

Damn him.

Damn this brat for knowing him so well.

—

The boy sat beside Wu-Jin as the older man sharpened his blade.

"I won't be around forever," Wu-Jin said. "When that time comes, what will you do?"

The boy hesitated.

Wu-Jin smirked. "You can't just say you'll follow me."

The boy's gaze was unwavering. "Then I'll live. As you told me to."

Wu-Jin's hands paused.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You really are nothing like me."

And maybe that was a good thing.

—

Jin sheathed his sword. "Leave."

The boy blinked. "What?"

"I said leave," Jin repeated. "I don't care what Wu-Jin's last words to you were. I don't care what he wanted. Your master is dead. His legacy is dust."

The boy's fists clenched, but he didn't argue.

Jin turned his back to him. "Live however you want. Just don't waste it chasing ghosts."

For the first time, the boy's composure cracked. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Jin didn't look back.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew—

This wouldn't be the last time they met.