Chapter Three

"Where… am I?"

Dawn's eyes flutter open, his vision hazy. His body feels weightless, yet his mind is clouded with confusion. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the dim light surrounding him.

He's lying in a bed. Alone. In an unfamiliar room.

A wave of unease rushes over him.

(What is this? What is this feeling I have? I've never felt anything like it before.)

Slowly, he pushes himself upright, scanning his surroundings. The room is quiet—too quiet. The scent of aged wood lingers in the air. A soft breeze creeps through a nearby window, causing the curtains to stir.

His gaze lands on a neatly arranged bookshelf along the far wall. Dawn had never touched a book in his life. He never had the chance.

Curious, he stands. His legs feel stiff, but he forces himself forward, his fingers trailing along the spines of books he doesn't recognize. Finally, he grabs one, flipping through the pages. But—

The words make no sense.

(I can't understand any of this.)

Frustration builds inside him. He slams the book shut.

(I'm getting distracted. Where am I? How the hell did I get here?)

His heart pounds. His eyes dart toward the door.

Tension coils in his stomach as he inches toward the handle. He hesitates, sucking in a breath.

Then—he pushes it open.

And what he sees nearly takes his breath away.

A World Beyond the Door

Wide windows stretch across the walls, allowing soft golden light to bathe the space beyond. The cabin is open, spacious, alive with warmth. The glow of lanterns illuminates the rustic wooden floors, while flickering candlelight casts shadows along the walls.

It's beautiful.

A lump forms in Dawn's throat. His chest tightens as his fingers tremble slightly against the doorframe.

"This… is this heaven?" he whispers.

"No."

A familiar voice cuts through the silence.

"This is my home."

Dawn's breath hitches. He turns—and his eyes widen.

Joki stands across the room, arms crossed as he leans against the doorway of another room.

"So, you finally woke up—"

"What the hell do you want from me?!"

Joki flinches.

A tense silence hangs between them.

Then—Joki lets out a quiet breath, his expression unreadable.

"...Is this how you treat every person who saves your life?"

Dawn stiffens.

"I've never needed my life saved." His voice is colder now. "You would be the first."

Joki studies him. There's something in Dawn's tone—a bitterness, a hesitation.

He takes note of every small movement: the fidgeting, the shifting posture, the way Dawn's fingers twitch against the book he still holds.

"What are you holding there?"

Dawn blinks. He hadn't realized the book was still in his hand.

(Damn. I forgot to put it back.)

"You weren't… trying to steal from me, were you?"

Dawn's face flushes slightly. He doesn't answer. Instead, he just shakes his head.

Joki smirks.

"You were pretty talkative back there—during our fight. Almost like you were a whole different person." He tilts his head. "Now, all of a sudden, you're too afraid to use your words? What's with you, kid?"

Dawn looks away. His fingers twitch, and before he even realizes it, he's biting his nails.

Joki notices.

With a sigh, he walks toward the large wooden dining table, pulling out a chair before sitting down. He leans back, resting an elbow against the surface.

"Are you nervous?"

Dawn hesitates, then nods.

Joki gestures toward the chair across from him.

"Sit."

Dawn hesitates. But…he doesn't feel threatened.

Cautiously, he walks forward, taking a seat across from Joki. His movements are stiff at first, but as the silence lingers, his shoulders slowly begin to relax.

A Conversation in the Dark

"So," Joki starts, leaning forward slightly. "Are you even aware of how powerful you are?"

Dawn shakes his head.

Joki watches him carefully. (To have survived this long—especially at his age—he must have killed more than I could imagine. And after what I saw back there…I can only imagine what this kid has been through.)

"What do you know, then?"

A long pause.

Then—Dawn's expression darkens.

"Battle."

Joki's eyes widen slightly.

Dawn's voice is hollow, detached. His stare is blank—like a soul that had long since been drained.

"All I know is battle. And that's all I ever needed to know."

The room feels colder.

"Everyone around me only tries to hurt me," Dawn mutters. "So if I know battle, then I can live. And if I live—"

He clenches his fists.

"—then maybe I can find out why my brother tried to kill me."

The words hang heavy in the air. His breath shudders, his hands tremble. His eyes—once cold—begin to flood with tears.

His chest heaves. He struggles to get the words out, but the pain is suffocating.

Joki exhales softly.

"You've spent your whole life only knowing one thing."

Dawn freezes.

"I know what that feels like."

His tears slow. His breath steadies.

He looks up.

"What do you mean?"

Joki leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

"Being forced to only know battle—it's insanity." He shakes his head. "You start questioning what you even live for."

He glances at Dawn.

"I know that feeling too. It hurts. And for you to have gone through all that alone… I can't imagine."

The room falls silent.

Joki stands up, walking over to the kitchen. He rummages through a drawer before pulling out a small, folded handkerchief.

He tosses it onto the table in front of Dawn.

"Here."

Dawn hesitates before reaching for it.

"Clean yourself up. And for now, treat this place as your home."

Dawn grips the fabric tightly. The warmth of Joki's words lingers in his chest.

A part of him wants to reject it—to keep pushing forward, alone, like he always has. But…

Something about this feels different.

Joki turns to leave.

"By the way, how old are you?"

"...Sixteen."

Joki sighs. "Well, a kid has no right wandering the streets unattended. No matter how messed up and lawless this world is."

He stretches his arms before heading toward his room. "Soon enough, I'll have more information for you—"

"Wait!"

Joki stops.

Dawn grips the handkerchief tightly. His voice is shaky, but his next words come from somewhere deep within him.

"If you mean what you say… and if you understand how I feel… then—"

He swallows.

"Can you help me?"

Joki turns.

Dawn's expression is different.

For the first time—ever so slightly—he smiles.

Joki watches him for a long moment. And in that moment, his decision is clear.

A smirk tugs at his lips.

"Yeah, kid."

A pause.

"I'll help you."