Chapter 8: Ashes of the Past

Chapter 8: Ashes of the Past 

The wind whispered through the high towers of Koryo's citadel, brushing against ancient stone and tattered banners still stained with the soot of war. Peace had settled over the kingdom, but it was a fragile, tender thing—like a scab over a deep wound, easy to tear open again.

Choy Sang Woo, the Last Samurai, stood atop the eastern parapet alone. Below him, villagers toiled to rebuild the wreckage left by the knight order's tyranny. Children ran between broken carts. Blacksmiths hammered new plowshares from melted swords. Laughter returned in flickers, but it was cautious, worn thin by years of suffering.

Choy felt the weight of silence more than any crown that might've been offered to him. His hands rested on the hilt of his father's sword, now reforged with his own sigil—a flame wrapped in a cherry blossom. A symbol of memory, and rebirth.

Still, he could not shake the ghost of Ethan.

He had tried. Buried himself in work, in reconstruction, in tending to the wounds of a kingdom betrayed. But Ethan's voice, cold and deliberate, still haunted his dreams.

"You were weak, Choy."

"You would never have led without your father's death."

The truth had gutted him. And though the battle had been won, the war inside Choy's soul had only begun.

He descended the tower in silence, armor clinking with restrained motion, and summoned his horse. The road to Kaesung Fortress was long and perilous, winding through forgotten battlefields and ash-choked forests. But Choy rode alone, refusing an escort. This was not a journey for soldiers—it was for the boy who had lost his father, and the man who had nearly lost himself.

Three days passed before the gray silhouette of Kaesung rose from the mist.

The fortress, once a royal retreat, had been converted into a prison for the most dangerous traitors. Its thick stone walls were carved into the bones of the mountains, sealed with iron and watched by men loyal only to Choy.

The guards bowed as he approached, opening the gates without question.

"You're alone?" one asked quietly.

"Yes," Choy said. "No one else should hear what must be said."

Inside, the air was damp and heavy. The scent of moss and stone rot clung to everything. He walked with purpose, guided by memory rather than instruction, until he stood outside a single iron door.

A nod from the warden, and it creaked open.

There sat Ethan, shackled by his wrists and ankles, yet somehow still composed. His once-proud hair hung in tangled waves, and a scar now ran from his temple to his cheek—a gift from Choy's blade during their duel. But his eyes, though sunken, still gleamed with sharp intellect.

"You came," Ethan said dryly, as if it were a joke.

"I did."

Choy stepped into the cell. The door closed behind him.

"I thought you'd be too busy playing king," Ethan said, voice low and bitter.

"I'm not a king," Choy replied. "I never wanted to be."

Ethan chuckled darkly. "And yet you rule."

"I serve," Choy corrected. "That's what you never understood."

The silence that followed was tense, brittle.

Choy drew closer, not with fear, but clarity. "I came to tell you something. Not because I want your redemption. That's yours to find, or to refuse. But I needed to say it."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, curiosity creeping in despite himself.

"I forgive you," Choy said simply.

Ethan blinked. For a moment, his arrogance faltered.

"You… what?"

"I forgive you," Choy repeated. "Not because what you did wasn't monstrous. Not because I forget. But because carrying this hatred is a chain heavier than these walls."

Ethan stared at him, the color draining from his face. "You really believe that makes you stronger?"

"No," Choy said, stepping back. "It makes me free."

And with that, he turned to leave.

"I wanted you to be great," Ethan said suddenly, his voice breaking for the first time. "I thought if I could tear you down… I could build something better in your place."

Choy paused at the threshold.

"You did tear me down," he said quietly. "But I chose who to become after that. And it won't be who you made me."

The door closed behind him.