The day the world came to a stop was the day I wished I'd done things differently. Maybe if Father had taught me sooner—if I had begged harder—none of this would have happened. Then again, what could I have done, really? I was too weak. Too fragile. I couldn't even protect my siblings.
It was a quiet evening. The scent of dumplings filled the air, steam rising from the pot as my siblings laughed and jostled at the table. I was just plating dinner, prepared for the usual routine: eat, play, tuck everyone in, then sneak off into the woods to train in the darkness like I always had.
But that night would never come. The first scream cut through the air like a blade. High-pitched. Raw. Not one of fear—but pure agony. The entire house froze.
Dumplings dropped from chopsticks. My sister So-yeon's eyes met mine, wide and trembling. I stood up so fast my stool tipped over. "Stay inside," I said, voice firm. "No matter what you hear. Don't open this door."
I stepped outside, heart pounding.
The sky was red. Not orange or golden like dusk. But blood red. As if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Thick clouds churned like boiling tar. The wind reeked of iron—sharp and metallic. The kind of smell you know instantly is blood. Screams echoed down the street. People sprinted by in a frenzy. Some had no arms. Others dragged themselves, legless, smearing crimson trails behind them.
Above, dark shapes cut across the sky. I squinted.
Dragons?
No. Not dragons. Twisted mockeries of them—leathery wings, elongated necks, and jaws lined with serrated teeth. Some of them had riders. And dangling from their mouths... were people. Limp and lifeless. The ground trembled beneath me. Thunder? No. Footsteps. Out of the alley came a hulking beast, eight feet tall, green-skinned with jagged tusks protruding from its lower jaw. Its eyes glowed yellow. Its claws were longer than my forearms. It roared and charged after a fleeing merchant. I heard bones crunch. Screams turned to silence.
A bird-like creature flew past overhead—its wings beating with the sound of drums. But its face... it had a human face. Pale and screaming. I turned to run back inside. "Hide!" I shouted. "Find a closet, under the floorboards—don't make a sound!"
STAB.
I gasped. My breath caught. My legs buckled. Pain radiated from my chest. I looked down. A black blade pierced through my ribs, crimson dripping down the cold metal.
I stumbled forward, coughing. Blood filled my mouth. "RUUUUUN!" I roared as loud as I could. I heard my siblings scream. Feet scurried. Furniture toppled.
I turned.
Behind me stood a monster cloaked in black armor. Towering. Silent. His face hidden behind a steel helm with only one crimson eye glowing from within. Black hair spilled from beneath his helmet like a river of shadow. His presence radiated death. He pulled the blade free with a whispering sound. Blood splashed the walls. He didn't speak. And I couldn't move. He raised a massive broadsword. The same kind Grandfather once wielded. The last thing I thought of was my siblings—faces flashing before me, one after another. I'm sorry. The sword swung.
Death is silent.
Not peaceful. Not gentle. Just... absent. Of everything. No warmth. No light. No pain. Just a numb, drifting quiet. I floated. I didn't breathe. I didn't see. I didn't think. I don't know how long passed before I saw it.
A soft, white light.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Beep.
Beep.
Air rushed into my lungs. My chest convulsed. Needles in my arms. A tube down my throat. Machines beeped beside me. Hands gripped me tightly. A woman's voice sobbed my name—Blue. A man stood near the wall, arms crossed, eyes wide.
Doctors rushed in.
"He's awake!"
"Check vitals!"
Blue? Who the hell is Blue?
I looked down. My body... it was small. Childlike. My limbs were thin, frail. I tried to speak. Nothing. The tube blocked my voice. Was it all a dream? No... I remember it too clearly. Murim. Grandfather. My siblings. The blood. The sky. The sword. I shut my eyes again.
In the days that followed, I learned the truth. I wasn't in Murim. I wasn't even Jiung anymore. I had reincarnated into the body of a boy named Blue who had been in a coma from pneumonia. My memories remained, but my world was gone.
My new "parents" cried at my bedside. My "mother" kissed my forehead constantly. My "father" said little, but I caught the concern in his eyes. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to call them Mother or Father.
The words caught in my throat. Every time she leaned in and asked, "Do you need anything, sweetheart?" I nodded or looked away. When he ruffled my hair and said "You're tough, kid," I forced a smile.
Because in my heart, I still saw them. My real parents. My father's calloused hands. My mother's soft hums as she stirred soup. Replacing them felt like betrayal.
I was released into a new world. The streets buzzed and roared. Buildings reached for the sky, made of glass and steel. The air carried a chemical scent—fumes and artificiality.
My first car ride left me dizzy. The seatbelt choked my chest. The blinking lights, the endless signs, the glowing screens—it was overwhelming. When the vehicle moved without a horse, my hands gripped the door with white knuckles. Every time it braked, I braced myself like it was about to crash.
The doors opened by themselves. Water poured from silver necks with a twist. A box lit up and shouted news into the room. I looked at my reflection in a wall-mounted screen. It blinked. I screamed.
Where were the martial arts schools? The market stalls? The sect gates that once guarded the mountains? Gone. Or never here to begin with. This world didn't hum with qi. It buzzed with electricity. The first time I saw a smartphone, I thought it was a spirit mirror. When the TV spoke back, I instinctively reached for a dagger I didn't have.
"Dinner's ready!" the woman called.
I sat at the table, picking at unfamiliar food. She smiled so warmly it hurt. He stared like he was afraid I'd shatter. I was a martial artist—a twenty-year-old soul—living in the body of a five-year-old boy. I didn't belong here. I explored the room. Toys. Posters. A black box called a "TV." Shelves lined with picture books. I sat down with something called a comic book. The drawings were childish, but... entertaining. Action. Heroes. Fights. It reminded me of home.
I found David—my "father"—reading a thick book. I squinted. Murim? "What's that?" I asked. "Oh, this? Just a manhwa. Martial arts fantasy stuff. Fun to imagine." I grabbed it. The Heavenly Demon. Mount Hua. The Nine Sects. This is my world.
"Is it real?" I asked. He chuckled. "No, no. All fiction. Just stories. Makes you wish it were real though, huh?" Fiction. Pretend. Fantasy. I clenched the book. I walked back to my room, mind spinning. Murim doesn't exist here? Then how did I come here? Did others like me come too? How do I find them?
I sat in the center of the room. Cross-legged. Let's find out if qi still exists.
I inhaled. Slowly. Just as Grandfather taught me. I cleared my mind, let the world fade, and focused inward. Breath after breath. Heat. A whisper. A flicker.
A speck of energy, deep within. I opened my eyes. "Holy shit!" "Honey? Are you okay?" That woman screaming again. "I'm fine!"
It was there. A tiny drop of qi. Barely more than a spark. But real.
There were no pills or elixirs here. No teachers. But I had something even more important—knowledge. Time. Will. I couldn't let this gift go to waste.
I practiced each night. Breathing. Circulating qi. Shadowing stances. My body was weak, but it responded. Slowly, I began to mold it.
This room became my dojo. This life, my second chance. Maybe I'd never see Murim again. Maybe my siblings were gone. But I was alive. And I had qi.
Still... I hesitated each time she called me "son." My lips moved, but no words came. I wanted to say it back. To call them "Mom" and "Dad." But guilt weighed me down like stone. Would Father be okay with this? Would he want me to move on?
One night, I stood at the doorway of their room, clutching an empty glass. "Can I have some water... Dad?" He turned slowly, eyes wide. Then he smiled. "Of course, son."
That night, I didn't sleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Father, if you can hear me... I hope you understand." I clenched my tiny fist.
"I will become strong. Stronger than ever before. Even in this strange world—I will find my path."