All of this… was my fault.
That's all the boy could think now.
And with that single thought, his heart, his mind—everything inside him—went completely empty.
He didn't even want to live anymore.
But death… death didn't come either.
So he just sat there. Alone. Trapped in that endless darkness. Silent. Broken.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow, echoing footsteps…
The sound of heavy boots reverberating through the cold, damp prison.
They were coming closer. Louder. Steady.
And those footsteps belonged to no one else… but Mr. Lionheart.
Lionheart's voice broke the suffocating silence:
"Oh? So the little sewer rat is still alive?"
A sneer curled his lips.
"No food. No water. And you're STILL breathing? Remarkable."
He slowly stepped forward, the metal tip of his boot scraping against the stone.
"Well… let's not keep death waiting, shall we? Tonight, I'll finally end your pathetic suffering."
With that, he reached behind his back and drew out the heavy whip. The very sight of it gleamed wickedly in the faint light leaking into the dungeon.
But when Lionheart looked closely at the boy's face…
Something made him pause for a second.
The boy wasn't even looking at him.
One of his eyes was half-open, but there was no fire left, no anger, no will to fight.
His body was alive, but his spirit… already dead.
That only infuriated Lionheart more.
"Look at me, worm. I said LOOK AT ME! You're not even worth hating anymore!"
With a roar, he raised his whip high.
"This will be your last night alive!"
Just as the whip came swinging down—
"Mister Lionheart…"
A clear voice echoed across the dark prison.
Lionheart froze, mid-swing.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
Boots shining, sword strapped at her side, cloak flowing behind her like midnight silk.
It wasn't just anyone.
It was her.
The personal knight of Luna.
Sharp-eyed. Fearless. Furious.
"Since when did your duties involve beating children in dungeons?"
Her voice was steady, but the fury beneath was unmistakable.
Lionheart's grip on the whip faltered.
For the first time… he didn't look so powerful anymore.
For a long moment, Mr. Lionheart was utterly speechless. His pride wouldn't let him accept the absurdity of this scene—a single female knight standing between him and absolute control.
And then—he exploded.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he roared. His voice echoed violently off the cold, damp walls. "HOW DARE YOU STAND IN MY WAY?! HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN HERE?!"
The woman didn't even blink. Calm. Poised. Dangerous.
She stepped forward, letting the echo of his rage settle before answering, her voice sharp as a blade.
"Perhaps your arrogance has rotted your memory," she said softly. "Allow me to remind you who I am…"
She took one more step closer, the dim light catching the crest engraved on her armor.
"Elena Rowan," she declared, her voice now like thunder rolling over a storm. "Personal knight of Lady Luna Victoria."
Recognition hit Lionheart like a slap across the face. "You! I've seen you before… her shadow. Always by that spoiled brat's side."
But now his confusion gave way to laughter. Bitter, condescending laughter.
"You think you can stand against me? Against Lionheart?! Do you have any idea who I am?!"
His voice twisted with venom. "I've stood beside Lord Victoria since before this estate existed! I'm the architect of his power! I built this wealth! His trust in me is unshakable. And you—what are you?! A stray dog following that foolish girl around."
Elena's jaw tightened slightly. Her fists clenched, but her tone remained cool, like steel pulled from an icy lake.
"I may be her knight… but at least I know the difference between loyalty and slavery."
That struck him harder than any blade.
Lionheart's face contorted with fury, his ego breaking apart like brittle glass. "I'll end you for that," he growled, drawing closer. "Right here, right now."
But Elena… simply raised her hand.
A faint glow. Gentle. Like the soft shimmer of moonlight reflected on calm water.
Lionheart's arrogance twisted into mockery. "This? This is supposed to scare me?"
She took a slow step forward.
"This…" Elena whispered, "is not even 1% of my strength."
Before he could blink, she pressed that flicker of light against his chest.
Then the screaming began.
His knees buckled beneath him. Blood filled his mouth, his vision blurred, his heart raced in terror as something unnatural coursed through his veins. His strength—his confidence—all of it dissolved in an instant.
"W-What… WHAT IS THIS?!" he spat. "Why… can't I… MOVE?!"
Elena knelt, face to face with the now trembling man who once thought himself a god among insects.
"This is justice," she said coldly. "For every coin you stole… for every helpless family you crushed… and for him—" she nodded slightly toward the battered boy chained behind her, his spirit barely hanging by a thread—"this is only the beginning."
Lionheart coughed violently, more blood dripping onto the filthy ground.
"This is… impossible…" he rasped.
Elena stood. Taller than before. Radiating not just strength—but purpose.
"Impossible…?" She leaned down, voice low, full of warning. "No, Lionheart. The impossible… is what's coming for you next."
And for the first time in his wretched life—Lionheart was afraid.
A little while later, Mr. Lionheart, covered in blood, collapsed unconscious on the floor. As Elena stood back on her feet, she looked ahead—and her gaze finally fell upon the boy.
There he was.
A child—barely ten years old, his frail body bound in heavy chains. He looked so weak it seemed like he could die at any moment from sheer hunger. His tiny frame was covered in wounds—cuts, bruises, scars—telling the silent story of the cruelty he had suffered here.
But that wasn't what truly shook Elena.
It was his soul.
Or rather—the absence of it.
It was as if his entire being had been swallowed by darkness. His eyes were open… but vacant, like hollow glass reflecting nothing but despair. He wasn't even fighting anymore. His body was alive, but his spirit… his will… had already been crushed.
Elena clenched her fists. "What did they do to you…"
—
Two days earlier…
The scene shifted. We see Elena not in this filthy prison, but with Lady Luna Victoria herself. But even here—in the safety of their estate—something wasn't right.
Luna looked broken. Her normally graceful expression was gone, replaced with quiet grief and guilt.
As her personal knight, Elena could read her like an open book.
"Miss Luna," Elena finally spoke, carefully, gently, "what's troubling you? You've hardly spoken since yesterday."
Luna bit her lip, struggling to form the words. Finally—she spoke.
"It's the boy…"
"The boy?"
Luna nodded, eyes brimming with regret. "That boy… because of me, he was imprisoned. I brought him here. I thought… I thought I could help. But maybe I've only made his life worse."
She looked away, disgusted with herself.
"Did you know?" she whispered. "His mother died when he was born. His father abandoned him. For five years, he was raised by a mute old man who didn't even give him a name. And then even he was killed by a local lord."
Her voice broke. "No one… has ever wanted him. Not family. Not strangers. And now… after everything, I've only given him more pain. Maybe… maybe I'm no better than the others."
Elena didn't respond right away. Instead, she moved forward, placing a firm, comforting hand on Luna's shoulder.
"You are nothing like them," she said quietly but firmly. "You care. Truly. And that boy… he needs that more than anything. I will go find him, no matter what it takes. I will see this through myself."
Luna's lip trembled. Slowly, a faint smile appeared.
Without thinking, she hugged Elena.
Elena, normally so composed, was caught off guard—but she didn't pull away.
In that embrace, it became clear—Elena was more than just a knight. She was Luna's family. Her shield. Her friend.
And with that, Elena set off on her two-day journey to return to the village.
—
Back to the present.
As Elena wandered through the town, searching, someone grabbed her cloak. Reflexively, she turned, ready for a fight—only to find a familiar face.
It was the old woman.
The same old woman who had helped the boy before. The one who had offered him water when no one else would. Her weathered face lit up the moment she recognized Elena.
"Child!" the old woman smiled. "It's you. I'm so glad you're here."
"And I'm glad to see you too, Grandmother," Elena replied, genuine warmth in her voice.
But the old woman's smile quickly faded. "I don't like speaking ill of people, but… you need to know. Everyone here is too afraid to speak against Lionheart. They all know what he's done… but no one has the courage to act. He controls this town."
Elena's jaw tightened. "They knew… and still let him—?"
The old woman nodded gravely. "They knew about the boy… and the beatings. They knew he vanished. But no one lifted a hand. Not one."
Elena's heart was on fire now. Rage and grief swirled inside her. This was the home she had promised to defend—and it was rotten from within.
She knelt, grasping the old woman's hands gently. "Don't worry. I will fix this. I promise."
And in that moment, the fire of justice burned bright in Elena's eyes.
No matter what it took, she would not let this boy's story end in darkness.