The hollow ring of gunfire sliced through the stone room, each shot carving echoes into the oppressive silence. Yona’s fingers tightened around the revolver’s handle, the recoil biting back with unrelenting force. His breath came measured, the rhythm of a man bound by determination, though not immune to its weight.

The target board stood at the far end of the room, a scarred and battered testament to his resolve. Bullet holes littered its surface, some perilously close to the bullseye, others astray as if hesitation had guided his hand.

The air clung to him like a second skin—thick, laden with the tang of gunpowder and the damp musk of the underground. Shadows played along the concrete walls, their stillness broken only by Yona’s subtle shifts. Looming mannequins stood watch in the background, their wooden forms gnarled and chipped, bearing the evidence of countless drills. In the dim light, they seemed almost alive, spectral figures frozen mid-step.

CRACK! The revolver spat fire, the sound tearing through the quiet. Another near-perfect hit.

Yona exhaled sharply, lowering the gun just enough to check his handiwork. His shoulders were taut, betraying the tension he tried to will away. But then—

“I’ll give it to you,” a voice drawled from the doorway, smooth as a blade slipping from its sheath. “Not bad for a kid who spends his days buried in books.”

The shot went wide, the bullet striking the target’s edge with a dull thunk. Yona spun, revolver still raised, as Jack stepped into the room.

The man leaned against the doorway with casual ease, arms crossed over a chest that seemed carved from stone. His eyes, sharp and calculating, skimmed over the bullet holes as though taking inventory. “Relax, kid,” he said with a smirk, his tone holding a flicker of amusement. “I didn’t mean to throw you off.”

He strode forward, boots thudding softly against the concrete, every step unhurried, deliberate. The room seemed smaller with his presence, the air heavier, charged. Jack’s face was a mask of confidence, the faint smirk lingering like a challenge.

“Just figured I’d check on how you’re getting along with that piece,” he added, nodding toward the revolver still in Yona’s grip.

Yona lowered the weapon, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Concentration’s everything,” he muttered, his voice tight but steady.

“Concentration?” Jack’s chuckle was low, almost mocking. “That’s half the battle, kid. The other half?” He clapped a hand on Yona’s shoulder, the weight firm but not unkind. “It’s respect. Shooter and gun, life and death, it’s a dance. You don’t lead; you follow.”

Yona clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening around the revolver’s grip. Jack’s words lingered like an itch he couldn’t scratch, burrowing deep into the crevices of his thoughts. Respect. Dance. The phrases sounded more like riddles than advice, hollow and weighty all at once.

Jack’s hand left his shoulder, but its imprint remained, a phantom pressure that somehow felt heavier with its absence. The man moved past him, stopping in front of the target board. His fingers traced the jagged edges of a bullet hole, his smirk fading into something colder, sharper.

“You’re improving,” Jack said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “But improvement’s not survival, kid. When the stakes are real, when you’re staring down the barrel of someone else’s gun, it’s not about hitting the target. It’s about making sure you’re still breathing when it’s over.”

The room felt colder, the dim light casting elongated shadows that seemed to writhe with Jack’s every word. Yona swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I know that,” he replied, his voice strained but defiant.

Jack turned, his eyes locking onto Yona’s with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. “Do you?”

The question hung in the air like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

Before Yona could respond, Jack stepped back, his movements fluid, deliberate. He drew his own revolver in one swift motion, the metallic gleam catching the low light. Without warning, he fired.

CRACK!

The bullet struck the target dead center, splitting Yona’s closest hit in two. The mannequins seemed to shudder in the wake of the gunfire, their shadows dancing erratically on the walls.

Yona flinched, his grip tightening around his weapon. “What the hell was that for?”

Jack’s smirk returned, but it was colder now, devoid of humor. “Lesson one,” he said, spinning the revolver with practiced ease before holstering it. “A dead-eye shot doesn’t mean a damn thing if you can’t handle pressure. Next time, don’t hesitate. Pull the trigger.”

Yona’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins like wildfire. He raised his revolver, aiming at the target board. His hands trembled, not from fear, he told himself, but from the weight of expectation.

The air around him seemed to thicken, pressing in from all sides. The shadows grew darker, their edges blurring as if the room itself were alive, watching, waiting. The revolver felt heavier in his hands, the metal cold and unyielding against his skin.

He fired.

CRACK!

The shot was off-center, veering to the left. Yona cursed under his breath, lowering the gun as frustration bubbled to the surface.

Jack’s laughter cut through the silence, low and grating. “Better. But not good enough.”

Yona turned to face him, his eyes blazing. " If you think you can do better..."

Jack’s expression shifted, the smirk giving way to something darker, more menacing. “Kid, I’m not the one who needs to do better. That’s on you.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in Yona’s ears. “You think this is a game? Out there, it’s not just targets you’re aiming at. It’s people. And they’ll aim right back.”

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The words hit Yona like a punch to the gut, each one sinking deeper than the last. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat as Jack leaned in, his face inches away.

“You want to survive?” Jack’s voice was a growl, low and dangerous. “Then stop thinking, stop hesitating, and start acting. Or next time…” His eyes gleamed, cold and unrelenting. “You won’t get a second shot.”

Yona let the revolver fall to his side, taking in the weight of Jack’s words. He’d heard similar advice from mentors before, both in his lifetime and from working as an assistant in the novel company. But there was a gravity in Jack’s tone that made him pause, reconsider.

" Here ". Jack extended his own revolver, a heavier, slightly worn piece that looked as though it had seen more than its fair share of action. "Try this."

Yona blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but he took the weapon with careful hands, feeling the heft, the roughness of its grip under his fingers. It felt… different, somehow. The weight wasn’t just physical; it held a history, a presence that settled into his hands with an almost eerie familiarity.

“Now,” Jack instructed, stepping back to give Yona space. “Breathe. Don’t rush it.”

Yona nodded, his hands steady as he raised the revolver, sighting down the barrel. He could feel Jack’s deep grey indiscernible eyes on him, watching, waiting, assessing. The air felt thick, charged with an expectation that prickled along his skin.

CRACK! The gun fired, the bullet landing dead center on the target, the mannequin’s head jerking back as though it felt the impact. Yona lowered the weapon, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jack’s expression softened, nodding in approval. “Good. Now tell me,” he said, his tone shifting as he paced the room, casting a quick, assessing glance at Yona. “What’s your name again?”

“Yona.” The response came smoothly, though his tone carried a guarded edge. Jack had already asked him once before, yet there was a weight behind the question, a test lingering in the space between them.

Jack nodded, as though something had clicked into place. “Ah, that’s right. Jian mentioned you a few times. Says you’re her publisher's personal assistant in the publishing house. The one who’s been helping her out with all this… writing business.”

Yona tensed slightly, though he nodded, shifting his grip on the revolver. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Jack’s gaze lingered on him, sharp, almost appraising. He moved closer, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So, tell me, Yona… what’s a publishing assistant doing out here, learning to shoot?” There was no accusation in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

Yona’s gaze fell to the revolver, his fingers tracing its worn metal frame. " The world's changing ". he began, his voice low but steady. “I just want to make sure I'm safe, and can protect the people I care about when the time comes.. With everything happening, no one knows when their demise is near, so we should prepare ahead. And besides shouldn't you be more worried about her, instead of me.. I don’t know if she can survive all this ".

Jack’s face softened, his smirk replaced by a serious thoughtful expression as he watched Yona. Slowly, he pulled out his own revolver again, raising it to eye level. He aimed carefully, his gaze never wavering from the mannequin’s hollow eyes, and fired. The bullet struck squarely between the mannequin’s brows, the shot echoing in the room with a sense of finality.

" If you’re worried about Jian, kid, you might want to worry about yourself instead ". He lowered the gun, his gaze shifting to Yona with a seriousness that left no room for argument. " Jian… she may seem like she’s all soft edges, but don’t let that fool you "

He reloaded the revolver with an ease born of years of practice, his hands moving methodically, almost as though he could do it in his sleep. " When she holds a gun, " he continued, his voice low and rough, " she’s like a damn predator. One who’s always on the hunt, always ready for her prey. "

Yona watched, a mix of doubt and intrigue filling his expression. “I’ve seen her write, Jack. Not fight.”

Jack chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “Kid, you haven’t seen her when things get serious. Writing’s just one side of Jian. When it’s a life or death situation, she turns into something else entirely.” His eyes grew distant, as if recalling a memory, something private and heavy that he’d never willingly share. “There was this one time… well, let’s just say she handled it better than most detectives I know.”

Yona swallowed, glancing at the mannequin’s battered, scarred form, picturing Jian standing where he was now, eyes cold and focused, every inch of her locked onto her target.

“Trust me,” Jack continued, his tone softening slightly. “That woman is made of steel when it counts. But she’s also got a soft spot for people like you.” He flashed a knowing grin, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “So, I suggest you get used to the idea that she might not need as much protecting as you think.”

The distant crack of gunfire pierced the stillness, faint but insistent, like a beckoning call. Both men froze mid-conversation, their postures shifting subtly—Jack’s hand instinctively brushing the holster at his side while Yona tensed, his grip on the revolver tightening.

The sound echoed through the dimly lit corridors beyond, a reminder of the camp’s fragile boundaries. Jack’s sharp eyes flicked toward the doorway, his usual smirk replaced by something harder, colder.

“Seems like playtime’s over.” He glanced at Yona, his smirk gone, replaced by something colder. " Hell's about to let loose ". Jack muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The mannequins seemed to watch them as they left, their shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls, the sound of creaking hinges following them into the deepening dark.

..............

Deep within the camp, the silence was stifling, broken only by the faint flicker of candlelight casting long shadows along the walls. The room was sparse, almost eerily so, with only a rough wooden bed in the center and a small basin of water sitting on a low stool beside it.

A figure of a lady, with reddish dark hair and yellow eyes like that of a miniature sun, sat by the bed, her gaze focused, almost transfixed, as she gently dabbed a damp cloth over a lady's forehead, with blonde hair and a face like that of an actress,. The flickering light cast faint reflections in the basin, the surface disturbed with each slight movement, breaking the stillness in a ripple that seemed to echo through the room.

Viola lay motionless, her face pale and drawn, her breath shallow as though caught in some dream she couldn’t escape. Jian worked in silence, her movements calm, methodical, but there was a strange intensity in her gaze, an unwavering focus as she watched over the lady beside her.

A faint rustle broke the quiet as Viola’s eyelids fluttered, her breaths quickening, her fingers twitching as though something stirred deep within her. Slowly, her gorgeous blue eyes opened, wide and filled with a flicker of panic as she took in the dimly lit room, her gaze darting around in confusion.

In an instant, she sat up, her hands running over her body, patting, pressing, checking, searching with a frantic urgency. Her breathing grew ragged, her blue eyes wide with the fear of something unseen, something that lurked beneath the surface of her mind.

Jian’s hand rested on her shoulder, firm yet gentle, like a tether trying to anchor a ship caught in a violent storm. Her voice, low and calm, cut through the oppressive quiet.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her tone measured and deliberate. “You’re safe.”

Viola’s eyes darted wildly, their once-bright blue now shadowed by something darker, something ancient, clawing just beneath the surface. Her breathing hitched, each exhale sharp and frantic, like a bird beating against the bars of its cage. Her fingers clawed at the bedclothes, pulling at the fabric as though trying to dig herself out of an invisible grave.

Jian leaned closer, her deep yellow eyes like that of a miniature sun covering the moon as it seems like an eye full of mysteries, her words a steady serene rhythm against Viola’s unraveling. “Viola, it’s fine. Just focus on me. You’re..."

Viola’s trembling lips parted, and the words spilled out, hoarse and trembling.

" What the hell is that!? "Her voice cracked on the last word, her gaze fixed beyond Jian, at the far wall where shadows twisted unnaturally, pooling into something vaguely human. A faint, guttural growl and whispers, filled the room, a sound that shouldn’t have been there.....

No, It shouldn’t have existed.... But now it was, right there it stood, it's flaming eyes looking directly at her, and only her could see it..... Only her could testify of what she's seeing.....

Whoosh!

A Silent Wind Emanated........