- Part 2 - Survival Of The Weak

- 110 years after the apocalypse -

The Westrian family was still in shock after the library incident—especially the Duke.

Jonan blamed himself for what had happened and locked himself in his room. Day and night, his cries and screams echoed through the halls.

Then, one night, the Duke knocked on Jonan's door.

"Son," the Duke called, his voice dark and heavy, "we need to talk."

Jonan looked up, his swollen eyes barely registering his father's presence. The Duke met his son's gaze with a cold, unreadable expression.

"Come with me," he said.

Jonan didn't say a word. He simply followed his father through the dimly lit corridors of their estate.

It feels like we've been walking for hours… Where is he taking me?

Suddenly, the Duke stopped in front of an old, worn wooden door. Without hesitation, he pushed it open and turned to Jonan.

"Get in," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

Jonan hesitated but obeyed, stepping into the pitch-black room.

Before he could turn back, the door slammed shut behind him.

Then— click.

The lock turned.

"Father?! What are you doing?!" Jonan cried, pounding on the door. "Let me out! Please, Father, I'm sorry!"

His desperate screams filled the air, but no response came. He continued shouting, pleading, until exhaustion took over. Eventually, he collapsed into restless sleep.

Lost in the Darkness

When Jonan woke up, he had no way of knowing if it was morning or night.

The room was still as dark as before.

I'm lost in this darkness…

The space was larger than he expected. He could hear faint movements in the distance, strange creatures stirring in the shadows.

And then—

The whispers began.

They echoed all around him, taunting him.

They blamed him for his mother's death, repeating the same words over and over.

Jonan had no more tears left to shed.

He stood up, his body weak but his mind set on survival. He needed to find food—anything to keep himself from starving.

"I wish there was a torch… or anything I could use to see."

Time passed. Minutes? Hours? He had no way of knowing.

The darkness made it impossible to track time.

"I need to find something to eat… before I starve."

Then, he heard it.

A faint, high-pitched squeak.

"A mouse?"

Jonan's body tensed.

Moving carefully, he used the walls to steady himself as he crept toward the sound.

Then—his foot landed on something solid.

"What did I just step on?"

He bent down, feeling the object with his fingers.

A knife.

"Finally! This can help me. Now all I need to do is find that mouse… and I'll have something to eat."

Determined, Jonan pressed forward. His hunger drove him deeper into the endless dark.

Then—

He heard the squeak again.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Closer this time.

He moved toward it, heart pounding.

But suddenly—

Something changed.

A putrid stench filled the air, thick and suffocating.

"I… I can barely breathe…" he muttered, covering his nose.

Then, something wet dripped onto his head.

Drip.

Drip.

Jonan froze.

A terrible realization hit him like ice in his veins.

Something is watching me.

And this time—

It wasn't just his imagination.

A presence loomed in the darkness.

Something massive. Something dangerous.

A predator waiting to strike.

Jonan gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the knife.

I won't die here. Not after everything Mother sacrificed for me.

He took a slow, deep breath, shutting his eyes.

If he couldn't see, then he had to rely on his other senses.

The air was colder here. He could feel a faint breeze, hear the soft dripping of water from the ceiling. The overwhelming stench of decay clogged his nose.

And then—

The creature's breath.

Hot.

Rancid.

Right above him.

Jonan acted without hesitation.

He gathered every ounce of strength he had left and drove the knife upward—straight into the beast's throat.

A sickening crunch echoed through the darkness.

The monster screeched, its body thrashing violently before collapsing with a heavy thud.

Blood sprayed everywhere, soaking Jonan's skin, his clothes—everything.

But none of that mattered.

All he could think about was food.

"I can eat."

His stomach twisted painfully.

Desperation took over.

Jonan pried open his mouth and bit down on the monster's flesh.

The moment he swallowed, his body rejected it.

He gagged, doubling over as he vomited onto the stone floor.

His stomach cramped violently.

But the hunger remained.

Again.

He forced another bite into his mouth.

Chewed. Swallowed. Gagged again.

Again.

And again.

Until finally—

His body stopped resisting.

By the time he finished, he was trembling. His vision blurred.

His thoughts unraveled.

This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare.

He let out a shaky laugh, his mind teetering on the edge of madness.

"Yes… I'm going to wake up. Mother will be there. Luna and Father, too. We'll all have breakfast together outside, just like we used to."

Then—

Click.

The lock turned.

The door creaked open.

A blinding flash of light filled the room.

A tall man in a refined black suit stood before him. His silver hair neatly combed, a thin French mustache adorning his face. Though his features were sharp and dignified, faint wrinkles lined his forehead. His deep brown eyes widened in shock.

This man was Greyfield.

"Young master! What happened to you?!"

Greyfield rushed toward Jonan, his voice filled with panic.

He lifted the boy into his arms.

But Jonan didn't respond.

He had already lost consciousness.

Where Am I?

Jonan's mind drifted between wakefulness and dreams.

How much time has passed?

A soft glow surrounded him, warmth replacing the unbearable cold of the dungeon. Slowly, his vision adjusted, shapes becoming clearer.

I can see… This is… my room?

His breath caught in his throat.

So… it really was just a nightmare?

In front of him, Grayfield stood, tense and hesitant.

"Young master… how do you feel?" he asked cautiously. "You've been through terrible things these past few days, but it's over now. The Duke has permitted your release."

He leaned closer, studying Jonan's pale face.

"Can you hear me?"

Jonan nodded. But as he did, the truth settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

It was real.

All of it.

His mother was gone.

He would never see her again—never hear her voice, never feel her warm embrace. The mother with golden hair and vibrant green eyes…

She was gone forever.

Jonan parted his lips, his voice weak.

"Grayfield, how long have I been here?"

Grayfield replied, "Four days, young master."

"I want to be alone for a while," Jonan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grayfield nodded silently and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Jonan stood up, his body trembling and weak, his legs struggling to hold his weight. He took a deep breath and looked around his room—the large bed with four pillows, a thick wool blanket, and elegantly carved wooden legs. His gaze wandered to the decorated walls, the intricate wallpaper patterns, and the paintings of his family hanging closely together.

Then, his eyes fell on the mirror.

He did not recognize himself.

His body was thin, his skin pale, and his once-sharp features now hollow. His eyes, once bright, were sunken with heavy dark circles beneath them. The only things that remained unchanged were his green eyes and brown hair, though even that seemed duller than before.

Is this really me? he thought.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

It was Luna, his younger sister.

He turned toward her—her tiny frame dressed in a cute pink dress, golden hair flowing down with a delicate pink bow clipped onto it, and the same green eyes as his, wide with worry.

She hesitated for a moment before rushing toward her brother, wrapping her small arms around him in a tight embrace, her body trembling against his.

Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to him, her voice barely holding back a sob.

"Luna… it's okay," Jonan said in a weak voice as he returned her embrace, his arms wrapping around her gently.

And so, they stayed like that for long minutes, wrapped in silence, as if afraid that letting go would shatter the fragile moment between them.

As Luna slowly pulled away from her brother's embrace, she spoke in a quiet voice.

"Father wants you to go to his office."

She lowered her gaze, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress.

"He's been... different these past few days. Father really scares me."

Her green eyes, usually filled with light, now held a shadow of fear.

"And… he was the one who threw you in there. So please, be careful, big brother..."

Jonan gave a small nod and said, "It's okay, Luna. There's nothing for you to worry about."

He offered her a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, making his way toward his father's office—the Duke's office.

A Father's Presence

Jonan soon found himself standing before the two grand doors of the office.

They were old wooden doors, yet still in pristine condition, their surface adorned with intricate golden engravings.

A silver handle gleamed in the dim light.

Jonan hesitated for a brief moment before raising his hand and knocking twice—two weak, almost hesitant knocks.

The door opened.

His father stood before him.

The Duke—a tall man with smooth brown hair and piercing emerald-green eyes—stared down at Jonan. A small, neatly trimmed mustache sat above his lips, and his broad, well-built frame carried an air of authority.

His expression was cold, unreadable, yet intimidating.

Jonan felt a shiver run down his spine.

What is he going to do to me this time? he thought, his fists clenching slightly at his sides.

And why did he throw me into that dungeon?

Father has never acted like this before…