Lost Bonds and Hidden Truths

A gloomy forest. Thick white mist cloaked the undefined space. Twisted roots jutted from the ground as if trying to trip up any trespasser. There was no wind, yet the musty scent of damp leaves and moss lingered in the air, stirred up by heavy tactical boots. The silence was shattered by ragged breathing. The ground trembled with uneven thuds. Then—thud!—a large man collapsed face-first onto the soil. The fall tore open a wound on his chest. Blood, freed at last, surged out. He clenched his teeth, face pale, dragging himself behind a jagged rock. Trembling hands reached into a side pouch and pulled out a diluted chlorine solution, which he poured directly onto his skin. Seconds later, voices echoed behind him. —"Spread out. He couldn’t have gone far." —"Copy that." One voice stood out—calm, commanding. The speaker wore plain clothes, but his presence was undeniable. His face was mostly hidden except for a pair of sharp, determined eyes. A canine at his side, previously full of energy, now sat unmoving. No longer sniffing. The man noticed. His brows furrowed. Jaw tightened. Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. Behind the rock, the wounded man exhaled in relief. But his body felt rigid. Blood still oozed, and beneath the skin, he felt nothing. The chlorine burned as it mixed with sweat. Red blotches marked his body from face to foot—he looked like something from a nightmare. Twisted. Horrific. A storm rolled in, sudden and violent. Wind howled. Leaves spun like a ritual in chaos. Every gust slashed at his skin like knives. Consciousness slipped. Through the haze, he saw a girl. She appeared like a wandering soul. Long hair, white dress swaying softly. A strange smile on her lips. Or… was it just a hallucination? She moved toward him, slowly, with the wind. He cursed under his breath, then passed out. Faintly, he heard, *"Grandpa… Grandpa…" ... He woke to pain searing through every nerve. Moving even slightly pulled at something inside, dragging agony straight to his brain. A bare bulb shone down, forcing him to squint. As he turned his head, he flinched—there was a pale face staring right at him. Blank. Cold. Almost bored. One second… two… three… —"Sigh… Not Grandpa either," she muttered. She stood, stretched. Her movements are sluggish. —"Who are you? Where is this?" he rasped. His body wouldn’t obey, but his mind remained alert. She seemed unconcerned. —"Don’t worry. No one’s coming. My house is safe. You can call me Tinh. Doesn’t really matter." She said it all in one breath. At the word “safe,” he flinched. He eyed her warily—slim build, small frame. Seemed harmless. He relaxed slightly. After a pause, he asked," Where were you… in the forest?" He remembered the dress, the hair. Still wasn’t sure. If it was her—how did she carry him all the way here? —"Yes. I was looking for my grandpa. It was windy… I didn’t see clearly. Your face was a mess, so I just brought you home." She hesitated. Honestly, anyone would hesitate. His face was half-burnt, disfigured. —"I look like your grandpa? Why are you looking for him?" Still crushing leaves in a wooden mortar, she answered without looking: —"You resemble him. He went out to find food. It’s been days. I got worried." He said nothing. Silence settled again. Then she took over a bowl of crushed leaves and warm water. —"How did you know I was running from the law?" he asked, eyes narrowed. She pointed to the wound on his chest. —"The bullets—they’re marked." He blinked, surprised. Before he could say more, she added: —"My family wasn’t exactly clean either. I’ve dealt with worse. I can’t heal you, but I’ve pulled plenty of metal out of people’s bodies." —"Where’s your family now?" Tinh stared at him. Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped to a whisper: —"All gone… because of something white… poisonous."