Parallel Hearts

A WORLD NOT HIS OWN Sung woke with a gasp, his lungs burning as if he’d been drowning. His fingers clawed at the ground beneath him, but instead of the familiar scratchy fabric of his secondhand mattress, his hands met **snow**. *What the—?* He jerked upright, his breath coming out in ragged white puffs. The air was so cold it stung his throat. Around him, towering pine trees loomed like silent giants, their branches heavy with frost. The sky above was a pale, washed-out gray, the kind of sky that promised more snow. *Okay. Okay. Think, Sung.* The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his tiny apartment, the glow of his laptop screen casting blue shadows across his face as he rewatched his favorite drama for the tenth time. He’d been laughing at a particularly ridiculous scene, his blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon— And then? Nothing. Just darkness, and now this. “This isn’t funny,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him, whether from cold or shock, he wasn’t sure. “If this is a dream, I’d like to wake up now.” A sharp **c***k** echoed through the trees. Sung froze. That wasn’t the wind. Another c***k—closer this time. The sound of boots crunching through snow. *Someone’s here.* Instinct screamed at him to run, but before he could move, a voice cut through the silence like a blade. **“Don’t move.”** Sung’s blood turned to ice. Slowly, he turned. And there, standing between the trees like a shadow given form, was a man. THE NORTHERN DUKE The man was tall—taller than Sung by at least half a head—and dressed in layers of black furs and leather, the kind of clothes that screamed **nobility** and **don’t mess with me** in equal measure. His hair was dark as ink, swept back from a face so sharp it could’ve been carved from stone. But his eyes— His eyes were the coldest thing Sung had ever seen. Silver. Like the edge of a knife. And right now, those eyes were locked onto Sung with a look that could’ve frozen hell itself. **“Kang Yohan.”** The name was a snarl, dripping with venom. **“You’ve got nerve, showing your face here.”** Sung’s mouth went dry. “I—what?” The man took a step forward, and Sung instinctively stumbled back, his heel catching on a root. He barely caught himself before he fell. “Look, I think there’s been a mistake—” **“Silence.”** The man’s voice was low, dangerous. **“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”** Sung’s pulse pounded in his ears. “I don’t—I don’t know who that is! My name is **Sung**! I swear, I just woke up here—” The man’s lip curled. **“Pathetic.”** Before Sung could react, the man moved. One second, he was several feet away. The next, he had Sung by the throat, slamming him back against a tree with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Sung choked, his fingers scrabbling at the man’s wrist, but the grip was unrelenting. **“You tried to kill me once,”** the man hissed, his breath ghosting over Sung’s face. **“Did you really think I’d let you live long enough to try again?”** Sung’s vision blurred at the edges. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. *I’m going to die.* *I’m going to die, and I don’t even know why.* Then— **“My Lord!”** A new voice, sharp with urgency. The man—**Jiwon**, Sung would later learn—didn’t loosen his grip, but his head turned slightly toward the interruption. A soldier stood at attention, his armor gleaming dully under the gray sky. **“The scouts have returned. They’ve found traces of Kang Yohan near the eastern border.”** Jiwon’s grip faltered. Just slightly. Sung gasped as air rushed back into his lungs, his knees buckling beneath him. He collapsed into the snow, coughing violently. Above him, Jiwon stared down, his expression unreadable. **“…Take him to the dungeons.”** THE DUNGEON The dungeons of the Northern Duke’s castle were exactly as miserable as Sung had imagined. Dark. Damp. And **cold**. So, so cold. Sung shivered, his arms wrapped around himself in a futile attempt to preserve warmth. The stone walls seeped frost, and the thin tunic they’d left him in did nothing against the chill. *This is insane.* He’d been questioned for hours—not that it had done any good. No matter how many times he insisted he wasn’t this “Kang Yohan,” no one believed him. The only thing that had saved him from immediate execution was the scout’s report. If Kang Yohan had been spotted elsewhere… then logically, Sung couldn’t be him. Right? *Unless they think I’m working with him.* Sung groaned, letting his head thunk back against the wall. What was he supposed to do? He had no idea how he’d gotten here, no way to prove his innocence, and no allies in this frozen hellscape. The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Sung stiffened. He knew that gait—measured, deliberate. The same footsteps that had approached him in the forest. Jiwon. The Duke appeared outside the cell, his expression as unreadable as ever. Two guards flanked him, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then— **“You’re not Kang Yohan.”** It wasn’t a question. Sung blinked. “I—no. I told you that.” Jiwon’s eyes narrowed. **“Then who are you?”** Sung swallowed. “My name is Sung. I’m… no one, really. Just an orphan from another world.” **“Another world.”** “Yeah. Sounds crazy, I know.” Jiwon studied him for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned to the guards. **“Bring him to my chambers.”** Sung’s stomach dropped. *Oh, that can’t be good.* ___ to be continued ___