#and that his death shaped his life in numerous ways

[frevandrest]

Hello! I've been backreading a lot of your blog to learn more about Saint-Just, and first of all let me just thank you for having posted so much amazing info! If it's alright, I had two questions. You said Saint-Just had a nickname, Florelle. What does it mean and are there any further details on that? Secondly, I heard that Saint-Just increasingly mentioned his father in his writings closer to Thermidor. Is that true, and are there any other details on his relationship with his dad? Thank you!

Aww, thanks!

Florelle seems to have been a pseudonym that he gave himself. I assumed it was for his early literary writings, but there seems to be a document from Blérancourt with that signature. It's been suggested that "Florelle" comes from the Greek word for flower, "anthos", which, if true, would suggest that he used Antoine as his name earlier than we thought. But there is no proof that this is indeed why he chose Florelle.

For second, he mentioned his father only once, but it's significant because it's the only time he mentioned him, like... ever. It was in a draft of his 9 Thermidor speech. He didn't include it in the speech itself. It remained in his notes, and it was eventually published as part of "Les Fragments sur les institutions républicaines", even though it's not really part of that (there are also his notebook notes).

The father mention is in the fragment 55. Soboul quotes it as:

l'âme que le ravissement de mon bonheur en me sacrifiant pour la patrie et je n'ai plus devt les yeux que le chemin qui me sépare de mon père mort et des degrés du panthéon

And my French sucks, so I offer a translation from here (idk how good it is tho):

The soul that the ravishment of my happiness is sacrificing myself for is the patrie; and I do not have before my eyes but the path that separates me from my dead father and the steps of the Pantheon.

(there is more in the fragment; I can share it in a followup post. It has a very "preparing to die" approach)

SJ's father, Louis-Jean, died when SJ was 10 years old. So... there wasn't much of a relationship to know about. There is only limited info on how SJ felt about his father. Stuff like: he took his father's pistols when he ran away to Paris at 19, but didn't sell them even though he was broke. (And he ran away shortly after the anniversary of his father's death, though that could be a coincidence). Or the possibility he did not stop using "Louis" for a long time during the revolution, because it was his father's name (idk how much truth there is to this, but I've seen it mentioned). And, of course, this quote.

[staraxiaa]

porcelain

pairing: todoroki shouto x f! reader status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 25200

summary: you are nothing more than a broken doll of fine china, the shards of a porcelain vase. and yet time and time again, he tries to cup the whole of you in his hands, uncaring of how sharp they are, nor how cutting. contains: childhood friends to eventual lovers, mutual pining, fluff, angst with an eventual happy ending, coming of age, pro!hero au, following tags are not romanticized, are described non-graphically to the best of my ability, and do not involve shouto in any way. mentions of: victim blaming, eating disorder, depression, sexual assault, domestic violence, arranged marriage, pregnancy + miscarriage/fetus death

note: dancer! reader, predetermined family. this fic discusses a great many dark themes, and may be triggering. i don't think it's anything graphic, as a result of my writing style, but please be aware and consume at your own risk. though they do end up together in the end, it may very well be uncomfortable to read. i hope to have written the themes i wished to explore well, but as i have not experienced a great majority of them personally, i can only hope that i have done them relative justice. also cross posted to ao3

In the earliest of your memories⏤ the core ones, the ones that are said to follow a child for life⏤ your mother is almost always there, in some way, shape, or form.

It is only natural: for most children, most mothers are. And you are no different⏤ she bore you for the full of the nine months between your conception and your birth, and as you have been told, for the first of your many years, and then all the ones after that. She has held you in her arms, nursed you, and sacrificed a great many of her most youthful years⏤ the ones any actress worth her salt would never even think of giving. But she does, because she is your mother, and you are her firstborn; her most prized darling; the first of the children she will have with your father⏤ and also the only one, though you will not know why until later. 

You are five, and you know only that she is your mother; the only one that you will ever have in the world, and that is why you also believe her when she tells you a woman’s worth amounts to only three things. 

You don’t need to see it for yourself to believe it, though you do so, anyways. The world views women as flowers, she will tell you later; a tired rendition of the same words she has repeated to you, time and time again. They have no interest in the older ones; the ones that have already started to wilt. 

You will say that, to you, she will always be the most beautiful woman in the world⏤ and she always will be, even if her youth nowadays is only preserved through the power of your father’s money; the countless tucks and lifts and numerous other surgeries that pile up throughout the years. 

But you believe it when she tells you that the face is the first of the three things that make up a woman’s worth, and the slimness of her body the second. And honestly, why wouldn’t you? This is your mother, the one who has held you in her arms, nursed you, and sacrificed most of her youthful years; so much that after you are born, she never returns to her acting career again. This is your mother, who still undergoes a thousand and one different operations, different treatments, to ensure her body is as spotless as it once was and free of the remnants of childbirth; free of the remnants of you. 

This is your mother, who tells you that your worth will only ever amount to the sum of your face, your body, and the arm of the man you cling to.

( And you believe her, because why wouldn’t you? )

This is the first of your core memories, and it is one that you will carry for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The first time you meet Todoroki Shouto is on a July afternoon, with your mother behind you, and his father behind him. 

You’re not really concerned by this⏤ it’s only the standard for a meeting between the children of families like yours, and you have already met enough of them that such a sight is familiar enough to you. 

What concerns you more is the heat of the sun scorching down upon your skin, through the shade of the parasol clutched in your hand, and through the abominable amounts of sunscreen your mother had made you lather onto your skin. The press of summer heat makes your clothes cling rather uncomfortably⏤ you’ve never been out when the sun shines so bright; your mother has never allowed it of you, so you’re rather unused to the feeling. 

That doesn’t mean you show any of it, though.

Your mother had stressed to you the importance of this meeting, though she didn’t really have to; she would not have brought you out like this if it were for anything less than imperative. And you are old enough to understand by now that marriage at the end of the line is not just a possibility, but a goal expected of you⏤ your worth will only ever amount to the sum of your face, your body, and the arm of the man you cling to⏤ and Todoroki Shouto, your father tells you, is the perfect candidate for this. 

Your mother does not say a word⏤ in your father’s presence, she rarely does. But she does not need to for you to know she agrees. 

You think this is why you study him a little closer than the rest, even though you already know him, or rather, know of him, from the profile that was given to you, that you have spent time reading. 

There’s less written about him than any of the other children⏤ he has had very little in the way of public appearances, unlike the rest of them; so little that the only useful information is what your father deigns to tell you over dinner. A Hero family quickly rising in the ranks, one I’d like you to make connections with, he says, and you hear: a hero family we are looking to marry you into. 

Your father does not deign to talk to you often, but you know what your answer is; what your answer should be. 

“Yes, father.” You say, and you don’t mind⏤ your worth will only ever amount to the sum of your face, your body, and the arm of the man you cling to, after all, and given your status, a family as renowned as the Todorokis is already more than you can ask for. 

It’s why you straighten a little, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you greet him with a smile. 

“Hi!” You greet softly, but no less warmly⏤ your mother’s smile shutters a little at the scar marring one side of his face, but truthfully, you think he looks pretty enough in spite of it. 

“Hi,” He returns, and it’s a little cold, but you’re undaunted. 

“If it’s alright with your dad, maybe we could go play something?” 

Your mother smiles down at you⏤ as she does every time you’re good and attempt to properly make your connections, but you still soak up her praise like a flower finally graced with the light of the sun. 

“Would that be alright with you, Todoroki-san?” 

The red-haired man is polite in his nod, though you suppose the look in his eyes is a little scary⏤ the whole of him is, you think, bigger than even your father; one of the most intimidating men in your world. “Shouto. Show her around the house.” 

You hear the similar command in his tone, but your eyes are focused on the way the red-and-white haired boy’s lips thin, displeased⏤ “Yes.” He says in the end, and you note the way he does not even bother to call him father. 

Your mother squeezes your shoulder. “Be good, alright?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

She laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. The older Todoroki-san does not, only gesturing her in welcome forward. 

You wait until they’re out of earshot to turn to the younger one and say: “You know, Todoroki-san⏤” 

But then you hesitate.

You’re not sure if you should say this, and you never have to anyone else⏤ you think your father would disapprove, and you know your mother would. You think of what your mother would say, the opportunities you would be giving up, but you’d seen the displeasure upon his face, noted how uncomfortable he seemed, and still seems, even now. 

And in the end, though your words are hushed, you still say them, anyway. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

He blinks at you. You wonder if you have said something wrong. 

“I don’t mind showing you around the house.” 

“Oh! I mean, that too, but…” 

You waver again, glancing around a little. He’s still watching you, confused, but your mother is nowhere in sight, so you continue. 

“I mean, marriage. Like, I’m only seven, and I’m sure you’re great, and I guess I don’t really mind if mother really wants it, but you seemed really uncomfortable, and I also don’t really want to get engaged to anyone yet, so…” 

You’re not sure what exactly you’re saying, and you falter. 

“Um. Sorry. Please don’t tell anyone else I said that.” 

You can already imagine the emotion that would cross your mother’s face, the same as what your father would call you. Disappointment. You swallow. 

You shouldn’t have said that.  

But his answer comes, soft and simple. “I won’t since you don’t want me to.” 

You gauge his expression, a little wary. His features are still emotionless, and though you don’t think he’s lying, you ask just for reassurance. “Really?” 

He nods. “And…” His expression shutters a little. “I don’t plan on marrying for anything other than love.” 

There goes your parents' plans, you think, and though you are a little bit down at the prospect of disappointing them, your chest feels somewhat lighter. 

You’re not entirely sure why. 

“I think you’re the first person I’ve ever heard saying that,” You muse. Your mother certainly never has, and you have never been delusional enough to think it of your father. 

You don’t mind it, though. You used to dream about love, in the way many little girls do, awestruck at the romances in the fairy-tales your nanny used to read to you before bed. You are about to say, I’m happy for you.

But then, you think of their expressions, the way they will look at you when you go back and tell them that he doesn’t want to marry you; he wishes only to marry for love. You know what your mother will say; how she will simply tell you to make him fall in love with you⏤ your worth as a woman lies in your face and your body, and how you should make good use of it, before you wither.

So you are just a little bit selfish when you say: “Let’s just be friends, then!” 

He blinks at you. “Friends?”

You flash him a grin, your heart rattling in your chest. You hope he says yes⏤ firstly, because you won’t be entirely a disappointment, and secondly, because that means he’s the only one you’ll be meeting for the purposes of anything other than developing your family’s connections. 

“Friends.” You confirm, before backpedaling at your forwardness “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤” 

You’re glancing up at him a little worriedly, trying to gauge his expression. 

“It’s not that.” He says. And then, after a beat of silence, even quieter. “It’s just that no one’s ever asked to be my friend before.”

You blink. Oh. And then, hope bubbles, like a warmth in your chest. 

“Well! That’s okay!” You think of all the other children your parents have had you make connections with. “No one’s ever asked to be mine, either.” 

He’s watching you a little strangely, you think. “Okay.” 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re not sure what he means⏤ okay? Okay to what? Okay that no one’s ever asked to be your friend before? You flush a little. You’re not sure what to say⏤ you’re not usually so bad at holding a conversation, but then again, you’ve never had one quite like this. 

Then, he asks, a little awkwardly. “What do friends… do?” 

You think your heart stops. You can’t believe your ears. You’re not sure what expression you have on your face, but you’re sure it’s something between disbelief and gaping.

You shut your mouth and still your features the way your mother has taught you to, but you can’t help the smile tugging sharply at your lips, wide and beaming. “Well, no clue! I’ve never had a friend before. We can figure it out!” 

“Okay.” He says, a touch serious. “Do you want me to show you the house?” 

You’re not sure that’s exactly what friends do⏤ you’ve read enough about them in your books, but you appreciate him all the more for trying. “Anything to get out of the sun.” You sigh a little. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sweating.” 

“I’m not.” He supplies, helpfully. “I can make some ice.” 

You’re a little surprised. “Oh, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to trouble you⏤” 

You know of his Quirk, of course, and how he’s Endeavour’s son, but you’ve also seen your brother struggling with his own, and you don’t want to burden him.

He only holds out his left hand in response, the top of it icing over.

You gasp a little at the ease with which he does. “You’re so cool!”

“Only my left side.” 

You’re a little confused, but then you remember. Ah. Half-cold half-hot. You nod, understandingly. “Does that mean you can use fire on your right side, then?” 

He stiffens at that, and your heart drops like a stone⏤ you’ve said something wrong, you don’t know exactly what, but it’s too late to take it back. 

“Yes,” He says, a touch colder. 

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you innately wary. Not of him, exactly, but the topic itself, and then you think of how you’re at his house, but his mother hasn’t come out to greet you; how his father, the older Todoroki-san, had offered no explanation.

Briefly, you wonder if his family is just like yours. 

But you don’t dwell on it long, catching yourself mid-thought. It’s not polite to gossip about others’ affairs, your mother tells you once. 

“Well, I think you’ll be a good Hero, if that’s what you want to be,” Your smile is an olive branch. 

“It is.” He blinks, slightly confused. “Thank you.” 

You only laugh a little. “My Quirk wasn’t strong enough, so that dream ended before it could even start. Not that my mother would let me, anyways, I guess. I get to dance now, though, and I think I like it better.” 

You can see that he’s unsure of how to respond to this, so you flash him another smile. 

“Your ice was really cool, but I’m still sweating so much that I’m scared I’ll melt.” 

“Humans can’t melt.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I don’t want to be the first!” 

This is your second core memory. It is the only one absent of your mother, and it is also one you will treasure for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your mother presses you for details on the car ride back, and you are feeling both proud and just a little guilty when you report to her that you and Shouto are now friends. 

She looks a little surprised when you tell her⏤ clearly, you hadn’t been the only one to notice his more reclusive tendencies⏤ but no less than pleased. 

Your guilt soars, and you confess right then and there that he’d told you he’d only ever marry for love.

Her brow rises a little at that, but all she says is: “Well, the two of you have many years for that, don’t you?”

The ease with which her reply comes makes you feel just a little uncomfortable. Of course you don’t mind marrying him⏤ he’s kind, he’s your first friend, and his arm is undoubtedly worth a lot, but you’re not sure that’s what love is.

But you say none of what you think, and none of what you feel. 

You only dip your head, murmuring a yes, mother, and listen to the pleased tone of her hum.

You don’t see him for a good month after that. Between your extracurriculars⏤ your advanced classes and your dance lessons, you don’t get much of a chance to even think of him, and when you do, you wish you hadn’t forgotten to exchange numbers. Even the other children⏤ the ones you connect with for your family⏤ text you every so often, but you’re not officially friends with them like you are the red-and-white haired Todoroki-san, and honestly, you think you like him just a bit more. 

But what if he forgets you? You worry when you find the time, you worry even when you don’t, you worry while you are being driven to his house for the second time and your mother asks you what’s wrong, and you say I’m fine because that’s what you’re supposed to and⏤ did you forget me? 

You freeze. You didn’t mean to ask that. 

But then, he’s blinking up at you, looking a little lost. “Was I supposed to?” His brow furrows a little. “I’m not sure it’s possible, but I can try if you’d like.” 

You don’t know what exactly you’re feeling, but you think it’s a little bit like how you felt when you managed to slide into the splits the first time, or when your sensei praises you for landing a particularly difficult spin in your routine.

You beam wide. “No, it’s okay! I was just worried!” 

“Why?” He’s assessing you, a little confused. “We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

You think this is the first time you’ve smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.  

“Yeah!” You bring your pinky up, a little more shy, as you recite a line you’d seen in one of your books. “Best friends forever?” 

He alternates his gaze between your face and the pinky you proffer, before eventually offering up his own, a question written into it. 

You only link yours together. “You pinky promised. That means forever. You can’t break it now, okay?” 

His glance is still a little questioning, but eventually, something settles upon his face. “Okay.” He says, simply. 

You think you do not care if you do not get married to him, like your parents want you to. You think it is okay if he never loves you like that, because this has already made you happier than you have ever been.

You think that being best friends with him is more than enough, as long as forever means the rest of your life. 

And it is.

For the rest of that summer, and for several years after that, you get to see him weekly. 

You call him Shouto-san now, after he’d allowed it of you the first time you’d met his siblings and instantly confused them all with the sheer number of Todoroki-sans you were saying, but he also gets to call you by your first name, so it’s something of an equivalent exchange. You’re always the one getting dropped off at his house, though your mother has offered for him to visit you several times⏤ Endeavour-san’s always the one to refuse, and after so much time spent at their house, you think you understand some of it. 

After all, sometimes, you think the way he tries to shape Shouto in his image is just a little bit like how your mother tries to shape you. 

You don’t say anything, of course. You have been taught to be quietly observant the whole of your life. 

But it’s why you notice certain things. 

You notice the way Endeavour looks at you, and how it feels a little bit like your father’s. You know what they see⏤ you have seen it in their eyes the whole of your life, after all; child born out of wedlock, near-bastard, daughter of a whore mother⏤ and you know right there and then, that even had you wanted to marry Shouto, you would not have been able to. His father would not have allowed it, though he will allow you as you are⏤ friends and no more, for the sake of the connections, the opportunities you allow him. 

You are fine with that, though. Shouto is going to marry for love, you hope he does, and you are already happy enough if you get to be best friends for the rest of your life. 

Your mother has taught you to be quietly observant the whole of your life, and it’s why you also notice the way he treats his son, though you don’t say anything; it’s not your place. But you note the way your friend tenses a little whenever his father walks around, his own footfalls quieter than they have ever been before, the muteness, and the anger-fuelled resentment, even if he does not yet know how to express it. You think the way his father tries to shape him in his image is a little bit like how your mother tries to shape you in hers, though it’s a little different⏤ she never bruises you, at the very least.

You don’t say anything; you have asked your mother, and she has told you that it’s not your place. 

But your heart hurts a little, so you still ask your driver to fetch you some soothing cream, and you leave it on his desk the next week. 

He doesn’t mention it, and yet the next time you arrive, he hands you a pile of CD’s, wordless.

It’s a mixture: some of your favorite opera songs, the ones you’d told him you dreamed of starring in one day, and the recordings of several ballet pieces interspersed between. 

You stare at the stack in your hands, entirely mute, so many emotions stuck in your throat that the words simply do not come out. Something in you aches. 

He’s watching you a little worriedly. “Do you… like them?”

“I do.” You croak.

He draws a little closer. “But you’re crying.” 

“Happy tears.” On impulse, you reach over to wrap your arms around him⏤ he freezes, the two of you have never been particular on touch, but his are coming around you in the next moment, somewhat awkward in placement, but you don’t even care. You only say, somewhat thickly into his chest. “I love it.”

You mean it. 

It’s not just about the expenses⏤ though looking the quality, of course they cost a hefty sum, you think a little despairingly, but of course it is, it’s Shouto. 

Shouto, who tries his best to text you back even when the both of you are tired from a long day at your respective training, who listens to you ramble about the things you found interesting with a small smile on his face, who claps for you when you show him your dances⏤ even in the beginning, when you weren’t nearly as good and stumbled a few times. 

Shouto, who notices all the little things, like when you’ve stopped taking as much food as you have before because your mother told you you should start eating less, and pushes a little bit more towards you, a questioning look on his face. Shouto, who makes a social media account for you only because you said you’d started one, who follows only you, likes only your posts, who remembers it all, your preferred genre, the songs you mention once upon a time. 

Shouto, who cups the whole of you in his hands now, hesitant, but no less careful, as if he were handling one of your mother’s porcelain dolls, as if you are something precious. 

“I’m glad,” He tells you. “I was worried you wouldn’t like them.” 

You think back to all the other gifts you have received in your life, piles upon piles of birthday presents, exquisitely jeweled, enough to buy a small fortune; enough to buy what is in your mind equivalent to that of a small kingdom. The pieces your mother buys you, a little more suited to your taste than the gaudy opulence of the others, and far more expensive than this, but⏤ you want to tell him that none of them can even compare. You want to tell him that this is the most thoughtful thing you have ever received in your life, the first thing that isn’t bought just because someone thought it might look pretty on you, so that you can wear it just once and then throw it away⏤ that you like it so much maybe just because it’s so thoughtful, and maybe just because it’s him. 

( But then, you think of the way his father looks at you, how it’s a little bit like yours. You have seen it in their eyes the whole of your life, after all: child born out of wedlock, near-bastard, daughter to a whore mother, good enough to be friends with but not good enough, never good enough to marry. 

You think of his hesitance the first day, the way his shoulders had relaxed, ever slightly, when you’d said it was okay because you didn’t really want to get engaged, either⏤ a lie, you’ve known it was only your duty the whole of your life, and you’d said it even though you knew it would have wholly disappointed your parents, because you’d seen his displeasure, how uncomfortable he was. 

You think of the absence of his mother, the one he tells you he has started visiting in the hospital, and how the day before, he is the most nervous you have ever seen him. )

And in the end, all you settle for is this. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever been given in my life.” 

He smiles, soft and beautiful. “I’m glad,” He tells you again. 

You think of the firmity in his tone when he tells you that he is going to marry only for love, and you think: you are fine with this. You are glad that Shouto is going to marry for love, and you hope that he does. 

After all, you think you are already happy enough being here with him, solidified in your position as his first real friend, his best friend, forever, for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It’s around age thirteen when the routine the two of you have fallen into begins to change. 

Shouto is the one to tell you first, and then Endeavour contacts your parents officially a week later. He needs to prepare in earnest for UA, he tells you, and won’t be able to see you as often. He is apologetic as he says it, but you understand⏤ you have understood that though he holds no small amount of resentment towards his father, heroism to him is no less than dance is towards you. Something natural, as easy as breathing, like you were simply made for it; a discipline that has already been carved into you, from the top of your head and down to the tips of your toes. 

You don’t mind, not entirely, because though you are similarly despondent at the prospect of not being able to see him nearly as often, you have only just begun to kickstart your own career in earnest. Your mother pulls you from your school, leaving only the most necessary of subjects for your tutors to cover⏤ your days start becoming measured in the hours you spend with your dance instructors and pop-quizzes you barely have the presence of mind to study for, between the constant mini-shoots your mother puts you through for your social media accounts, and the bone-weary training you endure before passing out upon your bed each night. 

You don’t mind it though, you think. You enjoy it, actually, the way dance seems to hem itself into your very soul, a silent song that lengthens your every step, the grace of your arms. 

You don’t mind the hunger that gnaws at you, sharp and cutting, nor do you protest when your mother tells you to eat a little less, despite the fact that you haven’t had anything for breakfast, nor really for lunch. Because she’s your mother, and you believe her, and she is right; you did look a little bloated in that picture the other day, and that’s why it didn’t get nearly as many likes as the previous. Your face is beautiful⏤ it is the face of your mother, and you are too young yet for the arm of a man to hang off of, so you measure your worth in the last: your body, and the width of your hips. 

The next time Shouto sees you, it’s on video call, and you don’t think you’re mistaking the way his face tightens a little. “Have you been eating?” He asks you, direct and straight to the point. 

You are not really lying when you tell him that yes, you have, and you are not really lying when you don’t tell him: not as much. You are not really lying as you don’t tell him that you threw up the other day, sick on the taste of one of the foods you used to love so much, because you’d eaten it, and then started thinking of how many calories it was, how bloated you would look for the next picture, how your likes would fall, how your followers might fluctuate. 

You only thank him for liking all of your posts, anyways, like he always does. Between the rest of your activities, you barely have any time at all to yourself, and when you do manage to scrape some together, you are texting him. You tell him about your dances, how you feel about them, the music, your upcoming performances, and he tells you about his days in return. 

You tell him about the company you’ve started dancing for, how you’re not one of their lead dancers yet, but that you’re really good, so you might very well be one day. You’re not sure though⏤ you know you’re an amazing dancer, it’s a discipline you have carved inside you, like an extension of your very soul, but there are also a thousand-and-one girls who have done the exact same, who wear themselves out in hopes of achieving the coveted title of prima ballerina. You’re not that worried, though, you know you’re good, and achieving it isn’t just a pipe dream; it’s a very real possibility that you will achieve with your own two hands in the future. 

Shouto nods, and says, very seriously, that he knows you will, too. 

You smile at him when he says this, and your chest is so light that you almost forget everything else⏤ the gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach, the despair you’d felt after your last post didn’t gain so much traction, the fact that you hadn’t gotten the lead role this time, because there’s another girl who’s not-quite as good as you but that your company still wishes to see develop; see flourish. Shouto has always had this effect on you⏤ you don’t know if it’s because of the simple way he says it, or the genuine way he seems to believe in you, and in everything you do, but when you talk to him, your worries seem entirely insignificant, like nothing else even matters.

But your mother does not think the same.

She believes a woman’s worth is measured in three things, just as you do. The worth of the man’s arm you cling to, but you are still a little young for this, your body⏤ the width of your hips⏤ and your face, and by extension, your youth. The world views women as flowers, she has told you once. They have no interest in the older ones; the ones that have already started to wilt. 

She means it the first few times as a criticism of herself. But every time after that seems to sound more like a warning; a prodding to you⏤ you, freshly thirteen, and at the very start of your career, you who are undoubtedly talented at dancing, so much that becoming the most renowned prima ballerina in the world isn’t just a pipe dream, but very real possibility you will achieve, with your own two hands in the future. 

You don’t know if your mother thinks the same, but you do know that in the future is just not good enough for her.

After all, youth to her is like a broken fountain, a well with no water, a stream already run dry. Yours may be glorious and still-gushing, but the timer is ticking, and in the future is not good enough at all.

And when everything after happens, you will understand, innately, that this is the why. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The third of your core memories starts something like this. 

You are in a room with three people: you, your mother, and a man you do not know.

You do not remember the specifics of his face. You remember only that he was older, so much older that much of his hair had turned white, that he smelled sort of like your grandmother, in the way that all old people do, and that he was touching you.

Your mother was in the room with you. She was not watching, but she was aware⏤ you know she was, because you were looking at her, wondering if it was okay⏤ you did not think it was, but she didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything, and you thought that it was, that it had to be, that you were the strange one. ( This is your mother, the one that has held you, nursed you, sacrificed a great many of her youthful years for you. ) 

You remember only that he was touching you, and that you did not like it. 

It’s not sex. You’re thirteen, so you’ve learned enough about it in school to know what that is, but he’s touching you in places that no one ever has before, and you think that there is something wrong with the situation, but you’re not sure⏤ your mother does not say a thing, so you think that you’re the one in the wrong. This is normal, and it’s strange of you to feel so profoundly uncomfortable, to want to tell him to stop, but you don’t, because your mother doesn’t say anything, so it’s okay, so it has to be, right? 

You suppose it’s not something to care about that much, anyways. He doesn’t hurt you, you’re only uncomfortable, and his company is so renowned that when you land the lead ballerina role the next week, your social media account does numbers. 

It’s fine, you think. You were only uncomfortable, and when you ask your mother about it later, she says only this. Well, you didn’t say no, and then she gives you a look. You’re doing just fine, aren’t you? 

She’s right, you think. You had been uncomfortable, and you hadn’t wanted it, but you hadn’t said no, so really, it’s your own fault for not communicating properly. And you’re the strange one⏤ your mother had been in the same room, after all, and she hadn’t said a thing, so it must have been normal.

You do not tell anyone else about this. You are not sure if you should; you are ashamed, and you do not think you want to. There is no one else you can, anyways, outside of your mother, because the only one you are really close enough to talk to about non-surface level topics is Shouto, and you don’t want to bother him with your worries. He’s studying to enter UA, he has enough on his plate, and you were the strange one for overreacting like you did, how you are the strange one for being uncomfortable.

It is your fault in the first place, you think, because you did not say no.

You do not end up telling Shouto about it. 

This is the third and last of your childhood memories, and it is also one you will carry for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You flourish like your mother wants you to. 

Your social media account explodes, your follower count with it, so many that you are not just known as a dancer and occasional influencer in circles, but a celebrity, true and proper. You are recognized on the streets now, there are people that ask for your autograph, you are scrutinized everywhere you go; your outfits and your makeup are the talk of the town.

It is not so strange. You have always been the subject of scrutiny wherever you go⏤ when you were young, it was because you were your father’s youngest child, the one born from his whore-wife turned eventual actress, the subject of a thousand countless speculations; if they had gotten together only because of you, and if you were even his child at all. 

But even before that, it had been your mother always; watching you with an eagle eye, micromanaging your every move, every step, and after, you had started to do much of it yourself. You know what beauty requires of you⏤ hunger gaping like a chasm in your stomach, pain as they wax the hair from your arms, angles that make you look better than the others, though at the moment, you do not yet need procedures only money can buy. When you are not dancing, you are primping yourself, obsessing over the slightest of flaws⏤ your mother boasts that you don’t need drugs like all the others in the industry to survive, to keep yourself slim, and there is pride in her voice. 

Shouto still makes sure to text you every day, and you do the same to him. Sometimes it’s longer, the two of you managing to scrape enough time together to have a longer conversation, the ones where you always initiate a voice call, missing the sound of his voice. ( Eventually, he starts asking you if he can call you, and your heart beats beautifully light in your throat. ) But you don’t video call him, not like the first time⏤ where he’d asked you if you were eating, and you could only try your best not to lie. 

You do not see each other often. Sometimes you miss the early days, when you could go over to his house every week and spend hours simply sprawled in the sun, doing whatever you could, whatever you’d like. You miss your conversations about anything and everything and nothing at all; some manga you thought he’d enjoy, learning how to bake⏤ he’s horrible at cooking, and so are you, but you have fun while doing it, and that’s all that matters⏤ but more often, you simply miss him. 

But you get your chance to see him soon enough, two years since you last laid eyes upon each other, sometime during the school year. 

It’s been a long time since your mother withdrew you from your own school⏤ you still have your tutors, but they’re significantly lesser than before. Your career is already set in stone, after all, and you are neither a man nor your father’s heir, so anything you learn beyond the basics is mere formality. But your brother’s giving a presentation to the older business kids at UA, and he asks you if you’d like to tag along. 

You know your father would disapprove⏤ he doesn’t like it when you interact with his heir. But your brother has always been kind to you, even though you are a child from another mother, even if your mother is not so kind to him⏤ he is kind to you when he offers, and you think you have never been so grateful. 

UA is large in a way you have never known a school to be. Their campus sprawls before you, building after building, and it looks so cool. You are a little in awe, and just a little jealous of the people that get to go here⏤ not that you have any particular desire to learn, you were never very good at it, but more so because you’ve never really gotten the chance to experience what it’s like. And the interior is even better⏤ the halls almost exactly like the ones in the shoujo manga you enjoyed, once upon a time. You wonder how many of the people who attended here have gotten to live out those scenes in real life; the people that are loved enough to make protagonists out of, whose stories are enough to touch their audiences, to inspire them. 

You have seen many of these faces on social media, up-and-coming heroes that the Pros post, on occasion. You are a little surprised when some of them even recognize you⏤ not that much, because you’re something of a celebrity by now, but you did not think people as cool as these aspiring heroes would pay attention to something like you. You honestly thought your brother would be the popular one⏤ he’s your father’s heir, after all, and he’s already a rising star in the business industry, but it’s you they’re fawning over, you who’s being asked for your autograph, you who the girls approach with shy smiles on their faces, complimenting your outfit, your lip shade, calling you pretty. 

“I’ll go ahead and get set up. Text me when you’re ready to leave, alright?” Your brother smiles down at you, and you’re about to ask him why, but then you see a flash of red-and-white, out of the corner of your eye. 

Heart held like a butterfly in your throat, you turn. 

You’ve seen him on the television, of course⏤ you watch every moment of his from the Sports Festival, complimenting his cool moves, telling him to start posting actively onto his social media account⏤ you’d be famous! you tell him, but it’s only teasing; you know he has no interest. You’ve seen him fighting villains, follow all the fan accounts there are of him with your alt account⏤ he makes an account for you, and you decide it’s only fair if you make one for him⏤ but you haven’t seen him like this in person, in almost three whole years. He’s taller than you remember, of course he is⏤ he’s not thirteen anymore, and he’s significantly more well-muscled, and you understand why girls gush over him, even though he’s not officially a Hero; the real-life version of your fairytale Prince Charming. 

He’s panting a little as he walks towards you, the crowd parting before him⏤ you wonder if he’d run to see you, but then your arms are opening, and he’s holding you, cupping the whole of you in your hands like he did the first time⏤ hesitant and careful, as if you were one of your mother’s porcelain dolls, like something precious. You don’t want this moment to end, and from the way he’s holding you, if you were delusional enough, you might have thought him to think the same. You squeeze back a little⏤ it’s been years since you’ve seen him, and he doesn’t say anything at first, and you don’t need him to. Shouto has always spoken more with his actions than he ever has his words, as you have come to know⏤ you don’t need him to say anything to know that this is his way of saying I missed you. 

You don’t want this moment to end, but it’s broken, eventually, by a voice from the other side of the hall⏤ “She’s your girlfriend ?” A golden-haired boy gapes. “You’ve been holding out on us, man!” 

You’re the one to step away a little, flushing. “It’s not⏤” 

“Todoroki, you bastard,” Someone else moans. 

“It’s not like that,” You correct, a little more firmly. You don’t want them to get the wrong idea⏤ you don’t want to ruin anything he has. You are his best friend, you have decided a long time ago; you will not destroy what you have for something so uncertain, and that is why you inform them. “Shouto-san’s only going to marry for love.”

You realize right after the words leave your mouth that there are multiple interpretations to this. First, the way you meant them, that Shouto is only ever going to marry for love, and as an extension, that he is not in love with you. There’s a beat of silence⏤ they’re looking at you a little bit strangely, you think, and the thought has you clutching your box a little tighter to your chest.

But then, you remember. That’s right. Your box. You hold it up like an offering, a practiced smile spreading over your face⏤ “I brought macarons for you!” You say, bright. “I practiced a lot after the last time, so they’re a lot better than the last time we tried to make them, so I thought you could maybe share them with your class? Or your friends? The chefs helped me, so they should be okay to eat⏤” 

You’re rambling, you think, just a little, but you are relieved when he accepts the box as you thrust it towards him. 

He stares at it a little blankly. “Why?” 

You blink. “Why did I make them?” 

“Why do I have to share?” 

“Todoroki, you bastard.” Someone⏤ a different someone this time, groans again. 

“Think of it as me bribing your friends so they’re a little nicer to you.” You laugh a little at the small frown on his face. “Do you want to introduce me to them?” 

You see his mouth open, already forming a no. 

“The friends and classmates in question would love to introduce themselves to you.” A pink-haired, pink-skinned girl cuts in, grinning. 

You smile a little at this, but then Shouto cuts in, a little assertively. “Over lunch, then. I’ll buy it for you.” 

You are about to say, oh, there’s no need, or I’ve already eaten today, but he only glances at you, the purse of his mouth a little insistent. 

You think of the way he’d asked you the one and only time you facetimed him if you’d been eating well, to take care of yourself, and you see that same worry in his eyes now.

You nod, mentally counting up the calories, but you still say in the end, “Okay.” 

His expression softens, brightening a little, and though you don’t really think you should be eating, you don’t entirely mind. 

You think he is a bit different from the boy you once knew.

You remember how he was sullen and a little bit quietly churlish, though he was not actively trying to be⏤ closed off to the world, a pearl stuck in a clam shell. But you look at him now, and you think he is not at all the same. There are some parts of him left, of course, but he seems brighter, now, more open; comfortable and almost entirely at ease. And it’s no wonder⏤ you think his classmates are very lovely, and they are very kind. 

You find yourself enjoying their company⏤ you internalize their names, telling them that they can reach out to you if they’d like; you’re pretty alright at social media yourself, and are always happy to help them with anything, though you’ll only probably be of help in the public relations aspect, you note a touch apologetically. You offer to do some photoshoots with the girls Shouto’s closer with⏤ the brown-haired one looks a little starstruck, though the black-haired one looks less sure.

“I’d hate to trouble you,” She says, politely⏤ Yaoyorozu Momo, you remember, from a family less well-off, but still memorable enough to occasionally haunt the same circles.

“Shouto-san’s friends are my friends,” You sense him watching you, so obligingly, you take another bite of your food.

You’re not watching him, but you still get the general sense that he is pleased.

“Yaomomo, you did mention you like tea, right? Maybe we can all meet up sometime for a party!”

“Oh! Yes, I’d love that! My place is open, I’d love to host⏤” She glances at you. “Would that be… amenable to you?” 

You smile, and you feel a little warm. “I’d love to attend, if you’ll have me.”

She smiles back, delighted.

You only think, you are glad that Shouto has so many friends like this at his side; open and warm, accepting him for who he is, as comfortably as you have ever seen him.

You tell him exactly this as he walks you back to the front entrance.

“Your friends are really nice,” You say. “I’m glad I got to meet them. Tell me how they’re doing, every once in a while?”

He glances at you, a question in his eyes. “Why not ask them yourself?”

He must have seen the question in yours.

“They want to be your friend. Anyone would.”

He says it so simply, so naturally, that your heart is beating so fast you think it might escape from your chest.

“Thank you,” You say, because you don’t know what else to.

He nods. Your brother is there, you have arrived, the limo and your driver in the background, but his mouth opens, and you find yourself hesitating, wanting to hear what he has to say.

“When you said I was going to marry for love,” He says slowly, and you are hanging onto his every word. You get the sense that he is watching you very carefully. “You didn’t say anything about yourself. Does that mean you aren’t?”

And the first thought that rises to your head when he asks you this is: no. 

You dream of love once upon a time, of course, as many little girls do; immersing yourself in your fairy tales, the princesses stolen by dragons and then the ones who save them, their one and only Prince Charmings. You dream of it every time you read a romance novel, one of your shoujo manga, the plotline of one of the operas you dance for⏤ the ones you send him, discuss with him, the ones that he reads, even though it’s not necessarily the kind he likes.

You dream of it the first time you meet him, and every time thereafter, because how could you not?

You dream of love once upon a time, because this is Shouto, Shouto who texts you every day, even when you know he is tired from all the training he has to do, who listens to your long rambling over the phone, who doesn’t hang up on you so that you can fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. Shouto, who makes sure to send a small gift to your residence every year after you cry at the first one he gives you⏤ because it is the best present you have ever received in your life. Shouto, who notices all the little things, pushes the things he knows you like towards you, asks if you’re eating, who makes his one and only social media account for you to like your posts and solely to like your posts.

You don’t know how it happened, if it was slowly over the years, or all at once, but you know what you feel for him now, as you look at him. You look at him now, your heart tight, your chest light⏤ at the face of your best friend, and when you look at him, the thought comes to you, naturally, upon a breeze, as if it were as easy as breathing.

But you do not know if he feels the same; he tells you once upon a time that he is only going to marry for love, and you have long since decided that you are happy enough like this, with what you have, so long as you are able to stay his best friend for the rest of your life.

You smile, and when you say we’ll see what happens, it does not feel entirely like the truth, and yet it also does not feel entirely like a lie.

You turn away before he can see your expression shutter, and that also means you do not see his.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your father has always been an intimidating man.

It’s in his nature⏤ he’s a businessman, and a powerful one which means there’s always been a surety to his step, an inherent confidence that most people cannot even hope to emulate, nor to learn. He is a man born from old money and steeped fully in its traditions, something that has carried into the way he treats the things around him, along with the people.

You understand this quite well; after all, that is why he married your mother.

You learned the reason for this when you were younger. You had never questioned his treatment of you before⏤ after all, your father is a traditional man, and you are neither a man nor his heir, so it has never really bothered you that he treats you differently from your brother; addressing you only across the dinner table to inquire about the state of your connections, when he does deign to speak to you. And you don’t mind⏤ you’ve always thought of him a little cold, a little intimidating, and your mother is the parent you go to, anyways⏤ your mother who has held you in her arms, nursed you, and sacrificed a great many of her youthful years for you. 

But you are six when you first learn the meaning of bastard, and then all of a sudden, it all makes sense.

Your mother was a famous actress, this, you know. You also know of how she was made from nothing, how she never finished high school, how her first agency whisked her away before she even turned fully sixteen. How she, a girl born from nothing, who had nothing, managed to dig her roots deep, carving out her own place in the world, clawing her way to the top. A woman’s worth, she says to you once upon a time, is made of three things⏤ her face and her body, two things she has in abundance, and the arm of the man she clings to.

You are six when you understand; your father is a traditional man, and that is the only reason he marries your mother. 

Perhaps that is why when he gives you your ultimatum, you are already expecting it.

You have already known from early on that this is what your parents want from you. Your father is a businessman, his heart ruled in strict transaction, and your mother is not much better in her own views⏤ marriage to her is a way of elevating her social standing, of cementing her worth. 

And that is why when you stare at the file before you, the world around falling away, you are not surprised when she does not say a thing. 

He is a good enough match, you suppose; a rich man, one that’s greeted you after your performances enough time that you see his face, and you are able to recall his name. You could do worse⏤ he is handsome enough, and rising quickly through the ranks⏤ likely blood money, you think, but that is common enough in your circles that you do not bat an eye. You feel the satisfaction in your father’s gaze, and wonder how much he offered for you, if it was a fortune⏤ it had to be no small amount, you think, but you would not be surprised if it wasn’t. 

“Surely we can find a suitor closer to her age,” Your brother is the one to break the silence. You are a little surprised⏤ he doesn’t usually question your father’s decisions, after all, he is the golden child; the one that is favored most. “What about any of the children from the other families?” 

“None of them would’ve matched the offer,” Your father rumbles, and you hear what he doesn’t say. How none of them would be able to match the offer, to be willing to pay enough, because you are not worth that much, because all you are worth is your face, the width of your hips, and what you are; your father’s bastard daughter, the one conceived out of wedlock. 

He adds, as an afterthought. 

“Unless, of course, you manage to convince the Todoroki child, that friend of yours, to marry.” 

Your fork pauses midair, and you consider the possibility, for all of a moment. 

( You dream of love once upon a time, of course, as many little girls do; immersing yourself in your fairy tales, the princesses stolen by dragons and then the ones who save them, their one and only Prince Charmings. You dream of it every time you read a romance novel, one of your shoujo manga, the plotline of one of the operas you dance for⏤ the ones you send him, discuss with him, the ones that he reads, even though it’s not necessarily the kind he likes.

You dream of love once upon a time, because this is Shouto, Shouto who has been your best friend since you first met him at age seven, who has been the one unchanging constant in your life, your rock, who looks at the post where your mother called you bloated and tells you, in that simple way of his, that you look beautiful. Who looks up to you, an inquisitive look in his eyes whenever you call out to him, giving you the whole of his attention in a way no one else has ever done before, hanging on to your every word and listening, taking every one of your worries and thoughts into consideration, no matter how silly, nor how unwarranted. 

You don’t know how it happened, if it was slowly over the years, or all at once, but you know what you feel for him now. You think you always have, and it was simply so natural, how could you not? )

You dream of love once upon a time, because this is Shouto, Shouto who knows you just as well as you do him, and that is also why you know, if you asked him, he would undoubtedly say yes. 

And then, the guilt hits.

You think of the way his father used to look at you, the way it looked a little bit like yours. You have seen it in their eyes the whole of your life, after all: child born out of wedlock, near-bastard, daughter to a whore mother, good enough to be friends with but not good enough, never good enough to marry. You think of how Shouto tells you once upon a time that he will only marry for love, and though you are sure he cares for you, you do not know if he feels the same as you do. You have promised yourself once upon a time that you are already content enough, and happy enough, to be able to call him your best friend for the rest of your life. You think that, though you know he would agree to it in an instant, because you are the one to ask it of him⏤ your kind, thoughtful Shouto, who has always put your needs before his own, thought of you before anything else⏤ you are happy enough with what you have; you do not want to be the one to ruin it, to ruin him, and his choice. 

And that is also why you put your fork down, and say, quietly. 

“The man you’ve picked will do, father.” 

You think your brother’s eyes widen as he looks at you, the only member of your four-man table who looks even remotely upset at your answer. Your own face is blank, as it always is at these dinners, your mother sees no difference between the two of them; one man’s arm to her is worth just the same as another.

Your father is smiling, pleased. 

“Very well. We shall announce your engagement within the year.” 

Your mother smiles. “Is there something you’d like as a present, darling? Some new pointe shoes, maybe? You were always complaining about how yours don’t even last a full two weeks.”

“No need.” Your father places his fork down. “You’ll be stopping all your dance activities. It was one of the conditions of your marriage.” 

The food tastes like ash in your mouth. 

You think: you can handle being a wife. You were always prepared for the eventuality of it. But not dance⏤ a prima ballerina’s time in the spotlight, you have known, will always be limited, but you are not prepared for this. You are not ready for this part of you to be cut away just yet, like a surgical incision.

You swallow. “But father⏤” 

“A wife has no need for such trivialities as dance.” 

The words die down in your throat. 

Your mother is silent. Your brother tries, at least. “But surely some⏤” 

“That is final.”

You dip your head. Your voice is thick. You say only one thing.

“Yes, father.” 

You say only the mantra you have been repeating for the most of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The first thing you say to your future husband is to ask if you may finish up the rest of your season’s performances. 

He allows it of you. Of course he does; he is drunk on his victories, pleased enough to offer you this small consolation. 

You dance the best you ever have. The tabloids applaud each of your performances as better than the last, the kinder papers worry about your health, you dance for you and yourself, the years you have put into it, the years you will lose; you dance like you will never get the chance to ever again.

You won’t; you know this, and that is why you dance until your body breaks, ignoring each and every last one of your friends’ concerned messages⏤ from both Shouto and his friends; the kind and lovely ones, that you used to see sometimes for tea. 

You dance until your body breaks, literally, on the last of your performances. 

Your fall from grace, the media calls it.

You do not care. You have given it all you have, and there will be no more dance after this, anyway. 

You ignore your friends’ concerned messages⏤ both from Shouto and his friends; the kind and lovely ones, that you used to see sometimes for tea. He calls you directly⏤ is everything alright, you hear him ask you, what’s wrong, what can I do for you, what happened? 

He must have seen the articles, then. You think it is the most panicked you have ever heard him. 

You tell him that you are fine, you just hurt your ankle a bit.

You don’t tell him that the doctors do not think you will be able to dance like you did ever again. 

He is silent for all of a moment, and then he asks you, simply. “Are you okay?” 

The sound of it, his simple concern, is enough to bring tears to your eyes, a lump to your throat. You don’t remember the last time anyone’s ever asked you that. 

You almost break, right then and there. You don’t want to marry this man you do not know, this man who reminds you of the other one, once upon a time, from your core memories, this man that you do not want. You know if you did, if you asked, he wouldn’t even hesitate to agree, because it’s you, only because it’s you, and you want to. You want to ask so badly that it aches.

( But then, you think of the way his father used to look at you, the way it looked a little bit like yours. You have seen it in their eyes the whole of your life, after all: child born out of wedlock, near-bastard, daughter to a whore mother, good enough to be friends with but not good enough, never good enough to marry. 

You think of how Shouto tells you once upon a time that he will only marry for love, and though you are sure he cares for you, you do not know if he feels the same as you do. You have promised yourself once upon a time that you are already content enough, and happy enough, to be able to call him your best friend for the rest of your life. 

You think that, though you know he would agree to it in an instant, because you are the one to ask it of him⏤ your kind, thoughtful Shouto, who has always put your needs before his own, thought of you before anything else⏤ you are happy enough with what you have; you do not want to be the one to ruin it, to ruin him, and his choice. )

You do not ask.

Instead, you tell him only the truth, soft and quiet. “I’m getting engaged, Shouto.” 

There is a beat of long silence. Only then do you realize the question he had asked⏤ are you okay, and realize what his mind is undoubtedly sifting through at the moment, that you are not okay because you are getting engaged.

You hasten to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m fine, that’s not why. It’s just…” 

You swallow. You don’t want to say this, but you know you should. You know what kind of person you are, you know that you will cave eventually, at some point down the line, because you love him so much that your heart hurts, and you do not think you can bear the burden of continuing like this any longer.

“I don’t think we should call like this any longer.” 

You want to take the words back as soon as you say them. Already, you are trying to memorize the way he shapes his words, the tone of his voice.

He is silent on the other end. Too silent, and for too long. And then, all he says is this, softer than you have ever heard. 

“Do you love him?” 

You think: no. Never.

You say: “Yes.” 

Another beat of silence. You listen to the sound of him breathing, thinking of all the other calls you have had, where he stays on the line just so you can fall asleep a little easier. Tears prick at your eyes, hot and furious.

“Okay.” You can almost see him hesitating, the tentative look on his face. “I’m always here for you, whenever you need it.”

“You’ll always be my best friend, Shouto. You know that?” 

“Forever,” He says, a tad serious now. “We pinky promised.” 

You laugh. You can’t help it, thickly through your tears. “I can’t believe you still remember.” 

“Of course.” He says, and all you can think is, of course he’d remember.

You think you love him so much that it hurts. 

Your mother walks in, a questioning look in her eye.

You don’t want to cut this last conversation of yours so short, but you say, anyways. “I have to go now, Shouto. It was really nice talking to you.” You mean it.

You hang up first.

“You shouldn’t be calling him anymore,” Your mother advises. “You’re to be married soon. Your husband won’t like it.” 

“I know,” You say. 

Your smile feels bitter.

“It won’t happen again.” 

Your mother looks at you, her lips pursed. “See that it doesn’t.” 

You wait until she leaves, the basket of fruit left behind her.

Then, and only then, do you turn your head into the pillow, and let the tears fall. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The first time he sees you, he thinks you look a little like a porcelain doll. 

Your skin is just as smooth, your features just as exquisite, but he thinks it’s more of the frailty of your figure, and the delicate grip you have on your parasol. You are ephemeral in a way he has never seen before, but with the kind of beauty that he thinks he’d see in a book, or in one of his manga. 

And yet⏤ you are beautiful, yes, but he has no intention of marrying you⏤ not when he has seen what the lack of love can do to a household, to his mother and father, and to every other soul that lives still in it. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you⏤ and then you say, it’s okay if you don’t want to.

He blinks a little. No one has ever said that to him before. 

He is a little apologetic, when he tells you the truth: that he only ever plans on marrying for love, and he is relieved when you smile. 

You ask him if he’d like to be friends, but you also say that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to be⏤ but he does. He’s never had a friend before⏤ he has his tutors, his combat instructors, his siblings, but he hasn’t been allowed outside yet, so he hasn’t had the chance to, and you are kind, he thinks. The kindest person he has ever met, to be kind to him for no reason at all; you are not his sibling, not his anyone, and he thinks you are kinder to him than he deserves. He wants to be your friend, and that’s why he thinks to himself the whole of the month you are gone, thinking of how to get you to call him by his first name, like they do in the manga, in the stories.

You are a little surprised when he tells you that you can, and he adds the only reasoning he can think of⏤ it’d be confusing with so many Todorokis in the house.

You are smiling as you call him Shouto-san for the first time, and at that, he feels oddly pleased. 

It’s a little awkward at first⏤ he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say; he’s never had a friend before, and neither have you. But friendship with you is easier than anything he’s felt before, he finds, like something natural, something that comes to him like breathing. He does not know if he’s doing it right, only that you are pleased when he remembers something that you said the other day, something that you like. You weren’t interested in the manga he liked before, but you try them for him, and he finds he doesn’t mind your romance ones, not entirely⏤ he doesn’t mind reading them, listening to you ramble about anything and everything you found interesting. He only hopes you don’t mind that he doesn’t talk as much, but you don’t seem to⏤ you cover up all the awkward silences with a change in topic, even when he’s a little more curt than he means to be. 

Friendship with you is easier than anything he’s felt before. You don’t mind his awkward pauses, his sharper silences, the shortness of his words, and you are simply so easy to talk to. You are thoughtful and altruistic, pay close attention to every single one of his moods, and even though he knows there is more you don’t say⏤ he knows it’s you that leaves soothing cream on his desk, there’s no one else that would, and his heart clenches then, an ache, like something painful. You and your soft, considerate way of doing things, thinking it’s not your place but wanting to show your support for him anyways, doing it in a way that he might never see at all, without expecting even a thanks.

He tries really hard, combs every shop with Fuyumi he can think of, practically every one in the city.  

He stares at the pile of CD’s held in your hands, afraid of looking up, but when he does, you’re crying. 

I do like them, you tell him, but you’re crying.

You smile. “Happy tears.” And then you’re reaching for him, cradling him in your arms, and he’s freezing⏤ he doesn’t remember the last time he was held like this, that he was able to hold something like this. You fit perfectly into his arms, though he doesn’t know where exactly to put them, and he thinks he likes the way that you hold him, the way you smell, the way you bury your face in his chest. “I love it.” You croak, somewhat thickly. 

“I’m glad,” He tells you. “I was worried you wouldn’t like them.” 

And he doesn’t know how to say it, nor what exactly the feeling in his chest is, but he thinks: he doesn’t mind if he’s frozen in this moment a little longer, maybe even forever, just so long as he gets to hold you like this.

He does not know if this is what they call love, but he thinks it must be; the love that they show in your romance novels, your shoujo mangas, the ones he reads on occasion, because you ramble about them to him. Nothing else can explain it⏤ not the way his steps seem to lighten whenever he sees you, the way he checks his phone more often than ever, just in case you’ve left him another message, so much that his father starts threatening to take it away for the whole of the week. It must be⏤ it’s more than caring on just a fundamental level, it’s feeling delighted when he wakes up on his birthday because he knows there will be a present from you sitting there, reading a passage and hearing your voice in his head, thinking of how you’d react. It’s asking you to show him all your dances, and thinking you are an art form; the way you look, the way you move, and thinking you look beautiful even when you stumble; in spite of it. 

It’s running across the school when he hears that you are here. 

He is panting a little, but his steps are light, and he doesn’t mind, not when he hasn’t seen you in two years, and then there you are. 

You look just like you do in the photos, he thinks. Taller, more grown, but still so beautiful that as always, it takes his breath away. He’s always thought you are; like a porcelain doll the first time, like the heroines in some of the shoujo manga he reads or the princess of your romance novels. You are smiling at him, a vision in the sunlight, and he simply steps towards you. 

It’s a thousand little things. It’s the way you fit in his arms like you are made for them, and then he notices how thin you have become, your muscles lean, but your wrists like bone, and all he can think of is: you need to eat. It’s the way he doesn’t want to share the macarons you make him, because you spent time on them, you made them for him, not his friends that you do not even know. It’s the way you make everyone around you feel instantly at ease, smiling at Yaoyorozu as you tell her: Shouto’s friends are my friends, in the way you are simply thoughtful and considerate, in everything that you do.

“When you said I was going to marry only for love,” He says, and it’s a careful question. “You didn’t say anything about yourself. Does that mean you aren’t?” 

You hesitate, and he’s hanging on to your every word, your every breath. 

It’s a thousand little things. It’s the way his heart shutters when you smile, and when you say: “We’ll see what happens,” and his feelings do not change towards you, not even when you make it clear that you don’t feel the same. It’s the way he tamps down upon them, careful not to let them seep into his messages, into your conversations, because he thinks the only alternative worse than a world where you don’t love him is a world where he can’t talk to you at all. He can be your best friend, he’s willing to be, as long as you’re happy, as long as you let him stay in your life and by your side; he’ll take anything that you want to give him, even if it’s never more than just this.

And then you tell him that you’re getting engaged. It’s out of nowhere, you’ve never even mentioned such a thing to him, and he’s still worrying about whether or not you’re okay, what this means for you, because dance is your everything, it’s a discipline hewn into you like heroism is to him, you haven’t even told him about a man? And then you tell him⏤ I don’t think we should call like this anymore, that he finally realizes the enormity of what you’d just said.

Some part of him had always thought it would happen one day, he thinks. He just had not expected it to happen so soon. And he is fine with it, he tells himself⏤ you only said no more calls, that doesn’t mean you don’t want to talk to him, you’re still allowing him to stay in your life, and he will, even if his heart is breaking, even if it hurts.

He only asks you: “Do you love him?” 

He knows you just like how you know him. And that is why, when you say yes, he knows you mean no. 

He almost offers to marry you, right then and there. He wishes he would, he wishes he could. He wants to. But then he thinks of the way you have steeled yourself when you lie to him, the conviction in your voice.

And in the end, all he settles upon is: “Okay.” 

Your wedding is a small affair, closed off to only the closest of friends and family. He hears it is at your bequest. 

You do not invite him, and he is almost glad for it⏤ he knows he is your closest friend even without the invite. But what he wonders is if you didn’t invite him because you knew all along; the love he holds for you, and decided to spare him this pain.

You have always been so thoughtful, so considerate of him, after all, and when he thinks about it like that, his heart hurts a little. 

It’s okay, he thinks. He can be your best friend, he’s willing to be, as long as you’re happy, he’ll take anything that you want to give him, even if it’s never more than just this.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your husband is not that bad of a man, all things considered. 

He is better in some ways than your father. 

He allows you to speak to him, though you must be respectful when you do so⏤ you do not mind, of course, you have lived that way much of your life. He does not make you cook, nor clean, nor anything that a typical housewife should; understanding of your upbringing and your dancer background. You have all the food in the world, a roof above your head, a mattress beneath you, all the jewels a woman could possibly want, a mountain of wealth before her. 

You only have to smile when he comes home, kiss him upon the cheek, drape yourself around him, and allow him to use you as he wishes. 

Your mother has told you in advance about some of it, what you should expect, and how you should let him take what he wants from you, keep quiet. What if he hurts me? You find the courage to ask, because though your father hasn’t, you think it is a very real possibility, and she only looks at you, pursing her lips. 

“Keep quiet, of course. Anything else would be shameful.” 

You had meant during sex, but you internalized her words, the judgment on her face, much as you had the first time, all those years ago, in that little office with you, your mother, and the man whose face you don’t remember. After all, this was your mother, the one who has always known best; the one who has always meant to give you her best, this mother that has held you, nurtured you, sacrificed a great many of her most youthful years for you. 

You think of her very often, and more specifically, her words, because you don’t think you can bring yourself to think of much else, not when their wounds are still fresh, still gaping. You think back to that time when you were thirteen, in that little office with you, your mother, and the man whose face you don’t remember, how it felt the same, how you are still as uncomfortable then as you are now. You don’t like him, you don’t want him to touch you, even on the days he is gentler, even though he is your husband⏤ you think a part of you never will. Your mother is not there this time, so you cannot look to her for advice, and you already know what she will say the same things that you think. After all, this is your husband, the one you are supposed to stay with for life, and it’s like the first time, where you did not want it, but you’re not sure if you can say no, or even how to. 

He’s not a bad husband. He showers you in gifts. His arm is worth a lot, you know very well⏤ you have seen the jealous stares in your usual social circles, while he only grins, arrogantly all the while. But you don’t trust it, not entirely⏤ your mother had warned you about the honeymoon era, and she does so again on your next outing, when you tell her that he is treating you well. 

“All men are like that,” She tells you. “They treat women like flowers. Something to admire, something to pluck when you are fresh and fully in bloom. Just wait until you wither.” She scoffs. “Your father was exactly the same.” 

You think here, instinctively, protectively. Shouto wouldn’t. You know he wouldn’t. 

The thought brings a wave of fresh agony to your throat, but you only dip your head a little forward and nod. “Yes, mother.” 

You don’t text him as often now. You don’t have that much to tell him, and honestly, you don’t really know what to say, in fear that you might break or cross the line in a way that you shouldn’t. He’s the one that texts you, asking you how your day went, sending pictures of cats he found on the road, things he thought were cute, things he thought you might like. You text him back when he does⏤ you want to talk to him, after all, even when you think that you shouldn’t, and it feels a little bit like the old days, back when you were young and had all the time in the world, to do whatever you wanted, whatever you’d like. 

You don’t text him as often now, but you are glad when he does you. 

You think that, in the early days, he was the only thing holding you together; the only thing that kept you from falling apart. 

It takes a while for your husband to lay a hand on you, but when he does, you are not entirely surprised. 

Your mother had prepared you for this, after all, showed you what was expected of you, even if she had not explicitly said it herself. And he is terribly apologetic of it after⏤ he’d just been really stressed at work, he’d said, but this was something you had already known, from his rougher treatments of you the nights previous. It’s because you’re texting that friend of yours so often, he says, and he’s really sorry, it won’t happen again, but it might help if you text him a little less.

You hesitate. You don’t want to text Shouto less, you already are, you’re texting him less than you ever have before, but you agree. He’s your husband, after all, and that means his comforts should take priority over yours, right?

Yes, you hear your mother in your mind, agreeing.

You nod. You can text him a little less. 

He is tender with you that night, apologetic and loving.

You weep to yourself after he falls asleep. Quietly, because he does not like it when you do.

It takes him one month until the next. He tells you the same thing, once again⏤ work is stressing him out, he’s really sorry, it won’t happen again, but you are still texting that friend of yours so often.

You have heard this tirade before. You do not know why you hope it to be different the second time.

Still, you nod. You do not know what else you can do.

It happens five times, and on the fifth, he shatters your phone. 

You stare at its remnants, trying your hardest not to cry. 

“Please don’t cry,” He murmurs. “You know I don’t like it when you do. I promise this won’t happen again, okay?”

You want to tell him that he is a liar. You want to tell him that you don’t like it when he holds you, when he touches you. You want to say: you said this the last time, and every time after that. When will it stop? When will it end? 

( Your mother tells you your husband is not that bad of a man, all things considered. )

You are out in public, and you splashed a little bit of water on yourself by accident⏤ you’re not eating that much, less than you ever have before, and your wrists trembled just a little. You cover the wet spot on your skin immediately, the greenish-blue prints, but too slow⏤ you see the way her eyes flicker over you, assessingly, taking in the places you have covered painstakingly with makeup, layered in thick, expensive concealer, places where your skin dips a little hollow, the bags under your eyes, the dryness of your lips.

“You could do worse,” She simply tells you again. “He’s handsome, charismatic, and showers you in gifts, doesn’t he?” 

She is supportive in the way that she says it, in the way she always is. 

You dip your head forth and say, quietly. “Yes, mother.” 

You suppose that she is right. It could be worse. Because while he hits you, he makes sure not to break you, in places that are easier to conceal, places that heal easier, and never on your face.

You are making your way back to the limo when you see Yaoyorozu Momo, or rather, she sees you.

You hear the gasp first, and then she’s before you, as present and beautiful as if your first meeting was just yesterday. Instinctively, you hide your wrist⏤ the exposed bruise, the one where your makeup had been accidentally washed and wiped away⏤ but she only blinks at you. “Hi! It’s been so long! How are you?” 

It strikes a chord within, and your smile stretches onto your face, bright and unfeeling. “Just fine. And you?” 

“I’m doing good, thank you for asking.” She smiles warmly. “It’s so good to see you. I never got to properly thank you for that shoot you helped me with.”

You remember this. It had been one that had helped her significantly in kick-starting her Hero career, after all. “Oh, it was no trouble. I’m happy to help. Shouto’s friends are my friends.” 

Even after all this time, the words still come naturally to you, and you don’t realize you have said them until you do. 

Your heart shutters, but your face does not. 

Your mother has trained you well. 

“Speaking of Shouto… he tells me he’s worried about you,” She says, haltingly. “We all are. He tells me you haven’t texted him back in a while.” 

“Oh,” Your excuse slips smoothly. “Tell him there’s no need to be. I just broke my phone, that's all, and lost the numbers upon it.” 

She is looking at you a little strangely here, you think, though she tries to keep her eyes trained upon yours, you see the way they flicker, taking in the places you have covered painstakingly with makeup, layered in thick, expensive concealer, places where your skin dips a little hollow, the bags under your eyes, the dryness of your lips. 

You watch her take out her notepad, write a series of numbers upon it. You think of what your husband would say if he knew you were talking to him again, what he would do.

“I don’t⏤” You begin. You feel only your shame. 

But this friend of yours has always been smart. Perhaps smarter than anyone has ever given her credit for. After all, she grew up in a world quite similar to yours⏤ not quite the same, but similar enough, was told of the stories, haunted the same circles, was made aware of what might happen, and what could. 

“It’s not Shouto’s,” She asserts, cutting you off. “It’s mine. Call me if you need anything, alright? I’m a Pro. I’m here for you.” 

It has been so long since anyone has told you that.

Your eyes burn. Your chest feels a little tight.

She presses the paper to your hand insistently, and smiles when you finally curl your fingers around it. 

“Thank you,” You say.

It feels empty. You don’t think you will use it, but you think it should be fine; after all, it’s only a number, you’re not texting anyone, and the person on the other end is a girl.

You are wrong. 

It is not, and you have barely managed to place it upon your dresser when your husband comes in.

He’s early today. You have not yet had the time to change from your outdoor clothes, to prepare yourself mentally to greet him, and you are only half-risen from your seat when he crosses the room. 

He doesn’t head for you like he usually would, and when you look back upon this moment in hindsight, his target is clear. 

“Wait⏤”

You don’t even manage to get the whole of your words out before he rips your lifeline to pieces. 

You stare at them as they fall from his hands, and you don’t know how exactly you manage to find your voice⏤ you never have before this, but you do. “That was a woman’s number, one of my friends, it wasn’t⏤” You don’t know what you’re saying. You just don’t know why he’s doing this, he shouldn’t be jealous like this, you haven’t texted him in months, haven’t reached out to contact him since. You don’t understand. Why isn’t this okay? 

“But she’s one of his friends, isn’t she?” 

You don’t even know how he knows about it, who you’d met. The driver, you think, but he’s only continuing, more frenzied than you have ever seen him before. 

“Your Shouto. The one you didn’t want to stop texting, the one you’ve known since you were five. Yeah, your mother told me all about him.” You don’t know what expression you have on your face. “Your Shouto, the one you made an account for, to like all his fan’s posts?” 

You haven’t gone on that account in years⏤ it’s too painful to see him as he was, as he is. The protest rises to your throat. “I don’t⏤” 

“I give you everything a woman could ever want, anything you could ever ask for. I attended all of your recitals, brought you flowers after every single one, drape you in any gem you could ever think of, I give you the world.”  

Your husband is not that bad of a man, all things considered. Your mother tells you that he is handsome, charismatic, and showers you in gifts, and he is; he allows you to dance out the rest of your ballerina days, even after it’s already stated in your marriage clause, after your father forbids you from it. You could do much worse, your mother says, and you truly could⏤ he pays your father a pretty fortune, bedazzles you in diamonds, more than you have ever seen, more than you are worth⏤ ( you, your father’s almost-bastard child, the daughter born to your whore of a mother, conceived out of wedlock )⏤ and while he hits you, you know from your mother’s look that she thinks it is normal. You are lucky, even, that he hits you only in places that are easy to cover, so that the world may not know of your shame, your failings.

You could do worse. You could have a husband that flies into rages whenever he likes, that drinks himself into a stupor and then takes his anger upon you however he likes; one that does not bother to apologize after he hits you. You could do worse, because at least he does not break you. 

His voice is strained when he asks you. “What does he have that I don’t?”

Even after all these years, your answer comes to you easily, naturally, as if you were only taking another breath.

His heart. His gentle hand. His thoughtfulness, his willingness to listen, his ability to remember the little things. The way he holds you. How heroism is carved into him so naturally, as if he were born for it, like dance was for you. How you can talk to him about anything, everything, all your fears and your insecurities and your smallest of worries, and he will only nod understandingly, a comfort to you, even if he does not entirely understand. How you knew, then and now, that if you were to only ask, he would marry you in an instant, even though he’d said he’d only ever marry for love, because it’s you. How you know that even now, though it’s been years since the last time you’d talked to him, if you decided to reach out, to call for him, he would be here for you. 

You think that in another world, one where you didn’t love Shouto as you did, as you do, you might have been able to learn to love your husband, to accept his temperament and his feelings. 

And you do not say a thing. 

Your answer is written all over your face. 

For the first time in all the years you have known him, he strikes you right then and there, as if it will do anything to erase the expression he has already seen upon it. ( Your mother tells you once upon a time that your worth as a woman lies in your body, in your face, and he knows this, so that is why he is careful when he hits you. ) He is not this time, you are thrown, sprawling across your shared bed, and then he strikes the wall above you⏤ you feel the force in your body, the thunderous anger behind it. Beneath his fist, it crumbles, and you do not move.

You lie there. He does not apologize, and yet you feel no fear. 

You might have, once upon a time. Might have burst into tears. But your eyes are dry, there is nothing left in you, you have been laid bare; scoured of even your last trace of hope. 

“FUCK!” He roars, and he punches the wall again. His fist is bleeding, you register, like something distant, as the crumble splatters against your skin, bouncing off like gravel. 

Your mother tells you that you could do worse, and you believe her. He is handsome, charismatic, and showers you in gifts, but beyond that, he is large enough, strong enough, that he has always been able to beat you to a pulp if you so wished. You could do worse, because you could have a husband that flies into rages whenever he likes, that drinks himself into a stupor and then takes his anger upon you however he likes; one that does not bother to curb his hits into something softer, something lesser, so it does not break you. 

You close your eyes. You might have cried, once, felt the hot sting of tears behind your eyes. 

But you have been wept dry. There is nothing left in you, you have been laid bare; no fight in you, no hope. You’re not sure when it happened, how it happened, only that it has not been there for some time. 

“Fuck,” He says quieter, something quieter, almost like defeat. 

You lay there, the shell of a woman, scattered into a thousand shards, rubble on your face, and crumbled around you. 

He sweeps from the room. 

At some point, the maids come in to clean you up. 

You lay there and let them.

He does not come back for a week, and in his absence, you throw up for the first time in several years. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It’s not the first time you’ve thrown up in your life, of course. You’ve thrown up because of sickness, though that’s rare⏤ your mother coddles you too much, and you have access to too many doctors, to ever be sick with something remotely serious. And when you were older, into your teens, sometimes it was because the hunger ached so much that you couldn’t help but gorge yourself, and then you felt so full, so sick, that you had vomited into the nearest toilet you could right after. 

But you have not done that in years, so when you vomit, you think only that you are sick.

You are fine the rest of the day, and you wonder if it was just a fluke.

But the next day, you throw up again. 

It’s not. You look at the two lines on the test the maid handed you.

“Congratulations!” She tells you. 

Your head is empty. There are no thoughts in it.

You think only that this must be a joke. 

But it isn’t. You take more tests, one after another, as many brands as you can get your hands on, as many as you can find. 

The trash can overflows. You stare at them, each of them double-lined, mute, a silent scream building up in your throat. 

The door slams open. You flinch a little at the sound, what it means, and you are right: your husband stands there, his shoulders heaving, hair in disarray. There is blood on him, you note idly, though he himself is unharmed⏤ it does not surprise you. You have always known to some degree that his hands are unclean. 

You watch him, resignation in your chest.

Your pregnancy tests are still strewn all around you, and there is no point in hiding. He had not allowed you to take contraceptives, and you know he will not allow you to even think of abortion. 

He looks up at you, and you think he is more delighted than you have ever seen him; the smile on his face so bright that you almost see him for what your mother says he is: handsome, charismatic, caring. He touches your stomach, and you do not move to stop him⏤ you never have, even when you didn’t want to, and you don’t care enough anymore, anyways. 

“We’re having a baby?” He breathes, reverent.

You echo the words in your mind.

We’re having a baby. 

You only think, somehow, that your tone does not sound anything at all the same. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Despite yourself, you decide, about a month in, that you will love this baby, and that if you don’t, you will learn to. 

You do not think it’s possible not to, anyways. It hits you one day, as you’re holding your hand over the flat of your stomach, and then you understand how your mother felt, why she’d held you, nurtured you, sacrificed a great many of her most youthful years, and put all she had into raising you after. 

You do not love your husband. This much has been made clear to you, even though he is kinder now to you than he has ever been before, from even before you married him, before the early days, when he allowed you to dance in the spotlight for the very last time. 

You will not ever grow to love him. This much has also been made clear to you. He has done too much, you have seen too much, to ever trust him in the ways that matter, even if he remains kind to you for the rest of your life⏤ the memories will linger forever, even if the bruises do not. 

But, you think, you understand how your mother felt. 

You understand why she sacrificed a great many of her most youthful years for you, bore you for the full of the nine months, even when she did not love your father beyond the worth of his arm, why she did not mind the wreckage it made of her body, the scars that linger even after the thousand and one different operations and treatments to clear her from the remnants of childbirth, free of the remnants of you. 

You think, that even if you do not love his father, even if you never will, that you can love this child, that you will. You are sure of it, and even if you can’t, you hope that this child will be able to live out the rest of their days, sure and happy in themselves, never wanting for anything, that they will turn out better than you. 

And when you think of this, you straighten.

You don’t know what exactly prompts you to. A sense of motherhood, perhaps, which is almost laughable, because while you had always known that it was a very real possibility for your future, it had not seemed real to you. You had never considered that you would ever be a mother; you did not think you would be a good one. 

But, that doesn’t mean you don’t try.

You eat more than you have in years. Your body gobbles it up, famished after so long, a little bit at a time, and you’re slow, but you try to eat as much as you can, as many types as you can. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror⏤ you are scared of what you will see, you don’t want to think yourself bloated and lose the fat of your hips again. You accept the things the baby’s father lavishes upon you, allow him to look upon you in reverence, to touch your stomach. He does not apologize for what he has done, though the wall seals up, and you do not ask him to. 

You think only that for the sake of this baby, you are willing to try. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are three months along when it happens, and your husband is beside you when it does. 

There is no warning, other than a loud knock at your door, and the way you see your husband’s shoulders tense, sense him still. 

He shoves you towards your shared bedroom, harsher than he ever has these past few months. “Hide”, he hisses at you first, and then: “Call for help.” 

You sense, rather than hear the doors close shut between you, lock behind you, separating the two of you. 

You think you have always had an inkling that this would happen, one day. Your husband is not that bad of a man, all things considered, but only because he could be worse⏤ he is not that good of a man. You have also known this. 

But even then, even after all he has done, you do not think he deserves to die. 

That is the only thing that has you moving towards the phone. 

Your hands move on instinct. You do not have his number saved anymore, you do not know if he has changed it, and no one has offered it to you, but there is a part of you that has always remembered, part of you that hopes he hasn’t had the heart to change it.

The first thing you say directly to Todoroki Shouto in several years, after you tell him not to call you again, and after your phone is broken and the two of you stop texting⏤ is the whole of one word.

Help. 

It’s been so long that you don’t know if he recognizes your voice. You don’t know where he is, if he knows where you are, so you say, your heart racing a thousand miles a minute. “The penthouse,” You rasp, and you hope he knows what you’re saying. You still trust implicitly, somehow, that he does. 

And then you hang up. 

You call the police department next. You know it’s stupid, the order in which you did things, but you were so panicked in the moment, you could not separate one thought from the next. The operator manages to calm you down enough that you say this time, more coherently, more clearly than you have in years. “There are men in the house. I don’t know who they are. My husband is dealing with them right now. Please send help as soon as possible.” And then you remember, they don’t know where you are. “The penthouse,” You say, automatically, because you don’t quite remember the address. 

You have never had a need to remember it, after all. There is a driver to take you to and from the place, and you have never quite thought of it as anything important; it is not your home. 

Panic freezes in your chest. Of all the things to be unable to remember, at a time like this⏤ you tell the operator your husband’s name, and when the moment of silence stretches just a beat too long, then you tell him yours. 

That seems to work. 

He tells you that they will be there as soon as possible. 

But then, the locked door bursts open. 

An unfamiliar man smiles at you. “There you are, darling.” 

You’re frozen, like a deer in headlights, the phone still clutched in your hands, the operator still on the line. 

“DON’T TOUCH HER.” You think it is your husband that is roaring. 

The man ignores him. 

He steps forth, and instinctively, you take a step backwards. Out of the room, and onto the balcony. 

Your heartbeat is roaring in your ears. You are terrified. It’s like something out of a movie, you think, something that you had never even considered happening to you.

Distantly, you register the gun held in his hands. 

He takes another step forth. 

You stumble.

Your back hits the glass of the rail. 

“She has nothing to do with this,” You think you hear your husband saying. 

The man laughs. 

“She’s pregnant,” There is a note of desperation in his voice. 

The man laughs. “So was my sister, you piece of fucking shit.” 

He raises the gun, levels it at your head. 

Please, your husband says in the background. 

( You have always known your husband is not that bad of a man, though he is not that good, either, because he could be worse. )

You think there is desperation in his face, and there is only resignation in yours. 

He is not looking into the eyes of your would-be killer, after all. Does not see the set of his face, the determination, the anger and the hurt and the loss. 

And honestly, you are not really thinking. You do not know why you say it, why you tell him you are sorry.

You think, there is some part of you that is. You do not care about yourself⏤ you have been wept dry, there is nothing left in you, you are bare of anything and everything; no fight in you, no hope. You’re not sure when it happened, how it happened, only that it has not been there for some time. 

You do not know why⏤ it’s not you who had done it, you did not know it even happened; it’s not your fault and it never has been. You are not responsible for the actions of your husband, you never have been. There is no reason for you to apologize, save for the faults others have placed unreasonably upon you.

But you are sorry, you think, for your unborn child, the one who will not ever get to know life, to treasure the small things in it, to hold the joyful ones close to their chest, even amidst the tides of their sorrow. And you are, you think, for this man’s unknown sister, because even though you do not know her, you imagine that in her final moments, she feels a little bit like you. 

You do not know why you say it, but you do, anyway. 

His face tightens. You do not know what he sees on your face, but you imagine it is the picture of resignation. His finger tenses on the trigger.

You only stare back at him. 

You have been wept dry, you are empty, and you do not even bother to plead.

Please, you think your husband whispers.

The gun moves. You don’t feel the shot. 

You are nothing more than the shell of a woman, a thousand porcelain shards.

He hits what he aims for; your womb. 

The glass shatters, and with it, so do you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You wake in an unfamiliar room. 

The walls are white, and there is a machine at your side, beeping. A hospital, you recognize, somewhat distantly. 

Your mother is at your side, your brother, too. Perhaps they notice your particularly sharp intake of breath, the tremble of your fingers. 

“You’re awake,” Your mother says, before her face crumples⏤ in a way she never would have allowed of herself before, for fear that it might give her wrinkles. “Oh, my baby.”

She presses her face to the back of your hand, and you feel the tears that stain it.

You only turn your head to your brother. “The baby?” 

He is silent, but you see his face, the way it tightens.

He does not need to respond. You feel the pain in your own body very well, you remember exactly what happened; you already know the answer. 

You close your eyes. You feel the loss acutely, and yet they do not sting, do not prick, and are not hot. 

You have been wept dry, after all. There is nothing left.

Then, you sense, rather than hear, your father walk into the room. 

“They’ve caught the culprits,” He announces. “The Heroes are dealing with the lot of them now.” 

You think of the way the man’s finger had tensed on the trigger. How he had moved his gun away from your head. Does that make him a better man than your husband? But, you suppose, that’s an irrelevant question⏤ you don’t know what to feel, and in this moment, you don’t really care. 

Your father continues, into the silence. “I’ve found you another suitor, one who’s still willing to take you⏤” 

You suppose you are not really surprised; after all, that is all you have ever been to him, a bastard-child, daughter of a whore mother, child conceived out of wedlock; your worth only so much as the fame you can bring in, the connections you can make. 

You just did not expect this level of callousness, so unashamed of his words that you almost find it funny. 

“Surely there’s a better time⏤” Your mother begins.

Your brother jumps to his feet. “She has just lost her child,” He hisses, and he sounds angrier than you have ever heard him be in your life. “I asked you not to let her marry him. I told you he wasn’t the good sort, that he was dabbling in the black market⏤” 

“That is enough,” Your father snarls. “I will not tolerate this disrespect from you.”

“His corpse hasn’t even cooled,” Your brother hisses right back. 

You have never seen him speak up to your father like this before. 

Your father sets his shoulders, and then he turns straight to you. “There is a suitor willing to take you. He’s offered more than enough, given your condition.” He glances, you think somewhat distastefully, in the direction of your womb. “I plan to accept the offer. You will likely never get one so high again.” 

Your brother’s seething is so loud, despite its silence. Your mother seems similarly disapproving, but she has never spoken up once, and you do not think she will, now.

You can only think: once, you might have tried.

( Your father is a businessman to his core. It’s in his nature⏤ he’s a powerful one, which means there’s always been a surety to his step, an inherent confidence that most people cannot even hope to emulate, nor to learn. He is a man born from old money and steeped fully in its traditions, something that has carried into the way he treats the things around him, along with the people. You have known him long enough to know that his heart speaks only in transactions, as does his mind, calculating the worth of the things and the people around him, how much he stands to gain from them, squeezing them dry for every last drop. You know your worth in his eyes: bastard-child, daughter of a whore mother, child conceived out of wedlock; worth only so much as the fame you can bring him, the connections you can make. )

But you did not, then, back before you were wrung dry, before there was nothing left in you, when there was still some semblance of hope, some semblance of fight.

There are no tears in your eyes, only the final sort of resignation. You are empty. You feel nothing.

You slide your ring from your finger, and you say, “Yes, father.”

Your brother’s face tightens so terribly you think he might yell at you. 

Your father nods, pleased. “Very well.” 

Your mother is silent. She presses your hand to her cheek.

You close your eyes. They do not sting, prick, or feel hot, not even the slightest.

You have long since been wept dry. You are hollow, there is no fight left in you; no hope. You are hollow, the shell of a woman, still living, still breathing, alive only in the ways that don’t matter. 

You are a wraith. You are a ghost. You are sold off to your next husband like a brood-mare before the corpse of your previous has even cooled. 

But there is not enough left in you; you are the shell of a woman, a thousand porcelain shards. 

And you cannot bring yourself to care. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He gets the call, and he does not recognize the number, but he still answers it, anyway.  

It’s like instinct, like clockwork, in the way that he does. He thinks he’ll never stop, though it’s been years since you’ve last called, since your last text. He thinks at first that something’s happened, but you’re seen in public again the next day, but you seem fine, so maybe it’s just something with your phone, or that you don’t want to talk to him. That’s okay, he can give you your space, but days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, and the text messages between you two turn one-sided, into a record of only his own. But he starts to answer every call, just in case it’s you on the other side, no matter how many of them are spam or entirely unrelated, because even though he’s not even sure you remember his number, there will always be some part of him that hopes you do. 

So he gets the call, and he still answers it, anyway. Another spam caller, likely. He doesn’t recognize the number. 

Help, you say, the first words you have said to him in years, and you sound different, but he would know your voice anywhere, blind and in the dark. 

He’s frozen. His heart is hammering a thousand miles in his chest. Where are you? He wants to voice⏤ are you at your penthouse, the one you share with your husband, or at your childhood home? Are you outside, and if so, where? He doesn’t mind combing the city for you⏤ he will if that’s what it takes to find you, to keep you safe and unharmed, but somehow, even after all these years, you manage to know what he’s thinking. The penthouse, you hiss, and then you hang up.

But that doesn’t matter, because that is all you have ever needed to say.

His mind shoots into overdrive. Your location is already being sent to his class group chat by the time he makes it to his car⏤ he’s halfway across the city. What if he’s late? It’s just your location, nothing more, but he knows that it’s enough⏤ Midoriya likely remembers that entire incident with the Hero Killer, after all, and his classmates should know that such a thing is urgent. 

The streets are packed. He leaves his car in the middle of it to start running.

His phone buzzes. He nearly runs headfirst into a pole while checking. It’s the location of a hospital⏤ Midoriya’s next text is frazzled. She’s fine, injured, but the doctors say she’ll live⏤ and his first thought is a bone-crushing relief. You’re alive. 

His next one is, you’re injured.

He breaks into another run. 

The hospital is closer than your penthouse, at least. He barely feels the burn of his muscles, though he’s sprinting faster than he ever has before, faster than he should⏤ the doors slide open before him, and he’s walking into the attention of a thousand gaping individuals.

He walks straight up to one of them, the man at the counter, and says, as calmly as he can. “Where is she.”

“U-um.” The man stutters. There is only one she they can be talking about⏤ the world has always known of your friendship, has speculated about it, along with the falling-out in the aftermath. “They’re limiting visitors to family only.”

Todoroki Shouto is not a violent man. It is not in his nature; he has seen enough of it in his father to know that even if he was, he would spend the rest of his life carving that part of it from him, until he wasn’t. But in this moment⏤ with fury gripping every aspect of his being, this man telling him that visitors are limited to family only, telling him that he can’t make sure you’re fine, you’re okay⏤ he seriously considers it. 

A hand clamps down upon his shoulder. 

He turns to look into the face of your brother. 

Your brother’s expression is blank.

“How is she?” He asks, the anger gone, desperation taking its place. 

Your brother’s lips tighten. “Come with me.” 

Shouto thinks of a thousand scenarios here. Ones in which you’re bleeding out on a hospital bed, and all the money in the world; the doctors, cannot hope to save you. But then he thinks of the way Midoriya had texted: she’s fine, injured, the doctors say she’ll live, and what he finally understands the words to mean is: I’ll tell you, just not here.

He listens, heart held in his throat. 

“She’s just lost her baby, along with her husband. The villain shot her through the stomach. But she’s stabilized, she’ll live.” Your brother lists the facts coldly, clinically. “My father has already sold her off to the next highest bidder.” 

The world seems to freeze.

He remembers your last call, how he asks you if you love him, and the way that when you say yes, he knows it is a lie. But he did not do anything, did not say anything, because he’d heard the conviction in your voice, the way you’d forced yourself to say it, and thought it wasn’t his place.

Your brother is watching him, and his voice is soft. “The final choice was him or you. But⏤” A pause. There is understanding there, lit up like a dawn. “She didn’t even ask you, did she?”  

No. You didn’t. And he wonders why, for all of a moment⏤ had you found the idea of marriage to him so horrible that you’d risk a man twice your age, a man you barely even knew? But you’re not like that, he thinks, and you know him just as well as he does you, which is why you’d also know that even if he didn’t love you, he would’ve married you in an instant, just because you were the one to ask.

Understanding dawns. His breath is like a gasp, something choked, like a sob.

You didn’t ask, because you did not want him to marry for anything other than love. 

He turns, hope held like a candle in his chest. “Is that choice still open.” 

Your brother blinks. “What?” 

“Where is your father?” 

A room number is given to him, and he’s running again. He still has a chance to save you, he thinks, and it’s okay if you don’t want to marry him, if you don’t love him, as long as you’re safe, alright, and happy. He would’ve married you if only you’d asked, even if you would never love him in the way that he wanted for the rest of his life⏤ but he doesn’t even need to worry that you don’t, he thinks.

After all, it’s so obvious that you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You wake in an unfamiliar room. 

You are no longer in the hospital. Your body does not ache any more than it did before, there is no pain between your legs, and yet you still wonder, very briefly, if your father has already married you off.

You would not put it past him. 

But then Shouto walks into the room. 

You stare at him, lost for words, entirely mute. His eyes widen. “You’re awake,” He says, putting the plate of fruit he bears off to the side. He steps towards you, reaching for your forehead, but then he hesitates. “I’d like to take your temperature,” He says softly. “Is that… okay?” 

Your throat tightens. Even after all these years, he is still the same; gentle and thoughtful and considerate in a way you have never known anyone else to be. 

“You came,” You say. It’s all you can muster.

“Of course. You called.” 

You close your eyes. 

His touch is feather light.

Your eyes sting, here and in this moment. 

“You don’t have a fever, I think. Are you feeling any pain?” 

“No more than before.” 

“That’s good to hear,” He says, just as soft.

You close your eyes. Inevitability dawns upon you. “What of my husband?” 

A pause. Then, “He’s dead.” 

“No. The one I’m marrying.” 

“You won’t be.” 

You are a little surprised by the conviction in his voice. 

He only continues. “Neither he nor your father will bother you again.” 

You had not known you could still feel relief. 

You are wordless. You only reach for his hand. 

You squeeze it, and you hope he knows what you are trying to say. 

And when he squeezes yours back, you know that he does. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You learn that the Pro Hero Deku was the one to save you that night.

You remember him from before, you think; green curls, a freckled face, back from the UA days, along with his name. You remember that he was one of Shouto’s closest friends, and that he was very kind.

You do not think you have it in yourself to meet him, to greet him properly. But you are your mother’s child, and your manners have been carved into you like a second nature. So you ask Shouto to pass on your gratitude, to let him know that you are thankful.

You suppose that, even if you are empty, even if you have been wept dry, that you are. 

You don’t do much the first few months. You do not even have the strength to try. Shouto brings you food in your bed, watches you eat, spoonful by spoonful. It’s not much⏤ you no longer have another life within you to feed, after all, and your appetite has never been particularly large. Sometimes, you think he swallows his words, tamps down upon the urge to ask you to eat more⏤ but you do not think you can handle another bite, and he does not push. 

He only accepts the plate you set down, your half-eaten meal, and comes back with another glass of water. 

You ask him, at some point, if this is okay. He’s a Pro-Hero, after all, and duty must be calling, but he only shrugs. 

“I have more than enough vacation days stacked up,” He informs you.

“I’ll be just fine alone,” You say. You don’t want him to waste them on you. 

“I won’t.” He says, immediately. 

You blink up at him. You’re not sure if you’re imagining the way he flushes, just a little. 

“Let me take care of you,” He says, a touch softer. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“But I want to.”

There is a firmity in his voice, and you are reminded of the conviction he’d had, all those years ago, when he’d told you he was only ever going to marry for love. 

You sigh. He’s as stubborn as you remember, and yet you think, somewhat ruefully, that you’re glad he hasn’t changed in the slightest.

“Do what you’d like.” You say. 

He smiles, and just like every time before it, you think it is the most breathtaking thing you have seen in your life. 

You attend your husband’s funeral. It’s the first time you’ve been seen in public since the incident, and Shouto is by your side. You’re dressed in mourning black.

You watch as they lower his coffin.

You have long since been wept dry, and for him, you do not shed a single tear. 

Your brother drops some of your belongings off at Shouto’s house. Your clothes, mostly, some pieces of jewelry you’re partial to, but the bulk of it is your recordings, the CD’s you’d saved. 

Shouto pauses over one. “I did not know you’d kept them.”

It’s not a question, but a statement. You do not answer.

You only think, of course I would. 

You listen to the songs sometimes, watch the recordings of your dances. You haven’t in a long time⏤ when you still danced, you did only to examine every flaw of your body and note your falters with a critical eye. Later, you could not bring yourself to, not when it was only the reminiscence of everything you had lost; your ankle that still ached in the dead of the night, a phantom pain that served only as a reminder: you would never be able to dance again, even if you could. 

Even now, you do not listen to or watch them very often.

You allow Shouto to tug you outdoors, sometimes, for a walk, to stretch your legs, but mostly because he smiles when you allow him to. It’s always in the grounds of his estate, and never another soul in sight, for which you are more grateful than you think he will ever know. Sometimes his mother joins you on the walks, and you don’t mind⏤ she is lovely, she seems to like you, and she is very kind. 

You are the shell of a woman, a thousand porcelain shards, but though you are only alive in all the ways that don’t matter, you are still alive and breathing. So you sit up for food, you get to your feet to use the washroom, you stand when Shouto takes you out for a walk. 

Mostly, you lie in your bed.

People send you flowers, gifts of condolence⏤ mostly people you had known for the sake of your father’s money, your family’s connections⏤ but also from others, ones you have held closer to your heart. Shouto’s friends are my friends, you remember yourself saying, and you had meant it.

They seem to think the same. 

You look at the flowers they send you, the heart in their penned letters, so different from the short and clinical notes you have been surrounded with the whole of your life. 

You ask Shouto to thank them for you. You are more grateful than they will ever know, but you do not think you can muster the strength to meet them. 

He does not push you, nor does he ask. 

Mostly, you lie in your bed. Your father told you that the villain who’d done this to you had been caught, imprisoned, and you only remember the look on the man’s face. The anger and the hurt and the loss. The way his fingers had tightened upon the trigger, how he had moved the gun, from your head to your stomach. 

You do not know why he’d decided to spare you in those final moments, why he had chosen to aim at your womb instead. You think back to the moment you’d first vomited, the sheer horror with which you’d asked the maid to go to the store and buy you every single pregnancy test she could get her hands on, every brand, again and again, the lines littering the floor of that penthouse as the truth stared down before you and how your first thought was: he would never let me get an abortion. You wonder if the villain, this man who’d chosen to spare you, was only trying to wipe the last traces of your husband from the world, if he’d spared you because he thought you were a little like his sister. 

( You wonder if that makes him a better man than your deceased husband. )

Often, you think of your baby. How that, though you are grateful that you are free from the last remnants of your husband⏤ the guilt hits you as soon as you think it⏤ you think a part of you will always mourn your unborn child, how they will never know what it means to draw breath, the little things in life, the thousand and one little joys that will help tide them through their sorrows. You think of how, though you knew you would never learn to love their father, you had been determined to love them anyway, through thick and thin. You think of how you had felt, how you had finally understood why your mother had held you, nurtured you, and sacrificed the most of her youthful years for you, how for them, you were willing to do anything and everything, how you were willing to try.

And in the wake of it, you make your decision. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You lay eyes upon your mother for the first time in months. 

You are sitting in a coffee shop. It’s quaint, homely. It’s the first time you’ve been out in public since your husband’s funeral, and you haven’t talked to her since that day at the hospital⏤ she had tried to talk to you at the funeral itself, and many times since then, but you have always asked Shouto to turn her away.

You did not tell him why, then, because you did not quite know yourself.

But, you think, now, you do.

There are three drinks on the table in front of you. Shouto had ordered them⏤ coffee for your mother, for himself, and another for you, just exactly the way you always have, the way you’ve always liked. 

Your mother cups hers somewhat nervously.

You do not reach for yours.

“I’m glad to see you doing better,” She starts. “Shouto told me you weren’t seeing any visitors.” 

You are silent.

“I was so worried. You didn’t call. You could have left me a text!” She frowns. “Not a thought spared for your poor mother, but you look well, at least.” 

Beside you, Shouto is tense. You reach for his hand.

He squeezes it.

It warms your throat. You set your shoulders, you lift your chin, and you find your voice. “I am well. Thank you for the concern. But that is not why I am here.” 

You pause to organize your thoughts. 

“I called you here to let you know that I am cutting ties. So is my brother. Father will know sometime within the week.” 

The store is oddly quiet. Beside you, you do not know if Shouto is breathing. 

You say, more clearly than you have in years. “This will be our last meeting. Please do not contact me again in the future. I do not wish to talk to you, nor do I wish to see you, and if I do, then I will be the one to reach out.” 

Your mother stares at you, silent. You do not think there’s anyone in the store who’s breathing. And then⏤ 

“I am your mother. What’s wrong? Is he making you do this? Is he holding anything against you? Talk to me, darling.”

You breathe in.

“He has nothing to do with it. This choice is entirely my own.”

You are expecting some of what she says next.

“I am your mother. How could you do this to me? I held you, nurtured you, fed you from my breast. I gave up my body for you, the whole of those nine months. I gave up my most youthful years for you. I could have lived out my career as an actress. I have loved you since the moments before you were born, before you breathed. I have attended every single one of your recitals, spent every single waking minute thinking of how to better you, how to advance your career. I was the one who pushed to let you continue dance, who won you your husband, I married your father for you. I was always there for you. How could you even say this to me?” 

It’s all true, you think. Every last bit of it. 

She has always been there. She has held you, nurtured you, sacrificed the most of her youthful years, sacrificed her body, so much that the remnants of childbirth still linger, even after the thousand and one surgeries. She has pushed you towards dance, allowed you to flourish, spent hours obsessing over every one of your flaws until you were perfect under the lens, because she had worried, had known, that the world would have made a mockery of you if you were anything but. 

But.

“As a daughter, I have forgiven you a thousand times over.” You tell her, quiet. 

You think of the way you had not wanted to get married, not the first time nor the second, and how she had been silent, how it was your brother who spoke up. It’s not her fault, you know, she truly thinks you could do worse⏤ she truly believes that a woman’s worth lies wholly in her face and her body and the arm of the man she clings to, and that once the flower has withered, all that is left is the man. She is trying in her own way, she loves you wholly and in the only way she knows how. 

And you have. As a daughter, you have forgiven her a thousand times over.

But then you also think of how you felt. When she had been telling you about how best to prepare yourself, and you had asked her: what if he hurts me? You had been talking about the sex, if he was rough, but she had taken it to mean: what if he hits me, and she had only told you to keep quiet, because to her, letting anyone else know about your personal business would be nothing short of shameful. You think of how you had felt when your father had pushed for your marriages, how you had not wanted to, but forced yourself to say yes. You think of how she had seen what your husband had done to you, what she had said, that you could do worse, of the difference between the way she reacted and how Yaoyorozu had. 

You think of that one time when you were younger, when your career had just started, flourishing too slow, not fast enough⏤ when she had stood in that office with you and that man you do not remember. You think of how you had not wanted it, how you had been uncomfortable, how you had looked to your mother, and she had not said a word. How you had asked her about it, told her of how you felt, a little ashamed, and she had only looked at you with a crease in her brows. But you did not say no, she had said, and you remember feeling guilty about it then and in all the years after. 

You think of your child. How that though you had not given birth to them, though you knew you would never learn to love their father, you had been determined to love them anyway, through thick and thin. You think of how you had finally understood why your mother had held you, nurtured you, and sacrificed the most of her youthful years for you, how for them, you were willing to do anything and everything, how you were willing to try.

You say, soft. “But as a mother, I cannot.” 

You say it because when you thought of your child, now and all the times before, the thing you thought of most was: you did not want them to have to feel like you. Not ever. Not the way your mother had made you feel, that time when she told you you could do worse, that letting the world know of your hurts would be the most shameful thing in the world. Not the way she made you feel when she told you that you did not say no, when the answer was so simple.

You think, then, of the way Shouto treats you. How he has never touched you first without asking you if it was okay, if you had wanted it, until he had heard your consent. 

( You had not said no. And you had felt so much guilt over it after, over how uncomfortable you had felt, but the answer to this was so simple.

You had not said no, but you had also not said yes. ) 

You stand. You think there is heartbreak on her face, and you also think that though you do not wish to speak to her again, you think that there will always be some part of you that always loves her, even if the rest of you does not wish to. 

But this is a decision you have thought of a thousand times, have mulled over for a while. You’ve thought of it so much, how she will react, how you should, if you will regret it.

You turn. There is a steel to your shoulders, a firmity, your posture set. 

“If you walk away now, don’t you even think about coming back.”

It all comes down to threats, in the end.

Shouto squeezes your hand. 

You say softly, but no less clear. “Goodbye, mother.” 

You walk away, and you do not look back. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You do not speak the whole of the car ride back, and neither does Shouto, though your hand is still held in his own, and you sense that he is watching you carefully. 

You wonder if he expects you to burst into tears. It would not be strange of you, of the girl he had known; the one who had listened to everything her mother had to say, who took every single one of her words to heart. But it has been a while since you have been that girl, you are older, now, no longer vibrant and beautiful under the spotlight. You have seen yourself in the mirror, noticed your gauntness, the hollowness of your cheeks, the shadows in the eyes. You are the shell of a woman you once were, a thousand shards already wept dry and empty.

And yet. You pause by the doorway. Shouto’s still holding it open for you, an inquisitive look in his face, watching you questioningly, carefully. 

You say, “That was… oddly freeing.” 

A beat of silence.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Was this how you felt when you yelled at Endeavour all those times?” 

He laughs, the sound of it warm. “Just about.” 

You still feel empty. You’re not sure if it’ll ever stop. But what you do know that is in this moment, there is a lightness to your chest that has not been there for years. A sense of freedom, perhaps.

“Is there anything you’d like specifically for dinner?” 

You hesitate. 

You are empty, but you are also light, and you are free; you are empty, but you don’t think you have to be.

It’s time, you think. 

And that is why you say: “Actually… would you like to cook together?”

He freezes. He looks at you, his eyes blown wide. You don’t think he’s breathing. 

You hasten. “Though it’s been a while, so I’m not sure if I’m still okay in the kitchen⏤” 

“I’d love to. You can make a mess of the kitchen all you’d like.” 

You smile a little. You don’t remember the last time you have, but you say: “Just like old times, huh?” 

There might just be tears in his eyes, and he asks if it’s alright to hug you. 

You let him, of course. It’s Shouto.

He holds you like he did the first time, hesitant and careful, like you are a porcelain doll, like something precious. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, your own throat something thick. 

You still feel empty when you wake up in the mornings, when you look at yourself in the mirror. You are not as gaunt as you were, as hollow⏤ you see your cheeks fill up slowly, feel the flesh of your bones, the width of your hips. You get an urge to eat less, sometimes⏤ it’s hard to unlearn the habits you have lived in most of your life, but Shouto is always there, reinforcing, slowly and gently. You need to eat. You have always been beautiful, and still are, but first, you need to be healthy. 

Obligingly, you eat another spoonful, and this time, when you push the plate back towards him, he does not protest. 

He pulls you out to walk with him more often. It’s still always on the grounds of his estate, away from prying eyes, and when his mother joins you on occasion, you find it in yourself to talk to her. You don’t walk by yourself very often, but sometimes, you do⏤ just because it’s nice to feel the sun on your face, to see the flowers, and you don’t want to bother Shouto when he’s busy poring over his documents. 

He still sets a chair apart for you in his office, though, and he tells you you’re welcome to come in anytime. You do on occasion⏤ he has an extensive manga collection, ones from when he was younger, and some still that are new; ones that you’ve told him about and ones that he thinks you might like. You spend most of your time there poring over them, though eventually, you do wander over to him, asking if you can look at his paperwork, because though it’s been years since you’ve attended school, you weren’t bad in your tutor’s lessons, so maybe you could be of help? 

He says you don’t have to, but he lets you look, anyways, and when you say you want to, he lets you take what you’d like. 

You still feel empty when you wake up in the mornings, but it’s not like you have nothing to do. You busy yourself in the kitchen sometimes, searching up old recipes and trying new things. You’ve always enjoyed it, you think, to some degree⏤ even back when you were absolutely terrible at it, because it was fun to be so horrendous at something, and have to work towards improving yourself. Sometimes Shouto joins you, and sometimes he doesn’t, but he compliments every dish you make, even if you personally think you’d added a little bit too much salt or burned it just a little. 

You are a year into this routine when the realization finally hits you, and you find the courage to ask. 

It’s evening. You are sprawled out upon the couch, your novel spread before you, an old classical piece playing softly in the background. It’s undignified⏤ Shouto himself is seated normally upon a chair, a manga volume held normally in his. But it’s the comfortable sort of silence, the two of you have never needed to put on particular airs; the sort of companionship where you’re settled just by knowing the other is there, by feeling their presence.

You think it has always been this way. You think of the care in the way he treats you, in how he touches you, and back in the early days, when he’d asked you about every little thing, if it was okay to touch you, skin upon skin. 

He’s focused on his volume, but you’re watching him.

You think of the way he tells you not to worry about his vacation days, that he has enough of them, you think of the way he’d told you your father and the man who was meant to be your husband would never bother you again, the certainty in his voice. You think of the way your brother had fetched all of your clothes, all of your belongings, the jewels that you’d liked, your recordings, and left them to him. 

Something clicks. And then, you say, as you push yourself up into a sitting position.

“You told my father you’d marry me, didn’t you?” 

You see the way he freezes. The way his hands tighten on his volumes. 

You already expect the answer when he says, softly. “Yes.” 

The breath you loose feels shaky as it leaves your chest.

He is kneeling before you in an instant, reaching for your hands. “I did it because I wanted to,” He starts, and you think there is a touch of desperation in it. “But you don’t have to feel pressured into anything. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, not now, and not ever. We can stay just like this. Whatever you want. Anything you want.” 

Your heart clenches. You reach up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. Your Shouto, you think, a little despairingly. Always so hesitant, so thoughtful, so considerate. You only ask him, a little quietly. “Was it for love?” 

Does he love you? 

He does not hesitate when he says, “Yes.” 

A pause. Your exhale sounds loud in the silence.

The words come out in a torrent. 

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same again. I’m not sure if I can bear another child. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if⏤”

You don’t know if you can bear another man touching you in the same way, even though this is Shouto. You might, maybe, further down the line, only because it is him, but you do not know if you will. You do not know a lot of things. You do not know if you’ll ever stop feeling so empty, if you’ll ever be anything like the girl he once knew, the girl he loved and loves.

He puts his hand on your cheek, and his thumb brushes across it, feather-light, gentle, and heartbreakingly tender.

He repeats, a touch softer, a touch firmer. “Whatever you want.” 

You look at him. 

Your Shouto, who has been your best friend since you first met him at age seven, who has been the one unchanging constant in your life, your rock, who looks at the post where your mother called you bloated and tells you, in that simple way of his, that you look beautiful. Who looks up to you, an inquisitive look in his eyes whenever you call out to him, giving you the whole of his attention in a way no one else has ever done before, hanging on to your every word and listening, taking every one of your worries and thoughts into consideration, no matter how silly, nor how unwarranted. 

Your Shouto, who knows your voice even with the years between you, who cannot make it in time for you, but ensures that his friends are there to rescue you anyways, who ensures that you are, first and foremost, safe. Shouto, who takes a whole year off for you, who asks you if it’s okay before he touches you, because he’s afraid that you don’t want him to, who is thoughtful and considerate of you, in a thousand different ways. 

Your throat feels tight, and in the wake of it, you make your decision. 

You say, “I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me.” 

It’s not much of a proposal at all, but you still see him smile, like the widest thing you’ve ever seen. 

You think his eyes look something silvery, like something bright. 

He only tugs you up, and though you don’t know what he’s angling for, you follow, obligingly, as you always have. You always will, you think; after all, you trust this man, your Shouto, you always have, with the whole of your pieced-together heart. 

You watch a little confusedly, as he rewinds the music. It’s a familiar piece, not one you’ve danced to before, though you remember telling him you’d have liked to, once upon a time. 

He turns to you, and says, a little breathlessly. “Dance with me.” 

You splutter. You haven’t danced in years, you don’t know if you’re still any good, and though you know he doesn’t mean ballet and on pointe, you’ve never danced like this before. “I’ve never done ballroom.” 

“Neither have I.” He tells you honestly. “I’ll bet my entire fortune that you’ll still dance better than me.” 

It’s such a ridiculous statement that you laugh. 

But you allow him to pull you close, to twirl you. You haven’t danced in years, and you’ve never learned ballroom, but you’re not that bad at it, you think. You’ll never dance professionally again, but dance is a discipline that has been carved into you, part of your soul. You allow him to pull you close, to twirl you, because you see the I love you he does not say, not yet, but is so evident in every one of his actions, in his thousand-and-one little considerations. And you know he sees it in you, too, because he knows you like you do him; knows that you love him, that always have, how you always will, with the whole of your pieced-together heart. 

( For the first time in years, you dance. )

There will be time for that yet. A thousand and one mornings where you wake up to the sun, your chest light and warm, no longer empty, where you wake up held in his embrace, like you are a porcelain doll, like you are something precious.

But for now, you allow him to pull you close, to twirl you. 

( For the first time in years, you dance, and you do not do it in front of an audience. )

You smile up at him, your heart light as a feather, as he holds the whole of you, your heart and your porcelain, like you are a fine-china doll, like something precious. 

He does not say anything, and neither do you; you do not need to. 

After all, there will be time for that yet. 

( For the first time in years, you dance, and you do not do it in front of an audience. 

You allow him to pull you close, to twirl you.

And this time, when you dance, you dance solely for you. )

afterword

[grimbanes]

Six Months (Kaz Brekker x GN!HEALER! Reader)

Summary: “Kaz Brekker, I have seen you run with a broken leg, heard you scaled a building with a bullet lodged in your shoulder that I had to fix and you’ve concussed yourself numerous times with every nose you break- and now you’re telling me you can’t stomach a papercut?” OR : Kaz Brekker is sometimes a quiet softie if it means coming to see the reader, even in life or death situations. It takes the reader six months of service to realize they may or may not love him with their whole heart, and confession ensues.

WC: 3.8k.

Genre: Mostly fluff, maybe slightly ooc kaz?

TW: mentions of blood, usual six of crows warnings, injuries.

A/N: maybe a second part to yesterdays fic which you can read here, or just read this one as a stand-alone. The POVs have changed, i fancied writing something a little different, more personal to the ~feelings~.

It had been three months since you had the unfortunate task of bringing the Bastard of the Barrel back from the brink of death, though you were sure the stubborn young man would have crawled away from the reaper’s grips with a smirk on his face and blood seeping from every crevice - he was certainly stubborn enough to do the impossible. ‘Improbable’, you could practically hear him correct, eyes expectant of better and eyebrows raised in that condescending way he often did when he was the smartest in the room. 

It had been three months, you realised silently, still scratching away at the parchment you were writing on, ink drying on its smooth surface. Months under the protection of the Dregs. You didn’t join them, that was not an option you ever considered accepting. A life of crime was no different from serving the Second Army, only your General would be well-dressed for the sheer sake of mocking the rich. In that time, you had countless trips to the Crow Club and the Slat, tending to the wounded whenever summoned.

It was a simple agreement - protection and space to live on Dreg territory in return for mending their wounded whenever jobs turned sour or confrontation reached a violent conclusion.

You knew that the small flat you were given to live in above a little dress shop was not just for your protection, even if on Dreg territory. No, it was to make calling on you easier. Kaz Brekker could keep his second pair of eyes on you at all times. You knew you did not really have any privacy anymore, doomed to only socialize with Dregs or Dregs associates so really, you chose to keep to yourself.

Even when a certain Dreg rolled his way into your life, grinning wide and fingers held in the shape of his favourite tool.

Jesper Fahey adopted you as a friend and you were almost certain he was told to do so. To keep an eye on you, or maybe keep you safe. Both options were viable but fortunately, you were not a mastermind and you didn’t care to be one.

So when you received a knock at your door, you fully expected one of their young runners to be on the other side, note in hand with a little Crow etched on it. You knew why it was a Crow, just didn’t care to invest your life into it fully. You set your pen aside and dusted your hands off on your apron, carefully stepping up from your makeshift table and taking steps towards the rickety door barely hanging onto its rusted hinges.

You opened the door, opening your mouth to greet the usual young boy who gave you your summons, only for no greeting to roll off of your tongue.

In front of you, Dirtyhands himself towered. His gloved hands remained gripped to his cane, jaw tight and eyes a calm ocean, staring at you without the usual expectancy. Instead, he seemed almost relaxed, confident arrogance that often dripped from his well dressed frame present as always. He donned his long black coat, the collar turned up at the nape and shape fitting his figure as perfectly as usual.

Assessing the situation, you accepted it but that nagging feeling of oh no sat in the pit of your stomach. You had to be cautious - Why was he on your doorstep?

“Your services are required,” Kaz’s voice spoke in his quiet, rasping yet commanding volume, business as usual. Impatient.

“Of course, Mister Brekker. Let me grab my things,” You stepped away from the door, leaving it open for the man to enter if he so wished. It wasn’t much, your humble abode. Just a small bed tucked into a corner, a sad excuse for a clothing dresser and a makeshift table against the window with an old, collapsing stool for a seat. But it was enough for you, and you knew Kaz was used to such things, preferring it to the luxuries of Merchers and nobles. 

You paid him little attention as you turned to close the ledger from your day job, pen set into ink but you did note that he took off his hat as he entered, closing the door behind him with a small click and stepped his way to the small chair you had in the other corner beside a kitchen counter, making himself comfortable with his bad leg stretched out a little more than the other. He held his cane between his legs on the ground, fingers clasped to it tightly.

“Who got hurt this time?” You asked absentmindedly, a wicker basket set on top of your desk as you glanced to his still frame, his eyes already trained on you. 

“Me,” Brekker answered, shifting in his seat and setting his hat aside on the counter beside him, hand falling to touch his leg and you sighed, but the small smile on your face betrayed the exasperation you felt. 

“I didn’t figure you so clumsy, sir,” You subtly teased, stepping from your table once you realised you did not need to pack anything due to the fact you would not be leaving your home. You stepped to him, shirt sleeve rolled to your forearm and fingers rubbing together, hoping to remove the cold from them that your small little home often left.

The Dregs leader eyed you, unable to keep perfectly still, setting his cane down to lean against the wall and slowly began to bring his fingers to unbutton his glove. You could only watch with well masked surprise, the young man pulling at each finger until it was loose and he pried it off, offering you his slightly shaking hand, a frown pulling at his lips.

“It's uncomfortable to work like this. Fix it,” He ordered, turning his hand palm up and you studied his hand for any injury, unable to see one. 

As your eyes traced his pale, near luminescent skin, you came to stop upon a little slit in the skin of his index finger, from one side to the other and you fully understood what Kaz Brekker was asking of you. Please heal my papercut, it's annoying me. You didn’t laugh, but by the Saints did you want to. You stifled it and slowly, brought your eyes up to meet his own, noting the calmness of the ones staring at you even with the unsteady tremble in his fingers, the light sheen of nervousness painting his skin and you couldn’t help but feel a little endeared. 

“You could have shot yourself in the foot if you wanted to come see me so badly,” You teased gently, just like you often found yourself doing with him. He never replied to them usually, and only once did he ever roll his eyes at you. He just stared, lips pressed into a line and sometimes he hummed with a quirk of his brow. This time was different, the threat of a smile daring to pull at his sharp features and it felt more dangerous than facing a Dime Lion, you were convinced. You didn’t know how to handle Kaz Brekker smiling at you. 

“I couldn’t risk not being able to use the other leg too,” Kaz steadily jested, wit rolling from his tongue in a way he never did, the humour in his voice often only present when he was with his Crows and mocking Jesper, eyes twinkling with mirth and you almost swore you could taste your heart on your tongue, between your teeth. 

He didn’t even deny wanting to come see you.

“Kaz Brekker, I have seen you run with a broken leg, heard that you scaled a building with a bullet lodged in your shoulder that I had to fix and you’ve concussed yourself numerous times with every nose you break- and now you’re telling me you can’t stomach a papercut?” You exasperated, shaking your head despite the unsteady rhythm in your chest, unable to see the usual murderous bastard in Kaz’s face, daring to see a young man with an unfair amount of weight on his shoulders and that was a scary thought. Horrifying, even. You needed your morals, even in Ketterdam.

Brekker didn’t answer you to start with, just pursed his lips and his finger twitched a little, the rest of his fingers curling to his palm and just leaving his little wound out to you, eyes locked on it himself. It took him a moment but then he opened his mouth, words leaving you with a revelation;

“I don’t like the feeling of it.”

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it and even though it would normally be just a casual statement, it felt a little heavier, like it was harder for him to admit that something unsettled him so much that he had to seek out someone with the Small Science. You decided not to pry, not to tease, only to touch your hands together and then reach your hand out, ghosting the tips of two fingers over the little knick on his finger. It took mere seconds and the cut was gone but Kaz still trembled beneath the ministrations, nostrils flared with an uncomfortable exhale and you didn’t even want to know why he was so quiet. 

“There we go, all better, as if it never happened,” You spoke carefully, drawing his eyes back to yours and you knew you would take this little moment to the grave with you, your little secret. You would never tell a soul that Kaz Brekker did not like paper cuts. 

Except, Kaz didn’t stand to leave. He didn’t pull his glove back on, didn’t grab his cane. Instead, he got more comfortable in the little seat and rested his bare hand against his bad leg, eyes on you and that dangerous smile once again threatening his lips, meeting his eyes so subtly and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him. 

“Become one of my Crows,” It wasn’t a question, it was an order. 

You shook your head, lowering yourself into a crouch in front of him and tapping your fingertips together, you did your best to help ease the pain of his leg, hands hovering over his knee but never touching. You never touched him, if you could help it. You weren’t a heartrender, you couldn’t soothe his heartbeat or ease his mind, but you could numb it enough that the walk home wasn’t so miserable. 

“I won’t,” You answered, knowing full well that becoming a Crow meant joining the Dregs, meant that you’d be a grunt, you’d do small jobs, risk your life, even take them. You didn’t want that. As much as you came to adore Brekker’s little quirks, the silent glances of communication, teasing the man and him letting you get away with it, the beginnings of a friendship forming, the way your heart lurched when you heard the uneven tapping of his cane against the floorboards, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You had loyalties to yourself, after all. 

“You will, eventually,” He mumbled, leaning back in the seat and never once taking his eyes off of your form, his head tilted ever so slightly. Even in this lighting, midday painting him in golden, he was as handsome as the night he had almost bled out under your care. You didn’t know how he managed it, knowing full well he didn’t eat full meals or hydrate as much as he should, and didn't sleep nearly enough. 

“Mister Brekker, you’d have to be on your deathbed for that to even be a consideration.”

You didn’t know how right you were. 

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

“Y/N! Quickly!” Jesper’s voice rang out, cracking, bringing your attention away from the printing press in front of you and with confusion, you tossed away your the paper in your hand and heard your own boots clicking and clacking against the stone floor before you even realised you were rushing out of the shop, job forgotten and keeping pace behind the sharpshooter.

You didn’t know what was wrong, you just knew that you were needed. Four months under the Dregs protection, you felt more like their protector or caretaker, tending to the wounded and keeping them fed. It was the first time somebody had come to you on shift, in your shop, dragging you away from the thing that paid your rent and kept your own stomach full. You didn’t know when you became so loyal to them, to him, but you did and couldn’t change that. 

So you ran, you ran faster than you ever had. You felt your clothes carry the wind, your hair pushed back from your face and the bitter chill of the Barrel on your skin as your chest heaved, legs carrying you as fast as possible as you went through alleys, down streets, pushing past as many people as you needed. Dread kept your legs from getting tired, pure adrenaline keeping your lungs full of air and you knew, you just knew. Kaz. 

Saints, you couldn’t handle knowing you cared so much about one person. 

You didn’t notice when you had overtaken Jesper, throwing the side door to the Slat open and pulling off your apron and desperately scanning your surroundings. You didn’t care about anything else, you just met the eyes that stared back at you, filling the room with a bit more ease.

“Y/N-” Wylan.

“Where is he?”

“His room-” Inej.

You didn’t listen to anything else, taking off up the steps and you threw yourself into the attic room. With hardly a breath, you dropped to your knees where he lay on the bed, pale as death could be and you cussed to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die. You stopped it happening once and you would do it again and again and again if it meant you could see that stupid boyish smile on his lips and hear a mean jest rolling off his tongue again. You worked too hard for it all to go to waste. 

“You’re stuck with me I’m afraid, Brekker. You’re not going anywhere,” You told him, earning yourself a grunt and his head turned, dropping heavily to one side and his eyes stared at you. Even he looked relieved. You didn’t even think to ponder on what that meant. 

Setting to work quickly, you healed the artery that had been cut, apron pressed to him to keep as much blood in his system as possible as you worked at sealing it, stitching the wound with your grisha power. The short time you’d cared for the Dregs, you had gotten stronger, better with your power. Things like this didn’t take as long as it used to, didn’t take as much energy out of you. You knew Kaz would live but it didn’t make it any less stressful to see him like that. And you didn’t want to ever again, you never wanted to see death try to pull him out of your life just as you had gotten used to him in it. 

“My Crow,” He uttered, rasping and breathless, the hint of teasing a whisper on his breath and you resigned yourself, eyes scanning his relaxing features and you nodded, never touching him. You were finished. He was fine. He was alive, sitting up against the wall and staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes, Kaz. It seems to be that way. The deal is the deal, after all,” You pressed your lips into a small smile, submitting yourself to the reality that you had found yourself in. It seemed your morals could be set aside if it meant keeping this criminal’s unsavoury heart beating in his chest. 

And maybe, just maybe, Kaz was keeping yours beating irrevocably fast too.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

At six months, you were a Crow, but not a Dreg. You didn’t join the gang, only really spending your time with a close inner circle or drinking by yourself after a long shift at the printing press. At six months, you were seated at the bar of the Crow Club, sipping your drink and enjoying the busy ruckus as men gambled their life savings right away.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Jesper sang, leaning over the bar beside you and grinning ear to ear, whiskey in hand and pockets stuffed with kruge. You could practically smell it on him - the money and the victory. You laughed softly, tipping your glass to him and then taking a sip, you turned your barstool towards him and gave him your full, undivided attention.

“Good night?” You asked, even though you knew damn well he had a good night. He looked ready to shoot the moon.

“Fantastic,” He answered, head tilting and cheeks splitting as he grinned wider; Jesper’s ringed fingers tapped against his dimpled cheeks, eyes watching you as they did when he was about to say something that he absolutely shouldn’t say. “How’s the boss?”

You should have expected it, really. That was the reason you were there in the first place. Your face began to turn many shades of magenta, you were sure. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you cleared your throat and stabilised yourself, sitting up straighter and doing your best to return the young man’s cheeky smile.

“I’m sure he’s fine, you would know you’ve been here all day,” You answered, leaning into the palm of your hand. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears with just the mere idea of him, his name not even having been spoken yet. Pathetic. 

 “And your eyes have been on him since the moment you practically ran through our front door,” Jesper shot back, chin jutting to where said young man had exited his office and was stepping down the small staircase that lead to the office, uneven gait leaned on his cane and he made his way to his usual perch near the bar, arm leaning against the railing with eyes locked on the floor - it was heartbreakingly charming to you, the fact he wore his usual attire of waistcoat and fancy tailored shirt, looking every part Kaz Brekker and it almost hurt to look at him. 

“Just making sure he’s alive. He’s been clumsy as of late,” You mumbled the excuse into the rim of your glass, sipping your drink but your eyes stayed on him. It wasn’t necessarily a lie but you knew it was foolish. Kaz Brekker was a criminal of the cruellest kind, had done unspeakable things to those deserving and undeserving and yet there you were, afraid to blink for fear he would disappear before your very eyes. The sole reason you choose to accept a life of crime and fix the worst kinds of people, those that didn’t always deserve to be fixed. Him included. But he deserved it. 

“He’s not going anywhere any time soon, doll. He might be as fragile, but he’s smarter than that,” Jesper nudged you with his shoulder, hands smoothing over your tensed fist on the surface of the bar and you turned to look at him, not even realising your own rigidness. You were grateful you had him to call a friend, always grounding you despite his antics. 

“I just don’t understand why I have all these… feelings,” You admitted aloud, turning your hand up in his to press your palms together. He tutted, shaking his head and tapping his fingers against your wrist, he offered the most eye opening fact you had ever heard in your many years of living;

“Love makes us into many things, sometimes better, many times worse. I know it makes him worse; a coward, a liar, sometimes a bit self absorbed, full of greed, selfish, but he could be so much worse,” Jesper offered, a kinder smile on his face as he leaned in to usher the words without prying ears.

You loved Kaz and you probably knew it. You probably thought about it every day when you woke up, when someone checked the time on their pocket watch, when someone handed you a kruge. You probably fell asleep thinking about it and yet it took a close friend to lay it out in front of you just what it was that kept you wanting to be near him, make sure he never cut his finger on a piece of parchment again, to heal his split lip and bruised knuckles. 

It was easily the most terrifying thing you had ever done: falling in love with a crime boss was not something fun, easy, or relaxing. It was that danger that you saw whenever the man smiled, the horror whenever he cast a joke or brushed his gloved fingers against your hand when he passed you, the glance he threw your way from across the busy room, the warnings that screamed at you when he leaned a little too close to you when you were mending flesh. It was the liability that caused you to keep your eyes on him at all times, making sure he was breathing. Attachment. Investment. Attraction. Commitment. All words that came to mind when you considered your relationship with Ketterdam’s, maybe even the world’s, most menacing, volatile, impatient and undoubtedly violent criminal. 

“Jesper, if I catch you flirting one more time…” The man’s voice carried weight, trailing with a silent threat and you realised that the very man tipping your world on its axis was towering over the pair of you, shoulders squared, jaw taut and eyes blazing with something unspoken.

“No, Kaz, it's okay. He wasn’t flirting he was just-” 

The man silenced you with a tilt of his head and the raising of a single dark brow. 

“Right boss, sorry boss. Should I just- Yeah let me just, yeah. Enjoy your night, I’m going to go do my job,” Jesper patted the bar, then the stool, awkwardly bowing and pointing, smile on his face and a wink thrown your way before he was spinning on his heel, arms wide as he cheered a greeting towards the door, sauntering his way to actually do what he was paid for.

Your attention was brought back to Kaz as the man slid into the very same seat he had just dismissed his friend from, cane set between the two of you and drink ordered, gloved hands folded on the surface of the bar. He didn’t turn his body towards you, but his eyes were on you, like always, a question swirling in his irises.

“You and Jesper…?” He seemed to trail off, finger tapping impatiently on his arm, gloved and tensed in his shoulders even as he swallowed thickly, mouth pulled down into a line.

“No,” You shook your head, turning your body away from him and towards the bar, sipping your drink with your heart pounding in your chest.

“You and… anyone?” He asked a little more quietly, eyes on his own drink as he swirled it in steady circles, the amber liquid sloshing at the bottom of the glass.

“No, Kaz. Just you,” You answered honestly.

Kaz Brekker remained silent, only nodding, bringing his drink to his lips and sipping it. No other words needed to be exchanged, and only you caught the ghost of a smile on the corners of his vile, cursed mouth.

[junk-story]

Atsushi and Me – Tanaka Junichi, Director - Ongaku to Hito Special Edition

This interview is on pages 68-69 of the magazine. Footnotes can be found at the bottom of the text.

At the time we first met, the areas where he was immature as a vocalist were numerous. However, he had a unique worldview. For so-called rock vocalists, sexy vocalizations and a husky voice is becoming characteristic, but Sakurai-kun’s voice wasn’t those things, and it had popular-music-like elements to it. There were some who said his voice rivaled The Checkers.1

But, when I met him for the first time at a yakiniku shop in Harajuku, Sakurai-kun said that he liked Peter Murphy (of Bauhaus). So I think he wanted to combine the best parts of Japanese music with bands like Bauhaus and The Cure’s English dark wave to make a style of music not seen before in Japan. That was the sort of conversation we had. Maybe at that time, he thought what he wanted to do could take shape.

The realization of that was “TABOO”, but after that, a change came about in Sakurai-kun’s self-expression. The apex of that was “Kurutta Taiyou”. BUCK-TICK began to function as a place where Sakurai-kun could vent the love and hate and regrets he was holding about his home and his mother. After that, the color of Sakurai-kun became stronger, and what came from within him, the lust for life and desire for death, things like that became his themes, and their music was also influenced by that. At the time, they often heard the opinion at Victor that “it would be better to write things that are easier to understand”, and if they had, they might have been a bigger hit, maybe even hitting the million-seller mark, but, I suppose it’s because he wasn’t hindered in expressing himself that they were able to continue until now. In the first place, they weren’t even looking for that. And his songs, which came to have these themes at their core, had refined his expressiveness, and he was able to develop himself.

I worked for about 36 years recording Sakurai-kun’s songs, but he left all of it to me.2 “I’m doomed to my fate3, so I’ll sing a number of takes in my best form, and afterward, please use your favorite”, he’d say. I almost never had any requests about the take I chose. This is really an incredible thing. Most singers give me detailed requests, but he didn’t. I guess he realized that other people saw things differently than he did, and if he thought they did, I think he thought it was best to elevate that different expression atop the stage. Also, I think he was considerate about not making others feel bad.

Yes, he was a considerate and kind person. For example, when he was traveling to a big city studio, he was coming by car and got stuck in traffic, so he was also late. At times like that, although many musicians would have come in unashamed, Sakurai-kun was prostrate. “Everyone, truly, I’m so sorry…”, he’d say, and he’d bow his head to everyone all the way down to the studio’s assistant. He was someone who understood general thinking. And, he wasn’t that conscious of his commercial success. He also had no desire for fame. For that kind of person to continue being in a band, and think they want to make a career of it, that’s an extremely curious thing. Well...more than the music, more than the band, I suppose the important thing was that he was doing it with the other members. That’s why he was slow to start things outside of that, and he’d find it bothersome. (laughs) There were also things like that, and his solo album, “Ai no Wakusei”, was outsourced by me to various people, and Sakurai-kun only did the singing for it. Because when he’d communicate directly, he’d start to think about what to say, get nervous, and end up thinking about various things. (laughs)

Even after the band separated from Victor, behind the scenes, I did the recording for a number of songs. This is presumptuous of me to say, but I think I was the only one they could leave to doing it for them. However, what I think now...he would sing five takes, and he wanted to hear from me which of the takes was really the best one. Although I can’t confirm that now...but I’d like to think...that he knew the take that I thought was the best, was the best take for BUCK-TICK.

However, from the start, there were also times where he wasn’t the kind of person who could do that. (laughs) The time from “darker than darkness – style 93 – ” to “Six/Nine” was quite tumultuous. He wouldn’t show up to do vocal recordings. (laughs) This was an era without cell phones, so all we could do was wait, and after 10 hours passed, he finally came. (laughs) When we finished recording the vocals, I was listening and heard they’d driven to Mount Fuji. (laughs) There was everything with his mother, and I imagine he was pushed to a breaking point mentally. But from that, the “death” part of love and death came to expand significantly.

At that time, he was experiencing the chaos of the adult world, and I wonder if he didn’t come to have a hard time knowing what was real. So he wanted to run away from everything; his work and private life were both a mess. He drank alcohol like a drunk, like he was trying to forget reality. To put It nicely, he was pure. He wasn’t a person who could get along well in this world. However, he’d tasted that life, so the lyrics of that time had that reality in them. It may just be what I imagine, but “darker than darkness – style 93 – ” is all real. It’s not something that was made.4 I want everyone to listen to it again like that. And it’s also because of that experience that his love, hope, and kindness of not wanting to die emerged after that. And he started expressing his feelings more honestly.

Therefore, his love for family was incredible. Especially for the daughters. He had something he needed to protect, so he started to want to live. Sakurai Atsushi didn’t abandon himself to despair. I wanted to listen to more songs like that from him. If he had, then maybe a chapter where we met again would have begun. With a man who aged well.

Other than that, what I remember is nothing but stuff when we were drinking. (laughs) Because it was incredible, in any case. The live would end, and from about 11 PM we’d take off. After that, it was typical to spend time at Roppongi’s BOO!WHO?WOO!, and the shop has a small window that you can see the outside from, so you know when dawn is breaking. Nevertheless, Sakurai-kun was lively. Meanwhile, “Waratte ii tomo!”5 starts on the television. And then it got dark outside again. We were drinking that entire time. How much alcohol can a person go on drinking? I remember wondering.

Also, he was a person who was loved by everyone. By that I mean falling in love. When we were returning from London and at the airport counter checking in, the attendant saw Sakurai-kun, got heart eyes, and gave us a seat upgrade, and we were able to have an elegant return trip home because of it. (laughs)

1 Band from the same era (worth checking out!) 2 He allowed Tanaka to call the shots. 3 This turn of phrase didn’t really work well in any way I translated it...but sort of like, “there’s nothing to be done for it” – here he is, all he can do is his best! Like that. 4 Just in case this isn’t clear – he means this wasn’t constructed or fake in any way – this is truly where Sakurai was mentally at the time. 5 A long running variety TV show that was hosted by Tamori. It started at noon, to give you a reference of the time he’s talking about here.

[carionto]

The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?

Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?

H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.

A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...

H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.

A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.

H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!

A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?

H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.

NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.

H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.

NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.

H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.

NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.

H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?

NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.

NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.

NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)

After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.

NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.

H:...

NH:...

A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...

H: That's so

NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-

H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...

NH: Y-you like it?

H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.

NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.

H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.

NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.

H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.

NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.

H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.

NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.

A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?

H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.

[sinnbaddie]

To say that Kakashi and Gai’s relationship (talking solely platonic rn) was mostly about him helping Kakashi cope with the loss of Obito is disingenuous to Kakashi and all of his relationships.

Any person is going to be traumatized after seeing someone — much less their teammate — be crushed to death under a rock. Kakashi is shown to be someone susceptible to depression due to 1. His environment 2. His initial beliefs and 3. His genetic line. Of course his life is going to be centered around one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, romanticizing it is so hurtful to his character because it destroyed him - and if Kishimoto actually cared about expanding other character relationships instead of making a “generational duo that falls apart” + wasn’t a misogynistic writer, Rin’s death would be the bigger influence on his life than Obito’s.

Yes, Gai had to help him numerous times in his grief but it wasn’t solely or even mainly about Obito. Rin was an absolute vital point in Kakashi’s downfall into chaos. The self harm he inflicted upon himself, the self hatred, the self shame. He became a whole different person after he was forced to kill her. I would say Kakashi’s father Sakumo is by far the biggest influence on him. He wouldn’t have needed any speech of “your father was a hero” by Obito if it wasn’t for Sakumo. His personality of today is thanks to his father’s own death.

Gai and Kakashi’s friendship is almost entirely about them when they’re in scenes together. Look at the chunin exams, look at any scene in the land of steam arc, look at their race, etc. naturally there will be grief the two bring to the relationship and it’s on them to work it out separately, together and with other people which did happen.

You’re actively ignoring every other character that has shaped and formed who Kakashi is by saying Obito is the biggest and only reason he is who he is. Gai is one of the strongest reasons why Kakashi is as motivated and strong as he is. Kakashi would’ve absolutely died at some point in (general) anbu if Gai didn’t pull him out and he was slipping so far when he was in it because of Rin and Minato.

Kakashi’s heart does not “belong” to Obito because he’s in love with Obito and can’t get over him, his heart belongs to the people he loves because that’s who Kakashi is at his core - a lover. He’s a person who cares so deeply, even for people he doesn’t necessarily like or get along with.

Kakashi is a person who is shaped by everybody in his life, that’s why he is one of the best written Naruto characters. He feels like a real person because real people are influenced by everyone in their life, in every way. It’s unfortunate to see those who call themselves Kakashi fans only to mischaracterize, limit and erase the bonds he was written to have to prop up one single bond for your ship.

Do you care for this character? His themes, parallels, relationships and writing? or is he just a placeholder / self insert for shipping content?

[osiiiris]

Primo Emeritus: Florence.

This is the first of my posts where I locate each Papa in Italian cities based on the occult influences/history of each city. I hope you find it interesting and useful!

Primo | Secondo | Terzo

Primo Emeritus, The Old One, the embodiment of all that is sacred. A personality like his deserves to be located in an ancient city full of art, poetry, and history, shaped by the esoteric and alchemical obsessions of the Medici family, amidst the enduring shadow of centuries-old Satanic cults.

Let’s see why I have chosen Florence for Primo.

In this chapel of ritual…

From the early 70s to the late 80s, a series of murders occurred in various regions of middle-north Italy, with the most infamous taking place in Tuscany, known as the case of the 'Monster of Florence' (Mostro di Firenze), which resulted in the deaths of 14 people - officially, but it is believed there were way more.

The theory is that these murders were part of a large network of Satanic rituals involving influential figures from Rome, Perugia, and Florence. This network is supposedly still active. The original cult allegedly responsible for initiating these rituals seems to be the 'Rosa rossa' (Red Rose) cult. 

A fertile ground for writing Ritual...

2. The creator of Hell.

Florence is the birthplace of Dante Alighieri, the renowned author of the Divine Comedy and the creator of the now canonical structure of Hell.

Primo could have had many more things in common with Dante than we expect: indeed, it is said that Alighieri was part of an esoteric cult named ‘Fedeli d’Amore’ (Loyals to Love), probably affiliated with the Templars. From there, Dante is said to have drawn inspiration for his symbolic and esoteric tales, as well as his passion for numbers.

Keep an eye on Dante, as he will eventually come back in the next chapters.

3. The ghost behind the open window.

It’s not a Ghost story without an actual ghost.

In Piazza Santissima Annunziata, there is a building, Palazzo Grifoni, that holds a mysterious detail: a window that remains open at all times, whether day or night, summer or winter. Legend has it that a woman of the Grifone family bid farewell from that window to her lover, likely Ferdinando I, who departed for war. She waited for him by that same open window throughout her life, but he never returned, dying in battle. When she passed away, the window was finally closed. However, soon after, numerous mysterious events happened in the building, to the point the residents concluded that the building was haunted by the ghost of the woman, and they have kept the window open ever since not to upset her.

But that's not all: the Ferdinando I statue placed in the square, has his face turned to look right to that window… At the very end, he finally came back to her.

4. The Boboli alchemical garden.

Boboli represents a very particular case of an alchemical garden conceived to be ‘accessible’ only to those who have a strong alchemical and esoteric knowledge. It is built as a symbolic route where you can contemplate the principles of magical and alchemical doctrine along the way. You’ll be welcomed by two fountains, placed one on top of the other: the Mose’s (it is an indoor fountain) and the Carciofo’s (artichoke). They are believed to represent the esoteric concept of “as above so below”, but the references to esoteric concepts are present along the whole garden.

Primo would have surely loved this place.

[the-kr8tor]

I’m feeling in a really wintery mood today, so may I suggest for fluffy friday TTN hobie x reader as kids playing in the snow during winter break from school?

(Love your hobie x readers btw! Especially ttn!)

AHHH A TTN REQUEST I LOVE U FOR THIS ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!! I'm glad you like my lil series 💕

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader, Fluff

TTN! Hobie is based on my series ❤️

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You build a fort with snow, walls almost as tall as you, cold biting at your bare hands. Maybe you should've taken your winter gloves with you. It's too late now though as Hobie places his finishing touches on his side of the battlefield. The tip of his tongue poking out from his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. He's bundled up nicely compared to you, missing your gloves.

"Hurry up, Gromit!" Hobie pats the last bit of snow on his fort, hands already forming his first snowball.

"I'm trying!" Briskly trying to complete the fort, it looks wonky on the side. You huff in annoyance.

"Need help?" Hobie asks with a snicker, you glare at him across the snow covered field.

In retaliation, you hastily mold a snowball in your hand, hiding it behind the wall. It's not a perfect shape but it'll do. Aiming for his head, you throw it with a grunt. The snowball flies across, hitting Hobie square in the face.

"Ack!" Snow slides on his skin, wiping it clean off, revealing his mischievous smile, fiery eyes staring at you. "I'm going to destroy you!"

You screech, wide smile on your face as you duck away from Hobie bombarding you with snowballs.

It was a fight to the death, giggles and laughing sounding out in the cold winter air. Hobie gets numerous hits on you whilst you focus on precision, hitting him where it hurts. His fort tumbles down from your pelting, leaving him unprotected.

He gasps out in realization, you laugh triumphantly, arms at the ready to throw your arsenal.

"You cheeky–" Hobie gets cut off by your snowball smacking him on his temple. You laugh like an evil villain. "That's how it is, huh?!" He runs towards you at full speed, snow crunching under his footsteps. Hobie grabs a handful of snow on his way.

Your eyes grow wide, yelping as he grows closer, running for dear life. Unfortunately for you, your opponent has longer legs, he catches up to you in seconds. Feeling ice sliding on your back where Hobie pushed snow inside your thick jumper.

Yelling, you try to take out the ice from your clothes, jumping and wiggling about. Hobie guffaws on the sideline, clutching his stomach in laughter.

Finally getting rid of the snow in your clothes, you tackle Hobie while he's distracted. You two tumble in the snow, bringing your frozen hands to his cheek. He shrieks at the cold making you copy his earlier laugh.

"Why aren't you wearing gloves?!" He howls out, pushing you off.

You fall on the thick snow, giggling as he fists your jacket collar. Sticking your tongue out, you try to rile him up more. "I forgot it"

"Y'know you could get frostbite from that" He tries to scare you.

"Pssh, no, I won't" you roll your eyes.

"Yuh uh, then I have to cut your fingers off just to save your hands!" He takes your hand pretending to chop it off. That does it for you, gasping in fear of losing your fingers, how are you gonna draw without them?

"Noooo!" Sitting up, you rub your hands together in a futile attempt to warm them up.

"That's not gonna work, here" Hobie takes his gloves off, putting it over your frozen hands for you.

Heart warming at the scene, you let Hobie give you his gloves. "Thanks" he lets out a quiet 'sure', "softie" you continue, he flicks your wrist at your quip.

"You want hot chocolate? I have some at home" you ask, eyes twinkling.

"Sure, but no milk for me" Hobie stands up, extending his hand to help you up.

You take his hand without question, clouds puff out of your cold lips as you beam up at him. "Let's go then! I have tiny marshmallows for it"

Hobie follows you with a wobbly smile.

Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

[little-too-late]

i. watch it take its shape

words: 2.4k

warnings: death/murder, mentions of blood, cringe writing

Time. It's a fragile, fickle thing. You could spend a millennium to try and make sense of its ever changing existence within itself, to unravel and change the fate that has long been written. But even then, it could never be enough to understand its complexity.

All there is to understand, what you've grown to come to terms with, is that time is unforgiving. It can muddle the most important parts of your being, bend and shape it into something beyond unrecognizable, no matter how dear you hold onto that part of yourself.

It will never be the same again, forever lost to time, no matter how much you beg it to be. Time is cruel; time eats all his children in the end.

He ate a hole in your being, a gaping emptiness that could never be filled no matter what you did. It taunted you, daring you to be rid of it, relishing in your sorrow as attempt after attempt failed.

You had surrendered to that emptiness long ago, finding shelter in the unrecognizable shell it left behind. No longer did it belong to the young girl who relished in the easier times, who carried love and kindness for the world around her, who could do no wrong.

All that you carried now was the perpetual anger for humanity and its cruel Maker who turned his back on his creations. Who were you to defend its people when even the Maker cared no longer?

You crept into the bandit's den undetected, silently dispatching its inhabitants as you ventured further into the cavern, looking for the item of interest that brought you here in the first place.

There were no hard feelings as you pulled your blade free from the fallen bandit, wiping the blood gathered on your blade on your pant leg, continuing forward as if you hadn't taken a life. You held no remorse for those who killed innocence, who took more than just their lives. It was only fair they ended up in the same pit they dug themselves.

Don't be mistaken, you were not pure of heart either. You've taken from the unsuspecting, used many's backwards thinking to your advantage ("no woman can do no harm"—these were your favorite to manipulate) on numerous occasions.

But that was all in a time before when you felt like it was the only way to get by. When you first arrived in Ru'uan, you had made the rash decision to leave your motherland behind with nothing but what you had on your back; not a single coin to your name.

It took little convincing to turn your back on your morals, especially with how angry you were at the world and yourself. You were vulnerable, malleable enough to be shaped by the shadows, and it was far too easy to fall into in the lifestyle when the city you found on your first arrival was a city known for its crime.

But even as you turned your back on your beliefs, performed deeds that your hands could never be washed free of, nothing you did came close to the things these lowlifes did in the dark. You did the world a favor be-ridding the filth.

You fiddle with a locked chest found in the chief bandit's room, wiggling a lockpick around until you hear that wonderful tune —click. The lock falls the ground, allowing you a peek at the valuables held inside.

Trinkets, odds and ends, that sort of thing. . . nothing that called for your attention. Except,

"There you are." You look over the supposed family heirloom, partially confused as to why they chose such a thing to pass down to their children's children. But then again, it's about the sentimental value the item holds, isn't it?

You shrug, placing the gewgaw into your traveling pack before leaving the bandit's den; satisfied. With the help of your steed, you quickly returned to the city to complete the job you were hired for.

There isn't much you could rave about but the city other than the fact its crime rate is astoundingly high, scaring most interested parties that dare to think about housing the empty lots within its walls.

Not a single body within those walls isn't already influenced by the right amount of coin, and it's because of this that no matter what the guards do to protect their city, crime always finds a way around it.

At least, most guards.

You pat your steed's side as you left him in the care of the stable's horse handler, reassuring him of your quick return with an apple. Only then, did you tune into the conversation between the guard on gate duty and a fresh face.

"Before I let you in, you must pay a visitor's tax." You turn your head at his words, eyes narrowing in vexation.

The woman he had stopped looked to him in confusion, rightly questioning his motivations. "The other cities I've visited didn't ask for a visitor's tax?"

"We aren't other cities, are we?" The guard condescendingly says, the woman recoiling on herself. "You want in?" She nods. "Then you must cooperate!" He finishes, holding out his grubby hand for the demanded coin.

An unwarranted heat spreads throughout your chest as you watched the woman give in to the guards quest, a smug grin forming on his face as she took out her coin pouch. Not only was he ignorant enough to believe he was going to collect his lousy coin, but he was moronic enough to leave his helm behind while on duty.

Any chatter around them came to a startled halt as an embarrassing shriek leaves the man, a tip of a blade staring right back at him, only a centimeter away from blinding his left-eye. "Have you not learned your lesson from the last you pulled this trick, guardsman?" You glare, showing no sign of lowering your weapon, "Or need I remind you?"

"Trick?" The woman echo's. You catch a glimpse of her in the corner of your eye, seemingly surprised how things were playing out in front of her. You click your tongue in annoyance, irritated by her feeble-minded and weak judgement. This city will tear her apart the moment she steps foot through those gates.

"Alright, alright! Keep your voices down, why don't you?" He takes a cautious step back, creating a distance between his eye and your blade. "I'll open the gates, so long as you don't mention this to the lord."

Coward.

"Trust me," you sheath your blade, "it won't be the lord who I'll be speaking with." The guard freezes, your vague words having him fearing for his life, leaving him in an excruciating silence as you entered the city.

Its occupants grew to understand what kind of person you were the moment you arrived through those gates; the qualities you held. It wouldn't be a surprise if you had certain connections to a certain name known throughout the city. "Wait!"

You paid no mind to the woman as she stumbled after you, her clumsy feet kicking up the rubble from beneath them as she matched your pace beside you. "Thank you for helping me back there." She smiles kindly, attempting to open a conversation with you—something you showed no interest in as you remained silent.

"You have an accent. It's nice!" Your brows pinch together at the unnecessary observation, her following question almost stopping you in your trek. "Where's it from?"

The tension in your jaw tightens as you involuntarily think back to the place you once called home, turning to her with an unkind look as you said, "Word of advice; if you cannot see a simple trick such as that one, you will never make it out in the world. Turn around and go home."

Guilt manages to sink its talons into you as you watched the shine in her eyes disappear, her eyes sadden as she turns them down to the ground. You could see it clear as day now. She was everything this city, the world, wasn't. Something it will only break down within time.

You weren't about to stick around and watch that happen. Not again. But, her eyes find that special glow once more, shocking you to a halt. "Oh, I know that now! But I came here looking to hire someone called the. . . Dark Wolf?" Your eye twitches at the name. "Someone from another city mentioned they were the best here and I was hoping if you could—where are you going?" 

Like you said, you weren't about to stick around. So, you did what you did best. You turned your back on her and left.

Past the Merchant's Market, over the bridge, led to more a secluded part of the city. Many avoided coming this way due to the belief it's where most of the darker deeds took place. And although true, for the most part, to others it's where one would come to seek anonymous help for tasks guards didn't dare take up.

No words were exchanged as you met with the person who had given you your recent job, all except for the item of interest and the promised coin. It's what you liked most about being a mercenary. It kept you busy; sane.

Your employer hums in approval as you returned the family heirloom to them, paying no mind to the smear of blood on it. He tosses a pouch of coin to you as he praises, "Didn't expect you to work so fast. Shouldn't have expected anything less from the Dark Wolf, herself."

You wish you could hunt down whoever started spreading that distasteful name around and personally see them to their end. "Pleasure doing business with you." You sourly mumbled as he left, tying the pouch to your waist when you hear movement behind you.

"You're the Dark Wolf?"

You flinch, turning to see the woman who you hoped you lost in the Merchant's Market, but here she was. "Were you following me this whole time?" You questioned, brows cinched at the weirdness of it all. How did you not notice her presence this whole time?

"You left in the middle of our conversation! I was hoping you'd point me in the direction of this 'Dark Wolf', but it turns out you're who I was looking for!" She exclaims, a grin on display. "Small world we live in, huh?”

A heavy sigh leaves past your lips, almost inclined to flat out decline whatever she had to offer, but something nagged at you to listen to what she had to say. "Well? What is it you want to hire me for?" Her eyes light up as she fished for her coin.

"An expedition of some sorts. Is this enough?" Your mouth parts as she presents you a hefty pouch of coin, your hand immediately pushing hers down as you hissed,

"You will get yourself killed flaunting that kind of coin around here!" Her mouth forms an 'o' at your warning, not even thinking about resisting as you grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the meet-point. You frantically looked about for prying eyes that might have been lurking around, eyes that would do anything for some coin (and that didn't exclude murdering the innocent).

"Sorry." She says, now in the comforts of the room you've rented out for when visits lasted longer than expected. Such as this one.

You sat her at the small table placed adjacent from the bed, messaging the spot between your eyes in attempt to relieve the headache forming. You can't believe you were actually considering accepting the job, but if you were to be fair, you would need a good reason not to. "Before I accept, I need more details about this expedition of yours."

She perks up, only really hearing 'I accept'. "What is the end goal?" She stills at your question, adverting her eyes as she thought up something to tell you. She worried if she told you the real truth, you'd see how pointless it was and lose interest in the job. But the truth was all she could speak. "I want to travel throughout Ru'uan in hopes to remember something, anything, from my past."

"Besides my name, I don't remember who I am." Your face draws a blank, leading her to believe you were readying to decline. "You—You said it from the start, I won't make it out there; not by myself! If you could just stick around for a week or two—"

"I accept."

". . . What?"

You clench your jaw, turning away from her shinning eyes. This time around, they didn't shine with happiness (maybe something in relation). No, they shined with tears of relief. Gratefulness. You can't look at her right now. "I said I accept. All I ask for is to receive the first half of the payment now and the rest when you see fit." You answered, packing your belongings for the lengthy trip.

She had watched you pack said things, her heart full as she sat in a stranger's room, who had accepted to help her despite a weird start between them.

"Aphmau."

You still, feeling a never-ending pit in your stomach gape open at the reveal of her name. You guess it was only a matter of time. "My name is Aphmau." She repeats, prompting you to introduce yourself. "What's yours?"

Swallowing down the hard pill, you continue to pack as you answer, "I don't share names."

Aphmau's face contours with confusion, unaware of the weight knowing a name holds for you. "Why's that?" She questions further, curiosity unsatisfied.

"Because with names, comes attachments; attachments you will lose in the end." Silence finds you both once more, your words offering Aphmau something to think about as you moved around the room, keeping yourself busy.

It was by these words that made it clear to Aphmau that there's something from your past that haunts you till this day. It forced you to become closed-off, creating a troubling distance between you and anyone you meet.

She knew it wouldn't be anytime soon you'd be willing to be open with her, but deep down she hoped out of the goodness of her heart, that one day you'd be comfortable enough to do so. Whether it be with her or someone you meet along the way; she wishes nothing nothing but the best.

[posletsvet]

A Somewhat Messy Exploration of the Concepts of Purity and Impurity in Satosugu, and perhaps some more

The yin and yang symbolism in Satosugu (here I'm using 'Satosugu' as a short way to refer to the relationship between these characters, not necessarily a ship dynamic) has been brought up and discussed a lot in fan analyses lately, and by those who have mental capacity to express it far better than I ever could. However, there is one more thing I would like to talk about in relation to Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo's dichotomy, and perhaps some more.

As much influence as Chinese philosophical concepts (such as already mentioned yin-yang) have on Japanese cosmology, religious views of the people of Japan are actually an intricate and complex amalgamation of various teachings and beliefs, with Shinto being numerically the most prominent faith of the country. I was curious as to how the ideas found in Shinto could be applied to Gojo and Geto's relationship, and I guess I've stumbled upon some inkling of a thought in this regard -- so please bear with me while I rant.

Before this gets too long, I'm putting my rambling below the cut.

To begin with and give a little bit of context, the core teaching of Shinto is to have profound respect and reverence for nature. As a polytheistic and animistic religion, Shinto is defined by its belief in the kami, who are stated to inhabit all things, including objects of the surrounding landscape and various natural forces. Due to such elemental qualities of the faith, purification takes place as one of its central aspects and a widely followed practice, as well. There is a great emphasis laid on spiritual and physical purity and cleanliness. That being so, the moral categories of good and evil (or virtue and sin), so important in the western worldview, give way to a different outlook on things: the world is perceived in terms of 'clean' and 'dirty' rather than 'good' and 'bad'.

This concept finds a reflection in Gege's writing primarily through Tsumiki as someone who's essentially an embodiment of the virtue of being innocent and pure at heart. When she's brought up in the narrative, the image is frequently accompanied by flowers -- and more often than not, especially when it comes to Megumi's perspective, those flowers are white lilies. And those are one of the most common and prominent symbols of purity. When Tsumiki's innocence is symbolically destroyed with Yorozu taking over her body, white blossoms are depicted as thrashed and stained in the background. Her purity is further defiled by her death as everything related to death and decay is considered foul as it desecrates the world's natural state of cleanliness, fertility and life.

I'm only bringing this up to show how Gege incorporates this religious framework into the body of symbolism in his story. And the further you search with these concepts in mind, the more you are able to uncover.

Satoru Gojo as purity and perfection

Satoru Gojo is a character whom you can't help but read as a perfection within the context of the world he exists in. He's the absolute strongest, wielding the power to bring all the knowledge of the universe and the forces which shape it under his control, he's repeatedly elevated by the narrative as someone unreachable and untouchable whereas nothing seems to be beyond his reach. He also has an extraordinary appearance, matching vibrant aquamarine eyes with fair hair, so rarely found among full-blooded Japanese people. He embodies an ideal for his society.

Satoru is associated with white and sky blue -- the colours most widely believed to represent purity, innocence, perfection, serenity and safety. Those are lofty, noble, airy and spacious hues which also bring in mind vast open spaces and immeasurable and unreachable heights and depths, symbolizing Gojo's detachment from the mundane world where corruption and putrefaction take deep root. Not to mention Satoru's noble background as an heir of one of the Big Three Sorcerer Families.

Actually no, forget this, I do want to mention it and expand a little on my thoughts regarding Satoru's family and upbringing. It's highly likely he was overprotected and sheltered as a child, and along with a teenage-years rebellion on his part which such a childhhod brought about, it also thwarted his ability to make connections with people around him as he basically lacks common experiences and/or interests with them. He's somewhat sterile when it comes to displaying empathy and emotional intelligence, which results in a peculiar sense of innocence about him. For the lack of any better way to articulate this idea, I'd say he's pure in this regard: clean and untouchable and spotless, devoid of nearly everything that comprises a regular person's experience.

This shows even in the way Gojo chooses to cope with his trauma in the aftermath of the Star Plasma Vessel Incident. That traumatic experience seemingly barely leaves a mark on him because he opts for pushing it aside and moving forward, while going out of his way to make sure there's a safe distance between him and the source of his vulnerability by improving his technique. He fixates on bringing his Infinity technique to perfection, and as a result it leaves no opportunity for anything to touch him if he himself does not want it to. Yet again, it leaves him stainless.

Not only that: he becomes emotionally detached from the cruelty and filth of the jujutsu world, becomes numb to it, with little to no emotion ever reaching his core to shake it. He's neither angry nor vengeful on Amanai's behalf after her death. He does not allow for hatred and spite to poison his mind, neither does he feel any doubt. He stays clean from all the negativity at the cost of coming off as cynical and unsympathetic.

He masks this by putting up a front of an emotionally immature individual with childlike mannerisms and an attitude resembling that of a teenager rather than a fully grown man. He also nurtures a somewhat naive belief that Suguru still can be trusted, that there's some hope for him turning away from the path he's chosen. In this regard, he still bears the innocence of a child.

Last but not least, shedding away the more humanly parts of himself, Gojo instead becomes more attuned to the natural world through his ascension -- the main source of purity, as Shinto has it. Moreover, he basically rejects death by coming back from the dead after finally grasping how Reversed Cursed Energy works. And I've already explained the importance of something like this when talking about Tsumiki's passing.

Gojo Satoru's mind is free from resentment and hate, his body unstained by death. He's a character who represents complete spiritual and physical purity.

Suguru Geto as impurity and corruption

Where Gojo's character exhibits perfection, Geto shows abruptly stunted growth and degradation gnawing away at him bit by bit; where Gojo stands to symbolize cleanliness and purity, Geto presents desolation and decay and that filth which is left in their wake. Geto is a character whom the narrative treats as a symbolic foil to Gojo, starting from him being expelled from Jujutsu High and ending with his death being described in the light novel as a curse purged from existence. If Gojo serves as an example of a perfectly fit cog in jujutsu society and sets up a desirable ideal, Geto, named the worst of all known curse users, represents everything that the very same society fears and despises.

Starting with colour symbolism again, such colours as black, dark brown, warm beige and mustard yellow are the most common colours to be associated with dirt and a filthy, dingy appearance. And while I'm not saying Suguru himself has such an appearance (although he does forsake taking care of himself at some point), those all are the colours found in his palette. Black is also considered to be the hardest colour to keep clean, even more so than white, as it shows all the stains and grime so well. Which is quite interesting if you consider that Suguru's downfall and defection ultimately bring out, both to the audience and to Satoru, everything not only malfunctioning, but straightforward cruel, vile and despicable in the existing system.

Geto's deeply empathetic personality is the basis for his own corruption, his inability to set boundaries between his own emotions and the suffering of others leaves him extremely vulnerable in a society which actively punishes people for being unable to extract emotion from their duty and caring too much. The thing is, Suguru is elbow-deep in emotion. For instance, if Satoru managed to shove his feelings aside in order to put together a plan of action when Kuroi got abducted, Suguru immeadiately plunged into self-blame. His own empathy is what's clouding his vision, his feelings pile up within him without any healthy outlet until they start rotting him from the inside.

Geto lets the rot in by caring too deeply, vile emotions that he feels on behalf of others festering in his mind. He can't stand the sight of atrocities commited by Jujutsu society and finds them nauseating, while the rest of the world he exists in treats those abominations as a norm. And even so, he dives deeper into all this by trying to make a difference and save ordinary people.

This is symbolically represented by Geto's Curse Manipulation, with him consuming curses which are basically a corporeal manifestation of all the negative emotions people vent into the world in their daily lives. The more curses he absorbs, the more doubt and resentment he lets inside and the more they consequently stain his once pure ideals and aspirations with bile building up inside of him. His very sense of self is twisted by the weight of the unsightly hideous reality, and while he stays true to his strict set of ideals he is forced to adapt by the trauma of his experience as a sorcerer and the 'realisation' which it brings. Because if one endures such severely traumatic events, one must sooner or later come to the conclusion that there's something inherently wrong and malfunctioning -- either with you or the world you live in. Geto chooses to stay true to himself by assuming it's the latter, and this choice results in his corruption in the eyes of those who run that very world.

There's also something to be said about the intimacy of the act of consumpton: you let the thing you consume nurture you and become a part of you. Cursed spirits taste absolutely foul, and what that means to put this despicable thing in your mouth and swallow it is unimaginable. Geto's absorbtion of curses is supposed to represent how he basically desacrates himself by letting himself experience everything at such a deep emotional level, inevitably tying himself to putrefaction of the world.

And of course, the last thing that plays its role in the defilement of Geto's character is his death.

Brief wrap-up thoughts

I could honestly ramble on and on about this for ages, but I guess it all just boils down to my admiration for Gege's ability to break the mold with his writing. He takes a trait which is largely associated with protagonists of their stories and shapes his villain's whole personality around it -- and vice versa, with Gojo and his seemingly egotistic tendencies.

Once again, Japanese religious beliefs organically encompass so many elements originating from so many cultures with no coherent systematization existing up untill late 19th centuary, and I find it absolutely fascinating how Gege's story reflects that. It leaves us with such an interesting controversy of an emotionally detached hero dwelling in a morally grey area alongside with a deeply empathetic antagonist whom both other characters and the audience find deserving of sympathy and pity.

[kometqh]

ᵀʰᵉ ᴺᵒᵗᵉᵇᵒᵒᵏ

BTS Jungkook x F!Reader

Living in the real, normal world, Y/n comes across all kinds of creatures in her daily life; demons, sirens, protective spirits. The list could go on, but the main point is that she does so unknowingly.

That is, until she is caught in the clutches of death, icy cold water battering her lungs as a Grim Reaper awaits her death, his pitch-black eyes hungry, desperate for her death.

So what happens when a Demon and a Siren come to her rescue?

The sound of coffee beans being grounded and the smell of fresh pastries being put out filled the busy interior of the café, wafting amongst numerous conversations between people, numerous songs being played, numerous stories being exchanged.

The rather large space was engulfed in a warmth that came from two fireplaces, as rain eagerly pattered against the tall, clear windows.

There was one particular man who stood out amongst the others, dressed in a fluffy, knitted grey sweater, a black blazer and jeans. His hat was placed on the side as he sipped on his coffee, finger lazily turning a page in his book. Though his appearance was so unusual, he went by completely unnoticed. Not a single eye caught the sight of him.

He went by the name Jeon, leaving his first name to be a luxury known only to those closest to him.

Although his nose seemed to be pointing to his book, his eyes were observing elsewhere. Scanning, searching.

He noticed the way a woman's lips became redder after sipping quietly on some coffee.

The way a teenagers eyes skimmed over words rapidly whilst reading a mahogany leather book.

Those were just minor distractions, though.

His main focus was the young woman sat at the faraway corner of the café, in the company of a young, red haired man. Her lips, tinted a darker pink, were moving fast, head dipping lower as her eyes stared into her companions, almost pleadingly.

The chime of bells drew his attention away; the woman wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

A young couple entered the café, their eyes set on the seat that Jeon occupied. They skimmed over his figure, just about to place their bags down. He muttered something, his lips barely moving an inch.

The air grew colder, nipping at the couple until they moved away, shaking their head, muttering that it was too cold in that specific spot. Jeon's eyes lingered for a few minutes on the young woman, and, with a sigh, he snapped his book shut.

Gripping tightly on it, he made his way over to his target.

He stood just beside her, watching the man opposite her. He had a heart-shaped smile, almond eyes and ruby-red hair. He often let out an almost intoxicating laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as his smile widened, mirroring that of the woman's.

Jeon leaned down, hands clutching his book behind his back. His nose just barely brushed against the woman's cheek, eyes boring into hers, though she couldn't see him, couldn't feel him. Maybe a small breeze or a shiver, but that's it.

"Y/n L/n." He spoke softly, hand caressing at a loose lock of hair on her head. "22 years old... Female." He continued, this time moving away as he moved to her other side, fingertips leaving featherlight touches over her shoulder.

"Has a family; mother, father, older brother. Single." That last part he had said with an amused huff, his chest raising up and down, heart beating just the slightest bit faster.

He turned his gaze away, looking out through the window.

He could see the waves crashing against the beach perfectly, though the weather was not doing anyone any favours that day. The sky was grey and cloudy, not allowing a single ray of sunshine to pass through.

The water was murky, dark, clawing at the sandy beach below with a spine-chilling fervour. An image flashed through his mind.

The waves, the wooden, soaked dock. Water splashing against it, creating a slippery step. White sneakers stepped over it, a soft voice carried by the harsh winds.

A scream.

Followed by a splash.

Hands thrashed around, reaching out to him from the murky seawater, calling for help.

"Date of death; 15th March 2024." He clicked his tongue loudly and shook his head. "Time; 15:24, died by drowning."

Suddenly, the woman looked at her phone, noticing the time. Her eyes widened in panic, and as she abruptly stood up, she almost spilled her coffee. Slinging her scarf over her neck, she muttered apologies to the man opposite her.

"I'm so sorry Hoseok, I have to go, I'm meeting someone in about half an hour." She said, slinging her hand bag over her shoulder, shoving her phone into her pocket. "It's for my class project, you know, the fish one." She continued, shrugging her shoulders, a tight-lipped smile plastered on her face.

Hoseok's eyes looked up at her, slightly widened, lips parted. Then, he nodded his head in recognition.

"Ahhh, yes. That's fine love, but do you want me to walk you there? I wouldn't want you to slip or something." He said, getting up from his own chair.

"Oh, no no, it's okay! I'll be meeting with Seokjin." She exclaimed, waving her hands in protest. "He collected some statistics from the fishery, so I'll only be getting those and heading straight home after." She said, this time moving around the table to stand by Hoseok's side, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

"I won't be long, I'll be home before you know it." She said softly, a small smile on her lips.

Hoseok nodded, though his eyes had a suspicious glint in them.

"You better text me as soon as you get home, alright?" He asked, bringing her in for a hug. Y/n exhaled into his shoulder, her hands wrapping around his waist, nodding her head.

"Of course I will. You do the same, okay?" She looked up at him, a quirk in her brow, and with that, the two bid their goodbyes and Y/n was on her way, with a dark, shadowy figure looming over her shoulder.

The walk itself didn't seem to take too long; before she knew it, it was almost half past. The ocean breeze blew past her mercilessly, dragging a strands of hair behind, tangling them into a mess of nightmares.

A strong shudder travelled down her spine, though she downplayed it to just the weather being cruel.

She couldn't see the dark cloud looming over her shoulder, checking the time on his wrist every so often as he stalked after her, black irises growing desperate, hungry. The more souls he collected the better.

The reaper almost wished he could speed the process up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on the ends, his body experiencing a new kind of static excitement. He was so close, so so close to-

His eyes widened, feet coming to a stop as he was greeted with a familiar face.

Golden hair glinted even on the murky day, the grey clouds not dimming the glow that surrounded him. His almond eyes travelled to Y/n's, a dimpled smile appearing on his cheeks as he extended a pair of muscular arms out for a hug.

For a moment, Jeon felt a false sense of security; the man couldn't see him.

But that feeling was shattered like a porcelain doll when the man's piercing gaze stabbed right through him. Eyes narrowed like that of a fox, the man's eyebrows furrowed in a fury.

What was the Reaper doing with his precious, little human friend?

Kim Namjoon wondered, his hands rubbing comforting circles over Y/n's back, his grip tightening ever so slightly. His gaze never left Jeon, observing the unmoving figure.

Was Y/n going to die? 

How? 

Why and when? 

Now? 

Like hell he was going to let that happen. 

He was ripped from his spiralling thoughts, Y/n having pulled away and now gazing at him, a look of adoration swimming in her irises. She admired Namjoon, not only for his brains, but also for his kindness.

He was her senior by a year, always busy with new modules and projects set by their shared professors, but he never failed to lend her a helping hand, guiding her in the right direction study-wise.

A lot of her work had also referenced his own research; which was beneficial in many ways.

"Namjoon! I haven't seen you in so long, what are you doing here?!" She asked, a wide grin stretching across her face, her hands rubbing up and down his arms in an attempt to keep him warm.

"I was just coming back from meeting Jin, we were working on collecting some statistics," He paused, moving to walk alongside the young woman, her hand linked around one of his arms.

"Isn't that weird? I was on my way to see him," She responded, turning to give Namjoon a raised brow, "Did he ask you to help him out?"

At that, Namjoon nodded his head, a laugh escaping his lips. He let out a sniffle, his long strides keeping Y/n on her toes as she made an effort to keep in pace with the male.

Jeon followed them like a gloomy cloud, occasionally noticing Namjoon sending daggers at him, a dangerous furrow between his eyebrows. The demon wasn't happy about the threat to his favourite human's life.

He'd do anything to protect her, to keep her by his side.

Jeon knew that the demon was one born of jealousy and greed, but that hadn't phased him. He had met far too many dangerous creatures during his long lifespan, eventually becoming immune to their negative auras and murderous thoughts.

He himself was repenting for his past lives' sins, so it wasn't like he was a saint himself.

It wasn't long before the three met a third creature; a siren, the so-called Seokjin. Though this one couldn't see Jeon, he could feel his presence, Jin's ears peeking up at the unfamiliar tension lurking around Y/n's shoulders.

Just as he was about to ask, Namjoon shot him a death stare, Jin understanding immediately.

'I'll explain later'

The three talked for a while, a few gasps and laughs escaping the conversation. As promised, Jin had collected the data Y/n had requested, his chest puffing up proudly as the woman flicked through the pages eagerly.

"This is amazing Jin! Where the hell did you find all these people?!" She had exclaimed at one point, bringing him in for another hug as she nuzzled her nose into his neck, just beneath his jawline.

"Y'know I've got connections, Y/n/n," He chuckled, sending a cheeky wink at her, "I'm glad I could be of help to you sweets."

The conversation carried on for a little while longer, Y/n parting from the two as she insisted she had to be home early, or else Hoseok would go insane.

With a quick goodbye and hug, she left through the door of the fishing hut, walking along the deck.

The sky was much darker now, and the waves murkier. She couldn't even see her own reflection in the water as she leant over, feeling her sneakers getting soaked.

Water licked at her shoes, aggressively staining the material. She'd have to battle out the salt later on.

Soon, a big wave had made its way towards her, the current almost swaying her off of the deck, tugging at her body. That itself was scary enough for the young woman to hurry her pace, hands stuffed in her pockets as she wearily eyed the water.

The sky seemed gloomier, greyer, more dangerous. Her hurried steps could barely be heard over the splashing of waves against boulders and deck, her heart rate spiking up.

The wind pulled at her hair and scarf, blowing cold wisps of air into her ears and eyes, almost blinding her from how much she needed to blink just to remove the stray sand Pericles from her waterline.

Her hand came up to rub at her eye, thumb pulling at the sand grains. And that was her mistake.

On unsteady feet, a distracted mind, and cold hands, a wave larger than the previous one had smashed against the shore, the draft pulling her backwards as the woman fell, her temple hitting the side of the dense, slippery green wood.

The water engulfed her body completely, dragging her back and forth, the coldness invading her nostrils and wind pipe.

It prickled at her fingers like a thousand tiny blades, but burned her from the inside out like an uncontrollable wildfire. She tried not to panic, she tried so hard. But when your senses are screaming for you to breathe and to get out, it's difficult to stop thrashing around; like a canary in a small cage.

She couldn't see anything, the scalding, salty water forcing her eyelids to close, to seek some form of comfort as she blindly swam through the water, her lungs burning with an unknown agony. 

Her screams occasionally reached her ears, as the waves sadistically teased her, allowing just enough air to enter her lungs before it was deemed enough, and that's when she inhaled what felt like a bucket-full of salty, scratching sea-water.  

Her nose burned, her eyes burned. 

Her throat was on fire, her lungs fighting to push the water out.

Her body was scalding hot.

Her arms thrashed, attempting to form some sort of swim, her legs kicking up as the pounding in her head never eased. 

She fought and fought, forcing her body back to the top, until her limbs grew too tired, until another current swayed her further and further away, until the remaining oxygen had been emptied from her lungs, escaping in small bubbles that slowly floated upwards.

The tips of her fingers prickled, her hair tickling the tip of her nose as it swayed gently, the current becoming calmer the further she sank. The cold enveloped her in an icy embrace, freezing over her skin, tainting it the colour red, her cheeks having lost their usual warm hue. 

Her body hit the sand, small particles lunged upwards, dancing around her grimly. 

The cold was like a blanket, chilling through layers on skin, blood and muscle, finally coiling around her bones like a desperate, starving snake, squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing any feeling she had before she had fallen. 

Her consciousness fought, and the little survival instinct and adrenaline that circled within her body, had all but made the tiniest of twitches prance all over. The quickest flex of a pointer finger, a sudden kick of her foot, or the spasmed leaps of her chest and shoulders.

How much time had passed? Only those above knew. 

Did anyone hear her falling in? Possibly.  

All she knew was the indescribable burning sensation in her chest, the suffocating inability to breathe.

Her vision was pitch-black, her surroundings turning into nothingness as her body slowly caved in, almost curling in on itself. 

She then, suddenly, felt a soft touch on her arm. It tugged at her body, swaying it through the water. Was she dead already? 

It wasn't until she felt a chilling breeze gush past her, her mind empty and blank, unable to tell what was happening. 

The scalding burn that enveloped her body had turned into the most painful coldness she had ever felt. What was happening? Hasn't she had enough? 

But it was too late, as a pair of hands pumped against her chest, another pair stuttering around her face, a soft touch stroking the icy skin of her cheek. She was swallowed by darkness, her mind going numb, body limp, and consciousness far away.

Jeon tutted to himself as he watched the scene unfold, the sight of a half-naked demon trying to resuscitate you, shouting for you to stay away. 

It was ironic, really.

But Jeon knew, that in just a moments time, you would be stood by his side, clawing at your face, pulling your hair, screaming hysterically at the sight of your long-dead body, pleading for one last chance.

Namjoon's hands continued pushing against your chest in rhythmic beats, his breathing laboured and short. Water dripped down the sharp tips of his soaked hair, down onto the muscular, naked expanse of his back. 

Goosebumps run rampant across his sun-kissed skin, though it wasn't because of the cold.

Oh no, Jeon knew exactly what those shivers were.

Excitement. Elation. Pride.

Defiance.

That greedy demon wasn't worried nor was he cold, he was happy!

Jeon squinted his eyes at the creature, knowing he took pride in what he was doing.

With a soft sigh, he inched closer to your body, until he became an eclipse above the demon's shoulders.

He didn't feel an ounce of joy as previous records of numerous deaths unfolded before his eyes, his fist always clutched tight at his side as he half-reminisced, his pupils clouded over, an all too familiar memory coming to flood his senses.

His breathing laboured, pupils blown wide, throat sore as an inaudible hurdle of screams erupted from within his chest. 

The fear he felt, the guilt, the pain. It had all shook him to his core. 

He remembered it so clearly, as though it happened yesterday. 

The way her eyes clouded over, a gasp escaping from her gaped lips.

That day.. That day she left him, clutching the arrow that had been impaled into her chest, the day he lost the love of his life.

Right through the heart.

His frown remained, his chest tightened, for another two or so minutes, before confusion washed over him. Where was she? Wasn't her spirit supposed to appear before him by now?

Slowly reaching into his notepad, the tips of his fingers had just barely brushed against the tip of his Notebook, when the sound of suffocated coughs and gurgles filled his ears. 

She's alive?

How?

What did that stupid, ignorant demon just do?

He could feel his blood begin to boil, the sight of Namjoon's cheery grin and Seokjin's laughter as they had managed to successfully revive you.

[lettersfromaphrodite]

«flames to dust.»

― pairing : Chris x fem! reader ― content warnings : soulmates au, angst with a happy ending, magic au, medieval settings, implied smut, pay attention to Seungmin and Hyunjin's dynamics, locations and sceneries are inspired from Black Desert Online as always, a few LOTR quotes here and there because of reasons,⚠️mention of violence, mention of death, character death(s) the main pairing is safe, mentions of blood, mention of the skinning tattoo technique, mention of violence, choking (sadly, not in the kinky way!!!)⚠️ ― word count : 43k ― notes : she's back. she's longer. she's a one shot // special thank you to my girlies @stressedfranya and @helav98, this fic wouldn't have existed if not for your support and our continuous brainstorming // Lea's character is inspired from my lovely and beloved @minbiny, aka my wonderful soulmate.

― notes : take a look at the deities! Karanda - Goddess of Air // Garmoth - God of Fire // Vell - God of Water // Offin - Goddess of Earth // Kzarka - God of Rot and Corruption // credits for the deities amazing gifsets and pics: @unikornu

― summary :

The only certainty you had, was that you were running out of time. As fate repeated itself and the pressure of being responsible for the fate of countless people had been placed on your shoulders, would you allow yourself to love and to be loved in return?

PREQUEL 🔮 : «do you believe in fate?»

PROLOGUE

The “Cursed Castle” stood tall at the world’s end: made of lava stone and golden amber, its menacing appearance was enough to make people fear everything about who lived in it and within its increasing territories. Moreover, dark and thick clouds were constantly hovering above the Castle’s territories – almost shielding it from the light of the Sun, therefore making it impossible for even the faintest ray of sunlight to reach over those numerous layers of darkness.

The fallen King had once been a good, adventurous and magnanimous man; as a child of Fire, he had the pleasure to meet both Garmoth – the God of Fire, and his soulmate – a child of Air. Actually, some even said that the King had lived a life full of love, showering both his wife and their daughter with affection, until that love that once filled his everyday routine had been abruptly taken away from him without any notice.

From the moment his wife had passed away because of a strange and incurable illness, the King had gradually withered from the path filled with joy and love he had always walked on, just to venture himself in a mysterious and darker path. Slowly, a mysterious menacing power took hold of both his heart and soul, mutating his elemental powers and therefore, changing the appearance of his once bright red eye – now reduced to a black, void and emotionless orb. Within the years, the sadness of losing his soulmate had turned into an obsession, and with the only goal to tear apart the four Gods one by one, the King started to gather children of Nature under his dominion, succeeding in tainting their conscience and changing the nature of their powers as well. With the help of his seven long-time friends – eventually called the “Seven Generals of the Underworld”, the King had managed to keep the world in check and constantly on the verge of war, becoming a different but bigger threat than the Serendia Shrine ever was.

To the Gods, it was impossible to understand how a single man had managed to generate to create such a dark power completely by himself; no matter how deep their sorrow was, humans were not supposed to generate a brand new kind of magic, let alone corrupt people – almost hypnotizing them, to join their army. At some point, the Gods suspected for their nemesis – the God of Corruption, to have arisen once again, even if the possibilities were highly improbable. Before the world as it was known took shape, an otherworldly battle had taken place – modelling the sea, mountains and the sky into a different shape than the one people were used to see; many Gods fell trying to defeat Kzarka, and only four of them managed to survive, sealing him away with extreme fatigue. Therefore, the four Gods started to suspect that the fallen King had managed to found something he was not supposed to, something related to the battle against the God of Corruption, something that could dangerously increase his natural power while feeding on his desire of revenge.

As for you, the fallen King was probably the man you loved the most. Even if you were constantly trying to ignore the fact that the more time went by, the more he lost his self and his memories to darkness, the faint hope of managing to save both him and your cherished uncles kept burning in your heart, a faint hope that would have soon flared up.

As dejecting as it was, however, you spent years silently watching your father losing his memories the more his power increased, to the point that sometimes he couldn’t recognize you – his own daughter, as well. «I know your face…» he would mumble, lost in thoughts, as his narrowed eyes scrutinised your features; he’d mumble your name few seconds later, a kind and fond smile suddenly growing on his lips and an identical one growing on yours, accompanied by the faint trace of tears forming in your eyes and sorrow enveloping your heart in a tight hold. Although you were a child of Fire, everyone had told you that your resemblance with your mother was uncanny and therefore, sometimes, you wondered if your father had forgotten about your mother as well.

The heels of your leather boot clicked against the marble floor in a rhythmic way, as you were making your way towards a familiar figure standing against the railway of one of the Castle’s wide balconies; you  politely greeted him, and he gently tilted his head towards you in a hint of a bow.

«Uncle Seonghwa,» you gently spoke, breaking the temporary and comfortable silence, «could you tell me something about mom and dad, please?» you asked him, as the memories of your parents slowly seemed to be held hostage by a threatening fog, almost preventing you from remembering what you wanted to.

«They loved each other a lot,» Seonghwa answered with a sad smile, «your mother had always been an excellent fighter, she would be proud of you.» he added, and you nodded briefly, a small smile adorning your lips. After that, Seonghwa told you about the adventures he lived with your parents, and you closed your eyes while listening to his words, trying to imagine everything as best as you could.  

Unbeknownst to the two of you, someone else was leaning against the doorframe, hiding from your sight; his head was slightly tilted, and his gaze was unfocused, as if he was suddenly remembering everything his long-time friend was telling you.

Someone, no one but the fallen King – Kim Hongjoong.

CHAPTER I

«Wake up, sleepy head,» you acknowledged Wooyoung’s gentle voice with a groan as you shifted in bed, covering your head with the blanket, reluctant to wake up.

«Five more minutes... What time is it?» you mumbled tiredly with your eyes tightly closed, as you felt the bed dip under Wooyoung’s weight.

«It’s hard to tell,» Wooyoung replied, gently removing the blanket from your head as he glanced out of the window; it was almost impossible to keep track of time due to the fact that a thick layer of clouds was constantly preventing anyone from glancing at the sun, «according to Yeosang’s watch, it should be seven in the morning.»

«What in the world do we need to do at seven in the morning?!» you questioned him, rubbing your eyes in the vain attempt to wake up faster.  Something in the smile erupting on Wooyoung’s lips was definitely tense, but you were still too asleep to notice that something was different; Wooyoung simply answered that the two of you needed to go shopping, because according to him, you absolutely needed new clothes. 

«It’s like talking with your mom all over again,» he replied with a brief giggle as you tried to convince him that the clothes you already owned were more than enough, «hurry up, or I’ll call Jongho.» he eventually said, and as if he spoke some magic words, you immediately sat up in bed, ready to wash up and get dressed, despite your prior complains; being woken up by Jongho meant the whole mattress being flipped – with you still on it, towards the ground as soon as you said you didn’t want to wake up. Of course, Jongho would still be careful and help you up, but for you it had become an unconditional reflex: as soon as you heard either his name or his voice first thing in the morning, any trace of sleep seemed to vanish from your soul in the blink of an eye.

«Hongjoong wants you to have this,» Wooyoung added, placing a velvet box on your bedside table, before walking out of your bedroom.

Both being incredibly curious and both hoping that you father had returned to his old self, you reached out as soon as the wooden door closed behind Wooyoung’s shoulders, and getting a little more comfortable on the bed, you hesitantly opened the small box. A silver earring laid alone on top of a small cushion made of black silk, it was nothing too precious, but it still managed to make your heart swell; a small feather carved in silver hung from a small circle, and you immediately realized that it was the feather attached to the necklace that your mother used to wear everyday, as if it was her second skin. 

Although you were incredibly happy about the present, a doubt immediately formed in your heart: since your mother had passed away, Hongjoong had always worn her necklace, so, why was he suddenly gifting it to you? A whirlwind of questions started to form in your head as you washed up and got ready for your date with Wooyoung, and as you headed out of your room, the earring was safely dangling from your left ear.

-

The citadel extended around the Castle for a few miles, and it had nothing to envy to other cities, not even to the Capital. The marketplace was vast, and – although the dubious morality the people living within the kingdom’s territories had, they were always cheerful and lively. Hongjoong had managed to corrupt an almost unquantifiable number of children of Nature, but even so, not everyone following his lead was corrupted, nor could use elemental magic: those who were organizing the market – or the ones taking care of the commercial matters, were almost always their uncorrupted partners.

It was not uncommon for a husband which couldn’t use elemental magic to follow his wife just because he was worried for her, and vice versa; eventually, those people accepted their fate, and tried to understand the purpose behind Hongjoong’s wicked plans, tying to convince themselves that it was for their own good as well.

Hongjoong’s kingdom stood in a strategic position: dangerous and steep mountains stretched around the citadel to the east, south and west, while a part of dense woodland extended to the north; mighty rivers naturally moulded through the mountains and passed through part of the undisturbed woods. Therefore, not only was the kingdom almost completely impregnable, but it didn’t need any kind of external trade: Hongjoong’s kingdom was completely self-sufficient, and in continuous expansion. Over the years, even clothings had changed significantly: dark colours were the only thing people wore, and leather details or harnesses were used in the most various combinations, whether for aesthetic purposes or strategic ones – it wasn’t rare for daggers to be attached to someone’s thigh. This different and singular fashion became extremely characteristic, to the point that anyone could easily notice when inhabitants of the cursed kingdom ventured into foreign lands.

For the whole morning, Wooyoung seemed a man on a mission: not only he managed to buy a huge quantitative of clothes, but he managed to buy clothes which definitely did not seem to belong to the general aesthetic everyone used to wear. As the two of you were carefully making space in your wardrobe for the things you bought, it didn’t go unnoticed how Wooyoung almost seemed to wanting to hide them into the left corner of the wooden structure; whether you had any doubts about his behaviour, you decided to keep quiet.

Honestly, recently you had noticed a slight change in Seonghwa’s, Wooyoung’s and San’s behaviour; they’d glance worriedly ad each other every now and then, or entertain what seemed a dramatic argument just to immediately change their behaviour as soon as you approached them, clearly tying not to worry you. Although you tried to question them few times, you decided to eventually drop the subject, since it was clear that no one was going to tell you anything about what they were worried about. 

«I can’t believe I still look so good,» Wooyoung spoke all of a sudden, catching his reflection of the mirror next to the two of you; instinctively, you scoffed while hiding an amused smile.  Time passed extremely slowly, and life expectancy was extremely long, especially for children of Nature. It wasn’t rare to meet people few centuries old; unless one’s life ended by illness or battles, people aged extremely slowly. However, you had to admit that what was happening to Hongjoong and the others was definitely not normal: twenty four years had passed since the day you were born, and nothing had changed in their appearance. Eventually, you convinced yourself that it was yet another consequence of the darkness corrupting their hearts; but still, you silently questioned why it didn’t have any effect on you. 

«Stop being so surprised,» you joked, «I bet San makes sure to tell you at least twice a day.» as you sat on your bed once again, you saw a confident smile appearing on Wooyoung’s lips, who was still looking at himself in the mirror. 

«At any chance he gets, actually.» he clarified, talking about his beloved husband, and you shook your head; you had to admit, it was refreshing to see them being so in love despite everything happening around you, and once again, you couldn’t help but wonder whether they would one day forget about each other, just like what was happening to your father.

A sudden knock on the door caught your attention, and the door slightly opened only for Mingi to partially lean into the room; there had been a day where Mingi cherished for you and showered you with affection just like how Wooyoung, San and Seonghwa were still doing, but sadly, those days were long gone. Mingi had been one of the first ones to be completely corrupted by Hongjoong’s power, and therefore, his behaviour towards you was strictly formal, going from teaching you how to fight without tripping on your feet, to talking to you only if needed.

«Hongjoong summoned us for a meeting.» he simply said, before quickly closing the door, as if he had never been there in the first place.  Still, your heart started to race; you didn’t know what to expect, especially because anytime your father wanted to have a meeting, it was never because he wanted to deliver good news.

Usually, Hongjoong called a meeting just to set up an efficient organization for an upcoming war, which you desperately wanted to prevent, but you didn’t have nor the power, nor the authority to oppose his ideas. 

-

«Yeosang has incredibly good news.» Hongjoong spoke with a satisfied grin, as the nine of you were standing in front of him, who was comfortably sitting on his throne.

Compared to the extravagant and precious furnishings of the Castle, the throne room was large, and almost completely bare of furniture; above three steps was Hongjoong’s throne, made of black obsidian, and four tall, wide marble columns stood around the room. Sometimes, you had the sensation that the room almost seemed too humble to be the silent witness of such atrocious plans and confessions. However, within the throne room was the real treasure of the cursed kingdom, a treasure of immeasurable value; two precious stones of mysterious nature – probably otherworldly, were set against the wall above Hongjoong’s throne. Red as rubies, they shone with a mysterious and frightening light, a light which seemed to become increasingly brighter as Hongjoong’s power steadily grew.

«According to my researches, some people managed to summon the Gods, without being summoned by them and of course, without dying.» Yeosang spoke, and you listened to him, fearing for the worst; you were aware about the fact that beside your parents, Seonghwa and Jongho had met their godly parent as well, but, listening to Yeosang’s words, between summoning a God out of your own will and meeting one because they decided to give you a second chance at life, there was a huge and extremely dangerous difference. 

Hongjoong’s plan could be easily guessed: summon the Gods one by one, challenge them and defeat them, whatever it took. The possibility of losing not only your parents but the others as well was starting to make you feel like you were suffocating.

«However, there seem to be no traces of the summoning rituals,» Yeosang added, and you felt like breathing again, «so I’m trying to track those people down: some of them must be still alive.» 

«Isn’t it dangerous?» you quietly asked, before feeling both Seonghwa’s and San’s elbows nudging against yours, in a rushed silent warning to not speak any further. Hongjoong tilted his head towards you in a polite yet tense smile, and your gaze naturally locked on the floor. 

«Princess, my beloved daughter,» he addressed you with a tense voice, «I think you should be happy, for we are one step closer to get our seeked revenge.» he added, and you were completely aware about the fact that you were testing your luck, but you couldn’t follow the silent hint of keeping your mouth shut; after all, children of Fire were known for acting on their instinct, for better or for worse. 

«You want to summon a God just to defeat them, but what if you end up being defeated?» “what if I lose you as well?” you mentally added, but your torn emotions reached blind ears; a thin layer of black smoke seemed to generate from the crimson stones behind him, before materializing around Hongjoong’s right hand, and you realized that he interpreted your words as a tentative of opposing his authority.

However, before Hongjoong’s rational part could even realize the fact that darkness had completely clouded his soul and he was about to attack you with his magic, a thick layer of black and moving sand materialized in front of you, momentarily startling you.

«Hongjoong, calm down.�� Jongho quietly spoke, his right hand barely lifted in the air to keep his spell alive, and Hongjoong’s unforgiving eyes locked with his friend’s neutral gaze. 

«Go.» Seonghwa told you barely above a whisper, and you took the chance to excuse yourself and head out of the throne room.  

Accompanied by the darkness of the night, Seonghwa and Wooyoung bursted completely unannounced into your room; the faint lights of the candles in your room immediately underlined the tense frown on their delicate features as Wooyoung carried an empty leather bag along with him, immediately heading towards your closet.

«Come on, Princess, it’s time to pack.» Seonghwa urged, as his friend was carefully placing few change of clothes in the bag he had placed on a nearby chair, doing his best in trying to act calm and composed although everything in his body screamed that he was in a hurry. 

«What? What happened?»  you asked them, dumbfounded, as you immediately walked behind the fancy separé few steps from your bed, in order to dress as fast as you could.

Neither Seonghwa nor Wooyoung answered your question, and you grew increasingly worried: were you in danger? Did a war break out without notice? Were there some intruders in the castle? You fastened a dagger against your thigh, before walking towards Wooyoung, which was done packing. 

«Hongjoong won’t get any better, little one,» Wooyoung explained, running a hand through his black hair out of frustration, «and neither will we.» you couldn’t do anything but look at him with your eyes as wide as the moon, and he gently squeezed your shoulder with an apologetic smile. 

«You do realize that he attacked you because of those stones, right?» Wooyoung questioned, and you nodded without hesitation; of course you had noticed that they were the source of his corruption, after all, he hasn’t been the same since he had found the first one when -

«San is waiting for you, he’ll lead you through the forest.» Seonghwa added, interrupting your thoughts; they both hugged you as tightly as they could, gently kissing your hairline before letting you go. Your emotions were a confused whirlwind of feelings, and you couldn’t pinpoint which one was prevailing; what were you going to do? Why were they sending you away? Would you see them again?

Seonghwa walked back into your bedroom few moments after you were gone, just to find Wooyoung sitting on your bed, his hands on his lap and his gaze locked on them as if they were the most interesting sight in the world.

«I think she has all the rights to know the truth.» Seonghwa mumbled, and Wooyoung simply hummed. «She will,» Wooyoung eventually answered, although his voice was uncertain, «we will find a way to tell her, I promise.» Seonghwa sighed, his footstep leading him to sit next to his long-time friend, «Do you think Changbin will help her?» «Technically, he owes us his life,» Wooyoung immediately answered, hinting to what happened many years earlier at the Serendia Shrine, «but we’re his enemies, now, so…» he drifted off, his words dying on the tip of his tongue, before turning his head towards Seonghwa and completely changing the topic, «How’s it going for you?»

Seonghwa answered with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, while lifting his left hand in mid air and generating a small sphere of water, gesture which made Wooyoung immediately sigh in deject; Seonghwa’s eyes – once turning a bright shade of blue anytime he used magic, were now a threatening shade of black, and the water generating in his hand was as dark as the deepest point of the sea. Seonghwa was about to lose himself to darkness, Wooyoung realized, and without you constantly being around them, it would have probably happened for both him and San as well, sooner than they had originally planned.

San has been guiding you through the forest, paying meticulous attention not to leave any kind of trace behind the two of you; he knew that him, Wooyoung and Seonghwa couldn’t hide the fact that you had escaped for long, but he was determined to buy you as more time as he could. Sometimes, he had to admit that the fact he had been working as an assassin for years definitely came in hand: thanks to his lead, the both of you moved as silent shadows, favored by the natural hiding place provided by the trees.

«This is as far as I can go,» San gently spoke as he spotted your horse behind an oak tree – of course, sent there as a farewell present from Jongho, «Go to Heidel, look for Changbin.» 

«Why are you sending me away, did I do something wrong?» you asked, tears suddenly forming in your eyes and panic tightly gripping your heart as you realized that you were about to leave for real; San’s eyes softened, and he immediately reached out to wrap his arms around you in a comforting hug. 

«Of course you didn’t, you could never.» he honestly answered, and you felt your throat burn with the desire to stop yourself from trying not to cry. 

«What do I do now?» you questioned, with a shaky voice, «I’ve always been with you.» you added, gripping on his cape.

«Keeping yourself out of trouble could be an excellent start, Princess.» even though you could hear a smile in San’s voice, you understood he was reluctant to let you go by the firm hold he still had on you. Truth be told, deep in your heart, you already knew the reason why they were doing this, but you didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you were about to lose to darkness the people you loved the most. 

Eventually, you reluctantly detached yourself from San’s comforting embrace, and he helped you fix your small luggage on your horse, before helping you up on the saddle as well.

«Will I see you again?» sniffling quietly, you questioned him almost timidly, looking at him as you were tightly holding the reigns with shaky hands.

San gave you a small smile, before placing his right hand on his heart, and faintly reach out towards you, in a gesture Hongjoong and the others were used to do whether someone among them were to leave for a journey. 

“My heart will be with you, wherever you go.” it meant. 

«You will,» San gave you a reassuring smile and you nodded briefly, urging your horse to move forward; he narrowed his eyes, and refused to move until he couldn’t see your shape completely engrossed by the darkness of the night, «will you?» he whispered his question in the void of the night, before making his way back towards the Castle.

The sensation of sunlight on your skin was something you haven’t been feeling in years, and the fact that you couldn’t share this experience with the people you loved was extremely dejecting.

Traveling on your own not only was exhausting, but it was definitely not a pleasant experience; first of all, you had no one to talk to – beside your horse but sadly she couldn’t answer to your rambling, and most importantly, you had to constantly force yourself not to fall asleep anytime you stopped for the night. It definitely wasn’t rare for you to tie the reigns of your horse to a tree and then climb on one of its largest branches just to take a quick nap, and anytime you woke up you were a little more stressed than you were before falling asleep. Accordingly to the map that Wooyoung sneaked in your bag when he was packing your luggage – along to a huge quantity of gold, Heidel was still very far away from were you were; the city was at least two weeks of constant travel from the Cursed Kingdom, and you were determined to reach Changbin’s house as soon as you could, but you couldn’t mistreat your horse.

One week had passed, and you wondered if Hongjoong found out that you had ran away, and how he consequentially reacted; chewing on a small ratio of bread, you scoffed at the naivety of your own thoughts. “He probably forgot about me,” you thought instinctively, your fingertips blindly reaching for your earring while gently moving and twisting the silver feather attached to the small loop; “I wonder if there’s a way to destroy those stones.” you sighed, your thoughts running wild as you were enjoying your lunch while sitting next to a small river.

The fact that you were tired led you to naturally commit a huge mistake; being lost in your thoughts with your shoulders facing the woods meant that you definitely didn’t realize someone sneaking up on you, until a short blade was pressed against your throat.

«I wonder what someone from the cursed kingdom is doing around here.» a boy spat with a harsh tone; judging by his voice, he seemed to be around your age, and a thick accent was accentuating any word he spoke.

Carefully balancing what was remaining of your small loaf of bread between your teeth, you immediately reached out to wrap your hand around the stranger’s bare forearm: your eyes became bright red as you used your powers, burning his skin so that he was forced to either move away or give up his hold on the dagger. However, the stranger proven out to be a little more reckless than you originally planned, because he did let you go, but with a quick movement of his other hand, he had vigorously pushed against your shoulder, consequentially making your back unceremoniously hit the soft grass.

«Were you raised by barbarians?!» you instinctively spat, annoyed with the fact that in the process, the loaf of bread you were eating was now on the floor, «I was eating, you idiot.»

Slightly surprised with the fact that you seemed to be more angry with him interrupting your lunch rather than him threatening to kill you, the stranger momentarily loosened his grip on you, and you took advantage of that faint second in order to quickly counterattack. Long years spent being trained by Hongjoong and the others meant that you were a skilled fighter, even thought no one of them had ever let you go to war. With a quick movement, you managed to roll the two over, so that now you were sitting on his abdomen and tightly holding his wrist, preventing him from using his dagger again.

Something in the stranger’s appearance, however, made you momentarily froze in your place. There was nothing particularly outstanding in his clothes, beside the fact that he seemed to wear a cloak made of fur – which was neatly attached to the fabric on his left shoulder; the boy was undoubtedly handsome, his hair was short and black, and his features were as nice as if they had been sculpted in marble.

However, as if a spell had been casted on you, you couldn’t drift your gaze from his: not only he had huge scar on his left eye – reaching from mid forehead to the middle of his cheek, but his eyes were mismatched. Instinctively, you swallowed nervously: not only his eyes were the obvious proof that the boy had died and been sent back by his godly parent, but, judging by the bright blue color of his left eye, he was a child of Water.

«I can’t believe my fucking luck.» you muttered to yourself, before tightening your grip on the stranger’s wrists before abruptly letting them go; as quickly as you could, you dashed towards your horse, hastily climbing on the saddle.  

As for the stranger, you had used once again an old trick that Hongjoong had taught you when you were still young: a thick rope made of fire burned bright around his wrists, and as soon as you saw him effortlessly neutralize your spell summoning water, you realized you had to flee.  Fighting with a son of Water meant that you were in obvious disadvantage, especially if fighting near a source of water, but it didn’t mean you could outsmart him, after all, you took alchemy lessons from Yeosang, whose talent was well known and envied in the most important cities; before leaving, you casted a spell on the helm of his dagger, before throwing it towards him, making it purposely land between the two of you. 

As you noticed that his blue eye seemed to shine brighter, you realized that he was silently summoning a spell, and therefore you took advantage of the now enchanted dagger; you threw a small sphere made of fire towards it, and as the ground began to burn, you realized that the steel had completely melted. From there, you could control the direction of the fire as you pleased, and a line of flames was burning in front of the stranger, separating the two of you and allowing you to escape.

-

It was a windy evening when you arrived in Heidel, and although someone glanced at you in a suspicious manner, no one actually had tried to stop you to know your whereabouts; you were walking through the city while gently tugging on the reigns, as your horse followed obediently behind you.   Changbin’s and Lea’s house was in the west side of the city, and since you’ve spent a lot of time with them when you were younger, you recognized it immediately; the more steps you took towards it, the more anxious you felt.  What if they didn’t want to see you?  “There’s only a way to find out.” you took a big breath, before knocking once, twice, three times on the wooden front door.

«I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting anymore people!» you heard Changbin’s muffled voice getting closer, before the door opened just to reveal a very confused Changbin; as if he was struck by lightning, a smile erupted on his lips as recognition danced on his features and mumbled your name, and you nodded with a shy smile.  Changbin invited you in, but before closing the front door behind the two of you, he carefully glanced around the streets, just to be sure that no one had followed you.

«Lix, could you get her horse to my stable?» Changbin gently asked to a boy which had walked out of the kitchen as the two of you were approaching, but you didn’t pay much attention to him, since you were too focused on trying to recognize the voice coming from the room Changbin was leading you to.

«I swear, Lea,» the male voice spoke with a thick accent, «she fled, just like that!» you instinctively furrowed your eyebrows, because the voice definitely sounded familiar, and you hoped for your instinct to be proven wrong.  As you stepped into Changbin’s cozy kitchen, Lea immediately let go of the fabric rag she was using to clean the wooden counter of the kitchen, just to come and greet you with a warm hug, but your eyes widened as soon as your gaze met the boy comfortably sitting on a wooden chair, with his arm placed on the table. «Hello, fireball,» the boy spoke with a smug smile, the light of the fireplace dancing in his bright blue eye, «what a coincidence, I was talking about you, just now.»

«I can’t believe my fucking luck.» you muttered to yourself, letting go of the leather handles of your bag, letting it falling on the floor, as you returned Lea’s warm embrace.

CHAPTER II

«I have never done such things!» you hastily denied, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, ignoring every single rule of etiquette which imposed you not to speak with your mouth full of food; your gaze briefly met Chris’ – the child of Water you had recently met, and it didn’t take a particular wild guess to acknowledge the fact he was listening to everything Lea was saying just to have many more things to tease you with. Lea, however, was looking at you with a beaming and fond smile, recognizing the fact that you did remember, and proceeded with talking about every interesting anecdotes about your childhood she could remember.

«One time, Changbin let her hit him with one of the fake swords they used, and actually pretended to be hurt and well, she started crying! Ah, she was so cute back then.» «Am I not anymore?» you immediately questioned arching your bow, and Lea immediately shook her head. «Of course you are, you look exactly like your mother – speaking of which, have you already been to Velia?»   Although Lea’s question was harmless, for some reason, it was enough for the appetite you had felt to completely vanish; you shook your head, simply answering that you were going to, within the following days.

«Velia? The port city?» Chris curiously questioned, and you wordlessly nodded; acknowledging your silence, Changbin briefly explained that Velia is where you used to live as a child, before eventually, your mother died and Hongjoong and the others left, taking you with them.

«Well, I didn’t know this part of the story.» Chris mumbled to himself, and the boy sitting next to him – Felix, sighed heavily. «There would be an infinite things you’d know if you weren’t so quick on jumping to conclusion.» Felix spoke, and Chris simply shrugged, agreeing with him.

From what you learnt in the two weeks you had spent at Changbin’s and Lea’s house, both Chris and Felix came from Ilya Island, which was few days away from Velia. Apparently, they had come both to visit Changbin – an old time friend, and both to assure the Capital that the Island would have helped in case the Cursed Kingdom decided to declare war. Moreover, if you weren’t surprised about Felix being the Prince of Ilya Island – not only everything in his behaviour seemed to scream “royalty” but also the golden and thin tiara he  always wore actually resembled some sort of crown, you were definitely surprised to learn that Chris was not only the head of their Kingdom’s whole army, but also Felix’s most trusted counsellor. How did a boy so annoying and reckless manage to get such an important title, was a mystery to you.

«Oi, fireball, I was meaning to ask-» «Don’t call me that,» you immediately cut Chris’ sentence, definitely not liking how his full and plump lips framed a perfect smile. «Okay, sweetheart,» he corrected himself, pronouncing the new nickname almost in a rivalry tone, «how did you control two elements at once?»

It took you few seconds to remember what he was actually talking about, but in the moment you did, your face seemed to brighten up with pride; you placed the small chalice you were drinking from back on the table, before lifting your right hand in mid-air, slightly moving it around.

«I actually can’t, I am a child of Fire,» you clarified, «Yeosang came up with this. There are few alchemy symbols embroided inside it, which allow us to use alchemy however and whenever we want, without the processing part.» you explained, as the others’ gaze was fixed on the fingerless glove hugging your hand as if it was a second skin. Although the fabric looked like leather, the consistency was far from it; unlike leather, the fabric was more elastic, flexible and waterproof, and – most importantly, it did not hinder any movement of your hand. «What symbols?» Felix asked with fake nonchalance, and you instinctively scoffed. “As if I would tell you,” you thought. «As if I knew,» you answered instead, «Yeosang came up with them.» «He created them?» Chris questioned; everyone was aware about Yeosang’s brilliance when it came to alchemy, but said stories always came from people which had been defeated by one of his inventions, reason why hearing what he was capable of from one of his friends and not one of his foes was actually even more fascinating. «He also managed to hid them, so that if we ever get defeated, no one would find out.» you added, lying about not knowing which symbols he had used.

Ever since Yeosang had successfully refined the new weapon, he had insisted for you and the others to carefully learn which symbols he had meticulously created. «So you won’t come running to me if you need a new one.» Yeosang had simply explained back then, although he was pretty clear that the fingerless gloves he had created were a very precious gift meant only for the nine of you.

«That doesn’t surprise me.» Changbin chimed in, before he eventually start rambling random praises about how Yeosang, Yunho and Mingi managed to help him building his house basically almost using alchemy alone, and it was a shame that they ended up becoming a public enemy. However, that was where you stopped listening.

Although you had spent two weeks showered with actual affection and not feeling like an outcast that had run away from the Cursed Kingdom, you started to miss home; what started as an almost imperceptible sensation, like a gentle movement of a butterfly’s wings, suddenly evolved into a pang in your heart. Were you allowed to spend your days like this? After all, you had witnessed first-hand the people you loved losing themselves to darkness; how long that vain and fragile lie would last, you wondered, realizing that you have been hiding yourself behind a small lie shaped into a thin curtain separating you from what you knew you were supposed to do? When the moon was shining high and lonely in the sky, you had the sensation of your thoughts gradually being cleared; you wanted – you needed, to find a way to help Hongjoong and the others, but how?

For sure, you couldn’t ask Changbin’s help and risking to put him in such an unquantifiable danger; it was as if it was you, and the whole world standing mysteriously against you – who was, moreover, running out of time.

The following morning, you barely finished breakfast before announcing you were going to visit your mother’s tombstone.

«Don’t talk to strangers,» Lea spoke, closing your cape a little tighter around your frame «your clothes still stand out so much…» she faintly mumbled, and you smiled sadly at her; even though you knew that keeping the clothes you and Wooyoung bought in the Cursed Kingdom were still too characteristic and unique, you didn’t want to give up on your identity, yet.   «I will be home before dinner.» you answered, before climbing on your horse and urging her to move on the path to Velia, which luckily, wasn’t too far from Heidel; as you shielded your eyes from the rising sun, you smiled to yourself, remembering Chris’ utterly offended expression seeing you waving goodbye to everyone except him.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Chris were the only one who remained on the porch, watching as your retreating figure seemed to vanish into the sun; Lea and Changbin had quickly went back to their busy daily routine.

«Please, don’t,» Felix sighed, almost as if he could hear the train of thoughts of his long-time friend, «we’re supposed to go to the Capital and sign some boring alliance documents today.» Chris nodded wordlessly, but Felix realized he was definitely not listening to a word he had said. «Let’s keep an eye on her first.» Chris spoke few seconds later, before storming back inside the house and lively calling for Lea, asking if she had some tasks for them at Velia. «Take a deep breath, Lix,» the Prince said to himself, «and try not to whoop his ass with some nettle branches.»

Everything seemed so incredibly wrong and disconnected at the Harpies’ Ridge, Karanda noticed. Although the harpies had been restlessly working in order to rebuild everything Hongjoong had destroyed years earlier, it was as if her Kingdom was just not the same. Harpies were now almost reluctant and afraid to be reborn into a human form, since they didn’t want to risk being corrupted and absorbed into the Cursed Kingdom, joining Hongjoong’s army just like any other pawn. This had been the main reason why, during the last ten years, only two children of Air were born into the human world, harpies that had willingly reincarnated themselves in the vain hope to be helpful to Karanda in some sort of way. Even so, Karanda still decided to delete their memories from their past life, wanting them to enjoy the brevity and fleeting emotions of their human existence.

Karanda suddenly shrieked, and the sky seemed to tremble adjusting to her restless soul; few seconds later, answering to her call, a harpy graciously landed in front of her throne, immediately kneeling in a sign of utter respect towards her Queen.

«We have been fighting together for a long time, my friend,» she spoke, as a gracious smile erupted on her otherworldly features, «however, I’m afraid I have to ask you for a favour that only you can do.» furrowing her delicate brows, the harpy dared to look at her Queen, asking her to explain herself.

«As you know, everything that happens within the Cursed Kingdom’s territories is beyond my sight; however, I can see Hongjoong’s daughter now, meaning that she isn’t roaming the cursed lands, anymore. My foresight is not absolute, but I can see that she will soon start walking towards her fate, and I need you to keep an eye on her.» «You want me to… spy on her?» the harpy questioned with a doubtful shriek, and Karanda briefly nodded. «I want you to earn her trust, find any sort of useful information you can find, and protect her – as much as you can.» Karanda added; as the harpy was about to question her what was supposed to be difficult in this task, the Goddess spoke again, letting the question dying in her throat, «I want you to descend into the human world as a boy.»  

Karanda saw the harpy’s shoulders fell, before she eventually sat on the ground in deject; «Why can’t I do it while being a girl? Don’t we hate men? Am I supposed to hate myself all the time, Karanda?» the harpy rambled with the intimacy that only a friend could muster.

Karanda patiently listened to her, smiling at some of her weird questions, and the harpy momentarily smiled; although she had been serving Karanda since centuries – purposely choosing to never reincarnate into her human form, she had never seen the Queen look so tense over something related to the human world, that’s why even a small smile made her feel slightly better.

«Do I have to pee like a boy as well?» she whispered yet another question, her eyes as wide as the moon as her clawed fingers hovered above her lips, and Karanda nodded. «You will only keep your memories.» the Queen spoke, avoiding her question. «I will only keep my memories…» the harpy echoed, before falling silent for few minutes; «Fine, but I’ll better be handsome.»

Karanda thanked her, before she effortlessly tore a feather from her forearm, blowing a small whiff of air into the palm of her hand; the feather seemed to dance in the wind as it surpassed the Queen’s clawed fingers, and as soon as it touched the harpy’s forehead, a white and almost blinding light enveloped her completely. It lasted as a quick blink of an eye, and standing in front of Karanda, now was a young boy with perfect features. He was tall, he had long and slim legs and his arms looked strong; his hair was as black as coal and it reached his shoulders, and his eyes were both as black as a starless night.

«Hyunjin,» Karanda spoke, «this will be your name for your human life.» «Am I handsome?» Hyunjin spoke immediately, instinctively touching his face, pleased to feel that his nose seemed to be just the perfect size. «You are.» Karanda answered, amused. «Better than Garmoth?» Hyunjin suddenly teased, enjoying how the Queen suddenly seemed to be taken back by the sudden question, «Ah, I guess not.» Hyunjin added with a pout, not giving Karanda enough time to answer him, for he said goodbye and started walking away. After all, he was a man on a mission, now; he had to find Hongjoong’s daughter and do who knows what, right?  

«Hyunjin, one more thing,» Karanda spoke, and the boy stopped, tilting his head to the side, signalling he was listening, «don’t meddle yourself with human affairs too much, for you are not one of them.» with a court nod, Hyunjin started walking again, waving goodbye without turning back.

In complete truth, you suspected you would have never made it home before dinner, since the Sun signalled it was way past mid-day and you still had to made it to Velia; as much as you hated to break a promise, you had to admit that you wouldn’t have been late if only you weren’t being followed. What was only a brief suspicion probably dictated by paranoia had met a sad confirmation few hours after you decided to carefully hide your horse – taking your weapons with you and leave the small bag attached to her side empty, before climbing on a nearby oak tree. Safely hidden by its branches, you safened the two daggers you used to fight to the harnesses on your thighs, and waited.

Now, you knew you probably looked dumb for spending hours crouched on a branch, but San had always taught you to follow your survival instinct, and you had always believed that there was a reason if that was the first thing he – a former assassin, had decided to teach you. However, the more time passed, the more you deduced you really were a fool, and no one was following you; you were about to climb down from your hiding place, when a voice made you freeze in your place.

«Have you ever thought about it? The King’s daughter is basically all alone, now.» immediately, you glanced below the branch you were standing on, faintly noticing two people stopping right underneath it. «Poor thing, I guess she must be scared now.» the other man retorted, and a relieved smile erupted on your lips, since you could recognize those uniforms anywhere and everywhere; but what were soldiers from the Cursed Kingdom doing in the outskirt of a small port town?

Completely aware about the fact that no one was allowed to roam outside of the Kingdom’s territories without Hongjoong’s order, you decided not to trust the initial instinct, which had suggested you to ask them for any kind of help. For all you knew, they could be the ones following you. Not really wanting them to see you since they had stopped under the tree in order to shield themselves from the Sun, you climbed a little higher, carefully analysing the situation: there were only two of them, and from what you could see, they didn’t seem to be heavily armed. If you were lucky enough, you could use surprise effect to kill one of them, and then directly fight the other.

Tightly gripping the helm of your dagger in your left hand, you adjusted your position on the branch, ready to jump and land on one of the soldier’s shoulders, when you felt yourself being snatched back; as a hand on your mouth prevented you from screaming, your shoulders landed against someone’s firm chest, and soft fur gently tickled your left cheek.

«It’s okay, it’s me and Lix.» Chris’ voice mumbled against your ear, and you nodded, silently implying that you weren’t going to scream, and that he could let go; however, he only moved the hand from your mouth in order to place it on your waist.

As you were about to move it away, Chris quickly manoeuvred the two of you so that he was crouching down with his back against the oak tree, and you were safely nestled in his hold. “Safely”, you thought, “what in the world am I even thinking?” As you quickly fastened your dagger against your thigh once again, you noticed a large amount of branches suddenly silently grow out of nowhere, further hiding your presence whether the soldiers decided to look up; instinctively, you glanced at Felix, which simply gave you a small and gentle smile. Felix stood on the branch right next to yours, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his left shoulder leaning against the tree; for the whole time the branches were growing, his eyes had turned a bright shade of green, meaning that he was a child of Earth. For some reason, it didn’t surprise you.

«We found her horse! She must not be far from here!» someone said, and suddenly, your attention was once again completely focused on the soldiers beneath you; judging by the voices, there were at least five more of them. Chris and Felix shared a brief and worried glance behind your shoulders, but your attention didn’t waver from what was happening right below you. «There’s an excellent bounty on her head, now that Hongjoong has banished the Princess.» you heard one of them add, and instinctively you started to tremble.

Not only Hongjoong had made it clear that he had forgotten about you, he also made it clear that he didn’t want you back – at least not alive; you were considered just as any other traitor. Instinctively, you covered your mouth with the back of your hand, praying to yourself not to start to cry now, since it would have been highly unfortunate; feeling your distress, Chris’ arms held your waist a little gentler, placing his chin on your left shoulder.

«We’ll make it home.» he whispered, and you had to take a deep breath in order not to let out a broken sob.

“Home”, Chris said; too bad, you didn’t have one, not anymore.

-

«Need a ride?» Chris questioned you, comfortably sitting on the saddle of his horse, Felix silently riding next to him. Even though the soldiers had left few minutes later unknowingly announcing you that you were banished, the three of you had waited few more hours before eventually, climbing down the oak tree and walking to where Felix had carefully hid his and Chris’ horses with a simple spell. Dinner time was long gone, for the moon was now shining in the sky, and you wondered how Changbin and Lea must have been worrying for the three of you. «No, I’m fine.» you answered, walking as fast as you could just to keep up with the horse’s slow pace.

Although you heard Chris scoffing as a silent answer, you didn’t expect him to act up; it only took few seconds to him to lean down, quickly placing his hands under your armpits and hoist you up on the saddle of his horse, making you sitting sideways in front of him. «Really, Chris?» you questioned, immediately trying to climb back down but noticing that his arms didn’t waver the slightest. «We’ll be home sooner like this.» Felix chimed in, and you silently wondered why you didn’t find his accent annoying – which was your main though anytime Chris was opening his mouth. «Why couldn’t I ride with you?» you questioned him, and Felix shrugged, simply answering that Chris and his horse were closer to you than he was.

Of course, Changbin and Lea were worried; they were waiting right outside the front door, hoping that nothing had happened; they immediately guided the three of you to the kitchen, giving you at least something to eat, despite it was already late at night. Changbin studied your features with alarmed eyes as soon as you referred them that you were banished from your Kingdom, and the more you spoke, the more you realized that staying there meant putting everyone else in danger.

«We received this, this afternoon,» Changbin spoke once you had finished speaking; he placed a paper envelope on the table, and you immediately glanced at the familiar sealing wax stamp, «it was both cute and creepy, you know? A crow bursted into my office through the window, leaving the envelope on my desk, and flying away without sparing me a glance.» he added, and you immediately reached out, effortlessly breaking the wax and opening the letter.

“The Gobbling’s Tavern, Wednesday, at midnight. Ask for an umbrella. W.”

Although you would have been able to recognize that handwriting among a thousand, it was the request you should have made that remove all the trace of doubts; Wooyoung had the habit of combining his and San’s name together, saying that the result meant “umbrella”. Therefore, you were certain about the fact that he sent you the letter but, why did he suddenly want to see you?

«It’s tomorrow.» you spoke, deadpanned. «I hope you’re not thinking of going, young lady.» Lea spoke sternly, crossing her arms in front of her chest; even though you explained her that the letter was sent from Wooyoung, her opinion didn’t waver, but neither did yours.

Apparently, Changbin had managed to persuade his wife with the promise that he would have gone with you and of course, Chris and Felix weren’t going to stay home and wait. «Are you sure this is the best thing to do?» Lea questioned Changbin the following afternoon, and he gently kissed her forehead, before climbing on his horse. «We’re four children of Nature, Lea. I’m sure we’ll manage.» he had said, before heading towards Velia followed by you, Chris and Felix; since Changbin didn’t have another horse, you were riding behind Felix, carefully gripping on his slim waist and trying not to fall.

Just as planned, you arrived to Velia just in time; however, as soon as you saw the low cobbled city’s walls, you tensed up. «Relax,» Felix gently spoke, noticing how the grip around his waist had slightly tightened, «if things get bad, we’ll sacrifice Chris and run away.» you sighed a breathless laugh, appreciating how the boy was trying to console you although no one knew what exactly was waiting for you. «What? C’mon mate, why me?» Chris questioned, looking utterly offended. «I wonder what’s gonna happen if you die twice,» Felix murmured, ignoring his friend’s question, «you’d probably get some common sense from Vell.» he added, referring to the God of Water.   «I’m gonna kick you down your horse, Lix.» Chris’ threatened; however, his voice was filled with fondness towards the other boy. It was something you had easily noticed during the time you spent together: Chris and Felix teased each other on a daily basis, but if you were to question the nature of their bond, they’d simply answer that they were like siblings. «If you kick her down as well, you will be meeting Vell sooner than expected.» Changbin added, and for few seconds, the anxiety you were feeling seemed to alleviate just a little.

Next to the port and with an excellent view of the open sea, the Gobbler’s Tavern definitely had a bad reputation; frequented by all kinds of sailors, mercenaries and prostitutes, you spent your short journey wondering why Wooyoung had chosen that place. The first thing you noticed was the predominantly dark environment, some lanterns hanging on the wall dimly lit people’s faces, making them partially unrecognizable thanks to that play of lights. The second thing you noticed was a boy; as he sat on the counter, his features were clearly recognizable, a stark difference from the rest of those in the room. He held a small lyre balanced on one thigh, and as he played it, his voice sang a sweet melody in an unknown language.

Chris’ elbow roughly nudged against yours, and that was your clue to know that probably, you were staring a bit too much; your gaze briefly met his, and he nodded towards a waiter, who was cleaning one of the tables near the counter. “What if it’s a trap?” you suddenly thought as your heart was hammering in your chest in an uneven pace; however, you slowly approached him, knowing that the others were right behind you, even if you didn’t turn around to verify it. «I… I need an umbrella.» you quietly spoke as soon as the man straightened up and asked whether he could help you. Although you felt ridiculous to actually voice that bizarre request, the waiter’s expression immediately changed; he studied your features, as if he was trying to compare you to some description, before his eyes quickly darted behind your shoulders. «Are those men with you?» was his only question; in the moment you nodded, he made a small motion with his head, silently signalling you to follow him. He quickly led you through the back doors, towards one of the room that could eventually be rented for the night; the man stopped in front of a wooden door, knocking once, waiting few seconds and then knocking three times a little quicker. In the moment you heard the door being unlocked, the waiter nodded a silent goodbye at your group, and silently made his way towards the front of the Tavern.

If you had to be honest, what you expected to see inside the room were both Wooyoung and San waiting for you, and probably give you few advices on what to do next. What you did not expect to see was Wooyoung leaning against the wall with a restless expression, his gaze lost in the fireplace burning in front of him. «Wooyoung?» you asked, somehow afraid to interrupt his thoughts; however, as soon as Wooyoung’s eyes met yours, a gentle smile bloomed on his features, and you quickly step forward towards him – ignoring Changbin’s advice to pay attention, in order to throw yourself into Wooyoung’s arms. Wooyoung held you close, as if to verify that you were still alive, that nothing had happened to you, and you hugged him just as tight. «I’m really happy you came.» Wooyoung told you, thanking Changbin for taking care of you and greeting both Chris and Felix.

It took at least half an hour for Changbin, Felix and Chris to partially let their guard down enough to take a seat in the small and cosy room, and it was all thanks to how Wooyoung was behaving towards you.

Although everyone had heard the most various tales about the Seven Generals from the Underworld, in that moment, Wooyoung did not fit any of those descriptions. Instead of a ruthless and cruel man which never hesitated to take a life under his King’s command, stood a boy which was gently smiling at you, analysing your features and questioning how could you have scratched your cheek like that, before questioning Changbin “how can she already be hurt when she has been away for barely three weeks”; the child of Water, eventually, realized that the Wooyoung standing in front of him was just the same he had met years ago and therefore, he decided to trust him. As for Chris and Felix, they were both incredibly wary and both incredibly curious about Wooyoung’s presence; although people from Ilya Island had fought many wars, no one of them had ever engaged a single battle with the Cursed Kingdom and therefore, once again, the opportunity to know the enemy is not something they were willing to pass up.

Over the years, you learned to recognize the most various changes in your uncles behaviour, and you realized that Wooyoung was definitely not doing fine; there were dark circles around his eyes, and – despite his beauty remained untouched, he definitely seemed to have lost weight. It didn’t take a particular wild guess for you to understand that something must have happened to San, and you decided to stop ignoring the elephant in the room; as much as you were enjoying your unexpected rendez-vous, you knew that there was a reason for that meeting.

«How is San?» you quietly asked, and Wooyoung’s smile disappeared in less than a second; he tightly closed his eyes, before taking a deep breath. «He… forgot,» Wooyoung spoke, and your shoulders slouched in deject, «there’s only me left, now.» he added, and you reached out, tightly holding his hand in your trembling ones. The fact that San and Wooyoung had been in love every single day was well engraved in your memories, and you couldn’t bring yourself to even imagine how Wooyoung could feel, to look at your own husband and knowing that he didn’t remember who you are. Of course, you had felt somehow the same thing since Hongjoong started to forget about you, but as similar as the situation seemed, it couldn’t be any more different. «Why did you want to meet her?» Changbin questioned, «Don’t you know that Hongjoong had banished her? There’s a bounty on her head, Wooyoung.» «Hongjoong can no longer recognize a friend from a foe,» Wooyoung immediately retorted, meeting Changbin’s sharp glare with an equal strong gaze, «not even his own kin.» he added, and as he glanced at you, his tone momentarily softened.

Unbeknownst to your small group, another secret yet important meeting was taking place within the tavern’s bedrooms.

A woman with otherworldly features slowly made her way through the corridors, and even though there were no windows and the doors were tightly closed, her clothes seemed to move thanks to a gentle breeze; her hair was as white as snow, neatly braided into a complicated hairstyle, while her skin was as white as porcelain. Her steps carried her towards a room not much distant than the one you and Wooyoung were in, and her left securely hovered above the handle before stepping inside.

«We’re the rulers of the sky,» she said, closing the wooden door behind her shoulders with another flick of her hand, her voice greeting a man which was patiently waiting for her, «and yet, you ask me to meet you in a tavern?»

The man chuckled, slightly turning around, «You can’t say you didn’t miss it, Karanda.»

«For sure, I did not, Garmoth.» she immediately retorted; her dislike towards human was well known to the dragon, which on the other hand, seemed  to be  fascinated by them since humans started to roam around the world.

Garmoth simply chuckled at her words, and Karanda sighed briefly, noticing that once again, nothing had changed on his distant lover’s features; he was tall, and his honey coloured skin empathized the bright red colour of his eyes. His hair was slightly longer, she noticed, untameable dark red strands of hair now reached past his collarbones, and for a moment, she wondered if he liked to braid his hair as he used to, long time ago.

«We’re here because your son couldn’t keep calm.» she spoke, walking towards the balcony and standing next to him, keeping a reasonable distance. «We’re here because your daughter couldn’t stay alive; moreover, you could simply have told Hongjoong the truth.» Garmoth shrugged, and Karanda immediately scoffed, annoyed.

«It’s impossible to be reasonable with a son of Fire.» she immediately spat, hiding her feelings behind a wall of resentment.

«You never had any problems before.» Garmoth turned around, his back pressed against the railing; he tilted his head towards Karanda, but as expected, she dodged the topic, instead voicing her doubt about the God of Corruption being woken up.

«We sealed him away long time ago,» Garmoth shook his head, «but I do believe Hongjoong had found some crumbles of Kzarka’s aura.»

Even though the words Wooyoung were speaking were being pronounced nowhere near the balcony, the words you shared were carried by a gentle breeze towards the room Karanda and Garmoth were patiently staying in, so that they could hear everything as if they were right beside you.

Wooyoung had never stopped talking since he had admitted he wanted to meet you because he owed you an explanation; according to his words, him, San and Seonghwa were firmly convinced that there was something you needed to know, something which maybe, would have made you hate your father a little less.

«I don’t hate him – » you tried to say, but Wooyoung simply shook his head, ignoring you. Apparently, Hongjoong was aware that there was something wrong with your mother’s illness, and it all started since some people from your hometown had found a strange glowing stone, and decided to entrust it to your parents – having both of them met a God once.

«Hongjoong knew he was slowly changing, he often told us how that stone seemed to cloud his senses,» Wooyoung spoke, his gaze meeting both yours and your friends’, «he… was afraid to hurt people, and to hurt you. We all freely decided to follow him, although he kept saying that we needed to go back and take care of you – I know you probably won’t like me saying this, but Hongjoong to us has always been a brother, and a reliable leader. Our love for him had influenced every single one of our choices, including the one to be corrupted in your place.»

«What do you mean?» you mumbled with a trembling voice, even though you weren’t sure your voice could actually be audible to anyone in the room in the first place; you felt like you have been suddenly showered with frozen water in the middle of a snowstorm.

«I mean,» Wooyoung took a breath, caressing your fingers in a vain attempt to console you, «that it wasn’t supposed to end like this; we were supposed to leave Velia, and to find a solution together, but – Hongjoong found another stone in the Castle’s ruins, and… you know the rest.»

Of course, you knew; the moment Hongjoong found the second stone was the day his once bright red eye had turned as black as a starless night.

«What I’m trying to say, is that Hongjoong tried to protect you, in a very messy way, but me and the others promised to tell you, sooner or later.» Wooyoung chuckled without humour, before adding that originally, San was supposed to come with him that night.

«What can we do to help?» Chris spoke, interrupting what seemed a fraction of eternity made of tense silence, and you suddenly remembered that you weren’t alone with Wooyoung, but your friends had decided to come with you as well.

To be honest, you were incredibly curious about his sudden change of heart, since you knew that the only task Chris and Felix had, was to confirm to the Capital that in case of war, they would have fought against Hongjoong without hesitation; you thought that Chris’ question was actually something he didn’t mean, but Felix’s expression confirmed that he wasn’t going to deny his friend’s proposal.

«Yeosang found out that someone managed to summon Garmoth,» Wooyoung explained, «I want you to summon him before Hongjoong does, and do whatever he says.»

«That’s unreasonable!» you spoke a little louder than you meant to, with a trembling voice, «You know what Hongjoong’s goal is; what if he tells me to kill all of you?»

«Then you will do as he says.» Wooyoung gently answered, brushing a strand of hair behind your left ear, shortly caressing the feather earring you always wore.

«I can’t – I don’t – »

«Sunshine,» Wooyoung interrupted your sentence, and you realized that few tears had gathered on the corner of his eyes as well, «we haven’t been alive for a while.»

«She will try to find you,» Karanda commented, «will you help her?» even though her eyes already saw part of their encounter thanks to her innate gift of foresight, she still questioned him.

«Hongjoong’s plans affect the four of us; Vell and Offin had made it clear that they don’t want to meddle with the human world…» even though Garmoth’s resentment towards the other two divinities was probably as deep as the ocean itself, he couldn’t ignore what was happening.

Even though he lost the count of how many years had passed since the Battle of the Dawn of Times – where Kzarka had been sealed away, he couldn’t deny that the possibility of Hongjoong’s power being fuelled by the God of Corruption’s latent aura was something too dangerous to ignore. «I will help her.» Garmoth finally confirmed.

«So,» Karanda sighed, «we’re the only ones remaining.» «We are the only ones remaining.» he echoed her words.

Eventually, few hours after your meeting with Wooyoung had finished, Karanda let Garmoth undress her, and for a night they pretended they were back in the days - millenniums ago, where the most different kind of gods and goddesses crowded the world and they could freely enjoy the beaming joy and tumultuous passions of their love; for a night, they pretended they weren’t two of the last divinities carefully keeping the world into balance.

Whether that night the wind seemed to blow a little gentler, whether that morning the sun seemed to burn even brighter as it rose in the sky, that was for the two of them to know. When the morning came, they kissed each other goodbye; Karanda vanished in a whiff of wind, and Garmoth gently blowed on the remaining traces of a lonely candle, vanishing in the same moment the candle’s flame had died.

Contrary to your expectations, your mother’s tombstone was well cared for, and there were fresh flowers at its feet; although you wondered whether Lea and Changbin were the only ones taking care of it or someone from the village was silently helping them as well, you didn’t bring yourself to voice your question. As the sun was slowly rising in the sky and the village was awakening, you sat in the small cemetery with your gaze unfocused, trying to process everything that Wooyoung had told you few hours earlier as silent tears were streaming on your face.

«Please, mom, what do I have to do?» you murmured, your question engulfed by a sudden gentle breeze, «If you were in my place, you would have known.» you hugged your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, and allowed yourself to cry.

Absorbed in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the sound of grinding gravel under someone’s approaching footsteps, before you felt something being gently draped around your shoulders.

«It gets cold in the morning.» Chris spoke, unsure about how to approach you; judging by the proximity of his voice, he was crouching next to you.

«Children of Fire don’t get cold.» you croaked, slightly lifting your head, «but thanks.» you faintly added, aware that him – along with Changbin and Felix had been patiently waiting for you at the cemetery’s gates.

«Let’s go back, shall we?» although Chris’ question was gentle, you understood the sense of urgency he was somehow trying to hide. You nodded at him, realizing that since there was a bounty on your head, you couldn’t spend your time having a breakdown out in the open for everyone to see; after all, you didn’t even notice Chris approaching you, and that made you an extremely easy target. Chris stood up, offering you his hand, and you took it, sealing a secret and still unknown deal that would have intertwined your destinies for good.

Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin comfortably sat on a branch of one of the cedar trees near the cemetery; his position was relaxed, his right leg was bent on the wood while the left one was dangling from it, as he studied you and your companions, with an unreadable expression.

«Looks like we’re gonna meet sooner than I expected.» he murmured to himself, as you and Chris were quickly walking towards the others.

CHAPTER III

After securing on your shoulders the backpack Wooyoung and Seonghwa gifted you and taking deep breath, you opened the window and swoon your leg over the railing of the small balcony attached to your room. Escaping from the first floor definitely was not a difficult task, but sneaking out in the middle of the night was all about being as silent as the snow falling on the ground.

“Careful, now, I’m almost done…” you calmly encouraged yourself as you successfully landed on the soft grass; after all, by now, you were quite the expert of running away in the middle of the night.

Although you didn’t have a precise destination in mind, you still felt as if leaving Changbin and the others behind was the best solution you could have came up with. After the meeting with Wooyoung, you felt like you had completely changed; not only you barely walked out of your room – consequentially making Changbin, Lea and your new friends incredibly worry about you, but you started to drastically overthink things as well, which definitely was a habit you never had. Even if you were glad about the fact that no one tried to forcefully snap you out of your self isolation, let’s just say that if only you could have seen a glimpse of the future, you would have appreciated a little bit more Chris’ insistence on trying to make a conversation every time he brought you something to eat.

Sighing in deject because – for obvious reasons, you couldn’t borrow one of the horses from the stable, you let your feet and your instinct hastily walk you towards an indefinite destination as you tightly gripped on your backpack, knowing that as soon as morning came, your friends would have started looking for you.

The sun started to rise in the sky once you were walking through Heidel’s unfamiliar outskirts. It was not excessively difficult to orient yourself – after all, it was a simple beaten road lined with maple trees; but when you realized that the sun was about to be high in the sky and you didn’t have quick and secure places to hide yourself in case of need, you realized that probably, you should have planned your escape a little better.

«I can’t believe our luck.» an unfamiliar voice made you abruptly stop, making your head snap to your left; when you noticed a small group of men definitely coming from the Cursed Kingdom, you realized that definitely, you should have planned your escape a little better.

Even if you were clearly outnumbered you immediately excluded the option of running away, since there was no way you could outrun five horses; the only option you had was to fight against them, and so, you took a deep breath and tightly gripped on the daggers you had secured on your thighs.

“We’re from the same Kingdom,but I highly doubt Hongjoong and the others personally taught them how to fight”, you encouraged yourself once again, feeling a little more secure about your fighting skills.

«Come on Princess, the bounty is higher if we return with a corpse.» one of them spat, making the others laugh and instinctively making your skin crawl; taking advance of the surprise effect, you launched forward, successively stabbing the man closer to you in his abdomen.

However, when the men realized that you were definitely not willing to go back home without fighting for your life, they immediately started to counter attack, and for the first time since you left the Cursed Kingdom, you wished you weren’t fighting alone. The sun was high in the sky, and there wasn’t a single cloud on sight; you were tired, and there was definitely blood trickling down your arm from a bad looking cut on your right shoulder. Although you managed to put a safe distance between you and the men – now three of them, you were forced to admit that you were in worrying disadvantage; your daggers were both scattered on the floor too far from where you stood, and your opponents were way too skilled for you to face without a weapon.

Ignoring the pain you felt as you tried to lift your right arm, you lifted your shaking hand in mid air, ready to use magic, even if – since you were surrounded by trees, it wasn’t the wisest choice.

However, what you definitely did not expect to happen, was for someone to appear out of thin air, placing their left hand right above your right one, making your head snap towards the new arrived.

«The bard?!», you questioned – louder than you meant to, as you recognized the tall boy standing next to you as the boy who was playing the lyre in the tavern where you met Wooyoung few days ago.

Instinctively, you tried to yank your hand out his firm hold in the vain attempt to put some distance between the two of you, but he didn’t let you.

«Hyunjin,» he gently answered, offering his name as if you had all the time in the world and weren’t in the middle of a fight, «when you feel me close my hand, cast the most powerful spell you know.»

The fact that Hyunjin didn’t wait for an answer and immediately started to slowly close his hand in a fist, made you quickly snap out of your thoughts and realize that you needed to hurry; your eyes were glowing bright red, and you made sure to follow Hyunjin’s instruction to cast the strongest spell that Hongjoong taught you, but what you saw made your concentration drastically waver.

There was no way in the world that you couldn’t recognize the spell that has just been casted, since you have heard about it since you were a little girl, eagerly asking your uncles to tell you about that time your mother defeated basically the whole Cult of Serendia’s Disciples by herself.

Hyunjin’s long fingers easily intertwined with yours, and the bounty hunters simultaneously fell lifeless on the ground while gripping their throat.

«Internal carbonization, huh? It’s been a while.» you heard Hyunjin mutter – mostly to himself, and you turned towards him, a whirlwind of questions in your head that he probably never would have answered.

Hyunjin had just used one of the forbidden spells, so why he didn’t look fatigued? You knew that it took a lot of energy, so how could a simple human -

«Who are you?» you asked, removing your hand from Hyunjin’s hold and bringing it towards your chest; your heart picked up pace, and you honestly hoped you didn’t have to fight him as well, because you highly doubted you could have won.

Hyunjin simply shrugged, before offering you a wide and dazzling smile, «Let’s just say that I’m not a foe.» he stated, and your eyebrows furrowed in doubt.

However, every possibility to prolong your conversation with him vanished as soon as you heard your name being called.

«Finally, Prince Charming made it to the rescue,» he mumbled again, placing a hand on his hip while glancing towards his left, but before you could question his words, his fingertips gently hovered above the cut on your shoulder, and you felt the sting caused from your wound immediately vanish, «I didn’t completely heal it, but at least, it won’t get infected; make sure to take care of it.»

«Wait-» you called out as he walked past you.

«Until next time!» he waved his hand in mid air with a cheerful voice, before vanishing in a gust of wind, making you wonder if you had imagined your encounter in the first place.

Everything about Chris riding a horse was solemn; from his posture to his incredibly angry expression.

«What the hell happened to you?» Chris quickly dismounted from his horse, his cape made of fur obediently following his movements as he close the distance between the two of you with hasty steps.

He slowly took in your appearance, and immediately reached out to inspect the wound on your shoulder; obviously, you couldn’t notice the relief erupting on his features as soon as he noticed that you already seemed to have taken care of it, because as soon as he approached, you instinctively lowered your gaze.  Chris glanced around the two of you, noticing the corpses of your attackers, and silently cursed himself for being too late to help you.

«Everyone is worried sick, come on, let’s head back.» he added, but as soon as he wrapped his hand around your wrist, you forcefully yanked it from his hold.

«No.» you simply answered, heading to collect your daggers from the floor, cleaning the blades with part of the fabric of your opponent’s cape before sheathing them against your thighs.

«No?!» he echoed, incredulous, following you as if he was a determined not to let you run away again.

«No.» you repeated, spinning on your heels just to find Chris standing closer than you imagined, «I won’t go back – I can’t.»

Chris simply raised one of his eyebrows, placing his hands on his hips as if he was silently urging you to go on and explain yourself; only then, you allowed yourself to take in the appearance of the boy standing in front of you.

There were undeniable dark circles under his eyes, and you deduced that he must have come back recently from his trip to the Capital, only for the awareness that Chris and Felix came back from the Capital at least four days ago to sink in; there was a wild thought running through your brain, a small doubt saying that Chris was genuinely worried for you, but you blatantly decided to ignore it.

«If I stay, you’ll be in danger. Changbin, Lea – I can’t possibly do this to them.» you explained, and he wordlessly looked around the two of you, running a hand through his dark hair out of frustration.

«And you can do this to yourself?» he questioned, making your remark melt on your throat; you answered with a brief nod, and Chris sighed in exasperation.

«Listen-»

«There’s a bounty on my head, Chris, not on yours. I can’t spend my days taking advantage of Changbin’s hospitality and then expect to protect them as soon as bounty hunters show up. I want them to live a peaceful and quiet life, as far away from trouble as possible.» you had to admit that talking about what you have silently been thinking about for weeks was like getting rid of an enormous weight on your soul, but you definitely didn’t expect for Chris to reach out and gently envelope you into a hug; you closed your eyes, timidly placing your hands on his hips, and let him place his chin on top of your head.

«I believe you’re missing few essential points,» he gently spoke, «when you showed up at Changbin’s, did you ask for help or you simply appeared out of nowhere?» you tensed up, his words neatly contrasting the gentle movements of his hand threading through your hair, «but most importantly, when you decided to see Wooyoung, did you ask me and Lix to come, or did we simply tag along?»  

«What I’m trying to say,» it was as if Chris could feel your eyebrows furrow in doubt, because he explained himself further, «I honestly doubt that you faced every problem on your own back home, right? So… don’t be afraid to ask for help, because there are people who genuinely want to help you. Aren’t we friends?»

«We are not,» you clarified on the verge of tears, «I want to strangle you every time you open your stupid mouth.» you admitted, and Chris huffed a laugh in response, slightly tightening his arms around you.

«You sure do have suggestive fantasies, Princess.» he mumbled with a shrug, making you snort in reflex.

Eventually, Chris let go of your frame, wiping few tears from your cheek using his thumb; by now, you were used to his snarky and competitive comments and therefore, his gentle and sincere gaze took you off guard.

«Do you want to come home, so that we can figure something out?» Chris questioned, and you instinctively nodded; whether you did it because you could still hear his fast heartbeat from when he hugged you, or whether you did it because you felt strangely safe in that moment, you decided not to think too much about it.

It was hard to explain the utter relief erupting on Changbin’s and Lea’s faces as soon as you and Chris rode back home. Felix, on the other hand, simply sat on the porch with a satisfied smile and his eyes bright green; as soon as you noticed the leaves slowly floating above the palms of his joined hands disappear, you understood that he must have used magic in order to locate you.

Exactly two days after you tried to escape, you decided to tell the others why you choose to run away in the first place; you settled for being as honest as possible, only hiding about what happened in the woods and therefore, about Hyunjin’s mysterious appearance. Everyone patiently listened to you, while trying to come up with an efficient solution.

Even though she cared for you just as if you were her daughter, Lea – and half of the servants, didn’t know how to fight and therefore, since the probability of bounty hunters finding out your hiding location was high, the most clever solution was for you to constantly be on the run.

«If I remember correctly, Wooyoung said that someone in Duvencrune managed to summon Garmoth.» Changbin spoke, claiming everyone’s attention.

«Did he? But… Isn’t that almost impossible?» Lea voiced her doubt; although she didn’t have any magical power, it was safe to say that everyone knew that the most known way to meet a God was to die.

“I wonder why Seonghwa and Jongho managed to meet them”, you thought, aware that your doubts would remain unanswered forever.

«I don’t want to doubt his intentions, but we might be lured into a trap.» Felix added, smiling apologetically at you, making you nod your head in a silent answer; you didn’t want to doubt Wooyoung either, since after all he took a huge risk while coming to see you, but…

«The only way to find out, is to check it out ourselves.» Chris spoke, as if he could hear your train of thoughts and decided to finish it for you.

«You really enjoy risking your life, don’t you?» Felix sighed, but didn’t try to oppose his friend’s decision, which simply answered with a confident shrug, followed by a «scared, your Highness?»

«Please, no! I don’t want to disturb you further than this.» you spoke, but Lea promptly lifted her hand in mid air, silencing you.

«Nonsense, your mother was my best friend, and this is the least I can do.» Lea dismissively said, before pointing her index finger towards her husband, «You’ll go with them.»

«Me?» Changbin questioned, pointing to himself.

«Who else? Do I look like a child of Nature?»

That’s how, on a Sunday morning, you, Chris, Felix and Changbin started to pack your belongings, headed towards the rocky city of Duvencrune, expertly carved in the side of a mountain and silently watching over Garmoth’s nest since generation.

The road was clear ahead of your quartet, but even so, Felix seemed restless; you saw him mumble something to Chris, which briefly nodded at him before directing his horse behind yours and Changbin’s; you watched Chris with furrowed brows, waiting for an explanation, but he simply winked at you in a confident way, before locking his gaze on his long time friend.

Felix, on the other hand, was busy examinating some leaves peacefully floating on the palm of his hand; it was the same spell he used to locate you when you ran away, you deduced, but who was he trying to locate this time?

It couldn’t possibly be someone from the Cursed Kingdom, you thought; they generally moved either in couples or in small groups, so there was not a high possibility for them to be already tailing you – moreover you were sure that Felix would have noticed them.

All of a sudden, the leaves seemed to start floating more aggressively, almost moving in a fast spiral, only for Felix to tighten his fist with a quick move, making the spell disappear at once.

«I wonder how long you’re planning to follow us.» Felix spoke, and few seconds later, a familiar boy jumped from one of the maple branches above your head, just to effortlessly step on Felix’s horses, sitting right behind him, with his back against his.

«I tend to forget children of Earth can chit-chat with trees.» Hyunjin teased; even if Changbin and Chris instinctively started riding closer to you, the fact that no one tried to attack him was probably because Felix was silently stating that Hyunjin was not a threat.

“It’s quite strange,” you thought; Hyunjin was acting as if him and Felix were long time friends, and on the other hand, everything about Felix’s posture seems to be at ease with Hyunjin’s presence.

“Either Felix is really strong or they know each other,” you simply stated, deciding to let the others decide what to do; after all, Hyunjin saved your life.

If Felix didn’t seem to mind about the bard’s presence, Changbin and Chris definitely had a different opinion on the matter; they both rode close to you, and you noticed how both of them seemed to be ready to start fighting at any moment.

«Where are we going?» Hyunjin asked few moments later with a big content sigh, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

«We?» Chris echoed with a scoff, but eventually refrained from speaking sarcastic remarks as he saw Felix shaking his head towards him.

«I’m a bard,» Hyunjin stated, as if he was putting an effort into answering him, «I sing about new adventures, and not to mention your Princess owes me one.»

At once, three pair of eyes were on you; Hyunjin chuckled, obviously amused about the fact that apparently, you had decided to keep your encounter a secret.

«When the hunters attacked me, he helped me fight them, he’s a child of Air.» you simply explained, avoiding to mention the forbidden spell part.

«And he casually happened to walk by?» Changbin questioned, and you simply shrugged; although everything regarding Hyunjin’s presence was suspicious, it was undeniable that you wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t intervene and therefore, your group agreed to keep him around.

That night, when you stopped in order to get few hours of sleep, Felix quickly mumbled something to Chris, whose eyes were locked on Hyunjin’s figure, eagerly talking to you and Changbin next to a small fireplace.

«You still haven’t told me where our adventure will take us.» the bard questioned later, interrupting Chris’ attempt to start a conversation with you.

«Duvencrune,» Changbin answered, «we’re looking for someone.»

«Oh, interesting.» Hyunjin hummed, before resuming his previous action of playing his small lyre.

«It’s gonna take less time if we avoid passing through the villages,» Changbin explained, «if we head west from here, the vegetation won’t be too rich, and the weather will increasingly be dryer; it will take less, but we will be an easy target.»

Even so, with you having lived within the Cursed Kingdom’s territories for the majority of your life, Felix and Chris not knowing anything about where you were and Hyunjin simply nodding at Changbin’s proposal, the only thing you could do was to trust him.

«Sulien, that’s the woman you’re looking for.» Hyunjin spoke out of the blue, as his eyes seemed to glow in a menacing dark shade of greyish colour – definitely different from your mother’s.

«How do you know?» you immediately questioned him; however, Hyunjin never gave you a proper answer.

«Doesn’t the wind know everything, Princess?» were the only words he spoke for the whole day.

The trip to Duvencrune lasted eight days, definitely less than you originally had expected.

Hyunjin kept close to you half of the time, and the other half was spent riding Felix’s horse while sitting in random positions; although Hyunjin was doing his best, you didn’t miss to notice how he would sometimes look at your friends with disgusted faces, just to give you a dazzling smile as soon as he noticed that your eyes were on him.

Changbin meticulously checked his compass and the position of the Sun, leaving to Felix the task to check your surroundings while using magic. Chris was in charge of setting and undoing the small camps every time you decided to stop in order to take few hours of rest, without forgetting to beat the ground and scatter some leaves above your temporary camps, so that it wouldn’t have been too easy to follow you.

The hunt was a coordinated act among you, Felix and Chris; to be honest, the Prince and his long time friend could have done everything by themselves but still, you were desperate to learn something useful.

So, that’s how you went from placing your hand flat on the ground next to Felix’s, curiously glancing at this bright green eyes staring unfocused at the ground in front of him, trying to locate a possible prey; needless to say, being a daughter of Fire, you couldn’t feel anything.

Therefore, after recognizing Chris’ talent in archery anytime Felix lured a prey close to where he was, your main goal was to learn how to hunt; of course you knew the basics of archery, but even so, shooting to a still target was definitely different to shoot to a moving one.

«Your stance still says that you’re not expecting for the prey to flee, fireball, and that’s gonna make you starve.» Chris spoke, and your grip on the bow loosened, bringing it closer to your hips.

«I really don’t get the whole “follow the line” thing.» you admitted, referring to one of his previous suggestion, expecting another sarcastic remark. Instead, Chris thoughtfully nodded at you, glancing around the opening where you were resting; he snapped his fingers, and not that far from you, few small floating balls made of water started to move in different directions.

Chris walked right behind you, and if he decided to hold the bow with a tight grip right above your hand, he did the opposite thing for the arrow; this time, your fingers ghosted above his, and you felt as if after all, you never learned how to properly shoot.

It would have been nice for you to be able to concentrate, however, with Chris’ arms firmly caging you and his gentle voice explaining everything about how to properly hunt made it impossible for you to register more than few words he said. Once again, you decided not to think too much about it, saying that it was probably because beside Wooyoung and Seonghwa, you haven’t been held definitely in a while.

«The secret is to predict the opponent’s movement, and aim just a little ahead of them,» Chris spoke dangerously close to your ear, as he was focused on not to miss on his shot; you did your best to keep your breathing synchronized to his, and in the moment the two of you were exhaling, Chris’ fingers loosened around the arrow, and few seconds later, the small ball of water crashed on the ground under the form of a faint and localized rain pour.

«That’s it, you want to try again?» he questioned, and whether you immediately nodded because you really needed more practice or you instinctively felt the need to keep him close to you, you decided not to think too much about it.

«Uh, are they a thing?» Hyunjin questioned, his eyes following both you and Chris with interest and a hint of amusement.

«Not yet.» Felix retorted immediately without feeling the need to check what the two of you were doing, laying with his eyes closed as he quietly rested under the sunlight.

«I say they’d look cute together.» Changbin nodded, with a wide smile on his face.

-

As obvious as it sounded, your only task was to keep the fire alive anytime you stopped in order to rest: bright enough to keep them warm and properly cook your food but not bright enough to be spotted by eventual enemies.

However, thanks to Yeosang’s enchanted glove, the task was as easy as kid’s play. The ability to use alchemy whenever you wanted meant that you definitely didn’t need wood in order to create a fireplace; Felix easily provided you few strand of dried bushes, which would have burned around the handle of your enchanted sword, effectively creating a fireplace but not leaving traces of warm and burnt wood behind you.

Keeping the fire alive meant that you could sleep for most of the morning, but you had to stay awake for most of the night, willingly keeping watch and gladly accepting whether someone decided to stay awake with you. Of course, you definitely didn’t miss to notice the fact that Chris’ company was almost a constant throughout your sleepless nights.

Although the two of you sat at a reasonable distance at first, sharing stories about your past and your hometowns, said distance eventually ended up disappearing, and eventually, you and Chris sat next to each other, your knees brushing anytime one of you decided to adjust their position.

«I’m telling you, that night Felix was three sheet to the wind,» Chris whispered animatedly, glancing fondly at his friend who was asleep.

«He was three sheet what?» you echoed; you weren’t sure whether it was your mutual exhaustion or the fact that Chris had so many unusual figures of speech but you found yourself giggling, and the boy curiously glanced at you.

«It means being drunk,» he explained, scratching his nape, «you probably don’t use it here.» when you shook your head, he nodded once, and if only you weren’t so tired and it wasn’t the middle of the night, you would have noticed a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

«You stopped, why?» you gently nudged his elbow, «I want to know more.»

«About?» Chris asked, immediately trying to recall some other fun fact to tell you.

«You.» you immediately retorted without thinking, only to realize it as soon as Chris’ head snapped towards you, the fireplace’s colours dancing in his blue left eye, «I mean, more about your life.»

“That’s even worse, great job”, you thought, blaming the fact that you were tired for the fact that you were embarrassing yourself like that.

«Oh, sink me.» you heard Chris mumble, and immediately you were thrown in another fit of giggles, which definitely didn’t went unnoticed by the boy.

«You seriously need to stop making fun of me, fireball.» Chris said while hiding a smile.

He quickly snaked his arm around your neck, just to effortlessly pull you against his chest; the boy started scratching your head while using his knuckles – not actually hurting you, making you laugh even more while trying to reach out to escape from his grasp.

«Who’s gonna fucking tell them?» Hyunjin mouthed to Felix, which was laying on the ground facing the bard.

«Not me, for sure.» he mouthed back, quickly glancing at Changbin, wondering how could he sleep through all this shameless flirting attempts.

-

Riding a horse for the most part of the day right under the sun, with an increasingly arid climate and surrounded by uncultivated land was definitely tougher that you thought. Even though everyone kept asking you how you were feeling, whether you wanted to take a break, you didn’t want to furthermore slow your group.

«We’ll be at the feet of the mountain by noon,» Changbin explained, «from there, the road will constantly be uphill but – if I remember correctly, there are some trees along the way.»

«How do you know so much? We’re pretty far from Heidel, did you travel a lot?» you questioned, and Changbin nodded, keeping his gaze ahead of himself.

«I used to travel a lot when I was younger, but I married Lea and I eventually stopped. She doesn’t like it much.» he briefly explained, and you nodded at him with a smile.

Changbin’s adoration for his wife was the trait that reminded him about Hongjoong the most; when you were a child and still lived in Velia, it was an extremely known fact that Hongjoong was absolutely whipped for your mother.

With a silent sigh, you realized that Changbin stopped travelling because he didn’t want to force Lea to do something she didn’t like, and you found yourself wondering if you would ever meet a partner like that.

“Why am I even going there?” you immediately interrupted your fantasies with a short intake of breath, mostly because you were scared about where your brain would have wandered next.

Evening was about to set on the fourth day of your trip, and everything was going unexpectedly smoothly, maybe, a little bit too much. Although you refused to voice your thought because you believed being blinded by paranoia, you felt like being watched; the fact that you kept sneaking glances around yourselves definitely didn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin, who, even thought was aware about the fact that you were about to be attacked, couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

«Don’t meddle yourself with human affairs too much, for you are not one of them.» Karanda had told him, and he was determined to follow the orders he had received; even so, he found himself hoping that Felix could manage to locate and identify your attackers just in time.

However, Felix noticed them a little too late; an arrow emitted from the luxuriant leaves of one of the nearby trees, painfully sinking in your right thigh. Needless to say, your horse went wild as soon as he heard the hiss of the arrow right next to his ear, and immediately stood on his hind legs, effortlessly throwing you off the saddle; Hyunjin, however, quickly prevented you from unceremoniously fall to the gravel ground and hit your head by making you float for few seconds, gradually accompanying you to a sitting position.

With a pained groan, your hand flew on your thigh, and you felt the colour drain from your face as you took notice of the feathers adorning the end of the arrow.

“It’s from the Cursed Kingdom,” you noticed, “it’s poisoned for sure”. If both Chris and Changbin were immediately at your side, Felix was effortlessly casting a spell – now helped by Hyunjin, in order to capture your attackers.

Changbin quickly climbed down from his horse – quickly nodding at Chris and telling him to help the others, and you watched with trembling hands as your friend easily snapped the arrow in two.

«I think it’s – Changbin, it may be poisoned.» you warned him, and Changbin glanced to his left, just in time to see your attackers being dragged on the ground while being tightly wrapped up in ropes.

Gradually, you started to feel your head spin and your world started to fade to black, and the only words you could register after Chris’ anxiously calling for your name, was one of your attackers – the oldest among the two, confidently say: «Ever heard of poison? Guess what? Give it an hour.»

«If she doesn’t wake up within a minute, consider yourselves food for the wolves.» you heard Chris spat with a rough and unfriendly tone, definitely not what you were used to; with a weak groan, you opened your eyes, immediately noticing that the wound on your leg didn’t hurt as much as it did earlier.

«Take it easy,» Changbin’s arms were quick to sustain your attempt to sit up, and you willingly let him place himself behind you, so that you could easily stay in a sitting position. «how are you feeling?»

«Sleepy and tired, what happened to the poison?» you mumbled back; if you learned something from Changbin’s teaching, was that the position of the sun signalled that it was afternoon, meaning that at least twelve hours had passed since the ambush.

«Well, Prince Charming tortured the bounty hunters until he found the antidote.» Hyunjin chimed in, nodding towards two boys who were still tied up; they were about your age, you noticed, both with raven black hair and a stoic face.

«Did you hurt them that badly?» you croaked, questioning Chris and Felix, which respectively shook their head and shrugged.

«They’re harmless; Seungmin and Jeongin, bounty hunters from the Cursed Kingdom.» Chris explained, and only then, you noticed that his hand didn’t waver for a second from gently holding your wrist, his index finger right above your pulse point.

It took you few hours to effectively regain your strength, and although your friends admonished your attempt to excuse yourself from being poisoned like a fool while constantly saying that it wasn’t your fault, you still felt guilty.

The group unanimously agreed to keep both Seungmin and Jeongin with you, so that you could keep an eye on them.

«After all, they willingly gave us the antidote.» Felix said.

«Did you see how scary Chris was? Of course they willingly gave it up.» Changbin immediately retorted, and even thought Seungmin and Jeongin were tied up most of the times, you and the others still gave them water and something to eat every time you stopped to camp.

However, after two days both Seungmin and Jeongin completely gave up their decision to capture you in order to bring you back to Hongjoong; whether it happened because Chris had pinned Seungmin to the ground with his dagger pressed against his throat, threatening to tear both of them apart if they ever tried to hurt you again, that’s something that – in Chris’ opinion, you didn’t need to know.

-

Duvencrune’s citizens were extremely welcoming towards foreigners, always asking everyone who stopped by about their hometowns.

Situated at the feet of the mountain, Garmoth’s nest resembled the threatening claws of a dragon; four huge and curved spikes made of rock erupted from the ground – so high they seemed to graze at the sky, and eventually, people from Duvencrune decided to build four altars at the base of every claw.

Although no one had ever seen the dragon roaming in the huge nest, citizens still held rituals in order to pray for the God’s benevolence.

«I wonder if we’ll manage to see the altar! Apparently, outsiders can’t personally get too close to it.» Felix excitedly spoke as your group was roaming the city trying to gather informations.

«I wonder why you’re trying to get informations about that cursed thing.» Seungmin said, just for his sentence to end with a pained groan.

It was obvious that you couldn’t walk around the city with Seungmin and Jeongin being tied up without catching attention, and therefore, Hyunjin provided to create an elemental and invisible rope made out of thin air; no one would have been able to see anything, but Seungmin and Jeongin would have felt an incredible pressure on their chest anytime they misbehaved.

«Cursed?» the child of Air nonchalantly echoed.

«Our King said that - » Jeongin started, however, his words were cut short.

«If that’s something Hongjoong said, then I’m not interested in those foul lies.» Hyunjin finished, and the bounty hunters didn’t utter a word for the rest of the day.

«Are you sure you’re okay?» Chris gently questioned you, noticing the fact that you were limping; you weakly nodded at him, but didn’t refuse his offer to link your arm with his.

Although you wanted to rest, although your leg begged you to take it easy, you didn’t want to waste any more time, and eventually ended up spending your day roaming through the city.

Few days later, not only your leg was almost completely healed thanks to some local weird looking herb, but you could effectively walk for hours without limping.

«What’s the plan for today?» Chris asked with a yawn as you were having breakfast in one of the inns of the city.

«At this point, we should directly ask around about Sulien,» you answered, referring to the fact that you didn’t manage to learn anything useful during the time you already spent in the city.

«I could go to the town’s market,» Felix eagerly said, and judging by the excitement in his eyes, you knew that gathering informations wasn’t his main goal; nevertheless, you nodded at him with a smile.

«Seungmin and Jeongin will come with us,» Hyunjin added, gesturing to himself and Felix, and you nodded, as your eyes stopped on the two bounty hunters occasionally joke to themselves every now and then while listening to you; although you didn’t know what exactly happened when you passed out, you still decided not to inquire on the reason why they were silently following your group without trying to escape once.

Changbin – who had been focused on sheepishly eating his breakfast, suddenly groaned in pain, as if he had been kicked right under the table by a smiling Felix, «Yeah, uh, I – I think I’ll check the town’s market as well.» he simply said, leaving you and Chris to investigate on your own.

Although the city of Duvencrune was on top of a mountain and therefore constantly under the sun, the constant and gentle breeze made the days not too hot; you had to admit, it would have been considered romantic, even, the fact that you and Chris found a way to chat and laugh together while keeping close to each other, and the fact that you were sometimes exchanged for a couple definitely didn’t help your attempts to stop your imagination from roaming free.

For your sake, you decided to ignore the fact that Chris had stopped denying the fact, even though the small spark of hope about Chris liking you as well seemed to be already ignited in your soul.

«Okay, matey, the next person around our age we see it’s gonna be our target.» Chris sighed, probably as tired as you were about hearing that apparently, no one knew about Sulien’s whereabouts; you nodded at him, glad about the fact that apparently, luck was on your side, since as soon as you turned into an alley, a boy around your age walked right out of it, almost bumping into the two of you in the process.

Even thought both you and Chris apologized, the boy didn’t say anything, and simply nodded once in recognition without uttering a single word.

«Excuse me,» you added, taking advantage of the fact that he was still standing there, «we’re looking for Sulien, do you -» however, before you could finish your sentence, the boy’s eyes widened, and he quickly walked away from both you and Chris.

«Well, at least that wasn’t a “I don’t know her”.» Chris commented, and you could only nod in exasperation, mumbling a weak «oh, sink me,» which immediately made Chris laugh.

The two of you decided to spend the next few hours strolling around the city, your mission to ask about Sulien to people long forgotten, and hoping that your friends managed to have more luck than you did.

As the two of you were walking in front a residential area, however, Chris stopped you by a firm but gentle hold on your elbow, silently signalling you to look towards your left as soon as you locked your eyes with his.

In the middle of the alleyway, you noticed the boy you ran into few hours earlier now talking with another boy who must have been the same age as him, before eventually; they noticed you as well.

«Do we run away?» you quickly whispered to Chris, as you noticed that they were now walking towards you, easily closing the distance that separated you.

«Of course not, fireball.» he confidently whispered back, just in time for the two boys to stop in front of you.

«My brother told me an interesting story,» one of them started, «why would you look for Sulien?» he inquired, standing almost protectively in front of the boy you met few hours earlier; however, before you could answer, the latter mumbled something at the other’s ear, and his expression immediately softened.

«You’re right, Jisung.» he gently spoke, before addressing you in his usual harsh way. «Come with us.»

Chris followed them without the hint of hesitation, and instinctively, you reached out to hold his hand; whether you did it to silently tell him to be more careful, whether you did it because you needed a little bit of comfort in front of that strange and unpredictable situation, definitely wasn’t important, since Chris wordlessly and immediately intertwined his fingers with yours, while keeping his proud gaze up ahead.

Jisung and his brother – which eventually introduced as Minho, led you through a series of empty alleyways, just to stop to arrive at what appeared to be an abandoned shed; there weren’t proper doors or windows, just few parts of a rotten wall which seemed to magically sustain a rooftop.

Chris was standing right next to you, your silent anxiety mirrored by his tense posture.

«No one will overhear our conversation, now.» Minho spoke as he blankly stared at you, as if he was waiting for you to answer to his previous question.

«Someone told us Sulien managed to meet Garmoth.» you explained with a weak voice, cautiously glancing around as if you expected to fall in another ambush.

«And that “someone” is Kim Hongjoong?» he spat back, making your knees feel weak.

The fact that Minho knew about Hongjoong could only mean one thing: you were late.

«That’s not something you need to know.» Chris quickly spoke in your defence, but Minho sneered, taking a confident step in front of his brother.

«I believe you are forgetting that we are the one with the informations you need.» he smirked triumphally, pointing to himself and Jisung with his index finger.

Tightening your hold around Chris’ hand, you realized that at that point, there wasn’t much you could do; the fact that Minho and Jisung seemed to know about Hongjoong’s plan meant that the only thing you could do was to be as honest as you could.

«I am Hongjoong’s daughter,» you admitted, ignoring Chris’ grip tightening on your hand, «however, the informations don’t come directly from him; you can verify yourself that there’s a – that Hongjoong is looking for me, but we don’t… exactly work together.» you quickly glanced to your right, satisfied with Chris’ quick nod of approval at your explanation.

Once again, you saw Jisung leaning towards Minho, mumbling something to his hear; Minho seemed to be lost in thoughts for few seconds, before he eventually nodded.

«We can help you,» Minho spoke, crossing his arms in front of his chest «but at one condition: take us with you.»

CHAPTER IV

«Don’t get me wrong, but - did we really need to pick up more strays?» as you and your friends sat in Minho and Jisung’s small kitchen, Seungmin questioned the decision to bring both of them along with you.

«Aren’t you one as well, Seungmin?» you immediately retorted, effortlessly making the assassin stop talking.

Minho and Jisung both welcomed you and the others in their house, calmly explaining to you that Sulien – the woman you were desperately looking for during the past days, had passed away many years before your arrival.

«I hope this is the part where you tell us that you still have her notes or whatever she used to summon Garmoth.» Chris’ tone hid a hint of exasperation as his mismatched eyes were locked on Minho, who simply answered with a brief nod.

«We will help you, but we need a proof that you’ll take us with you.» Minho repeated himself, and you furrowed your brows.

«Why would you want to leave that badly? This place seems pretty safe.» Hyunjin absently questioned, not really paying attention to the answer, since he didn’t get one in the first place.

«It’s… personal.» Minho said, and you understood that both him and Jisung weren’t going to trust neither you nor the others that easily – not that you could blame them.

«Here, take this.» with a quick movement, you unclasped one of your daggers from the leather harness around your left thigh; the sheath was embroided with the same golden pattern of the hilt.

«Wait,» Changbin jolted on his chair, but you easily stopped him while briefly shaking your head.

«It was my mother’s,» you explained, pushing the dagger towards Minho and Jisung by making it slide on the table, «that’s the only thing I can use to prove our good intentions.»

Once again, Jisung reached out to mumble something against Minho’s ear, who listened patiently; the latter briefly nodded at him, before reaching out to grab your dagger.

«Wait, I got distracted, who cooked dinner?» Changbin questioned, quickly preventing you from eating a mouthful of delicious looking stew by gently holding your wrist. «It was me!» Jeongin innocently replied, and Changbin’s eyebrows furrowed; as if the young assassin understood what the child of Water was implying, he quickly rummaged through the pockets of his jacket, proudly placing a small sealed bottle on the table.

«It’s not poisoned! See? The bottle is sealed!» Jeongin spoke with a big smile, and Seungmin hid his face in his hands with a groan; although the two assassins had made it clear that they suddenly didn’t want to kill you anymore, Changbin was still extremely wary of them, often hanging around with the assassins just to keep an eye on them.

«Should I test it for poison?» Seungmin innocently questioned, and Changbin snorted in disbelief.

«No, it’s too risky - you might not die. I’ll do it.» still faintly holding your wrist with one hand, Changbin hesitantly tasted the stew, just to confirm that – indeed, it was not poisoned.

Both Minho and Jisung were looking at each of you – each of your reactions to what just happened, with curious and incredulous faces; however, since by now, it was completely normal to you, you didn’t pay too much attention to it.

«If you’ll come with us, you’ll find out that nothing goes according to plan with this group.» Hyunjin addressed them with his usual tone laced with amusement.

«Because you’re there, right Hyunjin?» Felix immediately questioned, and the bard silently answered with a playful wink.

With a heavy sigh, you did your best to focus on the happiness you felt about eating a traditional recipe from the Cursed Kingdom, not thinking about how stressful the trip ahead of you was going to be.

The plan was rather simple: you would have taken advantage of the monthly local festival in order to sneak into Garmoth’s nest.

«People will be focused on lightning up lanterns, and if everything goes according to plan, no one will pay attention to us.» Minho explained; of course, in order to reach the altars in the first place, you definitely couldn’t use the main route.

The downhill towards Garmoth’s nest was a wide path which started from the city; it was full of twists and turns, not to mention that the natural location of the town made said path very easy to watch over – making people driven by their own curiosity easily refrain in fear of a possible sanction.

«There’s a passage,» Minho explained, as he unfolded on the wooden table a rough sketch of what seemed to be a map of Duvencrune, «it’s wide enough for us to walk without obstacles and impediments, and most importantly, no one uses it anymore.»

«Aren’t there any guards?» Jeongin curiously questioned him, and both Minho and Jisung shook their heads.

«Duvencrune’s citizens are deeply devoted, and consider everything regarding Garmoth as holy; no one would sneak in.» as Minho spoke, your eyes were focused on him, trying to guess why would both him and Jisung help a group of perfect strangers.

«What if we get caught?» Felix asked, and Minho simply gave him a mischievous smile.

-

«Despite the fact that for centuries the city had been devoted to the God of Fire, this city was designed by thieves - there’s always an escape route.»

The following days were divided into strolling around the city and spending your time safely nestled in Minho’s house, carefully plotting on what you had to do.

«Travellers are taught that there are a total of four altars at Garmoth’s nest, which is in fact, a lie,» Minho explained one windy evening, immediately claiming your attention as he placed on the coffee table a small box filled with strange looking bright red flowers; «there’s another altar – the one actually used for rituals, which you can’t see from up here.»

«And the flowers?» Felix questioned, and Hyunjin nonchalantly stood up from his chair and reached out to grab one of the flowers, just to walk towards the opposite way of the room, right in front of the open window.

«They are called fire silk flowers,» Minho explained once again, «these flowers and these notes are everything Sulien has left us.»

Out the corner of your eye, you could see Hyunjin scoff while hiding a smug smile, but you did not pay too much attention to it.

«Sulien… Fire silk flowers, huh?» the bard quietly mumbled to himself, as he peeled off a bright red petal from the flower in his hands, «I say you haven’t lost your touch with your beloved illusions, Dragon.» Hyunjin pretended to run a hand through his hair, but instead, he tossed the petal out of the window, entrusting the wind to make it fly all the way to Karanda.

As a moonless night was draped over the sky, your group had once again returned at the inn. Lying on the soft mattress of your room, you admitted to yourself that the company that had come to be created was as bizarre as much as it was pleasant.

Changbin was by now basically part of your family, and you often seeked for his words of advice; you found comforting how he had the habit to keep an eye on you, even if just to silently ask you if you were okay. It was clear that his deep and great esteem for Hongjoong was the main reason for his resentment; however, whenever the matter was mentioned, Changbin always did his best to speak only of the positive events that came to his memory.

Felix and Chris were definitely fun to be around; although sometimes you couldn’t understand what they were exactly talking about due the uniqueness of Iliya’s dialect, they provided to lighten up the mood quite often.

Felix’s personality was as gentle and soothing as moonlight, and you could easily figure out that he must have been a respected and beloved Prince; although he has only been nice and friendly to you, sometimes, you could notice him looking at the horizon with an extremely lone gaze, and – you reluctantly had to admit, it made you feel lonely as well.

Chris was not only the stark opposite of his friend, but his behaviour kept confusing you to no end; his teasing remarks alternated with gentle and soft gazes and sometimes, you suspected for his rivalry tone to be just a facade.

Not to mention, you realized that you didn’t feel attracted to Chris just because he was extremely handsome, but for his whole personality as well; it wasn’t difficult to realize that sometimes, the others purposely let the two of you spend some time alone, and you didn’t fail to notice how you started to look forward to those moments.

The realization that eventually, both Chris and Felix would have returned to Iliya Island while you didn’t even know if you would manage to survive striked in, making you realize that feelings that you started developing for the boy who was taking a hold of your heart as slowly and as steadily as a high tide at noon were probably fleeting and meaningless.

Hyunjin was, essentially, an enigma. He made it clear more than once that he loathed men with every inch of his soul, statement which always made you giggle because: «aren’t you one as well?»

Sometimes, you had the feeling that Hyunjin was not completely human; he would sing about lost tales and lost battles that seemed to have happened centuries ago, and still, from the way he talked about those events, it seemed like he had been a direct witness. Moreover, there was the part where Hyunjin used one of the forbidden spell without being affected by it.

Seungmin and Jeongin were probably the biggest surprise: they went from trying to forcefully drag you back to the Cursed Kingdom to run errands under Changbin’s order. More than once, they stated that they wanted to help you due to a change of heart.

«We are not children of Nature, but our parents are.» Seungmin explained, «as you know, only children of Nature are corrupted by Hongjoong’s power, we just blindly follow the ideals of our loved ones.»

Minho and Jisung were group’s new entry, and you wondered if you would have managed to get along. Minho was a child of Fire, just like you, and he seemed really determined.

Jisung wasn’t a child of Nature; you wondered if the fact that he only seemed to talk with Minho was selective mutism or he was just really shy, but you found yourself hoping that one day, he would trust you and the others enough to let you hear his voice.

“Why am I looking so forward to the future?” you questioned yourself with a silent scoff as you tossed and turned in bed yet another time. To say that the future was uncertain was a euphemism, and even thought you tried not to let anyone else notice, you were terrified of it.

As you were busy tossing and turning in bed, Hyunjin was quietly strolling through the inn’s dim lit hallways, busy caressing with his fingertips the texture of the fire silk petal that the wind carried back to him not too long ago.  

“Let their fate do its course,” the message Karanda sent him was simple; however, the lack of further explanations didn’t seem to please him.

«What did you see, Karanda, and why don’t you want to tell me?» Hyunjin breathed softly, his words - barely above a whisper, unable to reach his long time friend.

Too lost in thought, Hyunjin didn’t notice that the door on his left was suddenly opening before he found himself being roughly yanked inside a room and his back harshly pressed against the sturdy wall.

Felix was looking at him, and angry scowl painted on his graceful features, and Hyunjin furrowed his eyes in doubt, since he had never seen such emotions portrayed on his face; quickly glancing around the room, he noticed that Felix was indeed alone.

«You know, if you wanted a midnight tryst with me you could have asked.» Hyunjin hissed, a hint of irritation hidden in his usual tone, as he quickly brushed away the firm grip the Prince still had on his shoulders.

Felix scoffed, «You sound a little too confident, for someone who has been found out.» he spoke, happy about the fact that for a second, Hyunjin’s composed and stoic face didn’t seem to be able to hide his surprise. «The trees I can chit-chat with just told me an interesting story, wanna hear it?» Felix went on, his usual patient and gentle behaviour suddenly nowhere to be seen as his eyes were a bright shade of green – as he was probably still trying to communicate with nature.

«What do you know?» it was clear to Hyunjin that at this point, he couldn’t deny to be sent by Karanda herself, he just hoped for Felix not to be the kind of person that kisses and tell.

«Everything.» Felix immediately answered while crossing his arms in front of his chest, making the bard hiss a frustrated sigh. «But actually… I think I have something to talk you about.»

The Prince sat on his bed, tilting his head towards his left and silently inviting Hyunjin to sit next to him; needless to say, the bard complied, curiosity having the best of him. Apparently, Felix had received a curious order from Offin herself.

«Did she talk to you?» Hyunjin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise; for all he knew, the Goddess of Earth had refused to meet her children since Jongho’s mind had been corrupted, could she have changed her mind all of a sudden?

However, Felix shook his head, «The trees carried her words; apparently, I should “help the disguised harpy”.» he added, his tone suddenly sounding gentler, as his eyes returned to their original warm colour.

«That would be me.» Hyunjin softly mumbled.

«I know, I’ve heard so many things in so little time, I thought I was about to go insane,» Felix whined, placing his elbows on his knees in order to hide his face in his hands; «the thing is, the Goddess of Earth gave the both of us an order.»

Although you were certain that sooner or later, everyone managed to fall asleep, you still felt awake as ever; you stretched your limbs with a soft sigh, before eventually sitting up with a groan, all the chances to get a good night sleep forgotten as you walked towards the wall hanger just to wear – over your nightdress, the linen robe that the innkeeper had provided you with.

As you quietly walked through the small corridor attached to the rooms, the faint light coming from the cosy living room situated downstairs was the only signal that someone else was awake; hesitantly leaning in, you noticed that Chris was sitting in front of the fireplace, silently carving something in a small piece of wood while seeming lost in thoughts.

Secretly smiling to yourself, you walked down the stairs, wondering why the boy seemed not to have noticed you, yet. Approaching from his left side, you stopped right behind one of the wooden chairs.

«Can’t sleep?» you gently questioned, making your presence known and therefore, making Chris jolt his head towards you; could he have been so lost in thoughts that he actually didn’t notice you?

Chris briefly shook his head, «How about you?» he questioned back immediately, «the moon isn’t out tonight, but I guess it’s still pretty late.»

«Changbin snores, he… woke me up.» you lied, making Chris scoff with an amused smile; although it was easy to figure out that you were lying, the boy still respected your silence.

«He doesn’t snore loud enough to be heard next door, but keep your secrets, fireball.» he joked.

The only sound beside your soft breaths was Chris’s carving knife skilfully moving over the small birch fragment, and curiously enough, it seemed to work as a strange lullaby for you; although Chris didn’t try to make conversation, he openly moved his chair so that he could face you directly.

«Where did you learn?» you curiously asked him, trying to avoid the sudden temptation to go back to sleep.

«It’s just an old habit,» he said, «Felix is actually better than me, you know, he’s naturally predisposed to it.» he admitted with a brief chuckle; you decided to move from where you were, just to sit on the chair right next to his, so that you could take a closer look to what he was doing Once again, he adjusted his position in order to satisfy your curiosity.

«I was thinking about the future, that’s why I couldn’t sleep.» you quietly admitted after few more minutes of comfortable silence, ignoring the fact that sharing your thoughts with the boy seemed to be incredibly easy, and Chris gave you an encouraging nod, which made you keep talking, «and I’m terrified, because I don’t know what will happen – what if the whole ritual turns out to be a failure?»

«There’s a possibility,» Chris stopped his motions altogether, placing the carving knife on the coffee table; «but we’ll be there as well, we’ll figure something out.» he gently spoke. With soft sigh, you nodded at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you felt your eyes swell up with tears; at the same moment, Chris’ eyes widened, a faint trace of panic flashing into his eyes.

«Oh, sink me – don’t cry, fireball, that really places me in a bad position.» he nervously rubbed his neck as he tried to joke, and you instinctively laughed breathlessly.

«Why would that put you in a bad position?» you inquired, missing how the hint of a blush was starting to colour his cheeks.

«I really don’t know how to console you when you cry.» he admitted while shyly scratching his nape, and you forcefully held back a smile, remembering the day when he offered you his cloak as you cried your eyes out on your mother’s grave.

«When it happens, you can simply do this.» taking advantage of a little outburst of courage, you adjusted your position on the chair; you gradually leaned towards Chris, until your forehead touched his shoulder. The fact that you immediately felt him tense up made you smile to yourself, now more aware than ever that his teasing behaviour was definitely only a facade.

Although the position you were in was uncomfortable, you felt relieved as soon as Chris started to relax; you felt gentle and hesitant scratches against your nape, and you started to relax as well.

At some point of the night, both you and Chris decided to sit on the carpet, your knees touching, as you asked him to tell you more of the adventures he and Felix had.

«I’ve been really curious about something,» you used your index finger to quickly tap twice under your left eye, «does it hurt?» you shyly questioned him, and Chris simply shook his head.

«Not really, you can touch it if you want to.» he offered, and you shyly nodded at him; your hand hesitantly inched closer to his face, with the intention to brush your fingertips against his scar as gently as you could.

As your hand gradually got closer to his face, Chris patiently sat without moving, as if he was waiting for you to realize something; only when your fingertips were almost touching his soft eyelashes and still, Chris didn’t blink nor react, you realized.

«It doesn’t see anything, not anymore.» Chris spoke, his tone unreadable; you leaned towards him, unable to focus on anything else beside the boy in front of you.

In that moment, some little things you haven’t really been paying attention to seemed to be so obvious. Felix would generally stand at Chris’ left side; if at the beginning you thought it was just a habit, you realized that it was because Chris was entrusting his sight to Felix, which seemed to naturally act accordingly.

«Of course, I can do the little trick that children of Water do,» Chris tilted his head, giving you a smug smile, «but after few minutes, it gets quite uncomfortable, you know - your eyes keep seeing different things.» he admitted, and you adverted your gaze, realizing that it was probably the reason why Chris lost so easily to you the first time you met.

«When did it happen? Why didn’t Vell heal you?» you questioned, incredulous; by your family’s tales, you were convinced that the Gods were kind and understanding. The fact that Chris has mismatched eyes was the clear proof that he had died already, so why didn’t he get his sight back?

«Uh, two months before meeting you, I think?» Chris vaguely explained with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the day he lost part of his sight, «Vell doesn’t really like humans, especially since… Well, the whole Hongjoong issue,» he explained further, «he simply told me one of his sons has strayed to the wrong path, and I had to – get rid of him.»

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts running through your brain, a faint «Oh.» was everything you found yourself able to say.

«I’m sorry-»

«It’s okay,» you said, trying your best to come up with a convincing smile, «that means, what I have to do it’s pretty intuitive, isn’t it?»

«There has to be another way, sweetheart, I’m sure we’ll find it.» Chris didn’t directly answer your question, settling for tightly hold your hand.

Around the middle of the morning, Hyunjin knocked twice at your door.

«Come on, Princess, it’s time to go.» he called out; however, as he still didn’t hear any sign of an answer from you, he simply rolled his eyes in annoyance.

He simply brushed his fingertips in front of the keyhole, only for a loud and sharp “click” to be heard; the bard walked into your room, sighing with his hands on his hips at the sight of you being still asleep.

«It’s almost lunchtime, did you sneak out to attend a ball overnight?» he teased, giggling at the groan you answered with. «Wake up, sleepy head,» Hyunjin whispered while sitting on the edge of the mattress and gently shaking your shoulder; on the other hand, you simply groaned again, turning towards the other side.

«Five more minutes, Seonghwa.» you mumbled back out of habitude, unconsciously trying to swat away Hyunjin’s hand.

As you moved, you unconsciously brushed few strands of hair from your face, making it now fall back on the soft pillow; Hyunjin shortly widened his eyes in surprise, and his fingertips moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

«Now, this is interesting.» he smirked while holding between his fingertips the silver feather dangling from your earring. Hyunjin smiled at himself, remembering the day where Karanda gave such a prestigious gift to your mother; of course, he had wondered if Hongjoong had kept it with him, but he was surprised not to have noticed that the feather has been with you for all this time.

«Troublesome child of Fire,» he whispered, his eyes briefly flashing a dark shade of grey, «although the wind can’t guide you, it can guide me to you.»

«We’ll shortly split the group in two,» Minho announced as soon as you and the others arrived in front of his door, «Jisung, Jeongin and Changbin will secure the horses right out of the nest; once we’re done we’ll need to run away really quickly, but if we all leave now towards the same direction, we’re just claim more unwanted attention.»  

«I’ll go with them as well,» Felix announced out of the blue, «I can easily hide our presence or hide our traces – I mean they can do that as well, but it would take them much more time.» Minho and Jisung shortly glanced at each other, before nodding at the Prince’s offer.

As soon as the others started following Jisung, Minho headed the opposite way, followed by you, Chris and Hyunjin; the young boy expertly walked you through the crowd who was constantly facing the opposite direction, busy gazing at the numerous lanterns lightning up the sky.

Once again, you were grateful about the fact that somewhere during your stroll, Chris’ hand tightly enveloped yours and didn’t let go.

«Uh, wanna hold mine?» Seungmin whispered to Hyunjin, holding his hand out as a joke, eventually gotten used to yours and Chris’ behaviour.

«Please, hold my hand so I can’t make them forcefully kiss.» Hyunjin hissed back, and the assassin let out a breathless laugh, as he placed both his hands against his nape.

Minho definitely wasn’t joking when he said that there was a somewhat secret path leading to Garmoth’s nest which was not used anymore. Turning right after the building containing a small pharmacy, you could see easy access to steep stairs carved into the side of the mountain; said steps, as well as being steep, had been naturally eroded by time, making them even smoother and more dangerous. Needless to say, you could easily figure out why no one was using that path in the first place.

«Say, you’re trying to kills us?» Seungmin questioned Minho, as your small group was forced to proceed in line, both hands gripping the rope attached to the side of the mountain as you descended with crossed steps.

«I wouldn’t dream of it,» Minho replied, «it would be useless, knowing that Hyunjin could easily save you.»

«Speaking of which, couldn’t you give us a lift?» Chris questioned, only for Hyunjin to scoff, clearly offended by the boy’s proposal.

«Did you take me for one of those domesticated gryphons?» he retorted, referring to the fact that some merchants transported their goods from a city to another through the sky.

It was as if you had been descending steps for hours, and still, your path looked never-ending.

«Are the others going to follow the same route?» Chris questioned, and Minho shook his head.

«They’ll take the other path, they will probably arrive before us.»

In the end, Minho’s words turned out to be the truth. Jisung’s group was patiently waiting for you while comfortably sitting in front of the entrance of a narrow tunnel, collectively raising their eyebrows at the fact that as soon as you touched solid ground, you, Seungmin and Chris knelt on it while mumbling random “thank you’s” towards it.

«I really don’t want to experience something like that anymore.» you spoke, both Seungmin and Chris quickly agreeing with you.

«Quit being dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.» Hyunjin simply shrugged, making Felix silently sneer.

The tunnel in which you had to pass was not particularly long; in fact, as soon as you entered, you could already see its end. A few drops of water occasionally fell from the rocky ceiling, echoing in the small puddles located in the uneven mixture of gravel and mud you were walking over.

Although you expected that Garmoth’s nest would look like a lot of things, you definitely did not expect that you wouldn’t have been able to see almost anything due to a dense fog obstructing your sight.

Minho and Jisung – followed by the others, stopped right in front a wide altar which seemed to be made out of marble, before placing the box containing the fire silk flowers on top of it.

«This is the fifth altar; we have to place the flowers, and then light the candles.» Minho explained, before tilting his head towards the sky; «you can’t see anything due to the fog, but Duvencrune is right there.

No one would be able to see this altar, due to its position.» following his gaze and wrapping your head around what you had learned about the city’s geography during the past days, you deduced he was right.

Absently nodding at his words, you did your best to ignore the fact that your heart was racing due to the anxiety you were feeling; with secure steps, you closed the small distance between you and the altar, waving your hand towards the lone candle on top of it in order to set it alight.

«Should we start?» you nervously questioned, reaching out to grab the box of flowers.

«I think it’s not wise for all of us to walk in there,» Hyunjin hurriedly spoke, as he saw how everyone was ready to follow you.

«Yeah, what if Garmoth thinks Hongjoong sent us?» Jeongin quickly added, and as much you hated to think about it, you had to admit to yourself that it was the truth.

«You can’t possibly think to go by yourself.» Chris questioned you with his voice laced with worry, breathing an exasperated sigh as you answered with a court nod.

«Probably we should calm down and think about a better solution?» Felix proposed, and you shook your head.

«But I am calm, really. Don’t I look calm?» you nervously spoke, trying to hide the tremor of your hands while holding the flower box a little tighter, «My decision to walk in there alone is a calm, rational and reasonable decision -»

«I’ll go with her,» Minho stated, interrupting your nervous blabbering and quickly claiming everyone’s attention, «we’re both children of Fire, we’ll be fine.»

As strange as it sounded, the fog seemed to dissipate the more you and Minho ventured towards the center of the nest.

«Is it usually this foggy down here?» you questioned him, scattering few flowers on one of the altar as Minho effortlessly lightened up the candle.

«It’s… not.» he truthfully answered, making you feel as if your throat just tightened out of nervousness.

If Garmoth’s nest looked incredibly vast from above, now that you were walking through it, it never seemed to end; the soil had not been cleared, and there were small areas where with wild grass was growing right next to clearly burnt soil. The four altars were very far from each other, and if from the top of the mountain – the city of Duvencrune, the spikes of rock clearly looked like a dragon’s claw, seen from below it was impossible to deduce it, as no matter how far you could look up, it was impossible to see their end.

Although the others were nervously trying to spot both you and Minho through the thick layer of fog, Hyunjin sat on the marble altar with crossed legs, his chin delicately placed on his palm, as he wore an amused expression.

Of course, his sight was definitely better than the sight of a human’s, reason why he had no trouble keeping an eye on the two of you.

Not to mention, he definitely had no trouble to notice how Garmoth was casually sitting on top a ledge erupting from one of the rocky spikes, watching over you and Minho with a pleased smile.

Hyunjin sighed, tempted to create a barrier wide enough to prevent everyone – beside your group, to notice the dragon that would have soon made his entrance, however, Garmoth seemed to already have thought of it; sharpening his gaze, Hyunjin noticed a faint but constant movement of air, as if it couldn’t move freely, and the bard smiled to himself.

Garmoth really seemed to already have thought about everything.

«That’s the last one.» Minho announced as he lightened up the fifth candle, and at once, the flowers caught fire as well. Instinctively, you took Minho’s hand out of fear, and he held yours just as tightly; although he never doubted Sulien’s words, he was still kind of doubtful about the simplicity that apparently was needed in order to summon a God.

«What now?» you nervously questioned as the two of you hesitantly started to make your way back towards the center of the nest. “Please, don’t say something like ‘we have to do a blood sacrifice’ or some other creepy things”, you mentally added.

«The notes don’t say anything else.» Minho hastily answered, but before he could even think about voicing any other thought, a sudden loud and menacing roar seemed to shake the sky, and the fog dissipated as if it was absorbed into the ground. Garmoth made its regal appearance; he flew over your heads in a predatory way before landing, the impact of his arrival against the ground was enough to make you and Minho jolt back from inertia.

«Lixie,» Hyunjin gently called out, and Chris shortly furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled at the unusual nickname suddenly used for his friend. Although Felix didn’t verbally answer him, he created a barrier out of vines and climbing plants, “shielding them from the Dragon’s sight” – as if earlier Garmoth didn’t eagerly wave at Hyunjin who blatantly ignored him, but leaving enough gaps so that they could still see you and Minho.  

Garmoth was huge, and no matter how far you looked, you couldn’t see the end of his tail; in that moment, Hongjoong’s tales about meeting the Dragon came to your mind, and you silently cursed yourself for saying that he was “definitely exaggerating how big a dragon could be”. The dragon’s scales were faint red and definitely looked impossible to graze; his pointed claws dug deep furrows in the ground as he slowly approached you and Minho, who still kept holding hands as if your life depended of it. Garmoth’s eyes were wary, and his eye colour kept changing, making it seem like you were gazing to a burning fire.

With a loud gulp, Minho let go of your hand, slowly positioning himself behind you, as to use you as a shield if something went wrong; the thing was, you did just the same. Both you and Minho kept walking backwards, hiding one behind the other, as an amused dragon, who was clearly having the time of his life, slowly chased you.

«Why are my children cowering in fear?» Garmoth spoke, and although he didn’t actually voice any of his words, Minho’s shaky fingertips immediately intertwining with yours were a way to let you understand that the both of you were able to hear him through your thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly glanced at Minho, before looking at Garmoth once again: «We are incredibly honoured and utterly blessed to gaze up-»

«-at your magnificent… magnificence, oh Garmoth… the magnificent.» Minho somewhat finished your sentence, as the Dragon was now slowly pacing around the two of you with slow and menacing step.

Judging by the gentle sway of his tail, Garmoth was definitely having the time of his life by seeing you shaking like leaves in the wind – Hyunjin knew that.

«You flatter me, young flames. However,» Garmoth’s powerful voice roared again within your head, and you instinctively closed your eyes because Hongjoong never said it would have been this unpleasant, «all this unnecessary flattery makes me think you came here to steal something from me.»

«No!» you and Minho simultaneously exclaimed, «No, no, no! We - we wouldn’t!»

«I came here – we came here, to seek for advice, and to warn you! Hongjoong is trying to-» you tried explain the situation, but Garmoth’s sudden annoyed huff of smoke made you froze mid-sentence.  

Could it be that you offended him somehow? “Maybe I shouldn’t have said we came to warn him, he’s a God… He probably knew,” you thought.

However, Garmoth rightfully interpreted your silence as being scared, and even though he loved humans and enjoyed meeting them in his dragon dorm every once a while, he realized that the matter you were to discuss was too important for you to face it while being that scared.

The Dragon lifted his face to the sky, and another powerful roar echoed within the nest; you and Minho instinctively shrieked, your hands melting together at this point – consider your hold on each other, as you instinctively closed your eyes in fear.

Garmoth’s body seemed to vanish in a whirlwind of fire, leaving some scattered dust on the soil, and as you and Minho opened your eyes once again, you were faced with the same fog you had seen right before lightening up the altars.

«So, that was it?» you weakly questioned, «we didn’t accomplish anything?» tears of frustration were gathering at the corner of your eyes, but before Minho could say something to console you, Garmoth’s voice spoke from behind you.

«Don’t be that sad! We have a lot to talk about, and very little time to do it.» at once, both you and Minho snapped your head behind yourself as quickly as you could, surprised at the unfamiliar man now looking at you with a proud and yet amused smile. «It’s still me, I figured you would feel less threatened about my human form!» Garmoth gave the both of you a dazzling smile, before reaching out in order to loop his arms around your neck; you stood at his right side, while Minho on his left. It was probably a secret thought that the both of you shared, but you were glad about the fact that the Dragon’s voice wasn’t echoing through your head anymore.

At that point, you weren’t sure that what was happening was real; a man, who claimed to be Garmoth and who had insanely handsome features, was patiently listening to everything you knew about Hongjoong and his corruption.

Of course, you definitely couldn’t doubt about his words, since his looks clearly gave away the fact that he was not human. Everything from his bright red eyes – which still kept burning as a lively flame, to the warmth spreaded from his honey coloured skin, to the small horns erupting from the sides of his forehead told you that he was – in fact, the God of Fire himself.

«His behaviour definitely must be Kzarka’s fault.» Garmoth, concluded, after few long minutes of silence.

«The God of Corruption?» Minho questioned, «Wasn’t he sealed away?»

«By my heel, he still is!» Garmoth exclaimed, his authoritative and powerful voice roaring even in his human form. «However, me and the Goddess of Air deduced that fragments of his aura are scattered in this world, and sadly Hongjoong found not just one, but two of them.»

«Is it that bad?» Minho curiously questioned him, as you stood there, unable to voice any of your question because you were too afraid of the answer.

«It is.» Garmoth simply nodded, «If a human were to find one fragment of his soul, he would die on the spot; when I brought him back to life, I gave Hongjoong part of my power, making him even stronger than any average children of Nature… That’s probably why he managed to create his Kingdom of puppets. Kzarka must have sealed away his soul, but not his powers.»

«How can I help him? There has to be a way for me to save him! Not only him, but Seonghwa, Wooyoung and -»

«You shouldn’t linger where there is no hope, young flame.» Garmoth interrupted your sentence, his gentle and soothing voice making the words die in your throat.

«What do you mean?» again, tears gathered at the corner of your eyes, and the Dragon easily collected them on the tip of his fingertips as he brushed your cheekbones almost in an affectionate manner.

«Anything Kzarka touches and corrupts is doomed to wither; it pains me to tell you but, all is left about your family is nothing but empty shells.» it was as if someone had just slapped you with a bucket of ice; as Garmoth noticed that both you and Minho seemed to refuse to speak, he went on. «I am sure someone is way better than me at singing old tales,» he chuckled to himself as he glanced towards where Hyunjin and the others were safely hidden, «but, when we faced Kzarka, many years ago, the cost to defeat him had been great – even unimaginable for someone as young and small as the two of you. We spent time, love and dedication to create humanity, just for a single God to corrupt half of it, and even though Kzarka managed to destroy almost every God that roamed this world, the four who survived are - we’re still facing the consequences of his powers after centuries  - no, probably much more than that.»  

«Your task is very simple, however, I am sure it would create further turmoil within your soul.» Garmoth took a confident step in front of the two of you, turning around to face you once again; he faintly outstretched the palm of his hand, and closed it around what seemed to be one of his own scales. Fire started erupting from his hand following a precise shape, and after few seconds, a sword materialized from the burning fire.

Garmoth handed it over to you, «Use this to stab Hongjoong. If you’re lucky, you’ll see him one last time, before he’ll be consumed by his own power – burning from flames to dust, returning to me and therefore facing my judgement.»

As if someone else was moving your body instead of your own will, you emotionlessly reached out to grab at the helm and the sheath of the sword, clutching it against your chest. Chris’ words about his duty being to get rid of Seonghwa rather gave you a hint about what Garmoth would have told you to do, but still, you couldn’t believe it.

Most importantly, would you be able to do it?  

«I am afraid our time is up, young flames.» Garmoth smiled, ruffling Minho’s hair in an affectionate manner, «I saw few humans do it to their young kiddos, it’s not that bad indeed!» he chuckled to himself. «I can’t really tell you anything about your future, but – well, Minho, take care of your sister for me as well; and believe me, you’re going to love your found family.» Garmoth told him, tilting his head towards you as to signal that of course, you had just been appointed as Minho’s relative.

«And you - tell me, how are things with the Prince?» Garmoth questioned, and as if you had been woken up from a strange dream, you furrowed your eyebrows just to stare back at him quizzically, «Your soulmate, of course!» Garmoth added with his signature dazzling smile.

Minho’s wide eyes, matching your incredulity locked with yours.

Felix was your soulmate?

«Thinking about it, I’m sure you’ll be fine. He’s a considerate man – all children of Water are.» he added, and if possible, you were sure that both yours and Minho’s eyes widened even more.

If the Prince was your soulmate, but the Prince was a son of Water, it could only mean that -

«Chris is your soulmate?!» Minho questioned, utterly uncredulous, and you simply stared back at him with your eyes as wide as the moon.

«Yeah, I believe that’s his name for this life.» the Dragon replied with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding why the two of you could be so shocked about the Prince being a son of Water; after all, Karanda had told him that you were indeed travelling together!

Far from where you and Minho stood, however, Hyunjin definitely couldn’t believe his ears; Garmoth really walked in the place revealing things he definitely shouldn’t have revealed.  

«Fool of a Dragon.» he spat under his breath, hiding his face into his hands.

After you and Minho bid farewell to Garmoth, and he disappeared in a sudden flash of burning flames, Minho gently took a hold of your hand, leading the two of you towards the others once again.

Despite the fact that you were wordlessly following Minho as if you were in a trance while holding against your chest the enchanted sword, despite the fact that as soon as your friends spotted you, they ran towards the two of you while asking a lot of questions, the only thing you found yourself able to do was to walk towards Chris.

Wordlessly and without making eye contact, you placed your head in the crook of his neck, and he immediately held you, quietly asking what happened, worried about the fact that you had started crying; Chris locked his eyes with Minho, unable to decipher his gaze.

«We’ll explain everything as soon as we’ll be far enough from here; right now we have to flee.» Although everyone was curious about what could have happened to make you react like that, they knew that Minho was right, and the most difficult part of the plan was about to start.

«Do you want to ride with me?» Chris quietly questioned you as he reluctantly let go of you, and you nodded at him; although you just found out that Chris had been lying about his identity, you suspected there was a valid reason for it.

Moreover, most importantly, you didn’t want to be alone.

Few hours later, a more than reassuring distance was between your group and the city of Duvencrune, and as you were camping right under a blanket of stars, you and Minho explained what Garmoth told you – without mentioning about the part where Chris was your soulmate.

Actually, if you were to be honest, Minho explained to the others what happened during your meeting, because since you left the nest, you barely spoke.

«You don’t seem surprised to hear any of that, could it be that you already knew?» Felix quietly questioned Hyunjin, after he made sure that no one else could hear them; Hyunjin simply nodded, his heart tightening at the sight of you politely refusing to eat yet again.

«Don’t meddle yourself with humans affairs too much, for you are not one of them.» Karanda had clearly told him back then, and he was a fool for ignoring her suggestion so blatantly.

«I should have known better.» he melodramatically sighed loudly, ignoring Felix’s questioning gaze; Hyunjin started walking towards you, his hands confidently placed behind his nape.

«Shoo, away from my princess.» he joked, quickly moving his hands to ironically signalling Changbin to move out the way; he took the bowl the man was previously holding before sitting in front of you.

«You have two options, either you eat this by yourself, or I’ll feed you myself,» he heard Chris  say, and he forcefully hid an amused smile; he had never seen the Prince trying to make you do anything against your will until now.

Let’s just say that, considered the kind of day you just had, and the fact that it was late night and the last time you ate was probably earlier that morning, he kind of approved Chris trying to make you eat something; for sure, no one among them wanted to see you collapse out of exhaustion.

«I second that!» Hyunjin intervened, nodding at Chris’ thankful gaze, «but if I have to feed you, I’ll make the same stupid noises people have to do while feeding a baby.»

Although Hyunjin’s incredibly serious gaze met your emotionless one, you managed to scoff out of incredulity.

«How can you wait for me to finish eating - aren’t you usually the most famished among all of us?» you weakly questioned back.

However, the perspective of Hyunjin mimicking a horse’s noise as he brought the spoon from the bowl to your mouth definitely did not seem appealing, reason why you reached out, hesitantly taking a hold of the bowl full of stew.

«You seemed to like it last time, I thought it could… cheer you up.» Jeongin hesitantly spoke from the other side of the fireplace, and you found yourself smiling at him.

«So, what’s the plan?» Seungmin questioned the following day.

«Although it’s clear where we have to go, I think we should properly prepare ourselves,» Felix reasonably proposed, «there are nine of us – and Jisung and Minho can’t fight, we definitely can’t barge into the Cursed Kingdom expecting to succeed.» At Felix’s words, Seungmin’s and Jeongin’s ears perked up; immediately, their attention was locked on both Minho and Jisung.

Needless to say, if they already swore that their hostility towards you had disappeared, now it was undeniable; their attention completely shifted on teaching both Minho and Jisung how to properly fight, because «What do you mean that at Duvencrune, people are raised to devote themselves to Garmoth? Oh, you mean you were raised to die young?»

That said, Changbin suggested to not move until the following morning; «It’s a shielded place, no one would see us anyway; as long as we start moving at dawn’s light, we’ll be okay.» he said, and once again, being he the most expert when it came to travelling, you followed his lead.

Although you spent the day mostly laying on the grass and doing absolutely nothing, you were glad about the fact that Chris decided to do the same thing.

«Can I stay with you, or do you want to be alone?» he had questioned, crouching down next to you, and you answered that of course, you didn’t want to be alone.

As the others spend the unexpected day off someone training and someone rearranging the provisions, Chris had patiently sat next to you, listening as you mindlessly emptied the contents of your heart.  

Once again, you carefully avoided to mention about the fact that you and him were soulmates and most importantly, you avoided to mention about the fact that – somewhere along your endless talk, your fingers naturally intertwined.

«I know what Garmoth said, I will never have my father and the others back, but… a tiny part of me believes I can.» you said, aware that you probably sounded like an idiot. However, Chris hummed, gently playing with your fingers.

«I don’t think you sound like an idiot,» he shrugged, and for a second you questioned whether you spoke out loud, «they are people you love, it’s only fair for you to want to save them. However… Probably, that’s the best solution, not only for – well, literally the whole known land since we’re constantly on the verge of war, but for them as well?»

Chris noticed that you were glancing at him with a puzzled expression, and so he explained himself; «I am not you, therefore, I will never know the full story like you do, but, when we met Wooyoung, he said that your mother had suffered from an illness after she came in contact with one of the stones. And, if I heard Minho correctly, Garmoth said that their soul is corrupted, or most definitely sealed away. Could it be that maybe, Hongjoong and the others have been suffering for years?»

In the moment your gaze locked with Chris’ mismatched eyes, you definitely felt like an idiot. The fact that they all suffered was undeniable; Hongjoong lost not only his wife – his soulmate, but his own daughter as well.

Wooyoung’s face as he told you that San has lost himself to darkness – therefore forgetting everything about the long years they have been married, was something you definitely could not forget, as well. Each one of your loved ones had lost something that they loved – whether it was a person or just their passion towards their work or hobbies, and still, you felt in the rightful to want to bring them back to you.

Especially, after Wooyoung had explicitly told you that everyone of them had willingly decided to be corrupted in your place, just to give you enough time to grow up and become fully independent. Suddenly, the never-ending training sessions you had to stand for years finally made sense, now that you were looking at your past from another perspective.

“I’m really lucky you’re my soulmate,” you secretly thought, hoping that one day, you would have been able to speak those words as well.

«Princess, can we talk to you?» Minho hesitantly spoke as Jisung was standing next to him, shyly adverting his gaze, as no one really wanted to interrupt the small bubble you and Chris seemed to be trapped in.  

Wanting for the three of you to be alone, Minho and Jisung walked to the other side of the small camp, their backs turned towards the others so that no one could see what they were about to do.

«Me and Jisung came to an agreement,» Minho announced, handing your dagger towards you, «we’re returning it.»

«You’re… leaving? But we’re far from any village, at least let us travel together until-»

«Let me explain, please,» Minho quickly added, his voice much more softer than it was the day you first met him, and you noticed how Jisung had lifted his hands as well, signalling you to let his brother explain, «we didn’t know about who you were and the whole… thing you have to face. We simply saw your group as a free ride to leave Duvencrune, however – on our part, things have changed. We are returning the dagger because – if you allow us, we plan to help you and to stay by your side because we’re willing to, not because we’re bound by a trade.»

«Ah,» you sighed, as once again you felt tears gathering at the corner of your eyes; instinctively, you reached out to hug the both of them, mumbling a soft, «I don’t usually cry that much, you just took me by surprise.»

Minho laughed, but most importantly, as faintly as a whisper carried by the wind, you thought you heard Jisung mumble an almost inaudible: «It’s okay.»

Later that night, Felix was the first to keep watch, silently guarding the camp as you and the others were fast asleep.

«You look a little bit too relaxed, you already forgot about our task?» Hyunjin questioned, as he sat next to Felix.

«Of course I didn’t! We’re going to walk straight into Hongjoong’s trap as if it’s not even there.» Felix answered faking enthusiasm, making the bard roll his eyes at him. «Although I’m trying to have faith in them, I can’t help to be worried.» the son of Earth reluctantly admitted, and the bard agreed with him.

«The thought of something happening to Chris once again is enough to give me collywobbles.» Felix added, his eyes unfocused.

«The what?» Hyunjin questioned, and Felix sighed in an exasperated way.

«I’m scared!!» he whisper-yelled, emphasizing the concept.

“Let their fate do its course”, but what could it mean? Moreover, why did Hyunjin had the feeling that Karanda was hiding something from him?

Felix was silent once again, and he didn’t want to disturb him; for a moment, he wondered why Offin decided to burden a mortal boy with such a request.

“Not like I need assistance,” Hyunjin thought, “unless something else came up.”

Few days had passed since you met Garmoth, and you felt strangely tense; although you didn’t want to mention about your feelings to the others because you didn’t want to burden them with your emotions, you settled for being more wary towards your surroundings.

Felix and Changbin were once again leading the group towards a village – which was at least four more days of uncomfortable travel, and you couldn’t wait to sleep on a real bed once more.

Although the vegetation was thick once again, and consequently the dry and arid climate of Duvencrune was definitely behind you, you were still roaming through the mountains – even if of a lower altitude.

Roaming through the mountains meant that you had to think twice about the direction you were to take because, as Changbin repeated quite often, “damn cliffs are damn everywhere on this damn land”. However, no one expected both Felix to take the wrong path and – most importantly, Yunho to be there.

«Well well, that’s unexpected,» Yunho’s attention was claimed by the sound of the horses’ hooves. He was expecting to see some travellers who got lost, but he was rather surprised to find you of all people among them, «tired of your stupid game of cat and mouse?» he questioned with a smug grin. Yunho’s eyes turned completely black, he snapped his fingers, making a small group of at least ten soldiers seemed to appear out of darkness itself.

“I’m sure that he couldn’t do this last time I saw him, what in the world happened?” you thought, cowering in fear and glad about the fact that Changbin instinctively placed his horse between the two of you in an attempt to shield you.

«Quit it, Yunho.» Changbin spoke; however, as Yunho’s eyes landed on his long-time friend, there was no sign of recognition in them. Yunho furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head, almost about to question to Changbin why he was daring referring to him so confidentially.

«I feel generous today,» Yunho’s authoritative voice spoke, silently dismissing Changbin’s topic, «I’ll let you dismount from your horses before throwing you down this cliff.»

«Leave the horses problem to me.» Felix quickly said, making you dismount from your rides at once; hiding someone’s presence was something common among children of Earth, you’ve seen Jongho creating paths out of nowhere plenty of times to know that Felix was probably about to do the same.

Although you were certain that the horses were going to be fine, you definitely couldn’t say the same about you.

«I want the girl alive, kill everyone else.» Yunho’s authoritative tone ordered as he wore a stoic and blank expression; as if they had just been woken up from a dream, the soldiers – who have been completely unmoving until then, charged towards your direction. It was obvious that you were outnumbered, and it was obvious that you couldn’t win.

Felix was momentarily nowhere to be seen, and therefore, out of instinct you moved towards Chris’ left side, as the boy was busy covering Minho’s back as well.

«What if we flee?» Changbin questioned with a scream, making sure you could hear him above the loud clashes of the swords. In the same moment, next to you, Chris managed to disarm one of Yunho’s soldiers with a quick and swift movement of his sword, just to grab at the enemy’s throat; water circled his neck, and as you saw him falling to the floor painfully coughing even more water, you realized you didn’t want to know what kind of fighting techniques were used at Iliya’s Island.

«It would be useless,» Seungmin, screamed back, «they won’t die unless they’ve fulfilled the order they received!» Exactly as your friend said, Yunho’s soldier sat back on the ground, slowly getting up after recovering his sword, ready to charge at him once again.

«That’s not possible!» Chris’ incredulous voice as he dodged yet another attack caught your attention, but you already knew what he was referring to. There was a black cloud of constantly moving black smoke around said soldier’s throat, and you didn’t have to glance at Yunho to confirm your suspicions. As easily as that, Yunho neutralized Chris’ spell.

The only spells who seemed to work longer than the others were Hyunjin’s; he was effortlessly and continuously neutralizing your enemies for a little longer than anyone else managed to. However, at this rate, it was impossible for anyone to take a break from continuously fighting in order to defend yourself.

It was definitely Yunho’s strategy; make you tired enough so that he could snatch you away without wasting too much of his energy. Hyunjin was the only one continuously attacking, thanks to his ability to move as quick as the wind; the rest of you were collaborating as best as you could, trying to deliver powerful spells only if someone else was parrying the opponent’s attack.

«It’s getting boring in here.» Yunho exclaimed, startling you judging from how close he got in the blink of an eye; he forcefully gripped your shoulder, yanking you towards the direction of the cliff.

«Let’s see if you were worth the wait.» Yunho’s voice spat, and once again, as your eyes locked, there was no sign of recognition in his eyes; as if the girl he had loved like his own daughter was now a complete stranger to him. «Since it’s your fault it took me so long to corrupt these souls, can you believe?» as his voice gradually got louder and – if possibly, angrier, he twirled the hilt of the sword on the back of his hand, only to grab it firmly once again and attack harshly towards the ground.

Although Yunho couldn’t remember, he was the one who - many years ago, had insisted that you constantly worked on having quick reflexes; it’s probably thanks to these lessons that his swords didn’t sink into your thigh.

«All is left about your family is nothing but empty shells,» Garmoth had said, and the words Yunho just spoke were the confirmation you needed.

Although one of the men you loved the most in the world was right in front of you, there was no trace of his kind and understanding soul any longer.

The thought of your family suffering only for you to be safe, for some reason, fuelled you with unexplainable anger; you quickly got on your feet, wielding the sword Garmoth’s created for you and launched forward.

«What’s that toy?» Yunho chuckled, easily parrying every one of your attacks; the fact that he wasn’t using his powers was a clear signal that he was playing with you, «Did the Dragon and his wench thought a human could kill me?» he laughed, kicking you in the stomach with enough force to make you fall on the ground once again. Yunho was towering over you, looking at you as if you were an annoying nuisance – you definitely were in his eyes, and as he approached your retreating form, he expertly twirled his sword in his hand.

«Watch out!» an unfamiliar rough voice shouted, and if only you were in such a situation, you would have been incredibly happy about the fact that Jisung had spoken out loud for the first time – of course, although you’d preferred for it to be a more peaceful moment.

As you dragged yourself back a little more, your left hand met the void; quickly glancing back, you realized with pure horror that not only you were literally at the edge of the cliff, but that Yunho was about to attack you once more and the only way to avoid it was to take the leap.

He drove his sword towards you once again, however, before you realized, a familiar weight crashed against yours, and you noticed too late that Chris’ arm had been stabbed by Yunho’s sword.

«No!» you exclaimed, as Yunho’s wicked laughter filled your ears; you pushed Chris’ back against your chest, and he clutched at the painful fresh wound. There was a faint aura of black smoke erupting from your soulmate’s skin, and you realized with horror that Yunho’s sword must have been either poisoned or enchanted.

«That alchemist is really something.» Yunho nodded to himself approvingly, as to praise Yeosang’s skill because - of course, no one else but him could have come up with something like that.

«Thinking about it, I changed my mind, you’ll die here.» Yunho’s wicked grin was back on his lips, as he closed his right hand in a tight fist; a small cloud of menacing darkness was erupting from it. «Hongjoong sends his regards.» he spat with an ironic tone, before the land under yours and Chris’ feet crumbled.

Before you realized what was happening, you and Chris were falling off the cliff at dangerous speed; although there was a river right underneath it, you sincerely doubted it was deep enough not to hurt the both of you. Moreover, the fall was dangerously high, meaning that you and your soulmate were most definitely doomed.

Suddenly, you felt Chris move his left arm right behind your waist, quickly yanking you against his chest. Ignoring the pain he was feeling, Chris used his powers, both eyes turning blue as the river quickly rose from its bed towards your direction, just to welcome you as a soft and inconsistent mattress, gently accompanying your fall and making you safely land on the river bank.

«I’ll leave the rest to you now.» Chris roughly panted, groaning in pain as he tried to do his best not to lose his senses.

Back on the cliff, Yunho and his soldiers had vanished in a cloud of black smoke in the same moment they saw you and Chris fall off the cliff.

«We have to find a way down, and quickly!» Minho urged, getting as close as the cliff as he could.

«It’s pretty high from here, they could be-»

«Seungmin, finish that sentence and I will personally cut your tongue.» Changbin’s rough and distressed voice spoke, as he tried to focus enough to summon his power just to see things from the river’s perspective.

However, as strange as it was, he could not.

«I can’t see… anything?» he opened his eyes, quizzically looking at Hyunjin and Felix. As the two of them tried to do the same, Changbin’s words were sadly confirmed.

Hyunjin had enchanted your earring so that he could be able to find you anywhere and everywhere, so why couldn’t he?

“Let their fate do its course.” Karanda had said, but was this what she meant?

Most importantly, what had he and Felix done to their friends?

Given the fact that a cloak of stars was draped over the sky, you admitted to yourself that you had completely lost track of time. Despite his attempts not to faint, Chris effectively lost his senses as soon as the two of you touched the wet soil of the riverbank, leaving you the task to both look for a sheltered place and somehow dragging him there.

Unexpectedly, you managed to find a recess, not deep enough to be considered a cave, but large and deep enough to allow you to hide inside undetected. Considering the fact that Chris was in a constant state where he kept fainting and gaining consciousness and you didn’t know whether Yunho was still looking for you, you decided that it was enough of a shelter for the night.

Carefully, you helped Chris sat against the sturdy wall of the recess, immediately creating a small fireplace right next to him; trying to make as little noise as you could, you took off both his fur cloak and yours instantly drying them with your powers, just to cover your soulmate’s shaking form.

However, Chris’ teeth didn’t stop clattering, and your worry only increased; you quickly moved to sit next to him, sneaking under a small fraction of his makeshift blanket so that your bodies were effectively touching, so that you could share your natural body heat with him.

Instinctively, Chris moved, leaning against your warmth barely above a whisper, he faintly mumbled your name, before leaning his against your shoulder; not wanting for him to move, you slowly moved your arm so that you could link yours with his, hugging it close to your chest.

Although he warmed up pretty quickly after you sat next to him, Chris’ pained whimpers were enough for you to not to manage to sleep; during the night, you tried to use healing magic on his wound, just to notice that it didn’t work in the least. The wound looked painful, but not extremely deep; despite the fact that there wasn’t any more black smoke erupting from it, the flash around said wound was concerning shades of a purplish colour.

Rubbing your eyes with distressed movement as if to get rid of your tiredness, you kept trying to heal him, aware that - if Chris was like that, it was completely your fault.

Under the same blanket of stars, your friends had collapsed due to exhaustion, as they had spent what remained of the day trying to find you.

«Guide me to her,» Hyunjin faintly mumbled to the wind, his eyes turning grey; however, never ending seconds passed, only for the bard to realize that Karanda herself was probably preventing him to find you. Hyunjin tightly clenched his fist, and turned his head towards Felix, who was once again keeping watch.

«If they wake up, cover for me.» the bard said, and before his friend could say anything else, he vanished in a gust of wind.

«You are shielding my sight.» Hyunjin advanced with secure steps through the Harpies’ Ridge. It wasn’t clear to him why he was so worked up about the issue; but he dismissed his thoughts with the shallow thought that he was just trying to follow her orders.

«And here I thought you came back because you missed your sisters.» Karanda addressed him, as always quietly sitting on her throne.

Hyunjin would have never thought that the day where he could be so angry towards his Queen would come, and yet, there he was.

«You’re shielding my sight, Karanda. I’ve been by your side for enough years for you to know that I hate when you do it.»

The Goddess, however, shook her head, completely aware about why the harpy was behaving like that, «It’s not my fault this time, but Kzarka’s.» meeting Hyunjin’s silence, she explained further, «I believe part of his corrupted power is dangerously close to her.»

Hyunjin’s heart felt a little less restless; although he was happy Karanda didn’t betray him, he was still worried about his friends. The bard furrowed his eyebrows, could it be that while they were fighting, Yunho managed to hurt one of them? No one saw what happened, since the cursed soldiers were keeping them busy enough to prevent it.

«They are alive, Hyunjin. Their souls haven’t returned to the Gods.» she added, and the bard nodded at her, although he didn’t manage to hide his concern.

At dawn’s first light, you felt a gentle hold around your wrist; snapping your head up, you realized with horror that somewhere along your attempts to heal Chris, you fell asleep. As you sat between his bent legs, your head had naturally fell on the crook of his neck, as apparently, your hands remained on his chest; you didn’t know if you felt more sore due to the uncomfortable position you slept in or if you felt more embarrassed about it.

However, Chris was looking at you, his eyes partially unfocused, before quietly glancing around just to take in your surroundings.

«How do you feel?» you cautiously asked, your heart feeling heavy as you noticed that he was still flinching and whimpering due to the pain he was feeling, but he was doing his best in trying to hide it from you. Chris didn’t trust his voice to verbally answer, and therefore he simply nodded, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

«I’m sorry,» you admitted as you felt your eyes sting from the tears threatening to fall, «it’s my fault, I’m sorry.» you repeated, lowering your head so that you were staring at your lap.

«Cut the bullshit, it’s not your fault.» Chris’ husky and soft voice broke the silence, and he gently lifted your chin by placing his index finger under it, «I got hurt because I wanted to protect you, and it’s on me, not you.» you shook your head weakly, and he weakly scoffed.

Somewhere between your small talk, his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, intertwining your fingers in a gesture that despite everything, managed to comfort you.

Although he admitted that he wanted to protect you, you still wondered why; the feeling that he could return your feelings with the same intensity was a small yet bright hope in your heart, and you found yourself hesitantly tracing the scar on his face with trembling fingertips and a gentle touch.

Chris’ mismatched eyes were locked on you, and the kindness and affection that they showed were enough for you to realize that you didn’t want to lose him.

It was as if time stopped, just for you to inch closer to each other; as your lips met halfway, you wondered who had been the first one to lean in. Chris’ lips were gently and yet passionate against yours, just like his whole personality. He weakly lifted his left hand just to caress your cheek, moving your head just enough to deepen the kiss and you let him - you would have let him do so much more, but Chris sudden pained his broke the small bubble the both of you had lived in for few second.

Chris leaned his head in the crook of your neck, whimpering and shivering in pain, leaving you sitting between his legs and staring at the rocky wall; your heart was hammering in your chest, and you knew your soulmate could hear it loud and clear.

«Why did you kiss me?» you weakly questioned, unsure about the fact that your voice even came out in the first place.

«I’m sorry, sweetheart,» you heard him fatiguely speak, «I always show up too late when it’s time to save you.» he answered.

As you were about to retort, you noticed that your soulmate leaned his head back once again, his face shortly contorting in pain; taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the fact that you were effectively crying, you decided not to speak, repeating your ministration in trying to heal him.

«They’re here!» you heard Seungmin’s voice shout, and as you snapped your head to your right, you felt as if you have woken up from a nightmare.

It must have been somewhere around the middle of the afternoon; and you were still at Chris’ side, who had now completely lost his senses. Although his heart was beating and he was breathing weakly, he had passed out few hours after you kissed, and still hadn’t woken up.

«Seungmin!» you weakly called out, relief washing over you as one by one, the others ran to where he was standing.

«You’re alive, I was about to have a heart-attack» Changbin mumbled as he hugged you as tight as he could; however, despite the relief about the group being reunited, you still had a big problem to solve.

«What’s wrong with him?» Felix hurriedly ran to Chris’ side, kneeling next to his unconscious form and wiping few strands of black hair away from his forehead.

«Yunho stabbed his shoulder, I – I can’t heal him.» you nervously explained, not noticing how Hyunjin’s head snapped towards you, as he listened to your words with wide and incredulous eyes.

When Karanda hypothesized that part of Kzarka’s corrupted power was dangerously near you, he definitely didn’t consider the eventuality of Chris being hurt.

«Troublesome child of Water,» he faintly mumbled, as he closed the distance between him and your soulmate with quick steps. Hyunjin leaned in, examining Chris’ wound as the boy was still looking peacefully asleep; the bard’s fingertips faintly hovered over the boy’s injury, and his eyebrows furrowed.

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, the memories of many of friends succumbing to darkness due to the same wound immediately resurfacing; he had seen it happen countless times in the past, but still, he had hoped to never witness something like that again.

The God of Corruption’s aura was easily perceptible from Chris’ shoulder, and Hyunjin knew that it was just a matter of time for your soulmate to wake up as another one of Kzarka’s puppets.

The bard didn’t need to make up his mind in order to decide to save him: although Karanda had told him not to meddle with humans, he had realized long ago that he had blatantly disobeyed her order.

Hyunjin faintly smiled, thinking about the paradox of his situation: the harpy who always refused to reincarnate into a human because of her hatred towards the species was now trying so desperately to save the friends she made as she reincarnated into a human boy.

«Stay back, all of you.» Hyunjin spoke, and his sudden and unusual authoritative tone made you immediately comply; Felix stood up as well, walking to your side. «Let’s see if I remember how it’s done.» the bard mumbled to himself, as he placed the palm of his hand above Chris’ wound. Hyunjin’s eyes flashed a dark shade of grey, action which made you furrow your eyebrows; you were taught that healing or basic magic made your eyes turn golden, so why did he use his elemental magic to heal?

«Healing spells don’t work.» you faintly spoke; however, the words died in your throat as soon as Hyunjin began to speak; his words were incomprehensible, almost if he was talking an ancient and forgotten language.

As Hyunjin kept reciting his spell, a faint white glow seemed to be emitted from his body, and everyone noticed as well how his eyes gradually started to change colour: if his elemental magic made his eyes look like the darkest of clouds, now, his orbs were almost white.

Again, Hyunjin kept talking and Chris’s face started to contort in pain; there were few droplets of sweat on the bard’s forehead, and despite his hand was trembling every now and then, he refused to stop.

Suddenly, looking at Hyunjin, you seemed to recall one of Seonghwa’s tales about your mother: it lasted probably a fraction of a second, but at some point, you were sure you could see pure white feathers erupting from Hyunjin’s forearms, and in that moment you realized, the bard must have been blessed by the Goddess of Air herself.

For few seconds, everyone was so speechless about what happened, that no one noticed that Chris’ wound had completely been healed.  

«After all this time, I’m still the best healer around.» Hyunjin vainly announced as he stood up once again, brushing the dust off his knees. However, no one dared to say anything.

«Oh, come on.» he sighed, «you’re not even going to say “thank you?”»

Later that day, it was safe to say that no one on the way to the next village spoke about what happened; in fact, for hours, no one dared to utter a word.

Whether you were tired or you were still astonishingly processing what Hyunjin had done few hours earlier, everyone had their different reason.

-

«Now that I think about it, I forgot my lyre in one of the bags of Felix’s horse,» Hyunjin said, wrapping both his hands around your right one, «Could you get it for me?» you furrowed your eyebrows, glancing at Changbin who simply shrugged.

«Can’t you materialize it?» Jeongin asked curiously, and you glanced at the younger boy, consequentially missing how Hyunjin glared daggers towards him.

«I’m still recovering from healing Chris.» the bard lied, but you nodded at him, not asking for further explanations.

«I’ll see you at the inn, then.» you mumbled nervously, glancing towards Minho, who was effortlessly carrying a still unconscious Chris on his back.

As soon as you were out of sight, Hyunjin’s expression darkened, suddenly looking exhausted.

«I know you are still shocked, but I mean no harm. However, we are gathered here today to fight our common enemy.» he spoke, making Felix scoff while hiding a smile; after all, riding a horse together meant that they had plenty of time to gossip.

«Enemy?» Minho questioned.

«Another one?» Seungmin echoed.

«Damn, you really are that naive…» Changbin joked, but Hyunjin quickly silenced the group while raising his index finger.

«I definitely haven’t been sent here to play the God of Love, but those two are literally making me go crazy.» Hyunjin glanced at Chris – who was about to wake up, and hoped that he wouldn’t hear any part of this conversation.

«He’s saying,» Felix chimed in, «we need a valid excuse for them to solve whatever they have going on.»

«Brainstorming, that’s cool.» Changbin mumbled.

«We could get them drunk-» Seungmin offered, just to be harshly silenced by Hyunjin.

«They’ll forget and we’re gonna have the same problem, next one.»

«We could-»

«Jeongin, you’re a child, you shouldn’t even been listening to this conversation.» Hyunjin interrupted him, pressing his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose.

«We could room together and make them do the same.» Jisung timidly spoke, still not used to speak in front of someone who wasn’t Minho; Hyunjin’s eyes, however, seemed to sparkle with interest.

«He’s right,» Minho chimed in, «let’s pay the inn-keeper more just to make them believe there aren’t more room available.»

Felix and Hyunjin glanced at each other, and as easily as that, they decided that Jisung and Minho would share a room, making it impossible for either you or Chris to want to switch; Seungmin, Jeongin and Changbin would share another one, using the excuse to “keep an eye on them”.

«As for us, she might suggest to switch rooms, but Chris is- well, kinda jealous of Hyunjin, so he would never agree.» Felix explained.

Therefore, that’s basically how, once you arrived at the inn while holding Hyunjin’s lyre, Jisung announced you about your roommate’s condition.

Chris had woken up, and he was now sitting on the bed that the two of you were supposed to sleep on.

However, your soulmate wasn’t alone, because apparently, everyone else had decided to intrude your shared room; some were sitting on the bed, some on the floor, because Changbin had purposely saved one of the chairs for you to sit on.

Not to mention, each of them had brought few plates full of food as well, meaning that it was just like when you were sitting in Minho’s kitchen, but the feelings each one of you held were completely different from then.

«Why don’t we face the elephant in the room?» Seungmin suggested, noticing how everyone was suddenly looking nervous.

«And that should be me?» Hyunjin questioned, chewing on his food.

«Yeah, of course,» Seungmin eagerly nodded, «Chris is okay, the least you could do is to tell us what happened.» Instinctively, you glanced at Chris, who simply gave you a small smile before adverting his gaze.

«Long story short, I am a spy from Karanda.» Hyunjin announced; enjoying how everyone’s eyes widened dramatically wide – except for Felix’s.

Although the bard never expected for the day where the told the truth about his mission to come, he also never expected him to feel relieved after doing it. Little by little, he explained everything: Karanda’s worries, his mission and – of course, the fact that he had to do everything as a human boy.

Eventually, everyone had their fair share of doubts regarding Hyunjin’s identity, but no one ever brought up the topic; however, you had to admit that it was both funny and heart-warming that everyone was perfectly okay with it.

«A Goddess sent someone to watch over the Princess, that’s something I would never have dreamed of.» Changbin chuckled to himself, adding that he couldn’t wait to get back home in order to tell Lea about it.

«You’re technically a woman?» Jeongin was the first one to speak, his eyes wide in disbelief, Hyunjin nodded briefly, and the assassin’s questions seemed to bloom on the tip of his tongue, «That’s cool! Can you effectively transform?»

«Sadly, I can’t go back being an harpy,» Hyunjin sighed, «unless Karanda undoes her spell, I will live my human life looking like this.»

«At least, you’re good looking.» Seungmin unexpectedly commented next to you, and for a second, your hand froze in mid air as you were about to take a sip from your chalice; Minho’s gentle kick against your feet and your accomplice smile, however, misleaded you into thinking that he heard Seungmin’s words as well.

As the child of Fire’s eyes mischievously landed on Chris, you realized what he was about to do, and your heart picked up pace.

«Now that you’re okay, something interesting happened at Garmoth’s nest.» Minho hid a smug smile behind a small chalice, ignoring the fact that you were looking at him as to beg him to shut up.

«Is it about Garmoth?» Jisung excitedly asked him, hoping to hear interesting stories about the Dragon, and Minho nodded at him.

«Apparently, our Princess has a soulmate.» he spoke, and the collective gasp that filled the room made you desire for the ground to swallow you whole.

«Who is it? Did anyone win the bet?» Seungmin questioned, making you rise an eyebrow at him.

«The bet?» you quizzically asked, but no one answered you, to engrossed with Minho’s storytelling.

«Her soulmate is our beloved Prince.» he said, and among shocked faces, only Felix and Chris remained stoic.

«Felix?!» Changbin asked incredulous, making you shake your head at him.

«About that-» Felix started to speak, but was immediately cut off by Minho.

«The Prince, a child of Water,» Minho clarified, «which is really weird, because Lix is a child of Earth.»

Chris’ eyes met yours, and you silently apologetically smiled at him; for a split second, you hoped for him not to be against the idea of being your soulmate, however, you realized that the silence that followed Minho’s words meant that everyone was waiting for an explanation.

«We’re quite used to swap titles when we leave Iliya Island, especially since the assassination,» Chris spoke, nervously scratching his nape, «I guess we got caught up. I’m sorry.»

«The assassination?!» you instinctively questioned, memories of the conversation you had with Chris resurfacing; following what he had told you, he had been assassinated two months before your first meeting, so how could he look so relaxed about everything?

Both Felix and Chris explained that there were some nobles not completely happy about the fact that the crowned Prince was an illegitimate child, and therefore tried to get rid of him. However, things definitely changed as soon as they saw Chris effortlessly resurfacing from the ocean he had been thrown to after being stabbed, looking very much alive and enraged.

«It really feels like one of those games I used to play when I was younger: you either had to tell the truth about something or do what you were told to,» Changbin explained as he drank a sip of wine, «Minho, Jisung? I believe it’s your turn.» Jisung and Minho looked at each other, before shrugging.

«It’s really not that deep,» Minho answered truthfully, «once you are born in Duvencrune, you can’t live. Basically, we didn’t want to die in there. If you are born as a Duvencrune citizen, you can't leave, no matter what.»

Although you didn’t realize when, but at some point of the night, you had to share your part of truth as well; you quickly glanced around the room, taking in your friend’s faces as they laughed and teased each other, and you wondered if – when she met Hongjoong, your mother had felt the same feeling of belonging as you do.

Seungmin had returned Garmoth’s sword to you, saying that he had found it as he was descending part of the cliff while they were looking to you, and that was your clue to explain yourself. Again, you told them about what the Dragon had told you to do, but you eventually explained about how you had lived your life as well.

Hongjoong - along with his wife and his friends, had spent part of his life living in Velia, also known as the town of freedom. There, your father and your mother lived peacefully and madly in love with each other, showering you with love from the day you were born; the three of you lived a happy life, along with his friends – your family.

Everything seemed to be perfect; you were growing up cultivating your talent as a daughter of Fire, Hongjoong had patiently and carefully spent part of his days teaching you how to use your powers without hurting yourself in the process.

You admired your mother dearly, and her tales about the days where she met your father and they fought together were probably your favourite. Somehow, you wanted to be just like her: selfless, brave, caring. To anyone who asked you, your mother was a warrior, and it would have been a blessing to be able to resemble her, even if just a little bit.

However, after a mysterious stone had been found – which now you knew it was filled with Kzarka’s power, your mother fell ill and passed away in few weeks, causing the indescribable despair of Hongjoong.

Everything seemed to be okay at the beginning; the two of you would visit her tombstone just outside of town, until you eventually noticed that your father spent excessively much time in front of it. Slowly, you noticed how he had started to change; it was as if his sanity was slowly slipping away, and your concern for him would only grow stronger.

Unbeknownst to him, you started secretly following him, just to see that he spent most of his days in silently weeping while sitting in front of your mother’s grave.

«We were soulmates, how could it happen?» he would mumble occasionally, and although you had lost your own mother, you realized that you couldn’t ever imagine how could he have felt. Days turned into months, and months turned into years, until your father gently kissed your forehead on a rainy Tuesday morning, whispering a quiet «I love you.» before heading out without coming back home.

Needless to say, you were scared, worried, and you felt inconsolable; not even your beloved uncles managed to calm you down, although they were trying their best not to let you realize that they felt the same distress you felt.

Once again, days turned into months, and your father came back on a windy evening; there was a strange light in his eyes, as his body partially covered with blood, and a brand new cape – made with black feathers, was carefully draped over his shoulders. He affectionately caressed your cheek while apologizing for being away, and you leaned into his familiar and comforting warmth with a small nod, forgiving him.

«I missed you, don’t go away anymore.» you mumbled weakly, trying to ignore the small harpy’s skull carefully placed on his shoulder. «I promise.» he gently smiled at you.

That was the last night you saw your father’s heterochromatic eyes. Years went by, and the fact that his soul was slowly changing was more and more evident; he had abandoned his generous and bright spirit in order to hug a darker and unknown side of him, a side that no one – not even him, had ever known nor seen.

Eventually, your father and his friends decided to move towards the East, taking shield in an abandoned Castle outside the Reign’s territories, both not wanting to leave their friend alone, both wanting to keep an eye on him. Of course, driven by your sense of worry towards the person you loved the most, you followed them.

From there, as soon as Hongjoong found another one of those mysterious stones, things rapidly went downhill; eventually, your father had completely lost his soul to darkness, his only goal becoming the one to tear down the four divinities, which were silently watching over their children.

The King’s once bright red eye was now pitch black, as if it was a bottomless hole void of any kind of emotion; his power also drastically changed as well. Of course, he could still control fire, but if once the flames erupting from his hands were warm, bright, red and comforting, now they were as black as a starless sky, and the once burning flames he could control, now almost seemed as cold as ice.

With extreme discouragement, you noticed that your father started to lose his memories to darkness as well. To you, it was heart wrecking to see your uncles losing themselves to darkness as well, especially because you have never been able to do anything to help them.

Everything that happened recently, from the encounter with Garmoth, the talk you had with Chris and the fight you had with Yunho were enough for you to see things from another perspective: the Dragon was right.

It was crystal clear that Kzarka had consumed the soul of the people you loved, using their bodies as powerful vessels, and you were determined to do whatever it took to bring them peace.

«I know it sounds really weird,» Hyunjin hesitantly spoke after you had finished your story, «but I can testify everything she said.»

There were a countless of Gods and Goddesses during the Dawn of Time, not only four; they spent their days in bliss, shaping every part of the land that you were now walking on. They decided to create humanity out of kindness, just to gift them said land they had carefully created; children of Nature would have been rare, but they would have had elemental powers, unlike other human beings.

However, Kzarka - according to the harpy’s word, was the only God that managed to create himself out of humanity’s bad intentions; made from envy, greed and malevolence, Kzarka quickly convinced whoever was not a child of Nature to follow him, promising them power and everything anyone could have dreamed of.

Needless to say, the battle against Kzarka and the corrupted humans lasted for centuries, and sadly, Kzarka grew stronger as much as humans’ negative feelings increased: the effort to seal him had been unimaginable, and only four divinities were left.

«Many had lost their soulmates, and this is why some of us refused to be reborn in a human form.» Hyunjin confessed; back then, he had a soulmate as well, of course. A wild and tomboyish daughter of Storm, as unpredictable as the weather; he had befriended her back then, finding amusing the fact that she was incredibly shocked – and yet happy, to have a harpy as a friend.

However, back then Hyunjin failed to protect her, and the imagine of the lively and bright eyes of the daughter of Storm being clouded with darkness were sometimes still haunting his sleep.

«Nevertheless, the two of you better not try to ditch us to do stupid things.» Felix spoke, his gaze switching from yours to Hyunjin.

«We won’t, right princess?» the bard confirmed him.

«I know we’ll be facing an impossible task, but I would appreciate for you to come with me.» you truthfully said; the thought of facing Hongjoong alone was absolutely inconsiderable. Moreover, although you had made up your mind, you were still scared.

«It’s not like anyone of us had changed their mind.» Jisung unexpectedly spoke with a friendly smile, and the others agreed with him.

Eventually, you and Chris were left alone in your shared room, and now that your soulmate had excused himself to take a shower, you had the chance to glance around your surroundings, faintly illuminated by candles.  

A wooden bed and a wooden table stood in your shared room - which was big enough for the two of you to walk around without feeling suffocated; there was a small balcony as well, giving you a perfect yet bittersweet view on the city.

Chris was still taking a shower, since he left you go in earlier; «ladies first!» he said with his usual generous smile, and you eagerly took the opportunity to finally shower after days of constant travel.

Although you didn’t have a change of clothes for the night, you were glad about the fact that this was one of those inn that offered warm robes to the costumers, especially because you didn’t want to wear your usual clothes to go to sleep.

Leaning against the doorframe that led the room to the balcony, and gradually lost yourself in your thoughts, as your gaze was lost in the landscape of the sleeping village.

«Oh.» Chris’ surprised voice instinctively made your head turn towards him; he was wearing his robe as well, his hair still wet from the shower, and his clothes neatly folded in his arms. Chris was looking at you with a slightly surprised expression, of course not used to see you like this. «You look-»

«Well, you didn’t expect me to sleep with my everyday clothes.» you immediately cut him off, a mixture between feeling flustered and not wanting to hear that you looked “different”.

«-stunning. You look stunning.» Chris clarified, and if he was annoyed about you cutting him off, he didn’t show it. Immediately, you felt your cheeks heathen in a sudden and unexpected warmth.

«How are you feeling?» you questioned him as he walked over where you were, after placing his folded clothes next to yours. Since Chris wore his robe really loose, you could see not only the scar from Yunho’s swords, but you could glimpse other scars as well; instinctively, your mind wondered about how Chris’ naked body would look.

“I mean, I’m thinking about his scars”, you clarified to yourself, as if preventing your thoughts from straying to dangerous places.

«Definitely good,» he reassured you with a smile, «Hyunjin told me that I was basically about to die and – oh, were you there already when Lix punched me out of worry?» he questioned and you failed to hide your incredulous giggle.

«He was like “I told you not to make me worry like that anymore, you shark bait!” and punched me square in the jaw.» Chris laughed, tapping twice on the right side of his face.

«He did the right thing, you shouldn’t have done that.» you answered, and Chris simply sighed.

The Prince – still leaning against the doorframe, placed his hand around your forearm, gently pulling you towards him; you let yourself be embraced by him, not wanting to resist his ministrations. Although your hands were still crossed in front of your chest, Chris was now loosely hugging your waist, pressing your body against his; you were sure that, if not for your arms preventing it, Chris could easily feel how fast your heartbeat was.

«Why did you kiss me?» you mumbled, unconsciously glancing at his lips.

«Yeah, why did I?» Chris’ teasing behaviour was back, and you had to admit that if it usually got on your nerves, in that moment you managed to find it somehow alluring.

One of Chris’ hands travelled from your waist to your shoulder, and his touch seemed to set your skin alight that for a second, you wondered who the child of Fire really was; your soulmate had his eyes closed, as his lips were millimetres from yours.

«I love you,» he whispered, your faces so close that you could feel his lips gently brush against yours as he spoke; «I am utterly in love with you, soulmates or not.» he confessed, and you found yourself closing the little distance that remained within the two of you.

Unlike your first kiss, your lips were roughly moving against each other, your right hand loosely gripping the other’s hair and your left arm thrown around his neck, making you stand on your tiptoes in the process. Chris was firmly holding you against his chest with his right arm - helping you keeping your balance, while his left hand was sprawled on the side of your neck, occasionally tilting your head to deepen the kiss, as your mouth was occasionally swallowing his whimpers.

Somewhere along bold touches and heartfelt confession, the two of you had messily kissed your path to the bed, your robes easily discarded in the process.

Chris was laying under you on the soft mattress, and you were sitting on his lap; as he intertwined your fingers, he brought both of your hands over his head, making you lean over him due to inertia.

«I’m really new to this,» Chris’ hoarse voice confessed, «don’t go easy on me.» he mumbled, before he claimed your lips again.

His words hit you like a thunder out of the clear blue sky; you had your fair share of fun and intercourses when you were still living in the Cursed Kingdom, but you had never expected Chris to be still a virgin, especially when he was looking like that.

As if he could hear the metal gear spin in your brain, Chris chuckled against your lips. «Iliya Island is mainly populated by men;» he explained, «moreover, my first time being with my soulmate makes me by and large happier than finding a hidden treasure lost in the sea.» you instinctively scoffed at his words, just to hide the fact that your heart seemed to swell as his mismatched eyes were fondly gazing at you.

As your bodies connected, Chris’ left hand was constantly intertwined with your right one, and as your bodies moved together, you realized that no one else than your soulmate could have made you feel such intense pleasure. His caresses and touches were disconnected paths on your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps everywhere he decided to touch you.

Chris was just like the sea, an addictive balance of unpredictable storms and calm tide pools; Chris was just like the sea, and you loved him.

Although your friends had different and weird habits, you definitely didn’t understand why they were laughing among themselves while throwing what looked like few leather pouches filled with money.

«What are they doing?» you questioned Chris, which was looking at them with an amused smile.

The two of you walked towards their table, happy that they had already ordered enough breakfast for the two of you as well.

«We had a bet few months ago.» he simply said, taking a seat next to Felix.

«A bet?» you asked, mirroring his action and sitting between your soulmate and Seungmin, surprised that they had enough time to think about bets, «what was it about?»

«Us being soulmates.»

Needless to say, you were glad about the fact that you were already sitting and not still walking, because you would have stopped in your tracks; Chris was looking at you with a mischievous smile and still, you noticed how it gradually grew fond as much as you were getting flustered.

«What did you bet on?» you found yourself asking as you felt your cheeks heathen.

However, before he could answer, Minho loudly called his name, before throwing him pouch full of money.

Chris winked at you, wordlessly giving you the answer you were looking for, and you shook your head, hiding your embarrassment behind an exasperated sigh.

CHAPTER V

«We’ll get caught.» you whispered without any intention to stop Chris as his lips hungrily moved against yours, his hands found their way on your hips, caging you against the kitchen table; instinctively, you put your hands on his shoulders, letting him easily hoist you up on the wooden surface. Chris’ breath faltered as you eventually started to bite a path on his neck, making you smile to yourself.

«Oh, for the love of the Gods,» Hyunjin’s exasperated voice made you and Chris slowly separate from each other while hiding an amused laughter. «What is it?» Seungmin shouted from the other room. «You burned the stew?» Changbin echoed. «We have to sanitize the kitchen, again,» the bard shouted back, «I almost miss the days where you acted like shy virgins.» you heard him mumble to himself, making both you and your soulmate erupt with laughter.

After you and your friends decided to stay together and complete the mission Garmoth had gave you, you also decided that instead of staying at an inn and pay for different rooms, the wisest solution was to rent a house for the months you needed to come up with an efficient plan – months during which Seungmin and Jeongin managed to turn Jisung and Minho into skilled fighters.

-

«What are you doing?» Jisung knocked to the open wooden door, catching your attention; you lifted your head from your hands, finally stopping burning holes into the alchemy book in front of you.

«Trying to come up with a solution,» you sighed, «I don’t think we can walk into the Cursed Kingdom with our weapons on sight.» Jisung pouted, lost in thoughts; he had an idea, but he was still hesitant to voice it out to you.

«Hannie, you can’t use magic, right?» you questioned him as soon as he took a seat in front of you, opening one of the books on the desk; he shook his head, saying that he could only do some basic healing spell, but nothing else.

Driven by hope, you lent him the enchanted glove Yeosang had made, just to write with ink the same symbol on the top of your hand; using magic, you created a small fireball, before locking your gaze with you friend’s.

«We could use alchemy to share our powers,» you explained that since you had the same symbol on your skin, he could try to summon it in the same moment you decided to lend your powers to him, however, despite multiple attempts, it didn’t work.

Eventually, during the days, Seungmin and Changbin joined the two of you, trying to come up with useful solutions.

«There is something we could try,» Jisung hesitantly spoke, playing with the hem of his shirt; your eyes – along with your friends’, were now locked on him, who seemed to shrink due to the unexpected attention.

With a deep breath, Jisung took enough courage to reach out for a blank paper and draw an alchemy symbol on it; it was exactly like the one Yeosang had created, however, it had few more lines. Aware about the fact that in alchemy, each symbol and each line position had a meaning, you felt colour drain from your face.

«Well, well.» Seungmin chuckled, incredulous. «Did you come up with it?» you questioned him, but Jisung shook his head. «Minho did,» he explained, «however, in Duvencrune it’s forbidden.» «What does it mean?» Changbin curiously asked. «Sharing one’s power.» Jisung dismissed. «In life and in death,» Seungmin added immediately, «Let’s suppose I could use Hyunjin’s power; I could have some real fun, but if I use too much, he could die.» Changbin whistled at the explanation, commenting it that it was indeed risky.

«There’s a way to make it less – less lethal.» Jisung stuttered, adding yet another line to the drawing he made; only then, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, just to reveal the same drawing engraved on his skin.

Instinctively, the three of you tensed up in front of him; it was easy to figure out that Minho was the other one to have the same drawing engraved on his skin, even without asking.

«There’s a limit of the magic the other can summon.» Jisung explained. «Did you ever use it?» Seungmin asked, unsure, and Jisung nodded immediately. «Twice.» he clarified; since Jisung didn’t explain further, the three of you silently decided not to peer into his past more than needed.

The following day, Jisung’s proposal had been explained to the others, who surprisingly enough took it as a good news. «I think that’s the wisest solution, since I believe we’ll be forced to give up our weapons.» Chris spoke, and Felix agreed with him. «What if someone of us gets, you know – possessed?» Minho questioned, but Felix simply waved his head as if to dismiss his friend’s question. «In that case, just trust Hyunjin.» he said, without explaining himself. «I don’t think I understood how we plan to get into the Cursed Kingdom in the first place.» Jeongin innocently spoke, and you gently smiled at him. «Jeongin,» you sighed, «aren’t you and Seungmin bounty hunters from the Cursed Kingdom?» «Yes!» he immediately answered, «Oh-» he added after few seconds of silence.

To be honest, everything in the plan you and the others had come up with was risky, but it was the only way to enter the Kingdom through the front door without dying before reaching the front gate.

«The key is, we have to trust each other; always.» Minho explained. On a windy morning, you and the others found yourself skinning thin lines resembling an alchemy symbol on the top of each other’s hand, pouring few droplets of your mixed blood over it.

«Do we have to make one of those embarrassing oaths or something?» Seungmin questioned, and Minho simply rolled his eyes in a silent answer.

From that moment, everyone trained meticulously to master few magic spells without letting the children of Nature among you feel any fatigue. It was actually kind of fun, you had to admit to yourself, since not only you could create your own elemental weapon out of thin air, but you could combine the elements as well. In less than two weeks, you could swear that Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin looked like real children of Nature.

Now that everyone had learnt how to use the technique you and Jisung came up with, there was only one problem; your eyes glanced at the sword that Garmoth gave you, leaning against the wall next to your friends’ weapons.

Of course, you couldn’t carry any weapon with you, so, how could you complete your very dangerous mission? A sigh from your left caught your attention; Hyunjin was intensely looking at you with his hands placed on his waist and somehow, you had the impression he could read your thoughts.

«He didn’t tell you?» of course, Hyunjin didn’t need your answer to know, since he had eavesdropped the whole conversation you and Minho had with the dragon. As you were about to ask for a clarification, Hyunjin walked towards the enchanted sword, before carrying it towards you; he unsheathed just a small part of it, the black obsidian blade emitting a faint glow.

«Give me your hand.» Hyunjin ordered, taking a hold of your index finger as soon as you outstretched your hand towards him; he firmly pressed your fingertip towards the blade, and you didn’t need to see it to realize that there were few droplets of your blood on it. Hyunjin sheathed the sword with a satisfied smile, before placing it in its original place.

«Call for it,» he instructed; furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you tilted your head to the side, and he instinctively giggled at your expression, «think about wielding it, come on.»

Unsurely, you tried to do it; closing your eyes, you pictured the sword in your hand - however, nothing happened. As you opened your eyes, Hyunjin’s encouraging expression suggested you to try again, and you did.

It took few attempts and more concentration than you expected to, but in the end, you found your clenched fist adjusting to the perception of the hilt of the enchanted sword appearing out of nowhere in the palm of your hand.

«We should practice tonight as well,» Chris offered, glancing at the clear sky. «Absolutely not,» Seungmin scoffed, «a storm is coming up tonight.» «Whatever.» your soulmate answered, thinking about the fact that he was simply making up few excuses.

Even if no one payed attention to Seungmin’s words, Hyunjin’s head snapped towards him; how could the human sense a change in the weather before him? Hyunjin’s gaze lost itself in the glass of water in front of him, distant memories of a wild tomboy predicting storms slightly resurfacing.

«Changbin, I have a question but I don’t want to ruin your dinner.» Felix claimed the older man’s attention, who incredulously furred his eyebrows.

«If you doubt you can ruin it, you most definitely already did,» Changbin sighed, before allowing his friend to go on.

«You have a wife, but she’s not a children of Nature, am I right?» Felix questioned almost shyly, and Changbin’s face made it clear that he understood where Felix’s question was going.

«My relationship with Lea is definitely far from perfect,» Changbin sighed, «we have been together for so long – we fought a lot, we still fight sometimes over trivial things, and we mostly will fight in the future.»

«However,» he added before any of you had a chance to question him, «I don’t want this “soulmate” thing unless it’s with her. I’d rather spend the rest of my days listening to her nagging at me because I forget to do the laundry instead of having a peaceful life with someone made just for me, but someone who is not Lea.» Hyunjin felt shortly struck by those words, and his eyes unconsciously found Seungmin’s gaze, who was already looking at him; Changbin loved someone because he chose to, Hyunjin realized, meaning that Changbin was infinitely less of a coward than he was. Seungmin imperceptibly tilted his head to the side, silently questioning if he was okay, and Hyunjin hesitantly nodded at him in a silent answer.

“Loving someone who is not your soulmate, huh?” Hyunjin spoke; as he chewed on a small bite of food, he promised himself that if your group managed to come back alive from the Cursed Kingdom, he would have given it a try.

-

The trip to the Cursed Kingdom was way much longer and way more silent than you expected, and it wasn’t difficult to realize that everyone must have been incredibly nervous. «I believe in you.», were the last words Chris spoke to you before as planned, Seungmin and Jeongin had tied up everyone right before stepping into the woods right outside the Kingdom, but what no one expected, was to find the city deserted. The Kingdom’s gates had opened by themselves, and the path from the gates to the Castle’s entrance was completely clear. «It’s probably an illusion,» Hyunjin’s nervous voice suggested, «be careful.»

What your group didn’t know was that Hyunjin was right; Kzarka had waited for you to show up, and therefore, as soon as he felt the presence of you and your group walking the woods, he decided to make you reach the Castle as soon as he could, since he couldn’t wait to get rid of you.

«I suppose these are useless, now.» Seungmin spoke, untying your wrists as you were in front of the throne room. Before anyone could answer, the doors opened by themselves, revealing Hongjoong sitting on his throne while the others were standing still at his side. «Finally, the prodigal daughter is back!» Hongjoong announced, sitting up from his throne; you didn’t answer, simply clenching your fists. «Let’s just finish this quickly.» the King spat, and only then, Seonghwa and the others seemed to come to life.

One by one, your friends met their opponent.   Seonghwa stood proud in front of Hyunjin, while Wooyoung arrogantly faced Felix. San had his sword thrown over his shoulders, and he confidently walked in front of Changbin, while Yunho did the same thing with Seungmin. Yeosang quickly walked towards Jisung, and since he was the weaker out of the group, Chris immediately walked at his friend’s side. Jongho and Mingi respectively walked in front of Minho and Jeongin, leaving you to face Hongjoong by yourself. With a deep sigh, you imagined yourself wielding Garmoth’s sword, and it immediately appeared in your hand.

«Trying to face me again with that useless toy?» Hongjoong cooed, before charging at you. The fact that Hongjoong had always been an excellent fighter clearly turned out to be a problem, especially now that Kzarka made him even more powerful. His movements were fast and unpredictable, making it impossible for you to come up with actual moves in order to counter attack him; moreover, everyone pretty much had their hands full and therefore, you definitely couldn’t ask your friends for help. «You shouldn’t get distracted, Princess.» Hongjoong spat in a mocking tone, before moving your crossed swords to his left, only to effortlessly wave his right hand in mid-air, creating flying arrows of fire directed towards you. Instinctively, you closed your eyes, summoning a little of Felix’s power to create a shield right to protect yourself with: thin and flexible branches materialized in front of you, letting the fiery arrows only half pass, consequently preventing them from hurting you - and unfortunately hiding Hongjoong’s amazed gaze from your sight as well.

Through the eyes of your father, Kzarka immediately realized that you and your friends must have come up with some sort of forbidden technique that let you and your friends share your magic, and therefore, his plans immediately changed. If he had spent years waiting for the perfect moment to get rid of you, now he found himself thinking that maybe, you could have been more useful than Hongjoong himself. Since then, your fight with Hongjoong drastically changed. If at the beginning you were desperately trying to block and counter attack charged attacks, now you had to dodge as well; you didn’t know yet, but all Kzarka needed was a little droplet of your blood for his plan to work. A loud noise followed by your friends’ screaming voices caught your attention, and you immediately turned around fearing that something had happened to Chris. However, Hongjoong’s pitch black eyes were locked on you, as the blade of his sword was pressed against your neck.

«How stupid must you be to get distracted?» the stinging sensation right where the blade was pressed made you wince, but in that moment, you didn’t ask yourself why Hongjoong didn’t take advantage of that moment but let you move his sword with yours, preventing it from hurting you even further. Although you had been tightly gripping the helm of Garmoth’s sword, you highly doubted you could fulfil his order; Hongjoong’s attack made it clear for you that it was impossible to counter attack him, unless you could outwit him. However, how could you outwit the God of Corruption? The shouts of your friends fighting restlessly made it quite difficult for you to focus, however, you were the only one who could solve the situation. Rubbing the sleeve of your shirt against the fresh wound against your neck in the vain attempt to get rid of the itching sensation, you summoned once again a bit of Felix’s magic, creating a circular shield made of teak tree – thanks to the younger boy you learnt that it was a very resistant type of wood. Since then, you kept parrying Hongjoong with newfound determination, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; however, Hongjoong’s stamina never wavered, and since you summoned just a little amount of your friend’s magic, your shield was far from indestructible.

With your breath uneven and ragged, you were now kneeling in front of Hongjoong, feeling exhausted; glancing at what remained of your shield – now a thin and short column attached to your arm, you opened both your arms, surrendering. The King raised an eyebrow, only to smile victoriously as you threw Garmoth’s sword away from where you were kneeling, the clinging and metallic sound somehow calling for your friend’s attention. Through the eyes of your father, however, Kzarka had already seen through your actions, and decided to act accordingly.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, Hongjoong’s sword was raised in the air, and as soon as he was about to attack you, you abruptly stood up, hitting him in the stomach while using your shield. The King, however, had already deliberately let his sword fall on the ground, letting himself being stabbed by the enchanted sword you had materialized out of thin air.

When Hongjoong regained his consciousness, he felt as if he had been sleeping for years, and most importantly, he felt like he couldn’t remember anything about the dream he just had. There was a woman in front of him, her eyes filled with tears and her expression incredibly sorrowful, but what caught Hongjoong’s attention was the fact that her features looked incredibly familiar. It took him a second to realize that you were the stark copy of your mother, and therefore, you couldn’t be anyone else but his daughter.

Glancing towards the burning sensation coming from his chest, he noticed that there was a sword planted in his heart, meaning that his plan had failed; glancing around the unfamiliar room, he noticed that even if there were few boys standing far from his long time friends, they were standing still as well, imitating his stance while clutching at their own heart.  

«I know your face,» Hongjoong mumbled, the gentle whisper of your name making your thoughts dissipate in thin air; it was as the time had stopped all around you, and Hongjoong was looking as you as hesitantly as the day he had held you for the first time the day you were born. Quickly, you nodded your head at him, tears ungraciously falling from your eyes when he smiled, his eyes gradually returning to their original colour. «No, I-» you whispered nonsense words, gripping the helm of the sword in order to extract it with shaky hands; however, Hongjoong leaned against you with a shaky breath and placed a hand above yours, blocking your movement.

«Don’t,» he croaked, «you did well, it was my fault.» he slightly leaned back, his gradually unfocused eyes meeting your crying gaze. «Don’t cry, you did the right thing,» Hongjoong fatiguely whispered, his fingers gently wiping the tears falling from your eyes, «I’m proud of you - we all are.» as your gaze bore into his, your realized that you finally had everything you have ever wanted; you freed your father from his curse, but he couldn’t stay with you.

«Don’t leave me again.» you weakly pleaded, gripping at the fabric of his cloak that was draped on his shoulders, unsure that your whisper could reach his ears. «I’m really sorry, I- let’s meet again in another life, okay?» Hongjoong breathed, pronouncing every word with extreme difficulty as he was losing consciousness. Before his weight completely leaned against you, he managed to bring his right hand in front of his own heart, before extending his hand – now soaked with blood, towards yours in a very familiar gesture you had hoped to see again. «You, me and mom, we - let’s do this “family thing” right the next time we- we meet.»

Before you could answer, however, the sword started to glow brighter, forcing you to detach yourself from Hongjoong’s embrace due to the increasing warmth it was emitting. Within few seconds, Hongjoong vanished in a cloud of thin black dust, and the others simultaneously met the same end, their love for Hongjoong and their will to protect you being the last thing keeping them grounded to this life.

Judging by the deafening silence, it was clear that your friends had stopped fighting, however, no one dared to utter a word; whether it was out of empathy for your suffering, whether it was due to incredulity, each one of them had their reason. With a shaky breath, you kneeled on the floor as tears clouded your gaze, deject and sadness filling your senses; Chris had slowly started to make his way towards you, wanting nothing else to console you but however, Hyunjin’s hold on his arm prevented him from walking further.

«Stay away from her.» Hyunjin’s grip on the Prince’s arm tightened in a threating manner, and as the boys briefly exchanged a glance, Hyunjin pointed towards the two red glowing stones embedded on top of the throne, now glowing even brighter than before. «The plan is not to hurt her, but buy ourselves time.» Hyunjin spoke loud enough for only Chris and the others to hear. «Why should we hurt her in the first place?» Chris questioned the harpy with a confused frown. «Why should we buy ourselves time?» Minho echoed, nervously glancing around himself, briefly meeting Jisung’s tense gaze. As always, Hyunjin didn’t bother to answer his friends; he saw it happen countless times in the past, and therefore he already knew that Kzarka was about to possess your body.

If he were to be honest, Hyunjin had understood Kzarka’s plan in the same moment he noticed him cutting your skin after you summoned Felix’s magic; in that moment, Hyunjin used his powers to reach Karanda in order to ask for help.

Before any of your friends could elaborate another question to ask Hyunjin, a familiar cloud of familiar black smoke seemed to appear out of nowhere, shortly surrounding you and completely hiding you from their sight. Instinctively, you gripped your throat since you felt like you couldn’t breathe properly; it was an indescribable feeling of distress, and everything in your body started to hurt and feel unfamiliar. It was as if Kzarka’s powers were being absorbed in your body through the wound he had previously gave you, and although you wanted to frantically grab your head to make Kzarka’s obnoxious voice disappear, you couldn’t move a finger. «I’ll crush the soulmate first.» were the last words you heard Kzarka whisper through your mouth, before your world faded to black.

Chris and the others watched with horror as you stood up and stretched your arms in the air, as if you felt unfamiliar with your own body. «Let me rephrase my previous question,» Minho quickly walked towards Hyunjin, his eyes still focused on your movements, «buy ourselves time for who?» «I know it’s hard to believe me, but there’s a chance for us to defeat him.» Hyunjin hastily whispered, «Kzarka can’t shatter her soul in so little time, as for the rest, just trust me and let the wind lead.» «Are you done?» you bitterly questioned from where you stood; you lifted the palm of your hand, noticing that the flames you could summon were already almost black – much to Hyunjin’s surprise. Although he had witnessed countless times this moment, what Hyunjin didn’t know was that Kzarka had taken advantage of a perfect moment to possess your body; during your last farewell with Hongjoong, your soul was extremely vulnerable, making you the perfect target. «There’s this thing I’m really curious about,» you spoke again, and through your body, Kzarka tried to summon your friends’ powers; sadly, he couldn’t summon all of them at once, and therefore he realized that you must have meticulously thought about this. However, he could still have fun with it. «I’ll start with you, soulmate.» you spat, theatrically pointing the sword Hongjoong had thrown to the ground towards Chris, who was watching you with a wary expression.

The fact that Chris was partially blind was a secret that only you, Chris and Felix were sharing, meaning that now that someone else could deliberately read your thoughts, your soulmate was in danger.

Not wasting any more time in useless chatter, you attacked your friends, who were having quite some troubles to defend themselves, since you were much more powerful than you usually were. Moreover, Kzarka’s attention was deliberately focused on hurting Chris’, with the only purpose to shatter your soul even more and to quicken the process to seal it away for good. Busy fighting you back while protecting the Prince, your friends still did their best to listen to Hyunjin’s words and not to hurt you; sadly, the fact that you were sharing your powers could be very dangerous, especially when someone else was using too much of it.

Through your body, Kzarka alternately used your friends’ power to the point they were exhausted, kneeling on the floor in the vain attempt to catch their breath and trying not to faint. Since the children of Nature were not a problem anymore, Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin clearly didn’t represent a threat. Summoning Chris’ magic, Kzarka used the same cursed spell that your soulmate had used against his soldiers few weeks earlier; there was water around Chris’ neck, and judging by his restless coughing it seemed to get tighter as seconds went by.

However, before Kzarka could actually finish his work, unfamiliar fingertips clouded his view, and your back found itself firmly pressed against someone’s firm chest.

«You should really learn when to give up.» Garmoth’s voice authoritatively spoke from behind you, and even if Kzarka tried to peel himself from the God’s firm hold, your body was too weak compared to his, and therefore, few seconds later, Kzarka’s consciousness faded to black, making yours resurface.  

«You really took your time to get here!» Hyunjin scolded the dragon as he quickly placed his fingertips against Chris’ neck, breathing a sigh of relief in the same moment he heard a weak pulse beat against his skin.

«You already know Kzarka’s power can shield my sight.» Karanda answered him, as she gracefully appeared out of nowhere. Garmoth – who had been erasing the traces of corruption from your soul, gently took his fingertips from your eyes in favour to hold your waist, gently shaking you a bit.

«Wake up, young flame.» he spoke, and you immediately reacted to his gentle words; you opened your eyes with a groan, your eyes quickly glancing around the room only to lock on Chris’ frame. Hyunjin had a hand pressed against your soulmate’s chest, meaning that he was healing him, but what happened? Did you hurt him? As to read your thoughts, Garmoth quickly explained to you what happened, reassuring you about the fact that Chris was still alive.

«What’s going to happen to Hongjoong?» you weakly questioned. «Nothing,» Garmoth sighed, and you could hear him smile through his words, «I’ll scold him for not trying to ask for help, but I promised Karanda to let him meet her daughter right away.» he explained. The Dragon let you go, tapping your back twice to give you the hint that he didn’t have anything to add, and you quickly closed the distance between you and Chris, kneeling next to him with a worried expression.

With a sad smile, Garmoth’s eyes momentary fell on Karanda, who was uninterestedly glancing at your friends; this scene was incredibly familiar to him, and the fact that everyone in your group managed to survive without getting hurt could be called a miracle. Karanda’s gaze locked with his lover, and she gave him a small smile, as to hint that she was thinking about the same thing as well.

Hyunjin was now smiling, amused at the fact that both the God of Fire and the Goddess of Air were standing in the room, and still, your only thought was to make your soulmate was okay.

Like a fairytale, Chris’ eyes opened in the same moment you touched his face; despite Hyunjin had told you repeatedly that he was okay, you couldn’t do anything but anxiously gnaw at your lower lip. «I’m sorry,» you hastily apologized as soon as he made eye contact with you; Chris’ simply answered with a reassuring smile, and you apologized again, your eyes burning with tears. Shaking his head, your soulmate simply lifted his hand in the air, gently placed it on your nape in order to lead your head in the crook of his neck. «It’s okay,» Chris whispered, «I knew it wasn’t you.» at his words, you silently let yourself cry against his chest.

«We’ll be taking these.» Karanda spoke, claiming both yours and your friends’ attention – who were now standing around Chris, after helping him get up again. Two precious looking caskets appeared in Karanda’s and Garmoth’s hands, and thanks to divine magic, the two glowing red stones embedded in Hongjoong’s thrones had been sealed. The two Gods simultaneously flicked the hand that wasn’t holding the casket, and it disappeared in thin air.

As soon as Karanda and Garmoth turned to praise yours and your friends work, you shortly found yourself without words. If both you and Minho had secretly commented about Garmoth looking handsome, you knew that the next topic would have been that he was nothing compared to Karanda. Everything in her appearance looked ethereal, from her white hair perfectly braided in a complicate hairstyle, to her white dress who seemed to be constantly swayed by a gentle breeze. Only then, you remembered Hyunjin’s words, and how he told you that Garmoth loved to spend his time among humans and therefore, that’s why he looked more like one.

«Before we go, there’s something we have to do!» Garmoth’s dazzling smile was back on his lips, as he cleared his voice, «The Cursed Kingdom has fallen, and the King has died.» he announced, his authoritative and booming voice echoing through the empty throne room.

Garmoth walked towards where you stood, before kneeling in front of you, «Long live to the Queen.» «No, I -» you tried to retort, trying to saying that you didn’t feel like you deserved the title, but your friends immediately eagerly imitated Garmoth’s action. Quickly looked around yourself, your friends – and your soulmate, had their head lowered towards the ground, while Karanda stood still, and simply hinting a nod with her head as soon as your gaze met.

«Kzarka’s curse doesn’t exist anymore, meaning that not everyone will remain here,» the Goddess spoke, «there will be much work to do, but I believe you have faced much more threatening dangers.» she hinted a smile, and you heard Hyunjin snort from his kneeling position.

Of course, unlike you, Hyunjin knew that Karanda could see few glimpses of the future, meaning that her words simply meant something along the lines of “your Kingdom will be great! good luck with this, kiddo!”, but he thought that you were lucky because it could have been worse, she could have spoken in riddles. With the last blessing of erasing completely the traces of Kzarka’s corruption, Karanda and Garmoth used divine magic in order to renew both the Castle and the Kingdom in a blink of an eye; now made of white marble instead of black lava stone, it was as if a new era was about to begin.

Of course, as you and your friends were having a private chat with the Gods, within the streets of the Kingdom everyone’s eyes were locked both on the sudden change of the Castle, but also on the strong yet gentle breeze that easily dissipated the thick layer of clouds that had prevented everyone from seeing the Sun from so many years.

After saying your farewells, Karanda and Garmoth headed towards the huge balcony adjacent to the throne room. «Hyunjin, come.» Karanda spoke without looking back, but Hyunjin clenched his fist, his eyes locked on the floor. «Karanda, I…» he tried, his voice barely above a whisper; immediately, your eyes fell on him, since you weren’t used to see Hyunjin like this. Karanda stopped, and briefly turned around; she attentively scrutinised Hyunjin’s face, before her lips erupted into a small, sad smile. «I believe you remember your oath,» she spoke, her body now completely turned towards him, «unlike them, you won’t grow old, is this what you want?» Hyunjin nodded, wordlessly, and Karanda sighed heavily; as if Garmoth was reading her mind, he chuckled briefly, but stopped as soon as the Goddess glanced at him. Karanda then sighed again, before closing the space between her and Hyunjin; she cupped his cheek, and since she was taller than him, she easily kissed his forehead. In the same moment Karanda’s lips brushed against Hyunjin’s skin, you saw it again; for a brief second, pure white feathers seemed to erupt from Hyunjin’s forearms, just as it happened when he used ancient spells to heal Chris. «Enjoy your life as a human, my friend.» Karanda spoke soothingly, and Hyunjin reached out with trembling fingers to hold her hands, which here still gently holding his face, «when the moment comes, I’ll undo the spell.» Although Hyunjin gave her a secure nod, his eyes were filled with tears; since his soulmate died, he never imagined that he would have sincerely wanted to live as a human - back then he even accepted the mission to watch over you without completely wanting to, and yet, there he was. Hyunjin had found friends he genuinely cared about, and the thought to leave them behind made him extremely sad and lonely. Garmoth smiled at Karanda as if she was the most beautiful entity he had ever seen, and immediately threw his arm over her shoulder in a gentle way, «You’re growing soft, my love.» «Shut up.» she weakly mumbled, aware that only her lover could hear the faint tremor in her voice. Karanda and Garmoth glanced at you and your friends one last time, and in the blink of an eye, both of them were gone.

Few days later, the light of the morning sun fell on Chris’ naked chest, as the two of you were cuddling in bed in your bedroom in the Castle; a blanket was draped over your naked bodies, covering your waists. Chris was absently stroking your arms, his eyes lost somewhere on the ceiling; you sighed, recalling the past days events. The Kingdom was a complete mess to begin with: as expected, many people had left as soon as Kzarka’s curse had vanished, and most importantly, the Kingdom’s reputation was terrible in all the known lands. How could you fix everything?

«What’s wrong?» Chris questioned you as if he could hear the gears in your brain spinning restlessly; with another sigh, you sat up, not having the courage to look at him in the eyes as you uttered your next words. «I think you should return to Iliya island.» you hesitantly spoke. «Oh.» was everything Chris said, his tone laced with sadness made it impossible for you to think you could face him; sadly enough, unlike the previous night, you had completely forgotten about the huge mirror standing in front of your bed, Chris’ gaze locked on your eyes through the mirror with a completely different expression compared to your previous nights’ activities. «Don’t get me wrong,» you immediately added, afraid that he could take your words in the worst way, «I love you, and I would definitely love to spend the rest of my life with you, but - I feel like it would be wrong to be happy when the people living here probably are not, and…»   «I think I understand where you’re going,» Chris sat up as well, quickly positioning himself sitting behind you so that he could cage your body and make you feel safe, «this is why, I’m telling you to think about your Kingdom - I probably would have said the same if I were in your place. I’ll wait for you.»

Finally, you met Chris’s gaze through the mirror, and once again, what you found in it were absolute affection and sincerity. «What if you get tired of waiting?» you furrowed your eyebrows, holding his hand a little tighter. «Sweetheart, we’re soulmates,» he gently chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder, «I could and I would never turn my back on you, nor I will get tired of waiting. However, your citizens probably will.» you listened to his words, glad about the fact that not only he understood what you meant but he was also trying to give you some useful advice as he had previously done. «Although I really pains me to part from you, I want you to be with me because you feel ready for it; moreover, leading a country is not easy. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ll make this country so prosperous it will rival the Capital.» «Thank you.» you breathed out. «No need to thank me, sweetheart.» Chris hummed again your skin, placing another kiss on the crook of your neck.

«Hey, Chris?» you called out again, and you felt your soulmate place his chin on your shoulder, tilting his head, «I’m not sure I told you yet, but I really - I love you.» Through the mirror, you could see Chris blush from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. «I can’t believe you confessed before me!» he shyly hid his face behind your nape, before eventually adjusting your positions in bed so that you were now laying down and he was partially hovering above you. «I love you too, my Queen.» he murmured against your lips, before capturing them in a heated kiss.

EPILOGUE

There was a Castle that stood tall at the world’s end: made of white marble and golden amber, its authoritative appearance was enough to make people admire everything about who lived in it and within its increasing territories. The dark and thick layer of clouds that for decades has hovered on top of the Kingdom had dissipated completely, and the citizens’ tales spoke about how the Queen was blessed by the Goddess of Air and the God of Fire to the point that occasionally, clouds only generated above fields just to enable crops and livestock to flourish. Strolling from town to town, Garmoth proudly overheard people talking about his daughter’s work. The Cursed Kingdom had been in ruin for years, and its conservative nature had made it self-sufficient; however, since the Fallen King’s daughter has inherited the throne, it took her four years to make her Kingdom bloom so prosperously to rival the others.

Of course, you didn’t do everything on your own; when Chris and Felix decided to return to Iliya Island, Jeongin and Seungmin decided to go with them, while Hyunjin, Jisung, Minho and Changbin – and therefore Lea, moved in the Castle with you. Although no one among you had the right knowledge about what could be needed to rule a Kingdom, you managed to figure out a way to do it out of spite. «Think about the nobles in the Capital gossiping about us,» Lea giggled as she helped you dress up, «I swear, I’d open a brothel just to have a detailed description of what their incredulity looks like as they say that we’re even richer than they are.» she chanted to herself, and you refrained from the instinct to laugh with her, since she was tying up the laces of your corset. Most importantly, you were definitely too nervous to laugh, since today was a day so important you swore could even outshine the day of your coronation. «What if he doesn’t like me anymore?» you whispered to yourself, however, Lea abruptly stopping her movements meant that she heard you. «Sweetie, we don’t do that here,» she turned you around, before cupping your jaw, «moreover, you’ve exchanged letters for four years, I bet he loves you to the Sun and back.»

Of course, few hours later, you found out that Lea was indeed right – as always. The moment of your reunion, your eyes were locked on Chris so intensely that you almost choked on your water when Minho asked you if you saw Seungmin and Hyunjin peck each other's lips.

-

Standing on the balcony attached to your room, you were leaning against the railing as Chris’ arms were caging your body as his hands were leaning over it; you wrapped your arms around his waist, realizing that you incredibly missed his touch during these years.

If possible, Chris looked even more handsome, his jet black hair was longer, naturally curling itself in soft waves you loved to run your fingers through. «Chris, I-» you hesitantly spoke, losing yourself in the affection that his eyes showed you; you gently lifted your hand, your fingertips brushing against his cheeks ever so lightly. Taking a deep breath, every sign of hesitancy seemed to disappear from your soul, as Chris encouragingly smiled at you, silently telling you that he was listening

That was it, you thought, that was the life you could finally feel worthy to live. «Chris, will you marry me?» you asked, however, Chris’ smile completely fell, making your heart sink. All of a sudden, Chris’ face erupted into an incredulous smile, accompanied by an incredulous chuckle; he easily entangled himself from your arms, just to gently wrap his right arm around your neck, tugging you towards him. «Again? I can’t believe you proposed first, as well!» he gently rubbed at your head, like he had done few times during your travel, «I was trying to build up my courage to propose to you so hard that Felix threatened to throw me overboard!» you found yourself laughing along him, your heart finally at ease.

-

«I’m getting married,» you timidly admitted to your parents’ tombstones, «and I wish you were here with me.». All of a sudden, a gentle breeze disheveled your hair, and a weird sensation of warmth seemed to cover your cheek for a little while; it lasted for few seconds, just for everything to vanish as nothing happened. The trip to Velia was something Chris had predicted, since he knew that your mother’s tombstone was in your home-town, and the fact that you had buried one of Hongjoong’s sword and his favourite armor next to her was something that he found out thanks to the letters you exchanged.

Chris’ steps echoed on the gravel, before he kneeled next to you; it was just like that time, many years ago, when Chris offered you his coat in the clumsy attempt to console you. This time, Chris was looking at you with a serene and happy expression - matching yours; he tilted his head quizzically, and you nodded at him before getting up, brushing the dust from your clothes.

«Let’s go,» you sighed, «I promised Felix he could choose the flowers.» «Oh,» Chris giggled, «good luck with finding your way to the altar.» he joked. «No need,» you immediately retorted with a chanting tone, earning a questioning look from your partner, «we’ll find our way together.» Chris gaze softened, and he reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours as the two of you were walking to the carriage waiting for you. «Of course,» he echoed, «we’ll find our way together.»

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[ye-olde-sodor]

Dream Canon Mallard Headcanons!

Mallard is an LNER Class A4 built in 1938, making him one of the youngest members of the Gresley Family. (Aged 62 in this au)

He holds the world record for the Fastest Steam Locomotive in the world. On July 3rd, 1938, he reached 126 mph at just a few months old!

Mallard can be arrogant and mean, but he’s generally well mannered and generous with humans and engines alike…unless an engine dares to defy the hierarchy, then it’s an entirely different case. He's also quite the Optimist, which plays into how he views serious situations.

No one tell him that Henry "Stanier" was built with stolen Gresley blueprints, he'll have a stroke. A merge of the two families would create a nation wide scandal!

He’s in charge of his own Engine Correctional Facility on the Mainland, and has 17 other facilities just like it across the UK!

This idea of correctional facilities came to him sometime after he learned of the scrapping of most of his siblings (save for Spencer and a few others). He was grief stricken, and clung to the first thing that brought him any feelings that weren’t grief and dread.

He noticed that him and a select few of his siblings were preserved because they either performed better than the rest, broke a record, had some major historic significance, or were purchased by foreign railways. It’s the first example that became Mallard’s obsession.

He wanted to give all engines another chance at life. He wanted to see if he could mold an engine to be better than their other siblings, and have them preserved. When the trial of this idea succeeded with Ryan (who was unaware of the trial and assumed he was preserved due to his ties with the other Gresleys), Mallard found his new purpose in life, his spiritual awakening one might say. He’s been operating his correctional facilities ever since.

While he has the best intentions in mind, he’s oblivious to the harm his methods of teaching may cause. He can also be full of himself when he’s convicted he’s right.

His main goal is to expand his facilities to Sodor, the bane of British Rail and to the Engine Hierarchy. He wishes to purchase it and reshape it in his own image. Mallard won’t modernize it, but he wants to bring order and essentially remove what makes Sodor stand out from other heritage lines…it’s numerous accidents and ties to the Reverend Awdry.

He's extremely close to Ryan, who he views as a son. Spencer is a close second, however. While he cares for Scott and Gordon as well, he can't let Scott's "death" get in the way of progress. He'll mourn in secret, not in public. It's the professional way to do it.

As one can probably tell, Mallard sees opportunity in everything, even in death and depression. He's an optimist by nature, and always tries to see the good in everything. Case in point, now that Mallard has part of Scott's inheritance and Gordon doesn't want to work anymore, Mallard has the perfect opportunity to go through with his Sodor Renovation plan!

When Mallard learned that Gordon was struggling to cope with the loss, he offered to take him to the Mainland to get him closer to professionals who can help him.

Spencer became roped into Mallard's scheme, but Spencer isn't too keen on the idea just like everyone else.

Thomas quickly became Mallard's "moral enemy" due to his Anti-hierarchy views. Once Mallard has control over the island's engines, Thomas will be the first one admitted to Mallard's Correctional facility. He's hoping that Ryan can whip him into shape, as he plans to have Ryan run the Sodor facility in the future.

Quotes:

Mallard: "Gordon, my dear brother-"

Gordon: "We're cousins."

Mallard: "Gordon, my dear cousin-" ____________________________________________

Mallard: "So Spencer, how's the island?"

Spencer: "Depressed, demoralized...on the brink of collapse now that Gordon got replaced by those three diesels!"

Mallard: "Oh is it now?~"

Spencer: "Please don't talk like that again-"

Mallard: "Do tell me more about Sodor's, eh...run of bad luck."

____________________________________________

Mallard: “Well look on the bright side…once you feel ready, we can return to Sodor and I get to introduce you to all the new changes I’ve made! :)”

Gordon, half listening: I suppose you’re right-wait WHAT ALL DID YOU CHANGE???”

Mallard: “Secret :3”

____________________________________________

Mallard: "So we're going to put the new Correction Facility over...Oh I don't know where to place it! Spencer, you know the island well, where would be the most optimal location for it?"

Spencer: "I wouldn't say I know it well...but if you're serious about this facility of yours, I'd place it somewhere along the Express route. There's some land near Vicarstown that's unoccupied. It'll be right next to a large yard and station for engines to train. Plus it'll be in close proximity to the Dieselworks."

Mallard: "There's a Dieselworks?! On Sodor?"

Spencer: "Calling it a Works is a bit of a stretch but yes, there is one. It's in complete disrepair though. It's any wonder those diesels despise Topham and our fellow steam engines"

Mallard: "Hmm. Good to know..."

____________________________________________

Mallard: "Y'know, I've been digging into your class lately in order to-"

Thomas: "The Hell?! What are you doing that for, you creep!"

Mallard: "...To better accommodate my courses and lessons to your class, since I've been told you're quite the water hog."

Thomas: "Oh you miserable-"

Mallard: "I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU TWIT."

____________________________________________

Edward: "We'll lose everything! Sodor's culture, it's heritage, and it's railways. You'll destroy everything that Sodor stands for if you go through with your plan!"

Mallard: "Ah, so my plan will work! What wonderful news! Now we can get started on making a new Sodor!"

Edward: ಠ_ಠ

Mallard: "One with our beloved hierarchy, no confusion or delay, and more attention to the poor and neglected diesels!"

Diesel 10: "Hell yeah! Finally, a Steamer who gets it!"

Edward: "He's using you to push his own agenda you twit! He'll forget about you once he-"

Mallard: "Step right up then, my fellow machine! Show me around the Diesel Works so I can make arrangements to give it a complete overhaul!"

Diesel 10: "Gladly Mr. eh...Mallard was it?"

Edward, under his breath: "Oh you can fuck right off..."

[minneywoon]

Adult Nobara! Having experienced the incident in the Shibuya arc, has reduced her shopping outings, not out of boredom but because she believes she should dedicate more time to her training. She knows she is capable and determined to become even stronger. Nobara is a resilient and unyielding young woman who vows never to let anyone hurt her again, especially someone like the trash stitched face. Kugisaki shattered her Straw Doll Technique in a way unimaginable to even the creator, Gege. Determined to improve, Nobara wields a sword for exorcism and is building her own arsenal of jujutsu sorcerery. By refining her aura control (That Mahito couldn't shape with her soul), she could amplify her physical abilities, increase her speed and strength, and potentially unlock hidden potential within herself.

Adult Yuji! Struggles to overcome the weight of the numerous deaths behind him, including Junpai, Nanami, Gojo, Choso, and Higiroma, and many more. However, he refuses to let self-reflection consume him as it did in his youth. He has his besto friendo Todo by his side, and Kugisaki has awakened from her coma. Fushiguro is also back, albeit changed by his traumatic experiences. But like his two closest friends, Yuuji is strong and he can prove it. He believes in Fushiguro and will always protect his friends in every way possible. Consequently, he works diligently on his new Cursed Technique: The Shrine, a raw and effective development distinct from Sukuna's power. It marks the dawn of a new era in Modern Jujutsu Sorcery.

 "Compassion and self-reflection... are necessary for growth and change, not for weakness."

Adult Megumi! Struggles to regain his mental equilibrium and find a purpose worth living and fighting for. Despite his efforts, he hears the demonic voice that once controlled him, echoing through his mind and shadows. He can't believe such a fate befell him—a fate he never anticipated. Drowning in darkness, he huddles, tears streaming from closed eyes. His tightly clenched fists instinctively yearn to summon his last hope, Mahoraga, but it no longer belongs to Fushiguro; it is now possessed by The King of Curses.

Now free from the demon's influence, Megumi opens his eyes once more and gazes into the light. Gray light. It's not the same as before. He knew this when he first embraced the path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Tsumiki is dead, and he played a part in it, (Sukuna used Megumi's nonblood hand). Gojo, who he held in high regard, now dwells in heaven, his body inhabited by Okkotsu Yuta, whom he considered a monster. Even his Ten Shadow Technique has vanished.

Who will prevent Megumi from condemning himself? Itadori knows it the best. He managed to bring some sense and meaning back into Megumi's life, even if just a little. As the years pass, Megumi finds solace in a good reason. His Cursed Technique resurfaces, for shadows never dissipate so easily, as Miguel once said. This time, the ancient shadows give birth to stronger shikigami. Megumi never fully comes to terms with what Sukuna did to him, but he learns to suppress it. Once he gains that control, he will never allow anyone to drag him back into a darkness deeper than shadows. With his friends by his side, he can rectify his "unintentional" mistakes.

[oumaheroes]

Do Not Go Gentle

Ériu

Albion

Alba

Warnings for death

--------

Cymru first dies crowded.

He is no stranger to death. It is all around him, every day- something as unavoidable and normal as children being born, or the weather changing in the sky. Lambs die. Birds die. Plants die- the earth turns over and around and things fall forever into the night, whether you understand why or not.

Their humans talk about death like an ending, an inevitable event that comes for them as though life is a rope forever pulling them forwards to a final stop, and Cymru watches from his safe distance as the years pass by hardly touching him. Although one day there will be an end for him, it is so long into the future, longer than any mortal lifespan, that it does not register with the same impact as it must do for them.

 But Mama says that their people are right, and that he should listen more carefully.

‘Here.’ She calls him over to her one day, crouched low by a pond, hands cupped and close to her chest. She opens them as he approaches to reveal a small bird within. He cannot tell what kind it is- colours mutes and shape disguised by what he notices first and foremost.

It does not move.

‘Oh,’ He says, saddened. ‘Is it..?’

Mama gestures for him to hold out his hands. He does so, reluctantly, and she gently places the body within. The bird is young, almost old enough to leave the nest but not yet- downy feathers cover the few full, strong adult ones and circle around its neck like a torc. Its eyes are closed and bulging, its bones too loose when he shifts his hands underneath it.

Cymru wants to let go, but doesn’t. Knows he shouldn’t.

‘It was where it shouldn’t have been,’ Mama says. She picks up the bird between forefinger and thumb and turns it over by the head in Cymru’s hands, quick and rough, as if the bird is nothing more to her than a seed or a stone. The movement of it, the dead weight and wide angles, is wrong. She taps the downy feathers which are more numerous on the other side, ‘See here? These feathers are waterlogged. They collected the water and pulled it under, so that it couldn’t swim back up.’

Cymru feels sick. The bird feels dirty, unnatural in the way it lay in his palms, and he longs to throw it away and wipe his hands clean. But Mama is there, watching, and Cymru knows that his brothers would be as unaffected by it as she is.

‘Even if it could have swum to safety, it might have instead died in the fall. Or been caught by a larger bird, or animal. Might have died from sickness before it fell, or abandoned and starved by its parents.’ Mama’s voice is soft but she holds one hand under Cymru’s two, forcing him to look at what he holds. The bird’s head is too big, its beak too wide and closed eyes too round. He swallows back the whine in his throat, and the jerk of revulsion he wants to let out.

‘To live is to be lucky.’ Mama lifts up one of the small wings by the tip, almost adult feathers fanning like fingers, ‘There is no boundary we can cross to pass into safety, and no time limit to survive in order to avoid it. Death can happen at any time, for anything, and everything that lives today is luckier than it knows. One chance amongst thousands.’

Just as Cymru can handle holding the bird no longer, Mama takes it from him and lays it back in the shallows of the pond. It sits there, half submerged and glistening as Mama takes his hands and washes them, before drying them on her tunic.

‘Do not think, as all young things do, that your chances will never run out.’ She meets his eye, catching him by the chin and regarding him seriously, ‘It is just as easy for us to lose the piece of luck we have as the people we watch over. The only difference between us and them, is that we have a few guaranteed half chances to remind ourselves of how precious life is.’

There are fine lines around her eyes, strands of silver in her flame red hair, but her grip is tight, muscles of her arms strong. Cymru nods, and she softens.

-----------------

‘There are so many people.’

On Alba’s shoulders, Cymru grips the wooden posts to keep them both steady. ‘I didn’t know there could even be so many.’

‘There will be more than this in a few days.’ Mama says.

On her knees, she finishes wrapping Albion to her back and glances up at Cymru and Alba where they stand atop the woodstore, peering over the mound’s defences. In the early morning light, shapes and activity emerge from the retreating shadows like a slow retreating tide. Down the hill, all around the base of the settlement, people are erecting temporary shelters and pitching their animals. Winter solstice is here, with its darkest and coldest of nights, but this year it is apparently a particularly special one.

Cymru doesn’t really understand why. Something about the stars, or the years. Or where the sun hits the ancient stones nearby as it rises and falls- a tradition older than even Mama, passed down from the people before her who stood the circles of stones so tall all over their islands. All Cymru knows is that it is busy, with more people than he has ever seen before going to and fro and glancing his way whenever he goes near them. When Cymru and his family had arrived to stay for the winter a few months ago, this mound had been nothing more than home to one clan. Now, the mound and the lands around it was home to people from at least seven.

Cymru’s eyes pass over all of them, stretched out to the lake on the horizon, his breath clouding in front of him like smoke.

Mama stands with a grunt, testing the weight and position of the wraps keeping Albion -still sleeping- securely in place, and clicks at them with her tongue to come down. ‘There is to be another King and his people arriving today.’ She licks her thumb and rubs a dark smudge of something off Alba’s cheek, ‘I have to meet him properly.’

This means that she will be gone for hours down in the new camp, learning and sharing whatever news this new group of people have to bring. Her children will need to stay away and represent their family on their own. Alba straightens, turning to seriously observe the longhouses and storage buildings as if searching for fault.

‘Ah, a keen guardsman I see before me.’ Mama strokes back Alba’s hair fondly, ‘Today, you can be off duty.’

Alba reddens and scowls, hunching his shoulders, ‘I didn’t do anything.’

Mama laughs through her nose, ‘Good, because we don’t need guards people up here. But we do need ambassadors down there.’ She takes Alba by the shoulders and steers him through the village to the open wooden gates leading to the descent. Their people move aside for them as they pass, Cymru trailing just behind her watching Albion’s fair head against her back.

They stop at the gate- thrown open wide- and move off to the side to let a hunter and his pelts go by: foxes, badgers, and deer.

‘You see those trees and lake?’ A sharp and dramatic turn of Alba to the right, Mama’s hands still about his shoulders.

He laughs, staggering on his feet, ‘Yes.’

‘Oh? What about that field?’ A sharp, wide twist to the left.

He laughs again, stumbling to right himself, ‘I see it.’

‘Good. Well, there are a lot of different children milling about now and they don’t all speak the same tongue. I need some very important people to mix them together and act as a bridge between everyone, in that such field or those such trees. Maybe a game that everyone can play; make them feel comfortable and united.’

‘You want us to play?’ Alba sounds offended, laughter vanishing immediately.

Mama inclines her head, ‘I want you to negotiate amity.’

Alba looks to the swarms of shelters and people, then back up at Mama, ‘…What?’

‘It’s important that everyone here feels part of the same thing.’ Mama says. She drums her fingers like spider legs, fluttering them onto the scarf around Alba’s neck, ‘That’s hard to do when you don’t speak the same language and you’re in a strange place. Not everyone travels like we do. For most, this will be their first time outside of everything that they know.’

Alba doesn’t say anything. He looks back down at the sprawling camp, his face away from Mama so only Cymru can see that he’s dissatisfied. Cymru feels guilty for some reason, although he doesn’t know why. There is something he is missing that Alba understands, and he wishes he were older to figure it out.

‘It is an important job,’ Mama tells them, ‘It is what we need to do. It is what I am doing with the Kings and Queens and priests; their sons and daughters are just as important. I cannot do all at once, but all should be done.’

Alba doesn’t reply. Mama eyes the crown of his head, then winks at Cymru. She lifts her hands from Alba’s shoulders to shift Albion higher, ‘Never mind. There are a lot of them, thinking about it properly. Too many, I think; maybe it’s best I do it.’

‘I can do it.’ Alba says instantly, ‘There aren’t that many.’

Mama pulls a face, conflicted, ‘I’m not sure, it will be difficult. I was wrong to ask you, it will take patience and good communica-‘

‘We can do that.’ Alba grabs Cymru’s hand and Cymru feels panicked. ‘I can take some and Cymru can take some others. We’ll find Ériu and get him to help too. We’ll do a different language each and get together that way.’

Mama tilts her head from side to side. ‘Perhaps that will work.’

‘It will.’

‘And what will you do if they don’t want to play the same thing?’

‘We can play different things between us.’

Cymru looks up at Mama, helplessly. He does not share Alba’s confidence; there are indeed so many people, so many children. How would he talk to them? What would he say?

‘And what if there are arguments?’

Alba frowns, considering his answer, ‘I’ll listen and try to fix it.’

‘How about if some children do not wish to play?’

Alba doesn’t know the answer to that one.

‘They don’t have to.’ Cymru suggests, ‘They can watch, if they want. Or join in later. I could look after those ones.’

He does not know what games or activities Alba is thinking of offering, but none that Cymru can imagine will be things he is good at. He cannot run very fast, nor throw as far as his brothers can. He cannot climb to the tallest branches, or hunt on his own. The idea of embarrassing his family, of damaging the way they are seen by their people, is more than he can bear.

Cymru worries that Mama will see through his selfish suggestion but she smiles at them both. ‘Wonderful ideas,’ she says. She bends to brush down Cymru’s front and slides her fingers under his scarf to the fat, gold torc at his neck, ‘What clever ambassadors I have.’

-----------------

It works out better than Cymru expected.

Alba does the talking, as Cymru thought that he would. He moves amongst the groups, collecting children as he goes and directing them all to the field away from the campsites as Cymru follows at his side. Most they ask choose to join in, eager to be away from the tedium of moving and the tense atmosphere of being somewhere unfamiliar. Some have been walking all night but still want to come.

It is awkward, at first. Cymru does not know what to do with himself, does not know how to begin when people know who he is but don’t know him at all. But then he speaks to one girl on his own, hands shaking, then another. Then a boy, taller than he is, who grins down at him and follows where Cymru points him without question. Alba finds an empty pig’s bladder and blows it up, and before too long there is shrieking and running and Cymru forgets himself amongst it all.

Ériu runs over to join them with some older children not long later, fresh from hunting and eager to take part.

‘What else?’

A good while later, the poor pig’s bladder lays between their feet, finally deflated after numerous games kicked about the open field.

‘I’ll find another bladder. I’m sure there are lots going spare.’

Ériu shakes his head, ‘No, it’s getting boring.’

‘Chase, then? “It”, or something.’

Ériu makes a face, ‘I don’t want to do any more running.’ Cymru heartily agrees. ‘What about stories?’

Alba snorts, ‘How will that work if they can’t all understand it.’

‘We can translate.’

‘That’s just stupid.’

‘You’re stupid.’

‘How about the lake.’ Cymru cuts in quickly. The human children are close by, some running about on their own and others beginning to drift and talk in clumps. ‘We can slide on the ice and have races. Less running and we can use a rock instead of a bladder.’

Ériu looks at Alba, who avoids his eye to look down at Cymru. He then turns to observe the lake behind him. It is a cloudy day and the lake’s surface is dark, swallowing the reflections of the hills behind it so that it seems bottomless.

After a moment, Alba turns back, ‘Not a bad idea. Men were out there yesterday and it’s still cold today. Ice should be solid but we’ll need to get someone to check before we tell the others to follow us. One of the taller hunters; if he says it’s safe, we go.’

Ériu doesn’t seem convinced. ‘With all of us at the same time though? It might crack.’

‘There were deer on it the other day.’

‘That was the other day. It was sunny yesterday and what if the sun comes out again?’

Alba tuts and throws his hands up. Cymru knows that Alba will not take them on to the lake unless he was sure it will hold them, and also knows that Ériu will worry regardless of what Alba tries.

‘Hide and seek in the trees.’ He offers, ‘No one has to run, or talk to each other, and even the smaller ones can join in. And the hunts have already happened today,’ he adds for Ériu, ‘So the forest should be clear of anything dangerous.’

Cymru is satisfied when Ériu relaxes and Alba grins, impressed, ‘Yeah. That’ll do.’

A mad dash for the trees, Alba counting loudly at the edge in a mixture of languages,  1 2 3 in one and 4 5 6 in another.

With the field, campsite, and lake working as their designated hiding area, Cymru watches children scatter as Alba’s counting begins, his back to them. Cymru waits for them to clear and settle, keeping an ear on Alba’s voice, and searches for somewhere unique.

He knows not to stray too far. Mama has told them many stories of children who have become turned around forever by ancient trees, too confused and lost in the press of their trunks to ever find their way home again. The fae live within and they are tricky, fickle things- eager and hungry for wayward travellers. Everything can look the same if you’re not careful, Mama says, fae or not, so always find somewhere high above the treeline and keep it in sight when you walk somewhere new.

Luckily, there is a lot here to choose from- lake, hills. Cymru chooses the largest hill that crests over the trees to be his marker and begins.

The woods breathe. Whispered wind in the empty boughs of trees follow him above the high laughter of children, the hollow thumps of their feet on the forest’s earthen floor.

There is too much to choose from, yet also not much at all. Cymru is proud of himself when he finds a shallow cave, the top most rocks mossy and topped with a small, wizened tree, but several pairs of eyes already blink out at him from the mouth and so moves on quietly. The slope of a small hill has several bushes, but others have got to them first. Feet dangle overhead from branches he cannot reach, and some lay as half hidden shapes under old leaves, laying themselves down flat and still in the earth. One Cymru finds in the hollow of a fallen tree, and the tall girl presses a finger to her lips with eyes that plead with him to leave her there alone.

Far away, Alba stops counting and Cymru runs.

He jumps down a slope but at the bottom the hill with which he is marking his direction falls out of his sight so he scrabbles back up. He is tempted to press himself into its bank like some other children he’s seen, but he knows that Alba- keen, observant eyes- will find him. He wants to not be found first, wants to be good at the game he’s suggested- wants to win.

He hears running, hears footsteps come closer, and a mix of frustration and shame brings tears to his eyes.

Then, as he stands frozen and unsure, his mind blank, he spots a burrow. It is narrow, a stretched oval under the roots of an old tree which cover the entrance. Small and dark, it looks like a squeeze even for him but the leaves around it are undisturbed and a cobweb spans the top corner, from one root to the base of some nettles. Noone else has found it yet. Cymru sprints to it with relief.

He goes head first, arms brushing away more cobwebs that wait inside. The dirt floor of the burrow, damp at the entrance, dries the further he goes in and the air is cool and still. He is in to his chest when he catches it- the smell of animals, musky and heavy. He cannot tell how old this burrow is; it hasn’t been used long enough for the cobwebs to form, at least. 

Cymru hesitates.

Then, he hears the shouts of Alba’s first victim, a cry of wounded glee, and he makes up his mind. It’s tight. He has to wiggle on his belly to go in further, the space too tight for him to crawl on hands and knees. He can feel his feet sticking out, kicking freely as he shifts, but he finds purchase on a root and, with one last firm kick, he is fully inside.

The earth holds him still. He breathes in, slowly, carefully, and feels the walls around him push back on all sides. His heartbeat slows as he relaxes and then all he can hear is himself, the outside world muffled and removed and distant. Inside the burrow it is silent, with no breeze or movement apart from himself.

It is a comforting feeling, to be contained so completely. He wonders if this is how babies feel, inside their mothers as they grow. Wonders if he had ever felt this way before, when he was wherever he had come from. Maybe he’d come from a burrow such as this, pushed up from the earth once fully grown and ready to be found by Mama. He cannot see how far ahead the burrow continues but when he stretches his arms out ahead, he meets nothing but air. Satisfied, he lays his head on his outstretched arms and closes his eyes.

Time passes. Then more.

Cymru can sometimes hear children, shouting and screeching as they’re found and Alba gives chase. He hears Ériu once, cackling and stomping somewhere nearby. Someone comes near enough to Cymru’s tree that he can feel them, the earth vibrating gently with each footfall as the muted sound reverberates through the ground. But no one finds him, and slowly but surely the sounds of the other children in this area of the forest soften, before disappearing altogether.

‘Ris!’

Then he jolts, hitting his head in the dark.

It is later. He knows this because he needs to relieve himself, and because his arm is numb underneath his head. One or both must have woken him.

He stretches as much as he can, and yawns, wiggling his fingers to relieve the needles that spike through. He wonders what is for dinner tonight, for surely it must be time for something to eat. From outside, there are voices.

At first, he doesn’t know what they are saying. They’re faint, far away. Then-

‘Ris!’

He thinks he hears Alba.

Then again-

‘Ris! Come out!’

Ériu.

If Cymru strains he can hear several more voices, all calling for him. The game must be over. Far from feeling elated though, he feels panic.

The children- he can hear them now, louder- call for him as ‘Cymru’, his true name. But his brothers call for him by the name which Mama gave him. It is a name that no one but family knows, a name that is just for himself, not for who he is, and his brothers using it means that something is wrong.

The thud of someone running, then Ériu is closer. He screams Cymru’s name, breathless as though he is running, and there’s a sharp edge of fear to his voice that Cymru has never heard before.

Cymru’s stomach goes cold. Ériu‘s fear flows into him and his mind works fast. How long has he been gone? How long have his brothers been looking? Mama is going to be so angry; he hopes that his brothers haven’t gone to her yet.

His brother’s voice grows quieter, he is moving away. The wrong way.

‘Ériu! Wait!’

Quickly, Cymru tries to push himself backwards. His hands slip on the walls, dirt crumbling into his eyes, his mouth, and he coughs. He tries again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, his hands slip. They cannot hold the force his arms need to move his body backwards. He tries, the floor, the ceiling. Tries with his feet, toes digging into the earth and smacking against the sides. Knees to floor, elbows to walls and hands everywhere at once but nothing gives. He is stuck. The more he wiggles, the more he can feel himself slip further inside, and mounting terror soon overwhelms him to leave him sobbing.

‘Alba! Alba, I’m here!’

His heart pounds like a drum in his hearts, blood rushing to his face, his neck. He wants to get out. He doesn’t care that Mama will know; he wants her to find him. Even if she drags him out in front of everyone he doesn’t care, he wants to go home. The walls around him grow tighter, the darkness blacker, and Cymru fights for breath and he chokes against tightening lungs.

‘ADAIR! PADARN! Help!’

As he struggles, he hears movement from within the dark. Something soft at first, a rustle under his crying, but then there’s a growl- warm breath on his knuckles, something wet dripping onto his split skin.

He is where he doesn’t belong, Cymru realises the moment before pain hits. He is a creature that is not where it should be, and what is going to learn the truth of what comes next.

He closes his eyes, crosses his arms across his face, and screams.

-----------------

He wakes to white hot fire.

It is all over him- his chest, his neck, his arms. A burning, searing agony that rips a cry from him as he twists, the darkness swimming and churning.

‘Shhhh, shhh my love.’

Cymru hears Mama. He feels her touch him, gentle and light on his shoulder but his skin shreds itself anew at the pressure and he arches away. He cannot see, cannot think- the pain is too great. Life has returned to a body that is not ready, a soul to a house it cannot call home. Cymru pushes his head back against whatever lies underneath it as the walls of his mind close in, biting down on a life too new to taste.

-----------------

When he awakes next, the shapes can move.

The agony is duller, arms stiff and wooden when he moves them.

‘Don’t.’ Ériu says. He sounds scared, nervous. In front of something he doesn’t understand, ‘Don’t touch it.’

Fingers on his chest, something cool laid over his eyes. Albion laughs in the background at the bray of a goat, and Cymru slips away.

When he returns to himself fully, confused and tired, he finds that it is Spring.

-----------------

Cymru does not consider himself a cautious man.

He is wary, as any living thing is, but not foolishly so. Life and death come together, he understands, and the possibility of death will not keep him from living. He has suffered many worse deaths than his first, and more of the same. Burning, beheading, quartering- so many terrible ways that man imagine death for themselves, on top of all the organic riches that nature provides.

He does not fear the ground, nor the dark. Not like Alba and the endless deep, nor Ériu and his complicated feelings. Still, Cymru knows himself to be changed.

Sometimes, when the voices around him are too loud, or the tensions in the air too high, Cymru feels the edges of his mind grow dark. Invisible earthen walls press closer on all sides, his breathing tightens, his heart races, and he finds himself walking- up up up. Up into the sky, up to the tallest thing he can see, where the world can swing freely under his feet and the ground cannot swallow him. Back where he should be and where he is safe, above the earth with nothing but the airy sky around him.

There are times when he does not even know what he is doing until he is up there- the sun sinking lower in the sky when before it had been morning. Sometimes, he takes himself before he needs to go, knowing what will come if he doesn’t. The world changes, humans move in with their cement and brick, but there are always places left for him to go. Untouched hikes, lonely crags of his northern mountains where humans fear to walk lest they become lost and topple off the sharp, unseen edge. Cymru knows his lands like he knows his people, knows them more than he knows himself, and knows that his land will always hold some places hidden, just for him.

Perched on the edge of perilous drops, his feet far above the floor below, Cymru feels more himself than he does anywhere else. For this, he knows he is luckier than most.

-----------------

AN:

This came from a very old headcanon explored in Wind Walk, Afterlife, and even chapter 2 of this fic. I hope my Wales makes more sense to you now!

For anyone who had questions about Wales from Ériu’s chapter, you’ll just have to wait for the next update to see if you can unpick things 😉

As for their names: ‘Adair, Padarn, Ris’- the names I usually use for the British Isles siblings are actually newer than the time period I am writing this fic in. But, I wanted the affect of their human names to be used and so chose the closest approximations I could for them to still be recognisable.

Thanks for reading!

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond!: Happy 1st Anniversary!

(Anyone new here, please go check out the webcomic yourself! There's a link to its Master Post on my account's Master Post!)

It's honestly hard to believe that it's been a whole year since I got Sonic: Into, Across and Beyond! going here on Tumblr, but I'm absolutely proud of where I've come with the project! It's not been easy plotting everything out, but it's definitely in a great state so far!

Of course, I haven't gotten this far on my own. I'd also like to thank some other individuals for helping me reach this point, as well.

@becdoesthings: for having helped with some writing, alongside some mockup work!

@mcgamejolter: for not only contributing here and there to the story, but also for bringing Mr. Needlemouse into IAB!!

SFG1235: for bringing his own little contribution to IAB!, alongside doing a fantastic job with the Mobiverse AU!

@robovoidfrog: It's been great seeing how Funkinverse could evenly tie in with IAB! without intruding on the experiences of both. You're doing well out there, dude!

@trocyte: for helping me keep on top of any important FNF tidbits for the Funkinverse side-story!

Anybody who has contributed a question to the Q&A for the project. I know it's not a load of questions as it stands, but thanks regardless!

The numerous great creators, both SEGA and the fans, that have helped shape the Sonic franchise into the diverse playground for creativity it is today!

So, then, what's next for the project going forward? Well, let's see...

Continuing to Write Any Absent Scenes

There are still several scenes in the project that don't have their writing all sorted out yet, but I promise I will get down to them when I get the time to do so! Next up in line will be the second major fight in More than One Universe, involving both Talrareth and AVA!Corrupt, like in No Way Home.

I'll also ensure that each piece of the story is interconnected between posts to let you view the stories at your own pleasure. Considering a Tumblr post can only handle so many links, I might need to split some of the stuff up here and there, but we'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

A Journey into History

In some other little news, there's a project that my friend, Nickbear/SonicFan50002 has in the works. I won't say anything major about it until he drops any personal announcement, but I can confirm that IAB!'s version of OMT!Tails is going to be amongst the game's playable characters!

Taking place between Across All Worlds and Many More Heroes, OMT!Robotnik had picked up some data revolving around an unnatural structure that showed up in another dimension, so Tails has decided to investigate the abandoned Death Egg solo to help build up his independence. Of course, the anomalies behind said structure have brought a certain old foe back to get revenge on him... one last time.

I hope you'll look forward to it when it's properly announced by Nick! It'll definitely be a change from the usual EXE formulas you've grown used to!

A Missive from 50 Years Ago

At one stage, I'll be documenting the journey of Errorverse Shadow, the Ultimate Lifeform from 6 dimensions over. You'll find he's a tad less reclusive and moody than he usually is, considering he had a bit longer of a trip after Metal Overlord was overpowered.

I plan to cover the events of his beginnings, Sonic Adventure 2, Sonic Heroes, Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic '06, Shadow Generations, Sonic Forces and any other events leading up to his present day, and how much he came to grow into his own person instead of abiding to the status quo of other Shadows, and how he isn't quite alone with his wish to just have a future with someone close by his side.

I'll just say this; while he sympathises with Boom Shadow for being the only serious villain amongst all the comedic ones in his dimension, he seriously dislikes how ruthless and uncaring Boom Shadow is about positive values in life.

Museum of Memory (named after a remark in AC:NH's DLC)

The project's definitely come a long way since its inception. What you see above is one of the earlier mockups designed for the project, depicting an early battle in the storyline. The other mockups shown below are of earlier variations of the story's work before I nailed it down to a definitive version. Here's the stuff for you to see:

(OMT!Tails and CR!Sonic running through Green Hill; old One More Hero work when the sprite choices weren't finalised)

(The first depiction of the bridge fight between OMT!Tails and Shalian in More than One Universe; again, both sprite styles have changed since then)

(An earlier depiction of the early-entry Blur Gang members laughing at the name of SoniKiller; as can be seen, Mini Sonic's sprites were once the chibi Sonic sprites from CD)

(An early version of the arrival of the multiversal heroes; the older sprite choices for OMT!Knux, OMT!Amy and OMT!Cream can be seen, alongside an early draft of Nitro's then-recent redesign)

You'll notice that these four mockups are in a widescreen style compared to the Genesis resolution that I ultimately decided to stick with when I began to share IAB! on Tumblr. I'm honestly glad I decided to take those creative changes before I got started, since I'm prouder of the project that way.

A Potential New Logo?

Nickbear had considered the possibility of designing a new logo for IAB!. As of writing this post, it isn't ready just yet, but once it is, you'll see it front and centre on both the project's Master Post AND on the TV Tropes article for IAB!. Considering he designed the logo for what would've been Sonic.EXE Phantom Saga +, I can guarantee he's a master at this stuff!

Footnote

And that should be all I'm covering for now. In the meantime, while you're waiting for new stuff, be sure to check these creators out!:

@akanemnon: Hijinks ensue when the protagonists of Undertale and Deltarune cross paths.

@cultofgalaxy: Kinoko's in-progress game of origin, featuring a Metroidvania approach and many unique planets!

@itscruiseelroy: Developer of the awesome arcade-inspired indie title, Annalynn!

@piink-rose: She makes such adorable Sonic art pieces!

@robovoidfrog: Check out the work he's done for Funkinverse! He's more active on Reddit, of course.

@son1c: Designed some sweet Shatterverse AU stuff to expand on what we were shown in Sonic Prime!

NotSoDevy: A small game dev in his own right! He is currently working on his own FNF mod and a semi-official game adaptation of Sonic.EXE 2.

@emistations: Does some cute Sonic art herself, and is a designer for the Black Knight Amy AU that's a part of IAB!. (I swear, Harmony Rose is just adorable! >w<)

JoeDoughBoi: The current co-owner of Sonic.exe, currently working on SonicPC and the Soulless Sonic series.

And be sure to support other little creators in the community as well! And if I'll give you one piece of advice, hold on tightly to any physical copies of media (video games, books, DVDs, etc.) that you own, since companies can't delist physical stuff from storefronts compared to digital stuff.

Well, that should be all from me for now. Catch you guys in the next post!

Oh, and have this art of Nitro and Kyuzi (once again by @mcgamejolter)!