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kitten4sannie · 2 years ago

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19 - ᴅᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ - ʏᴜɴʜᴏ/ꜱᴀɴ

ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ

pairing: vampire! yunho x witch! reader (fem) x werewolf! san

genre: fantasy au, smut, a little baby pinch of humor 🤏🏼

summary: you teach your bickering boyfriends to get along with a fun group activity.

w.c: 3.5k

warnings: poly relationship (it’s a work in progress), mxm, dom! yunho, dom! san, sub! reader, olfactophilia, pet names, name calling, degradation, praise, lots of spit involved (surprise, surprise), oral (receiving), breeding kink, slight bulge kink, fingering, kissing, double penetration in both holes (unprotected), creampies

a/n: after i finished typing this up it was like niagara falls in this bitch 😵‍💫 jshdgdhd so it’s safe to say i might’ve actually gone insane this time <3

FFF Masterlist

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As a witch attending a magic academy, it was only natural that you’d encounter supernatural beings of all kinds. Ones that were bigger and stronger than you. More powerful and a lot more equipped when it came to spell casting. Despite this, you felt like you knew enough about the dark arts to take care of yourself. Whether it came to emotional conflict or actual threats of danger, you could handle it without issues. Though things became difficult in a way you never anticipated.

Halfway through the semester, you decided to open yourself up to two new lovers, ones that were having a hard time getting along — though it was sort of expected. One was a ravenous, moody werewolf and the other was a haughty, refined vampire. They were like night and day. Their clans were mortal enemies, only tolerating each other because they weren't allowed to break the strict laws that were enforced throughout the land, or else they faced governmental punishment. Maybe you didn’t think it all the way through, but then again, you were happy and so were they, but they just needed a little help adjusting to each other.

Lazing around in the unmade bed of your rowdy, rambunctious boyfriend, you buried your face into one of his pillows, inhaling his comforting scent. Strong accents of warm spiced cinnamon entered your system, along with the musky-sweet smell of leaves. He must’ve been rolling around in the woods near the academy again. How cute of him. You slowly turned over to look at the door when you heard a voice that was too light and sultry to be his.

“There you are, Darling.” Yunho sighed, stepping past the open dorm door, taking three large strides across the room, already near your side and running his long, cold fingers up the side of your bare figure. “Why are you at this clan’s house instead of mine?” His nose scrunched up for a second, not used to the musk of werewolf dens. “You said that you were coming to see me today.”

“Hey, Yunnie.” When he sat down on the bed, you reached up to run your fingers up his perfectly ironed, gold-laced button up blazer, unbuttoning the first button to see his chest peak out underneath. “I was going to, but San wanted me to stay longer. He just had a collar delivered, and he wanted me to see it.”

Yunho’s friendly disposition soured at the mention of the werewolf, watching you unbutton the second and third button on his top, but not acknowledging it. “Once that mutt is done with his little show and tell, you’ll come to my dorm so I can have you to myself, alright?”

“You have to learn to share, baby...” Just as you were going to express your disapproval of the word ‘mutt’, someone beat you to it.

“Mutt?” San stood in the doorway, his large canines already on display for Yunho to see. Not wasting a single second, he slammed the door behind him, pounced on the bed behind you and pulled your body back against his broad bare chest, his muscular arms wrapping protectively around you. “You come into my clan’s home unannounced looking like an undead Englishman, insult me, then you try to steal my Y/N? Are you trying to die?!”

“Undead Englishman? This is made of the finest material a dog like you could only dream of wearing.” Yunho scoffed, rolling his bright crimson eyes at the other male, still not saying anything when you continued to unbutton his blazer.

“Call me a dog again,” San threatened in a raspy voice, leaning over your naked body to growl in Yunho’s face, his golden irises forming into slits. “Say it so I can see if you can still talk after I rip your vocal cords out of your throat.”

Wanting to prevent a catastrophic fight from breaking out, you reached up towards San, playing with the shiny new leather collar that adorned his freckled neck. “Sannie, this is so cute! You look so handsome with your new collar~”

San’s large black ears flattened slightly into his wild raven hair, his anger melting away within seconds. “Handsome?” he questioned, slowly lowering himself onto the bed, his half-clothed body pressing into yours, nuzzling your neck with the side of his head. “Do you really mean that?

You ran your fingers through his hair, stroking the tip of one of his ears, causing him to let out a low whine, his tail wagging a bit. “Of course, silly…You’re my very handsome boy~”

“Yay,” San murmured softly, a light blush forming on his angular cheekbones, his fluffy tail wrapping around one of your thighs. “I’m Y/N’s handsome boy, Yunho. Not you.” He stuck his tongue out at the vampire, ears twitching slightly, feeling more playful than bloodthirsty.

“Sannie, baby, Yunho’s handsome too. Try to get along with him, okay? Can you do that for me?” you asked in a gentle voice, pressing your lips to San’s neck just above the collar and stroking his velvety tail, making him nod and whine again, sounding more needy.

Yunho chuckled, taking one of your hands and running his thumb over your knuckles. “That’s all it takes, huh? What a simple creature.”

You turned your head to shoot the vampire a fiery look, gritting your teeth. “Yunho, don’t start that up. Or else.”

“Or else, what, my lovely plaything?” the vampire asked in a low tone, undoing the last button on his blazer and sliding it off, his chiseled porcelain body now on display.

“I’m surprised he’s not sparkling like in that one movie you showed me a couple weeks back,” San murmured into your ear, making you hold a finger up to his lips to shush him.

Not caring to listen to the werewolf’s comment, Yunho laid down on the bed to press himself against your bare backside, his half-hard cock against your ass and his lips near your ear. “Or else what, princess? Or else you won’t let me fuck you until you’re too dick-drunk to function?” He feigned a small pout, nudging your neck with his nose and running his fangs across it, trying to ignore how much San marked you that particular night. “I thought you loved that.”

Taking notice of Yunho’s scent, which was giving off strong notes of oak aged vanilla, with small hints of citrus, you licked your lips and slowly exhaled when he just barely punctured your neck with his fangs. You didn’t bother stopping him from sliding a hand past your hip and in between your legs, allowing him to brush his fingers over your clit. “If you don’t stop being mean to San, I’ll put a spell on you that’ll make you hard forever…”

“Mm, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Darling?” he returned, licking the blood that dribbled from your neck, causally slapping San’s hand away when he tried to play with your pussy as well, causing him to growl. “You’d let me fuck you day in and day out, wouldn’t you?”

Leaning your head back and turning Yunho’s jaw to face you, you pressed kisses along his jaw, replying, “Only if you learn to share your plaything.” When he licked his lips, you grabbed the vampire’s hand to keep it still, allowing San to slip two large fingers inside you to scissor them apart, then quickly pump them in and out. “Yeah, that’s it, Sannie, just like that. Good boyyyy,” you addressed your other boyfriend, giggling at the werewolf’s toothy grin, his tail thumping against the mattress from your praise. Acknowledging Yunho’s twitching fingers, you let his hand go, looking down to watch their hands begin to work in tandem with one another, supplying you an intoxicating amount of pleasure.

With your lower half lifted up into the air with your left leg hiked up over one of San’s solid shoulders, he rubbed and grabbed at your hickey-covered ass, sucking and licking at the bottom half of your slick cunt from in front of you. “Mmn, Y/N, so sweet…” he mumbled against your mound, slowly slurping up your arousal and spitting it back out, then moving the dripping mess around with his fingers. With his back towards you, Yunho sat on his knees facing San, clutching the inside of your other thigh and keeping it out of his way, his mouth latched onto you, swiping at your throbbing clit with his long forked tongue.

“F-uuuck, that feels good,” you breathed out, grabbing and pulling at the sheets, barely able to handle the visual of Yunho and San both lapping at your cunt, the vampire administering longer, steadier strokes with his tongue, which was quite different from the way the werewolf was licking your soaked folds and salivating on your slit like you were a juicy steak he was about to devour. “Oh my god, I’m gonna cum…”

“Cum, baby,” they answered in unison, their voices low and gravelly, both consumed with their lust for you, not even caring when their tongues began to overlap. Yunho glanced up at San, his wide tongue spreading out over the expanse of your cunt, swiping from your clit down to your pulsing hole. Eyes narrowed, San pushed two fingers inside you to make you feel full, rubbing your g-spot in a way that made you cry out desperately from the intense pleasure. “Cumming! I’m cumming…!” you yelled out, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from how overstimulated you were becoming. San pulled his creamy fingers out of you, but continued licking your cunt to collect your cum, until his tongue started to drag up and down Yunho’s, their spit mixing together with the influx of arousal.

“Give me,” the vampire mumbled, grabbing the werewolf’s hand and bringing it to his mouth to lick the thick strings of cum and spit from his spread fingers. San watched with glazed-over eyes, leaning in to lick at his own fingers as well, their tongues entwining now and then. Yunho slurped the mixed fluids up into his mouth and grabbed San by the jaw, spitting it onto his tongue. “You like that, huh?” the vampire questioned, chuckling when San nodded, watching with interest as the werewolf started to let a thick wad of spit drip down his chin, encouraging Yunho to lap it up and swallow it down.

You whimpered softly from what was occurring in front of you. Not only was it the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, it felt almost orgasmic to witness your boyfriends finally getting along in such a filthy way.

Once they were both satisfied, they simultaneously licked their lips and pulled out their heavy, throbbing cocks from the confines of their pants. They had a stare-down for a while, ravenous and thirsty for you, wanting to bury themselves deep inside your cunt as quickly as possible. Yunho spoke up first, claiming, “I made her cum when I sucked on her clit, so I should get to fuck her first.”

San shook his head, countering, “She came once I finger-fucked her, so it’s actually my turn.”

Yunho peered at the werewolf, about to argue with him when you interrupted him, “Just fuck me at the same time. It’s not that serious.”

Never considering that to be a solution, Yunho and San exchanged glances, their glistening lips forming perverse smiles. “I’ll fuck her tight little ass and you’ll fuck her pretty cunt?” Yunho suggested, reaching out to shake San’s hand. San nodded his head adamantly, clutching the vampire’s hand and giving it a firm shake, the both of them sharing a series of delighted chuckles.

No matter what background they were from, men were kind of odd. Oh well, at least they weren’t fighting anymore. Instead, they were about to work together so that they could stuff themselves inside you. Team work. We love to see it.

Growling and making guttural noises from his collared throat, San shoved his cock as deep into your cunt as he possibly could, wanting to ensure that he would fill you up with his pups one day. “Gonna breed you, baby…Gonna make you a mommy,” the werewolf huffed out, drool leaking past his lips, angling his head downward, his eyes zoning in on the faint outline of his cock being forced in and out of your lower stomach.

“Sounds good, Sannie,” you moaned out, barely able to get a deep breath in from being sandwiched in between the large men, laying on your side on the warm mattress, thankful that Yunho was holding your right thigh up from behind you, his cock sliding in and out of your other hole. You felt a piercing sensation on your collarbone, knowing Yunho was taking a healthy portion of your life source.

"So sweet...my Darling, your blood..." Yunho mumbled against your skin, licking and sucking at the bruising skin, unable to keep his breathing under control. "God, you drive me crazy. I just-"

San's loud growls and groans interrupted the vampire's train of thought, making him grow irritated. San had his head leaned down over your chest, eagerly sucking your tits into his mouth one at a time, nibbling, licking, and slobbering all over them.

Disgusted, Yunho scowled across your shoulder at San, questioning harshly, “Why do you always have to make such a mess all the time? Dumb dog.”

San pursed his lips and let out a few long strings of spit onto your shiny tits, his golden eyes narrowing at Yunho’s crimson ones. “Because she loves it, onion boy.”

Yunho bared his blood-stained fangs at San, growling, “Onion boy?! That’s literally an old wive’s tale, you absolute d–”

They were both fully sheathed inside your holes, pumping themselves into you over and over again and they couldn't stop arguing even for a moment? How rude. Trying to focus on how heavy and warm your lower half was beginning to feel, your arousal coating the both of their moving cocks, you huffed dramatically, injecting, “Jesus Christ, will you two just fucking focus?”

Rolling his eyes, Yunho started sucking on your neck again, quietly sipping on your blood, still pounding his cock steadily into your ass. Hearing the loud, whiny-sounding moans you were letting out, he chuckled to himself, asking huskily, “You’re such a dirty little witch, aren’t you? Is one cock not enough for you now? You need two now just to cum?”

San nodded his head in agreement, his shaggy black hair bouncing along with his movements, unable to respond verbally, too concentrated on making sure his pre-cum was reaching your womb, desperately wanting to fill you with his kin.

Personally, you didn't want to admit that you were a slutty little witch, in desperate need of being filled by your boyfriends as much as humanly possible. So, you simply shook your head, exhaling, "No...that's not it...It's so you two can finally get along..."

Yunho dragged his tongue up your neck to your jaw, nipping at it, grabbing your ass roughly and sighing into your ear, “Darling, you say that you’re doing this so that I get along with San, but you really just wanted both of your slutty little holes to be filled up at once, huh?”

Inhaling sharply at the sensation of both Yunho and San slowing down their thrusts, allowing you to feel every inch of them rubbing against your slick, plush walls, you searched for an excuse inside your clouded mind. “This is a bonding experience for you two, so you can finally stop–unnh–bickering,” you argued back, leaning your head back on Yunho’s collarbone, panting heavily. “How does it feel being cock to cock with my Sannie? Tell me, Yunnie.”

Leaning his head back, San let out a small howl, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation. Not only was he able to mark you with his scent, and pump his cock into your breeding hole, but he was also able to hear you call him yours. It felt so good, so good he started to drool again.

Blushing, Yunho pressed his cold sweaty cheek onto yours, glancing over at San, not wanting to admit that it felt good when their cocks rubbed against one another. “It could feel worse, I guess.”

San snapped out of his daze to growl, “Liar. I can feel your stupid, undead cock throbbing against mine!”

Yunho blushed harder, the color now reaching his pointed ears. “That’s because I’m inside my Darling’s tight little hole, you dumb m–”

“That’s enough!” you shouted, reaching back to grab the back of Yunho’s head and leaning forward into San’s chest, pushing his head in the opposite direction, now sandwiched tightly between one extremely cool body and one that was radiating heat off of it like it was the surface of the sun. “Kiss and make up, or else I’ll recite a spell that’ll turn the both of you into vibrators.”

It took a few seconds for the both of them to internally admit to themselves that they found each other to be extremely attractive, despite their differences. San made the first move, having to squish you against his large upper half to press his lips onto Yunho's, already swiping his tongue across the vampire's lower lip. One heated kiss led to another, and soon enough, San was lapping at Yunho’s tongue and sucking on it, his drool dripping down onto your face below. Yunho groaned periodically, his cock throbbing heavily inside you, eventually grabbing San’s face to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue inside and moving it around to assert his dominance.

You almost felt like you were under a spell yourself, watching their tongues and lips meet in a fervid manner, noticing how they occasionally used their fangs to bite at each other’s swollen lips, their mixed saliva dripping onto your flushed face now and then. “Kiss me too…” you eventually whispered to the both of them, watching them slowly split apart, the hatred in their eyes gone and instead filled with intrepid lust.

Without hesitation, San slotted his lips onto yours, moaning into your mouth, his ears flattening down. It's desperate, full of passion and need, his teeth clinking against yours from how fast he’s moving his mouth against yours.

You could barely handle how much pleasure you were feeling, your cunt pulsing and dripping so much slick, you were surprised either of your boyfriends could even stay inside. "Gonna cum..." you moaned into San's mouth, tears forming inside the corners of your eyes.

Yunho suddenly grabbed your chin and moved it towards him, kissing you in a more deliberate manner, allowing you to savor every swipe of his tongue and the faint taste of your own blood. He started to buck his hips up into you, sloppy and desperate, breaking the kiss to groan, "I'm gonna fill this slutty little hole up with my load, princess."

"Fuck, Y/N...I'm cumming...you're gonna be a mommy for me, baby...my pretty mommy...full of my pups..." San grabbed onto one of your hips, digging his fingers into your soft flesh, suddenly emitting harsh, animal-like noises, fucking his own load into you as deep as he possibly could, wanting to make sure it reached your womb.

You couldn't even announce your own orgasm, only able to let out a strained scream, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Your arousal squirted out of you, coating both of your boyfriend's cocks, some of it forming a small puddle on the sheets below.

The three of you laid there in a pile, huffing and puffing, simply looking at one another's flushed, fucked-out faces. The three of you exchanged quiet 'i love you's', until you sat up and jumped up from the bed, a large amount of cum dribbling out of you and down your legs.

"What's wrong, Darling?" Yunho questioned, casually holding his arm out for San to join him, the werewolf laying down on the vampire's chest and looking up at you with a puzzled expression.

"Your cum...it's all coming out of me..." you whined, squeezing your thighs together. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick." And with that, you ran out of the dorm room to the bathroom across the hall as quick as you could. When you left, Yunho and San exchanged glances, their lips slowly curling up into the same suggestive smiles.

"Alright, that's better," you sighed to yourself, walking back into the room, only to stop in your tracks, a strong zap of arousal immediately striking your core. Were you seeing things right? You rubbed your eyes and blinked. San was sitting in Yunho's large lap, rutting against the vampire like a bitch in heat with his head leaned back, his tail curled around Yunho's thigh. Not only that, but Yunho had put one of San's leashes on for him, holding the end of it with a tight grip, suddenly yanking on it so that it San down onto him, causing their open mouths to meet.

"Hey!" you called out, a hand on your hip.

They both jumped, pulling away from each other to look up at you.

Your fake angry face disappeared and was quickly replaced with a wide smile. You giggled with delight, closing the door and running towards them to jump onto the bed. "Make room for me!" They laughed in unison and wrapped their limbs around you, pressing kisses to your face and neck.

"Darling," Yunho sighed happily, nuzzling your neck with his cheek, holding you close to him. San nuzzled you as well, giving your cheek a small affectionate lick, adding, "My Y/N....ready for round two?"

Despite the odds, it seemed this naughty fairytale had a happy ending, after all. A very happy ending.

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FFF: @hwalysm @scuzmunkie @creativechaoticloner @dilucpegg3r @yeosxxx @gemjimin @wonwowzers @sanjoongie @manipulatedstars @k-drizzle

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

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whereisdoriangray · 4 months ago

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visenya targaryen (i.)

I. THE SECOND PRINCESS

second daughter of viserys i and aemma targaryen, seven years younger than rhaenyra

after the death of her mother king viserys sent her to live at dragonstone, persuaded that the red keep was not the best place for the young princess

however, this didn't spare visenya from the theatrics of its court

she and rhaenyra had a good relationship and frequently exchanged ravens

rhaenyra was the only family young visenya held love for.

II. DRAGONSTONE

visenya spent her entire childhood and teenage years at dragonstone, leaving her home only rarely

the first time she left dragonstone was for king's landing - her older sister was to be named heir to the iron throne

whilst rhaenyra, the realm's delight, embraced the duties of the king's heir, visenya thrived at dragonstone

she mastered high valyrian and the history of her house through ancient valyrian texts

she also learnt, albeit in secret, the art of swordsmanship and alchemy

young visenya liked to explore the secrets of dragonstone, often stumbling upon its hidden passages

soon, she knew not only the castle, but also the island like the back of her hand

at nine years old, visenya claimed vermithor, the bronze fury

it has been said that on that day, the dragonpit basked in fire and when the princess emerged on the back of the bronze fury, she was covered in nothing but ash

this led many people to believe she was immune to dragonfire

the news travelled fast and soon reached king's landing where it was met with both shock and confusion

that was the first but far from the last time that visenya's name echoed through the halls of the red keep since her birth

when her eleventh nameday came about, so did the first offers of marriage

visenya was said to have greeted the suitors graciously and amicably, as was expected of a princess

after politely and patiently talking to every one of the lords, she led her guests to the dragonpit

"my lords, you have all had a chance to speak. now, allow me to let someone else speak..."

"naejot māzīs, vermithos," her voice, calm and unfaltering, echoed through the dragonpit terrifyingly, but visenya didn't move an inch, still facing her suitors

soon, a dragon emerged, roaring and displeased at seeing their guests, making all men flee at once

visenya laughed softly, persuaded that she would not have to deal with such things for quite some time and she was right

the talk of the bronze fury's protectiveness spread like a wildfire and quickly ruined any prospects of marriage for visenya

what no sources mention, however, is that one of the lords, in fact, didn't flee - it was perhaps due to the young lord's thick skin, or the fact that that only a year prior, he had to endure worse

he was cregan stark, a fourteen-year-old lord of winterfell

in contrast, visenya's sister, rhaenyra, was wed to laenor velaryon only a year after her sister's departure - this wedding visenya infamously didn't attend

instead, the young princess and heir received a raven in the middle of the feast

the letter contained no words, and yet it sent a message

on the piece of parchment was painted a targaryen sigil.

III. SHE, THE PROTECTOR

when jacaerys was born, twelve-year-old visenya was said to have mounted her dragon vermithor and flown over the king's landing immediately upon hearing the news

though she didn't set foot in the red keep, smallfolk and royalty alike recognized her mount as it roared and spat fire, painting the sky in red and orange hues

many marvelled at the display of targaryen power, but all got the message - rhaenyra had her future heir now and there was no one that could measure up to her claim - not even alicent's firstborn son, a one-year-old prince aegon

in one of the letters to her sister, rhaenyra mentioned that her former guardian, ser criston cole, had become alicent's sworn shield

visenya's reply came quick, plain and cold;

"those who turn against you will burn."

after lucerys' birth, rhaenyra received a pin made of valyrian steel, in the shape of a three-headed dragon along with a note;

"for prince lucerys of house targaryen, to wear proudly, sends his aunt visenya."

it was a clear hint at the recently raised question of parentage of rhaenyra's sons and her stance towards it - like visenya wrote in one of her many letters to her sister;

"looks be damned! they are your sons and heirs. they are targaryens."

despite her remaining at dragonstone, the young princess secured many friends far beyond her home island - so much so, in fact, that by the birth of her third nephew, she would have her own spy network which included also of king's landing and dragonstone

when she heard of what alicent had done to her sister, visenya's reaction was one of fury

"the insolence!" her blood boiled as she threw away the note, "this is an insult to the heir of the iron throne!" the messenger, a boy around her age, flinched, but she paid no mind to it

storming out of the room, straight to the dragonpit, she called her dragon

visenya cared little about having no saddle on vermithor nor not being in her dragonrider attire — the only thing on her mind was the bitch of a queen who humiliated her sister

as they soared towards king’s landing, the princess was sure in but one thing,

she would not let this insult go unanswered

“sōvēs!”

her arrival at king's landing was nothing short of spectacular

vermithor’s roar announced her presence long before she even landed, causing panic and awe among everyone in the courtyard

as she dismounted her dragon, people greeted her with deference, bowing low

visenya wasted no time, marching straight into the red keep, determined to find her sister

she knew that she stank of dragon, her red and black gown torn apart and a mess of what used to be an intricate web of braids, but she noticed her threatening aura and furious stride overshadowed it all

her every step echoed in the castle’s silent corridors as she made her way to rhaenyra’s chambers, opening the door with such force that she startled everyone inside

at her stared three people: rhaenyra, her husband laenor and ser harwin strong

“visenya,” whispered the older princess with disbelief, as her sister, still standing by the door, tried to catch her breath

“leave us.” no pleasantries, no greetings. visenya offered nothing, just these two words.

the two men swiftly left the room and once they were gone, visenya quickly embraced her sister

on that day, she suggested that rhaenyra and her family leave king's landing behind and move to dragonstone

when joffrey was born, visenya swore an oath to always protect him and his brothers as long as she lived.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #team black #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #cregan stark #jace velaryon #luke velaryon #aegon ii targaryen #queen rhaenyra #haelena targaryen

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yatagarasuhonyaku · 27 days ago

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The Raven of the Empty Coffin: Chapter 1 "Shigemaru" Part 3

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. The events of this novel follow after what's already covered by the anime. For an easier understanding, I recommend first reading the few scenes of previous books I've already translated.

Blog version

For the Index, you can find it HERE

Previously: Shigemaru (Part 2)

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Chapter 1: Shigemaru (Part 3)

As they advanced through the practical courses, the instructors relentlessly rejected the skills Shigemaru and his fellow commoners had. In Archery, they asked them to fix their stance, denying them the chance to even nock an arrow, and this was hardly the only subject where their basics—or lack thereof—got them scolded: they were stuck practicing blocking in Martial Arts, and in Swordsmanship all they did was relearning how to stand and hold their sword from zero.

Day after day, all they got were corrections. It was all how to hold their bows, the proper methods to block, and sword practice swings. Understandably enough, it had taken a toll on everyone’s motivation.

“...... You know, I’m really starting to suspect they're discriminating against us.”

The moment was after having gone through all practical courses at least once. By that point, their group study sessions had become a nightly event. To call it that was, however, a bit of an overstatement—in practice, they just came together to copy Yukiya's homework. They had gathered in Shigemaru and Yukiya’s dormitory room at first, but the number of petitioners had just kept on growing. Once the new additions to their group became more than three, they had no option but to change locations to an empty room instead.

Their little gathering was strictly composed of commoners from all kinds of places. There, facing his blank homework with a sullen look, was Kippei, a boy from the Eastern Region and the one who had just voiced his suspicions about discrimination. He had been the target of more corrections than anyone else during Swordsmanship that very day.

“What's up, all of a sudden?” Shigemaru looked up from his own homework, dropping his brush on the inkstone.

“There's nothing sudden about it!” Kippei complained. He seemed incapable of holding it in any longer. “I've thought about it from the start. Theory? I can still accept it, you know. After being in the same class, I can tell how smart Akeru and the others are.”

The problem lied in the practical courses. Commoners like them came to the Monastery because someone had recognized their sword skills or their physical prowess. Yet, in truth, they hadn’t even been given a chance to shine and just got reprimanded nonstop. It made him suspect—what if this was just silent harassment? What if they were trying to make them quit?

“But the instructors aren’t saying anything to Akeru and his followers. This is just unfair!”

Immediately, the other trainees jumped at the chance to air out their grievances, all in unanimous agreement.

“I’ve been thinking that as well.”

“Me too!”

“I was the best with a sword back home, and here I am! Stuck on simple practice swings!” Hisaya, quite prone to outbursts himself, pouted.

“If only they let us join free training, we could show them all we are capable of,” even Tatsuto, who wasn’t usually the kind to complain, joined in on the conversation.

“I bet Kashin is actually ridiculing us behind our backs!” a furious Kippei interjected again.

If they kept going like that, things would surely end badly. Struck by such a premonition and concerned about the consequences this little venting session would have if left unchecked, Shigemaru clapped his hands in an attempt to clear the room’s heavy atmosphere.

“Come on, come on! If you have the energy to complain, start moving those hands instead. As long as you have the skill, it’s just a matter of waiting to show it to them once we start with matches.”

“But Shige! We don't even know if they'll let us participate in the first place.”

“Does it really not bother you too, Shige?”

The entire group turned to stare at him all gloomily, and Shigemaru was at a loss on what to do next. He hadn’t ever intended it to work this way, but ever since everyone started to imitate Yukiya’s nickname for him, he had, in practice, become the group’s unofficial leader and mediator. While with power came responsibility and the last thing he wanted was to provoke a fight with the Court Ravens, he was the first one to have concerns on the matter.

At the same time as Shigemaru’s group struggled with their assignments, those from noble families were apparently handling both theory and practice with marked ease, and of them all, Akeru, who acted as the year’s Court Ravens representative, stood out as particularly talented. Horsemanship aside, Shigemaru still had yet to ever see him get reprimanded even once, so the boy had started to become a target of resentment and jealousy among the suffering commoners.

Meanwhile, Shigemaru and the other commoners were being constantly put on blast by the instructors. Even if he didn’t believe it to be out of prejudice, there had to be some reason for it. One they just weren’t seeing.

Shigemaru was thinking, trying to somehow find a good answer to the situation, when someone’s oblivious, carefree voice interrupted the scene.

“Good job, everyone!” Yukiya, who had been absent until a moment ago, had just returned. “I just went to the kitchen to get some tea leaves. I even ended up picking up some dried sweet potato to go with it, so how about taking a short break?”

Yukiya greeted them with a bright smile on his lips. Up until a moment ago, the rest of the group had all been bad-mouthing Court Ravens, yet now they found themselves looking away out of sheer embarrassment. Yukiya had been helping them so much that nobody in the room was about to say anything against him, not willingly at least.

“...... Is something wrong?” Yukiya soon asked them. It seemed he hadn’t missed the room’s odd atmosphere.

As a panicked Hisaya jumped to deny the notion, Shigemaru stopped him. Thinking about it, asking for Yukiya’s opinion was probably the best thing they could do given the circumstances. Indeed, once Shigemaru told him the truth of what had happened, Yukiya didn’t even seem bothered by the group’s criticism of Court Ravens.

“Oh, I see. But I think you’re misunderstanding something,” he calmly denied their suspicions. “Right now, what they’re teaching us are all techniques geared towards official tournaments.”

“Official tournaments? Why would they do that?”

“This is the Unbending Reed Monastery, remember? You can’t have the Imperial Family’s private guard acting like hooligans, can you? That’s why they’re teaching us how to battle in a respectable manner, not fight like thugs. Your average Yatagarasu, who’s had no formal training, is not going to know how to do that. Corrections are bound to happen. I really get why you’re so angry,” Yukiya answered as if to mediate. “But, over anything else, bad habits could ultimately lead to injury, so to obey now is for your own future’s sake as well. Sure, Instructor Kashin may be bad-mouthed, but there hasn’t been anything wrong with his corrections.”

“...... Really?”

Recognizing if there was anything off with the corrections they got was beyond the capabilities of Shigemaru and the others—their shared confusion must have been obvious, because Yukiya turned to them once more.

“There’s no need to worry,” he added in a bright tone. “Akeru wasn’t scolded at all, that’s true, but it has nothing to do with his status as a scion of the Western House. I would bet he had a very good master who trained him even before coming here.”

Which meant that Akeru didn’t get any corrections simply because there wasn’t any need for them in the first place. While it was a relief to know the instructors weren’t playing favorites, the group couldn’t help but to panic as well at the therefore unknown skill gap.

They all had difficult expressions on their faces, yet Yukiya didn’t seem particularly concerned about it. “I take it you're worried about the existing gap with the nobles, aren’t you? But, you know, your ability to perform some exercises in a dojo doesn’t determine your strength in actual combat. I’m sure that if you went against them in a match right now, you would be the clear winners.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I mean, they clearly aren’t used to fighting. You can tell just by looking at them,” Yukiya’s eyes partially closed and the corners of his mouth moved upwards, yet one couldn’t in good faith call that expression a ‘smile’. “I’ve been watching everyone long enough to tell how much potential everyone actually has. It shows, you know? That all of you were selected for your skills in arms. Few could surpass you as far as sheer physical capability goes.”

“Wait—you’ve spent all this time watching others during lessons!? And here I am completely overwhelmed just dealing with my own stuff!” Kippei exclaimed, equally amazed and exasperated.

“Anyway, let’s put aside those who, like me, come from warrior families and are Court Ravens in name only. I have a strong suspicion that Akeru and his followers will show their true colors very soon,” Yukiya confidently affirmed.

In answer, the entire group glanced at each other.

“Fine. Then, let’s just trust Yukiya and work hard for now. How about that?” Shigemaru asked.

“Let’s do that!”

“Sure, let’s.” Even those who had been strongly complaining just a moment ago nodded along. Leaving aside the matter of how trustworthy Yukiya was on the subject, Shigemaru just found himself tremendously relieved after seeing everyone agree and calm down for the time being.

But then, it only took a few days for the group to discover that Yukiya’s predictions had been mostly correct.

First of all, it became obvious that the instructors weren’t discriminating against anyone. As soon as they learned how to move as taught, the commoners started to join free training as well. The wooden swords they used to practice their swings were henceforth replaced by bamboo ones instead. It brought Shigemaru joy to see his friends holding them, looking entirely revitalized. However, this was also when reality came in to prove Yukiya's guesswork fallible.

While Akeru’s followers were losing against his friends one after another, the boy himself managed to protect his position at the top. Those who held animosity against him went to challenge him as soon as they were deemed worthy to join, yet none of them proved capable of winning against him with any form of consistency.

“He may not be accustomed to fighting, but he seems quite used to dojo swordfighting,” Shigemaru commented to Yukiya during one of their breaks while he wiped away his sweat.

Yukiya forced a smile. “It seems like it. At the very least, it’s clear he trained quite a lot before coming here.”

At the moment, their topic of conversation himself looked to be extremely angry. Shigemaru couldn’t quite tell why, maybe because of his followers’ terribly poor showing?

“I may have underestimated him.”

There was an air of superiority to Yukiya as he said that, one which gave Shigemaru quite the urge to point out something. “You sure act like you’re above him, but you didn’t even make a good showing in your own matches.”

“Ah, were you watching me?”

“When waiting in between turns, yes. Won’t it be a problem for you if things keep going like that?”

Even though Yukiya had been talking big behind others’ backs, his skills with a sword weren’t anything to write home about. His basics were just fine and he moved well and fast, so Shigemaru hadn’t had any cause for concern before they started free training instead. Then, when it came to the moment of truth, Yukiya didn’t try to attack even once. Even when instructors loudly scolded him for going on the defensive like that, Yukiya would only laugh and make no noticeable attempt to fix his ways whatsoever.

——Maybe, in reality, it was Yukiya who wasn’t used to fighting.

Most importantly, practical courses mattered a lot more than theory in the Monastery Trials. Shigemaru had been too worried about himself to pay any mind to others up until then, but, when he realized that Yukiya may be the one in danger of dropping out, it became his main concern instead.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’ll figure it out by the Trial of Gale.” And yet the boy himself couldn’t be more happy-go-lucky.

With their break over, they went back to the dojo as they chatted. No matter how much they tried to ventilate it, the place still reeked of sweat but, fortunately, they had all gotten used to it by that point. Once inside, they put on protective equipment for their knees and elbows and covered their heads with newly woven feather robes, all before they were even told to do so.

What awaited them, despite Shigemaru’s expectations on the contrary, wasn't free training as before. Instead, the instructors announced that they would be moving on to proper, formal matches instead. In such a format, the victor was usually determined on a best of three basis but, to build up the trainees’ endurance and to get them used to it, they had decided to have three rounds no matter who took the points this time around.

The assistants moved to stand in the middle of the dojo, forming a square with their bodies to mark the limits of the venue. Meanwhile, Shigemaru and Yukiya sat together in the front row as spectators, just slightly behind the line formed by the instructors.

Kashin took on the role of referee and stood right in the center as he started to call for different trainees.

“Red, 3-2’s Akeru. Come forward.”

Akeru immediately stepped forwards, taking the red strap, with an overflowing air of superiority. He must have been expecting Kashin’s call.

“White, 1-1’s Chihaya. Come forward.”

Shigemaru wasn’t particularly familiar with Akeru’s opponent. He could remember crossing paths with him during classes, but they had never actually talked and he had no memory of the boy saying anything during any of the many different self-introductions either. Chihaya hadn’t left much of an impression on him, that was for sure.

As Shigemaru reflected on that, he gave Chihaya a look. One could tell just from appearance alone that he was a man of few words. His mouth was sealed in one thin, straight line, so tightly attached together that one couldn’t be blamed for thinking he may have never opened it even once ever since he was born.

He was tall and had a good, firm build, yet, perhaps because of his long face and sharp cheekbones, he instead gave off the impression of being overly thin and sickly. He had long bangs covering his face, and sharp eyes with characteristic small irises(1) peeked through from under them.

The two of them being chosen for the first formal match most likely meant that they were the most skilled trainees at present, at least according to the instructors. Chihaya tied the white strap on his hips and went to stand in front of Akeru, who was already waiting for him at the starting line. Once both trainees were ready to proceed, Kashin exchanged looks with his assistants. They all nodded.

“Start!”

The moment the match began, Akeru raised his voice as he prepared to attack. On the other hand, Chihaya stood there motionless and silent, watching him. Akeru seemed to hesitate for a second, unnerved by something, only to ultimately still go on the offensive immediately after. For a trainee, Akeru was nimble. He moved remarkably fast as he closed in and slashed downwards with his bamboo sword.

And yet, the next second, that same sword was cutting air.

It all happened in a second. Chihaya had twisted his body ever so slightly to dodge the hit and, with his bamboo sword held only in his left hand, he struck Akeru’s torso. The blow was strong enough for the sound of it to fill the entire room. Two of the assistants raised their left arms simultaneously—white straps in their hands.

“White, one point!”

——It had been so fast, Shigemaru’s eyes were unable to keep up.

Finally, the main referee raised his left arm as well and, having confirmed his victory, Chihaya simply fixed the neck of his kimono. It wasn’t particularly out of place to begin with. Meanwhile, Akeru just stood there, in complete shock, for a while before he returned to the starting line. His expression was clearly strained.

“Start!”

This time around, Akeru didn’t raise his voice or rush to the offensive the moment the match started. He instead opted for slight movements, carefully swaying the tip of his sword as he watched for Chihaya to attack first.

After a while, Chihaya moved. He stepped forward with ease, so much so that it was hard to believe he could pull it off during an actual match. He had been initially holding his sword with both hands, but it was now only held in his right hand. Akeru tried to defend himself, but his sword was snapped away from him by an upwards swing.

The bamboo sword spun in midair as it flew in the direction of the spectating trainees. By the time it fell to the ground—the boys around it dodging it in a panic—Chihaya had taken another point with ease by hitting a weaponless Akeru’s head.

“What was that…?” Shigemaru heard someone murmur. Not like he had any idea either—the difference between the two was just too stark.

After losing two points in such rapid succession, Akeru was pale as a sheet and, while this would have been the end of it in a normal three-point match, he had no option but to go through another round due to the circumstances.

Once Akeru had taken back his sword, both opponents returned to their starting positions. At that point, their expressions couldn’t be more different from one another. While the determination in Akeru's face made it clear he wouldn't be satisfied unless he could get at least one hit in, Chihaya seemed to be completely indifferent towards his opponent either way.

“Start!”

Akeru went for a stab with a loud yell the second the third duel commenced. Yet, Chihaya hadn’t even bothered to get into a proper stance anymore, and instead of making any big effort to dodge Akeru's sword, he opted for barely moving his neck to elude the attack. With his sword held only in his left hand, Chihaya immediately went for a slash and landed a hit on his opponent's temple.

It was enough to send Akeru flying, and he ended up falling harshly to the ground with no chance to do a proper landing. The exact kind of crash that tended to cause more worry for the spectator than the victim.

“White, one point! Hey, are you alright?”

As soon as he announced the initial verdict, a panicking Kashin rushed to Akeru's side. The boy soon sat up and, even though he seemed unharmed, the expression on his face made it obvious that he couldn't understand what had just happened to him. In the meantime, Chihaya merely returned to the starting line without even glancing in Akeru’s direction, as inexpressive as always. Afterwards, they both bowed to each other, marking the end of the match.

It was clear the instructors hadn't expected this kind of unilateral result. Although, after a short discussion between them, they finally started to call trainees again, and neither Chihaya nor Akeru took part in another match that day.

“You're amazing!”

“I had no idea you were that strong!”

“Who the hell taught you how to use a sword like that!?”

After the match, Chihaya became a bit of a celebrity.

A group of trainees had gathered around him, all trying to strike up a conversation at once. Although many of them seemed to be driven by their dislike of Akeru, as one could have guessed, plenty had simply been taken by his skill with a sword from the looks of it, and while Chihaya himself gave no sign whatsoever of answering any of their many rapid questions, the people surrounding him proved to be too excited to care about that.

The evening classes had reached their end, so the trainees were on their way back from the dojo. A good distance behind Chihaya and his group of admirers were the study group regulars, all walking together.

“Dammit. I wanted to be the first to crush Akeru.”

“Nonono. I could have won against him, I just had to land another hit on him.”

As Kippei and Hisaya said that, grinding their teeth, Tatsuto sighed. “So you two were also incapable of defeating him…��”

“Shut up!”

“What the hell are you going on about? You didn’t get a proper win against him either, Tatsuto.”

Shigemaru, pointedly ignoring his friends’ argument, glanced in Akeru's direction instead. “That aside, is Akeru truly okay after that?”

Although Akeru himself was silent, simply holding a wet towel to his temple, Shigemaru could see his followers staring daggers towards Chihaya’s enthusiastic group of admirers.

“Well, it may look otherwise, but Chihaya was almost certainly holding back. I doubt there's any real concern for injury. The actual problem is—” Yukiya started to explain something before stopping all of a sudden, noticeably blinking.

“What's wrong?” Shigemaru followed Yukiya's gaze. Upon realizing, he let out an unconscious ‘yikes’.

“Chihaya! I've heard you got quite the achievement today.”

Silence fell upon the entire group of Seeds once they saw who was coming towards them. Nobody knew how he had learned about the recent events, but Kimichika of Minami-Tachibana was nevertheless approaching them from the direction of the dining hall. Even Chihaya’s admirers retreated one step, scared of the Sapling closing in. Kimichika, however, paid them no mind and amiably patted Chihaya's shoulder instead.

“And on top of that, you thoroughly crushed that Western House brat! Is that true?” As Chihaya himself didn't say anything in answer, Kimichika instead looked up towards a certain group of trainees who, pointedly ignoring him, had tried to move along. “Hey, Akeru, is it true?”

At his call, Akeru stopped in his tracks. He turned around towards Kimichika with barely concealed rage. “......Yes, I lost. So what.”

“I see, I see. That's amazing. You seem to be unaware, my Lord, but Chihaya, the one to defeat you, is a Hill Raven working for my House.” Kimichika pointed at Chihaya with his chin, while Chihaya only stood there without uttering a single word. But then, if he served Kimichika's house, that only meant one thing—he was part of the Animiya faction. “For someone like you, who put on airs over being Wakamiya's faithful servant, that must be the last person you would want to lose against. Oh, what a shame for you, both as a Court Raven and a faction representative.”

Kimichika let out an unpleasant laugh. Meanwhile, Akeru remained expressionless, his lips trembling, before finally sighing quietly. All things considered, he had recovered his composure surprisingly fast.

“I'm sorry to say this when you're enjoying my loss so much, but this may be your last chance to do so.”

“Huh?”

“Well, His Majesty the Emperor is going to abdicate the throne in favor of His Highness. It has been decided already.”

“——What!?”

“There should be an official announcement very soon. Now I wonder—for how much longer will the South still be able to act like pretentious fools?” Akeru spoke decisively.

Clear shock replaced the boastful look on Kimichika's face. This must have been news to him. He wasn’t the only one—even the onlookers, incapable of containing themselves any longer, stopped holding their breaths and started a ruckus.

Seeing that from the corner of his eyes, Akeru smiled ever so slightly. “It’s just the truth of the matter. It’s why His Highness couldn't attend the entrance ceremony. The imperial council on the matter took longer than expected, it seems.”

Instead of targeting Kimichika, who was speechless and seemingly deep in thought, Akeru turned towards the so-far mute Chihaya immediately afterwards.

“Chihaya. What a shame. To get kicked out over politics with your master here despite your enormous talent. Luck sure doesn’t seem to favor you, tying you to someone like him. If only you were serving someone in the Wakamiya faction,” Akeru said sardonically.

Chihaya’s gaze was still downcast, fixed on the ground. Finally, he murmured something. “...... I don’t care about either faction.”

Although Akeru's eyes widened from surprise as well, it was Kimichika who seemed the most shocked by his words. “Hey! What the fuck are you saying? Come here, right now!”

Kimichika grabbed him and dragged Chihaya away from everyone without even giving him a chance to say his farewells. Having watched both of them disappear in the distance, a still dumbfounded Shigemaru let out a groan before speaking. “...... The situation is about to get real weird, ain't it?”

As a witness of those two’s relationship and their obvious lack of anything even resembling trust, Shigemaru was overcome by the most terrible feeling. And, just one hour(2) later, it too proved to be a reality at dinnertime.

“——You shit, would you stop with the damn attitude already!?”

The trainees were in the middle of cleanup when a furious scream resonated through the dining hall. Everyone immediately turned to the direction it came from.

“What's going on?”

“A fight?”

Usually, the instructors were the first ones to take care of their trays, followed by Evergreens and Saplings in that order, so by that point the only ones still present were Seeds. And yet, Shigemaru saw a familiar someone with a characteristic hooked nose striking a pose in the distance.

“Isn't that Chihaya and Kimichika?”

“Huh, where did Kimichika's followers go?”

“Useless when it truly matters.” As Shigemaru and Yukiya whispered among themselves, the conversation between Kimichika and Chihaya took yet another turn for the worse.

“I'll say it once more, Chihaya. Clean. My. Tray.” Kimichika’s voice was trembling, barely holding in the desire to scream at Chihaya.

Meanwhile, Chihaya remained seated, motionless and completely unfazed by Kimichika's overbearing attitude. “I refuse.”

“Why!?”

“No reason.” While Chihaya wasn't someone one would call talkative, that had been enough to grasp the situation. As Kimichika tried to drop his tray where Chihaya was, the other only refused stubbornly.

“I'm ordering you as your senior! You are supposed to listen to me, no matter what!” Kimichika yelled again.

Chihaya briefly looked up at him and snorted. Kimichika's face was twisted in pure rage—they must have repeated this particular exchange a bunch of times already. Shigemaru expected him to yell once more, yet Kimichika's expression suddenly changed into one of abnormal calm.

“You know what'll happen if you disobey me, right? You haven't forgotten, by any chance?”

Chihaya glanced back questioningly, and Kimichika’s lips curved. “It's not only a you problem, you know—or should I give you a reminder of that?”

Kimichika’s words were dripping with confidence. That very second, the look in Chihaya’s eyes drastically changed. His until then characteristic indifference had been quickly replaced by unbridled anger. Even though Kimichika had been the one to provoke him first, he found himself balking at the abnormal atmosphere surrounding Chihaya.

“...... What. Do you plan to defy me?”

Chihaya stood up. He moved effortlessly and silently.

——Shit, things were about to get real bad.

At the realization, Shigemaru’s eyes darted around the hall and found everyone else standing frozen in place. Left with no alternative, Shigemaru finally steeled his resolve—just as someone else beside him moved first.

“Ooops, my bad, I slipped!”

A mix of grilled eggplant, chilled wheat noodles and miso soup splashed all over Kimichika's nape. As for who had screamed, it was none other than Yukiya, who had somehow managed to sneak behind him without making any noise. On top of that—and this couldn't just be Shigemaru's imagination—he had actually made a point to gather all of his leftovers before slipping unnoticed and throwing his entire bowl's contents on Kimichika.

Yukiya, you bastard, you did it! Shigemaru barely restrained himself from laughing out loud as he ran in their direction as well.

“Aah, I'm sorry! What a bad idea, though, to stand idly in the middle of the room. The other Saplings have already cleaned their trays and left, so what keeps you here?” Yukiya tried to apologize, but the delivery was the very picture of stiffness. He used his own sleeve to clean Kimichika’s face, or so he made it look. In practice, he was just smearing the mashed eggplant even further.

Incapable of comprehending the sudden development, Kimichika and Chihaya stood there as unmoving as statues for a while.

“You, fucking little runt!” As Kimichika finally came to his senses, he shook off Yukiya's hand and screamed in indignation. Truth be told, not even Shigemaru could blame him for that. This wasn’t the moment to laugh at Kimichika’s hysterics, however, so he instead rushed to the group and put himself in the middle.

“Now, now, please calm down. My friend here didn't mean to do anything bad! He's just tired from the practical courses, you see, so his footing wasn't that good. Right, Yukiya?”

“Yes, exactly! I didn't intend to do it,” Yukiya said as he meekly bowed in apology.

Understandably, Kimichika wasn't fooled by that. “Don't fuck with me! If you didn't intend to do it, then why were you here of all places!?”

The dining hall was huge. There was quite the distance from the spot of the incident to the place where everyone left their trays. Around nine meters(3), in fact.

Shigemaru and Yukiya exchanged glances. “Why were you here?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Taking a walk, he says.”

“Do you two fuckers want to die by my hand that badly?” Kimichika's tone was low, and one could see blue veins bulging in his forehead. Then, just as Shigemaru was wondering how to dodge the question, Kimichika took a better look at their faces out of the blue. “Ah, you two are from the North, right? Well, you Hill Ravens from the countryside may not know it, but the Minami-Tachibana are quite influential even in the Center.”

Stunned by the out of nowhere bragging, Shigemaru stared blankly at him.

“So?” It was just Shigemaru’s honest reaction, but the corners of Kimichika's lips twitched.

“...... You don’t even know that? Rokon, one of Lord Natsuka's first and most important retainers, was known by a different name before(4). None other than Michichika of Minami-Tachibana. He’s, in other words, my older brother. I wonder what kinds of inconveniences await you once he learns you made fun of his little brother?”

“Even if that may be the case, we won’t exactly come asking for your mercy. There’s no need for you to worry.” Before Shigemaru even got a chance to talk, Yukiya had already resolutely dismissed him. “Still, you sure are crude and boring, aren't you? Who brings up his brother's influence that easily? And just to bully a couple of juniors! Don't you have, I don't know, any better options?”

From Yukiya’s tone, he sounded as if he was about to sigh and, just like that, Kimichika's air of importance crumbled away.

“What’s a lowly servant like you doing talking back to me!? As if you know anything!” Kimichika grabbed him by the collar and raised his fist as if to hit him, yet Yukiya stared back at him as if the entire situation wasn't even his problem. Shigemaru could tell Yukiya was fully planning to take the incoming punch—but it never came.

The second before it came to happen, Shigemaru intercepted Kimichika's arm. “Could you wait a moment, please?”

With his arm seized, Kimichika stared at him in confusion. He wasn’t the only one—Yukiya, who had been quite accepting of his fate, did so as well.

“Why did you grab me!?”

“You see, had this been a senior fed up with his junior's attitude, I would get it. However, I can't just stand aside when you make it about status.” The Unbending Reed Monastery was a place where might makes right. Within its walls, one's family status had no bearing whatsoever. They had been told that much very recently. “What’s the point of coming here if we're going to be ridiculed for our birth!? And, of all people, you definitely have no right to do so!”

Shigemaru's shout resounded like thunder as it traveled through the entire hall. Kimichika gulped ever so slightly, but stubbornly stared back at him instead of balking. “Let me go.”

“First let Yukiya go.” Shigemaru was still a Seed, but he was larger than Kimichika. Admittedly, he had no idea how long he could keep up against a Sapling, someone with an extra year of experience over him, but he hoped to at least give him a scare if it came down to blows.

Then, in the middle of such a tense atmosphere, support came from the unlikeliest of places. “Sapling Kimichika, I would recommend you stop right there.”

“Huuh?” Kimichika’s natural enemy had arrived along with his followers. “Akeru, you shit, coming to talk back to your seniors as well?”

“It looked to me as if you were speaking not as their senior but as a Court Raven, or am I mistaken? So, as a fellow Court Raven, let me warn you about something.”

“About what?”

“The person you just derogatively called a ‘lowly servant’ and attempted to punch isn't who you think—but a legitimate scion of the Northern House.”

Shigemaru turned in astonishment to Yukiya, whose face looked like he had just eaten something foul. Akeru casted a glance at his reaction as well, yet he didn’t seem to care as he kept on dispassionately disclosing the details.

“He's the grandson of the man at the very top of all warrior families—the Northern Lord, Great General Gen'ya. Within the Northern House, he’s fourth in rank, only behind the Heir and his firstborn son. Truly a Court Raven among Court Ravens.”

“This guy…?” Kimichika blurted out, completely dumbfounded.

Yukiya, meanwhile, seemed to be completely done with the entire situation. “Eh, that may be the case, yes, I guess.”

Upon the sudden discovery of an unknown high noble among their midst, shock ran through the Seeds, who had been watching with bated breath. Whispers soon spread like ripples throughout the entire hall. However, as the murmurs continued, a figure appeared from the hallway—it was none other than Seiken. Someone had to have gone to call for him.

Kimichika softly clicked his tongue.

“What's happening here?”

That was a question with no easy answer.

They all went silent for a while. In the end, the first one to raise his hand was Yukiya. “I tripped and dropped some miso soup on my senior here.”

“Oh,” Seiken didn’t react at all beyond a murmur, his expression unchanged. He turned towards Kimichika. “Is that correct?”

Being the actual source of the problem as he was, Kimichika was left in no position to disagree or argue. He made a bitter face. “It is, yes.”

Seiken gave them a small nod. “I see, I get it now. First of all, Yukiya. A warrior shouldn’t be tripping and causing others harm. Apologize to your senior.”

“Yes. My apologies, Sapling Kimichika,” Yukiya obediently bowed towards him.

Seiken watched Kimichika as the boy looked down on Yukiya with a very sour face. As he proceeded, his manner of speech remained matter-of-factly. “Now, Kimichika. You should have been able to dodge something like that, I hope you realize. To explode like that and raise your voice against a Seed is also unbecoming of you.”

“...... I apologize.”

“Both sides were in the wrong, so it should be fine to leave it at that. Any issues?” Seiken said. Then, he just quietly watched both trainees.

“None.”

“It’s fine with me.”

So neither side had complaints. “Very well. You two, better learn from this. Your punishment shall be to work together to clean this mess. Understood?”

——In short, Seiken let them all go scot-free.

Both boys immediately agreed and saluted their instructor. Seiken gave them a pleased smile and, with that matter settled, he turned his gaze towards Akeru instead. “Good job mediating.”

“Oh, I couldn't simply stand aside as a Court Raven in the same faction as Yukiya,” Akeru calmly answered in turn.

“I won’t deny that but,” Seiken continued with his usual smile, “I don't recommend bringing up house matters like that in the Monastery. It may have worked here, but it wasn't really your place to reveal Yukiya’s status like that.”

Akeru was clearly not used to getting any warnings from the instructors. His eyes widened, caught by surprise, before he frowned and looked up at Seiken in defiance.

“...... Instructor Seiken, who do you side with? The Animiya Faction, or Wakamiya's?”

Prompted by Akeru's question, Kimichika’s gaze became piercing. He wasn't the only one either—all the trainees in the hall turned towards Seiken at once. Yet the man didn't hesitate—not even for a second—, that faint smile of his unshaken. Not even a situation like this was enough to break through his usual gentle demeanor.

“There's not much meaning in such a question. Lord Natsuka has expressed his wish to serve His Highness Wakamiya, so I don’t think such factions are a good fit for the current state of affairs.”

“That's just officially, isn't it? In practice, the Imperial Court is divided into them.”

“Even if that's the case,” Seiken calmly looked at the increasingly emotional Akeru, “The Monastery is a facility to raise members of the Yamauchi Guard, those who shall serve the Imperial Family. It would be wrong to pay undue attention to factions or any hierarchy beyond that of the Golden Raven himself. Even if the person is part of the Imperial Family. Besides, first and foremost, I'm an instructor here at the Monastery.”

Seiken's tone was no different whatsoever from what he used during lessons. “Whatever the state of politics may be, my duty is to support this facility's trainees.” Akeru was left with no arguments, and Seiken gave him a concerned look. “If you obsess so much over what's going on outside, you'll miss what's happening around you. Do be careful.”

“——So? Can someone explain to me what's going on?” Ichiryuu asked, his eye twitching.

“Well, as Instructor Seiken told us to do, we were cleaning the dining hall until a moment ago. Kimichika left early despite being told to do it too, though. It's honestly already a miracle we received no real punishment, which is why we have no intention to tell on him, all things considered. It was truly lucky for us that it was Instructor Seiken,” Shigemaru replied.

“No, no, I don't care about that part,” Ichiryuu grumbled. “What I actually want to know is why exactly this room has an additional Seed now!”

There were actually three boys sitting squarely in front of the scowling Ichiryuu. Yukiya, Shigemaru—and Chihaya.

“Oh, that’s because of Kimichika! He was the one in charge of mentoring Chihaya, but he went and kicked him out of their room.”

He had been the cause of the entire incident, yet Chihaya ended up being completely ignored midway through. As Shigemaru was painfully aware they had just made matters worse for him, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore his plight.

“As long as we make it in time for the morning roll call, I've heard that the instructors don't care what we do outside of lessons. Sapling Ichiryuu, he truly has nowhere to go. Won't you let him remain here in the tenth room with us?”

“No freaking way. The room is already tiny as-is, and you're asking me for permission to make it worse?” The main interested party, Chihaya, kept up his glum silence in a corner of the room, unwilling to cooperate. Meanwhile, the obviously dissatisfied Ichiryuu was at his wit’s end, holding his head. “Don't you get it? Mind to remember that due to your size, Shigemaru, my own space is already reduced to only a quarter of the entire? I'm a Sapling, I'm not supposed to have so little space to sleep!”

“Don't be so stingy! You're our senior, right?”

“Then tell me, juniors, who exactly are the ones forcing their senior to go through such a humiliation?”

“We just have to take the partition screen away, don't we?” Yukiya said, a rather blatant attempt to poke fun at him.

“No fucking way,” Ichiryuu growled in response before, finally, covering his face with his hands. “Besides, this entire mess was because of Kimichika, right? I told you not to get involved with him! I knew it already, somehow, but I see you truly don't listen to what I say,” Ichiryuu lamented to himself.

“Is Kimichika unpopular even among the Saplings?” Shigemaru asked him.

“Huh? Ah, yes……” Ichiryuu responded bitterly. “There are rumors that he only passed last year's trial because some instructor with ties to the South is playing favorites with him. His personality is awful and he's as dumb as a brick, so nobody outside his circle of Southern people likes him. He’s somewhat strong though, I’ll give him that.”

“Stronger than you, Sapling Ichiryuu?”

“Cut it out! Anyway, he's someone who you would expect to get kicked out because of his personality alone.”

That kind of insolent behavior was a constant of his and he was always surrounded by his own Southern followers, according to Ichiryuu. Taking care of their own trays after dinner was a rule that applied to everyone, be it instructor or trainee. Kimichika’s disrespect for the rules was, ultimately, the actual source of the problem.

——Disregarding the Monastery's rules was a massive issue in itself, so the house he came from didn't even matter. At that moment, just as that thought crossed his mind, Shigemaru happened to remember something else—the real identity of the boy sitting right beside him, Yukiya.

“Actually, now that we’re talking about that—so you were an actual young master,” Shigemaru nonchalantly said to him.

“Wait a moment!” Yukiya, on the other hand, panicked all of a sudden. “I didn’t lie per se when I said I was from Taruhi. It's just—my birth mother is from the Northern House. That's all! So, you see……” Yukiya's voice started to fizzle out until it completely died off. He looked at Shigemaru with an upwards gaze. “Are you angry?”

From the looks of it, Yukiya was genuinely scared of his reaction.

“Why would I be?” Shigemaru, puzzled, asked back. “I said it before, remember? I have no intention to judge others over the circumstances of their birth. If I hated you simply because you're a noble, then I wouldn't be any different from Kimichika, would I?”

“Shige!” Yukiya exclaimed. The boy was oddly yet clearly moved by his words and, to Shigemaru, that made for quite the amusing reaction.

“Ah, but don't ask me to treat you with that kind of respect after all this time. It won't happen,” Shigemaru took his chance to tease him.

“Who would say an idiotic thing like that!?” Yukiya shouted. “I'm actually glad to hear that.”

“And I thought you would say so! So, business as usual for us.”

After spectating the entire conversation with plain concern in his eyes, Ichiryuu finally sighed in relief. With that problem solved, he instead turned his head slightly, glancing at Chihaya, who hadn't uttered a word ever since he had arrived.

“...... Well, if there's no alternative, fine. Listen, Chihaya, I don't mind if you spend the nights here, but you better not cause any further issues. No fights and, please, let's coexist in peace.” Otherwise, Ichiryuu’s utter failure as a mentor would catch even the instructors’ attention.

However, Chihaya's answer was as blunt as it was cold. “I refuse.”

At first, Ichiryuu wasn't able to grasp what Chihaya had just said.

“W-What?” His voice shook. He hadn’t said anything strange as the room's senior, it could even be said to have been the absolute bare minimum. Why would Chihaya refuse like that? He couldn’t figure it out.

“Chihaya?” Yukiya too called out to him.

In the meantime, Chihaya’s sharp eyes were fixed dangerously on Ichiryuu and Yukiya.

“You and the runt. You're nobles, right?”

“Even if you call us nobles… Yukiya aside, I'm just from the rural nobility,” a stunned Ichiryuu answered.

“Then you have horses.”

“Eh? Well, yes.”

A Township Lord's residence couldn't even begin to function without horses. It would greatly affect the officers’ work. Shigemaru had visited the Shimaki Lord’s residence once, and he remembered seeing some impressive stables there. He truly doubted Taruhi was in any way different. It was all simply a given, yet Chihaya's gaze got even colder once he heard that.

“I hate Court Ravens. We can't get along then.” He glared at them, all stunned into silence, before rushing to the exit and leaving the room altogether.

“Wait, Chihaya!” Yukiya tried to follow after him, but Shigemaru quickly stopped him.

Once he got him to stop, Shigemaru turned towards a shocked Ichiryuu and deeply bowed his head. “I'm sorry, senior, but could you wait for a bit?”

“Wait, why are you apologizing in the first place?”

“As a fellow Hill Raven, it’s not as if I can't understand how he feels. Would you leave this to me?”

Unlike Court Raven, Hill Raven was often used to talk about commoners in a derogatory way. Making a point out of using those words in specific was apparently enough for Ichiryuu to get the gist of the problem. There was clear tension on his face as he gave him a still dazed nod.

“——Fine, I'll leave it to you. Bring him back here immediately.”

“Thank you.” Shigemaru took his ornamented blade and flew out of the room.

It didn’t take him long to find Chihaya. He was right behind the building, sitting with his back against the wall. The light leaking from the inside dimly illuminated him, and there was a small bundle of belongings at his feet. Kimichika had thrown it at him when he kicked him out. It was all of Chihaya’s luggage, a shockingly small amount even for a commoner.

“..... Both Ichiryuu and Yukiya were at a loss.” Shigemaru called out to him as he made sure to keep his distance. Chihaya glanced at him for a second, before dropping his gaze back to the ground.

“I don't care.”

“Well, you should be a bit more humble if you plan to secure a place to sleep. Don't tell me you plan to pass the night out here?”

“That was the idea, yes.”

“Wait, wait—are you for real?”

Shigemaru had been fully intending to bring Chihaya back to the tenth room, yet he had never imagined Chihaya was truly planning to sleep outside otherwise. After thinking for a while, Shigemaru leaned on the wall by Chihaya’s side with enough space between them that it was impossible to reach the other even if they extended their arms.

“I doubt Yukiya and Ichiryuu have ever considered how much the Yatagarasu who end up as horses must truly hate it, you know,” Shigemaru mused as he looked up to the sky.

There was the waning moon, floating dimly over the dormitories’ lined up roofs. Soft moonlight shone over the persimmon trees, already covered in young green leaves, leaving shadows all over the ground. Shigemaru inhaled deeply—the air was different now than when they had first joined. One could feel the approaching summer in it.

“....... And, if you think about it, the most likely reason they can't imagine it at all is because they haven't ever mistreated one, right?”

He heard Chihaya quietly laugh at his side. “If that’s enough for them to ignore the problem, isn't that more cruel than actual mockery?”

“Maybe it is,” Shigemaru felt Chihaya relaxing beside him, so he intentionally employed a nonchalant tone as he spoke. “You know, during a famine long ago, my grandpa on my mother's side was left with no options to survive. He refused to sell my mom to the Red Light District, so he chose to become a horse for the local landlord. I wouldn’t have even been born if he hadn't made that sacrifice.”

Chihaya didn't say a word in answer, but he changed his pose. He was listening to what Shigemaru had to say. “He made the decision himself, so he turned into quite the well-behaved horse. It seems his owners were very gentle with him too, so much so that the entire family took personal care of him in his last moments. Is it cruel? Yes, maybe, but I'm glad my grandpa wasn't whipped or didn’t have to suffer unnecessarily at least. I would rather have it that way.”

“...... He protected his daughter.”

Chihaya was still very much a man of few words, but Shigemaru nevertheless understood what he meant—that he found his grandpa admirable.

“Thank you,” Shigemaru softly laughed. “If I had to make a guess, both Yukiya and Ichiryuu are ‘good owners’ as well and haven't ever had a family member become a horse. They're nice people, but I very much doubt there's any fixing that. There are things you can't truly understand until you experience them yourself.”

Chihaya didn’t speak at all, but he made a point out of his own lack of reaction.

“But, even if that’s the case, I think it would also be your loss to reject them altogether over that. Just as we cannot become Court Ravens because we want to, it’s not like they have ever experienced the life of a Hill Raven either,” Shigemaru stretched as he said that. “I’m fine if we don't understand each other perfectly. I don’t care for the kind of person who will force said understanding. You know, what actually matters to me is whether they comprehend that there's no reason to ridicule or look down on others over the world they live in.”

“So you’re saying I should remain silent to the Court Ravens’ abuse?” Chihaya spouted sarcastically.

“No way!” Shigemaru laughed. “Mock those small-minded enough to accept only their own worldviews all you want. But if you sneer at people just because they happen to be Court Ravens, you aren’t really any different from them.”

Finally, Chihaya sighed weakly, his eyes still fixed on his feet. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good, that should be enough.”

They stayed there for a long while. Shigemaru gazed at the night sky and Chihaya at the ground, his arms crossed inside his sleeves.

“...... People like family to me were falsely accused of stealing. They had their legs cut. The son of the landlord at the farm they worked at was the actual perpetrator,” Chihaya murmured.

“I see,” was Shigemaru’s only response. Chihaya probably meant the third leg that appeared in bird form, given the context.

——Someone close to Chihaya was falsely incriminated and Disarticulated.

While those who became horses by contract had their third leg bound with a special cord by their owners, and they couldn't transform back to human form without permission, there was no going back for those who had their leg cut, their other form forever out of reach.

For the first time since their conversation had started, Chihaya raised his head to look at Shigemaru.

“Don't—”

“Say anything, right? I won't, don't worry. I'll wait until you're ready to tell them yourself.”

“Will that day ever come?”

While Chihaya seemed to have no such expectations, Shigemaru nodded with full confidence. “It will. At the very least, I believe so.”

Next: Akeru (Part 1)

—————————————

1: Sanpaku eyes or three whites eyes (三白目) refer to cases in which the sclera around the iris is also visible (be it under, over or both) due to it being comparatively tiny.

2: The time measurement here is actually done in koku (刻). Historically, koku has meant many things, with a day being divided differently depending on time period and area. Probably the most well known form of koku has night and day divided in 6 koku each, for a total of 12 koku, each one named after one of the animals of the chinese zodiac. While, in practice, this meant the length of a koku changed depending on the time of the year and whether it was a night koku or a day koku, the overall average length would be that of two of our modern hours. As far as I know, this and koku-as-half-an-hour are the most well-known standards, but due to pure narrative logic I'm interpreting the koku in Yamauchi as 12-koku-a-day. Finishing dinner and cleaning in 15 minutes for so many people is unrealistic.

3: Once more, ancient forms of measurement are used here. In this case, it's the Ken (間). Unlike the Koku and its flexible nature, a Ken is precisely 1,818 meters.

4: Rokon is what we would call a 'dharma name' (戒名), which are either given to buddhist monks after taking their vows or, within japanese culture at least, given to the dead posthumously. The first category is the one that applies here. This is also the case for other characters who have taken vows like, for example, Natsuka. The men aside, Masuho no Susuki most likely got a dharma name as well once she became a nun, but as she uses her alias or karina (仮名) we never get to learn about it. As one would expect of a setting based on the Heian era, when one could say Zen Buddhism was most influential, a lot of details are affected by it.

#Translation: The Raven of the Empty Coffin #yatagarasu #yatagarasu series #the raven does not choose its master #karasu wa aruji wo erabanai

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ghostieyanyan · 11 months ago

Note

Is it ok if I can ask for a yandere Rollo Flamme? I like the idea of Rollo because he’s already based off a yandere villain so it makes sense. And I think Rolli would like to get close to Yuu cuz they don’t have any magic so they’re seen as ‘pure’ in Rollo’s eyes. Maybe Rollo can be seen trying hard to control his urges at the fireplace or he captured MC and tried to burn them at the stake like in the movie? Your choice.

hehehe... why not just add salt to injure? what if mc has pyrophobia, a fear of fire?

~Let the fire purify you~

Yan!Rollo x Pyrophobia!Mc

Warnings: Fire, burning, kidnapping, anxiety attack, chains, gag, breakdown,

~~~

Rollo hated magic... with a passion. A passion that burned so bright that hurricanes, rainstorms, floods, and tsunami together couldn't extinguish this flame of pure hatred.

How does no one sees the danger of magic? How many lives have to be taken in the hand of magic for people to understand this is a problem? He guesses that its one of humanities sin, playing dumb, playing ignorant, until it becomes someone they care about that gets hurt. its always like that... why could people just see things through his lenses BEFORE someone got hurt...

But for now, he just has to do gods work for everyone else, until they see things his ways...

He had a plan. a plan that will solve this problem before it could get worst. The plan to get rid of magic, from one of the most powerful mages in twisted wonderland, to the student "prodigies" of that sick, sinful school, to the townsfolks of Fleur city, to every inch of Twisted wonderland.

With this crazy plan, he'll make, no, he'll force everyone to see how he sees life should be. he didnt care on who got hurt-

until-

he met Night Raven College's gem in the rock, their Perfect. When all the students were introducing themselves, when it was your turn. He swore the world stopped and he would have swore on his life that he saw wings and a halo on you. You looked, spoke, and acted like an angel. you even allow these sinful... beasts... breathe the same air as you. then you have an ACTUAL beast as a familiar. don't tell grim that.

your heart and soul must be made out of pure gold. he has to protect it at all cost. he will use his own body to shield you from magical blast and then some to keep your purity in tact. he will move mountains and redivert lakes, rivers, seas, and oceans for you. Rollo Flamme will make you into his deity that he worships.

All the students decided to split into groups and explore Fleur City, after they got changed.

to say Rollo thought you looked breathe taking in your glorious masquerade outfit was an understatement. he was about to come up to you and compliment you, maybe even starting small talk with you but a certain lizard decided to be the first to do so...

Of course that monster would be charmed by an angel like you. Evil loves to tempt with good.

no matter, he'll just have to see you another time but if he gets too busy..? He'll make time for you.

Rollo lead you into his office, you didn't mind too much because he was telling you all about the school's history and art. it is a really pretty school, it gives very romantic feelings.

when you finally made it into his office, you froze at the doorway at seeing the fire place. Rollo quickly notices and puts out the flame with a very helpful near by bucket. You were grateful that Rollo was very accommodating to your fears.

you thanked him and sat down across from him while Rollo sat in his chair.

"I'm very sorry for asking you to meet me at this ungodly hour but i just needed your input on something and if i didn't ask you, i would have had a sleepless night tossing and turning." Rollo said as he got everything on his desk organized.

"hehe, its alright. I just happen to have a restless night myself.. but i don't mind the company."

"oh my that sounds awful. what seems to be troubling you?"

"w-well.."

It was really hard to tell someone you only just recently met that you had a "bad feeling" about something and how so far, in twisted wonderland, its always comes true...

"well.. i think... maybe, its just the 'sleeping at a new place' feeling and I'm just not getting use to it. but I'm sure its fine. heh.."

"hmm.."

Rollo seemed satisfied with that answer and continues, by leaning towards you on the desk.

"i know i asked you about this before, but id like to discuss it with you more in depth... hmm?"

since Rollo put out the fire place, there was only a small lamp on the desk to shine light in the room. you kind of wished that the fire place was still lit... cause everything in this scenario was telling you to run and never look back..

"o-okay..? what would you like to know..?"

Rollo smiled and leaned back into his chair.

"as a magicless student in a full school of magical.. mages, aren't you scared they might... turn and hurt you..?"

the way he worded that made you feel more unnerved.. you trusted your friends in Night Raven College. Even the ones that did try to hurt you, they still came to your defense and help and protected you when you needed them.. you trusted them with your life and having this man tell you "you shouldn't because they can use magic" was... laughable...

"no.. because they've earn my trust and I've earn theirs..!"

"Earned..?"

Rollo's face darkened as you stood up from the chair you were sitting in.

"I'm sorry Rollo. Thank you for your hospitality but i have to go."

you start walking to the door but stopped.

"with however you feel about magic, i wont sit down and let you disrespect them just because they possess a special ability and i don't. It doesn't make them less of a person. Magic or no magic."

you walked to the door but before you could even touch the doorknob, you feel a body press against your back, pinning you against the door. you couldn't even move, much less move the door.

"I'm sorry my sweet angel~... i guess.. I'll just have to show you myself then~"

you see a quick purple blur and then tightness around your throat. Rollo was using his signature purple and gold handkerchief to strangle you! you tried to struggle. you tired to jab your elbow into his chest but his uniform was too thick for it to do any good.

You started to feel light headed then everything you saw was slowly turning black. the last thing you saw was Rollo, and the insanity in his eyes.

you had so many questions...

why you? was it because you don't have magic so you were "easy"? aren't there other people in twisted wonderland without magic? you just happened to go to a school "for" magic users so of course you'll see it a lot.

what's so bad about magic? ya it almost killed you here and there but it also almost killed either the user or other people around you.. but afterwards everything would have been fine. Plus you didn't blame the magic for those situations. you couldn't even say you blamed the user. some deserved the blame.. but not everyone..

how did you get here..? probably from your big mouth, you should have been smart when you were talking to Rollo. he was already giving you weird vibes and you just had to make it worst

you had more questions but you knew none of them would get answered..

you started to slowly open your eyes..

where are you..? what's this sound..? why cant you move..?

you slowly looked around, you remember this place... Rollo showed you, with your friends. the big bell, the bell of Solace. you noticed that you were alone though..

you looked around some more, you looked out from where you sat on the floor. it was dark out but with an orange hue... was the sun rising..? what's going on?

you went to take a step, to look out but something stopped you. a cold hand..? no..? a chain?!

if you weren't fully awake then, now you are! the chain was short, at least 2 feet long from the floor, it was attached to both your ankles. you could only go so far out.

what happened?! what's going on?!?

you started breathing heavily, tears started to form. you felt so confused, so lost. someone, anyone, please hel-

"oh my dear! you're awake."

your blood became ice, you looked up to see an uncomfortably happy Rollo.. he had a basket of breads and fruits.

"i was so worried that you'll never wake up. I'm very happy you did~"

with a heavy chest, you spoke.

"what's going on, Rollo!? Why are we here? why am i-?"

"oh within time my dear angel~ we just have to wait for those flowers to do their miracles. in the meantime, eat. you've been sleeping for a while and-"

"flowers..? what are you-...? Rollo...."

you took a deep breathe to try to settle your nerves.

"Please, Rollo... I'm scared. please tell me what's going on."

he looks at you and sighed, placing the basket down on a near by table. He then walked over to you and sat beside you, motioning you to come closer to him.

You did. you don't really have a choice right now..

"I'm making our perfect little world my love~ our paradise~"

you looked at the man like he was crazy. he was, at this point. But he continues.

"the Crimson flowers, the one that looks like fire, the flowers i shown you when you toured the city, they have the ability to take a mage's magic until they are just magicless people.. like you."

you stared at him but he kept smiling.

"magicless.. like me..?"

"yes my dear, then everyone in this world would have to understand magic is like a poisonous weed that has to be pulled out. or it'll spread to the other crops."

you just stared. you couldn't bare to keep looking at him so you turned to look at anything else..

magicless like you... no.. this isn't right. this cant happened!

Rollo thought the conversation was over and sat up to get the basket.

"Before this started, i made sure to get some food. i thought you'll be hungry so-"

"...mon...ster..."

Rollo froze. he was facing the backet and didn't turn around.

"excuse me..?"

you stood up, leaning against the wall, as best as you could. You knew your big mouth was gonna put you in a tough situation again but- what were you suppose to do?

"you, Rollo Flamme, are a monster."

he slowly turned to you, his eyes screamed murder. even if your body is shaking, from fear, from anxiety, from anger, maybe all of them at once's, but you kept your eye contact with Rollo.

You knew a comment like that will hurt him. you knew you couldn't physically harm him but you just wanted to hurt him like he planned to do the same to everyone you cared for..

the silence was deafening.

Rollo took some slow steps to you and leaned down to your level.

"take. that. back."

"no. cause i didn't say anything wrong.."

you hear Rollo take a deep breath and he quickly snaked his hand to grab the nape of your neck. you let out a gasp, from the sudden movement. he straighten his posture and brought you to his eye level.

"it's seems that those... mages.. have filled you with their poison. I'll just have to purify you myself. don't say i didn't warn you, my angel.."

he dragged you to a window and made you look outside. the entire city was filled with those flowers but... the looks of those flowers... made it look like you were in the middle of a raging firestorm. you felt your stomach drop. you felt cold shivers, and you didn't even realized that tears were falling. when you looked more, you noticed that the "fire" was slowly climbing the tower you were in.

you were about to let out a blood curdling scream but you were stopped by Rollo tying that purple handkerchief into a makeshift gag for you.

After that, he threw you, face down into the ground. Your body was shivering from fear so intensely, to the point that it feels like you lost complete control over your body. you couldn't even fight back when Rollo tied your hands together.

"i, really, am sorry for this my sweet angel~ but i have to get rid of the poison that those mages put in you... you have to be purified."

Rollo walked off and came back holding a fireplace poker. it was glowing red and you could see smoke coming off of it. where he got that, you didn't know but your attempt to get away from him was met with a wall against your back.

you felt your head spin, you were trembling to no return, the hot tears wouldn't stop, and the makeshift gag he put on you was now soak with tears, saliva, and snot.

Rollo kept walking towards you, in an agonizing slow pace.

"don't worry, my angel love~ after this, all will be forgiven~"

when he went to grab your face, he-

"MC!!"

those are.. familiar voices.. you know those voices..

"tch.. i suppose your punishment will have to wait my love. apparently, ill have to finish these pesky mages off myself."

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chaninfused · 5 months ago

Text

Roseborn: Part One | Hwang Hyunjin

◤“The ravenous fire that crackled in your souls was one and the same, stoked by repressed fear and the overwhelming desire to survive in a world that only valued material power.”

A human soldier and a magic-less heir find an unlikely connection in their desperate battle to survive House Amaranthine.

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. This is the backstory of Hyunjin’s character in my ‘Gilded Kingdom’ wip. Can be read as a standalone. An enemies to lovers, forbidden love, fantasy debacle. Slow burn. Includes lots of angst but also some good fluff. Abusive mother. Descriptions of heavy violence and fighting, as well as blood and injury. Sparse use of vulgar language. Several made up terms are used in this story but are explained throughout. Have a quick read through the Gilded Kingdom World Guide to avoid confusion.

◤Word count: 16.5K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤Dedicated to the lovely @missinghan! I’ll spare you the excessive sappiness, but just know that our friendship means the world to me, and you deserve nothing short of the world itself. You’re one of the most talented people I know, and I’m constantly in awe of your wonderful ideas and even more wonderful writing. This took criminally long and it’s not yet done, but I can only hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. Happy reading, and I love you so much! ♡

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

She was trying to humiliate him again, and Hyunjin knew it damn well.

He stepped into the flat square of pearly sand, schooling his features into rigid stone as he drew his Kizāri from its sheath on his back. The weapon’s trident-like head trailed in the sand, drawing a perfect half-moon around him until it met the tip of his opponent’s weapon on the ground, wielded in the same fashion.

“Y/n,” his mother had introduced her. “The best human Azārāhi we have.”

It was an insult, glaring and plain. She was mocking his Nilfyn roots by pairing him with a human—mocking the Tilt in him she deemed useless and pitiful.

Hyunjin caught the silver of her hair in his peripheral, piled on her head elegantly like strung starlight. His mother was watching him from where she stood poised as a knife in the shadows. Every blink, every breath of his was under her unrelenting scrutiny. This was a test like many before, and Hyunjin was going to cleave mountains with his bare hands if it warranted his mother’s approval.

He lifted his free hand, curling it into a fist and holding it against his right shoulder in salute. His new training partner mirrored him, her moves practiced to an unnatural degree of precision. Her black Azāri uniform was sharply tailored to her figure, the high collar brushing against her jaw as the ends of her overcoat waved in the slight breeze. Her hair was styled clear of her face, letting her hardened features be illuminated by the morning sun.

Azāri was a delicate fighting art developed by the Nilfyn centuries past, mimicking the fluidity of water in its grace and precision. It required a level of agility unnatural to humans, but stood there, his opponent was every bit the part. Her mortality was only given away by her ears, bare and unadorned. Unlike Hyunjin’s, which were extensively hooped with deep purplish-red Channeling Cores.

Channeling Cores that served little to no purpose.

The air settled around him as though the forbidding pillars surrounding them were holding their breaths, anticipating the lethal whistle of swinging Kizāris. This was a game to his mother, and if Hyunjin wanted to prove himself, then he’d have to kill that human.

As soon as that thought materialized in his mind, her still Kizāri lifted off the ground in a magnificent arc, nearly sweeping him off his feet and spurring him into action. Leaping over the silver head, he swung his own weapon down in a clean diagonal line as his muscles tensed with welcome familiarity.

Kizāris were made to be nearly the height of their users, with long and thin handles, supporting broad, double-edged iron heads that spread like butterfly wings. The weapons moved like pendulums, making dips in the sand that resembled overlapping circles. It was an art, albeit deadly.

Hyunjin fell into the familiar flow of the fight, the faint scream of air as his weapon cut through it was a welcome song to his attentive ears. His blood thrummed, dancing to the steady beat of his heart as his mind whirled with his movements, calculating, strategizing. His eyes followed the blur of her weapon arcing toward him unceasingly, one bold plunge after the other.

She fought impeccably, Hyunjin had to admit. If she were intimidated by him, her stance told nothing of it. His new partner didn’t hesitate to strike first and strike hard, but he was soon able to identify the pattern in her attacks.

Ducking to avoid the silvered weapon swiveling toward his neck, he raised his Kizāri as though to swing it upward. When he saw her eyes follow the movement, her Kizāri turning to clash with his, he reversed his aim and swung it toward her feet, successfully disrupting her balance. In the gasp of her confusion, he lunged, hurling her at the ground with his Kizāri pressed against her chest.

White sand clouded the air after the impact and Hyunjin inhaled. He would drive the weapon into her chest and watch as her mortal blood tainted the sand—show his mother that he refused to accept the insult.

But as he applied more pressure on his Kizāri, he felt the human slacken under him. The prospect of death loomed over him, a destiny and a threat. He expected her to fight back, but she was giving up, her Kizāri a whisper away from her fingertips. Her eyes were fixed on him, stern and unsettling, as if daring him to proceed, glaring at the face of undisputable doom.

It made him pause. But it was too late.

“Pathetic,” she breathed the word as her legs hugged the handle of Hyunjin’s Kizāri and pulled it downward. The weapon flew out of his grasp before he could react, and she was on her feet again, Kizāri in hand. She pushed him to the ground in one swift motion and briefly touched the sharp edge of the iron to his neck.

In one moment’s difference, Hyunjin had proven the weakness he’d been so close to destroying.

The Azārāhi retracted her weapon before turning to where Hyunjin’s mother stood watching. She bowed then stepped out of the square of sand. Its even surface now exhibited the circular indentations of the Kizāris.

Hyunjin couldn’t pull himself up quick enough before his mother’s scathing words lashed at him. There was sand in his hair, dusting his cheeks and muddling the inky black of his attire. His Kizāri was discarded shamefully on the ground. And he was just bested by a human.

The head of House Amaranthine had aimed to humiliate him, and she succeeded.

“How Shameful.”

Those two words landed like a slap to his face.

She was never discrete at expressing her disappointment in him. It was the only emotion she seemed to know how to express. Never pride. Never compassion.

All because he was simply born.

Hyunjin lifted his gaze, willing himself to meet her eyes despite the oppressive urge building up in him to curl into himself and vanish without a trace.

He would allow himself no further humiliation.

“I expect you to train every waking and sleeping hour of the day.” she stepped out into the light, and instantly, the space of the court seemed to shrivel. His mother was carved out of quartz and ivory, her sharp eyes pools of onyx that saw everything. She demanded attention, and a cower from the people who knew her.

Her fairness told nothing of the disdain dripping from her words. “Paint these sands red for all I care.”

Hyunjin was foolish to think he could challenge her gaze with his own. He stared at the disrupted sand beneath him when he forced out an answer.

“Yes, mother.”

•❃•

Life in the Kingdom of Greria was many things, but it wasn’t easy. Not for your kind.

Your villages were small and few, riddled with illness and poverty. Children were forced away from their families for better lives as servants or soldiers, while the elderly were left to rot alone under tattered roofs. Their loneliness was common, expected, even, since most families were prematurely broken by the aristocracy or by death.

The Nilfyn didn’t burn down your homes, but their indifference to your suffering might’ve as well. Their biases killed and tortured and ripped little children from their mothers’ desperate arms. Ruled by an uncaring king and a heartless aristocracy, being born human was condemnation in Greria.

Some might say that you were one of the lucky few. Donated to the Ērmār of House Amaranthine when you were six, you hadn’t set foot in a human village ever since. You were fed and sheltered, and that was a luxury more than most could afford.

The Ērmār was an austere lady. It was rumored amongst the palace servants that her heart was made of an iron so cold it never warmed up.

House Amaranthine operated on that coldness.

The life you led was governed by countless, unchanging rules. You had to watch your every word and action in order to keep your neck intact. And as one of the human Azārāhis, trained to be sacrificed on the first line of defense, you were under the Ērmār’s direct examination. She could deem you unfitting or insolent at any moment, and your life would be tipped over with a wave of her hand.

You were given the merest respect for being an Azārāhi when strolling through town, but you were still a human girl in a warrior’s uniform. A sacrificial lamb. That Azārāhi title was hollow.

And you were reminded of its emptiness when the Ērmār summoned you to train with her son.

Sōrsānt Hyunjin was a presence whispered in the shadows and not uttered aloud in the palace. Very few of you had laid eyes on the House’s only heir, but you all heard about his mother’s contempt for him. The Ērmār was harsh, but she was the harshest on him.

No one understood her reasons, neither did any pity the Sōrsānt. He was a Nilfyn aristocrat after all, with enough privilege to distribute amongst a village and still have an abundance to spare. If anything, you found him pathetic.

And your notion of him was fortified when you first dueled with him. You recognized the insult of your new role as his training partner, and you had expected him to plunge his Kizāri into your chest when he had the chance. You had expected him to show the Ērmār that he wouldn’t let her humiliate him. You had expected him to kill you because that was how things worked in House Amaranthine.

But he hesitated. And he damned the two of you in that fraction of a second.

Weakness was unforgivable. It was a sin. You couldn’t think of a single valid reason for his reluctance, and you didn’t want to know. The Sōrsānt had no business sparing a random human, and if you wanted to keep your place in the palace, then such an incident could not reoccur.

That was what you woke up to ensure.

Just like the previous day, you waited in the Sōrsānt’s training court after finishing your drills. The sun was barely awake, its gradual light painting the slumbering sky in golden hues. It was better that way. If the Ērmār wanted you to train during every waking hour, then you had to be up before the sun itself.

You didn’t wait long before Hyunjin appeared, striding out of the lacquered doors with an ease that could only be found in those carrying aristocratic blood. Something akin to anger twitched in his jaw when his gaze settled on you for the briefest moment. It was as though he were upset by the fact that you arrived before him.

The Sōrsānt was a sight to behold. A presence to be revered. His towering stature was accentuated by attire excellently tailored to his figure, drawing attention to the breadth of his proud shoulders. Half of his long hair was tied up to clear his face, but a few dark strands escaped to frame his countenance regardless. Purplish-red stones encrusted his ears—instruments of summoning magic, marking him as a Nilfyn and specifically symbolizing his relation to House Amaranthine.

In many ways, he was a mirror of the Ērmār. But the ruthlessness that lined her eyes was missing in his, replaced by solemn guardedness. He was a hostile fortress, yet his staggering features demanded lingering gazes.

It was said that their magic made them ethereal like that. Nature’s last favored children. Hyunjin’s eyes seemed to be made of the purest obsidian, wrung from the bleeding heart of the earth itself and shielded by the generous brush of his brows. His full lips were pressed in a line of permanent scorn, as though he couldn’t smile even if he tried to.

Sculpted by iron and starlight, he was beautiful, like all the Nilfyn were. He was also a conceited fool, like they all were.

“Good morning, Sōrsānt.” you kept your tone even, greeting him only for the sake of formalities than actual concern for the quality of his morning.

Haughty as they were, Hyunjin spared your greeting no acknowledgment as he walked past you to the rack of polished Azāri equipment nailed to the wall. You ignored the urge to roll your eyes, fixing them instead on the identical pillars surrounding the court like soldiers on duty. The sand in the center was flattened again, erasing all evidence of the humiliating duel of the previous day.

When the Sōrsānt moved toward the training square, you followed him, situating yourself on one side while he took its opposite. He didn’t bother to lay out the plan for the day’s training. Perhaps he didn’t care, or perhaps he only wanted to spar until one of you fell dead. Whichever it was, you didn’t dwell on it for too long. For all you knew, he expected you to simply know what he wanted and follow along.

You tugged at the leather straps wrapped around your hands, making sure they were secured properly. Reinforced with iron cuffs, the brace was designed to protect an Azārāhi’s wrists from fracturing or dislocating when handling the weight and force of a Kizāri. The weapon was difficult to master and similarly dangerous without the necessary precautions.

Once you were satisfied with the fit of the leather straps, you fixed your footing and inhaled, letting air pass through your lips slowly before letting it out through your nose. Your mind had to be an empty slate before a fight. You couldn’t afford distractions unless you wanted your arm chopped off.

You detached your Kizāri when Hyunjin wordlessly reached for his, letting the head touch the ground and dragging it across the sand in a perfect half-circle. The two blades met halfway, connecting your trails like an incomplete infinity. That was the routine way of drawing the Kizāri during professional duels, one you practiced over and over until it became as natural as breathing.

You raised your free fist to your shoulder, slightly jutting your elbow out in salute. Hyunjin mirrored you, allowing the greeting to settle for a moment before he swung his Kizāri.

Every emotion you painstakingly forced into hiding unfurled at once, fueling your muscles as you countered his attack.

Your Kizāri was an extension of your arm, moving alongside your body as though the two were instinctively aware of one another. You’d long since tamed the weapon, understanding the way it moved not out of necessity, but because you loved the art of Azāri.

You should’ve hated an art developed by the Nilfyn, for the Nilfyn, but you were entranced by its splendor from the moment you first saw the Azārāhis of House Amaranthine thirteen years ago. Their bodies were mere vessels for the fluid movement of the fight, one with the blur of Kizāris. It was enchanting. It was deadly.

An Azārāhi master herself, the Ērmār had been recruiting human students to join her legion of soldiers. So when you showed potential, you were thrust into the tough life of an Azārāhi, never to look back.

You leaped over Hyunjin’s Kizāri when it came arcing toward you, lashing yours in a slanted line he narrowly missed. You had never fought a Nilfyn Azārāhi before the day you were summoned to train with Hyunjin, and you noticed the difference immediately. The Sōrsānt was incredibly lithe, and that agility seemed instinctual, easy. Unlike the overly practiced movements of your fellow human Azārāhis. In another lifetime, you might’ve sat and admired his motion for hours, like a stream of crystal water. A sly breeze. A graceful shadow. A delicate destroyer.

But you weren’t a dreamy girl in that impossible timeline, and you had a warning to deliver to the foolish Hwang Hyunjin.

Anger at him set your blood ablaze, mangled with your silent fear from the previous day. You hadn’t built a life in House Amaranthine for the Sōrsānt to take it away by being cowardly. You refused to let that be the direction of your fate.

Your Kizāris clashed and the curved ends hooked into each other. Seeing the opportunity, you flicked your wrist sideways. Hyunjin’s weapon jerked as a result, distracting him before you swiveled to dislodge your Kizāri and swing it past his neck.

Your heartbeat rang in your ears, deafening.

It all happened in the slight space between a breath and another.

Your Kizāri whooshed behind him before you pulled it back, making its blunt underside catch his neck and drive him toward you until you had your hand fisted in his coat. You were aware of the Kizāri still in his grasp, idle due to the smear of shock that contorted his face, so your words came rushing out. He could snap back into his senses at any moment and cut through you with ease. “I don’t know what made you leave me unscathed yesterday, and I don’t care to know.

“Do not disgrace me before the Ērmār like that again,” you bit out before releasing him and swiftly backing away.

He could kill you for your insolence. He could call for the guards and they wouldn’t question him while dragging you away. But something told you that he wouldn’t. As you trailed a new half-moon in the pearly sand, you knew that his colossal ego wouldn’t allow him to quit the fight so early.

Hyunjin stared at you, his Kizāri limp in his hand, his formidable fortress down. You saw the gall of your actions flit over his features as it sunk into his mind. Your words were clear, the intentions behind them plain, and the set of his eyes darkened with realization soon enough.

You had done it.

He had barely completed his half-circle in the sand before his Kizāri went flying through the air, aimed at you with no space for mistake.

You caught the steel in his eyes, and you wanted to laugh. This was what it felt like to fight a Nilfyn Azārāhi. Brute force and swings aimed to kill. It wasn’t the harmless flow of water, but the slither of a serpent. A dance of venom.

This was Azāri. Relentless and deathly.

Adrenaline surged in your veins as you evaded his blow, swinging your weapon with newfound force. Sand rose in clouds around the two of you. Sunlight pooled into the open court. Your Kizāris never faltered. Your feet never stayed at the same spot for a moment too long. The minutes blurred into each other, and as your muscles screamed against the strain, Hyunjin seemed unaffected. The anger in his focused gaze only seemed to grow, festering into an ugly mess of lethal, unforgiving swings.

The blade of his Kizāri landed on your upper arm in a hazy moment of vulnerability, and before you could register what was happening, it was cutting through the thick sleeve of your overcoat.

He retracted his weapon, and you swallowed a low hiss as the new cut on your arm burned in the dusty air. The only thought that broke through your pained daze was a grim ‘fucking finally’.

This way, they would see that the Sōrsānt injured you during training. They would know that he didn’t value a meager human life and you would be safe from the Ērmār’s retribution. After all, you didn’t want to break the first rule in House Amaranthine.

You were still gripping your Kizāri when you straightened your back, holding Hyunjin’s gaze and ignoring the tingling pain in your arm. He looked at you with his chin in the air as if daring you to wince. Daring you to cry out.

You only dragged your Kizāri through the disrupted sand. A half-moon.

And you drew it again and again until your limbs were no more than floating muscle. Until your mind was no more than a muddle of consciousness. Until you drove your body to the limits of blood loss.

It was better that way.

•❃•

When Hyunjin saw you again, it was as though you hadn’t trailed blood as you left his training court the day before.

You stepped through the door with your head up, shoulders firm, and your Kizāri strapped to your back, only pausing mid-stride for a hesitant moment when you noticed that he had arrived before you.

He watched as confusion, curiosity, and then concern painted themselves on your features respectively. All appropriate reactions, he supposed. It would be deemed highly disrespectful if you kept him waiting, but likewise, he didn’t want you to best him in attendance as well.

It was silly, he was vaguely aware, but this was a competition. Such was life in House Amaranthine. Even the most trivial things mattered.

You cleared your throat shortly after, speaking in the same monotone voice, “Good morning, Sōrsānt.”

Hyunjin didn’t reply, and you both knew that he didn’t have to. Neither of you actually cared about mornings and whether they were pleasant or not.

Taking your positions across the flat square of sand, Hyunjin pretended not to see the way your eyes clenched when you reached for your Kizāri. It was the first sign of pain you showed, and he suspected it would be the last.

He was aware of what you were doing. By making him injure you, you ensured that the palace wouldn’t pay attention to the way he hesitated to kill you first. It was grim, but it helped mask his earlier humiliation.

Though, Hyunjin knew you didn’t do it for him. You did it to protect yourself from him. If his mother grew suspicious, then there was no way to avoid the punishment she would give the both of you. Humans and Nilfyn were not supposed to be friends, and his little slip-up could’ve condemned the two of you.

You drew your half-moons in the sand and began what would become a daily routine—sparring wordlessly until the sun centered the sky.

Hyunjin allowed the faint voice in his head to begrudgingly admire your strength. You were still in pain, he noticed it, but your aim didn’t waver, your swings didn’t weaken. When his mother introduced you as her best human Azārāhi, she had truly meant it. You were an untiring weapon in her mortal arsenal.

Perhaps, in another lifetime, he would’ve been horrified by your endurance. But he wasn’t an innocent boy in that impossible timeline, and those were the cruel instruments to surviving a world that didn’t value you.

The two of you were sparring in rounds each a few minutes long. Hyunjin didn’t miss the looks you were giving him by the end of each one, staring at him like he was a riddle you couldn’t solve while trailing your Kizāri in the sand again. He could guess a hundred reasons behind those looks, and he found that he didn’t care to know which was specifically circling your mind.

But as the day progressed, he began noticing the strange new pattern in your strategy. You were trying to corner him, push him to an edge as though to see how he would react. When he swung his Kizāri at you, you only ducked and arced your weapon to trap his. Then, to his bewilderment, you waited, narrowing your eyes at him as though anticipating his response. When he frowned and twisted his Kizāri free, your unnerving intrigue only increased. It sparkled in your eyes gloriously.

He didn’t like it.

Or more precisely, he didn’t like being the object of your mysterious scrutiny.

Hyunjin stifled a snarl as he swiveled his Kizāri at your feet, raising the pale sand. Goodness, you were really getting on his nerves.

•❃•

It had been a week since you began training with Hyunjin, and although you hated every moment of it, it was a routine you eased into quickly.

Maybe a bit too quickly than you’d like to admit.

The Sōrsānt was an insufferable bastard, but you appreciated the challenge he presented to you. All your previous duels paled when compared to those with him. It was as if you’d finally found a worthy opponent.

That morning started like the rest. You stood in the sand square and dragged your Kizāri through as Hyunjin mimicked you. The soft clink of metal sounded when the two weapons met, and you raised your fist to your shoulder.

Just then, the doors groaned open, and you heard her approach before you turned to see her.

Shrouded in the finest black, the Ērmār’s presence in the training court made the air quiver. You caught the glint of a Kizāri behind the silver glow of her hair and your eyes widened unwisely.

There could only be one reason for that Kizāri.

Immediately, you retracted your weapon and bowed to her, beginning to retrace your steps toward the door at the opposite end of the court when her voice boomed behind you, “Stay.”

You froze at her command, trying to calm the panic rising in your throat as you stood still near the door. Your thoughts pounded against your sanity. She suspects you. This is it. She’s here to end it all.

You were a fool to think your plan would ever work.

Hyunjin glared at his mother as she stepped into the square of sand, undoubtedly displeased by her order for you to stay. She stopped at the spot where you stood moments ago and pulled out her Kizāri, letting it meet his on the ground. Her tone was gravelly demand, unaffected by the irritation in his gaze. “I want to see your progress.”

Hyunjin didn’t answer her, and you could see the clench of his jaw as he bit back any protest he had. A breath too long later, he relented, touching his fist to his shoulder briefly before he swept his Kizāri across the sand in front of him.

You observed them from the side, not bothering to mask your expressions anymore. You didn’t know whether to be afraid, excited, or baffled by the dangerous duel before you.

A visit from the Ērmār never had pleasant results, and your fear was all-encompassing. The last time you’d seen her, she was watching as her son spared your life when he shouldn’t have. She wouldn’t forget, you knew. Eventually, she would decide to finish what Hyunjin couldn’t.

At the same time, you couldn’t drown the thrill pumping in your blood. You’d heard much about the Ērmār’s mastery of Azāri, but you’d never seen her fight. Not until that moment. And you could easily see where Hyunjin earned his fighting style.

The Ērmār was him, except quicker and deadlier. She moved as if she had mapped all his steps beforehand and expected them. He was a puppet in her hands, forced to counter, counter, counter, and never given a second chance to attack.

The Ērmār’s age didn’t seem to give Hyunjin an advantage either. She was a dagger that always landed true, an ancient willow swaying with the wind of the fight.

Then, there was your faint surprise to see the way Hyunjin bent to his mother’s will without so little as an objection. Somehow, you knew what the Ērmār was doing. By letting you watch, she was pushing his humiliation further. It was a twisted play of power that you unfortunately understood. Weakness was a sin, after all.

The duel didn’t last long. Hyunjin held up against the Ērmār’s unfaltering blows impeccably, but one could only defend for so long before an opening showed itself.

And the Ērmār was a keenly perceptive lady.

In a blink, her Kizāri swung skillfully, disarming him successfully and hurtling toward his side. She turned the weapon and its flat side slammed into him, throwing him off balance and sending him to the ground. A puff of dust floated around Hyunjin’s fallen figure, and you grimaced before you could think any better of it.

The Ērmār stood over her son’s body, pristine and undisturbed after their abrupt duel. Her tone was enough to make flowers wilt. “And I didn’t even need my magic to best you.”

Hyunjin was still sprawled on his side, and you found yourself urging him silently. Get up. Get up, you absolute buffoon.

As if he could hear you, he pushed himself to his feet, fighting back a wince as he met his mother’s withering gaze. Sand was powdering the side of his face and chalking his dark hair, but that didn’t seem to bother him. The words left his lips quietly, seething, “You say this, but my father bested you without—”

“Your father was too incompetent to keep himself alive. Do you wish to compare yourself to him?” she snapped, suffocating whatever flame of courage he had kindled for himself at that moment.

He lowered his eyes, squeezing his fists and dropping his shoulders, truly defeated. “No, mother.”

The Ērmār didn’t grace him with a response, simply looking him over with a disappointed click of her tongue before she turned and left. Only when the doors echoed shut behind her did Hyunjin lift his gaze, letting it crash on you instantly. A maelstrom of anger and humiliation.

He picked up his Kizāri and stalked in your direction. You opened your mouth to speak, but he only shoved past you, wordlessly pushing the door open and disappearing into the palace.

You had sworn to never feel sorry for the Sōrsānt. But at that moment, standing alone in his training court, your heart broke the vow of your better judgement.

•❃•

You could tell that Hyunjin’s mind was elsewhere when his Kizāri flew out of his grasp upon clashing with yours.

It was a mistake only a beginner would make.

You heaved an exasperated breath and stabbed the ground with your Kizāri, glaring at a confused Hyunjin while he stared blankly at his disgraced weapon. With a shake of his head, he crouched down and grabbed the handle, dragging the Kizāri with him to his side of the sand square.

He drew a new half-moon then looked up at you, surprised to find you unmoving at the center of the court. He lifted a brow in mute question, and you frowned, unable to keep the frustration to yourself anymore.

“Why didn’t you say no?”

He didn’t owe you conversation. He didn’t need to talk to you unless he had an order to give. The Nilfyn were above engaging with simple humans.

That didn’t stop you from pressing further, hefting your Kizāri with two hands as you stepped toward him. “I didn’t have to see that, and you could’ve objected.”

Silence.

You let out a sizable sigh. Of course your attempts wouldn’t make him budge.

Returning to your spot, you shaped your half-circle and fell back into the rhythm of the fight. But the unanswered questions and his curious behavior seemed to bubble over in your mind. If the Ērmār was using you against him, for whatever reason, then you were in immense danger. You weren’t willing to let Hyunjin go until you had your answers.

Seemingly distracted as he was, Hyunjin let his Kizāri swoop lazily and you took that opportunity to arc your weapon toward the ground, successfully trapping his in the sand. You swiftly set a foot on the blunt underside of his Kizāri, its head now buried in the sand, and threw your best glare at the Sōrsānt. He’d have to counter the full weight of your body and the fix of your Kizāri if he wanted to free his weapon.

“I need answers.”

At your shameless demand, a scowl distorted Hyunjin’s handsome features. He tugged on his Kizāri, and you pressed your foot harder in response. It was his fault for allowing you to trap him so easily anyway.

“Why didn’t you object?”

His grip on the Kizāri’s handle tightened, but he remained silent. Your frustration only multiplied. He was more stubborn than a traitor in interrogation.

“Why did you let the Ērmār humiliate you like that?”

He turned his face away in a show of disinterest, but you saw the tick in his jaw. He was getting irritated.

“You’re the Sōrsānt, for goodness’ sake! Why do you feign weakness?”

That seemed to do it. He snapped his head toward you, eyes thundering with turbulent anger and another emotion you couldn’t quite place. The steely edge of his words could break stone. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh? I think I’ve seen enough to know what I need to know. You’re conceited, callous, and careless, and you’re weak. Why am I training with you?”

Hyunjin kept his lips pressed together, his frown deepening. You were the one being careless with your words, but you couldn’t stop. Once they slipped past your lips, all your thoughts came tumbling out.

“You don’t use your magic.” your statement sounded more like a question. You had been observing him during your training hours, and he never resorted to an Elemental Tilt to turn the tides of your fights. Hyunjin relied on his skills solely, and although it made the match between the two of you a notch fairer, it was suspicious. The Nilfyn prided themselves on their magic.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice skeptically, “Unless…you don’t have magic.”

He flinched at that—flinched—and you didn’t pretend to overlook it, murmuring, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

You retracted your Kizāri from the ground and lifted your foot from his weapon, raising your chin in challenge as you stepped away. Almost immediately, Hyunjin’s Kizāri swung at you, frantic yet precise. Metal clashed on metal, and you were pivoting away, fighting the crazed laugh threatening to erupt in your chest.

It was almost too easy to rile Hyunjin up.

If the Sōrsānt had no magic, then that meant that he was an illegitimate child. That would explain his avoidance of using it and might be the reason behind the Ērmār’s harshness with him.

If he had no magic, then that meant that he was a human like you. You only needed to prove it.

You lowered your guard, purposely giving Hyunjin the chance to disarm you. His swings, whereas still strong, were erratic, as though he was desperately fighting for his life. His dark eyes were glazed over with that same desperation.

Reminiscent of your first duel, he pushed you to the ground, pressing his Kizāri against your chest. Your weapon slipped out of your grasp.

You inhaled sand, looking up at him with a satisfied smirk. “See? No magic.”

Before giving him time to react, you raised your legs to hook them around his and toppled him over. In the breath of his surprise, you snatched his Kizāri, rolling and pinning him under you easily. You clutched the weapon like a spear as you aimed it at his neck, barely hearing your voice over the wild beating of your heart. “You’re powerless. You’re a liar.”

His beautiful face was marred with distress and fury, and with a sharp pang of realization, you recognized the emotion that filled his eyes moments earlier. Fear.

Hyunjin’s hand gripped your wrist to divert the Kizāri. A growl rumbled in his throat as he tried to wrestle you off and regain the upper hand. He didn’t acknowledge your accusations while the two of you tumbled across the court.

Your back hit the soft sand again as Hyunjin held you down, his hand slamming into the ground beside your head. His Kizāri was discarded. The strands of hair that framed his face whispered against your skin when he leaned in, seething, yet so incredibly vulnerable. He rasped, the smoothness of his voice hardening into ice despite the warmth of his presence. “You don’t know me, human.”

Then, as if struck by lightning, his eyes enlarged, and he scrambled off you suddenly. You furrowed your eyebrows at his bizarre change of behavior, noticing a moment too late that you had been holding your breath.

With a grunt, you pushed yourself to your feet. Blood was rushing through your system too quickly, but you weren’t going to let Hyunjin flee just yet. You needed answers, and this fight wasn’t going to end until you had them.

You turned to find your Kizāri and paused, eyes landing on a single flower resting on the pearly sand.

Right where Hyunjin’s hand had hit the ground.

A flower, where there was nothing but sand before.

•❃•

Hyunjin wanted the ground to swallow him.

Horror streaked his face as he stared at the flower that sprung amid the bleak sand.

He knew he made it bloom. In a surge of fear, he lost control of his idle magic. He felt it gush through his body, cold yet soothing, felt the lingering tingle on the tips of his fingers—the kiss of the flower’s petals on his palm before he scrambled away, panicked.

You crouched down and pulled the stray bloom out of the sand. The small tangle of roots let up easily. Cupping it gently, you snapped your head up at Hyunjin, meeting his terrified gaze with wonder.

Some part of him faltered.

It screamed and shook with a violence so tremendous it snatched his breath away—a part that longed for acceptance and approval. He hated the way your simple expression seemed to rip him apart, hitting every brick he painstakingly stacked to build the fortress around his heart.

Your awe was sweetly revolting, your whisper too loud for his liking. “This is your magic.”

The flower in your hands had unfurled like a rose, its wide petals curling outward in a shy blush. A single leaf padded the blossom, brilliant in its green sheen. It seemed to smile at the two of you, urging you to caress its soft petals.

It was beautifully horrible, Hyunjin thought. He had to discard it before his mother learned of his slip up.

But before that, there was the problem of you.

Deciding he could no longer look at his mistake lying prettily in your cupped palms, he diverted his gaze elsewhere. Only then did he find his voice. “You were not supposed to see that.”

“Why?”

He’d asked himself the same question every day of his nineteen years. Why did he have to hide his Tilt? Why wasn’t he allowed to practice his magic? His mother’s voice sounded in his head, her words slipping out of his lips unthinkingly, “A Flowering Tilt is of no use to an Azārāhi.”

“You have magic, and you’re deeming it useless?”

Hyunjin fought back a sigh. He had already said too much. He shouldn’t have been entertaining you in the first place, but you seemed to have a knack for making him act against his better judgment.

“It is useless to me.”

Silence stretched between the two of you until you finally said, “You don’t believe that.”

What a feeble, feisty human soul.

He turned to face you again, avoiding looking at the glaring blossom in your hands. “When will you stop thinking that you know me?”

“I can identify a lie when I hear one,” you only shrugged, and he almost admired your boldness. Surely, you understood the danger of speaking to him so freely.

Yet, you demanded answers and it was clear that you weren’t leaving him alone until you acquired them.

Hyunjin huffed, the truth tasting sour on his tongue, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. If the Ērmār thinks that my Tilt is useless, then it is.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, wanting to end this conversation before he did something he regretted. He’d give you the answers you wanted, and nothing more. “This House obeys her word, not mine.

“I couldn’t object yesterday because I don’t have the power to. I don’t use my magic because I don’t need to. And I didn’t choose to be paired with you. I don’t want to do this any more than you do. This was the Ērmār’s decision alone.” he crossed his arms, raising a brow. “There are your answers. Satisfied?”

You clamped your mouth shut then, and Hyunjin knew that that would be the end of it.

His heart was beating with a desire to indulge itself in the now distant memory of your fascination, but he ignored it. Picking up his Kizāri, he strode toward you and extended his hand. “Give me the flower.”

You handed it to him wordlessly, and with an unreasonable pang, he realized it was for the better. Your silence was better for the both of you.

Hyunjin crushed the blossom in his fist, snapping its stem and forcing his emotional ramparts up. He had messed up enough for a thousand lifetimes. This mistake could not happen again.

He made his way to the double doors then halted with his free hand on one of the handles. “Oh, and, Y/n?”

He turned to find you looking at him, waiting with your expressionless mask back on. His warning was whispered, but the faint breeze carried its weight to your ears before buckling under. It settled bitter in the disrupted sand. “If word of my magic spreads around the palace, I’ll finish what we started on our first duel.”

Hyunjin didn’t know if he truly believed those words, but you had claimed to be able to discern a lie upon hearing one. He hoped you would be able to tell him in due time.

•❃•

Silver plates clinked softly as servants set the first course on the table, a mouthwatering display of the House’s best: Pine-Stuffed Eggs arranged like bursting stars. Fresh spinach leaves tossed with vibrant berries in a unique concoction of lemon cider and sesame oil. Roasted Pillow-Top Mushrooms bronzed by cinnamon and freckled with salt flakes. Pale blades of fermented Bone Grass accompanied by a mound of floral Moon Cheese.

It was food fit for the start of a feast, but only four people sat at the long ivory table.

Hyunjin’s gaze traveled politely over his mother’s guests, the Sōrmār and Sōrsānt of House Sapphirine. They sat proud, squaring their shoulders and flaunting their adorned ears. Their grayish-blue Channeling Cores were cut into smooth round shapes, pierced in decreasing size from the earlobe to the helix. The blue of their attire was stark against the grim palette of House Amaranthine.

But that was as far as they stood out. Those Nilfyn were just like Hyunjin and his mother, aristocrats who were always scheming, devising, and calculating. Life was nothing but a mere game of power to them, and tonight’s feast was an opulent performance of such.

The Sōrmār of House Sapphirine was stern-looking, with cheeks that hollowed in despite his wealth and eyes that never exposed his true emotions. His late wife bore him one heir, whom he paraded around like a prize.

Sōrsānt Juyeon was everything Hyunjin’s mother wished her son had been. He was haughty, cruel, and powerful. All the things Hyunjin couldn’t feign strongly enough.

They were both born with Hybrid Tilts, but while Hyunjin’s was useless, Juyeon’s was dangerous.

His Corrosive Tilt allowed him to create chemicals that ate away at human flesh and dissolved stone. He could bring down entire villages if he wanted, torture them until nothing remained but ghastly bones.

He saw it once, and while his mother clapped for the performance, Hyunjin couldn’t silence the echo of those tortured screams as the human’s skin melted off.

It was a wicked kind of pleasure he never understood.

Once the servants stepped away from the table, the dining began. Hyunjin kept one ear on the conversation happening between his mother and the Sōrmār while he scooped some of the salad onto his plate.

“Morileus’ soldiers were spotted near the border earlier this week,” the man had said, and his mother entertained him, “So I hear. They must be scouting for those rebels of theirs. They wouldn’t dare cross over.”

“It’s unbelievable how the Ambellium continues to evade him after all these years.”

“It is incompetency on the King’s behalf, nothing more.”

Hyunjin tuned out the rest of their conversation in disinterest. The bizarre political state of their neighboring Kingdom, Morynna, was a recurring subject in aristocratic dinners. Their seemingly immortal king had been ruling long before Hyunjin was born, and as far as anyone could recall.

Anyone but the citizens of his Kingdom.

To them, King Morileus was the Eternal King, his throne and power unquestioned. They found no fault in his endless rule.

Hyunjin visited Morynna once during a diplomatic trip with his mother. He remembered Moryns greeting them with glazed over eyes and tireless cheer. Unnatural, like sentient puppets. Royal soldiers permanently swarmed their streets, but they didn’t seem to mind. All the people did was sing Morileus’ praises, for he had saved them from the savage Silfyn.

The Nilfyn weren’t always nature’s favored children. Four centuries past, the old Morynna was ruled by humans alongside the powerful Silfyn, enchanting creatures that were said to have raised the Kingdom’s imposing capital from desolate earth.

Their magic knew no bounds, transcending the barriers of one’s soul and reaching for the seams of existence itself. If Hyunjin could make a flower bloom, then they could awaken gardens across deserts. If Hyunjin’s mother could manipulate water, then they could split the mighty sea. If Juyeon could destroy a village, then they could bring entire kingdoms to their knees. It was even said that some could raise the dead from their rest.

Yet, all that power didn’t save them from slaughter. Perhaps that was where the Nilfyn earned their abundant arrogance. Despite being restricted by their magic, they were the only remaining magical race.

“Is Hyunjin still Unclaimed?”

Hyunjin’s fork froze on his plate, and he looked at the Sōrmār with masked nervousness. The memory of the blushing blossom in your hands flickered in his mind, fresh and frightening. Tender.

“Unfortunately. His Tilt is yet to show,” his mother lied, to which the Sōrmār nodded sympathetically. His true condescending intent was obvious in his tone. “His case is a peculiar one, but a Nilfyn is a Nilfyn. His magic will appear eventually.”

Hyunjin felt Juyeon’s smug gaze on him, and he suppressed the urge to glare in response. In this game of power, he must’ve thought himself Hyunjin’s better simply because he had magic.

Their patronizing didn’t go unnoticed by the Ērmār, who responded curtly, “We are anticipating signs of his Tilt, but we are in no rush. Hyunjin’s mastery of Azāri is unmatched and unaffected by his lack of magic.”

Hyunjin wanted to feel the prickle of pride, to sit straighter and match Juyeon’s smugness, but the sweet tanginess of his food turned bitter in his mouth.

Unmatched mastery? He scoffed inwardly. That was not what she had said when she stood over him in the training court.

“Ah, do tell! I’ve been eager to see your famed Azārāhis,” the Sōrmār barked a resonant laugh, to which Hyunjin’s mother smiled. Charming, but anyone who bothered to look would see the icicles behind her expression. “Of course. They are waiting for us.”

•❃•

Hyunjin had only seen his mother’s miniature army twice before, and each time, it grew impossibly.

The court they stood in was ten, or maybe twenty times the size of his personal training court, packed with grim-faced Azārāhis. Their black overcoats were a void night sky, their Kizāris a shimmering sea of silver.

One thousand, four hundred and thirty-seven Nilfyn Azārāhis, Hyunjin had the number memorized, more than double any of the other Houses’. They stood in orderly clusters in accordance with their respective Tilts. Their hair was pulled back or sheared to display their ears, encrusted by a pattern of black and purplish-red rings. Soldiers of House Amaranthine.

Hyunjin stole a glance at Juyeon and his father, drinking in the astonishment they failed to conceal.

His mother’s success with Azārāhis was rightfully enviable. A startling majority of aspiring warriors had pledged allegiance to her House over the other six, aiming to be part of its illustrious history. It made her an ever-growing force to be reckoned with.

“Before you are the best of our Azārāhis, those who have completed extensive levels of training and continue on the path toward mastery,” Hyunjin’s mother declared, her voice filled with self-centered pride. She considered each of the Azārāhis her achievement alone. “Allow them to perform for you.”

On cue, the first group of Azārāhis stepped forward while the rest backtracked. Their leader introduced them as the Hydro Contingent, soldiers with the same Tilt as the Ērmār.

Hyunjin watched as their Kizāris swung in magnificent curves, creating arcs of crystal water as the weapons clashed mercilessly. A spectacle of both magic and skill. Their Kizāris weren’t just blades, but magic wielding instruments.

The Pyro Contingent was next, setting their Kizāris and their bodies ablaze, followed by the Aeros who created mighty whirlwinds with the swoops of their weapons and flew after their opponents. The group of Terrestrial Tilts was the last of the Old Disciplines, raising the pearly sand in forbidding shapes and transforming the terrain as they sparred.

Then, the Hybrid Types began their performances: Mirroring Tilts who split into a hundred duplicates. Fuming Tilts who blanketed the court in dense smoke. Grounding Tilts who sparred upturned in the air. Corrosive Tilts who liquified solid training dummies. Bestial Tilts who commanded vicious wolves. Metallic Tilts who turned their bodies into impenetrable steel. Photo Tilts who manipulated light to appear invisible. Sound-bending Tilts who deafened their opponents. And finally, Metamorphic Tilts who slithered as snakes in the sand.

Every known Hybrid Type had been present except one.

There was no Flowering Contingent.

Your earlier words rang in Hyunjin’s mind, chastising, you have magic, and you’re deeming it useless?

He found himself wondering what Flowering Tilts would do in such a presentation, but the only answer he could think of was utterly frivolous. Turning the square of sand into an exquisite garden would impress no one, and likewise endanger nobody.

The Sōrmār of House Sapphirine’s hollow praises drowned in the background as Hyunjin trailed behind them, leaving the court, mind elsewhere.

No matter how hard he tried to accept the bar on his magic, it never felt right. Regardless of his Tilt’s so-called uselessness, it was still part of his soul.

Watching the Nilfyn Azārāhis made him feel as though he’d been robbed of something he never had in the first place. An emptiness that could never be satiated.

The four of them stepped into a significantly smaller court, where an array of Azārāhis stood rigidly. Their number was many times lesser than the previous soldiers’, but the feat of their achievement was equally impressive.

“Our young troop of Human Azārāhis,” the Ērmār announced with a flourish. “A hundred and eighty-one.”

As if by some mysterious force, Hyunjin’s gaze was drawn to you at the front of the group. You stood alone in the first row, an amaranthine band on your arm differentiating you as their leader. The sand that covered you earlier that day was washed away, your uniform crisp and clean, your Kizāri strapped comfortably to your back.

You kept your gaze forward, impassive, and Hyunjin felt the mystifying weight of your silence again.

Your fist met your shoulder roughly as your voice carried out across the court. “Heed!”

The following sound of fists was like rain on stone. All the Azārāhis bowed in eerie unison, their Kizāris glinting in the bright light of the lanterns surrounding them.

“As you know, teaching Azāri to humans has always been difficult due to their flimsy nature,” Hyunjin’s mother told the Sōrmār, “But I have found an effective training method with this group, and their numbers will only increase from here onwards.”

She gave you a slight nod and you turned on your heel, gesturing toward an Azārāhi on your right while the rest stepped away to clear the square of sand. The two of you moved to opposing sides of the court, pulling out your Kizāris and trailing them across the sand in symmetrical half-moons.

The Azārāhi you chose had a massive build, his bulky shoulders and muscled arms straining against the sleeves of his uniform. Years of training were visible on his physique. A scar ran faint against his olive complexion, cutting across the hard edge of his cheekbones. When you finished your salute, he raised his Kizāri first.

You leaped out of his range with ease, and Hyunjin allowed himself a moment of pride. Your performance didn’t burst with splendor and magic, your Kizāris didn’t catch flame or summon lightning, but it filled Hyunjin with the soothing warmth of familiarity.

This was the Azāri he knew. A waltz of iron and sand. The pure mastery of the Kizāri.

No magic was involved. It was only a battle of skill.

Hyunjin had sparred with you enough to familiarize himself with your fighting style but watching you from the sidelines was a wholly different experience. He could appreciate your evident talent without simultaneously fearing for his life.

Your Kizāris clashed, and it wasn’t long before you skillfully disarmed your opponent and briefly touched the sharp edge of your weapon to his neck.

Your short performance for the Ērmār and her guests was over, and Hyunjin forced his attention back to his companions, reprimanding himself silently. He shouldn’t feel so connected to a group of frail humans.

Oh, but you weren’t frail, and Hyunjin knew it very well.

“Impressive,” the Sōrmār remarked, and his son stepped forward, strangely eager as he addressed you, “What is your name?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Y/n, sir.” You didn’t use his Sōrsānt title since you were pledged to House Amaranthine, and as such, the only Sōrsānt you recognized was Hyunjin.

Juyeon raised his chin in abundant arrogance. “I would like to see her skill personally.”

Hyunjin stiffened, and he caught you doing the same. He was sure his mother did too, but she hid it better than any of you.

Juyeon’s intentions were obvious. It was clear that you were a valuable asset to the Ērmār’s arsenal, and a duel with him would end with your definite death.

Hyunjin’s mother wouldn’t let a member of a rival House kill her soldiers. But if she refused his request, she would be showing concern over a lowly group of humans. The Ērmār couldn’t let that tarnish her reputation either.

After an uncomfortable moment of consideration, she waved her hand dismissively. “Go ahead.”

Juyeon smiled as though humbled by her approval and walked into the square of sand. His bronzed Kizāri winked wickedly from where it was fixed at his back as he situated himself opposite to you. He drew it in a half-circle, and you mimicked him without protest.

Hyunjin didn’t understand the game his mother was playing, but he hoped she knew what she was doing. The uneasy voice in his head depended on it.

If Juyeon ended the fight the way Hyunjin couldn’t, then his weakness would be forever solidified.

You let Juyeon have the first swing, leaping over the head of his weapon as you brought your Kizāri down diagonally in response. Your weapon swiveled expertly in your grip, deadly in its perfect aim. It was the one thing that remained constant in a fight that soon became messy.

Hyunjin was aware of Juyeon’s abilities, and without the threat of his magic, the Sōrsānt of House Sapphirine was average at best. If he kept things fair, you could easily claim a win over him.

But this fight was never fair.

Hyunjin didn’t know why, but it angered him to see you hold back. You were giving Juyeon the illusion of a fight, allowing him to strike at you and parrying endlessly, calculating your attacks such that they narrowly missed him every time. Even though Hyunjin was sure you could’ve disarmed him after a couple of tries.

You were only delaying impending slaughter by a less than competent opponent. Simply because you couldn’t overstep your manners, all while trying to prove your capabilities to the Ērmār.

Juyeon was beginning to tire of your resistance, it was clear in the agitated energy that wobbled his aim. You swiftly adjusted to accommodate his wearing out. It only annoyed him further.

The Ērmār was watching grimly, her lips pressed into a stern line. Hyunjin knew that her mind was whirling with schemes, ploys to set her foot down again and put Sapphirine back in line. Their game of power was constantly shifting, its winds eternally changing.

Hyunjin couldn’t stop to try at guessing his mother’s plans, for he saw Juyeon raise his Kizāri, eyes blazing with maliciousness. He felt you slacken against the press of his blade again, the memory unwelcome. A moment too late, and your tormented screams would fill the court.

Without much thought, Hyunjin found himself blurting, “Juyeon!”

The mentioned Nilfyn paused, turning curiously as Hyunjin made his way to the two of you. He could feel his mother’s blistering gaze on his back, but he disregarded it, steadying his breathing. He would either make his place known in this tug of power or doom himself.

“Enough wasting time with insignificant humans,” Hyunjin said, willing all the authority he could muster into his voice. He grimaced inwardly at his hollow flattering. “You should spar with someone of your caliber.”

That seemed to amuse Juyeon, who settled his Kizāri on the ground with a quirk of his dark brow. He wouldn’t back down from such an invitation. “You are right.”

Hyunjin assumed the spot where you had been standing, barely catching your faint murmur of ‘Sōrsānt’ as you bowed to him and stepped away. The soft padding of your shoes against the sand faded away. His intervention caused no uproar, though he vaguely remembered your angry warning. Do not disgrace me before the Ērmār.

He unsheathed his Kizāri, trailing its familiar weight across the sand to meet his opponent’s. The two weapons clanged, silver against bronze. Hyunjin saluted, and Juyeon followed him, wearing an expression he could only liken to a vulture’s. He thought their duel would be a victory handed to him graciously.

Hyunjin wanted to laugh. Someone had to humble the Sōrsānt of House Sapphirine before his own ego devoured him, and he would gladly take the job. With a swing of his Kizāri, they plunged into the haze of sand.

His opponent would not withhold his magic, Hyunjin knew. But he had spent his years training with Claimed Nilfyn. He knew how to work around their magic when he had none. It was a skill not many cared for, but he was his mother’s son after all. He could fight blind if he had to.

He pivoted away, making Juyeon’s clumsy Kizāri sink into the ground. The sand sizzled, dissolving.

That was all it took. Mere contact.

Hyunjin’s Kizāri might’ve been made with enchanted and reinforced iron, but his skin wasn’t immune to magic. He would suffer the same fate as that unfortunate helping of sand.

He swung his weapon low, slamming it into the bronzed Kizāri still planted in the ground and causing it to rip out of Juyeon’s grip. His magic disconnected instantly.

Too bad Hyunjin wasn’t planning to dissolve any time soon.

His Kizāri flew again, rushing towards a disoriented Juyeon. Hyunjin twisted his wrist such that the impact didn’t kill him, and the flat side of the weapon collided with his middle. With a choked noise, Juyeon lost his footing, surrendering to gravity ungracefully.

His ribs would bruise, maybe crack slightly, but that was the message Hyunjin wanted to deliver. The Azārāhis of House Amaranthine were not to be challenged, magicless or not.

He brushed the blade of his weapon against Juyeon’s neck, not drawing blood but making his victory clear. Securing his Kizāri back in its sheathe, Hyunjin turned and held his mother’s cold gaze. He didn’t shy away. He didn’t shrink into himself when she narrowed her eyes at him as though he were a piece of a puzzle she had overlooked.

It would take more than one spar to earn her praise, but this was enough. She didn’t scathe him with her disappointment, and it was more than Hyunjin could’ve ever asked for.

The Sōrmār’s disappointment, on the other hand, was darker than the night sky canopying the court. “You are right. Hyunjin is a remarkable Azārāhi despite being Unclaimed.”

“Of course I am,” the Ērmār huffed, drawing her shoulders back and heading towards the lacquered doors. “We must move along. We’ve spent far too much time idling in this court.”

As Hyunjin followed his mother and her guests out, he tried to convince himself that his intervention was solely for his own reputation.

That it had nothing to do with you—the only person who looked at his magic with something other than horror and mortification.

•❃•

Your Kizāri caught Hyunjin’s in the air, and you pulled the two of them toward the ground. Your muscles sang with the strain as you swiftly dislodged and touched the edge of the Kizāri against the soft skin of his neck.

One round, over.

The steady rhythm of your inhales and exhales filled your ears, sonorous, as you jogged back to your place, readying to start anew. When you looked up again, you found Hyunjin unmoving in his place.

His stare was curious, almost like a child’s. He parted his lips as though to say something, but no sound left him. He pressed them shut again.

Perhaps he thought better of it, you reasoned, watching as he treaded gracefully to the other side of the square.

You decided to shrug off his strange behavior, beginning to draw a new half-moon instead. Hyunjin started to mimic you, his Kizāri cutting through the sand toward yours before it halted suddenly.

“Are you not mad at me?”

Hyunjin’s voice was rich velvet, smooth unlike the confusion that wrangled your mind. You matched his narrowed eyes with a plain frown. What has gotten into him?

He had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you. Your last interaction in his training court said as much. Yet, there he was, initiating conversation when there was none to be had.

Was this some sort of test? You maintained your silence until you couldn’t bear the heaviness of his gaze anymore, tightening your grip around your waiting Kizāri. “Why would I be?”

He hesitated as if he didn’t know how to phrase it. “I intervened in your duel with Juyeon last night.”

Right. That.

You diverted your eyes, recalling the dread that overcame your mind when the Sōrsānt of House Sapphirine requested to spar with you. You weren’t stupid. His intentions were unmistakable. Your tone was frayed with anger and shameful helplessness. “He was going to kill me.”

“I know.”

You scoffed. “Don’t think that I would believe, even for a moment, that you did it to spare me.”

“Oh?” he tilted his head, raising a brow, to which you reminded him pointedly, “You had threatened to do the same only hours prior.”

“Ah,” he mused drily. “Clever, human.”

You made no effort to hide the roll of your eyes. Exasperated, you tapped the ground with your Kizāri to remind him of the purpose you were there for.

Hyunjin didn’t budge. His Kizāri didn’t move. He was waiting for something, though you couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Standing there and watching you, that child-like curiosity resurfaced again.

You sighed quietly. “Sōrsānt, if you wish to end today’s training session, then I will take my leave.”

“But we’ve only begun,” he glanced at the young azure of the morning sky, and you nodded. “Indeed.”

But that didn’t spur him on. His face remained a blank slate, save for the strange twinkle in his beautiful eyes.

You prayed for patience, placing both hands on the handle of your Kizāri and leaning forward. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Sōrsānt?”

His mouth formed a ‘No’, but he hesitated, and it never sounded.

You muttered a curse under your breath. Fine! the thought rang in your head. Since you had wasted so much time already, you didn’t see why you couldn’t feed your curiosity about the previous night’s events.

You lifted your Kizāri, jutting it at Hyunjin inquiringly. “He called you Unclaimed.”

That snapped him back into his senses, it seemed, for he made a disgruntled noise and began mindlessly twirling his Kizāri in the pale sand. “That is the term they use for Nilfyn whose Tilts haven’t shown yet.”

“But you…” you trailed away as the pieces lined up for you. Hyunjin’s Tilt had shown, but no one knew about it because he hid it. You remembered his bitter words. A Flowering Tilt is of no use to an Azārāhi.

“Does the Ērmār know about this?” you whispered, regretting your reckless curiosity.

“Of course she does,” it was Hyunjin’s turn to scoff. Then, he added in a lower voice, “She’s the one who wants it hidden.”

Your blood ran cold. If the Ērmār knew, and she wanted his Tilt hidden, then why were you in this mess? Why did Hyunjin let you see his magic?

Dragging your Kizāri with you, you marched up to him and demanded in an irate whisper, “If this is such an important secret then why did you show me yesterday?”

“I didn’t want to show you.” Hyunjin’s taut features broke into a scowl, and he pulled his Kizāri closer.

“What, then?”

He didn’t answer you at first. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he spoke while avoiding your gaze, “I can’t control it.”

As soon as those words slipped out of his lips, he brandished his Kizāri, locking his mask of indifference back in place as he ordered, “Enough idling. Return to your position, Azārāhi.”

You broke your promise to never feel sorry for the Sōrsānt before, yet there was your unwise heart, foolishly mourning over the meaning behind his words.

•❃•

This is a terrible idea, the small voice inside your head repeated as you strode past humble shops and zealous vendors. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Yet, as terrible as you acknowledged it was, you couldn’t help it. Every morning you spent training with the Sōrsānt swelled your oh-so-human sympathy. You didn’t understand Nilfyn magic, but that didn’t lessen the silent horror of the Ērmār’s cruelty.

Though, you still found Hyunjin to be an impossible oaf.

Pulling your hood lower over your face, you sidestepped a group of Nilfyn kids who played with the color of the dull pavement. Their little ears carried gemstones of a light violet hue—the common folk’s color.

“Come one, come all! Hurry and try the best Jade-Fire Cakes in the Kingdom!” a woman called out from her stall while setting down a fresh batch of the dessert, steaming and glistening with sugar. She grabbed a handful of crushed almonds, sprinkling them atop the golden cakes that earned their name from the Jade-Fire fruit filling in their molten centers.

You soldiered forward, maneuvering around strolling families and curious buyers. Your legs didn’t stop until you reached a crooked alleyway between abandoned fronts.

There was a faint light at the end of the night-cloaked alley, and you made your way toward it while gripping the long blade fixed at your hip. You preferred your Kizāri, but it was too conspicuous to carry around town and impractical in trivial street fights. A knife would do for a quick trip.

You came to stand before a featureless oak door, illuminated by a lone lantern that hung above it. No sign carried a memorable name in winding calligraphy, no windows invited you in with lavish displays. This was a shop only meant for those who sought it.

You pushed the door open. Its resonant creak heightened your guard as you walked in.

Orange light washed over the cramped space. Shelves upon shelves were stacked with all the oddities you could envision, frightening figurines and dainty trinkets, rare herbs and mythical gemstones, bizarre contraptions and cursed jewelry. You even spotted a Kizāri that looked like it was forged from the starry night sky itself. Twisting purple, blue, and black crystals made its body, dotted with swimming pearls that seemed to shift every time you blinked.

A portly man stepped out from behind a moss-green curtain at the back of the shop. He was dressed in a smart orange suit, his grayed hair swept back to expose proudly bare ears. His thin mustache twitched as he spoke. “Good evening. Has the weather been kind to you today?”

“Generous. It didn’t rain boars on our house.”

Your ridiculous response was a whispered code that the humans of the capital used to identify one another in hiding. Each town had a slightly different variation of it. It hailed teeth on the stable. It shone dragon fire on our crops.

In this shop, it was code for something more.

The shopkeeper gave you a slight nod, your message received, before disappearing behind the curtain. When he appeared again, he was carrying a large wooden chest that he then set on the narrow counter with a heavy thud. A key blinked out of his sleeve. The movement was so momentary you could’ve mistaken it for a trick of light, but the sure click of the lock assured you otherwise.

He turned the chest around and lifted its lid open before he stepped away to give you a semblance of privacy. It was an illusion, for you knew that he was watching your every move with the sheer attentiveness of a hawk.

He would be a fool not to. That unremarkable wooden chest was full of stolen Nilfyn artifacts.

Your eyes raked over a kaleidoscope of glowing Channeling Cores. Smooth-cut, mellow turquoise ear cuffs and bulbous studs of a garish orange. Elegant swirls of a bewitching purple and crescent shaped gems mottled with gray. Most of them were soft violet and inky black gems that had once belonged to common Nilfyn or unfortunate soldiers. You spotted a handful of jagged, purplish-red gemstones that eerily reminded you of those that encrusted Hyunjin’s ears. There were some gold-plated pendants and rusted brooches as well—what the Nilfyn used before opting for ear piercings.

But you weren’t looking to buy misplaced Channeling Cores, and your eyes settled on a stash of leather-bound books tied with pale twine. You reached into the heart of the chest and grabbed the knot that secured the books, pulling them out and onto the counter carefully. Another bundle of books lay underneath them, and you decided to keep it inside the chest until you finished checking the first stack.

The Nilfyn took pride in their magic. They boasted by flaunting their gem-covered ears and displaying their powers at any given opportunity. But most importantly, they wrote about their magic, detailing every aspect of it to relay the information to future generations. Those books were distributed amongst aristocratic households to be preserved. Or to be stolen like the ones you had in your hands.

You knew that their covers were modified to appear unimportant and identical, but under the dark leather were pages upon pages of invaluable knowledge pertaining to different disciplines of magic. That was what you sought of this shop.

Tugging the loose ends of the bowknot at the top, you freed the first book and lifted the bottom-right edge of the cover. A hastily drawn sun symbol peeked back at you and you shut the book, picking another one and repeating the process.

A ripple of waves. You reached for the third book and found a snarling wolf.

You drowned out your disappointment. There were still many books left.

In the fourth, you found a whirling wind. An empty flask was in the next book. Dejection was beginning to trickle into your veins as you deftly turned edges.

An unblinking eye.

A lone flame.

You hid your frustration and sudden dread as you reached for the other stack. What if someone had already bought the book?

You flipped the first edge.

A blotched mountain.

The shopkeeper’s sly attention grew heavier on your shoulders. You needed to find the book fast before you raised his suspicions beyond bribery.

The unmarked leather of the covers seemed to mock you as your fingers brushed over the next book. You turned its edge, ready to be let down and move on when you saw it.

A rose in full bloom.

A wave of giddy triumph washed over you, but you made sure to keep your tone steady as you spoke to the shopkeeper. “How much for this one?”

A calloused hand rose to stroke his chin as his brows furrowed, seemingly deep in consideration. A long moment later, he declared gruffly, “Six Greda.”

You grimaced internally. That was three months’ worth of your allowance, but you couldn’t risk rejecting the offer and trying to find the same book somewhere else.

Begrudgingly, you pulled out your pouch, counting six silver coins which the shopkeeper whisked away greedily once you placed them on the table. He stuffed the coins into his copper-colored suit then fixed his lapels with an air of confidence, eyes shining dangerously. “Good making business with you.”

But you weren’t finished yet.

You fished out another six coins, ignoring the immediate stab of regret in your chest. They clinked enticingly as you pressed them on the polished counter. For his silence.

“You never did business with me,” you told him, your underlying warning clear despite your calm tone. His eyes widened before he nodded once, and you watched as half a year’s worth of money vanished into his jacket.

It’s fine, you tried to convince yourself, hiding the leather-bound book under your cloak. You never buy anything anyway.

You left the uncanny shop behind, striding through the ominous alleyway and plunging into the bustling night market quickly.

If you dared to look back, you would find the flickering light of the lone lantern, taunting, leering, reminding you of how terrible of an idea that was.

But you never looked back.

•❃•

You squinted at the blazing orb of fire centering the sky like a throne, crowned by wisps of feathery cloud.

It was noon, signaling that your training time with Hyunjin was over for the day. You hauled your Kizāri up, securing it in its sheath before dusting sand off your sleeves. It was a futile effort, for the chalky grains latched onto the fabric, nevertheless.

From the corner of your vision, you saw the shape of the pouch you brought with you earlier slumped against the wall. Dull, but its contents lit your heart with anxiousness. Your terrible idea was still half-executed.

Hyunjin had drifted toward the rack of Azāri equipment, unfastening the leather braces wrapped around his wrists, and you grasped the opportunity with feigned courage. All you had to do was give him the book and leave his training court.

The rest would be up to fate.

You maintained an easy gait as you walked up to the handspun pouch, containing your growing dread. You crouched to unravel the string that pinched the pouch shut, reaching in and meeting the rough skin of the leather-bound book. It felt pounds heavier than it actually was when you pulled it out.

You drew in a slow breath, closing your eyes to collect your thoughts. Why were you even following along with this silly idea? For all you could predict, the Sōrsānt would report you to the Ērmār and it would be your fault entirely.

Truthfully, you were annoyed. You didn’t want to sympathize with Hyunjin. Someone like him didn’t deserve an ounce of your pity.

But perhaps this was what it meant to be human, weak and turbulent. Ever since you saw the humiliation in his eyes on that unfortunate morning with his mother, you couldn’t discipline your heart back in place. Back to apathy and passiveness.

You thought that maybe this would quell the strange sorrow you felt for him. It was dangerous to delve deeper and let such emotions fester. The sooner you rid of them, the better.

With one last exhale, you gathered your bravado and marched up to where Hyunjin busied himself, clutching the book so tightly as if it were anchoring you to the ground.

His head turned in your direction when he heard you approach, brows twisted in a subtle intrigue that turned into fully-fledged confusion when you shoved the book into his arms. You stumbled over your words, “Take this.”

There. Done.

“What’s this?” Hyunjin arched a brow, regarding you as one would regard a pup behaving oddly. His voice came breathy with the exertion of training.

You only shrugged in response and took your leave before he could press further, nodding lightly. “Good day, Sōrsānt.”

It was fate’s turn to mess with your terrible idea.

•❃•

Hyunjin lay sleepless in his bed.

His limbs were weary from hours of unforgiving Azāri practice, begging him to shut his eyes and rest, but those pleas went unheard by his mind. Void of thought, yet utterly restless.

It was another typical night for the Sōrsānt.

The world slept around him. Not a squawking bird outside interrupted the palace’s numbing quiet. Hyunjin turned to his side with a sigh, tired of hearing his lonely heartbeat in the silence. He blinked in the dark, gaze landing on a book washed over by shy moonlight.

There, on his empty desk, sat the item you hurriedly shoved into his hands once your training finished. He should’ve ignored you and left it at the court. He should’ve thrown the book aside and reported you to the Ērmār.

Instead, he carried it with him and tossed the book onto his desk when he entered his room. Going about the rest of his monotonous day, he forgot about your sudden gift.

Only now did he remember it.

With nothing to do except toss and turn, Hyunjin’s curiosity got the better of him and he found himself slipping out from under the bulky covers toward the desk.

The book was heavier than he recalled, its leather unblemished and in perfect condition. No imprint hinted at its contents, and perhaps it was his exhaustion or boredom, but Hyunjin thought nothing of it when he flipped the thick cover.

A blank page stared back at him.

Curious, he turned the page. The velvety parchment whispered against his fingers. You wouldn’t give him an empty book, would you?

Ink lined the following page, the careful script too small for him to discern from afar, save for the few words brushed with gold at the top.

The Art of Flowering: Cultivating and Practicing Flowering Magic.

Hyunjin dropped the book with a shrill gasp, clamping his burning hands over his mouth a moment too late as his gaze flickered across the room in horror. Was this an ill joke of some sort?

The walls seemed to bristle around him, grey and looming and suddenly too close. His lungs refused to relax, holding in air as though the faintest sound from him would alert the entirety of the palace. Not a sigh of breath. Not a murmur of silk.

The petrifying silence of the palace continued, unperturbed and unaware of the intense clamor that erupted in Hyunjin’s mind. A hundred invisible eyes were set on him, prickling, making him want to crawl out of his skin and hide from no one.

He was sure that if he left the book on his desk a second longer, his mother would barge in and unleash her unfading scorn on him.

With trembling hands, Hyunjin reached for the book again, shutting it and tucking it under his arm with frantic haste. He refused to ponder upon its contents any further. He had to hide it before those simple words festered into a beast in his thoughts, hunting him down, ravaging his sanity until it unraveled.

He stumbled toward his bed, throwing the heavy blanket over and thrusting the book under the dense mattress. He pushed it as far as his arm could go, uncaring for the weight crushing his bones. He needed that book forgotten until he figured out a way to rid of it completely.

His shoulder was close to popping when he pulled his arm out recklessly, but his consciousness was too muddled to notice. He left the book pressed somewhere under the enormous mattress, and only then did he dare to exhale, albeit weakly.

Fatigue wracked his body, fiercer and more intense than it was some minutes ago. He scrambled onto his bed, lying limply as his internal clamor continued.

Was this your way of taunting him? Reminding him of his fatal, irredeemable flaw?

You were mad. You had to be. Or maybe you had a death wish, Hyunjin didn’t want to know which of the two it was. You were treading perilous land, and he wanted nothing to do with your foolish adventures.

Even though the broken desire in him whispered otherwise.

•❃•

It seemed that fate took many twisted liberties with your terrible plan.

“Where did you get that book?” Hyunjin’s voice boomed like thunder in the space of the training court. He had his Kizāri drawn, and he stood in the center of the sand square as though ready to plunge into a fight. A real fight.

The air around him seemed to buzz and fizz, seething with an anger you should’ve expected. He wouldn’t accept a so-called gift from a human, especially not one pertaining to his hidden magic. You had to choose your next words carefully.

Ah, but if he had expected you to give away your secrets, he was dreadfully wrong.

“Does it matter?” you shrugged as you stepped closer, fingers flexing with the crazed urge to grab your Kizāri and cross it with his. A lazy smirk drew itself on your lips. “If you don’t want the book, you can give it back.”

The Sōrsānt glowered. Your answer wasn’t the one he was seeking, but you weren’t trying to please him anyway. Tension twisted around the two of you, deafening in its silence. The yawning moments before the tempest.

You set foot in the square of pale sand, basking in the young morning sun as you dared Hyunjin’s gaze with yours. If he wanted a fight, then you would gladly appease that wish. “It was quite costly, after all.”

Snap! went the thin cord of tension, and Hyunjin’s Kizāri glinted in the light as he raised it in a deadly arc. The air screamed. The first wind in the storm.

Your Kizāri was drawn in a flash, meeting his with a force that rattled your bones. Blood roared in your ears, fueled after days of dull practice.

You leaped away, swiveling alongside your Kizāri as you brought it down. Sand rose upon impact, a benevolent wave of pearly dust.

Hyunjin ran through it, swinging his weapon at you with familiar precision. Your Kizāris waltzed in the air, a blur of silver and black, clashing and separating and spinning to the macabre rhythm of the spar.

Oh, how you craved the thrill of a proper fight.

Hyunjin’s Kizāri hooked around yours, and he pushed it against you, snarling, “Are you trying to get us killed?”

You propelled your weapon forward, freeing it from his trap and swinging it at his legs unsparingly. “Us?”

A laugh threatened to bubble up your chest, roused by the adrenaline pumping in your veins. “Don’t assume that I did this for you, Sōrsānt. I gave you the book for the peace of my own mind.”

Iron screeched against iron. Hyunjin was close enough that you saw shock flicker over his features before it melted into something darker. His Kizāri was in the air again. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, you don’t,” you agreed, breathless as you evaded his blow and redirected your weapon. “What is it that you always say about us humans?”

You weren’t waiting for an answer. “We are weak. Subject to the volatile tides of the heart.”

Your Kizāris interlocked again, and with a pull from Hyunjin and a pivot from you, the spar came to a stop. Your Kizāri clattered against the floor outside the square. Hyunjin’s was impaled in the sand some feet away. The two of you were left standing there, face to face, chests heaving and gazes burning.

Neither of you moved, and it felt as though the world came to a halt alongside that fight.

Hyunjin held your stare, and you held his. In a breath that seemed to encompass the two of you, you were almost equals in an impossible timeline. The ravenous fire that crackled in your souls was one and the same, stoked by repressed fear and the overwhelming desire to survive in a world that only valued material power. The very differences that separated him from you made you alike.

Yet, you refused to acknowledge that harrowing revelation. Hyunjin was nothing like you, and he would never be.

“Do with the book what you will,” you spoke through gritted teeth, breaking the trance you were captured in. “This is not a favor.”

After a moment that felt like an eternity, you turned away, knowing that the both of you reached a wordless, mutual understanding. You picked your Kizāri off the dark marble, tossing it over in your grip once, twice, before assuming your regular place at the square of sand.

You still had a tedious morning of training to go through now that your fit of violence had been quelled.

•❃•

The night was silent again.

Hyunjin stood before the small flames of the stone burner in his room. The leather-bound book was tightly clutched in his hands as he watched the blazes rise, swaying like dancers in a joyous ball. Their flickering light created eerie shadows that cackled against the bleakness of walls, taunting.

You told him to do with the book what he willed, and he was doing the best thing he could think of. Burn it. Lose it. Forget it.

It was the only way to kill the voices that reemerged after years of lurking mutely in his head. Voices which murmured and spoke and screamed at him to indulge in his magic. To disobey his mother. Unknowingly, you had incited them by giving him the book.

He had to destroy it before it destroyed him.

Hyunjin held the book over the fire, readying to drop it in as his hand shook unreasonably. He had burnt many things before, many magical blunders in the form of innocent flowers. This was no different. It shouldn’t have been.

Yet, the voices in his head grew increasingly shrill when a rogue flame licked the edge of the book, darkening the leather slightly. All he had to do was let go, but his fingers were stiff.

Hyunjin wanted to fight them, peel them off one by one until the book dropped, but he couldn’t. The heat on his skin was merciless, unbearable. Soon enough, gruesome blisters would mar the smooth surface.

He pulled his hand away with a hiss.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t burn the book.

Like an ever-resonating bell, the voices in his head rejoiced, pounding against the desolate chamber of his thoughts. This was the closest he had ever been to his magic, and he had overestimated his strength to turn his back on it.

Eying the burnt corner of the book, Hyunjin tried to convince himself, if not tonight, then tomorrow.

Maybe then, the voices would quieten.

•❃•

Hyunjin told himself the same lie every following night after he pulled the book away from the burner in a moment of panic.

For three nights, his grip would turn into rigid wood. For three nights, he would be paralyzed before the eager flames. For three nights, the blistering air of the fire would torture his hand until he gave up.

He couldn’t burn the book, that was what the voices told him, but he refused to succumb to them.

The skin on the back of his hand was reddened and pulsing with a pain so great as though lit by an invisible fire. He knew he couldn’t keep at his lousy attempts without gravely harming himself. If burning the book wasn’t a viable option, then he had to figure out another method of destroying it. Fast.

His fingers touched his earrings subconsciously before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away. It was a bad habit that the Ērmār hated.

Shredding it? Hyunjin frowned with the thought. It would be pointless. He would still need to burn the remains.

His fingers brushed over the fine leather of the cover, having grown familiar with the rough texture of its minuscule patterns. The top of the book had browned due to being exposed to fire, but it was still in a useable condition.

Would it be so bad?

Yes! he wanted to yell back at the stupid desire, but every time he tried to, he heard his mother’s voice instead of his.

Would it be so bad? the voices repeated, for the question was meant for him, not the Ērmār. Would it?

Hyunjin found himself voiceless.

He knew the answer. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he think it without imagining his mother?

Frustrated, he flung the book at the wall as a pathetic scream threatened to rip its way out of his mouth. The book thudded against the floor somewhere in his room, and his head fell into his hands heavily. Why was it so difficult?

Hyunjin wanted to rip his hair out. This was your doing. If you hadn’t given him that damned book, then he wouldn’t be entertaining the moon with his ridiculous dilemma. He wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of catastrophe with his wandering thoughts.

Perhaps, he should order you to burn the book instead. Like a sun peeking through stormy clouds, his mental chaos cleared up at the idea. He might’ve been unable to destroy the book, but you would have no reason to hold back.

Dragging his hand down his face, Hyunjin sighed. The solution made perfect sense to him. And you would keep your silence about his order if you wanted to keep your life.

Soon enough, he would forget that such a book ever existed.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Hyunjin stood, and his gaze darted across the expanse of the room to find the book lying facedown beside his desk. He crouched to pick it up, accidentally catching sight of the colorful page it had fallen open to. Quickly looking away, he slammed the book shut before he thought more of it.

Too late.

Would it be so bad? he heard that whisper again, like a devil speaking forbidden desires into his ears. You’re returning the book tomorrow. A quick look would do no harm…

Hyunjin knew better. Just as he knew that he should’ve killed you the moment you stepped into his training court.

He knew better, yet just like your first encounter, he was too weak to act on that knowledge.

He would always be.

The book met the smooth surface of Hyunjin’s desk with a slap. His palm settled atop it. Hesitant. Stubborn.

Just a harmless page…

His hand went to the side of the book, brushing the edge of the leather. Once he returned the book to you, he wouldn’t be able to ask for it again. And all he’d read of it was the mere title, which sent a flurry of mismatched feelings to his heart.

It wasn’t curiosity that clouded his judgement, but a blinding, smoldering want that was as old as he was. Being barred from his magic for so long, being ridiculed and insulted for his magic ever since it emerged, this book was something a younger Hyunjin could only dream about having.

Even though he had spent years silencing those intrusive voices, he recalled his childish jealousy when his friends began showing their various Tilts. The memories he had of his childhood were a dismal canvas of depthless sorrow, helplessness, and fear, but he kept them alive as a reminder of his mother’s wrongs toward him.

If he were to read a page from the book, then it was for the little boy whose spirit was stolen years ago. A frightened Hyunjin with a bleeding shoulder, too young to understand the dark disappointment that filled his mother’s eyes and made her a stranger before him.

He took in a shaky breath and flicked the book open.

The page was just as he remembered, crammed with words and headed by that gold-brushed title.

The Art of Flowering: Cultivating and Practicing Flowering Magic.

The voices spurred him on. Rather than panic, a strange relief paired with excitement washed over him. His dread was still present, and so was the urge to stuff the book back under the mattress, but he dared himself to read a few lines, squinting in the dark.

Foremost, let it be known that the blessing of a Flowering Tilt is a tremendous gift, and an honor to those it is bestowed upon. Flowering is the fourth of the ten Hybrid Types to be discovered, and as the name indicates, wielders of this magic can create and control flowers.

It was easy to read those words on a parchment that was going to be burnt in mere hours. They were empty like a drunkard’s promises. Perhaps that was why Hyunjin let himself be immersed in the book further than he intended.

The Flowering Tilt is a Hybrid Type discovered nearly two hundred years ago. Studies have shown that centuries of marriages between Hydro and Terrestrial Tilts resulted in the formation of this new magic.

He turned the page.

Chapter One: Cultivation.

Cultivating Flowering Magic is similar to cultivating other magics. Without adequate training, spurts of magic may occur at random or upon emotional uproar. Thus, young Claimed Nilfyn are encouraged to begin training immediately, as these uncontrolled spurts increase with age.

To better understand magic, let us envision a water reserve tank in an odd village. At the beginning of every week, the villagers pour buckets of water into the tank, but none of the villagers use the water throughout the week. Soon, the tank begins to overflow as more water is added but left unconsumed. Such is magic. It is an ever-growing source that overflows when left unused.

To cultivate, the wielder must begin by finding their Heart of Magic. This skill may be learned easier during childhood, as the Heart is bare and unbarred by the tribulations of life, but it is not unfeasible amongst adult Nilfyn.

There are no teachings regarding the intricacies of finding one’s Heart of Magic. It is a slow process that requires patience and strong will. However, aspiring wielders are advised to practice in tranquil spaces that inspire a meditative state.

Once reaching the Heart of Magic, one must set their palm against an empty surface and focus on drawing magic toward the tips of their fingers to manifest an object of their Tilt. This is to familiarize the wielder with the process of directing magic in a useful manner. Flowering Tilts may use the following while training to quicken results: a flower posy, a cut of wood, a handful of soil, or any natural piece of the earth.

Hyunjin tried to imagine that Heart of Magic. He closed his eyes and searched for something magical, something bright, something beautiful. He wanted to remember the way his magic felt when it surged through his body to manifest in a single blossom in the sand.

There was nothing.

He was hollow, his soul long crushed, his heart long dead. The polished surface of his desk felt cold against his fingertips, unkind proof that whatever the Heart of Magic was, it wasn’t something he had. At least, not anymore.

The foolish hope in him withered, and he closed the book with a scowl. Empty words for an empty boy.

But when Hyunjin left his room the following morning, he didn’t take the leather-bound book with him.

•❃•

The prying moon was a witness to the many lies Hyunjin told himself as he flipped through the pages of the book night after night.

Deep in a cranny of his heart, he knew that he couldn’t return it much like how he couldn’t burn it. But he thought that if he said it enough times, he would convince himself otherwise. As he poured stolen sand on his desk and closed his eyes, trying to revive his Heart of Magic, he repeated that crooked lie. Just one more day, one more page…

But a day wasn’t enough to stir his magic, nor were two. The voices—no, he wanted more. For all his heartbreak and misery, he deserved more than a few measly attempts at his magic.

A chilling thought ran through his mind. Why should he be obeying a mother that cared little for him, anyway?

The fifth night was similar to the rest. Hyunjin sat still at his desk, right hand settled on a small bed of sand as the world fell silent around him. He searched the remnants of his soul, scouring for the faintest trace of magic with timid hope. He couldn’t permit himself more than that inkling of confidence, for he had failed countless times before.

Only on this night, he finally found something.

Folded away. Forgotten.

A flicker of light.

A whisper of power.

A pulse of another life.

He clawed at it, overwhelmed by sudden desperation. There it was. There was his Heart of Magic. Bleeding and dim, but there.

He caught a wisp of the fleeting light and pulled. At once, he saw color in otherworldly hues, erupting around him and through him, shaking his core like a tremor from the heavens above. That soothing cold washed over him again, a glorious stampede, and he dared to loosen a trapped breath.

The magic slipped out of his grasp.

No, no, no, no! Hyunjin scrambled back, grabbing at anything he could and dragging it with all the force he was able to muster. His focus had faltered for the barest moment, and that made him lose sight of his Heart of Magic. He couldn’t let that happen again. Not after all the work he had done.

A chill spread to his fingers as he pulled the magic forward and outward. It was taxing, and he felt his heart beat as though it were in the heat of a duel.

Then, a sensation akin to the puncture of a thousand needles swarmed his body. Something in him locked into place with a resonant toll, and he opened his eyes with a gasp.

There, on the chalky mound of sand, was a single smiling blossom. Dull white petals fanned around its yellow center, and it embraced itself with two grey leaves.

Hyunjin’s breath stilled, defying the rampant palpitations in his chest.

He had done it.

Not through an emotional outburst. Not by mistake.

He created a flower in coarse, lifeless sand on his own.

His magic, finally.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Mini Glossary:

Azārāhi: a skilled practitioner of Azāri.

Azāri: a fighting art developed by the magical Nilfyn.

Ērmār: high master (feminine).

Ērmārvi: minor high master (feminine).

Ērsānt: lower master (feminine).

Ērsānvi: minor lower master (feminine).

Kizāri: the long-handled weapon with an trident-like head used in Azāri.

Sōrmār: high master (masculine).

Sōrmārvi: minor high master (masculine).

Sōrsānt: lower master (masculine).

Sōrsānvi: minor lower master (masculine).

Hey there! Thank you for reading this far! This fic is very special to me and it would mean a lot if you could give it a reblog and tell me your thoughts. Part two will be posted in September, so keep an eye out for it! Thank you once more for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day! ♡

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ravensvirginity · 3 months ago

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Titans #15 Review

Oh my god. Where do I even begin.

To start with my one and only positive: the art is gorgeous. Lucas Meyer is the best artist the Titans have had in ages, and his new Raven design really delivered. I'm so sad that it appears that the artist who'll be taking over for him in #16 is undoing his design changes, I think it's a massive shame. I did appreciate the detail of Raven's white cloak design having rings on her index fingers, but it feels a little pointless without the lore of Azar's rings to back it up.

Now, the negatives: literally everything else about this comic. This comic fails to deliver on an eight issue arc in any kind of satisfying way, has a bizarre and out of character tone, and severely misunderstands the lore of its main villain. They literally defeated Trigon with the power of friendship. Maybe that could work in Teen Titans Go, but in a main timeline DC comic? What?

First, the demon Raven stuff. Gar saying that demon Raven and regular Raven aren't two different people--yeah, obviously. The severe degree of separation between demon Raven and regular Raven has been one of the big issues of this arc, and this conclusion is as unsatisfying as the rest of it. Raven and her demon side being able to talk face to face isn't new, but them being two separate people with separate physical bodies who can operate completely independently of each other--while there is some precident for this, to me it's a very strange writing choice and misses the point of a demon Raven arc.

The original idea of Raven and her demon side was that her demon side is her. It's all the worst instincts she inherited from Trigon locked up and carefully controlled. When Trigon takes control of her and turns her into her demon form, everything she's repressed, both good and bad, is released. Raven still having a soft spot for the Titans in her demon form makes sense; she's still Raven, just corrupted by Trigon into something she isn't. Raven deciding to stop being evil (not that she even really was) and going back to normal from one brief conversation with her teammate does not, and is really anticlimactic.

It's just such a waste of the story's potential. If you don't want to commit to Raven being the villain of the story, don't do a demon Raven arc! It's possible to do a Trigon story without Raven being evil, I don't get why they didn't just do that. None of the drama with Raven being evil was particularly well executed, and all it seemed to do was drag the comic on longer and longer with nothing actually happening, because they were unwilling to make Raven actually do anything villanous.

All that pales in comparison to how they defeated Trigon. I don't think I've ever seen such blatant disregard for previous canon. As Raven, powered up by the other Titans, fights Trigon, Gar narrates as follows:

"I doubt Trigon has ever been in a fight. An actual fight. With someone his own size and power level. Never had to face someone like Nightwing one-on-one. Never tried to stand while being pinned by the power of Donna Troy's will. Never been blasted... with a giant-sized Apokoliptian blast from Cyborg. And never, ever... felt the full force of a Tamaranean hit powered by the stars."

WHAT?

This comic canonically takes place in the same timeline as the New Teen Titans. There are many homages to the New Teen Titans. It has been made very clear that the team started as the New Teen Titans, and then after many, many years of crazy comic book history the team reformed as the Titans of this run.

The first ever Trigon arc that introduces him and Raven as characters takes place in the first six issues of the New Teen Titans, and culminates in Trigon being defeated by the Titans and thrown into an interdimensional prison. I can't stress this enough: literally every single one of the things Gar said have never happened to Trigon happen in that fight. Donna uses her lasso to dampen Trigon's will, in combination with Raven and Arella's empathic abilities. Wally rips a hole through the fabric of reality to throw Trigon into, and Kory and Vic connect their powers to amplify their blasts to throw Trigon into the interdimensional rift. The whole thing is coordinated and managed by Dick Grayson (who was still Robin at the time).

Gar was there when all this happened. There is no reason for him to not know that this happened. The only explanation is Tom Taylor doesn't know, or he doesn't care. This would be disappointing for any comic book run, but it leaves an especially sour taste in my mouth for this to happen in a run that's so built on NTT homages. It's clear that the writing could not care less about the comic it was inspired by.

And then Garth causes Trigon to have a heart attack. Okay, that was just stupid. Admittedly, I did think the page of Raven stabbing Trigon was cool (again, the art is really the only saving grace here), but her saying "Fuck you, Dad"? Seriously? An ongoing problem in this run has been the dialog feeling janky and too much like lines from a generic superhero movie, and this line embodies that very well. I'm not opposed to swearing in comic books, but to me, this is not the right time for it. It doesn't fit the moment, and I think it's quite out of character for Raven, even if the sentiment behind it isn't.

And then Trigon isn't even dead? What does "Demons don't die. They just fade away." even mean?? Is he dead or not? Will he come back tomorrow or in a thousand years? It's such a strange, confusing letdown of an ending.

I didn't have high hopes for this issue, but it was somehow worse than I could ever have imagined. I'm so glad that this run is getting a new writer. Here's hoping that the coming issues will actually feel like a team book, and that the decades of lore and characterization of these beloved characters will actually be considered during writing.

#raven #trigon #teen titans #titans 2023 #dc comics #wednesday spoilers #raven dc

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jujutsubaby · 8 months ago

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congrats on your milestone sweetie!!! a hot white mocha with oat milk, and a slice of the rose milk cake from maison rose would be lovely 🌹 thanks! 🤗

a/n. thank u for participating babe xx i really appreciate it. your ask was giving xmas/holiday szn so i decided to riff off of that hehe enjoy ~

🌹 WELCOME TO MAISON ROSE ! 🌹

🤍 PAIRING. mikasa

🤍 WORD COUNT. 1.4k+

what sucks more than having to work during the holidays? no, really, you’re waiting for an answer while you’re cleaning up another spill on the counter for the third time this morning. how are people this careless about leaving their drinks near the ledge?

not only that, but you have to do an expert job of cleaning or else your boss, mr. clean freak levi ackerman, would tear you a new one. god, you wish you had made better plans in advance.

and to make matters worse, eldians rarely believed in using the holidays to stay at home and relax. rather, it was a time of festivities and late night gatherings @ paradis’ trendiest cafe: maison rose.

okay, sure you’re sounding bitter right now and not at all in the holiday spirit but you have a good reason and it’s that you miss marley and your family, but alas, it was your choice to “find yourself” and you just happened to find yourself enjoying making delectable drinks and pastries with levi during his retirement.

you take a look at your watch. 11:30pm. two more hours until closing. you can do this. at this point, people were already wrapping up their conversations and heading back to someone’s house, so you’ve been spending most of the time touching up the cake display and cleaning the coffee bar.

as you’re loading up the dirty dishes into the back, you hear the laughter of your least favorite customer. okay, let’s get all the formalities out of the way: you love and cherish every customer equally and you strive to make the best drink every day. but you would be lying if you didn’t think about using the expired milk on eren jeager’s cafe au lait every time he visits.

it’s not that he’s rude or mean…just a bit too brash and uncomely for your liking. you finally see him and his friends walking towards the counter to order: armin, jean, connie, and…some (gorgeous? ethereal?) raven-haired maiden you’ve never seen before. what’s a girl like her doing with a crass, uncultured, oafish guy like —

“‘sup babygirl, y’miss me?” eren says, winking at you and effectively derailing your train of thought. you stop staring at the girl like some juvenile teenager and focus back on eren. he’s wearing a black supreme hoodie, and you’re pretty sure it’s fake. you roll your eyes.

“what do you want, jaeger?” you ask, annoyed at his greeting for you.

he frowns at your unwelcoming response. “why’re you acting like you don’t know your favorite customer’s drink?”

you raise an eyebrow. “so one iced bleach latte for you?”

“i bet that would actually be so good because i know levi keeps the good cleaning shit in the back.” he says, without missing a beat.

“can you guys not do your usual antics tonight? it’s literally a holiday here…” you turn around to see levi with crossed arms glaring at both you and eren, and you both nod your head and play nice to not scare the customers away. you quickly start jotting down the orders of everyone with eren, but you only paid attention to one particular order.

a hot white mocha latte with a slice of rose milk cake on the side. the same rose milk cake you had spent hours this morning decorating, and had only one slice left. was it super delusional for you to think that this was meant to be? a raven haired maiden to request the very last piece of your hard work?

you got so caught up in your fantasies (read: slight delusions) that you forgot to ask for her name.

you pride yourself in preparing your drinks with care and detail, but for some reason, you found yourself frothing the milk a little extra longer for the white mocha, and being extra precise pouring the latte art.

you call eren’s name for the drinks and he gets up to receive them. a thought pops into your head, and you know it’s gonna hurt you more than eren to say it, but…fuck it, it’s the holidays anyway.

“eren, wait.” you hesitate to say, not even realizing you were holding a silent breath. your hands clam up. “uhh, who’s…that girl you’re with?”

just as expected, a sinister smirk forms on eren’s face as he sneaks a glance back at mikasa who’s chuckling at something connie has said. “oh? you mean mikasa? why’d ya wanna know? does someone have a cruuussh–”

“shut…up, jaeger!” you hush him, not wanting anyone else in the cafe to hear. “i don’t have a crush on her okay, god forbid i wanna know my customer’s names, jeez…”

“oh, okay, then you’re fine if i admit to you she’s my girlfriend?” you practically drop the last precious slice of rose milk cake from the plate you’re holding. ain’t no fucking way she’s with him…

“you’re lying,” you say definitely, calling our eren’s bluff.

“okay, yeah, i am. but still, that means you dig her, oooo~”

you regret this already. oh well, at least you tried. “just take your stupid drinks and go.” and for once, eren does as you say.

you notice eren’s party stays longer than most other people, and it’s probably because of their close history with levi, who has been making the rounds to say hello to his old survey corps colleagues.

as the two hours dwindle down to minutes, you’re almost done wiping down the countertops and unloading the dishes. levi leaves upon your insistence that he enjoy a night out with erwin and hange, despite his groaning and moaning about just wanting to go home, so it’s on you to close up shop.

you wave goodbye to eren’s friends, and scrunch your nose up in disgust at eren. however, you notice the most peculiar thing: mikasa waving them goodbye whilst staying behind. you’re confused, wasn’t she…?

mikasa collects her plate and cup and meets you across the countertop. she looks so pretty wearing a tight fitted stop and baggy ripped jeans, that you almost don’t register her greeting you.

“hey, sorry i’m bringing in these plates so late, i know you must be dying to go home…”

“oh! um, don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal as long as you enjoyed your order.” you say warmly, taking the dishes from her. your fingers brush against her hands and you could’ve sworn there was twinge of pink on her cheeks.

“it was the best drink! but i was really blown away about the rose milk cake? eren told me you make them every morning and design them yourself? is that true?” eren told her that? eren talked about you to mikasa?

“oh, uh, yeah, i guess i do,” you say, scratching the back of your head.

“don’t be so humble! you should be so proud of what you made. you’ve actually ruined cakes for me, so thanks for that.” you chuckle.

“do you really like it so much? i’ve been saving a slice of saffron milk cake because it was leftover from today in the back, you want it?”

“oh! eren told me you might have some leftovers in the back but i thought he was just messing with me like always.”

“yeah, you can’t ever trust that guy.” eren? telling mikasa? about your secret cake stash in the back? the last time you told him about that, you made him promise to keep it a secret while you two scarfed them down after levi left.

“i never do! at least not for normal stuff like this,” she chuckles. that being said, you were glad eren’s big mouth blabbed this little secret.

you go to the back and bring out two slices of saffron milk cakes for mikasa in to-go boxes. she stares at the cakes, before demurely looking at your eyes. the eye contact catches you off guard as she says, “maybe we can sit down and share the slices together? i don’t think we ever met, y/n. sorry, eren told me your name…i hope that was okay.”

wait? she asked eren for your name? “i’d love to, actually.”

the delusions were well and alive in your mind as you once again are convinced this must be fate, even if that fate involves a little bit of eren’s meddling. you take off your apron and join mikasa in the couch in the corner, where the two of you sink into the sofa, and end up way too close to each other as you share the cakes.

but neither of you mind it.

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #🪅 pree's follower events #☕️ coffee break

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hollow-keys · 1 year ago

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I'm reading New Teen Titans and I finally got to the part that Joey's in (three cheers everybody!) and I have thoughts/feelings on how they treat him as a disabled character.

What really sticks out for me is how little he gets to define himself or choose his own path.

Marv Wolfman had a strict policy of not letting him have any thought bubbles and only showed his thoughts through narration. All the other characters have thought bubbles, but he doesn't and I can only assume it's because he's mute.

His thoughts are always shown via narration which keeps a level of separation between us and the character. Like this:

[Tales of the Teen Titans #45]

And Wolfman knows how important thought boxes are with other characters:

[New Teen Titans (1984) #13]

He's not allowed to actually explore and resolve his personal conflicts and he rarely gets to disagree or have his own ideas. He's usually going along with what everyone else wants.

He's introduced going along with what his mother wants. She describes him, she introduces him. She's not acting as an interpreter either, she's talking over him. The narrative isn't self aware about how he's treated, it just is. She talks, she acts, she has her motivations explained. His muteness is her motivation for revenge. Joey is just an extension of her, not allowed to define himself or his motives.

He was then run out of the Titans because they thought he was a traitor. Does he get to confront them about it? No.

He ends up on a mission with his mother where she tries to get him to kill someone who tortured her and he refuses. Then he chooses to save an art collection rather than capture him. And yes it's nice to get these character moments, but where's the confrontation + resolution between him and his mother? It's up in the air.

During the trial of Deathstroke he's the only Titan who's not present because he's being questioned by Interpol. This should be an important moment for him but he's not there.

And when the Trigon fight's over, Jericho is in hospital while all the others (including Lilith and Terry, who's literally not even a hero) get to have the post Trigon "talk about our feelings" chat but he doesn't. They don't hold the chat in the hospital or wait for him to recover. He's just left behind.

We're shown his insecurity over his masculinity, how his parents tried to force him to be like them and made him feel ashamed for not being manly enough, but he doesn't get to reach a resolution. He doesn't get to have his "what my parents said and did was wrong" moment. It's in the air. Things kind of just happen to him.

He's also framed as fundamentally pure, rarely getting to be angry and never hateful like literally every other character gets to be.

[Tales of the Teen Titans #44]

Ironically, this is a very condescending way of speaking about him, but we are meant to take her word as true. No one on earth has never had a condescending thought, to separate him from those very human feelings and to treat him like he's pure is to dehumanise him.

He's a pacifist who doesn't care for violence but was forced to train for it against his will. Literally, why are you a hero if you didn't even want to learn how to fight? What changed for you? How do you reconcile your distaste for violence with your violence? There's no answer. His opinion doesn't matter. His mother wants him to fight, so he does.

The conflict between Cyborg and his dad who wanted him to be a scientist while he wanted to be an athlete is shown. They do fight over it and there is a resolution.

The conflict between Raven, her cults strict pacifism, her preference for non violence and the violence she commits is shown. She is conflicted, always musing over it and we get to hear her thoughts about it from her.

Jericho, however, is put in these conflicts without genuine exploration. There's no catharsis, there's no resolution. It just is. He just is.

He doesn't get to be angry at his mum, dad or genuinely argue with his fellow titans. He doesn't get to mess up and be emotional. Every other character gets this. Not him.

Like yes, he does have his moments sometimes but there's a huge disparity between him and other characters.

This all plays into tropes about disabled people. The idea disabled people either have to be beacons of perfection who inspire everyone else to be better or are discarded as needlessly bitter and angry, with this either being an explanation for their evil if they're a villain (Komand'r), or a flaw they need to get over if they're a hero (Cyborg). The idea that disabled people cannot make their own choices or have autonomy over their own destinies. The idea that disabled people have less of an internal life and aren't as complex as abled people.

Let Joey be a three dimensional person with complex motivations who is angry and hateful sometimes. Who gets to actually confront people, add to the conversation and have his own thoughts.

#yes i know cyborg is also disabled but in a different way and that affects how he's treated #joey wilson #joseph wilson #jericho #dc comics #ableism #titans #new teen titans #meta #long post #📨

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spooksier · 11 months ago

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Hi I saw your latest art piece on instagram and it inspired me to write something. It's just a short draft of a thing but I just really love your art and I wanted to show you what you inspired me to create as well :) Hope you don't mind lol.

I’ve been having these strange dreams.

Lately, when I close my eyes it’s almost always the same one. I’m driving somewhere, along a road that feels familiar, although I can never place it when I wake up. It’s long and winding and it’s taking me somewhere far away. I drive for a very long time, until the sun dips below the horizon line and I have to turn on my headlights. There’s never any moon.

She usually appears soon after.

There’s someone standing on the side of the road; a hitchhiker, thumb sticking out. I can’t make out their face, it’s too dark. A part of me wants to drive on, but it’s late and there’s no one else around for miles, so I stop and she gets in. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I don’t turn to look at her; I have to keep my eyes on the road. The beckoning cat attached to the mirror sways back and forth rhythmically, like those pocket watches that stage hypnotists use. I watch it swing back and forth. Then that’s when it happens.

There’s a blur of movement in front of me, I hit the brakes but not fast enough. There’s a loud thud and my head smashes into the steering wheel.

There’s blood on the windshield and in my eyes but it doesn’t matter, because I know what happens next. I hear the ka-chunk of the car door as it opens and she gets out; I still can’t turn to look at her; I can only watch as she kneels down in front of the thing I hit (a moose, I can see it now), and sinks her teeth into its stomach. There’s something almost ritualistic about it, how passionately she claws open its belly and tears out its intestines, how ravenously she devours the flesh of this poor creature.

The strange part though; the part I always think about when I wake up, is that in that moment I crave to join her. I want nothing more than to rip and tear into that wretched thing. I want to eat its heart and drink its blood and consume it forever and ever.

But there is nothing I can do. I’m trapped in the car, stuck staring out at her as she completes her vicious task. I want her to look at me, to invite me to join her, to acknowledge me at all.

But she never does. And I always wake up crying.

OMG!!! thank you so much i love it!!!! it's so nice to have something i made connect with somebody thank you so much i appreciate it endlessly

#ask!#save

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threefuckencrowsinaleatherjacket · 3 months ago

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The cool thing about being an artist is seeing art EVERYWHERE. Like until I started painting I never really noticed set design and outfits and all that fun stuff but now it’s the first thing I see which makes everything SO FUN AND COOL but that’s not the point of this post this is the intro paragraph motherfuckers. I’ve got you now keep going

So you know what’s an art form? WRITING (“obviously writing is an art form threefuckencrows. Make your point” IM GETTING THERE).

Some writing is more art than other writing. And I think the more I read books (for context, I read A TON when I was younger and barely touch books now—I’m really picky and it’s hard to find stuff I like) and find my taste the more I’ve found that the type of books I like just have pretty writing. Consider, for a moment, The Dreamer Trilogy by Maggie Stiefvater. I have never posted about this but it’s one of my all time favourite series’ and if you liked the raven boys oh boy. Oh boy oh boy. Anyways. The dreamer trilogy is a book series. This is an indisputable fact. It is also a work of art. Not in the metaphorical ‘it’s so amazing’ way, as in that is art just like any painting in a museum. Every word, every sentence is a brushstroke and a fucking masterclass in being good at telling a story. You can’t read that then read Harry styles x y/n on wattpad. You can’t. It’s not possible. So what’s the point here? The point is that. A good book may have a good plot, and good characters, and those are super important. But the writing should make you FEEL. Consider, also, vicious by VE schwab. I have made 1 post about this series and it was 30 minutes ago, so sorry for the total shift from the scheduled program but I promise we’ll be back on track soon (or maybe not. This is MY account after all and my brain works like a janky office computer in the early 2000s). The use of blackout poetry? The voices being so distinct and the symmetry of chapters paralleling each other?? I EAT THAT SHIT UPPP YALL

I obviously am not a writer. I can write a persuasive research essay for English class, or a really strange rambly tumblr post, but that’s not the writing I love. Here is a comprehensive list of Writing Is Art books that I love and hope someone else will tell me they also love so I feel like I’m not screaming to the Internet void:

1. The dreamer trilogy (as mentioned. Book 1 less than the other two but still all gorgeous)

2.Vicious, ve schwab. Currently 2 books but #3 is on its way!!!

3. The Kingdom of back, Marie Lu. Guys. When this came out I was WAITING for it to get the hype it deserved but I swear I’ve seen 1 fanart and no discourse. Where’s the insanity?? Plspls read it’s so iconic

These obviously aren’t the only books I like, but they’re the best examples of Art Books that I can think of in the middle of the night. If this is crazy lmk but if u get it EVEN MORE SO PLS LMK THANK YOU FOR READING THIS IS THE END CREDITS YOU ARE WAKING UP FROM THE SIMULATION GO GO GO

#if you want to add to this list please do and if I’ve read the book I will determine whether or not I count it #I’m waiting please gimme #books #writing #ve schwab #Marie lu #maggie stiefvater #the raven cycle #the dreamer trilogy #kingdom of back #the kingdom of back #vicious trilogy #vicious #art

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chaotic-on-main · 1 year ago

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Summer Event! 💕

Matcha Green Tea Ice Cream,

Kitchen Sink option but make it a surprise!

Thank you for being so understanding & sweet, I get really anxious if you can't tell haha. You're a dear💕✨

Order up!! One matcha green tea cone with everything but the kitchen sink for Eri!!

Sky's Summer and 250 Follower Event!

☾ Pairings ➼ janitor!Levi Ackerman x fem!people-pleaser!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ modernAU, meet-cute(kinda?), familial trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, accidental therapy (for me), corporate ick

☾ Author's Note ➼ Hi Eri!! Thank you so much for sending this request in. I was a little worried with the whole "make it a surprise" because I struggle with lack of structure BUT I'm so proud of how this came out. I couldn't stop writing, as you can see. This might be a little self-indulgent and I hope I got the emotions right since I struggle with them. I just want Levi to call me out on my shit, okay?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! love you k bye *smooches*

☾ Word Count ➼ ~7.6k (oops)

“Hi, you’re the new hire right? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Carol from a few rows down. Listen, I hate to do this to you since you’re so new but you’re the only one I can ask. Would you be able to do the data entry on the Sina job? I can’t stay past closing tonight due to my set plans and unfortunately it’s due tomorrow morning. Could you help me out? I’ll pay you back!”

The voice of your overly excited brunette coworker reverberates through your skull as you type away at your desk, the bright light of your monitor biting at your eyes just like the migraine you feel in the back of your head. You had a feeling that this is not the first time the people in the office have picked on the newcomers, and you bet it wouldn’t be the last. You chalk it up the fact that you were still in the office past seven in the evening doing someone else’s work because they dropped the stack of papers on your desk before you could say anything back, but you knew better. Damn your pathological people pleasing tendencies.

Your chair squeaks as you lean back in it, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you sigh heavily. It’s a handful of days into your first week and you’re already daydreaming about your next vacation. An office job was not your first go to, but as all struggling artists do, you needed this job to supplement your income until your art took off – if that ever happened.

Thoughts of how much longer you’d have to be here swirl through your mind when you’re interrupted by a loud thunk a few cubicles down. It startles you so much that you jump up as your eyes shoot open, hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it. You weren’t aware of anyone else in the building so you can’t help but think there might be a mass murderer just feet away from you. Steeling your resolve, you push yourself up from your chair and carefully peek over the half wall to see what had made that noise.

At first you don’t see anything as your eyes adjust from seeing nothing to the semi-lit office floor from the setting sun and dimmed overheads. Down the row, you see the back of a man in what you assume to be a gray janitor’s suit. An undercut peeks between short raven locks, neck lines sharp giving away to a clean cut. It doesn’t seem like he notices you’re there as his attention is focused on the waste basket in front of him.

You sit back down slowly, heaving a heavy sigh from relief that it was indeed not a mass murderer – well, that you know of. He didn’t seem threatening from far away at least. Your hands hover on the keyboard as you do your best to blink away the tired. Only a few more pages now, you reassure yourself.

An hour later, miraculously you find yourself down to the last page. The miscellaneous words and numbers swim off the page as you force yourself to focus. With the promise of a late night treat, you finally make it down to the last line. Just as you’re about to hit ‘enter’, something kicks the back of your chair causing you to yelp loudly and slam down on the keys harder than you meant.

“What are you still doing here?” A deep voice grumbles from behind you, making your ears twitch at the sudden volume difference. You twist around in your chair to see who the voice belongs to and you’re surprised to see it coming from the janitor you saw earlier. What’s even more surprising is how young he looks, and handsome to boot - despite the look he’s giving you. Stark gray-blue lidded eyes stare down at you as he scowls, eyebrows pinched together. He doesn’t look pleased.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m working on some…” Your voice falters when his expression turns into annoyance.

“You’re in my way.” He simply states as he leans against a vacuum you only now notice sitting under his arm. Was your focus so strong that you completely missed the sounds of him cleaning around you?

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me get out of your way then.” You say timidly, pushing yourself out of the chair. You’re face to face with him at standing height, even in your work heels. This was a very intimidating man despite his short stature.

“I’m not going to clean with you breathing down my neck.” He grumbles, eyes narrowing at you like you asked him the most offensive question known to man. Your lips part as you struggle to find your words, but nothing comes out as you find yourself low-key panicking.

“I c-can just-”

“Just finish what you’re working on, I’ll just come back.” He rolls his eyes before walking away, leaving you and the vacuum illuminated by your computer screen. You ball your hands in fists to keep them from shaking.

Exhaling a weak breath, you sit back down and force yourself to focus on the last line of data instead of the glowering expression of your office’s janitor.

You slam your forehead into the vinyl coating of your desk, not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to hear the echoes of contact through the whole floor. It’s nearing seven at night again and you’re still in office catching up on yet another coworker’s workload.

When they asked what plans you had tonight, you didn’t think that saying you were going home to watch TV would bite you in the ass. If you were completely honest, you had quietly hoped they might be asking if you wanted to go out for drinks with them. After all, they were the only ones that had really talked to you in the past few weeks but you’re starting to wonder if they were just trying to butter you up to get you to say yes to their requests.

Who were you kidding though, you would have said yes anyways because the word ‘no’ didn’t exist in your vocabulary. You wish you weren’t so aware of that fact because not only are you stressed out, you’re full of self loathing. A groan escapes your lips.

“Still doing other people’s work?” You hear a familiar voice grumble from behind.

After lifting your head up from the cool desk, you swivel around in your chair to see the janitor – this time in dark blue. A white handkerchief wraps around his face, covering his mouth and nose so that all you see are his tired eyes. A same-colored bandana adorns his head with some of his bangs falling into his eyes. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from asking what the point of the bandana was if it didn’t keep his hair out of his face.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, partly from not using it for so long but also because of the steady unfriendly feeling radiating off him. He raises an eyebrow at you as you stare up at him almost dumbfounded.

“I- who said I was doing other people’s work?” You finally make out, voice trembling.

“You’re new, right? The office goons do that to every newbie that comes in.” He folds his arms over his chest and you see that his sleeves are rolled up to show his toned forearms, muscles popping up from the position they’re in. Your eyes flicker back up to his, blinking slowly.

“I’m sure but they needed the help, so...”

“Because they would rather slack off than do any work. They’re taking advantage of you and you’re falling for it? You’re an adult, right?” There isn’t malice in his words but they still sting.

“Of course I am! I work here, don’t I?” Your eyes widen in emphasis, sweeping your hands around you.

“Tch, that doesn’t make you an adult. I’ve been here for years and I’ve seen my fair share of children.” His scowl reappears at those words. You’ve never met someone so grumpy.

You close your mouth at that, not sure what else to say. He clicks his tongue and flips a small towel over his shoulder. Turning on his heel, he sets off down the aisle without another word, the sounds of his heavy boots getting quieter.

You don’t get done until 10:30 that night. On your way out, you pass by the janitor who was currently on the inside of the board meeting glass walls, wiping them down with what you suppose is glass cleaner. His eyes meet yours as you walk by and you offer a small wave and smile even though his short words still sting. You think he’s going to ignore you but instead, he gives you a curt nod.

The janitor’s words swim through your mind the next time you’re asked to stay behind to help out. You spent the last couple of weeks doing your best practicing in the shower on setting boundaries with your coworkers but when the person who came to you next was your supervisor, how could you say no.

You were in the middle of packing your bag while lost in thought of your weekend plans when she came to you. You’re thinking you might stop by the evening market by the river before heading home with some food from the local vendors when a finger taps on your shoulder followed by your name coming out in a honey-laced voice.

“Hey, I just wanted to stop by and commend you on being such a team player in the last month. It’s something we find rare in someone as young as you and of course we’re grateful.” Your red-haired boss beams down at you while she talks. The feeling of ice pricks in your veins at what you know was coming next.

“I’m really sorry to come to you so last minute and on a Friday no less, but because of your wonderful work ethic, you’re the only one I can trust to complete The Warrior Project. It’s been extremely slow going and we need it done by Monday. Do you think you can stay behind and help us out?” She offers you an apologetic smile, eyes boring into yours with sincerity.

You wished you could have said no but the words died before they made it out of your mouth, instead agreeing meekly with a fake smile.

So now here you sit at your desk with the dying rays of light rising higher against the back walls as the sun sets, fingers flying across the keyboard. You suppose you’ll have to stop by the late night convenience store on the way home for some dinner; your face scrunches up at the thought of your very limited choices.

“If you type any harder, you’ll break it.” You don’t bother to turn around at the voice, knowing damn well who it was.

“I’m sure they’ll get me another one. They need me to finish this, after all.” You mutter the last part under your breath. The smell of something sweet and tangy hits your nose and on contact, your stomach rumbles loudly.

Swiveling in your chair, you’re met with the janitor who’s simultaneously holding a feather duster as well as a bag of what looks like Chinese take-out. Your eyes widen at the sight, bouncing back and forth between the objects in his hand.

“Are you here to eat or dust?” You ask, finally looking up to his face. There’s no expression on his pretty face. You still haven’t gotten over how stunning he was, with his pointed nose and pouty bottom lip. Today he has his janitor uniform half on, the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist so that it’s only pants. Tucked in is a black t-shirt that shows more of his muscular arms. He’s not ripped by any means but it’s very obvious he exercises on his time off.

“I’m here to dust. This is for you to eat.” He says dryly, shoving the bag in your direction. Once again, you find your words stolen as you stare at the brown paper bag that sits curled in his pale fingers. Your eyes shift back and forth between his face and the food.

“F-for me? Why?”

“Whenever I see you here late, you never eat. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I eat when I get home.” You retort back softly. A late night meal for you consists of a single serving bag of chips and whatever looked edible at the convenience store – but you wouldn’t tell him that.

“Just eat it.” He pushes it forward to you again, the warm smells of food wafting past your nose. It smelled like heaven.

“I- no. I can’t take that, it’s yours!” You wave your hands in front of your chest in a dismissive manner. A dark eyebrow shoots up his face.

“So she can say no.” He reaches over you and places the paper bag down on your desk. Along with the smells of delicious food, the scent of clean laundry and musky pine tickles your nose. It’s a very pleasant combination, and one you were not expecting. “Eat it, throw it away, I don’t care.” He says casually before turning around and walking off. Your hand reaches out in an attempt to stop him, but he’s long gone.

Twisting your chair around, you eye the paper bag for a moment before finally caving. Your stomach is about to eat itself and he had paid for it, so you don’t want to waste it. Why he would care enough about you to order food is a mystery, though.

Upon opening the contents, you’re greeted with a small foil dish with a plastic covering holding what you believe is orange chicken. A little white box off to the side contains sticky rice and in the little plastic package next to it holds some spring rolls – all still steaming hot and smelling wonderful.

You spend the next half hour scarfing down your dinner while thinking about how you’d pay the janitor back. The flush that started creeping up your cheeks at the end of your encounter with him stays even when you go to bed late that night.

The week after, you intentionally slow down on your daily work so that you had a reason to stay late and finish it. But much to your dismay, you don’t see the janitor anywhere. You’d leave each night a little embarrassed at yourself for being so excited for someone you’ve talked to a handful of times, but to your benefit you had a reason for your madness.

Finally, you gather enough courage to peep your head over your half-wall and grab your coworker’s attention – whose attention was on a mobile game in his hands and not on the spreadsheets in front of his face.

“Ryan?” You whisper-shout down. Your brunette coworker’s eyes shoot up to yours, almost in a panic.

“What? Is the boss lady making her rounds?” He asks back. You sweep your eyes around the office floor and finally find your supervisor who was currently in a meeting with other board members.

“She’s busy, you’re fine. I actually had a question?” You didn’t realize how soft you were speaking until he stood up to meet you, towering a good foot above you with his ear down to you.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew when the janitor might be back? I haven’t seen him in a few days.” You subconsciously start picking at your nails – a nervous habit.

Ryan stares at you as he processes your words before throwing his head back in bellowing laughter. You’re quick to shush him and duck your head down from the glares aimed your way at such a loud disturbance.

“Not so loud!!” You whisper-shout again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious why you want to know? He doesn’t like anyone, and no one likes him.” He shrugs his shoulders. You so badly want to tell him to shut up and that you like him, but instead you settle on trying to get him to answer your question.

“Well, what’s his schedule?” You narrow your eyes in hopes of getting the message across that you were serious.

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s always working. Sometimes even on the weekends. From what I heard, his cleaning routes are the same every week. He doesn’t get to our floor until late in the week. He has a thing for cleaning, so I heard, and that’s why there’s only one janitor contracted. He’s so weird.” Ryan rolls his eyes as he rests his chin against the top of the wall.

“What’s his name?”

“Why do you care so much about the janitor?” It’s Ryan’s turn to narrow his eyes to you. You’re asking too many questions and he’s getting far too nosy about your business. It’s best to retreat for now.

“Uh, it’s nothing. Thank you.” You squeak before plopping yourself down at your chair and pretending to click around on your word documents until you no longer feel the pierce of your coworker’s stare.

So he’s always here, you think. You’re just missing him on your way down. You bite back a smile as you glance down to the clock at the bottom corner of your screen. The time reads 4:37pm and it’s a Thursday which meant that he would be around your floor this evening. Perfect. Your eyes sweep over to your bag in your excitement.

In the time it takes for you to wait for the gray-blue eyed janitor, you’ve finished half of the next day’s work. A part of you starts to wonder if he isn’t coming tonight, that it may be tomorrow instead, and weirdly you find yourself hoping one of your coworkers would ask you to help them out again so that you had a reason to stay.

“That’s so stupid.” You say out loud as you stir sugar into the black tea you had spent the last 5 minutes steeping. You’re standing in the office break room, lost in thought.

“I’m sure the mug doesn’t feel that way.” That voice makes your heart flutter, and you bite back the smile that threatens to curve into your face. Instead, you pinch your lips together and turn around.

The janitor is there alright, uniform zipped up tight as he holds a spray bottle and a rag. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded across his chest. His black hair falls into his face, almost kissing the corners of his heavy-lidded eyes as they watch you intently.

“Ah, there you are!” You exclaim, pointing your spoon at him.

“Here I am.”

“I have something to give you as payback for dinner last week.” You muse, grinning at him. His eyes widened briefly before going back to normal.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m grateful for it, dummy.” Carefully, you place your spoon next to your mug and walk towards him until you’re face to face. It takes him a moment to realize you were waiting for him to move, and carefully he backs away so that you have room to escape.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You order before dashing off to your cubicle.

When you come back with the gift in hand, you see that the janitor hadn’t moved an inch. His intimidating eyes follow you as you stop in front of him, slightly breathless from speed walking back. An eyebrow raises at you as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“I-ah. Okay. So. I made these for you. I ended up having to make a fresh batch because I didn’t see you for a bit and I didn’t want to feed you stale cookies so. Anyways, here. Thank you for feeding me last week.” You beam up at him as you hold your hands out to show him your gift.

It’s a small plastic bag wrapped with a pastel bow. The contents of the bag include bite sized cookies that you spent all last night remaking in hopes you would see him again. They’re pale yellow in color, dusted with a light coat of cane sugar. His eyes widen again at your gesture, this time staying big as they stare at the bag in your hand like its gold.

“You… made these for me?” His voice is low.

“I did! I don’t know if you like sweets but these are my mother’s recipe and her cookies were never that sweet. Pretty much the sweetness comes from the sugar on top. The rest are just buttery goodness.” You gush as you stare off in thought, the happy memories of your mom making these cookies for you flooding your brain.

When your eyes fall back to the raven-haired man, you’re almost tempted to run away in embarrassment. His neutral expression stares back at you and you take a small step back.

“I’m sorry, this is probably weird. You don’t have to take them actually. In fact, I’ll just le-“

“No, you’re fine. I uh, I appreciate it.” He quickly reaches out and grabs the bag, the sound of crinkling plastic taking up space in the nearly empty mess room. You offer him a small smile, grateful that he accepted the gift. His eyes trail past you and onto the kitchen counter behind you. He purses his lips as he thinks but finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Pour that disgusting excuse for a tea out and follow me. Bring the mug.” He says tersely before turning on his heels and out the door. You blink hard a few times as your brain processes his words but quickly you find yourself dumping out the tea and chasing after him down the cubicle aisles.

Soon, you’re sitting on the ground with the janitor as he pours steaming amber liquid from the thermos he pulled out of his cleaning cart just mere moments ago. It splashes into the bottom of your mug and fills it quickly, then he hands it over to you as he starts speaking.

“So are you a workaholic or…” He gives you a side eye.

“I should be asking you that. I’ve been told you work practically every day, even on weekends.” You hold the mug by the handle as you stare down into the cup. “Is this…?”

“It’s tea and no I didn’t poison it.”

“What was wrong with the tea I had?”

“Stale tea leaves don’t make for a good cup of tea.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No, I’m not a workaholic. I like to clean, and I get paid for it. Plus, I’m left alone. Usually.” He grumbles the last part, but you don’t detect any hostility in his voice.

“Well, I’m not either. A-a workaholic, I mean.”

“No, I suppose not. Just a people pleaser then?” His statement makes you splutter on the tea you had just sipped on. Despite it going almost everywhere, the bitter taste of the dark leaves bite at your taste buds. It’s unsweetened and you can’t keep the slight look of distaste off your face. Luckily, it’s covered up by the glare you shoot his way.

You don’t say anything back at that, knowing any denial would have been a lie but you didn’t want to confirm it either. However, you can’t hold back the annoyance that simmers in your chest at such a presumptuous statement, from someone you hardly know, no less.

“Beats being disliked by everyone.” You mutter finally, setting your mug on the floor next to you. Your eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling window you were both sitting in front of. The last dreg of golden sunlight warms your face as you stare out into the bustling city as they prepare for the evening.

“You say that like it should bother me.”

“Shouldn’t it though?”

“Why would it?”

“Don’t you want people to like you?” You whisper softly, dragging your gaze over to his face. There’s no readable expression on his face as he sips his tea out of the top of his thermos lid. He’s holding it in a way you’ve never seen before – long fingers gripping the metal from the top rim and tilting it back into his mouth.

“I don’t give a shit if they like me or not.” He says finally as he gives you a side eye.

You’re not sure if your surprise at his callous attitude is warranted or not. Your interactions with him have been few and far in between but that night he got you dinner, you thought maybe he was a little more caring than that.

“Why do you care if people like you anyway?” He leans back on a hand, his other cradling his cup.

“I just- well. I don’t know.” You say simply. You do know.

“I read this thing about people-pleasers. It said that they’re great manipulators. They bend and break just so that others tolerate and like them, pretending to be something they’re not. Are you trying to get something out of it?”

Your eyes snap to his, feeling the heat behind your stare at his insinuation. Where did he get off calling you a manipulator? A pretender? Despite the subtle rage dancing in your eyes, you give him a smile and push yourself off the ground, grabbing your mug on your way up.

“Thank you for the tea. I really must be going now.” You say politely, voice coming out higher than you meant.

“Tch.” Is all you get back.

With that, you turn on your heel and head back to the break room to pour your tea out and rinse the mug, leaving it out on the rack to dry. You’re quick to gather your things before practically running down the aisles to the elevator, down to the front door, and towards home. A lump in your throat stays even after your shower and still when you lie down for the night.

After your last encounter with the janitor, you find that you’re rushing home as soon as you can. You aren’t necessarily mad at him for telling you a hard truth, but the rumination of having someone being annoyed at you doesn’t go away.

Your evasive tactics work for a while. Your office was in between projects and jobs so no one had come to you for help for anything. But of course that didn’t stay that way for long and your luck would run out as it always had as the quarter was about to close. Your supervisor came to you early on a rainy Tuesday morning to tell you that some freak accident had happened to the last reports which made the data you spent days organizing completely disappear.

You don’t know what was more frustrating: the fact that your hard work from the last week had completely vanished or the fact that no one in the office offered to give a helping hand when you needed it the most.

Your supervisor apologized and said the entries needed to be done by the next morning so they could be submitted in time for the quarter review. With a forced smile and false-positive voice, you agreed and got started on it right away.

This was about 12 hours ago.

The only thing that brings you solace is the knowledge that the janitor was not due for your floor for a couple days so at least you could work on it without worrying about running into him. And thankfully for you since you were semi-prepared for being held back, you ordered pizza for dinner before the front doors locked for the evening.

For some reason, you find yourself sitting on the floor in the same spot you had shared bitter tea with the janitor. You’re lying on your back with your phone hovering as you scroll on it mindlessly, a more than half filled pizza box next to you with the lid propped open slightly. There’s a vacation photo that pops up from one of your acquaintances that makes your chest tighten from envy.

“You’re in my way, brat.” A voice from above rings out. It startles you so much that your fingers loosen on your phone, and it comes smacking into your face with a loud slap. Your eyes scrunch shut from the stinging pain radiating from your nose as you groan softly.

You sit up from your position, making sure to grab your phone before it falls on the ground, and turn to narrow your eyes at the perpetually scowling janitor. You hear a subtle pop in your back as you do.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out more accusatory than you meant, and you end up clearing your throat before giving him a forced smile.

“I’m working. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“You’re not supposed to be on this floor today.”

“Says who?” An eyebrow quirks at your statement.

The words die on your tongue because even you knew that one person’s word was not enough to be reliable. You reach over to close the pizza box and gather your things to leave. He doesn’t say anything and only stares while you push yourself up onto your feet.

“I’ll just get out of your way, then.” You mumble, bending down to grab the pizza box in one hand and your empty cup in the other. As you brush past him, you can’t help but wonder if he’s still mad at you, though you can’t logically find a reason why he would be mad in the first place. And if he was, then what did you do? These thoughts are jarred as a vibration in your back pocket alerts you to a notification. Upon more buzzes and the start of your soft ringtone, you realize it’s a phone call.

Stepping over to the nearest desk, you set your stuff down and pull out your phone. On the screen is the caller ID for your mom, her faux-happy face staring straight at you as the lights around it pulse. You don’t fight the grimace that etches into your features. Hitting the green button, you regret it immediately.

“Hi mom!” You exclaim, forcing another smile on your lips.

“There you are! I really thought you had died on us.”

“Of course, I’m not dead. Just busy!” You state happily, turning around to face the windows again. A relieved sigh escapes when you notice the janitor is no longer standing where he was.

“You should call us more. You know I was talking to our neighbor about you recently! Remember Donna and her kids? Apparently her youngest just got engaged. And it got me thinking…” Your mother’s words trail off as your eyes glaze over. Your pulse is steadily picking up speed with every word, and you grip the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

“Anyways, both of your sisters are coming to visit with their little families. When are you planning to come by? It would be nice to have everyone home again. Maybe this time with a man on your arm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, mom. I just started here, so getting the time off will be a little hard to do right away. But I will ask my supervisor, and see? I want to see everyone too.” Your voice wavers a little as the muscles in your face start to hurt from your smile.

“Your grandmother is asking about you, you know. I had to come up with some excuse about why you’re so far away, and single no less.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll give her a call soon.” Tears prick in the corners of your eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you are, honey. Oh, your little sister is calling, I need to go. Please call us more!” And just like that, the line goes silent as she hangs up.

“I’ll call tomorrow, I guess.” You whisper down at the blank screen. Setting your phone down, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes to get rid of the wetness that threatens to overflow. You practically feel your heart beating right out of your chest as your mom’s words float around your head.

“I see where it comes from now.” The janitor’s deep voice comes from the right of you. When you pull your hands away to look at him, he’s holding out a steaming mug to you. Hesitantly, you take it. The color of the liquid is lighter in color and smells slightly floral. A mile’s difference from the last thing he shared with you.

“Where what comes from?” You mutter before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s hot but not unbearably so. The taste is gentle and has a touch of sweetness to it. It’s pleasant, and not something you were expecting.

“Your people-pleasing tendencies.” He leans against the half wall next to him as he eyes you.

“Please do enlighten me, as I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” You reply back in a monotone voice. You were tired in more ways than one. Slaving away at this project that you were only 80% done with. Staying late, lack of sleep, and now your mother calling. You were tired and you can’t mask anymore.

“Let me guess.” He raises his hand and taps a finger against his chin in thought. “Middle child. Your parents always apologized for what you lacked. Always felt like you had to put in extra effort to be seen and walking on eggshells so that when you are seen, no one pulls away. You’re starving for real, positive attention.” Again, none of his words come out malicious but they really sting. This man hardly knows you and yet he’s spreading your entire childhood out like it was nothing.

You’re tired.

“Yeah. Exactly that. And it’s infuriating. Not to drag on my sisters because they’re doing their best and they have the same parents I have but it’s like…” You take another sip of the honey liquid before continuing, feeling the heat of not only the tea but also anger burning in your chest. Your eyes drift back to the front window.

“I can’t stop myself from doing above and beyond on the off chance I might be liked and appreciated. I’m putting in all this hard work and still it doesn’t matter. I’m just so tired.”

The sun is all but gone and is replaced by the city lights that illuminate the indigo sky above. The janitor stays quiet through all of this as he takes in your words. You’ve never told anyone any of this before, and part of you feels liberated. The other part feels guilty for putting something so heavy on someone who probably doesn’t even care.

“So, what if it doesn’t matter? Why are you putting so many expectations on yourself? You’re just one person.” He stands up from the wall and walks around it so that he’s face to face with you. His arms are folded across his chest again as he eyes you warily before continuing.

“I spend everyday cleaning after you shits and no one sees that. And yet, what I do matters because otherwise this place would be a shithole. You do not have to bend over backwards so people can see your accomplishments, they still exist whether they see it or not. But, say they approve of your help, then what?”

“What do-” Your fingers grip tight on the handle of your mug.

“They say thank you for doing what they asked you to do, then what? Do you keep up with their demands?”

“If I have to.”

“And what do you gain from that outside of exhaustion?”

You want to lie so bad. You want to say that you get a lot of enjoyment from making others happy. That you gain happiness for making others smile because you did what they ask of you. But you realize that putting yourself out there for the sake of others is wearing you down. And you aren’t actually happy.

“I don’t.” Your voice cracks and when you blink next, your sight is blurry.

“That’s what I’m saying. You bend and you bend for these short bursts of attention but you don’t need it. The only thing that should matter to you is your wellbeing. The rest comes after.” His voice retains the same dryness as it had before, but there’s an unmistaken lilt of tenderness.

You look away from his gaze and wipe the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as you take a shaky breath.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you care so much about me?” You offer him a small smile to hopefully deter any ill will that statement could bring up.

“Tch, don’t get me wrong, you’re still annoying. But, I can’t stand watching people tear themselves down for the sake of others. You’re here to live for yourself, not for them.” His steely eyes roll to the ceiling before landing back on you.

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” You smile at him, a genuine one that squeezes your eyes closed. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, even if your words are a little rough.” He huffs at that then nods curtly, tapping his foot on the ground.

“On that note, I need to-“

“Will you stay with me?” Your words come out faster than you can stop yourself. A sudden burst of warmth blooms into your face. “I-I mean, if you want. I just have this pizza left and-“

“Do you want me to stay?” He stares hard at you as he reads your reaction. You have a feeling he’s testing you.

Do you want that?

Yes, you do.

“Please stay?”

He considers you for a moment before relaxing, his arms falling to his sides.

“Okay.”

Once again, you find yourself on the floor with the janitor, knees tucked into your chest as you’re lost in thought. He sits a few feet away, slowly chewing on a just heated up piece of pizza while he stares out into the night. Your eyes never leave his face, watching the way his long eyelashes tickle his cheekbones and the way his hair falls in his face. You notice the dark circles that bruise the underside of his eyes.

“Do you ever take time off?” You ask softly.

“I never needed to.”

“You look really tired.”

“That’s just my face.” You laugh at that and he gives you a side eye. He wasn’t expecting that from you.

“Where would you go if you ever took time off?” You ask despite the fact he might ignore you as he didn’t seem the type to indulge such stupid questions, but he surprises you.

“Home.” He says without skipping a beat.

“Home? Really? Are you not home that often that you miss it more or something?”

“It’s quiet and all of my things are there. Where else would I go?” He stares at you with a perturbed expression. His dry voice adds to his comment and you find it very endearing. You think you see his lip twitch, but it might have been your imagination.

“What about you?”

Leaning back on your hands, you stretch your legs out with a soft groan and stare out the window. By this time, it’s well into 9pm and you still have work to do. But with the janitor staring at you, you find yourself pushing the thought of work away for now.

“Don’t laugh. But I really want to experience a day in that park off of Centennial. I heard it’s really nice in the afternoon because of the trees and little river that cuts through it. I would love to just sit out on a blanket and draw for a bit.” You say wistfully. You can already feel the heat of the sun against your skin.

“You’re an artist?”

“Yeah, struggling and starving as most are. But I draw when I can.”

He hums softly. “That sounds like a good day.” He says, wiping his hands on the towel that was tied to his utility belt around his waist.

You beam over to him at that. You again think to yourself of why people don’t like him. He was blunt and a little tactless, but he was caring and empathetic. Something you wouldn’t see from the outside. You liked him for just being himself with you.

Realization dawns on you at what his words meant earlier. Just being you was enough. You matter.

“Thank you.” You say simply, a toothy grin pointed his way.

A month passes and you find yourself steadily settling more into your job. You haven’t seen the janitor much since that one night. When you got home after that conversation, you made a promise you would only do things that you wanted to do for the sake of yourself and not others. The next time your coworker came to you for help, you were able to put your foot down and tell them no. Your voice and hands shook the whole time, but since then you haven’t been bothered. Unfortunately, you helped your supervisor when asked but you are proud of the progress that you made with your boundaries.

And now, here you are on a blanket in Centennial Park on a Thursday, lying on your stomach with your sketchbook propped open in front as you pop grapes into your mouth. There’s dark charcoal smudged along the side of your hands but you can’t find yourself caring as you finish a hooded eye with a flourish. It’s a nice day with a light breeze that helps keep you cool and soft music flows through your ears from your earphones, quiet enough so that you can be aware of your surroundings.

You’ve been at the park for so long that you’re almost done with your drawing and you’re thinking you should have brought a book to read when something kicks your foot. It makes you jump and your head twists behind you to see who or what it was. You assume it’s a child that kicked their ball too far as that happened earlier, but instead you scrunch your eyes to make sense of the figure in front of you.

Your eyes trail up to find it's a man dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of oversized headphones circling his neck and sunglasses covering his eyes. The shades are dark but you can only assume he’s staring down at you. In his hands are two hot to-go cups.

“Can I help you?” You ask up to the mystery man, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

“So she does take a day off. It’s nice to see you away from the computer screen.” The voice is familiar and you find yourself scrambling up to your feet, staring at him hard. He’s the same height as you and you notice his lips are all too familiar. They’re the same ones belonging to the drawing you just finished.

“You’re the janitor! What are you doing here?” Your annoyance quickly changes into surprise.

“Took the day off and I’m meeting a friend.” He raises one of the cups which you assume must be his friend’s. “And you can just call me Levi, by the way.” He grumbles the last bit. You only now realize you never asked for his name in any of the interactions you’ve had with him. Your face flares in embarrassment.

“I- yeah. I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to have never asked.” You tell him your name as well but he just nods.

“I know who you are, and it’s fine.” He shrugs, tone dry as ever.

“You know my name? But how?” You don’t remember telling him your name. Nor has he ever been around to hear it be said. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You have a plaque on your desk.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair.” You run a hand through your hair as you laugh at that. You don’t notice the way his eyes flicker from your sweet face to the sketch behind you on the ground. He huffs softly at that.

“Well, I can’t keep them waiting so. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmurs before turning on his heel in the opposite direction.

“Wait, Levi!” You yell, taking a few steps towards him. His head tilts back in your direction so that you see his blue-gray eyes side-eying you from behind his sunglasses.

“What?”

“Would you like to get some tea with me sometime?” You ask quickly. Your voice wavers slightly with anxiety as you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Are you sure you don’t have other people’s work to complete first?” You laugh at that.

“No. I don’t think that will be a problem.” The sides of his mouth twitches.

“Then sure. Only if you bring your mom’s cookies again.” He raises his cup at you before turning his back to you and walking down the hill.

You sit back down with a grin, staring down at your finished sketch of Levi leaning against the doorframe of the break room.

Doing things for yourself has never felt so good.

I'm adding my taglist to this bc I'm actually quite proud of this one?

-> taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95 @sckerman @secretmoneybearvoid @apolloshaiku @sujiroses @jadam724 @kamyru @highgoon69 @missyasma @nube55 @svftackerman

The link to my taglist is in my pinned post on my blog!!

#sky's summer event #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #x reader #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #modern au #asks #answered #cw parental trauma #janitor!levi ackerman #janitor!levi #hurt/comfort #fluff #eri.moots

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