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astoryofsiren · 7 days ago

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new world | chapter 3

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.3k | 10 minutes A/n: SUPRISE!!! 2 CHAPTER IN A DAY😊 a treat since i passed all my exam with flying colors!!! IN ALL HONESTY! chapter 2 and 3 are one chapter but it seems like a lot of word SOO, i divided into 2! Another good news!! i will try my best to upload every week while im in winter break. I finished drafting chapter 8 and i loved it just the angst and EVERYTHING! Warning: Mentions of emotional distress, ominous foreboding, potential stalking, unsettling sensations of being watched, subtle tension, and implied danger.

The next morning, the lingering weight of unease clung to you like a shadow. You pulled your dark maroon robe from its hook by the door, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The fabric was heavy but comforting, lined with faint embroidery at the edges—a pattern of trailing leaves your mother had stitched long ago.

Grabbing your basket from the small table and tucking it under your arm, you paused by the shelf near the door, reaching for a small, leather pouch. Inside were a handful of Aurians—small, hexagonal coins of bronze and silver that served as the currency in Hala. Each one bore a delicate engraving of a sun on one side and a feather on the other. You ran your thumb over the edge of the pouch before tying it securely to your belt.

Stepping outside, you made your way to the barn adjacent to your cottage. The faint smell of hay and earth greeted you as you pushed the wooden door open, the creak echoing in the quiet morning. Inside, the familiar warmth of Branwen—your sturdy chestnut mare—was enough to bring a faint smile to your lips.

“Morning, girl,” you said softly, reaching out to stroke her neck. Branwen huffed in response, her ears flicking toward you as though in greeting.

You moved with practiced ease, gathering her bridle and saddle from the hooks near the wall. “We’ve got a long ride today, Branwen. Market day again.”

She seemed to understand, stomping lightly against the ground as you began to saddle her. You took your time, murmuring small reassurances as you worked, your fingers moving deftly despite the thoughts that lingered at the edges of your mind. Once everything was secure, you tucked a folded blanket into your basket—just in case—and looped the reins around your hand.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Leading Branwen outside, you took a deep breath of the cool morning air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and lingering rain. The sky was soft and pale, the sunlight barely breaking through the thin mist that clung to the trees. You swung yourself up into the saddle, adjusting your cloak so the maroon fabric draped comfortably around your legs.

With a soft nudge to Branwen’s side, you set off down the dirt path. The rhythmic sound of her hooves against the ground steadied you, grounding your thoughts as the looming dread of the Goretheron Bloom sat quietly in the back of your mind.

The road was quiet this early. Birds chirped faintly from the branches above, and the only company you had was the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze whispered through the trees. Branwen carried you with her usual calm steadiness, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. The faint mist of rain from the night before clung to the ground, carrying with it the sharp, earthy smell of wet soil.

By the time the forest gave way to open fields and the distant hum of the village reached your ears, you felt your shoulders begin to relax.

The closest village was a brisk twenty-minute ride away, its streets already alive with color and noise. Merchants had set up their stalls, their voices ringing out across the square. The smells of fresh bread, roasted meats, and bundles of herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of townsfolk bartering for their morning supplies.

It was a comforting scene, a stark contrast to the dark silence of your cottage the night before. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, guiding Branwen toward the edge of the market square.

You dismounted and looped the reins loosely around a wooden post before weaving through the growing crowd. The noise was soothing in its own way—a reminder of life, bustling and loud, utterly normal.

You stopped first at a vendor you always visited—a tidy little stall brimming with bundles of dried herbs, baked goods, and small jars of preserves. The owner, Joonie, greeted you with a warm smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“Y/N! Right on time, as always,” she said, her tone familiar and teasing. “Come to clear me out of all my feverfew and woodruff again?”

You grinned faintly, setting your basket on the edge of the table. “You know me too well, Joonie. It’s not often I find feverfew as fresh as yours. And perhaps a little of those sweet rolls while I’m here.”

“You keep me in business, girl. Between your herbs and those healing teas you make, the whole village’s aches and fevers disappear in no time.”

You nodded appreciatively. Feverfew, known for soothing headaches and calming inflammation, was a useful herb—one you’d often stocked for your uncle and his patients when he visited. Caius, despite its abundance of rare blooms, rarely saw such practical, temperate plants outside of shipments.

Joonie returned with a small paper bundle of fresh sweet rolls, setting it into your basket along with the carefully wrapped feverfew. Then, with a sly smile, she leaned over the table, resting her chin on her hand.

“Now tell me, Y/N,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Is there a reason you’re always after feverfew? Someone special suffering a headache you’re not telling me about?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Joonie, it’s for medicine.”

She waved a hand, unfazed by your flat tone. “Oh, I know, but Jay’s still asking about you, you know. Says he hasn’t heard your answer yet.”

You sighed, feeling the familiar heat creep up your neck. “Joonie, you know I’m busy enough without—”

She winked, slipping an extra sweet roll into your basket. “You say that now, but mark my words, one of these days someone’s going to snatch you up. Maybe you’ll even share some feverfew tea while you’re at it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tucked the herbs and food securely into your basket. “I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.”

Joonie grinned, handing you the wrapped herbs as you placed a few Aurians—the silver hexagonal coins—into her outstretched hand.

“Take care, Y/N!” she called after you.

“You too, Joonie!” you replied over your shoulder, her laughter still ringing faintly in your ears as you made your way deeper into the market.

You stopped briefly at a small, cluttered stall tucked between two busier vendors. Its tables were draped in deep green cloth, every inch covered with trinkets, small jars, and curious wares that glinted faintly in the morning sun. It wasn’t the sort of place you typically visited, but something about it drew your attention.

The merchant, an older woman with a kindly face and bright eyes, offered you a warm smile. “Looking for anything in particular, dear?”

You shook your head, absentmindedly brushing your fingers over small carved pendants and polished stones. “Just browsing.”

As your gaze wandered, it caught on something tucked near the back of the table—a small, silver sun-shaped medallion with an intricate engraving. The rays of the sun stretched outward, almost like feathers, and in the center was a delicate stone of faint amber.

You picked it up carefully, the weight of it solid in your palm. The craftsmanship was fine, but the edges were worn enough to suggest age, as though it had been passed through many hands. It reminded you of something your uncle might appreciate—simple yet meaningful, its design carrying an air of quiet authority.

“That’s a fine piece,” the merchant said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s said to be lucky—crafted long ago by an artisan in Charadyn.”

You smiled faintly. “Lucky, you say?”

“For those who carry burdens,” she replied with a wink. “A little light to guide their way.”

It was a silly notion, perhaps, but you tucked the medallion into your basket anyway, already imagining how your uncle’s expression might soften when you handed it to him.

“How much?” you asked, reaching for your coin pouch.

“Two silvers will do,” she replied with a nod.

You exchanged the coins—two Aurians, their feathered engravings glinting softly in the sunlight—and carefully wrapped the medallion in a cloth before placing it in your basket.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and the merchant’s smile deepened.

As you moved back into the flow of the market, the sound of bustling vendors and townsfolk surrounded you once more. You adjusted the basket under your arm, its weight now holding something more meaningful than a simple purchase.

But as you rounded another row of stalls, a sudden prickling sensation crept along the back of your neck.

Someone was watching you.

You slowed slightly, glancing casually over your shoulder. The crowd bustled as usual, but a shadow seemed to flit just outside your vision. You turned back, your steps quickening as you navigated a path between the stalls, ducking into a quieter alley that led toward the fabric vendors.

The sound of footsteps—light but deliberate—quickened behind you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you clutched the edge of your cloak, fingers instinctively drifting toward the small knife tucked into your belt. “Who’s there?” you called, your voice steadier than you felt.

The footsteps halted abruptly.

You spun around just in time to see a familiar face skidding to a stop, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Whoa, easy!”

You blinked, startled. “Yujin?”

Your friend grinned sheepishly, brushing a stray strand of hair back as she caught her breath. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? I called your name twice, you know.”

Relief flooded through you as you exhaled sharply, dropping your hand from your knife. “You scared me half to death, Yujin.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Scared you? You’re the one stalking around like you’re running from something.”

You shot her a flat look. “I thought someone was following me.”

“Someone was, Y/N. Me.” She laughed softly, the sound light and teasing as she gestured for you to follow her back toward the market. “I was looking for you. Mama’s been asking about you all morning—she wanted to say thank you for the medicine.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Yujin’s mother had been one of your more difficult patients, her recovery slow but steady.

“How is she feeling?” you asked as the two of you walked side by side, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

“Better. You really do work miracles,” Yujin replied, nudging your arm playfully. “She says she hasn’t slept that well in years.”

You smiled softly. “That’s good to hear. I’ll stop by and check on her before I leave.”

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant company. You followed Yujin back to her family’s stall, where her mother greeted you warmly with hands that no longer shook as they once had. You checked her pulse, answered her lingering questions, and waved off the basket of fresh bread she tried to force into your hands as thanks.

By the time you returned to Branwen, the weight on your chest had eased slightly. The morning mist had lifted, leaving the air sharp and clear, but the unease from earlier still lingered faintly in the back of your mind. As the village faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder once more, half expecting to see a shadow flitting at the edge of the trees.

The feeling of being watched had vanished, but it didn’t stop the occasional prickle along the back of your neck.

“Just tired,” you muttered softly to yourself, patting Branwen’s neck reassuringly. The mare let out a steady breath in response, as though she agreed.

By the time you arrived at the cottage, the sun hung high in the sky, casting long beams of light through the canopy above. You slid off Branwen’s back, her coat warm beneath your hand as you led her toward the barn.

“There you go, girl,” you murmured, loosening her bridle and brushing down her chestnut coat with practiced ease. “You’ve earned a rest.”

Branwen huffed softly, nudging your shoulder as you hung up the saddle and left her with a fresh bucket of water and hay.

Satisfied, you turned toward the house, your boots softly crunching against the grass as you crossed the small yard. The quiet of the cottage greeted you as you pushed the door open, a familiar warmth wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket.

You set your basket down near the table and pulled off your maroon cloak, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The hum of the day’s ride still buzzed faintly in your bones, and for the first time in hours, the weight in your chest seemed to ease entirely.

But then you heard it.

A soft rustling sound—feathers shifting, deliberate and near.

You froze, your hand still resting on the back of the chair. The sound came again, faint but unmistakable, from just behind you.

You turned sharply, heart hammering in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the light filtering in from outside, was a familiar figure.

“Yunho.”

His name slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He stood tall, his indigo cloak fluttering faintly as though he’d only just landed. Loose strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead, but his golden-brown eyes were clear and sharp, fixed squarely on you. His wings—large and striking—rested partially folded at his back, the faint edges of his feathers catching the light.

Then, before your eyes, his wings began to retract. It was seamless—elegant—as though the feathers folded into themselves, vanishing beneath his skin until there was no trace of them left. The movement was quiet, almost unnatural, and yet undeniably beautiful in its fluidity.

He tilted his head slightly, his mouth curving into the faintest of smirks.

“Am I intruding, my lady?”

The words hung in the air, carrying just enough teasing to soften the tension that had coiled in your chest. But beneath it, his tone still held that same quiet, measured weight, as though he were testing your reaction.

You exhaled, the surprise melting into something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re back.”

The corner of his mouth quirked further, though his gaze remained steady. “I told you I would return.”

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