EXO Writers Network

Blurry vision was held in your eyes. An array of colors blinding from red, orange, and yellow danced like lights in a fiery nightclub, engaging in the highest of highs. Meanwhile, your head and whole anatomy felt like they were dunked up and down in lava as if you were a guinea pig ready to be tested for the heat.

This wasn’t what should’ve happened.

Empty and harrowing hallways engulfed you as you heard unwanted metal clanging from almost everywhere, clanging and echoing like you were inside of a factory. Leaks here and there protrude with snapped electric wires and scrapped metals filled with dust. The whole place was abandoned.

Your chest kept rising and falling; you wanted to shout at Baekhyun, one of your teammates, who was idiotic enough to lead to an unfortunate incident, leaving you separated from the rest of the Special Fire Force Company 9.

Now on your own, pondering the seemingly limitless path that you felt would never lead to anywhere and only go deeper, your ears suddenly perked up at the loud banging a few steps forward from where you were. Not wasting a single second, your feet lit on fire, projecting you to where the sound emanated, swerving to the left and right until you landed in a big room that seemingly looked like an extravagant living room.

However, what you didn’t expect was the groaning form of your captain appearing before you. He was on his knees, with his arms covered in wounds. The blood had dried up. He was panting heavily, seemingly weakening as if he had just come out from heavy labor. Only his ragged breaths were clear as if a cut-edged knife had been heard in the whole room.

"Captain Park?" you said, breaking the silence.

He lifted his head, eyes widening. He tried to get up, but he soon wobbled and winced in pain. You were about to step forward when he suddenly shouted.

"Don’t come near!"

Unfortunately, his warning came a bit too late.

A bright and burning force slammed against you hard, with the back of your head flinging shut against the wall, cutting off your state of consciousness.

"Y/N!"

You felt arms entwined in yours, carefully lifting you from where you had been hoisted up against earlier, placing you in their grasp. Your head was still throbbing from the impact, but you had to stay alert. With difficulty, you sat with the help of someone who held you.

"Be careful," a deep voice gently told you.

Rubbing your temples, you swift your head to the voice’s owner, finding Capt. Park Chanyeol’s face, which was a few inches away from yours. The quick instinct came into your senses, hovering away from him. His brow furrowed in response to your actions, but he quickly shook his head, extending his hand for you to help yourself to your feet.

"You okay, rookie?" he asked.

You did a salute. "Yes, sir. I apologize for being knocked out earlier. "

He snorted in amusement. "That’s fine. I experienced that too.

You were about to reply to him when an awful screech interrupted the two of you, bringing you both back to what your real agenda was. A few feet away, an infernal was in animalistic defense, preparing to strike the two of you again.

The scorching vicinity around the pair of you was nowhere near the heightened tension as Captain Park immediately ignited the fire in his hands, whereas you flared up, from head to toe, into your unusual blue flames, ready to retaliate.

“Blue flame wielder…” you heard the infernal mutter. You were about to decipher what the creature meant when you were interrupted by your captain, squeezing your shoulder and nodding once.

“Y/N GO!” Captain Park commanded. You didn’t think twice as your body flared up and projected towards the infernal, landing a hard kick. It was straight away followed by the captain, blowing a punch and sending the infernal against the barricades of the room, the collision producing a hole in the wall with flying stones and billowing smoke.

While your temporary attacks gave you a little bit of victory, the infernal came into its senses. Like a slithering snake, it was about to jump on the captain when it was instantaneously blasted to the side of the room as if a wrecking ball had hit it, the wall receiving it again.

Your eyes and of the captain’s widened at the intrusive attack. Turning to where the source of the strike, your spirits were lifted as the rest of Fire Force Special Company 9 appeared, with Kyungsoo in the lead, wielding their fire abilities and other equipment in bringing back an infernal to the great fire. Nonetheless, your face slowly turned into a frown upon seeing Baekhyun, an annoying grin plastered to his face.

“Sorry, we’re late,” Baekhyun held up a peace sign.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT,” both you and Captain Park roared.

“Excuse me?”

It wasn’t Baekhyun who had spoken up, though it wouldn’t have been surprising for him to do so. It wasn’t even Jongin, the sweetest man to ever walk the earth, who was now being accused of murder. No, it was you. For you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

Drowning in a tsunami of your own distrustful thoughts was one thing; hearing Kim Jongdae accuse your best friend of murder was another entirely. And you were never one to step aside and make yourself look small.

“What the fuck are you saying, Kim Jongdae?”

Jongdae wasn’t impressed with your tone at all, or at least he didn’t look like it. He gestured behind him with his hand, and two figures turned the corner behind him. You recognized them immediately: Sehun and Jennie. He was holding her tucked into his side. She had puffy red eyes and tear-streaks on her cheeks.

“Jennie?” you called, incredulous. Jongin had said those two were missing – where had they come from? Just what had happened while you slept?

“Jennie,” Jongdae echoed. “Tell us what you saw.”

Jennie looked like she was about to start sobbing. She looked at Jongin and immediately turned away, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. “I saw… I saw,” she sniffed, “I saw you, Jongin… running away from Wendy’s house. Covered in…” There she stopped, like the words were choking her. Maybe they were. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It was odd seeing Jennie like this – she hated crying in front of others, thought it made her look weak. You wanted to comfort her, but she’d probably hate you for it. It was already surprising to see Sehun with her. “I went to check on her,” she continued, “but when I walked in, she was… she was… There was so much blood and she was…”

She didn’t keep going. You all knew what she had seen. You glanced at Jongin. He had gone very pale, and his hands were clenched into fists.

“You think I did it?” He breathed. “Jennie. You really think I killed her?”

“I don’t know what I think!” Jennie cried. She didn’t just look sad anymore, she seemed angry, too. She’d lost a friend, after all, just like you had. “All I know is you ran away! Why would you run away?!”

She was right. Jongin hadn’t made his case easier by running straight to you, instead of alerting everyone. Why had he done that? It didn’t make sense. And now… now there was a witness. Of course Jongin would be the first suspect. You didn’t doubt him; you knew he’d told you the truth. But this was out of your hands; and Jongdae, no matter how kind and compassionate he could be, was also ruthless, unforgiving, and hungry for justice. You wondered for a moment how he felt about his father leaving. The answer was written all over his face – he was furious, and determined.

It made sense, then, why he hadn’t tried to call you earlier. He’d been suspecting Jongin, and he’d known that the latter was with you. He’d been trying to catch Jongin confessing.

Just how long had you stayed with Baekhyun in your bedroom? You hadn’t seen time pass. It had seemed like only a few minutes and hours all at once.

“Jongin,” Jongdae said, and his eyes seemed oddly soft. “Just come quietly. I don’t want to do this.”

There was so much pain in his voice, so much sadness. When you looked at him closely, you saw red rimming his eyes – he’d been having a rough night, just as much as you had. He’d lost a friend, and now he had to accuse another. If Jongdae was even a fraction of what you knew him to be, deep down, then you knew he hated what he was doing. He was always so kind, to everyone. He was nothing like his father, whose compassion rarely shined, and was only a facade. He was kind.

But you weren’t sure if you knew him anymore. You weren’t sure if you knew anyone.

You desperately wanted to believe that he was sincere – that he wasn’t about to stab your best friend in the back. It wasn’t like Jongdae to do so, but you didn’t know what to think of him, now that he was seemingly in charge. There was too much pointing towards Jongin; if you went to City Hall now, you’d never see him again.

There wasn’t much you could do about it, though. You had nowhere to run.

You were stuck. You knew it, and Jongdae knew it too.

He wouldn’t let you go.

“Jongin –“

“I’ll come,” the boy breathed. “I don’t want to make it hard for you, hyung.”

That was the wrong thing to say, if the goal was to make Jongdae feel better. He looked like he was about to break down in tears on the spot. Jongdae was a pillar of comfort; rarely was he ever on the receiving end of it. You seemed to be seeing many unusual things tonight.

Jongdae gulped and nodded. “We’re going to City Hall. The others are already there. Once we arrive, we can…” his voice broke. He swallowed again and continued as if no one had heard, “we can hold a trial.”

A trial. A fancy word to describe something that relied purely on the villagers’ bloodlust. They were only held during a crisis; the crime rates weren’t exactly high in Miller’s Hollow, and the Mayor always dealt with the incidents himself. But trials… they never ended well.

Someone always died.

Everyone present knew this – the trial would end in a bloodshed. Jongdae’s words fell heavily on your shoulders. Jongin had almost no chance of making it out alive – unless you could turn the tables and accuse someone else. But would you, really? Were you ready to sacrifice someone just to save him?

You snuck a glance at Baekhyun, and something in his eyes told you he was thinking the same thing. His eyes seemed questioning, but you weren’t sure of what he was asking. Will you do it?Would you? Could you? You didn’t know. This was Jongin, but everyone in this town was dear to you – and accusing someone else was essentially a death sentence. Not to mention, if Jongin was still… eliminated… which was the most likely, then the villagers would be turning against you the next day. You turned away from Baekhyun, opting to stare at Jongin instead.

He seemed resigned. You decided then that you hated seeing that look on his face. He didn’t even glance at you before following Jongdae. Jennie and Sehun fell in step behind him. It was only you and Baekhyun left. Dully, you noted that it had started snowing. You watched as the snowflakes fell around you. It all seemed so soft, so peaceful… so wrong. Your best friend was walking to his death. Nothing should be peaceful.

You could feel a body behind you, but your eyes suddenly felt very hot and you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Baekhyun grabbed your hand and tried to turn you around, but you didn’t let him.

He called your name softly, as if his words would shatter you if he was too loud. Maybe they would.

“Hey.” He grabbed your hand again, and this time you didn’t fight him. Though his jaw was set, his eyes looked oddly glassy. “I wish we could –“

“Would you do it for me?”

He looked taken aback. Either he hadn’t expected the question, or he had expected it, but didn’t know the answer. Maybe he knew the answer but was just too afraid to say it out loud. Either way, he stayed silent for a moment, but it seemed fake, rushed, as if to give the illusion that he was considering it, but really, he wasn’t. You knew he wasn’t, because you knew what your answer would be.

“Yes,” he answered finally. “Yes, I would.”

“Really?” You pressed on. “You’d sacrifice one of our friends for me?”

“Yes,” he said again, gritting his teeth.

“So why,” you pushed him away, “can’t you do it for him?!”

This time, he didn’t hesitate, or fake hesitance. He didn’t take time to consider. He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you close, so close you could see the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes. All around you, the snow kept falling, indifferent to your distress. You envied it.

“You know damn well why!” He exclaimed.

You knew. Of course you knew. How could you not? You knew. You simply didn’t want to hear it.

“This,” he continued, gesturing between the two of you, “it’s different from everything else. You see it too, right?”

In his eyes, at that moment, you see the doubt, the fear, the anxiousness. Feelings you’d last witnessed in him years ago. But of course, you thought, of course he’d be doubtful, afraid, anxious. You were, too, but you’d chosen to put all your faith in him.

He was scared. Terrified that you’d turn your back on him. Terrified that if he put all his faith in you, you’d run away with it and leave him naked, vulnerable and lost.

You hadn’t even considered once that he wouldn’t throw himself body and soul in you, the way you’d thrown yourself in him. Everything felt cold, all of a sudden.

“Baekhyun, I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he breathed, giving you the shining smile you loved so much. This was him, this was Baekhyun – not the mass of anger who’d been on your heels you all night. Whatever had made you snap tonight, it had made you both lose yourself. You wondered why you’d been so eager to drown in him, in everything he brought you, every inch, every spark. Then his smile slid back into your focus and you stopped wondering.

“You don’t need to have doubts about us,” he said shakily, as if he were still having doubts himself. His hands left your shoulders, resting on your cheeks instead. His hands were warm, a welcome change from the frigid air. He dipped his head to rest your forehead against your own, and you noticed his rosy cheeks, the snow in his eyelashes, the sparkle in his brown eyes. He looked a lot more like the boy who used to follow you and Jongin around, then.

It was then that it hit you, how much he’d changed. How much you’d both changed. Baekhyun was a shy child, boisterous but still reserved and very protective of himself and his feelings. Then he’d grown, and so had you. He was always kind, youthful even in his adult life, but he’d grown to be teasy, cheeky, flirty, borderline scandalous sometimes. He was dreamy, thoughtful, and a lot more introverted than you’d expect him to be. He was still shy and protective of his feelings, but he never hid anything. He was present, tangible and real. He was both the little boy from your past and a man you could see in your future.

You were sure of it. Without him, you hadno future.

“You don’t need to have doubts,” he repeated, and this time his voice wasn’t shaking in the least, “about us.” He slid his hand in your hair, tucking softly behind you ear. When you looked into his eyes, you saw the same fierce protectiveness you’d seen earlier. “But I won’t risk you for anyone’s sake.”

Your heart fell, and your face must have, too, because Baekhyun wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer still.

“Please try –“

“Are you kidding me –“

“ – try to understand me okay?”

"Try to understand what?!"

“Shut up!"

Well, that successfully shut you up. You were stunned. What the fuck?

“Shut up,” he repeated, and you felt like punching him in the face, just a little bit, “and listen to me. Listen.”

You were listening. You wanted to hit him, but you were listening. You wanted to tell him to fuck off, but… you were listening.

“Can you try,” he let out through gritted teeth, “for just one second to put yourself in my shoes?”

You didn’t like where this was going. You didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe that you could save Jongin and still keep Baekhyun close to you. You wanted to believe that the night was going to turn out fine for the three of you. You didn’t want to believe that one of them – or even you – could be dead by dawn. You wouldn’t lose either of them. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t…

“Hey,” he called. “Stay with me. We can get through this, but I need you here, not stuck in your head, okay?”

Baekhyun’s eyes had become much softer, and his face was getting blurry. It took you a moment to realize that you were crying. Though your mind didn’t want to admit it, your heart had already accepted it – it was completely hopeless. There was, to put it bluntly, no way you wouldn’t sacrifice something tonight. Usually, you’d be fine with it. You knew sacrifice, and you knew giving up, too. But in this moment, there was nothing you were willing to let go. How could you give up on Jongin, the man who’d been your emotional clutch for years? You would’ve gone crazy without him, you were sure of it. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t.

But if you tried to save him, then… everyone else would turn on you. You’d seen it happen, more times than you could count. If someone was suspected, and another jumped in to defend them, the suspicion was brought onto them, too. If you tried to vouch for Jongin, then you’d simply be targeted with him, and that would guarantee your death, if not today, then at the next assembly.

There was the problem. It would guarantee your death, and there was only a slim chance for him to survive: that would be if you died first, to prove your innocence and therefore his own. And that was ifthe villagers decided to heed you… which was a pretty big if.

But that issue brought another. Before tonight, you would have had no problem giving yourself away for Jongin. He was your best friend since childhood, your whole life revolved around him. But now… now…

Now, you just wanted to be selfish. Extremelyselfish.

You felt guilt, very much so. Your heart was being torn in two, one half reaching for your best friend, and the other… for the man in front of you. The only catch was, clearly there was one half that was bigger. And every fiber of your being told you to just choose Baekhyun.

Yes, you wanted to be selfish. Because whatever you’d discovered with Baekhyun tonight, you didn’t want to lose it. Whatever it was – you were too scared to say it still – it was much too young for your liking. You couldn’t lose it when you’d had so little time to bask in it. You couldn’t lose it when you knew it could be forever.

Jongin would be forever, too, a little voice in your head said. You silenced it without remorse. You’d lived for others your entire life. That was enough. Jongin would understand. Even if he didn’t, even if he died despising you and everything you stood for – what did you stand for now? – you found that you didn’t care.

You’d chosen. You’d chosen Baekhyun.

You’d chosen to love Baekhyun, for better or worse, in sickness or health. Wherever it took you.

You’d chosen. And when you looked deep in his eyes, you knew he had, too.

For better or worse.

You didn’t know what you’d expected to see when you arrived at City Hall, but it wasn’t this.

Though you were outside, in the cool winter night, the air felt heavy, oxygen turning into molten lead and pouring, unwelcome, into your lungs. The atmosphere was more somber than you’d ever seen, and you quickly found out why.

It seemed Jongdae had been taking the trial very seriously, not that you ever doubted, even for one second, that he would. But, as always, he’d taken the whole thing to a brand-new level.

In your youth, you’d witnessed a few trials and executions. The latter was carried out by the veteran hunters, those who had made a life of killing and could no longer be swayed by a life being swept away. Stolen away. But the hunters were gone; their weapons were either gone with them, or locked away, forgotten and left to rust and grow old in the darkness.

To make up for their absence, Jongdae had pulled out the Guillotine.

You’d learned about it in school. Before hunting became a revered profession, before men knew how to fight wolves, trials were a common, barbaric affair. A life rarely left earth by its lonesome; and their reaper was this: a six-feet-long, nine-feet-wide blade, ending in a diagonal line to better cut the flesh. You’d never seen it in action. You were about to.

The crowd was assembled just outside of City Hall and divided in two, leaving open a path straight from you to the Guillotine. On the opposite end of the plaza, right in front of the murder weapon and its grotesque podium, stood Kim Jongdae.

No one was saying a thing, but the grim looks Jongdae was receiving were worth a thousand words. No face was darker than his, however. In the time it had taken you and Baekhyun to reach City Hall, he seemed to have discarded the sadness, the softness, the doubts that he was feeling when he’d come for Jongin. All you could see on his face was pure, frigid ruthlessness. It scared you.

All eyes were on you, you noticed. Of course they would be, Baekhyun and you were the last ones to show up. Standing there, in the middle of the quickly amassing snow, with only Baekhyun at your side, made you feel incredibly alone. IN a way, you always had been. You’d just been clever enough to know how to hide it.

It didn’t escape you, however, that there was a definite line between the two of you and them. A line that couldn’t be crossed, not matter how much anyone could want to.

As you moved to join everyone, you looked around, trying to see Jongin. He had to be around the front – he was the accused, after all. He couldn’t not be here. Still, you didn’t see him, and stopped looking for him to avoid suspicion.

Baekhyun was quiet beside you, but his hold on your hand had tightened drastically since you’d entered the plaza. As you were about to blend into the small crowd, heading towards a somber-looking Minseok that you’d spotted earlier, he stopped. Right in the middle of the makeshift path. Right in front of Jongdae.

“I thought,” he said loudly, “that only the Captain could dust off the Guillotine. I don’t remember voting for you, Jongdae.”

Jongdae’s face contorted slightly, in an angry expression completely foreign on his usually kind face. “We’ll hold a vote, Byun, don’t worry.” You didn’t like his tone at all. “We were just waiting for a few stragglers.”

You decided not to react to his jab.

He didn’t need to call out – everyone’s attention was already on him – but he did, anyway. “Well, you’ve all heard him, haven’t you?” In the deafening silence that followed, you could hear the heartbeat of thirty people holding their breath as one. “I’m no tyrant. If you wish for someone else to be put in charge, then say it! Say it now!”

Or be quiet forever, is what he didn’t say, but you all understood him as if he’d said it out loud.

Jongdae scanned the crowd, and his eyes met yours for a moment, just a moment. You knew who was standing next to you, and you knew Jongdae well, despite his abrupt change of character. That is how you saw, for a fleeting moment, the slight trace of fear in his gaze. Of hopelessness. He didn’t want to be the one to lead, not in a time like this, not ever. He never wanted to. His father only happened to be the Mayor, and Jongdae happenedto have been the one to react the quickest tonight. And suddenly he had the fate of almost thirty souls on his shoulders.

He didn’t want to be the one to lead. He wanted Kim Minseok, standing right at your shoulder, to take his place. He wanted Kim Junmyeon, busy comforting Yerim, to speak up and offer himself as a candidate. He wanted Zhang Yixing, ever the soothing presence, to bring comfort where he couldn’t.

But none said a word. No one said anything. They left him standing alone, his back to the Guillotine and facing only flighty gazes. No one wanted the responsibility. No one dared to do what he’d done.

“Well,” Kim Jongdae said, voice broken with disillusion, “you can’t say I didn’t give you a choice.”

Then, he abruptly turned away and walked around the podium. He climbed the stairs, dragging Kim Jongin behind him.

“You all know him,” Jongdae exclaimed, pushing Jongin in front of him.

You let out a gasp, just as a hand dragged you into the crowd. You looked up, to see gentle eyes, and dimpled cheeks. “You okay?” Yixing whispered. You nodded back to him, half dazed. He stared for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but pulled you against him. Distantly, you felt Baekhyun press against your other side as the crowd merged into one.

“Let’s cut straight to the chase,” Jongdae continued, up on the podium. “All the hunters are gone.” Whispers erupted around you. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife; it was as if there was a ticking time-bomb in the plaza, just waiting to explode. “And we’ve lost Wendy Son.”

On your right, someone burst into tears. You didn’t even need to turn your head to see who it was – you recognized Irene immediately. The agitation rose, and with it, the volume of Jongdae’s voice.

“The loss is an undeniable blow,” he exclaimed, “but with it comes a danger! We’re in a crisis, people, and I’m afraid there’s no time for us to mourn.”

“What is he saying…” you heard Minseok mutter behind you.

It was then that Jongdae delivered the finishing blow. “Wendy Son was killed by werewolves.”

Noise exploded all around you. There weren’t so many people left, but with the cold, the anticipation, the fear, you had no doubt that every single person on this plaza was at their limit.

“There are no werewolves in Miller’s Hollow!” you heard Johnny cry out.

“But where did the hunters go?!” That sounded like Rosé.

As you frantically looked around, dazed, your eyes fell on Shotaro. He was squished between Taeyong and Jaehyun, and the sight reminded you that among everyone, he was the youngest. He certainly looked like the youngest then, clutching Taeyong’s arm and swinging his head about, as if he were already suspecting everyone around him. Your eyes met briefly, and you knew.

He was just as terrified as you.

The clamor was deafening you. The noise, the panic, it was all crashing down on you, trapping you as effectively as four brick walls. You couldn’t breathe. You’d lost Baekhyun, but that didn’t matter, because what use would you be to him if you couldn’t breathe? Colors blended together and soon, the crowd was only one big, ugly mass, distorted beyond reason. It scared you. You covered your ears and crouched down – if only you could make it go quiet… if only they could all just be quiet…

Warm hands wrapped around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your ears. Someone crouched in front of you, and you fell right into Baekhyun’s impossibly bright eyes. Even in such a moment, he was smiling. He seemed so different from the boy who’d been with you all night, and yet, you knew that they were one and the same. That he could be as dark as he was bright.

He brought your hands to his chest and placed his own around your head, leaning his forehead against your own. The world seemed to slow down around you, and suddenly there was only him and you and you and him, alone.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he breathed, and somehow, despite the noise, you could hear him perfectly. “Look at me, okay? Just look at me. Breathe.”

You tried. You tried, but breathing seemed like an impossible task, all of a sudden. You tried to tell him, but you could only let out choked gasps.

He shushed you softly, and grasped your hands still resting on his chest with one of his own, taking deep inhales and exhales so you’d feel his chest rising and falling. It took you one, two, three attempts to replicate his movements. It took you three attempts, but you managed, and Baekhyun pulled you into him with a proud smile.

“It’s fine, see?” You nodded in his chest, and he hugged you even closer. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

When you allowed your focus to return to the world around you, it was to find that everything had gone quiet. You rose back up and saw Jongdae seated on the podium, Jongin beside him, as if they were just chatting casually, and one wasn’t about to sentence the other to death. Wordlessly, the former shot you a questioning glance, and you nodded in a silent response. You’d be okay.

Then, he rose to his feet, and you were harshly brought back to reality.

“Kim Jongin,” he called loudly, “do you know what you’re accused of?”

Jongin rose to his feet, too, albeit a lot more reluctantly. You tried, in vain, to catch his eyes. His head remained low, gaze glued to the wood of the podium. The urge to save him, to fight for him, to put yourself between him and danger washed over you once more, but you pushed it back down. You’d already made your choice and you would stick to it. For better or worse.

With that thought, you seized Baekhyun’s wrist, squeezing him almost to the point of cutting off his blood flow. He didn’t protest. He merely used your grip on him to pull you close.

Jongin rose his head, a defiant glint in his eyes. Of course, you thought. He knows he’s innocent. Jongin was one of the most stubborn people you’d met. Of course he wouldn’t let himself be backed into a corner with his tail between his legs. Just then, you allowed yourself to hope.

“I am,” he said boldly, “wrongly accused of the murder of Wendy Son.”

Whispers rippled in the crowd once more, seconds away from erupting into screams once again. Jongdae’s jaw ticked, but you saw nothing else to betray his emotions. “And what else?” he pressed.

Jongin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Lycanthropy.”

The whispers around you took an outraged turn, and you heard a couple exclamations of protest.

“Lycanthropy? Really?”

“Ridiculous… I don’t want to believe it.”

“So he was serious when he mentioned werewolves. Unbelievable.”

“This is a nightmare…”

“If anyone has information,” Jongdae’s commanding voice called for attention once more, “on the murder of Wendy Son, they’re more than encouraged to speak up. We don’t condemn innocents.”

And yet you’re about to kill one, you thought darkly.

Every soul in the plaza, even Jongdae himself, knew this: trials must end in blood. The threat must be dealt with, and if people must die in the process, then so be it. That was the hunter’s law. The means to an end, they say.

No one spoke up. Jennie’s testimony seemed to have convinced people enough for them to remain silent, and even for those who were skeptical, or simply dead certain of his innocence, there wasn’t much you could do. Going up against such a mass, brought together by pure, raw fear of death, would be signing your own death warrant. You couldn’t do it. Not anymore.

And so Jongin remained, alone, standing in front of the Guillotine. The remaining souls assembled around the podium in a messy half-circle, only defined enough so that everyone’s arm could be in Jongdae’s sight. Settling down in an eerie silence, you let your gaze wonder around the semi-moon, frighteningly similar to the primitive circus games in good old Rome. Irene and her tear-stained face. Taeyong, squeezing Shotaro close to his body almost convulsively. Junmyeon, an arm around Yerim’s shoulder and the other well out of sight, possibly to hide his shaking. And, next to you, Minseok, holding every stare almost defiantly. After Wendy, who would be next? Who would be gone, at the same time tomorrow?

Who was lying?

Standing on the podium with his arm held out, Jongdae was not unlike a Roman emperor. He was ready to give out the sentence. In a deadly silence, only broken by the ruffling of fabric, the crowd imitated him, holding out their arm with their thumb parallel to the ground. The action seemed so simple, so careless – you couldn’t believe you were sentencing a person to their death by simply turning your thumb upwards or downwards. There should be something else, something a lot more significant. Anything, other than this apathetic silence.

Jongdae opened his mouth. You closed your eyes.

“On my call. Three… two… one… vote.”

The silence was deafening. You couldn’t stand it – couldn’t stand not knowing. You opened your eyes.

You regretted doing so almost immediately.

You had your thumb held upwards; so did Minseok and Baekhyun. At first glance, there seemed to be quite the numbers in favor of Jongin’s survival.

But then, you looked closer, counted, and your heart dropped. Faster than any guillotine blade could.

The majority was against him.

The majority was against him.

You felt like dying.

Your legs gave out from underneath you. Dazed, you didn’t even register Baekhyun catching you before you could hit the ground. The world was very blurry, all of a sudden – or maybe it was you? You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything, other than the fact that Jongin was going to die.

You thought you were ready for that outcome. You’d made your choice, thinking his imminent death could have been brushed off. Of course it couldn’t. What were you thinking? How could you have been so stupid? This was Jongin. This was Jongin and he was dying. You’d discarded him, the most important person in your life, in favor of… in favor of…

But is he really? a little voice in your head said. Is he really the most important person in your life?

Of course he is, you thought angrily. Of course.

Still… in your stupor, you saw a face. Baekhyun’s face, looking down at you in a way no one had before. Worry, trepidation, apprehension, fear, love, doubt, anger, pain… his eyes and his soul were a mirror, reflecting your own. You remembered, then, why you’d chosen him. So, you held on. You held onto him, the world spinning around you.

Jongdae tied your best friend in the Guillotine’s lunette. You didn’t notice, focused on Baekhyun’s hand in your hair, on your back, your arms, holding you so tightly and yet so tenderly, keeping you together before you could break apart.

Someone screamed. You didn’t hear it. You were listening to Baekhyun’s voice in your ear, soothing you as best he could with endless promises of love, devotion, affection, loyalty, of trust and transparency, of an eternity and more in his arms.

Then, you raised your head, and Jongin slid back into your field of vision. You were looking at his face – only his face, because you couldn’t stand to look at anything else – and suddenly the blade dropped. And in the split second, the single moment it took for the blade to reach his neck, his eyes met yours, and you knew. You knew, because he told you everything.

Then, you weren’t looking at anything anymore.

Your ears were ringing. Dully, you registered someone pulling you to your feet, pushing your face into a chest, someone screaming: “Look, look!”

You couldn’t help it. You looked back.

Where Jongin’s body should have been, there was only a stain. A large, slimy, glowing golden stain.

“Ichor,” murmured a voice beside you.

You closed your eyes and fell gratefully into the welcoming darkness…

… and woke, with a choked scream, at 3:35 AM.

Foolish of you, to think you could rest.

Still panting, you took your time to analyze your surroundings. You were in a bed. In your bed. This was your bedroom. How much time had passed? Your alarm clock said it was 3:35 AM. But it couldn’t be, it couldn’t. You were just at Jongin’s trial. Jongin’s… trial…

You wanted to go back to sleep, or whatever that darkness had been. It had been so comforting. So warm. You almost felt safe, in the darkness. But your visions never slept; they had found you again. Even after losing your best friend, you weren’t allowed to rest – already, anticipation was building up inside you. You had to tell someone what you’d seen.

You tried to stand, but an arm slid around your shoulders, and suddenly you were tucked against a warm body, back to his chest. You didn’t even need to turn; you knew who it was.

“Hey,” Baekhyun said, with a softness you’d rarely heard before, “take it easy, okay?”

“I saw something.”

“I’m sure you did, but – “

“Baekhyun,” you said sharply, pulling away from him. “I have to tell someone – I have to tell everyone! It can’t wait, people – “

“It can wait.” His tone was gentle, but his eyes were stern. “It can wait, and it will.”

“No, you don’t – “

He grasped your shoulders and forced you down – you hadn’t even realized you were standing. “Listen to me. Listen!” he exclaimed, shaking you somewhat roughly. “You’ve been out for a day –“

“I’ve been out for –“

“Listen to me!” He was almost yelling, and that caught your attention. “We just… Jongin just died. It’s barely been a day, and you’ve been down the whole time.” He raised a placating hand to keep you from interrupting again, and it was then that you noticed that his hands were shaking. His tone was a lot softer when he continued, “We just lost Jongin. You can’t… Just look at you, you’re all over the place! I don’t think you realize – you were out for a whole day, alright? A whole day. I thought you were… I thought I was losing you, too.”

Of course. You’d been so confused, so out of it since Jongdae had showed up to your house, you hadn’t even taken the time to consider him. You’d been so focused on Baekhyun that you hadn’t even thought of… Baekhyun.

You weren’t the only who’d lost a friend on the plaza.

His hands were shaking, his eyes looked glassy, his face looked oddly red and flushed. He’d chosen you, too, the same way you’d chosen him.

Slowly, you raised your hand to his cheek, caressing it tenderly. He caught it, holding it close, and breathed, “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” you said, and suddenly you felt a rush, an urge pushing you towards him, pulling on your heartstrings, pulling you closer and closer, “of course I won’t.”

He was halfway to tears, but his smile was so bright, you could have cried. You wrapped your arms around him, and his shaky exhale made you hold him tighter, tighter, until his edges blended with yours.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed, his voice trembling.

“You don’t have to.”

At this Baekhyun pulled away, just enough to see your face, but not enough for you to be separated. “What do you mean?” he asked. There was something behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite define. Trepidation – or was it expectation?

“I mean… do what you have to do. Do what you must, and don’t worry about me.” At this, his eyes darkened, an understanding passing between the two of you.

You both stayed silent for a moment, soaking in the relative peace of the night while you could. No doubt, someone else had died. You didn’t want to think about it. Staying in your room, with Baekhyun as your only company, was much more enjoyable than thinking of what could be happening outside. Softly, slowly as if any movement would break the fragile serenity that had settled in the room, you laid back down, Baekhyun tucking in his chest, in a fashion starting to become achingly familiar. This was what you wanted. This was where you were supposed to be.

“Do you want,” he whispered, “to tell me what you saw?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to tell him, but you knew you needed to, or else it would consume you. Time already felt unreal. You didn’t really know where you were. You didn’t want to be burdened any further.

“I saw a werewolf,” you answered, no louder than him. Baekhyun gave no reaction, other than a deep, steady inhale.

“Who was it?”

You hesitated again, mind flashing back to the plaza. Shiny, glassy eyes. Arms holding onto his friend for dear life. The youngest among all of you.

Sweet, timid, shining little…

“Shotaro.”

The exhale that left him was broken, shaky. You were in disbelief yourself. You couldn’t associate Shotaro with the murder of Wendy. Maybe he hadn’t done it, but he was still a wolf. And wolves killed people. Shotaro killed people. You hated the thought.

But there was something else that you had to tell Baekhyun, something that seemed a lot more important than homicidal shapeshifters.

“Baekhyun,” you called, his reply only a quiet hum. “Jongin was…”

“A God.” Even after hearing it, you had a hard time believing it. He stayed silent for a little longer, as if deliberating, before he continued, “Cupid.”

The implications fell on you like a heavy rain: Jongin was a God. But you knew that already; he’d told you, moments before his demise. Had he really died? If he was a God, then surely, he couldn’t be killed by something so small as the Guillotine. The thought brought you an odd sense of comfort. He was eternal. He hadn’t died, he’d simply gone back Up.

“Do you think…” Baekhyun started, voice small. “Do you think he struck someone?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…” he hesitated. Longing slid into his voice when he started again, “I just… do you think he struck… us?”

You contemplated answering. Jongin had told you all that you needed to know: that he’d seen an unrivaled beauty in your bond with Baekhyun, that he thought your love deserved to grow, to rise, burn and consume everything. It wouldn’t have been meddling; it was simply fated to be from the beginning.

“Does it matter?” you finally asked.

After a long silence, he finally spoke. “No.” He shifted and went quiet, before letting out, “Maybe?”

You turned around in his grasp, to find him already staring at you, eyes questioning. “He told me. He told me that… that what we had was always special.” His grip tightened around your frame, pulling you further into him. “Tonight is… I mean, last night was just… everything has to begin, Baekhyun. That’s all.”

“Right.” He tucked his head under your jaw, his breath tickling your neck. “That’s too much for one night.”

You thought about the outside world. How there was someone who had died. How there would be a trial, come morning, and another soul would be gone.

“There’s more to come, I’m sure.”

You were right.

When you awoke the next morning, it was to find a note near your front door. It looked like it’d been slipped underneath.

Trials will now be held daily. Meet at the plaza ASAP.

Jongdae. Right – he was the Captain. It couldn’t be helped, he had authority over you now. You made your way to the plaza hastily, dragging a grumbling Baekhyun behind you.

The scene was oddly familiar, when you arrived, the only difference being that you weren’t dead last this time. Already, you were back on this cursed plaza. Much too soon for your liking, but what could you do? The pavement was clean, but the Guillotine was still there, looming over your menacingly. Who would be next?

You felt strangely numb, walking closer to the group. Jongdae was nowhere in sight. Neither was Jongin…

Of course Jongin isn’t there, idiot, you scolded yourself. He’s dead.

Not dead, no, but still gone. And yet somehow, you still expected him to pop up at any time. He wouldn’t, you knew he wouldn’t. But you still wanted him to. Your chest felt too tight, suddenly, and you pulled your thoughts away from him. You couldn’t think of him. He wasn’t dead. He was just Up.

You examined the plaza in an attempt to distract yourself, but your eyes landed on the last person you wanted to see.

Shotaro was crowded between Sehun, Junmyeon, Taeyong and Johnny. He looked a little out of it, but you couldn’t trust the numb expression on his face – it was fake.

Traitor, you thought grimly.

One may think that you would have trouble turning against him, after finding out. You’d held him dear for years and years; he may as well have been your little brother. Shotaro was always beloved – he was everyone’s baby, after all. The thought only angered you. He’d basked in your love, in your kindness and your adoration, while simultaneously planning your death; him and every other wolf in the town. You wanted him gone. You wanted them all gone.

You just wanted everyone gone.

Before you could dwell on your morbid thoughts, someone walked up to you. Kyungsoo. He… really didn’t look good. His face was an odd, dull shade of yellow, far from the beautiful golden skin he usually sported. His eyes looked bloodshot, and his lips were almost purple. The events of the last two days were dragging everyone through the mud, it seemed.

“Kyungsoo, hey,” you greeted.

“Hi,” he replied distractedly. “Good to see you both, we were getting worried.”

“Who’s not here?” Baekhyun questioned apprehensively.

“For now, Irene, Yerim, Lisa, Jennie, Yixing-hyung and Jongdae-hyung.”

“That’s… a whole lot of people, actually.”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo let out flatly. “I told you we were getting worried.”

“Hey, are you okay?” you inquired. “You… don’t look so good.”

He brushed you off easily. “I’ll be fine. But you need to come see this.”

That surprised you. It wasn’t often that Kyungsoo came to you personally for help. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I need your… let’s just say I need a second opinion.” He threw Baekhyun a glance, then looked down at your intertwined hands. “And a third, if hyung wants to come with. The more, the merrier, right?”

He didn’t look merry at all.

You turned to Baekhyun, intrigued, and followed after him. On the way, you passed by Jisoo and Rosé, holding each other tightly. They didn’t answer you when you greeted them; you doubted they’d even noticed you.

Kyungsoo brought you to the side of City Hall. There was a small gathering, hidden from the view of the people on the plaza. They all seemed to be surrounding something.

No, not something. Someone.

You scanned the small crowd. Joy, Chanyeol, Jaehyun, Yuta, Seulgi, Minseok… and now Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you, all surrounding a panicked-looking Mark.

“Hey, now…” Baekhyun turned to Chanyeol, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s Mark,” replied the taller.

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Baekhyun snarked. “What’s up, Mark?”

“Hyung…” Mark looked on the verge of tears, his eyes glassy and flighty. “I don’t know, man, they just dragged me out here. I didn't even do anything!”

You opened your mouth to placate him, but Kyungsoo’s hand dropped on your shoulder. “His eyes. Look at his eyes.”

You did. They looked glassy, a perfect mirror of Baekhyun earlier in the night. You couldn’t tell what…

“Oh, fuck me.”

That one came from the bottom of your heart.

“You see it too, right?” Kyungsoo seemed slightly more hesitant now that you were there. “I’m not crazy?”

“No, Kyungsoo.” You reached out and put a hand between his shoulder blades, in what you hoped was a comforting manner and not a final, we’re-all-gonna-die pat on the back. “You’re not crazy. Who noticed first?”

“Joy.”

“Alright. Baekhyun,” you called. Baekhyun turned around and nodded towards you to signal his attention. "Watch over Mark. Things just got a thousand times more complicated."

You grabbed Joy’s hand and dragged her away from the gathering, away from Mark and his glassy eyes, away from the noise and the confusion and the near panic rising among them all.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hi,” she smiled, but you could tell that it was forced. The loss of both Wendy and Jongin had affected her, it was obvious. Her eyes were red, and she sniffled from time to time. And yet, she had ignored it all in favor of pulling Mark away from the others as soon as she’d noticed something was wrong. You had to admit, she was impressive.

She was impressive, but she still burst into tears when your eyes met – and so did you. You hugged each other tightly, and it felt so good to let it out. Joy… she was so brave. How often had you gone to her, in tears, looking for comfort? She was always the pillar you’d needed, if not for decision-making, then for emotional support. You didn’t get along with anyone else in quite the same way you got along with her; she was just special like that. It felt wrong to see her cry – but at the same time, it felt just right. If there was any way, however small, for you to return the favor for all the sweaters you’d soaked with tears and snot, then you would.

You don’t know how long you spent holding each other, but when she spoke, still wrapped around you, as if afraid to let go, her voice had lost its previous shakiness, and regained its gentle sternness that you’d grown to love.

“Mark was… he was acting really strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I saw him arrive at the plaza and… he didn’t recognize me.”

Now that took you by surprise. There was no way anyone could forget a face; you all knew each other much too well. You pulled away, and your shock must’ve shown on your face, because Joy started nodding frantically.

“I know, it was really strange.” She looked away, as if reminiscing. “And I remember wondering if he was drunk, at first. He was looking around like he was lost, or like he didn’t know what he was doing here. And then he saw me, and I said ‘Hello!’ and he… he blanked completely. And his eyes... You don’t – you don’t think…?”

“I don’t know…” you cut off the lie before you could deliver it. You would’ve said that you didn’t know what to think – but that was a plain lie, because you knew exactly what she was talking about, and you didn’t want to lie to her. Not after everything. “Joy,” you sighed, “this isn’t good. Not at all.”

“Right..” she nodded and looked away from you, seemingly losing herself in her thoughts. “Right. Of course. I… I figured. But I was hoping it wouldn’t be… you know.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you did, anyway. “It is. It definitely is, and we need to tell Jongdae.”

“Tell me what?”

Joy jumped, and you let out a small yelp. Jongdae had an odd gift for showing up out of nowhere whenever his name was mentioned.

“What’s wrong?”

This time, you almost screamed. Baekhyun had just appeared behind you. You could’ve sworn he was still with Kyungsoo and everyone else. “Hey,” he grabbed your arm. “What’s going on?”

Now that Jongdae was here, now that you had figured it out with Joy, a wave of hopelessness washed over you. Everything was getting worse and worse. The group was getting smaller in front of your very eyes, and there was nothing you could do about. People kept dying and there was nothing you could do about it. You could only watch. Observe. A bystander. A spectator.

There was only one person who could comfort you.

“I need to talk to Jong –“

Oh.

Right.

Jongin wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t comfort you. He wouldn’t hold you or tease you. He wouldn’t do anything anymore, because he was gone. Not dead. But still gone. Up. Right.

Baekhyun’s face swam into your vision. He was looking down at you, expression completely neutral, but his arms were wide open. You took your chance – diving right into them and squeezing him tightly. You wondered for a moment if he could breathe, but quickly decided that it wasn’t too important.

“Baekhyun,” you called, voice much too small for your liking.

“Yes?” he replied just as softly.

“Go get Kyungsoo. Tell him to bring Mark up to the podium.”

Baekhyun pulled away from you, and left a tender kiss on your temple before moving away. Jongdae was staring you down, gaze questioning, but he didn’t say a thing. You took it upon yourself to answer his unspoken question.

“It’s the Fae. The Fae’s in town.”

night one | night three

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The joke only spurs him on, the echoes of his steps a quickening rain of sounds behind her, and she squeals in her little delightful triumph. The palace lake in the nearing distance is a sheet of rippling blue, and hyacinths dot the dark, drenched earth around it in flecks of lilac and green. She yelps when he finally gets to her, letting out a fake wail as he drags her to sit near the water simply to annoy him further, and the sheen of sweat and sheepishness on his face is unmistakable.

"You must call me nothing except orabeoni." He sighs, then pats at her head. "And I shouldn't care if she is with him."

Even when in the leading strings of her later childhood, Jaehwa was perceptive. The years that separated the two half-siblings were substantial, but hardly surprising, especially for royals, and the little girl had just enough grit and gusto, even at that age, to become her brother's stockpile of secrets, but along with her wick of patience came the fire of her mischief, and it would be futile to count down the number of times this munchkin has almost spilt the tea of his infatuations before the royal guard's daughter.

Jaehwa scoots closer to her brother as he sighs, sneakily wiping her muddy hands onto his hanbok and making him squall at her giggling self. In return, he smooths out the creases in her dress and picks a stray leaf out of her hair, poking at her forehead.

"But you... you love her! Don't you?"

The flush that surges from the half-covered planes of his neck, onto the crests of his sunned cheeks and the tips of his ears is a dead giveaway of the reply he keeps himself from speaking aloud. He busies himself, flicking at blades of grass that sweep across the cool breadth of the lakeshore, pouting his way through his newfound method of evasion from his sister's curiosity.

To Jaehwa, there was hardly anything complicated about her brother's predicament, even though she enjoyed using the name of her brother's crush to needle at his flimsy patience when nothing else could entertain her childlike wonders. In her juvenile frame of reference, there was not much that her brother could be refused. The world was his rightful oyster, at least in her judgement, and she would watch him wear the pearls he so desired.

"Little lark", he sighs more than he says the name he'd given her once—in the aftermath of her inconsolable tears upon finding a bird with a broken wing, insisting that the prince heal it back to health so it can be their new friend. "Do you not like flowers?"

The princess nods vehemently, a smile etching itself onto her face just from the mental image of the coloured clusters that grow beneath the windows of her palace chambers. "Daisies are my favourite, and lilies! And roses, too!"

"Do you like wearing them?" Her brother chuckles, placing a fond hand back over her tiny head, smoothing out the strands of hair that have slipped from her braid and found their way to kiss at her face. "Maybe the queen likes to add them to your tea when you fall sick?"

"Mother dresses my hair with them during ceremonies." Jaehwa frowns at that, a quick shake of her head showing her dismay. Her mother would often jest about how the princess had been born with her tenacity, but accompanied with the needless altruism of the former queen, strangely so—perhaps a quality weaved into her from her father's lingering affinity for his departed wife. "But they're the prettiest when they're in the sun. I don't like to pick them."

The prince smiles at that, aglow in his satisfaction of the answer he was hoping to elicit from her, but it thins itself into the spring air as he stares out at the water and sighs. "What brings us joy is often not meant for us to hold. We leave them to fate, like lilies in the sun."

Jaehwa burrows into his side, a wordless knowing that his heart feels as blue as the lake and her proximity could help. He puts his arm around her small frame, the indigo of his hanbok meeting the pink of her own like petals falling onto a welcome wave of water. They could only ever be this close when they were without the prying eyes of the palace—because that place demands that they refuse to see eye to eye, that they give into the divergence of their bloodlines. Tiny hands clasp at his robe as his palm makes soothing passes over her hair, lulling her into a sunlit siesta, but even at the brink of sleep, she wishes she could ensure the happiness of her favourite person, because she's certain that she'd never fail to find her bliss in it.

"If she is a rose", she whispers, using the final waking ends of her childlike wits, "then you are, too. You can smile up at the sun together."

Now, standing at the edge of the doorway that looks out onto the woods, her hands holding the severed halves of a sickle she would need the next morning to forage for food, she thinks of him—and what might have become of him after she was ripped away from him, turning her existence into an elegy overnight. The birdsong that floats in from behind the ferns feels like a farce, and she inhales a steely breath before stepping out. She stops right in front of a figure hunched over a flimsy shaft of bamboo, rhythmic swipes of his knife running over the edges of the block. The dark blue of his robe resembled a starless night, and could perhaps eclipse the sun if he reached out to it. His long hair is tied away from the sharp lines of his face, kissing the back of his neck in a rumpled sheen of black.

"Would you repair this for me?"

There is a moment of alarm on the face that meets her, instinctual disquiet from the sudden intrusion, that slowly gets veiled behind a curtain of cool disinterest.

"This is like the fifth time you've broken it since we got here", Sehun sighs as he leans out to take the broken equipment from her hands, the nonchalance of his voice deceptively even. "One would guess that I haven't taught you a single thing."

"Of course you have." Jaehwa barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes at her reluctant keeper. "Your lessons in meaningless scorn are invaluable to our survival, seonsaengnim."

Any of her further comments are clamped down beneath her tongue when her eyes find the raised curve of his brow, the lilting beginnings of an offence that could be taken heavily to heart if he tried his best, if he pretended to be at his worst.

"One would've guessed that you'd be accustomed to peasanthood by now, princess."

That was a cue for this conversation to end, his offhanded mention of her true upbringing, and she took it by dropping the sickle blade into his open palms. Contrary to the countless times she's convinced herself that every mention of her real social station is meant as a spear to her heart, she's never truly felt hurt in the wake of the utterance itself, so there is now a question that has grown roots and flourished into a pillar of doubt in her head—of whether she's simply succeeded in building her fortress of resilience, or if the tree of his hostility has been losing its bark. The edges of her straw-woven sandals shuffle against the earth as she turns away and walks back to the hut, thinking of the fire that needs to be started and the water that has to be poured out, when she's made to pause by the echo of Sehun's voice.

"There has been fog up on the hill this week", he says in a manner that would have been patronizing—enough for her to not look back and pay attention if said by almost anyone else. "From the rains. And the trails have been slippery." He inspects the wooden handle of the sickle she had just handed him, inhaling deeply enough for her to frown before tossing it aside. "I'll go with you tomorrow if you need me to. We can catch some fish from the stream if it's bright enough."

The awaiting look on his face is arcane as Jaehwa comes up with a reply: it seems like an unsaid invitation, but everything about Sehun—the man who held a knife at her throat while her home went up in flames, but also the one who carried her on his back when she was overcome from the hopeless fatigue of abandonment—is both an anchor and an arrow. The desire to hold a rose has never come without the promise of its thorn, and few know it as well as her. If given the choice, she knows he will have little heed or hesitation to leave her behind. She has known little beyond being a liability, after all.

"I shall be fine, I think", she finally says, trying to ignore the blank look of acceptance she receives in return. "I will try and fish for a carp like I did the last time, and you can gut it out for me before I cook." Unwittingly so, she adds, "Watching it die makes me unwell."

The slice of sunlight painted across the porch of the shack disappears almost as soon as Jaehwa does, a stray cloud holding back the daylight as Sehun goes back to work, but for the rest of the morning the phantom scent of blood follows the trail of his breath, and when he takes a nap after lunch, he sees blue-fletched arrows and a crown rolling in the dust.

Even without your vision, his presence was unmistakable, much like the shift in the air and the disruption of the moonbeam that had been sitting against your closed eyes, illuminating the cramped confines of your cell.

"You shouldn't be seeing me so often", you whisper, only for his hearing, and are taken aback by the exhaustion in your voice. The aflame torches sputter as the guard escorting him walks away, but not without a begrudging stare that is meant to discourage his arrival. "They’ll assume you have conflicting biases." The shuffle of hay releases a smell sodden enough to make you retch, and your accomplice passes you a helping of water to drink, settling onto his knees as he looks at you.

"When was the last time you slept?", he asks, more careful than he has ever sounded before.

You don’t dare to tell Chanyeol about the haunting of your dreams, even though you have more faith in his empathy than in most other things right now. The lines between your consciousness and its lack thereof have never been thinner to you, and every moment that you have spent in this cell yearning for the oblivion of sleep, the further away you have found yourself from it—and the times when your being could not sustain itself without its rest, you've only wandered the looming palace of your mind, greeted by the phantom presences of your lost family, and they'd somehow always end upon the recurring ghosts of bloodstained arrows and a smile that loses itself to the eclipsing void of death.

"Not too long ago", you lie, and given his lack of an immediate response, you take it that the catastrophe within you is mirrored outward in full measure. "Did the physician have any news?"

The shake of his head is certainly imperceptible to anyone but you in the oblique darkness of your surroundings, in case anyone were to be a voyeur of the ongoing rendezvous. The rest of the water refuses to go down your throat, so you give up and settle into watching your friend, the gears of your mind striving ahead in leaps and bounds of anxiety. You are beyond trusting that Chanyeol would move mountains and seas to reach you if your husband had shown any semblance of recovery—if anything, you would perhaps be unwilling to lean into any form of relief that a missive like that would bring to you, and he would have to employ all of his persuasions for you to be honest with yourself and your own heart.

"The kind of message you’re waiting for”, he starts with a sigh, and you almost smile—your only brush with any emotion outside of fear in weeks. “You’ll receive it when it's daylight. Discreetly, of course."

"To think that we are indeed in a time where it is you instructing me about discretion." The moonlight shapes itself around the lines of his neck and the contours of his ears. The metal circlet around his topknot gleams like a beacon, his existence a silver lining in the permanence of your every worry. "We have truly grown up, haven't we?"

Chanyeol scoffs, the quaking edges of his silhouette a token of his concealed laughter. "I am the king of subtlety. I don't know why you would pin such slander onto me." He tosses a strand of hay at you, and you scrunch your nose in mock offence, relieved for the ephemeron of his humour.

"You do not possess a single suave bone in your body, general."

The conversation dies in the coattails of your conjoined mirth, and his countenance turns abruptly apologetic soon after, sparking a streak of unease within you. In the dark, you do not have the complete scope of reading between the lines of his gaze—even with having your vision adjusted to this ambience from your indefinite incarceration here—so you wait, hoping for him to divulge his mind to you.

"I will be away", he begins, and you let yourself sigh in the wake of his words, clearly having expected something infinitely worse. "The envoy from Nihon arrives this week, and I have been asked to be in constant attendance."

Despite all of the fatigued burdens of your unrested body, you can't help but immediately zero in on the absurdity of the development. "Did the king not annul the invitation for the time being? Ky—", you clear your throat, getting a hold back on how the cadence of your speech has slipped a little beyond your control. "The crown prince had been beside himself in his arrangements to attend to the envoy personally when they arrive. The two courts should have discussed a later date for this occasion."

"That's one thing", the general says, sounding more grave than he has since his arrival to your cell, "and from what I have gathered, the arrival was slated to be later in the year. It is odd that they would hasten the visit, with or without the news of the prince's health."

Your chest clamps down upon your breath from this piece of knowledge, even though the fact that the court would refuse to broadcast the matter of the attack on the prince is hardly surprising. Kingship is a matter held far above the wellbeing of one single man, after all, even if the man in question happened to be the gravity that the future of the nation hinged upon.

"Have you perhaps", you venture, unsure of even putting your anxiety into words, "discussed this with anyone else at the court?"

"Absolutely not", Chanyeol replies, his voice devoid of any possible hesitation. "It isn't as if no one else has thought of it, but you know how the nobles are. They'd sleep through wars while the country went up in flames, as long as they survived." You hear the shuffle of silk as he slumps back into the wall, and the light from the flaming torches outside now veers itself into becoming lines of fire along the edges of his jaw. "I considered bringing this up with Lieutenant Kim, since the prince is under his care, but he has been... preoccupied beyond belief, to say the least."

"Did they", you whisper, unbearably apprehensive of everything that surrounds you and your circle of people in the palace, especially in the undefined absence of yourself and the prince from the courtly ongoings. "Did they attempt to punish the lieutenant for insisting on my innocence when the prince was attacked?" His silhouette shifts as he leans away from his backrest, reaching out for your hand, but you shake your head, looking around for watchful eyes. You understand, and appreciate, that he means to pacify you, but the world has never been good at encouraging you into accepting open invitations of kindness—you would rather get acquainted with the cold hard truth you are meant to face. "Just tell me."

"The king did not wish to dwell upon the incident further, but the queen's insistence on disciplining him was ludicrous." The grimace that his face contorts into catches your eyes despite the absence of light in your vicinity. "She almost had him transferred to the borders, asking him to return to the palace only when he agreed to not testify for you at the hearing."

Your feet curl in on themselves within your shoes, as do your fingers, pressing raw, red crescents into the calloused surface of your palms. "Did they not try to dismiss you?"

The silence that percolates into the gap in the conversation gives you a firm sense of what Chanyeol had gone through, an estimation of the price he pays for being on your side of the fence. Your jaw hurts from being clenched against the ire that threaten to spill forth, held within a curtain of quietened tears that, you hope, he is unable to see in the dark. You consider the unprecedented repercussions of your divorce from the one promise you had held onto for years, and the mental cumulative of it, at least to you, seems no less than what the guilt of a true assassination would perhaps feel like.

"The queen called on my father", he bites out, "even after I had made a prudent request to the king before I came to work at the palace, that my lineage be kept aloof from my position here." The forceful exhale that exits his body finally tips over the tears that you had been restraining, and you wipe them away with the back of your wrist. "If I wanted a life built on my father's charity, I would not have left."

"You should not persist on visiting me, then", you entreat him, torn between the safe logic of his withdrawal—if he chooses to do so—and the indelible void his absence would carve into your time in this detention. "I would never want to be the sword that looms over your existence."

"It has never been just about you, though." This quietude is an ache, saturated with his knowings that you are fully aware of him withholding from your awareness. "When we were growing up, never for a day had I felt like we were anything but family. Every time I would see your father come home from the palace, tired but certain that he had done nothing but his best, it would only cement my wish to be like him one day. Both of us, and Sehun—we never considered anything beyond this country as our destiny. Never in our wildest dreams did we imagine being jeopardized this way." Chanyeol scoffs, letting himself breathe through his contemplation, before he rises up from the ground, his grand stature eclipsing the moon in his departure. "This is not the nation we dreamt of serving."

The air smells of myrrh as he rounds the corner, his steps soundless against the ornate flooring of the prince's residence, the weight of his sword heavy at his waist. The moon has waned over the weeks that he has been made to keep his distance, and tonight, it is absent altogether, making him rely on the flamed slivers of light from the torches in the palace hallways. When his feet stop at the doors of the chambers, he takes a moment to breathe away the anxiety that has unfurled in his chest as he commits to what could either be the undoing of his life or the first stepping stone towards what he considers justice to be.

That morning, Junmyeon had received intel about the king's summons for the prince's consort, and had been horrified with the knowledge that, contrary to the usual three interrogations that take place for an alleged criminal, she shall only have one—because the court had unanimously nodded yes to closing the investigations of the crown prince's assault before the arrival of the envoy from Nihon—and without at least three separate accounts of evidence against the accusations pinned onto her, she has little hope of getting out of that cell, and imprisonment is the lesser devil of the two that await her. If the queen had her way, she might as well be noosed around her throat and hung from the palace eaves like an ominous red flag of caution.

The indigo candle on the writing desk flickers as the lieutenant moves along the walls, shadows blooming across the walls like ink overcoming the empty grey of parchment. He kneels at the edge of the bed, the benumbed inertia of the prince's figure tugging at the ends of his jaw until it is painfully clenched. The entire way here, he told himself he is doing this for his best friend, for the love that this man has kept stifled within the stitched bindings of his written words. There is no doubt that this can be considered a betrayal, an unbelievable act of treason when it comes to the candour he shares with his superior, but if there is a way he could salvage anything from the fires that they have been entrapped in, this could be his best attempt. Feeling a sense of blinding guilt despite being rooted in the greater goods of his actions, Junmyeon looks away, a stuttered sigh leaving his mouth as he unlocks the secret cabinet in the prince's desk, and pulls out a dark blue journal. Taking one last look at his friend, he slips out through the window, his shadow disappearing into the night without a trace of evidence.

Across the prince's palace is the bridge, and Junmyeon's feet almost slip without the aid of light to guide his way over it, but even then, his eyes do not lose sight of the figure that anxiously awaits him on the other end. Her braid rests along the curve of her spine, reaching beyond the small of her back, the ribbon at the end a dark, burnt gold—the colour of the queen's palace. She recognises his arrival even before he has reached where she stands, bowing deeply as she untucks a set of letters from the satchel at her side. The sounds of nightly crickets almost drown out the gasp that leaves her when their fingers touch as he takes the letters from her.

"Thank you, Lady Hwang", he whispers, letting the air carry the ache of his formality over to her. Despite how brief and desultory their interactions are, it has not been overlooked by him that no one ever makes him as bereft of language as her. Every moment they've shared is a stolen one—an allowance of time and secrecy from the distractions of the palace, as if their togetherness could only ever exist as a theory, as a fantasy, as a thing to be thrown to the side when the iron hand of the kingdom clamps down too hard on the world around them—but maybe it is for the best. He is not even sure if he will be here long enough to see the prince wake up, to accompany the consort out of her unjust incarceration, let alone have time to lead her on with what they had believed to be something affectionate, something along the lines of an unsaid promise. "I cannot ascertain the outcome we are hoping for, but I applaud your courage and generosity for risking your wellbeing to be my accomplice in this task."

She sighs. "If you want to continue speaking to me that way, I suggest that you stop."

Junmyeon, despite himself and his knowledge of their closeness, is taken aback by her crisp directness. "I do not—"

"I once believed that there was no greater fear than you finding the truth of my feelings for you. You", she looks away, staring into the seamless dark of the night, "the prince's royal guard, his best friend. Me, a mere handmaiden. Nothing could quite triumph the terror I felt every time you would visit the queen and I would be subjected to your gaze because no one", she turns back to him, "had ever looked at me and seen anything beyond a pair of hands that pours tea and serves food and carries letters. I had not known my worth until the first time you had said my name. And you are taking that away from me. You are giving me a new fear."

"It is for a reason." The cold air stings at the lieutenant's eyes—or at least that's what he reasons with himself as he swallows back a knot in his parched throat. "I cannot even assure you that the next time you see me, it isn't at my funeral." A helpless breath of rage clambers up his throat, and he veils it behind a scoff. "Criminals charged with treason are not even allowed their last rites, so I am perhaps expecting too much as it is."

A tender hand blankets the cold ice of his wrist, and he holds back a ragged sigh, just for a moment, until the warmth extends across his skin and then proceeds to envelop the breadth of the back which he has turned towards her. Her arms come to circle his waist, and he finally relinquishes the exhale he has been repressing. It had felt like the only thing within his control, that air in his chest, and now she's made it her own—much like everything in his life that now carry her very heart.

"If we are to help two people stay in love, even to the point of risking our lives", she whispers into his back, a muted hymn for the chill that sits against his skin despite her closeness, "the least we can do is not drive ourselves apart. I am not capable of a life without you."

The world before Junmyeon mists over, the flowers in the distance looking like flecks of snow until he discreetly wipes his eyes free of their tears. Turning around, he puts his arms around his lover, tight enough to make him wish that he could fuse himself into her very blood.

"Haewon", he bites out, aggrieved in his helpless misery of not being able to restore any of his loved ones to their joys, her name almost a prayer in his mouth. "I'm taking you away from here once the prince is well again. I will ask for enlistment to the borders if that is what will let us leave."

His lover smiles up at him, a sad curve of her lips that demands that it be kissed free of its every sorrow—so he does. The stars watch as he leaves the salt of his mouth against hers and when she opens her eyes, they've turned into diamonds, eternal and inestimable.

"You would never leave the prince", she gives him a lopsided grin, "he will take the throne soon enough and there is no one he would want by his side more than you and the consort. But as long as you marry me and not your job, I think we shall be okay."

Despite himself, the lieutenant's face catches onto a sheepish shade of pink and he looks down, his hands holding Haewon's smaller ones within his own. His eyes never leave her unadorned left hand, the bare skin of her ring finger leaving a resolute feeling in his chest. One day it will not look so empty anymore. One day, she will be his wife.

One day. Sadly, that day is not today.

The sun is yet to spill its breath of red across the horizon, but you’re awake, barely holding onto your consciousness at this point. The acute insomnia since that fateful day has rendered you boneless, and the lack of appetite has not helped one bit. Every strand of sleep that has visited you during this time has been filled with the oddest of omens about your shared childhood with the prince, and the indelible stain of your father’s blood upon the king’s hands. It should make you despise Kyungsoo, and perhaps in some ways you still do, but he has lost just as much to this palace as you have, and it feels like you’ve hit a dead end with your animosity for him. Is it fair to point your sword at a man who’s already bleeding?

You’d heard the echoed flourish of soldiers leaving the palace a while ago, and could imagine Chanyeol's towering stature heading the contingent that goes to Nihon. He had tried to make his presence felt in all ways except physical before his departure, you know this—there had been discreet deliveries of your favourite fruits, followed by a worn copy of the novel you used to read with him when you were younger. For his sake and for your own, you hope this expedition of his is not a way for the royal court to somehow get him out of the way for their conceited plans to proceed.

The book is open in your lap and the sun has just overcome the pale blues of dawn when careful footsteps break through your mild nap. A soldier stands, decked in the typical dark blue and maroon that every palace official wears, and even with your weariness, you don’t fail to notice the way he keeps his face angled away from view, only the jut of his jaw visible from beneath his headdress. He’s alone, of a stature that is slightly above average, with a letter clasped in his hands, and from all your experience of seeing such men at your door when your father was alive and at the service of the king, you know that royal messengers never visit by themselves. There is always one who carries the letter, one who reads it out to whom it may concern, and a third who stands guard in case of any misfortune.

"Who sent you?"

The man spares a glance around, then lowers himself towards where you sit, behind the bars of the cell, and slips the letter through the gaps. There is nothing remarkable about it, no royal stamps to be careful of, but the moment the envelope falls away, the cursive that is laced across the parchment is unmistakable. Most of the letters from the crown prince would be written by this hand, and your heart seizes up in fond recognition.

"Is the lieutenant okay?", you ask the faceless soldier, aching for your voice to take to a volume that is discreet but still loud enough for everything you wish to convey. "Is he in the palace? With the crown prince?"

The man stands back up, answering with a sombre shake of his head. His sheathed sword sits at his waist like a promise of protection. Distant echoes of heavy, measured footfalls close in, and he looks at you, alarmed, face now in full view from his pointed stare at the letter in your hand. He then bows and takes off, hat lowered back onto his face as he leaves. You stow away the envelope as the guard posted outside your cell returns, and carefully fold the lieutenant’s message into your book to read through its contents in secrecy.

To Her Highness, The Crown Princess of Joseon

You can’t help but bristle at the title. You wonder if he does this out of some oblique purpose because when you write your own letters, you only ever address yourself as a royal consort. Tamping down on the exasperated sigh that threatens to leave you and alert the security unit outside, you proceed with your quiet reading.

This message should have reached you a long time ago, but I believe that you must have gathered some news of me from General Park. I have, unfortunately, been reassigned to the second prince, and there are strict constraints upon my presence around the crown prince. I assure you that I am in good health, but as long as the queen holds onto her suspicions, I do not think I will be capable of giving you any further news of your husband.

Husband. That term has never been a part of your equation with the prince, and yet, it is too late for you to hold onto the idea that you can be nonchalant about him. Even with the lack of marital joys, there have been few moments when he hasn’t consumed you from the inside out, and you might just regret not taking your own steps towards a truce with him before... before.

If it helps, I did have a rather quick meeting with the royal physician before I was stationed away. He said that the arrow didn’t graze too far into his heart, but it did damage nerves that control the bloodflow to his brain. His memory and consciousness are, therefore, at stake, and the fall he took from the attack didn’t help either. The arrow also left a fracture in one of his ribs, and being comatose is the only way he can not be in pain. General Park and I also made some rounds of the capital in hopes of finding some clue of the assassin, but have been unsuccessful so far. I am doing my best on my own for now, since the general is away, but we will resume our search in full force when he returns.

A crucial point of worry right now is your upcoming trial. I have received the untoward news that the court is planning to hold just one interrogation for you, even though the law abides and makes judgements on the basis of three. The king is preparing to meet the diplomat from Nihon, the daughter of Chancellor Takauji, and he is being convinced by Vice-Premier Jeong and Governor Park that he must conclude your case before she arrives here.

Your fingernails dig deep crescents into your palms as you read about Governor Park’s involvement, almost drawing blood. He must be trying to benefit from the catastrophe that befallen you and the crown prince, and siding with the court must be somehow getting him into the queen’s graces. It shatters your heart that Chanyeol would keep from mentioning this to you, but you’re also not surprised—you can only imagine the deep shame he feels about his father being this way.

If everything goes well with this letter, you will receive it two days from now, just after dawn. If General Park meets you anytime before, he will surely be letting you know of it, so you can be prepared. I have assigned one of the newer sergeants to the task, since there are lesser chances of him being recognised. He will remain anonymous during your encounter according to the orders he received from me, but for your personal record and any future help, please refer to him as Sergeant Zhang.

I have been... in the process of taking certain measures to prove your innocence in court. I am sorry if they cause you grief when you encounter them. Please remember that I have your best interests in mind, and this is the least I can do for you and the crown prince. I am far below your rank and lineage, and maybe I am flying too close to the sun, but I like to believe that we are friends in some remote capacity. There is little I wouldn’t do anything to preserve what we have. It is my job, after all.

I will, hopefully, see you at your trial. Please take care.

Regards

Lt. Kim.

Dawn arrives with heavy footsteps and the rattle of iron chains.

There is a shadow perched upon the palace roof, a splinter of darkness in the daybreak that kisses the clouds until they look like cottoned curls of pink. Below Sehun, there is a herald announcing his message outside a cell, so he assumes that it is a criminal being taken to the gallows. Halfway into it, he pauses and listens further carefully.

"Y/n, the daughter of the former king’s guard and the consort to the crown prince..."

Sehun almost trips off his spot and crashes into the stairs below, but he digs his palms into the bricks below him and holds his breath, eavesdropping with grave concern.

"... being presented in the court of His Majesty, the king of Joseon, for her alleged involvement in the attempted assassination of the crown prince..."

Before he can think or have better ideas about what he had just discovered, Sehun has already latched an arrow into his bow and is aiming for an angle that can somehow put an end to everything he is hearing. The daylight changes while he’s getting ready to target, and he then sees you, the side of your sullen face illuminated by the nascent sun.

He misses wildly, but is able to escape back into hiding before the cacophony below reaches a peak. He has already left before they take her away to court, and before being able to see that his arrow had ripped through the royal message, the ruined parchment now stuck to a pillar outside his sister’s cell.

When he finally returns to his hut in the woods, Jaehwa is already awake, but still not prepared for the way he storms past her, off to the pond nearby for a bath. Hours later, she’s outside his room, asking if he wants some tea with his lunch. He doesn't reply. The door remains shut for the rest of the day.

It’s only when she’s going to bed, putting out the candles around the house a while after moonrise, does she notice his shoes and his daytime robe, left outside on the porch. The stray petals of cherry blossom that litter the ground leave a jolt of fear in her chest. When she picks the garment up from the cot, she finds his bow underneath, along with a quiver of arrows. The feathers at the ends look like blue velvet under the moon, and she thinks of how indigo was her brother’s favourite colour.