LIGHT / 日光

He hurries over now with all the barely contained titillation of a child eager to unwrap a present, as if venturing within their den alone was some kind of gift; their little feet eager, padding over the couch with a gasp, his yellow eyes wide and excited. "Is this for me?" he looked at the pillow and blanket and smiled wide, briskly pulling the blanket with a sharp yank—a soft giggle falling from his lips. Baeksa wasted no time rushing to them, their outstretched arm an invitation he could not bring himself to deny. He drags the blanket, and wraps it around Haneul's torso, lowering himself to his knee, nestling against their chest, pulling the blanket around him, too, trapping them inside a cocoon. "It is late... why are you not in bed, mm?" the concern was mutual, that little, upturned nose hanging there like a challenge as he brings his hand to cup Haneul's cheek, his thumb brushing against the dark circles under their eyes. "You look tired... can't I help with anything?"

to see those familiar golden eyes widen with excitement and surprise, followed by laughter, not faux or pretense, genuine — is something that haneul treasures. in secret, away from eyes that hold dark motives, in the safety of rooms where there is no one else but them. their protection is both like a cloak and a shadow, all-encompassing and ever-present, regardless of what one might wish. from the moment they held their little brother, they had made an oath, and they would rather stare dead in the eye of a forsaken before breaking that oath. most of their motivations had strengthened to stone that night, and now, hearing baeksa genuinely happy around them- is something they do not take lightly. ends of their lips turn into a small smile, eyes softening, all signs that would be difficult to spot to an unfamiliar eye, all signs of haneul being simply fond. a low hum from their throat, the younger settles on top of them as if it is second nature, and maybe it is. the blanket wraps around them both, and in his presence, they feel calmer, as if the chaos from minutes before has settled instead of buzzing around their head. how nonsensical, irrational- unlike who they are, anywhere else but here. at the question, their eyebrows move up slightly, in good jest, words similar to teasing, another behavior that is reserved here. "it's hyung's duty to worry- not yours." it's simple, and they wish baeksa to take it as it is. no denial that it is late, that they have been working for the entire day now — for they do not lie. not to baeksa, not between them. although they are constantly working to make sure the younger is well, in one piece, away from dangerous experiments and people, they have never lied to him, and never will. with their love, their respect comes; they find honesty to be the sign of their devotion, their trust in return. cold fingertips brush against dark skin, the purple of their robes not helping lighten the circles underneath their eyes. on worse days, they are known to use powder to not show the weakness that might be attributed to it; however, here, they are stripped bare. surprisingly, it does not bring discomfort as it should. a shake of their head, their eyes move to their own shoulder, where baeksa is known to rest and fall asleep on long nights where they study. "i am alright. nothing that requires an additional hand." they just need to think, and try to chart a course. a feat easier said than done when roads keep shifting. "rest. i'll keep you company as well."

she comes to nudge her foot against the bucket of dead fish next to her, the wood worn by the salt, by the labor of many morning on shore and wave.  " four coppers a pound. though staring i suppose it would be free. "  as morgana finally looks up, her violet eyes are darkened by the shadow, like a bruising dusk. there’s a breath, then a cord of intestine yanked from within the hollow.  " you know, most customers tend to speak. "

ends of dark robes flutter against the wind blowing from the sea, revealing the maroon cloth underneath. amidst sailors and seagulls, haneul sticks out like a sore thumb. a mirage almost, grim reaper with its hands behind its back, not searching, simply there. face pale and expression steely, their eyes do not wander around as if they are lost, but as someone with a purpose. the smell of fish is revolting to say the least, and it only gets worse once they have spotted her. quietly they stop near the ship, gaze stuck on the entrails of whichever fish was unlucky enough for the day. soon enough, seagulls will find and feed, leaving only the smell and stickiness in their wake. it will remain there until the sea tides over and salt washes over it. the nudge against the bucket only seems to send another waft of smell out of it, and if haneul was a lesser person, they'd have grimaced. instead, they look up with a stare, unimpressed, dark eyes meeting violet, searching without word. long enough that it might seem they are mute. "i am looking for something of value..." other than rotted fish, or what seems like it. momentarily, their eyes wander over the ship different than the others on the dock, before turning back to its owner. "and i suppose i am unlike most other customers." if not from the way they speak, it's apparent by the cut of their clothes, the expensive nature of the fabric. "are you interested in a conversation outside of fish?"

the night is filled with a type of pleasure haneul does not seek, least of all in places such as this one. surrounded by others. it's a constant battle not to let their eyes wander, to fit in with the crowd, enjoy the scenery like the rest. perhaps, majority of guests are enjoying it in a more carnal form, through noises that echo through the labyrinth, barely masked by the melodies that swim over the gardens. they sit down with a drink in hand and count the minutes, watching others from the corner of their eye, faces worth noticing, information worth noting. for them, this is not a day for festivities or enjoyment, it is merely to show face here amidst those of similar stature, and to have a conversation with lenyra about whether there is further information she is ready to exchange. they could have perhaps met elsewhere, but it would raise more suspicion than haneul simply coming here instead. here, no one suspects seeing another high level official, no one bats an eye amidst the dizziness of pleasure and joy. they, in return, find what these men do, to be an unnecessary risk. inhibition making their mouths looser, hands wandering, rumors in the making. this is the vice of aurean magisters, their greatest pleasure and undoing. in a way, it revolts them to see them be so public about their weaknesses. then again, there is also someone else who watches. someone who rules this space, pulling the strings and shaping them in a way that haneul has simply no power over. this is her realm, and they should not be surprised that she has already taken notice of their reluctance in taking part. they raise the glass of wine up to their lips, and take a long sip, letting the silence linger before replying. "no, nothing wrong with the festivities." moreso with their preferences, which is left unsaid. "nor the dessert." dark eyes turn to meet clear blue, a tilt of their head, voice a low, deep baritone. "how have you been, lady caelestis?" a small movement with the wine glass to gesture towards the labyrinth, the cypresses, the sounds of pleasure and music. "i see caelestian nights are as popular as always."

there's a certain discomfort that comes from being in places such as this one. where manners and etiquette take lesser priority, with its inhabitants drunk and ready to blow up at the smallest of sparks, looking for entertainment, then a brawl, and then forgetting what they were doing in the first place. it's crass, uncouth, and although haneul is aware this is the breeding ground for much information that has brought powerful men down, it does not mean they enjoy being here in person. put them in a room full of politicians ready to cut each other's throats with carefully picked words and thinly veiled accusations — they are at ease. put them in a bar with this much disorder and noise? they feel out of place. if these people weren't as drunk, they might have been able to tell haneul does not belong here. with dark purple robes with embroidered silk underneath, and the rigid straightness in their posture- they are unlike the other patrons. similarly, once they spot the reason for the visit, they slowly walk towards him, uncaring of anyone else around. expensive shoes halt in front of the corner table, eyes flitting over nearby tables, trying to spot if there is anyone who might talk. only two sentences out of kas' mouth, and it's more than enough to raise that familiar frustration up their chest. hands move to clasp in front of their robes, they let out a huff of breath, and speak through almost gritted teeth. "kastor." their voice low, monotone even through the noise. "it seems you still enjoy talking nonsense... loudly." and it does not help — especially considering there might be talk caused from haneuls' presense merely being here. then again, it is a low risk, low enough that they ended up here anyway. they take the offered seat without much complaint, finding it better to blend in rather than stand there as if a grim reaper. the glare they find themselves wearing all the time returns, and they reply, deadpan. "no, i come here all the time..." a glance towards the table next to them, the disgusting looking drinks that are spluttered over in conversation. "for the... swill." they return their attention back to kas once more. it is difficult to hold up decorum around him, to remain impassive, emotionless as they strive to be. he seems to be able to find right buttons to push, and haneul pushes back in return. "so- is this what you do in your free time?" a gesture around them, the rowdy drunkards, those trying to sing yet fail, awful dancers at one side. "seems... riveting."

It is now he wonders with single-minded purpose, to pluck them back, and pay a debt that could not be paid. "Hyungah..." that sickly sweet voice called to them, not expecting them to look, its pale head lolling against the door. "You're up late... can I keep you company?" he wouldn't ask for anyone else, he should know this by now—he had no qualms about invading personal space when it benefited him, but there is something gentle, tender about the way the young Kwon looked at them, as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world.

papers spread across a mahogany desk, books stacked in one corner, parchment crumbled and discarded on one side, waiting to be burnt so that no one can read them. a quill dips into a large pot of ink, and scratches against the surface of the parchment. again and again. only lulls in time are when a finger drags over the texts in a book, details in a letter, and then returns to write again. a problem with many causes, a solution with no end in sight. the cycle repeats itself, a book shuffled through, discarded. letters opened and ripped to shreds. the stack of written notes growing larger, written in cipher, sentences with seemingly no sense to someone who isn't haneul. they don't know how long it passes. the sun was up when they had sat down here, and it seems it's gone now. they don't take notice, mind wrapped up in the work of everything that has been going on, as if it's a tree with many roots underneath the soil, the road diverging one way, and then another. a magistrate who has missed a meeting. the whispers of a new betrothal in the making. new attacks from the forsaken near the border, another village wiped out from the face of the world. which of the patricians who have gone quietly much richer — all parts of a tapestry that is impossible to be in control of. nonetheless, they try, and they will continue to try- as this is where true power lies. to be able to understand where strings are pulled, to watch or pull them, or to know when they should be cut. the nib of their pen scratches an odd letter into their parchment again, other hand turning the page of a book, when they are suddenly pulled away from the world they have created. the pen pauses mid-movement, dark eyes moving up to look at the window in front of them. with outside this dark, light of the oil lamp reflects against the glass, turning it into a mirror. through it, haneul spots their brother, small and lingering, a comforting presence. though there was no doubt at all it was him, there is a lot to be spotted from his body language. haneul has always been able to read him like an open book. something softens in their expression as they turn on their chair, head tilted now that they can see baeksa better. a low hum leaves their throat, and they extend an arm, for the younger to settle next to them. "of course." there is no need for baeksa to ask. it means a lot from him that he does anyway. "however, it's late... shouldn't you go to sleep now?" said sleep seems to ooze from every cell of the younger, enough to cause concern. "you can sleep here, if you wish." they gesture to the large sofa near their desk, with a pillow and a blanket already prepared. just in case.

Episode 20

Xiao Zhan as Wei Wuxian — The Untamed 陈情令