#kadeu: plot drop

The young fox had followed her morning routine as usual. The soft sound of the singing birds coaxed her gently out of her deep sleep before any of the attendants rushed inside of her bedroom, small whispers wishing her a good morning falling from their lips.

Warm and scented water was enough to make Nari relax, the gentle conversation between the attendants made it difficult for her not to fall asleep again, but still the nerves made her want to keep her eyes open. Nothing changed as she prepared herself, long dark hair was now forming a bun, her lips were painted red as usual but allowing the rest of her face to shine with her natural glow. Her clothes were casual, a simple white set, long loose pants and an equally comfortable blouse that was kept together by a gold sash around her waist, all perfectly finished with her favorite jewelry.

There was not a single line on her face that was weighed down by surprise, her red painted lips tainted the golden brim of the cup as she calmly sipped on her tea. Nari could taste it, the rich hint of chocolate that touched her tongue, the light and pleasing floral finish as the tea slipped down her throat. She allowed herself to focus on all of those details for a moment, if only to distract her from the news that were now being delivered to her.

Nari knew that it was only a matter of time until the situation escalated, so she was not shocked by what had happened at The Armory, even if she had not exactly predicted it, it was still expected. However, she had been worried about her brother. There was no way she could forget the look on Geon’s face that day she encountered him in his territory, no way she could just shake off the feeling that something could have happened to him during the attack.

However, the news were worse than she had expected.

Her legs were crossed, her back straight and her gaze focused on the man she had hired and for the first time during the whole conversation she was surprised. Unfortunately, it had not been the good kind of surprise she had hoped for.

While you knew your brother was a guard at the armory, it’s now come to your attention that he was a member of the resistance. During the fight he was stationed on the ground and switched sides, attacking his fellow guards rather than the resistance vanguard.

It felt like her whole world had dropped at the words of the investigator, the cup being positioned back to its saucer on top of the small table, her elbow meeting the side of her chair as her fingers worked on massaging her temple. So, her brother had been lying to her all this time, risking his life for some unreachable future, for a loss cause, working for both sides and attacking those who had obviously put their trust in him.

Geon would be treated like a traitor, because he was one and there would be no resistance capable of protecting him. They were all just mere servants to a cause, dispensable, Nari was certain of it that if it came the day when he was no longer needed, they would get rid of him, just like they did with her friend, just like they did with Jung Anton.

Since then, your brother has disappeared. Unable to confirm his death, the investigator you sent tells you this is likely a good sign. It’s more than likely Geon has gone underground with the resistance.

“Geon, you fool” she murmured more to herself as she looked at the investigator, the man looking back at her probably expected to see a better reaction, a much happier one at least, but that was impossible to deliver, since Nari failed to understand how her own blood had decided to trust some group of strangers instead of her. His own sister.

Then a dreadful thought swirled around in her mind, made her stomach turn and transformed the delicious tea into some nauseating beverage. Just how many of them knew about what her brother had done? How many were dead and how many had survived to spread the word? How many would come for him?

Her eyes came back to watch the men’s figure, before suddenly standing up. Her heels clinked all the way to the large doors where she stopped, turned the key and locked them both inside.

A sigh left her lips when she caught sight of the nervous look the man was sending her, the way he twiched in his seat as she approached him once more, before grabbing his shoulders with both hands, never allowing him to slip away as she stood tall behind him.

“I can hear your heart beating, is it for me?” the question rolled out of her lips easily, her claws digging slightly into his shoulders when she felt him trying to move away. Forcing herself not to eat properly had many drawbacks and one of them was that basically everyone looked like a good meal, her instincts much more aware of what could be seen as prey and definitely a lot less selective.

A small giggle left her lips as she moved to be in front of the investigator again. Nari could see him sweating, almost paralyzed in fear and for a moment she almost regretted the way she was acting, but she forced herself to believe that this was for the well-being of her brother.

“No need to give me that look, it’s quite offensive” she scoffed, reaching for the pocket in her pants before showing him a gold key, the one that opened the doors she had locked to prevent his escape “I just want you to promise that this conversation will stay between us and that you will do anything to find my brother and bring him back to me”

Tuesday 05 January 2021. While walking through the halls of the Academy you overhear an interesting little rumor. It’s obvious the pair of giggling female Diamonds said it just loud enough to be overheard by you. Apparently, you’ve been sleeping with Professor Parker @lukef.

The final glorious note of the performance resonated through the packed auditorium and Sullivan, along with everyone else in the audience, launched from their seats into a standing ovation. Many had tears in their eyes from the emotional ending scene as the applause grew deafening, but Sullivan’s sentiment was much deeper than the casual theater-enthusiast. As if on cue, the gorgeous raven-haired man taking his much-deserved bows centerstage, straightened up and looked directly at him. Sullivan’s heart leapt, thankfully kept firmly in place by the considerable knot in his throat. And, being the dramatic that he is, Sunny then raised his hand to his lips, placing a kiss there before theatrically blowing it in his direction.

Heart on the verge of imploding and any and all inner thoughts reduced to keyboard smash literacy, Sullivan stopped clapping only because he needed to verify that his cheeks weren’t actually on fire. It certainly felt like they were. He couldn’t hide his beaming smile though or the adoration that made his dark eyes sparkle. He felt so special in that moment. Adored and cherished and...loved, as Sunny took a moment to appreciate him when they were literally in a room packed with a vast range of Kadeu’s ranked, who were all applauding in appreciation of Sunny.

A strange but familiar buzzing started and gradually began to rival the cacophonous applause echoing in the room. Sullivan’s euphoria began to wear off as the feeling of hundreds of eyes penetrated his happiness. Suddenly, he remembered it was not just he and Sunny in the room. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Yongsun and instantly regretted it. He’d never seen or felt so many people looking at him. The room felt like it was beginning to spin and from the corner of his eye, Sullivan’s horror increased when he realized Sunny was gesturing for him to come down...and join him on stage.

Sullivan couldn’t even shake his head in protest before he felt himself LEVITATING out of Sunny’s box. He gasped in horror, flailing helplessly before remembering that hundreds of people were now staring at him if they weren’t already before. He went absolutely rigid, silently cursing Ara for taking it upon herself to include him in this involuntary game of ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board.’

Descending helplessly toward the stage and into Sunny’s beckoning arms, Sullivan did his best to hide behind him as soon as he was placed on his feet. He smiled widely and laughed, seeming to misinterpret Sullivan’s discomfort as his usual coyness and dislike of overwhelming attention. The stage was Sunny’s home. A place where he felt comfortable, but it was certainly not the same for Sullivan. There were so many people looking at him. Too many people. He felt exposed, almost violated now that he was trapped centerstage under the scrutinizing gaze of the audience.

Barred by Yongsun’s impossibly strong arms, Sullivan began to look around at the audience members, both incredibly curious as to who was watching him and afraid to see what they thought. He recognized certain faces immediately, his trepidation mounting as he analyzed their expressions and somehow missed glaringly obvious clues that this scenario was the working of his inner fears.

The first person he noticed was Ara in the wings, smiling beautifully and giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up with unmistakable ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ energy. Gaze traveling toward the front of the crowd, he spied Prospero and more notably, Eva, who was repeatedly yanking on the poor man’s arm and shouting ‘What’s happening?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!’ He realized belatedly that she was much younger than she should be. Eyes moving directly upwards, Sayge catching his attention.

She stood in her box, arms crossed over her chest and looked incredibly disinterested in the situation that was bordering on traumatic for Sullivan. She was unmoving except for her top hand, which was busily rolling a poker chip over and across her knuckles impressively. The lights on the stage brightened, making it increasingly harder to see, but there was no mistaking the figure beside her. Zuihuo Joui...the bloody Ace of Hearts...completely buck-ass nude, long luxurious black hair draped over his body with strategic Lady Godiva style.

Sullivan’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare against the intensifying lights. Joui smirked impishly, clutching the journal he’d given him for his birthday as he furiously scribbled down onto paper whatever Sullivan might’ve gleaned from a more expressive expression. The deception left Sullivan distinctly annoyed but sensing from the Ace’s movement that a hair flip of scandalous proportion was underway, Sullivan rightfully averted his precious eyes.

Only to have them land in the box below, where Max was sitting on Bestram Beryl’s lap, his cheek bouncing repeatedly against her bosom as she enthusiastically clapped with her arm around his neck. At this point, the lights intensified to a blinding level. Sullivan let go of Sunny’s arm with one hand to try and block the light but it was no use. He was blind.

The light enveloped him completely, warming him from the inside out. The comfortable sensation starkly contrasted the confusing dream nightmare he’d escaped, so he tried not to question the timely rescue.

“Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.”

Sullivan can’t hear the sudden voice as much as he immediately understands the light’s intended message. The words and the light are warm, almost like this entity is smiling at him, but there is something else there too, underneath. Something jagged...wild...dangerous.

“I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.”

Sullivan’s trepidation slowly begins to force its way into the sugar-coated scenario at the revelation that this being has ‘seen his past.’ At the mention of meddling and help he’d been given, Sullivan had an immediate influx of candidates as many, many people have offered him help, but there was only two who had aided him on a ‘magical’ level and only one had been unbidden.

“This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”

Sullivan jolted awake, sitting upright in one fluid movement that pulled a mountain of blankets with him. Gradually he regained his bearings, realizing that despite waking up drenched in sweat and with a massive headache, he was in familiar surroundings. Cold morning light painted hazy squares on the floor of his study. The remnants of a fire smoldered in the hearth to his right, a sleeping Adonis at his left.

Relieved that he hadn’t woken him, Sullivan pulled off his saturated pajama top before returning to his rightful place in the crook of Sunny’s arm. He turned toward him this time, laying his cheek on Sunny’s bare chest, comforted by the warmth and the slow rise and fall of his breaths. The headache, nor the dream would leave him as he absently stared at the opposite wall. He spent much of his free time here, especially in the evenings. The room itself was a canvas for Sullivan’s studies. The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray and covered, at most times from floor to ceiling, with Sullivan’s sketches and scribbles. (I shouldn’t say that. Sullivan has never scribbled a day in his life.)

His eyes focus on one particular section of writing, one that he’d painstakingly transcribed from the grimoire the River Witch had given him. One that he was having a particularly difficult time deciphering to the point that he could translate it. One that now looked unequivocally clear from his vantage point.

Sullivan sat up abruptly, this time bumping Sunny in the process and stirring him from sleep. It was only a moment later when he clumsily scrambled over the chiseled torso in between him and the now legible wall. Sullivan put his palms alongside the text, kneeling as he stared in amazement. His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked around wildly, gasping in astonishment as one by one, the mysteries revealed themselves.

Finally, when the realization had sunken in good and well, Sullivan turned to his confused and concerned partner with all the uncontainable excitement and elation welling inside of him.

“I CAN READ!” he exclaimed, almost overcome with gratitude from this unforeseen ‘divine’ intervention.

Wednesday 11 November 2020; Midnight.

You are sleeping. The dream you’re having halts abruptly and you become aware you’re dreaming. A light appears at the edge of your vision, an impossibly bright, golden light. Even as you turn to look at it you see nothing but a light that feels both like it’s searing your eyes as well as gently warming your very soul.

It speaks to you without words, though you understand it all. “Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.” You are still blinded by the light, but you feel as though you’re being smiled at. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling the expression is somehow feral. “I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.” The light reaches towards you until all you see, eyes closed or open, is searing golden light that penetrates your brain. As your consciousness fades you hear these departing words, “This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”

You awaken abruptly, drenched in sweat with a blinding headache. Eventually, you realize something’s changed. Acting on instinct, you fetch the tome the River Witch gifted you. You can now read the ancient demonic language.

     this may be one for the history books, frankly : not sunny using his abilities, no, but his admission that he’s nowhere near perfect at something. too much time spent perfecting his acting skills and not honing in on abilities that provide more of a service. sure, lying through his teeth can be an admirable skill ( depending on who you ask ), but his elementalist nature … that’s something that could be the difference between life and death. something that could save his ass, down the line.

          or … create an impeccable scene in a play.           regardless, he should’ve tried harder, much sooner.

     he’s been with his mentor for close to two years now. practicing and working what feels like nonstop. if he’s not rehearsing, then he’s with them. had he complained ? initially. the ache in his muscles was dreadful when they’d first started. a tiredness permeated through his being constantly, like a shockwave that never ended. ‘ the pain is good, ’ they’d told him. ‘ it means you’re actually trying. you’re actually LEARNING something now. ’ 

     those quips, those snide remarks, they would’ve elicited a reply from the young actor ; one full of rage, malice, words made of daggers dipped in poison. he would’ve gone for the other’s throat, harsh and unforgiving, yet something stopped him. every single time, those words lodged in his throat and he simply nodded in compliance. the fact of the matter is this, and this only : his mentor was right. if he wanted to make progress, he needed to work harder. TRY HARDER. harness whatever confidence he possessed and channel that energy into something that wasn’t pretending to be someone else. 

     upon receiving the news that his abilities would be put to the test, an unsettling feeling nestled within the actor’s very soul. he’s improved greatly over time, there’s no doubt about it, but he’d still be considered subpar next to anyone who had trained at the academy. YET, HE TOOK THE NEWS IN STRIDE. he had no other choice. a smile so bright and cheerful, with a promise of ‘ i won’t let you down ! ’, and he was out the door. he’d hardly given ara a glance upon his departure, a rare feat, indeed ; for once in his young life, he turned down an opportunity to annoy his friend. 

     in truth, he feared letting the other down. he watched her succeed and wow the crowd each and every time ; ethereal, beautiful, a semblance of perfection that he ADMIRED. he should’ve been envious of her. he should’ve felt jealous of her poise and control, but there was nothing in his heart but admiration. THIS WOMAN IS PRACTICALLY HIS SISTER ; in short, she’s his best friend, and always will be. when he looked to her, up to her ( on some nights, quite literally ), she was a reminder that he could not possibly be a failure. she gives him HOPE — for what, exactly, he cannot say. a large number of things and for that, he is grateful.

     perhaps that is what resulted in such a reaction from him. it wasn’t about impressing the crowd. it wasn’t about their ooh’s and aah’s, their applause, not this time. it was about showing he was something more. more than an actor, more than just a pretty face, more more more. if they enjoy it, then he’ll bow and smile pretty, just as he always does. and if he succeeds, then he’ll have proven something. not to them, no, but to himself. isn’t that what matters ?

     “ you’ve chosen a lifestyle, a career, that deeply relies on presenting with your best self. failure in this regard is not an option. no wonder you hold yourself to such a high standard. let’s hope you succeed in this, little one. ” the words of his mentor, faded and distant ; though, echoing in the forefront of his mind. filling him with a dreadful sense of unease. 

     stage - fright has never been an option, not since the very beginning. pre-show jitters were common, yes, but they had always been from excitement — not genuine nervousness. the feeling that graced him that first night was different ; sickening, almost. his whole body felt heavy, as if weights were placed upon his shoulders, strapped to his legs. pressing down upon his chest, making his breathing difficult. calming breaths would not subdue such a feeling and he figures, half-heartedly ( with a defeatist attitude, his mentor would say ), that he’ll simply have to suck it up and carry on. power through it. wipe sweaty palms upon trousers and push the hair from his eyes, shake out the stiffness in his arms, and try to put on a damn good show. 

     that first night, he fumbles. JUST SLIGHTLY, JUST A TAD, just short of perfection. but that small fumble, that little falter in ability, felt nearly soul-crushing. ‘ nobody is perfect, yourself even less so, don’t let it break you. don’t let it break you, don’t, don’t, DON’T. ’ discouragement is not applicable in this scenario. can failure truly not be an option ? ‘ their eyes are on you, yongsun, all of their fucking eyes are ON YOU. ’

     the second time that night, there are no mistakes. none that can be seen, not from a distance. no, the mistakes are all in the way his lip quivers, his hands shake, and his eyes nearly well with tears as he recalls his fuck up from hours before. it is not the end of the world, not by a long shot, but it sure as shit feels like it. 

     each night after that, he gets a little bit better. a little more confident. each show, he proves more to himself than any other. each show becomes his show ( in his own mind only, sure, but he cannot focus on much else. ) each night, a little bit more pride swells within his chest. PRIDE CONFIDENCE, AND EACH AND EVERY THING IN BETWEEN. it becomes less and less about them watching, and more about the young actor watching himself. witnessing his own success, his own abilities truly in action. outside of the lessons and sessions with his mentor, outside of the little things he does on his own, to prove that he REALLY CAN.

     it all comes to him easily, second nature, or -- or first nature, really. the nature he should’ve succumbed to from the beginning, upon his grandmother’s wishes. she never got the chance to see a show prior to this, she never got the chance to see her grandson truly happy in his element. it’s that one thought, on the fifth or sixth night, that makes him fumble again. just as things are becoming his definition of perfect, he fumbles one more time. JUST ONCE MORE. those tears that had threatened him the first night, welling in his eyes yet refusing to fall, have returned to him tenfold. shaky breaths escape his lips, and yet, he powers through. HE ALWAYS POWERS THROUGH until the end of the night, when he’s alone in his dressing room, and the palace seems oh - so - quiet, and he crumbles. with his face buried in his hands and his voice muffled, he speaks aloud to the empty room,

     “ i’m sorry, ” and to whom, exactly, is he speaking to ? his mentor, for failing them ? ara, for potentially letting her down ? his grandmother, for not heeding her warnings and taking her advice ? OR HIMSELF, for being oh - so short of PERFECT ?

     and once again, once more for the umpteenth time this week alone, he carries on. with stained cheeks, makeup mixing with tears into a disgusting mess he looks forward to wiping away. the frustrations are wiped away that evening, along with his tears, and he moves on. his outburst left behind, forgotten in that lonely room, when he takes the stage again the following day. and the day after that, after that, and after that -- and so on, of course.. there are no more fuck up’s, no more fumbles, NO MORE TEARS. 

Except it is not.

When you look down at your left wrist you notice a new tattoo has been added below your rank: the symbol of the Spades. You check your right wrist only to find a tattoo that denotes your Clearance level: B. You are home when this happens.

Kwon Jihoon is in his living room when he hears the winds change. The manalamp on the table beside his whiskey doesn’t move nor flicker as the man watches the trees outside his window whipped by strong gusts. It is not until he notices the faint pull on the grey mana in the air around him that he grows worried. Yet, by the time he is on his feet the feeling has passed, calm returning. 

The Spellsword frowns but sits back down, his eyes narrowed as he watches the horizons for signs of change. It is not until he reaches for the liquor that he notices the changes to his tattoos. Aside from the new spade faction symbol below his A he finds a B on the inside of his right wrist. He knows instinctively this denotes his clearance level, though he cannot fathom why, after 2020 years, the curse has updated only to add this.

Backstage at The Secret Room you overhear a conversation between a group of your burlesque dancers. Apparently one of the lowrankers that works at The Red Dragon has caught the eye of Ace of Hearts Clan Leader Zuihuo Joui. One of your male dancers claims he attended the Fae’s Birthday Ball and saw the woman there - a Six. This dancer is also a shifter and seems to think she smelled rather fox-like.

As the Ace of Hearts usually seeks companions from your establishment, this news has come with more than a few narrowed eyes among your workers.

Karma sat in the darkened secret room adjacent to her office, feet propped up on the desk; ankles crossed, of course. Back to the door, the desk faced a massive wall of what appeared to be small cupboards, each with accompanying engraved nameplate labels and antique brass horns that curved downward, mimicking the shape of a bell.

Never before had a woman sat in this seat; atop this throne of power, and while she might not technically be a woman, her vessel certainly was. This was her place now, as it had been for several years, and despite being quite frivolous and uncaring in the past, Karma had to admit she was quite proud of the life she’d made for herself and the little minxes that worked for her.

Every night, she seated herself at this very desk and diligently made observations. Again, many men before her had done the same, but the intent couldn’t have differed more drastically. A watchful eye was absolutely necessary for the protection of her employees and while the wall in front of her appeared overwhelming at first glance, it had been painstakingly organized. 

Planned in depth all the way back from the building’s initial inception, the labyrinthine design hidden behind simple plaster and embossed wallpaper must’ve been someone’s crowning achievement. With the use of light, mirrors, and just a bit of magic, she could literally see and hear anywhere in the massive complex, simply by opening a little door.

As tempting as that sort of power was, Karma did her best not to abuse it...but she IS a demon, you know so, if there are expectations not being met, it’s really nobody’s fault but your own. 

During her ‘rounds’ tonight, she stumbled upon an interesting conversation in the dressing room. She had just been about to telekinetically slam the door when she heard mention of the Ace’s birthday party she’d been unwilling to attend. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fond of Joui. She actually adored him, and all the pretty, shiny coins in his gigantic vault. But as unfortunate as it was, her patience with explaining, repeatedly, that she was not ‘on the menu’ at her place of employment was apparently much lower than it needed to be for her to exist in a social setting for more than five minutes.

She’d been content RSVP’ing with the assumption that she and Joui had an understanding as to why it was difficult for her to make an appearance, but the more she listened, the further her eyebrows knitted together in concern. Before she realized it, she’d swung her legs off the desk and crawled up onto it, on her hands and knees as she peered into the illuminated box on the wall. He was seeing someone at The Red Dragon?! Her stomach flipped at the thought of losing all the pretty, shiny coins that stayed behind after he left her doors.

With an exasperated huff, she slammed the cubby, plunging the room back into dim moonlight and crawled off the desk, tugged her form fitting dress back into place. This simply would not do. She was determined to see what all this apparent fuss was about. She would take a look at this girl, this fox, and decide her fate after that, but one thing was for certain: little boys who get caught being naughty have their toys taken away.

You wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, your chest feeling as though it were aflame. Nothing you do works to diminish the sensation: it’s as though there’s a vice around your heart, crushing you from the inside.

The pain is unbearable as it travels up from your center and into your brain over the course of minutes. It’s excruciating, unlike anything you’ve endured before, until all of a sudden it isn’t. The pain is gone. There is a man in your room now.

At least, you think it’s a man. He’s swathed in a darkness so thick that it refuses to let you focus on anything other than his eyes. His emerald eyes. Hovering near your ceiling.

You get the feeling that if anyone walked into your room right now, they’d be unable to see him. He has no mouth but he speaks to you in a baratone that reverberates around your skull. “Foolish Human, what have you done?”

as big her ego was, sometimes she had to admit that not every single idea she had was a good one. and maybe, just maybe trying to bind a certain, unknown core to herself, just out of impulsive behavior was one of those bad decisions. the feelings of regret had started early on, just after going through with the process, but certainly were kept under control, as whatever she had tried to do, seemingly had failed. that was up until she woke up that night. 

a fever? no, it couldn’t be. aesin tossed and turned in her bed, the feeling of a hot summer night weighing down on her, just way, way worse. a reminder of those times when she had fallen sick as a child burning in the back of her head, just way worse. clutching at her chest, she let out a gasp as she stirred awake from nightmare after nightmare. a few strands of hair were sticking onto her sweaty forehead, her slender body curling up on the bed, blanket long gone, scrunched up somewhere to the side. 

something was wrong. horribly wrong. however, for a few minutes - which felt like an eternity - aesin didn’t dare to open her eyes. deep down, she knew. she had done something wrong and now she had to pay the price. most likely, she was going to die. after everything she had achieved, she was just going to die like this. the thought made her shoot up in her bed, back pressed against the headboard, goosebumps all over her skin. that’s when she saw it. 

her eyes were focused on the creature covered in thick darkness hovering above her. glowing eyes were staring back at her, into her soul and she knew this wasn’t an entity who had been welcomed by her into her place – a shift of energy, an unknown feeling of uncertainty. while she had learned to summon entities, enchanting buildings and being surrounded by helpful beings that obeyed her (most of the times), this one was none of them. “foolish human.”

Wednesday 09 September 2020; Night. A high fae walks into your bar. You notice him immediately, almost as though you are being drawn to him deliberately. He sits down, ordering a drink as he eyes you surreptitiously. The rank on his wrist says Eight but you know instinctively he outranks you in every way that matters to your species.

As you place his drink in front of him he asks in a calm voice, “Are you the son of Song?” You know immediately this is about your father.

Hanbyeol’s chin tilts upwards slightly as the man sits down, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. Something about this, he can tell, bodes poorly - and the minute the man speaks, he knows he’s been proven right. Usually Hanbyeol is very good at keeping his composure (little tends to surprise him these days with the state of this realm) but this time he reacts - his eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare, and he is instantly on edge.

“Who’s asking?” He asks sharply, his voice curt. No one mentions his parents’ names these days, and Hanbyeol is never sure if it’s a good thing or not. Now, he thinks he’s leaning towards the latter. “Or- perhaps this is a better question: Why would anyone need to know?”