#riseopen

jitae never cared much for dramatics. 

sadly as the man leaned against one of the giant columns of the palace, his eyes gazing at the sea of nobles, great and small, gathering around the flames of the royal throne, he felt as though he was the only one in this nation that felt that way. 

would the theatrics bring back lady sang? jitae did not know much about interrogation but wasn’t the person who was courageous enough to poison one of the great houses skilled enough to skate past some pointed questions? the man did not understand the point of this — a scowl coming over his neutral features, this event had already delayed his return to his homeland, anymore he’s sure that the bandits would gain more ground.

and he would never admit it out loud but before the events of name day occurred, jitae did not have the slightest clue about what lady sang looked like. he’s sure his presence was not needed. sighing, the man shifts his posture, straightening up and turning towards an individual not too far from him.

                                                                         /

“i’m sorry.” his eyes rove over the thick gashes alongside his oldest friend’s back. chaein might as well have cut into him. “blue,” chaehwi murmurs around the lump in his throat, smoothing the flat of his palm over the rough of his scales. he’s aware of the sentiments here: at the core, blue has never been one for war, never been one for violence—it’s blind loyalty that tethers him here. and at his—well, chaehwi dares not to look inward. if he’s honest, he doesn’t even think it to be something recognizable. “when you’ve recovered, we’ll go on an excursion, you and me—you liked the eastern air temple fruits last time.” he promises blindly, parts pleas from a dying boy with nothing dear left to his heart. 

what would he have remnant of the boy he used to be then, if blue chooses to leave? absolutely nothing.