yang jaewon does as he’s done since before he could speak, since before he’d garnered his own name, deemed to him by the mouths of babes, children with large eyes and rough hands, he does as he’s done since he lived on valluria, the explosions cascading all around him, the bullets flying, another coup in the streets: he runs. he has no natural speed, no gift for swiftness or light-footedness, but he is smart in how he steps, his mind whirling a thousand kilometers a second to map out a strategy, a vice-grip here, a foothold there, every limb and muscle on fire. he is not careful, has never been careful, but he doesn’t fall and he doesn’t crash and he doesn’t burn, having managed to survive this long with plenty of hounds on his heels before. they can chase him for millennium if they like, they’ll never catch this sandstorm heart.
he heaves thick forest air into his lungs, the strange cold humidity damn near suffocating him, sweat clinging his clothes to his skin, determination raging through his veins, egging him onwards, egging him faster despite the exhaustion in his muscles, his feet aching and throbbing. trees and leaves and twigs and brush, he gets dizzy racing past them all, the sky only visible through tiny slits between branches, the sounds of strange animals and his own breathing filling his ears. his mouth is almost wired shut, teeth clenching, fists white-knuckled, his clothes half-shredded against him, but his eyes are steady, heavy, dark and scorched, sight clear despite this catastrophe of circumstances— he knows he is lost but at least he’s not the only one.
he doesn’t know how long he’s fled, doesn’t know the way out of these woods, doesn’t know when or how vera will be able to find him in this jungle, but he has faith, he believes, and if there’s one being in the whole universe worth something so impossible, it would be the woman who’s been raising him the last few years. he knows it’ll be difficult, but he’s outrun wilder dangers than the sihnon praetorians crawling up his spine, their high-tech guns and tracking devices nothing against the pandemonium of vallurian weather, vallurian deathtraps, vallurian slavers. and jaewon’s beat them all before, he’s confident he can beat these soft core-worlders as well. they don’t know what they’re chasing, don’t know the monster in his blood, the sun in his chest, the way he could turn and devour them one by one, if he can get them separated from each other enough. already at sixteen, he is more of a bullet than a boy.
what he’s not expecting though— what really no one would expect, this far out into the wilderness— is the set up he stumbles into, turning a corner and slipping on some sort of blanket on the ground where he’d assumed his shoe would meet solid rock, his body losing momentum immediately and smashing against shards of white glass and porcelain. he hits the mess of it like a colliding comet, the loud impact resounding against nearby tree trunks, the bark and moss absorbing the noise as best they can before his hunters catch it. he grunts and seethes, hissing between teeth and turning on the other figure in this equation, arms and knees and face cut and bleeding from the now-broken china he picks himself up from the midst of.
now that he’s on the ground though, he struggles to rise up, his eyes meeting that of the girl’s, desperation meeting surprise, but he ignites internally, forces himself to push through the pain, through the skid marks and slices. “what the hell are you doing?” he growls, before a sound catches his ear; the praetorians shouting, dogs howling. “we have to go!” he stands and reaches for her wrist, pulling her along with him, unwilling to let her take anyone else’s side but his.
There is shock in her eyes, though that is quickly replaced by anger and then mere confusion. Hana is unsure of just how to respond to the uninvited guest; who only seemed to be bringing more. And by the sound of the howling dogs and pounding of feet, they weren’t friendly. Her body was still in shock, surprise, foregoing even the pain of being burned by her tea as they watched the boy scramble up in desperation, unruly hair and spritely eyes catching hers before sounds escape. It was then her anger rose to match his, lips curling up as brows arch downwards only to come off as completely harmless as she blundered through her words.
“Wha-what?! what do you mean what the hell am I doing?! What are yo---” and before she could finish her rampage of a rant, she is cut off. Eyes widening in surprise as her body lurches forward, acting of its own accord, as it follows in the steps of this bullet of a boy -- sprinting, running. Her steps are light and airy, mind whirling with a million questions and protests that fail to leave her lips in their haste. And yet she follows swiftly, as if she were learning a new dance. A much more desperate, choppy, and harsh dance.
who the fuck is he? he must not be from these areas...but hmm, has he been running for a while?? why is he being chased? what the fuck did he do. no one gets chased here...smuggler? thief...? slave? Hana wonders. But still she runs, runs with him as if, even without explanation, her body, soul, had deemed him harmless. Good. That in the firmness of his grip, his sweat laced fingertips, and the determination in his flight, he was making a case unheard. One that had already successfully persuaded the flower of sihnon to follow after his footsteps. That whatever the story, he was the victim, and not perpetrator nor aggressor.
It was then that her mind cleared. Hana wasn’t sure how long they’d ran, but she was sure of one thing: the forest. her forest, she’d jokingly think to herself given the hours she’d spent unearthing it’s stories and treasures. It was a haven that she knew inside-out for miles and miles on end. And with a clear mind, her eyes began to recognize the towers of the forest that to unfamiliar eyes looked all the same.
“you better be worth it.” Hana muttered in their haste, speed picking as her hand twiddled around until they were no longer being grabbed by the stranger but she was holding his, fingers-interlocking, as if to reassure him to trust her and follow in her lead of their haphazardly dance.
With a few sharp turns around elder trees, passing ponds and over decaying trunks, Hana arrived at one of her secret havens, slowly to a halt at the mound of looming green before slipping inside with the other in tow. Their feet reveberating in the hollow cave, small rock corridors leading in what seemed to be oblivion, but in reality was just a small open space.
“w-wait.” Hana’s soft voice rang out, breathing heavy as she let go of the other, standing still to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cave. She moved away towards the corner of the room, finding a candle and a candle holder before lighting it with a lighter she stowed away nearby. She was still holding her one teacup that hadn’t been ruined by his grand entrance just earlier, it’s existence almost reminding her of just what he’d ruin.
A click and a flame arose, lighting the wick to reveal Hana in all her disheveled glory: irate irises, sweat-laced skin, crimson, wind-blown locks, and an unpleasant glare on a usually smiley face. A hand extends forth, revealing the perfect china cup as she states, “Just a cup. Of an entire tea-set, hand-painted, engraved by one of the most famed artists, a gift. and now I just have one cup. you better pay up.”
It seemed silly, that after all they’d gone through in short span of time, that this was the most pressing issue on her mind. Her tea-set. Her broken table. And the interruption of her practice time. Maybe she’ll get around to the rest, curiosity still dormant in the face of her current frustrations.
