genre: romcom-esq, coworkers, smut, a little angst?
rating: M
word count: ~6k
summary: Better Business Bureau should heap praise upon your decision to hire Kim Mingyu and Jeon Jungkook as bartenders for your Carats Ridge pub, Happy Ending. It’s never slow, beer and liquor always flowing, and the food is good. Your main bartenders bring in the crowds, and you’d praise yourself if you could just keep it professional. Because surely, with how good-looking they are, both of them are fuck boys, right? No matter how much Mingyu’s big brown eyes try to convince you otherwise.
warnings: language, alcohol (obviously), depictions of drunkenness that run the gamut, smut--fingering (fem receiving) unprotected penatrative sex (mc is on birth control, though it's never said) sex in a car so mild exhibitionism, power dynamic imbalance (she is his boss), mc is older than mingyu, mc is dumb dumb dumb and indecisive, bless her.
a/n: part of carats ridge, hosted by @imnotshua, @starlightkyeom, and @100vern. a thank you to them for letting me participate. sorry this took a MILLION YEARS to finish. it's gone through a few versions. unbeta'd because i CAN'T anymore. thank you for reading and commenting. i did really love writing mingyu!
dividers from @saradika-graphics
act I
Act II
Sunday finds you at The Bookery again, much to Jeonghan's chagrin. You know he's chagrined because he actually tells you so.
"Who uses that word in normal conversation?" you retort, leaning against a table full of James Patterson books.
He lifts an eyebrow. "Someone who reads. And you're the one who stumbles in here when shit's gone down. You never come by just to say hi."
He's not wrong, at least, not in recent days. "Sorry."
He shrugs and crosses his arms. "So…you kissed him."
"He kissed me."
Another roll of eyes. "Semantics. What's the issue? You've been drooling after him since you hired him."
"Exactly. I hired him. He's my employee. I have the power to fire the man. I write his paycheck."
"Quickbooks does that."
"Semantics."
He smirks at his word thrown back at him. "I mean, if he kissed you, it's not a problem to him."
"He might have been too exhausted to think through it fully."
You get another unimpressed expression from Jeonghan. He hands you a dustcloth.
"What?"
"If you're going to bother me with this, at least work while we talk."
You don't mind dusting bookshelves and books, it's soothing. Jeonghan's complete disinterest or concern about the uneven dynamic between you and Mingyu is less soothing.
"You know what?" you say, after an hour of talking yourself in circles. "It was only a kiss. He probably thinks nothing of it. It'll never happen again, and it's just a blip. A fluke."
You throw the dustcloth at Jeonghan's head when he snorts.
When Wednesday comes back round, you are more nervous than you were after your explosion on Mingyu outside the arcade. This is more guilt heaped on top of desire, cut with shame.
You are his boss. You are his employer and despite that, you desperately want him to kiss you again.
First kisses are nearly always awkward. Two mouths that don't know each other, that have different rhythms and styles. It should not go perfectly on first attempt.
Of course Mingyu would be the exception.
You've planted yourself in the liquor store room, hoping the tedious process of checking inventory will push your nerves out of mind. The bottles upon bottles of so many colors and shades is visually distracting.
But then, as you mark that you'll need two boxes of Titos this next shipment, you hear the back door open and close, the jostling of two buoyant male voices. You freeze, but try and focus on the shelf of cordials.
"Helloooo," Jungkook pops his head in through the open doorway. "Are we low on anything?"
"No, we're good." Business, business. Mingyu sticks his head in, standing next to Jungkook and you gulp, heart jumping to 120 beats a minute. "Um, maybe run a special on a bourbon cocktail? I want to get rid of that Wild Turkey bourbon, so we can pull in some better brands."
"Bourbon. Perfect." Jungkook ducks under Mingyu's arm to head toward the front of house and the bar.
You can feel his gaze as you go back to counting the bottles of Baileys.
"Madam boss…you good?"
"Of course, I'm good." You force a casual smile to your lips, looking up to reassure him. "Are—" you voice cracks and you clear your throat. "Are you well?"
A smile plays on his lips. "Yeah."
"Good." You swallow and look away though it kills you. His hair is messy today, he must have washed and slept on it; fluffy and soft.
"Good." The warmth in his voice makes your skin heat, but by the time you allow yourself to look back up, he's gone.
Right. That's good. Business as usual.
When you come out, about two hours after opening, you realize you forgot (how could you) that tonight is another theme night.
All of your copper mule mugs are littered along the bar. There's a plushie horse's head on a pole, a child's riding toy. A few of your patrons are wearing large, ostentatious hats. Like the ones from…
You pick up one of the empty used mugs and sniff.
Mint Juleps. The theme is the Kentucky Derby.
"Want one?" Mingyu pops up at the end of the bar where you are stationed. His nearness makes your heart speed up all over again.
"Absolutely not. Those are disgusting."
He grins at your wrinkled nose. "Agreed, but they're going over very well." He pulls a large pink hat with netting from a stack under the bar. "Want this instead?"
"No thank you. I don't really have the outfit to balance it out."
He laughs and crossing his arms to rest on the wood next to you. Forearms all on display for your eyes. "That hasn't stopped them." He nods down the bar to where Seokmin and Soonyoung wear a blue and red versions of the very hat in front of you. The rest of their clothing is their usual wear; jeans, t-shirts, sweaters and windbreakers.
"Where did all these hats come from?"
"The high school's costume closet." He watches you for a moment. "You come out just to check on us?"
You look away from the big hats to him.
Oh no.
You recognize that look.
It's from Saturday night.
When he kissed you.
"Of course. I always do. Why else would I leave the delights of my Quickbooks software?"
He inclines a bit more toward you. You hold your breath.
"That's it?"
You nod, too emphatically to be believable. "That's it." You tear your gaze from him, back to the rest of the pub. "You look like you both are fine. Do either of you need a break?"
"We've got it taken care of, madam boss." He has straightened up and put more space between the two of you. "Don't forget to eat something."
"Promise." You did forget to have dinner a lot of the time. Hurrying away is absolutely cowardly of you, and you'll scold yourself later for it. But he's too close, smells too good (even around the alcohol and customers), looks too wonderful.
It's safer in the back.
"Hey."
You jump up at his voice, banging your knee on your desk. "Ow. Mingyu…is everything okay?" You glance at the time on your computer. It's not closing time yet. You haven't missed that, but you've been staring blankly at the screen for the last hour.
"Everything's fine," he says, walking into the office. "Sorry to worry you. It's my break. I was checking on you."
"You don't have to do that." You rub your knee and wince.
"I don't have to, but I like to." He plops in his usual spot, on the arm of the chair, before looking around. "You finish the receipts I was doing?"
"Yes. Thank you for what you did. It was a big help." You keep standing, hands stacking papers as though looking busy will make it easier to reference last Saturday night. You point to your half-empty plate. "I ate."
"Good."
"Do you want something? I can go ask the kitchen to—" You turn to head that way.
"Madam boss, are you avoiding me?"
You freeze. "I'm not."
"Turn around and say that again. With feeling." If it wasn't for the humor in his voice, you'd bristle at the words. You do turn around.
"I'm not avoiding you."
He stands, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You sure? Feels like it."
"Maybe it's just your ego."
He shrugs. "Maybe a little." He takes a few steps toward you. The open office door is at your back and you really don't want to walk out into the hallway where anyone can see you two. "You know, I didn't text you since Saturday, cause I figured you were freaking out and I wanted to let you do that. Let you get all that out of your system."
"What?"
He stops a foot away, bending down (stupid height) so your faces are as close as they were Saturday night.
"Should I have messaged you? Told you I was thinking about you?" He lets his nose touch yours. "Told you that any weird excuse you come up with for why I kissed you is completely wrong?"
Your lips part. "You were exhausted and therefore like being drunk, you didn't know what you were doing?"
He rolls his eyes, but doesn't move back. "You and I have been around enough drunk people to know, they know exactly what they're doing…it's just hazy. And yeah," He puts a finger on your lips when you try to speak. "I was tired, but I knew exactly what I was doing. Any other explanations?"
"You thought I was someone else?"
His eyes go dark when you say that, his finger still on your lips. "Never." He drops his finger and closes the distance, the touch of his lips on yours slight. It's a tease beyond tease.
"Mingyu." Your voice is needy and you hate yourself for it, but he's inches away, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes, humor and want lighting them. "I don't understand."
"Hmmmmm," he draws it out, again letting his mouth graze yours. You lurch forward, kissing him without a thought in your head minus HIM, all capitals, in blinking neon lights. He's laughing against your lips, but it's not mean. Not with his arms curling around you, chests meeting.
How does he radiate so much heat all the time?
He pulls you away from the doorway, in the office far enough that he can close the door, pressing you back against it.
"I. Want. You."
You blink at him, as though he speaks a different language. "You do?"
"Oh you are so smart and so not sometimes," he says easily and warmly that it takes you a moment to catch the insult.
"Hey, that's not—"
He kisses you, rendering you speechless and dissipating your umbrage (he's not wrong though). You're grateful for the door because the moment his tongue finds yours, your knees buckle. Your hands seek his hair, carding through, relishing the soft and silky feel. His hand cups your face and the other slides to your hip, and dart underneath the hem of your shirt. You shudder at his fingertips on your skin.
"Sensitive," he whispers. "Are you sensitive other places?"
You blink open your eyes. "Huh?"
The same hand drifts up, finding the bottom edge of your bra. "Here? You sensitive here?" There's still a smirk playing on those devastating lips and if you weren't so far gone on this man, you'd be annoyed with his arrogance.
He doesn't expect an answer, not that you have one because your body thrums like a plucked harp string. Fingers slip under your bra to the delicate skin reverently. His hand is warm, a little rough, but pleasant…decadent as he gently squeezes, thumb dragging over your nipple.
You arch against the door.
"Easy, madam boss."
The teasing appellation sends a shock of ice through you. What are you doing?
"GYU!"
You both hear Jungkook through the door all the way from the bar.
"Need a hand out here!"
You pull his hand out and move around him as quickly as possible. "You ought to see if he's okay."
Mingyu says your name, but you don't turn around.
"Please go back on the floor."
There's a sigh. "Fine. But we're discussing this later." The door to your office opens and closes. You turn around to make sure he's gone. The lack of his presence is both relieving, but also painful.
This can't be dismissed as a fluke.
Despite that you'd rather go home then have to face him, or anyone in the bar tonight, you still come out at your usual twenty minutes until closing. There are a few stragglers, and Jungkook is cashing them out.
Mingyu is collecting glasses and pauses when he sees you. "Hey."
"Hi. I'll start on the floors."
"Oh but—"
"I'll get the floors." You hate sweeping and mopping, but you figure you deserve the punishment right now. You go to collect the broom and dustpan, starting in the far corner where people are not located. You're so focused on it that it takes you a moment, or several to realize that there's raised voices.
You look over to see that your bartenders are dealing with a pair of belligerent drunks, most likely kids from the university a town over. When one swings at Mingyu (never mind that Mingyu easily avoids the fist), that's when you pull out your cell to call the sheriff.
"It's okay," Jungkook tells you. "We got them. We can take them over there." The station isn't far; nothing is that far in Carats Ridge. Then he and Mingyu look around as the two drunks in their charge start to protest. You watch as Mingyu pulls one's arms behind him, holding his wrists together like a makeshift binding.
You are delusional, truly, because you think it's hot.
"I can finish the closing up, guys. Just go home after you drop them off."
"No, we can't—" Mingyu starts, but you cut him off.
"You're both doing me a favor, taking the trash out like this. I'll finish up. Good work." You move to open the front doors for them. Jungkook has his customer in a headlock and is laughing. Mingyu stops at the threshold.
"I don't—"
"It's all good, Mingyu. I'll clock you both out. Get home a little earlier tonight." You smile up at him. "I appreciate it."
He looks like he wants to say more, but the guy he's escorting starts trying to escape again, so he holds his arms more firmly, and continues to the sidewalk in front of the pub. He watches you as you shut the door and you know that what happened earlier won't be shoved under the rug. You both will have to address it eventually.
But not tonight.
You finish the floor, wipe down the tables and put up the chairs. You look over the bar area, but they apparently got that taken care of first. You check the front door again to make sure it's locked before heading to your office. When you grab your bag, your face heats with the memory of his hands and mouth, but you push it away as you turn off the lights.
It's later than you usually leave, but closing by oneself takes twice as long.
Liquor store room locked. Lights and all stoves off in the kitchen.
You let out a sigh, already missing the work because when you're working, you don't have to think much. Or you can only think about the work you are doing. Not…not anything else.
You wonder if you can metaphorically flog yourself when you get home.
You open the back door, curse the pouring rain, and set the door to lock automatically.
"Hey."
The sound you make is on par with some sort of small yappy dog.
"For fuck's sake, Mingyu. Are you insane? I have pepper spray in my bag."
He grins sheepishly, standing under one of the eaves of the pub. "Probably no good there because you didn't even try to grab it." His hair is damp, hanging in his eyes.
You close the back door and check it to make sure it's locked. "Well, now that I know someone might be waiting right outside the back door, I'll make sure to walk out with it in hand."
He leans against the building, arms crossed, but shoulders relaxed.
"Um." It now settles into your mind that it's Mingyu here. In front of you. Only hours after— "Did everything go okay at the station? Do I need to make a statement?"
"Everything's fine. And no. No statement." He waves a hand like handling antagonistic sots is no big deal. "They got real docile when they put handcuffs on them." He straightens up. "I thought I might miss you."
You close your eyes and take a deep deep breath. Opening your eyes, you begin: "So, what happened today was—"
"Not enough."
You had a speech. Or at least some fragments of a speech.
"You can't say that."
His slow-growing grin absolutely decimates you, and your self-control.
"I can't? I can't tell you that seeing your eyes all glassy from want, wanting me, didn't just whet my appetite for you?" He reaches out and pulls you close, hands on your upper arms, gentle but firm. "How knowing that you're probably still thinking about me, a room away while I'm at the bar made me want to let Kook handle the crowd and lock you and me in that office until we're both spent. Until we both are satisfied."
Can you combust from only his words? From the sheer amount of desire his words and his presence incite? Spontaneously turn to flame despite the deluge falling from the sky.
"You really can't say that."
"Give me tonight and I'll do more than say it." He doesn't give you time to consider, but presses his lips to yours. You sigh, body relaxing at his taste. He smells like amber and your pub. His hands slide from your arms to your neck, so he can angle you for kisses deeper. You've dropped your bag, fingers drifting under his t-shirt to the warm skin there. He shivers at your cold touch.
"Come home with me," he murmurs, breaking the kiss for those four words.
"But—"
"He's not there. Come home with me." He traces his thumb along the column of your neck before taking you by the hand and leading you into the rain. You grab your bag and stumble after him. He unlocks an easily twenty-year-old VW beetle, and ushers you in before jogging to the other side. You are soaked from the storm outside and immediately tremble even though it's not cold.
"This is yours?"
He closes the driver's door and turns the key before messing with the dash so heat starts pouring out of the vents. You sigh as it takes a little of the chill away.
"The car?"
You nod as he reaches into the back seat and hands you a towel. "It's clean…and yeah, the car is mine."
You start to chuckle.
"What?"
"Mingyu. You are the tallest man I know. Why did you get a tiny car?"
He tries to look annoyed, but his eyes sparkle (or that's the rain still on his eyelashes). "I like this car."
Your laugh is almost drowned out by the thunder outside. He leans over to kiss you, cradling your cheek in his big hand. You return it, moaning when his tongue dances with yours. When he draws back, you place the towel on his head and dry his hair.
"I can't have a sick bartender." You rub with the towel, getting rid of the excess water at least. He watches you. "Most people look like drowned rats, but you're even prettier, how is that possible?"
"Shut up," he mutters, cheeks turning pink. You laugh again, before jumping when lighting flashes outside the windows. "Are you scared of storms?"
"Not really. Are you?"
He shakes his head, still gazing at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone delicately.
"I thought you were in a hurry." His attention is discombobulating. He kisses you again, slower and leisurely. You let the towel fall into your lap as you run your hands through his hair. He pulls you closer, damn the hand brake between you. He lowers it before sliding one hand to your ass and lifting you so your in his lap, facing him. The steering wheel presses into your lower back. "We aren't—"
He shushes you before drawing up your top and pulling it off. You instantly cover yourself with a protest and then shiver. He pulls your arms out of the way, eyes taking in his fill.
"Thought about you for so long," he says, voice barely heard above the storm. "Wanted to see you like this." He starts to undo your jeans, mouth giving you no chance to respond verbally to his words. You whine when his hand slips into your underwear.
"Oh my god," you gasp when his finger enters you. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks and nose as he skims your slit with said finger. "Gyu…."
"Already wet for me."
"Has nothing to do with the rain." You're not sure how you can joke while he's touching you like this. But he knows how much you want him, it feels like someone should humble him from time to time.
He pinches your clit and you jolt. "I know the goddamn difference," he says before nipping your neck. "I thought you'd be good for me."
His voice is velvet and you pull his face back to yours so you can kiss him again. "I'll be good," you whisper on his lips. Again and again you kiss, taste, delve as he curls one finger, and then a second in your cunt, his thumb teasing your clit.
"Hey baby," he says when you start to squeeze his fingers. "Pull the lever so we can push the seat back?"
You blink at him, brain dazed. His grin widens.
"What are you smiling about?"
"You," he answers, pulling his fingers out, making you curse. He pulls the lever and pushes the back of the seat. "Spacey because of me." He tugs you down so you'er lying on him.
"You like me dumb?"
"Just cause you're always on top of things," he assures you. You huff, and sit up, working on his jeans' button and zipper.
"There's some joke in there about me being on top right now."
"If you weren't spacey, I bet you'd come up with—" he groans when you wrap your hand around his cock. "Fuck, you feel so good."
You use what he's already leaked to lubricate your hand and his cock. You stroke carefully, then tighten your grip. His hand on your hip digs in deep.
"Condom?" you ask, leaning down to kiss the tip. He groans.
"Don't you have a million in the office for the bathrooms?"
"You want me to go in there, right now and get some?" You lean over him, eyebrows up in question.
"No, I can't wait, I'll pull out, I promise. I'm clean," he stutters when you rub your thumb over his slit. You kiss him before lining him up with your entrance, and easing down.
You've never heard Mingyu curse that much.
He sits up to capture your mouth with his, hands caressing all your bared skin.
You tug on the hem of his shirt, and he only breaks away for you to pull it off and toss it in the back. His hands return to your ass and your clit as he gently grinds before starting to thrust. You can barely breathe, tracing every line of his chest and arms, kissing and sucking where you can.
He feels so good inside you, the drag of him rubbing every sensitive part of you.
The thunder drowns out the noises you both are making, but you feel his hot breath against your neck when his rhythm picks up.
"Close, baby?" His thumb presses hard and you clench so tight that your orgasm screams through you. It's heady, the euphoria of the release. You're only coming down from the high when he starts to pull out of you.
"No," you say against his ear, nibble on the soft skin. "Come inside."
"Fuck, you sure?"
"Yes." You lick the side of his neck and he trembles when he comes. His mouth open on your shoulder, with his arms wrapped tight around you, his breathing harsh, but slowing.
You take it all in, searing it into your memory.
When he raises his head to look at you, you brush his hair out of his eyes, press the back of your hands against his flushed cheeks. He kisses your fingers.
"Come home with me. I'll make you breakfast in the morning."
Go home with him. Stay in his bed, wake up with him. Have breakfast with him.
Where Jungkook also lives.
Who is your employee.
And so is Mingyu.
The metaphoric cold water dumped on you is like a shock to the system.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You pull away, scrambling to the passenger side, before tugging your underwear back in place and re-buttoning your jeans.
"I should go home."
He says your name in a tone of disappointment and frustration. His hand encircles your arm as you open your door.
"I can't leave my car here." It's a terrible excuse, there isn't high crime in Carats Ridge. "And I—" You jerk away from his touch. "I can't." And you rush back out into the rain, getting in your own car and driving toward your home.
You don't look back.
When you arrive several minutes later, you glance in the rear-view mirror, not sure if you're relieved or saddened that he didn't follow you.
Your phone pings with a message, but you don't check it until you're safe in your house, showered and dried off, now in your pajamas.
»mingyu: we're talking about this tomorrow
You don't answer, already regretting your choices and your actions.
You mean to get up early. To go and do errands. To be a productive member of society.
But your body has other ideas.
For fuck's sake, you're sore.
You grumble at yourself because yes, sex made you sore, but also sex in tight quarters like a VW BEETLE made you sore.
You drag on some loose yoga pants and stumble out of your bedroom.
Then there's a knock at your door.
You debate on answering.
"I know you're in there, I see your car." He huffs. "Can we just talk?"
You open the door and Mingyu is holding a white paper bag, and a drink tray with two cups.
"You ever think I'm not worth it?"
You both still at your unthought-out question.
"What?"
"Come in." You step back to let him in, looking down the sidewalk. "Where's your car?"
"Kook dropped me after we grabbed food." He sets his burdens on your kitchen counter and points to you before you say something. "He knows. He's known forever." He stands in the middle of your kitchen, making it feel small (it's not huge, but Mingyu dominates a space).
"Forever? We only had sex last night." Does your face heat when you say it aloud? Yes, but that's only for you and he to know.
Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "He's known how I feel about you since…well, since…" He hands you one of the two paper cups. "It's weird that I don't know how you like your coffee. Our interactions are never before afternoon."
"So what did you choose?" You take a sniff of the drink. "Smells like cinnamon."
"Cinnamon bun latte." He shrugs. "Or I have an Americano."
"Gross, cinnamon bun latte please."
He half-grins before taking the lit off his cup and blowing in it. You shuffle in to open the paper bag and inhale deeply.
"A couple plain croissants, and chocolate ones."
"You didn't have to bring me breakfast."
He sets his cup on the counter, standing on the other side from you so he can face you. "I would have made you breakfast."
You are going to have to have this conversation.
"Mingyu…" You offer him one of the chocolate croissants. "Do you want sugar or cream with your Americano?"
"I'm good." He takes a bite of the pain au chocolate and waits. For you to say something.
"I'm sorry."
"For?" he asks once he's swallowed.
"Everything. I shouldn't sleep with my employee, but I shouldn't run out on you either. I shouldn't want you, make out with you at work; but I most definitely should not give you mixed signals." You shove your hair out of your face, decidedly glad that he's getting to see you like this: big shirt, loose pants, unwashed face (at least you brushed your teeth) and bedhead.
If he ever found you attractive, he wouldn't now.
You sip your latte and smile. "That's really good."
"Apology accepted," he says. He watches you with those beautiful brown eyes. "Why does it matter if I work for you?"
"Oh come on. I'm your boss. I can fire you."
"Or promote me."
"Exactly, the power imbalance is huge and unfair to you. I could fire you for something like just…" You struggle to find an example.
"But you wouldn't."
"I'm talking theoretically here."
"But you wouldn't." He reaches across the counter to grasp you by the chin. "I know you. You wouldn't ever do that. You worry too much to make that kind of decision."
You stare at him. "Really?"
He sighs. "I could also abuse the dynamic. Use my relationship with you for any sort of promotion, benefits like, I dunno, longer breaks, pay raise, not work."
"You wouldn't. You enjoy yourself, but you work so hard."
"I'm talking theoretically here." He grins at you and you realize what he's doing. You know him. Not everything of course, but you know his character, his work ethic, how he's sees the world.
You are so far gone on this man.
"Okay, I get it, but—"
"You need an assistant manager right? Or supervisor? As the pub gets busier and the paperwork piles up."
"Yes. I've been thinking about that." You can't have him stay after work to do paperwork again, that's too dangerous.
"So who would you promote?" He doesn't let you look away, still holding your chin.
You swallow, nervous. "Honestly, you or Jungkook would do well at it. You've got a more laid-back temperament, but you can handle yourself in chaos. Jungkook is far more hyper, but he adjusts easily and has a strong sense of what's fair, so I don't worry about him keeping the peace." You shrug. "I think it be easier if you two talked it out and decided together who was a better fit. I'm too concerned that if I promoted you, it would show favoritism, or if I promoted Jungkook, I'd be doing it because I didn't want to show favoritism, which is kind of the same thing."
His smile inches across his lips. "See. You're a great boss. You don't like theme nights, but you were willing to give them a shot because Kook and I wanted to try."
"It's doing too well, I'm annoyed."
He chuckles and lets go of your chin, and returning to his coffee and pastry. "Is that it?"
"I think that's a big concern."
He pulls out the other pain au chocolate and puts it to your mouth. You take a bite and close your eyes. Why are pastries so delicious?
"I like you. I have since I met you."
As a 'love confession' (you have watched way too much anime in your lifetime), it's probably not the most dramatic or intense, but it still squeezes your heart. The softness of his expression, the domesticity of standing in your kitchen, just getting to look at him.
He likes you.
"At the interview?"
He nods, laughing before brushing crumbs off your lips. "You were so cute. Asking all kinds of questions before firing off ten cocktails, several really obscure, and asking me for the ingredients."
"You told me which ones you didn't know, but said that's what recipe books and your phone was for." You look down, smiling at the memory. "I appreciated that you admitted when you didn't know something. A lot of people would have faked it."
You don't realize that he comes around the counter to stand next to you, until his side presses yours.
"I like you too."
"I had an inkling you might."
"Shut up."
He laughs again before leaning down to kiss you softly. "The employer-employee thing is awkward, I get it. But I'm okay with working through that with you. Are you?"
You stare up at him, deciding that you will regret everything if you don't try. Not with this kind, beautiful, so honest and up front man, who puts up with your wavering.
"Yes."
His smile is warm and fond. He cradles your face in one hand, thumb at your lips. "You're worth it, by the way."
You can believe it, staring into those eyes.
Friday night you spend more time on the floor than you usually do. It's busy at the pub. Some sports match that Jungkook and Mingyu know about (you don't, you do not care enough to keep up) is on the televisions and so many of your regulars are in your pub.
You are mixing a French 75 for Joshua, moving around Mingyu who shoots you an indulgent grin. He bumps hips with you as he shakes up an espresso martini for Jihoon.
"You take up so much space," you tell him, mock-complaining.
"So I'm big?"
You don't answer that. It is not appropriate work conversation, but the glint in his eye is enough.
It's not like you weren't babbling with affection and praise this morning at yours. He really likes having sex in the morning.
He really likes you.
You hand Joshua his drink before finding the next patron. You halt when you see Jeonghan at your bar, royally arrogant smirk in place as he eyes you, then Mingyu, then you again with a perfect eyebrow raise.
"What'll be?" you ask, not commenting on the nonverbal conversation he's having with you.
"Glass of port."
You fulfill his request as Jungkook reaches over you for a wineglass. He winks at you.
The first thing you'd done after the eventful Thursday morning was talk to Jungkook. You explained that you and his best friend were seeing each other, but it would not in any way affect the workplace and climate.
"I hope it does." He leaning against the shelf of tequila in the liquor store room.
"Excuse me?"
"I hope it affects the workplace. I hope you guys are stupid happy." His grin is bright and gleeful, before dropping into a serious expression. "But you know, if you break his heart, I won't forgive you."
"Fair and valid."
"If he breaks yours, I'll punch him," he tells you with the same amount of glee as he leaves to finish up prep work.
"I…I, uh, appreciate that?"
He waves and is gone before you can say anything else.
"So things are good?" Jeonghan says when you hand him his port.
"How can you tell?"
"You both keep stealing glances at each other, and honestly? It's gross." But he's smiling. "So not a fluke?"
"Not a fluke."
"So you won't be coming in to The Bookery to have a meltdown anymore?"
"Don't sound so disappointed," you fire back and then leave him to his drink. The crowd is settled now, your bartenders have everything under control. You tell Jungkook (who is closest) that you're going to the back to do some paperwork and he waves you away.
You push through the 'employee only' doors and head down the hallway to your office. Your hand is snagged and you're spun around into an embrace.
"Just one kiss," Mingyu says, mouth following his words. It's quick, almost chaste. He releases you before you can fully soak it in.
"We shouldn't—"
"Probably not," he answers, with a wicked grin. "But this is more fun, madam boss." And he disappears back through the doors to bar and the people.
You're smiling, heart light and fluttery.
Way more fun.
a/n2: i originally outlined this for a lot more shenanigans, and even MORE avoidance on the mc's part. but turns out romcoms want miscommunication and this particular mingyu just won't allow that. :D
synopsis ▸ a flooded hotel room leaves you nowhere to go except to the one person you least want to seek help from. but it just might force you to confront feelings neither of you are ready for—or even privy to.
δ — sfw, suggestive, hurt/comfort, fluff, nuisances to lovers, confessions, one bed trope, oh no my room flooded i must share a room (and bed) with you ji, jiung is kind of mean tho, kissing and lots of it
ᯓ an — okay after this jiung is officially going to be put on hold i need to give the other boys some love also this was lowkey very self indulgent but also it's very cheesy corny cliche, enjoy
MASTERLIST
Asking Jiung to let you sleep with him might be a terrible idea.
But your room is flooded, the hotel’s completely booked, and Keeho’s—you don’t even want to think about it.
Even if he never really saw eye to eye with you (to be fair, neither did you with him) he should have some ability to show you a bit of mercy… right?
But then he opens the door and looks at you with such a deadpan look of displeasure that you realize maybe not and nearly tuck tail and leave.
“What is it?” He asks, and you’re reminded quickly that that’s not an option.
“My room flooded.”
His eyes widen for a split second, alarmed before his expression quickly schools back to its usual impassive. There’s an awkward pause that follows. Then, “I fail to see how that’s my problem.”
Your shoulders slump, just a little (a lot) disheartened at his snippy tone. You’d think years of being in the same group would make him a little warmed to you. But he never did make it easy for you to give him a reason to be.
“The hotel’s completely booked out.”
“Then—“
“Keeho’s got his girlfriend over.”
Jiung blinks at you as he comes to the only conclusion this situation is bound to have. You clutch your Pikachu plushie, the one Shota won for you years ago, closer to your chest in anticipation.
You half expect him to just shut the door in your face. But then he steps aside and opens it a little further while looking entirely unhappy about having to do so.
You roll your eyes but bite your tongue. Not enough apparently because the words tumble out anyway as you step into the room.
“Try looking a little more upset about it, that might get the point across.”
The door shuts a tad too loudly behind you.
“Of course you would complain when I do something nice,” you hear him grumble under his breath as he passes you, sidestepping you so pointedly that you’d think you were carrying a disease.
You can only scoff, watching the back of his grey hoodie as he moves through the room for his suitcase at the other end.
“Like you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” you grit through your teeth, your ducky slippers squawking angrily as you pad over to the bed and plop down on the edge.
“I’m doing this so you won’t go crying to the manager about how I’m bullying you,” he sneers as he fishes out a black t-shirt then reaches for the hem of his sweater. “Again.”
Your mouth snaps open to snipe right back and remind him that he’d ‘constructively criticized’ you to the point of tears but the words die right on your tongue as Jiung pulls the hoodie off his body, leaving his well-toned, lean-muscled, intricately inked skin exposed for your eyes in all their pallor glory.
He seems none the wiser to your slack jaw and dazed eyes as he tugs his shirt on, muttering something about ‘ungrateful brat’ but you’re honestly not listening because you’re too busy thinking about holy shit, does boxing really do that kind of a wonder for someone’s body, and, is it getting hot in here?
You’re only snapped out of your quickly flitting brain by his snippy tone.
“Guess I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles as he starts gathering the extra blankets in the hotel dresser.
You blink yourself back to your body—when did you start floating away?
“Huh?” You ask intelligently. “What? No, just take the bed.”
He pauses as he turns back to face you, arms full of white fluffy cotton that you kind of want to crawl into. Or is it his arms…
“You’re going to take the floor?” He asks.
“What?” You ask again, and Jiung gives a look that promptly makes you feel stupid so you scramble to explain. “It’s a queen bed.”
“And?”
“…it can fit two adults with extra space to—mmph, hey!”
The pillow to your face jostles you hard enough that you nearly get toppled onto your back.
You scramble to right yourself, grabbing the pillow and chucking it back to him but he dodges it easily as he starts to fix a makeshift bed on the empty floor space by the bed.
“That was so unnecessary!” You cry as you frantically pat down your hair.
“It is if you keep saying dumb things,” he states simply.
“Why is sharing a bed dumb? Are you really that immature?”
“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I don’t want to be in that close proximity to you?”
Well. That stings. And it shuts you right up.
You’ve always been like oil and water, always wanting different things, always pulled in different creative directions, always had different ways of operating.
But honestly, you thought it was just that. That you just didn’t mesh well, and that’s okay. Not everyone needs to get along.
But you never thought that Jiung might just simply not like you to the point that being near you is past his boundary of comfort. And that realization actually sort of… hurts.
You know the silence stretches on for too long that you just stare at him, watching him make his little bed and crawl into it, as if he said nothing remiss.
This new feeling in your chest is strange and uncomfortable, like it’s a tangible thing pulling at itself. So you look away, push yourself to the farthest end of the bed from him, and crawl under the blankets in hopes that being away from him might remedy it a little.
It doesn’t.
Even after you turn off the lights and toss and turn for what feels like an hour, maybe two.
You can’t help it—his words keep ringing in your ear. And that feeling in your chest keeps pulling tighter and it’s honestly getting a little hard to breathe.
Does he even understand the gravity of the words he’s said? Does he even care?
You haven’t heard a single sound from him, so you have your answer. There he is, sleeping peacefully in his little dreamland where you don’t exist.
When did it get so bad? Did you push his buttons too far? When was the tipping point and how did you not see it happen?
You’d always had trouble with him but you never hated him. You hoped that it was all just a silly preamble to something of a meaningful friendship that might grow a few years down the road.
You don’t realize when your hands start shaking. When your eyes start watering. When your breaths start trembling. Or when those quiet little sniffles start escaping you.
You clench your fists and dig your face into the pillow, mentally cursing yourself for being so affected.
You’re not affected. Especially not by the likes of Jiung, the asshole. The asshole who you hate to admit has been finding himself taking a lot of your headspace lately.
Well at least it’s clear now you’ve been in none of his.
These morose thoughts prattle around in your head, then infest you slowly until they’re clinging to you like a second skin.
When the bed dips behind you, your heart stops.
You freeze, breaths caught in your throat. The room pauses like a reel stuck on a terrible frame. You pray he’s only sleep-walking.
“I didn’t mean that.”
The deep timbre of his voice does wonders to start prying off that infestation. You hate that it’s so simple, that he can so easily bring you down.
You don’t want him to. So you take a deep breath to keep your voice from shaking, and you push away. “Sure you did.”
There’s a pause, one that keeps your skin on edge.
“Not… in the way that you think.”
Now you’re just confused. “What does that mean?”
“My feelings towards you are complicated.”
“…what does that mean?”
He clicks his tongue, a habit of his that always was pointed to you, to berate you in some way. Right now you don’t really mind it.
“I just said it’s complicated,” he huffs behind you, and you feel the puff of breath bristle the hair at the back of your neck.
Only then do you become aware of how close he is, and the heat of his body behind you burns more present somehow.
“Wow,” you deadpan, trying to shake off that prickling feeling that starts to grow under your skin. “You make me cry and you can’t even explain yourself.”
He lets out a long suffering sigh. It makes you smile despite your turmoil, wondering if his face is scrunched in that way it always is when he’s fed up with you. You’re just glad he can’t see it.
“It’s not that I hate being around you.” A pause. “Well, I do.” Before you can start crying again, he barrels on. “But only because… it drives me crazy.”
Well, you might start regardless. “I get it, I’m crazy, you don’t have to keep saying it I believe you—“
“I think I’m in love with you.”
The world around you feels like it’s about to implode in on itself. The room feels like it’s caving in on you. Your brain feels something similar, before it stutters and crashes and goes completely silent.
“Or… at least have very strong feelings for you.”
You take in the breath that’s been refusing to reach you, but it fills your lungs shakily and without commitment to actually helping you function.
“You’re sure it’s not hate?” You ask, because no part of you can believe the words uttered from his stupidly pretty lips. Lips you wish you could see right about now. Just so you can confirm that he’s actually talking and this is not the little devil on your shoulder playing terrible tricks on you.
“It could be,” he admits solemnly. “Because I really want to push you off this bed right now.”
You whip around, immediately offended at his smug little face. You completely miss the nerves lingering in his gaze as it drops for a split second.
“Go ahead.” You glare. “I’ll bring you down with me.”
“I won’t stop you.”
When his eyes meet yours, the moment sobers and you’re quickly reminded of… reminded of…
“I mean it,” he says softly, and you’re reminded of just what it was that had blown your whole world open mere moments ago. “I can’t stand being around you because I can’t stand the thought that you don’t want me the way I want you.”
The honesty of his words, the low timbre of his voice, the solid weight of the night that blankets you—it makes something in your chest settle. Something at peace.
You recall all his snarky remarks about your dancing. You recall the way he always lingered after every practice to help you, armed with condescension and something else you missed entirely. Something you’re seeing now.
You recall those begrudging ‘hbd’ texts, those little frog plushies that would show up in random crevices of your dorm room at odd times of the year. You recall his insults and how they weren’t really insults at all—adoration disguised under disgust, maybe.
You recall the little box of tiramisu always delivered to your door after you’ve had a bad day. You just assumed it was Intak. But now you're realizing you only ever mentioned it being your favourite indulgence around Jiung.
You recall wishing every day that these little things led to something—to Jiung. You recall how you’d look forward to the next moment with him that you’d get to torment him. That you were happy for every little reaction you’d invoke from him. You just didn’t realize why. Until now.
The smile that grows on your lips is entirely his fault. “Who said anything about that?”
“You,” he deadpans. “Multiple times.”
You scoff, hitting his arm without real punch but you let your hand linger there on the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Only because I thought you hated me all this time,” you murmur, the honestly stripping you bare of all your typical bells and whistles.
“Well,” he starts, slowly mirroring the smile on you. “There have been some grave misunderstandings it seems.”
“I suppose…”
“But it’s not unfixeable,” he says, suddenly looking every bit of nervous that you’re feeling. “Right?”
You hum in thought, half heartedly tugging on a loose string on his sleeve. “True. You can start now.”
He raises a brow at you. “Shouldn’t it go both ways? We’re both at fault for this.”
“Mm… Nah. You go first.”
You bite back your laugh at the glare he fixes you with. You don’t even get the chance to say you’re kidding before suddenly there’s arms around you, tight and strong, and you’re being manhandled against your will.
Your fight dies down when he holds you close to him, your back to his chest. When you realize the position you’re in and melt in his hold (completely against your will), the tension in his body leaves all at once and he buries his face in the back of your hair.
“Better?” He murmurs into it, his honeyed voice a living thing inside your skull. His arms twist tighter around your waist and send your stomach into fluttery knots.
You lean into the touch, letting your hand brush over the warm skin at his wrist.
“Could be better,” you say as more of a breath.
When his lips brush against the spot under your ear before pressing against your skin, warm and lingering, your breath hitches in your throat.
“How about now?” He whispers, breath feathering down your neck.
You swallow down your thrumming heart, tilting your head towards him just a bit but you still can’t bring it in you to look at him just yet.
“Getting there,” you try to tease, but it falls weak.
He chuckles lightly against you, before pressing his palm against your stomach as if holding you to him so he can trace the ghost of his lips down the line of your jaw, caging you in with his body.
He settles at the base of your chin, biting down with his teeth.
Your eyes snap open at the quick burst of pain, and you turn to glare at him but he takes that chance instead to seal his lips over yours.
It feels like you’re falling, again and again, as his lips move over yours. It’s slow, hesitant, a little timid.
But when you sigh into the warmth and move your lips in tandem with his, he presses in.
His hand comes up to your jaw to hold you in place as he dives. Searching, as he indulges in the taste of you on his seeking tongue, a quick, wet slide that teases your lower lip and leaves your stomach burning.
The sound he makes against you when you meet the next swipe of his tongue with your own makes you lose all your inhibitions.
You push back, and he goes under your palms as you turn and slide your body over his, never once severing where you’re connected. You’re practically devouring him now, legs straddling his lap, palms pushing his sturdy chest into the mattress, lips parted enough to let your tongue slide against the seam of his lips.
He gives with a little moan, accepting your tongue with a soft gasp and his hands clutching onto your hips. He pulls you in flush, solid warmth against your already heated body.
Your tongue maps his pliant mouth, seeking home and staking claim. It leaves him panting under you, little grunts and sounds spilling from his lips.
“So noisy,” you coo against the wet heat of his open mouth, his damp breathing marring your slick lips.
He whimpers, lifting his head and leaning up, already seeking your kiss again. “Wanted this for too long,” he muffles against you, slurred and almost unintelligible as his tongue flits out for another taste of your lips. Like he can’t go without it for even a few seconds.
You take a shaky breath to ease the tempest those words brew inside your chest. You peck his lips to soothe him over for another moment. “I can see that,” you hum, giggling softly when he eagerly captures another needy kiss.
“Don’t tease,” he whines thinly.
You kiss him deep and slow, easing him down to the pillow again before you reroute. “Not possible,” you hum against his jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down the sharp cut then flitting down his neck. “You’re too cute.”
He lets out an angry little puff of breath, digging his nails into the fabric of your shirt. “Thought I was an ogre.”
You snicker against his skin, recalling that time you’d petulantly called him a shrimpy ogre when the concept looks for the Killin’ It era were revealed during a meeting with the company head. And about a few dozen others.
“Still are,” you state, lifting to grin down at him. “This doesn’t change anything.”
When you take in the sight of him, starry eyed as he stares up at you in a daze, kiss bitten lips parted as he pants for air, pale skin flushed a pretty scarlet over his cheeks and down his neck, you think to yourself, huh—this might change one thing.
You watch as that distant, hazy look in his eye turns sharp and pointed.
And then he’s got an arm around you, flipping you onto your back like it takes no effort before he sets himself on top of you, slotted right between your parted legs.
That starry look is gone, pupils blown wide with a dark, heated desire that leaves your taunts withering on your tongue.
He places his hands on your stomach, searing through your shirt as he slides them down just to drag them back up, underneath your layers this time.
Your lips part in a gasp as the heat seeps directly through your skin and pools low in your belly, his eyes snapping down to catch the movement.
warnings: parental manipulation, threats, violence, poison, dark themes, power imbalance, forced marriage ish, NSFW (later chapters)
summary: In a world where poison is both art and weapon, a powerful family gathers brides for a man known as the Poison Master. Y/N never wanted to be part of it, but refusal was never an option. Surrounded by rivals and hidden dangers, she has only one goal: Surviving long enough to leave... But nothing within the Gong residence is ever that simple.
language: “Ge” (or GeGe) means older brother, and “Jie” (or “Jiejie”) means older sister in Chinese.
author's note: This is chapter 5! Thanks to everyone who is still following this story! Romance is starting soon, so be prepared! Please like, share, and comment your thoughts, I genuinely love reading your reactions and predictions! Let’s have a discussion in the comment section! <3
Check out the World & Character Guide. If you haven't seen My Journey to You, it will help you understand the story and its characters without needing to watch the drama.
Yuanzhi tilted the final mouthful of tea back slowly, eyes lowered toward the dark surface of the porcelain cup as the bitter taste settled across his tongue. The tea had long since cooled, though he barely seemed to notice.
Most of the servants had already withdrawn from the hall by now, leaving only a pair of attendants stationed quietly near the entrance with lowered eyes.
For a while, Yuanzhi remained seated where Shangjue had left him, still turning over the evening’s conversations within his mind.
Some parts had irritated him more than others.
Miss Liuyun especially.
Even now, recalling the woman’s subtle arrogance was enough to make his expression harden faintly. Every word that left her mouth carried the same polished superiority disguised beneath elegant composure and practiced smiles
Yuanzhi was not certain he could endure another five-minute conversation with the woman without eventually telling her to stop speaking altogether
The others had hardly left much stronger impressions.
Most spoke too carefully, weighing every answer before allowing it past their lips. Girls raised to be agreeable rather than honest, more concerned with appearing proper beneath the elders’ attention than revealing anything genuine about themselves.
Then there was Miss Mei.
At the thought of her, Yuanzhi’s gaze sharpened slightly. The irritating part was that she had seemed entirely harmless while seated among the others earlier that evening. Quiet. Polite. Almost shy at times when spoken to directly.
Knowing what he knew now only left a bitter sort of annoyance settling beneath his thoughts.
Yuanzhi lowered his gaze briefly toward the empty cup resting between his fingers, replaying the evening’s conversations once more in his mind. He searched again for some detail he might have missed earlier. A hesitation. An unnatural answer. A look held a moment too long. Nothing came back clearly enough…But perhaps that was the point.
Wufeng spies were trained precisely so that suspicion never formed easily in the first place. They were not merely assassins carrying blades and poison into enemy territory, but skilled deceivers capable of becoming whatever others expected to see.
If Shangjue had not noticed the discrepancy in Mei’s statements regarding her supposed hometown earlier that evening, Yuanzhi doubted he would have looked twice at her at all.
His brother had spent years traveling beyond the Gong residence, moving between regions and provinces where details like dialects, customs, and local geography mattered far more than most people realized.
Yuanzhi, meanwhile, had spent much of those same years within the residence walls. Learning different things entirely.
There had once been little reason to question it. The Gong family required different strengths from each of them, and Yuanzhi had never lacked confidence in his own abilities.
He had traveled beyond the valley before, though never for very long and rarely far enough that the Gong residence itself did not still feel within reach. Most journeys had been tied to duty, escort missions, investigations, or assignments that demanded his return almost immediately afterward.
Maybe, once the constant threat of Wufeng finally eased, he might leave for longer than a few passing days. Travel beyond the same familiar roads and provinces he already knew by memory. The thought lingered only briefly before another followed, quieter and far less guarded.
Perhaps having someone beside him during such journeys would not be entirely unwelcome…
Yuanzhi stilled for a moment before lightly shaking the thought aside. He finally pushed himself up from the cushion, the dark fabric of his robes settling smoothly back into place around him. Silver embroidery caught faintly beneath the lanternlight as he adjusted the sleeve at his wrist, more out of habit than necessity.
The maids stationed quietly near the entrance straightened almost immediately at the movement.
Without needing instruction, one of the servants stepped forward and slid the carved wooden doors open.
Cold night air swept through the hall the moment the doors parted, carrying with it the sharp scent of pine and damp stone from the mountainside beyond. Yuanzhi stepped outside without pause, the chill settling lightly against his skin after the lingering warmth of the lanternlit gathering behind him.
Night had settled fully across the Gong residence now. Lanterns burned steadily along the sprawling paths carved into the mountainside estate, their golden light stretching across dark wooden railings and stone pathways touched lightly by evening mist. Beyond them, layered rooftops disappeared gradually into shadow beneath the pale glow of the moon.
Several guards remained stationed outside the hall, dark uniforms nearly motionless beneath the shifting lanternlight lining the outer pathways. Their postures straightened the moment Yuanzhi appeared, hands briefly tightening around the weapons resting at their sides before they bowed respectfully.
Yuanzhi barely acknowledged the guards as he stepped down onto the stone pathway, the sound of his boots muted against the dark polished stone beneath the lanternlight.
For a few moments, nothing disturbed the quiet stretching across the mountainside residence beyond the distant rush of river water below the cliffs.
Then hurried footsteps suddenly broke through the quiet.
The sound carried sharply through the outer pathways of the residence, fast and uneven enough that several guards immediately turned their attention toward the lower stone path leading up toward the hall.
A figure appeared only moments later.
One of the outer guards was climbing the incline at a near run, breathing visibly uneven by the time he reached the upper landing. His uniform had fallen slightly out of place from the pace he had forced himself into, though he still managed to straighten immediately upon seeing Yuanzhi standing beneath the lanternlight ahead.
The guard dropped at once into a deep bow, clasped hands raised tightly before him.
“Young Master Yuanzhi.”
Yuanzhi’s gaze settled upon him immediately, expression sharpening slightly at the clear urgency in the man’s condition.
“What happened?”
“One of the brides has fallen into the river,” the guard reported, still struggling slightly to steady his breathing. “The guards retrieved her unconscious and are bringing her back now.”
For the briefest moment, he simply stood there, dark eyes fixed upon the kneeling guard as the information settled sharply into place within his thoughts.
Then his expression hardened.
“Inform the Sword Wielder immediately,” he ordered. “And find my brother. He could not have gone far.”
The guard bowed at once before hurrying back down the stone path without delay.
Yuanzhi turned instead toward the two guards stationed closest to the hall entrance.“Prepare the east infirmary chamber,” he said. “Have braziers lit and send for Physician Xu.”
Both guards straightened immediately before moving at once, one disappearing into the inner residence while the other turned sharply toward the lower pathways leading deeper into the estate.
Nearby maids who had remained quietly beneath the outer walkway lifted their heads at the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“You,” Yuanzhi said, his gaze settling briefly upon two of the servants. “Bring dry robes and blankets. Heated water as well.”
The maid bowed deeply before hurrying quickly into the residence, the other one following after her.
Several tense minutes passed afterward.
The quiet atmosphere that had settled over the residence earlier that night had long since disappeared, replaced now by the low movement of guards and servants carrying orders between the surrounding halls.
Yuanzhi stayed where he was near the edge of the upper stone landing overlooking the lower routes leading back toward the Ladies’ Estate.
The cold night wind moved steadily through the loose strands of dark hair near his face, stirring the sleeves of his robes faintly against the silence surrounding him. Yet despite his stillness, there remained something sharp beneath his composure now, an alertness that had spread quietly through the entire residence since the moment the report arrived.
Shangjue appeared beside him a few moments later.
His dark robes shifted faintly beneath the pale moonlight as he came to a stop beside his younger brother, the colder seriousness settling across his expression making it immediately clear he had already been informed of the situation.
For a brief moment, neither brother spoke as Shangjue came to a stop beside him.
Yuanzhi glanced toward him once, his expression unreadable beneath the pale moonlight spilling across the upper landing. Shangjue returned the look just as briefly, calm and composed as always.
It was not long before another group appeared ascending toward the upper grounds.
Several guards emerged first, their lanterns casting shifting light across the stone steps as they moved quickly through the darkness below. At their center walked Gong Ziyu, a dark outer cloak thrown hastily over lighter night robes, his hair only partially secured compared to his usual formal appearance.
The moment he reached the upper landing, his attention moved immediately toward the guards accompanying him.
“You six,” Ziyu ordered without pause, gesturing toward the lower paths branching away from the main residence. “Go to the Ladies’ Estate and reinforce the guards stationed there. The escort returning here will have left the remaining women with too few men protecting them.”
The guards bowed immediately before turning back down the mountain paths without hesitation.
Only once the orders had been carried out did Ziyu finally step beside Shangjue and Yuanzhi near the edge of the stone landing.
For a few moments, all three men faced the darkness below in silence.
“Do we know who fell?” Ziyu asked quietly at last.
Yuanzhi’s expression did not shift. “No.”
The answer had barely settled between them before distant voices suddenly rose from somewhere farther below. Then came the sound of approaching footsteps and hurried movement carrying upward through the mountain paths.
The answer had barely settled between them before distant voices suddenly rose from somewhere farther below. Then came the sound of hurried movement carrying upward through the mountain paths, disturbing the tense stillness that had settled across the upper grounds.
A small group soon emerged from the darkness below.
Two guards moved ahead quickly up the incline while another followed close behind carrying an unconscious figure within his arms. Water dripped steadily from the soaked fabric clinging heavily to the woman’s body, leaving a dark trail across the stone beneath their feet as they climbed.
Someone had wrapped a dark cloak hastily around her shoulders during the return, though it did little against the cold mountain wind cutting through the upper grounds. The heavy fabric had been pulled high enough to obscure most of her face from view as the guards made their way up the final incline toward the three men waiting above.
The guard carrying her was breathing noticeably heavier now, strained from both the steep climb and the weight held carefully within his arms. As he adjusted his hold near the top of the landing, the edge of the cloak shifted slightly.
Yuanzhi’s gaze fixed upon the unconscious girl almost immediately.
Y/N.
Dark wet hair clung faintly against her cheek, droplets still caught along the strands, while the cold had drained most of the color from her lips beneath her pale skin. The sight of her remaining motionless in the freezing night air made something tighten sharply beneath Yuanzhi’s ribs before he forced it back down almost at once.
“Take her to the infirmary,” Yuanzhi ordered sharply. “Now.”
The guard bowed quickly before continuing past them without hesitation. The remaining two guards dropped immediately to one knee.
His expression remained calm and unreadable as always, though his gaze had sharpened slightly upon the kneeling guards before him.
“What happened?” Shangjue demanded.
The first guard lowered his head further at the question.
“We were escorting the women back toward the Ladies’ Estate, Young Master,” he explained evenly. “The group had nearly arrived by then. The women were walking together ahead of us while we followed farther behind along the path.” He paused briefly before continuing. “The lady was near the back of the group beside another young woman when it happened.”
“It was dark,” the second guard added carefully. “We couldn’t see that clearly from where we were positioned. We only saw Miss Han suddenly stumble toward the side of the hill before falling down into the river below.”
The first guard swallowed. “By the time we reached the water, she was already unconscious.”
A brief silence followed the explanation.
The cold wind moved quietly through the upper grounds, stirring the edges of dark robes beneath the open night sky.
Then Ziyu spoke. “Who was the other young lady?”
The two guards exchanged a brief glance between themselves.
One frowned slightly, visibly trying to recall the scene more clearly. “I believe it was Miss Mei,” he answered after a moment. “Though I cannot say so with complete certainty, Sword Wielder.”
A brief silence followed the name.
Yuanzhi’s gaze lifted immediately toward Shangjue, while beside them Ziyu’s expression sharpened slightly as the implication settled between the three men without needing to be spoken aloud.
Farther within the residence, movement still continued near the infirmary. Maids disappeared quickly through the open doors carrying basins and fresh linens inside while guards remained stationed outside, none daring to enter without instruction. A moment later, Yuanzhi spotted Physician Xu being hurried inside as well, robes shifting quickly as maids moved aside to let him pass.
His expression darkened slightly at the thought.
At first, Yuanzhi had assumed it was nothing more than an unfortunate fall in the dark. But now, knowing Mei had apparently been beside Y/N when it happened, the situation no longer sat right with him.
Had Y/N truly stumbled on her own?
Or had she been pushed down the hillside into the river below?
Beside him, Shangjue watched the shift in his expression for only a moment before speaking calmly.
“Go.”
Yuanzhi glanced toward him.
“I’ll go with Ziyu to the Ladies’ Estate,” Shangjue continued evenly. “We’ll investigate what happened there.”
Ziyu gave a small nod beside him, his earlier calm now replaced by visible seriousness as his gaze shifted briefly toward the dark paths leading back down the mountain.
Yuanzhi lingered only a moment longer before turning toward the infirmary, disappearing deeper into the residence without another word.
Warmth met Yuanzhi the moment he stepped inside the infirmary, carrying with it the sharp scent of crushed herbs and burning charcoal from the braziers glowing throughout the chamber.
Near the center of the chamber, a sheer embroidered screen had been drawn around the bed while soft movement continued behind the pale fabric as the maids worked quickly to change Y/N out of her soaked clothing.
Yuanzhi’s gaze shifted toward the screen only briefly before he looked away almost immediately, expression tightening faintly as he instead approached Physician Xu waiting nearby.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Physician Xu,” he said.
The older man bowed respectfully at once. “Young Master may call for my assistance at any time.”
Physician Xu lowered his voice slightly afterward, glancing briefly toward the screen behind them.
“I was only able to check the young lady’s pulse briefly before the maids began changing her clothes,” he explained carefully. “But it did not feel entirely regular.”
Yuanzhi’s gaze lowered slightly at the words, his thoughts immediately turning over the implication beneath them.
“She had been exposed to the river cold for too long,” the physician continued. “It was more important to warm her body and remove the wet clothing immediately.”
Yuanzhi gave a short nod in understanding.
For a few moments afterward, neither man spoke while the quiet sounds of movement continued behind the screen.
Then finally, one of the maids spoke softly from the other side.
“It is done.”
Only then did Yuanzhi and Physician Xu step forward toward the bed.
Y/N lay beneath layered blankets near the warmth of the glowing braziers, her dark hair still slightly damp where it spread loosely against the pillow beneath her. Candlelight softened the paleness lingering across her features, though the faint bluish tint that had touched her lips earlier had not entirely disappeared yet.
Without wasting another moment, he reached for her wrist.
Beside him, Physician Xu did the same with her other hand, the older physician’s long white hair slipping slightly forward over his shoulder as he focused carefully upon her pulse once again.
Silence settled throughout the infirmary.
The maids had withdrawn respectfully toward the edges of the chamber now, leaving them space to examine her properly without interruption.
Finally, Physician Xu exhaled quietly.
“It’s still weak,” he murmured. “And irregular.”His pale gaze lifted briefly toward Yuanzhi.“What does Young Master think?”
Yuanzhi remained quiet for a moment longer, fingers still resting lightly against Y/N’s wrist while he studied the uneven rhythm beneath her skin.
“This does not feel like simple exhaustion,” he said at last.
Physician Xu gave a slow nod beside him, clearly in agreement.
Yuanzhi released her wrist carefully afterward, his attention shifting across her face beneath the candlelight. He searched for anything that felt unnatural. Any sign her condition had been caused by something beyond the cold river and the fall.
Yuanzhi rolled her sleeve carefully farther up her forearm, preparing to lower it again when something caught his attention.
His hand stilled immediately.
Near the outer side of her forearm sat a small circular mark against her skin, faintly discolored beneath the candlelight. Too clean to have come from falling down a hillside. Too deliberate.
For a brief moment, Yuanzhi simply stared at it in silence. Whatever lingering doubt had remained in his mind vanished almost instantly.
Physician Xu noticed the shift in Yuanzhi’s expression almost immediately as he noticed the mark as well. He straightened from the bedside at once, already knowing from experience what would follow next. Yuanzhi’s knowledge of poisons far surpassed his own in certain areas, especially when it came to identifying compounds designed to leave behind as little trace as possible. The physician had long since learned not to interfere once Yuanzhi entered this state of cold concentration.
Without wasting another moment, Yuanzhi reached for the small blade concealed within his sleeve. Carefully, he made a shallow cut near the puncture wound along Y/N’s forearm, just enough for darkened blood to surface slowly against her skin.
Then Yuanzhi turned the blade toward himself.
The edge sliced lightly across his own skin using the same bloodied knife.
One of the maids visibly startled at the sight before quickly lowering her gaze again, though no one dared speak.
Yuanzhi had spent years learning poisons through direct exposure, forcing himself to understand their effects by experiencing them firsthand. Symptoms. Timing. Paralysis. Pain. Hallucinations. It was dangerous knowledge earned through methods few people would willingly endure.
Yuanzhi set the blade aside afterward, his expression remaining unreadable as he waited for the poison to take effect within his own body.
Physician Xu waited patiently nearby as the moments stretched on.
Yuanzhi’s brows drew together faintly first, recognition settling across his features almost immediately afterward.
He looked up toward Physician Xu. “Bring powdered qinglan root and two measures of dried suhe leaves,” he instructed calmly. “Boil them together immediately. Add crushed silver orchid once the water darkens.”
Physician Xu moved at once.
The older men crossed quickly toward the medicine shelves lining the far wall, already gathering the necessary herbs without needing the instructions repeated. Only after he stepped away did Yuanzhi lower his attention back toward Y/N.
He quietly reached into his sleeve and pulled out his handkerchief before carefully wiping away the remaining blood along her forearm, his movements slower now than before. Once the mark had been cleaned properly, Yuanzhi let her sleeve fall gently back into place beneath the blankets. For a brief moment afterward, he simply looked at her.
Strands of dark hair still clung faintly against her forehead from the earlier dampness despite the efforts to dry it. Without thinking much about it, Yuanzhi lifted his hand and brushed them back carefully away from her cold skin. His fingers lingered only briefly before withdrawing again.
The quiet stillness within the infirmary lasted another moment before he finally spoke, his voice calm despite the tension that had settled heavily throughout the chamber.
“You may leave us.”
The maids bowed immediately at the dismissal, beginning to gather the Y/N’s used cloths.
“And send one of the guards stationed outside inside,” Yuanzhi added without looking away from Y/N.
“Yes, Young Master.”
Only a moment later, another figure entered.
One of the guards stepped inside before stopping several paces away from the bed. He bowed properly at once, hands clasped respectfully before him in formal greeting.
“Young Master Yuanzhi.”
“Go inform the Sword Wielder that Lady Han was poisoned,” Yuanzhi instructed, wasting no time.
The guard visibly stiffened at the words despite himself, surprise flashing briefly across his expression before discipline returned almost immediately.
Yuanzhi continued before the man could speak. “Tell them to bring back the young lady who was beside her at the time of the incident.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
The guard bowed deeply once more before turning quickly and disappearing from the infirmary to carry out the order.
Several quiet minutes passed afterward.
Yuanzhi remained seated beside Y/N while the warmth beneath his skin slowly worsened, the poison continuing its gradual spread through his body. He recognized the feeling immediately. The faint heat settling through his chest and limbs. The growing tightness beneath his ribs.
Years of repeated exposure had altered his tolerance long ago, allowing certain poisons to affect him slower than they would most people.
The physician approached once the medicine had finished brewing and lowered himself beside the bed, two steaming bowls balanced carefully in his hands. He set one upon the ground near his feet as the bitter scent of the medicinal concoction slowly spread through the room, curling into the air with the rising steam.
“Young Master,” Physician Xu said, gesturing toward Y/N. “Please support her head so I can give her the remedy.”
Without hesitation, Yuanzhi slipped one arm carefully behind Y/N’s shoulders before lifting her upright against him.
Most of her weight settled naturally against his chest as Yuanzhi adjusted his grip slightly, one hand moving to steady the back of her neck while Physician Xu lifted the spoon toward her lips.
Neither man spoke during the process.
Only once the bowl had finally emptied did Physician Xu lower it again.
Yuanzhi carefully eased Y/N back against the bedding afterward, lowering her slowly before pulling the blankets securely back around her shoulders.
Then, Physician Xu handed him the second bowl. Yuanzhi accepted it without hesitation and drank the bitter remedy quickly before setting the empty bowl back down beside the bed.
“Angel Wings.” The physician confirmed slowly. “Smart.”
Yuanzhi exhaled quietly at the name.
One of the ingredients stolen earlier from the Gong medical cabinets had been moonvine extract, harmless by itself in small quantities, but combined with crowleaf and crushed white aconite…
The result became something far more dangerous.
The Angel Wings poison had been designed to work steadily through the body over the course of roughly an hour, though in some cases it could take as long as two. It gradually weakened the pulse and slowed the breathing before eventually causing complete collapse followed by organ failure. The poison was favored by some assassins because it did not kill quickly enough to draw immediate suspicion, allowing them time to distance themselves from the victim, yet it progressed fast enough that the true cause of the victim’s sudden illness was rarely investigated thoroughly before death followed. Inexperienced caretakers often failed to recognize it, as the symptoms could easily be mistaken for severe pneumonia or complications of the heart instead.
Physician Xu reached for the damp cloth resting beside the basin and gently wiped the moisture from Y/N’s brow. Even unconscious, she frowned faintly at the touch. “The cold water likely accelerated the poison’s effects,” he said quietly.
Yuanzhi’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Without speaking, he reached back toward Y/N and rested his fingers carefully against her wrist once more, the faint warmth gradually returning beneath her skin enough to ease some of the tension that had remained within him until now.
Physician Xu lowered his gaze briefly toward the unconscious girl resting beneath the blankets. “Thanks to your quick actions, the antidote was administered in time before the poison spread too far,” he said calmly. “You may leave her in my care for the remainder of the night, Master Yuanzhi. Until the poison is fully neutralized by her body, it will likely take some time before she wakes. I will personally continue monitoring her condition while you are away.”
Yuanzhi remained silent awhile longer, his fingers still resting lightly against Y/N’s wrist as though confirming the steadier rhythm for himself. Only after several more breaths passed did he finally release her hand.
“If her pulse weakens again or there is any change in her condition, send for me immediately,” Yuanzhi said evenly as he rose from the bedside.
Physician Xu inclined his head respectfully. “Of course, Young Master.”
Yuanzhi remained beside the bed for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on Y/N’s pale, unmoving figure before he finally forced himself to turn away. He left the infirmary without another word, the doors sliding shut softly behind him.
˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖
The interrogation chamber sat apart from the main residence deeper within the lower grounds of the Gong territory, built from dark stone and iron far from the warmth and comfort of the family halls above. The structure itself resembled more of a secured holding prison than an ordinary room, its thick walls designed to contain dangerous prisoners and secrets alike.
Inside, the chamber remained dimly lit, the glow from several hanging lanterns barely enough to push back the darkness gathering along the corners of the room. Iron bars cast long shadows across the stone floor while the faint scent of metal, herbs, and old smoke lingered quietly through the cold air.
Yuanzhi stood near one of the side tables in complete silence.
His movements remained calm.
Almost disturbingly so.
One by one, he arranged the items spread across the wooden surface with meticulous precision, adjusting their positions without the slightest hint of hurry. Small bowls of crushed herbs. Folded cloths. A single polished knife resting neatly beside a dark handkerchief. Near the edge of the table sat a freshly prepared pot of tea, faint steam still rising from it beneath the lantern glow.
To anyone unfamiliar with him, the scene might have appeared almost orderly.
To those who knew Gong Yuanzhi well, the calmness was far more unsettling.
The lingering warmth from the poison still sat faintly beneath his skin despite the antidote, though not enough to dull the cold focus settled across his expression now.
A heavy metallic sound echoed through the chamber as the outer door finally opened.
Yuanzhi did not immediately look up.
Footsteps crossed the stone floor a moment later before Gong Ziyu entered first, the colder air from outside following briefly behind him before the iron door shut once more.
For a moment, Ziyu simply watched Yuanzhi silently from across the chamber.
Then he spoke.
“How is Lady Y/N faring?”
Only then did Yuanzhi finally pause.
A quiet breath left him before he lifted his gaze briefly toward Ziyu.
“She is still alive,” he answered evenly. “If that is what you were wondering.”
Ziyu gave him a look at the response, the faint disapproval obvious despite the exhaustion lingering across his own expression after the long night. Still, he chose not to comment on it.
Instead, his attention shifted toward the items spread carefully across the table.
“Do you know what poison was used?”
This time, Yuanzhi turned fully toward him.
“Angel Wings.”
Recognition crossed Ziyu’s expression almost immediately at the name. He shifted slightly where he stood, tension settling more visibly through his posture now as the full implication of the answer settled between them.
For a brief moment, silence returned to the chamber.
Then Ziyu finally spoke again.
“Miss Mei admitted she was beside Lady Y/N during the walk back to the estate,” he said carefully. “But she claims she knows nothing beyond the fact that Lady Y/N suddenly collapsed before falling. Shangjue will bring her here soon.”
Yuanzhi looked at him.
Not a word.
Just a long, unreadable stare that made the explanation itself sound ridiculous the longer the silence stretched between them.
Ziyu exhaled quietly through his nose afterward.
“We informed her that she would need to answer further questions back at the residence since all incidents involving the selected brides must be properly recorded and investigated within the Gong family.” His tone paused slightly afterward before adding, “We told her not to worry too much for now.”
For the first time since entering the chamber, the corner of Yuanzhi’s mouth lifted faintly.
The smile itself was small, but there was absolutely nothing warm about it.
Ziyu noticed immediately.
His brows pulled together slightly as he watched the colder amusement settle across Yuanzhi’s expression. “We still do not know for certain that Miss Mei is responsible,” he reminded carefully. “Suspicion alone is not proof.”
Yuanzhi’s gaze remained fixed upon him for a moment longer before drifting back toward the table beside him.
“No,” he agreed calmly. “But if she is hiding something… I can make her confess.”
The quiet certainty in his voice sent an uncomfortable silence through the chamber afterward.
Ziyu nodded slowly at the answer, though the reluctance lingering across his expression remained obvious.
For all his disagreements with Yuanzhi’s methods, he trusted his instincts. Few people within the Gong family understood deception, poison, and hidden intent better than Gong Yuanzhi did.
Even so, Ziyu still spoke carefully afterward.
“I trust your judgment,” he admitted. “And your skills.” His gaze shifted briefly toward the dim chamber surrounding them before returning to Yuanzhi once more. “But you should still consider the possibility that she may be innocent. If that is the case, her family will not remain silent if they learn she was brought here and subjected to interrogation.”
“Her identity became questionable the moment inconsistencies appeared in her answers earlier this evening,” Yuanzhi replied evenly at last. “And what happened tonight only proves that waiting for the portraits results to verify the girl’s identity is no longer an option.” As he spoke, his fingers adjusted one of the knife resting upon the table almost absentmindedly, the controlled movement somehow making the quietness in his voice feel even colder.
“We were fortunate tonight,” Yuanzhi continued. “Miss Y/N could have died.” Yuanzhi finally lifted his gaze fully toward Ziyu again, the calm certainty within his expression never once wavering. “We cannot afford to sit back and wait while Wufeng moves freely inside our territory,” he said calmly. “The families allied with the Gong residence were given the opportunity to refuse the invitation to the bridal selection from the beginning. They know exactly what kind of family we are, and if they still chose to send their daughters and granddaughters here despite the risks, then they already accepted the possibility of what could happen once they entered Gong territory.”
Ziyu remained quiet for a moment after hearing the explanation, the lanternlight catching faintly across the tension lingering within his expression. “I understand that,” he admitted at last.
But that still does not give us free rein to do whatever we please.” His voice remained calm, though firmer now. “These women entered the Gong residence as guests. While they remain here, we also carry responsibility toward them to ensure they are treated as such.”
Yuanzhi’s attention lowered briefly toward the table beside him before he answered. “That is assuming they truly are guests at all,” he said slowly.
Ziyu exhaled quietly through his nose afterward. “Until we have proof,” Ziyu continued, “they are still guests of the Gong family.” His gaze held steadily upon Yuanzhi now. “So find proof first. Once you do, no one will question your methods afterward if backlash comes from it.”
The corner of Yuanzhi’s mouth lifted faintly again at that.
“I will gladly take the blame,” he replied calmly. “My reputation within the martial world was never particularly admirable to begin with.”
Before Ziyu could answer back, a heavy metallic sound echoed through the chamber as the iron door opened once more.
Miss Mei stepped into the chamber first, her frightened gaze moving uneasily through the dim room while traces of distress still lingered across her expression. A step behind her came Shangjue, one hand rested lightly behind his back while the other remained free at his side, his attention never once straying fully from the young woman
The woman’s steps slowed almost immediately after crossing the threshold, unease flashing visibly across her face as her gaze settled upon the two men already waiting inside the chamber.
She bowed deeply at once.
“Master Yuanzhi. Sword Wielder,” she greeted softly, though the slight trembling within her voice betrayed her nerves almost immediately.
Yuanzhi’s expression remained calm as he watched her.
“I apologize for keeping you awake so late, Miss Mei,” he said evenly. “But what happened tonight is a serious matter and must be addressed properly.”
Mei lowered her gaze quickly. “I understand,” she replied quietly. “And I will do anything I can to help. But like I explained earlier… I truly do not know very much.”
Yuanzhi gave a small nod at that, his demeanor remaining surprisingly composed. “I am sure you understand these procedures are necessary.”
“Of course,” she answered softly.
Only then did Yuanzhi gesture toward the single chair positioned near the center of the chamber.
“Please. Sit.”
Miss Mei hesitated only briefly before obeying, lowering herself slowly into the chair. Up close, the exhaustion from the evening seemed more noticeable now beneath the lanternlight.
Then Shangjue finally spoke.
“I gathered statements from the guards and the other selected ladies who were present during the incident,” he said calmly. “It appears no one clearly witnessed what happened. Most only heard a scream before turning in time to see Lady Han fall into the river below.”
He paused briefly afterward. “Multiple witnesses confirmed that Miss Mei was walking beside her at the time.”
Mei straightened slightly within her chair at once, sadness flashing visibly across her expression. “I was beside her,” she admitted quickly. “But she suddenly collapsed. Everything happened so fast… there was nothing I could do.”
Yuanzhi folded his arms loosely across his chest, his expression sympathetic. “Of course. We understand you were simply unfortunate enough to be beside her when it happened.” His gaze lingered upon her quietly a moment longer before he continued. “But did you notice anything unusual before she fell?”
Miss Mei shook her head immediately, her eyes already beginning to glisten with unshed tears. “It was dark,” she said softly. “And everything happened so quickly. I am sorry… I wish I could be more helpful.”
She sniffed quietly before looking back toward them again, genuine worry seemingly settling across her features now. “Will Lady Y/N be alright?” she asked softly. “I have been so worried about her that my stomach has felt unsettled ever since.”
Yuanzhi did not answer her immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly before shifting away from her altogether, as though avoiding the answer entirely.
Near the back of the chamber, Shangjue and Ziyu remained silent now, both clearly allowing Yuanzhi to guide the conversation without interference.
After a moment, Yuanzhi spoke again. “Did Lady Y/N speak much during the walk back toward the Ladies’ Estate?”
Mei nodded faintly, still visibly emotional.
“Yes… we spoke a little.”
“What about?”
Her gaze lowered toward her hands resting within her lap. “Mostly about the evening,” she answered quietly. “Everyone had been discussing it earlier…”
Yuanzhi nodded once. “And how did Lady Y/N appear during that time?”
Miss Mei sniffed softly again before answering. “She seemed alright at first.” A faint sadness crossed her expression. “She even mentioned wanting to visit the firefly festival in my hometown someday…” Her voice trailed off slightly afterward…Then something seemed to shift faintly across her face, almost like sudden realization.
“But…”
Yuanzhi’s eyes lifted immediately.
“Well… now that I think about it,” she admitted quietly, “during the walk back she kept mentioning how tired she was. I remember thinking she looked somewhat pale as well.”
Yuanzhi remained silent, allowing her to continue.
“She stumbled a few times along the path too,” Mei added softly. “At first I assumed it was only because of the darkness and uneven ground, but now…” Her gaze lowered briefly toward her hands. “Perhaps she had already been unwell before the fall.”
Yuanzhi’s gaze sharpened slightly with interest. “So she already felt unwell beforehand.”
Miss Mei nodded weakly. “She insisted she was fine,” she whispered. “I believed her until she fell.” Tears finally slipped down her face as she looked back toward him once more. “Is she alright?”
A quiet silence followed afterward.
Yuanzhi said nothing immediately, though his eyes remained resting upon her a moment longer than before while Mei sat within the chair appearing visibly distressed, her fingers tightening faintly together within her lap.
“Please tell me, Master Yuanzhi…” Mei’s voice faltered into something smaller, almost pleading now.
His lips pressed together faintly.
For the briefest instant, his gaze flickered toward his brother across the room. Nothing was spoken between them, yet something passed there all the same. A quiet understanding. A decision already made.
Only then did Yuanzhi speak.
“Perhaps your explanation helped us understand the situation better,” he said quietly. “The physicians initially struggled to determine what caused her condition, but if Lady Han had already been weakened beforehand like you described, then the freezing river likely worsened things significantly.” His expression remained unreadable as he spoke. “She died in the guards’ arms before reaching the residence.”
The reaction was immediate.
Mei’s reaction came instantly. Her hands flew upward to cover her face completely as tears spilled freely down her cheeks, soft broken sobs escaping her almost immediately. Yet beneath the crying, the tension that had remained tightly wound through her shoulders since entering the chamber seemed to loosen ever so slightly before disappearing again.
Near the back of the chamber, both Shangjue and Ziyu remained silent, though the subtle shift did not escape either of them. Shangjue’s expression stayed unreadable as always, while Ziyu’s gaze lingered more carefully upon the crying young woman now, something more thoughtful settling behind his eyes.
For several long moments, the only sound filling the chamber came from Mei’s quiet crying, the grief she displayed convincing enough that most people likely would have softened at the sight.
Yuanzhi simply watched her in silence before eventually exhaling quietly through his nose. “I am sorry, Miss Mei,” he said, his tone noticeably calmer now than earlier. “I understand this must be difficult to hear. Lady Han was your friend.”
The sobbing behind her hands seemed to lessen slightly at the words.
Yuanzhi’s gaze lingered upon her another moment before he finally reached into his sleeve and withdrew a folded handkerchief.
“Here,” he said quietly, offering it toward her.
Mei hesitated only briefly before accepting it with trembling hands, clearly too distressed to pay much attention to the cloth itself before pressing it quickly against her eyes.
Without another comment, Yuanzhi turned away from her afterward and walked back toward the side table near the wall where the untouched pot of tea still rested beneath the dim lanternlight. Thin wisps of steam no longer rose as strongly from it now, though the liquid inside remained warm as he calmly poured tea into one of the waiting cups.
Instead, he turned calmly back toward the nearby table and poured tea into one of the waiting cups while Mei continued wiping at her face quietly behind him.
Neither Shangjue nor Ziyu interrupted.
The chamber remained heavy with silence as Yuanzhi lifted the cup and crossed back toward her once more. “Drink something,” he said.
Mei slowly lowered the cloth from her face and looked up at him through reddened eyes before giving a weak shake of her head. “I…” Her voice caught slightly from crying. “I do not think I could stomach anything right now.”
Yuanzhi paused briefly at the response, then his gaze lowered toward the handkerchief still clenched within her hands.
“Oh,” he said lightly. “My mistake. I gave you a used one.”
Mei frowned faintly before finally looking down herself. Faint brownish-red stains streaked across parts of the handkerchief now where her tears had dampened it, the marks unmistakably resembling dried blood.
For a brief moment, she only stared at it in confusion.
“The physicians attempted to draw blood from Lady Han earlier,” Yuanzhi explained calmly. “I must have grabbed it by mistake.”
The effect was immediate.
The color drained rapidly from Mei’s face as the handkerchief slipped abruptly from her fingers onto the stone floor below. For the first time since entering the chamber, the composure she had maintained so carefully seemed to crack visibly.
Her breathing turned uneven almost immediately afterward as she quickly wiped at her eyes again using her sleeve instead, as though suddenly desperate to remove any remaining traces from her skin.
Across the chamber, the subtle shift did not go unnoticed. Ziyu’s brows furrowed slightly at the reaction, something about the sudden panic clearly striking him as excessive. Shangjue remained silent as always, though his gaze rested steadily upon Mei now with sharpened attention.
Meanwhile, Yuanzhi himself remained perfectly calm.
“There is no reason to panic,” he reassured gently. “It is only a little blood.”
Mei swallowed visibly. “…Blood from a dead person,” she whispered back quickly, though the slight instability in her voice betrayed her rising panic almost immediately afterward.
Yuanzhi tilted his head slightly. “You will be fine,” he said calmly.
For a brief moment, Mei seemed to force herself to steady her breathing again before slowly rising from the chair.
“I…” She lowered her gaze. “If there is nothing else, then perhaps I should return for the evening.” Her voice softened further. “I would like some time alone to grieve my friend.”
A quiet silence settled throughout the chamber after the request.
Yuanzhi looked at her for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifted faintly, the expression polite enough on the surface that most people may have mistaken it for reassurance. Yet something colder lingered quietly beneath it.
“I would prefer if you remained here a little longer,” he said evenly. “After all, if Lady Y/N truly carried some form of illness before her death, then it is entirely possible she may have passed it on to you as well.”
The words seemed to drain what little color remained from Mei’s face. For a brief moment, she stood completely still before forcing herself to steady her breathing again.
“I understand,” she said softly, though her voice still sounded strained. “But perhaps it would be better if I remained confined within my room at the Ladies’ Estate instead.” Her hands tightened faintly within her sleeves before she glanced uneasily around the stone chamber surrounding them. “The air inside this chamber is very humid,” she admitted quietly. “I am not accustomed to environments like this.”
A quiet silence followed afterward.
Then Shangjue spoke. “Oh, right,” he said calmly. “You mentioned earlier that you came from Yunhe.”
Mei nodded quickly in agreement, though the unease lingering across her face remained obvious now.
“Yes.”
Shangjue’s expression did not shift. “I remember telling you this evening that I visited there once,” he continued evenly. “It was very beautiful.”
Some of the tension in Mei’s posture seemed to loosen slightly at the familiar topic.
“Thank you,” she replied softly. “It is a very charming town.”
Only then did Ziyu suddenly look toward Shangjue with a slight furrow between his brows. “But you mentioned something incorrectly earlier, did you not?” he asked.
Shangjue’s gaze shifted toward him calmly.
Ziyu rested a hand briefly against his shoulder while continuing, “You said Yunhe’s climate was dry… but isn’t it the complete opposite? That region is known for its mountain fog and heavy moisture because of the surrounding waterways.”
Shangjue gave a small nod, almost thoughtful. “That was my mistake,” he admitted quietly. His eyes returned to Mei.
“Miss Mei,” he asked calmly, “why did you not correct me earlier?”
Mei blinked several times at the sudden question before lowering her gaze quickly toward the floor, her teeth catching lightly against her lower lip.
“I… I simply did not wish to appear rude by contradicting you, Master Shangjue.”
Yuanzhi crossed his arms loosely at the exchange, his expression settling into something almost thoughtful as his gaze lingered quietly upon Mei. “How considerate of you,” he said softly, though whether the words were genuine or mocking was difficult to tell beneath the calmness in his voice.
His eyes drifted briefly around the stone chamber afterward before returning to her once more.
“But now I am somewhat confused,” Yuanzhi continued evenly. “Moments ago, you claimed you were unaccustomed to humid environments because of Yunhe’s dry air. But turns out Yunhe is actually known for being a very moist region.” A faint pause followed before the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “So if I understand correctly, then there should be no problem with you remaining here a few more hours until we clear you of any possible illness.”
Mei swallowed hard. Her gaze flickered briefly between the three men standing before her. “I…” Her voice faltered slightly before she forced herself to continue. “Perhaps I misspoke earlier.”
“Mm.” Yuanzhi gave a small nod as though the explanation made perfect sense. “That happens often when people are nervous.”
For a moment, Mei seemed to relax slightly at the response.
Yuanzhi watched her quietly before moving closer at an unhurried pace, stopping directly in front of where she stood beside the chair. Then, slowly, he leaned down slightly until his face sat nearly level with hers, forcing her to properly meet his gaze at close distance.
“You must have also been terribly nervous earlier this evening,” he said softly, “when you mentioned that the firefly festival in Yunhe takes place during spring instead of autumn.”
The relief that had just begun settling across Mei’s expression disappeared immediately.
She froze.
For one sharp instant, something flashed through her eyes.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Yuanzhi reacted almost immediately.
The movement came so suddenly it barely registered at first beneath the lanternlight as Mei’s hand slipped into her sleeve and a narrow blade flashed free toward his throat.
At the same moment, the chamber erupted into motion.
Ziyu surged forward while somewhere behind him the sharp metallic sound of a sword unsheathing cut violently through the silence.
But Yuanzhi moved first.
His hand caught Mei’s wrist before the blade could fully swing toward him, twisting sharply enough to force the knife off course as the two collided hard against the nearby table. Ceramic bowls crashed loudly onto the ground around them while Mei fought viciously beneath his grip, the calm frightened demeanor from earlier disappearing entirely.
Yuanzhi forced her arm downward while Ziyu grabbed hold of her other wrist to stop her from reaching for another hidden weapon. Even restrained, Mei struggled fiercely against them, her movements fast and precise in ways no ordinary noblewoman should have been capable of.
“Careful,” Shangjue warned sharply as he stepped beside them, sword already drawn. “She may still have more hidden blades.”
Mei twisted violently again, nearly wrenching herself free before Shangjue seized hold of her shoulder and slammed her hard enough against the stone pillar nearby to finally break her balance.
Together, the three men dragged her forcefully across the chamber toward the far side of the room where a pair of iron restraints hung suspended from heavy chains overhead. Mei fought them the entire way, her shoes scraping harshly against the stone floor while the chains above rattled loudly the moment the iron cuffs finally snapped shut around her wrists.
Only then did the struggle stop.
For several long seconds afterward, Mei remained where she was beneath the restraints, breathing heavily from exertion while loose strands of dark hair clung against her face and neck. The rise and fall of her chest had become uneven now beneath the strain of the fight, though the defiance lingering within her expression remained entirely untouched.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
The frightened grief from earlier had vanished completely.
No trembling tears remained. No soft voice. No frightened noblewoman cornered inside an interrogation chamber.
What stared back at them now felt entirely different.
Anger lingered sharply within her gaze, cold and cutting beneath the dim lanternlight. Yet beneath even that, something else flickered quietly across her face afterward.
Amusement.
A faint laugh escaped her suddenly, breathless from the struggle yet unmistakably genuine all the same. The sound echoed strangely throughout the stone chamber, sharp enough that even Ziyu’s expression hardened visibly at once.
Meanwhile, Yuanzhi simply stood before her in silence.
Mei exhaled quietly through her nose and tilted her head slightly upward. “I only had a week to prepare this role,” she said flatly. “I suppose this part is my fault.”
There was no sadness within her voice. No fear either. If anything, she sounded irritated more than anything else, as though being discovered had merely become an inconvenience rather than a genuine defeat.
Shangjue continued watching her steadily from where he stood nearby, the sword still unsheathed loosely at his side. “What happened to the real Miss Mei?” he asked calmly.
At that, Mei rolled her eyes faintly beneath the restraints, the movement almost bored despite the chains binding her overhead.
“Dead in a ditch somewhere by now,” she replied carelessly. “Perhaps some wild animal already ate her.”
Near the side of the room, Ziyu lowered his gaze briefly at the response, his jaw tightening faintly. The revelation itself no longer surprised him after what they had already uncovered tonight, but hearing another young woman’s death spoken about with such cold indifference still left an unpleasant heaviness settling through the air all the same.
Across from her, Yuanzhi regarded her with open disdain now, whatever trace of civility he had worn earlier long since abandoned.
“It must have been frustrating once the portrait verification was announced,” he said evenly after a moment. “You knew you had very little time left before your identity was exposed.”
The chains above Mei’s wrists swayed faintly as she shifted beneath them. Then suddenly, she spat toward Yuanzhi’s feet. Yuanzhi did not so much as glance downward.
The timid young woman from before had vanished completely as well. No trace of the shy noble lady remained anymore. What remained instead felt sharp and openly hostile, the irritation in her expression no longer hidden beneath false tears and lowered eyes.
“Your real face is much uglier than the one you arrived with,” Yuanzhi remarked coldly.
A sharp laugh escaped Mei through her nose afterward.
“You Gong men truly enjoy pretending you’re smarter than everyone else,” she said bitterly. “But tell me something…” Her eyes lifted coldly toward the three of them. “How exactly are you planning to explain to that girl’s family that the great Gong family allowed a Wufeng spy to murder their daughter under your protection?”
Then suddenly, her expression shifted into something softer. Mockingly so.
“How terrible for the beloved General Han,” she said in an almost sympathetic voice that sounded far too artificial to be genuine. “First his wife… and now his only daughter.” A faint smile slowly pulled at the corner of her mouth. “The public will be enraged.”
Shangjue’s gaze rested steadily upon her. “So that was your intention from the beginning?” he asked calmly. “To befriend Lady Han and poison her in order to turn public opinion against the Gong family.”
Mei let out another quiet laugh through her nose.
“It became obvious very quickly that I would never actually be chosen as a bride,” she replied carelessly. “So I needed to find another use for my position here. And what better way is there to weaken the Gong family than attacking the very thing that keeps the outside world fearful of you?” Her eyes moved slowly between the three men afterward. “Your authority. Your control. Your reputation for protecting what belongs to you.”
A cruel satisfaction settled across her expression now. “ The mighty Gong family cannot even keep a young woman alive under their own protection.” She tilted her head slightly. “People would remember that.”
“But why Lady Han specifically?” Ziyu finally asked. “Her background is respectable, yes, but there are other women here with even greater political influence.” His gaze remained fixed steadily upon her. “Daughters connected directly to high-ranking government officials. Provincial governors. Powerful court families.” A faint crease formed between his brows. “If your intention was truly to create the greatest possible backlash against the Gong family, then why not target one of them instead?”
Mei remained quiet for a moment after Ziyu’s question, her gaze lingering upon him thoughtfully while the chamber fell silent once more. Then slowly, her eyes shifted toward Yuanzhi instead. “If I had gone after Miss Liuyun instead,” she asked softly, “would you have cared nearly this much?” Her head tilted slightly afterward, studying him openly now. “Probably not.”
The amusement within her expression deepened faintly. “Everyone inside that hall tonight could tell you could barely tolerate the girl’s presence.” A quiet breath of laughter escaped her afterward. “But Lady Y/N…” Her gaze lingered on him another moment, something more thoughtful settling briefly across her face now. “I admit, Young Master Yuanzhi… your attentiveness toward her this evening surprised me.”
Yuanzhi crossed his arms loosely at the remark, his gaze remaining steady on her as though he could already see exactly what she was attempting to do.
“Trying to provoke me now will not improve your situation,” he said calmly.
For a moment, Mei simply stared back at him beneath the restraints, the earlier mockery within her expression slowly giving way to something more restrained.
“It hardly matters anymore,” she replied carelessly. “I can already feel the poison spreading.” Her head tilted slightly afterward. “I will admit, though… the handkerchief was clever.”
For the first time since the confrontation began, the corner of Yuanzhi’s mouth curved faintly upward. “Do not celebrate too soon,” he replied softly.
Something unreadable flickered briefly across Mei’s expression at the response.
Without another word, Yuanzhi turned away from her afterward and walked calmly back toward the nearby table. Several objects still remained scattered across the floor from the earlier struggle, though the teapot itself had survived untouched near the edge.
He poured another cup slowly.
Only then did Mei seem to understand what he intended.
“I will not drink that,” she said coldly.
Yuanzhi paid no attention to the protest. Cup still in hand, he approached her once more before giving a small motion of his head toward Shangjue and Ziyu.
The two moved immediately.
Mei reacted violently the moment Ziyu seized hold of her jaw while Shangjue forced her head back hard enough to stop her from turning away. The chains above rattled sharply as she struggled against the restraints, her composure finally cracking beneath genuine resistance now.
“No—”
The protest broke apart the instant Yuanzhi forced the medicine into her mouth.
She gagged harshly afterward, coughing and choking as she tried desperately to spit the liquid back out, but most of it still went down despite the struggle. Only once the cup had emptied did Shangjue and Ziyu finally release her again.
Mei remained where she was afterward, breathing harder now while loose strands of dark hair clung against her face and neck. Hatred burned openly within her eyes as she glared at Yuanzhi through the lingering coughs left from the medicine.
Yuanzhi calmly set the empty cup aside before lifting his gaze back toward her once more.
“You will not die that easily,” he said softly. The words seemed to settle heavily within the chamber.
For a moment longer, Yuanzhi simply continued watching her struggle to steady her breathing before finally turning toward the others.
“You may leave,” he said evenly to his companions. “I will continue from here on my own.”
A brief silence followed the order.
Ziyu frowned faintly at first, hesitation flickering across his expression as his gaze shifted once between Yuanzhi and the restrained Wufeng spy before them. Yet in the end, he said nothing. He simply gave a small nod before finally turning toward the chamber doors.
Beside him, Shangjue had not moved.
His attention remained fixed upon Yuanzhi for a moment longer, as though weighing the decision carefully before leaving him alone inside the chamber.
“Ge…” Yuanzhi said quietly, finally looking toward him directly.
The meaning behind the word was clear enough.
Shangjue held his younger brother’s gaze for several seconds before eventually giving a faint nod of understanding. Only then did he finally turn and follow after Ziyu while the heavy iron doors groaned loudly as they opened and then slammed shut once more behind them, leaving only silence afterward.
For several long moments, Yuanzhi remained standing exactly where he was with his back still turned toward the girl.
Then slowly, he turned to face her again.
The corner of his mouth pulled gradually into a faint, wicked smile as his gaze settled upon the restrained Wufeng spy before him, something far darker now visible within his expression than earlier that evening.
“You know,” he said after a while. “I haven’t been this excited in a long time.”
warnings: parental manipulation, threats, violence, poison, dark themes, power imbalance, forced marriage ish, NSFW (later chapters)
summary: In a world where poison is both art and weapon, a powerful family gathers brides for a mar known as the Poison Master. Y/N never wanted to be part of it, but refusal was never an option.
Surrounded by rivals and hidden dangers, she has only one goal: Surviving long enough to leave... But nothing within the Gong residence is ever that simple.
author's note: new chapter is up! i hope you guys like it! share, comment and like if you enjoy my stories! i love having discussions with you in the comment section so don’t be shy❤️
word count: 8.6k
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CHAPTERS: CHAPTER 1. CHAPTER 2.
CHAPTER 3. CHAPTER 4. CHAPTER 5.
Before reading, I highly recommend checking out the World & Character Guide. If you haven't seen My Journey to You, it will help you understand the story and its characters without needing to watch the drama.
The evening air had grown colder by the time the young ladies were gathered outside the hall.
Lanternlight spilled across the stone paths in long streaks of gold, flickering softly against the darkening courtyard as servants moved quietly through the residence. Somewhere in the distance, wind stirred faintly through the trees, carrying with it the sharp scent of pine and the approaching chill of night.
The seven girls stood beside Madame Ling in near silence.
White robes brushed softly against the stone beneath shifting feet, the earlier composure shown during the evaluations replaced now by something more restrained, more uncertain. Even those who had received gold tokens no longer appeared entirely at ease beneath the weight of what awaited them inside.
Beside her, Mei adjusted her sleeves for what had to be the third time in only a few moments.
Y/N glanced toward her briefly. “You’re nervous.”
Mei let out a quiet breath, somewhere between embarrassment and resignation. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
That earned the faintest smile from her.
Before anything more could be said, the heavy doors at the front of the hall began to open.
At once, the quiet conversations faded.
The girls straightened almost instinctively as the doors opened fully before them.
Warm light spilled outward from the hall, cutting through the cool evening air. Y/N stepped inside with the others, her pace measured, the soft rustle of layered silk blending with the quieter sounds already waiting within.
The hall was vast.
Lanterns hung from carved wooden beams high above, their steady glow casting long shadows across the polished floor. The lingering warmth from the braziers did little to erase the faint chill that still clung to the air after sunset. Along each side of the room, low tables had been arranged in careful lines, every place already prepared before their arrival.
At the far end sat the elders upon a slightly raised platform.
Elder Qin occupied the center, composed and watchful beneath the lanternlight, while Elder Ren and Elder Meng sat at either side of him. Not far from them, the three men of the Gong family had already taken their places.
Ziyu sat with the calm ease expected of the Sword Wielder, though there was still something attentive in the way he observed the room around him. Beside him, Shangjue appeared far more reserved, his posture straight, his expression unreadable beneath the dim gold light.
And then there was Yuanzhi.
Y/N’s gaze reached him only briefly before lowering again, but it was enough.
Dressed in dark robes threaded with silver, he seemed almost out of place among the warmer tones of the hall, his presence quieter than the others and yet somehow more difficult to ignore. One hand rested loosely beside his teacup, his attention appearing casual at first glance, though there was nothing careless about the way his eyes moved across the room.
It gave the unsettling impression that very little escaped his notice.
Madame Ling stepped aside once the girls had fully entered. “You may take your seats.”
The quiet instruction was enough to set them in motion again.
The girls moved carefully toward the arranged tables, some choosing places quickly while others hesitated, clearly aware that every movement was being observed. Y/N followed more slowly, her gaze moving briefly over the room before settling near the middle beside Mei.
Across from them, Miss Liuyun lowered herself gracefully onto her cushion, composed as ever, though her attention flicked briefly toward the raised platform before returning to the table before her.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Only the faint crackle of the braziers and the soft sound of porcelain shifting against wood disturbed the silence.
The girls remained seated with careful posture, hands resting neatly within their laps or beside untouched cups of tea, every movement restrained beneath the weight of so many eyes upon them.
It was Elder Qin who finally broke the quiet.
“We welcome you this evening,” he said, his voice calm but carrying easily through the hall. “Tonight is an opportunity for the Gong family and the remaining candidates to become better acquainted.”
The words were polite, expected even, yet they did little to ease the tension lingering in the room.
Servants moved forward then, placing the final dishes upon the tables with practiced efficiency before retreating once more into the background. Steam curled faintly upward from the food, carrying with it the scent of herbs and warm broth.
Only after everything had settled into place did Yuanzhi speak.
“I trust the journey into the valley caused no great inconvenience,” he said evenly.
Several girls looked toward him at once, their attention immediate despite themselves.
From where she sat, Y/N could see the faint reflection of lanternlight against the dark surface of his teacup as he lifted it slightly between his fingers.
“It is not a long journey,” he continued, the faintest hint of amusement touching his voice, “though I understand even a short one may become tiring under the right conditions.”
A few uncertain smiles appeared around the room, more out of politeness than ease.
Then his gaze shifted slowly across the tables.
“Please,” he said. “Enjoy the tea. I prepared tonight’s blend myself.”
The effect was immediate.
Several girls stiffened almost at once. One hesitated with her hand halfway toward her cup before lowering it again, while another exchanged a quick glance with the girl seated beside her. Even Mei went noticeably still beside Y/N.
Across the hall, Shangjue lowered his gaze briefly toward his cup, though the subtle shift near his mouth suggested poorly concealed amusement. Ziyu looked no better.
Y/N had to lower her own gaze to hide the faint smile threatening to appear.
Of course he would say something like that.
The men started eating, the soft clatter of chopsticks against porcelain signaling that the meal was officially underway. That quiet rhythm gave the girls the cue they had been waiting for to begin as well, though hesitation still lingered visibly around the room.
Y/N lifted her teacup and took a careful sip.
For a heartbeat, the other girls remained frozen, watching her in quiet disbelief as though expecting something to happen. When Y/N calmly took another bite of food, the tension around the room finally began to thaw. A few mimicked her movements almost exactly, while others tested the dishes first, taking tiny bites before daring to touch their tea.
Beside her, Mei finally took a sip herself before leaning slightly closer. “Did he truly need to mention that he made it himself?” she whispered quietly.
Y/N lowered her gaze briefly toward her tea. “He would not poison us,” she murmured back. “It would bring unnecessary trouble to the Gong family.”
Mei still looked only partly reassured.
Conversation gradually began to move more naturally through the hall after that, though the carefulness beneath it never fully disappeared. The elders guided most of it at first, asking polite questions that allowed the remaining candidates to speak of their families, their upbringing, and the regions they had traveled from. The atmosphere softened little by little beneath the warm lanternlight, carried along by the quiet clink of porcelain and the low murmur of voices across the room.
One of the girls seated nearer the far end straightened slightly when Elder Meng addressed her, a composed smile appearing upon her face as she answered. “My father oversees one of the largest refined tea powder trades in the eastern province,” she explained. “We also assist in supplying medicinal herbs where we are able.”
That seemed to catch the attention of more than one person.
Y/N noticed the faint shift in Shangjue’s posture, subtle enough that most would have overlooked it entirely, while Yuanzhi’s gaze settled more directly upon the young woman for the first time that evening.
“You study herbs as well?” Yuanzhi asked.
The girl, He Fang , inclined her head politely. “Somewhat, yes. My father believed it useful that I understand the quality of what we trade.”
Yuanzhi rested one hand lightly beside his cup. “Then you likely recognize most medicinal blends by scent alone.”
A flicker of unease crossed the girl’s face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Most common ones,” she admitted carefully.
The exchange drew the room quieter without anyone meaning for it to. Several of the other girls had begun listening more closely now, their earlier ease fading slightly beneath the realization that even ordinary conversation here seemed capable of becoming something else entirely.
“And which herbs are most difficult to preserve during transport?” Yuanzhi continued evenly.
The young woman answered this time without hesitation, speaking of moisture, temperature, and the fragility of certain dried leaves during long journeys. Her explanation was confident, practiced enough to sound genuine rather than rehearsed.
Yuanzhi gave a small nod, neither approving nor dismissive.
From where she sat, Y/N found herself listening more carefully as well. The conversation itself was interesting, though what caught her attention more was the subtle shift it created throughout the hall. The other girls appeared more restrained now, more aware that they were being observed far more closely than before.
The discussion drifted elsewhere not long after, guided smoothly onward by Ziyu before the atmosphere could grow too tense again.
“And you, Miss Mei?” he asked lightly after another moment. “You are from Yunhe, if I remember correctly.”
Mei straightened slightly at being addressed so directly, though her expression brightened with visible relief at the familiar topic. “Yes, Sword Wielder.”
“I have heard Yunhe’s lantern festival is especially beautiful,” Ziyu remarked conversationally.
A shy smile appeared on Mei’s face then, gentler than the careful composure she had maintained throughout most of the evening. “The Firefly Festival,” she said. “The lanterns are hung all throughout the streets near the river every spring. My sister and I used to go every year when we were younger.”
Y/N smiled faintly beside her. Mei seemed far more relaxed speaking of home than she had at any point earlier that evening.
Across the hall, however, Shangjue’s hand paused briefly against his cup.
It was slight enough that Y/N might have imagined it had she not already been looking in that direction.
The conversation continued on without interruption. Ziyu merely nodded, allowing the subject to pass naturally into another, though Shangjue’s gaze lingered thoughtfully upon Mei for a moment longer before lowering once again. A servant stepped quietly through the hall to refill dishes that had begun to empty, while outside, wind stirred faintly against the paper windows, the sound softened beneath the warmth of lanternlight and low conversation.
Ziyu still listened with open ease, occasionally offering lighter remarks whenever the conversation threatened to grow too formal, while Shangjue remained quieter beside him, his attention appearing distant at times despite the calm composure he maintained.
Yuanzhi remained loosely leaned against his seat, though the attentiveness he carried earlier had not faded.
Elder Meng’s attention eventually settled toward Y/N.
“And what of you, Miss Y/N?” he asked gently. “What occupies your time when you are away from your studies?”
For a brief moment, Y/N hesitated.
The attention resting upon her felt different now that it had turned directly toward her, more noticeable than before despite the calmness in Elder Meng’s voice. Across the hall, she became suddenly aware once again of the Gong heirs seated beyond the lantern glow, listening just as carefully as the elders themselves.
“I enjoy reading,” she answered at last.
Elder Meng nodded in interest. “What sort of books?”
Y/N lowered her gaze briefly toward the table before answering. “Stories, mostly. Adventures.” A quieter expression touched her face then, softened slightly by memory. “My mother left many behind.”
The answer seemed to settle gently across the hall. Across from her, Ziyu’s expression softened with quiet interest, some of his earlier playfulness fading beneath something more thoughtful now.
Something gentler entered Elder Meng’s expression at that. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I heard of Lady Han’s passing some years ago.” He inclined his head slightly. “You have my condolences, Miss.”
For the briefest moment, something unreadable passed through Yuanzhi’s eyes before his expression settled once more into its usual composure.
Y/N bowed her head respectfully.
“General Han has devoted many years to serving the realm,” Elder Meng continued, a note of approval entering his voice. “You must be very proud of your father.”
Y/N straightened slightly at the mention of him. “I am, Elder.”
“You have a sibling as well, if I remember correctly?” he continued.
“I do.”
“And how did you manage at home while your father remained occupied with military affairs so often?”
The question was not cruel, yet it still caught Y/N slightly off guard. Around the hall, the quiet conversations nearby had softened enough again that she could feel the weight of listening attention settling more carefully upon her.
Y/N folded her hands neatly within her lap before answering.
“I looked after my younger brother and kept our home in order so my father could focus on his responsibilities,” she said honestly. “It was important to me that he did not worry about us while he worked.”
The answer seemed to quiet the space around her for a brief moment.
Not dramatically. Not enough to draw obvious attention. Yet something about the simplicity of it lingered more naturally than many of the polished responses given earlier that evening.
Across the hall, Yuanzhi’s fingers paused lightly against his cup at the mention of her younger brother, his expression turning thoughtful for the briefest moment.
Elder Meng gave a slow nod, clear approval softening his features. Even Elder Ren appeared faintly thoughtful now, while Elder Qin regarded her with the same unreadable steadiness as before.
Y/N lowered her gaze again afterward, relieved the attention had finally begun to move elsewhere. It was only then, as another girl nearby began speaking, that her attention drifted once more across the hall despite herself.
Yuanzhi remained leaned back in his seat, one hand resting loosely beside his teacup as he listened. Lanternlight caught faintly against the dark silver threading of his robes, sharpening rather than softening the already intimidating composure he carried so effortlessly.
Without meaning to, Y/N realized she had been looking a moment too long. The awareness came only when she felt another gaze settle on her.
Her eyes shifted slightly and met Shangjue’s across the hall.
Heat rose immediately to her face.
There was nothing openly amused in his expression, yet something in his steady gaze made it painfully clear he had noticed exactly where her attention had drifted.
Y/N lowered her eyes at once, suddenly far more interested in the untouched food in her bowl. Beside her, Mei leaned slightly closer, her voice lowered carefully beneath the surrounding conversation. “Are you alright?”
Y/N reached for her teacup a little too quickly. “Yes,” she answered at once, though the warmth lingering across her face betrayed her more than she would have liked.
Mei looked at her with slight concern, though after a moment she seemed satisfied enough with the answer and returned her attention to the discussion unfolding across the hall.
Conversation had shifted again by then, this time toward travel between regions and the conditions beyond the valley. Ziyu guided most of it smoothly, his manner relaxed enough that several of the girls had begun answering him more comfortably now than before.
Y/N listened quietly while reaching for another small bite of food, though her attention remained less steady than earlier. The atmosphere in the hall had softened compared to when they first arrived, yet beneath it lingered the unmistakable awareness that every answer continued to be weighed carefully.
The discussion moved naturally onward from there, eventually settling upon affairs beyond the capital. Miss Liuyun answered most questions with effortless composure, far more comfortable beneath attention than many of the others.
“There is much instability beyond the capital recently,” she said smoothly. “Families with strong alliances will become increasingly important moving forward.”
Elder Qin regarded her thoughtfully. “Your father’s position must give him considerable insight into such matters.”
“It does,” she replied with a graceful incline of her head. “The court has become increasingly divided in recent years. In times like these, strong connections are often what preserve influence.”
Y/N noticed Yuanzhi’s attention settle upon Miss Liuyun then, his expression unreadable beneath the lanternlight before he finally spoke.
“And what kind of influence do you believe the Gong family lacks?”
For the first time that evening, Miss Liuyun paused.
Only briefly.
“None,” she answered smoothly soon after. “Only that even powerful families benefit from strengthening their position where opportunities allow.”
Yuanzhi’s fingers tapped lightly once against the table beside his cup.
“The Gong family has maintained its authority for generations without relying upon court favor.” he said evenly.
Nothing about his tone openly changed, yet the atmosphere in the hall shifted all the same.
Miss Liuyun maintained her composure well. “Of course,” she replied politely. “I only meant that influence is rarely a disadvantage.”
Yuanzhi leaned back slightly then, his expression unreadable once more.
“That depends,” he said calmly, “on whether that influence begins mistaking itself for necessity.”
Miss Liuyun’s composure held, though for the first time that evening, a faint tightness appeared near her expression. It was subtle, but no less noticeable for it. Perhaps she simply had not expected to be answered so directly.
Yuanzhi held her gaze a moment longer before lifting his teacup calmly to his lips. The lanternlight caught briefly against his dark eyes, the earlier irritation not entirely faded from them even beneath his composure.
Before the silence could settle too heavily across the hall, Ziyu finally intervened.
“I believe the lady merely takes pride in her father’s work and influence,” he said smoothly. “I hardly think she intended anything more by it.”
Miss Liuyun inclined her head at once, still composed despite the faint color that had risen beneath her carefully controlled expression. “Of course,” she replied. “That was all I meant.”
Yuanzhi gave only a quiet hum in response before setting his cup back down.
Y/N’s attention lingered briefly upon Miss Liuyun still. Even now, the young woman’s posture remained perfectly straight, her composure impressive despite what had just occurred.
“Miss Y/N.”
The sound of her name startled her enough that she nearly looked around before realizing the voice had come from Yuanzhi himself.
Her attention lifted immediately toward the raised platform.
Yuanzhi’s gaze rested upon her steadily now, calmer than moments before, though no easier to read.
“You were the first to taste the tea earlier,” he said. “How did you find it?”
For a brief moment, Y/N forgot entirely that several others in the room had also turned to look at her again. Her fingers tightened slightly around her chopsticks before she answered carefully.
“It was good,” she said honestly, then hesitated faintly. “A little bitter at first… but warmer afterward.”
The faintest shift touched Yuanzhi’s expression then, subtle enough that she almost thought she imagined it.
“And what tea do you usually prefer?” he asked.
The question caught her slightly off guard, though not unpleasantly so.
“Sweeter blends, usually,” Y/N admitted after a moment. “Though I do not dislike bitter teas entirely. I think it depends on the mood I am in.”
For the first time that evening, something near amusement flickered more visibly in Yuanzhi’s eyes.
“I will keep that in mind,” he replied evenly.
The response caught Y/N slightly off guard. After a brief hesitation, she lowered her head politely once more, a little more quickly than before, as though trying to hide the flicker of surprise that had crossed her expression.
Across the hall, Shangjue’s gaze shifted briefly between the two of them, the faintest trace of recognition passing through his expression before it disappeared again beneath composure.
Before the quiet could linger too long, however, he spoke instead.
“You are from Hanju, are you not, Miss Y/N?”
Y/N looked toward him at once. “Yes.”
Shangjue inclined his head slightly. “And how has your first night within the valley been so far?”
The question felt easier somehow after the earlier tension. “It has been pleasant,” she answered softly. “Though unfamiliar.” A small smile touched Y/N’s face then as her attention shifted briefly toward Mei beside her. “Miss Mei has helped make it less overwhelming.”
The mention of her name drew Mei’s attention immediately back toward the conversation.
Shangjue’s gaze settled upon her calmly. “Is that so?”
Mei straightened slightly beneath the sudden attention. “Miss Y/N was kind enough to speak with me first,” she explained politely. “I think I was becoming homesick after the first night.”
“I visited Yunhe several years ago,” Shangjue said after a moment, his tone casual enough not to draw suspicion. “I remember the climate there being much drier than here. The adjustment to the valley must be difficult.”
Mei nodded almost immediately. “A little,” she admitted with a faint smile. “The air here is far more humid than what I am used to.”
Shangjue gave a small nod in acknowledgment before allowing the conversation to move naturally onward once again.
Outside, the night had deepened fully now, the wind brushing softly against the paper screens while servants moved silently through the hall to clear the remaining dishes.
It was Ziyu who finally spoke after some time, his tone calm but carrying easily enough across the room.
“It grows late,” he said. “We appreciate your company this evening. I trust the attendants will see you safely back to your quarters.”
The girls lowered their heads politely at once.
Yuanzhi set his cup down beside him before his gaze moved briefly across the remaining seven candidates. “I hope tonight has made the valley feel a little less unfamiliar,” he said evenly. The faintest trace of something unreadable touched his expression then. “Rest well. I will be seeing you again tomorrow.”
The words were simple enough, yet something about the way he said them left a quiet weight behind them all the same.
Madame Ling stepped forward then, her posture as composed as ever. “Young ladies,” she said, gesturing lightly for them to rise.
Fabric shifted softly throughout the hall as the girls stood from their places. Y/N rose alongside Mei, smoothing her robes instinctively before lowering herself into a respectful bow together with the others.
“Thank you for receiving us this evening.”
The farewell echoed softly through the room before the girls straightened once more. One by one, they turned to follow Madame Ling toward the doors beneath the watchful glow of lanternlight.
Y/N stayed close beside Mei as they walked, though just before stepping beyond the threshold, she found herself daring one last glance back toward the men seated behind them.
Her eyes met Yuanzhi’s almost immediately.
For the briefest moment, he tilted his head slightly, one brow lifting just enough to give the gesture a faintly curious edge.
Heat rushed far too quickly to Y/N’s face.
She lowered her eyes at once and continued forward before anyone could possibly notice, her heartbeat suddenly far louder than the soft rustle of fabric around her as she followed the others into the cool night air.
The heavy doors slid shut behind the departing girls, muffling the sound of retreating footsteps until the hall fell quiet once more. The warmth of the lanternlight remained, though without the soft movement of pale robes and careful voices. The atmosphere felt calmer on the surface, though something sharper lingered beneath it.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Then Shangjue’s gaze lifted slightly toward the closed doors.
“I believe I know who it is.”
˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖
Most of the dishes had already been cleared away by the servants, leaving behind only the faint scent of tea. The room felt larger now without the movement and conversation from earlier, the empty cushions lining the polished floor beneath the steady glow of the hanging lights. Outside, the wind could occasionally be heard brushing faintly against the paper screens, softer now that the activity of the evening had finally settled.
The hall remained still for a brief moment until Ziyu broke it “You figured it out that quickly?”
Across from him, Shangjue remained composed, one hand resting loosely near his untouched cup. “It is only suspicion,” he said calmly. “Nothing certain yet.”
Yuanzhi leaned slightly back in his seat, though his attention remained fixed on his brother. “Who?”
Before Shangjue could answer, however, Ziyu spoke again, thoughtful now rather than surprised.
“Could it be Miss He Fang?”
Yuanzhi’s gaze shifted toward him immediately.
“The girl interested in herbs,” Ziyu continued. “Her father oversees one of the largest refined tea powder trades in the eastern province. If someone understood how to replace stolen ingredients without immediately drawing attention, it could be her.”
A quiet scoff left Yuanzhi at that.
“Her knowledge was surface level at best,” he replied flatly. “Everything she mentioned tonight could be learned through basic tutoring.”
Ziyu frowned slightly. "A skilled spy would not present themselves openly suspicious either. If anything, appearing knowledgeable but harmless would be smarter."
Yuanzhi's gaze sharpened
immediately at that. "No," he replied.
"A competent Wufeng spy with enough skill to enter the inner residence and tamper with our cabinets would know better than to draw attention toward medicinal knowledge at all.
Mentioning herbs after what occurred this morning would be careless." The irritation beneath his voice surfaced far more easily now that the girls were gone.
Elder Meng sighed softly from further down the table. “Enough. The two of you are already arguing in circles.”
Silence lingered briefly across the hall afterward.
Yuanzhi crossed his arms loosely while Ziyu exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly in his seat as the earlier tension slowly eased beneath the elders’ interruption.
Through it all, Shangjue had remained silent.
Only after the room settled again did Ziyu glance back toward him. “My apologies,” he said. “You were speaking.”
Shangjue’s expression did not change.
“The girl I am suspicious of,” he said at last, “is Miss Mei.”
Yuanzhi’s brows drew together almost immediately. “Miss Mei?”
Even Ziyu looked faintly surprised at that. “The girl from Yunhe?”
Shangjue gave a small nod. “She made two mistakes tonight. The first was minor. Easy to overlook if no one was paying attention.”
Elder Qin studied him carefully. “Explain.”
For the first time since the discussion began, Shangjue leaned back slightly in his seat.
“Several years ago, while returning from a military campaign, I passed through Yunhe,” he said calmly. “There was a festival taking place at the time.” His gaze shifted briefly toward Yuanzhi. “Do you remember the lantern I brought back for you?”
Yuanzhi frowned faintly in thought before nodding once. “The carved one with the painted cranes?”
Shangjue inclined his head. “I bought it there.”
The room remained quiet as he continued.
“I remember the season clearly,” he said. “The mountain roads were covered in red leaves by then. The festival takes place during autumn.”
Understanding flickered briefly across Ziyu’s face.
“But Miss Mei said spring,” he murmured.
“She did,” Shangjue confirmed.
Ziyu exhaled quietly, still uncertain. “That alone is not enough to call her a spy. She could simply have been nervous.”
“That was my conclusion as well initially,” Shangjue replied evenly. “Which is why I only became suspicious after the second mistake.”
Yuanzhi uncrossed one arm slightly against the table. “And what was the second?”
“When I spoke to her later,” Shangjue said calmly, “I deliberately described Yunhe’s climate incorrectly and referred to it as dry. Someone genuinely raised there would have corrected the mistake immediately. The region is known for its mountain fog and heavy moisture.” His gaze lowered slightly. “Miss Mei did not.”
Yuanzhi’s hand tightened once against the edge of the table beside him. “Then we should arrest her tonight.” The sharpness in his voice cut cleanly through the silence. The reaction was immediate enough that even Ziyu glanced toward him, while the elders exchanged brief looks further down the table. Shangjue, however, remained composed.
“On suspicion alone?” he asked evenly.
Yuanzhi let out a quiet scoff, though the tension in his posture did not ease. “She lied about her identity. That alone is enough reason to detain her.”
“No,” Shangjue replied calmly. “It is enough reason to watch her.”
The answer only seemed to irritate Yuanzhi further. His jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back, one arm crossing over the other. “And if we wait too long?” he asked coldly. “If she truly is Wufeng, then every moment we waste gives her another opportunity.”
Elder Meng finally shifted in his seat at that, his expression darkening slightly. “You would imprison and interrogate a noble young lady without proof?”
“If she is Wufeng,” Yuanzhi answered without hesitation, “then proof will matter very little once someone ends up dead.”
The tension lingered heavily after that.
Ziyu exhaled slowly through his nose before speaking, calmer than Yuanzhi but no less concerned. “We also cannot ignore the possibility that the other girls may be in danger if Shangjue is correct.” His gaze lowered briefly in thought before continuing. “Miss Y/N seemed particularly trusting of her tonight. If the others become comfortable around her as well…”
He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication lingered clearly enough all the same.
Across the table, Yuanzhi’s fingers stilled briefly against the wood before curling once more.
Elder Ren spoke then, his older voice measured but firm enough to pull the discussion back into order. “The portraits were dispatched this afternoon exactly for situations such as this. Once they arrive in the villages, confirmation of each girl’s identity will return within several days.”
Yuanzhi’s expression darkened further. “Several days is enough time for a Wufeng spy to kill half this residence.”
“And that,” Shangjue replied calmly, “is why she will not move unwatched from this moment onward.” His tone remaining steady and controlled despite the growing tension around him. “Additional guards will be stationed near the women’s quarters discreetly. Her movements will be monitored carefully, but no one is to confront her directly.” His gaze lowered slightly. “If Miss Mei truly is Wufeng, the moment she realizes we are suspicious of her, she becomes far more dangerous.”
That finally seemed to settle the matter.
The elders exchanged quiet looks before nodding slowly in agreement, the decision made without needing further debate. At last, Elder Meng rose carefully to his feet, the others following not long after as attendants moved forward to assist them.
“Then we proceed cautiously,” he said. “Until the portraits return, this matter does not leave this room.”
One by one, the elders began departing the hall, their footsteps fading gradually into the corridor beyond.
Ziyu remained seated a moment longer, his expression still thoughtful despite the discussion ending. “I will personally assign additional trusted guards near Miss Mei’s quarters,” he said at last. “Carefully enough that it does not appear unusual.“
Shangjue gave a small nod in approval.
Ziyu rose to his feet then, smoothing his sleeve absently as the exhaustion from the evening finally began settling more visibly across his expression. “I should return as well,” he added. “Yun Weishan has likely been handling the baby alone long enough already.”
The mention of his wife softened the atmosphere only slightly, brief but enough to break through some of the heaviness lingering over the hall.
“I will see you both tomorrow.” Neither brother stopped him as he turned and disappeared into the corridor, his footsteps gradually fading into the quiet.
Only Shangjue and Yuanzhi remained seated now beneath the dim evening light, the earlier tension still lingering quietly between them.
Neither seemed in any hurry to speak immediately after.
Then Shangjue reached for the teapot beside him and leaned slightly across the space between their tables, pouring fresh tea into Yuanzhi’s cup without asking.
Yuanzhi glanced up briefly before giving a small nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you.” He lifted the cup afterward and took a quiet sip.
The simple familiarity of the exchange drew the faintest smile from Shangjue despite the heaviness of the evening. There were few people within the residence Yuanzhi allowed to care for him so casually anymore. Fewer still whom he accepted it from without complaint.
For all his sharpness and pride, he was still his younger brother.
Shangjue settled back slightly afterward, his gaze resting calmly on him. “I did not have the chance to ask earlier,” he said. “How did the token distribution go?”
Yuanzhi lowered his cup. “It went fine.”
“How many gold?”
“Four.”
“And jade?”
“Three.”
The conversation paused briefly after that, quieter now than before. The anger Yuanzhi had shown during the earlier discussion had faded somewhat, though traces of irritation still lingered faintly beneath the surface.
After a moment, Shangjue spoke again “There was something else I wanted to ask you about.”
Yuanzhi looked up slightly at that, faint confusion crossing his expression. “What?”
Shangjue lifted his own cup before finally speaking again. “Overall,” he asked calmly, “what did you think of the evening?”
“It was… useful.” Yuanzhi said casually.
A faint smile touched Shangjue’s expression at the answer. “Useful?” he repeated lightly.
Yuanzhi gave the smallest shrug. “We learned more tonight than we would have from reports alone.”
“That much is true.”
Outside, the wind continued brushing softly through the corridor beyond the paper screens, carrying a faint chill that had grown stronger as the night deepened.
After another quiet sip of tea, Shangjue spoke once more. “What about the girl interested in herbs,” he said. “Miss He Fang.”
Yuanzhi’s expression barely shifted. “She is knowledgeable enough, I suppose.”
“But not enough to impress you.”
That finally earned the faintest reaction from him. Yuanzhi exhaled softly through his nose, not quite amused. “She was trying too hard,” he admitted. “Most of what she spoke about sounded memorized.”
Shangjue nodded once in acknowledgment before continuing.
“And Miss Liuyun?”
This time the reaction was immediate.
Yuanzhi’s brows pulled together slightly, clear irritation surfacing again at the mention of her name. He reached for his teacup almost as though to avoid answering immediately, though the look on his face already said enough.
“Absolutely not.”
A quiet laugh escaped Shangjue before he could stop it.
Yuanzhi shot him a flat look. “She carries herself as though the Gong family should be grateful for an alliance with hers.”
“Considering her father,” Shangjue replied mildly, “that is not entirely surprising.”
“That does not make it any less irritating,” Yuanzhi muttered. The annoyance in his voice only deepened Shangjue’s amusement slightly, though he hid it well behind another sip of tea.
For a brief moment, the atmosphere between them eased somewhat, the earlier tension from the discussion about Wufeng softening beneath the familiarity of their conversation.
Then Shangjue finally asked, almost casually, “And the general’s daughter?”
The question seemed simple enough, but Yuanzhi’s movements slowed almost imperceptibly at the mention of her.His fingers paused briefly against the side of his cup before continuing again.
“Miss Y/N?” he asked, though he had clearly heard him the first time.
Shangjue only nodded once.
Unlike his earlier answers, this one did not come immediately.
Yuanzhi lifted his cup again, taking another sip of tea that seemed more intended to buy himself time than anything else. When he finally answered, his tone remained carefully neutral.
“She seemed decent.”
The response drew immediate amusement from Shangjue. “Decent?” he repeated lightly.
Yuanzhi’s eyes narrowed slightly over the rim of his cup. “What else would you like me to say?”
Shangjue said nothing, though the faint smile lingering at the corner of his mouth only seemed to irritate Yuanzhi further.
After a moment, Yuanzhi finally lowered the cup again with a quiet breath. “She appeared well raised,” he said, sounding slightly more thoughtful now despite himself. “Calm. Respectful.” His gaze drifted briefly toward the table between them. “There was nothing particularly alarming about her.”
Shangjue hummed softly. “That is a surprisingly generous evaluation coming from you.”
Yuanzhi frowned faintly. “I am capable of complimenting people when deserved.”
“I know.” Shangjue tilted his head slightly. “It is simply rare.”
A faint trace of amusement still lingered in his expression as he added, “Especially from someone who spent most of the evening criticizing nearly every candidate.”
Yuanzhi shot him a flat look at that.
Shangjue, however, seemed entirely unbothered. “I also recall you telling Miss Y/N you would remember her tea preference,” Shangjue said calmly.
Yuanzhi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was only making conversation.”
“Mm.” Shangjue lifted his cup leisurely. “So the next time you prepare tea, should we expect something sweeter?”
“I work with poison and medicinal draughts,” Yuanzhi replied dryly. “Not romantic gestures.”
That earned a quiet laugh from Shangjue. “I see,” he said mildly. “So…you would say you are interested in Miss Y/N, then.”
Yuanzhi let out a quiet scoff, his eyes closing briefly as though already aware there was little point trying to argue his way out of the conversation now. In the end, he seemed to decide it was easier to answer truthfully than continue being questioned about it.
“She is…” He stopped briefly, visibly annoyed at having to put the thought into words at all. “Probably among the better choices at the moment.”
Something gentler flickered briefly across Shangjue’s expression then, subtle enough that most people would have missed it entirely.
Then realization came.
“And yet,” he said calmly, “you gave her jade instead of gold.”
Yuanzhi noticed the shift in tone at once. His gaze lifted toward his brother, sharper now.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Shangjue remained perfectly calm. “Only that your evaluations and your token distribution do not seem entirely aligned.” He took another slow sip of tea before adding, almost casually, “Miss Liuyun irritated you within minutes, yet she received gold. Miss Y/N apparently impressed you enough to earn compliments I have almost never heard from you before, and she received jade.”
Yuanzhi stared at him for a moment without answering.
Then Shangjue added quietly, “Were you considering changing the color of her token?”
For the first time since the conversation began, Yuanzhi looked genuinely caught off guard.
His gaze dropped briefly toward the tea beside him before he finally exhaled through his nose, some of the earlier defensiveness fading from his posture.
“There is something I did not tell you earlier,” he admitted at last.
Shangjue remained silent, waiting.
Yuanzhi rested one arm against the table beside him, his expression more serious now. “When I learned the medical cabinets had been tampered with,” he said slowly, “it happened while I was finalizing the token distribution.”
A faint crease appeared between Shangjue’s brows as he listened.
“I started thinking,” Yuanzhi continued, quieter now, “that if Wufeng truly infiltrated the bride selection, then the girls with gold tokens would naturally become the primary targets.”
Understanding settled across Shangjue’s expression almost immediately.
“So you switched them.”
Yuanzhi gave a small nod.
“The girls I originally intended to give gold received jade instead,” he admitted. “And the ones with jade…” His jaw tightened faintly. “I changed them to gold.”
A faint smile finally appeared across Shangjue’s face, softer than the restrained amusement he had shown throughout the rest of their conversation.
“Well,” he said quietly, “that was unexpectedly clever.”
Yuanzhi looked up slightly at that, caught off guard enough that the irritation he had been carrying for most of the evening eased for a brief second. Praise was not something Shangjue offered carelessly, especially not regarding matters tied to security or leadership within the residence.
Shangjue leaned forward slightly then, reaching across the space between their tables to rest a firm hand briefly against Yuanzhi’s shoulder. The gesture itself was simple, familiar in a way few things within the Gong residence still were.
“You remained calm and adjusted quickly,” he said. “Most people would have continued with the original plan without thinking beyond it.” A trace of approval entered his voice then, warmer than before. “That is exactly how a Gong should think.”
The words settled more heavily than Yuanzhi expected them to.For all his stubbornness and sharp temper, there were very few opinions within the residence that mattered to him as much as Shangjue’s.
Yuanzhi cleared his throat quietly afterward, trying to appear far less affected by the praise than he actually was.
“I only thought it was safer,” he muttered, quieter now than before.
“And you were right.”
Shangjue withdrew his hand then, though the warmth from the gesture lingered faintly all the same. Shangjue watched him for a brief moment before a faint smile touched his expression again, smaller this time but warmer than before. Then he finally pushed himself to his feet, the conversation seeming to settle naturally alongside the late hour.
The hall had grown much quieter around them now. Somewhere deeper within the residence, servants were beginning to extinguish lights for the night, and the colder mountain air drifting through the open corridors carried the faint scent of cedar and rain.
Shangjue adjusted the cuff of his sleeve absentmindedly before speaking again.
“I should head back.”
Yuanzhi glanced up slightly from his cup.
“My wife will start complaining if I leave her alone with our girl much longer,” Shangjue said, the amusement in his voice subtle but unmistakable. “Apparently, husband duties do not disappear simply because Wufeng decides to become troublesome.”
That finally earned a quiet laugh from Yuanzhi, brief but genuine.
“Well,” he said, setting his cup down, “she is carrying your second child. I think she has earned the right to complain.”
The faint amusement in Shangjue’s expression deepened slightly at that.
Yuanzhi continued, sounding almost defensive on his sister-in-law’s behalf now. “And your son is still young. It is not exactly easy managing both. You should be more concerned about surviving her anger than Wufeng..
“Mm.” Shangjue gave a small nod as though accepting the criticism. “You sound strangely understanding tonight.”
“I’m only defending Sister-in-law.”
The amusement in Shangjue’s eyes deepened slightly before his expression settled again into something calmer.
“You should try to be a little more sympathetic toward me,” he said mildly. “Before long, you will likely find yourself in the exact same position.”
Yuanzhi narrowed his eyes almost immediately.
Yet the reaction lacked the sharp resistance it once might have carried. Instead, it felt closer to reluctant acceptance, as though part of him already understood exactly where the conversation had been heading long before his brother said it aloud.
“Goodnight, Yuanzhi.”
The doors slid shut softly behind Shangjue not long afterward, leaving Yuanzhi alone in the quiet hall with only the cooling tea beside him and his brother’s words lingering faintly in the back of his mind.
˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖ ˖᯽ ݁˖
The walk back toward the women’s quarters felt far different from the journey to the hall earlier that evening.
Night had settled fully over the valley now, deep and cold beneath the mountains surrounding the Gong residence. Only narrow lanterns placed along the winding stone path offered light, their dim golden glow stretching weakly across the ground before being swallowed again by darkness. Above them, the moon hung pale between drifting clouds, silver light catching faintly against the trees swaying overhead.
The girls remained gathered closely together as they walked.
Soft conversation rose and fell quietly throughout the group, blending with the steady sound of footsteps against stone and the occasional rustle of silk brushing through the night air. Somewhere deeper in the forest, an owl called once before falling silent again.
At the front, Madame Ling walked beside two attendants carrying lanterns while several guards followed further behind the group, their quieter voices occasionally carrying through the dark as they spoke amongst themselves. They remained close enough to watch over the girls properly, though not so near that every conversation could be overheard.
Y/N stayed near the back beside Mei.
The path had narrowed slightly there, curving along the darker edge of the hillside where the lanternlight no longer reached as clearly. Trees crowded closer together, their shadows shifting faintly across the ground whenever the wind stirred through the branches above.
Then suddenly, Y/N felt something sharp brush briefly against her arm.
A quick prickling sting.
She startled slightly, turning her head at once toward the dark bushes lining the path beside them, expecting perhaps a thorned branch or rough leaves she had brushed against while walking too close to the edge.
But there was nothing there.
Only darkness.
Before she could think much more of it, Mei leaned slightly closer beside her, one hand lightly catching around Y/N’s arm as another girl ahead stumbled briefly over uneven stone.
“Are you alright?” Mei asked softly. “Even now, I still feel like I am sitting in that hall with them.” She let out a small nervous laugh beneath her breath. “They were all so frightening.”
Y/N let out a quiet breath through her nose, forcing herself to relax again. “I am only relieved I was not scolded the way Miss Liuyun was.”
That earned a small laugh from Mei.
“I thought the Poison Master was going to keep questioning her forever,” she admitted quietly. “The entire room became so tense afterward.” Y/N smiled softly at that.
The sound was soft beneath the surrounding noise of footsteps and rustling fabric, but genuine enough that Y/N found herself smiling faintly as well.
“I was nervous the entire evening,” Mei admitted after another moment, her grip remaining lightly looped around Y/N’s arm as they continued down the darkened trail. “I thought my voice would shake every time one of them looked at me.”
Y/N turned slightly toward her, though the movement made an odd wave of warmth rise suddenly through her chest.
“You did very well,” she said honestly, offering Mei a small reassuring smile despite the strange heaviness beginning to settle behind her eyes. “You did not seem nervous at all.”
Mei’s expression brightened slightly beneath the moonlight.
“I would still love to see the Firefly Festival someday,” Y/N continued quietly. “It sounds beautiful.”
“It is,” Mei replied at once, her voice gentler now. “Especially near the river. The entire water glows with lantern reflections.”
Y/N smiled faintly. For a few moments, only the sound of footsteps and rustling trees filled the quiet between them.
Then Mei glanced toward her curiously beneath the dim moonlight. “Can I ask you something?”
Y/N looked at her. “Of course.”
For a moment, Mei seemed almost hesitant, as though deciding whether or not she should say what was on her mind. Around them, the rest of the girls continued slowly down the narrow trail while lanternlight flickered weakly across the uneven path beneath their feet.
A small smile appeared on Mei’s face. “It is not every day a man tells a woman he will remember her preferences in tea,” she said lightly.
The comment caught Y/N so off guard that she nearly missed another step.
Beside her, Mei’s smile widened just slightly, touched now with quiet amusement despite the exhaustion lingering from the evening. “It sounded almost romantic,” she added softly. “Especially coming from someone like Young Master Yuanzhi.”
Heat rose unexpectedly to Y/N’s face.
“You are misunderstanding,” she answered quickly, lowering her gaze toward the darkened path ahead of them. “He was only being polite.”
Mei let out the faintest hum beside her, unconvinced. “Mm. Perhaps,” she replied. “But he did not speak to the other contestants that way.”
Y/N lowered her gaze toward the darkened path ahead of them, suddenly far too aware once again of the steady calm in Yuanzhi’s voice earlier that evening.
I will keep that in mind.
The memory alone made her heartbeat stumble strangely against her ribs.
Only now, the warmth spreading through her chest no longer felt entirely natural. It had become heavier somehow, feverish beneath her skin despite the cold night air brushing across her face. A dull pressure had begun forming behind her eyes as well, faint enough still to ignore, though uncomfortable all the same.
She swallowed hard before answering quietly, “Maybe he simply felt it would have been uncomfortable to criticize me too much afterward.” Her fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves. “Not after I had already spoken about my mother earlier that evening.”
Mei was quiet for a moment after that, the lanternlight ahead flickering softly across her features as the group continued down the winding trail.
“Perhaps,” she said softly. “But the Gong family is not exactly known for gentleness. Especially Young Master Yuanzhi.”
The ground shifted beneath Y/N’s feet enough that she stumbled once against the uneven path before quickly catching herself again.
Mei caught her arm immediately.
“Careful,” she said at once, the teasing softness from earlier disappearing beneath clear concern now. Her grip tightened more securely around Y/N as they slowed slightly behind the others.
Y/N forced out a quiet laugh, trying to brush the moment aside despite the unsteady pounding in her chest. “It is too dark on this trail,” she murmured. “I can barely see the girls ahead of us.”
“That is because it is,” Mei whined, glancing around her. “I still cannot believe they make us walk through the woods like this in the middle of the night.”
Y/N followed her gaze briefly toward the dark forest surrounding them. The woods seemed almost endless, layers of blackened trees disappearing deep into the mountainside while moonlight filtered faintly through the branches overhead.
“It feels dangerous,” Mei added softly as another cold gust stirred through the trees above them.
An owl called somewhere deeper within the forest. The sound echoed faintly through the darkness, eerie enough that several girls further ahead glanced nervously toward the trees before continuing on.
Y/N opened her mouth to answer, though by now the warmth spreading through her body had become impossible to ignore. Her skin felt strangely feverish despite the cold mountain air brushing against her face. Beneath the layers of her robes, heat coiled heavily through her chest while each breath seemed to come slightly shorter than before.
“It is only a short walk,” she managed quietly. “We will be alright.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strained.
Mei’s expression shifted immediately. She leaned closer, concern softening her features beneath the dim moonlight. “Y/N,” she asked carefully, “are you feeling unwell?”
Ahead of them, the faint sound of rushing water had begun growing louder, signaling they were nearing the bridge leading back toward the women’s residence. Lanternlight reflected weakly against the dark river below while the colder air drifting up from the water brushed against Y/N’s heated skin.
Yet with every step, she felt herself growing worse.
Her breathing had become uneven without her realizing it, each inhale seeming heavier than the last. Heat burned beneath her skin while a dull ringing had started faintly in her ears, soft enough at first to ignore, though it gradually began muffling the sound of nearby footsteps and conversation around her. Sweat gathered lightly against the back of her neck despite the cold night air.
Beside her, Mei’s hold tightened again as Y/N stumbled a second time.
“You really do not look alright,” she whispered, her voice quieter now, touched with unmistakable worry.
Y/N swallowed hard, finally beginning to admit to herself that something was truly wrong.
The heat burning through her body no longer felt like simple exhaustion. Her pulse was racing far too quickly now, each heartbeat pounding unevenly against her ribs while the ringing in her ears had grown loud enough to blur the sounds around her into something distant and distorted.
She turned slightly toward Mei, ready at last to answer honestly.
But before the words could leave her mouth, her legs suddenly gave out beneath her entirely.
The world lurched violently sideways.
Somewhere nearby, startled voices broke through the darkness.
Then someone screamed.
Y/N barely had time to catch a glimpse of the steep slope beside the narrow trail before her body slipped down the wet hillside, stones and loose earth breaking beneath her as she fell.
Then came the river.
The freezing water swallowed her whole.
For one brief, disoriented moment, the cold felt almost relieving against the unbearable heat consuming her body.
Above her, blurred lanternlight fractured across the surface of the rushing water while distant voices shouted somewhere along the bridge overhead.
The last thing Y/N saw before darkness overtook her completely was the movement of dark figures rushing toward the riverbank.
PAIRING: Set!Vernon x Sehkmet!Reader
SUMMARY: Vernon is the type of historian you hate - reckless, disrespectful, and far too comfortable stealing and selling artefacts to the highest bidder. You tolerate him at best, but when a job goes wrong and you’re left clinging to life with a new power you don’t understand, you find that the man you’ve detested has far more experience with divine forces than you ever would have guessed.
FULL WC: 28,997
AU: Mythological, Supernatural
GENRE: Angst, Smut, Adversaries to Lovers
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Fantasy violence, mentions of blood and death, scary creatures attacking people mild (very mild) gore, lots of blood, reader is sacrificed and is very afraid and mortally wounded and kind of has a mild dying sequence (i lived bitch!!!), Vernon is kind of an asshole, reader is rude to Vernon because she thinks very little of him at first, Spooky Temple Shit, death of a parent(s) (in the past) but talking about it, people being carelessly sacrificed, me using 100000 translation sites for some mild uses of Arabic pls forgive me for anything wrong or gently correct me, some mild commentary on the ethics of taking ancient artefacts and selling them to reach people or to museums that take them out of their native lands/population, some sexual tension, lots of teasing, sorry there is a lot of storytelling idk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) vaginal fingering, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, Vernon is down bad the entire time, intense action sequences, reference to a mass sacrifice, getting wounded in battle, oh! waking up to a Scorpion in bed so like if that freaks you out sorry!! and I think that's it. A always, smut markers are in text for you to skip if you don't like smut.
A/N: This is a piece for the Sands of Time Collab
A/N 2: This is so long I am so sorry I can never shut the fuck up. No beta we die like men.
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | RED SANDS COLLAB
Call me He Who Howls in Open Places.
Call me the Red One, the Unmoored, the Crooked Star.
Do not call me Brother, for brothers bind.
Call me the Eye Unbound.
I drink what spills.
I burn away the unworthy.
THE SUN SPILLS RED, HUNGRY LIGHT BLEEDING. This is the desert evening, blood-spilled sand and burning waves of heat.
Said heat slams into you even as the sun dies, your shoes sinking in the sand as you slide out of the jeep. Dunes stretched out in every direction, red and gold and endless, rippling under the blood sky. Luxor is far behind you now, somewhere far behind where you can see. Wind hisses across the surface, carrying grains of sand that sear right through you. Somewhere far off, a hawk cries once.
Below you, the dig site lies half-revealed by the storm that blew in a few weeks ago. Black stone pylons jut from the sand like the broken ribs of a dead god, sending a chill up your spine. The gateway stands open, its stone mouth carved with falcons whose wings have been worn smooth by centuries of wind and sand.
Sand. The sand here is endless, clinging to anything and everything, the grit crunching between your teeth and scraping beneath your eyelids despite protective covering. Sand sticks to you even now as you pull your scarf higher over your mouth as you start down the slope. Each step sinks you ankle-deep, grains pouring into your boots.
The sand isn't the only nuisance - the heat is deadly, an inferno that presses against the top of your scalp and makes the exposed parts of your skin tingle as you walk. By the time you reach the camp ground below, your shirt is plastered to your back with sweat and your lungs feel sun-scored and sand-scoured.
Tents cluster around the dig site in orderly rows, white canvas snapping in the wind. Generators thrum, powering the floodlights as they kick on in the rapidly growing dark. Dozens of people move between the tents, a combination of laborers in faded galabeyas carrying crates, archaeologists in khaki bent over folding tables, a photographer in jeans adjusting a lens. Somewhere, the smell of cardamom tea drifts toward you, sharp and sweet.
A man exits one of the larger tents and spots you. He's tall and broad shouldered with silver threading his dark hair, the expensive watch on his wrist catching the last of the red sun like a flare. Harlan Voss is every bit as intimidating in person as he was on the phone. He's a shipping magnate, a collector of antiquities and the kind of man who funds expeditions like this because he can.
He isn't your cup of tea, but he's the only way into the site up ahead right now, so you're willing to swallow past the sour taste in your mouth and accept his handshake when he reaches you.
"Great to see you," He greets, his handshake firm. "I trust the drive wasn't too punishing?"
"No. Storm seems to have cleared the way." You look past him to the ancient dig site. "It really did clear away the sand here too."
"Thank the Gods." You cock your head at the turn of phrase but he's already looking over his shoulder at the half-dug up site. "We're on a timeline. Storms roll in often, so we need to get in and out before the next. Come on, let me show you the operation."
You follow as he walks and talks, introducing you in clipped tones to a Rolodex of names you're struggling to keep up with already: Dr. Hassan al-Masri the epigrapher and Leila Farouk the conservator are names you vaguely recognize, shaking their hands politely. Less known to you is Piet Keppens, a lanky photographer whose hands are a little too clammy and is sunburned to hell, and a swath of Cairo University students hauling equipment for internship hours, eyes wide when they hear your name.
A security team stands apart from everyone else, sprawled under a shaded awning despite the vanished sun like a pride of lions. They check rifles and lean over schematics and computers of perimeters that you don't understand - could never understand, probably. You don't know why you need security in the desert with guns and knives. It's not like the jackals will bother big groups and no one is coming this far out to rob a tomb like in an Indiana Jones movie.
Well. Perhaps not no one, you realize, as you set eyes on someone familiar, your lip curling in dissatisfaction.
Voss gestures toward a figure leaning on an awning pole, watching you with dark eyes. "Vernon Chwe," Voss says. "Our specialist in acquisitions and one of our security personnel."
Your stomach knots. You know Vernon. Most people in your field do, considering he has a habit of getting tombs open before permits are granted, finding artifacts that vanish into private collections, and a decent degree to back his unethical tomb raiding.
Fucking Vernon.
He straightens as you approach, tall and lean, skin tan from spending days under the sun. His hair is hidden under a dark cap, his linen shirt loose with the sleeves rolled high enough to reveal arms covered in ink. Your eyes snag on the tattoos, recognizing ancient scripts and symbols winding up his arms and vanishing under his sleeves.
Strange. You've never seen his tattoos before, but you wonder why a tomb raider of his legacy - however tainted - is sporting tattoos of hieroglyphic protective wards and Coptic symbols for binding alongside something that you can't decipher. Sumerian, maybe.
The thought unsettles you. You're supposed to be the historian and language expert here, and seeing dead languages on a man who would rather turn a profit than uncover history and deliver it to those who should preserve it makes your stomach turn.
Vernon's mouth curves when you stop in front of him, a small and unreadable smile. "Doctor."
You nod once. "Chwe."
Voss claps your shoulder, his hand lingering a beat too long before he wishes you a good evening and stalks off, calling orders about timelines as he goes.
Wind tugs at the tent ropes, and somewhere, someone laughs as the scent of cooking fat and meat wafts toward you, dinner preparations underway. You and Vernon stand in the small pocket of quiet in the security hub, your eyes flicking back to his arms, tracing the ink.
He tilts his head. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yes, I've been busy."
"Hiding in those stacks?"
"Working, Chwe." You cross your arms. "I suppose you're unfamiliar, unless the word theft has replaced the word work in recent years."
"You're the linguist." He smirks. "You tell me."
"I'm a historian."
"Tomato, tomato."
He irks you. The few times you've had the displeasure of crossing paths with Vernon Chwe have always left you flustered and frustrated. He is annoyingly good at poking all of the buttons that anger you, and he always does it with a flippant comment and a blase attitude that makes you see red.
It doesn't help that everyone is unfailingly charmed by him. Your colleagues both want to be him and want to be with him, always falling for the smooth lines and the fact that he has a face that belongs on a runaway, not at an ancient civilization site. The kind of face that would have definitely had a statue or two dedicated to it, a painting maybe-
"You been to the site yet?"
That question catches you off guard. You look him up and down, but he just watches you with that same lazy expression he always has. "No."
"Want to?"
You hate that you do. You don't need an escort, though, so without answering, you pivot in the sand and start walking. He laughs behind you, but you hear him push off the pole and follow you.
Immediately, you don't know where you're going. The maze of tents might as well be a mini city, and they're tall enough that you can't see the dig site that is down further in the sand. You pause as you try to gather your bearings, swiveling from left to right until Vernon breezes past you, taking a left.
"This way, Stacks," he laughs.
You storm after him. "I beg your pardon?"
"What?"
"What do you mean stacks? Are you seriously talking about my ass?"
He pauses to turn and look at you, brows raised. When he realizes you're serious, he starts laughing, open and loud and so amused that it makes you immediately feel embarrassed, flushing from head to toe as your hands make fists.
"What?" You demand.
"Stacks as in libraries," he manages. "Not your ass. I mean you do have a great-"
"Shut up!"
He holds his hands up and starts walking again, chuckling faintly as though your error still amuses him long after the moment has passed.
Vernon leads you down careful wooden steps that have been built to lead into the heart of the dig site, the Temple of Montu still half-buried from sand. A tingle slides over your skin as you approach, the floodlights casting shadows up the sides of the temple and between the pylons. Black basalt walls drink in the light and as you reach level footing, your steps slow as you approach.
Wind stirs as you approach. The temple is taller than you expected, with sand-scoured carvings and weather-bitten stones. Up close, you feel the heavy eyes of the stone falcons, heart skipping a little as you near them. Vernon seems unbothered, walking between the falcons without missing a beat. You scurry after him, casting a glance at the twin statues before stepping into the shadow of the gateway that leads into the temple.
Vernon stops just outside the collapsed front door. Tomorrow, the work teams will clear the door for you to go inside. For now, it's just the whistling wind and the buzzing on your skin like you're being watched. When you look around, it's just you and Vernon here, his inky eyes on your face.
You drift away from him toward the gateway. The shade inside the passage is deep, and you can feel the hiss of cool air coming from inside, smelling of dust and cold stone. Your eyes adjust slowly as you try to peer past the collapsed stone.
The inner walls are covered in reliefs, though wind has worn them soft. Montu stands triumphant, falcon-headed with his spear raised, offering placed around his feet below him. Your eyes catch on the lower register of the statue and you realize they're not eroded - they're gouged. Deep chisel marks mar the stone where text and figures once lived, like someone wanted them gone.
Glyphs on the doorframe catch your attention. You walk over to them, hand lifting as you trace them with your finger. The sand scrapes beneath your hand, stone solid and cold. Your mind works fast, unscrambling the words, brows pinching as you read.
"Finding secrets?" Vernon's voice makes you flinch. You'd almost forgotten he was there.
"What did Voss say this place was again?"
Vernon lifts a shoulder. "Temple to Montu. Supposed to be like a treasure hold or some shit."
"Don't be crass."
"Fine. Some stuff."
You hum, thoughtful. "These inscriptions are weird. It says cast beneath the horizon and held."
"Great. What's it mean?"
"I don't know."
"Useful."
Your head snaps in his direction. "Don't be an ass."
He smirks. "Don't be crass."
You fight the urge to snap back at him. He's leaning on a pylon, arms crossed, those tattoos staring back at you, and you can't help but get distracted by them again. The collar of his shirt is looser now, revealing a cluster of symbols that look like a map, lines intersecting in ways that tease at a meaning but slip away when you try to pin them down.
"You're staring." You glance up to find him smirking again. "Come on, Stacks. Work in the morning. Let's make sure there are no scorpions in your tent."
"I'm entirely capable of doing that myself."
"Damn. You want to come take care of mine?"
Letting out an angry sound, you turn your back on the temple and storm past him. You figured the hardest part of this dig would be the sun and the deciphering, but you've decided that your biggest challenge is going to be Vernon, an unexpected bump in the road.
You don't look to see if Vernon follows - you don't have to. You feel him there, a quiet pressure at your back. It doesn't occur to you until you're in your tent changing that Vernon's presence had felt exactly like the temple.
-
A faint rustle pulls you awake as dawn cracks against the horizon like an egg, the sun's yolk spilling through the tiny gap in your tent door. The air in your tent is thick, but the leftover cool from the night before hasn't been burned off from the sun yet.
You shift, intending to sit up when you feel something cold and segmented brush against your calf. You freeze. Heart hammering, you lift the sheet slowly and carefully, peering underneath. Coiled on your nice little bed by your leg is a scorpion, inky body fat, its stinger arched.
Leirus quinquestriatus. A deathstalker, its pinchers raised slightly, sensing your movement. You know if it stings you that its venom is potent enough to ruin you for days. Even if it wasn't, you really don't want to be stuck, trying to swallow down your discomfort at the way its scaly little body siddles up to you.
Holding your breath, you ease your hand toward the edge of the cot, fingers closing around the empty water glass. You don't dare breathe as you bring the cup toward the creature. It twitches and you stop, folding your lips together to stop you from squealing. You're not afraid, but you really don't want to be stung.
Licking your lips, you carefully bring the glass toward the scorpion and then in a single fluid motion, you invert the glass over the arachnid, trapping it against the sheet. It skitters, legs tapping the glass. You don't lift your hand, reaching with a free hand to grab your notebook, putting it against the edge of your bed.
Carefully, you slide the glass and the scorpion immediately gets angry, fighting the glass as you drag it until it's trapped between glass and notebook. Its tail flicks, pissed off at its makeshift prison. You exhale, swinging your legs over the side of the cot to stand. The sand floor is cool under your feet as you rush to the entrance, pushing the doorway open.
Outside, the camp is waking up. You hear distant voices and the clatter of cookware, the low hum of generators powering up. The sky is a gradient of grey and blue, stars fading in the light.
A worker passes, nodding at you while mumbling, "Sabah el-khair."
You nod back with a smile. "Sabah el-noor."
Stepping into the open air, you kneel at the edge of the tent. With careful hands, you tip the glass and let the scorpion scuttle free into the sand. It pauses to orient itself, then burrows swiftly out of sight.
You watch it go, a shiver tracing up your spin. In most traditions, scorpions are omens, guardians and harbingers of death. Specifically in ancient Egyptian lore, scorpions were sacred to Selket, but they were also symbols of chaos and strife, omens of dark tidings on the horizon.
You shake off the thought. Superstition has no place here. Though you deal in lore and mythos and theology as much as you deal in history and language, superstition in the desert can quickly feel like heat stroke and conspiracy, and as much as you'd like to think there is something mystical and otherworldly about the ancient world, you know it's a thread that's too dangerous to chase.
Back inside your tent, you dress quickly in khaki pants, a long sleeved shirt to ward off the sun and the cool temple air, sturdy boots laced all the way up, and grab a satchel full of notebooks, pens, a water bottle and small archaeologist tools.
Outside, the camp is fully alive, people brewing tea over small fires and clustering around maps. The smell of flatbread baking mingles with the sharp tang of the diesel generators. You want to look for coffee, but you find Voss instead, retracing your steps from last night to the dig site.
He's already barking orders, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. The workers have been at it since before dawn, and the collapsed doorway to the temple is already cleared, the rubble piled neatly to one side as Leila oversees where it needs to go.
Floodlights still cast harsh beams into the shadowed maw of the temple, gliding past the black basalt pylons. You glance at the falcons again, their beady eyes eroded with time and sand but still watching.
"Doctor!" Voss calls when he sees you. "Good, you're up. We're going in. Teams of three: security, researcher, laborer. No one wanders alone."
You nod, approaching the group collecting to be assigned. Dr. Hassan al-Masri is there, his epigrapher's toolkit slung over one shoulder, chatting rapidly to Keppens, whose camera is slung around his neck, face stuck in the white cast of sunscreen.
Voss assigns teams and you scan the group, hoping he pairs you with anyone except-
"You'll go with Chwe and Karim," Voss says, gesturing to Vernon who lounges against one of the falcons. He's dressed in all black tactical gear with a keffiyeh around his neck and pulled up to his nose, protecting him from the morning sun. You're surprised to see that his traditional dark hair has been replaced with a dark blonde mullet, roughly styled from the wind. "Chwe has a radio if you need it."
Of course. You nod and swallow past the dry patch in your throat, walking over to Vernon and Karim, who nods his head when he sees you.
"Morning, Stacks," Vernon greets, smirking. "Sleep well?"
You ignore him and turn to the third man in your party. "Ahlan wa sahlan."
Karim grins. "Ahlan beeki. Ready for the shadows?"
"Always."
The temple looms, its gateway a yawning void that seems to pulse. You've felt the pulse since last night, a strange sense of doom like fingers brushing the nape of your neck. You think of the scorpion in your bed this morning and the doom deepens, but you shove it aside, unwilling to let your mother's bedtime stories lead you astray.
The teams fan out, headlamps flicking on as they step through the gateway. You follow Vernon and Karim into the dim coolness, the temperature dropping sharply as sand gives way to the stone floor. The air is stale and thick with dust, carrying the faint echoes of incense long burned out and faded myrrh.
Inside, the temple unfolds, the hypostyle hall stretching before you, columns rising like petrified palm trees, the lotus blossom shaped tops cracked and smoothed with time. Floodlights from the entrance cast long shadows, dancing as the team moves. Your boots echo on the flagstones, each step stirring puffs of dust.
Montu, the falcon-headed god of war, dominantes the reliefs. He stands with his spear in hand, ready to smite his enemies. You see each enemy etched alongside him, the paint faded and nearly washed away. Nubians, Hyksos, Libyans - all of them await his slaughter and fury, his most hated enemies. Montu's form stands taller than them all, his depiction muscular and divine, wings partially unfurled.
One carving catches your eye and you hurry over to it, Vernon and Karim on your heels. You blow the dust from the wall, wiping a hand to sweep away the thick layers of grime and time.
"Look at this," you murmur, more to yourself than your companions. "Montu was Theban originally, but his cult spread north during the Middle Kingdom. I'd wager this temple is Eleventh Dynasty, based on the style."
Vernon leans in too close. You smell him immediately - woody oud mixed with something else staticky. His breath is warm on your shoulder when he says, "Fascinating. Does he have a favorite color as well?"
You shoot him a glare. "If you're not going to contribute, at least don't distract me."
Karim chuckles at your exchange and shines his flashlight along the base of the column. "The god is angry here. See the fire in his eyes?"
Shuffling closer, you look to where Karim points. Indeed, the inlaid eyes are gone, sockets hollow. Still, the ferocity remains in the carved lines.
You nod, switching to Arabic to keep Vernon out of your conversation. "Yes, Montu was the bull of battle. It is he who grants victory. But in later periods, he merged with Ra, becoming Montu-Ra, the solar warrior."
Vernon snorts. "Solar warrior?"
You stare. "You speak Arabic?"
"I've got the same degree as you."
"You don't."
"Alright. I've got a degree."
"Well if you can't appreciate the cultural significance-"
"Ease up, Stacks. It was a joke. I appreciate the significance."
You grit your teeth, moving on. The sense of doom you'd felt this morning intensifies as you delve deeper, a prickling unease that makes your skin crawl. It's not just the chill - you feel like the walls are watching and you're reminded of the falcons in the front.
Temples like this were sacred precincts, boundaries between the mortal and divine. You've translated enough texts to know that the Ancient Egyptians weren't messing around with their warnings and curses, and the knowledge weighs heavy on you the further you go.
The hall branches into corridors, the teams' voices echoing faintly from other paths. Your group takes a left fork, Vernon leading with casual confidence, the beam of his flashlight sweeping.
"This way looks promising," he announces. He glances back at you, eyes flashing with something dark that gives you pause. "Unless you want to flip a coin, Stacks?"
"Based on what? Your pirate instinct for loot and theft?"
"Something like that."
Behind you, Karim snickers at your bickering. You ignore both of the men, walking further into the temple where the corridor begins to narrow, the walls closing in. As you go, you see that the reliefs here are denser, narrating a tangle of Montu's story starting with his birth from Nun to his battles against Apep and his role with ancient Pharaohs.
You trace a cartouche with your finger, dust flaking. "Mentuhotep II," you murmur. "He unified Egypt after the First Intermediate Period. This temple might commemorate his victories. Perhaps Montu was his patron."
Vernon is quiet for a second. "Patrons aren't always what they seem."
You glance sideways at him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning keep looking for shit, Stacks."
"You're impossible."
Despite Vernon, you push forward. The corridor opens into a chamber, smaller than the hall but richly decorated like some sort of ritual room. Offering tables line the walls, carved with heaps of bread, beer and oxen, all tributes that would have been given to the gods. In the center, a pedestal holds a fragmented statue of Montu, falcon head intact, body cracked but not entirely broken or dismembered.
Grinning, you drop to your knees and unpack your notebook to begin sketching. Your pencil scratches against the room while Karim lingers near the door, his eyes scanning the shadows as Vernon lounges against a wall, arms crossed, silent for once.
As you work, something presses against your awareness. The air feels thicker here, charged somehow, like the moment before a storm. You look up briefly, eyes scanning the room, but you see nothing. Still, you feel something pressed against you, a warning you can't feel. You hate that you think of the scorpion in your bed again, seeing the way its tail swayed back and forth, an ominous pendulum. Your hand trembles slightly as you work and you swallow past the unease.
Vernon watches you, his eyes burning a hole in your back. "You look like you're enjoying this."
"Some of us value knowledge over profit."
"Ouch. Knowledge pays your bills too though, doesn't it?"
He isn't wrong, but there is a difference between what you and Vernon do. Your desire to uncover history and write about it is rooted in preserving its cultural significance and keeping artifacts in their native lands where they belong, not front and center at some museum in New York or London - or worse, in some rich man's mansion that is rarely visited save for the holidays.
History is a personal endeavor for you - it's always been more than a job. It's air. It's blood. It's what keeps you going. You don't know how to explain that to someone like Vernon who doesn't understand that history isn't a subject to you, it's an artform.
You remember the first time you truly understood that. You were eight, curled up on the worn couch in your mother's Cairo apartment, the river glinting beyond the balcony like a ribbon of molten silver. Your mom had just come home from a dig in Saqqara, dust still in her hair. She always had dust in her hair, the braids ashen from spending hours by lamplight in digs far out in the desert. That night she'd brought you something, and in her lap was a shard of pottery, no bigger than your palm and painted with lotuses and a single line of hieratic script.
"Feel it," she'd said, handing it to you. You remember her calloused fingers stained with ink, the rasp of them against your skin, the way she'd leave finger prints on you sometimes. "This belonged to a woman who lived four thousand years ago. She held it. She drank from it. She probably argued with her partner over whose turn it was to fetch water, just like the women of this age do."
You'd traced the delicate brush strokes, awestruck. "How do you know it was a woman?"
"Because the name inscribed on the rim is a woman's name. Merit. And because women have always been an important part of history. Merit is no different. What women do holds power. Never let anyone tell you that history is made by men. History is painted with the power and prowess of women, no matter how men try to snuff it out."
From that day on, history wasn't something you could find in just textbooks. It was alive. It was stories whispered across thousands of years, lives and histories of people like Merit. Your mother had made it that way for you until her last day in a hospital room, clinging to that same piece of pottery you'd sat on the couch and examined together.
"There's a thread," she said, weak and tired as life slowly left her. "Running beneath the official history. I can feel it. Something no one records plainly. Something more, something we don't think is real. I wanted to find it."
She never had the chance.
Shaking your head free of visions of your mother, you focus on a longer text wrapping around the pedestal, wondering if you'd ever find the threads your mother used to talk about or if your fear of the mystical and rejection of the other would keep you from wandering down her same, chaotic path. The text is a hymn to Montu detailing his history. You scribble notes, unpacking how he was once a local deity in Armant, then elevated during the Eleventh Dynasty.
"He who makes the Nile red with the blood of his enemies," you translate, voice barely above a whisper. "Guardian of the hidden ways, binder of the chaos beyond."
"What does Montu know of chaos?" The tone of Vernon's voice makes you look at him.
He's half in shadow, watching you, the keffiyah loose around his neck, his face unreadable. Your eyes linger on the swirling tattoos that should make sense to you - do make sense to you, in a way. The binding symbols on his arms are a strange choice for a tomb raider who walks around with a gun, and the script near his throat…
"Need something, Stacks?" His question makes you look back up at him. He's watching you with an intensity that makes you flinch. "A new pen? A snack, perhaps?"
Huffing, you turn back to your task. The sense of something lingers, though, tingling at the back of your neck as Vernon watches you work. You know that he isn't stupid - he's far from it. Vernon is well-read and knowledgeable, and though you hadn't known his affinity for Arabic, you shouldn't be surprised.
You continue writing down the text and you frown at the shift as the language grows more archaic, switching periods and skipping around between dialects and writing systems. Weird. Your brows furrow as you write the words down haltingly, translating underneath a little at a time.
The sealed gate lies deep, where he who feeds the soil with iron waits…
You frown, unable to read damaged lettering. You skip to the next part, shuffling on your knees to get a better look.
… not open the lid, for spear will walk anew.
A chill races through you. The words echo and you think again of the scorpion this morning. You hadn't been sure what the omen meant, guardian or chaos, but the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach worsens.
Montu's temples often had hidden chambers, crypts for sacred objects or forbidden knowledge. This speaks to something grander, though. Something powerful, maybe. But you don't understand the meaning.
Vernon notices you've stopped writing, leaning forward to look at you, brow pinched. "What?"
"There's a warning here. It's a bit hard to understand but it… Do you speak Ancient Egyptian?"
He snorts. "Yes."
"It says not open the lid, for spear will walk anew. I don't understand the lid or the spear will walk anew."
Sighing, Vernon leans down and looks at your writing. He seems ready to make a snarky joke when his expression pinches. "That says door not lid and war not spear. Door and lid are written the same but the end is pronounced differently."
"Insightful. So not open the door, for war will walk anew."
Vernon looks to Karim. "Is there a lower chamber here?"
"Yes, that is part of what the team is to help clear the way, if needed."
Vernon looks at you but you're already getting up, shoving your notebook in your bag. "They shouldn't open that door. I'm not superstitious but it could be anything - booby traps, underground gasses. We need to tell Voss.
You hurry back through the corridor, Karim trailing with his flashlight beam bouncing across the walls. Vernon keeps pace beside you, the usual smirk absent. The sense of something dark clings to your skin, the temple alive in a way it wasn't before.
Halfway down the corridor, Vernon stops dead. His hand shoots out, fingers closing around your upper arm. You jerk to a halt, Karim nearly bumping into you from behind.
"You should go back," Vernon says, voice urgent. "Karim, taking her to camp. Now."
"What?" You stare at him, incredulous. "Why?"
"This isn't your fight."
"My fight?" You yank your arm free. "It's not a fight, Vernon. It's a temple, my goodness. There could be one of those ancient traps behind that door! Or any amount of gasses. The text isn't literal, ancient civilizations often used gods to explain natural dangers they didn't understand."
"Great. So go back to the tent where there's no mystical warnings."
"No."
Karim shifts uncomfortably, looking between the two of you. "Doctor-"
"No," you cut him off, turning your glare on Vernon. "What is your problem, Chwe? One minute you're mocking everything I say, the next you're trying to dismiss me like I'm an intern."
His jaw tightens. "I'm trying to do you a favor. Just listen to me."
"Or what? You're gonna shoot me?"
You hold his stare, heart hammering, not understanding the sudden intensity in his eyes, like he’s seeing something you can’t. Something that scares even him. It infuriates you more because you don't get it.
"Fine." He turns away to let you pass. "Get yourself killed then."
You storm past him, anger propelling you deeper into the temple. Karim calls your name once, uncertain, but you don't stop. You're not going to get killed, no matter how much Vernon's dramatics feel like a cheap script to a Lara Croft video game.
The corridors blur left, right, then left again. You follow the faint echo of voices and the scrape of tools. The air crows colder and thicker as you plunge into the temple, the apprehension behind your ribs pulling tight like a rubber band.
You enter a lower chamber, larger than the sanctuary above, lit by harsh portable floodlights. You're momentarily stunned at its vastness, steps slowing as you look up at the tall ceilings of cracked stone and floating dust. Your heart skips, mouth twitching briefly at the marvel of a new, undiscovered piece of history before you remember why you were rushing down here in the first place.
Voss stands at the center of the room, arms folded, watching as workers lever a massive stone door set into the far wall. The floodlights cast him in harsh light, half of him shadowed and intense as he stands back as the overseer. Dr. el-Masri is there next to him, scribbling notes while Piet snaps photos. Two security men stand ready, rifles slung. You roll your eyes. These people and their guns. You're in a tomb where the most dangerous thing is collapsing tunnels, natural gas and ancient traps.
"Voss!" You shout, jogging toward him. "Tell them to stop, they can't open that door."
"Ah, Doctor. Perfect timing."
"I found a warning upstairs," you tell him, holding out the notebook. "I think there's an ancient trap behind it or something precious the temple is trying to protect, maybe even a natural danger-"
"Every temple has warnings, Doctor. Curses to scare thieves. We're professionals."
"This isn't a curse. I think-"
"Listen, Doctor." He turns to you, smile thin. "Money requires risk. My investors require results. You require an in. We open the door, catalog what's inside, and get out before the next storm. Simple, and good business."
"You're willing to gamble for artifacts? How many archaeologists have died from ancient traps doing exactly what they were meant to? Or tunnels collapsing or hitting lethal air pockets of natural gas?"
"I'm willing to gamble for history. Your history, that you wanted to learn, no?"
Fury boils in you. You do want to study this temple, but the right way, not with force and lack of caution and-
Your anger is cut short when the work team gives a final heave, stone grinding against stone as the door shifts and swings inward with a hollow boom.
For a moment, there's only silence. Dust billows out in a choking cloud, swirling under the floodlights and sending everyone coughing. You take a few steps back, lifting the collar of your shirt to cover your nose, immediately wary of breathing in natural gases and poisoning yourself.
Everyone stands and waits for the dust to clear. You narrow your eyes, trying to see into the endless dark of the doorway, and you swear you see movement in the dark beyond. You squint, willing your eyes to see further, trying to make out anything in the gloom.
A shape lurches forward from the dark and several people take a step backward. The shape is tall and skeletal, wrapped in desiccated linen and bronze scales that clatter as it walks, making your skin crawl. Empty eye sockets glow faintly red, and the skeleton carries an ancient but sharp khopesh blade that glints in the floodlights.
No one speaks as the skeleton stops. You're open mouthed, heart pounding while Karim starts praying behind you as the revenant - you don't know what else to call it - stops, and stares at the room. You tilt your head, analyzing the wrappings and the decay rate of the skin, trying to do quick math and references to the mummified artifacts that the world already has access to in order to place the decay age of-
The first scream comes from a young student as a revenant you didn't see cleaves through her shoulder with a blade. Blood sprays, bright and obscene against the black stone. It's so violent that you don't move at first as you stare in horror, not processing the barbarity of it, the blood and the gore so out of place among scholars and workers.
Chaos erupts around you.
Workers scatter and the security team shouts, riffles firing in sharp rapts that make you clap your hands over your ears, cringing. Bullets spark off the armor of the revenant, some finding purchase in brittle bone with explosions of brittle white, but the revenants keep coming, more of them spilling out of the maw of darkness.
A hand shoves you hard from behind and you scream and wheel around, only to realize it's Vernon. He slams you sideways into a narrow alcove behind a fallen column, his body shielding yours. He forces you down to the ground, ducking with you as he goes. His hands are firm, pressing you into the alcove until your back is against cold stone and your knees are pressed into the dirt.
"Stay down," he barks, eyes wild.
Then he's gone, leaping into the fray.
You watch him, heart pounding, as you survey the scene in front of you. The chamber is a nightmare, filled with flashes of gunfire, bronze clashing against modern steel, and screams. Blood slicks the floor, turning the dirt to a clumpy maroon. There is more blood than you've ever scene, a hand clapping over your mouth as a khopesh cuts a man open from navel to throat. You spot Karim holding his own, swinging a pickaxe as he fights alongside a security woman, both of them trying to fend off one of the skeletons.
And then you see Vernon.
He moves like nothing human, faster than your eyes can follow, ducking under a khopesh as he wrenches a spear from a nearby revenant's grip. The weapon looks ancient, shaft wrapped in faded leather, but in Vernon's hand it sings. He spins it easily, fluid and practiced, and drives it through a revenant's chest. Dust explodes outward as the thing collapses into a heap of armor and bones, morbidly similar to a video game.
A spark crackles along the spear's length for an instant, blue-white and bright before vanishing. You blink, convinced you imagined it. But it happens again when Vernon parries another blade, a spark leaping from metal to metal, charring the skeleton's bone black.
Vernon fights like something out of the reliefs on the walls themselves, vicious and precise, ancient forms blending with modern brutality. A revenant lunges and Vernon sidesteps, spear whipping around to take its head clean off. You watch with your lips parted, unbelieving as another charges him and Vernon plants the butt of the spear into the ground to vault over the screaming revenant before spinning the spear around and driving it into the back of its head.
One of the students collapses against the wall near you, making you flinch. Her gut is sliced open, blood pooling dark between her fingers as she tries to stop the bleeding. She's gasping her eyes wide with terror, wet sounds coming from the back of her throat as she tries to say something - a prayer or plea for help, maybe. You start to crawl out to her, ripping parts of your shirt to press against her wound, to offer her something to staunch the bleeding.
A revenant leaps toward you, khopesh raised. You don't even have time to scream as you drop to the floor. Time doesn't slow like you thought it might as you approach death. You'd always thought maybe it would happen like it does in film, a single slowed frame where you see everything in detail. You don't, though. You only see the swing of the blade and feel the single pulse of fear so hard that it hurts your chest.
And then Vernon is suddenly there, spear flashing as he impales the skeleton through the jaw and out the back of its skull. He rips the spear out and spins to you, panting. He growls at you, face sneered as he bends down to grab you and haul you back into the alcove by your collar, your feet dragging against the dirt. You'd be offended if you weren't so grateful he'd just saved your life, falling into the alcove as he drops you like a sandbag.
"Save your empathy for later," he growls, voice raged. "Stay. Put."
He's gone again before you can answer.
The fight drags on. Gunfire dwindles as enemies run out. Bodies hit the floor, but so do revenants. The final one collapses into dust and bones courtesy of Karim's pickaxe, leaving him shaking and covered in sweat.
Silence returns, broken only by sobbing and labored breathing. Voss stands near the breached door, coat torn, face pale but alive while he stares into the darkness beyond, something hungry in his eyes despite the carnage.
Vernon strides through the settling dust, spear still in hand. He looks untouched - shirt ripped - but otherwise whole. The tattoos on his arms seem darker, the lines sharper, as if ink had bled fresh. For a second when you look at him, you don't see Vernon. Instead, you see something vengeful and alive, something uncontainable and vaster than anything else in the room.
When you blink, it's just Vernon again. He stops at your hiding place and tosses the spear aside casually. It clatters and he looks down at you, expression unreadable. He doesn't offer you a hand, but his face is expectant, so you push yourself up. The first time, your legs give out. When you try again, your stance seems to hold.
"How," You ask shakily, "the hell did you do that?"
"Good cardio, Stacks." He wipes grime on his shirt. "You should try it.
"Don't. I saw you. You moved like you've done this before. And the lightning-"
"Adrenaline does crazy things to the mind. Let's go."
Vernon grabs your wrist, not rough, but firm. He pulls you toward the exit as survivors limp past. Karim is soot-streaked but upright, helping a wounded security man. Leila is crying as she huddles near Piet, who is cradling a broken arm. Somewhere, Voss is barking orders.
Outside of the temple, the sun is brutal. The camp is in utter chaos, full of shouting and running feet, radios screaming for medevac. Stretchers are improvised from tent poles and canvas, the smell of diesel mixing with the scent of blood.
Vernon doesn't slow down for a second. His grip on your wrist is unrelenting as he cuts through the chaos, steering you past clusters of stunned survivors toward the largest of the medical tents. The white canvas flaps snap in the hot wind, each crack like a gunshot from the tomb, making you flinch.
Inside, it's already crowded but he ignores the crying of the wounded and the yelling of the very few medical experts as he pulls you to a corner and pushes you toward a tiny stool. "Sit."
You do without argument, legs folding without permission. The world tilts strangely, sounds muffled as though you're underwater. Your hands are in your lap, but you can't feel them at all, you realize. Strange. You don't remember when the numbness started, but it's creeping up your hands as you stare at your palms upturned in your lap. They're speckled blood. You realize it's not yours - that your hands are stained with someone else's blood. Probably someone dead.
Vernon crouches in front of you, blocking the rest of the tent from your view. He reaches out with a hand and tilts your chin upward, drawing your gaze from your hands to his face. His face is streaked with dust and dried blood, eyes darker than ever as he studies you the way he studied the revenants before attacking, quick and predatory.
"You're shaking," he says. Not a question.
You are? You look down. You are. Tremors ripple through your fingers, your knees knocking together though you're sitting. Your teeth want to chatter, and you can't fight it - you let them. Once the tremors start, you can't stop them, the ripples coming in waves that vibrate through your entire frame no matter how much you want to stop.
"Oh."
"You're going into shock."
He reaches past you and grabs a folded wool blanket from a stack of supplies. The motion brings him close - you catch that same woody oud scent, now laced with something sharper like blood. He shakes the blanket out and wraps it around your shoulders, tucking it tight.
"Breathw," he orders. "Slowly."
You try. The air tastes like antiseptic and metal, making your lungs stutter. Vernon's hands settle on your knees and he grips you, the pressure firm.
"Look at me."
You do. His eyes are darker up close, pupils blown wide, the irises almost black. There's something restless behind them, something vast trying to stay leashed. You wonder if the others see it too, or if the shock is making you see things like the lightning in the temple.
"In through your nose," he urges. "Out through your mouth. With me."
He demonstrates with a slow inhale, controlled exhale. You follow, clumsy at first, then steadier. The roaring in your ears recedes a little.
“Good.” He doesn’t move his hands. “Again.”
Minutes pass. Or seconds. Time has gone slippery. The blanket traps your body heat, and gradually the violent shivering eases into something mangable. Feeling creeps back into your fingers, prickling like pins and needles.
A medic approaches with a tray of medical supplies, but Vernon waves them off without looking away from you. "She's not injured. Just shock. Give us a minute."
The medic hesitates, then nods and moves on to someone whose wounds are worse.
You swallow. Your throat feels lined with sand. “They’re dead. Because of a door. Because Voss wanted-"
“I know.” Vernon’s thumbs press small circles against your knees, an absent motion, like he’s done this before. “Not your fault.”
“I tried to warn him.”
"I know. Voss has his own gods to answer to."
You stare at him. There’s that flicker again in his eyes, something ancient and furious banking itself down. The tattoos on his forearms shift as his muscles tense and the binding symbols seem to writhe for a heartbeat before stilling. Again, you can't help but feel like you're seeing things that aren't supposed to be there, but that you know are.
"What are you?" You whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
"A tomb raider," he answers, his voice deadpan. He reaches for a canteen on the supply table, unscrews it, presses it into your hands. “Small sips.”
The water is warm but clean. You drink obediently. He watches until you’ve had enough, then takes it back. “Better?”
You nod. The blanket feels heavy now, comforting. Your pulse has slowed to something human. Vernon sits back on his heels, but doesn’t stand yet. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself and look toward the tent flap, where the desert glares white-hot beyond the canvas.
"Thank you," you say quietly. He raises his brows. "For saving me. I didn't listen to you. So thanks."
His expression softens for a fraction, gone almost before you catch it. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. We're not friends."
But he stays crouched in front of you a little longer, a silent sentinel, while the camp outside tries to stitch itself back together around the pieces of what just broke free.
-
The temple stretches around you, but it's wrong. It's too vast, the columns rising into a startless, black sky. Sand shifts under your bare feet, warm as blood. The air smells of myrrh and hot iron.
A low growl rumbles through the stone. You turn, heart kicking, and see her. It's a lioness pacing between the pylons, her coat the deep red-gold of fresh spilled blood in sunlight, muscles rippling with every step. Her golden eyes fix on you, ancient and furious. A golden disk flickers in and out above her head, flaring like the sun.
She circles closer, paws silent on the flagstones as she approaches, sleek muscles shifting. Around her neck hangs a collar of crimson fabric - its linen soaked through and dripping, leaving wet prints whenever she steps. Blood you realize.
You try to speak, but your throat is dust and ash, unusable. The lioness stops directly in front of you. Her breath is furnace-hot and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out save for the sound of something wet and tearing.
Red fabric unfurls from her jaws, endless and spilling. It wraps around your wrists, your ankles, your throat. You feel the weight of plagues, of arrows, of slaughter ordered by a god who grew tired of mercy. The rage presses into you deeper and deeper, the lioness's eyes boring into yours.
The temple floor cracks open beneath you and sand pours upward like reverse rain, swallowing the columns, swallowing the lioness, swallowing you.
You jerk awake, lungs burning like you can still feel the sand scouring them in your dream.
The tent is dark, the camp outside hushed except for the low hum of generators and the occasional murmur of voices. Your shirt is soaked with sweat, your sheets tangled at your feet.
Something is wrong.
It isn't just the dream. The air feels charged like the moment before lightning strikes and your skin prickles with the same sense of being watched you felt the first night outside the gateway.
You swing your legs off the cot, heart racing as you stumble for your boots in the dark. Your movements are quick and automatic, rushing as you get dressed. You don't bother lacing your boots fully before yanking the flap of your tent open to step into the night.
The desert air is cool now, almost sharp after the day's furnace. Stars burn overhead, spilling across the sky in thousands of untold stories. The camp is mostly asleep, tents dark, only a few security lights flowing. The temple looms in the distance, floodlights casting a ghoulish halo in the distance.
And there, just outside your tent, is Vernon. He's sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket with his back against the supply crate while he eats dates from a small pouch. A pile of pits sit in the sand next to him as he chews, a gun unholstered on the blanket next to him along with a knife that looks like it's the length of your forearm.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He pops another date into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Guarding the perimeter. Scorpions, jackals, tomb raiders. You never know."
"You're guarding my tent."
"Technically the whole camp. Your tent happens to be on the perimeter." He offers the pouch. "Hungry?"
You ignore it. "You've been sitting here."
He shrugs and you stare at him, a tangle of emotions you don't have a name for yet. He looks tired with shadows under his eyes, but alert, like he's listening to every sound the desert makes.
"Anything else happen?" You ask finally.
He wipes his fingers on his pants. "Voss took a team back in. Small one. Himself, some security, Dr. el-Masri. Said it was safe now that the guardians were dealt with."
Vernon's tone tells you exactly what he thinks of that assessment and your stomach drops. "He went back in?"
"Man's got priorities. Look, we should head out-"
You turn toward the temple without another word. The pull is immediate and magnetic. You need to see what they're doing, need to stop whatever fresh stupidity Voss is commiting. It's what anyone with a brain would do - what your mom would do.
Vernon is on his feet in an instant, blocking your path. "No."
"Move."
"You're not going back in there."
"I need to tell him what he's doing! If he disturbs more seals-"
"He knows what he's doing." Vernon's voice is flat. "And you're not equipped for round two."
You step around him. "I don't need your permission."
Cursing, Vernon scoops up his weapons and jogs after you. "Of course you don't."
"No one is asking you to come with me - least of all me. I'm not a child."
You stride across the sand, boots crunching. The temple grows larger with every step, floodlights carving harsh shadows between the pylons. Vernon keeps pace, his anger crackling like the lightning you swore you saw the day before.
"You just came out of shock. You're running on adrenaline," he argues.
"I'm fine."
You stop at the wooden steps leading down to the site. The night wind whistles through the pylons, carrying faint voices up to you. You start down the steps and Vernon grabs your arm.
"I'm serious, Stacks. Go back to your tent."
You wrench free. "Why do you care? You don't even like me."
"You think I dragged you out of that bloodbath just to watch you walk back in? I don't have to like you. I have common fucking sense."
The words hit harder than you expect but you swallow, lifting your chin. "I'm not helpless."
"I didn't say you were, Gods above!" His voice drops, lethal. "But you're human. And whatever is in there isn't. We should leave."
You search his face, looking for the lie, the flippant mask. It isn’t there. Right now it's just raw frustration and something close to fear.
"Then come with me."
He laughs, short and bitter. “That’s not how this works.”
"Suit yourself."
You shove past him down the remaining steps, trying not to make eye contact with the falcon statues as they watch you pass. Vernon curses behind you and you hear him scramble to keep up.
"Why are you so stubborn?" He demands as you pass through the opening. Cool air greets you and you shiver, turning on a flashlight despite the floodlights guiding the way. You hear voices from a distance, but most of the main temple is empty. "You don't even have a weapon.
"I don't need one."
"Do you not remember yesterday?"
You do remember yesterday, though the memory is hard to grasp. Never in your life did you dare to believe in monsters and mummies, too afraid that you'd spend your career following loose threads and nonsense like your mother, but those creatures had been real. The blood had been real. So had the death.
It's what drives you at a breakneck pace through the temple now, determined to stop whatever Voss was doing to save himself and those with him from disaster you're sure is about to happen.
Halfway down the main corridor, where the floodlights from the entrance no longer reach, Vernon stops abruptly. He catches your wrist again, pulling you to a halt.
"Stop." His grip tightens, not painful - never painful - but immovable. "You want to play the hero, fine. But not tonight. Not after what happened yesterday. Wait until the morning."
The hallway feels smaller, suddenly, the walls pressing in. Somewhere deeper, a tool clangs against stone. It echoes your pounding heart, the smell of Vernon's woody cologne and sweat making you dizzy. You realize how close he is and try to step back but he doesn't let you, crowding your space.
His fingers stay locked around your wrist, warm even through the layers of dust and sweat, his thumb pressed against your pulse. His body blocks most of the faint light spilling from deeper inside, leaving you half in shadow.
Up close, you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker from your face to the darkness and back again, like he's fighting some sort of war you're not privy to.
"Let go," you murmur. "Please."
He doesn't. For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moves. The air between you turns to static. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, so quick you think you imagined it, then snaps back up. Something like frustration flickers across his face before he shakes his head.
"You are shaking, Stacks."
"I'm fine."
The words hang heavy. You're hyper aware of how alone you are, how the rest of the world feels miles away behind layers of stone and sand. For one second you think Vernon might pull you closer, but he doesn't. His shoulders sag as the fight bleeds out of him and he lets you go.
"Fine." He steps back. "Do what you want."
He retreats deeper into the shadows and you watch as his faint outline melts into the dark. The space he leaves behind feels cold and empty, your wrist tingling where he held you. Swallowing, you shove down the fluttering feeling in your stomach and turn, determined to stop disaster before it can happen again.
The beam of your flashlight cuts a narrow tunnel through the black, the light jittery with every hurried step. The temple swallows the sounds of your boots on stone, your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart.
The hypostyle hall feels endless, the columns rising like the ribs of some colossal beat, their lotus capitals lost in shadow. The floodlights from the entrance have faded, and the darkness swallows you save for the glow of a portable lamp left behind by Voss's team every few meters.
You pass the sanctuary chamber where you first found the warning and something presses down on you, the air changing. The corridor narrows, forcing you to turn sideways in places. your shoulder brushes basalt etched with faded scenes of victories - pharaohs trampling enemies, Montu towering above, spear dripping with blood.
A low murmur of voices drifts from ahead. You slow, clicking off the flashlight to let your eyes adjust to the dim glow spilling from the lower chamber. The same chamber where the revenant poured out hours ago. The air is warmer here, carrying the metallic tang of fresh blood and your stomach knots.
Edging the threshold, you peer inside and the scene stops your heart.
Portable floodlights have been arranged in a rough circle, casting harsh white beams that leave the ceiling lost in absolute black. In the center of the bloodstained flagstones, a pattern has been drawn into the ground out of charcoal, the lines forming a vast cartouche of interlocking falcons and spears. At its heart lies a low basalt altar that looks older than the rest of the temple, its surface pitted and dark.
Voss stands at the altar's head, sleeves of his shirt rolled high. His expensive watch glints as he arranges tools with reverent precision - a broken khopesh, a bowl of natron, a golden vessel that catches the light like liquid fire. Dr. el-Masri stands behind him, an ancient papyrus unrolled in trembling hands.
Two security men flank them, rifles slung blue sidearms ready. Kneeling in the center is a woman from the security team - Nadia, you think. She's tall and broad-shouldered, her dark hair cropped short. She's stripped to a black tank top and her skin is gleaming with oil, her eyes closed and face tilted up.
It's a ritual space.
Your stomach lurches as your mind pieces together all of the details - the warnings, the sealed gate, war walking anew. The temple contains Montu, the unbound fury.
Patrons aren't always what they seem.
You think of Vernon's words. How the entire temple is painted with pharaohs and the mark of Montu, their god. How it is an ode to his victories. You realize Voss tends to wake Montu - or perhaps, to let Nadia make him her patron, if such a thing is possible and if you were to believe in something beyond like your mother always had.
You step into the light before you can think better of it, fury and fear colliding as you say, "Stop."
Heads snap toward you. Nadia's eyes remain closed, but Dr. el-Masri's eyes widen as he looks at you. Voss smiles unpleasantly but beckons you in.
"Doctor, welcome. We're just about to get started."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Finally starting what I have been after for years." He gestures to the altar. "As you have figured out, this temple is not a treasury. It was a prison."
"You're trying to wake a god." Your eyes flicker to Nadia. "And… bind it? That's madness. Montu isn't a tool. Historically, he's slaughter incarnate, the texts-"
"The texts," Dr. el-Masri interrupts, "Are written by heretics. In Ancient Egypt, the understanding that rulers were divinely chosen was so absolute, that it was the single thing Egyptians agreed on for thousands of years."
You laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "It is the belief in divine rulership that led them to dehumanize their own population. To think onesself is a god is different to think oneself is a king. When you're a god, everyone is beneath you and you become infallible. People are not infallible, Dr. el-Masri."
Voss sighs. "You're a scholar, Doctor. You of all people should appreciate the pursuit of knowledge."
"This isn't knowledge. This is hubris. Which you both should know was the downfall of Egypt time and time again."
Voss smiles thinly. "Call it what you like. Nadia volunteered. She understands the honor." Voss looks at his security team. "Doctor, you should join us."
The security men move faster than you expect. One grabs your arms from behind while the other clamps a hand over your mouth before you can scream. You thrash, kicking and twisting, but they're heavy and trained. Your flashlight clatters to the stone, the beam spinning wildly.
Together, they drag you toward the altar. You feel your heart pounding as you scream, muffled by the man's hand. You bite down on his fingers and he yelps, pulling his hand away. Your scream of rage echoes in the temple, cut off as the other man drives his knee into your spine to force you down at the altar.
The stone is cold and you roll over to kick at them. They grab your legs and hold you down, binding your hands and feet as you scream your throat raw. Nadia ignores you and Voss sighs as someone stuffs your mouth with cloth. You strain against the cords, but they don't move, your muscles aching as you thrash.
Dr. el-Masri begins reading from the papyrus and you stop, looking at him with pleading eyes. He ignores you, reading words of ancient invocation to Montu, Lord of Terror, He Who Makes the Nile Red.
Nadia stirs. You snap your head toward her, watching as her eyes open, pupils blown wide, irises flickering for a second. You're reminded of Vernon's eyes suddenly, the feeling that something ancient and feral was scraping behind his gaze, that-
Pain explodes, white-hot between your ribs. You look down to see that Voss has driven a blade in your stomach and you scream, arching against your restraints. The pain is so bad that you see flashes of white in your vision, the terror taking over as blood wells hot and immediate, soaking your shirt and pooling onto the altar.
Dr. el-Masri's voice rises, chanting faster. The floodlights flicker. Sand begins to sift from cracks in the ceiling. Wind howls.
Power foods the chamber like a sandstorm. The air burns and you squint, sobbing around the gag in your mouth. Nadia convulses, her body arching impossible as golden light pours from her eyes and her mouth. The temperature in the room skyrockets, heat buffeting you as temple groans and you hear cracking stone, a column in the corner tilting as it breaks and crashing into the ground in a plume of dust and rot.
Voss stumbles back, grinning. "It's working."
A basalt block falls from the ceiling, shattering near Dr. el-Masri. He screams as he completes the ritual and when you turn to look at Nadia, she's no longer entirely Nadia. She rises to her feet smoothly, head tilted as if listening to something distant. Her gaze passes over you without recognition, then she turns to Voss.
"You have freed me and given me a vessel," Nadia says, but the language is ancient from a time beyond Voss's comprehension. "What is it you seek?"
It's Dr. el-Masri who answers, "We seek Maahes, the hunter."
Nadia grins. "Come."
They leave the temple as it begins to collapse. Nadia pauses as she passes you, her eyes flicking to the knife in your stomach. She bends down and just as you think she's going to remove it, she twists it. Your shriek is lost to the gag, the pain leaving you blinded and heaving, throat convulsing around the cloth as you gag.
When you blink again, they're all gone, leaving you alone with the dark and the growing roar of falling sand and a collapsing ceiling.
Blood bubbles in your throat. Each breath is shallower than the last. The pain starts to fade and is replaced with something different, something cold creeping up your limbs. Sand pours in through the ceiling now through widening fissures, cascading like waterfalls, and for a moment you think of your dream with the lioness and the sand falling upward.
You stare at the ceiling as the world crumbles. Somewhere far above, there are stars you'll never see again.
Please, you think, unable to speak. Anyone.
Nothing answers but the sound of cracking basalt.
You think of Vernon - his rough hands steady in the med tent, the way he looked at you in the corridor like he wanted to say something more. You wish you'd listened. Wish you said something kinder to him when he was just trying to help.
You think of your mother. Her smile over that pottery shard. The way she said your name like a promise. Like hope. You pray that wherever she is now, she isn't watching this, that she isn't seeing your violent, bloody end.
Sand peppers your face. It's almost gentle, and your eyes flutter as darkness clouds your vision.
Child of blood, a voice calls, low and furious. You are in need of vengeance.
You can't move your head, but you feel something, heat in the cold, pressure against the collapsing dark. A presence that is vast and beyond your understanding, scented with the desert sun and spilled blood.
They woke war, the voices continues. And left you to pay the price. I know war too, child of blood. Let me pave the way.
Yes, you think. Yes.
Yes, the voice agrees. But not gently. Not without cost.
The sand stops falling.
Fire ignites at the edge of your vision, gold and crimson, licking along the cracks in the stone. It doesn't burn the temple - it burns you.
Pain flares anew, different now. Your blood steams, your wounds sear shut. You smell charred linen as the cords binding you turn to ash. Sand near you crystalizes to glass, crunching as you scream, the gag in your mouth burning until you're choking on ash, your screams loud in the chamber. Your body arches against the altar as power pours into you, vast and ancient and furious. Every nerve sings and your lungs fill with heated air that tastes of life instead of death.
Call me the Eye Unbound, the voice tells you, growing in volume, her laughter hot. I drink what spills. I burn away the unworthy. I am Sekhmet and you are my vessel.
Sekhmet's laughter echoes through your skull, wild and approving.
Rise daughter, she purrs. There is hunting to do.
The fire settles in your veins like molten gold cooling to armor. Your eyes open, and the chamber is lit from within you, crimson light spilling from your skin. The temple around you is collapsed, but there's a perfect ring of protection around you, the symbols flaring with scarlet light.
You sit up. Blood flakes from your shirt. The knife is now on the ground and when you lift your shirt to peer at your stomach, the stab wound is a ridged scar, glowing faintly. The light from you fades, but you realize that you can see unnaturally in the darkness.
Yes, Sekhmet says when she feels your surprise. You are changed.
Somewhere above, you hear chaos. You don't know what it is, but thunder shakes the temple violently. You feel Sekhmet as though she is you, as though you are one. Like Montu and Nadia, host and patron.
They run, she purrs when you think of Montu. Shall we chase?
You stand in the rubble. You feel white hot rage go through you, stronger than anything you've ever felt before. You see a red sky. Red sands. A red river. Blankets of scarlet red blood, and a lioness walking across hot sand as she burns away the unworthy.
Voss is unworthy. And he has Montu with him, a god with a vessel, just like you.
"Yes," you say out loud, your voice raw. "We chase."
-
Vernon storms out of the temple, his boots grinding against the flagstones with each step. The corridor blurs around him, shadows twisting like smoke, the floodlights from the entrance flickering at his approach. Anger coils tight in his chest, hot and familiar, a companion he's known longer than most people.
But this time it's sharper and laced with frustration.
Stubborn idiot, he thinks, the words aimed at you but ricocheting back at himself. Why couldn't you listen? Just once? He slams a fist against a column as he passes, the impact echoing like thunder in the enclosed space as the column instantly collapses with the force of his punch. Pain flares in his knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the storm brewing inside of him.
Set stirs at the edge of his mind, a presence as constant as his own heartbeat. The god's amusement rolls through him like distant thunder. Idiot. You let her goad you. Again.
Shut up, Vernon snaps internally, clenching his jaw. He doesn't need Set's commentary right now. Not when his blood is singing with the urge to turn back and drag you out kicking and screaming if it he's to. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he will drag you, even if it means you never speak to him again or you curse his name every day. At least you'd be alive.
The god chuckles. She challenges you. I like her fire. I see why you like her.
Vernon ignores him. He has no intention of going round and round in circles with Set about who or what Vernon does or does not like. The god has a particular habit of showing up every time Vernon sees you, prodding him in ways that almost make him lose his cool at auctions, galas and conferences. Set seems entirely incapable of letting Vernon admire you from afar without meddling, and right now when the world is collapsing is not the time for an ancient god's meddling.
The entrance to the temple looms ahead, the night air spilling in cool drafts. Vernon pauses at the threshold between the temple's door and the open desert. The pylons loom like sentinels and he looks at the falcons, their eyes eroded but watchful, like the eyes of Montu are ready to strike at any moment. He leans against a wall, breathing hard, trying to rein in the chaos inside of him - trying to reign in Set.
This whole expedition was supposed to be simple. Or as simple as anything gets when one is bound to a god of chaos. Vernon had heard whispers of the site months ago, rumors in a black market antiquities circle that he haunts, tales of a storm uncovering a temple tied to a bound god.
Vernon has been with Set for eight years now, but he's never stopped trying to get rid of him. It had started in a forgotten tomb in the Valley of the Kings back when Vernon was just a cocky archaeologist fresh out of his degree program, chasing glory like everyone else in the field. He'd been a bit rogue then too, not waiting for a permit before he started poking around.
Like Voss, he'd opened a sealed chamber he shouldn't have and Set had poured into him like sand through an hourglass, violent and overwhelming, reshaping Vernon into a cage for divinity.
Call me He Who Howls in Open Places, Set had whispered, his voice crackling. Call me the Red One, the Unmoored, the Crooked Star. Do not call me Brother, for brothers bind. I am Set.
Vernon had survived. Set is good at keeping his host alive. He'd walked through the desert with new tattoos burning fresh on his skin, hieroglyphs of binding and Coptic words of containment.
Since then, it's been a constant war. Set grants Vernon gifts - strength beyond human limits, control over storms, the ability to step through shadow. But the god's volatility amplifies Vernon's own anger, his own emotions.
And Set hungers. Always for chaos. Always for unmooring the world.
Vernon wishes this dig had worked out. He'd been hoping to find something here to unbind him, but he hadn't been expecting you to be here. When you'd shown up two days ago, Vernon's entire plan changed. You don't like him much - he doesn't blame you - but Vernon's been fond of you for years. Likes your work ethic, the genuine desire to do good, to seek truth.
He'd been like that once. Now he trades in artifacts and secrets to survive, trying to use relics to fund his way out of this mess with Set.
We are one, Set reminds him now. You seek to cut the thread, but it binds us tighter.
I didn't ask for this, Vernon reminds him, rubbing his tattoos. They're bothering him tonight, hot and itchy.
No one asks for divinity. It takes.
Now, Vernon doesn't know what to do. He'd realized Voss' intent to bind a god when you'd found the inscription the day before. After the aftermath with the revenants, he had planned to let you sleep it off and force you to leave in the morning. He had not anticipated you being a pig-headed fool and charging into a temple at night, refusing his help.
He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He lets you have your assumptions about him. It's better than the truth, not that you would believe him. He saves ancient sites too, redirecting looters and forging documents to return artifacts when he can. It isn't all about stealing like you think it is - he does try. You see none of that, of course. Why would you?
She sees more than you think, Set sighs. Smart girl. I think you are hopeless, though.
Vernon growls and pushes off the wall muttering, "Not now."
He starts toward the camp, intent on packing your things himself. Then, he’d walk back inside the temple and he'd force you out and shove you into a jeep and send you back to Cairo. Karim could drive - he was reliable - and Vernon trusted him not to ask questions.
A tremor stops Vernon cold.
It starts subtle, a vibration underfoot. Then it grows stronger, the ground shuddering as sand shifts in ripples. Dust sifts from the gateway arch and the pylons groan.
Vernon's head snaps back toward the temple. Set surges in his mind, alert and hungry. War awakens. The falcon stirs.
"Fuck," Vernon hisses. He didn't think Voss would manage this quickly, or he wouldn't have let you keep walking into the temple.
He runs.
Vernon plunges back into the darkness, shadows dancing around him. His form flickers as he shadow steps, blinking in and out of existence from one pool of dark shadows to the next, covering ground faster. He hates the feeling of shadow stepping, fading from a physical body to mist and back again, but he suffers it to get to you faster.
Voss and his team burst from a side corridor and spills across Vernon's path. Nadia is leading them, except Vernon realizes it's not Nadia. Her eyes burn gold, pupils slitted, and she thrums with power, a god in a fresh vessel. Vernon recognizes it immediately, reminded of the first time Set stepped into him.
Voss spots Vernon first. "Chwe! The temple is collapsing, let's go."
Vernon ignores him, eyes locked on Nadia. Set roils inside of him, ancient hatred flaring. Brother no more. The ordered one, the betrayer, let me tear him free.
Not yet, Vernon snarls back, but the power in him builds anyway, wind whipping in the corridor.
Nadia tilts her head and smiles. "Voss, did you know you already had a god in your midst? The Crooked Star. How fitting to see you slither here."
Her voice is layered, Nadia's timbre overlaid with a deep rumble that must belong to Montu. She raises a hand and the air shimmers as a spear materializes from nothing, bronze and ethereal, tip glinting. Vernon realizes this is a manifestation of one of her gift, a weapon forged from divine will.
She hurls the spear but Vernon shadow steps sideways, reappearing in a flicker of shadows as he summons storms. Wind howls through the temple, violent and unchecked. Overhead, thunder cracks, the chaos feeding on his frustration and fear that you're hurt or worse. Lightning arches from Vernon's fingertips and slam into Nadia, knocking her back.
The air compresses around her and she summons a shield of air and flame. "You rage, Unmoored one."
"You are a child," Set answers through Vernon, hissing. "I will show you power."
Vernon steps through a shadow, feeling the brief cold of nothingness before he materializes behind Nadia. His fist connects with her back, his enhanced strength crumpling her tactical vest like paper. She spins faster than any human, a khopesh appearing in her hand. The blade sings and Vernon ducks, feeling the heat of the divine weapon as it skims over him, nearly taking his head clean off his shoulders.
Nadia's blows are seismic, each one backed with the heat and power of the sun. He shadow steps mid-swing, flickering in and out, landing hits on her from impossible angles that make her roar in frustration. Set cackles in Vernon's head, the older god trickier and slipperier than his younger family member.
Set is strong, but the storm Vernon commands feeds on him. His anger at you, at Voss, at this cursed bond - it amplifies everything, making the wind in the temple erratic, lightning sparking and exploding against rock. A bolt blasts a column and brings down chunks of the ceiling, sending Voss and the others running while Nadia stays to fight off Vernon.
Set howls in delight, his energy snapping. Rend the falcon!
Nadia presses him, a spear grazing his side, searing flesh. He hisses in pain, but pain fuels the storm as a crackling spear of white lightning forms in his hand. Vernon feels himself start to slip, Set taking over his thoughts and body more fully as the bolt manifests into a solid spear of lightning, his blood singing.
He spins the spear in his hand, beating Nadia back. She might be host to the god of war, but Set is an ancient chaos not easily beaten, and Vernon sees the frustration on Nadia's face as Vernon''s spear catches her across the thigh, burning flesh. She howls, the cavern shaking, rock falling.
The temple is crumbling, he realizes. And somewhere in the temple is you, left behind. Sacrificed, maybe. Dead, maybe.
That single thought cuts through Vernon's rage like a blade.
No, Set protests, surging for control. The enemy is here!
She's more important.
The god recoils. Is she?
Vernon forces the god into submission, drawing the storm inward, coiling it tight. Nadia lunges at him but he shadow-steps away, breaking the engagement.
She laughs, spinning on him. "Cowardice from chaos? How novel."
"I don't have time for you," he growls, stepping into another shadow and turning to nothing.
Set rages as Vernon plunges into the temple, running and jumping deeper. You deny me glory for her?
She's not dying tonight.
The god subsides, grudging but curious. Very well. But the falcon will pay later.
Vernon doesn't disagree. He wants to rip the god from Nadia's skull as much as Set does, knowing that Montu being set out onto the world can't be any good. Especially because Nadia doesn't seem interested in controlling her god the way Vernon controls his.
The temple fights him as he approaches the chamber, the floor shaking and the ceiling caving in. Vernon summons energy, feeling the air around him compress as he thrusts a hand out, blasting a wall of rock with kinetic bursts. Rock flies, the covering choking with dust, but he does it again and again, crackling with energy as he carves his way to you.
His trek is an exhausting combination of shadow stepping through partial collapses and blasting his way through the tunnel, the thunder deafening in his ears. Set is silent, his fascination at Vernon's desperation palpable.
Set has never seen Vernon this eager to save someone. Ever.
Fear eats at him. He should have made you leave the second he knew what Voss was up to. It had been his pride and his desire to let you make your own choices that left you lingering here in this cursed place, and now he knew you were most likely dead.
The thought drives him harder at the wall, blasting through the final bit of collapsed columns and basalt. He has no idea how you'd survive a temple collapse, but he doesn't care. He needs to know. Needs to get to you. Needs to do what he can to right his wrong of leaving you here.
Vernon's side burns from the spear wound Montu gave him, but Set knits the skin slowly as Vernon waits for the dust choking the air to clear. Vernon swallows thickly, waiting and panting as the air finally starts to clear and he can see the inner ritual chamber.
Sand fills most of the space, a sea of golden death. His stomach drops when he realize you're probably in here suffocating somewhere, terrified and-
Light catches his attention. Vernon goes entirely still as red light blazes from a figure standing amid the ruin, crimson and bloody as the light starts to fade behind soot-covered skin.
You.
There's a khopesh in each one of your hands, outstretched and gleaming crimson. Tattoos wind your arms, red and blazing before cooling to a dusky, desert red. When your eyes open, your irises are aflame, pupils stilted like a lion's, glowing like freshly forged gold.
Set's wariness surprises Vernon, the god slithering in his mind. The Eye Unbound, he growls. She who drinks what spills. She who burns the unworthy. Sekhmet.
Vernon doesn't know what that means and he doesn't care. He hardly hears set at all, distracted by the terrifying display before him. You look beautiful, blazing in glory and anger and rage, but most importantly, alive. And then the light fades from your eyes and you blink at him, confused and wincing.
"Vernon?"
It's the last thing you say before your eyes glaze over and you collapse backward.
-
Your entire world is sand. The horizon stretches endlessly in each direction and the sun hangs unnaturally low, rays bleeding over the world like a wounded god. The grains of sand under you shift restlessly, pressing into your skin hot.
Heat simmers in the distance, distorting the air. You sit cross-legged in the center of endless dunes, and no matter which direction you look, the sea of red sands are endless. Timeless.
Across from you, the lioness manifests in a waver of heat. Sekhmet. She's massive, her form towering over you, a monument of divine fury. Her coat gleams gold-red, her fur rippling with power as she settles onto her haunches.
She stares at you and it's unnerving. Her feline features are etched with eons of wisdom, fangs glinting like polished obsidian when she yawns. Behind her, the red sun halos her head, a perfect red disk - a crown.
"You were not ready," she notes. Her voice is a low, resonant rumble that resonates through you, mouth moving to form the words. You stare, entranced. "Unfortunate."
"I didn't exactly have time to prepare," you reply, voice small. You can tell she's disappointed, but it isn't every day you become host to a powerful ancient entity. "I wasn't expecting the power to burn through me like that."
She chuffs, amused. "Mortals rarely do." She shifts, paws sinking in the sand. "I have kept vigil over these places of sealing, the tombs where gods slumber and remain chained. I keep those who should not be here away - a whisper in the wind to deter the greedy, a dream to haunt the foolish. A scorpion slipped into a bedroll under the cover of night."
The scorpion. Your mind flashes back to that morning, the segmented touch against your skin, the careful capture and release. An omen you'd brushed off, feeling silly for thinking of superstitions. Now you know it was a deliberate nudge from the divine, a warning.
"You bled for the truth," Sekhmet acknowledges. "For chasing the thread your mother left behind for you. You are honest. Honesty is good."
The desert around you seems to shift at her words, the red sands undulating. You think of your mother, wondering if this is what she had envisioned when believing there were hidden histories in Egypt.
"What happens now?" You ask the goddess.
"Now you carry me, and I you. We are bound, flesh to flame." She pauses, ears flicking. "Beware the one who carries the Crooked Star."
"Vernon."
"Sutekh. He walks again in the flesh, hungry. He is volatile and is capable of great evil if left to his own devices for too long. Empires have fallen to his whims, rivers diverted, brothers slain for sport. Chaos is his domain."
You think of Vernon and his dark eyes, the way you could see something ancient there, something he fights to keep under the surface. Vernon, who had pulled you from carnage and steadied you through shock. Vernon who had come back for you against all reason, and who had guarded your tent.
Guilt eats at you. You've spent years thinking of him as a spur in your side, an annoying bee that wouldn't stop stinging every chance he had. Now you owe him your life, and you realize perhaps you have been too harsh on him, too cruel.
"Vernon fights Set," you insist gently. "I've seen him do it."
Sekhmet shrugs, the motion a powerful ripple of muscle and fur. "For now. Mortals break under divine weight. Gods endure. We are unyielding."
The sand begins to whirl around you, rising in spiraling vortices that tug your clothes and hair. You feel the dismissal, and when you look up, the lioness is gone, but her voice still carries on the ancient wind.
Remember. Vengeance is a blade with two edges. Wield it carefully.
The red sun flares and you shield your eyes, flinching-
You wake gasping, lungs seizing. You swivel in bed, the sheets sticking to your sweaty skin. It takes a moment to get your bearings, but you realize that you're in the med tent, dim light from the moon outside filtering in.
Outside, the camp is unnaturally silent, a void where there should be a hum of activity. The wind is restless against the canvas tent, snapping in the breeze. Some of the cool air reaches you, cooling your overwarm skin.
Your body aches with a deep resonant thrum. You feel as if your bones have been hollowed and refilled with molten iron, the fire coursing through you new but not unpleasant. You lift your shirt to look at your stomach, cringing at the scar. You touch it tentatively, feeling the warmth behind it, the ridged tissue coiled with power.
Suddenly you become aware of someone else's presence. You look up to see Vernon sitting in a folding chair near the tent flap, elbows braced on his knees. His posture is slumped but alert, his eyes sharp as they stare at you. The moonlight slipping in through the canvas cuts across the sharp angles of his face, panting him in harsh light.
His shirt is torn at the shoulder, bloodstains dried rusty brown. His tattoos seem to writhe subtly in the dim light, and now that you look at them, they make more sense than they ever have: He Who Howls in Open Places. Red One. Unmoored. Crooked Star. Bind and balance, storm and dust.
With new eyes, you see the ritual for what it is - a binding sigil, scoured into Vernon's arms to tie him to Set. You look at your own arms and let out a little gasp, seeing similar markings twist on your arms, but they're a dull red, like blood dried millenia ago.
"You're awake," he observes.
You swing your legs over the cot's edge, the sand floor cold against your feet. Testing your balance, you stand. He moves like he's ready to catch you if you fall, but despite the world tipping, you remain on your feet.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"About 20 hours. It's night again."
Vernon stands and moves the flap open. Moonlight spills in like liquid silver. You notice a cookfire out in front, highlighting scattered medical supplies and materials from the camp Vernon has dragged to the front of the tent for ease.
You step outside and he follows. The night is crisp, the sky above stretching in a luminous river of stars overheard. The camp sprawls out, a ghost city left to just the two of you. Tents sag like deflated lungs, their white canvases stained with and and blood. Deep tire tracks in the sand show that the cars are gone, leading into oblivion. You notice the dark patches in the sand, your gut twisting when you realize it's blood.
"They took the vehicles," he notes. "Drove off eastward toward the old trade routes."
Your stomach twists, guilt and horror mingling as you survey the desolation. You wrap your arms around yourself, the wind tugging at your clothes. "How many dead?"
"Enough."
You look at Vernon - really look at him. The moonlight carves his profile in silver relief, the strong line of his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth in frustration, his eyes flashing in ancient anger. He's been watching over you, alone in this forsaken place, a testament to loyalty you never credited him with.
"I didn't think you'd come back," you admit.
"You're an idiot. Of course I came back. I wasn't leaving you buried under a bunch of rock, though knowing you, you were exactly where you wanted to be."
The joke falls a little flat. His tone is softened around the edges, almost affectionate. It makes your heart do something stupid, and you don't know how to answer as the words hang between you. You feel a shift, your entire perception of him changing in just a day.
"Vernon-"
He tenses. "Don't."
"Alright."
"Let's just make dinner. I'm starving."
Together, you scavenge the items Vernon has dragged to the med tent. You have to go scout for a few, the two of you working together in charged silence. You gather pots, some flatbread that is a little hard, dates in a small sack, a can of tea leaves and a can of stew meat.
The fire is already going, casting a warm glow that pushes back against the night's chill. You sit across from him on a folded blanket, knees almost touching as you watch him brew tea. He hands you a chipped mug, fingers brushing yours briefly. His touch sparks a connection, his fingers lingering briefly before he pulls away and you wrap your hands around it, letting the heat seep into your palms.
Both of you settle, the meat stewing in the pot over the fire. The moon is a bright silver coin in the sky, looking down at the two of you, pale face watchful.
"Tell me how it happened," you say quietly. "With Set."
Vernon stares into the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. The firelight paints his face in gold and shadow, softening the sharp lines you've always associated with arrogance. Now you see weariness. Vulnerability.
"Valley of the Kings," he murmurs. "Eight years ago. Found a chamber no one had catalogued and I just went in head first. I was arrogant then - still am, I guess. You know what it's like to chase after knowledge and glory though."
He pauses, touching the tattoos on his forearm absently. His fingers trace the ink, as if seeking reassurance.
"Set was waiting. Poured right into me, though I didn't know what was happening. Unlike Nadia, I was not a willing host. Everyone else died. I woke up three days later with these marks and a god laughing in my head."
You listen, guilt turning your stomach over. All this time you'd look at Vernon and see vanity and rebellion. Now you see him for what he truly is - tired under the weight of being a prison for something most people cannot fathom.
"He isn't evil," Vernon says slowly. "Not exactly. Chaos isn't evil - it's change without permission. It's discord and upheaval and it frightens people. But he is not inherently evil, though I suppose many can argue that the results make him so." A faint smile tugs his lips. "We fight constantly. I win sometimes. Sometimes I don't."
"Sekhmet told me to beware him. That you might not be able to contain him."
"Maybe she's right, but I'm pretty stubborn. I've been doing this for eight years and I'm better at it now than I was then." He sighs. "Your turn."
You tell him what happened in the chamber - about the altar, the cold stone against your skin. The way Voss stabbed you in the gut to bleed you out for the ritual. You see anger flash in his eyes then, raw and ancient. Somewhere, thunder rumbles and you cast your eyes up toward a clear sky, wondering how confident Vernon is in his control.
"Her wrath was overwhelming," you admit. "Sekkmet is a lot of things. She's purification through fire, she's war, she's Ra's divine justice. But she is also full of wrath, and it's so at ends with who I am. But I was angry and desperate and afraid of dying."
"No shame in that. Sometimes we want retribution for the things that happen to us."
"Is that what you're searching for? Retribution?"
"More like freedom. Set is alright but it's been a long time since I've had my thoughts to myself."
"He's talkative?"
"Sekhmet isn't?"
You shake your head. You feel her there, watching your conversation with Vernon like a predator, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. She is a hot grain of sand in the back of your mind, subtle but there.
"Must be nice." He grunts, amused. "Set whispers chaos. Tries to push for opportunities to unmake things. Burn it all down and rebuild something new on the ashes. Most days I can tune him out. Some days…"
He shrugs, the motion casual but his eyes hold yours, heavy with a vulnerability you've never seen from him before. Without thinking, you reach toward him, brushing your fingers across his wrist. The contact sparks again, but this time it's literal.
Crimson flame licks down your arm and you jump, watching your tattoos come to life. Lightning dances across Vernon's arm, white-blue and staticky. The flame and lightning meet in a swirl of energy that tingles but doesn't burn, twining like old friends.
Neither of you pulls away, watching with parted lips as the colors shift until they fade. His tattoos burn faint blue, yours dark red, both of you lingering until the tattoos fade and the power vanishes beneath the surface of your skin again.
Vernon's mouth twitches. "He says like calls to like."
Hm, Sekhmet hums, displeased. I'm not so sure about that.
"What about Voss," you ask, drawing your hand back slowly. Vernon frowns. "What do you think he's planning?"
"Power. I just don't understand what."
"When I was in the temple, Voss asked Montu to lead him to Maahes."
That stirs Sekhmet. You feel her uncurl like a feline, her anger sparking as she paces in your mind. You give her a questioning prod and she growls.
My son.
"Oh," you say outloud. Vernon raises his brows, confused. "Maahes is the son of Sekhmet. I forgot. The lion to the lionness."
Traitor, she hisses. Folly. They claim he perfects what I cannot, that he is discipline where I am unchecked.
"Well do you know where they're going?" You wince and look at Vernon. "Sorry, is there a way to not talk to myself when I'm trying to talk to her? This is awkward."
"She can read your thoughts. I just think at Set and it sort of works. Sometimes I talk out loud too, though. Especially when he's pissing me off."
There is a temple deep in Wadi Al-Hitan, Sekhmet hisses. It is where he is bound. Maahes knows the way to Apophis.
You repeat what she said to Vernon. The reaction is instant, his face twisting in anger as his entire body goes rigid. His pupils blow wide and black, lines of white and molten blue crawling along his tattoos. The wind around the fire picks up, whipping sand into spirals that hiss against the fire.
A sound tears out of Vernon, not quite human, not quite animal. It's the howl of the desert storm giving voice, centuries of hatred pressed into a single note. The fire gutters and you instinctually hold out a palm, feeling power radiate through you as you buffet the flame.
"Apophis," Vernon snarls, laced with a voice that isn't his own. "They're going to wake the serpent."
You feel Sekhmet growl, her words coming through you. "Let them try."
Vernon's hands tremble, his knuckles white as he makes a fist. "Set has been Apophis's executioner since the world was new. Every dawn, every night, he drives the spear into the serpent's throat so the sun can rise again. If Voss means to unleash Apophis-"
He cuts himself off, swearing in Ancient Egyptian. The words are strange and guttural in his mouth, spoken with the perfect accent and articulations. The words resonate with you in a different way now than they had before, a language you studied becoming a language you instinctually know.
"Voss wants to be a vessel off Apophis."
"And destroy the fucking world while he's at it," Vernon growls.
Set surges again, a tide of lightning behind Vernon's eyes. The tattoos pulse like living things, wards straining. For a heartbeat, you think he's going to let loose and set the entire camp ablaze in lighting. But he breathes through it, slow and deliberate, forcing the god down by sheer will.
"We cannot let that happen," he murmurs, looking at you. His eyes are his own again, but he looks strainted and tired. "Set likes chaos, but not this. Not at the hand of Apophis."
"We?"
His mouth twitches. "You bailing on me, Stacks?"
Sekhmet's growl is in your voice when you say, "Never."
Vernon nods, grinning at you for the first time since Voss opened the seal to reveal revenants. You smile back, feeling the savage delight of your god as she paces, eager and ready to hunt.
For the first time since Voss stabbed you with that knife, you're not afraid.
You're ready.
-
The sun claws its way over the horizon, spilling molten gold across the dunes. Heat simmers already, distorting the endless sea of sand. Your boots sink ankle-deep with each step you take, the grains shifting as you trek. Your muscles are already screaming, each step requiring effort.
You and Vernon have been walking since dawn, packs heavy with scavenged supplies. You're thankful you have the newfound strength of a god, otherwise you'd never have been able to stuff the packs as much as you have. Water sloshes around in the canteens with each step, your pack stocked full of water, food, and a slim selection of medical supplies.
The medical supplies are a precaution. As evidenced by your recent stabbing, your healing is different now, aided by the goddess who keeps watch inside of you. It's a nice perk - kind of like the fact that you're not out of breath after hours of walking and you're not keeling over - but being the vessel of an ancient entity doesn't make the trek less tiring or the sun less hot.
Barrâmîya lies ahead, a distant smudge on the GPS. The dusty outpost is now your lifeline, though if you can't get a hold of a car you're not sure what the plan is. Wadi al-Hitan is hours away from Luxor, up north in Egypt's Western desert. The Valley of the Whales is vast, and somewhere lies a hidden temple to Maahes, whose location is only known by the gods living inside of you and Vernon.
Vernon walks a pace ahead, keffiyeh wrapped around his head and face to hide him from the sun. His stride is steady despite the heat, and sweat darkens his shirt, clinging to the lines of his back.
"Keep up, Stacks," he calls over his shoulder, smirking at you. "Wouldn't want you collapsing before the sun gets to the worst part of the day."
You roll your eyes but there's no bite in it. Not anymore. His smugness used to grate against you, but now it feels almost comforting. Familiar in a sea of gold and red and endless heat.
"I'm fine, worry about yourself."
"I'm doing great. Set loves the desert."
Sekhmet huffs in your mind, a low growl of disdain. Naive, she purrs. He teases to hide the storm.
You ignore her, focusing on the burn in your thighs as you crest another dun. The sand here is finer, almost silken, slipping away under foot. Wind hisses across the surface, carrying grains that sting your exposed skin like needles. Far off, a hawk circles, its cries loud against the vast silence.
Vernon was right about the sun. It climbs higher, turning the world into a furnace. He keeps you talking though, like he's trying to keep your mind off the heat. It's nice. You tell him about your mother, about how she chased threads of hidden history beneath Egypt.
He pauses on the top of a rise, shielding his eyes against the glare. He smiles, glancing down at you. "She was onto something, I guess. Smart. I see where you get it from."
The heat you feel has nothing to do with the sun. You stop next to him, panting as you both break to take sparing sips of water. "What about you? How'd you get into history?"
"Parents passed when I was a kid - car accident. Uncle took me in. He was a wealthy bastard obsessed with history. He used to drag me to museums and auctions. He was nice, if not a little hyperfocused on his hobbies. He funded my degrees. I thought it was a pretty cool life until Set decided to hitch a ride."
Guilt flickers inside of you. You've judged him for years, only seeing the tomb raider, never the man chained to chaos. "I'm sorry. For um. Well. My assumptions of you the last few years."
We waves it off. "Don't go soft on me now, Stacks. I like the fire."
Your heart does something stupid in your chest, Sekhmet snarling in annoyance. Guard your heart.
The day drags, the sun a hammer pounding relentlessly. Mirages taunt on the edge of your vision, but you both keep moving. Your throat remains parched despite sips of the canteen and exhaustion gnaws as you as the sun dips down toward the late afternoon. Divine energy sustains you, keeping your legs moving when mortal will would fail.
By dusk, Barrâmîya appears. You think it's a mirage at first, but Vernon lets out a sigh of relief and you know it's real. The town is a cluster of low mud-bricked buildings huddled around a well, palms swaying in the breeze. The air cools as you stumble in, the scent of baked earth replaced by spices from a market stall.
Locals eye you warily, two dust-caked strangers staggering in from the desert. Coin speaks louder than questions though, and when Vernon pulls out a wad of folded money, no one looks warily at you again.
The inn you find is a squat structure, walls cracked from the endless sun. Lanterns swing outside in the breeze as the last of the sun dies beyond the horizon. There's only a single room left, and you're both too tired to care. The two narrow cots shoved against opposite walls is good enough for you, a single window letting in moonlight as you collapse on a bed.
Vernon drops onto the bed closest to you, breathing out tiredly. You turn your head to glance at him in the dim light. The room is tiny and though his bed is against the other wall, he's close enough to hear his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest steady. Your eyes trace the tattoos on his arms, inky in the dim.
He catches you looking and smirks. "See something you like, Stacks?"
Heat flushes your cheeks. "Just wondering if you ever shut up."
He laughs. "There's the fire I like."
The room feels smaller as you lie back, staring at the ceiling cracks like ancient veins. Tomorrow, you need to get a car. From there, the wadi. But tonight, you need sleep, despite the fact that the air between you and the man across from you is charged with something new. Just something… more.
-
The sun is a brutal disk of white by the time you and Vernon get into a battered jeep the next morning. Vernon doesn't explain how he had bartered for it - all he'd said was he found a ride as he'd come back into the room before dawn, kicking dust off his boots. You didn't ask, too grateful to not be walking in the blistering heat as he starts the engine with a guttural cough that doesn't sound promising for a lengthy trip.
Inside the car smells like old oil and sun-baked vinyl and the faint smell of storms that you've come to associate with Vernon. He looks tired in the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror, eyes sliding over to you as you buckle your seatbelt.
"Ready?" He asks, voice rough. You nod and make a sound when the vehicle lurches forward, tires spinning in the sound before catching. "My bad."
Behind you, Barrâmîya shrinks to a smudge on the horizon, then nothing. The Western Desert stretches ahead of you, a vast sea of ochre and gold that stretches under a sky so blue you have to shield your eyes to look out the dusty window. Heat rises in shimmering waves, distant rock formations wavering like ghosts in the high-heat of morning.
Hours bleed together as Vernon drives east. There's only a single road that cuts across this part of Egypt, the cars few and far between. Occasionally, the jeep bounces, hitting holes in the road that no one bothers to fix. This far from the main cities, it doesn't matter, but as you near the east coast of Egypt, the road smooths out.
Vernon drives with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. You glance at the tattoos peeking from under his rolled sleeves, the ink harsher in the dark light. You look down at your own, the dusty red ink winding in whorls you now understand. Something has shifted between the two of you now, the sharp silences dulling to something softer and far more comfortable. You catch yourself watching the way his fingers flex on the steering wheel, the line of his throat when he swallows, the way his eyes narrow against the glare.
Sekhmet stirs in the back of your mind. Naive, she growls. She seems to favor that word to describe you. He is chaos and wrapped in flesh. Affection is useless.
You ignore her, focusing on the expanding blue of the Red Sea with Marsa Alam rising in the distance. The tropical paradise is at ends with the tension in the car, the desert giving way to a resort town that feels entirely out of place with the violence of the last two days. Vernon says nothing, but the tension in his jaw increases as he turns north to get on the highway and follow the coast.
"What do you think Voss is really after?" You ask eventually, eyes stuck on the endless blue of the Red Sea. "Beyond power, I mean. He has Montu. Why chase Maahes and Apophis?"
Vernon's grip on the wheel tightens. "Apophis is powerful. If Voss can harness that power, he can rewrite the world in his image."
"I don't like that."
"Neither do we."
We. You notice the way he says the word, speaking for him and Set. You wonder how much of Vernon is Set and the other way around. Eight years with a god inside of your head is hard to imagine, even as you feel Sekhmet's prowling silence now. You wonder what it was like for him and what he was like before.
"Set doesn't like Apophis," you note.
Vernon shakes his head. "Set and Apophis have been at each other's throats since the world was new. Set's killed him in many lifetimes. The idea that the serpent could wake under Voss's control is unsettling."
"What was it like for you? With Set, I mean. With Sekhmet it's…" You fight to find words, looking at your hands in your lap, the tattoos dark. "She's always there, but quiet. Sometimes I get the sense that she's pacing, like she's waiting to attack. But it also feels warm. Safe."
"Set's louder. The first year with him was hell, honestly. I'd suddenly get angry and the sky would open up with rain and lightning, or I'd just lose myself to him entirely."
"That sounds terrifying."
"It was. We learned some balance, though."
Unlikely, Sekhmet mutters.
You ignore her. "How'd you do it?"
"I don't fight him head on anymore. Sometimes we have a bit of a fight for control, but ultimately this is my body and I'm still me. When we fight head on, it tires me out and it's easier for him to slip in."
You nod. "Makes sense."
"Some advice - don't ignore her. It's very isolating. Talk to her out loud if you have to. They like being acknowledged and makes them feel less like prisoners and more like partners, even if they're assholes."
Sekhmet huffs in your mind, but there’s a reluctant amusement in it. He is not entirely wrong. Though his god is far louder than I.
You repeat what she says to him and Vernon smirks, glancing at you sidelong. "Set says Sekhmet is stuck up. Old family drama, I think."
The sun climbs higher as the conversation dies out, exhaustion weighing you both down. To the west is an endless landscape of red, to the east, only blue. Vernon's hand brushes yours when he reaches for water, a spark going up your arm. You jerk your hand back, startled. If he notices, he says nothing, uncapping the bottle to take long pulls of water. You catch yourself staring at the line of his throat as he drinks.
By early afternoon you've reached the point of turning west to drive inland again, Wadi al-Hitan still hours away. Your head leans heavy on the head rest, eyes heavy as the jeep ambles. Vernon glances at you, mouth twitching.
"Sleep," he murmurs.
"No, it's okay. We can switch if-"
"Sleep, Stacks. It's been years since Set and I joined, but I remember how exhausting those first few days were. We have about six hours until we hit the Wadi."
"But-"
"Sleep." His tone is gentle, but the way he looks at you brokers no argument. "I need you at your best, yeah?"
Your stomach flutters a little and you nod, sinking down in your seat to lean heavier against the door. The glass is warm on your forehead, the vibrations of the car on the road a constant lull as you close your eyes, trusting Vernon to get you to where you need to go.
The jeep’s engine rumbles low as you drift in and out of uneasy sleep, the road vibrating through the cracked seat and into your bones. The sun has dipped low, painting the desert in deep oranges and blood-reds that bleed across the horizon like an open wound. Heat still clings to you, but you slip into sleep, the world fading.
Black basalt gleams under torchlight, the air thick with myrrh and the crackle of fire from braziers. Vernon stands in the hypostyle hall, shadows clinging to him. He looks different, the blood and dust gone, revealing only the sharp lines of his face that are softened by the firelight. His tattoos glow faintly, the binding wards shifting like living ink as he steps closer, dark eyes locked on you. The space between you shrinks until he's right in front of you, warm breath ghosting across your lips.
His hand comes up, calloused fingers brushing your jaw softly. You shiver and he smiles, tilting his head as his dark eyes drink you in. "You're impossible," he murmurs. "You know that, Stacks?"
You lean into him on instinct, tilting your face into his touch. "Am I?"
He kisses you then. It's anything but soft. Instead, it's hungry and desperate, like he's been holding back for years and the dam is finally broken. His mouth is hot against yours, tasting of salt and desert, his mouth like the static of a storm against yours. One hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to pull you closer while the other presses against your lower back, anchoring you to him.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours. You moan into his mouth, shivering as you press into him, hands fisting in shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers. He makes a low sound in his throat in response and presses you against a column, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin and Sekhmet's fire in your veins.
"Vernon," you whisper, voice broken.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and blown. "What do you need?"
Instead of answering, you pull him back to you, kissing him harder, tongues tangling. His thigh slides between yours, the pressure perfect and maddening. Heat pools low in your belly and-
You flinch awake as Sekhmet's roar shatters the dream like glass. Your heart slams against your ribs as you gather your bearings and realize you're still in the jeep, the engine humming. Night has fully claimed the desert, the sky a vast, black dome scattered with stars so bright they look close enough to touch. The headlights of the car cut twin beams through the darkness, illuminating jagged rock formations as Vernon drives deep into Wadi al-Hitan.
Vernon glances at you. "You okay?"
Your face burns. The dream clings to you - his mouth, his hands, the way your body had arched into him. You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. You sit up straighter, pressing your thighs together against the lingering ache, and clear your throat. “Sorry. Bad dream.”
He glances at you, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar smug way. But there’s something softer underneath tonight, a quiet concern in the way his eyes linger.
Sekhmet snarls in your mind, Do not let his shadow touch you so easily.
You ignore her, focusing instead on the road ahead. The wadi has closed in around you, towering sandstone cliffs rising on either side, their layered strata glowing faintly under starlight. Wind whistles through the narrow canyons, carrying faint echoes that sound almost like distant howls that make you shiver.
"We're about an hour into Wadi al-Hitan." Vernon has one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, putting the jeep into all-wheel drive. "I can feel Set pulling toward something, but he's a bit vague. I don't think he knows where to go. Does Sekhmet?"
You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. Sekhmet stirs, still irritated from the dream, but she answers with reluctant precision. You see images flashing behind your eyelids: a narrow side canyon that branches left, a cluster of fossilized whale bones half-buried in the rock face, a steep descent into a hidden valley where the cliffs open up.
"Left at the next fork," you murmur when you open your eyes. "Then follow the dry riverbed until the whale skeletons appear on the right. The temple is beyond them off the road tucked into the cliff wall where the light can't reach."
He doesn't question the instructions. He turns the wheel, the headlights sweeping across jagged rock as he navigates off the road and down the narrow track. The path grows rough, loose stones clattering against the undercarriage as the car creaks with every dip. You can see the cliffs clooming closer, the faces carved by years and years of wind and floods.
The closer you get, the more your anxiety coils. The air grows heavier, charged with the same sense of doom you'd felt in Montu's temple. Sekhmet paces restlessly in your mind, her presence a low burn of anticipation and warning. You can feel her fire under your veins, increasing in temperature as Vernon drives.
You think of the Temple of Montu, of the khopesh twisting deep in your gut, of the pain and the fire, the sand raining down on you as you bled out on the altar. That fear morphs into rage, a small fire at first but gradually blooming into something hot and wild as Sekhmet growls, a huntress closing in on her prey.
"You okay?" He asks, the softness in his voice catching you off guard. "You look tense."
"I can feel the rage," you murmur as you stare ahead. "Both mine and hers. Hers amplifies mine."
"Do you want to talk about it?" You hesitate. "You can tell me, Stacks."
The nickname lands differently now, less mocking, more familiar. You feel the pull to Vernon again, and you wonder if he feels it, this thing between you. Perhaps it's only in your head, amplified by the exhaustion and divine fire hiding inside of you.
"I was so afraid," you whisper, thinking back to those last few moments. "It hurt so much and for a while that was all I could think about. Then I started to get cold and all I could think about was that I hoped wherever my mom is, she couldn't see what happened, that she would never know how I was going to die alone and afraid in a collapsing temple."
Vernon's hands grip the wheel, knuckles going bone white as your words fade. You'd never been afraid to die until it was about to happen. Ancient history had taught you how sacred death was, that dying was just another journey and adventure. But in that single moment alone and bleeding out, you realized how terrifying it was, how painful it was to be entirely alone and without help.
"I'm so fucking sorry," Vernon rasps. You glance up at him to see him staring out the front dash, eyes burning. "I shouldn't have left you. I was angry and I was going to pack your things and come get you and- fuck, Stacks. I shouldn't have left you."
You shrug. "I didn't make it easy on you."
"Doesn't matter. I knew it was dangerous and I thought I could just… do it my way. I'm sorry."
He seems to mean it, Sekhmet sniffs. Interesting.
I told you, you think back to her. He's different.
The goddess says nothing as the jeep descends into a deeper canyon, the walls rising higher until they block out most of the stars. The headlights catch on scattered fossils of massive whale vertebrae that are half-buried in the rock, ancient burns turned to stones over millions of years.
"Slow down here," you murmur, sitting up in the car, entirely awake now. "The entrance is just past the largest skeleton. It looks like a natural fissure, but it opens into the temple courtyard."
Vernon eases off the gas, the jeep crawling forward. The headlights sweep across the cliff face, illuminating a narrow vertical crack in the rock that looks barely wide enough for a person, let alone a vehicle. Beyond it, the darkness is absolute.
He kills the engine but leaves the headlights on. The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and the distant sigh of wind through the wadi. Vernon turns to you, one arm draped over the steering wheel, his expression serious in the dashboard glow.
“Ready?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but there’s steel beneath it. “We go in together. No heroics. If it feels wrong, we get out.”
"I'll listen to you this time."
He smirks. "I'll believe it when I see it, Stacks."
You both step out into the cool darkness, your skin turning to goosebumps. The slamming of the jeep door is too loud, echoing in the canyon before dying down. Vernon leads the way to the stone fissure, which is narrower than it looked from the jeep. You have to turn sideways to slip through, your shoulders scraping against stone as you follow Vernon through the crevice.
It's easier to see in the dark with Sekhmet present, your eyes adjusting easily to accommodate for the lack of light. Her presence flares brighter the moment you cross the threshold, her power a hot coal in your chest as she directs you toward a long corridor with a carved-lion headed sentinel.
"Left," you murmur to Vernon, voice echoing. "Then down the ramp. She said the main hall is lit."
Vernon listens without question. He hand brushes the small of your back for half a second as you step into a large room, steadying you before he moves ahead. He takes the left and leads you down a corridor, both of you silent as you creep along.
Gold light greets you as you step into the main hall suddenly. Golden-orage flames flicker in shallow stone bowls set into the walls, casting dancing light across the walls. The carvings in the wall are pristine here, untouched by the desert wind and protected by the cliffs. You marvel at the reliefs: Maahes in his lion form, devouring enemies, his mane wreathed in solar fire; processions of priests carrying offerings of meat and wine; scenes of the lion god standing behind Sekhmet, both of them pathed in blood.
My deepest pride, the goddess growls. My biggest regret.
The hall is entirely empty. Your boots echo on the flagstones as you step deeper into the main hall. It's warmer, the brazier's heat making sweat bead along your hairline. Vernon stays close, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours and sending sparks through your spine.
"Voss, was here," Vernon mutters. "Brazier's don't light themselves. But where did they go?"
Deeper, Sekhmet urges. Into the heart.
The two of you move together down a wide ramp that spirals gently into the earth. The walls grow closer, the carvings showing lions with open jaws, flames pouring from their mouths, scenes of Apophis writhing beneath Maahes's claws. Your pulse quickens as you walk, feeling Sekhmet's energy pulse in time with yours.
The ramp ends in a grand antechamber. More braziers burn here, their light reflecting off polished obsidian inlays that make the walls look like liquid night. The floor is inlaid with a massive mosaic of a lion devouring a serpent. The air feels heavier, charged, as if the temple itself is holding its breath.
Great stone lion statues on pillars bellow into the night, their faces twisted in anger. You pull up short when you look at them, something in your gut twisting like when you'd seen the falcons outside of Montu's temple. You get the sense of something that ripples down Sekhmet's spine like an angry cat-
Stone grinds. You look up to see the stone lions tearing themselves from the columns, all four of them crashing down to the ground. Dust flies as you and Vernon step back. They're twice the size of natural lions, their bodies made of living basalt veined with glowing red lines of fire. Their eyes burn red as they shake the dust from their shoulders, teeth grinding like rock as they prowl toward you.
"Shit," Vernon swears.
Power floods your veins as Sekhmet surges forward. Your hands burn and you don't even think - you just reach outward with both of your hands, twin khopesh blades manifesting in your grip, their bronze edges blazing crimson. The weapons feel perfectly balanced, humming with Sekhmet's wrath as the lions charge.
Vernon's spear appears in his hands with a crack of thunder, the same weapon you'd seen in Montu's temple crackling with lightning. He surges forward to meet the first lion head on as you challenge another, spinning as one khopesh slashes upward in a blazing arch. The blade cuts through the living stone like it's clay, shearing off a chunk of the lion's shoulder in a spray of sparks and rock.
The guardian roars in rage, swinging a massive paw at your head. You duck under it and drive the second blade into the creature's flank, gritting your teeth as Sekhmet roars inside of you. Flame explodes outward, cracking the basalt apart from the inside, causing the lion to shatter and collapse into rubble.
Vernon is a living storm beside you, shadow-stepping through darkness to reappear behind another lion and drive his spear through its spine. Lightning erupts along the shaft, spiderwebbing across the stone body in brilliant white cracks. The stone lion convulses and fractures, shattering the same way yours had moments before.
The two of you fall into a sync without words as the last two guardians descend, becoming flame and storm. You blast one of the lions with fire, knocking it back before it can get to Vernon before you challenge it head on, ducking as it swipes at you. You spin and bring down both blades on its neck, severing the stone head as Sekhmet's strength burns through you, hot and liquid.
Vernon plants his spear into his lion's side, sending a bolt of lightning that hits the creature with an explosion that leaves your ears ringing. Dust billows thick through the antechamber as you shield yourself from stray rock and dust as Vernon's killing blow finishes. He stands a few paces away, spear dissolving into sparks, chest heaving. His eyes meet yours across the settling dust, dark, wild, and something else.
For a second the air between you crackles with more than divine power, but Sekhmet's growl cuts it short. They're gone.
You nod. "She says they're gone."
Vernon nods once, jaw tight. “Let’s make sure.”
The final corridor is shorter, narrower, lined with carvings of Maahes standing triumphant over Apophis. The braziers here burn lower, as if whatever ritual was performed has already drained them. You push through a last set of massive stone doors that stand slightly ajar, their surfaces carved with roaring lions.
The heart of the temple opens before you, a circular chamber, vast and domed, the ceiling lost in shadow high above. A single massive altar of black basalt dominates the center, its surface still stained with fresh blood and scattered with remnants of ritual. You absently press your hand to your stomach, feeling the heat of where the blade had entered you, the wound that Sekhmet had burned shut.
I am here, she murmurs.
Vernon touches your arm, drawing your attention. His eyes are dark, a storm sparking behind them. "You're not alone." He pauses and rolls his eyes. "Set says you have nothing to fear."
Sekhmet gives a deliberate hmph but you smile, thankful for their presence - even the God of Chaos.
The chamber is empty like Sekhmet said. No Voss. No Nadia-Montu. No Dr. el-Masri or remaining security. Only the echo of your footsteps and the faint crackle of dying flames. The last of Sekhmet's fire fades beneath your skin as you walk through the chamber, the twin blades vanishing from your hands.
"Gone like she said."
You nod, staring at the bloodstained altar. The scent of smoke and iron is thick. You sink down onto the edge of the altar, legs suddenly heavy. Vernon hesitates only a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch. The stone is warm from the braziers. The chamber feels strangely peaceful after the violence, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Vernon’s voice is low when he finally breaks the silence. “I liked the blades."
You let out a shaky breath, staring at your hands. The tattoos on your arms have faded back to dull red, but you can still feel the fire. “I think Sekhmet did most of the work. Felt like I knew exactly what to do, though."
He huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back on his hands. “Set’s the same. Sometimes it feels like I’m just along for the ride. Other times it feels like we're working together."
The silence stretches again. Vernon settles back and his shoulder presses a little firmer against yours. You glance at him but he isn't watching you, his gaze focused on the dim fire of the chambers. You can feel the warmth of him beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing. He shifts slightly, his boot scraping against the stone floor.
“I keep thinking about it,” he says, breaking the silence as he stares. “Leaving you in that corridor. I was pissed, and I told myself you were a grown woman who could make her own choices, but I knew better. I knew Voss was planning something bad. I should’ve dragged you out of there kicking and screaming if I had to. I shouldn’t have walked away.”
The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, surprised at the admission. His jaw is tight, the line of it sharp in the low light, and his hands rest on his knees, fingers flexing once like he’s fighting the urge to clench them into fists. He looks exhausted and it twists something in your chest.
You turn toward him, studying the side of his face. The firelight catches on the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the way his dark eyes reflect the dying embers like distant lightning. He’s always worn that smug, untouchable mask so well, but right now it’s cracked, and you can see the other version of him beneath it, the one who sat guard outside your tent and who kept you grounded in the medical tent after that first night of slaughter.
"It isn't your fault, Vernon." You tentatively reach out, resting your hand on his forearm. The skin there is warm, the ink slightly raised under your fingertips. “I was angry. Stubborn. I didn’t want to listen because I thought you were coddling me and I've spent most of my life chasing after my mom's dream. I made the choice to go deeper. You tried to stop me. Multiple times. I’m the one who ignored every warning.”
He doesn’t pull away from your touch, but his shoulders tense. “Doesn’t change the fact that I left you there to bleed out on an altar. I should have made you listen."
The guilt is eating at him, you realize. It’s weighing on him like the collapsed temple itself, pressing down on his shoulders. You can see it in the tight set of his mouth, the way his free hand flexes against his thigh. This isn’t the smug Vernon who called you Stacks and made you see red. This is someone who’s been carrying too much for too long - Set's chaos, his own secrets, and guilt that you can't even begin to understand.
You squeeze his arm gently, thumb brushing over one of the binding wards. “Hey. Look at me.” He does, reluctantly, dark eyes meeting yours. In the dim light they look almost black. "When have I ever done what you asked?"
He scoffs a little. "I guess."
"You came back. That means a lot to me."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
“Don’t be nice to me just because you understand me better now.” His voice is rough, edged with that familiar tone when he'd been an ass all those years, but there's a vulnerability you feel now that you know how to look for it. "You spent years hating me and you had every right to. You don't owe me comfort now just because you know I'm carrying Set."
You hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “I’m not being nice because I feel sorry for you. I’m saying it because it’s true. And so what if I regret how I treated you. I was wrong. Though, to be fair, I think you were pushing my buttons on purpose."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I was."
You snort. "Why?"
He looks at you for a long moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Liked your fire, and when you were mad at me, it made me feel seen. At least you not liking me was honest."
"I didn't hate you. I just… really didn't like you."
He smirks. “I’ve always been impressed by you, you know. You're incredibly smart and your commitment to the right thing reminds me of myself before Set. I always liked that about you."
You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the warmth of his body, the way his fingers linger on yours, the dark intensity in his eyes as they drop to your mouth for a heartbeat before returning to yours.
Sekhmet growls but you ignore her, your heart pounding in your chest as you stare at him. "I thought you thought I was naive and stupid."
"Stacks, I think the fucking world of you."
"Really?"
"Mhm." His eyes drop down to your mouth again. "Can I be honest?"
Your heart thuds. "Yes."
"I really want to fucking kiss you right now."
You suck in a sharp breath, your hand on his arm tightening a fraction. Licking your lips, you murmur, "I'm not going to stop you."
Vernon doesn't hesitate. He presses forward, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens, hungry and desperate, like he’s been holding back for far longer than you realized. His lips are warm, slightly chapped from the desert, and they move against yours with a certainty that makes your head spin. One hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, the other sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in his torn shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers. The taste of him - salt and something static - floods your senses. Heat blooms low in your belly, and when his tongue brushes yours and you part your lips for him, he groans low in his throat, the kisses turning deeper.
Immediately you think of the dream as you cling to him, the room spinning. Sekhmet is nowhere to be found as you press into him, his hands tangling in your hair, tongue sweeping against yours. You make a small sound and he breaks the kiss, panting.
“Fuck, Stacks,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Tell me to stop and I will. Right now.”
Instead, you pull him back down, kissing him harder, deeper, tongues sliding together in a messy, desperate tangle. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, vibrating through your chest. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, then lower, palming your ass as he hauls you fully into his lap on the edge of the altar. The stone is still warm from the braziers, but nothing compared to the heat of his body pressing against yours.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. He bites your bottom lip and you whine while his tongue darts out to soothe the sting with his tongue. “Watching you glare at me across every dig, every conference, pretending I didn’t want to shove you against the nearest wall and kiss the fucking shit out of you."
Your laugh is breathless, turning into a moan when he rolls his hips up, letting you feel exactly how hard he already is. “You were such an asshole on purpose.”
"Yeah. You're hot when you're mad. And you not liking me was something."
He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. His hands are greedy, sliding under your shirt, the callouses on his fingers scraping across your hips before skimming up your ribs to cup your chest through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble tight.
"Oh," you breathe.
"Yeah?" He smirks, mouth sucking greedily along your jaw. "Been driving me insane for years."
Vernon leans up to peel your shirt off, his eyes hungry as he takes in the sight of you. The scar on your stomach glows faintly red in the low light, and he ducks down to press open-mouthed kisses along the ridged line, tongue tracing every inch.
“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, the word possessive and rough. "Mine to protect, mine to touch."
He lays you back on the wide basalt altar, the stone warm against your bare back. His mouth follows, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovers. He kisses the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone, the sensitive underside of your breasts. His hands snap the claps in the back and peel the fabric off you, the scrape of it against your skin making you shiver. When he finally closes his mouth over one nipple, sucking hard while his hand palms the other, you cry out, back arching off the stone.
"Fuck," you hiss.
He hums, the vibration shooting straight between your legs. “That’s it. Let me hear you. Finally using that crass language I adore.”
He takes his time, mouth and hands mapping your skin. Your mind goes blank, the feeling of his mouth and hands on you turning you to static. Heat blooms where he kisses, your body feeling the electricity underneath his skin as he plants kisses down your stomach.
A few days ago, you'd never imagine Vernon touching like this. Now that he is, you can't imagine him not touching you. You never want him to stop, never want the heat of his palms to leave your ass or the wet press of his mouth to stray too far. For too long have you watched him, irritated but intrigued, and now that you've tasted him, you don't want to stop.
When Vernon finally moves lower, hooking his fingers in your waistband and dragging your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, he groans at the sight of you bare and glistening for him.
“Look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “So wet already. All for me?”
You nod, breathless. His hands are gentle as he spreads your thighs wide, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while he settles between them. He presses open-mouth kisses down your thighs and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his breath on your wet cunt, a thrill going through you.
The first slow, broad lick of his tongue from your entrance to your clit makes your hips jerk and a broken moan tear from your throat. Your hands shoot down to thread in the strands of his hair, twisting in the longer strands near the nape of his neck, nails scrapping on the shorter sides.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growls, the words vibrating against your folds. “Gonna eat this pretty pussy until you’re shaking.”
The words knock the wind out of you as he presses his mouth to you, slow and messy. His tongue works you open in long strokes, circling your swollen clit before sucking it gently between his lips. Your hips twitch and your eyes squeeze shut as you arch, the feeling so good you can't do anything except squirm in his hold.
Two thick fingers slide inside you without warning, curling just right, the wet sound of him fucking them into you echoing in the temple chamber. He doesn't rush - just sucks messily at you, letting you roll your hips in broken, little twitches into his mouth.
"Fuck," you gasp, laughing as your head presses back into the stone. "Feels so good."
He groans against you. "That's it, Stacks, use me."
You do, hips rolling as he stretches you open while his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit. The first orgasm crashes over you hard and sudden, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your walls clamp down around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, grinning as he licks you through it, slow and messy until you're oversensitive and whimpering.
Vernon finally pulls back, lips and chin shining, eyes dark with stormclouds. "You're addicting."
Before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again, deep and wet with the taste of you. His fingers never leave you, thrusting slow and deep while his thumb circles your swollen clit. You moan into his mouth, hands fisting in his hair as another orgasm builds fast and overwhelming.
“Come on,” he murmurs against your lips. “Give me another. Want to feel you come on my fingers."
You do, clenching tight around his fingers as you come with a choked cry. You squeeze your eyes shut, breath coming out in choked sounds, colors blooming behind your lids. He swallows every sound you make, kissing you through it until you're boneless and panting. Only then does he pull away, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean before he kisses you again.
"Need you," he murmurs, the slide of his mouth warm against yours. "Do you want-"
"Yes," you gasp, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily. He whimpers and you dig your nails into him, pulling at his shirt. "Please."
You help him tear his shirt off as he shoves his pants down, his heavy cock springing free. It's thick and glistening, making your stomach flip because of course the asshole tombraider has a nice cock.
Vernon settles between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. He grins when you squirm beneath him, lifting your hips in an attempt to push him in. Instead, he rolls his hips lazily against you, smearing your arousal across your pussy as he teases you, laughing while he peppers your face in kisses.
"Desperate," he notes.
"Asshole."
"I like what it gets out of you."
Before you can retort, he pushes in slowly, inch by thick inch, splitting you open with a burn that feels better than Sekhmet's fire. When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, both of you groan. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as he drops his forehead to yours, kissing you sweeter than the moment calls for.
"Fuck," he whispers. "You feel so good. Made for me."
He starts to move then, his lips dipping with slow, deep rolls that drag against you. The pace is deliberate, his cock filling you completely with every thrust. Your nails dig into his back, keeping him close as his thrusts punch the air from your lungs.
But you want more of him.
With a surge of Sekhmet's strength, you flip him suddenly, pinning him down on the stone beneath you. His brows raise, then darken as you press your hands to his chest, keeping him flat as you roll your hips and grin.
"My turn," you whisper.
The new angle makes you both moan, the feeling deeper and fuller now. You start to ride him, slow and grinding at first, then faster, hips rolling as you chase your pleasure. Vernon’s hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, eyes locked on where you’re joined, watching his cock disappear inside you with every bounce.
"Fuck," he groans. “Riding me so pretty. Take what you need, baby.”
The new name makes you whine. You roll your hips faster, chasing the warm knot in your belly, ignoring the burn in your thighs as you tip your head back, nails digging into his sweaty chest. He sits up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your back to hold you close while the other hand slides between you to rub tight circles over your clit.
“Come on,” he growls against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “One more. Come on my cock.”
You nod, clinging to him as the orgasm rips through you, sharp and blinding. You cry out, walls clenching around him as you come hard. He growls, keeping you moving until he spills after you, burying his face in your neck.
Vernon falls backward and you collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and trembling. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as the braziers flicker lower around you. One hand splays across your lower back while the other strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your spine.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are your mingled breaths, the soft crackle of the last embers, and the distant sigh of wind moving through the wadi outside the temple. For the first time since Sekhmet burned her way into your veins, the fire inside you feels quiet and content.
Vernon presses a lazy kiss to your temple, his voice rough and low against your hair. “We should stay here tonight. It’s safer than trying to drive out in the dark with Voss and Montu somewhere ahead. We can rest, regroup.”
You nod against his chest, too boneless to argue. “Yeah. Supplies are still in the jeep, though. Water. Food. Blankets.”
“Just a bit longer,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you again, slow and deep. “I mean it, Stacks. You’re mine to protect now. Not just because of the gods riding us. Because it’s you. I’m not walking away again."
You lean in and kiss him once more before resting your head on his chest. "I know."
Sekhmet stirs inside you, her presence a low, steady burn rather than the usual sharp flare of irritation. She watches the moment with the wary gaze of an old lioness.
He is determined, she notes warily. I think he might burn the world to keep you safe. Perhaps it is not a bad thing. Chaos seems to like you. Beware the love of a God.
And what about you? You ask her.
Beware of me too, child. I burn away the unworthy.
-
Dawn is pomegranate pink when you slip out of the temple's stone fissure, the cool morning air of Wadi al-Hitan not yet burning. You move in easy silence now, shoulders brushing, hands finding each other without thought as you pass Vernon the last of the scavenged supplies. The sky above shifts from pink to rose, to blue, the faint mineral bite of ancient rock still in the air.
You study a map spread out on the hood of the jeep, a pen in your hand as you keep the wind from lifting the paper edges off the metal of the car. Vernon comes up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist without hesitation, chin resting on your shoulder. The casual affection makes something warm bloom inside of you, and you lean back into him, tilting your head to the side so he can see better.
"Find the way?" He asks.
"Yeah. Sekhmet's version of directions isn't as simple as looking at a map." She growls and you grin. "But I think I've got it figured out."
"Good."
"You drove yesterday. I'll drive today."
He hums in agreement, the sound low and pleased, and gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Good. Means I get to watch you instead of the road.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth is genuine. “Flirt.”
"Get used to it, Stacks."
The drive out of the wadi is smoother than the journey in, the narrow track widening as you leave the canyons behind. Vernon rides shotgun, one arm draped along the back of your seat, fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair or tracing idle patterns on your shoulder. Every touch feels easy and open, and you catch yourself glancing over at him more than once, catching the soft curve of his smile when he catches you looking.
When the road straightens and you reach over to rest your hand on his thigh, he covers it with his own without hesitation, thumb stroking slow circles against your knuckles.
"This is nice," he says, fingers tightening on yours. "I spent a long time convincing myself the only way to keep you looking at me was to make you angry. Stupid, in hindsight.” He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of yours. “I like this better. A lot better.”
"You're going to keep doing it though, aren't you?"
"Sure am."
Two hours slip by faster than you expect. The landscape changes subtly as you draw closer to the suspected location of Apophis’s resting place, rockier, more fractured, the cliffs giving way to wide, barren plains dotted with strange, wind-sculpted formations that look almost like broken bones. The sky remains clear and mercilessly blue, but the air feels heavier, charged with something unnatural.
Then you see it.
Far ahead on the horizon, a wall of darkness is building, the storm clouds thick and alive. Black and bruised-purple thunderheads boil upward, swirling as lightning flickers inside of them in violent, blood-red forks rather than the usual white. Even from this distance, you can see the sand being whipped into violent spirals beneath the storm.
Vernon sits up straighter, his hand tightening on yours. "The serpent."
His voice startles you and you glances sideways at him, the ancient language rolling off of his tongue as Set speaks through him for a moment. Sekhmet stirs sharply in your mind in response, giving a low warning growl.
The storm grows larger as you drive toward it, the sky darkening rapidly. Wind buffets the jeep, sand stinging against the windshield like tiny needles. Vernon’s jaw clenches, tattoos beginning to glow faintly blue along his forearms as Set rises to meet the threat.
“Pull over for a second,” he says.
You ease the jeep to a stop and Vernon closes his eyes, breathing slow and deep. You feel the shift in the air immediately, your hair standing up on your arms as the energy crackles in the car. The wind around the jeep whips up for a second before it dies down, Set's calming the unnatural storm ahead. Ahead, the thunderheads still rumble, but the lightning lessens and dims to sullen flashes.
Vernon exhales sharply, opening his eyes. Sweat beads on his forehead. “That is all I can do from here. Set is fighting the serpent’s influence, but it is like trying to push back the tide. We need to get closer.”
You nod and put the jeep back in gear, pushing forward through the unnaturally calmed corridor Vernon has carved. The storm still rages ahead, but the path to the temple remains passable.
The site appears suddenly as you crest a low rise, the chaos spread out across the barren plain like a battlefield. Abandoned vehicles sit at crooked angles, doors flung open, some with hoods still smoking. Tents lie half-collapsed or shredded by wind, canvas flapping wildly. Equipment is scattered everywhere, crates overturned and tools spilled.
Dark stains mar the ground in several places, blood both dry and still fresh. The storm’s edge looms directly over the area, thunder cracking like whip strikes, red lightning illuminating the destruction in violent flashes.
“No bodies,” Vernon mutters, scanning the wreckage. “Either they ran or Voss forced them deeper.”
You kill the engine a safe distance away, heart pounding. Sekhmet’s fire surges hotter in your veins, ready. Vernon’s hand finds yours one last time, squeezing tight before you both step out into the howling wind.
The storm presses against the invisible barrier Set has created, but it holds. You feel the vibration of the storm against your small pocket of air, stepping close to Vernon as you both walk in the sand, feet sinking in step by step.
Up ahead, the entrance to the temple of Apophis yawns open, waiting and framed by cabins of coiling serpents. A ripple of anger goes through you as Sekhmet growls, and you feel the heat in your hands, ready to summon fire and weapons if necessary.
Together, you approach the temple, Vernon gritting his teeth with the force of keeping the storm at bay. You touch his wrist and he steadies a little, his focus sharpening as you pause at the temple's entrance, stone serpents hissing down at you.
"Together?" You ask.
"Together," he confirms.
The darkness of the temple swallows you whole and the wind cuts off like a door slamming shut. The air inside of the temple is thick and stale and unnaturally warm, pressing against you with the metallic tang of blood. You don't let it deter you, your footsteps silent as you and Vernon navigate the dark, guided by the eyes of Sekhmet and Set.
Prepare, Sekhmet growls.
Your palms heat as the khopesh blades manifest, burning crimson in your grip. Vernon must have the same instinct, his spear crackling blue in his hand as the air around him pops. Together, you move down the narrow corridor, the walls covered in images of coiling serpents, their eyes inlaid with polished obsidian.
Sekhmet’s presence surges hotter in your veins, a low, constant growl of warning. Deeper. They are close. The serpent stirs.
Vernon's jaw is tight as you walk. His free hand brushes yours for half a second, a silent promise as he surges forward, the passage widening into a series of antechambers. Braziers burn low and erratic here, casting dancing shadows that make the carved reliefs seem alive. You scan scenes of Apophis swallowing the sun, of chaos devouring order, of the world unraveling into endless night - but its the floor makes your stomach turn.
Blood is everywhere. Dried and fresh, dark pools and smeared streaks across the flagstones. Bodies like where they fell - laborers, students, security personnel. Throats are slit, chests are opened in ritual patterns, some with eyes open, others close. The sacrifices number in the dozens, violent and grotesque.
Sekhmet's voice growls through yours, "I drink what spills. We will end this now."
Ahead, the corridor opens into the main chamber. It's a vast, cavernous space carved deep into the living rock, its ceiling lost in shadow high above. A single colossal altar of black basalt dominates the center, its surface slick with fresh blood. Braziers ring the room in a perfect circle, flames roaring unnaturally high and red. In the middle of it all stands Voss, arms raised, chanting in a voice that is no longer entirely his own.
Nadia stands to his right, still possessed by Montu, her body thrumming with solar power. Besides her is another security team member - Tariq, you think. Maahes burns in him now, golden light leaking from the corner of his eyes and manifesting in golden armor made of light on his body.
Apophis is rising. You can feel it in the air, the serpents hiss filling the room as the ground trembles beneath your feet. Red lightning crackles across the ceiling as Voss's chant grows louder and faster, guided by Dr. al-Masri.
Nadia and Tariq turn the second you and Vernon step into the room, Nadia's smile spreading. "The Crooked Star returns."
"Ah," Tariq says. "The Eye Unbound is with him. Hello, mother."
Neither Sekhmet nor Set answer in kind. They surge forward as Nadia lunges at Vernon first, her khopesh blazing as Vernon meets her head-on, spear crackling with lightning. The God of war is fast, each crack of her blade against his spear like thunder, sending sparks flying.
You lose focus on Vernon as Tariq charges you, the might of Maahes powering him with terrifying speed. His eyes burn golden as he chops at you with a short sword. You leap to meet him, your twin khopesh blazing. The first clash of metal sparks, the impact vibrating up your arm and vibrating through your teeth. Sekhmet's strength floods you and you snarl as you press him, making Tariq stumble backward.
He disengages and feints left before striking right, and you barely parry in time. The force sends you sliding back across the blood-slick floor, feet skidding. Pain flares but you dive and roll away from another heavy swing of his sword, charging him as he recovers from the chop. Your khopesh slash across his side, carving deep wounds that sizzle flesh. He roars, Tariq's voice mixed with something ancient and furious, as he retaliates with a roaring breath of fire that makes you leap back.
Across the chamber, Vernon and Montu are locked in brutal combat. Vernon flickers in and out of shadows, spear thrusting with lethal precision while storms rage around him. Nadia counters with blinding light, fire roaring from her palms, blades and weapons manifesting and vanishing as she hammers down on him. The two gods clash in a whirlwind of lightning and fire, the chamber trembling with every blow.
"You are a whelp," Sekhmet growls through you to Tariq and he sneers. "I am the lioness. You are a cub."
He lunges, sword swinging in wide, deadly arcs. You meet each strike with your own blades, flame meeting flame in explosive bursts of light and heat that make sparks rain down around you. Maahes slams his shoulder into you, using his stolen body’s mass to drive you back against a pillar. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, but Sekhmet roars through you. You twist, bringing one khopesh down in a vicious overhead strike that catches him across the collarbone. Golden light pours from the wound like molten metal, and he howls in pain and rage, the sound shaking dust from the ceiling above.
End him, Sekhmet roars.
You press the attack, khopesh flashing, crimson flames licking up the edge of the blades. Tariq catches you once in the side, opening a shallow cut on your ribs that makes you snarl, but you push through, kicking him back and making his arm fly wide for the smallest window of opportunity. You take it, striking with both blades and driving them home into his chest.
He staggers backward, golden light spilling from the wound. His body convulses as the god within fights to stay anchored, and you refuse to let up, summoning fire in your palms. You thrust your hands forward, a rush of white flame scorching Tariq. He screams as you grit your teeth, feeling the flame run through every part of you, your veins heating with divine power.
"We burn the unworthy," you growl, feeling Sekhmet's rage and grief as the fire pours out of you.
Tariq’s body collapses to the ground, charred and smoking as the golden light flickers out. Sekhmet's wrath is edged with sadness, but she doesn't let it overwhelm either of you as both of you pivot to where Vernon drives a spear through Nadia's stomach, his lightning exploding in a blinding flash of white that makes you shield your eyes.
Vernon is storm incarnate, the wind ripping through the chamber and buffeting you as he pins Nadia to the chamber floor. He pulls the spear out, pointing it to the ceiling as he spins it fluidly in his hands again, gathering static before he strikes down again, the crack of thunder so loud that all sound goes out for a moment, your ears ringing as you clap your hands over them.
Nadia’s body goes limp as Montu’s presence flees, leaving her body behind. You stand panting in the carnage, hands over your screaming ears as Vernon leans over her, panting. When he looks up at you, it's not Vernon looking at you, but the blazing storm of Set, seething and angry. For a moment, you're terrified you've lost Vernon to the god, but you see his mouth twitch in a smile before turning to where Voss stands in the center of the room.
Voss's eyes burn gold, his pupils narrowed to serpentine slits. Black scales ripple across his skin in slow, oily waves, spreading from his throat down his chest and arms. When he smiles, his mouth splits too wide, revealing rows of needle-sharp fangs that glint in the dying brazier light. The air around him thickens, heavy with static.
“You dare interrupt the end of all things?” The voice that comes out of Voss is layered with something vast and ancient. "The Crooked Star and the Eye Unbound. How fitting. I will swallow you both before I swallow the world.”
Vernon’s grip tightens on his spear, lightning crackling louder along the shaft. "I am the chaos within the order of the world, I am the protector of disorder, I am Set, the Crooked Star, and I will devour you whole, snake."
You feel Sekhmet surge forward in your veins, her wrath a white-hot flame that sharpens every sense. Your twin khopesh blaze brighter, crimson fire licking up the blades until they glow like molten metal. The scar on your stomach burns in answer.
"I am with you," you growl.
You and Vernon move as one.
Apophis answers in kind, lunging with impossible speed, his black-scaled hands elongating into claws. The air tears as he slashes toward you. You spin left, khopesh flashing in a wide arc that meets his claws in a shower of spitting flame. The impact jars your arms, but Sekhmet’s strength holds you firm. Vernon shadow-steps right, appearing behind Apophis and driving his spear toward the serpent’s spine.
Apophis twists mid-motion, tail-like darkness whipping out to slam Vernon back. The impact sends him skidding across the blood-slick floor, but he rolls to his feet and immediately summons a violent gust of wind that hurls debris and sand into the serpent god’s face.
Your khopesh slash downward in twin blazing arcs as you seize the advantage, and one catches Apophis across the shoulder, carving a deep, smoking gash that leaks black ichor. The other bites into his side and Sehmet's fire pours into his wounds, burning away shadow and scale.
Apophis roars a sound like the world cracking open and backhands you with a clawed fists. Pain explodes across your ribs as you fly backward, slamming into a pillar hard enough that it cracks and collapses behind you.
Vernon is there in a second, shadow-stepping to pull you up roughly while thrusting his spear with the other hand. Lightning chains from the tip, striking Apophis square in the chest. The serpent god convulses, black smoke rising from the point of the impact, but he laughs through the pain, the sound wet and terrible.
"You think you can contain me?"
Apophis spreads his arms, and the chamber erupts. Shadowy serpents burst from the floor, coiling and striking with venomous speed. One lunges for you and you spin a khopesh, severing its head easily.
Together, you and Vernon fall into a perfect tandem, taking on the primordial deity of chaos. Vernon forces openings, blasting Apophis back with air and shadow stepping to draw his attention while you strike from the flank, your blades carving deal, burning wounds that Sekmhmet's fire refuses to let close.
When Apophis turns on you with a barrage of shadow claws, Vernon appears in a flicker of darkness, spear thrusting into the serpent’s side and unleashing a point-blank lightning strike that lights the entire chamber white-blue.
Apophis bellows, the sound ear-splitting. Black ichor sprays across the floor where your blades and Vernon’s spear find purchase again and again. You feel the serpent weakening, his movements growing slightly slower, the golden glow in Voss’s eyes flickering like a dying bulb.
With a roar that rattles your bones, Apophis slams both hands into the ground. The stone floor erupts in a wave of writhing shadow serpents that surge toward you like a living tide. You slash desperately, flame cutting through them in wide arcs, but there are too many. One coils around your ankle and yanks you off your feet.
Vernon’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Stacks!”
He shadow-steps through the writhing mass, spear spinning in a blazing circle of lightning that clears a path. He reaches you, grabbing your arm and hauling you upright just as Apophis lunges again, claws aimed for your throat.
Vernon drops low, sweeping his spear in a wide horizontal arc that catches Apophis across the knees, lightning exploding outward and buckling the serpent’s legs while you leap, both khopesh raised high. Sekhmet's full wrath surges through you in a single, blinding pulse of flame as you bring the blades down, a roar ripping from your throat.
The twin khopesh strike Apophis’s shoulders in perfect unison just as Vernon sends another lightning strike through the god. Divine flame and lightning meet in the middle, and for a moment, there's no sound. Then, Apophis roars, black scales shattering as fractured light spills out of him. His body convulses violently, and for an endless moment, the three of you are locked together.
Apophis finally breaks.
The serpent’s essence shatters outward in a violent burst of black smoke and golden shards that dissolve into nothing before they hit the ground. Voss’s body goes limp, collapsing to the bloodstained floor like a puppet with its strings cut. The golden glow fades from his eyes, leaving only the dull, empty stare of a man who invited a god in and paid the ultimate price.
You and Vernon collapse with him, chests heaving, weapons still glowing faintly in your hands. Sweat, blood, and ichor streak your skin. The braziers flicker lower, casting long shadows across the carnage.
Vernon’s spear dissolves into sparks. He rolls toward you, breathing hard, and reaches out. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight despite the mess covering both of you. You squeeze back, Sekhmet’s fire cooling to a gentle warmth in your veins.
The silence is deafening, only the soft pop of the last dying braziers and the distant sigh of wind through the wadi remain. Blood, ichor, and dust coat everything. Your body feels heavy, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, but Sekhmet’s fire still hums gently beneath your skin, the lioness satisfied.
Panting, you stare up at the ceiling. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline and divine power crashing through your veins in fading waves. The scar on your stomach pulses warmly, a reminder of how close you came to dying on a similar altar not so long ago.
You almost died on that altar in Montu’s temple. You watched people slaughtered for a madman’s ambition. You carried a goddess of vengeance inside you and learned how to wield her fire without losing yourself. And Vernon - Vernon, who you once hated on sight - fought beside you every step of the way.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, unexpected and hot. Not from sadness, but from the sheer overwhelming relief that you are still here. That he is still here. And that there are gods that walk in the world, that beneath the simmering history of Egypt, at the root of it all, your mother was right. There is a magical thread that makes the impossible possible - you'd just followed it to near the end of the world.
A shaky laugh bubbles up from your chest, half-hysterical, half-relieved. You turn your head to look at Vernon. He's already watching you, chest rising and falling rapidly, dust and blood streaking his face. His hair is matted with sweat, a cut on his cheek bleeding sluggishly. But his eyes are soft now, raw with something that looks a lot like awe.
“You’re insane,” he rasps, voice hoarse from shouting over the storm. A tired, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “We just killed a primordial serpent god and you’re laughing.”
"She was right," you pant. "My mom was right."
"Yeah. She was."
He shifts closer, pulling you against his side despite the mess covering both of you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, holding you tight as you turn into a combination of laughing and crying. Sekhmet is quiet inside you for once, her presence a warm, approving glow rather than the usual sharp growl.
You stay like that for a long time, tangled together on the floor of the ancient temple, bodies aching and hearts still racing. Vernon’s fingers thread through your hair, gentle despite the calluses.
"I think," he says eventually. "I would like to go on vacation for a while."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"What about that resort town we passed on the way here?" He asks.
You laugh. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, Stacks. I'm fucking tired."
"Alright. Yeah. A vacation." You pause. "Wait."
He looks down at you, concerned. "What?"
"I think I'm out of PTO soon."
He groans. "Stacks," he grumbles, mouth pressing to yours. "Fuck your PTO."
-
The sun is warm on your skin - not the punishing heat of the desert, but the salted kiss of the beach that makes everything feel soft like the sand beneath your feet. Marsa Alam stretches out in lazy blues and golds, the waves lapping against the white sand while the palm trees sway in the breeze and you curl against Vernon's side in the shaded cabana you claimed this morning.
Vernon's arm is draped around your waist, the heat of his skin slick with sweat. It doesn't bother you, though. You just like being pressed up against him, the familiar hum of Set's lightning just under the surface of Vernon's skin. The scar on your stomach has faded to a faint silver line that still glows faintly when Sekhmet stirs, but today she's quiet. Vernon’s fingers trace idle patterns over the mark through the thin fabric of your cover-up, a habit he has developed that makes your chest tighten with warmth every time.
He looks relaxed in a way you have never seen before, dirty blonde hair tousled by the wind, sunglasses pushed up into it, a half-empty cocktail sweating in his free hand. The tattoos on his forearms have settled into something less volatile now that the storm inside of him is more checked considering Set has learned to behave on most days.
“Another one?” Vernon asks, lifting his glass toward yours in a lazy toast.
You clink your glass against his, savoring the taste of the bright, citrusy drink. “Only if you promise not to steal the little umbrella again.”
“No promises, Stacks. I like how it looks in your hair.”
Annoying, Sekhmet sighs. Good thing he fights well and looks at you like you are the only sun worth rising for. Perhaps I do not entirely hate him.
You smile against Vernon's shoulder and murmur the compliment to him. He chuckles and brushes his lips against your ear to murmur, "Tell her I'm growing on her. Like mold."
Sekhmet huffs, but you feel the faintest flicker of amusement from her like a lioness who has decided the annoying jackal is tolerable after all. It makes you grin, glad that she no longer fights you about him every step of the way.
The two of you lean back, tangled up on the cabana as he runs his fingers through your hair, stealing sips of your drink. You watch as two guests stroll by their voices catching your attention as they laugh.
"… swear it's true!" The guy says to the girl. "Some guy in Cairo is claiming he’s the actual Anubis. Like, full-on jackal-headed visions, guiding lost souls or whatever. People are calling it the new cult of the dead. Wild, right?”
His companion laughs, covering her mouth. "What a lunatic."
You and Vernon both go still.
Your eyes meet over the rims of your glasses. Vernon’s grin spreads slow and wicked, the same crooked smile that used to infuriate you and now makes heat pool low in your belly. “Anubis, huh?”
You feel Sekhmet stir with interest. The Jackal has always been a meddler. But a worthy one.
You set your glass down, already reaching for Vernon’s hand. “We were getting bored anyway. Three weeks of peace is plenty.”
He laughs, low and delighted, and pulls you up with him. Sand clings to your legs as you both stand, the sea breeze tugging at your clothes. The resort stretches behind you in perfect, sun-drenched luxury, but the pull of the red sands is stronger now, older and deeper, calling you back to the desert.
Vernon tugs you close, one hand sliding to the small of your back as he kisses you slow and sweet, tasting of rum and mango. "Ready, Stacks?"
synopsis: where in a world ruled by fear and instinct, you find people whose hearts are still beating... and someone your heart starts beating again for.
pairing: keeho x fem!reader, featuring all of p1h
genre: zombie apocalypse!au, strangers to ???, angst, humor
words: 18k
cw: zombies, post-apo world, smoking tobacco, violence, blood, gore, corpses, weapons, mentions of death, minor and major character injury, piwon might be very ooc for the sake of the story
author's note: i truly never imagined i would get so much positive feedback on part one :') thank you to everyone reading heathens, i hope you enjoy this part just as much 🫶
♡ all the love to @kyoluvrs for putting up with me throughout the period of writing this and sacrificing their sleep to beta-read! <3
一 some scenes might be inspired by the walking dead (the series and the game) and other pieces of media in that universe
this fic cannot be read as a standalone, make sure to read part one first!
the next morning, you’re woken up by the sound of boots thumping against the floor and hushed conversations.
after staying on the porch for a bit more after keeho left you were lucky enough to be able to get some sleep in the couch – shallow and fitful, but sleep nevertheless.
your still heavy eyelids flutter open to the sight of keeho and intak sitting cross-legged on the floor, the map you saw yesterday spread out on the coffee table in front of them. they both look up when they hear you moving around, their conversation halting.
“morning, princess,” intak smirks, resting his chin in his palm. his hair is dishevelled, the bags under his eyes more prominent than his friend’s, but he seems just as energetic as ever, “got enough of your beauty sleep yet?”
you respond with a dragged out groan, rubbing your eyes with the balls of your hands. the couch pillows are much softer than any floor you’ve slept on lately, and way too comfortable to get up right now – but you still manage to force your body into a sitting position with a deep sigh.
he chuckles, clearly finding your misery amusing, “not a morning person?”
your gaze flickers to keeho at that. he’s already looking at you when your eyes meet, but he drops them back to the map quickly. he must have not told intak about staying up late with you last night if he can’t tell why you’re so tired. he seems to be hiding it pretty well himself, too.
“not really, no,” the lie slips out effortlessly, your voice raspy with sleep. you’re not sure why you even feel like you shouldn’t tell him the truth, but you figure keeho probably had a good reason for that, and you’re not going to question it. “what are you doing?”
planting your feet on the floor, you lean forward to see the map better. you recognise it to be the town right outside the forest – you passed through it before you ended up here, so you still remember the layout quite well. there are a few places encircled, probably some old stores or gas stations they haven’t checked out yet, some other crossed out with little notes like ‘no pass’ or ‘STAY AWAY’ next to them.
“we’re trying to plan out our route for today,” keeho murmurs, tapping the back of the sharpie on one of the marked spots, “this is the place we were trying to get to yesterday. it used to be a hospital, so we’re hoping to find some medicine and first aid there.” your eyes follow the movements of his hand as he drags the pen along one of the streets, “that's where we stumbled on that other survivor group. we have no way of knowing if they're still anywhere near, so we're gonna have to take the longer path past the church, just in case.”
you purse your lips in thought as you lean closer, eyes scanning the map intently. the walk to get to the town from here is long enough on its own, and if you go through the outskirts it will surely take several days until you even reach the hospital.
“we can go through there,” you point to another road with your finger after a moment – one that’s crossed out on the map.
it’s intak who speaks up this time, shaking his head. “the street is barricaded, there’s no way to go past it.”
your eyebrows pull together in a confused frown as you shake your head. “no, it’s not.”
both of their gazes snap up at that. intak tilts his head, looking almost like a confused puppy, while keeho seems more irritated than anything, “we’ve been there multiple times, there’s a–”
“i passed through there two days ago,” the words come out firmer this time, “maybe they took it down, i don’t know, but it’s definitely passable.”
the younger man squints his eyes at you, as if he’s trying to get a feel of whether you’re telling the truth or not. there’s a moment where the two of you look at each other in silence, before he leans back with a shrug, “well, if she says so–”
“we’re not going there.”
keeho’s voice cuts him off, sharp and final. both of your heads turn towards him at the same time.
a long, frustrated sigh slips past your lips, “i just said it’s–”
“and i just said we’re not going there,” he doesn’t let you finish either.
“keeho,” intak tries to intervene, placing a hand on his shoulder when he senses the upcoming argument, but keeho brushes him off instantly.
his eyes narrow, hands twitching on top of the table like he’s fighting the urge to clench them, “all we know is that last time we checked that road was blocked, and that we don’t have the time to go all the way there just to turn back around.”
you can feel the anger slowly but surely building up inside you as you roll your eyes, your heart thumping faster in your ribcage. you knew he had some kind of authority over them, but the way he thinks he can order you around makes it clear that he hasn’t had someone stand up to him in way too long.
“good thing we won’t have to then, because it’s not fucking barricaded,” you can’t keep the irritation out of your tone anymore, your sleepiness long forgotten. “i get that you don’t trust me yet, but i’m literally going there as well, i have no reason to try to fuck with you.”
keeho only bristles at that, bracing both hands on the table to lean forward, “and i have no reason to lead my team into a death trap because of something you say.”
you swear your vision turns red for a fraction of a second. the infuriating back-and-forth feels pointless, as if he’s doing it with the sole goal of pissing you off, and he’s been doing a damn good job at it so far. you let out a long, dragged-out exhale, lowering your head to press the balls of your hands into your eye sockets.
there’s no way you’re going to let him win that easily, even if it’s just for the sake of being petty.
“fine, let’s vote then. it’s one vote for yes and one for no,” your hands drop onto the table as you speak with the determination to bring him down a peg, gaze flickering over to intak, who’s only been watching the situation evolve until now. “intak?”
his eyes widen at the sudden mention of his name, shoulders tensing. it feels like he found himself between a rock and a hard place with the way both of you are watching him with an intimidating amount of intensity, as if you’re ready to jump him if he chooses the other one.
intak’s harsh gulp is the only sound in the silence that fills the room. when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, his body curling inward like he’s bracing for impact.
“...i think we should check out that road again.”
your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you lean back, arms crossing at your chest. your eyes lock with keeho’s – he’s staring you down with his jaw clenched tightly, huffing air out of his nose as he struggles to keep his temper intact. you hold his gaze undisturbed, full of confidence and pride after managing to press on his buttons once again. for a second, it’s almost as if there’s a tiny, barely there glimmer of that same reluctant interest from earlier in his eyes, when he slams his hands on the table, a bit harder than necessary, and pushes himself to his feet with a curse murmured under his breath.
“you better pray you’re right,” he grumbles, walking past without sparing you another glance. “get ready. we leave in ten.”
#♡
the sound of boots shuffling over dried leaves fills your ears as you move through the forest, with keeho in the front and you covering the rear with intak.
the sun has barely risen past the horizon, the area bathed in its warm-coloured light and the night breeze still present, blowing under your clothes and seeping into your bones. the woods stretch up ahead, not peaceful – never that – but calm, as you take the same exact path that lead you here a few days ago. you can only hope the biters you heard then have dispersed by now.
keeho keeps the pace steady, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings as he grips the handle of his axe tightly. you noticed him flinching almost invisibly at a rustling noise or an animal running by a few times already, fully focused on staying sharp and vigilant – contrary to intak, who, although also tense, munches on a cereal bar as you walk.
“so, what were you up to before all this?” his words are hushed and slightly muffled by the food in his mouth, his other hand swinging his machete front and backwards with every step.
you reflexively wince at the sound of his voice, eyes roaming over the trees anxiously. you’re not used to anyone talking next to you while you’re out in the open, always focused on staying as quiet as possible to avoid any possible danger, even though you can tell this is just a fraction of how loud he can be when he really wants to.
“uh… working, i guess,” you answer after a moment of hesitation, keeping your tone close to a whisper. “i was in uni, too.”
intak hums in understanding, fully unaware of, or unbothered by, the crumbs littering his lips. “what was your job?”
a crack coming from somewhere to your side makes you flinch – probably a branch or some old trash laying around, but it still makes you bristle, the grip on your knife tightening.
“um… hospitality,” you hesitate a little before answering, gaze still searching for the source of the noise in the bushes. you don’t need to mention being let go from your job just yet. “it was just part-time.”
“oh, okay! what about–”
keeho suddenly stops dead in his tracks, making you let out a quiet, surprised grunt when you walk face-first into his back.
“can you guys shut up for a second?” he snarls, voice hushed, and holds a hand up as a signal to stay still, eyes frantically scanning the nearest area. intak opens his mouth to either protest or ask about what the hell is going on, but he clamps his hand over his mouth before any sound makes it out.
then you hear it – the same crunching sound as before, this time closer, louder. it’s quickly followed by another one, and then another. no one needs to say it out loud; when your gaze locks with keeho’s, you know.
“hide,” all of you disperse at the command from his mouth, slipping out of the path and between the trees as quietly as possible.
your heart is thumping in your chest as you press your back against one of the wider trunks, weapon clutched to your chest. when you turn your head you can intak is doing the same on the other side of the road, pushing his half-eaten breakfast into his pocket, and keeho must be somewhere behind you, since you can’t spot him from where you are.
the snarling and groaning gets louder, accompanied by the shuffling of dirt under shoes as the biters slowly near. the hairs on your nape stand on end, your chest rising slowly with each shallow breath you force short not to make a sound. you’re not sure how long it takes before the monsters enter your line of sight – could be mere seconds as well as a few minutes – and your stomach twists in repugnance, just like it does every time, despite the years of conditioning. three bodies that used to be human once are now wrapped in rotten flesh, limbs either missing or twisted in unnatural angles, jaws hanging open weakly. one of them has its stomach cut open, tangled intestines hanging from the cavity and swinging with every limp step like a grim swing, while another one’s torso is pierced with multiple bullet wounds. you wonder if it was its cause of death or if someone else failed to protect themselves from it.
you only allow yourself a deeper breath once the group has passed by, still within sight but far enough to be safe, your shoulders slumping as the immediate threat is gone. slowly, with your back still glued to the mossy bark, you lean your head out from behind the tree to check if there are any more biters on the way.
another figure peeks from the other side of the trunk at the same time, just slowly enough to go unnoticed at first. but the low, throaty gurgle makes your blood run cold immediately, your head snapping back to be met with the milky, hollow eyes right in front of yours, bloody teeth clacking against each other and reaching toward you while you’re frozen in your spot.
you don’t think, your instincts kicking in full-force as you adjust your grip on your knife and reach your arm back, about to swing as hard as you can–
before your hand has the chance to come down, the biter’s head slams into the tree, the moans quietening at once as it splits horizontally at the temple, decayed brain matter splashing across the trunk and your face. the stray falls to the ground, the hairy top of its head hanging by a mere thread of skin.
“you alright?” keeho asks, yanking his axe from the wood with a quiet grumble, before turning his gaze to you and taking in the surprise, and gore, on your face.
the corners of his mouth twitch upwards momentarily, but he forces them down when you wipe your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket, expression twisting from startlement to pure disgust.
“uh… yeah,” the murmur leaves your lips roughly, nose scrunching from the nauseating smell as you shake the grime off your hand. “maybe warn me next time, though.”
keeho cocks an eyebrow, as if about to leave a snarky comment, but ultimately decides against it, probably taking pity on you; he crouches over to wipe the blade of his weapon on the grass, before nodding intak over and stepping back on the path, leaving you with no choice but to suck it up and follow as if nothing ever happened.
the biters you encountered must have been the only ones in that part of the forest, because the rest of the walk to the outskirts of the nearby town is rather uneventful. intak finishes his candy bar quietly, guilt hanging over him like an anvil, and even folds the wrapper neatly after instead of crumpling it in his hand. keeho doesn’t say anything either, keeping watch over the road, but you can feel his gaze shifting to you whenever you drag a hand over your face yet another time or make an attempt to pick the gray-pink-ish substance out of your hair, biting back a smirk at your death glares.
your steps slow down after breaching the town’s perimeter, each turn thought through and planned, all of you aware of how much more dangerous the areas that used to be more populated are. not much has changed since the last time you were here a couple of days ago: abandoned cars with no gas and flat tires, the less picky plants already making their home on the metal surfaces, store windows broken, barricaded, and then broken again, building walls covered in graffitis with corny movie quotes from when the teenagers still thought of the apocalypse as something cool and thrilling instead of the end of the world back in the early days. the air is chilly and thick with the sense of impending doom as you navigate through the shadows and side alleys to avoid being out in the open, the constant, far-away groans keeping you alert at all times.
you walk until your legs ache, your lower back letting out unpleasant noises every time you try to stretch out, the weight of your backpack seemingly getting heavier with every street passed. the sky is cloudy, but the sun peeking through tells you it must be way past noon already by the time keeho stops by an overturned, rusted garbage truck, and raises his hand.
“let’s take a break here.”
both you and intak slump against the side of the vehicle, legs giving out at the first real pause since dawn, gulping down water from the shared canteen he takes out of his bag. keeho crouches down by the brick wall opposite you, the axe resting on his thighs on standby.
“we’re making good time,” the younger one murmurs, leaning his head back and letting his eyes fall closed. “we can stay here for a while. we should be able to get to the hospital before dark anyway.”
“no. we have to keep moving,” keeho counters without missing a beat, his sharp gaze locking with yours. “if that street’s still barricaded, we need to be ready to turn back around and take the other route.”
the urge to roll your eyes is almost overwhelming, but you settle on letting out a long, obnoxiously irritated sigh – one that doesn’t escape his attention, but is not enough of an objection to call you out.
“or–” you chime in, “we could find a place to stay overnight, get to the hospital tomorrow, and not risk ending up on the streets after sundown.”
“staying here for any longer than necessary is already too much of a risk.”
you click your tongue at keeho’s rebuttal. it seems like no matter what you say, it’s always the worst idea in his mind.
the tone of your voice wavers as you try your best not to let it raise from the irritation, “yes, but we don’t know what we’ll find in the hospital. if searching it takes longer than we planned we’ll–”
“then we should make sure it doesn’t, no?” on the contrary, he sounds almost pleased while countering your every thought, his tone dripping in faux-sweetness that makes your stomach turn.
you throw your arms in the air, too exhausted to take the same twisted joy in arguing just for the sake of it. glancing to the side, you turn to intak in hopes for support, again.
the man bristles at the sudden attention, the stupid smirk on his lips from watching the two of you like a soap opera fading.
he clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, gaze flickering between you and keeho, before answering with the uncertainty of a kid asked to mediate a fight between their parents: “...i don’t really wanna stay here overnight, either.”
you don’t need to look at keeho to feel the pointed look he’s throwing your way, as if silently saying i told you so. your chest inflates with the urge to stand your ground and make them see reason, but although you’re pretty sure you could win intak over without too much hustle, there’s no way keeho will budge. especially not for your sake.
“sorry, princess,” intak holds his hands up in surrender, not actually apologetic but at least having the decency to act like it, and sends you a half-smile as he pushes himself up with a tired huff.
keeho follows suit, dusting off his pants with that shit-eating smirk on his face that makes your blood boil. when he’s back on his feet, he reaches out a hand towards you, palm open, but right now the gesture feels like he’s rubbing your loss in your face, provoking you to yell or snap or bite his head off, literally or figuratively. and you’ll be damned if you let him have that leverage over you, so you grab the side of the truck and pull yourself up with an annoyed puff of air out of your mouth, swinging your backpack over your shoulder and taking off wordlessly.
keeho only shrugs, hands slipping into his pockets before he’s catching up to you, steps now a tad lighter with the pride of getting under your skin.
unbeknownst to you, intak lags behind, arms crossed at his chest. his eyebrows crease as he tilts his head to the side, dark irises glued to both of your backs, tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to solve some sort of a puzzle. but whatever the thought is, he lets it go as quickly as it came, and swings his machete over his shoulder as he jogs to the other side of the street where you are.
#♡
you keep walking for another hour or so – avoiding biters by sticking to narrow streets and walls and talking in hushed voices about anything that comes to mind to pass time.
well, it’s mostly intak and you who do the talking. you’ve each told stories about what you were doing before the outbreak, discussed about your favorite foods from when everything was easily accessible and now that nothing is, even shared a bit of your plans for what you’re going to do when – if – the world goes back to normal, but the mood plummeted quickly so you eventually gave up on that topic.
throughout it all, keeho stays quiet. he doesn’t join the conversation, doesn’t answer questions unless he’s asked directly; even then, his replies are vague and dismissive, as if he’s dealing with two overly curious kids instead of a friend and a barely-more-than-a-stranger.
it pisses you off. you don’t know why, but something about his standoffish attitude rubs you the wrong way, more than any other jerk you’ve encountered along the way. it feels like the version of him from that late night on the porch was just something you imagined, nothing like the prideful and infuriatingly cocky man walking next to you and huffing at your attempts to engage in a small talk.
“you’re not even gonna tell me what you majored in?”
the question leaves your lips with a sigh, resigned. talking to a biter would probably be more fruitful at this point.
keeho doesn’t even spare you a glance as he answers, “does it matter?”
you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a curse threatening to escape, the faint hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips only adding fuel to your fire. he’s enjoying it, that asshole.
“no,” you counter, “but i want to know. is that a crime now?”
this time, your words could as well echo with the silence that follows, keeho giving you no response except an upturn of his mouth. you’re starting to regret your decision to join them on that run.
you’re walking along the wall of an apartment complex, nearing the intersection that they had crossed out on their map where the barricade – or, rather, the lack of thereof – should be. your steps are fast and confident, driven by the man-induced rage and the almost desperate need to get to your destination before your legs give out completely, as you take the turn.
what you see there makes a choked yelp leave your lips, your body tensing and scrambling to get back around the corner and press your back against the cold wall.
you swallow harshly as your wide-eyed gaze locks with keeho’s and intak’s questioning ones.
“the good news is,” you say after a moment, chest heaving, “i was right about there being no barricade.”
keeho’s jaw tightens at that, his ego cracking slightly under the weight of being wrong, but he bites back a snarky remark, bracing himself for whatever is coming next. “and the bad news?”
you nod your head towards the open street, biting your lip.
“i think i would’ve rather seen a barricade.”
they both freeze at that, shivers running down their spines. they exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, before keeho makes a move to peek out from behind the building.
you were right – there’s nothing blocking the street except some debris on the ground, probably leftovers left by whoever took the barrier down… and at least two dozen infected roaming around within a half-mile radius.
“son of a bitch,” intak lets out a curse under his breath, sticking his head out from over keeho’s shoulder to take a look himself, “why are there so many of them here?”
“the hell if i know. something must have lured them in,” the crease between keeho’s brows deepens as he takes a step back. “we gotta find a way to get past them.”
you press your lips into a thin line. your heart races as you lean out again, eyes scanning the area for an exit, a shortcut, anything that could save you a trip all the way back.
“there,” the whispered exclamation gains their attention as you point towards a small building not too far away, right next to the horde.
you remember walking past it the last time you were here, too; it used to be a pharmacy, the sign faded and hanging on only one screw, but the doors and windows are almost fully intact. the insides are probably cleaned out by now, but there might still be something left behind on the shelves that you can scavenge in addition to gaining a shelter.
“if we can get there, we can look for another exit in the back or on the rooftop,” you look back, making sure their eyes are following the direction of your finger. “we just need to distract them, somehow.”
all of you start looking around at once, patting your pockets while trying to think of an idea, when your gaze lands on the small pile of bricks from a crumbled wall on the opposite side of the street. they don’t question when you take off to grab two of them, weighing them in your hands before going back with an approving nod to yourself.
“see that car?” this time all three of you stick your heads out from behind the corner as you nod towards the vehicle parked on the sidewalk a little further and across the street from the old pharmacy. “if we can throw these all the way there, it should make enough noise to lure them away from the entrance. maybe the alarm still works, too, if we’re lucky.”
after that, you turn around once again and stretch both of your arms out towards them. “which one of you can throw better?”
keeho barely has the chance to open his mouth before intak’s taking one of the bricks out of your hand, rolling out his shoulders in a way that seems way too eager for the situation. “i can do it.”
you raise your eyebrow, amused, as your gaze locks with keeho’s. he only rolls his eyes, but doesn’t intervene.
both of you watch as he steps out onto the street, preparing yourselves to run while he jumps a few times in place like he’s an athlete about to set his personal best score before hauling his arm back, and throwing the brick over the biters’ heads.
instead of the car, it crashes into a dumpster with a loud bang – far too close to you for your liking. a few of them turn their heads towards the source of the sound, rotten bodies turning around sluggishly one by one and slowly limping your way.
“give me that,” keeho growls out, wasting no more time before snatching the other brick out of your hand and pulling intak away by the back of his clothes, ignoring his surprised gasp.
he takes a swing and launches the block without hesitation, this time landing it right into the windshield. the alarm goes off just before the biters get too near, the blaring beeping successfully catching their attention and steering them away, clearing your path for a short while.
“go, go, go!”
you take off at keeho’s cue, staying low as you jog towards your destination, steps as quiet as possible. the door of the pharmacy opens without resistance when you push, letting everyone in before closing it and pressing your back against it.
a long, relieved exhale leaves your lips as you allow your shoulders to slump, knees almost buckling under your weight when the adrenaline starts to wear off. you can hear the frantic thumping of your heart over the muffled sound of sirens coming from the outside when you look out the window to make sure no biters followed you. keeho bends over, resting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath, while intak discards his bag before lowering himself to the floor and leaning back against one of the shelves.
“i’m gonna kill you one of these days,” keeho mutters between pants, sending a glare towards the other man, who curls into himself with a sheepish frown.
turning back around, you let your gaze wander over the interior of the store – it’s small enough that you can see every corner from where you’re standing right now, a few empty racks standing between you and the counter at the far end, a mix of blood, dirt, and spiderwebs covering the walls and floor tiles. a few rays of sunlight come in from the holes in the broken ceiling, metal scaffolding bending under the weight of time and corrosion. it seems like you were correct about there not being much left to take, but it surely won’t hurt to take a look around now that you’re here anyway.
you let yourselves rest until the car alarm turns off, taking it as a sign to hurry up and do what has to be done before you’re spotted. each of you covers a different part of the place, scanning the shelves and digging through trash and empty packages in search of anything remotely useful you could take back to the safehouse.
“i found some batteries,” you hum, already unzipping your backpack. “i think they should work with your flashlights.”
there’s a beat of silence and some rustling before intak’s voice reverberates from somewhere behind you.
“i’ve got, uh… dried apples,” you can hear the contents of the bag rattling as he shakes it. “they’re expired but, i mean… can they even expire?”
you let out an airy chuckle. “i’m… not sure, actually. but you should take them just in case.” the sound of your boots hitting the floor echoes in the room quietly as you move onto checking the next shelf. “keeho? you got anything?”
“found some hydrogen peroxide.”
his answer makes your eyebrows shoot up. “really?”
“yeah. the bottle was under the bottom rack, that’s probably why no one took it yet,” he mutters. “it’s sealed, too.”
it sound almost too good to be true. you weren’t expecting to find anything worthwhile in here, but that’s basically liquid gold in this world. unable to help yourself, you abandon your current task and make your way towards where his voice is coming from, needing to see with your own eyes to believe it. “no way. are you sure it’s not past the date?”
“i can read just fine, you know.”
keeho’s remark reaches your ears and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes when you turn the corner, but the reply dies on your tongue as soon as you step into the aisle he’s in. all colour drains out of your face, eyes widening as they catch the sight of the ceiling hanging dangerously low right behind him, specks of dust flying in the air.
“keeho–”
the man looks up at you, unaware, as he keeps mumbling under his breath. “should’ve found this before i had to pour vodka all over my fucking–”
a small piece of debris that falls next to his feet catches his attention, and he cuts off with a confused frown, head tilting down.
the ceiling creaks.
you lurch forward, grabbing his arm and yanking as hard as you can. a strained gasp comes out of his mouth as his body crashes onto the tiles and pulls you with him, just as the rubble collapses right where he was seconds ago.
for the next few long moments you can’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears and your frantic coughing as the dust fills your lungs. your eyes are closed, and all you know is that there’s something between you and the floor.
slowly, as the worst of the shock subsides, you lift your head and blink your eyes open. the first thing you see, although a bit blurry, is the gaping hole in the ceiling, the evening sun illuminating the pile of rocks beneath it like a spotlight. the second is keeho’s face, scrunched up in pain or startlement – or both – and barely an inch or two away from yours, his dark eyes already locked on you when you look down. your hands are braced on either side of his head, your chest pressed flush against his, and there’s something in the way he’s staring at you that makes your breath catch in your throat, his own coming in hot pants against your lips.
you’re not sure how much time passes like this, until intak’s voice brakes through the haze in your head and brings you back to reality.
“uh, guys… i hate to break the moment, but i think we should go.”
both your and keeho’s eyes snap back up just in time to see the room darken – the light coming in through the display windows blocked out by the horde from earlier, now banging against the glass and the door. the crash must have lured them in.
“fuck–” you scramble to your feet, disregarding the ache in your wrists and knees from the fall. you offer keeho a hand and pull him up with a single, sharp tug. “we need to find an exit!”
the growling is getting louder, windows rattling in the frames from the force of a few tens of biters trying to force their way inside, as you run around the store in search of a way out of this mess. you check the ceiling, but it’s too high up and probably too unstable to hold under the weight of all three of you with the hole in the center. the front is out of question, and you can’t see any other doors around, so you stumble towards the storage room in the back.
it’s completely dark, no windows in this part of the store, except for the light coming in from behind you and the small stripe near the floor at the far end. a back door.
you run through the inventory, shoulders bumping into empty shelves you barely manage to dodge. every ragged breath feels like sandpaper against your throat, your dust-filled lungs burning in your chest, stomach contracting into a tight ball.
your body collides into the door with impact so hard it takes your breath away for a second, clammy hands curling around the handle and tugging, but to no avail. it’s locked.
without thinking, you slam your shoulder into the wood once, then twice, ignoring the pain blooming in the joint and the bruise that’s probably already forming beneath your skin.
“it won’t budge!” the words leave your mouth as a pained, almost helpless cry. sweat drips down your forehead as your arm pounds into the exit over and over again, each time gentler than the previous one as the power drains out of you.
a sudden crash coming from the main part of the pharmacy makes you freeze, all of the blood draining from your face. you can hear the sound of glass shattering, right before the moans of the undead rise in volume, and bodies thump against the floor.
keeho runs back to the door and presses his back against it to hold it closed as intak grabs your shoulder and yanks you away from the door, almost sending you right into one of the metal racks. “move!”
the shelf rattles when you stumble into it, hands flying out to grab at the railing to keep upright. intak slams his shoulder into the door just like you did, but that doesn’t work this time either. with a hissed out curse, he steps back, and slams the sole of his boot against the handle. nothing. keeho groans in effort as the biters start pushing against the entrance.
intak tries again, this time taking a bigger run-up before kicking, and the door finally gives, the lock clattering onto the tiles.
“come on!” he yells, holding the door open while you hurry through, and looks back at his older friend. the man hesitates for a moment longer, digging his heels into the tiled floor as the biters try to force their way through the door he’s holding, but you all know he won’t last much longer like this.
with a deep breath, he pushes off at once and runs straight for the exit. the infected pile in, tripping over each other from the sudden lack of pressure pushing back at them, snarling and stretching their crooked fingers towards where the two men disappear behind a half-closed door.
you watch them rush out of the pharmacy together, onto a side-alley between two larger buildings with a fenced dead-end on one side. there’s a garbage bin in front of it, but more biters are already gathering on the other side and weighing on the wire, so between the two hordes, you’re fucked.
“we gotta run!” you take off forward into the alley – the only direction safe, for now, only briefly glancing back to check if the guys are following you. this is not one of the places in the town that you’ve been to before, and there’s definitely no time to pull up the map in intak’s bag, so you do what you know how to do best – run as fast as your legs will carry you.
you check every door you pass, every back exit and nook, but it’s like the universe is playing a cruel prank on you with the way all of them are locked shut and barricaded with planks right when you’re in need of an escape more desperately than ever.
“let’s just break it open,” intak growls out, stopping by one of the doors and pulling at the wood while bracing his foot on the brick wall, but the blockade doesn’t budge.
you whirl around, your steps never slowing. “we don’t have the time, they’re getting closer!” you yell, running backwards towards the open street at the end of the alley, “we need to keep looking–!”
the words cut off with a startled scream when a hand grabs your arm – but both of the men are still in your line of sight, and you can see their eyes widen in fear. a wet, gurgling sound in your ear makes you recoil, head whipping back to see a biter’s face a breath away from yours. its dull irises are staring right into yours, the skin on its face dark and charred, almost melted in places as if it went through a roaring fire.
you send your knife right into its temple, the hand still gripping your shoulder and pulling you forward slightly as the body drops to the ground before it loosens up at last. keeho and intak catch up to you, and although no one says a thing, you know you’re all thinking the same.
the street in front of you is just as swarmed with the infected, the groans and moans coming from both sides of you now, almost deafening in their loudness. there’s way too many of them to push past unnoticed.
“fuck–!” you step back instinctively, turning around to maybe try one of the doors you passed one more time – but the horde following you is nearing, too close to turn back. you’re surrounded.
think, think, think.
the manhole? you won’t open it without a crowbar.
the windows? the biters will come in after you if you break them.
your gaze lifts.
the balcony?
“the balcony!” you yell out, pointing your finger at the platform. the apartment is on the first floor, so it’s low enough that you’ll be able to reach it if you jump but not so low the biters will. “come on!”
keeho is already there by the time you reach the place, interlacing his fingers to create space for a foot. “you go first, i’ll boost you up!”
his face contorts in pain when he lifts you up, the weight of your body straining on his injured arm, but he doesn’t dare to complain now. his hands give you the additional height you need, your boot digging into his skin as you catch onto the railing to pull yourself up, swinging one leg over and then the other, until you’re standing a few meters above the ground.
you slide your backpack off your shoulders and throw it off to the side before leaning out, stretching your arms down to help intak up. he’s on the balcony even faster than you were with the assist of four hands instead of two, and the only one left on the ground level now is keeho.
the metal balustrade digs into your hip bones when you reach down to grab his hand too, and he has to step onto the edge of an empty flowerbed to catch it. a yawp of effort tears out of your throat as you lift him enough to let him grab the horizontal bar and pull himself up–
his foot slips off the edge when one of the biters snatches his other one, a choked up gasp leaving his mouth when he’s pulled down, palms holding on for dear life.
you jump back to him immediately, gripping onto his arms, his jacket, whatever you can reach, to not let him fall. “intak!”
the said man charges forward, fueled by pure adrenaline, and slices his machete through the monster’s head. it collapses onto the ground, letting go of keeho’s ankle and allowing you to pull him all the way up, until all three of you are standing above the horde, backs glued to the building’s wall as you catch your breaths.
the sight makes your blood run cold. the group of biters right underneath your feet, stumbling and pushing each other in futile attempts to reach you with their rotten hands, and even more already limping towards you from both sides of the alley, lured in by the sound of the others. the relief you felt initially morphs into something heavier. it doesn’t feel nearly as safe up here as you thought it would.
“come on, guys,” your words are more exhausted than hopeful, your voice carrying a nearly resigned edge. “let’s get inside before every biter in this town hears the news.”
#♡
the apartment is surprisingly well-kept – most of it plundered, yes, but whoever was there must have been nice enough to not leave too much of a mess behind after grabbing their haul. you split up, taking your time to check every room to make sure no one is there besides you, peeking into cabinets and rummaging through drawers in search of anything usable or edible.
“there are no corpses or walkers anywhere. the owner must’ve left when shit hit the fan,” keeho murmurs, walking back into the living room after inspecting the bathroom, a tube of peppermint toothpaste in his hand. “but it’s getting late and the walkers on the street aren’t leaving any time soon, so me might have to spend the night here.”
you don’t look up from where you’re shuffling through the contents of the utensil drawer in the open kitchen as you muse, “which is exactly what i said we should do a few hours ago.” a sigh. “you guys really should start listening to me sometimes.”
you miss the way keeho rolls his eyes, but you assumed he would, anyway, and the thought alone makes you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a smirk. “found any food yet?”
the question is directed more towards intak next to you, who’s diligently opening each and every cabinet in the kitchen. the dimple in his cheek deepens with the frown tugging at his lips when he’s met with only some spiderwebs. “not yet.”
he moves on to open the door to the fridge in the corner, but the sickening stench of rot that puffs from the inside right into his face makes him flinch back and slam it shut. “nope. definitely no food.”
“well, it’s good we took some from the safehouse,” the drawer shuts with a soft click when you nudge it closed with your hip. you’re about to add something more, but you catch a glimpse of keeho raising an eyebrow at the knife you’ve taken out from the corner of your eye, his arms crossed at his chest. “what? it won’t hurt to have another one.”
he watches you for a moment more, shaking his head in a way that makes him look almost like a disapproving parent, but ultimately doesn’t make anymore comments about it. he rummages through the bag intak left on the couch, pulling out two cans of vegetables before making his way towards you and placing them on the kitchen island with a quiet clank.
“alright, let’s eat. we should sleep early tonight.”
the meal goes by in comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your spoons hitting the bowls and feeble attempts at small talk from intak every once in a while. the sun has gone down, flashlights put inside tall glasses to stay upright on the table bathing the living room in soft light, accentuating the hard lines of your faces and the bruise-like bags under your eyes.
intak leans back against the backrest of the couch, stretching his arms over his head with an unnecessarily loud yawn.
“that was good,” a lie, but at least it’s an attempt to bring your spirits up. he pushes himself up from the stained pillows, his back cracking loudly from staying in one position too long. “i’m gonna go look around some more. maybe we’ll get lucky.”
he doesn’t wait for approval from either of you before he disappears behind the doors to one of the other rooms, steps unhurried, leaving you and keeho alone in the near darkness.
there’s a long moment where neither of you speaks, the comfortable silence now shifting into something that makes the hairs on your arms bristle. not tense, no, just… different.
it’s keeho who speaks first. his legs are stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. his tone is as calm and unbothered as always, making you think you’re the only one feeling the strange chill. “you still have those cigarettes?”
you tilt your head to face him, forehead creasing, “no, i left them in the safehouse.” a short pause. “didn’t wanna carry anything more than what’s necessary.”
he lets out a hum, slightly disappointed, but almost as if he’s trying not to let it show. “you know taeyang’s probably gonna treat himself to those, right?”
that manages to pull a quiet huff of air from your mouth – not quite a laugh, but close.
“well, you could have told me that before we left,” you purse your lips.
“yeah,” keeho reciprocates the slight, barely there smile, “probably should have.”
his gaze leaves whatever was so interesting on the ceiling and descends to meet yours. maybe it’s the dim lighting – it probably is – but something about it seems almost… gentler than usual. softer, in a way. in fact, his whole face just looks more relaxed, his eyebrows not leaning towards each other, lips not curled downwards for once–
you clear your throat, the sound awfully loud in the quiet room, and force your eyes lower. “how’s your arm?”
you can feel him still drilling holes into your skull a couple of seconds longer before he answers. “it’s, uh…” he gives his shoulder a testing roll, the flicker of pain in his expression not escaping your attention, “...it’s fine.”
“can i see?”
the question leaves your mouth unexpected by either of you. your breath hitches.
“i mean– you took that hydrogen peroxide from the pharmacy, right?” you curse internally at the way your voice wavers, unsure. “you should get it cleaned, see if the stitches are holding…”
the beat of silence feels like it’s stretching into hours instead of seconds, but then–
“yeah. sure.”
your finger picks at a stray thread sticking out of the hem of your pants, eyes watching the changes on his face carefully. “...do you want me to help?”
for a moment, his expression hardens, as if he’s about to refuse, but he holds back. when he finally answers, his voice has an unusual edge in it that you can’t quite put a finger on. “yeah… yeah, you know more about this than i do, so… that would be nice.”
you nod your head quickly – maybe too quickly. “okay.”
neither of you speaks while you get up and turn around to gather the things you need from your bag, at the same time giving keeho a second to get rid of his jacket and prepare mentally for another serving of pain he’s about to take. you can’t help but notice that there’s something odd about the atmosphere in this apartment, but maybe you’re just not used to scavenging with others, or maybe you’re tired and a good night of sleep will shake you out of it.
spinning around on your heel, you start to walk back towards the couch, but your fingers tighten around the cloth and gauze you’re holding in your hands.
why the fuck is he shirtless again?
keeho seems to be having a hard time meeting your gaze this time, head facing forward stubbornly and shoulders slightly slumped – a new look on him, that’s for sure.
“i got the antiseptic,” he murmurs, lifting his arm enough to show the small white bottle in his palm.
you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to square your shoulders before joining him on the couch once again.
maybe you just haven’t gotten laid in way too long.
it’s only when you pick up the flashlight from the table that you notice the colour of the bandage wrapped around his arm, a sense of worry replacing the weird weight in your stomach.
after instructing him to hold the source of light for you, you gently peel the stained gauze off his skin, fingers probing delicately around the wound as you check for swelling or any signs of infection.
“it’s looks pretty good, and it’s not bleeding anymore,” the hum is low in your throat, as you put your best efforts into focusing on the task at hand, and not the warmth of his body that suddenly feels more like a furnace next to you. “you must have ripped one of the stitches when you fell, but the rest of them seem to be holding on fine.”
keeho nods, his jaw twitching when you shift to grab the bottle next.
“you know the drill,” you look up at him, this time allowing him to brace himself before pouring the liquid over the wound, holding the cloth you grabbed earlier underneath it to avoid making a mess.
the hydrogen peroxide starts bubbling right away after being met with the dried up blood and bacteria. keeho’s hands clench into fists, the muscles of his arms and stomach tightening as he bites back a pained sound threatening to spill.
“does it hurt?” it’s a stupid question, you know that, but you feel the need to say anything as you wipe the residue from the skin around the gash, careful not to touch the dirty rag to the wound.
“not nearly as bad as the first time.”
you’re surprised to hear a normal answer instead of something more dismissive or sarcastic, though you suppose it’s fair. you can’t imagine what pouring vodka over a fresh deep cut feels like.
your hands work quickly and precisely as you wrap a new piece of bandage around his bicep, double-checking to make sure it’s secure but not tight enough to cut off his blood flow during the night.
the whole time, keeho watches you – the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, how your teeth chew on your lower lip as you focus, how your tongue peeks out every now and then to wet it, how your hands feel against his skin–
“keeho?”
he blinks, realising how deep in his head he’s gotten without meaning to. “yeah?”
“i asked if it wasn’t too tight,” your voice nearly cracks, again, but you can’t bring yourself to be too worried about that when all you can think of is when did you get so close to him all of a sudden?
“oh–” the word is more of an exhale than anything else, “no, no… it’s okay.”
the silence stretches between you after that – chilly, heavy, full of something unspoken.
every instinct is screaming at you to pull back, to look away; and yet you’re stuck in place, the eye contact holding you like an unbreakable force.
then, after a beat too long to be accidental, keeho leans forward. it’s no more than half an inch, the movement so faint you could have as well imagined it. his gaze flickers over your face as if to gauge your reaction, and catches on your lips just for a fraction of a second, before going back up.
you don’t back away.
next thing you know is that one of you leans all the way in – you’re not sure which one anymore – and your lips meet. the first brush of skin against skin is feather-light, testing, eyes shutting closed.
but what was barely a touch of a butterfly wing turns into pure hunger the moment your hands come up to rest on his shoulders. something snaps between you, the incoherent tension that seemed to be following you around whenever it was just the two of you since that first moment on the porch, or maybe even earlier than that, finally giving way to a deep sheathed need.
a hushed groan leaves keeho’s mouth and resonates into yours when your lips part after the questioning brush of his tongue. his hands find their way onto your waist, flashlight abandoned on the couch pillows, fingers wasting no time before sliding under your shirt to dig into your skin, earning a gasp from you.
he pulls you closer, needing more contact, until you’re settled on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, thighs pressing tightly against his. you wrap your arms fully around his neck in response, tongue pushing and sliding against his with fervor. one of his hands leaves your skin to tug one sleeve of your jacket off your shoulder blindly, while the other impatiently crawls up higher on your back, fingers slipping underneath the thin material of your bra.
you press closer as an answer, teeth sinking into the plush flesh of his lower lip, making his hips jerk up into yours on reflex and a choked up moan bubble out of his throat.
“hey, guys?”
the moment shatters like glass, reality dawning on you as you flinch back from each other as if you’ve been burned. you fall back on to the couch seat next to keeho, pulling your jacket tighter over yourself and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks burning as you silently thank whatever deity must be watching over you that the flashlight fell facing the other direction so intak couldn’t see you making out with his friend in the middle of the living room.
stupid.
keeho’s the first one to get his cool back, though his voice is a little strained and rougher than usual as he speaks over his shoulder, “what?”
intak, bless his heart, skips over to the two of you, a bright smile adorning his face when he clicks his own flashlight on to see you better.
“can i take the big bed?”
#♡
tomorrow arrives quickly.
you go to sleep soon after intak’s less than fortunate interruption. it would be a lie to say it’s not the best shut eye you have gotten in a long while – a separate room, a separate bed. a bed, period. one with a bouncy mattress and sheets that don’t reek of blood and death like the ones you’re used to, and the safety of being a whole story above the biters. it’s a deep, dreamless sleep, for once. maybe it’s a good omen.
in the morning, you eat a humble breakfast (whatever was left in the cans you opened yesterday) and gather your things promptly, triple-checking your bags and pockets, before moving out. the street has cleared up a bit overnight, leaving you with only a few strays to take care of as you walk out of the front door this time.
no one talks about what happened yesterday. intak either doesn’t assume anything or just doesn’t care, while you and keeho try your best to pretend the situation didn’t take place at all. in fact, the two of you don’t talk much at all – even less so than usual, eyes stubbornly glued everywhere but each other as you go through the motions except for an occasional sneaky glance. the damage is done, but there’s nothing to dwell on here. you’re just two people who haven’t had any action for years, and judging by their behaviour, it’s their first time seeing a remotely attractive woman since it all started. of course you’d start feeling horny.
the strategy for this part of the run is the same as yesterday: stick to the shadows and avoid getting in trouble. and just like it worked then, for most part, it does now as well. within an hour or two, you’re standing in front of the large, towering building. its once modern, almost pristine white walls now stained with time and grime, wide windows that used to reflect the whole town now opaque and shattered in places, ivy crawling up the cracked concrete. graffiti marks part of the exterior, just like the rest of the buildings here, and the parking lot is littered with cars abandoned in a hurry years ago, some of them overturned or crashed into each other. the front entrance is bolted shut with some planks, the job clearly hurried and imprecise. it shouldn’t be too hard to get them off.
a gust of wind howls through empty hallways you can’t see yet – the sound so eerie it sends shivers down your spine even standing outside.
“this place is giving me the creeps,” keeho mutters under his breath, gripping his axe tighter.
intak next to him swallows audibly, his face just a little bit paler than usual. all of a sudden, no one is too thrilled about finally reaching the goal of your run.
“i know,” you rub your arms over the material of your jacket to calm down the goosebumps rising on your skin. “so how do we do this? split up?”
keeho nods, “yeah, we split up. we can cover more ground that way.”
the hums you and intak let out lack any enthusiasm.
you give the planks a testing tug, the rusty doorframe rattling from the force of it. “a little help, big guy?”
keeho’s at your side in seconds. both of you grab onto the wood and pull until your knuckles turn white, and the bolts give even easier than you thought they would. you do the same with the boards, yanking them off one by one and throwing them off to the side until the door is fully revealed.
you dust off your hands, stepping back with a huff of fatigue. “i meant intak, but i guess that worked, too.”
the man ignores your remark, save for the faint twitch of his jaw, staring at the sliding door like he’s bracing himself for whatever is behind them. intak, on the other side, lets out a delighted chuckle, the jab at his friend feeding his ego simultaneously. his shoulder brushes against yours as he walks past the pair of you to breach the entrance first.
the lobby is swallowed in shadows where the sunlight doesn’t reach. the air smells like damp rot and something metallic… blood? medicine? maybe both? the floor is covered in trash and debris, puddles you’re not sure you want to know the contents of filling the breaks in the tiles, paint coming off the walls in flakes to make space for the thriving mold. you can hear the all too familiar growling echoing in the distance – expected, but still making your blood run cold.
keeho steps forward, boots thumping against the floor as he approaches the layout plan near the reception.
“you take the ER,” he glances back at you over his shoulder, finger pointing at the left wing of the building on the map. “intak, you check out the admin offices on the first floor. i’ll take the pharmacy. maybe the luck will be on our side this time.”
both of you nod solemnly, minds already racing to think of possible routes and emergency escapes, as he turns around to face you again.
“we meet back here in thirty minutes, sharp,” his tone is firm and commanding, like the first time you met them a few days ago. “if someone’s late, we’ll go looking for them. don’t get yourself killed.”
you shift your grip on your knife. intak adjusts the straps of his backpack, pulling out his flashlight and flicking it on, revealing more of the dust modes swirling in the air.
with the last, sharp nod from keeho, you leave the lobby.
#♡
intak keeps his posture slouched as he climbs the stairs two at a time, one trembling hand gripping the flashlight to illuminate the dark staircase while the other rests over the handle of his machete hidden in the scabbard on his belt. the sound of droplets of water hitting the floor tiles in even intervals creates an atmosphere so ominous he can almost feel bile come up his throat from how tight his stomach is clenching. the first floor is somehow quieter than the base level – he tells himself it’s a good sign, despite the worried voice in his head screaming otherwise.
he walks through the corridor until he reaches the admin wing – offices with glass partitions that have been mostly smashed in, cabinets with doors hanging on one hinge, overturned desks, and cracked monitors lying dead on their sides. files are scattered around the floor, some of them torn up or burned halfway, as if someone was trying to erase the evidence of something even after the world ended.
he heads straight for the room labeled the director’s office, one of the only ones without the see-through walls. the door is slightly ajar, and the creak it lets out when he pushes it open seems dangerously loud in the stillness.
inside, it’s the same chaos as in the other ones: dust piled up on broken furniture, trash littered over the space like everywhere else in the world. on the chair behind the desk sits a silhouette – dead, judging by the bullet wound right in the center of its temple – the thick stench of decaying flesh filling intak’s lungs to the brim and making him wince. looking at the state of the body, it’s probably safe to assume the corpse must have been there for a long while, maybe even since the beginning. the director of the hospital couldn’t take the pressure of the dead standing up to him, apparently.
he’s light on his feet as he steps over the mess on the floor to reach the massive desk and starts pulling the drawers open, rummaging through the stacks of papers and pens and staplers in search of more useful things. a pack of gum, unopened, that he slides into his pocket with a shrug, some loose change that doesn’t have any worth now, a stethoscope…
the lowest drawer doesn’t open when he yanks on it – there’s a small keyhole right under the knob. with a frown, intak looks around, scratching his head with his free hand. he’s too intrigued to let it go now.
he searches the top of the desk, the inside of the lamp shade, under the coffee cup filled with fluffy, funny-looking fungi, but to no avail. he turns towards the frail corpse on the chair.
fuck it.
carefully, intak pats the front of the man’s shirt, checking the pockets of his coat and jeans, but there’s no sight of a key there either.
defeated, he slides his hand under between the body and the chair seat as the last resort, gaze drifting to the ceiling to at least pretend he’s not doing anything weird by feeling a dead man’s bony ass, and then– there it is. the outline of a tiny metal key in the backpocket.
he grins giddily, almost skipping in place as he pulls it out gently and inserts it into the lock, twisting a few times until the drawer clicks open.
and inside? a single, semi-auto pistol, clean and well-kept, with initials engraved into the handle.
the corners of intak’s lips pull into a sly smirk.
#♡
the ER looks like something straight out of a horror movie as keeho moves past the lined up beds soundlessly. every other cot has a dead body on top of it, each in a different stage of deterioration, pools of blood dried black covering the once sterile white walls and floors, various medical equipment he doesn’t understand shattered on the tiles beyond recognition. one gurney lays overturned in a doorway like something knocked it aside during chaos. the air is stale, reeking of a sickening mix of bodily fluids and rot so bad he has to press the sleeve of his jacket over his mouth and nose to keep going.
keeho always thought he had a strong stomach but, somehow, for the first time in months, he’s suddenly not hungry at all.
he steps over spilled supplies – old syringes crunching under his boots – and pauses by an open cabinet; some paperwork, patient gowns, gloves. nothing worthwhile.
a frustrated huff leaves his nose. he had hoped for something left behind in the ER, at least a single bottle of painkillers, but it’s been looted clean. he checks his watch – fifteen minutes since they split up. there’s still some time to look around.
with a sigh, keeho moves towards the double door at the far end of the room leading towards the examination rooms–
a muffled sound from somewhere behind makes him freeze mid-step. he whips his head towards the sound, one hand gripping his axe tightly, muscles coiled. cold sweat breaks out on his neck when the sound comes again – a soft scuff, like something being dragged across the floor.
slowly, he places foot after foot as he walks towards one of the thinner doors on the side where the noise is coming from, weapon raised in vigilance. the other arm peels away from his face to gently push the door open, the stream of light from his flashlight brightening up the small storage.
but before he can take another step inside, a heavy weight pushes him backwards, causing him to stumble. the flashlight falls from his hand and clatters onto the floor as he holds the walker back with his forearm, his back crashing into a nearby wall. it groans loudly, teeth clattering barely a breath away from keeho’s nose, thin, crooked arms reaching towards him with the primal need to feed.
keeho’s arm shakes from the effort, all of his muscles taut to keep the monster’s jaw away despite the ache spreading towards his elbow from the injured area. with a low, pained grunt, he gathers all of his strength to deal a stronger blow to its neck, gaining a few seconds and enough leverage to swing the blade.
for the next moment, the only sound in the room is his heavy panting and the heavy thump of a body collapsing onto the ground. dark blood drips on his boots from the axe still raised in the air until he’s calmed down enough to come back to his senses, knees buckling and head spinning from the sudden drop of adrenaline.
he bends over to pick up the flashlight from where it rolled under a knocked over IV stand, and cracks his neck on both sides to get rid of the leftover tension.
there’s still ten minutes left.
#♡
you scan the shelves of the pharmacy with your gaze – most of the prescription bottles are long gone, lids and stray pills scattered over the floor as if mocking you.
it was to be expected that this would be the place that got ransacked first when shit went down, people grabbing whatever medicine they could get their hands on, no matter if they couldn’t understand half the words on the label. but there was still a tiny spark of hope somewhere deep inside you that after all this hustle to get here, after risking your lives for this one trip, you would find something – though that spark dims with every empty cabinet you open. no medicine, no gauzes, band-aids, even antiseptics you managed to randomly find in that other pharmacy. all you can do is cross your fingers that the others got more luck on their sides.
you kneel to pick up a first-aid box, careful to avoid the pieces of shattered glass on the floor. it’s rusty at the edges, the red cross on the top faded and dirty, and the hinges are barely holding on. it creaks when you open it; inside, there’s a bottle labeled ibuprofen – when you turn it around, disbelieving, you see that it’s expired by over a year. no wonder no one wanted it.
standing up, you nudge the metal box aside with your foot with resignation, and resume your walk through the narrow alleys. your neck is corded with tension, nails digging into your palm where you’re clenching the handle of your knife, skin sweaty despite the chill.
you pass a cracked mirror still somehow hanging on the wall. you don’t pay it too much mind at first, intending to ignore it, but the glimpse you catch from the corner of your eye makes you do a double-take, steps faltering.
you’re aware it’s been a while since you last had the chance or the desire to look at your own reflection, but you didn’t realize just how much you have changed since the last time you cared enough to pay attention. your eyes are sunken, dark shadows stretching underneath your lower eyelids, and you remember the colour of your irises to have been more vibrant than this. your skin is matte underneath all the dirt and grime and thinner; the shiny, oily parts of your face you used to be so insecure about now completely gone. the roundness of your cheeks have hollowed out, and your lips look so dry it’s almost more painful to look at them than to feel. it’s hard to believe it’s really you you’re watching.
your hand comes up to press against the sharp arch of your cheekbone, the scar above your eyebrow, then below your lower lip – touching and probing like you’re trying to relearn yourself all over again. the new you. the you who survived.
when you shift to lean closer to the mirror, the broken glass catches a reflection of light from something behind your back. you repeat the motion to see the flash once more – it’s something tucked behind one of the fallen cabinets, shiny in a metallic way.
intrigued, you turn around to find the source.
it’s a half-collapsed drawer, tucked awkwardly between two counters in a way that seems to precise to be accidental. that dimmed flicker warms up in your chest again. it’s well-hidden, maybe even covered up on purpose. this might be your chance.
you slide the knife behind your belt to free your hands before giving the drawer a light tug – nothing. it doesn’t budge with a bit of a stronger one, either. you try to move the counter, but it’s bolted to the wall.
“come on,” you mutter, voice low with single-minded focus, “don’t be shy.”
bracing on leg on the cabinet for leverage, you hoist once more, the sound of metal creaking high-pitched and loud in the quiet room, but you’re to stubbornly determined to stop now. after tugging again and again, the drawer finally starts to gradually slide out from its confines, the mysterious contents of it rattling with each sharp movement.
a sheen layer of sweat covers your forehead, eyebrows furrowing and cheeks filling with air as you pull as hard as you can, muscles straining, until, at last, the drawer is free.
but you can’t stop the heavy piece of metal from flying further through the air, accelerated by the force with which you yanked it out, and the handle slips from your clammy fingers before you can scramble to get a better grip on it.
it crashes onto the tiles with a deafening sound that leaves your ears ringing as you stumble backwards and fall on your ass, your tailbone hitting the floor so hard it punches the air out of your lungs; you can already imagine the bruise it will leave.
a muttered curse escapes from between your lips as you push yourself up, the tiny bits of broken glass on the floor digging into your palm slightly, but not enough to cut skin yet. the ridiculousness of the whole situation hits you after a minute or so while you dust off your pants, the humiliation sinking in so deep you’re glad you decided to split up in the beginning–
a groan.
your eyes snap wide open.
another one. and another.
your head snaps back towards the entrance of the pharmacy, hand instinctively flying to your knife. then the colour drains out of your face.
one, two, three… four, five, six, seven–
eight biters.
“shit–!” you whisper-yell, head whipping around frantically to look for any possible escape routes while you step backwards slowly, but there’s none. the infected are blocking your only way out of here.
the grip on your knife tightens, and so do the muscles in your jaw. your eyes narrow, hyper-focused in a way that looks almost like anger. you’re alive, they’re not. you’re smart, they’re not.
what’s eight biters?
without anymore stalling, you leap forward.
the first one goes down easily, with a single stab to the head, blood dripping onto the trashed tiles. another one tries to grab your arm, bony fingers tugging on the jacket of your sleeve, but you send a kick into its swollen stomach. it crashes into the wall behind it, and you take the moment of advantage to pierce your blade through its skull. another follows from behind, so you grab its head over your shoulder and send it to the ground, kneeling over its open chest as you stab, dark gore splashing across your hands and face.
you stumble on your way back up, knees buckling and hands flying out to hold onto the shelf next to you, and the next three biters use that moment to surround you. a hand grabs your shoulder as you swing your knife into the first one’s forehead, the sound of fabric ripping loud in your ears while you’re yanked backwards, back hitting something hard behind you. with a startled yelp, you start wriggling and swinging the blade wildly to hit anything that will give you more time, but the throaty gurgle is right in your face now – you snatch the metal first-aid box you left here earlier and slam it into the biter’s head, the moaning ceasing at once as bits of brain matter land on your face. this time, you don’t even flinch. using the same new-found weapon, you take out the next two infected, blood splashing in intricate patterns across the walls.
panting, you turn around on your heel towards the last one of the bunch, one hand already raised – but you halt mid-swing.
a sickening wave of cold washes over your body, frozen in place in a catatonic stupor.
you know those eyes. the same exact colour as yours, except now milky.
the same face lines, now even more accentuated.
you remember that shirt, too.
slowly, hesitantly – as if you already know, but you’re afraid to make sure it’s true – your wide eyes trail down.
your stomach shrivels, acid coming up to the hard knot in your throat. the bracelet, the same one as on your wrist.
the one you and your brother made for each other when you were little.
it all happens so fast. one moment you’re aiming for its head, his head, but your muscles pull taut, like something’s holding you back from dealing the blow. the next, a sharp wave of pain radiates up your arm when a pair of jaws sinks into your flesh.
the box clatters onto the floor.
#♡
“where the fuck is she?” keeho glances at his watch for the tenth time within a singular minute, arms crossed at his chest.
him and intak have been standing outside for almost a quarter of an hour past the thirty-minute mark, yet there’s no sight of you coming out.
“maybe she found something good and lost track of time?” intak muses, knees drawn up to his chest where he’s crouching, drawing absentminded doodles on the sand with a small branch.
the older man lets out an annoyed huff, head tilting back to look at the midday sky like he’s praying for either strength or patience. “i knew she’d cause trouble sooner or later.”
a beat, then he continues.
“i’m giving her ten more minutes, then we’re going in. i swear to god, if she’s–”
a loud noise echoes from inside the building, cutting his sentence off. both of the men’s heads snap up, eyes darting towards the front entrance before finding each other’s.
“we’re going in–” before intak can make a move to straighten up, keeho’s already moving towards the door, “now.”
they walk through the halls in a fast pace, but staying vigilant, weapons raised and ready. the sound doesn’t come again – just eerie silence, which they know might not be a good sign after all.
nearing the pharmacy, the first thing they notice is a few dead walkers lying on the ground, blood still pooling on the tiles underneath like the wounds they sustained are fresh. concerned, they share a single look – a silent conversation – before entering the room, eyes scanning the surroundings to find you among the bodies.
and find you they do, but the sight makes them stop in their tracks.
you’re kneeling on the floor, shoulders slumped forward. your eyes are wide and unblinking, staring holes into the corpse lying in front of you. there are tear streaks on your cheeks, lines of grime washed off where they fell, but you’re not sobbing or breathing heavily. in fact, the movements of your chest are so shallow they can’t really tell if you’re breathing at all. your jacket is off, and wrapped tightly around your forearm, smudges of blood staining the material and your arm above it all the way up to your shoulder.
and your hand… it’s holding the walker’s?
the men share another glance. neither of them is certain what’s going on, but they can tell it’s not anything good.
“hey…” intak is the first one to speak up, voice quieter and softer than ever, “are you okay..?”
the words don’t seem to register at first, your body staying worryingly still. but then it’s like you’ve broken out of a spell, your irises fluttering, a deeper breath – not deep, but noticeable this time – filling your lungs, as if your brain needed a longer moment to process someone talking to you.
“yes–” you clear your throat when your voice cracks, arm rising to wipe the tears you didn’t realise has fallen with the back of your hand. “yeah, i’m– i’m fine. is it past the meeting time?”
“it is. what were you–”
intak’s words trail off, just now realising the amount of blood spilled around. the leftover flesh still between the walker’s teeth. the jacket tied around your arm.
it’s dirty. bloody.
he takes a step back instinctively, his stomach dropping. the tan skin of his face turns ashen.
keeho furrows his eyebrows at his friend’s sudden change in behavior. confused, he follows the line of his gaze, and–
“you’re bitten.”
it’s not until you’ve finished wiping your face that you notice their pointed stares, expressions tinged with something you can’t quite decipher.
“no– no, i cut it off,” the words leave your mouth rushed and breathless, open palms coming up in a calming gesture as a reflex. “i cut the bite off right away, i’m not–”
the sound falters when you raise your gaze towards them again.
they’re both leaning back slightly, as if ready to bolt any second. their eyes bulged out of the sockets, lips parted as if there was a million questions on their tongue, but none of them wanted to come out. they’re looking at you with this mixture of vulnerability, pain, fear, and anger – a look you know all too well by now.
and the worst thing?
their weapons are raised. not to protect you – to protect themselves from you.
keeho’s gripping the handle of his axe so tightly his knuckles are chalk white, holding it at his waist level, as if he’s torn whether he should gear up or not for the first time in his life. intak’s hands are trembling violently around the pistol, rifle pointing straight at you. since when does he have one?
“you’re bitten,” the boy snarls, like the words hurt coming out of his throat. he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “you’re infected.”
“no– no, i’m not– please, y-you have to believe me–” you plead, tears streaming down your face once again despite just having wiped the previous wave off, but it doesn’t sound too convincing even to yourself.
because the truth is, you don’t know. you don’t know what will happen, if cutting off a chunk of your own muscle would do anything to save you. the whole period from when you entered the pharmacy is an incoherent blur in your head, images flashing before your eyes like scenes from a movie.
intak’s grip on the gun falters as his own eyes brim with tears. he huffs, biting back a choked sob, and lowers the weapon in order to slam his fist into the metal shelf next to him.
“fucking hell–” he paces the room, restless, before turning towards keeho, hand fisting in his friends shirt. “she’s infected. we have to kill her before she turns.”
a weak whimper leaves your mouth, body curling inwards.
keeho doesn’t tear his eyes away from you until intak grabs him, and even then his voice is unnervingly calm, completely out of place for the situation.
“she said she cut it off.”
one sentence. that’s it. he believes you.
why does he believe you, when you can’t even believe yourself?
“keeho, for fuck’s sake–” intak bristles, waving the gun around as he gestures wildly while speaking. “okay, she cut her own skin off, so what? she’s magically healed? do you want to see her turn?”
he only leans closer at that, seething the words through his teeth – low, firm. “she said. she’s not. going to turn.”
his quiet conviction feels like salt on the wound. you can’t do anything but watch them argue about your life through hazy eyes.
the younger man groans out loud, wiping the tears off his cheeks with the collar of his shirt. “of course she says that, she’s scared!” a beat, then quieter, “so what do you want to do, huh?”
they keep staring each other down for what feels like an eternity, as if above the fight, they’re having another argument inside their heads so you can’t hear it.
“we take her back home.”
intak throws his hands out in the air, disbelieving. “you can’t be serious,” he counters, but the older man doesn’t yield. “really? you want to bring her back so she can turn into a walker in peace and then infect the rest of us? are you fucking insane?”
keeho’s voice drops an octave, eyes narrowing, “we get her back and lock her up until we know for sure.” it’s not a question – it’s a command. “i’m not letting you put a bullet through her head just because you want to try your new toy out.”
“that’s not–” he tries to argue, but the harsh, unflinching look on keeho’s face makes him pause. his eyes dart between his friend and you, lower lip quivering at the sight of someone as infuriatingly strong and composed as you curled into a ball on the floor, crying helplessly.
his fingers twitch around the handle, diffident, but sighs eventually, holstering the weapon. “okay– fine,” he takes a small step closer. his voice lowers to a whisper, but it’s still not quiet enough to miss your ears. “but if she turns by the morning, you’re gonna be the one to kill her.”
somehow, the words don’t make you feel any better.
#♡
the trip back is gruelling.
you walk fast, fueled by fear from one side and fragile hope from the other, but even then it feels like it’s taking forever. no one speaks a single word the whole time, aware that another argument, and consequently your life, is hanging over you as if just waiting to drop. there’s a gauze wrapped tightly around your forearm – it’s old and pretty dirty, but you were bleeding hard, and intak insisted that they shouldn’t use up their resources if they have no way of knowing if you’ll survive. he said our resources, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he meant theirs, not yours. not anymore.
you don’t tell them about your brother. in the light of the circumstances, it doesn’t feel all that important anymore, even though it felt like your whole world collapsed on top of you back in the hospital. you spent all this time, all those years, wondering how your family is doing. how long was he dead for? did he come here to look for you? if you hadn’t met the group, would you have met him while he was still alive?
your eyes sting but no tears fall anymore. it feels like you’ve skipped through all stages of grief to something even past acceptance – just a quiet, overwhelming sense of hollowness. a catharsis, in a way. like you knew this would happen all along but kept trying to convince yourself otherwise just so you could live your life a little longer. was it worth it?
jiung is the first one to notice the three of you walking through the gate in the fence surrounding their hut, already seated on the porch step, waiting. he jumps up the moment he sees you, feet carrying him to your side immediately.
“you’re here,” he sounds relieved, a worried edge to the tone of his voice. his eyes flicker over you, as if counting the people in his head to check if everyone came back in one piece. “what took you so long? are you okay?”
no one dares to meet his gaze head on, which only adds to his concern. “guys?”
“she’s bitten.”
the words leave intak’s mouth so suddenly even you flinch at the sound of it. jiung’s jaw falls open as he stares at you in silence, like he’s waiting for a punchline that doesn’t come.
“w-what?” he manages to whisper after a moment, choked up in his stupor. the sorrow in his voice breaks through the dissociated trance you’ve fallen into, making your eyes fill with tears all over again.
keeho steps forward, stretching one arm to the side as if to shield you – even though no one’s trying anything yet. “we don’t know if she’s going to turn.” he pays no mind to the way intak rolls his eyes at his retort. “she– she cut the bite off right after it happened. that’s why we brought her back here.”
jiung’s expression twists into pure mortification, then into something more reluctant, slightly skeptical even, struggling to believe this version of events even though it seems he really wants to. he looks back at you, watching the way you’re almost desperately gripping onto your bandaged arm.
“you cut it off? yourself?”
you lift your gaze to meet his, but you immediately wish you didn’t when the world starts to blur around you. “...yes.”
he gulps. “well– did you clean the wound? it’s gonna get infected if you leave it like this.”
“there’s no point using up what we just managed to find,” intak replies sternly. “if she is infected, we’ll be wasting our resources.”
“and if she dies from an infected wound instead?” the words send a shiver down your spine. you don’t like how they’re discussing your life like you’re not even here, as if it’s something they have deciding power over; though you know you won’t last on your own if you leave now, even if you don’t turn into a biter. so maybe they do, after all.
that makes him hesitate. the words she’s dead anyway bubble up in his throat, but he swallows them back down. everyone knows what he thinks, though.
“if she doesn’t turn, we take care of it in the morning. she won’t die from an infection overnight.”
a beat of silence falls between the four of you, heavy and unsettled.
“so what do we do?” jiung murmurs, arms wrapping around himself like he’s trying to hold himself together.
keeho’s lips press into a thin line, lowering his hand and slipping it into his pocket. “we lock her in the shed until morning… again.” there’s a twinge of pained guilt in his voice as he says it. “tie her hands. just in case.”
you can feel your heart shattering into little pieces. just in case.
you want to scream, yell at them, to convince both them and yourself that this isn’t over yet. that you’re not over yet. but there’s no more fight left in you as they lead you towards the back of the house where the old toolshed is; a path you’ve taken once already, but it somehow feels longer this time. it’s like your own, twisted version of via crucis, with your wrists tied together with a rope that leaves burns on your skin with every movement, and all six of them gathered by both sides of the door to the place that might be the last one you’ll ever step into.
the gate creaks when keeho pushes it open. everything just as it was two days ago: the smell of damp, decaying wood and moss, planks and boxes thrown around, a single, broken lightbulb near the ceiling – but now heavier with the implications.
jiung guides you inside, his touch still gentle despite everything – just a step past the threshold, then pauses, and lets go.
you look back over your shoulder; you don’t mean to, but your body does it on its own, without your input. intak is looking away stubbornly, arms crossed at his chest, but his hands are clenched into tight fists and his eyes are red-rimmed. jiung, shota, and taeyang are keeping their gazes on the ground, silent grief written all over their pale faces, while jongseob’s biting down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling as salty tears race down his cheeks. keeho is the only one who meets your gaze. his shoulders are tense, fingers of the hand that holds the door open gripping the wood so hard you’d be surprised if he ended up with no splinters in his skin, like he’s battling with his own conscience not to drag you out of there.
“...is this really necessary?” jongseob’s weak, shaky voice cuts through the thickness of the silence like a knife.
taeyang takes a deep breath through his nose, bracing himself. “it’s for the better. we’ll all be safer this way,” saliva goes down his throat harshly, jaw tense. “we will see each other in the morning.”
the way his voice wavers at the last word doesn’t convince anyone.
the youngest bites back a sob. “i mean– can’t she stay inside? we can watch out for the symptoms–”
“jongseob.”
he cuts off at the tone of keeho’s firm command, watching his friend with a pleading gaze, but he only shakes his head faintly – a silent order to drop it before he makes it worse. his eyes fall shut as he tries, and fails, to put himself together, hands shaking at his sides.
you open your mouth to say something, heart twisting with guilt at the sight of the boy you grew so fond of breaking down because of you, but all that manages to leave your mouth is a shaky whisper. “...it’s okay,” you try to smile, but the corners of your lips tremble, “thank you for letting me stay.”
that’s all it takes for jongseob to shatter. he lets out an ugly, wretched sob, face contorting in an agonised grimace before he’s rushing forward, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a crushing embrace.
“don’t–” he weeps against your shoulder, a salty waterfall dampening your shirt. “don’t say it like it’s goodbye. please.”
you can’t stop your own tears from falling now, arms aching to return the hug, but they’re still held tight by the rope around your wrists. all you can do is stand there, letting him cry into your neck with a heavy heart and lips bruised from biting down on them, until jiung pulls him back gently, forcing the younger to let go of you.
no one else steps closer. even keeho’s eyes have shifted watch the strands of grass moving in the wind. you’ve never felt so alone surrounded by people.
throwing the last glance towards the group, you move further inside the toolshed, your legs heavy as you close the last distance between you and your own demise. your heart is beating so hard you can feel it all the way in your back, head pulsing from the effort of not letting yourself crumble.
you mouth an i’ll miss you, but the sound is drowned out by the sorrow as the door closes behind you, leaving you alone in near-darkness.
there’s no telling how fast, or how slow, the time is passing by after the sun goes down, the stray beams of light reflected by the moon the only thing keeping you company as you sit slouched against one of the walls, indents creasing the skin of your forehead where it’s pressed against the wood. it’s a special kind of hell, really, being left behind to wait for death that may or may not come. you try to occupy yourself with mundane tasks like counting the specks of dust and thrumming an idle beat on the rope with your fingers, but the paranoia keeps gnawing at the edges of your consciousness until it swallows you whole. you’re sure you can feel the temperature of your own body rising, your system uselessly trying to fight off the sickness. your hands are starting to feel numb – whether from the binds or something else, something worse. there’s a weight on your eyelids that makes it harder to keep your eyes open, like the death itself is trying to catalyse the process and ease you into it.
the sight of your brother is burned into your mind. his wide, hollow eyes, rotten teeth in the jaw hanging open, grey-ish skin and crooked limbs. he looked so different, gruesome, yet at the same time exactly how you remembered him. you wonder if he went out painlessly, or if he suffered. but somehow, looking back, you feel… calm. as if a few of the rocks always weighing on your stomach finally disintegrated. somehow the knowledge of the bad feels better than the uncertainty you’ve been carrying with you for years.
there’s so many things you wish you had a chance to do before all of this. you never learned about jongseob’s past, or how he found himself in the group. you never asked shota why he bet on you making it – a dry huff of air, an attempt at a laugh, leaves past your lips at the irony. you never thanked jiung for letting you keep the knife the last time you were locked in this shed.
a knock on the door startles you out of your contemplation.
for a moment, you wonder if you imagined it. maybe it was just a stray animal, or a gust of wind. but then a voice comes from the other side.
“...you still there?”
it’s keeho.
it takes you a while to find your voice, your throat parched. “yeah.”
you can hear him exhale, followed by a quiet shuffling and the slight rattle of the gate, like he’s sliding his back down the wooden wall.
he doesn’t speak at first, just sits there with you, trying to take some of the heaviness onto his own shoulders. you stay quiet as well, despite the questions running through your head.
you can almost feel yourself drifting off again when his voice reaches your ears, soft and muffled by the barrier separating you.
“i was a music major.”
something cracks deep in your chest at his words.
“i majored in singing and minored in music composition,” he adds after a beat, tone distant as if all the plans and dreams from before the outbreak were long buried. “...you asked me about that yesterday.”
you thought you accepted it. you thought the quiet stillness inside you meant you were okay with whatever the universe had planned for you, but your eyes swell with tears yet another time tonight at his hushed admission.
your reply is barely a whisper, so low you’re not sure if he can hear it at all. “...thanks.”
another beat of silence. he doesn’t ask how you’re feeling, if you can feel any of the symptoms yet. either for his peace of mind or yours.
“what happened in that apartment…” the words make your heart skip a beat, the first sign that you’re really alive since they closed that door. “i didn’t… plan for that.”
he seems to be struggling to get the other part of the sentence out, mouth closing and opening a few times before any sound manages to leave, “...but i don’t regret it.”
the back of his head thumps against the door as he leans back, as if the confession has been pressing down on him since the night before, and now the tension finally was loosened.
but this time, there’s no response from your side. no sound of your voice, no sobbing or laughing or yelling. just silence, and the uncomfortable inference of it.
with the heaviness of a man who saw a spark of hope in the darkness of the world ending the for the first time in years just to watch it burn out before his eyes, he pushes himself up from the ground and walks away from the shed without looking back.
morning light filters through the cracks of the planks, casting thin golden lines across the mess inside. the air is crisp with dawn – silent except for distant bird calls and the shuffling of six pair of feet against grass.
for the first time since the group formed, no one stood watch over the night, because although each of them was in their own room, they knew sleep wouldn’t find any of them like an unspoken, grim agreement.
the rusted chains rattle quietly as shota gathers them in his hands to slip a key inside the padlock, letting it fall abandoned to the ground after it clicks open.
he steps back, but no one makes a move to open the door. no one is ready to face the truth, not after they spend hours convincing themselves of an outcome they knew wasn’t plausible.
keeho stands at the front of the group, the pistol intak found on the run gripped in both of his hands despite being small enough for just one. he doesn’t want the others to see how much they’re trembling.
“just do it,” the owner of the gun murmurs, the morning sun casting shadows over the tired lines around his eyes. “get this over with.”
the comment earns him a few disapproving glares, but nobody protests.
keeho exhales sharply through his nose – then pushes the door open with his shoulder.
the shed is dark inside, sunlight not reaching much further than the doorway. he takes a step inside, then another, squinting in the shadows while pointing the the rifle straight at your head where you’re slumped against the faraway wall, thighs pressed to your chest and face resting over your knees, hair falling down like a curtain.
everyone outside the small building freezes, breaths held. jongseob’s whimper cuts through the eerie stillness as he moves behind taeyang to shield himself from what’s about to happen.
you don’t move. don’t stand up and smile and rub it in their faces that they were wrong. your body doesn’t sway with the rhythm of your pulse, and your back doesn’t rise with your breaths.
keeho’s finger feels clammy against the cold metal of the trigger.
then he pulls.
the loud bang rings out through the peaceful forest, birds flying off the branches of the trees, alarmed. the other five curl into themselves, looking away out of respect or guilt – or both. jongseob presses both hands against his mouth but it does little to muffle the startled cry he lets out. intak and jiung both press their lips together, blinking the wetness away. the silence is suffocating.
“...keeho?”
the sound is so small, so fragile, it almost feels like the ghost of their own conscience already on its way to haunt them.
but then comes a gasp, barely there, followed by a sniffle.
the gun clatters to the ground.
slowly, you lift your head. your face is sunken, skin dull, and your eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. there’s a circular hole in the wall a metre or two to your side from the bullet, the gunshot ringing in your ears.
keeho stumbles when he’s yanked away by his shoulder as jongseob pushes through, knees buckling as he falls to the ground next to you, almost crushing you under his weight as he throws his arms around you.
“you’re alive–” the choked sobs in your ear worm their way into your head through the daze, “y-you’re– oh god–”
the force of jongseob’s embrace knocks the air out of your lungs, his shoulders shaking violently as he clings to you. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, tears soaking through your shirt – wetness spreading fast where it just dried after yesterday’s goodbye. your tongue peeks out to wet your cracked lips, finding saltiness you didn’t realise was there.
you’re… alive?
behind him, keeho hasn’t moved an inch since being shoved aside. he watches the two of you with wide eyes, unblinking, as if he’s scared it’s all a fever dream that will disappear the moment he lets you out of his sight.
jiung is the next one who finds himself on your side. he’s gentler than jongseob, one of his hands sneaking its way to you neck to press two fingers against your pulse point, needing the confirmation despite the proof of you blinking up at him tiredly.
you can feel your blood flowing under the pressure of his digits.
you’re alive.
“holy shit…” a strangled sound leaves intak’s mouth, feet frozen in place. one of his hands comes up to rub the water out of his eyes to see better and dragging down his face, while the other grips taeyang’s arm, who looks just as stunned.
shota falls to his knees quietly, fingers digging into the dirt as his body shakes with silent sobs of relief. he’s the only one smiling.
the next few moments are a blur in your mind, still clouded from exhaustion and denial. jiung pulls out his pocket knife to cut through the ropes binding your wrists, holding your shoulders to help them ease back into their natural position after so long before he’s pulling you into a tight hug, murmuring a mixture of teary apologies and reassurances into your hair. then jongseob clings to you once more, a little longer, a little closer. then it’s shota, whispering a hushed i told them you’d make it into the embrace, followed by taeyang, and intak at the end, who seems almost hesitant, unsure if he’s allowed to touch you after everything.
as they all step back to give you space, you tilt your chin up to catch keeho’s gaze – your breath stutters.
he’s crying.
not blinking back tears, not sniffling discreetly.
tears are running down his face one by one, the damp skin of his cheeks reflecting the golden streaks of sunlight coming in through the cracks.
for some reason, the sight makes your chest swell, like what you’re witnessing is more important than the fact that you’re still breathing.
he gets down on one knee, then the other, a shaky hand coming up to brush a stray strand of matted hair out of your face before it presses against your jaw. warm. alive.
next thing you know, your pulled forward, your back peeling away from the wood as crushes you against his chest, strong arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. his breath is unsteady where it meets the skin over your collarbone, and breaks into a strained sob when your arms come to encircle his waist – weak and jerky, careful of your wound, but undeniably there.
and with jiung’s quiet “welcome to the family,” and keeho’s arms around you, you believe this more than ever.
you have known your entire life that your existence is political. second born to the Throne, a daughter no less, your only purpose is to be wed to a prince to strengthen alliances. but you still hope to mean something to your new husband, despite the intentions behind your union.
you are sorely mistaken.
you realise quickly that you are as alone in your new home as you were in your childhood one. this is the fate that has been written for you, the reality you must live. but one knight might change it all when he swears an oath of fealty to you, and means it with every piece of his heart.
pairing: knight!choi seungcheol x princess/queen!reader
genre: medieval au, royalty au
word count: 9.5k
warnings (for this chapter): some fluff, angst, mentions of political talks, alliances, mentions of war the the battleground, some suggestive content but not very explicit, mentions of childbearing, death, bloodshed and injuries.
series masterlist
It is when winter starts bleeding into spring that things take a turn for the worst. Both within the castle walls and outside.
It is very easy to keep up appearances. Ever since the demise of the late King, and the subsequent takeover from your husband, everything became about optics very quickly. The reason for this shift was fairly obvious to anyone with eyes. War loomed near, and the new King’s behavior indicated much more nefarious reasons for the death of an old, beloved monarch. But no one dared question, no one dared protest. Because he is the sole heir, the only one of his bloodline left, and until you are to bear a child for this family, none can question his authority unless they want the Crown to fall.
And so his behavior is excused. Jeonghan, the Court’s Chief Councillor, struggles day in and day out to keep up appearances, both inside and outside the castle. In your opinion, there is no managing the unmanageable, but you must laud Jeonghan for his tireless efforts to do so. You know that your husband is a disdainful, disgusting man, with a brain still devoid of maturity and diplomatic manners. No one holds more contempt for him than yourself, but at the end of the day, you are his wife, the Queen Consort, and you must do what you can to compensate for his incompetence.
Your step-up, born mostly from necessity, ends up going very largely in your favor.
When you hold Court, it is in high spirits and with enthusiastic participation, despite the dread and gloom that comes with the threat of war. Something about your blood relation to His Majesty Kim Mingyu seems to solidify everyone’s allyship to his Kingdom, which you know your brother is endlessly thankful for, if his letters are anything to go by. Public opinion and support is crucial in times like this, and your presence, once an afterthought and a dismissed annoyance, now inspires. Church clergy love you for your respect of their authority, castle staff reveres you except the few who serve the King as his mistresses, and Noblewomen who once sneered at you for not bearing a child now seem a bit more warm to you. They still want an heir, since that is considered your primary duty, but in conditions where everything else seems bleak, you know everyone finds your strong command on your Court refreshing.
Lord Jeon is positively aglow by your favorable reputation.
“I have known of you long, Your Majesty.” He muses. “But never was I made aware of your intellectual prowess. Was Her Majesty trained in the arts of the Courts as a child?”
You giggle and shake your head. “Not formally. But my brother made sure I learned.”
This explanation worked two fold. Direct tutelage under a reigning King helped solidify your authority, and it also established Mingyu’s credibility among your subjects.
Another reason people are warming up to you now is the glaring absence of your mother in law’s constant barrage of veiled insults towards you. The Queen Dowager, your mother in law, has her own staff, of course, but she keeps herself far removed from castle happenings these days. Ever since the late King’s death, she has become somewhat of a recluse, a surprising change that you didn’t expect from a woman who famously cared only of her relationship with her husband enough to bear him a child, and no more. You are endlessly puzzled by her withdrawal, staying exclusively with her ladies-in-waiting and entertaining no other audience, not even her Court. Well beloved among the castle staff, this has caused a great rift between the ruling King and the previous Crown. It agitates your husband that his own mother is unsupportive of his authority, which pleases you to no end, but you know it also weighs like a heavy burden on Jeonghan.
“I know it will be difficult, but I come to you with this request.” He says to you one night when Seungcheol brings him to your chambers. You are shocked to see him there, but you know it must be important if he is breaking formality like this. “Please ask the Queen Mother to attend the King’s Court. Only the King’s Court, and no other obligation. Despite your strongest efforts, Your Majesty, approval among noblemen for the new King is not faring well.”
You huff and nod from where you sit in your armchair, even if you deeply resent the idea of asking anything of that woman. You will do it for Jeonghan, because he has always been nothing but kind to you, and you will do it because Seungcheol himself brought the man to your door. Your honor refuses to turn down his request.
When Jeonghan leaves, Seungcheol remains, as he always does these nights. You smile and place your tea cup down, eyes fluttering when he places his lips on the crown of your head from behind you where you sit, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“Incredible of Jeonghan to come and see me with this request.” You muse, watching the fireplace. Your Knight hums, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, kneading them softly. You sigh and relax.
“You are popular these days, my love.”
You smile, letting him work on the knots in your shoulder. Then, he says words you have come to despise.
“I must leave early today.”
You look up, watching his face upside down where he stands behind your chair. “Why so?”
“Meetings.” He looks apologetic. “Intelligence tells us that troops will be moving when the winter snow melts soon. We have to be prepared.”
You huff, rolling your eyes. Seungcheol’s workload has exponentially increased ever since war has become a real concern. Some nights, he stays for hours, some, not long at all.
“How long before they expect you?” You ask.
Seungcheol ponders. “Fifteen minutes?”
You turn in your chair, disengaging with his hands to look up at him with a half lidded gaze.
“Make the most of them then, Sir Choi.”
And he does, disrobing you in record time, pressing your front into the sheets of your bed and pushing into you from behind with just his slacks tugged down enough to set himself free. It is quick, messy and sizzling hot, his fingers tangled in your hair, your sounds muffled in the cloth you are lying on as he pounds you just the way he has learned you like the most, the pace that carries you to your end the fastest. He fills you up with his seed, warmth bathing your insides, and his lips feverishly running over your neck as he groans and curses, whispering into your ear how much he loves you. He doesn’t pull out until he’s sure your body is melting into the mattress, leaving you pliant and buzzing comfortably. He never compromises in cleaning you up afterwards and making sure you are cozy. Exactly fifteen minutes later, he leaves, your nude body tucked into bed, lips tingling from the force of his kisses, and his own jacket not even an inch out of place, but the taste of your still lingering in his mouth.
You’ve both become good at enjoying your rendezvous to the fullest.
When your steward comes to you the next morning to go over your agenda for the day, you interrupt him before he can begin and tell him about Jeonghan’s unexpected visit.
Wonwoo ponders and nods, scribbling something on the parchment.
“I will arrange for a meeting. Maybe over tea. I will let you know when I have something, Your Majesty.”
One thing about Wonwoo is that he is efficient, because that very evening, you are approved for an audience with the Queen Dowager and seated in her parlor while her handmaids serve you tea and cakes. Once your plate is made, and so is hers, she dismisses the handmaids, and they quietly scuttle out of the room.
“Why have you come?” She asks, twisting her wrist to swirl the tea in her cup. She stares intently at it instead of you. Her voice is muted, unlike the booming timbre she has always had in the many years she has ruled this castle. You hesitate and take a deep breath.
“I’ve come with a humble request, Queen Mother.” You begin.
“Oh?” She still does not look at you. “And what is it?”
Again, you pause. You don’t know how to phrase it without offending her sensibilities.
“Things have been much different since His Majesty’s most tragic passing.” You say. “Your Majesty has not graced us with her presence as often as we would have liked.”
To your shock, she laughs. A single, sharp sound that hits your ear more like a scoff than actual humor.
“You would not like it, I’m sure.”
You shake your head. “I certainly would.”
“Do not lie to me, girl.”
Girl. You grit your teeth. You do not like this form of dismissive address.
“Your son, then.” You concede. “His Majesty would like your presence to be more apparent.”
You watch her lips curl, an ugly sneer overtaking them. She swirls the cup quicker, the liquid dangerously close to the lip, almost spilling. Her eyes are still on it, but far away. She seems to pay no attention to what she is doing.
“My son.” She murmurs. “My son. He cares naught for my presence. My son. His father’s murderer.”
You gasp, shocked. “Your Majesty-”
“I have been a fool for many years.” She keeps going, stare distant. It is almost as if she doesn’t even care that you are there. “Dismissed and discarded because I hold no value. Overshadowed by harlots and concubines, unending women who did for my husband only that which I was supposed to.”
Your throat tightens. You watch, frozen still, as she spills feelings you have held in the deepest chambers of your heart your entire married life.
“Until Seojoon. Until his birth, I was nothing. After his birth, I was…..” Her hand pauses. The tea in her cup goes stationary. “I was mother to the Heir Apparent. I bore a son for the Crown, and so I had value. Endless value that none of his other women had. One of them bore him a daughter. Another one bore him a son. But I had a son first. And mine was legitimate. Unlike those second-hand scum.”
“Seojoon was perfect in my eyes, because he was mine. He came from me, from my blood and my womb, and not from the despicable four walls that I lived in. He was without fault. Pure. He could do no wrong because I bore him. The Heir to the Throne. His only legitimate child. The future of our Kingdom. A ruler. Smart. Handsome.”
Her face twists again. Hardens. “A conspirator. Liar. Killer.”
Her voice shakes. You don’t dare move an inch. Silence descends on you both, heavy and potent. You watch her closely as she takes in a shaky breath, her chest rising with it. Her skin is deeply wrinkled, and she looks like she has aged years in the span of mere months.
“Will you do the same thing?” She says, quieter this time. “Bear his child and believe it to be pure until the day he proves otherwise?”
Your teeth grit. “I will never bear his child.”
Her eyes finally turn to you, focusing for the first time since your arrival. She looks at you directly, something she has never done for such a long stretch of time. You do everything in your power to not flinch, to not blink.
“Right.” She whispers. “You will bear that Knight’s instead.”
Your blood runs cold. You stare, unmoving, at the woman as she finally sips her tea. She swallows and then sighs, dabbing her lips with a napkin.
“No matter. It will be an heir, in any case.”
Your lips part, caught between shock and confusion, your hands balled into fists. You struggle to string words together, to say something, anything, to question what she has just stated. But before you can, she reaches for the tiny bell on her table, shaking it. Thin, trilling sound fills the space, and seconds later, her handmaids step in.
“I’ve heard your request.” She says, finally. “You may leave.”
You don’t protest.
The walk back to your chambers is numb. You can barely remember the journey, nor do you pay much heed to Wonwoo as he rattles on about what you must do next. When you reach your door, Soonyoung pulls it open, and you raise a hand up to make your steward stop talking.
“I feel unwell.” You mumble. “I will be retiring for the day.”
He blinks, concern flitting over his features. “Shall I summon a doctor, Your Majesty?”
You shake your head. “I just wish to lay down. You’re dismissed, Wonwoo.”
He bows, nodding. He looks unconvinced, but takes you for your word. As he turns to leave, Soonyoung looks carefully at you.
“Shall I send for Sir Choi?” He asked in a low voice. You give him a grateful smile and shake your head again.
“I’m fine, Soonyoung. Thank you.” Your voice sounds hollow. You say nothing more, closing the door behind you after entering your room.
The silence is suffocating, but it is your only friend right now. In the quiet air, you recall the interaction that left you this way.
She knew.
You don’t know if, in hindsight, it was naïveté that convinced you of your secret being safe. Soonyoung and Eunhee know, but Seungcheol swore up and down Soonyoung would never tell, and you know for certain Eunhee is trustworthy. The circle of the knowing is iron clad. The Queen Mother finding out feels near impossible, yet she did.
Then again, there are the rumors. Everyone in the castle is famously aware of your disdain for your husband. You make no secret of it. The Queen Mother knows you will never lie with him, and if she knows, her ladies know, which means everyone knows. Loose-lipped, all of them. They do not care for keeping secrets. Rumors of you and Seungcheol have existed since the day he was declared your Champion. It just so happens that now, those rumors are true. That being said, the Queen Mother could just be operating on those old rumors. She has no proof that they are not rumors anymore.
You sit shakily on your armchair, trying to relax into it like you always do, but failing. Your corset digs painfully into your back, and this time, you feel it acutely. Her voice rings in your ear, and the second, more dreadful part of her address floats through your short term memory.
It will be an heir, in any case.
Your heartbeat speeds up, mind reeling with implications. She could not have meant what you thought she did. What did she mean by ‘in any case’? No child born of Seungcheol can be an heir. It can’t….
You stare into the fire, the flames that dance back and forth, and you remember a time far back when your Knight kneeled by your legs as you stared into the same fireplace, when your own heart was breaking at the seams because of the Queen Mother’s words. He told you then, of his own mother, a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, and how so many in the circle were the King’s mistresses. Could it be that Seungcheol’s own mother….?
No.
You do not dare entertain that idea. You do not dare. Because that would mean Seungcheol is-
Bile rises to your throat at an alarming speed. You barely make it to your basin before you heave, brown liquid spilling from your mouth and onto the ceramic. Your mind spins. You heave again, guts twisting. Tears fill your eyes.
Seungcheol could be your husband’s half brother.
You grip the edge of the basin tight and sink down, curling on yourself against the stone floor to take deep breaths. You can’t think like this. You can’t. This is a wild assumption. Shame fills your head at the very thought, but that look on your mother in law’s face haunts you, blank but sharp, like she knows something you don’t. Something sick curls in your chest again, and you fight to swallow it down.
You jump when hands meet your arms, head jerking up. You blink sharply, the world coming into focus again, sounds clearing.
“Your Majesty?”
Slanted, wide eyes meet yours, alarmed and hesitant. You sway a little as you stand, but Soonyoung’s hold on you is strong, and he keeps you in place.
“Are you okay?”
You are not, very clearly, but his question makes your face crumple. Thick tears spill down your cheeks. You sniffle.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Soonyoung. I don’t know why my life is like this.”
Soonyoung looks almost scared, like a fish out of water as he tries to think of what to say. You pay him no heed, your head still spinning and the sickness in your chest so acute that you want to vomit again. You cough and sway, unsteady where you lean against the basin again. Soonyoung’s grip on your arms tightens.
“Let’s start simple then, okay? Let’s go lie down first.”
You only nod blankly, letting the guard slowly guide you out of the bathroom and towards the bed. You lie down, despite the difficulty your attire gives you, and stare blankly at the far wall.
“I will send for a doctor, Your Majesty.” Soonyoung says. You immediately shake your head.
“No doctor. Only Eunhee.”
He hesitates. “You are terribly ill. Please allow me to call a healer.”
You refuse again. “I just need some strong tea. I’m just….. overwhelmed.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t argue anymore. He leaves the room, and you don’t move for fear of hurling again. You close your burning eyes, trying to undo some of the notions you have created in your head. You cannot think like this, because they are all baseless. You have no proof. One sentence out of the Queen Mother’s mouth is not confirmation. You are building immense assumptions and they are leaving you half mad.
Eunhee’s hands are cool on your skin, and it makes your eyes pop open when you feel them on your forehead. Her face is scrunched in concern as she looks you over. Behind her, Soonyoung stands a few paces away, wringing his hands nervously.
“Should I call a doctor?” He asks his wife. You make a face.
“I told you, Soonyoung. No doctor.”
He stiffens and bows his head in apology. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
Eunhee looks hesitant. She kneels by your bedside, her head level with you. “Should we send for Sir Choi?”
You ponder, going over your current mental state, and you realise you cannot face Seungcheol like this. He will want to know what caused it, what was said to you, and he is stubborn enough to pursue it until he can find out the exact reason, with the intention of eliminating anything that caused you distress. You can’t tell him this. Not yet, at least. So you shake your head, something that surprises both Eunhee and Soonyoung, but they accept your decision.
The rest of the night is subdued. Eunhee brews a calming cup of tea and squeezes a lemon into it. It settles the queasiness in your stomach, and she quickly helps you change into more comfortable clothes. You don’t speak much, lost in your head instead. When the embers in the fireplace finally start dying down, in the dead of the night, you conclude that you had certainly overreacted.
It was ludicrous to even insinuate that Seungcheol might be Royal blood. He is a Knight, a very popular one at that. If this was true, someone out there would have definitely said something. And so you vow to yourself to dismiss this idea completely. The coming morning will be fresh and new, and you can put this horrible night behind you.
The next morning comes, but not the way you imagined.
You are woken by Eunhee shaking you urgently. For a split second, you fear you have overslept, which is why your handmaid is waking you. But one look at the window tells you that the sky is still mostly dim, and Eunhee is here way ahead of time. One look at her face has you freezing, pale, near sickly, and overcome with panic.
“What is it?” You ask her, voice still hoarse with sleep as you sit up, trying to clear your heavy eyes. Your brain is barely awake.
“It is beginning.” She says. “Troops are readying themselves. A herald from your brother’s kingdom arrived an hour ago. The Guard is moving out.”
Your veins freeze. Breath traps itself in your throat. You push your sheets off, your bare feet hitting the stone floor. Eunhee looks disheveled, almost. She is panting, and you realise she ran all the way here. You look at your chamber doors. Slightly ajar. There is no movement outside, but you can hear shouts, neighs and hoofbeats through your windows. Sounds of clinking metal and leather boots hitting the ground accompany them. You look at Eunhee again.
“Soonyoung too?” You ask. She nods.
Your heart squeezes for the woman. You cannot imagine what it must be like for her to watch her husband leave for a war from which he may never return. Well, you can, and your intake of breath is sharp.
“Seungcheol?” Your voice trembles.
Eunhee looks pained. “He is about to leave too. He’s in the stables. Their journey will be long, so they must set off immediately.”
Your heart fills with unimaginable dread. You push off the bed, sliding your bare feet into slippers.
“Get my cloak, Eunhee.”
Your handmaid blinks, shocked. “Your Majesty, you cannot-”
“Did you say farewell to Soonyoung?” You ask sharply.
She hesitates, then nods.
“Would you be okay with me not getting that chance?”
Her face slumps, resigned. She does not say more, rushing to your wardrobe and pulling out a heavy, black cloak to cover your barely clad body. She gives you one more look, and quietly, you both slip out from your chambers.
It is barely sunrise, which means no castle staff, noblemen or maids linger. The stone hallways are empty, lit by torches on either side that guide your way. Eunhee seems to know exactly where she is going. She is quick footed and quiet, and you follow her lead. Many descending stairs take you down narrow corridors you have never walked before, and finally, Eunhee stops in front of a large, brown gate. On the other side, you can hear shouting. Through the narrow slits in the wooden slates, you can barely make out movement nearing levels of commotion. Eunhee looks around and paces back, pulling open a smaller door in the wall of the corridor.
“Your Majesty, my apologies, but you will have to wait here while I get to Sir Choi.” She says. “I cannot take you in there with me.”
You understand, nodding and stepping into what appears to be a broom closet. It is small and dusty, and you hike up your cloak slightly to prevent it from dirtying as Eunhee shuts the door behind you. It is pitch black inside, blinking makes no difference, and you muffle a cough as the stale air of the space stings your nose. You wait, your ears on high alert, your heart pounding.
When the large door made of wooden slabs creaks, voices fill the corridor outside. You stare, unwatching. Finally, your door is pulled open slightly. You blink at the onslaught of light. Eunhee’s face comes into focus. She steps aside.
Seungcheol is standing behind her, face pulled taut in alarm. He is clad head to toe in metal plates, encasing every part of his body for protection. His sword hangs by the side of his hip. Even beneath the heavy armor, you can see his posture stiffen when he sees you. You speak before he can.
“I had to see you.” You plead with your eyes, already gathering unshed tears between your lids. “I couldn’t let you leave like this.”
Seungcheol sighs heavily, walking closer to you. “Someone could see.”
You shake your head. “I don’t care.”
His eyes dart over your face, like he’s trying to memorise it. You can’t help but reach up, a shaky hand meeting his cheek. His eyelids flutter under your touch. You don’t heed the fact that Eunhee is standing right there, and so is Soonyoung, a few paces behind you and your Knight.
“Forgive me, my Queen.” Seungcheol whispers. “Leaving you like this might be my biggest sin.”
You shake your head, trying to give him a placating smile. “As long as you come back to me, I will forgive you.”
He takes one more step forward, a tiny shuffle that allows him to bow his head. His hair brushes over your face. Your breath hitches. You close the distance, lips landing on his in a searing kiss. His leather covered hands meet your waist under your heavy cloak, scrunching the material of your thin nightdress between his fingers. His touch feels like fire, and your face crumples so much that you weep into his mouth, breaking the kiss.
“My love…” Seungcheol breathes, his unoccupied hand finding your cheek, wiping the wet tracks. “Please, your tears pain me.”
“Promise me you will come back.” You plead. “You’re all I have.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows scrunch, his eyes are clouded with sorrow. He kisses your forehead, a harsh press of his lips that feels like he is trying to leave his heart there with you.
“Have I ever broken my oath to you before?” He whispers into your skin. “I have no intentions of starting now.”
You nod. He kisses you again, softer this time. Metal clinks behind him.
“Sir, we must go.” Soonyoung sounds hesitant but urgent.
Seungcheol breaks the kiss, looks you over once more. “Take care of yourself. For me.”
You nod, trying your best not to sob. You don’t want to worry him as he leaves. You take a deep breath, your limbs screaming when he pulls away. He quickly pulls up the cloak to cover you again, gives you a final smile. You watch him hungrily, taking him in. The prominent ridge of his thick eyebrows, the sharp slope of his nose, plump and pink lips, the jut of his jaw, perfect and unblemished pale skin. His hair, glorious locks of dark brown flowing past his face. When he turns, you don’t blink, not wanting to miss a single sight of him. The wooden door is pushed open. The two men slip through it, and it shuts heavily behind them.
Your strength breaks.
Eunhee barely has time to grip your shoulders as you slump, pulling the material of the cloak up to your mouth to muffle your sob into it. She pulls your body to hers so she can keep you upright. And she lets you cry. You feel so much in that moment. Grief, dread, confusion, so much pain.
Another feeling, panic, quickly joins all of these when a voice sounds behind you.
“Well, I’m not exactly surprised to find you here.”
You would recognise it anywhere. The sly tilt, soft and slightly jovial. Eunhee gasps and turns, pulling you with her. Jeonghan is standing a few feet behind both of you, weighed down by an open, brown cloak, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Between your sobs, you had not heard him come up so close, which is your fault. He looks almost amused. His eyes flit to Eunhee for a brief second, landing back on you. Your tear stained face, the circles under your eyes. He sighs and gestures before turning around to walk away. When neither of you move to follow, he speaks.
“Come on. Unless you would enjoy being caught.”
Eunhee spurs you forward, and you will your feet to muster up some strength. You shuffle a few paces behind Jeonghan. He is near silent, like a ghost, and even his clothes don’t make any noise as he walks. He leads you both up a rogue flight of stairs. Minutes later, he opens a door to what looks like a sitting room, shelves lining walls, floors draped with cozy rugs and sprawling sofas and armchairs. There is no fireplace, so the room is chilly, but your body is already very heated, so you don’t mind. You settle onto one end of a sofa, leaning against the arm support. Eunhee looks panicked, and Jeonghan seems to notice.
“Will you arrange for some tea, please? Two cups. Strong for Her Majesty.”
Eunhee nods, looking relieved to leave, and she quickly scampers out, leaving you alone with the man.
Jeonghan shrugs off his cloak, leaving him in a simple shirt and slacks. He drapes the cloak over the armchair across from you and settles on it, crossing one leg over the other. Then, he just watches you silently. You shift under his stare, eyeing the rich, maroon carpet.
“You have nothing to say to me, Chief Councillor?” Your voice is hoarse.
Jeonghan hums, tilting his head like he’s contemplating. “Maybe just to warn you that it was extremely reckless to say goodbye like that.”
You sigh. “No one saw us.”
“I did.”
“And will you do anything about it?” Your eyes shift up to meet his. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles.
“I haven’t done anything so far. Why would I start now?”
You lean back on the sofa, closing your eyes. You feel exhausted.
“How long have you known?”
Jeonghan’s foot sways a little, like he’s moving it to a tune in his head. “Long.”
You stare up at the ceiling. “It seems like everybody knows.”
He shrugs. “Suspicions only.”
“The Queen Mother said something about it.”
He waves a hand, as if in dismissal. “She loves gossip.”
“She said something else too.” You eye the man, trying to gauge his reaction. As always, his face is smooth as porcelain. He gives nothing away. “About Seungcheol.”
“Oh?” Jeonghan picks his nails.
“About his parentage.” You tack on.
His eyes flit up again then, and this time, they stay on you. “What are you implying, Your Majesty?”
You shrug. “I imply nothing. I merely ask if you know.”
“What am I supposed to have known?”
You huff, feeling irritation gnaw at you. “Must you always answer my question with a question?”
That makes him laugh, and it breaks the heavy, suffocating air a little. It lessens some of the weight on your chest, and you remember why you enjoy Jeonghan’s company so much.
“I am an advisor, my lady.” He says. “I deal with opinions and circumstances.”
“You are smarter than any man in this castle.” You goad. “You know more than anyone else. You knew about me and Sir Choi.”
“You two are not subtle.” He quips.
“The Knights who fought for my favor,” you continue on, “both were handpicked by the late King, on your advice.”
Jeonghan watches. There is intensity in his stare.
“Why did you recommend Sir Choi for the job, Chief Councillor?”
He shakes his head. “Whatever assumption you have in your head, Your Majesty, please banish it. Seungcheol’s parentage had nothing to do with it. I recommended him because he was the best man for the job. And because he was my friend.”
“So what do you know about his parentage?” You press.
The door opens and Eunhee shuffles in with a tray. You don’t break from Jeonghan’s stare for one second, don’t even flinch, as she serves both you and him.
“Thank you, Eunhee.” You mumble. “You may leave. You must be tired. Go rest.”
She blinks, hesitating.
“It’s fine.” You reassure her. “Jeonghan will escort me back to my chambers, won’t you?”
The corner of Jeonghan’s lip ticks up, amused at the fact that you addressed him by his first name in front of your handmaid. You don’t know why you do it. A show of authority? To get a reaction out of him? He doesn’t give you any.
“Of course.”
Eunhee nods in finality. She bows to both of you, and finally leaves.
You sip your tea in silence. Neither of you speaks, and you begin to realise that you are bone-tired. You were ill the night before, and you had a short, fitful sleep. Then, you were woken in a panic. The last twelve hours have been too intense for you. You do not know what to do with yourself. It also is clear to you that Jeonghan has no intention of giving you a straight answer. Once your cup is finished, you place it gently on the table next to the sofa.
“Jeonghan,” You whisper. “Please take me back.”
Jeonghan nods, placing his own cup down and standing up. He pulls his cloak on again and offers you his arm. You take it gratefully, and leave the room.
The sun is barely visible through the castle windows. The sky is still mostly dark, and the heavy beats of horses hitting the ground are distant. The troops are moving out, it seems. You try not to think about it.
“I’m tired.” You confess in a quiet voice. Jeonghan nods.
“Rest well. And banish all worry from your head, my lady. I promise you, when you need to know anything, I will tell you myself.”
That makes you turn your head. You look up at Jeonghan’s profile. He feels your eyes on him, looking back with a sheepish smile.
“To be honest, I have my doubts too.” He confesses.
Your heart pounds. When you reach your door, you let go of Jeonghan’s arm and turn to face him. “Is there any way to verify?”
He looks like he is contemplating. “Maybe.”
You watch him expectantly, but he doesn’t elaborate, so you continue. “Will you?”
Jeonghan tilts his head in that way he does when he’s thinking. “The question is, Your Majesty, do you really want to know?”
You frown. “Of course I do.”
“What will that accomplish?” He continues. “What will it do except anger Seungcheol about his mother and the late King?”
You pause, staring at the Councillor. He sighs and shrugs, reaching around you to open the heavy oak door of your chambers.
“Think about it, that’s all I ask.” He says finally, and you enter your room, closing the door quietly behind you.
………………………………
Kwon Eunhee has worked in the castle for as long as she has been alive.
Her earliest memory comes from an age she cannot even pinpoint, but she remembers the place very clearly. It was the Queen Dowager’s parlor, a place so grand that she can’t help but recall it even today. It was her first brush with royalty, the young woman who had just been wed to the newly crowned King. Eunhee remembers her mother gripping her hand tightly as she stood near the wall, having accompanied the noblewoman she served there. Her mother had been a handmaid as well, as these things ran in generations. Eunhee knew that was her future too, and that day had been the first taste of the life she would live going forward.
Her mother’s mistress was attending the Queen’s court that day, and had requested she be there to serve tea later. Eunhee was little, but old enough now to help somewhat, like an apprentice. So far, she hadn’t done any work, limited only to small lessons her mother taught her. How to serve tea, how to peel fruit with minimal waste, where to sit and where to stand when ordered.
“Everyone prefers it differently.” She would always say. “My mistress, for example, likes to eat apples with their skin still on. But I have heard that Her Majesty despises the skin.”
Eunhee just listens and watches, passively learning at even a young age. As a handmaid, she knows the significance of making yourself small. She must not draw attention, and any task she does has to be so smooth and discrete that no one even realises she is there. She is meant to be invisible. That’s the gist of it. For years, she learned this skill, honed it until she was one of the best in the castle.
Eunhee always assumed she would be assigned to another noblewoman when she was of age and ready to work full time like her mother. She never expected, in a million years, for her mistress to be the newly wedded Princess. Even her own mother had been shocked at the appointment, but dared not question Her Majesty the Queen. Eunhee had been nervous, because she still remembered her first brush with royalty in the Queen’s parlor all those years ago. The giggling, cackling ladies-in-waiting who could not stop pouring wine into their glasses, overindulging in grapes and alcohol until they were concerningly red in the face. Their gossip was salacious, entirely unwarranted and mean spirited. Eunhee had walked away, as a young girl, with the impression that the closer you were to royal status, the more artificial your soul became.
You were different, though.
From day one, Eunhee knew you had been wronged. Hoodwinked into accepting conditions you had never been warned of, thrown to the wolves without warning. She had seen the genuine heartbreak in your eyes as you came to terms with it, and Eunhee’s own distaste for the Queen only grew. It was an intense feeling, and despite being trained all her life to tamp herself down as much as possible, Eunhee couldn’t help the venom that curled in her heart when watching her young mistress fall apart.
“Never you mind, Eunhee.” Soonyoung would always say when she complained at night, going over the events of the day, trying to lighten her load by confessing to her husband. “Royals are all like this, and their business is none of ours. The more you get involved, the worse it will end for you. So just keep your head down.”
But Eunhee couldn’t, not when she went to wake you up every morning, only to see dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Not when she had to excessively powder the bags under your eyes to try and hide how tired you were. And especially not when she was summoned by the Queen, asking for personal details on if you have bedded your husband yet.
It boiled her blood.
In Eunhee’s eyes, your affair with your Knight is not wrong in any way. Eunhee has known Sir Choi since they were both children, though she was far removed from him. His mother was a lady-in-waiting until she left the castle on the Queen’s orders, sending her son to the Royal Guard when he was merely seven years old, in order to train. Before he was Sir Choi, he was merely Choi Seungcheol, the fierce young boy who fought like his life depended on it. Eunhee watched him grow up, and grew up with him, the same as her mother’s mistress’ son, Yoon Jeonghan, who is now Chief Councillor to the King. Growing up in the castle meant that Eunhee had known all of them for years, and so she can vouch for Sir Choi’s integrity completely.
When Soonyoung told her of what he heard inside your chambers, Eunhee was thrilled, and in the best way. No one deserves love more than you, and no one is a better option for that than the boy she had seen grow into a wonderful man.
She can feel your pain when the troops leave, because she feels that pain herself. She had been prepared for Soonyoung’s departure for a while now, mentally steeling herself as much as possible, and she knows you have been doing the same, but you fall apart worse than she does, and try as she might, Eunhee cannot pick up the pieces.
The morning after their troops march out, His Majesty the King follows with a grand procession. It’s unsuited for a situation as grim and dire as a war, but he has never possessed any sort of tact, so Eunhee is not surprised. You stand at the castle gates, dressed impeccably in the attire Eunhee had picked out for you, breathtakingly beautiful as always. But Eunhee can see the glaze over your eyes. She can see how distant your stare is, unfocused. Your mind is elsewhere entirely, she knows, least interested in watching your husband depart for the battleground in his mighty carriage. It is easy to read the atmosphere. The noblemen stand around with an air of disinterest that rivals yours, except theirs is much more apathetic. The Queen Dowager had not even bothered to show for the farewell. Eunhee suspects that no one cares for their King’s departure, not really.
She cannot remember the last time a monarch was so deeply hated.
Preparing to leave with His Majesty is Chief Councillor Yoon, who looks strangely out of place in his armor. He is not a fighter, but war calls for this attire, and so he dons it. Eunhee swallows tightly as she remembers the night before.
He had found her in the kitchens after escorting you back to your room. She had been surprised when he stopped across the large, wooden table from her, watching her closely for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small sheet of paper. It was slightly yellow and wilted along the edges, held shut by an untouched, maroon wax seal. He set it gently on the table, in the center, and stepped back.
“Give this to her if Seungcheol dies during battle.”
The sentence had knocked all air out of her chest. Blunt, cold, and leaving no room for question. In her shock, she had only shakily nodded, watching him turn to leave the kitchens. She eyed the paper, how worn it was, how old it looked, as she carefully picked it up. The paper was waxy and delicate, and she half worried it might disintegrate in her hands.
She feels the weight of it burn her side where she has tucked it against the belt under the dress as she watches the Chief Councillor step into a carriage from over your shoulder. She longs to know what is written in it, but she has been trained all her life in the art of restraint. It is not her place to look, and she was trusted by one of the most important people in this castle with it. She will not break her word.
In all her years of experience, Eunhee has never gone through a war.
In some ways, nothing changes. She wakes up at the same time every morning. Her empty bed doesn’t bother her, since even before leaving, Soonyoung was always on duty at the time she woke up anyway. She makes her way to your chambers, wakes you and dresses you. She brews your tea, peels your fruit. Lord Jeon enters your chambers when the sun is higher in the sky, announcing events for the day. You leave, and Eunhee busies herself in cleaning and laundering.
There’s differences, of course. You being the most glaring one of all.
You worry yourself to the point of frequent sickness. It becomes harder and harder to wake you up in the morning, and you whine petulantly, almost like a child, at the notion of getting up. You are foggy and unfocused when Lord Jeon talks. You barely eat any of the fruit you would usually devour, instead just asking for stronger and stronger tea every morning.
The only time you are present is during Court. That’s where you come alive, and Eunhee suspects it’s because you know the pressure to keep morale high is upon your shoulders only. The Queen Dowager has not been involved since the late King’s death, and her son had left weeks ago. You are the only Royal holding up the staff and the church, and it’s a responsibility you take very seriously. It lifts Eunhee’s spirits as well, watching them all gravitate more and more towards you, placing more weight on your words and your decisions. Any news from the frontlines comes straight to you, and you deal with it wonderfully. You censor what needs censoring, twist what needs twisting in order to keep spirits up and hope intact. Lord Jeon is impressed, and it makes him more enthusiastic. Every message with your sign off that reaches the commonfolk is met now with hope and support.
It’s a welcome change.
But you are slipping, Eunhee can see, when the chamber doors shut in the evening and you are left alone with her. You weep every day when there are no personal letters from Seungcheol, or any indication of his wellbeing. Eunhee has heard from Soonyoung once only, and that was a few weeks ago, but you have not heard a word from Seungcheol at all, and she knows it is only making your anxiety worse.
But there’s something else, and Eunhee is starting to realise that the changes within you have maybe more to them than originally thought.
She knows she is not an expert, but the signs are there. The unexplainable fatigue, the nausea, and constantly sour mood. The only one who can confirm it is the older women in the castle or a court physician. But she wouldn’t dare breathe a word about this to anyone. Because if her suspicions are correct, the news could be disastrous….
The letter weighs heavily against her side, like a hidden dagger ready to cut. She wonders if you deserve to know the contents now, if you are really carrying Seungcheol’s blood within you. Must she wait for the horrible possibility of the Knight dying? Why was Jeonghan insistent on the letter being opened only in such a dire circumstance? What difference will be made on the information inside by the Knight’s life or his death?
Three months into the war, Eunhee receives her first ever letter from her husband. She is overjoyed when she reads his familiar, untidy scrawl. She doesn’t even mind how much of a struggle it is to decipher some of the words. It only endears her, sets her heart at ease. Tucked inside the letter is another one, folded smaller and tighter, and the scrawl on it reads as a much neater, loopier handwriting.
“This is the only way I could get a letter to Her Majesty without anyone knowing”
Eunhee rushes to you with the letter tucked under the collar of her dress. She watches your face light up when she tells you about it, your hands shaking as you unfold it. You read over each word hungrily, your cheeks flushing pinker towards the end, tears gathering in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbles. But this time, your crying is not filled with distress, but rather, relief. Eunhee knows then, that she must do something about her suspicions. Somehow, she must confirm them. If you are truly with child, with Seungcheol’s child, then you must be made aware of it.
She finds a midwife and describes all your symptoms as her own. The midwife is thrilled to congratulate her, and so Eunhee knows for certain.
……………………………
‘The nights here are long and cold, but every second my heart beats with the hope of returning to the warmth of your arms.’
Seungcheol’s grip on the quill tightens when he hears the fluttering of the thick canvas cloth of his tent. He snatches the parchment as he turns, trying to discreetly stuff it into his sleeve. He relaxes when Jeonghan’s lithe frame catches his eye. He huffs and smooths the parchment out, turning back to it.
“Writing to Her Majesty?”
He doesn’t answer, turning the letter over so Jeonghan won’t see what he has written. His friend chuckles and flops down on the bag Seungcheol has been sleeping on for many months now. He winces at how stiff it is, pursing his lips.
“How’s the shoulder?” He asks.
Seungcheol shrugs, but even that movement causes his left side to twinge slightly in pain. The wound has healed as much as it possibly can with the available medical care. It has left an ugly scar running diagonally over his collarbone and left shoulder, but it does not hinder his movements, and that is all that matters.
“It’s fine. Why are you here, Jeonghan?” Seungcheol mumbles. It is a surprise, since Jeonghan is supposed to be present in an encampment some ten kilometers back, the same one that the King resides in. He’s not assigned to the frontlines, because he’s not a fighter. He is to stay with the King and the war generals and solidify plans, communicating any changes with Seungcheol’s brigade as needed.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
Seungcheol places his quill down carefully. It is the only one he has, so he can’t afford to lose it. He gives his friend his full attention.
“Yesterday, His Majesty suggested a widespread attack on the eastern front.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “What?”
“He won’t say it, but I can tell he has grown weary of being here. He wants to wrap it up-”
“That’s a bad idea, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol’s voice hardens. “We aren’t ready for that. We don’t have the manpower, or the weapons.”
“I know that-”
“Then get it through his head too.” He snaps. “He has already made foolish decisions. I’m not letting any more of my men die.”
Jeonghan sighs, not bothered by the borderline disrespect in Seungcheol’s tone. It has been months of back and forth between the King and his fiercest Garrison Commander. Seungcheol is fed up with his reckless antics and inability to take advice. Every day, his frustration builds, because the King refuses to coordinate with Mingyu, still personally affronted by what happened long ago at Mingyu’s coronation.
“His petulance will cost us this war.” He mumbles, jaw clenched. “I will not let a man who has never so much as received a paper cut dictate how I command the lives of my men who bleed on enemy swords every day.”
Jeonghan watches him, half weary. “He wants to see you.”
That makes Seungcheol scowl. “Why?”
“Because you keep disobeying his direct orders, and he is furious.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “That’s why you’re here.”
Jeonghan nods.
Seungcheol is tired, but more importantly, he is irritated and angry. He understands hierarchy and respect for the Crown. Hell, he has preserved its integrity his whole life. But war is a special circumstance, and when soldiers’ lives are on the line, he cannot justify making reckless decisions on personal whims. As he barks instructions at Joshua, his second in command, and prepares to depart his post to see the King, he is already sure that he will cross the line of disrespect if the King tries to impose his selfish orders. He’s not sure he cares.
“If you continue on this trajectory, you will get dishonorably discharged the second we get back.” Jeonghan jokes. It only makes Seungcheol scoff.
“He can’t get rid of me.”
Jeonghan only smirks, because he knows it’s true. If this war has done one thing, it has cemented the fact that Choi Seungcheol is indispensable. He is their only chance at victory, and that word has gone back to the mainland as well. Unbeknownst to those at the borders, Jeonghan’s intel has shared clearly that Seungcheol will emerge from this war as a studded hero and nothing less. His already massive popularity has only risen in the months he has kept their forces solidified on the border.
In circumstances like this, even a monarch can be rendered powerless.
The King’s encampment is repulsive to Seungcheol. Grand in a way that is inappropriate for the battlefront, and he wonders how much of their limited resources go into maintaining it every day, resources that should be used to benefit their troops. Seungcheol’s armor clinks as he moves. He has loosened it slightly, but not taken it off entirely. Months of being at war has left him on edge and paranoid.
None of his alertness can be reflected in the man on the makeshift throne, and not in his many generals surrounding a large table map of their borders. They are all relaxed in a way Seungcheol has not seen in months, almost as if war has never happened. It’s a sharp contrast that almost stuns him. The men are old, near withered, but some of them Seungcheol recognises as his predecessors, decorated soldiers whose input he respects. He understands the need for them, and he holds their orders in the highest regard. It’s just that he does not trust a boy who has not stepped foot out of his sheltered castle walls unless it is to be serenaded by his people.
Every day, he is disdainful that you are married to this man. But no matter. You are his in every way that counts.
Seojoon sits on his Throne, looking particularly disinterested as Seungcheol greets him and bows. He has barely lifted his knee off the ground before the man is speaking.
“The fact that I had to call you all the way here just to straighten you out is irritating.” His voice is grating. “But you are here now. And I want to know what gives you the right to refuse any of my explicit orders.”
Seungcheol takes a deep breath before answering, already put off by the tone. “Attacking the eastern border right now would be catastrophic for our men. We are in no position to land a successful strike.”
The King rolls his eyes with an ugly curl of his lip. “This is getting on my nerves.”
Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek and says nothing. His eyes meet Jeonghan’s, who stands to the side, but the man only makes a weary face. There’s no reasoning with the King. He killed his own father for the Throne, everyone in this room knows that. Expecting loyalty and consideration from him is folly.
“May I interject, Your Majesty.” One of the men in the room pipes up, drawing attention. Seungcheol recognises him as one of the senior members of the war committee. “If His Majesty King Mingyu’s troops were to rendezvous with us along the north, we might be able to launch a full scale attack that can be effective.”
Seungcheol frowns, contemplating. It’s true. While still not entirely wise, it is the current best option they have-
“How long will that take?” Seojoon asks.
The man hesitates. “Two weeks, at minimum.”
The King scowls again. “That is too long. We attack tomorrow at dawn.”
Seungcheol’s head snaps towards the man, jaw dropped. Jeonghan looks just as alarmed, and unrest spreads in the room as whispers. Seungcheol rises to his feet.
“Your Majesty-”
“I won’t hear any of your nonsense, Seungcheol.” He snaps. “It has been over four months. If I had known if would take this long-”
Seungcheol wants to interject again, to yell at the man that war takes years, and four months is nothing in comparison. But Seojoon is already standing and walking to the table, using his fist to rap on the wood as a judge would in finality.
Seungcheol walks to the table as well, standing next to the King. He glares at him, but for the first time, Seungcheol glares right back. He stands a few inches taller than the man, and it makes him feel a small sense of power.
“If we attack now, we will lose any ground we hold. They will retaliate, and I don’t have enough men to ensure anyone’s safety when that happens. Including yours.”
It’s almost like the whole room collectively holds their breath, watching the two men stare each other down. Seojoon’s eyes darken in indignation, the exact same color as Seungcheol’s.
“You will do as I say.” He spits out. “And you will not question me.”
Movement behind the King makes Seungcheol’s eyes shift. Jeonghan, standing farther off, shakes his head perceptibly, as if telling Seungcheol to stay quiet. So he stiffens his jaw and nods, even if every fibre of his being wants to do otherwise.
As he leaves the large encampment, his blood boils. He thinks of the incomplete letter under his blanket, and he knows any feeling he has poured into it might be in vain. He won’t be able to send it to you. He doesn’t even know if he will be alive at this time tomorrow.
Sometimes, the egos of the rulers result in tragic consequences, and Seungcheol is unsure if there is anything he can do to prevent them.
you have known your entire life that your existence is political. second born to the Throne, a daughter no less, your only purpose is to be wed to a prince to strengthen alliances. but you still hope to mean something to your new husband, despite the intentions behind your union.
you are sorely mistaken.
you realise quickly that you are as alone in your new home as you were in your childhood one. this is the fate that has been written for you, the reality you must live. but one knight might change it all when he swears an oath of fealty to you, and means it with every piece of his heart.
pairing: knight!choi seungcheol x princess/queen!reader
genre: medieval au, royalty au
word count: 9.9k
warnings (for this chapter): angst, hurt/comfort, feelings of loneliness and isolation, humiliation, tears, rebellion, some fluff, may have historical inaccuracies, mildly suggestive content, some politics and mentions of war, mentions of death.
series masterlist
One year and one month after your wedding, you receive a letter from your older brother.
It is held gingerly in Seungcheol’s hands one morning when he comes to your chambers to give you a rundown of the schedule for the day. You are not one to receive much correspondence, so you notice the sealed parchment in his hand immediately, raising an eyebrow.
“It is from your brother.” Your Knight says, a shadow passing over his face. You freeze, your cup of morning tea halfway between your lap and your mouth. You did not expect Mingyu of all people to write to you, especially because he had not reached out since the one and only letter he wrote to you went unanswered over a year ago. Truthfully, you feel like you have nothing to say to your brother. You believed for a long time that he was your only well-wisher in the castle you grew up in, only to realise that he selfishly just wanted to marry you off to scum so he could inherit a stable Crown. You haven’t spoken to him since you left.
You hold a hand out for the letter. Seungcheol hesitates. “Are you sure, Princess?”
You give him a dry look, one he has gotten very used to as part of your usual antics. Antics you reserve only for him and your handmaid Eunhee, who is currently peeling fruit for you. Anyone else would call you disrespectful and not a graceful, well-trained Princess. But Seungcheol would never judge. He likes it when you are authentic to yourself; he has stated that multiple times.
The parchment is warm and your hands are stable as you peel off the wax seal and unfold the letter. Mingyu’s familiar, neat scrawl makes something claw at your throat. You read the letter at a more rushed pace than you normally would, because despite everything, you want to know what he has to say. Then you read it again. Then a third time. Neither your Knight nor your handmaid say anything.
Then you finally lower the letter to your lap, and take a deep breath.
“My parents have passed away.”
Eunhee freezes, head shooting up to look at you. Seungcheol’s posture stiffens in the chair where he sits. His mouth has dropped open.
“He’s-” You swallow tightly when you hear your voice waver. “He’s inviting me to attend his coronation next month.”
Seungcheol reaches for the letter. “May I?”
You let it drop into his hand. You have no secrets from him.
Seungcheol reads over the letter carefully, thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You stare at the flames dancing in your fireplace. You hear him sigh and fold the parchment, gesturing to Eunhee. Silently, Eunhee sets down the plates she’s holding and leaves the room, closing the door behind her with a careful click.
“How are you feeling?” Seungcheol asks once you’re alone, voice low. You take a deep breath, trying to detangle the mess of thoughts in your head.
You were never close with your parents. Your mother had no intention of having another child after she had already birthed an heir, and the only reason she was willing to have more was to have another son in case the Crown fell upon him. Her reaction to your birth was apathy, to put it mildly. And she had maintained this indifference your entire life. You were raised in the hands of maids and other noblewomen. Your father was a busy man, and you would often go months without exchanging two words with him. This news of their deaths brings back memories that are not very fond, reminding you of the insignificance you felt your entire life, and how difficult it was to finally make your spine rigid, to make your words have meaning. Years of insecurity and feelings of worthlessness had to be undone for this.
“I don’t know. I am shocked, I suppose.” You tilt your head, another question entering your mind. “How come I heard it straight from Mingyu? Wouldn’t he have sent a messenger from the castle as soon as it happened?”
Seungcheol nods. “Normally, yes. But you are aware that it is not a reassuring state of affairs between this monarchy and your previous one.”
Right. You do know that. Your refusal to acknowledge this marriage, to consummate it or pay respect to its sanctity, has meant that your parents’ efforts to form political ties were in vain. The political stability guaranteed by this union did not stand strong. Tensions have risen. You have been a thorn in the side of the reigning King and Queen, as well as your husband, the Crown Prince, so any alliance formed with your blood family is essentially null and void, and exists only on paper. You know your married family is furious at your refusal to comply, which makes them unwilling to cooperate for any sort of relations with your blood family. The only reason you are still in this castle as a Crown Princess is because you are wedded in the eyes of the Church, and no matter how badly your husband and his mother would like to get rid of you, the Church elders and court officials will not let that stand.
There is, also, the fact that none of the Prince’s mistresses seem to be getting pregnant. If this monarchy has any hope of getting an heir, they must hold on to you, or the royal bloodline will die. So all these circumstances, no matter how atrocious, have given you a weapon, leverage, to hold your position. While there are parts of you that are unsure about yourself, that will always be doubtful of your place, you are much more solid on your feet than you used to be when you first arrived here.
In big part, this confidence comes from the man sitting in front of you right now.
That night one year ago, while on his knees and his forehead pressed to your leg, Seungcheol had sworn his life and his loyalty to you in a gesture that stays with you to this very day. Seungcheol recognised a fire in you that everyone always dismissed as petulance and immaturity. But to him, that fire is strength, it is resilience. He believes mental armor is just as, if not more, impenetrable than physical one. And over the last year, he has helped you build it up to what it is today. Your no-nonsense attitude that keeps your enemies under your thumb is all thanks to him and his blind faith in you.
“Nowhere near that, Your Highness.” He always protests when you show your gratitude. “Your strength is yours alone. You just needed to know how to harness it.”
“And you’re the one who taught me that, Sir Choi.” Your voice is teasing. He huffs.
“Please do not call me that. You know it sounds too pretentious to me.”
You grin and nudge him. “I know. That’s why I call you it. Watching you pout is endlessly amusing.”
“You sound like Jeonghan.”
That makes you laugh.
Seungcheol has loosened up a lot after being in your service for so long. He meets your eyes, and is unafraid from voicing his opinions, because you enthusiastically encourage it. When you are playful, he indulges it and even plays along to the best of his ability. But throughout it all, he doesn’t forget his duty. He protects you fiercely, not just from physical attacks, but verbal ones too. Seungcheol has a lot of influence among the Royal Guard, since he is a garrison commander and has lived in the castle all his life. Most people are afraid of him, and so they don’t speak ill of you directly. Any area not within his jurisdiction can easily be dealt with by Jeonghan, who is slated to be the future Chief Councillor to the Crown. You often like to think of it as forming a shield between you and the outside world, and as long as Seungcheol is in your immediate vicinity, you feel completely safe.
It is a no-brainer that your Knight will come with you to attend your brother’s coronation. What you are endlessly displeased by is the fact that your husband, Seojoon, will be joining you as well.
“He makes my skin crawl.” You mumble as you stand by your carriage while Eunhee arranges your seating to be as comfortable as possible. Seungcheol, who stands one pace behind you, hums sympathetically.
“My deepest apologies, Princess. But the implication of him not being there could be catastrophic. We cannot risk that. If your brother’s nation has any more unrest, or if his enemies realise our alliance with him is weak, it could push them to the brink of war.”
You nod, because you know he’s right. Your home country has always struggled, but it has been particularly harsh for the last few years, with neighboring countries eyeing the territory. Despite the weak political ties, there was still an alliance on paper there, and your brother going to war would pull your country into it too.
“Besides,” you feel Seungcheol’s voice lower a few decibels, and he leans a little closer to you, “the Prince’s image needs rehabilitation.”
You pull your lips tight to keep yourself from smiling. You have heard the whispers of the Prince’s reputation. His indulgence in worrying amounts of mead, his rowdy gaggle of hunting companions, and the endless lines of mistresses cannot be contained within the castle. Word spreads, especially between workers who go in and out of the castle, and while your own standing with the public isn’t favourable, it doesn’t matter as much as the Prince’s. You are, after all, disposable, in the Queen’s words. Something she never fails to remind you of. But the Prince needs to be favored, since he has to take the throne. He needs this more than you.
As you wait for the carriage to be prepped, you wander along the walls of the gardens, admiring the new bloom of flowers. Servants move between the convoy, carrying luggage and tending to horses. Seungcheol is busy organising the guard that would escort you, making sure there are no cracks in their formation. He is in full armor, which you rarely see inside the castle. Large plates of steel cover his front, arm and legs. It clinks only slightly as he moves, fitted perfectly to his body. When you feel your breath slow as you watch him, you know you must look away.
You have that questionable habit. You like to stare at your Knight.
The sun hits his dark hair and makes it look a lighter brown than usual, standing out more against his pale skin. The armor gleams, and a small layer of sweat is forming on his forehead. His voice is harsh as he barks orders, booming timbre that reaches you even though you stand afar. You look away because you are in public, and you know people will notice. You already know of the rumors. There are many explanations about why you refuse to let the Prince bed you, and one of them is that you already have a lover, and that you are an unfaithful, scarlet woman.
You don’t pay heed to the rumors. Your name is already disgraced. You no longer care, as long as no one says it to your face. And Seungcheol won’t let that happen.
You turn your eyes to the rest of the convoy as the crowd gets denser. Eunhee is instructing the guards handling your personal luggage. Jeonghan is talking to another man towards the tail end of the carriages. Standing some far off are three women, and you feel your blood run cold as you recognise them.
Concubines. More particularly, your husband’s.
You would recognise them anywhere, particularly Hana. She has a certain reputation within the castle walls, especially in regards to you, since she holds you in no authority and is openly disrespectful. Seungcheol loathes her blatant disregard of you, but the favor she incurs from the Crown Prince is unquestionable. She wears jewelry meant only for royals, bought personally by your husband. It is another reason why the Prince is not liked; he has no respect for the chastity of royal titles. He treats her, a commoner, with more regard than she could ever deserve. She walks through the castle halls like she owns them, wearing layers too scarce for a woman and causing scandal, badmouthing you loudly. She was not trained by royal standards, so she is mannerless. Noblemen and women hate her, but she cares not because she lays with the Heir Apparent at night.
She boils your blood.
Before you can say anything or react, the three women are shown to a carriage at the end of the line. They step into it, talking and whispering among themselves. You bite the inside of your cheek and beeline your way to Jeonghan, your dress billowing in the wind behind you. The man he is talking to immediately falls silent as you approach, and Jeonghan turns to see what has happened. He smiles when he realises that it’s you.
“Princess,” he greets warmly, “a pleasure as always.”
“He’s taking his women?” Your voice is hard as stone, ignoring his words. Jeonghan stares, gesturing to the man behind him to dismiss him. The man bows and leaves quickly. He turns back to you.
“His orders were explicit.”
“My birth family does not indulge in concubines.” Your voice shakes more the longer you speak. “If my husband comes with me to attend my brother’s coronation and brings concubines with him, I will be humiliated.”
Jeonghan’s face softens. He looks truly apologetic. “I told him that. I strongly advised against it, because it will only damage his reputation more. He…. didn’t heed my words.”
Your teeth grind so hard it sends a shooting pain through your jaw. You blink away hot tears before they can fall. You’re too emotional to notice Seungcheol’s concerned stare at a distance, or how he watches you closely.
It has taken so long for you to be relatively normal about the situation you are living in. Every once in a while, you still stain your pillow wet with your tears, and it took time, but by now you have more or less accepted your fate. This, however, might be too much to bear. Your old kingdom, the people who watched you grow as a princess within their grounds, could not see this. You could not stand for them to witness the constant shame you endure. You have nothing, but you still have your self respect. This will be too much.
Seungcheol seems on guard and rigid as you climb into your own carriage while you do everything in your power to swallow the terrible knot in your throat. You know your distress is making him uneasy, but you’re too busy trying to keep your composure while out in public. Your heart is pounding, and ugly emotions of panic and humiliation are swelling in your chest. Eunhee works quietly to settle you, and before she can ask if you need anything, you are already waving her off. As soon as she leaves the carriage, your face crumples.
Hot, thick tear tracks roll down your cheeks readily, as if they have been waiting. You try to tamp your sobs, your shoulders shaking with the effort. Your napkin gets wet with your tears as you wipe them, but they show no signs of stopping. You don’t know how to suppress your onslaught of feelings. It’s too much to take.
In the distance, you can hear the man at the head of the convoy call for all to move. The door opens. Seungcheol steps in and sits opposite to you. He freezes, takes one look at your face, and his own hardens. You are sure that Jeonghan has told him about the situation, but this is still new to him. Despite how close you are, your Knight has never seen you cry.
“I’m sorry you have to witness this.” You hiccup shakily as the carriage starts moving. Seungcheol’s jaw ticks, a noticeable movement, and he shakes his head quickly.
“Your Highness need not apologise.” He says, and you’re nearly shocked into silence at how his voice shakes. Is it from anger? You cannot tell. You’ve never heard Seungcheol waver. You sniffle and watch him. Somehow, his reaction quietens your own tears. He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t look at you, but his leather gloved hands are curled into fists on his thighs. He appears agitated, and you know instinctively that it’s because of your anguish. Somehow, that settles the loneliness growing in your chest. His anger on your behalf eases you. The curtains of the carriage are closed. You sit here alone with him. You think of the grand carriage at the tail end of the convoy that your husband sits in shamelessly with three other women. Your heart squeezes.
“Seungcheol,” you shift yourself to the right to make room, “sit with me.”
Your Knight blinks. “Your Highness, I wouldn’t dare-”
“Please.” Your face crumples again. “Please.”
He shifts immediately, two smooth movements before he is turning his body and sitting down next to you. You waste no time in scooting closer, until your arm presses against the tough, steel plates covering his. It’s rigid, but the cold of it gives you stability. Comfort.
“Never, ever plead with me, Princess.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds strained. “If I don’t listen to your orders on one call, I have failed as your Knight. It is beneath you to ask twice.”
You stare straight ahead. Your tears still flow freely, trailing down from your jaw until they wet your neck too. No one has touched you, not even through metal armor, in over a year. You remember Mingyu hugging you before you boarded the carriage on your way to your new home. Besides Eunhee’s hands dressing you and combing your hair every day, the only touch you remember is the delicate kiss Seungcheol laid on your knuckles the day he was declared your Champion.
Your heart squeezes. You are starved.
“Hold my hand.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. This time, Seungcheol does not hesitate. Warm, stiff leather meets bare skin. His large hand slides over yours, squeezing tightly. You sigh, your eyes closing. A few more stray tears escape.
You lay your head on the stiff plate over his shoulder as the carriage moves steadily on.
…………………………………..
The journey is brutal, mostly because you spend every day filled with the dread of getting to your destination. Your first few nights within your own lands, noble families along your route host you, grand affairs as they welcome you to their homes, that you attend in a state of emotional numbness. You request that Eunhee stay with you overnight, and she sleeps in a cot in the same room as you. You toss and turn, void of any sleep or comfort, despite the lengths your guests go to for that very goal.
Your only relief is in your carriage, with your Knight.
Seungcheol holds your hand as long as you desire it. He runs his thumb over the back of it, comforting circles of sure, firm leather that ground your rampaging thoughts. You sigh, your cheek pressed to the stiff armor on his body. For a few, blissful moments, your racing thoughts quieten.
“Must you wear this at all times?” You mumble, gesturing to the metal. He chuckles.
“I must, my Princess.” He muses. “However else will I be ready to protect you should the need arise?”
You hum and sigh, feeling surety in his touch. He has started saying that, my Princess. Like you are his. You are sure he means nothing by it except a show of his unwavering devotion, and a comfort to you in trying times like these. But it lights a fire in your chest, anyway. You move closer, your thigh pressing to his, and your face heats at the proximity. Layers of clothes and metal plates interfere between you two, but Seungcheol’s grip on your hand tightens. His breath hitches. Your mind runs to places it shouldn’t.
Seven days of travel later, you finally arrive at your childhood home.
Mingyu stands at the gate with a grand reception. Prior to your arrival, the convoy was rearranged, and you were placed in the same carriage as the Prince, while his concubines were relocated. Just the thought of sitting in there made you sick, but you sucked it up for the sake of the occasion. You are quick to exit when you arrive, unable to stay in the same space as Seojoon any longer.
Mingyu has aged only one year since you last saw him, but he looks much older. You wonder if it’s the strain of your parents’ sudden deaths (severe lung infections, he tells you), mixed with the fact that he has to quickly scramble to prepare for the Throne. You know for a fact that he wasn’t prepared for this. Well, every heir is prepared to an extent, but Mingyu saw this to be somewhere in the distant future, and not so soon. He is dressed in royal blue and gold, your family colors, and seeing him sends a shock of bittersweet pain through your chest.
Despite everything, you missed him.
The feast arranged for your arrival is grand as anything, and you spend all your time catching up with Mingyu. He speaks to you so warmly that it is almost a shock. You had forgotten what it felt like to be spoken to like you mean something. Immediately afterward, he offers for you both to retire to his private study for more time together, while your husband and your servants are shown to their rooms. Seungcheol asks thrice if you are okay to be alone, and you reassure him that you are.
“I wouldn’t mind if you joined us, Sir Choi.” Mingyu smiles. “And you too, Chief Advisor Yoon.”
You stare at Mingyu, shocked, when he deliberately leaves out Seojoon, who is sitting at the same dinner table. You can feel your husband stiffen next to you, and his face twists in an ugly sneer. But he doesn’t say anything. Jeonghan and Seungcheol both politely decline the invitation, as it would be disrespectful to accept when the Heir Apparent has not even been asked. You feel a sick satisfaction at the way Mingyu has dealt with the situation, returning to your meal and taking a bite to hide your smile.
You ask him about it when you’re walking to his study. It’s just the two of you, along with Seungcheol, who is five paces behind you, escorting you to where you need to be.
“Seojoon won’t be happy. That was blatant disrespect.”
Mingyu scoffs. “Good. Your marital family hasn’t exactly upheld their end of our alliance. My borders are distressed and I’m hurtling headfirst into a war. If disrespecting my brother in law is going to wake the King up a little, then so be it.”
You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You know I’m the reason why they won’t cooperate with you. I am yet to give them an heir.”
Mingyu’s voice hardens. “Producing an heir was never part of the deal. It was you in exchange for political stability.”
Your throat tightens. Mingyu falters.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is more sombre now, when his words register to him. You shake your head. You are entirely used to people talking about you like an object.
“It’s fine. You’re not wrong.”
“I still feel guilty.”
“I’m aware.”
You enter Mingyu’s library through large mahogany doors. Seungcheol gives you a cautious look. You nod at him, hopefully reassuredly. The door finally closes between you.
The fireplace is roaring, lively flames that set the room aglow with a soft, golden light. You settle in one of two armchairs facing it, and Mingyu takes the other one. A chambermaid stands a few feet away, and Mingyu gestures for her to serve tea.
“I was also angry.” Mingyu speaks up. You look at him to continue. His face is colder now, like he has been deeply insulted.
“He brought not one, not two, but three concubines to his wife’s birth home, to attend her brother’s coronation. He has crossed a line.”
You bite the inside of your lip, watching the maid place a delicate cup of tea on the table next to you. You don’t reply to Mingyu, because you don’t know what to say.
“There’s rumors, you know?” He mumbles. “Traveling merchants love to spread gossip, and my advisor has a good idea about how public perception is currently looking. Your people are particularly distasteful of him. I’m unsure of how he will be able to peacefully take the Throne without massive unrest.”
You sigh and nod. You know of the rumors. You also know that they are entirely his doing, so you feel no sympathy for him.
“Speaking of unrest,” you begin, “I’m more concerned about how things are looking for you.”
When Mingyu sighs this time, it’s pained and heavy. He looks like he bears a huge, invisible burden. You watch him run a hand over his face.
“We’re being provoked to it.” He says. “There have been attacks on our entire eastern border. There’s only so much we can hold off before we retaliate. Father had been pushing for negotiations before illness took him. That’s why we are rushing a Coronation. I need to be in power so I can do something more diplomatic and not let this escalate.”
You stare into the fire, thinking. “But if it does, we will go to war with you.”
Mingyu nods. “You will have to. It’s in writing.”
“Right.” Your mind is racing with just one thought, and despite everything, it seems your brother knows exactly what thought it is.
“That includes your Knight.” He states.
Your head whips up to look at him. He does not look disapproving, or judgemental. Instead, he has a tiny smile playing on his face.
“I’m not daft, you know? The way he looks at you goes far beyond the realm of duty to the Crown.”
You feel your cheeks burn hot, and you look away from Mingyu’s shrewd stare, scowling. He laughs.
“You misunderstand him.” You respond. “He’s very devoted.”
Mingyu hums in a way that tells you he doesn’t believe you. “Sure.”
Your heart pounds. You focus on sipping your tea, scalding your tongue with the first sip, but you do not care. Mingyu breaks the awkward air.
“He has a reputation too, you know? Your Knight.”
You look at Mingyu curiously. “What do you mean?”
He shifts a little, crossing one leg over the other. “He leads a garrison known for fearsome battle expertise. He is an excellent fighter. He was the youngest member of the Royal Guard to receive a Knightship. And he comes from a very prominent village of business and trade. Any merchant from your country sings his praises. Your public loves him.”
You feel something like pride swirl inside you. You smile at your cup.
“He deserves it.”
Mingyu hums.
“If he fights in this war with his garrison, there is no way we will lose.”
Your grip on your cup tightens. A slow sense of dread takes root in your chest as you think about the possibility of Seungcheol not being by your side, but laying his life on the line at your borders. You try vehemently to push it away. “There is no war. And there will be none.”
Mingyu says nothing. He only stares. You go back to your tea.
……………………………
Despite such short notice for arrangements, Mingyu’s coronation is grand as anything. You think this has to do, in part, with the mere presence your brother has. Tall, regal, confident. Like he was born to be on the Throne, like his whole life was a mere filler leading up to this moment. You are truly happy to see him bear the heavy Crown. You have complete confidence in his ability to lead his people.
The feast is grand, the banquet afterwards is even grander. Seojoon seemed to take the slight from your first evening here personally, because in the days that follow, all through the Coronation and the subsequent celebrations, he behaves like a poorly raised child. Halfway through the banquet, he disappears from your side after drinking half the supply of alcohol instead of tastefully sipping it like everyone else. You can hear the whispers of your guests, and you can see Mingyu’s smirk. Jeonghan looks particularly tired, and you’re sure the task of babysitting your husband feels impossible for him. You’re half-convinced he has fully given up. Word will reach the castle before you even say farewell to your brother. The King will be furious about his son’s antics and the impression he is leaving behind, as you know his monarchy means everything to him. The resulting damage control will go heavily in Mingyu’s favor so he can make more demands by using the insult Seojoon is giving to him as leverage.
Your brother can be ingenious sometimes.
Towards the end of the celebrations, you finally take leave from the gathering. Mingyu, still not entirely used to the new difference in rank between you two, gives you a hug before you retire for the night. You’re pleasantly surprised, and a little tipsy as well, so you giggle and return it. Truthfully, you missed this. You’ve been so starved of genuine affection that you don’t care if you’re breaking royal etiquette for a moment. You’re smiling widely as you leave, humming under your breath. Your Knight, who was your escort the entire night, seems to notice.
“You enjoyed yourself, Your Highness.” Seungcheol muses, one pace behind you as always. “I’m glad.”
You hum and giggle. “I did. I missed Mingyu. He was the only person in my birth home who showed me unfiltered kindness.”
He nods. “I can see that. His Majesty is truly kind. And he cares, despite everything. He will be a wonderful king.”
You turn to look at him. “He praised you too. Said your reputation precedes you. I was so shocked, Sir Choi. I didn’t know how famous you are.”
Seungcheol sighs and cringes visibly, and it only makes you laugh more. When you reach your guest chambers, he pushes the door open and guides you inside.
“I’m sure he exaggerates.”
You scoff in a manner truly undignified for a Princess, kicking your shoes off. Seungcheol watches you flounder around as the door shuts behind him.
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not!” You give him an appalled look. He raises an eyebrow, but his lips fight to not tick up.
“I will send for Eunhee.”
You groan and step forward. “No.”
The word drags out of you, long and petulant. Your hands find Seungcheol’s chest, and you fiddle with the array of gold medals pinned to his ceremonial uniform. The deep maroon looks wonderful against his skin, and he’s studded with all his achievements, looking grander than you, you would argue, if you weren’t so heavily draped in shiny silk and golden jewelry. Up close, you can smell him, a scent of metal and warm wood.
Seungcheol’s hands shoot up instinctively to yours, delicately circling around your wrists. You can feel his heartbeat on your palm even through his jacket. You watch carefully, his touch shooting like sparks up your arm. He is not wearing gloves. This is the first time you’ve felt his skin against yours.
“Princess.” His voice is cautious. His posture has stiffened because of your proximity. You have never been this close to him before, except when he sat with you in your carriage.
“Mingyu said something else too.” You mumble, ignoring his warning. “He said…. that you’re in love with me.”
Not in so many words, but you want to see Seungcheol’s reaction. And you get it instantly. His entire torso turns rigid, and subconsciously, his grip on your wrists tightens. His eyes have widened, darting left to right between your own.
“Do you love me, Seungcheol?” You whisper.
All is silent for a few moments. Seungcheol heaves in a breath like it’s a struggle for him. “I pledged you my sword and my life.”
You minutely shake your head. When you step forward, rising slightly on your tip toes, your sigh mingles with his. The air freezes still, like it’s holding its breath, like it’s waiting for the melee to break.
“Answer me.” You breathe.
Seungcheol’s eyes screw shut. This close, you can count his individual eyelashes. You can see the small smattering of freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You can see the way his skin is gradually pinkening the longer you stay so close to him.
“Please don’t ask this of me, Your Highness.” His voice is strained. “I have never lied to you. I do not wish to start today.”
Your eyes cloud. Your vision swims. Mingyu was right. He was right.
You step back, blinking rapidly to clear the tears, and the tension releases like the whistle on a steam engine. Seungcheol’s grip on your wrists loosens, then disappears. You see his chest rise in a deep breath, just before he opens his eyes. But he won’t look at you. The second there is distance between you, he falls to one knee.
“Please forgive me.” His voice shakes as he bows deeply. “I don’t deserve your grace, not after breaching your trust in the way that I have. I am a weak human in mind, my Princess. I have wavered. I let myself think of you impurely, unjustly. I will repent for the rest of my days if I have to.”
Your face crumples. Your heart twinges painfully in your chest at the waver in his voice, the genuine fear in it, and somehow, this pain is worse than any you have felt in the last year. The thought that loving you is something that made Seungcheol feel guilty is like knives to your chest. You don’t think. Instead, you drop to your knees too.
Seungcheol reacts immediately, hands gripping your arms and hauling you up before your knees can even feel the heat of the stone floor. He is shocked at the action, nearly balking at you as he holds you up. You grip the lapel of his jacket, trying to get your feet under you. He uses the hold on your arms to tug your closer. You freeze, looking up into his eyes.
“The day you kneel on the floor is the day I shatter my own kneecaps.” He rasps. His words make your stomach twinge. Your face flushes. Your eyes dart to his lips.
“Kiss me.”
Seungcheol blinks. You don’t know who you have shocked more, him or yourself. But once the words leave your mouth, you realise you want nothing more than this exact thing. It burns through your veins like a desire so aching it leaves your soul empty. You push forward again, despite how strong your Knight’s grip is on your arms, until you feel his nose brush the tip of yours.
“You said I would never have to ask twice.” Your voice trembles. It’s so quiet, you are half unsure if he has heard you. “You said it was beneath me.”
Seungcheol’s eyes squeeze shut again. He pulls in a long, laboured breath. When he opens them again, you feel a tug on your body, and soft lips meet yours with an insistent press.
You have heard of first kisses. You have heard of them in stories told by court entertainers and travellers, by old noblewomen who tell fairytales and sing folk songs. You imagined your own, once upon a time, with a man that is now your husband, who you have never let touch you. But your Knight, your Champion, is present before you, tall like standing oak, but with lips softer than your most delicate velvet, moving over your own with a surety you have long associated with him. You melt into him like he’s meant for you, and he is. He has sworn an oath to be your support, and he keeps it, his hands leaving your arms so one can wind carefully around your waist. Your body meets his in a soft push, and it’s like the tension leaves you like a relieved sigh. You feel fingers card through your hair, a familiar feeling because Eunhee does your hair every morning, but these fingers are thicker, stronger, and they cup the back of your head, tilt it, so his lips slot deeper into yours.
Your trembling hands rest on his shoulders. His body is solid, alive, as it moves with yours. Your breasts push against his chest, his arm that winds around you making sure not an inch of space separates you from him. Your feet almost leave the floor, the balls of your feet barely brushing the stone anymore, his strength holding you up. He feels divine against you. Your inhibitions are lowered, and you mewl into him.
“Princess.” He breathes into your mouth, voice tinged with desperation, but he never finishes the thought. He kisses you harder, grips you tighter, like letting you go will mean you will drift away. His body curves into you, your own arches into his. He invades your every sense. His tongue runs over your bottom lip. Something tightens severely in your lower stomach.
A thudding sound behind you shatters your high. Seungcheol hears it too. He pulls back so harshly it feels like he is being ripped away, and you immediately stumble back a few paces, turning away from him. There is another thud, and then the door swings open.
“Eunhee.” You hear him say. His voice is stable, like he wasn’t breathing into your mouth mere seconds ago. Your stomach jolts. “You’re here. Good. I was just about to send for you.”
“My apologies, Sir Choi.” Your maid enters smoothly. You don’t hear any suspicion in her voice. You don’t turn. You feel like your ribs will crack under the forceful pounding of your heart.
“Her Highness has had some wine.” You feel like Seungcheol’s voice is far away, like you’re hearing him through a roaring waterfall. “Please take care of her.”
You don’t hear Eunhee’s reply, but the door shuts shortly after. You feel Eunhee’s gentle hands guide you with a grip on your arms to the large chair next to the fireplace. You want to flinch away, still drowning under the sensation of the strong grip that kept you on your feet mere moments ago. You’re sure your handmaid thinks you are a little foggy because of the alcohol, as you don’t usually drink and can’t hold a lot. But your senses have never been more sharp, your mind never more clear.
Once you’ve changed and laid down, with Eunhee in her cot already dead asleep, you stare at the dark ceiling, wondering what you have just done. And what you are about to do.
Because you know, with complete certainty, that you will do it again.
……………………………
You stay at your birth home for three more days before being scheduled to leave. Despite a myriad of new responsibilities for your brother, he spends ample time with you, and any time he isn’t with you, you spend catching up with the noblewomen of the castle, as well as your old handmaids. You do miss your old home, since you haven’t come back in a noticeable while. Given everything, you don’t come face to face with Seungcheol in complete privacy until you’re bidding Mingyu farewell and settling into your carriage. Petulantly enough, Seojoon chose not to sit with you, not that you mind.
You say your last goodbye through the window, smiling and waving delicately. Mingyu smiles broadly in farewell. Eunhee cushions your back to make you comfortable and retreats. Your heart skips when Seungcheol slides into the seat opposite to you. The horses’ hooves click and the convoy finally starts moving. Seconds after it picks up speed, Seungcheol shuts the curtain. Your eyes meet his in the enclosed space. The first time you have been completely alone with him since that night.
Heat sizzles. It cracks.
His body shifts to the seat next to you, his hand finds its place on the back of your head just like it did the first time. When he kisses you, you feel like new life is breathed into your soul. You return it immediately, scrambling to find purchase over his armor. The first touch of his lips feels like a cold drink on a hot summer day.
“Princess,” he breathes when you sigh into him, “forgive me. Forgive me. I am weak.”
You can barely shake your head against the grip he has on you. You kiss him harder, scowling when his heavy armor restricts your access to him.
“Stop apologising. I want this as much as you do.”
His groan cracks halfway. His lips never leave yours.
“Your Highness, I loathe disagreeing with you, but here I must.” He whispers, pulling away just slightly. You heave in a deep breath. His forehead meets yours and his eyes are wide, the warmest, fiercest brown, peering into yours, dripping with emotion that stabs your frantic heart.
“You have invaded my every thought for days. I remembered our kiss every night, and I prayed for the moment I could do it again.”
You’re the one pulling him in this time, kissing him like you’re hungry for it, like you’re starving. Seungcheol’s tongue, hot and insistent, finally crosses the threshold of your mouth. You keen into him. His free hand runs up and down your side, sending tingles over your clothed skin.
It’s a bump and jolt of the carriage under you that breaks the kiss. Your breaths are heavy, lips swollen and tingling. He is a vision, cheeks flushed, lips dark pink and wet with your spit. You flush at the sight. He brushes your hair behind your ear.
“Beautiful.” He murmurs. “You are the loveliest thing that has ever graced the soil of my country.”
You feel your face burn hot at the ardency in his words. You cannot even refuse, not even out of modesty. The earnest tone of his voice leaves no room for doubt. He means this with every fibre in him, you can tell.
“Stay with me forever, Seungcheol.”
His eyes almost melt. He closes them, leaning his forehead delicately against yours.
“I will never consider anything otherwise, Your Highness.”
Your heart feels at ease.
……………………………
The castle is in disarray when you return.
You cannot tell immediately, but there is a certain charge in the air. Jeonghan’s face is pulled taut, and you are not used to seeing him so worried. He is usually relaxed and in control, but it seems the King is particularly furious this time. The many months of distrustful behavior from his son have piled up. The Court’s Councillors don’t trust him anymore, especially not as Heir Apparent, and it seems they have planned a certain reckoning for him after his stint at your brother’s coronation.
You are sure it won’t end well, but you are not bothered. Your head is still in the clouds after the week of blissful traveling you just returned from. You still feel Seungcheol’s lips crowding yours, leaving them tingling. His hands had touched you, your waist, your side, your neck, never straying too much, but his very grip was charged and heavy. His tongue had explored every part of your mouth until you keened into him, and he pulled away to take deep breaths.
“You’re tempting me, Princess.” He would rasp. “You are leading me astray.”
And you loved it. You love that he wants you so much that he is willing to break loyalty to the Throne, that he needs you, all of you, your body, enough to defile your purity. You know his oath is different. He swore loyalty to you and you only, and not to anyone else. He got down on both knees for it. You tell him that, whisper to him to show you his devotion, to stand true to his oath and serve you the way he promised he would. His resulting answer would be a strained groan, and his kisses would be even heavier, even hotter.
You are least interested in whatever hell the Prince has landed himself in, but unfortunately, it has left the castle in terrible unrest. You hear of the gossip from your ladies-in-waiting, and despite their catty nature, you know their news is almost always reliable.
“The Prince is furious.”
“He thinks he is being publicly shamed.”
“He is. His Majesty has made jabs in Court. But hearing it from Noblemen and political advisors is particularly humiliating.”
“What do you think, Your Highness? Has he talked about it with you?”
You roll your eyes and focus on biting down on a grape, letting the sour juice flood your mouth. “Your Prince is too busy bedding any woman he lays eyes on to pay any attention to me.”
Not that you would want him to, but phrasing it like this puts the blame on him rather than you, and you have grown sharp enough to realise that. You also know that any word you say to these women will go straight back to the Queen, so your sentences have to be careful.
That night after dinner, Seungcheol escorts you to your chambers as always. You have yet to touch him since you returned, and you muse about it as you walk back, but his face is pinched, lost in thought.
“What is bothering you?” You ask.
He seems to snap out of it, blinking. He shakes his head. “Nothing of your concern, Your Highness.”
You purse your lips. “I still want to know.”
He hums. “We have been refreshing and developing war plans. To be prepared for what is coming.”
You stop short, staring. Seungcheol freezes beside you as well.
“We are going to war?” Your voice is tinged with panic. Seungcheol immediately shakes his head.
“Not right now, no. But we need to be prepared for the worst case scenario. Don’t worry, Princess. Your brother is adept. He can handle this.”
You nod slowly, taking a deep breath. Seungcheol urges you to keep walking. When you reach your chamber doors, he pushes them open but stays outside.
“I must leave.” He looks regretful. “I left the meeting so I could escort you back. Jeonghan is awaiting my arrival.”
You fight to not smile, but you fail. You feel your face warm.
“You left the meeting just for this?”
His face softens and he returns the smile. “Of course.”
The hallway is empty. Your night guards are not here yet. Eunhee is next to the fireplace, but the door blocks her from seeing you. Your eyes run over your surroundings again, and when you think everything is clear, you step forward, laying your lips gently against his.
His breath hitches, and he barely has time to respond before you step back, fighting off the giddy smile on your face.
Seungcheol looks shocked, but he huffs out a laugh anyway, shaking his head.
“Good night, my Princess.”
“Good night, Sir Choi.”
He just laughs again, tonguing his cheek as you disappear behind the doors.
…………………………….
Your mornings have a quiet routine that you have perfected by now. You wake naturally early, an old habit inculcated in you. You wash, and are dressed and seated by the time Seungcheol appears with the morning’s work and any messages. You are not fond of large breakfasts, so Eunhee prepares fresh helpings of the fruit you like, as well as a warm cup of tea. Anything after leaving your chambers is for later, but the first couple of hours of the day are for you only. You enjoy that time immensely, and it grounds you to your reality. You are sure that without this routine, you would’ve lost your senses a long time ago.
Today is different, however.
You are roused from sleep to the sound of shouting. It takes a moment to register, but despite being sleep addled, your eyes pop open. There’s more thudding and shouting, and harsh voices float into your ears, muffled by distance and your heavy oak doors.
“Has anyone gone in or out?”
“No, Sir!”
“What about her maid?”
“She hasn’t arrived yet, Sir. Her usual time is one hour from now.”
You sit up at the sound of heavy footsteps. The door is pushed open and your mouth drops as Seungcheol steps inside. His steely eyes meet your weary, alarmed ones. He closes the door behind him and moves quickly, beelining to the door leading to your bath, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. You are shocked speechless, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from your eyes. He re-emerges, walking in the opposite direction to look behind the heavy velvet drapes on your windows. He checks the lock on the balcony doors before pulling them open and stepping outside. You catch a glimpse of the sky. There is still no sun. The sky is only mildly lighter, and you realise it is the early hours of the morning.
He steps back inside, still hard-faced and on guard. He walks to your bed, sinking down to one knee so he can look under it.
“Seungcheol.” You finally speak, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. “What is happening?”
When your Knight resurfaces, this time closer to you, you realise that he looks way more worried than he ever has previously. He looks at the door, which is still closed, and finally lets himself relax, though only mildly. He sits next to you on the edge of the bed. You have the brief thought that you are in nothing more than a single layer of cloth, a linen chemise you always wear for sleep. Seungcheol has never seen you like this. He has never sat on your bed. But one look at the pinched expression on his face tells you that is the least of his concerns right now.
“Has anyone visited you overnight?” He asks, his tone urgent. You shake your head.
“Did you eat anything after dinner yesterday?”
You think. “I had tea before going to sleep.”
“Who prepared it?”
“Eunhee. She always prepares it.”
“Anything else?”
“No. What’s going on?”
“Have you heard any strange noises? Anything about the guards moving at night?”
“No.” Your eyebrows furrow in irritation. “Tell me, Seungcheol.”
Finally, he sighs, one hand reaching up to run tiredly down his face.
“His Majesty the King has passed away.”
You gasp, hands coming up to clamp your mouth in horror. A million questions immediately rush to your brain, but it seems that Seungcheol is ahead of you.
“Court physicians have confirmed it was apoplexy, a seizure in the humors of the brain.” He explains. “The Queen is beside herself. She’s the one who found him, sitting straight up in bed.”
You are frozen still. You cannot even process.
“Most of the castle still doesn’t know, only some chief councillors, court physicians and nurses. The news will probably break at dawn. Everyone is devastated, but the Prince…”
This is when he falters, jaw clenching and eyes glazing over. “He’s not…. acting right.”
“He just lost his father, Seungcheol.” You finally say, your voice shaking. You loathe the man, but you can understand that hurt. You know the King was wildly beloved.
“It’s not that, Your Highness. He’s strangely erratic. He wants to take over quickly. He’s already talking about a Coronation.”
Your eyebrows furrow. Coronation? At a time like this?
“Maybe because of the uncertainty? We are looming ever closer to a war…”
He lets out a sigh and nods slowly. “That’s what everyone believes. Something just isn’t right.”
A small silence descends. You think about what has happened, and it hits you that, once your husband officially takes the Throne, you will become Queen Consort. Your duties will change, your routine will shift. Everything is about to be different.
Seungcheol seems to snap out of his deep thoughts, finally looking at you. “I wanted to rush to your side immediately, to check if you were okay. His Majesty’s demise is suspect at best. Jeonghan is convinced the Heir Apparent had something to do with it. If he can, theoretically, have his father killed, then…”
He shakes his head, as if he can’t finish the thought.
“What makes you think he had him killed?” Your eyebrows furrow. You still don’t believe it.
Seungcheol shrugs. “These past few days, the King has been harsh on him. His court officials have been egging him on. Plus, with the impending war, him taking the Throne as King means he will take command of troops and form strategies in the field. Had he gone into war as a Prince, he would be expected to fight on the frontlines.”
Seungcheol’s face hardens, like he is disgusted, but he bites his tongue. You know, had it been anyone other than the Prince, Seungcheol would have called him a coward. But respect binds him from doing so.
“It’s just a hunch, an intuition I’ve honed over many years.” He continues. “Jeonghan agrees with me. However, the political unrest right now is too severe. Everyone will scramble to establish stable leadership. And as the physician has declared it natural causes, I doubt there will be any more questioning into this, despite Her Majesty the Queen’s hysteria about it. It is open and shut.”
You nod slowly. You trust Seungcheol’s instinct completely. He has never been wrong, and he has never let you down. If he has this suspicion, then to you, it is with sound reasoning. You’re still reeling at the news, but there is a strange calm in your chest. You know that is because Seungcheol is in your presence. If you had heard the news from anyone else, you would be incredibly distressed right now, but he makes you feel safe.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Seungcheol’s face softens and his eyes focus on you. For the first time since he came, he smiles.
“You were my first thought when I heard. I had to confirm that you were okay.”
Your heart lifts. You shift to get closer to him. His eyes shoot down, and his jaw slacks. You watch with amusement as he realises for the first time that you are in your private clothes.
“My apologies for barging in here.” He says. You watch him make the effort to not look down, instead staring over your shoulder and blinking rapidly. You suppress a giggle.
“You did it for my safety.” You respond. Slowly, you lift your hand so you can place it over the sleeve of his jacket, running up the bend of his elbow to his bicep. You see his chest rise in a deep breath.
“Won’t you stay a little longer?”
Seungcheol risks looking in your eyes. His resolve fails him, and his gaze travels down again. The collar of your chemise dips. This close, he can see the skin past it, and his ears redden. You’ve always been buried under layers and layers of cloth and corset. This is all new to him. His hand twitches. Under his attention, you feel a slight shyness creep up on you.
“I must go.” He mumbles, but his eyes travel hungrily down your torso. You feel a shiver run through your body at how they darken. His attention sends a thrill down your spine, like your nerves are igniting. You love the feeling of it.
“It’s still a while until dawn breaks.” You push forward until your nose nudges his cheek. His lips part and he sighs. You feel it on your bare neck, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin. He turns his head, and his lips brush yours.
“I can’t, Princess. Forgive me.” His voice is strained, and it feels like the sentence pains him. His mouth slides over yours, until it feels like you are swallowing his words. “The guards have already sent for Eunhee. She will be here in minutes.”
It seems like saying it out loud breaks the tension a little, and slowly Seungcheol pulls away. You sigh and lean back, hyperaware of how heated your body feels.
“I miss you, Seungcheol.” You pout. “It has been days.”
Your Knight’s lips quirk up in a small, apologetic smile. “I’m regretful, Your Highness. But I promise you, once the dust settles, I am all yours to do with as you please.”
There is a heated promise in his words. You flush deeply and nod. You don’t know what to say. Every muscle in your body feels like it is wound up in anticipation. Seungchoel has kissed you breathless, but his lips have never drifted to any part of yours beyond your mouth. You know what his words imply, and the thrill of it nearly leaves you dizzy. You have always known how attractive Seungcheol is, both in body and soul. He’s your closest companion, and you have never wanted anyone the way you have wanted him, even if you are uncertain of what exactly it is that you want. You never consummated your marriage. You are as pure as the first rain of summer. And you want only him to touch every part of you.
Seungcheol reaches for you, his hand winding around the side of your neck to cup it. He has this habit. He did it extensively in the carriage, and you love it. It comes with a strange sense of possession that grounds you and makes your nerves feel alive. He speaks again.
“Do not leave your room until I come get you. Eunhee will remain here. Likely, your ladies-in-waiting will arrive early in the morning and stay with you for a while.”
You nod. He continues, but this time it is gentle. Reassuring.
“Things will change very quickly. But you need not worry. I am here, always. No harm shall come to you, okay?”
You nod again, heart melting at his words, tilting your face into his hand. You lay a small kiss on his palm. He smiles, caressing your cheek with his thumb.
Finally, he takes his hand away even though you don’t wish for him to. You watch him stand and look around once more, sighing and walking to the door. He gives you one final look and smile before he carefully leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. You can hear his voice vaguely through the doors, instructing the guards. You lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.
Things are about to take a drastic turn. But you feel more assured than you have in years.
PAIRING: Werewolf! f. Reader x Werewolf!Seungcheol x Werewolf!Jeonghan x Werewolf!Soonyoung x Werewolf!Seokmin x Werewolf!Vernon x Werewolf!Chan
SUMMARY: When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.
WC: 10,154
AU: Romantic Fantasy, Werewolves, Omegaverse Dynamics, Polyamourous
GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Romance
WARNINGS: Angst, mild pining, fight scene with graphic violence, on screen death (of side character), unwilling capture/shackling of unwilling characters, lots of mentions of guilt and unwillingly following orders, threats/intimidations made by male character, as always reader struggles with where she is currently at/being forced to do things, anxiety and tension, intense questioning scene by the Divine that includes physical symptoms of pain and invasive attempts at getting information, 'mind control' in a sense of reader and the Divine both using gifts to control others and manipulate them, depictions of blood and violence, kisses muah muah
MEMBERS IN THIS CHAPTER: Seungcheol focus - other members at the end
A/N: Apologies this is late, work has been very challenging. I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially since tonight is the Blood Moon. Thanks for reading.
A/N 2: Thank you to @daechwitatamic who beta read this chapter!
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Mercy is not recorded among Her virtues
- Scribbled in a journal of a Red Priestess
DAWN YAWNS THROUGH THE CLEARING. The pines stand watch around you, their needles whispering in the gentle breeze that carries the clean, fresh scent of the trees. Sunlight filters through the branches in golden shafts, painting the ground gold in splashes. The altar gleams when you roll over in your bedroll to look at it, the weathered faces of the Old Gods looking out over you.
Your body aches from the cold earth, muscles still stiff from yesterday's ride. Tears have dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks that pull tight as you blink against the light. Seungcheol's cloak is draped over you again, heavy and warm, his scent comforting. He must have placed it there while you slept, and though you try not to think much of it, it pulls at your heartstrings.
He's awake before you as usual, sitting a few feet away, knees drawn up with his back pressed against a pine trunk. He sharpens his dagger with slow, rhythmic strokes, hands expert on the whetstone. He looks weary, shadows under his eyes, but when he looks at you, there's a new softness there, the icy walls of him cracked just enough to let a little warmth out.
You sit up, folding his cloak as you stand and head over to him. You hand it back and he takes it without a word, fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch sends a spark through your skin, and you pull your hand back, tucking it into your own cloak.
"Thank you," you murmur.
He nods, sheathing the dagger. "We should head back soon."
You nod. He mentions nothing of the north path, nothing of searching for tracks. You're glad for it.
The horses graze nearby, tethered where Seungcheol left them. Grief still lingers, a dull ache in your chest that may never go away, but it's duller today. A little less, after spending time with the Old Gods and with Seungcheol. Most of all Seungcheol. You don't know how to thank him for what he's given you, but when he stands and looks at you, you know you don't have to. He knows. And that's enough.
You begin to pack and saddle your mare, movements methodical. He helps without asking, his fingers or arm brushing against yours occasionally. Where normally he would pull away, he doesn't now, touches lingering a second too long. The tension between you has eased, but he's a little skittish, like he's testing new ground.
Seeing Seungcheol nervous is new. His glances last longer now, though he averts his gaze when you catch them, as though he's unused to this openness, this new understanding that he's allowed to let you in. It's endearing, almost, reminding you a bit of a wolf pup learning to trust after too long alone.
You mount up and head west, Seungcheol leading. For once, the silence isn't strained. As you leave the clearing, you turn in your saddle to look at the Old Gods one last time. The hum from the earth is still with you, resonating. You feel your mouth twitch as you turn your back on them, thankful to have been in this place.
Hours pass as you and Seuncheol pick your way back. You keep your eye on the Bloodwood, wary of the red sap and the strange sounds that come from within. The attack in the red forest seems so long ago, the fears chased away by the comfort of your Gods.
Seungcheol slows his pace, letting you catch up to ride side by side. Occasionally, your knees knock together, but he doesn't seem to mind, one hand on the reins and one on his thigh, relaxed for the first time… well. It's the first time you've ever seen him relaxed.
"Will it be a problem that we didn't find the deserters?" You ask him, tentative.
He shrugs. "Lira doesn't need to know we didn't look very hard. It's on her head, not ours."
"Good."
His mouth twitches, an almost smile.
The day unfolds in an easy silence you're not used to. Seungcheol sometimes breaks the silence, pointing out a piece of the landscape or a bird. You don't ask him how he knows. The honesty from the evening before is new and raw, and you don't want to push him too far, too fast. For now, you let the admission of his past be enough.
You think about his words from the night before, the horror in his face as he told you that you reminded him of someone he once loved. That he couldn't save. You cannot imagine how difficult it must be for him, seeing a ghost show up in Valen the same day you were earning ghosts. He had tried to make you run that day, had tried to spare you.
You'd been stubborn, though. Still are.
Knowing that the Divine chose you as punishment for him reframes everything you know about Seungcheol. You hadn't thought him evil - just cruel. Cold. Disinterested in trusting you the way you had to trust him, unwilling to let you in despite everyone else finding a place for you in their heart.
You hadn't realized how much it meant to you, to know something about him. To understand why he had to keep you out, to really know what about you tortured him. And it makes you hate the Divine all the more, a thread of anger stitching through you as her list of crimes grows infinitely longer.
The sun arcs high, then dips westward, painting the hills bronze before fading to rose. The wind carries the smell of rain and snow from afar as your thoughts drift to returning back to the Bloodkeep. You loathe the idea of returning to the stale, damp air of the mountain, but you long for the scent of citrus and lavender, for the clove and sage and jasmine. You long for the people you trust, and for the warmth of a bed and bodies that know you.
Dusk nears as you reach the same crossroads you'd left the day before. Smoke curls from a fire, figures moving about. Seungcheol sighs before straightening in his saddle, giving you a single look before the tension returns to his shoulders and he rides ahead of you, the openness between you melting away, replaced by the Seungcheol you know.
As you near, you see Lira's group has returned first. Mingyu is tending the flames while Torren lounges around doing nothing. Your eyes flicker to the edge of the camp and your heart sinks when you see chained and shackled deserters, secured to a metal post like you had after your first escape attempt.
There are five of them - three betas and an omega clutching a child to her chest. Ragged clothes, hollow eyes, bound at the wrist, chains linking to the post in the ground. Bruises bloom on their faces, fresh from capture. Mingyu looks grim, avoiding everyone's gaze as Torren leers at your approach.
Seungcheol stops the horse and dismounts. You do the same, surprised when he helps you down. You say nothing, the moment passing between you as he assesses Lira, who stands with her hands on her hips.
"Found them south," she says flatly. "This is most of the missing party. The two alphas are now dead."
Misery crashes over you. You swallow, smell the fresh grief on their skin, scents soured by hate and fear and sorrow. You notice the beta has a fresh gash bleeding into her eye and you move before you can think, popping the top on your waterskin as you approach.
They flinch away from you but you hold your hands out, crouching slowly. "You need to wash the wound," you murmur, holding it out toward the woman. "I don't want it to get infected. I didn't mean to frighten you."
Torren snorts from afar. "Comforting them? Soft omega. They're traitors."
"They're citizens of the Divine," you shoot back. The beta woman tentatively takes the water from you. "They should be treated as such until she passes a ruling."
Lira snorts, not agreeing with you but also unwilling to disagree with the logic in your words. Torren says nothing, grumbling as the beta struggles to wash the wound on her head. You hold your hand out and she hesitates briefly before giving it back, letting you pour the cold water over her. She shivers and you wince, tearing away at a piece of your tunic to gently wipe the wound.
"Try to keep it clean," you murmur, stepping away. "Let me know if you feel feverish."
When you stand, Seungcheol is watching you, wary. His hand is on his dagger, eyes flickering between the captives and Torren like they might equally be a threat. You walk toward him, placing the water skin back in your saddle with a questioning gaze. He says nothing, just watching you with those dark eyes.
Tense silence falls over the camp. Mingyu refuses to look at you, sitting as far away from the captives as possible. You can smell the misery on him from here - he does little to hide it. You want to say something - anything, to comfort him. But you know nothing will help so you sit by the fire, chewing on bread as Seungcheol stands guardian behind you, a shadow.
Soren and Jihoon appear at twilight, both empty-handed. He eyes the captives before heading over to Mingyu, who seems to curve inward on himself. Jihoon places a palm on Mingyu's shoulder but says nothing, both of them sitting together as the last of the evening fades to night, the fire popping and hissing.
"We'll camp here," Lira says. "We return through the Bloodwood at dawn."
No one talks, save for Torren and Soren. He's his usual, loud self, and his sister simply smirks, eyes flicking to you and then to the captives. You ignore them in favor of nibbling on the dry meat Seungcheol gives you, your appetite soured. Seungcheol stays closer than usual, his eyes alert and spine stiff.
When you fall asleep finally, it's to the sound of wind and the warmth of his leg pressed against yours.
-
It's dawn when you wake to chaos.
You jolt awake to the sound of shouts and rattling chains. For a heartbeat, everything is confusion, shadows lunging in the low light of the fire gone out, bodies moving too fast, voices overlapping. You sit up, hand flying to your dagger, breath caught in your throat as the camp snaps into focus.
The deserters are gone.
Lira kicks Soren in the ribs hard and she yelps as Lira rages. The manacles lay empty, discarded on the cold earth, the locks picked. All five of them are gone, and Lira is raging. You realize Soren fell asleep on watch, letting them slip out of the camp and back into the Bloodwood. Hope seizes through you as Lira mounts, screaming at you all to get up and get on your horses.
"After them," she snarls. "Or I'll bring you all back as prisoners."
Mingyu is on his feet in an instant, cursing under his breath as he swings himself up onto his horse. Jihoon doesn't bother. You watch in surprise as he stands, frame rippling as he shifts into a sleek, white wolf. His pelt is beautiful, eyes liquid coal as he takes off, Mingyu's horse after him.
Seungcheol is beside you in an instant, hauling you up by the arm. "Stay close. We're going in. We'll let them go if we can."
There's no time to think. You vault onto your mare, the horse snorting in alarm as you wheel her around and spur her forward, thundering into the forest. Your heart is pounding, the sudden desperation of finding the deserters first to get them further away clinging to you like the sweat on the back of your neck.
Red leaves knot overhead, blotting out the sky. Thick, sweet rot fills your lungs. Vines snap against your cloak. Roots rise like skeletal fingers from the mud, threatening to send your horse crashing if you misstep.
Fear claws at your chest - not for you, but for them. The mother, the child, the other betas, easy prey to the creatures of the Bloodwood and with Lira's hunters on their trails. You want them to escape, to slip the Divine's noose and find whatever freedom waits beyond this red hell.
The hunting party fractures immediately. Seungcheol stays with you at first, his stallion matching your mare's stride, the two of you low in the saddle in the red light of the trees. You hear a shriek split the air, the same eerie resonance as the creatures that had attacked you the first night.
"Go," Seungcheol yells, splitting from you as he draws a blade.
You hesitate for half a heartbeat, instinct screaming to stay with him, but the desire to help the deserters drives you forward. Alone now, you urge your mare faster, following a wide trail of tracks. The forest closes tighter, vines snagging at you like grasping hands.
A child's scream pierces the gloom up ahead, high and terrified. You take a sharp right and barrel toward it, bursting through a curtain of ferns into a small hollow ringed by bleeding trees, the ground a mess of red mud and sap.
Torren is there, pulling the child's mother into the clearing by her hair as she screams. The boy hides near the gnarled roots of a tree, covering his ears as he screams. Torren twists the mother's arm, bone cracking, and she screams out. The boy panics, bolting toward them as he screams in anger, tiny fists pounding against the meat of Torren's thigh. The alpha knocks him away like a cat swatting a fly, sending him tumbling to the mud.
You dismount as Torren leers, knocking the mother down again. "Perhaps I should have a little fun with you huh? Been a long ride. Why not, right?"
"Get away from her," you snarl, hitting the ground with a wet thud. Your blade and dagger are in your hand as you surge forward, teeth bared. "I said get away."
It happens by accident. You feel the Call shiver through your voice, the command vibrating in the air. Torren goes rigid, face slack for a moment as he lets the omega go and takes several steps away from her. The omega crawls away from him, shielding her son as you stalk toward Torren who blinks, lifting his axe.
"You little bitch," he hisses. "You think you can command me? I should have slit your throat when I had the chance."
You don't waste breath on words. You lunge at him, sword slashing high in a wide arc, aiming to force him back while your dagger thrusts low. He blocks the sword with the flat of his ace, the clash ringing through the hollow. Your dagger finds its target, biting into the soft flesh of his side. Blood wells and he roars, swinging the ace in a brutal overhead chop.
You sidestep, the blade burying itself in the moss where you were standing a moment ago. You slash your sword across his thigh, opening a gash that makes him stagger. He snarls and backhands you with his free fist, glancing your jaw as stars explode behind your eyes. You roll with it, pressing the attack as he stumbles, swinging the axe wildly again.
Sword and dagger meet axe, the metal screeching against the axe's haft. The impact jars your bones as Torren spits blood at you. "Filthy bitch."
"Kneel."
He does suddenly, buckling under the weight of your command. You twist, breaking the lock and thrust up with your dagger, plunging into the middle of his stomach. He gasps, eyes widening in shock, grip loosening on his axe as he's silent for a moment.
Blood bubbles from his lips as you snarl, digging the blade further in. "Mongrel," you growl. "Know that it was by my hand that you've died."
You rip the blade free and he crumbles, gasping wetly in the mud. You kick him over savagely and he rolls, hands clutching his stomach where he tries to stop the bleeding. He sucks in breath, lungs rasping with a death rattle as the life bleeds out of him.
Breath heaving, you turn to the mother. She stares at you, wide-eyed, clutching her son. Tears streak her face, but there's something else there - awe. Fear.
"Run," you rasp. You yank the reins of your mare, pulling the horse toward them. "Can you ride?" She nods, trembling. "Ride and don't stop. Go north, then west. Do not stop."
The mother doesn't hesitate. She gathers her son into her arms and you help them mount the horse, the boy first then her behind him. She is shaking as she reins in the horse, looking at you a final time.
"Thank you," she whispers.
You stand panting as she spurs the mare and vanishes into the trees, hooves pounding. Behind you, Torren is dead in the mud. Your heart is pounding, your entire frame vibrating as your stomach roils, sick with adrenaline-tinged terror.
A horse bursts into the hollow and you spin, sword raised, a growl working its way up your throat. It's Seungcheol, sword drawn, eyes wild. His horse skids to a halt, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. Seungcheol takes in the scene - Torren's body, the blood, the split lip, your lack of horse.
He's off the horse in an instant, boots hitting the ground hard. He doesn't give Torren a second glance, his gaze locked on you as his eyes rake over your face, your arms, your blood-streaked hands.
"Are you hurt?" He demands, voice stripped raw.
You shake your head. "No."
He crosses the distance in two strides, hands reading for you. He cups your face with a gentleness that opposes the violence in the hollow, turning your face side-to-side to look at you. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, smearing blood and sweat. He doesn't care. His eyes are dark, pupils blown and wild.
"You're shaking," he murmurs, pulling you closer to him.
"I killed him. He was hurting her. He was going to…" You swallow. Seungcheol's eyes flash. You don't have to finish your sentence. "I used the Call on him by accident. He had to die regardless."
Seungcheol drops his forehead to yours, eyes closing as he breathes you in for one long, shuddering breath. When he opens them again, they're more focused, the panic receding. "I should have killed him sooner."
"He shoved me during the fight the first night," you admit. "I didn't want to start a fight."
His jaw flexes and you smell the rage that rolls through him. "Doesn't matter now. You did good."
He exhales, ragged as all of the fight leaves him. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering. His mouth is warm against your skin, trembling a little. You feel the shudder in his shoulders as he breathes you in like you're air after he's been drowning. It leaves you light-headed and dizzy as he pulls back, looking down at you.
"This will be bad," he admits. "But follow my lead."
You nod, throat too tight for words. He leads you toward his stallion and past Torren's body in the bed, blending into the red moss. Seungcheol doesn't even look at it. He helps you remount on his horse then swings up behind you, one arm around your waist, the other on the reins. You lean back against his chest without thinking, exhausted and drained.
The camp is in shambles when you return. The three betas are re-llashed and broken against the metal post, bleeding and barely breathing. Lira paces while Mingyu stands with his arms crossed, face grim. Jihoon is still in wolf form, side covered in blood as he watches you approach on a solo horse.
Soren spots you and stands. "Where's my brother?"
Seungcheol dismounts, face hard. He helps you down, his hands careful with you. "Dead."
Soren's eyes go wide like she's been slapped. "What do you mean?"
"Do you know another definition for dead?"
Her eyes narrow to slits and her claws extend as they land on you. "You."
She lunges but Mingyu is on her, pulling her back as she screams. She rakes claws down his arm and he yelps but he remains steadfast, stronger than she is as he slams her down to the ground and pins her. Her screams are raw and rabid, but you're not sorry.
You'd do it again.
"He attacked me," you seethe, stepping toward her. Seungcheol blocks your path, hands on your hips but you lean around him, snarling, "I defended myself."
"Liar!"
Mingyu curses. "Your brother has been harassing her since we left the stables," he growls. "We all saw it."
"Lira," Seungcheol says calmly. "Get the members of your hunting party under control or I will."
Soren screams reach a fever pitch. "Traitors! You're all traitors!"
"Enough!" Lira's voice cracks like a wip and she grabs Soren by the collar, ripping her from Mingyu's arms to throw her forward. Soren's claws scrabble at the dirt but Lira presses her boot into Soren's back, crushing her to the ground. "It is your fault the prisoners got loose in the first place. You will be silent, or I will gag you and lash you to the post like the deserters. Do you understand?"
Soren's chest heaves, tears and fury twisting her face. She glares up at Lira, hatred burning in her eyes. She gives a final snarl and sags, letting Lira press her into the dirt.
Lira turns to you and Seungcheol, frustration carving deep lines in her face. "This is a disaster. The Divine will have her inquiry when we return. Full inquisition under the Word. Until then, you two-" She points to you and Seungchoel. "-Are under my watch. No more wandering off."
Seungcheol’s jaw tightens, but he nods once. “Understood.”
Lira exhales sharply, then hauls Soren to her feet. “You’re separated. You sleep over there-" she jerks her chin toward the far edge of camp, away from the fire. “You move, you speak out of turn, you so much as look like you're going to cause problems, and I’ll bind you myself. Move.”
Soren stumbles as Lira drags her away. She shoots one last venomous look over her shoulder before disappearing behind a large boulder, isolated.
The camp falls into uneasy silence. The three recaptured betas huddle together, chains clinking softly, eyes wide and watchful. Mingyu exhales, running a hand over his face. Jihoon shifts back to human form, blood streaking his side, and drops to sit by the fire, expression grim.
You recoil in shock, averting your eyes toward the sky. Jihoon seems unbothered by his nudity until Mingyu mutters at him to put pants on, which he sighs and does, going digging around his pack for a pair.
Seungcheol’s hand finds the small of your back, pushing you out of everyone's line of sight and behind his horse. "Don't leave my side," he murmurs. "Not an inch, understood?"
"Yeah." You sigh. "Yeah."
He touches your jaw briefly, fingers soft. "Have courage, Wildheart. It'll be alright."
You want to believe him, but in the wreckage of what you've just done, you don't know if you do.
-
The soft grey light of dawn seeps through the cloudy sky above. The camp is quiet except for the low crackle of last night's embers and the snorts from the horses. Your body feels leaden, every muscle protesting as you roll over. Your jaw throbs where Torren had landed a hit on you, and your fingers cramp a little from the cold seeping in through the ground.
Seungcheol is sitting next to you, close as he can. His sword rests unsheathed near him on the other side, a dagger across his knees. He's leaning against a boulder, eyes open and alert. Shadows carve out the hollows of his eyes, the exhaustion evident on his face.
You realize he hasn't slept. You sit up slowly, his cloak sliding off of you. You don't recall him giving it to you - must have been in the night, like usual. He glances down as you sit up, pinched expression softening just a fraction.
"You didn't sleep," you accuse gently.
"Couldn't. Not with what happened yesterday."
At the mention of yesterday, you glance toward the edge of the camp. Soren is out of sight, but Lira lingers, already standing. You note she's positioned between you and where you assume Soren is, a bulwark. Mingyu and Jihoon are up too, quietly saddling horses while the three recaptured betas huddle together, chains clinking softly as they shift. Your stomach turns and you shift uneasily, wanting to set them free.
"Don't," Seungcheol murmurs softly. You look at him, desperate. "I know. I know."
"What if I-"
"No. Especially not that."
Licking your lips, you nod. You understand why you can't use the Call. Not yet. Not for this. But as you stare at the betas, you see yourself tied to a tree, throwing your head forward to break someone's nose. Biting at Seungcheol as he forced water down your throat.
Rage flares through you. Not at Seungcheol, but at the Divine - always the Divine. Not for the first time, you imagine what killing her will feel like. You think of the silent pressure of your Old Gods against your back, the coolness of the earth as you pressed your face into the grass at their feet. Not forgotten, just waiting for the right time.
Now is not the right time.
Seungcheol stands and sheaths his weapons, offering you a hand. You take it and let him pull you to your feet, his touch warm. The camp breaks quickly as you start to saddle Seungcheol's horse. No one speaks of Torren's body left in the Bloodwood. No one speaks of those who escaped.
"We ride with no delays," Lira orders curtly. Soren finally comes into view, her gaze so venomous you feel your hackles rise, a ripple of anger slivering down your spine. Lira ignores Sorren, tying their horses together. "No bullshit. The Divine will sort out this mess."
Seungcheol’s stallion is saddled and ready. You think of your horse, hoping that the mother and child are safe and far away from this evil. Seungcheol offers you a hand and for once, you take it and let him haul you up into the saddle of his horse. He swings up a moment later, careful not to jostle you as he settles behind you. His arms bracket you as he gathers the reins, one hand on them to steer, the other resting lightly on your thigh. You lean into his chest without thinking, head against his collarbone. He doesn't tense. He just nudges the horse forward, hand squeezing your thigh briefly in acknowledgement.
Mingyu and Jihoon fall in on either side of you without a word. Mingyu on your left, Jihoon on the right. You raise your brows but they say nothing, falling into an easy rhythm like they've guarded Seungcheol before. For all you know, they have.
The ride back through the Bloodwood is quieter than the journey out. No sapfiends shriek from the canopy. No vines lash out. The red glow feels less oppressive now, more like a fading bruise than an open wound. The air is still thick with resin and rot, but the wind has shifted, carrying hints of pine and distant rain from the hills beyond.
Seungcheol is steady behind you, the smell of his bergamot calming. His chest is warm against your back, heartbeat steady against you. Every so often, his chin brushes the top of your head as the horse jostles over a root, the barest hint of his breath skimming you. You fight a shiver each time, swallowing down the heat of being so close to him now.
His exhaustion wears on him. You can feel the weight he strains behind you, trying to sit upright, trying not to crowd you. His grip loosens occasionally on the reins, hands trembling as the ride saps the rest of his strength.
You ride for hours this way, Mingyu and Jihoon your silent sentinels as Seungcheol fights exhaustion with gritted teeth. The red trees around you drip silently, the air tepid and sticky, full of the rotten sweet stench of resin. Seungcheol's chin dips occasionally against your shoulder before he catches himself, straightening.
You til your head back against his chest, just enough to catch his gaze. "Rest."
"I can't."
"You can. Lean on me." You touch his hands on the reins, wrapping your fingers around the leather. "I can lead us."
He exhales through his nose, a sound somewhere between amusement and stubborn refusal. “I’m fine.”
"You're not. You haven't slept properly in days and you certainly didn't sleep last night."
"I'm… not used to letting go."
"I know." His hands drop off the reins. "Nothing is going to happen if you rest, Seungcheol. Please."
"You're relentless."
"So I've been told."
He gives a faint huff of laughter against your neck. "Alright."
He shifts then, slowly, carefully. His forehead comes to rest against the back of your shoulder, cheek pressed to the curve of your cloak. His arms stay around you, but the tension bleeds out of them, weight settling more fully against your back. His breathing deepens almost immediately and you smile, feeling him let go as he relaxes, heavy against your back.
You keep one hand on the reins, leading his stallion through the crimson glow of the trees. Mingyu glances over once, catches your eye, and offers a small, knowing nod. Jihoon doesn’t look, but the corner of his mouth twitches as he stares straight ahead.
“He trusts you,” Mingyu says, nodding toward the man dozing against your back. His voice is quiet, trying not to wake Seungcheol. “Doesn’t trust many people like that.”
You swallow, throat tight. “I know.”
"He didn’t sleep last night. Sat up the whole time watching you."
The words land soft, but they ache. You think of Seungcheol’s shadow-rimmed eyes this morning. "He's stubborn like that."
“That’s one word for it.” He pauses, then adds, softer, “He’s different with you."
"Different how."
Mingyu shrugs a shoulder, staring forward. "Different softer."
You glance at Seungcheol’s sleeping face pressed to your shoulder. He's beautiful like this, the pained stress gone for a moment, even if it's brief. His long eyelashes are dark against his smooth skin, mouth a little slack, brow finally smoothed out. Something tender and fierce twists in your gut, thinking of the soft boy who loved a girl that he couldn't save.
"I think the softness has been stolen from him," you murmur.
Mingyu nods in agreement. Jihoon says nothing, but he nods at your words. You wonder what softness the Divine has stolen from him and Mingyu. Wonder who they were before the red and the blood and the cold and the hate. You think you would've liked them in Valen - been friends, even. But here, all you can really afford are tentative allies.
Lira calls a halt at the forest's edge after riding for hours. The wind is crisper here, cutting through the resin-sweet heat of the trees. You feel Seungcheol stir behind you as the stallion pauses, his breath hitching as awareness returns to him. His arms tighten briefly around your waist, an instinctual pull. They loosen a little as he straightens and lifts his head, groaning as he blinks.
"How long was I out?" His voice is deep and gravelly, making your stomach flutter.
"Long enough. You needed it."
He doesn’t argue. Just rests his forehead against the back of your head for a moment longer, breathing you in. "Thank you."
"Mhmm."
He shifts in the saddle, leaning to press a brief kiss to your temple before he slides down from the saddle, reaching up to help you after him. Your heart slams in your ribs and you're a little dizzy from a simple kiss on the head as he helps you down. His hands linger on your waist a moment longer than necessary when you dismount and you feel heat in your stomach bloom.
No one says anything if they notice. The group dismounts and tethers the horses in silence, shackling the betas to the middle of your riding party. Lira assigns watches with clipped efficiency - Mingyu, Jihoon, and herself. Not Sorren. Not you. Not Seungcheol. No one looks at Sorren who keeps away from the rest, her eyes red rimmed and her face weary with hatred.
Dinner is bread, cheese and dried meat warmed over the flames. No one says anything when you break off pieces of yours, offering it to the betas. Lira tenses, her eyes narrowing a fraction as you do. You ignore her, each one of the betas hesitating before tentatively accepting your offering. Seungcheol stands and quietly does the same, earning a whispered thanks.
After eating, you stick close to Jihoon and Mingyu, the four of you clustering together in a knot of solidarity. If it bothers Lira, she says nothing. She stares into the fire instead, face void of any emotion except acceptance - either that she's going to be held accountable of what's happened on this excursion, or that she's committed to ruining you. You're not sure which one.
Seungcheol sits close enough that his thigh presses against yours, arm draped casually behind your back. He doesn’t speak much, but his presence is a constant in a way it wasn't before the grove of the Old Gods, the ice between you melted and replaced with something firm but warm.
Mingyu passes around a waterskin. “We’re almost home. One more day.”
Jihoon nods, staring into the flames. “And then the inquiry.”
The words hang heavy. You have no idea how to get around the inquiry. No way to talk about it, either, with Lira and Sorren within listening distance. You share a look with Seungcheol and see he's just as troubled as you are. The Divine will no doubt use the Bloodsong on all of you, forcing out the truth - or forcing out what she wants to hear.
It makes your blood run cold, mind racing on what to do. Seungcheol must sense when your thoughts have gone, because he reaches a hand over and squeezes your thigh, leaving it there. He doesn't say anything, but the weight of his palm is calming.
You eat in silence after that, the fire popping softly, wind sighing through the grass.
"You need to sleep first tonight," you tell Seungcheol, glancing at him. He opens his mouth to argue but you press on. "You're exhausted. If you're tired tomorrow, you'll make mistakes. I need you perfect when we face the Divine. Sharp. Sleep first and then I'll sleep second and tomorrow on the ride."
He looks at you for a long moment, something soft and almost helpless in his eyes. Then he exhales, defeated. “You’re impossible.”
"Yes."
His mouth twitches, so close to a smile. You can feel the desire to push back, but he lies down without further protest, curling on his side facing you. You settle beside him, crossing your legs, balancing the dagger Vernon gave you on your knee. Seungcheol shifts closer until his head rests against your thigh, one arm draped across your legs like an anchor. You thread your fingers through his hair tentatively, giving him slow strokes. He lets out a long, shaky breath, a shiver rippling through him.
"Sleep," you murmur.
"Hard when you do that."
"Should I stop?"
He makes a sound in his throat. "No."
You smile and he melts into your touch. A week ago, you wouldn't have imagined him trusting you like this. The freezing mountain of Seungcheol seems to have softened under the shared truth between you, his honesty stripping away a heavy burden that had crushed him all this time.
Eventually, his breathing evens out. The fire dances across his face. You keep your hand in his hair, stroking occasionally, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing against your leg. Seeing him like this makes you miss the others, the smell of citrus and lavender, the deep laughter from Chan and the teasing lilt of Jeonghan's voice when he teases Vernon.
For now, you keep Seungcheol steady, your eyes on the world around you, wracking your brain for how to get through tomorrow.
-
Dawn is red. You wake slowly, the world coming back in crimson fragments, the sticky air clinging to your skin. Seungcheol is pressed close to you, his hand resting on your thigh. He's awake still, having swapped with you late into the night. His hand tightens a fraction as you stir, lingering for a second before he pats you, telling you it's time to get up.
You rise as the camp stirs around you. Mingyu feeds the horses, whispering to them with a soft grin on his face while Jihoon saddles them, face set in that same unreadable mask as always. Lira stands a few paces away, muttering quietly with Soren who is nodding.
The three betas huddle near the post, chains clinking softly as they shift, faces bruised and eyes hollow. There's a flicker in their eyes when they look at you now though, something you think is gratitude. You hate it - hate that you can't give them more. That you don't deserve gratitude unless you can do something about their circumstances.
Breakfast is sparse - bread and cheese only, chased by tepid water. No one speaks until everyone is saddled and ready to go, Lira pressing the group hard to ride until the keep, the betas tethered to her saddle, forced to walk.
You swing up onto Seungcheol's stallion and he mounts behind you, arms going around your waist. One hand stays wrapped around you, the other gathers the reins in his hands. Mingyu and Jihoon flank Seungcheol again, and Lira ignores it, leading the party through the Bloodwood silently.
"Sleep," Seungcheol murmurs, breath warm against your ear. "You need more rest."
You nod, leaning your head back against his shoulder. Seungcheol is firm behind you, his scent warm and intoxicating. You feel yourself relax, his lips brushing faintly across your hairline as you adjust. His heartbeat is steady, a rhythm that lulls you in and out of sleep as you ride.
No one interrupts your sleep. You drift in and out and the world narrows to just sensation: the warmth of Seungcheol’s body, the steady rock of the saddle, the faint scent of bergamot and pine that clings to him. His thumb traces small, absent circles against your side, soothing as you drift between asleep and awake.
Real light wakes you briefly as you exit the Bloodwood. The smell of sweet rot fades, replaced with the cool, clean air of pine. You breathe it in, lifting your head a little as you blink and drink in the green of the world around you, rocky terrain a welcome sight.
Clouds gather on the horizon, heavy and gray, promising a storm by nightfall. Your thoughts churn as you draw closer to the Bloodkeep, unable to sleep anymore. The Divine's inquisition looms ahead, anxiety coiling in your gut, a serpent twisting tighter with each mile you slither closer.
You don't know what to do. You feel the way things hang in balance, knowing that with a single misstep, everyone will pay the price. And you have misstepped. You don't regret letting the mother and her child go, but your mind snags on the thorns of panic as you try to work out a way around the truth.
Seungcheol senses it. "Breathe," he murmurs into your ear, voice low enough that only you hear. "Just answer her questions plainly and honestly without detail. That is the way through this."
You nod, but the fear lingers, cold and insidious. His logic makes sense. Answering without being over-detailed is going to be the best way through the Divine's questioning, but you're not sure it'll be enough. Not with the Bloodsong at her disposal.
The Bloodkeep rises on the horizon by midday, a jagged silhouette against the sky. Dread settles heavier with every mile, the mountain's shadow creeping over the plains like a living thing. The air thickens, the metallic tang returning, the wind dying to a stale hush. Seungcheol's horse snorts uneasily, ears flicking back as the ground hardens from grass to stone.
You enter through the lower gates, the city's chaos greeting you once more. The sheer press of humanity is unsettling after days in the open, the overwhelming smell of pheromones and skin and people overwhelming. You shift in the saddle, uncomfortable and anxious. Seungcheol presses the arm around your waist tighter, holding you to him.
Silence that feels like the headman's axe follows you. Your party rides back through the wet, dark tunnels, entering the stables without fanfare. If the stable attendants notice anything amiss, they say nothing, making quick work of helping Lira dismount and unsaddle horses. She walks briskly toward an alpha man - the stablemaster you think - and murmurs something to him. He nods and immediately exits the stables.
"Come," Lira barks at you all. "The Divine will receive us for an inquisition."
No one argues.
Torches line the way as you walk. The silence is tense, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The air grows colder as you ascend, the damp chill seeping through your cloak, carrying the faint scent of old blood and incense. Lira leads, boots clicking sharply against the stone. Soren walks immediately behind her, tension rippling with anger, her hand wrapped around the chains that tether the betas.
You feel the mountain’s weight pressing down with every step. The corridors narrow slightly as you climb, the ceiling lowering until the torchlight flickers against the stone overhead, throwing your shadows upward. Your heart pounds harder with every turn. Anxiety coils tighter in your chest, sharp and relentless.
Familiar walls of rock and mountain greet you as you begin the climb to the Divine's sanctum. The mountain is busy this afternoon, but no one pays your group much attention. Your palms feel slick as you walk, stomach tightening as each step brings you closer to the Divine.
Seungcheol walks close enough that his arm brushes yours with every step. He hasn’t spoken since you left the stables, but his presence is steady. Mingyu and Jihoon keep pace without faltering, their silence a shield. You catch Mingyu’s eye once and he offers a small, tight nod. He looks grim and you know he's wary as well.
The corridor opens abruptly into a wide antechamber before the Sanctum doors. The space is vast, the vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, walls pulsing brighter here, crimson veins thick and close to the surface. Iron sconces burn with steady red flames, their light reflecting off the black marble floor.
Lira halts the group. “We wait,” she says, voice flat. “The Divine will receive us.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Your heart hammers so hard you’re sure everyone can hear it, frantic and uneven like a bird battering against your ribs to escape. You wipe slick palms against your cloak and the beats shift, chains loud in the heavy silence.
Soren’s breathing is ragged, furious. Mingyu stands rigid, jaw tight. Jihoon’s eyes scan the room, calculating. Seungcheol’s hand finds yours briefly, hidden by the folds of your cloak, squeezing once before letting go.
For some reason, it feels like saying goodbye.
You move without thinking.
The Call rises in your chest like a storm, stronger than ever, fueled by pure terror and the need to protect what little you have left. You step forward, voice low but resonant, hearing your words split the air as you speak.
"Turn to me," you demand.
A ripple of tension goes through those in front of you. Seungcheol grabs for you but you step forward again. The look on Mingyu's face is pure terror as he looks at you. Jihoon's mask of indifference fractures as he, Lira, Soren and the betas turn to face you, shivering under your command.
"Wildheart-" Seungcheol tries but you shrug him off.
"Torren attacked me," you tell them. Their eyes glaze over, bodies stiffening. You ignore Seungcheol's hand on your arm. "He tried to kill me in the middle of camp. During the chaos, the omega and her child escaped. Nothing more. You saw nothing else. You know nothing else. And you will forget I commanded this."
The words pour out, driven by desperation. You feel the same powerful resonance ripple through you as you had the night in the hallway when the alphas attacked you after the fighting pit, the strain on your throat, the way something inside of you surges instinctually.
Your words reverberate in the air as you step back toward Seungcheol, heart pounding. His face is pale as he yanks you toward him, eyes wide.
"What have you done? If she-"
"She won't," you hiss. "I need to use it on you." He hesitates. "I need to tell you to lie. It's the only thing I can think of."
Seungcheol swallows thickly and nods. You hold his hand, squeezing to comfort him or comfort yourself, you're not sure.
"Lie to her," you command. "Tell her that Torren tried to kill me in the middle of camp and during the fight, the omega and her child escaped. Lie."
Seungcheol shivers. You watch the command slide over him the same way as it did all the times you practiced. He doesn't resist. He lets his eyes flutter as the compulsion takes hold, the air thrumming between you as he nods. You don't tell him to forget - you don't need him to.
Fear chokes you as you turn around. You have no idea if this will work. It's the worst gamble you've taken here inside of the mountain, but you have no other choice. The chance that the Divine's Bloodsong pierces through is real, but you're betting on her being weakened. On your practice paying off. On the adrenaline pumping through you so powerfully you think you might be sick.
The other's eyes clear and you watch them blink in confusion. None of them seem to remember a thing, turning to face the sanctum doors as they begin to groan open, priestesses in red flowing out to receive you.
Each step forward feels closer to doom. You file into the Sanctum, steps echoing. Today, it's empty of the basins of blood. You're thankful - you don't know how you would have done this with massive pools of the metallic liquid assaulting your senses alongside incense.
The Divine isn't lounging on her throne like a cat today. She watches you with a sharpness that cuts through your armor, heart fluttering. Her skin is pale as moonlit bone, but her eyes are burning today, sweeping over you. She smiles, slow and predatory, lips curving like a sickle moon as she rises.
"Ah, my hunters return," she purrs, voice smooth as silk but edged with razor wire. "With prizes… and problems. Come closer. Let us uncover the truth."
Your heart slams against your ribs, hard and erratic, a frantic drumbeat that echoes in your ears. Sweat slicks your palms, cold and clammy. You clench your fists to hide the tremble, nails biting into your palms. The air feels too thick to breathe, each inhale shallow and labored, lungs burning. Your vision tunnels slightly, the edges blurring, focusing on the Divine as she stands and drifts forward.
What if it fails?
The thought loops endlessly. The pack - Soonyoung's bruised smile, Vernon's steady hand, Seokmin's gentle lavender - flashes through your mind. They'll pay. They'll all pay. You think of the whip on Jeonghan's back, the sweat on his brow. The salt of Chan's skin as he beat those alphas to a pulp just to escape a little.
Your fear is visceral and alive, a cold sweat breaking across your brow, trickling down your spine like ice water. You shift your weight, boots scraping softly on the marble, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
Lira steps forward first, her boots echoing with sharp clicks. She stands tall, chin lifted, but you see the faint tremor in her hands, the way her jaw clenches. The Divine circles her as Lira bows, ducking her head.
"Tell me of the hunt," the Divine says, voice soft but commanding. You shiver, hearing the power in her words, the way they brush against you.
Lira recounts the mission with clinical efficiency. The tracks she found, the chase through the Bloodwood, the skirmish at camp when Torren attacked you. Your mouth nearly falls open as Lira recounts the story you planted, her voice never breaking.
"Tell me the story again in detail."
The Bloodsong surges behind her words, stronger now. The hum sets your teeth on edge as Lira shivers, sweat beading on the back of her neck. Her breath hitches, body trembling as the song pulls at her, tearing at her like claws through flesh. She gasps, hands clenching at her sides, nails digging into palms until blood wells.
But she tells the story again. Same words, same story. She doesn't miss a beat as the Divine digs, forcing her to do it again and again, looking for a crack, some sort of untruth.
The Divine hums when Lira finishes a fifth time, shaking and near boneless on the floor, dissatisfied but intrigued. "Very well. Next."
Mingyu steps up, broad shoulders squared, but you see the fear in his eyes. His hands flex at his side as he bows to one knee, head dipped in false reverence. The Divine asks him the same question, and Mingyu recounts his version. His perspective is different - he tells the Divine of Torren's aggression from the jump, how Seungcheol had to reprimand him.
The Divine circles Mingyu all the while, reaching out a hand to brush it through his hair fondly. The sight makes your stomach turn over, and you watch as the touch makes him smaller, somehow. Like he caves in on himself. But his words still stand when she asks him again and again, each question making him bow lower and lower until he's panting.
"Torren was aggressive," he grits out. "Had it out for her. She defended herself. The betas took advantage during the chaos. Soren was supposed to be watching them, Divine."
Jihoon breezes through her question. You're surprised. He bows, but he answers her questions efficiently and without effort, the only sign of discomfort the flex in his hand as she peppers him with questions. When she finishes, he rises smoothly and takes his place by Mingyu, linking his hands behind his back.
When it's Soren's turn, you watch with a held breath. She's miserable, teeth gnashing as she stalks forward and bows deeply in front of the Divine. The Divine stands in front of Soren, looking down at her with a cocked head.
"Be honest, Soren," the Divine purrs. "Was it your fault that the runaways escaped?"
Soren writhes. "Yes, Divine."
"Tell me, are you the reason your brother is dead?"
The question is cruel and precise, made to sever down into the core of Soren. She trembles and you hear a sob wrack through her, echoed against the marble floor. "Yes, Divine."
"Tell me."
"He attacked her," Soren sobs. "He attacked her and I turned away from the prisoners. She killed him. She killed him and they got away because of me. It's my fault, Divine."
"Again," the Divine demands, leaning forward, eyes gleaming.
Soren grieves, her sobbing ugly and loud and hiccuping. She chokes out the words again, sobbing, but no deviation. The story holds. She doesn't stand when the Divine finishes. She remains on the ground, a mess of tears and agony. You almost feel bad for her - almost - as the Divine nudges her with a boot to move her out of the way.
The betas are last. The priestesses haul them forward one by one, unchaining them just enough to kneel. Their voices are soft as they recount the same story. The Divine seems less inclined to question them. It isn't until she dismisses them and they begin to cry that you realize it's because she wants nothing to do with them. Only death waits.
You step forward, sucking in a sharp breath. Seungcheol tugs the sleeve of your elbow sharply, keeping you close to him. You look at him, eyes round and glassy and he shakes his head. Where he once might have looked firm and cold, today he looks sad. Sorry. Now that you can see through the mask, you realize how much it pains him to hold you back.
The Divine’s gaze pins you like a spear. This time, Seungcheol nudges you forward a little. Your heart stops. Time slows. The room spins. You're the only one who hasn't been compelled, the only one who could possibly be a weak link. You have no idea if you can resist her on your own instinct and power alone, but you have to try.
You kneel. Your mouth is dry as you do and you stare straight forward, looking at her throne. The throne where she assigned you to Seungcheol, knowing you looked like someone she took from him. Her throne where she watched as Jeonghan was whipped. Her throne where she watched as the people you knew were whipped and killed.
Nailed hands drag through your hair. You nearly flinch at the touch - not in fear, but repulsion. You think of how many times she must have run her nails through Soonyoung's hair, over his skin. How many times she marked him up, scratched through both the physical and mental surface of him.
Rage.
It blooms so hot that it's nearly blinding as you stare ahead, unseeing and full of anger.
"Tell me exactly what happened," she demands.
Pain explodes in your head. It's white-hot and blinding, like needs driven into the center of every thought and memory. It isn't at all like the Call - this is something worse. Something invasive and arresting, trying to take hold of you. It is a psychic force more than anything, and you feel like her claws rend through you, forcing you to her will.
The song tears at you, probing every corner, seeking the lie, the crack. You taste blood and realize you've bitten through your tongue, trying to resist the urge to spill out what really happened, to tell her what you've done.
"Torren attacked me," you grit out. You think of Seungcheol's advice, to tell her the truth in pieces. "I defended myself, Divine."
"Why did he attack you?"
"He was angry with me, Divine."
"Why you?"
The room spins and you feel yourself thrash against her hold, sweat gathering at the back of your neck and middle of your chest.
"He didn't like that I was an omega," you snarl. "Didn't think I was worth more than fucking. He made several sexual passes at me until my alpha stepped in, Divine."
"Your alpha?"
"Seungcheol, Divine."
Silence follows your response for a second. You can feel Seungcheol's gaze heavy on you then. The Divine watches you too, a new interest as she hums thoughtfully.
"Did Seungcheol kill Torren out of jealousy?"
"No. I killed him, Divine."
"Are you lying to me?"
You swallow. "No, Divine."
"Did you let the others go on purpose?"
Your vision blurs at the edges, ears ringing, nausea surging so violently you nearly retch. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood, forcing yourself to stay upright.
"No, Divine."
"Interesting." The Bloodsong fades slowly, leaving your head ringing, body shaking, knees weak with relief. "Very... consistent. One more, then. Your alpha, as you so incorrectly put it."
On unsteady knees, you stand. Seungcheol is stiff when you turn to him. You notice the twitch of his hand near his sword when he steps forward. His scent spikes, sharp and sour as the two of you exchange places. His hand reaches out briefly, a single brush of fingers before he stands in front of the Divine.
The Divine studies him like a specimen pinned beneath glass. “Tell me,” she says, voice soft and almost kind, “of Torren’s death in detail.”
Seungcheol’s body goes rigid. A muscle jumps in his jaw and his hands clench into fists at his sides. Blood trickles from his nose, slow at first, then faster, dark and thick, dripping onto the marble in soft, rhythmic drops that make you squirm.
“Torren attacked her,” he grits out, voice strained, rough with pain. “She defended herself.”
The Divine leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I said in detail.”
He falls forward a little, one palm pressed flat to the ground. His breathing comes in short, agonized bursts, body shaking violently, sweat and blood mixing on his face, dripping onto the stone in dark pools. A low, guttural groan escapes him, raw and broken, but the words hold.
Seungcheol recounts the same story in perfect detail, shivering through the power of the Bloodsong. You watch, holding your breath, trying not to whine as you watch him struggle.
The Divine watches, unblinking as she questions him until he's mumbling his responses. The Divine’s frustration is visible now, a subtle tightening around her mouth, a flicker of irritation in her eyes.
The Bloodsong fades, leaving Seungcheol heaving and bloody. But he doesn’t waver. The story holds. No crack. No deviation. The Divine studies him for a long moment, then waves a hand, dismissive.
“Dismissed,” she says. “Except for Lira and Sorren.”
Relief crashes through you - violent, dizzying, nauseating. Your knees nearly give out as Seungcheol surges to his feet, staggering slightly. He stumbles back toward you, blood still dripping from his nose. He doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are locked on you, wild and terrified.
The rest of you turn to leave, Lira and Soren visibly trembling. Mingyu and Jihoon say nothing as you enter the hall, the Sanctum doors closing behind you. Mingyu simply lifts his hand, he and Jihoon stumbling off on their own as you and Seungcheol start the uneven trip back to your quarters.
The corridors feel narrower now. The air is thick with the lingering scent of incense and iron, clinging to your clothes, your hair, your skin. Seungcheol walks beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours with every step. He catches your wrist, fingers wrapping around it to tug you closer as you walk, like he’s afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't keep you tethered to him.
His face is still pale, blood crusted at the corner of his nose and smeared across his chin from the Bloodsong, but his eyes are steady now, locked on the path ahead. He stays that way until he's pushing open the door that leads to the pack quarters - not home, exactly, but you have no other word for it.
The familiar scents hit you like a wave, warm and alive. The moment you step inside, the others are there.
Soonyoung is the first to reach you, barreling forward despite the lingering stiffness in his ribs, arms wrapping around you so tightly you can barely breathe. You nearly sob as he grabs you, pressing his face into your neck as he breathes you in, shivering.
“You’re back,” he breathes against your hair, voice cracking. “You’re actually back.”
Vernon is next, pulling you into his chest the moment Soonyoung lets go. His sage scent wraps around you, steady and soothing as his hand cups the back of your head. He examines your face, frowning at what he sees there. He still leans forward, kissing you gently enough that you melt into him.
"You look terrible," Seokmin murmurs, caging you in from behind and pressing you into Vernon's chest. His mouth drops to your neck, lips pressing delicate kisses to your scent gland. Your eyes roll back and he hums. "I'm glad you're back."
Seungcheol stands a step behind, letting Jeonghan and Chan swarm you. Jeonghan's jasmine is overwhelming as he whines, pressing his face into your neck as much as he can while Chan peppers your jaw and temple in kisses, tongue darting out to catch you.
They're all overwhelming, the closeness of them enough to make you scent-drunk, the room spinning by the time Seungcheol finally moves forward, coming toward you. Jeonghan looks up, surprised, but you watch as he grins and his pupils dilate, stepping back and taking Chan with him to give Seungcheol room.
You turn, startled at the intensity of his stare. He doesn't say anything. He just reaches for you and pulls you toward him, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over tears and dirt and grime.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he whispers, voice low and rough.
Then he's kissing you. It's not gentle or tentative - it's desperate and hungry, like he's been starving for this since the moment he saw you in Valen's courtyard surrounded by flames. His mouth crashes against yours, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to hold you exactly where he wants you. He tastes like blood and bergamot - he tastes alive.
You kiss him back just as hard, hands fisting in the sleeves of his shirt, rising on your toes to press closer and deeper. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth on yours, his heartbeat thundering against your chest, the faint tremor in his hands as he kisses you.
When he finally pulls back, it's just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he says, voice wrecked. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. That was so stupid.”
"No promises," you whisper, voice shaking.
He kisses you again - slower this time. It's softer, but still just as hungry, the swipe of his tongue against yours making you boneless. He doesn't care. He holds you up, his grip firm and steady, before he pulls away, staring at you with eyes like twin moons.
The pack watches in stunned silence. And then Soonyoung breaks it, whistling low and grinning.
"Well, took you long enough," he teases.
A laugh escapes you, breathless and a little embarrassed as you lean into Seungcheol's chest, hiding your face. Vernon snorts, arms crossed, but there’s a small, genuine smile tugging at his mouth.
"I'm thrilled as any to see them kissing," Seokmin announces. "But the two of you are covered in blood and bruises and Gods knows what else. Infirmary. Now."
Seungcheol kisses you again, soft and brief, before nudging you toward Seokmin, who watches fondly. "Don't keep him waiting. And tell him what you did. Someone else needs to be just as angry as I am."
Seokmin waits for you, letting you thread your fingers with his as the three of you walk down the hall, the others trailing behind, too eager to leave you alone just yet.
PAIRING: Werewolf! f. Reader x Werewolf!Seungcheol x Werewolf!Jeonghan x Werewolf!Soonyoung x Werewolf!Seokmin x Werewolf!Vernon x Werewolf!Chan
SUMMARY: When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.
WC: 11,419
AU: Romantic Fantasy, Werewolves, Omegaverse Dynamics, Polyamourous
GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Romance
WARNINGS: As always, depictions of forced coercion by the Divine, cultish themes, graphic depictions of sacrificial altars and blood, graphic depiction of a forest that looks like it's bleeding/bloody, fantasy violence and action sequences with monstrous creatures, threats of sexual violence and predatory behavior from another alpha toward reader, sexism and a/b/o social constructs that are negative, some territorial stuff with Seungcheol, intense depictions of grief and mourning from both Seungcheol and reader, intense angst, speaking of people and lives they have lost, past references to abuse at the hands of the Divine, reader having some emotional distress about what she is being tasked to do... I think that is mostly it. This chapter is just very emotionally charged for reader and Seungcheol both who open up about grief. Lots of crying.
MEMBERS IN THIS CHAPTER: Seungcheol with appearances from Mingyu and Jihoon
A/N: Happy Bite Day! Thank you for letting me skip the last update period to get all of my collabs in order. This is a BIGGGG chapter that a lot of people have been waiting for where Seungcheol and reader finally bridge the emotional gap between them and we get insight into why Seungcheol behaves the way he does as he finally opens up! We also get to meet two new characters in Mingyu and Jihoon who are a part of a different pack! I hope you enjoy this one - this is my favorite chapter I have written to date - I think you'll see why.
A/N 2: Thank you to @daechwitatamic who beta read this chapter!
A/N 3: I highly recommend reading the scene with Seungcheol and reader in the gods grove while listening to Goodbye Brother by Ramin Djawadi.
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The unbroken have not yet been tested
- Inscription found on a bone
THE AIR IS THICK WITH THE SCENT OF WET STONE AS YOU FOLLOW SEUNGCHEOL DEEP INTO THE MOUNTAIN. The walls, veined with that eerie crimson glow, seem to pulse in time with your heartbeat. You hate the mountain and its knowing walls, the way they seem to lean in closer the deeper you go. You shift a little nearer to Seungcheol without meaning to, the torchlight flickering erratically across his broad back, throwing long shadows that make him look larger, more untouchable.
Your mind races, thoughts tumbling over one another like stones in a riverbed. The morning's warmth in Soonyoung's bed feels like a distant dream now, the heat of pack scents replaced by the chill seeping through your leathers. Vernon's revelations from the night before echo in your head, his low voice recounting the cult, the cold precision, the way he'd learned to shut off his scent entirely. It makes you look at Seungcheol's back as he walks ahead, wondering what secrets he's hiding from you. You're sure they're endless, locked behind the iron fortress he refuses to let you through, even after everything. You wonder if he'll ever open that door, or if some parts of him are meant to stay buried.
The hunt you're supposed to be going on looms ahead like a storm cloud, dark and inevitable. It makes your gut twist knowing you're expected to bring back deserters - people fleeing the very same tyranny you suffer under. You wonder if they're families. Loved ones clinging to one another in the night. People you're expected to drag back as one of the Divine's blades, proof of your loyalty. The nausea rises up, sharp and bitter, coating the back of your throat.
But you can't afford defiance right now. Not with Soonyoung's bruises fresh in your memory, the way his cracked ribs rose and fell under your palm last night. Not with the pack's safety dangling like a sword over your heads if you or Seungcheol step out of line while you're outside of the mountain.
The Divine never sends all of you at once for a reason.
Seungcheol moves with purposeful strides ahead, his bergamot scent strong and laced with an undercurrent of resolve you envy. He hasn't said much since pulling you from your nest of limbs and soft kisses, but his presence is an anchor, even if you don't know where the two of you stand. You never do. One moment he's a wall of protection, the next he's shutting you out again.
As you near the lower levels, the air shifts. It grows warmer and heavier, infused with the earthy musk of hay and the sharp tang of sweat and oiled leather. Distant whinnies echo up the stairwell, mingling with the clang of metal bits and the low murmurs of voices below.
Seungcheol halts abruptly in a shadowed alcove just before the last of the stairs, the space barely big enough for two. He pulls you toward him anyway, your heart spiking as the smell of him floods your senses. His dark eyes are intense as he looks at you, a sense of urgency in his gaze as he glances around once to ensure you're alone.
"Listen carefully," he murmurs. "This hunt - it's not just a task. It's the Divine's game. It always is. It's her way of testing loyalties and reminding us who is in control. You must appear obedient at all costs. Follow my lead in everything. Keep your eyes down if someone challenges you. Any slip up and she'll hurt the people that matter to us."
His words sink to the bottom of your stomach, each one a heavy stone. You'd already known this, deep down, but hearing it laid bare still cuts. The leverage is insidious, but it's smart of the Divine. She'll never send all of you at once, knowing the risk of losing you all is too great. It's why she'd only sent a handful to attack Valen, leaving Vernon and Jeonghan at home as leverage, as hostages.
Anxiety grips you, skin prickling hotly. What if you say the wrong thing? What if your scent betrays you? What if you don't step out of line, but someone says you do? The possibilities make you dizzy as Seungcheol watches you process, the understanding on his face telling you that he feels it too - the fear, the weight of every choice.
"I understand," you say eventually. "I'll be careful. Obedient."
The word tastes like ash in your mouth but you say it anyway. Obedience has kept you alive this long. You'll have to do it a little bit longer, until the ash in your mouth turns to the ashes of the Divine's funeral pyre.
Seungcheol's expression softens a little, a flicker of approval in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder, the contact surprising but brief, his thumb brushing once against your collarbone before he lets go. "Just stick close. We've navigated worse, you and I."
You glance sidelong at him. He's already turning away, shutting the door on the warmth he let slip through for a single moment. He's right, though. The two of you have certainly gone through worse - it is what your entire relationship with Seungcheol has been, thus far. Worse.
You follow him, descending the final stairwell together. The stairwell ends in an open, cavernous room that serves as the stable. It's carved from the mountain's belly with a vaulted ceiling supported by massive stone pillars. There are carvings on the pillars, and you're suddenly reminded of the catacombs Jeonghan showed you once, the way he'd traced the lines with reverent fingers and whispered about a time before the Divine, when the mountain had been something else.
The stables are alive with activity. Grooms with hunched shoulders and averted eyes dart between stalls, buckling saddles, adjusting girths, their movements efficient but subdued, as if they might be punished for doing something wrong. You catch a glimpse of an alpha stable master, her eyes sharp, hand hovering near the coiled whip at her belt.
The crack of a whip echoes in your memory. Dara's scream. Soonyoung holding her down while she thrashed. Jeonghan baring his back, not flinching as the lash came down again and again-
"Wildheart." Seungcheol's voice breaks the memory, low and steady. You look at him. You realize your heart is racing, breathing ragged. "Breathe."
You nod. "Sorry."
He softens a little more, the hard lines of his face easing. "I understand."
In the large central aisle, the hunting party assembles. The lanterns and braziers throughout cast them in red light, making their shadows long and jagged. It's a compact group of five, their postures alert and weapons glinting at hips and across backs. Their scents wash over you as you approach, a combination of alpha and beta pheromones that tangle together.
You hang back a step as Seungcheol approaches, your hand hovering near the pommel of Chan's sword. You feel better with the weight of it on your hip, the dagger Vernon gave you tied to your weapons belt on the other side. You eye the strangers as Seungcheol stops in front of them, your protective instincts flaring a little. You tamp down on them, observing instead.
There's an obvious leader to the hunting party. She stands at the forefront, tall and wiry with lean muscle under taut, tan skin. Her dark hair is cropped to the chin, framing a face made up of sharp angles and amber eyes. She's pretty, but there's a cool detachment to her that makes your skin crawl when her gaze lands on you, assessing, measuring.
Seungcheol steps in front of her, cutting off her view of you and vice versa. You can still smell her scent, a smoky charred oak that makes you scrunch your nose and shift.
"Seungcheol," she greets, her voice raspy. "On time, at least."
"Lira." Seungcheol inclines his head respectfully, but the tightness in his shoulders tells you that he doesn't like this woman. "What's the route?"
Lira unrolls a bit of parchment to reveal a map, its edges frayed, inked lines tracing valleys and forests in faded tones. You side-step to get a better look, peering around Seungcheol. Her eyes flicker to you and you remember Seungcheol's warning, so you drop your gaze and step back again, frustrated.
Beside Lira are two other alphas. The first is compact, almost unassuming at first glance, with dark and sharp eyes. He's short but lean, his dark hair kept short as he nods at Seungcheol and crosses his arms, the gesture curt but familiar. They seem to know each other - at least, Seungcheol's tension eases a fraction when he looks at him.
The second alpha dwarfs the first, a towering figure with wide shoulders and a presence that fills up the space. He's strikingly handsome with warm brown eyes and high cheekbones. He smiles when he sees Seungcheol, but the smile is a little tight, not quite reaching his eyes. He runs a hand through his wavy hair, leaning against the nearest horse as he says something low to Lira you can't catch. She glares and he winks, but it seems practiced. Fabricated.
He glances at you and raises his brows. "Oh?" He asks Seungcheol, voice light but curious. "That's new."
Seungcheol steps in front of you again, cutting off the alpha's view. "Didn't expect you here, Mingyu."
Mingyu.
You recognize the name immediately. Isn't this the man Seungcheol mentioned once - someone he was trying to help loosen the Divine's hold on? Seungcheol steals a glance at you and sees your questioning gaze. He nods once, so subtle you wonder if you're imagining it before he turns back to the alphas.
"I'm a good hunter," Mingyu teases, the words light but carrying an edge. "Who's the one you're hiding?" Seungcheol doesn't answer for a moment. "I'm not going to bite."
"Wildheart," Seungcheol answers gruffly. He sidesteps to let you peer at the three alphas. "This is Mingyu." He nods toward the shorter one. "That's Jihoon."
Jihoon gives you a small nod, his sharp eyes assessing but not hostile. Mingyu's smile widens a fraction, genuine this time, though still careful. "Nice to meet you, Wildheart. Cute nickname."
Seungcheol bristles but you nod back, keeping your expression neutral. He ignores the other two alphas behind Mingyu, but his scent shifts, the bergamot deepening as they lead their horses over.
One of them is a woman, who steps behind Lira, her arms folded and her posture relaxed. She's nearly as tall as Lira, with long black hair braided down her back and a face carved from marble. Her eyes are so gray they're nearly colorless, reflecting back nothing. Lira introduces her as Soren with a casual flick of her wrist, and when she looks at Seungcheol, you see a flicker of something fierce in her eyes. He continues to ignore her, so you do the same.
The last alpha is hard to ignore. He's built like a stout mountain with a thick neck and a shaved head that gleams under the lantern light. His name is Torren, and though he lounges easily against his horse, you don't take the casual appearance for what it's worth. His eyes catch on you and he grins, slow and deliberate, showing too much teeth. He doesn't look at Seungcheol at all; his attention is fixed on you, raking up and down, lingering on your hips, your throat, the way your cloak clings to your frame.
You fight the urge to bare your teeth, a growl working its way up your throat. Had anyone dared to look at you like that in Valen - but Valen doesn't exist anymore. Here you're no one. Here you have no name. Just Wildheart, a fond pseudonym given to you by the only people in the world left to trust.
Seungcheol steps fully in front of you this time, broad shoulders blocking Torren's line of sight. His voice comes out low, dangerous. "Eyes up, Torren."
Torren chuckles, the sound rough and amused. "Just appreciating the view, Seungcheol. Divine's got good taste sending her along."
Seungcheol doesn't answer, but his scent flares, sharp and territorial, a clear warning. Torren only smirks wider, unbothered, and looks away at last, but not before giving you one more lingering once-over. You notice Mingyu and Jihoon scowling at his back.
Good. They don't like him either.
Lira clears her throat, impatient. "Enough. Mount up. We ride west. Deserters are a day ahead. Tracks lead to the Bloodwood. We track, we capture, we return. No mercy."
Her amber eyes land on you again, lingering. You keep your gaze low, but you feel the weight of it like a brand. Seungcheol's hand brushes your elbow briefly, steering you toward a groom that leads you to a mare. Then his touch is gone again, but he's only a step away, a bulwark between you and the rest of your hunting party.
Suddenly the hunting party feels less designed to seek out deserters and more like a test for you. For Seungcheol. You swallow back a sour taste in your mouth as you approach your mare. She's a sturdy bay with a glossy coat, a little taller than you expected. She's already saddled and bridled, saddle bags laden with supplies.
The groom moves to help you mount but you're already moving, gripping the pommel and planting your foot in the stirrup to haul yourself up and swing your leg over, muscle memory taking over. It's been a while since you've ridden now, but you could never forget how to ride. Mingyu mounts next to you, eyeing you with new interest. You squirm, suddenly feeling like everything you do - everything you're good at - will be under supervision.
Seungcheol mounts his gray stallion next to you, horse tossing his head a little. His horse dances up next to yours, thighs nearly touching as Lira takes point on her black mare with Jihoon and Mingyu falling in line behind her. Seungcheol nudges his mount forward and you do the same, their hooves echoing on stone as Torren and Soren bring up the rear, their stares pinned to your back like a blade.
You ignore them, focusing on the tunnel ahead until it swallows you whole. The tunnel is filled with wet stone and flickering torches, the walls covered in the same ancient sigils and symbols as the catacombs and the vaulting ceilings of the stables. You study them as you pass, each carving unfamiliar and alien as the day you first saw them.
The air grows cooler as you delve deeper, the musky scent of the alphas and the horses cloying in the narrow space. Your mare's ears flick back and forth, sensing the tension growing as your group rides in silence. You pat her neck on instinct, running gloved hands up and down her smooth fur, drawing a soft nicker in response.
It's a silent ride through the tunnel, save for the clack of the hooves and the occasional snort from the horses. The weight of the hunt presses down like the stone above, no one speaking. It's your first time leaving the Bloodkeep in months, and the thought sends a shiver through you. When you'd come here months ago, it had been in chains. Now as you near the end of the tunnel, you're in a different set of chains but heavy all the same.
Light pierces the end of the tunnel, growing bright until it blinds you. You emerge blinking into the noon sun, the world exploding into color and chaos. Bloodhaven sprawls before you, the multi-tiered labyrinth carved into the stone mountain familiar and alien all at once. The streets are slick with recent rain as you pass through them.
Red dominates everything - banners of Selyne fluttering from rooftops, her crest emblazoned in darker red. The fabric snaps in the wind, carrying the scent of bloodrose in the air, their petals crushed underfoot in the street.
The city here is alive just like any other city. You hate how normal it is. Do these people not care about the evil that goes on in the mountain? The evil that happens to give them this space? The blood spilled in the name of the Divine and her goddess? You stare at them with a newfound scorn, watching them live their lives while you remain shackled to the woman who burned your life down.
Like any other city, the air here is thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and roasting meats from nearby vendors. Unlike any other city, the coppery tang of blood hangs heavy in the air as you pass altars with fresh blood, evidence of recent sacrifices. Your stomach turns and your horse dances away from an altar, the wet liquid steaming in the cool air.
Sensory overload crashes into you as you plunge further into Bloodhaven. Voices clamor as you near a market, vendors and patrons haggling and shouting at one another. Random acolytes in red shout their praises to Selyne, and as Lira leads you through the throng, the press of bodies thins only enough to let your hunting party through.
You see the massive archway ahead, swallowing past the dry patch in your throat. When you'd seen it last, you'd been dressed in a robe that was too heavy with chains around your wrist, paraded through the city while attached to Seungcheol's horse. From the way he stiffens in the saddle next to you, you know he's remembering that day too.
We've navigated worse, you and I.
You ride under the arch in formation, Lira at the head. Seungcheol rides close enough that his knee brushes yours occasionally. He still doesn't speak, eyes scanning the crowds with predatory focus. You don't do anything but look ahead, the chaos of the city too much after months of isolation, the memories of your arrival flooding back.
A prickle of awareness prods at the back of your neck. You feel Torren's gaze on you, heavy and unwanted as you ride. You keep your head high, refusing to turn back to confirm his oily stare. Mingyu, riding just ahead of you, seems to sense the tension. He glances back once, his warm eyes catching yours with a small, encouraging nod, before sliding to Torren and narrowing a fraction before he turns to face the front.
The city slopes downward, the streets widening as you descend from the upper tiers. Timber houses give way to more open markets, stalls overflowing with red-dyed cloths and iron trinkets. Children dart between legs, their faces bright and happy under the autumn sun. You cannot imagine this a happy place for children to grow up, but their laughter is real.
An alpha stands on a crate of boxes as you pass, bellowing about the glory of sacrifice, his voice hoarse and fervent. You silently pray to your gods that he loses his voice, but you know they won't do anything.
They never do.
As you near the outskirts, the crowd thins. Beyond lies Bloodrest, the fortified cluster of squat stone buildings familiar. A forge belches smoke from a chimney, the clang of hammer on anvil ringing out as you pass through the central square. Red banners flap from everywhere, and soldiers dressed in crimson armor go to and from the inn.
Lira leads you through without stopping, the horses' hooves crunching on gravel. Seungcheol rides tensely, his hand resting near his sword hilt. Behind you, Torren mutters something to Soren and she chuckles, but you ignore it, gaze fixed on the horizon.
Beyond Bloodrest, the land opens up, the rolling foothills dotted with dry shrubbery and jagged rocks. The air lightens, crisp with pine and earth, free of the city's rot. Wildflowers peek through cracks, yellow bursts against green, defiant in a colorless place. A river snakes nearby, its waters foaming over stones.
The party travels west. It's different from how you came to the mountain, the terrain unfamiliar to you. Hours pass in the saddle, the sun dipping lower and casting long shadows. The land around you roughens, hills steepening, rocks giving way to dense thickets. Silence reigns, broken only by the wind and hooves.
Your mare picks carefully through the trail, following Seungcheol's stallion ahead. Mingyu has dropped back, his mare pulling up next to yours as he eyes you with interest. "First time out?"
"Yes."
"The air tastes different here, doesn't it? Cleaner."
"Yes," you agree cautiously. "It does."
Mingyu's earth scent is warm and nonthreatening as you ride. Seungcheol glances back a single time, eyes flickering between you, but he says nothing. You relax a fraction, knowing that Seungcheol's silence with Mingyu next to you means this unfamiliar alpha is somewhat safe.
Safe enough for Seungcheol to want you to help him, eventually.
"You've been on hunts like this before?" You ask him, curious.
"Too many." He frowns. "Stick close to Cheol. He's good."
Mingyu falls back again, putting himself between you and the two alphas behind you. You note the way he says Cheol, familiar and friendly. You also note that he's chosen to blatantly put himself between you and Torren, the latter huffing and complaining about Mingyu ruining the view. A pang of gratitude goes through you, feeling a little lighter with Mingyu at your back.
The tracks from the deserters lead westward, toward the Bloodwood. You know nothing of the Bloodwood, but you see the vast forest on the horizon, its canopy a sea of deep green tinged with red. You've heard vague tellings of trees that bleed and monsters that hide in the thick forest, and as you approach, you can smell the syrupy resin of the trees.
Nearing the Bloodwood is daunting. The trees are massive here, larger than anything you've ever seen in Valen. They loom above you, trunks thick, bark rough and dark, scored with slashes where sap oozes like blood, red and viscous.
Entering the treeline is like stepping into another world. The change is immediate. Above, the sunlight filters through leaves in dappled red hues, the sap staining the branches and the ground. Your mare picks her way carefully, hooves sinking into leaf litter soft as flesh, stained crimson where sap has dripped. Vines dangle like arteries, brushing your arms, leaving sticky residue that clings.
Some trees are wide as a house, their bark etched with natural whorls that resemble faces if you squint enough. You cringe away from them, disliking how the oozing sap looks like steadily bleeding trees, covering everything like the forest is actively hemorrhaging.
Strange undergrowth thrives under the world of red sap. Ferns unfurl in scarlet fronds, mushrooms sprout in clusters like wounds, their red caps veined red. Strange flowers bloom low to the ground with petals like velvet lips, their scent dizzying.
Birds call from hidden perches, their songs distorted, echoing as if through water. Insects hum, and you watch iridescent beetles scuttle over the bark as they eat sap. The forest feels ancient and alive in a way that you've never felt, and you cannot imagine how terrified the deserters must be to come here, where you feel Selyne and her bloodlust more than you ever have before.
Hours or minutes blur by - it's hard to tell. The forest's sameness disorients you, the endless red and endless shadow blending time and space itself. Mingyu rides up against, his voice soft and a welcome relief.
"Did you know the sap has acidic properties?" You shake your head. "Burns like hell on the skin, but seals wounds pretty fast."
"I can't imagine letting the sap touch me."
"Fair. You holding up alright?"
"Better than expected."
"Yeah, this forest is creepy. I hate coming here."
As dusk settles, the sap begins to glow faintly luminescent, casting the Bloodwood in ethereal crimson. The tracks are fresher now - a campfire's cold ashes, hastily buried; a torn scrap of cloth caught on thorns. You hate that the deserters leave evidence in their haste, hoping that they're outpacing you.
Torren chooses his moment to edge his horse on your other side, his knee nearly brushing yours. Mingyu stiffens, hand drifting toward a dagger at his hip. Torren ignores him, his inky eyes settling on you as he grins.
"Dangerous place, this forest," he says. His eyes stick to your unmarked throat. "Omega like you come nightfall will be vulnerable. Stick by us, little omega. We'll keep you safe. And warm."
The words slither over your skin, cold and nauseating. Your stomach turns, but before you can react, Seungcheol stops his horse dead, forcing Torren to veer to his left and split the two of you. He keeps his stallion between you, pivoting in his seat to block you from Torren's view as Mingyu keeps close pace on your other side, boxing out Soren.
Seungcheol's voice is quiet and lethal as he warns, "Another word to her and I'll cut you here and let the Bloodwood drink what's left. She is my omega. Mine. Touch her or look at her, and you will die screaming. Do you understand?"
Torren's smirk falters. For the first time, the leer vanishes entirely. His face pales in the red glow, eyes widening as he takes in the raw, unfiltered murder in Seungcheol’s stare. Seungcheol's scent floods the air, territorial and furious. A shiver ripples down your spine, omega reacting to the overwhelming pheromones.
It makes Torren swallow hard. He nods once, jerky, and pulls his horse back sharply, putting several paces between him and you. He doesn't speak again, though Soren is whispering something sharply to him.
Lira glances back once, brow arched, but says nothing. She smirks like she finds it funny and turns to keep riding, back to you as Seungcheol keeps his mount to your left. Jihoon drops back a little, glancing at Mingyu. He nods his head and Mingyu navigates his mare behind you, cutting you off from the two alphas who ride several paces back now.
You realize you're boxed in, glancing at Seungcheol. His face is hard, but he seems pleased by Jihoon and Mingyu's presence. You feel the heat in your cheeks, your pulse racing. My omega. The words echo, stirring something primal inside of you. The declaration lingers like a brand, but you don't know what to make of it, if Seungcheol actually feels that way, or if it's just to keep you safe.
You hate that you can't tell.
The Bloodwood grows darker as dusk deepens into true night, the crimson glow of the sap turning the forest into a living wound. Lire calls for a halt in a small clearing ringed by ancient trees whose trunks weep steadily, the sap pooling like open sores. The ground here is softer, carpeted in thick moss that squelches underfoot as you unmount, thighs shaking. Your knees nearly buckle but Mingyu's hand darts out to steady you by the elbow and you give him a grateful smile.
You tether the horses to low branches, their coats slick with sweat as you pull out a sachet of hay to buckle onto their bridles. Lira moves with brisk efficiency, directing the setup. Soren scrapes a space for a fire pit, stones ringed around it to contain the flames while Torren tosses bedrolls into the floor. No tents.
The fire is lit quickly, fed with dry branches gathered from the edge of the clearing, the flames flickering low and red, casting strange shadows that dance like specters across the trunks. You shiver, hating the red of the forest, hating the glare that Torren sends Seungcheol, who ignores him.
Seungcheol stays close to you the entire time, a silent, brooding presence. He helps unsaddle your mare without being asked, his hands steady as he rubs her down with a cloth and checks her hooves for stones. When you kneel to unroll your bedroll, he drops down next to you, doing the same.
The proximity is maddening. His bergamot scent wraps around you, warm and grounding, but his face remains closed off, jaw tight as his gaze fixes on his hands, the trees, the horses - anywhere but you. You feel the push and pull of him like a tide - one moment his shoulder brushes yours, warm and welcoming, the next he's pulling away, leaving you cold.
You hate the contradiction. Hate that his rejection from days ago still stings. You want to demand answers from him, but you know it'll drive him further. The Bloodwood isn't a place for vulnerability anyway, so you settle on your bedroll, knees drawn up as you stare into the flames.
The others spread out in a loose formation that reveals the divide of the hunting party clearly. Lira, Soren and Torren huddle on the far side of the fire, speaking in low voices, heads close together. Torren's leer is gone now, replaced by sullen silence after Seungcheol's threat. He still glances toward you occasionally though, his gaze like a cold, clammy awareness that clamps on the back of your neck.
Soren watches everything with a cold, calculated amusement that unnerves you. It's taken you hours, but you realize she's Torren's sister, the lines of their noses and jaws almost identical. What Torren lacks in Soren's height is certainly ugliness, and you turn away from him, trying not to scowl at the obvious way the three of them are a unit, insular and loyal to the Divine in ways the rest of you are not.
Mingyu and Jihoon settle nearer to you and Seungcheol, a subtle but deliberate choice. Mingyu drops down cross-legged, stretching his long legs toward the fire with a groan.
"Gods, my ass is numb," he mutters, rubbing his rear. "These saddles weren't made for long rides."
You notice that Mingyu says gods. Not goddess. Not a Selyne worshiper. You didn't think he was, but the confirmation that his gods are not the bloodthirsty deity these heretics worship is comforting.
Jihoon snorts, eyeing Mingyu. "You complain every hunt."
"Because every hunt is hell on my ass." He glances at you. "You doing alright?"
You nod. "The sap is weird. It glows like it's alive."
"It kind of is," Jihoon says. His voice is low and measured as he unwraps a piece of jerky. "Old stories say the trees remember every drop of blood spilled in this forest. The sap's their way of keeping score."
Mingyu rolls his eyes. "Don't scare her, Ji."
Seungcheol snorts. "Trust me. She isn't afraid."
Jihoon’s sharp eyes flick to you, assessing, then to Seungcheol, who sits a few feet away, sharpening his dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. The scrape of whetstone on steel is the only sound for a moment.
Lira clears her throat, standing. “Watch shifts. First rotation: me and Soren. Second: Jihoon and the omega. Third: Mingyu and Seungcheol. Torren, you’re with me on the fourth if we’re still here. Wake the next pair at the hour mark. No one sleeps through.”
You bristle at the way Lira dismisses you and calls you the omega. Seungcheol makes a sound in the back of his throat at you and you lay backward on your bedroll instead, angry and glaring at the trees. You hate the way these people treat you. Hate having to take it. But you do have to take it.
Mingyu catches your eye and offers you a reassuring smile. "At least you're with Jihoon. Which means I have to deal with the brooding wolf."
Seungcheol pauses his sharpening, looking at Mingyu with a thunderous gaze. You decide you like Mingyu, smirking a little as you sigh and stare up at the blood red trees, tired. The three of you sit in silence for a while as Torren immediately goes to bed.
The fire pops and hisses, sending sparks drifting upward like dying stars. You can't see the stars, but you wish you could. Your mother used to lay in the lawn with you when you were little, counting each star in the sky, telling you their stories and showing you how to trace your shapes. But the stars over Valen are dead. At least, so long as you're in the Divine's hold.
Looming overhead are the red boughs, watchful and ancient. You hate how small they make you feel. Hate the way Lira called you the omega like it was your only name. Hate the lingering heat of Torren's gaze, even though he's stopped looking now. Mostly, you hate the way Seungcheol is sitting just close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without touching, and far enough that it feels deliberate.
He shifts, reaching into his pack to pull something out before twisting to you. He doesn't say anything at first. He just holds out bread, cheese, and a strip of dried meat, waiting and expectant.
"I'm not hungry," you mutter, though your stomach does growl a little.
He doesn't move. "Eat."
"I said I'm not hungry."
"And I said eat."
His voice is quiet, but there's something hard beneath it. Not anger, just that same stubborn patience from that first night you met and he forced water down your throat. He seems to remember that night too, arching his brow like a promise to do that same exact thing now if you don't listen.
You snatch the bread from his fingers, tearing into it more forcefully than necessary. The crust is thick, but the inside is soft. He hands you the wedge of cheese next as you chew, watching you with that same steady expression. You bite into the cheese - soft and sharp - and he hands you the meat next. You snatch it from him, annoyed at the fact that it does taste good and you were hungrier than you thought.
When you finish the last bite and wipe your hands on your pants, he nods once, satisfied. He lays down then, his bedroll so close to you that you're dizzy with the smell of him, eyes fluttering for a second.
You growl, "You're doing that on purpose."
He rolls toward you, a tiny, fleeting quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Problem?"
"You're being annoying."
He shrugs. "Go to sleep. You'll be safe with Jihoon on your watch. And he's too quiet to be annoying."
You open your mouth to argue, but you remember your place here. So you snap it shut and glare as he lays on his back, one arm under his head as he looks up at the canopy. The space between your bedrolls is narrow, and you can feel the heat of him bleeding across it. It's maddening. Comforting. Infuriating.
Growling, you lay on your back too, staring up at the same red-leaf sky. Sleep feels impossible. Your body aches from riding, and your mind won't quiet. Every time you shift to get comfortable, you're acutely aware of how close Seungcheol is, your nerves on edge.
Seungcheol's breathing changes. You can feel the shift, the way it slows and deepens. Bergamot blooms, warm and steady, laced with something deeper that smells like safety and home and your pack. It's not overwhelming - it's just enough to settle the frantic edge in your chest, to quiet the racing thoughts.
You realize he's doing it on purpose. You want to be angry about it. Want to roll over and snap at him for acting like he cares when he's spent weeks pulling away. But you're too tired, and his scent is the only thing keeping you from spiraling.
So you let your eyelids grow heavy as the fire crackles low. The sap drips in slow, rhythmic plops somewhere in the dark. You roll over and curl on your side, away from him, but the distance between your back is small enough that you can feel the warmth of him through your spine.
You don't touch. You hate that you wish he would touch you.
The last thing you register is the steady rhythm of his breathing, perfectly matched to yours, and then sleep pulls you under.
-
A hand on your shoulder makes you jolt from sleep. You sit up fast, world tilting as your hand goes for your dagger. Jihoon shifts back on his feet, quick and away from you as you pant, gathering your bearings.
"It's me," he murmurs, brows raised. "Sorry."
Jihoon crouches low, expression calm and eyes dark in the burnt out embers of the fire. Snoring from across the way tells you that the others are sleeping, and beyond him, you see Lira settling down after waking him for your watch.
"Second watch," he says.
You nod, pushing yourself up. Your body feels heavy, limbs reluctant, but the fog of sleep clears quickly. You glance at Seungcheol to see he's awake and looking at you, arms still tucked behind his head. He looks tired, like Jihoon's presence has pulled him from sleep too. He gives you a small nod as you stand.
Jihoon waits until you've shaken out your cloak before leading you toward the perimeter, just out of the ring of light from the low burning wood. You feel Seungcheol's gaze on you as you go, stomach flipping as you creep over red moss and sap.
You follow Jihoon into the shadows, the firelight fading behind you. The Bloodwood presses in close, the air thick with the sweetness of the sap. Your boots sink in the moss ground with soft squelches and you cringe, watching as each step seems to send a ripple through the undergrowth, like everything here is alive. You think about what Jihoon said about the forest drinking in the blood spilled here and you shiver, pulling your cloak closer and resting a hand on top of your dagger.
Jihoon moves ahead, silent as a ghost. His frame bleeds into the dark crimson haze as he moves. He doesn't speak, doesn't even glance back - just pauses every few steps to listen, head cocked, sharp eyes scanning the vines and dripping trunks.
At first, the quiet is awkward. You're used to the easy chatter of Seokmin or Soonyoung's teasing, the endless bickering between Chan and Jeonghan. Jihoon's silence feels like a wall, solid and unyielding. It reminds you of Seungcheol. You open your mouth once - twice - searching for words to fill the silence. Each one dies on your tongue and you decide to leave the quiet, eyes studying each tree as you walk the circumference of the camp, always on the line of light from the fire.
The sap glows brighter at night, some unknown bioluminescence making it gleam. The veins pulse faintly along the bark, illuminating twisted paths that lead nowhere. Insects click in the hidden crevices of the trees and you stay away from them, uneager to find if the tree's residences like blood as much as the forest.
Jihoon stops at one point, crouching to examine a patch of disturbed moss. He doesn't explain and you don't ask, stepping behind him to guard his unprotected back. You decide his silence is more like Vernon's than Seungcheol's - not as solid and stalwart as you thought, but inquisitive. You get the feeling if he has something to say, he'll say it.
Something prickles at the back of your neck, a sudden shift in the air. Your senses flare, picking up something wrong, an acrid smell cutting through the sap's sweetness. It smells like rot and you freeze, hand drifting to the sword at your hip. Jihoon notices too, his head snapping up - but it's too late.
A shape detaches from the shadows above, launching itself at Jihoon with a wet, guttural snarl.
Time slows. You draw your sword in a single fluid arc, the blade singing as your other hand yanks the dagger from your belt. Jihoon twists, his own dagger flashing but it's your sword that saves him, cleaving through the creature right through the middle in a spray of dark ichor.
The blood burns your knuckles where it splatters, acid-hot. You curse, wiping your knuckles on your pants as Jihoon steps away from the creature, curling his lip.
"Thanks," he mutters.
You don't get a moment to respond. Another shadow peels away from a tree and you growl, stepping forward to meet it as Jihoon pivots, back against yours, twin daggers raised as shadows rip from trees.
"Ware!" You shout, voice cutting through the night.
The camp explodes into motion. You hear growls rip through the clearing, the sound of steel unsheathing. The creatures swarm, fast and feral, their vine-like limbs lashing out like whips. They're a grotesque thing to look at, almost humanoid but rotted away and taken over by vicious flora.
One of them vaults a low branch straight at you, thorns extended like a deadly fan. You sidestep, sword slashing upward to sever a limb, sap spraying. It burns your cheek and you hiss, ignoring the urge to wipe your skin as you spin to drive the dagger into the creature's side with your off-hand. The creature screams but presses the attack, its maw snapping inches from your arm. You drive your sword arm down, cutting its head clean off, panting.
When you glance up, you see chaos. Seungcheol is cutting his way toward you, sword gleaming. Mingyu isn't far behind him, cutting through a creature as an arrow from Lira whistles past him, hitting one of the vines and lighting it on fire, its screeches shattering the air. Torren is closest to you, swinging his axe hard as he cuts through the limbs of an enemy, flashing his teeth.
Another charges you and you drop low, rolling across the mossy ground as sap sticks to your cloak. You release it with a quick flick of your hand, coming up on one knee as you slash the sword across the legs of the oncoming beast. Vines part with a tear, making it buckle. You finish it off with a dagger plunge upward, growling as your weapon pierces through its chest.
Suddenly, a shoulder slams into you, sending you stumbling toward one of the monstrosities. You recover mid-stumble, sword thrusting forward to impale the creature approaching. It spasms, dying, but you whirl around, expecting an attack from the rear.
You just find Torren, eyes gleaming. "Watch where you're fighting, omega. Accidents happen in the dark."
Your blood boils, the urge to drive the sword home nearly overwhelming. But movement catches your eye and you turn away, dodging a lash of thorns and vine as the remaining creatures press in. Rage floods you as you slash one across the legs to drop it to the ground, finishing off with your dagger.
Sap coats you now, burning whenever it touches skin, but you ignore it, ducking under Seungcheol's blade as he cuts down the creature behind you. You pop up behind him, back to back as the two of you cut down enemies in tandem, your hearts pounding the same deadly rhythm.
And then there's silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of your party and the drip of sap. The clearing reeks of burned vines and rotting ichor, bodies littering the moss in twisted heaps. There's over a dozen of them, twisting and red, your stomach lurching at the sight. You hadn't realized the swarm was so large.
You bend down and wipe your blades on a clean patch of moss, heart pounding, adrenaline making the blood roar in your ears. Torren's attempt to kill you burns like a brand, but you say nothing. Telling Seungcheol will only spark a fight - maybe worse - and you can't afford to misstep. Not with the rest of them - your pack - in the Divine's clutches.
You won't lose your people again.
Seungcheol drops to a knee, sweat lining his hair. His pupils are blown from the fight, eyes a little wide as he looks for any sign of injury. "You alright?"
You nod. "Fine."
"What's wrong?"
You force a shrug, avoiding his eyes. "Nothing."
He looks like he's about to press when Jihoon walks over, sheathing his daggers. There's something close to respect in his gaze when he holds a hand out to help you to your feet. Seungcheol's face clouds over with something dark, but he says nothing.
"Thanks again. You saved my ass." You nod and he peers at you, cocking his head. "You fight very well."
"Soonyoung is a good teacher."
"Soonyoung isn't," Jihoon laughs. He peers at you once more, eyes flickering to Seungcheol who stands. "I'm glad to have you with us, either way. I owe you one."
A few feet away, Mingyu uses the toe of his boot to turn over one of the fiends. He recoils and looks up, face twisted in disgust. "Look at this," he says, voice low. "The bones are still human - see the shape of the pelvis and the skull? The flesh is rotted and replaced, like the sap took over the body after death. Or before."
Jihoon crouches beside him, frowning. "Parasite? The Bloodwood's always been hungry. Old stories say the trees drink blood to grow, but they don't always wait for you to die first. These may have been travelers. Or our deserters."
Lira shakes her head. "Tracks continue through the forest. We were just unlucky. Clean your blades. We move at first light."
Soren nods once, silent as ever while Torren mutters something under his breath and turns away, axe still dropping. You stay quiet, the adrenaline finally fading. It leaves your limbs heavy and your skin still burns where sap touches you, though it's already dulling.
Seungcheol hasn't moved more than a step away from you, so close that his cloak brushes your arm when he shifts, his bergamot scent steady and warm against the forest's rot. He doesn't speak, a silent, immovable wall as always.
You head back toward the fire, picking your cloak up from the forest floor. It's covered in red and you make a sound. Lira tosses you one of the extra water skins to wash the sap from your skin and clothes and you nod, grateful to her at a minimum.
Sitting on your bedroll, you begin to scrub the sap from your arms. It's thick and congealed, making you scrunch your nose as you use the cold water to wash it away, flicking your fingers to rid yourself of the residue.
As the others settle, Seungcheol lowers himself to the ground beside your bedroll again, closer than before. The space between you is almost gone now, and you can feel the heat of him through the thin layer of your shirt. He sits there for a moment, staring at you while you ignore him, focused on scraping sap from your cloak.
"What happened?" He asks again quietly.
You clench your jaw, frustrated. The anger that's been simmering since he pulled away from you in the training room and refused to tell you what the Divine was talking about the day she granted you citizenship ignites again.
Seungcheol is impossible. One moment you know he cares, the other he's icing you out again. He's the only one you don't know how to navigate, a constant list of unanswered questions you don't know what to do with. Trusting him is a given, with how far you've come, but talking to him is near impossible.
"If you're not going to be open with me," you say sharply, "I'm not going to be open with you."
The words hang between you. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even argue. He purses his lips like he's thinking, before he nods, agreeing that it's only fair. You hate how he agrees that you're being rational, that instead of being forthcoming, he'll simply hold you at arms distance. It gnaws at you, makes you want to throw the cloak down and scream at him to make sense.
You don't.
Seungcheol lies down on his side, his back to you. You turn and glare at the space between his shoulders, furious at him - furious at yourself, for how much you still want him to turn around and say something real. To explain anything. To tell you why the Divine thinks giving you over to him is punishment. To just… let you in.
But he doesn't. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire as everyone stares at it, too wired to go back to sleep.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. Your eyelids grow heavy, the ache in your body deepening into something dull and bone deep. The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the faint brush of his cloak as he throws it over you, the smell of bergamot lulling you to sleep.
-
Dawn filters through the Bloodwood's canopy in muted crimson streaks. You wake with a start, muscles stiff from sleeping on the bedroll, skin still sticky with the faint residue of sap. The smell of earthy bergamot eclipses the scent of rot, and when you blink, you realize it's because Seungcheol's cloak is draped over you.
Your chest tightens. You sit up slowly, pulling the cloak tighter around your shoulders. The fabric smells like him - bergamot and a little smoke - the faint edge of the mountain that never quite leaves him. It's grounding and infuriating all at once.
Seungcheol is already awake, crouched by the smoldering fire, feeding it small sticks with precise movements. His back is to you, shoulders tense, hair still mused from sleep. You can tell by the set of his shoulders and the way his head turns a fraction he knows you're awake, but he says nothing.
The camp wakes up around you. The sound of groans and joints popping fill the clearing as the others shake off the night's chill. Embers smolder in the pit and the smoke curls upward as Seungcheol coaxes the flame to life for breakfast.
It's a lifeless affair. No one speaks, not even Mingyu. You in silence, barely acknowledging Seungcheol when he gives you warm broth and eggs. He packs his bedroll without looking at you, prepping the horses as you finish eating. You fold his cloak carefully, smoothing the fabric and then drape it over his pack. He pauses for a heartbeat before continuing packing like nothing happened.
Everyone readies to leave. Saddles are placed on the horses and cinched, fire put out. Torren avoids your gaze, though you're sure he'll shove you down a ravine at the first chance he gets. Mingyu offers you an extra strip of jerky and you take it from him wordlessly, biting into it as Seungcheol stares.
You swing onto your mare, thighs protesting, and fall in behind Seungcheol. The ride from the clearing is tense and quiet, hooves muffled on the mossy path. Today, everyone rides with a hand on a weapon, your dagger half drawn as you glance in the canopy as you ride.
The Bloodwood grows deeper with thicker tree trunks and sap flowing freer, pooling in little lakes of red. Your horse skirts them warily, huffing as she tries to stay out of the sap. Vines dangle lower, brushing your shoulders like grasping fingers and you cringe. You feel watched, the forest alive and hungry, like maybe it won't wait until you're dead either to turn you into a sap creature.
You miss Soonyoung. You miss the smell of Chan's black tea and clove, stretching with him in the early mornings. You miss Seokmin making an annoyed sound as you ask for a salve for your bruises - miss the crack of bone beneath your fist with Vernon pressed to your side, your twin wrath. You miss Jeonghan's needling, pressing you to use the Call better, teasing you when you get frustrated.
"They'll be fine," Seungcheol murmurs, startling you from your daze. You frown at him. "I miss them too."
You say nothing and he resigns back to silence, looking ahead. He stays riding by your side and you ignore the way you feel him try to soothe you. It makes you want to snap your teeth at him - makes you want to scream stop comforting me at the same time it makes you want to scream let me in.
Hours bleed together in a red haze. The canopy begins to thin gradually and the light brightens, the unfiltered sun peaking through as the trees space out. The sap's glow fades, replaced by natural greens, and the air lightens, losing the cloying sweetness.
Gently, you emerge on the other side of the Bloodwood. You're surprised, until Mingyu mutters that you passed through the smallest part of the wood. Indeed, when you turn and look directly north, the red trees stretch as far as the eye can see, thickening on the horizon until you can't make out how far it goes.
The tracks end at a crossroads, trampled earth splitting three ways. Tracks go southwest through the grassy plains, directly west and away from the Bloodwood, and northwest following the crimson treeline into rocky hills.
Lira dismounts, examining the tracks with Soren for a bit. Seungcheol doesn't dismount, watching them with keen eyes. You're reminded that he isn't in charge here, which is strange to see.
"They divided," Lira notes. "Desperate. Torren and Mingyu will go south with me. Soren and Jihoon will go west. Seungcheol, take the omega northwest." Lira mounts again. "If you find no sign of them by nightfall, start the return tomorrow. We'll meet here end of day tomorrow. With or without them."
There it is again. The omega. You keep your head down, teeth grinding like your mare on her bit. Your relief of escaping Torren's gaze is dampened slightly by having to pair off with Seungcheol alone, but you prefer him to Torren and his sister's uncanny gaze.
You and Seungcheol turn northwest without preamble, the path climbing into hills dotted with boulders and shrubs. The wind picks up, carrying the smell of clean earth and distant rain. Seungcheol rides ahead, stallion picking a path as your party splits, cloak snapping in the breeze.
The hills climb steadily northward, the path a narrow ribbon of packed earth winding through sparse shrubs and stone. You and Seungcheol ride in silence, the only sounds are the steady clop of the horses' hooves and the occasional hiss of tall grass as it bends at the wind's command.
It feels lighter here. You find yourself closing your eyes, tilting your face to a grey sky. The sun is hidden behind the clouds, but you still feel a speck of its warmth. The air is crisp - no stale mountain air. No wet stone. A hint of winter pine is in the air, the promise of snow ahead. Snow that you need to beat.
You try not to think about winter. Your deadline is tight, and as your mare keeps pace with Seungcheol's stallion, you can't help but feel like you're wasting time.
The hills are barren in some places, exposed rock veined with quartz glinting in the grey light. Splashes of yellow and purple wildflowers appear in patches, clinging defiantly to the soil, refusing to die in autumn's chill.
It's beautiful in a stark, unforgiving way, so different from the lush valleys of Valen. For the first time in months, the world feels vast again, untamed and free and open. A quiet ache blooms in your chest, a reminder of what you lost. Freedom teases the edge of your thoughts, but it's shadowed by the Divine's invisible leash.
You would never leave your newfound home behind.
Seungcheol rides ahead, his broad back a constant in your vision. His cloak flutters slightly with each gust of wind, carrying his smell toward you. He hasn't spoken at all - hasn't even glanced back to check on you. That's just fine by you.
The silence between you is a living thing, thick and charged. His words from the day before haunt you - my omega. You're sure he just meant it to protect you, but you hate the way you wish he meant it like the others. You hate that despite the fact that you can't seem eye to eye, you wish you could. You want to. And he doesn't.
Hours pass by this way, the sun appearing for a brief moment as it dips lower, painting the hills in amber and gold. Your thighs ache from the saddle, the ride lulling you into a numb half-sleep. Thoughts drift as you doze: Soonyoung's untamed smile, Vernon's hand in yours, Seokmin's tea.
Beyond them, ghosts hover. Valen's burning spires, your people's screams, the smell of tapestries turning to ash. Grief tugs at your edges, a tide you're so practiced in holding back that you hardly realize you're doing it anymore. You just do.
Seungcheol veers suddenly off the path, his stallion turning sharply west without warning. Confusion spikes through you and you sit up straighter in the saddle. Your mare follows instinctively and you let her, the new direction leading toward a cluster of hills riding steeper, cloaked in dense clusters of large pines.
Around you, the ground roughens, scattered with pine cones and fallen needles that crunch under the hooves of the horses. It smells like pine resin and winter, and you breathe in deep, wishing you could bottle the scent and take it with you.
"Where are we going?" You finally ask.
Seungcheol doesn't answer. He just urges his horse onward, navigating the rising terrain with ease.
The path - if it can be called that - narrows to a deer trail, winding between boulders and through thickening trees. Pines tower now, their bark dark, filtering the light into dappled patterns that splash across the forest floor.
Your confusion deepens. Lira's orders were to travel northwest, but Seungcheol is leading you directly west, away from the tracks you were following. But he moves with purpose, unhesitating like he's been here before.
The tree part abruptly into a small clearing that's ringed by pines. Seungcheol dismounts wordlessly, tying his horse to a low branch. He turns to you then, extending a hand. You hesitate, your heart hammering, but you take his hand and let him help you off the mare. His touch lingers for only a second before he releases you, turning to walk.
Moss blankets the clearing, soft and green, untouched by the Bloodwood's red taint. At the center stands a circle of weathered stones, each etched with familiar runes : Eira the Spirit, Kaelen the Fierce, Morrakai Reaper, Arylun the Hunter.
There's a low altar of stacked granite, worn smooth by time and touch. Remnants of offerings remain - faded feathers, dried herbs, a small carving of a wolf's head. Pine encircles it all, their branches forming a natural dome that filters light into shafts that illuminate the space. The air here hums, alive with something.
Your heart begins to pound.
It's a worship site. Hidden and ancient, devoted to the Old Gods - your gods. Not Selyne's bloodlust and greed, but the deities you've prayed to since childhood, the ones your mother taught you to honor under Valen's open skies.
Tears blur your vision. You stand completely still, breath catching as you look at the stone, upon the weathered and carved faces of the Gods you've been screaming to for help.
Seungcheol watches you for a moment, expression unreadable. "I'll be back," he says quietly. "Take your time."
He turns then, leading the horses into the pine and vanishing without another word to leave you there alone.
The clearing pulls you in, a magnetic force drawing you toward the stone. Each step is halting, your hands shaking as you approach. When you reach the altars, you feel your knees buckle. The moss cushions the fall, hands landing on the stone. You barely feel the sting of the scrape of broken flesh as you press your palms into the cold stone, seeking. Searching.
The pines sigh above, branches swaying in a breeze that carries the clean scent of resin. Something pulses here, a faint heartbeat that you can barely feel, but you know.
A tremor starts in your chest, building into an uncontrollable shiver that shudders through you. Valen rises in your mind's eye - not the burning ruin of it, but the home as it was.
Golden fields. Summer sun. Laughter in the halls. People's smiling faces, alight from hearth fires. A throne, gone. All of it gone. Reduced to ash. Tapestries burned. Stone broken. People murdered. All of it gone for the Divine's thirst, all of it burned under a red banner.
You weep.
Once the first tear breaks free, you cannot stop the others. Sobs wrench from your throat, raw and ragged, echoing around you as you sink forward and press your forehead to the stone. You don't know what to do. How to get any of it back. How to heal your soul that has been shattered by a loss greater than your mother and father ever could have prepared you for.
You've stitched together borrowed strength from a pack that wasn't yours, not by blood but by choice. But Valen's ghosts still whisper - your mother's gentle hands. Your father teaching you the sword. The weight of a crown you never got the chance to wear.
Broken.
The word pulses through you and you scream. You scream because you hurt, you scream because you cannot stop hurting, you scream because you don't know how to stop hurting.
Broken.
You are broken - splintered wood from a felled tree, roots torn from soil, a bird pulled from the sky. You are broken and you don't know how to mend, so you scream. You scream into the earth, you scream until you don't have the breath to scream anymore, and then you do it again.
There is no throne to reclaim. No people to lead. Just you, adrift in a world that devours the weak, chained to the kind of tyrant you'd only heard about in history books that are all burned.
The Old Gods watch, a silent witness to your unraveling, their presence nothing but a faint hum in the air, distant but comforting. They offer no miracles, no vengeance. Just the quiet endurance of stone and earth, reminded you that through you is the only way they can act.
Time dissolves in the clearing. The sun is hidden somewhere beyond the pines and the air grows colder, biting through your cloak. Frost nips your fingers as the sun begins to sit and the tears dry down cold on your face. The world narrows to the ache in your chest, the salt on your lips, the earth's unending pulse.
Footsteps crunch softly. You lift your head to see Seungcheol emerge from the trees, his silhouette dark against the fading light. He pauses at the clearing's edge, then approaches slowly. He lowers himself to the ground beside you, close but not touching as he draws his knees up to his chest, putting his arms on his knees.
The tears come unbidden then, a fresh wave crashing over the dam you've built. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, wishing you could stop them, wishing you could close yourself back off to all of the hurt you've hidden from.
"Why did this happen to me?" You ask Seungcheol, voice cracking. You look at him, tears blurring your vision. "Why is evil so strong? Why does it take everything and leave nothing behind? Why?"
His presence is a silent bulwark against the cold, warm and steady as you unravel. He doesn't answer immediately, his gaze lifting to the canopy, where dusting motes dance like lost souls in the last light of day. The Old Gods stand sentinel before you, watching over the choked silence as you watch him through watery tears.
"There once was a boy who lived in the mountains," Seungcheol murmurs, his voice low. "Not these mountains, but the far ones, where the peaks scraped the sky and the valleys cradled his pack. He loved his people fiercely, but most of all, he loved a girl. She was like the first light of dawn, bright and unyielding, and a heart of storms. Fierce. Unrelenting."
You listen, breath catching, the grief in your chest twisting with recognition of a shared sorrow. His profile is sharp against the gloaming, jaw set, eyes distant as if gazing into that long-ago valley. The wind stirs the pines, needles rustling, and you feel the Old Gods leaning in to listen to Seungcheol speak.
"The boy dreamed of a life with her," he continues. "Of building a home in the bones of the mountain. But evil came, as it always does. Red in color - and evil ruined everything. Turned his people against themselves. Washed away thousands of years of culture and training."
His hands clench in his lap, knuckles white as bone. You watch him, tears blurring your vision. "The girl fought. But she liked to take too many risks. She liked to sacrifice herself too easily. The boy couldn't save her - he tried. Gods he tried. He screamed her name until his throat bled, asking why evil prevails unchecked while the good shatter like glass underfoot."
Seungcheol's gaze drops to his hands, scarred and steady. "The boy asked why me every day after. In the ruins of his villages. In the chains of his tyrant. In the worst of those early days. Why me? Sometimes, he still asks. But he's learned something."
Seungcheol looks at you then and you realize tears line his eyes, the grief you feel reflected back in such equal measure that it steals your breath. "The boy learned - him because he could bear it. Him because he needed to teach other people to bear it. Because sometimes grief is a crucible, and it forges something unbreakable. And the boy wants you to know that you can bear it too, and that he wants you to have courage, above all else."
Your tears fall freely now, mingling with the moss, seeping into the earth like an offering. Seungcheol lets a tear slide down his face too, his understanding so raw that you feel cut open. He bears it because he must, just like you.
"Have courage, Wildheart," he murmurs. He reaches for you then, wrapping a hand around yours and pulling it to his chest. You feel the pounding of his heart as he looks at you, tears clinging to his lashes. "She cannot break you."
"I'm sorry," you whisper.
He laughs then, wet and raspy. "Why?"
"I don't know. It felt like the right thing to say."
Seungcheol reaches over, startling you when he wipes the tears from your face. His hands are rough and warm, sweeping under your eyes. "I don't think you've ever apologized to me."
"Yeah, well." You sniff as he drops his hands. "Don't get used to it."
Seungcheol shifts closer, pressing his side against yours. You let him, your hand still wrapped in his as he holds it to his chest. He stares out, the clearing now fallen to darkness.
"The day we attacked Valen," he says, hesitating. "I saw you in the courtyard. Standing there, fierce and bloody after killing those men. I told you to run - not because I realized who you were. But because I looked at you, and you looked exactly like her. The girl I couldn't save. In that moment, I thought the Gods were giving me a second chance to right a wrong that haunts me."
His words hang heavy, your heart pounding. You watch him, breath held as he continues, "But you fought back." He laughs then, a bit ruefully. "You fucking fought back because of course you had fire. And I couldn't save you. The Divine sees it too - she thinks it's funny, pairing us. A reminder of my failures. She knows when I look at you it's because I sometimes see her. So when I pull away it's…"
The confession cracks you open further, grief mingling with his. Of course he doesn't want you near him. Of course the Divine found a sick way to play with him. Guilt begins to eat at you, but before you can open your mouth to apologize he squeezes your hand.
"You're really nothing alike," he whispers. "You look similar but… I realized it was more my grief projecting. You're stubborn like her but…" He smiles a bit. "You have more fire than anyone I've ever met. Truly. And you're a lot harder to reason with than she was, to be honest."
"I've been told."
"It's a good thing." He squeezes your hand as wind lifts the strands of his hair. "I mean it, Wildheart. Have courage."
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪ pairing | fratboy!jongseob x reader ༉‧₊˚.
𓆩♡ synopsis | jongseob takes on keeho and theo’s bet to last the semester in a relationship with you, the campus ice queen. a difficult target, a newsletter club, a race against time, and unexpected bonding leave him with a difficult decision.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪ details | sfw, college au, frat!piwon, mature themes (alcohol, mentions of sex), bet trope, haters to lovers, angst, hurt, theo/keeho/intak are douchebags, kissing, very implicit sex, soulseob are besties, jiung is paternal
𓆩⟡ length | 9.4k ⟡𓆪
➻ requested by anon!
𓆩⟡𓆪 note || angst soup, anyone?
Knowing what he knows now, Jongseob should have gone to bed earlier that night like he’d originally planned.
⸝⸝
“Jongseob has no game, we can’t make him do it.”
Jongseob looked up from his phone at the mention of his name. “Make me do what?”
His friends were scattered in the living room of the Lambda Chi Alpha house in various states of intoxication, the empty bottles of beer and cups littered on the floor as evidence. Soul was playing on his DS, Jiung was trying to keep the area clean while Intak kept adding to the mess with more solo cups and crumbs, Theo was laid flat on the ground face-down, and Keeho was on the couch looking straight at Jongseob with a smile that was equally unnerving and punchable.
“Theo and I were just talking about that girl from our class,” Keeho explained.
Jiung tied up the plastic bag full of garbage and put it aside before he made his way to join the deformed circle. “The one from calc?”
“No, the hot but annoying one from econ,” Intak said.
Theo made a groaning sound to input his disdain.
It was hard not to know the girl they were talking about. The one who was insanely smart but also insanely insufferable and apparently the source of great despair for both Theo and Keeho, who had to put up with her every Monday mornings and makes it everyone’s problems on Monday nights when they’re all gathered at the house for takeout. So yes, Jongseob was very familiar with the girl with overbearing tendencies and a know-it-all attitude that was not only a problem for Keeho and Theo, but for him too from how often he had to hear about it. He’d started subconsciously resenting her just from the stories.
“Okay,” Jongseob said, putting his phone down. “What does my lack of game have anything to do with her?”
“We had a theory,” Theo said as he pushed himself up to his knees, brushing his hair out of his face with his hands. “Maybe the reason she’s so wound up is because no one’s unwinding her.”
Jiung scrunched his nose in disgust, succinctly mirroring Jongseob's internal emotion at the thought. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“It’s a valid theory,” Intak defended. “People with no sexual outlet are usually more cranky.”
“But the problem is she’s so cranky that no one wants to sleep with her,” Keeho added, and Jongseob had the unsettling feeling he knew where this was going. “Hence my plan.”
Jongseob narrowed his eyes at Keeho. “Don’t tell me you were planning on pimping me off to your self-proclaimed nemesis to make your life easier.”
Keeho rolled his eyes with a laugh. “No, we’ve established you have no game. That’s exactly why I wasn’t going to offer you.”
Jongseob scowled at him, offended. “I totally have game.”
Keeho’s smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Oh yeah? You wanna take the bullet for us then?”
“No, I’m not sleeping with her for this. I’m not a pig. You do it.”
“No, she hates me and Theo.”
“I’ll do it,” Intak offered with a sleazy grin. “I like ‘em feisty anyways.”
Theo scoffed as he leaned back against the arm of the couch. “She would never go for the campus slut. Jiung might work though.”
Jiung immediately stood up at the mention of his name. “Absolutely not. I want no part of this,” he said as he turned and abandoned them for the kitchen.
Soul, who’d been quietly gaming away, pipes up from where he was curled up on the bean bag. “Isn’t this a little… mean? Talking about her like this?”
Keeho waved his hand dismissively at Soul. “She’s meaner. Way meaner.” He then turned to Jongseob. “You might just be our last shot then.”
“I already said no.”
“You don’t have to sleep with her,” he amended. “But for the love of god, please just get in there and loosen her up or something.”
“Are we even sure she’s capable of love?” Theo wondered aloud, looking up melodramatically at the ceiling.
Intak tried to butt in again. “I could make her fall in love with me in a month.”
“I bet two hundred that she murders you before that happens,” Theo retorted drily, ignoring Intak’s offended cry as he looked at Jongseob again with narrowed, calculating eyes. “I bet a hundred you wouldn’t even last a month just dating her. She’s a nightmare.”
Keeho fixed him with the same stare, sizing him up. “I’d give him two. Seobie’s stronger than he looks.”
Now this felt a little ridiculous. He’d heard about her from other people too; sure, the girl seemed pretty difficult, but maybe she was just stuck in a perpetual bad day. She probably had a good side to her like everyone else did; maybe she just didn’t feel like showing it. She wasn’t obligated to. And the competitor in him was stirring at the first sniff of a challenge.
“There’s no way she’s that bad,” Jongseob said, crossing his arms.
“Have you been listening to any of the stories I’ve been telling you guys for the past four months?”
“Not really.”
Keeho shoved his finger in Jongseob’s face. “Rude.”
Jongseob swatted his hand away and looked at Theo. “Four hundred if I can last by the end of next semester. I’m not sleeping with her though.” Four hundred can get him that bass guitar he’s been wanting forever and Theo was rich enough so he might as well have taken the chance.
Theo grinned at him, conniving and cocksure. “Bet.”
Keeho whistled, an impressed look on his face as he leaned back on his arms. “You’re brave.”
Jongseob shrugged and turned his attention back to his phone. “I just really doubt she’s that bad.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
He remembers eating those words after meeting you for the first time.
⸝⸝
Jongseob had signed up for the newsletter club when the semester started, which he learned from Theo was composed of a handful of people and, more importantly, led by you. He had high hopes going in; he needed more extracurriculars on his resume and it was the perfect way to connect with you. A win-win situation. And the rules for the bet that were outlined to him were that he had to start dating you within the first month and the relationship had to last until the last day of class for the year.
But after just that first day with you, he could tell why you got the bad rap that you did.
You were curt with your introductions and sent everyone right to work with homework of all things, on the basis that you needed to evaluate whether they were good enough to stay on the club despite the fact that everyone already had to go through the application and interview process already.
He could excuse it as you just being extra thorough, but when he’d gone to you for clarification on the topic (and to just get a chance to talk with you), you’d waved him away with a quick, “If you’re so good, you’ll figure it out.”
You refused to talk to the new joiners any further, stating you had more important things to do than babysit. You were cold, distant, snippy, full of yourself, and wore your brows perpetually furrowed in concentration or anger or whatever the emotion was that you always carried on your face. Everything that everyone claimed you were.
He’s not sure why he didn’t listen to them. It would’ve saved him all the trouble.
But he was in it now, and he wanted that bass bad. So what if he had to go through a little psychological torture.
When Theo had welcomed him home with a “How was the first day?” and a knowing smirk, Jongseob had just flipped him off before locking himself away in his room to get cracking on your assignment.
He didn’t expect it to be as difficult and as long as it was, and it had to be handwritten for whatever reason. It was hard enough that by the next week, only two of the six new joiners had come back.
And when he tried to turn his assignment in, you handed it right back to him without so much as a glance.
“The fact that you’re still here means you have what it takes,” you said, turning back to your laptop and waving him away.
Jongseob stared at you, his jaw slacked. “I worked on this for days,” he starts slowly. “I gave up so many hours of sleep for this and you’re not even gonna read it?”
You looked up at him, your fingers still typing away on your laptop. “That’s how this industry works,” you said. Your hands paused over the keyboard for a moment. “Hours of tireless work can end up scrapped. It might not see the light of day and just collect dust in a corner. If you can’t deal with that, then this place isn’t for you.”
His jaw ticked. The sleeplessness had weakened his inhibitions and there was nothing stopping the ire seeping through his tight words. “This is just a club,” he stated, teeth clenched.
Everyone in the club room froze as soon as the words left his lips.
Your face turned to stone, the cold dialed to an eleven, and Jongseob immediately regretted his words. “Is that so?” You asked, your voice level despite the anger coming alive in your eyes. You leaned forward, folding your arms on the table, and Jongseob suddenly felt small despite the fact that he was looking down on you from where he stood in front of your desk. “If this is just a club to you, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
Maybe I shouldn’t, he nearly said. But that wouldn’t work. He had to be here for this to work even though this made him want to turn around and never look back again.
He should’ve ran back then.
He swallowed his words and shook his head, forcing his eyes to the ground in submission. “No. I’m sorry, it’s not just a club,” he said, though he didn’t believe the words.
He needed to do what it took to be on your good side even if you already looked like you hated his guts after exchanging just a few words, and so the seeds of doubt were already planted in his mind.
Your eyes narrowed at him, like you didn’t quite believe him. “Get to work,” you ordered, and Jongseob had to physically bite down on his tongue to hold himself back.
In the name of his future bass, he obeyed and got to work.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Jongseob had nearly quit a few weeks later. The work you’d been dumping on him is so much more than what you’d been giving the other new guy. It didn’t take much to figure out that you actually did hate him. All it took was that one comment that he was really regretting let slip past his tongue, although he didn’t see what the fuss about it was.
He’d tried to smooth things over and tried to talk to you but you were unreceptive to all of his attempts. All you talked about is work and articles and interviews and there was just no opportunity for him to steer the conversation towards anything productive for his quest. You would just consistently shut him down and tell him to get to work.
He’s said this much to Soul, who was sitting on his bed and listening politely while Jongseob paced his room.
“You should ask her about what she’s interested in,” Soul suggested after Jongseob’s rant. “Everyone likes talking about what they’re passionate about.”
Jongseob threw his hands up in frustration. “I’ve tried! She doesn’t talk about anything but the damn club.”
“That’s because she’s passionate about the club,” Soul pointed out as he pulled his knees to his chest. “Ask about why she likes writing. People like it when people are interested in them.”
Jongseob stopped pacing and turned to stare at his best friend. “Oh. That’s… kind of obvious.”
“Maybe I should’ve taken the bet,” Soul joked with a giggle. “I’m better with people than you.”
Jongseob bristled at that, feeling strangely possessive. “No, this is my task. I need that bass.” It’s his challenge and he’d be damned to let anyone take it from him. You’re the puzzle he’d set out to solve, the enigma that tickled his brain, an itch he needed to scratch. He wanted to figure you out.
“If you say so.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
Soul might be some sort of genius, Jongseob had decided after the next meeting. Or he was just right about being better at people.
When Jongseob had sat with you in the office, alone with you for once since he needed to put in a little overtime to get one of his articles done, he’d taken his chance, and he came out of it alive to his surprise.
He’d eased into it, started off with asking how you got to joining the club and some follow ups after that, all of which only got him curt responses and a jibe at him to focus on his work.
But he’d ignored you and barrelled on, too dialled in now to back down. Then he’d asked you the question that got him through your first wall, one of many others to come.
“Why do you like writing?"
He could still picture it in his head as he lay in bed that night; the way that your hands had faltered and your face had softened in a way he’d never seen before.
You’d looked up at him from your screen, a little shocked but thoughtful as you crafted your answer in the silence that followed. He could still remember the cadence of your voice, soft like the setting sunlight that washed into the room.
“It’s making something out of nothing that leaves an impression on people,” you had answered and he could swear he saw your eyes practically sparkle. “You can make them feel anything. Angry, happy, sad, mournful. Isn’t that powerful?”
Your smile hadn’t been on your lips. It had been in your eyes.
He swore it felt like his limbs had ceded all his power to the way you’d gazed at him for the next few seconds. He couldn’t read the emotion in your eyes but when you looked back at your laptop, that perpetual furrow in your brows was nowhere to be seen.
𓆩⟡𓆪
He broke through another one of your walls when he walked into the office after a late class to pick up something he’d forgotten to take with him the day before, only to be stopped short when he saw you crying quietly at your desk.
He froze at the door, his grip on his phone nearly slipping. You were sitting in your chair facing away from the door with your face buried in your palms and your body trembling with quiet sobs. Your sniffles echoed through the quiet room, restrained like you didn’t want to allow yourself to cry even when you were alone.
He didn’t realize he was moving until he was standing right behind you and brushing your shoulder with his hand. You jumped with a gasp, your head whipping around at him.
He still remembers the way your eyes were wide and rimmed red, glassy under the single lamp lit at your desk. There were tear stains on your flushed cheeks and your lips were trembling with contained sobs.
The thought slapped him without announcement: you look pretty. But this looked wrong. Like weakness wasn’t meant to be worn in your eyes.
“Jongseob,” your voice brought him out of his internal panic, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to from you. You quickly turned away, frantically wiping at your eyes.
“S-Sorry!” He stumbled as he took a step back. “I just came to pick up something.”
“Well, take it and go then. It’s late, you shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is back to the steel that he’s used to from you, the change from mere seconds ago so seamless that he started to question if you were even crying in the first place. You didn’t meet his eyes. You stared down your desk with your hair curtaining your face, like a defense to physically shut him out too.
But he didn’t budge. “Are you okay?”
He expected you to yell at him again. To tell him it was none of his business, or to actually shove him away. But you remained quiet.
Until your shoulders started to tremble again and your breaths started to sound stuttered. Then, in a voice so quiet, so weak that it made you seem so small, you told him, “No.”
He didn’t think twice before he sat himself down on the floor beside your chair. But he stayed silent. He let you cry and kept you company until you finally opened up to him for the first time.
“It’s not just a club to me,” you said through quiet sniffles. His words came echoing back to him and he couldn’t hold back his cringe. He looked up at you and saw you still staring at your desk with a distant gaze. He kept quiet and gave you the space to continue. It took a few more moments for you to. “I’ve wanted to be a writer for my entire life. My dad thinks it’s a waste of time. That my career is a waste of time. That my choices are misguided.
“I was just on the phone with him. I mean, I’ve heard everything he said a million times already but—“ You broke off, your eyes watering with a fresh wave of tears. “But it still hurts to know I’m somehow worth less to him than my siblings because I don’t want to follow in his path.”
He understood it then. Kind of. Why you ran the club like the military. You had something to prove to not only your family but to yourself.
Jongseob pulled himself up to his feet and slid the box of tissues on your desk closer to you. “He’s wrong,” he stated. Your eyes lifted back on him, searching, and he felt his throat close in. He still pushed the words out. “Your passion doesn’t make you anything less than your family just because it’s different. It’s what makes you you.”
There was a small uptick of your lips and it made him feel like he should do a backflip. Your smile, something he’s never seen on you, is pretty too, even if it’s a tiny thing.
“I know that,” you said, and he blushed in fear that he just sounded corny. “But thank you.”
That felt like all the validation he needed that he was doing something right. That he really was beginning to work you open, bit by bit, and piece you together, bit by bit.
You didn’t stick around after that. You gathered your things quietly and left after wishing him a rare goodnight, leaving him standing in the room feeling a little off-kilter.
This side of you, vulnerable and small, was so different from what he was used to. Different from anything anyone has ever seen, he was pretty sure.
And he couldn’t help but feel like he’d already won.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The next few meetings were different. You were different. You were still as icy and stern as before, but when it came to him, you were different. Less sharp around the edges. You’d started looking to him for opinions, something that took everyone else by surprise. And you’d started asking him to take on tasks instead of just dropping them on him, though he still knew he can’t say no. He appreciated the change in tone regardless. And he didn’t let this development go to waste.
He’d started frequently offering to stay behind with you to finish final drafts when things got heavier for you. He told himself it was to further his little bet but he moreso just wanted to figure out how much more he could unravel you.
It became a routine after the first few times. A routine with coffee and sometimes takeout if you stayed back long enough. And conversations became more casual and less business.
“Lambda Chi Alpha,” you repeated over the lip of your coffee, narrowing your eyes at him. You took a slow sip, leaving him squirming a little under your calculating gaze. “You’re friends with Keeho and Theo?”
“Unfortunately,” he answered lightly, stirring the cup in his hand. “I’d say more roommates. I kind of just have to put up with them.”
You raised a brow at him. “So you’re not like them is what you’re saying?”
“Depends on what you define as ‘like them’.”
“Loud, arrogant, full-of-themself, disrespectful if you don’t immediately bend to their whims?”
He took a deep breath at your apt deduction. “Yup,” he said through a sharp exhale. “I’m saying that I’m precisely not like them.”
Then you laughed softly, a sound that echoes in his mind to this day.
“I can tell,” you said with a smile that he became more familiar with, more fond of.
It had made his heart stutter a bit. Nerves, he told himself, because he needed to act soon. He could hear Theo’s voice in his head reminding him that the end of the month is near and there wasn’t a date in sight.
It was the perfect moment to make that step. The articles had been submitted, there were no near deadlines looming over you, midterms were still some time away, and the atmosphere of the late afternoon was cozy.
He took a breath. It was now or never. “Hey—“
“Can I ask—“ You paused when you realized you'd just talked over him. “Sorry, go ahead.”
He shook his head quickly. “No, it’s alright,” he said with a smile, leaning forward on his chair. He had moved to the desk next to you, so the distance between you both was only a few feet. “I can wait for you,” he adds, a little flirtatious, and it had you flushing at the cheeks.
This had been another one of his developments; you flustered easily. Something he’d been using to his advantage more recently. And you didn’t seem to mind, almost played into them in fact.
You cleared your throat, sitting up straight. “Alright,” you started, fidgeting with your cup. “I’ve never done this before but… I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.” You were staring at your cup as you said it with a nervous candour, another thing he wasn’t used to seeing you with. “Like on a date.”
Jongseob could actually do a back flip right then with the energy that shot through him. When you finally looked up and met his grin with one of your own, he got that familiar feeling again— like he’d just won.
𓆩⟡𓆪
One date turned to two, then to three, then to five. The fifth one was the one where he found himself in front of your dorm room, dropping you off safely to wrap up your arcade date from where he learned you were just as competitive as he was and even more scary if there were prizes to be won.
You were easy to be with, he found. So easy when you weren’t hiding away behind walls. You were insightful, witty, smart, funny in an unexpected way, and you were into the same games as he was, funnily enough.
You clicked. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of things together. And he watched you change for the better. Watched you smile more now that you finally had someone’s shoulder to lean on, less burdened on your own.
He learned more about your upbringing, about your family, about why your ambition was both your armour and your weapon.
Every little thing he found out about you helped the puzzle of you become clearer and clearer by the day. More than ever, he didn’t want to stop figuring you out.
“You didn’t have to come all the way up,” you told him as you fumbled with your keys to unlock the door.
He leaned against the wall beside your door, watching the smile you were struggling to smother on your lips. “Just being a gentleman.”
Truthfully, he didn’t really want the date to end just yet so he’d offered to walk you up rather than leave you off at the entrance of your building like he’d done the other times.
It got a laugh out of you as you finally unlocked the door. But you didn’t go inside just yet, you hovered by him instead. “Jongseob,” you said, looking up at him. “Do you want to come inside?”
His breath caught in his throat and he was pretty sure his heart had just combusted in his chest. “Inside?” He asked, just to make sure he hadn’t heard you wrong.
You smiled, a shy, pretty thing. “Yeah. If you want to.”
He swallowed back the tangle of nerves and excitement that climbs up his throat. “Yeah,” he said without much thought. Because he wanted to.
When you kissed him for the first time, the farthest thing on his mind was the bet. All he thought of was the plush of your lips against his and the sweetness of your scent muddling his brain of everything but you.
And when you brought him to your bed, he forgot about the bet all together, all his thoughts on the heat of your skin beneath his palms and the sweet sounds of your voice around his name.
It was when he was laying on his back trying to piece himself together after and you had told him you’d never been with anyone else that the guilt had sunk its claws into his ribs. And it didn’t let go for the following months to come.
𓆩⟡𓆪
“Dude!” Keeho yelled, running up from behind, slamming his hands down on Jongseob’s shoulder and stopping him on his way to the club office. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing but well-fucking-done.”
Theo appeared beside Jongseob and slapped a hand to his back that had him nearly knocking into Keeho. “Turns out the bitch does have a heart,” Theo mused, and Jongseob almost recoiled with the acid that burned at the back of his throat after hearing that.
“Don’t call her that,” he snapped.
Theo’s brows raised as he pulled his hand back to himself. “Woah. Didn’t realize it was that serious.”
“It’s not,” Jongseob said quickly, pushing Keeho’s hands off of him. “But she’s really not all that you make her out to be. She’s just got a lot of shit to deal with, alright?”
“And that gives her the right to treat everyone around her like shit?” Keeho asked, crossing his arms.
That rubbed the wrong nerve and Jongseob couldn’t hold himself back. “Oh, and you’re so much better?” Even after the words left his mouth, he still didn’t regret it.
Keeho’s expression soured and he took a step forward. “What the hell does that mean?”
Jongseob was taller but he was also much skinnier so he should feel threatened, but he couldn’t find himself caring enough to. “I just mean you haven’t exactly given her the easiest of times either.”
Theo got in between them before anything could start. He fixed Jongseob with a reprimanding look. “Watch it,” he said, nearly scowling. “Are you saying you actually like her?”
Honestly, it wasn’t something he could answer. He didn’t know if the feelings he had towards you were real or if this whole bet thing had illusioned them up for the success of his own greed. But all he knew was that he came to respect you as a person, whether it was romantic or not.
“Does it matter?” Is what Jongseob settled for as an answer. “The bet’s still on.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
Being with you was the easiest thing Jongseob had ever done. It was also the thing that burrowed a stone deep in his ribs, one that ached and throbbed with guilt every time he was with you.
The late days at the office were all that he looked forward to three times a week besides your dates. The ones where you spent half the time deep diving into obscure topics just to argue with each other about it, all in the name of friendly competition. It was the most fun that he found himself having in his otherwise mundane life. It was the thing that he thought back on most of his day as he completed his chores.
Soul had caught Jongseob smiling to himself in the laundry room as he hummed a tune of an album you’d shown him and folded his laundry.
“Have you told her about the bet yet?”
Jongseob nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He whipped around to glare at Soul. “Jesus, Shota! A warning, please!”
Soul seemed unbothered. “Have you told her about the bet yet?”
The stone in his ribs started to feel heavy and jagged. “No, why would I?” He asked. He felt the sharp sting in his chest, the same feeling he got whenever the topic was brought up.
Soul yanked his Pikachu head-band off his head and chucked it at Jongseob’s.
Jongseob barely dodged it before he turned to glare again at Soul. “Okay, what the fuck.”
“You’re an idiot,” is all Soul said as he picked up his handband from the floor and stomped away.
Jongseob stared at Soul’s retreating figure, befuddled.
“What he means to say is that this is a bad idea.”
Jongseob jumped again and whipped around to see Jiung enter the laundry room through the other door with his bin of clothing.
“I need to put a bell on you people,” Jongseob grumbled to himself as he returned to folding his laundry, added with an aggressive flare this time. “Also, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jiung leaned against the washing machine with his arms crossed and a frown on his face, one almost like he was scolding. “I think you do. You like this girl.”
Jongseob’s movements faltered for a short moment before he started gathering his clothes in his basket, figuring he would just fold them up in his room. “I don’t.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes!” He snapped, then flinched back, taken aback by his own volume.
“…Right.”
Jongseob didn’t even have to look at Jiung to know that he’d lost the conversation, so he tucked tail and left.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The panic built up inside of him for the next month. It had been over two months that you’ve been dating and a month since you’d become exclusive. There were only three weeks left until he won the bet. But he didn’t feel any close to winning, because he had come to the terrible realization that he was in love with you. But it wasn’t a reality he could accept knowing what he knew; how this whole thing had started. He didn’t even care about winning the bet anymore. He just wanted to know how he could keep you.
He could come clean. But that would mean losing you. He could hide it all. But that would mean he’d lose himself.
Soul and Jiung’s disappointed faces flashed behind his eyes as he dropped his head to his desk. He sat there, stewing in the despair of his own curation, until he felt a hand in his hair, gentle and grounding.
He looked up to be met with your concerned face peering down at him. “You okay?”
He leaned into your touch, sighing at the way your nails scratch against his scalp. “M’okay,” he mumbled, feeling all his panic drain away with just a simple touch from you. “Just stressed about finals, that’s all.”
“Aw,” you cooed softly, dragging your nails down to the back of his head, a motion that had him shuddering. “Wanna come to my place and study?”
He opened his eyes and gave you a cheeky smile. “Study?” He asked, swivelling his chair to face you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in to stand between his legs. “Isn’t that what you said last time?”
You rolled your eyes as your hands fell to his shoulders, but you were smiling. “You’re the one who started that. You were the distracting one, not me.”
He laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your stomach, the closest part of you he could reach with his lips. It always went like this; he would agonize over his predicament whenever he was left to his thoughts but would forget all about it the second you were nearby.
“I heard about the party your frat’s hosting the weekend after next,” you said, playing with the string of his hoodie. “How come you haven’t invited me yet?”
The truth was he didn’t want you interacting with any of his friends. It would make his situation too real. It felt comfortably hypothetical currently.
“I didn’t think it was your scene,” he answered instead, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumbs, firm against your shirt.
“It’s not,” you agreed. “But you’re going to be there. And it’s the last party before the year ends so… I dunno.” You were being shy again, averting your eyes and chewing on your lip, and he was overwhelmed with fondness. “I kind of wanna be there with you.”
He couldn’t help the grin pulling at his lips. “You wanna be there for me?” He teased, yanking you right back in when you groan and try to pull away. “In that case, I want you there.” He could never deny you, it felt physically impossible to.
You visibly relaxed at that, your shoulders slumping. “Oh, good,” you said with a small smile. “For a second I was worried you were, like, embarrassed by me or something.”
His smile fell immediately. “Embarrassed?” He asked in disbelief. “Why would I be embarrassed by you?”
You shrugged, averting your eyes again as you tie and untie the strings of his hoodie. “You’ve never introduced me to your friends. And I’m not an airhead, I know what people think of me.”
He tensed at your admission, that festering guilt rooting deeper and slithering down to his gut. He distracted himself by pulling you in closer, bringing you down to straddle his lap.
“They just don’t know you like I do,” he stated, snaking his arms around your waist. Then he smiled, light and playful, juxtaposed to how he was feeling on the inside. “But I kind of like being the only one to have this side of you.”
He celebrated internally when that brought the smile back onto your lips. “Corny,” you said through your tinkling laugh. “Possessive. An idiot is what you are.”
“The luckiest one,” he said, and then he kisses you to numb the way his insides twist at the lie. He was the unluckiest lucky person to exist.
Luck had brought him to you but luck becomes the thing that takes you away just the same.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Bringing you to that party was the most foolish thing he could have done, he realizes now.
⸝⸝
Introducing you to Jiung was the right way to start at least, he’d thought as he watched the two of you chat in the kitchen, away from the crowd. When Soul got thrown into the mix, you were immediately endeared by him, giggling at his strange antics. It was the first time he’s seen you so at ease around others, so open to expressing around them. You had told him earlier that it was his presence with you that helped you stay at ease.
A hand to his shoulder snapped his eyes away from the scene and to Intak.
“Dude,” Intak said, already slurring. “Your girl looks hot. Better treat her real nice with the money you’re get—“
Jongseob didn’t let him finish before he got his hand slammed over his big mouth and pushed him out of the kitchen.
“Are you insane?!” Jongseob whisper-yelled at Intak’s frightened eyes. He pulls his hand back from Intak’s. “Don’t talk about that when she’s around, you idiot—“
“Don’t talk about what?”
Jongseob whipped around so fast he nearly threw himself off balance and knocked himself into Intak.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, moving to you and wrapping his arm around your waist. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was quickly beginning to realize what a mistake it was to bring you here. “Let’s go out for some fresh air, okay?”
“Okay,” you agreed easily, then looked at Intak who smiled charmingly at you and even gave you a little bow. You didn’t seem all that impressed though. “Hwang Intak, right?”
Intak’s eyes lit up instantly. “You know me?”
“Unfortunately.”
Jongseob coughed to smother his laugh when Intak’s face fell just as quick. “Come on, don’t start a fight with my roommates,” he said playfully to you as he started to pull you away.
You moved along with him as he started steering you towards the top floor for the balcony. “I could take him.”
“Sure you can,” he said fondly as he weaved through the crowds in the halls.
He felt lucky that it was so crowded. Maybe enough so that you wouldn’t run into the two devils that had been sitting comfortably on his shoulder the past few months.
But it’s already been established that he was the unluckiest lucky guy.
Because as soon as he rounded the corner to the stairs, Keeho and Theo were on their way down, attached at the hip like they always were.
“Look who it is!” Keeho said with a wide grin as he stopped a few steps above you.
Theo had a subtle smirk on his lips, one that Jongseob knew meant trouble. He felt suddenly like they’ve just been thrown into the wolves’ den.
“We were just going to go to the balcony,” Jongseob said tightly. “For some air.”
“For some air,” Theo repeated, before turning to you.
You looked like this is the last place you’d want to be. But you mustered up a pleasant smile, like you’re trying to keep the peace for Jongseob’s sake.
“Nice to see you guys,” you said, albeit stiffly. Everyone knew it was bullshit but Jongseob still appreciated the gesture.
Theo scoffed. “It still throws me off how you’re so pleasant all of a sudden.”
Jongseob squeezed your hand as a silent plea to back down, scared that these two might just be the spark you need to revert back to your icy ways.
But you didn’t bite the bait; you kept your control as you tilted your head at Theo and furrowed your brows in constructed confusion.
“Oh? I thought that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Your voice sounded steady though the implication of your words are loud. “I mean, that’s what I always hear from you two. That I’ve got a stick up my ass and whatnot. I thought I was doing everyone a favour by diverting to my pleasant ways but it looks like you two can’t be satisfied, can you?” You clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “I guess you always need something to be miserable about.”
Keeho’s grin was faint now but it was still there with a barely restrained scowl. “I see you’ve still got a bite. But I wouldn’t be so arrogant about this if I were you.”
Theo took the last couple steps down to level with you and Jongseob. “You don’t know it yet but,” he paused to lean forward, his smirk pulling up to a deceptively warm smile. “You should really be thanking us for your new look for that.”
Jongseob’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way your face contorted with real confusion, and the way you were about to ask about it but Jongseob was quick to push past Theo and Keeho to climb the stairs.
“Come on, just ignore them,” he told you as he pulled you along.
The fresh air did little to soothe the heat prickling at his skin. But your arms snaking around from behind him while you press yourself against his back, did.
“Are you okay?” Came from your gentle voice, breath brushing against his ear as you pressed your chin to his shoulder.
He took a deep breath to ease down his rattling heart. “Better now,” he said as he turned in your arms and wrapped his arms around your neck.
You smiled up at him as he brushed back the hair bristling over your forehead with the wind. “I like your friends. Shota and Jiung, I mean,” you added quickly with a scrunch of your nose. “Not the others.”
He snorted, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. The moon is full and the stars are bright. He should have felt welcomed by them, they should have made this moment feel nicer. But he just felt mocked by them. Like they were saying that a moment this peaceful, with the girl he wanted in his arms, could never be his. It wasn’t really his, even if he was living it right now. It would never be his until he bares his truth to them.
“Jongseob,” you whispered, and he tilted his head back down.
That unreadable look in your eyes, the one that’s been more frequent the past few weeks, was back.
And suddenly he felt too raw, too exposed by the light of the moon and the stars.
“Yes?” He asked, feeling his heart slowly climb its way back up his throat.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He felt every fiber of his being go rigid. He couldn’t swallow his heart back down this time. “What do you mean?” His voice sounded distant from himself, like it was coming out of someone else.
You started to pull away but he kept his arms tight enough that you couldn’t put too much distance. Distance that he fears might be permanent if he lets it manifest.
The pinch between your brows was back as you chose your words. “You’ve been a little… distant these past few weeks. Hidden, more like. I don’t really know how to explain it.”
His breaths were starting to become harder to regulate. Of course you’d noticed something was up. You were one of the smartest people he knew. How could he think he could hide anything from you?
“Is it something I said?” You asked when he didn’t respond, your eyes wide and searching as they flickered between his. “Or something I did?”
“No,” he said quickly, his hands sliding down to catch your arms. “No, no you didn’t do anything.”
“Then what is it?”
This was his chance to come clean. He wanted to, he desperately wanted to. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, fear trapping the words in his throat. The fear of losing you was greater than his need to come clean.
You were starting to look increasingly defeated as you waited, as you pleaded him with your eyes.
“Please,” you breathed after another moment of silence. “Please don’t tell me I fell in love with the wrong person.”
The world felt like it tilted on his axis as that word that slipped from your lips trapped itself in his brain and rattled around. His breaths ceased and his hands lost their grip on your arms.
“Love?” He whispered, the word tumbling out of his lips without his permission.
You dropped your gaze to his chest and it was like he could almost see the way your walls started to climb back into place. “I love you, Jongseob,” you said, clear as the night sky above. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you want. And I’m sorry if it’s too soon. But I needed to say it. I’ve wanted to say it for a couple weeks now.” You stepped out of his space and he was too weak to stop you this time, his strength zapped out of his body along with every other feeling.
“I love you,” you repeated it, like a final blow to his heart.
He was numb as he turned around and walked back inside. He could hear you calling his name behind him but he didn’t stop. He pushed his way through the crowd, frantic as he searched the rooms.
When he saw Theo, he zeroed right in on him. He grabbed him by the arm, ignoring his protests as he yanked him out to the front porch.
“Jongseob, what the hell is up with you?!” Theo cried as he was shoved up against the wall, Jongseob’s fists curled tight into his shirt collars.
“The bet,” Jongseob seethed. He felt almost manic, wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like it too if Theo’s vaguely terrified expression was anything to go by. “I want out. Fuck you and your stupid money, I want none of it.”
He was angry. And he was taking it out on Theo. But that didn’t make sense because he was angry at himself more than anything but there was too much going on in his brain for things to make any sense.
Theo tried to shove him back but Jongseob pushed him back hard into the bricks, overbearing from the adrenaline. “Listen to me!” He yelled. Theo’s eyes widened as they flicker between him and over his shoulder. Jongseob could hear the commotion of people gathering behind him but he didn’t care whose eyes were there. “You don’t speak a fucking word about the bet, you hear me?” He whispered the words right into Theo’s face, seeped in uncontained rage. “None of it. If she finds out at all, hears any fucking peep of it, you’re the one I’m coming for first. You get me?” He pushed Theo’s harder against the wall, making him wince in pain. His fists were knuckle white in Theo’s shirt and shaking from the force. He was shaking everywhere. “Say one word and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Theo could only stare at him, fear unbridled in his eyes.
“Jongseob.”
The name didn’t come from Theo’s lips. It came from a voice that has him going cold all over.
His hand dropped like deadweight at his sides and he turned like someone else was pulling the strings attached to his body.
The look on your face was like the one he saw on you when he first met you. Cold. Distant. Walled.
“Was I a bet, Jongseob?” You asked him. Your voice was stable. It was calculated. Reserved. Just like before.
All he could do was stare and watch the flashes of the moments he had with you flicker behind his eyelids.
“Tell me,” you started again, voice rising with each second that passed by. “Was I a bet? Was I a fucking bet?”
His throat felt dry as he spoke. “Yes.”
That pit of guilt in his ribs lifted as the admission left his lips. In its place sat grief, because he knew that this was the end of it.
But that still didn’t stop him from trying.
He tried to say your name, to reach for you but you were already gone. His feet felt weighted to the ground as he watched your figure push through the crowd of people he didn’t realize had formed around the scene.
He felt a hand shove at his back, pulling him out of whatever trance he was in. His head whipped back to see Theo reaching out to shove him again. “Go after her,” he urged, shoving him again. “Go!”
That snapped Jongseob into action. He turned and sprinted after you, shoving past the wall of people and yelling your name.
He could see your figure in the distance. You didn’t turn his way, you just kept walking. Eventually he caught you by the arm and pulled you back to him.
“Wait—“
“I don’t want to hear it!” You yelled immediately, throwing his arm off of you. There were tears streaming down your face, tracking eyeliner down your cheeks. Your face was twisted in agony and it hit him like a spear to the chest the realization that it was because of him.
“Just— please!” He caught both of your arms this time. He was still shaking and his eyes were blurry and his head was spinning but the one thing he knew was that he couldn’t let you go. “Let me explain!”
“We’re done,” you seethed, pulling yourself back but the grip he had on your arms was iron. “Let me go.”
“I love you!” He yelled, and you finally stopped struggling. He pulled you towards him, holding you firmly in his space. “I love you, I really do, you have to believe that.” He knew tears were streaming down his face and this was far from the ideal state that he wanted to be telling you that in. But he was done hiding. “I love you.”
You were watching every word fall from his lips, your expression falling neutral even despite the tears still welling your eyes. “You love me?” You asked, quiet enough that your voice is nearly drowned out by the rustling trees above you. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me.”
A sob wracked through his body, his fingers digging desperately into your skin. But you didn’t flinch or pull away, content to watch him drown in his miseries. “I was scared,” he whispered through a wet breath. “I was so scared. I knew I would lose you. But I swear, it just started off as a bet, but-but then I got to know you and I got to see you— the real you— and it’s something I never could have imagined. I fell for you. So hard.”
He was sobbing through his words and he wasn’t even sure if you could understand him but he couldn’t contain any of it. He let it all out, desperate that you’d see him through all of it.
“I love you,” he said, trembling from head to toe, breaths tumbling out in stutters, chest heaving with sobs. It was ugly, but it was honest. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
You were quiet for a long moment, just watching, picture-still like a pretty statue.
“Please,” he tried again, stepping closer and pressing his forehead down to yours.
“Jongseob,” you said, and your voice was so gentle that it lit a flicker of hope in his chest, fragile and dangerous.
Your hand reached up to brush the tears on his cheek. The touch felt like a reprieve; he melted into it, turned into it, and sought out the warmth of your palm against his nose and lips, cold from the chilly air. Your hand slid down, slow as your thumb carved out the slope of his nose then the bow of his lips. He breathed in your scent, sweet and familiar, and it fed the flicker in his chest.
“I can’t stay,” you said, and just like that, that flicked of hope snuffed out into nothing. “Not when I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”
Another sob wracked through his body as your hand fell away. “It was real,” he said, trying to catch your hand again but you pulled it away before he could. You stepped back until all that was left was your arm still clutched in his hand like a lifeline. “It was all real. I swear it on my life, it was real.”
Your face crumbled as you took his wrist in your free hand. “Not to me,” you said, and all the strength in his body left again. You pushed his hand off of you and he let it fall without a fight. “Not anymore.”
He was helpless to watch you fade away into the night. He wasn’t sure when he'd fallen to his knees but the ground was cold beneath him. It seeped up his leg and traversed through all his limbs, keeping him trapped there as it wrapped like a cage around his heart, squeezing down until he couldn't feel anymore.
𓆩⟡𓆪
It’s been four months exactly now since that fateful night in the LCA living room. Now he sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the first article he wrote for you and you’d refused to read, trembling in his hands.
It’s been a week now that you’ve walked out of his life. Ten days since the last time he got to sit with you in that office. Seven days since he’s last kissed you. Seven days since he last heard his name from your lips.
You’ve become a ghost. His texts lay unanswered. His phone calls all lead to a wall. And when he thinks he catches a glimpse of you around campus, you’re gone in the blink of an eye like an apparition made to keep his heart in throes.
He knows where to find you three times a week. But the thought of stepping anywhere near that room sends his stomach into twists.
The fact that he’s pretty sure he flunked his last few finals wasn’t even enough to take his mind off you. Nothing seems to matter now that he’s lost what could’ve been something great, something real.
And all he has to show for it now is this article and the memory of you.
“Burn it.”
His head lifts to see Jiung at the doorway, Soul hovering behind him. The looks on their faces just make him feel worse, caged.
Jongseob’s hands curl tighter into the papers. “Why?” His voice is hollow, just like the rest of him.
Jiung crosses the room in a few strides, picks up the trash bin by Jongseob’s desk and fishes out a lighter from his pockets. He places the bin on the floor in front of where Jongseob sits and drops the lighter on his lap.
Jongseob stares down at it blankly.
“You need to forget about her,” Jiung says gently, taking a seat beside him. “She’s not coming back.”
The words sting, no matter how true. But burning it would make everything feel too real and too final.
Soul sits on his other side, pressing close and dropping his head on his shoulder. The warmth is welcome after days of cold isolation. “It will be good for you,” he says quietly.
“I don’t want to.”
Jiung sighs and runs a palm down his back, a motion meant to soothe but just felt overwhelming. “If you don’t, you’ll just keep hurting.”
“Well maybe I deserve it,” Jongseob says, defeated. He can’t imagine how he thought he would come out of this victorious. “Why did I do something so stupid?”
“It wasn’t all your fault,” Jiung reasons. “Keeho and Theo pushed you.”
“But it was still my choice,” he snaps, then flinches back. “Sorry.”
Soul places a hand around Jongseob’s wrist and squeezes. “All you can do is move on now.”
Move on. Easier said than done.
“I don’t know how.”
Jiung takes the lighter abandoned on Jongseob’s lap and places it in his hand. “Start with this.”
His fingers wrap weakly around the lighter; it feels like a weight in his palm. This is starting to feel almost like a funeral, he thinks morosely. Like a last send off.
But he knows Jiung and Soul are right. Holding onto this would mean holding onto you. And you had long let go of him.
He flicks on the lighter and brings it to the corners of the pages, watching as the flames lick up the ivory and graphite. He lets it spread up and up, dropping it into the bin when he feels the heat first touch his fingertips.
Jongseob sits there, recalling the story of you and him as he watches the last remnant of you wither away to ashes.
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PAIRING: Werewolf! f. Reader x Werewolf!Seungcheol x Werewolf!Jeonghan x Werewolf!Soonyoung x Werewolf!Seokmin x Werewolf!Vernon x Werewolf!Chan
SUMMARY: When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.
WARNINGS: Fighting pits, physical violence, description of injury and murder (during a fight), angst and frustration between Chan and reader, references to trauma (for Chan), forced suicide by being compelled through magical power, descriptions of blood and mild gore/wounds, explicit language, explicit sexual content including hand job, fingering, sex in a hot bath, oral (f. receiving), biting, intense make out sessions, multiple orgasms.
MEMBERS IN THIS CHAPTER: Chan and Jeonghan.
A/N: Happy Bite Day! I'm so glad to be back to posting this fic. Thank you all for waiting patiently (most of you) while I took a brief hiatus in November. We are back to regularly scheduled moon cycle updates. Also please note that on Bite days, fics are posted after I get off of work in CST timezone. So while it might be late evening for you on an upload day depending on timezone, it could be 9 am for me. Please keep that in mind before freaking out that I'm not posting :) I hope everyone enjoyed - this is the chapter Chan deserves!!
A/N 2: This chapter is not beta read, I apologize in advanced.
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The goddess does not ask for faith. She takes it.
- Carved into the altar steps of the First Sanctum
THE TENSION BETWEEN YOU AND CHAN TURNS FROM ELECTRIC TO FRIGID. He doesn’t glare or storm around like Seungcheol does, though. It’s worse - he’s perfectly polite and stiff, your morning and afternoon training sessions turning rote and rehearsed.
It leaves you walking on eggshells, unsure what to do or say. Jeonghan watches with amusement-laced frustration, rolling his eyes when you miss your opportunity to say something to Chan, or dropping his head in his hands when Chan dismisses himself early from your sparring.
Neither one of you breaches the silence. Like you, Chan is the lost heir to a small kingdom, a prince in his own title and name. A king, perhaps, if he’s the only one left. His pride is a mirror of your own, each one of you too stubborn to cross the line and ask the simple question: what’s wrong?
Because something is wrong. You feel it in the way dinner is only filled with stilted conversation between you and Jeonghan or Jeonghan and Chan. You feel it in the way Chan pulls his punches, the way he’s less intense in his sparring. You feel it in the way you grind your teeth and refuse to call him out on it, refusing to tell him to fight you in earnest.
There’s worry knotted behind your ribs too. Worry because as each morning starts and each day ends, the others don’t come back. Jeonghan and Chan don’t seem concerned. Jeonghan would never let you know if he was anyway, but Chan is much easier to read. So long as the tension knotting his shoulder and the flat expression on his face is because of you and not the others being away, you don’t let the fear eat at you.
After lunch each day, you practice the Call with Jeonghan. Not every day is a good day. Some days you can get Jeonghan to go as far as walk a few yards away from you. The further he is though, the harder it is to use the Call. Other days, you can’t even get Jeonghan to lift a hand, your frustration making it harder as the day goes on.
Though Jeonghan can hum at a resonance similar to yours, he’s not yet able to get you to do anything. You feel it though, the harmony he provides to lace through your melody. It’s the perfect pitch and tune, and yet he’s unable to hold sway over you.
It doesn’t frustrate him. As always, he remains infuriatingly patient and aloof. You wish you could have an ounce of that sort of countenance. Maybe it would help you figure out how to talk to Chan and swallow past the pride-sized rock in your throat to make the first concession.
But you’re not Jeonghan, and Chan isn’t either. So the stiff interactions continue.
It’s only been a few days since their departure, but the scent of sage and lavender is starting to fade from your sheets. It makes you restless, a constant thread of anxiety unspooling in your stomach. Jeonghan slips into your bed sometimes, just to breathe you in and doze off, the only balm in the other's absence. It’s nice, his omega-sweet sense calming enough that you can usually fall asleep.
Tonight, the soured scent of him rouses you from sleep. You lift your head just before he opens the door, shrouded in faint golden light from the dying hearth. He smells wrong - anxious and scattered and frazzled, scent sharpened with sweat.
“What is it?” Your heart immediately begins to slam in your chest with fear, every unimaginable thing flitting through your mind: someone has died. Someone is injured. The Divine has discovered you’re practicing the Call. Ina is back to identify your scent. You’re being tested. “What’s happened?”
“Can you come with me?” Jeonghan asks, voice calm despite the obvious spike in anxiety. “We need to go get Chan.”
“Where is Chan?”
“I can explain on the way. I think you should come with me, though.”
“Of course.”
Jeonghan waits on your bed. You get dressed under his flickering gaze, uncaring as you change in front of him. He’s already seen it all anyway, that night in the bathing room flashing in your mind briefly as you pull on pants and secure the weapons belt he gave you around your hips.
He’s armed to the teeth, so you arm yourself too, tying off the dagger Vernon had gifted you. You’d prefer the additional weight of a sword, but the practice room weapons are all blunted edges and you haven’t managed to get your hands on a sword.
Yet.
Chill air greets you when you step out of the pack’s living quarters. You assume Jeonghan is going to lead you upward to the top levels of the mountain, but he surprises you by taking a pathway you’ve never seen before, moving deeper down into the core of the mountain.
It’s busy. You don’t know why you’re surprised. You don’t leave the living quarters often, but the path to the Sanctum is usually void of people save for the Red Priestesses drifting in the halls like scarlet ghosts.
There is life in the Bloodkeep, you realize. It had never occurred to you before that it could be anything like Valen. It’s an entire city inside of the mountain, people passing by hurriedly with things to do and people to meet.
It sets a chill in your spine. You don’t like to think of the Bloodkeep as anything but a rotting jail cell full of people who are here unwillingly, but as you pass through a market, an infirmary and even caverns filled with strange herbs and fungi growing for use, you realize that the Divine has an entire functioning kingdom here, and she has control of other kingdoms like Valen to keep it going.
It is nearly impossible to fathom.
The Old Cities are far enough away from the Bloodkeep that any real threat the Divine poses won’t be until after winter. You can see the way the mountain seems to be shoring up, though, that they have what they need to expand, most of the New Cities already fallen to her power.
Doing something to stop her seems insurmountable. Even with your progress with Jeonghan, it feels like you’re moving too slow, like you’re losing time that you need to be learning the call.
Deeper into the mountain, you feel the pressure of the air change. Your ears pop as you follow Jeonghan down spiralling corridors hewn from dark stone, torches flickering low along the walls. His pace is brisk but silent, his shadow flickering along the dark walls. You don’t say anything at first, your shoulders pinched with tension, nervously glancing at Jeonghan who stares ahead with a stoney expression.
“We’re going to the fighting pits,” Jeonghan says eventually. It catches you off guard and you stumble. His hand shoots out to steady you, lingering for a moment longer than is necessary. “They’re in the belly of the mountain. Old caverns that were once a temple until she moved her Sanctum up higher.”
“Why?”
“To let the wolves blow off steam, to use it for punishment - there’s a lot of reasons. People go there for coin, some for pride. Some get sent there to die or to win their way back into their graces. Mostly it's just alphas who are scrapping for dominance, but there are plenty of betas and omegas too.”
“And Chan? Why is he there?”
Jeonghan’s lips twitch in the ghost of a frown. “When he was first brought here, he was there all the time. He was full of rage and hate and didn’t know what else to do with himself. I think he was hoping to die but you’ve seen him fight. He’s good, even when he was young. It helped dull that edge, I guess. Once in a while, still does.”
An ache settles in your chest, understanding immediately. Had you come here fresh from Valen without Seungcheol taking you in, you’d want to fight too. To tear someone bloody. To rip and shred and kill until you lose yourself to it. Sometime, you still feel that way.
It scares you more than you’d like to admit how appealing the violence is.
You pass under a carved archway, the air growing thicker, stained with the copper-scented tang of old and new blood. A tremor of sound runs through the air, the dull sound of distant roars and cheers, the thud of bodies hitting dirt.
Your throat tightens. “Why is he here tonight?”
“He’s frustrated.”
“With me.”
“Not just with you. With a lot of things. You might be a splinter, but there is an entire wound he’s still nursing.” Jeonghan glances at you and softens when he sees the tight-knight anxiety on your face. “I think he sees himself in you,” he adds gently. “A lost heir.”
The knowledge eats at you.
Sweat slicks your palms as you descend the final steps in a staircase. The air reeks of sweat, blood and pheromones so thick you almost feel the shift in your body chemistry. Jeonghan shifts closer to you, just as affected, his scent spiking. The two of you draw immediate attention of the alphas near you, their pupils dilating. Your hand drifts toward your dagger, but none approach.
The cavern is massive, ancient stalactites hanging like teeth across the ceiling. There are multiple fighting pits at the heart of the cavern, each denoted with colored ropes and rings of tightly packed bodies. The crowd is feral, spittal flying from mouths as they scream at fighters.
In each circle there are fighters. Usually two, but sometimes more. There seem to be roughly seven circles with one in the center. The center circle has attracted a massive crowd, and you assume from the noise and the eyes that the bigger fights take place in the center-most ring.
Jeonghan drifts toward one of the smaller circles - it’s got one of the larger crowds, bodies pushing and pulling as they shove in to see the fights in the center. Some fighters and patrons are half shifted, talons glinting in the fire burning in hot braziers, eyes glowing. Some are full shifted, wolves prowling with flickering eyes and sharp teeth.
As the crowd grows dense, Jeonghan pulls you to him. His arm is tight around your waist, the both of you jostled as he shoves his way through the reek of people. It’s loud, a cacophony of sound that makes you wince, a growl working its way up your throat when someone steps on your foot.
“Keep your cool,” Jeonghan purrs in your ear, voice like velvet. “Picking a fight here would be very dangerous.”
Honeysuckle and jasmine blooms. You unclench a little, nodding as you wiggle through the crowd with Jeonghan to see two fighters circling one another in a ring.
One of them is Chan.
Your heart lurches at the sight. He’s shirtless, his back slicked with sweat that glimmers under the torchlight. Scars crisscross his shoulders, every single one of them familiar to you. He’s stalking a massive alpha that’s older than him and bigger than him, the man snarling through broken teeth. There’s a ring of fresh blood on Chan’s knuckles, but he’s calm in a way that terrifies you.
This is not the Chan you spar with. This is something else, something cold and efficient and hardened by rage.
With Jeonghan’s arm firmly wrapped around you, you watch from the shadows as the alpha lunges at him. A shout of warning works its way up your throat but Chan is already sidestepping, his movements fluid. He’s like smoke as the other alpha strikes again, slipping through clawed fingers time and time again.
The alpha swings again and Chan ducks, popping back up to drive his elbow into his opponent's face. There’s a wet crunch and the alpha staggers backward. He swings again, but Chan dodges and pivots, fists pounding the other man’s ribs until something gives with a loud pop. The alpha collapses in the dirt, heaving, hands shielding his ribs.
Around you, the spectators go wild. The scent of potential rut and ruin and iron clash, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. Chan backs away from the alpha as he’s declared the winner by a beta who seems to be running the fights.
Chan turns to stalk toward the edge of the ring and wait for the next round. You don’t even want to know how long he’s been down here or how long it took for Jeonghan to realize where he had gone. There’s not too much damage on his body, but it doesn’t mean much when you know how lethal of a fighter Chan is.
Jeonghan nudges you. “Go get him before his next opponent shows up.”
You don’t hesitate, picking your way through the bodies converging as they wait for another matchup or drift to other fights. Chan is walking away from you, shoulders heaving, knuckles dripping blood into the sand. He lingers near the edge of the ring, waiting for his next fighter.
“Chan.”
Your voice cleaves through the noise. His head snaps up, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark and flat but when they land on you, they flicker with something like grief or shame. He freezes, unmoving near the edge of the circle.
Swallowing thickly, you close the distance. When you reach him, you hesitate. You want to reach out and touch him, but you’re unsure if that’s what he needs. Instead, you tell him, “Come home. Talk to me instead.”
Chan looks at you for a long moment. Then his shoulders sag, the fight bleeding out of him. He nods. “Okay.”
Relief blooms inside of your chest. Tentatively, you reach for him. His mouth twitches, the weakest flicker of a smile, and he takes your hand. His hands are dirty and bloody, but you don’t care. You lace your fingers with his and give him a squeeze, feeling an electric jolt when you touch him. He smiles at you - genuine - and it feels like home.
Tugging him along, you make it halfway back toward Jeonghan when the crowd ripples and a low growl echoes toward you. Chan’s grip on you tightens and he tugs you toward him as an alpha stalks toward the two of you. Jeonghan is already moving, a shadow lurking as he circles the ring to come up beside you, steel glinting in his hand.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, pretty prince?” The alpha asks, lips curling. He’s not as big as the last, but he’s angry and scarred, his hair like blood under the firelight. It’s tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord, and there are bones strung upon a string around his neck “I waited my turn for you.”
“Another time,” Jeonghan drawls, appearing behind you. “He’s done for the night.”
“Fucking coward-”
“There are plenty of others to take his place,” Jeonghan interrupts, gesturing to the crowd that’s gathered. The beta running the match drifts closer, eyes darting nervously between the two alphas as jeonghan continues, “Is there a problem with an opponent dismissing themselves before a match has been set?”
“No. No wagers have been placed and the next fighter has not been assigned, therefore he’s under no obligation to fight.”
“Then we’re savvy.” Jeonghan turns to the alpha. “You’re not at liberty to start a fight without the express consent of the Collector running the match and your challenger, so long as your challenger is without debt and in good standing.”
The alpha hesitates. You don’t know what anything Jeonghan is saying means, but it seems even a lawless place like the fighting pits has rules. Again, the thought unsettles you that such a cohesive system and rules are in place for something as animalistic as fighting pits.
Your grip on Chan is like iron, your other hand wrapped around the handle of your dagger. Tension brims in the space between you and the alpha, the threat of violence balanced on the edge of a blade. You can feel Jeonghan at your back, just as poised to strike as you.
“Would you like to be in bad standing with the Divine?” Chan growls.
A ripple of laughter rides through the pit. The alpha’s gaze flicks between Chan’s intense stare and the rest of the crowd that watches. You can tell he wants to attack, but Chan’s warning is real. The alpha looks at you and Jeonghan, drinking in the black garb, the red accent at your hip. He spits on the ground and backs off, glaring.
“Let’s go.” Chan’s voice is rough. He tugs you along, turning his back on the angry alpha and the clamouring of the pit. Jeonghan flanks your other side, the three of you walking as an imposing wall into the crowd.
Together, you weave back out of the pits, the stench clinging to your skin and your hair. Chan’s hand has yours in a vice grip, Jeonghan’s palm pressed flat on the small of your back. Your free hand is still on your dagger, adrenaline singing in your veins as the roar of the pits fades to a dull down.
It’s silent between the three of you as you thread through the tunnels back to the living quarters. Chan tells Jeonghan to go the back way, lest the alphas decide to follow you. He smells like blood and dust and sweat, but the soft scent of black tea and clover simmer under the rest, soothing.
The back way is long. You move through winding tunnels and press through crevices that remind you of the underground tunnels, which in turn, makes you think of Ina. A shiver ripples down your spin and you stick close to Jeonghan and Chan, only breathing out a sigh of relief when you step into a passage you recognize that is the final stretch back to safety.
Just as you approach the fork in the hall, Chan pulls up short. You smell them too, the same musky scent laced with anger and the sweat from running ahead. In the left tunnel is the same alpha from the pit, his red hair a smear in the gloom. There are four more with him, steel gleaming in their hands. The hall to the right - where you need to go to take three more turns before you’re back to the living quarters, is empty.
Chan drops your hand, claws glinting in the light. You unsheath your dagger, feeling the heavy weight of it like a comfort in your hand. Your thumb brushes across the vines on pommel and you think of Vernon and all the practice you’ve had.
“No pit here,” the alpha acknowledges, eyes flickering. “No debt collector. No rules.”
“You rushed all the way here just to die?” Jeonghan scoffs. “And for free!”
His insult lands. They all come at once, a flurry of teeth and fists and knives. Chan barrels forward, ramming his shoulder into the leader’s ribs so hard you feel the crunch in your teeth. They slam into a wall but you look away as you surge forward to meet the nearest attacker.
Steel sparks as your dagger meets his. His dagger is longer than yours, bad for fighting in a narrow hallway, but giving him a far more extensive reach than you. You move fast, flicking your knife up to scrape off of his swing. He howls when you slice him across the meat of his forearm and slip under him, jamming your elbow into his kidney so hard he buckles. You pivot and stab him between the neck and shoulder before he can recover, scarlet flooding the wound as you rip your knife back out and he falls forward with a heavy thud.
A roar splits the hall. You spin in time to see Chan slam the red-haired alpha to the ground, claws tearing across the thick chest of the alpha, spraying carmine and tainting the air with the tang of irony and salt. One of the other alphas sees the opportunity of Chan’s exposed back, lunging for him, knife glinting.
“Stop!”
The world halts. Every motion is locked in the shackles of your command. The attacker’s snarl freezes on his lips, his eyes wide with fear he can’t voice. The glow of the torches wavers.
When you speak, it’s with the power of hundreds of voices. You feel them all twine, the command of many coming out of your single mouth as you growl, “Turn it on yourself.”
Without hesitating, the alpha straightens and turns the knife toward his own stomach. He looks at you, a terrified, soundless scream on his face as he does what you tell him to, driving the knife inward. A wet groan bubbles to his lips but you’re turning, looking at the red-haired alpha that Chan has pinned.
Hate and anger boil in your blood. Your lip curls, as you hiss, “Claw out your throat.”
Chan leans away, scrambling off of the alpha. Without hesitation, the alpha lifts his hand, claws out, and rakes them across his neck. You watch as the skin splits, scarlet pooling as he does. Then he digs deeper, gasping when he tears out muscle and cords this time, scarlet running down his chest.
You pivot, the Call thrumming in your throat as your eyes descend on the last two that had engaged Jeonghan. “Turn your knives on yourselves.”
The two remaining alphas twitch when they hear you. You watch them fight it, their eyes bulging, teeth gritted, the veins in their necks straining as instinct wars with compulsion.
But the Call is stronger than flesh and will.
The first drives his blade under his own ribs, a shocked gurgle caught in his throat as steel scrapes bones. The second fumbles, his own hand betraying him. He tries to throw the dagger away but his fight tightens, knuckles blanching as he drags the edge across his own belly.
They drop. You stand in the flickering shadows of the tunnel, panting. Your throat feels raw, a vibration humming through you that makes you feel like an exposed nerve. Chan is staring at you, a glimmer of something in his eyes - pride or fear, you can’t tell.
Jeonghan wipes his blade on the hem of one corpse’s cloak, flicking blood from his wrist. He watches you too, his expression sharp, a gleam in his eyes. His scent flares and you can sense the pride coming off him as he stalks toward you, a swirl of shadows.
The metallic scent of fresh blood stains the air. You can’t move, trembling in your spot as the power of the Call fades. There’s a subtle ache in your throat that’s unfamiliar to you, never having felt it during your practicing with Jeonghan. Your pulse is hammering, adrenaline pumping, your mind a little hazy and dizzy.
You did it. It wasn’t perfect and it was brutal, but you used it, and it had worked. For a moment, the realization floods you with vicious pride. If you can manage to command a handful of alphas, you can surely hone your gift into a weapon strong enough to take on the Divine.
But there’s also fear. Dread. Something feels wrong about what you did, though you can’t quite but your thumb on it. You’d done what was needed, a last minute instinct to protect your own - and it had worked. But there’s an ache in your throat and something sharp under your ribs that feels out of place.
Chan gets up and comes toward you. He’s streaked in blood that isn’t his. He presses in close, lifting both of his hands to cup your face in his. His hazel eyes are burning, a spark in them that’s familiar and warm. His thumb sweeps across your cheek, smearing blood.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Fucking Gods. That was something.”
You swallow, your voice still thrumming with the ghost of your command. “I didn’t mean-”
Jeonghan appears at your side, pressing his nose into the side of your head. “Yes you did. It’s fine.”
Chan lifts your chin. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. It’s the closest you’ve been in days and your eyes flutter shut, breathing him in. His nose nudges yours, soft and comforting. Your eyes flutter shut, feeling his breath across your lips.
“You did good. You kept me safe. You kept Jeonghan safe.”
You nod. “I panicked.”
“Well your panicking is Hells a lot better than most” Jeonghan huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. He kisses your head briefly and steps back. “Come on. Let me take you home. Chan-”
“I’ve got it. I’ll get rid of them.”
Chan steps away but you catch his arms. He looks surprised but you lean in and press your lips against his. It’s so brief that he can barely blink before you’re stepping away, breathless and nervous. “Come talk to me after, okay?”
His smile is like the sun. “Alright.”
Reluctantly, Chan lets you go and steps away from you. Jeonghan’s hand ghosts to the small of your back to escort you down the hall, pausing only to lean over and press a gentle, brief kiss to Chan’s mouth. “Be safe, pup.”
Chan nods as Jeonghan draws you away.
The narrow tunnel yawns wide then narrows again, flickering torchlight pooling in pockets. You lean into Jeonghan, seeking his comforting weight and smell. He lets you, humming contentedly.
It feels like the Call is vibrating in your chest, an itch you can't scratch. You’d never used it like that - hadn’t expected what it would feel like. Your voice had totally warped, vibrating in the air with a power you’re not used to. Now, it feels like that vibration is caught in the base of your throat, buzzing.
When you’re finally through the door and in the comfort of the common room, you turn to Jeonghan. “Did I do the wrong thing?”
He shuts the door firmly and turns to you, brows pinched. He faces you in the half-light, barely a flicker of flame left in the hearth. His face is all lines and shadows, but his eyes shine in the dark as he steps toward you, reaching to cup your jaw.
“Why would it be wrong?” His fingers brush your cheek and he tilts your chin to hold your gaze. “You protected what’s yours.”
“I know but it puts us in danger, right? Chan has to dispose of the bodies.”
“We’re always in danger. They were of no consequence. We got lucky.”
You nod. “My throat hurts like I used it wrong.”
“Hmm.” He drops his forehead to yours. His scent blooms around you, tender. “You’ve always said it wasn’t used for control and for command. Perhaps you’re right.”
“You said power is power, it’s neither good nor bad.”
His smile brushes your forehead as he presses a kiss to your brow. “I’ve been wrong before.”
A small shudder crawls down your spine. The power has left you shaky, half-sick with adrenaline. But beneath the fear coils something hotter, darker, a thrill that worries you even as it hums in your bones.
“It made me feel powerful.” His mouth drops to yours, not kissing, but hovering. “Wrong maybe, but powerful.”
“You’re powerful without it.”
“Not in this place, I’m not.”
“You’re powerful to me,” he amends, growling the last bit before he presses his mouth to yours.
Jeonghan tastes of something sweet, his mouth consuming but soft. His hand cups the back of your neck, bringing you in closer to him, brushing his tongue against the seam of your lips. Kissing him is different than Vernon or Seokmin - there’s a soft threat in Jeonghan’s mouth, a soft edge to his tongue and teeth that sets your blood singing.
The kiss deepens. Jeonghan’s lips are warm and insistent, coaxing yours apart. You yield to him, letting his tongue slip past, tasting the sweetness of his mouth. His hand tightens on the back of your neck, anchoring him to you as your world narrows to the heat of his mouth and the steady rhythm of his breath.
Your hands find his chest, pressed against the fabric of his shirt. It’s damp with sweat from the fight still clinging to his skin. You feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against your palms, mirroring your thundering pulse.
His kiss is intoxicating. You’ve danced around this for so long, his scent wrapping around you, jasmine and honeysuckle blooming thick, pulling you deeper into a haze. Kissing Jeonghan feels like relief, like hunger, like desperation, like -
Everything. Everything.
Jeonghan tilts his head, changing the angle of the kiss. A soft sound escapes your throat and he swallows it down, responding with a low hum that borders on a growl. His free hand slides to your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your hip, pulling you flush against him. The contact makes you arch into him, the dagger that Vernon gifted you pressing into his thigh awkwardly where it’s tied at your belt.
He breaks the kiss for a moment, laughing deeply. “Careful, Wildheart. You’re still armed.”
You give him a shaky laugh, fingers curling into his shirt. “I’d go for the throat first.”
“Good,” he murmurs and surges forward again.
It’s hungrier this time, like he’s been starving for you. And maybe he has since that evening in the bathing room, when he’d pressed himself close and dragged his mouth across your scent gland. You kiss him back with equal fervor, bring your hands up to card your fingers through his hair, pulling.
Jeonghan moans into your mouth, the sound so sweet it makes you light-headed. His teeth graze your bottom lip, giving you a gentle nip that makes you gasp. He smiles against your mouth, equal parts wicked and warm.
Eventually he steps back, lips swollen and slicked spit. You stare at him, panting heavily, hands resting on his forearms as his hands cup either side of your neck. His eyes are dark, swallowed by his pupils as he stares at you, inky strands of hair clinging to his forehead.
“Bathe,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your nose. “I’ll tell Chan to come find you.”
For a moment longer, you linger. His touch is warm on your neck, a grounding tether that steadies you from the aftershock of using the Call. He senses your hesitation and smiles, kissing you briefly once more, his thumb sweeping over your pulse point.
Jeonghan releases you with a reluctant sigh. “Go on,” he urges. “You smell like fear and blood. I don’t like it. I prefer your scent.”
Nodding, you slip past him, shoulder brushing his chest. You feel the way he leans into it, almost as if he might pull you back in for another taste. Jeonghan has restraint, though. Instead, he watches you retreat, eyes half-lidded and smile wicked.
It’s warm in the washroom, the smell of lavender making you miss Seokmin. Carefully, you strip yourself down, hands still shaking. You’re unsure if it’s from Jeonghan or the fight in the halls - possibly both.
The water is near-scalding when you sink in. You hiss but it feels good, letting the heat chase away the ache in your muscles. You wash slowly, pressing the lavender soap into raw skin streaked with dirt and dry blood. Cupping the water, you splash your face, feeling the heat of it behind your eyelids.
The Call hums faintly in your chest still. It’s strange, like the cadence of your breathing has taken up the natural resonance of the power. It should terrify you - it does, a little. But beneath the terror is the lash of vengeance, a violent urge to undo everything the Divine has ever done, to unmake her.
Your father used to tell you that vengeance got you nowhere. You were always a fiery child, eager to hit back or to make someone feel the same pain they had dealt you. Sometimes, you still feel like that little wolf, eager to hit back and make your enemies suffer tenfold.
A hesitant knock draws you from your thoughts. You know it’s Chan. His scent is barely detectable over the lavender haze of the water, but you can sense him, too. You drift toward the center of the pool where it’s deep, the water lapping your collarbones.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open and Chan slips in. He hesitates, standing near the threshold, unsure of how far he’s allowed in the room. His hair is damp at the ends from sweating and he’s still covered in grime and blood. He smells like iron and clover - him with blood.
“Hi,” he says softly. His eyes are gentle, something hesitant and unsure to the curve of them. He shuts the door when you don’t dismiss him, the sound of running water the only thing between you. “Are you okay?”
You nod. “Come clean up. I don’t like seeing you covered in blood.”
Chan ducks his head to hide the curve of his smile and the flush of his neck, hair shielding his eyes. He listens, though. Even without you using the call. He drifts further into the room before he sheds the pants, kicking them off.
Without a word, he steps to the edge of the pool, his eyes never leaving yours. He slips into the water with barely a ripple. The water envelops him and he sinks down until it’s kidding the slope of his collarbones.
Quietly, he begins to scrub away at the dirt and gore. You watch him, eyes steady in the hush. Your heartbeat stutters, then quickens, caught on the sight of his hands. There are scrapes and bruises on his knuckles, a purpling bloom on his cheekbone. The sight makes something tight and sorrowful pull at your ribs.
Drifting forward, you reach for him. He freezes, eyes darting to yours. You press lavender soap into his hands, close enough to hear him inhale shakily, far enough that you maintain some sort of restraint. He takes the soap with a thankful tilt of his head scrubbing it across the hard planes of his chest.
“You did well,” he says eventually. “Your practicing has paid off.”
“It was nothing like in practice. That felt… different from what Jeonghan and I have been doing.”
“I’m sorry you had to use it for me.”
“I chose to.” He nods and says nothing, the soapy line of water washing away like the tension between you. “Chan, I wasn’t trying to push you away before. Or reject you.”
His brow furrows, gentle lines creasing the space between his eyes. He doesn’t interrupt but nods, willing to listen to you.
“I was afraid. Not of you, but afraid of how I feel.” You press your palm to your chest. “In here. What it means that I like you all - that I want you all. That I feel you and relate to you on a level that is very new and very scary.”
You drop your hand to the water with a gentle slap. He remains silent, listening. “I kept thinking that maybe I was betraying the vengeance I wanted. What does it mean that I’ve found comfort here? When so many died? What does it mean that I’ve been stripped of my home but found people that I like anyway?”
Silence falls between you. Chan says nothing, watching you with steady eyes. Finally, he says, “I know. I knew. I was angry, but not at you - never at you. I was angry at myself because I think I’m what you fear to become.”
Chan drifts closer. You let him, watching as his eyes catch in the firelight. “You remind me of what I lost. My own kingdom, my people. The things I let rot under someone else’s boot because I was too young, too soft, too afraid to fight back when I should have torn the walls down with my teeth.”
You reach up, cupping his jaw. He leans into it, lashes fluttering shut for half a heartbeat. He’s impossible warm, scent unfurling at your touch. You drift close enough that your knees touch, the air between you thick with steam and heat.
“I can’t get my kingdom back. It’s been too long.” He swallows. “But I could help you get yours back. I can fight for you like I wasn’t able to fight for myself and my people. I- you’re not forgetting them or anything. I understand, though. You feel… delusional.”
That makes you laugh. It’s loud, echoing off the stone walls and he smiles, nuzzling your palm. His lips scrape over your wrist, a butterfly-delicate kiss. “You should laugh more.”
“You should make me laugh more, then.”
Chan’s smile is crooked but soft. He leans in and rests his brow against yours. “Alright.”
His lips brush your nose in the barest of grazes. He pulls back just enough to watch you with heavy-lidded eyes. His gaze is searching, waiting. You answer, tilting forward first to brush your mouth against his. He shivers and you feel it, a ripple down his spine as he sighs into your kiss.
When he kisses you back, it’s careful at first. His lips part, depending the kiss. It’s nose bumps yours clumsily but it makes you smile into the kiss, your hand drifting to cup him around the back of the neck. His skin is warm beneath your touch, the steady race of his pulse beating near your thumb.
He makes a quiet noise when you press closer, your hips brushing his under the water. You can feel his hardening cock against your thigh, feel the way he’s holding himself back, letting you lead wherever this is going.
You deepen the kiss, brushing his tongue with yours. He sighs into you again, melting as he presses your chest together. The friction against your nipples makes you moan softly in the back of your throat and he groans, breaking the kiss to curse.
“Don’t make sounds like that,” he growls, grip tightening on your hips.
“Why not?”
“I am barely keeping it together.”
Biting your bottom lip to hide your grin, you drag your hand from his neck down his chest. You feel the way his breath stutters when your fingers trail lower, slipping beneath the waterline to wrap around his cock. His mouth parts on a quiet, broken moan and you grin in full.
Chan’s hips twitch forward into your touch on instinct. His fingers tighten, blunt nails biting into your skin. His head falls backward, eyes fluttering shut as you stroke him, slow and careful under the water. Your thumb brushes over the crown of his cock where the tip is already sticky. The his that tears from him is wild and unrestrained, jaw slack, lips wet and parted as he breathes in hard.
Your name slips from his mouth and you surge forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest. He’s shaking beneath your touch, letting you pump him and squeeze your hand around his shaft as you draft your teeth across his skin.
While you work him in slow, teasing strokes, Chan’s fingers drift from your waist and he drops his head back to look at you, eyes blown. His fingers dance across your thigh, tracing the curve of your leg until he’s pulling at the back of your thigh to hook it around his so you’re spread.
“Let me,” he mumbles against your mouth, pressing a messy kiss to your lip. “Please.”
You nod and that’s all he needs. His fingers slip between your legs, tracing your slick folds. He groans against your mouth when he feels how wet you are, a breath sound leaving your lips as he traces your clit gently.
He teases you at first, the pads of his fingers circling achling slow around your clit, precise enough to stoke a fire in you, but too gentle to ramp it higher. The touch makes you whimper, your breath catching against his tongue. He swallows it eagerly, kissing you deeper as he coaxes your hips to roll toward him.
When your hand squeezes his cock in response, he gasps, hips stuttering. “You’re going to fucking ruin me.”
His fingers slip lower, pressing at your entrance, testing. One pushes inside you, slow, careful, curling as he finds the spot that makes your lashes flutter and your hips jerk forward. He watches your face, eyes wide with wonder and hunger all tangled together.
Your hand works him harder now, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. Another joins the first, stretching you open, his thumb brushing your clit in lazy circles that make your head tip back. You moan his name and he swears, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, guiding your mouth to his again. The kiss is slick and messy now, teeth clashing, breathless gasps lost in the steam.
Your hips rock into his hand, your pulse hammering. You feel him, hard and heavy in your grip, leaking against your palm under the water. His fingers curl inside you just right and you can’t help the whine that slips from your throat.
Chan pulls back just enough to see you, his lips flushed and kiss-bruised. He rests his forehead to yours again, eyes dark and reverent as he works you open with gentle, patient thrusts of his fingers.
“Can you come for me?” He asks, soft and rough. “Please?”
You nod, breath stuttering. The water laps at your shoulders as you grind into the cradle of Chan’s hand, the heat of him anchored to your thigh. Your palm squeezes tighter around his cock, stroking him in time with the slow drag of his fingers inside you. He curses, hips twitching helplessly into your grip even as he tries to keep the rhythm steady for you.
He kisses you again, open-mouthed and deep, his tongue tasting the sharp gasp you pour into him when his thumb rolls over your clit just right. The tension spirals through your belly, a coil wound tight, and you feel your walls flutter around his fingers.
Chan feels it too, nodding as he murmurs, “That’s it. Come for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers.”
He fucks his fingers deeper, curling them to drag that pleasure higher. Your hips rock helplessly, chasing the crest as you drop his cock to wrap your arm around his neck, fucking yourself against his fingers in earnest. He lets out a raw sound, teeth gritted as he watches you.
When you come, it’s with your forehead pressed to his, your moan lost in the hungry tangle of his mouth. Your pussy clenches around his fingers hard, fluttering and squeezing as he works you through it. When you start to come down, his kiss turns lazy and soft.
Your breath is still unsteady when he pulls his fingers from you. You whimper but he hushes you with a peck, palms skimming you hips down to your ass. He shifts, pulling back from you just enough to meet your eyes, his pupils wide and hungry.
“Come here.”
His grip slips to your thighs and lifts you in the water. You lock your arms around his shoulders, hooking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the edge of the water. He’s careful when he sets you down on the lip of the pool, the stone warm from the passing hot spring.
Letting go of you, Chan parts your knees with steady hands. He sinks lower, pressing kisses to the inside of your calf, tongue darting out to catch droplets of water cascading down your leg. You lean up on your elbow, head spinning, watching with parted lips as he mouths up your calf to your knee, nipping lightly.
When Chan’s eyes lift to meet yours, you think the look in them could burn you alive.
“Stay just like this,” he murmurs, lips bruising the softness of your inner thighs. “Let me taste you.”
You can only nod, your breath caught in your chest. Your thighs shiver under his palms and he hums his approval, sensing your anticipation. He trails wet kisses toward your heat, moving closer and closer to your aching cunt.
Reaching a hand down, you slide your fingers in his wet hair, tugging. He groans, nodding to signal that he likes it as he bites the crease of your thigh.
Chan’s tongue finally reaches where you want him most. He presses a warm, wet lick against your entrance, tearing a sharp gasp from your throat. It feels good, your pussy clenching as his tongue lazily traces your hole, dipping in only briefly before he licks slow and soft up to your clit.
“Fuck,” he mutters, hands locking around your thighs. He drags his tongue up and down your folds, the rough drag of it making your thoughts hazy. He loops up at you, eyes wild. “Keep your eyes on me.”
You nod and he grins before dipping back in. His mouth seals over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, devastating circles. Your hips jerk against his mouth but his grip is iron, pinned to the stone floor beneath you. You’re trembling and wet as he devours you, his mouth messy and loud as he sucks at the slick dripping from you.
Chan hums against you when you moan his name, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Your head starts to tip back, lips parted around a ragged breath but he growls and yanks your hips, starling you and forcing you to look down at him.
“Eyes on me,” he repeats. “I wanna watch you fall apart for me.”
Your gaze locks with his as he lowers his mouth to you again. His tongue slides through your pussy, teasing at your entrance before he plunges in deeper, groaning at the taste of you.
When he pulls back, his lips find your clit again, sucking it between his lips, tongue flicking quick and sharp. One hand slips from your thigh to press two fingers inside you, stretching you open while his mouth works you higher. His fingers thrust slow and steady inside you, crooking to find that sweet, devastating spot that makes your back arch off the stone.
“Chan-” you gasp, your voice breaking, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth.
He pulls back just a breath, panting against your skin, lips wet and pink and swollen. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, eyes blazing when they meet yours again.
“Come for me,” he begs. “Let me see it.”
And when he seals his mouth over you again, sucking hard, you do. The coil inside you snaps, a cry tearing from your throat as you clutch his hair, thighs trembling around his shoulders. He groans into you as you come, drinking down every shiver, every moan. He keeps licking you through it, slow, worshipful drags of his tongue until you’re whimpering.
Only then does he ease back, lips brushing soft over the inside of your thigh. He presses one last reverent kiss there before lifting his head, eyes dark, lips shining with your slick.
Wrapping his hands around your hips, he pulls you back into the water. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lean forward to kiss him, soft and reverent. He smiles into the kiss, his hands tracing your spine as he lets you wrap your legs around his hips, buoyant in the water.
“I want you,” you whisper, between kisses, nose bumping his. “Please.”
“Anything,” he growls. “Anything you ever want.”
One of his hands drifts down, guiding the blunt tip of his cock your entrance. The other cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, entrance by you. You like the way he looks at you, like you’re everything that he wants.
Both of you gasp as he pushes in. it’s a slow stretch, despite him working you open with fingers. Your cunt spasms around the thick press of his cock, pulse hammering as he eases in deeper. He swallows the sounds you make with a soft, open-mouthed kiss.
Chan bottoms out in a single, careful thrust, his hips pressing flush to yours. You feel full of him at this angle, the press and stretch of him making your lashes flutter. He doesn’t move, letting you adjust to every inch of him pressed into you.
“Gods,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “You feel so fucking good.”
You give him a breathless laugh. Your hands slip up to cradle his face, carefully holding him like he’s fragile. You know he’s not, but your fingers are soft as you trace the curve of his jaw. “Move for me,” you whisper. “Want it.”
He nods, pulling out just enough to drag the head of his cock against your walls before pressing back in, deep and slow. The water rocks around you, the waves lapping at the edge of the pool with each one of his thrusts.
Chan sets and unhurried but deliberate pace. His mouth finds your throat, tongue swiping across your scent gland. You see stars, melting in his arms as he holds you close to him. He mouths at your neck, scenting you and mouthing at you until you’re trembling in his hold.
You cling to him, legs tightening around his waist, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Each thrust drives you closer to insanity, blotting out every worry and concern you’ve had all day. His kisses are slow and sweet, keeping you tethered.
When he hits that spot inside you just right, your gasp breaks the hush, a soft, breathy moan that makes his hips stutter, his teeth scraping your neck in a gentle bite. He groans your name against your skin, the syllables half-swallowed by the steam.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling just enough to draw his eyes back to yours. His gaze catches the lantern glow, hazel swallowed by blown pupils, dark and glassy with need and something softer threaded through, something raw and unguarded.
You rock your hips to meet each slow thrust, the water sloshing around your bodies as he presses deeper, his pelvis grinding deliciously against your clit. The friction makes your breath catch, makes your nails bite into his shoulders as heat coils again, tighter than before.
“Gods,” you whimper, dropping your face to his neck. You nose his neck and he growls, nails biting your skin. “Don’t stop.”
“As if I fucking could.”
He adjusts his angle, bracing you tighter against the pool wall, his thrusts deepening, the slow drag of him inside you brushing that sweet spot again and again until your moans echo soft and helpless between the stone walls.
Black tea and clove unfold as you nose him, driving him wild. His thrusts become deliberate, chasing the orgasm that is slowly building. You feel the side of the pool at your back, a stark contrast to the heat and weight of Chan. You preen under his touch, tongue dragging across his neck as he hits that spot on a particularly hard thrust.
You go tight around him, coming without warning. You feel your cunt flood around him and he growls, fucking you through it, teeth gritted and grip like iron. Just as you start to tiptop into sensitivity, he comes, growling your name as he does.
He holds you through it, rocking you gently, mouth pressed to your temple as the water stills around you both, quiet now. When your eyes flutter open, he’s smiling at you softly, warm and shy. He kisses you once more, slow and tender.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Sleep in my bed tonight. Jeonghan will come lay with us.”
You grin. “Yeah?”
“Mhmm.” He kisses your temple. “Just want to lay with you a little while.”
When you and Chan emerge from the bathing room, it’s silent in the living quarters. It reminds you with a deep ache that the others are still gone, doing whatever it is the Divine has sent them to do. You hate it, but for now you’re tired and worn from the day, letting Chan tug you by the hand toward his room.
The door to his room is slightly ajar. He nudges it with the toe of his foot, guiding you inside with a gentle tug. Jeonghan is already there, of course, lounging in Chan’s bed with a book while a candle burns dangerously low on the nightstand.
He looks up, his eyes gliding over the two of you. He clicks his tongue dramatically, snapping the books hut and tossing it to the floor with a loud thud. He props himself up onto an elbow, dark hair spilling across his hand like silk.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, voice dripping with sweetness. “No one ever invites me. Do you know how sad that is? I sit here like a lonely ghost while I listen to you fornicate.”
“Shut up,” you growl at the same time Chan says, “What’s that?”
“You could’ve knocked,” Chan offers dryly, nose brushing your temple. “Or joined us.”
“He has a point,” you agree.
Jeonghan gasps, dramatic, hand pressed to his chest like you’ve mortally offended him. “Joined you? No poetic invitation? No sweet words begging to taste me, just a flat invitation to join too? How unromantic.”
Chan rolls his eyes but doesn’t let you go. His voice dips low, teasing as his mouth brushes your ear. “I’d share. If you want.”
You feel Jeonghan’s eyes narrow, heat flaring sharp and dangerous. He shifts on the bed like a lazy cat preparing to strike, chin propped in his palm, lips curled wickedly as he levels Chan with a look that could cut.
“Oh, you’d share, would you?” Jeonghan huffs, tongue clicking against his teeth. “You think you get to offer me a taste? I’ll have her when she’s ready for me. And she has to work for it, hmm?”
The way he says it - you’ll work for it - sinks into your gut like a thorn, sweet and sharp, stirring a heat that makes you squirm. You think of the press of Jeonghan’s mouth earlier, the soft drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the way he goes from soft to sharp in seconds.
Chan’s laugh rumbles warm in his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching. He tugs you closer, steering you toward the bed with a rough nudge of his nose against your temple.
“Out,” he says to Jeonghan.
Jeonghan just sprawls deeper across the blankets, refusing to budge, his grin all teeth. “Make me.”
Chan narrows his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s torn between wrestling Jeonghan off the mattress and dragging him under the covers just to keep him quiet. “Fine we can go sleep in Wild-”
“I don’t want to sleep alone, idiot pup. I’ve been alone all night while you two fondeled one another.”
You bite back a laugh, warmth blooming through your chest despite the heat still pulsing low in your belly. Chan’s hand strokes over your back, soothing, while his gaze flicks to Jeonghan with a resigned fondness that only deepens the hush between you all.
“Fine, scoot over,” Chan grumbles.
Jeonghan brightens, pushing himself up on his elbows. He scoots backward on the bed, making an exaggerated show of fluffing the pillows, clearing space as if he owns the place - which, when you lay down and smell how heavy the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine is, you think he might.
Chan follows behind you, pressing up against your back like a wall of warm, strong arms circling around your waist as you settle against the pillow. Jeonghan curls into your front, his arm draping over your waist, fingers tangling with Chan’s where it rests on your hip.
“See,” Jeonghan mutters, sleepy already. “Was that so hard?”
“Shut up or you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“You have no power here, pup. I outrank you.”
Chan grumbles and says nothing. You laugh and shift your arm, looping your arm over Jeonghan’s waist to keep him close to you. “I like you close like this,” you whisper. He smiles and presses in closer, feet tangling with yours.
“I like it too.”
Between them, you drift, their warmth a barricade against the cold stone walls, their breath a hush that folds over you. The world narrows to the press of Chan’s chest against your spine, Jeonghan’s arm a weight over your hip, hand clasped with Chan’s.
When you fall asleep, you taste black tea and jasmine.
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First of all, thank you very much for all the support that the first chapter had! It made me really happy to see every comment and reblog, it really motivated me to continue writing 🥰🥰
Please let me know again what you thought of this chapter in the comments, as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated too 💖💖
My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
Jacaerys was irritated. Firstly, because it is evident that you had already begun to play in front of the cameras since when you two arrived at the train station you did not bother to hide your tears, you probably thought that perhaps this way you could get a sponsor or else your strategy was to show yourself weak and like an easy prey to later fight in the arena. That's what Sabitha Vypren, from District 7, had done in her games.
The second reason for his irritation was his uncle. Larys hadn't said a word to him since before the Repair or even now that they were on the train heading to the Capitol. This was supposed to be the time for them to prepare strategies together, for Larys to give them advice on surviving the arena, but his uncle seemed more focused on enjoying the pork chops and mashed potatoes. Jacaerys was also eating, he was ready to eat everything he could to gain the most muscle mass before the games started, but now and then he would stop and stare at Larys hoping that at some point his uncle would decide to speak.
“So, what do we have to do for Jacaerys to win?” you asked, breaking the silence and making him choke.
You were the first to react, you quickly got up and started hitting him on the back until he finally spit out the piece of meat. Effie looked at him with disgust.
"Are you okay?" you asked, looking at him with concern and now caressing his back. Jacaerys noticed how his uncle looked at the two of them with interest. He had no idea why, neither of you two had done anything extraordinary, he made a fool of himself by choking and you ran to save him…Well, I had to admit that your action was striking, someone else would have let him die by drowning to have one less competitor in the arena, not only that but you just said that you wanted to help him win. It didn't make sense… Unless it was another strategy to gain his trust only to then stab him in the back in the arena.
"I'm fine," Jacaerys responded, putting his hand on your arm to stop your caresses. You blushed and moved away from him as if you had been burned by his touch. “What do you mean by that you said earlier?” he asked you once you sat back down.
"You have a chance to win, Jacaerys," you declared as if it were obvious. Evidently, he couldn't hide his confusion because you continued talking "You know how to hunt and you have good aim. Every time my father buys you squirrels he says that the arrow always hits the eye, you never ruin the body" the boy felt the heat rise to his face at your words and he was sure he was blushing because suddenly you seemed to be stopping yourself from smiling. "So if either of us has a chance of winning it's you. I'll probably be one of the first to die but I think I can be of help in the interview" you said the last thing looking at Larys.
Jacaerys felt his appetite disappear. It didn't sit well with him to hear you talk as if you were already resigned to dying. "She's got a good right hook," he said, looking at his uncle. He couldn't let Larys give up on you quickly, if you lost his interest then he surely wouldn't bother trying to help you win. "Lucerys told me. She hit a boy who was bothering him and gave that idiot a black eye."
"Jacaerys, I won't be able to win just by hitting people. Besides, there are surely tributes even bigger than that boy, they will attack me before I can even land a hit on him."
For a moment he had the image of an unknown tribute mercilessly attacking you with a sword before you had the chance to defend yourself. His stomach fluttered at the image of your broken body.
"You, on the other hand, can attack from afar with your bow. If you hide well you can have an advantage" you continued and went back to eating without realizing that your companion was looking at you with a frown.
Your attitude was irritating him. You should have been trying to impress Larys by saying what other things you can do but instead, you keep talking about him. It did not make sense. It had to be a strategy or maybe you were thinking it was a lost cause to try to win the games by having him as a district partner and his uncle as his mentor. You probably believed that Larys would choose to put all the chips on him just because he was his nephew. That made him furious.
"She can lift weights. I saw her lifting sacks of flour"
You suddenly dropped the cutlery sharply on the table. "Enough, Jacaerys," the annoyance was evident on your face and in your voice. "Don't try to make me feel good just out of pity, please. I know I'm going to lose. Everyone knows that." "You made a gesture with your hand to let you continue talking when you saw him open his mouth." Do you know what my mother told me when she came to say goodbye to me? There may finally be another winner in 12. She wasn't talking about me" you said looking into his eyes.
Everyone knew that your mother was a witch but Jacaerys never imagined that she would be one with her own daughter. It was cruel to tell you that when perhaps it could be her last talk. She should have faith in you. Or at least give you the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to comfort you but he had no idea what to say. Besides, he didn't think his uncle would be happy if he saw him being nice to you. He would tell her that he was weak and that he didn't come here to make friends.
So Jace settled for looking into your eyes, hoping that you could somehow understand that he didn't want you to give up.
"Oh, darling, that's horrible," Effie said, breaking the tension between the two of you, placing a hand on her heart, she seemed genuinely moved. "I think you should try hard to win and prove your mother wrong."
You didn't say anything, you just gave a sad smile to the district escort. A moment ago Jacaerys felt bad for you but now he can't help but think that maybe you only told your last conversation with your mother to gain Effie's sympathy and get her to talk about you to her friends in the Capitol. He hated analyzing everything you did but he couldn't let his guard down with you if he wanted to go home to his brothers. He was sure that if Lucerys was with him and could see what was going on in her mind he would tell him that he was being paranoid. But maybe it wasn't wrong for him to doubt you, Jace thought when he noticed that Uncle Larys seemed to be evaluating you with his gaze.
“Let's start to see who his competitors are,” Larys finally spoke, ending the dinner.
Jacaerys was relieved to see that your stylist had put you in an outfit just like his, at least if he ended up making a fool of himself at the parade he wouldn't be the only one. You're wearing the same shiny leather boots and the same full-length black leotard with the cloak that flutters in the wind. The only difference between the two of you was that your suit seemed closer to your body, highlighting your curves.
As you are taken to the lower level of the Renewal Center, Portia, your stylist, along with her team can't stop talking excitedly about what a sensation you two will be. Cinna, Jacaerys' stylist who came up with the idea of setting their outfits on fire, seems tired of the congratulations. Jace couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he, too, was nervous that it wouldn't work and would end with them dead. You didn't look nervous, which shouldn't surprise him considering you were probably used to fire since he worked at the bakery.
Once they arrive, they basically find a giant stable. The opening ceremony is about to begin so the stylists are having their tributes ride into carriages pulled by a group of horses. Cinna and Portia lead you and Jacaerys to their carriage, both of them carefully arranging the posture of the two of your bodies and your cloaks before stepping aside to talk something between themselves.
“What do you think of the fire?” Jacaerys asked you in a whisper. He tells himself that he's just talking to you to distract himself from his nerves.
“At least we're not naked,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Jacaerys grimaces as he remembers those poor tributes who had to parade naked covered in black dust. It had happened years before his uncle became a victor, the only reason why everyone knew about that incident was because whenever the games approached on television they did a recap of the best kills, the best dressed as well as the worst deaths and the worst dresses. In the latter, those poor tributes always appeared.
“Uncle Larys definitely wouldn't have let that happen. He probably would have hit them with his cane as soon as they told him that idea,” Jace said with a small smile as he imagined his uncle hitting the stylists and scolding them. You must have imagined the same thing too because you started laughing. Your laughter was contagious so he soon joined you, feeling his nerves disappear for a moment as well as the heaviness in his shoulders. Cinna and Portia will probably be upset that you two lost your posture but neither you nor Jacaerys seemed worried about it.
"If something goes wrong I promise to take out your cloak while you take out mine," you said trying to get serious again but from the corner of your lips, it was evident that you wanted to smile.
"Deal," he agreed with a small smile.
Jace's calm demeanor disappeared the moment he saw his uncle. He tensed as he watched him walk towards the carriage, ready to feel his eyes judging him and scolding him for acting like a child. His uncle was right to be angry, now the other tributes would see them as weak and stupid.
"I want you to present yourself as a united front," Larys said, surprising his nephew.
"What?"
"If you want to win then you have to do everything I say" the mentor reminded them "So you will go out, hold hands, and greet the audience" In his tone of voice there was no room for discussion but Jacaerys had many questions. He couldn't do any of them because when started playing the opening music Larys headed for the exit.
"Come on, don't look so upset. It's not like I have scabies," you nudged him. If he hadn't been focused on seeing the tributes from District 1 in his glowing robes then he would have noticed how the sparkle in your eyes seemed to have dimmed.
It's not many minutes before you and Jacaerys are near the doors. As the District 11 tributes leave, Cinna appears with a torch. You and Jace don't have time to back away when the stylist turns on both of your cloaks. The three of them sigh in relief when they see that it worked.
“Remember head up and smile. Oh, don't forget the most important thing, hold hands. They're going to love you!" Cinna quickly tells them before getting out of the carriage.
Jacaerys hesitates before taking your left hand. Unlike him, you don't hesitate to intertwine your fingers with his. You give him one last smile before his carriage enters the city. The crowd seems alarmed at first when they see the fire but then they soon begin shouting both their names. Jace can't help but feel overwhelmed by the feeling of everyone's eyes on him so he focuses on staring at the screen. For a moment he is breathless, the two of you look wonderful, especially you look brilliant as you wave and blow kisses to the crowd. In the low light of twilight, the fire illuminates both of your faces and your cloaks seem to leave a trail of flames behind. Cinna got what he wanted and gave you both a chance, no one would forget about you two, you really made a sensation.
You squeeze Jacaerys's hand and remind him under your breath to “Smile.”
Then he tries his best to give his best smile and starts greeting you. Someone among all these people must have wanted to sponsor him. This was an excellent opportunity to win over the audience and he had to take advantage of it. He remembers the words of his uncle Larys, so he raises their joined hands, making the screams increase even more. When they enter the City Circle they lower their hands but neither you nor Jace try to let go. During President Snow's speech, Jacaerys is distracted by feeling you caress his skin with your thumb, he tries not to think about it too much, he tells himself that you must be nervous and you do it unconsciously. Luckily it doesn't take long for the national anthem to be heard and the carriages travel around the circle for the last time. Jacaerys notices that the screens seem to show you two more than the other tributes.
He finishes confirming that it was not his imagination once you arrive at the Training Center and get off your carriages. As Cinna and Portia remove their cloaks, you and Jacaerys notice the angry glances of the other tributes, especially Royce Baratheon, the burly boy from District 2 who volunteered, and his district partner Agatha Durrandon.
Jace notices that the two of you are still holding hands so he lets you go.
"The flames suit you well and you have a beautiful smile" you declared with a smile making him blush.
Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader
Word count: 1.3k
Note: I need to give a warning sign that from now on this is all based on the book, so if you haven't read Fire & Blood, you'll find lots of spoilers here </3 <3
Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.
Rhaenyra sniffles, wiping away her tears as she looks down at her precious newborn. Y/N coos softly, her tiny hand wrapping around Rhaenyra's finger. Despite the warmth of her daughter's touch, she can't shake the chill that's settled deep within her heart. She'd thought Lucerys was safe on his journey to the Stormlands, but the news of his brutal murder had shattered her.
The fresh memory of his bloody corpse, even that was not granted to her, no, there was nothing left of him to bury.
She stared at her baby, the profound despair for what her children would have to suffer in the unending battle for the Iron Throne.
She knew that Daemon was already making moves in Harrenhal, mobilizing his forces and solidifying his alliances. He was cunning, and his skills in manipulating people were prodigious. He was not afraid to use his wits.
However, she was confined to Dragonstone, trying to gather resources and support from her loyalists while the Seven Kingdoms were swept up in the war that Daemon was yet to unleash.
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but worry about her other son, Jacaerys, who was surely on his way to the North to strike deals with Lord Stark. She prayed for him, dusk until dawn.
She speaks softly to little Y/N, trying to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. "How is it possible that your smile resembles Y/N's? Issa jorrāelagon hāedar, issa mērī hāedar (My dear girl. My only girl) Your brother loved you since he laid eyes on you, and he will watch over you your whole life."
Rhaenys watches from across the room, concern etched deeply into her features as she thinks of her own daughter, wishing you were home. "We cannot let this war tear us apart. We must stay strong for one another," She says, determination in her voice. "We will get through this."
Rhaenyra was grateful for Rhaenys’ solace, they knew that neither could afford to be slack in the war. She knew her daughter needed a mother who wouldn't let her down; Joffrey, Aegon & Viserys relied on her too.
Despite the turmoil that surrounded her, Rhaenyra found calm in the sound of Y/N's gentle breaths as she slept, holding onto the hope that you’d come around, and that Silverwing would rise again in support of the rightful heirs.
-
Aemond and you had been avoiding each other since the incident. The air between you was heavy and it was almost unbearable to be in the same place as him. You both knew that you needed to talk about what happened and clear the air.
It was a dark and stormy night, with rain pelting against the windows of the Keep. He walked up to you and sat down beside you.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Y/N, I swear on everything I hold dear, I didn't mean for it to happen. It got out of hand and I never thought Vhagar would flout my commands."
You turned to him, your eyes burning. "How do you expect me to forgive you for taking my nephew from me? I don't know how to move on from this. It's just too much."
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but I'm begging you, please."
You looked at Aemond for a moment before speaking softly. "I don't know how to forgive you, but I'm willing to try. I just need some time, Aemond."
Aemond nodded understandingly, his heart feeling a little lighter knowing that you were willing to try to forgive him. But then, he couldn't help himself, "I earned Storm's End for Aegon. My sister should desist before she keeps losing her children."
You looked at him with hurt and rage. You couldn't believe that he would say something like that after what he had done.
You stood up, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Aemond. How dare you bring that up right now?"
He watched you as you stormed out of the room, feeling more alone & stupid than ever before.
-
You and Alicent strolled through the lush gardens of the Red Keep, enjoying the peacefulness of the space. The flowers looked seemingly untouched by the factional turmoil that surrounded them.
Your mind kept drifting back to the clubfoots’ strange shit. You knew that Alicent was “close” to him, and you were worried that she might be involved in something dangerous.
"Alicent.” You began tentatively. "I'm really worried about Larys's conundrums. They seem so... cryptic. Do you know anything about them? Has he been mentioning something that seems… off?”
Alicent's face grew tense for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "I don't know much more than you do, Y/N.” she said carefully. "But I think it's better not to get too involved. You never know what kind of trouble you might stir up."
You frowned, sensing that Alicent was holding something back. "Trouble? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Her eyes flickered with emotion, and she hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. "There are... things that I can't share with you, Y/N. Secrets that... well, that I can't reveal. Not yet."
Your heart sank at her words. You had always known that Alicent was a private person, but this felt different. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
"Are you okay?" You asked suddenly, sensing Alicent's distress. “Are we keeping secrets from the other now?” You felt extremely guilty at that remark, since you haven’t told her about yours.
Alicent leaned toward you and tenderly placed a kiss on your lips, cutting off any further conversation about Larys. For a moment, everything else faded away - the gardens, the riddles, the world outside the enormous castle.
When you broke apart, you meekly laughed. "What if someone is spying on us?" You joked.
"They knew about you and Rhaenyra," she teased. "Only fair that they know about us too."
You smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Whatever was going, or any other political intrigue, you knew that you could trust Alicent, and that, more than anything else, was what mattered.
She would come to you when needed, would not jeopardize what was between you.
-
You felt restless as you waited for Helaena to arrive. You had always been very close with her, almost like a daughter of sorts, but there was an uneasy feeling that had settled in since the last small council meeting.
You tried to push it aside as Helaena arrived with her two children, Jahaerys & Jahaera. You greeted each other warmly, and you tried to put on a smile. Although the fear that had plumped was hard to ignore.
As you made your way to Alicent's chambers, the feeling only intensified. You didn't expect what awaited you.
The guards at the door were quickly slew. You, Helaena, and the children were ambushed by two individuals, their faces covered. Alicent was bound and gagged in the corner of the chamber. They snatched the kids from Helaena.
“Scream and you all die.” One of them spat.
“Who are you?” Helaena kept her calm, she has never been this frightened before.
“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. The rest we won’t hurt, not a hair. Which one is it gonna be, Your Grace?” You went pale.
“Take me. Do anything with me but don’t harm them, please, please.” You desperately cried out.
You tried to wrestle with the abductors to no avail. You were hit hard from behind. Your vision started to blur as you heard Helaena pleading for them to leave the children alone.
The last thing you remembered was the muffled pleas before you blacked out.
