The Eighth Night
Fracture - Prologue
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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Warnings: Panic Attack, Grief Synopsis: You awake in the middle of the night again. Memories threaten to take over, and you find yourself venturing out of the infirmary room you've been stuck in for some fresh air.
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You jolt awake for the eighth night in a row.
Screams of your Squadmates. Smoke that burns the lungs, and a blistering, suffocating pain in the chest. Wind, Fire, and Freefall.
You sit up quickly, taking rapid breaths in the darkness of your room. Breathe.
Your hands grapple at the sheets in an attempt to ground the emotions quickly spiraling out of control, the blankets providing little respite.
Memories continue to flash through your minds eye as you attempt to suppress them. Thick black fog. Red eyes. The feeling of your squad mate being ripped from your hands-
“You’re awake again.” Dànshael’s voice echoes in your head, interrupting the spiral. Of course your ever-annoyingly-present blue Daggertail is up at this hour, too.
“Go back to sleep.” You counter. You’re not in the mood for another one of Dàn’s lectures.
“Your pain tore through the bond sharper than any blade, and the silence after was deafening. Of course I’m up.” Dàn quips. “If my sleep is to be haunted by your grief, I will haunt your waking hours.”
A quick huff, and you’re kicking your legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing only your winter flight jacket and a dagger out of habit, you slip on your boots and head to the door.
“Why don’t you just block it out then? I don’t need a babysitter, Dàn.” You snap back, irritation bubbling out of the anxiety in the pit of your stomach.
Your room door swings open with a swift push, slamming into the wall far louder than intended. No matter, you think, as you’re already halfway down the hall when the sound of your door clicking closed behind you reaches your ears. You don’t care where you’re going, or if you’re caught. You just need to get out. It’s not like there’s anyone in the infirmary hall to hear you, anyways.
Reaching the stairs, you head up to the old battlement walkway, not caring it’s off-limits for renovations currently. The walk up the stairs is slightly tricky — rocks have been dislodged and steps are crumbling — but you manage fine. Magelights don’t reach this far in the battlement’s dilapidated state, so you rely on memory and reflexes to make it up the last stretch. Gray dust coats your hands when you finally get to the top. The weather outside whistles fiercely, and the cold nips at your face, but you could care less.
Finding a suitable spot against the stone where the wind doesn’t immediately whip hair into your face, you sink down. Your back rests against the cold stone, and you curl into yourself, knees hugged to your chest as you stare at the floor in front of you, trying to block out the memory of that night.
“You act like you wish to disappear.” Dàn’s voice hisses slightly at you, displeased at her rider’s sullen attitude.
“Maybe I do. Just for a moment.” You reply outloud, voice wavering slightly.
Dàn doesn’t respond immediately, as you take in the quiet night. Clouds block the moon out, and it’s cold enough it might snow before sunrise. The air is bitter and cold, while the wind continues to howl around you. The tower seems to creak, as if the weight of all its seen is catching up to it for a moment. Maybe, it too remembers things that haunt this school, holding space for ghosts between the cracks of wood, stone, and cement.
“Are you a coward then, Little One?” Comes her dragon’s reply after a moment. Part challenge, laced with a hint of concern.
“Maybe I am.”
“No. I do not choose cowards, and I am never wrong.”
You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes as you pick at the crumbling stone under you. White bits of worn stone crumble in your hands, like chalk.
“There’s always a first time for mistakes.” You respond.
Dàn’s presence in your mind floods you for a moment, irritated as she tries to reach through your bond as you attempt to ice her out in your pain. She persists regardless, not in a way that’s invasive or nosy, but rather an instance of attempting to help ground you, comfort even, though she’d never admit to doing that.
“You are haunted by memories. Laughs, smiles, smells. That does not make you a coward. You don’t flinch when you’re free falling off my back mid battle. That’s not the mark of a weakling.” Dàn challenges again.
“I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“You did not need to be. Your thoughts are already akin to screaming.”
You slam the walls down on your connection, icy blocks severing the sparkling silvery-blue tether between you and Dàn. Despite this, Dàn pushes through them easily, set on continuing.
“Closing yourself off is unwise, little one.”
You prepare to snap at your dragon again, but your petty argument is interrupted by the sudden glow of magelights shining on you, and the clearing of a throat. You turn your head to see who it is — only to feel your heart drop to your stomach. The Section leader.
Seonghwa eyes you up and down, his expression carefully neutral.
“Care to explain why you’re up on a crumbling battlement in the middle of the night, cadet?” Seonghwa asks, holding the mage light up as he frowns in disapproval.
You stiffen under his gaze, mind racing. The wind whipping around you is nothing compared to the chill you get down your spine from being caught, and you’re well aware nothing you say can get you out of this — not a lie, and certainly not the truth. Not unless you wish to chance being reprimanded for openly grieving.
“Couldn’t go back to sleep, sir. I thought some air might help.” You weakly manage.
Seonghwa stares at you for a moment, before pulling himself up the final bit and onto the battlement. His boots crunch against the ancient stone, as he lowers the mage light to get a better look at you.
“So you decided breaking protocol and hiding on top of a battlement — one that’s closed mind you — was the best idea?” He asks, voice smooth. He shifts slightly, the sword against his back clanking against whatever metallic item he has strapped to the back of his flight leathers.
You look away, refusing to look at him and instead choosing instead to stare into the dark night sky. Memories of that night replay in your mind. A thick fog, air that burns the throat. Screams, burnt cloth. He hums, shifting to hold the light higher, as he squats next to you.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Seonghwa finally comments, cutting through the momentary silence. His voice seems almost imperceptibly softer, as he joins you in gazing into the distance.
You fiddle with the edge of your coat, jaw clenched uncomfortably. He stands next to you like this for a moment, waiting to see if you’ll respond, before sighing.
“Whatever it is that bothers you…” he trails off. Knowing him, his rank, and the fact news spreads quickly — he likely already knows what bothers you — but he at least has the decorum to not mention it directly. Understanding crosses his face for a moment, before he holds his hand out to help you up.
“If it keeps you up, know you don’t have to face it alone, cadet. My door is always open.” He adds softly.
The offer catches you off guard, but it helps soothe some of the pain, if only for a moment. Riders don’t make room for softness — let alone officers. Not when grief can be seen as weakness. Not in a school where it’s kill or be killed.
A moment passes, before you’re grabbing his gloved hand with your own apprehensively. The leather of his glove is smooth, and surprisingly warm to the touch, despite the cold outside where he’s likely been patrolling all night. As you finally stand, a snowflake falls onto your joined hands, before he pulls it away.
“Now get down from here before I have to write up a report on a cadet out past curfew, let alone in a restricted area.” He says, as he gestures for you to start the climb down, before letting out the faintest snort. “Or before you catch a cold.”
He waits for you to get a decent way down, before following. There’s a heartbeat of silence, followed by the heavy thud of his boots as he reaches the ground just behind you. Dust and debris are kicked up, before he dusts his gloves off on his leathers. He glances up at you, making eye contact. A silent understanding seems to pass between you, before he nods curtly, before turning to walk away down the hall. He’s only a few strides down the hall when he pauses.
“Oh, and Y/N? Pack your things. You'll be moved out of the infirmary and to Squad Three's Dorms in the morning. Hongjoong is not nearly as patient as I am.”
That’s all he adds on before disappearing around a bend in the hall. The magelights slowly flicker off after behind him, as you’re left alone with your thoughts again.
You linger for several moments. The silence is loud, but it doesn’t feel so suffocating at this moment. One minute. Two, maybe. It's comforting, and doesn’t ask for anything in return. You take it in, before heading back to your room, the hallways still thankfully empty.
Sleep doesn’t come easily when you get back to your room, though it seems slightly easier tonight. It eventually takes over somewhere between worries about officially being cleared for field training in the morning, and melancholic memories of your old squad.
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