#riseopen

[forlornmyth]

TUCKED AWAY IN A CORNER  OF PALACE — LORD DO JITAE WAITS AMONG ( OPEN STARTER / Capping at 2!)

jitae never cared much for dramatics. 

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

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

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

“do you think they’re going alphabetically?” he at least tries to sound sheepish, but his impatience is evident as he fidgets slightly. “or by household? i’m in a bit of a rush. i have to travel quite far to return home.”

[legacykills]

in the dead of night, the ghost of his sister haunts him. it’s expected, the lord of the light may have blessed him throughout daylight, but his nights—his nights belongs to his demons. his nights are guilt wrought; oftentimes accompanied by an incessant pounding within his temples and a familiar yet foreign weight on his chest (not like one of a dying heart, but not entirely different either). his nights are chaesan’s last words, tone thick with unbridled ire and something more, the tear she shed for whom her brother used to be (when his dreams reenact this exact scene, chaehwi realizes, he is also crying). his nights are the thousands dead at his whim, his boyhood wrung dry and hung alongside their bodies. and when his demons refuse to relent and peaceful slumber once again eludes him—he rises like the infuriated dead and visits blue.

                                                                         /

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

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

the dragon near purrs, nudges gently against his palm—a gesture meant to be reassuring—but stiffens at a new presence, muscles pulling back to show teeth. “hush,” chaehwi clicks his tongue, swallowing past the thickness of his throat to regard the unannounced guest. here, despite being a disciple of the lord of the light, he takes comfort in being enshrouded by the cool dark of night. “you know, i’ve said it before—if you step into blue’s territory without prior notice, you do so knowing that it’s on your life.” his eyes cast blearily over the figure, lips twisted into a thin frown. “what is it?”