summary. Five beings, each an entirely different being from the other, yet bound by the common thread of tragedy that haunted them. Their lives had been marked by the bitterness of existence and only found solace in each other. Then, you appeared, a sweet little thing, willingly giving them the gentle love they had long been denied. They couldn't help their affection for you, taking you in as if you had always been there, a part of them, a heart split six ways.
cw/ tw; f!reader, fae!yeonjun, vampire!soobin, werewolf!beomgyu, wizard!taehyun, elf!kai, fantasy au, royalty au
features; txt, names of other idols that i decide as i go
Preface: A Heart Split Six Ways
The Merciless Prince: he who kills without remorse.
"They will all pay with their worthless lives, I will make sure of it."
"I’ve wandered these lands for eons, yet never have I found anything I yearned to protect so desperately."
"Your blood tastes like ambrosia; if I wanted to drink you dry, you'd let me, wouldn't you."
The Beguiling Fae: he who charms with allure.
"They are unworthy of your beauty; let me show you the heaven angels like you deserve."
"You love me so softly, as if you want nothing more than my heart and soul."
"I crave your innocence, rather, I crave to corrupt that innocence with my own, tainted hands."
The Deviant Werewolf: he who abhors his blood.
"They hurt my princess and for that I shall hunt them one by one, shredding them limb by limb."
"You are the gift that the Moon Goddess bestowed upon me; you are everything I need in this world."
"Let me mark you- I know you want me to just, let me make you mine, I'll go insane if I don't."
The Scheming Wizard: he whose magic deceives.
"They shall learn the consequences of targeting you; my magic will serve as their just retribution."
"All my life, I believed magic was the most powerful force in the world, but you came along and revealed to me that it is love."
"You trust so blindly that I could present you with any potion, and you would drink it without question, leaving me to ponder how far I could push your faith."
The Foolish Elf: he who rejects his power.
"They have no idea how long I have been holding back, yet they dare to touch you?"
"I am so undeserving of your love; I'd bring the whole world to their knees just to be with you.”
"You are so blissfully naive to remain unafraid of me, even as I intend to test your naive kindness to its very limits."
The Forlorn Angel: she who cries for the sinners.
"Love is such a pure and raw essence; why must it be confined by arbitrary rules?"
"I've longed for a feeling like this for as long as I can remember."
"My heart is yours for as long as you desire it, for this is all I am and all I have."
author note: i wasn't sure if i wanted to post this or not but i ended up finishing it up anyway so because chapter 1 is under heavy editing rn. making the mood boards took me the longest....also can you really call this a preface ;;; oh well, enjoy! as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated <3
pocket fairy!huening kai + gn!reader; fluff + a bit of angst
a heavy storm was the least of your worries when you found a strange fairy that lost against the rain.
requested
“shit.”
it was most definitely not a pretty sight to see how the clouds still loomed over your cottage and yard after a heavy storm. you meant to go outside to check on a certain bed of flowers, but you grew anxious at the thought of getting in the rain.
with the small sliver of moonlight in the dark, you rush outside to quickly check on the said piece of land. the plants were thankfully perfectly intact, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about the storm getting worse. because of this you stayed outside to cover the ground with a tarp, working quickly to beat the rain.
in the middle of doing so, though, you see a small sparkle on the ground. at first you thought it was a mere hallucination that your mind was playing on you for whatever reason. then your mind lingers on it being the rainwater shimmering against the small amount of moonlight in a weird way.
but when you secure the last corner of the tarp, the small patch of shining glitter grows. it’s very slight, but noticeable enough to catch your attention even more. so with careful steps, you walk over to this mysterious patch, leaning down to get a more clear look.
nothing came to mind when you tried to figure out what it could’ve been, but what you didn’t know you’d ever see was right in front of your eyes— a tiny man the size of your palm with what seems to look like wet, damaged wings.
“oh my goodness,” you whisper and pick up the strange thing in your hands. despite not knowing what the hell it was, you grew extremely worried since it looked pretty beat down by the storm.
the small fairy was too frazzled by your sudden presence to even peep a word, holding himself close as you took him inside your home. the kindness you showed him was enjoyed by him, but it also made him worry that it would turn vile. however, that worry quickly passed when you placed him near a burning candle of yours to provide warmth.
“hi little fella,” you whisper softly, unsure what to call the magical being you brought inside your home. “are you okay?”
the boy gets closer to the candle, trying to warm up from the cold rain. no answer was given to your question though, and instead of pressing further, you thought it would be more productive to find him any spare fabric so he could dry off.
whilst you did so, the small thing attempts to dry himself off by squeezing out any left over water from his clothes. providing warmth to him was one thing, but the intention behind it was another, which is why he wanted to dry off quickly. unfortunately, you came back before he got close to even being damp.
handing him a few pieces of the fabric, he chooses the best one to use to dry off his hair and accepted the rest as dry, warm new clothes. as he got changed, you noticed how the wings on his back were more damaged than what you noticed first. it was most likely due to rain exposure for more than a few minutes, which made you even more upset.
noticing the struggle the small fairy had in attempting to dry off his main organ of transportation, you retrieve a small hand fan from your cabinets and begin fanning him slowly.
“thank you,” he says for the first time that night, noticing the amount you’re doing for him. like most fairies, he’s heard wild stories about humans and found it odd you were helping him. nonetheless, he was a kind creature who acknowledged your selflessness.
“no problem,” you say, watching him attempt to flatten out his beautiful wings. “do you need another piece of fabric for that, uh..”
the small fairy shakes his head and notices how you were curious of his name. he debated on whether or not to tell you, but does so anyways. making good company with a human like you would be best in his situation.
“kai. my name is kai.”
“nice to meet you, kai,” a soft smile was exchanged between the two of you. “i’m yn. do you want something to eat?”
note: hehe i left it open ended >< hope u like!!
taglist (open! send in an ask to join): [perm] @soobin-chois @run2seob @taedeco @bangchansbae @beommiecore @hueberry-shortcake [txt] @ghouerry @loveradhikabloggerworld @iluvsoobinsblog @hearts4csb
Lioren found her not in the crowd, nor among the food tents or shade circles, but beneath the roots of an old shroud-tree near the southern edge of the Grove’s clearing. She was sitting on the low stone ridge that marked the boundary between revel and rite, legs drawn up, skirt gathered like moss around her ankles, chin resting lightly on her knees. Her eyes weren’t wet, but they weren’t dry either.
He didn’t say her name. Not right away. He just came to sit beside her, his back against the same thick root, their shoulders nearly touching.
"You missed the honey-sticks," he said after a long silence. "The ones rolled in firepetal dust. They went fast. I snagged one, but then a child stole it out of my hand with a thank-you spell."
Arlette made a soft sound. Almost a laugh, but not quite. "Did you let them take it?"
"Of course not. I chased them three stalls and hexed their shoelaces."
A beat. She looked at him.
"You did not."
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You’ll never know."
The silence returned, this time more companionable. She exhaled slowly, like something she'd been holding all morning was finally, if not released, at least acknowledged.
"I thought I could handle it," she said quietly.
Lioren didn't pretend to misunderstand.
"You did handle it."
She shook her head. "Not like I wanted to. Not the way I imagined. He looked through me, Lioren. Not past me—through me. Like I was something already forgotten."
His voice gentled. "Or something he's trying very hard not to remember."
Her lips pressed into a line. "That's not better."
Lioren reached for a twig and began peeling it absently. "He's the one who walked away, Arlette. Not you."
A pause. A longer one.
"I just wanted him to see me. Really see me."
A horn rang out in the distance. Deep and melodic, followed by the flutter of banners lifting on the wind.
Lioren stood, then offered her a hand.
"Come on, then. If you want to glare daggers at him from a distance, you're going to need a better view."
She took it.
⚘
The Grove's clearing had transformed.
The revelry of the night before had been carefully brushed away, replaced by symmetry and solemnity. Silk banners in the five Realm-colors fluttered from the high branches: gold, green, blue, silver-white, and ash-gray. At the center, the five stone sigils gleamed with fresh runes carved deep into their faces. Around them, the crowd had gathered in concentric arcs—elders, council members, fae nobility, hopefuls' kin, and those like Arlette: unclaimed, watching.
To one side stood the Princes.
Each beneath the banner of their realm.
Taehyun looked carved of living root, calm and unreadable, arms clasped behind his back. Heuningkai stood with arms loose and easy, a grin never far from his lips. Soobin’s robes caught the light like breath, his expression a sculpted mask. Beomgyu leaned against the twisted base of a deadwood trunk, posture relaxed, tail flicking faintly, watching everything and nothing. And Yeonjun—tall, straight, sleeves rolled, expression like polished glass—stood with his hands folded, eyes trained forward.
He did not look at her.
But she looked at him.
She remembered fingers brushing as children, the way he’d tug her into hidden tree-hollows to whisper stories of the wind, how his laugh had sounded when it wasn't weighed down by expectation.
She remembered when it changed.
The Elders called the hopefuls forward.
One by one, eleven figures stepped into the inner ring. Some glowed faintly with latent magic. Some were still, pulsing only with breath and nerves. All wore sashes marked with the sigils of their realms.
Veyra. Tavien. Lythienne. Malric. Thalia. Elion and Aris, the Glade twins. Koren.
And three more:
Arlette's gaze moved across the unfamiliar faces. A girl stood toward the edge of the circle, not particularly tall, but solid in the way trees were. Her storm-colored eyes scanned the crowd with a kind of grim resolve that made Arlette's stomach tighten without reason. A twisted oak staff leaned against her shoulder, and her thick hair was braided in patterns Arlette recognized vaguely from knot-charm books in Tamsyn's old shelves—something to do with warding or protection. Someone murmured her name: Senn, of Emberglow.
Next to her, a boy with skin like candle wax and ink-stained fingers shifted soundlessly. His cheekbones were sharp, and there was a kind of eerie softness to the way he moved—as if he floated half a step out of time. She caught someone whisper, Neira of Glade. Apparently, he only spoke during ritual, and then only in song.
Further off, a third figure drew Arlette's attention for a different reason. A girl, young—maybe her age or a little older—with short-cut hair and fire-scars along her open palms. Her sash shimmered faintly, its fabric worn to near-threadbare, but unmistakably phoenix silk. There was something untamed in her posture, something that burned just beneath the skin. Arlette assumed she must be fae-blooded in some way—she had to be, to be standing here. And yet, something about her presence felt more feral than refined. Someone nearby muttered her name: Cael, from Verdant. She carried herself like she meant to burn through every trial.
The crowd shifted, murmured.
The eldest of the Council, robed in white bark and thorn-spun thread, stepped forward.
"Let the names be remembered," she said, voice like a stone bell. "Let the Realms bear witness. Let the Trials begin."
She raised a long hand, and the Grove answered.
The wind stirred the leaves. Lights sparked along the roots, one by one, tracing the boundary circle. Each hopeful stood with back straight, hands at their sides.
The Councilwoman continued.
"The path is not one of conquest, but of connection. To protect is to bind. To bind is to become. You stand here not to prove power, but to offer it. Not to dominate, but to resonate."
The hopefuls raised their hands in unison.
Together, they spoke:
"I offer my breath to the Realms, My strength to their balance, My truth to their trial. Let my oath be spoken, my path made clear. If I am chosen, I shall not break. If I am broken, I shall not fade. This I swear."
Then, to the Princes, they turned, and said:
"To you, I offer my protection. To your magic, I lend my heart. To your realm, I give my loyalty. Choose me, if I am worthy. Call me, if I am true."
The Grove pulsed.
For a moment, all was still.
Then Arlette felt it.
A weight. Not on her skin, but around her. A slow breath exhaled by the forest. A feeling of being... noticed.
She looked up.
Across the ring, past the crowd, past the swirl of banners, Prince Beomgyu was staring at her.
Not just in her direction.
At her.
His eyes were sharp, glinting copper in shadow. He didn’t look away.
Instead, he smiled. Just a little. A knowing curve at the edge of his mouth. Then he turned his gaze to the hopefuls.
Her heart gave a small, unsteady beat.
Lioren, beside her, whispered, "Did he just—"
“I don’t know,” she said quickly, eyes forward.
The crowd began to settle.
A tall figure emerged from the Grove’s inner paths—Elder Ravelyn of Whispering Grove, the eldest of the Council. She carried no staff, no symbols, only the silence that came with being listened to before she spoke.
“Let them be called,” she said, voice soft, but clear as morning.
The names echoed one by one, called aloud by the appointed attendant of each realm.
“Veyra, of Whispering Grove.” “Tavien, of Whispering Grove.” “Lythienne, of Whispering Grove.” “Malric, of Emberglow.” “Thalia, of Verdant.” “Elion and Aris, twins of Glade.” “Koren, of Netherwoods.”
A pause.
Then three new names followed:
“Senn, of Emberglow.”
The girl with storm-colored eyes and the braided, warding hair stepped forward. Her expression was eager but contained, fingers drumming lightly against her thigh.
“Neira, of Glade.”
The boy with candle-wax skin and ink-stained fingers shifted soundlessly into the circle. He wore a necklace made of woven thorns and silver wire.
“Cael, of Verdant.”
The girl with short-cut hair and fire-scars along her open palms moved into the inner ring, her phoenix silk sash shimmering faintly.
Eleven.
They stood within the innermost circle now, facing the Princes.
Yeonjun had not moved. Arlette saw him then—only because she could no longer not see him. He stood like wind made flesh: unmoving but never truly still. His horns caught the light just as she remembered, and the curve of his mouth hadn’t changed.
But he didn’t look for her.
He hadn’t looked for her once.
Elder Ravelyn raised her arms.
“You stand before the Thrones of the Five Realms,” she said, her voice winding through the gathered crowd like smoke. “The Trials begin not to prove power, but to prove bond. The magic you may wield comes not from blood, but from connection. From service. From choice.”
The hopefuls said nothing.
“You are not yet Wildlings,” she continued, referring to those Fae who live fully untamed by realm or prince. "You are only those who have heard the call, and answered.”
Another elder stepped forward now—hooded in deep green, likely from Verdant.
“You will face what cannot be faked: truth, endurance, vigilance, sacrifice. And if you reach the final day, and one of the Princes finds you worthy, then the Ceremony of Kin shall bind you.”
Heuningkai moved then, stepping forward to speak for all five.
“You will not be told what each trial will be. You will not be warned when they begin. You must act as if you are already a protector. And if you fail—fail honestly.”
He paused.
“And if you pass... know that your life is no longer yours alone.”
Then, together, the hopefuls knelt.
Hands pressed to the earth.
They spoke—not loudly, but in unison, as the ceremonial words rose up like roots.
“To the Princes, we offer our strength.” “To the Realms, we offer our service.” “To the Grove, we offer our truth.”
And then, rising again, they turned to the crowd.
All eleven voices rang out as one:
“We are the Hopeful. We stand to be chosen.”
The wind stirred.
And the Trials began.
⚘
The Gladeheart slowly emptied as the ceremony concluded, not in haste, but in waves. Nobles in soft-stitched robes stepped lightly between mossy stones, trailing silks and murmured conversations. Younger fae children followed the curving lantern lines toward the designated viewing ring, their feet bare, flower-petaled tokens still clutched in their hands. Elders moved more slowly, whispering to each other in tongues older than the Grove’s current names. The Grove itself responded—the light shifted, grew cooler. Shadows moved in longer arcs.
Arlette and Lioren walked with the crowd, though not inside it. They kept to the quieter edges of the path. She still hadn’t spoken again.
The viewing area had been shaped into a gentle crescent, carved naturally into a rise that overlooked the stretch of old forest known as Hollowfen Reach. The incline was subtle, but wide enough to hold hundreds—tiered by stone shelves and low root-bent benches. Here, courtiers, advisors, and high-ranking attendees took their places, with careful arrangement. The Princes’ platforms stood above all, though each shaded beneath a bowing canopy of branch and blossom specific to their realm—so no one was ever entirely in full light.
The hopefuls had been led down into Hollowfen itself.
Even from above, Arlette could see how the air was different there—wetter, weightier, as though the very trees held their breath. No paths were marked. No guides followed. Only the stones beneath the hopefuls’ feet knew where to turn. Thick mist moved low to the ground, curling at their calves like it had grown sentient. Branches above creaked faintly, not with wind, but with expectation.
A girl seated beside Arlette—no older than sixteen, with silver rings braided into her hair—tilted forward and whispered, “That’s the Echoing Grove.”
Lioren, seated at Arlette’s other side, gave the girl a warning glance. She flushed slightly but continued, quieter now, “That’s what they call it. I heard the elders say the trees down there mimic distress. If you’re not careful, you’ll spend the whole trial chasing cries that aren’t real.”
Arlette watched the mist shift. “Do the hopefuls know that?”
“They’re not supposed to,” the girl whispered, almost gleeful.
Lioren exhaled slowly and turned to Arlette, keeping his voice low. “It’s the first trial. The Trial of Intuition and Empathy. They won’t be given instructions. Only the Grove’s pull.”
Arlette glanced at him. “They’re expected to guess?”
“They’re expected to feel,” he said. “Each of them will hear something—or someone—they think needs help. But only one illusion is real. The rest are projections. Echoes.”
She furrowed her brow. “That’s already difficult.”
He nodded. “There’s a twist this year. The Elder Council requested it.”
Arlette’s heart stilled. “What kind of twist?”
Before Lioren could answer, the bell tolled again—not a horn this time, but a singular tone, struck gently. The sound hummed along the stone bench beneath her and scattered a few birds from the upper trees. Every face turned downward.
Below, the hopefuls began to spread out.
Their movements were cautious, quiet. Veyra was the first to move with intention—shoulders straight, expression unreadable, she passed between two elder trunks without hesitation. Her mirrored feathers flashed once before vanishing into the deeper green.
Tavien lingered near a low pool of water, brushing his fingers along its surface. Koren stood unmoving, listening, his hands clenched at his sides.
Arlette tracked Lythienne easily—her red braid a vivid ribbon against the gray-green mist. She looked calm, but her head turned at every sound. Birds. Branch snaps. Once, a child’s laughter—but no children had entered the Grove.
Malric disappeared second. His golden sash trailed briefly before the trees swallowed it whole.
And then the others followed—some alone, some shadowing another at a distance. Thalia walked with a hand extended to the trunks she passed, speaking under her breath. Cael moved with one hand on his blade hilt. Neira vanished so quietly Arlette wasn’t sure she’d seen her at all.
Only the twins, Elion and Aris, moved as one—side by side, not touching, but never separating. They did not speak. Their presence moved like a ripple through the forest floor.
From above, the Grove seemed to tilt—drawing each hopeful toward some unseen point.
Lioren finally answered her earlier question.
“The twist,” he said, watching closely, “is that the real cry won’t come until they’ve each already chosen something to help.”
Arlette’s gaze snapped to him.
“They’ll act on instinct,” he said. “But that won’t be the true trial.”
Down below, a cry rang out.
It was sharp. Human-sounding. Pain edged the voice, but not fear.
One of the hopefuls—Tavien—turned immediately, running toward the sound. Two others flinched. Lythienne froze in place.
Another cry followed. A different voice. A different direction.
Arlette’s breath caught.
“They’re being tested twice,” she murmured.
Lioren nodded grimly. “First for heart. Then for truth.”
A third cry now. Softer. Like someone calling from far beneath the earth.
The crowd around them leaned forward—some already whispering wagers.
Arlette said nothing.
Her eyes had moved again. Toward the Princes’ dais.
Heuningkai leaned forward, one elbow on his knee, intent. Taehyun whispered something to Soobin, who did not reply. Beomgyu stood at the edge, arms crossed, head tilted as if listening to something no one else could hear.
And Yeonjun—
He remained unmoving. Watching the trial below. Not speaking. Not turning.
The cries kept coming.
Not constantly—but with a rhythm that unsettled. A lull. Then a wail. A gasp where no body could be seen. Sometimes it sounded like a child. Other times like a grown voice, ragged and pleading. One even laughed—soft, brittle, and wrong.
The Grove allowed it.
The trees themselves didn’t move, but the air between them seemed to breathe differently. A faint pulse ran beneath the moss, as if the land was listening. Testing.
From her seat, Arlette could see the way the mist thickened the farther in the hopefuls strayed. The viewing ring offered a clear vantage of the trial’s border, but not its heart. That was by design. The inner Grove didn’t share its secrets easily—not with the crowd, and certainly not with the hopefuls.
Around her, murmurs passed like wind through reeds.
“She’s hesitating again,” someone whispered behind her—likely in reference to Lythienne, who now stood with one hand to a tree, eyes shut tight.
“She’s listening,” came another voice, clipped and faintly annoyed. “That’s not hesitation.”
Lioren shifted slightly beside Arlette but said nothing. He didn’t favor crowd chatter. He only watched.
Arlette let her gaze wander.
Across from them, in the upper tiers, a cluster of older Grove-born humans sat among the Fae—Tamsyn not among them, but several of her cousins were. She recognized the woven brooch of her kinline—a soft blue-green thistle emblem—worn just above a shoulder clasp. The humans sat straighter than most, alert, not tense. They had been raised in the outer groves, taught respect for the trials from childhood, and they did not speak during them.
Further up, fae from Verdant wore twisted ropes of moss along their arms—small sigils pulsing faintly with watchlight, a spell woven into each to capture fragments of the trial. Some would study the echoes later. Some would try to predict the final five.
This close to the Grove’s heart, magic always lingered.
Small lights floated just above the crowd—pale green and blue, some gold, tethered to no source. They drifted like spores, harmless, but watched. One hovered near Arlette for a beat, pulsing softly. She held still until it floated on.
“They record,” Lioren murmured, catching her glance. “Sometimes they follow a hopeful. The Grove chooses.”
Arlette turned back toward Hollowfen, frowning faintly.
“Do you think the Grove already knows who will be chosen?” she asked.
Lioren didn’t answer right away.
Eventually, he said, “The Grove always knows. The trials aren’t for its sake. They’re for the Princes. And the hopefuls.”
Arlette let that settle.
The cries had faded now—only one remained. It rose faintly from deep within the trees, not desperate, but weary. It didn’t repeat.
The hopefuls had all vanished from view.
A moment passed.
Then another.
From somewhere to her left, a noblewoman spoke with gentle contempt.
“They let humans watch,” she said, almost idly. Her voice was smooth, expensive. “But not enter. The line remains.”
Her companion chuckled. “Tradition protects us all. Otherwise, every mortal with a flower charm would try for a throne.”
Arlette didn’t move.
Lioren did.
He turned his head slowly toward them, said nothing—but stared.
And they turned away.
Another hush rippled through the viewing ring.
A fourth bell tolled. Low. Final.
“The illusion’s broken,” Lioren murmured. “The real cry will come now.”
Down below, the mist thickened to the point of concealment.
Then—one final sound. Not loud. Not desperate.
Just clear.
A child’s voice.
Soft. Hoarse. It said one word.
“Please.”
Arlette’s breath caught.
The moment hung like breath caught between heartbeats.
Below, the final cry faded—no echo followed it. No whimper. No rustle of brush or bending branch. Just the weight of that single word, spoken like a secret too long held.
Please.
Arlette gripped the edge of the bench beneath her, fingertips whitening. Around her, the crowd had gone utterly still. Even the drifting lights overhead dimmed, as if the Grove itself expected silence.
“Was that…” she began, barely above a whisper. “Was that one real?”
Beside her, Lioren exhaled slowly, his voice careful. “Yes.”
A chill crept across her skin—not from the air, but from the certainty in his tone.
She turned to him, mouth parted, question forming.
He didn’t wait for it. “Every hopeful will follow an echo. Illusions—some clearer, some meant to test instinct or mislead. But one cry is real. One pain is true. They’re being timed—not by us, by the Grove.”
“But if it’s real…” she said, frowning. “Then someone’s actually hurting? Actually—”
He nodded once. “Yes. But it’s controlled. Volunteered.”
Her eyes snapped to his.
“It’s the only way the trial can test for resonance. The Grove needs more than intention. It needs truth. Real pain sharpens the bond.”
“That’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right word.
He offered one. “Cruel?”
She didn’t nod. But she didn’t look away.
“They chose it,” Lioren said gently. “The one who is hurting. The Elders select a volunteer—someone capable of holding the pain without it breaking them. If a hopeful finds them and fails to help, an Elder steps in. But the act of finding them… of feeling them through all the noise…”
He trailed off, gaze dipping toward the thick mist curling like breath along the Grove floor.
“…that’s the trial.”
Arlette said nothing. Her throat felt tight. A line had been crossed in her mind—between the abstract idea of testing, and the jagged reality of what it asked. Not conquest, the Councilwoman had said. Connection.
She looked again toward the mist below.
The hopefuls had vanished from view. Eleven threads stretched into uncertainty. Eleven hearts listening for a truth buried in illusion. Somewhere among them, one was already closer than the others. Somewhere, one would feel it differently. She wasn’t sure if that made her heart ache or tighten.
Behind her, a cluster of middle-aged fae murmured, their tones hushed but edged with unease.
“They should’ve warned the court,” one said. “The first cry was too convincing.”
“They never reveal the structure,” another replied, older, wearing a crown of woven shadowvine. “It’s tradition. Keeps things… honest.”
“And the humans?” someone else asked. “What will they think of it?”
“They’re not the ones being judged.”
The remark wasn’t cruel, just cold. A truth offered plainly.
Arlette turned slightly. In the circle above the crowd, humans were more visible now, scattered between lowwood benches and stone bleachers carved from the Grove’s outer roots. They wore softer colors, fewer jewels. Some had rings of bark around their wrists—signs of kinship with Grove Fae. Others wore nothing ceremonial at all. One older man near the upper edge stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His face was worn, lined from years and weather, and he didn’t blink as he stared toward the Grove’s heart.
Arlette recognized him vaguely. Not a noble, but a craftsmaster of some kind. She remembered once being told he’d lost a child to a Fae spell gone wrong—one not meant for mortals. Now, he stood as still as stone, watching the Trials like someone waiting to see a promise broken.
In front of him, a young woman sat on the root-tier, hair braided tight against her scalp. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, jaw tense. Her hands worked something in her lap—braiding a strand of string and feather. A ward, maybe. Or a prayer. Humans made both with the same motions.
“They don’t trust the Trials,” Arlette murmured, mostly to herself.
Lioren didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, “Would you?”
She didn’t respond.
Another flicker of movement below.
Two faint shapes in the mist crossed paths—too brief to identify. One moved faster than the other. A guess: Malric, or maybe Cael. The broader figures often moved with purpose before reflection. The smaller shape lingered. Perhaps Neira, or one of the Glade twins.
Near the outer ring, she noticed Yeonjun again.
He remained unmoving. His arms stayed folded loosely behind his back, but his gaze had narrowed slightly—focused not on the trees, but on the space between them. As though listening for something even the Grove hadn’t said yet.
Beomgyu stood beside him now, closer than before. His tail flicked in slow, slow arcs, then stilled. His lips barely moved.
He’s speaking, Arlette realized.
But not with words.
Yeonjun shifted, almost imperceptibly.
Whatever passed between them didn’t reach the crowd.
Nearby, Prince Heuningkai laughed softly at something the Councilwoman had said, the warmth of his voice cutting briefly through the tension like late sun through branches. Taehyun remained motionless. Soobin bent slightly forward, gaze unreadable, dream-paper in hand.
Another sound.
A branch snapped.
This one didn’t come from the trial grounds.
Arlette turned—reflexively—to the tree line on the opposite side of the hill. A fae child came running, chased by an older sibling, both laughing. A noble shushed them with a flick of a hand. The moment passed.
But her pulse didn’t settle.
Every noise now felt doubled—its twin echo a threat or a trick. The Grove taught you quickly: not every sound was real. But some were. And that knowledge pressed against the ribs like a heartbeat.
“The cries are meant to create doubt,” Lioren said, almost gently. “But the real one… the real one never calls more than once.”
Arlette’s gaze flicked to him. “What?”
He nodded. “It’s part of the test. Illusions echo. They repeat. The Grove builds them from memories and fear. But the real cry? It’s singular. The volunteer only calls once.”
Her breath caught.
Then someone already missed it.
Lioren must’ve seen her realization. “That’s why it’s timed,” he said. “The first to respond with the right intention—who finds the source and acts with clarity—they won’t be praised publicly. But the Grove remembers.”
She looked down again. The mist was shifting faster now—curling in spirals, moving like breath being stirred. Some of the onlookers began to murmur again, this time with urgency.
“The illusions are cycling faster,” someone said near the upper tier.
“Is that normal?”
“No. That’s the Grove’s pulse. It’s shifting them. It means one of the hopefuls is close.”
Arlette felt the weight of it settle in her bones—the silent knowledge that this wasn’t a spectacle. It was a ceremony. A sacred, dangerous one. And somewhere, not far from where her gaze lingered, someone knelt alone in pain, waiting.
Not to be saved.
But to be found.
The mist was no longer still.
It rippled now, curling into threads that looped around roots and stones, clinging to tree trunks as though reluctant to let the hopefuls pass. Shapes moved within it—some real, some not. The Grove didn’t clarify. That was never its role.
Somewhere deep in the trial ring, a flicker of light bloomed—brief and thin, like a lantern’s wick catching just once before vanishing. Arlette leaned forward instinctively, trying to catch a glimpse of who had sparked it, but the haze closed in again.
“They’re being pulled toward their choices,” Lioren murmured beside her. “The Grove shows them echoes. Familiar pain, sometimes. Sometimes not. But each is drawn to one.”
“And if they already acted on the wrong one?” Arlette asked quietly.
“Then the Grove is watching what they do next.”
A shriek—short, guttural—ripped through the trees. A figure bolted in response, barely a blur among the boughs. Malric, maybe. The speed matched him.
Another illusion.
Moments passed. A second hopeful—Thalia, by the swaying trail of leaf-charm bracelets—had paused by a hollow. She crouched low, murmuring something Arlette couldn’t hear. The way she held herself was careful, reverent. Her hands pressed briefly to the ground, fingers trembling. But then she shook her head and rose, stepping away.
She hadn’t committed.
Not yet.
A second movement—Neira, gliding through the mist as if she belonged to it, her bare feet silent against the moss. She knelt by a cluster of thorn-spined mushrooms, one hand hovering above them, not touching. Her head tilted, lips parted, as though listening to something only she could hear.
Elion and Aris separated, for the first time. Not far—but enough that the line between them broke. Arlette’s breath caught. They didn’t seem to notice.
Senn stopped beside a fallen log and sat cross-legged beside it. For a long moment, he did nothing—just closed his eyes. Waiting.
And then a cry echoed again—high and piercing, like a young girl. Closer this time.
From somewhere near the eastern edge of Hollowfen, a flash of movement followed. Tavien. He bolted toward it, legs flying beneath him, scattering birds from the brush. His wheat-colored hair snapped in the wind, and Arlette saw a burst of orange as he broke the tree line for a blink.
Lioren cursed under his breath.
“What?” she asked.
“He’s going the wrong way.”
Arlette’s heart seized.
“Are you sure?”
“I helped lay the perimeter charms. That edge loops back on itself. If he doesn’t realize, he’ll end up chasing echoes until the Grove tires of him.”
Down below, the mist began to shimmer—not vanish, but re-form. Faster now. Coiling with purpose. It no longer clung passively. It moved.
And in that moment, someone screamed.
Not a cry of fear, or even pain.
It was a cry of finding.
A cry that said: Here.
All around the viewing ring, heads snapped toward the sound.
From the curve of the Hollowfen’s north side, a golden light began to bloom—soft at first, then deeper, rooted, like the glow of sunrise through canopy. Not fire, not illusion. Magic.
And not the Grove’s.
One of the hopefuls had found them.
Lioren surged upright.
“It’s happening.”
Arlette stood with him, eyes locked on the growing light.
Within it, a shape knelt—dark against the glow, their hands raised slightly, not in defense, but offering. Surrender. Peace. A silent message to the Grove: I see them. I will not look away.
A figure emerged from the light, half-carried, half-held—an elder fae, flushed and slow-moving, one hand clutching the edge of their shawl, the other draped loosely across the hopeful’s shoulder. Their face was wet—not with tears, but with the sheen of exertion and something quieter. Something human.
The Grove had accepted their pain.
And now, it was ending.
The elder was lifted by two more members of the Council, who approached without spectacle, only quiet efficiency. They did not speak. No magic flared to cleanse or close the moment. Only silence remained.
And finally, the mist parted just enough to reveal who had found them.
A girl.
Mirrored feathers glinted in her braid, wet with dew.
Veyra.
She stood alone, neither triumphant nor shaken, her posture neither bowed nor proud. She simply watched as the Council led the elder away, and the Grove watched her back.
She did not return to the mist.
She remained where she stood, as though rooted to the very place where the cry had been answered.
The Grove pulsed again.
From somewhere unseen, the fifth bell tolled.
The Trial of Intuition and Empathy was over.
✶ Author’s Note ✶
No big thoughts this time—just feeling really grateful you’re here, reading along. Every little interaction reminds me why I’m telling this story in the first place.
If you liked the chapter, comments and reblogs always mean more than you know. 🦊💛
When you watch scary movies and yell at the victims for falling down so much, you really don't know what it's like to be them. They fall over trees, lumps in the ground, or even their own feet or trip over things in their own home.
In your case it was a fallen limb you didn't see as you were only looking forward.
When you're the victim the only thing you hear is your own labored breathing and the sound of your heart in your ears. You don't hear the killer as they come after you or any of the little whimpers and gasps you're letting out.
You're only trying to survive.
Picking up yourself again, the earth smelled damp and rich as it was now clinging to your clothes and clotted to your knees and hands after falling down. Your feet kicked off to get you running again.
The lake. You had to get to the lake.
But, what then?
You can't swim.
Reaching the lake seemed to be the only logical goal, it was as if it was the end of the world, and also where you would survive if you could just reach it.
"Don't the rocks hurt your feet?!", you hear him laugh out behind you.
Yeonjun wasn't slowing down. Wasn't he tired? You were. Every breath now was sending a burning through your chest, your legs threatening to give out, the muscles quaking from your system being full of adrenaline.
You could feel the night air getting colder which meant you were headed in the right direction, you were getting closer to the water. The tree branches scratched at your face and hands, snagging any bare skin they could reach as you ran through the woods, your feet were bare as you lost your shoes somehow, honestly you didn't notice you were without them until Yeonjun yelled after you.
Finally you saw the edge of the woods, seeing the water shine under the dim light of the stars through the break in the trees. Veering to the right, sure that was the way to the pier, you ducked behind a tree for just a second, trying to remember how to breathe properly.
WHY WERE YOU STOPPING?!
Your brain was screaming at you.
HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU!
THE LAKE!
THE PIER!
RUN!
The sound of Yeonjun running started to slow down, you imagined how his breath was fogging in front of him in the night air. Summer was over and fall was coming to a close. Your own pajamas seemed too thin for this weather.
He was too close and unless you made it to the lake you were going to die.
Pushing away from the tree, as soon as you started running you heard him immediately running after you.
You broke through the trees, the ground changing under your feet, the grass biting at your ankles as frost was starting to cling to it. The water was beckoning to you and you wanted that icy touch more than the one chasing after you.
"No final girls allowed! It doesn't matter how much you run!", Yeonjun calls out.
Fuck you. That's all you could think. Fuck you. I won't let you win.
The dirt and grass under your feet changed to wood, the pier shaking as your feet thudded hard, running full speed.
What were you going to do? Jump in the water and drown or die of hypothermia?
The world tilted and you fell again, hitting the hard surface, you missed the feeling of falling into the dirt. The pier was slick with frost and after running for your life through the woods you know it was all for nothing.
You were done.
You lose.
Yeonjun walked to you confidently, you were shivering, not even bothering to get up now, trying to curl up as your hands clutched at your too thin pajamas.
He kneels in front of you, grinning and tilting his head, the knife in his hands was spotless, waiting to be baptized in your blood to dirty the steel, it was shining from the starlight on the lake.
"Tsk, tsk.", Yeonjun pouts, bringing the knife closer and laughing when you whimpered. "They say you should never play with your food but I don't believe in that.", he sighs.
Unable to stop yourself, your eyes met his and you knew he wasn't human, he was a monster.
Yeonjun was speaking but you frowned. Had you gone deaf from shock? You were clearly seeing his lips move but there was no sound. The hand that held the knife raised and you didn't move, couldn't move. Was he moving too fast or too slow? You kept watching his lips move but now you couldn't even hear the water of the lake around you.
The knife came down...
Your whole body flinched as you woke up, a gasp finally breaking the silence.
For a few seconds that felt like hours you couldn't move, your blurry eyes looking around your bedroom and you thought you were outside until the dream fully faded and your mind stopped playing tricks on you. Your hair was plastered to your forehead and you had to kick at your blankets to get them untangled from your legs, having trapped yourself in them in your sleep.
This wasn't the first nightmare you had about Yeonjun and it certainly won't be the last.
in which, in exchange for your happiness, he must leave you.
an: this was supposed to be fluff 😭 it was also supposed to be for his birthday, but here we are. ty @minsunoo and @jay-kie for proofreading ❤️
“you really think i should go?”
you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, rolling the fabric of the outfit you had bought just that morning between them. kai looked upon you in a daze. from the minute you stepped out of your room, to when you got into the taxi, and up until that very moment you waited outside the restuarant. in that magnificent floral sundress, that was only really magnificent because it was you who was wearing it, with your hair styled gorgeously and a simple, red carnation pinning the hair out of your beautiful, glowing face— you were ethereal. arguably more so than him. and he was an angel.
“kai?” you blinked, cocking your head to the side.
he gulped, tearing his eyes from you, turning his attention to the restaurant the taxi parked outside of. through the store window, he spotted a figure clothed in soft cream trousers and spotless white sneakers (he’d bet his wings they were new) fumbling with the breadsticks on the table and anxiously checking his watch. he flashed a smile at the waiter when they checked up on him and kai clenched his fists.
how he longed to be the one sitting there.
he shifted, putting on a smile and placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. “come on,” he jerked his head to the door, “let’s go.”
the breeze was cool yet comforting as it blew, caressing kai’s skin gently as he waited on the sidewalk. he took a deep breath, watching the blue sky fade into pinks and oranges with the last of the afternoon sun. you joined him after paying and tipping the driver, your shoes clicking against the cement.
if anyone told you a month ago that guardian angels were real, and that yours in particular would stop at nothing until you were happy, or that you would end up falling in love with him, you would have punched them in the throat for talking to you in the first place. you didn’t need someone meddling the affairs you were desperately trying to downplay and ignore. you didn’t need friends and you didn’t need family. depending on other people made you feel weak, and you hated feeling weak.
but kai taught you love. kai taught you love for yourself and love for others. that love is strength and power and, when strong enough, love was something that could change fate itself. kai wrenched open the iron gates encompassing your heart, convincing you to give life and people another chance, in doing so leaving his traces imprinted in every corner and crevice.
even now, as you drank in the way the sun kissed his skin and set it aglow, the way the strands of his chocolate-brown hair danced along the breeze and the way he watched the gold-lined clouds with a small smile playing on his lips, your heart hummed in your ears his name like a mantra.
you were envious of the sky he watched so intently. you’d come to hate the stupid colours, the stupid clouds, the stupid sun, the stupid moon and the stupid stars. looking at them reminded you that he’d one day have to leave — that his purpose here was merely to see you happy and then leave. you wished he’d see you. you dreamed of sharing a life with him, where his home was with you and not far away and out of reach, where your eyes couldn’t see.
“you’re going to be late,” he spoke softly, turning to face you, “he’s been waiting for a while.”
you glanced over your shoulder into the restaurant. right. it was no longer ‘one day’, but soon. kai’s last promise to you was to find someone who would love and take care of you; and then he’d leave. forever. you could already see kai begin to slip through your fingers — or had that process already begun from the moment he first walked into your life?
your blood boiled, tears springing into your eyes. did he really want to go back? did he really want to leave you after all the time you spent together? did all the moments you shared together after the past month mean nothing to him?
you gripped onto the strap of your bag. what was the point without him?
“s-stay,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixed on your feet. they ached, if you were honest. the shoes were tight, and you would’ve never worn them in the first place if you didn’t hope to get a reaction out of him.
kai’s eyes widened. to say your saying of the word caught him off-guard would be an understatement. it was as if you had read his mind, as if his desire to take you into his arms and run away with you was so strong he’d made it obvious somehow. but even if that were true, it wouldn’t make any difference. reality was still as it was — cruel.
he brushed off silly, futile dreams and emotions with a laugh, “stay? during your date? he’d probably oblige because he likes you and is impossibly polite, but it’d be pretty detrimental to the development of your relationship don’t you think?”
up until then, kai had been grateful for the blanket of obscurity the night provided. otherwise he’d fear you’d be able to see the bits of pain he was unable to conceal. but when a car zoomed by and it’s headlights lit up your face, in that split second, he saw yours.
“you’re right,” you chuckled, turning toward the entrance. softly dabbing your eyes with your wrists proved futile; they just kept coming and coming. kai stepped infront of you, pulling his coat over your arms.
as he cradled your face in his palms, his expression was unreadable. it less the fault of poor lighting, more that he didn’t want you to see. he didn’t want the knowledge of his feelings to give you hope for a future that could never be. “you were right, we shouldn’t have taken this dress. it’s almost autumn. you’re going to get sick”
“and you won’t be there to take care of me this time, right?”
kai squeezed his eyes shut and pulled you into his chest. he had been keeping it together all this time, he had no intention of letting that all go to waste at the very last minute. tilting his head back, in hopes that the tears rimming his eyes would remain hidden, he sighed, “soobin will be there. he’ll come running whenever you’re ill. he’ll share meals with you, he’ll go with you to that sketchy record shop you love with the attendant who looks like he smells like feet—”
you smacked his back playfully, “gerald loves explaining the theory of vinyls to you, don’t be mean”
“right,” he laughed. the feeling of his hand on the small of your back while the other caressed the back of your head brought your eyes fluttering closed. he looked up into the heavens, silently cursing whoever was watching for having written such an abominable fate.
“he’ll eat what you eat and he’ll take you to meet his parents. he’ll grow old with you... isn’t that wonderful?”
“i don’t need all of that, kai,” you argued, tightening your arms around him. “i just... need you,” a confession you whispered, but a plea you desperately hoped he’d hear.
he pressed a kiss to your hair, giving your shoulders a final squeeze before he stepped away from you. he observed your face as if he was committing each feature to memory before brushing the dried tears from your cheeks.
“i want you to remember this, angel,” he locked his eyes with yours, “i have been around for millenia. i have seen things of miraculous nature, things you couldn’t even dream of. i’ve protected countless humans, from kings to toilet cleaners. but i have never, never, seen anything like you, in heaven and earth. be happy, (y/n). you may not be able to see, or feel me, but i’ll be here. just as i always have”
a gust of wind blew tree branches together, making them rattle as their browned leaves were sent sailing through the air. and before you knew it, he was gone. leaving a piece of his heart with you and taking a piece of yours with him.
taglist: @oifelixcmerebrou @00-baejin-05 @chaoticdreaminisode @luvrjn (send an ask to be added!)
note ; guys i am SO sorry for the long wait, i was reminded today that i never posted chapter one to tumblr! but here it is :) i have gotten a lot of my inspiration back and will be working on this fic to the best of my abilities. let me know what you all think, and happy reading!
C H A P T E R O N E : T H E P R O M I S E
TAEHYUN
THE SMELL OF THE WORLD BURNING AROUND HIM WAS A SCENT ALL TOO FAMILIAR TO KANG TAEHYUN.
It seemed to be ingrained into the very essence of who he was. Fire, blazing white light, the sizzle of his touch. All of these were a part of him, although the knowledge of his own identity seemed to fade further into the back of his skull as every second passed.
Perhaps that was why he felt as though he were trapped in a haze as he lay on his back in a pile of sticks and leaves, the sounds of fire crackling barely heard through the ringing in his ears, bits of ash falling like flakes of snow all around him. He was afraid, but deep down, he felt as though he should have been at peace. It was, after all, fire and dust that had given him life to begin with.
But when he cast his gaze up to the stars, the young boy was not filled with peace.
It was instead fear that trickled through his veins. The biggest star in the sky, burning brighter than all the rest, seemed to blind him as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground, leaves crunching below his weight. The slip of paper in his pocket seemed to burn a hole through his skin as he grew painfully aware, once again, of the reason why he had been created. He wanted — no, he needed to escape the glare of that damned star before it drove him to pure insanity. The words of the celestial being began to buzz in the back of his mind, haunting him, nearly choking him with their persistence.
“Rise, my son. Your work has just begun.”
If he had the courage to challenge the stars, he would have screamed no from the top of his lungs right then and there. That courage, however, was something he lacked. He was a quiet boy, never one to boast without any merit. And when it came to his dealings with the things above, not a single word of confidence had ever slipped past his lips.
So he knew he had no choice but to rise as he had been instructed.
He struggled to his feet, every muscle in his body begging for more rest. After gaining his balance, he reached a hand to his face, checking to make sure the patch still covered his left eye. Somehow, amidst all the chaos and destruction, it had managed to stay put. He was thankful for that, at the very least.
The forest he had just begun to call home was painted shades of furious reds and oranges. Even with the patch over his eye, the world looked brighter to Taehyun than it did to most. The shapes of the trees and each blade of grass seemed to be outlined in ink, colors deeply saturated, dimensions and depth all the more real to him than they would have been for the average person. The flames were somewhat distant from where the edge of the forest where he and his friends had collapsed, but they were still close enough to make his skin crawl as the orange glow in the distance seemed to taunt him with its presence.
His friends.
With his heart in his throat, he whipped his head around, placing his hand on the trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself. His three companions hadn’t made a single sound since he had regained consciousness, so he hadn’t even thought about them at first.
When his eyes landed on the first of his friends, his breath caught in his throat.
Choi Yeonjun was a few yards away from the tree Taehyun was leaning against. He was on his knees, fists wrapped around one of the ivory antlers that extended far above him, the base of it lost beneath his ashy hair.
With a stroke of horror, Taehyun watched as his friend began to yank on his horn. An awful groan ricocheted off the trees, so sharp that he thought his ears might bleed. Yeonjun’s eyes squeezed shut from the pain as violet blood began to leak from his head, dripping like rain down his face that was caked with dirt and grime. He pulled, and pulled, and pulled — until Taehyun finally came to his senses as he rushed towards his older friend and shouted, “Yeonjun, wait!”
But he was much too late.
By the time he had planted his feet in front of his friend, the purple blood was everywhere, burning furiously into Taehyun’s vision. It stained the crisp grass, the barks of the nearby trees, the trembling hands of the frightened boy, and the broken horn that lay on the ground in front of him.
Taehyun knew that all of Yeonjun’s power came from his horns. He also knew that they were a part of him that he could not simply erase. And by trying to do so, he would cause himself a world of pain far greater than anything he had ever imagined.
“Yeonjun,” Taehyun whispered as he fell to his knees beside him, his own shaking fingers gripping onto the eldest’s sleeve. “Why did you do that? Aren’t you in pain?”
“My fault,” he mumbled, glazed eyes fixed on his bloodstained hands. “This is all my fault.”
“Nothing is your fault, Yeonjun.” Taehyun watched with wide eyes as his friend reached for his other horn, most likely preparing to do the same thing to that one that he had done to the other. Taehyun grabbed Yeonjun’s hands, clasping them tightly in his own. “Stop it, you’ve hurt yourself enough.”
“It’s all because of me,” He choked, tears streaming through his dirt stained cheeks. “Our home, our families, our friends; they’re all gone because of me. I’m — I’m a monster.”
“No, you’re not.”
Taehyun looked over his shoulder at the sound of another voice, sighing in relief when he saw the second of his friends, Choi Beomgyu, limping towards them. A cluster of black spires protruded from his back and shoulders, twisting and turning as they extended into the night air. He must have used his powers, Taehyun realized, as that was what the spikes from his back signified. They would eventually disappear the longer he went without using his abilities.
His silver hair was plastered to his face from sweat, eyes puffy and red from tears that had ceased to fall. Yet, despite his haggard appearance and the obvious injury he had suffered to his leg, Beomgyu did his best to smile as he sank to the ground beside the other two, wrapping his arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders.
“If you’re a monster, what does that make the rest of us?” He asked, wincing at the sight of Yeonjun’s splintered horn on the ground before him. “Would you call Taehyun, Soobin and I devils then? Since you seem so comfortable putting labels to things when you have no business doing so.”
Under different circumstances, Taehyun might have laughed at Beomgyu’s verbal jabs. However, a much more pressing issue weighed upon his mind. “Wait — where’s Soobin?”
Beomgyu furrowed his brows. “I haven’t seen him since the explosion. I thought he was with you.”
Taehyun’s pulse was loud in his ears as he jumped to his feet. Leaving Yeonjun with Beomgyu, he began looking around, crunching leaves and dried out grass beneath his sneakers.
“Soobin?” He called, wide eyes taking in every possible hiding place. He looked behind trees, beneath bushes — anywhere a person could possibly hide. He looked for the baby blue glow that his older friend emanated, growing more desperate as each second passed.
“Soobin! Soobin, where are you?” He was yelling now, hoarse voice cracking with fear. “Answer me, please!”
There was a rustle nearby, and Taehyun halted his steps, eyes darting in the direction of the sound. He saw a black shoe peeking from behind a rose bush, with blood stains and scorch marks all over the white sole. Taehyun stumbled towards the shoe, collapsing onto the ground with relief when he saw his tall friend curled up against the bush, thorns pressing against the bare skin of his neck, tears overflowing his bloodshot eyes.
“Soobin,” he said, taking his friend’s hands in his. “Are you okay?”
Soobin didn’t respond. He simply began to shake, his lower lip trembling as silent rivers of tears continued to flow down his cheeks.
“Say something,” Taehyun begged, squeezing his cold hands. He knew that Soobin could hear him with his enhanced hearing, so there was no way his voice wasn’t getting through.. “Please?”
He was only met with more silence, until another voice called out from behind him.
“Guys?”
Taehyun turned around, stomach dropping when he saw a young boy dressed in all white who seemed to glow in the pitch black night. He held a plastic bag in one hand with the words “Happy Birthday!” printed across the front, and a single balloon in the other. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in shock as the wind blew his ebony curls over his face, blocking his vision.
“Kai!” Beomgyu shouted, rushing towards the boy with Yeonjun close behind him. Taehyun stood as well, pulling Soobin up with him before leading him over to where the others had gathered.
“What are you doing here?” Beomgyu asked, hands firmly grasping Kai’s shoulders. “You need to go home. Now.”
“It’s Yeonjun’s sixteenth birthday,” Kai said softly, still shaken from the sight of his broken friends and their burning forest. One of the balloons slipped from his grasp, leisurely floating away into the smoky night. “We were supposed to celebrate tonight, remember? What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Beomgyu insisted, pushing Kai away firmly. “You need to leave. It’s too dangerous for you here.”
“But what about you?” Kai asked, tears brimming in his doe eyes. “Your home . . . you can’t go back to it, can you?”
“There’s nothing left to return to,” Yeonjun whispered, looking down as he picked at the callous on his palm. “It’s my fault.”
“Stop saying that.” Taehyun’s voice was calm, yet firm. He kept his arm around the still silent Soobin, fixing his eyes on Kai, who had begun to sniffle through his tears. “Kai, Beomgyu’s right. You can’t stay here.”
“If it’s too dangerous for me, then it’s too dangerous for you too.” Kai reached forward, grabbing hold of Taehyun’s sleeve. “You’re not invincible just because you have powers and I don’t. Come home with me. We have a place for you to stay.”
The four others exchanged a glance. Soobin began to tremble once more, causing Taehyun to tighten the grip he had round his friend’s shoulders. It was impossible, really, the thought of them leaving the forest to find a place amongst the human world to which Kai belonged. They were different from those who dwelled there. They had horns that grew from their heads with the power of ancient beasts coursing through them. They had spires that rose like black ice from their backs, twisting and turning and buzzing with magic that controlled the very matter of the earth. They had ears that heard the most distant cries and the softest whispers and eyes that saw the world in vibrant pigments that glowed and sparkled even in the dreariest of places.
To put it simply, these boys were quite unique.
But Kai was right. They couldn’t return to their home in the forest. Not then, and not ever again. At least if they followed Kai, they would be with a friend that they knew and trusted.
“Maybe we should go with him, for a while at least,” Taehyun suggested. “Just until we find another place to go.”
Beomgyu shrugged. “Sounds better than sleeping somewhere out in the open. A pretty boy like me fetches a good price on the black market, you know.”
Taehyun nearly rolled his eyes at that.
The corner of Yeonjun’s lip twitched, almost forming a smile. “I agree. We can’t stay long, but it’s better than nothing for the time being.”
They all looked to Soobin then, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. His face was blanched, his glazed eyes unfocused and foggy.
“Soobin?” Kai asked, furrowing his brows. “Is that okay with you?”
The trembling boy remained speechless, his lower lip beginning to shake. Taehyun glanced over at Beomgyu, who mirrored his own look of concern. Soobin had always been quiet, but not like this. It was frightening, the way that not a single word would slip through his lips no matter how badly they tried to draw one out of him.
Before he had a chance to say anything else to his silent friend, Taehyun noticed something in the leaves beneath their feet. A bright beam of light was focused upon the ground before them, burning a hole straight through the leaves. The others noticed it as well, all of them taking a step closer as the beam of light grew stronger and began to move, etching its way through the leaves and grass. Small pillars of smoke rose from the ground, tickling the insides of Taehyun’s nose.
When it was done, the beam of light disappeared. Taehyun looked up at the Star, his heart in his throat. He had finally received his message.
“Was that the Father Star?” Beomgyu asked, his own eyes fixed upon the same spot in the sky.
“I think so,” Taehyun said quietly, although truly, he knew so.
“It left a message,” Yeonjun said, crouching down to the ground to inspect where the Star had left his mark. The other four friends crouched all around him, four and a half pairs of eyes taking in the image that had been burned into the ground.
They saw a picture of five boys, their hands connected to form the shape of a star. The lines were simple, easy to comprehend. Below the image, a single word had been written.
Promise.
“Promise? Promise what?” Kai scratched the back of his head, looking to his older friends for help. Unfortunately, they were all as confused as he was.
Well, all except for Taehyun. He knew exactly what the Star’s intentions were.
“I think he wants us to promise that we’ll stay together,” He said, tracing his thumb along the image of the boys and their intertwined hands. “No matter what.”
They looked at one another, a thousand unspoken words of grief and fear passing through them like radio silence. They were terrified, no doubt. Their world had fallen to bits and pieces right before their eyes. Everything had been lost, and nothing would ever be the same for them ever again.
Yet they still had one another. And in the depths of their sorrow and in the throws of their loss, that simple truth was enough. It had to be enough.
For if they were to lose one another, they may as well lose themselves entirely.
This guiding truth amongst themselves was what led them all to place their hands over the Star’s drawing, their hearts pounding, heads rushing with thoughts and worries and everything in between.
“Let’s promise then,” Beomgyu said, his eyes watering once more. “We’ll stick together and get through this. We have to.”
“How about we promise to meet back here in five years?” Kai suggested. “That way something truly motivates us to keep our word.
They all agreed to that heartily, Soobin silently nodding his agreement. Taehyun sighed, pressing his hand further against the cool ground as he closed his eyes and whispered, “It’s a promise.”
When they arose and made their way out of the treeline, hand in hand, Taehyun cast one last glance at the night’s brightest star, his heart heavy in his chest. For he knew that the promise the five of them just made was one that could never be broken. Those that wished to test the boundaries of the stars were likely to die trying.
He knew this, for he himself belonged to the Father Star, and all the galaxies far beyond him. It was a secret he was to carry with him to the grave no matter the cost, even if he had to lose everything to do so.
Eternally had been once a kingdom of eternal peace far on the East in a dimension unknown to humans on Earth. A land you adored with all your heart, a land you had called your home until a man named Chi had demanded it as his own and had taken away its future. Your future, the boys’ future, everyone’s future. A future that you were finally ready to claim back regardless of the price.
☆ characters: benders!txt & lady’s maid!you
☆ genre: elementals au, fantasy, action - inspired by this drabble of the lovely and talented @dat-town ♥
☆ warnings: mention of blood and minor character’s death
☆ words: 26,1k
