⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, death of minor characters, description of gore and death
⨰ wordcount: 11.1k
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⧖⧗Circa Peridot⧗⧖
You wake up from a horrible dream.
It’s the kind where you’re falling and falling and falling into a deep, dark abyss. Except, in this abyss, there is an end.
There’s an impact.
Your spine tingles from the shock. You look around, only to realize you’ve fallen on top of dead, bloody bodies. You scream. The bodies shift underneath you as you move. Fleshy and soggy. They mold under your touch.
Fear nearly paralyzes you, but you force yourself to flee, to do something. But when you try to escape, a cold, pale hand grasps your arm. Your head jerks back—only to see a boxy smile. Yet the boxy smile is attached to a familiar face: the General’s. It’s unnatural, uncanny to see a Darlaean smile on him. Especially a smile on a person who’s supposed to be dead.
You shriek, scrambling away, only to trip over a splayed limb and tumble to the ground. You come face to face with Nayoon’s dead body. She’s bloody and bruised, hair seared short, eyes thankfully closed. But she’s dead, and seeing that breaks you down.
“No!” you scream, voice hoarse. “This isn’t real! She’s not dead! She was only injured!”
You blink, rubbing your eyes with your soiled hands, transferring blood onto your face.
Nayoon’s dead body is gone, but Hana is in her place.
Her eyes are ajar, empty, cold.
Opening your eyes feels like a miracle today. You’re dazed, hurt, confused when you stumble out of your tent, trying to figure out if your dream had meant anything. Or maybe it was just a plain, old nightmare. But why? Why was the General smiling like that? And why was his hand so cold? Why did he emerge from the pile of dead bodies, so adamant about preventing you from leaving? And Nayoon. Why was she dead? Why was Hana dead? So deep in your thoughts, you accidentally bump right into Doyun, nearly falling over doing so.
Doyun laughs, helping you regain your balance. “What’s with the long face, Y/N? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
You’re just glad you bumped into her and not the General or Nayoon.
“I just had a shitty dream,” you say, feigning a smile. You haven’t found the courage to tell anyone about your first dream featuring your archnemesis: the boxy smile. It’s too real. A little too much like a memory, rather than a figment of your imagination. It gives you chills just thinking about it. And now that stupid, boxy grin won’t leave your mind.
Doyun’s face softens. She must be used to her acquaintances struggling from nightmares. Or maybe she struggles with them just the same. “Well, you should take it easy today,” she says, patting your back. She doesn’t say much—which feels a little out of character for her—but maybe she’s assessing your current state, trying to figure out what else to say. You notice that she is rather observant, but she’s articulate when she has to be. Her hand never leaves your back. “Nightmares aren’t easy to deal with.”
“Yeah…”
She glances at you, her eyebrows furrowing a bit. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing more work today. You’re given four days of leave, Y/N. You haven’t used any of them yet.” She talks quickly before you can reply, “And don’t give me the bullshit about how working takes your mind off of things. You’re just running away from your problems.”
She caught you there. You were totally going to drown yourself in work to forget about that terrible dream. But maybe Doyun’s half-right.
“I’m not going to let you faint on me again,” Doyun says with a teasing grin.
Your eyes widen. “That was different!”
“Physically exhausted, mentally exhausted, they’re problems that need to be tended to,” she replies. “You know what, Officer Ryu? I’ll give you a rare order.”
“An order, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, an order.” She nods assuringly. “It’s not much, but we’re running out of aloe ointment. They only produce that in Aithne, so we were going to send a couple of healers to bring back a generous supply. But you can go instead,” she says. She laughs at your shocked face. “It’ll be good for you, Y/N. The fresh air, the new sector, the journey.” She quirks one of her thick eyebrows. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Enjoy it?
A part of you wants to agree. But do you even deserve to go?
It’s like Doyun can read your thoughts. “And don’t even think about questioning whether you deserve the rest,” she says. “You’ve got to learn how to take care of yourself before you try to fight for a whole nation. You and Yoongi both.” She shakes her head. “Just try to relax once in a while. It’ll make a bigger difference than you’d think.” She pats your back again. “I’ll be off, but remember! Relax!”
You watch her leave, dazed. The short mention of the General has your head whirling with flashes of your nightmare, the unexpected boxy smile marring his kind, soft face. Even when you’re packing to take the trip—by packing you mean hoarding gourds full of cold water—the boxy smile haunts you. You’re starting to wonder if going alone on this trip to Aithne will even help. Won’t it be worse to be stuck in your thoughts like this? How in Sooht’s name are you going to enjoy this? When you’re alone, you tend to spiral down a rabbit hole of your worst thoughts. You thought that Doyun would know this. Or maybe she wants you to face your nightmare head-on.
“But I suppose I won’t be too alone,” you say, petting Heli’s head. “I’ll have you.”
Heli nuzzles your hand in response; it makes you smile, yet you still have second thoughts.
But you should’ve known that Doyun always thinks things through. Because the next thing you know, Zeru is galloping up next to you, bowing slightly at Heli, who acknowledges the air horse’s presence with a small huff. And riding Zeru, saddled right on top of him, is the General.
“Ready to leave, Officer?” he says in his soft voice.
Your jaw goes slack. The dream—no, the nightmare. The boxy smile. The cold hand. The bodies. It all flashes in your mind too quickly. But you manage an awkward and feeble: “Sir, you’re going too?”
“Would you not want me to come?” he asks, teasingly. His gentle smile, the way his hand continuously strokes Zeru’s wispy mane as he patiently waits for your reply, his sparkling eyes… When you busy yourself with small details, you momentarily forget about your bad dream.
“No! It’s—no—it’s not that,” you say. “I just thought I was going to go alone. The Lieutenant didn’t mention anything about going with—anyways! I would love to accompany you to Aithne, sir.” As awkwardly as you had said that, you meant it.
“She must’ve conveniently left it out,” he says with a smile. “Shock value, I suppose. You know Doyun and her surprises. But how did you expect to know where you’re going?” the General asks, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t you at least think you’d need a guide to show you the way?”
You’re sheepish. “Well, I just assumed that Heli would know.” You pat the fire tiger who huffs in confirmation. “He’s the all-knowing fire sol, isn’t he?” Swinging your leg over, you settle on Heli’s back, his soft, warm fur underneath your palms. “But I suppose you would know the way just as well, sir. We’re visiting your homesector, after all.”
Zeru and Heli begin to wander into the forest—Zeru in a light trot and Heli in a graceful gait. But they keep their paces even so that you and the General can converse.
“I have a major battle tomorrow,” the General says.
Your eyes widen. After having such a terrible morning, you’d completely forgotten that that was tomorrow. “With the Ember Formation, sir?”
“Yes, with your formation, Officer.”
Worry lines crease your forehead. “Do you think it’s okay to tire yourself out today by traveling all the way to and from Aithne? I’d think you would need more rest than I do, sir.”
“I’ll be fine,” he replies. “Besides, I’m going home. It shouldn’t be too tiring.”
You hum in response, mind already wandering off to what could be waiting for you in Aithne. If the General is the last of his bloodline… You imagine an old, abandoned home in the middle of the desert. Rotten cacti decorate the exterior and cobwebs embellish the doorways inside. Sand is stuck in every crevice, every corner of the place, and by the time you leave, sand is stuck in every crevice and corner of your own body. Would there be anything to tour there?
The sols have started to gallop across Alder’s grand forest, but you and the general keep on a light conversation. It’s mostly about work—because that’s all you and he really know (and can control enough to be satisfied with).
“I still can’t believe the code is repeating,” you say. “There’s something so stupid about it that it makes me think that we’re simplifying things.”
The General nods thoughtfully. “It’s a mystery for now.”
“A mystery that I hope that we can crack someday,” you say. “But for now, we’ll enjoy the wins.”
“Of course we will.”
Talking about work gets boring, however. Too repetitive and too serious. The conversation goes dry all too quickly. So, you and the General opt for silence. It’s the comfortable, familiar kind where neither of you feels obligated to speak, but you know if you were to change your mind, someone would listen intently.
The silence makes you think of the time you traveled to Elu with the General. Back then, you hadn’t even found Heli yet, so it had been just you and him on the air horse. Your mind suddenly flashes to the memory of his hand on your waist, and you sit up a little taller in embarrassment. You can still feel the ghost of his hand there.
Quickly, you steal a glance at the General. He looks straight ahead—all duty and no-nonsense—which is so like him. But you admire that. Does he never have a single tangential thought? His black hair sweeps just above his sharp eyes, the strands fluttering in the wind, and when he blinks, you see it in slow motion. The light shining from between the forest trees illuminates just the tip of his nose, giving it a warm glow. You have to look away.
Instead, you busy yourself with the forest. In the summertime, the colors of nature become rich and vibrant: emerald-green patches of grass, bronze-colored trees with chocolate swirls on their bark, ruby-red berries peppered across bushes, and enchantingly pink flowers twisting their way up the roots of large trees. Sol birds are chirping away while seated on their branches, and earth mice rustle across the forest floor in tandem.
Once you lose yourself in the observations, it’s hard to stop looking.
Before you know it, the vastness of Alder’s woods has come to an end. You see the smooth transition from dirt floor to sand dunes. There are waves and waves of them that seem to stretch on and on forever. Even when you squint, the only thing you can see is sand. It’s like an endless ocean.
Then there’s the heat.
It had begun just a few minutes before you saw the end of the woods. But you’d started to sweat through your cotton uniform and had wondered if it had something to do with the overhead noon sun. Really, it had been your proximity to Aithne.
But it’s enchanting. There is something insurmountably calming about the amber sand, undulating in the heat like ocean waves. The wind has drawn parallel lines across the mounds, and when it blows a light breeze, tiny flecks of sand rustle on the ground, threatening to disrupt the design of the current. Occasionally, you catch a glimpse of small air birds flying across the sky with no clouds. In its own way, Aithne is full of life.
A lot of things about this sector are great, in fact. Except for the heat. It’s gotten even hotter than before; you’re sweating straight through your cotton uniform. The high collar suffocates you, and even though you’re not moving, you feel drained and sluggish. It’s like you’re cooking in a pot full of boiling water. You wonder how the sols are faring. But maybe it’s because a component of them is magic—Heli and Zeru seem unaffected by the heat.
“You should drink some water,” you hear the General say. “The worst thing that can happen to you here is dehydration. That and getting lost.”
You look towards him for the first time in a while, only to nearly gasp out loud—but you save yourself from trouble by quickly turning away. Sometime in the last thirty minutes, he had shrugged off his cotton vest and the cotton tunic underneath. Now, there he sits, in a white tank top—his tunic tied around his waist.
“You’re going to get a sunburn,” you say, deliberately busying yourself with taking out a gourd full of cold water to ignore the heat creeping up your face. You take a long drink—the cold water running down your throat and pooling in your stomach. It feels so good that you finish the whole gourd.
“I thought I could put some of our new supply of aloe ointment to use,” the General says. “And just then,” he says with a smile, “you looked like Captain Goe, gulping down whatever’s in that gourd.”
You give him an offended look. “I’ve never been somewhere so hot.”
“The fact that you’re wearing three layers of cotton doesn’t help,” he comments. “We’ll get you a change of clothes when we reach my home.”
You wait for that very moment, fighting the urge to completely collapse on Heli and sleep so that you can take your mind off of the heat. But finally, finally, after what seemed like endless dunes of sand, you and the General reach a large estate made entirely of red mud.
The buildings are angular, with sharp edges and smooth, red walls. A small grove of cacti decorates one side of a doorless entrance, and other desert plants you can’t name sprout from the other. The estate is larger than the palace, but its simple design and color help it blend in with the sand. Around the back, you catch a glimpse of rows of aloe vera plants stretching on and on; it must be where they farm. For the most part, the place looks uninhabited—situated in the middle of nowhere. But not in a creepy, abandoned way. It’s just in peaceful solidarity.
“Your home,” you say.
The General nods. “My home,” he answers.
As you slide off of Heli and the General dismounts Zeru, a short, bald man with a characteristic mustache rushes out of the entrance of one of the red mud structures.
“General Min! General Min! Oh no! Oh no!” he says, nearly tripping over his straw sandals in the sand. He wears years and years of age on his face, carrying wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks. But he’s still got his agility. “Lieutenant Kang didn’t tell me you were coming too! She said she would send a couple of healers…” he glances at you, his gaze settling on the two notches around the collar of your uniform. “Oh, for the love of Sahn!” He drops into a deep, ninety-degree bow. “You’ve brought the officer!”
“Oh, please,” you say. “It’s fine. There’s no need for formalities.”
“Oh no,” the man says. “If I knew you were coming sir, I would’ve prepared your favorite dishes.” He turns to you. “Is there anything you’d like me to prepare for you to eat, Officer?”
“Woosang, it’s fine,” the General says. “We’re here for the ointment, not for the food.”
“Oh, but you haven’t been home for circas and circas, General Min!” the man—Woosang—says. “I want to treat you well. Your mother would’ve wanted—”
“Then the least you can do is bring my officer over here a spare change of clothes,” the General quickly says. “Before she sweats into a puddle and eventually evaporates.”
“Right away, General!”
“My officer and I will be waiting in the aloe plantation in the back.”
While Woosang scrambles to find you some suitable clothes for the heat, you and the General walk around the large, mud structures to the grand aloe field. Already, there are jars and jars of green ointment stacked up along the side of one of the red walls.
“Did Woosang do this all by himself?” you ask, eyes widening. “He doesn’t live here alone, does he?”
“No,” the General replies. “He’s one of the heads of the Kim Clan. They’ve been with the Min Clan for decades as live-in workers. I’ve known Woosang since I was born.”
It seems like a lonely job, to be quite honest, stuck in a hot desert in the Min Estate with no other homes to visit, families to consult. But you don’t bother to say that out loud—especially not in front of the General.
“Here you go, Officer,” a new face says, holding up a bundle of fabric. It’s sand-colored—like everything else around here. “I’ll take you someplace to change,” the worker says, her short, black hair glistening in the sunlight. “Please, follow me.”
You glance at the General, but he nods, wordlessly encouraging you to go. So you do, following the woman into one of the mud buildings. Inside, it is surprisingly cool, albeit a little dark. The room itself is large, embellished with woven mats and vases of all kinds. But compared to the other decorations in the room, the small bed in the corner remains plain and modest. It barely looks slept in, with how neatly the covers are tucked into the side—not a wrinkle in sight.
“This is my room,” the woman says, glancing around as if to see if there is anything out of place. “You can change here. I’ll get out of your hair, sir, but please don’t hesitate to call me if you need me.”
She leaves before you can even ask for her name.
You thumb the beige fabric—it’s smooth—and you wonder if this is silk. The clothes easily drape over your body, loose around your figure and letting the chill air inside cool you down. While you neatly fold your Solarian uniform, your attention hones in on the intricately woven mats and shaped vases. Does she make these herself? Maybe if you were stuck in the desert in the middle of nowhere, your room would be filled with homemade mats and vases too. The decorations are beautiful, however.
The vases are painted a deep, mulberry red, almost like blood, but you shake that thought away. Red is the color of warmth, of loyalty, of Solaria. You can feel the passion of the ceramist, see the indents of their delicate hands against the hardened clay. The mats look as if they have been woven with the same tenderness. It’s so much passion, so much love that you’re beginning to think that these decorations are gifts. Then, there are the stacks of letters. They are filed right between two vases—all opened. You wonder who they could be from. But it’s also not your business to know.
You shake yourself off from the hundreds of thoughts beginning to form in your mind. Then, before you can make any more farfetched jumps to conclusions, you quickly leave the room. The heat isn’t so bad now that you’re in lighter clothes, but when you catch sight of the polite woman, you suddenly feel guilty that you’d been snooping around her belongings. Well, snooping would be too strong of a word. You were only observing… And coming up with outrageous assumptions.
Looking at her now in the sunlight, you realize she’s younger than you would’ve originally guessed—somewhere between 18 and 19. Her hair stops before her shoulders, her bangs framing her full face. She’s got small freckles splattered across her cheeks and forehead. Despite her young looks, however, she sounds and acts older—almost older than Woosang, who, despite his older looks, acts as energetic as the children in Elu.
“I’ll take your uniform, sir,” she says politely.
“O-Oh, yes, thank you,” you say.
“And I’ll show you the way back to the plantation, now, if you don’t mind, sir.”
You’re taken aback by her formality. Even as an officer in the Solarian Army, you’re never coddled or served in any way. This feels weird. Almost wrong, even. “How old are you, um…?”
“You can call me Jinhee, sir,” the girl says. “I’m 23.”
You had been so off. See! This is exactly why you shouldn’t jump to so many conclusions—you can never be sure how right you are. “And you work for the Min Clan?”
“Yes, sir. Woosang is my grandfather,” she answers. “I’ve lived here since the day I was born.”
“Oh.” Her answers are straight to the point, never revealing more than she has to. It doesn’t satiate your curiosity. You don’t know why you’re so nervous to ask more questions; you gnaw your lip, keeping your mouth shut, though you’re filled to the brim with wonder. What has made the Kim Clan begin working for the Min Clan? Are there any more people living here, in the Min Estate, in the middle of nowhere? You can’t fathom having workers for yourself. Even the thought of an adult following you around everywhere to pick up after you makes you uncomfortable. Do they enjoy their job? Are they allowed to leave?
“My younger sister is a fan of you,” Jinhee suddenly says. “Sir, if it isn’t too much—I don’t want to bother you at all—will it be all right to get your signature?”
Your turn to her, eyes wide.
The girl stays still, but she quickly assesses your reaction and speaks, “I’m sorry, sir. I stepped out of line, didn’t I?”
“Oh, no, no,” you say, waving your hands. “I was just taken aback.”
“That you have fans, sir?” This is the first time you see Jinhee smile.
“Well, yes,” you say. You’ve heard of Doyun’s many fans. The General has his fair share too. Nayoon gets love letters. And if Major Ki wasn’t already dating Captain Chu, she’d get marriage proposals. But never did you think that people could look up to you.
“You’re quite the talk amongst our clan, sir,” Jinhee says.
You turn to her. “I am?”
“And now, sir, there will be even more talk when you’re gone,” she says, an intrigued look on her face. “Because you’ve accompanied the General to his home.”
Your eyes widen even more. “What… What do you mean?”
“If General Min comes back—which he rarely does—he always comes alone,” Jinhee says with a glint in her eyes. “Anyway, sir,” she stops in her steps, gesturing toward the aloe plantation, “we’re here.”
You realize Jinhee’s other family members have begun to transport the jars of aloe ointment to the front of the estate. There are a lot of them. At least more than twelve—ages ranging from 10 to 70. In the midst, you see the General packaging some more jars with the other workers. He’s sweating, bare arms glistening in the hot sun, the ends of his dark hair wet. But he works on. You immediately feel guilty for not contributing.
When you turn to Jinhee to tell her that you’d be happy to give your signature to her sister, you realize she’d already left. As quick as a spirit. You didn’t even get the chance to ask her about the mats and vases and letters… Not that you would’ve asked if you had the time, anyway. It seems like personal matters. And besides, why would you pry so much about the history of someone you’d just met?
Still, Jinhee had left an impact on you in that short time frame. He always comes alone, her words echo in your head. Today had been different, however. He needed rest, and you happened to need it too. It’s just a coincidence, nothing more. You shake all the thoughts off.
“Sir! You started without me!” you say, rushing up to the General.
He looks up. “Don’t you know, Officer? The war stops for no one.” When you give him a distasteful look (of course as a joke), he smiles a little. Then, his eyes quickly drop down to take a glance (or a lasting linger) at your change of outfit—and he tries to be smooth with it—but you’re observant and you catch his eye. He looks away, clearing his throat. “Is it much cooler, now?”
“Yes, very,” you say. “I met Jinhee, by the way.”
He nods. “I’ve seen her and her younger sisters grow up.”
“Oh! Sisters! I thought she only had one.”
“She’s the oldest of three,” he answers. “The others are in Elu.”
So maybe the letters are from them! And maybe the vases and mats are their gifts, too. Your eyes light up with the possible answers to your questions. The General notices, however, and gives you an inquisitive look. A little embarrassed, you squeak out a small, “I see…” It’s the best you can do to ward off any questions, and the General doesn’t seem to make much of it. He just nods and goes back to work.
You let the silence intervene. It’s comfortable that way, anyway. You and the General work across from each other, transferring the gooey, transparent yet light greenish substance into the jars, wiping the excess off the sides, clicking the lids on. The process is menial and repetitive compared to the fast-paced work you and the General often subject yourselves to. But it’s comforting. Comforting to have such a familiar presence next to you as you do such a low-stakes job. One wrong move won’t take the lives of hundreds. One wrong move won’t break apart families, tear apart friendships and relationships alike. It makes you feel safe.
You steal glances at him from time to time, watching him flexing his arms to pour the ointment into the jars from a heavy urn. And he steals glances at you, noting the way your brows crease from your concentration, your lips slightly parting as well.
And after a few hours, it’s over.
The Kims invite you and the General for lunch. They serve heaps of delicious dishes—rivaling what you’ve eaten in Elu—and you become surrounded by joyous chatter. There are fourteen sitting at the table in total—excluding you and the General—the younger ones giggling and play-fighting each other while the older ones fall into other conversations.
You and the General sit side by side. He barely eats, mostly watching the Kim family’s interactions with a strange (maybe nostalgic) look on his face. You wonder what he’s thinking.
“So!” a happy voice echoes from across the table. “How’s Yoongi been treating you, Y/N?” You look up to see a slim-faced, kind-eyed woman who shares a shocking physical resemblance to Jinhee from earlier. Next to her, Jinhee grimaces. But it feels good to have someone finally address you by your name, and it’s even more shocking to hear her address the General by his.
“Answer wisely,” the General says, crossing his arms over his chest in amusement.
“O-Oh,” you say, not sure if you like being put on the spot like this. “Very well,” you say. “He’s respectful of everyone.”
“Really?” the kind-eyed woman gasps. “That’s a very politically correct answer, dear,” she says. “Tell us, how does he really treat you?”
The General snorts. “You’re acting as if I’m not here, Sohee.”
“I just want some gossip,” she answers unabashedly.
“No, really,” you say, shaking your head. “He’s a very good General.”
“He’s never done a single thing that bothered you?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Nothing horrible,” you say. “Believe me, I’m very lucky to be under his guide.”
“Ah-ha!” the woman says. “So he has done something!”
That’s not quite the takeaway you wanted her to have from your words, and with the unexpectedness of her accusation of the General, you stutter a bit with your next few words. “W-Well, it was nothing bad,” you say.
“Oh, pumpkin, I promise I won’t discipline him too hard,” she laughs. “Out with it! Let’s hear some interesting news!”
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” you say. Why is the room feeling so stuffy all of a sudden?
“I’m just as curious as Sohee is,” the General says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What could I have possibly done, Officer?”
Sohee gasps. “You’re not even on a first-name basis, yet! You and Doyun are, aren’t you?” She shakes her head, “You haven’t been treating Y/N right, Yoongi. You just haven’t.”
“Now, let’s not make assumptions,” the General says, but his eyes are sparkling, which means he’s more amused than offended. Is this a good sign for you to actually say what’s on your mind? Or do you be ‘politically correct’ until the very end?
But the thing about being politically correct is that in the end, you’ll feel better about yourself, but everyone around you will feel like you’re evading the question. And you’d always rather be the less comfortable one for the sake of others. But then again, if you do tell the truth, won’t the General feel uncomfortable? Wouldn’t you be throwing him under the rug? Or would he understand? Is Sohee going to lose her patience with you? And why do you care so much about a small social interaction?
Your head feels like it is going to burst.
With both the General and Sohee—and practically everyone else—looking at you expectantly, you know you have to say something. And the first thing that comes out of your mouth is, unsugar-coated and all, “It really isn’t so bad. He just ripped my stitches, that’s all.”
When you hear that collective gasp resounding around the amber-lit room, followed by a painstaking silence, you know you fucked up. Now you’re very much regretting your choice of anecdote. You couldn’t have told a white lie? Couldn’t have gone with something milder? That he snores (how the hell would you know that)? Or he chews with his mouth open (he doesn’t, you’d know). Or he’s so kind and attuned to your needs that sometimes, you’re not sure how to pay him back for his generosity (this one, however, is true). But no, you went with the fact that he ripped your stitches, which is the truth, but definitely not the happy-go-lucky truth that Sohee was fishing around for.
The silence is deafening, and the fact that no one can play this off as a joke is worrisome. Should you say something? Clear up the situation?
Instead, Woosang is the first to speak. He’s thumbing his mustache, face completely white. “Oh no, sir…” he whispers. “Did you really do that?”
Everyone’s eyes shift to the General.
He nods, not a lick of emotion on his face. “Yes. I did.”
Even stoic Jinhee looks a little concerned.
“It was an accident,” you intervene before the General has to explain himself. You owe it to him to fix this, now. “I’d just lost my memories. I didn’t know who he was when I woke up, and I suppose, embarrassingly enough, things got a little hideous. Who would’ve thought that I’d suspect the General of all people? The little scuffle led to a minor injury on my part,” you say. “It wasn’t really the General’s fault. He was only getting me to stop flailing my arms.”
“The General this, the General that,” Sohee laughs, and instantly, her laughter melts away the tense atmosphere. The warmth, the buoyancy are back, and people begin chuckling at your faux anecdote. “You too are so interesting,” she says. “So formal! You’d think if Yoongi brought you home, you two would be more like two peas in a pod! But it’s so strictly business. You’re not even like this with Doyun, Yoongi!”
“Auntie,” one of the younger children calls to Sohee from his side of the table. “Why did she lose her memories?” He looks straight at you. “Do you have amenity?”
The adults around him coo at his innocent question. “It’s amnesia,” Jinhee tells the younger child. “And let’s not get too into that.”
You’re thankful for her answer. You’re not sure how festive your whole ‘waking up in Solaria with zero recollection of who you were in the past’ story would be at a family dinner.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the General staring at you inquisitively. Probably wondering why you’d just fibbed right out of your ass. But this is for the better! Why get into the specifics when all you’ll do is cause worry?
Unfortunately, Sohee notices the look you exchange with the General, and you get a sense that she doesn’t quite buy your lie. But all she does is swiftly change the topic. “Jokes aside, pumpkin,” she says, turning to you, “I’m glad that you’ve been keeping Yoongi company. He just hasn’t been writing as much as before! I imagine the two of you are very close. How lucky he is to have such an esteemed officer accompany him everywhere!”
“Oh, I’m not that esteemed,” you say, waving your hands.
She ignores your feeble attempt at humility. “We’re all very glad that you’re here, Y/N. Oh. And you too, of course, dear Yoongi. Jinhee’s sisters are supposed to visit in a few days. It’s a pity you’re going to be missing them. They always have so many stories to tell from their endeavors! Oh! I almost forgot! My siblings should be coming back from their errands by the end of this day, but I don’t think you’ll stay by then? You’re busy people, aren’t you?”
“We’ll have to see, Sohee,” the General says.
“Always so enigmatic,” Sohee chuckles. “Anyways! Jinhee! Did you hear any updates from Sunhee? I’ve been telling her to practice her air wielding, but that girl! I never know if she’s listening to me. She’s never grateful, I swear.”
“She sent me an air hawk yesterday,” Jinhee says, shrugging. “And another vase wrapped in one of those mats again. Is that enough proof?”
Your eyes light up. So it had been her sister sending her the decorations!
“She didn’t send a letter with the hawk?”
Jinhee shakes her head.
“That girl!”
“She must be busy with her apprenticeship, Mom.”
“Too busy to contact her mother??? She never sends letters! Neither does her sister! I raised them and fed them and changed their soiled diapers, and they can’t even repay me with a single message? Jinhee, you are my only good child.”
“Oh, Mom. I think their mats and vases are their way of telling us how they’re doing,” Jinhee says.
“Nonsense! How am I supposed to interpret them? Language exists for a reason! Besides, there are only so many mats and vases that’ll fit in your room, Jinhee.”
It makes you wonder… If her sisters hadn’t sent those letters, who had? But you’re not given another second to contemplate because further down, the younger children are growing cacti on the table, cheering each other on as another green, spiky head sprouts from the wooden surface. Unfortunately, the grownups don’t notice until the seventh cactus, and Woosang yells a characteristic “Oh no!” The children point their fingers in different directions, blaming each other.
The older members of the family are quietly spooning their porridge into their mouths, watching all the drama unfold. But their faces are kind and relaxed, and you can’t help but think that this kind of fiasco happens often—if not every day. It’s so lively here.
It doesn’t even look like the Kim Clan has time to be lonely, living in the middle of nowhere. It seems that they keep each other company very well.
As your eyes gloss over and your thoughts take over your mind, you begin to wonder what it would be like to be a part of a family. You think about the day-to-day experiences: being scolded by your mother, being placated by your father, being laughed at by the older adults, being admired by the younger children… Waiting for gifts and letters from family members who’ve left the nest… Watching the children grow right before your very eyes… Having people by you who can tell you how much you’ve grown and flourished over the years… You wonder what it would be like to know the people related to you by blood. And you wonder if you’ll ever meet them again.
So immersed in your own thoughts, you don’t even notice the General had quietly left his seat.
He traces the smooth, mud walls with the pads of his finger. Then, he lifts them up to his face to examine them. Not a single speck of dust. Everything looks the way he last remembers it. The Kim Clan—thanks to Woosang’s cleaning habits—keeps good care of the home he grew up in.
It’s like a trance, the way he walks through the corridors, not knowing where he’s going but following wherever his feet take him. When he stops in front of his parents’ bedroom, he wonders why, out of all the rooms in this vast home, he decided to come here first. He hesitates outside the closed curtains. There’s a hot breeze from the room’s window that flutters the edges of the drapes, and he watches the fabric crimple, floating with the wind. It’s like it’s beckoning him. With a deep breath, he walks into the room, gently parting the curtains to do so.
When he was younger, he hated this room. This was where he was scolded, disciplined, where he cried, sobbed, repented on his knees. But it’s so empty now.
Yoongi looks around. It’s exactly how it looked like when he was a kid. There is a large bed in the middle of the room, nearby the window. The sheets are snow white. He sits down on it, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees. His mother had stopped using this room ever since his father passed. In fact, even he hasn’t come into this room in years. He doesn’t know why he wanted to revisit it all of a sudden.
He stares at a single corner. That had been his time-out spot. He was forced to stand there for hours, hands raised, knees scathing the ground, ashamed of not being good enough for his mother. His tears had stained his face, dried up his skin. His legs had been numb from carrying the weight of his body. His arms had ached for days after.
“You are not just good enough; you are an embarrassment to the clan!”
He remembers every single word spoken. Every single punishment.
“Look at your sister, look at your brother! They are dutiful and focused, Yoongi. Most importantly, they are fire mediums. They do not waste their time with the other elements as you do.”
He’d always cry during these times. He doesn’t know why. The tears would just come, and they wouldn’t stop.
“I am doing this for your own good, Son. If I don’t scold you and put your head straight back on your shoulders, then who will? We have a war to fight in, an army to lead. This is not a light task, Son. Just know that I’m doing this for you.”
Yoongi wants to laugh dryly at the memories but no sound comes out of his mouth. He sits up with a sigh.
Maybe this wasn’t the best room to visit.
He ambles over to his sister’s room, where he has less trouble barging in. He’d done it a lot when he was younger.
His sister’s room looks just the same too. He needs to remember to thank the Kim Clan for taking such good care of his home. Her 30 desert plants still decorate the parameters, flourishing despite their owner being dead for years. Woosang must be watering them from time to time—he’s always had a knack for plants. But then again, don’t all earth mediums? In this room, he can crack a small smile. His sister had been so diligent, working to someday take the place of his mother as the General of the Solarian Army, all the while helping out with the aloe farm. She’d always liked plants. She would’ve been an earth medium too if it weren’t for his mother’s disapproval. Yoongi stares at the room for a bit longer then swiftly vacates it; it’s best to leave early before he starts feeling sorrow.
He ignores his room—a small, drab space he’d been imprisoned in his younger years—and quickly crosses to stand in front of a room with blood-red curtains. He stares. His feet freeze in place, and he is unable to enter.
He watches the curtains flutter, the sunlight delineating the soft shapes of objects in his brother’s room. But no matter how hard he tries to part the curtains and walk through the door frame, he can’t. His eyes shut, hands closing into tight fists. He can’t bear the memories.
“Sir?”
His eyes open immediately.
It’s you.
You must have noticed he was gone, and you’ve come to find him.
“Are the curtains glued shut, sir?” you say, approaching him with a grin on your face.
He wants to joke back, but all he can manage is a shake of his head.
He catches a hint of recognition on your face. Your grin softens into a kind smile. “Well, we were missing you at lunch, so I decided to come find you. Jinhee set up some shade outside the oasis. I was thinking we could…?”
“Ah, yes, the desert oasis,” he hastily says, enjoying the change of topic. Anything to make him forget. “Shall we?”
The way he says it, it almost makes you want to link arms with him and stroll down the estate side by side. But alas, the General does not offer his arm to you, which doesn’t come as much of a surprise—it had been a stupid in-the-moment fantasy, anyway. Instead, he quickly walks away from the corridor, expecting you to catch up to him. You do, but with curiosity brimming inside of you.
Whose room was he standing in front of? And why did he look so guilty when you called out to him? How much do you really know about the General?
The two of you reach the oasis in the Min Estate’s backyard in record time thanks to the General’s speed-walking. Jinhee had set up a straw canopy to the side, and you and the General settle down on the plush cushions and the decorative mat she’d provided.
The water shimmers, silvery waves of the heat haze lifting from the soft currents of the water and soaring into the sky. You pull your knees up to your chest, resting your head on your arms. The warmth makes it hard to think too much, which is nice for once. You focus on what you see in front of you: the sparkling oasis, the sand, the mud, the General…
It’s a serene sight. And Doyun was right. It’s nice to relax every now and then.
Right next to you, Yoongi leans back, eyes closing automatically. From underneath his eyelids, he can feel the amber glow of the sun. He feels the desert breeze tousling his hair, playing with his bangs. He can even feel your presence, and for once, you look so completely relaxed that you don’t seem to be overthinking.
He’s glad he brought you here. It’s been a while since he’d come home, and it’s been even longer since he brought someone with him. But he feels less empty inside like this. Coming here with you helps.
“Thank you, Officer,” he says.
You turn to him, eyes wide. “For what, sir?”
“For saving my ass—” he pauses “—but also getting me in trouble in the first place.”
You laugh, though a little nervously. “I don’t know why I said that,” you say. “I shouldn’t have. I should’ve lied about something. Anything, really. I was just put on the spot… And everyone was staring… I really have no hard feelings, sir. That you ripped my stitches, that is.”
A small smile slips onto his lips. “And I’ll apologize again for it. I shouldn’t have been so rash. If you told them the true story, Sohee would’ve had my head on a stick.”
You laugh at that, and it’s a nice laugh too. He can’t help but want to hear it again.
“It’s all in the past now,” you say. “In fact, so much has been in the past for me…” You shrug. “Were you inspecting your home for any changes, sir?”
He realizes you’re changing the topic, possibly asking him what he was doing alone in the corridors of his own house. He’s not sure how to say everything without ruining the moment, so he opts for a simple, “Yes, I was, Officer.”
“Ah…”
Some silence.
Then:
“Can I ask you something else, sir?”
He looks to the side, cocking his head. What could you be curious about now? Surely not something serious in this heat. Regardless, he could never deny you an answer: “Yes, Officer?”
“I’ve been thinking…”
“When do you ever not?” Can nothing slow down your quick mind? Not even the heat can dull your natural inquisitiveness.
You smile. “It’s a thought that I’ve had for a while, actually.”
“And you’ve been thinking about it all this time? I thought we were enjoying the view,” he says, teasingly.
“Oh, no, I promise I was enjoying the view,” you say. “I blinked and the thought just came to me.” Which isn’t a lie, either. “I hope it’s not too much of a burden to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“I know it’s something that has passed a long time ago, but it’s just that…” you sigh. “I feel like, at this point, I want some answers.”
“And I’ll see if I can give them to you.”
He looks so relaxed, so calm. You wonder if your question will make him tense up. Will it ruin the serene atmosphere? Should you keep work out of this? But he really does look like he wants to help…
You swallow. “Do you know who voted for and against me joining the officer meetings?”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. Has that bothered you so much all this time? He imagines you losing sleep over it, wondering if everyone in the central tent secretly hates you, waiting for your downfall—though he would never believe any of his officers would wish that upon someone else. But he still needs to clarify; he’s not sure if you really want to know the answer. “You want to know who voted for and against you?”
“Yes.”
“And why would you want to know that?” Aren’t you afraid of the answer?
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
He sighs. “You and your curiosity.” It’s honestly your persistence, too. He knows you will keep him here until he answers. And though he wouldn’t really mind that at all, he doesn’t want to keep you waiting, either.
“You don’t have to answer,” you say, but just to be polite. You secretly wish you hadn’t given him that option, even if it’s essentially the right thing to do. And you hate that you’re even contemplating your selfish needs over being polite.
“If you have to know, I voted for you,” the General says quietly.
You laugh, cocking your head curiously at him. “You’re the one who broke the tie. Of course I know that much.”
“Doyun voted for you too.”
As expected, but you don’t say anything, nodding instead.
“Most of the majors did.”
“Most?”
“All except Major Ahn.”
Your eyebrows raise. Immediately, you’re mentally recounting all the moments you’ve spent with Major Ahn. All the private conversations you’ve had. All of your interactions.
“He takes a while to warm up to new people,” the General says. “But he’s a large supporter of you now, you know.”
You nod, letting the General’s words sink in. But of course. What the officers originally voted for doesn’t necessarily have to align with their opinion of you now. And you asked for this, so there’s no reason to suddenly back out. You know most of them well enough now to not hold lasting grudges over their first impressions of you.
“Who else voted against me?” you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.
You watch the skin on his forehead wrinkle as he hesitates to give you an answer. Then: “Most of the captains.”
“Most?”
“Yes,” he answers. “Captain Chang, Captain Sim, Captain Kim, Captain Chu, Captain Goe, Captain Moon and Captain Yang,” he says, listing them off. “They voted against you.”
Your eyes widen. There’s a name missing from that list. “Does that mean Captain Yoo voted for me?”
“Is that surprising to you?” The General turns to you, an amused look on his face.
“I just always thought he hated me…”
“Captain Yoo is an interesting character,” the General says. “He may not like you, but he’ll work with you. He must’ve acknowledged that a talent like yours is hard to come by.”
You shake your head, a small smile on your face. “Well, I’m glad to know.”
“Their opinions of you have largely changed,” Yoongi says. “I don’t want you to worry.” It comes out a lot more gentle than he’d rehearsed in his head, which is weird because he, for some reason, always wants to be gentle with you. In fact, you inspire him to be gentle with everyone, because everyone deserves at least one person in their life who can show them unconditional kindness and care. It’s something that his family never really gave him—something that he’s learned through the friends he’s made in the army. And now he’s learning to give back.
His mother and younger brother would never approve of the way the Kim Clan treats him now—as mutuals on the same level, eating together at the same table, walking side by side like old friends. He’s tried to shake Woosang’s old habits off, but the man is stubborn, and some of his habits have translated directly to his granddaughter. Jinhee reminds Yoongi of his older sister—always so dutiful, so serious, always willing to help—even if it means sacrificing her own life. She’s never left Aithne—solely on the basis of serving the Min Clan (or what’s left of it, anyway). But because she stays, it allows her two sisters to go off and do what they want to, go off to pursue what they want out of life. They get a choice, which is something that the Kim Clan never got too much of, back when his family was still alive.
But Yoongi hates the notion of being above everyone else. Because sometimes—no, most times—he feels unworthy of veneration. In his home, he wants to be stripped from his title. He just wants to be Yoongi. But if him being Yoongi puts Woosang and Jinhee at unease, then he’ll be the General for them. If it’ll make them feel better, he’ll do whatever they need.
And maybe that’s due to years and years of attempting to please his mother. Maybe it’s years and years of attempting to be the General of the Solarian Army when he never really deserved it. Maybe it’s years and years of being terrified of letting his majors and captains and soldiers down because he’s a giant phony.
But with you, he never feels like he’s a fake. With you, he feels safe.
You care about others—even if you’ve just met them. He saw you slip your autograph to Jinhee—no doubt for her sisters. And he sees how you treat the others of the Kim Clan. He sees how you treat the other officers, the soldiers, the healers. Who wouldn’t feel safe with you?
How do you do it? How do you so effortlessly care for everybody? How do you make everybody your friend? Even a blade of grass would have nothing but kind things to say about you. As does he.
He watches you, a strange feeling building up in his chest. The desert breeze is gentle, smoothing back your hair and softly kissing your cheeks. He gets the sudden urge to be closer to you. But if he moves, he’ll ruin everything. So he stays, looking at you like you’re an oasis and he’s someone lost in the desert.
You can feel him watching you. But he’s probably just thinking. It’s what you and the General do. Because even if the General often jokes that you overthink, he does it just as often as you do. Hm… How hypocritical. But you could never put that against him. Because something inside you knows that what the General has shown you so far is not even half of who he really is and what he’s really been through. How can you judge him when you don’t know the full story?
But then again, you have already judged him. You like him. There’s a strange, heavy feeling in your stomach. That has to mean something, right? The feeling of wanting, the feeling that you need to be close to him. You like him. Maybe not like, like him. But if you were to ever lose your memory again, you’d want to get it back just to remember him. Because he makes you feel safe.
So why was he in your nightmare? Did the dream mean anything other than the fact that you’re terrified of Darlaeans and the grinning man who seemed to recognize you? You’re terrified of the death of your friends. You’re terrified of the abyss. But the General? Why was he grinning at you?
Or maybe it was just a stupid dream. A dream with little to no meaning. Not everything has to have a meaning, right?—as much as admitting that breaks your heart.
“Would it be rude if I asked you what you are thinking?”
His voice is soft, husky. You blink, your gaze focusing on the General. His dark bangs sweep just across his brows, his lips pink, albeit a little dry, and his eyes sparkle with curiosity. How can you deny him? But also, how would you explain to him that your nightmare includes him?
“It wouldn’t be rude,” you say. “I was just thinking about my dream today.”
“Ah,” he says. “Do you dream often?”
“Yes, I do,” you admit, “but they’re usually abstract and nonsensical.” What you really mean to say is that they don’t usually interfere with your daytime whereabouts.
“But today it wasn’t?” the General asks quietly.
“It’s not a big deal,” you say with a small smile. “It was just a little nightmare, that’s all.”
The General nods solemnly. “I understand.” He doesn’t push you to elaborate, doesn’t even ask for you to explain. But you’re glad that he doesn’t. You don’t know how you would’ve fibbed your way out—not in front of him.
“Do you have nightmares?” you ask the General. Surely he must for him to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.
But he shakes his head. “I don’t dream,” he replies.
“Do you wish you did?”
“No,” he says. “Why would I want to be awake in my subconscious when I am trying to sleep?” He pauses. “Not that I get any in the first place.”
You smile at his joke. “You’re right. You need the rest.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you wish you didn’t dream?”
It’s actually a question that you’re not sure how to answer. Your dreams are often exciting, exhilarating—you’re soaring in the air like an air hawk or you’re swimming in a deep lake along with the fish. You love waking up and recounting the fantastical details and then wishing that you’re relocated to that same dreamy place the next time you sleep. But other times, your dreams are terrifying. Sometimes a little too real. Like today.
“I don’t know,” you finally say. “I love having dreams… Anything’s possible in them, you know? I can do what I can’t in real life, I can try things that I’d probably never be able to do, and I’m essentially free from all constraints that come with living in reality. But I don’t know… Dreams can be so… odd.”
He nods. “I know what you mean.”
You cock your head at him but decide it’s better not to pry.
And meanwhile, Yoongi can’t help but dive deep into his memories—the memories he’d buried away for good reason.
“I had the best dream, Brother!”
“The one where you’re the General of the Army?” he’d said, teasingly. “It’s gonna be a long time before you become the General.” He’d messed with Yoonsoo’s hair. “You’ll earn that title after I die.”
Yoonsoo had huffed. “You don’t know that. Mother says that I’m almost as good as you now.”
“Did she?” Yoongi had spooned some porridge in his mouth, so nonchalantly, not finding his younger brother’s words threatening at all.
“I heard her say that too.”
“Sister!” Yoonsoo had said. “You never eat breakfast with us!”
“I apologize,” she’d said with a tight smile as she sat down next to Yoonsoo, across from Yoongi.
But she and Yoongi both knew that she was too busy to ever take part in these trivial conversations. Their mother had her in a tight grip, for she was next in line to be the General of the Solarian Army. Sometimes, Yoongi wondered how she dealt with that pressure.
“I can’t believe Mother let you go from practice!” Yoonsoo had said. “Do you want to hear about my dream, Sister? I was just about to tell Brother!”
At the time, Yoongi thought she would refuse. They were merely visiting their home in Aithne to bring back supplies to the camp; his sister, of all people, would not want to waste her time dilly-dallying and listening to dreams.
But to his surprise, she’d nodded. “Sure, Yoonsoo.”
“It was marvelous!” Yoonsoo had said, jutting out his chest and splaying out his arms dramatically. “I had on the uniform with the gold emblem at the front! The one that Mother wears! I looked older too. Even more handsome than you, Brother! I was as tall as Father and as charismatic as Sister. Wait, no! I was taller than Father and more charismatic than Sister!”
Yoongi’s sister had laughed at that. “I’m not that charismatic,” she’d said. But she was the most charismatic person Yoongi has ever seen in his life. When she spoke, the wind quieted down to listen.
“Oh but you are,” Yoonsoo had argued. “I was eating green grapes, lounging in Mother’s seat in her private tent! Except it wasn’t her tent anymore, it was mine!”
“Green grapes,” his sister had said. “That means wealth and prosperity, Yoonsoo,” she said. “May happiness come your way.”
“Really???”
“That’s enough.”
Everyone in the room had frozen. And in walked Yoongi’s mother, the General of the Army.
“Yoojin, what did I tell you about talking to your brothers?”
Yoongi’s sister stayed silent.
“You’re going to be the next General. Aren’t you already my lieutenant? This frivolous behavior must come to an end, Yoojin. Please, focus. Don’t put our family’s name into flames.” She’d barely glanced at Yoongi and Yoonsoo before saying, “How disappointing.” Then, she’d left.
Yoongi’s sister had given her younger brothers an apologetic look, but she didn’t say anything else before quickly following after her mother.
Yoongi and Yoonsoo were left in silence. Before Yoonsoo had spoken.
“I’ll show her,” he’d said. “I’ll show her one day.”
Yoongi never thought that Yoonsoo’s dreams would ever come true. But it’s funny how a mere dream could turn into a reality.
The ride back home is quiet. Peaceful.
Though you wanted to stay with the General a little bit longer, watching the oasis shimmer in the sunlight, the workload you left back at camp was calling to you. And you didn’t have to ask the General to know that his work was calling to him too.
So the two of you left with the large supply of aloe ointment. You noticed that the General never looked back—not even once.
And now that you’ve finally reached the camp, you don’t know what to do with yourself. There are healers who come to greet you and relocate the ointment to some storage. You slide off of Heli’s back, scratching his ear as a thanks for his hard work today. The General does the same, petting Zeru before the horse lets out a soft neigh and gallops into the forest.
Heli is reluctant to leave, nuzzling your side as you stand awkwardly next to the General. It’s always so weird to part with him. Is it because you don’t want to? Or is it because you and he are awkward by nature? Maybe it’s even both.
“It’s late, isn’t it, Officer?” the General says. “I didn’t mean to keep you out this long.”
“It’s okay, sir,” you say. “I had a nice time.”
Another bit of silence. Heli paws at you. “I think he wants you to go to bed,” the General says with a smile. It’s illuminated by the soft light radiating from the fire tiger’s flames. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, Officer.”
“Sir?” you say.
“Yes?”
“Don’t stay up too late, sir,” you say. “You have a battle tomorrow.” You don’t know what possessed you to say something so bold—and to the General of the Army!
His eyebrows raise. “I’ll try,” he answers. “But you would do well to follow your own advice, Officer.”
You smile. “I’ll try too, sir.”
It doesn’t feel too bad to part like this.
And as the two of you begin to walk away from each other, Yoongi pauses to look back, watching you retire for the night.
There’s a letter waiting for you outside your tent—from Hana. Excited, you quickly settle down on the grass, snuggled up with Heli, and open it. Inside is Hana’s usual bright, cheery, exclamation-filled writing:
HELLO MY FRIEND!!!
NOT ONLY HAVE I FIGURED OUT EXCLAMATION MARKS, BUT ALSO I HAVE RECENTLY REALIZED THAT WRITING IN CAPITAL LETTERS CAN ALSO RELAY MY EXCITEMENT AND ENTHUSIASM TO YOU! SO HERE IS A LETTER WHERE I AM ETERNALLY SCREAMING!!!
HOW EXCITING THAT YOU’RE COMING UP WITH ALL THESE COOL FORMATIONS FOR THE SECTORS! I’M SO JEALOUS OF THE SOLDIERS THERE. I WISH I COULD FOLLOW YOUR ORDERS, MY DEAR OFFICER! BUT HERE I AM AT HOME, GIVING OUT MY OWN.
I’M MAKING PROGRESS WITH MY SPEECH, BY THE WAY. WELL, I’M HAVING A LITTLE TROUBLE WITH THE VOWELS, BUT I’M GETTING THE CONSONANTS DOWN! AND THERE ARE MORE CONSONANTS THAN THERE ARE VOWELS, SO I’D SAY THIS IS A PRETTY FUCKING GREAT ACCOMPLISHMENT.
OH! YOU SHOULD SEE HOW FAST I CAN WALK NOW. TAEHOON CARVED ME A WOODEN PROSTHETIC LEG! IT TOOK HIM TWO WEEKS, AND HE FORBID ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT EARLIER BECAUSE HE WAS SCARED IT WOULD FAIL. IT DID NOT! SO I’M WALKING AROUND JUST FINE NOW! MAYBE I’LL LEARN HOW TO RUN SOON. TAEHOON SAYS HE’LL RACE WITH ME ONCE I GET THE HANG OF IT. HE BETTER NOT GO EASY ON ME! I WANT TO WIN BECAUSE I’M GOOD, NOT BECAUSE I WAS ALLOWED TO WIN!
WE’VE ALSO BEEN talking about having a family. (Sorry!! My hand got tired of writing all these capital letters!) And I confess that the idea sounds really nice—I mean, to be a mother! Wow! But that would mean I’d at least have to sacrifice a part of the time I’d be spending in the army. I don’t know if I’m ready to do that. You know it’s always been my dream to become an officer. But it’s also my dream to be a parent. But I don’t think I can handle both. Taehoon’s been really understanding. He’s already building a home just for the two of us! I’m so excited to live with him, Y/N! But it’s my dream to come back to camp. I haven’t told my family or Taehoon this, though. They’d probably oppose it. But I swear! I’m coming back!
Anyways! I miss you! You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you! Write back soon!
LOVE, LOVE LOVE,
HANA
⨰⨰⨰
You set down Hana’s letter, staring blankly into the nighttime darkness. You’re glad that she’s doing well and that she’s happy. But you’ll want to address her internal dilemma in your next letter to her. To be a mother or to fight for your nation? Such interesting, opposing dreams. It almost makes you realize how strange your life has become. You’re eating, breathing, sleeping, spending every waking moment for the war. This is your only goal. To see the end of the war. But others have other reasons to live—whether it may be for their partners, their family, their future aspirations… You wonder how they manage to make a balance in their lives, and you wonder if they ever get tired of it.
You hate to admit it, but even you feel tired attending meeting after meeting, reading file after file, writing plan after plan. Sometimes, you feel like your only reprieve is when you sleep. Because that’s the only time when you’re not overthinking—the you in your dreams doesn’t have that many thoughts.
Even now, there are too many things in your head, and you’re a little too tired to write back to Hana. Maybe in the morning, when your thoughts have settled down, you can write your response. You kiss Heli goodnight. He stands guard by your tent as usual as you climb into your futon, tucking yourself in.
That night, you have a dreamless slumber. And when you wake up, you feel almost empty, a little disappointed. You realize that you do know the answer to the General’s question—the one he’d asked you the day before.
Of course you want to dream.
How else do you escape reality?
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⨰ a/n: i recently moved into my new apartment so things have been SO hectic! while i'm adjusting to #adultlife, i've still been able to find time to work on lod. i hope you enjoyed this chapter (did you like the oc x general's interactions?? 👀) and who could those letters be from 👀
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, death of minor characters, mentions of blood, severe injuries
⨰ wordcount: 5.6k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: thank you so much @the-berry-named-ari! for reading this through and fixing all my silly mistakes <3
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⧖⧗Circa Emerald⧗⧖
The General is silent.
Time ticks by and with each passing second, you feel more and more anxious. You begin to gnaw on your lip, chewing on the cracked skin, drawing and tasting blood.
You expect the General to blow. Or maybe he’ll scoff and say, ‘I knew it.’ Or what if he laughs at you? What if he doesn’t take you seriously? What if he tells you that your mind is playing tricks on you? And what if he’s right? Do you really know what you saw? But no… You’re so sure. Why would you make up that illusion in your head? How would you?
Before you can doubt yourself even more, the General speaks.
“He recognized you?” he says, oddly calm. “How so?”
You chew on your lip some more before answering, “He grinned at me.”
The General stares at you incredulously. “Well, grinning and recognizing are quite two different things, Officer.”
He doesn’t understand. He wasn’t there.
“No, sir. He… He grinned because he recognized me. And when he realized that I didn’t remember who he was… Sir, I wish you could’ve seen his face. He looked so… horrified,” you say. “But horrified wouldn’t even be the right word. I’ve never seen someone look so devastated. No, petrified? Sir, I can’t describe it, but I was just… It was almost as if he expected me to know who he was. And he couldn’t even properly fight back. I don’t think he had his magic. It was like watching a flame slowly flickering out…”
You didn’t know you were shaking so hard until the General places a steady hand on the trembling desk.
“I see,” he says. “It looks like my soldiers had already confiscated his gemstone.” He hums. “The Darlaeans are interestingly weak, Officer. Without their gemstones, they are nothing. But their stones are quite valuable for trade outside these realms… Until the Darlaeans threatened war on any nation that would dare to trade with us.” The General sighs and he looks up to stare into your eyes. You can’t help but feel strange comfort in the familiarity of his gaze. “I don’t suspect you, Y/N,” he finally says.
“You don’t, sir?”
“If you don’t remember being Darlaean, are you really Darlaean at all?”
“Sir…”
“Isn’t that what you’d been implying? That the fact that a Darlaean war prisoner recognized you means you’re of Darlaean blood?”
“Well, yes… But… Well, you didn’t have to say it out loud,” you whisper. “It’s almost embarrassing.”
“If I had not said it out loud, would I have thought it in my head, and you would’ve magically heard me?”
“... I mean, I was sort of hoping…”
The General shakes his head. “You’re not Darlaean, Officer.”
He would never feel for a Darlaean.
So you must be the furthest thing from being one.
“You’re a fire medium—a Solarian. There is no reason to doubt your alliance, Officer. And to be quite honest, there is a large chance the war prisoner was hallucinating,” he says, crossing his legs. “They find it traumatic to be stripped of their magic. Who knows? The man you saw probably wasn’t seeing the real you.”
Oh.
You haven’t considered that at all. It’s an explanation that seems to ease your spiked nerves. Or maybe it’s the way he tells you this explanation. Or maybe… it’s the way he looks at you. With trust. With fondness.
“Thank you, sir,” you say, your tight grip on the edge of the desk loosening.
“There is no need to thank me, Officer,” he replies. “I’ve done nothing at all.”
You smile, shaking your head. “You reassured me, sir.”
“Did I?” He’s either pretending to look oblivious or he really is oblivious.
You nod your head, smiling so brightly that it’s actually hard for him to keep eye contact. For Sooht’s sake. Why are you smiling like that? He didn’t even say anything mildly funny.
But it’s your smile—your bright grin that makes Yoongi suddenly realize why he’d been so cold to you during your investigation.
You’re dangerously easy to like. Dangerously easy to care for, too. If he’s not careful, he might just—
“But what will happen to him, sir?”
His eyes flit to meet yours. “Him?”
“The war prisoner,” you say with curiosity. “What will happen to him?”
He wishes you hadn’t asked.
He clears his throat. “Well…” Why does he feel embarrassed admitting this to you? It’s almost as if he knows you’re going to tell him off for this. And why is the lighting in his tent so unbelievably soft right now? It perfectly outlines the gentle curves of your facial features, and he can’t help but stare for a second longer than usual. “Do you really want to know, Officer?”
“It sounds a lot like you don’t want to tell me, sir,” you say, raising your eyebrows.
There’s a long pause.
Then, the General sighs, looking down at his knees. “It’s hurt them or get hurt ourselves,” he finally says. “Kill them or get killed ourselves.”
In some twisted way, that had answered your question. He looks up hesitantly as the realization sets on your face.
“Oh,” you say. The smile is long gone. You begin to chew on your lip. He’s scared that you’ll storm out of the tent, upset about the unnecessary loss of lives, but he’s even more terrified that you’ll judge him for being so cruel. But he can’t help it. He’d meant what he said.
You take a long time to answer, seeming to mull over your thoughts in your head. All Yoongi can do is patiently wait, which is fine for him. He listens to the quiet ambiance of the night—the gentle fluttering of the summer wind against the tent, the dull flickering of the lamplight. Then, he finally hears your voice, soft, as if spun out of silk.
“Well, sir, I suppose… I suppose this is war,” you say.
He’s pleasantly surprised at your response.
“I suppose it is.”
He gazes up at you, comfortably perched on his desk, legs slightly swinging back and forth. You look like you’re lost in thought again, eyes glazed over and lips slightly parted. He wonders what you could be thinking of.
He hopes you’re not overthinking too much. After all, the Darlaean that you claim recognized you is a desperate, pathetic (slightly delusional) soldier who won’t be alive by tomorrow morning. But alas, he just knows—as your General, mentor and colleague—that you’re rethinking the moments when you’d met the war prisoner. For Sooht’s sake, he hates seeing you in agony over things that aren’t your fault.
But you can’t seem to get that innocent, boxy smile out of your head.
Sure, of course you’re not Darlaean. Of course you’d never plan to go against your own nation. You wouldn’t want to betray your friends here. And you would never dream of betraying the Solarian General.
That stupid necklace is definitely a gift. Maybe it was a Darlaean’s gemstone decades ago. But it’s yours now. You don’t care who gave it to you or why. Because your past is not your problem anymore, and you’re Solarian through and through.
The boxy smile flashes in your mind again.
You flinch.
So why the hell does the face of a Darlaean war prisoner haunt your mind? He’ll be dead by tomorrow morning. Dead. You hate to think of it. What if he has a family? What if someone is waiting for him to come back to his nation? What did he do wrong to get himself killed so mercilessly?
Hurt them or get hurt ourselves. Kill them or get killed ourselves. Does this apply to torture?
Does he even deserve to be killed?
But… he’s a war prisoner. You’d rather him—a stranger—disappear off the face of this nation than anyone you know and have come to care for. It’s a thought that fills you with immeasurable guilt: who are you to dictate who deserves to die and who doesn’t?
“You should be careful,” the General says.
It freezes your frenzied thoughts.
“Careful, sir?”
“Doubt has little place in the army,” he says. It’s almost as if he’s in your head. Or he knows you too well. But before you can even make up some excuse for your doubting, the General tugs at the collar of his uniform and clears his throat. “It’s getting hot these days, isn’t it?”
Is he really changing the subject to the weather? But you’d rather talk about that than dwell on the topic before.
“I guess it is, sir,” you say, humoring him. “It feels like autumn was just yesterday.”
The General nods. “Summer is always a bloodbath,” he says. His sharp eyes flit up to yours. “The heat agitates people.”
“A bloodbath…?”
When you blink, you see a flash of unmoving bodies piled on top of each other on a bloody battlefield, and shivers run down your spine.
“It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of death,” the General says with a snort.
Your eyes widen. “Sir!”
“It’s a joke,” he says, cocking his head, an amused smile on his face. “And didn’t you think the same?”
“Well, on second thought, maybe I’m not in a position to say such a thing,” you say, chewing on your lip. “I don’t remember being in life-threatening situations. So who am I to say I’ll be afraid of it or not?”
“Easy,” the General says. “You ask yourself, ‘Will I care too much if I don’t exist anymore?’”
“Of course I wouldn’t be able to care about my existence if I’m already dead,” you say, shaking your head. You let out a small smile. “Sir, this is getting too dark, don’t you think?”
“Would you rather we talk about the weather?” he asks so seriously that you almost miss the sarcastic glint in his eyes. “It’s not too humid, this time around, and I do appreciate the coolness of the mornings.”
“Or I can ask you a question and you could answer it,” you say with a grin.
“Ah, is this payback for the investigation?”
“You were quite cold to me in the interrogation room, weren’t you?” you say, upturning your nose. “Maybe it is payback. What was it that you said to me? ‘And what makes you think you can ask the questions here,’ was it?”
The General lets out a small laugh. “I was trying to set a somber mood!”
“Oh, it made me somber all right,” you laugh. “Are you ready for my question?”
“Of course I am.”
He almost flinches back in shock when you suddenly lean into him, glaring just as he did when he had questioned you in the interrogation room. The playful look on your face is gone—replaced with quite a serious expression. Your eyes search his, and he hopes you don’t notice his Adam’s apple shift when he involuntarily gulps. He didn’t know you could be so intimidating.
“When you first met me in Circa Sapph, what did you want to know about me?”
He blinks.
You stare.
He blinks again.
Then:
“What kind of question is that?”
His inquiry has you spiraling out of character. You immediately lean back from him and sigh. “You’re supposed to answer the question, not question me right back! What was that thing you said again? And what makes you think you can ask the questions here?”
Yoongi laughs. “Well, we’re not in the interrogation room, are we?”
“I worked up the courage to ask you that question sir,” you protest. “If you could answer it, that would be great.”
You worked up the courage to ask him? He wonders why. He thought personal questions always came naturally to you. In fact, you seem to have a penchant for coming up with the most arbitrarily invasive questions. Not that he minds.
“What did I want to know about you? When I first met you?” Yoongi says, tapping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “I wanted to know what the hell you were doing in my tent.”
“Riveting.”
To be quite honest, he remembers more than that. But why would he share those thoughts out loud?
“If that was an unsatisfactory answer, you could use the wonderful interrogation tactic of threats,” he says half-jokingly.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for interrogating,” you snort, swinging your legs. “Besides, what would I even threaten you about? That I’ll constantly bother you so you won’t get any sleep? You’re already sleep-deprived.”
Yoongi laughs. “It sounds like a very pleasant threat to me. A tiring task for you, however.”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever. I’ll tell you what I thought when I first saw you.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You will?”
“I thought you were royalty.”
“Me?”
“Yes! You walked in all seriously with a trail of blood running down your face and for Sooht’s sake, you looked terrifying. I also noticed the shitty posture right away.”
Yoongi laughs. “Of course you did.”
“It was actually a very pleasant initial impression. Until you stormed straight towards me and undid all of poor Namjoon’s hard work,” you say with a teasing smile.
“Oh, really?” Yoongi says. “I can’t say I had the same initial impression as you did.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Was it unpleasant, then?”
“Not that, either,” he answers. “It was a… confusing initial impression.”
“And how can an initial impression be confusing?”
“Because I felt like I would’ve remembered someone like you.”
Silence.
For a second, he wonders if he overshared, which is a problem he rarely—or never—has. Maybe in some weird, twisted way, you are a good interrogator.
“I’m pretty unforgettable, aren’t I?”
But immediately after those words leave your mouth, he sees a look of embarrassment creeping over your face. You quickly stare down at your knees.
“No, no,” he says. “Crazy enough, you’re right. You are unforgettable.”
“Or you just have a good memory.”
“Maybe that too,” he snorts.
Either it’s the summer heat in his tent or his cheeks are warm for apparently no reason.
“What if—”
Before you can get your full sentence out, the water clock chimes, interrupting you.
Your eyes widen when you realize the time. “Oh!” you say. “It’s so late. I didn’t mean to stay here for so long. You must have a lot of work to do, sir.”
The words, ‘You can stay for longer’ get caught up in his throat. And by the time he almost utters them, you’ve already hopped off his desk, straightening out your uniform. It’s too late.
“I’m sorry for bothering you with so many useless dilemmas and invasive questions,” you apologize. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
He nods. “Right. Well, then. Goodnight, Officer.” A pause. “Although you and I both know neither of us will be sleeping any time soon.”
“You’re right,” you smile. “But goodnight anyways, sir. Thank you for reassuring me.”
For a moment, you linger at the entrance of his tent, and he holds his breath. Are you going to ask him one last intrusive question? Or will you leave him in silence? And why does he wish it were the former?
But alas, you give Yoongi one last smile and exit.
He watches the red curtains flutter and your figure disappear into the darkness.
“Hey!”
You’ve taken just two steps from the General’s tent when you hear a familiar voice. When you turn around, you see Captain Im waving at you, jogging up to you with a book under her arm.
“Nayoon!” You greet her. “What are you doing out so late?”
She smiles. “Some light reading. But it’s a little difficult to read in the dark, so I was just about to retire to my bed.” Nayoon glances at the short distance between you and the General’s tent. “What about you? What are you doing out so late?”
It’s an innocent question, but for Sooht’s sake, where do you even begin? How can you possibly explain to Captain Im that you rushed to the General’s tent to inquire about a serious matter questioning your possible allegiance and then left with a strange, warm feeling growing in your chest?
You don’t explain, that’s what.
“We were reviewing battle plans,” you say nonchalantly.
“Always busy, as usual,” Nayoon chuckles. “You two never get any rest.”
“Says you!” you laugh. “What were you reading about this time? The history of the universe?”
“Oh, no,” she replies. “That’s what I would consider medium-weight reading,” she says with a teasing lilt to her voice. “I was only rereading some Solarian folktales.” She holds up her book, and you’re surprised to see how frayed it is—almost falling apart at the seams.
“Solarian folktales?”
“Just something we all grew up with,” she says before her expression softens when she comes to the realization. “I can retell you one if you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d love to hear it.”
Before you know it, you and Nayoon are settled in your tent, the light of the oil lamp radiating a soft glow. She looks up to the ceiling, leaning back as if to gather her thoughts. Her long hair brushes against the straw mat as her head tilts up, and she blinks slowly, seemingly visualizing the story unfolding before her eyes.
Her voice is light and silvery when she begins:
“Once upon the spirits’ time, there was a young orphan named Haneul. She was about eight or nine years old with bright, curious eyes and a passion for knowledge that kept her warm on the coldest of nights. She wandered the streets of Elu alone, often begging for food and a place to sleep after a long day. She’d just barely scrape by with the little money she collected daily from doing odd jobs around the village. And more times than she could count, she’d go to bed hungry. Yet even with her struggles, Haneul never lost hope.
“She had a dream. A dream so strong and bright and vivid that it allowed her to wake up the next morning and jump onto her feet with determination. A dream where one day, Haneul would own a book. Just one single book that she could call hers. In reality, she owned close to nothing—the clothes she wore every day, a tattered cotton bag and a small gourd for water. But those were her essentials. She wanted to own something that would bring her happiness.
“And so every day, she would visit the village library to read whatever caught her eye, wishing and wishing that one day, she could walk out after having purchased a book.
“The year Haneul turned eleven, however, was the year that the Park Dynasty was throwing a celebration for their sixtieth anniversary of connecting with the spirits of earth. Wanting to look her very best for the feast, the maternal king announced that she would like to have a beautiful wig made for her—one with luscious braids and silky, black hair. She would pay a generous sum to anyone who would donate their hair. A sum so generous that if Haneul were to acquire it, she could buy the whole library!
“Haneul ran her fingers through her tangled hair, which stopped just below her shoulder. With her dream just one haircut away, her fingers began to tremble with excitement. She quickly borrowed a knife from a kind shop owner and carefully slid the dull blade across her dark strands. She cut off as much as she could without injuring herself. And then she stared, a mass of black hair sitting in her palms.
“Her head felt so light. And she could feel the afternoon breeze tickling her exposed ears, for she’d cut her hair so short that it barely reached the bottom of her nose.
“Then, Haneul ran. She ran to the royal palace, squeezing her hands around the loose strands of hair that had once belonged to her. However, she was stopped at the entrance by the guards.
“‘What are you doing around here, young one?’ they asked her.
“And Haneul replied, ‘I’m here to donate my hair for her majesty!’ She lifted up her hands to show them.
“The guards looked at her with sympathy. After a little bit of quiet staring, one guard finally spoke up. ‘Well, dear… The maternal king is looking for a donation of hair that is at least the length of a dwarf sunflower. You know how tall those can get, child.’
“Another guard piped up: ‘Take good care of your hair, and maybe we’ll be able to accept your donation in another decade.’
“Haneul was heartbroken. Even as an eleven-year-old girl, she understood the longevity of ten years. Ten years for her hair to grow back. Ten years for her to grow silky, lustrous hair fit for her majesty. But Haneul’s eyes were set on her dream, and she wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
“From then on, Haneul spent every single solarin she made on spinach and sweet potatoes, which consisted of her diet for the next ten years. She never tied her hair, washed it often in the stream a day’s walk from the village, and brushed it regularly with a comb she traded three days’ worth of food for. Then, she waited.
“She waited without complaints, without agitation, without impatience—only hopefulness. She waited and waited and waited. She watched the leaves change color from verdant green to golden yellow to fiery red several times over. She watched a little cherry seed grow into a grand, blossoming tree. She witnessed a baby being born and watched him become old enough to do small chores all by himself. And as the years passed, her hair slowly grew back. For ten years she waited, spending two hours a day meticulously brushing her silky tresses. Compared to her ragged clothes, her hair shone like an onyx stone.
“The villagers were astounded by Haneul’s progress over the years. She’d also grown into an intelligent young woman, admired by every person in Elu. And as the days of the seventieth anniversary of the Park Dynasty and their connection with Sahn came close, Haneul began trekking to the stream every day. She found it peaceful there, often sitting on a rock nearby and dipping her feet into the cool stream.
“The day before the maternal king was expected to announce her desire for a new wig for the celebration, Haneul visited the stream for the last time. There, she sat, carefully combing her hair with her brush, eyes closed and feeling the silky strands against the fingers. Her hair was so long that it trailed to the back of her legs, and if she was not careful, it would also drag on the ground when she sat.
“‘This is it,’ she said to herself. ‘My dream will finally come true.’ But there, at that moment, a small breeze swept across the vicinity, playing with the strands of Haneul’s hair. She paused. For a moment, she thought the wind was trying to communicate with her. But that would be silly. The wise spirits of Sori had no interest in mere human affairs. And they would certainly not entertain the thought of connecting with someone as unimportant as she is.
“So Haneul began imagining how she would rearrange the library after she would buy the property. Maybe she would rebind some of the books that were beginning to fall apart. Or maybe she would reshelve the disorganized books into separate sections. Or maybe!—a real idea—she could host reading classes for the children in the village. How wonderful would it be to share her love and knowledge of reading?
“The wind rustled her hair again. Haneul paused. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Was she being silly? For the love of Sori, why would air want to communicate with her?
“But Haneul’s waited for ten years, and she decided that she can wait some more for the spirits of air. Slowly, she outstretched her hand, and she waited, heart beginning to beat quicker in her chest.
“To her complete and utter surprise, the leaves on the ground began to stir. She felt another breeze caress her hair, and she gasped, nearly falling off her rock in shock.
“She’d found the connection with the spirits of air. The first Solarian to do so—just about seventy years after the Solarians connected with earth.
“In the end, Haneul bought the library she’s always wanted and still had money left over to build a school—endorsed by the maternal king, of course. She’d read her own books every day, and listen to the peaceful sounds of the warm, afternoon breeze turning the pages.”
Nayoon smiles. “It’s the story of how a young woman connected the Solarians with Sori, the spirits of air,” she says, running her fingers through her own silky hair.
“It was so beautiful,” you say. “But for Sooht’s sake, talk about patience. I like spinach, but I don’t think I could eat it for ten years straight.”
“It’s what makes her Solaria’s very own legend,” Nayoon says with a smile.
“I can see why,” you say, nodding in agreement. The mental image you’d conjured of Haneul flashes in your mind, and for a moment, the picture aligns with Nayoon’s face. What an interesting thought. “You know, it sounds crazy, but Haneul reminds me of you. It’s not even just the hair, but it’s the… how do I put this into words? The feel of it,” you say, gesturing toward your friend. “You two feel so similar. It was almost like you were telling your own story.”
Nayoon laughs, tenderly twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. “Hm… You’re not crazy for thinking that at all. I really do see myself in Haneul a lot.” She pauses a little. “It’s…” She sighs, a hundred emotions flashing across her face. “To be quite honest, “Haneul’s Tale” has resonated with me for years. It’s the reason I learned to wield air.”
You cock your head. “Really?”
“Yes, well…” She stares at her hands. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I was born without elemental wielding.”
“Then you’re very accomplished for having learned two elements after birth,” you say, reassuring her with a small smile.
“I wouldn’t say accomplished,” she says sheepishly. Another small pause. “Well, I’m from a family of fire mediums. It didn’t really take that long until I could wield fire.”
“Oh, really?” you say. “Then how old were you when you began?”
“I was nine.”
“That’s fairly early!”
She hums. “I suppose so…” She stares up at the ceiling of your tent, eyes glossy and a little clouded over. She seems to be reminiscing and seeing how comfortable she is with her thoughts, you almost want to leave her with them.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nayoon says. She sniffles a little, shaking her head. “I spaced out a little there.”
You smile. “It’s all right. You looked like you had a lot on your mind. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“They’re not-so-great thoughts, though,” Nayoon says. “I’m actually really glad that I snapped out of it.”
“Not so great thoughts…?”
“Ah, yes…” She hesitates a little but lets a deep breath out and decides to elaborate. “I don’t talk much about it, but my entire family perished in the war when I was very young.”
“Your entire family?” Your eyes widen. “Oh, Nayoon, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, no, it’s really fine,” she says. “I don’t remember too much.” She sighs, and it’s the kind that holds so much weight to it that you can’t even begin to imagine how much her family’s death had impacted her. “Who am I kidding?” Nayoon says. “I remember it so vividly, Y/N. Like it happened yesterday. My parents died in the same battle. I cried in my older sister’s arms the night we got the news. Then the next day, she set off to avenge them. I cried alone when I got the message that she didn’t make it… So, yes, I do remember everything. But it’s fine,” she says again. “It really is. You shouldn’t worry.”
“Oh, Nayoon…”
“It’s fine,” she repeats. “I was very fortunate that a kind woman took me in. She showed me her collection of books—books that she’d collected for her entire life. And that’s when I found this one,” Nayoon says as she holds up the frayed storybook. She smiles wistfully. “‘Haneul’s Tale’ was the first story in here, and I read it so many times that I memorized every word of it by the time that I was ten. I wanted to be just like her. Well-read, patient, diligent, passionate…”
“And you are,” you say. “You’re the fourth sector captain of the Solarian Army—might I add the youngest captain to ever set foot in the central tent—and an Elunian prodigy. I think you’ve succeeded.”
“Thanks,” she says with a grateful look on her face. “But I’ve still got a long way to go.” She sighs before laughing a little. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for my autobiography, but here I am, spouting it out for you.”
Crazily enough, that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.
“Oh, no,” you say. “I find all of this fascinating. You’re here because of everything that has happened in your past. It’s interesting how much of your present can be shaped by your memories.”
“Interesting, indeed,” she says. “And thank you,” Nayoon adds. “If I may be honest, you’re a wonderful friend, Y/N. It’s just so easy to talk to you.”
You smile. “And thank you for trusting me. It’s difficult to open up about your past, but I’m grateful that you decided to share it. And that fairy tale—it was beautiful. It makes me want to become an air medium, too,” you laugh.
Nayoon giggles. “I can let you borrow my book, then.”
You gasp. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. You cherish that book, don’t you? I wouldn’t want to fumble through it with my awfully clumsy fingers.”
Nayoon laughs. “Oh, Y/N, just take it,” she says, handing you the old book. “I’ve memorized all the stories, anyway. You can return it after you’ve finished reading to your heart’s content. Besides, how can you say no to some of Solaria’s most classic tales? Aren’t you curious about how we connected with the other elements?”
When she puts it that way… It’s a little hard not to resist.
Soon, you’re alone in your tent, tucked in your covers with Nayoon’s book in your hands. The detailing of the book is fascinating—thick, creamy pages, crisp, black ink, beautiful watercolor illustrations to accompany the stories… Yet you still find yourself nodding off to the vivid images.
As interesting as the book seems, you’re a little more worried that you’ll fall asleep and somehow crumple up the pages—you couldn’t do that to Nayoon! So, you set the book aside and look up at the red ceiling of your tent, sleep almost overtaking your senses.
So much has happened tonight. More than you bargained for when you slipped out of your covers this morning. But then again, it has been quite a productive day. Your conversation with the General, with Nayoon… And now you have a wonderful book that you can read in your spare time.
There’s a breeze outside that flutters the curtains at the entrance of your tent. The night air is warm yet gentle, and it lulls you to dreamland all too quickly. But maybe the ease of slumber that you’d coveted for circas isn’t so great after all.
You have a dream.
Not a wondrous milestone like Haneul’s, but a nightmare. One that mars your thoughts and puts a deep frown on your sleeping face.
The stench of blood. The horrid sight of dead bodies with missing limbs and heads. The sound of cries of help and pain. The foreboding feeling of danger.
Your feet feel heavy, sweat and blood dripping from your forehead. Your hands are grasped around another. A woman’s. But her skin is cold, and she has no pulse. It’s then that you realize you’re crying. Your eyesight is blurry. You taste blood on your tongue. And you’re hurt too. A sharp stinging pain pervades your entire leg.
You limp, arms straining to drag the dead soldier across the battlefield. Trying your best to carry her back home—wherever that is.
You know this is a dream because you can’t sense your own thoughts. Or maybe you’re so scared that you don’t have any at all.
A strangled scream leaves your lips. “Help!”
It doesn’t even sound like you. You can’t recognize your own voice.
But the other soldiers are a blur in the background. No one even gives you a second look.
Your hands shake, yet you refuse to let go of the soldier.
Then, you feel a presence.
A familiar presence.
He’s tall and bloodied from battle, but he grabs the soldier’s legs and helps you lift her up from the muddy ground. A rather shadowy figure, but you seem to know him. You seem comfortable with him. A colleague? An acquaintance? No… he seems like your friend.
“Thank you.” You’re sobbing again. But this time, they’re tears of joy, not sadness.
“I’m sorry,” he answers, words full of sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
You don’t know what he’s apologizing for. But the you in your dream seems to understand. She—or you—nods solemnly, tears making clear streaks down her dirt-covered face.
Then, the man looks up.
“Let’s bring her back home, all right?”
He smiles—a kind, kind smile that understandably doesn’t quite reach his melancholy-filled eyes. But it’s the kind of smile that stretches his lips into a familiar, boxy shape.
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⨰ a/n: this week was absolutely fucking insane because 1) my friend and i were literally physically assaulted by a man who wanted money from broke college students :') 2) the guy i was seeing told me to step on a scale even though i'm considered underweight and struggle with body image and face dysmorphia 3) my college went on a full lockdown because there was a threat on campus... while i was ON CAMPUS. i was stuck in a building for five hours :))))))))) anywho! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! the next one is one of my favorites so i'm excited to share it!! (on the plus side, i got invited to a yacht party???? time to live out my y/n dreams LMAO)
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of blood and death
⨰ wordcount: 5.1k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: thank you to @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading as usual <3 i wouldn't be able to do this without you!
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⧖⧗Circa Diamond⧗⧖
The room is dark, mud walls obscuring any sort of light that tries to shine underneath the surface of the earth. It smells of dirt and wet soil, and it’s cold down here. No one had mentioned how cold it would be. Not even Captain Im, who advised you to come with a clear mind.
The wooden table where you place your two hands is stained with something dark. Something you hope is not blood. Your seat is unbearably uncomfortable. Not because there is no back support, but because in front of you, stands the General and the Lieutenant. There are no other chairs in the room, and you’re forced to look up at them.
With the exception of the flickering oil lamp on the floor, there is no other light source. The lamp casts dark shadows over the General and Lieutenant’s faces. It makes them look threatening. Like they’d do anything to get any sort of information out of you.
You gulp.
“So this is the interrogation room that you tried to haul me off to eight circas ago, sir,” you say, attempting to lighten up the dim atmosphere. “I never would’ve thought that it was underground, though,” you say. “Nice element of surprise.”
To your relief, the Lieutenant smiles a little. But the General barely moves a face muscle.
“We have instructed the officers who have already been questioned to stay silent. Since you are the last we will question, you will also be the one to tell the others that the investigation is over,” the General says. “This is not meant to be an interrogation, but we will keep some of the same formalities.” He never breaks eye contact. “Do you understand, Officer Ryu?”
You gulp. “Yes, sir.”
This is the intimidating man you remember seeing in Circa Sapph. The man who unknowingly ripped your stitches and showed you no mercy for your suspicious behavior. You wonder where the man who tenderly cared for your burn wounds is. The man who would secretly deliver matches into your tent. The man who showed you kindness when you needed it.
“You’re to tell no lies, Officer Ryu,” the Lieutenant says. Her usual warm eyes are now cold and guarded. It’s strange… These are two people who you’ve come to know so well in the past several circas. But now they’re acting like you barely know each other at all. It hurts, but you suppose it’s the right thing to do. “If you do lie, we will know,” the Lieutenant continues. “But you should have no reason to lie, Officer. Unless you’ve got something to hide.”
“No, sir. I’m an open book,” you say. “I’ll tell the truth. I promise.”
“Then, we’ll get right to it,” the General says. He steps closer to you, lips curved slightly down and eyebrows twisted. His presence makes you want to sink into your chair, but you force yourself to remain still. “When you woke up in Circa Sapph, eight circas ago, what did you know?”
“I knew my name, sir.”
“Your entire name?”
“No, sir. Just my first.”
“And you’re claiming that is all you remembered?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t remember anything else.”
He frowns, taking a step closer. “Then how will you explain your battle plans?”
Your eyes widen. “If… if I’m being honest, sir… I can’t. I just… I just drew what came to my mind. But not once did I stare at my own drawings and recognize anything.”
“So you’re telling me, in the eight circas that you’ve spent here without the memories of your past, you’ve never had a single moment where you recognized someone or something?”
His words spark a memory in you.
A memory that you remember being electric. Another memory that you remember being so… warm.
“Ah. You do recognize something.” The General takes another step forward. He’s almost hovering over you, his hands splayed on the wooden table as he stares into your eyes. “What do you remember?”
“I-It’s…” You fidget. “It’s not that I remember, but… There have been moments, sir… Moments where someone has felt familiar…”
“Who?” he whispers.
“M-My friend, sir. Baek… Hana? Soldier Baek? And… t-the fire tiger. Heli… There’s something about him, sir. I feel as if I’ve known him from before…”
“And you never bothered to say anything because…?”
“Because I didn’t think it was important, sir,” you confess. “I thought I was going crazy. I don’t know why they’re the only ones who feel familiar to me, sir. I know as much as you do.”
The General raises his eyebrows. “In fact, you do not. There are other things that you haven’t told me. Things that you’ve deemed as unimportant. Or really, is this just a hoax to hide your secrets?”
“It’s not, sir!” you say.
“Is Ryu Y/N your real name?” he says.
“I-I don’t know, sir.”
“Is Y/N your real name?”
“I really do hope it is, sir.” A small pause. “But I don’t know for sure, either.”
“Then what do you know?”
The General glares down at you like you’re nothing but the mud smudged on his shoes. He’s so close to you that you can finally delineate his delicate features in the darkness. Except for this time around, his gentle features are marred by a formidable frown. It makes your hands tremble, and you hold them together to hide it. This is just an act. He has to be like this. He doesn’t hate your guts, does he? He’s just doing this to fish information out of you. Because if he were too kind right now, it wouldn’t be fair for the others.
“I know…” You gulp. Steady. There’s no reason to feel so guilty if you’ve done nothing wrong. “I know that I’m a Solarian Officer, sir. I know that I’m a fire medium and that I’ve been creating battle plans for the army. I know that I’ve been decoding monocode for the past several circas, and I know that I was the one who suggested that there might be a spy amongst the officers.”
“Those are things that everybody knows,” the General says. His eyes darken, but before you think he will hold you by the collar, he leans away, sighing. He brings his hands behind his back, his posture slightly slouching, and he turns away from you, unable to make eye contact.
It is silent for a while. Your eyes dart around the dark room, and you see the Lieutenant leaning against the wall, looking alert but quite bored at the same time. She, like the General, is quite the actor. They’ve both managed to convince you that they do not care about you at all. It’s starting to get into your head.
“Did you know, Officer Ryu, that we have asked every single person before you to pinpoint who they thought the most suspicious officer was?”
Your head jerks up and you look at the General with wide eyes.
“And would you like to guess how many of the fifteen officers thought you were the culprit?”
You would rather not know this information.
“Eight,” he says anyway. “Eight out of fifteen officers were more or less convinced that you work with the Darlaeans. I must add that if you are a spy, you are doing a terribly shitty job.”
You stare at your hands in disbelief. Eight out of fifteen is quite a lot—more than half! You didn’t think you were friends with them all, but you did think of yourselves as acquaintances… Which officers had deemed you untrustworthy? And can you gain their trust in the future?
“Do you think I’m the spy, sir?” you say.
Your question makes the General’s eyes widen for a split second before he maintains his stoic expression. “And what makes you think you can ask the questions here?”
Now you’re starting to think that this is looking out to be a real interrogation.
“We investigated your tent a couple of days ago.”
You look up slowly, unsure how to feel. “Did you find anything… sir?”
“Are you hiding anything… Officer?”
“No, I’m not, sir,” you say. “I have nothing to hide.”
But as soon as those words come out of your mouth, an image of the necklace flashes in your mind. Unbeknownst to yourself, you’d just lied. You’d completely forgotten about that stupid, stupid necklace. The necklace that you were so keen on letting go of for your present self’s sake.
But you hadn’t hidden it because you’re a spy and that necklace holds some sort of important information regarding your mission here. You’d hidden it because you wanted to keep it safe. Because it was the only clue back to your past.
For fuck’s sake. Maybe you should’ve thrown it away when you had the chance.
Had they found it hidden behind your futon?
Had it accidentally rolled under your futon in the past several circas? (Thanks to the rough tossing and turning you do in your sleep?) Had it been so well-hidden that they weren’t able to find it?
Or did they find it and are they testing you to see if you’ll lie about it? Are they going to punish you?
But it’s a necklace, for Sooht’s sake! It’s jewelry. They’re not going to punish you for hiding precious stones, are they?
Still… Should you confess? Just in case? Or will that make you look even more suspicious? But before you can make up your jumbled mind:
“Good,” the General says. “We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
Your heart feels like it is sinking and soaring at the same time. Is this good news? Or is it bad news?
The necklace is just a necklace. So why do you feel as if you’ve committed a war crime, hiding it?
“There is one last question that I must ask you,” the General says. It makes you both anxious yet filled with relief. It’s almost over.
The General stares straight into your eyes, giving you no room to lie. And quietly, he whispers: “Do you think you’re a Darlaean spy?”
You hesitate.
Why does this feel like some sort of trap?
You try to search the General’s eyes for some sort of answer, some sort of comforting emotion. But you find neither.
Saying yes would probably be the worst answer you could possibly give. But if you say no, you’re risking the chance of lying. Because how would you know if you’re a Darlaean spy? You wouldn’t remember. And what if the necklace really does contain covert orders hidden inside the gem? You’d never bothered to look at it twice. In fact, you haven’t looked at it since Cira Sapph last year. How would you know?
How do you answer this?
“It’s not a hard question,” the General says. “Yes or no. Do you think you’re a Darlaean spy?”
“I… don’t know, sir.”
He scoffs in disbelief. “You… don’t know?”
“How would I know if I wasn’t, sir? What if my being an officer is going to jeopardize the entirety of the Solarian Army? What if… What if I am—”
“That’s enough,” the General says. “Never in my life have I seen anyone break apart this easily during an investigation.”
“Y/N, we didn’t torture you in the slightest, and you’re doubting yourself as if you really are guilty,” Doyun says. She sighs, walking towards you and outstretching her hand for you to take. You do, and she helps you stand up. “It was honestly painful to watch, Y/N. What Yoongi said was true. Eight out of the fifteen we questioned believed you were most likely to be the spy. But the majority doesn’t always have to be right. We searched your tent, and we found nothing. You find unexplainable comfort in Soldier Baek and the fire tiger, and you’ve been subconsciously trying to explain yourself by tricking yourself into thinking they’re familiar. Y/N, we questioned you so that you can prove your innocence. You answered as if you wanted to prove yourself guilty.”
“I’m sorry… It was just that…”
Oh no.
A horrible thought occurs to you.
The necklace. Hadn’t it held a dainty, diamond pendant? A white diamond.
If you’re not mistaken, that’s a gemstone. In fact, this very fucking circa is Circa Diamond. And everybody knows the twelve circas represent the twelve Darlaean gemstones.
For Sooht’s sake, you really are screwed.
Are you really hiding away a Darlaean artifact?
Why the hell are you in possession of it? Who had given it to you? Had it not been a former lover? Had it not been a gift?
What is the necklace?
Are you who you fear you are?
“It was just that… what?” the General asks. His eyebrows are raised, but that formidable look on his face is gone. It looks like the investigation is officially over.
“I—sorry. I started overthinking again,” you say, shaking your head. No. That necklace has to be a gift. You can feel it. And this is an instinct you can finally trust. You offer them a meek smile. “I have no evidence to support myself. But I also have no evidence to convict myself, either. What will happen to me?”
“I… don’t know,” the General says, mimicking the exact way you’ve been saying that phrase for the past several minutes. But when you give him a mortified look, he blinks and realizes maybe that wasn’t a good joke to make. “I mean,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “the Lieutenant and I would like to confer. There are other confessions we must take into account. So for the time being, you’re free to leave, Officer.”
You nod. “Sir?”
“Will we still be able to train tomorrow morning?”
Even after every mean word he has thrown your way today, you’re still hopeful. He nods, and your eyes light up with mirth.
“And Doyun! We’re still on for the late-night picnic today?”
“Sure are!” his lieutenant answers.
He and Doyun watch you leave the room, disappearing behind a large, wooden door to walk up the stairs back to the surface. And the moment you’re gone, Doyun turns to him.
“What is going to happen to her?”
He runs his hands through his hair, unable to answer.
“You were way colder to her than you were to the others, you know,” she says. “‘And what makes you think you can ask the questions here?’ A little harsh, don’t you think?”
“The others didn’t try to ask us questions,” he says, but inside, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. Why was he so unnecessarily cold towards you? It was as if he was trying to push you away. But you’re almost as stubborn as he is. He knows you’ll always come back to him (and with a surprising attitude, too).
Yoongi sighs. “I can’t shake this strange feeling off, Doyun.”
“What?”
“If more than half of our officers think she’s suspicious, they’re seeing something that we’re obviously missing.”
“Do you want to know what I believe, Yoongi?”
He raises his eyebrows. “You look like you know something I don’t, Lieutenant.”
“I might.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Let’s say that she is a Darlaean spy.”
“Preposterous.”
“But most signs point to the fact that she is.”
He stays silent.
“Let’s face the facts, shall we? She came to us unable to wield any of the elements. She was strangely able to predict the Darlaean movements on the battlefield. Not a single person in our army remembers who she is. She believes that Soldier Baek and the fire tiger are familiar to her, but how can they be? No one knows who she is. And who knows if the name on the file I found and she is even the same person? We didn’t take photographs of our soldiers.”
Yoongi places a hand on his throbbing forehead. “For Sooht’s sake, Doyun.”
“But I really do think she’s lost her memories.”
“You’re saying that she originally came here to spy on us, but she got into some accident on the battlefield and we took her in, thinking she was one of ours. She really did lose her memories, and now, she thinks she’s loyal to Solaria.”
“It’s the only way we can explain so much, Yoongi,” Doyun says. “And the Darlaeans. They’re panicking because they’ve obviously lost one of their most intelligent soldiers. They probably didn’t think that she would start working with us. It would explain their messages, too. She’s supposed to understand them, but she can’t. Not when she can’t remember anything from her past.”
“But… one of my soldiers… They couldn’t detect any gemstone on her,” he says. “Do you really think a Darlaean would’ve purposefully eradicated their ability to do magic?”
“She could’ve lost it on the battlefield,” Doyun says. “Or she disposed of it before she tried to infiltrate our campground.”
“Here’s the thing, Doyun,” Yoongi sighs. “What if she gets her memories back? Who’s to tell? And how would we know if she started working against us? What if she never even lost her memories in the first place?”
“The Darlaeans would never allow their spy to aid in our victory—even if it were just for show,” Doyun says. “Either they’re planning something so large that we couldn’t have seen it coming, or they made a simple mistake that is going to cost them their victory. She’s on our side, Yoongi. Just listen to the way she talks about this nation. She loves Solaria, and she’s loyal to us. It doesn’t matter what she was before. She’s with us now.”
“You underestimate her ability to overthink, Doyun,” Yoongi says. “You think she hasn’t already thought of this possibility? This investigation might’ve just pushed her over into realizing that she is the Darlaean spy. Once she starts remembering her past, it’s over for us.”
“Even if she does remember,” Doyun says. “What makes you think that she’ll immediately go back to the Darlaeans? What if she realizes that she belongs in Solaria? That she’s always belonged?”
“I don’t know…” Yoongi says. He closes his eyes, massaging his aching forehead. “We can’t even say we’re absolutely sure that she is the spy. The Darlaeans would never waste a good soldier to spy on us. Look at the past spies we’ve caught. They’ve all been massive idiots—horrible actors and even worse people. I doubt that the ones we didn’t catch even returned to Darlae with substantial information. We keep everything between us officers…”
“You’re in denial, Yoongi,” Doyun says, shaking her head. “Look, we’re both fond of her. So what if she is originally Darlaean? She’s done nothing but help Solaria. Didn’t you take her to meet the king? If she really did remember her past, do you really think she would’ve let that opportunity to slay his majesty pass by?”
“That’s a good point,” Yoongi mutters.
“And she’s a fire medium, now,” she says. “A Darlaean would’ve never been able to do that. Think of her as a reborn Solarian,” she says. “She isn’t a spy, Yoongi—if she even was one in the first place.”
“So you’re saying we should disregard her past,” he says slowly. “We’ve killed more for doing much less than what she set out to do… theoretically, that is.”
“I trust her,” Doyun says. She stands up tall—something she tends to do when she tries to make a point. “Do you?”
“Of course I do.”
How can he not?
All those late nights and early mornings… Spending an entire day with you in the capital… You’d confessed to him that you fight to end the war. Not only that, but you fight to end the war in Solaria’s favor.
He suddenly recalls the vision you had explained to him just barely a circa ago. The vision where you were riding on your fire tiger, embracing a Solaria free from war and death, embracing an Alder that isn’t a war campground, and riding towards a blazing sun.
For Sooht’s sake. Of course he trusts you. In fact, he trusts you so much that it scares him.
“So what’s your final call, General?” Doyun says, a teasing smile on her lips.
“Spy or not, we will treat her as if she is our own,” he says. “As for the investigation… We’ll tell them that everyone is innocent. There is no spy in the Solarian Army. At least, for now.”
“Do you think the others will believe us?”
“No,” he replies. “But someone has to believe in her. We can’t let her doubt herself. She’s Solarian as far as she knows—as far as we know, too.”
“How complicated,” Doyun sighs. But she shakes her head, a grin appearing on her lips. “If she really is a Darlaean spy… It makes you think,” she says. “Maybe they’re not that different from us at all.”
Yoongi finds that idea absolutely abhorrent.
⧖⧗Circa Emerald⧗⧖
You were about sixty-two percent sure that you would be kicked out of the officer meetings. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised by good news. The General and Lieutenant deemed that every officer is innocent.
It makes you feel better because, for a moment, you’d started doubting yourself. Now, you’re glad to know that your theory is wrong. That there is no spy and nobody knows what kind of plan the Darlaeans are brewing.
Of course, there is the necklace. But every time that thought comes to you, you shoo it away. It’s just a fucking necklace, for Sooht’s sake. There’s nothing deep about it at all. A necklace from a former lover. A necklace that you should seriously dispose of.
A diamond necklace that doesn’t hold any secret message in it.
It means nothing to you. Especially after decoding last circa’s message.
As usual, the code had confused everyone. From ‘Kwang’ to ‘opal’—another gemstone. Though most officers had been even more perplexed about the code than before, you were rather glad. Opal is good—great, even. Because nothing significant ties you to it at all. If your necklace had a dangling opal pendant, that would’ve been another (terrifying) story. You can’t possibly be connected to these strange Darlaean messages. And they aren’t trying to speak to you through ancient code.
You’re not the spy.
In fact, there is no spy.
It’s been rather comforting ever since the investigations. There are still officers who express their distaste for you, but for the most part, everyone is kind and civil. You’ve been here for nearly nine circas. If you wanted to do something diabolical, you would’ve done so a long time ago.
So everything goes back to normal.
You train with the General at dawn, write battle plans, study the code and help cook in the kitchen tent by day. Sometimes, you meet with your acquaintances—early morning Incha sessions with Captain Im, casual afternoon meetups with Doyun and evening chats with Hana. (You no longer visit Captain Yoo by the water clock, but occasionally, you do visit Major Hyun in her garden—much to her delight.) By nightfall, however, you always head back outside to practice your fire wielding (with Heli to accompany you). You find it the most comforting to light the gorgeous flames out in the darkness; it gives the illusion that your fires are brighter than they really are.
And as early summer begins to kick in, the days grow longer. You’re not too opposed to it. It gives you more time to focus on your officer work, and there’s never a limit to how much you can do.
Today, in particular, you’re prepping for today’s dinner. The sun is still relatively high up in the sky, shining its rather hot heat down on everyone in the campground. You let the sweat drip down your brow as you lug around the giant water barrel filled with the dirty dishes from last night’s supper and today’s lunch.
As you’re crossing Alder’s flatland, some yelling and obvious commotion makes you turn your head.
There is a crowd of soldiers, surrounding someone. There’s some cursing, some cries of pain. You step closer, minding the large barrel you’re carrying.
What could be going on?
“I swear on fucking Guseul’s heart once I get out, I’m gonna kill you all!”
Your eyes widen.
That doesn’t sound like something a Solarian would say.
“Hold his arm! You! You grab his leg!”
There’s some more scuffling.
You step even closer.
Then, everything clears out, and you’re suddenly able to see exactly what’s going on.
Oh.
A Darlaean war prisoner.
He’s dressed in a sleek, black uniform with silver and purple accents. There’s crusted blood around his nose and lips, but instead of looking defeated, he looks incredibly angry.
A Darlaean.
So this is what they look like.
They look like any Solarian, to be quite honest. But you suppose it makes sense. If the Solarians had split from the Darlaeans many centuries ago, it would be strange to not have any similarities in appearance.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”
The fierce yelling makes you jerk your head upwards. But that action makes you meet the eyes of the Darlaean. Shivers run down your spine.
At the first glance, he looks like he wants to murder you, which is what he has been saying, anyway. But then he blinks. And strangely, his eyes soften.
And in his kind-looking eyes, you see recognition.
You freeze.
No.
You blink. You blink again to make sure you’re not hallucinating. Then, he grins. He fucking grins. And his smile… It’s what you would call a boxy grin—a grin stretched so wide that it resembles a soft-edged quadrilateral. You’ve never seen anything like that before. Do all Darlaeans smile like this?
And why… Why is he smiling at you?
Why doesn’t he hate you?
Why doesn’t he want to kill you?
You blink again.
The man continues to stare at you.
You stare right back.
For moments, you play a staring contest with this Darlaean stranger, unable to look away—even though you desperately want to.
And you watch, in time, as the bright, genuine smile on his lips begins to fade away. His eyes become wide and alert. A look of horror morphs onto his face.
“He stopped fighting! Take him away to the interrogation room!”
The man who had fought so hard for his freedom before is frozen still. You silently watch him get dragged away. And he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you, the terrified look on his face staying until he is completely out of your sight.
Your knees feel wobbly, and you have to settle the barrel down to lean on it.
Who was that man?
And why…? Why did he look at you as if you knew him?
What is going on?
You wanted to forget who you were before. You thought you were the new you. But it seems as though the spirits want you to uncover your past. First the spy accusations and now this. Things would be so much easier if you just remembered.
It’s a yes or no question.
Are you a Darlaean spy?
What if you are?
You sink down on the ground, holding onto the barrel as if it were your life support.
If the General and Lieutenant think you’re innocent, you must be… Right? Or… Or what if they made a mistake? What if you’re dangerous?
You try to swallow the difficult thoughts.
You’ll try to last until dinner is finished. But the moment it’s over, you’re going to have to visit the General.
He wouldn’t ship you off to the interrogation room again. Would he?
You’re shaking.
You’ve been standing outside the General’s tent for the past several minutes, trying to rehearse what you’re going to say to him. But every time, you realize what you’re trying to do is insanely preposterous.
Are you trying to turn yourself in?
Why the hell would you do that?
But the answer is obvious.
Because you care about Solaria, for fuck’s sake.
If you’re a danger to the army, you would want to know.
“You’ve been standing out there for eight minutes now,” a soft voice comes from inside the tent. “Are you rehearsing a play out there?”
“N-No,” you say, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I didn’t… uh, I wasn’t sure if you allowed anyone to visit you at this hour…”
“Come on in,” he says without hesitation.
Your palms feel clammy, but you do as he says, tentatively drawing the curtains to his tent and walking inside.
The General’s personal tent is not too grand for the General of the Solarian Army. In fact, you think it’s a little smaller than the Lieutenant’s tent. He has a modest futon in the corner and a rather large, wooden desk that takes up almost all of the space. He sits at his desk, papers piling up as he scribbles on some documents splayed before him. When he hears you stepping into his space, he looks up. And immediately, the cross look on his face disappears.
“Why, Officer, you look like you’ve seen a spirit.”
You might as well have seen a spirit. In fact, you suspect that would’ve made you feel better.
When you don’t laugh at his (obviously) hilarious joke, the General frowns. He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair.
“Don’t linger around the entrance,” he says. He gestures for you to sit on his desk. Hesitantly, you do so, careful not to put too much weight on it. “You look troubled, Officer.”
Oh, he has no idea.
“Well… sir…” you say, fidgeting with your hands. You look down at your feet. “I’d… I think I’d like to add on to my investigation case.”
The General cocks his head. “That investigation case is closed, Officer. It has been for nearly a circa. You were innocent. As was everyone else.”
“But that’s the thing, sir,” you say, voice slightly trembling. “I… I don’t think I can be 100 percent innocent.”
The General noticeably tenses. “How so?” he whispers in his husky voice. But there’s no sign on his face that makes you think he already suspects you.
If you tell him, will he be angry? Will he even believe you?
You let out a deep breath.
“Sir, a Darlaean war prisoner recognized me. I don’t know what to do.”
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⨰ a/n: a shorter chapter (for once) LOL. and gasp! me finally writing a cliffhanger???? what do you think about this new development in the plot? 😳😳
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war w thank you ed with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, death of minor characters, mild burn wounds
⨰ wordcount: 10.2k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: as usual, @the-berry-named-ari thank you for all of your help and edits <3
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⧖⧗Circa Amethyst⧗⧖
Not even a fire medium.
Those words haunt you for days.
Nights in a row, you wake up in a sweat, staring at your trembling hands and wondering why you can’t seem to connect with fire. Why can’t you be a proper soldier?
It’s been a little less than a week since the last officer meeting, but you can’t get Captain Chu’s words out of your head. What have you done for him to hate you so? Is he really jealous of you? But how can anyone be jealous of a soldier who has no past?—not that it matters to you anymore.
These questions rattle your head ceaselessly. Even when Heli comes to visit you in the camp (as he tends to do these days to everyone’s surprise), you’re preoccupied with your thoughts.
The tiger nuzzles you, his dark eyes looking at you filled with worry.
You manage to smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’ve been out of it for a few days, haven’t I?” You sigh as you settle down in front of your tent, tugging your legs together and resting your head on your knees. Heli pads around on the grass before he nestles next to you on the ground. He huffs, resting his head on his paw and staring at you with round eyes. You can’t help but smile again and scratch his head. “It’s just stupid stuff,” you tell the sol. “Just officer drama.”
Heli grunts as if to agree with you. It makes you feel better.
You get a lot of strange looks from soldiers as they pass by your tent. They’re probably wondering how in the hell you got a free animal spirit to follow you around, especially when you don’t even wield the element. But other than that, you’re left alone to think.
Not even a fire medium.
You doubt Captain Chu said those words with the intent to scar your thoughts for days. Or maybe he knew what he was doing. Maybe he knew you’d get caught up with his words. And maybe you were wrong for calling him out in your first officer meeting. Maybe he wanted to get back at you. Or maybe Doyun’s right. Maybe he is jealous.
“Ahem.”
Heli immediately sits up, his tail low as he surveys the person who dares to enter your personal space. And when you look up, to your astonishment, you see Captain Chu.
For a second, the two of you are completely silent, acknowledging each other’s presence but unsure of what to say. Then:
“A tiger, huh?” Captain Chu speaks. He crosses his arms over his chest as if to show off his own tiger—the one tattooed on his arm. “A fire sol.”
“His name is Heli,” you say flatly.
Why is he here? Is he here to apologize? Because Major Ki told him to? In that case, you’re not sure if you can accept. Do you continue to act cold to him? Or do you cut this meeting short and ask him to leave? Or do you retreat into your tent? Will he follow you in there? What the hell does he want from you?
“I can see you thinking, you know,” Captain Chu says, frowning. He kneels in front of you, matching your level, and it makes your eyes widen. “You do that in officer meetings a lot. You stop blinking, and then you start chewing on your lip. That’s why they’re always so chapped.”
You scoff. “Did you come to insult me?”
“It wasn’t an insult,” he answers. “It was the truth.”
“Like the truth that I’m not even a fire medium, huh?” you say.
At that, Captain Chu sighs. “Look, I didn’t come here because I wanted to fight. I came here to apologize.”
“Because Major Ki told you to? Or was it because the Lieutenant herself ordered you to?”
“I came here on my own accord,” he answers. “Well, no. I was going to come here because Suhyun told me to. But I’m here now because I want to.”
You raise your eyebrows. But when you don’t say anything, Captain Chu takes it as an invitation to continue.
“I know I’ve been an asshole towards you.”
You pet Heli, silently agreeing. But it seems as if Captain Chu has come to you waving a white flag. It’s his way of atonement, you suppose.
“I don’t have a good excuse for it. And I can’t tell you the real reason for it, either. Captain Yoo, you know, Sungho would kill me for even being here in the first place. But—” he pauses. “But…”
“But?”
“My parents are dead. Sister, too. Got the message a week ago. And I know. I know you’re wondering, ‘how the fuck does that have anything to do with this?’ But it’s been hard, okay? I wasn’t the… I wasn’t the best son. Or the best brother.”
This is the first time you’ve seen Captain Chu be so introspective. It’s rather shocking. But you could get used to this.
“Ara’s supposed to be the land of healers, for Sooht’s sake!” Captain Chu says. “I don’t know what the fuck happened there with that damned disease outbreak. It makes me think if I wasn’t born as a fucking fire medium in Ara, maybe I would’ve been there to heal them. Maybe they’d still be alive.”
He glances at you, but you stare at him in silence, wordlessly telling him to go on.
“When I was younger, I wanted to be the best soldier Solaria would ever see,” he says. “Suhyun inspired me to be better, and we moved to Alder together to begin our dreams. But there was always something missing. I always had something missing. I’ve been thinking about what that could be for years. And it hit me in the past few days. You know what it is?”
“What?” you whisper.
“Tragedy,” he answers.
“Tragedy,” you repeat slowly, weighing the word in your head. “It makes sense. The more you lose, the more you want to sacrifice yourself.”
Captain Chu nods. “Strangely enough, I knew you’d understand.” He smiles, though it’s one of those sad ones—the ones that don’t really reach your eyes. “The best soldiers are the ones who have nothing to lose.”
It takes you a second to comprehend what he said. And it takes you another second for you to realize he’d complimented you.
“I can never be the best soldier in Solaria,” Captain Chu says. “It’s my childhood dream, but some dreams aren’t meant to come true. Because I’ve still got my girlfriend, and the Darlaeans are going to have to put me through hell for me to give her up. I’ve lost my family, but I’m not going to lose her. It makes me weaker than you. It makes me weaker than most soldiers in that fucking tent of ours. But you know what, Officer? I don’t fucking care. And I’m sorry I was an asshole. I shouldn’t have taken my problems out on you. But I will admit, you were seriously suspicious when I first met you.”
You nod, a small smile beginning to form on your lips. “So I’ve heard.” You reach out to pet Heli again. “Thanks, Captain Chu. You’ve put things in perspective for me.”
He really has. Now you know who he really is: an ambitious man with big dreams. A man who wanted to be Solaria’s strongest but fell in love and found his weakness. A man who is fiercely loyal to those he loves, and you just don’t happen to be in that circle. A man who can’t tell you the real reason he’d been a complete brat toward you. But a man who can admit that you are a better soldier than he is—when you aren’t even a fire medium.
“Good,” he says. He quickly stands up, brushing off the grass from his uniform. It’s a little awkward as he stares down at you. “Erm… I don’t go around spewing out my life story to anyone, you know,” he says. “So you better not go spread the news that Captain Chu is a big ol’ softie, all right?”
His words make you smile. “All right,” you promise.
“And Officer Ryu?”
“Yes?”
“Fire sols don’t just stick around people who don’t know anything about their element,” he says. “You’re going to be a fire medium soon. I just know it.”
You nod, scratching Heli behind his ear. “Thanks.”
“So…” Captain Chu says, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s quite hilarious seeing such an intimidating-looking man look so awkward. “I’ll see you in the next officer meeting?”
“Yes, I suppose you will.”
He gives you another short look before marching away. You watch him go, cocking your head.
“An interesting encounter, wasn’t it?” you tell the tiger.
He huffs, agreeing with you.
“The best soldiers are the ones who have nothing to lose,” you repeat. “Well then, Heli,” you say with a smile. “It looks like I’ve gotta be Solaria’s best soldier.”
But first, you’re going to have to learn to wield fire.
“What a surprising meeting,” Captain Im says to you as the two of you walk out of the central tent. She thoughtfully twists a strand of her hair around her finger, the rest of it cascading down her back. “It looks like Captain Yang’s theory was right after all.”
“But what could the Darlaeans get out of threatening the General?” you say. “And didn’t you think the code was just a little too on the nose this circa, Nayoon? The other ones were a little more cryptic. ‘General’ is easy. Maybe even deceptively easy.”
“Or maybe we’re thinking too hard,” Captain Im smiles. “We deserve some rest, Y/N. We spent a while theorizing in that tent just now. Oh, look, and it looks like the fire sol is waiting for you.”
She’s right. Heli sits just a couple of tents away, his eyes squinted as he happily greets your presence. You smile.
“He probably wants another belly rub,” you say, and Captain Im laughs.
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “I need to catch up on some air medium training, anyway.”
Soon, you’re left with Heli, and you reach over to scratch behind his ear. “Isn’t Nayoon so diligent?”
Heli huffs as if to agree.
“They all are, really. The officers, I mean. And guess what? Captain Chu asked me my opinion today in the tent. It’s stupid, but I felt validated. I guess he really does take a while to come around.”
Heli noses your leg and looks far off into the forest.
“A ride?” you say. “At this hour? It’s nearly dark.”
The tiger squints his eyes, his tail curling around you as if to charm you into agreeing with him.
“I have to organize some files…”
He hisses playfully, standing up and sauntering a few steps away from you. It’s as if he’s chastising you for putting your officer duties over him.
“I can take you on a short walk along the edge of the forest,” you say. “How about that?”
Heli seems to like your compromise. He comes crawling back to you, nuzzling you before leading you away to the edge of the forest—the place where you’d first met him.
You feel safe, walking by his side, his bright fur illuminating the areas around you and casting shadows that dance like the flames of a blazing fire. You could do this for hours, actually. And you do—though you’d promised Heli for a short walk. In the end, he gets more than he’d bargained for.
The sky begins to shed the colors of a vivid sunset, leaving a dark horizon to look up to. It’s nighttime now, and the crickets have come out to sing their nightly songs, the fireflies forming tiny constellations in the air.
Heli is a very loyal companion who listens to your every word. Soon, you find yourself sharing your thoughts to the fire sol, and he’s attentive as always, reacting to everything you say with a supportive swish of his tail or a contemplative huff.
“I don’t know how one learns to wield an element,” you confess to him. “But I’m sure there are ways. Maybe there are texts about it. Or mentors in Elu? Either way, do you think I should ask the General about it?
Heli huffs happily.
“I should, huh? Maybe after the next officer meeting? Or do you think I’m just procrastinating at that point?”
Heli lets out a small snort.
“Okay, fine. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
The tiger lets out a happy cry. You pet him, glad to have someone so supportive by your side. “Flaming hell. It’s really time that I become a fire medium.”
And before Heli can even react enthusiastically, you hear a familiar voice:
“I’ll teach you, you know.”
“Oh, for Sooht’s sake, sir!” You nearly jump in the air. “Are you following me around?”
“No,” the General answers too quickly. “But I did come to you with an offer.”
“You said you would teach me, sir?” you say. “You mean, you’re going to teach me how to wield fire?”
“No, I’m going to teach you how to fly. Of course I’m going to teach you how to wield fire, Officer.”
You grin, shaking your head in utter disbelief. “I appreciate your sarcasm, sir.”
“I appreciate yours as well.”
“But you do mean it, sir, do you? You’re really going to teach me? You’re personally going to help me become a fire medium?”
“I didn’t know it was something that needed so much clarification,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Do you have a reason to be so incredulous?”
“It’s just…” You breathe out, your heart thumping in your chest. “It feels so unbelievable, sir. I’m finally going to be a real soldier.”
He scoffs, though he still looks at you with a certain fondness—a professional fondness, might you add. “You were always a real soldier, Officer,” he says. “Fire wielding or not.” The General clears his throat when he sees the hundreds of emotions flashing before your face. “We’ll begin now, if you don’t mind.”
“Now??” you say, eyes widening. “Now?”
“I thought I saw the urgency in your eyes, Officer. Was I incorrect?”
“No, sir, not at all! It’s just… I don’t know how any of this works. Are you going to make me pray to the spirits? Do I have to consume flames? Must I walk through a bed of hot coals? Are there tests I need to pass to be connected with fire? Have I met some qualifications yet? I just want to be ready for anything.”
The General cocks his head. “I see you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Almost embarrassingly, sir,” you say.
“But it’s much simpler than you might think, Officer.”
“It is?”
“Connecting with an element requires the cooperation of your mind and spirit,” the General says. He clasps his hands behind his back, his posture slouching as usual. “It’s a process that may take a few minutes to several circas. Sometimes even years.”
“How long did it take for you, sir?”
“I was born with an innate connection with fire as descendants of the Min Clan are,” he explains. “But I connected with water and air when I was three. Connected with earth when I was five.”
“Impressive, sir.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so.”
You raise your eyebrows.
“But the point is, Officer, you must practice patience,” the General says. “The elements are never in your control. They are the source, and you are only a medium. The key is to have an open mind, heart and spirit.”
“Open mind, heart and spirit,” you echo. “What does that mean?”
The General nods. “Let’s sit down,” he says.
So the two of you settle on the grass, the twinkling stars in the dark sky staring down at you. It feels safe and cozy, just like the last time you and the General left the tents to have a conversation at the edge of the woods. Heli is by your side too, resting his head on his paws as he brightens the area with his orange flames.
You look at the General expectantly, wondering if there is a particular reason for the two of you to sit down.
“Cross your legs,” he says. “And close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes, sir?”
“Are you afraid of the dark, Officer?”
“Well, no sir,” you say. “But…” You swallow your words. No buts. You’re going to do this. You want to.
Tentatively, your eyes flutter close. The last thing you see is the General, his delicate features illuminated by the soft moonlight.
It’s not completely dark. With Heli by your side, you can sense a faint, orange glow coming from your left side. In fact, you can feel his warmth.
“Focus on my voice, now,” the General says in his husky voice.
And with your eyesight gone, for fuck’s sake, his voice sounds louder. He seems closer to you, too. Against your will, your heart flutters just a little. Or maybe it’s the passion trembling within you. You’re not sure, but you manage a small: “Yes, sir.”
“And try not to talk. Just listen.”
“Ye—” You stop yourself and nod.
“Breathe in… Good. And breathe out. That’s it… You should be comfortable…”
He pauses for a moment as if to assess your relaxation. When he deems you’re comfortable enough, he begins to speak again.
“Now, fire is the element of ambition,” the General says. “Once you learn how to wield it, you will know great warmth and destruction at the same time. But you must learn to balance the two. Your desires, your wants, your motivations; focus on them, Officer. The spirits of fire want to see someone with their heart engulfed in flames.”
Your desires?
The best soldiers are the ones who have nothing to lose.
Your wants?
I fight for the end of this war.
Your motivations?
It must be because I enjoy your company.
You’re going to be the best damn fire medium the Solarian Army has ever seen, that’s what. You feel warm inside, the heat emanating from your own chest. Is this what the General had meant when he told you to open your heart?
“Feel the fire from within,” the General whispers. “It’s burning inside of you, but don’t let it swallow you. Coexist with it,” he says. He feels so close to you.
No. You must focus.
The flames. You concentrate on the warmth building up in your chest, the raw passion you hold for this nation. The passion you have to become the best soldier in the army. To end the damn war once and for all. To become a fire medium. But to also learn to wield water, earth and air. You want to learn how to heal properly. You want to help Joon and Major Hyun tend to the garden. You want to fly kites in the air. You want to be like the General—connected to all four of the elements—and so in-tune with his connections that he’s able to teach others about it.
“Now, imagine the fire slowly spreading throughout your body,” the General says. “Feel it from the top of your head and to the tips of your toes.”
You do. The warmth is everywhere. But not once do you feel suffocated. Instead, you feel alive. The flames make your heart race and your mind whirr.
“Slowly—take your time—rest your hands on their backs… That’s it…”
You imagine beautiful, blazing fires sitting at the palms of your hands. They’re small, but they’re promising—wisps of light amber and gold entangling together and flickering in the night. You can almost feel the light in your hands.
“Comfortable?” a soft voice asks you.
You nod, completely in a trance.
“I want you to imagine holding fire in your two hands,” the General says. “Imagine the warmth. Imagine the colors. Imagine the sensation. Focus all of your energy, the warmth in your body into your palms.”
Your visions amplify.
Oh.
Oh.
You can feel it.
A real warmth.
You gasp.
“Shh…” the General whispers. “Let yourself get used to the feeling.”
You can sense two new flames—two new blazing lights so near the palm of your hands. You wish more than anything in the world right now to open your eyes and see them.
“You’re going to feel a soft impact on your palms,” the General says. “When you feel it, open your eyes and look straight ahead. Don’t look down.”
You nod.
And there it is.
You feel it.
But it’s not fire. It’s not what you would expect to be the texture of flames.
It’s skin.
And it’s warm. Soft.
Your eyes flutter open.
Oh.
He’s so close.
If the light wasn’t so dim, you could count his eyelashes. You can see the pretty slope of his nose, the sharpness of his eyes, his glowing lips. Your knees are touching too, but you don’t dare look down. His dark eyes reflect the warm, dancing flames, and for a split second, you feel chills running down your spine.
His hands are on top of yours. His hands that hold fire.
“You’re almost there,” he says.
His words echo in your mind.
You’re almost there.
“I’m going to flip my hands over, soon,” he whispers. “And when I do, I want you to hold my flames.”
You nod.
You’re almost there.
His voice, the warmth, the spirits, the magic. You’re in a trance and you can’t stop staring into his eyes.
“You’re doing so well…”
It’s then when you feel it.
It’s so light without the weight of his hands.
Oh.
It undulates on your palms—you can feel it.
It’s magical.
Your eyes widen, and the General notices it. He smiles.
“You’ve done it, Y/N.”
Slowly, you look down.
What you see before you is a sight that makes you want to cry tears of joy.
“For Sooht’s sake…” you breathe out.
Your own hands. Carrying fire.
The flames lick at your skin, but they’re friendly, only feeling warm and never unbearably hot.
“I’m doing it…”
“You’re doing it,” he repeats.
“Flaming hell,” you breathe, eyes sparkling with mirth as you stare at your hands, frozen in shock. “Sir, if I cry, do you think it’ll extinguish the fire?”
He laughs. “If it does extinguish, I can help you light it again.”
Your lashes have come stuck to your face, wet from your glistening tears. “This is beautiful, sir. I never thought connecting with an element would be so… so profound. I feel so light. Like the wind could whisk me away.”
“You can hold it closer if you want,” the General answers. “It won’t hurt you. It’s a part of you.”
A part of you.
The thought makes the tears roll down your face. They feel so cold compared to the warmth you’re holding in your hands. Tentatively, you bring your hands together, conjoining the two fires into one. The General nods at you approvingly. You lift your hands close to your face, examining the flames wisping and curling upwards, hungry for more kindling.
It feels like what you would imagine coming home from a victorious battle feels like. It feels like reaching the top of a mountain of success. It feels like a tiger’s roar in the bright, early morning. It makes you want to jump up and cry out in the night air.
You flinch when you feel something soft brush against your leg. When you look down, you see Heli, nuzzling you. He looks proud, watching the fire in your hands intently. It’s as if he wants to say, ‘You’re just like me now.’
The warmth of the flames dries your tears and soon, you look up to the General, who has been watching you carefully with a soft look on his face.
“It seems as though you have a lot of ambition, Officer,” he says quietly.
“I do,” you agree.
“Channel it into your fire wielding,” he says. “Your flames will only get stronger from here.”
“I want to wield all of the elements, sir,” you say. “Do you think that I can do it?”
The General raises his eyebrows. “Is that one of the ambitions you used to fuel your fire?”
“Yes, sir.”
He hums. “We’ll see.” He steadily stands up, leaving you sitting down, cross-legged with a fire in your hands. “I think that’s enough for one day,” he says. “You can easily extinguish that by waving your hands.”
Your eyes widen, and your flames flicker for a moment, but you keep your hands still. “But sir, I only just learned how to hold fire. I still need to learn how to make it. And I’ve seen soldiers create this gaseous fire sphere during their training. I want to learn how to do that too.”
The General adjusts his uniform, tugging at his collar. “Officer, you’ve undergone at least a day’s worth of training in several minutes. I assure you, we’ve got more than enough time. It’s best to stop now and think later. Fire preys on doubt, Officer.”
And before you can react or say anything for that matter, the General gives you a nod of acknowledgment. “It’s getting late, and I promised some soldiers in the fifth sector that I would train them by nightfall.”
“O-Oh. I wouldn’t want to steal their time,” you say, bringing your knees together in a more comfortable position.
The General nods and begins to turn away, but before he can leave, you thank him, your voice bubbling with awe and mirth at the same time. He pauses.
“Meet me here at 5 a.m. tomorrow,” he answers. “If you would like to learn more about the works of fire.”
Then, he walks away. So casually. As if he hadn’t just opened up a whole new world for you.
You sit, holding the fire close to you, guarding it.
“Heli, I don’t think I can move,” you say. “I’m scared. I don’t ever want this fire to go out.”
The tiger huffs, seeming to laugh at your predicament.
“It’s not funny!” you protest. “I’m serious! Do you think it’ll be a massive fire hazard if I try to bring it in the tent with me?”
The tiger paws your leg.
You laugh. “I was only half-joking…”
But are you? You’re terrified that you won’t ever be able to do this again. What if tomorrow when the General makes you do the same thing, you won’t be able to produce the same results? What if today’s lesson was a fluke? Beginner’s luck? What if fire’s not meant to be a part of you? What if it rejects you? What if it despises you for being so different than it last remembers? What if… what if you are a horrible fire medium?
The flames in your palm begin to flicker violently.
“Oh!” Panic rushes into your veins. You scramble up, hands shaking as you stare at the fire threatening to extinguish.
And suddenly, your palms feel like they’re going to burn.
“Oh, fuck, that’s hot!”
Damn it all to hell. You doubted yourself. You let your thoughts get ahead of you.
The General had warned you. And you had paid no mind.
Oh, how humiliating.
Your hands feel like they’ve caught on fire—but the kind that melts your skin and sears your limbs off, if you’re not too careful. But you don’t want to extinguish the flames. You can’t. Sweat begins to drip down your face.
The fire is so scalding that your skin has gone cold.
You grit your teeth.
Heli whines, and he reaches forward to help, but you shake your head, tears pricking your eyes.
“No, Heli, I can do it,” you say. “It’s… It’s a part of me, remember? I can maintain it.”
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Your eyes automatically close.
Think of your desires, wants, motivations.
An image of the General flashes in your mind.
Another deep breath in. And yet another deep breath out.
You try to ignore the prickling sensations in your hand and instead, focus your energy on the warmth in your heart. The warmth travels down your arms, spreads to your torso and the lower half of your body. You concentrate, trying to recall the General’s soothing words, replaying them back in your mind.
And finally, when you open your eyes, you see that the fire has settled back down.
“Oh. I did it.”
Yet this triumph doesn’t make you as happy as the last.
Quickly, you extinguish the flames by shaking your hands, only to wince at the stinging pain.
Heli noses your hands, and you turn them over, slightly trembling. He whines, his own flames dimming as he surveys your injuries.
“I’m okay, Heli,” you say, reassuring the sol, but you say it to reassure yourself as well. “It’s just a little redness. It’ll go away.”
The fire sol licks your hand.
You smile. “Thanks.”
But there’s no doubt about it.
Those are burn marks.
“Good morning, Officer.”
You shift your feet uncomfortably, looking down at the grass. “Good morning, sir.”
“Quite early isn’t it?” he says. “But I do admit, I must be a morning person. It makes me feel awake.”
“Does it?” You crack a small smile. “It does for me too, sir.”
“Did you have a good night’s sleep, Officer?” he asks as he settles down on the grass—but not before he somehow evaporates the morning dew away. He gestures for you to take a seat on the dry patch of grass.
“Yes.”
No.
You’ve kept the palms of your hands hidden, having them face away from the General. The guilt of what happened last night is eating you alive. Will he denounce you for not being able to follow simple orders?
It’s best to stop now and think later. Fire preys on doubt, Officer.
Yet you went ahead and doubted anyways.
And you’re still doubting now.
For Sooht’s sake, when will the cycle end?
“Then you must be ready for some more training.”
“I am, sir.”
Are you?
“I showed you the beauty of fire, yesterday, Officer,” the General says. He holds out his hand, and a blazing fire ignites on his palm. It bursts in color and flames all at once. But you find yourself flinching away. The General doesn’t notice. He closes his hand, extinguishing the fire into smoke. “But today, I’ll show you its destruction.”
You flinch again.
This time, the General does notice.
“It’s the balance of beauty and destruction that you must master to be a good fire medium,” he explains. “It’s nothing to be afraid about. If the fire is a part of you, it won’t hurt you.”
The guilt is nearly eating you alive.
“Now, hold out your palm.”
You freeze.
“My… my palm, sir?”
The General cocks his head. Then, he notices your rigid posture, your alert eyes and your hands that you are keeping hidden away from him.
“May I see your hands, Officer?”
You’re shaken.
The sharp tingling is back.
“I-I… I swear… I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right,” he says. “Lemme see.”
Hesitantly, you bring your hands forward, the tension snapping when you turn them over.
“Ah,” the General says. But he hides his shock—if he even had any—quite well. “It must hurt, doesn’t it?”
“It feels a little prickly…”
“Nothing some care, attention and Incha wouldn’t fix,” he says. “It should heal in 2 days’ time.”
“I can still train, right?” you say. “It doesn’t hurt very much, and it was a mistake last night, sir, I swear on Sooht’s head. I was overthinking, and I know you told me fire preys on doubt, but I was stupid and I just… I got in my head,” you say. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” the General says. “In fact, I’m glad we got over this today. The earlier you learn this lesson, the better it will be for your wielding. As for training?” He pauses. “Well, we’ll only continue if you desire so.”
“Of course I want to, sir!”
He nods. “But for the time being, you’re forbidden to draw your battle plans. Not until your hands get better.” When he sees your mortified expression, he tries to explain: “It’s best not to irritate the skin.”
“Sir, I’m just worried that at this rate, I’ll never be able to draw my plans.” What if you have nothing to show for the next officer meeting? “I’m okay with the pain, but I don’t think I can stand burning my hands every time I train. How will I tend to my other duties?”
You wanted to become a fire medium to fight. To become a better officer. Turns out, learning how to be a fire medium might just make you into a worse officer.
“Don’t worry,” the General says. “Burns are quite common in early fire mediums, but as your connection with the element grows stronger, you’ll gain unbreakable confidence. But your burns, Officer,” he says, examining your hands. “They’re not severe at all. Won’t even be affected by some more fire training. It looks like you’ve befriended the fire after you let it take over. It won’t hurt you again.” A small pause. “It’s within you, you know.”
“Fire, sir?”
“Yes, figuratively and literally. You’re not afraid of it, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m just afraid of failure.”
“Everyone is,” he answers. “Your fear is universal, Officer. But don’t let that fear distract you from what you can be.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good,” the General answers with a smile. “We won’t have to go over fire’s destruction. It looks like you’re well-acquainted with that. But you see what I was saying, now, don’t you?”
“Beauty and destruction, sir,” you say. “They go hand in hand.”
“Yes,” he says. “But when you wield fire, you do not focus on the beauty nor the destruction. You focus on yourself. So today, I want you to focus on a single thought. A single thought that ignites your whole being. A reason that you breathe, Officer. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” you say.
You half expect for the General to tell you to close your eyes again, but to your surprise, he unhurriedly gets up to his feet.
“Sir?”
Is he going to leave you to your thoughts?
“I’ll be back, Officer. But I want you to think. Find the reason you live for.”
He’ll be back? But where is he going?
Contrary to your thoughts, you mutter an acknowledgment, and you watch as he walks away.
Will he leave you for hours? Is he testing you? Does he want to see if your thoughts will become twisted in time? Or… Or does he genuinely have to leave? Run a short errand and get you started on your training at the same time?
You shake your head, taking in a deep breath.
It’s time to placate your mind, your thoughts, your worries.
You’re to focus on yourself.
To find a reason that you breathe.
What do you breathe for?
Your eyes close automatically.
Well, you breathe to live. How else will you get air into your lungs? But there must be a reason that you continue to breathe—a reason that surpasses your body’s instincts.
What if there are too many?
You breathe to see a new day because waking up early in the morning invigorates you. You breathe to watch the sunrise painting the sky in soft, delicate colors. You breathe to add your part to the Solarian Army, to be the best officer that you can be. You breathe to meet your dear friends just one more time before they’re whisked away to battle—their fates determined by the spirits. You breathe to see Solaria. You breathe to see the sunset, the nightfall, the General.
And most importantly, you breathe to see the end of the war.
That’s it.
That’s the single thought that makes your body go up in flames.
Because from the moment you awoke, everything you’ve done so far has been for one thing: for the war. To win the war. To end it.
So this must be the reason you breathe.
This is also the reason you want to be a fire medium.
You feel warm all over, a fire settling in your heart.
And when you open your eyes, ready to greet the morning sky, you see the General has come back. You were so concentrated that you hadn’t even heard him settle down on the ground.
He raises an eyebrow, resting his hands on his lap. “I see you’ve come up with your single reason.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he says. “But before we continue, we’ll do something about those hands.”
When you look down, you realize the General had neatly splayed a gauze roll, a bowl of Incha and a container of a greenish ointment that looks unfamiliar to you.
Oh. So he had left to get these supplies. It’s considerate of him to do so, but you’re not surprised. This is the General you’ve always admired. Of course he would do something like this.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, reaching for the bowl of dark green liquid.
“That’s a lot of Incha,” you say. “Will I have to drink all of that?”
The General shakes his head. “It’s for you to rest your hands in,” he says. “It works for burn wounds. My sister figured it out years back.”
You give him a surprised look. He’s never talked about his family first, and you never expected him to bring it up so casually, either. “Was she a healer?” you ask.
“No, she wasn’t.”
At his curt answer, you’re unsure if you should’ve pried at all.
“She was my mother’s lieutenant after my father passed.”
“Oh… I’m… I’m sorry, sir.” You try to gauge his countenance. Is he masking his real emotions behind a stoic expression? Or is he so numb from carrying the burden of the Min Clan that he can’t feel anything at all?
Yoongi feels nothing.
Or so he likes to think.
In truth, his sister passed away from the exact thing that she found a cure for. Every time he sees a burn wound, he’s reminded of her. And he revisits the pain he had felt when he first realized she no longer existed in this world.
“Sir?”
He’d spaced out.
Funny. Usually, it’s you who is always living in your own world.
“Let’s fix you up,” he answers, brushing off the concerned look in your eyes.
Diligently, he cleanses your hands in the dark green tea, making sure to use his most delicate touch. He can’t imagine how afraid you must’ve been yesterday. He should’ve stayed until he saw you put out the fire. He should’ve given you a clearer warning. Something about those burns on your hands feels like they’re his fault.
He tries to ignore the intimate proximity between the two of you. But it’s hard when you stare so blatantly at him, trying to read him with your curious eyes.
“Must you always try to read me like I’m a book?” he comments absent-mindedly.
But his words seem to have shocked you as well because you flinch a little in his grasp. “S-Sorry, sir,” you say, clearly embarrassed.
But he didn’t want an apology. He didn’t mean to call you out like that, either.
And when he feels your eyes look away, for some inexplicable reason, he wants them back.
He gently lifts your hands from the bowl, and he holds them in his. Almost instantly, your wet hands begin to dry from the warmth emanating from his skin—a trick his mother had taught him to battle the cold, wintry winds of Alder.
He then uncaps the container of aloe ointment—one that his homesector proudly produces. And tenderly, he begins to rub the cool gel onto the palms of your hands.
He’s done this to so many other people, he’s lost count.
So why does this feel so different?
Silently, he wraps the gauze around your hands, taking meticulous care not to bind them too tightly. And when he’s finished, he carefully sets your hands down on your knees.
“Change the gauze twice more today,” he says. “But you should be fine to begin using your hands normally in a day, now.”
“Sir, if you weren’t the General of the Army, you would make a fantastic healer.”
The corners of his lips tug upward. “Why, thank you. Do you feel better?”
“My hands feel… refreshed,” you say, then you laugh a little. “Is that weird to say? That my hands feel refreshed?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Not at all.”
“So I can train now?”
“Yes, Officer. You can train.”
Your eyes light up, but as soon as he notices, you close them shut, shifting your position and placing your hands on your knees, palms up.
“I’m ready,” you say.
He smiles.
He can almost feel your eagerness.
“Deep breath in…” he says. “And deep breath out.”
You do as he says, and he can’t help but notice in the morning light how peaceful you look.
“This is about you,” he says. “This is about nothing but your ambitions and your reason to live. So think about that single, intense thought. How does it make you feel? What does it make you see?”
He watches your expressions contort.
“You can answer me,” he says.
“I feel… the warmth of a hearth. As if I’m sitting right next to it.”
“Is that what you see? You, sitting near a hearth?”
“No, sir…” Your voice sounds dreamy—like you’re recalling the moments of a lovely vision. “I see… No, I feel it, sir. The war is over. Oh… Oh, sir. I see Alder, and it looks beautiful without the tents. Just flat land and wild grass stretching on and on. It’s wonderful. I wish you could see it.”
“And where are you, amidst this, Officer?”
“I’m…” Your nose scrunches as you think. “I’m with Heli. Oh! I’m racing through Alder on his back. And I see another…” you trail off, and he wonders why. But before he can ask, you inhale deeply, continuing your thought. “I can smell flowers and fresh rain, sir. It’s… It’s almost as if I’m really there.”
You have quite an impressive imagination.
“And where are you headed, Officer?” he asks, softly, carefully. He doesn’t want to wake you up from your dream.
“Towards… I’m not sure what it is sir,” you say, forehead wrinkling. “It feels warm, though. Oh, and I can feel its presence. It’s… Oh. I’m riding towards the sun, sir. But it looks different.”
“How so?” he whispers.
“It’s so close… And it’s red with flames.”
“And you’re riding straight towards it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you feel, Officer?”
“My hands feel warm, sir. It must be because I’m gripping Heli’s fur,” you say. “If I gripped any harder, I might accidentally pull out a chunk of it.”
He smiles with amusement. “Your hands feel warm, Officer?”
“Yes, sir. So warm.”
“Open your eyes, Y/N. You’ve done it again.”
As your eyes slowly open, your jaw simultaneously drops.
“O-Oh. Oh. For Sooht’s sake… Oh, flaming hell!”
He watches the flames flickering in your hands. They’re the brightest he’s ever seen a beginner ever make. There’s something about that raw passion of yours that is beyond special.
“You made that yourself,” he says.
“Sir, I can’t believe it!”
He almost wants to utter, ‘me neither.’
Never in his life has he seen someone so easily connect with fire. But maybe your spirit is remembering something your mind and body cannot. This is simply a reconnection. And even so, your absolute wonder is contagious, and he stares at your flames with a bit of astonishment and a hint of pride.
You bring your hands closer. “Beautiful…”
He agrees.
“I want to remind you that these are just the basics, Officer. Holding and creating fire are the very first steps,” he says. “We will meet here every day at the same time to continue your training.”
He’s never seen you look happier.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you so much.”
And you’ve never seen his face light up so much.
But to be completely honest, you didn’t tell him all of your visions. How can you? That would be quite embarrassing.
Because riding with you, into the sun, was a familiar man with a shockingly shitty posture on a transparent, white horse. A man who you clearly recognized, but would never admit his identity out loud.
⧖⧗Circa Aquamarine⧗⧖
Yoongi wakes up to his muscles aching. Either he’s growing old or his rigorous training back when his family was alive has finally caught up to him.
Yoongi also wakes up to find a steaming hot meal of his favorite dishes laid out before him. Who could’ve done such a thing? And who would feel comfortable enough to walk into his tent unannounced to deliver him such a breakfast?
The only answer he can think of is Doyun.
The second thing he wonders is… why?
Until it dawns on him.
It’s his birthday today.
So he wasn’t imagining the aging at all. But is this what being 29 makes you feel? And what does age matter, anyway? It’s depressing. His older sister of five years never got to live a day past 25. And Yoonsoo never even reached his 20s.
It’s been a decade since he lost both his mother and sister, but he remembers it like it was yesterday.
What a delightful way to start his birthday.
But Yoongi sighs, getting up from his futon, padding over to the tray full of food. It looks absolutely delicious, and he’ll have to remember to thank Doyun later. She must be so busy, too—training, training others, double-checking battle plans and unit formations. But she always makes time to care for others.
Today is also the day of the code evaluations for this circa. He wonders what new word you’ve deciphered this time could be. And will you tell the officers what you really think of it?
You’re always holding back. Or so he notices. He’s not sure why. He’d worked so hard to foster an environment amongst his officers where everyone is comfortable enough to speak their mind. But why do you always hesitate? And why do you listen more than you speak?
He wants to hear you. And he’s sure the other officers are curious about your words as well.
You’re quite talkative when you’re with him. He likes spending mornings with you, training just as the sun shyly peeks from the horizon. No matter how early he gets there, you’re always there first, practicing whatever he had taught you the day before. And no matter how late he retreats to his tent, he sees you out there again, with the fire tiger, lighting up the night sky with your flames.
And in that way, you’ve improved at an astonishing pace.
You’ve learned what most people take half a year to master in approximately one circa.
Sometimes, he wonders if you get any sleep.
Other times, he wonders if your ambition staves off any possible fatigue that you might have.
Every day at the end of your lesson, you ask him hopefully, eyes twinkling, if you’re ready to train with the other soldiers. And every day, he answers no.
There’s something about the way that you wield your fire that exhales beauty but shuns destruction. That would never work on a battlefield. Yet he doesn’t necessarily want you to learn how to destruct as a fire medium, either. He finds your flames absolutely enchanting. You’ve found a way to bend the wisps of flames as if they are silk, the colors fluttering in harmony with the breeze that greets the air. He’s never seen anything like it before.
Your passion and intense ardor don’t go unnoticed by others, either. He watches as more and more of his officers begin to accept you into their lives. He watches as you leave officer meetings with different people, smiling brightly and conversing with them with a glint in your eye. And he watches you now, in today’s meeting, listening quietly to what the others have to say.
In a way, you’re a little like him. He never liked thinking on the spot. It takes him time to process information, to filter through all the possible alternatives, to give an order that he knows he won’t regret. He prefers to listen. Because that way, he can heed a little bit of everyone’s advice and opinions. Because that way, he would lead for his soldiers and not himself.
“—sir?”
Well, that’s embarrassing. He’d missed the entire first half.
“Yes?” he answers, almost sheepishly, but he manages to keep his expression stoic (from years and years of practice).
“I asked if you know anyone with the surname, ‘Kwang,’ sir,” Captain Im says. “We’re not quite sure if this code pertains to Captain Yang’s theory.”
Of course. ‘Kwang’ is the new code.
Captain Yang’s theory that the Darlaean message is a blatant attack on Yoongi seems to be rather popular in the tent. Almost everyone but a couple of officers believes in it. It makes him all the more disheartened to admit:
“I don’t,” he says.
“I told you,” Captain Chang sighs. “The Kwang Clan perished before most of us were even born.”
“I didn’t even know we had a Kwang Clan in the first place,” Major Lee says, scratching his head. “Does this mean Captain Yang’s theory is out the window?”
Captain Yang bows his head. “I apologize for suggesting something faulty.”
“It was a smart theory,” Major Hyun consoles him. “It just didn’t happen to be the answer.”
“So what is the answer?” Captain Im says.
Everyone is silent.
Captain Im is usually the one answering the questions, and without her on the other side, no one wants to reply.
You take the silence as a sign to think harder than before.
‘Kwang’ throws you off. First, the Darlaeans send a code that is an object. Then, they send an action, followed by a number. And now, a surname? Nothing makes sense. It’s like they’re checking off a giant list of the most random things that they can find. Jewel, usurp, 19, Kwang… It makes you revisit the thought you’ve had almost since the very beginning—the one that had lasted until Circa Garnet.
This could be a message.
This could be a message for just one person. These words mean nonsense to you, but what if it should make sense? Just not to you? Why would the Darlaeans risk losing the war by repeating the same attack patterns to spell out monocode that translates into seemingly arbitrary words? There is a large possibility that they didn’t expect every officer in the Solarian Army to pick up on it. Maybe the message is supposed to be interpreted differently. Maybe it wasn’t for every officer to uncover. Maybe it was just for one person to read and act upon it. Alone. Maybe…
You can’t help the words threatening to bubble out of your throat.
“Maybe there’s a spy.”
Every officer in the tent turns to look at you. Even the most stoic ones have horrified expressions on their faces.
You can’t believe what just came out of your mouth. That is an incredibly large accusation to make—one that could split everyone apart or turn everyone against you. As you’re struggling to comprehend what you’ve just done, the General quickly cuts in.
“And what makes you think that, Officer?”
“Well… um,” you say, trying not to let the stares from the other officers distract you too much. “That could explain why we can’t make sense of the code, sir. Why the Darlaeans would risk losing the war by giving away their attack patterns. They didn’t expect us to know monocode. And they were right, weren’t they?” you say. “Maybe their message is for one person and one person only. What if we’re decoding their message to their spy?”
“And are you implying that the spy is standing in this room right now?” the General asks.
Your eyes nervously sweep across the officers around the large table. You look down. “I would suspect so.”
“Ha!” Captain Goe laughs. “So are we going to rip each other’s throats trying to find the culprit?” He takes a swig from his gourd. “By the way, happy birthday, General. What beautiful news your officer has gifted you on your special day.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have said such a polarizing thing on the General’s birthday. Now he’s going to have to deal with the aftermath, and you have an inkling that it isn’t going to be pretty.
“We will keep this meeting civil,” the General firmly says. “And thank you. Though the ‘present’ that Officer Ryu has announced for all of us must be taken seriously, we will not point fingers at each other just yet.”
“It’s less likely, but the spy—if they exist—could also be a soldier,” Captain Im pipes up.
“And who’s to say the spy isn’t a healer, either?” Major Lee says.
“And if there is a spy, when did they join the army? Why did they wait until now to begin something?”
“They’re planning something…”
“It’s something big.”
“It’s terrifying to think about,” Major Ki says, “but if there really is a spy—or even, spies—how would we catch them?”
“Most likely, we can’t,” Major Ahn says. “If we began interrogating everyone, the spy would get suspicious. And if the spy is standing in this room right now, they already know.”
“Or the spy suggested the idea so she could go under the radar.”
Everyone turns to look at who had spoken. And to everyone’s surprise, it’s Captain Yoo.
Though his face is completely stoic, his eyes bore into yours, and if you weren’t so conscious about the way he was looking at you, you would’ve stepped back from the intimidation.
“We shouldn’t be pointing fingers,” Captain Chu says—also to everyone’s surprise. Even you stare at him, eyes wide. Had he just defended you?
Captain Yoo sighs. “But when did the messages begin? Soon after she came into our meetings. Memory loss, inability to wield the elements, suspiciously clairvoyant battle plans… Isn’t it so convenient?”
“He has a point…” Captain Chang says.
“I’ve been thinking that too.”
“It actually makes perfect sense.”
“Why didn’t we think of this earlier?”
You watch as several officers pitch in to accuse you of spying for the Darlaeans. You’re rendered speechless. You knew that there was a possibility that suggesting the existence of a spy would make you look suspicious, but you didn’t think Captain Yoo of all people would be the first to suggest it. You were never his friend, but all that time you spent together with the water clock duty… It had meant nothing to him.
“Convenience, Captain Yoo, does not equal suspicion,” the Lieutenant speaks up. She puts a supportive hand on your shoulder. “We will not punish Officer Ryu for bringing to the table a theory that no one else dared to say out loud. We will also not punish her for the injuries she acquired fighting in the third sector.”
“And haven’t you heard?” Major Lee says, giving Captain Yoo a nasty look. “She’s a fire medium now. Maybe someone should check their facts before pointing fingers.”
“Sir, you can’t just let someone with such an enigmatic past fly under your radar,” Captain Yoo says, addressing the General. “This needs to be investigated.”
The General’s brows twist in deep thought. “In theory, everyone must be investigated. We cannot single out Officer Ryu because she has lost her memories. So, Captain Yoo, it will be up to you. If you want to investigate Officer Ryu, you and everyone else in this tent must be investigated as well. What will it be?”
Captain Yoo arches an eyebrow. “I suppose it is only fair that everyone else is interrogated along with her.”
“Interrogated?” Captain Im says, eyes wide. “W-We’re not… we’re not going to be given Hyoscine, are we?”
“We only use that for our war prisoners,” Captain Bak says, casually fixing her bangs away from her face. “Unless Captain Yoo wants to accuse Officer Ryu of being a prisoner of war, we won’t be given Hyoscine.”
“Captain Bak is right,” the Lieutenant says. “We will not be using Hyoscine on anyone in this tent. It’s too dangerous, and we can’t risk memory loss for our officer again.”
“And how will you know she isn’t lying straight through her teeth?” Captain Chang asks.
“Because we’ve been winning the war since she came to us with her battle plans,” the General answers. Captain Chang visibly shrinks back at the authority of the General’s voice. “I find it hard to believe that Officer Ryu would suggest that there is a spy in our midst if she really were the spy. She would anticipate that people would find her the most suspicious, given that some of us in this tent haven’t been so kind to her in the past.
“She said what was on her mind because she believed it was urgent. And it is only fair that we consider this theory because ignoring it could be detrimental, and the reasoning behind this theory is quite sound.
“With that said, the Lieutenant and I will be commencing investigations—not to be confused with interrogations. Rest assured, we will not be using Hyoscine, but we will ask that everybody be honest and truthful.
“The investigations will be a precaution, and we will not accuse anyone of being a spy until we find compelling evidence. There is a large chance that everyone in this room is innocent. And an even larger chance that there is no spy at all.
“We will begin the investigations in the next circa,” the General says. His hand grazes the wooden table, and when he looks up, his sharp eyes meet yours. “Please prepare yourselves to answer any personal questions. The investigations will be at random.” A small pause. “You are dismissed.”
Seconds after the General’s last words, everyone stays frozen. It’s quite a lot of information to take in. Your head is absolutely reeling with thoughts. How will you answer personal questions if you cannot remember the answers? Should you not have announced this theory in front of a group where the spy could potentially be hiding in? And why will some officers never be satisfied with what you do? It makes you think. There had been a vote to keep you in the officer meetings nearly five circas ago, and only nine people had voted in your favor. Could it be that there are still some officers here, waiting for your downfall? Could it be that some officers have always suspected you were a spy? Can nothing you do prove your innocence?
Soon, the officers realize that the General had dismissed them and they begin to trickle out of the tent. Too soon, you, the Lieutenant and the General are the only ones left.
“I shouldn’t have said that there was a spy,” you say, looking at your feet. “I’m sorry. And I especially shouldn’t have said something so controversial on your birthday, sir.”
The General shakes his head. “My birthday is nothing compared to strategizing to win the war. I’m glad you spoke up today, Officer.”
“I didn’t know Captain Yoo wasn’t so fond of you,” Doyun says, frowning. “He practically threw you under. As if he was waiting for you to mess up.”
“It’s fine, I guess,” you say, offering her a tight smile. “He was just trying to look out for Solaria.”
“Yoongi, do you really think one of our officers could be a spy?” Doyun asks.
The General sighs. “I don’t know.”
Doyun sighs at the General’s elusive answer and turns to you. “You look tired, Y/N.” She looks worried. “Don’t go fainting on me, again.”
It must be from the stress that’s started to creep up after Captain Yoo’s and many others’ accusations.
“I’ll be fine,” you reassure her. “I’ve just been training hard, these days.”
She nods as if to understand. “Make sure to take care of yourself occasionally, okay?”
“I will.” You let a small smile slip through. “Oh, and sir?” you say.
The General raises his head, almost perking up at the sound of you addressing him. “Yes, Officer?”
“I hope you enjoyed the birthday breakfast Doyun and I made for you this morning,” you say with a soft smile.
And with that, you walk out of the tent with Doyun laughing at Yoongi’s shocked expression and Yoongi, in turn, unable to contain a bright smile lighting up his eyes.
⨰ previous | series m.list | next
⨰ a/n: i have finally made a character list! it includes the characters' name, age, mbti, allegiance, magic and more! feel free to reference it whenever you forget who a character is! (or if you just want to see if anyone has the same mbti type as you LOL)
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, death of minor characters, very brief mention of suicide
⨰ wordcount: 6.7k
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⨰ a/n: your support and help means so much to me @the-berry-named-ari! thank you for beta-reading once again <3
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⧖⧗Circa Garnet⧗⧖
It’s a new year.
A fresh start, a novel beginning, the end of the truce and the commencement of battles.
For the most part, things haven’t changed. The tasks are the same—tending to the wounded, participating in officer meetings, creating battle plans… But if something did change, you can confidently say that it was you.
Maybe it was your first extended conversation with the General. You’ve spent so much time with him, yet it has never felt like you really got to know him. That night, you learned that you and the General have more in common than you thought. But knowing more about the General also opened up more doors of mystery. Why does he have nothing to lose as you do? What past has shaped him to want to fight for Solaria’s freedom? Why does he not believe in love and war? And why won’t he tell you why he thinks you’re peculiar?
Or maybe it was meeting the fire tiger. You’ve never felt so safe, so secure, so warm at the same time. You’re not sure what brought the sol to find you, but you thank the spirits that it had happened.
And besides, it doesn’t really matter whether the reason was the General or the tiger; something that night had prompted you to feel like you were reborn. And now, for the first time, you feel like you.
“Y/N!!!” Hana shrieks, running toward you at breakneck speed. She takes you in a bear hug, jumping up and down while attempting to spin you in circles. “I got back two weeks ago! How come I haven’t seen you until now?? I missed you so much! I had the time of my life back home, but for Sori’s sake, I couldn’t stop thinking about my duties back here! I was so glad to be back! And now to meet my friend!”
You laugh, bringing your arms around to brace her. “Did you eat all the bread you wanted to back home?”
“You know I did! Father made his homemade special holiday acorn bread, which I ate for nine days straight!” Hana sings. “I set aside some to save for you, but my siblings decided to surprise me with an empty platter the night before I left,” she sighs, shaking her head. “They send you their formal apologies. Oh! And did I tell you? I have a boyfriend now,” she says, dreamily. “He says he’s going to wait for me until I get to go home again. Isn’t it amazing?” she sighs happily. “I think I’m in love.”
“In love?” you ask, eyes wide. “Flaming hell, Hana! I’m so happy for you! Tell me everything! Who confessed first?”
“Of course I did!” Hana snorts. “He was too shy. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’ve known him since we were both three. I might have gotten a little drunk, though, before the confession, that is. Either way, it was perfect, Y/N. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy. He’s an earth medium, you know, and he made me the prettiest garden of flowers right outside my windowsill! Roses and tulips and carnations!”
You smile. “I’m really happy for you. It sounds so romantic, Hana.”
“Oh, it was,” she grins. “We’re gonna send each other love letters every circa. I was actually going to send you a letter, Y/N!” Hana laughs. “But then I realized I’d come back here before you would even get that message.” She giggles. “But enough about me. What did you do during the break?”
“Oh, me?” you ask, a little taken off guard. “Not much,” you reply with a smile. “I guess I’ve been cranking out battle plans, if that counts as relaxation.”
Hana gives you a horrified look. “My sweet Y/N, you’ve lost your marbles.”
You laugh. “Don’t worry. I had the General to keep me company.”
“The General??” Hana gasps. “His idea of relaxation is work, Y/N! No wonder all you did was crank out battle plans! You’re in need of a vacation!”
You shake your head, grinning. “Hana, what would I even do? Besides, I can’t just abandon my duties!”
“You’ve been working so hard that I’m pretty sure you don’t even have duties left to take care of,” Hana pouts. “Why don’t you take some time off for yourself?”
“Take time off for myself?” you ask, laughing. “I really can’t, Hana.”
“Hmph!” she sighs. “You’re going to burn yourself out at that rate, Officer. Don’t think I don’t notice the dark circles under your eyes! You haven’t been getting much sleep. If you don’t rest, sooner or later, you’re going to crash and burn!” She grins, sweeping in a low bow. “But that’s all the convincing I can afford today, my good friend! I’ve gotta go train. See you later, Officer!”
“O-Oh! Yeah, see you later!” you call out to your friend, who waves while continuing to jog away. You wave back, but your other hand gently traces under your eye. You didn’t know your body had left evidence of your many sleepless nights.
Take some time off for yourself.
But that’s what you’ve been doing. You’ve kept yourself busy, trying to make sense of the monocode and reviewing battle plans that you want to share as soon as possible. It’s a new circa now, which means the Darlaeans have already made new formations for their new line of code. And it’s up to you to crack it.
You know Hana means differently when she tells you to take time off for yourself, but what is there to do other than work for the army? Besides, this is a war for fuck’s sake. And you’re an officer. So you shake your head, making your way inside the medical tent to see what Joon’s been up to.
“Oh dear,” Namjoon says when he first catches a glimpse of you. He carefully stirs a giant pot filled to the brim with warm Incha and gives you a worried look. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Joon, I’m not sick, I promise,” you say with a laugh. “I was just wondering if you need some help around here?”
Namjoon sighs, stopping his stirring to turn to you. “Y/N, you’re an officer now. It’s kind of you to offer to help all the time, but you don’t have to come to this tent to work anymore. You have your other duties. Oh, dear… It looks like you’re overworking yourself. Didn’t we sign off a temporary truce with the Darlaeans over the brunt of winter? You haven’t gotten any rest at all, dear. You look very tired.”
“I’m not tired at all, Joon,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve just about finished all my officer duties, so I thought you could use a helping hand. I would be training too, if I was a fire medium, but I haven’t quite learned the works of that yet.”
But Namjoon is firm. “Y/N, you look like you’re seconds away from burning out.”
“I can last a few more circas like this,” you say. “Maybe an eternity,” you smile, though it feels a little heavy on your lips. “I feel okay, Joon, I swear.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“I feel so awake!”
“When did you last sleep?”
“Well, I… I don’t know.” For some strange reason, your eyelids have gone heavy. And oddly, it’s getting harder and harder to blink. “Maybe two days ago? I’m not so sure.”
Namjoon reaches forward, gently placing the back of his hand onto your forehead. “No fever… You need sleep right away. When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
“Also can’t remember…”
You’re feeling a little dizzy. There are strange, white blobs in your vision, and though Namjoon just checked your temperature, you feel cold all over.
“Y/N? Y/N?? Y/N…”
You can hear words, but you can’t quite comprehend them. Your head feels light—a little too light. There’s a loud thump!, and there’s a dull impact on your side. There are more words. They sound more urgent this time. But you can’t bring yourself to understand what they mean. And before you can have another thought, everything goes black.
“She seemed fine at the last officer meeting. I didn’t know she was overworking herself…”
“She hasn’t slept in two days, and her blood sugar levels are quite low… I don’t think she’s eaten for a few days, either. I nearly had a heart attack when her eyes rolled back and she just fell to the ground.”
“Flaming hell. This girl is trying to carry a nation on her back before she even takes care of herself.”
There’s a polite laugh. “Oh, dear. I don’t think she was taking a proper break. Has she always been… well, a workaholic? After she got promoted, we haven’t had much reason to see each other. I should’ve made sure we kept in touch. I’m her healer, for Sahn’s sake.”
“She’s hardworking. But I’ve never seen her overwork herself to this extent…”
Your eyes flutter open and you try to sit up immediately, but strong hands push you down. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” you protest.
But the Lieutenant General snorts, shaking your head. “Y/N, you fainted.”
“I did??”
When you look around, you see that you’re in a cot, covered with a blanket and a cup of warm Incha waiting for you in Joon’s hands. Without much protest, you take the tea and sip on it. It makes you feel just a little bit better.
“Namjoon here tells me that you’ve been overworking yourself for whatever reason,” Doyun sighs. “You’re already doing so much. Creating battle plans is not easy, Y/N. Though the way you whip them up, it doesn’t seem like it. But a normal plan takes us weeks to create, Y/N. Maybe circas. Trust me. You’re allowed to take your time.”
You fidget with the cup. “I feel like I need to fill in the gaps, Doyun.”
It’s the partial truth. Of course there’s a real reason hidden in your mind somewhere. Something that you don’t necessarily feel the need to reveal in such a casual conversation.
“The gaps?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m an officer, but I don’t know how to fight.”
Doyun’s eyes soften. “Oh, Y/N. You’ve lost your memory. It’ll come back to you eventually.”
Eventually. That could be in a thousand circas; decades, even. There isn’t enough time to wait. And besides, do you even want your memories to come back now? Still, the last thing you want is for Doyun to worry.
“I guess it will,” you say with a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I should’ve taken care of myself better. I apologize for making you worry.”
Joon shakes his head. “It’s fine, dear. I’m just glad I could have helped. But do take care of yourself. I didn’t fix your broken ribs and head injuries for you to falter from malnourishment and sleep deprivation.”
You smile, nodding. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“We don’t have an officer meeting for a few days,” Doyun says. “From now to then, you’re forbidden to do any work. Just rest. Trust me. You’ve already done so much for us. We can’t risk losing our Battle Plan Coordinator, can we?” You’re about to open your mouth to argue when you hear a new voice in the tent.
“That’s an order, Officer.”
It’s quite the familiar voice.
As expected, when you look up, you see the General. He’s got his hands laced together behind his back, an amused look painted on his face. “When you said you wanted to fight for the end of the war,” he drawls out, “I didn’t know you were trying to fight for your end as well.”
You scoff. “Sir, I only fainted.”
“And fell nearly face-forward,” Namjoon adds to your dismay.
“Maybe if you’d hit your head on the ground, Officer, you would’ve lost all of your memories. Again,” the General says. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
The General lets out an exasperated sigh at your protest. “If you wouldn’t mind, Doyun, Joon, I’d love to speak to our officer alone.”
“Oh, of course!” Namjoon says. “Drink all of that tea, dear. And if you need more, you know where to find me.”
“I’m expecting you to rest, Y/N. General says it’s an order,” Doyun says, crossing her arms over her chest to emphasize her point.
You nod at both of their words. And once the healer and the Lieutenant are gone, the General speaks without a second to waste:
“Was it something I said?”
You blink. “Sorry?”
“Was it something I said, Officer?”
“I’m not sure I follow…”
“You’re overworking yourself to the brink—no—to actual collapse. It seems to have started shortly after our conversation that night near the woods, Officer. So I must ask: was it something I said?”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, no! No, sir. It wasn’t what you said.”
“Was it the meeting with the fire sol?”
“Heli?”
“Heli?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows.
“O-Oh.” Your face heats up in embarrassment. “I know I’m not supposed to name the animal spirits, but I’ve been meeting him every night, and I just couldn’t help but name him. I hope that doesn’t go against a rule book somewhere. He answers when I call him, though. But oh, for Sooht’s sake! It wasn’t because I met Heli, either. Or maybe it was… I don’t know, sir. It was everything.”
“Everything?”
Flaming hell. With the General’s simple persistence, you’re going to have to dig up what you’d buried away in your thoughts.
“I had an epiphany that night,” you admit. “And maybe it was because of my conversation with you. Or maybe it was because I met Heli. It could’ve been both, too. I don’t know, sir. But I just remember being fed up being tied to my past life. I wanted to break free from the ropes. I just wanted to let go.”
“So you let go, Officer?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve decided that this is who I am now. I don’t care what I did in the past.”
“Well, congratulations, I suppose,” the General says with a quirk of his brow. “But I’m failing to understand how this makes you overwork yourself, Officer.”
“I don’t know if I made the right choice,” you blurt out. “I don’t know anything about my previous life. Is it really right for me to cast it away? What if I had people I loved? What if I made promises that I can’t remember? What if they’re waiting for me to come back but I never do? I’m scared, sir. And see? I’m doing it again.”
His voice is soft when he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Overthinking,” you sigh. “I didn’t want to overthink my choice. So I bit off more than I could chew. To distract myself from a spiral of horrible thoughts. But here I am, overthinking anyway.”
“I’m impressed that you were able to make such an executive decision, Officer,” the General says. His words ease just a bit of the tension from your shoulders. “You needn’t beat yourself up about it. This is who you are.”
“I suppose it is.”
“And truth be told, Officer, I like that you overthink.”
Your eyes widen. “You do, sir?”
“How else could you create battle plans so naturally?” he says with a gentle smile. “It’s just a part of you. No need to punish yourself for it.”
“Sir, but do you really expect me to sit around and do nothing until the next officer meeting?”
“No.” He smiles. “But still try to take time off for yourself.”
“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” you sigh.
“I believe it,” the General replies. “But hearing that more than once is also a sign that you should take that advice. Take time off, overthink, ponder, ruminate. Do what you like. Maybe even go on a ride with Heli. I expect you to be well-rested by the officer meeting. I’m sure you have many great things to share.”
“I do, sir.”
“It’s settled, then.”
“It is.”
There’s a short, awkward silence. You sip your Incha and the General stares down at the dirt. After a while, you’re the first to speak.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Officer?”
“Do you happen to know anything about the number 19?”
He frowns. What an odd question. “Nothing comes to mind,” he replies. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, sir.”
He clears his throat, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. “Then… Then I will see you in two days’ time. Take care.”
He barely remembers what you had answered because he’s staggering out of the tent, a distant ringing in his ears. The walk to his own tent is a blur. When he finally collapses on his chair, his hands begin to cradle his head.
“S-Sh-She… She’s dead.”
“Quit pulling my leg, Yoongi. There are more serious matters to tend to.”
“Mother… Yoojin is dead.”
“She is only wounded. She is not dead.”
“You have to believe me, Mother.”
“It’s General Min to you, Yoongi. How many times do I have to tell you? Yoonsoo is always so good at showing his respect. You? Why must you disappoint me, son?”
“Mother!” He’d yelled, tears streaming down his face. “She set fire on herself. Yoojin did. She’s dead. She’s gone. Dead, Mother. She’s dead!”
“Shut your mouth!” his mother had roared. She’d stood up abruptly, knocking over the heavy desk. “No daughter of mine chooses a cowardly death in the medical tent!”
“She was hurting, Mother, please. You know how severe her injuries had been.”
“Who is going to be the General after I die?!” his mother had yelled. “It was supposed to be Yoojin! Coward!” she had yelled. “She didn’t want the responsibility!”
Yoongi’s mother had been horrified. She didn’t want to admit it, but she loved her daughter. She loved her children. Her form of denial had been rash, but her denial showed that she had cared.
And with the death of Yoojin, General Min began spiraling out of control. She wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t eat. And she expected her soldiers to do the same. Be so disciplined that they didn’t waste a single second of their lives doing anything else other than thinking, acting, breathing for the war.
Of course, this mania didn’t last.
Within circas, she knew what a monster she had become. A cycle that her youngest son would continue. But she didn’t know that.
Sensing the growing resentment of her soldiers toward her, General Min knew it would be better to die in battle than to resign. So she led a final, semi-victorious battle, sacrificing her life for her clan, her family and her army. She knew going into that battle that she wouldn’t come out alive.
That had been her form of an apology.
Her last letter to her sons had consisted of one sentence: I appoint Min Yoonsoo as the next General of the Solarian Army and Min Yoongi as his Lieutenant General.
And while dealing with the sudden deaths of his sister and his mother, Yoongi had also dealt with the humiliation. The sheer humiliation that his mother had skipped over him and given his younger brother the title of the General. It was heartbreak over heartbreak. A devastation that haunts him to this day.
He was only 19 years old.
“The General suggested I go on a ride with you.”
Heli huffs happily, stretching out his back as if to tell you he’s preparing for that very task.
“I’ve never been in the forest alone.”
Heli paws at the air.
“You’ll take me on a tour?”
Heli huffs, the fire in his eyes burning just a bit brighter. He nuzzles you, and you wrap yourself around his warmth. “Thank you,” you tell him. “I appreciate it.”
Within minutes, you see a blur of green and brown and white. You hold onto the blazing tiger, face nearly buried in his soft mane. Heli darts between the trees, weaving in and out amongst the frost-covered bushes. You pet his fur, hugging his figure and looking out to watch the beauty of the forest.
Alder’s woods are magical.
The trees are grand, towering over everything else. Their barks are etched with lines and shaded with contours so intricate that you’re convinced they could be the language of nature. Moss sprouts on the tree roots, painting the ground an emerald green. The morning dew drips off the smaller plants and falls delicately onto the forest floor that preserves the remnants of a cold winter.
Even during a wintry Circa Zircon, life seems to have survived. Some have flourished in the frigidity. You spy a couple of beautiful flowers, their petals a shade of vivid violet peeping out from under a patch of white snow. As the shy morning sunlight begins to stream in between the thick leaves of the trees, the life hidden in the forest becomes illuminated.
Your head rises a little as you catch a glimpse of a deer shimmering in the light. It’s completely transparent and resembles Zeru in its light steps and delicate grace. An air sol. Heli seems to sense its presence, his nose twitching as he tilts his head up. You smile, scratching behind his ear. “It’s an air deer.”
And there are many more sols after that.
You see a horse whose mane ripples like water, peacocks that spread their fiery feathers, a herd of elephants made of rich soil and blossoming flowers. You see a pack of water wolves with translucent skin that reflects the light of the sun. And you see a tiger made entirely of patches of well-trimmed grass, its stripes created by the various hues of green.
There is so much to watch.
But there is much more to listen to.
There is the whisper of the wind (and maybe from the air sols), the rustling of the leaves as the earth squirrels pounce on the branches, the spry chirps of the fire birds. You can’t quite listen but you can feel the trees murmuring amongst themselves.
If you were an earth medium, maybe you could speak the plants’ language or at least understand bits and pieces of their phrases. Or maybe they don’t speak in words at all. Maybe they communicate through signals and patterns and gestures that you’re too ignorant to comprehend.
There is so much to witness in Alder’s forest. So much movement. So much existence. So much life. And with the abundance of stimulation around you, you don’t have the time to overthink.
As Heli races through the forest with you perched on his back, you close your eyes. The wind hits your face, rustling your hair but gently kissing your cheeks. And the arms that you tightly wound around Heli, you begin to spread in the air. It feels like you’re flying. Like you’re one with the wind.
You feel free.
This has to be the rest that the General had wanted you to take.
There is an uncomfortable silence in the tent as everyone stares down at the table to the single word that you point at. When you’d first figured out the new Darlaean code, you knew it would warrant some kind of confusion amongst the officers. But you didn’t expect complete and utter silence.
In fact, you’re not sure the central tent has ever been silent for this long. It seems like everyone is at a loss for words. No one moves, either. Even Major Ki is frozen, her fingers holding onto her rings in silence. You stay frozen too, but your eyes sweep across the tent, surveying the countenances of your fellow officers. Captain Im stares at your writing, noticeably calculating something in her head. Captain Chu looks angry, his fists tight as he glares into the table. But then again, when does he not look angry?
Besides that, there are still a number of officers who have never spoken up in the meetings before. Among them is Captain Goe. With a round face and a rounder body, he always sports around a gourd filled with what you suspect is Takju. The middle-aged man is always present in the meetings, but you don’t think he’s really there. But today, for once, he looks alert, eyes wide as he tries to make sense of the information you’d brought to the table.
In fact, Captain Goe is the first one to move. Mumbling something under his breath, he pops open the cork on his gourd and takes a generous swig. Everyone looks his way.
“Excuse me,” he burps out, swiping his sleeve over his mouth. Next to him, you see Captain Bak grimace.
She’s easily one of the most attractive people in the tent. Her silky hair is always woven into a tight braid, bangs framing her full face perfectly. With her sharp eyes, thick lips and rather intimidating presence, she makes a charismatic captain as you imagine her second sector soldiers would say. But at this moment, her eyebrows are twisted and her lips are curved down in a rather irritated look.
“If you have something to say, Captain, you should say it,” Captain Goe says as he takes another swig of his drink.
Captain Bak scoffs in response. “If you’re going to bring liquor into the tent, at least bring enough to share.”
“Is that what you’re so peeved about, Wonmi?” Captain Goe snorts. “Here, then, have a sip, my dear.”
He’d obviously meant it as a joke, but to everyone’s surprise, Captain Bak snatches the gourd out of Captain Goe’s hand and takes a very, very long drink. When she finishes, she tosses the empty gourd back to a shocked Captain Goe and pats the corners of her mouth dry. She smiles. “Sharing isn’t so hard, is it, my dear?” With a short laugh, she turns to the rest of the officers with a grin on her face. “19, huh?” she says. “For Sooht’s sake, we should all drink to that! How is ‘nineteen’ possibly related to ‘jewel’ and ‘usurp?’”
“It’s not,” Captain Chu grumbles. “The Darlaeans are taunting us, and we’re falling right into their trap. Which wouldn’t be new news to me at all. Might give the rest of you a nasty fright, though.”
“I wanted a legitimate answer, Captain Chu,” Captain Bak says with an angelic smile on her lips. “Not your nonsense again.”
“You stay silent for circas in the meetings and now you decide to run your mouth?” Captain Chu says. “Is that the best you can come up with? Call my legitimate worries, nonsense?”
“I don’t like arguing with those who won’t listen,” Captain Bak retorts before turning her back on the man with the tiger tattoo. “But besides him, I wanted to ask you, Officer Ryu, if you had any theories? You’ve recognized the pattern first, so it’s only fair that we listen to your thoughts before others can taint it.” She smiles at you, and you find yourself sweating at the brow a little.
Now that’s a lot of pressure.
“The truth is, Captain,” you say, cheeks turning warm, “I’m not sure, either. The more I thought about it, the more I started thinking that maybe… maybe the words don’t have to be related?”
There’s a murmur around the tent as everyone tries to comprehend your words.
“I just find it hard to believe that they’ve sent an arbitrary number following two consecutive Darlaean-related words,” you say.
“That’s the thing,” Major Lee says. “19 doesn’t have to be an arbitrary number. Just like how it doesn’t have to relate to the other codes.”
“That gives us more to think about than ever,” Captain Bak hums. “So many theories…”
“Then could it be possible that ‘nineteen’ is a marker?” Captain Im pipes up. “That would explain how it isn’t arbitrary and remains unrelated to ‘jewel’ and ‘usurp.’”
“A marker?” Major Ki says. She drums her jeweled fingers on the table. “I like where you’re going, Captain.”
“A marker?” Major Ahn echoes. He rubs his stubble and hums, eyebrows furrowing. “You mean to say the codes following this ‘nineteen’ will be related to each other in their own way, while ‘jewel’ and ‘usurp’ share their own relations?”
“Yes, exactly,” Captain Im says. Her eyes sparkle as she begins to explain her theory. “I think there are 19 more codes left to go. So in total, by adding the three codes we already know, we should get 22 words. We don’t know what these codes might entail, but we’re barely 14 percent into the full message. I think we’ll need a bigger picture before we can say that this is just a Darlaean trap.”
“If ‘nineteen’ really is a marker, then there might be a possibility that it isn’t counted as a code,” Major Hyun says. “What if we have 17 more codes left to go and 19 words in total?”
“That’s a possibility, too,” Captain Im says. “But who’s to say there aren’t any more markers? And how do we know for sure if these markers count toward the overall total?”
“So we have no idea how many total codes there are,” Major Lee sighs. “Great.”
“It’s okay, Jeonwoo,” Major Jang says, patting his back. “This is a start.”
“I’m wondering if they will continue their pattern of two codes followed by a marker,” Major Ahn says. “It is too early to tell, however. There is a large chance that we’re not even on the right track.”
“You’d think after decoding the monocode message that we’d be able to understand it,” Major Lee snorts. “Turns out we have to decode plain words, now.” But one look from Major Jang and he changes his outlook. “But yeah, this is a good start. I guess we don’t have to be on the right track now. We can always find it later.”
“I concur,” the General finally speaks. He rests his hands on the table and surveys his officers with a satisfied look on his face. “That was enough discussion for today. We might not have found answers, but we’ve found clues. And in situations where we don’t know as much as we’d like to know, it is better to slowly piece the puzzle together ourselves, rather than to come to hasty conclusions.
“It has been a productive meeting,” the General says. “Now, I would like to—”
“Sir, I apologize for interrupting,” someone interrupts.
He’s an officer who most other officers would forget is in the tent. A fifth sector captain with a slim build and lofty stature, Captain Yang is quite the anxious man. He rarely talks in meetings and when he does, it’s to agree with whatever his major, Major Hyun, says. You’ve seen him sometimes, zoned out, biting his nails during meetings and looking worried even when there is good news to share.
“I-I just wanted to… I wanted to share a theory. Just one more,” Captain Yang says. “But it’s just… It’s so different from what we’ve been saying…”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Doyun says with an encouraging smile. “Whatever’s on your mind, you’re allowed to say it here. We’re all allowed to swim against the current. Because who knows? What if we turn around and swim along with you?”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Captain Yang says, looking down at his feet. “It’s just a little…” He trails off to nip at his nails. You, in turn, begin to chew on your lip.
“I’d like to grab some dinner soon,” Captain Bak says, breaking the short silence. “And I’m sure Captain Goe here would like a refill of his Takju, too.”
Captain Goe gives her a mean look.
“I’m sorry,” Captain Yang apologizes again. “But… My theory… It’s about…” He looks terrified to say it.
“C’mon, then. Spit it out,” Captain Chu says. “Will you stop acting so damn scared all the time?” But one disapproving look from his girlfriend and he ducks his head, staring at his feet.
“I-It’s about the General,” Captain Yang finally admits.
“Me?” the General says, eyebrows raised. “How so?”
“The three codes so far have been directed towards you… sir,” Captain Yang says, bowing his head. “Jewel… I’m sorry for bringing it up, sir, but that’s how your father passed away—with a jewel stuck to his heart. T-They couldn’t get it out. And… And usurp, sir. It’s what our army threatened to do to your brother before… before he… before you took his position. And 19… You were just 19 when your mother and sister… Sir, they’re poking fun at you.”
“Oh?”
“I-It’s… I was… Sir, I was there when you became appointed as your brother’s lieutenant, sir,” Captain Yang says with a tremor to his voice. “I-I saw how… I saw how hard it was on you. That whole year… Those were horrible times. ‘Nineteen’ doesn’t have to be a marker. It could be an age. Sir, I think this message from the Darlaeans is to you. It might just be a direct threat against you, sir.”
The General pauses. And for a second, you see hurt flash before his eyes. But it’s gone in an instant. He quickly composes himself and speaks.
“That’s a fair theory, Captain. Thank you,” he says quietly.
“It does make sense,” Captain Ahn murmurs. “But my question is, what is their point? Why make an obvious threat to the General? One where they will inevitably sacrifice their own soldiers because we’ve figured out their pattern?”
“They’re planning something,” Major Ki says.
“And we don’t know what,” Captain Im says. “We don’t know, but we can guess. But I think their first move is to lower the General’s morale. Make him doubt himself. Make him suffer from his memories.”
“That’s real grand of them,” Major Lee snorts. “General, is your morale lowered?”
“No,” the General answers.
“It’ll take a lot to lower the General’s morale,” the Lieutenant says with a grin.
“Officer Ryu? Do you have anything to add on to this?” the General says. “You asked me if I knew anything about the number 19. Did you suspect what Captain Yang said?”
His words startle you out of your thoughts. “O-Oh, um—” But before you even get a chance to come up with an answer:
“Why are we always asking her opinion? Even when she clearly isn’t ready to talk,” Captain Chu says, pointing at you as if you weren’t looking straight in his direction. “She’s not even a fire medium. I still don’t get why we need her in this tent. She doesn’t do anything that Captain Im can’t do. We never needed a new officer. And especially not an officer who doesn’t know the first thing about fighting in a fucking war.”
“Let’s not use what she’s lost against her,” the General says. “I ask for her opinion because it matters, Captain Chu. It’s as simple as that.”
Not even a fire medium. You have to admit, that hurts a little. Doesn’t do anything that Captain Im couldn’t do. You chew on your lip. Never needed a new officer. But why are his words sort of true? In truth, your only job is to create battle plans, something you’re sure the other officers could do. You’re not out there in the war, fighting for your life and your soldiers’ lives. All you have to worry about is how cold it will be during nightfall. And during officer meetings, sure you talk, but you’re never the one coming up with new theories and ideas on the spot. How can you? You hate sharing things before you’ve had the time to finalize all the little details. You hate being incomplete.
Of course you have something to add. There’s a dark, muddled thought brewing at the back of your head, but you can’t share that now. You haven’t polished it yet, and if you share a premature thought, and a thought as serious as this one, you’ll cause more drama than you’d like.
But you suppose your fear of incompleteness is your weakness. There’s always something lacking in your presence in these officer meetings, and the others can see it.
“No,” you say. It comes out a little harsher than you’d wanted.
“Sorry?” the General asks.
“You asked if I had anything to add.”
“And your answer is no?”
Captain Chu scoffs. You’ve just proved his point. “Are we dismissed now? If there’s nothing more to say, we should all be able to leave. And Officer Ryu?”
You look up at him.
“Don’t take what I said personally. I’m just looking out for all of us.”
The General frowns and the Lieutenant is visibly irritated, but Major Ki steps in before either of them can react.
“Jaeno’s been mourning recently,” she says. “We all react to grief differently, don’t we? Although I can’t say being rude to your colleague is a healthy coping mechanism.” She turns to you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. He shouldn’t have attacked you like that. We all think you’re a valuable asset to our team. A catalyst, if you will. And General?”
“Hm?”
“Permission to be dismissed? I think I need to have a small talk with my boyfriend.”
“Permission granted,” he says, nodding to himself. “In fact, this meeting is over. The rest of you are dismissed. I hope that everyone in this tent remembers what we are here for. We can only win if we work together.”
“Captain Chu, I expect you to apologize to Officer Ryu sometime before the next meeting!” the Lieutenant calls as he and his girlfriend leave the tent. He grunts in response.
And as the officers begin to trickle out of the tent, you let out a large breath, almost unable to move from your position.
Not even a fire medium.
But he’s right. You aren’t.
Maybe it’s time to begin praying to the spirits?
No.
You’ll figure it out. You always do. Right?
Someone puts an arm around your shoulder. It’s Doyun.
“Hey. You all right? Don’t worry about Jaeno. There was a disease outbreak in Ara, and it looks like it’s affected his family.”
“He hates me.”
“He’s probably jealous,” Doyun says. “He was like this to Captain Im before you came along and took her spot as his new scapegoat. Nobody listens to him anyway.”
“A brilliant fighter,” the General adds. “But a not-so-great strategist. He’ll come around, though.”
“I’m sure he will,” Doyun says. “He’s stubborn and dense, but he’s not that dense. And I trust Suhyun to convince him.” She rubs your shoulder. “You brought change into our army, Y/N. There are some people who will always oppose it. Hell, I opposed it, too. At least in the beginning. But look at what change has brought us. Our biggest problem now is to figure out a stupid little riddle. We’re winning battles left and right, and if Jaeno doesn’t want to acknowledge that, then fine. But you have to know that you’re doing great work here.”
Her words make you feel so much better. “Thanks.”
“But I’m curious, Officer,” the General says, who actually looks a little confused. “Did you really have nothing to add?”
Doyun rolls her eyes. “Yoongi, her mind is always working at the speed of light, don’t you know? Of course, she had something to add. What if you’re just as dense as Jaeno is?” she teases. “Come on, Y/N,” she says. “Let’s go get some dinner.”
She leads you out of the tent, where the sky is darkening and the breeze is turning icier. And you can’t help but think, what a wonderful fucking start to your new year.
And inside the tent, Yoongi cocks his head, rather confused. Maybe he is dense. Because what in Sooht’s name were you thinking that you didn’t want to share just yet?
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⨰ a/n: who's your favorite character? (because ngl i think mine has to be doyun LMAO). i'm working on a character cheatsheet so all the names don't get confusing :)
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: mentions of death
⨰ wordcount: 6.3k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: thank you to @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading <3
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⧖⧗Circa Zircon⧗⧖
Wintertime finally catches up to Alder. Blankets of snow cover the grass, even decorating the tops of the scarlet tents scattered about the terrain. Soldiers stay inside their homes, lighting their own fires and rubbing their hands together to keep warm. Snow falls steadily from above, veiling the last of the autumn colors with whiteness.
But the cold does not stop the war.
With a swift movement of your hand, you splay out your latest battle plans, the various papers fluttering for a second before settling down on the wooden table—spread out, like a falcon’s wings.
You clear your throat, delicately placing the back of your hand over your mouth as you do so. “There’s a lot to go over today,” you say. The officers nod, agreeing with your words. As per your routine, you survey each and every one of them, taking a mental note of their facial expressions and attitudes for the day.
Strange.
There’s a face missing in the crowd.
You wonder what kind of emergency made Captain Im miss a very mandatory officer meeting. Maybe the General sent her on another trip to Elu for whatever reason he found important. Or maybe she’s running a little late. The meeting’s only been going on for a few minutes. Maybe she has some last-minute fourth sector business to take care of. Or maybe she’s healing in the medical tent? But if she was, the General would’ve announced something at the beginning of the meeting.
You glance at him, and to your surprise, your eyes meet. He looks at you expectantly—as if he’s waiting for you to say something.
It’s then that you realize that you’re supposed to be presenting your battle plans. Awkwardly, you clear your throat again. “S-So! Um, yes, first and foremost, if we can get some earth mediums here,” you say, tracing a particular formation with your index finger, “then we could—”
“Forgive me for interrupting!” A red-faced Captain Im rushes into the central tent.
So there she is.
Her jet black hair, which is usually neatly combed, is in visible disarray as she pants, trying to catch her breath. She waves a cream-colored paper—a letter in the air.
Everyone pauses to stare at her, wide-eyed.
“A message?” the General asks.
You cock your head. Who could it be from? It must be important enough to get Captain Im—who is usually exceptionally calm—teeming with excitement. Her eyes sparkle as she uncharacteristically slams the paper on the wooden table. The movement causes some of your battle plans to disperse across the table, but nobody minds. Instead, everyone leans in synchronously to squint at the writing etched onto the letter. “A message from the Darlaean General!” Captain Im announces. “They’ve agreed to call a temporary truce for the rest of winter!”
You blink. You blink again. Then you’re suddenly gasping with happiness, along with your fellow officers. Someone pats your back and another person links their arm around yours. Others are crowding around and hugging Captain Im for delivering the news. Some even cry tears of joy. It surprises you to see so much emotion on their faces. The officers are usually so incredibly stoic—so stern and serious. Through the corners of your eyes, you catch Major Ki and Captain Chu sharing a passionate kiss, and you even see Captain Yoo slapping Captain Chang on the back while grinning so hard that you can see his whisker dimples. But you suppose that they’re just as human as everyone else. When someone bears good news, and the news is as good as this, they can’t help but celebrate.
The battle plans are long forgotten.
“They’ve never accepted our offers before!” Doyun exclaims as she tightens her grip on your arm. She looks incredibly happy, eyes wide and sparkling as her mouth sets in a wide grin.
Never? Amidst the celebration, you begin to wonder… Are they only accepting a temporary truce now that they’re losing? If so, what will it take for them to agree on a permanent truce?
The cheering officers begin to lift Captain Im up on their shoulders, and that action alone brings you back to reality.
You let out a small sigh. This is the time to celebrate; there’s no place for doubt.
So you join the happy crowd, a semi-worry-free smile on your face.
The night before the soldiers are permitted to visit their families back home, there is a feast. Rumor has it that the General pulled some strings and brought over the king’s chefs from Elu. There are piles and piles of steaming rice, heavy pots of spicy soups and endless bowls of delectable side dishes. Soldiers eat until they can consume no more. But they drink like their stomachs are bottomless pits. They stumble about inside the large medical tent, drunk smiles on their faces, slapping their friends’ backs and talking loudly over each other.
You spot Doyun playing a competitive game of cards with some of the other officers. It looks like they’ve bet some solarins too because there’s no way kind Major Hyun would be yelling across the table at poor Major Ahn like that if there weren’t a couple of coins involved. You smile a little and fix your gaze toward a group of healers (including Namjoon) in deep discussion. But with their swaying bodies, red, sedated faces and empty bowls, you really doubt that anyone there is cognizant enough to have a coherent string of thought. Even so, you like to imagine that they’re talking about their families, whom they’ll be going home to see tomorrow. You can’t imagine how happy they must be. And you’re happy for them, too.
The feelings of jealousy you’ve felt during the last celebration are gone. Because this time, you have a home too. It might not be your alleged birthplace of Elu, but it’s a place where you feel safe. A place where you seem to know best. A place that you can proudly call home.
“Now, what are you doing, Y/N??”
You jump a little, startled to find Hana waving a loaf of bread right in front of you. One look at her and you know she’s drunk, which is surprising considering the fact that she’s a heavy drinker. She must’ve had at least ten bowls of Takju.
“You’re just standing in the corner watching everyone!” she yells. “Come out and have some fun! Grab a drink and some bread!” She boops your nose with the end of her loaf.
Giggling, you shake your head. “But I like standing in the corner.” Besides, you’re too sober to walk up to complete strangers and strike up a fascinating conversation with them that they’ll inevitably forget in the morning.
Hana makes a face. “Who the hell likes standing in the corner during a celebration?” she says, flinging her arms out dramatically. Consequently, the loaf of bread flies out of her hand and rockets straight into a crowd of soldiers.
There’s a small thump! and someone yells out a displeased, “Hey!”
Hana’s eyes grow wide as she looks around in panic. “Oh no.”
She grasps your hands, hers instantly warming your colder ones. But you feel that shock again. The same, strange feeling from before. It washes over your entire body, drenching it in a strange, staticky sensation. But before you can really comprehend what this could possibly mean, Hana pulls away.
“I have to run,” she says. “No. No. That would be silly. Why would I run away from that very obviously angry soldier? No. I have to find that loaf of bread. You know how rare a good loaf of bread is around here? The last time I’ve had some good bread was a week ago when you brought some back from Elu.” She smiles, her head lolling to the side as she looks at you. A strand of her dark hair falls in front of her face, and she waves her hand, the wind following her lead and moving it out of the way. “I appreciate you, Y/N,” she says. “I’m going to miss you.”
You snort. “You’ll be back by Circa Garnet, Hana.”
Her button nose wrinkles. “That’s too far away. I’d rather fight!” She pumps her fist in the air. “I’m going to fight until we win this damn war!” And before you can even react, she gasps. “My bread! I’ve got to go! Goodbye, Officer Ryu!” Hana gives you a ninety-degree bow (nearly falling over while doing so), and then quickly rushes to find her loaf of bread somewhere in the crowd of drunk soldiers.
You watch her leave, amused by how much someone can change with some alcohol in their system. It makes you wonder how you would be perceived if you were drunk. But that thought isn’t too pleasant.
After your encounter with Hana, you begin to survey the vast medical tent, eyes shifting through the soldiers and healers and officers to find anyone you recognize. There, around the middle of the tent, you find Hyojung and Captain Im dancing passionately in what looks like an unofficial official dance battle. There’s Jeonwoo on the sidelines, cheering Hyojung on, and quite a crowd of young soldiers chanting for Captain Im’s victory. Even stoic Captain Yoo looks content for once.
“Captain’s quite the dancer, isn’t she?”
You don’t recognize that voice, so you turn around to see an attractive woman, leaning on one leg and crossing her arms over her chest. With her wavy, brown hair and cat-shaped eyes, she emanates confidence and allure. You reason that she must be a soldier, judging from her uniform. She doesn’t seem so drunk, but there’s a flirtatious look in her eye, and you can’t seem to look away.
“I didn’t know Captain Im could dance like that,” you reply with a polite smile.
“She’s a jack-of-all-trades,” the woman replies. “But I’ve heard the same about you.”
Your eyebrows raise. “You have?”
“A prodigy rivaling Captain Im’s intellect,” she says with a smirk. “A soldier one circa and an officer the next. I’m impressed, sir.”
“Um… thank you.”
She laughs and tosses her hair back behind her shoulder. “You can be more arrogant than that, Officer. It’s more attractive when someone knows their worth.”
You blink rapidly, processing her words before making a comment of your own. “Then I suppose you know your worth quite well.”
“Oh, I do.” She grins. “I know my worth very well.”
How strange.
Is this what they call flirting?
In that case, there is no doubt about it that she’s interested in you. And sure, you may be interested, too. But why does this feel so… so foreign? And it’s not just foreign; it doesn’t feel right. Not because you don’t find her attractive—she, indeed, knows her worth—but because this is a war. You’ve seen how many times a couple is torn apart. How many times a soldier mourns over the death of their lover. You don’t want that pain. Nor are you ready to dedicate yourself to someone, only to have them torn away from you.
But there you go again, overthinking about everything when there was practically nothing said. This is just what they call ‘casual flirting.’ And if you’re understanding that correctly, it’s a fun, one-time thing. So you’re definitely getting ahead of yourself. But then again, do you really want to have such a fleeting connection with a dedicated soldier in the army? Wouldn’t it be awkward if this were a one-time thing, and the next time you see each other, one of you is dead? In fact, it wouldn’t be just awkward. It’d be fucking miserable.
The soldier notices your hesitation, which you may or may not have made very obvious. And to your relief, she grins, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s all right, Officer. We can’t all be interested in love and war.” Before you can say anything, she bows slightly, that alluring grin still on her face. “Then I suppose I’ll see you around, sir. The alcohol is calling me.” She’s gone so quickly—slipping into the crowd—that it almost feels like your encounter had been a dream.
But she’s right. And she was right to leave, too. You’re definitely not interested in love and war. How can you be? You’re married to the idea of creating battle plans and nursing injured soldiers back to health. What do you know about love, anyway? You only know sacrifice when it comes to your nation. But how do you sacrifice your heart for a partner? How do you cope with the fact that someone will want to sacrifice themselves for you? And what about the necklace?
Oh, the necklace.
It had slipped your mind for circas and circas. The only piece of evidence of your past. How fast your present must’ve moved for you to forget such a core detail of your old identity. So what about the person who gifted you the necklace? You should wait for them. But what if they’re dead? Would they have wanted you to move on?
But why are you so fixated on this fantasy anyway? You already thought of it yourself that you’re not one for love and war. Now as a Solarian Officer, you’ve dedicated yourself to the army, to the people, to the General. This is the new you.
But what about the old you? Are you going to abandon her, just like that?
It’s too much. Your thoughts begin to suffocate you. Though your surroundings are festive, you can’t seem to match the atmosphere. While soldiers are drinking away their problems, you seem to be giving yourself more by doing your usual overthinking. So you find reprieve by escaping into the night.
The winter air is cold, nipping at your exposed skin. You shiver, wandering into the darkness. The moon hides behind thick clouds, and only a few stars have come out to greet the night. The icy frost on the grass leaves wet prints on your thick uniform, goosebumps dotting your skin.
It’s cold, yet you feel oddly calm—an overwhelming contrast from the loud, hotness of the tents. Out here, you feel like you can breathe.
Further and further you wander into the darkness. You’re not sure why, but your legs persistently carry you forward. Out here, your thoughts are clear, no longer muddy and tangled and twisted. Out here, you feel free. You feel adventurous. The darkness, for some reason, fuels your desire to explore. And before you know it, you’ve wandered past the tall grass and just at the edge of the great, dark forest.
But then, there is light.
You see the amber glow coming from behind the trees, casting a dark shadow over the ground. It is the same brightness you remember seeing in the forest when you and the General were riding to Elu just a week ago. The swift brightness that had disappeared when you’d blinked. But this time, even when you blink, the mysterious light stays.
You take a step forward.
It takes a step forward.
And soon, you realize the amber glow is not just a light but an animal.
A tiger.
Your eyes widen as it reveals itself from behind the tall trees. It’s majestic. Warm.
The tiger burns, scarlet flames emanating from its entire body, yet never scorching anything around it. It stands tall, gazing up at you with sparks in its kind eyes.
You feel entranced. Hands carefully outstretched, you begin to walk slowly towards the tiger, and it lets you. Calmly waits for you to reach it. And once you’re in close proximity, it bows its head. As if it wants you to touch it. You stare at the orange flames blazing on its fur, hand hovering right over it. It seems dangerous. Why would you stick your hand into fire? But then again, there’s something about this tiger that calls to you. Something that feels safe. Something that doesn’t seem logical and all but still feels right.
Your hand falls onto the flames. But it’s warm, and the light casts pretty shadows on your arm. You run your fingers down the tiger’s head, petting its soft fur. It lets out a gentle huff, nuzzling into your hand.
So this is a sol. A fire sol. A sol that found you. They’re free animal spirits, supposed to roam about Solaria’s vast lands. But why has this one come to you? Has it been watching you? And why do you feel so calm and safe around it?
The tiger huffs contentedly as if to tell you he appreciates the attention he’s getting. Then, he—not an it—stands up, his head reaching just a little above your waist. His bright eyes speak to you. As if to tell you that he’s been waiting in the cold for you.
“Well then, I hope you didn’t wait for long,” you whisper, scratching behind his ear.
The tiger huffs again.
“I… I’m just… I needed some air.”
Why does it feel like you’ve known him forever?
“Have we met before?”
But the tiger raises his blazing paw, leaving your question unanswered. You begin to think taking his paw in your hand will help you understand something, but then you realize the sol has been trying to point behind you. “Oh. Oh. Something’s behind me?” Quickly, you turn around to see—
“Sir!”
“I see that you’ve met another sol,” the General says. He walks closer to you and the tiger, seeming oddly accustomed to the animal. “This one here is the physical embodiment of fire. He’s known to wander around Alder’s woods.”
But you’re barely able to hear his words. “Sir, I’m surprised to see you here. You’re the General that led hundreds of battles the past several circas. I thought you’d be celebrating your victories.”
You didn’t think anyone else would have wanted to forgo an excellent celebration for some alone time outside. Besides, you and the General have barely exchanged words since your trip to Elu together. Why is he suddenly approaching you, anyway?
“I don’t like to celebrate doing my duty,” the General replies without missing a beat. He stares behind you, at the blazing tiger, and shrugs. “With your logic, you should be celebrating too, Officer. You were the one who came up with our most successful battle plans.”
You cock your head. “Maybe I don’t like to celebrate doing my duty either, sir.”
The General makes a noise that sounds somewhat like a laugh and a snort. But he shakes his head, instead. “The sol seems to take a liking to you.”
As if to prove the General’s words, the tiger nuzzles you again, then sits down right next to you. “I like him too,” you say, reaching down to pat his blazing fur.
“He must see your potential to wield fire,” the General says. “Or he’s gotten tired of roaming about the forest alone.”
You smile, kneeling down to scratch behind the tiger’s ear. Its warmth seems to melt your insides, making the same kind of heat emanating from your body. “It’s a good thing that we can keep him company for tonight.”
The General raises his eyebrows. And for a second, you think he might say something on the lines of, ‘Well, maybe you can keep him company, but I’m going to go not celebrate my duty somewhere else.’ But the next thing you know, he’s kneeling down too, sitting cross-legged on the grass straight across from you. When you look at him in surprise, your eyes meet, his dark ones reflecting the red flames of the tiger. However, he quickly looks away and clears his throat. “I suppose you won’t be leaving camp tomorrow.” Then, he looks even more embarrassed that he had said anything.
You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t really have anywhere to go,” you say. You gaze up to the sky, watching the sparse stars sparkling in the distance. “Besides, as far as I know, Alder is my home.” Your gaze falls down to the man sitting in front of you. “And what about you, sir?”
Will he go back to Aithne, his homesector? Just to visit? But visit who, exactly? He’s the last of his bloodline… Does that mean he will stay here with you?
The General shakes his head, an unreadable look on his face. “Alder is my home as well.” He finally looks up, the brightness of the tiger’s flames and the shadows dividing his features in half. And this time, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he stares into your eyes—curiously. “You don’t like to drink, do you, Officer?”
It’s a question that catches you off guard. “Drink? I mean, I just… I don’t want to be perceived in a way that I cannot control,” you admit sheepishly. “I also get the impression that some drink to forget, but I don’t want to forget any more than I already have, sir.”
“Being in control, huh?” he says. He seems to nod to himself as if to fully digest your words. “I really do wonder where you were after all these years. Why you didn’t join the army sooner when you’ve got the talent and personality. But,” he says, back slouching as his hands graze the cold grass, “don’t you believe that it’s thanks to your memory loss that you’re now my officer?”
You cock your head. “That’s also very true,” you say. But for a split second, your thoughts flit to the abandoned necklace in your tent. Yet you shake those thoughts away. “Then I’m very lucky to be able to work with such talented people.”
The General smiles, his features glowing in warm light. “And we’re lucky to work with you.”
You shake your head though smiling at his compliment. “I’m pretty sure if you knock anyone out hard enough that they lose their memories, they’ll voice the same polarizing ideas that I have. It’s just something about not being able to remember anything that makes you feel like you have nothing to lose.”
The General’s eyes sparkle in amusement. “Hm… Nothing to lose,” he echoes. “Isn’t that quite a mindset?”
“It is.”
“Then you must be ready for the new year, Officer,” the General says. “It may seem peaceful now, but we’ll go right back to fighting in the next circa. Nothing to lose, huh?” He shakes his head. “You must not be afraid of death.”
“I feel like I should be,” you say, leaning back against the warm tiger who huffs happily in response. “But I don’t remember who I’ve loved, and I’m starting to think whoever they were—if they even existed at all—they’re already gone. So it doesn’t matter, I guess. If I die, no one will feel like they died with me.”
“Together, love and war is dangerously precarious, anyway,” the General says in agreement. “Do you wish you remembered, though? At least their face? Maybe faces?”
It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your past lover, or lovers, as he phrases it. “I’m not sure,” you reply. “It could be both a blessing and an agony to know.”
The General nods. “Forgive me if that was too personal.”
“It’s fine,” you say, then you grin, an idea lighting up your mind. “I can ask you a personal question, sir. Maybe it will cancel out.”
He snorts. “If you’d like.”
“Are you afraid of death?”
The General visibly grimaces. You raise your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, was that too personal?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t want my answer to kill the mood.”
The mood? Is he referring to the quiet calmness of being outside? Or the exhilarating curiosity you’re sensing that you have towards each other? Either way, the General likes the current atmosphere, and he’s cautious enough to not want to ruin it. You find that rather interesting.
“I’m sure we can manage,” you reply. “One answer won’t kill the mood, will it?”
The General seems to think. Then: “I suppose I agree with you. In that case, the short answer is no.”
“Looks like we have something in common.” You grin. “Do you mind divulging to me the long answer, sir?”
There’s a short, deliberate pause, where the General makes it quite obvious that he is in deep pondering, his forehead wrinkling and his posture worsening. But he finally decides to answer in the end. “My death will inevitably bring the burden of leading the Solarian Army on another person. I’m not afraid of death itself, but I’m very wary about the effects of my leave.”
“See, sir? That didn’t kill the mood. You were just being thoughtful and honest,” you say, smiling. “I also don’t think we’ll die anytime soon. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Not die anytime soon?” the General says. “Pray tell why you think so, Officer.”
Your fingers also graze the ice-cold grass, playing with the droplets of water before looking up to answer. “Because we’re going to crack the code. We’re already almost halfway there. I’m starting to think they’ll have a new code for every circa. It’s to the point that I’m wondering what the next word will be.”
The General nods. “I wonder, too.”
“Sir? Can I ask you another personal question?”
His eyes sparkle. Yes, losing your memories makes you feel like you have nothing to lose at all. His other soldiers wouldn’t dare be as upfront toward him as you are. “Are you going to inquire about my love life, next?” he asks half-jokingly.
You pretend to think. “Though that sounds tempting, I was really going to ask what your reason to fight is, sir. And I realize I never told you my reason, either, though I did tell you that you helped me find it.”
“Then why don’t you tell me your reason?” the General says.
“But sir! I asked you first.”
“And I’ll answer you after you tell me,” he responds, smiling. “Did I not help you find your reason?”
“Well, I suppose it’s nothing to hide,” you sigh, yet clearly amused. “But I did want the advantage of going last for the shock value.”
He snorts. “If it were a shocking reason, then it should shock me regardless of the order we share it.”
“Fine then. I fight for the end of this war.”
“The end?” He sounds incredulous, eyes slightly wide as he stares at you. As if you’d just uttered the impossible. You’ve shocked him all right.
“I know it sounds preposterous,” you say, attempting to explain yourself. “But even if I end up dying in the process, I want my efforts to have brought us just a step closer to the end. And it’s stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“It’s stupid that we fight for peace.”
“Of course it’s stupid,” the General says to your surprise. “But what better way is there to measure our egos?”
You scoff. “Do the Darlaeans even know that they’re fighting a nation run by a child?”
“They don’t,” the General replies. “If they did, they would be out for blood. More than they already are.”
It doesn’t make sense. Why not leave the Solarians alone? Why not embrace peace? “Why do they hate us so much?” you say. “I don’t understand.”
“The Darlaeans?” the General asks. “It’s because they love power. They can’t stand the thought of their ancestors abandoning Darlaean magic for elemental wielding because that would imply that Darlaean magic is not enough. If they win, Solaria will die.”
“Then we can’t possibly let them win.”
The General nods. “It’s why I fight for our freedom.”
“Freedom…” It sounds so nice saying it out loud.
“I’ll sacrifice anything so we can be a free nation with free people,” the General says. “Because like you, Y/N, I have very little to lose.”
“I guess we have more in common than I first thought,” you say, absentmindedly reaching back to pet the tiger. The sol huffs happily, his tail swishing in the cold air. “Truth be told, though, you scared me a lot when I first met you.”
You’re not sure what’s prompting you to be so honest in this hour. Maybe it’s the secure warmth of the fire sol behind you. Or maybe it’s the serene atmosphere of the night. Or maybe it’s the General who gazes at you like you’re the most interesting person he’s ever had the pleasure of talking to.
“I can’t blame you,” he answers, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “I shouldn’t have been so brash.”
“It’s okay,” you say. “I know that it’s all a façade. I’ve seen how you act with children.”
The General snorts. “You’re peculiar.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Would I have been talking to the sol behind you?”
“Well… it could have been a possibility. But how so? How am I peculiar, that is?”
“I don’t know… You just are.” But he does know. Well, he has a small idea. You walk without weight on your shoulders. You talk with a sparkling glint in your eye. You approach him like you and he are acquaintances. You talk to him like he’s your friend. But you treat everyone the way you treat him. You’re a master battle planner, yet you think the war is stupid. You’re intimidating when you want to be, but when you smile, your face lights up and you begin to glow. You’re kind to the people who do not like you, but you can be mean when somebody pushes you too far. You showed up on his campground memoryless and innocuous, yet you’ve somehow made it as an officer. You’re an enigma.
Across from him, you get an inkling that the General knows exactly how you are peculiar. But you realize he must feel a little awkward verbalizing it. Or maybe he wants to keep being the enigma that he is. “You’re peculiar, too,” you say. “Very peculiar.”
His eyebrows raise. “How so?”
“I don’t know,” you echo with a grin. “You just are.”
He rolls his eyes. “Must you always repeat what I say?”
“Yes, but unlike you, I’ll actually elaborate,” you say, laughing at the General’s exasperated expression. “You’re an interesting balance of authoritative but receptive. You’re intimidating, but you know, when you smile, your whole face does this thing where it lights up. Maybe it’s the fire medium in you? You’re graceful yet awkward. You’re a leader but you also know how to follow. You’re my superior, but you treat me like we’re equals. Maybe like we’re acquaintances. Is that enough?”
The General is rendered a little speechless. You think the same of him when he smiles like he does when you smile. How peculiar.
“That’s more than enough. And for the record,” he says, “we are equals. Everyone in this camp stands on the same level. My life costs the same as everyone else’s. And…” he trails off, unable to help the grin that stretches across his lips. “Am I really that awkward?”
You laugh, shaking your head at his question and refusing to answer. “You’re lighting up again.”
“It must be because I enjoy your company.”
The General? Enjoys your company? You’re so shocked that you accidentally utter a: “Who wouldn’t?” It’s so out-of-character that even the General’s eyes widen at your words.
“I mean! I enjoy your company, too. Sir,” you quickly add. “I don’t know why I’m acting so inebriated. I haven’t had a single bowl of Takju.”
The General smiles. “It’s the atmosphere.”
Again, you’re not too sure what he means by this. The atmosphere of the night? The cold winds juxtaposed with the warmth emanating from the fire tiger? Or the atmosphere between the two of you? Either way, you don’t get an answer because there’s someone calling for the General, waving at the entrance of the main medical tent.
“General! I’ve been looking for you! We want you to make a toast!”
The General meets your eyes. And for a second, you see disappointment in them. But that emotion is gone the next time you blink. Quickly, he stands up. “Would you like to come?”
Oh, would you? You hesitate. Do you really want to go back in that stuffy tent?
Besides, you have a fire sol willing to keep you company for the night. If you leave now, you’re not sure if you’ll ever see him again. The tiger, sensing your predicament, huffs, rubbing his head against you. It helps you make your decision.
“I’ll stay, sir,” you say. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”
The General nods. “Don’t stay out too late, then.” He looks at you one last time—as if something’s on the very tip of his tongue. But he turns at the last second and walks away.
You watch him leave, huddling closer to the fire tiger.
What an interesting conversation you just had with the General. The more you get to know about him, the more you come to admire his character. And the more you want to uncover.
He said he has little to nothing to lose. It makes sense. How would it feel to be the very last of your bloodline, knowing your death would be a bigger deal than you’d like? Who has he lost that makes him the person he is today? What kind of past does he have for him to take on such a burdening role? What makes him want to fight for the freedom of Solaria?
You reach behind to scratch the tiger’s ear, and he huffs, nuzzling into your hand. “I should stop overthinking, huh?”
His tail thumps on the ground in agreement.
“It’s so beautiful tonight,” you sigh. “It feels like everything that’s happened so far—from the moment I woke up in that medical tent to right now—is a dream. I’ve learned so many things. Met so many great people—and animals,” you add with a laugh. “It sounds silly, but this almost seems too good to be true. I know we’re in the middle of a war, but there’s no way my past life was better than this. I’ve become a better person after I lost all my memories. Maybe… Maybe it’s time to really let go. Embrace that this is the new me.”
You close your eyes, taking in the crisp air and breathing out slowly. “I don’t want my old memories anymore.” It feels great to finally admit it. Your eyes open wide, a new kind of determination set in them. “Thinking about my past always weighs me down. And I don’t want that anymore. I don’t need my old memories to reconnect with fire. Hell, I can make new memories for that. I think I can relearn. I want to fight. I want to become a fire medium again.”
The tiger’s tail thumps rapidly on the ground—as if he is cheering you on.
“Thanks,” you say, smiling. “Do you have a family to go to? Am I keeping you away from them?”
The tiger paws at the air, and you interpret that as a no. “Are you going to keep me company for the night?”
He snorts—a happy-sounding yes.
You smile. “Thank you.”
With your fingers tangled in the tiger’s burning mane, you watch the nighttime clouds grace the sky, floating slowly to their next destination. The warmth against your back, the honey-colored flames of the sol and the quiet tranquility of the outside world begin to soothe you. Your eyelids feel heavy and your breaths start to slow. You fall asleep with the midnight sky gazing over you, and the blazing tiger keeping you guarded.
In a few hours, you awake along with the chimes of the water clock. It’s still early, the fog hiding away the dawn light, but you find that there’s something soft and bright supporting your back. When you turn around, you see the fire tiger. He’s awake too, staring at you with his round eyes.
“You stayed.”
He snorts as if you’d just uttered the obvious, which you sort of did.
“I just thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” you say. “You can go if you want. You’re not obligated to stay.”
The tiger lets out a soft growl as if he disagrees. He stares at you, mane blazing even in the early morning hours. His stare makes you feel like electricity coursing through your entire body. Again, there’s that feeling inside of you. That feeling where you swear you’ve seen him before. But that doesn’t matter anymore.
The moment right now is what counts.
With reinvigorated energy, you stand up with the tiger. Placing a hand on his back, you look around at the vast Alder territory. It’s so early that no one has come out of their tents yet. Gray fog weaves between the scarlet homes, and a wintry breeze still permeates the air, but for the most part, it looks like the frost from last night has melted. The scenery feels so raw, and the barrenness feels so intense. You feel the determination again. The passion and the ambition.
You take a deep breath of the fresh air. It stings your nose but you feel so awake. So alive.
“It’s a new day,” you say. “Are you ready for it?”
The tiger takes a step forward, tail swaying from side to side. He throws you a happy look with his soft eyes reflecting the flames of blazing fires. Then, he roars. The sound shakes the trees, reverberating across the land and stirring those who had been asleep. He roars and it wakes you up, too. You feel amazing. Like you’ve woken up from an amazing night’s sleep and came across a thousand epiphanies.
For Sooht’s sake. You’ve never felt so good before.
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⨰ a/n: i've been balancing a social life with clubs, research and classes and it's been a little difficult 😭 please bear with me (and my characters LOL). i hope you like this new chapter because things are going to be picking up from here! 👀
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⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, (very) minor character deaths, mentions of blood and fatal injuries
⨰ wordcount: 12.9k
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⨰ a/n: thank you to @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading!!
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⧖⧗Circa Zircon⧗⧖
You wake up with the chime of the water clock. But judging from the darkness within the tent, you doubt that it’s dawn yet. Maybe just a few hours before. A gentle breeze sways the red fabric of your tent. It’s a rather cold breeze, one that would nip at your skin if you were outside. But the inside of your tent is warm. Somehow, the flame that the General had lit for you last night is still blazing.
And speaking of the General…
It was quite sudden, wasn’t it?
You feel like you barely know him—just a few sporadic interactions here and there. But there’s something about him that makes you want to know more. There are things that he keeps hidden behind his stoic face and cold eyes. And you want to figure it out.
Maybe there are things that he wants to know about you. After all, you are a mystery. Or maybe he really did want to show you around Elu for the sole purpose of business and professionalism. You’ll figure it out by the end of the day.
The water clock chimes twice more before there’s that familiar, hushed voice outside of your tent: “Are you awake, Officer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.” And you’re out the tent—heart beating with a strange excitement. He’s in his usual attire, boots scrubbed clean and not a loose thread on his uniform. Even in the foggy dawn air, his golden cords sparkle. You wonder how long he spends every day polishing them. But when you realize you’d been rudely staring at the General’s waist, you redden and look up to meet his eyes.
He pretends as if nothing happened. “We should arrive at the capital just before noon.”
Just as you begin to wonder how you are to get to Elu, a silvery wisp of air begins to configure itself beside the General. When you blink, the wisp had shaped itself into a beautiful horse. It neighs, its silvery mane bellowing out even without the tugs of the wind. Majestic. The coat is a snowy white and its tail is free-flowing, the tendrils coiling along with the wintry zephyr gracing the dawn sky. Your eyes widen at the sight.
“It’s completely transparent,” you whisper. “I can see right through it.” You have the sudden urge to reach out and touch the horse—the entity—whatever it is. You’ve seen this before. You’ve seen the General ride his horse, but never once did you think its silvery presence had something to do with the wind.
“Our sols are the pride of our nation,” the General says softly. He pats the horse’s sparkling mane, and you’re shocked that his hand doesn’t go right through the animal. “This one right here is Zeru. He’s an air horse.”
“He’s beautiful…” The same kind of majesticness that the General emanates. “Did you say something about a soul?”
At that, the General lets out a small sound that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a grunt. But he composes himself and turns to you. “S-o-l. That’s what we call our animal spirits.” He pets the horse again, which neighs happily against his palm. “They’re free to roam the vast Solarian lands since nobody really owns them. We don’t know where they come from either. But we do know that they embody our four elements.” The horse swishes his tail in agreement, and the General nods, gently rubbing his nose. “We rarely name the sols, too, since they’re not ours to name. But Zeru comes back to me time and again. After a while, I came up with a name and it stuck.”
“The two of you seem close,” you say, watching the horse nudging his nose against the General’s neck with affection.
“We have to be,” the General replies. “We wouldn’t have survived battles together if we weren’t.” There’s a small pause before he turns to you. “Have you ridden a horse before?”
It’s a question you don’t know how to answer. Technically, the answer is no. But perhaps your muscle memory is superb and you have in the past?
“Oh,” the General says. He looks embarrassed, avoiding your eye contact. “I apologize. Even if you had, you wouldn’t remember.” Then, he looks even more embarrassed that he had tried to explain the obvious to you.
Wordlessly, he seems to order Zeru to kneel, and he gestures to you to mount the horse. For a minute, you hesitate. What if you fall through the horse? You can see the ground straight through him. What if the General can only touch the horse because the horse actually likes him? You really hope the horse likes you too. And even amidst your stalling, the General is patient. If you’re taking too long to mount the horse, he doesn’t say. Instead, he waits silently.
So, tentatively, you swing your leg over the horse. Your leg hits something soft. Something cool to the touch. The horse. Your hands tangle into his silvery mane. It feels like the way a cloud would feel, yet looks like silk. While you’re busy trying to work out the logistics of this, you feel a sudden warmth pressing up against your back. You freeze. Your mind goes completely blank. A gentle hand presses against your waist. It knocks the wind right out of you.
Gracefully, the horse stands up and with a magical swish of its tail, it’s off. Maybe it’s because the horse is one with the wind, or maybe it’s because it’s so inherently light. But it’s incredibly quick. You’re almost having trouble breathing with how fast Zeru gallops across the green grass. He moves closer and closer to the coniferous forest, and your eyes widen. Will you finally be able to see what’s in there?
But for fuck’s sake, you can’t get your mind off of the hand on your waist. The General did it so absentmindedly. You realize that it’s probably second nature for him. He wouldn’t want you falling off—for many logical reasons. In fact, maybe he’s holding onto you so he won’t fall off. But still…
It feels intimate. And you’re not sure what to think about that.
The ride is mostly silent. You’re not sure how long it will take, so you busy yourself watching the forest. The trees are tall and large, snow decorating the tips of their many branches. You’re not much of a plant connoisseur as Major Hyun or Doyun are, so you’re not sure if you can really appreciate the scenery. You do notice how fresh the air is inside the forest, though. The emerald leaves collect the morning frost that begins to drip on your heads as Zeru gallops past it all. The forest is dense, and the pale sunlight can just barely filter through the vegetation. But it’s nice to see something other than the saturated red tents.
But then there, right there, you see something moving swiftly between the trees. Something bright, something burning. When you blink, however, it disappears into the forest, making you believe you’d imagined it all. It’s too early in the morning. You’re better off drifting away with your internal thoughts.
So you begin to wonder what the General could be thinking of for it to be so silent. He’s probably admiring the beautiful land, too—amazed into silence just like you are. Or maybe he’s too used to it. Maybe he’s lost in his other thoughts. Thoughts of which would be rude of you to inquire about.
Yoongi cares about his soldiers. And his soldiers have always cared for him, too. He remembers, just after the burden of leading the Solarian Army fell upon his soldiers, he’d been so lost, so alone. He’d never wanted this. He was barely qualified for it! But Doyun had been there for him. She’d reassured him, told him he could lead. He was still mourning the death of his brother, then—something he wouldn’t get over for a long, long time. But Doyun had helped him. She’d shown him compassion and empathy. Not because she coveted the gaping position of the Lieutenant-General of the Solarian Army, but because she cared. She saw him as a friend and not just another body on the battlefield.
Ki Suhyun made him realize that he should not be treating his soldiers as pawns. In his third time leading a battle, he’d made too many careless mistakes—mistakes that almost cost him his life. But his major had saved him time and again. Even though he should’ve really been dead. Even though he deserved to be dead. But she treated his life as if it were her very own. He doesn’t know why—and he still doesn’t know. She could’ve let him die and assumed the position as his Lieutenant—after Doyun became the General. But she hadn’t. She values human life, and she could never dream of treating a soldier like a pawn on a gameboard. He wants to be like her. Major Ki—the Flare Shot—is a person he admires. A person he looks up to.
He looks up to a lot of people, which others find weird because they tend to look up to him. But everything that he is now, he learned from others. He learned compassion from Doyun and empathy from Suhyun. He learned discipline from his mother, loyalty from his father, diligence from his sister and ambition from his brother. He learned to be the General that he is today from his many, many soldiers. He tries to treat them as humans, but it’s hard because battle plans treat them as pawns. Yet he wants to know their names, wants to know about their families, wants to learn who they are as people. It’s the only way he can live with himself. Because if your pawn dies, you shrug it off; it’s just a pawn and you have better pieces lined up anyway. But his soldiers are people, and when a person you love dies, it breaks you. He wants that burden because it forces him to be better, to strive for fewer casualties, to strive for victory. It fuels him.
You’re not just a soldier who lost her memory to him. You’re a human. And to be a soldier for the Solarian Army, you at least need to know what you’re fighting for. You need a reason to fight. He knows his reason. He fights for the freedom of his people. And he wishes by the end of the day, you’re able to find your own reason.
Even after all the atrocities he’s faced in the war, he’s still human. And so is everyone else. How can anyone live with themselves if they are not compassionate? The compassion that his soldiers have shown to him, he’ll repay bit by bit. Like today.
Nearly six hours of riding on horseback is quite tiring. If you’re uncomfortable, though, you don’t mention it. It occurs to Yoongi three hours into the ride that he should’ve come prepared with some things to say. He’s not sure if you think badly of him for the long silence. But it’d be too late now (and too awkward) to say anything. It also occurs to Yoongi four hours into the ride that his hand is still on your waist. Do you think this is indecent? Will you think he has the wrong intentions? Or will you understand that he’s doing this because he’s afraid you’ll fall off?
Either way, the two of you arrive at the capital sector when the sun is high above the sky. Your throat is rather dry after having stayed silent yet alert for six hours. But your eyes survey the foreign territory, taking in the land, the plants, the people. Compared to Alder, Elu lacks vegetation, but what it lacks in greens, it makes up for its beautiful architecture. There are houses everywhere—intricate figures made from wood, mud and paper. The shiny tiles of the roofs are sloped upwards in a look you’re quite familiar with. It reminds you of your home—the peaked roof of your own tent. Then there are the people. There are so many people. You’ve never seen this many people who aren’t in uniform at all. They’re bustling, congregating near what you assume are restaurants and shops. They talk and laugh together, and the children play games in the dirt. It seems like you’ve entered a whole new world. A world where the war isn’t everyone’s first and last thought.
The General slides off of the horse, and he outstretches his hand to help you off as well. You take it, his hand warm and encompassing yours. But as soon as the contact comes, it leaves. The General clasps his hands behind his back and even though he speaks no words, Zeru gives out a little neigh (that sounds somewhat like a goodbye) before he’s galloping away, along with the wind. The General must be so close to the horse that they’re able to communicate telepathically. (When will you become so close to someone that you can do the same thing?) Squinting to battle the bright sun, you watch Zeru run with the wind—and it makes you think: he really is free. You wonder what it would be like to be able to run that fast. All the places you could visit!
“Welcome to your homesector, Officer,” the General says. Though his voice is soft—as usual—it jerks you away from your thoughts.
Oh. You almost forgot you’re from here. Your heartbeat quickens as you realize, will you be able to meet your lost family today?
“It doesn’t seem familiar yet,” you say. “But it feels…” You breathe in a lungful of fresh, wintry air. “Sir, it feels like it could be home.”
The General nods in acknowledgment. “That’s good to know,” he says. “Come, then. We’ll go to meet the king.”
The king!
So overwhelmed by the fact that you—you!—will get to meet royalty, you can’t even form a proper response. The General seems to understand, however. He lets the two of you rest in silence again, but silence does not mean your mind gets to rest.
The General walks, of course, with his horrible posture, but today, you can’t sense the tension in his shoulders. His face is relaxed, the frown lines between his brows nearly invisible. His lips, which are usually curved down, (and you thought that was a permanent feature), are set in a straight line—an indication of happiness, maybe?
The last time you’ve seen the General so relaxed, so in his element (ha!) was when he had been drunk. That thought opens the gateway of memories of that night. He’d healed you, grasped your hand in his and tended to your wound. He’d also repeated himself beyond what you thought was humanly possible. His words run through your head, circling your mind. But there is one line that your memory can’t seem to let go of.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you? Pray tell why.”
“You are a gift from the spirits!”
You’d glossed over it then (the situation was too funny for you to micro-analyze every word of his), but it comes back to you now in confusion. A gift from the spirits. But who are the spirits? You’ve heard that word thrown around here and there, never really understanding what it really meant. It’s definitely the time to ask.
“Sir, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Officer.”
“That night…” Your face brightens at the entertaining memory. “That night that you were um, inebriated, you told me something.”
The General’s steps falter, and he turns to you, an empty look on his face. But his eyes teem with bewilderment. “I told you many things that night. I trust that you didn’t take everything to heart.”
“I didn’t.” Kind of. “But there was something you said that I want some clarification on, sir. It seemed so natural to you and everyone else, so I thought it’d be stupid of me to say something.”
“What is it, Officer?”
“You told me that I’m a gift from the spirits.”
This time, the General really does trip. But he clears his throat and elegantly regains his balance. “It’s a straightforward compliment, Officer. There’s really nothing to expound upon. Unless you’d like me to say it again. Which, in that case, I won’t.”
You smile. “It would be nice if you were to tell me that again. But I assumed what you said was a compliment. I’m just not sure who and what the spirits are. Everyone seems to talk about them and swear by them. I feel a little lost. That’s all.”
The General pauses for a slight second as if to realize something. “The spirits are the backbone of our land, Officer.” By habit, he hunches over, hands tightening behind his back. “Without them, Solaria would not exist. It’s simple, really. The spirits of fire, water, earth and air—Sooht, Soo, Sahn and Sori. We met them in that order, too. Perhaps maybe why fire mediums are so coveted; we are the original bridge between human and spirit. Or perhaps our importance is the result of this war.”
“We… met the spirits?”
“Our ancestors did. Most Solarians feel their connection through prayer or just from being able to wield their elements. You see, we have a temple where some of us pay our respects. These spirits shared their elements with us, so it’s natural for us to regard them highly, Officer.”
Now you have even more questions. What do these spirits look like? Are they transparent like Zeru is? Do they even look like humans? Why did they decide to help the Solarians and not the Darlaeans? Do they still exist today? Can you see them in the temple? Where is the temple? What does the temple look like? When was it made? You open your mouth to speak when you realize it’s been silent for quite some time (as your mind was whirring with too many inquiries). If you say something now, it’ll disrupt the silence, and that would be awkward. (More awkward than it already is that you’re on a day trip with the General—just you and him.) So, chewing on your lip, you vow to ask your questions some other time.
As you walk further into the city with the General, you soon come to realize the Solarians who had been busy with their own business have all stopped to bow. (No wonder it was so silent.) But the citizens stay bowed until the General passes them completely. Even children who look as young as six years old drop to a ninety-degree bow. You watch Solarians open their windows, their doors to greet the Solarian General—as if he were their king. You don’t blame them. You can’t deny that the very first time you’ve seen the General, you thought he was of royal blood.
But if you know something about the General, you know that he doesn’t like such grand displays of respect.
“You’re not going to tell them to stand up, sir?” you whisper to the General, a teasing smile on your lips. You don’t really expect him to give you an answer, but he does anyway.
“I’ll let them pay their respects. It gives them the illusion of hope.”
Oh? “And how is it an illusion?”
The corner of his lips twitch. “Who am I for them to worship? I am neither the king nor a spirit.”
Your eyebrows raise. “But sir, you command the Solarian Army,” you say. “I think that deserves real hope. Especially now that the tides of the war have turned in our favor.”
Silence. You’re starting to think he won’t ever respond.
Then, there’s the quiet, ever so gentle: “I suppose so.”
But the way he says it, you’re not sure if he really agrees with you. How can someone who wields so much power be so nonchalant about his gifts? Is there something that fuels his humility? Is it insecurity? Genuine kindness? Or a moment from the past that keeps him this way?
There you go again, thinking of so many questions yet never coming up with the answers.
You’re so busy with your thoughts, you almost don’t notice that the General has stopped walking. When you look up, you realize you’re standing before a beautiful home. Two-tiered and colored an enchanting shade of jade green and scarlet red, there stands the palace. Ivy runs along the walls of the massive structure and bushes sprouting golden flowers encircle the courtyard. It looks regal but welcoming.
“Earth mediums make sure those flowers are in full bloom year-round,” the General explains when he catches you staring. “Golden bells. The late king loved them, and her husband had them planted in her honor before he passed away.”
“Passed away?”
“Their eldest son is the king now.”
There are guards waiting at the entrance to the palace who bow when you and the General walk past.
“He must have been through a lot.”
“He’s resilient.”
The General leads the way further into the palace and you marvel at the magnificence inside. The ceilings are high, intricate wooden designs embellishing every corner. The floor sparkles and so do the bronze decorations lined up against the wall. Palace workers bow in the General’s presence—some even offering him refreshments. He politely declines and asks where the king might be. They direct him to what they call the Throne Room.
Inside is a large, scarlet and gold seat—the throne. It’s empty, however. But behind the royal throne is a beautiful canvas painted with black ink. It is a drawing of the four elements. You can feel the warmth of the black flames even through the paper. Come to think of it, there are many drawings in the Throne Room. All of which have a similar style.
“The king must like to draw,” you comment, eyes surveying the intricate art on the walls.
The General rests his hands behind his back. “He does. But these paintings are generations old. The Park Dynasty had its fair share of talented artists. Our king is still learning, however.”
You nod silently, body turning to observe the rest of the room. On the sparkling wooden floor is a collection of wooden spinning tops, all strewn about in a disorderly fashion. Delicate kites with tangled-up strings lie around the throne. Blank and scribbled-on canvases litter the ground. All remnants of children’s games.
“I didn’t know the king had children. It must be hard for him to raise them,” you say absentmindedly. “Does he do it alone?”
The General looks away. And he doesn’t answer your question.
Maybe he didn’t hear you? But there’s no way he didn’t. You could sidestep once and stumble onto his feet—that’s how close you are. So why is he ignoring you? You’re about to spiral into one of your overthinking spiels when a young child bounds into the room, accompanied by two guards who leave wordlessly once they acknowledge the General’s presence. The child’s a tiny little thing with a chubby face, rosy cheeks and a huge smile. His round eyes light up when he catches sight of the General.
“Uncle Yoongs!” he shrieks. He races toward the General and wraps his tiny arms around the man’s knees. “I missed you!”
You stiffen. Who is this child? Where are his parents—presumably part of the royal family? How does he know the General? More importantly, where is the king that you were promised to meet?
“I missed you too, your majesty.” Yoongi reaches down to ruffle the kid’s hair.
Your mouth drops open. “T-The… The Solarian King?”
The child—the king—grins at you, waving his hand enthusiastically. “That’s me!” He counts six fingers on his hand. “I’m this many years old!” he announces. “Uncle Yoongs, please visit more often!”
You’re too shocked to speak.
The General seems to notice and he crouches down to meet the child’s face. “Jimin, would you like to meet someone very special?”
“Yes!!”
You’re half-expecting for him to introduce you but instead, you hear a robust neigh. There’s a gust of air and a familiar silvery horse gallops in. You have no idea how he got through the low-hanging door frames of the palace. Or maybe he exists with the air, so he can appear whenever he wants to. “Meet Zeru,” the General says, patting the horse’s mane. “He’s a close friend of mine so make sure you treat him kindly, all right?”
The young king’s eyes double in size. “An air sol! I love him, Uncle Yoongs! I love him!”
While the king is preoccupied with Zeru, you whirl around to face the General. He avoids making eye contact with you, looking down at the floor littered with the king’s drawings. It finally clicks. This is why the General told you that Solaria is in such dire need to win the war. Their nation is led by a six-year-old child. They absolutely need the victory. Or they’ll be eaten alive by the Darlaeans.
“He’s the last of what’s left of the Park Dynasty,” the General says. “His three siblings died at birth, and the maternal king passed away during labor. Her last child was stillborn. The paternal king, Jimin’s father, passed away years ago from grief.”
Your heart aches. Elu had looked so happy, so alive. You would’ve had no idea their royal family was bleeding with pain. “He’s so young…” you whisper, glancing at the small child hugging Zeru’s leg. The horse is patient, nuzzling the king’s head and whinnying softly. “But sir, surely, a child does not rule our nation while we are at war.”
The General shifts his posture. “The Park Dynasty and Min Clan are historically intertwined. Naturally, I was put in temporary charge.”
Ah. Now it makes more sense than before, why everyone in the village had bowed to him like he was the king. He practically is. You wonder what it feels like to carry so much responsibility. To have so many people depend on you. You’re not sure if you could handle that, and it’s admirable that your General can.
But the six-year-old child… How sorrowful must he be to be orphaned and bestowed such a meaningful title—the Solarian King. How confused he must be. He’s only six. What does he know about war? Hell, what does he know about death? You don’t remember when you were six years old, but you imagine that even a small cut on your arm would be terrifying; how can that compare to the severed limbs of your fellow Solarian soldiers?
Yoongi watches your blank face, and he soon realizes you’re completely lost in thought. As usual. But your thoughts—and he can tell from the slight furrowing of your brow—are dark and heavy. “His majesty doesn’t understand much,” he says with his gentle voice. “The war’s been going on for too long. He lives a sheltered life as every six-year-old child should.”
“Uncle!!!”
The young king rushes over, hugging the General’s leg and pointing at you. “Zeru said to ask you about her.”
The General smiles, ruffling the kid’s hair before turning to the majestic horse. “Zeru must want to rest now. He’s given us a long ride to the capital. Let’s let him leave, shall we?” In response, the horse neighs, tossing his head as a final goodbye. You blink and he’s already galloping away, sparkling like mist in the little stream of sunlight shining down in the Throne Room.
“I’ll miss him,” the young king pouts, but he seems to get over his disappointment fairly quickly as he directs his attention to you. “Are you Uncle Yoongs’ friend?” he asks.
That sounds like a trick question. Are you even allowed to say that you are the General’s friend? And how can you be? Even after all this time, you barely know him. You work for him. Yes, that’s it. “I’m just his offi—”
“Yes, she’s my friend,” the General quickly says. But he says it with a sense of urgency that makes you realize the young king must be more sheltered than you thought. You’ll play along, however.
“The Ge—I mean, Y-Yoo-uh-Yoongi wanted to tour me around Elu since I’ve never been here before,” you say. Immediately, you wish you never tried playing along. How utterly embarrassing. Why did you stutter so much trying to get his name out? Here’s a thought: because you’ve never addressed him by it before. The General might not require his soldiers to bow in his presence, but he does (wordlessly) prefer that they address him by his title or alternatively, ‘sir.’ At least you think he does.
“That’s not true.” The little kid crosses his arms as he looks between you and the General suspiciously.
Your heart sinks.
“Uncle doesn’t have any friends.”
Now that is not what you expected to hear. The king catches you so off guard that you let out a small laugh before clamping your mouth shut. But to your relief, the little kid laughs along with you, pointing at the General with a silly grin on his face. The General’s smiling and he shrugs when you give him an inquisitive look.
“You’re not going to defend yourself?” you say, catching your breath.
“I really can’t,” he replies, patting the young king’s head.
“It’s okay!” the kid exclaims. He points at you. “You can be my uncle’s first friend!”
“I thought you were my first friend,” the General says, teasing the child. “I’m hurt, Jimin.”
The king panics. “No! That doesn’t count, uncle! You know that doesn’t count! You’re always away, uncle! I have my toys and my friends, but you’re always away and you have no friends! I don’t want you to be lonely.” He pouts, his plump lips pulling out dramatically. For a second, you think he might cry, and you begin to brace yourself for the wails. But the king is resilient. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before declaring: “When you go away, I want her to go away with you. So you won’t be lonely.”
“You’re right,” the General says. He pats the king’s shoulder. “I won’t be lonely, Jimin. You don’t have to worry. Y/N here is a good friend. She keeps me company.”
You have to look away.
How much of that is the truth, though? Of course, in theory, the General will never be lonely—constantly looking after his soldiers, constantly attending officer meetings, constantly fighting the enemy in battle… But so many of those relationships are fleeting. People come and go. People fight or die. It’s also lonely at the top. How many people know who the General really is? You surely aren’t one of them.
Do you even want to be?
You’re not sure.
You jump when hands circle around your leg. When you look down, you see the young king staring up at you, eyes wide and hopeful. You want to look away again, but if you do, it might hurt him. It might make him lose his hope.
“Take care of Uncle for me,” he whispers.
His hands are so small. Less than half of your own. He barely reaches your hips. He’s so young, but there’s something about that look on his face… It’s not the look of a sheltered child. It’s the look of awareness. As if he knows where his uncle disappears off to after every visit. As if he knows there’s a chance that his uncle might never come back. As if he’s depending on you.
It breaks your heart. You don’t even know how to wield your element and yet the Solarian King is trusting you with the General. But the fact that you’re no longer a fire medium won’t stop you from making a promise.
“I will,” you whisper right back. “I’ll take care of him.”
The childish smile is back on the king’s face again—as if the facet of him that knows was never there in the first place. The General clears his throat. You didn’t even realize that you’d been staring off into the distance until he brought you back to reality.
“I’ll be back soon,” he tells the young king. “Don’t worry. Y/N’ll take care of me.”
The child exclaims with joy. “Can you bring Zeru again next time?”
“Of course I will.”
The child follows you and the General all the way out to the courtyard, waving incessantly and calling his loud goodbyes. It isn’t until after you’ve completely left the beautiful palace grounds that your knees begin to wobble.
You’re not sure if the General knows that the king knows.
“Careful, there,” he says in his husky voice, holding out his arm in case you need to grab on. “Maybe you’ve sat down for one too many hours today.”
He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know.
“I’m sorry, sir,” you manage to mumble. “It’s just… I wasn’t… I really wasn’t expecting that.”
“I should’ve given you a better warning,” he replies. “But now you know why Solaria must win.”
“If we don’t, they’ll kill us. They’ll kill the king first, won’t they?”
The General nods. “I swore on my own grave that I would protect the last member of the Park Dynasty. I swore to the paternal king, right before he passed away. He made me promise that I would keep his son sheltered from the war. He never wanted his son involved.”
“Never? Not even after he grew older?”
“Never,” the General confirms. “He no longer wanted the Park Dynasty involved in the war. Just the Min Clan. Just my bloodline.”
“So he put the burden on your shoulders.” You frown. As royalty, you would’ve expected more from the paternal king—a little more selflessness. And look what that order has done to the country; the Solarian King and the General of the Solarian Army are the last of their bloodlines.
“I deserve it, anyway,” the General sighs. He looks down at the dirt. “War is an ugly thing, Y/N. My clan has profited off of it for many, many years. Someone had to pay the price.”
You sense bitterness in his tone. Bitterness towards whom? The royal family? His own bloodline? Himself?
“The king is an air and water medium,” the General says. “His parents, the kings, forbid him from experimenting with fire. That way, he would never be drafted into the war. Because if he was drafted, he would’ve become a slave under the Min Clan.”
“I don’t trust your clan, Min Yoongi.”
“I understand, sire.”
“For years, the Min Clan has tried to run this nation as if it was theirs, ignoring what the spirits granted the Park Dynasty—royal blood. But you’re the runt of the clan, are you not, Min Yoongi? I happen to have trust in you.”
“Sire…”
“I’m dying, Yoongi. But you already knew that. My voice is awfully hoarse. My wife is dead. All but one of my children are dead. I don’t have a reason to live anymore. But now that you have rightfully been appointed as my nation’s General, I can die in peace. You must take care of my son, Yoongi. He is all that is left. If he dies, Solaria dies with him. Your clan never realized that. You might control the military, but when your general dies, you may replace them. You’ve already done so countless times. But you cannot replace royal blood. Jimin is Solaria’s last hope. So I want you to promise me that you will keep him sheltered from the war. You must not tell him a single detail. Not even the fact that you are the General. I want you to die with that secret.”
“Sire…”
“I am asking for a lot. I know. But your family has ruined mine. It’s embarrassing to admit, but we are rival clans, Yoongi. We tried to outlive each other. My wife died trying to produce more heirs, and I’m dying because I’ve lost the love of my life. I’ve given up. When I die, Jimin will be the last of the Park Dynasty—as you are the last of the Min Clan. All that I ask is that he outlives you. All that I ask is that he does not know the perils and stresses of the war. All that I ask is that you repent your clan’s faults. All that I ask is to win.”
It’s a lot to ask. Yoongi remembers he’d stayed silent, overwhelmed by the pure hatred in the paternal king’s voice. He’d stayed silent until the king had taken his last breath. But he’d still gone ahead and kept his promise. Not because he wants to respect the king. But because he can’t punish an innocent child for the mistakes of his parents and ancestors.
“I don’t think you deserve it.”
Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts.
“Why is he punishing you for what your ancestors did to his ancestors?”
Oh. Yoongi never thought about it like that.
He stares at you with a look of astonishment.
“Why are you paying the price? No. Why are we paying the price? No one who started the war is alive anymore, so why do we have to suffer because of them? Sir, I don’t understand. I think—I think I’m confused. There’s just no point, anymore. I want the war to stop. I can’t stand it.”
Oh no. He wanted you to come here to find your reason to fight. Instead, you’ve completely lost it.
Upon seeing the General’s blank (almost disapproving) expression, you try to extinguish the flames of anger boiling inside of you. You didn’t think you would become so, so angry. It never occurred to you to question whether to fight in the war. But that was before you were introduced to this Park Dynasty and the General’s clan. Why did you ever think Alder was your whole world? Why did you think the army was all that existed? You wilt. The world is so much more than the military. You feel so small, so tiny compared to the larger problems looming over you.
“We can’t.”
“Sorry?”
“We can’t stop the war,” the General whispers. “You may have lost your memories fighting in battle. Others have lost their lives, their loved ones, their whole family. We can’t simply stop the war. Thousands, if not millions of soldiers have sacrificed everything for this very cause. The last thing I want is to ask my soldiers to die in vain. We must finish what our ancestors have started. We must win, Officer. That’s the only way we can stop this terrible cycle.” That’s the only way he won’t feel guilty. That’s he won’t feel like a total failure. That’s the only way he can bring honor to his clan. Bring honor to his mother, who, even on her deathbed saw him as the family runt.
“Winning sounds so easy,” you say. “But it’s not.” There are so many factors—so many unpredictable elements that mess with the plans you want to make. But what the General says is true too—that they’ve gone too far to simply end the war. There must be a victor. How else could they justify the deaths of millions?
“Of course, winning isn’t easy,” the General says. “But it makes it all the more impressive when we do it.”
“When we do it…” you trail off, watching the busy Solarians making their way across the village, holding their assorted items of baggage and chatting merrily with their neighbors. You watch earth mediums tending their small gardens, fire mediums cooking outside their homes, air mediums flying their kites and water mediums scrubbing down various surfaces. They look so happy. But you wonder how much pain they’re hiding inside. How many of their family members have been killed in the war? Or is that too pessimistic to think? Maybe they are genuinely happy. Maybe it is your duty as an officer to carry the burden of pain so that these citizens can live in peace. Then, in that case, you’ll fight for their happiness.
You and the General wander around Elu in silence. It’s peaceful like this, taking in your homesector with your very own eyes, watching the people who could have been your neighbors. There’s a small part of you that wishes someone would step out from the crowd, calling your name. That someone—with their tear-streaked face—would stretch out their arms and hug you. Someone familiar. Someone who knew who you were. Someone who—
“We’re here.”
The General’s soft voice brings you back to reality, and you blink your eyes to see a small temple made entirely of mud straight ahead of you. It looks like it had been erected straight from the ground—a natural beauty. Verdant leaves of ivy crawl in and out of the square holes—windows—and white flowers spiral around the temple, the fallen petals decorating the soft dirt. There is a large rectangular opening and a pitch-black entrance that follows. The simplicity of the temple is oddly alluring. It seems so connected to nature—not a single man-made element in sight.
To be quite honest, you had no idea you and the General were even walking toward a destination. While so lost in your thoughts, you were following him blindly, which says a lot about your devotion to the General. But you digress. This must be the temple where Solarians pay their respects to the spirits.
There is something incredibly powerful about it. The moment you step inside, you can feel it—an intense force that you can’t quite explain. There is only one room, and the only light that streams in is from the square holes in the walls. That and the blazing fire in the center. It glows, emitting flecks of gold light, along with wisps of amber and ruby flames. Around the fire—that somehow burns brilliant colors without any kindling—is a ring of water, the vivid flames reflecting off of a sparkling surface that ripples from an invisible breeze. The shallow pool is filled with water so crystal clear that you can see the smoothness of the bottom. The soft waves remind you of a lullaby from faraway—a familiar comfort that you can cling onto. Blossoming lotuses slowly sway in the undulating waters, their silky, white petals fluttering along with the wind.
It’s just nature, but it’s magical.
The four elements, so close together. Your mouth parts as your eyes reflect the beauty of the dancing flames, the rippling waters, the sparkling petals against the firelight, the persistent wafts of wind.
“Centuries ago, this was where the first Solarians were born,” the General finally says. His voice is gentler than usual, blending in with the delicate breeze and overtaken by the soft roar of the flames.
You nod, enchanted by his words as much as the sight before you.
“Our people come from the Darlaeans. We didn’t approve of their disciplinary, militant rule, so we left to build a warm, welcoming community that Darlae so obviously lacked. It was a long journey that our ancestors made,” the General says. “But we finally ended up here, in Elu, the heart of Solaria.
“How we found another branch of ‘magic’ is another story, however. A long one too. But we don’t have all day, so I’ll keep it short.” He waits for you to eagerly nod before continuing.
“Let me see… Well, all Darlaeans are born with a gem stuck to their forehead, which falls off in due time. You must know that they use these gems to channel magic through their veins. Consequently, without their gems, they are rendered useless. Recognizing the limitations of Darlaean magic, our ancestors wanted something more permanent, a kind of magic ingrained in their own bodies, rather than magic that must depend on a medium. They created their own civilization, abandoning Darlaean magic, and began living entirely off of the land—a feat that the Darlaeans would call ‘poverty.’ But our ancestors were diligent. With little to no experience, they built their villages by hand, sparked fires with stones and spun baskets out of blades of grass. And soon enough, with their hard work, they were able to catch the attention of Sooht, the spirits of fire. Astonished that mere humans could be so connected to nature—and willing to respect it, too—Sooht conjured up a deal. In exchange for their precious gemstones, Sooht would share their power to create flames—the same kind of warmth and glow that the sun emits, the Solarians could now wield with their own will. With Sooht’s generous gesture, the Solarians were able to cook, create light and admire the beauty of fire.
“But, of course, with this practicality, came the possibility of destruction. But the spirits of fire trusted the Solarians to use their newfound fire wielding wisely, and the Solarians did. Seeing this, Sooht, who is always the ambitious one, boasted about their deal to the other spirits, showing them these special gems they’d acquired. They believed that these gems are only born with human life, which makes them quite priceless—even in the spirit world. So Soo, the spirits of water, who always trusted Sooht’s judgment—and also wanted to gain possession of the gems—granted the Solarians the ability to wield water—so no matter how hot or cold the day was, they could find something to drink. Sahn, the spirits of earth, the wisest of the bunch, watched all of this from afar and decided they would do the same. Though they believed that these gems were quite useless, they were fascinated with human nature, and they wanted to reward the Solarians for forgoing human material greed in favor of admiring the natural world. Sori, the spirits of the air, waited even longer than Sahn had. Having no interest in the gems, Sori knew they would only give the Solarians the last element if they could learn the beauty of patience, for Sori prided themselves in their ability to wait and wait and wait. Finally, after what I believe was several decades later, Sori granted the Solarians the ability to wield air.
“This is the very place the spirits shared their eternal power with us. The fire never extinguishes, the water never freezes nor dries, the lotuses never wilt and the wind never stops blowing. They say this is where the Solarians lit their first fire under the watchful guidance of Sooht. And for that reason, this temple is directly connected with the spirits.”
“For Sooht’s sake…” you breathe. “That’s incredible.” There’s something about learning where you come from, your origins, that feels so empowering. You’re part of a group that left the majority in search of a new beginning. A group that wasn’t afraid to swim against the current. A group that followed their hearts and desires. A group that didn’t want to use mediums to perform magic so became the mediums themselves.
There’s also something about the General’s narration that makes the story so much more enchanting. There is raw passion in his voice as he tells the history of his people as if he is proud to be Solarian and proud to lead an army representing his nation. There is so much knowledge and emotion instilled in his language that you wish you had all day to listen to the full tale. And to be quite honest, you could never get bored of his voice. It is the voice that commands an entire army and raises the morale of fearless soldiers. It is also the voice that can be quite snarky when he wants it to be. It is the voice that told you, a mere officer, that you’re a ‘gift from the spirits.’ You realize now how much weight that compliment carries.
“You have quite a dreamy look on your face, Officer.”
You jolt into reality. “Um! Sir! Uh, how can I not? I-I, well, I feel enlightened, sir.” Quickly, you divert the General’s attention to another—more important—subject matter. “Are we going to pray to the spirits, now?”
“You may if you want.”
“...Are you going to pray, sir?”
He shakes his head. “Though I acknowledge Solarian history, I don’t believe that praying to the spirits will help us win the war. We thank their generosity by using what they shared with us, responsibly. We respect them by respecting the nature that they shared with us. Praying leads to excuses,” he says. “I don’t want any one of my soldiers blaming their colleague’s death on the fact that they didn’t pray hard enough. The spirits are not in control of our lives. They merely gave us our wielding. So no, Officer, I will not pray.” He pauses. “You are welcome to, however.”
But what the General tells you makes sense. Besides, if you did end up praying to the spirits, you would probably never stop—you always have too many words inside your head, and half of them are meaningless. You doubt the spirits would want to listen. So, you’ll do what sounds best: respect the spirits by respecting the land.
“I won’t pray either,” you say. “I feel like I don’t know enough to, anyway.”
The General nods. “I respect that.”
Silence.
You itch to say something. Normally, silence is good. Silence is lovely. Silence is golden for Sooht’s sake. But the silence right now is awkward. Why aren’t either of you saying anything? But it’s not like you have something important to say, anyway. The soft rustling of the wind doesn’t sound so soft anymore; in fact, the crackling flames and whispering winds echo in the dim room, amplifying the awkwardness between the two of you. Is it because he addressed you as his friend earlier? Or did it just hit the General now that taking one of his officers on a tour of the capital is not quite normal?
Your questions shatter when the General opens his mouth to speak: “Would you like to get something to eat, Officer?”
All of your earlier doubts wash away. Who are you kidding? The silence was awkward because you are awkward people—there was (probably) no underlying reason. You think.
But for Sooht’s sake, you’re starving. “Yes, sir. I could devour a whole garden of spinach.” Immediately, you cringe at your own words. That would’ve been okay to say in front of Hana (or even Doyun), but really, in front of the General? Maybe you’re getting too comfortable in his presence. But how can you not? You’ve spent so many hours with him today. It feels like you should be closer to him. But you’re really not.
“Ah, a spinach-lover,” the General says. He turns around, ready to walk out of the temple, but he pauses and speaks. “I must admit, Officer, you have horrible taste. Everybody knows a garden filled with manure tastes much better than spinach.”
You stand, opened-mouthed and shocked by the General’s words. It takes a second for you to be offended. (Even Hana doesn’t go as far as to call spinach worse than manure of all things!) But it takes another second for you to realize that the General is being snarky again. A joke! It had been a joke. You’re almost embarrassed that you actually thought he was serious.
You roll your eyes, refusing to back down. “Sir, it sounds like you have some delectable experience with horse manure. Care to share your insight as an esteemed food critic?”
The General turns around, and you see his face, dimly illuminated by the blazing fire. Amusement twinkles in his dark eyes, his thin lips curving up ever so slightly. “I would, but the capital has food that can’t compare to spinach and manure. Shall we?” He gestures outdoors, and with a grin on your face, you follow him out into the light.
Pawns. They’re just pawns. They’re nothing but pawns.
“We’ll move these forces out west. All sectors. Tell them to fight with more power. It’s embarrassing how weak we are compared to the Darlaeans.”
“Yoonsoo, I’m not sure pushing our soldiers from all of our sectors into battle will help our case. There will be more unnecessary casualties—”
“It’s General Min to you.”
“Does that really matter? We’re discussing lives, Yoonsoo. I think you can handle me calling you by your name.”
But Yoonsoo was always stubborn, and his stubbornness only grew with age.
“Then I want you out of my tent.”
“You’re serious.”
“If you won’t address me properly, you deserve no place in this tent.”
That was the day Yoongi was humiliatingly kicked out of an officer meeting by his own younger brother—all eyes had been on him as he shamefully left. And that battle plan—the one that Yoongi had so strongly disapproved of—was put into action. It was a massacre.
So many died—and for such little cause. And the ones who did survive came to resent their General. It was no secret that Yoonsoo treated his soldiers like his disposable pawns. It was also no secret that Yoonsoo chased after power. He fought for himself and himself only—there was nothing that he did that was for the good of his soldiers (or even Solaria, for that matter). As a result, he wasn’t very popular amongst the people. Yoongi’s seen the dirty looks they threw behind their General’s back. He’s heard the things they’d say—that they’re waiting for him to die, that they’re waiting for him to get so severely injured that he wouldn’t be able to lead the army. He supposes Yoonsoo deserves some of that. After all, he’d torn apart thousands of relationships with reckless battle plans.
But when Yoongi looked at Yoonsoo, all he saw was his little brother. The same little brother who grew up with two looming shadows over him—his older brother and sister.
“Brother!!!”
“Sh… Don’t cry, you’ll wake up Mother and Father. Yoonsoo, why is your cheek bruised?”
“I didn’t mean to disappoint Mother! I really didn’t! It’s just—I’m not good enough, Brother. But I want to be. I want to be like you and Sister. Why am I never enough? I wish I was never born! I don’t want to be punished anymore, Brother. I’d rather die than not be good enough!”
“Shhh…” He’d embraced Yoonsoo. Yoongi had also wished—years later—that he’d said something kinder to his brother. Something that touched Yoonsoo so much that he grew into a kind, compassionate person. Instead, Yoongi had offered a solution. Just like he always does. “I’ll teach you to be good enough, Yoonsoo. Here, I’ll even get rid of that bruise.”
“No!” His brother had slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare use your water wielding on me! That’s witchcraft!”
“No, it’s not.”
“But you’re not allowed to wield the other elements! Mother would slap you too!”
“Only if you tell her.”
“I won’t tell her, Brother. You know I won’t.”
“Do you still want me to teach you? You’re not scared that I’ll perform witchcraft on you? What if I do it secretly, in the dead of the night?”
“You tease me, but I know you won’t.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Mother says air mediums are too soft. Weak-hearted. You wouldn’t have the guts.”
Yoonsoo didn’t respect a lot of things. Among those were the healers in his own campground, his soldiers who wielded more than one element and Yoongi, his own brother. Even so, Yoongi cared for him—more than he’s ever cared for anything in his life. He just doesn’t understand why he’s been thinking of his brother so often these past few circas.
No. Actually, he does know. It’s because of you.
You waltz into his life without your memories, and for some reason, that triggers his own.
“You have quite a dreamy look on your face, sir.”
Yoongi blinks. He realizes he’d been holding his spoon in his hand for the past—who knows how long—staring at his tray of warm rice and assorted side dishes. It’s such a wonderful meal, but he’d been completely lost in his memories.
“Would you prefer we pick up some horse manure for you?” you say when he doesn’t answer.
The General blinks again, and this time when he does so, it looks like he’s alive again. “There would be no need to do such a thing.”
You smile. “All right, then. This is delicious, by the way. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to eating mugwort porridge every day. Oh! That just reminded me. Hana says Elu has good bread. I think she was joking when she said she wanted Captain Im’s autograph, but since I didn’t quite get her that, I think the least I can do as her friend is to get her some bread. She loves bread.”
The General smiles, his cold exterior melting at your warm words. “We’ll visit the bakery, then.”
Elu’s streets are less busy now, but children have come out to play, and they crowd around you and the General as you walk past the shops lined up along the dirt road.
“Uncle, uncle!” they call him, chasing after him as if he really is their uncle, as if, despite his polished uniform and intimidating aura, he’s their older brother who they have the joy of reuniting with.
Your eyes widen as you watch the General play along with the children. They latch onto his arms, hanging onto them and swinging their legs back and forth. Others wrap their arms around his legs. It’s a funny sight to see the General trying to match your pace while simultaneously hauling four to five kids latched onto his limbs. So you slow down for him.
“Uncle, uncle! I’m taller than Hyunhee, now!”
“Uncle, I’m learning to be a fire medium just like you!”
“Uncle, where are you going?”
“Uncle, when are you leaving?”
“Uncle? Who is she?” a wide-eyed child asks, pointing his finger at you.
“She’s Y/N,” he answers. “My friend. We happen to be on our way to the bakery. Do you want to play a fun game? Why don’t you pretend you’re escorting the General of the Solarian Army to a very, very important meeting?”
The kids squeal at his words, and those who had been hanging onto his arms and legs detach themselves in favor of lining up on either side of you and the General. The young fire mediums carry flames in their hands, holding them up to illuminate a bright path. They take this game very seriously, sinking into a deep bow every time you and the General pass them.
A stroke of genius on the General’s part.
He’d also called you his friend. The first time he did it was to keep the young king ignorant. The second time, it almost sounded like he meant it. Or are you being delusional? These are kids you’re talking about—the General seems to have a habit of keeping them sheltered away from the war.
Now you’re overwhelmed, seeing so many unfamiliar faces so near you. It doesn’t help that they are children. You don’t know how to act around them—their enthusiastic, worry-free faces. They’re so different from you. So small, so carefree and dancing about with such blithe. On the other hand, you are weighed by your thoughts, your every word, your actions. How could you possibly understand them, and they, you? It astonishes you even more that somehow, such an intimidating man like the General can be so good with children. He seems to lower his barriers around them, seems to show them his gentler side—a side that you’ve caught rare glimpses of in the campground. It’s interesting how many different facets he has.
“Flaming hell!” The Bakery Man nearly collapses when he sees you and the General walk into his shop. “O-Oh for Sahn’s sake. Sir! And… sir?” He looks at you questioningly. “The Lieutenant?”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, no! No.” You? The Lieutenant? That’s quite laughable. Only Doyun could handle that kind of immense responsibility. “I’m just his… I’m his… friend.”
The Bakery Man quirks an eyebrow. He eyes your scarlet uniform, but nods. “His friend, you say? Well, I can’t let you leave without a fresh batch of bread! Here, come take some. Oh, for Sahn’s sake, my children adore you, sir. They wouldn’t believe this if I told them!”
“I think your children have already met me,” the General says kindly. He gestures outdoors where a crowd of children press their faces together in hopes of getting a closer look at the General in the bakery. At the front of the crowd, however, are two little girls—who have a striking resemblance to their father—waving ardently and giggling with mirth.
“Their dream is to join your army, sir. If you’ll take them,” the Bakery Man says. “They’re earth mediums for now, but they’re learning from the blacksmith the works of fire wielding. We would be so honored if you took them in your army one day.”
“There you go again! Spewing out bullcrap!” A new, shrill voice comes around from behind the counter. A tall woman stands up, towering over the Bakery Man and glaring down at the General. “How fucking dare you come into our shop? And how fucking dare you tell him to draft our children!” she yells at her husband.
You’re shocked, unsure of what to say and what to think. You look at the General for guidance, and you see that the tension in his shoulders is back again. He’s on guard, but his face is completely void of emotion.
“I married you so our children wouldn’t be cursed with fire wielding!” the woman screams. “And you’re going to allow them to learn so you can ship them off to war? They die there, don’t you know?”
“They are willing to make that sacrifice so we can win the war, honey! Isn’t it time to stop this madness?”
“But they’re seven years old!” the woman cries. “What do they know about sacrifice?” She turns angrily to the General, about to speak, but then her gaze lingers on you. “You!” she shrieks. “You’re a slave to this man, don’t you know? For centuries, his clan has used the lives of innocent people to further their power. Why are you his bodyguard? This man does not deserve to be protected. He deserves to die for the thousands of deaths he’s ordered! He must have no shame, barging into my shop like this. Get out! I demand you to leave!” She huffs, nearly out of breath as she glares at you and the General through the slits of her eyes.
It’s silent for a while. Almost as if everyone’s holding their breaths. Then:
“I’m sorry.”
You whirl around at the General, wide-eyed. He’s apologizing? Why? She mentioned that you’re a slave to him—that his soldiers are practically his slaves. But doesn’t she understand that the General is a slave to this war too? He’s doing his best! Doesn’t she see that? Can’t she understand? Did she think he wanted to see thousands of his men killed off? And how could you be his bodyguard? You don’t know how to wield any of the elements. The General showed you mercy, showed you kindness when you most needed it. And to talk about him as if he is a selfish man!
The young king’s words echo in your head. Take care of Uncle for me. It makes your fists tighten, and you begin to chew on your lip. You can’t possibly let someone disrespect the General like this—not when he lives for Solaria, the good of everyone. He’s the kindest man you know, and there’s no reason for anyone to hate him for what he had no choice but to do. But just as you’re about to offer the woman a piece of your mind, the General places a gentle hand on your arm. As if to placate you. Your eyes widen as you look at him curiously.
Of course, the woman takes this as an invitation to continue talking. “You’re sorry!” she laughs. “I’m sure you are. Get out. And don’t ever talk to my children again!”
The General nods. “I really am. I am sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“General Min…”
A wry laugh had come from his brother’s lips. “Oh, so now that I’m dying you decide to address me by my proper title? Hmph. But I really am sorry.”
Yoongi had found his brother bleeding out in his tent. It had been just minutes after a battle. The severely injured had already been rushed into the medical tents. But for some reason, Yoonsoo had stumbled into his own tent, clutching his wounds and refusing medical attention.
“Sorry?” Yoongi had tried to speak amidst the tears rolling down his chin. “Yoonsoo, don’t say bullshit like that. You’ll be fine. I’ll just heal you—”
“Don’t.”
“The people need their General.”
“The people think I’m a monster.”
“Yoonsoo…”
“You’re not saying anything because you know that I’m right.”
“So you’re just going to bleed to death?”
“I’m a little more poised than that, Brother. Don’t you know? I’m part of the Min Clan. I want to issue an apology. A formal one.”
And then, with his shaking, bloodied hand, he’d handed Yoongi a scroll—smudged with ink and blood.
“Please read this in front of my—your—army after I die.”
“What do you mean, after you die? For Sooht’s sake, Yoonsoo, you’re terrifying me!”
He’d smiled. That bastard had smiled.
“I deserve to die, Brother. All the lives I threw away… All the times I refused to console crying soldiers. All the times I forced them into one battle after the next even when they were grieving and in pain. All the times I unnecessarily drafted good people only to lose them in battle… I’d rather die than not be good enough. I’m a horrible General, Brother. It’s time that I face the consequences.”
“You can’t leave me!” Yoongi had begun to panic, then. His only living family member, declaring their imminent death before his eyes… he’d refused to accept it.
“You’ll be a better General than I ever was. Than Mother ever was, too.”
“Yoonsoo!”
“I’m sorry I’m such a shitty person.”
Tears had fallen down Yoongi’s cheeks.
“You wasted so much of your time teaching me, helping me. But I stepped over you and took the place that was rightfully yours. I’ve fucked everything up, Brother. I can’t live with myself, now. The Solarians deserve a leader who can lead. They don’t want a tyrant.”
His breaths had staccatoed. Yoongi knew, deep down, if he really wanted to, he would’ve healed his brother right then and there. But there had been agony in Yoonsoo’s voice. Terrible, terrible pain. Regret. Living for him wasn’t worth it anymore. He’d find peace and solace if he were dead.
But there’s a part of Yoongi that is weak. He doesn’t know how to lead. What does he know about garnering the spirits of thousands amidst such grueling conditions? His brother, his mother, even his sister—they had charisma, a certain charm that turned heads their direction. But Yoongi? He has a shitty posture and what his mother berated him for years: a “bad attitude.”
“I won’t be a tyrant,” he’d promised his brother. “But I can’t promise that I’ll be a good leader.”
Yoonsoo had laughed. “Whatever you do, you’ll do it better than I did. Just… just make sure you get my formal apology out.”
They’d held each other—Yoongi soaked in his brother’s blood—until he felt his brother go limp and cold.
It’s a whirlwind after that. To this day, he can’t quite remember what exactly happened. But he does remember standing in front of a crowd of desolate people, nervous and fidgeting. He’d read his brother’s apology, and it took all that was inside of him to keep himself from crying. In his dying words, Yoonsoo had poured out his heart—the same heart that he’d kept so cold and closed off from everyone else. He tried to change things before he died. Make amends. Just like his mother did. It’s not his fault that nobody took it well.
They celebrated his death. They said he only apologized so the spirits would deal with him kindly in the spirit world. They said he only apologized so he could uphold his family name.
And it hurts. It hurt then and it hurts now.
They saw him as a heartless tyrant. All Yoongi could see was forgiveness. They thought he died to escape the war. Refused medical attention and died alone in the regality of his tent like the coward he really is. But Yoongi knew he died to punish himself, for what Yoonsoo wanted most was not escape. He wanted glory. He wanted power. But he realized such power comes with a price. The price of being responsible not only for yourself but also for others. It was a price he couldn’t afford, no matter how much ambition he had in his heart. He grew up fending for himself, competing with others. He never knew how to care. Until the day he died.
So the Solarian Army rested on Yoongi’s shoulders, and Yoongi vowed to be kind to his people but ruthless to the enemy. He vowed to be better than his family, and by doing that, he would uphold his clan’s reputation. His soldiers will follow him into the light. And he’ll lead them there.
“Apologizing won’t bring back my sister’s life.”
The General meets the woman’s eyes, but he refuses to look away. “It won’t. But it is due to my soldiers’ sacrifices that allow you to keep your shop open. It is due to their sacrifice that there is no blood on the streets and your children can look at the war with such admiration. It is due to their sacrifice that food is plentiful. And it is thanks to soldiers like your sister that we may be able to claim victory. That we will no longer need any more sacrifices. I assure you, my soldiers do not die in vain. Nor do I believe their deaths give me more power. The only power I hold is the burden of death on my shoulders. It is a power I want just as much as you want me to have it. So, please, you do not have to respect me. Especially not my clan. But do respect my soldiers who voluntarily give their hearts for the soil you’re standing on. Please, honor their bravery and their sacrifice. That is all that I ask of you.”
The woman is speechless—just as you are.
The General could’ve told her how disrespectful she was—to dare to question a man who commands a massive army and a kingdom all by himself. But he chose sympathy. He chose to downplay his involvement in the favor of uplifting his soldiers’ sacrifices.
The General fixes his sleeves, awkwardly sniffling his nose as he surveys the bakery. “Now, I hope this isn’t too much to ask,” he says gently, cautiously, as if he hadn’t just given a charismatic speech. “But my friend and I would like to buy some bread.”
“I suppose you can’t always please everyone,” you say, carrying the woven basket of bread tightly in your arms.
The General hums. “If I did start pleasing everyone, I’d be worried.”
You cock your head. “Why?”
“It would mean I’m being a tyrant,” he says. “The last thing I want to do is scare everybody into agreement.”
“How considerate, sir.”
He blows air through his nose, and you realize you might have sounded a tad bit sarcastic, though you had been very genuine.
“Wait, I didn’t mean that.”
“You didn’t mean that I’m considerate?” the General says. He raises his brow and looks at you inquisitively. But there’s that humorous glint in his eye that tells you he’s not being as serious as he seems to be. Maybe you’ll play along.
“Maybe I didn’t,” you say, a small smile finding its way onto your lips. “Or maybe I did.”
Out of the corner of your peripheral vision, you catch the General rolling his eyes. But he doesn’t look annoyed. The tension in his shoulders has dissipated once again. What follows is silence, but it’s the comfortable kind—one where both you and the General acknowledge each other’s presence and still feel relaxed enough to say nothing. Neither of you feels the particular need to comment further on what had happened in the bakery. Everything that needed to be said, had already been said.
Then:
“We should get going,” the General suddenly says, staring at the setting sun painting pastel colors in the sky. “If we leave now, we’ll be back by nightfall.”
You almost forgot that Elu isn’t where you’re supposed to stay. You have a home to go back to. A warm cot and a cozy tent.
The ride back is just as silent as it was in the morning. But this time around, you don’t mind the silence. It’s time that you accept that when lost in thought, both you and the General live in your own worlds.
So you breathe in the fresh, night air, take in the starry black sky and watch the tips of the shadowy trees graze your vision. And you suddenly wonder if you’d made a large blunder.
Shouldn’t you have asked someone—anyone—about your past? Elu’s your homesector, so someone should’ve known of your existence. Would any of the children have known? Should you have asked then? Should you have tried to ask the baker? Maybe even plead to the baker’s wife (who still glared daggers into the General even after his speech)? You’re leaving your birthplace knowing as much about yourself as you first arrived there.
And what about the other connections you have in Elu? Should you have tried to find Joon’s husband? You know how much the healer worries about him. Should you have brought some bread to him? Introduced yourself? Or is that weird? Joon’s husband doesn’t even know you. Why would you visit him? What if he doesn’t like soldiers, too?
No matter how much the General may plead, there will still be people like the baker’s wife. People who are afraid and angry that they will lose their loved ones in war. People who you can’t necessarily call selfish, for how can you blame them? Who wants to see their loved ones suffer? Who wants to see themselves suffer?
You don’t want to suffer. But it’s better that you do—someone with no past, no loved ones, no memories—than a person with everything to lose. So you’ll sacrifice yourself too.
When you first woke up in the vast Alder lands nearly four circas ago, you vowed to fight for yourself. To fight for your own life and your own survival. You trusted no one—not even yourself. But you’re coming to terms with who you are now, and you’ve put your trust in good people. So now, you’ll fight for the end of the war. Even if your sacrifice won’t allow you to see its end, you hope that you’ll bring the two sides a little closer to it.
It also abruptly dawns on you the reason the General insisted on taking you to visit Elu. The reason he allowed you to see the Solarian King, the reason he escorted you into the temple, the reason he didn’t put up a bigger fight in the bakery.
“Sir?”
The General jumps slightly and you can feel the warmth of his hand on your waist shift. “Well, wasn’t that sudden?” he casually comments, but you can tell he’s curious about what you have to say.
“Thank you.”
He shifts again. “Whatever for?”
“For helping me find a reason to fight in the war.”
Yoongi ducks his head and smiles to himself. You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know that you’ve learned more today than what the war campground can ever offer you. Though spending one day at the capital won’t encompass what the other soldiers in his army know, perhaps this is enough knowledge to fuel you.
He shifts his hand on your waist again, hoping that you’re not too cold in the brisk night air. He looks upward towards the sky and watches the starlight rain down, casting both light and shadow on the peaks of the forest trees. In times like this, he feels safe. Safe from his military duties, safe from his royal duties, safe from blood and gore and guts and wicked Darlaean spells. Though it’s dark, he can still make out your shadow in the dimness.
It’s quite strange.
He’s not so sure why, but there’s something peculiar about you. Ever since he met you, he had felt it. It’s not very often that someone can pique his interest so, for after a while, even meeting new faces becomes old (guiltily enough). He wanted you to come to the capital with him so you can find your reason to fight. But maybe there was a hidden, underlying reason in his heart that he hasn’t quite come to terms with yet. A reason that he’s made such an effort to be close to you.
He shakes his head.
There’s something definitely peculiar about you. Yet he’s not sure whether this peculiarity is good or bad. But it does make him want to seek you out amongst the thousands of soldiers in his army.
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⨰ a/n: college has taken away all my free time so writing has been a little slower than usual 😭 BUT how did y'all like the date day that these two spent together?
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, minor injuries, mentions of blood
⨰ wordcount: 7.0k
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⨰ a/n: thank you so much @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading!! <3
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⧖⧗Circa Citrine⧗⧖
There was a vote.
“How can she be a part of our inner circle when she hasn’t connected with her element yet??”
“We have never heard of her until three months ago and we’re willing to put our heart and souls into trusting her?”
“But she’s crucial to our battle plans, is she not?”
“The Lieutenant’s right. If it weren’t for her, we’d still be losing the war. It’s thanks to her that we’ve all been able to relax a little.”
“The Darlaeans attacked from the north in the third sector battle. She was right. We won again. I say we trust her.”
And now, you have officially given up your healer duties to become a full-time officer. The vote was close—eight nos and eight yeses. The General had been the last to decide. And his decision is what keeps you on the team.
“Congratulations,” he tells you. “You’ve made it.”
You remember being so happy that you’d nearly lost your balance. The General just watches you carefully, hands behind his back and shoulders slouched. “Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”
“There’s no reason to thank me,” he says. As if he wasn’t the person who’d voted in your favor. “But I do expect you to work harder than ever. Now that you’ve been relieved from your healing duties, you’ll be expected to plan most of our battles—if not, all.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll do my best, sir!”
The corners of his lips twitch upward. “I’ve sent the Lieutenant off to Elu along with Captain Im to study monocode. We intend on cracking the code that you’ve brought to our attention.”
Oh. Your heart sinks. Should you tell him? Sever, sever, sever… The word begins to echo in your head again. Get out! you yell at it. There’s something that has been nagging at you ever since your first officer meeting. Something that is unexplainable; something that might not even be worth saying out loud. But the General looks at you expectantly, and you suddenly feel the pressure to say something. “Sir? I… I think the code might shift soon.”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh?”
“It’s a gut feeling, really,” you say sheepishly. “I’m sure I’m wrong. But the code seems like a message. And if it is a message, I’m sure there will be more words involved.”
“But a message to whom?”
“I’m asking myself the same question, sir.”
The General lets out a deep breath. “Well, then. We can never be too vigilant. Soon, we’ll know monocode and we’ll be able to confirm the cipher. We can worry about the possibility of a code shift later. Do you need more matches?”
The last part is so sudden that you have to pause for a moment to contemplate whether you’d heard him correctly. “More matches, sir?” You look down at your boots, feeling a little shameful. You go through an embarrassing number of them every day just to keep yourself warm. It’s another problem to have enough visible light to write at night. “I’d hate to diminish the match supply…”
“Don’t be dense. Most people here light their own fires.”
Right. Sometimes, you forget that Solarians are connected to the elements. Sometimes, you forget that you were once a fire medium.
“Well, in that case, I’ve run out of matches, sir.”
“That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?” the General says. But the way he says it almost makes it sound like he’s teasing you. The stoic look on his face says otherwise, however.
“I suppose it wasn’t.”
There’s a moment of silence while the two of you stare into each other’s eyes. For some reason, you can’t quite look away. In that time, you notice that there are slight creases above his sharp-shaped eyes, the soft lines running along the top of his eyes and halting down at the corner. The blacks of his eyes twinkle with what you discern as curiosity. And you can only hope that he’s trying to figure you out just as you’re trying to figure him out.
Then, the General clears his throat, straightening his shitty posture for a millisecond before slouching again. It interrupts the quiet staring contest and you’re forced to focus on his words. “I’ll see you later in the meeting, Officer,” he says. “Good day.”
“Good day,” you repeat as you watch him walk away.
And just like that, you find a steady rhythm to your new life. With your past obliterated, you work hard to make new memories in the present. Most of these memories are good—you working in the medical tent with Joon, meeting up with Hana when she’s free, talking with some officers who do approve of your involvement. Of course, there are still those who distrust you. Mainly, Captain Chu. But you’re sure he has his stubborn reasons. You hear from Hyojung that he’d tried to convince all the officers to vote against you. It obviously hadn’t worked. And you’re glad some of the officers regard you with warmth.
There are moments when an officer will walk up to you and strike up a pleasant conversation. You come to enjoy their company—especially Major Hyun’s. She’s a kind, older woman who, as an earth medium, is very knowledgeable about the different plants and crops growing in the Alder terrain. She shows you her garden—full of potatoes and yams—and never sends you back to your tent empty-handed. In the next few days, your stomach is full of warm, freshly baked vegetables.
You help Major Hyun plant more pumpkins for Hana’s favorite porridge. And with her special touch, the pumpkins are ready to harvest in just a few days.
“I’d love to be an earth medium someday,” you tell her, eyes twinkling as they glaze over the soft soil and verdant leaves coiling around the healthy crops.
The older woman smiles, her forehead wrinkling as she does so. “Maybe you’ll learn one day. I think you have the right temperament.”
“Really?”
“Of course, Ryu.” She pats your back before she hands you a ripe, roasted pumpkin. You realize she must have cooked it with her own fire wielding. “Share this with your friend, why don’t you?”
You take the still-warm pumpkin in your hands, already thinking of how happy Hana will be to see it. “I will. Thank you, Major.”
Hana is absolutely thrilled with the pumpkin, and she grasps your shoulders in gratitude. “Y/N! They rarely give out whole pumpkins! You are a lifesaver! You know the one food that’s almost as good as bread?”
“Pumpkin?” You take a wild guess.
“Yes! How did you know? Never mind that.” She pats your shoulder and leans back, grinning. “Look at you, in your new uniform! Red’s definitely your color, Y/N. And those two notches…” Her eyes sparkle as she gazes at the neck of your uniform. “You’re not going to make me bow in your presence now, are you?” She gasps. “Should I start calling you Officer?”
“Hana!” you laugh. “I swear, nothing’s changed. They’ve just given me new clothes, that’s all.”
“But you’re a part of the officer meetings now,” Hana sings. “How incredible is that?” She takes the pumpkin from you and twirls and twirls around with it in her hands. “Just imagine. Being in the same tent as some of the best fighters in all of Solaria! The General, the Lieutenant… Major Ki and Captain Chu! Ugh, the best duo. You should see them in battle, Y/N. Sometimes, I forget that I’m on the battlefield when I watch them fight.”
“Hana!” you gasp. “That could cost you your life!”
“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head with a grin on her face. “But Major Ki would save me. She saves everyone. She swoops in like the spirits and obliterates anyone who tries to hurt her soldiers. Oh, to be saved by Major Ki!”
She seems so shy in the meetings, barely able to meet people’s gazes. But you refuse to burst Hana’s bubble. “They wouldn’t put her in charge of the third sector for no reason,” you say instead.
“Of course they wouldn’t! She’s an amazing leader, Y/N. And she’s soft-spoken,” Hana squeals. “But that makes her even more admirable! Kind of like the General. They can whisper, but the whole crowd will freeze just to listen to them. Anyways, have you seen her rings?”
More like have you heard her rings. They’re always clinking during the meetings; Major Ki has quite the habit of fidgeting her hands when she’s nervous or deep in thought.
“They’re pretty,” you say. “But I noticed that she changes them out every day.” On the days that the officer meetings go on for hours, you busy yourself by counting the Major’s rings. “She must have an extensive collection.”
Hana snorts. “Oh, Y/N. She changes her rings every day because she dispenses them every day.” When you cock your head in confusion, Hana continues on. “We call her the Flare Shot,” she says in a dramatic voice. “Major Ki’s lethal in battle. They say she can take out ten Darlaeans with one swipe of her hand. You know how she does this?”
You thought it was a rhetorical question, but when Hana looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer, you realize you have to speak. So you make a weak guess. “Um… Magic?”
Hana grins. “It sure looks like magic. I’ve seen her do this, Y/N. It’s crazy. She’ll just throw out her hand and her rings will shoot out from her fingers. But they’re heated to severe temperatures, of course. They can pierce through the skin, several organs—”
“That’s terrifying!” you say. You can’t imagine being on that receiving end.
“It is,” Hana says dreamily. “I wish I could do a cool move like that. Have a name called the Flare Shot. Have I mentioned her boyfriend?”
How could you forget Captain Chu? The man who still distrusts you. You’re beginning to think that he’ll never warm up to you.
“They’re the iconic duo! Did you know they met in Ara? That’s where Major Ki’s originally from, and even then, she never liked her connection with water. So one day she severed it and never looked back. But Captain Chu’s first element was fire. A rare fire medium in such a water-loving environment. Apparently, he had a huge crush on our major ever since they were little. Isn’t it so romantic? He followed her to war! And now he’s her second-in-command!”
You cannot imagine Captain Chu devoting his life to a singular person and in the name of love. “They seem happy together,” is what you manage to say. “Captain follows all of her orders.”
“He knows to trust her,” Hana says. “We all know to trust her. She’s… Well, if anything happens to, you know, her superiors, we all know she’ll be the one to step up. We don’t like to say it out loud, but we all know it.”
“Right…”
The mood is suddenly glum.
Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, Hana quickly changes the topic. “Anyways! You have to tell me about the other officers soon. I’m a huge fan of Captain Im. She’s a young prodigy from Elu—studied twenty different subjects and wrote four books herself! So if you can even get her autograph—” She places a dramatic hand on her forehead. “I would love you forever!” She twirls around, the pumpkin wrapped tightly in her arms. “I’m going to have to leave for training, but I’ll see you later!”
In one single swoop, Hana gives you a ninety-degree bow. “My warmest regards, Officer,” she says in the most serious voice she can muster up given her enthusiasm about the pumpkin. She’s teasing you, and it makes you smile.
“I’ll see you later,” you mumble, watching Hana prance off to her designated training area, ready to be coached by her idols—Major Ki and Captain Chu. You have no idea where she’ll keep that pumpkin though. Maybe you should’ve offered to hold onto it in the meantime.
Either way, something about Hana is painstakingly familiar to you. You can’t let go of the strong shock that had washed over your body the last time she’d grasped your hands. Every time she talks to you, every time she looks your way and throws you one of her fantastic grins, you can’t help but feel a pang in your heart. She feels so familiar. Yet, at the same time, so out of reach.
You try to shake the thoughts away. You’re being desperate again. Hana’s a good friend, and if she’s like someone you knew from your past, so be it. This shouldn’t keep you awake at night. It’d be silly.
But you still can’t sleep.
The days drone on, and with your title as Officer Ryu, you’re not obligated to spend your days in the medical tent anymore—which is fine by you, but sometimes, you like to help alleviate some of Joon’s workload.
“Welcome back, Officer!”
Namjoon always greets you with open arms. And then he pats your back and gives you a fresh load of work to do.
You spend most of your mornings taking care of soldiers, washing bloody rags, replacing bandages and often glancing at the entrance of the tent. Who you’re waiting for, you’re not quite sure. But every time a soldier stumbles in—someone you’re not quite expecting—you feel yourself deflate.
“You know, you don’t have to work here anymore.”
You nearly spill the bucket of water you’d been carrying. “General!” Why and how does this man always manage to creep up behind you when you least expect it?
The General raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“It’s just that I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“That’s funny,” he says, drawing out each word. “Because I didn’t think you’d be here, either.”
“Well, I figured I’d make use of my time,” you say, holding up the soiled water bucket to show him proof of your hard work. “But sir, why are you here?”
He gestures at his leg as if to show you salient evidence. “I’m injured.”
He’s right. There’s a shallow gash on his upper thigh where his uniform is cut, revealing an unkind mixture of ruptured skin and scarlet blood. You wince at the vivid image.
But it’s strange. Can’t the General heal himself? You’ve heard that he’s skilled enough to become a healer; in fact, you’ve seen him working in the medical tent—respected by others not only because he’s the General of the Army but also because he’s a masterful medic.
So why is he here?”
He stares at you, black eyes flitting down to the two notches on your uniform before staring back into your eyes again. “Well? Are you going to direct me to a healer or are you insisting that you can heal me by yourself?”
“I’m just a little confused, sir. You’re a talented healer, so I thought…” you trail off, wondering if you’re sounding insolent in the General’s presence. Just because he can heal doesn’t mean he has the energy to do so—especially straight out of a battle. You realize your mistake, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.
But the General makes no indication that you’ve offended him with your audacity. Instead, he looks you straight in the eyes and says: “Well, then. I suppose this was all an excuse to speak to you.”
Speak to you? Your eyes widen. “Sir?”
“It’s nothing groundbreaking. Just a small message from Doyun.”
Oh. He went through quite an excuse to relay it. Contrary to your thoughts: “Really? Is she coming back soon?”
“She wants you to know that she thinks ill of me for sending her to Elu instead of Major Hyun or maybe even you,” the General says. “Says learning monocode is not fun, especially next to a prodigy like Captain Im. Of course, she knew that the message would have to go through me before you got it, but I suppose that didn’t really stop her from changing her words.”
You smile. Of course Doyun would do this. “Thank you for the message, sir.”
“She also wants you to water her pansies.”
“Of course.” A pause. “Is that all?”
A pause on his end. “Yes.”
You and the General stare at each other for a bit longer before he begins to step backward—with a slight limp. It looks a lot like the conversation is over. But… “Do you still want me to call for a healer?” you ask, gesturing towards his injured leg.
“I’m fine,” he calls, already halfway out of the tent. “I think I’ll live.”
He’s gone before you can protest. Another encounter with the General that deep down inside, you wish that could’ve lasted longer. Why does he always leave like that?
It’s a stupid question, you realize. Of course he’s going to leave. He’s a busy man. Why would he waste his time talking to you? And why would you waste your time thinking that he wouldn’t want to waste his time? Sometimes, you wish your mind could stop working—maybe even for a split second. Why do you overthink so much?
But it’s then when you realize you’re overthinking overthinking. And soon, you begin to overthink overthinking overthinking. Really, the treacherous cycle never ends.
As a week passes, you busy yourself with activities outside the medical tent. Like watering Doyun’s pansies, then decorating your own tent with wildflowers from around the campground (your tent now feels cozy and a lot like home) and even spending time getting to know your officers.
Captain Yoo of the third sector has water clock duty every so often—a duty that most officers and soldiers like to shy away from. But Captain Yoo is diligent and dutiful. You like to watch him use his water wielding to scrub the clock clean and check if the mechanisms are working smoothly. Most times, the two of you keep each other company in silence. Other times, he’ll initiate some small talk that begins to dwindle down after a few minutes. You like that he doesn’t have much to say.
Today, though, you feel comfortable enough to share what’s been on your mind for a while now. “Captain Yoo?” you say.
“Yes, Officer Ryu?” he asks, barely looking up from the towering water clock.
“Does Captain Chu take a long while to warm up to people?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Your heart sinks. “In that case, I think he hates me.”
At that, Captain Yoo finally looks up. He’s smiling, whisker dimples spreading across his cheeks. “Does that bother you, Officer?”
Why wouldn’t it? “Yes, it does. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him his ears are stuffed with bullshit. I definitely went too far… And if he does hate me, I want to change that.”
To your surprise, Captain Yoo begins to laugh. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh, and it’s a little disconcerting to know that he’s laughing at nothing particularly funny.
“Officer, you don’t always need everyone to like you,” he finally says. “You don’t need to be liked to be followed. You just have to be right,” he says. “We’re not friends. We’re officers in a war. It’d be in our benefit to work together, but we definitely don’t have to like each other—much less be friends.”
You’re stunned into silence.
What a peculiar perspective.
So all this time that you’ve been keeping him company didn’t really mean anything to him. You thought you were befriending him. He thought you were wasting your time.
Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Captain Yoo speaks again. This time, in a much light-hearted voice. Even he seems to have some decency to be considerate of feelings. “I don’t get along with Captain Chang, nor do I get along with Major Lee. I might even call them imbeciles, which I have done in the past—even to their faces! But do I think they’re a complete waste of space? No, I do not. You see, young officer, we have our preferences. All 17 officers—now 18—cannot possibly all get along. What matters is that we can look past these differences and work together in times of crisis.” The older man turns to you. “So don’t let Captain Chu’s dislike for you impede your judgments, Officer Ryu.”
What he’s saying makes sense. He might even think that he’s right. But how do you stomach the fact that someone doesn’t like you? Especially when you have to see them every so often in highly formal meetings?
“I understand,” you say quietly. It isn’t a complete lie; you may understand Captain Yoo, but you don’t necessarily agree with him.
“Good. I knew you were a bright one.”
“I just have one more question, Captain.”
“Yes?” He looks amused, revealing the whiskered indents on his cheeks.
“Do you like the General?”
Captain Yoo pauses momentarily. Then, he speaks, his eyes staring off into the coniferous forest, refusing to meet yours. “I know you’re fond of him.”
“I respect him,” you correct him.
“You respect him as well,” Captain Yoo says. “He’s shown you kindness and mercy. Of course you like him.”
“But my question, Captain.”
Captain Yoo sighs. “Truth be told, Officer, no. I don’t like the General. Nor do I like the Lieutenant. They are passive people. Our meetings are not led by two leaders. They’re led by the opinions of 18 officers, and some of these opinions are awfully invalid. We need firm leaders in Solaria, Officer Ryu. Leaders who tell us what’s right and what’s wrong—leaders who lead. A man who crouches down to listen to the opinions of a tiny speck of dust can get us into a lot of trouble. Not to mention, waste our precious time. But what can I do? I’m just a captain and he’s the General of the Army. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”
It’s then when you realize that you’re the tiny speck of dust that he’s talking about. And it dawns on you: he doesn’t like you either.
Your skin suddenly feels cold. You begin to chew on your lip.
When Captain Yoo notices that you haven’t responded to his words, he assumes the conversation is over. “Thank you for keeping me company again,” he says. “We had a nice talk, Officer. If you don’t mind now, I’ll see you in the next meeting.”
You let him leave in silence.
Doyun had told you that Captain Yoo had voted in your favor. Now, you realize it wasn’t because he liked your character or because he wanted the two of you to become friends. It was because he found you convenient. Because it’d be better to work together than to fall apart with disagreements.
We’re not friends.
Maybe he’s a lost cause.
Or maybe, maybe you can sway him. Somehow.
⧖⧗Circa Zircon⧗⧖
“How can someone be so right but so wrong?” Captain Chu’s the first to speak after the Lieutenant and Captain Im deliver the news. He glances at you, a tight sneer on his lips.
“I apologize,” Major Hyun says. “I was the one who misread the letter. I’d like to take the blame.”
You don’t know what to feel. On one hand, you’re glad, but on the other hand… “It doesn’t make sense,” you say, pointing at the battle plans spread before you and Captain Im’s meticulous monocode notes. “How can the code be ‘jewel?’”
Sever had made so much sense. Sever had spoken to you. You were so sure…
“You were wrong.”
You look up to see Captain Yoo staring straight at you. “But your theory about the code shift is correct,” he says. “Our best course of action might be to piece together these new sequences and figure out what they say.”
“They’re sadistic!” Captain Chang shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re dangling it in front of our faces. Jewel,” he scoffs. “What if this is all just a game to them?”
“Then we’ll play the game,” Major Ki says.
“That’s fucking stupid,” Captain Chang says.
“Those are grand words coming out of your mouth,” Captain Chu retaliates. He turns to his major. “How are we going to play their game?” he asks with a new sense of awe.
Major Ki hums, her rings clacking as she fidgets with her hands. “We figure out their codes. In the meantime, we’ll win all of the battles.” She looks to the General as if to ask for his permission.
But the General is frowning, staring down at the monocode notes and the battle plans, lost in his own world. There is silence as others wait for him to speak. Finally, the man sighs and he stares Major Ki right into her eyes. She fidgets before looking away. “Yes, we must play their game…” the General says slowly, but decisively. “But we cannot win all of the battles.”
“Why not?” Major Lee says. “The Darlaeans have been winning a majority of the battles up until a couple of months ago.”
“Yes, it’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine!” Major Jang declares.
“They’ll know we’re onto them,” Captain Im answers for the General. “We have to proceed as if we haven’t figured out their little game. That’s how we’ll be playing it.”
“Exactly,” the General says, nodding. He has frown lines etched onto his forehead as his eyes bore into the scrolls displayed on the table. “The code shift, however… If we must play the game, we should understand it. But I can’t wrap my head around this.” His eyes meet yours as he says this, almost as if to wordlessly ask if you have any idea what’s going on. But you don’t. You’re just as puzzled as everyone else in the tent.
“They can’t possibly go from ‘jewel’ to ‘usurp,’” Major Ahn says, thoughtfully rubbing his stubble. “‘Sever’ would have made more sense than that.”
“What could they possibly mean by ‘usurp?’” Major Hyun mutters.
“Obviously they want to take the Solarian throne,” Captain Chu says. “But I’m failing to understand what ‘jewel’ has to do with that.”
“They’ll be taking our throne using their jewels,” Captain Im says. “But that’s just a theory. I think we should wait for the other codes in order to make a more accurate assumption.”
“This still doesn’t explain why they’re doing this in the first place,” Major Ki says. “Why risk us figuring out the code? Why make a code at all?”
To send a message, you think. But to whom? And why? Why now? Why not ever before? You’re unsure of how to explain your answer so you stay silent. But you can feel someone staring at you. When you look up, the General quickly looks away.
Your palms begin to sweat. Why was he looking at you? Is he going to pull you aside and scold you for keeping silent? But so many other officers in the tent are quiet during these meetings—some, you’ve never heard them talk. It wouldn’t make sense for him to single you out. Especially when you don’t know what’s going on, either.
“Your questions will be answered with time,” the General finally speaks when no one else dares to answer. “For now, we’ll alternate winning and losing battles.” There it is again. You can feel his eyes on you.
“So you’re asking us to sacrifice our soldiers?” Major Ki says.
“You act as if you haven’t been doing that,” Major Lee says.
“I didn’t have a choice then,” Major Ki bites back. “I have a choice now. We can easily seize victory, so why would I willingly hurt my soldiers when there’s another way?”
“It’s for the better, Major,” Lieutenant Kang speaks up. She has a kind look on her face as if in an attempt to soothe her. “If the Darlaeans catch on that we’ve caught on, the result will be a thousand times worse. But if we’re smart about this, if we win the bigger battles while losing some of the minor ones, it won’t be as suspicious.”
“This is war, Suhyun.” Major Hyun places a calloused hand on Major Ki’s shoulder. “We must make the necessary sacrifices to win.”
Major Ki seems to deflate a little. At the same time, the tension that had seized her soldiers dissipates. Then, she puts her hand on top of Major Hyun’s. She nods solemnly. “I suppose it is war.” She stares at the table, eyes glued to the battle plans that you’d hand-drawn. For a split second, her gaze flits towards yours. But she looks away before you can even register that your eyes have met. “My only condition is that we don’t let devastating losses happen. No more massacres.”
“A rightful condition,” the General says. “I agree. This will be a new experience for all of us. We’re not used to tracking the Darlaean’s every move and planning our movements accordingly.” He glances at you. “But this strategy has proven to work. If we continue this for a little while longer, we’ll win.”
“We’ll claim victory!” Captain Chang shouts. “We’ll make sure of it.”
The officers all mumble in agreement. And there, that’s when you see what Captain Yoo had so blatantly missed. We’re not friends. But there, right in front of you, you see relieved soldiers, embracing each other, giving each other happy smiles and looks. You hear some of them inviting the others to a round of drinks. You see your lieutenant asking Hyojung and Jeonwoo if they’d like to play a round of cards. You see Major Ki and Captain Chu in each other’s arms. You meet the General’s eyes and though he’s not smiling, his eyes are sparkling with mirth.
Captain Yoo is wrong.
The officers must get along.
It took just a small physical gesture on Major Hyun’s part to convince a stubborn Major Ki. It took a simple gesture of compassion, of understanding.
Because when their soldiers are dying and the war is moving against their favor, then all that they have is each other.
Your eyes meet Captain Yoo’s for a split second, and in that short time frame, you make sure to give him a wide smile. You’re wrong. We wouldn’t have survived this long if we hated each other.
We’ve survived this long because we like each other. Because we’re willing to go down with each other. Because we’re willing to win with each other.
The cold weather seeps into the sector, tinging the grass with frost and tree leaves with blue ice. And though the wintry air makes your cheeks red and teeth chatter, you like standing outside to collect your thoughts. There’s something rather welcoming about the icy breeze and the minty air nipping at your nose.
Your trusty oil lamp sits in front of you, the orange blaze flickering wildly in the harsh winds. You watch the flame, feeling warm in its presence. Tugging your legs closer to your body, you rest your chin on your knees. You’re unable to look away.
It’s so tiny but it lights up the whole vicinity, emitting an amber glow that resonates within you. It’s so beautiful. And it feels so familiar.
You hate this feeling.
Why does everything feel so familiar, and yet you can’t remember anything? Your hands tighten into fists as you stare blankly at the orange flame. There was a time in your life when you could wield fire. There was a time in your life when you could create it from your very own fingertips. If only the feeling weren’t so familiar. Then you wouldn’t miss it at all.
For a second, the flame seems to taunt you. It reaches up into the dark midnight sky, snaking around the cold breeze, hungry to burn, hungry for more. It’s such a little thing. Something that you should be able to understand. Something that you should be able to wield, even given your elusive past.
Your past.
It’s like a punch to the gut. You’re from Elu, right? So what were you before you were a soldier? Or did you come from a family of soldiers and you didn’t have much of a choice when choosing your career? What was it about you from before that only allowed you to be a fire medium? Even when you might have the temperament to wield other elements?
Why do you always have so many questions and no answers?
As if to sympathize with your inner turmoil, a hard gust of air brushes against you, making your hair bellow out with the wind. The flame goes out in a curling cloud of smoke. It’s suddenly dark. And cold.
You shiver, hands shaking as you reach to find a match in the darkness. But the oil lamp flickers on again, and that familiar flame dances against the winter winds. When you look up, you see the shadow of the General himself.
He stands, looking down at you, the flame from the oil lamp illuminating the tip of his soft nose and the pupils of his sharp eyes. “Thinking?” he asks in such a husky, whispered voice that if you hadn’t paid enough attention, you would’ve thought it was just a breeze.
“General!” You scramble up to face him, your vision a little blurry from the quick change of stance. “Yes. Yes, I was just thinking. It’s… I don’t know, sir. Everything’s so new but familiar at the same time. It’s frustrating, I guess. I wonder what my life was like before I was a soldier.”
Quickly, you duck your head. Maybe it’s the cold. Or maybe it’s the intimate lighting and the rather close proximity between you and the General. Something about today makes you want to say what’s exactly on your mind. But you wonder if that was a good choice. Suppose the General doesn’t care about your inquiries? Suppose he just happened to stop by and doesn’t want to start a conversation with you?
The General clears his throat. “I actually came here to apologize,” he says quickly. He looks down at your oil lamp, unable to meet your eyes. “I wanted to apologize that I didn’t do more to make you feel welcome here, in my army. And in Solaria.”
You’re not sure what you were expecting to come out of the General’s mouth, but it definitely wasn’t this. “Oh! Oh, no. You don’t have to apologize, sir. I’m just one soldier in your vast army. You don’t have to babysit me.”
“And you don’t have to stand in my presence,” he says. “You can go back to your thinking.”
You stand your ground. “It wasn’t that I wanted to stand in your presence, sir.” You flinch. That surely came out wrong. “Well, I mean, theoretically, I’d want to stand, but since I know you’re not too fond… I mean”—you take a large, gaping breath—“I stood so I could talk to you face to face. For conversation. Not to give you the salute that you don’t want.”
The corner of his lips twitch. Why must you be so amusing? “Very well.”
Silence.
The crickets chirp idly in the background, the cold breeze rustling the General’s black hair across his forehead and poking at his eyes. You watch as he uses his air wielding to sweep his bangs away. The single movement is so majestic, so intriguing that you can’t possibly look away. In turn, the General watches you. He sees that your shoulders have hunched up from the winter cold, that you’re unknowingly shivering, your cheeks tinged pink and your lips a pale shade of blue. He should keep this short. Before his officer catches a cold.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, trailing off to gauge your reaction.
Sure enough, you’re smiling. “Yes, after all, you do have a brain to do just that.”
He scoffs. “How very original of you.”
“Why thank you, sir.”
“But as I was saying, I was thinking that we could go to the capital sector. It could help jog your memory, and it’ll be nice to see another sector besides Alder.”
A trip to Elu? Your homesector? Your heart skips a beat. This could open so many doors, so many memories that are locked up away in your mind. But wait a minute. We? Who is we? Is he implying that just the two of you go together? Or is he offering to send Doyun or maybe even Captain Im with you? That’s probably it. He’s too busy to escort you around for a field trip. Or is he?
“That’s very kind of you to offer, sir,” you say. “But…”
“...But?”
If we doesn’t mean you and him, you’re going to make an absolute fool out of yourself in front of the General of the Solarian Army.
“But I don’t want to bother you, sir. You must be tired from battle all day. And to take time out of your busy schedule to tour me around Elu…”
“Oh, no, Officer. I insist,” the General says. There’s that mildly amused look on his face again. “You’ll need to see our land’s beauty. A soldier must know Solaria in order to fight for it.”
You smile. “That’s fair. I can’t quite argue with that, sir.”
But it’s still surprising. The General of the Army, insisting that you take a field trip with him. To teach you—a mere soldier—about Solaria. To tour you—a speck of dust—around your homesector.
“Well, isn’t that the first?”
Your head jerks up. There’s this glimmer in the General’s dark eyes as he stares at you. You’re not sure whether the glimmer is from the glow of the lamplight or his interest in your conversation. “What is that supposed to mean, sir?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“It has to mean something,” you grin. “I’m not that argumentative. I think.”
“Self-awareness is quite a pleasant virtue. Something that you can learn from me.”
If you didn’t know the General so well, you’d think he’s insulting you. But you know him well enough to know that he’s teasing.
“Humility is also a virtue, sir.”
At that, the General smiles—he really smiles. It’s the same relaxed, happy smile that you’d seen on his face when he was mildly intoxicated—gums and all. But as quickly as it had appeared on his face, as quickly as it disappears.
The General clears his throat. “Well then, I’ll wake you up at dawn tomorrow, Officer.”
You nod. “Yes, sir!”
His gaze lingers for a moment but then—all too soon—he’s turning away so that the only part you see of him is his backside. His figure casts a shadow on you, but instead of making you feel cold, it makes you feel supported. Cared for.
I wanted to apologize that I didn’t do more to make you feel welcome here.
How could anyone not like the General? Because if no one listens or even cares for the tiny specks of dust in the world, then how will anything progress? You feel supported. It’s because of the General that you’d woken up with nothing and now live with so much more than you’d had before. It’s because of the General that you’ve somehow risen up the ranks. It’s because of the General that you feel so much pride for your nation. It’s because of the General that you’re happy to be his soldier. You’ll fight for him—with him. Anything.
When the wind blows too hard and the flame from the oil lamp extinguishes with a cloud of smoke, you look up. Only to realize that the General had never left. He’s in his usual position, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched. But before you can ask if he needs anything more, he speaks, though facing away from you.
“Tomorrow, you’ll see his majesty, the Solarian King.”
Your eyes widen. “The king???” you gasp. The darkness makes you squint, and you try to make out the General’s figure. How can you, a mere officer, meet the Solarian King with the General of the Army by your side? You’re not even sure if you’re qualified to be in royalty’s presence. You didn’t even know Solaria had a king! No one ever talks about him—not even Hana, which is quite unusual. But you suppose someone has to govern the five sectors of Solaria. It was stupid of you not to realize that sooner.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” the General replies, breaking you from your frenzied thoughts. “But tomorrow, you’ll realize why Solaria is in such dire need to win the war.”
It sounds like a lot to worry about. But you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you answer in solemn silence, and the General seems fine with that. He nods to himself, his black hair rustling in the wind. Then, with a small movement of his fingers, your oil lamp flickers back on.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “The ride to Elu can be tiresome.”
“Yes, sir.” A small pause. “Thank you for making me feel welcome here.”
He lingers. Almost as if he wants to continue the conversation—like a reply is at the tip of his tongue. But then he’s walking away, steady footsteps on the iced grass. You watch him leave. But this time, you know you’ll see him again soon—tomorrow. And the thought is comforting. Holding your oil lamp, you retreat to your tent, snuggling up in your blankets.
You fall asleep with too many thoughts in your head. What does the king look like? Will he like you? Will Elu be exactly as you’d imagined it? Will it help you remember your past? What is the reason that Solaria is in such dire need to win the war?
And why… Out of thousands of soldiers in the army… Why does the General seek you?
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⨰ a/n: my math professor makes me do yoga ten minutes before every lecture and it's so embarrassing bc you can definitely hear my bones crack-a-lacking 😄 i was not made for this 😟 AND SIDE NOTE??? oc and yoongi gonna get some DRAMA in the next chapter!
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, a minor injury (a small amount of blood), (very) minor character deaths
⨰ wordcount: 13.5k
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⨰ a/n: a big round of applause for @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading! this is also my fic submission for @thebtswritersclub january monthly project <3 what new changes will there be in the solarian army? 👀
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⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖
Are these fantasies or are these visions?
With each chime of the water clock, your eyes reset. Like an obscure mind game, you can vividly envision plans. It’s a game of chess with the pieces and pawns dancing across the board, shifting places every hour or even in a blink of an eye. Except, the board is the battleground and the pieces are the soldiers.
You don’t understand how this happened. It started a week ago, when the Solarians began having major wins, thanks to their newly implemented strategy. You go to bed feeling enlightened and happy—how could you not when your nation is winning? But every time you lie on your futon, facing up at the sloped ceiling of your tent, you begin to see things.
Battle plans.
Somehow, you’re seeing battle plans.
And you can’t explain it.
Today, you slip out of your covers, head reeling with these visions, and light a match for your oil lamp. You’re going to write it down. Maybe that’ll stop them. You’d asked Joon for some paper and ink earlier today, intent on doing just that.
The water clock chimes.
Holding the ink brush tightly in your hand, you sweep it across the tan canvas, creating your first mark. You watch the black ink bleed into the paper. You make another mark. Then another and another. Soon, your marks become a rough recreation of what you’ve been seeing—these terrains that you swear you can’t remember, but you’re envisioning anyways. You sketch the movements, the attacks, the counterattacks. It all comes to you, now.
You can’t explain it, but it makes sense.
You can feel it.
How strange.
From the moment you woke up in that Solarian tent, you’d been confused. You never knew your purpose, where you’re supposed to fit in, what you’re supposed to do. But this. This is your calling. Nothing has ever felt this natural before.
Head cloudy with thoughts, you stagger out of your tent to greet the inky sky. It’s a breath of fresh air. Your lips part, and you grasp your visions in one hand before clutching your chest with the other. The pretty starlight rains down, showering over you. The sweet breeze rustles your hair and the papers in your hand. The universe’s gaze descends, and you watch it hover over you. But you have never felt this free.
You can do anything.
Such a vast land. Though it’s pitch black save for the stars, you can see the pointed tips of the tents stretching across the dark grass. The dense forest is just several tents away. If you wanted to, you could explore it right now. If you wanted to, you could climb the towering trees. If you wanted to…
But what do you want?
And what’s the point of freedom if your empty desires constrain you?
The feeling of freedom begins to wane from your heart.
What is your goal in the Solarian Army? Your hand begins to crumple your paper. Are you going to exist or are you going to live?
“What are you doing out so late?”
You hadn’t asked that question. Nor does that sound like the little voice inside your head. When you look up, to your surprise, you find the Lieutenant, still in her uniform, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes staring at you inquisitively.
“Doyun! I was just, I was um—”
“Now what have you got there?” she asks, pointing at the paper half-wrinkled in your left hand. “I didn’t know you were an artist, soldier.”
“Oh! I was just…” You trail off. How are you going to explain this? And to the Lieutenant of the Army? Yes, I drew battle plans because I see them imprinted in my vision at night. Perfectly normal, isn’t it?
“It’s not very often we celebrate the arts around here. Lemme have a look!”
“U-Um…”
But the Lieutenant outstretches her hand, and there’s really no way to deny it. She uncrumples your paper, and you watch as her eyes widen and her jaw slacken. “What… What is this?” Her grip tightens. “Y/N. What is this?”
“They’re… I drew them.”
She looks at you like you’ve just told her up is down and down is up. “You’re telling me that you drew these? These… These intricate battle plans? You made this?”
“It just clicked,” you say, chewing on your lip. “I just started drawing and I couldn’t stop. I don’t know what I did, either.”
“Who are you?”
The question sends chills down your spine. And it occurs to you that you cannot respond. Because you don’t really know that, either. Who are you? Doyun’s wide eyes, her open-mouthed stare show no trace of fear, of hatred, however. She’s… yes, that’s it. She looks amazed.
“Y/N. This is… Flaming hell, how the fuck did you come up with this? I’ve never seen a formation like this before.”
Her words bring heat to your cheeks. “T-Thanks.” You point at the canvas, tracing your finger along a particular dotted line. “That’s how we should be moving if the Darlaeans break our barrier here,” you say. “They’re going to think that’s our weak spot, but if we move ahead of time, then we can ambush them right around there.” You point again.
Doyun stares at you. “Are you starting to regain your memories?”
“No… It’s weird. I can just… It’s just that I can see it.”
“You mean to tell me that you’re forming these highly strategic battle plans from intuition alone?” She looks completely appalled. “How long have these plans been brewing in your head?”
“About a week,” you say. “I didn’t think anybody would care, much less see it.”
Doyun shakes her head. “You must’ve had these plans before you lost your memory. But there was a reason you didn’t come forward with them. Or a reason we never formally met…” she trails off. “Either way, I think Yoongi would want to see this.”
“The General?” You begin to chew your lip again. “I don’t know… I did this to get it out of my head. I’m not sure if the battlegrounds even look like that. I drew whatever I saw.”
“But the thing is, Y/N, that is what the battleground looks like—at least in the third sector—and that’s exactly how I’d predict the Darlaean offense would move.”
The third sector. Namjoon had said you were likely a fallen soldier from there. But there is still doubt.
“I’m sure all soldiers go to bed seeing battle plans,” you say.
“Most soldiers don’t,” Doyun says while shaking her head. “But officers do.”
You’re stunned into silence. Then, your heart begins to thump in your chest—beating so rapidly that it feels like a flutter in your ribcage. What is she implying?
“I’ll hand these over to him,” Doyun says as she holds onto your visions. She stares at you again with an unreadable look on her face. And just when you think she’s going to say something more, she doesn’t. She gives you a small wave before spinning on her heel to walk away.
You stand there, in the darkness, wondering what on earth had just happened. And what this means for your future.
The water clock chimes, and the sound seemingly echoes in the blank sky. You stare off into the distance, watching the shadow of Doyun’s body moving further and further away from you.
Most soldiers don’t. But officers do.
What to make of this?
“You’re supposed to be the skeptical one,” the General sighs, rubbing his forehead. “You’re telling me that this is normal? Including other mediums in battle? Fine. Any soldier without prejudice could stumble upon that idea. But formulating complex battle plans and mapping out a territory she supposedly can’t remember?”
“We told ourselves to trust her,” Doyun says. “I know I’m usually the logical one around here—”
“Sure as hell not anymore.”
“—but this soldier… She’s young, Yoongi. And honestly, she’s a little shy, though you can see the gears in her mind overworking themselves in every conversation. Maybe erasing her memories made her a little more confrontational. She was always gifted. We just never noticed, and she never bothered to tell us.”
“Doyun, listen to yourself. Isn’t it so much more plausible that she is what we fear? Can’t this all be an elaborate scheme?”
“Have you met her?” the Lieutenant snorts. “Yoongi, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“That’s what makes her all the more dangerous. She’s given up her Darlaean magic to mess with my army. They’re serious about this one, Doyun. You said it yourself that they’re using every way they can to end the war in their favor.”
“A Darlaean would never heal or attempt to heal Solarians,” Doyun says. She’s firm, her taller figure towering over him. “A Darlaean would never want to bring us to victory. But the past week? Wins. Triumphs at every corner. A Darlaean would never want to associate with us. Yet she’s friendly. Reserved, sure, but that healer and Hana are fond of her.”
“You’re saying you want me to follow these battle plans.”
“Why not, Yoongi? Why not? You have to admit they’re ingenious.”
“Doyun…” the General sighs, carding his fingers through his jet black hair. “I would remember a third sector soldier, don’t you think?”
“You haven’t been getting a lot of sleep these days. She must’ve been a new soldier and you simply missed her file. Mistakes happen, Yoongi. Don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s why I’m here,” the Lieutenant says. She points at your battle plans. “That can change the tides of this war. I’m only here to advise you. But for Sahn’s sake, you can’t possibly ignore this. Not when it’s so… so genius!”
“I’m aware of how great it is, Doyun. But the plan is a trap at worst and too fickle at best,” the General says, hands clasped behind his back. “Tell me, how would a soldier who claims to have lost her memories replicate an identical copy of the battleground and predict the enemy’s movements down to the last soldier?”
“Maybe she speaks with the wind!” Doyun yells, throwing her hands in the air. “Excuse me for losing my calm, Yoongi, but do you not see how—how paranoid you are? We’re being fucking massacred out there. We need a miracle! And the spirits have given us this soldier. They’ve somehow allowed her to lose her memories, and now, we know of her existence. We can use her, Yoongi. We use the lives of thousands every day. But maybe using one life will save a couple hundred.”
The General sinks into his seat, and he refuses to look at his lieutenant. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant Kang.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He says nothing more. But he hears the wind rustling furiously behind him. And when he turns back to look, his close friend, confidant and Lieutenant General is gone. Along with your battle plans.
Yoongi stares at his calloused hands. He made the right decision. Doyun will come around in time. She’s fond of you; he can tell. But no one ever gets very far in war by being fond of people.
“It feels good to be at the top, Brother.”
“Congratulations, Yoonsoo.”
“It’s General Min to you. Just like how people called Mother.”
“Right, then. Congratulations, General Jackass.”
“Ha! That’s funny, Brother. Real funny. Who would’ve thought? That I become appointed the General of the Solarian Army first out of the three Min siblings when I—General Min—am the youngest!”
“You worked hard for it. You deserve it.”
“No, of course I do. But you did too. So did Sister. But let me tell you something: you always cared too much about me. If you didn’t lose sleep trying to get me to catch up on my fire wielding every night, maybe you would’ve been next in line for General.”
“I couldn’t watch you get scolded by Mother.”
“Well, you should’ve. Now I’ve taken your spot.”
The first time was a fluke. You merely suggested an idea that sprung upon your head—an idea that anyone could have come up with. However, you can’t expect to get away with it the second time. You’re suspicious. And Yoongi swore to apathy the day his brother died.
“I have evidence.” Doyun storms into the General’s tent first thing in the morning, holding a bound scroll and waving it around like it were a baton.
Yoongi sighs before turning around in his seat. “Evidence for what?” he asks. But he already knows the answer to that question; he’s just surprised that his lieutenant found proof of your innocence so quickly.
“There it is! Right there!” Doyun slaps the scroll on his desk and points. “Ryu Y/N. Fire medium from Elu. Recruitment: late Circa Peridot. Status? Deceased. She’s supposedly dead! That explains why you don’t remember her! Her file was on its way to being recycled into plant fertilizer! And look, her recruitment time lines up exactly with the early Circa Sapph battle in the third sector. Yoongi, she’s innocent.” The Lieutenant leans back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking quite proud of herself.
To be quite honest, Yoongi is proud, too.
“You found this last night?”
“I searched through over ten thousand files, Yoongi,” Doyun snorts. It’s then when he notices her usually clean, polished uniform is dirty and unkempt. Her short hair spikes up in a messy look he’s never actually seen on her—not even in battle. Moreover, she has heavy bags sagging under her eyes. “I found the file this morning, and the moment I found it, I ran all the way over here. So excuse me for looking like a mess.”
“Excused,” Yoongi says, a hint of amusement on his face. He looks over the file himself—a file so sparse of information that it’s barely a file at all. But he remembers how hectic the recruitment phase had been nearly three circas ago. Soldiers came in from left and right. It had been an emergency recruitment—after a battle that yielded nearly 50 percent in casualties. But the battles that followed weren’t any better; they were always quite chaotic. Yes, shortcuts were taken when writing these files. And now, he wishes they hadn’t. Now all they know about you is this measly, single file. But at least he knows your full name and homesector. It’s a step in the right direction.
He rises from his seat. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Doyun.”
She snorts. “What did I tell you? I’m rarely ever wrong.”
The General smiles. “Well, then. It’s settled. I’ll lead three units to a low-stake battle in the fifth sector.”
Doyun raises her eyebrows. “The plan’s written for a third sector battle.”
Yoongi stares at her for a very long time. She stares at him right back, refusing to blink and refusing to back down. Finally, the General lets out a deep sigh. “Oh, what the hell. Let’s test our luck then, shall we? But if this doesn’t work, I’m demoting you and putting Y/N in your place.”
“Counterintuitive, but I like it, sir.”
“Good.”
The General spins around back in his chair and allows his lieutenant to dismiss herself. Like he always had.
“I can’t believe you actually like this!” Hana blanches, pushing away her bowl. “I wish we could get something to chew on, once in a while. Like bread. Oh, I’d kill for some bread.”
“Can’t the earth mediums see to it?” you ask. “They grow rice, spinach and mugwort. I’m sure a little wheat won’t hurt.”
“Bread’s not as easy to make,” Hana sighs. “Besides, it’s nice to have something to look forward to. On the days I’m stuck in that stupid medical tent, I can think about bread. How it tastes. The sponginess of the dough. The delectable flavors on my tongue…”
You stifle a laugh. “Oh, Hana.”
“What?” she says. “I still can’t believe you like spinach porridge.”
“I think it’s good!”
“Ugh. It’s because you’ve never tasted my father’s bread. I swear, one of these days, you’ll find out how good it is. Then you won’t be able to look at other foods the same.” She smiles, stretching her arms before plopping on the grass and staring up at the sky.
“It’s crazy how much flat land there is in Alder.” Hana turns her head over at you, where you sit with your head resting on your knees. “You should come visit Aella, sometime. It’s my homesector and it’s a mountain range. We have the prettiest skies and the freshest air, though people from Ara like to argue. They’re wrong,” she snickers. “Aella’s the best. I think you’ll like it there. Plus, we have the best food. Including bread.”
“I really should visit, then,” you say with a laugh. “I’d invite you to my homesector too, but the only problem is, I don’t know where I’m from.”
“Definitely not Aithne,” Hana says with a snort. “The General’s whole bloodline’s from there. It must be a fire medium thing. They apparently enjoy living in the desert. If you were from Aithne, the General would’ve known you because I’m sure a total of eight people live there. It might even be zero now because of the war. General’s the last of his bloodline.”
“Oh, hell… That’s really sad.”
“Yeah, well—sorry—that got depressing really fast. Sometimes I just ramble on and on and if you don’t stop me, I’ll go off into fifteen different tangents. Anyways, I don’t think you’re from Aella, either. Because if you were, then I’d know you. I know everyone’s business in my sector. You’re not from Alder, either. Kids from Alder are born to be healers or soldiers. And since no one remembers you from before, you’re definitely from Ara or Elu.”
“Impressive deduction,” you say with a smile. Ara or Elu. They’re the first sectors you’ve heard of—thanks to Joon—the moment you came to from your concussion. Slowly, you lower yourself so that your back rests against the soft grass. You stare up into the blue sky, watching the clouds float along with the light breeze. “I’d love to be from either sector. They both sound so great.”
“They have the best bread in Elu,” Hana says. She points at a particular cloud in the sky. “Oh! That looks like Father’s homemade special holiday acorn bread!”
If you tilt your head enough, you can almost make out the loaf. With so much of Hana’s encouragement, you’ve gone hungry again—and you only finished eating about two minutes ago. Of course, lying down isn’t doing wonders to your digestive system, so you prop yourself up on your elbows. “I didn’t even know you could make bread from—”
“Lieutenant Kang! Sir!”
You hear Hana scramble up and drop to a ninety-degree bow. Though you can’t remember the last time you’ve bowed in Doyun’s presence, you follow suit.
“Soldier Baek. Soldier Ryu.”
You freeze.
Soldier Ryu? Did you hear that correctly?
Hana’s eyes double in size too.
When the both of you are upright, Hana’s the first one speaking. “Ryu? Like Ryu Y/N, sir?”
“Does someone claim they remember me?” you ask, hands beginning to shake with anticipation.
“I found your file,” the Lieutenant answers. She looks immensely happy about it too. “Soldier Ryu Y/N from Elu. A fire medium. That was all that was written,” she says. “Other than the fact that you were marked as deceased.” Her eyes light up with amusement. “But, unless you’re the opaque ghost of Ryu Y/N of Elu, you’re not quite dead, are you?”
A sudden warmth washes over your body. And before you can really register what’s happening, you feel tears dripping down your chin.
“Y/N! Don’t cry!” Hana says. She immediately hugs you, patting your hair and letting you wet her uniform.
“Thank you,” you manage to choke out. “Oh, thank you so much. It must’ve taken such a long time to find the file too…”
Doyun smiles. Frankly, she’s a little speechless too. How distressed you must’ve been about being unable to recall your identity to have such a reaction to this information. She’s glad she went through the extra struggle.
“The good news doesn’t end there,” she says. “The General’s permitted your plans, Y/N. He’ll be leading soldiers into battle in the third sector in a few days.”
“He has?? He will???”
“Had to be extra convincing, but it’s been approved.”
“Plans?” Hana asks. She pulls you away and cocks her head. “The General?”
“Ah,” Doyun smiles. “I’ll leave you to do the talking, Ryu Y/N. But I personally wanted to deliver the news. Good day, then, Soldier Baek and Soldier Ryu.” With that, the Lieutenant walks away, and your legs almost give out.
“Y/N! You know where you’re from now!” Hana grins. “And I basically guessed it, didn’t I?” She brushes the remnants of your tears away with her thumb. “But what was that thing about the General and the plans? I still can’t believe the Lieutenant just walked up to talk to us. Much less mention the General!”
How are you going to explain this…?
“Um… You know the recent switch in the army? You had to use your air wielding in battle, right? And the earth mediums used their earth wielding in battle. Yeah… I just thought it would be a good change in the army,” you confess. “Which I told the General. In person.”
“I thought he’d kick me out, but he actually listened,” you say, shaking your head. “And the past few weeks, I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep… I’m seeing things. Like battle plans in my head. I drew them out. The Lieutenant saw. She showed the General. And now I guess he wants to test them out.”
“What the fuck!” Hana gasps. “I didn’t know you made battle plans! You’re a genius, then, aren’t you? You’ve talked to the General! And the Lieutenant seemed to know you pretty well, too! Oh, this is so exciting!”
“It’s so much pressure,” you say. “I didn’t… I didn’t think the Lieutenant would take my midnight scribbles!”
“They see your potential,” Hana gushes. “Oh, I’m so jealous! You have to tell me what it’s like to talk to them! I can only dream of having an actual conversation with the General, Y/N.”
The rest of the afternoon, you and Hana bask in the dying sunlight of a waning Circa Opal. You tell her every little detail about your conversations with the General and the Lieutenant, including the fact that the General is so intimidating, he makes you weak in the knees. (Hana laughs good-heartedly at that.) You tell her how standing next to him makes you feel like you’re somehow a lesser being. How he practically glows coming out of battle and somehow, you can’t. You tell her everything you can think of and more.
And across the sector, in a certain tent, the General that you speak so highly of consults his right-hand soldier.
“You told her, didn’t you?” Yoongi greets his lieutenant as she enters the tent.
“She started crying,” Doyun says. “When I told her the contents of her file. She really started to cry.”
Yoongi nods. “I can’t imagine how stressful it must’ve been to know nothing.”
“I told her about the plans, too. She seemed a little less thrilled about that,” Doyun reports. “Overall, though,” she grins, “you made the right decision, sir.”
“Did I?” The corners of his lips tug slightly up. “Or it was your decision that I endorsed.”
“That could be it too,” she smiles. “Either way, it’s time to call an officer meeting, isn’t it? We can’t keep them in the dark too long.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” the General replies. “The majors and their captains are resting after today’s battles. And the weather’s nice outside, isn’t it? We’ll let them forget about the war for now.”
Doyun’s smile grows wider. “Sounds like a plan.”
The General watches the Lieutenant leave. He knows her too well to be just about 100 percent sure that she’s going to play cards with some of the majors and captains. But him? He’s got work to do, for Sahn’s sake. He’s the General of the Solarian Army. Good weather or not, he can never forget about the war.
The nation rests upon his shoulders.
⧖⧗Circa Citrine⧗⧖
Ryu Y/N. Ryu Y/N.
You repeat your name in your head to fall asleep at night. You try to imagine someone else—someone you knew from before—call you by that name. You try to imagine what it would have been like to live in Elu. You wonder if you and Joon ever accidentally crossed paths. You wonder what would’ve happened if they never found your file.
Nothing.
Nothing would’ve happened. You would’ve gone through the rest of your life without the knowledge of your homesector and surname, and it wouldn’t have made a difference because you would’ve accepted it. Still… Now, you have an origin. Now, you have a past.
Now, you have an identity.
“I really wish you could come,” Hana sighs as she slips on her boots. She snaps her fingers, orange sparks dancing off her fingertips. It’s as if to test her wielding one last time before the big battle. “You made the plans. It’s not fair that you don’t get to participate.”
“I’d be mauled out there,” you say, smiling while shaking your head. “I don’t think I’d stand a chance against the Darlaeans.”
“That’s a good point,” Hana laughs. “Though I’m sure you’d manage just fine without your fire wielding. You’ve got that trusty brain of yours.”
You laugh. “I don’t think having a sharp mind can stop a Darlaean from searing my leg right off, Hana.”
Your friend huffs. “Well, I’m sure you’d figure something out! Oh, Look!” The last part had been because the General had finally walked out of his tent. As usual, he looks majestic—his black hair sweeping delicately over his eyes, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his uniform well-ironed and polished. Not a speck of dirt rests on his figure. Not even a loose thread.
“I can’t believe he’ll be leading the battle!” Hana squeals. “Y/N,” she gasps, turning to you and grasping your hands. “I’m going to be fighting with him!”
But the moment she grasps your hands, you feel a shock wash over your entire body. Her hands—her warm hands holding onto yours. Why does that feel so familiar? Why do you feel like you’ve lived through this moment before?
“Hey? You okay? You turned white,” Hana says. She slips her hands from yours and puts her palm on your cheek. “You feel normal, though. Do you think that cold you got is still lingering or something?”
“Oh! Oh, no,” you say, managing a small smile. “I was just worried,” you say. That’s it. Change the topic. “It’s a third sector battle, Hana. I just hope you come back well.”
At that, Hana throws her head back in laughter. “Y/N! I’m like a cockroach. They couldn’t kill me if they tried! Besides, with your battle plans and with the General’s lead, we’ll be guaranteed to win.”
You really hope so.
“My good soldiers! Line up for battle!”
This is the loudest you’ve ever heard the General yell. And something tells you that even if he didn’t shout, his soldiers would obey him immediately.
Hana turns to you. “I’ll come back in one piece,” she promises with a wink. “Even if I do get hurt, you can bandage me up, right?”
“I’d prefer you come back without a scratch,” you say. “I’m gonna hope for the best.”
“I will too.”
The two of you part your ways, Hana rushing off to line up with the other soldiers of the third sector. You watch the General round his soldiers up. You watch as he begins a short speech. You watch as some of his soldiers tear up and others grit their teeth with determination. You watch them get into formation. You watch the General mount his silvery horse—that, in the sunlight, looks almost transparent.
Then, they’re off.
The scarlet uniforms look like little dots now, and you can’t help but sit down on the grass, staring at the remnants of the third sector army. Why does this all feel like a dream? Is your mind playing tricks on you?
You always feel so comfortable around Hana. And now, you realize this comfort has been rooted in familiarity. Something about her is familiar to you. Like you’ve known her from before. When she grasped your hands, you’d felt something. You know her now. But maybe you knew her, too.
You stare at your cold hands, rubbing them together to create some sort of friction to keep them warm. You’d thought you could wield more than one element. But clearly, you were just a fire medium. What had stopped you from wielding the other three elements? Are you not fit to wield them? Can you wield them now? It wouldn’t be a reconnection but a first impression.
Why does your stomach feel so queasy?
If the third sector comes back massacred, it’d be your fault. If the General dies in battle… his bloodline would die with him. And it’d be all your fault. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not fighting in a battle that you planned. If the plan fails, you’d be avoiding the consequences. Because you’d be here, sitting back in the campground, well and healthy, while the soldiers come back bloodied and injured.
If only you could—
“Look, the General’s favorite little soldier is waiting obediently for his return!”
You hear snickers close by, and your head whirls around to see a woman and a man standing a few feet away. They have two notches on their uniform, but the mean looks in their eyes indicate they’re nothing like your other superiors.
“You said that too loudly! She heard you,” the woman says, pushing the man’s shoulder. He rolls his eyes in return, then he stares at you directly. You flinch.
“Hey! Yeah, you! How does it feel to weasel your way up to the top?”
“Jeonwoo!” the woman shrieks.
You stand up, a deep frown settling on your forehead. Why are you being attacked? What did you do? “I’m a healer,” you say as evenly as you can. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How well can you really heal without water wielding?” the woman mutters under her breath. But you hear her loud and clear.
“Now that was mean, Hyojung,” the man—Jeonwoo—snickers. “Look, soldier. You’ve gotta show us some respect. We’re the General’s Majors. And you? Well, you said it yourself. You’re just a healer.”
Anger washes over you. How dare they???
“I show respect when I’ve been respected.”
At that, Major Jeonwoo laughs. “Give up the act. You’re a Darlaean spy. I don’t care if you’ve somehow convinced the General and the Lieutenant otherwise. But to us, you’re Darlaean scum.”
“She’s going to hurt you, Jeonwoo! You’re going too far,” Hyojung whispers.
“She won’t. She gave up her magic to be here,” Jeonwoo says. “She’s dedicated, this one. The Darlaeans are finally sending in a good spy. And besides, I’m sure she can take some tormenting. After all, her kind has killed off everyone I know. Even if she can’t take it, she deserves it.”
“That is true…” Hyojung sighs. She turns to you, a disgusted look on her face. “We’re going to make sure you’re shipped out of here if the General comes back with so much of a scrape on him. Got it?”
Oh.
You get it now. Their malice comes from fear. And hatred. To them, you’re the mysterious soldier who can bend their General to your will. To them, you’re dangerous and untrustworthy. To them, you’re the enemy that has killed everyone they know and love. You get it now. They’re in pain, and this is how they cope.
So you give up without a fight.
“Understood, Major,” you say. You drop into a low bow, showing them the respect that they had demanded earlier. They’ve been through a lot—more than what you can even comprehend. It wouldn’t be right to argue. Not when they’ve done so much for your nation.
But when you stand up straight again, Hyojung is shaking with uncontrolled anger.
“Y-You!” she shrieks. Her face turns red as she struggles against Jeonwoo’s grip. “Fuck you! You fucking witch! You can’t do this to us! Do you know how many lives you’ve—”
“What in flaming hell’s going on here???”
“Lieutenant Kang! Sir!”
Immediately, the three of you drop into bows.
“Major Jang, was there any reason that you were yelling at our soldier?”
“Sir!” Hyojung says, straightening her posture. “W-We! Major Lee and I still stand by the fact that this woman is a Darlaean spy. And she’s not a soldier, sir. She calls herself a healer.”
“We were just trying to whip her into shape, sir,” Jeonwoo says. “Hyojung just got a little upset. You know what the Darlaeans have done to her family.”
You watch as Doyun’s eyes soften and she offers a look of sympathy. “Yes, I do know. But that’s really no reason to berate an innocent soldier now, is it?”
“She’s a sp—”
“I’ve found her file,” Doyun interrupts. “Ryu Y/N. Fire medium. From Sector Elu. She was a Solarian soldier. Everything checks out.”
“But—”
“I understand that you’re angry, but Soldier Ryu is innocent. As Majors, you should not be—”
“Doyun, it’s fine,” you say. “No hard feelings, really. The Darlaeans almost killed me, and they erased everything that I ever remembered. I lost my wielding and I’m now an underqualified healer. I don’t even remember who they’ve killed that I care about. But seeing that no one is claiming to know me from before… I just… I don’t like them as much as you do. So I get it.”
Major Lee and Major Jang stare at you, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Doyun glances at you, arms crossed over her chest but a content look on her face.
“It’s settled, then,” the Lieutenant declares. “We’re all but Solarian soldiers. It’d be damned stupid to treat each other otherwise.”
Jeonwoo and Hyojung have a hard time making eye contact with you after that. And sensing the diluted tension, Doyun takes you by the wrist. “Let’s go,” she says. You don’t even bother to ask where. She gives her officers a small nod of acknowledgment and they bow to her stiffly before the two of you are off.
“I’m sorry about that,” your lieutenant tells you. She weaves in and out between the tents and you follow her blindly, wondering where she’s taking you. “Jeonwoo and Hyojung are fiercely loyal and trustworthy majors. It’s their loyalty that makes them so suspicious of you. But they shouldn’t have lashed out like that. You handled it well, though, soldier.” She turns to you, clearly pleased. “The war makes everyone suspicious of anyone new,” Doyun says with a sigh. “In the meantime, I wanted to invite you to my tent. Have a cup of tea. Talk. How about it?”
When she finishes her sentence, you realize that the two of you are standing in front of a tent. It’s larger than the one you’re staying in, but not significantly so. This is undoubtedly where the Lieutenant lives. “But I haven’t given you much of a choice, have I?” Doyun snorts. “Looks like we’re already here. Welcome to my humble abode.”
She gestures, pulling back the curtains to her living space. She steps inside, half of her body disappearing behind the red fabric, and you quickly follow suit.
Inside the tent, your senses are inundated with white and not the usual red. There are bushes and bushes of snow-white pansies, delineating the walls of your lieutenant’s living space. It smells beautiful. A large futon sits in the center of the room, and besides it, is a small, wooden desk with a messy “stack” of papers, ink, an assortment of brush pens and a black and white photograph of a grinning woman.
When Doyun catches you looking at the photograph, her eyes light up. “My girlfriend.”
“She has a beautiful smile.”
“Oh, she knows,” Doyun says with a snort. “She always uses it to get what she wants. And I’m always the idiot who can’t resist it.”
There’s a bit of comfortable silence as you become situated in the Lieutenant’s tent. She insists that the two of you rest on her futon. You still can’t quite comprehend that you’re in the Lieutenant’s living space, sharing a cup of tea and chatting with her. Like she’s your close friend.
“Thank you…” you blurt out in a moment of silence. “For trusting me. You didn’t have to, but you did, and I’m just… I’m really grateful.”
And you are. Doyun, Namjoon, Hana—they’ve all done so much to make you feel welcome in Solaria. Even the General…
“Of course I had to trust you,” Doyun answers. “We didn’t have much of a choice not to. And besides, it would have been crazy to ignore blatant geniosity.”
You smile, eyes staring off at the beautiful patches of pansies sprouting from the ground. Geniosity? You wouldn’t call it that. Luck? Visions? But not geniosity. The emerald green leaves of the pansies sway with the gentle breeze that had somehow found its way into the tent. The white petals flutter. The sweet aroma wafts in circles. And for a moment, your breath hitches.
“I forgot to mention it before, but your tent is beautifully decorated, Doyun. Especially the pansies.”
The Lieutenant smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. You wonder why.
“The pansies, huh?” She tilts her head to stare at the happy woman in the photograph. And with a pang in your chest, you suddenly realize what had happened to her.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” Doyun says. Her eyes are dry, but her voice contains the tiniest bits of tremor. “My girlfriend loves pansies. I’ll always honor her and her sacrifice.”
Silence.
“It was years ago,” Doyun says. “I’m okay now, of course. But this is what the war does to you.” She stares at her hands folded in her lap. “It kills off the people you care about…” Then, she turns to you. “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t remember.”
It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard that.
It’s the first time you agree, though.
“I suppose it is.”
Loss comes with pain. Loss comes with hatred and vengeance. It comes with resentment and rage. You realize that now, especially with that encounter with the Majors. Being unable to remember makes you strong. Because no memory holds you back. It’s like you’ve been reborn.
The two of you sit in the Lieutenant’s tent, sipping on Incha and talking about whatever comes to mind. When the water clock begins to chime, you have to excuse yourself to report to the medical tent.
“They’ll be back soon,” Doyun says as she escorts you to the medical tent herself. Soldiers stop their training to bow at her and she nods her head at them in acknowledgment. “I have a good feeling about this.” She stops walking and turns to you. “If this does work—which it will—you have to make more.”
More? “More plans?”
“Yes! We need a fresh pair of eyes. A new perspective!”
“I-I don’t know, Doyun. I consider myself lucky, not a genius.”
“Then extend that luck just a little bit more for us, will you?” she replies. “I’ll see you later, soldier!” With an enthusiastic wave, she’s off, marching to wherever she needs to be. You’re left standing in front of the medical tent, quite dazed and unsure.
Is it a mistake to enable this? When you’re really not a genius? How long will it take them to realize you don’t know what you’re doing? That you’re not as great as they think you are?
You walk into the medical tent to be greeted by Joon, who throws so many tasks your way that you barely have time to think. Sometimes, you like it that way.
It’s all smooth sailing until the curtains of the tent are pulled back to reveal a familiar figure. Silence. It’s like time has stopped. Everyone holds their breaths as the Generals steps in, hands relaxed behind his back and posture hunched as always. No blood. Not even a scratch on his face. Although it’s quite hard to tell from his face, you realize something must’ve worked.
The silence drones on, but the tension heightens. Everyone waits for his words. But he’s in no rush. The General’s eyes lazily sweep across the tent. And just when you think your gazes will meet, he looks away.
“We’ve won.”
Cries of joy. Screams of happiness. Soldiers laughing. Healers gasping with relief. Your knees buckle.
The General holds up a hand.
Silence.
“We’ve won, but that does not mean we do not have any casualties. We may have won a battle, but we must win the war, which I plan to do. I expect efficiency and kindness from all of you.” He pauses, eyes drifting for a second before he regains his focus. “That is all.”
Time resumes.
The tent bustles. Healers begin to shout their orders. Soldiers begin to cry out their demands. But amidst the chaos, you’re still. You don’t even know if you’re breathing. The General has finally met your eye. His sharp, stone-cold pupils bore straight into yours. And for a minute, you think he might even be angry at you—for whatever reason, you wouldn’t know. But then, his head moves in such a slight nod of acknowledgment that if you’d looked away, you wouldn’t have noticed it. A nod of thanks. His eyes never leave yours.
And just when you’re about to call to him, reach him somehow, (you don’t know why; it must be your instincts), he turns and steps out of the tent. You watch him leave, and a new kind of feeling blossoms inside your chest.
You’re going to extend that luck all right. You’re going to help the General win many more battles. And someday, the war.
Unscathed and victorious. Two words to describe your experience in the medical tent in the following weeks. By day, you are a healer, working tirelessly in the tents and tending to the honorable soldiers of the war. But by night, you assume the unofficial title of Battle Plan Coordinator as you scribble away on a scroll in the dead of the night. Many more battles are won. And every time, the General saunters confidently into the tent, barking orders. But he never forgets to give you his subtle nod of thanks. You find yourself looking forward to it.
Why does it feel like you’ve found your purpose here?
When you run out of paper and ink, Doyun has them magically replaced by the time you get back to your tent after your healing duties. When you run out of matches, those are replaced too.
“Thanks for all the extra supplies,” you tell her as you get comfortable in her tent. It has become something like a routine to grab a cup of tea and chat with the Lieutenant.
“Extra supplies?” Doyun asks.
“The paper and the ink?” A small hesitation. “...And the matches?”
Doyun blinks. “That wasn’t me.” A small grin forms on her lips. “It’s either the spirits of Sahn themselves or Yoongi.”
“Yoongi?” Your chest grows warm. “The General?”
The Lieutenant snorts. “Of course he’s doing that. Wonder why he’s trying to slink around like that though. But he cares more than you think. He’s a good man, our General.”
That’s also not the first time you’ve heard that.
It’s also not the last.
You and Doyun often meet in the medical tent when circumstances are not quite in her favor. They’re usually minor injuries—things that even you’re permitted to fix. And even then, the two of you strike up a conversation about anything.
From bits and pieces of your conversations, you’ve pieced together quite a long narrative of Doyun and her girlfriend, Minhee. It’s rare that Doyun ever talks about the war. It’s easy to talk about happy things in the medical tent.
“We were supposed to get married in the winter,” Doyun says as you carefully bandage her scathed arm. “Years and years ago.”
“A winter wedding,” you say. “It sounds lovely.”
“I told her we should get married earlier. You know, in the spring when the pansies are in full bloom. But she insisted on waiting until the winter holidays,” she says. You can tell she’s pulling out the memories from the back of her head. You’ve heard so many stories about Minhee—how Doyun met her, how they hit it off when they were younger, how they both joined the army young. But you never knew how Minhee met her end. It seems as if Doyun’s finally ready to tell you.
“It was autumn. Circa Citrine…” she trails off. “Yoongi had her shipped off to a third sector battle that I didn’t approve of. Every soldier in that unit was massacred that day.”
Silence.
You place a hand on Doyun’s shoulder and she nods. “Yes… I didn’t talk to Yoongi for weeks. I was a lot younger, then. He was too. We know how to work together now. And I soon came to realize that Minhee—Minhee’s death wasn’t his fault. It took me a long time to accept it. It’s easy to blame the people you know when you’re in pain. But it wasn’t his fault. He was just doing what he thought was right.”
Of course.
Doyun turns to you, shaking her head. “He apologized to me, Y/N. He got on his knees and begged me to stay as his lieutenant.”
Your eyes soften.
“And I… I wanted him to stay there, begging and begging and begging. I wanted to leave him like that, feeling pathetic and stupid and wrong. I wanted to resign from the army. I wanted to leave him stranded after what he did to me and Minhee. Make him feel as lost as I felt. But I realized, if I resigned, then what? Alder is my home… If I resigned, I’d have nowhere else to go. I stayed, obviously. And Yoongi and I are closer than ever. I know he thinks about the battle he sent Minhee to every now and then, even though it wasn’t his fault. A good man…”
Doyun’s eyes are brimming with tears, so you gently blot them away with your sleeve. “What do you think would’ve happened if we’d all survived after the war?” you say. Maybe redirecting her attention to a happier future will get her out of this small slump.
“I was raised to fight in the war, Y/N,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do if the war were to stop. I don’t know how to do anything else except being a soldier. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The war’s not stopping any time soon.”
“Don’t say that.” The words tumble out before you can even stop yourself. “We’ve been winning all these battles. And you’re still alive. So what if you don’t know how to do anything else? You can always learn. Doyun, you’re the Lieutenant of the Solarian Army. I’m sure you’ll always find purpose in your life.”
Doyun’s silent after that. Then, a small smile forms on her lips. “I don’t know what washed over me,” she says. “I guess all the stress finally caught up. You’re right, though, Y/N. There’s always hope.” Her smile grows wider. “We’ll win. We’ll win big,” she vows. “The next time I see you, I won’t be like this. I’ll be proud to be a soldier. And I’ll yet again be victorious in battle. I swear on Sahn’s head, Y/N.”
She keeps her word.
The next time you see Doyun is a few days later in the medical tent. She barges in, the gold ribbon around her waist fluttering behind her. “Everyone!” she yells, her loud voice booming across the entirety of the tent. “A victory with no casualties!”
The tent erupts in the largest cheers you’ve ever heard. The ground shakes with the force of the happy cries. Doyun grins at you. She sparkles in the late afternoon glow inside the tent, her hair slightly tousled and dirt smeared across her cheek. She’s proud. And she won.
“There are drinks outside!” she yells. “Tonight, we celebrate!”
The celebration draws on into the night. Soldiers clink their bowls of Takju together, old friends reunite and talk up a storm and even some healers are able to relax.
“Here you go, my dear.” Joon hands you a bowl of Takju, a cloudy-looking alcohol that is much beloved to the Solarian soldiers.
You shake your head. “Oh, I’m fine, but thank you.”
He smiles, already a little red from his own share of alcohol. “You’ve been watching the entrance of the tent all night. Who could you be waiting for?” he teases in a sing-songy voice.
You wonder, too.
“More for me!” Joon exclaims as he downs the whole bowl in two gigantic gulps. “Ahh!” he announces. “A victory with no casualties! The tide of the war is finally shifting, Y/N. Oh, I’ll be able to see my husband soon! I wonder how our kittens are doing. Oh dear, I hope I can recognize them!”
You laugh, patting Joon’s back. “They’ll all be waiting for you,” you tell him. “A few more wins like these and we’ll all be on our way home.”
If you can find your home, that is.
The rest of the night is a blur. For some reason, you can’t quite relax. Every time someone enters the tent, your head jerks that way, and you don’t dare admit who you’re so patiently waiting for. You converse with soldiers you don’t even know. Smiling politely and engaging in their happy stories. You converse with Hana—who is quite the strong drinker—and Doyun—who is, although she says she’s not, lightweight.
But you’re still not satisfied.
And as usual, the inside of the medical tent is starting to suffocate you. A breath of fresh air. That’s what you need. All this talking and laughing and cheering. It should elate you. But everyone talks about what they’ll go home to. Who they’ll go see after the war. Where they’ll go visit. You don’t quite feel like you belong.
So, you take a few bloody rags and a bucket of cold water and decide to wash them in the bright moonlight. The diluted blood runs down your hands as you scrub harshly. Why you’re being so aggressive with the poor rags, you’re not quite sure. It’s not until you scratch your finger with your nail and blood begins to trickle down that you stop. It stings.
But you deserve it.
There’s no reason to be jealous. But how can you not be? You’re only human. You want someone to go back home to. For Sooht’s sake, you just want a home. The blood trails down your arm and you wince as you try to rub the wound over with your hand.
“Soldier!”
Your head jerks up. And immediately, the tension, the heavy weight on your shoulders lift away.
It’s the General.
But there’s something different about him today. His posture is as shitty as ever, but it’s the way he’s holding himself—unguarded, relaxed… happy.
“I!” he announces, pointing at you with his finger. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Oh. He’s drunk.
“Have you?” Unbeknownst to you, a smile spreads on your face. “Pray tell why.”
“You are a gift from the spirits!” he says. His finger is inches away from your face. You find this quite hilarious. The oh-so-serious Solarian General this drunk? He’ll be so embarrassed tomorrow morning.
“I must show my gratitude, soldier,” he says. He bows sloppily, nearly falling over doing so. Either the General had a little too much to drink or he’s just as much of a lightweight as his lieutenant. “You’re exactly what we’ve always needed,” he says. He’s so close to you that you can practically smell the alcohol on his breath. It’s not quite pleasant, but it is very amusing. “We needed someone to propose new methods and battle plans. We needed a fresh pair of eyes. New judgment.”
He stares at you, though he has quite a hard time making eye contact. You find that his stone-cold eyes have softened, losing their usual hardness. You like this look on him.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, soldier?” he asks in the most authoritative voice his drunkenness can muster up.
You resist the urge to laugh. “Of course, sir,” you say. “I’m understanding every word.”
“Good,” he says. “Doyun is fond of you.”
“I’m fond of her too.”
“That’s unfortunate because she’s my lieutenant, not yours.”
“But I never said she was mine, sir.”
He glares. “She wants you as an officer.”
Your heart skips a beat. You? An officer? “When… When was this proposed?”
“Weeks ago,” the General admits. “I’ve been waiting all this time, of course. I wanted to see where your plans would lead us, soldier. But Doyun is always right. I should’ve known she’s always right! You’ve proved a lot to me, soldier.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Or thought you were a Darlaean spy.”
His apology—albeit drunken—warms your heart.
“It would be quite unconventional…” he sighs, tapping his chin dramatically. “But with this much military talent, it’d be insane not to let you do what you’re practically born to do.”
It’s hilarious how much alcohol can chip away at the General’s usually cold, intimidating persona. “Are you promoting me, sir?”
“Have you not been listening to a single word?” he sighs. “Yes, I am promoting you! For Sooht’s sake, be a little grateful.”
“Sir, with all due respect, you’re drunk.”
“And?”
“I want you to tell me all of this again when you’re sober. I’ll agree then.”
The General scowls, but you can see him contemplating your words. “Very well.” He glances at you, eyes narrowing—it almost looks like he’s sobering up already. But then he blinks and the tension dissipates. Suddenly, he’s reaching out for your hand. You gasp when your fingers meet.
“You’re hurt.”
You pull your hand away, embarrassed. “It’s just a small scratch.”
He rolls his eyes. Then, he’s reaching for your hand again. He’s warm—a nice contrast to your skin that’s been chilled by the cool autumn air. His grip on your hand softens but he frowns, concentrating on your wound. Soon, the blood around your scratch begins to bubble before it completely evaporates. Then, the wound slowly, ever so slowly, begins to scab over. “Good as new.”
“Thank you…”
“For Sooht’s sake, I really am drunk, am I?” The General sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Forgive me but it’s been quite some time since my army has had a celebratory drink.”
“I don’t mind,” you say. It’s nice to see him this way—without the weight of the war weighing him down.
“You’ll think about my offer?”
“I will.”
“I expect to hear an answer tomorrow.”
“You will.”
“Is your hand all right?”
“Yes, it is.” A pause. “Thank you.”
A dismissive wave of his own hand. “It’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, General.”
“I expect to hear an answer tomorrow.”
You struggle to resist the urge to laugh.
“Is your hand all right?”
You actually do laugh this time.
The General looks at you peculiarly. “I really do expect to hear an answer tomorrow.”
“Oh, I can’t quite recall,” you say, a teasing lilt to your voice. “What did you say about my hand, again?”
“Is your hand all right?”
“Yes. Thank you for healing it.”
The General can’t quite resist smiling when you’ve got such a wide grin on your face. “It’s the least I can do,” he replies.
You think he has a nice smile. He does this thing where his lips pull back all the way and reveal his teeth—a gummy smile. It looks so innocent, so kind compared to his usual sharp, serious demeanor. This is a persona you’ve never seen on the General, and you like it.
“Why are we smiling?” he asks.
It makes you smile even more. “I’m just happy, sir.”
“Oh.” His smile grows wider. “I am as well.”
“You should get some rest, sir,” you say, hoping you haven’t teased him so much to the point that he reconsiders your promotion the next morning.
“I expect to hear an answer tomorrow.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I know, I know.”
“Is your hand all right?”
“Sir, you should really go,” you say, holding back even more laughter. Any second longer and you’ll think you’ll completely burst.
“It is a legitimate question, soldier.” The General frowns. “I’m asking if your hand is all right.”
You sigh. “It’s fine, sir. You healed it, remember?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“You’ve been repeating yourself for the past few minutes, sir.”
“Have I?” A pause. “I expect to—”
“He gets like that when he’s drunk.”
A somewhat unfamiliar voice.
You turn to see—“Major Jang!” Immediately, you bow. But your head screams. Is she here to berate you? Insinuate that you’re trying to hurt the General? Report you to the others?
The Major stands tall, leaning against the tent and watching the amusing scene unfold before her. “It’s after hours. It’s Hyojung to you.”
“Hyojung, then,” you say. What does she want? But the fact that she’s insisting you to call her by her first name… That’s a good sign, right?
The General slowly turns his head and nods at his officer. “Hyojung, what are you doing here?”
“Sir, you’re going to end up annoying the poor soldier,” Hyojung says. “Let’s get you back to your tent.” She turns to you. “Sometimes, he forgets his limits.”
“That is an incredibly false accusation,” the General retorts. “I’m not that drunk.”
You and Hyojung meet eyes before the two of you burst out laughing.
“He’s been repeating the past three phrases over and over again,” you say. “I hurt my hand and he keeps asking if I’m okay. And when I tell him I am after he healed it, he says, ‘It’s the least I can do.’”
Hyojung shakes her head, though she’s smiling. “As hilarious as this is, I should probably help him get back.”
“You haven’t been drinking? Celebrating?”
“To be honest, I’ve felt too guilty to do any of that,” Hyojung admits. “Jeonwoo’s getting drunk, though. He uses it to cope.”
“Guilty?”
“I’m sorry I called you a witch. We’re… We’re not really supposed to use that terminology—even to our worst enemies. I was just angry. I shouldn’t have directed it towards you. It’s not your fault that they’re dead.”
It isn’t. But you accept her apology. “You don’t have to feel bad about it,” you say. “I’m sorry about them, too. Was it your family?”
“Mother and brother,” she says. “It’s okay, though.” She attempts a smile. “Have you accepted the General’s proposition?”
“Not yet,” you say. “I’ll most definitely agree to it tomorrow. When he’s not drunk.”
“I look forward to seeing you in our officer meetings,” Hyojung says. “We’ll have an official vote for you to join, and I just want to let you know that Jeonwoo and I are on your side.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She gives one last wave before she helps the struggling General walk back to his tent. He keeps turning around, telling you that he expects to hear an answer tomorrow. You smile, watching him leave.
What an eventful night.
You glance at Hyojung’s back, feeling grateful that you’ve somehow mended ties with her. It makes you wonder…
What kind of mean understanding is keeping the Darlaeans from being humane towards the Solarians?
But the question is too large and you’re too unknowledgeable to come up with an answer now. So instead, you stare at your healed hand. You’ll see the General tomorrow. Another smile creeps up to your lips. You wonder if he’ll remember everything that has happened tonight. And you wonder what kind of snarky words will come out of his mouth. You’ll look forward to it. As well as the officer meetings.
Things are looking up—for you and the Solarians. Things are going quite well.
“Ahem.”
You scramble up from your futon, rubbing your eyes. Is someone outside your tent?
“Soldier Ryu?”
You bite your lip so hard, you taste blood. That’s definitely the General’s voice. But what is he doing outside your tent? It’s practically dawn! You don’t get up for duty for another two hours.
“Yes, sir! I’m up!”
Quickly, you try to make your hair look presentable, straightening your healer uniform that you usually sleep in (to avoid a morning hassle).
“May I come in?”
Your heart leaps in your chest. “Yes, sir!”
You didn’t think that when he said he wanted to hear an answer, he wanted to hear it at the asscrack of dawn.
The curtains of your tent are tentatively pulled back and a quite hungover man steps in. “Good morning,” he greets you. His sharp, cold eyes are back again. So is the heavy weight on his shoulders. He sits down, confidently too, for a man who embarrassed himself last night in front of his subordinates.
“Good morning, sir. Are you going to ask about my hand?”
The General grunts. “I apologize for that.”
“No need,” you say. “It was funny. Hyojung and I had quite a laugh.”
“Using your General as entertainment,” he says, cocking his head. “That’s quite new, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
“So you must know why I’m here,” the General says. “Unfortunately, I drilled it in your head last night.”
“Oh, yes you did.” The memory makes you smile.
“I want to promote you, soldier. So please, be one of my officers.” He says this decisively, looking you right in the eye with all the dignity in the world. You can’t believe this is the same person you had the joy of talking to last night.
“I accept, sir,” you say, smiling. “I full-heartedly accept. Hyojung mentioned something about a vote, though.”
“Ah, well, I’m sure that will pass,” he says. “When the Lieutenant and I both agree on something, the others tend to, as well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He shakes his head. “I should be the one thanking you.”
“It’s for the paper and the ink and the matches,” you say. “You didn’t have to…”
“It’s my duty to take care of my soldiers,” he replies. “There will be an officer meeting later today. You’ve been formally invited.”
He nods. And with that, he stands. As he leaves the tent, he kneels down and snaps his fingers. A small flame begins to flicker in your oil lamp. You can practically feel him debating on saying something, but he leaves without another word. The warmth of the lamp permeates throughout the entirety of your tent. You feel warm inside too.
And later, you enter the central tent with Doyun by your side. It’s an unspoken rule around here—only officers are allowed inside. You can’t get rid of the nervosity curling at your gut. You can’t even guarantee that you’ll be talking much, but you’re worried what the others will think of you.
“The meetings aren’t that scary,” Doyun says. She’s trying to reassure you.
Hyojung catches your eye and waves. Jeonwoo gives you a small nod.
There’s a large, wooden table in the center of the tent. It’s circular and allows most—if not all—of the officers to get a good look at each other. It also means that all eyes are on you. Even when the General walks in to stand between you and Doyun, they continue to stare at you.
“Soldier Ryu will be joining us today,” the General says in his husky voice. He looks up and for a split second, your eyes meet. You quickly avert your gaze, though you’re not sure why. “I expect everyone to treat her with compassion.”
“We’ve been able to clear her name,” the Lieutenant adds. “She’s not a Darlaean spy. I’ve shown you the evidence and I expect you to believe it.”
“As you know, Soldier Ryu has been formulating our battle plans for weeks—almost a full circa,” the General says. “She has proven to us that she is an excellent soldier. Even with her recent memory loss, she has been working diligently in the medical tent and tending to our injured.”
“Today, we’d like to discuss our upcoming battle plans and make adjustments if we have to,” the Lieutenant says. “Are we all clear with that?”
“Yes, sir!” the officers say in unison.
You have a hard time keeping up after that. Words are being thrown around. There are so many different opinions and so many different officers. The General and the Lieutenant run the meeting as though it really is a discussion. They allow everyone to voice their thoughts at least once. You stand there, the whole time, listening, taking new information in.
But it’s difficult when you’re not quite aware of their past plans. After a while, you can feel a migraine seeping in.
“This plan wouldn’t work,” an officer says. “It’s clearly been written by someone who has no experience in battle. There’s no way we can risk so many lives on the hunch that the Darlaeans will begin their attack from the north side.” He stares at you the entire time he speaks, thumbing his stubble. And immediately, you know that he dislikes you.
“I second that, Major Ahn,” another officer agrees. With her fingers adorned with countless rings, she points at the plans sprawled on the table. “It’d be stupid to risk the lives of many with small assumptions.” She glances at you, but when you maintain eye contact, she looks away.
“The plan’s asking for an ambush,” another officer speaks up. He crosses his arms, revealing a tattoo of a tiger engulfed in flames.“The Darlaeans have been concentrating their attack from the south side for the past three battles. They’re not going to switch north so soon. Besides, their general likes to make arbitrary changes to their plans. It’s nearly impossible to predict their movements.”
“Soldier Ryu’s done it before,” Jeonwoo says, addressing the Tiger Tattoo Man. “What makes you think she can’t do it again?”
“Major Lee, you’re not telling me that you’re actually allowing this to happen?” the man with the stubble sighs.
“Oh, I am, Major Ahn,” Jeonwoo replies. “In fact, the General and Lieutenant are endorsing it as well.”
“Just because the General and Lieutenant endorse it doesn’t mean we will all follow blindly,” Tiger Tattoo Man says.
You glance at either side of you where Yoongi and Doyun stand. Why aren’t they saying anything?
“Let’s face it. Some soldiers lack the maturity to be in this tent.”
“I agree. We can’t be handing out the officer position to just anyone. And especially not to someone who hasn’t reconnected with her element yet.”
“I’m still not buying the fact that she claims she has created these battle plans with no memory of the actual battleground.”
“It’s suspicious to me, too.”
“Frankly, I feel as if she should not be here.”
Your knuckles turn white from your gripping. You chew on your bottom lip, wondering how much more you can take before you burst. And why are the General and Lieutenant just standing there? Do they not want to defend you?
Unless…
You turn to Doyun. She’s avoiding eye contact as she stares straight into the scroll placed on the table. You glance at Yoongi. You’re surprised when your eyes meet. But his eyes look soulless, and there are no emotions written across his face. They’re making it increasingly clear. You’re on your own. They want to see how you’ll act. Maybe this is some sort of entrance test. In that case, you wouldn’t want to fail.
“I’m already here, so there’s no point in sending me back, is there?”
Every soldier turns their head to stare at you. Most are giving you dirty looks; others wait patiently for your next words. The spotlight is a little uncomfortable but you plow through.
“The Darlaeans will most definitely begin their attack on the north side. I’ve been testing it out, but it seems as though their general is using an interesting sequence to plan the battles—it’s not arbitrary.” You point at the scroll. “There are only two directions of attack: north and south. And a few days ago, I noticed a pattern. They’re spelling something out, can’t you see? It’s in code. And they’ve been repeating it over and over again. Look, it’s always the same five sequences. The second and fourth sequences are identical, too. They’re spelling something out, though I haven’t quite figured out what. But if we follow their pattern, after a north, south, south, south, we’re due for a north. Assuming that they are attacking in code, then they’ll have their soldiers concentrated on the north side for the next battle.” You tap your pointer finger on the paper. “The identical sequences likely spell out a vowel. ‘E,’ maybe? I’m not sure about the other three letters, though. I was wondering if anyone else could decipher it…?”
“North, south, south, south… North… North, south, south… North… North, south, north, north…” Major Ahn mumbles, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Captain Im? Do you know?”
“I haven’t seen this particular type of cipher before…” Captain Im says. She twists a strand of her long, black hair with her finger. Humming, she drums her fingers on the wooden table. “It looks outdated. But I do agree with Soldier Ryu. The second and fourth sequence have to spell out a vowel.”
“It’s in monocode,” a new officer intercedes. “Really archaic. I’m surprised that the Darlaeans know of this. They must be more well-read than we think.”
“What does it say, Major Hyun?” Captain Im asks, wide-eyed and curious.
“I’m a little rusty,” the older woman answers. She massages the wrinkles on her forehead as her eyes narrow in deep thought. “But if I remember correctly, the two vowels are an ‘E.’ I can’t say I’m familiar with the other letters, though. The middle letter seems to be either a ‘W’ or a ‘V.’”
“I’m sorry, but what if we’re thinking too much into this?” the officer with the rings says. She fidgets with her hands, her rings clinking as she does so. “It doesn’t make sense that after all these years the Darlaeans would try to reach us through code.”
“I’m on the same page as Major Ki,” the Tiger Tattoo Officer says. “I’m starting to think there is no code.”
“You always agree with your girlfriend, Captain Chu,” Jeonwoo teases. “Maybe if you have one original thought, you’ll understand that deciphering this code could mean something big for us.”
“Shut your mouth, Major Lee,” Captain Chu grumbles. “Of course, with all due respect.”
“Either way…” Major Ki says. She twists the rings on her middle finger. “This battle plan is for the third sector and I don’t want my soldiers to get hurt over our false assumptions. My captains will agree with me.”
The two men beside her—which includes her boyfriend—nod fervently.
“But I actually think you can afford a risk, Major Ki,” Hyojung cuts in. “Your sector’s been bringing home large wins for the past two weeks.”
“So you’re telling me to take the chance and follow a mere soldier’s orders?” she says. Her ringed finger juts out as she points at you from across the table. Even now, she refuses to look into your eyes.
“Yes,” Hyojung says. “Major to Major, I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll have to disagree,” Major Ki’s second captain speaks. “What if the Darlaeans implemented this code in order to trick us into believing it means something? And when they’re sure they’ve got us wrapped around their finger, they’ll go for the kill. We wouldn’t see it coming.”
“Captain Yoo does have a valid point…” Major Hyun says. She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “But it’s worth at least figuring out what the code says.”
“You’ve been awfully silent, Soldier Ryu,” the General says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the discussion had opened. So really, should he be saying this to you? “What are you thinking?”
That’s not an easy question to answer. You have too many thoughts and just too little time to say all of it in one go. So you say the simplest thought in mind:
“Sever,” you say. “I think it’s saying ‘sever.’”
“So you’re claiming that you’ve cracked the code,” Captain Chu says quite incredulously. His eyebrows arch as he gives you a doubtful look. “Do you have any proof?”
“Not… not really. But the Darlaeans have been severing our soldiers’ limbs the past month, so I just thought…”
“If the code really is saying ‘sever,’ then they’re sick,” Major Ki says, nervously twisting her rings.
“Do you think their codes align with their main method of attack?” Captain Im asks you.
“I’m not sure… But it can be our hypothesis for now.”
“Another assumption!” Captain Chu shouts. “We can’t base our battle plans off of mere theories.”
“But these assumptions and theories are a start,” you say. “We need them as a springboard for our plans.”
“We don’t need your assumptions,” Captain Chu says. “How much can you know if you can’t remember having fought in battle? And not just any battle, but a battle in the third sector. Major Ki, Captain Yoo and I work at the forefront of the war. I don’t think any other objections are allowed.”
“You assume that because I’m a soldier who has lost her memory, I’m of no value,” you say slowly, drawing out each word. “So because your assumption is correct, mine has to be wrong.”
Captain Chu scoffs. “Don’t try to get snarky with me, Ryu. I’m saying this as your superior.”
“And I’m saying that I am right. They are going to move north for this third sector battle.”
“And I’m saying that you’re wrong.”
Your legs shake under the table, and you grit your teeth. “Fine.”
The Lieutenant jerks her head toward you, giving you a worried look.
“You can think that I’m wrong,” you say. “You can scrap my battle plans and come up with your very own. But if you come back, bloodied and missing several limbs, your loved ones dead and your friends massacred, it won’t be my fault. I may not remember fighting in the third sector, but I was once a part of your unit. And if you treat all your soldiers as you have treated me—with disregard and inferiority—then I fear for them. I don’t care if you care for the lives of your soldiers. A good leader listens to his followers. And if your ears are stuffed full with your own bullshit, then I’m sorry but I don’t think you’ll get very far in this war.”
Silence.
You can hear your own heart thumping in your chest. Oh no. Have you gone too far? But this whole meeting, you’ve been bashed, degraded and thought of as stupid. How could you stand there and take it? Your hands begin to shake and sweat starts to accumulate on your forehead. Is anyone going to respond? Are you going to be kicked out for this?
Or…
No. You’ll save yourself from embarrassment. You’ll leave first. But would that be giving up? You’re so furious, so humiliated that you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You have to leave. You don’t belong here. You thought you did. You had an inkling of hope that you did. But you’d been wrong. Your feet lurch forward, just about to run, when the Lieutenant places a hand on your shoulder.
“That’s enough, Captain.”
“She’s the one who went on a whole spiel—”
“Jaeno, stop.” Major Ki holds onto her captain’s arm and offers him a placating smile. “Clearly, we’ve underestimated our officer.”
Your head jerks up and with that motion, the tears begin to fall down your face.
She twists the rings on her finger, the metals gleaming in the light streaming into the tent. “I see why the Lieutenant and General were so adamant on bringing her here. She knows how to lead. She also put you in your place. Not many people can manage to do that.” She smiles. “Crying is good, officer. Let it out now. But you have my trust. I say we follow these plans.”
“Major! You can’t possibly—”
“You don’t have to agree with me because you’re dating me, Jaeno. We can disagree from time to time,” Major Ki says. “But you’ll have to follow my orders, anyway.” She turns to the General—and even then, she can’t quite look him in the eye. “Sir, permission to lead my unit in this third sector battle?”
“Granted,” he says in his soft voice. He glances around the tent, gauging his officers’ countenance. Finally, he speaks. “That’s the most disagreement we’ve had in a while, wasn’t it?”
His officers mumble in agreement.
“But it’s been settled. Major Ki will lead her troops to the third sector, along with Captain Yoo and Captain Chu. There will be a vote next week for Officer Ryu’s official involvement in our meetings. Lieutenant Kang, please stay. The rest of you are dismissed.”
The autumn breeze cools the tears on your cheeks. You don’t look back, only walking straight forward. You’re not sure what to make of this. You’re not sure how many will want you to stay—if enough will vote for your involvement at all. The orange sunlight rains down on you in shimmering bursts of color. You close your eyes, letting the warmth envelop your figure.
But goosebumps begin to dot your skin as you recall the chilling code the Darlaeans had embedded in their attacks.
Sever.
They’re going to continue this, severing whoever’s in their path, killing your people with no mercy.
But… Something tells you—in a way that you cannot prove—that this is a message. Sever. What are they trying to say? Sever.
Maybe you are thinking too much into it. Maybe this is just the Darlaean’s sadistic game and you’ve fallen in as their pawn. You shake the thoughts away.
You’re a preliminary officer now. It’s something to celebrate, not something to stress over. So you wander into your tent and watch the flickering flame of your oil lamp—it’s the same fire that your General had lit earlier this morning. You didn’t have the heart to extinguish it. It dances on top of the wick, casting a pretty shadow on the red fabric of your tent.
Beautiful.
Sever it. Sever, sever, sever.
The word won’t leave your fucking head. You press your temples hard with your fingers, hoping the pressure will keep your mind numb. But it won’t stop. Sever, sever, sever.
You stand up and the world seems to spin along with you.
Sever.
Why the hell does it feel like it’s speaking to you?
No, you’re going crazy. You’re completely out of your mind. You sink into your futon, wrapping your body around with your blankets. It’s still light out, but you tell yourself to sleep, chanting the command over and over again in your head. It drowns out the other word—the unspeakable word—and soon, your fatigue catches up to you.
When the General stops by your tent later that day to drop off some more paper and ink, he finds you sleeping inside. He freezes. He doesn’t want to intrude. He catches a glimpse of your figure, curled up in your thin blanket. You frown when you sleep. Maybe it’s because you’re cold.
You wake up the next morning with a wool blanket on top of your linen one. You’re confused, wondering where it could’ve come from. Then, you notice near the entrance of your tent is a neat stack of paper and ink. Oh. Warmth blossoms in your chest. You know exactly who did this for you.
It’s funny. Long ago, Yoongi might’ve sworn to apathy. It’s better that way, and it’s easier to cope. But for Sooht’s sake, it doesn’t mean he’s completely heartless.
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⨰ a/n: i have nothing to say except yoongi 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 anyways! i've been updating once a week for the past three weeks, but i'm gonna have to regress to once every two weeks since i'm off my winter break soon 😭😭but i hoped you enjoyed the longest mf chapter so far!
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of blood, (very) minor character deaths, brief descriptions of injuries (severed limbs)
⨰ wordcount: 11.9k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: thank you so much @the-berry-named-ari for beta-reading this longass chapter!
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⧖⧗Circa Sapph⧗⧖
There’s always too much time and too little to do. At least, for you.
Joon’s frequently busy, leaving you to sit on your cot and contemplate about anything that wanders into your mind that day—the weather, the next meal they’d serve, what your life had been like before you’d lost your memories… Sometimes, on slower days, you even wonder what the General is doing; you haven’t seen him since the first time you’ve met him (which isn’t a great sign since neither of you probably has a spotless first impression of the other). But thoughts of the General are quick and fleeting. You never like to dwell on the war.
Instead, you focus on your fantasies. You’ve conjured up quite a handful, fleshing them out in your mind when you have spare time. But all you really have left is spare time, so in a span of a week, you’ve curated years and years worth of your own backstory. It’s an intricate plotline, and with your limited knowledge of the lands of Solaria, you’ve managed to weave together a believable past.
You’re an only child from Ara—the place that Joon talks about so often—and your family consists of a long line of water mediums. When you were younger, you lived in a nice, sturdy cottage in the middle of Ara’s expansive tundra lands with your parents and Nya, your cat. Nya’s your best friend, until one day, she leads you straight to another girl playing alone on a frozen brook. You have two best friends after that: Nya and Hyejin. You and Hyejin are partners found by fate—so alike yet so different in all the best ways possible. You’re an adventurer, a lover of the unknown; Hyejin is too, but she prefers to stay in the familiar for the sake of security. She becomes your best friend for the next nine years of your life, until you characteristically decide to fight in the war and she decides to pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a blacksmith. (Oh yes, she’s a fire medium like you, too. Though in your fantasy, you also like to pretend you double as a water medium. Well, not quite. In your deepest, most unrealistic fantasies, you’re a medium for all of the elements. Though you’re not very sure how one comes to work with all of them. But that’s a question you’ll probably have Joon answer later.) Anyways, that’s all besides the point. You meet the love of your life in this war. And you especially like to think that you meet them in the midst of a gruesome battle. Both of you are tired and bloody and injured, but you bump into each other and it’s like love at first sight. After that moment, the two of you are inseparable. They gift you your diamond necklace on a warm summer night and you promise them then and there that you’ll never take it off. You fight many, many battles with them by your side. Until the day that you lose your memories. They die in the battle that you barely survive, and when you see their slumped body over the bloody dirt, you scream. Their death leaves you so distracted, so hurt that you begin to run. You don’t know where you’re running, just know that you want to get away. Maybe you’re looking for Hyejin, or your cat, Nya. Or your parents. Either way, you run and run, unknowingly crossing to Darlaean territory. Until something hits you at the back of your head. Hard.
And now here you are.
It’s probably unhealthy to come up with such a delusional backstory for yourself—full of love and nice things (except for the last bit, of course). So it’s really a breath of fresh air when Namjoon comes to spark conversations with you on his off-shifts. He likes to talk about happy things—mostly funny stories of his cats and his husband—to keep you distracted from your painful healing process. You suspect that he’s given up on regaining your memory. There have been concussions in this tent before, but none as bad as yours—none so bad that it wiped away every memory that the soldier ever had. Other healers have tried to help you spark some of your memory, but those attempts have always been fruitless. Which is why you stick to your fantasies, and your questions begin to stack up.
“Hi, Joon.”
“Good morning, dear!” A bright smile stretches across the man’s lips. “How are you feeling today?”
“All right,” you reply. There have been better days. Of course, however, you wouldn’t exactly know for sure. “I was just thinking.”
“That seems to be the pattern for you, huh?” Joon snorts. “But try not to overthink. I can’t exactly prove it, but I’m pretty sure it slows down your healing.”
You smile politely at his concern for your health. But if you shouldn’t overthink, what else is there to do? If you don’t get your questions answered, how little will you know? “But Joon, I came up with some questions when I was uh, well, when I was overthinking.”
Joon laughs, shaking his head. “Ah, I knew I couldn’t stop you, dear. So what are they?”
“I was just wondering how Solarians come to work with their elements.” Translation: I want to know how many elements I worked with—if I worked with more than one at all. “Are we born with the ability to wield certain elements?”
Joon watches your wide, curious eyes and can’t help but smile. “Every Solarian possesses the ability to wield the four elements, dear. But most choose to wield one. Maybe two.”
“Really?” Your mouth parts in surprise. Aha! So there must be something that stops most Solarians from learning to work with more than one or two elements. And if that is true, then what didn’t stop the general?
Namjoon watches your forehead visibly wrinkle from your thoughts. “I was born with an innate connection with water,” he says. “It’s actually been passed down in my family for generations,” he explains. “Though once in a while, we get a random earth medium in our midsts. My older sister, actually—wait sorry, anyways, my point is, whatever you decide to wield other than the element you’re born with is all up to you, dear. Well, that’s if you’re born with an element in the first place. Some aren’t. My great aunt—sorry, you get the point. It’s a choice really, being able to work with our elements. Unless you’re born with one and decide it’s your ride or die. I hope that clears a little bit of your confusion.”
If you have a good grasp of your own character, you’re pretty damn sure you’d venture on to connect with all four of the elements. Judging by how much longing dwells in your heart to go outside, see anything other than the red fabric of the tent… You would’ve strived for everything and anything. Unless…
“Joon, why didn’t you learn to wield fire and air?”
Namjoon pauses because he laughs awkwardly, eyebrows slightly raised and lips curved up in a smile that isn’t as genuine as his others. And for a second, you think you’ve crossed a line. But your healer relaxes and grants you an answer.
“It’s honestly not the kind of explanation you’d hope for,” he says, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “I always thought fire’s dangerous. And sure, I’m a little scared of it. It’s not exactly something I thought I could handle. As for air? I guess it’s just not me. As an earth medium, I like to say I’m pretty grounded, you know? Not all up in the air like the air mediums tend to be,” he laughs. “I should know. My husband’s one of them.”
Ah. Solarians only choose as many elements as they believe they are fit to work with. They seem to know and acknowledge their own limits. It makes you wonder…
What does that say about you?
Are you fit to work with all four? What did your past self decide? Can you connect with more elements than you’ve previously decided? But for the General to have been so unfamiliar with your presence… you must’ve been just a fire medium—a face that blurs in with the crowd. A face that he never bothered to give a second glance. It’s a thought that provokes a fiery challenge within you. Fine. The General will see. You won’t blend in with the crowd this time around. You’re going to make sure he remembers you, for Sooht’s sake, or whatever the fuck was the phrase he favored so much. You’re going to build yourself up again, memories or not.
“Are you asking me all these questions because you want to reconnect with your elements?”
He caught you.
“O-Oh, me?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but Joon had surprised you with his perceptiveness. “Well, I wasn’t even sure if I could connect with multiple elements, Joon. I’ve tried what you told me to do—you know, with imagining each element sitting at the palm of my hand… But I’m still unsure which ones call to me—if any call to me at all.”
Namjoon has this blank look on his face. A look of which confuses you. What is he thinking? Is this bad? Are you supposed to feel something when you imagine the elements?
Finally, Joon speaks. “You shouldn’t worry,” he says. “To be quite frank, I think your number one priority right now is to heal that nasty wound of yours. I’ve told you, Y/N, from the looks of it, you were assigned to fight in the third sector, and soldiers there tend to be our best and brightest. I think you’ll connect with the elements again in no time. Meanwhile, I asked around,” Joon says, eyebrows raising with newfound glee. “But I’m allowed to have you as my assistant the moment you get better!”
Of course. They’ll keep you from fighting until you at least have your elements back. Maybe they won’t even let you fight until you regain your memory. Hm. But being Joon’s assistant doesn’t sound half-bad, and you’ll be safe from the battles for the time being. Besides, you’ll finally get out of your bed and explore the outside world of the red tent.
For a week, whenever someone entered or left the tent, you’d be teased with just a glimpse of the outside; you’ve collected bits and pieces of the exterior world in your mind—vibrant red leaves, amber-colored trees and the soft, autumn glow in the sky. Even with a similar color palette as the world you’re used to in the tent, the realm outside tugs at your heartstrings. It feels real. And warm.
But you know sure as hell only in your fantasies would the outside world be as peaceful as it looks.
⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖
Your legs wobble from their lack of use, but you grit your teeth and step forward. Another steady step. Your body no longer retaliates in pain when you move—a tribute to your healer. Another step forward. A glance at Namjoon. He gives you a supportive nod, and with the flick of his hand, sweeps open the thick, red curtains of the medical tent.
Immediately, you’re inundated with color. Flits of gold-spun sunshine, specks of coral light shining through the reddening leaves, the last of the greenness dissipating along with the progression of autumn. Your eyes widen, and your lips quiver. It’s so beautiful that you can’t configure words to say.
“That’s Alder for you,” Namjoon says.
You blink. “Sorry?”
“Sector Alder,” Namjoon replies, eyes glinting in the aureate sunlight. “Oh dear, I must’ve forgotten to tell you—the most important thing, too!” He smiles sheepishly. “This is Alder, the sector we’re living in right now. The earth mediums generously volunteered their land for the war. Of course, I think when they volunteered—which was decades and decades ago—they didn’t think the fighting would last this long.”
“Oh…” You turn your head to stare at the healer. “So how long has this war been going on, then?”
Namjoon shakes his head. “As long as I can remember, dear. It was there when I was born. It was there when my parents were born. It was there when my grandparents were born. For Sahn’s sake, it was there when my great great great great grandparents were born!”
Over a century, then. The war’s been going on for many, many decades. It’s a little worrisome, how long this war has tainted the lives of thousands. How much longer will it go on? How much longer can everyone else take it? And who will prevail?
Outside this medical tent are hundreds and hundreds of more scarlet-colored tents dotting the lush, verdant grass. The distance between each tent is about the length of another tent itself, and you’re not sure if that grants enough privacy for you—though it’s an upgrade from the medical tent where everyone can see anyone’s business. These tents stretch on forever and ever on the smooth expanse of land, only stopping near taller grass that leads right into a towering coniferous forest. You become lost in your gaze, your eyes settling on the very peaks of these grand trees.
“These are where the soldiers live. Well, of course, not all the soldiers because a lot of them—okay well, most soldiers live out there. You know, the soldiers who are uh, uninjured. Healers live out here too. So really, you’re looking at the living quarters of our army.
“That one over there’s mine,” Namjoon says as he points off to the distance. His tent could be one of thirty in the area, but you smile and nod. “And now that you’re my assistant,”—he says this with a proud look on his face—“you get to live in one of these too!”
“Oh wow… Yeah, that sounds great.” It really does, but you blame the lack of excitement in your words with the new revelation you just had. It just hits you now how real this is. You’re no longer an injured soldier in a medical tent. You’re to actually make a living here, in Solaria, in Alder, as an assistant healer. Somehow. Without your memories or your elements.
“I share my tent with ten other healers, but the General personally saw to it that you get your very own living space—just like our officers! That man has a heart of gold, I tell you. He knows you’ve been through so much.”
Your brows twist. You’re pretty sure that allocating you to a separate tent was an act of precaution and not kindness. But, of course, you could be wrong. Maybe the General does feel bad about hauling you up—injuries and all—to interrogate you. He could’ve easily stuck you in a ten-person tent and forced you to keep up with other Solarians who all have their lives intact. So maybe it is generous of him to grant you your very own space, where you can play catch up and wind down after particularly stressful days.
“Aaaand this is your home!” Namjoon says. “It’s not too close to the medical tent, but close enough so that you won’t have to walk too long to report to duty.” He stops you in front of a smaller red tent, grinning widely as he gestures towards the entrance. “Would you like to take a look inside, dear? You’ll be living here from now on, so you might as well get all cozied up.”
You don’t know what you were expecting. You don’t even know if you’d ever even imagined what the inside of your tent would look like. But your eyes glisten in wonder when you pull back the scarlet curtains to see a dirt floor embellished with an intricate straw mat and a thin, gray futon resting in the corner, draped with a linen blanket. A little unlit oil lamp sits by the other corner of the tent, waiting to be used later tonight. It’s small, quaint, and frankly, minimalistic but it’s now home.
You smile.
“I love it.”
“Well, that’s a relief! And I’m not even sure what we would’ve done if you hated it.”
You stifle a laugh. “I would’ve had to deal with it, I suppose.” Your eyes wander around your tent again. The more you look at it, the more you love it. It’s simple, sure, but it’s cozy at the same time. Besides, this is your very own space—out here, red doesn’t mean pain; it doesn’t even mean blood. It means warmth. And cordiality.
“It looks a lot like you’re bonding with your home already,” Joon laughs, watching your eyes twinkle with thought. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. But our shift starts tomorrow at 5 a.m. You’ll hear the water clock chiming.” Your eyes widen, and Joon pauses, shaking his head. “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t be that bad. Our soldiers usually come back from battle midday, so we won’t have a busy tent. The only thing that’ll be hard tomorrow is waking up,” he says with a smile.
He’s trying to reassure you and it works. Your lips mirror his smile as you nod. “Thanks, Joon. Really.”
The man just shrugs his shoulders. “It’s the least I can do, dear. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Oh.
You can’t either. Because what are you going through, really? Other soldiers suffer from remembering what they can’t help to remember. You… You, however, “suffer” from being unable to recall anything at all. You have the blissful ignorance that so many soldiers covet. So are you really going through worse things than the other soldiers? When you are exempt from battle? When you have your own personal tent? When you don’t know the brutality of the war?
Namjoon leaves you, and you’re finally alone for the first time in weeks. There are too many thoughts piling up in your head. Too many worries and doubts and questions.
So you distract yourself by sinking down on your futon, hands smoothing out the thin blanket on top. You slip off the boots that had kept your feet warm and marvel at the feeling of the scratchy straw mat against your bare skin. Then, in rapid motion, you slip the precious container containing your most prized—and only—possession out of your pocket and hide it behind the futon. It’s better to keep it safe than be sorry later when you’ve lost it.
Once you quadruple-check that the container hasn’t walked off on its own into an unfathomable void, you finally allow yourself to relax. Your eyes begin to wander around your tent again—for a closer look.
There’s not much to it, really. A bed, a lamp, a blanket, a mat. The ceiling is quite low and tapers up into a peak at the very center. Sunlight filters through the fabric of the tent, exuding a warm glow that echoes in the modest space. On the ground, parts where the straw mat doesn’t reach, sits the dirt. But it’s not the crumbly sorts that get between your toes and drives you crazy; it’s the smooth kind, almost like stone. You wonder if any earth mediums modified the ground to be like this, almost unnaturally smooth. You wonder if you had helped in this alleged practice. You could have been an earth medium. You could have lived on these lands, watching sweet Alder morph into a campground for the war. You could have felt for the soldiers fighting for their lives, the officers who dedicated their existence to this war. You could have sneaked into battle—against your loved ones’ wishes—just to quench your thirst as a curious, young soul. You could have—no—you did get hurt. And that explains the reason that the General didn’t recognize you. You weren’t a soldier at all! Just a curious, naïve, earth medium.
No.
No. You’re practically losing your mind. Why are you so curious? Why do you need to know your past? Why are you so—so desperate?
Isn’t this your chance to start over? Isn’t this your chance to live without the burden of memory and consequence and pain and misery? This is your freedom.
But why…
For fuck’s sake, you can’t do this anymore. You stand up, nearly bumping your head on the ceiling of your tent, and you scramble out, hit by the last of the golden sunlight and the beginning of a sweet ochre sunset. When you regain your balance, your eyes land on a small unit of twenty—maybe thirty—soldiers. Fire mediums.
As if you are in a trance, you walk forward.
It’s beautiful. Oh, it’s really beautiful.
Your eyes light up in flames, watching them. Soldiers—people just like you—who kindle burning embers from their fingertips, who ignite the brightest spark from their hands, who have their eyes drenched in fire, too. They practice in pairs, practice as a unit, practice individually. They configure gaseous spheres of fire and exercise their throw. They carefully scrutinize the color of their flames, flickering between ice blue and warm red. Their jubilant fires create shadows that dance merrily along the green grass. They’re friendly with each other, too, chortling and chattering and laughing. Even when officials walk past—and you know they’re officials by the number of notches on the collar of their uniform—they carry on with their happy practice. But the thought allows you to shift from admiring the fiery flames to the soldiers’ attire.
The Solarian uniform is made of cotton, flaunting a sturdy yet flexible frame. Of course, the fabrics are dyed a beautiful shade of deep scarlet, and each soldier wears a sash around their waist, the gold ribbons fluttering in the wind along with the slightest of movements. But only the officers and the General himself wear gilded cords looped around their sash. That and the numbers of notches on their collars are the only things that reveal the rankings of the soldiers. The soldiers in the units have one notch on their collar; officers have two; and only the General has all three. They’re so-subtle indications of authority, and they make you look twice to know who is your direct superior and who is just like you. Of course, the General stands out either way with the golden, circular emblem stitched to the middle of his uniform. And even though he likes to demand that no one bows in his presence, his uniform alone commands respect.
You’ve seen how he is in the medical tent—all business, all authoritative and coarse—yet when a dying soldier calls for him, his countenance softens to the most delicate expression. And with that husky voice of his, he mutters words of affirmation. Words that you’ve heard him say right next to you, when your neighbor had once been a suffering, dying soldier.
“Thank you, Yebon. You can rest now. For Sooht’s sake, you deserve it, soldier. Go meet your wife, and say hello to her for me. You’re okay now. You’ll be okay… You’ve fought for a very long time. Leave the rest to me and the others. Because, because you’ve made grand accomplishments as a Solarian. And—And I’m proud of you, soldier. I’m pr—”
He had only stopped talking when he realized the soldier had passed—peacefully, too. Her eyes were closed and there was this content smile on her lips—maybe because of the General’s kind words. Or maybe because she had finally escaped the war. You’ll never know.
But those words, those kind words had left you nearly speechless. They’re the longest string of words you’ve heard him say so up close to you, which is a surprise in it itself. But the words also carry so much meaning—even to you, though you’re not on your deathbed and you haven’t recently been in a lethal battle. I’m proud of you. Hearing that from anyone, especially from someone as important as your General, would warm your heart, make you almost glad that you’re dying. Because it’ll be the last thing you hear before you drift away from reality forever.
So the memory sears in your head.
“Hey! Hi, hello! Hellooo?”
You jump, hands flying to regain your balance as you look up to see a rather short but looming figure. When you squint and get a better look, you find that the figure is a young woman—one in the Solarian uniform.
She sports a round face with full cheeks, her smooth, raven hair falling straight from her head with a simple clip pinning it behind one ear. Her thin lips are pulled up into the widest grin you’ve ever seen (or can remember seeing), and her short button nose wrinkles at the effort. She’s talking to you. Why? Does she know you from before? Oh, this is exhilarating. Fascinating, even. But the thing that fascinates you the most about her—this already fascinating woman—is her eyes. They’re the deepest, widest, prettiest hooded eyes you’ve ever seen, and gazing into them makes you momentarily forget how to breathe.
But the woman giggles and it brings you back to reality. “Sorry, did I interrupt you with something? I just saw you watching us train and then you started staring off into the distance without blinking.” She giggles so hard that she snorts. “I kind of felt bad because you missed dinner. You were so deep in thought that you didn’t even notice us leaving for food!”
That’s when you see she’s holding a worn-down brass bowl filled with steaming porridge. “Look! I heated it up for you,” she smiles. “It’s pumpkin porridge. Doesn’t it smell nice? They usually give us some sort of gross, green and gray mush—like spinach or mugwort.” She makes a face. “But today’s definitely our lucky day!”
The woman is friendly and talkative, but you’re starting to drift back into your thoughts again. How long had you been just staring? The amber sunset had completely dissipated into darkness, save for the couple hundred twinkling stars, which means you’ve been here for hours. Before you lose yourself to your thoughts again, you smile, light flooding into your eyes.
“Oh, thank you,” you say, taking the warm bowl from the woman. “I don’t even know what to say.” These acts of kindness… Do you know this woman? “You didn’t have to…”
“Of course I had to!” she argues, shifting her stance so that her hand is on her hip. “I can’t just let a healer starve! Healers are the reason I’m still alive. Healers are the reason we’re all still alive!”
Ah, so this implies that this woman doesn’t know you. You’re only ‘a healer’ to her—which is barely true. You’re just in a taupe tunic, feigning to be a healer when you aren’t even sure you’re a water medium.
“You should enjoy your dinner,” she tells you, grinning widely. “I promise us soldiers will work hard. Your diligence in the tents will not go to waste!” She bows to you, her body folding in half and her nose practically touching her knees. When she stands, she’s still got that grin on her face. And before you can say any more words, she spins on her heels and skips—yes, skips—away.
You didn’t even get her name.
The only evidence of your pleasant encounter with this kind soldier is the steaming bowl of pumpkin porridge in your hands. A simple wooden spoon rests against the rim and you pick it up, ladling a little bit of the porridge in it. Your stomach growls. You’d forgotten how hungry you were.
Gently, you spoon the porridge in your mouth and swallow. It’s divine. Warm on your tongue, slightly chewy and sweet. Before you know it, you’ve finished the entire bowl, taking a much-needed gulp of air afterward. Then, you stare at the empty bowl and wooden spoon, unsure where to put them and how to wash them. Debating on the logistics a little, you finally decide to take your bowl back into your tent. It’s getting a little chilly now, and the wind makes you shiver even inside the confines of your new home. You place the bowl near the entrance of the tent so you won’t forget about it in the morning. Quickly thereafter, you snuggle under your linen blanket, the futon cushioning your back. There’s a cylindrical buckwheat pillow that supports your neck just right. You breathe out, stomach full and content.
An hour passes. Then, two. You welcome the silvery chime of the water clock every time. You can’t seem to fall asleep. Maybe it’s because you’re subconsciously worried about tomorrow—or today, according to the time. Or maybe you’re just cold. Turning to the side, you eye the pretty oil lamp in the corner of your room. It’s not much, but some fire could warm you, right?
Gently lifting your covers off of you, you pad over, barefoot, to pick up the cold oil lamp. It’s then when you realize there are no matches. Another reminder that you’re not the fire medium that you should be. Sighing, you place the oil lamp next to your futon for false warmth and snuggle back into your blanket. You lull yourself to sleep, imagining that there’s a flickering flame in that lamp, emitting heat and keeping you safe. In your dream, you simply snap your fingers to light the burned wick at the end of the old oil lamp. Then, you sit back and admire the blaze, a glowing smile playing on your lips.
“That’s our water storage. And that’s where we keep our extra bandages and medical tools. Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to use them any time soon. Those are only for emergencies. Mostly, we use our wielding for everything around here. Er, I mean, you can still help with the um, smaller things. Like… Like sponging down our soldiers and rebandaging their wounds!”
You gnaw at your lip. It’s only your first day in the tent but you’re already inundated with things to learn. It’s worse that one mess up can affect someone’s life. A mistake in the medical tent can send someone spiraling straight to their grave. You shudder. But in contrast to your thoughts: “I can do it, Joon,” you say with a sort of firmness that surprises you. I think.
Namjoon smiles, giving you two giant thumbs up. “It’s pretty early so most of our patients are sleeping, anyway. If any of them wake up and call for someone, you can tend to them. Call me if they ask for something you don’t know how to do.”
He’s going to let you alone in the medical tent just like that? How does he know you’ll do a good job? How does he know you won’t fuck up and accidentally hurt someone? How does he trust you at all?
“So? Any questions, my dear soldier?” he asks. Then, he corrects himself. “Well, I guess you’re a healer now for the time being though. Your uniform looks good on you, you know. This is only a temporary job, anyway. You’ll be fine. But if you do have any questions, I’m always open to answering them.”
Oh but you have too many questions. And the first one that comes out of you happens to be the most insignificant one of all. “Um, where do I put this?”
Namjoon laughs when he sees you holding up your bowl and wooden spoon from last night. “Here, I can take that,” he says. “Usually, us healers will wash our dishes with our wielding, but soldiers who aren’t also water mediums will just plop their bowls into one of the water barrels outside. You’ll see them around the fires.”
“Ah, right. Thank you,” you say. “I’ll do that next time.”
“I’m really glad you found dinner, though. I was so busy I couldn’t bring you any, even though I totally planned to. But I guess it all worked out in the end. The pumpkin porridge was good, wasn’t it? I actually prefer the mugwort one they serve all the time. Partly because I’m the one who cultivates them. Oh dear, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Anyway, do you have more questions?”
Before you can say anything else—maybe even ask if you can have a few matches if the supplies permit—someone calls for Namjoon.
“Hey, Joon, General said he wanted at least fifty cots cleared out by mid-morning. Which soldiers are healthy enough for release?”
“Uh oh,” Joon tells you. “Work’s already starting for me. Hang around tight and when a soldier calls for you, talk to them. If they ask you for Incha, tell them we’re working on it and we’ll have it ready by the afternoon.”
He’s off before you can even ask what Incha is. And after that, it’s all a blur. Soldiers begin to wake up one by one in their cots, all asking for this mysterious ‘Incha.’ Each time, you relay the message that Joon had told you and watch as their hopeful faces fall. But before you can crumble at their disappointment, there’s another soldier calling for your assistance.
There’s barely a second to rest. Barely a moment to think.
For days on end, you’re constantly on the tips of your toes, ready to spring into action when anyone flags you over. And while you’re not qualified enough to heal, or really do anything that a real Solarian healer does, you can offer your emotional support. Mostly, you pacify the soldiers who begin to wail the moment they wake up, their nightmares threatening to engulf them whole. You whisper sweet affirmations in their ear and offer them a cup of Incha, which they down immediately and feel much better after. Other times, when the pain gets too bad and the screams get too loud, you have to call for another healer.
Slowly, you learn your place in the tent, and things begin to turn like clockwork. And the more well-acquainted you become with being an assistant healer, the more responsibilities you’re given. Two weeks in, you become in charge of changing the soldiers’ bandages. Three weeks in, you’re allowed to help during the busiest hours in the largest medical tent on the grounds. That very night, you lie awake in bed, unable to sleep. The horrors you’d witnessed remain in your mind, haunting and tormenting you.
The Darlaeans don’t treat us as humans, the General had told you one full moon ago. People would do anything to win. Darlaeans would do anything to win.
You’ve seen soldiers with their limbs completely seared off—and that’s considered to be a “lucky” injury. Some soldiers come in vomiting their body’s entire contents of blood, until they’re delirious from blood loss and barely alive. Others come drenched in their own blood, which hardens around their nose and mouth like a scab, slowly suffocating them to death. Most come into the tent unconscious. The ones who are awake are usually screaming in pain.
You can’t get their wide, bloodshot eyes out of your head.
By the time your shifts end, your uniform is splattered with blood that isn’t yours. You always retreat back to your tent, sluggish but well-awake. Joon often sends you back with a cup of warm Incha—which you learn is a healing tea made specially by water mediums from a plethora of mixed roots and herbs. Sipping the acerbic tea to keep yourself warm in your cold tent, you take time for yourself, trying to forget what had happened in the daytime. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. On especially bad days, you escape the solitude of your tent and watch the soldiers train, their scarlet flames dancing freely in the silver moonlight. Fire always brings you peace, and you watch them train until you feel the fatigue settling in your mind. So you go to bed, wake up and do everything over again.
There are days when you never even get back to your tent. Those are the days when no one gets to sleep—not you, nor the healers, nor the General himself. You don’t let a second waste. You’d once fought for this nation; you’d gotten injured and you’d been healed. This is how you honor the ones who are still fighting.
And unbeknownst to you, the General notices your hard work. He sees you, sweat dripping down your forehead, your sleeves rolled all the way up to your upper arm, your hair tied straight back and out of your face. He sees you, gently bandaging up injured soldiers, talking to them, solacing them, showing them kindness with a gentle smile on your face. He sees you working with the other healers in beautiful harmony. The General can’t help but raise his eyebrows. But before you can turn and meet his gaze, he marches out of the tent. He needs to be somewhere else, anyway.
Your days blend in together. It’s not necessarily a great thing. Being in the medical tent is suffocating. In order to heal others, you must sacrifice your own comfort and health. And while you are precise and meticulous (as Namjoon compliments), you tend to panic when you see someone undergoing excruciating agony (as Namjoon also notices). It makes you as vulnerable to pain as any soldier on the battlefield is.
“This empathy of yours is draining you, isn’t it?” Namjoon says. “But then again, I haven’t even gotten used to the brutality of the Darlaeans’ attacks, either. I think they’re getting worse these days. It wasn’t like this before, but the tent’s always crowded.”
He’s right. You notice that the medical tent has gotten progressively busier. All the more suffocating it is, too. Sometimes, you have to step out just to breathe.
“I don’t know how you do it, Joon,” you say. “I just feel so… so out of control in there.”
He pats your back. “I would tell you that you’ll get used to it, but you won’t.”
Thanks.
“But,” he continues, “but we learn to suck it up. We’re not the ones out there risking our lives for Solaria. We’re the ones who feel the pain and the glory vicariously through our soldiers. We’re here to help them, no matter how challenging it may be for us. Whatever we face in there…” he trails off. “Whatever we face in that tent, you have to know it’s probably a thousand times worse on the battlefield.”
You nod. “Of course…” You bring the brass cup full of Incha to your lips and you take a small sip before sighing out. “Is the General empathetic?”
Namjoon cocks his head at your sudden question. “Is he now?” he laughs. “Well, I think he definitely is. I think you have to be. Well, everyone should be empathetic. But to be a leader like that, commanding hundreds of thousands of soldiers… he needs to connect to his soldiers somehow. If not by status then by acting human and humane. Why do you ask, dear?”
You shrug your shoulders, staring off into the distance where units of soldiers are practicing as the sun sets over the horizon. “Just curious.”
You’re always curious, and you’ll never get that scene out of your head: the General, sitting alone on a cot, hands in his face, elbows resting against his knees, back hunched miserably. His black hair is matted with what looks like blood. His uniform is sullied, but he doesn’t care. A soldier had been lying on that same cot just a few minutes ago. But they had to carry him off. Probably to a graveyard somewhere.
It hurt you then to see it, and it hurts you now to even think about it. To be in charge of so many lives and then to have so many of them die… You can’t imagine it. If the General really is that empathetic as Namjoon says, you feel sorry for him. If you were in his position, you would’ve wished to be the most cold-hearted bastard possible. It’d be easier to deal with the deaths.
“I can practically hear you think,” Joon laughs. “You know, you bite at your lip a lot when you think hard? That’s how I know you’re lost in thought right now.”
You hadn’t even known about that habit of yours. It makes you wonder how often you’d subconsciously done it for even a busy man like Namjoon to notice. “I just don’t find it fair that the Darlaeans can treat us like this… and we, what do we do?”
“I’m sure we do our fair share of damage,” Namjoon says. He sips his tea, humming as the bitter taste tinges his tongue. “But I’m not sure we’re as cruel as they are.”
“I don’t understand… it’s not fair.”
If it goes on like this, Solaria’s going to lose the war.
Namjoon turns to you, his eyebrows raised but a soft, melancholy look brimming in his eyes. “Of course it’s not. You never win by fighting fair.”
“Then we need a new strategy!” you exclaim. “We need to try something new. We can’t just let our soldiers die out in mass numbers and stand here doing nothing.”
“But we’re not doing nothing, dear,” Namjoon says. He puts a warm hand on your shoulder. “We haven’t surrendered. We’re still fighting.”
Maybe Joon doesn’t get it. Fighting isn’t a solution. It’s a last-ditch resort when nothing else works. A new strategy… That’s what the Solarians need.
You can almost envision the battlefield, the soldiers crying out as they march forward, some falling and getting back up, others staying on the ground. Dead. You can envision the fire, the desperate flames that shoot out of the soldiers’ fingertips. But it’s almost no use against the Darlaean’s magic. Whatever they’re doing is severing the Solarians’ limbs, discerping their arms and legs—even occasionally beheading them. You’ve seen the headless bodies being carried back from the fields. You’ve seen the soldiers bow in respect over the corpses, heads low and faces grim. You’ve seen the General, face so dark he looked like death himself, staring intently at the bodies—a tragedy so grievous that he can barely look away. No. There has to be a better way.
“Fire…”
“Sorry?” Joon says. He turns to you, a curious look on his face.
“Fire,” you say again, more resolutely. Where are you going with this? No matter. You let your train of thought take the reigns. “Our soldiers are all fire mediums.”
“Yes, dear, they are…” Joon looks puzzled, and frankly, he looks worried. The man is about ten seconds away from checking your temperature when you speak again.
“But some are not…”
“Yes…?”
“Yet the only training they do is with their fire wielding,” you say, carefully, slowly. “Why?”
Namjoon cocks his head. “Because… Well, because fire is the only element we use in war.”
“But why?”
Namjoon sighs. “It’s always been like this, dear. As long as I can remember, at least. Fire does the most damage. Fire’s always the best. Fire does this and that. What would we do with an air or earth medium in battle? I can’t imagine myself using my earth wielding to fight.”
“Oh.”
It’s all you can really say. And even back in your cold tent that night, shivering under the covers, his words echo in your ears. It’s always been like this. Fire does the most damage.
Does it really?
Fire’s always the best.
Who says? And this coming from someone who doesn’t wield fire? Is there an elemental hierarchy you’re completely unaware of?
These questions simmer in your head for another two weeks.
It’s always been like this.
But what does that matter? It’s been like this and the Solarians are seemingly losing the war. So how effective is this strategy, anyway? Isn’t it time to try something new?
You’re not an elemental connoisseur. Hell, you’ve lost your ability to wield and severed all connections with your elements. But…
When you think the General isn’t paying attention, you watch him. He’s the only officer you know, so if you’re trying to get your ideas across to someone, isn’t he the best person to consult?
The General is always busy, however. He comes immediately back from battle and heals along with the healers. Sometimes, he’s present in the tent before even you are, always barking orders with his hands clasped behind his slightly hunched back—even at the asscrack of dawn. His posture is hell, that man’s. But everything that he does makes you want to fear him, respect him, admire him.
Sometimes you wonder if he ever gets any rest. Or if he even needs rest at all.
And besides, who are you to spark up a conversation with him? He has no reason to give you his time, much less feel obligated to listen to you. The General likely hates you. You, with your mysterious past. You, who somehow weaseled your way into the heart of Solaria’s campground and become the most underqualified healer in the medical tents. At least, these are what you think he thinks of you.
You have no way of knowing the truth.
Unless…
Your lips have begun to crack under the pressure of your teeth. But you can’t stop. Not when there’s no other way to release your inner turmoils and stress. Chewing on your bottom lip, you peek into the main medical tent—where the most severe cases are shipped off to—exactly where the General spends a large chunk of his time. You have a rather rough idea of how the General rotates in the campground, and it makes it easier for you to track him down. If he isn’t in battle, he’s healing in one of the many stationed medical tents. If he’s not healing, he’s leading officer meetings in the central tent, probably formulating battle plans and strategies for the next week. If he’s not holding officer meetings, he’s helping the soldiers train. If he’s not helping the soldiers train, he’s running errands, riding off to Elu every now and then on a silvery horse. To be frank, the General has quite the busy schedule. And come to think of it, you’ve never actually seen this man eat… or sleep.
You’re not sure how sustainable his way of living is, but you are sure that his diligence makes him an excellent leader.
“What in Sooht’s name are you doing?”
You whirl around at the ice-cold voice, the drapes of the tent falling down and obscuring your view inside—not that you need it anymore. You found the person you’re looking for outside.
“General,” you say, standing up a little straighter and making sure you’re tilting up your chin in an aura of confidence and autonomy. He doesn’t want people to bow in his presence and you’ll respect that—all the while making it seem like you’re not completely intimidated by this man.
“Yes, I know I’m the General of the Army.” His black eyes narrow. “Well? I asked you a question, soldier.”
Your mind scrambles to come up with an answer. “I was looking for you… sir,” you say, attempting to match his icy stare. “I wasn’t sure if you heard. I’m not a soldier anymore. I’m a healer, now. An assistant one, at least.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows raise, but it’s the only indication of surprise—or of any emotion, really. “However, soldier—Y/N—was it? Once a soldier in my army, always a soldier. An inauthentic platitude, yes, but we like to honor accomplishments in this place.”
It surprises you. He’s acknowledging your past here in Solaria. And… he remembered your name—after all these weeks! Quite impressive for such a busy man.
“Now, pray tell, soldier, you were looking for me. Why?”
Oh no.
He’d just expressed a sort of neutral alliance between the two of you—one where he recognized your past as his soldier and didn’t call you out as a spy—but you’re going to have to ruin it all because of your stupid revelation.
“I was just… I was thinking.”
“I would be concerned if you didn’t, soldier. After all, you do have a brain to do just that.”
“But—But it was… I mean,” you sigh. Gathering the last of your wits, you clear your throat and straighten your back. And with a newly found confidence, you say, loudly and clearly: “I wanted to propose, no, suggest a change, sir.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “A change?”
The way he says it—amused—makes you want to deflate and shrink back into a corner. Will he not take you seriously? Are you even allowed to suggest a change to the General of the Army? But he makes an effort to be approachable to his soldiers, and the fact that he’s talking to you right now, proves it. Maybe it’s worth taking a leap of faith.
“Yes, sir, a change. I was thinking, to maximize our efforts in the war, we begin to integrate other mediums in the soldiers’ training.”
“Meaning?”
“We add air and earth mediums to the mix, sir. The water mediums can stay on the campgrounds for healing, but I think we can benefit from having soldiers train in more areas than just fire. If the Darlaeans are fighting inhumanely, we have to fight back, and I think the best way to do that is to control the terrain we’re on. Air changes the weather, earth changes the battleground. I think it would be the perfect way to stun the Darlaeans, at least for a little while.” You pause, catching your breath, carefully watching the General’s countenance. But his expression is emotionless, and you have no idea what he’s thinking, though you can guess. Despite his inner thoughts (definitely irritated at you), you try again. “I’ve seen what happens in the medical tents, sir, and I think we’re—no, I fear we’re losing the war. If we just try to use what we have to better your army…”
The General scoffs.
You freeze.
“I appreciate your concern, but I know how to command my own army.”
“But—”
“You don’t remember being in battle, soldier. You can’t possibly comprehend how face-paced, how blood-hungry everyone is. We use fire mediums for many reasons—expenses, efficiency and effectiveness. These are factors that the officers and I have discussed thousands of times and over. The world does not revolve around the medical tent, soldier.”
“But using earth and air mediums—the Darlaeans wouldn’t be prepared for it, sir,” you say—plead—though hoping you don’t sound too desperate. “Because there are ways to extinguish fire. I know it’s always been like this. But we have to acknowledge… it has its limits and—”
“That’s enough.” He pauses and an uncomfortable tension creeps into the air. His dark eyes seem to test you, not exactly angry but clearly vexed. Then, the General sighs. “The nerve of you to offer something so bold and brash.”
His words stun you into silence, and his disappointed stare stills your heart. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know of his irritation. One more icy look is thrown your way and the General is pushing past you, entering the medical tent. You watch him disappear behind the fluttering curtains, your legs threatening to give out.
You should’ve said something more. Given him statistics, catered to his emotions. Done something to get him to listen to you. You should’ve been more persistent.
No.
Who are you to question the General? He’s been in charge for who knows how long. And you? You don’t remember anything before a circa ago.
So that’s it, then.
You’ve humiliated yourself beyond comparison, and there’s probably no going back from it. The General will always see you as some naïve, young soldier who dared to question his orders.
For Sooht’s sake, you’ve fucked up.
The General paces back and forth in his tent. As usual, his posture is indecent, back hunched and shoulders slouched. A deep frown etches itself on his forehead.
Who in Sooht’s name are you to suggest such an outlandish, untowardly pivotal change in his army?
Losing the war.
He scoffs. How dare you waltz in and suggest such a heinous, untrue thing?
There are ways to extinguish fire.
Well, there are just as many ways to block Darlaean spells.
Air changes the weather. Earth changes the battleground.
Will changing these seemingly infinitesimal factors really tilt the odds in favor of his nation?
But the soldiers have been composed of fire mediums for as long as he can recall.
“What in Sooht’s name are you doing, Yoongi???”
“Look, mama! I made a cactus fruit grow!”
He’d been forbidden to go outside for a week after that, locked in his room, forced to practice his fire wielding. It’s unproductive to connect with all four of the elements—at least, that’s what his mother and father told him a thousand times over.
“Earth will not save you in battle, son. Air will do nothing against the Darlaean’s power. If you want to survive… if you want to bring glory to Solaria, you hone your fire wielding.”
And he’d listened.
But it’s not his fault he finds solace in nature. The warm, blazing flames of a hearth light a spark inside his heart, but so does the golden sand underneath his bare feet, the crisp breeze on a cold summer night, the sparkling oasis hidden between the undulating dunes of Aithne. It’s not his fault that he connected with other elements. Nor is it his fault that the burden of the military tumbled onto his shoulders.
“On these grounds, we fight with fire!”
Roars of cheering soldiers. Crowds of proud men and women.
He remembers it so clearly. He’d been so young then. But even then, his eyes had always been narrowed with suspicion and his posture had been absolutely shitty.
“Make your way for the General, herself!”
“Guess what?” His brother had nudged his shoulder. “That’s gonna be our sister, soon. You know, after Mother dies.”
He’d been horrified.
“If you hadn’t spent all that time messing around with the other elements, you could’ve surpassed her in training.”
His brother had meant well. He was younger, after all—still inexperienced but with a heart full of fervent ambition.
“I bet in a few years I can beat you.” He’d said it with a grin on his face. “And, I bet I’ll grow taller, too. How about that, Brother?”
He’d scowled, then. But thinking back now, the moment makes him smile. His brother had grown taller, all right, and he wouldn’t shut up about it, either.
His brother had also been the General at one point.
The thought has him collapsing in his chair. The General massages his head, brows furrowing in deep contemplation. What was the point of these memories, anyway? They come back to haunt him when he needs them the least.
Maybe losing your memory gave you a gargantuan amount of audacity. There’s nothing to hold you back, after all. No past. No parents. No siblings.
He rests his closed fist on his desk, gazing at the stack of papers waiting to be filled out and filed. So much to do, so much to do. Can his army really afford a change right now?
As if to answer his question, a light breeze sweeps into his tent, ruffling his hair and playing with the ends of the papers. He sighs and stands.
The wind whispers its approval.
“General! That’s fucking preposterous and you know it!”
There are murmurs of doubt that fill the tent of the 17 officers that command the Solarian Army.
The General holds up his hand. Silence.
“Air changes the weather. Earth changes the battleground. It’s really that simple,” he tells his officers. Most of them have their mouths agape, eyes wide and fists shaking. “Lieutenant Kang, I hope you can understand. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Murmurs fill the tent once more as all but one of his officers exit, all looking equally shaken and confused. It’s not very often something changes in the Solarian military. It’s also not very often that their General makes non-negotiable demands.
Lieutenant Kang stays, a deep frown settling between her thick brows. “Yoongi, what in flaming hell’s gotten into you?” she asks the moment the tent is empty save for the two leaders of war. “This—This is so sudden! You didn’t even think to tell me about this beforehand? You sprung this on me along with the rest of them! How could you think that using air and earth mediums in battle would be a good idea? They’re going to get killed out there. The air mediums I know wouldn’t dare hurt a fly! And earth mediums! I should know, I am one! What am I going to do with it in battle? Throw sand at the Darlaeans and hope they start crying? Air and earth mediums don’t have it in them, Yoongi. We’re sending them to their graves. And think about it. Are we going to draft new soldiers now? Are we going to tell the people that we want air and earth mediums too? There’s going to be an uproar. And what about the cost of training new mediums? It just doesn’t make sense. I know you didn’t come up with this on your own, Yoongi. You’re one of the most consistent people I know.”
Yoongi sighs.
“You’re really going to follow through with this?” his lieutenant asks. “We’ve already lost so many lives…”
“A soldier gave me the idea. Y/N,” he admits. “It wasn’t mine. But I figured once in a while, a little change is fine.”
“Y/—Y/N? Who?” his lieutenant says, her face contorting in confusion. “For Sahn’s sake, never mind that. Listen, Yoongi, it doesn’t matter. You’re telling me that you’re going to use an unranked soldier’s idea under the false pretense that change always leads to better things?”
“Yes.”
“Yoongi, you’re fucking insane.”
“Doyun, insanity’s the only thing keeping me alive right now.” And it’s true. If he wasn’t insane, he would’ve given up, gotten killed in battle ages ago. He would’ve caved in from the pressure and responsibility suddenly forced onto his shoulders. He survives because he’s insane. “Y/N proposed a change and I’m taking it. Who says air and earth can’t be as effective as fire?”
“Because they don’t kill!” Doyun yells.
“They won’t need to,” he replies. “As I’ve said, air changes the weather, earth changes the battleground. We’ll use them as supporting soldiers. In fact, we won’t have to draft more Solarians, either. You’re an earth medium yourself, aren’t you? Many of our soldiers are connected to more than one element. Those who are well-acquainted with air and earth will serve as supporting soldiers in a low-stakes battle in the first and fifth sectors. A shift in surroundings will surely upset the Darlaean’s momentum. It might give us a chance, Doyun.”
“Yoongi…”
“Lead the earth mediums in the first sector, Doyun. I’ll lead the air mediums in the fifth.”
“Is that an order… General?” Yoongi’s lieutenant looks tired—worn out from posing so many counterarguments along with leading so many battles. But an amused smile plays on her lips. He rarely ever orders her to do anything. He doesn’t have to. They’re usually on the same page.
“If it isn’t an order, will you disregard it, Lieutenant?”
“No,” she replies. “You’ve kept me alive this long. I’ll trust you—and that random soldier you decided to listen to.”
“Good.” He smiles. “There isn’t much time to train, but most of us have been wielding our elements for a majority of our lives. I think it might just work. We’ll figure out the logistics.”
Doyun shakes her head, carding her fingers through her pixie-cut hair. “If this actually works, you can fucking promote that soldier in my place.”
Yoongi snorts. “I wouldn’t give you up for the world, Lieutenant Kang.”
A win. An actual win. And a solid one, too. The word travels quickly—even before the victorious soldiers reach the campground.
“Remember that absurd idea the General decided to implement? Yeah, it fucking worked!”
“How? The Darlaeans didn’t wipe the air and earth mediums out???”
“Barely any casualties, I heard!”
“They’re first and fifth sector battles, though. We need to win bigger ones to tip the scale.”
“But they’re wins nevertheless. We haven’t won in a magnitude like that in a long time, you know,” Namjoon speaks up. It silences the other gossiping healers and turns the heads of the others who hadn’t been paying attention before. “It’s a victory worth celebrating!” Your friend pumps his fist in the air and others follow suit. Soon, the whole medical tent is cheering, and injured soldiers finally look to the ceiling with happy tears and hope brimming in their eyes.
“Aw, I wish they let me fight in those battles,” your patient sulks, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m a great air medium! Just because of this stupid head injury, they’re not even letting me train!”
She’s the pumpkin porridge soldier. The one who had so kindly offered you dinner and her bubbling company. It had been a few days ago when she was marched into this tent (against her will). She’d met your gaze immediately (recognized you just as quickly) and demanded that you be her healer. No one denied her.
“Hana, your injury could get worse from rigorous physical activity,” you remind her, sniffling to stop your runny nose. “It’s a good thing that you didn’t go.” You hand her a cup of Incha. “You should drink up. The faster you heal, the faster you can get back to training.”
The woman snorts. Then, to your surprise, she pushes the cup towards you. “To be honest, Y/N, you sound a lot sicker than I do. Sore throat, runny nose…” she trails off. “Maybe you should drink the Incha.”
“Not while I’m on duty!” you laugh. “This is for you, not me.”
“Oh, really?” Hana raises a challenging brow.
A light-hearted argument follows. One in which Namjoon somehow gets involved, sees your sick state and orders you to go back to your tent.
“I told you so!” Hana yells as you shake your head, trudging out of the medical tent with a hand on your hot forehead. “I’m gonna get better than you first and bring you some pumpkin porridge!”
You smile.
Hana had forced a cup of Incha tea in your hands and wrapped one of her blankets around you. The taken cared for becomes the carer. How the tables have turned. Namjoon had assessed your temperature with his wielding and concluded that you’re to take a few days off from the medical tent. Whatever cold you have might worsen the conditions of the injured.
So, against your will, you’re kicked out of the medical tent.
The autumn breeze is chilly, and when you breathe out, you can see the silvery wisps of your breath clouding up from your lips. You shiver, wrapping the blanket tighter around your frame with one hand, while keeping the warm cup close to your chest.
A solid win.
All thanks to your idea! Despite his icy looks and sharp words, the General had taken your suggestion to account. It warms you a little to think of the impact you’ve made in the Solarian Army—all without having to fight, too. The General’s bound to remember you now.
You can finally be at peace.
“Retiring for the evening?”
You jump at the familiar, soft voice. It comes from in front of you, and when you look up, you see him, the General, right in your path. He looks absolutely regal. But then again, when does he not? His black hair is tousled—a combination of mud and dirt. His uniform is torn at the edges, and there’s a hint of blood across a shallow laceration on his upper arm. These are all the remnants of a battle. It’s his black eyes, however, that make him look so imperial. They narrow as he looks over your face, lingering near your red nose and pausing where your hands conjoin around your cup of Incha.
The General raises his eyebrows. “You look sick.”
“So I’ve been told,” you say with a shrug. “I feel fine, but I’m being sent back to my tent.”
“Well, I won’t stop you from getting proper rest,” he says, hands resting behind his back. He cocks his head slightly, and now, he has this look on his face that you can’t quite discern. It looks like a smile—at least—you hope he’s smiling. But it’s mixed with curiosity, a little bit of admiration and… disbelief?
“Am I… Am I dismissed?” You have to ask. The two of you had been having quite the staring contest—with you trying to understand his expression and him lost in thought.
The General smiles. And this time, it’s genuine and it’s happy. “I don’t know how you did it, soldier.” He shakes his head. There it is again. The disbelief. But it relieves you to know that it’s the good kind. “Your brilliant idea led us to victory. A small victory, yes, but a victory nevertheless.” His onyx eyes glint in the afternoon sunlight. “Every single one of my officers knows your name. I speak for all of them when I say we are grateful.”
“Then I guess you’re welcome.” You smile along with him. So, you’ve finally made your mark around here. Suddenly, whoever you were before you lost your memories doesn’t feel as important anymore. What could surpass this moment right now?
The General gives you a slight nod of acknowledgment before he begins to walk away without another word. You watch him go, eyes focusing on the back of his head and wondering if you’ll ever have more encounters with this peculiar man. How can the General of the Army be so humble? You would think all that power would get to his head. But he’d listened to you. You’re nothing in the vast, talented Solarian Army; yet, he’d given you a chance.
You take a sip of your Incha, the warm, bitter liquid slipping down your throat and pooling in your belly. It doesn’t taste very good, but the feeling it elicits is enough to keep drinking. Your eyes wander to stare at the sun, still high in the sky, but the clouds have settled in and muted the bright light. It’s going to get cold again.
Maybe you should have asked Joon for some matches. The oil lamp in your tent has gone cold due to disuse, and you often wonder how warm you’d be if you could remember how to spark a flame from your fingertips. Chewing on your lip, you contemplate walking back to the medical tent. Except… what if there is someone more in need of an extra bundle of matches?
You’re barely a healer, much less a soldier. And this is war. There are limited supplies. If they never provided you with matches, it might just mean that there aren’t enough to go around. You nod resolutely. You’ll just have to deal with it. You have this cup of Incha, anyways, and another blanket wrapped around you. It’s more than enough.
“Soldier!”
Your head whips around at the sound. There, jogging towards you, is a soldier who looks vaguely familiar. Her sharp jaw, almond-shaped eyes and characteristic nose beg for a spark in your memory. Your heart leaps in your chest. Is she someone from your past? Someone you know from before?
“Y/N, right?”
Your heart falls. And once you get a better look at this soldier who had stopped straight in front of you, you notice the two notches on her uniform. Your eyes widen as you immediately drop to a bow. “Yes, sir. I am.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she grins, jutting out her hand. Tentatively, you reach out to shake it. “I’m Lieutenant Kang, the General’s right-hand-soldier, if I do say so myself.”
The Lieutenant??? Why is she talking to you? To congratulate you? To chastise you for going over her head and talking to the General?
“It’s an honor, Lieutenant,” you manage to say in your choked, slightly hoarse voice. Does she enforce respect? Or is she as laidback as the General? You hope your bow was sufficient enough to show your regard.
“Oh, no, the honor is all mine,” the Lieutenant laughs. “Listen, you did well, soldier. I’m sorry to say that I misjudged you initially. I was overwhelmingly against your idea, but look how it turned out.”
Your jaw falls open when the Lieutenant drops into a deep bow. “You have my respect, Y/N.”
“L-Lieutenant!”
“Please, call me Doyun.”
You didn’t think it’d be possible for your jaw to hang any lower.
“If Yoongi listened to me and I kept my word, you would’ve been promoted to my position,” she says with an amused smile on her face. “You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for a win. Turns out, waiting wasn’t the answer. Doing something, was.”
Yoongi… Is that the General’s name? Yoongi. Why are you repeating it in your head?
Either way, this, this is the feeling of redemption, and it makes you want to soar in the sky.
“Losing your memories must have put a toll on you,” she says. “But thank you for not giving up. And thank you for somehow getting into Yoongi’s head. He’s stubborn as a mule, which isn’t as stubborn enough as I am, but it’s pretty close. I really don’t know how you did it, Y/N. To think that my earth wielding could come into use on a battlefield! You have my respect, soldier. I’ve been proven wrong by you, and I’m rarely ever wrong.”
So this is why others call this the land of nature and nurtured. Harmony, kindness and unity are emphasized even in a place as orderly as the army. The General and Lieutenant personally thanking a soldier for offering a small idea that just happened to work? You can’t imagine the ruthless Darlaeans doing that in their army. For Sooht’s sake, they sear off the limbs of enemy soldiers with no mercy or remorse. It makes you realize you’re in the right place. You’re in the place that will allow you to pursue your ambitions.
And who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to reconnect with your elements now. Maybe you’ll get that second notch on your uniform. Maybe, one day, you’ll work alongside the General and the Lieutenant. And maybe, you’ll be calling the General by his first name, too.
Still dazed from the encounters with your superiors, you stumble into your tent, eyes glossy and mouth set to a permanent smile.
But that’s when you see it:
An ample bundle of matches bound together with a dried, brown root.
A warmth ignites inside of you, glowing in your chest and spreading out to other areas of your body.
The General.
No, it could have been anyone. Joon, Hana (though less feasible), the Lieutenant, maybe. But she hadn’t known you were sick, and she walked away from you. The General had known. He’d seen you. And when he had walked away, he’d walked in the direction of your tent.
You pick up the matches, quickly plucking one from the group and striking it against your cup. It lights immediately and emits the prettiest, amber flame you’ve ever seen. It almost makes you feel like you made it yourself.
The General did it.
Or maybe that’s just what you want to think. Your fantasies do get ahead of you, after all.
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⨰ a/n: hana and doyun have stolen my heart LMAO. the next chapter is also juicy! 👀 i hope 2022 has been treating you well so far <3 stay healthy and safe out there! :)
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.
⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15
⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au
⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of blood and (one) brief mention of vomit, (very) minor character deaths, injuries (broken ribs & open wounds/stitches)
⨰ wordcount: 7.5k
⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)
⨰ a/n: thank you to the lovely @the-berry-named-ari for taking the time to beta-read!! i appreciate you!
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⧖⧗Circa Sapph⧗⧖
Red. You see red. It’s the first thing you see when your eyes peel open slowly—as if they’ve been sealed shut for hundreds of years. Red. Labored breaths escape your quivering lips, your heart beating frantically in your chest. Red. It ripples in your vision, hues deepening in color—almost sinisterly, almost like it’s mocking you. Red. It swallows your sight, strangles your throat, swamps your senses. Red. Like blood.
Suddenly you don’t think you can breathe.
You gasp, sitting up, your fingers ghosting around your neck. Immediately, a sharp abdominal pain pervades your entire body, cutting through your insides. Tears begin to prick your vision. It hurts. Something feels broken, and a newfound throbbing finds its way into your head. You wince, biting your lip to muffle a scream. Then, you freeze.
Red. It encompasses your vision again.
The air is hot and heavy, carrying the weight of death in its feeble arms. There are immobilized soldiers bundled up in white bandages seeping with crimson blood, desperate soldiers who are wailing, pointing up to the billowing red canopy of the tent and cursing or praying—you can’t tell which; and there are many soldiers who have ceased all sort of movement. You catch glimpses of their stone-cold eyes before someone drapes a white blanket over their still-warm corpses. Blood stains the dirt in ugly blots of color. And you watch, frozen, as men and women in scarlet uniforms cry for their families, their friends, their lovers.
Your fingers tangle around a chain around your neck, and it takes a lot longer for you to notice that it is not a restraining cuff but a dainty necklace with a pendant hanging from the middle. A diamond. The white jewel sparkles against your soot-covered skin, twinkling despite the blood and the gore. Something about it brings you infinitesimal comfort but it’s comfort nevertheless.
When you finally look down at your own body, you see a frail figure—bruised and battered—but in a much better state than the others. Your bandages have been freshly changed, and though you’re in pain, you feel fully cognizant enough to think: what the hell happened? How long have you been here? Where the hell are you? Asking questions is at least a step in the right direction. You stare at the red fabric of your uniform, head whirling with thousands and thousands of different theories and ideas. But in the end, the thoughts diverge to one critical conclusion: you are a soldier.
A soldier. You must be fighting for something, then. Whether it may be your honor, your nation or your loved ones, you must be a soldier for something’s sake. But it’s quite laughable. Fighting for a nation you can’t even recall. Even worse, your enemy’s face is a blank slate in your mind. How can you fight against people you don’t know at all? How can you let their blood spill on your hands when you can’t remember how they’ve wronged you and your nation? Or are you getting too ahead of yourself? What if none of your thoughts are true? How can you be sure of anything?—you can’t—not when you can’t even recall a single name other than yours.
But the more you try to desperately sift through your memories, the more you realize that you have none. Your head begins to throb again, and you clutch your necklace for moral support, hanging onto it as if it were your lifeline (and you’ll treat it that way until you figure out what the hell is going on). It doesn’t make sense. How are you a stranger in your own body?
“Your name, dear soldier?”
The deep, dulcet voice startles you nonetheless, making you shift in your cot—your body retaliates in stinging pain and you grunt, hands pressing immediately against your side.
“Oh dear, you’ve got a couple of broken ribs, so try not to press too hard on your abdomen, all right?” the voice speaks again. But this time, you catch the face of the owner: a kind-looking middle-aged man with a gentle smile on his lips. He dons a loose, taupe-colored uniform, the cotton fabric falling down over his knees and grazing his shins. His sleeves have been rolled up to battle the insufferable heat of the tent, and beads of sweat have collected on his forehead, which he quickly wipes away with the back of his surprisingly soft-looking hands. He then folds his hands delicately over each other and gazes at you with an amiable yet inquisitive look on his face. As if he’s waiting for you to reply to something he’d said.
Oh. Embarrassment washes over you when you realize he had asked you a question. Your name, dear soldier? he’d said. Huh. So you are a soldier. And after little thought, you realize you do remember something. Your hands drop from your side.
“Y/N.” It falls from your lips easily—almost too easily. “I think that’s my name.” If the man knew you before, he doesn’t make it obvious; instead, he gives you another soft smile and introduces himself.
“Well, Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you,” he says. “You were unconscious for five days so I’m happy to see you’ve finally woken up. I was getting worried that you might never… Never mind that.” He smiles again, revealing a pair of pretty imprints in his cheeks. “You know, your case was a miracle! The spirits must’ve wanted you alive.” He laughs a little at his own joke. “You were found unconscious on enemy territory with major injuries, but it looks like they spared your life. They never tend to do that. ” He trails off, his smile wavering a bit before he turns his attention back to you. “So, how are you feeling?”
How are you feeling? If only words could describe the panic, the confusion in your mind. How did you survive? Who is this enemy that supposedly spared your life? Why can’t you remember anything?
“I… don’t know.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” the man says with good nature. “You’re in great shape. Your injuries are healing quite nicely. In fact—”
“No, no it’s not that,” you say, shaking your head slowly. “I… I don’t know anything. I can’t remember a single thing from my past.”
The man’s smile flatlines. “Oh dear,” he says. “The concussion must have been worse than I thought.” He looks grim for a few moments as if to mourn the loss of his own memories and not yours—an empathetic man in an unsympathetic place. But he seems to grab a hold on himself because, in a few seconds, his grim look is replaced with a bright smile and a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry, though. Most soldiers want to forget. Here.”
Your eyes widen when you see a spherical bubble of water levitating just above his palm. It’s such a perfect little shape, and the man seems to be entirely in control of it. “You’re so dehydrated that I can feel it without my wielding,” he laughs, jutting out his hand.
Everything’s so fast-paced.
While you were asleep, everyone must have collectively run two laps around the whole nation, learned new things, fought new battles and developed a new sort of jargon impossible for you to discern.
You’re still trying to process what he said before. Most soldiers want to forget. You assume most soldiers would want to forget the contents of the battles, but you doubt they would want to forget about their husbands and wives, their children, their friends and their partners. You doubt they would want to forget the core memories that make up who they really are. The memories that provide them a reason to live when they’re trapped in this stuffy tent, where all they can see and smell is blood. Most soldiers want to forget. But you want to remember. Because without your memories, dammit, you know yourself as much as the person on the cot next to you.
Who even are you?
But to hell with that train of thought because now you’re processing newer information—information that puzzles you even more. “Wielding?”
“Oh dear,” the man says. “Here, take the water drop and I’ll explain.”
Take it? It won’t splash in your face the moment he lets go of it? There’s something especially spellbinding about this. A phenomenon you can’t quite explain. The man watches as you daintily pick up the bite-size bubble, and you stare curiously at it as if you don’t know what to do with it. It feels smooth, malleable and cool to the touch. The water reflects the little light in the tent, shining pastel rainbows on the palm of your hand. For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you poked it. Mess up its beautiful equilibrium. Would it splatter and lose its magnificent shine? Lose its form as a perfect sphere, lose its shape and memory?
You don’t ever want to ruin something as beautiful as that.
“Pop it in your mouth,” the healer says. “I enhanced it with some minerals that you might need. But you know, when I checked your blood four days ago, you’re actually exceedingly healthier than the average soldier. Sufficient levels in everything except vitamin D.”
Good to know, at least. Though a soldier missing their vitamin D sounds a little preposterous. But you’re sad to see the bubble go, wishing you could hold it in your hands just a small while longer. Yet your thirst wins over your childish desire. You do as your healer says, carefully slipping the water drop in your mouth to satiate your dry throat. Gingerly, you bite down on it, only for the water to burst on your tongue. It tastes like nothing, but the chilled liquid sweetens the inside of your mouth. The droplets soothe your palate and wash down your throat in seconds, leaving you feeling empty yet not so parched anymore. You chase after the feeling, hand crawling up to grasp the necklace resting by your neck.
“You don’t happen to remember your last name, do you?” the man asks. “I can ask one of the officers to check the records and see which sector you’re from. Maybe then we can figure out if you worked with other elements besides fire. You know, since all of our soldiers are fire mediums.”
“No, I don’t remember.” You didn’t even know you could wield fire. You didn’t know anyone could possibly wield the elements. But here this man is, a water ‘medium,’ claiming that you’re a fire medium. With this little knowledge, how could he possibly expect you to remember your surname? You’re still trying to process the fact that you can wield fire in the first place.
Fire. The word echoes in your head, over and over again. And for a moment, you swear you can feel the heat. You suppose it’s warm. Tender flames and ambient lights, a cozy spark in the cold of the night, a cardinal red glow accompanied by flickers of yellow and orange… Yes. You must be connected to fire in some way. The warmth swells inside you, consoles you, solaces your mind.
But then, your thoughts begin to wander. You begin to wonder what being a fire medium entailed: if you could conjure up bonfires with a flick of your hand, if you could boil water just by holding a container, if you could walk barefoot on hot coals with flames settled in your eyes. Did you cook using your own fires? Could you even cook? Have you ever accidentally burned someone else you didn’t mean to? But one thought leads to another, and naturally, you begin to wonder how you used fire to fight.
Your gut coils.
You glance at your palms, turning them over and scrutinizing them. As pretty as fire can be, you realize it is just as destructive. How many people have you burned with these very hands? How many have you scorched to death? How many have you killed?
Your blood runs cold.
“Um…” Your healer clears his throat, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts. “I just, uh, I wanted to let you know, though…” His face contorts. “There’s a chance you might have lost your connection with fire… If you didn’t even remember that you were a fire medium, then the chances are… I mean, you can always relearn but…” he trails off. “Memory loss tends to cut off the connection. It’s usually temporary.”
Usually. Something inside you breaks. Fire had been a part of your identity, and you thought you knew it. You swore you’d felt it within you.
“I’m sorry.”
Your face visibly falls. What does this mean? Are they going to kick you out of the tent as soon as you heal? Are you exempt from fighting in the war now? Or are they going to force you to mend your connections with your element?
“I’m sorry,” he says again as he watches your face distort. “I feel like I’m not explaining anything. You’re confused, huh? You know what?” A pause. “I’ll start from the beginning then. Um, how to start, how to start… Well, you see, the spirits shared the elements with us a long, long time ago: fire, water, earth and air,” he explains slowly. “Do the others happen to ring a bell?”
Another shake of your head.
“Oh no worries,” he says quickly, trying to assure you. “Well, dear, we’re in Solaria. Others call us the land of nature and nurtured, and it makes a lot of sense since we all work with one or more of the elements. I don’t really see ourselves as magicians, though, but other nations do. At least that’s what they thought the last time we opened up our trade. Circas and circas ago.” He shrugs. “We’re just mediums. Vessels that the elements use so we can be in close harmony with nature.”
Vessels. Harmony. Nature. You try to digest his every word, try to reach in the back of your head to see if any of it is familiar.
It isn’t. But you try your best to catch up on the things you’ve lost. “So you’re a water medium.”
“Most healers are,” he says. “But I dabble in earth too. Actually, I picked it up from living in Elu, and it comes in pretty handy whenever.”
Before you can even ask what or where Elu is, your healer moves on, pointing at the necklace you’ve been nervously twisting the whole time. “Oh my, what a pretty necklace!”
You nod in agreement, feeling the edges of the gem with the pads of your fingers. “Oh, thank you.” Your eyebrows twist. “I can’t remember where I got it, but it feels important. I think… I’m not sure, but I think someone important gave it to me.” It’s a slow, steady gut feeling. And at that moment, you can almost feel the warm fingers of another dancing behind your neck, clasping your necklace for you. But it’s probably just your imagination.
“Maybe a significant other?” he suggests.
You really wish you could say those words triggered some sort of memory hidden deep within you, but it doesn’t. “It could be.”
“Then why don’t we put your necklace in this case and hide it away under your cot?” he says, figuring a dirt-made container with the flick of his hand. You watch in awe as delicate leaf engravings crawl up the hardening case. With a flourish of shimmery mist, a perfectly circular knob configures itself on top of the lid. Soft brown and deceivingly smooth-looking like silk, the box rests against his palm, waiting patiently to encase your necklace. “Something as precious as that? You might lose it around here, dear.”
He helps you unclasp the chain from your neck, and you watch the shimmery jewel become enclosed in the pretty, engraved case. The moment the last of the golden chain leaves your fingertips, you feel a chilled cold wash over your body. It has nothing to do with the pain in your abdomen, and it’s not necessarily painful—just an unpleasant feeling. The moment the necklace is out of view, you begin to regret taking it off. Why do you feel so heavy without it? So… empty? Lost, even.
The necklace was a sign from your past—the present that would lead you back to your past. Whoever gave it to you—if someone gave it to you at all—would want to see it around your neck the next time you meet them. What if they can’t identify you without it? What if this necklace was a part of your identity? But that’s not a question of ‘what if.’ Because really, this necklace is the only clue connecting back to your past. No one is born with a sparkling diamond necklace around their neck. So where the hell did you get yours? What does it mean?—if it even means anything at all? Should you keep it on you at all times to help jog your memory? Should you refuse to hide it away?
No.
No, your healer’s right. Solaria is in a gruesome war. It’s best to hide your important belongings away, where there will be no chance of you losing them.
“Ah, young love,” your healer sighs. “It’s a pity we’re in a devastating war. For over a hundred years, I tell you. They’ll come back for you, though. Your lover. They’ll search for you until they finally find you again. I’d do that for my partner too. You know, I actually gave him a necklace—kind of like yours—except it was made of green jade. Spent 50 solarins on it, too. You know, I’ve never seen such a pure white gem like yours. It must be very rare.” He offers you another kind smile. “My husband’s waiting back in Elu, fixing up his little tea shop with our two cats.”
Your healer is quite talkative, and you bless him for that; the silence reminds you of your pain, but with Namjoon—he finally slipped in his name after an hour of talking—constantly filling up the quiet spaces, you’re kept well-distracted. You learn that he lived in the capital sector Elu until the soldiers came and asked for volunteers to work in the medical tents. He parted with his husband and his two precious kittens to make a living from the never-ending war. As he put it, ‘to heal so soldiers can, unfortunately, fight again.’ The pay is good, and he sends what he can back home. ‘We want to move out of the city and back to where we’re both from—Ara. We’re trying to save up for it. And maybe when this war is finally over, we’ll be able to do it.’ So he went headfirst into the medical tent, with no prior medical experience and just as little knowledge of the enemies.
“They’re magic folk too,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Darlaeans, from Darlae. We call it the Forgotten Kingdom. But supposedly their magic is older than ours, which is strange because you’d think working with the elements is as ancient as you can get.”
With Joon—he insists you call him that—on a generous three-hour break after pulling two twenty-hour shifts to treat the soldiers who came in after a particularly violent battle, he fills you in on as many things as he possibly can. You insist that he gets some rest, but as your healer, you’re only obligated to listen to him and not the other way around.
“I’ve been waiting and tending for you for five days, Y/N. I’d rather get to know you,” he keeps saying. Though there’s really not a lot about you to know. Namjoon seems to know that too, deep inside. So he tells you stories of his past. Whether it’s about the bubbling brooks and frozen lakes he grew up with in Ara or the warm, bustling capital sector of Elu, he always has something to say, something to paint a picture in your mind. Slowly, you feel less and less empty. Like his stories are your own and you’re taking them away to store forever.
“We have other sectors too, but I just think you can’t compare them to Ara. You know, during the wintertime, it gets so cold that you can see the frost that gathers at the tips of the plants. You should see the colors—lilac and pale blue and it’s just…” he sighs. “It’s beautiful.
“I miss it,” he admits. “But working here isn’t too bad, either.”
It seems as though things have calmed down in the medical tent. The brunt of the pain and death has passed, leaving the healers to catch their breaths and the soldiers in their cots to rest and wait for their bodies to recuperate. The air is heavy with sweat and musk but not so much with death anymore. Or you’ve just grown accustomed to it.
The red drapings of the tent don’t bother you as much. It had felt foreign at first, but now you realize this is the color you’ve probably seen countless times as a Solarian soldier. It is a color that proves you are alive. That every time you open your eyes, you’re still in this world getting treated on your cot and not wandering off to the unknown. The high ceiling of the tent gives you something to stare at, something to exercise your mind and keep you occupied. Outside, the wind caresses the red curtains, letting them flow gently—like a stream of blood.
But it isn’t too bad. It could be much worse.
“There are busier hours, you know, mostly right after one of the bigger battles led by our General. But it’s not too bad right now,” Namjoon says. “I like talking to the soldiers a lot. You learn so much about Solaria and the different sectors that make up our nation. Once you start asking, soldiers never really stop talking about their homesectors. I mean, our homesectors are our roots. It’s just like how I’m proud to be from Ara, you know? It’s really nice to hear that so many of us have something to fight for.”
He probably didn’t mean to, but his words deflate you. Something to fight for… Yet you can’t remember why you volunteered to fight for Solaria. Maybe you promised a lover back home. Maybe you promised a dying mother, a dead sibling. Or you wanted a fresh start to your life; maybe you were naïve and thought going to war would place meaning in your existence. Something to fight for.
You’ll have to fight for yourself. Fight to live, maybe. Fight for a nation you barely remember; fight against a nation you barely hate. When you can’t remember anyone else who has impacted your life, aren’t you the only one you can trust? But can you trust yourself when you don’t even know who you are?
Namjoon’s eyes soften as he watches your face contort with thought. “It’s best not to remember,” he says softly. “I meant it when I said most soldiers want to forget.”
In a way, he’s right. Not remembering gives you a chance to rebrand yourself. Create a new you. It erases your traumas—if you had any—does away with past pains and catastrophes and allows you to begin a new life. But…
“Do you know of any other soldiers who came back from the battlefield five days ago? Maybe I was friends with some of them. Maybe I—”
You just want to know who you are. Is it so bad to be curious? The pain, the suffering—you don’t care if it’ll hurt you again. Because those experiences were what made you your own person. Without them, you might as well be a newborn baby trapped in an adult’s body.
“Oh.” Namjoon interrupts, and for a moment, you think you’ve pissed him off with your persistence. In reality, however, with his eyebrows twisted together and lips pressed into a thin line, he looks worried. “It’s hard to keep track of all the soldiers who come in and out of this tent,” he says. He’s avoiding eye contact, but you don’t relent, staring at the side of his face until he looks up, hesitantly. Your eyes meet, his soft brown ones connecting with your own wide, hopeful ones. He fidgets. “Not… not a lot of soldiers survived that battle,” he says. He fidgets again. “Oh, for Sahn’s sake. It… it was a bloodbath. The Darlaeans were especially brutal that day. It was a miracle that you survived—a mystery even—and on enemy territory at that.” He looks up to gauge your crumbling expression, mirroring your forlorn look with his own countenance.
The last bit of hope within you melts away. What was the point of surviving when you don’t even remember the reason that you’re fighting? What was the point of being brought back to life when you’ll have to fight in a war you don’t care about? You may have been a Solarian, but you have as much attachment to your nation as a fruit fly might have for a bear cub.
You take a breath.
But it’s not that bad. It’s not.
You have your necklace—somehow the only evidence that you had some sort of a past. You have Namjoon, who seems friendly enough to help you get back on your feet. You have yourself. You were once lucky enough to be spared on the enemy’s territory; you’ll wait for another serendipitous window to get your memories back. The hope is seeping back in.
You’ll take time for yourself, heal, fight if you have to. But your ultimate goal will always be to find out who you are.
Soon, Namjoon leaves your side to tend the other soldiers, and it leaves you by yourself. With your back propped up against the headboard of your cot, you survey the tent. It’s calmed down quite a lot. Most soldiers are asleep now, their pains momentarily forgotten during their slumber. You watch the few soldiers who are awake. They look shaken, bloodshot eyes rapidly moving left and right as if an enemy soldier were going to ambush them at any minute. If you hadn’t lost your memories, you might be one of them.
But you’re calm. In fact, there’s no reason for you to panic. Not when you can’t recall what you should even panic about. Instead, you ruminate about other things. Things that don’t have to do with the war.
You long to step outside of this tent. You wonder what it looks like out there. Wonder what it feels like to smell something other than blood and sweat. Wonder what it feels like to wake up and not see red. Wonder if it’s beautiful out there, just like the way Namjoon described his homesector. Your eyes begin to flutter shut as your thoughts lull you to sleep.
Then, there’s a jerk of the red curtains. You get a short glimpse of an azure sky, golden sunlight, verdant grass, shedding trees getting ready for full-blown autumn, and you inhale a whiff of fresh air—pine, a hint of something oaky—but it’s all gone before you can react. Everything becomes hidden away by the drapes. It’s all red again.
When you blink, you realize someone had walked in—no, stormed—into the tent. A man. He has a slightly shorter-than-average stature with a surprisingly slumped posture, yet somehow, he radiates authority and strict business. It’s just something about his eyes—his charcoal pupils lost in the tenebrosity of his irises—eyes squinted ever so slightly as his vision sweeps cynically across the tent. When he blinks, a trail of wet blood rolls down over his eyelid, but he makes no move to wipe it off. Instead, he clasps his hands behind his back, and the action makes his chest jut forward. The motion draws your attention to the middle of his uniform, where a circular golden emblem rests so proudly. Your eyes begin to drift down to the aureate cords that dangle out of a silky two-toned sash tightly knotted around his tapered waist. His uniform is smeared with what looks like a mixture of fresh blood and dirt, which implies he’d just come out of a battle, but it doesn’t stop him from looking absolutely regal. For a moment, you wonder if he actually is royalty.
Whoever he is though, the atmosphere in the tent had shifted ever since he had walked in.
The barely conscious soldiers are now alert, gazing at the man with emotional looks on their tired faces. You recognize hope, admiration and faith. Even all of the healers had stopped what they were doing, bowing down with respect.
The man raises his eyebrows. “For the love of Sahn, stand up,” he sighs. “There’s no need to bow in my presence. I’m not your king.” His voice is surprisingly quiet, his tone soft like silk but also low and melodious. It’s not something you would’ve expected from his demeanor. But the healers obey him immediately, straightening their backs, and though they’re not bowed anymore, you can still see how much they respect this man. All sorts of murmurs, cries of pain have dwindled down to silence just to listen to his next words. He raises a hand. “We have men and women out there who are severely injured. Make room for them. Clear out the cots, call extra healers on duty. We need everyone we can get. You have two minutes. I’m warning you in advance.” He pauses for a second, eyes surveying everyone in the tent. For a moment, you think your eyes are going to meet, but just before they can, he turns swiftly and walks out of the tent.
“Two minutes!” a healer yells.
“Can someone get me some water around here?”
“Help me make some space, please!”
“For Sooht’s sake, get the extra bandages!”
“Do you think it was a bad one?”
“It must be. General’s bleeding.”
“I hope he lets us treat that.”
“You know, he refuses any sort of treatment until the last soldier’s gotten treated.”
The last healer had been Namjoon. After listening to him talk for nearly three hours, you’d be surprised if you couldn’t identify his voice. “The last few battles have been pretty bad,” he says.
“I’m not sure how much more our soldiers can take,” a healer replies.
“I’m not sure how much more we can take,” another says. There are nods of agreement but no one answers verbally.
It’s chaos after that.
The General with his jet black hair storms in again, carrying a passed-out soldier on each shoulder. A slew of others rush in after him, all lugging injured soldiers over their backs. It doesn’t stop.
The General barks orders. Your eyes follow him everywhere as he makes his rounds around the tent, assisting the healers who call for help. He’s the beacon of light for dying soldiers, and they request to see him in their last, declining breaths.
“Thank you,” he tells them, clasping their hands—or what’s left of them. “Thank you so much.” He waits by their side until the lights dim from their eyes, until their head grows limp and their breaths cease.
Most of the time, though, he’s demanding.
“You! You there, she’s vomiting blood—do something!”
“What in Sooht’s name are you waiting for??? Someone’s life is on the line!”
The smell of blood stings your nose again. But nothing breaks your focus on the Solarian General. As intimidating as he is, he’s got a fascinating aura—the kind where you can’t possibly look away. But maybe you should have minded your own business.
His sharp eyes meet yours.
The black dots of his pupils narrow, and the blood caked around his left eye makes him look more menacing than you’d like to see from your superior. Until you realize it isn’t the blood that makes you feel uncomfortable. It’s his deep glare.
Oh. Oh, shit. He’s glaring at you.
Within seconds, he marches up by your cot, never breaking eye contact. He seems to be sizing you up, looking up and down at your disheveled figure. It’s a little embarrassing. Both of you had fought in the war, but how does he retain his elegance and you cannot? How can he stare at you with so much contempt when you’ve bled your own blood fighting for him?
With his thin lips drawn into a tight line, it hits you that he might just never strike a conversation. But then he opens his mouth and speaks a line you never expected to come out of his mouth.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
His voice is quiet, and if you hadn’t been staring straight at him, you wouldn’t even have heard him. But he uses a dangerously soft voice. A voice that closely resembles a toxic viper warning his unfortunate victim before making a lethal strike.
I haven’t seen you before either, you want to say. But your throat becomes dry as sandpaper, so you opt to stay silent, cocking your head and watching his expression shift from puzzlement to suspicion.
“G-General,” a healer stutters awkwardly, diffusing the taught tension that had roped your necks together. “S-Sir—” He points at the trail of blood running from over the General’s eye down to the collar of his scarlet uniform. The single droplet blends in with his fabric, disappearing under the seams—the only proof of its existence is the red line it’d left behind. “You’re bleeding.”
“Yes, I know that,” he replies curtly. “I assure you that I’m fine. Her on the other hand…” His eyes narrow even more. “State your name, homesector and your mediums, soldier,” he barks.
Why hasn’t he seen you before? Does he expect to remember all of his soldiers? Why is he singling you out?
“Y/N, sir,” you say, swallowing a growing lump in your throat. “That’s about all I know, though… sir.”
He scowls. “What in Sooht’s name do you mean, that’s about all you know?”
“I lost my memories, sir.”
A pause.
“Bullshit.”
“S-Sir?” Your eyes widen as the General leans in, searching your face for clues. He must think you’re hiding something. He’s suspicious. But who does he think you are? And how can you answer when you don’t even know?
He gives you no warning when his fingers grab the collar of your uniform, lifting you up from your seat. You wince in pain, eyes squeezing shut momentarily.
“You’re lying,” he says. His voice is lower than before. “Tell the truth now and I may allow mercy.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
The General drops his hold on you, and you fall back on the cot, grimacing. On cue, two grim-faced soldiers show up behind him—how the General called them over, you have no idea. “Very well,” he says. He doesn’t turn away from you, but it’s obvious his next words are directed towards his two soldiers. “We’re taking her to the interrogation room.”
Interrogation room? What have you done wrong? What are they going to do to you? Did you commit a crime and lose all your memories about it?
It feels like daggers are ripping through your insides as the soldiers drag you away from your cot. In fact, you swear you hear a rip at your sides. You feel it, too. Your eyes sting with tears, but your throat is so dry that it’s difficult to make any noise. Instead, you bite down on your tongue hard—so much so that you taste the iron. And just when you think you’re about to pass out from the tortuous pain, a familiar voice cries:
“S-Stop!”
The soldiers halt. You’re given a moment’s rest. Your lips let out shivering breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your ears, your head whirling from the lack of oxygen.
“Namjoon,” the General says. “Try not to make a scene. I’ll be back quickly.”
“Sir, she’s in pain!” Namjoon’s jaw is slack, eyes wide open in horror. “She’s hurt! Where are you taking her? She needs to rest!”
“She’s a spy,” the General replies. “We have to question her to see what she knows.”
“Me?” the word tumbles out of you before you can stop it. Your world seems to shatter. All this time, you’d built a fantasy that you were, indeed, a Solarian soldier. That this was your land, your nation that you were fighting for. It never occurred to you that you would be otherwise. But hell, even if you were a Darlaean spy, how the hell would you know?
“I remember every soldier who has graced their presence in my army. I know a fake when I see one,” the General says.
“But sir, you ripped her stitches!” Namjoon exclaims, pointing at the blossoming red blood on the bandages around your stomach. Ah, that must be where your pain was coming from. “Sir, I don’t mean to object, but she’s human before anything else.”
“The Darlaeans don’t treat us as humans, so why should we treat them as such?”
“With all due respect, sir, she lost her memories.”
“And how do you know she isn’t bluffing?”
“I just—”
“Sir, I couldn’t detect it,” the soldier who had held onto you says with an obscene amount of duty.
“Detect what?” Namjoon asks, visibly and audibly distressed.
“You couldn’t?” The General pauses for just a moment. You can almost see the calculations flying through his head. “Did you double-check?” he asks the other soldier. She nods. He whips around to glare at you. “This one could be dangerous. They’ve never done something like this before.” His stare deepens. “Lost memories.” He scoffs. “Fucking bullshit. I don’t have time for this.”
“Sir, if there’s no evidence that she’s a spy, then she must be innocent,” Namjoon pleads. “Oh, dear, her stitches…” He tries to reach out for you but freezes when his General begins to speak.
“Namjoon, you’re too kind,” the General tells the healer. “This is war. People would do anything to win. Darlaeans would do anything to win.” He looks at you with scrutiny again. “You’re not a talker, are you? Perfect for flying under the radar. I don’t think you’re faking the pain, though. Self-inflicted, perhaps…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks. Then, his charcoal eyes scan your own—meticulously—as if your eyes hold the key to all of your deepest, darkest secrets. It feels like some twisted staring contest; one wrong move and you’ll be sentenced to doom. But while your eyes begin to water, the General’s remain dark and focused. You try to occupy yourself with something else—anything else to keep you from blinking. In your head, you trace the curve of his lash line, delineate the sharp curve of his inner corner, count his long lashes, feel lost in the swirling black pools of his pupils… The insides of your mouth suddenly become very dry.
Finally, finally, though, the General blinks and steps back, clearing his throat. Did he see something that you missed? Something that tells him that he can trust you momentarily? “Keep an eye out on her.” His two soldiers nod resolutely. “If she really did lose her memories, we’ll proceed with the necessary actions once she gets them back.”
You don’t know what to say. Or do for that matter. But you feel like you need to say something. Something to alleviate the tension. Something to prove that you’re innocent. “I’m… I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to raise suspicion.” You mean it. There’s a part of you that wants to scream how unfair it was for the General to cause you so much pain—just because he couldn’t remember your face. But another part of you understands him. It’s a war. People cheat, lie and trick. He’s just looking out for his own soldiers—that’s his job as the General. He’d rather be safe than sorry.
The General raises his eyebrows at your words. You’re not sure if you imagined it, but you think his hard eyes soften ever so slightly. And for a moment, he’s silent, as if he’s fighting between accepting your apology or rejecting it. He does the latter, however. “An apology won’t help anything.” A pause. He clears his throat. “However, I do apologize.” Your eyes widen. “You’ll have to bandage her up again, Namjoon. I know how busy you are, and I’ll trust your perception of her for the time being.” You deflate. He’d apologized to your healer; the fact that you thought otherwise is somewhat humiliating.
He glares at you one more time, daring you to try anything. The General doesn’t need to speak for you to feel threatened. His piercing gaze alone chills you to the core. “Get her back to her cot,” he orders his two soldiers before he turns and swiftly walks away. You stare at his backside, intrigued and a little frightened by his demeanor.
Namjoon lets out a deep sigh once you’re comfortably situated on your cot again, wounds cleaned and restitched. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
And this time, you have an answer other than ‘I don’t know.’
“Just a tad bit terrified.”
Namjoon snorts. “I meant physically, but emotionally’s great too. Don’t worry, though,” he says. “I know that the General can come off as an intimidating man. But he’s fair.”
Fair? He tried to march you off—open stitches and all—to interrogate you with little to no evidence that you were in the wrong. Is that really being fair?
On second thought, however, he’d spared you a chance. The General didn’t have to listen to Namjoon, but he did. He chose to heed the healer’s suggestion when he had the authority to do what he wanted to do. So you suppose he is fair. Or at least somewhat sympathetic.
“He’s been overworking himself, you know? He’s a medium for all four elements, so he’s got a lot of pressure to perform four times the number of tasks that others do. Plus, he’s the General. All eyes are on him,” Namjoon explains. “Though I’m not exactly saying sacrificing your health for the sake of interrogation was a good call… But then again, I don’t think he’s slept for three days, so we should maybe possibly excuse him if his judgment is skewed.”
“No, no, I really don’t have anything against the General,” you say. “I know where he’s coming from. It just… it bothers me that he didn’t recognize me.” Did you really have that little of an impact in the army that the General who remembers everyone can’t recall your face? It feels horrible to wake up, memoryless, and not have anyone claim that they know you. In fact, they can’t even recognize you—as if you turned up in this camp overnight and didn’t previously give up your life for your nation. What if you never meant anything to anyone around here?
“Don’t take it personally.” Namjoon places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He could’ve easily missed you in the crowd. Maybe he accidentally skipped over your papers. He’s just tired and was being hyper-aware. That’s what fighting does to a person. Makes them suspicious of every little thing.”
“…Yeah.”
“The General’s very merciful to his soldiers,” Namjoon says. “But he does take a while to warm up to people. I remember when I first met him, I thought he hated me. He’d give me some particularly unwelcoming side-eyes, and I always thought I’d get kicked out of here because of it. Turns out he tends to give everyone the side-eye. You know, he even privately told me that he likes that I can personally connect with the soldiers who I take care of.
“He’s a good man, our General.” The healer looks proud, smiling wistfully. The memories keep him in a trance. For a moment, he looks lost in the depths of his past, eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly.
A pang of jealousy resonates within you. It’s a greedy feeling, tumbling out and reaching to grab at memories that aren’t yours to keep. The feeling grows, gnarling inside of the pits of your stomach and threatening to burst out of your throat. Yet one look at the kind healer with his soft eyes and gentle smile and it dissipates.
“Yeah… He must be.”
Joon’s memories are his to keep, and yours should come in time. One look at the kind man with his even kinder eyes makes you feel guilty that you ever felt jealous in the first place.
“Well, you should sleep, dear.” He smiles at you. “Your eyes are drooping.”
He’s not wrong. A strange tiredness suddenly washes over you—a fatigue you’d been ignoring since the moment you woke up, really. The heaviness spreads through your aching body, up to your throbbing head. And the last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut is red.
But red is your home now.
⨰ series m.list | next
⨰ a/n: thank you for reading the very first chapter of legends of darlaria! lod has been a series i've been plotting since november 1st 2020, and to finally see it being posted... it really does feel like a dream come true. i hope you enjoyed it! (and what's to come,,,)
please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' initial impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!
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