Chapter Text
“Alright.”
The instructor mage, one of the highest authority figures in the village, only a tier under their head, scrawls a few words on his tablet, before observing the two before him.
“Jihoon. And Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung, standing beside Jihoon shoulder to shoulder, nods stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
But he looks to Jihoon, finding the other holding his new guitar, and softens his gaze at the tension he spots in his jaw, elbowing him gently.
“Hey. Relax.”
Jihoon resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Kind of hard to do, genius.”
“I mean, you’re right.” Soonyoung shrugs. “We’re only about to go into an evaluation that will test our magic- which has been discriminated against, scorned, hated, and told was useless for years- and depending on how it goes, we’ll be allowed to keep using it, or risk being outcast from our village altogether. No biggie.”
Jihoon can only blink at him in disbelief.
The instructor sighs, putting his tablet into the sack tied to his waist, and turning to the one other student on the training field. “Are you sure about this, Junhui?”
Jihoon’s fellow wind magic classmate, now a year or two adept in the skill of ward spells, spins his own staff in the swell of his palm, placing it against the ground with a resonant thud. “Yes. I believe that they will succeed.”
The instructor squints at him, before turning away, waving him off. “Set them up, then.”
Jihoon watches him go, then turns back to Junhui, who gives them a tense, but genuine smile.
“I promise I’ll make it fair.”
“We know you will, Jun.” Soonyoung grins back.
Junhui dips his head in return, then holds his staff in front of him, arms outstretched.
With a one-handed spin, he maneuvers it behind his back and over his shoulder, catching it upside down, the grommet end now pointed towards the ground.
“Show off,” Jihoon can’t help but comment.
Junhui chuckles, before he thrusts his staff to the side, magic emanating from it to the dirt, wards materializing one after the other around him, glowing circular disks that suspend themselves parallel to the earth. Targets.
As he continues to set up the course, movement at the corner of Jihoon’s eye catches his attention. He turns his head, and sees Chan at the fence, feet on the lower rail.
Jihoon meets his eyes, and he covers his mouth from the side with one hand, keeping it out of sight from the judges as he pronounces silently, You got this, hyungs!
Next to him, Seokmin has his arms crossed on the top rail, chin resting in the divot, looking a little crestfallen.
Jihoon feels a stab of sympathy. Ever since the reveal of Soonyoung as a late bloomer, Seokmin’s been gloomy. It’s only imaginable how he feels- the only magicless in a group of mages, bereft of mana and the empathy of someone who’s like him.
But still, when Soonyoung follows Jihoon’s gaze to him, Seokmin musters a quirk of the lip, and throws them a thumbs up.
At Junhui’s silent beckon, the two mages to be tested make their way to the center of the arena.
Their hands brush against each other. Soonyoung reaches out, and strokes a thumb over Jihoon’s knuckles as briefly as he can.
The weight of the past months- where Jihoon finally decided on a guitar being his conduit, and Soonyoung tamed his shapeshifting through parlor tricks in the forms of dogs, cats, small birds- settles over both of them as they plant their feet, still side by side.
And as Junhui steps up to meet them, staff glowing faintly as he raises it, Soonyoung murmurs, his eyes as bright as the cosmos, “Even if we’re kicked out, we’ll still be together. No matter what.”
Jihoon’s lip twitch just the slightest at that vow.
With that, the horns sound, and the exam begins.
The disks turn onto their sides, ready to be struck.
Jihoon readies his guitar, hands finding their way to the strings.
And in the blink of an eye, Soonyoung transforms.
His human shape morphs, turning almost liquid, just as the first attack spells sent by the disks shoot right over where his head just was.
The opening is given. Jihoon strums, vibration slicing through the air, and the preliminary wave of ten disks all but turn into dust.
A blur of movement, the liquid moves at unprecedented speed, then Soonyoung erupts from the ground, his upper body fully human again, except for the claws at his fingers.
SLICE. SLICE.
The second wave, already gone before they could charge any spell at all.
Jihoon’s heightened hearing picks up a murmur from the judges. But he doesn’t look back.
More disks come flying towards him, their attacks thrumming through the air.
He gracefully sidesteps each one, then plays back, sound cleaving through their bodies as easily as through wet clay.
“Behind you!” Soonyoung shouts, and then he is there in Jihoon’s blind spot, scales materializing up his throat as he opens his mouth, a jet of flame emerging from within, eradicating every straggler disk that was missed.
Another gasp goes up from the audience.
“A dragon?” one exclaims. “He can do that?”
Oh, there is so much more than just that, Jihoon thinks, holding back a smirk.
“Soonyoung!” he calls.
Wordlessly, the other grabs him around the waist, and with strength far surpassing that of normal, throws him into the air.
Jihoon twists up into the sky with a burst of wind, then slides his fingers across his guitar strings again, every disk in a half mile radius bursting into dust.
Another gasp from the observers, even louder than before. Jihoon catches glimpses of their mouths wide in surprise, just as he falls back to the earth-
Just in time to land on a strong, solid back, his fingers tangling in a coarse mane.
Soonyoung rears back, now a full-grown stallion, his whinny a battle cry.
Jihoon strokes a hand down the slope of the equine’s neck, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Let’s finish this, partner.”
Soonyoung charges.
His hooves beat against the dirt as he veers, galloping along the outskirts of the ring.
Jihoon leans with him, keeping his balance as he plays note after note, striking target after target, two circles drawn in tandem.
The moment the last disk is hit, all of them disappear, and in the center of the arena, a final spell emerges- an idol three meters tall, glowing with Junhui’s magic.
It points its spear at them, and hurls it like a harpoon.
Jihoon strums, and it’s cut right through.
And as they close the distance, Soonyoung alters shape one more time.
His hooves hit the earth, and blink into large paws.
Sleek brown fur transforms into golden orange.
Powerful hind legs send him up, covered in the blackest of stripes, and for a moment there in the air, Jihoon feels weightless.
Then tiger Soonyoung lets loose a deafening roar, sinks his fangs into the target at the center of the idol’s chest, and pulls it free.
The giant ward collapses with a reverberating crash, fragments scattering in a blinding shower of sparks before fading into motes of harmless light.
Jihoon lands hard on his knees, the guitar pressed against his chest, breath ragged but steady. In a controlled skid, Soonyoung comes down beside him, fur rippling one last time before blurring back into his human form mid‑stride. When he halts, he stumbles forward but catches himself with a hand braced on Jihoon’s shoulder.
“You good?” he exhales.
Jihoon adjusts his grip on the guitar, fingertips stinging. “Better question is, are you good? You went dragon. Doesn’t that torch your throat?”
Soonyoung only answers with a lopsided grin, chest heaving. “Worth it. See their faces?”
Jihoon follows his gaze up. On the raised platform, the instructors are whispering urgently among themselves, faces ranging from pale disbelief to outright awe. A low tide of murmurs waves through the crowd around and behind them.
Chan can hardly stay quiet on the fence, bouncing in place like he might soar over entirely. Even Seokmin, still reeling, lets his jaw fall open a fraction before hiding a smile behind his knuckles.
And at the heart of the arena, Junhui stands with his staff grounded, wards now dissolving into transparent glass‑dust. He regards Jihoon and Soonyoung with a measured calm. But then, he raises his chin, his shoulders set with deliberate pride.
That tiny shift says it all.
“I told you,” he says, voice carrying across the arena. “They would succeed.”
…
“...Do you think he’s dead?”
“He’s not dead, Youngjae, he’s sleeping.”
“He still looks kind of dead.”
“Those bad guys hurt him really badly.”
Jihoon feels his face twitch, eyes trying to open against the dark. Are those…children’s voices?
“Isn’t the God of Music supposed to be old, though? He doesn’t look that old.”
“The First War only happened ten years ago. Maybe he’s thirty, like Mother and Father-”
“I’m twenty-six,” Jihoon musters.
He opens his eyes to the children, two of them, screaming.
“He’s alive!” one of them screams.
“I told you!” the other yells.
“Let’s get out of here!” the first one shrieks.
Jihoon raises his head from the pillow with barely held-back exhaustion. “Wait a second-”
Too late.
For some reason, they’re both clambering out of an open window and jumping.
“Hang on!” Jihoon reaches out, but they’re gone.
Then he realizes that one of them must have magic, because he hears them hit the ground still screaming, completely fine, “He’s awake! The God of Music is awake!”
Right after, he hears the sound of the door opening, and turns to find Mingyu, head bandaged, looking frantic.
“Wh-What was that?”
Jihoon points a thumb towards the window, while feeling relieved that the other mage looks mostly okay. “Just kids. Don’t worry, they didn’t poke me or anything.”
“Kids?” Mingyu hobbles over to it, pulling it shut. “Shit, the nurse must've opened it. Probably wanted to give you fresh air. I should've checked sooner.”
“Wait, you’re on watch?” Jihoon blinks, confused.
“Yeah.” Mingyu then approaches him, reaching to pull the dislodged blanket back over the other’s shoulders. “Someone’s gotta. Everyone in the entire village is raring to take a look at you. Heck, I don’t even trust the healer not to stare and he treated me for a broken collarbone when I was seven.”
“Yeah, but you’re still hurt- agh!”
Jihoon recoils from where he was trying to reach for the empath, hand instantly going to his side, where he finally sees the bandages wrapped around his midsection.
“And you’re the most hurt,” Mingyu replies, gently pushing him back down. “The rest of us didn't get impaled, hyung. Both Chan and Cheol-hyung have broken bones- they’re still in bed. I only got banged up a little.”
Jihoon makes a face, but lets himself lie flat again, blinking blearily at the flat boards of the ceiling.
“Get some more rest,” Mingyu instructs. “I’ll get the healer to see you in an hour. I’ll also bring food.”
And as if he himself had somehow found a way to brainwash Jihoon, the sound mage finds his eyelids feeling heavy already, the pull of sleep already dragging him under.
…
The next time Jihoon stirs, there’s a blinding light on his eyelids.
Making a face, he stirs, and forces himself to focus on the face before him, finding the wrinkled expression of a kind-looking elderly man looking back.
“Oh, my apologies, o’ God of Music!” He instantly withdraws his hands, traces of healing magic at her fingertips. “I didn’t mean to wake you!”
“It’s fine.” Jihoon winces. “Just bright.”
“Oh, that would be me.” And suddenly, a familiar face with wire-rimmed glasses looms over him.
Wonwoo, Jihoon notes with surprise.
“Sorry,” the other continues, holding up what looks like a blazing apparatus. “It’s this glow rod I made. Haven’t got a chance to adjust the settings.”
“But it is incredibly useful!” the healer interrupts. “Especially for these old eyes of mine! Shine it over here, please, my boy.”
Wonwoo obeys wordlessly, meeting Jihoon’s eyes again. “Mingyu went to bring you food. Are you hungry?”
“Well, yeah,” Jihoon responds, tentative. “A bit.”
“Oh, yes!” the healer chimes in again. “Thankfully, you heroes came just in time to ensure our food supply wasn’t destroyed by those savages! What would you like, roast chicken? Ham? We also make these very tasty honeyed buns-”
He rambles on, hands gesturing a mile a minute. Jihoon restrains a sigh, head kind of already fading back from the attention. He cannot deal with this right now.
Then-
“Donggeun-ssi,” Wonwoo says in a tone that’s polite, but somehow final. “You can ask him what he would prefer later. Please just focus on healing him.”
The words somehow cut across the room like a knife.
And Wonwoo, when Jihoon looks at him again, holds eyes of steel behind those clear lenses.
Whatever the healer was trying to say next dies in his throat. Then, he clears it, trying to buffer the awkwardness that just emerged. “Right. I should focus.”
The silence is loud as he finishes up his work.
Jihoon’s ears prick, catching voices beyond the infirmary. Many excited. Seems the news the children spread earlier was the talk of the town.
But in all honesty, he could hardly fixate on that. His eyes just stray to Wonwoo again, who sits there still, unyielding.
Almost…unfeeling.
Is this why Mingyu fell for him? Jihoon wonders.
Finally, the healer completes his task and stands, bowing reverently to Jihoon a total of five times. “Please, don’t push yourself! The wound should be done healing by tomorrow! Oh, and Wonwoo, my boy, please make a copy of that light! It would be helpful for this old man with his other duties!”
“Of course,” Wonwoo responds, voice barely rising in volume. “Take care.”
The healer bows yet again, then closes the door behind him gently.
A moment passes. Wonwoo doesn’t move to leave or show any sign of intending to. Instead, he just unscrews his rod, the bottom cap coming off, inspecting the inside.
Jihoon takes a breath, deciding to say it.
“You…didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it. He just…wanted to be helpful, I guess.”
Wonwoo doesn’t look at him. But he says, measuredly, “But you can’t stand it.”
Another pause.
Jihoon swallows.
This guy is sharp as fuck.
“...Yeah. I can’t.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Mingyu returns, pushing it open with his back, holding a tray balanced with soup and a cup of milk.
“Hey,” he greets, breathless. “Did everything go okay?”
“Healer Donggeun was chatty as always,” Wonwoo replies. “Made sure he didn’t overstay his welcome.”
And Mingyu-
Mingyu beams at him, like sun breaking through clouds.
“Thanks, hyung.”
Jihoon lies there, a little dumbfounded.
Damn. Up close, this infatuation is so crystal clear he could somehow choke on it.
Then, Wonwoo gets to his feet, screwing his glow rod back together. “Right. Need to get back to my shop.”
He turns to face Mingyu. “See you later?”
“Yeah.” Mingyu nods like a man possessed, nearly spilling the tray. “See you later.”
Wonwoo bows to them both, then slips out the door.
Mingyu then makes his way to Jihoon’s bedside, sets the tray down on the nearby table, and starts to help the other sit up gingerly.
Jihoon winces as he braces himself on Mingyu’s shoulder, but he can’t help the chuckle. “You’re so horribly transparent, Gyu. I like him, though.”
Mingyu flushes ten shades deep of crimson and nearly drops him. “Not the time, hyung!”
…
That night, it’s quiet. Peaceful, even.
Even with heightened hearing, there’s nothing to be heard but the crickets chirping.
The villagers, probably still drained from the events a day and a half ago, have retired to bed early.
As for Jihoon, he’s wide awake.
It’s not insomnia this time, just the consequence of sleeping for most of the day.
For a moment, he lays on his uninjured side, watching the wall, his guitar in its case propped up against it.
It’s for the first time in a long while that he has to remain still.
And in that stillness, Jihoon decides…to mull over everything.
Over their entire journey.
The griffin, the striders, the colossus, the wolves, the mimic.
The city, the small towns and villages.
The skills they’ve grown. The sights they’ve seen.
That very day when two mages, Seungcheol and Mingyu, caked in dirt, returned to his study after he rejected them, and begged for the God of Music to join them.
And now, here he is, a God again. Feeling very far from one, still.
Very faintly, his fingers curl into the sheets as he wonders, …Did I make the right decision?
And as if answering him, he hears the door creak open again.
Blinking, he turns over, finding Seungcheol standing there, Mingyu supporting Chan by the arm right behind him.
“Jihoon,” the fire mage murmurs, almost dazed, before he’s rushing forward on his crutch as fast as he can, the pole clattering across the floor.
Jihoon sits up, barely noticing that his wound’s healed enough so that he can. “Seungcheol-hyung-”
Then his leader has his arms around him.
Jihoon finds his nose buried in a firm shoulder, enveloped in the comforting scent of burning leaves, eyes widening in confusion. “...S-Seungcheol-hyung?”
“Just shut up.” The elder mage squeezes him tighter. “Shut up for a sec.”
Jihoon does.
It takes a long moment for Seungcheol to speak, his breathing just heavy and shivering next to the other’s ear. Mingyu helps Chan over to the bed, and in another few seconds, they’re both wrapped around Jihoon as well.
Jihoon stares for the longest of moments, before hesitantly reaching up, clutching at Seungcheol’s back.
“You didn’t…” the fire mage finally whispers. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”
The wind and sound mage has not a clue what he means, but he says nothing, hearing the tremble in the other’s voice.
“You didn’t have to fight so damn hard,” Seungcheol continues, even more hushed. “For us. For people you don’t even know.”
His hands clench in Jihoon’s tattered shirt. “You didn’t have to use your guitar- you didn’t have to get back up when you were hit so badly-”
He cuts off with a gasp.
“But I am so glad you did.”
Jihoon closes his eyes, a lump in his throat.
“...I couldn’t just sit there and watch.”
“And that’s why-” Then Seungcheol is pulling back, looking at him, rivulets streaming down his cheeks. “That’s why you are who you are, isn’t it, Jihoon? You keep fighting. You keep going. Even when it breaks you.”
He lets out a sob, grabbing Jihoon’s hand and squeezing it. “You are so damn selfless.”
The breath leaves Jihoon’s lungs.
“And I can’t thank you enough. I can never thank you enough.” The fire mage lifts his hand, lowers his head, and presses the other’s knuckles to his temple. “But I’ll try to show it. Every day. Thank you- for saving us. For giving our people hope.”
And for a moment, they sit there, pressed in close, the air only filled with the sound of their shaky breaths.
Then Jihoon strokes his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair as gently as he can, even as they tremble.
“...Stop crying. Come here.”
Seungcheol lets out a choked noise, and barrels back into his arms.
Jihoon holds him close, pulls a sniffling Chan and Mingyu close as well, and presses his cheek to the crowns of their heads, shutting his eyes again.
And knows deep down, his question was already answered.
Yeah.
I made the right one.