a sea full of stars.

by ulgosipjiANHAA

Summary:

“One last thing, then.”

Mingyu nods, then turns around, and Chan opens the door for him, as Seungcheol stays, locking Jihoon in with his stare.

“I know you aren’t that kind of person. The kind that lets people die like this.”

Jihoon levels their gazes, wondering if his own eyes share the same emotion.

“Out of all the stories I’ve heard about you, that’s the fact I believe in the most,” Seungcheol professes. “And I don’t know why you stopped fighting, but one thing’s for sure: there are people who need you. Gyu and I need you, for our families to live. Your own people need you, in order for them to still see tomorrow.”

His eyes flash once, as if holding back tears and wonder all at the same time.

“The world needs the God of Music.”

Or:

Jihoon was the God of Music once. Here's his journey to finding himself again.

Notes:

*you're alright voice*

Alright, let's k-word some-

I'm joking. I am not doing that to our boys again. XD

It's time for a whole new adventure now.

Chapter 1: The "God of Music"

Jihoon wakes up in a sea full of stars.

 

On and on it goes, the depths of it infinite, the ends of it endless.

 

And even though it isn’t possible for Jihoon to be standing on air, he doesn’t feel scared. The fear is absent from his chest.

 

So in this sea of stars, Jihoon walks.

 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, or when he should stop, but he keeps going, keeps walking.

 

Then there’s a shadow by his side, stark in contrast against the orbs of light. It turns into a boy, with small, bright eyes that stare at the eternal expanse before him.

 

He asks with a glowing smile, “Isn’t it so beautiful?”

 

Jihoon looks right at him and nowhere else, as he whispers one thing: “Yes.”

 

Then Jihoon wakes up again, in his bed.

 

The tears drop onto his sheets, glimmering from where rays of the morning sun come through the window curtains to meet them.

 

He wipes at his face until it’s dry, clenching the dampness into a fist, and gets to his feet to start the day.

 

—---------------------------------------------------------

 

“Hyung!”

 

The call travels through the air, tingling at the edges of Jihoon’s ears.

 

In a flurry of sparks, Chan materializes at the doorway, his expression hassled.

 

“Hyung, the two of them from yesterday - They’re back.”

 

Then he’s blocked from view as the visitors from a day ago reappear, their hair a mess and the knapsacks over their shoulders beaten and worn.

 

“I tried to stop them,” Chan explains, peeking out from behind them, and Jihoon stands up from his chair, giving him a nod in forgiveness. 

 

“You remember me, right?” The man in front asks, his eyes intense. “I’m Seungcheol. And this is Mingyu.”

 

He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at his companion, a man whose face is quite benign in comparison, despite his tall form.

 

“I do remember you,” Jihoon responds, keeping his voice soft, tone feather light.

 

They haven't even left his mind.

 

“Then you should know why we’re here again.”

 

Seungcheol takes a step forward, creaking the floorboards underneath his boots, which are covered in dry mud. There’s a cut on his cheek that wasn’t there before.

 

And Jihoon does know.

 

But he doesn’t answer, tracing lines with a thumb in the sheet of dust covering his desk.

 

Traces until he can feel the temperature of the room increase by a few degrees, Seungcheol’s gaze filling with zeal.

 

“Okay, listen. I’m not sure if you just don’t trust us, or if it’s something else, but we don’t have time for this. There are monsters about twenty thousand meters or so from this village-”

 

With a fleeting whisk of Jihoon’s wrist, the pair of windows that allowed the breeze and the melodic tweets of songbirds to trickle into the study are instantly slammed shut.

 

Mingyu steps back, startled, but Seungcheol only furrows his brows, whipping around when Chan pulls on the door to the study as well, completely closing them in.

 

“Lower your voice,” Jihoon whispers, his tone a warning. “There’s no need for unnecessary panic.”

 

The order only serves to make Seungcheol angrier, his eyes turning to slits.

 

“So you know what’s going to happen, but you won’t even tell your own people?”

 

And Jihoon doesn’t speak a word, but this time, it’s because he can’t. There’s nothing he can say. His hand that had spelled the windows lands on his desk, nails digging into the wood.

 

“They have no idea of the danger, do they?” Seungcheol demands, his voice grating. “None of them are even prepared. They’re like sitting ducks, just waiting to be killed. Are you even going to protect them? Are you even going to fight back?”

 

Jihoon’s hand on his desk morphs into a fist, and his teeth clench together.

 

Then Seungcheol’s voice turns scathing, the boiling of water rising to the surface.

 

“For one of the strongest mages this world has known,” he snarls, “you sure are a coward.”

 

A resounding silence follows, in which Jihoon closes his eyes, and wishes he could disappear.

 

Then Mingyu moves, reaching a hand out to place on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Hyung…that’s enough.”

 

And it’s the moment the other touches him that the blazing in Seungcheol’s eyes instantly dissipates, and he relaxes.

 

Mingyu leans down to whisper in his ear, but Jihoon can still hear his words, brought to his ears at normal volume.

 

“He’s in a lot of pain. We should leave him alone.”

 

Seungcheol looks over at him for a moment, then when he returns his gaze to Jihoon, it’s calmer, though still filled with anger.

 

“One last thing, then.”

 

Mingyu nods, then turns around, and Chan opens the door for him, as Seungcheol stays, locking Jihoon in with his stare.

 

“I know you aren’t that kind of person. The kind that lets people die like this.”

 

Jihoon levels their gazes, wondering if his own eyes share the same emotion.

 

“Out of all the stories I’ve heard about you, that’s the fact I believe in the most,” Seungcheol professes. “And I don’t know why you stopped fighting, but one thing’s for sure: there are people who need you. Gyu and I need you, for our families to live. Your own people need you, in order for them to still see tomorrow.”

 

His eyes flash once, as if holding back tears and wonder all at the same time.

 

“The world needs the God of Music.”

 

…

 

A long time has passed since Jihoon’s heard that name.

 

So long, in fact, that he doesn’t even recognize himself in it anymore.

 

And with a breath, he rejects it, and rejects the memories it brings back. He can’t bear them, not even now.

 

“I’m no God.”

 

I have never been a God.

 

Seungcheol’s face darkens, and Jihoon knows that that plea was his last attempt. His voice is heavy with disappointment as he replies.

 

“Alright. Fine. I get it. Then stay here, and do whatever you like.”

 

He turns, facing the doorway, and his voice hardens considerably.

 

“But Mingyu and I won’t stop, with or without you. And we’re going to fight, and we’re going to win. Or die trying.”

 

And then, he is gone.

 

Footsteps down the stairs are heard, then the front door at the bottom is opened. However, Seungcheol seems to take care to close it gently, the slam Jihoon was expecting never reaching his ears.

 

A moment after, Chan disappears in a snap, on his way to tail the travelers.

 

In the brief seconds that come after, Jihoon faces the window, taking in the view of the sky as it suddenly clouds, the darkness of it announcing the coming of rain.

 

Then Chan returns, solemn expression framed by the glowing traces of his powers, standing in front of Jihoon’s desk.

 

“They’re staying at the inn for the night.”

 

Jihoon dips his head, feeling a stab of relief. After seeing how beaten up they were, he can’t help it.

 

Chan takes a step back, then stops. He stands, as droplets begin to land on the panes from outside, followed by a rumble of thunder.

 

Listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter, Jihoon reaches towards the lamp, and turns it on with a flick of his finger. The room is cast in a warm glow, unlike the feeling in his chest.

 

“...Just say it, Chan. I’m not going to be mad at you.”

 

His dongsaeng inhales, then pauses, as if he’s still going to choose his words carefully. Then he speaks.

 

“I’m going to be honest, Jihoon-hyung - I think he’s right.”

 

The older mage stares at the rays where the dust motes are lit up, having already expected this.

 

“Besides the part where he-” Chan winces apologetically. “-called you a coward. You’re anything but that.”

 

Jihoon quirks his lip humorlessly.

 

“But he’s right about everything else.” Chan approaches, placing his palms on the desk, his gaze earnest. “Especially the part where he said people need you. We do need you, hyung. So many of us, including me, have put our faith in you.”

 

Shaking his head, Jihoon turns away, and voices something he must have uttered countless times. 

 

“I never asked for your faith.”

 

“I’m well aware of that, hyung,” Chan counters. “But it changes nothing. We all still look to you to get us through this. We all still look…to the God of Music.”

 

Hearing his own dongsaeng say it now sends a pang through Jihoon’s chest, and he swallows the choked feeling growing in his throat, speaking truthfully.

 

“I…I really don’t know what to do, Channie. I don’t know how to get us through this. I don’t know if I can even fight anymore.”

 

“Even so,” Chan retorts. “We still have to try.”

 

Jihoon closes his eyes again, feeling the pain in his stomach intensify, replying with nothing else.

 

Then Chan takes another breath, and what comes out of his mouth next is something the older man never expects.

 

“I’m going with them tomorrow.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes shoot open, and the lamplight flickers, going out for a moment before it flares back to life. “What?”

 

“I said I’m going with them. Seungcheol and Mingyu.”

 

Searching the other’s face, Jihoon quickly finds that Chan isn’t joking. He’s completely serious.

 

“They need all the help they can get.” Chan takes his hands off the desk, standing up straight, his gaze aglow. “And I am done waiting around.”

 

“No,” Jihoon starts, panic bubbling up within him. “Chan, you’re not strong enough-”

 

“And I’ll never be strong enough if I stay here,” his dongsaeng shoots back. “So I’m going, no matter what you say.”

 

Wracking his brain for something else to object, Jihoon rises to his full height too, fixing the other with his best warning stare.

 

“Don’t do this.”

 

“You know you can’t stop me,” Chan’s body begins to gleam, reminding the other of his ability to warp. “I’d find another way.”

 

“You’ll only get yourself killed,” Jihoon says, desperate. “I can’t protect you if you’re out there.”

 

“Then come with me.”

 

The tension peaks, as Jihoon notices what Chan is doing - he’s trapping him, leaving him with no other option.

 

“That way, you can still protect me.” Chan’s expression is resolute. “You don’t have to let me out of your sight.”

 

And soon Jihoon realizes that there’s no further argument he could make. 

 

He runs one of his hands through his hair, holding back from cursing under his breath. In a way, he almost regrets how Chan’s grown under his watch.

 

But when he refocuses on the younger one, he finds the other regarding him in sympathy, along with a dash of encouragement.

 

“Just do it for me, hyung. Please. If nothing else. ”

 

And it’s at that last plea, that final request, that Jihoon understands the choice, as difficult as it is, that he has to make.

 

With a heavy sigh that feels as if it’s rising from his chest, Jihoon relents.

 

“...I’ll think about it.”

 

It’s not a dismissal, and it’s not a confirmation either, but Chan’s whole face still lights up, relief coloring his tone.

 

“Do you promise?”

 

With another breath, Jihoon replies, “I promise.”

 

His dongsaeng remains still for a bit, as if still processing what his hyung had said, looking hopeful and nervous all at once. Then, he bows.

 

“Thank you, hyung. This means a lot.”

 

Then he steps back, straightening as he goes, until he’s standing in the doorway, his expression still grateful.

 

“They said they’re setting off tomorrow, at sunrise. I’m going to go meet them at the inn. If you’re coming, show up there, okay?”

 

Swallowing once, the elder mage nods in agreement.

 

Chan gives him a shy smile, before he closes the door behind him, leaving Jihoon alone with his restless thoughts and questions on what he has done.

 

Chapter 2: The Griffin

Summary:

They continue walking, the silence much more comfortable, and Jihoon focuses on the sounds of the trees swaying in the breeze. Hearing them rustle outside of his window has always calmed him before he went to bed, and right now, it really helps to hear them again, on this whole new quest.

But then, that’s when he hears it.

A sharp, fluttering sound in the air. So distinct that it cuts through the whisper of the leaves. The low, inaudible hum of the wind shifts.

It’s coming. Fast.

He whips around, startling Mingyu in the process, and looks up in the sky, and locks gazes with a slitted, golden gaze.

Griffin.

“They were teasing you again, weren’t they?”

 

Around Jihoon’s ankles, a starry current flows.

 

He stares down at how it swirls around his limbs, before he makes eye contact with the boy from before, sitting on a nearby riverbank that’s made up of violet cosmos.

 

“Who?” he asks.

 

“Those older kids,” the boy answers. “The ones who said your magic isn’t good. That it’s not strong.”

 

Jihoon gazes at his upturned palms.

 

“They did say that, huh?”

 

“Then they pushed you into the water.”

 

The boy’s eyes narrow in frustration. 

 

“Why are they being so mean to you?”

 

Hearing the hurt in his voice, for Jihoon, brings a sting to the other’s eyes.

 

“I don’t know. I guess they just don’t like me.”

 

Jihoon shrugs, then stares down at the river again, watching the distorted stars as they pass him by. Then, he hears a splash.

 

“Well, I like you.”

 

And there the boy is, wading through the water towards him. 

 

“You, and your magic.”

 

There they both stand in the river, as it crashes in around them.

 

The boy beams at him. And for once, Jihoon feels seen.

 

When he wakes up, it’s to his alarm ringing on his bedside, though the feeling of the water and that boy’s eyes on him still lingers, as he stands up and opens the curtains to a dim morning sky.

 

—---------------------------------------------------------

 

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

 

Junhui’s eyes are wide, attentive, even when he’s been sitting awake for the entire night, and about to relinquish his post to someone else.

 

Jihoon answers truthfully.

 

“No.”

 

The guard’s expression falters, before he lowers his head in acceptance. “Understood. I’ll watch over the village for you, until you return.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll send word as soon as I know.”

 

The trees hanging over their heads sway with the morning breeze, some of the old leaves breaking off and fluttering downwards.

 

Junhui holds a palm out to catch one of them, squeezing it into his fist until it crumbles into bits and pieces. Then he stretches his arm out, opening his hand so that the dust billows to the ground.

 

Jihoon feels the shift in the air, as the wards placed around the walls of the village strengthen themselves once more.

 

“Take care of Chan,” the guard says, his expression wistful. “Even though he’s grown up well.”

 

“With my life,” Jihoon replies, as sincere as can be.

 

Junhui nods, satisfied, and gestures to the object, wrapped with a simple case with a strap, carried at the other’s side. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

Jihoon, not knowing what else to respond with, goes to reveal it.

 

It’s a guitar, made of the wood from his hometown, its strings built from hard-spun wire. The small scratches and dents on it show its age, but Jihoon had spent countless years making sure it stayed as good as new. He had never wanted it anywhere else but by his side. 

 

Even if he sometimes can’t bear to look at it.

 

Junhui makes a nostalgic noise. “May I?”

 

Jihoon holds it out for him, allowing him to take it by the neck.

 

“I haven’t seen this in ages,” Junhui muses, cradling it in his lap. His fingertips graze the wood with the utmost gentleness. “It’s still so beautiful.”

 

“Yes,” Jihoon is unsure of what else he should say. 

 

The air shifts again, but this time only between the two of them.

 

Jihoon can tell what’s on his mind. Sometimes the time that has passed since can’t be so easily ignored.

 

“You stay safe out there too,” Junhui finally whispers, handing the guitar back. “Come back in good health.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

“Do you promise?”

 

It’s the same thing Chan asked from him yesterday. Jihoon stifles a sigh. He wonders how many more of these promises he has to make.

 

“I promise I’ll try.”

 

Then, there are footsteps behind him, followed by a voice that Jihoon is well familiar with, filled with surprise.

 

“Hyung? You’re here?”

 

When he turns, it’s Chan, the other’s expression inquisitive.

 

“Hey there, Channie.”

 

Right after, his dongsaeng notices the guitar in his grasp, and his expression instantly changes to a beaming grin.

 

He whips around to face Seungcheol and Mingyu, who were right behind him in step. 

 

“I told you he’d show up!”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Mingyu remarks, looking grateful, giving Seungcheol a nudge with his shoulder.

 

And Seungcheol himself seems almost shocked, but trying to mask it behind a face of indifference, his eyes scouring all over Jihoon, studying his supplies and the pack fastened to his back, until they land on the instrument.

 

Then he meets the other’s gaze, and smiles. It’s the first smile Jihoon has seen from him, and a genuine one at that.

 

“...Well, welcome to the team. We’re glad to have you.”

 

Jihoon feels warmth spring to his cheeks as he bows his head, out of respect as well as embarrassment.

 

“Thank you for having me.”

 

He’s almost forgotten what it was like joining a team. This is almost entirely foreign to him now.

 

“Okay, we should get a move on,” Seungcheol announces, making his way to the front of the new group. “I think we could make it to the top of the mountain by midday.”

 

Mingyu dips his head in agreement, while Chan and Jihoon mirror the gesture just a second after.

 

Seungcheol turns his attention to Junhui, offering his hand for the other to shake. “Appreciate you letting us stay for the night.”

 

“Of course.” Junhui tightens his grip though, his tone a warning. “But to return the favor, keep my friends alive. Or you’ll have a lot to answer for.”

 

But Seungcheol doesn’t bristle like Jihoon expects a lot of people to. Instead, he only nods, and there is no bluff to his voice as he responds. “I understand.”

 

As he steps away, Chan comes up, giving the guard a tight hug. “I’ll miss you, Jun-hyung!”

 

“I’ll miss you too, Channie-ya.” Junhui stares at him fondly as they part. “Eat lots of good food on the road, okay?”

 

“Mm, okay!”

 

Then as Jihoon approaches again, Junhui gives him a ruffle of his hair, which is something only a few people could do without getting swatted.

 

“You got this, Jihoonie,” he says, at a volume only the other mage could hear. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

The anxiety that Jihoon has been suppressing this whole time rises to the surface, and he swallows it back, raising his hand to his friend’s shoulder and patting it in confirmation.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Jun.”

 

“See you soon,” Junhui murmurs back, putting his own hand over the other’s and squeezing.

 

With a deep breath, Jihoon stands at the village entrance, and after looking over his shoulder at the buildings and the people strolling to and fro, the people he’s known for years, he faces forward, and steps through the wards.

 

Leaving them behind him, he can feel the briskness of the air, and listens to the rustling of the leaves belonging to trees beyond the village border. 

 

Then he sets his eyes on Seungcheol, Mingyu and Chan, who are a few steps ahead of him, and rewraps his guitar in its case, jogging to catch up with them.

 

—---------------------------------------------------------

 

For the most part, the first day of the journey is a smooth one.

 

Seungcheol had chosen the path the second the village was behind them and out of sight, and has been at the head of the group since.

 

Jihoon didn’t complain, for he didn’t have a clue where to start otherwise, and Chan didn’t seem to mind it either.

 

The four of them continue to walk, with Seungcheol at the front, Chan following him, Jihoon after, and Mingyu taking up the rear.

 

At first, Jihoon wasn’t sure if he wanted to put his back to someone he barely knew for only a couple of hours, especially one of Mingyu’s size, but every time he turned his head, the other would smile and wave at him, always exuding a gentle aura.

 

Well, it’s better than putting his back towards Seungcheol. Though the team leader has made it clear that he’s not as angry, there was still an underlying tension between them that was pretty obvious. Jihoon has a feeling that isn’t going away any time soon.

 

He sighs, resuming his focus on the trek as it turns upwards. It’s been a while since he’s climbed a mountain, and he can already feel his legs burning. Like they’re telling him that it really has been years since he’s left the village.

 

At this time, everything would be in full swing. The children will be in class, both magic and non-magic-wise, their parents attending to the day’s work. Junhui would be resting, but still alert, ready to aid anyone who may need him for help in place of Jihoon, as someone else stands sentry at the outside wards. And by now, many of the villagers should be aware that Jihoon had left. That their leader is going on a quest again, for the first time in forever.

 

It’s almost weird to think about. He’s spent so long inside those walls, living the same routine, and yet, now that he’s out, it all suddenly comes rushing back to him. The wind on his face, the rushing of the tree leaves. The rhythm of his feet hitting the earth. All of these sensations are still so familiar.

 

Then he feels the outline of his guitar at his back, and wonders if it will also be familiar to play it again.

 

“We’re almost there,” Seungcheol suddenly announces, pulling Jihoon out of his reverie.

 

“Um, if I might ask, hyung,” Chan interjects. “Almost where?”

 

Seungcheol points upwards, where Jihoon sees more of the slope they’re climbing. “Almost to the top of this hill. It makes a good vantage point. We can get our bearings and decide where to go from there.”

 

“We’ve got a few honing enchantments we can use,” Mingyu adds from behind Jihoon. 

 

“Ah, I see,” Chan says, and from where Jihoon can see him, he’s got a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. The latter smirks. Chan’s always been eager to try anything new.

 

They continue walking, the silence much more comfortable, and Jihoon focuses on the sounds of the trees swaying in the breeze. Hearing them rustle outside of his window has always calmed him before he went to bed, and right now, it really helps to hear them again, on this whole new quest.

 

But then, that’s when he hears it.

 

A sharp, fluttering sound in the air. So distinct that it cuts through the whisper of the leaves. The low, inaudible hum of the wind shifts.

 

It’s coming. Fast.

 

He whips around, startling Mingyu in the process, and looks up in the sky, and locks gazes with a slitted, golden gaze.

 

Griffin.

 

Jihoon’s heart races. His mind screams at him to act, but his body freezes as he processes what he’s seeing. The beast is massive, its wingspan cutting through the air in a blur, as it heads straight for them.

 

“Get down!” Jihoon finally yells.

 

Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice. He pivots on his heel, his legs pushing him into a roll into the trees, narrowly avoiding the griffin’s claws as they scrape through the air where his head just was. Jihoon quickly follows suit. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seungcheol dart to the other side, sliding behind a large boulder that the griffin slices at before beating its wings to take itself up again, letting out a frustrated shriek.

 

Jihoon hurriedly scans his periphery, feeling a dash of relief when he sees a flash of light in the opposite treeline. Chan had managed to get away too.

 

“Shit,” Mingyu curses. “It’s still here?”

 

Jihoon looks back at him. “What do you mean, it’s still here?”

 

“Cheol-hyung and I fought this one before,” Mingyu replies, craning his neck, following the angry creature with his eyes. “We thought we drove it away!”

 

Jihoon glances at the beast, noticing the singed feathers along its wing, distinct in the sunlight. The griffin lets out another screech, clearly undeterred by the injury, and the sound tingles at Jihoon’s ears.

 

“Doesn’t seem like you did a good job at that.”

 

“Alright, come on!” Seungcheol yells, peeking his head out. “We gotta take it down before it gets one over us!”

 

Then he’s rushing out from behind the boulder as the griffin flies down again, balls of flame forming in his palms.

 

There’s an explosion of fire, but Jihoon watches as the griffin comes out unscathed, wings beating powerfully. 

 

“Damn!” Seungcheol growls.

 

Mingyu then rushes out past Jihoon, leaving the cover of the trees, and grabs at his satchel, tugging it open with a flourish of his arm.

 

He shoves his hand inside, pulling out a handful of sharp, dark green leaves, which he soon crushes in his palms. A sharp, pungent odor fills Jihoon’s senses, making him recoil. 

 

What is he doing?

 

But Jihoon doesn’t dare say anything as the griffin circles back, its massive form speeding towards them. It’s almost bearing down on top of Mingyu, its claws outstretched, when the other man suddenly reaches out, a violet aura emanating from his fingertips. “Get back!”

 

From where Jihoon sees it, the spell goes right up the griffin’s nostrils, and the beast lets out a shriek, and this time, the panic in its tone was evident, eyes wide. It suddenly veers backwards, wings floundering as they try to reverse course, but it can’t get too far before Seungcheol is there, throwing another fireball in its face.

 

Jihoon’s gaze shifts back to Mingyu, who keeps his arm raised, brow furrowed in concentration. More purple energy spills from his palm, swirling and pulsing. And Jihoon- Jihoon has never seen magic like that before.

 

But then, in the blink of an eye, a violent gust of wind blasts through the clearing, and Jihoon is thrown back. He narrowly avoids smacking his head against another tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seungcheol and Mingyu get thrown back as well, a stray burst of flame from Seungcheol’s attack hitting a nearby bush, igniting it in an instant.

 

The griffin reemerges from the maelstrom, letting out another roar that pierces through Jihoon’s ears.

 

But before it can advance on Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s prone forms, there’s a sudden flash of light. Chan appears from over the beast’s head, descending with a fierce cry as he brings his fists down onto its skull.

 

The griffin shakes its head violently, a low growl rumbling in its throat as it tries to regain its bearings. Sparks flicker in the air, and  suddenly, Chan materializes in front of the beast in a flicker, knife flashing. He slashes once, twice, the blade cutting through the air.

 

Then he’s gone again, reappearing at the griffin’s flank in another burst of sparks, striking out with relentless speed. Over and over, he warps, a blur of movement too fast for Jihoon to keep following. The beast shrieks in frustration, twisting and snapping its jaws at empty air as Chan outpaces its every move.

 

For a fleeting moment, as Jihoon and the others struggle to regain their footing, it seems as though the tide is turning. Each strike from Chan seems to drive the griffin into disarray, its movements growing more frantic.

 

But then, Jihoon sees the sweat on Chan’s face, his clenched jaw, and the glimmer of his blade as it starts to miss. Again and again, the griffin evades every hit, and that’s when Jihoon realizes - he has to step in. Now.

 

He sprints forward, the sunlight bearing down on him, and he shouts, “Chan! Out of the way!”

 

His dongsaeng looks back at him, before his body shimmers and vanishes. Now it’s just Jihoon and the griffin, and the mage stares it right in the eyes, swallowing hard as he grips the strap of the bag over his shoulder. His fingers curl around the neck of his guitar, ready to pull it free.

 

But at the moment he touches it, everything seems to stop. It all falls into a suffocating stillness, and an icy feeling crawls up Jihoon’s spine. His breath hitches, his chest tightening as if the very air had turned to stone.

 

He can’t. His grip falters, hand trembling on the guitar.

 

Jihoon just can’t use it.

 

Then the griffin is rising up on its hind legs, and Jihoon watches as its enormous wings take up all of his vision, beginning to glow in green. The air crackles with energy, a low hum building as it begins to summon more power.

 

There isn’t enough time to dodge.

 

Jihoon can see the wind spell as it takes form, an emerald lattice, pulsing with destructive force, and he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

 

But impact doesn’t come.

 

Instead, he feels a sudden force slam into his side, knocking him off his feet. The world spins, sky and earth blurring into one another as he tumbles across the ground. 

 

As soon as he comes to a stop, he sits himself up, and sees that it’s Chan, sprawled on the dirt beside him. His dongsaeng’s face is pale, a bead of sweat rolling down from his temple, looking completely drained. He had pushed himself to his limit. 

 

“You…” he croaks, lifting his head to meet Jihoon’s gaze weakly. “You okay, hyung?”

 

“I’m-I’m okay,” Jihoon stammers, shaky and breathless. But the moment those words leave his mouth, something inside him snaps. It’s like a dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of emotions.

 

Rage, fear, and adrenaline.

 

Chan could’ve died. Jihoon realizes this in gut-wrenching clarity. He could’ve died right then and there, and why? Because Jihoon had frozen, unable to act.

 

No more. Jihoon feels his hesitation dissolve in his chest. He won’t hesitate anymore. He won’t falter anymore.

 

So what if he can’t use his guitar? It doesn’t matter. It’s not his only weapon, not his only conduit for magic.

 

His eyes flick back to the griffin, its glowing wings slicing through the air like blades. Jihoon ignores his instincts that are screaming at him to run, and gets to his feet, pulling off his guitar and lowering it to the ground behind him.

 

This creature wields wind magic, and it’s powerful at that. And maybe it isn’t smart to fight a beast with its own type of magic, but it’s what Jihoon has left. He has no other choice.

 

It’s time to find out who’s stronger.

 

The beast’s golden eyes snap to him, blazing with wild fervor, but Jihoon doesn’t stop, sprinting forward. He brushes his palms against one another, and closes his eyes for the briefest moment. His thoughts flicker back to those long days in school. He remembers Junhui’s calm voice, the way his friend stood beside him, guiding his hand.

 

The wind answers his call, rushing to his hands with an almost eager energy. And with a twist of his arms, he sends a slice of pure gust slicing underneath the griffin’s left wing. The force of it sends the beast hurtling backwards. Branches crack and splinter as its massive form crashes into the trees, the impact shaking the ground.

 

The griffin lets out a cry of surprise and rage, but it doesn’t let up for a second, firing more spells at Jihoon from its beak.

 

Jihoon narrowly avoids them with side step after side step, sending off his own in retaliation.

 

And when he gets close enough, when the next spell the griffin fires at him just narrowly scrapes his nose, he summons even more of his strength, and sweeps up his arms, sending the beast skyward.

 

It screeches in alarm as it’s sent up, its wings flailing. Leaves tear free from the surrounding forest, spiraling into the vortex. They swirl around Jihoon, caught in the whirlwind he’s created.

 

Jihoon watches the creature as it becomes a faint dot in the cloudy heavens, his breath coming fast. 

 

He hears Seungcheol calling from a distance away. “Is it over?”

 

Chan seems to reply with, “I think so,” but Jihoon keeps his head raised. He has a feeling that something is not quite right.

 

And then he sees it. A jagged burst of shadow unfurls in the sky, sharp and unnatural, tearing through the clouds like claws. It spreads fast, an all-consuming darkness that blots out the sun, plunging the forest into an eerie twilight.

 

Jihoon hears Mingyu take a shaky gasp behind him.

 

Dark magic.

 

“H-How?” Chan breathes, his voice barely audible. “The griffin’s a wind creature, it can’t-”

 

“It’s infected,” Jihoon says quietly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His throat feels dry. “I should’ve known.”

 

Above them, the dark plume spreads wider. The air feels heavier, charged with something vile. Jihoon could see the griffin now, thrashing at the epicenter. Its wings are no longer fluid, black tendrils snaking through its veins, overtaking it. The creature’s cries turn guttural, a mockery of the proud beast it once was.

 

For a moment, Jihoon’s breath catches, and he almost takes a step back. But his eyes then flicker downward, to Seungcheol, to Mingyu,  to Chan, all still with terror, all of their breathing shallow, and knows he must act. 

 

They don’t know what this is. But he does.

 

Jihoon closes his eyes again, pushing past the cold fear clawing up his spine. 

 

Magic, right? Junhui had once asked him. Remember what our teacher said? What can it be?

 

And Jihoon remembers his response, clear as day. Something tangible. Something we can hold in the palm of our hands. Something that we know is always there, waiting for us to just call it forth. And you just have to call it.

 

The darkness above churns faster now, a colossal spiral devouring the sky, its pull so strong Jihoon can feel the earth trembling underneath his feet. He watches the griffin in the middle, its body twitching and writhing as the malevolent force siphons the very essence of its life. The shadows coil tighter, ready to strike the final blow. 

 

Even if the beast had given them so much grief, Jihoon will not let it die like this - its soul ripped apart in torment.

 

“Brace yourselves, everyone.”

 

“Jihoon-hyung-”

 

“I’ll be okay,” Jihoon replies, glancing back at Chan with a small, reassuring smile. “Duck down. Now.”

 

His dongsaeng obeys, crouching low, covering his head with his trembling hands, and Jihoon feels Seungcheol and Mingyu behind him do the same. 

 

Then he begins. He plants his foot firmly into the shaking earth, his palms outstretched, fingers slicing through the air as he spins. The wind responds immediately, its energy pooling into his hands. It builds faster, stronger, the air growing sharp and electric.

 

The green glow bursts forth, almost blinding, as he wrestles the tempest into a compact sphere, its power surging and thrumming like a living thing in his grasp.

 

Then Jihoon looks up at the sky, breath shuddering. The griffin’s maw opens wide, shadows spilling forth in a chaotic torrent. 

 

With a cry, Jihoon thrusts the hurricane towards it, the bundle ripping from his hands and hurtling toward the spiral. 

 

The emerald beam ignites the sky, and as it connects with the griffin’s form, everything goes quiet. For a moment, the entire world holds its breath. Then the windstorm explodes outward, obliterating the darkness entirely, carving a gaping hole through the clouds above.

 

As the spell fades, it’s evident that the griffin’s body is gone - vaporized. Only a few bronze feathers flutter downwards, landing on the ground around Jihoon and the others.

 

And then, Jihoon’s knees give out. 

 

“Hyung!” Chan is there before him, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Hyung, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon forces out. His focus wanes, his eyelids feeling heavy. His head is swimming. “Too much magic. Need rest.”

 

Then he’s slumping forward, face meeting Chan’s chest. As the world falls away, he hears Mingyu’s voice, full of awe, and maybe even a bit of reverence. “So this is what a God can do.”

 

Then Jihoon hears nothing at all, his consciousness slipping away fully.

Notes:

man the amount of absolute BRAINING i've done for this fic so far

updates will probably be less often now - I'm basically getting everything I have already written out. please be patient with me!! i am trying to Word with everything i have!!

i hope you're enjoying it tho <3 til next time!

Chapter 3: The Striders and the Colossus

Summary:

“Most striders are stubborn. They don’t stay put. Migration’s always what they do best. But if they’re still here…that means something’s keeping them here. Something more powerful than they are.”

The air thickens with tension, and Jihoon feels the shift in the group’s mood, the weight of uncertainty hanging between them.

“What do you mean by more powerful, hyung?” Chan finally asks. However, he sounds almost afraid to hear the answer.

But Jihoon doesn’t give it, not verbally. He moves closer to Seungcheol, gesturing for the map. The fire mage hands it to him with a confused hum.

There could be several options on what it could be. Jihoon shuts his eyes, and tries to imagine any one of them.

He feels the paper shift underneath his touch, magic thrumming faintly. And when he looks down at it again, he sees the faint lettering emerge.

“It’s a colossus.”

The silence that follows is absolute, followed by only the crinkle of the parchment as a breeze blows through.

“Colossus,” Mingyu parrots, his eyes wide.

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “As if striders weren’t bad enough.”

The world creeps back to Jihoon in pieces.

 

There’s the faint murmur of voices. It was distant and muffled, like they were speaking through water. 

 

Then, the sensation of warmth. Something soft was draped over him - a blanket. The weight of it is like an anchor, keeping him from floating away.

 

At some point, he blinks against the haze covering his eyes, and his vision is able to clear.

 

First, he notices Seungcheol, kneeling beside a fire, burning above a pile of branches. His hands move with purpose, guiding the flames into a controlled blaze with a subtle wave of his fingers. 

 

Then Jihoon sees Mingyu, sitting a little ways beside him, as he carefully arranges bundles of herbs on a mat spread on the ground. The scent of dried plants is thick in the air. He’s humming lightly to himself, smoothing over each leaf with his fingers.

 

“Hyung?”

 

And finally, he hears Chan’s voice, and turns his head, seeing his dongsaeng’s face leaning over him, brightening with a warm smile. “You’re awake!”

 

“Hey, Chan,” Jihoon mumbles, wincing a little as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, the blanket slipping off his chest and pooling around his waist. “How long was I out?”

 

“A few hours,” Chan replies, his hand hovering over the elder’s arm. “We decided to make camp and wait for you to wake up.”

 

His brow furrows, a trace of concern in his eyes. “Honestly, though, I was getting a little worried.”

 

Jihoon feels a stab of embarrassment. “Sorry, Channie.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay!” Chan quickly reassures, his voice light but earnest. 

 

Before Jihoon can say more, Seungcheol strides over. 

 

“I mean, you used a lot of magic back there.” His expression is appraising yet unreadable. “More than I’ve ever seen anyone use at once.”

 

Jihoon twists to face him, rubbing the back of his neck. “...Thanks.”

 

“It was, well…” Mingyu’s voice breaks in, hesitantly, drawing Jihoon’s attention. “Pretty insane to watch.”

 

The words make Jihoon’s cheeks flush faintly, and he shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their attention. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Well, considering what we’ve been through,” Chan starts, turning the other’s attention back to him. “Whatever that griffin became… you knew exactly what to do. You were the only one who knew.”

 

Jihoon straightens, his posture stiff but his gaze dropping to the ground, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “I guess so.”

 

Seungcheol narrows his eyes, and his tone is curious, but firm. “You guess so? You said something back there. Something about it being infected, right?”

Something in Jihoon tenses at the question. His fingers fall to the blanket, fidgeting with the edges. It looks like Chan took it out of his pack while he was still unconscious. “Yeah. Infected by dark magic.”

Mingyu shifts closer, putting his herb bundle aside. “Dark magic, huh? Cheol-hyung and I - we saw this before, but we never were able to figure out what it was.”

 

“But you did,” Seungcheol continues, staring at Jihoon. “Because…you’ve seen it before, haven’t you?”

 

Jihoon hesitates, his mind blanking. He looks away again, and his throat tightens. He doesn’t think he can answer that, not right now. The air however, is heavy with expectation.

 

Chan comes to his rescue. “Hang on. Before we talk about this, we should let Jihoon-hyung eat something. He’s been knocked out for a while.”

 

Seungcheol draws back, eyes flickering in apology. “Right. Sorry.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon responds.

 

Mingyu then offers a bowl of soup, smelling of cooked meat and vegetables, and Jihoon takes it with a hum of appreciation.

 

He takes a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through him and easing the lingering ache in his chest. The broth is savory, and just a little earthy. Jihoon is honestly surprised. He knows very well that Chan isn’t that good at cooking.

 

“Who made this?”

 

He makes eye contact with Seungcheol, who jerks his head over to Mingyu, who raises a tentative palm. “That would be me.”

 

“It’s good,” Jihoon compliments. “I’m surprised.”

 

“Oh, thank you,” Mingyu responds, looking sheepish. 

 

Jihoon’s gaze then shifts to the leaves in his grasp, pinched carefully by his fingers. He takes another sip of the soup, swallows, then asks, “Those. You were using them during the fight.”

 

Mingyu gives a confused noise, then follows the other’s gaze. “Oh. Yeah. They’re, um, part of my magic.”

 

“You got the griffin to flinch,” Jihoon says, faintly recalling the scene. “How?”

 

Scratching at his face, Mingyu’s face turns thoughtful, as if he’s considering strongly about how to respond. “Well, it’s… kinda hard to explain. Let’s say that I can manipulate emotions. Fear, anger, joy, that kind of thing. And I use these-”

 

He holds up the leaves. “To do so.”

 

Jihoon blinks. “So…”

 

He looks down again at Mingyu’s mat, recognizing the violet hue of one of the bundles, familiar to him because of the infirmary back in the village. “You use that wolfsbane to…?”

 

“Make things feel fear,” Mingyu finishes. “Yeah. And I use turmeric-”

 

He points to a pile of short roots. “-For happiness. And lilies, for sadness.”

 

Jihoon takes a moment to process everything. “So you can make enemies…feel whatever you want?”

 

“Uh…sorta.” Mingyu shrugs. “It’s not always that simple. These herbs just help me focus and guide each emotion. Sometimes I make things worse, though. Like what happened earlier. I pissed the griffin off instead of getting it to leave us alone.”

 

“Hey, you’ll get better,” Seungcheol cuts in, halfheartedly glaring at him across the campfire. “After all, you still gave me a chance to hit it.”

 

Mingyu glanced back, lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, hyung.”

 

Jihoon takes a few more sips of his soup before speaking again. “So it depends on the herb for what emotion you want to inflict, right?”

 

“Yeah. Something like that,” Mingyu’s face slowly turns pink. “It’s a bit…ridiculous, isn’t it?”

 

Jihoon immediately shakes his head. “No. I wouldn’t say that.”

 

At Mingyu’s raised eyebrows, he presses on. “Your magic…it’s just something I never thought could exist. And that’s not a bad thing. I mean, no one knew my magic either. They called it ridiculous, too.”

 

“Th-They did?” 

 

Jihoon chuckles softly at the other’s startled expression. “Oh, yeah. They did. No one knew I’d be…a ‘God’, I guess.”

 

And there it is. The first time Jihoon mentions the title others had given him. He feels the weight of the word, unsure of whether he likes it or not, but he hopes Mingyu understands what he means.

 

Judging from the other’s expression, it seems like he does.

 

“...Thank you, Jihoon-ssi. That means a lot.”

 

Jihoon nods, and they fall into a brief silence. But then, there’s a shift in the air, like a subtle change in warmth.

 

“Um…” Chan pipes up from where he’s sitting on his bedroll. “Seungcheol-hyung? It’s getting kind of too hot.”

 

Jihoon looks over, seeing Seungcheol blinking himself out of what seems to be a reverie. “Oh. Whoops.”

 

But as the campfire settles back into its usual temperature, Jihoon doesn’t miss the glance the fire mage sends his way. However, before he can say anything, Seungcheol straightens up. “Alright, we should get some sleep. We’ll probably reach the peak around noon tomorrow. And from there, there’ll be a lot more monsters to fight.”

 

“Right,” Chan says. “I’m exhausted.”

 

But before he settles down, he faces Jihoon, holding out his guitar case by the strap. “Here, hyung. You dropped it earlier.”

 

Jihoon nods, taking it from him. “Thanks, Channie.”

 

As Chan flops back on his bedroll, and the others get ready to rest as well, Mingyu in the distance muttering what seems to be warding spells, Jihoon watches the fire crackle for a bit, letting himself drift away in thought.

 

Then finally, he lies down, staring up at the sky overhead. The encounter with the griffin, the dark magic, and the infection all replay in his mind, before he’s finally lulled into the rhythm of sleep.

 

—----------------------------------------------------------

The cosmos is a grassy mound, the blades the color of silver. Jihoon sits on it, knees drawn to his chest, and he’s holding something. A small, wooden instrument.

 

It’s a simple thing, rough and imperfect. The edges are worn, and the surface is uneven. But it is his, and it fits perfectly in his hands.

 

“I made this,” he says softly, his voice almost lost in the vastness of the stars. “What do you think?”

 

He turns his head, sees the boy sitting next to him, cross legged. He was leaning back on his hands, staring at the constellations in the sky, before he meets Jihoon’s gaze. Then his eyes trail down to the instrument, taking it gently from his grasp.

 

He runs his fingers across its surface, expression both familiar and distant. “It’s beautiful.”

 

He looks up at Jihoon, giving him a knowing smile. “You’re getting better and better.”

 

Jihoon feels heat rush to his face. “I’m still learning.”

 

The boy only tilts his head, grinning, his cheeks becoming more defined. “Well, you’re learning fast.”

 

Then, he offers the instrument back to Jihoon, hands cradling it gently still. “Play something for me?”

 

Jihoon studies his eager, waiting expression, before he takes it, steadying his breath before raising it to his lips.

 

The first note is soft, barely more than a whisper. The next is clearer, more sure. And then another, louder, growing with each breath.

 

And as Jihoon plays, the boy’s eyes close for a moment, an exhale escaping him. Then, they open again, fixing on him with an intensity that does not waver. Not once. As if nothing else exists but Jihoon.

 

The melody unfolds as Jihoon plays, and plays, and the stars around them seem to stretch out even further, the galaxies floating on forever.

 

Then Jihoon stops, and all is quiet. The boy is still for a moment, before his head softly falls onto Jihoon’s shoulder. 

 

And there, they stay.

—----------------------------------------------------------

When they reach the top of the hill the next day, there is still morning dew in the air, condensing on Jihoon’s tongue as he breathes in.

 

Seungcheol reaches into his pack, opening a large piece of parchment, and holds it up against the landscape. The symbols on it begin to move, the enchantments activating, rearranging themselves to mirror the contours of the land stretched out before the team’s periphery.

 

Chan, who was rubbing at his eye, cuts off mid-yawn to exclaim, “Whoa. That’s cool!”

 

Jihoon, who was stretching his shoulders, hides a small smile. There goes Chan again, keeping spirits up. His tiredness from yesterday already seems to be disappearing.

 

“Right?” Mingyu responds, and he steps up, leaning over Seungcheol’s shoulder to point out a few lines on the map to him. “We’re thinking of going this way.”

 

“That is, if the monsters are still there,” Seungcheol adds. “They could’ve moved in these few days.”

 

“The ones you said were too close to the village?” Jihoon inquires.

 

Seungcheol nods, then his brows furrow, eyes growing tense in concentration, and the map shimmers, and the spot where Mingyu had pointed is colored over, revealing a group of dots, shifting ever so slightly from side to side.

 

“Whoa!” Chan exclaims again.

 

“Huh, that didn’t take too long,” Seungcheol muses, and he leans closer to the paper. “So the striders are still there. But why?”

 

“Striders?” Jihoon repeats. “What kind of striders?”

 

“Ash veil striders,” Mingyu explains. “We ran into them before too - it looked like they were trying to find the next volcanic field. But they were really willing to take a bite out of us. We managed to take some out, but there were a lot of them.”

 

“And they’re still here,” Seungcheol mutters, almost to himself. “What the hell? It doesn’t make sense.”

 

Jihoon pauses, eyes narrowing as he pieces it together. Half-memories of old lessons resurface in his mind. It’s been too long since he’s brushed up on monster knowledge, but he’s pretty sure about what he says next. 

 

“Most striders are stubborn. They don’t stay put. Migration’s always what they do best. But if they’re still here…that means something’s keeping them here. Something more powerful than they are.”

 

The air thickens with tension, and Jihoon feels the shift in the group’s mood, the weight of uncertainty hanging between them.

 

“What do you mean by more powerful, hyung?” Chan finally asks. However, he sounds almost afraid to hear the answer.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t give it, not verbally. He moves closer to Seungcheol, gesturing for the map. The fire mage hands it to him with a confused hum.

 

There could be several options on what it could be. Jihoon shuts his eyes, and tries to imagine any one of them.

 

He feels the paper shift underneath his touch, magic thrumming faintly. And when he looks down at it again, he sees the faint lettering emerge.

 

“It’s a colossus.”

 

The silence that follows is absolute, followed by only the crinkle of the parchment as a breeze blows through.

 

“Colossus,” Mingyu parrots, his eyes wide.

 

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “As if striders weren’t bad enough.”

 

His eyes linger on the fading letters, their glow slowly dimming until they vanish entirely. “And I didn’t even know the map could do that.”

 

“Most of them can,” Jihoon explains, and he doesn’t fail to notice Seungcheol’s eyes flash a little, as if in irritation.

 

“Well, what do we do?” Chan pipes up, glancing between the group. “Are we…fighting them? Fighting them both?”

 

Jihoon turns back to the team leader, who clenches his jaw. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice. If we don’t take care of this now, the village could be in danger.”

 

He looks at Jihoon, then back at the map. “You think your friend could hold the fort if it’s something like a colossus?”

 

“Junhui’s powerful,” Jihoon replies sharply. “You shouldn’t doubt him.”

 

Seungcheol’s gaze narrows. “It’s not that I’m doubting him.”

 

And Jihoon knows that. It’s just that he did not like the other’s tone. It wasn’t about Junhui’s strength - it was the way Seungcheol had asked the question. But he knows he has a right to be concerned.

 

“Junhui might be able to handle the striders, but not a colossus,” he admits. “We need to stop both before they even get there.”

 

“Right,” Mingyu finally cuts in. His face is still serious, but the panic has mostly faded. “But how do we do that?”

 

A quiet moment passes, and Jihoon realizes they’re all looking at him, waiting. He shuts the map, and hands it back to Seungcheol, the weight of their gazes pressing down harder than he expected.

 

Damn. He didn’t even realize what he was doing. Giving them knowledge, providing them with insight. And now, they’re looking at him like he’s the one with all the answers.

 

A seed of doubt invades his mind. What right does he have to tell them what to do? Isn’t Seungcheol supposed to be the one to call the shots?

 

As if reading his mind, Seungcheol straightens up. There’s another flash of irritation in his eyes, but he faces Mingyu and Chan with a resolved expression. 

 

“Well, since they’re fire creatures, my flames won’t do much. But I can still try to set a barrier. Trap the striders, force them into it.”

 

“What about the colossus?” Chan inquires, voice edged with worry. 

 

Seungcheol falters, and that’s when Mingyu speaks up. 

 

“I can try stopping it,” he starts. “I could use Fear on it. Maybe that will slow it down, distract it for a bit.”

 

Seungcheol’s lips press into a thin line. “And what if it doesn’t last for long? What then?”

 

Chan then waves his hand, getting them to turn their attention to him. “Well, you know I’m fast. I’ll warp in and out. I can help Mingyu-hyung keep the colossus distracted while you guys fight the striders.”

 

Jihoon glances at him firmly. “Don’t push yourself too far, Chan. No warping long distances, and nothing like the griffin.”

 

His dongsaeng rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, hyung. I’ll be careful.” 

 

Jihoon smiles, knowing the other is just teasing, but his smile soon disappears when Seungcheol turns his attention back to him, eyes narrowing as they flick to the guitar strapped to his back. 

 

“And as for you?” 

 

Jihoon feels his chest tighten. He knows it was obvious that he wasn’t using his guitar. And he still doesn’t intend to.

 

Even when he had first woken up that morning and grabbed it, something inside him had twisted painfully. It’s like a wall had risen in his mind, something stopping him from even considering strumming the strings.

 

“I can still take out the striders with wind magic.” His voice is steadier than he feels. He forces himself to meet Seungcheol’s gaze. “Once they’re trapped in your barrier, I can use wind to push them toward the flames and disorient them.”

 

His hand moves subtly, mimicking the motions of manipulating the wind. “While they may have some sort of resistance to fire, all striders have sensitive joints and underbellies. Burning just a little hotter should be enough to kill them.”

 

Seungcheol studies him for a moment, before crossing his arms. “And then after getting rid of the striders, we all focus on the colossus, right?”

 

“Right.” Jihoon nods, though a frown tugs at his lips. “But colossi can come in all shapes and sizes, with different kinds of magic. We’ll have to be ready for anything.”

 

“But they have cores that can be shattered,” Chan adds. “Isn’t that how it works?”

 

“Yes, but that core can be anywhere on their body - well hidden, and probably heavily guarded,” Jihoon says, grimly. “So we’ll need to act fast.”

 

He fixes his eyes on his dongsaeng and Mingyu. “Maybe you and Mingyu should try to find that core while Seungcheol-ssi and I pick off the striders. That way, we can sort of…meet in the middle, and finish it off.”

 

A brief silence falls as everyone else processes the plan. Then, one by one, they nod in agreement.

 

“Alright.” Seungcheol exhales deeply. “We’re all clear on the plan, then?”

 

Everyone nods again, Jihoon included, though he takes a deep breath of his own, already visualizing the battle ahead. His fingers twitch, rehearsing the feel of his wind magic, but he knows he can’t afford to push himself like he did with the griffin. After everything that happened, he knows now that he’s not as strong as he once was. The hurricane spell felt like it had sucked away all the blood in his veins when he had cast it. He needs to pace himself. He can’t afford to pass out again.

 

With a final breath, Jihoon puts the thought aside, forcing himself to focus. He’ll think more clearly about his rustiness later. If there is a later.

 

“Then let’s get everything together.” Seungcheol opens the map again, the dots of the striders reappearing. “And go kick their asses.”

…

 

Once they have descended the hill, the group falls into silence. Jihoon suspects that it’s the calm before the storm, everyone thinking of the fight that awaits them.

 

At the front, Seungcheol takes the lead, his eyes scanning the map intently as he navigates through the brush, tracking the monsters’ movements.

 

Mingyu is at his left flank, one hand on the strap of his satchel, his fingers hovering over the flap. Jihoon figures it’s to make sure he can grab his herbs fast enough if trouble were to strike without warning.

 

And Chan is on Seungcheol’s right flank, looking around, beyond the trees as if to keep watch. Jihoon senses the faint hum of his magic, a subtle glow just beneath his skin.

 

Jihoon takes up the rear of their diamond-shaped formation, matching their pace step for step. His eyes dart behind him, scanning for any signs they might be followed.

 

Their footsteps crunch softly against the underbrush, the only sound in the stillness. Jihoon’s gaze sweeps over the dense canopy and shadowed trunks, his ears pricking of their own accord.

 

Then, faint but unmistakable, he hears it - the clicking of the ash veil striders.

 

With a flick of his fingers, he sends a controlled breeze that zips past the others’ ears. When they look back at him, he presses a finger to his lips. Quiet.

 

They walk slower this time, their feet even lighter. Ahead, just beyond the next tree, they see the striders. 

 

First, Jihoon notices their scaly backs, their lithe bodies prowling. Then his gaze shifts to their maws, snapping and snarling, and realizes their clicking has quickened, as if in distress.

As the team crouches, Jihoon catches Mingyu’s shift, eyes widening. “They’re afraid.”

 

Jihoon narrows his eyes. Can Mingyu sense emotions too, not just control them?

“Afraid?” Chan whispers back. “Of what?”

“The colossus, right?” Seungcheol asks, pocketing the map in his pack with a swift motion. He looks back at Jihoon. “Didn’t you say-”

Then it happens.

 

It’s like there's pressure on Jihoon’s temples, suffocating and relentless. It makes him crumple to the ground, his palm barely managing to brace him. Then, he feels the trembling. He looks at his team members through his jarred vision as they collapse too, their bodies thudding.

 

“What the hell?” Seungcheol cries out, clutching at his head. “What is going on-”

A more violent tremor shakes them, and Jihoon’s gaze snaps to the striders. Their pacing grows more frantic, clicking sounds turning into wolfish whines. “The colossus - it’s using a forcefield to keep them here. And it’s expanded it… to trap us too.”

 

Chan forces himself onto an elbow. “A-A trap?”

 

But before he can say more, Mingyu stammers out, “It’s coming- from underneath- it’s under the ground-”

 

Then, right before Jihoon’s eyes, in the distance, the earth beneath the striders caves in violently, and something massive breaks through. A gaping fissure opens wide, jagged stone edges curling like teeth as the ground swallows several of the creatures whole in one swift motion.

 

Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat.

 

It’s the colossus.

 

“Oh, shit.” Chan breathes, his voice unsteady. “It’s huge.”

 

Jihoon barely has time to think, let alone scold his dongsaeng for cussing, before the forcefield’s power surges. It slams into him like a wave, dragging him fully to the ground.

 

Still, through the chaos of the colossus crashing back down into the earth and the striders’ howls, he finds the energy to shout, “We gotta break free, now!”

 

“H-How are we going to do that?” Mingyu yells back over the din. “I can’t-I can’t move!”

 

Jihoon grits his teeth, watching as the colossus resurfaces, dirt flying everywhere, more striders falling down its maw, growing closer to their pinned position. If only he was strong enough, if only he hadn’t abandoned his skills for so long- maybe they wouldn’t be stuck like this-

 

Then, a cry of sheer frustration rings out from up ahead, followed by a blast of heat whizzing past Jihoon’s head. A fireball, cast by Seungcheol. It explodes behind him in a burst of flame.

 

“Huh? What are you doing?” Chan asks, voice strained.

 

“Blasting the field open!” Seungcheol launches another fireball, and this time, Jihoon can feel the ripple in the air, the pressure on his back wavering. It’s working.

 

He pushes himself up. “Keep going!”

 

Seungcheol growls, and the temperature around Jihoon spikes noticeably. Another blinding ball of fire forms in his palm, larger and hotter than before, and with a roar, he hurls it with all his might.

 

The grass behind Jihoon sets ablaze, but Jihoon feels it - the forcefield lifting, just enough for him to finally move.

 

“Chan!” 

 

And at his call, his dongsaeng’s form flickers, distorting briefly, before snapping into place beside him. Chan’s hand grips Jihoon’s shoulders tightly.

 

Then, in an instant, the world lurches and before Jihoon knows it, he’s catching himself against the rough bark of a tree. The pressure vanishes. The forcefield’s pull is gone.

 

“The others,” he gasps, but Chan is already flickering back into the fray. Jihoon’s eyes track him as he reaches Mingyu, and in a flash of light and sparks, both reappear near Jihoon, clutching at his stomach and groaning.

 

Jihoon crouches beside him, barely sparing a moment to check on him before Chan flashes back again, Seungcheol in tow. The fire mage distinguishes the lingering flames in his hands as he rolls onto his back, chest heaving with labored breaths.

 

“I didn’t think you could take us with you,” Mingyu manages. “That’s pretty awesome.”

 

“Thanks,” Chan responds, his voice ragged as he rubs a hand across his forehead. “Wh-What now?”

 

“The striders are fighting back,” Jihoon says.

 

The others struggle to rise, trying to see what he sees. The remaining striders use their magic, transforming into ashen tendrils as the colossus lunges from the earth toward them, blending seamlessly with the trees’ shadows. Each time the colossus misses, its massive body rumbles, as if its anger grows with every failed strike. The striders reappear, their teeth glinting in the daylight, biting and snapping at the colossus’s exposed limbs.

 

“Do we stick with the same plan?” Mingyu asks, sitting up with a wince, hair mussed. “We’re not, are we?”

 

Everyone’s gaze shifts to Jihoon. He can feel it- the silent expectation. But there’s no time to resent it now.

 

“Well…” Jihoon stares up at the colossus’s hulking form, looming over them. “We need to do something about the forcefield before we do anything else.”

 

“Dismantle it, right?” Seungcheol offers, tone sharp with readiness. “I can hit it with more of my fire.”

 

“We can use that to draw its attention,” Jihoon directs. “But I don’t think just using your magic is effective enough.”

 

He barely notices Seungcheol bristling, turning back to Mingyu. “After Seungcheol-ssi gets its attention, that’s where we try to stick to the original plan. You use Fear on it.”

 

Mingyu, still looking dazed, nods.

 

“And Chan-” Jihoon turns to his dongsaeng, cutting short when he sees the other with his hands on his knees, panting heavily. “Do you still think you can support him?”

 

“Yeah.” Chan inhales with a tremor. “Just give me a second.”

 

Jihoon watches him for a beat, then nods. “If we have to, we’ll shift focus. Take down the colossus first, then deal with the striders. It all depends on the initial strike.”

 

Mingyu, now standing, pulls a small bundle of wolfsbane from his satchel. The purple petals catch the light, stark against his palm. “So, basically, we’re betting.”

 

“Essentially, yes,” Jihoon responds, adjusting his guitar strap, glancing back at the others.

 

“Alright!” Chan straightens up then, rolling his shoulders. “I’m good now.”

 

“Everyone else ready?” Jihoon asks, and the rest of them nod. “Seungcheol-ssi?”

 

As if on cue, Seungcheol holds up his palm, a fireball already flickering to life. The sphere expands steadily, growing brighter and more intense with each passing second. Jihoon can already feel the intense heat of it, burning on his face. He forces himself to focus, pushing past the sensation.

 

Then, with a muted shout, Seungcheol hurls the fireball through the air. Jihoon watches its arc, instantly realizing it won’t hit its target. He extends his palm, a gust of wind erupting from it. The wind slams into the fireball, pushing it off course, sending it higher.

 

In the next instant, it collides with the colossus’s jaw, just as the massive creature rises, maw open for another swallow. The explosion reverberates through the air.

 

Chunks of dirt and stone break away as more of the colossus’s body is forced into view, jerked violently to the side. A guttural roar of confusion echoes through the clearing, shaking the ground beneath them. Seizing the opportunity, the remaining striders lunge, their sharp teeth sinking into the colossus’s exposed crevices, tearing at its rocky flesh.

 

Without missing a beat, Seungcheol summons another fireball, its heat radiating in the air. Jihoon extends his palm once more, wind surging to guide the flame. The fireball streaks through the sky, slamming into the colossus with a deafening impact.

 

This time, as the colossus rights itself, Jihoon feels its attention shift. Though it has no eyes, its presence locks onto them. A low growl rumbles through the forest.

 

“Mingyu-ssi!” Jihoon calls, and the one mentioned steps in front of everyone, crushing the wolfsbane in his fist as he throws a hand out.

 

As the purple aura emanates, Jihoon summons more of his wind, channeling it straight toward the colossus’s face.

 

When it strikes, the beast freezes. For a breathless moment, the towering creature remains motionless. Jihoon’s eyes catch the faint shimmer of the forcefield surrounding it- the translucent barrier flickering,.

 

“It’s working!” Chan shouts.

 

Mingyu crushes the herbs in his fist even further, the violet aura from his fingertips pulsing brighter. Some of it strays from Jihoon’s current, wrapping around the team in a swirl, and Jihoon could feel his heart quicken, his spell faltering as a sense of dread overtakes him.

 

“Sorry!” Mingyu shouts, his voice strained, but it does enough. The colossus lets out a cry as it seems to curl in on itself, and the forcefield surrounding it all but vanishes in an instant.

 

“Let’s go!” Jihoon yells, and then the four of them are charging.

 

The colossus trembles, its towering frame wavering as they close the distance. In a blur, Chan materializes ahead, his knife glinting as it scrapes along the creature’s head, searching for a vulnerable spot to strike.

 

Behind him, Mingyu leaps onto the beast’s back, the pungent scent of his wolfsbane thick in the air. His eyes glow an eerie purple now as he presses both hands against the rocky surface

 

“Keep it down, Gyu!” Seungcheol encourages.

 

“Chan, do you see its core?” Jihoon shouts, eyes darting to his dongsaeng’s flickering form atop the colossus.

 

 “Not yet!” Chan calls back. “Could you- Could you get it out of the ground more?”

 

“Hold on tight!” Seungcheol responds, another fireball crackling to life in his grasp.

 

Jihoon catches movement then, from the corner of his eye- striders, approaching fast. Without hesitation, he sends a gust at them, hurtling them back against the surrounding trees, their screeches echoing.

 

As he turns back, a thunderous rumble shakes the ground. The colossus lurches upward, wrenched further from the earth as Seungcheol’s spell forces it skyward, its massive form rising, blocking out the sky.

 

Then, with a deafening crash, the beast collapses back to the ground, sending a cloud of dirt and debris into the air. Jihoon shields his face, peering through the swirling dust to see Chan’s glowing form streaking across the colossus’s splayed body. 

 

Nearby, Mingyu grits his teeth, his forehead beading with sweat as he struggles to keep the creature pinned.

 

But Jihoon can’t focus on either for long. The sharp clicking of striders reaches his ears- more are coming. The other part of the plan still needs to hold. 

 

“Seungcheol-ssi!”

 

He barely has time to turn before a strider lunges at him, its jaws snapping inches from his face. He throws himself back, wind surging instinctively, propelling him just out of reach, landing a few paces away.

 

Seungcheol, hearing his call, rolls out of the way just as a strider’s fangs close in on his arm. With a growl, he knocks it away with a fiery punch, sending it sprawling back.

 

“Alright, trap them!” Jihoon commands.

 

The fire mage doesn’t hesitate. He raises both arms, and flames explode from the ground, surrounding most of the remaining striders. The ones on the outskirts are hurled upward by the fire, their underbellies exposed. As Jihoon predicted, they screech in agony before disintegrating in the intense heat.

 

Jihoon acts without pause, conjuring bursts of wind to hurl the nearest monsters into the roaring inferno.

 

Amidst the chaos, Seungcheol sidesteps swiftly to avoid the lunging creatures, his arms still stretched wide to maintain the blazing walls. Jihoon tilts his head, summoning a gust of magic to drag a strider toward him before flinging it into the flames at the last moment.

 

“Keep it up!”

 

“I’m trying!” Seungcheol grits his teeth, his fire surging higher.

 

As more striders dissolve into mere particles, Jihoon hears a dull roar from behind him. He glances over his shoulder just in time to see the colossus slowly rising, its limbs groaning with every movement.

 

Mingyu, atop its back, appears to be barely holding onto the spell, his eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion takes hold.

 

“Chan!” Jihoon dodges another snapping strider, his heart pounding. “We don’t have much time left!”

 

“I know!” His dongsaeng’s voice flickers through the air as he travels swiftly along the colossus’s massive leg. “I think I’m close! Just hold on a little longer!”

 

“Seungcheol!” Jihoon shouts urgently. “Take out the rest!”

 

With a sharp motion, he turns around, using the wind to carry Mingyu off of the giant. He then summons controlled currents, directing them at the colossus’s exposed limbs, forcing the massive creature back down with a sonorous thud.

 

Suddenly, he feels the heat behind him intensify. At first, he assumes it’s Seungcheol pushing more fire into the trap to eliminate the rest of the striders, but then- it’s too hot. 

 

In an instant, Jihoon dives to the side, narrowly avoiding a lick of flame that singes the air, nearly taking his eye out.

What the hell?

 

Then he makes eye contact with Seungcheol. The fire mage stands rigid, fists clenched at his sides, eyes wide with frustration. The flames around him flare erratically, twisting like living things. Each breath Seungcheol seems to take seems to feed them, making them grow higher, more chaotic. The tips of his hair flicker with orange light, curling around his head like a crown.

 

“I’m trying, alright?!” he snarls, and Jihoon realizes then that this is not just frustration- it’s fury. Uncontrollable, searing fury.

 

Every strider within the blazing trap shrieks as Seungcheol’s flames surge in one final, violent burst, eradicating all of them in a storm of heat and light.

 

When the chaos subsides, only Seungcheol and Jihoon remain, and between them, the fire rages on, its edges creeping outward, growing hungrier with every passing second.

 

It’s not stopping.

 

“You think you’re so mighty, don’t you?” Seungcheol growls, his voice dangerous. “Giving order after order, holding yourself back- what, you think you’re too good for this?”

 

“Huh?” Jihoon blinks, taken aback. “No, I-”

 

“And what’s with the wind magic? Not using your guitar, huh?” Seungcheol’s tone rises, every word like a strike. “You think this is a game? Like you don’t need to actually try?”

 

Jihoon freezes, the accusation hanging heavy in the air. “A game?”

 

Another roar cuts through the tension, deeper and more menacing. Jihoon spins around, breath hitching as the colossus looms above. At the edge of his vision, Chan dangles precariously from a ledge carved into its side, trembling hand still clutching his knife.

With a desperate swing, Chan strikes at the unyielding rock, sparks flying. His eyes narrow in fierce concentration, but his chest heaves with exhaustion. Jihoon knows he doesn’t have much left. 

 

“Chan!” Jihoon spins back toward Seungcheol, ducking as another wild tendril of flame lashes out.“We don’t have time for this, Seungcheol!”

 

“Oh, enlighten me, then,” the fire mage snarls, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What exactly do we have time for?”

 

Before Jihoon can respond, a strained but resolute voice pierces through the air. “Jihoon-ssi!”

 

He twists toward the sound and spots Mingyu staggering upright, his frame battered but unyielding against the surrounding trees, as he points forward, directly at Seungcheol. “Get me to him! And help Chan with the colossus!”

 

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate. With one swift motion, he commands the wind. It whips through the trees, lifting Mingyu and carrying him toward Seungcheol in a cyclone of air. At the same time, Jihoon thrusts his free hand downward, flattening the flames. The fire flickers, stunned into submission as Seungcheol himself recoils, eyes widening in disbelief.

 

Mingyu doesn’t waste a second. He crashes into Seungcheol from behind, pinning him, a root of turmeric clutched in his hand. 

 

And instantly, Jihoon’s facing the colossus, and reaches towards the sky. A windstorm descends, pressing the massive creature back to the ground. 

 

Above, he sees Chan as he pushes himself one last time, his form streaking as he sprints toward a barely shimmering mark on the colossus’s surface.

 

“I found it! I found it, hyung!”

 

Jihoon exhales sharply, funneling everything he has into holding the colossus down. “Then finish it!”

 

Chan moves with desperate precision, landing directly over the marked spot. His hands latch onto the barely-there cracks etched into the colossus’s surface. With a strained cry, he digs his fingers in and pulls, prying the heavy slabs apart.

 

A brilliant blue light spills out as the core is revealed - a pulsing, glowing sphere, raw with energy. 

 

With one hand gripping the ledge for balance, Chan raises his knife high in the other, and he shouts as he drives it downward, straight into the heart of the core.

 

The reaction is immediate. The colossus trembles violently, a deafening crack splitting the air as the ground beneath them quakes. The core shatters with an explosive surge, releasing a shockwave that throws Chan backwards. 

 

“Chan!” Jihoon instantly thrusts a hand out, a final burst of wind catching his dongsaeng in midair. The gust cradles the other, and carries him safely into Jihoon’s arms just as the colossus collapses.

 

The ground quakes beneath them as the massive stone creature crumbles into a heap of rubble. Dust and debris choke the air, gritting against Jihoon’s teeth, but he pays it no mind, too focused on checking Chan over.

 

The younger lets loose a faint groan, breaths quick and shallow. Jihoon pats his head, relief softening in his chest as he surveys the battlefield, finding no more danger.

 

Then he looks back, and sees Mingyu with his arms still around Seungcheol, holding him tightly, as the fire mage’s flames die away bit by bit.

 

“Come on, Cheol-hyung,” Mingyu murmurs. “Get it together. It’s over. It’s all over.”

 

The fire sputters one last time before fading into faint wisps, leaving only the sound of Seungcheol’s labored breathing. A soft orange glow radiates from Mingyu’s hands, a warm, steady calm spreading through the air.

 

It settles in Jihoon’s chest, slowing his racing heartbeat, and he understands what Mingyu is doing- using his magic to soothe Seungcheol, to ground him. It’s not just instinct; it’s a system they’ve built, a quiet partnership of protection and trust.

 

And in a way, Jihoon realizes, he and Chan have formed one too.

 

“Are we…” his dongsaeng mumbles against his chest. “Are we done? No more monsters?”

 

Jihoon pats him on the head again, reassuring him. “No more monsters, Channie. It’s over.”

 

A sharp inhale cuts through the quiet.

 

“Fuck,” Seungcheol gasps out. “I’m sorry, Gyu. Lost control again.”

 

“It’s okay,” Mingyu murmurs. “You’ll get the hang of it. We’ll get there.”

 

The fight with the striders and colossus is over. 

 

Jihoon lets out a quiet sigh, a wave of exhaustion and relief washing over him. For now, it’s enough that they’re all alive.

Notes:

Our team's got some things they need to sort out...like asap...

DAMN IS WRITING A MAGIC AU FUN THOUGH

til next time!

Chapter 4: The Argument

Summary:

Jihoon’s entire body coils with tension, blood rushing through his veins as he grinds his teeth, the edges of them scraping hard against each other as he spits out, “I didn’t come here because you asked me to. I came because of Chan- and nothing else.”

The words hang in the air for a beat. Seungcheol’s eyes flare. The fire turns golden yellow, spreading out from the bundle of logs. “Kid seems to be doing just fine- so you can go.”

Notes:

An argument!! An argument!!!! Please enjoy, everyone!

“Right, so… Are we going to talk about what happened?”

 

Chan’s voice cuts through the quiet, hesitant but insistent, about two hours after the fight.

 

They had returned to where they had made camp at the top of the hill, exhaustion dragging their steps. As soon as they arrived, they all but collapsed onto their bedrolls. Jihoon had tried to rest, but found himself hovering between wakefulness and sleep, his mind too wired to fully shut down.

 

Chan lies nearby, just as drained, yet his eyes spark as they dart between the others. “I think we really need to talk about what happened.”

 

Jihoon has no intention of talking about it.

 

But as he looks at the other half of their group, at Seungcheol and Mingyu, the memories of the battle come back. The fire, wild and unrelenting, raging around Seungcheol’s form.

 

They probably should talk about it.

 

The team leader’s face is stormy as he sits cross-legged, upright, brows furrowed. He doesn’t look like he wants to discuss it either, until Mingyu gives him a pointed look, and says, “I’m with Chan on this one. What happened back there, hyung?”

 

Seungcheol’s expression remains firm for a moment, but it falters as a heavy sigh escapes him. “Same thing that always happens. I got mad. My fire got out of control.”

 

He says it quickly, like he’s hoping the words will dissolve in the air before anyone can catch them. But they land too cleanly, and Jihoon narrows his eyes.

 

“This has happened before?”

 

Seungcheol freezes, looking almost annoyed that Jihoon has noticed. But he mutters, looking away, “Yes. It has.”

 

Jihoon leans back, taking in his words. “For how long?”

 

Seungcheol’s lips press together in a thin line as he gives a more avoidant answer. “Few years.”

 

Jihoon studies him, his gaze unwavering, piecing things together. Then, as bluntly as possible, he says, “You’re a late bloomer, aren’t you?”

 

The air stills. And the fire between all of them suddenly intensifies. Seungcheol’s gaze hardens like stone. Mingyu draws in a quick breath, eyes darting between Jihoon and the team leader. “I can’t believe it. How’d you know?”

 

“Doesn’t matter, Mingyu,” Seungcheol interrupts, tone sharp. The fire heightens even more. It’s clear Jihoon’s struck a nerve, but he was expecting that.

 

Late bloomers are always a touchy subject. 

 

Seungcheol refocuses on Jihoon, his voice biting, every word laced with frustration. “Yeah, I was late to the magic party. What’s it to you?”

 

It’s clear that he’s defensive. Jihoon tries not to let that fact affect him too much as he replies. “It doesn’t mean anything. However, it would have been nice to know beforehand.”

 

“Oh, really, now?” Seungcheol’s gaze narrows. “You know what else would have been nice to know? That you weren’t even going to take this seriously, for one.”

 

Jihoon stills. It’s a similar comment to the one made during the battle. 

 

You think this is a game, huh?

 

And now, with the immediate danger gone, he feels the irritation bubble to the surface.

 

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” he asks, harsher than he intended.

 

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens, eyes flashing with growing agitation. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.”

 

He sits up straighter, the heat from his fire pressing against Jihoon’s face, intense and unforgiving. “You were holding back the entire time. While we were all fighting like hell, you were there, barely lifting a single finger.”

 

“Uh, what?” In disbelief, Jihoon almost laughs incredulously. “So who was helping you kill the striders then? Your shining personality?”

 

Seungcheol bristles further, and Jihoon instinctively leans away as the fire sparks. “Don’t get smart with me! Don’t even act like you didn’t know! You’re the God of Music-”

 

This again? Jihoon cuts him off with a scowl, words dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, wow, I totally forgot-”

 

“You literally had your guitar strapped to your back!” Seungcheol snaps, his voice rising, nearly a roar. “What, was it for decor? If you just played it once, we probably would’ve wrapped that fight up in seconds! Or was that all just some myth people made to suck up to you?”

 

Jihoon reels, the mention of the legends twisting deep inside him. He hesitates, wondering if that’s even worth a response. What could he even say to that?

 

How could he explain the way his mind shuts down the moment his fingers brushed against the scratched wood of his guitar? Is that something anyone else could even begin to understand?

 

“You don’t know,” he eventually grits out. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

“I don’t know, huh?” Seungcheol snarls back. “Well, what I do know is that I asked for the God of Music- not just a mage good at stirring up a few tornadoes!”

 

Jihoon’s entire body coils with tension, blood rushing through his veins as he grinds his teeth, the edges of them scraping hard against each other as he spits out, “I didn’t come here because you asked me to. I came because of Chan- and nothing else.”

 

The words hang in the air for a beat. Seungcheol’s eyes flare. The fire turns golden yellow, spreading out from the bundle of logs. “Kid seems to be doing just fine- so you can go.”

 

And the silence that comes after that is nothing more than suffocating.

 

The fire snaps and hisses in the center, its light casting jagged shadows across their faces. The flames dance, filling the void with their crackling.

 

Jihoon stares at Seungcheol’s intense expression, and wonders if he really meant that just now. If he really wanted Jihoon to just leave.

 

The unbearable silence drags on, and then, Mingyu finally cuts in. “Alright, guys, let’s just…all take a second to calm down.”

 

But it doesn’t take just a second. In fact, it feels like it takes more than a few minutes. Jihoon swallows hard, his throat dry, and realizes how much more he had grated his words than he thought.

 

Then Seungcheol takes in an audible, shuddering breath, and the fire shifts to red. The heat disappears, almost entirely, only a faint trace of warmth to be felt.

 

Still, no one speaks. The quiet wraps around them, oppressing. Jihoon glances at Chan, and instantly feels regret.

 

The younger one sits hunched, wide-eyed, staring intently at the ground. He looks anxious, shoulders drawn tight. Jihoon feels a pang of guilt. The things he and Seungcheol had said to each other must have affected Chan more than Jihoon had realized.

 

And maybe…maybe Jihoon needs to be the bigger person here.

 

Swallowing, Jihoon turns his gaze back to Seungcheol. Their eyes meet, a brief but intense flash of tension between them. 

 

But Jihoon still speaks.

 

“I’m sorry. For what I said before. About coming here only for Chan.”

 

It’s mostly true of course- he did come because of his dongsaeng. But maybe after the past two days, Jihoon realizes that he hasn’t minded Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s presences quite as much as he thought he would.

 

Seungcheol’s gaze flickers, and his jaw tightens. Still, he nods, begrudgingly. “I’m sorry, too. About telling you to go.”

 

Jihoon nods in return.

 

The silence settles again, but this time, it feels lighter. Less suffocating. Almost bearable.

 

Mingyu clears his throat then. “Okay, let’s do it this way. We take a step back to focus on what went right during the fight first, before we dive into all the mess-ups. How’s that sound?”

 

Jihoon glances at the others as they nod. He nods as well.

 

He shifts slightly, turning to Seungcheol. “Hyung, let’s start with you. Thanks for getting us out of that forcefield. Honestly, without you, we wouldn’t even be here to have this conversation.”

 

Seungcheol blinks, as if caught off guard. He rubs the back of his neck. 

 

Mingyu moves on. “Jihoon-ssi, your planning was solid. A lot of it worked exactly how it needed to. We would’ve been lost without you.”

 

Jihoon swallows, and dips his head.

 

And Chan.” Mingyu’s eyes flick to the youngest. “You did the most important part- you killed the big thing. You came through when it really mattered. You should be proud of yourself.”

 

The younger one looks up from where he’s been staring at the ground. His wide eyes flicker with uncertainty before a shy, almost tentative smile forms. “Thanks, hyung.”

 

Jihoon feels a wave of gratitude then. It’s clear that Mingyu has an innate ability to say the right thing, to lift the spirits of those around him even when tensions are high.

 

Then Mingyu’s expression turns more serious, and he squares his shoulders. “Now let’s figure out how we can do even better next time.”

 

The air shifts, the mood edging back towards tension. Mingyu turns to Seungcheol, his gaze careful. “Hyung, about your fire-”

 

“What else is there to say?” Seungcheol interrupts, and his mood has swiftly changed back to annoyance. “I just lost control. Plain and simple.”

 

Mingyu’s brows furrow, but he doesn't back down. “But-” 

 

“I’ll work on it,” Seungcheol cuts in again, more forcefully. “That’s all there is to it.”

 

Mingyu breathes out an exhale of frustration, but he holds his tongue. Jihoon watches the exchange carefully, noting the ease in which they argue. There’s a familiarity to their bickering, something that signifies how close they really are.

 

Still, it’s obvious that Seungcheol isn’t budging, and Jihoon decides that this is a moment for him to intervene. 

 

“Seungcheol-ssi.”

 

The fire mage looks at him with a weary anger now, as if he can’t bother being frustrated anymore. “What?”

 

Jihoon takes a breath, choosing his words carefully. “What I said before…about you being a late bloomer. I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

 

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow, wariness unmistakable. Jihoon can tell that he doesn’t quite understand what he’s getting at.

 

“Because your abilities came late…” He tries not to falter at Seungcheol’s harsh expression. “It led to a build-up. A surplus of magic, you could say. Which means you actually can pack a lot more into a spell at once than the rest of us.”

 

He pauses, searching Seungcheol’s gaze, then says evenly, “You can bring so much power where it counts.”

 

It’s practically a compliment- or at least, Jihoon thinks so. Seungcheol’s expression is unreadable for a moment, then he finally responds.

 

“So you’re saying…I could be a main striker?”

 

Jihoon blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His lips twitch, a soft chuckle escaping. “Striker? I didn’t think anyone still used that term.”

 

Seungcheol shrugs. If Jihoon thought about it more, he’d think that the other mage’s expression is almost sheepish. “I’m kind of old school.”

 

Jihoon regards him for a moment, feeling his seriousness fade away a little. “Having you as a main striker would give us an edge. You’ve already been aiming for that these past few fights, right?”

 

At Seungcheol’s nod, he presses forth. “Because of your…”

 

He pauses, trying to think of a better way to put it. “Overgrowth- that excess energy. It wasn’t released over time, so it built up. Then it went from dormant to active all at once. That’s why it’s so strong. And, at the same time, so dangerous.”

 

Then Jihoon sees the subtle change in the team leader’s expression. It’s a mix of understanding- and almost gratefulness. Jihoon wonders just how many people have tried to help him with this, if it’s only been Mingyu. The stigma around late bloomers clearly hasn’t changed.

 

“So…” Seungcheol says after a beat. “I guess this means I have a lot more training ahead of me.”

 

Jihoon quirks his lip. “I can help with that. Besides, I think we all have room for improvement.”

 

Seungcheol locks eyes with him again, his eyes lingering on the offer. For a moment, it seems that he’s about to respond, but then he doesn’t- almost as if he doesn’t need to. The silence between them feels different, and Jihoon realizes that maybe, just maybe, they’re starting to understand each other.

 

“I agree,” Mingyu chimes in. “You’re not the only one, Cheol-hyung. There’s a lot I need to work on too.”

 

He gives Jihoon a meaningful glance. “Thanks, Jihoon-ssi.”

 

Jihoon gives him a nod, and then the thought strikes him. “If I may ask, Mingyu-ssi?”

 

Mingyu raises a brow. “Go ahead.”

 

Jihoon levels him with his stare, recalling the fight once more. “You knew the striders were afraid. Is that…also part of your magic? Not just manipulating emotions, but sensing them?”

 

Mingyu’s posture falters, a blush creeping up his neck. “Ah, well…yeah. I guess you could say that.”

 

Judging by his expression, Jihoon realizes it’s much like Seungcheol’s situation: this is something Mingyu didn’t want others to know.

 

And Jihoon can’t exactly blame him. He already feels a flicker of unease pass through him. If Mingyu could sense emotions…how much had he already picked up on? The hesitation Jihoon had felt facing the griffin, the simmering frustration at himself for being rusty, the rawness of his emotions during the earlier argument with Seungcheol- had Mingyu felt all that?

 

Mingyu’s blush deepens as he glances down at his crossed legs, hands fidgeting.

 

“Yeah, I know how it sounds,” he mumbles. “But I try not to pry or anything. I only pay attention in battle or when it’s…really necessary. Nothing else.”

 

Jihoon watches him for a bit as he realizes his unease is warring with something else. He thinks back to Mingyu’s actions, steady presence, and the gentle way he speaks.

 

It occurs to Jihoon then: Mingyu doesn't seem to be the kind of person to take advantage of such magic, at all, at least not from what he’s seen. And maybe he’s starting to trust Mingyu more. He hasn’t given him any reason not to.

 

“I believe you.”

 

At this, Mingyu’s eyes widen, his expression loosening in relief. “I…wasn’t sure you would. People don’t, usually- not when they find out.”

 

Jihoon holds his gaze as he dips his head. He knows he means these words as he says them. “Then we’ll show them. We’ll figure out how to make it work.”

 

Mingyu’s gratitude is palpable on his face. “That means a lot, Jihoon-ssi.”

 

A silence settles briefly, and then Chan straightens his posture. “Well, my parents were both warpers, like I am.”

 

He hesitates, before he continues. “So.. I guess you could say I have a lot to live up to.”

 

Jihoon understands in an instant. The memories of Chan’s parents come back to him in flashes: their streaks of light, magic effortless, a sense of ease in their power. And then, the void left after their passing, a space that Chan had to fill too soon.

 

They were the best of the best. Jihoon had always known how their legacy had ridden on Chan, pressing down like an unspoken challenge.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t have to speak. Seungcheol already fills the silence. “You’re doing fine. Better than fine, actually.”

 

Chan glances up, eyes wide.

 

“Actually,” Seungcheol holds his gaze, a kind glint in his own. “You’re doing better than I’d even hoped for. With all of us here, we’re far better off than I was expecting.”

 

Chan blinks, as if he’s not sure he heard that right.

 

His lips part, no sound coming out at first. Then he gulps and nods. “I, um…thank you, Seungcheol-hyung.”

 

And Jihoon looks at Seungcheol too, a rare spark of appreciation in his chest. 

 

The fire mage had said that so simply, so frankly- something Jihoon knows he himself could never do. And not a single word was dishonest.

 

Something coils in Jihoon’s chest. It feels a little bit like…respect.

 

Then, he finally notices how the others are looking at him, their expressions expectant, and he sighs. 

 

“I don’t foresee myself using my guitar in the near future,” he says first, quietly.

 

He expects another snarl from Seungcheol, another spike of the fire’s temperature. But the team leader says nothing. He only watches Jihoon, unreadable.

 

Mingyu stills, casting a sidelong glance at Chan, who only watches Jihoon with a wistful gaze. 

 

“Maybe we won’t need it for now,” Mingyu then says. “After all, we’ve been doing fine so far. Right?”

 

An awkward silence ensues. Jihoon can already tell what everyone else is thinking. If the ash veil striders they were fighting earlier didn’t kill them, that colossus definitely would have. 

 

Sure. They’ve been doing just swell.

 

Jihoon swallows, then speaks again. “But… if it’s any consolation…”

 

He closes his eyes for a moment, and thinks of that wooden instrument he once made, with all its imperfect edges and sharp corners.

 

“I’ll try, alright? Until then, I’ll keep using wind magic to the fullest. And I will train my other skills as well.”

 

He gives a wry smile. “I’m pretty rusty, if it isn’t obvious.”

 

That earns a smile from Chan and Mingyu. Even Seungcheol’s lips twitch a little.

 

It gives Jihoon enough courage to ask. “Is that sufficient for you, team leader?”

 

Seungcheol locks eyes with him again. Jihoon senses something new this time- a flicker of surprise at still being called leader, and a sliver of acceptance.

 

“Yeah,” the fire mage says. “Yeah, that’s enough.”

 

He looks around at them all, dark eyes assessing but open. “As long as we all keep going.”

 

After a pause, Mingyu nods. Chan follows suit. And Jihoon nods as well, dipping his head in Seungcheol’s direction.

 

For once, it feels like they’re all on the same page.

 

And for the first time, Jihoon thinks it.

 

Maybe this quest won’t be so bad.

Chapter 5: The Hero

Summary:

They step outside together, the wind pricking at their ears. Jihoon surveys the area, noting the amount of trees just a few paces away, then turns to face the other mage.

He holds out a hand, a green flow forming from his palm, a wind ball forming, a miniature storm in his grasp.

“We could learn from each other,” he says.

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Even though we’re different elements?”

Jihoon nods. “Especially. Even if we’re different elements, the same base laws apply.”

Notes:

Back with another update after getting bit by the writing bug!!! Please enjoy!!

Training begins a day later.

 

After making camp in a natural divot along a rock wall, they decide to take a day to rest and find water. It’s then that Jihoon watches Seungcheol start a fire with a flick of his finger, and promptly gets an idea.

 

As Mingyu shrugs on a coat to go foraging, and Chan reads a manuscript on his bedroll, Jihoon taps Seungcheol’s shoulder, and tilts his head towards the cave opening.

 

“Hey. Think you have some time?”

 

The fire mage hesitates, then sets down the book he was holding in his hands. Jihoon catches a glimpse of one of the pages, noticing that it’s filled with pictures of another man he’s never seen before, with elegant features.

 

“I guess I do,” Seungcheol answers.

 

They step outside together, the wind pricking at their ears. Jihoon surveys the area, noting the amount of trees just a few paces away, then turns to face the other mage.

 

He holds out a hand, a green flow forming from his palm, a wind ball forming, a miniature storm in his grasp.

 

“We could learn from each other,” he says.

 

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Even though we’re different elements?”

 

Jihoon nods. “Especially. Even if we’re different elements, the same base laws apply.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, his sphere of magic changes form. He presses his palms together, and the shape of it yields to his touch as easily as wet clay.

 

Seungcheol raises a brow. “You turned it into a cube?”

 

“We’re starting simple.” Jihoon beckons with a jerk of his chin. “Come on, let’s see you try.”

 

For a moment, the fire mage hesitates. Then, he raises a hand, palm upturned.

 

His flame sphere bursts to life across his skin, red and orange tongues pointing towards the sky.

 

Jihoon nods, hoping he’s being encouraging.

 

Slowly, Seungcheol brings his hands together, his brow furrowing slightly. He presses down on the sphere with visible effort.

 

Nothing happens. The ball of flame keeps its form as rigid as stone.

 

“Damn it,” Seungcheol mutters. His magic flares slightly, red turning into gold again, his frustration apparent.

 

“Okay,” Jihoon interjects, lifting his hands placatingly. “We can see it’s not working. Let’s pause.”

 

Seungcheol’s fire goes out, and he exhales harshly. But he remains silent, waiting.

 

Jihoon takes a breath, crossing his arms, thinking hard. How can he fix this?

 

Or rather, how can he guide it?

 

In his reverie, a twister forms around his finger, and he blinks down at it.

 

Then, he reaches out with both hands.

 

“Alright. Let me try to phrase this in a different way.”

 

Seungcheol gives him a look, but allows Jihoon to carefully touch his knuckles, supporting them.

 

“This magic,” Jihoon begins. “Is yours to control, right?”

 

“Uh…” the fire mage mutters. “Yeah.”

 

“It belongs to you,” Jihoon continues. “You can decide what it does. When to activate it, and when to let it rest.”

 

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says again.

 

“It’s a part of you,” Jihoon finishes, quietly. “So you’re in charge. It’s not the other way around.”

 

That’s what makes Seungcheol meet his eyes, his dark gaze smoldering with a new kind of light.

 

Jihoon keeps his voice level. “Try it again.”

 

Seungcheol does.

 

A new ball of fire materializes in his palm, surging hotter, but steadier.

 

Jihoon takes a step back to give him space, hands dropping.

 

The fire mage studies the bright construct in his grasp for a moment longer, expression purely concentrated- but also relaxed.

 

Then, he lifts a finger, and presses it to the tip of the sphere.

 

It sinks right through.

 

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

 

Jihoon nods, his lip quirking up at a corner. “There you go.”

 

The fire mage barks out a laugh, adding another finger, and the flame sphere distends around it, swelling to accommodate without breaking entirely. “I’ve never seen it do this before.”

 

“Well, obviously not, I just taught you.” Jihoon summons his wind cube again, tossing it from hand to hand. “Now juggle it.”

 

Seungcheol obeys, dropping the deformed sphere into each of his hands again and again, the grin not quite leaving his face. “This is incredible.”

 

“Don’t be wowed yet,” Jihoon reminds, and he summons more of his wind, taking his cube and stretching it until it resembles more of a baton, then pinching the edges until it becomes somewhat like a shortsword. “There’s still so much more you can do.”

 

With a pivot of his feet, he slices through the air in the direction of the trees. A split-second later, a slash mark gouges itself out of the bark of the nearest trunk.

 

“Concentrated damage,” Jihoon explains. “Just like that.”

 

He looks back to see Seungcheol rolling his eyes, but not maliciously, the smile still playing at his lips. “Show-off.”

 

Jihoon lets himself smirk. “You know it.”

 

Then he softens his tone. “But you can do it too.”

 

And Seungcheol’s eyes seem to relax in return.

 

Chan is napping by the time they get back, open manuscript covering his face, arms sprawled everywhere.

 

Jihoon carefully squats down to fold them across his chest so no one can trip over them, then turns back to see Seungcheol sitting on a nearby stray log, opening a canteen.

 

They meet eyes as the fire mage takes a sip, and then, he holds it out.

 

“As thanks for the lesson,” he murmurs.

 

Jihoon straightens up, then joins him on the seat, hovering the canteen over his mouth to drink cleanly.

 

After he sets it down and wipes his mouth, they sit in silence for a while. Chan’s quiet snores and the crackling campfire fill the silence.

 

Then, Seungcheol speaks.

 

“May I ask you something?”

 

Jihoon blinks, looking ahead at the clearing of trees before them. “Yeah, why not.”

 

“Why do you refuse to use your guitar?”

 

Jihoon closes his eyes. He saw that coming.

 

“And may I ask you something?”

 

Seungcheol tilts his head. “Huh-”

 

“Who’s the man in your photo book?”

 

Seungcheol, for a moment, is silent.

 

Then, his face flushes, just a little bit.

 

Jihoon smirks, amused. “A special someone?”

 

Seungcheol looks away, stray flames of his magic on the tips of his ears.

 

“He’s pretty,” Jihoon adds after a moment.

 

Then, the other gives a small scoff, then a tiny shake of his head. “That’s what everyone always says back home. They say he’s as beautiful as an angel.”

 

His smile turns gentle. “Everyone wants him. The women and the men.”

 

With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “Gyu probably had a crush on him at one point too, and is just stubborn to fess up about it.”

 

Jihoon nods. “Well, whoever his heart belongs to must be very lucky.”

 

“Lucky, yeah,” Seungcheol repeats, now looking all too pleased. “I am pretty lucky.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes widen in realization, and then he cocks his head, almost fond. Looks like this volatile late bloomer with enough fire to raze a whole forest did manage to find someone who’ll love him through it all.

 

It makes his chest ache a little.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

Seungcheol faces him again, appearing much more relaxed. “Jeonghan. His name’s Jeonghan.”

 

“Jeonghan,” Jihoon echoes. “And…I’m assuming he knows about this quest?”

 

Seungcheol nods, then shrugs, looking a little embarrassed as he scratches at his neck. “He was really mad about it for a few days. Said that he didn't want me risking my life for nothing.”

 

Another grin. “But then I told him I’d come back with the God of Music, so…”

 

Jihoon blinks in understanding. “Ah.”

 

“It’s…to give him hope.” Seungcheol meets gazes with him then, his expression fully honest. “To give everyone in my village hope. That the monsters would be defeated one day. I was just thinking that having you there- someone who’s killed so many back in the war- would really help the cause.”

 

Then, his face downturns, as if regretful. “But I should have asked how you felt about all of this, too. And I didn’t.”

 

Jihoon watches him for a long while, before sighing and looking away.

 

He doesn’t really know what to say right now. He didn’t know there was a whole village out there- maybe more- who still believed in the legends of the war.

 

That Seungcheol and Mingyu went on this almost perilous journey, because they were so devoted to finding the God of Music-

 

To finding him.

 

While Jihoon hid himself away, far from the old haunts, surrounded by very few who knew him as that God, too afraid to face any of it anymore.

 

But now, through Seungcheol’s eyes, he’s staring at the truth right in the face.

 

And what comes out after, is entirely honest.

 

“...I don’t blame you.”

 

The fire mage’s expression gradually changes into shock. Jihoon doesn't leave it at that.

 

“You did what you had to do. You became a hero. And people always need that, no matter where or who they are. They need figures to look up to.”

 

Seungcheol pauses for a moment, before giving a hum of agreement.

 

“But oftentimes,” Jihoon says quietly. “They’re the ones who choose the figure to idolize. And sometimes, the hero they choose doesn’t want that. They don’t always want the fate of a world in their hands.”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything this time, but he nods.

 

Jihoon dips his head. “However, sometimes, it doesn’t matter if they want it or not, because the other option is much worse.”

 

He turns to the fire mage, and smiles. “So they rise anyway.”

 

He watches as Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “Wait…”

 

“What I’m saying is,” Jihoon whispers. “I wouldn’t mind fighting alongside you a little longer. Just until you get close to my level.”

 

He sticks out his tongue. “And you’ve got a thousand more to beat before you get to it.”

 

“Are you kidding me-” 

 

But then Seungcheol stops dead in his tracks, as if the reality of Jihoon’s words are finally sinking in. After a beat, his eyes glisten, as if what the other has said had struck something deep within.

 

“I would- I would like that, Jihoon-ssi.”

 

Jihoon looks away, now feeling the aftereffects of too much soul-bearing one day. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

 

Then, as if the heavens knew that the awkwardness had to be broken, Mingyu emerges from the forest screaming, stray herb leaves stuck in his hair. “AAAAAAH! HEEEEEELP!”

 

A wild boar the size of a small cart charges after him moments later, its angry roars at the volume of thunder.

 

“IT IS VERY PISSED AT ME! I CAN TELL,” Mingyu shrieks. “PROBABLY BECAUSE I TOOK FROM ITS BERRY STORAGE- CHEOL-HYUNG, JIHOON-SSI, PLEASE DON’T LET ME DIE-”

 

With matching unshaken expressions, Seungcheol lobs a fire cube while Jihoon makes a shooing motion.

 

The boar bleats as its pelt is set ablaze, then lets out a snort of dismay when a breeze flips it onto its back.

 

Chan rolls over, manuscript flopping off his face. Some drool dribbles from his mouth as he mumbles sleepily, “Oink, oink. I want dinner.”

 

Jihoon runs a hand through his hair as he smiles to himself.

 

Things have been so lively lately.

 

…

 

“Can you tell me something?”

 

This time, the boy sits on a tree branch made of starlight, perched high above Jihoon’s head. He leans down, showing off a toothy grin.

 

“Yes, Jihoonie?”

 

“Why do you hang around me?” Jihoon crosses his arms, trying not to look too curious. “You said you don’t like some kids because they have magic, and you don’t.”

 

“Uh-huh.” The boy nods nonchalantly.

 

“But I have magic too!” Jihoon jabs a thumb at himself, before turning away with a huff. “It doesn’t make any sense. You’re so confusing.”

 

But he senses when the other boy shimmies his way down the trunk, humming to himself as he sidles up next to Jihoon.

 

“It’s because you’re special.”

 

Jihoon gives him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Special…how?”

 

The boy shrugs. “I dunno- you just are! You don’t show off, you don’t try to bully the magicless kids, you just keep to yourself and train to get stronger every day.”

 

He smiles, warmly. “You’re just…you.”

 

Jihoon stares at him for the longest moment.

 

Then, he folds his arms to his chest, and walks off. “Weirdo.”

 

“H-Hey, wait up!”

 

But as the boy runs to chase him through the stars, Jihoon smiles a little to himself.

 

And he wonders as well, faintly, in the back of his mind: Why are some people, like this boy, born with no magic at all? 

Chapter 6: The Dire Wolves

Summary:

“A bard, huh?” the other guy remarks. He chuckles to his peer. “Those sure seem popular these days. Everyone wants to be the next God of Music, no doubt.”

Jihoon tries not to react. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the others tense slightly.

The first guard shakes his head, amused. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. Come back when you’ve at least slain a thousand monsters in a single battle like he did.”

Notes:

Like I said, I got bit by the writing bug 😂

Please enjoy!

After another day of traveling, they arrive at another village, the gates tall and looming before them.

 

The guards appraise Seungcheol first, patting him and his pack down, before doing the same to Mingyu and Chan.

 

Then, one of them points at the case on Jihoon’s back. “And what’s this?”

 

“A guitar,” Jihoon answers smoothly. “I’m a traveling bard.”

 

“A bard, huh?” the other guy remarks. He chuckles to his peer. “Those sure seem popular these days. Everyone wants to be the next God of Music, no doubt.”

 

Jihoon tries not to react. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the others tense slightly.

 

The first guard shakes his head, amused. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. Come back when you’ve at least slain a thousand monsters in a single battle like he did.”

 

He turns to give Jihoon a pat on the back, propelling him forward. “You’re all clear. Don’t stay too long- way too many mouths to feed.”

 

As they walk further in, passing strangers as they bustle and go about their day, getting a few curious glances, Mingyu whispers under his breath.

 

“Was it really a thousand?”

 

“Don’t know the exact number,” Jihoon murmurs back. “But I’d say it was only about seven hundred.”

 

“That’s still impressive!” Mingyu hisses.

 

Jihoon gives a huff, but doesn't tell him to shut up about it.

 

They disperse at the front of the lodge, where they split into groups of two as the leader checks them in for a few nights.

 

“Let’s try to find some work!” Seungcheol announces. “We can earn some extra money, get some good stuff to help us on our trip.”

 

Jihoon ends up accompanying Mingyu as he dives into the nearby shop, wafts of different scents brushing against his nose.

 

“I found these sunstone berries about a day or two ago,” Mingyu recounts, setting down a wrap and untying the twine securing it, spreading out the yield gently. “Is it possible to trade for some thyme?”

 

As the shopkeeper turns each berry over, Jihoon finds his eyes wandering to the back, the storage room visible underneath the curtain, ears pricking.

 

“Noona! Watch me, watch me!”

 

“I’m watching!”

 

Two pairs of little feet become visible, pattering in front of the doorway.

 

“Rah! Rahh!” The boy stomps around, the sounds of bursting magic following. “Take that, monster!”

 

His sister’s laugh follows, and she claps. “You tell them, Soohyun-ah!”

 

A small explosion pops, and the boy giggles triumphantly. “I am the God of Beasts! Big and strong!”

 

“Yes, you are!”

 

“Alright, you two,” the shopkeeper shouts. “Settle down!”

 

Jihoon lowers his head, his fingers clenching the edge of the countertop tight.

 

He’s only broken out of the reverie when Mingyu elbows him, the thyme newly secured in his satchel. “You okay?”

 

Jihoon forces his hands to relax. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

 

As they exit the shop, Chan races up to them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Guys, guys! Look at this!”

 

He holds out a piece of parchment, a caricature scrawled across it.

 

Mingyu takes it from him, studying it closely. “Dire wolves…?”

 

“Possibly infected,” Chan adds. “There’s a huge reward for whoever takes them down! Apparently the village is struggling trying to fight them off! We’ve gotta do it!”

 

“Two thousand gil,” Jihoon reads. His brows jump up on his head. “Well, damn.”

 

“That’s a lot, but-” Mingyu interjects. “There’s so many. There’s no way we can handle them all.”

 

Chan’s expression turns a little crestfallen. “Well, maybe, but- shouldn’t we at least try?”

 

“I mean…” Mingyu starts, then trails off. His eyes, unbidden, rest on Jihoon, as if wanting to hear his verdict.

 

After a moment, Chan faces his mentor too, gaze remaining hopeful.

 

Jihoon takes a deep breath, and puts his hand on his hips, adjusting his guitar strap with the other. “How about we ask Seungcheol what he thinks?”

 

Back at the lodge, the fire mage in question takes the paper from Chan and studies it for a long time.

 

Then, with a glance at Jihoon, he says, clearly, “Well, we can’t deny that it’s a lot of money. And that it’ll definitely help the people. Maybe even build a reputation.”

 

Mingyu nods, Chan following suit. Jihoon keeps his arms crossed as he leans against the wall, his guitar set to the side.

 

“But,” Seungcheol continues. “We’re going to need to be smart about this.”

 

“Yeah, we do,” Mingyu replies.

 

Chan thrusts a fist into the air. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll do it!”

 

Then, Seungcheol looks back at Jihoon again. His expression remains calm and open, totally different from his usual jealousy.

 

“So, what do you think is smart to do right now, Jihoon-ssi?”

 

Jihoon uncrosses his arms. His answer comes fast.

 

“We scout.”

 

…

 

“So you’re telling me…you’re afraid of heights.”

 

Mingyu winces. “...Yes.”

 

“Deathly afraid.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jihoon purses his lips. 

 

Mingyu glares at him witheringly. “I can feel that you want to laugh, you know.”

 

Jihoon looks away out of respect as his face finally bursts into a grin. “Just didn’t expect it from a guy who definitely gets asked how the weather is up there often.”

 

Mingyu makes a face. “Cheol-hyung says that all the time!”

 

“Of course he does.”

 

“Anyways…” Mingyu opens the enchanted map up, which was lent to the two of them for the time being. “The wolves are northeast from here.”

 

“Got it.” Jihoon raises his hands, a tempest taking shape little by little around them, stirring at the dirt beneath their feet. “Let’s head on over.”

 

Mingyu inhales shakily. “Promise you’re not gonna drop me.”

 

Jihoon gives him an assured smile. “Look into my head. That answer enough?”

 

The emotion mage closes his eyes, as if concentrating on putting out feelers, before relaxing his shoulders, satisfied by what he found. “Okay. I trust you.”

 

“Yay! Look! Two visitor mages!”

 

“They’re going to chase the wolves away!”

 

The cacophony of voices makes Jihoon look over his shoulder, taking in the sudden amount of bright-faced children behind them.

 

“Whoa. Hang on, guys, this is just a search-”

 

Mingyu places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t burst their bubble.”

 

Jihoon searches his eyes for a moment, before he relaxes. “They’re hopeful, aren’t they?”

 

“Very.” Mingyu replies, his gaze fond. “Can’t let them down.”

 

“Chan’s probably the one who told them,” Jihoon murmurs. “He’s so excited to…inspire them.”

 

Mingyu nods, his smile looking much more determined. “So let’s inspire them too.”

 

“Let’s,” Jihoon echoes, and commands the wind to take them into the sky.

 

For the first few minutes of their flight, Mingyu stays curled in a ball, hands over his face, whimpering almost comically.

 

Jihoon keeps his grip on his magic steady, and only smiles to himself once at the other man’s distress. “Hey, come on. At least try to enjoy the view.”

 

Mingyu’s fingers twitch, and then, he peeks through them.

 

Jihoon watches as his eyes land on the tree canopies below, and observe the flocks of geese that fly by. The very serenity of nature, seen from up high.

 

“...Whoa.”

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon responds, only genuine. “Whoa.”

 

They cruise along for a bit, watching the leaves sway along with the breeze, different berries catching the late-afternoon sun, changing into the hue of gems under firelight.

 

Then, Mingyu pipes up.

 

“You ever…done this with anyone else? Like Chan? Bet he’d dig this.”

 

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, he loves this. And I’ve done it with others too.”

 

His eyes soften. “Some of them…really loved the thrill.”

 

One of his hands tightens into a fist, almost unconsciously.

 

Mingyu doesn’t notice, somehow, pointing downwards.

 

“Look,” he says hushedly. “There they are.”

 

Jihoon looks down as well.

 

The first thing he notices are the teeth. Like curved daggers of ivory, they gnash at the air, each one as long as a man’s forearm, sharpened to needle points.

 

Then, he sees their eyes. Blue, green, yellow, each mired by blood, like a vessel had popped, turning them bloodshot.

 

And lastly, their coats. Once shiny, now dull, covered in tendrils of darkness that expand from their chests, growing outwards across their backs.

 

“They are infected,” Jihoon whispers. “And it…looks like they’re much further along than the griffin.”

 

Mingyu, for a moment, doesn’t do anything but stare. A bead of sweat gathers at his brow. “...Shit. They’re…massive.”

 

Jihoon waits for a second, before quickly throwing up an arm, changing the current so their voices, as well as their scents, don’t carry.

 

“Let’s stay focused,” he says quietly.

 

Mingyu nods, then closes his eyes, falling into intense concentration.

 

Jihoon keeps still, watching the way the wolves beneath them stalk around, their snarls audible even from this distance.

 

Then, Mingyu takes a breath, refocusing on Jihoon. “Our map miscounted. There’s fifteen of them, not just twelve.”

 

He points ahead. “Three stragglers. Probably older, or lame wolves. I can feel their consciousnesses, though they’re faint.”

 

His expression grows darker. “And they’re fractured. All I can sense is…pain. Anger. Desperation.”

 

“They’re not dire wolves anymore,” Jihoon whispers. 

 

It sounds less like a suggestion, and more like a confirmation.

 

Mingyu’s jaw tightens. “...Yeah.”

 

They watch for a moment longer as one of the wolves scratches at its own face, claws overgrown, foam dripping from its jaws, splattering against the earth.

 

“Let’s go back,” Mingyu says quietly.

 

Jihoon wordlessly flicks his wrist, and they fly back the way they came.

 

…

 

Sometimes, Jihoon’s sure he’s going to get a heart attack because of a particular dongsaeng’s actions.

 

This moment is one of those times.

 

Mingyu opens the door to their shared room, and Seungcheol nods at them as he squeezes water out of his rinsed shirt.

 

“Where’s Chan?” Jihoon asks, massaging his sore hands from spellcasting.

 

Seungcheol raises a brow, perplexed. “He’s not with you?”

 

Jihoon and Mingyu blink, and say in unison, “No?”

 

The three of them stare at each other.

 

Then they book it out of the room, Seungcheol nearly tripping over the pail.

 

After three minutes of searching, Seungcheol about to throttle a guard, Mingyu drawing a sloppy portrait to show to some villagefolk, and Jihoon actually considering taking out his guitar to play, they find him at the local training range.

 

Relieved, the three of them slump on each other momentarily.

 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Seungcheol mutters.

 

“Me first,” Mingyu supplies.

 

“Get in line,” Jihoon growls.

 

But then, all three of them watch as their youngest team member takes a swig of water, and they all soften.

 

Chan looks exhausted.

 

But resolute.

 

Sweat drips from his bangs, dousing his forehead, and he wipes tracks of it from his lips as he braces himself on his knees, eyes locked straight ahead at the other side of the arena.

 

“What’s he doing?” Seungcheol asks.

 

“He feels determined,” Mingyu comments.

 

Jihoon points. “Look. He’s set up markers.”

 

The markers in question resemble X’s, each one painted in black on the ground. They sprawl out in front of Chan, the distance between each one and the next growing exponentially larger the farther they go out.

 

Chan stands on one himself, digging his toe into it as he crouches in a runner’s position.

 

The three other team members watch, breaths bated.

 

Then, he warps, disappearing with his trademark flurry of sparks.

 

The fraction of a millisecond later, and he’s at the next mark.

 

And then, he warps again, moving to the third.

 

Then again. And again.

 

Spark clouds appear one by one, dotting themselves across the field.

 

He’s pushing himself, Jihoon realizes. Crossing greater and greater distances in short bursts. A training of endurance.

 

Fizz. Pop. Fizz. Pop.

 

Chan’s face, when they can get a glimpse of it, remains determined, brows drawn and teeth gritted.

 

He keeps his speed for a few more seconds, up until around the midway point, where he stops in his tracks, and falls to his knees, palms hitting the earth as he pants, perspiration dripping down his nose.

 

“Ugh,” he groans. “Darn it. Could’ve made it a little farther.”

 

Jihoon takes that moment to smile fondly, approach, and carefully vault over the fence.

 

Chan looks up, sees him approach, and flushes, eyes darting to the ground.

 

“Oh- I’m sorry about this, hyung, I just wanted to prove I got stro-”

 

“You did good, Channie.”

 

His dongsaeng freezes, then looks up at him, eyes wide like an owl’s. “R-Really, hyung?”

 

Jihoon nods, then firms up his expression. “Alright. Let’s go. You gotta eat something.”

 

“Huh? Wait!” Chan flails his arms as the older man drags him by the back of the coat out of the ring. “Just one more time, Jihoon-hyung! I’m sure I can get farther! Please?”

 

“You’re tired, though.”

 

“I know, but-”

 

“Listen, Chan.” Jihoon turns back around, leaning in to put a hand on his shoulder. “The reason why you’re training so hard is because you want to do more. You want to defeat those wolves, as many as you can. Right?”

 

Chan swallows, eyes glistening as if he’d never expected anyone to notice. “...Yes. I do.”

 

Jihoon smiles, fondly, and adjusts his collar absentmindedly. “Then don’t run yourself into the ground beforehand, okay?”

 

He gestures to the other team members, still waiting beyond the fence. “We all…are doing this together, after all.”

 

For a moment, Chan is quiet. He looks at Jihoon with a gaze full of wonder, like his hyung had just told him everything he’s ever wanted to hear, long enough that Jihoon flushes a little.

 

“Thanks, Jihoon-hyung.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jihoon pats him on the back.

 

As the four of them make their way back to the lodge, Seungcheol claps his hands together. “Alright, dinner’s on me!”

 

Chan and Mingyu both cheer, while Jihoon shakes his head, but wisps of his smirk remain.

 

…

 

At night, their lodge room is thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. A half-dozen candles flicker on the windowsill, flames casting long, shifting shadows along the floor.

 

Jihoon watches the velvety black of night beyond the window, counting each of the stars one by one, slowly but surely.

 

On the other bed, Seungcheol and Mingyu are already asleep, the fire mage curled up facing the wall, and one of the taller one’s legs flopped over him. Both of them breathe in sync, completely at peace.

 

Jihoon almost thinks Chan, sharing the bed next to him, is asleep as well, until the youngest turns over onto his back, head tilted towards the other, still wide awake.

 

“Hyung,” he whispers. “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

 

He reaches out, carefully. Jihoon blinks slowly as his dongsaeng’s hand brushes against his chest.

 

“You brought it, didn’t you?”

 

Jihoon doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he reaches into his shirt, and carefully takes out the pendant he’s hidden against his chest since the journey had begun.

 

The surface is cool still, smooth, and it feels familiar against his palm.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear that in forever,” Chan murmurs. 

 

Jihoon runs his thumb over it.

 

“I haven’t,” he replies. “There’s a lot of things…that I haven’t done in forever.”

 

His thoughts run back to the moment he was facing the griffin, how they had instantly blanked when he touched the guitar on his back. How the paralyzing fear had gripped him, turning him into stone.

 

Then Chan shifts onto his side completely, hair sprawling over the mattress between their pillows.

 

“Can I see it?”

 

Jihoon takes a deep breath. Then, he raises his hands to his nape. The clasp is undone, and he grasps the gold chain in his fist as he offers it to the other.

 

Chan takes it gently from him, cradling it for a moment before using his thumbs to open it.

 

The moment he does, Jihoon looks away. He fixes his eyes on the sky above again, watching as a few clouds roll in.

 

Then, with a soft click, Chan closes the locket, and hands it back. His eyes hold just a dash of glimmer.

 

As Jihoon refastens the locket around his neck and tucks it back under his clothes, he asks, quietly, “Do you miss him?”

 

The stinging in Jihoon’s eyes is sudden, but he’s not surprised by it. Nor is he surprised at the tightened feeling in his heart, a wound there that refuses to heal.

 

“...Every day of my life.”

Chapter 7: The Team

Summary:

“It’s so aggressive,” Seungcheol comments. “He’s really putting his all into it.”

His voice lowers. “Maybe…he wants to be more than just support.”

Jihoon stills, then looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

That…makes so much sense.

With the way Chan’s been acting, it's obvious.

The constant pushing to be better, the relentless drive, it’s all there. From their very first fight, their youngest member had been striving to be more.

Through sweat, through tears.

It’s so clear that he wants to prove himself.

Notes:

A new chapter~

Stay tuned for some amazing team bonding~

And some smidgens of Jihoon's past 🫢

The zither is smooth and polished to the touch in Jihoon’s hands.

 

He cradles it carefully, reverently, in his palms. It had taken him about two months, between magic lessons and chores, dodging bullies and disapproving teachers, to craft this. 

 

With a tentative, almost deferential touch, he makes his first sound- a high note, like a bell in the forest where he sits on the log. He plucks the string with his right thumb, meeting the taut thread with gentle pressure.

 

His left hand moves as well, his fingers selectively muting notes, shaping the melody’s pauses and breaths. 

 

The notes emerge, each one fragile and clear, distinct even in the breeze.

 

Meanwhile, the boy with the small, bright eyes is in front of him, sitting on the ground with his arms leaned back, and he grins. “Amazing as always, Jihoonie.”

 

Another kid sits next to him- Seokmin, a newcomer to the village. He keeps his legs crossed, hunched as if to make himself smaller. Shy. The singular mole on his cheek is made out of starlight. His eyes are wide.

 

“Such…pretty music.”

 

Junhui is nearby, seated primly with his legs tucked underneath. He gives a quiet, approving nod.

 

And lastly, little Chan raises his head from where he’s tucked into Junhui’s side, wiping tears still ripe with grief from his parents’ passing a week before, giving a small sniffle.

 

“That’s s-so cool, Jihoon-hyung.”

 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” the boy interjects with a beam. He nods rapidly at Jihoon. “Quick, show them the other thing!”

 

Holding back a chuckle at his energy, Jihoon repositions his hands on the zither, and this time, he concentrates.

 

Then, he releases a strum that’s far stronger than before.

 

The multicolored energy bursts forth from the strings, reverberating through the air, the thrum as sharp as a whistle blow. It travels out in an arc, soaring across the ground. 

 

In an instant, the boy’s and Seokmin’s bangs are struck from their faces, casting their hair in disarray. The shockwave travels through their clothes, pulling them taut against their bodies, then rustling through the tall grass behind them, laying it flat.

 

In short, it was a burst of raw power. Far stronger than anything Jihoon’s been taught before.

 

The boy laughs, clapping. “Still so awesome!”

 

Seokmin’s jaw is dropped. “What-What was that?”

 

A little bit of Chan’s real smile comes to the surface, and he looks back and forth between the flattened grass and the instrument. “...Music magic?”

 

“Not just music magic,” Junhui observes, tone hushed, gaze filled with surprise and interest. “Sound magic.”

 

Jihoon gives a nod to confirm, fidgeting with his fingers, feeling bashful at the awe they’re showing him. “Well, music magic does fit it better.”

 

“It’s incredible,” Junhui says, even softer.

 

Jihoon flushes deeper.

 

Seokmin’s still bug-eyed. “Is this not something they usually teach you?”

 

Both Jihoon and Junhui shake their heads.

 

“No,” the latter of the two answers. “It’s more about the basic elements. Such as wind, fire, water, earth. Maybe a few side classes for healing magic as well. Even the warding magic I’m learning alongside my wind can be used to defend the village walls. All of those are far more common.”

 

He smiles back at Jihoon. “But this magic here…as far as I know, it’s the first of its kind.”

 

The honesty of the statement’s too much. Jihoon scratches at his neck awkwardly, looking away with burning cheeks.

 

“It really is cool, though,” Chan murmurs softly. He sits up straighter, curious and red-nosed. “So, why do people hate it, Jihoon-hyung?”

 

Jihoon looks down at the instrument, plucking a few more quiet notes from it. “The teachers say it’s weak. A lost cause. Meant for pleasantry, not combat. They say I should stick to wind spells. And, obviously, the other mage students are more mean about it.”

 

He gives a humorless smirk. “They say, ‘What are you going to do on the battlefield, huh? Play a little tune and scare the beasts away?’”

 

“And that’s where they’re wrong.” 

 

The interruption, as well as the hardness of the bright-eyed boy’s tone, quickly draws their attention.

 

His hands turn into fists beside him, grasping tightly at the grass as if in frustration. He keeps his eyes on Jihoon, and they glint as hard as flint. 

 

“Because it’s clear what that magic can really do. With more practice, it’s only going to get stronger. Right now, it’s only flattening tall grass, but by tomorrow, it might as well be able to fell trees.”

 

His voice lowers. “What I’m saying is- they shouldn’t underestimate you, Jihoon.”

 

His gaze narrows even further. “No one should.”

 

A pause ensues.

 

Jihoon stares at him, and for some reason, he feels his chest begin to throb. An ache under his ribs, sweet and heavy. A persistent thumping that makes his head feel light.

 

Then, Seokmin lets out a dramatic sigh, breaking the spell, crossing his arms and pouting. “This sucks. I wonder what I’d be able to do if I had just a little bit of magic. I can’t help but imagine all the different things I could do.”

 

Immediately, the bright-eyed boy’s expression changes to a more cheerful one, and he drapes an arm around Seokmin, mock groaning. “Ugh, me too! We magicless folk sure have it tough, don’t we?”

 

“Why doesn’t that sound sincere at all?” Junhui comments wryly.

 

“Don’t worry,” Chan exclaims, somewhat giggling at their antics, his trademark energy surely returning. “We’ll protect you guys and the village. It’s our sworn duty as mages!”

 

As the chaos continues, Jihoon sets the zither aside on the log and looks down at his hands, stroking his fingers over the calluses forming.

 

They shouldn’t underestimate me, he repeats to himself.

 

No one should.

 

…

 

They start at the break of dawn.

 

Jihoon rolls his neck as well as his shoulders, before raising a leg, pulling his knee tight against his chest, holding his balance.

 

As he continues stretching, he watches as Chan sets up different targets across the range, wooden figures resembling different beasts, their vital points painted in red. His tongue sticks out in concentration as he works, brows knitted together.

 

Mingyu takes a jog around the perimeter, breaths steady, feet thumping lightly against the earth. He has his satchel on, filled to the brim with herbs now, for added weight.

 

And next to Jihoon, Seungcheol works out his arms, his fire magic flaring up across his elbows. “Hey, can I get your opinion on something?”

 

Jihoon faces him, tilting his head. “Yeah?”

 

In response, Seungcheol materializes two of his fireballs, one in each hand. As Jihoon watches, the flames seem to alter themselves into an almost solidified state, moving like liquid down to his wrists, but also upwards, coating every one of his fingers.

 

He raises his eyebrows as they glow even brighter, resembling a hardened form of fresh magma.

 

“Fire gauntlets?”

 

“Call it a prototype.” Seungcheol flexes his fingers, the form of the spell yielding to the action, the knuckles sharpened into claws. “Still trying to find out how to hold it for longer.”

 

Then, he finally notices the look on Jihoon’s face. “What?”

 

The wind mage just smiles, half-teasing. “You’re really taking what I said to heart, huh?”

 

Seungcheol flushes, but grins back. “Oh, shut up.”

 

“Heads up!” Chan yells then, brandishing his knife, getting into his fighter’s stance. “I’m going in!”

 

Briskly, he warps, choosing a target right in the middle to strike. His knife sinks into the fake beast’s throat, frayed pieces of hay scattering into the air.

 

Seungcheol whistles. 

 

Jihoon smirks. “He’s getting serious.”

 

Chan pulls the knife free, then instantly ducks into a roll. In another burst of sparks, he’s behind the next fake beast, right in its blind spot, slashing a gash along its flank.

 

Seungcheol makes a noise of surprise. “That maneuver…”

 

“He’s thinking about it,” Jihoon murmurs. “How the dire wolves might move. They surround their prey.”

 

He folds his arms, pride swelling within. “So he’s thinking about how to avoid getting trapped by that strategy, and still gain the upper hand.”

 

“It’s so aggressive,” Seungcheol comments. “He’s really putting his all into it.”

 

His voice lowers. “Maybe…he wants to be more than just support.”

 

Jihoon stills, then looks at him out of the corner of his eye. 

 

That…makes so much sense.

 

With the way Chan’s been acting, it's obvious.

 

The constant pushing to be better, the relentless drive, it’s all there. From their very first fight, their youngest member had been striving to be more. 

 

Through sweat, through tears.

 

It’s so clear that he wants to prove himself.

 

Jihoon’s eyes narrow.

 

“Then…that’s just how it is.”

 

Seungcheol startles, somewhat. “Wha- you’re not gonna stop him? You always tell him not to push himself. And you’re his guardian, aren’t you?”

 

Jihoon shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “At this point, telling him to not push himself is like telling him to chain himself down.”

 

Chan skids across the dirt in front of them, before warping himself on the back of one of the targets, slicing the throat before vaulting off.

 

“He’s older now,” Jihoon realizes. “Stronger. I can’t keep telling him to hang back. It’s not fair to him anymore.”

 

He sighs. “So, I’m gonna have to step back a little.”

 

Then, he flicks his wrist, his wind magic forming into a sword at his side. “But that doesn’t mean we’re letting him do this by himself.”

 

Seungcheol stares at him for a moment, before his face alights in pride. “Hell yeah, we’re not.”

 

In the next moment, they both join in.

 

As Chan struggles to tug his knife out of the hay in the next target, Seungcheol is right next to him, aiming a flaming punch to the head, with Jihoon on the other side, opening a gash in the underbelly.

 

Then Mingyu is behind them, thyme fronds gripped in his hand.

 

“It’s amazing what you’re thinking, Jihoon-ssi!”

 

Jihoon raises a brow, dancing away to slash against another target. “And what am I thinking?”

 

“I don’t know!” But Mingyu laughs, crushing his thyme, a golden aura emanating from his fingertips. “But I can feel you’re determined. Let me help.”

 

His palm meets Jihoon’s back. “Courage.”

 

And in an instant, the wind mage’s focus sharpens, and his blood thrums. It’s like a knot is unloosening in his chest, a surge of heat that starts in his core and radiates outward.

 

It’s almost as if someone’s saying to him, You can do this.

 

“A new spell I’ve come up with,” Mingyu announces. “Hope it helps!”

 

Jihoon smiles- he can already tell it does.

 

And as they move throughout the range, Seungcheol fire punching, Chan warping, Mingyu sending out waves of controlled emotion magic, and Jihoon bringing up the rear with his wind, he has a feeling-

 

They’re going to pull through.

 

…

 

For three days straight, they train from sunrise to sunset, breaks every thirty minutes.

 

Seungcheol perfects his gauntlet spell, taking it from five minutes and pushing it closer to ten.

 

Chan gets faster, more agile, his stamina kicking up several notches, able to kick into gear faster between cooldowns.

 

Mingyu starts spreading his waves of fear wider, the purple aura arcing across the range, hitting targets thoroughly, working hard to avoid hitting his team, alternating to also give them boosts mid-fight.

 

As for Jihoon, he fights with his gusts and his blades made of wind, mock-acting scenarios where he pulls the others from danger with a well-aimed gale.

 

But he doesn’t just do that.

 

Every day before they begin, he also stands in the middle of the range, his guitar out of the case and in his hands, strap over his shoulder, fingers on the strings.

 

Every day, he feels that block in his head that forbids him to even strum, pressing down on his senses, making him feel dizzy and weak, even bringing a sting to his eyes.

 

“You know you don’t have to do this, hyung,” Chan said once during a break, fidgeting with his hands as he stood before Jihoon, watching, looking concerned. 

 

“I said I’d try,” Jihoon had replied, though his fingers still shook on the strings. “Even if it doesn’t go anywhere.”

 

Mingyu stands to the side as he does this, his expression always troubled. It’s possible he feels whatever Jihoon is feeling, but he never comments on it. Jihoon finds that he appreciates that more than he can admit.

 

“Look!” An early bird child points him out to her friend on the last day, the two of them hanging on the side of the fence. “The bard’s going to play a song!”

 

Jihoon can't help but sadly smile at that, his throat dry. He doesn’t think he can, right now.

 

“Hey, kids,” Seungcheol approaches them, waving them away. “Don’t pressure him, yeah? Go home and get some sleep! Things can get messy and we don’t want your parents getting mad at us!”

 

“Aw, come on!” The girl pouts, jumping off the fence, both her and her companion stomping from the fence in a huff. “What kind of bard doesn’t play music? Didn’t he come here to do that? We barely get people like him around here!”

 

“I don’t know, maybe he’s bad at it,” the other girl whispers to her, but it still carries.

 

Seungcheol’s hair spikes into a yellow flame. “What-”

 

Jihoon grabs him by the arm, stopping him. “Hey, it’s alright. They’re not really going to get it.”

 

A warmth fills his chest. “But…thank you. That means a lot.”

 

It really does. This might be the first ever time Seungcheol’s defended him, instead of pushing the issue itself.

 

And that alone makes Jihoon feel lighter.

 

Seungcheol blinks, before nodding. “It’s no problem.”

 

They push hard through the last hours, to the point where Seungcheol’s flames surge out of control again and Mingyu has to wrangle him with turmeric, and where Chan gratefully accepts some water from Jihoon, worn out from warping for so long. 

 

The guitar rests at the gate of the arena like a sentinel, watching over them as the sun lowers past the horizon. 

 

At night, in their lodge room, Jihoon goes over the final parts of the plan.

 

“As you know,” he instructs, directing with his fingers to a diagram he made of the dire wolf. “The infection spreads slowly through its host, bit by bit, until it takes over their body and mind completely. This means that it’s more likely that the blight storm will occur.”

 

“Blight storm?” Mingyu echoes. “Like- that thing that happened with the griffin at the end?”

 

Jihoon nods to confirm. “Yes. That kind of storm.”

 

Everyone freezes, faces darkening.

 

Jihoon can see exactly what they’re thinking of- the writhing form of the griffin in the sky, put right in the eye of the shadowy tempest that swallowed every cloud right up.

 

“It’s only a small chance, but it can go up the further the infection has spread,” he clarifies. “But we’re dealing with fifteen of these wolves. So let’s try to take them down fast enough, before anything happens.”

 

The rest of them nod, expressions shifting quickly into determination.

 

With that, one night remains- before they face their bounty.

 

…

 

The air is filled with the smell of rot.

 

Death litters itself across the forest- skeletons from deer and raccoons scattered about, the remnants of their flesh decayed and preyed upon by flies.

 

The dire wolves stalk around aimlessly, their coats matted and their teeth stained with blood. Two of them break out into a fight, gnashing their jaws at one another, tearing out patches of fur.

 

Every one of them salivate, driven by the same all-encompassing feeling-

 

Hungry. So hungry. Screaming for flesh.

 

Neither of them notice as Mingyu approaches from the underbrush on the far end of the clearing, his presence hidden by Jihoon’s wind magic, a bundle of fennel cradled in his palm.

 

“Let’s get you moving,” he murmurs, and crushes the plant in his hand into a fist. Then, with the flick of a finger, a pale gray streak of magic shoots straight forward across the divide, and right into the wolves’ noses.

 

In an instant, every beast turns towards his hiding spot, ears pricked, teeth bared. In their heads, one thought circulates.

 

Food. Food. Food!

 

Instantly, they charge.

 

Mingyu waits until they’re nearly upon him, claws outstretched, jaws snapping, before he pulls the wolfsbane from his satchel, crushes it, and summons Fear with all his might.

 

The violet wave hits them head on.

 

Instantly, they rear back, whimpers radiating from their throats, ears pulled down, and in the confusion he has created, Mingyu screams, “Now!”

 

With a flash of verdant and orange, Jihoon and Seungcheol drop down from above.

 

A flaming gauntlet meets the jaw of one beast, while a wind blade carves its way through another’s side.

 

Two are down in a flash.

 

In the next, a burst of sparks, and Chan’s knife embeds itself between the eyes of the next dire wolf in line.

 

“Go get them, Channie!” Jihoon yells.

 

Chan nods, and with a blink, he’s behind the next beast, vaulting onto it to slit his throat. 

 

Jihoon and Seungcheol follow, another slice, another blow to the jaw.

 

Mingyu keeps the wolfsbane going, sweat dripping as he calls, “Seen the alpha yet?!”

 

“Not yet!” Jihoon responds, dodging a swipe from one of the wolves’ claws. “Still looking!”

 

Already, the wolves are recovering.

 

Their expressions go from startled to angry, growls bubbling from their throats as they converge, headed straight for the attacking party.

 

“Here comes the surround tactic!” Seungcheol shouts. “Get ready!”

 

Jihoon summons his gale, enveloping it around them both, instantly launching them high. The wolves are pushed back by the blast, their fur flattened to their bodies. 

 

Chan warps right out, leaving the center completely empty, and immediately destabilizes the outer ring of wolves with a spin kick down low.

 

“Let’s gooo!” Seungcheol hollers, his fists shifting to a gold hue as he slams them together.

 

Jihoon lets out a tense grin, before using the momentum to their advantage, slamming them both back down, crushing three more of the wolves against the earth. “Eight more, guys! We’re almost halfway!”

 

“Boo!” Mingyu pops out of hiding, more of his Fear activating. The next dire wolf rears backwards with a whine, eyes wide, and is cut down by Chan’s jump slash.

 

Seven more. Jihoon nods to himself. They got this. As long as they can keep this up, they’ll-

 

A scream.

 

Every one of their heads turn towards it.

 

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “Gyu!”

 

Jihoon watches, almost in slow motion, as Mingyu falls to the ground, his satchel spraying herbs everywhere, as the biggest dire wolf they’ve seen yet towers over him, a huge gash down his chest, torn through his shirt.

 

The wolf howls, claws stained with his blood.

 

“NO!”

 

Seungcheol is there in the next heartbeat. Golden fire explodes outward, and the beast is blown away.

 

Jihoon and Chan are there in the next heartbeat, surrounding him.

 

“Go, Chan, keep them occupied!” Jihoon orders, waving him away as he pulls Mingyu into his arms.

 

His dongsaeng hesitates, face paled and sweaty, before diving back into the fray.

 

“You’re okay, Mingyu-ssi, I’ve got you,” Jihoon says frantically, fishing a healing salve out of his pocket with one hand. “Just hang tight-”

 

“Alpha.”

 

Jihoon freezes, staring down at him. “Wh-What?”

 

Mingyu points weakly, upwards, at where Seungcheol slams against the huge wolf, teeth gritted, flames an inferno. “That’s it. That’s the alpha.”

 

He swallows. “I can feel it. His anger, pain- and sadness. Another second and the blight storm- it's gonna happen-”

 

Jihoon wastes no time. He lays Mingyu down, summoning a storm around him as cover. “Here, keep this pressed to your chest-”

 

He wraps Mingyu’s hand around the cloth covered in salve.

 

“Just- hang tight!”

 

The wind picks up around his feet, and he soars back into the fray.

 

It’s chaos.

 

There’s sparks surrounding him- Chan’s as he confronts the rest of the wolves. Seungcheol clashes against the alpha again, the wolf’s teeth clenching onto his gauntlet, their gazes locked with one another.

 

But something- something is wrong.

 

There’s something wrong- with Jihoon himself.

 

He’s not moving. His vision is blurring. Chan’s magic and Seungcheol’s magic are both swirling in front of him, vortexes in the dark.

 

Why is it dark?

 

His ears are screaming.

 

And for some reason, all he sees is Mingyu.

 

But Mingyu should be behind him-

 

But Mingyu is in front of him, the gash in his chest turning into dark, bulbous veins, growing upwards towards his throat, overtaking his eyes-

 

No, no, stop-

 

It’s not real- it’s not real-

 

Jihoon knows it’s not- 

 

But-

 

It’s my fault, this is all my fault-

 

He’s gonna turn, and it’s because of me-

 

It’s happening again- because I am so weak-

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

 

Then his hand closes around something.

 

His locket.

 

In his panic, he must have taken hold of it, somehow.

 

The surface is cold against his palm, enough to ground him. It glints in the light like a beacon.

 

Jihoon grips it harder, and finds that finally, he’s breathing. He doesn't even know that he’d stopped.

 

Then, Seungcheol’s hand is on his shoulder.

 

“Jihoon-ssi. Jihoon-ssi!”

 

Jihoon blinks up at him, eyes wet.

 

“They’re all dead,” Seungcheol yells in his face, shaking him gently. “It’s just the alpha left. But Chan can’t get to him!”

 

Jihoon refocuses dead ahead, seeing the violent vortex that now surrounds the alpha dire wolf.

 

The blight storm. It’s beginning.

 

Chan’s on the outskirts of it, arms shielding his face from the force, digging his feet into the ground, doing his best to not get blown away. The beast howls into the sky, enraged and agonized.

 

“We just need you to give us an opening!” Seungcheol demands. “Just one, Jihoon- I know you can do it!”

 

Jihoon keeps watching his dongsaeng’s expression. How it remains resolute. How his eyes never falter, locked straight on towards the target.

 

You…inspire me, Chan.

 

You always have.

 

Even after so long as an orphan...you’ve never given up.

 

He can still remember the long days when Chan would warp around his study, always excited to improve, always raring to go on any patrol, any endeavor, just to help someone, for as long as Jihoon can remember.

 

I love that about you.

 

Jihoon raises his hand, the breeze surging to wrap around his wrist.

 

Chan yells against the maelstrom in defiance, his entire body glowing with his last burst attack.

 

Finish this for us, Channie.

 

The wind attack cuts straight through, and the shadow storm breaks apart, vaporizing into nothing, for the briefest of a heartbeat.

 

But Chan seizes that moment.

 

Like a sonic boom, he warps, tearing space itself. And in the next instant, his knife meets the alpha wolf’s chest, and sinks right in.

 

One second. Two.

 

And the deadened glow in the wolf’s eyes finally goes out, as its body disintegrates.

 

Fur, flesh, limbs and jaws- all of it shatters into dust.

 

The blight storm fades away as well, the darkness melting away like it was never there, the light of the sun above shining through.

 

The land remains the mess it was, still filled with the remnants of death, but the ground is lighter, the roots of the infection no longer there.

 

Chan drops his knife, grabbing his knees for support. He’s panting hard, drenched in blood that’s not his own, with a tear in his pants at the ankle, and a few minor scratches.

 

But he’s alive.

 

Seungcheol is alive.

 

And Mingyu- 

 

Mingyu crashes into Jihoon from behind, arms wrapping around him instantly, tearing up into his shirt. “Holy- shit- we did it!”

 

In a flash, Seungcheol bear tackles them both. “How badly are you hurt? Do we need to get you a healer? Don’t die on me, man!”

 

“I’m fine!” Mingyu pulls the tattered fabric of his shirt wider, revealing that the gash on his chest is now as thin as paper. “That potion Jihoon-ssi used worked wonders! I’m good as new!”

 

“Jihoon,” Jihoon murmurs.

 

Both Mingyu and Seungcheol freeze. Their eyes land on him, as wide as saucers.

 

“Just call me Jihoon,” the wind mage repeats, looking back at them both. “Or Jihoon-hyung, if you’re younger.”

 

He gives a tired, fond smile. “It’s about time, right? We’ve been together long enough. It’s gonna be awkward if we’re still so formal after like three life-or-death fights, don’t you think?”

 

The two of them continue to gape at him, as if they can’t believe what they’re hearing.

 

Then, a weight crashes into Jihoon’s side.

 

“Hyuuuuung!” Chan sobs. “Oh my gods, that was so scary! Are all of you okay- did I take too long- I’m sorry if I did-”

 

Jihoon instantly pulls him in, pressing his nose to his dongsaeng’s hair. “You did great, Channie. You all did great.”

 

With his free arm, he wraps around Mingyu and Seungcheol both, which is a feat unto itself considering they’re both massive people, but he makes do.

 

“This team did great.”

 

The trees’ leaves are rustled by the incoming breeze, the sound of them almost as if they're celebrating too.

Notes:

They are now a true team~ 🥹❤️

See you next chapter, and thanks for reading!

Chapter 8: The Shapeshifter

Summary:

“Jihoon-hyung!” Chan materializes as they approach the stairs, grabbing his hyung’s arm. “Good to see you awake! You wanna eat anything? Mingyu-hyung should already be at the tavern waiting for us!”

“Yeah, but when we go outside, be careful,” Seungcheol says. “Since we’ve defeated the dire wolves, we’ve gotten kind of-”

They open the door, and over a hundred villagers’ overjoyed faces greet them.

“Famous,” Seungcheol finishes lamely.

Notes:

New chapter!! Short, but I promise it will be worth your while~

Please enjoy!

The sea of stars stretches before Jihoon’s eyes once more.

 

But he blinks, realizing that something is missing.

 

He is missing- that boy.

 

Quickly, briskly, he walks, his feet scattering every orb of light, the canvas of the heavens rippling underneath him.

 

He looks around, searching for any sign of movement, heart in his throat.

 

“Hello? Hey! It’s dinnertime- we gotta head back before the others eat it all-”

 

Then, he hears the rustle of branches. He looks to the right.

 

A grouping of bushes sits near him, their leaves twitching.

 

Jihoon approaches. “Hey, you there? Are you hurt? Do you need me to-”

 

He pushes away the branches carefully-

 

And finds himself face to face with the boy with the bright eyes-

 

Who lays there curled on his back behind the brush, the ears of a forest cat protruding from his head, and between his legs, the unmistakable shape of a tail.

 

“Jihoon,” the boy whispers, his voice absolutely terrified. Whiskers- there are whiskers- twitch on his face as he hides behind his hand. “Don’t look-!”

 

Jihoon wakes up.

 

And bonks heads with Seungcheol.

 

“Ow!” they both yelp, and clutch their heads.

 

“Jeez, Jihoon,” the team leader hisses, eyes teary. “You don’t need to take me out just for trying to check on you!”

 

“This is not why I let you drop the honorifics,” Jihoon shoots back.

 

But they both smirk at each other, straightening up.

 

“Where’s Mingyu?” Jihoon asks, pulling off his blanket, trying to tame his hair as he stands up. “Is he feeling better?”

 

“He just got up a moment ago, said he was hungry.” Seungcheol jabs a thumb towards the outside of the lodge. “Thought he’d sleep longer than you, given his injury, but I guess that fight took out a lot of you too.”

 

He doesn’t seem to remember the episode Jihoon had during the fight. Or if he does, he doesn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Maybe he even forgot about it.

 

That eases some tension in the wind mage’s heart. “So his cut’s fully healed?”

 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol nods, holding the door open for him. “Crazy stuff. Do you have any more of that or…?”

 

“I’m sorry. That was the last batch I had saved from the war.”

 

“Agh, damn it. That shit was useful.”

 

“Jihoon-hyung!” Chan materializes as they approach the stairs, grabbing his hyung’s arm. “Good to see you awake! You wanna eat anything? Mingyu-hyung should already be at the tavern waiting for us!”

 

“Yeah, but when we go outside, be careful,” Seungcheol says. “Since we’ve defeated the dire wolves, we’ve gotten kind of-”

 

They open the door, and over a hundred villagers’ overjoyed faces greet them.

 

“Famous,” Seungcheol finishes lamely.

 

“Look, it’s more of our heroes!” one man yells, instantly seizing Chan and holding him up in jubilation. “Let us rejoice!”

 

Mingyu bounces along in waves in the background, already hoisted up by several people. 

 

“Whoa, whoa,” he nervously laughs. “Please put me down-”

 

“Hey, he’s still in rough shape!” Seungcheol yells, but then people grab him too and make him join the crowd surfing. “Crap-!”

 

Jihoon puts his hands up, but there’s no stopping them. He’s lifted into the air as well.

 

“To the heroes who took down the dire wolves terrorizing our village!” a woman shrieks. “We want to express the greatest of thanks- with a feast!”

 

The citizens all cheer, sending a deafening roar up into the sky.

 

Jihoon tries to keep a straight face as he’s jostled, but a corner of his lip rises anyways.

 

This is kind of nice.

 

About an hour later, when the sun is dipping below the horizon and casting an orange hue across the sky, the tables are set.

 

Each one is covered from end to end in plentiful dishes of all kinds, plates at the ends, goblets set right next to them, without a single patch of empty space.

 

In the center of the party, Jihoon carefully chews the drumstick of a roast chicken, watching as Chan’s eyes shine at an herbal soup he’s just tasted, and Mingyu absolutely devours two bowls of rice in the span of ten minutes. Seungcheol laughs at them both, the chuckles coming straight from his belly, as he asks for another helping of carrot slices from the kind lady that served them earlier.

 

“Let’s raise a toast to the ones who saved us!” the village leader shouts, raising his glass. “To Seungcheol, Mingyu, Chan, and-”

 

He leans in towards Jihoon. “Erm, I’ve never caught your name.”

 

There’s an awkward pause. Jihoon is aware of his team looking at him with various degrees of panic.

 

He knows what they’re thinking: it’s either he reveals his name, and risks everyone raising an eyebrow because it reminds them of a certain figure they worship, or they think nothing of it at all.

 

He goes with the former. 

 

“...Jihoon.”

 

And there’s no reaction. The village leader straightens back up and thrusts his glass even higher in the air. “And Jihoon!”

 

The villagers cheer again, arms raised to the sky.

 

Everyone in the team quietly sighs in relief, trading each other secret smiles.

 

The night sky seeps through, blue bleeding through the dash of pink like a fresh oil painting.

 

…

 

“Oh, man,” Mingyu groans, flopped on the floor like a starfish. “I ate too much. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

 

“Do you think you’re going to throw up?” Chan inquires. “I can try and grab the bucket-”

 

“Please don’t hurl everywhere, Gyu,” Seungcheol complains next to them, arm thrown over his eyes.

 

“Yeah, go outside and do it in a bush,” Jihoon adds.

 

A beat.

 

Then Mingyu and Seungcheol both sputter, breaking out into laughter, rolling along the floor and slapping their palms against it.

 

Jihoon blinks. “What?”

 

Chan just tilts his head to face him, smiling knowingly, as the other two keep giggling. “You know, hyung, sometimes you can be really funny. Even without realizing it.”

 

Jihoon stares. “I was-?”

 

“It’s not just that,” Mingyu wheezes. “You were just- so- practical and honest about it, and of course you are because you’re Jihoon-hyung, of course, but- ha- HA-”

 

“What he’s trying to say is,” Seungcheol explains through giggles. “You say shit to be helpful- but you don’t know what you say is actually fucking hilarious!”

 

Jihoon continues to study them in disbelief as they flop around like dying fish, before looking up at the ceiling in defeat. “Well, alright then.”

 

That makes them laugh even harder.

 

After a few minutes, the noise finally dies down, and they lie there, finally recovering their breath.

 

Then, Jihoon asks in the lull, “So. We’re leaving tomorrow, right, Seungcheol-hyung?”

 

The fire mage freezes, before reschooling his dumbfounded expression- it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting the new address.

 

“...Yeah. I checked our maps, and found that we have a city and a river to cross, before we’re a week away from our home village.”

 

Mingyu sits up, eyes wide. “Wait, seriously? We’re that close?”

 

Seungcheol grins. “Yup.”

 

“Whoa!” Chan sits up as well, beaming, kicking his feet. “We get to see your home! Ahh, I’m so excited now!”

 

The team leader flushes, obviously overwhelmed at the enthusiasm the youngest is expressing.

 

Then, they finally notice the silence from their fourth.

 

Jihoon lies still, hands folded neatly on his stomach, as his eyes drift towards his guitar, which he propped up against his and Chan’s bed in the corner.

 

The understanding passes through the room like a sliver of breath.

 

To give everyone in my village hope, Seungcheol had said. 

 

The fire mage faces him, crossing his legs as he finally sits up himself.

 

“Hey, listen. Forget about the guitar, yeah? Forget about the whole God of Music thing.” 

 

His voice softens. “You don’t need to do all of that.”

 

Carefully, he reaches out, and places a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. “Just do what you want to do. They’re just gonna have to believe that it’s you, even if it’s just me telling them to.”

 

“Even for Jeonghan-hyung?” Mingyu asks from the side.

 

Seungcheol’s expression tightens. “Even for Jeonghan.”

 

Jihoon swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t expect something like this.

 

But he lets his leader’s hand stay.

 

That night, after everyone has retired to bed, the candles lit and the clothes they cleaned blood out of hanging in the bathroom doorway to dry, Jihoon sits out on the front steps of the lodge, his guitar in hand.

 

He looks up at the sky, the clouds shifting, covering some stars while uncovering others, as he rests his fingers on the strings.

 

Just one song, he thinks to himself, blinking back the characteristic sting in his eyes. Or maybe just one note. Just one.

 

His hands are shaking again. His whole body is.

 

Please, he begs inwardly. He doesn’t even know who he’s pleading to- his guitar, or himself. 

 

Even if Seungcheol isn’t expecting it anymore- they’ve been through so much together already. Not trying would be the worst thing Jihoon could do for him in return.

 

But even as he presses his thumb to the string hard enough to leave an indent against his skin, Jihoon just won’t move.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers into the evening air, releasing the strings to bring his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

 

He doesn’t look up at the sky again.

 

…

 

“...You have magic that…changes you into different creatures,” Jihoon repeats slowly.

 

The boy with the bright eyes curls in on himself again, hiding behind a frond of leaves. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just found out yesterday- I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how-”

 

“You have magic,” Jihoon repeats. “But- you’re not supposed to.”

 

The boy glares at him, his cat ears flattening in frustration again. “Well, yeah! Obviously! And now it’s clear- that I do.”

 

He puts his hands over the furry constructs, as if trying to will them back to normal human form. “I have no freaking idea how to control this…!”

 

“This is actually happening,” Jihoon continues, dazed. “This is real. You were magicless, but now you’re not.”

 

His eyes widen. “A late bloom-”

 

“Jihoon!”

 

Then amber eyes with vertical slits are only a quarter inch away from his own, a mouth filled with fangs snarling in his face. “Can you work with me, please?!”

 

Silence.

 

Jihoon remains frozen, breath caught in his chest, staring into the non-human gaze with nothing to say.

 

Then, the boy’s feline eyes widen in realization, and he ducks away, putting his hands, which were slowly turning into smaller, furry paws, over his face. “I- I’m so sorry, Jihoon, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean-”

 

His newly formed tail wraps around himself, as if he’s trying to contain his new form before it changes any further. “I gotta- I gotta leave- I don’t want to hurt anyone- not Seokminnie, not Jun, not Chan, or you-”

 

“Hey,” Jihoon whispers.

 

“The village- they’re gonna think this is unnatural- I’m unnatural- a beast, maybe even a monster-”

 

“Hey,” Jihoon murmurs, louder.

 

“I’ll- I’ll pack some food, some water, leave a note for my parents, and my noona as well-”

 

And Jihoon can’t listen any longer.

 

He ignores his every instinct to stay, reaches out, and grabs the boy by the face, careful not to pull on his fur, and looks him right in the eye.

 

“Hey, listen to me, Kwon Soonyoung!”

 

The sea of stars around them falls into a quiet, steady thrum.

 

Soonyoung’s gaze stays fixed on Jihoon’s, unblinking, unbreathing.

 

“You’re okay,” Jihoon whispers. “You’re okay, Soonyoungie. Just take a second to breathe. You and me.”

 

For a moment, the other does nothing.

 

Then, he closes his eyes, and leans in.

 

Jihoon’s breath stutters as their foreheads meet, gently, their noses brushing.

 

Their hands meet in the middle, fingers intertwined, locked on tight.

 

Then, little by little, Soonyoung’s transformation fades.

 

The triangular ears, the fur, the paws, and even the tail- all of it vanishes like dust in the wind.

 

Jihoon doesn’t think he’s breathing, doesn’t know what exactly he’s witnessing.

 

But he knows now, as Soonyoung opens his eyes, revealing their return to human irises, that this comfort he had always found in the other goes both ways.

 

They remain connected, their foreheads still touching. Jihoon finds that he doesn’t want to break it, not even for a second.

 

Soonyoung takes a shaky breath. “...Thank you, Jihoonie.”

 

Jihoon squeezes their hands in response.

 

“We’ll figure this out. Okay? Little by little. Bit by bit. Our friends will understand- I know they will.”

 

He looks into Soonyoung’s eyes, making sure the other can see the determination and will in his own.

 

“And I will not let our village drive you out. I’ll fight if I have to- wind up in jail if I have to. You belong here, just as much as anyone else.”

 

He takes a resolute breath. “You’ve fought so hard to get everyone to take me seriously, Soonyoung. You didn’t let them ignore me. So I won’t let them ignore you.”

 

Leaning in further, he lets their breaths meet. “I swear it.”

 

Soonyoung inhales one more time, tremulously, and closes his eyes once more, as if letting Jihoon’s words settle over every part of him.

 

They sit there together, their forehead touch unbroken, as the stars shimmer around them.

Notes:

The plot thickens... 👀

Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 9: The Voice

Summary:

Jihoon rolls his eyes at the chaos, before he feels a tug on his sleeve, and he glances down, finding the girls who criticized him for not playing his guitar at the training rage the other day right in front of him.

He blinks, surprised, before he crouches down, putting them at eye level.

“U-Um…” the first girl starts, fidgeting with her fingers, reluctant to make eye contact. “We wanted to say sorry. For saying that you were bad at playing your guitar.”

Notes:

Another short-y, but I hope it's a goody!

Please enjoy!

By the time the sun is rising in the east over the trees, dim blue giving way to light, the team is gathered at the gates to the village, ready for departure.

 

Several of the villagers have gathered to see them off, including the village leader and his second in command, as well as several families.

 

“We cannot thank you enough,” the village leader says as he and Seungcheol bow to one another. He holds out a pouch, heavy-looking, definitely filled with gil. “Here’s your pay. We decided to give you a bonus to truly show our gratitude.”

 

Mingyu raises a brow. “A bonus?”

 

The village leader beams. “Of four thousand gil, for each member of the party!”

 

A pause.

 

Seungcheol’s, Mingyu’s and Chan’s eyes nearly pop out of their heads. “WHAT?!”

 

Jihoon hums. “And we had two thousand starting out. So we have about… eighteen thousand gil total. Sweet.”

 

“That’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life!” Chan whisper shrieks.

 

Seungcheol’s hands twitch, as if trying to stop himself from reaching out of greediness. “I-I mean, we can’t accept this, we’re heroes after all, it’s better to be humble, this money can go to better things-”

 

“Nonsense,” the village leader interrupts, finally shoving the load into the fire mage’s arms. “This money goes with you as our village’s belief in your safe travel.”

 

Seungcheol bows to the point of nearly cracking his spine in half. “We are very, very grateful!”

 

Jihoon rolls his eyes at the chaos, before he feels a tug on his sleeve, and he glances down, finding the girls who criticized him for not playing his guitar at the training rage the other day right in front of him.

 

He blinks, surprised, before he crouches down, putting them at eye level.

 

“U-Um…” the first girl starts, fidgeting with her fingers, reluctant to make eye contact. “We wanted to say sorry. For saying that you were bad at playing your guitar.”

 

Jihoon stills. He had nearly forgotten about that.

 

“It’s because she thought that would work,” the other girl butts in. “That saying it was bad would make you want to play it even more-”

 

Her friend elbows her hard to cut her off. “Shut up!”

 

Jihoon suppresses a snort, shaking his head, and raises a hand before the children can start squabbling right in front of him.

 

“It’s okay. Really. To tell you the truth, I haven’t played in the longest time.” He shrugs. “Maybe I am bad now. Who knows?”

 

“You’re not bad,” the second girl quickly protests, while the first girl blurts out of nowhere, “Can we touch your guitar?”

 

Both of them stare back at her, and she flushes.

 

“It’s just that- I want to know how it feels. Everyone knows the God of Music, right? He’s a hero!”

 

She points towards the case on Jihoon’s back. “And he made guitars heroes too!”

 

Her blush remains high on her cheeks. “Eomma and Appa always say that he didn’t really exist- because music isn’t strong and he didn’t even defeat all the monsters- but I know he’s real!”

 

Her friend chimes in. “I know too!”

 

“Exactly!” the first girl exclaims. “And I’m going to tell them I touched a guitar today! That’ll show them!”

 

Then, she looks at Jihoon with eyes full of pleading.

 

“So…c-can we?”

 

Everyone’s watching now. Jihoon is aware of his team studying him and murmurs from the villagers. It’s as if the latter knows that something about this moment is significant, even if they don’t know why.

 

Then, Jihoon wraps a hand around the strap, and takes the case carefully off his back. With a click, it opens, the guitar’s wood gleaming in the early light.

 

Then, he raises it by the neck, meeting eyes with the girl again.

 

“It’s not a problem,” he replies. “Here.”

 

The girl stares, her little eyes as big as saucers. Then, she steps forward, her body trembling a little from excitement.

 

“I’ll help you hold it,” Jihoon says gently, guiding her hand to the neck, the other to the body, keeping the one on the body there. This instrument can be too heavy for children her age. “There you go. Just like that.”

 

For a moment, she gazes down at it, her expression sparkling. “I’m…holding it. I’m actually holding it!”

 

Giggling, entirely giddy, she starts bouncing. “I’m holding a guitar!”

 

Jihoon holds his hands under his instrument the whole time, making sure she doesn’t drop it by accident, but he watches her expressions with a small smile. And as he allows the other girl to hold it, that smile doesn’t fade at all.

 

And then, it was really time to go.

 

As the gates roar open, the four of the team standing in front of them, both girls keep waving, jumping over each other to be visible above the crowd of villagers bidding them goodbye.

 

“Hey!” one of them yells. “If you see the God of Music, tell him hello for us! And that we think he’s amazing!”

 

Jihoon hesitates before he takes a step, looking over his shoulder to see them one last time.

 

His throat feels a little thick, like he wants to say something from deep down, but is unsure of what.

 

But he tightens his grip on his guitar strap, and gives them a firm nod. 

 

“I will.”

 

And then, the gates close behind them with a thud of farewell, the birds on the sides taking off into the brightening sky.

 

As the party gets further away, trudging up the beaten path to the next hill, Mingyu claps a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder.

 

“Keep that pride, hyung,” he murmurs. “It suits you.”

 

Jihoon, still a bit unable to speak, just dips his head, and follows them towards the sun’s climb.

 

…

 

A few hours out, there’s a rumble, a low, grumbling murmur on the horizon.

 

Jihoon lifts his head. “Thunderstorm.”

 

Chan groans. “Oh no. We gotta find shelter then.”

 

Seungcheol pauses, looking back at him. “Wait, how do you know that? Sky looks clear.”

 

“Ah.” Jihoon taps his ear. “Heightened hearing. It’s part of my…music magic. As well as reading the wind currents with my other magic.”

 

“Wow,” Mingyu breathes. “That’s pretty freaking cool.”

 

Seungcheol shakes his head, but not maliciously. “Every day, you surprise me.”

 

As they continue along, heads swiveling to find potential alcoves to bed down, Chan pipes up.

 

“Hey, let’s all share something like Jihoon-hyung here! A cool fun fact about ourselves! I’ll go first!”

 

He puts a hand to his chest, indicating to himself. “I have never failed at hide and go-seek! Because I can just warp away!”

 

Seungcheol snorts. “Makes sense. People probably hated having to find you.”

 

Chan beams. “They totally did! You next, hyung!”

 

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment, stepping carefully over a tree root before answering.

 

“Well…at home, when I had nothing to do before this big quest, feeling restless all the time, I always set my house on fire by accident.”

 

Mingyu giggles instantly. “Oh, gods, I remember that! Everyone always panicked and ran to dunk water on it as fast as they could. Someone even suggested moving the well closer to your place.”

 

“And you know who was never bothered by it?” Seungcheol shoots back. “Jeonghan! He just sat there on the side laughing at all of it! The nerve!”

 

Then, his laugh turns into something more soft. “Maybe that’s why I fell for him. He never saw me as a mistake.”

 

A pause.

 

Then Chan goes, “Awwwwww,” and Seungcheol turns cherry red, summoning a fireball that he threatens to throw at him as the youngest laughs and ducks.

 

After things have calmed down and they’re picking their way down a rock formation, Jihoon turns his attention towards Mingyu. “Any fun facts about you?”

 

The emotion mage scratches his neck, looking sheepish. “Uhh. I can’t really come up with anything.”

 

Jihoon hums in thought. “Okay, how about this? You can sense all types of emotion, correct?”

 

Mingyu nods. “Yeah.”

 

“Then…” Jihoon taps a finger on his chin. “Is there any emotion that you feel stronger than the others? Like happiness, or anger, or…?”

 

“Sadness,” Mingyu answers, almost instant.

 

Everyone else’s eyes drift to him, surprised.

 

To Jihoon, it was so quick. Like the other mage had been mulling this over for a while.

 

“Really?” Chan asks, kind of meek.

 

“Yeah,” Mingyu replies. “When someone gets broken up with, or sick, or attacked by the monsters, you know? Those always get me. I usually end up crying my eyes out too.”

 

Then, he finally seems to notice the way the others are looking at him, and he raises a brow. “What? Was that too much info?”

 

“No,” Seungcheol mutters. “It’s just- damn. I didn’t realize.”

 

“It’s fine, hyung.” Mingyu waves dismissively, suddenly cheerful again. “It is what it is. No big deal.”

 

But as they continue to walk, Jihoon thinks he notices the empath glance at him for the briefest of moments, waves of concern bigger than before flitting across his face.

 

Then, he looks away again.

 

…

 

An hour and a half later, the downpour begins, and by that time, they’ve found an abandoned burrow deep in the woods, the signs of the predator being long gone.

 

As Jihoon helps set the bedrolls up, Seungcheol stands at the mouth of the burrow, holding a hand out to feel the rain against his palm, steam rising from where it hits skin.

 

“Hope it lets up soon,” he murmurs.

 

“Aching to see your lover, hm?” Mingyu teases.

 

Seungcheol does nothing but make the already set up fire flare brighter, causing the other to yelp.

 

Chan laughs at them, sitting cross-legged on Jihoon’s bedroll with him, comfortably wrapping his hands around his ankles. “They’re so excited to see home again, aren’t they?”

 

His smile turns softer. “It makes me wonder how Junhui-hyung is doing. Hopefully looking after our village by himself isn’t too hard on him.”

 

Jihoon thinks of his old friend, envisioning the guardian mage practicing his battle stance, his staff swinging in a wide arc, a translucent circular shield materializing in front of him to buffet away the monsters day by day.

 

“He’s doing fine,” he says. “You know him. Doesn’t talk much-”

 

“But always dependable,” Chan finishes, smiling. “Yeah.”

 

Then, out of nowhere, Mingyu sits up, his eyes wide, his satchel, which was propped up beside him, tilting over at the sudden movement.

 

“Wait. Do you guys hear that?”

 

Chan and Jihoon both stare at him, perplexed. Seungcheol takes his hand back in from the rain. “Hear…what?”

 

“That.” Mingyu’s head twitches to the right, as if he heard something in that direction. “There it is again!”

 

“Jihoon-hyung?” Chan prompts, and the mentioned mage instantly activates his strengthened hearing again, the ambience of the burrow much louder in his ears.

 

“It’s a voice,” Mingyu hisses, eyes wide and searching. “Coming from…over there…!”

 

Jihoon follows his line of sight, and that’s when he hears it.

 

“Help…me…help…! I can’t…breathe…!”

 

“He’s suffocating!” Mingyu exclaims, now scrambling up.

 

“Hang on a sec- Gyu-” Seungcheol starts, now stepping away from outside entirely, heading on over. “Don’t move so quick-!”

 

At the same time, Jihoon picks up a sound through his magic that turns his blood ice cold- a giggle filled with pure ill intent, fanged teeth smiling.

 

“Stop him!” he yells, and he and Chan instantly lunge, his dongsaeng’s body glowing, prepared to warp if only to buy them a second’s more time.

 

But it’s too late.

 

Mingyu’s hand touches the ground, a rune comes to life underneath his palm, the color of blood red-

 

And Jihoon loses consciousness.

Notes:

Oh nooooooo

What happens now???

Stay tuned~

And thank you for reading!

Chapter 10: The Empath and The Knight

Summary:

Jihoon’s legs start to buckle underneath him, his mouth drying.

“Stop- shut up!”

“It’s encompassing. All-consuming,” Soonyoung continues. “You don’t even know what your existence in this world means anymore, do you?”

Jihoon collapses, the knife clattering away from him, skidding across the stronghold stone, his breathing rapid, vision going gray. What is happening to him?

Notes:

Get ready for some soul searching 😭

Please enjoy!

“Jihoon? Hey, Jihoon? Can you hear me?”

 

It sounds like it’s coming through thick water.

 

Jihoon opens his eyes to murky depths, feeling the world like sap against his skin. Who was talking? And why were they so frantic?

 

Then, the realization hits him, and instantly, he snaps awake, rearing upwards like a man possessed.

 

Seungcheol just barely dodges getting his forehead smashed in by leaning back, face red from exertion. “Whoa! Not making that mistake again!”

 

“Who- what- where-” Jihoon stammers, clutching his back with a wince, before noticing the redness on the side of Seungcheol’s face, just barely noticeable by the flame sphere the fire mage had summoned. “You’re bleeding!”

 

The leader pushes his hand away, shaking his head. “Just a scratch. Had to shield you and Chan from falling.”

 

He nods to the side, where the youngest is curled up, still out cold. “Whatever it is used some sort of spell, didn’t it? To knock us all flat. But it didn’t work on me- at least, not fully.”

 

His expression hardens. “But- Mingyu’s missing.”

 

He holds up his friend’s satchel, herbs wilted inside. “And- fuck- he’s defenseless, wherever he is.”

 

Jihoon clutches his temple, forcing his brain to catch up to speed as fast as possible.

 

The burrow they bed down in was part of the trap. A pitfall, activated by the rune. Somewhere during their fall, Mingyu had been separated from them. Seungcheol hadn’t succumbed to the knockout spell like the rest of them, which means-

 

He looks up at the leader, his mind settling on a conclusion. He’s our best bet on getting through this.

 

“I’ll carry Chan,” he instructs. “You cover us. There’s no way Mingyu’s that far.”

 

His tone hardens. “We’ll get him back.”

 

Seungcheol swallows, then nods, his eyes turning to steel.

 

Quickly, Jihoon gathers their belongings. By some miracle, it looks as if everything they own had fallen with them. He picks up his and Chan’s packs, hilting his dongsaeng’s knife on his belt and slinging his unscathed guitar over his shoulder.

 

“I’ve got you, Channie,” he murmurs, though he’s sure the youngest can’t hear him at the moment as he kneels to pull the other onto his back, supporting him by the knees. “You’re safe with me.”

 

Seungcheol has Mingyu’s satchel looped around his waist as Jihoon returns to him, studying a nearby wall, eyes squinted in the dimness.

 

“Stay back.”

 

Jihoon obeys, and watches as the fire mage summons his gauntlets. He looks at the sloping clefts once more, before he steps forward, and lands his fist right in the center of a crack.

 

The wall shudders, and the cracks grow like the branches of a tree, extending outwards, debris shaking loose.

 

“Watch your head,” Jihoon warns, taking another step back.

 

“Yeah,” Seungcheol responds, before gritting his teeth and bringing his arm back for another blow.

 

BAM.

 

And it finally gives way.

 

Seungcheol immediately braces with his arms over his head as the wall collapses, the larger rubble deflected off his armor. Jihoon maneuvers the rest away with a well-timed gust, using his free hand, clearing the dust as well.

 

The hole in the wall is now visible before them, about halfway between their heights.

 

“I’ll check,” Seungcheol announces, crouching to walk through. It’s silent for a brief moment before he reemerges on Jihoon’s side. “It looks like some sort of stronghold. Abandoned.”

 

The wind mage sucks in a breath, the realization dawning on him. “Then we’re dealing with a mimic.”

 

Seungcheol cocks his head. “A mimic?”

 

“High-level monster,” Jihoon quickly explains. “They use illusory magic to lower your guard- in this case, altering their voice. Make it panicked, in distress, in order to trick their prey- often humans- into trying to help. They’re powerful enough to actually make themselves sound like someone the person cares greatly about.”

 

He looks at Seungcheol inquiringly. “Does Mingyu have anyone like that? Someone he holds really dear? He wasn’t detecting any sort of malice- it was like he forgot he had empathy magic for a second there.”

 

The fire mage stills, then his face changes to something interesting. If Jihoon had to guess the expression, it looks torn between worry and exasperation. “No fucking way.”

 

“What?” Jihoon asks, now perplexed and admittedly, a bit curious on how such a comment was prompted. “So he does have someone?”

 

“Gyu, you idiot,” Seungcheol hisses to himself. “That’s what this is about?”

 

“Don’t ignore me!”

 

The fire mage continues to ignore him and sticks his head out of their makeshift entrance again. “Okay, it’s clear. Let’s move.”

 

Jihoon decides to let it go, though now, he might just be itching to know.

 

As they move into the stronghold, the smell of damp earth and crumbling stone follows them, the aroma of loamy soil mixing with aged mortar.

 

“Looks like this place was meant for defense,” Jihoon whispers as they creep along, keeping his ears pricked, noting the rusted metal glinting in Seungcheol’s light. 

 

The team leader raises a brow. “From your time in the war?”

 

Jihoon shakes his head, eyes falling on the moss flourishing in the crevices of old flagstones. “This is well before my time.”

 

Just then, a chitter passes through his ears.

 

He whips around. Seungcheol instantly moves, sliding in front of him with his fists raised.

 

A rat scampers past them, unbothered, a bug lodged in between its uneven incisors.

 

Both mages breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“So why a stronghold?” Seungcheol asks as they continue on, slashing through a patch of vines hanging in front of them, incinerating them quickly. “Why not use that burrow we were just in?”

 

Jihoon readjusts his hold on Chan before answering. “Mimics are weak.”

 

Seungcheol blinks. “Huh?”

 

“What I mean by that is their magic reserves are low. So once their spells activate, they need time to recuperate.”

 

They stop at a crossroads, Jihoon listening intently, before he indicates the separate path. 

 

“My guess is, it used up most of its magic to catch Mingyu. Now it has him, and is now trying to wait it out until it regains energy. Hence, it’s using this place to hide.”

 

“So it’s smart,” Seungcheol finishes. “Great.”

 

“But Mingyu’s stronger,” Jihoon murmurs.

 

Seungcheol’s head whips around to him. “What?”

 

“You both are.” Jihoon looks his leader in the eye. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

He smiles, despite the tightness. “I think I’ve seen enough of you to know that.”

 

The fire mage keeps staring, mouth opening and closing, as if in shock that the other would even say that.

 

It’s as if despite everything they’ve been through, and everything they’ve seen, Seungcheol’s admiration for Jihoon as the veteran mage hasn’t faded one bit.

 

And Jihoon realizes now that he doesn’t mind it as much anymore.

 

Then, they hear the scream.

 

“Get- OFF ME- Seungcheol-hyung- Jihoon- ANYONE-”

 

And before any of them even register it completely, they’re running.

 

“This way!” Jihoon yells, and they skid into a side corridor, both nearly tripping. “I hear him- he’s not far!”

 

“HANG ON!” Seungcheol roars down the hall. “We’re coming!”

 

The stronghold blurs around them as they sprint, hair flying past their faces as they leap over roots and crumbled barricades.

 

“Watch out!” Jihoon orders. “Another trap!”

 

Runes glow up ahead, the floor in front of them disintegrating itself, revealing an endless drop.

 

“Ohhh, shit!” Seungcheol screeches.

 

“I’ve got you!” Jihoon throws his free arm up as fast as he can, and at the last second, the wind picks up, sending them both clean over the gap.

 

The fire mage lands first, the wind mage right after, the shock racing up to his knees as he cradles Chan’s head to keep him steady.

 

“Duck!” Seungcheol then shrieks, and Jihoon nearly goes prone, just in time for the fire mage to summon a huge gauntlet that smashes through the pointed rocks falling towards them, definitely triggered by another rune.

 

“Right!” the wind mage yells next, and they swerve, their lungs burning.

 

“Over here!” Mingyu’s voice sounds out from above them, and Jihoon wastes no time in throwing up another gust, hurtling them towards the ceiling.

 

Without question, Seungcheol smashes through with a battle cry.

 

And then, right before them on the upper floor, is Mingyu himself.

 

With scaly, iridescent tentacles wrapped around him, trapping his arms and legs, one of them poising a needle-sharp talon at his throat, glowing eyes at his back.

 

“Get back!” the mimic hisses.

 

Jihoon reacts fastest, pulling him, Chan and Seungcheol back instantly, landing them as far as they can from the creature while still keeping it and their teammate within their sights.

 

But that’s the moment the mimic seizes.

 

Its golden gaze locks right on Seungcheol, and whispers in a scathing voice, “You can’t do this.”

 

In the quickest of moments, the fire mage’s gauntlets vanish, his eyes widening. “H-Hannie?”

 

“Shit, no, no, no-” Jihoon grabs at his shoulder, shaking him. “Hyung, that's not him-”

 

“The world would be better without you in it,” the mimic continues, its scales glinting harshly. “And you know that.”

 

“Snap out of it!” Jihoon commands, before letting go to draw Chan’s knife from his belt, locking his eyes back on the monster-

 

Only to see Soonyoung with his arms locked around Mingyu’s throat, his hand transformed, claws digging into skin.

 

Jihoon’s breath stops in his throat.

 

“No. No, stop it. This isn’t real.”

 

“Not real, huh?” Soonyoung- the mimic- drawls, lips pulling up into a sinister grin. “Maybe I’m not. But your guilt sure is.”

 

Jihoon’s legs start to buckle underneath him, his mouth drying.

 

“Stop- shut up!”

 

“It’s encompassing. All-consuming,” Soonyoung continues. “You don’t even know what your existence in this world means anymore, do you?”

 

Jihoon collapses, the knife clattering away from him, skidding across the stronghold stone, his breathing rapid, vision going gray. What is happening to him?

 

“Stop- I’m not listening to you!”

 

But Chan slips from his grasp as well, fingers going limp. It’s as if his whole body is shutting down. Letting go of the fight.

 

“It’s such a simple solution,” Soonyoung murmurs, smirking with blood in his eyes as he leans in. “All you need to do…is just give in.”

 

Give in. Give in.

 

It bangs around in Jihoon’s head like a bell, growing louder and louder. His hands fly to his temples, an ear-splitting ringing filling his ears.

 

Just give in. Just. Give. In.

 

He finds himself closing his eyes. It’s too hard to keep them open.

 

Give in, Soonyoung whispers, right by his ear. Because that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?

 

“...No.”

 

And Jihoon’s eyes snap wide open again.

 

“That’s not what we’re going to do.”

 

Mingyu’s voice remains even.

 

But his eyes- they’re shining.

 

In that characteristic strange, purple hue. The most violent of violet. An otherworldly light.

 

It’s his Fear magic. Emanating from within himself.

 

And then, his voice hardens. “Especially not to the likes of you.”

 

And right before Jihoon’s eyes, his hand comes up, wraps around a tentacle, clenching it with all his might.

 

The mimic howls, and like a moth from flame, it recoils.

 

Mingyu is flung forward in disarray, his knees scraping against the ground. He just barely catches himself, panting.

 

Then, he gets to his feet, the mimic still flailing about behind him, and runs straight for them.

 

“H-How?” Jihoon asks, his voice coming out scratched. “How did you-”

 

But Mingyu wastes no time to explain. He keeps going, past Jihoon, past Chan-

 

And takes Seungcheol by the shoulders, nails digging in hard.

 

“Alright, hyung!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. “This is your moment!”

 

Then, his aura changes into a color never seen before.

 

Surging with energy, a heat that radiates from him like a furnace.

 

Crimson kindles in his gaze, and as Jihoon watches, the trance in Seungcheol’s expression melts away into nothing, the same light appearing in his own eyes.

 

“We don’t give up, do we, Cheol-hyung?” Mingyu prompts, ruby vapor trickling from his fingertips.

 

Seungcheol gets to his feet slowly, using his longest friend for support, the grin appearing bit by bit on his face, both triumphant-

 

And downright furious.

 

When he looks up, his entire body sets ablaze.

 

“Never,” he growls.

 

His gauntlets reform with a clang, heavier, ringing down the corridor

 

Then, the fire spreads.

 

Across his shoulders. Down his chest. Around his thighs. Layer after layer hardens into plates. Greaves hammer into place around his legs and sabatons lock onto his feet.

 

Jihoon’s eyes widen, his breath caught.

 

This time, Seungcheol hasn’t just summoned his gauntlets.

 

He’s forged armor.

 

Before them, the mimic recovers, its form flickering between Soonyoung and its true self, shape distorted, shifting like waves wrought in a storm.

 

You cannot win!” it shrills. “Not against me! None of it will ever be enough!”

 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Seungcheol replies, the static of his flames making his hair float, waving side to side as if caught in an invisible breeze. “Alone, with your only power the ability to trick others. While we’re here, with our magic all our own.”

 

He lifts his chin, eyes radiating almost blindingly. “No lies. Just us.”

 

Then, he crouches, one foot behind him, wrapped in a boot of molten fire, ready to launch.

 

“And that’s already more than you’ll ever be.”

 

And with that, a crash of light, smoldering brimstone and the faintest spray of cinders, Seungcheol the fire mage leaps forward, tracks of flame incinerating the very ground underneath his feet.

 

In the next blink, his fiery fist has impaled the mimic straight through, searing its insides to ash.

 

The monster lets loose a wail, but it’s far past the breaking point. Its body twists, scales igniting like oiled parchment, tentacles writhing until it collapses into nothing but dust.

 

The fine material spills to the floor, the last remains of the mimic.

 

For a moment, all is quiet except the heavy breathing of the three conscious mages.

 

Seungcheol’s armor fades away slowly, the rigid molten steel breaking off and dematerializing from head to toe, as he stands there, chest rising and falling rapidly, watching where the mimic once stood, as if making sure it was really gone.

 

“Oh, wow,” Mingyu finally says, voice faint. “That was…incredible, Seungcheol-hyung.”

 

“You were too,” Seungcheol breathes. “My best friend. In the whole wide world.”

 

He drops to one knee in front of the other, hand to his shoulder, pressing their heads together.

 

Then, as one, they move to Jihoon.

 

“Are you alright?” Mingyu inquires, gingerly helping Jihoon into an upright position. “Hurt anywhere?”

 

Jihoon chuckles, wobbly. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one who got kidnapped.”

 

Mingyu giggles too, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m fine. No worries.”

 

“We should bail, quick,” Seungcheol commands gently, looking around. “Find somewhere actually safe this time.”

 

They nod, then Mingyu helps Jihoon onto his feet, before Seungcheol returns his satchel to its rightful owner with a well-aimed toss.

 

Then…

 

“Hngrh,” Chan groans.

 

The three older mages freeze for the briefest of moments, before they all scramble over to their youngest on the floor, calling to him with overlapping voices.

 

“Wh…” The warp mage finally opens his eyes, blinking blearily. “What happened?”

 

Finally, he notices the rest of them crouching over him, noting faintly the roughed up state they’re all in, their hair and supplies in utter chaos. “Something tells me I’ve missed something major.”

 

Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jihoon all make eye contact, before they simultaneously snort.

 

“You could say that,” Jihoon replies. “But we’ll tell you later. For now, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

 

…

 

After another hour of searching, the sky peeking through the clouds, the thunderstorm having passed, they finally find another alcove, this time a smaller one, filled with the signs of prey animals.

 

Seungcheol takes necessary procedures. Read: he fire blasts every inch of the space until everything’s smoking and nothing triggers, before distinguishing his flames. “All clear.”

 

His team lets out exhausted sighs of relief.

 

An half-an-hour recounting later, Chan whistles, nursing his sore limbs. “Wow. I wish I could say I was jealous, but a mimic? No thanks. Don’t want that kind of thing messing with my mind.”

 

He shakes his head. “But still. Wish I could’ve been more helpful.”

 

Jihoon pats him on the back. “There, there.”

 

“Speaking of that-” Seungcheol swivels on his bedroll, and locks Mingyu in a dead-eyed stare. It’s a complete subversion from their camaraderie in the cave where they were pressed head to head, both relieved that the other made it through.

 

The empath side-eyes him, mouth tight, as if he knew exactly where this was going.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Seungcheol asks flatly, expression practically murderous. “That you still had the hots for Wonwoo?”

 

Silence.

 

Jihoon presses a hand to his mouth, before whispering dramatically, “Ooooh.”

 

Chan gives him a look.

 

The other two mages ignore it.

 

“I don’t have the hots for Wonwoo-hyung,” Mingyu mutters, but his eyes dart away. “Forgot about him a long time ago.”

 

“Forgot about him, my ass,” Seungcheol shoots back, waggling a finger at him. “I know for a fact that when the mimic set up that first trap, it used his voice. And you fell for it.”

 

Mingyu turns pink. “If you could shut up, hyung, we have an audience!”

 

“Oh, don’t stop on my accord,” Jihoon comments.

 

Chan drives an elbow into his side. “Hyung, stop talking.”

 

“Ow."

 

Seungcheol, meanwhile, hasn’t looked away from the emotion mage. He leans in, clasping his hands, arms on his knees, and bluntly goes, “You really should have told him how you feel.”

 

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “We had a quest to go on? It wasn’t exactly good timing.”

 

“Bad timing or not, you skipped out on closure.” Seungcheol tsks. “And we nearly got eaten for it.”

 

“I know he doesn’t like me!”

 

“You don’t know it until you hear from him yourself.”

 

Mingyu puts his face in his hands. “Why are we even talking about this.”

 

“Question.” Chan raises a hand. “Who exactly is Wonwoo?”

 

Jihoon shoots him a betrayed look. “So you are invested!”

 

“No one,” Mingyu quickly replies, only for Seungcheol to face them and say, “He’s a guy from our home village. Quiet. Wears glasses. A bit of genius. People assume he’s part cryptid.”

 

“He’s not a cryptid!” Mingyu exclaims.

 

A pause.

 

Then, he realizes his mistake with a wince, and curses under his breath as Seungcheol flashes a triumphant grin. 

 

“Okay. Fine! I like him, okay? I’ve always liked him! Can we please stop talking about this now?!”

 

Seungcheol raises his hands in mock defeat. “Alright, alright.”

 

He smirks. “But you do know what you’re gonna have to do when we get back, right?”

 

“What?” Mingyu’s eye twitches. 

 

Jihoon and Chan share Seungcheol’s conspiratorial expression as they all say it at the same time, leaning in. “Confess.”

 

The empath lets out a loud groan, and flops on his side, pulling his bedroll sheet over him, turning himself into a cocoon. “You know what? Screw all of you. I’m finding myself a new team in the morning.”

 

…

 

The wingspans of geese cast shadows over Jihoon’s eyes as they glide on the breeze above his head, calling to each other with loud cries as he leans on the railing.

 

Before him, the river’s current bends in ribbons of silver and green, ripples folding over each other, with the occasional fish breaking through the surface with a leap. The wind teases his hair, brushing it away from his face, traces of salt gracing his nose.

 

“Whoaaaa,” Chan says, also leaning on the railing beside him, his neck craning over the water. “It’s so big!”

 

Jihoon hides a smile. He can’t quite remember the last time he and Chan had seen a rushing body of water like this. It must have been years ago, a distant memory.

 

Chan breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent with enthusiasm.

 

“This is amazing,” he exclaims, leaning his chin against his folded hands. “I almost don't want to leave.”

 

“Thankfully, for another day, we won’t need to,” Seungcheol’s voice comes from behind them.

 

They turn, and find him with his arm around Mingyu’s shoulder (they somehow reconciled?), the latter holding up four strips of parchment, the symbol of the ferry on each.

 

“It leaves in the morning,” Mingyu explains, folding them up carefully, before raising his brows at the others. “Which means we have time today.”

 

“Time today?” Chan parrots. “For what?”

 

Both Seungcheol and Mingyu turn their heads to each other, grinning, before yelling, “To explore!”

 

Jihoon barely has time to blink and repeat, “To explore?” until they’re suddenly on top of him and Chan, grabbing them by the wrists, tugging them both away from the river’s edge.

 

“Yeah!” Seungcheol reconfirms, guiding them both into the center. “We’ve been through thing after thing, you know? Let’s get some actual downtime in! Plus, we’re loaded now! Let’s buy some shit! We’re in a fuckin’ city!”

 

“I need to restore my herb supply anyways,” Mingyu comments. “Everything got rotted or tarnished from the last few fights.”

 

Chan raises a brow. “You still need to do that? I thought you were able to use Fear without it. And something new, right? Anger?”

 

“Yeah, but that was a spur of the moment thing,” Mingyu bemoans, scratching his head. “I haven’t been able to do it since.”

 

“That sucks,” Chan echoes, before his expression changes back to light. “So we’re going shopping? Yay! I think I’m gonna need a new knife, maybe a new shirt…”

 

Jihoon follows them quietly, looking back at the river one last time, before facing forward.

 

That’s when he finds everyone has stopped, looking back at him with various degrees of concern.

 

He tilts his head. “What?”

 

“Dude,” Seungcheol says, gaze boring into the other mage. “Do you get excited for anything?”

 

Jihoon blinks, before the understanding hits him. “Oh.”

 

He shakes his head. “I’m not really a materialist. I’ll probably buy us food or something.”

 

They stare at him, almost seeming baffled.

 

“You really don’t want anything, hyung?” Chan asks softly.

 

Jihoon shrugs. “Not really.”

 

A pause.

 

Then, the three of them meet each other’s eyes, as if sharing thoughts, the same thing passing through their eyes.

 

Except Jihoon has not a clue what they’re communicating.

 

“What?” he asks again, suspiciously.

 

“Nothing!” Mingyu says, too quickly. “Nothing at all!”

 

Seungcheol grabs Jihoon again, pulling him closer as they walk towards the city’s center, the cobblestone sidewalk hard and unfamiliar under their feet. “First, let’s get a hotel for the night. Then, it’s time for fun!”

Notes:

Next chapter is gonna be only fun and happiness. I promise 😊

Thank you so much.

Chapter 11: The Gifts

Summary:

Then, Mingyu pushes the first cloak into his hands.

Jihoon stares at it, before sighing, then wraps it around himself, sluggishly reclasping it.

After two seconds, “I don’t like it.”

Mingyu lets out an irritated tsk. “Come on, Jihoon-hyung. At least look at yourself.”

Jihoon looks at himself.

The cloak in question is a deep cobalt blue, made from dyed fox fur. It’s heavy on the shoulders, itchy where his skin directly touches it.

But he looks at how it wraps around him, the way it falls across his body.

“It’s…decent.”

Notes:

A day full of fun awaits 😊😊

Please enjoy!

The plan seemed simple, at first glance.

 

The party was to split up. They could cover more ground that way, and no one had to be stuck with somebody else when they could explore on their own. They just had to be back at a certain time, which was sundown.

 

Except Jihoon is not alone.

 

Currently, he’s with Mingyu.

 

The empath walks with him, close enough that their arms brush every other step, pointing at storefronts on both sides of the street and at random carriages, talking a mile a minute.

 

Jihoon follows his attention to everything, but gives barely any comment besides the occasional hum or confirmation that he’s still listening. Despite the fact that he isn’t carrying his guitar, he doesn’t feel much lighter.

 

Nearby, a resting horse snorts before dipping its head into its driver’s bucket of hay, chewing rapidly as its tail swishes behind him.

 

Jihoon watches its large, dark eyes as it eats, steps slowing for just a moment.

 

Then, Mingyu excitedly taps his arm, snapping his gaze back to him.

 

“Hyung, look!”

 

He gestures to a shop they’re coming up on, the front window displaying several different outfits on wood mannequins- a violet robe, forest green garments, a midnight blue tunic.

 

“I’ve noticed you don’t have a cloak,” Mingyu adds. “Shall we check it out?”

 

Jihoon purses his lips. “I don’t need a cloak.”

 

“Just- come on!”

 

The chime rings as they step inside, the incense of hem cloves hitting their noses.

 

Jihoon stands awkwardly to the side as Mingyu goes through aisle after aisle, expression concentrated, occasionally pulling out a cloak, studying it, before shoving it back with a shake of his head.

 

Eventually, the empath returns to him with a mountain of different fabrics bundled up in his arms. “To the fitting rooms!”

 

There, Jihoon sees himself in the mirror for the first time since he’s left.

 

In the three weeks he’s spent on the road, his hair’s grown longer in the back, his skin a smidge darker, though the circles under his eyes are still prominent. He traces those with a careful finger.

 

Then, Mingyu pushes the first cloak into his hands. 

 

Jihoon stares at it, before sighing, then wraps it around himself, sluggishly reclasping it. 

 

After two seconds, “I don’t like it.”

 

Mingyu lets out an irritated tsk. “Come on, Jihoon-hyung. At least look at yourself.”

 

Jihoon looks at himself.

 

The cloak in question is a deep cobalt blue, made from dyed fox fur. It’s heavy on the shoulders, itchy where his skin directly touches it.

 

But he looks at how it wraps around him, the way it falls across his body.

 

“It’s…decent.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t answer.

 

Jihoon checks the reflection of the mirror, and sees the empath suppressing a smile.

 

It’s obvious he detected some sort of emotional change within the other mage, however brief.

 

Jihoon sighs. He can’t tell if it’s frustration or not.

 

“Alright, take that off,” Mingyu orders cheerily. “Next one!”

 

The next one is a forest green, embroidered with lighter-hued green leaves. Jihoon studies it on himself for half a minute, carefully turning side to side, before shaking his head.

 

The one after that is bright red and orange, reminding Jihoon of a particularly loud and angry fire mage. He immediately refuses it.

 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, throwing it to the side, clearly thinking of the very same team leader. “Lapse of judgment on my part. Apologies.”

 

The next one is hot pink-

 

“No.”

 

“Fair enough.” Mingyu tosses it out of the stall altogether.

 

Ten rejected cloaks later, Jihoon is tired and already wants to go back to the hotel, be left alone, and maybe take a nap. It’s clear to him that this is not his area of interest at all. He doesn’t know how anyone can enjoy this.

 

But then, as his mouth moves to tell Mingyu that he’s done, the empath’s hands come around his shoulders, one more cloak settling across them.

 

“Just this last one,” the other says.

 

It’s the color of snow. White, with faint traces of sparkling silver. Draped over it lies a shorter mantle of obsidian, cut just enough to let the white beneath spill out at the edges like trailing tails. And finally, there’s gold leaf, woven into the edges, as fine as fairy dust, bright as sunlight.

 

For once, Jihoon doesn’t move, not even to fasten it down with the clasp. 

 

He looks…good.

 

“It pairs well with your skin,” Mingyu murmurs from behind him. “White with pale, the black for contrast. Gold for, well, just you. It just feels like…you, hyung.”

 

Jihoon swallows, reaching up to touch the cloak gingerly. It’s smooth to the touch. Silk.

 

“...I’m starting to think you should’ve gotten a job as a tailor.”

 

Mingyu snorts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Jihoon watches himself for a moment longer, then finally moves to take the piece off. That’s enough of that. It looks good, but he doesn’t need it. 

 

“Alright. You can put it back-”

 

“Yep,” Mingyu says, taking it from him instantly.

 

Jihoon blinks. “Huh?”

 

No resistance? No you really should get this, hyung?

 

“Go wait outside!” Mingyu pats him on the back rapidly, steering him out of the fitting room door. “I’ll be there in just a mo’!”

 

Out on the street again, Jihoon waits, wondering if he had been imagining the gil the other was holding.

 

Then, someone bumps sides with him, nearly knocking him over. “Yo.”

 

Jihoon catches himself, then looks up into Seungcheol’s blazing grin.

 

“Oh- hello.”

 

The fire mage jerks his head, beckoning. “Walk with me.”

 

“Wait- Mingyu’s still in there-”

 

“He’ll catch up.”

 

Jihoon raises a brow, but falls into step beside him. Whatever strange things are happening, he’s just glad for some fresh air.

 

They amble down the street in silence, smoothly passing strangers and stepping over cracks in the path. A pair of women walk by, talking about how long the ferry will take, a couple of hours, and Jihoon guesses he’ll probably see them again next morning.

 

Then, something catches his eye.

 

Another storefront.

 

But this time, it’s not clothing inside- it’s instruments. 

 

Trumpets, with their brass gleaming from the lantern sconces. A cello, curved shoulders, large presence. A pair of saxophones, leaning diagonally, keys and buttons shining like coins. Even a piccolo, smaller than the rest, but it stands out even in its small glass case.

 

Seungcheol eventually stops as well, his presence only a few inches away. 

 

After a moment, he speaks a simple question.

 

“How many instruments can you play?”

 

Jihoon swallows.

 

He’s not sure if anyone’s ever asked him that.

 

“...Four. Guitar. Zither. Clarinet. And drums.”

 

“Four,” Seungcheol echoes.

 

Jihoon twitches. “Should be more, right?”

 

He lowers his voice, making sure passerby can’t hear him. “After all, I’m a ‘legend.’”

 

“No,” Seungcheol answers, and it stops his breath for an instant. “Four’s already incredible.”

 

He shrugs. “I can only play one.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “...You play?”

 

“Violin.” 

 

Seungcheol nods to the top right of the window.

 

There, the violin sits on a padded stand, its bow propped up right by its side. It shines with varnish, polished to a glasslike sheen.

 

“Picked it up as a kid,” the fire mage explains. “Back when I’d given up on the idea of my magic ever blooming. Was scared of being a disappointment.”

 

He chuckles. “But, turns out, I wasn’t half bad at it.”

 

Jihoon continues studying the instrument, the way the ribbon of horsehair stretches between both ends.

 

His voice is even softer when he speaks again.

 

“I’d like…to learn from you. Sometime. Your chance to pay me back.”

 

A pause. 

 

Seungcheol visibly swallows, eyes glimmering a little. “...There’s no way I have as much patience.”

 

Jihoon quirks a lip. “Probably not. But I can deal with that.”

 

They look at each other for a moment longer, half-smiling.

 

Then, they continue on.

 

Jihoon’s mind lingers on imagining how that bow would feel against his fingers, before he lets the thought fade into the background.

 

Then, the sound of people’s chatter fills the air.

 

He looks up, and on the opposite side of the street, connected by a walkway, is the telltale sign of a fair.

 

Lantern strings span overhead between stalls, banners wave faintly in the breeze, and tents’ flaps open every few seconds, vendors calling their wares.

 

Then, Chan bursts from the crowd, hair in chaos, cheeks flushed with joy. “Hyung! There you are!”

 

He snatches Jihoon’s hand, and pulls him into the fray. The wind mage barely notices how Seungcheol stops, swivels around, and hurriedly walks back the way they came, a conspiratorial expression on his features.

 

Around Jihoon, the fair is alive.

 

People laugh with drinks as they throw darts onto boards, scattering their gil on wooden counters. Children dart between legs, giggling, their hands sticky from candied apples. A hawker calls out, “Spiced dumplings, fresh off the grill!”

 

For him, it’s overwhelming. He does his best to shut off his heightened hearing, and tries to focus on the feeling of Chan’s fingers around his own.

 

A game master tempts a growing crowd, showing off his stuffed animals and handmade trinkets- “Sink three balls, win a prize!”- as Chan finally pulls him down an alley towards the food stalls.

 

“You hungry, hyung?” he asks, before looking back at Jihoon to study his face. “Oh, yeah, you are. Want ribs?”

 

“I’m not hungry-”

 

“Hyung.” Chan pokes him in the cheek. “Big, juicy ribs. Marinated in sauce. Absolutely delicious.”

 

Jihoon's stomach growls in reply.

 

Chan grins cheekily. “Knew it.”

 

A minute later, they’re in front of the stall, wafts of smoke blowing into their faces as the vendor flips over the meat in front of them, the darker undercurrent of rendered fat blending into something rich and irresistible.

 

Another minute later, a hot platter is handed to Chan, and he bows as best he can. “Thank you very much, sir!”

 

Then, he takes one and shoves it into Jihoon’s mouth. “Now, eat!”

 

The wind mage’s first instinct is to warn about a mess, but that’s when the flavor hits him. It’s sharp, but sweet, the tang hitting the back of his throat, making him almost shudder.

 

Chan watches his face, beaming. “Good, right?”

 

Jihoon chews to be polite, but he nods, looking away.

 

“Yes!” Chan gives a tiny fist pump.

 

They keep eating as they wander, the throng of people still many before them. But with food in his stomach, Jihoon feels calmer. A little more awake.

 

Then, they notice another small crowd, bouncing with energy, flashes of light blocked by their heads.

 

“Let’s see what’s over there!” Chan prompts.

 

Jihoon shrugs, done with protesting. “Sure.”

 

The crash of magic rings out as they approach, gently pushing past strangers for a better look.

 

Two mages face each other on a raised stage, their hands glowing.

 

The first raises her palms, and the ground shudders. Soil spirals upward into pillars, then welds together into a broad, winding tower. She and her partner ascend smoothly, lifted higher with each ripple of mud that hardens into layered stone. Gasps ripple through the crowd as children point, seeing how the tower curls like a vine into the sky.

 

The second mage spreads her arms in a sweeping arc, summoning rivulets of water that coil through the air like ribbons of glass. At first they twist lazily around the tower, catching the lantern light and splitting it into fractured rainbow sheen. Then, with a flick of her wrists, she snaps them into sharper strands. They stretch into whips that crack against the empty air, reshaping into glistening spheres that orbit her partner above.

 

And then, with a final flourish, the water mage closes her hands into fists and thrusts them apart. The suspended globes shatter all at once, bursting into clouds of glittering mist. A shockwave of cool spray sweeps outward, coating the audience in dew. The air lights up under the lantern glow, vapor shimmering like stars caught just above their heads.

 

The cheers are thunderous, coins are tossed onto the stage, Chan laughs and claps, and Jihoon feels a little breathless at it all.

 

Today…turned out to be a really good one.

 

…

 

That evening, Jihoon retired early to bed. The day’s events from exploring stores to browsing the streets to spending the time at the fair had really worn him out. And he suspects that he also has sleep debt from the mimic. It was hard falling asleep after that particular fight.

 

And he doesn’t dream of the sea full of stars. He must have been too exhausted to.

 

But something in the night still stirs him awake, just for a moment.

 

Whispers.

 

“No, no, don’t put that there! It’s too awkward, hyung!”

 

“Where should I put it then, huh, Gyu?”

 

“Over here! Lots of empty space!”

 

Jihoon blinks blearily, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight, attention pulled to the three hunched over bodies in the corner. “...What are you guys doing?”

 

The rest of the team almost jump like something had stung them, then turn to face him, bunching together as if to cover something. Chan has something on his cheek- paint?- as he answers.

 

“Just- chatting! You should get some more sleep!”

 

Jihoon squints.

 

Then, he turns over, switching sides, and pushes his face back into his pillow, burrowing further underneath his hotel duvet.

 

“...Mm, okay. Don’t stay up too late. We have a ferry to catch early.”

 

He drifts back off soon enough.

 

…

 

The ship’s low horn cuts through the dawn fog like a great beast’s bellow, startling a small flock of seagulls on the docks. They shoot in the air like paper kites, their reedy cries thin.

 

Jihoon sits on a bench on the starboard side, the frigid air of the dawn blowing through his coat, smelling of salt and diesel. He looks up, watching the sky, the color of a bruised plum bleeding into a faint watery blue on the horizon.

 

It’s peaceful out on the river, and Jihoon studies the current as it glides against the ferry’s hull, noting every piece of foam that bubbles up, lost in it for several moments.

 

Then, there’s a tap on his shoulder.

 

“Hyung,” Chan murmurs. “We have something for you.”

 

Jihoon turns.

 

In Mingyu’s arms, the final cloak from the shop.

 

In Seungcheol’s grip, a tote of a violin and its bow.

 

And in Chan’s embrace, a brand new guitar case. 

 

The morning air is stolen right out Jihoon’s lungs, and he stands from his bench, nearly stumbling from the sway of the boat.

 

“Wh-What is all this?”

 

Seungcheol clears his throat, instantly making him fall silent, before giving him a soft smirk. 

 

“This is thanks, Jihoon. Thanks for coming with us on this journey, thanks for teaching us everything you know, and especially thanks- for always saving our asses.”

 

He raises the violin in his grasp. “You asked me to teach you how to play. So I will. Even if I’m not that good.”

 

Jihoon’s throat closes up. “I-”

 

“He stole everything I said,” Mingyu cuts in, jostling Seungcheol’s side playfully, dodging when the leader tries to get him back. He holds up the cloak again, a twinkle in his eye. “But I can say this. You deserve nice things, Jihoon-hyung. So let us give you them.”

 

He steps forward, and Jihoon for once, can’t say anything to stop him.

 

The cloak is fastened around his shoulders, almost gleaming blue against the surreal light.

 

Seungcheol’s and Chan’s eyes go wide.

 

“Whoa,” the former goes. “Holy shit. He does look good.”

 

Mingyu laughs. “I told you!”

 

Jihoon swallows, reaching up to touch his new garment, feeling his own face flush.

 

The cloak he actually liked, now around his shoulders. Now a part of this quest. A part of him.

 

Then, Chan steps forward.

 

Jihoon meets his eyes, then drops his gaze down to the case in his hands.

 

It’s a sleek black, just like the one on Jihoon’s back. No scratches, no marks, no scuffs.

 

But it’s not blank. In fact, it’s anything but.

 

There are fireballs in bold orange swirls. Clearly Seungcheol’s contributon.

 

Wolfsbane and thyme leaves, Mingyu’s touch, delicate, intricate.

 

Golden sparkles, some dots, some semi-diamonds. A few hearts and smiley faces. All definitely Chan’s doing. 

 

A little cat doodled near the handle, looking smug with triangle ears and a tail. It looks like it was added later, like one of the three had suddenly decided that it’s the perfect animal counterpart.

 

As well as…

 

Jihoon leans in, brow furrowed.

 

“Is that a…music note?”

 

Chan giggles. “Yeah, but it looks more like a string bean!”

 

Seungcheol groans. “In my defense, someone pushed me while I was painting it-”

 

“I did not push you!” Mingyu squawks, affronted. 

 

“Did too! Or what was that thing you did, huh? A little tickle attack?”

 

“I sneezed-”

 

Then, they freeze mid-squabble. Chan even stops laughing. Their eyes all trail back to Jihoon, finally seeing the look in his eyes that has been there ever since he saw the poorly drawn note.

 

“Are you…crying?” Seungcheol asks carefully.

 

Jihoon blinks rapidly. “...No.”

 

“You totally are, hyung,” Chan says dumbfoundedly.

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“You’re happy,” Mingyu supplies, ever the helpful empath.

 

“Okay. Yeah.” Jihoon puts an arm over his face, finally letting some of the tears spill onto his cheeks. “I guess I am. I really am.”

 

He holds back a sniffle, gritting his teeth. “...Thank you, guys. Thank you, so much. I mean it.”

 

“We know you do,” Mingyu replies softly.

 

“You’d better,” Seungcheol shoots back, but there’s only warmth behind it.

 

Meanwhile, Chan just walks to Jihoon, and wraps one arm around him tenderly, resting his head on his shoulder.

 

Jihoon squeezes him back briefly, wiping his face. 

 

After, he carefully takes the case from his dongsaeng, and runs a hand over every painted design.

 

“At least tell me you bought for yourselves too,” he mutters.

 

Chan quietly flashes his knives, and Mingyu opens his satchel flap to reveal his restocked inventory.

 

Seungcheol nods. “Got gifts for the lover. It’s all good.”

 

Jihoon nods back, and after a breath, he reaches up, and slides his old case strap off his shoulder.

 

All of his teammates sharply inhale.

 

He lies it down on the deck, and opens it with a click. Then, he sets the new case, brighter with every painted symbol, right down next to it, and opens that one as well.

 

With a careful touch on his guitar’s neck, he raises it from its old home, and lowers it into the new.

 

Seungcheol then lets out a wet sound. “Oh, fuck. Don’t go about making me cry now. That’s not fair.”

 

“You guys got me this,” Jihoon says softly. “Of course I’m going to use it.”

 

Mingyu sniffles too. “I love this team.”

 

Chan tackles him. “Me too!”

 

Seungcheoll pulls both of them in. “Saps.”

 

Jihoon closes up the new case, and holds it to himself for the longest of moments, breathing it all in.

 

The sun breaks through the clouds from the east, its rays cloaking the whole river in warmth.

 

…

 

“Seungcheol-hyung, it’s your turn!”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Would you rather…hm…face our dire wolf bounty again, or the mimic again?”

 

“Oh boy,” Seungcheol breathes. “Definitely the wolves again. Fuck that creepy thing. I’ll take a hundred wolves if it means never seeing another one of those again.”

 

“Dang, it must have been a real tough battle,” comments Chan. “Gyu-hyung, your turn now!”

 

Mingyu smoothly digs out thyme from a nearby bush, never once slowing down, keeping with the group as they journey on. “Lay it on me.”

 

“Would you rather, uh…” Chan taps his chin, thinking hard. “Trade your magic with mine, or trade it with Seungcheol-hyung?”

 

Mingyu hums. “So have insane firepower but everyone is slightly afraid of you-”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Or be able to travel anywhere in the immediate area with a matter of milliseconds, but use up tons of energy.”

 

He raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep my own.”

 

Chan goes bug-eyed. “Wait. Seriously?”

 

Mingyu nods. “Besides, you’re both better at your own magic anyways. And there’s no way you’d be able to sort through my herbs. I have a system.”

 

“You were nice...and then you weren’t,” Chan complains.

 

“Turn right from here,” Jihoon suddenly directs, studying the map closely. He had been given the enchanted parchment’s safekeeping role since about three days ago, after they got off the ferry- something about Seungcheol saying he’s better at using it, plus, he and Mingyu want to be surprised by how close they’re getting to their home village.

 

So he says it with as much showstopping energy as possible. “We’re about half an hour away.”

 

Both Seungcheol and Mingyu perk up. “Really?!”

 

They both veer right in an instant, walking so fast, their legs look like wheels. Chan laughs and scampers after them. Jihoon starts jogging, taking a moment to pull his new cloak around himself, the fabric dappled by the sunlight.

 

“I’m telling you guys,” Seungcheol calls over his shoulder, practically bounding along like a rabbit. “Jeonghan can grill a mean pork dish! And I’m making you try it! Just wait and see!”

 

“Now I’m excited!” Chan yells back.

 

“I’ll show you around town!” Mingyu volunteers. “We’ve got blacksmiths, weavers,  charms makers- oh and enchanted gadgets! Those are fun! They’re made by-”

 

BOOM.

 

The squawks of birds are heard, rising from the trees in the direction they’re heading.

 

The four of them stop short.

 

“Wh-What was that?” Chan whispers.

 

Seungcheol turns to Jihoon, his expression pale. 

 

“Don’t tell me,” he growls almost urgently. “Don’t tell me-”

 

Jihoon looks down at the map, and he guesses his face says everything, because that’s when Seungcheol books it, smoke left behind in his footprints as he races towards the edge of the trees.

 

Mingyu instantly tails him, voice high in his throat. “No, no. No, no, no-”

 

Chan takes off after them both, and Jihoon as well, their legs and lungs burning as they run as fast as they can.

 

Then the trees split apart and they burst into open air, the cliff yawning beneath them-

 

And before them, the valley is swallowed in darkness.

 

Black miasma churns in violent tempests, twisting columns of smoke writhing upward like the fingers of a hundred hands clawing at the sky. The tendrils surge and ripple, blotting out what little morning light dares break through the clouds.

 

“Blight storms?” Chan cries in confusion. “Multiple of them?”

 

Below, Jihoon makes out jagged flames forcing their way through the smothering haze, burning angry wounds into the earth.

 

And he hears the screaming.

 

Men, women, children, crying out for help.

 

Seungcheol wastes no more time.

 

In a flash, his fire armor is equipped, and he’s launching himself off the drop. At the last second, he spins around. “Come on, Gyu!”

 

A fire whip extends from his hand, screaming through the air, but Mingyu grabs on instantly, letting it pull him into the air.

 

The two of them fall into the trees below.

 

Chan instantly jumps off as well, instantly sliding down the mountain, warping every dozen feet in bursts of sparks.

 

Jihoon doesn’t even think. He throws up a gust, the ground dropping away as the valley bursts into view.

 

Below, the village writhes in black storms, smothered in dark magic.

Notes:

😶😶😶

Hehehe sorry for the second cliffhanger...

But the team is on the move!

Please stay tuned for the next chap~

Chapter 12: The Return

Summary:

You are more than anyone thinks you are, Jihoon.

The smell of smoke, rot, and blood fills the air.

 

Infernos gut through homes, one roof collapsing as beams fall, embers scattering like fireflies.

 

“Inside!” Parents scream, herding their screaming, crying children into carts. “Go, go!”

 

Other villagers replace them, forming chains to pull buckets of water, though almost all of it turns to vapor before it can even reach the flames.

 

“Take cover!” A mage orders, shielding a civilian behind him as he sends up a volley of rocks, blasting back a wolf, its jaws frothy with black ichor. “Don’t look back! Take care of the others!”

 

Another fighter connects back-to-back with him, her lightning slashing through an overgrown bear with patchy fur, knocking it dazed. “There’s too many of them! Can we call anyone for help?!”

 

“The scout never came back!” Her partner replies, desperate.

 

“Don’t give up!” A third screams, kicking back two birds that dive for his skin. “Keep fighting!”

 

Then, a fireball launches through the fray, and burns a hole straight through the bear’s head, downing it for good.

 

All three mages gape down at it, breaths stilling.

 

Seungcheol lands right next to it, his boots slamming into the ground like thunder.

 

“Are you alright?!” he calls, his next fireball morphing back into a gauntlet.

 

“S-Seungcheol?!” the stone mage exclaims, jaw dropped. “You’ve returned?”

 

The fire mage pivots, knocking another corrupted wolf out cold right next to him as if in answer. “Mingyu’s with me!”

 

The mentioned empath materializes into the chaos, his Fear aura spreading as wolfsbane leaves crumble into the air, causing every infected beast to rear back momentarily.

 

“And we brought company!” he greets.

 

As if on cue, Chan appears from above, a battle cry spilling from his lips as he sinks his knives into the two crows still hovering. Then he drops with their bodies, rolling back onto his feet, before his body disappears into sparks again.

 

“What kind of magic is that?!” the third villager mage screams, relieved at being saved.

 

“Warp!” Seungcheol answers. “I know- it’s pretty cool!”

 

And finally, a sharp squall whips down the street, followed by a second gale. They both crash into the nearest house in the square, flattening embers in a single sweep.

 

Villagers gasp, hiding their faces from the force, their hair flattened against their heads.

 

Jihoon steps out from the dissipating smoke, white cloak snapping, eyes cool. He twists his wrist, the wind obeying, twisting around behind him to snuff out another scorching structure right behind him.

 

“And who is that?” the stone mage inquires, eyes sparkling in awe.

 

“Uh-” Mingyu whips around, effectively driving away another infected beast, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s talk about him later! Focus on fighting!”

 

“Where’s Jeonghan?!” Seungcheol demands, twisting the neck of a strider before it could snap his face off. “Is he safe?”

 

“He’s on the outskirts, evacuating everyone!” one of the civilians answers, running by with more water.

 

Seungcheol gives a strained grin. “That’s my Hannie.”

 

“Help!” A young woman screams, trapped on the second floor of her house, the wood collapsing around her. “I’m going to fall!”

 

Jihoon throws himself into the air, scooping her up just before the building gives way, caving in on itself. “You okay?”

 

She looks up at him, gaze starry. “Um. Yes. Thank you, kind sir.”

 

“Incoming!” Chan hollers, twirling his knives. “Ten o’clock!”

 

Sure enough, to the northwest, a fresh horde of monsters appears. Wolves, bears, birds, ash veil striders- as well as the occasional deer or moose.

 

Jihoon tenses. Why are there so many concentrated in one area?

 

Even by infection standards, this is not normal.

 

“Oh, shoot,” Mingyu shouts, crushing his wolfsbane hard as he faces the direction of the incoming wave. “I don’t think I can handle this many-!”

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to.

 

The screech of metal and the dissonant groan of wood and hinges rip through the square. A shockwave rattles every windowpane as gears grind and plates of iron screech against one another, like the sound of something ancient waking.

 

Then, without warning, the entire front line of the infected is hurled skyward, flung like ragdolls as if an invisible wall had slammed into them. Birds shriek wildly, beasts stagger on their haunches as the cobblestones tremble beneath their paws.

 

Smoke parts like shredded fabric, and an automaton of steel and enchantment steps into view.

 

A roaring bear leaps at it, only to be seized mid‑air by a giant, rune‑etched hand of steel. The mecha’s fingers close with bone‑crushing force. With a single swing, the bear is slammed down into the earth, the ground erupting beneath the impact, dust spraying outward.

 

Then, the top hatch hisses open, and dust smeared spectacles peek through. A handsome face behind wire-rimmed glasses.

 

“Hello, Mingyu,” he calls, his voice deep and rich.

 

Mingyu’s eyes widen. “Wonwoo-hyung?!”

 

Another face pops up from beside Wonwoo- one recognizable, as beautiful as the pictures had shown, and waves.

 

“Cheollie!” 

 

Seungcheol’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Hannie?! What are you doing in there?!”

 

“Helping!” Jeonghan says cheerfully, grabbing a joystick and pulling. Behind the mecha, an extra arm extends, slamming some hostile diving crows into the dirt.

 

“I trust him with my things,” Wonwoo says nonchalantly, as if he's not currently crushing several wolves between the bot’s giant metal hands.

 

“Get out of here!” the lightning mage orders. “Both of you are magicless! You cannot defend yourselves!”

 

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses coolly. “Really? Then how do you explain this?”

 

The hatch locks back down, and the mecha roundhouse kicks an infected beast right in the face, sending it skidding.

 

Jihoon raises a brow, before smirking a little. 

 

Looks like today’s magicless have changed since the war.

 

Mingyu and Seungcheol gape for a few more seconds, before shaking their heads and recovering.

 

“Don’t you dare take on more than you can handle!” the latter orders.

 

“Will do, Cheollie,” Jeonghan responds, and the sound of him blowing a kiss through the hatch is audible.

 

“You guys are gross,” Mingyu groans.

 

Then they all dive back in.

 

The street shakes as the automaton surges forward, gears screaming. With a deafening metal roar, it lowers its shoulder and plows through the next wave, bodies of corrupted beasts scattering in arcs as claws scrape against enchanted plating.

 

Seungcheol barrels right behind it, his fire‑forged armor reflecting the mecha’s glow, gauntlets slamming into striders that slip past its swings. 

 

“Keep with me!” he bellows, his voice carrying over the chaos. “Push the line forward!”

 

Mingyu spreads his arms wide, thyme and wolfsbane leaves dissolving faster than his hands can crush them, his aura spilling into both villagers and comrades alike. Where panic threatened to crack their formation, his Courage ripples through them, shoulders squaring, grips tightening on makeshift weapons, voices that were screaming now turning to battle cries. “Drive them back!”

 

“Over here!” Chan sparks into view behind a foaming wolf, blades flashing in tandem. He slashes at its legs, making it stumble, just in time for Jihoon’s gale to slam it into a wall with a resounding crack.

 

His dongsaeng beams- “Nice timing!”- before warping two paces away to cut down another enemy.

 

Their combined charge batters the enemy line backward, step by step. Each slam of gauntlet and piston sends shockwaves coursing up the avenue.

 

For the first time, it feels like they could win.

 

Children’s cries soften as parents dare to hope. Civilians in bucket chains raise their heads. Even the scorched air smells lighter, the acrid sting of smoke overpowered by the sharp tang of burning ichor.

 

Then, an impact splits the rhythm. 

 

And Wonwoo’s automaton staggers. Its steel frame is hurled sideways as if struck by an invisible wall.

 

Slow, impossibly slow in Jihoon’s perception, hundreds of tons of armor and runes tumble. Gears scream, a limb sparks, masonry erupts in clouds of shrapnel as it topples into the side of a burning house.

 

“NO!” Both Seungcheol and Mingyu scream.

 

Stepping out from the toppled mecha’s shadow, is a man.

 

In dark, flowing robes, strange symbols etched on its sides as if ceremonial. He has a scar across his face, ranging from one eye to the other. A staff in his right hand, decorated with fangs, rattling as he moves.

 

And there’s one more conspicuous trait that sets him apart.

 

Dark veins, all over his skin, spreading like roots up his throat, and across his hands, glowing faintly in a sick violet.

 

Jihoon’s throat closes up completely.

 

An infected mage?

 

Seungcheol charges in the next instant, roaring, his armor changing from red to blazing, blinding yellow-

 

Only for the dark mage to swing his staff into his side-

 

And suddenly, Seungcheol’s cratered into the ground. Dust and shards erupt skyward, leaving him embedded at its center with spiderweb fissures skittering outward in all directions.

 

The villagers all around them gasp, their voices wrought.

 

“Seungcheol-hyung?!” Mingyu shrieks, gripping his satchel until he’s white-knuckled.

 

From the wreckage of the automaton, Jeonghan crawls slowly from the ruined cockpit, a fresh gash on his forehead, blood streaking down into his eye. He puts out a shaking hand in his lover’s direction, as if trying to desperately reach him.

 

“So this is why the invasion was taking so long,” the dark mage muses. His voice is deep, unnaturally so, ringing through the square like a gong. “We have met…resistance.”

 

“You…bastard…!” Seungcheol plants his hands beneath him, trying to force himself up.

 

The man places a foot on his head, and slams him back down. The crater deepens.

 

“Again,” he murmurs. “There exist those who have not accepted the gift.”

 

Then a streak of light catches his attention, zig-zagging through all the still-fighting mages, through the infected- Chan, eyes wide and frantic. “Get off of him!”

 

The man doesn’t even turn to face his attacker.

 

Another man, in the same clothes and with the same infection strangling his neck, tackles him mid-air, pinning him to the ground.

 

The warp mage cries out, the air forced out of his lungs.

 

“Chan!” Mingyu whips around, facing Jihoon, his wolfsbane practically dust by how hard he’s crushing it in his fist. “Hyung- you gotta help them! You gotta help them- now!”

 

Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. He can’t.

 

He’s rooted where he stands, chest convulsing with shallow, jagged breaths. Every sound around him collides into his heightened hearing at once- the screech of beasts, metal grinding from Wonwoo’s damaged automaton, villagers crying out, the harsh crunch of stone shattering under Seungcheol’s skull as it’s shoved deeper into the crater.

 

“…No way…” His voice breaks, ghostly thin, as if spoken from the bottom of a pit. “There’s no possible way-”

 

The words claw free as disbelief as much as horror. His eyes can’t leave those throats mottled in sick violet, those mouths voicing words that should be impossible.

 

“They shouldn’t…” His hand trembles violently at his side. “Be able to-”

 

“Be able to what? What?” Mingyu demands, grabbing him by the shoulders as if he could shake the answer out of him.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t react. Doesn’t respond.

 

“Damn it!”

 

Mingyu whirls around, his eyes watering in desperation, done with waiting. He charges, fist drawn back.

 

Jihoon reaches out to him, but it’s too late.

 

One of the dark mages seizes him by the neck, nails digging deep into his skin, enough for him to cry out.

 

Then, like all the rest- he is tossed aside.

 

His body hurtles through the beams of a half-collapsed shop, wood exploding into splinters around him.

 

“No,” Jihoon gasps. “Gyu…!”

 

“Alas,” the first dark mage continues. “They are no match for our forces.”

 

Then he instantly reacts, flicking his wrist, splitting the gust that comes at him out of nowhere as if it is nothing more than rotted paper.

 

“Stop!” Jihoon screams, hands outstretched, shaking. “Stop doing this!”

 

“What pitiful wind,” the man laughs derisively. “Was that supposed to halt my path in any way at all?”

 

He gestures to the mage beside him. “Take him out.”

 

Jihoon summons another spell, but it’s too late.

 

All he gets is the other mage’s smile, teethless and filled with muck, before there’s a piercing pain in his gut.

 

The world tilts. He doesn’t even register the follow-up strike.

 

His body is already airborne, flung back as if by a giant’s hand. Stone and glass smear into one long blur, before the crash hits him all at once.

 

Rubble rains down in a clattering roar, dust choking his lungs.

 

For a moment, he can’t even tell which way is up. His ears ring with the distant sounds of magic and screaming.

 

His hand, when it fumbles at his stomach, comes away sticky.

 

Blood.

 

His breathing comes heavy, ragged, as he finally sees where he’s impaled, a jagged piece of wood through his stomach.

 

He wheezes, hands clawing at it, his own pulse jackhammering in his ears.

 

Then, he looks up, as the dark mage’s laugh echoes through the ruined village.

 

“You still don’t understand, do you?”

 

He lifts his staff, the runes crawling violet.

 

“You call this blight, curse, plague, corruption. Yet here I stand, stripped of weakness, remade in strength, alive beyond flesh and bone. This is no sickness. This is salvation!”

 

He spreads his arms wide, as if welcoming the ruin around him.

 

“Look at your village. Flames and rot, and still your people cling to buckets of water, to prayers, to hope. Pitiful.”

 

That last word rings out like a death knell.

 

“But those who let go…” Now he leans in, words silky smooth. “Those who embraced the gift, no longer fear hunger nor flame. We do not die. We devour.”

 

His laugh rises like a cracked hymn.

 

“Why fight the tide when you could drown and live forever? Why resist the inevitable blessing?”

 

At his words, the infected mages around him throw their heads back in ragged laughter, slamming their staves against the cobblestones like war drums.

 

From the ruins, corrupted beasts rear onto their haunches, howling. Wolves snarl in unison, crows screech overhead, wings stirring a storm of ash.

 

One by one, their violet‑lit veins pulse brighter, as if the plague within them swells in agreement, glowing like unholy beacons in the dark.

 

Jihoon closes his eyes, the pain clouding his head.

 

It hurts too much to move.

 

Each inhale is like knives. Every exhale like something carving him up from the inside.

 

It feels like he is the wound. Like he is nothing but the wound.

 

Someone screams.

 

He looks up again, briefly. The girl he had just saved struggles in the grip of the villains, their laughter ringing.

 

And for the first time in years, Jihoon admits what the broken part of him has always whispered: I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.

 

More people cry out, thrashing against their captors’ grips, and he looks away again.

 

The temptation scratches deeper than any claw or fang- the thought of just letting go. Of surrendering. Of melting into the dirt and smoke and letting the storm take him.

 

A voice inside him agrees, quiet but sure: It’s easier this way. It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. Just stop fighting. 

 

Just…give up.

 

For one terrible heartbeat, Jihoon almost listens.

 

And then-

 

“No,” a voice croaks.

 

A hand grips on the edge of the dark leader’s boot, still trickling with flame.

 

“I will fight,” Seungcheol grits out. “We all…will keep fighting.”

 

The dark mage’s face twists into disgust, and he raises his staff, the end of it morphing into a sharp point. “Begone-”

 

“NOW!” Seungcheol orders.

 

Chan’s form on the ground dissipates into nothing, before materializing right next to the dark mage, his blade flashing like lightning in the dark. His expression, desperate. One last attempt.

 

And it connects.

 

The dark mage howls, grabbing at his throat where the knife manages to slice through skin, black spraying from the wound.

 

But it’s only a shallow cut. Not enough. 

 

“Damn you!” the villain snarls, grabbing Chan by the arm, throwing him down on the ground with inhuman speed.

 

Something cracks. The youngest of the team screams.

 

Seungcheol tries to get up to run to him, but gets slammed back down.

 

And Jihoon reaches out. By heart or by instinct, he doesn’t know.

 

But the pain shoots through him, his broken body tearing apart even further around his abdomen, and his hand falls.

 

But not to the ground.

 

Smooth wood, under his fingertips.

 

Painted fireballs. Doodled leaves. Golden sparks. The cat drawing.

 

His case.

 

It must have gotten dislodged when he was knocked into the rubble.

 

He looks up, and the destroyed village is gone. No dark mages, no fire.

 

Only Soonyoung, who holds out his guitar to him with both hands, his smile bright. Behind him, the sea of stars, every one of them twinkling.

 

You are more than anyone thinks you are, Jihoon.

 

He closes his eyes one more time, realizing it then-

 

That he knows, deep down, always knew.

 

He was never meant to hide.

 

And the staff never stabs through Seungcheol’s skull.

 

And Chan, both arms over his head, is never struck again.

 

Because what stops the dark mage from any further action isn’t a fire gauntlet or a knife.

 

But a blade, thick, invisible, sharp and as large as three men- 

 

That slices straight through his arm.

 

It drops, the sinews nearly torn apart altogether. The staff falls to the ground, as the man screams, ichor spewing onto dirt.

 

“How dare- How dare you!”

 

He can finally look, fingers pointing, about to demand that his men kill or be killed themselves-

 

But the words never leave his throat. 

 

In fact, everyone mirrors him. Allies and foes alike. Wordless and speechless.

 

They all look to one point, where the wind mage lies against the wall, injured. 

 

And they find, cradled in his lap and in gentle hands, his guitar.

 

His hands run up the wood, reverently across the instrument’s frame. His fingers close on the strings like they had never left them. 

 

And his eyes, when he raises his head, is unclouded, unshaken, sharp enough to cut.

 

“Leave this village,” he says, calm, his voice like running water.

 

“Y-You,” the dark mage manages, cradling his injured limb. Unconsciously, he takes a step back. “You dare defy-”

 

Jihoon strums again.

 

Another slice appears, and this time, straight through the villain’s shoulder.

 

He grabs at it, letting loose another hiss of pain.

 

“What in hell-”

 

“That was a warning,” Jihoon says. His gaze never leaves his enemy. 

 

And then, he moves.

 

Carefully, so carefully, he braces his palms against the fractured stone at his sides.

 

Pain detonates through his torso, like acid melting through timber. His vision instantly whites out, blinding sparks bursting behind his eyes.

 

But he does not stop.

 

He forces an inch upward. Another. His whole body trembles violently, sweat rolling down into his eyes, stinging. His lips peel back, not in a smile, not in a snarl, but something caught desperately in between, defiance dragging pain behind it.

 

And with a final groan, he pushes himself free.

 

The beam slips loose with a brutal lurch, blood dripping from its edges.

 

All over the village, people watch, their eyes wide and glistening, as if they can scarcely believe the sight before them.

 

“I-Impossible,” Seungcheol breathes from where he’s still sprawled, staring like he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

 

As for Chan himself, he’s not even aware of the tears spilling from his eyes as he whispers, hushed as if before the divine itself, “Jihoon-hyung…”

 

His elder finally stands, unsteady on his feet, more red splattering to the dirt underneath, staining it crimson, his breath still heavy.

 

And the dark mage tries to laugh. Tries to cackle, though his hands clench until they’re white beside him.

 

“Look at you! You’ve barely any life left,” he snarls. “How can you warn me when with one more strike, you could very well leave this world-”

 

Jihoon locks eyes with him, and strums again.

 

And this time, that injured arm comes cleanly off.

 

It hits the dirt with a damp thud, the sound like a clap of thunder.

 

And there was no need for Mingyu, crawling from the wreckage, to sense any emotions that ensue.

 

Because after that, the feeling is indisputable, written like scripture, on every one of the dark mages’ faces.

 

Fear.

 

They even loosen their hold on the girl they’ve trapped, allowing her to kick free and scramble away.

 

“That was your second,” Jihoon murmurs. His face is pale, sweat beading on his face, but he remains steady as he finally pulls the strap of his guitar over his shoulder, grounding him in a way he’s realized he’s missed. “There will not be a third.”

 

A ripple of unease larger than ever before goes through each of the invaders.

 

“My Lord!” one of them shouts, turning towards his leader. “Perhaps we should- we should retreat!”

 

The other man bristles at that, his eyes still focused on the wind mage before them.

 

“No,” he growls. “No! We will not run!”

 

The ragged wound along his neck bubbles, the ichor rising in sick pulses, veins glowing brighter. Tendons twitch like worms, knitting themselves together strand by warped strand. Bone sprouts in jagged shards before smoothing into shape, new muscle wrapping around it in cords of sinew, a dripping scaffold of half-formed flesh.

 

Villagers gasp. 

 

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “You can reform.”

 

“That’s right!” The dark mage leader snarls, voice distorting, a sermon half-screamed. “You think your little strums can undo eternity?!”

 

His head jerks as he straightens, feverish light gleaming in his eyes. “This is the gift! What is severed returns! What is broken remakes itself!”

 

Spit flies from his mouth as his bellows increase. “No song, no breeze, no ridiculous bard will stop the likes of me! Music is for taverns, power is for Gods! And I am a God!”

 

His regenerated hand snatches his staff, and points it straight towards Jihoon. “Kill him!”

 

And the blighted beasts and dark mages following him all charge.

 

They converge like a stormfront, merging as if pulled into one mass of shadow. A united force, swelling until it looms over Jihoon, a titan about to crush.

 

But the wind mage doesn’t cower.

 

He does not flinch.

 

He only gazes up at the oncoming tide, rests his fingers on the strings, and says, voice like steel:

 

“Gods do not hurt people.”

 

STRUM.

 

And the tower of infected mass is cleaved in two.

 

The nearest blight storm, way up high, dissipates as if it was never there, shining down the stolen rays of day.

 

Light rains down, illuminating beneath, and catches upon Jihoon’s sharp eyes, shining even under the mass of black ichor sprayed across his form.

 

Monsters fall, and others recover. Mages push their hands together, conjuring spells as they charge from both sides.

 

Jihoon responds in kind, sweeping his hand to the side, a twister erupting around him, carrying them into the sky before they can touch.

 

STRUM.

 

Another wave of enemies hit the earth, another blight storm clears from the heavens.

 

And some of the villagers, watching from behind barricades and shelter, would later say that the battle was sequestered from anything they’ve ever seen.

 

Because the wind mage before them, small-framed, bleeding, cloak stained with crimson, is not so much fighting as dancing through the tempest.

 

He whirls like a dancer, in time to an unknown beat, feet barely in contact with the ground, slipping between claws, snapping jaws, and staffs like he knows exactly where they will land, his body twisting just out reach, his hair flying in the new sunlight.

 

His strums cut through the air in crescendos, rising above beast and mage alike, each note carving its own radiant space in the darkness.

 

Through it all, his face remains taut and unwavering, as enemy after enemy falls before him.

 

And after every carrier of the blight is expelled, every corrupted soul released, the dark mage leader and Jihoon meet under a blue sky, the storms of infection nowhere to be found.

 

The dark mage lunges, pointed staff a blur, grazing Jihoon’s injured side.

 

“We are endless,” he hisses, out of breath and exhausted. “And you are finite. One day, you will succumb.”

 

Jihoon meets his eyes, unblinking. “As long as that day is not today.”

 

Then he takes the staff in hand, and pulls it towards him.

 

The last dark mage stumbles forth, off-balance.

 

Jihoon steps back, and lets his fingers glide across the strings one more time.

 

And the man clad in robes before him finally crumbles into ashes, seeking a final resting place on the soiled earth.

 

For a moment, all is quiet.

 

Like sound had faded from the world. Like people’s ears are plugged, filled with too much.

 

Jihoon straightens slowly, one hand pressed to his side, face pale, clenching his guitar in the other like he’s never letting go again.

 

Around him, the villagers emerge from hiding, their expressions raging from awe to utter shock.

 

Mingyu stumbles over to Seungcheol and Chan both, slowly crouching to take them both by the hand, pulling them up with all the strength he has left.

 

They wrap their arms around his shoulder, Seungcheol keeping his wrist close to himself, Chan breathing heavily, and look to where their teammate still stands, as if refusing to collapse.

 

Jeonghan sits up slowly, pulling an unconscious Wonwoo to him, his eyes shining like the sun as they land on Jihoon as well.

 

Voices raise, one by one, rising in volume as the reality dawns on them.

 

“Did he just…?"

 

“He did.”

 

“Such power.”

 

“Seungcheol brought him…could he really be…?”

 

Jihoon takes in a breath, closing his eyes, holding his guitar closer to himself. And faintly, ever so faintly, he smiles to himself.

 

One man then stands, high above the rest, and points to him from where he stands, eyes bright.

 

“It’s him!” he declares. “It’s truly him!”

 

His eyes water, lakes of belief. “The God of Music has returned to us!”

 

Silence.

 

Then, the uproar carries far beyond the clouds.

 

People begin cheering. Others begin to weep. Some take rags from their clothes and wave them in the air in celebration, flapping in the breeze. 

 

And more and more take up the chant.

 

“All hail the God of Music!”

 

“All hail!”

 

“All hail!”

 

“He has returned!”

 

“We’ve been blessed!”

 

They clap and jump, embracing one another as they wipe their tears, before fully collapsing to the ground, prostrating themselves completely, sobbing out thank you after thank you for hearing their prayers.

 

In their wide circle of veneration, Jihoon remains, the rush of his adrenaline finally fading. His hand raises to clutch at the locket beneath his clothes, a thumb swiping across its surface, before closing around it in a fist.

 

And deep inside his mind, he knows-

 

There’s no turning back now.

Notes:

He has returned.

Hope this chapter was worth the wait <33333

Chapter 13: The Recovery

Summary:

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?

“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.

Notes:

Group hug :')

I love writing these guys so much

Please stay tuned for the next chapter! We'll see more of our boys Jeonghan and Wonwoo!

Chapter 14: The Question That Has No Answer

Summary:

Jihoon opens his eyes, and his air completely leaves him.

A locket.

Gold, oval shaped, seeming to glow with an inner light. Smooth and polished, its face reflecting a soft sheen. 
 
Soonyoung’s voice is deathly soft. 

“Open it.”

“Come on, come on! Over here!”

 

“Soonyoung-”

 

“It’s not that far away, promise!”

 

“Soonyoung, are we going to your house?”

 

The shapeshifter hesitates, then looks at Jihoon over his shoulder sheepishly. “Yeah.”

 

The other teen instantly feels the urge to pull his hand away from their interlocked fingers. “We’re not going to- you know- do anything, right?”

 

“What?” Soonyoung blinks, then turns a shade of red. “No, nono, nothing like that! I am not ready!”

 

“Okay, just making sure.” Jihoon breathes out a relieved sigh, and lets the other keep dragging him.

 

Into the house they go, stepping through the foyer and up the stairs, Jihoon rushedly greeting Soonyoung's parents and older sister before the other pulls him forward again, flushing when his battle partner yells, “Busy with stuff, don’t come in!” like they really were going to do things.

 

“Alright, come on, inside, inside!”

 

“Soon, you're going to break my arm-”

 

But then the other has him in his room, bed a mess, books strewn everywhere, and Jihoon has no time to scold him to pick up said mess as he hurriedly shuts the door, then puts his hands over the other’s eyes.

 

“Close.”

 

“What-”

 

“Close them.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And no super hearing either.”

 

“...Okay?”

 

Soonyoung lifts his hands, and Jihoon obediently puts his own over his eyelids.

 

“Stay right there.”

 

“...Right.”

 

Jihoon stays, listening to the sound of rummaging and rustling through drawers, and even though he promised not to, he still can pick up how hard the other’s breathing. Like whatever Soonyoung is about to do is the scariest thing he’ll ever do.

 

“So,” the shapeshifter finally goes, somehow breathless. “Can you…keep them closed while I say this sort of…intro thing? Because I might just turn into a bird and fly far away to another world out of embarrassment if you look at me right now.”

 

“Okay, okay.” Jihoon suppresses a laugh. “I won’t.”

 

Then, silence. Long enough that he feels his own heartbeat picking up speed.

 

Then, Soonyoung begins.

 

“So I know we’ve…only hung out with each other since seven. Magical, magicless. And…we’ve been seeing each other for only a few months.”

 

He trails off for a moment. Jihoon feels himself breathing harder, hanging onto every word, turning them over and over again in his mind.

 

“But, Jihoon, I-” Soonyoung cuts himself off, growls like he’s frustrated at himself, then tries again. “I dunno, I just have all these feelings inside, all these thoughts about how I always thought you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and how I sometimes think that maybe I want to grow old with you and I-”

 

Jihoon’s world tilts a little. His eyes start to sting a little at the edges, and he gulps. Then, he nearly flinches when he feels the other take his hand, like he wasn’t sure where he was going with the speech anymore.

 

“Just- here. Take it.”

 

And then, something cool to the touch rests against his palm, the fall of something like a chain across his wrist.

 

“...You can look.”

 

Jihoon opens his eyes, and his air completely leaves him.

 

A locket.

 

Gold, oval shaped, seeming to glow with an inner light. Smooth and polished, its face reflecting a soft sheen. 

 

Soonyoung’s voice is deathly soft. 

 

“Open it.”

 

Jihoon does.

 

And inside- is them.

 

They’re both laughing, cheeks flushed. Soonyoung has an arm over his shoulder, leaning their heads together.

 

“I had it made with one of those memory spells,” Soonyoung murmurs. “That one day we were chasing each other. I think I told a bad joke and you wanted to get me back for it. Then I tripped, and you started laughing, and I started laughing with you, and I just thought- yeah, that’s the moment I wanted to capture. Just us. Happy.”

 

For a moment, Jihoon says nothing. His thumb just traces over Soonyoung’s part of the picture, again and again.

 

“Do you…like it?” his partner asks, sounding as if any rejection might be the end of him.

 

Jihoon breathes out, then in.

 

Then he clicks the locket shut, tosses the chain over his head, raises his head, and lets Soonyoung see the tears in his eyes.

 

After, he only lets the shapeshifter dwell on that for half a second, because in the next, he’s crossing the room to him, fisting his hands in his shirt collar, pushing him against the wall, and smashing their lips together.

 

Soonyoung lets loose a sound of pure surprise, one that Jihoon swallows whole, before the realization of their first kiss dawns on him, and he’s gripping back, one hand on the sound mage’s shoulder, the other snaking fingers into his hair.

 

They stay there, mouths locked, until they lose air, and Jihoon finally draws back, but doesn’t go far, their chests both heaving as he leaves their foreheads pressed together.

 

“I love it,” he breathes out. 

 

Then, before he decides to turn tail and run from vulnerability, he adds, “...I love you.”

 

And he watches as Soonyoung’s eyes widen, then start dampening at the corners, tears following just seconds later, scoring down both of his cheeks. “I love you too. Gods, I love you so much, Lee Jihoon.”

 

Jihoon looks into his eyes, keeps their gazes locked as he raises his hands to the other’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the streaks, brushing their noses together, before leaning in to kiss him once more.

 

This moment…. I’ll remember forever.

 

…

 

In the morning, the team is all finally discharged.

 

What ensues is essentially pandemonium.

 

“Oh, heavens, it’s him!”

 

“The God of Music!”

 

“Quick, down on the ground! Pay your respects!”

 

The four mages, now gathered on the infirmary doorstep, stare out at the masses with bemusement.

 

“Uh, is it always like this?” Mingyu carefully asks out of the corner of his mouth behind Jihoon.

 

The sound mage sighs, readjusting his guitar case on his back. “More or less.”

 

“There’s so many of them,” Chan whispers.

 

“Did the village get a boost in population while we were gone, Gyu?” Seungcheol scratches his head.

 

Mingyu just shrugs. “Beats me.”

 

Jihoon sighs again, and prepares to steel himself for the inevitability of pushing through a crowd where the average man is taller than him, when the piercing sound of a whistle cuts through the air.

 

Everyone turns, and the wave of people parts down the middle, revealing Wonwoo and Jeonghan, standing there nonchalantly.

 

“Apologies, everyone,” Jeonghan declares, lowering his hand from his mouth, eyes glinting mischievously. “His Lordship dines with us this fine morning.”

 

Cowed, everyone mutters to each other, confused.

 

But when Jihoon chances a glance at Seungcheol again, he gets a full view of the fire mage beaming, then charging over to his lover, swooping him up into a kiss.

 

He also catches both Mingyu and Wonwoo rolling their eyes.

 

Finally, the crowd parts, and everyone else has the chance to approach the other two, smartly not making eye contact with anyone who might want a certain war hero’s signature.

 

“Hey.” Jihoon sidles up to Jeonghan, now holding hands with Seungcheol blissfully. “Um. Thanks for that. You really didn’t have to.”

 

“It’s no big deal.” Jeonghan smiles warmly at him. “Cheollie just told me you hated crowds, is all.”

 

“Oh.” Jihoon blinks dumbfoundedly, suddenly touched, making eye contact with Seungcheol, whose grin softens as they do. “Well, thank you again.”

 

“And, ah, you must be Chan!” Jeonghan leans forward then, noticing the warp mage at Jihoon’s side. “It’s good to meet you!”

 

The younger mage instantly grins, giving him a quick bow. “It’s good to meet you too, Jeonghan-ssi.”

 

“Please.” Jeonghan waves it off. “Just call me hyung.”

 

They arrive at the house, a little cottage just off the bend, and Seungcheol opens the door for everyone to walk in.

 

Jihoon spies as Wonwoo taps Mingyu on the arm, murmuring, “Come with me.”

 

Mingyu turns a little pink. “Uh. Okay.”

 

As they walk into a side room that looks like a garage, Chan flashes Jihoon a conspiratorial grin, making him hold back a chuckle.

 

“Actually, we haven’t made anything for breakfast yet,” Jeonghan announces, cheeks flushing a little in mock embarrassment, as he leads them into a kitchen lingering with traces of spice. “Would it trouble you to help cook?”

 

“Hannie,” Seungcheol exclaims, exasperated, but still smiling at him. “You trickster.”

 

“I had to come up with an excuse to save you as fast as I can!” Jeonghan protests, sticking out his tongue at him halfheartedly.

 

Seungcheol laughs, hands sliding around his waist from behind.

 

They’re cute together, Jihoon muses, as he nods. 

 

“Sure, we’ll help.”

 

“I’m good with knives!” Chan volunteers, rolling up a sleeve. “Off the battlefield as well!”

 

That ends up stirring a laugh through all of them.

 

Jihoon smiles to himself, glad that he’s not being told to just sit and look pretty. Back then, people hardly let him lift a finger.

 

Soon enough, they fall into rhythm, iron pots and pans clattering onto counters.

 

Chan’s assigned to dice things just as promised, Jeonghan and Seungcheol making dough together, hands caked with flour.

 

Jihoon mans the skillet, salting each strip of meat before letting it simmer, the rich and savory smell already filling the air.

 

“So, did you cook any meals on the road, or did you make Gyu do it all?” Jeonghan asks Seungcheol, leaning his chin on his lover’s shoulder.

 

The other winks at him. “I actually helped. By making the fire. Obviously.”

 

Jeonghan gives him a playful shove, giggling.

 

Chan lets out a soft “Aww,” at their shenanigans, and Jihoon lets himself smile a little, turning abruptly back to his task of flipping the meat.

 

The hour passes, the sun rising higher into the sky, and the cottage fills with the scent of bubbling porridge and the crackle of fresh-baked bread as the group finishes their preparation in a sort of amicable silence.

 

Jihoon helps set the table at Seungcheol’s suggestion as the fire mage asks his partner, “So Wonwoo moved in?”

 

Jeonghan nods. “Well, sort of. He needed more space for his inventions. We had the room.”

 

“Makes sense. You’re amazing, Hannie.” Seungcheol gives him a kiss on the crown of his head. “Maybe I’ll nick one of his fancy tools and he won’t notice, then.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Wonwoo’s voice trails in, and the man himself walks in, Mingyu in tow.

 

The empath still has pink cheeks, but he holds up a new satchel, now lined with double the pockets from before. “Look, guys! I can store more herbs than before! Wonwoo-hyung gave me this!”

 

“Whoa, nice!” Chan comments, sending a thumbs up.

 

Though as they bring the plates and cutlery over, everyone finding a place to sit, Jihoon overhears Wonwoo whisper, “I really do hope you like it, Mingyu.”

 

The empath stills, giving him a strange look. “Of course I do.”

 

But Wonwoo doesn’t say anything back to that. He just looks to the side, as if lost in thought.

 

“Right!” Jeonghan, seated at the head of the table, claps his hands together. “Let’s eat!”

 

Forks and spoons clink as everyone digs in, idle chatter in the air. Jihoon tests the meat he cooked, finding it crisp and chewy. He takes a bite of the bread next, the texture soft, its flavor bursting with warmth.

 

For once, he feels a little…content.

 

When he finally tunes back into the group’s conversation, Seungcheol’s catching Jeonghan and Wonwoo up to speed on the dire wolf bounty, framing the whole thing humorously somehow. But the retelling sends up a few chuckles in success.

 

Then, Jeonghan rests his cheek on one of his hands, head leaning to the side. His eyes meet Jihoon’s briefly, before flicking to his lover’s at his left side.

 

“So. Was it hard to find him, sweetheart?”

 

Seungcheol meets his lover’s eyes, the question slowly reaching him.

 

“Oh. Well, yeah. He was hiding pretty well, to be honest.”

 

Yes, Jihoon thinks to himself. Junhui’s cloaking wards were next to impossible to overcome. 

 

Which means, thinking back to it, Seungcheol the fire mage must have had tons of willpower to even beat it.

 

“I see,” Jeonghan replies softly. His fingers tap against his chin once, digit by digit. “But you still found him, Cheollie. That’s incredible.”

 

Seungcheol looks at him back, a sly smile on his lips, still playful. “You don't have to butter me up, you know.”

 

“Oh, I know.” Jeonghan’s tone is careful-sweet. “There is just one thing I want to know.”

 

And suddenly, with eyes like a viper’s, he slides his gaze back to Jihoon’s, not a trace of softness left in them.

 

Only sharpened clarity. 

 

“Why did you hide, Jihoon-ssi?”

 

It’s almost as if a sudden draft hits Jihoon full force in the back.

 

Why did you hide, Jihoon-ssi? echoes again in his head.

 

His spoon drops from his hand, clattering to the plate.

 

And almost unconsciously, his other hand reaches up underneath his shirt, grabbing at the locket.

 

The question- it’s not even cruel.

 

There’s no malice behind it. No ill-intent.

 

But it’s absolutely slicing.

 

As if Jeonghan, for a second, saw everything Jihoon had buried inside.

 

A sudden silence falls.

 

Seungcheol’s eyes are wide, his hand hovering over Jeonghan’s own. “Honey, wait-”

 

“It’s because of me!”

 

Chan’s hand comes down on the table, a little too hard.

 

Everyone’s eyes go straight to him.

 

“I was only a kid at the time,” he rushes out. His gaze darts to Jihoon for the briefest of seconds, frantic, before meeting Jeonghan’s again. “So he- had to stop fighting. He had to take care of me.”

 

A pause.

 

Both Seungcheol and Mingyu stare in between Chan and Jihoon again and again, as if trying to figure it out from their own experience.

 

Jihoon’s hand tightens even more around the locket.

 

I love you so much, Lee Jihoon.

 

Jeonghan keeps his expression stone for at least five seconds.

 

Then, it switches back to soft, but this time, somber. “...I see.”

 

He gives a softer smile, dampened at the edges. “I suppose I can’t be upset at that. After all, you are here now. You could have never showed up again. Never have come, even when our village needed you. And for that, I am grateful.”

 

He turns in his chair to face the sound mage and bows, dipping his head. “I’m sorry for asking it so harshly.”

 

“It’s…” Jihoon trails off, before clearing his throat. “It’s alright.”

 

But the unfinished breakfast before him, still several strips of meat and half-eaten bread left, doesn’t look appetizing any longer.

 

He takes a second, then stands up.

 

“Please, excuse me.”

 

He catches a glimpse of Seungcheol’s mouth, as if he’s about to protest, as he turns away.

 

But no one stops him.

 

He walks through the house, footsteps brisk, rushed. For a moment, he doesn’t know where to go, before seeing the open doorway of Wonwoo’s garage, and making a beeline for it. Hopefully the owner won’t mind.

 

The dryness of the air and hiss of different runes working reaches his ears, but he doesn’t care to look. Can’t care to look.

 

“Hyung! Hyung, wait up!”

 

Jihoon’s shoulders tense despite himself, not daring to turn around. “Chan, I’m fine. Go back and eat some more.”

 

“Just tell me- are you alright? Did I say the right thing?” His dongsaeng reaches out to him, but seems to suddenly think better of it, drawing back. “I wasn’t exactly lying, so-”

 

“You did fine,” Jihoon interrupts, running a hand through his hair. “They believed it.”

 

“Yeah, but-” Chan’s expression tenses even more. “It probably won’t be enough, hyung-”

 

“I know,” Jihoon snaps.

 

Then he exhales, hard enough that he feels a little dizzy. A lot more tired than he was a second ago.

 

“...I know.”

 

A lull.

 

“Thank you, Chan. For saying all that.” Jihoon squeezes his eyes closed. “I just…need a second to calm down.”

 

“Okay,” Chan responds, voice soft. The sound of his footsteps retreating is heard. “Just…let me know if you need anything, hyung, alright?”

 

Jihoon nods, his only answer, and focuses on the white noise that surrounds him, wrapping his arms around himself.

 

…

 

It’s about fifteen minutes later when there’s a few knocks on the doorway.

 

Jihoon looks up from where he has his face resting in his folded arms, crouched low in one of the corners, and meets a gaze behind spectacles.

 

Wonwoo nods at him, and though he doesn’t say anything, his unyielding expression holds just the slightest hint of concern.

 

Jihoon makes to stand, but the bespectacled man shakes his head, before lifting something into the other’s field of view.

 

His guitar.

 

Jihoon’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to accept the instrument as Wonwoo approaches it, noting the way the other handles it carefully, but not overly reverently. 

 

“...Thank you.”

 

“I have spare chairs if you want to sit.”

 

“Oh-” Jihoon shakes his head. “You don't have to. I should be getting back. Plus, I wouldn't want to impose-”

 

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Wonwoo says, simply.

 

And in that moment, Jihoon recognizes the pattern.

 

Wonwoo is always like this- steady, matter-of-fact, collected. Honest.

 

Like Jeonghan.

 

But…both, in Jihoon’s opinion, are necessary.

 

Jihoon swallows, and dips his head. “...I really appreciate that.”

 

Wonwoo gives a small nod, then moves back to his desk, slipping wordlessly into his work as he draws tools from the drawers one by one. He doesn’t push the spare chair suggestion, thankfully.

 

As the sound of tinkering fills the room, Jihoon takes a careful breath, steeling himself.

 

Then, he fully straightens up, and pulls the guitar strap over his shoulder.

 

“Alright. I’m heading out now.”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything back at first, but as Jihoon nears the doorway, he lets out, clearly, “You’re welcome anytime.”

 

Jihoon swallows, and quietly accepts it.

 

The murmur of voices comes across his ears as he steps back out into the hallway, more hushed than before.

 

“We’re going to need to build up our supply again…”

 

“Let’s come up with a schedule…”

 

With a deep breath, Jihoon steps forward, rapping his knuckles against the wall gently.

 

Everyone else is still there, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Mingyu and Chan, and they all turn to him. Slowly, their expressions all turn to a mix of relief and surprise. Jeonghan especially.

 

“So,” Jihoon asks. “What’d I miss?”

 

And thankfully, not a single one asks about what happened- why he stepped away.

 

Chan just pulls out a chair, giving him an encouraging smile, as Mingyu goes, “Just coming up with a plan to help the village rebuild. Do you want to chip in, Jihoon-hyung?”

 

Jihoon, after only a moment, smiles back.

 

Okay, he can do this.

 

Even if he can’t answer all their questions yet. Even if he stumbles through every inquiry.

 

His hand closes over the neck of his guitar.

 

After all, he was able to play music again. He was able to fight back. And he was able to give back hope to people, even if it was one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

 

This newfound courage must mean something. And Jihoon’s going to use it to the fullest.

 

“Yeah,” he responds and takes that open seat his dongsaeng had given him.

 

Then he watches as Seungcheol gestures out their ideas ahead, resolve burning in his gut.

Notes:

Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter (and cried over the locket scene a lil bc i did)~ get excited for some more guitar playing next chap 🔥

Chapter 15: The Rejection

Summary:

All is silent for a couple seconds. Then, she turns the color of a tomato as she stammers, “I-I apologize if I’m being too forward, or if I’m making you uncomfortable, but you saved my life- our lives- and I wanted to-”

Then, the envelope is shoved- a bit violently- into his chest, a small hand-drawn heart peeking out from between the folds.

“Ask you to dinner!” the girl finally yells, two octaves too high.

Notes:

Now a whole lot of different things goes down in this one, but I made sure to include moments for a lot of our favorite characters~

Please enjoy!

The next day, the work begins.

 

Jihoon wakes in the spare bedroom in Seungcheol’s childhood home, has a light breakfast with one piece of toast and a glass of milk, then steps outside, following the noises of conversation and the clattering of tools.

 

“Excuse me,” he greets, instantly diving to catch a falling log. “Do you need help?”

 

“Oh-” The man who had dropped it in the first place sees him, and instantly starts to flail. “Oh- God of Music- thank you!”

 

“Please.” The sound mage raises a hand. “Just call me Jihoon.”

 

“Yes, God of Music!” the other says automatically.

 

Jihoon restrains himself from giving a pointed look, before observing the crew before him, transporting rubble and materials between numerous wheelbarrows, conscious of how they’re eyeing him but ignoring it. “So, anything I can do to lighten the load?”

 

The man, still not completely recovered from realizing he’s actually there, then starts flailing his arms in another way, shaking his head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to help, you’re, well- you’re injured!”

“Don’t worry about that.” Jihoon pats his own side. “I’m all fixed up, good as new. Your healer works wonders.”

 

Then he watches in real time as the villager opens his mouth one more time to protest, then realizes there’s nothing more he can say that wouldn’t make it obvious he was treating the other as a fragile being. “...Right, well…you could start here?”

 

He gestures to the pile of wrecked materials lying beside the cracked foundation. “There’s a lot there that still needs cleaning up. If it’s not too much trouble…”

“No.” Jihoon shakes his head, giving a pleased smile. “That’s perfect.”

 

And with a flick of his wrist, a breeze slithers underneath the pile of broken logs, rafters and walls, and lifts them all into the air.

 

Instantly, everyone gasps, their eyes wide as saucers as they look up at the floating mass.

 

“The God of Music knows wind magic?!” one child shrieks.

 

Jihoon gives a very mild roll of his eyes. “Learned it in school, same as the rest of you.”

 

“Incredible!” another crows.

 

“I’m learning it too!” someone else yells, as if wanting to appear special. 

 

Jihoon lets the chatter drift past him and follows the man’s hesitant gestures toward the waste pile at the village center, where a great bonfire burns, doubling as communal cooking for families whose kitchens were lost in the dark mage raid.

 

And there, he finds Seungcheol, hands blazing, setting spells to the logs that haven't quite caught yet, making sure the flame never goes out completely.

 

The fire mage looks up as the other approaches, brows raising. “Ah, Jihoon.”

 

“Did Seungcheol-ssi just call him by name?!” someone squawks from behind.

 

“Where should I put these?” Jihoon asks, lowering the stack of debris a fraction.

 

“Uh…” Seungcheol taps a finger on his chin, before pointing to various spots. “Here, here. And here. That’ll balance it out, make sure it won’t topple.”

 

“They’re just- working together! So calmly!”

 

“I’m so jealous of Seungcheol-hyung right now!”

 

Seungcheol gives a bemused smile. “Guessing you already know about your fanclub behind you, definitely not watching from any shadows?”

 

Jihoon smirks back, twirling a finger near his ear to indicate his heightened hearing as always. “Loud and clear.”

 

They distribute another stack into the fray, Seungcheol easily reaching in to adjust some logs, using his immunity to his advantage, as more whispers come across Jihoon’s ears.

 

“I wonder what it was like finding him!”

 

“Seungcheol-ssi’s so cool- now I kind of wish I went with him and Mingyu-”

 

“Do you think it’d be weird if I asked for an autograph?”

 

“Jeez,” Seungcheol breathes, and Jihoon looks up to see an abhorred expression across his features. “Were Gyu and I ever this bad, man? If so, I would like to apologize. Repeatedly.”

 

That startles a chuckle out of the sound mage. “Don’t worry about it. In fact, you were tamer than most. It’s kind of why I didn’t leave the first week into the trip.”

 

“Good,” Seungcheol sighs, relieved. “And just as a prior notice- if I ever go in that direction again, I fully allow you to punch me.”

 

And this time, Jihoon laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

As the day goes on, they fall into rhythm.

 

Jihoon works from house to house, using his wind magic to clean up anything wrecked or fallen, bringing it to the center of the village every time. Seungcheol always waits for him, setting flames to any particular stubborn timbers, exchanging words and laughter like they’ve been doing this for years.

 

In a way, Jihoon’s glad for it. He can’t exactly recall the last time he’s done something like this. 

 

Then, on his way back to the fire from another trip, he notices movement out of the corner of his eye.

 

It's the girl he saved from her house’s collapse again, standing there on the edge of the street. She’s not alone, accompanied by a few other ladies, all of them whispering to each other, eyes locked on him.

 

Jihoon slows his pace. “Uh. Greetings?”

 

At that, the particular girl is jostled forward by her friends, each of them hissing into her ear, and he catches mutterings like “Come on!” and “You don’t know if you don’t try, darling!”

 

She waddles forth, looking like she’d rather sink into the ground than approach. “U-Um, God of Music-ssi?”

 

He inclines his head at her, noticing that in one of her wringing hands is a slightly wrinkled envelope. “Yes?”

 

All is silent for a couple seconds. Then, she turns the color of a tomato as she stammers, “I-I apologize if I’m being too forward, or if I’m making you uncomfortable, but you saved my life- our lives- and I wanted to-”

 

Then, the envelope is shoved- a bit violently- into his chest, a small hand-drawn heart peeking out from between the folds.

 

“Ask you to dinner!” the girl finally yells, two octaves too high.

 

Another pause. The other ladies have their hands pressed over their hearts, expressions a myriad of proud and downright giddy.

 

Jihoon swallows. “Err…”

 

“We don’t have to do anything else!” the girl prattles on. “I-I’m not asking for much! But you’re- well, you’re handsome and charming and- oh, I have never done something like this before, what am I even doing-?!”

 

And something in Jihoon’s chest melts a little bit.

 

He reaches up, and closes his hand over the envelope.

 

The girl immediately cuts herself off, looking up at him with wide eyes.

 

“Thank you,” Jihoon replies. “That’s very sweet of you. I appreciate that you see me this way.”

 

He inhales. “But I cannot accept this.”

 

Though he looks away and holds the envelope back out to her, he’s still aware of the gradual way her face falls. “My heart is…already spoken for.”

 

A hush falls.

 

The girl repeats, disheartened, “Your heart…?”

 

Jihoon nods, then steps back, giving a bow, answering simply, “Yes.”

 

“I…see,” the girl responds, softly. Slowly, she reclaims her invitation. 

 

Behind her, the whispers increase.

 

“He’s taken?!” one woman exclaims.

 

Her friend elbows her. “It’d be stranger if he wasn’t taken, honestly!”

 

“Oh, who’s the lucky woman-”

 

“Jihoon?”

 

Jihoon looks up. Seungcheol’s standing a ways away, concern in his expression. He must have just shown up. “You alright?”

 

Before he responds, Jihoon turns to the girl one more time to see her retreat, dipping her head furtively. 

 

“I should- be on my way-”

 

Jihoon watches as she returns to the rest of her friends, all of them instantly scampering off, subsequently noticing the disappointment on many of their faces.

 

At the same time, his leader walks up. “Was wondering what was taking you so long. Were they bothering you?”

 

“No.” Jihoon shakes his head. “It was actually…kind of the opposite.”

 

He takes one more glance at where the throng of women round the corner. “I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings too badly.”

 

“Hurt her feelings?” Seungcheol parrots, then it hits him. “Ohhh.”

 

He grins almost lecherously. “You’ve got high standards of romance, huh?”

 

Jihoon lets loose a huff. “That’s not it.”

 

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Not it?”

 

Jihoon shrugs, gesturing to will his stack of floating debris behind him forward again. “I don’t particularly care for it.”

 

And that’s when he feels Seungcheol falter a little in his steps, casting him a glance that seems filled with a multitude of questions, his brows furrowed.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t stop, and as he walks, his hand strays to his locket under his clothes again, thumb stroking across it like an afterthought.

 

…

 

Near midday, they run into a more pressing issue.

 

The second floor of one of the village storage towers gives way at last, its damaged beams splintering with a deafening crack. The entire structure begins to collapse, villagers shouting in panic as they scramble to get clear.  

 

The whole structure begins to come down, villagers panickedly hollering for each other to get out of the way.

 

In the next heartbeat, Seungcheol is already beneath it, flaming armor blazing as he plants his feet and braces, straining to hold the weight aloft. 

 

Jihoon sprints to his side without hesitation, wind surging at his command to lighten the crushing load, the two of them nodding at one another.

 

Then-

 

“The silo!” The lightning mage shouts. “It’s got a hole- the grain’s spilling out!”

 

Jihoon cranes his neck up, seeing the golden stream spilling out through a jagged rupture, kernels upon kernels, his mind whirling.

 

What should he do? Stop the flow itself, or wait for backup? They probably won’t be able to find enough people to stop the tower from falling altogether, but at the same time, they might lose all the grain at once-

 

Then, a voice. 

 

“Here!” Wonwoo rushes in, Mingyu right behind him, holding up what looks like a canteen, waving it in the air. “Use this!”

 

Jihoon blinks at him, sweat dripping down his face. “How does it-?”

 

“It’s a sealant!” With a grunt, Wonwoo pries the lid off, revealing a liquid of muted brown on the inside, bubbling and fizzling. “It dries quickly- it just needs to get up there, somehow- my automaton’s still out of commission, or else I would do it-”

 

“I can do it-” Mingyu cuts in. “I’ll climb-”

 

“Way too unsteady, Gyu, you might fall!” Wonwoo shoots back.

 

A race against time. Jihoon hears the lightning mage calling for her earth mage partner, perhaps to make a bridge of some sorts.

 

But his brain, wracking through solutions, goes right to the one he knows will always work.

 

With a deep breath, he steels himself, and uses a spell he hasn’t used in the longest time.

 

The volume of a foghorn. Of a beast’s roar.

 

“CHAN! WE NEED YOU, NOW!”

 

The sound shakes the air, rattling shingles and silencing the panicked babble of villagers in the square. 

 

For a brief instant, all is still- then sparks flicker six feet to Jihoon’s left, blooming like firecrackers mid-air.

 

They collapse inward, and Chan is there, stumbling onto the cobblestones with knives half-drawn, eyes wide.

 

“Hyung?!” His chest heaves as he meets eyes with Jihoon, before whipping around to read the rest of the scene instantly- the sagging tower, Seungcheol straining, the river of grain still pouring from the silo.

 

And Jihoon knows that he discovers what’s happening, right there in the next millisecond.

 

“Chan!” Wonwoo raises the canteen higher, and he doesn’t have to say one more thing.

 

Because Chan’s warping again, this time right in front of the bespectacled man, snatching the container right out of his hand.

 

He pivots, a complete one-hundred-eighty degree turn, and disappears into another cloud of sparks, his hair fanning out for the briefest of moments.

 

Then Jihoon looks up, already knowing where his dongsaeng will be.

 

And Chan is there.

 

Back pressed against the shuddering frame, boots slipping against loose planks, he balances himself on the uneven platform, eyeing the jagged tear in the silo with nothing but determination. A fresh surge of grain spills out around him in golden waves, pelting against his knees. 

 

“Hold steady!” he yells downwards, possibly to the tower, or the team below, Jihoon can’t tell.

 

Then he presses himself tighter to the wood, and hurls the canteen outward in an arc, flinging the first arc of sealant against the breach. It splatters, hissing, foaming, and for one terrible second, it looks like nothing will take.

 

Then the goo hardens in an instant, clinging tight, steam jetting as it begins to fuse to the silo’s surface.

 

“Again!” Seungcheol bellows from below, straining under the weight of the collapsing beam.

 

Chan grabs for another handful, steadying himself, and throws the rest against the seam with a guttural shout. The foam swells, smoldering where it contacts steel and stone, and this time, when it hardens, the stream cuts off.

 

This time, entirely.

 

For a pause, there’s only silence.

 

Then, cheers echo through the entire square.

 

Chan lets out a ragged laugh under his breath. His chest heaves, arms shaking, but he looks down at Jihoon, beaming brightly.

 

“I did it, hyung!”

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon replies breathlessly. “You did.”

 

Then, he and Seungcheol finally guide the collapsed structure down.

 

What would have been an earth-shaking collapse instead lands in a contained slump, dust puffing up gently instead of crushing rubble.

 

The villagers send up another cheer, clapping, yelling praise echoing for miles.

 

But then, there’s also awe.

 

“Did you see that kid?”

 

“Warp magic, was it?”

 

“He was so fast- patched it up so much quicker than I could’ve.”

 

“Didn’t he come here with the God of Music?”

 

“He’s young-looking, but he looks so strong!”

 

Jihoon feels something ease in his chest. A smile twitches at his lips.

 

Finally. They’re noticing his dongsaeng too.

 

Exactly what Chan has always deserved.

 

Then, the warp mage jumps down and scrambles to their side, and Seungcheol claps him on the back so hard the boy nearly topples. 

 

Jihoon squeezes his shoulder. “Well done.”

 

That earns him a full-body Chan tackle.

 

…

 

By the time they finish work and eat a filling lunch, it’s an hour after noon, and Jihoon makes his way back to the spare bedroom, food heavy in his stomach, his eyes even heavier.

 

The events after the silo rescue were kind of a blur, but he remembers praising Wonwoo briefly for the save, and something or other about being impressed by how fast the inventor’s brain worked.

 

The bespectacled man just shrugged it off.

 

Damn, Jihoon thinks to himself. He’s a lot like me, isn’t he?

 

Then, he’s sitting on the mattress, and the drowsiness hits tenfold.

 

It’s no surprise, he realizes as he yawns. He’s been pushing it all morning without stopping for breaks.

 

He still manages to pull the blanket over himself as he lies down, keeping it flush to his chin. For a moment, he watches the dust motes drift along in the air, before his eyes finally close on their own, sleep descending like a cloud.

 

And, for once during the daytime, he dreams.

 

…

 

“Gods, I just can’t believe it!” Soonyoung laughs, throwing his head back. “You, already a teacher!”

 

Jihoon rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the side, but keeping a grip on his lover’s shirt before he could keel off the shingles they’re sitting upon. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s more, like, I don’t know. Just…mentoring, or something.”

 

“Yeah, that's basically teaching.” Soonyoung elbows him right back. “And I’m just surprised, Jihoonie. It’s the fact that that kid could’ve just stuck with his track- but decided to learn from you. Another mage learning sound magic. That’s why I’m having such a hard time wrapping my head around it!”

 

“Well,” Jihoon shrugs. “Hansol…he…seemed determined. And he told me he wanted to apply it to his ice magic. Said it seemed like it could be useful.”

 

He still can remember how the boy, only a year older than Chan, craned his head up at him, holding up Jihoon’s old zither and asking him to show him everything.

 

“And he’s like one of the top students in his grade, a brainiac of sorts,” Soonyoung drawls. “What a little rebel.”

 

Jihoon chuckles. “Aren’t we all.”

 

A comfortable silence passes.

 

Then, “That kid’s getting close to Channie, though, by the way.”

 

Jihoon raises a brow. “Oh, really?”

 

“Yup. Saw them playing tag the other day.” Soonyoung reaches over, idly playing with Jihoon’s fingers. “And he looked happier than I’ve ever seen him before. I mean, Hansol couldn’t even touch him. His warps are nearing battle-level. It was insane to watch.”

 

“That’s good,” Jihoon murmurs. “Chan should be proud.”

 

“You know he is,” Soonyoung grins.

 

They remain there on the rooftop for a few more minutes, legs swinging over the edge in tandem.

 

Then, the distant sound of a ringing bell.

 

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit! That’s the bell, isn’t it? For the dance!”

 

“Yeah, pretty sure it is,” Jihoon answers, oblivious, until Soonyoung suddenly stands, hands clamping around his arm and dragging him up. “Whoa- Soon, what are you doing?”

 

“Didn’t we talk about this?” His lover’s eyes are blazing now, absolutely shining. “We said we’d go!”

 

“I thought you were kidding-”

 

“I never kid about stuff like this!”

 

Then Soonyoung’s planting a kiss on Jihoon’s cheek, before crouching down, fur blossoming across his back instantly. “Now hang on! We’re not gonna be late to this, not if I’ve got something to say about it!”

 

“Soon,” Jihoon says, trying to sound admonishing, but he ends up laughing, feeling the familiar swoop in his stomach as tiger Soonyoung emerges, leaping down into the nearby alleyway, the sound mage clinging to him with handholds in his fur. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

 

Golden feline eyes glance back to him, sharp fangs opening into a wild grin. “And you love me for it!”

 

Jihoon lowers his face to the warmth of the other’s pelt, closing his eyes momentarily as he breathes in the rush of the breeze as they run as one through the streets. “...Yeah. I do.”

 

They arrive at the square with seconds to spare, a russet-orange splash against the lamplight, and nearby villagers rear back at the sight.

 

“It’s those two strange children again!” one man yells, exasperated while another one sends up a cheer. “Some of the brightest mages of our youth!”

 

Jihoon slides off the beast’s back, and turns around to feel Soonyoung’s hand already in his, dragging him to the center of the crowd unrelentingly.

 

“Soon-”

 

“I know, I know.” His lover looks back at him again. “Just keep your eyes on me, Jihoonie. It’ll be fine.”

 

Then they’re right in the middle, facing one another, Jihoon’s hands on Soonyoung’s shoulder, Soonyoung’s hands curled around his waist, as the music begins.

 

Fiddles rasp with sweet, weathered voices, drums thump like heartbeats, and the gentle wail of a flute weaves through the air like a breeze rustling autumn leaves.

 

And Jihoon, who once thought he would never dare, dances.

 

Dances with Soonyoung under the sea of stars, spinning around and around, their footsteps in sync, eyes on one another like they’re the only other thing they could see.

 

A step there and another step there, then Soonyoung’s reaching out, curling a lock of Jihoon’s hair over his ear.

 

“You wanna know something?”

 

“Know what?” Jihoon inquires.

 

Soonyoung leans in, letting their foreheads brush. “You’re beautiful.”

 

Something breaks loose in Jihoon’s chest, and he reaches up, twining his fingers together around Soonyoung’s nape, keeping them close. “...So are you.”

 

Soonyoung smiles, radiant as the sun.

 

They kiss, lips joined together, swaying to the beat without a single break in stride.

 

Then Jihoon rests his head on the other’s chest, closing his eyes, losing himself in it all.

 

And he doesn’t doubt, not even for a second, that this is home.

 

…

 

When Jihoon wakes again, the sun is low in the sky, casting pinks and oranges across the horizon.

 

For a moment, he sits there in bed, brushing away the wetness that’s gathered on his cheeks.

 

Then, he looks down, and wonders when exactly did he move.

 

Because the guitar’s in his lap now, lying there in his hands.

 

Perhaps he called for it with his wind, a gust guiding it to his grip in his sleep. Or perhaps he was already half awake, standing up to reach for it before sitting back down on the mattress.

 

Either way, it’s here now.

 

Swallowing, he looks outside, upwards, where the first pinpricks of light can be seen.

 

Are you watching me, Soon? 

 

Then, his hand settles against the strings, and he breathes out, quiet as falling snow.

 

And, when he thinks about the first chord-

 

It finally comes.

 

No wall stops it. No chill runs down the length of his spine.

 

There’s only the minor swelling of a lump in the back of his throat.

 

The thrum of the C key echoes through the space, rich and resonant, reverberating as loud and steady as the beat inside his chest.

 

For a moment, Jihoon can only sit frozen, staring down at the strings. Then, his lips part, trembling, a half-formed smile breaking free, his eyes stinging all over again.

 

It’s real. It wasn’t just a fluke, not just a last minute resort in battle.

 

He really can play again.

 

His fingers hover in hesitation for a moment. Then, muscle memory takes over.

 

G. Then D. Then A minor. 

 

Jihoon doesn’t think about it. He just moves, eyes closed, letting every sound tumble quietly into the room. 

 

With each strum, the weight in his chest eases a fraction. His shoulders, which had been stiff since he woke, slowly loosen. His breath finds its rhythm with the vibrations, steadier now, steadier each time the strings hum beneath his fingertips.

 

He shifts again, letting his hands find an old, half-remembered melody, not polished enough to call a song. Just fragments, a sketch of sound. Faint, fragile, but growing.

 

Then, the creak of a floorboard, just from beyond the door.

 

Jihoon’s fingers pause, and he inclines his head.

 

“...Is someone there? Come in.”

 

Then, the handle turns.

 

And Jeonghan, quietly, gently, steps through.

 

“Wow, Cheollie’s right,” he murmurs. “Your ears really are sharp.”

 

Jihoon, who hasn’t expected it to be him of all people, stiffens for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to relax. “...Yeah. I’m always on high alert, I guess.”

 

“And it’s not a bad thing.” Jeonghan nods. “But if you’re doing it all the time, well…”

 

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Not so much.”

 

Then, he gives Jihoon his full attention, expression soft. “May I sit?”

 

Jihoon hesitates for only an instant, before he nods, scooting up the mattress to leave more room.

 

Jeonghan sits on the other end, bed dipping ever so slightly under his weight. Then, he gazes back up at the other, expression steady, but with the slightest tinge of interest.

 

“Will you…play some more?”

 

And in that moment, Jihoon realizes something new about himself.  

 

His hand finds the guitar again without hesitation, because Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t weigh him down.  

 

It feels lighter somehow, as if it’s easier to be seen by someone who still feels like a stranger, rather than by those who know him best.  

 

The complete opposite of before.

 

And he plays once more.

 

G, D, and A minor again.

 

Then, more fluidly.

 

The sketch, little by little, becoming a painting.

 

An arpeggio, each tone stirring the silence, blending minor to major shifts. 

 

Jeonghan watches, seemingly entranced, before his eyes drift shut. Then, as the music fills the room, his body begins to move.

 

Rocking, side to side, with the melody.

 

Jihoon studies him a while longer, before closing his own eyes once more. His hands begin to move on their own accord, guided by, perhaps, something deep within.

 

Then, he lets himself drift. To a place where the notes don’t ring as loud anymore. To a point where they seem to tangle with the air itself. 

 

And finally, after what he thinks is about five minutes of an inconsistent tune, he lets the chords trail off.

 

Then, he opens his eyes, and finds Jeonghan offering a quiet applause.

 

For a moment, Jihoon waits for the inevitable words to follow. Praise, maybe. Flattery. Something he’s heard too many times before- That was incredible, or As expected of you.

 

But Jeonghan doesn’t reach for any of those.

 

He tilts his head and simply asks, “When did you learn to play?”

 

Jihoon feels his stomach uncoil.

 

“Well, when I was five…” he begins. “This traveling band came to my hometown. I think I've gotten hooked on it since then.”

 

Setting his guitar to the side, he continues. “So I started making my own instruments. Just spent hours carving wood, making something worth playable.”

 

He smirks. “Sometimes I ended up getting splinters.”

 

Jeonghan huffs out a laugh. “...I think that’s amazing.”

 

And that- that disarms Jihoon, and he goes still.

 

He’s not sure if he’s ever heard anything sound so genuine.

 

“...Thank you,” he breathes.

 

Jeonghan dips his head, then stands.

 

“Alright. I need to get started on dinner.”

 

He brushes his hands against his thighs, before gesturing to Jihoon. “Are you coming to the square?”

 

“Oh, um-” Jihoon blinks, before nodding. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

 

“Right.” Jeonghan nods back. “Then I’ll save you a plate. See you then?”

 

Jihoon can’t help but quirk his lip, almost shy. “Yeah, see you then.”

 

…

 

The square is alive with low chatter and the crackle of flames.

 

Jihoon seats himself near the community bonfire, a strip of spiced meat skewered on a stick, savoring it bite by bite. Chan absolutely demolishes his portion beside him, face flushed, grin wide, grease unwiped at the corners of his lips. “Hyung, this is so good!”

 

“Channie,” Jihoon chides. “You’re getting yourself all messy.”

 

His dongsaeng bats away his hand as he tries to use a wipe to clean his cheek. “No point if I’m just gonna have more!”

 

He beams. “Because I am gonna have more!”

 

Then he warps, appearing at the grill to snag another skewer, sending the nearby villagers into an eruption of laughter.

 

Jihoon rolls his eyes, before turning his attention to Seungcheol, who sits across from him, arm around Jeonghan’s waist, head on his shoulder.

 

Jeonghan turns to wipe something from his cheek, and Seungcheol lets loose a bashful grin, looking less like team leader and more like a lovesick puppy.

 

Now Jihoon gets it. It’s so cute that it’s almost disgusting.

 

He watches as Chan does a few warp tricks with the children, side-along teleporting them each a few feet back and forth, watching them laugh and clap, before getting up to use the washroom.

 

The din’s volume fades as he steps away, strolling towards the building where Seungcheol’s directed him earlier that morning, nodding politely to some villagers who squeal to themselves as he passes.

 

He reaches out for the handle, ready to go inside, when he hears it.

 

“Let’s not talk about this right now, Mingyu.”

 

“When, then? Because I know for a fact you’re being weird, hyung!”

 

Jihoon freezes, his head lifting.

 

Then, he’s walking, quietly as he can, before bracing himself against the wall, just next to the bend where he hears those two voices he definitely knows.

 

“Why won’t you just explain to me what’s going on with you?” Mingyu demands. “We were fine when I came back, but now you’re all- I don’t know, moody! Jumpy! And only with me! Do you-"

 

He seems to choke on the words a little. "-hate me, or something?”

 

“I gave you a new satchel, didn’t I?” Wonwoo fires back. “Why do you think I hate you?”

 

“Well, I don’t know- you’re just acting like it!” Mingyu’s voice turns reedy. “Just please tell me it, I’m not going to wait around until you-”

 

“Can’t you just feel it yourself?” Wonwoo snaps.

 

A pause.

 

Mingyu shakily inhales. “I-”

 

“I know you were going to tell me you like me,” Wonwoo suddenly says.

 

Silence.

 

Jihoon’s eyes widen.

 

Mingyu doesn’t utter one word. It’s like he suddenly can’t.

 

“And I’m going to tell you something.” Wonwoo’s voice turns steely. “You don’t know what you feel at all, Kim Mingyu.”

 

“What…?” the empath replies, voice soft. “What do you mean by that-”

 

“Exactly what I said,” Wonwoo retorts. “You don’t know your own heart. How can you feel when you’ve been feeling everyone else’s emotions for years? How can you make sure that you’re completely detached?”

 

Mingyu audibly swallows. “Wonwoo-”

 

“You don’t.” The inventor’s tone is final. “You don’t know.”

 

Jihoon’s hands turn to fists at his sides, his heart pounding into his throat.

 

Then-

 

“Just…leave me alone, Mingyu.” Wonwoo’s voice is cold. “Right now, just leave me alone.”

 

For a few devastating seconds, there’s nothing.

 

Then, the skid of shoes against gravel, and Mingyu’s quiet, broken tone. “...Okay.”

 

The next breath, he’s walking past Jihoon.

 

Not stopping, with tears like waterfalls down his cheeks, his eyes pointed down towards the dirt.

 

“Gyu-” Jihoon starts, reaching out, but the empath steps away too quickly, hunched over as he flees into the night, clothes billowing behind him, the sound of his sniffling piercing the air.

 

Jihoon turns back around, lump in his throat and words on his tongue, words of questioning, words of anger, words of incredulity because he has never seen Mingyu cry that hard, and he doesn’t intend to, never again-

 

When he catches the glimmer on Wonwoo’s cheeks as well, there in the darkness.

 

When he hears Wonwoo’s own sniffle, quieter than a whisper, and when he sees the bespectacled man raise his glasses with one trembling hand, wiping at his face with an elbow.

 

And realizes in that instant, that this took a turn he couldn’t quite predict.

 

And that there are many things that still need to be said.

Notes:

Ooooh drama~!!!

Finally, the Minwon is cooking in the pot 🔥

I hope you all enjoyed! I'll see you next chapter!

Chapter 16: The Magicless and Magical

Summary:

Then, Soonyoung places a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder, and Jihoon chooses that moment to activate his heightened hearing, just in time to hear Seokmin whisper, “I just want to do my best…to make sure this never happens again.”

 

Soonyoung closes his eyes, and nods to himself, squeezing the other’s shoulder tighter.

 

“...The same goes for all of us.”

 

A universal vow, Jihoon recognizes.

 

One that both magical and magicless can agree on.

Notes:

Magical status, in Jihoon's opinion, doesn't define a person. <3

Please enjoy this chapter that focuses on Mingyu's and Wonwoo's relationship!!!

The first wave of infected hit just before dawn.

 

By the time most of the mage students were up, the second wave hit.

 

When it was all over, there were over a few dozen casualties. Men, women, even a few children. Now all lying in the infirmary, even spilling out in tents around it. 

 

And by midday, every mage student in the senior class stands in the village square.

 

“First, it is my deepest apologies to cut your studies short,” the village leader announces. “But we believe that the stakes have risen to the point where we need all the numbers at our disposal. There are too many infected these days, and we must act diligently. Consider these your internships. Your first days out in the field as true mages with supervision.”

 

Jihoon, hair combed, hands clasped behind his straight back, can’t resist turning his head a little bit, meeting Soonyoung’s eyes over a row of their classmates’ shoulders.

 

“For our first task, we will be assigning you each into one of our squadrons. These ten squads will each be led by one of our top students. There will be a total of four in each, including the leader. Listen up for your name- we will only be going through this list once.”

 

Assignments.

 

Jihoon meets eyes with Soonyoung again, his breath short. 

 

No. That means they most likely would get separated. The chance is too great.

 

Jihoon will not allow that.

 

The names are being called. One by one, the students step up, learn the name of their team leader, then walk off to join them. 

 

The atmosphere is stiff, solemn. Mechanical.

 

It only strengthens Jihoon’s resolve.

 

“Lee Jihoon,” the village leader announces, and the mentioned student steps forward. “Wind mage. As well as a sound mage, apparently. You will be joining Wen Junhui’s squadron-”

 

“Will Soonyoung be there?” Jihoon interrupts.

 

The square goes quiet.

 

The leader raises a brow. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Kwon Soonyoung,” Jihoon repeats. “Is he on my team?”

 

Murmurs.

 

The village leader looks back at the vice leader, before gazing down at the scroll with a clearing of his throat.

 

At the same time, Jihoon turns his head back to find Soonyoung in the crowd.

 

His lover hasn’t broken position, still standing at attention. But his eyes meet Jihoon’s glimmering, his chest rising up and down a little faster.

 

Nothing made sense until I met you, Jihoon thinks. And it still doesn’t make sense. But I’d rather brace this chaos with you than stand alone in it.

 

Then he turns back, at the same time the village leader clears his throat again, and declares, “No. He is not in your group, he is on-”

 

“I want him on my team,” Jihoon states.

 

Gasps this time. Some of the already assigned mages start whispering to one another.

 

The village leader grows a knot of tension in his jaw.

 

“Young man, you really think you can defy-”

 

“I’m not just any young man, and you know it,” Jihoon says lowly.

 

The air seems to seep out of the space right in between them.

 

The village leader’s face goes a little pale.

 

Jihoon steps in, closer, until they’re almost chest to chest.

 

“You were there at the examination, with the council. You saw what I can do. You saw what Soonyoung can do, as well.”

 

The older man doesn’t reply.

 

Jihoon leans in, eyes blazing only half an inch from his. “And even after. Two hundred infected in two weeks, just the two of us. Hunting expeditions, we bring in over half the stock. Biweekly tournaments, we haven’t lost since three months ago. Music and shapeshifting make quite a combination, it seems.”

 

“Factual,” the leader tries to sneer.

 

“Which makes it undeniable,” Jihoon responds.

 

More gasps.

 

Jihoon catches a glimpse of Junhui, who smirks a little, pride in his eyes.

 

He turns his attention back onto the village leader, the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

 

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” the leader warns, though his voice is paper-thin. “It won’t do you good.”

 

“It’s not called being full of oneself,” Jihoon counters. “When they know who they’re strongest with.”

 

No sounds follow except for the chittering birds in the trees.

 

The village leader glares down at Jihoon for a moment longer.

 

Jihoon raises his chin, meeting that gaze head on.

 

Then, the old man sighs. “...So be it.”

 

He gestures to the line of squad leaders. “You’ll have your wish. Go stand with your group.”

 

“Thank you.” Jihoon bows, then obeys, lips twitching with the restrained effort not to smile. 

 

Junhui nudges at him knowingly, still grinning.

 

“Kwon Soonyoung,” the village leader continues. “You’re switching squads at Lee Jihoon’s request. You’re with Wen Junhui as commander now.”

 

Soonyoung bows as well, nodding. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

And when he approaches Jihoon and Junhui, his cheeks are flushed, eyes wide.

 

“Gods- Jihoon, you did not just do that.”

 

“But I did.”

 

Soonyoung lets out an incredulous chuckle. “Why?”

 

Jihoon reaches out to hold his face, pressing them together. “Because you’re my partner.”

 

He leans their foreheads together. “And I’m not going to be someone wondering when you’ll be back from a fight. I’m going to be right there with you.”

 

His eyes close. “We fight together. Die together.”

 

His voice hushes. “Understand?”

 

He hears Soonyoung swallow, just barely audibly, then his hand comes over Jihoon’s from where it rests on his cheek.

 

“Yeah. I hear you, Jihoonie.”

 

Jihoon then presses their lips together, thumbs stroking across Soonyoung’s jaw.

 

Junhui crosses his arms as they part, smiling warmly at both of them. “Want to know something that’s been going around the past few days?”

 

Soonyoung nuzzles Jihoon’s nose with his own before pulling away, wrapping their hands together to keep them close as he turns to the ward mage. “What?”

 

“They’ve been calling you the God of Beasts-” Junhui nods to Soonyoung, before tilting his head towards Jihoon. “And you, the God of Music.”

 

They both blink at him.

 

“Huh? Who?” Jihoon asks.

 

Junhui shrugs. “All of our classmates. A few of the youngsters as well. Even some of the adults.”

 

“Seriously?” Soonyoung adds, his grin appearing and widening. “Those have nice rings to them.”

 

“That’s kind of dumb,” Jihoon says, meanwhile.

 

Both of them turn to him, Junhui with raised brows, Soonyoung with jaw dropped.

 

“What?” the latter exclaims. “You don’t like it?”

 

“I’m not a God, I’m a teenager with a magic guitar,” Jihoon continues. “They shouldn’t exaggerate things like these.”

 

“Of course, you're being humble,” Junhui comments, while Soonyoung crowds in, pouting in Jihoon’s eyesight.

 

“Jihoonie, you don’t get it. They think you’re incredible.”

 

“So?” Jihoon shoots back.

 

Soonyoung beams. “They see what I see.”

 

Instantly, Jihoon feels his face turn pink. “...Shut up.”

 

“Typical Jihoon. Can stand up to our village leader without blinking, but folds with a single compliment from his dear Soonyoung,” Junhui teases.

 

“You shut up too, Jun.”

 

The final member of their squad is called, a water mage they’ve only spoken to in passing, and with that, the ceremony concludes.

 

And waiting for them in an alley next to the village square- Chan and Hansol.

 

“I heard what happened!” The warp mage rushes forward, taking Jihoon’s hands into his own giddily. “You three in the same team, because you fought for it!”

 

“Well…” Jihoon scratches at his cheek. “More like coerced, but sure.”

 

“It was a good call.” Hansol nods, expression cool as usual. “All of you have unique talents.”

 

Chan then groans. “I wish Hansol-hyung and I were on a squad.”

 

“No, you don’t.” Jihoon pokes him in the side. “You’re not ready. And it’s way too dangerous out there right now. You wouldn’t stand a chance, Chan.”

 

“Aish, Jihoonie.” Soonyoung nudges him, before putting his hands on Chan’s shoulders and crouching a little to put them eye to eye. “What he means is that he wants you to have smooth sailing when you’re a senior class mage like us. So just stay safe and focus on getting stronger, okay, Channie?”

 

Chan puffs out his chest, the encouragement fueling him. “Okay, hyung!”

 

Jihoon turns to Hansol as well. “That goes for you too.”

 

Hansol dips his head. “Understood, Jihoon-hyung.”

 

It’s so matter-of-fact, so Hansol-like as Jihoon had come to know over the past few months of tutoring him, that he can’t help but reach out and rub the ice mage’s hair fondly. “Thanks for listening.”

 

Then, Junhui speaks up, eyes surveying the group. “Hey, where’s Seokmin?”

 

Chan and Hansol exchange a look, before turning back to their elders.

 

“At the training grounds,” the youngest answers. “But he’s…kind of moody, right now.”

 

Jihoon and Soonyoung exchange a look of their own, already understanding half of why. 

 

“Let’s go see him anyways,” Soonyoung replies.

 

The training grounds are silent as they approach, almost barren. With the events of the morning, it’s clear that spirits and morale are low.

 

But there Seokmin is, running laps across the field. No bursts of magic, no spells, but his own two fists.

 

He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, and throws his first punch into a makeshift target, made of logs hammered into the dirt and wrapped in linen. 

 

The crack of it reverberates through the entire field.

 

His rhythm builds like a war drum: left, right, left, right. Each strike is followed by a grunt, air leaving his lungs in sharp bursts. Sweat sluices down his temples, dripping into his eyes, but he doesn’t lift a hand to wipe it away.

 

“He’s working so hard,” Junhui murmurs.

 

“Yeah,” Chan echoes.

 

“Maybe he’s trying to do double of what we do,” Hansol muses. “If only to make up for it all.”

 

Chan lets out a frustrated noise. “Why aren’t magicless allowed to fight too?”

 

No one answers him. Probably because they don't know how to.

 

As for Jihoon, he plants a hand on Soonyoung’s back, and pushes him forward.

 

The shapeshifter catches himself and looks back at him, perplexed. “What was that for?”

 

Jihoon juts his chin out to Seokmin, now practicing his kicks against the heads of the targets. “You should go. It’s gotta be you, Soon.”

 

His tone grows heavy. “You’re the only one who really knows how he feels.”

 

Soonyoung watches his lover’s face for a moment, before he nods. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

 

He walks up to the edge of the training field, hops the fence, and calls out the other’s name.

 

Seokmin instantly freezes, before turning to see him, raising a hand in greeting, wiping his other wrist across his brow.

 

The two begin to speak, but softly- so soft the words don’t drift. Slowly, Seokmin’s shoulders drop. He exhales longer this time. His arms uncross, fists no longer clenched. One step forward, not much, but enough. And Soonyoung mirrors it with a single nod, soft but certain.

 

The rest of the group watches from afar, silent.

 

Then, Soonyoung places a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder, and Jihoon chooses that moment to activate his heightened hearing, just in time to hear Seokmin whisper, “I just want to do my best…to make sure this never happens again.”

 

Soonyoung closes his eyes, and nods to himself, squeezing the other’s shoulder tighter.

 

“...The same goes for all of us.”

 

A universal vow, Jihoon recognizes.

 

One that both magical and magicless can agree on.

 

…

 

Seungcheol’s flaming fist makes a thunderous impact with his palm.

 

“I. Am going. To kill him.”

 

“No-” Jeonghan sidesteps in front of him, keeping his arms spread wide, keeping Wonwoo’s closed garage door blocked off. “There will be no killing, Cheol.”

 

“You saw what he did!” Seungcheol points to the room just past his lover’s ear. “Gyu could hardly breathe last night after all the crying! I couldn’t even get him to come out of his fucking room today- I swear, if you’re going to tell me to do nothing-"

 

“I’m not telling you to do nothing, I’m telling you to be calm-” Jeonghan retorts.

 

“I am calm!”

 

Standing away from them both, Jihoon and Chan look at each other.

 

The young warp mage, on top of looking like he might be sick, gazes at his elder with watery eyes. “What should we do, hyung?”

 

At first, Jihoon doesn’t respond, only watching as Seungcheol roars, “What right does Specs think he has?” to which Jeonghan responds, “Maybe this isn’t about rights!”

 

Then, he inhales, and turns around, ignoring Chan’s questioning chirp. “Just make sure Cheol-hyung doesn’t go in there. Wonwoo wouldn’t stand a chance against him right now.”

“Wait, hyung-” Chan starts, but Jihoon’s already striding up the stairs of the house, purposefully moving quickly as his mind whirls.

 

The dream he had last night…felt so real.

 

In fact, they’ve only gotten more vivid.

 

Jihoon won’t pretend to know why they are. Maybe it’s because he’s part of a team again, and his subconscious is acting up. Maybe it’s just bitter nostalgia.

 

All he knows is that when he woke up today, his chest hurt so much it felt like it was burning.

 

But no dwelling on that anymore. Jihoon’s wasted enough time thinking about it as it is.

 

He stops in front of one of the second floor doors, inhales, and knocks.

 

“...Mingyu? It’s me. Jihoon.”

There’s no answer. At least, Jihoon didn’t register anything regularly.

 

Taking another breath, he activates his heightened hearing and tries again. “Mingyu?”

 

Then, he catches it. Just a barely held back sniffle.

 

Jihoon’s heart cracks a little. “May I come in?”

Mingyu swallows softly, so softly that no other person would have detected it, before responding. “Yeah.”

 

Jihoon waits one beat, two beats, before turning the handle.

 

The guest bed looks like it lost a battle before Jihoon even entered the room. Sheets are twisted into knotted ropes, the blanket half‑slid off the frame but still wrapped stubbornly around its occupant. Mingyu’s limbs are buried somewhere inside the tangled cocoon of fabric, only a miserable tuft of hair and one foot sticking out. When he shifts, the whole mound of covers bunches tighter, as if he’s trying to weld himself to the mattress and keep the world locked out.

 

Jihoon holds himself back from letting out a half-fond chuckle, and closes the door gently behind him. Then, he approaches the bed, and, very carefully, reaches under the covers, finding his head, stroking his hair as softly as he can.

 

Straightaway, Mingyu stiffens, his shaky breath catching.

 

Jihoon continues what he’s doing, looking away, ignoring the bashful heat rising on his cheeks.

 

He knows as much as the next person how uncharacteristic this is of him.

 

But- still.

 

Jihoon lets his fingertips linger, combing gently through Mingyu’s dark strands. They drift slowly from crown to nape, sifting the locks apart as if he were untangling the heaviness knotted there.

 

As he works, he feels the tension shifting, bleeding from Mingyu’s body.

 

The room remains hushed, birds chirping by the window.

 

Then, Mingyu sits up.

 

He looks at Jihoon with eyes surging with gratitude, his entire face wet.

 

And then, he hugs him.

 

A full body slam, arms wrapping around him tight.

 

Jihoon’s breath leaves him for a moment, and he stays stone still, mind gripped in surprise.

 

Mingyu buries his nose into his shoulder, letting out one tiny whimper.

 

“...Don't let go.”

 

And Jihoon doesn’t.

 

He reaches up, and runs a hand down his back instead.

 

Mingyu lets out an exhale, and remains there, still trembling, but only slightly. 

 

Jihoon rests his chin on the other's head, and swallows.

 

“I know that this is probably not going to help, because everyone always says it.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t utter anything, but inclines his head.

 

“But…” Jihoon rubs a circle into his shoulder. “Take it from me, who’s seen a lot of shit. This, like any other thing, will pass.”

 

A pause.

 

Then, Mingyu weakly sputters. “Did you just cuss?”

 

Jihoon rolls his eyes at the sudden subject change. “Yeah, guess I did. Cheol-hyung’s rubbing off on me, I guess.”

 

“It’s funny,” Mingyu comments, smiling into Jihoon’s chest.

 

Tsking, Jihoon gives him two pats. “Yeah, yeah. Did you hear what I said?”

 

“Mhm,” the other mumbles.

 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

 

Mingyu then sighs. “Just…a lot.”

 

Jihoon lightly drums his fingers across his spine. “Tell me about one.”

 

Another lull.

 

Then, Mingyu breathes out. “You wanna know why I love being around Wonwoo-hyung?”

 

Jihoon breathes out with him. “Why?”

 

“...He’s so calm,” Mingyu replies. “So…collected. His emotions don’t burst out of him, like Cheol-hyung, like so many other people. They’re not explosions. They feel like…I don’t know, a steady river. Constantly flowing in and out of him. And I…felt so at peace with him, because…he felt at peace with me.”

 

He inhales. “Does that make sense?”

 

“Mm.” Jihoon nods. “Yes, it does.”

 

Mingyu hesitates, then continues on. “But…last night, it wasn’t a river.”

 

Jihoon tilts his head. “What was it like?”

 

“It was…” Mingyu gulps. “It was an ocean. But one in a hurricane. Stormy. Chaotic.”

 

His fists clench in Jihoon’s shirt. “...Screaming.”

 

Jihoon stays quiet, hands unmoving.

 

“And it- it wasn’t what he said,” Mingyu continues. “About- how I don’t know my own emotions or I don’t know what exactly I feel- that hurts the most. It’s the fact that-”

 

He makes a choked noise. “I’ve never felt that from him before. That sort of…pain. If that’s what I’ve been making him feel this whole time…”

 

Shaking his head, he buries his face deeper into Jihoon’s shoulder. “Then I should’ve- stepped away a long time ago. Left him alone. Stopped causing him so many problems.”

 

“Why do you assume you’re causing him problems?” Jihoon suddenly asks.

 

Mingyu goes quiet, like the question catches him by complete surprise. “I…uh…”

 

Jihoon leans back. “Look at me.”

 

He lifts the other’s chin until their eyes lock, brushing away a stray tear. 

 

Mingyu blinks up at him, before darting his gaze away, reluctant.

 

Jihoon studies him, thinking back to their first campfire talk, the very beginning of learning Mingyu’s magic.

 

He remembers the way Mingyu looked so reluctant when he talked about it, the way he held up his herbs like they were evidence instead of something to be proud of.

 

Then, he thinks back to their fight after the colossus and the striders, the way Mingyu hung his head when he revealed what his magic could really do.

 

Gods, Jihoon realizes, coming to a conclusion he should’ve had a long while ago, maybe even before all these adventures. I’ve found people just like me and Soonyoung.

 

And outwardly, he asks it.

 

“...Or do you think that it’s just a matter of fact- because everyone else tells you it?”

 

And Mingyu looks at him as if, for the slightest of instances, the waves have ebbed from the shore.

 

Then, a different kind of light starts to glint in his eyes. “I- I guess I never thought of it like that…before.”

 

He clenches his jaw. “I think I always hear their voices in my head, and never my own.”

 

“And were any of those voices Wonwoo’s?” Jihoon asks.

 

A pause.

 

Mingyu shakes his head. “...No.”

 

His eyes, very slowly, begin to widen. “He…never said I was weird. Or creepy.”

 

Jihoon nods, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “And with your magic, it’s pretty easy to catch lies, isn’t it?”

 

Mingyu dips his head, brushing away a stray tear. “Yeah. Maybe too easy.”

 

“Then the peace you felt with Wonwoo was real,” Jihoon declares. 

 

He hears the other’s breath catch in his throat.

 

“He felt that way with you,” the sound mage adds. “Genuinely.”

 

“Then, why…?” Mingyu whispers. “Last night, why did that change?”

 

“I can’t say for sure,” Jihoon responds. “But my guess is- he realized something. Something that scared him.”

 

His hand grips Mingyu’s shoulder tightly. “And you did nothing to affect that. What happened wasn’t your fault. Maybe it was about you, but it wasn’t because of you.”

 

Mingyu is frozen for a second, expression unblinking.

 

Jihoon softens his tone. “Does that make sense?”

 

In the silence, he can almost feel the visceral way Mingyu breathes in, then out, a shudder throughout his entire body. The tension lifting from him like water evaporating from the earth.

 

“...Yeah. Yeah, I think I get it.”

 

Jihoon raises his hand, and delicately ruffles the other’s hair. “Good.”

 

Then, the sound of steps coming up the stairs from outside the door.

 

A few seconds later, the handle turns, and Seungcheol steps in, Jeonghan and Chan right behind him.

 

“Gyu?” the fire mage calls, expression frantic.

 

And Mingyu-

 

Mingyu quirks his lip. “Hey, hyung.”

 

Jihoon steps off the bed, out of the way just in time before Seungcheol barrels in, wrapping his empath best friend up in a very tight bear-hug.

 

“How you feeling? What did you and Jihoon talk about? You’re smiling again, thank fuck-”

 

“Ow, hyung, too tight-!”

 

Jeonghan steps forward, meeting Jihoon as the sound mage makes his way across the room to him. “What did you say to him?”

 

Jihoon shrugs, opening his arm for Chan to attach to his side, letting him cling. “Just tried to get him to look at things from a different point of view.”

 

“Huh.” Jeonghan studies him for a moment, but then, he gives a smile of his own. “Are you going to do the same for the other one?”

 

Jihoon nods. “That’s the idea.”

 

“Then don’t let us stop you.” Jeonghan steps aside. “Come on, Channie. Let’s tell Gyu some tall tales.”

 

Chan unsticks from Jihoon’s side resolutely. “Right!”

 

As they all crowd the bed and descend into lighthearted chaos, Jihoon walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click, before inhaling, one gulp of air to ground himself.

 

Then, he turns in the direction of his bedroom.

 

Time to talk to Wonwoo as well.

 

…

 

There’s no one in the garage.

 

Jihoon figured as much. With Seungcheol screaming up a tempest earlier, Wonwoo most definitely stepped out. Especially if he really is a wreck just like Mingyu was.

 

But it’s no matter.

 

Jihoon finds a chair, drags it next to the main one in front of the workbench, and sits down.

 

His hand goes to the strings of his guitar, strumming faintly, and he waits.

 

Five minutes. Ten minutes.

 

Jihoon keeps lazily strumming, eyes closed.

 

Then, a footstep.

 

He turns his head.

 

Wonwoo’s there in the open doorway, face covered in grease, hair in disarray, and a small crack in his glasses.

 

“...Jihoon-ssi.”

 

Jihoon gives a small jerk of his chin. “Wonwoo-ssi.”

 

“...What are you doing here?”

 

Jihoon cocks his head. “You said I was welcome anytime.”

 

A beat.

 

“I did say that,” Wonwoo eventually replies.

 

Then, he adjusts his glasses with a muted exhale, and takes the seat next to Jihoon.

 

He lifts a rucksack onto the workbench, and tips it over, gears of many sizes spilling out onto the scratched wood, clanging into one another.

 

As he works, Jihoon studies his profile, seeing the bag under his eye, the purse of his lips, the way his jaw seems permanently rooted in tension.

 

Then, after playing out one more half-melody, he asks, “What are you working on?”

 

Wonwoo’s movements stop just for a heartbeat, before continuing. “Just…fixing up my automaton. A few loose crews, lots of broken parts. Lots of boring stuff.”

 

And the way he says it brings back the image in Jihoon’s head.

 

Seokmin there in the ring, punching targets until his knuckles bleed.

 

The same exact kind of thought. Of not being enough.

 

“Tell me about it anyways,” Jihoon finds himself saying.

 

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment. Then, he takes a glance at Jihoon, his eyes searching as if trying to uncover any lie that may lurk there.

 

Then, “These are…drive gears.”

 

He points to two sturdy-looking circular disks. 

 

“They got stripped down during that last fight- worn out, so to speak. Without them, my automaton’s torso can’t rotate at all. And-”

 

He reaches to one of the drawers on his desk, pulling it open. “I’ve got replacements, but they need to be sized down. The teeth need to be meshed perfectly, or they’ll get sheared again.”

 

Wonwoo turns back to Jihoon. “Make sense?”

 

The sound mage takes a moment, finger tapping his chin, looking between the bespectacled man and the gears on the table, doing his best to piece it together.

 

After a few seconds, he nods. “Yeah. I get it. You wouldn’t be able to defend blind spots without these.”

 

He looks up at the inventor. “Right?”

 

Wonwoo looks back at him, saying nothing, but something glimmers behind his spectacles. As if he’s realizing, on a visceral level- something recognizable.

 

“...Yes.”

 

Jihoon gives a small smile. “Tell me more.”

 

And…Wonwoo does.

 

He rummages in his rucksack again, pulling out what looks like a bent hinge and a small hook, glistening with oil, setting both down on the bench beside the gears.

 

Then, setting his bag down, he takes both pieces, clicking the hook into the hinge.

 

“So these two things help keep the frame of my robot intact, kind of like its joints. Without them, the whole thing could seize or break under pressure.”

 

“Bending, then?” Jihoon leans in. “Without collapsing entirely?”

 

Wonwoo nods, more animatedly this time. “Yes.”

 

And it sounds more like an exclamation rather  than a rigid confirmation.

 

Then, they continue, just like that.

 

Wonwoo tells Jihoon about stabilizers, leather straps, plating, gyroscopic pieces, until the sound mage’s head spins with everything he had just learned.

 

But in the next moment, the question springs into his head, like a sprout pushing through the mashed-together education he received.

 

“Hang on.”

 

Wonwoo stops his lecture mid-sentence. “Hm?”

 

“Your automaton…” Jihoon thinks back to the invasion, the way the giant metal being stormed through enemy lines, thrumming like it was almost alive. “It runs on…magical energy, does it not?”

 

Immediately, he could see the inventor’s eyes darken. Jihoon can already see it, the way the other expects the comments.

 

But…you’re magicless. 

 

And Jihoon skirts right past that.

 

“Yet,” he guesses. “You found a way to harness it. Right?”

 

At that, Wonwoo’s mouth loosens, and for the first time, it’s clear- he’s surprised.

 

Very, very surprised.

 

He clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Erm. Yes. Yes, I have.”

 

Then, with jerky movements, he leans down and pulls another drawer open. “All of them are still outside with the machinery, but I have designs. I call them harvesters.”

 

“Harvesters?” Jihoon repeats.

 

Wonwoo nods, quicker than ever, and takes out several sheets of folded paper, unraveling each swiftly. “These were prototype diagrams, so a lot has changed, but the basics stay.”

 

Jihoon leans over his guitar for a better survey, noting the circles, squares, rectangles and other shapes, all of it almost looking like a very complex industrial cylinder.

 

“How does it work?”

 

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses before brushing his thumb along one of the sketched rings, tapping the faint lines radiating from its center.

 

“Well, as you know, everything around us- everything living- possesses magic, and gives it off. People, animals, plants.”

 

Jihoon dips his head. “That’s true.”

 

“It’s always seeping out of them,” Wonwoo adds. “Passively, like the warmth from a fire. Most mages don’t notice it because they make their own inside their bodies. And so, I thought, why not put that wasted magic to use?”

 

He points to the outer rim, tracing a spiral inward. “So I built this funnel. A set of sails, per se. Inspired off of- you know that magical artifact, Excalibur?”

 

Jihoon blinks, a bit taken aback. “The mythical Sword of Light? Forged by the mage known as King Arthur? One of the old heroes?”

 

This time, Wonwoo grins. By now, it’s clear that his eyes are glinting with pride. “Yes. I tried my best to improve the design based off of the legend, but I would say I’ve reached a level just below. Maybe equal.”

 

He lets out a sigh. “That sword is an incredible feat of engineering for being so old. Maybe it helps that King Arthur had that rare light magic to power it.”

 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jihoon cuts in.

 

They meet eyes again, both of their lips quirked.

 

“I suppose,” Wonwoo replies, shoulders loosening, before returning to the diagram. “And so- these sails guide the magic into a central chamber by way of runes that polarize their energy, so they align together. Then this energy builds because it can’t go anywhere, like water pressure behind a dam. Once there’s enough, I can open a valve.”

 

He gestures to a scrawled out channel on the third page. “This magical current then spins my drive gears, turning my automaton’s joints, bending arms, pumping the stabilizers.”

 

“Feeding the air itself back into motion, no mage needed,” Jihoon realizes out loud. 

 

“Precisely.”

 

And in the moment after that, Wonwoo looks back at him, chest rising and falling, eyes betraying just the barest breach of anxiety.

 

A cloud of silence falls over the garage, a few seconds at most.

 

And Jihoon thinks of the way Jeonghan looked at him after he played his guitar, that shine in his eyes as he said, I think that’s amazing.

 

In the end, he utters something far shorter and less eloquent. 

 

“...Wow.”

 

A laugh stumbles out of him. “You’re practically a genius.”

 

Like color spilling onto a canvas, Wonwoo’s cheeks flush into the hue of jam, and he scratches the back of his neck, turning his face away, abashed. “You’re…too kind.”

 

Jihoon raises a brow, finally leaning back in his own chair. “You weren’t expecting me to be?”

 

“Well…” The inventor returns the sketches to his drawer, pushing it shut. “It’s just…you know. You, and your reputation. I wanted to treat you fairly, but it wasn’t like the thought wasn’t there at all. I still thought you’d be more…pretentious.”

 

“Shallow,” Jihoon supplies.

 

Wonwoo, to his credit, winces. “That. Forgive me.”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jihoon says instantly.

 

Wonwoo gazes at him again, this time with both gratitude and curiosity. “Pardon me for asking but- were you…magicless? A late bloomer?”

 

He reaches for one of his drive gears, thumbs running over it as if using it to keep his hands busy.

 

“I don’t know, but… it’s like you get me. You really understand me, and not only at the surface level.”

 

In response, or maybe on instinct, Jihoon’s hands tighten a little on his guitar, and he lets out a wry chuckle. “No, no, I wasn’t magicless. I always had magic. But-”

 

He thinks of the fur of a tiger underneath his touch. Running his hands through soft hair. Soonyoung lying with his head on a pillow, looking up into Jihoon’s eyes, twining their hands tighter.

 

He thinks of Seokmin, the skin around his eyes scrunching as he laughed with the rest of them, the way the other bumped shoulders with Jihoon when they greeted one another.

 

“I knew people who were,” he finishes. 

 

A couple of seconds go by, then Jihoon knows for a fact that his voice got too hushed, because Wonwoo’s staring at him differently, lips loosening, possibly about to pose a question out of concern.

 

So Jihoon cuts him to it, and finally asks the question burning in the back of his throat.

 

“Why did you reject Mingyu?”

 

The color drains from Wonwoo’s face. His grip on the gear falters, the disk slipping from his fingers.

 

His eyes drop down to the bench, and they don’t raise.

 

Silence.

 

And Jihoon knows what he’s done. Knows that it must feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under Wonwoo’s feet without any warning.

 

But he’s known Mingyu for longer. 

 

Mingyu, the empath who manages the team’s emotions better than anybody else.

 

Jihoon can at least do this for him, and hope that the earlier conversation with Wonwoo bears fruit- for clarity.

 

Wonwoo inhales, and the sound mage doesn’t need his heightened hearing to sense the tremor in the action.

 

“Well…there’s…a multitude. Of reasons.”

 

“Then start with the first one that popped into your head,” Jihoon replies.

 

Wonwoo takes another deep, shuddering breath, and closes his eyes.

 

“Alright. I just…I just…find Mingyu…too much.”

 

A beat.

 

Jihoon prods. “Too much?”

 

Wonwoo’s shoulders raise, tension growing. “Yes. But not because he’s loud, or energetic, or sensitive.”

 

A knot grows in his jaw. “He’s too…warm.”

 

His hands curl into fists on his lap. “And he sees right through me.”

 

Another pause. 

 

Jihoon waits.

 

And Wonwoo unravels further.

 

“Because of his magic, he can always-” He inhales again. “See right through me. And I can’t stand it.”

 

Can’t stand it? 

 

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, but Wonwoo barrels onwards.

 

“I can’t stand how patient he is, how attentive he is, how- damn it- Mingyu he is! So that’s how I know-” 

 

The inventor practically grinds his teeth. “That his feelings for me are not real!”

 

Annoyance bubbles up in Jihoon instantly, lividity at the repeated dismissal. “How can you be so sure-”

 

“Because I have feelings for him!” Wonwoo spits.

 

The declaration rings out across the room, drowning out every other machine’s hum, and the anger in Jihoon’s heart.

 

“I have feelings for him,” Wonwoo chokes out. “Always have. Ever since he saw one of my first inventions and played with it for hours, ever since he laughed and told me to not give up on my dream.”

 

Jihoon keeps his grip on his guitar tight, unable to come up with a response.

 

Wonwoo meets his eyes again, the circles under them seeming to darken. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s clenching his workbench. 

 

“But I’m just a magicless engineer who can barely hold a conversation, and he’s a perfect mage who always knows what to say to anyone listening. To validate their feelings. Tell them what they want to hear.”

 

His hands begin to shake. “We are too different, Jihoon-ssi. In two separate worlds. That’s how I know.”

 

For a moment, Jihoon only stares, watching Wonwoo hunch over himself, messy hair falling in front of his eyes, as his mind pulls all of the pieces together.

 

Then, he whispers, “You think he pities you.”

 

Wonwoo doesn’t move, besides closing his eyes and breathing out once.

 

“You think,” Jihoon continues. “That your feelings have bled through to him. That he’s only faking liking you, even if accidentally- just to make you feel better.”

 

Wonwoo swallows. “Yes.”

 

“You’re wrong,” Jihoon hisses. “You are so wrong.”

 

Then, he reaches out, and grabs Wonwoo by the nearest shoulder.

 

The bespectacled man stiffens under the touch, but doesn’t move away.

 

“Do you want me to tell you why?” Jihoon murmurs.

 

Wonwoo gives no response.

 

But his eyes flicker up, lingering.

 

And Jihoon takes that as his sign.

 

“Are you aware of what a mimic is?”

 

A flash of recognition in the other’s gaze.

 

“A mimic? The beast that can cast illusions?”

 

Jihoon gives a hum of confirmation.

 

“We encountered one on our journey here. At the time, it was one of the most terrifying battles we had to face.”

 

He stops for a moment, letting it sink in, before uttering, “It tricked Mingyu, and took him captive.”

 

Wonwoo’s eyes widen instantly. “What? But- that’s impossible.”

 

He faces Jihoon fully, wringing his hands. “He should have felt the creature’s intent. He should have known it was coming, why didn’t he-”

 

“Because,” Jihoon interrupts. “The mimic used your voice.”

 

He hears the air leave Wonwoo’s throat, and pushes forward.

 

“Because it used your voice, and that’s all it took. He heard what he thought was you, and ran. And he did not care if Seungcheol-hyung or Chan or if I came to help. He did not care to wait.”

 

“But that’s- illogical,” Wonwoo breathes. “He always feels out for intent, for emotions first. That’s what he trained for!”

 

“Yet, at that moment, none of that mattered.” Jihoon keeps his voice unwavering. 

 

He recalls it, the way Mingyu sprinted and pressed his hand to the rune that would knock them all unconscious, the desperation on his face as he yelled at all of them to hurry.

 

“He forgot his training, he forgot what being a mage on a quest even was,” he adds. “Because losing you, in his head- and in his heart- wasn’t a damn option.”

 

And before him, Wonwoo appears the most vulnerable Jihoon’s seen. Unblinking, lips trembling, breathless. Broken open.

 

Jihoon leans in, pulling the other in closer, making sure for a fact that he can’t look away.

 

“He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate,” he hisses. “He moved, on instinct.”

 

Their eyes meet, one final, heart-pounding time.

 

“Call it what you will,” Jihoon concludes. “But that does not scream pity to me. Not even close.”

 

In the next few minutes, the room doesn’t breathe. There's only a faint ticking from the other machines, a subtle vibration underneath Jihoon's feet.

 

Wonwoo’s throat contracts once, sharply. “I…”

 

But Jihoon has found that he’s had enough. He’s delivered everything he had to say. 

 

And for once, he feels that familiar soldier weight settling over him. That wistfulness, wry and almost amused.

 

Love, he thinks. At its best, it’s absurd. At its worst, even more.

 

He pushes his chair back, and stands up.

 

Wonwoo watches him go, hand lifting outstretched, reluctant. “Jihoon-ssi?”

 

“Even if you shut it down last night,” the sound mage says. “The door’s not completely closed. Don’t waste your chance, alright?”

 

The inventor’s voice, when it comes, is low, abiding. “...Alright.”

 

Then, Jihoon leaves. 

 

He takes his guitar, turns the handle, and steps across the threshold back into the foyer. The faint scent of oil and metal falls away behind him.

 

Wonwoo doesn’t follow, doesn’t call him back.

 

The corners of Jihoon’s lips curve up.

 

It seems like he got through to him.

 

Leaning against the nearby wall, the sound mage lets out a long, heavy sigh.

 

He isn’t sure of the last time he’s been that confrontational, that adamant.

 

But maybe, some part of him just didn’t want it to end in nothing.

 

Not like how he did.

 

Closing his eyes, Jihoon rests his head back against the wood, and breathes out.

 

He just wants everyone to be happy.

 

Unconsciously, his thumb brushes over his pendant, as if sealing those words in a vow.

Notes:

I love all these characters so much T^T. Hope you all enjoyed, and stay tuned for the next chapter!

Chapter 17: The Journey Continuing

Summary:

Chan taps him on the shoulder. “Man, hyung, I’m starving! Want to get something to eat?”

Jihoon is just about to respond when out of the corner of his eye, Seungcheol stands, hand landing on Mingyu’s shoulder, expression grim.

“Before we do that,” he says, meeting their eyes. “I think…we should talk. The four of us.”

Notes:

Last chapter of this perfect village. The next, we're back to intensity <3

Hope you're excited! Have fun reading!

The light of the late-morning sun shines down through the village hall’s wide windows, illuminating the atrium. 

 

Having it is beautiful, bringing a sense of much-needed serenity after the chaos of the past few days.

 

But unfortunately, it is so blinding that Jihoon has to squint against the rays just to make out the features of the speaker at the center podium.

 

That is, until the attendant standing beside Jihoon’s table, a young man who looks no older than fourteen, stiffens and frantically scrambles about. “Oh, my apologies, God of Music-ssi, is the sun bothering you? Just one moment-”

 

Jihoon opens his mouth to gracefully reject whatever kindness the other was about to give him, but it’s too late, and with a pop, a parasol materializes in the young man’s hand.

 

With a flick, it opens, blocking out the glare instantly.

 

The sound mage blinks, then sighs, and allows himself to accept the over-hospitality.

 

But he feels Chan, who sits right beside him at the table, Mingyu and Seungcheol the next chairs over, nudge his foot against his in solidarity, and they share a secret smile.

 

“...and so, on behalf of the council, I extend our deepest gratitude to every mage and villager who risked their safety to ensure our home still stands.”

 

The speaker pauses, bowing slightly toward the long tables of attendees. “May this gathering mark a new beginning.”

 

She glances down at her parchment, folding it neatly before looking up again. 

 

“That concludes my remarks. Now to speak on the progress of the harvest and restoration of our fields, please welcome our overseer of agriculture.”

 

The atrium rings with applause as the next speaker approaches the stand.

 

One by one, parchments are read out.

 

The overseer of agriculture details how the repaired silo and the reseeded fields are already showing signs of green, while a craftsman follows, reporting that three homes have already been rebuilt from foundation to rooftop.

 

Next, the head scout relays that the surrounding forest paths are clear of threats and newly marked by signposts. 

 

“Caravans can safely travel again,” he announces, before giving a cheerful grin. “All thanks to Seungcheol-ssi, his crew, and the God of Music, of course.”

 

And it’s not the cheers after that lift the corners of Jihoon's lips into a smirk, but rather the way the tips of Seungcheol’s ears sprout flames as he abashedly waves to all the villagers applauding him and how Mingyu claps him on the back, satisfied to witness the long-overdue recognition.

 

Next, a burly man unrolls his scroll of parchment and announces that the water reserves, clouded with ash and debris from the blight storms, have been purified. Following him is a young woman, who brandishes no speech, but beams and announces that the schoolhouse has reopened.

 

The children cheer the loudest out of everyone in response, and that has Jihoon smiling wider.

 

Shortly after, the ceremony adjourns.

 

Jihoon remains in his seat as many others, as well as his overcompensating attendant, file out, staring up at the sky out the windows for a moment in time, before finally standing, relieved that it’s over.

 

Chan taps him on the shoulder. “Man, hyung, I’m starving! Want to get something to eat?”

 

Jihoon is just about to respond when out of the corner of his eye, Seungcheol stands, hand landing on Mingyu’s shoulder, expression grim.

 

“Before we do that,” he says, meeting their eyes. “I think…we should talk. The four of us.”

 

They find themselves in one of the side conference rooms, a table with a few chairs in the middle and a single paned window facing the back gardens, but Seungcheol draws the curtain anyway.

 

Jihoon rests his guitar near the door and sits first. Chan follows, both of them glancing towards Mingyu’s tense expression, most likely sensing just how much Seungcheol’s mood has shifted.

 

“Everything okay?” the warp mage asks, hand closing around Jihoon’s arm, unconsciously seeking stability. “Do we need to fight something?”

 

Seungcheol shakes his head dismissively. “No, no, not right now. But…maybe soon.”

 

He pulls out and plops down in the chair across from Jihoon, elbows resting on the table immediately with a heavy exhale.

 

“The village head asked me something after the ceremony,” he says. “Something we should probably think about, now that everything’s settled down some.”

 

He scratches at his chin, brow furrowing.

 

“And…Hannie’s asked me the same thing just yesterday. And several people, all around the village, this past week.”

 

He meets his team’s gazes again. “The infected beasts. And…the infected mages.”

 

His voice lowers. “There’s no way that was the last of them, right?”

 

A hush falls.

 

That encounter, still not a week ago, flashes all over in Jihoon’s head.

 

The screams. The blood. The wood impaling him. The guitar in his hands, finally being played.

 

The mage leader’s final words before he faded away. We are endless.

 

“Probably not,” Jihoon murmurs in reply.

 

To that, Seungcheol winces, as if he had wanted to be told wrong, but quickly recovers.

 

Mingyu looks to the side, his folded hands on the table tightening slightly. Chan turns a little pale.

 

“Then,” the leader manages. “We’re going to have to do something about it.”

 

After that, there’s a lull, before Mingyu picks it back up.

 

“What should we do then, Cheol-hyung?”

 

Seungcheol inhales very quietly, before looking his best friend in the face, resolutely.

 

A beat.

 

Then Mingyu’s eyes widen. “...You want to leave again.”

 

“Huh?” Chan jolts upright in response, while Jihoon raises an eyebrow.

 

Seungcheol grimaces. “I mean- we’re the best bet. We drove the infected from here, and maybe we can go even further than that. We got lucky here, but what if there’s other villages and towns out there who need saving? You get what I mean?”

 

“Yeah, I do, but-” Mingyu’s gaze blazes in protest. “What about Jeonghan-hyung? You’re going to worry him to death all over again.”

 

“I know.” Seungcheol closes his eyes, swallowing, as if the thought of his lover sends a pang through him. “I know. But I gotta do this. I gotta get stronger. We were the only ones who stood a chance against them. I’m not gonna stop until we find a way to win this.”

 

His eyes snap open, and he faces Mingyu, leaning forward on his elbows. “Are you with me?”

 

Mingyu doesn’t even hesitate. 

 

He mirrors Seungcheol’s position, expression resolute. “Wherever you go, I’m there, hyung.”

 

In response, the fire mage’s eyes glisten, and he squeezes Mingyu’s forearm. “Thank you.”

 

Then he turns in his seat, facing Chan next. “And you?”

 

At the same time, Jihoon also focuses on his dongsaeng, who remains ramrod still, the warp mage’s face a mix of emotions. 

 

But it still retains that same ambitious, relentless drive.

 

“Count me in,” Chan says.

 

Seungcheol gives a warm, proud smile at that.

 

“Thank you, Channie.”

 

Then, he finally turns to Jihoon-

 

And, for some reason, looks absolutely and completely nervous.

 

Jihoon catches it, tilting his head. “What?”

 

“You’re going to say no,” Seungcheol prods. “Aren’t you?”

 

Jihoon stares. “What?”

 

“I mean, you did everything Gyu and I asked you to.” Seungcheol gestures around them. “You traveled with us, came all the way here, became a symbol, inspired my people. There’s- well, there’s nothing left for you to-”

 

“Stop right there, hyung,” Jihoon interrupts. 

 

Seungcheol freezes. “H-Huh?”

 

Jihoon quirks a lip. “I’m going.”

 

The next moment is so quiet, a pin could audibly drop in the room.

 

Then Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s eyes nearly pop out their skulls. “You are?!”

 

Over the sound of Chan’s startled laughter, Jihoon rolls his eyes. “These enemies are my problem too. Don’t tell me to leave the race halfway, team leader. How rude of you.”

 

“I wasn’t being-” Seungcheol nearly bursts into flames, then reins himself in, a grin blooming out of him instead. “Gods, I thought for sure you’d say no.”

 

“Why would I?” Jihoon grins back, feeling lighter, not because he’s underestimating the scope of what they’re about to do, but for once, he feels just how much has changed between this flame mage late bloomer and himself.

 

All these ups and downs, these lefts and rights, to a smooth equilibrium.

 

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol’s eyes shine. “Yeah, we are.”

 

…

 

As they make their way outside, the four of them standing on the front steps of the village hall, Seungcheol then murmurs, “We should leave tomorrow. Spend one last night here. Does that sound good?”

 

The three of them nod, Jihoon repeating, “Sounds good.”

 

Seungcheol exhales heavily, eyes surveying the people milling about before them. “Still feels like we just got back.”

 

Mingyu bumps their sides together. “Same here.”

 

Then, hurried footsteps from Jihoon’s right. 

 

“Hey!”

 

It’s Wonwoo, running over to them, adjusting his glasses at the last second before they slid off his face entirely.

 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter. “Mingyu? Can I-”

 

He takes another breath. 

 

“May I- talk to you?”

 

Mingyu stares back at him for a couple of seconds, before his eyes dart away, a dash of pink across his cheeks appearing before he wrestles it under control, clearing his throat and schooling his expression into somewhat half-threatening.

 

“Ahem. What if I say no?”

 

His words are at most bumpy instead of barbed, but Jihoon feels a stab of pride at his attempt to armor himself regardless.

 

“Well, I-” Wonwoo clasps his hands together, bowing his head deferently. “I really hope you don’t. Because I want to- I want to apologize.”

 

He takes another breath. “And I want to explain.”

 

For a fraction of a second, his eyes meet Jihoon’s, seeking reassurance.

 

The sound mage gives a nod, granting him with it.

 

“If you would let me,” the inventor adds, even meeker than before. “Please.”

 

Mingyu is still as a stone, unmoving, watching Wonwoo like he's using his magic to uncover every single emotion, large and small, across the bespectacled man’s mind.

 

Then, he swallows and nods.

 

“...Alright.”

 

The relief is beyond starkly visible on Wonwoo’s face.

 

Mingyu looks back at his teammates. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

 

“‘Kay,” Chan replies, easygoing enough, while Seungcheol looks in between empath and inventor as if testing the waters before dipping his head.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Specs.”

 

“I won’t,” Wonwoo breathes. “I swear.”

 

Then when the pair looks at Jihoon, the sound just shrugs.

 

“What’re you looking at me for? Go on.”

 

The two of them then meet eyes, before Mingyu reaches out, linking his arm through Wonwoo’s like a question.

 

And the bespectacled man responds by leading him away gently, headed towards the outskirts of the village. Just before they fade from sight, hesitant smiles spread across both their faces.

 

Then, Seungcheol lets out a very strong puff of an exhale. “Welp. Glad they sorted that out. Meanwhile…”

 

He shudders violently, wrapping his arms around himself as if there’s an imaginary chill. “Hannie’s gonna have my head for what I’m about to say to him.”

 

Both Chan and Jihoon give him sympathetic glances.

 

“Want us there?” The warp mage offers. “For moral support, or whatever?”

 

“No.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I can handle it. He’s just most definitely gonna scream. Say I’m gonna get myself killed, like before.”

 

“At least there’s no doubt he loves you,” Jihoon offers.

 

Seungcheol freezes mid-rub at his neck. A knot of tension has disappeared from his brow, as if at this exact moment, he really needed to hear that, his lip quirking.

 

“...Yeah. Guess he does.”

 

Then, he walks down the steps, giving the other two a wave. 

 

“Alright, do whatever you gotta do today. I’ll see you back at the house!”

 

“See you, hyung!” Chan waves back, Jihoon raising a hand right after in response.

 

And with Seungcheol gone, the two of them left, Jihoon studies Chan next to him, and gets hit with the knowledge that- he’s taller.

 

And not just taller, but bulkier. More meat on his frame, more muscle.

 

Stronger.

 

A pang of dissonance rings through Jihoon, and he feels his throat grow a little tighter.

 

Gods, Chan. Look at you.

 

Then his dongsaeng feels the weight of his gaze, tilting his head and blinking quizzically. “Something up, hyung?”

 

“It’s nothing.” Jihoon shakes his head, offering a smile. “I heard they’re cooking ribs today. Shall we head over to the fire?”

 

Instantly, the warp mage lights up. “Ribs?! You don’t even have to ask me twice!”

 

With a flourish, he grabs Jihoon’s hand and pulls him along. “Let’s go!”

 

Jihoon lets loose a chuckle, and lets the other drag him like always.

 

…

 

The rest of the day passes by like a tide rising and ebbing, slow in its rhythm, steady in its meaning. 

 

Chan makes his rounds first, saying goodbye to every villager he’s befriended. His laughter carries easily through the streets as he crouches to speak eye‑to‑eye with the children crowding his legs, all of them pouting in protest. 

 

“No more warp tag, not for a while,” he tells them, ruffling hair and handing out quick hugs. “Next time I visit, I’ll make the game even harder, deal?”

 

As for Jihoon, he can only manage small bows of acknowledgement to the reverent farewells he receives, the attention prickling at the back of his neck. Gratitude still eludes him, but an older woman bestows him with a handkerchief with no frivolous words and a kind smile, and it’s enough.

 

By afternoon, the village hums with that familiar bittersweetness known only to places that have survived together. Children chase after Chan one last time, their giggles dissolving into the warm air.

 

And, from the corner of his eye, Jihoon sees them- Wonwoo and Mingyu.

 

They drift through the lanes side by side, hands moving occasionally as they speak. Mingyu is animated, smiling more often now, but his voice carries a soft cadence, as if he’s measuring every word. Wonwoo listens with his whole frame tilted toward him, answering between shy smiles.

 

To anyone else, they might look perfectly normal, just two friends, freshly reconciled, chatting.

 

But Jihoon notices the way their hands brush against one another. The way the flush never quite leaves their cheeks.

 

And he knows, for certain, that’s there to stay.

 

After one final meal, he returns to the house, quietly muttering to the enchantment on the door. The wards loosen, allowing him to turn the handle.

 

That’s when he hears it.

 

The argument, still ongoing. Words rising and falling like overlapping chords.

 

“Cheol, please,” Jeonghan’s voice cracks through the quiet. “I don’t want to do this again-”

 

“But as you can see, I made it back okay,” Seungcheol snaps, loud enough to ricochet off the walls. “And if we don’t move now, something else- or someone else- will. You know I can’t stay still when there’s more out there.”

 

“I know, I know,” Jeonghan shoots back. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

 

Jihoon pauses in the entryway, making sure not to give himself away, chest tight at listening to the both of them. Understanding both.

 

“I hate this,” Jeonghan mutters, voice fraying. “I hate that I understand you. That you’re right. I just… I don’t want to let you go again.”

 

Something shuffles, maybe the scrape of a chair. A step forward.

 

Then, Seungcheol’s reply, rough-edged and tender.

 

“You think I want to go?” His breath catches. “I love you, Hannie. That’s why I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if one of those infected mages- those monsters- ever got to you.”

 

A quiet war of sighs and stifled words follows. 

 

Jeonghan’s voice returns, thinner now, only half‑resigned. “Still hate it.”

 

“I know.”

 

From what Jihoon can see, the fire mage steps forward, pushing a lock of Jeonghan’s hair behind his ear.

 

“I know it well, Yoon Jeonghan.”

 

Jeonghan reaches up and puts a hand over his lover’s chest, curling it deep into the fabric.

 

Jihoon waits for a couple more seconds, before quietly making it up the stairs, the certainty that they’ll figure it out deep within.

 

He quietly settles in his bedroom, whisking on the lamp with magic and drawing the curtains. Though his energy is not quite spent, so he paces across the floor, back and forth, back and forth.

 

Then, the creak up the stairs reaches his ears.

 

Seconds after, a knock at his door.

 

“May I come in?” Seungcheol asks, voice gravelly.

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon calls back.

 

The handle turns, and the flame mage steps inside, face still wet and ruddy, wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand. “When did you get back?”

 

“Like twenty minutes ago.” Jihoon cocks his head at him wryly. “Wow. You weren’t kidding. You look like a total wreck.”

 

A laugh startles out of Seungcheol, and he scrubs at his face again, getting rid of the last remnants of tears. “You never really mince your words, do you?”

 

“It’s part of my charm.” Jihoon winks, before crouching down, reaching for the nightstand. “So, you got time? No one’s going to bed angry?”

 

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Seungcheol inhales shakily. “We just both need to cool off. Why?”

 

Jihoon raises a familiar tote, pulling out the neck of a particular stringed instrument he never got to play.

 

“I’m thinking we could do this,” he says, quietly. “Help you get your mind off of things.”

 

Seungcheol’s eyes land on the violin before widening in recognition, and he reaches out to take it from the sound mage.

 

“Gods, I nearly forgot about buying this.”

 

“A lot has happened since then.” Jihoon watches as the flame mage raises the instrument by the neck, nodding to it. “You still remember your promise to teach me?”

 

“Yeah, I think I said something along the lines of knowing I’m gonna be shit at it,” Seungcheol replies, a bit sardonically, a tone of self-deprecation woven in.

 

“Not as shit as you making this team,” Jihoon corrects. “Which means…not shit at all.”

 

Seungcheol freezes.

 

Then he lets out a rough sound, half-chuckle, half-sniff, as he tightens what looks like the violin’s tuning peg. “Gods. You say things like that and pretend they’re just jokes.”

 

Jihoon cocks a brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“You act like you’re made of thorns.” Seungcheol runs a hand along the new violin carefully. “But you do everything to make sure we’re okay. You’re always the first to see when someone’s about to fall apart. You did it with Gyu, with Channie, with Wonwoo. Even me.”

 

His voice hushes slightly. “Do you…even realize you do that?”

 

The sincerity comes out of nowhere, enough for Jihoon to be speechless for a moment.

 

But he recovers with a shrug, glancing off to the side. 

 

“No, but…someone has to, you know?”

 

At least, sometimes it feels like the one thing I can do right.

 

Seungcheol huffs. “Yeah. Someone does. And I’m damn glad it’s you.”

 

Jihoon stills. 

 

Okay, he was also not expecting that.

 

“...Thanks.”

 

The team leader gives him one last nod, in acknowledgment.

 

Then, they move on.

 

“Right, let’s see if my memory serves me right.” Seungcheol rests the violin on his collarbone, chin pinning it in place as he lowers the bow to the strings. “Would it help you if I just did a simple piece real quick?”

 

“Do whatever you want.” Jihoon sits back on his bed, folding his hands together and leaning forward. “I can learn by watching.”

 

“‘Course you can, you musical genius,” Seungcheol ribs, sticking his tongue out at him.

 

Jihoon rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Just play.”

 

And Seungcheol obeys.

 

At first, the bow trembles in his hand, the first few notes coming out brittle and scattered. 

 

But then, he finds his rhythm. His dormant instincts slowly begin to awaken again.

 

The next draw rings clearer, rings longer. The rough edges between each note smooth out, like stones smoothed down by river water.

 

Jihoon watches as his teammate’s foot begins to tap, the beat slipping back into his body. The melody steadies, looping and rising.

 

Then, Seungcheol’s eyes drift closed, and he sways, moving with the flow, each stroke of the bow a breath in, a breath out.

 

It’s so unlike his fierceness, his usual unapologeticness, that Jihoon almost doesn’t think he’s looking at the same person.

 

But he knows, deep down, this is a part of Seungcheol too. One that he doesn't show many others.

 

The last note fades out into the quiet, and the fire mage’s eyes open back up, and he lowers the violin. “How was that?”

 

“Subpar at best,” Jihoon jokes. “You could improve here, here, and maybe here…”

 

“Har har.” Seungcheol steps forward, holding the instrument out to him. “Come on. Let’s see you ace it.”

 

Jihoon carefully takes it, assuming the same position well enough that Seungcheol nods approvingly, and puts bow to string.

 

His leader takes his place on the bed, and gestures for him to start.

 

Jihoon does, and metaphorically, it’s horrific.

 

Because the sound the violin makes is a purely violent, purely tone deaf SCREEEEEEEECH.

 

The silence after is deafening.

 

Jihoon makes a face. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Maybe he should try again.

 

SCREEEEEECH.

 

“Okay,” he says, dumbfounded. “What.”

 

Screeeeech, the violin cries.

 

Jihoon raises the bow back up, staring down at the violin like it betrayed him, before turning to look at Seungcheol.

 

As soon as they meet eyes, he finds that Seungcheol’s cheeks have puffed out, his face red, as if he is trying really hard not to burst out laughing.

 

Jihoon points at him, affronted. “Don’t you even think about it.”

 

And he can see the exact moment Seungcheol does think about it, before he promptly breaks, flinging himself back against the mattress with a guffaw that could send an entire flock of birds up into the sky.

 

“HAHAHAHAHA-”

 

“Cheol-hyung,” Jihoon tries.

 

“I thought for sure- HAHAHAHA- that you were gonna do- so well-”

 

“Stop-”

 

“But you’re actually so bad- holy shit- heh- HA-”

 

“Oi,” Jihoon snaps, waving the bow. “Don’t just assume I’m perfect at everything-”

 

“But you’re the- God of Music- you’re supposed to be good at like, every instrument-”

 

“I’m about to be the God of beating your ass if you don’t stop laughing!”

 

But it’s too late. Seungcheol throws himself back again, wheezing up a storm, his legs kicking in the air as he smacks the nearby pillow with his fist.

 

Jihoon sighs and straightens up, finally letting the mirth get to him and crack a smile, shaking his head.

 

Looks like they can’t always be winners.

 

…

 

“Enemies from the south! I repeat, enemies from the south!”

 

The scout’s scream can barely be heard past the chaos of spells whizzing past in every direction past Jihoon’s head, but he still hears it, turning himself.

 

The action is just in time, and he leaps back at the same time a sphinx’s claws cleave through the space where he just was, snarling at him with eyes streaked with black mire.

 

“You’re not looking so good,” Jihoon greets, hand scoring down his guitar strings. “Maybe you should rest!”

 

Two strums, and sonic blades cut through the monster’s chest in an X, sending it careening.

 

“Nice one!”

 

Soonyoung flies in, landing with a muffled oomph and instantly deflecting an attack from the rear by a particularly vicious dire wolf, his knife blocking its snapping jaws.

 

With a flap of his large wings, modeled after an eagle’s, the beast is buffeted back, then cut down in the next moment, clean and sharp.

 

“Nice one,” Jihoon responds in turn.

 

Soonyoung grins, and his wings disappear with a burst of feathers, the two of them instantly putting themselves back to back, deflecting the next attacks in perfect synchronization.

 

Jihoon plays note after note, sending quakes through the ground and trees shaking, while Soonyoung socks a goblin right in the face with a fist five times larger than normal.

 

“Hey, wanna know something, jagiya?”

 

Instantly, Jihoon’s cheeks flare as he sidesteps a swipe from a manticore, sending another sound uppercut. “Don’t call me that while we’re out here, Soon!”

 

“I’m thinking about kids.”

 

Instantly, Jihoon’s feet knock into one another, and he stumbles. “Wh-What?!”

 

Soonyoung catches him in time by the arm, beaming down at him, before pulling him behind himself, forearm glossing over in hard scales and blocking an oncoming bear’s strike with it. 

 

Jihoon, meanwhile, is still trying to catch up. “Why are you- we’re way too young for something like that!”

 

“Obviously!” Soonyoung shoots back, leaning over him, carefully cradling him by the waist. Without looking, he materializes a tail, tripping the ranks of the next wave, monsters falling with groans of pain. “But I meant in the future! Mini-yous and mini-mes!”

 

Jihoon strums another note, taking out the entirety of the other side behind him while giving his lover an exhausted stare. “Mini-mes and mini-yous?”

 

“Yeah.” Soonyoung morphs his hand back to half-normal before holding the other’s face, mindful of his claws. “Maybe they’ll have your nose. Maybe they’ll have my eyes. Maybe they’ll have your stubbornness. And maybe they’ll have my handsomeness.”

 

Jihoon snorts, reaching up to grasp at the other’s cheek. “And what else? They have our magic too?”

 

“Stars above, yeah they do.” Soonyoung grins even wider. “Their parents are the Gods of Music and Beasts. They’d be unstoppable.”

 

Jihoon keeps watching him, eyes softening by the second. “And if they’re magicless?”

 

“Doesn’t change a thing,” Soonyoung replies, completely without pause. “They’re ours anyway.”

 

Jihoon feels his heart swell, lowering his hand to place it on his lover’s chest. “Good answer.”

 

And Soonyoung doesn’t say anything else, only leaning down to close the distance between their lips.

 

Jihoon instantly leans up into it, kissing him with every inch of himself.

 

Then, he heard the telltale swish of a staff spinning through the air and hitting the ground with a heavy thud, a warded forcefield springing up around them, cutting off about a dozen infected beasts’ paths. 

 

“Hey,” Junhui rebukes, readjusting his weapon again. “Less flirting, more fighting!”

 

“Oh, hey, Jun!” Soonyoung waves happily, still holding Jihoon steady. “Thanks for the assist!”

 

“It’s not really one if you’re not killing anything at the moment!” Junhui sends up more wards, each of them blasting the monsters around the mages in wide rings. “Come on, let’s go!”

 

“Roger that, yes, sir.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes, but gives Jihoon one last fond look. “Ready to get back to it?”

 

Jihoon stands up, smoothly leaving his lover’s arms, hands settling on his guitar again. “Yeah.”

 

Soonyoung blows him one last kiss, and they’re off again, pushing through opposite sides of Junhui’s wards into the fray.

 

Our future, Jihoon thinks as he throws down another melody, the monsters falling one by one before him. Something you and I will build.

 

He gives a final smile, more to himself than anyone else.

 

…One day.

 

…

 

The next morning, the sun is already high in the sky by the time Jihoon’s summoned to the village entrance.

 

He already knows why, holding back a muted chuckle.

 

Seungcheol and Mingyu are stalling.

 

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone, alright?” Seungcheol pats Jeonghan’s cheeks with both of his hands at the same time. “I’d better not come back and find you sick or something!”

 

Jeonghan laughs, taking one of his lover’s hands and kissing the knuckles gently. “You won’t, I promise.”

 

“Got everything?” Wonwoo asks Mingyu meanwhile. “I know you tend to forget things at the last minute.”

 

“Uh…” Mingyu pats down his pockets diligently. “Yep! I’m all set.”

 

“Good.” Wonwoo then smirks. “Because there’s one thing you forgot.”

 

“Huh?” Mingyu blinks, then immediately looks down as the inventor takes his hand, raising it in between them. “What are you doing?”

 

“Giving you something to hold onto,” Wonwoo smoothly replies.

 

At the same time, he slides a simple metal band with a shining gem pressed into it onto the other’s finger.

 

For a beat, Mingyu gapes down at it.

 

The next, he looks up at Wonwoo with shining eyes. “This is- This is-”

 

“It’s your birthstone,” Wonwoo murmurs. “Diamond. I tried to make it as special as possible for you in the time I had.”

 

“You made this last night?” Mingyu exclaims, staring at the accessory on his finger, eyes shining.

 

“Now, it didn’t take too long, so don’t consider it a proposal or anything.” Wonwoo’s cheeks flare. “But consider it…a promise. That I’m with you. Even from afar.”

 

Mingyu’s other hand falls over the ring, twisting it gently, before looking up at Wonwoo like he lit his whole world up singlehandedly.

 

“But!” Jeonghan raises a finger, a mischievous grin growing on his face. “It won’t be ‘afar’ for long.”

 

He elbows Seungcheol gently. “Because we’re coming after you as soon as we can.”

 

After that, it takes the longest of moments for what he said to sink in.

 

Jihoon gives an accepting hum. “Oh. Nice.”

 

Then for Seungcheol, it finally clicks, and he gives a loud gasp, grabbing Jeonghan by the shoulders. “Wait- wait, what do you mean by that?!”

 

“Wonwoo’s automaton,” Jeonghan offers. “The moment he’s done fixing it, and the village is fully settled again, we’re following you. Maybe give it a few weeks.”

 

“Two, if I work from sunrise to sundown every day,” Wonwoo helpfully adds.

 

Mingyu’s eyes bug out at him. “You’re coming too?!”

 

The inventor shrugs, voice soft. “I don’t want to be apart from you.”

 

“No,” Seungcheol butts in. “No, Specs, Hannie, no- It’s too dangerous! You’re not strong enough, even if you think you are-”

 

“Cheol-hyung,” Jihoon interrupts, and the flame mage whirls his head towards him. “Leave them be. They made up their minds already.”

 

He can see it on their faces. Jeonghan’s unyieldingness. Wonwoo’s steadfastedness.

 

It’s clear they’re not backing down, magicless status be damned.

 

Seungcheol stops protesting, looking back at Jeonghan defeatedly, hands squeezing at his lover’s shoulders once.

 

And as for Mingyu-

 

Mingyu shows loud and clear that he accepts it.

 

Because he rushes forward, takes Wonwoo’s hand and pulls him close, and presses their lips together.

 

For one suspended heartbeat, Wonwoo freezes, hands hovering uselessly mid-air. His eyes are filled with pure shock, glasses slipping just barely down the bridge of his nose.

 

Then, it catches up to him, and his fingers tremble once before moving, sliding into Mingyu’s hair, tangling there like it’s an anchor. The tension in his shoulders melts all at once, and he pulls Mingyu closer, answering the kiss with quiet urgency.

 

Chan lets out a gasp, followed by a sigh. “Awwwww.”

 

Jihoon folds his arms across his chest, watching it all fondly.

 

Perhaps it’s safe to say that their team has gained two more permanent members.

 

...

 

For the next couple of weeks, they remain on the road.

 

The days rise and fall like breaths, a respiratory system in perfect coordination.

 

Morning sun is always in their eyes at first, burning away the chill while boots find their rhythm. Jihoon walks a few paces behind or ahead, depending on the terrain, watching the line of them curve against the rolling hills.

 

Seungcheol’s silhouette is almost always at point, broad shoulders in Jihoon’s line of sight, the steady weight of command in every step. At breaks, he crouches by streams to check maps and refill their waterskins, his murmurs to himself blending with the rush in the background.

 

As they cross a river, Chan instantly steps up to help, side-along warping each of them across the way with little complaint. Even after, he doesn't even look winded, grinning as Mingyu pats him on the back as gratitude.

 

The empath lingers near Jihoon often, quiet unless the road feels too long. Then he’s rambling, about Wonwoo or Wonwoo’s inventions until the rest laugh and tell him to save his voice, all of them relieved that he’s himself again.

 

They break camp in clearings, laying out food with unspoken cooperation. Sometimes there’s laughter when Chan burns something; sometimes, only the crack of firewood and the sound of wind in branches. Nights hold the thrums of Jihoon testing the new strings Wonwoo’s gifted him on his guitar, and the pungent smell of herbs as Mingyu does his nightly herb sorting.

 

Fights come rarely, but they are swift. A handful of infected beasts at the edge of a wood- Jihoon’s chords thundering through roots, Seungcheol’s fire burning in controlled arcs, Chan vanishing and reappearing behind an enemy in a blink, Mingyu intercepting a strike meant for Jihoon with his wolfsbane raised high to drive the enemies back. The moments pass as quickly as they come, leaving only the metallic tang in the air and the beat of their breathing.

 

As for infected mages, they are even rarer and scattered, but never thick enough to choke the field like before. Jihoon senses their magic bleeding wrong against the air, a tremor his guitar answers with sharp clarity. The team moves together against them like muscle memory, no words needed, though each of them are always quiet and somber after coming to terms with what they had to do.

 

And some evenings, the team just sits. Not talking, not planning, Seungcheol turning a twig over in his hands, Chan tossing pebbles into the firelight, Mingyu leaning back against his pack, head tipped toward the sky, twisting the ring on his finger absentmindedly Jihoon plays faintly, mostly for himself, watching their faces catch the edge of fire’s glow.

 

The road stretches on, and in its quiet spaces Jihoon starts to notice how much they’ve learned each other’s pace. Like they've been beside one another their whole lives.

 

It’s almost to the point where Jihoon ponders the idea of doing this forever.

 

And then, he sees it.

 

On the nearby tree as they travel through another forest. The faint traces of black against its bark.

 

Jihoon takes two more steps, before he stops entirely.

 

“We’re almost to the next village,” Seungcheol announces. “Reminder, we gotta stock up on food again.”

 

Mingyu nods, while Chan looks back, checking if Jihoon has heard, finally catching the pause.

 

“Hyung?”

 

The sound mage reaches out to the trunk, fingers tracing the painted symbol, faded by time.

 

“This rune…”

 

There’s no stored up magic left in it. It’s definitely old, possibly abandoned.

 

But Jihoon feels his heartbeat picking up speed, thundering louder, and louder in his ears.

 

This…cannot be.

 

“Hyung?” 

 

Chan steps back towards him, before his entire body vanishes into sparks, reappearing next to Jihoon as if running wasn’t fast enough, hand landing on his arm. “What’s wrong-”

 

Then he sees the mark too.

 

Jihoon turns to look at him, wondering if he’s not the only one.

 

“You…You recognize it, don’t you?”

 

Slowly, he watches as the color drains from Chan’s face.

 

“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Seungcheol calls, turning back as well. Mingyu stops next to him, facing them with a quizzical head tilt. “Tree look funny?”

 

Jihoon finds that he cannot keep his voice from cracking as he demands, “What-What direction have we been heading in to fight the infected? Cardinal?”

 

“West,” Mingyu answers smoothly. “Why?”

 

West.

 

Jihoon feels the air seep out of his lungs.

 

“Yeah, just dead west.” Seungcheol pulls out the enchanted map again, unfurling it to check. “Something special?”

 

Without hesitation, Chan grabs Jihoon by the hand, their fingers intertwining. On his face is the same fear Jihoon feels instantly raging inside of him, his eyes nearly shaking.

 

“West is,” he manages. “West is-”

 

The word home never makes it past his lips.

 

Because in the next moment, Mingyu’s eyes land on the sky, and he shouts, “Watch out! Crows!”

 

The warning barely has time to register before the first black shapes pierce the canopy. 

 

They fall in a spiral- dozens of them, oily wings shivering like razors in the air. The sunlight vanishes, eclipsed by a roiling mass of feathers and shrieks.

 

Jihoon doesn’t have time to reach for his guitar before one of the infected creatures digs its talons into his coat, sending him stumbling with unnatural strength.

 

Seungcheol’s voice cuts through for a heartbeat- orders, shouted- but it disappears under the noise as the lead crow dives, beak flashing, slamming into his shoulder, narrowly avoiding his flaming fist.

 

Chan tries warping, a flash of sparks, but two crows catch him mid‑materialization, raking down his arm as his feet hit soil, while Mingyu wraps both arms around himself, doing his best to shield his body as the birds tear at his clothes and satchel with ear-piercing calls.

 

There’s so many of them.

 

Jihoon flails, trying his best to wrestle each of the creatures off of him as he reaches for his strap. If he could just get to his guitar, he could end this whole thing-

 

More crows shriek in front of him, diving for his face. He covers it at the last second with his arm, swinging out wildly.

 

Come on, come on!

 

Then, the ground beneath him begins to rumble.

 

Jihoon looks down, mind whirling.

 

Rocks scatter away from his boots, soil splitting in jagged seams.

 

In the next heartbeat, the earth erupts.

 

And giant shoots emerge, the size of spears, slick with sap and alive with twisting magic, the color of verdant. They whip upward in sudden spirals, blurring into arcs above Jihoon’s head. Infected crows slam into them mid‑flight, shrieking as the plants coil and constrict, pinning oily wings against warped bodies.

 

Jihoon’s breath catches. “M-Magic-?”

 

With a whip‑like snap, the shoots tighten once, then hurl their captives downwards.

 

CRACK.

 

The crows’ screeches are silenced in a breath, all of their bones shattering at once.

 

Before Jihoon can even draw breath, the ground surges again. More shoots rip upward in fresh spirals, lashing out with predator speed. 

 

They find Seungcheol first, coiling around two birds clawing at his shoulders, snapping them backwards and slamming them into the earth. A second barrage splits the soil near Chan, curling into hooked arcs and stabbing through the crows slashing his arm. The warp mage stumbles clear, sparks fluttering off him as the plants tear the creatures apart.

 

Mingyu’s wide-eyed as a third cluster bursts between him and the flock shredding at his pack. The shoots wrap their vines around beaks and wings, twisting until limbs give way, then fling what’s left into the undergrowth.

 

“Who is doing that?” Seungcheol yells, frazzled, gauntlets half-losing their shape, fiery hair blazing. “Is it you-?”

 

“It’s not mine,” Jihoon shouts back, pulling his guitar into grip, fingers scrabbling for the strings. “I don’t know who is-”

 

A chill at his back.

 

He turns around-

 

And then, frost.

 

It surges like lightning up his legs, up his torso, around his limbs. Veins dipped in the liquid of winter. His fingers are seized in place right against his guitar. Freezing, freezing.

 

Ice magic, he realizes. 

 

His eyes widen. Wait. Ice magic?

 

“Stop!” he quickly screams, though his voice comes out raspy as the spell steals the breath from his lungs. “Hang on a second, we come- we come in peace, we-”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the same frost immobilize his teammates, Chan in the air with his knives slipping from his hands, Seungcheol’s fire fizzling out, Mingyu pinned down on the ground.

 

“It’s me!” Jihoon shrieks. “It’s Jihoon! I’m here, I’ve come back-”

 

The last infected crow, a straggler with glowing eyes and a twisted beak, flies straight towards him, screaming for blood.

 

Jihoon recoils as much as he can in the ice, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for its attack.

 

But it never comes.

 

SHHHHHHK.

 

The sound of flesh being pierced through reaches him instead. The beast’s last cry of pain. The heavy thud of its body hitting the earth, echoing through the trees.

 

Then, silence.

 

Jihoon shakily inhales and exhales for a couple of seconds, mind still trying its best to catch up, before finally, carefully, opening his eyes.

 

The crow lies dead before him, curled up at his feet, a puddle of red pooling around it.

 

Right through its heart protrudes a blade, silver, almost blinding white.

 

And it takes Jihoon another second, but he realizes it then.

 

It’s glowing. Like the morning sun.

 

And, at the end of that blade-

 

Is a face he hasn’t seen in ten years.

 

Sharper jawline. Darker skin. 

 

A mole he’s only ever remembered in starlight, just above the left cheekbone.

 

Seokmin.

 

Seokmin, who pulls Excalibur, the Sword of Light, from the crow’s body with a precise flick, and looks upon Jihoon with an unreadable gaze.

 

“So it’s true,” he murmurs, voice resonant and quiet. “You have returned.”

Notes:

Here's a song lyric I think really fits this fic version of Jihoon:

"I got a picture of what matters
And I keep it close to my heart
It's a little faded but so am I"

-"Best I Can", Art of Dying

And give it a listen in general, it's a beautiful song. <3

*purposefully does not say anything about the reveal* 😛

Chapter 18: The Challenge

Summary:

“I’m assuming you picked up your guitar again?” Seokmin asks, voice low.

Jihoon looks up into his eyes, still seeing nothing there, as his hand wanders to his case’s strap.

“...Yes.” He doesn’t even sound like himself.

Seokmin inhales, eyes closing for a second, before opening them again.

“Then…I challenge you. To a duel.”

Notes:

A short chapter this time around, but it's meant to be with the SHEER TENSION packed inside.

Please enjoy.

Time has ceased to move. An interlude of silence, suffocating.

 

Jihoon continues to stare at Seokmin, the records of memories flipping through like pages in his mind.

 

“Jihoon-hyung, Jihoon-hyung! C’mere, look at this!”

 

He shows a tiny sloppily built house from blades of grass on the forest floor, ladybugs crawling all over it, gesturing to it excitedly.

 

“Isn’t it cute?”

 

Another memory.

 

Seokmin’s voice, ringing through the air as he sings a song, crooning melodies without fail, echoing into the night lit by the campfire. 

 

“When will that day be, when all the flowers of the field and every life will brightly shine?”

 

And another.

 

Seokmin sprinting through the fields ahead, laughing brightly, hair flying back from the wind, bounding step after step. 

 

“Come on, hyung! Run with me!”

 

Over and over. Memory after memory.

 

Seokmin then shifts, facing the sound mage more fully as he sheathes his sword, the blade sinking in with a smooth click. The wind picks up again, blowing through his hair- longer, curlier than Jihoon recalls.

 

“Hansol,” the other orders. “Unfreeze them.”

 

Jihoon feels his heart leap into his throat as a figure emerges out of the corner of his eye from the shade of the brush, stepping forward purposefully.

 

“Jihoon-hyung.”

 

Hansol. Jihoon had known it was him, from that very first ice spell.

 

And- he’s older too. 

 

The same as Seokmin, more muscles on his frame. His youthful look is gone, the fat on his cheeks replaced by sharp edges, his eyes transformed into a steadier solid brown.

 

“It’s…good to see you.” He crouches down in front of the sound mage, and puts his hand to the ice. “Sorry about this. We had to make sure you weren’t more infected.”

 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon replies, still unable to look away from him. “I understand.”

 

And it’s like Hansol can’t break gaze either, watching him intently as the ice begins to thaw.

 

“Minghao,” Seokmin calls. “Are any of the crows still around?”

 

As for that name, Jihoon doesn’t recognize it.

 

He turns his head at the rustle of another figure emerging from the treeline, leaner than both Hansol and Seokmin. This man’s face is slim, delicately structured, giving off an elegant air.

 

Then Jihoon notices the deep green tendrils along his arms- vines, curling and twisting against his skin.

 

The source of that strong plant magic, he realizes with a jolt.

 

“No,” Minghao answers, his voice airy, with a slight accent. “I think we’ve slain them all.”

 

His gaze drops down to Jihoon, criticizing. “Do you know these people?”

 

For a moment, Seokmin says nothing. Then he looks to the side as he utters, “...Old friends.”

 

…Old friends.

 

Jihoon tries to keep himself from swallowing too hard.

 

Yeah. He supposes that’s what they are, now.

 

“Hansol-hyung!” Chan shouts from behind him, trying to wriggle out of his own frost prison. “Hyung! It’s me!”

 

Hansol’s head shoots up, eyes widening further. “Chan.”

 

Jihoon watches as he straightens up, rushing to the other. At the same time, Chan remembers that he can warp, appearing in front of the ice mage in desperate sparks, the two of them crashing into an embrace.

 

“Chan,” Hansol breathes again, squeezing him for two seconds before pulling back to look him over. “You’ve grown.”

 

“So have you!” Chan exclaims, eyes glimmering. “You’ve gotten so much taller- Gods, am I glad to see you-”

 

“Hey!” Then Seungcheol manages to slam a hand out of his ice trap, his arm steaming, clearly using his fire to melt free. “Hello, a little help here? Jihoon, are we supposed to know these guys?”

 

Seokmin tilts his head at them. “And who are they?”

 

Jihoon brushes the remaining ice chunks off of himself as he finally gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “...They’re…my teammates.”

 

“Teammates,” Seokmin repeats, flatly.

 

“I…” Jihoon swallows. “Yes.”

 

And it feels like the other man is going to say something else, with the way his eyes look in between Seungcheol, who’s helping a newly melted Mingyu get to his feet, then back to the sound mage.

 

But then, he only turns away.

 

“Were you only passing through?”

 

Jihoon recalls Seungcheol’s words just minutes before, about heading to the nearby village.

 

The village being…this one.

 

“No,” he replies as evenly as he can. “We meant to come here.”

 

“Then let’s go.” Seokmin nods to Minghao, who falls into step beside him. “It’s not safe out here.”

 

“Right,” Jihoon says haltingly, checking back to see the others catching up, noticing how all of them are unscathed save for a few scratches, the delayed relief finally hitting him.

 

...This is all so surreal.

 

“Jihoon, hey.” Seungcheol catches up, jogging, his footsteps crashing against fallen leaves as he catches the sound mage by the shoulder, matching his pace. “You didn’t answer me. You’re talking like you know them?”

 

Jihoon looks back at him, opening his mouth, but nothing quite comes out.

 

But Chan chimes in, stepping closer to them. “That’s because we do.”

 

He gestures to the ice mage beside him. “This is Hansol-hyung, and up there is Seokmin-hyung. We all grew up together.”

 

“Grew up together?” Seungcheol echoes. His brows crease, forming a valley of confusion. “Wait, then this is your…”

 

“Our hometown,” Jihoon finishes quietly. 

 

The fire mage’s expression only deepens further. “Then- where were you living before? When we came to find you?”

 

Jihoon exhales. Never did he once come to the conclusion that he had to answer this question.

 

But maybe he should have.

 

“That’s just…a random village.”

 

“A random…?” Seungcheol’s voice breaks off. It’s clear enough that none of this is making any sense to him.

 

“Junhui-hyung’s not with you?” Seokmin suddenly asks from ahead. He doesn’t turn his head, the question posed to the open air. 

 

Both Jihoon and Chan falter.

 

“No, uh…” Chan manages. “I mean- he’s fine! He’s just guarding another place right now.”

 

“Is that so?” Seokmin responds. “That’s a shame. We could use the strength of his wards right about now.”

 

Then, Mingyu speaks up. “Well, uh, speaking of guarding, thank you for saving us!”

 

He gives a quick dip of his head to each of the three newcomers. “We really appreciate it.”

 

“It’s no problem. You’re on our turf, after all.”

 

And maybe it’s the way Seokmin says it, the tightness in his voice clear as day, but Mingyu cuts himself off mid-sentence.

 

They trudge along in silence, their steps out of sync, and Jihoon is faintly aware of how something aches in his chest. Like a bruise being pressed on, again and again.

 

Seungcheol doesn’t speak again. But Jihoon feels the weight of his gaze on his nape, unmoving.

 

A long moment later, Minghao announces it. “Almost there.”

 

Then, through the fog that had settled in, Jihoon spots the walls.

 

Two stories tall, all-encompassing on either side, they stand proudly, surfaces patterned with thin gouges from past battles.

 

As the group approaches, Jihoon cranes his necks upwards where he can just barely see top, as another memory flashes through his mind.

 

“Are we leaving now, hyung?”

 

Chan’s hand is tiny in his own, but still holding on as tight as he can.

 

Jihoon looks back one more time, watching as villagers work together to set the foundations in stone, calling to each other to work faster, their expressions grim.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “We’re leaving.”

 

Then, a head rises from behind the parapet, a lookout leaning over. “Who goes there?”

 

“It’s me!” Seokmin raises a hand. “Minghao and Hansol as well! As well as a few new faces!”

 

“New faces?” The lookout squints downward, a hand over his eyes to block out stray light, studying them for a long moment.

 

Then he disappears from the edge, but his voice rings loud and clear, even as the clanging of a bell is heard with it.

 

“Open the gates! Leader Seokmin has returned! Open the gates!”

 

Jihoon stills, hands slackening at his sides.

 

“You’re…?” he murmurs, throat dry.

 

As if knowing what he’s going to say, Seokmin gazes back at him as the large doors before them creak apart, eyes still steady, but unreadable.

 

“A surprise, I know,” he states. “The man who commanded you passed away two years ago. That’s when the council chose me.”

 

Jihoon has so many more questions- what, how, why- but none of them make their way past his lips as Seokmin steps forward again, leading the group in through the gap.

 

“Clear!” the lookout shouts from above. “Now close! I repeat, clear!”

 

And the village- the village is different.

 

New roofs rise higher. Houses built with different timber. Sharper, straighter angles. Cobblestones where there once was a beaten path. Strangers’ faces, milling about on the streets.

 

Yet, as Jihoon stands before the sight, it still somehow feels like he knows it all.

 

In his periphery, he sees Chan stop as well, watching as his dongsaeng turns his body slowly, taking it all in with a visible gulp.

 

Then-

 

“Seokmin!” An unfamiliar voice calls out. “Seokmin, you’re back!”

 

Another man bursts from the stream of people, his face almond-shaped and gentle, clad in the same style of clothing as the new village leader, jogging towards the group with a terse expression. “Are you alright? You took longer than usual!”

 

“Joshua,” Seokmin says in response, opening his arms.

 

The other man- Joshua- crashes into them, cheeks red, groomed hair flying, and promptly pulls Seokmin straight into a kiss.

 

Again, Jihoon’s world feels like it’s been overturned. Next to him, Chan takes a sharp intake of breath.

 

Before them, Joshua separates from Seokmin quickly, but keeps his arms around his waist as he turns to look at them, tilting his head. “You’ve found refugees?”

 

“Well, no, not exactly.” Seokmin gestures between them with one flourish of motion. “These are the people I was telling you about. Chan, and Jihoon-ssi.”

 

He turns to face them then. “And this is my husband, Joshua.”

 

Husband, Jihoon’s mind repeats. You…got married?

 

“Chan and Jihoon-ssi?” Joshua repeats curiously, eyes flicking over them. 

 

Then, Jihoon can see the moment it hits him.

 

“Oh! Jihoon-ssi, the God of Music?”

 

And the question echoes across the yard like a powerful spell being cast.

 

The murmur of passerby falls into a hush. Heads turn, every one’s expressions slack in surprise.

 

And deep down, Jihoon already knows what will happen next.

 

Some teenagers gasp, pointing to him and whispering to their companions. A few children even shout in excitement, jumping up and down and clapping their hands.

 

But for most of the adults, the parents, the elderly, the ones whose faces Jihoon recognizes ever so faintly-

 

They just stare.

 

No reverence. No falling to their feet. No weeping of his mythic title like so many others.

 

Conversations return, quieter than before. Children trying to get closer are trapped by their parents’ hands, unable to get close.

 

All of them watch, as if what’s before them isn’t so much a deity but a statue.

 

“What the…?” Jihoon hears Seungcheol mutter. “Why are they…?”

 

As for Joshua, he scratches at his chin, expression tensing a little, but resumes his greetings.

 

“It’s good to have you here. Now, I know we haven’t met, but I’ve heard so much about you from Seokmin and Hansol. It’s a great honor to welcome you home.”

 

He reaches out, shaking Jihoon’s hand firmly. “As Seokmin has already told you, I’m Joshua, his husband, as well as the other village leader here. You can stay at the inn. Minghao’s our best healer, so he can look over any wounds you have.”

 

He gestures to the plant mage still standing to the side, who gives a slight nod. 

 

“And we have plenty of food, water, and any resources you may need. If there’s anything else, please feel free to ask.”

 

Jihoon gulps, realizing he should respond.

 

“Yes. Er, that’s much appreciated.”

 

Joshua bows, letting go and clasping his hands together. “It’s my pleasure to always help someone in need.”

 

Jihoon bows back, though he can feel as the stares increase tenfold, digging into his spine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

And he thinks that he should go.

 

Get far, far away from here.

 

Because everyone’s watching him.

 

And something in him isn’t breathing.

 

He never expected this. He never thought he would return.

 

This place, its people, who he used to be-

 

Everything’s happening fast. Too fast.

 

But then, just as he steps back, tries to summon the words to excuse himself as swiftly as he can-

 

Seokmin steps forward.

 

His hand rises, and rests on the hilt of his sword by his side.

 

“One more thing,” he says, quietly.

 

It feels like Jihoon’s feet root themselves to the ground where he stands.

 

And that’s when Joshua’s expression changes.

 

It grows pale, filled with trepidation, and he grabs at his husband’s wrist. “Wait. Don’t do this, not now-”

 

Seokmin shakes him off.

 

And Jihoon only has time to look in between them before Excalibur’s blade is pointed at his chest.

 

A muted rumble of surprise rumbles through the yard. Chan’s gasp. And rustling, like someone- most likely Seungcheol- had just held themselves back from making a sound.

 

“I’m assuming you picked up your guitar again?” Seokmin asks, voice low.

 

Jihoon looks up into his eyes, still seeing nothing there, as his hand wanders to his case’s strap.

 

“...Yes.” He doesn’t even sound like himself.

 

Seokmin inhales, eyes closing for a second, before opening them again.

 

“Then…I challenge you. To a duel.”

 

Another shock, louder this time.

 

Jihoon feels his chest constricting, tighter and tighter.

 

“Wh…” He almost can’t utter it aloud. “Why?”

 

“Why?” Seokmin repeats. He quirks his lip. “It’s only a small challenge between two who have known each other for years.”

 

His tone grows even firmer. “Or does the idea of facing someone magicless not suit your taste?”

 

“No,” Jihoon breathes out. “Of course not-”

 

“Then let’s fight.” Seokmin raises his blade higher. “I think it’s only proper enough that I test my mettle after all these years.”

 

He tilts his head. “Wouldn’t you say so, God of Music?”

 

At first, Jihoon doesn’t move. His lungs forget what breathing feels like.

 

A dozen thoughts burst through his head- he can’t nail down a single one.

 

He half‑thinks of refusing, half‑dreams of walking away, of pretending this isn’t happening.

 

But there’s no pretending.

 

There’s no imagining something else.

 

Running won’t change what he sees in Seokmin’s stare.

 

It won’t change anything.

 

And so, Jihoon straightens.

 

He forces his breath out, and finally lifts his gaze to meet the other man’s.

 

“...I accept.”

 

For a moment, there is no wind, no chatter. No heartbeat but Jihoon’s own.

 

Then, Seokmin lowers Excalibur, as he states, loud and clear, “Tomorrow. Dawn. At the training arena. Is that suitable enough?”

 

Jihoon’s next reply is ash on his tongue. 

 

“Yes. That…works for me.”

 

And Seokmin says nothing else.

 

He only sheathes Excalibur once more, and walks away, into the town square.

 

Joshua hesitates, glancing between Jihoon and the space where his husband disappeared. Then he hurries after him without another word.

 

Jihoon stays rooted, eyes fixed on the fading outline of Seokmin’s back. It feels as though he’s stranded on the edge of a widening chasm, the cliffs drifting farther and farther beyond reach.

 

A sudden hand lands on his arm.

 

“Hyung? Hey, hyung. Are you okay?” Chan’s voice cuts through the haze.

 

Before Jihoon can answer, Seungcheol steps in too, expression searching.

 

“Alright, someone explain to me right now what the fuck is going on. This Seokmin- he’s an old friend, isn’t he? So why the hell is he challenging you to a duel?”

 

Mingyu approaches last.

 

“He’s…angry,” he says softly. “He’s so angry.”

 

He inhales, shaky. “It’s so strong on him- it’s not like anything I’ve ever sensed- Did you- Did you…do something to him, Jihoon-hyung?”

 

And Hansol has disappeared. Gone, like something in him didn’t want to stay.

 

The cliffs. Jihoon can barely see them anymore.

 

“I don’t…” He exhales, slowly.

 

The ache in his chest hasn’t gone away.

 

“...I don’t want to talk about this.”

 

He feels, rather than hears, the three of them shrinking back.

 

“Let’s go,” he then musters. “We should get ourselves patched up. Find something to eat.”

 

He raises his head, finding Minghao hovering at the edges of his vision. “Joshua-ssi said you’re a healer?”

 

The plant mage nods, gesturing to a path through the village, his expression betraying nothing. “This way. To my house.”

 

And thankfully, Jihoon’s teammates don’t press any further.

 

They turn and follow Minghao as he walks on ahead, though their steps are halting, reluctant, still glancing towards Jihoon.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t look at them again. 

 

He can’t bring himself to.

Notes:

Welp.

Next chapter, it shall all come to a head.

Stay tuned.

....bring tissues.

And as always, thank you for reading.

Chapter 19: The Duel

Summary:

And Jihoon’s mind blanks.

No- it overflows.

With bright smiles. With laughter.

With a locket pressed into his waiting hands.

With a heartbeat under his ear, swaying to the music.

With lips tracing the curves of his wrist, murmuring sweet nothings.

With a sea of stars.

He meant everything to me.

Notes:

So I had this particular chapter saved in the vaults since Nov 2024 when this fic was barely conceived, and here it is now, fleshed out, heavy-hitting, and heart-shattering...

I think it already says something if I've been rereading practically the same thing for months and I still cry over it... T^T

So yes, please have tissues at hand while you read, and of course, please enjoy.

Unlike most mornings, this one feels dry.

 

Stale, and brittle like paper. A flat, dusty wash.

 

Jihoon stands outside the inn, looking up at the sky. Billowing clouds loom overhead, vast and oppressive, a deluge pressing down like an unspoken weight.

 

He hasn’t slept. Rest eluded him when he did try, like a fistful of smoke, slipping through his fingers. No matter how much he closed his eyes, it never came.

 

But that doesn’t really matter now.

 

He turns towards the horizon, where the glow emerges, a ribbon of pale gold against the gray. Dawn, fast approaching.

 

A breath comes out of him, misting slightly in the air.

 

Looks like it’s time.

 

His guitar leans against the front steps of the building, having sat beside him the moment he had stepped out.

 

He crouches down, running a hand along the case, the other one at his chest, tracing circles into the skin.

 

There’s no use stalling, he tells himself.

 

With a hoist, he drapes it across his shoulder, the now-again familiar weight of the instrument on his back.

 

He rises to his full height, and takes the deepest breath he can muster, the coolness settling in his lungs.

 

And then, he walks.

 

Off the inn’s stoop, and into the narrow street. The gravel crunches beneath his boots, a sound he registers more than he feels.

 

As he enters the main street, the village roofs lean inward, their sharp lines cutting the dim light into narrow seams. Somewhere,a shutter claps, a hinge creaks. The atmosphere is still asleep, the only witness to his passage.

 

So many buildings seem unchanged, the same ones from his childhood. The few that have now possess new paint jobs and new interiors. The evidence of new people.

 

The sight of them makes Jihoon feel nostalgic, wistful.

 

And it also makes him feel small.

 

“Hyung!”

 

Then there’s a familiar flash of sparks by his side, Chan emerging from within.

 

He’s in new clothes, but his hair’s a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to tame it before coming to find the sound mage.

 

Jihoon doesn't stop walking, but he spares a greeting. “Hey, good morning.”

 

“Morning,” Chan exhales, falling into step beside him, and maybe he’s trying to hide it, but Jihoon catches the concerned look in his eyes. “Are you…doing okay, hyung?”

 

“Mhm.” Jihoon keeps his eyes ahead, tone neutral. “I’m fine.”

 

However, the response doesn’t seem to satisfy his dongsaeng, who lets loose a sharp exhale with too much air releasing. “Are you- Are you sure, I mean-”

 

But it’s too late to continue, because they emerge out into the open then and there, and Jihoon sees the training arena, straight ahead. 

 

There’s already people there. Maybe more than a few dozen, milling about near the fences, where a just barely visible transparent dome has been placed, most likely an enchantment to keep spells in, protecting the spectators on the outside.

 

Then, before Jihoon can move towards it, two individuals break out of the crowd.

 

“Jihoon!”

 

Seungcheol and Mingyu.

 

They both run up, side by side, expressions earnest, and Jihoon makes himself nod. “Hey, guys.”

 

“The other guy, Seokmin-ssi, the leader or whatever, he’s already here,” Seungcheol gestures with his head at the other side of the clearing. “Getting set up, I think. What about you, are you good?”

 

Jihoon shrugs, feeling his guitar shift on his back. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

Inside, he already knows it’s the opposite.

 

But he can feel Mingyu’s gaze on him. Feels the empath searching his face, probing for his emotions.

 

So Jihoon looks in the direction of the arena again, and does his best to make his mind nothing at all.

 

He knows it works when the other mage’s brows furrow in confusion.

 

Sorry, Mingyu. Not this time.

 

But the empath still speaks up. “We’re here for you, gonna cheer as loud as we can.”

 

“Damn right,” Seungcheol grins. “Good luck out there, not that you need it! You could probably kick anyone’s ass.”

 

Jihoon tries to quirk his lip. Tries to feel it as much as they do. Then, he turns. “Thanks.”

 

But before he can step away, there’s a grip on his arm, tight as steel.

 

He looks back, and it’s Chan again.

 

His dongsaeng looks younger again, nervous again, demeanor shifting as he strengthens his hold. 

 

“Can we- Can we talk after this, Jihoon-hyung? Just the four of us. About…everything.”

 

Everything.

 

Jihoon studies him, letting that word echo in the recesses of his mind. Then, he focuses on Seungcheol and Mingyu, and sees there in the depths of their expressions the same trepidation.

 

Then, his eyes cast to the ground as he says quietly, “Sure.”

 

And this time, when he pulls away, Chan doesn’t follow.

 

The gates loom ahead, the magical barrier rippling where it’s teared just slightly at the seams. 

 

Jihoon walks forward, barely noticing the way the onlookers retreat from him, and steps through.

 

A faint hiss, a subtle dim of sound, a miniscule drop in pressure, and Jihoon knows he’s inside.

 

And that he can see Seokmin now.

 

He’s dressed differently today.

 

Dark tunic, dark trousers. A pale cloak that extends to his ankles, rippling behind him as he leans over the fence, talking to someone- Joshua.

 

At his side, his sword hangs in its scabbard, its handle gleaming even with no light.

 

Excalibur, Jihoon remembers. The Sword of Light, who only chooses those pure of heart. It selects those it deigns worthy of being given its strength.

 

He watches as Seokmin leans in closer, and presses a kiss to Joshua’s cheek.

 

And that mythical sword had come to him, out of everyone. Making him the first ever magicless to wield it, perhaps.

 

The thought of it sends a dull ache through Jihoon, dissipating at the edges.

 

But then, Seokmin turns his head over his shoulder, and sees him.

 

And in an instant, his expression darkens.

 

He mutters something to Joshua, then leaves the fence, facing the sound mage completely.

 

His husband retreats, approaching the other gate, where an enchanted horn sits. He lifts it to his lips, and his voice rings out across the arena and its surrounding parts, stirring the air. “The duel will begin momentarily.”

 

At his words, Seokmin steps forward.

 

Jihoon does too, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

 

Joshua continues, his announcement echoing. “Our two combatants today are our village leader Seokmin, the new King Arthur, and Jihoon, formerly of this village, the God of Music.”

 

A mumble ripples through the surrounding crowd, but Jihoon can barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. He reaches out hesitantly, and Seokmin grips his hand with a strength that borders on painful, completing the handshake.

 

In his eyes, Jihoon finds nothing.

 

Then their hands fall away. Seokmin spins sharply, heading to the opposite end once more. Jihoon exhales, turns around, and takes his case off his shoulders.

 

He lowers it to the ground in the farthest corner, opens it, and settles his guitar into place.

 

As he straightens, he catches two more faces in the crowd.

 

Hansol, and Minghao, both on the outskirts. 

 

They’re watching, too.

 

Jihoon swallows, then re-faces Seokmin once more.

 

The other man draws Excalibur slowly, the blade gleaming even brighter as it's unsheathed, a beacon lighting the field.

 

Seokmin then assumes a fighting stance, his posture poised and unwavering, the shimmer of his blade a silent challenge.

 

Jihoon, in turn, positions his fingers over the strings of his guitar. He takes a deep breath, and feels the tension stretch between them like a tightrope waiting to snap.

 

“On my count.” Joshua’s eyes draw a line in between them once. “The battle will commence in three…two…”

 

Jihoon’s hand clenches his guitar, and wills the sharp sting in his chest to dull, if only for a moment.

 

“One. Begin!”

 

And then Seokmin charges. A dead sprint, Excalibur raised high.

 

Jihoon moves on instinct. His fingers strike the strings, a chord ringing out as a radiant shockwave flares to life before him, doubling as a forcefield. Excalibur crashes against it with a thunderous clang.

 

The blast is immediate, traveling through the arena at sonic speed, colliding with the enchantments lining the ring.

 

They pulse, absorbing the blow, though the spectators beyond still recoil in surprise.

 

Strong, Jihoon thinks, faintly. 

 

Seokmin doesn’t pause. With a swift swing, the forcefield Jihoon had conjured shatters, forcing him to sidestep the next strike.

 

Jihoon sends off another chord, summoning a barrier once more, and Excalibur strikes it again with a dissonant crash.

 

There’s no time, Jihoon realizes. No time to think.

 

And it just keeps going.

 

Seokmin doesn’t give him a single second.

 

Excalibur arcs, blinding in the half-light, cutting down through every barrier before it can fully form. He pivots on his heel, another strike already coming, silver sweeping toward Jihoon’s ribs.

 

Each step is precise, mechanical, ruthless. A swing, a shimmer, again and again. 

 

Jihoon backpedals, sparks skittering off his boots as the tip of Excalibur grazes past his sleeve. He keeps playing, but Seokmin is always there- pressing in, finding the openings, one strike closer every time.

 

It becomes a fluid dance between them: Seokmin relentlessly attacking, Jihoon constantly erecting shields, each keeping the other at bay, never allowing either to get close.

 

The battle drags on, the clash of holy steel against forcefields a persistent rhythm. 

 

Seokmin’s strikes are fast and brutal, his movements calculated with precision, but Jihoon keeps one step ahead, the motion of his fingers rapid against the guitar strings. The barriers shimmer into existence just before Excalibur lands, each new defense just barely enough to hold, but never enough to stop the magicless man altogether.

 

Jihoon’s breath comes faster now, his chest tight with the strain of holding this defensive stance. Each chord, each shield feels like it costs more of him, but he has to keep this up. He has no other choice.

 

Maybe- Maybe Seokmin will stop soon. Maybe he’ll call this whole thing off. Jihoon just has to hold out until then, hold out just a little longer-

 

Until Seokmin suddenly is there in front of him, Excalibur flashing, and Jihoon has no time to deflect. No time to even dodge.

 

And the first cut opens up on his arm.

 

Instantly, Jihoon reels back, breath jerking through his teeth. His fingers fall off the strings, clamping instinctively over the wound, eyes widening at it.

 

Seokmin cut him, he cut him-

 

“What are you doing?” The village leader growls then, and Jihoon jolts his head back up, finding the other’s eyes seething in barely contained fury. “You think you can just run away from this too?”

 

Run away.

 

Jihoon freezes.

 

And then- another slash.

 

This one, on his leg.

 

More pain blooms up to his knee, and he sees spots dancing before him as he stumbles backwards.

 

Seokmin sneers. “You’re a God, aren’t you? Is this really all you can do? Or are you holding back?”

 

The words build in Jihoon’s throat, but they’re stuck. Stones lodged deep in his chest. A dam that cannot be broken.

 

He strums, weakly, sending a slice of magic he knows the other will dodge.

 

And as expected, Seokmin does, sidestepping it effortlessly.

 

“Come on, Jihoon,” he snarls, and the venom in it hits Jihoon with the same force as any of his blows. “Fight me! Fucking fight me!”

 

Fight him. Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut, regaining his footing. Fight him.

 

He feels his wounds stinging, burning where steel has sliced.

 

Fight him. Fight him. He wants you to fight.

 

His fingers hover over the strings once more.

 

But Jihoon already knows- he can’t.

 

He just can’t.

 

Because it’s that first day again.

 

It’s that first day, when he left the village he was hiding in with an angry Seungcheol, a kind Mingyu, and an ambitious Chan, and stood before a griffin crying out for vengeance, ready to tear him to shreds.

 

When his hand clenched his guitar, and he froze, unable to even move.

 

But this time- this time, it’s worse.

 

This time, the pain gnaws itself up his spine, spreading everywhere like a wildfire, devouring everything in its path.

 

I don’t want to fight you, Seokmin. 

 

…I don’t want to fight.

 

Through the haze, Jihoon thinks he hears someone calling his name, faint and distant, coming from beyond the barrier. It sounds like Chan, but the words are lost.

 

I don’t want to fight you, Seokmin. I don’t want to hurt you.

 

Seokmin slashes again, and Jihoon doesn’t bother with a spell this time, instead using his guitar to block the blow, splinters fraying from the edges.

 

I’ve…hurt you enough.

 

Seokmin lets out a guttural roar as Excalibur glows brighter, slicing through the air at Jihoon’s face. Jihoon barely dodges again, rolling across the ground. The blood smears across his arm and leg, his cuts stinging with each movement.

 

Then when he gets back up, he finds that his opponent has stopped, his chest heaving, his sword tip dragging across the ground, as he levels Jihoon with a glare, filled with anger, and something else. 

 

Grief.

 

“You came back for a reason, didn’t you?” Seokmin spits. “Was it to gloat? To show you’ve been totally fine all this time? To prove you don’t need me or anyone else anymore?”

 

His eyes narrow into slits. “To show that he meant nothing to you?!”

 

And Jihoon’s mind blanks.

 

No- it overflows.

 

With bright smiles. With laughter.

 

With a locket pressed into his waiting hands.

 

With a heartbeat under his ear, swaying to the music.

 

With lips tracing the curves of his wrist, murmuring sweet nothings.

 

With a sea of stars.

 

He meant everything to me.

 

“You could’ve saved him!” Seokmin screams, voice cracking, and then he’s charging again. Jihoon thrusts his guitar in front of him, the force of Excalibur forcing him back. “Why didn’t you?! You could’ve saved him, but instead, you left him to rot!”

 

Well, I like you. You, and your magic.

 

We’ll still be together. No matter what.

 

I want to grow old with you.

 

Gods, I love you so much, Lee Jihoon.

 

I know. Jihoon’s throat closes up. I know I did.

 

“You ran away as he died!” Seokmin advances, and this time, Jihoon’s guitar cracks across its side as the sword rings against it, its sound deafening. “And then you ran from us! You ran, and left me- to pick up all these broken pieces!”

 

And that is the last strike.

 

Jihoon’s guitar is finally sliced through. 

 

Wood splinters in all directions, scattering across the field, sharp edges stinging his fingers. 

 

But Jihoon barely feels it.

 

Because he sees it before him again.

 

Soonyoung, beautiful Soonyoung, a wet smile on his lips and the stars always in his eyes-

 

As the blight crawls up the veins of his throat.

 

“But I won’t let you run anymore.” Seokmin’s voice is cold, final. “Not another step.”

 

And then, he lunges at Jihoon, driving Excalibur’s hilt into his stomach. 

 

The world goes sideways as the sound mage stumbles, his body falling back. His head slams into the ground with a sickening thud.

 

His mind swims in agony, but he can still feel Seokmin as the other digs his knees into his stomach, pinning him down against the dirt, his eyes wild. “I’ll make you pay for everything you’ve done.”

 

He raises Excalibur high, the holy sword’s tip blinding, glimmering, right above Jihoon’s face.

 

And the world slows.

 

Jihoon knows he can still fight back. He knows he should. His magic isn’t yet depleted, still coursing through his veins, waiting to be unleashed.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

He lies there, watching as Excalibur descends, the world narrowing to the blade’s shining edge. The air is heavy and suffocating, yet all he hears is a chilly silence.

 

Because…why?

 

Why should he fight, when everything Seokmin had said is true?

 

Why should Jihoon keep pretending that everything- 

 

Everything-

 

Is okay?

 

I love you so much, Lee Jihoon.

 

He can feel Soonyoung’s tears on his thumbs again. Can feel the choked up laugh of happiness against his lips.

 

Can feel the weight of his head on his shoulder, back when they were seven and unafraid.

 

I let you die.

 

The visions disappear, and he looks up into Seokmin’s burning gaze.

 

And I abandoned you.

 

The weight of it presses down harder than Seokmin’s knees. The world blurs the edges, the dirt beneath him softening as if to swallow Jihoon whole.

 

All I’ve ever done…is hurt others.

 

The magic in his veins hums faintly, waiting, but he doesn’t reach for it.

 

I’m tired of it. Of all of this.

 

His chest sinks, the ache hollow and all-consuming.

 

I’m tired of fighting.

 

Excalibur glints one last time.

 

I’m just…tired.

 

Soonyoung…are you waiting for me?

 

And then, a muffled scream. The sound of rushing footsteps.

 

Jihoon turns his head, blinking through the haze.

 

Chan. Mingyu. Seungcheol.

 

They’re leaping the fence.

 

…They’re coming for him.

 

Chan’s at the front, his face frantic, his mouth opening, as if he’s trying to call his name.

 

You guys…

 

And Jihoon thinks of it all.

 

He thinks of the campfires every night. He thinks of the training. He thinks of the sights they’ve seen together, all the villages and towns they’ve traveled with one another.

 

He thinks of Chan’s constant energy. He thinks of Mingyu’s fear of heights. He thinks of Seungcheol laughing at his terrible violin skills.

 

Thank you for bringing some happiness into my life.

 

He remembers Seungcheol showing off his prototype gauntlets, the fire gleaming against the rays of the day. He remembers Mingyu’s eyes glowing violet, unafraid. He remembers Chan after patching the silo, the way the people cheered for him without hesitation.

 

You guys have gotten so much stronger, so much more confident in your own abilities. All of you…can stand on your own two feet now.

 

Jihoon’s hand, limp against the dirt, twitches once, before he stretches it out towards them.

 

But not to reach.

 

So, I think it’s clear enough…that you don’t need me. Not anymore.

 

With one sharp, shuddering breath, Jihoon lets his final spell go.

 

The air around him collapses inward, then detonates, an eruption of wind that rips from his palm like a tempest unleashed. 

 

The blast slams into his friends mid‑stride, lifting them off their feet like leaves caught in a storm, hurling them backward in a violent sweep. Dust and debris whip around them, cloaking the field in a twisting vortex, swallowing every shout.

 

So you don’t have to save me from this.

 

And just before he sees them fall, he closes his eyes.

 

He’s ready now. Ready to let go. Ready for the end.

 

He sees Soonyoung one final time, laughing on the rooftop, legs swinging.

 

He’s ready…to go home.

 

He feels Excalibur’s cold steel rushing towards his throat, and welcomes it with open arms.

 

…

 

But then, there’s only the sound of rapid, labored breathing. Quick gulps of air, followed by a grunt, strained, like someone fighting to hold back pain.

 

The tip of Excalibur touches Jihoon’s throat, just barely. A whisper of contact. But it’s enough for him to feel the tremor of the steel. The unmistakable shake in Seokmin’s grip.

 

But Jihoon doesn’t open his eyes. There’s no point to. The inevitable end will come, and he knows it. He trusts Seokmin to do at least this much for him.

 

To make it swift.

 

But then, Seokmin cries out, a shriek of agony, before the ground by Jihoon’s head ruptures, dust and soil spraying across his cheek. 

 

Excalibur, driven into the earth, not his flesh.

 

For a moment, all is quiet. Jihoon is aware of his own breathing, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of soft, stifled sobs. 

 

Then, he opens his eyes.

 

Seokmin crouches over him, shoulders hunched and shaking. One hand grips the hilt of Excalibur still, knuckles white, the blade still lodged in the dirt.

 

Tears streak down Seokmin’s face, his jaw clenched tight. His face is scrunched up, his teeth gritted as he forces out, “You idiot. You’re such an idiot, Jihoon-hyung.”

 

Jihoon doesn’t understand. For the most part, everything inside him has stopped working. He registers two things. That he’s still alive, and that Seokmin is calling him hyung.

 

Something he never thought he’d hear from him again.

 

Then, Seokmin’s hands grip the collar of his shirt, dragging him upwards. Jihoon feels spit land on his face as Seokmin brings them nose to nose.

 

“You think you’re so n-noble.” Seokmin’s voice quakes. “You think I’d just let you find the easy way out, huh?”

 

And Jihoon still doesn’t understand. He just stares at him blankly. Why didn’t Seokmin kill him? He deserves it.

 

“I won’t let you do that,” Seokmin’s voice drops to a growl. “You idiot. I decide how this ends- not you.”

 

Jihoon looks into his eyes, and still doesn’t have a clue what he sees.

 

Then, Seokmin releases him. He falls back onto the dirt, head facing the sky.

 

Wiping his face with a shaky arm, Seokmin grabs Excalibur, as if to pull it from the earth. 

 

But then, he stops, his expression cracking even further as he looks at the sword.

 

“You weren’t meant for this,” he whispers, and it’s almost like he’s speaking to the weapon itself.

 

Then, he lets go of the hilt, and without another word, he stands, and fades from Jihoon’s sight completely.

 

And after, there is only silence.

 

A heavy, droning silence, where Jihoon remains still. He doesn’t think he can move. He’s not sure he even wants to anymore.

 

Finally, Joshua’s voice cuts through the stillness, amplified by the enchanted horn. “The duel has ended in a draw. There will be no rematch.”

 

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, the quiet returns. Then, Jihoon hears the soft patter of footsteps, followed by Chan’s voice, breathless and frantic. “Hyung!”

 

The sight of the pale clouds twists as a bruising grip on Jihoon’s arms forces him up, and directly into a crushing, desperate embrace.

 

“What were you doing?” Chan sobs, his voice cracking. “What were you thinking- he was going to kill you, why were you going to let him-”

 

Jihoon doesn’t respond. He feels nothing, as his dongsaeng clings to him as if he’d never let go again. He’s dimly aware of Mingyu and Seungcheol reaching them too, of their arms slipping around his shoulders as well.

 

“Don’t you ever, ever-” Chan’s voice trembles with raw emotion as his hands grip Jihoon’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Do that again, hyung! I mean it! You mean so much to me, to all of us! Do you understand me?”

 

Again, no response. Jihoon watches as the tear tracks grow on Chan’s face, watches Mingyu hold on tighter, his hulking form almost blocking Jihoon’s view of Seungcheol’s pained expression.

 

The only thing he can think of is, why? Why did Seokmin let him live? What was even the purpose? 

 

…Is Jihoon not even worth the energy of being killed?

 

…Everything feels distant, so distant. And Jihoon doesn’t even think it’s a bad thing, watching it all from this far away. In fact, part of him wishes he could stay here, detached, forever.

 

Then, at some point, Seungcheol shoots up abruptly, his eyes dark with fury, licks of flame springing to life on his skin as he glares up at something Jihoon can’t see. 

 

“Get back. Now.”

 

Then, a voice, soft and calm. It’s Joshua’s, the absence of the horn prevalent as he says, gently, “I’m just here to retrieve the sword.”

 

A stifling pause, before Mingyu speaks, his tone ashen. 

 

“...He’s telling the truth.”

 

Seungcheol’s flames flicker out, but his eyes still smolder with barely contained anger.

 

Joshua steps into Jihoon’s line of sight, crouching as he reaches for Excalibur, taking it by the hilt. Though Jihoon remains motionless, Chan flinches, tightening his hold on his hyung, as though ready to act if Seokmin’s husband so much as made the slightest wrong move.

 

Straightening with Excalibur in hand, Joshua’s gaze lingers on Jihoon. Then, without a word, he bows, low and deliberate.

 

Jihoon hears the sharp intakes of breath from his friends.

 

When Joshua rises to his full height once more, his eyes hold something unreadable, a fleeting emotion that vanishes as quickly as it appears. He says nothing. Instead, he turns on his heel, and leaves.

 

Jihoon watches him go, then he’s jostled roughly as Chan shoves his wet face into his neck. 

 

Seungcheol grips his shoulder, his voice rough as he demands, “Damn it, Jihoon- say something.”

 

But Jihoon remains silent. 

 

The world spins before him for a long, long time.

 

And then, he’s only aware of collapsing forward, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Notes:

ahahaha join me in the tissue box circle we're all not okay here

i will update soon <3

Chapter 20: The Aftermath

Summary:

You think you can just run away from this too?

Seokmin’s loud rage, raw and deafening.

And Jihoon knows that he can’t deny it.

Because he did want to run. Far away, far from it all. Maybe until he fell off the face of the world.

Until he became nothing, a shadow in the distance. Until he couldn’t be touched by anything.

Until it all finally stopped hurting.

Notes:

Let's just say that... our hero Jihoon's finally hit a breaking point.

Keep those tissues at hand...and save a mental hug for our boy ;-;

The world returns, but in fragments. 

 

A low hum. A flicker of light.

 

The pressure of something soft beneath.

 

Air, dragging through lungs, uneven, heavy with the taste of iron and dust.

 

The sensation of fingers, faint. Breath, lingering softly in the recesses of a chest.

 

And when Jihoon wakes, he feels weightless.

 

Detached.

 

His vision swims. A myriad of muted colors, dancing before his eyes.

 

He closes them again, reopening them, focus finally clearing up.

 

There’s a faint smell of old wood. Herbal remedies. 

 

The glow of sunlight spilling weakly through the cracks of curtains.

 

Oh.

 

He’s back in his room. At the inn.

 

There’s an ache in his limbs. It feels deep in his muscles, maybe inside his bones themselves.

 

From the duel, no doubt. Excalibur’s many strikes.

 

But the pain…feels distant. 

 

Like it’s someone else’s.

 

His head lolls to the side, cheek pressing against the soft fabric of a pillow, gaze landing upon the nightstand. The wood is chipped along the edge, the varnish worn thin. 

 

A glass of water sits upon it, the liquid near the rim. Next to it, his locket, its chain laid in a messy loop around it. Jihoon doesn’t remember ever taking it off.

 

Then, beside them both, a small bundle of gauze and bandages.

 

The realization comes to him, and he looks down himself, seeing the white wrappings around his arm and leg. Someone must have dressed his wounds while he was asleep.

 

He stares at them blankly, and the memories come back, slow and thick as if churning through sap.

 

You think you can just run away from this too?

 

Seokmin’s loud rage, raw and deafening.

 

And Jihoon knows that he can’t deny it.

 

Because he did want to run. Far away, far from it all. Maybe until he fell off the face of the world.

 

Until he became nothing, a shadow in the distance. Until he couldn’t be touched by anything.

 

Until it all finally stopped hurting.

 

But he’s still here. Alive.

 

And still, the answer eludes him.

 

Why didn’t he kill me?

 

Slowly, his eyes return to the ceiling.

 

Then, there is a faint creak of the door. A hushed breath.

 

Jihoon can’t tell who it is, but the voice comes soon enough.

 

“...Hyung?” Chan asks softly. “Are you awake?”

 

There’s a gentle clink. A tray, set on the nearby table. The scent of steaming porridge fills the air.

 

Jihoon knows he should respond. He should.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

He still feels tired. Even when he’s slept.

 

“I, um…” Chan’s voice is small, smaller than Jihoon remembers hearing in a long time. “I thought you might be hungry. It’s almost evening, and…you haven’t eaten all day.

 

No reply. The stillness stretches, growing heavier by the second.

 

Jihoon feels his dongsaeng’s gaze on him, quiet but searching, waiting for something he doesn’t have to give.

 

Then, the bed dips, just barely. Chan, perching at the edge, as if afraid to disturb him even just  a little.

 

“You…You really scared us, hyung.”

 

His voice starts to tremble. “You scared me. I thought- I thought we were going to lose you.”

 

Another pause.

 

“I don’t, I don’t know what to do,” Chan breathes. “I’m not sure what to say- I’m not sure I know how to help. But- I’m here, okay? I’m right here.”

 

Then, his hand is on Jihoon’s palm, squeezing tight. Bruisingly. As if the younger one needs to feel him, to remind himself he’s still real.

 

Real. Jihoon feels anything but.

 

“You don’t have to talk,” Chan says then, and he pulls away, but it’s only by a little, as if reluctant to let go. “But…just eat something, please? For me? For Mingyu-hyung, and Seungcheol-hyung, too?”

 

Nothing follows.

 

Chan exhales tremulously. Jihoon feels him stand up, the bed shifting back to its original shape.

 

There’s one more pause, as though he wants to say so much more.

 

But then, all he mutters in the end is, “I’ll…come back later.”

 

The door clicks shut behind him, and the room falls quiet once more.

 

Jihoon’s eyes flicker up to the untouched tray. Then, his gaze once more drifts back upwards.

 

Everything feels suffocating, like something heavy pressing down on him. And at the same time, he feels nothing at all.

 

Again, he sinks back into unconsciousness.

 

…

The next time he wakes, it’s to more voices.

 

Muffled, but loud and angry. As if they’re coming from just outside the door, in the hallway corridor.

 

“I don’t care what you may think, plant doctor,” one roars. Seungcheol. “But we’re taking our stuff and getting the hell out of here!”

 

“No, you won’t,” another retorts. Minghao’s. “Not when Jihoon-ssi’s in that state. He is in no condition to travel again-”

 

“Says who?”

“Says me. He is under my care as a healer, and so, I am assigned to protect him-”

 

“Rich of you to tell me you’ll protect him,” Seungcheol screams, even louder than before. “When your leader tried to fucking KILL HIM JUST HOURS AGO-”

 

“I have no control over what Seokmin does,” Minghao replies, voice still deathly calm. “Don’t take your anger out on me-”


“WELL, CONTROL HIM, THEN, BEFORE I SET YOU AND YOUR WHOLE STUPID OFFICE ON FIRE-”

 

“Stop,” another voice rings through. Chan’s, sniffling and breathless. “Guys, please- stop. Seungcheol-hyung, let’s just stay here for now. Minghao- Minghao-ssi’s right. Jihoon-hyung’s not even eating- there’s no way we can take care of him by ourselves. Please, hyung…”

 

There’s a chilling silence.

 

Then, Seungcheol’s harsh exhale, and the pounding of a fist against the wall.

 

“...Fine.”

 

The ceiling swims before Jihoon’s eyes again.

 

…

 

And then, on the third time, it’s quiet again.

 

Jihoon doesn’t try to open his eyes this time. He feels even more exhausted than before. As if sleep is just taking more energy from him, instead of replenishing it.

 

But then, frantic footsteps echo from outside.

 

And the door bursts open, the hinges screaming.

 

“Jihoon.”

 

It’s Seungcheol again.

 

But this time, inside.

 

“Jihoon,” the fire mage repeats, and it’s strange.

 

Strange how once, his words would spark energy in Jihoon. Would give fuel to a rise inside of him, sending both into back-and-forth banter that would last for at least half an hour every occasion.

 

But this time, there’s no tease. No provocation. Jihoon has nothing to say.

 

Guess that’s just another fight he’s let slip away.

 

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol says one final time, harsher, as if hoping that would make the difference. “Answer me. Right now. That’s an order.”

 

Only silence.

 

Inside Jihoon’s disjointed mind, he thinks he just wants him to go away.

 

But Seungcheol doesn’t.

 

In fact, he only steps forward, a curse on his tongue-

 

And then, he’s climbing onto the bed.

 

Heavier, clumsier, and nothing like Chan. The mattress dips rapidly, jostling Jihoon’s body until it’s nearly knocked sideways.

 

But then a hand slips beneath him, yanking him upright with force.

 

The touch is searing, yet Jihoon senses that the other’s not using his magic at all.

 

“Come on,” Seungcheol growls. “Look at me.”

Jihoon can’t. His head doesn’t even feel connected to his body, hanging heavy like stone.

 

Then, there’s a hand on his face. Seungcheol, cradling it, lifting it upwards.

 

Jihoon finally sees his expression, creased with both frustration and desperate concern.

 

“Snap out of this,” the flame mage hisses. “You need to snap out of this, damn it. I’ve seen Chan cry enough today.”

 

Jihoon’s eyes only flutter in response, threatening to drift shut once more.

 

Seungcheol exhales sharply, a mix of annoyance and anguish. And then-

 

And then, in one swift motion, Jihoon is suddenly lifted into his arms.

 

There’s a swoop in the other’s stomach at the sudden change, and then he’s being deposited at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging limply over the side. Before he could collapse again, his body still limp, Seungcheol grabs him by the shoulders, forcing him upright.

 

“Any day now, jackass,” he demands, his voice betraying the smallest of cracks. “Come on.”

 

He shakes him, Jihoon’s head rocking back and forth violently. “Come on!”

 

And still, like every time before, Jihoon does not respond.

 

Instead, he stares downwards at where his hands lie limp in his lap, and wonders when it’ll all fade away again.

 

Seungcheol’s grip hardens, nails digging slightly into Jihoon's shoulders as he hunches over. “Fuck.”

 

It almost sounds like defeat.

 

But then, the fire mage raises his head once more.

 

His eyes scan the room, as if searching for something- anything.

 

Then, he moves.

 

Not far, only to the table sitting in the corner, where the porridge still sits, most likely cold.

 

But Seungcheol takes the bowl, raises it, hands splaying over the sides, and his eyes narrow in concentration.

 

Seconds later, flames sprout to life, spiraling around the ceramic in golden licks, some of the residual heat drifting towards Jihoon’s face.

 

Snatching the spoon from where it rests on the tray, Seungcheol reapproaches, and in the next moment, lifts a portion of the now-warm porridge to Jihoon’s lips.

 

“If you don’t do anything else, that’s fine by me,” Seungcheol murmurs. “But you need to eat.”

 

Jihoon stares at the spoon, gaze unfocused.

 

He doesn’t feel hungry.

 

But then, a strand of hair, hanging in front of his eyes, is pushed from his face gently.

 

It’s Seungcheol’s hand, carefully moving it away.

 

“...Please,” his leader whispers, an unmistaken plea.

 

The first that Jihoon’s ever heard from him.

 

And…that does it.

 

It’s somehow enough.

 

His mouth opens, just barely, and the porridge slips through.

 

It’s warm. Muted. Slightly grainy, the taste of herbs lingering. 

 

It should be comforting. But it only takes up space in the emptiness.

 

Still, Seungcheol’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, glistening, the relief in them unmistakable. “That’s it. That’s it, Jihoon.”

 

Then, before Jihoon can process it, another spoonful awaits at his lips.

 

“Another one,” his leader whispers. “I know you can do this.”

 

It feels so…difficult. Jihoon can feel his every movement, heavy and sluggish. But still, he obeys.

 

Then Seungcheol’s settling on the bed beside him, bowl in his lap, resting a hand on the back of Jihoon’s neck, guiding him to take another bite.

 

A breathless whimper claws its way out of Jihoon involuntarily, filled with helplessness. He can’t keep doing this. It hurts.

 

“Shh, shh,” Seungcheol murmurs, gaze still uncharacteristically soft. “I know. But just a few more, okay? You need this. Just a few more.”

 

Jihoon inhales, the action monumental, swallows once more, and the quiet thought crosses his mind that he’s being treated like a child at the moment.

 

Strangely enough, it doesn’t bother him.

 

The motions continue. A long, rhythmic cycle. Jihoon’s mouth opens, the warm porridge slides down his throat, and for a brief moment, everything else falls away. His focus, his world, is reduced to this singular moment, his leader’s hand on the back of his neck, and the spoon at his lips.

 

And then, finally, after what feels like eons, it stops.

 

“That was all of it.” Seungcheol’s thumb draws strokes across the curve of his nape. “Good job, Jihoon. Good job, yeah?”

 

He shifts once, setting the bowl on the nightstand, before he returns. His hand reaches up, flitting in front of Jihoon’s vision, and then-

 

He runs his hand through Jihoon’s hair.

 

The fingers thread between the strands like they’re memorizing him, pressing lightly against his scalp.

 

And Jihoon’s breath stutters. The sensation- it’s too soft, almost unbearably so. His whole body seems to recoil from it at first, as if comfort itself has teeth.

 

But Seungcheol’s touch doesn’t retreat. It stays.

 

Then, his hand drops to Jihoon’s chest, and pushes him, gently as he can, back onto the bed.

 

The sheet is tugged out from underneath him, falling across his chest, arms tucked underneath.

 

“Sleep,” Seungcheol commands softly. “I’ve got you.”

 

Of course, that’s all it takes. Jihoon’s eyes instantly close, succumbing to the everlasting heaviness.

 

But as he drifts off once more, he hears his leader’s voice still, a faint tremor inside it, quiet and raw. As if meant for no one to hear.

 

“...I’m sorry.”

 

…

 

Then on the fourth, Jihoon opens his eyes, and finds them in the room with him.

 

Chan, Seungcheol, and Minghao.

 

They’re talking, quietly. It seems they’re unaware that he’s stirred.

 

And, from what he could see, his head having turned to the side of the pillow, is Chan seated by his bed, fingers rubbing over his knuckles absentmindedly, studying them, as he asks, “So, then…what is it that Jihoon-hyung has, exactly?”

 

Minghao replies, not visible, from another corner. “Based on what you’ve told me so far…it strikes me as depression.”

 

A pause. There’s an audible intake of breath from Seungcheol.

 

Chan’s knuckles turn to white in his lap, his face paling, eyes welling up. “Are you…Are you sure, Minghao-ssi?”

 

“We can run through it again, if you’d like.” Minghao’s tone remains matter-of-fact. “He has no desire to eat. He remains fatigued. You two- obviously close to him- have been trying to get him to respond, but it’s difficult.”

 

He pauses. “Did he have any special interests? Favorite thing he likes to do? Did he express any wants?”

 

Seungcheol shakily inhales again. “...Not really.”

 

“He kept to himself a lot, even when comfortable?” Minghao adds.

 

Chan squeezes his eyes shut. “...Yeah.”

 

 “Not only that, but he’s a war veteran,” Minghao continues. “He’s seen a great deal of battle. And possibly…a great deal of loss. Was there anyone in particular that would have been…special to him?”

 

Silence.

 

Then, Seungcheol tentatively says, “I…wouldn’t know. Chan? What about you? You know him best.”

 

And Jihoon watches through half-lidded eyes as Chan looks up, face now like a ghost’s.

 

He visibly swallows. His eyes rest on Jihoon for the briefest of moments.

 

Then, he shakes his head. Even as his gaze remains knowing.

 

“There is…someone. But let’s not talk about this right now.”

 

A sharp gasp from Seungcheol.

 

“Chan-” he protests, tone a warning. “Come on- He hides so much already, just let us-”

 

“Not with Jihoon-hyung like this, I won’t,” Chan retorts.

 

Another silence.

 

Seungcheol lets out a frustrated breath. “...Alright.”

 

Minghao clears his throat. “So we have a major loss to add. All of this, along with the way the duel had concluded…”

 

He trails off for a moment, before finishing. “I would say I’m certain. He’s going through a major depressive episode.”

 

The hush falls right after.

 

Chan gulps audibly, then rubs at his face.

 

Minghao lets out a sigh. “I know this is a lot to take in. And things seem precarious at best. His condition could tip at any moment.”

 

Then, his voice turns firm. “But you both are already trying to help. And that’s more than enough. After all, you got him to eat the porridge last night, right, Seungcheol-ssi?”

 

Another lull, in which the fire mage probably nods.

 

“That’s a start.” Minghao’s voice becomes warmer. “Just continue to care for him. Be consistent.”

 

His voice lowers. “And then perhaps, we’ll find out if it truly helps him or not.”

 

Chan nods, wiping at his face once more. “...Okay.”

 

Seungcheol lets out a grunt. “Right.”

 

Jihoon lays there, as all of what he’s heard flows through him at once.

 

Depression, huh?

 

He supposes…that explains a few things.

 

Or maybe all of it.

 

And then, like all the other times…

 

His eyes close, and he succumbs to the dark.

 

Almost content to stay there.

Notes:

Did a lot of research to make sure I showed how a veteran's trauma affects him as accurately as I can

Next chapter- perspective change! I'll let you guess who!

(Hint: it's a member of the main team)

Chapter 21: The Warp Mage

Summary:

Please, please, please-

Don’t leave me.

I know I wasn’t always the best dongsaeng, I know I threatened to leave you a hundred times, I know I was reckless and ambitious and thought I could do this alone.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

Jihoon-hyung, I’m not ready to be alone again.

Notes:

So this one's a straight up banger, I had to cook for several months

Happy New Year everyone! Hope you enjoy!

Chan hasn’t slept in over eighteen hours.

 

It’s too hard to. Every time he tries to lie still and close his eyes, something always keeps him from it.

 

Sighing, he lifts his head once more from where he was resting it in between his arms.

 

Jihoon’s asleep again.

 

If it can be called that.

 

His breath comes shallow, uneven. The light coming through the curtains stains his profile in muted flaxen, catching on the shadows beneath his eyes. 

 

Chan leans up, propping himself on one elbow, getting a better look. Now he can see his hyung’s eyelashes, trembling against skin that looks etched from stillness.

 

The sound mage’s hands remain at his sides, twin lumps under the blankets. It’s most likely he hasn’t even moved. A statue, with no energy even to turn over.

 

“How’s he doing?” Seungcheol asks from the corner.

 

Chan turns his head to see him, finds him lifting his head from where he’s lying back on the nearby plush chair, hair sticking out in tangled tufts, eyes glazed with exhaustion.

 

“...Same as he’s been doing,” the warp mage answers, facing Jihoon again. “He’s just..lying here.”

 

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his nose, leaning back, gazing at the ceiling. “Tried to give him some of the oatmeal we had this morning. But he wouldn’t take it. It’s like he’s getting…”

 

He takes a shaky breath. “Weaker.”

 

Weaker.

 

A term Chan never thought his Jihoon-hyung would be.

 

It never defined him. He was always strong.

 

At least…Chan thought he was.

 

Then the duel happened. And it was like watching the world crumble right before Chan’s eyes.

 

And he knew- he knew he should have stopped it.

 

He had known from the moment he warped to Jihoon’s side that morning and saw that look in his eyes. A look that to most others would only read as a sort of grim determination, a resolve to just get through to a win.

 

But Chan should have looked deeper. Should have seen that Jihoon never once had the intention of winning- especially not against Seokmin.

 

Out of everyone, Chan should have looked.

 

Instead, he had watched as Jihoon walked into that ring with his guitar, and watched as he did nothing to fight back, did nothing as his guitar was shattered to pieces in his hands, did nothing as Seokmin pinned him to the ground and raised Excalibur high above his head-

 

Then Chan had ran, as fast as he could, thinking no, no, no, this has gone too far, his body right in the middle of warping-

 

Only to be blasted back by a tempest conjured by the very same man he was trying to save, and seeing through a faded, concussed vision, the look of calm on his hyung’s face.

 

As if he was waiting for it. As if he was waiting, in some sort of way, to be freed.

 

Instantly, Chan’s eyes begin to sting, the tears that he’s cried for the past few days returning.

 

The healer Minghao’s words ring loud in his head. Be consistent.

 

Yeah, Chan was consistent. Consistent in thinking that Jihoon could never fall apart. That he could always keep going.

 

And now, all he could think of is that evening back in Jihoon’s study, when his hands clenched on the desk’s edge as Chan reasoned with him. When he held that helpless look in his eyes, reluctant, maybe even scared. A veteran mage, something they forget because they've long not thought about it, no longer willing to fight.

 

I did that, the warp mage realizes. I made him come along. I- pushed him too far. It’s my fault.

 

He hunches over the bed, face in his hands as the tears come faster. It’s all my fault.

 

Reaching for Jihoon’s hand, holding onto its warmth, he shakes his head. I should have never-

 

Then, Chan feels the other’s fingers twitch under his palm.

 

His breath catches, and he looks up. Jihoon- he’s awake again-

 

But then, the grip tightens. Rigid. Unyielding. In fact, it locks. The sound mage’s arm is trembling, muscles spasming beneath the blankets.

 

A sharp gasp breaks from Jihoon’s throat, his body jerking once, then again- violent, uncontrollable motions rattling the bedframe.

 

“Hyung?” Chan’s voice pitches upward, panic cutting through fatigue. “Hyung, what’s-”

 

Jihoon’s eyes roll open, unfocused, distant.

 

Seungcheol’s chair scrapes across the floor as he jumps to his feet. “What’s happening-?”

 

“I don’t know!” Chan’s words dissolve into gasps. “He’s- He’s not breathing right-”

 

Seungcheol practically flies across the room, grabbing at Jihoon’s legs before he could topple off the bed, giving Chan a frantic glance. “Get the- fuck, get the healer!”

 

Chan shoots up, but his hands still hover over the bed, shaking. “But-”

 

“Just go!” Seungcheol roars.

 

And Chan does.

 

The world phases past him as he jumps straight into a warp, his stomach dropping even harder than he’s used to, overwhelmed by every nerve. His vision fractures into kaleidoscopes, scattering shards of the familiar spinning around in dizzy patterns.

 

Damn it, he’s not in the right state of mind at all. He might just end up maiming himself, or getting trapped in something he can’t escape-

 

Where the hell is he even trying to go?

 

But then, the heavy scent of herbal medicine hits his nose, and reality crashes back in, sending him stumbling into a pile of crates.

 

He manages to catch himself on one of them, turns and meets Minghao’s shocked expression, the healer setting down the teacup he was holding.

 

“Chan-ssi- how did you-”

 

No time to explain his magic. Chan rushes over, nearly tripping over a chair leg. “It’s Jihoon- we need you!”

 

Minghao’s expression changes in a flash, and he stands. “Let me grab my kit.”

 

He lunges for the box in the corner, most likely full of supplies, snatches it by the handle, and makes for the door. 

 

“No- that’ll take too long!” Chan reaches out, realizing he intends to just run there. “Take my hand!”

 

Minghao looks back, confused. “What-?”

 

Chan touches him by the arm, and warps them both.

 

This time, his tired mind is finally clear enough, chanting, Jihoon-hyung’s room at the inn, Jihoon-hyung’s room at the inn!

 

Then, they’re back.

 

Seungcheol is still clutching Jihoon’s trembling body, the ends of his hair flaring with anxious heat. When he spots them, he snaps his head up. “It’s not stopping-”

 

“A seizure,” Minghao says instantly, voice steadying. “Shit, I’ve only ever read about this- don’t hold him down! Turn him on his side!”

 

“What-” Seungcheol freezes, then scrambles to obey. “How does this even help-?”

 

“It helps him from choking on his own spit!” Minghao barks, kneeling beside the bed. “His throat is most likely closing up- saliva could block his airway!”

 

“O-Okay,” Chan stammers. “Is there anything I-”

 

“Just keep him steady!” Minghao shouts, his palms outstretched, the glow of magic erupting from them. “And let me work!”

 

Chan obeys, clambering onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he reaches to carefully cradle Jihoon by the shoulders with one arm. His other hand cups the back of Jihoon’s head, fingers threading through sweat-dampened hair, trying to keep it from slamming against the headboard with each violent tremor.

 

“Right- Hyung-”

 

He looks down, sees the other’s eyes glazed over, rolling up into his skull, forcing down every stab of dread. “You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, I promise-”

 

Seungcheol braces Jihoon’s legs, his large hands firm but careful around thrashing calves, holding them as still as he can without restricting the convulsions entirely. His flames have extinguished completely, all his focus channeled into being an anchor, a steadying weight.

 

“Come on,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Come on, Jihoon, just- just hold on-”

 

“Keep talking to him,” Minghao orders, miniscule vines now trailing from the tips of his fingers. “Make him focus on you- don't stop!”

 

Chan strokes Jihoon’s head again, even as his fingers shake, swallowing back countless pleas. “Listen to me, okay, hyung, you’re safe with me, you’re always safe with your Channie-”

 

“We’ve got you,” Seungcheol grounds out, and Chan can see the tears in his eyes too, two beads that soon streak down both of his cheeks. “We’re right here, right here-”

 

Minghao’s vines finally make contact, wrapping around each of Jihoon’s trembling wrists with deliberate precision, spiraling upwards rapidly in tight, overlapping coils. A quick moment later, they begin to glow, luminescence spreading through the leaves.

 

“Not too fast,” the healer whispers, seemingly more to himself than to the others. “Slow, slow- you have to guide it, not force it-”

 

“Please- hurry-” Seungcheol chokes out.

 

Minghao doesn’t respond to that, only gritting his teeth, sweat beading at his temples.

 

Chan tightens his hold, squeezes his eyes shut, and prays to the gods, to anyone who might be listening, as the vines meet each other at the base of Jihoon’s neck. 

 

Please, please, please-

 

Don’t leave me.

 

I know I wasn’t always the best dongsaeng, I know I threatened to leave you a hundred times, I know I was reckless and ambitious and thought I could do this alone.

 

But I can’t.

 

I can’t.

 

I can’t lose you the way I lost Eomma and Appa. I can’t lose you like Soony- anyone else.

 

Jihoon-hyung, I’m not ready to be alone again.

 

Jihoon-hyung, don’t leave me.

 

I’m not ready.

 

Time feels like it distorts. It stretches into years, decades, centuries, eons- an endless expanse of agony, where every second feels like drowning.

 

Chan wonders, as he buries his face into Jihoon’s shoulder, too tired to keep praying, if he’ll survive the weight of this moment.

 

And then, it breaks.

 

The seizure doesn’t stop all at once. It fragments. Tremors dissolve into jerks. Jerks fade into shallow pants. Until there’s nothing left but the still weight of Jihoon, and the fragile sound of him breathing.

 

Minghao falls back on his haunches like a man collapsed, vines withdrawing back inside of him.

 

“Is he-?” Seungcheol chokes out, raising his head. “Is he-?”

 

“It’s passed,” Minghao breathes. “We’re…in the clear.”

 

“Oh-” Seungcheol lets out a shuddering breath. “Oh, thank fuck.”

 

Meanwhile, Chan can’t feel the tang of relief, can’t feel glad that his hyung has survived just yet.

 

Instead, he just cries into his Jihoon-hyung’s nape, deep, shaking sobs, the grief of thinking he almost lost him hitting him all at once. The heave of his shoulders a scream at how close it was.

 

…

 

Within the hour, the next crisis hits.

 

It feels like they just keep coming. They’re neverending. 

 

And Chan thinks he might be seconds from throwing up in sheer worry from the weight of it, as he puts a hand up to Jihoon’s forehead.

 

“...Ch-Cheol-hyung? Can you come here?”

 

Seungcheol stirs from where he has his face buried in the mattress, upper body folded over the side of the bed. “What is it?”

 

“He feels…” the warp swallows, his chest sinking. “Warm. Really warm.”

 

That gets Seungcheol to sit up straight, as well as waken Minghao from where he’s dozing on the nearby couch, recovering from the amount of magic he’s used. 

 

“What do you mean, warm?” the healer barks, just as Seungcheol crawls up, replacing Chan’s touch with his own, gaze darting down to take in the pallor of Jihoon’s face, the sweat beading on his forehead.

 

“Shit,” the fire mage hisses, pulling away, expression seizing. “He’s burning up.”

 

Chan cradles his own hand, throat swelling up again, watching the furrow in his sleeping hyung’s brow and the way he seems so- in pain-

 

“A fever,” Minghao concludes instantly, now the third to check, brushing the sound mage’s bangs away from his eyes. “I…can’t say this was unexpected. His body’s crashing after the effects of the seizure. It was too much for him.”

 

Seungcheol winces, while Chan’s hands clench into fists as he leans forward. “But- But he’s going to be okay- he’s going to be okay, right?”

 

It takes him a second to realize the way his words are tripping over one another, then the fact that Minghao’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

 

“Calm yourself,” the plant mage says, softly. “This…isn’t as dire as the seizure. The worst of it is already behind us.”

 

But then, his expression changes, his eyes widening slowly. “Except…oh. Oh, no.”

 

“What?” Seungcheol scrambles to grab him by the arm. “What, what’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t-” Minghao’s face loses its color. “I don’t sense any magic.”

 

It feels like the very air seeps itself out of the room.

 

“What?” Chan whispers, his voice barely above the hum of the air. “What did you say…?”

 

“I don’t sense any output,” Minghao repeats, hand dropping to Jihoon’s wrist, thumb stroking over the pulse point. “No mana- nothing.”

 

“But how is that possible?” Seungcheol demands. “Mages can’t just- lose their magic!”

 

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Minghao cuts in, his voice nearly cracking, before he manages to reel back, running a hand through his hair. “But we’ll…we’ll figure it out. For now-”

 

He faces Chan, lips pressing into a thin line. “Will you get Hansol for me?”

 

And this time, Chan doesn’t flounder. He just inhales, and warps right away.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to find the ice mage. He only stands in the village square for a minute or two, eyes searching, before movement appears at the corner of his periphery, and he turns to find Hansol standing there, his expression its usual stoicness.

 

“Do you need me?” he asks. Then, even without a response, he holds out an arm. 

 

Ready to warp, Chan realizes. He still remembers how I do it.

 

Then he grabs that arm, and sends them both back.

 

“Hansollie,” Minghao says the instant they appear. “He’s got a fever. If you don’t mind…”

 

“Not at all,” Hansol replies, and he raises his hands, turning them over to reveal the frost at his fingertips. 

 

Minghao retreats, gesturing at Seungcheol to do the same. The fire mage listens, though his eyes don’t do the same, staring without blinking.

 

As Hansol approaches, Jihoon’s eyelashes flutter once, as if he’s stirring a little.

 

The ice mage seems to notice it, for he murmurs quietly, “Hey, hyung. It’s me. Just a heads up- this is going to be a little chilly.”

 

Jihoon gives no further response.

 

Hansol inhales once, barely audible, before pressing both of his palms, gently but firmly, to the other’s chest.

 

A shimmering sound, and a sheet of frosty lace draws across the damp fabric of Jihoon’s undershirt, weaving over itself in many webs.

 

At first, the sound mage doesn’t react, even as the ice creeps its way up his chest and down his stomach. 

 

But then, his eyelashes flutter yet again, letting loose what sounds like an utterly painful hitch of breath.

 

Chan feels his chest seize painfully, and barely manages to stop himself from taking a step forward.

 

Meanwhile, Hansol's expression changes, melting from unreadable to something that looks like genuine worry, and he leans in, his voice softening even further. “I know. It hurts. But it’s going to help you, hyung. Just hold on a little longer.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw tightens a bit, as if in response, before slacking again.

 

Then the frozen sheet glimmers once more, before shifting, sinking and vanishing straight into his body.

 

Hansol pulls away, and carefully wipes a bead of perspiration from his brow. “This should hold for at least half a day. Hopefully that’s long enough for the fever to break.”

 

“Thank you, Hansol,” Minghao replies.

 

Chan manages a thanks of his own, just barely audible, before stumbling forward again, his hands landing on the side of the mattress, feeling the chill air that now emanates from Jihoon’s form as he returns his place by the bed.

 

“It would help if we knew how he’s feeling exactly,” Hansol then says, retreating slightly. “Where’s that empath of your team? Mingyu, was it?”

 

At that, both Chan and Seungcheol freeze.

 

The fire mage instantly shakes his head. “We don’t- We don’t need him right now.”

 

But it comes out too loud, and too harsh.

 

Chan gets a glimpse of Hansol’s muted surprise, a raising of the brow, before he quickly cuts in. “What he means is- um-”

 

He gestures between them. “We think it might make things worse right now. So we’re going to…leave him out of it.”

 

Hansol pauses, before nodding once. “Understood. I only wanted to let you know that it may help.”

 

“But speaking of Mingyu-ssi,” Minghao speaks up, now reapproaching as well, his vines peeking out of his clothes and over his forearms. “He should still know about what’s going on. He’s down the hallway, to the left. Hansol, could you pass on the news that Jihoon-ssi is running a fever, and-”

 

He halts, before continuing on. “He exhibits no signs of mana at the current moment?”

 

And now, Chan sees Hansol’s reaction to it.

 

A widening of the eyes. A slackening of the mouth.

 

Surprise. Concern. And fear.

 

The ice mage swallows, puts his hand on the door, and nods. “...Understood.”

 

Then, he leaves.

 

It is quiet again for a while.

 

Seungcheol finally returns, making sure there’s enough space before he sits down on the mattress, careful not to make the bed dip enough to dislodge the patient in it.

 

After another minute, Minghao takes one breath, interlaces his hands and rests his chin on them, and looks up at the other two.

 

“I’ve come up with a theory.”

 

He waits until they both raise their heads and look at him as well, before he keeps going. 

 

“It could be a multitude of things. Or a culmination. Of the depressive episode, the seizure, of the fever, all of those.” He carefully takes Jihoon’s hand into his own again, sending his vines up the other’s wrist. “But I think one thing's for sure. His body has…shut down.”

 

“Shut down?” Seungcheol repeats. “As in- he’s got no energy?”

 

“Not exactly,” Minghao replies. “He’s still got enough to keep his bodily functions running. Just enough to keep him alive.”

 

He takes a breath. “And so, for the magic itself-”

 

“He used all of it,” Chan whispers, almost out of nowhere.

 

The team leader and healer both turn their heads towards him, and he keeps his eyes down, on his closed fists as they rest on the mattress.

 

“At the duel,” he resumes. “When he used that last wind spell…to hold us back.”

 

One more inhale. “...Because he really thought…”

 

That it was the end.

 

Another hush.

 

Minghao then nods. “...Correct. Most likely. And right now, his magic system is blocked- or it has no energy to make more. Or…both.”

 

His expression darkens. “And I’ll be blunt. In my lifetime as a healer, I have never seen anything like this before. I have no frame of reference for a situation such as this.”

 

His vines pulse once. “...Which means I don’t know if this situation is life-threatening…”

 

Then, even quieter: “...or if he will ever get his mana back.”

 

And his head dips, in one last apology. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but it’s the truth.”

 

With those last words, the room falls into silence once more. And it takes Chan a couple of seconds to realize that he’s crying again, without a sound, tears dripping down onto his knuckles.

 

Then, Minghao finally stands, and his vines dematerialize. For a moment, he looks almost ten years older.

 

“Alright,” he finishes. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. And it’s possible that others might need me. Let me know if anything changes.”

 

Chan gulps and wipes his eyes with an arm. “We will.”

 

And, in an unexpected beat, Seungcheol raises his head, quirking his lips in a mustered up smile. “You didn’t overstay at all. Thank you. For everything. Really.”

 

Minghao says nothing else, but gives a smile of his own, though it still rings with fatigue.

 

Then, he leaves as well.

 

It’s just Seungcheol and Chan again, for another indeterminate amount of minutes.

 

The warp mage keeps still, his head and body aching, mind whirling with thoughts he can’t quite sift through anymore.

 

Then, Seungcheol speaks again.

 

“...You should go too.”

 

Chan immediately stares at him, mouth opening. 

 

“Wh-What?”

 

The fire mage says nothing at first, only meeting their gazes again, and he sits up, the reality of what he’s saying sinking in. “No- No! There’s no way, hyung!”

 

“I can see that you’re tired, you know,” Seungcheol fires back. “Which makes sense. You haven’t slept, and you’ve been warping without eating or even drinking. You need to sleep. Go to the other room, find Gyu.”

 

“Find Mingyu-” Chan repeats, incredulous. “No! I’m not- not when Jihoon-hyung is-”

 

Then, he finally sees the look Seungcheol is giving him.

 

Firm, unyielding, but also desperate.

 

As if he needs this.

 

As if he needs to be alone with Jihoon, even if the sound mage isn’t awake.

 

As if he needs to prove something to himself. 

 

Chan thinks of all the moments before, on their journey, when Seungcheol and Jihoon would bicker, when they’d trade teasing words but barely any tender moments, and wonders if right now, the team leader wants to make up for it. 

 

Make up for not…actually being there.

 

And Chan realizes then, that he can’t fault him for this.

 

So, with a sigh that rattles his shoulders, he stands from his seat.

 

“...Alright.”

 

But he doesn’t leave, not before he rounds the corner of the bed, and wraps his arms around Seungcheol, giving him a loose embrace. 

 

A sharp breath escapes from Seungcheol’s mouth out of surprise, but his arm comes up, reciprocating the hug.

 

Then Chan reaches over the mattress, giving Jihoon’s hand one last squeeze, taking the sight of his sleeping form in, before he finally goes, pulling the door shut behind him with a soundless click. 

 

As soon as it closes, he feels the hallway go sideways under his feet for a second, before forcing himself upright again.

 

Managing himself down the hallway and to the door on the left, he knocks once, before turning the handle.

 

Mingyu is there, on the edge of the bed, hair an entire bird’s nest as he raises his head from his hands, revealing his bloodshot eyes and tear-drenched face.

 

“Ch-Chan?”

 

He shoots up right after, wobbly, but catches himself on the younger man’s shoulders, gripping them tight enough to bruise. “I heard from that ice guy- Jihoon-hyung- a fever! And he’s lost his magic?! How could he- nevermind, just tell me- Is he okay?! Please tell me he’s-”

 

“He’s okay,” Chan rasps. “Just- asleep. He’s just asleep. Cheol-hyung’s with him.”

 

He repeats it, more for himself. “He’s…okay.”

 

To that, Mingyu collapses to his knees, hands clenching into the other’s shirt, more tears spilling over as he sobs. 

 

“That’s good,” he forces out. “That’s really good, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-”

 

Chan already is aware of why he’s like this. In fact, Mingyu’s been like this for the past several days.

 

Ever since the duel. When Jihoon’s body finally gave out, and he succumbed to his exhaustion. 

 

Mingyu had caught him, along with physically brushing up against all the emotions Jihoon had in him.

 

Which, if it wasn’t obvious, were too strong for Mingyu to handle.

 

He feels sadness the most, Chan recalls. Enough that it wrecks him.

 

And what Jihoon has been feeling is doing that right now.

 

The guilt that chokes him this time is less of a stabbing pain, and more like a needle straight through his throat. It’s obvious that he’s too tired to even process it anymore.

 

So he inhales and taps Mingyu’s shoulder once. “Let’s not touch right now, hyung. Don’t want to mess you up more.”

 

The empath hiccups, then nods into Chan’s stomach from where he has his nose pressed to it, and allows himself to be pushed away. 

 

Then, with one last look back at the other, the warp mage stumbles to the bed, uncaring of the mess it’s in, and sprawls himself over it as best he can.

 

And sleep hits him the second his head hits the pillow, dragging him under.

 

…

 

Chan sleeps for about five hours. 

 

It isn’t much. Not even close to enough.

 

But he knows from the moment he opens his eyes and checks the clock, he’s not going to be able to fall back to rest.

 

So he sits up, checks on Mingyu, who at one point had collapsed on the bed next to him, gives him a squeeze to the shoulder, and stands. 

 

He immediately goes to Jihoon’s room and finds the older man still there in bed, but Seungcheol reports in a rasped voice that he had managed to feed him some porridge again.

 

“Good.” The warp mage nods. “Want me to take over?”

 

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I can keep going.”

 

Though Chan has a few doubts about that, he steps out again.

 

But not before pausing by the nightstand and seeing the necklace on top, lying alone.

 

Jihoon’s locket.

 

The warp mage swallows once.

 

Then he reaches out, and takes it. 

 

The ground is covered in the golden rays of the late afternoon sun as he steps outside, streaking against the dirt and shifting with the movements of the windblown leaves.

 

Chan takes another step out, the sigh leaving him with a rattle.

 

Then, he notices who’s sitting there on the front steps, a few feet from the inn entrance.

 

Hansol.

 

Chan stops in his tracks.

 

As if already knowing he's there, the ice mage turns his head back to see him, before patting a spot on the steps beside him.

 

The younger one hesitates, just once, before approaching. 

 

The stone is rough against his thighs, but he sits, and instantly, it feels like he won’t be able to get up. Not for a while.

 

For a moment, no words are spoken.

 

Chan’s not surprised. From what he can remember, Hansol usually doesn't speak until he’s absolutely certain it’s alright to.

 

So they sit, as the foot traffic passes in different directions before them. Until Chan thinks he can breathe a little better.

 

Then, Hansol opens his hands from where they were clasped together, and puts them side by side. The warp mage looks over, just as frost appears in the other’s palms, forming one by one into little spheres.

 

Each one appears a different size, but they still comfortably fit, shifting and rolling as Hansol adjusts his grip on them.

 

Chan lets loose another breath, still watching, the world around him feeling a little less suffocating.

 

Hansol finally notices his observation, turning to look at him, bringing the orbs of ice between them both with a tiny curved lip.

 

“I do this…to calm myself. Clear my thoughts. Focusing on something small.”

 

Chan nods.

 

Hansol tilts his head. “Is it…calming you too?”

 

Chan nods again, more sure this time.

 

“Good.” 

 

Hansol returns his attention to his magic, cupping his fingers more, and the spheres fuse to one another, forming a cloud of frost.

 

Finally, Chan finds something to say.

 

“...How long have you been working with Minghao-ssi?”

 

It doesn’t feel like too big of a question. Perfect, at least, for what he can handle right now.

 

Hansol halts his ice creation, lowering his hands.

 

“I think it was shortly after he came here. He took over as our village healer. And he needed someone to help with the wounds. So I stepped up.”

 

He shrugs. “Plus, I wanted to know how my magic can be applied in medical settings. You know me...”

 

“Always trying to learn something new.” Chan finishes. “Yeah.”

 

They share a tired smile.

 

Then the air finally grows heavier again.

 

Chan takes a deep breath, and finally opens his hand.

 

The locket appears, its gold metal warmed by how tightly he’s been holding it, glinting in the fading light.

 

And with another inhale, he uses his thumbs, and pries it open completely.

 

…His Jihoon-hyung looks so much younger.

 

His cheeks are fuller. His shoulders are leaner. His hair is in that cut every mage student at his age had to get.

 

And- he’s smiling.  

 

No, smiling isn’t the right word for it.

 

Jihoon is grinning. Beaming. Lips pulled at the corners so wide, it looks almost painful. His eyes crinkle at the corners, but the shine in his eyes is clear.

 

He’s radiant.

 

And Chan feels- much more than just realizes- that he hasn't seen this exact look for the past ten years.

 

The tears sting in his eyes again, and the ache in his chest makes its return. But the pain is duller, deeper. An old pain.

 

The warp mage swallows, then settles his eyes on the person beside Jihoon.

 

Back at the lodge, before the team’s fight with the dire wolves, Chan hadn’t cried. He had laid his eyes directly on sixteen-year-old Kwon Soonyoing, and had only felt a distant lump in his throat.

 

Maybe it hadn’t hit him fully. Or maybe Chan didn’t want it to hit him fully, even when he knew full well what he had asked Jihoon to show him.

 

But now-

 

Now-

 

Chan’s eyes well up completely, and the choked sniffle leaves his throat.

 

Next to him, Hansol leans in, his temple brushing against the younger one’s. His steady eyes soften, glisten, as he reaches with one finger, and traces the lines of the locket. Of Soonyoung’s shining face.

 

“I never thought I’d see this again.”

 

Chan muffles his sob behind his fist, and lets the ice mage hold more of the pendant, fingers cradling the lid. 

 

“Hyung took good care of it,” Hansol whispers.

 

Chan nods, swallowing back a shaky breath. “Yeah, he did.”

 

A laugh without humor follows. “He takes good care of everything.”

 

And Hansol doesn’t stay where he is. His arm extends, wrapping around Chan’s shoulder, and pulls him in. Pulls him closer.

 

And for a while, Chan lets loose in the crevice of his neck.

 

It’s not a panicked cry. Not a heavy one. It’s more of a quiet whimpering, more like water spilling from the brim of a glass, all leaking out.

 

But Hansol, though older, though changed in so many ways, still feels like the boy Chan would play tag with. For hours, days on end.

 

“I miss him,” the warp mage says, a few minutes later, voice scratchy and raw, leaning against the other now, head tilted onto his collarbone. “I miss Soonyoung-hyung. I miss him so much.”

 

“I miss him too,” Hansol murmurs. “We all miss him.”

 

“It doesn't feel like ten years,” Chan mumbles. “It feels like…twenty. Thirty. Several lifetimes.”

 

“That’s what grief does,” Hansol replies softly, and a few of his own hidden tears hit the crown of the other’s head, sinking into his hair. “It makes you feel older. Makes you feel like you’ve seen it all.”

 

“Seen it all,” Chan repeats breathlessly. “Yeah.”

 

Then he’s crying all over again, because if it’s hitting him this hard, these memories of pain like decades-

 

How long does Jihoon feel like it’s been?

 

Hansol squeezes him tighter, closer, and the warp mage’s breath stutters out, fleeting.

 

And then, his mind clears. Tired, but so clear.

 

Because there’s something else he needs to know. Something else he still doesn't understand.

 

And a simple reunion won't fix that.

 

“And- Seokmin-hyung? He misses him too?”

 

The ice mage's arm, in that exact instant, stiffens around him.

 

“...Of course. Of course he does.”

 

That’s all it takes.

 

With a light shove, Hansol is dislodged, the warp mage pushing his arm off in an instant.

 

“Channie-”

 

“Why?!” It comes out louder than Chan had intended, but he doesn’t stop. “Why did he do it?”

 

“Chan-”

 

“Why did he try to kill Jihoon-hyung?!”

 

And Hansol flinches.

 

His hands come up, face turning away.

 

The first time he’s ever done that, but Chan doesn’t dwell on the realization.

 

“He’s been hurt like the rest of us,” he spits. “He lost Soonyoung-hyung too!”

 

“I know,” Hansol says, voice tight. “I know-”

 

“So why?!” Chan’s aware of how passerby villagers have begun staring at both of them, but he doesn't stop. He can’t. 

 

Not when he can see Jihoon in his mind’s eye, lying there on the bed, near catatonic and magicless-

 

“Why turn against one of his own?!” he screams. “After all that Jihoon-hyung’s done and been through?!”

 

“Because, Chan-”

 

“After Jihoon-hyung gave everything?!”

 

Chan’s eyes are blurring. His teeth are gritting. Tears slide down his cheeks rapidly, and he pushes Hansol harder, jolting him back, pulling the locket away from him.

 

“He kicked him while he was down!” he shouts. “And now look at him- look at him!”

 

“Because!” 

 

And then Hansol’s gripping him by the shoulders, ice flash freezing through the warp mage’s clothes. 

 

“Because- it’s not that simple!”

 

Chan’s breath catches in his throat.

 

“It’s not that simple,” Hansol repeats, his tear tracks solidifying like silver on his cheeks. “Because Jihoon-hyung’s not the only one who’s suffered, Chan. He’s not.”

 

The warp mage blinks at him, before it dawns on him what he's trying to say. “So Seokmin-hyung’s suffering too- okay, but that does not give him the right-”

 

“It doesn't,” Hansol cuts him off. “You’re right, it doesn’t! I don’t agree with what he did, I don’t even think he should have challenged him to a duel! That was a stupid decision and I wanted to tell him that from the start!”

 

Chan rears back, heart pounding.

 

“But while it doesn’t give him the right to harm Jihoon,” Hansol continues, breath heaving. “It gives him every right to be angry.”

 

A pause.

 

“And can I tell you the truth, Chan?”

 

Hansol raises his head, eyes meeting the other’s.

 

“I’m angry too.”

 

Chan stares, motionless. 

 

“I’m angry at Jihoon-hyung too,” Hansol says. “Because- Chan- you weren’t here. You weren’t here when it all really went to hell.”

 

And then, his hand lifts, pointing.

 

Chan follows its direction to the east wall, looming in the distance beyond rows of houses.

 

“You left with him while those were being built,” Hansol murmurs. “So you weren’t here when they were being swarmed day and night by infected more than twice our size. Every single hour.”

 

Chan continues watching it, words absent.

 

“Our God of Beasts was gone,” Hansol whispers. “And then, our God of Music vanished. And then Junhui-hyung left too.”

 

His voice hardens. “We were left without our greatest defenders. We were vulnerable. At a time when the infection just would not rest.” 

 

His expression tightens, frost trickling onto his jaw. “So Seokmin-hyung stepped up. Used Excalibur to become one of our strongest fighters. I stepped up too. And Minghao-hyung joined us. Because if we didn’t- none of us would be here right now. I would not be here before you, right now.”

 

And his grip tightens on Chan’s shoulders. “Do you understand that?”

 

And Chan-

 

Chan can’t say anything.

 

He only gapes up at Hansol, eyes still trickling.

 

“We had to save ourselves,” the ice mage says softly. “Because as far as we were concerned- our heroes were of the past.”

 

His voice drops to a near quietness.

 

“And…don’t forget that he was my teacher, Chan. I looked up to him too. So try to imagine what that’s like, waking up one day-”

 

It cracks. “And seeing that he left you behind.”

 

And those words are the last things spoken for a while.

 

Hansol exhales a sniffle, then turns away.

 

“It’s clear that Jihoon-hyung knows about all this. Or he would have…fought back.”

 

He wipes at his face, the frozen tear tracks slowly shattering. “But he didn’t.”

 

A silence follows.

 

Chan says nothing for a moment longer. He feels the rime Hansol had left on him melting, dripping down his shirt.

 

Then, he dips his head.

 

Because, damn it-

 

“...I’m sorry.” His voice almost sounds foreign to himself. “I’m sorry. I get it now.”

 

Because he does.

 

It’s impossible to see this in black and white. To name someone the enemy, to have someone to blame.

 

And deep down, Chan realizes he already knew that all along. He just wanted to put the hurt somewhere else.

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Hansol lets out a trembling breath, the puff of it visible in the air.

 

“…It’s okay. I’m sorry too. Because…you were young. Younger than any of us.” He shakes his head. “That’s why, at the same time, I’m not mad at Jihoon-hyung. He took you far away from all of this. Did his best to give you a normal life.”

 

He raises his head, his eyes shining. “And I think it made you stronger.”

 

And that makes the entire world go still for an instant.

 

Chan doesn’t know what to say to that. He really doesn’t. His throat is swollen from crying, and his heart is still pounding.

 

But still, he finds it in himself to reply.

 

“...Thank you.”

 

Hansol’s gaze softens. “No thanks needed.”

 

Then, they sit there in the quiet.

 

Waiting for the emotions to settle. Waiting for the rage to fade.

 

And when that happens, Hansol inhales, and stands up.

 

“Come on.”

 

Chan looks up at him, wiping at his own drenched cheeks. “H-Huh?”

 

The ice mage holds out a hand, the frost melting from his body entirely.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” he adds. “Take a walk, get away from the heavy stuff. I think it helps to move your body.”

 

He gives a small smile. “Plus, there’s…someone I’d like you to meet.”

 

Chan swallows. Slowly, he closes the locket, and loops it back around his neck.

 

Then he takes Hansol’s hand, and lets the other pull him to his feet.

 

…

 

At first, Chan thinks it’s the training arena Hansol’s bringing him to, and his chest sinks.

 

It’s too soon. The duel was just the other day, why would he-?

 

Only for the ice mage to veer to the right, and the warp mage sees in the distance a beaten track, surrounded by an older fence, with one gap for entering and exiting.

 

Ah, Chan remembers. He had nearly forgotten this place had existed.

 

Then Hansol, up ahead, suddenly waves a hand. 

 

“Hey! Over here!”

 

Chan follows his line of sight to the field, and what he sees is another man on the inside of the rail, at a rapid jog, legs pumping, his brown hair flying in the wind, looking right back at them both.

 

After a few seconds, the man waves back, veering course towards them.

 

“Who’s that?” Chan asks.

 

“One of my closest friends,” Hansol answers.

 

Then the man closes in, and Chan sees his face more clearly now. Round face, small lips. Prominent cheekbones. Long eyelashes.

 

It all makes him look somehow soft.

 

But that’s also where the softness ends, because Chan then sees toned legs, defined calves, and a lean, slender chest as he looks down.

 

And then suddenly, he realizes how much he’s been staring, when he looks up and sees warm eyes staring into his own.

 

“Hey, Kwan,” Hansol greets. “This here is Lee Chan. Lee Chan, this is Boo Seungkwan.”

 

Seungkwan, Chan echoes internally.

 

The runner gives him a nod, an easygoing tilt of the head. 

 

And when he speaks, his voice is rich, husky. 

 

And to Chan’s ears, grounding. Like the stable earth under his feet.

 

“Chan, eh? Hansollie told me about you.”

 

In an instant, the warp mage grows a knot of panic under his ribs. Hansol talks about him? He better not have told him about that time he tripped and warped himself into a tree, upside down-

 

“Welcome home,” Seungkwan says instead, and he smiles. A twinkly eyed, genuine smile. “You’ve been on quite the trip, right?”

 

Chan relaxes, eyes widening. 

 

He…knows I’ve lived here before? But he doesn’t care?

 

“...Yeah,” he manages. “I guess I have been.”

 

Seungkwan nods, running a hand through his hair before gesturing with a thumb to the track behind him. “Here to run?”

 

Not sure what else to say, Chan turns to Hansol, who nods.

 

“We need to let off some steam.”

 

“Is that so?” Seungkwan puts his hands on his hips, surveying them both, before jerking his head in invitation, lips quirking. “Well, alright! I’ve got a dozen more laps left in me!”

 

Chan and Hansol share one more look before following him to the track.

 

First, they stretch, arms up high, twisting at the waist, dipping into lunges.

 

No sooner than they’re shaking out, Seungkwan signals them to the starting line, and they’re off.

 

Chan doesn't try to keep up. It wouldn’t be smart to, not with how much sleep he’s running on. But Hansol keeps his pace next to him, and they both watch, side by side, as Seungkwan pulls ahead, his legs pumping, feet rhythmically beating against the dirt.

 

“Does he-” the warp mage has to take another breath. “Always do this?”

 

“As long as I’ve known him.” Hansol shrugs in confirmation. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.” Chan keeps watching as Seungkwan makes it to the other half of the track. “Yeah, it is.”

 

The run is the kind that eats through anything unnecessary. A rhythm through the cool-biting air, through the burn in Chan’s legs- the good kind of burn.

 

They don’t talk. There’s only the drag of breath and the scuff of shoes as they round the same corner again and again.

 

And for once, Chan thinks about how good it is to just move, to just travel, to not rip through space and close the distance in the blink of an eye.

 

In front of him, Seungkwan continues on his own way, swinging his arms, his shoulders rise and fall in even counts. At every corner, he glances back, checking their pace, before smiling and refocusing on the road ahead.

 

By the fourth and fifth lap- he can’t quite remember, he’s more or less lost count- his mind is quieter than it’s been in days.

 

A few more laps, and then it all really fades, until what he focuses on is the next inhale and exhale, the next spots he puts each of his feet.

 

Then, Seungkwan is suddenly right next to him, having done a full lap around, his warm eyes landing on Chan.

 

“Holding up okay?”

 

“Oh, um-” Chan nods. “Yeah. Just going slow.”

 

“Take your time,” Seungkwan responds. “This place isn’t going anywhere.”

 

Gods, Chan thinks, his heart picking up speed again. He’s…so sweet.

 

“It’s not only that though,” he explains. “I just haven’t…ran like this in so long. I’m used to something more, uh, fast?”

 

He briefly wonders if he has to go into more detail, but Seungkwan’s eyes widen in recognition.

 

“Oh, yeah!” He gestures towards him. “Because your magic, right? What was it called? Warp? Hansol talked about it a few times.”

 

“Mhm.” Chan feels himself smile a little. “It helps me jump from place to place instantly. I can get anywhere, anytime. It’s perfect for the battlefield.”

 

“I can imagine,” Seungkwan replies. “What does it feel like? When you do that?”

 

“Like…” Chan slows down, trying to find the right words. “It’s like…falling for a second? Like a swoop, I guess. In my stomach.”

 

He puts a hand on the mentioned place, patting it once, watching as Seungkwan looks down at it before back up at him.

 

“And reality kind of just breaks around me, because I’m kind of…forcing it to?” 

 

Chan pauses, then scratches at the back of his neck. “I mean- I don’t know how to describe it, ‘cause I’ve had it basically my whole life, so it’s more…instinctual, I guess? Sorry, I don’t know how else to-”

 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Seungkwan shakes his head, raising a placating hand. “It’s just- incredible, really. But I bet you get that a lot.”

 

And that makes Chan’s face heat up, and he looks away, fighting the traitorous blush.

 

Then, they’re both slowing to a walk, their footsteps carefully syncing with one another.

 

“But, um,” the warp mage begins again. “What about you? What are your powers?”

 

“Me?” Seungkwan asks, pointing to himself. “Nah. I’m magicless.”

 

Chan’s steps falter instantly.

 

“Wh-What?”

 

That was said so surely, so frankly.

 

No trace of jealousy. Not like Seokmin, who once was so envious, or like Wonwoo, who was convinced it will always set him apart from others.

 

Not even like Soonyoung himself, who joked about it constantly, made light of it, but who shone brighter than anyone when his powers finally came.

 

But Seungkwan just says it, like he doesn’t care about any of that at all.

 

And Chan has never seen anyone, anyone like this before.

 

As if realizing the utter shock he’s in, Seungkwan raises a finger. “Don’t get me wrong. I was pissed, of course. Went through all sorts of heartbreaks about it. Plenty of emotional breakdowns too. I punched a tree once.”

 

And for the first time, a laugh startles out of Chan. “S-Seriously?”

 

“Yeah!” Seungkwan puts his hands together, wincing. “I instantly regretted it- stung like a motherfucker.”

 

“Oh my Gods.”

 

“I know.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “I was dramatic about it. Still am, actually.”

 

Then, his humorous expression fades, turning into something more genuine. “But the thing is, even if I wanted to scream about it, even if I hated that I’m never going to be shooting fireballs or making storms or, like you-”

 

He elbows Chan, and the sudden heat of it shoots through the warp mage’s bones, startling out another giggle.

 

“Teleport wherever I want…”

 

He takes a breath. “...It was never going to change anything.”

 

Chan keeps watching him, mouth dry.

 

“But I can change this.” 

 

Then Seungkwan finally stops, facing Chan completely, and he points to himself.

 

“I can run. I can keep myself in shape. And I can be the one who scouts the walls and warns the mages on sighted infected in real time, for hours on end.”

 

“Wait.” Chan raises his brows. “So you patrol?”

 

“Yep.” Seungkwan grins. “Even Seokmin-hyung didn't want me to. But I made myself too worthy.”

 

Then, his expression softens, and he gazes at the ground, eyes pensive. “Because- the way I see it, it’s not only about working with the cards you're dealt… but challenging the idea that you can’t do something. Take that as you will.”

 

And in that moment-

 

In that brief pocket of time after the runner concludes his sentence-

 

Something in Chan just…clicks.

 

And he comes to a complete stop on the track.

 

Seungkwan, as well as Hansol who was just a few paces behind both of them, stop as well.

 

“You alright?” the runner asks, suddenly sounding a little more shy. “Did I go a little, uh, too deep?”

 

“Yeah,” Chan says faintly. “Yeah, I’m just…thinking.”

 

Thinking, because suddenly this all seems so clear.

 

There’s only so much crying, internal pleading, and wallowing he can do.

 

None of it will help this situation they’re in.

 

So Chan has to do something new.

 

Something he would have never considered, until now.

 

Something that will feel so heavy, so hard, and something that might not change anything-

 

But still. 

 

It’s better than never trying it.

 

Two more tears make their ways down his cheeks, but this time, it’s not agonizing.

 

Instead, it’s almost…like a release.

 

“You okay?” Seungkwan inquires, while Hansol steps forward, putting a hand on Chan’s shoulder. 

 

“Yeah.” Chan wipes at his face, taking a huge breath. “I just know what I have to do now.”

Notes:

MAY CHANKWAN RIIISE

hopefully I can get back to regular updates after this <3 i needed a lot of time to think on this chapter

please stay tuned!!

also...yeah. i bet that one scene ripped your heart out, cuz mine is STILL recovering T0T

jihoon baby im sorry