Chapter Text
The beautiful, ivory-and-gold walls of Jozelja greeted Wooyoung as he climbed the mountain through the sludge of melting snow. The bottoms of his robes were caked in mud, tainting the cheap, burgundy material a deep brown. It didn’t matter anyway, in a few hours time he’d be dressed in weaver green, traversing the halls of the school he’d known for the past five years.
Jozelja was a beauty to behold, and even after being there for so long, Wooyoung still marveled at the sight. Large ivory pillars stood firm against the altitude, wrapped in a hued palette of green vines, holding the swooping, golden roofs in place and pushing them high into the sky. Jozelja was made of three ivy-coated towers, each connected by a cobblestone path fenced by wisteria trees. The tallest tower amongst them reached over 50 feet above the mountain peak, holding 5 floors of classrooms and a dining hall. Two wings of dormitories sprouted from either side of the main tower, only 2-stories high, opening the space in front of the school into the Great Square.
Groups of first year students stood around the centre, heads turned up in awe at the school they’ll know for the next seven years. Wooyoung remembered what it was like — 16 years old, out of breath from the hike up the mountain, the cool winter breeze tickling his cheeks. His hand was clutched tightly in Yeosang’s, looking up at the towering school he’d been wishing to attend for the past 10 years of his life. He remembered how his jaw fell open, star-struck at the sight, before lifting his gaze from the veined pillars of ivory, stretching his head around to see the sprawling black, jagged stone halls of Changjohwan in the distance.
Changjohwan was the brother school to Jozelja’s own. The two were founded centuries ago, rumoured to be the passion projects of two forbidden lovers: one weaver, one summoner. The two schools were built side-by-side, resting on two peaks of the same mountain, in hopes of mending the rift between summoners and weavers. A sprawling maze of corridors, which had since been concealed, built into the natural caves of the mountain had once connected the two schools. Concealed, yet not destroyed, Wooyoung had become more than acquainted with them in his first few years at Jozelja – he knew which paths took him to the classrooms, and which to the dormitories. A pang stabbed his heart at the thought, and Wooyoung tried to press it away. It had been 2 years , and yet the heartache never seemed to cease, even as it ebbed and flowed from anger to sadness to anger again.
Aside from the network of corridors, there had once been Sky Bridge — a beautiful stone bridge, built with a mix of the smooth, ivory stone of Jozelja and the harsh, glittering-black stone of Changjohwan. It sprung from the side of the third floor of Jozelja, and spanned across the gap between the mountain peaks to Changjohwan. It had been destroyed in the war — just as the underground passages had been concealed. The only remnant of the bridge was the pressing of an archway against the back wall on the third floor of Jozelja’s main tower, and a patch of ivory stone that seemed much too white and much too new against the stone of the rest of the ancient building.
But as Wooyoung tilted his head now, he could see it — the winding bridge connecting the two schools, erected as if from the dead. The new builders had made an effort to replicate the old bridge, but instead of intertwining the two stone colours together in a show of harmony, ivory and black stretched out from their respective schools, clashing in the centre as if in battle. A battle – and war – that was surely to arise from the joining of the schools, if weavers and summoners couldn’t get over their differences.
It was announced at the end of the last school year that the two schools would merge. Tensions were high with the number of rifts increasing over the land – ward weavers were pulled in every direction to close them, weakening the defences built around Wooyoung’s home city, Yeonjapeul. Fear was seeping into every crack in stone, every stolen gap in the trees, and it seemed the two groups of magic users had finally decided to confront one another. They'd landed in wavering agreement — this was a mutual threat, and they needed to join forces in hopes of defeating it.
That had resulted in the resurrection of Sky Bridge — the students here, at Jozelja and Changjohwan, were to attend classes together, to learn to fight together. Wooyoung knew they were the guinea pigs in this oncoming war, the lab rats. Yeonjapeul and Wibahim were smart enough not to send their battle-hardened soldiers together to make friends, with years of tensions and hatred brewed between them. No, they’d start with the youth, the ones with more capacity to evolve and change. If there was progress in the youth, they could hope to create temporary peace between their rivalling cities, and join against the common enemy.
“It's ugly.” Yeosang commented, appearing at his side, far more out of breath than Wooyoung in his hike up the mountain. His eyes were trained on the parts of Sky Bridge they could see — the clashing of the two colours plain as day from this distance.
Wooyoung nodded. “Apparently, it used to be beautiful. A mesh of both colours singing in harmony. This looks like two opposing forces, not two harmonious groups. It's as if—”
“They're expecting this shaky alliance to fail.” Yeosang finished for him, eyes following the expanse of the bridge until it met with the walls of Changjohwan. “Majahwan,” he whispered.
Majahwan was the original name of the schools, when they were once one. Though they’d always been mostly separate — due to the difference in teaching styles and magic — the schools had once fallen under one name. None of the officials on the school boards had said anything about the name change yet, but there were already whispers among the students. Majahwan, a school founded on the shaky peace between two magical groups, hoping to reunite those same groups after years of resentment.
“Do you think we’ll see him ?” Wooyoung asked quietly. It had been the first thought as soon as the announcement came. He felt bad almost instantly for thinking of it, rather than the relief that the two sides had finally realised they were after a common enemy and not each other. But his thoughts had strayed to him — the boy who had been the light of his life for his first three years at Jozelja, the boy who had taught him to let go of years of resentment against summoners and instead find love there. The boy who had shattered his heart into a million pieces and left Wooyoung scrambling on the ground after the remnants, trying dearly to piece them back together.
His name pushed against his lips, though he didn’t let it go. Choi San.
Yeosang whipped around to face him, a hard look in his eyes. “Don’t go looking for him. He's not worth your time.”
Yeosang had been the only one at his bedside when Wooyoung had woken up from his “accident” two years ago. Wooyoung didn’t remember all the details, but he and San had spent the night under the moon together, whispering forbidden words in the soft, silvery light. They'd been so wrapped in each other that Wooyoung hadn’t felt the tell-tale sign of a rift opening, and San hadn’t paid attention to his own protective barrier.
The creature had come at them, clawing a hand out and striking Wooyoung's chest, leaving him bleeding out on the soft leaves of the forest floor. San had acted fast, slicing his onyx blade through the creature at a terrifying speed, killing it instantly. He'd knelt down at Wooyoung’s side, pressing his hands into the open wound, trying to stitch it back together with his will.
Wooyoung remembered telling him he loved him, remembered the way it felt to have the magic drain slowly from his body, remembered thinking “ This is how I die. In San’s arms.”
And then he remembered waking up, Yeosang's head resting on his lap as he slept. He remembered tapping him, Yeosang shooting up and immediately berating him for worrying him while tears slipped from his eyes, before finally saying he’s glad he was okay. He remembered asking about San, remembered the way Yeosang's face fell, remembered the way he pulled out that unassuming letter, written in San’s pretty handwriting.
The letter that had broken Wooyoung down into a wailing heap, diamond turned porcelain, tungsten turned brittle.
Yeosang tugged on his sleeve then, bringing Wooyoung out of his memories. “Come on,” he told him softly, smile breaking through his gorgeous features. “We’re in the senior dorms this year. Let’s go check them out.”
Yeosang hooked his elbow in Wooyoung’s, pulling him toward the building. And, as always, Wooyoung followed.
Wooyoung, adorned his favourite shade of pine green robes, spread out on his new, large double bed he’d been granted for simply making it to his 6th year at the academy. Yeosang was fluttering about the room in silk, sage-green, setting up his little succulents and pulling the sheer curtains back from the window. The two had been roommates since their first year, friends even longer than that, so Wooyoung was well accustomed to the way Yeosang liked the space to be.
“Rosemary, where’s the rosemary?” Yeosang mumbled, picking through the boxes laid out by the door, containing all their belongings moved from their old dormitory.
Wooyoung picked at a loose, golden thread on his robes, further unravelling some of the intricate embroidery at his sleeves. “Didn’t it dry out at the end of last year?”
Yeosang cursed, pushing the empty boxes away and gazing over the room. “We have the mistletoe, I suppose, but rosemary’s better at keeping Mares away and sleeping soundly. I can’t believe I forgot the rosemary.” He flicked the mistletoe hung by the window, then went to make sure the other plants and protective charms were all set up properly, though Wooyoung knew it was only an anxious response – Yeosang was always perfect and precise.
He sat up from the bed, letting his hands wander the soft, silk sheets. They’d only been given cotton the past 5 years – he supposed there were more benefits to being a senior than just the larger dorm with only one other roommate. “We can ask Seonghwa for some if we see him later.”
Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, the sharp tips of his pointed ears catching the sunlight. “I suppose you’re right.”
Wooyoung grinned, finally hopping off the soft, large bed and pulling up beside Yeosang. “Come on then, we don’t want to be late to the hall on our first day as seniors.”
The dining hall spanned the first and second floors of the main tower, and took up most of the space on either floor. Large windows encompassed the three of the four walls, lined with cherrywood to match the flooring. Tall, golden pillars held up the rounded ceiling covered in green, gold and brown mosaic tiles. Lanterns hovered just below the ceiling, casting gorgeous patterns and shapes of light on the tiles. On most days, the room was filled with long tables covered in an abundance of food from the surrounding area. But on the first and last days of the school term, and the few special occasions between, the tables and benches were removed from the hall, leaving room for the entire student body to gather in the centre.
Students milled about the hall in a jumble of green chaos, bowing slightly to each other absentmindedly whilst they searched for their friends. The first years looked particularly out of place, all wide-eyed and antsy, looking for the few people they at least recognised amongst the sea of green. Older students greeted each other with whoops and hugs, grins breaking through the flush of searching eyes.
Wooyoung scanned the crowd. He’d become quite acquainted with most of the student body in his time here, and was able to pick familiar faces from the mess of green. He spotted one such face at the side of the hall, away from the chaos, wearing his signature olive green and looking sourly at the sea of students while two energetic students hugged in greeting beside him.
“Mingi-yah!” Wooyoung called, dragging Yeosang away from the crowd. Mingi perked up at the sound, saying something softly to the boys beside him before bounding his way over to the two, sour look broken by a dazzling smile.
He reached Wooyoung first, who threw himself into Mingi’s arms, wrapping his legs around his tall friend. “Had a good winter?” He asked, once set back on his feet.
Mingi turned to give Yeosang a hug, much more soft than his one with Wooyoung, and answered, “it was alright. How’s the new dorm?”
“Great! It’s so big, and the sheets are so soft !” It was a far cry from their first few years – relegated to sharing a dorm with all the other boys in his year, resting on the top bunk with sheets made of itchy cotton. The senior perks were already incredible . Large rooms, big beds, less sharing. Yes, Wooyoung could get used to this.
“You guys get paired up?” Mingi asked, eyes flickering between the two as they nodded.
“Who’d you get?” Yeosang inquired, looking around Mingi as if his mystery roommate would appear at his shoulder.
Mingi’s face soured, though Wooyoung didn’t sense any actual malice from the boy. “Serim-ssi.”
“Oi!” Wooyoung said, hitting Mingi’s arm playfully. “Serim’s my friend. Be nice!”
Mingi shook his head, holding his hands up to stop Wooyoung from attacking him any further. “I didn’t say he wasn’t! But he’s a shadow weaver, Wooyoung! And it seems he’s taken it all into his entire being. The room looks like a Vampire lair! I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake up tomorrow and he’s replaced his bed with a coffin!”
Wooyoung giggled into his sleeve, while Yeosang looked inquisitively over at the pair, who he now recognised one of the boys to be Serim. “What if he is a vampire?”
Mingi’s face turned horrified. “Do you think so?”
Wooyoung and Yeosang shared a look before bursting into laughter, Wooyoung’s own laugh bouncing off the walls. Mingi rolled his eyes at the pair, huffing, but Wooyoung could feel his amusement.
A few minutes later they’re ushered into line with the other sixth-years, staring up at the large platform erected from the back of the hall. Silence fell over the student body as Principal Shin stepped up to the centre of the stage. She began with the usual speech of welcome, followed by a history lesson on the founding of the school for the benefit of the first years. Wooyoung didn’t tend to pay much attention to the history speech, especially when he knew half of it to be filled with anti-summoner propaganda, but was surprised to hear that the speech had strayed away from any out-right hatred of summoners. Times of change and peace, he supposed.
Principal Shin cleared her throat, eyes darting around the hall of hazy-eyed students. “Now, I’m sure you’ve heard about the uptick in rifts throughout the continent.” Many of the students seemed to perk up, suddenly interested in what the principal had to say. They’d all heard about the increase in rifts, obviously, as it was the main reason behind the joining of the two schools. But as they were only students, they weren’t privy to much more information beyond that. At least, from official sources, that was.
Principal Shin continued on. “What you may not know, and what we ourselves have only learnt recently, is that these rifts are gateways for fearsome creatures to enter our world. The summoners call these creatures “Dark Creatures”.”
Murmurs broke amongst the student body. Wooyoung turned to Yeosang, who raised his brow. Wooyoung had known about the creatures since his first year at Jozelja, but it was summoner intel. He knew they’d learn of it sometime soon, especially if they were expected to co-exist with summoners, but he was surprised to hear weavers acknowledging this intelligence was not their own, and that they honoured the name the summoners had claimed.
Principal Shin cleared her throat again, breaking through the murmuring that was growing louder by the second. “With the knowledge of these creatures and the increased rise of rifts, weavers and summoners have come to an agreement – this is a mutual threat. To deflate tensions and promote camaraderie, we have come to the executive decision to merge the two schools into one, as you already know.
“Some classes will still be held separately, but only for the differences in your magic. Any class where there is no reason why they should be separated, will be held together. There are two additions to each of your schedules, and, for the older students, history will no longer be an elective following second year. Your Heads of Year will now pass around your updated schedules.”
Noise erupted amongst the hall as soon as Principal Shin moved away from the front of the stage, allowing for professors to hand out each new schedule. A mixture of emotions slammed into Wooyoung, but he could feel the most intense ones – confusion, disgust, fear, anger, distrust. He wobbled on his legs, trying to get the oncoming waves of emotions, which only began building the more students shared their opinions amongst themselves, under control. Mingi seemed to be in a similar state of distress, though more for the noise than the emotions.
Wooyoung knew this merge wasn’t going to work. Emotions between the two groups of magic users were so tense, it was hard to unravel years and years of resentment just for a shaky alliance neither side was fully on board with. Because even though they had accepted they had a mutual enemy, weavers still thought summoners were to blame – that their stolen magic was affecting the natural world, allowing for these unnatural creatures to seep through. That this was the summoner's mess, and they were the ones left picking up the pieces.
And he knew the summoners thought the same of weavers.
Yeosang nudged him when their Head of Year, Professor Choi, reached them and handed out their own schedules. He tried to look down at the sheet, but felt even more unsteady under the thick pummel of emotions. He instead opted for listening to Yeosang as he read through the sheet.
“We have four classes at the Changjohwan campus. History, magical combat, and the two new classes – non-magical combat and battle brief,” he told him, eyes scanning his own schedule before reading over Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Oh, you have five. Your potions class was moved to Changjohwan.”
Wooyoung shook his head, still reeling at the waves of emotions slamming into him. They’d only seemed to get worse when the schedules were read. Great. Just great. Not only would he have to deal with the constant spikes of anger and distrust amongst the entire student body, but he’d also be attending five classes on the Changjohwan campus. Five – if not more, if Changjohwan students were to share some of their classes on Jozelja’s campus as well – classes Wooyoung may possibly share with him.
Principal Shin stepped to the front of the stage again, clearing her throat twice to capture the students attention, but the students were no longer listening. The chatter in the hall was so loud Wooyoung thought it may break through the windows. He looked over at Mingi, who was now covering his ears to block the noise, though Wooyoung knew it would do little help given Mingi’s weaving ability.
“QUIET!” Principal Shin yelled, voice easily carrying over the body. Some students flinched, eyes training back up to the platform in embarrassment. Wooyoung let out a sigh, feeling the thick air of emotions simmer down to something fainter, now that students were no longer spiking them up.
“We hope that the merging of the two schools, and your classes, will help promote peace amongst our societies. I expect each and every one of you to attempt to get along with your classmates. Any harmful language or physical violence outside of combat classes is not tolerated, and students will be punished accordingly.”
The student body stayed silent, watching as Principal Shin straightened up, brushing the sleeves of her own white robes before giving the students a warm grin. “Now, with that said. Enjoy the rest of your evenings. Classes begin tomorrow morning, but you have the rest of the night to yourselves. Welcome to another, wonderful year at Jozelja .”
Of course, as fate would have it, Wooyoung’s first class – and usually his favourite – was scheduled on the Changjohwan campus.
“I heard it’s not one of the shared courses,” Seonghwa said, balancing four beers in his hands as he approached the table that Wooyoung, Yeosang and Mingi had claimed once the assembly had dispersed and the dining hall tables were re-instated. “It’s just held over there because we’re learning from a summoner professor.”
Yeosang, who had been busy making dog-shaped spots of light chase each other on the mosaic tiles above them, raised his eyebrows. “A summoner professor?”
Seonghwa nodded, taking a sip from one of the beers, frowning in disgust when he was met with a mouthful of foam. “We only learn our history. To promote peace and trust between our nations, we need to learn the history of summoners, too.” Seonghwa lectures, “at least, that’s what I heard the student heads say.”
Wooyoung rubbed his temple, still feeling the emotions swirling around him. While he was able to get them under control after the students began to leave the hall, there were still many intense emotions running through the students who had stayed back in the dining hall. Seonghwa noticed the motion and nudged the beer closer to Wooyoung.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft and caring, as Seonghwa always was. Wooyoung nodded, taking an appreciative sip of the beer.
“First and last days are always hard,” Wooyoung said between sips, “but today was worse. It’s been bad ever since the announcement came. I thought I’d be able to reign them in now but…”
Mingi lifted a hand to rub at Wooyoung’s back. “It’s alright, you’ll get there.”
Wooyoung grumbled into his glass, taking another swig of beer to avoid saying anything else. Wooyoung, despite all his talent and abilities, still struggled with blocking out the emotions of others. He could do it in small bouts, or when exposed to them for a long period of time. He usually sought them out anyway, trying to assess a situation before stumbling into it. But in large crowds like the student assembly, or the city square, where many different emotions fluttered through the air, he struggled on blocking them out.
His specialties tutor hypothesised it was because his own emotions were ‘out of wack’, that he needed to address his troubles before hoping to block the troubles of others. The emotions he wouldn’t be able to block were the ones surrounding whatever troubled him.
And that was the worst part. Because he couldn’t address what troubled him, as the centre of all his troubles had made it abundantly clear he never wanted to see Wooyoung ever again. And San had made him feel everything . Happiness, love, hope, sadness, anger, confusion. Which left Wooyoung without the ability to block a single one .
Wooyoung tuned in and out of the conversation before him, not in the mood to engage much. His friends spoke about anything and everything between: from what they did over the winter, to the increasing rise of rifts and dark creatures, to the state of politics in the country of Yeonjapeul. The topic swung back to school, in the end though. They pondered what the two new classes would entail, and which classes would be shared with the summoner students. Seonghwa only knew that the two new classes and nature studies would be combined, but that’s as far as his knowledge went.
They finished the night with another beer, one of the last groups of students under the dimming, dining hall light. They spilled out into the corridor, flushed from the alcohol and laughter. Seonghwa split from them then with a promise of rosemary slurred on his tongue, heading down the opposite wing to his own dormitories, while Mingi, Yeosang and Wooyoung stumbled their way back to their own.
When they reached their own doors, Mingi had practically begged to sleep with them, suddenly afraid Serim would bite him in his sleep. But his words fell on deaf ears, and he eventually bid them a disgruntled goodnight. Wooyoung made his way to his bed, ready to slip under the silken sheets, finally shed the weight of the day off his shoulders, and fall into soundless, dreamless sleep.
And when his head hit the pillow, he did just that.
Wooyoung woke up to the harsh light of the morning sun. Too bright. He groaned, twisting around in his sheets, shoving his face down into the silk pillowcase to block the light. So soft…
Yeosang, who had never suffered a hangover in his life, clambered about the room, uncaring for the noise he was making. Wooyoung groaned again when Yeosang pulled back his sheets, exposing his upper body to the cold, winter morning air. With his face still shoved into the pillow, Wooyoung attempted grabbing at the edge of the blanket to pull it over himself again and enter that blissful, dreamless wonderland, but Yeosang held it out of reach.
“No, Wooyoung. It’s time to get up,” he ordered, removing the blanket in its entirety from the bed. Wooyoung hissed as his legs, too, were exposed to the cold.
“Don’ wanna.” He moaned, shoving his arms under his body to at least feel his own body heat.
He didn’t need to be looking at him to know that Yeosang was rolling his eyes. “Our first class starts at 8am. And it’s over at Changjohwan, so we’ll need the extra time to make our way over the bridge and find the room.”
Wooyoung huffed, knowing when a battle was lost. He sat up, eyes narrowed against the harsh light. His head pounded with the motion, and he let out yet another groan. “I’m never drinking again.”
This time he watched as Yeosang rolled his eyes, stepping away from Wooyoung now that he was up and moving. “Sure,” he said patronisingly, pulling out a pretty, emerald green robe from the dresser beside his bed.
Wooyoung begrudgingly hopped out of bed and began going through the motions of his morning routine. By the time he stepped out of the dorm room, he felt like a normal, functioning human again.
The dining hall was quieter that morning, and Wooyoung noticed he was amongst the many who had spent the night celebrating a little too hard when they had classes the following day. The hot sting of emotions also seemed to have settled, though there was a constant pressure of uneasiness amongst the tired student population.
Mingi met them at their usual table, looking just as bad as Wooyoung felt. Wooyoung and Yeosang sat down across from him, barely talking as they shoveled food into their mouths, ignoring the fact that they’d be crossing over to Changjohwan in a few minutes.
In their silence, Wooyoung’s thoughts strayed to San. Would he see him today? Would San yell at him, angry at whatever Wooyoung didn’t know he had done, or hide behind his friends to avoid his gaze? Would he ignore him, shattering any spare shred of hope Wooyoung had left? Or would he come to him, apologise, confess his love, and start them over anew? Wooyoung knew he shouldn’t, but he’d forgive him in a heartbeat.
Wooyoung hadn’t brought up Choi San since they’d arrived at Jozelja, and because Wooyoung hadn’t broached the topic, Yeosang hadn’t either. He knew Yeosang could tell Wooyoung was thinking about it – that he could see it in his tense shoulders, the small glimmer of hope in his eyes. But Wooyoung knew what Yeosang would say if he ever did speak of him, knew the argument that would ensue. So he held his tongue, and so did Yeosang.
Breakfast ended too quickly, and before they knew it, they'd made their way up to the third floor.
The stone wall, that had never fit quite right amongst the older stone of the rest of Jozelja, was completely gone. In its place was the opening to the great Sky Bridge. Small specks of ivy, likely woven by a vine weaver and left to grow the rest of the way on its own, wrapped around the top of the archway, hoping to make the new bridge seem more in place, more natural, even when it was anything but.
From this level, Wooyoung couldn’t see where the bridge lead – he couldn’t even see where the white clashed into black. On the ground the bridge had seemed huge, but here, at the entrance, it seemed endless.
Students milled around the third floor, anxiety and uneasiness fluttering through the air as they tried to convince themselves to take a step onto Sky Bridge and begin their journey to the mysterious halls of Changjohwan. Wooyoung wound his way through the pack, Mingi and Yeosang not far behind him, taking that first step onto Sky Bridge. He stood there a moment, as if waiting for something to happen – like the sky striking him down, or the bridge collapsing underfoot – but no such thing happened. When Wooyoung deemed the bridge safe enough to cross, he took another step, and another, until he was walking down the bridge at a brisk pace.
It’s a long walk along Sky Bridge, and Wooyoung mentally thanked Yeosang for waking them up early enough to make the voyage. He took back whatever curses he’d thrown at Yeosang that morning and sent them all to whoever had the bright idea of setting an 8am class on the other side of a fucking mountain.
The trio made small talk as they walked along the bridge, flicking their eyes through the hastily-carved windows along the walls at the beautiful view below them. Wooyoung spied the expanse of the forest below, eyes wandering down the river to the glittering lake hidden amongst the trees. He’d spent hours down there, swimming in the smooth waters in the middle of the night with only the faint hum of bugs and San’s soft laughter filling the silence.
Wooyoung, Yeosang and Mingi slowed once they reached the back of a pack of students, paused in the middle of Sky Bridge. Wooyoung cast his eyes to the walls, but they were still the same ivory as Jozelja – they were only halfway there.
Mingi frowned, trying to peer over the top of the crowd. “What’s going on?” A few students turned around with a shrug, equally confused as to why they were stopped so suddenly. Wooyoung gripped Yeosang’s hand and began to push through the crowd, the students easily letting him pass.
They pushed all the way to the front of the pack, but Wooyoung felt what was going on before he could see it. Anger was thick in the air, disgust curling around its edges. The students at the front seemed to be glaring forward, and Wooyoung trailed their eyes.
They’re in the dead centre of the bridge, the clash of colours right in front of them. It looked worse here than on the ground. The stone met in sharp, harsh strokes. Jagged edges came together like ill-fitting jigsaw pieces, spikes jutting into one another like swords at battle. And there, on the other side of the split, stood a pack of summoner students, decked in shades of blue. It seemed they were at a stalemate, not letting either group onto their respective campus. And with the anger whipping through the air, he could guess there were more than a few choice words spilled between the students.
Wooyoung held out his hands, ready to weave some calm into the group, or at least usher down the intense anger he felt so that everyone could just make their way to their classes. The last thing they needed right now was to be late to a class with a summoner professor who likely had their own biases against weavers.
With negotiations on the tip of his tongue, Wooyoung raised his eyes to meet with the group of summoners, but all words were forgotten when his gaze fell on him .
There, in the centre of the sky bridge, Wooyoung saw San for the first time in two years.
The sight of him stole his breath, stopped his heart, and shattered every piece of himself that he had precariously built back up in the past 2 years without him.
He looked just as beautiful as the day he lost him.
No, the day San left him.
Anger rose within him then, responding to the state of the student body surrounding him. San had left him. And yet here he was, perfectly beautiful and strong and every word that Wooyoung wished he wouldn’t be. He wanted San to be just as broken as he was, wanted him to be on his hands and knees, begging for forgiveness, wanted him to be left chasing after his own shattered heart. He wanted him to feel the torture he’d put Wooyoung through.
With that thought, Wooyoung abandoned any hope of negotiation and pressed his hands into fists in shaking resolve. He pushed forward, breaching the gap between the weavers and the summoners, eyes only for San. He heard Yeosang yelp behind him at his sudden change in pace, then the whispered oh no when he saw what Wooyoung did.
Wooyoung ignored any protests Yeosang had for him, making a beeline for San. But it's Yunho who caught sight of him first — Yunho, the only person aside from Yeosang who knew anything of their forbidden relationship. Yunho, who he last saw when he delivered the news that San never wanted to see him again.
He watched as Yunho tugged at San’s sleeve, obviously trying to turn the boy around, but San either didn't get the hint or didn’t care to.
When Wooyoung finally closed the distance, he was a mix of emotions. He should be able to tell the difference between them, as it was his specialty, but he couldn’t seem to pinpoint one. There's anger and sadness at the forefront, but also hope and that lingering love he still felt for him, even after all this time. Wooyoung tried to brush them away, but hope was beginning to leak through.
“San!”
The boy turned, wearing the dark, midnight tunic of summoner blue, and laid his eyes on Wooyoung. Wooyoung stretched out for his emotions, finding only simmering anger. There's another emotion there, buried beneath it all, but Wooyoung couldn’t make it out — as if it had been muted, hidden from him in some way.
They study each other for a moment, neither breaking the tense, uneasy silence that had fallen amongst the students. He felt Yeosang at his back, saw Yunho in his peripheral still tugging on San’s sleeve, felt the way the entire student body seemed to be holding their breath, eyes devouring the scene in front of them. But Wooyoung’s eyes never left San’s.
He was bigger now than the last time he saw him. His arms were muscled, looking buffer than Wooyoung remembered. His hair was shorter, small strands only falling halfway down his forehead. He’d changed in their years apart, that much was obvious, but he still looked just as beautiful as Wooyoung remembered him.
Wooyoung had a hundred words to say, a thousand more fluttering about his mind, but before he could let them fall from his lips, San spoke. It was only four words, but those four words spun Wooyoung’s entire world around.
“Do I know you?”
Wooyoung still remembered the first day he met Choi San – how could he not? That day had changed his life forever.
He had slipped through the window of his dormitory building, adrenalin flooding his veins. Ever since his first lesson in nature studies, where he was taught how to feel the magic surrounding him, Wooyoung had practiced almost every hour. He’d hoped to feel a rift ever since he’d left the confines of the city wards, but learned it was not so simple. So, he practiced and practiced, making sure to always feel that quiet hum of magic under his skin.
And then, one night, this night, he felt a disturbance.
Wooyoung made his way down the mountain, sliding his indoor slippers along the rocky terrain, using the hum of magic and the soft, silver moonlight to guide him.
He ended up at the forest edge, peering around to see the rift, though all he found was the large expanse of the dark forest beyond him. He lifted a hand, swiping it through the air blindly. Could he feel it? He hoped so, otherwise his trip was all for nothing.
Suddenly, his hand came into contact with something that felt not quite right, magic that wasn’t humming in harmony with nature. Excited, Wooyoung ran his fingers along the vibrating length of magic, feeling the way it twisted in his grasp. It felt sick, almost — like it was rotten.
It was there, at the dark forest edge, twisting magic around his fingertips, where he met a boy.
Wooyoung heard him before he saw him, the rocks on the side of the mountain set loose by the boy skittering along with a soft tap, tap, tap. Wooyoung turned to look at the disturbance, heart pounding in his chest as he snapped his hands back to his sides. Was it a professor? Would they kick him out for this? He could see it – the embarrassment of packing his bags, sending him home a disappointment and a failure. Out of line, they would say. Meddling with things he did not understand, nor had the clearance to.
But instead he saw a young boy, somewhere around his age, dark hair falling over one eye. Wooyoung’s heart settled in his chest, then his curiosity peaked.
“What are you doing out here?” the boy asked as he made his way down, stopping a few meters from Wooyoung as he eyed him down.
Wooyoung smiled at him “Examining the rift, as I suppose you are as well.”
“Rift?” the boy asked, frowning at Wooyoung.
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, turning back to where he felt the rift, lifting his hand to swirl it through the air again. “The tears in the natural world. We can feel them out here, outside of the city’s protection.”
The boy eyed him wearily, so Wooyoung stepped back to close the distance between them. He pulled on the boy’s arm, urging him closer to the invisible rift. He didn’t budge at first, but when Wooyoung pulled tighter, he let go, allowing himself to be dragged to where Wooyoung had stood before. Wooyoung grabbed the boy’s hand, pushing it up and into the rotten magic. “Do you feel that?”
The boy shook his head, dropping his arm. “I can feel something, but only because my magic barrier reaches this far. Something's scratching at it.”
Wooyoung frowned, not knowing what the boy could possibly mean by that. Scratching? For all he’d heard and, now, felt of rifts, not a single person had described scratching.
The rifts were tears in the natural magic of the world. Left long enough, they opened up more and began to drain the surrounding area of magic. Wooyoung wasn’t a ward weaver, so he didn’t have the power to patch the rift, and he was sure someone would be alerted to it soon enough to patch it. But they were just that – tears, rotten magic, something that required patching. Scratching didn’t make any sense.
“Maybe it’s a difference in our magics?” Wooyoung suggested, “what magic do you weave?”
The boy’s face darkened, and he took a step back from Wooyoung. “You're a weaver.”
Wooyoung narrowed his gaze, catching the poison in the boy’s words, “I suppose with that attitude, you’re a summoner.” Wooyoung dropped his hand from the rift again, turning to face the boy full-on.
He reached out to feel his emotions, still a little shaky but more well-versed in his own particular magic, and waves of anger and disgust rolled over him. Wooyoung tilted his head, readying himself for whatever this boy was about to throw his way, ready to twist those emotions back on him.
The boy only glared back, “So, is that how you weavers do it? You pull them forth through these rifts then?”
Wooyoung frowned, hands stuttering in the air. “What are you talking about?”
The boy almost snarled at him. “The Dark Creatures. You weavers keep taking magic that isn’t yours, and that’s what’s allowing the creatures to come through.”
“Creatures?” Wooyoung asked, “What on earth are you on about?”
But before the boy could answer, something behind Wooyoung caught his eye. Wooyoung felt a sharp stab of shock and fear pierce into him before the boy yelled “GET DOWN!” and shoved Wooyoung to the ground.
Wooyoung went to shove him off, but was interrupted from that particular action when a large, grey mass barrelled over them, smashing into a tree a few metres away.
“What the fuck was that?” Wooyoung screeched, scrambling up to a seated position. He gasped for air, the wind knocked out of him from his sudden trip to the ground. He eyed the mass in the distance before turning a glare towards the boy, “What the fuck did you summon?”
The boy, still sprawled on the ground, sat up to meet Wooyoung’s glare. “I didn't summon that! That was your doing!”
“ My doing!?” Wooyoung said, exasperated. But as he opened his mouth to argue back, a sudden deep growl rolled over them. Wooyoung and the boy slowly turned toward the grey mass that had nearly taken them out a few seconds ago.
It looked like a boulder, no neck to indicate where head met body, with bulging warts covered all over its pale figure. Its legs were short and stubby, and looked almost too small to carry the large weight of the thing. It had two pig-shaped ears at the top of its head, and its mouth was open in a snarl, showing two rows of very large, very pointed teeth. But perhaps, most disturbing of all, its glowing yellow eyes glared directly at Wooyoung and the boy.
“Shit!” The boy said as he scrambled up, taking one last fleeting look at the thing before sprinting away. The creature lifted one of its stubby legs, dragging it across the ground like a bull ready to charge, scratching claw marks into the earth below.
“Fuck.” Wooyoung whispered, stumbling up to follow the boy, hands and knees covered in dirt and twigs.
It didn’t take Wooyoung long to catch the boy, weaving his way around the forest. The boy was panting, stumbling over the earthen ground beneath them. “What the fuck is that thing?” Wooyoung asked. He could hear the creature bounding through the forest, could hear the snaps of twigs and branches and the heavy footfalls of the creature’s stubby little legs.
“We call them Dark Creatures.” the boy said, voice mirroring how out of breath and terrified Wooyoung felt. He chanced a surprised glance at Wooyoung. “You seriously don’t know what it is?”
Wooyoung spared a second to glare at the boy himself, and regretted his decision when he came face-first with a mouthful of leaves. He spat them out, sputtering “Why the fuck would I know what that is? You’re the one who summoned it!”
“I didn't summon shit!” the boy said, eyes still on the forest ahead. They wound their way through the trees on each other’s trail. “It’s because of you weavers using up all the magic in the world that they’re seeping through! That rift you were talking about must be their gateway.”
“But you guys are the ones opening the rifts because you’re stealing magic from the unnatural!”
The boys separated around a large oak, the tree temporarily halting their conversation. When they came back together, the boy leveled a glare at Wooyoung. “We don’t steal magic, and certainly not from magic other than our own.”
They heard a large crash and the sound of a tree cracking. Wooyoung chanced another glance over his shoulder, and found the creature had smashed into the large oak. Thanks to the temporary pause in their chase, the two boys slowed down to catch their breath.
“You seriously don’t know what that is?” the boy asked, and Wooyoung felt his confusion and hesitance roll around the air between them. Wooyoung frowned at the emotions, searching through them to find any deception.
“No,” Wooyoung told him, when he couldn’t find anything. “And you seriously didn’t summon that?” Wooyoung asked, still laser-focused on the emotions rolling off the boy.
“No,” he told him, and Wooyoung found he was being truthful. He sighed and stepped backwards until his back met a nearby tree, ruffling a hand through his hair.
“Surprised summoners aren’t evil creatures who have it out for weavers?” The boy taunted, but he kept light on his feet, ready to run the second they could hear the creature begin to stir.
“Surprised that everything I've been told about the rifts may not be truthful.” Wooyoung told him instead, eyeing the large oak in the near distance.
The boy turned to him fully, eyes mirroring the same fear and confusion Wooyoung was feeling now. “I'll have to agree with you on that one.” he said, and, for the first time that night, he offered a smile.
Wooyoung returned it.
A sudden growl interrupted their peaceful moment, and both boys turned to watch as the creature slowly made its way around the tree, like a predator watching its prey. The boy cursed, drawing a pin from the upper pocket of his shirt.
“What are you going to do with that?” Wooyoung asked, “Stab it with a pin ?”
The boy, ignoring Wooyoung, stabbed the pin into the tip of his index finger, drawing blood. “What-” Wooyoung began to ask, but before he could even form the question, the boy rubbed the blood along his palm, and a small, onyx dagger began to appear. The boy grasped the handle, positioning himself between the creature and Wooyoung.
“You should probably run.” the boy said, crouching down into a position ready to attack. Wooyoung pressed himself up against the tree, fingers scraping down the bark. He pushed his feet into the hard earth beneath him, grounding himself.
“But what if you get hurt?” Wooyoung asked, hoping his voice sounded braver than he felt. If Wooyoung was honest with himself, he knew his brand of magic was not useful in this situation. On people, sure, but otherworldly creatures? He was practically useless. He reached out to the boy, but felt that he, too, was not as brave as he seemed right now.
The boy scoffed, and Wooyoung was sure he must’ve rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.
When the creature lurched forward, the boy was ready. He spun away from the charging thing, gliding the blade up the side of its body. Wooyoung watched as it barrelled past, slamming into a tree behind them. Huh , Wooyoung thought, it can’t change direction .
The boy seemed to notice this at the same time as Wooyoung, and took advantage while the creature was still shaking its head from its crash into the tree. The boy slid on his knees across the forest floor, slashing out his dagger and dragging it across the back legs of the creature.
The creature wailed in pain, kicking backwards, black droplets of blood falling to the forest floor. Its legs weren't long enough to hit the boy, but he fell backwards anyway in surprise of the attempted attack.
Pain , Wooyoung thought, eyes widening at the discovery. This creature could feel things.
Wooyoung hopped away from his tree, running forward to help the boy from the ground as the creature began to get its bearings. Once the boy was standing again, Wooyoung spread his arms out and welcomed the waves of the creature's pain.
He closed his eyes in concentration, grasping onto the tendrils of feeling. Then he snapped his eyes open and pulled .
The creature began wailing louder, stomping its stubby legs on the ground to stop the feeling. The boy turned to Wooyoung in shock, but Wooyoung kept his attention on the creature, on the thick waves of pain spilling through the air between them.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked, surprise and admiration dripping from his tone. Wooyoung didn’t answer, and kept pulling on the pain until the creature was writhing on the ground in front of them.
He let go then, taking pity on the thing. Even though it was out here for no reason other than to kill them, he didn’t want to torture it.
When it was obvious the creature wasn’t going to get up, Wooyoung and the boy approached it.
Wooyoung knelt down, coming face to face with the creature. It glared at him through its glowing, golden eyes, and made an attempt to snap its jaw at him, but as it was so weakened by the pain, it was a poor attempt at best.
“Sleep.” Wooyoung said, weaving the word around the creature, watching as its eyes shaded over, eyelids falling down and its breath evening out. It looked almost cute, like a puppy dog that had been warped by the horrors of unnatural magic.
The boy pulled out his blade and pressed it against the creature’s neck, sliding across it in one fluid motion. A mercy kill.
The two boys watched as the creature began to fade, disintegrating into a pile of dust, as if being cremated in front of their very eyes. Eventually, the creature dissolved away completely, the dust being carried off by the wind. The only sign the creature was ever there was the few droplets of black blood on the ground beneath them, and the grey shadow on the forest floor.
Wooyoung lifted a hand to touch it, shocked when he found the absence of magic, removing his hand as if burned.
“What?” the boy asked, brushing his hand over the greying earth beneath them. Wooyoung hissed and removed the boy’s hand.
“It drained the magic from the earth.” Wooyoung told him. “We thought it was the rifts, but it must be—”
“The Dark Creatures,” the boy finished. “It seems we each know something vital about what’s happening, but neither side is willing to share anything.”
Wooyoung mustered a breathless laugh. “Seems we’re too busy blaming each other to realise we have a mutual threat.”
The two boys smiled at each other then, sweat rolling off their foreheads with the effort in taking down the creature. They pushed themselves up from the ground, looking around at the damage the fight had caused.
The boy's weapon seemed to glimmer out of existence, fading away. The boy looked down at his empty grip and shrugged, “blood must’ve dried.” Then he held out his now-empty hand to Wooyoung.
“I’m San, by the way. Choi San.”
Wooyoung grinned and took the offered hand. “Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung tried to marry the boy he knew with the one standing before him, but he couldn’t match those harsh, unwelcoming eyes to anything Wooyoung knew of the boy.
“Excuse me?” Wooyoung breathed, feeling his entire body fizzle with heat. He heard the mutterings of the students for the first time now — their harsh, judging whispers at the fact that somehow, this weaver knew this summoner.
“Wooyoung—” Yunho started, waves of worry and sorrow wafting off the boy. Wooyoung's eyes didn’t leave San, but San turned to him, an eyebrow tilted upwards at the boy. Wooyoung latched onto the movement, letting out a low growl.
“What game are you playing?” His voice was low, trying to disguise it from the on-looking crowd eating up their interaction.
San turned back to him, eyebrows raised in his direction. “Game?” he sneered, “I don’t know what kind of game I would want to play with a weaver .”
The disgust that rolled off his tone stopped Wooyoung short. He gasped, feeling his legs weaken as he stumbled backwards in Yeosang, tears sprigging to his eyes. Disgust . That was all he could feel from San right now – no lingering love whatsoever. Just plain, undeniable disgust .
Wooyoung tried to speak, tried to say any of the words he’d practiced saying when he would finally see San again, but nothing came out.
“Let’s just go,” one of the summoners beside San said, pushing in front of him and shouldering past Wooyoung. The other students began to follow, but San’s eyes stayed trained on Wooyoung, cool and assessing.
Yunho nudged him forward then, pulling tightly on his midnight-blue robes. He glanced at Wooyoung for a brief moment, eyes holding surprising kindness and an unspoken apology, before pulling the two along and down the other side of Sky Bridge, leaving Wooyoung standing stumped in the centre.
The weavers began to disperse as well, knowing that the show was over. The groups of students snarled at each other as they passed, giving wide berth or otherwise knocking their shoulders into one another.
Wooyoung felt Yeosang tug at his robes, attempting to pull the boy from his stupor. Mingi was there now, too, confusion and weariness rolling off him.
“What the hell was that about?” He asked, eyes flicking between them for answers. But Yeosang ignored him in favour of Wooyoung, pulling roughly on his robes until Wooyoung was stumbling forward, allowing himself to be blindly dragged across to Changjohwan.
Mingi attempted to make small talk again, but Wooyoung remained wrapped in his mind. How could San regard him with such hatred? What had transpired three years ago, on the night of Wooyoung’s accident? How could he stand there, in front of the entire student body, and pretend Wooyoung had meant nothing to him?
San didn’t care. Those three, beautiful years together hadn’t meant a single thing.