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Chapter Text
San wore a devilish smirk on his lips - cocky, full of confidence - when he felt himself slipping further and further into the pleasing haze of a fight. He couldn’t tell what rang louder in his ears - the rapid pounding of his heart from the adrenaline mixed with excitement, or the growl of the beast he had pinned to the forest floor.
Pushing his knee against the base of the monster’s neck, he put his full body weight and kept the monster trapped, pinned to the ground. Twigs snapped under their combined weight, dead leaves rustled, and San thrived in the chaos of the fight.
San knew aarthrals to be feisty monsters, bodies fleshed out with muscles greater than any human could ever grow. He felt its arms and back contract with a piteous attempt to free itself from under San.
It soon gave up on pushing San off, instead, twisting its front extremity behind its back in an angle that was far too unnatural, blindly reaching out to reach San, who was now straddling its back. The claws, sharp like a freshly-forged knife, missed San’s thigh by a mere inch when he flinched away just in time. But the sudden attack was enough to throw him off balance, tip his body to the side and drop part of the pressure that kept the monster grounded. The beast took the chance and used leverage to get up from the floor and stand on all fours.
San jumped away, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. The wolf leather felt familiar under his touch, calming part of his nerves, when the pad of his fingers traced the worn-out material.
The aarthral roared, baring a row of canines that stretched nearly the entire width of its ugly mug. The sound rumbled deep in San’s core, shaking the ground beneath him, but it didn’t faze him. He didn’t so much as flinch.
“You could use some voice lessons,” San held his low stance, throwing a challenging smirk at the monster.
The monster launched right at him, back legs of a cougar giving his blow a strength that shook San’s arm when he blocked the attack with the blade of his sword. Black blood splattered across the steel, dripping even into the air, thick with a repulsive stench.
San breathed it in like it was the most beautiful scent he’d ever known.
It mixed with the murky, heavy air around him. The scents so characteristic for a battle fueled each of his strikes - he kept them coming fast, tight, short-stanced, always staying a step ahead, countering the monster’s every move. To him, the fight was a dance, and San shaped the chaos into rhythm. San twirled around, feeling himself, not daring to let the monster out of his sight for more than a split second.
The clash of his sword with the feathers striking across aarthral’s back made the blade slide down its spine. But the next swing of his weapon was deadly for the beast, as dark liquid gushed from the cut across its chest.
The aarthral growled again, staggering back. San took it as his cue, retreating a step and feigning a falter in his movements - just enough to throw the beast off guard. The moment the monster’s stance loosened, San leapt forward. With a powerful swing of his sword, pouring the full weight of his body into the strike, he drove the blade’s tip straight into the spot he knew housed its aorta, tearing through flesh with brutal precision.
San felt another wave of goosebumps ripple across his body - a mix of the thrill from the fight and the biting cold left behind by the blow. The forest rustled with a gentle breeze, birds chirping softly, as if offering him quiet thanks for ridding their home of the beast.
The tremble in his hands, brought on by the rush of combat, soon began to settle. San withdrew his sword, eyes fixed on the monster that succumbed and fell to the ground. It reached out once again to desperately scratch San, to leave any marks on his unblemished skin. But the monster’s strength left him just as its blood left the body.
“Any last words?” San asked, while wiping the hilt of his sword against the folds of his tunic. It was already dirty anyway - dark with soil and splotches of liquids he didn’t want to name, or ponder over for too long.
The aarthral snarled. The sound was weak, slobbery with blood dripping from its mouth. “Be damned,” a pause, “you devil's spawn,” it growled.
San laughed, sheathing his sword with a swift overhead motion, blindly reaching for the pouch strapped to his back. He readjusted the straps crossing his chest, patting the heavy buckles with satisfaction. “Take one to know one,” he said lightly, pride of yet another fight won swelling in his chest.
The monster coughed blood, eyes droopy with life leaving the body. “Ah, ah, not yet,” San clicked his tongue, nudging it with the heel of his boot. The aarthral locked its eyes on San, it took a lot of effort - its gaze was misty, void of life, yet full of disdain.
Without so much as a blink, San withdrew his dagger from the smaller sheath strapped to his thigh. “Don’t think I’d let you die without tasting my famous finisher.” With swift precision, he pierced the aarthral’s heart, his stiletto dagger sinking smoothly into flesh.
The runes decorating the dagger’s hilt light up. The dark, crimson light emitting from them seeped through the gaps between San’s fingers, reflecting on his skin in a resemblance of a blush.
The aarthral twitched for the final time past mortem, and soon, it went completely limp. The light faded, and everything around them seemed to finally settle. San breathed in the air. It smelled of blood and damp soil.
As a token of his victory for the villagers who hired him to kill the monster, San extracted a claw from the aarthral, Now he was ready to retreat back to the Mist Valley, where he was awaited.
The forest around him was enormous, filled with mist that held secrets so profound, even San wasn’t willing to discover them. He'd seen a lot in his life, but something about this mist stirred uncertainty in his chest. The animals, sensing that the danger was over, came out from their hiding spots.
But something in the air had shifted.
At first, San noticed something dark oozing from the wound he’d dealt to the monster, pooling around the aarthral’s body. He assumed it was blood - dark, thick, and ominous. But then, stirred by a sudden gust of wind, the pitch-black substance revealed itself to be mist, not liquid.
San took a step back, his gaze following the thick mist as it twisted and coiled like a serpent. Without looking back, it slithered upward toward the mountain hills near the forest where San was. The mist seemed alive as it moved, eventually fading into the distance.
The forest seemed not to notice the anomaly happening. A hodgepodge of birds chirping filled the air, drowning out the occasional sound of large animals in the distance.
San eyed the monster’s lifeless body in front of him, taking in the details. He noticed a subtle pair of studs at the top of its head. Antlers that barely began to grow.
Aarthrals didn’t have antlers.
What first he assumed to be an uncommon specimen, now seemed more like a degeneration. Even the claws were crooked inwards and not pointy like the ones San’d seen before.
“What were you?” San whispered, voice tinged with amusement.
🗡️
It was rare for San to encounter a monster he hadn’t heard of or seen illustrated in a bestiary. His mind was a vivid library of every known specimen, whether extinct or so aberrant they had only been sighted once in recorded history. He had them all memorized and categorized, thanks to the training he had received at the Arcana Academy - a place, which shaped him into the warrior he was now.
The Wardens of the Academy had once locked him in a library with nothing but the bestiary for company. He was told he wouldn’t be allowed to leave until he had memorized every creature listed in the book - its name, appearance, and the territory it inhabited. The book had nearly two hundred pages. San had counted them all. Still, he memorized each entry with diligence, pushing through until his eyes drooped with exhaustion and his spine ached from hours hunched over the tabletop in the same position. The Wardens had been true to their word, San spent three full days locked in the library without a single bite of food. He survived on water alone and the pure fear that coursed through his veins. Back then, he’d been just a child, no older than thirteen. The vague sketches in the bestiary terrified him - monsters with massive bodies, jagged teeth, endless tentacles, and eyes brimming with fury.
His sleep had been plagued by dreams of those creatures. He was haunted by visions of being torn apart by ghouls, with their six limbs that ended in claws longer than San’s fingernails. When the candle burned low, casting flickering shadows over the pages, he’d think of the eternal fire that blazed inside a wyvern’s throat.
Now, by the age of twenty six, San has had the, doubtful , pleasure to come face-to-face with nearly quarter of the monster from the bestiary. He was able to tell them apart without as much as a flicker of doubt, by virtue of the grueling days spent in the library.
The pain and fear of those nights had proven to be worth it, as he now held the title of one of the greatest monster slayers. His name was spoken like a prayer whenever monsters reappeared, disrupting the peaceful lives of ordinary people.
It was no different that afternoon when the residents of Mist Valley spotted an aarthral invading the village outskirts, sneaking in to feast on their livestock. And once again, San proved that his word was worth trusting, and his services worth every coin, when he returned victorious.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath his horse’s hooves accompanied him to the yard in front of the Mayor’s hut. The house stood out from the rest, most of which looked as though they might collapse at any moment - roofs sagging under their own weight, whereas the Mayor’s roof tiles, by contrast, still gleamed with freshness, as if construction had only recently been completed. While the other cottages bore stone walls chipped by the passing years.
The gray limestone was the same for every home. The choice of material made sense, as the valley was surrounded by mountains made of the very same stone, easy to access. And given the wyverns, whose lairs were mostly nestled in mountain caves, the villagers were more likely than not to one day be awakened by an infernal monster’s attack - the stone, at the very least, would help prevent their houses from going up in flames like a box of matches.
The villagers were lucky that this time they had caught the attention of an aarthral, and not a wyvern, whose presence would’ve been far more unpleasant. And far more expensive to hire San to kill one. He hated their sulfuric stench, it smelled of rotten eggs.
“Aye!” came a drawn out whistle from behind San just as he dismounted his horse.
San tilted his head to the side, watching a man come closer. His hair was silver from the tip of his head to his beard. The man’s gaze flickered between the sword on San's back, to the remarkably, silver, polished hilt of his dagger.
“Can it be! Unless my old eyes don’t deceive me. Are you Iron Fang?” the man exclaimed, his speech slurred for the cigar he pushed between his lips, smoke curling around his mustache.
San smiled charmingly, as he always did whenever his name was called. Not his real name, since that remained unknown, but the name given to him by the people once he had emerged from the shadows of being no one.
Years ago, when San was still a nameless monster slayer, had set out on a journey without a destination. He moved from village to village, chasing down beasts and creatures that dared to reveal themselves in various corners of the world. He undertook countless missions to make a name for himself, to earn the title he now carried with pride.
What pushed him forward was the burning desire to spit in the face of his own destiny.
His bloodline carried a legacy etched into its very core. Generation after generation, the Choi family was blessed with a child marked by fate, their blood shined with magic - a divine blessing that signaled the birth of a sorcerer. Sorcerers were chosen by fate to fight the dark forces of nature, the monsters. Unlike ordinary people, they carried the arcane light within their veins, a source of boundless power enabling them to cast spells and, with enough training, write runes . No one could become a sorcerer through sheer determination or training alone - you were either born one, or you remained a nameless nobody.
A great misfortune fell upon San’s bloodline the day he was born - a child with no magic, an ordinary human. It was never a certainty that the gift would pass from generation to generation, but for nearly hundred years, every heir - San’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather - had been born with power. But not him. He was different. And soon enough, whispers began to spread that San was a bastard. He was cast aside, forgotten, deemed unworthy of the life that would have been his, had he only been born different - blessed. Instead, San was cursed with normalcy. He was raised under the weight of mockery. Children from other bloodlines trained at the Academy laughed at him, taunting him when he wasn’t allowed to join the official training to become a sorcerer.
Back then, he swore to himself that if he couldn’t be a sorcerer, then he would carve out his own future and become a monster slayer to prove that he didn’t need anyone’s blessing to fight the beasts.
And with each dead body of a monster delivered back to towns that sought his help, people spread many legends about him.
The name, Iron Fang, clung to him for the piercing wound made with his dagger, his finisher. His dagger was his greatest source of comfort, a reminder that despite not having a place he could call home, he had a mission he could cling to like a lifeline in moments of doubt - the destiny he’d chosen for himself.
For the world, there was no Choi San to be heard of. The boy had no place in a world, which only mocked him.
San rested his hand on his horse's neck. Her coat was gray, like the underlayer of a wolf’s fur, the very kind whose pelt San had wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
“In the flesh” San inclined his head.
A flicker of puzzlement crossed the man’s features, which was a common reaction whenever San was seen by someone for the first time. They always mistakenly assumed him to be older, his hair to be streaked gray with the toll of his adventures. But San… he was a regular man of his age, with maybe slightly more creases on his face and scars on his skin than an ordinary person. And his dark hair was slightly outgrown as San couldn’t recall the last time he had them cut.
The villager then noticed the patches of dried blood on San’s tunic. “Great heavens! Are you hurt?”
San spared a glance at his clothing. “Oh,” he snorted, shaking his head. “I suppose I need a bath. But it isn’t my blood.” He held up the aarthral’s claw and waved it in front of the man’s face. “Ring any bells?”
“Is that the… the…” he snapped his fingers, squinting his eyes as if it would help him to find the right word. “What was it called?”
“Aarthral."
“Arr- what?” The man spat on the ground, twirling the cig between his fingers with a grimace. San’s face twisted with distaste when a fresh wave of smoke reached his nostrils. “Whatever that was. Then is that the monster’s blood? Is it dead?”
“The last time I checked, it was,” San chuckled, seeing the man’s eyes glint with relief. “Now if you don’t mind, I came for my reward. Is Ryu Chen in his quarters?”
“At that time of the day?” the man burst into laughter. “He was on his third mug of mead when I left the tavern. Might take him a few more to get home, don’t wait on him.”
San looked up. The sun was high up in the sky.
“I could have expected that,” San muttered under breath. He gave Iris a lightest squeeze with his calves, heading towards the village’s centre.
🗡️
“Per your wish,” San threw the monster’s claw on the table, with it landing directly in front of the Mayor, next to his lunch. Someone shrieked in disgust from beside, but San paid them no mind. “The monster is gone.”
“I see,” the man hummed, lifting his eyes from above the rim of his mug as he took a long sip. “Two days were enough for you? I bet you would need at least two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” San arched his brow. “It's such a disgrace on my name, sir,” the slight raise of the corner of his lips spoke of fake courtesy.
“I heard that you don’t like to rush.”
“I put a lot of care into my job. It would have taken even less, but I wanted to take a look around your village first. Beautiful residency that you have,” San snickered in a low voice, watching Chen’s bushy eyebrows drop low. “Dripping with luxury. Shame that your villagers walk around in rags full of holes.”
A murmur, a growl-like sound, rumbled from the man’s throat as he shot San a perilous glare.
“What matters is that now the beast will no longer kill our livestock,” Chen averted from the topic, visibly tensing from San’s precise cuts. “We’ve suffered enough.”
“I lost nearly half of the coop! Within a month!” San heard a cry of anger from someone.
“Half of the coop? That monster had eaten my cow!” another voice declared, full of spite.
The tavern was soon drowned in bickering of people who clearly needed to decide on who was in the worst situation. What for? San didn’t know.
“Let's get down to business," San slammed his fist on the table, upon which silence fell around. His patience ran thin, and his money bag was too light.
“Business? What business?” the stink of mead in Chen's breath hit San’s face. “Won’t our folks’ happiness be enough for you? You, the fearless Iron Fang? The greatest monster slayer?” His voice was full of mockery, emphasized by the cackling that shook his body.
“Happiness won’t feed me.” San didn’t let his anger be seen. His expression hasn’t as much as twitched. “We had a deal, three silver coins.”
“The coop is not even worth that!” Mayor’s whiny tone and his soft-headed humor made San curl his fists by his side. “Let go of it. You can stay in our village for a week instead, the inn has amazing roasted venison. Ask for extra mashed potatoes, they taste heavenly.” He didn’t mention how the prolonged stay would be beneficial for them - keeping San around to protect their town, while he would get nothing from it.
“And the mead is even greater!” someone cut in, earning a salve of laughter.
“Three silver coins,” San didn’t waver.
“I can give you one,” the Mayor shrugged, putting away his cutlery. It was clear he was oblivious of the anger that boiled San’s blood, otherwise he wouldn’t want to play with fire like he did now.
“I don’t know who you think I am, and I’d rather you keep those thoughts to yourself, unless you’re eager to lose your tongue,” San said as he withdrew his dagger, pressing its pointed tip against the cushion of his index finger, in a faux manner of acting bored. “But I do not bargain,” his piercing gaze landed right back on Chen.
The man snorted derisively. “Here, damn,” he reached behind his back and threw a pouch onto the table. The money clinked inside. “You could be a bit nicer, you know.”
San didn’t respond. He counted the money in the bag, noticing that the seven pieces didn’t add up. “There are only two silver coins and five copper ones. Can’t you count to three?”
“Tax included,” the man burst out laughing again, the people around following.
San turned around without a word, but not without kicking the leg of the stool Chen sat on, making him fall to his ass and spill the contents of his mug all over himself. “Next time, don't you dare bet on my name again.”
San’s steps were loud, echoing against the wooden floor of the room, though he felt lighter. His stomach growled with hunger, but it was drowned out by the sound of laughter and chatters filling the air.
🗡️
His sword, still dirty with blood, lying beside him on a table should be enough of a tell-tale sign that San didn’t want to be approached. He had chosen a quiet corner of the tavern to eat and plan out the next destination. The sound of his spoon clinking against the plate mixed in his mind with the whirlwind of the options in his head.
He could head out to Diremire, where he heard people were troubled with a lagoon nymph. But he was almost sure that it must have been only an older woman mistakenly taken for a creature, as the nymphs were extinct for half a decade now.
His alternative option was just within reach. He’d received a letter a few days prior, from Shadowville, speaking of a potential new quest San could take up. The already opened missive he had kept in his pocket remained in the back of his head like a whisper of temptation. His attention was especially drawn by the high reward, ten gold coins - whoever wrote it, knew how to speak to him.
San had not known a monster that’d be worth so much, ten gold coins would be equivalent for at least ten grown wyverns slain. And usually, people tended to lower the pay, so the pricing seemed sketchy for him. He was irritated by the way the letter was written, he usually preferred if people kept them short, straightforwardly staking his target, without mincing their words.
However, Ahn Dahae did not spare any parchment. The leader of the community from Shadowville, as San learned from her signature, described in great detail the plagues that had befallen their village. It had started rather inconspicuously - at first, the carrots changed their color from a vivid, mouth-watering dark red to a somber gray tone, as though mold had already covered them during their ripening stage. Then the sickness leapt to the wild garlic. Which, while inconvenient, was still something people could live with.
Even so, the unknown cause gnawed at them. Crop after crop of many different kinds withered, despite it being the season when the land usually yielded in abundance. The sickness had also reached the animals, which began to act strangely, as if struck by some kind of curse.
San couldn’t name anything that would affect living matter in such a way. Of course, he had heard of monsters kidnapping livestock, poisoning water, or destroying towns and villages by nesting in barns and sheds abandoned by people.
But he quickly spotted the twist at the end of the letter, and that was when the high reward finally began to make sense. The target was beyond the scope of his usual contracts, not because San was too weak or too afraid to face it. No. It was because he was being asked to kill a man - a witch , reportedly responsible for it all.
San had dismissed the mission, pushing the letter without care into his back pocket and forgetting about it for the following days. No matter if the reports were true or not, San didn’t want to get his hands dirty with a human’s blood, even for the price of ten gold coins.
So now he was left without any destination in his mind. He leaned toward staying a few more days in the Mist Valley and waiting for a new missive to find him, one with something not as morally dubious - maybe killing a mutant rat. Or he could go on a patrol by himself and let the monsters find him.
Whatever he would decide, one was for sure.
The mashed potatoes here were really heavenly.
San hummed in contentment, scooping another bite, when he heard the scrape of a chair being dragged toward his table. He looked from his plate, noticing a man pulling the chair to the side of San’s table, joining him uninvited.
“I see you’re quite enjoying our chef's cooking?” He set down two mugs with a soft thud that echoed off the table’s wooden surface. He slid one in San's direction.
“Do I know you?” San quirked brow at him.
“I-” the man hesitated. “I’m Yunho, we met two days ago.”
San scrunched his face in contempt, trying to match the person to any name. “Ah, you’re the blacksmith?” He recalled himself visiting the man's forge to sharpen his sword before heading out to kill the aarthral, which cost him an additional day of a delay.
Yunho gave him a quick nod. “I hope I did a good job,” he added lightly, sipping on his beer. The bitter scent of alcohol drifted across the table. San left his own mug untouched.
“Well, certainly,” San muttered, shifting in his seat, his tone neutral. “Since I’m still alive.” The comment earned a short, amused chuckle from Yunho.
There was something too easy in the way Yunho was sitting and simply smiling, observing San.
“Are you going to sit there and watch me eat like some creep?”
A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated from Yunho’s chest. “You know,” he began, casually sliding his hand forward, fingers brushing against San’s bare forearm. The touch was light, but left a sharp trail of goosebumps in its wake. Yunho smirked, clearly pleased with the reaction. “I was hoping to see you again.”
“Well,” San said, keeping his tone flat, “you got your wish.”
Yunho’s fingers trailed up, curling around the swell of San’s bicep. “You looked so damn good walking in covered in that beast’s blood. Dangerous. Distant. Untouchable.” His voice dropped. “Exactly my type.”
San didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened just slightly. He could tell exactly where this was heading. The tension in the air wasn’t loud, but it was there, simmering quietly.
But then he became acutely aware of the dried blood sticking to his skin, the sweat clinging in places he’d rather not think about. He felt grimy, worn, and not in the mood for anyone’s fantasies.
“So,” Yunho whispered leaning in, breath grazing San’s cheek. “What do you say?”
“I say,” San murmured, “I’d like to take a bath first. A long one. By myself.”
“You’re not easy to get, are you?”
San stood up from his spot, reaching for his sword to sling it across his back.
“Certainly not. I don’t do romance, Yunho,” he said simply, already turning away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, I had to shoot my shot,” Yunho said with a casual shrug, voice light, unfazed. “But,” he paused just long enough to seem genuine, “I have a spare room you could crash in while you’re here. No pressure.” He leaned in a little, conspiratorially. "Though the tavern owner had a fling with Chen, and I doubt you’ve won the favor of either. If I were you, I wouldn’t hope for a room here.”
San considered that. Sleeping somewhere under the eaves of an old barn, or finding a quiet clearing near the woods didn’t sound so bad. The night was clear, no clouds threatening to open up and soak him. Still, the thought of waking up in a bed made his bones ache with longing. It had been a while since he’d been allowed such luxury.
“If you don’t mind?” he asked, careful, cautious in tone.
“I was the one who offered,” Yunho replied, already rising from his seat, leaving his half-drunk ale behind.
As they made their way through the dimming streets, the silence between them felt too still, awkward. San held on Iris’ reins, leading her beside them, partially seeking solace in her presence to break the silence. “I didn’t know blacksmiths earned enough to afford a house with an unoccupied room.”
“Why? Are you now considering a career change? I could teach you a few things if you’re ever tired of chasing monsters.”
San smirked faintly. “I’m quite content just knowing how to wield my sword. I don’t need to master the angle it’s best sharpened at.”
“Fair enough,” Yunho huffed. “I shared the house with my friend, their room is empty.”
“Won’t they mind me taking their room?”
“He’s been gone a while now,” his steps slowed, just for a second, while his gaze drifted to the dark silhouette of the mountain hill looming beyond the village. “I don’t know when, or if, I’ll see him again, so you’re welcome to stay, for as long as you’d like.”
“Did something happen to him?” San found himself asking. “Sorry, I’m prying.” Iris scoffed beside him, to San’s disbelief of being mocked by his own horse.
“It’s fine,” Yunho shrugged, despite the obvious hurt crossing his features. “He moved out two years ago, he wasn’t exactly welcomed in the village. He was a good person, even a better friend, but I guess people can sometimes get too caught up in prejudice to realize the truth.”
“An outcast?”
“Yeah. Not by choice, but eventually he got tired of the stares, the whispers. The way people stopped talking when he walked into a room. He wanted a fresh start.”
“And you stayed behind,” San said.
“I had to. My father passed not long before. The forge was his whole life, and I couldn’t walk away from it."
They walked in silence for a few beats. “Don’t you regret it sometimes? It must get lonely.”
“Daily. But I have no idea where to look for him anymore.” San said nothing. There was nothing to say. He simply nodded, once.
Following Yunho up the stairs, San was led into a small, cozy room. It was simple - just a bed with a thin blanket covering it, and a small wooden table beside it. A single window looked out onto the village rooftops, and now, in the height of midday, long rays of sunlight spilled across the plain stone floor, warming it with a quiet, golden glow.
His gaze drifted to the walls. A few paintings hung there - mostly monochromes, soft beige canvases brushed with delicate landscapes in varying shades of purple. Mountains, forests, rivers, all familiar shapes, but rendered in a dreamlike hue.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” Yunho stopped beside him, following his gaze. “I always said he had this way of capturing beauty with nothing but a brush and his watercolor.”
San hummed. “Why purple?”
Yunho shrugged. “He never said. I asked once, and he just smiled at me like it was obvious. Eventually, I stopped asking.
“Some things are better left unsolved,” San agreed.
That’s where their beauty hides.
San was offered to have his clothes washed, and he agreed in a heartbeat - he could feel how stiff with dirt, sweat, and blood they were.
He spent the rest of the day getting to know Yunho, and even though San was rather withdrawn, always keeping his distance to avoid forging bonds he might one day miss, he found that Yunho was surprisingly easy to talk to. They saw the day off together, shared laughter drifting through the cracks in the walls. San joked that he could publish a daily zine like a news bulletin with all the freshest gossip in the village - Yunho snickered back that San couldn’t be sure he didn’t already.
They didn’t return to the topic of Yunho’s lost friend. San could tell how much effort it had taken for Yunho to talk about him in the first place.
The evening was pleasant, but San cursed himself for letting himself get too comfortable, because it would be harder to leave. Staying simply wasn’t an option, it never was.
🗡️
Yunho was up even before dawn, and so was San.
“I, uh,” Yunho scratched the back of his neck, “I can make us breakfast, but I wouldn’t trust myself with anything more sophisticated than scrambled eggs,” he added with a smile.
“If you throw in a slice of bread, I’ll consider it a royal meal,” San said as he sprawled onto the kitchen stool, watching Yunho stumble around the kitchen as if it were his first time there in ages, reacquainting himself with the contents of different cabinets.
“I’ll be back late from work today, but feel free to do whatever you want around here,” Yunho explained, leaning over a heated pan and fishing out bits of eggshell that had fallen in. “You know where to find me if anything comes up.”
“I really appreciate you letting me stay the night,” San said, “but I should be on my way.”
“Duty calls?” Yunho offered, turning his back to the stove.
“It never stops.”
“I’ve heard you’re quite in demand,” he flashed San a smirk. “So where are you being summoned this time?”
“I’m not sure yet,” San shrugged, toying with the leather gloves laid beside him on the table, ready for the next journey. “I’ve had a few offers, but none of them sound worth the time it would take to even check them-”
San paused. His vision suddenly blurred with a veil of grey. He rubbed his eyes, assuming something was wrong with his sight. But then, the smell hit him - smoke, burnt wood.
“You weren’t joking about being useless in the kitchen. Did you set our breakfast on fire?” he muttered, looking up - only to see the eggs intact and Yunho standing perfectly fine, untouched by flame.
Huh? Weird.
The air became murky with each second passing as the smoke slithered in through the cracks in the windows and door. They looked around, trying to locate the source of the smoke when a shriek of terror answered the question for them.
“A dragon is coming! Run for your life!”
Some more shouts erupted outside, soon followed by cries of many. San’s hand tingled with the need to reach out for his sword, which was left by the door.
“W-what?” Yunho trembled out, face pale from dread.
San’s jaw tightened. If anything, that was a wyvern, not a dragon. Dragons existed only in legends and fairytales. But he bit his tongue to stop himself from geeking out when there was a monster attack happening.
“Stay inside,” he quickly threw over shoulder, already mid-way to exit Yunho’s house. Tasting on his tongue how the air was already thick, San assumed the wyvern to be near.
San sprung to action, pushing between the mass of people. And despite his request, he felt the presence of Yunho following right after him.
“It’s coming from the north! I saw it!” A shout broke between the sobs and cries.
Someone stumbled beside him, a little girl shoved by the frantic push of another. San reached out instinctively, helping her back to her feet. Without even a word, the child took off running into the thickening haze.
The smoke scratched on San’s lungs, forcing tears to well up in his eyes, a violent cough tearing through him. There was no wind to move it, no relief. The village’s position nestled in a mountain basin certainly didn’t help, the still air trapped the smoke.
Without hesitation San mounted the horse. Someone in the crowd noticed his presence. “Please save us. Save us all,” the cries were followed by dry coughs.
“Where are you going?” Yunho shouted from beside him.
“Where? To slay the wyvern,” San called back, raising his voice to cut through the screams and chaos around them. He had already grabbed the reins, the horse shifting beneath him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Yunho. Duty calls .”
Tightening his thighs and pressing the heels of his boots into his horse’s sides sent the animal trotting swiftly in the direction San pointed it. With a flick of the reins and a sharp exhale through his nose, he leaned forward into the motion, already focused on what lay ahead.
Only a thin plume of dust, kicked up from the gravel path beneath Iris’s pounding hooves, was left behind, trailing in the wind as San charged straight toward the beast.
🗡️
San followed the direction of the thick plumes of smoke rising into the sky from beyond the mountain ridge. After riding three miles out from the village, when the screams and panic had faded into distant echoes, he began listening closely for the screeching cry so characteristic of a wyvern. He hoped the valleys and mountains would catch the sound and carry it to him, guiding him straight to the monster - but he heard nothing but the rush of a stream, flowing down the mountain’s slope.
He had to take a longer route back across the mountains, as the seemingly shorter path was too steep and treacherous for Iris to navigate safely. What should have been a two-hour ride stretched into nearly a half-day journey. By the time they reached safer ground, the smoke had stopped thickening, settling instead into a dull, lingering haze.
San followed it to the source, but found it strange that he couldn’t smell any sulfur in the air - the scent of rotten eggs he despised with every fiber of his being, one he could recognize from just the faintest whiff. It was always there when a wyvern was near, acrid, pungent, clinging to everything like a bad omen. But now the air was thick with smoke, but not the kind that turned his stomach.
He made it to the other side of the mountain, descending the slope carefully as he went. The wind was dead. Even the birds had gone silent, crunching gravel and his horse snorting from time to time were his only companions.
What caught his eye first was the view, stark and unsettling, one he had expected, but still, it was painful to see. The hillside was completely barren, burnt, stripped of all greenery.
The path downhill led him through the remains of what had once clearly been a forest. Now, only ash and the charred skeletons of sturdier trees remained, their trunks scorched black.
This desolation stretched across nearly the entire face of the mountain, a wide scar of destruction that stripped the earth bare, no grass, no underbrush, nothing but gravel, pale limestone rocks, and dry, exposed soil beneath.
Though, he caught sight of a patch of land in the middle of the mountain’s height, a few miles further east from where San currently was. Not only was the fragment of land green , but it was full of beautiful, vibrant, purple flowers.
It seemed weird for San that the land was untouched by the fire. The shape of the area was too regular to be a mere coincidence, a perfect circle somehow missed by the fire. In the centre of it stood a lone hut, with roof and walls wooden, dark and rich in color.
Who on earth built a hut from wood on terrains known to be inhabited by wyverns, San wondered. And how is it still standing?
Going down the path, San was welcomed by a signboard. Shadowville , it read.
Moving in the shadows of the buildings, San familiarized himself with the town. Strangely, people were going about their day as if nothing had happened, as the entire mountain slope burnt down was just a work of San’s imagination.
If anyone recognized him, they didn’t let it show. A few glances were thrown his way, though San couldn’t tell if it was because they recognized him as the Iron Fang, or simply because he looked out of place, dust-covered and grim, riding horseback while not even a cart could be spotted in sight.
The streets were narrow, making it difficult to maneuver around people while still astride his mount. The cobblestones paths were a uniform gray, made from the same limestone that shaped the buildings around him. The heat radiating from the sun-baked stone turned the alleys into sweltering corridors. San could feel sweat clinging to his back, soaking through his tunic.
“Watch your damn steps,” someone snapped at him, baring their teeth when San’s spurs scraped against a window shutter, causing it to creak loudly. San's eyes flicked to the heavy machete hanging at the person’s side.
Well, what a nice way to greet someone.
He kept his chin raised but veered Iris into a quieter side street. He was looking for someone willing to talk and explain what in the hell had happened here , but most of the townsfolk looked anything but welcoming, each of them armed in some fashion. Be it blades, daggers, or crude farming tools, they carried their weapons openly.
In the corner of his vision San saw a snake circling from behind a corner. It flowed fast on the cobble of the path, agilely passing by any bump, and maneuvering between people’s legs. The momentum made it look almost like a smear of dark paint dragged across the path with a thick brush.
But then, San noticed that Iris hasn’t been yet triggered by the animal. And gods, there was nothing she hated more than those slithery snakes brushing against her hooves and triggering her by mere sight.
She was standing still, even if the dark snake moved beneath them.
Being so focused on the animal, San didn’t even notice the faint glimmer of his dagger’s hilt. The runs lit up with a red hue when it neared.
It passed beneath Iris, making its way toward the busier part of the town, too damn fast to notice any details.
Then it made an unpredictable move, stilling completely in one spot, which allowed San to notice that what he took to be an animal, turned out to be a serpent of thick mist, the same ugly shade of what he’d seen when he’d killed the aarthral. Pitch blackness that had an unreal touch to it, too ominous to be explainable.
The shiver that sparked down his spine wasn’t from fear, it was from excitement, and the adrenaline that instantly began coursing in his veins.
The snake, the misty serpent, arched its spine upward, bending like a drawn bow and rising high above the cobbled pavement. Small stumps began sprouting from the sides of the creature, which gradually elongated, morphing into limbs of a beast. Though made of mist, lacking any real matter, the body looked eerily as if it were formed of bone and sinew.
The form of mist expanded at an alarming rate. Its front limbs and torso resembled some of a large feline, disturbingly similar to the limbs of an aarthral. The hind legs, however, were reptilian, covered in thick, jagged scales that melded seamlessly into the rest of the shadowy form.
Its claws curled into the cobblestones, scratching at the surface as its body twisted, grew, and stretched. It was a terrifying sight. San was frozen in place - he had never witnessed anything like it. He knew of creatures that could mimic shapes to a chilling degree, replicating their targets so precisely that telling them apart from the original was nearly impossible.
But they always had a body. A real one, made of membranes and muscle fibers, their insides filled with blood. This creature had none - it was a black hole, like a Tear made in reality.
San's body reacted quicker than he could even form a thought justifying what he was seeing. He unmounted Iris, sprinting into the direction of the monster who was forming a few meters ahead of him.
San had to kill the monster before it could harm anyone.
His hand already grasped the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it with a quick pull overhead. The beast had its back turned toward him, the advantage was enough to quickly end its life with a swift plunge of his sword without a longer fight. It seemed not to notice San just yet, being too preoccupied with the process of creating self.
As he neared, sneaking on it, the limbs of the monster grew prominent, reaching the full size. But when San was just a quick plunge away from it he heard an echo of steps, when someone entered the street. A stranger walked onto them, coming from behind San’s back. It was impossible not to notice the monster in its size, beyond reckoning.
A scream full of terror left the woman’s lungs, just as color drained from her face - leaving her pale with fear. And at that moment, the whole element of surprise that was the key to win for San, was done for.
“A demon!” she shrieked, frozen in place. “It’s- it’s back!”
Her laments were enough to draw the monster’s attention. It snapped its head towards the source of the sound - which, essentially, meant its gaze landed on San. The monster regarded San with a long glance, cocking its head to the side. A guttural snarl reverberated from its chest, the sound seeped into San’s bones, leaving a trail of cold
The monster stood still, its firm body materialized with each second, taking on a sturdy posture. The black monochrome of the monster’s fur on the upper half of the body and scales on the other half made it look like a monster from worst nightmares. Only its eyes were solid. No pupils, no irises, only onyx black orbes that glared at San’s direction, having its head dipped low.
The monster took a leap in San’s direction without wasting any more time. San saw the snap of its jaws closing shut, just inches from his face. He lurched to the side, dodging at the last possible second. The crushing force of its bite grazed past him with a sickening crack of air and teeth. As he regained balance, San caught a glimpse of its mouth, three grotesque rows of jagged teeth lined its foul maw.
“Help!” a woman’s voice cried, fleeing from the chaos behind him. She disappeared from the narrow alley, running off to a more secluded area. The fighting ground severely limited San’s mobility, he had no room to maneuver, no space to dance.
With a sharp exhale, San twisted his body and swung his sword from the right. It met the creature’s flank with precision, aimed directly at the tender spot beneath its ribs.
And yet… nothing. No wound opened, no blood spurted. The blade met ‘ flesh ’, and sipped right off. It was as if he were wielding a wooden sword, not a weapon forged from steel.
San’s breath caught in his throat. Had he imagined it? Hallucinated the impact? That was impossible. A beast, any beast, should bleed from a strike like that. His brows drew together into a hard, frustrated scowl as he dodged the next lunge. The monster moved with slow but terrifying power, its bulk both a burden and an advantage. Every motion was thunderous, heavy. It reared back on its hind legs, jaws opening wide for another bite. San met it head-on, shoving his sword into its mouth horizontally, like a muzzle between its snapping teeth. The steel screeched against enamel and flesh, and he pulled, slicing at the edges of its lips.
Still, no blood, no damage whatsoever.
Dodging to the side, San struck again from an almost impossible angle, his blade arcing upward in a low, upward slash aimed at the monster’s belly. The blow landed, forcing the creature to flinch ever so slightly from the force behind San’s swing.
Wasting no time, San twisted his body and yanked the sword back in a sharp motion, slipping into a fluid retreat. Shifting his weight onto his left leg, he danced across the uneven ground, a blur of motion in his battle rhythm. His footwork was swift, unpredictable, and he wasn’t just attacking. He was testing, weaving feints and false openings into his movement to throw the beast off balance. When San’s blade finally drove into the creature’s eye, he froze, holding his breath, bracing for the satisfying roar of pain, the spurt of blood, any sign that he had finally broken through.
But nothing came. Instead, standing closer now, San saw something that chilled him more than any roar could have. His blade hadn’t pierced the monster’s eye at all. It hadn’t even met resistance - it had sunk in.
Where the sword should have split the eye, it had been swallowed, melded, as if the creature’s body simply allowed it inside. From the point where the sword entered, the beast’s form shifted, blurred, turning to mist, the eye reshaping itself around the intrusion as though it had never been struck.
The monster smoothly transformed its flesh into mist, dense like fog.
San’s grip faltered for a moment. His foot slipped in the dust and rubble, and he stumbled back, disoriented by the creature’s eerie resilience. His mind couldn’t reach the state of battle wrath - usually locked in the perfect steps of a fight, calculating angles, directing the precise tension of each muscle, flowing like a deadly dance.
He lost the rhythm in this battle.
He looked up, and locked eyes with the monster, a chill of fear ran down his spine. Its gaze was hollow, lifeless. San could say a lot of things about the monsters he’d encountered before, but none of them ever looked lifeless.
San’s breath caught as he saw it clearly now, something glowing faintly in the center of the creature’s forehead. A mark, almost carved into the flesh, yet standing out from the beast’s dark hide. It pulsed with a sickly light, like an open wound of magic.
And San realized - those were runes .
He tried to give a quick reading to them, but the runes were too intricate, too complicated to understand them without paying closer attention to them. Even the tiniest stroke, added to the sharp lines could change the whole meaning.
They were written down the flat expanse of the monster’s nose. Rune after rune was neatly lined beneath the other, creating a complex hex. The runes were nothing more than straight strokes, looking more like a claw’s scratches rather than written alphabet. However, what made them special, was the combination that made up the hex to be special, and the intention with which they were written.
The beast must be someone’s creation, San wondered.
This thing, this mistborn monster, was an anomaly. It couldn’t be defeated by sword alone, no matter how skilled the hand that wielded it. Desperation would not be enough this time. Nor would muscles. Nor San’s will to survive.
San gritted his teeth. The moment of hesitation, when San was frozen, pondering over the runes, was all the monster needed. It pressed forward, overpowering San’s follow-up strike with brutal force. And when San faltered, just slightly, mid-swing, the creature didn’t. It lunged again. A leap San knew he wouldn’t be able to counter. His balance was thrown off, his hands in the wrong position. He barely had time to raise them in a desperate attempt to shield himself.
But as the paws were about to reach him, the monster was shown aside with brutal force. Its body hit the nearest wall with a loud thud, the stone crumpled upon the brute force, grainy bits and dust fell down, settling over the body with a thin layer.
San looked ahead, to the far end of the narrow alley, just in time to catch a figure casting another spell. A sudden explosion of light flooded his vision in a purple sheet, veiling everything else from sight.
He heard only a screech and the scrape of claws against stone. As his vision slowly began to sharpen and the world regained its shapes and colors, San saw that the beast now lay bound to the ground in thick chains. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, having escaped the blow that could be fatal for him.
The chains had no clear beginning, nor an end. They rose from the very depths of the earth, pinning the creature beneath their crushing weight.
And they were made of light.
A shimmering, luminous light with the most beautiful hue of purple, lavender , San’s favorite.
They stood in stark contrast against the darkness of the monster’s hide, and yet, unlike everything else, they didn’t sink into its form. Instead, they secured it with a force that seemed divine, wrapped around the monstrous limbs in a deadly grasp. The creature writhed, twitching and snarling in frustration, trying to free itself. It growled and heaved with effort, strings of spit clung like cobwebs to its gaping maw, revealing rows of jagged teeth.
Holding a low guard, San’s eyes shifted as a figure began to approach.
They moved toward the chained beast with unhurried grace, dragging behind them a long, dark cloak. The hood was pulled deep over their head, so low that their eyes were hidden from view, and their mouth was covered with a veil of fine, dark lavender tulle, wrapped across their face and trailing down along their body. The rest of their clothing was plain, dark, and unassuming, meant not to draw too much attention.
Yet they radiated a strange aura that San couldn’t quite place, nor look away from. They carried the weight of presence, commanding respect, but alongside it came an inexplicable calm aura. The first thing that hit San as the figure approached was the overwhelming scent of lavender that followed in their wake. It struck him with surprising gentleness, soothing something deep within his soul.
The figure raised their hand, palm facing upward, and light in that same glowing shade of lavender purple bloomed from their touch. Ribbons of luminous energy whirled rapidly around the center of their hand, spinning so fast San’s eyes could barely follow them. It was radiant, too radiant to look at directly.
The person seemed entirely focused on the spell, oblivious to the fact that the chains restraining the monster had begun to loosen. It writhed and twisted its limbs, desperately trying to break free from the magical hold. Before San could even shout, “Watch out!” to the stranger, the creature burst free, casting off the glowing chains.
The sudden onslaught made them flinch, causing the beginning of a spell to fade from their hands. They instinctively raised an arm to shield their face in a futile defence as the beast struck, its claws extended to their full, deadly length. The blow would have landed, a fatal slash, had San not intervened. He barely managed to reach them in time. He swung his sword with all the strength he had, countering the beast’s attack and shielding the stranger.
The person had saved his life just a moment ago, San couldn’t let that debt go unpaid.
When the figure lowered their arm, realizing they were saved, a fresh burst of violet sparks reignited above their upturned hand. San cast them a quick glance, anything, to see who he would be fighting alongside. But all he managed to glimpse were their hands - long, slim fingers, the only part of them clearly visible. They looked masculine, roughened slightly by work, and their forearms were veined, the muscles subtly defined. Yet, there was something oddly delicate about them. Something that captivated San, something graceful in the way those hands moved through the air. As if the magic coursing through their veins wasn’t merely summoned - it was woven, spun like a thread through the loom of their fingers.
Sorcerer’s magic.
He would always recognize it, even though the last time he’d seen it, he had still been a teen. Even though the magic he once knew, his grandfather’s, had burned in deep crimson, not in this rich shade of purple.
Sorcerer's magic, which at one point of his life was everything San had once longed for, something he could never obtain, no matter how much he desired it. And now, here it was, reminding him of his lost legacy, and saving his life.
“I’ll cover you, but you have to finish it!” San shouted over the clash and roar of battle, his voice laced with urgency. “I can’t kill it, but somehow, your magic can!”
The sorcerer pulled their arm back, gathering their light in a spell that San recognized to be a lightning strike. He thrust it forward, sending a stream of light hurtling toward the beast. It snarled in pain as glowing cracks began to form on its skin, like fractures in shattered porcelain.
San gathered the last of his strength, drawing the monster’s attention toward himself while the sorcerer cast spell after spell, weakening the creature with every strike of light. San regained his rhythm, his breath coming easier, his body falling back into the motion of battle.
They moved together like a pair locked in a flawless dance, perfectly complementing one another. Where San’s blade slipped or missed its mark, the sorcerer unleashed a blinding spell that stunned the beast and sent it staggering backward. And when the caster paused to gather energy between spells, San stepped in without hesitation. Their bodies, so different in form and purpose - one wielding heavy weapon, the other, pure arcane light - moved in perfect harmony. And that deadly combination pushed the monster to its limits.
The display of the sorcerer's powers was unlike anything San had ever witnessed. He had grown up around his grandfather’s arcana - enchantment spells that primarily focused on manipulating objects through light or breathing power into living beings. But this, however, was something entirely different. It was a magic focused on the control of light itself, where the sorcerer became a painter and the world his canvas. This particular school of magic was so rare, so unconventional, that San had only heard rumors about sorcerers like him training in their academy, but he had never crossed their paths before.
“Just a little more,” he gasped, spinning to the side and blocking another vicious bite aimed at the sorcerer. “Aim for its forehead. That’s where the runes are!”
The sorcerer gave a subtle nod and adjusted his stance. This time, both of his hands summoned another spell into existence. The veins along his arms lit up like strands of glowing violet thread, shining beneath his golden skin. The magic coursed through him, radiant and alive.
He had become one with the magic that flowed in his veins, as another powerful spell flared into life around him. When he thrust it forward, the light tore across the monster’s body, slashing through it in a brilliant arc. The explosion of magic blurred the creature’s dense structure, unraveling it again into thick mist. But this time, the monster didn’t reform.
Its form continued to dissolve, scattering into the wind like smoke caught in a breeze, leaving behind no trace, no shadow, no sign it had ever existed at all. Soon, it was gone. San’s dagger weighed heavily by his side, now forgotten. For the first time in his career, San had not used it to finish off the monster.
Only San and the enigmatic figure remained on the now-silent street. Tiny flecks of energy still shimmered around the person’s silhouette, swirling softly in the air. But the magic, once vibrant and thrashing, was fading, settling like dust.
San was panting heavily with exhaustion. He had not yet sheathed his sword, turning towards the enigmatic figure. When San took a step forward in the sorcerer's direction, he took a step back.
"What's your name?" San demanded, yet the tone of his voice wasn't stern, it was stable, but curious. "Why did you help me?"
San came from the fight unscratched, nearly. His ego was wounded and it brought with itselfself the shame of being nearly defeated by a monster. It coiled in his chest, heaving him painfully. Coming close to being defeated when his pride depended on his reliability felt… terrible.
He intended to come closer to the sorcerer. He needed to know why he had helped him - if he had recognized who San was. Had he heard about San during his years at the Arcana Academy? Or was he younger, too young to have heard about San?
But as he shifted his right foot, he tipped over when an overpowering force chained his foot to the ground. San stumbled forward, tripping over nothing. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.
But as he heard a laugh, sweet giggle coming from the sorcerer, his heart skipped a beat. Could it be anger, shame, or the melodious tone of the laughter. When lavender sparks wrapped around San’s ankles, he realized he hadn’t fallen on his own. His feet had been chained to the ground, just like the creature’s had been.
“Hey!” San called, watching as the sorcerer marched in the opposite direction, leaving San behind. “Let me go!” He commanded, yet it came out frustrated more than demanding.
San once again was enveloped in the scent of lavender, stronger now that the magic directly touched him, so vivid it was as if he were lying in the middle of a field.
The last thing he saw before the sorcerer was gone, were his eyes. San caught just a flash when he turned around, as if to check if San was still in his spot. His irises, barely peeking out from under the hem of the hood, shimmered with a shade of deep purple, the same color as the magic that floated around San.
When the chains disappeared without a trace, San immediately broke into a run, chasing after the sorcerer. That person could help him, if he knew how to defeat the monster, maybe he knew more about the monsters here, and their unusual form. San had far too many questions to shrug the fight off like it’d been ordinary.
As he turned another corner, the scent of lavender, San’s only guide, began to fade. When San lost the trace, it was when he entered an avenue of homes. The street was empty, the man gone. Only a handful of townspeople were cautiously stepping out of their homes. Earlier, they must have been alerted by the growls of the beast and the dull thuds of magic striking its body, that couldn’t go unnoticed, carried by the echo between the walls.
Moving hesitantly, their eyes scanning from side to side to make sure the danger had truly passed. But even so, they didn’t look like this had been their first encounter, not at all - there was no panic in their eyes, no frantic anxiety etched on their features. Instead, their posture was weighed down, faces drawn tight with exhaustion and quiet frustration at the inconvenience. It couldn’t be the first time for the village to fall prey to a monster like this one.
Arriving in Shadowville, San had a simple goal in his mind: to slay a wyvern - a common-class monster, nothing he hadn’t already faced - not a creature born from pure darkness. There must be something more to the strange occurrence, someone responsible for the creation of the monster.
Could the witch, mentioned in the letter, be involved in this mess?
San clutched on the wrinkled missive the entire way to find the letter’s recipient - Ahn Dahae, whose office he found in the community centre. When his knocking on the door remained without an answer for the third time, San was close to giving up, growing impatient. But as he already turned on his heel, a groaning of doors let him know that the woman was indeed in her office - now peering at him through the narrow gap with a cautious, uncertain glance.
“I received your letter,” San held it up for the woman to see.
“You weren’t in a hurry to arrive,” she deadpanned, opening the door ajar to let San in. She didn’t look back at him, slumping on the chair behind her desk with a silent invitation for him to join.
“Excuse you?” He was triggered by the dryness in her tone. “What made you believe I’d be here at your beck and call?” San didn’t move an inch.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, reflecting on herself when she noticed the stern look on his face. With a weary sigh, she rubbed small circles at her temples, eyes falling shut in exasperation. “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. I’m just so overwhelmed lately, I barely register what I’m saying. Please, don’t hold it against me. I’m genuinely glad you chose to come.”
San could tell she was honest with not having ill intentions, struck with remorse. Dahae wasn’t of old age, yet her face was streaked with creases that spoke of constant stress that must have weighed on her.
“I'm glad as well," San said, taking the seat he was offered. "I've already had a… rather unpredicted encounter with a monster."
“Another one?" The question came out as a mumble, barely audible, like she hadn’t meant for San to hear it, but couldn’t suppress the despairing sigh. “We fought one off just two days ago. They’ve been coming more and more often.”
“You didn’t mention any in your letter, though.”
“Oh, I did,” she straightened her back, eyes darkening with contempt. “I mentioned the witch, didn’t I? He’s the one responsible for the monsters, they obey him. He’s been sending them into our town to kill us.”
“How often does that happen?” San didn’t let her words mislead him. Monsters weren’t obedient to anyone, they weren’t some kind of animals you could domesticate just by feeding them enough steak.
“Three per week is what we expect for now. But if you’ve already seen another one, that would make it the fourth. You’ve come at the perfect time. I’m glad you’ll rid us of that cursed witch.”
“Coming here doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to that,” San leaned back in his chair, his voice half-playing at innocence, half truly wondering.
“Isn’t our gold enough for you?” she asked, sharp. “We don’t have much. Like I stated, our crops began dying off halfway through spring, so we have nothing left to trade with other villages. Not to mention, our supplies are running low after four months of bad harvests, and most of our money goes toward trade. Ten gold coins is way beyond our budget.”
“It’s not about the gold. I came to speak with you, because your words lack some clarity.”
She pressed her lips to hold back the fire in her eyes.
San leaned in, continuing. “First, there’s some witch, as you proclaim, hexing your town left and right, having you all at his mercy. Suddenly,” he tipped back, huffing, “there are monsters appearing out of the shadows, which for some reason you forgot to mention. And for the great finale, a wyvern is wreaking havoc in the hills just outside your town. How many problems does this town really have? Because if I were you, I’d invest in a really good priest to pray for you all, and not a monster slayer.”
Any trace of color drained from her face. “A wyvern?” she whispered, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean, a wyvern?”
“You must’ve seen the fire yourself, don’t make a fool out of me. Nearly the entire lower ridge is a graveyard of scorched earth. That wasn’t a little bonfire to roast meat, it was a blazing inferno consuming half a hectare, impossible to miss,” he scoffed, growing tired of the games she played.
“I’m being completely honest when I say we haven’t seen a wyvern attack in over ten years.”
“Then how do you explain that?”
“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said all our troubles stem from that fucking witch living on the mountainside. He wouldn’t listen to our polite requests to leave us alone. So we took matters into our own hands and tried to drive him out, we tried to set his house on fire.”
San stared at her, disbelief growing in depth of his eyes. “That massive wildfire… that was your doing?”
They must be out of their minds.
“You could put it that way. Things got out of control when he fought back with his magic. I told you, we’re helpless against him.”
“How so?” San shifted in his seat, his interest piquing.
He was genuinely intrigued, as witches were generally known to be peaceful by nature. They were ordinary people who had formed an extraordinary bond with the forces of the natural world. Through that connection, they could sense and communicate with nature as if it were a second consciousness. When people claimed witches used magic, as Dahae had, it usually referred to their ability to brew mixtures from various herbs, drawing on properties hidden from the average person. Some witches, more advanced in their craft, managed to learn the language of runes. Though their magic, achived rather than given by fate, wasn’t as strong as a sorcerer’s, dimmed by the lack of light to fuel it, but the power was still there.
“We circled his house from all four sides,” she continued, “setting fire to the wild grass around it to ensure he couldn’t escape.”
“You wanted to burn him alive?” He asked in a low tone, somehow appalled by the cruelty. He thought it was a ruthless thing to do even to a monster, let alone a human.
She ignored his question. “We sent our bravest men in, armed, in case he tried to fight back. But he didn’t. He didn’t even need to as some strange force stopped the fire from spreading any further. His house remained untouched, only the forest around it burned to the ground,” she spat with anger. “Fucking hellspawn.”
”Is it the wooden hut at the mountainside? Is it his?” A vivid memory flashed across his mind, one of the hut weirdly was left out from the scorching hunger, surrounded with flowers in deep purple and green.
When Dahae confirmed, San inquired. “So you were the ones to attack him first.”
“We’re merely repaying for all he’s done. We want him gone. Do you think we’re the ones at fault here?”
“So far you’d given me no proof that he is the aggressor here,” his tone was light, but his body posture spoke of confidence. “Unless you want me to believe that bad season and incompetence of your farmers are on the witch?” The corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk.
”You want proof?” Dahae chuckled, but it wasn’t laughter full of humour. No, it was hinted with something sinful, burning like embers in her eyes. “I’ll show you proof if only you follow me.”
🗡️
They walked a short distance down the street to a more secluded area, where small huts were scattered far apart. San guessed it to be one of the poorer districts. He noticed that some of the houses had their doors and windows boarded up.
”Why were the houses emptied?” San stepped slowly behind Dahae.
“Families, who used to live ther are… no longer present,” she replied cryptically, sparing San a quick glance over her shoulder while she opened the door for him. "At least their minds aren’t." She led him into a building that from outside looked like a church, but the insides suggested that the space now served more as an infirmary. Bed after bed was lined along the wall, giving the room an eerie look.
“Do you see all these people?” Dahae waved carelessly in the direction of the beds. She didn't really want an answer, she was challenging San now.
San kept a safe distance from them, his expression stone-cold as he traced the outlines of the figures lying in the beds. Some were covered with blankets, others stripped down to nearly nothing, consumed by fever that left their skin shiny with sweat.
“Does it look like an attack to you? Do you really think we're the ones at fault here?” She demanded, throwing her arms toward them. “You couldn’t be more wrong thinking we asked for all this.”
She walked over to one of the younger ones, a girl who was sleeping, hugging a ragdoll shaped like a cat. Dahae adjusted the wet cloth that had slipped from her forehead.
San wavered, now doubting the attack on the witch hadn't been as baseless as he initially thought. Still, that alone didn’t prove guilt, there was no real evidence yet that the blame truly lay with the witch, and not with some plague.
“What happened to them?” San asked, stepping closer to Dahae after seeing that she wasn’t worried about possible infection, assuming it didn't spread by direct contact.
“They’re hexed,” she said through gritted teeth. “You won’t believe who I blame for that.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
Dahae took the girl’s wrist and gently turned it so that the inner part of her arm was visible. San’s blood ran cold when his eyes fell on a set of runes, he had seen ones like these before. The thing about runes was that they were unique - the color of the written runes acted as a signature for the person who wrote them.
San’s grandfather had explained it to him once during their lessons. Even though San was not officially allowed to participate in sorcerer training, his grandfather took him under his wing. He was the only person who had not given up on San, the only one who supported him in his path to become a monster slayer. No one dared to argue with the decision of the Highest Warden of Enchanters. One of the Arcana Academy pillars, member of the council consisting of four supreme sorcerers, each specializing in one of the schools of magic: Conjuration, Illusion, Enchantment, and Abjuration.
His grandfather had always been San’s place of comfort, the one who welcomed him with open arms and a warm smile. San often found himself turning to him when he needed reassurance, especially when his father offered him nothing more than a cold glare and words sharper than any blade. For as long as San could remember, his father had treated him with icy detachment. Like the ugly duckling, San had been rejected from his own nest - for the simple fact that his blood ran plain red and didn't have the crimson glow so characteristic for his family. He suspected the only reason his father hadn’t disposed of him outright was because a sudden disappearance would have raised too many questions among the scholars of the Academy, who without a doubt would notice his absence.
Some days San wished he was never born, some he had dreamed of being born in a different family, the thoughts came to him whenever his father hammered into him how useless he was and how he was ashamed of having San for his son. As if being born with the blessing would have granted him the love from his father. But fate only laughed at him.
One afternoon San had tried to prove to himself that he could create something meaningful without magic in his veins. He was hunched over a piece of origami, hidden in the darkness of his room and folding it into the shape of a small fox. The origami carried splotches of tears that had fallen onto the paper. It had one ear shorter than the other. And its legs were bent at a weird angle. But still, San was proud of it.
He went to his grandfather, knowing he would at least smile at his attempt. But his grandfather went further, he told San he could bring the little creation to life. San’s face lit up with pure amazement as his grandfather placed the runes onto the paper. The fox began to glow in crimson red, its paper head twitching as it came to life.
He explained to San the runes he had written, which allowed the fox to be animated - if only for a few minutes, as the runes were too straining to uphold longer.
Mimic. Life.
The paper fox lived for as long as a part of San’s grandfather’s magic flowed through it. Red, vivid marks written with magic looked as if they had sunk deep into its surface rather than being simply written on it.
But the runes on the little girl’s arm didn’t glow with the light of a sorcerer’s blessing. The runes stretched from the elbow to the tips of her fingers, but more than anything they resembled tattoos, scars made with ink, that were black, hollow, grim. Like the runes San had noticed on the monster born of mist. And if the monster was someone’s creation, could that mean the author of the runes was the same person? And if so, was it really the witch?
“We call it The Bleak Plague ,” Dahae explained, pacing across the room and uncovering more people, showing San their markings. “Some people have it on their limbs, some carry them on their torso or back, I even saw someone who had those marks on their chin, down their throat. But no matter the placement, they always bring the same symptoms.
Fever at first. Which misled us with the first sick ones, because we thought it was food poisoning from spoiled pantry supplies. Then came the heaviness, temperature fluctuations after a few days. No medication helped. Then the marks appeared, and that’s when we noticed the strange state people were in. As if possessed by demons. They started talking into the void, describing things they saw that didn’t really exist, nor were seen by anyone else. The state of delusion has persisted ever since. Nothing suggests it might get better.”
“Has anyone…” San began, unsure whether the question was appropriate. “Is it fatal?”
Her gaze flicked back to the girl, her eyes glossing with unshed tears that didn’t go unnoticed to San. She didn’t say much, but he noticed the tenderness, with which she caressed the child’s forehead, brushing aside the wet strands of hair.
“Twelve infected, no casualties so far. But we can’t hope for much if the witch remains alive. That’s why we need your help. None of us can face him without risking our lives.”
She let San fill in the rest himself, that they were placing their last hope in him. Their shard of a dream to return to everyday life, to a time when their town wasn’t plagued by sickness and disaster.
San glared at the runes again - the intricate work of thin, sharp strokes, like slashes from a sword. He gave a quick reading to only part of them, trying to decipher their meaning depending on the combination of different symbols.
Infest. Sustain. Harbor.
When he looked back at Dahae, he met her gaze and held it steadily. There was a quiet optimism in her eyes, one that didn’t seem to waver even though the entire town lay cloaked in darkness and dread. It would take him only a single breath, a simple refusal, to crush that hope completely, to tell her he wouldn’t take on the mission they were so desperately offering him. The runes were precise, sophisticated in a way that spoke of years, decades even, of experience, San wasn’t so sure if there was anything that could be done to erase them.
Invisible strings of memory tightened around his chest like a noose. You’re helpless , his father’s voice echoed sharply in his mind, You can’t help anyone . His jaw clenched as the weight of old guilt settled heavily over his thoughts. Even though a part of him knew that facing another mistborn monster might leave him broken or worse, it was still impossible for him to admit his weakness aloud. He had never been taught to retreat. All he had ever known was to step forward, to meet every monster head-on and accept the bruises later.
If this battle left him shattered, if it proved once and for all that he was no longer untouchable, then so be it. Maybe he wouldn’t deserve his title anymore. Maybe he never had.
But even so, he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t let them down.
And more than that, he couldn’t afford to let himself down.
“Give me two days,” he requested. “I need to learn more about the witch, and decide for myself if I’ll take the job.”
Her shoulders dropped, part of the tension leaving her, but she still seemed worried. “Two days? So much can happen by then, he-”
“Two days,” San repeated firmly. “I am no assassin to kill whoever you point me to. I’m a monster slayer, I don’t usually get my hands dirty with human blood.”
“He is a monster,” she spat with hatred.
“See, our definitions are a little different. But since you’re so insistent that he’s the reason the town is suffering, I’ll make sure to put an end to it, if that’s true. Only if that’s true. I’ll let you know my decision in two days.”
She drew her lips into a thin line, clearly wanting to argue more, but also realizing there was nothing she could say to convince San. Pressuring him wouldn’t get her anywhere, she must have learned that by now.
“Is there anything I should know about him?”
“His name is Wooyoung. Ask around, and I’m sure everyone will have something to say about him.”
🗡️
The townsfolk weren’t as talkative as Dahae had promised they would be. Moving from house to house, and asking about the witch he was often bid goodbye with a harsh slam of the door right in front of his face, sometimes spit landed by his feet at the mere mention of the witch’s name.
Dahae had to intercede, explaining that San promised to slay the witch, but needed to gather as much information about him as he could to make the job easier. Well, San hadn’t made any promises yet, but he didn’t deny it either, because suddenly people started answering his question.
San had headed to the edge of town, closest to the hill where Wooyoung lived, assuming people there would know the most. By the gates, he noticed a man on a patrol.
He approached him with a confident stride, tightening the leather gloves around his hands to project a commanding aura, all the while silently praying that the man would answer his questions. But San was soon to learn that the man wouldn’t be much help, at most, he merely echoed all the same accusations that had already been thrown at Wooyoung.
“I could tell he was trouble from the very moment he showed up here,” the man simply shrugged when San had asked him what he knew about Wooyoung.
“And when was that?”
San coaxed him into talking, though his gaze kept drifting toward the silhouette of the hut at the edge of the fields, visible clearly from this part of the town. It stood unchanged, with barely any signs suggesting that anyone had been living there.
“A year? No, almost two years ago. At first, no one even noticed someone had moved into the old Kim family house. When they got old, they decided to settle closer to town, abandoning the home they’d built. It stood empty for almost five years, ‘cause no one really wanted to move in. Hiking up that hill every day would be a pain in the ass,” the man took a pause, rubbing his knees as if imagining himself covering the distance. “Then rumors started that someone had bought it.”
“He’s been living there for two years?” San probed.
“Pretty much. But we didn’t know he was a witch . Elsewise no one would allow him to settle down here, that bastard,” the man gritted his teeth. “But he hid it pretty well, blending in and posing to be a regular alchemist.”
The man sliced an apple and ate directly off the knife, chewing slowly, thinking. San watched him, realizing that people living here had their own tempo, and didn’t like to be rushed.
“He was always kind of a nuisance, if you count being loud, nosy, showing up in the square selling suspicious potions. My husband fell for one of them, the witch said it would help his insomnia.”
“And?” San asked, starting to feel like the conversation was going nowhere. The man seemed more and more tired of talking to him with every passing minute.
“Is this some kind of investigation?” the man grumbled, fiddling with the apple core.
It kind of is , San wanted to snort. Instead, he let out a sigh, curling his fists by his sides. “You said he was trouble. Did your husband get sick from the mixture?”
“No,” the man barked a laugh. “It worked. Which only proves that the witch has some strange powers, and now he’s using them against us. Let me tell you,” he tossed the apple core over his shoulder without caring where it landed, “he wants us all dead. That was his plan from the start.”
No solid arguments to prove that, all he has offered was words full of prejudice.
San moved on. To his surprise, some people admitted that they had once shared a friendly relationship with Wooyoung, long before the truth about him came to light. Those who had gotten to know Wooyoung more closely still spoke of him with a softness in their eyes, a hint of affection lingering in their voices - though sorrow weighed down their words, disappointed by how they had been lied to and betrayed.
When San found another person who had known the witch, something lit up in the elderly woman’s eyes just at the mention of his name.
“Wooyoung was like sunlight breaking through the mountains,” she said with a faint smile. “He came to our town quietly. No one knew where he came from or why, but he brought light with him.”
“Did you have a close relationship with him?”
“It was impossible not to. You see,” she lifted her hands for San to see. Her fingers were slightly curled, the knuckles red and swollen. “I used to run a shop with my husband. We sold goods brought in from neighboring towns. Wooyoung was a frequent customer, always looking for supplies for his brews. But ever since some illness struck me, I haven’t been able to work. Old age brings no joy, and youth doesn’t last forever,” she recited in a sing-song voice, adjusting her glasses as they slipped down her nose.
“You seem to really like him."
“He was a good boy. Shy at first, but once he opened up, he felt like part of the community right away.”
San struggled to make sense of it all. Wooyoung seemed to fit the very definition of witches he had always known - compassionate, reserved, never making it their mission to cause harm or profit from others’ suffering.
“I can’t understand why he’s being blamed for the Plague.”
“I couldn’t either, at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he started acting strangely in the weeks after we’d learned that he was a witch. He began showing up to the town less often, maybe once a week, if that, and he wasn’t himself anymore. He was quieter, more serious and withdrawn. His usual radiant smile had been replaced by hollow cheeks and a darkness in his eyes. He acted… strange.”
“How so?”
“My grandson saw him sneaking around the quiet corners of the streets. This was about five months ago, right before the first wave of bad events started. My grandson followed him, he said Wooyoung looked out of place. Nervous. Distressed. He saw him placing strange objects around town - stones with weird carvings. Then the plague began, our crops started dying and withering, even though the sun wasn’t that harsh.”
“Acting anxious isn’t enough to blame him for the crops."
“Do you have a better explanation?” she asked. “We thought those stones were the cause, some magical objects cursing the land. Heaven knows. We crushed every single one of them.”
San had absorbed every detail over the past two days. He noticed that the townspeople split into two groups: those who held wild hatred toward Wooyoung, and those who, helpless in the face of the disasters, simply sought a rational explanation.
And who better to blame than a witch who appeared from nowhere? San suspected there had to be some better explanations, but then plagues were too varied to pin them on anything particular - impacting both people, plants, water. That case wasn't to be solved by thinking, but with proper approach and acting on it. His mind felt like a battlefield, his thoughts clashing as he tried to decide whether spilling the witch’s blood would change anything for the better.
And it stretched like that for the following two days. The search felt futile despite the mass of people he'd talked with - they all had peppered him with the same nonsense, same contradictions. Seamlessly switching from testifying that Wooyoung was always minding his business, but never rejected when someone turned to him for help - then without a blink swearing on their lives that he must have hexed the town.
San was yet to settle with the right decision, let alone feel confident in it. He was on his way to meet with Dahae, his belongings packed into two burlap sacks already secured to Iris’s saddle. He walked beside her, step by step instead of riding horseback, trying to steal a few extra moments to come to terms with what he had decided.
The calm of the early morning felt eerie, the crisp gusts of wind brushing against his skin and waking him up more than he would have liked. He hadn’t slept well the night before, flipping through the pages of his journal where he had carefully recorded everything he’d learned about Wooyoung.
Suddenly, a chill crept down his spine. Unbeknownst to him, it was a warning given by his conscience, a subtle harbinger that something was about to happen - part of him must have sensed it, but he had brushed it off too easily.
His steps felt heavy, coming loud in the stillness of the morning. With the sun rising slowly over the horizon, most people were emerging from their homes, hurrying along the streets on their way to work. They moved fast, anxious to disappear from the open spaces.
As San had already learned, most cases of possession caused by The Bleak Plague happened early in the morning. They said that evil never sleeps, lurking in the shadows for the right moment to strike.
The streets were still cloaked in the shadows cast by buildings. However, the sudden deepening of those shadows, curling like thick smoke, did not go unnoticed by San.
At first, it was a mist creeping low to the ground spreading steadily like spilled oil, gliding through the bumps and cracks of the street at an eerie, hurried pace. The moment San noticed it, a spark of memory reignited his vigilance. The mistborn , the black wraith, it was back.
The mist began to shift, forming a new shape - a serpent, no larger than a blindworm. The townsfolk reacted faster than San, but their response was no more effective. Panic erupted the moment the shadow in its small form darted forward at a terrifying speed, moving through the air like a fish through water. San’s body acted on reflex, letting go of Iris’ reins and hurrying into a sprint to reach the monster that was just four houses away. Unrelenting whispers reminded him of the inutility of his sword and his strength, but he couldn’t stand the and watch the catastrophe unfolding before his eyes.
He wanted to act, he truly did. As he reached the distance of one house away from the mistborn, just a few strides away, it was already too late. He witnessed the moment of possession, when the serpent coiled itself around a woman’s ankle, slithering upward along her body. Her terror, her frantic attempts to run, even to shake the creature off, none of it helped. Not when the monster had no physical form. But she wasn’t the monster’s true target, it soon reached the newborn held in her arms, sinking into its skin without invitation - erupting in its wake rows of marks, runes, which were like a seal to the newborn’s fate.
All of the mist had sunk in, it all happened in just a few blinks. When San reached them, there was nothing he could do anymore other than to watch as a faint trail of mist, a little part compared to what had been soaked up, left the child’s parted lips. But the runes remained untouched, dark, stark against its skin. Then the remaining mist gathered in a pall of darkness, swirling and morphing into the form of a bird, a black raven.
With a loud screech escaping its beak, resembling laughter, echoing through the street and fading between the mother’s cries and the screams of those rushing for help, the bird took flight. With rapid wingbeats, trailing thick shadows behind it, the creature flew off.
Straight toward the mountains, where the witch’s hut stood. Returning to its creator, the one who had brought these mist monsters to life with his magic - returning to Wooyoung. Even if San had once doubted which path was right to follow, whether the townspeople had spoken the truth or simply tried to blind him into dirtying his hands while keeping their own clean. Now, he was sure.
Just a few months ago San would have sworn he would never lay a hand on a human under any condition. Playing god, deciding who was worthy of life and who wasn’t, had never been his goal. San had his values, which he vowed to follow, an ethics of his, that were worth more than pretending to be some prince in shining armor while playing the role of an assassin. More than once he’d been offered a job, that was a murder wrapped in pretty paper - lords who hoped he’d quietly eliminate their political rivals, merchants who wished to get rid of their competition without getting their own hands dirty - each one expecting San to carry out their bidding without hesitation or questions.
Each time, he refused, valuing life, no matter how rotten or inconvenient it might have been to someone else. In the witch, however, San saw something entirely different. A monster that feasted on human suffering, whose motives were so twisted and vile that they were beyond San's capability to decipher them. He’d claimed the lives of dozens of innocents and poisoned hundreds of acres of farmland, leaving the townspeople starving. No human could be that cruel.
Now, standing before San was a chance to finally prove that even though his blood would never equal that of a sorcerer’s, he could still slay the darkest creatures known to mankind, the creator to all the nastiest mistborn monsters.
He would do whatever it took to end the witch’s life, for the monster that he truly was.