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Chapter Text

It's the heat that wakes Kim Rok Soo from his slumber.

A sudden rise in temperature that makes him flinch in surprise, his clothes and something that feels suspiciously like sand clinging to his body, sweat trailing down his forehead. It's getting hard to breathe too. His nose feels itchy. It reminds him of the time he'd been stuck under rubbles and ruins and the dust in the air had made his nose stuffy.

Kim Rok Soo frowns and struggles to open his eyes. He squints and tries to see through the dust that makes his eyes water. 

He expects to see the familiar, dull sight of a room covered in stacks of papers and devoid of any real colour. A wishful thinking, he knows, since he can feel he is lying upon something that doesn't feel like tiled floor or even concrete ground, but he can hope. Maybe the air conditioner broke down or something. That's possible right?

Kim Rok Soo opens his eyes and winces at the bright light that blares in his vision. A clear blue sky that he rarely sees anymore in post-apocalyptic Korea stretches in front of his eyes. 

Kim Rok Soo's mind blanks for a second, and he notices another hint of colour in the corner of his vision. A building? Or maybe a roof? Why is he even outside to begin with?

He doesn't remember ever seeing something painted that vividly. Not after monsters swarmed the country, anyway. Everything is usually grey and grey and even more grey. Maybe a few splash of colours inside, but not outside. 

Kim Rok Soo averts his gaze from the painful sunlight, and his thought stumbles to a halt once again.

What he sees, instead of a garishly coloured wall or roof, is sand the colour of blood. Endless dunes rising and dipping as far as the eyes and see, the horizon a clashing of red and blue that makes the sand dunes stand out starkly. 

...a red desert?

Kim Rok Soo's eye twitches. 

For some reason, he's reminded of the book he read before falling asleep in his office, but that can't be. Transmigration and all that is only possible in books. Maybe he was abducted or something and his kidnappers... threw him away? In the middle of nowhere? 

It sounds stupid even to Kim Rok Soo, but he doesn't really know what happened either. This may just be a fever dream for all he knows.

Hmm.

He should check that, actually. 

Maybe he is dreaming. Lucid dream certainly sounds more plausible than whatever his mind came up with before.

Yes, that sounds like a good idea. If this really is a lucid dream then he can just dream of sleeping on a soft mattress instead of being scorched in the middle of a desert, right? It's his dream, so he should be able to do whatever he wants. 

Nodding to himself, Kim Rok Soo raises a hand to pinch his arm and pauses.

A tiny palm, pale and slightly skinny with a little baby fat left, twitches. 

Kim Rok Soo stares at it for a second.

The hand opens and closes, a child's palm moving along to Kim Rok Soo's will. No, it is his hand. His now small and short fingers that is very clearly not the hand of an adult. Kim Rok Soo pinches the skin of his other arm. 

"Ow." He intones dully. 

Not a dream then.

So what, did he really transmigrate or something, like those novels he read? Is this karma for scoffing at those main characters that decided to involve themselves in something troublesome when they can just slack around and do nothing?

His head hurts thinking about all of these things, so he doesn't.

He'll find out eventually anyway. Right now he should worry more about being stranded in the desert with seemingly no sign of civilization nearby.

Kim Rok Soo pushes himself up. He inspects himself as he does so, eyes trailing down two thin arms like they are something alien. In a way, they are. It feels weird moving something so small when he's used to his larger adult body. 

Frowning, he pulls the long black sleeve covering his hand up to his elbow. The skinny wrist is an odd sight to him, but the scars criss-crossing all over his skin is not. Calloused fingers trail over them, and Kim Rok Soo remembers every instances where he gained these lines. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

This really is his body. Kim Rok Soo was worried he'd somehow taken over the body of someone else or something. Thank god for small mercies.

It's not reincarnation since he's not in the body of a baby, but why is his body like this? If he really transmigrated, why does his body regresses into that of a child?

Is this his old world or somewhere else entirely? 

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Kim Rok Soo wonders what he should do now. He inspects himself some more. Kim Rok Soo doesn't have anything except for the clothes on his body and...

Hmm...?

Not far from where Kim Rok Soo is sitting cross-legged on the sand, something white juts out from among the red sand.

It looks somewhat like a book.

Kim Rok Soo squints his eyes and, yeah, that's a book. A book with white cover that is half buried in the sand. Somehow, it still glistens under the sun, like a brand new book from a store or a well kept one in a library. It certainly doesn't look like a book that would be thrown away in a desert. Not that he knows why someone would bother to litter in the desert either, but still.

What's a book doing here of all places?

It's not far from where Kim Rok Soo is sitting. He just need to stretch his body a little to reach the book, and that's exactly what he does. Kim Rok Soo picks it up with a frown, scrutinizing the unassuming thing. The cover is clean and pristine, and the book itself is in perfect condition despite everything. A strange title is written on it.

"...How to Die Peacefully?"

Kim Rok Soo's expression changes into something dubious. He searches for the author's name and becomes even more certain.

'...the author of this book must be some kind of weirdo.'

Who named themself 'A Heartfelt Death'? Kim Rok Soo has seen many pseudonyms in the novels he read but this one is just weird.

The title itself doesn't sound like a promising read either. He doesn't want to know how to die, thank you very much. He just wants to know how to live like a rich nobody with nothing to do and too much time on his hand.

Kim Rok Soo feels iffy just looking at it. 

Out of curiosity, he flips the book open. He expects a trashy novel or something that resembles the rambling of a madman, but what he finds instead makes the hair on the back of his neck stands up.

There is only one sentence written all over the pages. Nothing but a single sentence that sends shivers down his spine.

Are you curious about the method to kill death?

...Yeah no.

He doesn't need such a vicious thing near him. He doesn't want to know either.

Kim Rok Soo slams the book shut and promptly chucks it away as far as his short limb could manage. It lands quietly among the sand dunes and he nods to himself, satisfied. There is no need to bring something like that with him. It's rather useless anyway. Nothing that will help him get out of this desert.

He turns to decide on what to do next and freezes when he sees something white by his feet.

The book, still pristinely clean and without any hint of damage, lies on the sand just out of reach, half buried in the sand once more.

Kim Rok Soo feels cold despite the sun burning overhead.

...is this a horror novel or something? Why is that book here again?

He glares at the thing and chucks it away a second time, but it returns to its former place when he turns back. It happened a few more times before Kim Rok Soo gives up. His limbs feel rather numb from so much throwing.

What the hell is up with this book?

Huffing, he snatches the book into his hands, shaking it in the air with a scowl.

"Hey, can you at least show me a map or something? Anything?"

He doesn't need to know something so useless. If the book insists on sticking with him, at least be useful and show him how to get out of here!

Kim Rok Soo opens the book again but sentence on the pages doesn't change. 

He throws it again out of spite. 

In the end, Kim Rok Soo decides to try and walk around for a bit. He needs to find some sort of shelter for the night. Walking around aimlessly under the sun all the time isn't good either, and he doesn't want to risk getting a heatstroke in the middle of nowhere like this.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't do well with heat, and he's pretty sure being in a child's body won't help any. He already feels taxed and wrung out, a heavy feeling sitting inside of his chest that makes his breath comes shorter and faster.

Curiously, it doesn't happen whenever he holds the book. 

The heat is replaced with a cold chill that brushes against his skin and his numb limbs slowly gain strength to continue traversing the seemingly endless sand dunes. 

He was able to find out about it because he'd been letting the book do all the work before and hadn't carry it with him. Why should he, when the book is clearly able to somehow teleport? But when the heat got the better of him, it suddenly appeared by his bare feet, close enough to touch his skin.

He'd been so surprised he nearly jumped, but the refreshing chill flooding him out of nowhere stops Kim Rok Soo from kicking the vicious thing away.

So the book does have its uses after all.

Kim Rok Soo still feels iffy about it, and he still thinks that it feels scary for something that looks rather... divine... but he decides to brush it aside for now. 

Night is slowly approaching and the blood red dunes slowly resembles a glittering sea of black. Ominous but also beautiful. Kim Rok Soo stares at the sand dunes in quiet contemplation.

This...

Isn't this like that one particular place in The Birth of a Hero? One of the Forbidden Regions?

Kim Rok Soo's eyes cloud over. 

He's not really certain about it, but the changing colour of the sand matches what little description he read about the place. Kim Rok Soo certainly has never heard of colour changing sand before, aside from the one he read in that novel, and he isn't sure real desert changes colour so drastically like this either, so...

The Land of Death?

Is this really in The Birth of a Hero? But what is he doing here?

...Choi Han in the novel transmigrated into the Forest of Darkness, right? And isn't that one of the Forbidden Regions too? 

Is there a rule that every transmigrated person in this world will be dropped into one of the Forbidden Regions?

Kim Rok Soo's chaotic mind is halted from its spiral of paranoid thoughts when a voice shouts nearby. The frantic noise startles him into flinching. He doesn't catch what it said but it's loud enough to snap him out of his musings. 

Kim Rok Soo swivels his head around to search for the source of the sound and finds himself staring blankly at the person that is suddenly standing in front of him when he wasn't looking. 

He can't see much of their face, their body covered in a black robe that blends in with the black sand and the night sky. Their eyes are bright under the shadow of the hood that covers their head, and it takes him a while to realise that what little skin he can see is coloured as dark as a black pearl, so very alike to the glowing sand that surrounds them.

Kim Rok Soo's eyes widen. 

A Dark Elf? 

Another confirmation that he really is not in his old world then. It's rather surprising to see a real life Dark Elf, though. He has only ever read about them before after all. Kim Rok soo eyes the pointed ears half hidden by dark tresses of hair curiously. It's really pointy.

But what's a Dark Elf doing in the Land of Death?

"Are you alright?" The unknown Dark elf crouches in front of Kim Rok Soo.

For some reason, Kim Rok Soo can understand what the other is saying, even though he's certain the Dark Elf doesn't speak Korean.

Is this an auto-setting or something?

His silence seems to bother the Dark Elf, since the other reaches a hand out to grasp Kim Rok Soo's shoulder, but the now small child flinches away in surprise before the hand can touch him.

'Don't move so suddenly when I'm thinking!' 

Kim Rok Soo curses inside of his head.

That nearly gave him a heart attack. Being in this world for only one day is already not good for his frail heart. He needs to search for a way to protect himself and live comfortably.

The Dark Elf's hand twitches at the wide eyed look the child is giving him. Kim Rok Soo thinks it's because the other feels offended and stutters out an apology, still too caught up in his train of thoughts.

"...no, don't apologise." 

The Dark Elf sounds pained when he says that, and Kim Rok Soo clutches the book closer to his chest, shuffling back a bit as he stares fearfully at the other.

A Dark Elf is stronger than ordinary humans. Will the other kill him because he was rude? Kim Rok Soo is also a human and the two races don't exactly have a reputation for getting along with each other, so isn't that a minus too?

Kim Rok Soo tries to come up for a way to live through this encounter, but the Dark Elf cuts him off before he can utter another sentence.

"You don't have to be afraid, the soldiers won't chase you here." The voice is soothing, like the Dark Elf is talking to a frightened, cornered animal. "You're safe now. The lord of the Dubori territory won't find you here."

...huh?

What is this Dark Elf talking about?

"It must've been hard, running away here all by yourself."

The Dark Elf's eyes trails up and down Kim Rok Soo's figure. His gaze lingers on Kim Rok Soo's bare feet, reddened from his trek across the desert. When he speaks next, there is something sad in the Dark Elf's voice.

"Such a strong child. It's okay now, I'm here to help."

Kim Rok Soo stares blankly at the other.

He doesn't know what the Dark Elf is talking about but he knows that the other doesn't mean any harm. The Dark Elf doesn't seem to be malicious either. There isn't much Kim Rok Soo can do right now and if the other wants to help, why not?

And if something happens Kim Rok Soo can just whack the Dark Elf on the head with that iffy book before booking it. Maybe he'll even get lucky and the book will take a liking to the Dark Elf instead.

A double win as far as he's concerned.

Kim Rok Soo nods stiffly and the Dark Elf's eyes curl into an arch, as if he's smiling gently under his cloak. Kim Rok Soo can't really see the lower half of his face but the Dark Elf seems to be somewhat of a softie, smiling all the time like that.

"My name is Shawn."

The Dark Elf reaches out a hand towards the wary and suspicious child, this time with his palm facing upward.

He doesn't try touching Kim Rok Soo again, and he doesn't approach or goes closer than where he's crouching on the sand, instead waiting for Kim Rok Soo to reach back on his own will.

"What's yours, child?"

Kim Rok Soo stares at the appendage for a while like it's offending him. Why is he extending his hand like that instead of offering a handshake?

Kim Rok Soo wonders why the Dark Elf is being so... weird. Maybe it's because he looks like a child. That kind of sympathy is useful though, so he doesn't mind it all that much.

"...Kim Rok Soo." The now young boy says quietly, uncertain whether his Korean name will sound weird to the people living in this world or not.

Should he even use a Korean name? Will that bring him more trouble with the main character?

If the Dark Elf noticed Kim Rok Soo's wandering thoughts, he doesn't mention it. His eyes curl gently instead. He must've been smiling again.

The book in Kim Rok Soo's hand, once emanating a cool breeze, now pulses warmly.

Somehow, Kim Rok Soo thinks he can feel another heart beating alongside his own. A soft, rhythmic thumping inside of his chest that calms his breathing slightly.

A glimpse of long white hair is just barely visible on the periphery of his vision before it, along with that faint heartbeat, fades away in the next second.

"Nice to meet you, Kim Rok Soo."

The Dark Elf replies with a jubilant note in his gentle voice, hand still outstretched.

"Will you come with me? It'll be dangerous if we stay out here any longer."

With a sigh that sounds more like a soft exhale, Kim Rok Soo reaches out his hand, marveling at he way the Dark Elf's palm dwarves his own.

Wow, he's really tiny. Kim Rok Soo has never noticed how small he was before.

"Let's go, then. It's nearing the time when humans shouldn't be wandering around."

Is Shawn talking about the night or is he talking about something else?

Kim Rok Soo frowns at him.

The Dark Elf tugs him forward. His movements are anxious and restless, but his hold on Kim Rok Soo's hand remains firm. A large door appears in front of them from what used to be a sand dune. Shawn pulls it open with all of his might.

Kim Rok Soo stares at him in quiet disbelief.

All along there's a door nearby? In the middle of the Land of Death?

Really???

Kim Rok Soo doesn't have the strength to question what's happening anymore. 

He'll think about it tomorrow morning. For now he just wants to sleep. Preferably for a whole day.

With that thought, Kim Rok Soo jumps into the hole without hesitation, ignoring Shawn's surprised stutter when he does so.

A faint laughter echoes in Kim Rok Soo's ears.

Chapter Text

Kim Rok Soo can count on one hand the number of times he played on a slide. 

They weren't really all that fun. Kim Rok Soo doesn't think he can recall ever trying another ever since his uncle brought him out of the orphanage, aside for one particular time where a drunk Choi Jung Soo had roped him into trying one at the makeshift playground they'd built for the shelter.

(It was a bad idea. Lee Soo Hyuk, the absolute bastard, had a field day and rolled on the floor laughing when he'd caught the two of them stuck in a slide made for children)

For some reason, sliding down this steep hole that leads further underground reminds him of that day. Maybe because Shawn is also with him, albeit further back because the Dark Elf needed to close the door before jumping down.

A door that leads to a slide in the middle of the desert. 

The thought is somewhat amusing, if a tad annoying because Kim Rok Soo was walking for so long and this was just there the whole time. 

Whatever brought him here will have to pay.

The long slide comes to a stop when a bright light appears at the end. Kim Rok Soo falls onto a pile of cotton. His body sinks into the soft pile almost instantly. He marvels at the plush feeling on his back for a short while before remembering that Shawn is still sliding behind him.

'Aigoo.'

He barely moves in time for the Dark Elf to fall onto the plush pile with a grace that annoys Kim Rok Soo. Mainly because Kim Rok Soo fell sprawled on his back and had to roll to the side since he couldn't pull himself up.

Kim Rok Soo is still not used to this body and the pile of cotton was so soft it felt like he was drowning in a sea of pillows, sue him.

"What's wrong?" 

The Dark Elf is fretting again. Kim Rok Soo ignores him to observe the place he found himself in.

It's... a city.

A surprisingly large and lively city, with bright lights hanging from a high ceiling supported by tall pillars. Buildings of varying sizes and colours filled this space that resembles a massive underground cave.

Tall trees form forests in some areas while others are scattered among houses, some large enough to shelter the buildings beneath them with their twisting branches. Thick vines bridge some of the taller buildings, and he can see a few Dark Elves walking across while greeting the people below with wide smiles. 

There is even a creek to one side of the place, running through fields filled with grains and crops like fully grown strawberry bushes. A few people tend to it with bright expressions, and Kim Rok Soo is surprised to see humans among the Dark Elves, exchanging jokes as they water the fields.

Kim Rok Soo stares for a while.

He hasn't seen much greenery aside from the vegetables and fruits planted inside the shelter. Trees are few and far between, and mostly kept in small plots of land to be carefully cared for. Not left to grow freely like the ones here. Some grew outside the shelters, even if not much managed to grow fully because of the monsters, but none of them were ever this large or tall. 

"...mm."

A place like this exists under the Land of Death?

This place that screams life and nature and everything else the desert above isn't?

"Not bad, right?"

Shawn's voice comes from behind Kim Rok Soo.

He turns to see the Dark Elf brushing off sand from his cloak, hood pulled down to reveal a youthful face framed by slightly messy curls. The shawl covering his mouth is now hanging from his shoulders. 

He smiles when he meets Kim Rok Soo's gaze, and the boy notices that the Dark Elf is now back to crouching in front of Kim Rok Soo.

'Not bad?'

The Dark Elf said that this place is not bad while smiling. He must be proud but is probably trying to tone himself down. 

Really, Kim Rok Soo wants to sigh.

What a strange Dark Elf. Kim Rok Soo is just a child so his opinion shouldn't matter. And it isn't like he can talk badly about the place since the Dark Elf is trying to help him.

"It's nice." Kim Rok Soo replies.

Shawn's smile grows wider at that. He looks so genuinely happy that Kim Rok Soo can't help but to avert his gaze to the side. Really, is there a need to look that happy from getting complimented by a child?

He feels iffy looking at Shawn right now but it's true that this place looks nice.

"Ahem. Hem."

Shawn coughs into his hand to cover the smile that is threatening to break out on his face. He can hear his Elemental squealing at the reddened tips of the child's ears and struggles not to coo himself when the child stubbornly stares at a tree.

When Shawn came back from his routine patrol, he hadn't expected to see a child making his way across the desert. 

The boy was alone too, which was odd since the villagers who managed to escape so far were usually adults who could climb over the fence and outrun the soldiers.

Very rarely did children manage to do that, unless accompanied by one or two adults who could help them. It had been the case with Mary as well, and seeing someone so young unaccompanied in the middle of the Land of Death was worrying to the Dark Elf.

And then he noticed the child was walking barefooted when the desert heat was unbearable enough that no plants could grow there. 

Shawn had panicked so bad he practically bolted across the desert in his haste to reach the small human.

The closer he got, the more concerned he became. Because the child was just walking dazedly with blank, half-lidded eyes, his expression terrifyingly devoid of anything Shawn had expected to see on children this young.

There was no crying or sobbing. No frown or a grimace or maybe even a crazed laughter like Shawn had seen from a few villagers before. No sign of relief on his face from managing to run away, or even the growing fear when most realised they would have to face another death sentence after just a few seconds of freedom.

He just walked without stopping, moving as if he was a puppet on strings, staring ahead at nothing and not even noticing when Shawn had come near. 

He kept on walking despite his reddened feet and at that point Shawn was just trying to see how far gone the boy was. The only sign he was not as far gone as Shawn had feared was the tight grip he had on the white book he was carrying.

...and he was just so small. 

Barely tall enough to reach Shawn's hips, and Shawn isn't even one of the taller Dark Elves around. It didn't help any that he was holding a thick book that made Shawn notice how thin he was.

A part of Shawn is ashamed to admit he was flooded with relief when the child tensed at Shawn's frantic call. Because at least that blank, empty stare was gone and the child didn't look so much like a statue carved out of stone anymore. Even if Shawn still wanted to throttle someone when the boy, Kim Rok Soo, continued to stutter out apologies to whatever perceived wrongdoings he'd done. 

People called the Dark Elves monsters when there are real monsters out there who made a child into this? 

Not for the first time, Shawn laments the unfairness of life.

The Dark Elf sighs and closes his eyes. Moping like this won't help anyone, but it still grates on Shawn how little he can help his family.

He needs to take the child to the hospital first though. He isn't sure if the child needs immediate medical attention or not, but it won't hurt to check. Shawn also needs to buy a new set of clothes for him since his shirt is no doubt dirty from sand and sweat. 

Not to mention a pair of shoes. How Kim Rok Soo walked here without blistering his own skin is a wonder, really. The red skin is still worrisome though.

The Dark Elf turns his attention back to the boy only to stiffen at the frown on his young face.

What is it? Did Shawn miss something? Is he starting to feel dizzy?

What if the child had a heatstroke and Shawn hasn't noticed???

"Hey, it's okay, everything will be alright." Shawn tries to soothe the child.

"We need to go to the hospital first, but don't worry! This hyung will be with you, okay? There's yummy snacks there and we can even go for ice cream afterwards!"

Shawn makes sure his expression is gentle and open as he reaches out a hand. 

A gesture of invitation, to make the child feel welcomed to voice his concerns or dislike if there is any. But the child is as quiet as he was before, his face smoothening out into that empty stare again.

"How about it? Can you be brave for this hyung?" 

Shawn tries not to show his slowly mounting panic. His Wind Elemental looks ready to propel him forward to the hospital regardless of whether Shawn has managed to soothe the child or not.

"...."

Kim Rok Soo is just wondering why the Dark Elf is talking so stupidly like this.

He was staring hard at Kim Rok Soo without saying anything for a while and Kim Rok Soo considered making a run for it, but thankfully the Dark Elf seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had. Now he's asking all of these strange questions with a placating gaze that irks Kim Rok Soo.

It somehow feels like Kim Rok Soo is a dog that is being coaxed into visiting the vet or something.

'Also, what hyung? Aren't you more like an ahjussi?'

Kim Rok Soo wants to ask what kind of bullshit the Dark Elf thinks he's spouting but carefully keeps his face blank instead.

He doesn't really want to go to the hospital. Just in case there really is something wrong with Kim Rok Soo that will alarm the Dark Elves. He's from another world after all, what if they consider him an alien? Won't they try to dissect him?

But on the other hand, Kim Rok Soo won't know what state his body is in unless he has someone else to check him either. 

Choi Han in the novel is fine though. Maybe it won't be so bad? 

Shawn said he will be there too. The Dark Elf looks weak to children, so if anything happens Kim Rok Soo can count on Shawn to at least stop anyone who'll try to harm the now young boy. 

Anyway, Kim Rok Soo is really craving for something sweet right now.

After a short contemplation, Kim Rok Soo places his hand in Shawn's palm with a small nod. The Dark Elf gives it a gentle squeeze and grins boyishly before turning around, signalling for Kim Rok Soo to hop onto his back. 

...is he offering a piggyback ride to the hospital?

Kim Rok Soo isn't sure why but he accepts the free ride without hesitation. He doesn't really feel tired but walking around a city this big is just a hassle.

Besides, Kim Rok Soo walked through a literal desert for most of the day already, cut him some slack.

"Hang on tight. We'll be there before you know it." 

Shawn must have meant for his words to be comforting but Kim Rok Soo can only feel that something ominous is about to happen.

Apparently he's right, because in the next second Shawn dashes forward with the speed of a Dark Elf propelled by his Elemental. Which is very fast and definitely not a pace meant for humans. 

Kim Rok Soo can see his life flashing before his eyes.

He curses inside of his head and clutches onto Shawn's cloak with a grip that he knows to be painful. He's hugging the Dark Elf so tightly and it feels a bit uncomfortable with the white book wedged between the two, but Kim Rok Soo doesn't care about that.

The wind howls around the two of them and for any passerby watching, it looks as though a small whirlwind is making its way to across the city. 

It may as well be.

'This crazy Dark Elf—!'

He really should've just chosen to walk.

The doctor Shawn takes Kim Rok Soo to meet is an older looking Dark Elf with greying hair and a few wrinkles on her face. 

She fusses almost immediately upon their arrival, rushing Kim Rok Soo into a vacant ward as she grills Shawn over what happened. Kim Rok Soo isn't sure why she looks as if she has seen a ghost, but she gave Kim Rok Soo a bowl of cookies and he is content enough to let the two bicker while he rests on a fluffy pillow and a soft mattress.

Yes, someone who gives you food is a good person. Kim Rok Soo nods and munches on the cookies with delight.

Not to mention that this hospital bed is surprisingly comfy.

The ward itself isn't like any of the hospital ward Kim Rok Soo is familiar with. The walls are still painted white but there are also plush, colourful couches and autumn coloured quilts that give the room a sense of warmth. A small flower bed outside the window is full of tiny, colourful blossoms swaying in the breeze.

What looks to be handmade trinkets are lined on the nightstand and the shelves of a small wooden wardrobe. Even the bowl Kim Rok Soo is holding is amateurishly carved with tiny patterns of rabbits and carrots. Wooden frames are hung here and there, with things like 'Get well soon!' and 'Eat a lot!' written with little paintings of vegetables and fruits.

Overall, it looks more like a small guest room instead of a hospital ward.

"Hmm..." 

Yes, this place is a lot different from what Kim Rok Soo imagined. 

It's welcoming and peaceful. The Dark Elves living here don't look hostile at all. There are humans mingling about as well despite the conflict described in the novel.

Still, the information in the novel isn't necessarily wrong either. Because why else would their home be hidden like this in a hole under the desert?

But the people living here seems to be somewhat of an exception to that.

Kim Rok Soo remembers what Shawn said about the soldiers and the Dubori territory. The humans here must've ran away from that place, and the Dark Elves helped them often enough that Shawn assumed Kim Rok Soo was also a runaway when they met.

It's a convenient story for Kim Rok Soo since he isn't sure how he's going to explain being in the Land of Death. If anyone asks, he'll just say he doesn't know or remember much about it.

Crunch. Crunch.

Kim Rok Soo munches on a cream cookie and glares at the book lying on his lap.

A few crumbs fall onto the white cover but it still looks as holy as ever. People said not to judge a book by its cover but Kim Rok Soo is allowed to judge because the content is as bad as it looks.

What's the deal with this book anyway? It would make more sense if the Birth of a Hero is the book that Kim Rok Soo found but that isn't the case. Also, why is it following him around?

Still, it has its uses, so Kim Rok Soo is willing to let go of that. For now. He'll try to see if there is any information about that author later on.

Maybe Shawn knows? Dark Elves live long, don't they?

Kim Rok Soo reaches for more cookies and jumps when he raises his gaze to see a robed figure standing in the doorway.

'My poor life...'

Kim Rok Soo swallows his cookie and stiffly pulls the bowl closer.

A distinctly female voice comes from the person who is still staring at him. "It's not dead mana, but you feel similar."

Where is Shawn when you need him? Did he go out with the doctor when Kim Rok Soo wasn't looking?

"You are like me, but not."

The woman shuffles closer to the bed. Her voice sounds monotone, but her hands are fidgeting with her long robe as she walks across the room ever so slowly.

"I can feel death cloaking you, but it's... strange. Peaceful."

...what is this woman talking about?

Did she figure out Kim Rok Soo is not from this world and instead came from an apocalyptic one?

Had Kim Rok Soo actually died in his sleep before coming here? Is that what she meant by a peaceful death?

Kim Rok Soo's shaking eyes remain on the woman whose shoulders seem to lose some of its stiffness the closer she gets.

"My name is Mary." The woman says, her shoulders tensing again when she comes to a halt by Kim Rok Soo's side. Her voice doesn't give away any hint of emotion but her stiff posture makes Kim Rok Soo think she is struggling to say something.

"That." She fusses with the wrinkles on her robe, straightening them with her palms. "Do you. Want to be friends? With me."

Uh?

Kim Rok Soo stares stiffly at the woman who seems to have made up her mind about something. 

The woman takes Kim Rok Soo's silence as an answer and shuffles forward, her steps lighter than before. She drags a couch closer to the bed and plops down on it, holding up a book she gets from who knows where. Kim Rok Soo wonders if it's just his imagination or if there really are sparkles surrounding her hooded face.

The boy sighs and throws his head back onto a fluffy pillow.

This world is really weird and the woman was saying all sorts of scary things, but at least she doesn't seem to be a bad person.

"...do you want a cookie?"

He asks instead, because food always makes the best first impression.

"How did you find him?" 

Shawn is lying if he says he isn't alarmed at the tight grip Misha has on his shoulder. The older Dark Elf's mouth is pulled into a thin line and she keeps glancing at the room they left a while ago.

"Is something wrong?" Shawn winces her when her nails dig into his shoulders. Ouch. "Is he alright?"

Misha rubs her face with a hand and just sighs. She lets go of Shawn and paces the empty hallway with a frown.

"I'm not as old as the mayor." She says instead of answering him. "But my Elemental is older than me." 

Shawn blinks and is about to ask what's that got to do with the child's impending check-up but Misha impatiently waves a hand in the air.

"There was a time when it came across a divine item. Just once." 

Her face is stiff as she says this. Her hand trembles ever so slightly. She frowns at Shawn's dawning realisation, tapping a foot on the tiled floor. 

"My Elemental said the boy brings something that feels similar with him."

A divine item... 

Shawn doesn't know much about them, but he does know that they are something precious to the believers of the churches. One other thing he knows is that most with divine powers can't stand being near such a thing unless they're a Saint or a Holy Maiden. 

But surely the child can't be one?

"It also said he's drenched in divine power."

Misha smiles wryly like she's laughing at Shawn's growing dread.

"Shawn, you shithead, did you just bring a Saint with you?"

Shawn stares at her for a long while.

A what? Who? 

That small child eating cookies in another room?

Shawn recalls the piggyback ride just a few minutes ago and swallows heavily. That book can only be the divine item Misha is talking about. It really did feel like an ordinary book to him, and his Elemental is frozen in shock at the revelation that Misha is spouting so easily.

"A divine item can't just fall into someone's hands for no reason."

The Dark Elf continues as if she can't see the stress in Shawn's eyes.

"Most are lost to time and long gone from sight. Whichever church that child belongs to will want him back if they know."

Saints and Holy Maidens are existences protected by the churches. If one of them ever catches wind that a Saint is here in the City of Life...

'This is bad.' 

Misha doesn't want to imagine what would happen. Dark Elves are already feared and loathed. What if those churches thought they kidnapped a Saint of all people? She really wants to tell Shawn they need to make sure the child won't bring attention to their peaceful city, but...

'He's just a child.'

The boy is just that. A child whose face brightened when Misha gave him a bowl of cookies.

Misha can't bring herself to hate him. 

"...it'll be alright." 

Shawn's voice is stern and his gaze is hard behind his glasses.

"There must be a reason why he ran to the Land of Death."

The older Dark Elf sighs and nods.

Of course she knows that. She just wants to make sure Shawn is aware they may possibly have a ticking time bomb here. She isn't cold-hearted enough to actually want to kick him out now that they have him.

Like Shawn said, if the child was treasured and safely protected, he wouldn't be in the Land of Death. The only reason he would be there is if he's like the people living here.

Loathed or abandoned. Despair overtaking him to the point that he would rather suffer and die by his own free will in the desert.

Remembering the child's guarded stare, Misha can understand why Shawn looks so agitated when she brought up the topic. She can't blame the boy for running away if what Misha thought happened to him is true.

Crunch. Crunch.

When they return to the hospital ward, the two Dark Elves freeze upon seeing the figures huddled in the room.

"The hero protected the people of the land. He stood in the front like a boulder, unyielding, even when his body was breaking down."

Mary's monotone voice is reading a book propped up on the hospital bed, sitting on one of the plush couches pulled near the bed while the child squints his eyes to stare at the words written there. Their heads are close enough to bump into one another. Neither pays it any attention as Mary nods at the child's sour expression.

"You're right. This is not a good story. A happy ending is only happy if everyone lives."

"...Mary?"

The two children—one child and one adult actually, but Mary is still so young compared to the Dark Elves—raise their heads, holding half-eaten cookies with crumbs on their lips. Mary's sleeve has been pulled back a bit from flipping the pages, bunched under her forearm, and the black lines of her veins can be clearly seen along with the scars marring her skin.

Misha turns stiffly to the child but he just continues to frown at the storybook, chubby cheeks that aren't as chubby as Misha would've liked working hard to chew on his snack.

At least she knows he isn't from the Church of the Sun God now. Misha huffs in amusement when the boy taps on Mary's arm to continue the story.

"Hey, kid." 

Shawn swallows his apprehension upon seeing the unassuming book in the boy's lap. Not the storybook but the white, divine looking one that is covered in cookie crumbs.

He still can't feel anything from it, but now that he notices, it's actually weird that Shawn can't even pick up the slightest trace of wood that he should've been able to feel.

It just feels like... nothing. 

Like an empty, blank slate where everything else have the faintest splotches of colours. Eerily similar to the child's gaze.

Pulling another seat close to the bed, Shawn holds Kim Rok Soo's hand and smiles. He can feel the child stiffening in his hold. Maybe the reason why he was so wary of Shawn was because he thought Shawn would return him to the Dubori territory if the Dark Elf knew.

"You can rest easy now." 

Shawn's voice is filled with certainty.

"No matter which god you serve, you will always have a place here."

Shawn will make sure of that. He knows Misha will too. And so will Obante and Tasha and everyone else living here. Because Shawn knows his family and they won't abandon someone, no matter what the rest of the world thought should happen.

Kim Rok Soo stares blankly.

Shawn opens his mouth to reassure him again when the boy turns to Shawn and states bluntly, with a scowl on his young face:

"I don't believe in a god."

"Ye—what?"

Chapter Text

Shawn opens and closes his mouth. 

"Yes? I mean, excuse me?"

The Dark Elf flails when the doctor jabs him with an elbow not-so-gently. He turns to her, a bewildered stutter coming to a stop when the doctor hisses something under her breath. 

Kim Rok Soo doesn't catch what she's saying but it has Shawn turning a few shades paler. Shaking eyes flicker back and forth between Kim Rok Soo and the doctor, the two locked in a silent banter of raised eyebrows and twitching lips. 

Frankly, it looks more like the doctor is bullying Shawn right now but Kim Rok Soo is sure the Dark Elf can take care of himself. That earlier ride here proves that Shawn isn't just some bumbling ahjussi who's pants at coaxing a child after all.

It isn't because he's still holding a grudge at the impromptu roller coaster ride. It isn't, really.

'But why was Shawn surprised?'

Kim Rok Soo knows little of the Dark Elves, but the Elves in The Birth of a Hero worship Dragons more than any kind of divine entity, so it shouldn't matter whether Kim Rok Soo believes in a god or not. 

It's not like he's lying either. Kim Rok Soo knows divine beings do exist in this world. It just makes him even more wary of encountering one, if anything.

Kim Rok Soo read the Crazy Priestess' story, alright. There's no way he is willing to put up with that kind of torture just to be able to curse your enemies. He can do that with Ancient Powers just fine. A Fire of Destruction striking down from the sky while he cusses out the opposing party won't be too different from actual cursing by way of divine powers.

No need for a constant headache whining and stalking him around or a whole church dictating his every move. Even the thought of a god taking an interest in Kim Rok Soo makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Hell no. 

Never in a million years.

There's already a peaceful city with fields to farm here. Kim Rok Soo just needs to stay still until he's old enough and his dream will be fulfilled!

Yes, Kim Rok Soo decides to stay far, far away from anything divine or demonic. Everything else is fine. His future is at stake now.

The determined boy nods to himself, frowning when something heavy settles inside his stomach all of a sudden. Kim Rok Soo feels the urge to sulk at a corner and cry even if he doesn't know exactly why he wants to sulk and cry.

He must be more tired than he thought.

Meanwhile, the two Dark Elves are still whispering in front of him. Which, rude. They've been going at it for quite some time too. Did Kim Rok Soo somehow offend them by accident?

Kim Rok Soo squints at Mary but the hooded woman just tilts her head and raises the storybook in her hands again. 

She doesn't look like she knows what's happening either, but she doesn't look too bothered. She didn't take offense to Kim Rok Soo's statement either. 

Neither did the doctor, really. She looked understanding more than offended. Her gaze felt slightly iffy to Kim Rok Soo but at least he knows he didn't do anything wrong. Maybe.

Shawn is still doing a remarkable goldfish impression and Kim Rok Soo is honestly worried for the bespectacled Dark Elf.

'I guess when you get too old you do things like this.'

In Kim Rok Soo's opinion, Shawn needs to take better care of himself. Especially because the Elves remain in their youthful appearances, so there will likely be no golden retirement in sight for a long, long time.

Poor Shawn. 

At this rate, Kim Rok Soo is going to retire earlier than him.

"Ahem." 

Kim Rok Soo startles.

The doctor in front of him has a hand propped on her hips, looking like she has just scolded a youngster. Her stern frown melts into something softer.

"Ignore this one. You're a free person so just do whatever you want."

Behind her, Shawn bobs his head up and down, having come to some sort of conclusion from whatever they were doing before.

"Yes, yes! Forget what I said, it's fine as long as you're happy."

"Being happy is the best."

Mary chimes in even if it doesn't look like she knows what they're talking about. The doctor chuckles and strides forward with a grin.

"Enough chatter. Let's get the check-up done so the little one can rest. The sooner the better. Shawn needs to report to the mayor too."

Kim Rok Soo scrunches his nose. "It's Kim Rok Soo." He cuts her off before she can continue. 

The doctor pauses. Her mouth wobbles for a brief second. She covers it with a hand and coughs lightly.

"Right, Kim Rok Soo. You can call me Misha."

"Um. Misha-nim." 

Kim Rok Soo, who doesn't forget his manners to an elder, nods lightly in greeting. Misha grins down at the mop of dark hair.

"Alright, alright. Let's get this done so you can get your ice cream."

Misha's expression shifts into something more professional. She approaches the bed with a clipboard in hand, fingertips lighting up with a soft, dull glow. Kim Rok Soo straightens up and allows himself to be manhandled, blanket peeled off and the woman fussing a bit as she presses a hand against the pulse of his neck.

A vague warmth blankets him, slightly ticklish. The urge to giggle appears but Kim Rok Soo presses it down valiantly, toes curling and uncurling on the soft mattress.

Huh.

So this is magic?

It feels slightly different from an ability, but not by a large margin. Still, it's a bit odd to know this is not a simple ability but actual magic. 

Kim Rok Soo marvels quietly. It's like watching a movie unfolding before his eyes, the wonder at seeing something new clear to see in his awed expression.

Idly, he chases the sight of that glow. The light dances on Misha's palm, a brilliant golden shine not unlike a pearly luster playing on her dark skin. It's pretty and warm and Kim Rok Soo is content to just stare at it.

Above Kim Rok Soo's head, a bitter smile forms on Misha's lips.

To be so amazed at something as simple as this, she wonders if no one has ever taken him to see a doctor before.

A violent urge rises in her at the thought, pushed down by the knowledge that he's here now, safe in their hands. Still, it doesn't lesser the worry she gets when she reaches for the sleeve covering his wrist, fearing what she will see.

A part of her feels like it knows, but she still hopes with all of her might that she's wrong. That, somehow, the child lived happy and loved and it's just her cynical thought taking over. Surely, even a god won't be cruel enough to let their chosen be harmed without doing anything?

With a quiet, unspoken prayer, she pulls back the tattered sleeve and her thought halts in its track.

A quiet anger simmers inside of her, but it's not as strong as the dismay she feels at seeing the truth in front of her eyes. 

A thin, bony arm twitches in her hold. Tiny palm, calloused where it should've been plump and smooth, curls into a fist, as if shying away from her attention, and Misha inhales sharply. 

She can feel the jagged lines layered on top of one another like some kind of bizarre jigsaw puzzle. Can feel every bump and rise of Kim Rok Soo's skin under her touch. The terrible, fleeting thought that some of them look new, slightly reddened at the edges, while some of them look too old for her taste buzzes inside of her head.

What is this. 

What the fuck is this.

The villagers were injured, yes, but most of them were left to their own devices so long as they didn't climb the fence. They were starved and neglected and beaten when caught trying to escape but never as far as this, because even those despicable bastards know they need the villagers alive to pay their taxes.

So what is this?

What did they do to this child? Why go this far?

Is it because he's a Saint?

Misha knows many people would want the favour of a god, but the gods she knows have always been fickle. They answer to few and cherish a mere handful, and some, like the Sun God, even has the drive to completely wipe out every dark creatures in existence.

But they still have their chosen. Beloved children of the god, some people say. The Saints and Holy Maidens that become the gods' hands and feet in this world.

A terrible thought burns in the back of her head.

What if people knew Kim Rok Soo is a Saint when he was just a baby? That happened with the twin of the Sun God too when the Pope announced their status to the world.

If a young, malleable boy fell into the hands of those unscrupulous bastards early on...

It would be like raising a puppy before it could grow into a hound. Someone to train to answer their commands with the excuse of trying to raise the child into an upright member of society.

Misha won't put it past the lord of the Dubori territory to do just that.

No wonder the child looked so appalled before. To be told he was loved by god when he lived his entire life being tortured because of it... 

It would be strange if Kim Rok Soo doesn't hold any kind of grudge or disdain for anything divine afterwards.

All along, the child remains painfully quiet. 

Waiting for something, she realises with dread sitting heavily inside of her chest. Dark eyes, hidden under even darker strands of hair, feel like they can pierce through her heart.

His tense shoulders settle marginally only when Misha forces a small, tremulous smile on her face.

Misha swallows heavily and continues like there's nothing wrong about all of this. Like it's normal for someone so young to be so scarred and then sends her look that says really, he's fine now so there's nothing to worry about—

'Let's burn them.'

A whisper reaches her ears. 

'The little Wind will help too. Let's burn them all.'

Her Elemental settles around the child in a gaseous mass of red and orange. An unseen sentinel taking guard. It spits out sparks that fizzle and dissipate in the air, urging her to just go and raze everything to the ground with each crackle.

Her ire is flamed even more by it, the room's temperature fluctuating in tandem to the vicious threats it hisses under its breath. The Fire Elemental circles around the child like a dog possessed, its form flickering unsteadily. A bead of sweat trails down her forehead.

Misha can't fault its temper. She feels just as vindictive right now.

That damn territory should just burn. The innocent villagers will be spared, but the rest can suffer for all she cares. Slipping inside the nobles' houses won't be a problem, and it isn't like the Caro Kingdom will care about such an insignificant territory with no tourist attraction value whatsoever.

It's so very tempting to give into that offer. 

Truly, Misha wants nothing more than to do that, but the child's scrutiny stays her hand. She ignores her partner's insistent prodding with much difficulty and runs a hand through Kim Rok Soo's hair.

The child is more important, she reminds herself. And this hurting child needs her right now.

Kim Rok Soo blinks slowly. He neither leans nor pushes himself away from her touch, staying in place with half-lidded eyes.

It's painful for Misha to meet that blank gaze and keep on smiling, but she pushes forward with determination. 

"...we will have our harvest soon."

Mary, who was sitting quietly by the side all this time opens her mouth. She clasps her hands on her lap and stares ahead, carefully keeping her line of sight on Kim Rok Soo's face and nowhere else.

"The mayor is nice. He'll let you join in too, I'm sure. After that, we'll make a jam to eat with the cookies that Tasha's nephew sent. I never met him, but the mayor always said that he's a nice child."

The hooded woman tries to fill the quiet air with anything and everything she can think of. Her mouth feels dry and it's the first time she has talked so much, but something in Mary doesn't want to keep quiet.

Mary knows best what it feels to live with so many scars hiding just beneath a simple cloak. Knows the shame of people's gaze and the pain that surfaces each time she's reminded of the past, as though she's living through that day again and again.

The pain she feels now is a ghost of that memory, but it haunts her. A persistent shadow clinging to her. 

She feels like she needs to do something, to wipe away that dull stare from the child who feels so much like herself.

Mary only stops when Shawn lays a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to meet his solemn gaze, and the Dark Elf ruffles her hair with a trembling hand.

"Here, candy."

He quips lamely, pulling out a handful of treats from the pockets of his cloak. Colourful wrappers with dotted lines and various patterns spill out onto the floor and he curses, awkwardly maneuvering the ones he hasn't dropped onto the bed.

Kim Rok Soo stares at the sudden flood of candies on his bed.

"Ah, it doesn't look like we'll finish anytime soon so have these for now." Shawn scoops the fallen candies and then places it on Mary's lap. "If it gets too late for ice cream, we'll go out to get them tomorrow. That's... That's okay, right?"

Shawn peers at the boy, shuffling lightly on his feet. 

The Dark Elf looks like he will drop everything to go search for an ice cream now if Kim Rok Soo doesn't answer.

"It's fine."

Kim Rok Soo answers nonchalantly and plops one into his mouth. A sweet taste spreads on his tongue. It has a surprisingly fruity tinge despite the milk white colour.

To be honest, Kim Rok Soo was worried what the people here would do if they saw his scars. 

It isn't like Kim Rok Soo is hurting now, and there is really no need to care about something like this, but it's what the people around Kim Rok Soo did whenever they saw his body back home. They would worry and pester him to rest and, at one point, Kim Min Ah had all but wrestle him to stay in bed for a whole day.

Those kinds of useless sentiments shouldn't be wasted on Kim Rok Soo. 

It's Kim Rok Soo who injured himself anyway. Even if he doesn't like seeing those ugly lines on his skin, what happened has already happened. Kim Rok Soo doesn't like to think about the past and what-ifs.

'But they don't look too worried.'

The doctor barely blinks and Mary doesn't flinch away from the sight, probably because the hooded woman has her own experience dealing with scars and the doctor should be used to treating injured villagers. Shawn is the one who's openly worried, fumbling with excuses to give him some candies, but at least he doesn't cry his eyes out or spill out apologies from snot-filled sobbing.

The candy tastes nice too.

Kim Rok Soo leans back on his pillow, letting Misha prod this and that. She smiles at him again when he tries to peek at her.

'That's good.'

They're not too upset over something they can't do anything about. Kim Rok Soo breathes a sigh of relief. 

A warm feeling cocoons him from head to toe even without his blanket. It was a sudden thing, nearly scaring him to death when it happened right after the doctor smiled. But after everything, the persistent bubble of warmth just makes Kim Rok Soo's eyelids unbearably heavy.

He'll just take a quick nap. The doctor didn't say anything about staying awake throughout the whole thing, right? She's not protesting now so it should be fine.

Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes to that thought.

Plip. Plop.

A clear sound rouses Kim Rok Soo from his slumber.

Twitching on the hard bed, Kim Rok Soo curls in on himself, shivering slightly. The bubble of warmth from earlier is gone and, left in its wake, is a chill that burrows into Kim Rok Soo's skin.

...hard bed?

Kim Rok Soo flinches awake.

Darkness greets his vision and, with it, the faint smell of copper and rust. Something wet pools under his body, sticking to his clothes and skin. Kim Rok Soo twitches his numb fingers. His palm meets a cold, hard ground instead of the soft mattress he was lying on.

'What is this?'

Kim Rok Soo doesn't remember falling asleep.

Instead of a slumber, it felt more like he just closed his eyes for a minute before waking up here out of nowhere.

...or did he actually fall asleep?

Kim Rok Soo is about to go crazy. Was it not enough that he was dropped in the middle of a desert? He needs to deal with this too?

'Aigoo, my head hurts.'

Closing his eyes tightly and hoping this is just a bad dream, Kim Rok Soo doesn't notice a pair of glowing eyes watching him until a voice rumbles in the darkness.

"Who are you?"

It's a young voice, carrying an undercurrent of something like hate and anger. Even with the high pitch, there's pressure in every words spoken, a malevolent torrent that presses against Kim Rok Soo as though an invisible, massive claw is pushing him down.

"How did you get here?"

Kim Rok Soo's heart is beating hard inside his chest. A terrible fear clogs his throat, and Kim Rok Soo finds himself trembling. It's a terrible sort of helplessness. It reminds him of the days he spent trapped under rubbles, listening to the cries of monsters and numbering the days he had left.

A pair of narrowed eyes approaches ever so slowly.

He can make out the confusion inside those pair of glowing blue eyes, vertical pupils staring down at Kim Rok Soo like a predator sizing up a prey. Or maybe like an angry animal lashing out from behind a cage, its gaze muted with pain and anger and the desire to hurt.

A small, black lump is attached to those eyes, but he can't see much of anything else before the scary sight disappears like morning mist, the darkness peeling away into a fuzzy white fog.

"Wait—"

A tiny palm scrabbles for purchase against Kim Rok Soo's arm. The voice sounds for away now, almost desperate, barely a whisper Kim Rok Soo manages to catch.

Kim Rok Soo feels himself falling and falling until something warm catches him, a large hand covering his vision and another circled around his body like a living, breathing pillow. He can hear a frantic heartbeat under his ear.

"Troublesome child... How did you even get here?"

An exasperated, almost fond sigh.

"Go back now. It's not time yet."

The voice drifts further away too. If this is a dream, Kim Rok Soo wonders if he can sleep inside one. He feels terribly sleepy. 

The answer is probably yes, because the next time Kim Rok Soo opens his eyes, he finds himself staring at a white ceiling. 

"Oh, you're awake!"

A cheerful Shawn pops up in Kim Rok Soo's field of vision. He has a cup of what smells like coffee in hand. 

"You fell asleep in the middle of the check-up. Did you sleep well?"

Kim Rok Soo just stares at the chipper Dark Elf. 

This must be a bad dream. Surely, he didn't just dream of not sleeping? Kim Rok Soo hardly feels like he has slept at all! His mind still urges him to sleep but it's like his body refuses to, a massive headache throbbing inside his skull.

And Shawn just smiles at Kim Rok Soo like everything's nice and dandy and Kim Rok Soo wants to throw something at that stupid face.

This is not fair!

Kim Rok Soo glares at the ceiling and burrows his face into the pillow. A restless energy burns through his body and it's just the worst. Kim Rok Soo wants to sleep but he can't and Shawn is fussing right next to his ears.

'This is torture.'

Kim Rok Soo can't even remember anything aside from that scary dark place either. What's with those eyes, anyway? Why would he dream something so scary?

Kim Rok Soo grumbles inside his head. His elbow bumps into something hard. That vicious white book is lying on the bed, sans the crumbs from earlier, annoyingly clean and pristine looking again.

Why is that thing here? 

"You wouldn't let go even when you sleep."

Shawn answers when Kim Rok Soo sends him a questioning glance, running a soothing hand through Kim Rok Soo's hair. He's trying to placate the sulky child, fluffing his blanket even more around his shoulders, wondering if there's any ice cream shop that opens as early as five in the morning.

"What's the matter? Did you have a nightmare?"

The child doesn't answer and instead huffs into his pillow. Shawn worries that the child will suffocate like that. He pats Kim Rok Soo's back and pulls him into his lap, soothing down the wild hair sticking up this way and that.

The child sits frozen with round, wide eyes staring up at Shawn.

'So cute. Why can't you be this cute? He's cute even when sulking. You just look constipated.'

Shawn's Wind Elemental gushes continuously. 

It was jealous of Misha's Fire Elemental staking claim on the tiny child apparently, and had been insistent on staying when the doctor finally went away to check another patient who had sprained her ankle upon slipping down the stairs.

That's good and all but Shawn's ears are going to bleed if it continues to scream unholy fervour while spinning around the room.

"Do you want to tell me?"

Shawn murmurs. Tapping Kim Rok Soo's cheek with a finger. The boy scrunches his nose and shakes his head, edging away from Shawn and towards the bed subtly. He doesn't make it clear but Shawn knows the child is rather petulant right now.

Shawn merely laughs.

"What, do you hate me that much?"

The Dark Elf teases, laughing again when Kim Rok Soo freezes in place. The child wrinkles his forehead and stares hard at Shawn, as if contemplating.

...ouch.

Shawn doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry when his Elemental coos and agrees with the child.

'Yes, Shawn is useless without me! Shawn, tell him I'm the cool one! I can make him fly into the air! Children like that, don't they?'

Why does it feel like he's the third person here? 

And no, Shawn feels like the child will just hate his Elemental if he knows what it was saying.

"Are you hungry? Mary brought us sandwiches, but maybe you'd like to see if there's anything in the cafeteria?"

Shawn cuts off his partner's endless chatter. He never thought his Elemental could be so chatty, but here we are. Is it too late to change contract with another Elemental?

Eyeing Shawn's weird squinty smile, Kim Rok Soo shrugs. 

His stomach rumbles, clear to hear in the quiet morning air. He doesn't even flush when Shawn chuckles, too tired to care. And Kim Rok Soo is hungry. He hasn't eaten anything aside from those cookies and one tiny candy. Maybe something more filling than a sandwich can help clear his mind.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't think he'll nap anytime soon though. He wants to, but he can't bring himself to close his eyes again.

Because Kim Rok Soo did, in fact, have a nightmare.

A nightmare of cold reptilian gaze inside a dark ditch, and a young voice begging him to wait.

Chapter Text

Staring back at Kim Rok Soo, the boy reflected in the mirror is almost an unfamiliar figure.

A stranger that merely resembles little Kim Rok Soo, with none of his gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes and the fading bruises that would marr the pale skin blue and purple. 

He doesn't have the desperate hunger clear to see whenever Kim Rok Soo looked at himself in the mirror. Just simple curiosity, with a hint of sleepiness in the drooping eyelids. Maybe even a hint of childish annoyance too.

It's a sight that feels almost alien to Kim Rok Soo. 

"...mm."

Kim Rok Soo blinks, and tilts his head. 

The reflection does the same, even if for a split second Kim Rok Soo almost expects it to remain still.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't really know what to feel about it, so he ignores the uncomfortable twinge inside his chest and turns to the sound of the door swinging open.

"You're here? I thought you would still be in the cafe—hmm?"

Misha exclaims shortly after she entered, the door swinging shut behind her. Her hair, pulled into a messy bun, occasionally escapes its confines as she tilts her head this way and that. 

"Is that little Al's? That suits you well, kiddo."

She makes her way across the room and stops just a few feet away from where Kim Rok Soo stands in front of a massive mirror, bright eyes inspecting his reflection with an interested hum. Her white coat is now carelessly slung over one shoulder, and Kim Rok Soo blinks at the sight of her muscled arms.

"Did the mayor lend you these?"

"Ah, I asked Tasha if I can borrow her nephew's childhood attires." Shawn pipes up from the side. 

"He was fine with it, so I just grabbed these from her house."

The Dark Elf smiles widely at that, as he sorts through a pile of clothes with deft fingers. He folds the ones he deems acceptable into another, steadily growing pile on the bed, and another clustered mess pooling by his feet from the ones Shawn didn't approve of.

"There's nothing made of softer materials around here... They're a bit big, but these will have to do for now."

The way Shawn said it is sort of apologetic, not that Kim Rok Soo knows why. 

It's not like the clothes are in terrible condition, and there isn't anything wrong with wearing secondhand items either. Kim Rok Soo's done it plenty before, in both his childhood and his adult life.

Maybe Shawn thinks they're not soft enough. And that's another thing entirely.

Shawn was really insistent on the quality of the fabrics. The ones he gave Kim Rok Soo feels as soft as a pile of clouds on his skin. It's obviously high quality materials that would be hard to find in a place with this kind of weather.

But, hmm...

...isn't this a bit too much?

It's not that Kim Rok Soo dislike it. He even admits it looks somewhat good on him.

The high collared shirt with long, puffy sleeves gives off a faint air of nobility, not too adorned but still lightly embroidered on the collar and cuffs with intricate golden patterns. Paired with short, black trousers and knee-high socks, it gives off a wholly different vibe from Shawn's simple, robe-like fashion.

In short, it's too fancy.

Even disregarding the whole quality thing, it looks nothing short of a rich young master's attire for a languid outing.

How loaded is this nephew of Tasha really?

If this is only his childhood attire, Kim Rok Soo wants to know just how much money he kept as his allowance. His toys were probably made of platinum gold or something. Maybe he even had a whole castle to himself, who knows.

Still.

"Is this really okay?" Kim Rok Soo frowns and decides to ask. 

"Going out there like this...?"

He tugs at the hem of the shirt and tries to imagine himself walking out like this. It doesn't exactly fill him with enthusiasm. Kim Rok Soo doesn't intend to attract unnecessary attention before he can get his hand on a couple of Ancient Powers. Sure, this underground city is safe and peaceful, but how long will that last? 

That line of thought has Kim Rok Soo pausing.

He wonders what becomes of this world after the end of the fifth volume, with how things escalate as the novel progresses. 

A 'hero'. 

Someone who is needed to save something. To protect something. But from whom? And for what? Will the Northern Alliance truly be the end of it?

...of course not. It can't be that easy. Shouldn't all heroes have a grand battle with the fate of the world riding on their shoulders? 

Kim Rok Soo's eyes are dark as his gaze falls onto the unassuming book lying on the nightstand. The light from the window bathes it in a brilliant light, the cursive title etched into the thick cover glittering brilliantly. Almost coyly. 

Kim Rok Soo needs to figure out what that thing is capable of.

He planned on taking a few notable Ancient Powers before, but right now Kim Rok Soo is far away from any of them, and there's no hero around to throw at the problem if one does arise here. Kim Rok Soo's only notable advantage right now is that book—loathe as Kim Rok Soo is to say it.

He'll find some use for it soon, and ensure his peaceful future won't be ruined by the upcoming war.

After all, if that thing insists on following Kim Rok Soo around, it's only right for Kim Rok Soo to make it work twice as hard.

Kim Rok Soo forces down the smile threatening to break out on his face. Too busy planning a hundred different future for the scary baggage that is not intent on letting him go, he fails to notice the glances exchanged above his head.

"Of course you can."

Shawn's confirmation is firm, and nearly startles Kim Rok Soo. It's a bit too solemn for such a question. Kim Rok Soo peers at the Dark Elf from the corner of his eyes, bemused and taken aback.

"You have every right to dress like this. And to walk freely out there like everyone else."

...?

"Your life is yours to decide, do you understand?"

No, what are you talking about?

"I—"

Kim Rok Soo opens his mouth and promptly closes them shut when Shawn turns his fierce eyes to Kim Rok Soo. The goofy, awkward Dark Elf doesn't look that goofy right now. Or even awkward. He stares straight at Kim Rok Soo like he's willing Kim Rok Soo to realise something.

'...what even is this ahjussi mad about?'

Kim Rok Soo's shoulder slumps. He turns his head away to hide his shaking eyes and nods imperceptibly.

What a vicious expression. It feels oddly like Kim Rok Soo just got a scolding.

Shawn's imposing gaze melts into something softer, but Kim Rok Soo doesn't turn from the wall until a hand lightly taps his shoulder. 

He turns to find Misha with a delicate looking comb in her hand, her other hand pushing a small stool behind Kim Rok Soo's legs. The older Dark Elf smiles kindly and gestures for him to sit. 

Kim Rok Soo does so, and becomes bewildered when Misha cards through his hair with gentle fingers, untangling the short strands and smoothing down the fluffed up curls. She runs the comb down Kim Rok Soo's hair in smooth, calming motions, taming the bedhair that Kim Rok Soo didn't bother to do anything with.

Shawn returns to his needlessly thorough sorting, humming a nonsensical tune that sounds like a strange, jumbled mess of lullabies. It's more than a bit out of tune. Kim Rok Soo really shouldn't feel like it's about to make him drift off.

From the opened window, the wind blows a gentle breeze, bringing with it the faint scent of the forest. A peaceful quiet overtakes the room, and even the weight of the book that has suddenly appeared by Kim Rok Soo's foot fails to disturb him. 

The atmosphere makes Kim Rok Soo's eyelids grow heavier by the second. An urge for him to just fall asleep surfaces again, stronger this time. 

But Kim Rok Soo doesn't, and the day continues on.

The city is not less quiet than the day before. 

Like Kim Rok Soo expected, the two of them draw stares as soon as they set out. Whispers surface briefly around them before it fades away, and the people greet Shawn like nothing is particularly out of place, their gazes flitting by Kim Rok Soo briefly before they carefully direct their staring somewhere else.

Probably because they thought he was a snotty noble kid? Kim Rok Soo isn't sure, but he's pleased either way. This means no one will make a fuss to try and pinch his cheeks or coo like what happened back at the shelter whenever a new baby was taken out on a walk.

That would be horrible.

His stiff shoulders loosen gradually, and his tight grip on Shawn's robe eventually falls away. Kim Rok Soo, assured that he won't be swarmed by an adoring crowd or a hateful, vengeance-driven villagers, takes his time inspecting the confusing pathways. Occasionally going on his tiptoe when someone tall covers his object of interest.

What can only be called an amused, sneaky curl of the lips are present in the adults around, but it goes unnoticed by the busy child.

By the time Kim Rok Soo and Shawn arrives near the tall, three-story building that turns out to be a market, there are already stalls erected by the roadside, and more than a few shops have opened their doors with welcome signs hung on the doors.

One in particular is a quaint looking building with sloping red roof, decorated with small potted plants and wooden tables carefully arranged just outside a window displaying various model sweets. A man is wiping the table outside, his bulky figure contrasted by the soft beige apron he's wearing.

"Shawn hyung-nim! Good morning!"

He wipes a sweat from his brow and laughs. Standing upright, he's taller than Shawn by a head. Being currently shorter than his adult self, the man looks absolutely gigantic to Kim Rok Soo.

"Here for ice cream?"

A knowing smile. The man rubs his bearded chin as his eyes located Kim Rok Soo's half hidden figure behind Shawn's legs with unnerving accuracy. It's like he's expecting Kim Rok Soo to hide himself there.

Kim Rok Soo scrunches his nose. His grip on the book tightens, and the grin grows wider.

Another weirdo, Kim Rok Soo thinks sourly. Everyone here seems to be somewhat weird. And cheerful. Way too cheerful for the morning. Kim Rok Soo can do with a little less staring and waving and laughing.

It's not that he begrudges them for their obvious good night's sleep, really.

Oblivious to Kim Rok Soo's straying thoughts, the man crouches just shy from Shawn and waves a hand.

"Another itty-bitty ankle biter! Do you prefer a waffle sundae or a dessert crepe? Maybe just the good old coned one? My son likes the chocolate chip flavour best haha! Do you have a favourite flavour? We've got a new one just yesterday! It's almost harvest season, so fruity is the way to go, you know?"

Chatter. Chatter.

The man talks animatedly with swinging hands and exuberant gestures. Kim Rok Soo watches him with blank eyes. He feels like what little remains of his energy is being sucked away by the second.

Apparently Kim Rok Soo should've seen the cooing coming from this giant instead.

"Give him some breathing room, Gilbert." Shawn chuckles, ruffling Kim Rok Soo's meticulously combed hair. "Go on, Rok Soo, just tell this nice uncle which one you'd like."

Ah, really, so troublesome. 

Kim Rok Soo purses his lips.

He just wants a simple popsicle or two, but this doesn't look like the place that sell those kind of cheap ice lollies. Not to mention his headache is worsening with the—albeit friendly and sort of nostalgic—hubbub of the street.

Shrugging, Kim Rok Soo decides to let Shawn deal with the thinking while Kim Rok Soo stares off into nothing and focuses on breathing. The near painful spikes in his head feels like hammer battering against his skull, and it recedes back ever so slowly as he cradles the book against his chest.

Kim Rok Soo lets Shawn and Gilbert's chatter washes over him and returns his attention to the world only a few minutes later, when Shawn leads him by the hand to a table at a corner by the door. 

The Dark Elf's sad frown doesn't go unnoticed by him, but Gilbert comes back with a whole load of plates and bowls on his hand mere seconds later, and Kim Rok Soo's attention is promptly shifted.

With a proud glint in his eyes, Gilbert turns to Kim Rok Soo and grins widely.

"Eat up!"

...it feels more like a threat with the mountain of dessert in front of Kim Rok Soo. How can they even finish this? 

"Go on, I ordered a few of everything so you can figure out which one you'd like the next time we come here."

This ahjussi. 

Kim Rok Soo thinks that maybe Shawn brings him here because he likes ice cream too much, and not because he was coaxing a child.

Kim Rok Soo's lips twitches, but he doesn't scowl at the Dark Elf. It's a waste of money in Kim Rok Soo's opinion, but it's not his money, so he'll let Shawn have his fun. Anyway, it's free stuff, so Kim Rok Soo won't hesitate to dig in either.

He reaches for a simpler looking one and scoops up a tiny bit. The sweet, cool taste melts on his tongue immediately. It's simple, but tasty. A vanilla flavour with small brownie cubes and what tastes like chocolate drizzle. Kim Rok Soo blinks slowly, legs swinging lightly under the table. 

Gilbert lets out another boisterous laugh while Shawn crooks a smile. The padded seat behind Kim Rok Soo feels as soft as the dessert in his mouth, and the feeling washing over him is like drowning under pillows. 

Kim Rok Soo feels full and warm and like he's stuffed full of cotton inside.

It's nice. 

Kim Rok Soo rarely feels like this aside from the brief downtimes he rarely got, ones spent locked inside his bedroom to read through a series of two. Maybe because he hasn't really gotten a wink of sleep. Maybe because he's full. 

Maybe because this reminds him of before. Of an easier time when there had been no fighting or running. Not for someone else's life, at least.

That drowsiness returns, and Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes. 

Just a tiny bit. A short few seconds as he breathes and takes in the peace. The buzzing in his ears intensifies before falling away into nothing. Shawn and Gilbert's light chattering dies away too, and then there's the sound of dripping water—

—Kim Rok Soo opens his eyes, and all he sees is an unending stretch of darkness.

The drowsiness slips away all at once and Kim Rok Soo scrambles upward, finding himself leaning against something hard and slippery. He takes his hand away from the wall. A strong tang of copper and rust fills the air as he does so.

"Shit—" Kim Rok Soo curses when he stumbles over something unseen. "What the fuck?"

"...you're here again."

A breathless, somewhat dark tone. 

The lump Kim Rok Soo tripped over shivers, and a glowing pair of blue snaps open.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't squeak. He does not.

"I hate humans." 

The lump hisses. It heaves up, and the narrowed eyes bore into Kim Rok Soo. 

"I hate them."

It rushes forward in the blink of an eye and stops just a short bit away from Kim Rok Soo's face. The vertical slits narrowed, and the ghost of yesterday's fear starts prickling Kim Rok Soo's skin.

"So why are you here, human?"

It wasn't a dream.

It wasn't a dream.

The realisation hits Kim Rok Soo like a truck, as something scaly grips onto his shoulder and digs sharp claws into his skin. Kim Rok Soo's breath stutters, and his shaking eyes are locked onto that bright blue eyes.

A small paw, instead of a hand. A child's voice. Blue eyes, vertical pupils and the feeling of invisible needles prickling his skin. Scales and claws and the weight of a fear greater than anything he ever felt before—

'The Dragon.'

It can only be the crazy Dragon.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't know anyone else who fits the description as well as the Dragon that Choi Han killed. The baby Dragon who went berserk in his desperation. The one who was tortured for years under Venion Stan's hands.

'Shit, shit, shit.'

Why is that Dragon here? How is the Dragon here?

Kim Rok Soo swallows heavily. 

Shouldn't Choi Han, as the hero and protagonist, be dealing with this bullshit instead of Kim Rok Soo? What even is this??

The lump scoffs. Kim Rok Soo flinches at the childish sound. Did he say that out loud?

"Yes, you did." The Dragon sniffs. "Shouldn't you know where this is? A puny human like you dare to disturb the great and mighty me?"

Kim Rok Soo's head aches something awful.

The peace and calm that has been clinging onto his mind ever since morning gives way to frustration instead. It doesn't help that he's still dead tired on his feet and feeling like he's about to fall sideways anytime soon. 

Kim Rok Soo wants to cry. Or to curse out whatever brought him here to hell and back. Either is fine, really.

"Didn't you tell me to wait?"

He answers instead, trying to shake off the invisible force pressing down on him.

The lump flinches back hard enough that Kim Rok Soo can feel the claws slipping from his shoulder. A sharp twinge of pain remains where it dug deep into Kim Rok Soo's skin. He coughs wetly.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? Weren't you the one who brought me here?"

Of course, Kim Rok Soo doesn't know that. But the Dragon doesn't either. It's true that Kim Rok Soo didn't know what happened, and he certainly isn't suicidal enough to try coming near a Dragon of all things.

The Dragon gasps. His trembling pupils tell Kim Rok Soo that the Dragon is currently having a crisis.

Good.

That means the Dragon will have less time to think about skewering Kim Rok Soo.

"I... I did?"

Doubt drips heavily from the young voice, a tinge of uncertainty in the shaky reply. Kim Rok Soo continues with an unwavering voice and a straight face. 

"Aren't you great and mighty? How can a puny human like me do something like this?"

"But-but—" the lump jerks back. "I didn't! ...did I?"

"Well, I didn't either."

Kim Rok Soo shrugs and leans back against the wall. Grimacing at the cold seeping through his clothes and drenching his back, he tries to discern the place he found himself in.

There's nothing he can really see aside from vague lumps and shapes in the dark, and even what little Kim Rok Soo can make out of the dragon looks blurry. Only the Dragon's eyes remain a blazing glow, the only source of light inside this dark ditch.

It looks nothing like the cave described in the novel. It's a vast expanse of nothingness as far as the eyes can be, even when Kim Rok Soo waited for his sight to adjust.

"Do you know where we are?" 

Kim Rok Soo tries asking, and the black lump looks up. He almost expects the Dragon to snarl and hiss again, but to his surprise, an answer comes not long after.

"Outside."

In a distracted voice, the Dragon answers. There is confusion in the way the lump meanders forward, bobbing up and down in the air. A hesitant tilt of the head.

"Isn't this outside?"

The Dragon doesn't sound convinced. 

"Outside?"

...this damp, decrepit place?

Kim Rok Soo stares into those fierce eyes. Clear blue, instead of the murky ones that glared him down earlier, stare back at Kim Rok Soo, the glittering hue a reflection of the vast sky stretching above the earth.

It's a clear gaze, Kim Rok Soo muses to himself.

A strong gaze. But also a desperate one.

"...Outside."

Something heavy churns inside Kim Rok Soo's stomach, clawing up and out his throat and like a bile he can taste at the back of his tongue. He ignores all these and slides down to sit on top of the damp floor, sighing. 

'Aigoo...'

He brings a palm up to rub against his throbbing forehead. He feels too old for this. 

"It's like your eyes." 

Kim Rok Soo finds himself saying. He scowls into his hand and doesn't say anything more, not knowing why he did so himself.

The Dragon blinks at him.

"What?" A flapping sound, and those eyes approach him once more. Slower, this time. "What do you mean, human! Don't just stop there!"

Kim Rok Soo purses his lips.

"Huuuuuman!"

Petulantly, the Dragon nags. Kim Rok Soo waits, but the crushing pressure doesn't return. Small paws shake his shoulder with impatience, but the claws don't leave dents in Kim Rok Soo's skin, and the invisible force holding him down is nowhere to be found.

"Outside." Kim Rok Soo clarifies after a pause. "The sky outside is like your eyes."

The Dragon freezes. Kim Rok Soo calmly gathers the small paws into his hand, covering them with his own small ones. They're almost the same size, he notes amusedly. But the baby Dragon's paws are still bigger than a human child's hands.

"...really?" 

"Really."

Kim Rok Soo doesn't know if this is the right decision or not. If this is even at all useful. But Kim Rok Soo finds himself hoping regardless, that this child can hold on a bit longer. That he can cling onto this warmth for a while more.

That he doesn't lose hope like Kim Rok Soo did.

"Outside is bright and wonderful. One day you'll see it too."

Someone else's life is a heavy burden. Kim Rok Soo doesn't know if this will change the course of this world or not, but if it does, then...

Then maybe it's for the better.

Kim Rok Soo wants to believe that it's for the better.

"One day, for sure."

The vertical pupils dilated. Kim Rok Soo can feel a squishy paw holding back onto his hands, cold scales brushing against his skin. The Dragon lets out a small noise. 

Kim Rok Soo reaches out towards the air and tries to feel around. Eventually, his hand finds a round surface with protruding nubs, and the Dragon's attention returns from the far away daze. Kim Rok Soo rubs the scaly head briefly and shrugs his shoulders.

"Anyway, you still need to smack a bastard at the back of the head, right?"

"...you're a weird human."

This time, the Dragon whines. A high-pitched tone that sounds more like a child than an actual Dragon. 

"This great and mighty me don't understand what you're talking about!"

A childish, haughty sniff. Kim Rok Soo can hear something swishing back and forth in the quiet air. 

"...mm, just remember that being alive is the best."

Kim Rok Soo tries to retract his hand, but the round head follows his movement. Kim Rok Soo pauses, and the head stops. He pulls it back and, again, the round head pushes onwards.

"...."

In the end, Kim Rok Soo lets the Dragon do as he likes. The lump pushes against his chest and a weight drops onto his lap. He can vaguely feel something long and thin wrapping around his forearm. A tail, probably.

It's somewhat like holding a massive teddy bear as big as half of your body. If that massive teddy bear is as heavy as someone your size. Which is very heavy. Kim Rok Soo is starting to lose some feeling in his legs.

"But you didn't answer me, human!"

A paw taps his shoulder. 

"Why are you in my dream?"

The question stops Kim Rok Soo short. He blinks down at the blurry lump intent on burrowing into his chest. 

"What dream?"

A harrumph. The Dragon wriggles in place until he finds a comfortable spot. Kim Rok Soo winces at the weight pushing down his legs and wonders where the scary Dragon from before went. 

Not that Kim Rok Soo wants the scary Dragon, mind you. 

He just wants to know why this previously vicious child suddenly becomes like this. It's a bit too scary how the Dragon seems to easily go from being murderous to placid. The whiplash it's giving Kim Rok Soo is nearly as headache inducing as the words he's spewing.

"My dream!" The tail lets go briefly to slap against the floor. "I was sleeping!"

"...you were?"

Kim Rok Soo certainly doesn't remember sleeping. He was just leaning against the chair the last time he closed his eyes. Come to think of it, wasn't that also the case with the hospital?

"The great and mighty me is never wrong! There was a bright light, and now you're here! Are you a dream?"

The eyes crinkle happily. The Dragon must be smiling widely like Shawn did.

"Hehe. Are you going to live here, human?"

Well, Kim Rok Soo hopes not. He doesn't fancy living somewhere fit to be called a nightmare. Not that it isn't already a nightmare, because apparently this is dream? So is Kim Rok Soo having a nightmare about being inside a nightmare??

Now Kim Rok Soo is having a crisis.

"Ah, well. I don't think so." 

He answers, and doesn't expect for the lump to go stiff in a matter of seconds. Kim Rok Soo tries hard not to flinch at the sudden unblinking gaze. A tail wraps around his wrist tightly enough Kim Rok Soo feels his hand going numb. 

He really shouldn't have asked where the scary Dragon went. It certainly never left.

"But you're in my dream, human." 

The words are whispered, a low rumble with an underlying threat.

"Aren't you my human? Shouldn't you stay?"

It would be an adorable tantrum if Kim Rok Soo isn't currently facing a Dragon that has only known pain, a desperate hunger to keep whatever it can keep close marring the brilliant blue. He wonders how they come to this, when the Dragon should be pushing Kim Rok Soo away instead of clinging on, as though Kim Rok Soo is a lifeline keeping him sane.

He taps a finger on where he thinks the Dragon's nose is, the sulking child nearly going cross-eyed as he stubbornly tries to keep Kim Rok Soo in his line of sight.

"I still need to find you, right?" Kim Rok Soo continues smoothly. "I can't do that if I'm here."

Kim Rok Soo very much wants to sleep too. He doesn't want to be aware even when his body is asleep, it actually hurts like hell. It's better if he find some way to stop doing this whenever he wants to rest because Kim Rok Soo isn't sure how long his younger body can hold on. With that thought also comes the question of just why Kim Rok Soo hasn't woken up already. The last time this happened it was too fast to actually hold a working conversation.

As though in accordance with Kim Rok Soo's wish, the world around them blurs. Yet again, the sight fades like wisps slipping through Kim Rok Soo's hands, the Dragon on his lap clutching onto him with panicked eyes.

"Human! You're fading!"

You're the one fading, Kim Rok Soo wants to say. But he looks down at his translucent hands, breaking into tiny particles of light, and remembers that this isn't his dream after all. 

Kim Rok Soo is the intruder here.

He falls, down an unending drop of white. The world spins and spins and spins until he stops at last, bundled up in something softer than silk, strong hands lifting his limp body into a careful embrace. Kim Rok Soo barely makes out long white hair covering his vision.

"No, why are you here again..."

A tired voice. Somewhat hysterical, somewhat amused, mostly concerned.

"Go back. Don't worry about something like this."

Gentle hand caresses his cheek, rubbing soothing circles underneath bleary eyes.

Kim Rok Soo blinks up tiredly. Black eyes, framed by long strands of white, crinkle into half crescents, and a soft kiss is placed upon Kim Rok Soo's brow.

"A growing child needs to sleep, no?"

And then Kim Rok Soo is starting up a white ceiling, dazed with half remembered memories flitting by as though he was dreaming. Limbs heavy with sleep and head no longer throbbing, Kim Rok Soo frowns. 

The hospital ward?

Wasn't Kim Rok Soo outside?

Kim Rok Soo rubs the sleep from his eyes and pushes himself up, fingers grazing something coarse and dry. Paper, he notes blearily, and lifts the blanket to see the book lying there on the bed. It lies opened with Kim Rok Soo's fingers lying upon the page, right on top of the vicious sentence Kim Rok Soo hates.

Kim Rok Soo pulls his hand away, suspicion clinging heavily to his mind. He's about to kick the thing away when the words start sinking into the page, like ink flushing away in water.

Kim Rok Soo jumps. 

He nearly crashes his head against the wall, the blanket pulling away with Kim Rok Soo's frantic movement. With shaking eyes, he watches as another sentence replaces the one that disappeared, cursive lines scribbled onto the paper as though someone invisible is writing on it.

Bathed in the glow of the light outside, the words read:

Good children shouldn't wander out alone.

Chapter Text

Kim Rok Soo sucks in a breath through gritted teeth.

Panic fuels his limbs and he scrambles off the bed, cursing inside his head all the while, nearly slipping on the floor and only barely managing to catch himself at the very last second.

A hiss of pain escapes him as a dull ache lances through his ankle—a result from the rough landing, no doubt.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't have time to mull over something like proper landings, however. Not when there is a damn book flipping through its own pages on the bed, and certainly not when Kim Rok Soo is alone in the room with said book.

'First the dragon and now this? What's next, a demonic invasion?'

A scowl forms on the young face, and Kim Rok Soo finds himself wondering if Nelan Barrow had a sudden change of heart in the sixth volume, because this doesn't feel like something that would happen in a munchkin fantasy story anymore. 

The novel revolves around Choi Han as the hero. That's how most stories work, and that's how Kim Rok Soo understands it too. But why does it feel like so many things are left out of the novel? Five volumes are not exactly an amount to sneeze at.

...maybe Kim Rok Soo is just starting to overthink.

Stress does that to you. He keeps overlooking the fact that this is also a story where an egg can become a chicken in the next chapter.

But that is all the more reason for Kim Rok Soo to tread more carefully right now. Who knows what that crazy book is going to do next.

With a shaky exhale, Kim Rok Soo backs away ever so slowly, shuffling on unsteady legs until his back hits the wall. The sound of rustling papers accompanies his retreat. Glimpses of those pristine white sheets flitting by behind the massive bulk of the bed send shivers down his spine. 

What rotten luck, Kim Rok Soo thinks sourly.

The throbbing in his ankle reminds him that he can't just run to the door. Which means that Kim Rok Soo will have to actually shamble along the wall and around the book in the middle of the room, and there's absolutely no way Kim Rok Soo is going within a foot of that thing if he can help it.

The window is a no-go either. This is the third floor and, while adult Kim Rok Soo could probably get by with mildly serious injuries or monkey his way down, young Kim Rok Soo will not be so lucky. 

'Damm it.'

At this point, maybe Kim Rok Soo should risk being seen as crazy and just scream his lungs out. Someone would probably come running, either to complain about the noise or because they're genuinely worried. Shawn would probably come running, the absolute worrywart.

Where even is that ahjussi when you need him?

Kim Rok Soo lets out a string of curses under his breath and, all of a sudden, the sound of rustling disappears. 

Silence descends upon the room like choking, tangible thing, and Kim Rok Soo freezes in place. 

The book is still there, he notes with shaking eyes. Halted mid-flip with a single sheet standing upright in the air, the faintest of tremors present on what little view of that page Kim Rok Soo can see that is not obstructed by the tall mattress.

Kim Rok Soo eyes it with no little amount of fear, heart thudding inside the cages of his ribs. His stomach churns and twists and jabs at his insides ever so persistently and Kim Rok Soo grinds his teeth with a grimace. 

The tense silence now draped in the air does nothing to calm his already frayed nerves, instead sharpening his senses until he can hear the faint laughter drifting in through the open window. The scuffles of his foot against the wooden floor and his own short gasps of breath ring loudly in his ears.

He tries to steady his breathing and quiets down, waiting.

'What is that thing going to do now...'

Kim Rok Soo wonders, and just as he's about to curse again—

"What the fuck—!"

The book throws itself from the bed and heads straight for Kim Rok Soo's face.

The squawk Kim Rok Soo lets out trails off into a high-pitched squeal, and the boy falls flat on his bottom as his mind registers the projectile heading to him in breakneck speed.

It doesn't crash against the wall, to Kim Rok Soo's disappointment. It doesn't fall onto the floor in a heap of crumpled papers either.

No, instead it stops inches away from where it would hit the wall and drops right above Kim Rok Soo's head, tumbling down all the way into his arms with a grace that is uselessly wasted on something so vicious.

The contact doesn't actually hurt, a small, unimportant part of his mind acknowledges.

It fell onto his head rather gently, all things considered, and felt more like a light tap on the head than anything else. But when you have a book flying straight to your face, it's only right to freak out, or so Kim Rok Soo thinks. Especially when it landed right into your arms the very next second. 

So no, it's not Kim Rok Soo's fault that he ends up playing hot potato with the thing when it lands on his hands. Of course not.

The book is entirely at fault here. Kim Rok Soo is just obeying natural human instincts to back the fuck away from any and all perceived threats and a sentient, teleporting, animated book fits the bill just fine.

But of course, life can't be that easy. 

Kim Rok Soo doesn't even manage to chuck it out the window like he did before in the desert. The book feels as slippery as an eel today, and merely falls to the floor despite Kim Rok Soo's efforts.

It lands opened on a page with a single word written there. Blank ink forming elegant lines taking almost half of the entire page.

LANGUAGE.

It reads, almost like a scandalised granny.

And underneath, in the same needlessly beautiful cursives is another, smaller sentence. For some reason, it looks more sluggishly written compared to the word above it.

Why do my children have such potty mouths?

"...who the hell is your child?"

The retort slips past Kim Rok Soo's lips unbidden. His mind is still reeling from the fact that the book can even talk back to him—or is it writing? Rewriting? What the hell do you call this???—that the panic is entirely forgotten as incredulity takes its place.

GASP!!!

How could you! My youngest is so mean :(

A reply is quick to be written.

Effortlessly graceful except for the awkward blobs forming eyes and a smile at the end of it and, wow, would you look at that. The book is sentient enough to know how to emote. Wonderful. Exactly what Kim Rok Soo needs right now, thank you. 

Kim Rok Soo sighs, and narrows his gaze when a thought occurs to him.

The lines are stiff and squiggly, but that is definitely a smiley face. Do the people in this world even know how to emote in texts and writings?

Communications with one another are mostly done with magical orbs in the novel, but those are more similar to video calls than text messages. Commoners in most territory don't even know how to write. Except for maybe the Roan Kingdom where few of its citizens are illiterate, but that's not the norm in other places.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't know what face he's making, because the book is quick to flip to another page.

Ahem. Hem. 

Go back to sleep, child. Your body needs to rest.

The deflection is suspicious, but a tick forms at the corner of Kim Rok Soo's mouth as he reads the reply. 

"And whose fault is it, exactly?"

He says, tone placid and breezy but dripping heavily with accusation.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Everything that has been happening to Kim Rok Soo is hardly normal, but Kim Rok Soo himself hasn't done anything unusual. The only thing that stood out to his attention is the book that has been following him around. He can hardly think of any other reason for why this would happen, and, at this point, Kim Rok Soo is ready to throw hands. 

Because it's not just Kim Rok Soo the book is potentially messing with.

Dragon or not, a child is still a child. And while Kim Rok Soo is not exactly a good person either, anyone—or anything—who hurts children deserves a good smacking. Sentient books or not, Kim Rok Soo is not going to let that happen.

As Kim Rok Soo is starting to truly consider finding a way to burn the book in his hands, blank ink starts to take form across the empty page.

Calm, child.

The scribbled line is written slowly, as if to punctuate each word. 

An out-of-place serenity washes over Kim Rok Soo like the tides, soothing at every jagged anger starting to claw its way out of his throat.

I don't mean you any harm. I give you my word that I won't touch that Dragon either.

Shoulders slumping, Kim Rok Soo tries his best to glare at the book.

It's not exactly an easy feat when something in his mind whispers that he's the safest right here, right now, a strange croon reverberating in the back of his head that numbs his fingers and loosens the tension of his limbs.

Kim Rok Soo scoffs and shakes his head.

"You want me to believe that? Are you telling me you didn't have a hand in what happened?"

He waits.

For a long while, nothing else appears and Kim Rok Soo is left to stew in his frustration, but ink starts dotting the page after a few seconds of silence in which the book lies unresponsive on the floor.

The answer Kim Rok Soo is given is curt.

Not entirely.

And then, almost hesitantly;

For both your sake and that Dragon, don't go wandering off without me.

"...can you be anymore clearer, you bastard—"

A loud slam cuts Kim Rok Soo off, and he startles at the sudden noise. 

His hands curl around the book instinctively, pulling it close to his chest as his eyes turn to the door that has been thrown wide open.

It's probably more correct to say that the door has been pulled off its hinges instead, dangling in Shawn's hand as the Dark Elf stands rigidly in the doorway. His shoulders are pulled taut to his person, and his half-crouching stance reminds Kim Rok Soo of an animal stalking through the undergrowth of a forest, something wild pushed to the forefront of Shawn's eyes when he meets Kim Rok Soo's gaze.

"Rok Soo!"

And then, in a swift gait, he stalks forward into the room, arms winding around Kim Rok Soo until the child is pulled off the floor, book and all.

Kim Rok Soo squeaks, feet dangling in the air and tiny palms hesitantly clutching at Shawn's crinkled robe.  

The Dark Elf's broad frames are shaking, he notes with a daze. A hand coming up to soothe Kim Rok Soo's messy hair down before going up and stroking down again, almost mechanically. 

Shawn swallows heavily, a trembling hum his only response when Kim Rok Soo lets out an inquisitive noise.

What happened?

What is with this ahjussi now?

Confused and bewildered, Kim Rok Soo doesn't protest when the Dark Elf walks to the bed, perching the boy on his hip and pulling the blanket left abandoned on the mattress around Kim Rok Soo's shoulders.

He wraps the fabric around the child until only a small face is poking out of the fluffy bundle. Wide eyes blink up at him.

"Shawn?" Kim Rok Soo calls out, unsure.

"...hey, buddy." 

The answer is whispered. Just as quiet, as a broad hand cups Kim Rok Soo's cheek and pushes a stray strand of hair away of his eye. 

"You okay?"

Shawn smiles, but something about it doesn't feel right. It's more weighted, now. The edge in Shawn's gaze only receding back enough that Kim Rok Soo doesn't flinch away from its intensity but it's there, lurking in every fleeting glance the Dark Elf gave him.

"Are you tired? Hungry? Want some cookies? We have another batch coming from A—Tasha."

The Dark Elf fusses, patting Kim Rok Soo down and inspecting every little thing he can. He doesn't even have his glasses on, and now that Kim Rok Soo is moderately calm, Shawn is starting to look more and more like he just ran a marathon through hell to get here.

Shawn doesn't seem to mind it, though. He doesn't even have trouble regulating his breathing like most people would. The man pats Kim Rok Soo's head and places Kim Rok Soo's hand on his own, inspecting the child's palm and then his wrists and then his ankles and—

Choi Jung Soo had looked like that once, Kim Rok Soo can't help but think.

Back when Kim Rok Soo only had to worry about whether or not the man would hassle Kim Rok Soo into calling him hyung-nim.

He had never been never as subtle as Lee Soo Hyuk, the huge sap that he was, and Choi Jung Soo's brand of affection had always been more physical and instinctual. A clap of the shoulder here, a nudge there, a random ruffling of hair whenever his worry got the best of him.

It threw Kim Rok Soo off guard the first time it happened, and the man had the audacity to laugh at Kim Rok Soo's expression like it was funny.

But that had been that.

When Kim Rok Soo became a leader, his people knew to trust and rely on him. Kim Min Ah and Bae Puh Rum too, worried and fretted, but never to the point of the primal fear that Kim Rok Soo's self-appointed hyung-nims had been prone to show.

And Kim Rok Soo was fine with that.

He can take care of himself just fine, no one needs to worry that much about him. And for a time, no one did.

Except, that's not the case anymore. 

Because Shawn is staring at Kim Rok Soo, near breathless with guilt, anger and worry clear to see in every stress lining his face.

And Kim Rok Soo doesn't know what to make of it.

'...aigoo.' 

Kim Rok Soo sighs, ignoring Shawn's panicked reaction. 

The child wriggles in place until the blanket comes loose around him and clambers up until his knees are digging into Shawn's legs. Serves him right, Kim Rok Soo thinks without remorse when the Dark Elf winces. His hands pat Shawn's cheeks rather aggressively, almost a slap if not for the fact that it probably doesn't even hurt, nearly squishing Shawn's face under his tiny palms.

"Stop that." 

Kim Rok Soo says, as stern as his young voice can manage. 

"You look constipated. So ugly. Stop doing that."

He ignores the wet chuckle that comes after, frowning when Shawn leans forward, his whole body seemingly folding in on itself. His forehead knocks against Kim Rok Soo's, and a smile curls on his lips. Weaker than the one before, but more honest. More awkward and goofy and more Shawn.

"Yes, yes." Shawn replies, his eyes curling into crescent moons. "Whatever you say, little lord."

The laughter that follows when Kim Rok Soo sends an affronted look his way is a clear sound. Still weighted by whatever guilt the Dark Elf is imposing himself with, but that's fine. Kim Rok Soo is sure he can beat some sense into this infuriating ahjussi by the end of the day.

For now, though, Kim Rok Soo needs to do something about his rumbling stomach.

It's only as the tension left his body that Kim Rok Soo realises how drained he feels. At the embarrassingly loud sound, Shawn's smile widens into a grin, and Kim Rok Soo whacks a tiny hand against his nose.

"I want cookies."

Kim Rok Soo decides, and pretends that the flush high on his cheeks is nonexistent.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't get his cookies.

Apparently, he has slept through another day and needs to actually eat real food again, and snacking before mealtime is a big no-no for Misha. Shawn had gotten an earful for that.

The doctor came in right when Shawn was pulling out the small pouch of cookies he'd managed to sneak away from the lobby. She looked more put together than Shawn had been, and gave one withering look at the door leaning against the wall, hinges pulled clean off of the door frame, before turning her gaze towards the Dark Elf frozen on the bed.

"Shawn." 

She hissed, and Shawn only had the time to stutter out a few excuses before bolting out the window with Kim Rok Soo still bundled in his arms.

Unfortunately for him, Misha was more than capable to catch up. The doctor was somehow faster on her feet despite her age and had snagged his ankle before Shawn could even jump to the balcony right outside the window. She dragged him back with one arm and Shawn fell with flailing limbs back onto the bed.

After that, the doctor merely smiled down at him, with far too many teeth to be pleasant, and told him kindly to please use the door the correct way next time, or else.

It's amazing how quickly Shawn withered under that look.

Kim Rok Soo thinks he should start learning it too.

"Do you want seconds?"

A monotone voice draws Kim Rok Soo back to the present.

The child blinks out of his daze to stare at the robed woman sitting next to him, an empty bowl in hand as she gestures to the cart carrying plates and mugs wheeled right next to the bed. Kim Rok Soo didn't even realise he has finished his bowl of chicken porridge until Mary called him. He was zoning out too much.

Shaking his head, Kim Rok Soo smoothens down the blanket laid on his legs, one bandaged ankle peeking out from under the folds, courtesy of Misha's keen eyes.

"I'm full. You eat, Mary."

"I've eaten." Is Mary's response to that. "But thank you. What about a slice of apple?"

"Mm, no."

"I see. Would you like to try the orange juice?"

Uh..."

"It's fresh from the garden. Very juicy. Really tasty for a hot day like this."

It's bizarre to hear Mary going on and on about oranges in her GPS-like voice. Kim Rok Soo squints his eyes at her and wonders how on earth does she do that.

It must be intentional, right? Surely, there's only so much orange-related facts one could throw at someone else regarding freshly squeezed juice?

When a minute passes and Mary shows no sign of slowing down, Kim Rok Soo decides that, no.

Kim Rok Soo is very, very wrong.

This is another thing Kim Rok Soo has to deal with now. 

Shawn is not the only one to act strangely upon Kim Rok Soo's awakening. Misha was more than restless, redoing her test again and again despite the result telling her Kim Rok Soo was fine, and flat out refused to let Kim Rok Soo be left alone without supervision at any given time. 

He doesn't even want to know what that ice cream shop owner would do if Kim Rok Soo is to come back. From Shawn's mentions of him, the man had been bawling his eyes out the last time they departed from the shop in a hurry, though none of them is inclined to tell Kim Rok Soo exactly what happened.

It's understandable, Kim Rok Soo thinks. 

It doesn't look good on your business if someone were to faint out of the blue after eating your ice cream. The poor guy must have been so stressed. Kim Rok Soo said so to Shawn and the Dark Elf just sort of stared at Kim Rok Soo with his wet puppy eyes until Kim Rok Soo decided that shutting up was the best option.

One thing led to another and now here Kim Rok Soo is, with Mary appointed on watch duty as Shawn left to report something to the mayor. 

(Kim Rok Soo refuses to call it babysitting duty. He refuses. It's not babysitting because Kim Rok Soo is not a baby, and he doesn't need a babysitter.)

"—is not as simple to make as I thought. Squeezing with the right amount of strength is key, or so I've learned. Would you like a glass? I'll add a spoon of honey for you. Honey is good. It tastes nice—"

When Mary wants to fuss, she can really fuss.

Albeit more subtly than Shawn can ever hope to do, but she's still fussing, nonetheless. Her hands fumble around an empty mug and Kim Rok Soo recognises the unrest for what it is. 

Damn that book and whatever crazy person created it. Kim Rok Soo should've just chuck it out the window the moment he was able to.

Holding back a sigh, Kim Rok Soo finally nods and cuts the woman off before she can start another tangent about honey, god forbid.

"...fine." 

Kim Rok Soo says, a defeated tone in his voice, and Mary immediately stops. There's a pleased air around her that doesn't show on her face.

Reluctantly, Kim Rok Soo accepts the plastic mug given to him, sipping the garishly bright yellow straw as he resigns himself to his fate. True to Mary's words, it does taste good. Sweet and refreshing, with a hint of honey in it. He sips his orange juice slowly, listening with half a mind as Mary quietly tells him about her day. It's in the middle of this that the sound of footsteps slowly approaches, and a figure appears in the doorless doorway.

At first, Kim Rok Soo thought the one approaching was Shawn or Misha, but when he looks up, he sees a stranger with stark white hair instead. A strange wobbly smile is hidden under a bushy white beard, and Kim Rok Soo stares blankly when the old Dark Elf's eyes seem to sparkle upon seeing Kim Rok Soo.

"Mayor-nim." Mary greets from her seat. "Good afternoon."

The wizened Dark Elf, apparently the mayor of the city, wrings his hands with a white handkerchief as he walks in and greets the robed woman warmly. His gaze keeps flitting back to Kim Rok Soo for some reason. 

"Little Mary. Is everything alright? Do you need anything, little one?"

The mayor's voice is kind. Like a caring grandfather almost, as he addresses both Mary and Kim Rok Soo. He pulls a small stool close to the bed and pats Kim Rok Soo's head, his eyes bright and youthful despite the wrinkles on his face. He introduces himself as Obante.

"Nice to meet you, mayor-nim."

Kim Rok Soo says after giving the Dark Elf his name, nodding shortly before going back to sipping his juice. The old mayor lets out a laugh and slaps his knobbly knee with a hand.

"Ho! how polite. I remember when little Al was as small as you, the little rascal. Real good at getting in trouble, that one. That shirt was one of his favourites."

Mayor Obante chuckles. From the other side of the bed, Mary tilts her head at the mayor.

"Mayor-nim, aren't you supposed to be with Shawn?" She asks him.

The woman's dull voice makes the question sound more like a threat and Kim Rok Soo watches as the old Dark Elf coughs into his hand, averting his gaze to the wall. 

"Ah, yes. Ahem. That, we were discussing logistics... And stuff..."

The mayor trails off. Red crawls from his ears all the way down to his neck.

"Well. This old man needs a break too, right? Shawn is, ah, taking a short walk and enjoying his rest, hoho."

...so, in short, the mayor ran away huh?

"Is that so."

Mary nods like it's a normal occurrence.

"Yes, he probably is. The fields are particularly beautiful today. You can rest with us, mayor-nim."

Obante looks all too happy to do just that. Poor Shawn.

Knowing how the Dark Elf is, he's probably running around the city in a tizzy right now. Actually, is that his voice Kim Rok Soo can hear screaming for the mayor outside the window? For Shawn's sake, Kim Rok Soo hopes not. That's just sad.

"Ahem. Yes, little one, by any chance..." 

A hesitant voice pipes up.

Kim Rok Soo turns to Obante, raising a brow at the fidgeting Dark Elf.

It's a bit ridiculous to see someone who looks so old and otherwise prim acting like this, but this is still the man who keeps the city running. The mayor of this blossoming underground city. Which should be saying something about the Dark Elf's own capabilities, in spite of what he's acting like in front of Kim Rok Soo.

"D-did—" 

Obante swallows. He seems to be struggling with himself for a minute, but eventually, he pushes himself to finally say the words stuck in his throat. 

"Did a D-Dragon-nim, by chance, send you here...?"

Obante trails off, like the very sentence itself is too much for him to say.

He looks faint and, frankly, so does Kim Rok Soo. But the moment the child on the bed stiffens, face slack with surprise and mouth opening without a sound, Obante knows that he was right on the dot.

'There is the presence of a Dragon-nim here.' 

Obante's Elemental had whispered the day before, when the two of them was kept awake by the report of a runaway child they are now sheltering in their city. The Elemental sounded hushed and awed, its voice filled with wonder as it drifted around Obante, trying to pinpoint its source.

It was just a smidgen of a Dragon-nim's power, the Elemental said. Merely remnants of that glorious presence left behind in the air, almost gone by the time morning arrived and Obante departed to visit the hospital, but that alone was enough for Obante and his Elemental.

A Dragon never moves without reason. 

They are mighty, arrogant creatures who ultimately do as they like, and only for their own sakes. And one has just decided to leave behind a trail of their presence in the city when they are absolutely capable of coming and vanishing without a trace. It can only mean one thing.

Obante's old eyes crinkle softly, as the child denies the question with an incredulous expression. He must've thought that no one would be able to tell, and on any other occasions, the child would be right.

'But that Dragon-nim made sure we noticed.'

This tiny slip of a child, tucked in a blanket that makes him look even smaller, is someone important to a Dragon-nim. Someone the esteemed Dragon-nim entrusted to Obante and this city. Obante needs to make sure he's protected and cared for, for as long as the Dragon-nim leaves him behind in their care. 

A trembling palm clutches at a wrinkled handkerchief, and Obante eyes his own shaking hands. 

How weak, how shameful.

Obante is a weak man, and he knows that better than anyone else.

The Dark Elf will never forget his first meeting with a Dragon-nim. The fear that had gripped him tightly under its clutches and left him breathless on the ground, as though a worm in front of something larger than life.

Those slitted eyes had bored into Obante like a predator eyeing its prey, the very definition of power born into flesh and given form, staring him down as he ordered Obante to kneel.

And Obante did, powerless in the face of that unfathomable might. 

A Dragon never moves without reason. 

When they do, it can only mean someone's death is counting on the clock—and fast.

"If there is anything you need, just tell me. This old man will take care of you in the esteemed Dragon-nim's stead."

Obante smiles kindly as the child steadily grows more frustrated.

The old mayor can understand the feeling. Being overwhelmed by a presence greater than your own must be hard, especially for someone so young. Obante's heart feels for him.

Knowing full well the Dragon-nim probably didn't even explain their intentions to the child, the old mayor tries to soothe the child's fears and promises that no one else will know. Just the three of them in this room. Little Mary won't tell anyone either, pinky promise.

"That's not it. I don't..."

Kim Rok Soo's vehement protest trails off into a quiet mutter.

His gaze sharpens, the childish look gone and replaced with something calculating. He still looks adorable, in Obante's honest opinion, little nose scrunched up and lips almost pouting in concentration.

After a few seconds of silence in which Mary keeps quiet by the side, fidgeting with her own glass of juice, Kim Rok Soo finally looks back up to stare Obante in the eyes.

"...actually, I do need something." Kim Rok Soo says with a sweet smile.

Dimples form on his cheeks and Obante has to squint his eyes at the bright expression, taken off guard by the sudden change. By the side of the bed, Mary lets out a gasp what sounds suspiciously like a choked off coo.

"I promised to go to the Roan Kingdom."

Obante's whole body freezes at the mention of Roan.

He doesn't expect to hear that from the child at all. Not when they're this far away on the other side of the continent.

He was told the child is most probably a runaway slave or a former captive, so to know about Roan when most of the villagers don't even know the face of their own king is, to say the least, rather shocking for the Dark Elf.

A promise to visit the Roan Kingdom, and then finding his way here, to the City of Life...

Did the esteemed Dragon-nim arrange for this to happen? Obante wonders, eyeing the child on the bed in a new light. 

"The Roan Kingdom..."

The mayor rubs his heard with a hand and sighs.

"That... can be arranged, but not for another day at least."

Kim Rok Soo doesn't lose the smile on his face, but it does dim slightly.

It reminds Obante of his own great grandson sulking when he was barely ten years old. The old Dark Elf is quick to reassure the child, a wrinkled finger tapping Kim Rok Soo's cheek. 

"Now, now. Don't make that face. If you really want to, we just need to wait for a day before heading for Roan."

He laughs when the child scrunches his nose at the action.

"...why do we need to wait for a day?"

Obante places his handkerchief back into his pocket and turns to Mary. She shakes her head and motions wordlessly for the old mayor to go ahead, and so Obante does. 

"Something dangerous happens twice a year here." 

Obante replies, trying to simplify his words for the curious child. He taps his foot against the wooden floor, and stares sadly at Mary's stoic form. 

Strong, little Mary, who is kind and everything not a lot of other people can be under such pain. Obante hopes that one day, perhaps once, in the far-off future, she can walk above the ground and see all the world has to offer. The colours and tales she has only ever known from words of mouth.

It is nothing but a futile hope, Obante knows.

But this one tiny wish, he carries within his chest day after day, for Mary's sake and for the sake of her parents.

Obante's clouded gaze turns to Kim Rok Soo.

"When it happens, the humans can't walk outside for three days at the very least. It started the night you came here."

"Ah." The child exclaims mildly, nodding. "I see."

Outwardly, the short answer seems to pacify him. Inside, though, is an entirely different story.

A phenomenon occurring at random, happening right when Kim Rok Soo came here. Of course. Kim Rok Soo is not even surprised at this point.

His luck seems to be taking a dive the day he woke up in this world and he's been here for, what, two to three days or something? Someone up there must have hated him.

The book in Kim Rok Soo's lap trembles. Kim Rok Soo merely slams a hand down on it and smiles.

"Alright. Thank you mayor-nim."

Well, it doesn't matter how long it takes. 

The baby Dragon holed up in that cave won't have to suffer for much longer, so Kim Rok Soo will wait and decides on what to do next.

He'll let the mayor believe what he wants, and after this is over, Kim Rok Soo can just tell the old man I told you—and that will be the end of this.

For now, Kim Rok Soo fully intends to use it to his advantage.

Dark Elves worship Dragons more than anything in this world. If the mayor thinks a Dragon is behind Kim Rok Soo's actions, no one will question him about the request. It won't be as strange as Kim Rok Soo just asking to go there out of the blue either. Especially not with how Kim Rok Soo is on another enforced bed rest.

Yes, Kim Rok Soo nods to himself. Now if only he can convince Misha to let him have the all-clear, everything will be perfect.

Alas, a doctor's ire is not to be contended with.

"No." 

Misha responses plainly, and shortly, when she returns to the room with a basin of warm water and another set of clothes for Kim Rok Soo to change into.

"Absolutely not."

She stares down the mayor with a scowl when he tries to reason with her. It's not so much stubbornness as it is concern, Kim Rok Soo thinks, when Misha's eyes keep straying to Kim Rok Soo despite her current back-and-forth with the mayor.

What happened when he slept, really? Why is everyone so on edge now?

Kim Rok Soo's mind wanders as Misha explains curtly that she will, in no way, allow a patient who showed sudden symptoms with no clear cause and consequences like Kim Rok Soo, to wander around when she can't even figure out what was wrong. It's not a risk worth taking, and she isn't about to back down.

"That Dragon-nim would want him safe." Misha stresses. "And that's what I'm doing right now."

"If the spell didn't show anything wrong, then the child should be safe to go!"

"That's not the point! Kim Rok Soo is—there are other factors to consider here!"

"Then tell me, so we can prepare appropriate measures."

"It's not my place to tell." 

And on and on and on it goes. 

The chattering is starting to give Kim Rok Soo a headache. 

Kim Rok Soo eyes the adults in the room with critical eyes. Maybe he should just sneak away on his own if they keep bickering like this. 

But the problem is, Kim Rok Soo doesn't know the way to the Roan Kingdom from here, and neither does he know how long it would take if he just decided to up and slip away without a guide or a map.

Where the hell is this desert even located on the western continent?

Can he afford risking it with a child's life on the line?

As Kim Rok Soo is contemplating his options, the bickering starts to die off. Misha crouches by the bed, a warm hand on Kim Rok Soo's knee as if to placate him, as she starts talking in hushed tones.

"Would you like me to tell him?" 

The doctor asks, the line of her mouth somber and solemn and entirely too serious for this kind of useless debate. Kim Rok Soo slowly pulls the straw out of his mouth.

"If you don't want me to tell, I won't." 

She says, as if the mayor isn't standing just a few feet away behind her, listening to this whole conversation.

And then what she said hits Kim Rok Soo.

...yes? 

Tell the mayor what, exactly? 

'Why are you asking for a child's permission? Aren't you the doctor?'

Kim Rok Soo wants to ask what Misha is talking about, but it's hard to say that when someone is looking at you with such undivided attention.

Misha looks like she's expecting Kim Rok Soo to flinch or shy away from the question and plops a candy into his hand when Kim Rok Soo starts squirming with unease. Kim Rok Soo looks at her strangely but accepts the sweets without protest.

"...mm." 

Eventually, Kim Rok Soo nods. 

There isn't really much choice here, and Kim Rok Soo did promise the Dragon. Misha gives him a sharp once-over at the easy admittance but huffs at last, and pats Kim Rok Soo's knee before pushing herself up again. 

"Alright, kid. Wait here, okay? And don't play with the water."

She turns to the mayor. Misha's expression takes on a dark tint as she drags him outside the doorway and off to the side of the hallway, where their hushed whisperings are hidden behind the wall.

Kim Rok Soo listens with half a mind. He raises a hand to scratch at a spot on his shoulder that has been getting progressively itchier as the day goes on.

'Oh well, it can't be that bad.'

Misha is a doctor, so it's probably about the scars. Maybe even what happened while Kim Rok Soo dozed off. That's not exactly something Kim Rok Soo needs to keep from the mayor since he'll know eventually anyway. 

It confuses the child how Misha seems to take it a tad too seriously, given the circumstances.

The mayor is still the mayor, so shouldn't they give him a report about Kim Rok Soo even before all this?

What, did they lie to him? Surely not, right?

Whatever it is, it should be fine if the mayor knows. 

That way too, Kim Rok Soo can weasel his answer out of Obante afterwards, who seems to have a problem of running his mouth unfiltered. It will probably be easier to make him slip up than trying to dig answers from the other adults.

Kim Rok Soo scoffs, leaning into his pillow.

He ignores the slightest flare of discomfort crawling down from his shoulder—he probably crashed into something when he tumbled down the bed—and shakes his head at the gullible mayor.

Yeah, right. A Dragon following Kim Rok Soo around?

As if that would ever happen.

Chapter Text

Night descended upon the city with the flickering of lights. 

Bright, warm rays dimming into something gentler and more muted, tracing the windowsills and balcony in the softest hues of blue and purple.

Outside the window, the tall, looming pillars now look like faraway sentinels. Its figure nearly hidden from view by the shadows of creeping vines and twisting branches and quaint wooden houses. A far cry from its striking presence in the light of the day. 

The city itself is not yet asleep, though. Hushed conversations and faint laughter drift up from the street below to where Kim Rok Soo is settled upon the windowsill, listening in on the faint melodies riding the breeze. Brought in by what few establishments remain open at this time of the night.

The peaceful air attempts to lull Kim Rok Soo back asleep, weighting heavily upon his eyelids—with little to no avail. Kim Rok Soo finds himself staring into the not-quite-darkness, awake and very much aware, fiddling with the spines of the book on his lap.

Don't look so glum, my child.

The book flips open and, across the pristine page, the sentence is scrawled slowly. Almost patiently, if the book even has any patience to begin with, which Kim Rok Soo very much doubts.

The Dragon will be alright. 

Sleep, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.

"It's only ten." Is Kim Rok Soo's reply. He turns back to the city with a sniff. "And I'm not worried."

Of course the Dragon will be alright. 

Kim Rok Soo knows the Dragon will be alright. As alright as it can be under the care of Venion Stan, anyway, which isn't saying much, but still. 

The Dragon has to be alright. Autumn has only arrived recently—or so Obante had told Kim Rok Soo yesterday, amidst ramblings of his beloved great grandson and tales of the old days masked as bedtime stories—and the Dragon is still alive, so Kim Rok Soo can hazard a guess that he hasn't entered the start of the novel just yet. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it. 

Kim Rok Soo wouldn't have a Choi Han to direct at the unsuspecting enemies, but that also means he's not pressed for time, and Kim Rok Soo can deal with that just fine. 

'Just a little bit more.'

The Dragon has to wait for a little more. 

Tomorrow, Kim Rok Soo will depart for the Kingdom of Boulders. Finally, a part of him can't help but think, after almost a week spent on trying to compromise between Misha's vehement refusal and Obante's immediate agreement, and another on merely preparing for the trip itself.

But a quieter, smaller part of Kim Rok Soo chimes in, as he watches over the peaceful city, that he doesn't really want to go either. 

"That stupid Venion Stan..."

If only that guy wasn't dumb enough to try and tame a Dragon of all things, Kim Rok Soo wouldn't be having this problem in the first place. What was he even thinking?

'He was probably not thinking.'

The typical, authoritative noble that he is, Venion Stan is probably too in over his head to realise this can only go badly for him. Either the Dragon goes berserk and dies, or the others die, by way of a rampaging Dragon.  

Perhaps Venion Stan never even thought of what fate awaits him if—once—the Dragon manages to escape.

The day Kim Rok Soo made a promise to that baby Dragon, Venion Stan's days is numbered. It's as simple as that. If Kim Rok Soo is a nicer person, maybe he will feel sorry about that, but oh well. As it is, it's not Kim Rok Soo's problem if he dies or not.

...aigoo. 

My children are so cute.

The pleased, vicious smile curling on Kim Rok Soo's lips is wiped away immediately upon reading the nonsense hastily scrawled with looping cursives. 

Are you planning to scam someone dry, my child?

"I'm not your child—"

But it's ten right now! 

You should sleep before planning to scam someone! You'll get fresh, new ideas in the morning, I'm sure.

"...and I said it's only ten. Why the hell are you so vicious, anyway? Aren't books supposed to be, like, the symbol of wisdom and temperance or something?"

:0

"Are you mocking me, you bastard—"

Language!!!

And for the record, I'm not a bastard. 

Probably. 

I don't really remember, but I sure hope so.

Kim Rok Soo pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten, praying for patience.

He doesn't get to five before he decides to just throw the damn thing out the window. 

It halts in midair, of course, and comes barreling back onto Kim Rok Soo's lap with a complaint written all over its pages. Nonsensical rambles on how alike Kim Rok Soo is to his 'noona' and yada, yada, yada. Kim Rok Soo wants to know who in their right mind would ever create something this chatty and delusional.

'...maybe I should just sleep already.'

Kim Rok Soo grumbles to himself, slamming the book shut when the rambling starts to turn into another bout gushing about the book's nonexistent 'children'. It's getting pretty late anyway, and Kim Rok Soo much prefers to be sleeping instead of putting up with another round of nagging. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Kim Rok Soo turns back to the city and, for probably the last time in a long while, sears the image in front of his eyes into his mind.

"Just a bit more, huh?" 

Kim Rok Soo mutters under his breath.

After a long, drawn-out silence, Kim Rok Soo pushes himself away from the sill, clambering down and onto the bed underneath the window. As Kim Rok Soo burrows under the fluffy blanket, he wonders, idly, if the Dragon would have liked it here. 

In this city that has yet to slumber, hiding underneath blood red sands and a sky as vast as the eyes can see.

When Kim Rok Soo falls into the gentle embrace of Morpheus, at last, he dreams of nothing.

The journey is more of a road trip than anything else, and It's around mid-afternoon the next day that Kim Rok Soo finds himself sequestered inside a grand carriage, cloak slung over his tiny form and book safely tucked underneath the long black folds. 

Across from him, sits a giant of a man hunched over with a tattered cloak haphazardly slung over one shoulder, humming a cheery tune under his breath as the carriage goes click-clacking along the uneven road. His unshaven, rugged appearance is contrasted by the wide, beaming smile worn across his rough features.

There's a wooden block cradled carefully inside his massive hands. Chipped away slowly by what looks to be a pocketknife. Kim Rok Soo doesn't know what the misshapen block is meant to be, but it starts to resemble a cute, tiny bunny holding a massive carrot after some time has passed.

It's an adorable sight, if not a tad confusing. Kim Rok Soo stares blankly when the man's humming starts to turn into some sort of a shanty song.

"...hey ahjussi, don't you have a shop to tend to?" Kim Rok Soo asks, at long last.

Despite the sweat beading down his forehead, Gilbert looks like he's having the jolliest time of his life, and Kim Rok Soo has to wonder why the man is even here—not for the first time ever since meeting him.

"Hmm? My son's taking care of it for me, haha!" Is the answer he gets, along with another pearly white smile. "Why? Do you want to meet my son? Oh, maybe you want another ice cream instead? Sorry, I didn't bring any with me. No cooling spell to keep it cooled, you see?"

"Ah, no. I'm just... wondering."

Kim Rok Soo cuts Gilbert off with a shake of his head, stopping the man from chattering on. He turns his attention outside, ignoring Gilbert's sad puppy eyes and the way his shoulders droop at Kim Rok Soo's answer. 

'Road trip' is probably a bit of a misleading term, but it certainly fits what is happening now rather well, Kim Rok Soo muses to himself. 

Only two people are trotting alongside the carriage on horseback, faces half obscured beneath their long, hooded cloak. A glimmering bracelet remains safely hidden from view, wound around each of their wrists. A 'just in case', Obante had told Kim Rok Soo, because apparently the Mogoru Empire is located not too far from the Land of Death, and it's better if they don't take any chances with the Church of the Sun God finding out.

Which is, fair. It's a wise decision, in Kim Rok Soo's opinion. 

He wholeheartedly agrees with Obante that it will be a hassle if that sort of thing happened when Kim Rok Soo is enroute to Roan. With war hanging uncertainly over the horizon, Kim Rok Soo doesn't want any unnecessary attention on himself—and that includes the city he is now starting to call home, and the others who reside in it as well. 

It's fortunate, then, that the place itself is so hidden away from the world. Saddening, for sure, that they have to hide themselves away, but when war inevitably breaks out, the City of Life will probably be the least impacted by all the chaos happening across the region. 

That is, if they didn't choose to intervene. Which, considering the helpful nature of everyone Kim Rok Soo met so far, doesn't seem to be looking good.

Well. If push comes to shove, Kim Rok Soo will just have to make sure these people and their bleeding hearts don't get tangled up with an unhelpful bunch of people. Maybe Kim Rok Soo should start saving up blackmails for a rainy day.

As the child's face sours and a pout hangs on his lips unnoticed, one of those familiar looking Dark Elves turns to meets his eyes. The wary, steely gaze present on that cloaked face melts away into something softer, and Shawn waves a hand from where he remains on the rear end of the carriage, not coming closer despite looking like he very much wants to. 

Kim Rok Soo waves back, blankly watching as the other cloaked figure—Misha—trots over on her horse to peer inside the carriage.

"Okay there, Rok Soo?" 

The doctor asks him, though now she looks more like a warrior than a doctor. 

Her eyes hold the faintest reflection of red orange when she trails her gaze over Kim Rok Soo's slumped over figure. Searching for some semblance of discomfort, the now young boy is sure. She has been doing that ever since he woke up in the hospital, and Kim Rok Soo can't exactly fault her for that. But the other part of it is probably because of the heat bearing down upon the adults around Kim Rok Soo. Even Gilbert, with all his upbeat attitude, doesn't exactly look all that comfortable under his massive cloak. 

"I'm fine." 

Kim Rok Soo simply nods to her question.

At times like this, he can't help but the grateful for the bubble of cold air surrounding his person, chasing away the heat prickling at his skin until all he can feel is a comforting breeze. The book's covers are cool against Kim Rok Soo's palms. Soothing, somewhat, in spite of everything else going on with the damn thing. 

On her part, Misha doesn't look like she believes him all that much but keeps quiet on her thoughts. She nods instead and jots her chin towards Gilbert.

"Alright. Don't hesitate to holler if you need anything, okay? And tell Uncle Gilbert here if you need us to stop and rest."

"You can count on me, itty bitty ankle biter! Ahaha!"

Gilbert's boisterous laughter fills the carriage. 

It shakes and jostles along with the man's every move, and Kim Rok Soo watches as Misha admonishes said man to be more mindful, to which Gilbert only replies with a sheepish apology. His gaze flickers ever so briefly outside, to the shadows hidden among rocky cliffs and jagged terrains, as he promises Kim Rok Soo that there is nothing to be afraid of. 

'...how vicious.'

Kim Rok Soo didn't see anything, he chants to himself, as he slumps over on his seat and valiantly ignores the many more attachments to their 'quiet, small trip of four'. If only for the sake of his sanity. 

What a vicious bunch. 

Is this really needed for something as mundane as a trip to the neighbouring kingdom? Kim Rok Soo wonders if there's more to it than just paranoia acting up.

"How long is this going to take?" He asks Gilbert instead of pondering on it, playing with the hem of his cloak.

"Breck Kingdom is not too far from here, so probably a couple more minutes. Once we get to their teleporting station, we'll arrive in Roan in no time at all!"

Gilbert answers, and there's something in the way he said it that has Kim Rok Soo squinting up at him. 

A degree of familiarity that stands out to the boy as Gilbert confidently explains how this is the safest, fastest route they can take to Roan—barring any actual teleporting right from the city to the kingdom, of course. Which the man doesn't explain further beyond a simple wave of the hand.

Huh.

The Dark Elves hid themselves away from the world, or so the novel said. Kim Rok Soo isn't sure why it sounded like they visited the Roan Kingdom on a somewhat regular basis.

"Wow, really? That's amazing." 

Kim Rok Soo pipes up when Gilbert is finished, a sweet smile curling on his lips as Gilbert preens under the praise. He leans back and props the book against his chest, and then he tacks on, rather casually:

"Ahjussi must have visited Roan often?"

"Of course, I have! I've been part of the guards' change ever since—"

Gilbert's voice falters into an almost-stutter, but to Kim Rok Soo's astonishment, the man continues on like nothing happened.

"—way too long that it's boring if I stay inside the city all the time! Who doesn't like to go out once in a while, right? Hahaha!"

He laughs jerkily, slapping a hand over his knee. Kim Rok Soo doesn't miss his shaking eyes, though.

Not a bad liar, Kim Rok Soo thinks, and hums in response to Gilbert's answer. He mulls over it for a while, wondering what kind of guards' change is needed for a city hidden away from prying eyes. It sounded like Gilbert was trying to say something more before cutting himself off, so Kim Rok Soo feels like there's something else he's missing. 

Really, what a shame. 

Kim Rok Soo thought he had found an easy prey like Obante, but it turns out this ahjussi is rather sharp. A tad unexpected, but maybe Kim Rok Soo should stop expecting anything at this point. At the very least, the child seems to learn something interesting today.

'I need to hurry up and get that old mayor talking.'

Once Kim Rok Soo finishes his business in the Roan Kingdom, he will definitely dig around for more information. With something as big of a threat as the Northern Alliance, every little thing counts in turning the tides of battle. It won't be good if Kim Rok Soo himself doesn't know what he's dealing with inside his own turf.

For the sake of a peaceful future, Kim Rok Soo convinces himself. He just needs to do these few headache-inducing things before he can laze about doing nothing for the rest of his life.

The book under Kim Rok Soo's palm trembles, and something like laughter is left stuck in his throat. Kim Rok Soo nearly chokes on his breath, frowning, and pats his chest when the sudden giddy feeling dissipates like morning mist.

What the hell was that?

"Why don't you sleep for a bit, kiddo?"

Misha pipes up, pulling Kim Rok Soo out of his thoughts. The doctor smiles when she meets his inquisitive eyes, and gestures to the road ahead of her. 

"It's still a few more miles at the very least. You can get some rest in the meantime. Talking to this old buffoon must be tiring."

She says this kindly, and Gilbert's complaints fall on deaf ears as the two regard each other in a comfortable silence. 

Kim Rok Soo scrunches his nose, contemplating the offer. Sleep sounds good, and it's true that it's kind of a hassle to talk with Gilbert when he keeps rambling off all the time. On the other hand, Kim Rok Soo is still a bit too reluctant to fall asleep just like that.

What if he dreams of the Dragon like before? What then? Will Misha stop this trip immediately and head back for the Land of Death?

Kim Rok Soo can't have that happening when he's this close to actually trying to do something.

Then again, it isn't like Kim Rok Soo has been dreaming about the crazy Dragon either. Not ever since the book started talking. 

For two weeks, Kim Rok Soo's sleep remains undisturbed. A peaceful, dreamless slumber without childish whines and slitted eyes and the dark, damp ditch reeking of rust and copper. Maybe the correct way to say it is that Kim Rok Soo didn't dream anymore. Not recently, anyway.

Then why did he have them in the first place? Those not-quite-dreams that felt like reality? Was there some kind of trigger before, that made it possible for two to meet in their sleep?

Kim Rok Soo doesn't yet know the answer, though he intends to find out.

He only knows it happened whenever he fell asleep before, and the only clue he knows relating to that is the Church of the God of Death, whose power is the strongest when others sleep. A state 'closest to death', or so the god explained to Cage in the book.

Perhaps Kim Rok Soo can plan a short visit while he's in the Roan Kingdom.

In the meantime, he can only hope the Dragon's willpower remains unbroken.

Because Kim Rok Soo isn't Choi Han and he isn't the hero, and in this world written purely for the sake of the main character, the Dragon is better off not placing his hope on someone so weak and useless.

Kim Rok Soo is not even a side character with brief appearances like Paseton or Pendrick, and neither does he want to be. Because most often than not, those characters end up dead, and Kim Rok Soo still has to live for a long, long time.

Dragons are mighty creatures, he remembers the book saying. 

No one in this world can bend them to anyone else's will. Not even the gods themselves. Will that matter when said mighty creature was merely a couple years old, Kim Rok Soo will not know until he sees the Dragon with his own eyes.

"Mm. I'll sleep for a bit." 

Kim Rok Soo answers Misha, blank eyes staring off into the sky behind her broad shoulders. 

Bright, bright blue stares back at him. Vast and unending and as free as the Dragon yearns to be.

Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes and wonders if the aches weighing down his arm is the ghost of his guilt.

Turns out, Gilbert was right. They really do arrive in Roan in no time at all. 

Kim Rok Soo wakes to a vastly different scene than the one before, concrete path lining the way across a moderately sized town, cutting through tall buildings and crowded streets and branching off again to who knows where. The smell of spices and herbs hang heavily in the air, and the clattering of hooves against the concrete road rings a rhythmic beat. 

There are more people here too. Kim Rok Soo can hear them going about their day outside, their voices carried by the wind and into the carriage. Most of those voices are children, despite the late hour, ooh-ing and aah-ing as the carriage passes them by. Perhaps this is one of the smaller towns in Roan. 

"Rok Soo's awake!" 

Gilbert's enthused exclamation is loud and very much unwelcome to Kim Rok Soo's ears.

"You slept like a log! I guess children do need their naps."

The man laughs, and the carriage shakes with his booming voice.

Kim Rok Soo glares, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It does not help his case any. Gilbert coos instead of cowering away like Shawn did to Misha, his grin way too lively for someone who spent almost an entire day sitting still doing nothing.

"We're almost at Viscount Tolz's territory." He tells Kim Rok Soo. "Shawn's scouting the road ahead of us for an inn. Once we arrived, there'll be a soft bed waiting for us! I can't wait!"

His jittery behaviour remains Kim Rok Soo of a child on sugar high. Maybe Gilbert is not as unaffected as he appears to be, despite his happy-go-lucky attitude so far.

"I still think Huiss is better for sightseeing, but I heard Rain City's pretty well-developed too! They even have an art museum there. They have lots of baked goods as well."

"Keep quiet, you fool." 

A voice hisses from outside, each word dripping with venom. 

It's Misha, Kim Rok Soo realises belatedly as her cloaked figure appears in the carriage's window, a scowl aimed at a downcast looking Gilbert. Her vehemence surprises Kim Rok Soo somewhat, but considering the sentence that comes next, maybe it shouldn't have.

"This is still the domain of another Church. At least wait until we get somewhere more closed off than an open road." 

She sniffs, eyes darting around. Her expression is more closed off than when she was on the road, and her shoulders are taut with both stress and adrenaline. 

"I know, I know. Sorry about that." 

Gilbert crooks a grin her way. Misha nods stiffly and trots away after sending a short, apologetic smile to Kim Rok Soo. The child watches her go with blank eyes, tilting his head slightly.

"Don't worry, bud. Misha's just worried, 'kay? Everybody gets cranky sometimes, right?"

A massive hand ruffles Kim Rok Soo's hair. The child squawks, indignant, and jabs the book in his hands upwards. Gilbert retrieves his arm with another laugh, not bothered a tiny bit by the hit.

"C'mere, you haven't eaten for a while, have you? Let's get something for that tummy before we arrive."

When they eventually did arrive to an inn, Kim Rok Soo has managed to stomach a whole sandwich filled with hams and even more hams, crumbs smattered across his lips. He groans when the carriage pulls to a stop, patting his stomach lightly.

That was too much meat for one sitting, Kim Rok Soo decides. It feels like the taste of beef is still clinging to the roof of his mouth even after washing it down with milk. 

Gilbert hops down first, and he extends his arms out for Kim Rok Soo. The child scrutinises him with a frown. He doesn't complain when Gilbert pulls him up and props the child on his hip, though. Arms winding around Gilbert's neck as he rests his head on the man's shoulder, a yawn slipping past his lips. 

The inn they are staying at for the night is an old, rickety thing, and the owner is an old man who looks even frailer than Obante. He clasps his hand with a wobbly smile and welcomes the group of four into his inn. 

Kim Rok Soo watches quietly as Shawn strikes a light conversation with the man, while Misha remains quiet by Gilbert's side. He eyes the many windows and doors scattered across the place, and the bar located not too far from the front door, where a group of men are sitting with tankards full of what is probably beer, and some that looks like wine. Their attire is casual despite the sword hanging from their belts, but Kim Rok Soo spots what looks like pauldrons under the tables, and armour pieces scattered among them.

'Knights off duty?' 

He wonders when the owner's gaze darts back and forth to that corner of the room.

Shawn must have notices too. The Dark Elf in disguise strikes a charming, businessman smile and starts asking about room prices, while Gilbert quietly makes his way to the stairs. 

When they pass the group of armed men, still chugging down their drinks and laughing raucously at whatever they find amusing, Kim Rok Soo catches the tail end of a conversation.

"—s a whole ass cargo down the mountain—"

It's one of the knights, face flushed red and eyes glaring off into the air. 

Kim Rok Soo buries his face into Gilbert's shoulder, looking like a child wanting to sleep. In truth, though, he's straining his ears to hear more of the unknown man's grumblings.

"—we ain't servants, why do we need to send packages too?"

"Hush, you! Mind your words!"

"He's a goddamn Viscount! Why the hell do we need to play fetch for the young master's friend?"

"Just shut up and be grateful you even have a job, you punk—"

"...."

An ominous chill runs down Kim Rok Soo's spine.

A cargo going down the mountain in Viscount Tolz's territory, and the Viscount's friend. High enough status that the knight can feel indignant of being a delivery boy.

It couldn't be Venion Stan... could it?

The cave the Dragon is kept is right behind a villa owned by the Viscount, though the real owner of it is Marquis Stan. Despite this, Venion was never crazy enough to actually place the Dragon inside the villa. No, he kept it in the cave, close enough to visit, but far enough to not be spotted and safely guarded by various select knights.

But from what the man said, it sounded like there had been some sort of cargo being delivered to the villa recently.

'Don't tell me...'

The Viscount's villa. A cargo going down the mountain. Venion Stan and his knights visiting the territory.

Kim Rok Soo's mind keeps heading to a single conclusion.

'Venion Stan... Did he move the Dragon?'

The only cargo that would be heading down the mountain is the Dragon, and the only place close enough for that is the Marquis' own villa.

Kim Rok Soo curses inside of his head. 

Is the story changing already? Kim Rok Soo expected it somewhat, but not like this. This is shifting too much for his liking, and way too soon.

Why move the Dragon, and why now? Kim Rok Soo didn't do anything big enough to trigger some sort of massive change in the story yet, so why?

Despite his psychopathic tendencies, Venion knows enough not to pull of his mask in front of the masses. The Marquis is the same. That was why not even a peep of suspicious activity was ever reported to the Crown Prince. It wasn't until Venion got in Choi Han and the Crown Prince's way that the Marquis Stan's family ended up ruined.

What pushed him to do this all of a sudden? 

Biting the insides of his mouth, Kim Rok Soo remains quiet until Gilbert enters the room they have rented, mind going a mile per minute. The book lodged between Kim Rok Soo and Gilbert pulses with a foreign warmth, and Kim Rok Soo briefly basks in the calm that forcefully invaded his mind, exhaling through his nose.

There's no use sitting around questioning why. Kim Rok Soo wouldn't get any answer unless he finds out for himself. 

The child's eyes narrow as he glances out the window. The sky is dark and there is barely any light outside, the road sparse and emptier compared to the town they passed through before. This is the second floor, and the knights are settled downstairs for a drink.

He turns, and spots Gilbert humming to himself, fluffing the pillows and preparing some clothes for Kim Rok Soo to change into. Misha remains by the door, jotting down something on her note, while Shawn is still downstairs, talking to the owner. 

Kim Rok Soo frowns, tapping a hand against the book. Even if he wanted to go look for information, how can he do that with the Dark Elves around?

'...should I just risk it?'

He contemplates, and a plan starts to form in Kim Rok Soo's head.

As the lights in the village start to go out one by one, and the Dark Elves settle into the room to rest, Kim Rok Soo lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, clutching the book tightly under the covers. He calms his breathing and waits, keeping still for as long as he needs to be. It doesn't take all that long, perhaps because of the distance they traveled, because Shawn and Gilbert is already out like a light an hour later.

Kim Rok Soo rises from bed slowly, carefully, and makes his way to the window, tiptoeing on bare feet. He glances down into the darkness and grimaces for a bit.

'Here goes nothing.'

And then he jumps down from the ledge.

He doesn't hit the ground, and neither does he land on it.

A sturdy hand is quick to snatch Kim Rok Soo out of the air, pulling Kim Rok Soo into someone else's arms. Probably a Dark Elf. He can hear the person cursing under their breath, heart going thump-thump-thump as they tuck Kim Rok Soo against a muscled chest.

"What the hell—kid, what were you thinking?!"

Said Dark Elf admonishes, sounding like he just had ten years taken off his life. Kim Rok Soo hides a smile, and peers up at the person he's going to scam for the night.

The Dark Elf holding Kim Rok Soo is fairly young. He has a handsome feature, Kim Rok Soo notes, recognisable despite the cloth covering the lower part of his face, though why he even has it on in the first place when he should already be disguised, Kim Rok Soo doesn't know.

Wide, round eyes stare back at the yet to be named Dark Elf, and Kim Rok Soo places a finger in front of his mouth.

"Shh!" He says, scrunching his nose in annoyance. "You're going to wake them up. Shawn and Gilbert's sleeping right now."

"...and why aren't you? It was a bad idea to jump out of the window like that. You could get hurt."

The Dark Elf sighs. 

His voice has returned to some semblance of calm, and he stares down at Kim Rok Soo with an unreadable expression. It's sort of a cross between contemplating and hesitance. For what, Kim Rok Soo doesn't know, and decides that it isn't his problem either.

"I need to go." Kim Rok Soo answers, wriggling in the Dark Elf's hold. 

As expected, a human can't quite go against a Dark Elf's strength, and the other merely tightens his hold around Kim Rok Soo before jumping down from the tree, landing lightly on his feet. Kim Rok Soo huffs, half pretending to be frustrated and half actually feeling frustrated because what the hell. The guy didn't even budge an inch. 

"Let me go, mister. I need to keep my promise!"

Kim Rok Soo flails around some more, playing the part of a panicked, ignorant child, but the Dark Elf merely places him on his feet with firm hands upon Kim Rok Soo's shoulder. The child notes that there is no bracelet wound around his wrists, as the cloak bunches around the other's elbow, and a frown briefly crosses his face before he wipes it away with a blank stare.

No, is this guy really standing here without a disguise?

Out here, in the open where everyone can see?

Kim Rok Soo eyes the man in front of him, whose eyes crinkle up like he's smiling. 

What the hell? 

Kim Rok Soo thought he was already disguised as a southerner, but apparently, he didn't even bother to put up a disguise.

Is he new to this whole thing or what?

"It's not good to lie to your hyung-nims, hmm?"

The Dark Elf says with a kind smile and a gentle voice. Kim Rok Soo's face stiffens, and he narrows his eyes as the other starts pulling Kim Rok Soo's cheek.

"I've been doing that long before you, you can't fool me. Now tell this hyung-nim why, exactly, did you decide to jump out the window, alright?"

'...goddamn it.'

Kim Rok Soo clicks his tongue, knowing it will be useless to try and fool this bastard now. 

Of all the Dark Elves Kim Rok Soo can encounter, it's someone who feels sort of similar to Kim Rok Soo. This will be a hassle to deal with. Seriously, why couldn't it be someone gullible like Shawn?

Kim Rok Soo's childish expression melts away into something harsher. More closed off and distant, as he regards the other with a scrunch of his nose.

"Says the one with no disguise." He responds with, raising a brow when the other stiffens.

"What, do you think people are that stupid? You look like a southerner, sure, but isn't it too risky going out like that?"

"...this isn't about me, is it? I believe we were discussing your foolish decision to jump out a two-story window?"

Kim Rok Soo opens his mouth to say something else, but a sharp pain pierces through his shoulder. It feels like lightning bolt running down his arm, clamping down upon Kim Rok Soo's very bones like a relentless claw. He winces and wrenches himself away from the Dark Elf.

What the fuck is this now?!

Kim Rok Soo has half a mind to blame the book for this, but as annoying as that damn thing is, Kim Rok Soo knows it won't hurt him intentionally. 

There has been a niggling thought at the back of Kim Rok Soo's mind all this while, whenever he can feel the phantom pain running down his arm, and while this isn't quite a confirmation, it feels like he's getting closer to figuring it out.

But still, does this really need to happen now, of all times? 

Really???

"...hey, are you alright?"

The Dark Elf speaks up again, rather hesitantly, when Kim Rok Soo doesn't so much as twitch from where he's standing. The other's hands hover over Kim Rok Soo's shoulder, but he doesn't press down anymore, and Kim Rok Soo decides, fuck it.

If this guy really wants to meddle, fine. Kim Rok Soo will make sure the other will work his ass off. He doesn't have time for useless banter right now.

The child surges forward without warning, a tiny, trembling hand snatching the Dark Elf by the collar. He pulls the man down with the only hand that isn't hurting like the very hounds of hell is gnawing on his bones, and hisses into his ears.

"Someone's keeping a Dragon here."

There is a sharp intake of breath, and the Dark Elf whose collar is crinkled under Kim Rok Soo's grip goes still almost immediately.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't know yet if Venion Stan has truly decided to move the Dragon or not, but Kim Rok Soo doesn't want to take any chances. He can just direct the guy to the cave if there really is no Dragon in the villa, but something tells Kim Rok Soo he can't dilly-dally anymore. 

"He's been born and raised in captivity all his life. I need to get him out of here."

He lets go, then, and the Dark Elf jerks back like he was slapped awake from a nightmare.

It probably is, to him. Kim Rok Soo can't imagine how it must feel, for a Dark Elf to hear that.

"How—how do you know that?" 

The low toned voice stutters, though the Dark Elf's eyes are dark and turbulent. He doesn't sound like he doubts Kim Rok Soo, though, and there is anger there, etched in what little view Kim Rok Soo has of his face. It feels personal and indignant. An anger that resembles a dark, stormy night.

As the other lowers himself to crouch in front of Kim Rok Soo, the book in Kim Rok Soo's grip starts to tremble.

"I know, because I promised."

Is Kim Rok Soo's response, nonchalance rolling off his tongue despite the adrenaline pumping his limbs to move.

"I promised he would see the sky."

For sure, Kim Rok Soo had said, in that dream where there was only the two of them inside an endless darkness. 

One day, for sure, Kim Rok Soo had said.

And he is never one to break a promise.

Chapter Text

There are stains on his clothes.

Dark splotches that resemble blooming flowers, smattered all over his sleeve and half of his shirt, now soaked by the same red trailing down the blunt edge of a candleholder held loosely in one hand. 

They fall in little droplets to the floor. Plip-plopping into a small puddle steadily growing under his feet, where the shattered remains of an antique porcelain cup lie unmoving—just like the motionless body lying slouched against the marble wall, a twisted mess of red that no longer resembles a man more than a pile of torn flesh and twisted limbs.

Flicking a gloved hand, Venion sneers down at the mess.

"Why are there so many incompetent people in this world?" He wonders aloud. 

No one answers his question, and no one dares to look up from their bowed positions by the side of the room. Their pristinely pressed clothes crinkle as their heads remain looking down to the floor, faces wiped clean of any emotions.

If it was any other day, Venion would have basked in their fear. In the way they tremble silently, like frightened mice under Venion's attention, head bowed so low in a position Venion knows to be painful.

If it was any other day, then perhaps. 

But not today.

Not when that useless cripple has managed to get away yet again, and not when that damn Marquis dares to mock Venion to his face for his failure.

The candleholder creaks under his grip. Venion snarls, a wounded beast trapped within the cages of his ribs, and turns on his heels. He throws the candleholder to some corner of the room, uncaring of how the servants had to scramble out of the way. 

Under the soles of his shoes, the shattered remains of those porcelain cup shatter some more. 

An ugly scowl twists Venion's face. He makes his way out the door with agitated steps, another rat Venion doesn't care to remember the name of scuttling after him. Probably the son of a lowly vassal. Another 'gift' sent by his father, the result of a scandalous night between a noble and a prostitute to serve as Venion's hand.

Just like that useless antique. The gaudy decorative cup that had been gifted to the Marquis by a dirty peasant trying to impress his lord, now given as a 'present' from his ever-loving father.

Venion can just picture the smile quirking the Marquis' lips when he hears of this by tomorrow. That same, amused looking curl that had been present the day Venion finally drove his older brother out of the house. 

The one that is now also aimed at him, whenever Venion manages to show the world that he is the rightful heir to the Stan family household.

"The nerve of that man!"

The soon-to-be Marquis grits his teeth.

That damn, cocky man he has to call a father. He's no more different from the useless cripple Venion has to call a brother. Another one standing in Venion's way, in a position much better suited to Venion himself, whose fate is to one day beg for mercy under Venion's shoes.

Just he wait.

When Venion finally tames the Dragon, the Marquis will be the first to suffer all the wrongs he'd inflicted on Venion. Not even the King himself will dare to look at Venion wrong, and certainly not that dirty, cocky Crown Prince who came out of a lowly servant's womb.

Venion won't have to bow his head to that dirty peasant anymore.

"Take that thing away!" Venion orders as he wrenches the door open. "I don't want to see even a spot of dirt here tomorrow!"

The door slams shut behind him. Venion doesn't slow his steps, his shoes clicking sharply against the polished floor. A tick forms under his eyes when the prostitute-born scrambling after him starts rambling off praises like some trained circus rat.

How annoying, how useless.

No matter how hard you try, someone who was born dirty will always be dirty. 

The man probably thought of himself as worthy of working under Venion. That he has managed to reach some semblance of success by being assigned as Venion's servant despite his birth. Venion will have to correct his line of thinking tomorrow.

Now, though, Venion needs to take his anger out on something. It is starting to boil over like a pot without lid, and Venion is nearly choking on the need to see someone else suffer. 

Too bad the messenger his father sent had to die so quickly. Venion wouldn't have too much fun beating a corpse when it can't even cry for mercy.

Fortunately, he knows just the perfect thing for that.

Stepping down a long, winding stairs, the sight of a dark, dirty basement greets Venion. 

It is a maw of darkness filled with rusted iron bars and thick, long chains scattered all over the floor. Rows and rows of small holding cells span the length of the entire villa, built to give some of the more stubborn peasants a lesson in respect.

This long, seemingly endless hallway is stationed with knights. Venion knows some more are standing guard within this dark pit further down the hall, keeping watch for any intruders and straying servants. The rest are wandering outside on the villa grounds, patrolling the area, none the wiser to just what exactly is being kept a few feet away from them.

A vicious smirk forms on Venion's face, as he approaches one of those rusted, cramped-looking cells. A pair of bright blue eyes glares back at him.

"You're still so stubborn, I see." Venion scoffs. "Still refusing to yield?"

The Dragon, curled up in what little space it has, starts to growl. Hatred builds in those bright, bright eyes, and the urge to pounce has the little Dragon straining against its chains like a man possessed.

Venion's smirk falls off his face. He glowers down at the struggling Dragon, holding back a flinch when the Dragon's snarl starts echoing off the walls.

"Tsk, you crazy Dragon. Have you not learned anything?"

Venion says, and nearly flinches back when a dark look crosses the Dragon's face. 

There's something about it that rubs Venion the wrong way. Has his hairs standing on the back of his neck, and his entire body screaming at him to go away—just away from the darkness pooling within the depths of those slitted blue eyes.

Venion hates it.

Hates the fleeting second in which he wants to flinch back. Hates the way he nearly cowers from the useless thing. Hates the way he feels so helpless in that short moment where his breath is stuck in his throat and his feet is glued to the floor.

Venion hates this feeling. This feeling that he's looking at something larger than himself.

Venion scowls. 

He kicks the barred door, and watches as the iron bars slam against the Dragon's face. It lets out a short, pained yelp, but continues to glower at Venion. 

"What are you looking at?!" 

Venion snarls back but doesn't take another step near the Dragon. 

The Dragon couldn't escape its collar. It couldn't do anything so long as its magic remains locked out of reach, so this sudden urge to back away is irrational.

"You damn thing... Didn't you learn to respect your betters?"

The Dragon glares at Venion some more, straining against its chains, clawing at the floor and thrashing wildly in place.

The thing really does look crazed now, eyes solely trained on Venion even as its collar digs into its scales, a maw pulled wide open to reveal a terrifying set of fangs. If only it doesn't look so desperate, maybe Venion will feel somewhat concerned for himself.

As it is, he can only feel triumph blooming in his chest, taking over the hesitance that clouded Venion's thoughts before.

"Haha... Hahaha!"

Venion laughs. He smiles down at the Dragon, at the desperation haunting those slitted eyes. 

Crouching in front of the iron bars, Venion sends the Dragon a mocking smirk.

"What's this? Are you that desperate now?"

The Dragon glares, a growl building in its throat. It is only now Venion takes note of how scared the Dragon looks. Of the glances it throws somewhere far away from here, at the air and the walls and everything else, like he's straining to see something that isn't there. 

The Dragon had been getting more and more out of control with each passing day, but had it all been caused by panic and frustration?

Who would have thought that Venion would ever see the great and mighty Dragon like this?

"Do you finally understand the situation you're in?" Venion chuckles. 

He pushes himself up, brushing off dust from his shirt. The torches on the wall flicker, shadows skittering over the place, but Venion merely smiles when the Dragon sends him a look promising pain and retribution. Like it will ever be anything other than Venion's future pet.

Still, it's fun to see the Dragon's futile struggles. This is why Venion keeps coming back to it, whenever his fun was cut short. 

It's because the Dragon refuses to yield. Fought again and again despite everything telling the Dragon it can never go against Venion. The thrill of taming such a beast is something Venion will never get enough of, the rush almost like a high. It doesn't break as easily as Venion's other toys.

The Dragon should realise soon enough that it can only obey Venion's orders if it wants even a modicum of comfort. Venion can spare the Dragon that much, at least, once it is tame and docile and understands its own standing. Once the Dragon grows old enough, maybe he can even try to tame another one. Surely, there's still a couple of young Dragons out there?

Soon, Venion thinks, a hand hiding his widening grin.

Soon, even this kingdom will bend to Venion's will.

"...what are you doing?"

The question is spoken hesitantly. Quietly, so that no one but the two people hiding amongst the shrubberies surrounding a massive, grand building that is the Marquis Stan's villa can hear it. 

They are huddled close around a small lantern. A Dark Elf staring weirdly at a book within their midst, and a small, cloaked child flipping through the pages of said book, using the dim lighting to guide his eyes.

Both of them are staring at the same page, though perhaps what the other sees is different from what Kim Rok Soo is seeing. The Dark Elf whose name Kim Rok Soo has yet to ask looks disturbed enough for Kim Rok Soo to know that the book must be doing something crazy again. The other didn't even ask how a book can write in the first place, so maybe there's some kind of magic in place, to prevent others from noticing the book's entire... weirdness.

Not that it's any of Kim Rok Soo's problem. What matters is what he himself sees scrawled upon pristine white pages.

Ohgoshohgoshohgosh—We're looting someone!

I'm going to loot someone!

Oh gosh golly me!!! 

'Enthusiastic' probably isn't cutting it.

This feels more like Kim Rok Soo has unleashed some kind of spirit trapped in boredom for years. How the hell can a book be this vicious, he doesn't want to know. Its creator must be the same kind of crazy if this is what comes out of their creation.

"Will you stop already?" Kim Rok Soo cuts in before it can write another full-page rant. 

"Tell me something useful. You're smart, aren't you? I'll leave you behind if you're going to be useless."

Of course, Kim Rok Soo knows he can't really leave the damn thing behind. It will just follow him regardless. He knows that well, and he knows that the book knows. 

But if there's anything Kim Rok Soo realises after spending more than a week in the presence of a chatty, high-energy sentient book, it is that the book is rather prone to playing along with Kim Rok Soo's whims. Probably the result of its delusions about its 'children'.

Case in point, when the next words to appear are a series of exclamation points and what looks to be the hastily doodled face of a horrified man.

...well, sort of. 

It's more like a misshapen potato with jagged lines and different sized dots as eyes, but Kim Rok Soo thinks he's quite right on the money.

You can't do that!

"I can and I will. Why do I need to carry a baggage around?"

The book trembles imperceptibly. Pages quivering and scribbles going wobbly.

I can't let my child have fun without supervision!

I want in too!

"Then be useful." Kim Rok Soo says with a note of finality and crosses his arms.

There is no way the villa isn't protected by some kind of a magical item. Kim Rok Soo didn't have enough time to buy a Mana Disturbance Tool, and neither does he even have the resource to rent one. 

While the Dark Elf can probably get them inside the villa just fine, they will still alert whoever is inside the villa right now. Taking care of the guards doesn't seem to be a problem for the Dark Elf, but there is no guarantee Venion won't move the Dragon somewhere else if he hears of the intruders. That is not even considering what would happen if Kim Rok Soo is wrong and the Dragon is still kept in the cave after all.

Kim Rok Soo can't have that happening. Nobles like Venion are stupid, sure, but certainly cunning enough to have fail-safes in place. 

They need to move as quietly as they can, and to do that, Kim Rok Soo needs to know if there are actually other ways to get them inside without needing to force their way through the guards. 

Besides, what better time to know how useful can the book be than now? It's killing two birds with one stone as far as Kim Rok Soo is concerned.

"...are you threatening a book?"

The Dark Elf, who has attached himself to Kim Rok Soo's side and refuses to stray further than a feet away, pipes up with a dubious tone. 

Kim Rok Soo ignores him. 

I-I can be useful!

"Then can you get us inside without alerting anyone?"

Mm, not exactly...

B-but! I can do something to help with that!

See? This way the book won't be so cryptic. 

Its priorities sure is skewed, but that works with Kim Rok Soo just fine. Kim Rok Soo's eyes sparkle in delight as he thinks about the two people (person and object?) he can use now.

"Alright. What can you do?"

"I'm sure I can get us inside just fine—"

"Shh!" 

Kim Rok Soo shushes the Dark Elf, frowning down at the book. He doesn't really need to, because the Dark Elf falls quiet the moment the book in front of them starts to float upwards, jerking back in place with shaking eyes.

I can keep them in my domain for a while!

Its writings are fast and nearly incorrigible. The cursives look frantic and the loops shorter, as though the one writing is consumed with some sort of eagerness. 

They will fall into a sleep-like state once that happens.

But it will only work on the living, and only for a limited amount of time.

Ho. This book is rather good, isn't it?

Though, the book's domain and a sleep-like state... Is it that endless darkness in Kim Rok Soo's dreams, or something else?

"How long can you do that?"

For now? About an hour or so!

That's enough time, Kim Rok Soo thinks, glancing at the quiet Dark Elf. 

This self-proclaimed hyung-nim can probably run faster than that, though they still need to actually search for the Dragon. While there will also be alarms, Kim Rok Soo doesn't think he can do anything about that. They will just need to be faster than the alarmed guards, at any rate. And then there's that problem with the surveillance...

"Hey, hyung-nim, can you do anything about the surveillance?"

The Dark Elf blinks down at Kim Rok Soo, clarity returning to his previously blank stare. There's a strange sort of glint in his eyes as he mulls over Kim Rok Soo's question.

"Hmm... You mean like magic recording devices?"

"Uh-huh."

For a while, the Dark Elf doesn't say anything. He continues to stare at Kim Rok Soo with a strange, unreadable gaze, unmoving in his place by the lantern. There's hesitance there, in the way his eyes sharpen into focus, and something else Kim Rok Soo can't put his hands on.

But the child doesn't turn away, and neither does he retract his words.

Kim Rok Soo merely stares back at the other, waiting. After a few more seconds, the Dark Elf lets out a soft hum, eyes curling into crescent moons.

"Yes, of course. You can count on this hyung-nim"

His response is assured and light-hearted, but Kim Rok Soo knows it isn't an easy decision, considering how long the Dark Elf spent thinking over his answer. Still, it isn't Kim Rok Soo's place to pry. The child nods in response and turns his attention back to the book.

"Alright. While hyung-nim deals with the surveillance, I want you to keep the others busy."

The book bobs up and down in the illusion of a nod. And then, it pauses.

Ah, but... Hmm...

"What is it now? You don't want to help?"

Kim Rok Soo's face scrunches up in distaste. Cheeks puffing out slightly and lower lips wobbling, like a sullen child. The book trembles again and starts frantically writing across its page.

No, no, no! I can do it!

It's just—

I just need you to help me drag these people back!

And wow, isn't that an ominous statement. 

Why the hell does it need to use words like 'dragging them back'? That makes it sound like Kim Rok Soo is doing something worse than just putting them to sleep.

"...what exactly do you want me to do?"

When the book flips to another page, Kim Rok Soo isn't sure why he feels like he wants to laugh.

It's a giddy sort of urge to smile wide and toothy, even when Kim Rok Soo doesn't know why he would want to do that. Kim Rok Soo does it anyway. A bubbly sort of laugh that has the Dark Elf blinking bewilderedly at him, but Kim Rok Soo only has eyes for the clipped sentence scribbled across paper mere seconds later, his eyes narrowing at the question.

What do you think about praying?

Venion leans back into the chair of his father's study and closes his eyes. The glass of wine in his hand tilts and sloshes, and a smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

He's in too much of a good mood tonight. He didn't even torture the Dragon as long as he would usually have done and left after a few minutes of eating his meal in the dungeon. It was truly a move of goodwill on his part, and the Dragon better appreciates it.

Because finally, after years of trying to tame that Dragon, Venion is as close as he can to actually succeeding. 

He still doesn't know what makes the Dragon go crazy in so short a time, but Venion certainly won't look a gift horse in the mouth. What matters is that the Dragon just needs a little more push, a little more urging, and then, when the Dragon finally breaks, the Roan Kingdom will be Venion's—and only Venion's.

He can show that bastard of a father and his other, useless siblings that Venion is the only one fit as the lord of the Stan family household. Maybe even the rightful, shadow ruler of the Roan Kingdom. That sounds fun, he thinks giddily. He can even make the peasant first prince pay for making Venion bow his head to a dirty lowborn.

When that happens, the Marquis and his siblings can only beg Venion for their life. 

Of course, Venion won't spare them, but he won't grant them such an easy death either. They'll have to suffer first. Break like Venion will eventually break the Dragon. That's what they deserve for standing in Venion's way.

"Hahaha!"

Venion's laughter echoes off the walls. A crooked grin twists his face into something ugly. If anyone else were to see, they would have thought Venion was the crazy one instead, but alas, there's no one here who dares to stand up against Venion. 

Soon, no one else will even have the courage to try. 

Drunk on the thoughts of victory, Venion gulps down his wine and heads for the door. 

He can't wait for the Dragon to succumb to its torture. Thinking about his inevitable rule makes Venion restless, so Venion will just head back to the dungeon and help make the process run faster. 

After all, what else can keep his mood afloat if not for the blood of that stubborn little Dragon?

Opening the door with another laugh, Venion walks down the hallway with light steps and a light heart. The click-clacking of his soles against the floor rings loudly in the air, as does the sound of every breath he takes.

A bit too loudly, Venion thinks.

Frowning, Venion squints his eyes and wonders if the villa has always been this cold. His breath comes out in faint puffs of cloud, and every inhale he takes feels almost like icicles dragging down his throat. 

Did winter come early this year? Or did Venion drink too much tonight? 

Because the hallway also looks rather dim today, for some reason, the lights taking on a hazy tint instead of the one Venion is used to seeing.

Shrugging off the alarm bells ringing in his head, Venion continues to walk. His footsteps fall in a rhythmic tap-tap-tap against the floor. A steady tune that helps calm Venion's beating heart.

That's right, Venion thinks, nothing can go wrong here. 

There are magic alarms and recording devices all over the place, and what can anyone do against the elite knights and soldiers stationed both outside and inside the villa? 

Venion is safe here. As safe as he'll ever be. There is nothing to be worried about, he tells himself.

Venion continues walking. It feels like the minutes drag on and on and still, there is no end to the hall in which Venion traverses along. Has the place always been this big, or is Venion truly that intoxicated? 

'I only drank a glass.' 

Venion frowns, rubbing a hand down his arm. 

He can still think rather clearly, and he can even walk straight for this long, though his steps feel so much heavier than before. It's like he's nearly dragging his foot across the floor now. Each steps weighing him down more and more until eventually Venion has to stop to catch his breath.

"What's going on?"

Venion grits his teeth, panting slightly out of breath. 

"Is a mage messing around right now?"

Who dares to mess with Venion? Perhaps some lowly noble is foolish enough to hire a mage and infiltrate the villa? 

A useless and terribly foolish attempt, if that is so. Even if no mages are standing guard near this villa, the magical devices Venion put in place as precautions are strong enough to deal with even real-life mages. They will find themself in quite the predicament once Venion catches them.

Anger surfaces inside Venion's mind, boiling over once more. His previous good mood is ruined, and in its place is the desire to bash someone's face into the wall. Preferably the one who is messing around right now, though Venion is fine with taking his anger out on anyone else, so long as he can vent his frustrations out on something—anything.

As Venion starts to think of the hundred different ways he can torture the next unfortunate soul to cross his path, his ears begin to pick up on some sort of noise coming somewhere far away. 

It starts out quietly, like the buzzing of a fly. Unintelligible rumbles Venion brushes off as some insects flying around. But then, as Venion keeps on walking, and his steps steadily grow heavier, it starts to sound like something else. 

Mumblings, Venion realises.

Someone's mumbling something, perhaps down the end of that hall. A weepy, sad voice that prickles at Venion's ears and sends chills down his spine. He can't actually hear what they are saying, but their voice remains echoing in the hallway.

'Finally. Someone's here.'

Venion smirks and starts to speed up. 

But no matter how long Venion walks, of how he forces his body to move, the hallway stretches on and on and on, and there is still no one in sight within that darkness. 

"What kind of magic is this? An illusion spell?"

Venion snarls into the quiet air. His gaze roams about the hallway, trying to find something to break out of this weird illusion, and his eyes fall upon the paintings hung on the wall. 

They are nothing worthy of note, in Venion's opinion. Rows of frames containing different blond-haired nobles who were failures like his cripple of a brother, all of them dead in the hands of their stronger, much more worthy siblings. 

Their portraits are hung in most of the Stan family's estates. A trophy of sort, for the ones who succeeded the position. A reminder of the glory and strength that is required to become a lord. In all the time Venion spends here, he never pays much attention to them. Their soft, gentle expressions captured within those frames are telling enough. 

Someone that weak can never be the head of the Stan family household, and neither can they remain its hands and feet. There's no use remembering worthless failures, Venion has always thought, and so the faces framed there remain mere decorations for appearance's sake. 

Except, they don't look so weak anymore. Neither do their gentle faces greets Venion's sight.

Gone are the breezy, airheaded smiles framed by luscious blond locks. What Venion finds are eyes as cold as winter frost, and a mouth pulled into a taut, thin line across pale faces. 

"W-what the hell—?!"

Venion jerks back, cursing, and nearly stumbles over his own foot. For the first time in a while, his eyes are not trained to the end of the hall, and it is only now that he notices that something is wound around his ankles. Something red and long and...

They look sort of like... hands...?

Venion's shaking eyes trail down, and down, and down, until he sees the writhing, endless sea of black behind him. 

No, those aren't even anything close to resembling a sea.

Those are bodies. 

Charred and broken and twisted like the pile of nameless, faceless peasants Venion erased the traces of. Some headless and others with bones jutting out, crawling on top of one another, fighting to cling onto Venion's ankles—which are held within the strong grip of two misshapen hands.

Two misshapen, twisted hands, connected to a body that is nothing more than a lump of flesh, still dripping red and yet to be discarded or burned.

Venion screams.

He screams and kicks and flails, trying to scramble back, away from the monsters clinging to his feet. But no matter what Venion does, he passes through them as though they are nothing more than mists. As though they are only the product of Venion's paranoid mind.

But they aren't.

Venion can feel the fingers pressing. The ones that are now digging into his flesh, as more and more grotesque looking shapes try to clamber upwards, stepping over each other.

"...ma...ster..."

The mumblings grow louder. 

Weak and weepy and everything Venion loves to hear before, whenever he plays with his toys. It doesn't come from the end of the hall like Venion thought, but down from the numerous bodies clawing out of Venion's own shadow.

"Plea...se... I..."

"...want..."

"I want..."

There are stains on his clothes.

Dark splotches that resemble blooming flowers, left behind from the hands clutching onto Venion's wrists and ankles, soaking into his shirt and branding his skin crimson. They dig their nails and scratch and tug Venion down, and down, and down.

"Young master... I want to live..."

Down into the sea of writhing bodies, whose cries can only fall on deaf ears.

"Ugh..."

The pain throbbing inside Kim Rok Soo's head feels like a thousand bulls are trying to ram against his skull. Static buzzes inside his ears, while his left arm is back to aching with a vengeance. The alarms blaring all over the place doesn't help in pacifying his headache.

Kim Rok Soo groans and buries his face into the broad back of the strange Dark Elf, who slips into the villa like the wind, stepping over the bodies scattered on the floor with an ease that must have come from years of experience. 

'That shitty book.'

Kim Rok Soo scowls through teary eyes and holds back the urge to cuss the thing out. He needs to focus on regulating his breathing. 

Beside him, the book flutters close, its page opened to a long scribble of encouraging messages. Not that Kim Rok Soo is in any mood to be encouraged. Or to even see a glimpse of its hideously divine appearance.

Everything comes with a price, especially powers like mine.

The shitty thing had said, right after asking Kim Rok Soo to pray, of all things.

It sounds like Kim Rok Soo guessed right before, in that the book is somehow related to the Church of the God of Death. 

I can't use it without a living medium, and there are drawbacks that come with it.

Of course, if you don't want to, you don't need to, but faith and willpower determine the strength of my influence.

Prayers, if nothing else, help in tying my will to yours. It will bind our faith as one and strengthen the hold my domain has upon this realm.

It had been a short, clipper prayer that sounded awkward to someone like Kim Rok Soo. Barely a few stilted words. Kim Rok Soo isn't sure if he even actually prayed correctly but somehow it was enough. Nearly everyone on the villa grounds fell unconscious, dropping to the floor like puppets cut from their strings.

He doesn't even know how that happened. They look like they just fainted. Maybe the book put them to sleep, like what happened with Kim Rok Soo before, when he first arrived in this world.

Speaking of which, why did Kim Rok Soo bother to go along with that shitty thing, again? 

Oh, right, that's because the damn thing didn't even have the decency to warn Kim Rok Soo that doing this also means he will have to suffer the brunt of the drawback for as long as it happens. Which is still nearly forty minutes left. 

Fun, he knows. 

"Hang in there, we're almost at the dungeon."

The Dark Elf's low toned voice grounds Kim Rok Soo back to reality, somewhat. 

He's running faster than any humans will ever be able to, barring perhaps Choi Han. And probably that scary father-and-son duo.

The two are racing against time and Roan's royal guards who will probably be notified once someone realises the alarms keep blaring on inside the villa. Kim Rok Soo doesn't want to have to deal with that Crown Prince just yet.

Or ever, really. 

"This villa sure is a headache, huh? So many useless turns."

The Dark Elf huffs. He has been speaking softly all this time, trying to take Kim Rok Soo's mind off the pain, all the while something that looks like golden threads are continuously sneaking out of his fingers. They slither around the walls and furniture and head towards different corners of the villa, their appearance similar to the golden glow Kim Rok Soo saw back when he first met Misha, though a tad weaker.

Magic, his mind supplies, to which the other part of mind replies with Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

"...hey, hyung-nim, what do I call you?"

Kim Rok Soo decides to ask once he realises he's starting to snap at himself. His voice is weak and brittle, hoarse like he hasn't drunk in days.

The Dark Elf hums, and his back reverberates with the sound. He doesn't take his eyes off the path they are running down, but his grip on Kim Rok Soo's legs tightens, his shoulders pulling taut like a spring.

"Well, why don't you just call me hyung-nim? That's a fitting name, isn't it?"

The other responses, something mischievous present in his voice.

Kim Rok Soo wonders why the Dark Elves are all so hung up on being called hyung-nims. Maybe it's denial of their old age speaking. 

"That's not a name."

Is Kim Rok Soo's retort. The Dark Elf laughs, stepping over a body twitching on the floor, but doesn't refute Kim Rok Soo's statement.

Kim Rok Soo only manages to have a glimpse of short blond hair and a shattered glass of wine before the Dark Elf turns another corner down the brightly lit hallway.

Venion Stan? 

Kim Rok Soo wonders how the guy can even sleep like that, curled up so tight his head is pressed between his knees.

"Just call me hyung-nim."

The Dark Elf pipes up, a smile present in his voice.

"Dun wanna..."

Kim Rok Soo croaks out, and shivers when they stumble across a rusted steel door at the end of the winding hallway, leading down an eerie stretch of darkness. The Dark Elf leaps down without hesitation, his movements unbothered by Kim Rok Soo's weight on his back.

Maybe it's Kim Rok Soo's delirious mind speaking, but in the silence that follows, the child ends up blurting something nonsensical to the Dark Elf.

"...Bob."

"Hmm?"

"I'll call you Bob. Your name is Bob from now on."

Kim Rok Soo decides, with the wisdom of a child high on painkillers. Minus the painkillers. And the wisdom. Because Kim Rok Soo isn't sure what kind of bullshit he's spouting right now.

"Why Bob? Can't it be something cooler?"

"...Bob is cool."

"You know you don't sound so sure, right? Just call me hyung-nim—"

Their banter is cut short when the sound of a growl reverberates in the air. 

It's a deep, guttural sound. One that comes from a dinghy looking cell in the middle of the long, dark hall.

Two guards are dead asleep in front of the locked door made of thick iron bars, just like all the others within the villa. Their faces quiver and shake. Probably having a nightmare.

Actually, most of the people here look like they aren't sleeping well. Kim Rok Soo thought that fainting would have made them sleep easier, but apparently not. Not that Kim Rok Soo cares whether their dreams are good or not.

"Ah, here we go."

The Dark Elf approaches the door and kicks it down with brute strength alone. it falls off its hinges and for a brief second, Kim Rok Soo has a deja-vu of a certain other Dark Elf, who should now be slumbering contently in the inn.

"...."

The Dark Elf falls quiet, and Kim Rok Soo pushes himself up on shaking hands. His eyes strain to see through the tears and the flickering light of the torches, and eventually finds a familiar looking lump huddled in a corner of the cell.

'...he's small.'

The Dragon is smaller than Kim Rok Soo imagined. His eyes are shut tight, and he's straining against his chains as though reaching for something, chubby paws clenching and unclenching. A long, black tail slams against the wall again and again, as its owner groans and twitches in his sleep.

Kim Rok Soo motions for the Dark Elf to put him down, tugging at his cloak. The other does so, while the book, which has been floating by Kim Rok Soo's side all this time, presses itself against Kim Rok Soo's shoulder, preventing him from falling backwards. Despite his annoyance, Kim Rok Soo can't help but bask in the waves of blessed warmth flooding down his nerves at the contact.

"Hey..."

Kim Rok Soo calls out. 

A tiny, shaking hand carefully strokes that round head. Kim Rok Soo rubs soothing circles on the two protruding nubs he can feel, and watches as the Dragon's eyes snap open, slitted eyes full of malice, a snarl tearing out of its maw. 

Those eyes hone in on Kim Rok Soo with unnerving accuracy, but the moment they meet Kim Rok Soo's own, those angry orbs turn wide in surprise.

"Human...?"

The Dragon mumbles out, his voice slurring. His eyes are wide and round, blinking and squinting. Childishly awed. Despite the fight present in those blue orbs before, they are now bright and full of wonder, a child wondering whether his dream has come true or not.

What a nice gaze, Kim Rok Soo thinks.

That's how children should look like, after all.

"...yes, it's me."

Kim Rok Soo croaks out, a small smile tugging on his lips. 

The Dragon is certainly a strong child. Stronger than Venion and the people who chained him here, and certainly stronger than Kim Rok Soo can ever hope to be.

Those short, chubby paws scramble forward, and the chains around its ankles clatter noisily. They don't remain for long. The Dark Elf who was worryingly still moves forward and snaps the chains loose with his bare hands.

'...vicious.'

Kim Rok Soo can't help but think, when he sees the Dark Elf's shadowed face.

"Let's get out of here."

The other says, tone carefully bland. Kim Rok Soo nods, and is about to clamber onto the Dark Elf's back again when the Dragon surges forward with what little strength he has left. A round head slams into Kim Rok Soo's chest.

"Oof."

Kim Rok Soo stumbles back. Shaking hands are quick to wind around the Dragon's small body. He's not so small now that Kim Rok Soo is actually holding him. And certainly not as light as he seemed to be either. 

"Huuuuuuumaan!"

The Dragon wails. A wet sound that has guilt eating at Kim Rok Soo's conscience.

"Yes, yes. It's me. Let go so this hyung-nim can get us out, okay?"

"Nooooooooo. W-what if you f-fade agaaaaaain."

"I won't—hey."

Kim Rok Soo startles when strong hands pull him up from the floor, along with the not-so-light baby Dragon. He clutches the Dark Elf's cloak with an incredulous face, while the Dragon stops in his wailing to glare at the smiling man, still looking unbothered by their combined weight.

While he doesn't look too bothered by the Dragon's bared fangs, the Dark Elf still gives a respectful nod to the angry, sniffling baby.

"There we go. Hold on tight, okay?"

And then the Dark Elf dashes out with a chuckle, while Kim Rok Soo squawks indignantly. The Dragon harrumphs and just continues to bury his face in Kim Rok Soo's chest, unwilling to let go. Or to deign anyone—and anything—else with his attention.

Along the way, the whirlwind of three pass by the still curled up Venion, and the stormy anger Kim Rok Soo witnessed before returns to the Dark Elf's eyes. 

His gaze passes by the young master once, but there is something terrifying in the way he regards Venion. Something cold and calculating, like he's counting down the days Venion has left. It's something animalistic pushing forward, like how Shawn had looked like back in the hospital, instincts peering out of those dark depths.

But what can a Dark Elf do to a noble like Venion?

It will be suspicious if the guy just up and vanished, and Kim Rok Soo isn't sure if the Crown Prince won't retaliate to someone harming one of Roan's citizens, no matter how shitty that citizen is.

"...hyung?"

Kim Rok Soo decides to distract the Dark Elf before he can get himself on the scary Crown Prince's hit list.

When said Dark Elf notices Kim Rok Soo staring, he quickly returns to his gentle, kind demeanour. His smile is lighter, even if it's still crooked. Like a storm receding back for another day, Kim Rok Soo thinks, replaced by the sun peeking out behind the clouds.

When will it crash against the shore, Kim Rok Soo isn't sure. He doesn't think he wants to know either.

'...ah, so troublesome.'

Kim Rok Soo lets his head falls on the Dark Elf's chest and closes his eyes. His body is still hurting all over and it's almost like Kim Rok Soo was ran over by a train, but it finally feels like he can sleep more easily now. 

"Human?"

Kim Rok Soo hums, eyelids fluttering open and close.

"Are you going to sleep, human?"

"...mm."

Kim Rok Soo feels something cold rubbing against his cheek. Something round and smooth and scaly. Probably the Dragon.

"...sleep, human. This great and mighty Dragon will protect you."

That is be something Kim Rok Soo should be saying, the child thinks as his vision blurs. The Dragon is still a baby, and it doesn't feel pleasant to hear that a baby wants to protect Kim Rok Soo, but Kim Rok Soo is also fighting a losing battle against sleep. 

'...oh well. It probably won't matter if I sleep now, will it?'

The Dark Elves will help the baby Dragon even without Kim Rok Soo's input, and the Dragon will probably be free even before Kim Rok Soo manages to wake up. He just hopes the Dragon won't take offence in Kim Rok Soo not being able to say goodbye. 

Kim Rok Soo exhales slowly, taking comfort in the thought. A round head settles over his chest, listening to the faint thump-thump-thump of Kim Rok Soo's heart. Kim Rok Soo can feel the same sort of steady beat under his palms, pulsating ever so slightly beneath cold scales. 

When Kim Rok Soo falls asleep, this time, he dreams of long white hair and a gentle voice humming a long-forgotten lullaby.

Chapter Text

Thump-thump.

A repeating beat, thudding faintly beneath bunched fabric, echoes in the Dragon's ear. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The Dragon blinks, slitted eyes not unlike a cat's curious gaze as he presses closer to the sound. He tucks himself tighter against the warmth he can feel beneath his paws and, carefully, so as to not dent the skin beneath, he curls into a ball, head slightly tilted to avoid digging his horns into his human's throat.

The human remains in his slumber, and the limbs wrapped around the Dragon's body didn't so much as twitch from the shift. His chest rises and falls just as slowly as before and that weak, rhythmic beat continues in the same unchanging tune of the human's quiet breathing. Slow and gentle and so, so faint the Dragon wants to burrow even closer just to hear it better.

What a strange sound, the Dragon thinks.

It reminds him of that dark, tiny cavern. The one he was forced to call a home because he didn't have anything else. 

The Dragon doesn't remember that place fondly. He doesn't like to call it anything other than his prison either. 

But when the days were long and the humans' jeering weighed down his limbs, and when even breathing felt too much of a chore, the Dragon liked to think that his small, cramped prison wasn't so bad a home either.

Sure, it was dark and cramped. It was nothing more than a small ditch carved out of steel and iron and rusted chains, dug within the belly of some enormous beast the humans called a mountain, whose stomach rumbled and gurgled and shook on days where rain poured heavily from the sky. 

It wasn't anything worthy of being called a Dragon's lair, not even close. But at least it was something.

At least it wasn't a bad place to sleep in, and the few critters calling the place their home kept the Dragon company for the most part. 

Tiny rats squeaking inside their home within the rocky walls and scuttling about the place with their feet tap-tap-tapping against the floor kept the Dragon's mind off of his wounds. The flickering light of the torches made it easier for him to sleep, while the spiders spinning their webs in the corners and the ceiling occupied his time well enough. Even the humans' yapping became a source of entertainment, despite the Dragon lacking the context of what they were talking about.

That fleeting moment of peace, not unlike the thudding beat under the Dragon's ear, was the only way the Dragon could bear to sleep in some particularly bad days. The ones where the silence bore on and on and on and his mind wandered to the thoughts he didn't dare to entertain just yet.

Not yet, he'd thought when it whispered of freedom and how laughably easy it would be, if only the Dragon had a bit more courage to do what needed to be done.

Not like that and not yet, because the Dragon still wanted to live. 

The Dragon wanted to be able to cherish his freedom when he found it.

And so, he hoped and dreamed and yearned, and on and on it went. A cycle repeating itself countless times until it felt like his wings were made of lead and the collar around his neck grew heavier. 

An ache greater than the pain of torture or hunger gnawed at the Dragon.

'I want to be free.'

'No matter what it takes, I want to be free.'

Because that is how Dragons are.

Selfish, arrogant, and greedy. 

Mighty creatures who aren't meant to be chained down. Not by humans, not by beast people, and not even by the gods or the world itself.

If this was the only way he could be free, if this was the only way the Dragon could spread his wings and fly in that vast, unknown sky, then...

Then...

"...mm, just remember that being alive is the best."

...but his human told him to live, didn't he?

His human, tiny and weak and the weirdest the Dragon had ever met, who had cowered away and fell just as easily from a simple warning growl, told the Dragon to live.

"I still need to find you, right? I can't do that if I'm here."

His human, who had said that right before he faded, and didn't return to the Dragon's dreamless slumber the next day, had told the Dragon that the sky outside is like his eyes. 

How does outside look like, anyway?

Would it be a tunnel of whatever colour the Dragon's eyes are, or would it be a large expanse of colour not unlike the empty, muddy space of the Dragon's dream? 

Would it be something else instead? A cavern filled with jolly lights and splotches of colours from rows of massive torches lining the walls?

The Dragon wondered and learned that the ache only grew stronger at the thought. 

He tried to distract himself from it. Fought against the humans to take his mind off of everything. He even managed to bite one of the soldiers' hands when they came too close to mock him. The torturer didn't come out unscathed from his sessions either, and the noble steadily grew angrier the longer the Dragon thrashed and snarled and clawed.

Where was his human? When would he come?

Could the Dragon trust his human to find him?

If the Dragon made some kind of ruckus, loud enough to draw attention from wherever outside is, then maybe his human would have more chance of finding him.

But when the Dragon woke up next, he was somewhere entirely different. 

A place as small and cramped as the one before, but different, nonetheless. The bars were stronger and the chains thicker, and the walls weren't made of jagged rocks anymore. It was smooth and cold and endlessly grey, a place darker than the cavern, and perhaps better hidden from outside. The soldiers there were many and nearly endless, and there was always someone stationed every few feet from the Dragon's new prison. 

How would his human find him like this? 

His human was tiny and weak and got scared easily. Would his human still try to find him, if he knew where the Dragon was?

Desperation clouded the Dragon's mind, and he didn't quite remember much of what happened in the time he spent locked up there. 

He only remembered wanting to go back to that endless darkness in his dream again. A nearly desperate wish to meet his human again and tell him it's alright if he didn't come, because at least the Dragon's scales were strong enough to withstand a couple of lashing. His human's skin was tender and he was bony and his human would probably cry at the pain, and the Dragon didn't want that.

The only good thing out of all of this was that the Dragon didn't feel as battered as he did before, whenever his torturer visited. The pain would be washed away by a cool sensation traveling down his shoulder, as though the Dragon was drifting away upon something pillowy and soft. 

It became easier to drift off, and his sleep grew longer and longer as well, though what the Dragon dreamed of were... odd, nowadays. 

A blurry, fleeting vision of pillars and arched ceilings that towered over the Dragon's head, white and tall and infinitely massive. Warmth blanketed the entire place, and a flicker of red would press against the Dragon's side, while someone's voice would be singing from not too far away, as gentle and happy as it was sad.

What it was, the Dragon didn't know. Neither did he know who the voice was, or who the silent figure by his side was. He tried to talk to them like he did his human, but neither one answered. The Dragon felt indignant, of course, and tried even harder to get a response, but there would always be nothing but that gentle singing, and the warmth by his side.

Well, that was fine too, the Dragon thought. The peaceful air was just what he needed after all he went through in the waking world. Maybe this was the 'outside' his human spoke of, or maybe it wasn't, but it was a place that felt soothing. Comforting. Familiar, even.

It didn't matter if it was a product of his tired mind, or delusion playing to his desperation. The Dragon just wanted to bask in it a little longer each time. Just a bit more, until he could regain the strength to go back on his feet. 

Just a while longer.

When the humans guarding the Dragon's cell crumpled to the floor, though, and the world faded away into the now familiar white pillars, the blurry figure of red in the Dragon's dream spoke for the first time.

"What are you doing?"

A voice asked, older and more mature and with a hint of a growl. It was not the same voice as the one who had been singing, and he sounded annoyed, despite the Dragon not finding a hint of malice in his voice.

"Go back. Don't give in so easily."

It was warm, warm, warm. 

The Dragon wanted to stay, to bask in the warmth, but it started pushing him away. Back into the darkness and the cold and the silence. 

So silent, the Dragon thought. Why was it so quiet? 

The Dragon realised the gentle singing had stopped since long ago. When did it stop? How did the Dragon not notice?

"You can't stay. Don't you want to see the sky?"

...oh, that's right. 

The sky. 

The Dragon wanted to see the sky. He couldn't do that if he stayed asleep all the time. There was also his human. He needed to see his human.

"Go back. I don't want to see you here again. I'll kick you out myself if I do."

What a rude voice.

Did no one teach him how to be civil? He even threatened the to kick out the great and mighty Dragon! It wasn't the Dragon's fault if he created his home inside the Dragon's dream.

Who did he think he was? Hmph!

"...just go."

The warmth pushed again, while the beautiful place around the Dragon started to shake and tremble. It crumbled away at the edges. Like the Dragon's human did before he broke into tiny particles of light only to be swept away into the vast, empty darkness. 

The Dragon staggered to his feet, bolstered by the push. 

The red figure moved, apparently the warmth pushing the Dragon forward before, and the Dragon felt something thumping against his head. A glimpse of slitted amber eyes revealed itself before they closed, as the other rested his forehead against the Dragon's.

"Being alive is the best. Your human is right. A s long as you are alive, there will always be a chance, no matter how small it may be."

"So don't give up. Because you are still alive, you have to give it your all."

...what was he talking about?

The Dragon wanted to ask, but it felt like something was pulling the Dragon somewhere. Away from the warmth of the blurry red figure. Back towards the blot of darkness slowly taking over the entire white expanse.

Within that darkness, a familiar voice echoed, calling softly. Gentle and faint and barely heard over the other's growly voice, and the Dragon gasped.

Human? 

Was that his human?

"Go. Your human is waiting."

The world crumbled into pieces and, along with it, that blur of red amongst the backdrop of black and white. The Dragon couldn't see him clearly, but it felt like the other was smiling.

When the Dragon opened his eyes, at last, he was greeted with the sight of his human, still tiny and weak and weird, smiling even when he swayed and looked like he was about to fall over sideways. His hand rubbed the Dragon's head softly. Like he wanted to sooth the Dragon despite having a hard time breathing.

His human found him.

His human didn't forget.

"...."

The Dragon feels his eyes getting itchy. His sight of the human's face begins to blur at the edges. He blinks away the almost-tears frantically, tail thumping against the other not-human's chest without care, ignoring the man's dispirited "Ow. Ow. Ouch."

Stupid human.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

How dare he make the great and mighty Dragon wait for so long? 

The Dragon grumbles, lightly butting his head against the underside of the human's chin. He pauses, waiting to see if his human will respond.

The human doesn't.

"...hmph."

Well, it can't be helped if his human is weak. 

Dragons are the mightiest creatures in this world. No one can compare to the great and mighty him, after all, so he will be generous and forgive the human for not returning to his side in such a long time. The human fulfilled his promise in the end. The Dragon can be merciful about his absence.

"There really are way too many useless turns here. Tsk."

The not-human pipes up.

"We need to hurry and get that collar off of you. Please hang on a bit longer, Dragon-nim."

The Dragon doesn't bother to reply, burying his face into the crook of his human's neck instead.

He wants to see what outside looks like, what the sky looks like. He wants to know if freedom feels just as he imagined it to be, when cold air brushes against his scales and the strange scent of something earthy and damp fills the Dragon's nose.

But the Dragon doesn't want to do it now. 

Not when his human is pale and unmoving and looking too much like a corpse. Not when his human is this weak.

The Dragon needs to protect his weak, tiny human, lest he fade again, so the sky can wait for another day.

"Outside is bright and wonderful. One day you'll see it too."

'...I will, human.'

The Dragon thinks, and closes his eyes, counting the slow rising and falling of his human's chest.

'I will, when you are awake. So wake up soon, human.'

A faint rumble escapes the Dragon. Not unlike a purr, as his paws clench and unclench around his human's shirt.

'When you wake up, let's see the sky together.'

Gilbert doesn't know which one surprised him more when he woke up to Misha's frantic shout.

The ankle biter's pale, unmoving figure in the arms of a familiar masked Dark Elf, the divine-looking book fluttering and floating in the air around said child, or the black lump looking suspiciously like a Dragon curled up and tucked into the crook of the child's neck.

"...Did I drink?"

Gilbert asks himself, a severe frown contorting his face as he blinks at the sight. 

Did he, actually? Did he drink too much last night and became so blank out drunk he didn't remember? Is that why he's seeing this kind of impossible thing right now?

Is Gilbert still dreaming or did the child really found a Dragon in the amount of time it took for Gilbert to drift off to dream land?

With a holy looking might-be-and-might-not-be-divine-item??

And the mayor's great grandson???

Gilbert raises his hands and contemplates for a while. It doesn't take too much thinking for him to slap himself with both hands. Hard.

It hurts.

He pinches and pulls at his own cheek until he winces.

It still hurts.

"...what the fuck."

Not a dream, and Gilbert isn't drunk. This is real then. 

Huh.

Would you look at that. 

Apparently, this kind of thing isn't really as impossible as Gilbert thought. So you can sneak out past a room full of Dark Elves and somehow stumble into a Dragon and a side addition of the only person in the kingdom that is their ally.

Wow, what luck. The gods must be smiling upon their newest itty-bitty baby.

Gilbert nods to himself and crosses his arms.

"Wait, no! What the fuck!"

Gilbert springs up from his bed, shaking eyes meeting the solemn gaze of the masked Dark Elf. Misha shushes him from her place by the child's bedside, but Gilbert ignores her.

"What the hell happened when I slept?!"

What was the Elementals doing? Weren't they supposed to wake Gilbert and the others up if something happened? 

How did the trained Dark Elves in the room not notice when the child sneaked out, even without the Elementals' help???

Gilbert's pride is somewhat bruised as he realises the tiny slip of a child managed to sneak out just fine. He doesn't know why the child's noticeable shuffling didn't immediately wake up the rest of them. 

Dark Elves are not only stronger than the average humans, but they are also more sensitive to sound. More alert and definitely not someone an untrained child can slip past just like that, in the same room, nonetheless. Even as a half Dark Elf, Gilbert himself can still catch his children sneaking out past bedtime whenever they were particularly rebellious.

Gilbert can see a painful addition to his training in the future. Misha, the doctor who was formerly the head instructor of the Dark Elf's training, will no doubt be reporting this back to the mayor.

"And what are you doing here Al—"

"Bob."

The vehemently spoken name stops Gilbert short. 

"...what?"

"My name is Bob."

Little Al? Bob? Smiles at Gilbert, a warning in his placid tone. 

"Right now, I am Bob. You understand, don't you?"

No, he doesn't, actually.

Gilbert opens his mouth and promptly closes them shut. 

That is definitely Tasha's signature speak-and-you're-dead look. Geez, this punk is younger than Gilbert, but why is he so scary? 

Despite his rather chaotic state of mind, Gilbert takes his time cataloguing what little he can see of the child's appearance, only managing to calm down somewhat as he makes sure the child isn't grievously injured.

He doesn't look like he was stabbed, or burned, or cursed, or slashed. That's good. That's really good.

What's not good, however, is how ill the boy looks. Each breath he takes looks like it is taking a toll on him. That's bad. Gilbert doesn't know what caused this when the child is with Tasha's nephew all this time. The man surely won't let children be hurt on his watch. Neither would the Dark Elf Guards hidden outside, watching over their little entourage. 

Yes, how did Kim Rok Soo become like this?

He rigidly turns to Misha and finds her fretting over the two figures on the bed. 

"Bob, get me a towel and a basket of water. Gilbert, you buffoon, stop daydreaming and bring your tools here!"

The old doctor barks, not an ounce of hesitation in her voice. Gilbert straightens in his place and manages a shaky "Yes, instructor-nim!" before reaching down to pull his satchel out from underneath the bed.

"...R-Rok Soo?"

Shawn woke up at about the same time as Gilbert, but it looks like he has finally snapped out of whatever stupor he was in. The Dark Elf stumbles over the bags on the floor in his haste to approach the bed. Gilbert peers up at him, and winces at the expression on his face.

Damn, Shawn isn't looking so good right now.

Gilbert thinks he can understand, with how pale the child is on the bed. Even looking at him for a while brings back unpleasant memories for Gilbert, and that is not even counting the whole... fainting... incident back at his shop. Gilbert grimaces, turning his gaze to the wooden floor. 

A snarl rips through the air, and Gilbert startles.

The black lump tucked so close against Kim Rok Soo has moved from its position, and Gilbert doesn't manage to fight back the shiver running down his spines as he meets the glare of bright, slitted blue orbs.  

'...Oh, great Dragon-nims, spare me.'

Gilbert couldn't really believe it before, but now reality starts to sink in, as leathery wings unfold, and a set of fangs are bared right in front of Gilbert's face. His knees wobble and it feels like he is about to buckle at any second. 

A Dragon-nim.

There is a Dragon-nim in the room.

There is a young Dragon-nim in the room, and he looks like he is one step away from tearing the heads off of everyone else.

Oh hell, should Gilbert kneel?

But the Dragon-nim doesn't look happy to be here, so should he run? Beg for mercy? What the hell do you do when you meet a Dragon-nim???

"We mean no harm, Dragon-nim." 

Al—Bob speaks up in the heavy silence, raising his hands in a placating gesture and smiling kindly, moving ever closer to the bed.

The Dragon-nim growls. He positions himself above the human, wings spread wide as he rises to the air in two powerful flaps. His eyes never once stray from the Dark Elves in the room. Especially the masked Dark Elf slowly making his way over.

"We can help you get that collar off." 

Bob tries, and when the Dragon's snarl slowly starts to build again, he changes his approach with another topic.

"The kid—your human—needs to be checked by this doctor-nim. We are his friends, see? We just want to help."

It seems to be working somewhat, though the Dragon looks rather ticked off by something. Despite this, he's slowly lowering himself back to the bed, hackles raised but no longer baring his fangs to the rest of them. Those black scales are eerily similar to the child's dark locks on the bed. 

After a tense stare down in which the Dark Elves carefully lower their gazes, the small Dragon nods, taking his place by Kim Rok Soo's pillow. 

He looks like he rather much prefers to be anywhere else right now and, wow, Gilbert never thought he would ever be saying this in his life, but he feels almost grateful that Bob can run his mouth so smoothly even in the face of imminent death. What a brave punk. Gilbert doesn't think he himself can do that.

Gilbert releases a shaky, relieved breath.

That was too close in his opinion. He can understand the mayor's near fanatical shaking each time a Dragon-nim is mentioned now. Maybe it's not so much awe as it is fear instead.

Gilbert swallows heavily and approaches Misha, careful to keep his back against the wall at all times. His Dark Elf blood is torn between wanting to turn into a blabbering mess at the sight of a Dragon-nim, or turn tail and run from the predator in the room. Gilbert decides to just not think about it at all and shoves his satchel at Misha. 

The old doctor raises a brow at him. She gestures to the still very annoyed, very angry baby Dragon-nim glaring at Gilbert from the corner of his eyes.

"Go get that collar off. I will prepare some healing potions for Rok Soo and the Dragon-nim."

...yes, excuse him?

She wants Gilbert to do what?

"What, can you not do something so simple?" 

Misha rolls her eyes and pulls her sleeve back, taking out a few bottles of colourful liquid from inside her pocket. Gilbert turns to Shawn, but the Dark Elf is still too busy fussing to care, searching for the softest kind of fabric they have and rummaging around for a change of clothes. Bob, on the other hand, is still speaking softly to the Dragon-nim, while the book is now lying deceptively still under the child's hand.

"...."

Ah, yes, just go and cut the collar off of an enraged Dragon-nim, sure! It's simple, apparently! It's not like the Dragon-nim is feeling all kinds of murderous right now!

Gilbert wants to cry. 

Seriously, is no one here sane?

"E-excuse me, Dragon-nim."

Gilbert shuffles forward, a stiff smile frozen on his face. He hunches his shoulder so as to not appear threatening and lifts his satchel up for the young Dragon-nim to see and tries to give his friendliest grin. 

Bob, the ungrateful little shit that he is, merely smiles from his place by the bed, looking all prim and proper despite the mocking glint in his eyes. Gilbert knows him enough to know that the punk is laughing at him right now. 

The punk's opinion doesn't matter though. What matters is the baby Dragon-nim scrutinising Gilbert from head to toe as if he's considering Gilbert's worth in a glance. Gilbert just hopes that doesn't mean he will incinerate Gilbert on the spot if he is displeased with something.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the Dragon-nim lets out a small harrumph and turns his head away.

This must mean that the Dragon-nim is giving Gilbert permission, right? 

It does, right? 

Gilbert wets his lips and shuffles closer. He pulls out his dagger from the satchel, unsheathing it from its small leather scabbard. The steel glints beautifully; a masterpiece crafted by one of the best blacksmiths in the City of Life, carved with magical seals that glimmer a beautiful golden luster. Gilbert briefly marvels at it before he coughs into his hand and smiles at the Dragon-nim.

"I'll cut the collar off now, Dragon-nim. Please excuse me."

Gilbert's hands are steady despite his nerves, years of experience and muscle memory guiding his hands to cut through the thick collar. It fell in a light thump onto the pillow, and along with it, is the suddenly rising pressure in the air, nearly bending Gilbert's body into a bow.

Gilbert staggers with gritted teeth, eyes wide and trembling. His breath is stuck in his throat, and it feels as though something is pressing against his neck. Like fangs or claws sinking ever so slowly—

Just as suddenly as it appears, the pressure lifts from the air.

Gilbert props himself up with a shaking hand, cold sweat beading down his forehead, dagger still clutched firmly in his palm.

The Dragon-nim on the bed blinks down at the collar with a blank gaze. With a swing of his tail, the collar is thrown against the wall, while the Dragon-nim scrunches his nose like an affronted baby. 

It's a cute expression, and Gilbert very much wants to coo, but he is all too aware of how dangerous the baby Dragon-nim can be if he wants to. Especially now.

Gilbert thanks the Dragon-nim for his patience, placing his dagger back into the satchel, and pretends his voice doesn't shake when he speaks.

'...that was Dragon Fear, wasn't it?'

It was brief and not as terrible as the ones Gilbert would read in the books, but that was definitely Dragon Fear. Or a hint of what would be Dragon Fear, once—not if—the Dragon masters it in the future.

What a terrifying power. 

Even a mere brush of it makes Gilbert want to puke. He was only able to remain standing because of the hand propped against the bed, and the other half was because the Dragon-nim himself didn't look like he really meant for it to happen.

Gilbert casts his glance over to the rest of the room. Poor Bob is sweating bullets by the Dragon-nim's side, no doubt having been blasted by the full brunt of it since he was the closest. Shawn is grimacing from among a pile of clothes, and Misha looks just as dazed as Gilbert felt, though her hold remains firm on the vials she is mixing.

The old Dark Elf, as always, doesn't let it bother her for too long. She shakes her head and Gilbert can feel the warmth of her Elemental pressing against her side.

"Here, Dragon-nim. You can drink this or pour it over the wounds."

Misha says after clearing her throat, pushing herself up. The vial in her hand glistens brightly, and the Dragon-nim's eyes lock onto it. The tiny muzzle forms a contemplative frown. Misha hands the vial over and the Dragon clutches it between his chubby paws, slitted eyes widening when he sees Misha approaching Kim Rok Soo.

The doctor stops short upon seeing the Dragon-nim's alarmed expression. She raises her palms and shows the same vial as the one the Dragon-nim is holding. 

"This is a recovery potion. It will help with the pain and fasten the healing." She explains patiently.

The Dragon-nim's gaze flickers back and forth between the vial he is holding and the one in Misha's hand. He lets out an intelligible grumble, pulling out the cork of the small vial with his fangs, before he starts gulping it down. He pauses mid-way, though, and turns to flatten his wings against the side of the bed. 

Carefully, slowly, he pours the rest over the wounds on his back, all the while making sure the trickling liquid is kept from dripping anywhere near the sleeping Kim Rok Soo.

The crusted scars over the Dragon-nim's back are healed almost instantly, and Gilbert marvels at the brilliant scales that is now revealed to the world, no longer marred by the long gashes layered all over his back before.

'Did someone dare to hurt a Dragon-nim?'

The thought is, yet again, something Gilbert would have thought of as impossible before. How someone can try to lay their hands upon such a majestic being is unfathomable to him. What kind of sick bastard would do something like that? 

...but no, Gilbert knows very well what kind of sick bastard would do that kind of thing, doesn't he?

Misha's stormy expression is enough telling. So is Bob's cold gaze as he turns to the window. Gilbert wants to ask him who the bastard is, but knowing how Bob can be, the punk will only answer in little bits that won't help Gilbert at all. 

I will take care of it, his gaze seems to say. He doesn't even look like he's willing to contemplate sharing a piece of that bastard with the others.

Even after all this time, he's still a greedy punk.

"Is he okay?"

Shawn approaches from the side, the line of his mouth thin upon his face. His hair sticks up this way and that, disheveled after having been jolted awake at three in the morning, and the wind around him continues to blow a freezing breeze. In his hands are the bucket of water Misha asked for, and a change of clothes for the little ankle biter.

Misha doesn't answer right away. She taps Kim Rok Soo's cheek softly, trying to wake him up. The child groans weakly.

"He will have to drink the potion, but I don't think he's lucid enough to do that."

She gestures for the Dark Elf to get closer. Shawn does, and Misha takes the bucket from his hands. 

"For now, I'll make a warm compress to raise his temperature a bit. Help me dilute the potion, will you? It can work by skin contact as well even if it's not too effective."

Misha frowns at her own words.

"...it'll have to do for now."

She casts her glance over to the book under Kim Rok Soo's hand. The way she stares at it is nothing short of angry. It reminds Gilbert of the way she speaks about the Churches and the gods, and a thought forms in the back of Gilbert's head. 

"Hey, Misha... Is that book...?"

Surprisingly, it is not Misha or Shawn, both of whom are sporting grim faces, who cuts Gilbert off.

"I don't think this is the time and place to talk about such things."

Bob, sitting cross-legged on a stool by the bed, smiles at Gilbert. His dark hair flutters in the wind caused by Shawn's frantic Elemental, stray strands falling to cover his eyes.

"The walls have ears and the ones here are already thin enough as it is."

What can Gilbert say to that, really? 

The man sighs and rubs his forehead. He drops himself to sit on the floor without care, a scowl aimed at the little punk who isn't so little anymore. 

"Fine. Don't go thinking I'll forget about this."

A sick child, an angry Dragon-nim, and a divine-looking book. Also, the smug-looking punk that has no business being here. All of these are gathered together in one room in so short a time. How and why is what Gilbert is trying to figure out because, hell, is this the gods above shitting on Gilbert's day just because?

Gilbert groans, frustrated by the lack of answer and the others' secretive silence. He nearly wishes he is still asleep at this point. Nearly. The situation is too grave for him to truly think of going back to sleep at all, and he is aware of how hard he is trying right now to keep his gaze from straying to Kim Rok Soo's sickly pallor on the bed.

Someone lets out a low rumble. The baby Dragon-nim, probably. It's sort of a cross between a whine and the gravelly rumble unique to a Dragon-nim. One that reminds Gilbert of kittens purring, somehow.

Gilbert peers at the adorable, murderous baby. The Dragon-nim has made himself at home on the pillow next to Kim Rok Soo's head, blue eyes unwavering from the child's sleeping face. A small paw nudges at at the child's cheek once, twice. When the child merely twitches, a huff escapes the Dragon-nim.

Gilbert tenses when the Dragon-nim lowers his paw and shuffles forward. 

The half Dark Elf is convinced the Dragon-nim won't bite Kim Rok Soo after everything, but it's still unnerving to see a Dragon fitting his head into the crook of a child's neck, exposed skin just inches away from rows of sharp fangs that Gilbert knows wouldn't hesitate to tear and rip in most cases. 

The Dragon-nim's brilliant blue eyes opens and closes in a slow blink, and a growly purr rumbles in the air, as two paws clutch firmly onto Kim Rok Soo's shirt.

"...ugh."

The Dragon-nim's slitted eyes snaps open almost immediately at the weak groan.

Gilbert can see Shawn surging forward from the corner of his eyes, stress present in every line of his body, but Misha is quick to hold him back with a hand. A decision she must have made after seeing how the Dragon-nim reacts around Kim Rok Soo. Gilbert himself isn't sure if Shawn won't lose a hand if he approaches the two on the bed right now. Bob watches silently from his seat.

Kim Rok Soo's bleary eyes wander around the room for a while, but he turns to the unblinking Dragon-nim when the rumble abruptly comes to a stop. The look on the child's face after he sees the small Dragon-nim is both disbelief and fear, and Gilbert nearly thinks it's because he has never seen a Dragon-nim in his life before. 

But Kim Rok Soo's eyes are clear despite shaking, and when he speaks next it is with a tone that is more tired than scared.

"Why... are you here...?"

Kim Rok Soo asks, words trailing off at the end. Gilbert thinks he can hear something like concern there, as the child grimaces.

"Why haven't you left already?"

The words are spoken vehemently. Almost forcefully, as if Kim Rok Soo is willing the young Dragon-nim to understand something. Of what and why, Gilbert doesn't know, and he doesn't think either Shawn or Misha knows either.

Does Kim Rok Soo know the Dragon-nim? How is a Dragon-nim here to begin with? 

"...silly human."

The Dragon-nim huffs, and bumps his head against the underside of Kim Rok Soo's chin.

"Did you forget already? This great and mighty me promised to protect you."

It's an adorable answer, but apparently not the one Kim Rok Soo wants to hear. The child grimaces, lips wobbling as he sucks in a stuttered breath. 

"Go and be free! Aren't you a Dragon?"

Kim Rok Soo turns his face away from the young Dragon-nim. His previous grimace is wiped off almost immediately, as he closes his eyes and exhales through his mouth, forcing himself to calm. His next words are spoken in a voice entirely void of emotion. Firm and stoic maybe, but voiced by a child, it sounds more disheartened than anything.

"...so go and live like a Dragon."

Kim Rok Soo's quiet breathing is the only thing Gilbert can hear as the rest in the room falls into a heavy silence.

How painful, Gilbert thinks, to hear someone so young to speak of freedom like that. With an understanding Gilbert won't ever wish on any children, who should've lived their lives without worrying about such things. 

Live freely like a Dragon.

What an innocent, child-like thinking. 

Most people, Gilbert is sure, be it adults or children, would think that living like a Dragon means living with power and wealth, with countless people groveling at your feet and standing at the top unchallenged.

A symbol of absolute authority. That is what Dragons are to the rest of the world.

But to the child on the bed, living like a Dragon is to be free.

It says something about Kim Rok Soo, in Gilbert's opinion, that the first thing he thought about Dragons is of freedom. Children his age would only remember their bedtime stories or the legends of heroes. For their itty-bitty baby to say that is... not something Gilbert wants to think about further unless he has someone to take his anger out on nearby.

The Dragon-nim stares at Kim Rok Soo's face with his bright, bright eyes, searching for something. A hint that perhaps only the Dragon-nim can see, because in the next moment the Dragon-nim lowers his head onto Kim Rok Soo's chest slowly. His slitted eyes wide and round and filled with a sincerity that is almost painful.

"I am free, human." 

The baby Dragon-nim says gently.

"It is my choice to be here. Isn't that what it means to be free?"

His small paws stretch forward, squishing the boy's cheeks tenderly. Not unlike a cat kneading a human, the Dragon begins pawing at Kim Rok Soo and Kim Rok Soo frowns, slowly turning his gaze back to the other.

They stare at each other for a while, both child and Dragon paying heed to absolutely no one else in the room, and Gilbert can see the conflict in Kim Rok Soo's eyes, brewing silently as his gaze roams the young Dragon-nim's face.

"...what will you do now that you are free?"

He asks, and the Dragon-nim answers with no hesitation.

"I will live."

"I will not be tamed."

The Dragon-nim moves forward then, lightly rubbing his face against the boy's cheek.

"I will see the sky with my human."

"...."

Kim Rok Soo exhales slowly. A trembling breath that is accompanied by a tiny, trembling hand raising to rub the Dragon-nim's scaly head. 

"...you are a baby. Babies don't protect people."

"This great and mighty Dragon is not a baby! Silly human, you are also veeeery small!"

"...Am a kid. You're a baby..."

Kim Rok Soo's words start slurring near the end of his sentence. His blinks slowly at the ceiling, bleary eyes seemingly fighting against the urge to fall back asleep. 

"Hmph. Tiny human, you look stupid. Sleep if you want to sleep, I will be here when you wake up."

The Dragon-nim rises from his sprawled position over Kim Rok Soo's chest. He moves to the side of the pillow and settles there, his tail loosely winding around the child's upper arm.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't answer. The tiny child's head is tilted to lean against the Dragon, slumbering contently as the Dragon-nim turns to the rest of the people there. Slitted blue eyes glare at the adults in the room, but the Dragon-nim doesn't say anything else either. He merely closes his eyes and rests his head on his paws.

With the two babies asleep, Gilbert turns to the Bob with an incredulous face, silently demanding explanation.

The little shit returns his stare with a raise of his eyebrow, daring Gilbert to ask with the Dragon-nim in the room. Gilbert turns to Shawn and Misha and finds the two of them halfway to the door, probably heading downstairs to get a very early breakfast for the rest of them.

Is... is no one else going to question this whole situation?

How did this entire thing even happen overnight? 

Just how?

Gilbert rubs his forehead and throws himself back onto the bed with an annoyed groan, though he does wince apologetically when the baby Dragon-nim hisses at the noise. 

Whatever, he thinks sourly. He's not the one who is going to deal with a crying mayor when they return. 

The darkness that greets her as she opens her eyes is not unfamiliar.

Indeed, this is not a sight she hasn't seen before. It is something she sees whenever she sleeps. A waking world that welcomes her nearly every night as the rest of the world slumbers, something that she will say for certain is both annoying and unwelcomed.

She isn't too surprised to see she is back in there again, though she is a little taken aback when she finds herself returning alone. Usually, when she woke up here, the bastard would come to greet her, and the dark world will turn into whatever place she was occupying at the time. 

"Oi you bastard, what are you playing at?"

She calls out to the darkness, a scowl marring her face. 

If the bastard is going to call her again, the least he can do is to turn the place into something more comfortable, geez. 

What kind of hospitality is this? The bastard isn't broke like her. Hell, she knows he receives donations weekly. Why can't he make this place into mansion or a castle? At least then she will have her wine and a bed to sleep on while she waits, not just stand and do nothing.

"Listen, you bastard, I know you're there! If this isn't important, just let me sleep already!"

She curses, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Her days have been peaceful lately. The bastard that would nag at her endlessly stopped bothering her as much as he would usually do, and while she thought it was suspicious, she didn't bother thinking too much about it. It didn't matter to her what the bastard did in his endless free time, she was just happy she was free from his chattering. She was even able to sleep like a baby the whole time! What more could she ask for?

This time, though, she feels like she can't continue to ignore it.

It's the kind of ominous feeling that creeps up on you slowly, building dread in your stomach, alarm bells ringing louder in your head as time passes. The bastard is up to something, she is sure. 

"Hey bast—"

"I don't believe in a god."

A voice echoes in the darkness, cutting through the stifling silence. 

She stutters to a stop, her eyes wide as she swivels her head around. There is no one there, but she can hear someone talking. A young voice she has never heard before speaking flatly.

"I'm not a believer, and I'm not a good person."

"I'm a selfish bastard who doesn't pray either."

What is this?

Is this a confession? Is the bastard eavesdropping on someone's conversation? 

"...but I know you're listening."

A soft, tired sigh. 

It's a child, she realises, his every word spoken like a world-weary man.

"And I hope you're not so heartless as to abandon a baby."

"...even if he is a baby who is supposed to die."

What... What did the bastard do? 

"I won't ask for forgiveness. If there is a price to pay for messing with fate, then that's fine as well."

Why is a child speaking like this?

"For that child who didn't do anything wrong, let me borrow your power just this once."

The voice grows fainter as she continues to search for a glimpse of the child, who is praying like someone condemned. 

When she is left with silence once again, she feels her temper rising.

"Hey, you shithead! What the hell did you do! Did you bully a child?!"

She cusses the bastard out and stops short when she feels the ground trembling beneath her feet.

Divine power, she notes as the air begins to shake. Divine power is slowly gathering around her, coiling with unrest—no, with anticipation. The divine power she can feel is stretching out somewhere, like chains dragging its unsuspecting prey back towards the darkness, and she hears the screams before she can see it.

People scrambling to escape from the inky darkness pulling them there, as they fall one by one from a glowing halo of light overhead. People in armours and suits and noble garments. People whose face are all too familiar to her.

"Is that...?"

She grits her teeth as she finds a head of blond among the many people whimpering and crying on the floor. That worthless mug that is more fitting to be pummeled into a bloody mess on the floor is crying pathetically. Sobbing with snot and drool as he blabbers something incorrigible to the air.

That motherfucker!

She scowls and stalks forward, ignoring the other drooling mess as she approaches the man who are curled up into a ball. She reaches down to pull him by the collar, but when her hand passes through him, she lets out an angry snarl.

"You bastard, let me have this!"

She screams as the man's eyes meets her gaze. The fear on his face is satisfying to see, but it's not enough for her. It's not enough for her friend, whose future is now ruined because of this one deranged fucker.

She feels a hand caressing her head softly. Apologetically. She scowls and breathes out harshly through her nose, blinking back angry tears.

There is nothing she can do to him, she knows. It is not his time to die yet. No matter how she wishes otherwise, this is the most the bastard can do. It still stings, though, to acknowledge that she is so close and yet so far away from what she has always dreamed of.

As she takes the time to calm herself, she remembers the young voice from before.

"...huh? Wait a minute."

Divine power?

Was that divine power answering to the child's prayer? 

Not even the current bishop manages to pull off something like this. It's a different kind of power from the one she is blessed with by that bastard, which usually materialises as curses instead, but it is still the same divine power. Does that mean...?

She feels like she can hear someone laughing softly in her head. She can't join in on the laughter, though.

"You bastard..."

Someone that young and untrained, blessed with a power of this magnitude. 

Even if it's impressive, the backlash isn't to be joked about. She can't imagine how painful it must be. And to a child, no less? 

Why didn't that bastard bring the child to her before giving him this much power to play with? This is the same as child neglect!

She grits her teeth and feels the bastard's bubbly joy turning into panic in the back of her head. 

That useless, irresponsible bastard!

Before she can actually curse the bastard out nine ways to sunday, she feels herself being pulled back to her body, and she lets out a frustrated yell.

"YOU ASSHOLE! GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SHITHEAD! GO DIE IN A HOLE YOU BASTARD!"

She wakes up in her bed, panting slightly. Scowling, she pushes herself up and throws her coat over her shoulder, wrenching the door open.

"Cage?"

She looks over her shoulder to meet her friend's worried eyes. 

"I heard you yelling. What happened?"

Taylor Stan blinks with his wheelchair half out the door when the priestess growls at his question, though he can tell it isn't aimed at him.

"If I can sue that bastard, I'll sue his ass off."

She says heatedly and turns to help her friend move into the living room of their temporary abode. He hums at her question and peers up through his bangs.

"Did the God of Death do something?"

"...."

Cage glares at the ceiling. Taylor can just hear her cussing out said god as her face turns into an angry shade of red. The man is confused as to why Cage is so enraged. Normally, she wouldn't be this angry with the God of Death, so the god must have done something stu—ahem, something unthinkable.

"...Saint."

"Huh?"

Taylor's head swivels around so fast he almost feels dizzy. He gawks at Cage when she sighs and covers her mouth with a hand.

"That bastard found his Saint."

Her gaze sharpens, and Taylor can imagine the God of Death sweating bullets underneath her glare.

"And I, for one, am not going to trust that shithead with child-rearing of any kind."

Chapter Text

The morning breeze brings with them whispers of unease. 

The harsh tidal waves of an upcoming disaster, far away from the shores and with everyone none the wiser, masquerading itself as small ripples of baseless gossips traveling from the mouths of people living in a small, unimportant village most others would not have heard the name of.

Riding with the wind, those stilted words are carried above the heads of the villagers wandering up and down the rocky village street in hushed tones and low voices, their conversations carefully kept in between the shadow of two people as if to keep someone else from listening in.

The busy village market does not fare any different today. Among the commotion of the stall owners shouting out their prices are the same low-toned whispers that, like snatches of an idiotic ghost story, told of a mansion by the foot of a mountain. 

The details shift from one person to the other, as most stories told by words of mouth go. Sometimes, there would be a wicked young master in it. Other times, there would be a deranged maniac taking a temporary reside instead. There were those who said that alarms were blaring throughout the night and reported signs of a break-in, while the rest were convinced it was the wailings of the departed instead.

No matter which one it is, in all those various tales, there is only one detail that remained unchanged.

That the mansion has fallen victim to a curse so terrible, those who ever stepped foot inside left with strange blemishes upon their skin. A dark purple bruise not unlike the shape of a hand on their wrists and ankles—as though something had been trying to make them stay by force until it dug deep into flesh and bones to leave dents and marks that would never truly fade away. 

Or even perhaps, some villagers would say, that it left its mark on those who had gotten away, so they couldn't escape a second time.

This kind of strangely morbid tale is different from what the people of the peaceful Roan Kingdom is used to. It isn't a surprise then, that while it draws trepidation, it also brings about a sense of fascination. The excitement is clear to see in the elated faces of the crowd perusing the market wares, their voices permeating the air and repeating the same kind of story that has been told a couple of times just that morning alone.

Leaning against a stall filled with various street snacks, a young man curls a smile upon his lips, his eyes wandering about the sight in front of him. His hand is fiddling with a skewer that smells faintly of charcoal and spices, while the middle-aged woman manning the stall is busy packing up a bunch of snacks with a large grin.

"Young man, you want to buy so many, how are you going to finish all of these?" 

She chortles, seemingly delighted by the handsome youngster taking interest in her stall.

The young man smiles. Sunlight casts his features into stark relief, golden outline framing his face in thin lines that contrasted his tanned skin. The curl of his lips is both charming and mischievous.

"Mm, my dongsaeng is quite fussy because he was put on bed rest. A few more snacks won't hurt, right?"

He lets out a forlorn sigh, eyes drooping and shoulders slumping.

The woman turns sympathetic when she sees the young man's dispirited state. She bustles about in place, rummaging around to search for something while she tuts in concern.

"Aigoo, my child also likes to throw tantrums whenever he's sick. What a good brother you are. Here, pack some honey cakes with you. Children are always more easily placated with sweets."

The bag filled with various goodies is shoved into the young man's hands. He accepts her goodwill with another smile, and places a pouch of money on the table. Bidding her goodbye, he turns on his heels to disappear among the throngs of people, paying no mind to the shadows tailing him from among the trees and above the roofs.

Chuckling to himself, the young man turns the corner to a moderately sized house located at the end of the street. It looks plain and unassuming, and the gate creaks rustily when he pushes it open. 

"...what are you planning?"

A voice drifts along with the wind, coming from one of the unseen shadows following the young man's every move. 

"You're really taking your time. What's the use of spreading a campfire ghost story like this?"

The gravelly voice sounds irked. When he speaks, it feels like two metals screeching against each other, unpleasant to the ears. The young man doesn't seem to mind it though, and looks up to the sky with a smile. His eyes, coloured as dark as the night, glimmer brilliantly in the sun. 

"This is called being patient, Donovan. Maybe you should try it."

"...you're still as rude as ever, punk."

"And you still think straightforward is the best way to deal with those nobles. Which, it isn't. Besides, it's not like we're lying either. I'm pretty sure being struck with divine power counts as being cursed."

With a cheerful voice, the young man pushes the door open, revealing the ornately decorated interior that differs greatly from the house's plain outer appearance. 

Unlike the mansion that is Marquis Stan's villa, nearly every single furniture is made of wood, and various coloured quilts are draped over every plush couch tucked to the corners of the room.

"I'm quite good at what I do, aren't I? Are you doubting me now?"

The voice remains quiet for a while, and when the front door closes with a soft thud, a hooded figure appears all of a sudden on the open windowsill, perched like a massive bird with tattered black cloak. The face that is revealed from beneath the hood is probably a child's nightmare, with a scar that split the upper part of the man's lips and stretching widely across his face. 

"Can you stop speaking in riddles? Get to the point."

The disfigured Dark Elf grouses, his hoarse voice like nails screeching against a chalkboard.

"If I didn't know you, I would've thought you were planning to spare that Stan family's young master."

A hum escapes the seemingly absentminded young man. 

He approaches the open kitchen not too far from the door and ignores the cloaked figure's annoyed groan. Small wooden cups and plates with vague animal carvings are brought out and laid on the kitchen counter. The conflicting smell of confectioneries and greasy skewers makes the figure still perched on the windowsill scrunch his nose in distaste.

Popping one of the palm-sized honey cakes into his mouth, the young man—or rather, the quarter Dark Elf—temporarily named as 'Bob' for undisclosed reasons lets out a sigh.

"There's no fun in revealing something so early, is there? Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

'Bob' waves a careless hand in the air. The charming smile he was wearing like a second skin appears once again on his face. 

"It's my duty to teach those rowdy nobles how to behave in the first place. Don't worry about it too much."

And then he disappears up the stairs, his steps not making a sound even as he balances both plates and a pitcher of honey lemon tea on his hands. 

Donovan, left alone in the quiet room, sighs aggravatedly.

"Dongsaeng! Did you miss me?"

He hears that infuriating punk's overly cheerful voice upstairs, and wonders if that cheer is as honest as 'Bob's polite, amicable mask outside. 

Donovan still finds it weird how fast 'Bob' warmed up to the kid. Even now, nearly three days after the boy made a mess out of the Stan family's villa, Donovan is not sure whether 'Bob' is merely prodding around for his own amusement or not.

Kind though 'Bob' may be, Donovan won't put it past the little shit to spin another one of his schemes again. Honesty is never one of 'Bob's biggest trait, and propriety only goes as far as 'Bob' deems it acceptable, though he never lays his hands on innocents either.  

The Stan family's downfall is already ticking on the clock. How it will happen or when doesn't really matter. If 'Bob' wants to do this kind of useless twirls and dances before going in for the kill, that's hardly any of Donovan's problem. While it comes at the cost of Donovan's sanity and never-ending headache, what else is new? 

That's just how it goes when one is assigned to guard someone like 'Bob', Donovan supposes. Trying to get information out of him is like pulling teeth from a Dragon-nim—it's too much trouble than Donovan cares to deal with. Especially now that there really is a Dragon-nim among their midst. Donovan will just end up wanting to throttle someone if he noses around where he isn't wanted. 

Scratch that, he already wants to throttle someone. 

Preferably the punk that is now playing house with the strange little boy upstairs.

"Youngsters these days..."

Donovan heaves a sigh, and disappears back into the shadow. He'll just ask Tasha for a bigger bonus as compensation. Or maybe wine. A full barrel of wine. Dragon-nim knows Donovan needs all the help he can get, lest he ends up like Gilbert.

Upstairs, meanwhile, the smiling young man opens another ornate door to be met with a lump on a massive bed. 

A few tufts of hair jut out from within the fluffy folds, and as 'Bob' nudges the door close with a foot, the massive cocoon wriggles around before a tiny face pops out, scrunched up in annoyance. That tiny, bun-like face crumples slightly when 'Bob' meets the other's gaze with a smile, but it quickly smoothens out when he sees the snacks 'Bob' balances on his hands.

Placing the snacks and pitcher on a side table, 'Bob' turns his gaze to the closed door of the bathroom, where pleadings and apologies flood out endlessly from within, along with snarls and growls and what sounds like something repeatedly hitting against the wall. It sounds like someone is crying as well.

Probably Gilbert, 'Bob' muses with a twitch of his mouth.

"Gilbert's not done bathing the Dragon-nim yet?"

He asks with nonchalance, as if he wasn't the one who pushed the poor sod into this current predicament. 

The child shuffles around inside his cocoon with a careless grunt, seemingly not intending to move even a toe out of the blanket. His sleepy look, paired with the messy hair sticking up this way and that, makes for quite an endearing sight. 

If not for the wet patch 'Bob' can see on the pillow Kim Rok Soo was lying against, he would probably let the child sleep a little bit more. As it is, though, 'Bob' simply picks up the child, blanket and all, and carries him across the room under one hand.

Kim Rok Soo's stupefied expression is really too amusing to see.

"You lied down as soon as you were done with your bath, didn't you," 'Bob' remarks in a light tone. "Your hair's dripping water all over the pillow."

That's none of your business, 'Bob' can see that rude thought clearly written all over Kim Rok Soo's face, which immediately soured when 'Bob' easily carries him across the room. 

He dangles from 'Bob's hand like a limp sack of flour, except he's lighter than a sack of flour and a sack of flour probably won't stare daggers at 'Bob'. A sack of flour would also be more troublesome to carry, because Kim Rok Soo doesn't even struggle to be let go and instead tucks himself in to make it easier for 'Bob'.

'Bob' is somewhat concerned about this dongsaeng's lack of self-preservation instinct.

"Listen to your hyung-nim, okay? If someone tries to do this, don't make it easier for them to kidnap you. Try wiggling a bit more. Maybe hit them where the sun doesn't shine so you can bolt."

His advice earns him another round of dubious squinting. There's a challenging glint in Kim Rok Soo's eyes, like he's contemplating whether to do a trial run right there and then to the magnanimous hyung-nim that brought him snacks. 

Rude, 'Bob' thinks as he smiles back, full of teeth and the warning of go ahead, I dare you.

Kim Rok Soo settles back with a huff, though not before giving 'Bob' one last withering glare. He looks like a tiny scrap of fluff with knives for eyes and 'Bob' allows himself to let a pained, dramatic sigh escapes through his mouth.

How cruel this little dongsaeng of his is. To discard the effort of his hyung-nim so easily like that, the work of a babysitter really is one with too little appreciation. Oh, the pain of being too kind—

"You're thinking about something rude, aren't you."

Another kitten-like glare. 

'Bob' wonders if Kim Rok Soo will brandish a set of claws if he's released from his cocoon. He's very much tempted to let the child go just to see that.

"Put me down already. Why the hell are you being so buddy-buddy now?"

"Are you saying your Bob hyung-nim wasn't friendly before? Gosh, my heart is breaking, dongsaeng."

The cocoon is placed on a round stool facing a mirror, and the tiny face is now back to wearing a contemplating expression, with barely any traces of the previous annoyance left.

"...is hyung, by any chance, a criminal wanted by the Crown?"

The towel 'Bob' grabbed to dry Kim Rok Soo's hair is still dangling from 'Bob's unmoving hand when he stares down at the tiny mop of hair on the stool with a blank expression. 

Kim Rok Soo, like he has come to a conclusion 'Bob' isn't sure the cause of, squints up at 'Bob' in the mirror with eyes that seem to be appraising 'Bob' from head to toe.

"Or maybe a mercenary with a bounty on your head? You needed to lay low for a while, so you're staying with us for the time being?"

A pause.

"...if I hand hyung over to the Royal Guards, will they give me compensation?"

Excitement muted in that bland voice, the child sounded so certain that 'Bob' finds himself wondering what would happen as well. He shakes his head, pushing away the ridiculous thought. 

Is stupidity contagious? 

"What's this, do I look like a wanted criminal to you? Is my dongsaeng planning to get rid of his hyung-nim already?"

"I'm not your dongsaeng."

"After all we went through? I'm hurt, dongsaeng. I even got Shawn to lessen your grounding time."

For some reason, Kim Rok Soo's face crumples even more at that. He looks like he would much rather be grounded than to deal with 'Bob' which is, once again, rude.

'Bob' thinks he has been repeating that word for quite a while now.

"Aigoo, why did I get such a grumpy dongsaeng?" 'Bob' wonders aloud, as if he can't walk away that very second. 

He swiftly ruffles Kim Rok Soo's hair with the towel and Kim Rok Soo lets out an indignant squawk, tiny hands trying to push 'Bob's arms away. Too bad for the kid though, he got all tangled up in his blanket cocoon instead, and his face turns even more like a sour grape, if that's even possible. 

'Bob' probably shouldn't tease the kid, but he coos anyway, and it leaves Kim Rok Soo seething like a kitten dumped into a tub full of water. 'Bob' really should stop messing with him, but the faces Kim Rok Soo make are all kinds of amusing, sue him.

Once 'Bob' finishes drying Kim Rok Soo's hair, he finally decides to spare the child some slack. Peeling the blanket off of Kim Rok Soo, his eyes linger on the long-sleeved clothes and trousers that don't look all too comfortable on such a blistering summer day.

"Gilbert doesn't have an ounce of fashion sense," he promptly decides, "Let's get you into something more comfortable to wear."

He reaches out to tug the shirt off, but Kim Rok Soo's hand curls around his wrist and digs.

Ouch. 

Turns out the little scrap of fluff really does have claws. Sharp ones too. 'Bob' should probably have them clipped before Kim Rok Soo accidentally scratch his own skin off.

"No," is all Kim Rok Soo says, and nothing else.

His gaze strays to the closed bathroom door, lips pursed and eyes shining with something like concern. The tiniest sliver of scars peeks out from where the edge of his sleeve was pulled back by the action, but tiny fingers are just as quick to tug the sleeve back in place, and those jagged lines remain out of sight once more.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, 'Bob' grows all too aware of the growls coming from the bathroom, now tapering off into something without real heat or annoyance. The baby Dragon-nim is sulking again, his mind notes with some semblance of amusement. That very same mind notes Kim Rok Soo's slow blink at the sound. The way his pursed lips smoothen out into a lax line on his face.

'Bob' pretends not to understand. 

He cards his fingers through Kim Rok Soo's hair and stitches another smile on his face.

"Are you being considerate to Gilbert? My dongsaeng is really good, isn't he?"

'Bob' chuckles. Kim Rok Soo's peaceful expression shutters close at that, replaced by a weak glare.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Gilbert you love him that much. He'll probably cry a river if he knows."

"Besides, we're matching now. Look at that, maybe Gilbert wasn't as daft as I thought."

That statement stops Kim Rok Soo short in his track. The harsh complain he must've meant to voice slips away as he takes in 'Bob's smiling visage by the open window. 

It's something 'Bob' notices only now, the way Kim Rok Soo's clothes mirror his own. A white, long-sleeved blouse with a high collar, gold trimmings lining the edges in little sun-like stitching that circle around both cuffs and collar. The only difference is that 'Bob's shirt has shorter sleeves, only reaching to his elbow, and the stitching on his shirt is a bit less pronounced. 

Kim Rok Soo looks like the beloved young master of a well-off noble, while 'Bob' probably comes off as a carefree noble's child who likes to ditch classes. Subtle enough not to draw unneeded attention, but clear enough to draw distinction.

The child in front of 'Bob' is a familiar sight that tugs another smile on his lips. He can almost see himself sitting there, in the well-loved shirt he had kept carefully folded inside his second home, now worn by the frowning Kim Rok Soo who stares at 'Bob' like he's some kind of a shady businessman.

Ah, the nostalgia is hitting hard. Along with the strange warmth that nestles itself inside 'Bob's chest ever so quietly.

Now, if only Kim Rok Soo can stop whatever ridiculous speculation running around inside that little head of his, it will be even better. 'Bob' can already see the kid spinning another unfathomable backstory for him.

"I'm not someone involved in such shady businesses. Do I really look that suspicious to you?"

"...."

"...not even trying to deny it? How harsh."

'Bob' nearly snorts. He doesn't, of course, but the laughter that is startled out of him instead is close. 

Kim Rok Soo eyes him again.

"What is it?"

'Bob' asks, cocking an eyebrow as he bundles the kid back inside his blanket. Kim Rok Soo still dangles from 'Bob's hand easily, once again tucking his feet in, and scrunches his nose up at 'Bob' with too-sharp eyes.

"You stopped playing around."

Kim Rok Soo says it with a note of certainty and a hint of relief. He looks glad to be rid of the careful, gentle hyung-nim he was facing, more at ease with the one that is now talking to him with careless remarks. An approach 'Bob' would usually use on adults rather than children like Kim Rok Soo.

He takes note of it and pushes the information into the back of his mind. Right among the copious notes he had taken of other people and all the ways he can push them into places. 

"Are you going to tell me what you're here for now?"

Ah, the kid really is too similar to 'Bob'. 

'Bob' doesn't know how to feel about that. He should hate that, actually. But he doesn't. Not really.

"Can't I just visit to see how my dongsaeng is doing?"

"Dongsaeng this, dongsaeng that, you're starting to sound like a broken record. Out with it."

"Wow, you're not cute at all."

A scoff. 

And then, Kim Rok Soo is deposited back onto his bed, right beside the book that has been the sole cause of one Venion Stan's 'curse', its cover gleaming bright and brilliant as it bathes in the sunlight coming in from the open window. 

'Bob' wonders if blood would finally stain its pristine white pages red one day, should anyone ever dare to lay a hand on the child in front of him.

He places himself at the edge of the bed with crossed legs, nearly slouching, and makes sure to keep straight in Kim Rok Soo's line of sight as much as he can while also keeping a few inches of height above Kim Rok Soo's head.

Firm, careful, but not oppressive.

With that book now laid out on Kim Rok Soo's lap like a docile house cat, 'Bob' opens his mouth.

"So."

"...so?"

"Are you finally going to tell this hyung-nim how long you've been planning to do this?"

'Bob's fingers drum over his thigh. He smiles charmingly at a stiff Kim Rok Soo, making sure his voice is dripping honey when he continues. He doesn't need to elaborate. Kim Rok Soo's blank countenance is enough of an answer.

"...mm "

Kim Rok Soo's gaze drifts down to the book on his lap. Fingers graze the cover lightly, tracing over the words etched there. 

How to Die Peacefully, it reads, in disturbingly elegant cursives. 

"A while," Kim Rok Soo settles with, thumbing the book as if he wants to flip open the cover. "Probably a few weeks ago."

To say that 'Bob' is surprised at Kim Rok Soo's easy answer is an understatement, but he doesn't show it. Smiles at Kim Rok Soo like he'd known already, even when he thought he would've had to push a little more to get his answer. Rile Kim Rok Soo a bit more until the child snaps and loosens his tongue.

Maybe 'Bob's nerves have been a bit too frazzled lately.

For all that Kim Rok Soo speaks and carries himself like someone years older, 'Bob' can't forget he's still a child, in the end. A mistake to correct on his part. He can't have himself catching the ire of whatever god has claimed Kim Rok Soo as their own.

(The royal Guards' 'rescue' had been fast, if a bit messy. Venion Stan curled up inside the carriage and folded his body in on himself, refusing to look into anything with a reflective surface—unwilling to acknowledge the bruises that didn't fade even with potions and healers and herbal remedies.

A curse, the word repeated itself inside 'Bob's mind.

Winding around his neck like a noose as he wore another face and pretended he wasn't carying a curse of his own.)

"You've known since a long time."

Not a question, but 'Bob' speaks it like one, to ease Kim Rok Soo into spilling the truth more readily. 

"Is it that book?" He asks, morbid curiosity rising inside of him. "Does it... talk to you?"

Can divine items even have consciousness? Can something that is yet another tool for the gods be granted a will?

There has never been a record of one, but history has to start from somewhere. And maybe the child in front of 'Bob' is writing one of his own, with his annoyed gaze that belies the care in which he handles the book.

"...not really." Kim Rok Soo shrugs. "Well maybe, sort of. I've always known... things, I guess."

Dark eyes peer up through jet black strands. A blank gaze that bears neither aggression nor compassion. 

Kim Rok Soo feels too empty for someone so blessed with divine power, none of the gifts granted by his god present in his tiny body except for the one night 'Bob' met him, unlike the Sun God twins 'Bob' had always heard of. Unlike the priests he'd met and the few blessed warriors he'd seen.

Kim Rok Soo's gaze is tempered, his will seemingly snuffed out of him, and while he indulges on childish urges sometimes, such moments pass by just as easily. Just as fast. There's not a lick of power 'Bob' can feel from him. Just an achingly deep maw of void where something should've been.

In hindsight, maybe that is the gift of Kim Rok Soo's god. 

(Maybe that is the mercy of a god. A gift for the child that carried so much on his shoulders, so he will never fall to his knees. 

You can't be hurt when you have nothing left to lose, after all.)

'Bob' vividly remembers the mad ramblings inside that book held so tightly within Kim Rok Soo's hands.

Do you wish to die? 

It wrote in exquisite curls and loops and careful strokes, beckoning softly to anyone who laid eyes on it. A whisper riding on the wind, like the ghost story 'Bob' brought home to this peaceful kingdom.

A dangerous coil of something tightening around his wrists. Tugging somewhere, not forceful but coy, an invitation brushing against 'Bob's skin with the thrum of power and void and death.

Follow me!

Follow me! Come learn about the easiest way to die!

And for a startling, fleeting moment, 'Bob' nearly followed.

(A god's mercy, 'Bob' thinks, feels a lot like the pull of sleep. 

A peaceful slumber that washes off every scar on his skin. A well-deserved rest after a long, arduous journey. 

But 'Bob' doesn't intend to rest just yet. Greed coils around his ribs like a den of serpents, twisting around his heart and whispering ambitions into his ears.

He wants to burn. Burn alight and bright and blinding until his name is left engraved within people's hearts. Seared into their very skin like the unforgiving summer heat. He wants to just be—wants everything this world can offer him and more. 

'Bob' doesn't need mercy. 

Not right now, anyway.)

"...mm, let's just wait for Shawn and Misha to come back." 

Kim Rok Soo voices his thoughts and glances out the window. 

The sky outside is bright and clear, the clouds hovering just enough to keep the vast expanse from being empty. It doesn't quite manage to hold back the heat from searing through your skin, though.

"It'll be a hassle if I have to repeat everything again, so I'll explain when they come back."

With that, the child settles back against his pillow, the book tucked neatly under his chin. He blinks up at 'Bob' slowly, and waits until 'Bob' eventually gathers his wits.

Huh.

That's new.

Kim Rok Soo willingly giving away information shouldn't feel this surprising to 'Bob', but it is. Surprising, that is. Because the kid didn't even share anything during their impromptu rescue mission before, just asking 'Bob' to do his part before doing his own. Someone like that answering questions this easily is suspicious, to say the least.

Hmm.

Now, what should 'Bob' make of this?

Kim Rok Soo is still a child, sure, but 'Bob' knows better than to be taken in by a young face and childish demeanour. He'd done much the same in his childhood, after all. Wrapping everyone around his fingers until they would willingly fetch when he said fetch because of course 'Bob' was such a kind, gentle child that couldn't do anything wrong.

The point is.

'Bob' may take pleasure in fooling people, but he doesn't like being fooled all that much.

He stares at Kim Rok Soo some more. The child's fluffy hair is not yet combed, making a messy nest atop his head. His expression holds no anticipation either. Just a lax frown and drooping eyelids while Kim Rok Soo wiggles around some more inside his blanket. All in all, the very picture of unassuming.

Oh, but there is something.

That nearly imperceptible look in Kim Rok Soo's eyes that is all too familiar to 'Bob'. The well-timed, slow blink that would have had Shawn cooing in no time at all, he's sure. The tiniest indent he makes into the blanket with a press of the thumb against the fabric that's a little too hard. 

'What are you planning now?'

'Bob' plucks the tray of assorted snacks and places it on the bed like an offering. The smell of honey cakes and little homemade sweets mingle with grease and charcoal in the air. 

Kim Rok Soo raises an eyebrow. The child's gaze turns flat, and he plops one of those tiny honey cakes inside his mouth. Chewing slowly, he meets 'Bob's gaze with a stare that is clearly a challenge.

I won't tell even if you bribe me with food.

It's sort of adorable how proud Kim Rok Soo looks with bulging cheeks and crumbs smattering his lips.

Well.

'Bob' is the hyung out of the two, he supposes. 

"...fine, we'll wait for Shawn and Misha." 'Bob' huffs, resisting the urge to rub a finger against his temple.

He can afford to let Kim Rok Soo believe he had 'Bob' unknowingly wrapped up around his fingers for now. Let him play his game of stalling if that can help ease his nerves before the inevitable. 'Bob' had done the same at around his age, so what's the harm? It's not like Kim Rok Soo can wiggle himself out of explaining either now that 'Bob' knows there is something more to all this mess.

They don't talk much about what happened after that. 

Nothing about the book or the Dragon-nim inside the bath. Not even about the night Kim Rok Soo dragged those poor sods inside the villa to who-knows-where, leaving them as nothing more than husks of their former selves.

'Bob' busies himself with his thoughts and plans, and Kim Rok Soo is keen on decimating the entire tray of snacks on his own. The silence is a comfortable one, broken occasionally by the shouting coming from the bathroom. Eventually, the two start a banter about 'Bob's apparent stupidity in discarding both his disguise and his mask out in broad daylight. One that Kim Rok Soo is all too happy to hammer into 'Bob's head again and again.

'Bob' doesn't tell Kim Rok Soo how recognisable he will be if he wears his other face out in the open.

That's something for another day, he thinks, one best left for the time he becomes certain where Kim Rok Soo stands in this not-so-little family of theirs.

And when Kim Rok Soo's stomach is sated, eyelids fluttering close, 'Bob' heads downstairs with dirty plates and an empty pitcher balanced on his hands. By the time he arrives into the small open kitchen, Donovan's agitated whisper drifts in, once again, from the open window.

"Marquis Stan is still holing himself up inside his home. Probably with that second young master too."

The sound of water washing away the sugar and oil clinging to 'Bob's hands doesn't quite manage to drown out Donovan's hoarse drawl.

"So far, no one suspects anything, but you've been less present than usual lately. A few people is starting to notice."

There's a light jab in the last sentence. A pointed warning that does little to stifle the amusement in 'Bob's smile.

"This isn't funny, you punk! What if they start making a mess in Huiss?"

"Let them be," 'Bob' says, with a sunny disposition that brightens the very room he is in. If Kim Rok Soo is here, 'Bob' is sure the child will show yet another one of his sour, scrunched up face.  "It'll be even better if they start making a fuss."

"...you know what, do whatever you want. I ain't losing anymore sleep over ungrateful little shits like you."

"Aw, so you do care, old man."

"Shut it. I'll snitch to Tasha about the Dragon-nim if you don't."

"Go ahead. Say hi to her for me, will you?"

"...Alberu Crossman, I don't care if you're the Crown Prince, I'm going to strangle you in your sleep one of these days."

'Bob'—Alberu—chuckles.

The Crown Prince of the Roan Kingdom wipes his hands with a towel and turns on his heels, waving a careless hand in the air.

"Careful there. Right now, I'm still 'Bob', remember?"

He grins, tilting his head halfway back to peer at Donovan. Like this, with the sunlight seeping in, his hair looks almost like strands of gold, his eyes reflecting the warm glow behind his lashes.

If someone were to see, they would probably gawk at the sight in front of them. At the young man so reminiscent of their Crown Prince, with his kind, gentle smiles and the unfathomable depths of his eyes, their gaze unable to stray from the smiling visage of this (fake) beloved, blessed sun of the Roan Kingdom.

Though, would it be more fitting to refer to him as the moon instead of the sun right now? Or perhaps an eclipse?

The Dark Elf laughs. 

"Oh, and make sure to close the window on your way out. Wouldn't want anyone nosing around now, would we?"

Alberu makes his way back with a hum on his tongue. 

The quarter Dark Elf feels something akin to childish excitement rising inside of him. It's not quite the same, though. Something a bit more tempered. Anticipation, maybe? Or perhaps just plain eagerness?

A grin forms on Alberu's face. It's wide enough to draw a weirded-out stare from Kim Rok Soo once he returns to the room, the child shuffling under his blanket as if he wants the very sight to be erased from his mind and his eyes.

Ah, the pain of being an older brother.

No respect at all, this kid. 

Alberu seamlessly settles back into 'Bob's skin and rolls Kim Rok Soo into a cocoon, restarting their cut-off banter all over again. The book inside Kim Rok Soo's hands doesn't budge the entire time, content in the tangle of limbs and fabric, but Alberu knows better than to brush off the cold creeping up his back as merely a breeze slipping in from the drafts in the walls.

Donovan would call him stupid to stay so near and so long when they are creatures abandoned by those higher beings. Would call him greedy and accuses him of trying to play pawn with the kid, the nagging softie that he is. Getting tangled up with an envoy of the divine is definitely a one-way trip to giving Donovan a raging headache.

In a way, Donovan is a lot like Misha, with his tendency to make absolutely sure there is nothing that can hurt his family around him. But unlike Donovan, Misha's faith in Alberu is greater than her hate towards those divine entities.

She would believe Alberu wholeheartedly in everything he does. Would push the two together because 'youngsters need to take care of each other and stop bothering the elders for every little thing'. She'd been the one to push Alberu into visiting in the first place, after all.

"He reminds me of you," she had told him. "You'd like him. Come visit more often, you're the only one closest to his age right now."

Alberu didn't want to, at first. Not right away. Not until he heard about the kid wanting to visit Roan, anyway. After that, it was a matter of curiosity, and Alberu was never one to deny himself something as simple as this.

Just a little peek would be alright, he'd thought.  

He just wanted to see the youngest, newest addition to his family, who had already charmed so many people already. Maybe prod a little to see what had his grandfather so eager to cater to the whims of a child.

But then he saw the book, floating and fluttering and cloaked heavily in what was undeniably divine power.

The Dragon-nim, chained and scarred and kept inside a small cell like an animal.

That sniveling young master who dared to torture a Dragon inside Alberu's own kingdom—

Something inside Alberu seethes quietly.  

An enraged little thing that bristles at the thought of someone playing strings inside Alberu's kingdom, scuttling around inside Alberu's territory like dirty little rats. It's a slowly simmering rage pooling inside his stomach that threatens to tip over, held back only by the thought that the ones involved will get their due punishment served in time.

But that's not enough. Not nearly.

Because Alberu is a greedy, selfish bastard who won't tolerate anyone touching what is his. 

His land, his kingdom, his people—everything in Roan belongs to Alberu. Every single person and every single creature, all of them are Alberu's to lead, Alberu's to guide, and Alberu's to protect. 

This sort of thing happening under Alberu's nose is nothing short of an insult to his pride.

It was only because of Kim Rok Soo that Alberu even knew about the Dragon-nim. Probably would've went his whole life not knowing if Kim Rok Soo didn't jump out that window in an attempt to safe his baby friend, the reckless idiot that he is.

So now that this tiny, fluffy Saint swaddled in Alberu's clothes has become Alberu's dongsaeng, now that this baby Dragon-nim has chosen to stay for however long that may be, Alberu won't stop until he can flush out whoever is behind Venion Stan's stupidity. Won't hold himself back if that is what it takes to keep his people safe. 

He wants only the best for his kingdom. Wants them to flourish and to cement their name in history and be remembered for as long as the world spins. Wants his people to thrive and grow and become strong—perhaps eventually become something that can rival even the Mogoru Empire. 

The Dark Elves, the Dragon, and even Kim Rok Soo is a part of that. Alberu wants and wants and wants, and he continues to want. That is Alberu's greed as the ruler of this kingdom.

What use is a king without greed, anyway? 

What do you call someone who has power in name only, and bleeds himself dry when everyone fattens themselves up? 

A fool, Alberu thinks. 

And Alberu doesn't fancy being one.

There was always a part of Kim Rok Soo that wondered what it would feel like to find himself inside a novel like in the stories he'd read.

If it would feel like a dream or a nightmare, or if it would feel like playing a game with a walkthrough on hand. If it would make Kim Rok Soo long to be back in his old world, or if Kim Rok Soo would much rather leave behind that ruined world for something that was probably a fantasy come to life.

What if, Kim Rok Soo wondered. 

Just a little spiral of thoughts to keep himself from falling into memories he would much rather forget. Something to pass time when he could feel his feet dragging on the floor and his eyelids a little too heavy to open.

Now that Kim Rok Soo actually finds himself inside one, he doesn't really know what to make of it.

He doesn't feel elated, nor does he feel desperate to find a way back. He's not quite resigned to his fate, but that doesn't mean he wants to make a fuss out of it either. Kim Rok Soo doesn't really feel much aside from a strange sense of wonder. 

Like seeing something from up close behind the screen and figuring out that what he saw is apparently more real than he first thought.

But this world has always been real.

It has never been anything less than the world Kim Rok Soo lived in before. It's not something controlled by the whims of an author anymore. 

Because now that things are starting to divert from what Kim Rok Soo knows should've happened, he's starting to see that too many of what he knows now didn't really appear inside the novel.

The Dark Elves, the book, the Dragon. 

And now this strange hyung-nim who smiles with just the perfect amount of charming, while his eyes look like he wants to bury someone six feet under. Preferably the nuisance that is Venion Stan, probably. 

Kim Rok Soo isn't stupid enough to believe Bob is playing the part of an amicable hyung just because.

What sort of Dark Elf is confident enough to stay within the Roan Kingdom's territory that he owns a safe house of all things, when the royal family is known to be blessed by the Sun God?

A mental case, that's who. Or maybe someone with a considerable amount of influence within the kingdom itself. 

Which doesn't really help Bob's case in Kim Rok Soo's opinion. Especially when everything about Bob screams 'suspicious'. Enough that Kim Rok Soo won't be surprised if the man is some sort of a criminal on the run, or even someone who has a hand in the shadier part of the business.

To be honest, it doesn't really matter whether or not Bob is a fugitive or a mercenary or whatever scary occupation fits the part of 'scheming, plotting, and calculating' to a T. What matters is that Kim Rok Soo can't really deal with him the way he usually deals with the mayor or Shawn or Misha. 

Which means Kim Rok Soo can't really fool the guy into thinking this was just a coincidence and Kim Rok Soo is just a child who doesn't know any better really—

Yeah no.

That's not going to fly at all.

So.

Since the cat is already out of the bag, he may as well use it to his advantage.

It's not like he can slip out from the tight watch the Dark Elves have been keeping him under either. Not without relying on the book again, which Kim Rok Soo is certain only succeeded because the rest of the room's occupants were already asleep.

He had relied on the book's delusional tendency to spoil its nonexistent children to at least influence the sleeping Dark Elves in the room on a whim. 

If the book can make Kim Rok Soo stay inside that weird dream, then it could probably make them stay asleep for what little time Kim Rok Soo needed to search for the Dragon.

It was only a matter of 'accidentally' letting it slip to the book that there is no way he can sneak out from a room full of adult Dark Elves. With a pout as a cherry on top to ensure for maximum kill. And the knowledge that the book probably knew Kim Rok Soo wanted to dupe it but wouldn't mind a single bit.

And Kim Rok Soo had never been so right in his life. 

It was way too effective it was almost scary. 

Sadly, he doesn't think he can recreate that scene again. Not if someone remains even remotely awake. And with the newest watch rotation happening between Shawn and Gilbert, Kim Rok Soo can safely say slipping away is now out of the question.

Because then Kim Rok Soo would've had to borrow the power of the God of Death, and he wants to be able to feel his legs when he needs to run errands around the kingdom, thank you very much.

In a sense, Bob not being able to be fooled so easily makes it easier for Kim Rok Soo as well, he supposes. 

Because now Kim Rok Soo can just honestly say he knows of this world's possible future and blames it on a god's intervention.

Bob is not stupid. Neither is Kim Rok Soo. The Dark Elf probably realised the book in Kim Rok Soo's hands is not an ordinary book, just like Kim Rok Soo realised the book may probably be one of the divine items he'd read about only in passing before. 

This should also be the reason Shawn and Misha mentioned all those strange things about gods and whatnot when Kim Rok Soo was first admitted to the hospital. Because they probably already knew this was a divine item from the start. Or suspected it, at the very least.

So much for not dealing with anything divine or demonic, Kim Rok Soo thinks sourly. 

And to top it all off, of all the gods that exist in this world, it just had to be the God of Death whose power Kim Rok Soo borrowed. 

Can't it be the God of Wealth or something? Why must it be the God of Death? 

Why must it be the one god whose domain Kim Rok Soo very much wants to steer clear of?

At least Kim Rok Soo can take solace in knowing that the God of Death is one of the more forgiving gods out there. The guy tolerates his own Holy Maiden cursing him out daily and doesn't abandon her even when she becomes excommunicated. That means the god won't easily take offense in Kim Rok Soo laying his hands on the god's divine item while staying with the Dark Elves. With some other gods, like the Sun God, that kind of thing would only end in disaster.

Or it can also be that the God of Death is just a masochist. Whichever one works best.

The point is. 

Kim Rok Soo isn't really lying about the whole 'godly intervention' thing. 

Waking up in a desert called the Land of Death, with the God of Death's divine item following Kim Rok Soo around? There is no way in hell the God of Death didn't have a hand in whatever caused Kim Rok Soo to wake up here.

So Kim Rok Soo knowing about the future of this world would also technically be because of the God of Death.

Bob and the others would probably interpret it a bit more differently. They would probably think that Kim Rok Soo is a divine envoy or the like. A priest or a bishop?

It doesn't really matter. 

Since Dark Elves have lived longer than humans, it would be easy for them to figure out that Kim Rok Soo isn't really a follower of the God of Death. But once Kim Rok Soo makes sure the City of Life won't be touched by the upcoming war, Kim Rok Soo's status as a 'divine envoy' will probably already be forgotten. Dark Elves don't care all that much about the gods, and with a baby Dragon here, they won't care about Kim Rok Soo's status for too long either. 

Hook, line, and sinker, Kim Rok Soo thinks when Bob stares at him with a raised brow but accepts Kim Rok Soo's whispered confession readily. Kim Rok Soo's lips twitch in an urge to smile, but he easily suppresses it.

Bob is still doubting something. Kim Rok Soo can see it in that amused, pointed curl of his lips, the searching gaze the Dark Elf gave Kim Rok Soo right afterwards. But Bob lets Kim Rok Soo do as he likes, and so Kim Rok Soo pretends as if he doesn't know Bob had probably done something to prevent news of a break-in from spreading within the kingdom. 

That's the one thing Kim Rok Soo doesn't mind the Dark Elf doing. Alberu Crossman is a character Kim Rok Soo wants to come across with the least, so the less anyone knows about a child stealing a Dragon and all that, the better. And that's saying something when there are also characters like Ron and Beacrox running around.

Speaking about other characters running around...

Kim Rok Soo wonders if he should do something about Choi Han.

Despair is what forged Choi Han's blade into the unforgiving steel it is known for, but it's also something that will break him into pieces once the war begins. Choi Han's madness is a prevalent thing throughout the novel's series, even if it isn't outright apparent in the first place.

It shows through the little things. Through the way Choi Han continues to let his rage consume him and drowns himself in it to be even sharper. The way it doesn't matter how strong he becomes, because everyone around him is meant to die in the end.

The way Kim Rok Soo knows Choi Han is slowly moulded to be both overpowered and a martyr, because that is what a 'hero' is supposed to be.

No one can live like that without coming out with at least a whole slew of mental problems to last a century. And Choi Han has already lived like that for centuries. He's already broken and cracked and fraying at the seams.

Can he even be saved now? 

Is it too late to make sure Choi Han at least keeps the last shred of his sanity intact, if Harris Village is to be spared? Or will it not matter in the end? Will Kim Rok Soo doom the fate of this world if he does?

How far does the consequence of Kim Rok Soo's meddling go?

(Kim Rok Soo has never been a kind person, but he is someone who cherishes life.

The Birth of a Hero is not a happy story. It is the tale of someone who grows through pain and hardship to survive through even more pain. An endless circle of suffering in the name of saving someone. Saving anyone but themselves.

The Birth of a Hero is the kind of story Kim Rok Soo hates, but Kim Rok Soo could never stop reading.

Do heroes dream, he wonders.

Have you ever wished to let go, Choi Han?)

Kim Rok Soo lets out the breath he was holding, and thumbs a page of the book in his hands. It feels warm and soothing. Thrumming with power that wasn't present just a few days before. An undulating pulse that is undeniably there now, ever since the night Kim Rok Soo saved the Dragon.

Another consequence brought by Kim Rok Soo's own hands for the book that wasn't supposed to exist, in this world that wasn't supposed to be real. The very proof of Kim Rok Soo's own existence in this world.

Thump thump, it pulses under his palms. Steadily and surely. Quietly but persistently.

"...can I save them?"

He whispers to the air, ignoring Bob's pointed gaze as he flips the book open.

Is it too late to try at all, is what Kim Rok Soo means, and the scrawls he sees feel both like pride and anticipation. Like a broad hand on his shoulder and a smile hidden behind a curtain of white hair.

Humans are an existence that can destroy the world's law and coincidences.

The thudding beat of another heart, nestled within Kim Rok Soo's ribs and within the pages of the book.

That is why I respect and admire humans.

If this book is the God of Death's, then who is this Kim Rok Soo is talking to? Whose words did Kim Rok Soo read? 

A god or a divine item?

Are the two different, or one and the same?

My child, I will be with you every step of the way.

Maybe the answer is simply death.

Chapter Text

It's nearing three in the afternoon, and the heat almost feels like murder on Kim Rok Soo's skin.

Almost.

Mostly, it is Kim Rok Soo's mind playing dramatics just for the sake of it. The white book dutifully shields him from the full brunt of the weather, and at most, he only feels mildly warm. Dipping in a tub kind of warm, not the one that you feel when you're about to be sick. 

That doesn't stop Kim Rok Soo from groaning on the bed as though crushed under the pressure of summer. 

The Dragon is a weight curled on top of his chest without remorse, tiny head tucked in the junction of Kim Rok Soo's neck and shoulder. His scales reflect the weather like a slow simmering pan. A warmth plastered onto Kim Rok Soo's skin that he can't really shove off without the threat of having one irritated baby throwing a tantrum.

As a Dragon, the baby weights more than he look, and Kim Rok Soo stifles a grunt when the Dragon wriggles around to find a steady grasp on Kim Rok Soo's shirt. Tiny paws clench and unclench as he whispers out his complaints for Kim Rok Soo to hear. Wordless little growls and yowls and flicking tail that nearly whips the bed in half.

Tiny horns bump against the underside of Kim Rok Soo's chin, the Dragon looking for an answer to his plight. Kim Rok Soo gives him a pat in place of verbal one, staring up at the ceiling and counting the specks of dust he can see there. Maybe counting imaginary dust bunnies will tire Kim Rok Soo enough to conk him out. He's not really in the mood to play babysitter on such a dreary day. 

It doesn't, unfortunately, work for Kim Rok Soo. 

Mainly because the house is freakishly clean inside, down to every nook and cranny on the ceiling of the unused bedroom. Kim Rok Soo finds only a few stains of water damage and little else. It makes him wonder just what use this house has served for the years it was left abandoned in the Kingdom of Roan.

"Uh-huh," Kim Rok Soo mumbles to one particular annoyed growl, eyelids fluttering open and shut. "Uh-huh. How terrible."

His dispirited answers do not deter the baby from becoming even more spirited in his tattling. The Dragon's tail flicks and bristles like it has a mind of its own, lashing out in the direction of one particular corner. 

Gilbert melts into a sad puddle of sweat and stink there, lips wobbling and eyes watering. Either from the Dragon's open hostility or the heat. Maybe both. 

His shirt has long been discarded somewhere among the mess that the bedroom has become after the two came out of the bath, and he's sitting ramrod straight with his legs folded underneath his weight, which doesn't help in battling the heat of summer. Repenting, he said when Kim Rok Soo asked him what he was doing that for. 

Kim Rok Soo thinks it's partially the man's fault for stepping on a Dragon's tail in the first place, and lets him stew in whatever it is he's doing while the Dragon continues piling up his complaints.

Bob, meanwhile, fares marginally better than the man. 

He remains near motionless at the shaded alcove by the window, unmoving as he flips through today's newspaper with a smile dancing on his lips. Light breeze blows in from outside, ensuring that the heat won't become too much to bear anytime soon for the young Dark Elf. 

A few more stacks of newspapers are scattered by his feet. Those have a few red circles on some of the words for reasons Kim Rok Soo doesn't bother to figure out. He catches a glimpse of 'church' and 'investigation' marked there, and promptly decides he didn't see anything.

"Hmm?"

Said Dark Elf raises his head and places down his nth cup of coffee for the day on the open windowsill. His eyes curl into crescents as he turns to the door.

"Welcome back," he says pleasantly, even before the doorknob rattles in place. "How did your outing go?"

Kim Rok Soo doesn't bother raising his head from the pillow when he hears the door swinging open. Boots scuffle against the wooden flooring and heavy footsteps stride into the room with a thudding sound. The Dragon grumbles some more into what little space he creates between the two of them, leathery wings spread out as though to hide Kim Rok Soo from whoever is coming in.

"It was fine."

Misha's voice is gruff. Not pleased, but not quite annoyed. Irritated, then.

"Could use a little less stumbling around, but Shawn insisted on staying longer."

"W-well, it would be a shame to leave these laying there! Not like anyone's going to come back to get it either."

Something jostles inside what sounds to be a bag. Glass containers clack softly against each other, and a few faint tinkles echo in the room.

"Rok Soo, look at this! I think you'll like it!"

Kim Rok Soo doesn't miss the excitement suffusing Shawn's voice. At the call of Kim Rok Soo's name, the Dragon builds up a growl in his throat, only stopping when Kim Rok Soo huffs and lays a hand on the sharp spines of his back, lightly patting the Dragon in assurance. He settles back against Kim Rok Soo, though not without another grumble.

Turning his head with much difficulty (the pillow feels like heaven and the mattress is as soft as the fluffy clouds outside the unlatched window), Kim Rok Soo can't say he expected to see a worn satchel filled with stationeries encrusted in gold and books that look to be as old as the mayor back home. 

Sleek bottles of ink peek out from beneath the stacks of books and quills and pens. There are even one or two sets of shoes stuffed in there, sparkling clean and definitely not something a Dark Elf from the Land of Death would manage to buy.

"The Viscount's villa has a lot of good stuff laying around. I got some for you! We can come back for more if we're missing something else!"

Shawn laughs, bright and energised like he was just going on an outing to the grocery store. Kim Rok Soo stares at him, a conflicted expression on his face. 

He would usually approve, gladly even, if they aren't currently trying to hide from the radar of one annoying Crown Prince that may or may not skin them alive if they are found.

...but they already looted a Dragon from Venion Stan, what is a little more looting going to do? 

In the end, it's a matter if they get found out or not, and with Bob here, as reluctant as Kim Rok Soo is to trust him, there is no doubt that their traces would be erased if there even is any in the first place. Surely, a Dark Elf as old as Shawn is no stranger to that.

A smile breaks out on Kim Rok Soo's face. 

"You're awesome, ahjussi!"

Shawn chuckles at the praise, his cheeks painted pink in embarrassment. A soft breeze brushes against Kim Rok Soo's temple, not unlike a gentle kiss placed upon his brow. 

"Just thought you'd be bored staying here for hours. This is a simple trip down the street, really."

From the window, Bob chokes on a cough that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

Shawn ignores him and places the bag down on a nightstand.

"We can look at the books together after I cleaned up. There are a lot of storybooks and a few on the languages of the Western and Eastern Continent."

Kim Rok Soo nods his agreement. 

His movement jostles the Dragon, who peers out of his hiding for the first time in a while. Slitted blue eyes narrow when they spot the spines of the books half spilling out of the satchel and onto the nightstand.

"Human, what's that?" The Dragon asks. 

"...books? Don't you already know this?" 

Kim Rok Soo gestures to the God of Death's book beside the pillow. It bears little resemblance to the expensive looking ones Shawn looted from the Viscount, but Kim Rok Soo thought they would still be recognisable to the Dragon.

Evidently, they aren't.

The Dragon shakes his head and scrunches his nose.

"Nuh-uh!" He retorts, "They don't feel the same!"

The Dragon paws at Kim Rok Soo's face, like he's talking to a particularly stupid child. 

"You said this is a book, that means those aren't books! They can't be the same! Silly human, how do you get them confused?"

...Kim Rok Soo doesn't really want to know what the Dragon is talking about, but Bob, as unhelpful as always, chimes in at the most inopportune of times.

"Do they feel different to you, esteemed Dragon-nim?"

Politely, Bob cants his head downwards ever the slightest when the baby Dragon turns to him. His smile is inquisitive, though there's a look in his eyes that tells Kim Rok Soo he's currently digging around for his own amusement again.

Kim Rok Soo scowls.

Bob smiles even wider.

The Dragon doesn't notice their stare-off. He eyes Bob for a short moment, a conflicted look in his eyes. After a short while of staring, the Dragon lets out a harrumph and preens.

"Hmph, of course they do! Nothing can fool this mighty Dragon!"

Apparently, the urge to bristle is not as strong as the urge to show off for a baby Dragon. And so, he does, snout raised high in the air. His maw wobbles in an attempt to stave off a proud grin. Behind him, his tail languidly lays from side to side.

"My human's book is very scary and violent. Those ones don't even compare to the strength in my pinky, so they're not the same!"

He pauses and narrows his eyes at Shawn.

Shawn freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. 

He has a hand stretched out towards the book at Kim Rok Soo's side, a worried frown marring his expression. That hand is retracted back as soon as the Dragon starts bristling, but the frown on his face doesn't lessen in its severity.

"...weird Dark Elf, don't think about taking this one." The Dragon warns, voice dropping a few degrees colder. "My human's book is not weak. Be extra careful. You will die."

A terse silence descends over the room.

Gilbert straightens from his ridiculous self-imposed punishment, and Misha crosses her arms to cast her narrowed gaze at Bob. Kim Rok Soo wants to bury his head inside the blanket and sleep the day away, pretending today never happened.

Unfortunately, Bob is as persistent as he is suspicious. The infuriating self-proclaimed hyung-nim turns his smarmy smile to Kim Rok Soo.

"Right, about that," He starts, in a tone as mild as milk, "My cute dongsaeng here has something to say. Let's not dawdle any longer lest he decide I forgot about it."

...this smug hyung-nim.

Kim Rok Soo was planning to say it anyway, but the look on Bob's face makes him want to play an idiot. 

"You do?" Shawn turns to Kim Rok Soo, eyes wide and curious behind golden framed spectacles. Kim Rok Soo curses inside of his head. His expression remains blank as he nods.

"...sure," Kim Rok Soo mumbles, somewhat reluctantly. 

He thumbs the book's ever pristine cover lying against his leg and briefly ponders on what to say. 

Can this be considered a blasphemy against the God of Death or not, he wonders. Will the god smite Kim Rok Soo if it is? This isn't nearly as easy as he made it out to be in his mind. 

Under Kim Rok Soo's palm, the book trembles. Kim Rok Soo lifts his hand, and the heavy cover flips open on its own, showing a page stained with eager loops of ink. Kim Rok Soo ignores the others' flinching and brings the thing closer to him. They form an incoherent train of thought that Kim Rok Soo barely makes out as:

Me, me, me!

"...you?"

I want to! Leave it to me!

Laughter rings in Kim Rok Soo's ears. Clear like a bell, and as faint as the rustling of leaves outside the window. 

Kim Rok Soo hasn't even given the book an answer yet, but the out-of-place calm that has been a constant companion to Kim Rok Soo returns, suffusing every corner of his mind. A familiar presence Kim Rok Soo welcomes with barely a frown despite the lack of tact from the book.

But something feels off. 

Is it because Kim Rok Soo has tasted the God of Death's power once? The serenity Kim Rok Soo took solace in now feels like something else entirely. 

It's the vaguest sensation of a veil falling over him. A pleasant sort of warmth, one that doesn't come from an intangible source anymore. Strands of silk-like textures he can't see spill over his shoulders and onto his hands and pool around the tips of his toes. It's not unlike being slowly covered in layers upon layers of silk.

Was Kim Rok Soo wrong?

Is the book a malicious, hostile entity that Kim Rok Soo shouldn't have trusted?

Or has Kim Rok Soo been blind to the true nature of its power all this time?

Something ebbs and flows away inside Kim Rok Soo's head. Panic and worry, sitting heavy inside the cages of his ribs, make way for something else.

Something strange.

Not bad or sickening, just... foreign.

It slithers under his skin and settles there. 

(Leave it to me, the thing under his skin says.

Shadows flicker in the corner of his eyes, dancing and laughing and skittering like a swarm of spiders surrounding an unassuming morsel, never truly there when he turns his gaze. 

Fondly, their wavering forms gather around him. In the crinkles of his shirt or the folds of his cloak and within the shadow he casts upon the bed.

My child, their voices echo, an amalgamation of many in one singular note, old and young and faint and loud, I will be with you every step of the way.)

Kim Rok Soo opens his mouth and the future, so brittle in the first place, starts to unravel.

Shawn is used to unfortunate situations.

Debatably, he's more used to it than fortunate ones.

Good things don't come to those who wait. Prayers don't mean shit when the ones listening already decided you are not worth saving, and Shawn learned that waiting for any miracle to happen at all is nothing short of an act of sheer, utter fucking stupidity.

Living for years in hiding, in a place as unforgiving as the Land of Death, means getting used to those unfortunate situations and making the best out of every scrap of opportunities he can get his hands on. Whatever little kindness the world decides to spare for the day.

This doesn't change when the City of Life started to prosper. 

A growing family means more mouths to feed, and more people to look out for. More lives he needed to guard from the monsters that prowl the sands above their heads, calling themselves 'humans' and parading around in the finest pair of silk robes to hide their rotten selves.

Shawn is no stranger to facing those monsters head-on if the need arises. His family is more important than making sure his hands remain clean in the years that he lived. He doesn't fear spilling someone else's blood for it. 

This, however, can't really be called an unfortunate situation.

There is no monster to kill and no blood to spill.

Only Kim Rok Soo, smiling at Shawn like Shawn is a particularly belligerent child, brown pupils darkening into a pitch-black shade that has Shawn reeling back with a hiss in the split second it takes for Kim Rok Soo to pull that damned book into his hands.

Alberu's smile slips away. He stares down at the child on the bed, the glint in his eyes turning sharp and unkind.

It's a strange sight to see. All the more when it is directed at Kim Rok Soo. 

But the one in front of them is no longer Kim Rok Soo. 

Shawn's mind can only see it as something wearing a clothing made out of the child's skin. A feeling of wrongness emanates from its every move. From the way it smiles to the way it eyes them with naked fascination. A subtle shift in the air that has Shawn's neck prickling with unease.

The Dragon takes to the air in two powerful flaps, hackles raised and eyes thinning into barely-there slits. 

"Why are you there?"

The Dragon-nim's voice is but a low rumble of thunder. It echoes nearly unbearably loud in the room.

"My human's book, where is my human?"

Gilbert is on his feet in seconds, daggers slipping into his hands with practiced ease. He slinks forward and goes into a half-crouching position by the Dragon-nim's side, and Misha surges forward to prevent Shawn from lashing out while the thing is still occupying Kim Rok Soo's body.

Run, run, run, his instinct screams at him. The visceral part of every Dark Elf that is more a beast than a human.

It tells him to get as far, far away from the thing on the bed as soon as he can.  

(The other, smaller part of Shawn tells him, stay.

Stay. Don't go. The world outside doesn't welcome you.

Peace exists just out of reach. It's right there in front of his eyes. If Shawn stretches out his hand, he can come home, come back, let's stay and sleep a little longer—)

Something terrible sits with them, and it is wearing the skin of their youngest.

"Peace," the thing rumbles in Kim Rok Soo's voice, amused. A smile has never looked so off-putting on that cherubic face. "Why do you fear? Come and sit with me."

Pitch black eyes crinkle, kind and pleasant. It doesn't stop Shawn's hands from trembling.

(In fear, in anger, in anticipation—)

"...what the fuck are you?"

Misha growls out, perhaps the steadiest out of all of them. Her scowl is fierce on her face. Her Elemental curls around her in sparks of red and orange, roaring their combined dissatisfaction for all who can hear. A small whirlwind made of flames erupts around them.

If they burn the book, Kim Rok Soo will return to them.

If that book is destroyed, then—then maybe—

The thing smiles.

"Don't do something stupid," it says, the sparks of fire reflected in its eyes.

Its smile is empty. Something inhuman pretending to be a human and failing miserably at it. 

"You'll find I'm not nearly as patient if you harm even a single strand of hair on my child."

The not-so-subtle threat doesn't make it easier for Misha to rein in her temper. She settles, though, more for the Kim Rok Soo's sake than anything else. Alberu, who has been silent all this time, opens his mouth at this very second. His voice cuts through the tension like a knife through butter. 

"Are you that divine item or its owner?" 

He asks, voice as firm as the boulders this land was built on, and Misha startles back hard enough she nearly crashes against Shawn's shoulder. The flames flicker out. Alberu stares at the thing with lips pressed so hard they nearly turn blue, and Shawn can't even find the courage to breathe a little louder.

"Which one are you?"

A divine item or its owner.

His mind keeps ringing with that sentence repeated over and over again. A broken record—or a nightmare coming true in broad daylight.

A divine item or its owner?

What will they do if it is the latter?

Is there any difference at all in the first place, if that divine item moves in accordance to a god's will?

Shawn tries to swallow his rising nausea.

(You're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die—)

"Aha!" The thing claps its hands in delight. "See, there's a smart cookie here!"

The grin on its face is more a mask stitched onto its skin than a smile. Those black eyes rake over them with the wavering interest of someone gazing down at insignificant but entertaining insects pinned inside a glass case. 

Patiently, almost mockingly, it stares up at Alberu from beneath the mess of Kim Rok Soo's bangs.

"Ah, but do you really want to know that?" It tilts its head. "Which one do you think I am?"

Its answer is both vague and ominous. Shawn doesn't know what it is implying in saying that, but Alberu seems to know enough. His smile to the thing in the bed is laced with something sour.

"...it's only polite," the younger Dark Elf answers. Each word he speaks is dripping with poison. "How can us lowly mortals ever presume what goes on in the mind of a god?"

 The thing guffaws at Alberu's words. 

Alberu stiffens, and Gilbert inches forward on quiet steps, poised to strike at a moment's notice. Not to kill but to disarm should the thing—a god? Or is it a vessel playing god?—decides to stop its pretense at politeness.

"Why are you laughing?"

The Dragon-nim's angry hiss adds to the rising hostility.

The power that rolls off his tiny body is no joke, but it remains a small flicker of candle in contrasts to the terror the thing's presence brings. A small boat buoyed on a sea thrashed by a storm.

Still, it allows Shawn to straighten his back and breathe a little easier, if only for a moment.

"Give my human back," the Dragon-nim snarls out, his mana a heavy weight coiling around them. "Stop playing with my human's body!"

Yet another vicious presence by his side, Shawn's Elemental is spitting out vicious threats to the air, in tune to the Dragon-nim's anger. 

As though the thing can hear those threats, it drags its gaze over every single one of them, including the two Elementals in the room. Its laugh tapers off into an exasperated sigh.

"Aigoo, why are you bunch so dramatic? Can a parent not check in on their child every once in a while?"

It doesn't roll its eyes, but it gives off the feeling like it wants to do so. Leaning back against the pillow, it steeples its hands over its lap and offers a tempered smile. 

"Is it not answers you seek? Ask away, I'm here to answer."

Shawn's shoulders are drawn taut in wariness upon hearing it. 

Why would a god offer to answer the curiosity of mortals? How could something divine even stand being in the same room as the Dark Elves?

They do not let their guards down in the face of this answer. 

This thing dared to take control of their youngest's body and acted out the part of a doting parent, as though it is more than just a leech taking their child hostage. Shawn certainly doesn't trust the words of something like that.

Alberu narrows his eyes at the smiling boy, displeasure tainting the curl of his lips.

"We would like to speak to Kim Rok Soo, thank you. If you would please return him to us, we would appreciate it."

It's a rejection as plain as it can get, polite though it may be.

The thing's smile grows dim. It hums, its fingers drumming against the book on its lap. Its eyes are locked onto Alberu's, but they look as though they are looking at something else. Something afar. A steely hint enters those beady eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," it says, and continues before Shawn can even start to bristle, "Someone troublesome will have problems with your dearest dongsaeng if he were to answer your questions."

It spreads its hands out in a grand gesture. The shadow on the wall moves with its theatric action. Behind the thing, it grows larger, taller. Someone older, with long hair that spills over broad shoulders. 

The thing smiles, full of teeth. 

"So here I am! Have I not been agreeable enough?"

Gilbert curses under his breath, and Shawn grits his teeth as the thing seems to grow even more amused.

The knowledge that there may be someone watching over Kim Rok Soo is not a pleasant one. Especially not when that someone—most probably a god, by the words of this one—doesn't sound like they have Kim Rok Soo's best interests in mind.

Alberu mulls over its words with crinkled brows. He stares mutedly down at the book in the thing's lap, and his eyes flicker upwards to meet the knowing, pitch-black orbs staring out beneath strands as dark as those pair of eyes.

"...do you know what's happening right now?" He questions. "The one behind all of this?"

The thing on the bed blinks. It crosses its arms, its smile turning into something milder, no longer the open maw of an endless abyss staring back at them. 

"Of course I do," it answers, closing its eyes. The fear keeping Shawn's feet rooted to the floor slips away, however momentarily.

"Like little Rok Soo said, I've always known things."

"Is this related to that troublesome person you mentioned?"

"Somewhat."

The wide grin it displays is kind. Gentle. But it doesn't spare another thought to their comfort, seemingly blind to the restless shuffling they are forced into. A single hand is brought up to its face, and it raises a pointer finger to tap the side of its eye.

"I cannot tamper with a mortal's fate. However, I can see one kind of future." 

The words it says next feel like remorse. 

"I see a lot of you in it. All of you are going to be in it, if something doesn't change."

What an ominous statement. From how serious the thing looks, it does not bode well for any of them. But what kind of future can the divine entity in front of them see?

Shawn clenches his hands into fists. His palms are clammy with sweat. 

"So, you're planning to do something about it?" He finds himself asking. 

The thing stares at him and raises a brow.

"Of course not." It deadpans. "I just said I cannot tamper with a mortal's fate, did I not?"

"Then why are you here?" 

Aggravation colours Alberu's words. Impatience too. He is not as unaffected by a god's presence as much as he wants them to believe. 

"Why bother taking over your... child's body like this?"

The thing tuts. 

It shakes its head, and its form on the wall flickers when it does that, into something as numerous as the stars in the night sky, that fragile human flesh seemingly not able to contain the true nature of the thing—a god, a monster, and something else entirely.

"I said I cannot tamper with a mortal's fate. You aren't listening correctly."

"...you're planning to use Kim Rok Soo."

"Use is a bit too crass. I'll have you know I'm also putting my dignity on the line here."

Gritting his teeth, Shawn glares at the thing. Hatred boils inside of his chest, blistering in its intensity. It dares to even talk about Kim Rok Soo like that? What bullshit. Is it playing around with them?

The thing turns its gaze to Shawn. 

"All of you are always so afraid." 

Playfully, it purses its lips into a pout. There's a coldness hidden in its eyes that Shawn nearly misses. A cruelty that lies beneath the mask of fairness it has worn all this time. 

It mutters, in a voice that is both Kim Rok Soo and someone else, "Why do you fear? You will return to me one way or another."

A frown curls on its lips. It waves a hand, as if to dispel the hostility in the air. "Ah, no matter."

Shawn's breath is nearly knocked out of his chest when his anger is plucked right out of the very crevasse of his heart. 

He is left with nothing more than the phantom pain of what once was an all-consuming anger. A void where something else should have been. He wheezes out a breath, wincing at how jaunting the lack of emotion is. It almost hurts, physically.

From the way everyone else stutters in place, Shawn thinks the same happened to them.

Like It didn't just banish whatever train of thoughts they may have had, the thing returns to sitting primly on the bed, hands locked together on its knees. 

"I have no time for philosophical musings. Such a bore they are. Let us return to the matter at hand while you are all calm and civilised, yes?"

Shawn opens his mouth to say something, but it carries on like it didn't notice. The next words it says has Shawn's mouth clicking shut with a force that make his jaw ache.

"In approximately twenty years and a half, this world will come to an end."

There is no humour in its voice when it says this, nor is there a hint of pity to be found there.

Only a pair of cold, unfeeling black gauging their reactions.

"The years to come will be that of endless wars and suffering. Your enemies are unlike any you've encountered before, and even now they are already festering inside your home."

Trembling eyes search for a hint of a lie and find dread in the way the thing's expression remains unbothered. Shawn's ears are ringing with statics. That sentence rings clear in the turbulent haze that his mind has become.

Did it just say that the world is...?

(You will return to me one way or another.

This is the kindest truth it can give.)

The thing smiles, grim and solemn.

Death offers them its condolences, every word coming out of its mouth as potent as poison.

"This world's chance of surviving is close to none."

It trails off, waiting. But no one speaks in the face of such a revelation. 

There is an emptiness sitting inside of their chest that has only been filled with something worse than anger. Shawn doesn't think he has ever feared something as fiercely as he does now, looking into the young face of Kim Rok Soo in front of him.

Their youngest is a tiny thing that doesn't even reach Shawn's hips. A brilliant child who has his whole life ahead of him. A future that shines brightly, brimming with endless possibility. 

Except that future has already been robbed from him. 

Shawn realises now, looking back on Kim Rok Soo's strange behaviour—too mature, too compliant, too empty—that the child has been prepared for this. A pawn in the hands of a god, in place of becoming a body to be buried in the war to come.

Trading one collar for another. Except in this one Kim Rok Soo still has a chance to live, however long that will last. 

Even with the help of a god, Kim Rok Soo is still just a child. With their enemies as powerful as the thing said they are, how can it expect Kim Rok Soo to fare better against them?

How?

Shawn's breath comes out in painful little gasps. His chest feels too tight, and dark spots dance in front of his eyes. Thudding inside of his ribcage, his heart thrashes around like a small boat rocked on the merciless, stormy ocean. 

Did Kim Rok Soo know? 

(He does. The thing said he does.)

Is life so unfair to not even grant that child the reprieve of ignorance? Can he not be granted something as simple as that?

(Will Shawn bury another little one in the depths of that blood red sand?)

Everything is too much and too bright and Shawn staggers on his feet, clambering back from something unseen. Trembling fingers are grasped in someone else's hand. Wrinkled and steady and holding on with a grip that is bordering on painful.

Misha?

"You said 'if something doesn't change'."

Alberu's voice drifts to his ears.

"That means something can be done about this. With the way you talked about my dongsaeng, you're not planning to sacrifice him either."

It is this that forces Shawn to take a stuttering breath, the realisation he has missed among the many others that only spell a painful future ahead for Kim Rok Soo.

That thing wearing Kim Rok Soo's skin is fond of him. 

The divine entities overlooking their world are often fickle and selfish. But it is because of this that Kim Rok Soo may have a chance of living longer than Shawn first estimated. That Kim Rok Soo may come out of this alive.

Because what a god favours, no one else can take away.

Shawn turns to the Crown Prince, clarity returning ever so sluggishly, finding solace in the blurred, yet firm figure that stands before him. 

Alberu's voice never wavered. His back is straight as he stares death in the face. The ambition that drives him forward burns bright even now, a rising sun chasing away the darkness with its mere presence.

The Dragon-nim hovers beside him. Bright blue eyes retain their fierce hostility, but it is now tempered with something else. Something akin to an ember newly sparked to life. His gaze is locked onto the small figure of his friend on the bed.

"I am great and mighty, human."

The Dragon speaks to the thing as though Kim Rok Soo is there, in whatever corner of his consciousness the thing forced to him retreat into. 

"Someone told the mighty me that as long as I am alive, there will always be a chance."

For the first time since Shawn has met him, the baby Dragon-nim smiles. Wide and toothy and with the innocence of a child his age. He doesn't acknowledge the raised brow the thing gives and continues on.

"Being alive is the best! You have the mighty me with you, so let's go smack those bastards in the back of their heads!"

That vicious declaration earns a startled cough from Misha.

Gilbert lets out a painful wheeze, shaking eyes trying to recall if he ever accidentally taught their baby Dragon-nim those words. 

Only Alberu smiles upon hearing it. A confident, soothing thing. He is a king without a crown standing between his kingdom and a future filled with bloodshed. Between his family and the prophet sitting on the bed. 

And there is no hesitation when he commands it, "Tell me what we have to do."

The thing smiles.

"A little ripple in the ocean may turn into something bigger." It replies, its shadow tilting its head downwards to the tiny body it is currently occupying. "You have already done the first thing that needed to be done."

"And now, everything rests with my child."

A secretive smile blooms on its face. 

Mischief paints its eyes a brighter shade of black. They resemble Kim Rok Soo so much it nearly hurts to look at.

"Head for my Church in Huiss. My oldest will be waiting there."

It elaborates no further, choosing instead to lay its head on the pillow. Its pitch-black eyes shutter. Looking for all the world as though it is drifting off to sleep.

The fear that has Shawn in an unforgiving grip all this time loosens. Mollified by the slow dispersing of whatever power the god commands as its domain.

They crawl back to the tiny body lying on the bed in undulating waves, from the tiny cracks in the walls and the dusty space beneath the couches to every unnoticeable cranny that escaped Shawn's notice. 

Is this divine power? 

This scary, dreadful power that brushes against Shawn's arms and face with the unnerving imitation of countless tiny legs scuttling all over his skin?

The phantom sensation feels just as real as the thing's fear-inducing presence had been. Without them ever knowing, it had spun its web around them even before it showed itself. A trap waiting to spring to life, ready for a threat should one ever come to harm the young boy it calls its child. 

A shudder runs down Shawn's spine.

A divine item, or its owner?

Which one is it?

In the end, Shawn is left with no answer.

On the wall, the large shadow turns its unseen gaze to them. Its hair spills over the headboard and the pillows. Dark strands that stretch almost as long as its towering height.

"This child is precious to me." 

Its voice, this time, is but a quiet echo. A fond, somber thing. It doesn't come from Kim Rok Soo's mouth, but from the air around them. A reverberating sound that is both near and far away.

"I leave him in your care."

Flickering, that unfamiliar shadow recedes into a motionless lump of black, quietly lying under Kim Rok Soo's slumbering body. 

The air becomes easier to breathe. 

Shawn gasps in a breath or two, and Gilbert crumples to the floor as soon as the thing's presence leaves the room. He wheezes out a laugh, near hysteric and panicky. Shawn doesn't fault him for it. Alberu rubs a hand on his temple, and Misha staggers to the couch to throw herself onto it.

The entire exchange didn't take longer than a few minutes, but Shawn can feel exhaustion creeping in. His legs have certainly lost the strength to do much else, safe for carrying him across the room and towards the very same couch where Misha is nursing her headache.

Only the Dragon's fond rumbles can be heard in the suddenly quiet space, the baby going back to snuggling against his friend. Kim Rok Soo remains blissfully unaware, his slumbering face peaceful and unbothered.

"...we have a lot to do," Alberu mutters.

He pulls his hand away, a crooked smile replacing his usual, easy grin. His movements are more stilted than usual. Unnerved as the rest of them but hiding it way better. 

He turns to the open window, saying to no one in particular, "Aren't you glad I'm staying as long as I am, now?"

Silence is his answer, but the sound of a blade being sheathed is enough telling.

Alberu laughs.

Kim Rok Soo's dream is a hazy thing.

A blurry, grainy visage of a memory that resembles an old tape held together to barely function. 

He is drifting somewhere cold, a place caged in by white walls and long curtains that hang from the ceiling to the floor. It feels like he had stumbled out of a crowded closet and to a world hidden behind the wall.

Those silk-like fabrics swayed and brushed against his face, coiling around his body, and they lower him onto what Kim Rok Soo thought must be heaven on earth. A soft mattress with pillows of varying sizes gathered around in a circular formation, forming an odd nest made of fabric and cushions. 

Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes. 

His head feels fuzzy, well-rested. Like waking in the morning at weekend only for the pull of sleep to persistently tug you under again. The mattress under his body is a soft, fluffy thing, not unlike what he imagines the clouds outside to feel like.

A noise escapes him. A content little puff that his heavy tongue manages to convey. His toes curl and uncurl, and he feels like he wants to stay there for as long as his dream allows him to. 

Something flicks him on the forehead, gently.

Kim Rok Soo's attempt at an annoyed hiss only results in what sounds like a clumsy, childish whine.

"...what heaven." Someone scoffs. A man's voice carrying a stoic, yet awkward lilt to it. "Don't come here too often. It won't do you any good."

Who is this?

Is this yet another dream that is not really a dream?

Kim Rok Soo struggles to open his eyes. His eyelids feel heavier than usual, and his body doesn't move no matter how many times he wills it to. 

"Whuh," Kim Rok Soo blurts out in an attempt to have any kind of meaningful conversation, "Ffhh."

The man hums. "Don't bother, you won't be able to do much with that leech still in your body."

A hint of annoyance resides in the man's voice. 

What the man was saying sounds alarming, but for some reason, Kim Rok Soo's mind keeps wandering off from that thought. His grasp on it completely slips away when he feels the mattress dipping beside him.

"...sorry. I wasn't really expecting a visitor today. Don't mind me."

Kim Rok Soo's attempt to see whoever is talking is finally rewarded with a blurry sight when his eyelids are finally forced apart. He squints, trying to figure out if it is his bleary eyes or if this is something else messing with his vision.

The man, like Kim Rok Soo thought, sits rather close to him. Right beside Kim Rok Soo, actually, close enough that Kim Rok Soo's head is almost leaning against his thigh. He's sitting with his back leaning against a headboard that stretches upwards into a large canopy overhead, and in his hand is a small book that looks somewhat familiar.

Flinch.

The man's hand flinches. The book tumbles out of his lax grip and to his lap, and he jerks his hand back hard enough he hits his elbow against the headboard. His pitch black hair, let loose and reaching down to his hip, is instantly turned into a messy tangle from his jerky movement.

"Shit—" The man flinches, again. "No, I mean, I'm fine."

He gives off a weird air. The mannerisms of someone who hasn't talked to anyone else in a while. And he tries to covertly hide that book behind his body, as if Kim Rok Soo can even see anything written there with how blurry everything looks. 

...how awkward.

Why is a grown man like this? Did Kim Rok Soo somehow dream about Shawn's long-lost brother?

The man swivels his head around to stare at Kim Rok Soo. Or at least, Kim Rok Soo thinks he's staring at him. He can only make out the black eyes trained towards his general direction.

"...yes, why am I even here?" The man sounds both annoyed and mortified. "I'm clearly not cut out for babysitting. That punk Ju—"

And then he trails off into a series of loud coughs, panic lining the way he hastens to stop whatever it is he was trying to say. 

...it feels painful listening to him.

"Huu..."

The man exhales shakily. Even from the blurry sight, Kim Rok Soo can see the way his ears pinked. 

"...never mind, forget about it. This isn't a place someone like you should wander in. Especially without supervision. I'm just here to make sure no one tries to snatch you away."

It feels like the man is rambling to cover up his embarrassment. And to justify his excuse for being in the room with Kim Rok Soo, apparently. The heavy sigh following that rambling is tinged with annoyance.

"Not that it's your fault no one was here to supervise you... Those motherfucking things are really useless."

His one-sided rambling continues, but his tone has shifted from stoic to vicious. 

Kim Rok Soo can picture a scowl on the man's face, deep and angry. He huffs and leans back against the headboard, turning his gaze to the side. His leg bumps against Kim Rok Soo's face. Kim Rok Soo blinks at the soft fabric he can feel pressing against his cheek.

...from how many times he had worn miss Tasha's nephew's clothes just this week alone, he can already tell it is made of high-quality materials. Even the man in his dream is rich. Kim Rok Soo is a bit envious.

"Did his house change everything to pillows?"

The man raises a hand to bat at the curtains draped around the bed with annoyance. 

"Like owner, like dog, huh. Or is it like owner, like house?"

He sounds bitter. Kim Rok Soo doesn't really get what he's talking about, but whoever owns the house clearly doesn't have a good relationship with the man. 

So, what is he doing here? 

Why does he stay? To watch over Kim Rok Soo when they are practically strangers?

...what an endlessly odd dream.

Kim Rok Soo shuffles in place, willing himself to ignore whatever is happening. Cotton fills his mouth and renders his tongue useless, so why bother responding at all? 

He yawns, trying to remember why he's even here in the first place. There was Shawn and the book and then...

And then...

Hmm, what was it again?

Something covers Kim Rok Soo's vision. A broad, calloused palm gently closing his eyes shut. Kim Rok Soo moves his mouth to attempt to protest, but the man's voice cuts him off.

"Settle down now. You don't need to think about anything here."

"Whuh..."

"Just sleep. Those motherfuckers will notice if you start being too nosy."

"...ghuh."

What the man said doesn't make sense, but Kim Rok Soo doesn't try to refute him. He can feel the temperature around him dropping steadily lower. Even with the blanket bundled on and around him, goosebumps appear on his arms.

This man... feels dangerous. 

It is the part of Kim Rok Soo that has faced down countless monsters telling him this man is more dangerous than even the baby Dragon. Despite the formerly awkward, somewhat stiff impression he gave, the man is not someone Kim Rok Soo should mess with.

This should be a problem. 

No, really, this is a problem, isn't it?

What is someone like this doing here, in Kim Rok Soo's dream?

Kim Rok Soo's restless musing goes unvoiced. The hand remains, covering his eyes. Warm and somewhat hesitant to leave. Even with the pressure silently pressing Kim Rok Soo to be quiet and not inquire any further, Kim Rok Soo lets out a faint snuffle and tries to chase after the warmth as it pulls away. 

There is the faint sound of a chuckle.

"I didn't think you were like this." The man muses. 

The bed dips again, and something tickles Kim Rok Soo's nose. Hair, probably. He can feel something warm in front of him, and he curls forward to chase the comforting presence. He is met with what feels like someone's chest and a terribly soft fabric. 

Did the man... lie down next to Kim Rok Soo? 

If the man notices Kim Rok Soo's sudden stiffness, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he starts another one-sided conversation, his voice carrying a nostalgic hint.

"Turns out you can be a bit cute too. Before, whenever I saw you, you always seemed..."

He trails off. A heavy swallow, and then.

"...lonely."

A long moment passes, and the man doesn't continue any further.

What did he mean by that? Did Kim Rok Soo ever meet someone like him?

Kim Rok Soo doesn't know whether to feel happy or scared about that idea. He tenses and waits for something to break—be it the silence or the stifling, forced peace that settles over the two of them—but nothing happens.

The dip in the bed remains, and so does the warmth Kim Rok Soo can feel in front of him. The man doesn't pull away or attempt to move. Even if he does remain silent for a concerning about of time. Kim Rok Soo figures it would be a bad idea to piss off someone who could give off such a harrowing pressure. So he keeps his thoughts to himself, and tries to stay content with being able to doze off.

Sometime later, as Kim Rok Soo is drifting on and off from lucidity, he hears the man's voice speaking softly.

"I'm sorry."

Whispered under his breath, the short sentence conveys a guilt that seems to be long festering. The man's hand settles over Kim Rok Soo's back, running up and down his shoulders, as if to soothe him back to sleep.

"Let's meet again, someday."

A haze covers Kim Rok Soo's mind, and his thought blurs into a blended mix of unrecognisable bits and pieces. Memories scatter and shatter inside of his head, fracturing and mending into a different piece forcefully stitched back together.

The bed is dipping under him. Soft fabric making way like sentient waves, lowering Kim Rok Soo down, and down, and down—

"...I hope you won't hate me too much when you find out the truth."

—and Kim Rok Soo knows no more.

Chapter Text

Rose red tea ripples and lightly grazes wooden rim with gentle waves. 

Its fragrance has long waned, leaving behind a mellow hint that hangs uncertainly in the air. 

Left in room temperature until it is more bitter than sweet to Alberu's tongue, the taste lingers long after the drink has washed down his throat and prompts him to pause in his absentminded action of sipping the tea. 

He chases after that bitter hint unwittingly, swiping his tongue over his teeth. A bland tinge clings to his mouth with an undertone of something earthy. Flowers do not bloom in Alberu's mouth—damp soil and muddy water do, instead, settling over his taste buds and taking over the floral taste as easy as breathing.

From his slack grip, the dainty wooden cup sways and halts to a stop. A pool of maroon sits within its depths, its clear surface holding a hint of faint glimmer. A solemn, thoughtful face is reflected there, carved out of stone and ice without any hint of amicable smile to be seen.

"...." 

Alberu's fingers tighten around the cold, wooden surface. 

He lowers his hand, and the cup makes contact with the table with a dull clack. Among waves of uneasy ripples, the stoic face staring back at him blurs and sinks into crimson coloured depths.

Just like that, Alberu plasters on another smile, and turns to greet the small lump shuffling its way down from the stairs.

"Having trouble sleeping?" He calls out, cheerily.

Kim Rok Soo stops halfway from crossing the space to the open kitchen, standing wordlessly in the threshold between the living room and the designated dining area. 

His wide eyes are unblinking as he stares back at Alberu, red-brown pupils nearly hidden beneath long lashes and messy dark strands. Within the shadow casted by the arch of the ceiling, those orbs resemble a stretch of the night sky outside, a dark veil covering the faint shine that should've been present there. 

Someone else's visage settles easily over the child's quiet, unmoving figure. The ghost of a smile flitting by Kim Rok Soo's tempered face. That illusion fades away only when Kim Rok Soo blinks, those brown—nearly tinted red—pair of eyes peering out once more from a pale face, instead of pitch-black ones.

Alberu's smile remains. 

He beckons Kim Rok Soo forward, rising to his feet.

"Warm milk?" He offers, turning to the sink to pour the cold liquid down the drain. 

Behind him, Kim Rok Soo's answer comes in the form of a hum. As soft as the breeze blowing into the room, and not any louder than the sound of water splashing against the sink.

"Chocolate or plain?"

"Chocolate."

"Marshmallow?"

"...mm." An exhale and a pause. And then a small, tentative mumble, "Four."

Alberu tuts. 

Heating up a small portion of chocolate milk on the stove, his attention is half divided between the kettle and the small lump he can see from the corner of his eyes, half-slouched over the counter.

"You'll get too hyper." He refuses, scouring the dish rack for a suitably sized cup. "Two's fine."

"...three."

"Two of the biggest pieces and a teensy-tiny third," Alberu allows.

He waves a glass jar in his hand. Fluffy white clouds, mixed with the occasional pink, shake inside their confines, bumping softly against one another. Some are the size of Kim Rok Soo's clenched fist, others the length of his thumb. They're plenty big for a child Kim Rok Soo's size, Alberu decides.

The weight of a gaze settles over Alberu's hand and Kim Rok Soo relents easily; his affirmation spoken in a quiet tone. 

A hiss comes from the kettle, fire licking away at its bottom. The milk slowly starts to boil inside its stomach with a faint gurgling sound. Smoke drifts up to the ceiling only to disperse away before it can reach the wooden beams. 

"Did you get any sleep?" Alberu questions, as he waits for the telltale sound of whistling. "At all?"

Behind the windowpane, only a stretch of black can be spotted, the sky outside as dark as can be. 

Dawn has yet to creep upon the horizon. Despite Alberu counting the hours by his lonesome, the rest having returned for some shut eye inside their respective rooms, time seemingly refuses to hasten. It insisted to stretch on and on and slowly starts to wear down whatever is left of Alberu's goodwill for the day.

Inside his chest, Alberu's heart beats an unsteady rhythm, clamouring for an outlet. The itch spreads to his stomach and the tips of his toes like a particularly annoying rash, clawing and clawing and clawing. Testing his patience.

What a novel experience. Alberu rarely wishes for morning to come as fast as he does now. It's not a feeling he wants a repeat of.

Only a few more hours left, he reminds himself.

"...no." Kim Rok Soo's answer is terse. "You didn't either."

Alberu hums, a smile curling on his lips.

"Yes, well." 

He pauses when the whistle of a kettle pierces through the air. Turning off the stove, he pours the milk into a rabbit-patterned cup, plopping a few piece of marshmallows into the sea of chocolate. 

"I'm an adult. I can afford to not sleep. You, on the other hand..."

He turns to Kim Rok Soo, a brilliant (infuriating) smile fixed on his face. 

"Straight to bed after this, you hear me?"

"...."

"Hmm? Is that a yes? Or will this hot chocolate go to my stomach instead?"

Alberu makes a show of wiggling his brows, simply because he knows Kim Rok Soo couldn't care less about the milk. The child's gaze has been distant, a thousand-yard stare at the wall that narrows only when he spots Alberu's ridiculous attempt at coaxing out a response.

As if to spare himself the indignity of watching, Kim Rok Soo grouses out a "Fine." He extends out both of his hands and Alberu slides the cup across the counter, seating himself back on the stool.

"Wait for a bit more. It's still hot," he cautions.

Tiny fingers curl around the small rabbit cup, a pair of brown eyes staring at the marshmallows bobbing up and down the steaming hot chocolate, giving no indication of ever hearing Alberu. 

The child busies himself with blowing steam away from his milk while Alberu quells his impatience with watching the clock on the wall. He settles his chin on a palm, willing the broken hands to move inside of his head. 

Only, Alberu has forgotten the hours he counted earlier. They were shoved into some unknown, cluttered shelves in the back of his mind with no hope of resurfacing whatsoever. Is it one or three now, he wonders. It suddenly becomes hard to recall.

In the end, just as with everything else, this easy silence doesn't take much to be broken.

"Did the book ever mention anyone's name?" Kim Rok Soo questions, steady tone giving no indication of any emotional incline, "Aside from mine, I mean."

A measured gaze trails each nook and cranny of the open kitchen, searching for something. It stops only when it spots the square-shaped shadow sitting among the crowded countertop, a peek of white jutting out behind rows of kettles and glasses and flower-petaled plates that hadn't been present before.

Red-brown eyes narrowed. Irritation boils inside its depths, sparking to life something more than bland, measured responses from the boy in front of Alberu. Like roses, starkly red, anger burns away from the depths of Kim Rok Soo's gaze.

The child's wicker of patience has gone out, it seems. Perhaps it dissipated the moment he woke up, startled and alarmed, back in his room with the book clutched tight in his hands and the Dark Elves clamouring around him as though seeing a dead man coming back to life.

But Kim Rok Soo remains kinder than Alberu can ever be, in spite of everything. 

If he had held his anger as tightly as Alberu does his, forcibly ignoring the book's existence wouldn't be the end of it. Not nearly. The child wouldn't be able to stand breathing in the same room as the parasite that had taken over his body, if that was the case.

No, Kim Rok Soo's heart wields a strange sort of mercy to even the god that had doomed him. Anger simmering and flickering away easily; a single candle standing staunchly amidst windy cliffs.

And maybe it is this that has the thing clinging tightly to Kim Rok Soo, hopelessly attached to the vessel it burdened with a responsibility that would bury any other adult with despair. 

Maybe.

Or maybe that is simply the whims of a timeless, undying being.

Alberu's smile is pleasant. The corners of his eyes crinkle, forming deep trenches that resemble claw marks embedded into skin and flesh.

"Not really." 

His voice is light, chipper. A contrast to how his mind urges him to keep that square-shaped shadow in his sight at all times. 

"Why, my lovely dongsaeng, it sounded like you have something to tell this handsome hyung-nim?"

"...I already told you what I know."

"About the world ending, yes."

Clack, the cup softly bumps against the wooden countertop. Kim Rok Soo's cloak, creased with deep indents, makes shuffling noises each time it is pulled against Kim Rok Soo's thin arms.

A pink tongue swipes at the milk left above a scowling lip, chocolate moustache forming an uneven arch above it.

"But what about the rest, hmm? Are you planning to jump out another two-story window without telling anyone?"

"That was a one-time thing."

"A one-time thing, sure."

"...I won't jump out another window." Kim Rok Soo huffs. "I'll ask hyung to carry me again if I need to."

Cheeks bulging, the child pops one of the bigger marshmallows into his mouth, munching softly. Above those chubby cheeks, Kim Rok Soo's set of eyes are the same as always—sharp and contemplative. They stare at Alberu flatly, an unspoken accusation thrown back at him.

Are you sure you want me to say anything?

Triumph blooms in those eyes when Alberu merely smiles. A tight, displeased curl of his lips that turns his expression into something worn. 

The need for control burns through Alberu's veins, his mind pushing him to take notes upon notes of countermeasures and preventions, each one more useless than the last.

Out of sight and out of mind, Alberu's palm trembles, ever so faintly, on his lap. Piles of questions remain on the tip of his tongue; unvoiced and unheard.

(Someone troublesome will have problems with your dearest dongsaeng if he were to answer your questions.

Hidden behind those cold, unmoving marbles of black, was a hint of fear.)

Kim Rok Soo is simply the means to an end for the survival of their world. It should be easy to pull the answers out of him, with so many people's life at stake.

With Alberu's people at stake.

It should be easy.

He knows how to do it. Has played this kind of game before, with people far older and far more experienced than the child in front of him. It should be easy.

But Kim Rok Soo is one of his, too. 

Is it so wrong for Alberu to not want to choose between the two?

Alberu finds, for perhaps the first time ever since he set his sight on the throne that is his birthright, that the weight of the crown sits heavy upon his head. 

Golden pins and needles dig its roots into his mind and poison his waking thoughts with plans upon plans upon conspiracies played like a game of chess. The need for control burns through his veins, caged within fragile flesh and skeletal fences and the conscience that makes Alberu human.

In the corner of his eyes, the square-shaped shadow looms quietly. A warning and a reminder.

(This child is precious to me.)

An astringent taste clings to Alberu's tongue. 

Damp water and muddy soil linger long after he flushed the cold liquid down the drain, cloaking every surface of his mouth. Beneath those boring, mundane flavour, the bitter tang Alberu had been chasing after hid itself away. 

Now, Alberu can feel it flooding out once more, sweeping along everything else; until all Alberu can taste is the stabbing, bitter hint of wilted petals and burnt leaves. 

Unpleasantly, they take Alberu's mind away from thoughts of wars and ruins and deaths—and back to hot chocolate with fluffy marshmallows coloured in soft pastels, bobbing up and down inside a rabbit-patterned cup.

(I leave him in your care.)

Donning a bright grin, Alberu leans forward, and allows Kim Rok Soo to forget about tomorrow. 

"Can this hyung-nim take a sip? Chocolate sounds really good right now."

A finger gently taps Kim Rok Soo's nose. 

With every bit of judgement inside his small body reflected in his bright, bright eyes, Kim Rok Soo stares Alberu down wordlessly. He raises the cup to his mouth and takes a noisy sip, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Alberu huffs out a laugh.

"Ouch, dongsaeng. Ouch."

Only a few hours left until morning. 

A blush of red has spread along the horizon, peppered among wisps of blues and purples behind the tinted windowpane. The clock on the wall remains unmoving, and the hours Alberu counted has long slipped away to some unknown corner inside of his mind.

Tap, tap, tap. 

Kim Rok Soo's fingers drum an unfamiliar, nonsensical melody in the silence.

Accompanying the wooden rabbit squatting obediently on the counter, now sits a pale coloured porcelain with golden rim and clashing, distorted patterns, its gaudy appearance clearly separating it from its humble surrounding. Four marshmallows are jammed forcefully together inside its narrow walls with no pool of chocolate to be visibly seen, covered by fluffy clouds of pinks and whites that earns another judging gaze from Kim Rok Soo.

The child's eyes glitter beneath his dark lashes. The ghost of a smirk hides behind the rim of his wooden, rabbit-patterned cup, mocking Alberu's not-so-thoughtful decision in picking out Shawn's loot among the rest sitting on the dish rack, one that doesn't even have a complete set. And yet, it doesn't feel out of place in this room of broken clock hands and flower-petaled plates.

Alberu sips his chocolate milk and lets the too-sweet taste flood his mouth. His tongue feels almost numb from the sheer amount of sugary sweets, but Alberu's smile comes easier on his face, and he doesn't see a face staring back at him from a sea of red.

He pretends that tomorrow will be alright. That there is no square-shaped shadow sitting in the corner of his sight or pitch-black eyes in place of red-brown ones. That the future will not be paved from the sacrifice of a child.

For this brief moment, Alberu allows himself to forget.

A myriad of lights welcomes the rising of the sun.

Houses lit their lamps and small tents are starting to be erected on the sides of the road, a bustle of activity picking up where it left off yesterday.

Their quaint, temporary abode, shrouded in a stifling silence ever since the moon took its place among the sky decorated with twinkling little stars, slowly starts to wake as well. 

Lights flicker on inside each respective rooms and doorknobs turn softly with mechanical sounding clicks. Faint scuffles of boots against wood—intentional more often than not—drift to and fro behind the door of Kim Rok Soo's bedroom, shadows flitting by the small gap under the door where the light from the hallway slowly starts to seep in.

The day starts anew, and Kim Rok Soo wills himself to pry his eyes open.

A stark, empty ceiling greets him, just as it did yesterday, hidden behind the cover of darkness with no light to illuminate it. Faint bags lined the underside of Kim Rok Soo's eyes, almost as dark as the long lashes fluttering open and close above them. Sleep, evidently, continues to evade him despite the aid of milk to warm his stomach. 

A tiny dip forms between Kim Rok Soo's brows. A furrow that may grow into a scowl given proper motivation. The faint throbbing of a headache builds up behind closed eyelids, rattling inside his skull.

"Human!" 

A sudden streak of light pierces through the darkness, colouring the room in shades of gold and yellow. Kim Rok Soo startles back, bleary eyes wide open.

"Human, look! The sky's blue again today!"

Light extends from the flapping of curtains pushed aside by two leathery wings, golden rays reaching into the unlit space unhindered. 

The baby Dragon sits ramrod straight there, in the nook by the window, back facing Kim Rok Soo. Scaled head swivels left and right as a flock of birds depart from their perch on the rooftops, oohs and aahs spilling out of the Dragon's mouth in a litany of wordless awe.

"Human!" He calls when Kim Rok Soo fails to answer. "Look, look! Those tiny birds are going to work again!"

Beyond the tiny space occupied by the Dragon, Kim Rok Soo can see a sky as blue as the Dragon's eyes. Oranges and yellows tint the edges of the horizon but at the center of it all, that brilliant hue is as clear as the weather today, unable to be hidden even by the clumps of clouds gathered like a wall of fluffy marshmallows.

Small specks of black slowly drift further across that vast canvas, more dots than birds though Kim Rok Soo doesn't doubt the Dragon's words. He waits until they remain nothing more than tiny freckles in the distance, until they vanish from his sight among rolls of white clouds to give a hum to the eager child.

"They're diligent," he adds, to show his assent.

"Very!" That scaled head bobs up and down. "They're not like you, human!"

"...of course not."

"Oh, but they're as tiny as you, so don't worry!"

"...."

Contemplating the absurdity that is children and their perplexing thoughts, Kim Rok Soo doesn't deign to give the equally as tiny Dragon an answer.

The baby giggles. 

Fully turning to face Kim Rok Soo, he leaps into the air with a flap of his wings, forming an elegant arch that looks effortlessly graceful. The Dragon lands on the bed with his claws tucked into his paws, nearly tip toeing to prevent shredding holes into the sheets.

"It's like when I first saw the sky with you!" The Dragon says, enthused by the revelation. "The sky was blue, and those birds went to work too!"

"Ah." Kim Rok Soo blinks. "Yes, it was."

That's right, he thinks. 

The very first time the Dragon saw the sky was the morning Kim Rok Soo woke up, right after breaking out of Venion Stan's villa. They'd been huddled together at that alcove seat, bundled up in blankets and pillows. 

It had been a clear day as well, just like today. The clouds were sparser than now, though they remain hovering uncertainly overhead. A blush of red and orange had mixed with the blue of the sky, and the shades made some of the clouds look more like a dirty red than white. 

It wasn't exactly the perfect blue Kim Rok Soo wanted the Dragon to see, but the baby Dragon was charmed by the sight, nonetheless.

"It's like your eyes!" The Dragon had crowed in delight. "Look, human! The sky has both of our colours now!"

"It'll change back to blue after a while. So the sky is still more your colour than mine."

"Mm, really?... Then, then the sky's just waiting! Like me when I waited."

Those bright blue eyes glimmered. 

"They'll come back, right? Like you did! And then the sky will be red and orange and blue again, and it'll have both of our colours up there."

A grin as lively as the world outside formed from rows of knives and blades sharpened into a maw that spilled out childish reasoning.

"We'll be together up there, too! I like that more, because the sky won't look so lonely then."

Kim Rok Soo had stared, and found himself thinking that his eyes were not as noteworthy as the hues that decorate the horizon. A pair of plain, dirty brown that failed to be as mesmerising as even the darkest clump of red he could find drifting along there. 

Kim Rok Soo thought that the sky looked lonelier like this. In a departure coloured with blots of beautiful shades that would fade in an instant. The sun would arrive and stay for a moment before its time of parting would come, and the meshing of colours decorating the horizon felt too much like a goodbye.

But, Kim Rok Soo had mused as he spied out the small window and to the world outside, he supposed that the sky didn't look as bad as he'd thought either.

The sun would come back another day. And the meshing of colours painted all over the horizon could just be a welcoming hug from old friends who were separated for a while, knowing they would meet again.

It was a terribly foolish, childish thought, but the idea took root in Kim Rok Soo's mind and refused to budge.

Kim Rok Soo guessed that he'd been swept away in the Dragon's pace, after all.

"What kind of logic is that? They turn more purple at times too, you know."

"I'm great and mighty, so it's a great one! And anyway, blue and red makes purple!"

"...you remember your colours, huh."

"Hehe. This mighty Dragon is a fast learner, right?"

Raising a hand, Kim Rok Soo lightly rubs the space between the Dragon's horns, shaking the memory off his mind.

"It's a good morning, isn't it." He mutters his greeting, dulcet tones kept between the two of them like a secret. "Did you sleep well?"

The Dragon blinks.

 "Oh!" His mouth opens into a wide grin, showing off a row of sharp fangs. "I forgot to say good morning! Good morning, human! I slept well."

A smile worms its way to Kim Rok Soo's face, small and feeble. Barely anything more than a tiny curve that softens the sullen air the child carries with him. That's enough sign for the Dragon to scoot forward, pushing his head under Kim Rok Soo's chin. His wings enfold Kim Rok Soo like the strange, draconic form of a hug, his weight entirely placed on Kim Rok Soo's lap. 

A tail sways languidly in the air. Golden light bounces off the Dragon's scales like stars dotting the night, and Kim Rok Soo feels as if he's holding a small galaxy in his hands.

"What about you, human?" The Dragon whispers, kneading careful paws into Kim Rok Soo's stomach. "Did you sleep well?"

"...me?"

"Mhm! Did you have a good dream?"

Kim Rok Soo supports the Dragon with both hands, fingers lightly skimming the sharp spikes on the Dragon's back. His gaze finds a familiar shape hidden among the cluttered space of the nightstand, its presence a beacon Kim Rok Soo can't brush off even if he wants to. 

Under the cover of darkness, the book remains a gleaming, untarnished white. A contrast to how Kim Rok Soo can feel its guilt bleeding into him, like ink staining a piece of paper. It remains, always fleetingly, at the corner of his sight.

Inside Kim Rok Soo's chest, the thudding beat of someone else's heart dances in tandem to Kim Rok Soo's own—tangled in a way two almost feels like one. 

Thump-thump, thump-thump-thump. 

An irregular waltz settles contentedly within the cage of flesh and skin.

(Soft silk and white walls, and a room as quiet as death. A behemoth in the body of a stagnant, unassuming thing, offering shelter inside the hollow of its belly.

It rumbled, beneath Kim Rok Soo's feet. Silk curtains caressing his cheeks and draping over his shoulders. A contented beast ever shifting into something else. Changing and changing and changing again—)

"...I slept well." Kim Rok Soo lies, and hears a whine in the back of his head.

His strained smile goes unseen by the baby. It smoothens back into a flat line the moment the door swings open with a light creak, revealing Misha in her traveling attire with her hair let loose and spilling over her shoulders. 

The Dark Elf's gaze softens. "Breakfast's ready. Come down once you've finished washing off."

She pushes the door wider now that she saw the two of them are awake. Gilbert shuffles forward from behind her with a shaky grin. 

"I'm, uh, in charge of bathing duty again today..." He starts his sentence with forced enthusiasm. It trails off into a quiet mutter, almost a whimper. "I-I'll be sure not to s-step on your tail, Dragon-nim!"

Mortification turns the man's face a darker shade of red, and Kim Rok Soo sighs.

Today as well, it would seem, that bath time remains a mortal enemy the baby Dragon has yet to slain.

"...I'll go first, then." 

Kim Rok Soo slips away before he can get caught up in the middle of another war on the cusp of breaking out. The Dragon throws him a look that speaks of betrayal and suffering, the stiff curve of his spines working up another tantrum. Gilbert, at the door, starts muttering vague condolences to himself.

Kim Rok Soo ignores them and slams the bathroom door shut. He finishes washing off in record speed and slips out with the same haste he used when entering, shirt carelessly thrown over his head. Downstairs, he finds both Shawn and Bob in the kitchen and spots Misha out in the yard, lugging a few luggages towards the carriage parked right outside the rusted fence of their temporary abode.

"You're fast." Bob remarks around a mouthful of sandwich. "Did you actually take a proper bath?"

The Dark Elf pushes a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of Kim Rok Soo, all without actually turning to look at him. It smells of butter and lightly charred meat, shining with a glaze of grease and oil.

Kim Rok Soo sniffs, poking disinterestedly at it. He stares at the fruit sandwich piled up on Bob's plate instead, filled with slices of strawberries and fluffy whipped cream, cut into triangle shapes arranged in a neat row.

"Of course, I did." Kim Rok Soo snipes. His brows furrow in contemplation. "Did hyung even take a bath? At all? You didn't change your clothes."

"Can't you see how different the stitching and the seams are? I even went through the trouble of taking dibs before Gilbert can have his morning concert in the bathroom. It wasn't easy, I tell you!"

Bob wipes an imaginary tear from the corner of his eyes, all dramatic movements and exaggerated expressions. Kim Rok Soo's face slackens into a flat stare. Bob smiles at him, charm woven into the curl of his lips, and Kim Rok Soo feels like throwing a napkin at his face.

"When are you going to go back?"

Kim Rok Soo grumbles, tiny hand sneakily pushing his own plate of breakfast away. He's casting glances at Bob's plate. Contemplating the distance between him and those fruit sandwiches.

"You've been here for days. Don't you have stuff to do?"

Bob lets out a sound that is either a huff or a groan. His shoulders rise just the tiniest bit in a near shrug, face slack in disinterest. 

"Later. Doesn't really matter, does it?" The Dark Elf reaches for a cup, and Kim Rok Soo decides it is time to strike. 

He swipes at Bob's plate and stuffs one of the sandwiches into his mouth, cheeks bulging and eyes open in pleasant surprise. The taste of cream and fresh strawberries makes his toes curl in delight, legs kicking back and forth in his seat. Some of the filling spills out from the other end of the bread, the slice a bit too large for someone of Kim Rok Soo's stature, but food is food and Kim Rok Soo can just scoop it up after he is finished.

Bob gasps, in mock affront. 

"You little thief!" He exclaims, voice gratingly high-pitched. Kim Rok Soo throws him a glower and Bob widens his eyes in a way that makes them go all glassy.

"Betrayed by my own brother in all but blood! Oh, woe, what shall I do?"

A teasing smirk is plastered clear for all to see on Bob's face, and Kim Rok Soo struggles to hold himself back from kicking the man's leg in annoyance. 

"Shut up." He huffs, nibbling on his bread. "I'm not your brother. And stop being so dramatic, your face is ugly."

"That sentiment is shared with only yourself, which means that opinion is not at all valid."

"My opinion is valid to me. So you're still ugly."

"Tsk. You were much more respectful when we met. Where did that dongsaeng go?"

With little fuss, despite his earlier exaggeration, Bob pulls Kim Rok Soo's plate to himself and makes no move to retrieve his own. His fork scrapes half-heartedly at the eggs. "You're lucky you're cute."

Kim Rok Soo smiles. Entirely shameless when he replies, "Of course I am. What kid is not cute?"

It's Bob's turn to stare flatly at him. The man doesn't get to say anything when Shawn cuts into the conversation, all eager eyes and wide grin that makes Kim Rok Soo flinch back for a second.

"Yes, Rok Soo's really cute, isn't he?"

The Dark Elf says, pride painted all over his goofy grin, and Kim Rok Soo's ears burn with embarrassment in spite of himself. Over Shawn's shoulder, holding back a laugh, Bob coos with a shit-eating grin.

"Ahjussi." Kim Rok Soo scowls when he finds none of the complaints he wants to voice on his tongue. He flounders for a second before settling with, "Don't eavesdrop on people."

Bob does laugh this time. 

As smooth and honeyed as the tone he uses when he thinks Kim Rok Soo is being difficult; a sound that is teetering on the line between honest and artificial. 

"This is an open kitchen," the man says, pointedly. "Shawn's been at the stove before you even came down."

"You, shut up. No one asked."

Kim Rok Soo bristles, pink dusting his cheeks when Shawn tucks Kim Rok Soo into his arms, helplessly doting as the old Dark Elf always is. Calloused palm smoothens Kim Rok Soo's hair back, eyes roaming over Kim Rok Soo's face, searching. Relief settles briefly there, as Kim Rok Soo mulishly stares back.

"C'mon, don't speak like that to Bob." Shawn huffs, tapping Kim Rok Soo's cheek with a finger. "He's still your hyung."

Kim Rok Soo wrinkles his nose. His arms wind around Shawn's neck, mindful not to get his sticky palms all over Shawn's clean shirt. 

"What're you eating?"

He asks, instead of acknowledging Shawn's words. Kim Rok Soo pretends the hand resting on his back isn't trembling, and scrunches his nose at the stripes of meat frying on the pan. 

Shawn laughs. Mirth present in the way his shoulders shake at Bob clicking his tongue.

"Gilbert packed a lot of hams and jerkies. They'll go bad if we don't finish them soon."

"I think that man should consider being a butcher instead of selling ice cream." Bob mutters under his breath, stabbing his fork into the sausage on his plate with too much force than necessary.

"Frankly, it's ridiculous how he hasn't ruined his own appetite for meat after all those ham sandwiches."

Shawn laughs again. His hand cards up and down the back of Kim Rok Soo's head, messing up the puffy strands into more of a mess. Kim Rok Soo lets him. 

He speaks nothing of the desperate way Shawn cradles his head. The firm press of fingers against Kim Rok Soo's skin, searching for warmth and the faintest pulse to be found under his skin. Kim Rok Soo remains quiet and lets the two Dark Elves converse in a bubble of light-hearted chatters. A happy little illusion meant to keep Kim Rok Soo from noticing the tightness in their smiles. The way their gazes are drawn to the shadows on the wall and Kim Rok Soo's eyes.

How foolish, Kim Rok Soo thinks, to stay in spite of it all.

How heavy, affection is.

In the depths of these people's hearts, where Kim Rok Soo had unknowingly carved out a place for himself, yesterday had left its scar and marred their thoughts with fear. Endlessly forced to the forefront of their minds each time they gazed at Kim Rok Soo and saw someone else in his place. The thing staring out from beneath Kim Rok Soo's eyelids.

On the cusp of a dream long forgotten, with their remnants haunting his sudden return to awareness, Kim Rok Soo had felt it too.

The power of death, thick on his tongue. Syrupy, almost. Runny in the next second. 

Where it had once dogged team leader Kim Rok Soo's steps until he left trails of blood and ruin behind him, Death now makes its home in Kim Rok Soo's own flesh. Had chosen Kim Rok Soo to witness the end of another world.

Kim Rok Soo hates pain. Hates the thought of hurting and wears his weakness like a badge to be shown off to others. But Kim Rok Soo hates death more than pain. Would rather roll around in mud and crawl his way through shit before giving up the chance of seeing tomorrow. 

It's not shameful to be afraid of death. Kim Rok Soo does, too.

So why not shy away if you're afraid, Kim Rok Soo wants to ask these people clinging stubbornly onto him. What's wrong with running away? 

But where Kim Rok Soo is a selfish bastard who couldn't shed tears for the deaths of his friends, the Dark Elves are all stupid people with too-kind hearts and the hardheadedness of a bull, and they would rather throw themselves into the fire until they burn and burn and only their ashes remain rather than run away.

Their long life has taught them to love so deeply, so wholly, that they are all too willing to give their affection away like cheap candies.

(Have you ever wished to let go, Choi Han?)

Kim Rok Soo thinks of Mary and her monotone voice. The yellowed pages of a book telling the story of foolish little heroes with their grandeur titles. Their bigger-than-life dreams.

He thinks of those foolish, stubborn heroes, breaking down and crumbling into pieces and the family they left behind, and he thinks to himself, I will live.

Kim Rok Soo will live to see these people have a happy ending. To see them returning to the City of Life and be welcomed by friends and families with grins and smiles instead of tears and regret and the cold steel of a name tag.

Because a happy ending is only happy if everyone lives.

(Did you stay because you dream of a future?)

The ghost of apprehension skitters inside Kim Rok Soo's chest. 

Fear clamps its jaws around him. Had Kim Rok Soo strung by the neck just like everyone else, fangs sinking deep into the brittle part of him that had unwillingly received all these affection and bloomed its own in return. 

Thoughts of what-ifs and what could've been surface and sink inside Kim Rok Soo's head with every passing minute, but Kim Rok Soo is not someone who can afford to look back.

Even if it is the schemes of a god or the will of a higher being, Kim Rok Soo will take that small sliver of chance with both hands and not let go. 

For Kim Rok Soo, the world had ended once, when it crumbled with earth shattering quakes and monsters that hungered for blood. And then twice, when he held the cooling body of Lee Soo Hyuk in his arms, carrying the burden of living for the dreams that had gone out of reach for the heroes who had dreamed it. Both times, he had waddled through mud and dirt and dragged himself back to shore with bloodied hands, all for the sake of a promise.

Kim Rok Soo lived because he couldn't die. 

And now, in the face of another apocalypse, it is just as well that Kim Rok Soo is not a stranger to battles fought on the risk of an entire population, then. That he knows of monsters and ruin and nightmares immortalised on skin with scars that wouldn't fade.

Kim Rok Soo's gaze drifts to the smile on Shawn's face. 

The smell of butter and charred meat is accompanied by the sound of sizzling pans and Bob throwing a careless remark about the muffled snarling coming from upstairs, reaching a crescendo once Misha herself decided to lend a hand to a whimpering Gilbert. Shawn's palm remains on Kim Rok Soo's back, broad and warm. Anchoring Kim Rok Soo to the present, however unknowingly.

It is worth trying to make something out of this life that has been given to him. 

If not for Kim Rok Soo himself, then for these people who have no sense of self preservation, so idiotically willing to play hero for a child they haven't even known for long.

This conviction, taking root in the cavity of Kim Rok Soo's chest, is echoed by the power thrumming inside his veins.

He can almost hear the whispers spoken to his ears. Feel the gentle brush of silk curtains against his skin and the rumblings of the beast whose stomach Kim Rok Soo had rested in. 

But Kim Rok Soo is still a stranger to death, and those things remain just out of his reach; a flicker of something on the edge of his consciousness, like the hazy memory of his slumber.

On the counter, behind Shawn, the book lies open, sprawled near a flame that fizzles and sputters each time it tried to lick away at the pages.

Kim Rok Soo thinks he can see someone's hand writing on it. Tanned skin gripping a pale quill the colour of snow and ash, ink blots running rivulets down its nib until it form dark blotches on the otherwise empty canvas.

Apprehension dwells in Kim Rok Soo's thought. A backdrop to the abstract mix of guilt and the faintest, oddest tinge of fear fighting for control over Kim Rok Soo's confusion, trickling slowly down the connection Kim Rok Soo had inadvertently built with the divine item of the God of Death.

Kim Rok Soo. Life and death have always been two sides of the same coin.

"Rok Soo...?"

Shawn turns his body, trying to catch a glimpse of what had Kim Rok Soo frozen in his arms. The child tightens his hands around Shawn, stopping the Dark Elf in his track. Crumbs and melted sugar are smeared on Shawn's collar. Neither pays it any mind.

"Ahjussi," Kim Rok Soo whispers, voice unnervingly loud in the sudden silence that overtakes the kitchen. "Keep your eyes on the wall and don't move."

Sweat beads down Kim Rok Soo's forehead. Lips stiffly pulled over clenched teeth, the unpleasant prickles of someone's gaze boring into him crawls up the back of Kim Rok Soo's neck. He isn't sure whether it is their unseen Dark Elves entourage or the 'someone' the book mentioned to Shawn and the others yesterday, but Kim Rok Soo is not willing to take any chances right now.

Shawn remains unmoving. Bob shifts his seat ever so slightly to the side, until Kim Rok Soo can see his faint silhouette from the corner of his eyes.

The book, crooning sweet nothings into Kim Rok Soo's ears, continues.

Humans have always been locked in a struggle against their own fate, even if they do not realise it.

From the moment they are born and long until they return to me, there is no life on this world or another where despair doesn't leave its mark on their souls.

Kim Rok Soo finds no trace of regret in the small corner occupied by that thing—the divine power he can feel rumbling and purring to the mess that his head has become. Not an ounce of hesitation or pity even as it spills out its guilt until Kim Rok Soo was nearly choking on it. 

There is only the taste of something as sickeningly sweet as Bob's cup of hot chocolate, and as acidic as bile rising in Kim Rok Soo's throat.

To know hope and despair and to love the life they were given all the same—the will and tenacity to thrive in spite of their suffering...

Isn't that what makes humans so fascinating?

Breath punched out of his lungs, Kim Rok Soo finds himself fighting back against the sweeping tidal waves of a strange conviction. The unyielding faith of a god and a domain that have been watching over this world ever since it first spun on its axis.

It can almost be called love, this strong devotion filling Kim Rok Soo up inside. Pouring down from the other end of him, where the book has sewn itself seamlessly into Kim Rok Soo's own being.

Shawn's hand runs down Kim Rok Soo's hair.

It is then that Kim Rok Soo realises he was trembling. Not out of fear, but out of a foreign sort of excitement he doesn't even know the cause of.

Humans are an existence that can break the world's law and coincidences.

Kim Rok Soo. I am the bastard who pulled you here knowing that was the case.

A grin pulls on Kim Rok Soo's lips. Bob's breath stutters in his throat somewhere from the side, and Shawn tightens his hold on Kim Rok Soo, tension lining the curve of his shoulders. Like this, Kim Rok Soo can taste their fear on his tongue.

(So fascinating, so hilarious, so entertaining—)

Those pages are slowly stained black, ink drops dotting its clean surface, blurring out some of the words.

If you want to triumph over despair, child, you must first live.

And to live—

"—you must stare death in the face and not flinch."

The words pulled out of Kim Rok Soo's mouth is a guttural sound. A voice that sounds strange even to his ears. His tongue moves on its own accord, and he feels his face forming a tender smile.

Shawn wrenches himself away from the counter, shielding Kim Rok Soo within his own shaking arms. A worn, ragged thing is torn out of the Dark Elf's throat. A sob. Or maybe a choked attempt at a croon.

The haze fogging Kim Rok Soo's mind slips away. Kim Rok Soo jerks back, inhaling sharply. The upward curve of his mouth falls flat on his face. 

Deep, dark pools look down at him from behind gold-rimmed glasses. A zealous gaze drags itself over Kim Rok Soo's face, searching for unseen injury or distress. The arms holding Kim Rok Soo are shaking, Kim Rok Soo realises faintly, and Shawn is crouched on the floor, upper body bent over Kim Rok Soo as though shielding him from an enemy. 

A tragic sort of sorrow ensconce the warmth near always present in Shawn's face, leaving behind only unfocused pupils and tears gathering at the end of his lashes. Chairs scraping against the floor and the sound of Bob sharply exclaiming to someone are somehow not any louder than the wheezing gasps Shawn lets out. 

Kim Rok Soo, swallowing down the uncharacteristic hesitance he feels, brings his hands up to the Dark Elf's cheek, thumb catching the small droplets gathering there. He squishes Shawn's face in his hands. Wiping away the faint tracks left behind from the few that spills out of those orbs.

"...ahjussi." Kim Rok Soo calls, to the monolith Shawn has become. "Hey, ahjussi."

Patience urges Kim Rok Soo to not move his eyes away. To bear witness to this living proof of years lived and passed, Shawn's face seemingly carved out of an age-old sorrow that never truly left him.

He wipes those wet tracks of tears with his sleeves, waiting for Shawn to return from wherever deep, dark corner his mind wandered off to. It takes a few more tries before clarity returns to Shawn's gaze. Like a fool, the man cages Kim Rok Soo back in his arms, as if Kim Rok Soo is the one shaking, heart running a mile per minute with the thudding of a rabbit's feet trampling all over his chest.

Affection, in an act of defiance to Kim Rok Soo's walls of indifference, has unknowingly taken root in him. A wintry, withering bloom that is barely anything more than a bud breaking through the ground. Winding around his heart until it squeezes out what little care Kim Rok Soo has with force.

Kim Rok Soo stares at Shawn with this infuriating warmth nestled in his chest, and wonders how anyone can deal with something so annoying with such flippancy. Affection willingly given to everyone and anyone they meet with barely any consideration.

It's not too late to run away, Kim Rok Soo wants to say to this foolish old man. But Kim Rok Soo is a greedy, selfish bastard after all.

"Ahjussi, do you like looting?" He asks instead, apropos of nothing. 

Shawn blinks, bewildered by the firm stare Kim Rok Soo gives. His face is mushed between Kim Rok Soo's crumb-smeared palms, looking both ridiculous and undignified.

Bumbling and undignified fits Shawn more than stoic seriousness, Kim Rok Soo thinks, and bulldozes over the man's confusion with a nod.

"Looting the villa was fun, right? We'll loot those bad guys and squeeze their wallets dry before smacking them in the back of their heads. That sounds fun, right?"

"...what kind of fun are you talking about?" Kim Rok Soo hears Bob muttering under his breath, positioned between Shawn and Kim Rok Soo and the book lying dormant on the counter. His height enables him to peer over Shawn's head and throws a flat stare back at the child, but there's really no hiding the amusement in his smile.

Given the chance, Bob seems like the type to actually rob a house, demand compensation from the wronged party, and promptly makes some more money out of their suffering at the same time, but Kim Rok Soo doesn't say that.

There are more pressing matters at hand than indulging that shady hyung-nim's amusement.

"It's okay, ahjussi. I'll let you do the looting for a couple of times. As long as you bring back something good, it'll be fine. Just don't bring back the fake ones."

"R-Rok Soo?"

"...you can keep fifty percent of it to yourself. ...no? Do you want s-sixty percent?"

"N-no, you can keep it." Shawn finds himself saying, and pauses. "I mean, wait! What are you talking about?!"

"Looting. What else?" 

Kim Rok Soo rolls his eyes.

There's this grief that presents itself in the form of a lump inside his throat, the jagged tip of a spear raking along the walls of his insides and tearing at everything else. It makes Kim Rok Soo want to bury someone six feet underground. Or maybe something. Maybe he wants to bury the future that has Shawn looking like this, instead of anyone else.

But with that, there is also the undeniable burst of pride. Of warmth and tenderness and what almost feels like love. It mollifies the unrest churning inside Kim Rok Soo. A gentle push of encouragement from an intangible other, the part of Kim Rok Soo that is now more inhuman than even the Dark Elf holding him close, clearer than even the subtle hints written among all these needlessly cryptic messages.

"I'm going to do what I want," declares Kim Rok Soo, to the fond thrumming in the back of his head.

"And what I want is to smack some bastards on the back of their heads and make them wish they're dead instead of broke." 

"Wha—were you the one who taught the Dragon-nim to swear?!"

"Focus, ahjussi. We have plans here."

Giving in to his urge, Kim Rok Soo snatches the book into his arms. Feels the air around him become a little harder to bear, the temperature a strange metallic chill that bites at his skin—no longer the comforting, subtle chill of a summer breeze. 

"I'm planning to make a shitshow out of this," says the child, shivering underneath the attention of an ominous pressure baring its fangs at him. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Elation wells in Kim Rok Soo's throat. The tickling of a laugh creeps up on him. 

You really are my child!

Those blochy pages turn frantic. A manic sort of air taking over the way it scrawls words upon words ontop of one another, messy piles of scribbles and nonsensical drivel making it harder for Kim Rok Soo to discern what the book wrote in its apparent exhilaration.

Yes, that's it! Go ahead, make a complete mess out of everything!  

So many branches in the road, so little time! The grander the journey, the more beautiful the end will be! Whichever path will you choose, youngest?

Ah, if only everyone can share this beautiful death with me!

Laughter rings in Kim Rok Soo's ears. It takes him a while to understand that the sound is coming from him, his mouth forming the same words and syllables that is written in front of his eyes.

Kim Rok Soo smiles. 

His fingers trace the trembling page shaking along to the rising joy Kim Rok Soo feels, more scribbles stacked on top of the already filled page. Kim Rok Soo raises the book up, until it is level with his eyes. Glittering brown orbs curve into gentle arches that makes the book give a jolt, as if in surprise, and—

—Kim Rok Soo chucks it against the wall.

It slams against the wooden panel and falls to the floor with a hard, painful wham. 

"Hey, you bastard. If you do that one more time, I'm chucking you into the gutters."

Kim Rok Soo scowls, ignoring Shawn's scandalised gasp. "Erect some walls or shit. I'm getting tired of giggling like an idiot. You're a divine item, can't you at least do that much?"

On the floor, the book trembles, rattling until it lets out a sad, crinkling sound. A mournful whine echoes down its connection with Kim Rok Soo, now barely anything more than a static-filled frequency, muddled and filtered but clearly conveyed at the same time. The book flings its cover open again, writing shakily onto its page. 

My youngest is so mean! I'm going to tell your noona! 

"Go ahead. I'm sure she'll beat some sense into you. Why don't you tell her you took over my body without permission while you're at it?"

...b-but that was necessary—

"What's that? Were you admitting to having a lousy understanding of basic human decency? Are you a danger around weak, defenseless children like me? Do I need to report that to her?"

No, w-wait!!! I had some sense beaten into me after that s-so!

Please don't tell your noona! I don't want to die QAQ

"...what was that about wanting a beautiful death...?"

A beautiful death means a peaceful eternal rest, not one with my insides strung up like string lights!

Your noona will turn me into a pretzel!!

A strangled, choking noise stops Kim Rok Soo from spewing out more abuse at the useless book shivering on the floor. He feels the stares burning into the back of his head and flinches. Straightening up stiffly, Kim Rok Soo turns, expecting to see Shawn's panic getting the better of him, only to meet more than two pairs of eyes gawking at him. Two of which do, indeed, have panic getting the better of them.

"Y-you—" Gilbert stutters, a hand over his heart.

His face is flushed an unhealthy red and he forces out his words through a painful looking grimace. In the kitchen, with Bob patting his back not so gently, is Shawn, in the exact same situation as the ice cream shop owner.

"Oh, Dragon-nims, I thought we were going to be goners. Holy shit, I'm too old for this crap. My heart can't take it. I want to go home."

"...language," mutters Misha, who is crouched on top of the stairs right beside Gilbert, head nearly shoved against the stairs' railing to peer down at the confrontation happening in the kitchen. The floorboards under her are singed, and Kim Rok Soo catches faint wisps of smoke in the air. 

From the bedroom behind the two of them, a loud, angry wail can be heard. "—LET ME OUT OF THIS TOWELLLL!!!"

"...."

Slowly, carefully, Misha rises up from her crouch, averting her eyes from Kim Rok Soo's unimpressed stare. 

"That—we'll be here if you need us." She pulls Gilbert up by the shoulders and slams the door shut. The baby Dragon's wailings are silenced almost immediately after.

Kim Rok Soo doesn't even have the time to process what was happening before a frantic Shawn takes him by the shoulder. It is unknown whether the Dark Elf's reddened eyes are a result of his earlier panic or the stress that is now overtaking him. He pats Kim Rok Soo down and turns him around, and around, and around, until Kim Rok Soo feels dizzy from the endless spinning.

"What were you thinking, throwing a divine item like that!" Shawn screeches.

"You could've gotten cursed! Or struck by divine wrath! Dragon-nims above, were you looking to be grounded again?!"

"Yes, dongsaeng, what were you thinking?" Comes Bob's frankly unpleasant croon.

The young Dark Elf strides forward, a hand rubbing at his chin. His head is tilted as he regards the divine item lying sprawled, undignified, on the ground. An unholy glint burns in his eyes.

"You need to put more strength into it! Throw that thing around a couple more times and this hyung-nim will give you a few bars of gold, what say you?"

"Don't encourage him, you punk!"

"Alright, fine." Bob sighs, unclasping a golden bracelet from his wrist.

"Just one more time, then. Is this enough?"

"—BOB!" 

Life finds a way to make things worse, as always. 

"...mind telling me why we are doing this again?" Says Bob, somewhere from behind Kim Rok Soo, with the energy of someone questioning their entire existence on Monday morning. 

"You wanted to follow me." Kim Rok Soo grunts, almost wheezing out his breath. "Don't start complaining now. We're halfway there."

Grime and dirt stick unpleasantly to Kim Rok Soo's skin, and rocks dig into his knees until Kim Rok Soo is sure he is going to come out of this bruised all over. Gritting his teeth, Kim Rok Soo silently curses the book floating in front of him without a care in the world, free from the constraint of small spaces and fleshy human bodies. 

It flaps itself open and close, mimicking a fan, trying to prevent Kim Rok Soo from sweating with words of encouragement scribbled all over it. As if Kim Rok Soo can't already feel its power brushing none too gently against his cheeks, a biting chill forcing shivers down Kim Rok Soo's spine and making his teeth chatter.

He hears Bob grunting behind him, along with the faint clacking of stones being pushed against one another.

"Crawling through a hole in the mountain wasn't exactly what I had in mind when you told us you were going to start part one of your apocalypse prevention plan. Forgive me for assuming you had a better idea than crawling the entire way to wherever this hole is taking us."

Begrudging wonder presents itself in the Dark Elf's voice.

"Not even my brothers manage to make me roll around in dirt like this. In a white attire, no less. I think a congratulation is in order, dongsaeng."

"If you're done complaining now, can you shut up?"

"I can. But do I want to?"

Praying to the memory of Kim Min Ah and her countless tirades about property damage, Kim Rok Soo breathes out harshly through his nose.

In and out.

In and out. 

"We're almost at the end. The cave will be opening wider soon."

"Ah, really? I thought we're just going onwards because we don't exactly have a way to scoot back out. I'm glad that isn't the case."

"...."

Kim Rok Soo regrets bringing the man here instead of Shawn. 

During the few days traveling on the road after they departed from Viscount Tolz's territory, Kim Rok Soo had thought that, among the rest of the Dark Elves, Bob would be the one who wouldn't bother asking what they are doing, or where. The man is smart and would most likely pick up on cues of just what it is Kim Rok Soo is planning without the need to be told.

Hence why they are here now.

Crawling through a tunnel under the mountain, with one irate Dark Elf bent on chipping away Kim Rok Soo's last remaining sanity.

It takes a while for the cave to even be wide enough for Kim Rok Soo. Only allowing an adult of Bob's size to stand after about five minutes of crawling. By that time, Kim Rok Soo's arms and knees are already red and aching from scraping against the jagged rocky floor of the narrow cave. 

"...what a crazy bastard."

Kim Rok Soo mutters under his breath, wondering how desperate Taylor Stan would've been, to crawl here with half of his body paralyzed. 

He can almost picture it clearly. Taylor Stan's broken, bloodied skin and his ragged breathing. Sweat pouring down the noble's face while his heart holds a burning hope that would turn out to be nothing more than a pipe dream. A struggle that is both useless and never more than a few passing sentences in the Crazy Priestess' story.

It amazes him still, how tragic the script written for this world is. 

"Human? Why're you just standing?"

Blinking owlishly, the baby Dragon drowsily stretches his wings, not willing to let go of Kim Rok Soo even as he dangles on the child's shoulders like a plush backpack.

"I can hear something noisy up ahead. Are we there yet?"

"...mm. We're almost there."

A deafening howl rings in the air. 

The sound of wind clashes against one another, becoming ever louder as Kim Rok Soo regains his stride. Bob matches Kim Rok Soo's pace with ease, face slowly losing its lax, teasing hint as they approach the bowel of the mountain.

Vicious gales rage inside the cave. Crashing against the walls and the floor until they chip away at the already crumbling structure. A large underground area sprawls out in front of them, formed by nothing more than rocks and dust and a terrifying tornado that circles around the center with unrelenting force. 

Bob doesn't attempt to approach any further, steely eyes taking in the slowly expanding wind. 

"...has this been in Roan all this time?" Mutters the Dark Elf. "Dongsaeng, is that thing part of your plan?"

The baby Dragon blinks languidly, head propped up on of Kim Rok Soo's shoulder. "Tiny human, are we going in there?"

Kim Rok Soo hums. 

He steps forward, feeling the baby Dragon perking up, paws clutching at Kim Rok Soo's shirt. But before Kim Rok Soo can ask the Dragon to create a barrier around them, a sharp, whistling sound pierces through the howls of the massive tornado. Creating a sudden clamour that makes Kim Rok Soo's ears ring unpleasantly.

Parting like the red sea, those vicious wind separates to form a path in front of Kim Rok Soo, raging even more fiercely at the rocky walls caging it in. The gust blocking Kim Rok Soo turns sharply from its intended path of circling around the room, leaving a road towards the center of the underground area untouched.

With a loud, booming sound, a straight line is cleared for Kim Rok Soo to walk on, sharp gales kept out and away by an unseen force.

Bob chuckles.

"Well, look at that. Guess Shawn didn't trust you alone with me, after all."

"Ahjussi?"

Taken by surprise, Kim Rok Soo huffs out a gusty breath, willing his heart to calm down. "What do you mean, hyung? He didn't follow us in."

"Of course, he didn't." 

Bob shakes his head, making his way further inside. Kim Rok Soo follows after the man, the Dragon already creating a barrier around them as a precaution. If the wind isn't currently causing the rocks in the cave to crumble even more, the sight would have been mesmerising. Like a tunnel made of shimmering, translucent fabric.

"But Shawn's not alone," continues Bob, a hand on Kim Rok Soo's shoulder to prevent him from accidentally getting too close to the sides, "Isn't he?"

"Ah—" The Dragon gasps. "An Elemental!"

"Shawn's Elemental is helping us," says Kim Rok Soo, taken aback. "It can separate from its contactor?"

"It's willing, dongsaeng, not can. It lends a hand because it wants to, in accordance with both its wish and Shawn's as well, no doubt."

A gentle breeze caresses Kim Rok Soo's cheek. He marvels at the terrifyingly casual show of strength, scooting closer to the Dark Elf behind him, muttering a quiet thank you to the air.

Like an enraged bull, the wind gradually becomes stronger the closer they get to the center, battering against the cave's walls and ceiling. Upon approaching the unfinished stone tower, Kim Rok Soo motions for the others to remain slightly at the back and waits for the telltale sound of an old man to start speaking inside his head.

According to the novel, Taylor Stan is supposed to be greeted by the former owner of the Ancient Power dwelling here.

The Vitality of the Heart.

The power of restoration that would break the last leg of hope Taylor Stan held and, in turn, sparked the beginning of the Crazy Priestess' tale in the Birth of a Hero.

The power to strengthen one's heart and restore a human's vitality. The complete dichotomy of the thrum now running through Kim Rok Soo's veins; an eternity spent in waking hours instead of a mortal's death.

Is this an anathema to the Church of Eternal Rest's teachings, Kim Rok Soo wonders. 

He reaches out a hand, picking up one of the rocks lying on the ground. The roaring gales turn enraged. Twisting and thrashing against the flow directed away by Shawn's Elemental, and the ground beneath Kim Rok Soo's feet rumbles.

A mournful scream tears through Kim Rok Soo's mind. Filled with raw, gut-wrenching sobbing that grows louder and louder. 

Kim Rok Soo flinches back, covering his ears with both hands. The painful sound doesn't dissipate until after a few minutes, letting up into a trembling gasp.

- N-no, why are you here now? You should've-should've come sooner—I-I can't fix you—

When the old man speaks, he carries with him a tone of familiarity. Recalling something. Someone, perhaps, somewhere in the moments of his life long gone. 

- You selfish bastard, w-why did you let it happen? Who did this to you...?

- I c-can't fix you. I can't—

- Nononono, why—

"...whoever you're talking to, I am not that person."

Kim Rok Soo cuts into the voice's spiral of misery, face devoid of any warmth.

"And I don't need any fixing."

Kim Rok Soo doesn't want to hear any more of the old man's nonsense. The way the voice breaks and shatters into a croaking stutter. This lament shoved at his face, Kim Rok Soo hates every second of it.

"You are mourning a ghost." Kim Rok Soo takes another step forward. "Calm yourself and stop yelling in my ears."

The crying is quelled, for a bit. Leaving Kim Rok Soo with ringing ears and another raging headache. Just like with the Dragon, the voice of the Ancient Power doesn't behave like Kim Rok Soo expected either. Not a word he said to Taylor Stan in the novel making itself known to Kim Rok Soo, instead crying out with growing hysterics. 

Kim Rok Soo wonders if this is going to be a trend, things not happening the way it was supposed to. 

- You... You remind me of my friend.

Says the voice, uncharacteristically somber.

- I couldn't help him, before. I... I won't be able to help you either.

"...what are you talking about?" Kim Rok Soo frowns, unease flickering to attention. "What would I need help with?"

There is blessed quiet, for a while, as Kim Rok Soo finally reaches the unfinished rock tower. He bends down, picking up one of them with a heave. The blackened rocks in his sight make something in Kim Rok Soo's chest itching to come out. To break through the cage of his ribs and to sprout outwards.

Kim Rok Soo ignores that and approaches the tower with one in hand.

- You are broken, child.

The rock, inches away from being placed on that tower, halts in its track.

- Cleaved cleanly, in half. 

- Sooner or later, you will...

- ....

Dread forms beads of sweat trailing down Kim Rok Soo's forehead. He stares, unseeing, into the distance. At the terrifying force of nature flinging away rocks and dirt into the air. He feels like one of them is currently running amok inside his stomach as well.

- ...I can't help you.

- I'm s-sorry—

An aching sob that is so desperately yearning echoes inside Kim Rok Soo's head. The wailing of a ghost mourning for him.

For Kim Rok Soo.

Chapter Text

"...you're making it sound like I'm about to have a funeral."

Bitter and laced with morbid humour, that sentence slithers down Kim Rok Soo's throat with a heavy swallow. 

It settles inside his belly. Cold as a rock and as weighty as one, stone serpent twisting around his organs until it constricts even his breath and every stuttered beat of his heart, jumping an erratic pattern in the veins under his skin. 

Inside the damp cave, both sorrow and regret linger like a rotting carcass. Stuck to the walls and the floor beneath as the winds lend itself to be the voice of a man long dead, crying out his regrets for the world to hear. 

They thrash around, their whistles sharp and shrill. Battering against the walls and ceiling and the wind barrier keeping Kim Rok Soo safe until flimsy particles of broken stones and dirt, in a shade darker than golden sand, start churning in the restless, twisting gales.

The murky haze swims in front of Kim Rok Soo. A wall of sandstorm separates him from the rest of the world, leaving that half-toppled rock tower—and the dead man forever locked inside his own nightmare, forever to live and live and live—to be Kim Rok Soo's only company.

- I-I...

The voice shudders. 

Grief—or maybe disgust—bundles his words into a messy, tangled knot of stuttered sobs and sniffled whines. 

- I c-can't even bear to l-look at you—

- Doesn't it hurt? 

- Why... are you still holding on?

Heaving out with every sentence, Kim Rok Soo thinks he knows, like second nature, that the taste of bile is starting to rise in the old man's throat—if the dead can still taste anything, that is—and his stomach is surely churning with the gurgling of unsettled acid. 

Whimpers that foretell only ominous, vicious things raise a strange question to Kim Rok Soo's ears.

- ...is this the price you've paid, or a debt you now owe?

A hush leaves that lingering echo to sow a seed of doubt in Kim Rok Soo's head.

Questions he never thought of before now rises to the surface, uncertainty clinging to his back and drenching his nape with cold sweat. They populate his mind like a particularly bothersome parasite. The breeding ground for fear to snack on and feed itself into a greater, more monstrous appetite, lurking just beneath the gaps and floorboards of Kim Rok Soo's mind.

Kim Rok Soo's thin, scarred fingers curl into a tight fist around the blackened rock. Its sharp edges scratch little scrapes onto calloused skin, adding a handful more to the reds and silver already smattered there. Dark indents settle in the creases under his eyes, and with a whoosh of air pumped out of his lungs, his grip goes slack. 

His hand drops to dangle at his side. Soft tresses of hair, smelling faintly of the strawberry shampoo Gilbert is so adamantly fond of, flutter over the murky glint of red-browns peering underneath midnight coloured lashes.

When he smiles, he bares his teeth to the air. Unknowing—or perhaps, aware but denying—of the similarity between his expression and that of a certain toddling Dragon.

"Price? Debt? I have no idea what you're talking about." He hums, wry grin tinged as blue as the tips of his fingers. "I think it would be best if you elaborate more on that, old man."

The child's sweet, sugary voice hides nothing of the harsh glint in his eyes. The way his knuckles tense and his fingers flex, shoulders easing into a loose posture. 

As if taken back, the wind around him quells for but a minute, before it returns into a wrathful storm. A guilty cadence stubbornly peeks out behind the nasally whimper following right after. 

- Were you not made aware?

- B-but then, how could you—

Shame floods the voice, carrying a trembling timbre down the end of that distant echo in Kim Rok Soo's ears. 

Every hastened murmur reek of the same palpable terror Kim Rok Soo can feel stuffed inside his own lungs, just shy from bursting with careless abandon. It blossoms into an ugly thing in the seconds the Ancient Power blurts out his next question; blotchy patchworks of fear and panic tangled in one misshapen, bulbous, faceless mess.

- That thing in your chest.

- Was it stolen, or given to you?

Something like anger lingers there. In both the old man's trembling whisper and the gust building up around the center of the room. A calamitous urge that causes the ground beneath Kim Rok Soo's feet to shake and tremble, dust whorls kicking up a fuss within the concave of rocks and stalactites.

The ferocious roil of sand and storm sends Kim Rok Soo's cloak into a wild flutter. It presses down on the invisible barrier shielding him from its wrath. A maelstrom brought to life by the sliver of malice lodged in the Ancient Power's tone, scabbing wounds torn open by whatever it is he thought he saw in Kim Rok Soo's stead.

A fast and horrible staccato drum against Kim Rok Soo's ribcage. Pulsing, pushing, and painfully pulling at him. 

Kim Rok Soo's mouth opens, and closes. Trembling pupils are kept locked onto the crooked rock tower, stacked by its lonesome in the center of the cave, each misshapen layer reeking of desperation and regret. 

In the dark, they gleam an eerie luster. Polished, abyssal colour dancing away under Kim Rok Soo's watchful eyes, the flicker of a phantasmagoria blurring his thoughts. Worms twist and turn beneath those chipped, earthen skin. Squirming under glistening black slates, like pulsing veins coming to life.

"...excuse me?"

Faint whispers drift to Kim Rok Soo's ears. Thousands of voices beckoning out to him, their pleas old and worn with time. 

A haunting, disjointed melody plays out from within, to the tune of their cries. A tempo rising and falling, chasing after one another inside a ballroom of flesh and tendons. Always a second too late to catch up but never far enough to leave the other behind.

Entwined, where there should've been room for only one.

- Listen closely, child. 

- When you have lived as long as I have, there are things you will be bound to know.

Hushed, in a tone so low Kim Rok Soo can barely catch it above the howling of winds, the Ancient Power whispers a warning. 

- The unspoken laws that governed this world are meant only for the ears of those lofty beings in their thrones high above.

- But they are by no means an idle law in our short span of life.

The tail end of that voice turns ragged. And then, comes the sputtering. A train of jagged, broken coughs catching Kim Rok Soo off guard, followed by a faint gurgling sound. The desperate gulps of air taken by someone robbed of their breath.

- Even should the gods in all corners of the continent turn a blind eye on us...

- There will always be someone watching.

The ceiling overhead groans.

Restless wind screeches and rams against the surrounding walls, breaking apart stalactites and rocks into fine crumbles of dust. Kim Rok Soo staggers on his feet, knees falling out from the sudden tremors wrecking the cave. Behind him, comes a distant, startled shout of his name.  

- You are broken. Split in half with a cut that is too clean to be unintentional. By all means, those laws should've long demanded your death.

- ...but here you are now. 

- Left like a mangled corpse hanging on for dear life, stuffed with cotton padding and stitched forcefully back together with a single thread.

A sudden sweep of wind crashes headlong into the barrier shielding the path leading towards the center of the cave. Unlike before, it cuts through the resisting, opposing gust with ease, and the collision sends Kim Rok Soo stumbling forward, scrambling to catch himself on his hands to avoid cracking his head open on the rocks.

- Do you know what it implies?

The Ancient Power takes another raspy inhale. Urgency pushes out his words in a gurgled mess, softly carried above the restless breeze.

- It can only mean a deal was made, and a contract finalised.

Kim Rok Soo's breath stills. And with it, the world around him.

When everything moves again, longer than in the span of a minute, a furrow has etched itself deep into the smooth line between his brows. Beads of cold sweat race down the sides of his face and past the bump of his collarbone.

In Kim Rok Soo's head and the veins jackhammering away under his skin, fear has made a room for itself. A sly grin tucked into one corner of its mouth as if sharing a dirty little secret. It grows teeth and claws the longer it is given space to stay. One that takes a mile when given an inch and grows hungry when it is fed, its spindly limbs curled tight around his shoulders. 

Its voice is borrowed from whatever memories Kim Rok Soo had buried and discarded to the side. And in this time, in this moment that has Kim Rok Soo's legs trembling like a newborn fawn, its misshapen form becomes just a little bit clearer. A little bit sharper. Its voice a little less jumbled. 

- ...one day, it will demand its end of the bargain.

It croons of the future in a way that paints a harsh light on Kim Rok Soo's lack of understanding. Kim Rok Soo's lack of everything —his knowledge of this world, his control of the situation, the way every damn higher being under this stretch of too-blue sky seems content to shove him around whenever they please—

Kim Rok Soo drowns in its embrace. Breathes it in and chokes on the sharp tang of rot and rust.

For a while, the world is quiet. The wind, seemingly weakened, is but a gentle breeze tousling Kim Rok Soo's hair, and the Ancient Power's voice has retreated somewhere distant in his ears. Far away enough Kim Rok Soo can only hear the faint, tail end of a cough.

Kim Rok Soo himself remains on the ground. The terrain beneath him is rugged, and it digs into his skin. Carves dents and bruises to his knees and calves even through the thick layer of cloak pillowing him.  

Arbitrarily, a fleeting thought comes to him, in that moment that feels like forever. The name of the god that has been occupying his body with the ease of a well-oiled cat, along with the faint image of the book that has remained by Kim Rok Soo's side ever since the very beginning. It crosses his mind for but a second. A line of suspicion framing his thin, trembling shoulders.

But as Kim Rok Soo does so, violence singing in his veins, something within denies him with overwhelming vehemence.

Distaste presses, heavy and bitter, against the paper-thin wall giving Kim Rok Soo the illusion of privacy inside his own mind. It bites at his train of thought like an unruly cat, sending an unpleasant jolt of pain down the flimsy thread connecting the two of them.

With that too, comes the Ancient Power's weak swallow. A heavy thing, with rocks lodged inside his throat until it sounds more like a gurgle than a simple, nervous gulp.

- In any case, you would be better off without this power.

Sneaking past the guarded whisper is a tremble of terror that sends another shiver down Kim Rok Soo's spine. Caution lingers there. Sharp as razor's edge, and bearing down upon the air with an intensity Kim Rok Soo fails to understand.

The stern tone of that sentence emboldens Kim Rok Soo's gaze into something steel-sharp, an edge creeping up on the muddy red-browns of his eyes. Obsidian pools at the bottom of those murky colours, welling up slowly. 

When Kim Rok Soo smiles, at long last, with the flicker of light wiggling in through the cracks in the cavern, his long lashes look almost white. Feather-light, fluttering above pale cheeks. 

"Why?" He questions, as he wets his lips. Feels the cracked, chapped skin there, broken when he bit down with teeth that wouldn't stop chattering. 

All around the child struggling to stand back up, a tumultuous storm begins to brew, as if jolted awake from a moment's daydream. The arched ceiling above groans and whimpers, and stalactites crumble to dust right before Kim Rok Soo's eyes.

A morbidly amused part of him—one Kim Rok Soo suspect is more influenced by the bodiless observer behind his eyelids—wonders if this hollowed-out space, sheltering a power of ancient times within, would be nothing but a casket if the gales were to expand a bit further. If the ceiling was to cave in under the force raging around him.

And won't that be somewhat fitting, it whispers, almost like a wish.

"That doesn't make any sense," Kim Rok Soo mutters, both to the Ancient Power and that unfamiliar, decidedly vicious part of his brain. "You clearly know something's wrong with me, but you're saying your I'm better off without this power? Isn't that just foolishly waiting for death? Surely, even if it's only a little, Vitality of the Heart would have some means of rectifying whatever this is."

Kim Rok Soo stumbles forward, feet finally moving from their stationary position. Frayed nerves tied his muscles in a knot of tension, and it nearly sends him careening in a heap of mess on the ground, tattered cloak cushioning his fall as he drops his entire weight right in front of the crooked rock tower.

Dust mars Kim Rok Soo's cheeks with a streak of grey, stretching long across his pale face. 

"Tell me," He whispers, as the gust that has been stuck in a harrowed pacing around the room makes a brief stop by his side, a gentle caress wiping off the remnant of dirt and dust, "Why should I listen to you? I can just go ahead and finish this test without your input."

A glint of something rebellious shines through the facade of calm Kim Rok Soo wears like a tailored suit. It's not quite meant to be a challenge, but it lands aimed and true at the crumbling resolve left tangled in the Ancient Power's voice. 

- ...what do you think would happen if you receive this power, child?

Succinct, as though wasting any more seconds on getting the words out is an unforgivable mistake, the Ancient Power returns Kim Rok Soo's question with one of his own.

The winds around Kim Rok Soo continue to howl and yowl, embedding claw marks deep into the jagged gorges left in the walls. But even with all these ruckuses rising to the tremble in the old man's voice, Kim Rok Soo finds himself unable to hear much of anything else—aside from that soft, dread-filled timbre announcing Kim Rok Soo's fate.

- This power of mine... is a selfish power. 

- It listens only to itself, and no one else. 

- A power driven by the culmination of humanity's will to survive, in spite of anything and everything in its way.

A hint of whimper slips past the guarded tone. 

Something splinters in that voice. A crack that threatens to break open now that the words have slipped out. Resignation flickers like dying embers, hanging unspoken in the air. Unnoticed, almost, like that half-toppled rock tower, left by its lonesome inside the stomach of a mountain. 

- You will live. That is the power of Restoration.

- That, and nothing more.

- How can a power like this be anything but a curse?

An unnerving certainty burns, bright and blinding. The sudden fervour reminds Kim Rok Soo, almost unpleasantly, that the voice has not always been just a voice embodying an Ancient Power, after all.

He had been a living, breathing man too, at some point. Someone who'd lived, and loved, and died. And in his last moment of life, he'd left a part of himself as the living witness to all those times forgotten by everyone else, here in this cave that smells of mold and mildew.

Sheltered by the wind and the mountain from the passing of time outside, but never from the regret he had drowned in.

- I was foolish once, and dared to run away from death.

- I thought that, as long as I could survive, everything would be alright. 

- ...but I forgot to run away with my friends.

Kim Rok Soo's small face scrunches into a frown. A trembling hand flicks his tattered cloak with agitation, and Kim Rok Soo remains silent.

- How selfish I am! 

- I allowed myself to run and live well, but my friends succumbed to their demise, one by one. 

- And this curse wouldn't allow me to follow them to the afterlife!

The old man continues, spinning an old tale with a thread of melancholy and a spinning wheel built on could've, would've, should've —a patchwork of grief and misery laid bare for Kim Rok Soo to see. 

His sorrow blends into Kim Rok Soo. Trickling into his stomach with every whimper, until it feels like Kim Rok Soo has had too much coffee, and whatever he had for breakfast is trying to crawl out of his throat.

- I would feel the pain of dying, but death denied my entry through its door, each and every time. 

- Just as I had once refused it, death, in turn, refused me.

 A suck of air, choked like a sob. Desperate, like a prayer on a dying man's lips.

- In this world, there is no such thing as a favour freely given.

- You may be alive now, but one day, this life you are allowed to live would demand a payment of equal value.

- I think you know better than I do just what kind of payment such a thing would derive.

The old man's belief holds steadfast to that statement. His faith in his words wilt that little bit of hope inside Kim Rok Soo's chest just a bit more. Blotchy, spotted petals fall, one by one, with every word ringing loud in Kim Rok Soo's ears.

- This power would sooner than later turn into a shackle keeping you tethered to this world. 

- Forever to live in an endless cycle of dying and living—and dying and living again.

- A waking eternity of torture. 

That weepy sentence blurs into a mess of sobs and whines. As if Kim Rok Soo's pain is his own, the old man begins to cry and apologise. His endless, choked mutterings gradually turn into a senseless buzz in Kim Rok Soo's ears.

- I would not wish such a fate on any child.

- Please, do not be too selfish.

- Take heed of this old man's rambling and leave this cave with empty hands.

Heavy, contemplating, Kim Rok Soo's gaze falls to his hands. 

At the calluses unfit for the baby fat clinging there, and the silver lines gorged deep for all to see.

He lets them drape over his stomach, bringing his knees closer. Until he sits like little Kim Rok Soo did, all those years ago, in a corner of the house that smelled of alcohol and vomit.

Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes shut, and breathes. Every gulp of air taken rakes against the insides of his nose and throat. He welcomes the sting, not the slightest bit of hesitation as he heaves out his panic in a gusty sigh.

Unfitting, perhaps, for the occasion they are in, a smile begins to humour Kim Rok Soo's ashen face. Makes him into something less like the picture of an unpleasant past or the unintentional reflection for the voice speaking inside his head.

"Did you just tell me there is some bastard up there messing with my life, and I should just go ahead and accept it...?" Kim Rok Soo drawls, trying to go for light-hearted. He overshoots and lands somewhere between apathetic and calloused. "What bullshit."

There are a lot of things Kim Rok Soo can say. A lot more he wants to say, rather than the simple conclusion he ends up giving the old man.

"Even in death, you're still so incredibly selfish, huh."

It sinks right into the weak, fragile flesh of the old man's heart. Kim Rok Soo knows it did, with the way the wind twists to clash once more against the barrier separating Kim Rok Soo from its trajectory, a raging bull feeding off of the negative emotions that must have been drowning the old man from inside out. 

"Didn't you want to live?" Kim Rok Soo's mouth twists into a scowl. "When faced with the possibility of death, didn't you grasp on any sliver of opportunity to run away?"

The rock beneath Kim Rok Soo's palm glints something cold in the dark, its sharp edges a warning.

Sneering, the child struggles to stand back up, and slams it down onto the tower. It lands with the sharp sound of pebbles clacking onto one another. "What gives you the right to decide whether or not I should be 'too selfish'?"

- I-I didn't...

- That was—!

The wind cries out again. A whistle that sounds like the long, mournful bellow of a whale. Instead of pulling back, Kim Rok Soo twists the metaphorical knife further, until it sinks into the stupid old man's brain.

"You talked a lot about the hypothetical." Kim Rok Soo scoffs. "We don't even know if what you're talking about is the truth, or if it would actually happen or not. You're already quaking in your boots just thinking about it."

- B-but such a thing is...

"Destined? Fated? Already set in store?" 

A grin stretches wide on Kim Rok Soo's face. His eyes, as deep as a pool reflecting the night sky, paints his features into something less childish. Something ancient, untouched by time and the turning of the planets.

"Says who? Old man, you're too sure of yourself. If age equals wisdom and knowledge, then you're hardly the wisest person here."

Kim Rok Soo turns his attention inward, to the flimsy barrier separating him from the unwelcomed guest watching the entire scene with rapt attention—not unlike a housewife eagerly anticipating the climax of a soap opera on the television. As if sensing Kim Rok Soo's rising annoyance, a bubble of joy bursts from within Kim Rok Soo's chest, fond and teasing.

A flutter resounds in the air. Light and crisp; a bird's wings flapping in the morning air. In the blink of an eye, a book lies unassumingly by the foot of the tower.

Its distinctly clean sheets of paper glisten in the dark, even with little light breaking through the layers of rocks and dirt and stalactites. There are no words written on it, but a few drops of ink start to sink into the pages, as though a quill is hovering right above it, waiting for something.

"Aren't the gods a fickle bunch? Can their thoughts be so easily seen?" 

Shrugging off the dust and dirt on his shoulder, Kim Rok Soo's smile is one oozing with mockery.

"What do you think, father?"

Sweet poison drips from Kim Rok Soo's mouth. At the same time, the white book starts trembling uncontrollably. The tremor grows in a steady pace only to worsen more and more, until even the rock tower it was leaning against begin to rattle, and the ground beneath lets out a rumble. It is an earthquake that is not less terrible than the one that had wrecked the cave at the old man's warning.

An oppressive air descends over the center of the cavern. Frost forms faint clouds of mist with each breath Kim Rok Soo releases from his lungs, and a layer of glistening white sheet begins to form on the stacked rocks. Kim Rok Soo's mouth is pursed tightly, and the corners of his eyes squinted. The urge to laugh rattles inside Kim Rok Soo's ribcage, an unprecedented sense of joy sweeping over him in undulating waves.

A series of exclamation mark appears on the empty page.

Youngest!!!!

Ahh, I've always known! Those pretentious bastards might say otherwise, but I knew from the start!

You are indeed the cutest! The smartest!!

My most precious youngest child!

The Ancient Power's voice sucks in a sharp gasp. His breath comes out in a fast, hurried pace, and the faint thumping of a frantic heartbeat surfaces distantly in Kim Rok Soo's ears.

- T-that's—!

Uncertain words are seemingly stuck in the bodiless voice's throat. It sounds as if he is struggling to even breathe. It's understandable, Kim Rok Soo thinks, with the very thing he fears standing right in the midst of their company. The very thing that had turned him into the kind of person he is today, weeping for those days he couldn't reach anymore, and the friends he would forever lose.

Unlike the shaken Ancient Power, the book pays the old man's presence little mind, doodling a few horrendous stick figures with eerily wide smiles dancing around a... sacrificial altar? A burning stove? A cake...? One of the figures seems to be waving around some kind of broom in its hand.

Oh me, oh my, how exciting!! I haven't been this excited in decades!

Is this a father's joy of watching his child grow up? My heart feels like it's about to explode into bits and pieces! 

Oh, what to do!? I need to note down today's date, hour, minute, and second—

The end of that extremely wobbly sentence is decorated with tiny, wobbly hearts. Kim Rok Soo's upturned mouth twitches downward just as quickly as the page is filled with a handful more of those ugly, crooked doodles.

Despite the unnecessary addition to those elegantly written paragraphs, the book's evidently confident words bring a sense of calm to the turbulent waves raging in Kim Rok Soo's stomach.

Hehe. 

What's wrong, youngest? It's unlike you to hesitate so much.

Aren't life and death two sides of the same coin?

An odd gleam surfaces within Kim Rok Soo's eyes. Those dark coloured orbs steadily grow darker, until its pitch-black surface can clearly reflect the last sentence written in the book, like a mirror made of gleaming obsidian glass.

Inside those eerie, endless well of darkness, a broad hand hovers a white feathered quill over the page, strands of white hair spilling around it. Carefully, it draws loops and curves from a sharp, ink-stained nib.

You are already mine.

What else do you need to fear?

A smirk curls at the corner of Kim Rok Soo's lips. His palm encloses around another rock, fingers pressing down until a faint redness spread from the tips, slowly unfurling like blossoming flower petals.

Blood returns to Kim Rok Soo's cheeks. A blush of pink, healthy and full of life, pushing back the paleness that had coloured the child's face. His heart jumps inside his chest, beating with vigour, clamouring in a race against the other steady, unwavering beat taking residence inside Kim Rok Soo's ribcage.

"If you only keep your eyes on that distant horizon, you will lose sight of what's right in front of you."

A cacophony of voices seems to whisper in Kim Rok Soo's ears. Gently coaxing, encouraging him to take another step forward. One more, and one more. More and more, until he places another rock onto the swaying tower.

"The matter of life and death—who knows it better than the god presiding over the end of all things?" 

Faint dimples form on Kim Rok Soo's cheeks, sweet and harmless. The incomplete tower in front of him slowly gains more height, until the last remaining rock is piled up with a soft clack.

"Have a bit more faith, old man."

- ...ah.

A trembling chuckle is drawn out from the Ancient Power's former owner. 

He sounds exhausted, as if the years he'd lived had been rewound in front of his eyes until the moment his very last breath was taken away. 

His weepy sobbing tapers off into something fragile, but fond. The kind sentiments all aged, senior citizens hold for young children prancing out in the streets on Sunday mornings—or perhaps when surrounded by friends and families on holidays, with noisy chatters rising above a table filled with familiar faces.

- What a rude child.

That mutter is terribly soft, cushioned with cloud pillows and cotton quilts.

- I should've known from the start.

- You don't seem the type to listen even if I told you otherwise.

Kim Rok Soo can picture a smile carved on those wrinkled face, had the old man been more than just a bodiless voice. The way his hair, greyed from age, curls over his gently arched brows. 

Maybe instead of proud laugh lines wrinkling his skin like Grandma Kim, it would instead be sagging from years of worry. There would be bags under sunken eyes, deep and dark, and his back hunched in a posture of defeat every time he shuffled forward on unsteady legs.

But there would also be kindness in those eyes, and his smile would be like a flower struggling to raise its head towards the sun. Clean and pure, despite the mud clinging to its petals.

World-weary, and with ghosts of his own, the old man manages to pull out a chuckle from Kim Rok Soo.

"I'm not." The child admits, without shame. "So you better save your breath for something more important."

- Hoho.

- Indeed, what a terribly rude child you are.

That rebuke doesn't sound the slightest bit admonishing. A hint of warmth suffused the Ancient Power's words. The kind of resigned, reluctant joy that is almost too sweet and lingering between one's teeth long after it sank into your stomach.

- Go ahead, then.

Kim Rok Soo can hear the grin there. Stretching across wrinkled skin and uplifting lips that have longed turned pale and sagged downwards.

Beneath his palm, the tower gleams, and the eerie pitch black colour seeps slowly out of each rock, until only a clean white colour is left in the middle of the dark, desolate cave. 

- Break it.

- 'Overcome' your limits. 

Kim Rok Soo smiles, and topples the tower over with a sweep of his hand. The rocks clatter to the ground, before being swept away by the wind and flung to the walls of the cave, shattering almost instantly. 

A groan comes from beneath Kim Rok Soo's feet. 

The earth starts to tremble again, frantic, though gentler than before. From the middle of the cave, a faint wisp of white begins to rise. It bubbles up, not unlike a smoke, and its gentle, pulsating ray grows brighter with each passing second. 

In an idyllic, wistful thinking, perhaps, Kim Rok Soo feels as though the light's flickering form briefly condensed into the figure of a man with hunched shoulders and long, unkempt hair, standing where the rock tower had been. His face is obstructed by the blinding rays, but he seems to be smiling, with wrinkled skin stretching his face into a gentle expression.

Dazed, Kim Rok Soo stares the old man, who raises a finger to point at him. From the tip of that thin, pale finger, a flash of light shoots forward and pierces right through his chest with sharp precision.

Kim Rok Soo gasps, nearly stumbling back. His heart is thumping a frantic beat inside his chest, and another beat rises in tandem to it, following suit not long after. They race after one another, pumping adrenaline throughout Kim Rok Soo's body. 

A surge of heat spreads slowly from under the skin blanketing those endless thuds; the gentle trickle of morning dew upon a leaf on a cloudy morning, gradually turning into the chaotic rush of a river stream flooding Kim Rok Soo's veins from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes.

The child's hands tremble from the rush of excess energy. As the heat gradually subsided, it turns into a terrible itch that urge Kim Rok Soo to scratch through his cloak. To dig his nails into flesh and tear away at the intrusion on his skin.

With a stiff expression, Kim Rok Soo lowers his gaze to peer at his chest, and finds his vision obstructed by a sudden curtain of light. His curled fingers hover right above the unbearable itch, barely an inch away, stopped just before they would inevitably draw blood.

Kim Rok Soo's head snaps up, only to find the light vaguely forming the frail figure of an old man to be right in front of his eyes. It is solidifying by the minute, until Kim Rok Soo can make up the subtlest of dips in that face, and the sagging skin beneath those cheeks, undeniably, vividly human.

This close, the light that had looked so blinding is now but a dim glow. The gentle ray of the morning sun peeking through the window at dawn. And just like morning mist, the figure's whisper is both weak and mellow. 

- Since this is the path you choose, struggle until the bitter end.

Those thin arms wrap around the frozen child, trembling imperceptibly. They are nearly skeletal, as if the owner of said arms had been emaciated for a long time.

- You are right. I haven't changed.

- I am still the coward who only knows how to run away.

Drops of tears fall from the man's face. They shine with a faint, pearlescent luster, trickling down the man's chin to fall onto Kim Rok Soo's shoulder before scattering into brilliant particles of light—not unlike a gentle shower of starlight dust.

- So this muddle-headed, foolish coward can't help but to be foolish for one last time.

Kim Rok Soo's lashes tremble. He raises his head to stare at this figure, whose face is now adorned by a helpless grin, even as tears keep trickling down his cheeks.

- Forgive me.

- Even if the future is bleak, I...

- I want to give myself another chance, to stay until the very end.

- Will you allow this old man his last bit of selfishness?

With that whisper, the light completely shatters. Kim Rok Soo stands in the middle of the cave, showered by those glimmering particles of light, as though he had been rained on by the stars that would decorate the night. His dark eyes are like the surface of a lake, encapsulating the brilliant sight in front of him within them.

With a hoarse, tired chuckle, Kim Rok Soo raises a hand, and catches a few of those scattered light on top of his palm.

"Well." The corners of Kim Rok Soo's lips quirk up. "It is human nature to be selfish, isn't it?"

Laughter rings inside Kim Rok Soo's head. Weakened, but bright, closer than ever before. It reverberates inside his skull, a presence lurking within the boundary of Kim Rok Soo's consciousness that doesn't feel as foreign as the divine item had been.

- ...yes.

- It is human nature to be selfish.

A wistful sigh trails off, before the Ancient Power's voice gradually fades away. Kim Rok Soo takes a breath. One after another, eyes closed shut as he forces his racing heart to calm. 

By the time his hands stop trembling, Kim Rok Soo has already pulled at his cloak's collar to glance at the new addition decorating his skin. On his chest, as expected, an image has been embedded where there had only been a smooth, albeit scarred skin, before. 

Light silver in colour, the tattoo of a heart settles contentedly on top of Kim Rok Soo's scars, the bumpy skin giving the illusion of bulging veins around and on top of the vivid image. Adding a life-like touch that looks as though Kim Rok Soo's heart itself has jutted out of his chest. 

Thick strings run from the top of that heart to the very bottom, small tendrils spreading outward in thin roots from its center. A few of the nearby veins have a tinge of grey to them, one that gradually grows darker as it leads back to that strange line of black.

At first glance, it looks almost like a cracked mirror's glass. But the longer Kim Rok Soo stares at it, the more he feels that it looks more like a thin, barren tree taking root in his flesh, trying to spread its limbs to further nourish itself.

"...."

Another change to the novel. 

Kim Rok Soo's forehead crinkles faintly. He silently keeps count of it in his heart, and sways unsteadily on his feet.

"Rok Soo?"

Broad hands are quick to catch his stumbling body. 

Bob's face appears in Kim Rok Soo's vision with his hair tousled into a mess. Some of it are wet from the sweat trailing down his forehead, clinging to tanned skin in a few loops and curls. The straight line of his eyebrows is threaded with a hint of frustration, curving with displeasure.

"Humaaan!"

Burbling, a sticky toddler takes advantage of Kim Rok Soo's brief confusion to latch onto Kim Rok Soo's body. The Dragon's arms are locked tight around Kim Rok Soo from the side, as if imitating a limpet. His tail thumps against the ground, agitation written in every line of his curved spines.

"This weird Dark Elf kept me from going after you! Humph!" The Dragon lets out a steady stream of complaints as soon as he confirmed that Kim Rok Soo was quick to accept his fate of being turned into a toddler's squeeze toy.

"I wanted to go to you, but he said an Ancient Power's test shouldn't be disturbed! I stayed put because I was smart enough to figure it out myself, but you still took too long, human! And now you smell really weird!"

Sky blue eyes peer up at Kim Rok Soo, the vertical lines in them thinning into slits. "Are you sick, human?"

Kim Rok Soo stares at the ceiling for a while, feeling uncharacteristically numb. His head feels light, but his entire body is like a heavy lead sinking in the ocean, and even moving his head to glance at Bob becomes a struggle. Whether or not this is the effect of the Ancient Power slowly settling in Kim Rok Soo's body, Kim Rok Soo doesn't know.

"I smelled like what?" The child grunts, the frown on his face worsening as he feels his legs starting to cramp. 

Above Kim Rok Soo's head, half looming over him, Bob lightly cants his head downward. The movement causes some of the hair clinging to his face to loosen. They fall over a pair of unsmiling eyes, and Kim Rok Soo swallows back the urge to flinch at the mockery of a smile resting on Bob's face.

"...like nothing good, that's for sure," says the Dark Elf, in a tone as if they had gone out for a mere picnic by the side of a lake. It is somehow more terrifying than the deep shadows lurking within the cave's nooks and crannies. "Wasn't that an Ancient Power's test? You did something stupid again, didn't you?"

"...."

In the face of Bob's wordless (threatening) inquiry, Kim Rok Soo purses his lips. His eyes shake minutely beneath frantically fluttering eyelashes, but if Bob sees it, he gives no indication of ever catching a glimpse of Kim Rok Soo's panic.

With a heavy sigh, he heaves the child into his arms. Kim Rok Soo's head is tucked beneath his chin, and the Dragon moves to hover above the two of them with a flap of his wings.

"...?" 

Kim Rok Soo jabs his elbow into Bob's stomach with a frown. An ominous feeling churns in his gut. He doesn't dare to meet Bob's eyes, but as it looked as though Bob isn't planning to put Kim Rok Soo down anytime soon, he throws a discontented glare at the Dark Elf.

"Hyung, you can't possibly forget that we have to crawl our way out from that tiny hole, right? What are you doing?"

Kim Rok Soo's words are more polite than usual. Mostly because the Dark Elf looks irascible at best, and murderously furious at worst. Kim Rok Soo's keen sense of danger is trying to give him a warning, but he still doesn't forget to give another elbow jab to the unusually quiet Dark Elf.

Bob's only response to that is a single, blindingly bright smile. 

"They're taking too long. Do you reckon they're alright?"

Perched high above the towering trees, crouched on a sturdy branch overlooking the small opening Alberu and the little Saint had gone through, Donovan's face twists into an ugly scowl.

A large, serrated blade hangs from his hip, loosely connected to his belt by a thick silver chain. One of his palms is wrapped around the hilt of that blade, knuckles white with tension and the veins of his wrist bulging under his skin.

"Donovan! Hey! Did ya hear me? Can you see anything from up there? Did Alberu even tell you what they were planning to take? I mean, what the hell's inside that mountain? My Elemental is going wack on me right now!"

Chatter. Chatter.

Right beneath the branch Donovan is perched on, the nuisance named Gilbert is standing guard with lax, unguarded posture, mouth running a mile per minute. The glint of a sharp dagger is hidden beneath the sleeve of his dusty shirt, its golden tint like the eyes of a beast waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

"I want to catch up with them, but Shawn said I won't fit through the cave's opening. Which is, like, rude, but I don't think I can fit through that thing either. What a shame, really. Heard from Misha's Elemental that something weird is slumbering there?"

Gilbert yammers on and on, finding no end to the topics he brought up. One thing leads to another, which leads to some other thing entirely, and at some point, Donovan loses count on how many times they'd circled around the recent palace gossip.

Knuckles white with tension, Donovan crosses his arms in front of his chest with pursed lips, palms wrapped tightly around his biceps. Patience, he tries to remind himself, lest he accidentally maul his own comrade. It ends up sounding too much like the sarcastic tone of one Alberu Crossman, and Donovan's already dark expression darkens even further.

"By the way, why are you still wearing that old cloak? Didn't the mayor give you a new one? Are you feeling sentimental or what? Ah, no, if it's you, that's really unbelievable. Oh! Because it looks cool? I have to admit, it does fit you somewhat. Mostly because you look so scary already. Might as well go all out with the whole brooding guy persona, am I right—"

Just as Gilbert's word vomit is about to push Donovan over the edge, a loud, booming sound reverberates throughout the entire valley.

A fierce tremor runs through the earth beneath their feet, and smoke rises to the sky along with the dying glow of an explosion. Heat distorts the air into a brief, hazy mess, but even then, the sudden addition to the mountain in Donovan's sight is not something one can easily miss.

"What the fuck— is that Alberu?"

In the face Gilbert's disbelieving gasp, Donovan finds himself frozen on the spot.

The smoke has yet to recede, but the crater sitting on one side of the mountain remains clear for all to see, almost mockingly so. It has neat, smooth edges, curved in a clean line that is just shy of being intentionally carved by a professional. 

And in the middle of that crater is the Crown Prince of Roan, waving breezily with a refreshing smile on his face, looking as unbothered as ever.

"...did that punk go crazy? Since when? How did I miss it?"

While Gilbert is muttering under his breath, Donovan leaps off the branch he was perched on, and lands on the ground with a thud. His blade makes a sharp sound as it parts the wind, and silver chain clatters against its hilt.

"That crazy punk!" Donovan hisses. "What the hell is he doing?!"

The Dark Elf rushes towards the mountain, forehead crinkled with worry and the corners of his lips downturned. He pays no mind to the thistles and brambles in his way, shielded by his thick, worn cloak as he dashes through the forest and towards the small clearing near the mountain.

As soon as he arrives, he is met with the sight of Alberu treading a dirt path down the mountain, his gait bearing the composed air of someone who had just taken a trip out for a relaxing picnic. 

The Dragon-nim has stopped circling above their heads at some point, and is now hovering beside the quarter Dark Elf with a few flaps of his wings. It almost looks like he is gliding instead of flying, and from time to time, the Dragon-nim would stretch his neck to nuzzle the bundle of cloak held in Alberu's arms, a pleasant coo rumbling in his throat.

Said bundle has a tiny face peeking out from underneath, revealing a pair of dazed auburn eyes and short tresses of black hair. Two palms that are equally as tiny are clutching onto Alberu's clothes for dear life, wrinkling the shirt that had been stained with dirt, his countenance both stiff and apprehensive.

"Ah, sorry, did we take too long?" Is what Alberu said upon noticing the rushing Dark Elves. "I didn't realise it would be noon already."

"You!" 

Donovan's palm met his forehead as the punk beams at him. From the crater behind the three, faint clouds of smoke rise and gather overhead, the blotch of grey looking conspicuous among the clear summer sky.

"Ankle biter? You alright, bud?"

Gilbert's hesitant voice draws Donovan's attention to the little Saint who had been frozen stiff all this time. His head tilts down to peer at the child, and as soon as Alberu got closer to where he is standing, he catches wind of a strange smell wafting in the air.

It's the bitter scent one would smell from wilted flowers, covered with the clean, crisp smell of frost. A fragrance that foretells the coming of Winter, as plants shrivel up from the harsh weather, only to wither quietly under the heavy blanket of snow with everyone none the wiser.

The weak dies, and the strong lives; that is the law of nature's cruelest season, one that brings with it death and new beginnings. The scent it carries is something that both mesmerises and unnerves the heart of all Elves.

And this scent in particular now lingers heavily around the child, where just this morning there had been none at all.

"...."

Alberu's smile is sharp and nothing short of a warning. His hooded gaze sweeps past both Donovan and Gilbert once, before he turns to the forest where the rest of their group are waiting.

"Let's hurry back. I'm sure my dongsaeng is hungry." He says, and strides into the forest without another word. 

When they reach the campfire Shawn and Misha are waiting at, both Dark Elves snap their gazes towards the baby Saint, their eyes wide and unnerved. Alberu merely glances at them from the corner of his eyes. When he lowers the child, who scrunched his nose and immediately bolted for Shawn, the quarter Dark Elf shakes his head at the burning demand in Misha's gaze.

Lips pursed and with a stuffy, unpleasant feeling in his chest, Donovan retreats back into the shadow of the trees. His hand absentmindedly winds the chain of his blade around his palm once, twice, before he lets it fall and does it all over again.

Draped over his shoulder, with the distinct smell of the earth when it rains, Donovan's Elemental lets out a solemn sigh.

'The crater's all covered up now. I'm not sure what happened in there, but that cave smells somewhat like dead mana.'

It reports, and falls silent before piping up hesitantly;

'I think it was purified recently.'

Donovan can feel a headache coming. He presses a finger to his temple, head thrown back against the trunk of the tree. 

Down in the clearing, a few figures are huddled around the crackling, sputtering flames, discussing today's events with hushed voices. The little Saint runs his hand down the cover of a white book, falling quiet after sharing his encounter with the Ancient Power. His head is lowered, and Donovan can't quite make out the expression on his face, but through the curtains of black hair, a pair of dark maroon stares back at him.

"—!"

The Dark Elf barely holds himself back from flinching. Sweat rolls down his scarred face, and for an inexplicable second, his mind goes blank. A beat passes, and then two, before the child eventually retracts his gaze. His attention is turned to the Dragon-nim happily chattering away beside him. 

A sigh of relief escapes Donovan. His blade makes a clear, metallic sound as he leans back, silver chain clattering and clacking against it.

'Hmm? Why are you staring so intently at the little Saint? Do you want to dress him up too?'

Curious, Donovan's Elemental prods at him, its gaseous form clicking and clacking with every languid curl it makes in the air. 

Donovan remains silent in the face of its question. His eyes are lowered. Just enough to not be outrightly staring at the people below, but not too far away to keep them in the upper corner of his sight.

Amidst the warm glow of the fire, the little Saint makes quite the striking figure. His lips are pulled into a reluctant smile, and his pale face looks a little less sickly than usual. If his clothes aren't crumpled and stained with dirt, he would've looked strikingly similar to Alberu when he was just a child, with restrained movements that give off an air of nobility.

At times when the breeze caresses his flushed cheeks, however, and when the flames from the bonfire spark fleeting embers of gold, his shadow would stretch long across the forest floor. It blankets the wild grass and bushes and crawls up the trunk of the trees sheltering them. 

From high up, where Donovan is keeping an eye on the small group, it looks as though someone else is sitting in the company of Dark Elves and one human. Another person unaccounted for, seated primly right beside the little Saint.

The light from the sun pierces through the canopy of leaves overhead and casts brilliant, mottled shadow over the forest floor. With speckled light scattered upon it, that long shadow seems to have the gentle curve of a grin where its face would've been, as if it has been watching Donovan from the very beginning.

Tiny fingers pinch the palm of a slender wrist, peppering the pale skin with a blush of pink and the blue lines of protruding veins. Underneath the round and slightly chubby fingertips, the languid thudding of a heartbeat can be clearly felt, followed by the phantom echo of another.

Although there seems to be no major change in Kim Rok Soo's body after picking up the Ancient Power, a little bit of unease persists in his heart. The Ancient Power's words may have been nothing more than a speculation, but the divine item that likes to dote on its supposed children had never mention, even in a roundabout way, that what the old man feared was a mistake either.

"...."

Inadvertently, Kim Rok Soo's gaze falls on the book. Its page has been scrawled with all kinds of nonsense, and more than half of it is filled with ugly doodles. 

One in particular is what looks to be a group of four. Three stick figures are smiling at Kim Rok Soo with another one standing behind them, its hands wrapped around the other tree. They are all drawn in differing heights, with one of the three being the shortest, and the one in the back being the tallest.

Underneath the drawing, there is a large, beautiful cursives framed with hearts. It reads, 'My Family'.

"...?"

Kim Rok Soo slowly, carefully, trails his eyes over each and every figure drawn on the page. There seem to only be a few recurring characters. The four 'family', the one with the broom, and two others that are always a distance away from the rest. 

While Kim Rok Soo doesn't have the slightest idea of who the rest are supposed to be, the 'family' should be the book and its supposed children, so why are there four figures drawn here? Counting Kim Rok Soo and the Crazy Priestess, along with the tall one who is possibly a representation of the book itself, there should only be three stick figures in the 'family'.

The space between Kim Rok Soo's brows is furrowed with crinkles. His small nose scrunches in consternation. Shawn, who sees such a scene, plops himself on the log beside Kim Rok Soo, holding a small bowl of mushroom soup in his hand.

"Why are you sulking? Bob is not angry at you, I'm sure. He's just a little worried." Shawn tries to soothe him, mistaking Kim Rok Soo's expression for a child feeling wronged by his friend. "It's not that he meant to drop you off and disappear like that. He probably has some business to do, he'll be back later. Don't worry about him, okay?"

"...mm."

Kim Rok Soo is too tired to tell Shawn that he's not worried about Bob. While it is true that Kim Rok Soo is curious about the Dark Elf's sudden departure, Kim Rok Soo thinks that Bob can take care of himself just fine. He clearly looks like a mob boss, why should Kim Rok Soo worry about him?

But maybe they should be worried about him. Be worried that he will alert the Crown Prince of Roan somehow and come back being chased by hundreds of the palace guards, that is.

It's not too long ago that Venion was robbed. From words of mouth and what little newspaper Shawn had managed to procure, it sounds like there would be some kind of investigation soon. They need to be more careful the closer they get to the capital. Bob disappearing off to who-knows-where right now really isn't doing any favour for Kim Rok Soo's frazzled nerves.

Once again, Kim Rok Soo's lips quirk down. His whole demeanour is both sullen and defeated. Shawn hesitates for a bit, before running his hand down the child's hair.

"Well, just make sure to tell us what you're about to do before you do it next time, hmm?" The Dark Elf says. "Even if you can't tell us the reason, that way, we won't be caught off guard when something like this happens again. Your hyung must've been going crazy with worry when you were separated from him."

Kim Rok Soo sniffs, but ends up nodding at Shawn's words. The response he got when he returned to camp was indeed a bit bewildering. 

Bob mentioned that he smelled different after he picked up Vitality of the Heart, so maybe that's why. The child's nose couldn't really pick up anything weird or off-putting. When he asked the Dragon, the answer that he got was only, "I think I've smelled this through the walls of my cage before, but I don't know what it is! I think it's a cold smell, though. Are you cold, human? This mighty Dragon can cuddle with you!"

In short, Kim Rok Soo still doesn't know why the Dark Elves are restless. He can't help but feel a bit bad for them, though. They looked so stressed ever since they set foot in Roan. It's already amazing that they didn't throw Kim Rok Soo away when the divine item possessed his body. The gods and Dark Elves are at odds with each other, after all.

"...."

Kim Rok Soo clenches his fist with determination. He resolves to bring something nice for Shawn and the others if he can. Call it compensation for taking Kim Rok Soo in, if you will. Maybe he'll get the chance to loot some bastard in the near future? One can only hope.

"Are you dreaming of robbing someone else's house again, little brother? If you smile like that, I'm afraid they would immediately call the guards on you."

Kim Rok Soo's smile stiffens. The baby Dragon raises his head from where it had been lying on Kim Rok Soo's lap, and Shawn greets the young man with an amicable greeting. 

Bob strides into the clearing like he owns it, head held high and smile ever-present as always. The frost in his eyes has recede. He looks a bit warmer now than when he had stormed off the camp a few hours ago. 

Kim Rok Soo frowns. "Why are you back so soon?" He can't help but quip, upon seeing the annoying expression on this self-proclaimed hyung-nim of his.

"Why? Can't I go see my dongsaeng?" Bob retorts, heading for the log opposite of Kim Rok Soo. "It's nothing big, anyway. I just needed to confirm a few things."

For some inexplicable reason, Kim Rok Soo feels danger creeping up on him. He takes a shallow gulp, and watches the Dark Elf scoop a bowl of mushroom soup for himself, along with a thick slice of bread. 

Bob's complexion is really far better than anyone Kim Rok Soo had ever seen. In the light of the bonfire, with the sky already turning a slight peach hue behind him, he wouldn't look out of place from a prince inside a fairy tale book. Coupled with his temperance and demeanour, it won't be surprising if someone had told Kim Rok Soo that Bob is the child of some noble in the City of Life.

"Did you go to check the situation in the capital?" Misha asks, as she sorts through the vials in her bag. "We'll be arriving in a few days. Is there anything we should look out for?"

A breezy smile tugs on Bob's lips. "Hmm, there is indeed something. It's nothing you should be too worried about, though."

Mischief simmers in his eyes, waiting for someone to tip it over until it spills all over the floor. Kim Rok Soo pretends to be blind and hastily dip a piece of bread into the soup. It doesn't, however, stop one chatterbox from having his curiosity roused.

"What? What is it?" Gilbert stretches his neck like a giraffe from behind Misha. His cheeks are bulging, and his wide, round eyes make him look like a giant hamster stocking up food in its cheek pouches. "Did you find something?"

Bob's smile deepens.

"Well." He drawls, tearing off a piece of bread from the slice in his hand. "The Church of Eternal Rest is still a place we Dark Elves should think twice before entering, right? Not only are their members well attuned to death, but the deity they worship is also stronger than the Sun God despite having a smaller number of believers."

He pauses for a bit, before continuing. "We were planning to slip into the church at night, when the priests will be more active. Even with the help of the bracelet, there is no guarantee that they wouldn't notice what we are the moment we step foot inside the church."

Misha's face twists into a scowl for a second. A moment of contemplation passes by, and she nods heavily with an unwilling expression. The rest of the Dark Elves in the clearing follow suit, each voicing their reluctant agreement. Kim Rok Soo and the Dragon are both content to listen to the adults talk among themselves, more occupied with food despite having one of their ears on the conversation.

It's at this time that Bob laughs, beaming as if the world itself has presented him with an interesting toy.

The next thing that he says is, "I heard that the Crown Prince of Roan will be visiting the church in a couple of days?"

And Kim Rok Soo chokes.

He sputters and coughs, the rim of his eyes red with tears gathering at the end of his lashes. The baby Dragon's paw thumps against his back, while the other one tugs at Kim Rok Soo's sleeve. "Oh no! Did you eat too fast, human? Quick, spit it out!"

The clearing has gone quiet. The adults have a peculiar expression on their faces, as if they don't know what to feel for a moment. It's Shawn that finally draws a smile on his face, right after he brought a cup of water for the coughing child. A corner of his mouth is twitching as he answers the young man.

"Ah, is that so?" Shawn's response sounds a little stiff, even for someone as awkward as him. "Wow, what a coincidence."

"Right?" Bob smiles, wide and like the scourge of Kim Rok Soo's nightmare. "What a great coincidence! We can have an easier time blending in while the priests are distracted."

It takes a while before Kim Rok Soo's coughing finally stops. He draws in a raspy breath, holding the cup of water given by Shawn with shaking hands. In his eyes, the self-proclaimed hyung-nim's laughter is like the cackling of demons from the underworld.

This guy, why does he look so happy with that news?! That Crown Prince is the only person they need to get as far away from right now!

Kim Rok Soo's baffled expression looks like the striking impression of a fish out of water, with bulging eyes and mouth that continuously opens and closes. Bob chortles at him, finding amusement in the child's reaction. He raises a brow and leans forward.

"Why do you look so scared, little brother? The Crown Prince doesn't eat children." The Dark Elf has the gall to tease Kim Rok Soo, smile widening when the child scowls at him. "Hey, I heard he's rather handsome too? Who do you think will be more handsome, me or him?"

Kim Rok Soo harrumphs and doesn't deign to give him an answer. Bob laughs some more, and the Dragon scrambles to sit upright on the log, chin raised proudly as high as it can go, leaving Kim Rok Soo with only the sight of stretched neck.

"Don't worry, human! If the Crown Prince tries to eat you, I'll beat him up!" The Dragon shows a proud and eager grin. "And then we can rob his palace and make a nest out of his gold! If we steal his crown, you can be a prince too!"

"...."

How vicious. Where did the Dragon learn this from?

Kim Rok Soo shakes his head with a sigh. "You can't beat up the Crown Prince, we'll all be fugitives then."

"Oh..." The Dragon's wings droop. "What about looting? Can we take his gold?"

Kim Rok Soo ponders over it for a moment. While it is true that the Crown Prince became Choi Han's companion in the novel, it was still only at the level of ally at best, and acquaintance at worst. 

Alberu Crossman is a character who moves only for the sake of the Roan Kingdom. Kim Rok Soo knows that he has a glib tongue and a healing Ancient Power, but not much else. He is much too good at hiding behind a good guy persona in the novel that Kim Rok Soo doesn't even know what his interests are, other than the ones related to his kingdom.

But one thing is for certain. He is someone whose family received the blessing of the Sun God. Kim Rok Soo is not Choi Han, and the people who took him in aren't Choi Han either. While they may not meet as enemies in the future, their interests are bound to clash. It is best to err on the side of caution.

"Maybe," Kim Rok Soo answers the disappointed baby Dragon. "If the opportunity arises, sure."

"...wow, how brazen of you to say that." Bob replies in a flat tone. "So you were dreaming of robbing other people's houses. What did the Crown Prince even do to you?"

Kim Rok Soo ignores the young man, whose face looks as if he has swallowed a lemon. The child feels better now that he has calmed down from the initial surprise. What Bob said makes sense, it would be easier for them to visit if the priests are distracted by the Crown Prince's visit. There are bound to be a crowd of people lining up to see a member of the royal family, anyhow. What are the chances that Kim Rok Soo will run into him?

With a light heart, and a much calmer stomach than before, Kim Rok Soo finishes his meal and returns to flipping through the book's scribbles. He knows some words would already be erased from the pages, but considering the book's sentimentality, there is a large chance that the stick figure drawings won't be erased just yet.

And true to that thought, Kim Rok Soo finds the drawings right where he saw them before. The divine item's 'family' stares out from the pages, with misshapen heads and bodies made of uneven, wiggling lines. 

Kim Rok Soo traces the shortest stick figure drawn there with his thumb. Even if he doesn't know who the third child is, this one should represent him, with how small it is compared to the rest. 

"...."

A 'Family', huh.

The divine item called Kim Rok Soo one of its own, but Kim Rok Soo feels no less apprehensive towards it. 

The Vitality of the Heart had clearly said that Kim Rok Soo is broken. That he is not meant to be here. It even sounds like he should've already been dead a long time ago.

A mangled corpse hanging on for dear life, stuffed with cotton padding and stitched forcefully back together with a single thread, the old man had said.

Recalling the earthquake that had happened in the cave, Kim Rok Soo didn't say a word of this to the Dark Elves.

What exactly does that mean? What part of him is broken?

Was Kim Rok Soo 'breaking' really not because of a forced, unknown contract?

The novel hadn't mention the reason for Choi Han's arrival in this world, and the cause wasn't exactly clear either. In Kim Rok Soo's case, the divine item had clearly admitted to being the one who pulled him here.

Was this the reason it stuck itself to Kim Rok Soo's side from the moment he opened his eyes? Because it knows something is wrong with Kim Rok Soo?

Or is it because it knows something will go wrong with Kim Rok Soo?

Kim Rok Soo is one of the God of Death's favoured children. That is a fact that the book has reminded Kim Rok Soo of time and time again, without fail. Almost as if on purpose. Kim Rok Soo should have nothing to fear if death is walking this journey along with him, it seems to want to convey.

Contrary to what the book might have expected Kim Rok Soo to feel, however, Kim Rok Soo is only filled with an endless well of anxiety each time the book reminded him.

The gods are a fickle bunch. Their attention has never been freely given and wavers just as easily, as transient as their presence in the world they govern. And when they do turn their lofty gazes to the mortal world below, it is more like a shackle one can't break free of. 

Blessings that last for generations, powers that persist through the ages, the branding mark of their favour towards the humans they loved—being bestowed by a god's benevolence has its own share of consequences.

Those higher beings love deeply, obsessively, almost too heavily for an ordinary human, as if seeing a possession that needs to be shown off to everyone else. Their brand of affection is both outlandish and overbearing.

That is why Kim Rok Soo knows too, that the consequence of offending one is as severe as can be. 

The proof is sitting right in front of Kim Rok Soo's eyes, after all. Laughing at each other's tales, setting up their tents in the woods for fear of making contact with anyone not their kin, instead of on the road where the company of others would make the journey far less quiet and bleak. Destined to hide in fear for the rest of their lives from the moment they take their first breath.

Love and hate, for a god, is as easy as overturning the back of their hands.

But it is very much not so for the recipient of their attention.

Kim Rok Soo didn't want to have anything to do with the divine, and he still doesn't, even now. However, Kim Rok Soo has also decided to call the Dark Elves his people. Even if he is just a child they took into their custody, to those divine entities, his every action may very well reflect on the people who took him in. 

The Dark Elves are already ostracised by the rest of the world, and the Sun God is out on a hunt against their kin. What kind of fate will they meet, should the God of Death decide that they have offended him, too?

"...."

Kim Rok Soo's fingers press against the page until it dips beneath his palm, wrinkled with deep indents.

The gods are a fickle bunch, and Kim Rok Soo is not strong enough to go up against them. Not right now, at the very least. That is why Kim Rok Soo will play along for now. He will accept the part that was given to him as 'the most precious youngest child' in this 'family', for as long as the book doesn't bare its fangs towards him. 

What the future has in store will come eventually. In this moment, Kim Rok Soo is content to cover his eyes to the possibilities that may await him. Living is the best, after all. As long as Kim Rok Soo and his people can live peacefully, if there is a need to pretend just so they could live well, then so be it.

To wield a double-edged sword means that one would still wield a sword, in the end. It doesn't matter where the blade is pointed to, as long as it knows who to cut, and whose hand it should hold. 

Up until the moment the God of Death decides to turn his back on Kim Rok Soo, Kim Rok Soo will smile and dance to his tune. If one day the book decides that Kim Rok Soo is more trouble than he is worth, and only then, when both of them have used each other enough, that Kim Rok Soo will let go of this lifeline without hesitation.

Until that day comes, Kim Rok Soo will remain the youngest child of the God of Death.

These thoughts, painted in a mixture of emotions, burn in Kim Rok Soo's heart like the churning blaze of a volcano waiting to erupt. Molten lava trickling to the other half of him, the one walled off by a thin partition that could only be called a flimsy piece of paper. It sinks into the consciousness cohabitating his body, heavy like a promise and as certain as an oath taken with his life on the line, offered like the token of an uncertain bet.

Ink seeps into the page under Kim Rok Soo's palm. Sluggish, as if drunk on the moment, and careful, as if knowing the weight of his words.

It trickles slowly from the nib of a languid quill, the line of words but another vow given to Kim Rok Soo. An oath sworn back to him;

Until then, my child. 

Chapter Text

As soon as the first sunlight breaks through the canopy of trees overhead, the rag-tag group of six (and a handful more tag along) depart from the foggy depth of Roan's woods.

They bundle themselves up in dust-stained cloaks and don their pair of mud-stained shoes, swiftly traversing the road back towards civilization. With a sliver of daylight accompanying their journey, the rough dirt road beneath their feet gradually turns to an even, smooth cobblestone path, and the fence of crooked trees grows sparser, leaving behind small, pruned bushes and potted flowers swaying in the breeze.

Lovely brick houses and small cottages line the sides of the street. Tall street lamps flicker in the hazy morning light, their glow dim and soothing.

Huiss wakes up from its slumber slowly and contentedly. A product of peace and well-maintained prosperity etched into the smiles of its residents. Dawn has been replaced by a busy morning, prompting the few still nestled under their blankets to welcome another day.

Approaching ever closer to the heart of Roan’s capital, Kim Rok Soo finds himself at odds with the joy permeating the air. 

Settled on the broad of Bob's back, the child curls his thin arms around the young man's neck and sniffs. He buries his face, wrinkled like a dried plum, into the hood bunched around Bob's shoulders.

They have long fallen behind the rest of their group, but Kim Rok Soo doesn’t find it in himself to argue with the slow gait. On the contrary, a part of him wishes to prolong this walk for as long as possible. An uncharacteristic hesitance taking over him as he spots the jutting white towers in the distance, with its tip reaching towards the clouds and basking in the brilliant light scattered by the sun.

"That's the Temple of the God of Death," Bob whispers, feeling Kim Rok Soo’s chin digging into his shoulder. The Dark Elf’s hair brushes against Kim Rok Soo’s forehead as he tilts his head back, no doubt taking a glance himself. A low mutter drifts to Kim Rok Soo’s ears.

“The Church itself doesn’t have that much of a following here in Roan, but the crowd lining up to enter the temple are not just a handful. Nobles come to finalise business agreements or marriage arrangements all the time, and the common folk tend to settle their debts and grievances there.”

A scoff escapes the Dark Elf’s lips. Amusement tinges his voice with schadenfreude. “In short, all kinds of messy things happen in that temple on a daily basis.”

Kim Rok Soo hums, thoughtful and quiet. He lays his head sideways, cheek pressed against the folds of Bob’s hood, taking in a deep, muffled breath. The stench of smoke and charred wood drenches the fabric beneath Kim Rok Soo’s nose and makes his head dizzy with just a whiff. He purses his lips, gaze stubbornly remaining on that towering building in the distance.

Eccentric in shape and colour, the Temple of the God of Death stands tall amidst a busy clutter of modest, charming fairytale houses. Its appearance is remarkably different from what Kim Rok Soo had seen in Roan so far. Largely geometrical and fitted together. Like complex puzzle pieces forming a whole, somewhat discordant looking structure with fitted joints and nothing else.

A flock of fluffy doves line the curved archways of the temple's yard and entrance, white plumage blending in with the marbled walls and pillars. From afar, they give off the impression of life-like sculptures brought to life by the hands of an expert sculptor, carved from the very same marble they are perched upon. Still as a statue and entirely too stoic, they maintain a quiet vigil even as the morning crowd grows louder, watching the sea of people below with uncanny docility. 

Kim Rok Soo squints his eyes, neck stretched to peer at the odd, albeit somewhat adorable incongruity of their plump bodies and the temple’s streamlined appearance.

He stares and stares, until his vision gradually becomes impeded by lopsided rooftops and smoke-billowing chimneys. The rapid beating inside his chest plays out an unpleasant, discordant melody.

He finds his head filled with flashes of bead-like eyes stitched upon a waxen plumage, as glaring as the lens of a camera. A subtle itch creeps up his back in needle-like prickles that graze his skin. They feel like tiny spider legs skittering all over his back in a rhythmic rap-tap-tap-tap that sometimes jab a little too hard at the flesh beneath, prompting goosebumps to break out on his skin.

Kim Rok Soo wrenches his gaze away. Beads of sweat pool on his brows, and his throat constricts with a dry swallow. 

Unaware of the burdensome thought brewing in the child’s mind, Bob continues to advise as he weaves his way expertly through the street's corners and alleys, leisurely in his gait but guarded in the way his shoulders flex and loosen with every little sidestep he makes to avoid bumping into anyone.

"The Crown Prince's visit is bound to attract a crowd. Listen to Shawn and be careful."

He heaves Kim Rok Soo higher on his back. A shrewd glint flashes in his eyes. The moment of contemplation leaves the Dark Elf quiet, though not for long.

"Watch what you say in that temple," Bob mutters, “Especially towards the priests.”

A touch of disdain mars his humourless smile. Flinty and hard, with barely any thaw to the ice creeping under his long, dark lashes, he leaves a warning for Kim Rok Soo to ponder upon. 

"Sometimes, it only takes something as simple as a loose tongue."

Ending with that odd, knowing sentence, Bob lowers Kim Rok Soo in front of an inn decorated with colourful pots of flowers. There are even gardenias and a few foxgloves hidden among a bush of roses, with vines dangling from the edges of a clay-tiled roof to drape over the wall.

Gilbert is seated at one of the tables decorating the front, right behind those colourful pots, resting under the shade of a dark green umbrella with what looks to be a glass of iced tea in his hand. He waves enthusiastically at the two of them.

"There you are! You guys took a while! Had fun touring around?" 

Bob straightens up from his crouching. Kim Rok Soo purses his lips, swallowing the question he wants to ask, even as he feels reluctant to let go of it entirely. He curls a tiny fist around the hem of Bob's shirt, crumpling the clean white fabric.

"As much fun as we could've had, I suppose," is Bob's polite, somewhat distant answer. "Not quite sure this sleepy fellow was paying attention to anything other than that temple. Or his daydream, for that matter."

Kim Rok Soo flushes with a hint of embarrassment at the unimpressed tone. It does not prevent him from scowling at the self-proclaimed hyung-nim, a trickle of indignation welling up inside of him. Bob allows a teasing smile to graze his face, pinching lightly at the child's puffed cheeks. 

"Well, we can always have another tour." The young Dark Elf quips, throwing his head back as though a king granting mercy for his subject's foolish mistake. He even lets out a drawn out, solemn sigh, head shaking just enough to let the hair framing his face sway in dismay.

"Perhaps when my little brother is more awake to appreciate my hard work as a guide." He sniffs, eyelashes shaking minutely.

Gilbert barks out a laugh. His broad hand tousles Kim Rok Soo's hair, ignoring the child's squawking as his eyes glare daggers at the two bullish men. 

“The little ankle biter will be with me while the others make sure preparations are in place,” says the man in between snorts, “Are you going to stay with us, or...?"

"I'll pass on that." Bob shakes his head. A bitter light snuffs out the mischief shimmering within his eyes, but the smile on his face remains. "I have to prepare too."

He tugs his hood over his head then, plunging the trained, pleasant expression into darkness. Gentle hands reach for Kim Rok Soo's tightly curled fist. The child startles, wide eyes peering up at the young man, unaware he has been holding onto the other’s cloak for so long.

Something fond dwells in the way Bob’s eyes form crescent moons atop his cheeks. He uncurls Kim Rok Soo's stiff palm from his wrinkled shirt, his hold lingering for longer than a few seconds.

"Hyung-nim will be back tomorrow," says Bob, quiet in a way that makes Kim Rok Soo feel as though his words may just be taken away by the unforgiving summer wind. His pair of eyes that can almost be called tender glint like sharpened knives above smoothly curved lips. A predatory glimmer that comes from instinct more than any conscious response.

"Take care. Don't make trouble for others, hmm?"

Beneath the glare of the sun, with the shadow of his hood casting dappled light across his skin, the languid stretch of Bob’s grin looks more superficial than usual. With one last, lingering hold around Kim Rok Soo's smaller palm, he turns and strides into the crowd. His broad back, covered with that ratty cloak that smells of smoke and ash, sinks into the crowd and gradually disappears from sight. 

"C'mon, ankle biter." Gilbert lays a hand on Kim Rok Soo's shoulder, squeezing once. "Let's wait for the others away from this heat."

Kim Rok Soo stares at all the nameless faces flooding the street, in their bright dresses and neatly pressed clothes, laughing away under the striking summer sun. He searches for any visible sign of tanned skin and ragged cloak hiding amongst them—a gesture that only feels like reluctance in hindsight—and turns away when he finds nothing there.

He finds Gilbert's smile instead. As bright as ever, crow's feet forming around the squint of his dark brown eyes.

When his mouth lifts up into a smile, Gilbert looks as bright as the colourful flowers blooming behind him. A dash of spring in a sun-streaked meadow. His massive stature does not look as frightening in the light of the day when he lowers himself so willingly to meet Kim Rok Soo’s gaze.

"C'mon," Gilbert says again.

He extends out a hand, leather gloves covering the harsh, calloused skin Kim Roo Soo knows is hiding underneath. His long sleeve is pulled taut with the motion. It rises an inch, allowing a sliver of sunlight to fall onto the hilt of a blade tucked barely out of sight.

Kim Rok Soo stares, and the memory of a quiet conversation taking place just the night before surfaces in his mind.

Lulled to a daze underneath a blanket of twinkling stars, Kim Rok Soo had not quite managed to fall asleep. On a strange whimsy—perhaps pushed by the peace brought upon by the song of crickets and rustling leaves—he’d pulled the book close and whispered a soft question under his breath.

“Why did you show me this?” He’d muttered, thumbing a page and watching as ink smudged the paper, trailing behind his grey-tinted finger.  

Seven stick figures were left untouched where he’d found them before. Not a single line erased by the god that had always been so cryptic up until now. Four of them were denoted as a ‘family’, two others were always grouped together, and a solitary figure was left meandering alone, holding onto a misshapen stick that resembled a broom.

He’d wondered, in a rare thoughtful moment brought by the haze of sleep, what significance did those drawings hold for a god.

Why was it that these were the ones left unerased amongst all the messages the divine item had jotted down upon its pages? Was it purely sentimental? Can gods even feel sentimental?

Kim Rok Soo had amused himself with his guesses, likening it to counting sheeps in an effort to fall asleep. He did not expect the book to answer, but when it did, it wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting either.

The book had only written something simple in response to Kim Rok Soo’s impulsive curiosity. 

For you.

The words were carefully jotted down beneath a myriad of images dancing across its page, tucked nearly out of sight. Kept clear and away from the drawings it clearly regarded as something precious.

For you.

So you feel less alone.   

Something shy, thin and fleeting, bloomed in Kim Rok Soo’s chest.

It almost felt like joy, aged with the experience spanning across countless, inhuman years, leaving it soaked with the hint of something bitter. Like wine, perhaps. Or maybe like a mouldy bread soaked in wine, all too unpleasant to taste. 

Kim Rok Soo didn’t understand what the divine item meant. And perhaps it wasn’t something he was supposed to understand either, human as he is—undeniably different from the entity clinging to the logic of one, while its true nature was left hidden underneath the bumbling antics of a dolt. 

Kim Rok Soo thought it was alright if he didn’t understand.

(All of you are always so afraid—)

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, we can always have another look around Huiss! Ah, but don’t tell your hyung-nim...”

Across from Kim Rok Soo, half-crouched in a posture that must have felt unpleasant, Gilbert stages a whisper and makes a show of shuddering, looking around for the absent Bob.

“You know how he gets about ‘hyung-nim privileges’... First come, first serve, I say!”

Gilbert barks out another laugh.

Through it all, his face betrays no emotion, and the easy smile he wears is the same as always, but Kim Rok Soo has always been keener than most. He takes in the stiff shoulders, one palm lowered for easy access to the blade hidden inside his sleeve, and the age-old instinct keeping the soles of Gilbert’s feet from fully lowered flat on the ground.

Like a beast out on a hunt, Gilbert has always carried an air of lethality to him, sharpened for the kill. It is disconcertingly different from Shawn’s occasional, detached anger or Misha’s aggressive prowling, in the way that it seems to bleed into mundane everyday action. Bob resembles him the most, when he wasn’t wearing his mask like a second skin.

Kim Rok Soo wonders if it is even conscious, the way Gilbert keeps doing an outrageous amount of clowning outside, any hint of danger tucked well out of sight with every exasperated roll of the eyes he’d garnered in response.

Maybe it is, or maybe it isn’t. 

It matters little, in the end.

(Why do you fear?)

“...I want to look around,” Kim Rok Soo admits, long after the silence has grown teeth. Neither seems bothered by the long pause. “The ice cream shop around the corner is having a discounted sale.”

He takes Gilbert’s hand in his, pulling the man to his feet. Gilbert follows with an ease that bordered on nothing but indulging, whining and groaning dramatically about wandering into enemy territory. He holds Kim Rok Soo’s hand gently, palm enclosing around the entirety of Kim Rok Soo’s own, generous in offering even the tiniest shred of affection. 

As he races through the winding streets of Huiss with Gilbert’s roaring laughter erupting behind him, Kim Rok Soo recalls the book and the bittersweet aftertaste filling his mouth, with words that are no less cryptic than the ones that came before. 

Kim Rok Soo thinks it’s alright if he doesn’t understand. If he will never understand.

Team leader Kim Rok Soo was used to being alone. He’d shouldered forward with nothing but the mistakes scarred into his skin as company, escaping to the worlds in distant tales when his memory proved to be too much to bear. 

But the one who stands in Roan is not team leader Kim Rok Soo.

“Oh my god, they have sea salt flavoured ones here!” Gilbert squawks, half in outrage and half in reluctant interest. “I should’ve thought of adding limited free testers too, gosh! But the discount is really too outrageous. Won’t they go bankrupt if they sell it at this price?”

There is warmth coming from their linked hands. Something that Kim Rok Soo has gone without for some time now, with the whisper of winter continuously breathing down his neck. The two of them stand plastered to the window of the ice cream shop, looking absolutely ridiculous with their cheeks squished against the glass pane. 

Gilbert squints, somehow ignoring the squirming customers seated at the window table. He’s not really looking at Kim Rok Soo, but Kim Rok Soo feels the brunt of his attention regardless, never truly leaving.

“We’re on an incognito mission, got it?” The man brusquely whispers, “This is a chance to scout a rival in business. Head in and get some testers for me. Make sure to grab a few of the toppings too.”

“...are you not going to buy anything?”

The look Kim Rok Soo gets upon asking that question is a mix between baffled and confused and questioning Kim Rok Soo’s intelligence all at the same time. Kim Rok Soo feels inexplicably offended by it.

“They have free testers,” is Gilbert’s answer, as if that explains everything. He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully, jutting his chin towards the opened door with a gesture telling Kim Rok Soo to be quiet.

Kim Rok Soo stares at the window. Multiple heads have popped up from behind various padded seats to stare at the two of them. He meets the eyes of the waiter who was mopping the floor and the twitching smile he gets in return looks a little painful.

“...it’s already at a discount,” he tries again.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not free, is it?”

“....”

“Don’t you like free stuff? That’s what free testers are for.”

Kim Rok Soo closes his eyes and wonders where he went wrong that he can’t even come up with a retort to that. He sighs. The image of Gilbert, loose-limbed and thumbing his blade comes to mind. He opens his eyes to the sight of a scruffy man with half his face squished against the window, and that image takes a vertical nosedive.

(For you.

So you feel less alone.)

Kim Rok Soo, five tiny scoops in both hands and face half buried under his cloak in shame, thinks that he does not know a lot of things. But right now, sitting crouched by the side of the road with Gilbert spitting out a sharp-tongued review of his marshmallow bubblegum, Kim Rok Soo knows that he is not alone.

And that, Kim Rok Soo thinks, is the only thing important enough to understand.

(A small part of him wonders if the god will come to understand this too, someday. 

That he will feel less alone.)

Muted lights line the capital at night, cresting the darkness that had fallen quickly with the setting sun. From the lamps lining the sidewalks, a dim, golden glow falls onto the crowd gathered near the road leading towards the temple, their faces flushed with excitement.

An air of festivity has fallen over Huiss. It is to be expected, perhaps, with how charming Alberu Crossman can be in spite of everything. But reading the novel and seeing it for himself is a different matter entirely.

There are children carried on their parent’s shoulders, holding baskets full of flowers and wearing a crown folded from various brightly coloured papers on their heads. Some of the more rowdy teenagers have taken to climbing onto the roofs or the pole of a street lamp, craning their necks to spot any sign of the royal carriage.

Doors and windows are decorated with modest looking garlands. The streets are swept clean and the bushes are pruned. It is clear to see that the preparations are somewhat hasty, but Kim Rok Soo can feel the sincerity in their action. All of them are faithfully waiting for the arrival of their crown prince, who is scheduled to arrive about half an hour from now.

“The crowd isn’t as bad as I expected,” Misha remarks with notable relief. She sits slumped over her seat in the carriage they had rented for the day, face crumpled with a touch of disdain. “They probably got notified a little too late. This should be quick, then.”

A hopeful glint flashes in her eyes. She sits up straighter, humming to herself at the thought. Seated across from the old Dark Elf, Kim Rok Soo eyes the pleased curve of her lips, and finds himself frowning. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut.

Chalking it up to being nervous, Kim Rok Soo turns his attention outside. The Temple of the God of Death is easy to spot from a distance, tall and towering over most of the buildings in the capital. From up close, it is even more grandiose than what Kim Rok Soo had glimpsed earlier, the eaves and pillars looking as though they are fitted components made entirely out of marble. 

Despite its ornate appearance, there is a sense of emptiness emanating from it. The clean structure without any splash of colour and the unadorned, simple path leading towards the arched gateway feel solemn and uninviting. 

Kim Rok Soo brushes a hand over his arm. He can feel his hair standing on the back of his neck.

“...It’s cold here,” he mutters. Faced with Misha’s questioning, raised brow, with concern deepening the wrinkles on her face, Kim Rok Soo can only swallow his words and shake his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says simply. 

Perhaps the book’s effect is amplified here. Kim Rok Soo takes a furtive glance at the divine item carelessly slung over his shoulder, snugly fitted inside a small satchel. It shouldn’t be a far-fetched guess, Kim Rok Soo thinks, but the unease stirring in his stomach remains. It continues to churn until they arrive at the temple’s gate.

“May you be blessed with a peaceful rest!”

Two priests give their greeting at the entrance of the temple. Their faces are half hidden underneath the hood of their attire, hands folded neatly in front of their bodies. Wide, cheerful smiles can be clearly seen on each of their faces, and their whole person exudes a lively air.

Misha nods shortly. A cross expression rests on her face in response to the greeting, but she doesn’t seem to mind it all that much. Without another word, the Dark Elf alights from the carriage, offering a hand to Kim Rok Soo. 

“Is this where your father lives, human?”

A voice whispers in his ears. Kim Rok Soo’s face twitches at the word ‘father’, but since the priests are looking at him, he hastily swallows the protest that is hanging from his tongue.

“Wow, everything’s so sparkly! Is your father rich? Can we loot him? Can we take some pillars back for our lair? That one looks nice!”

Ignoring the invisible baby clinging to his back, continuously babbling about wanting to rob a god, Kim Rok Soo steps out from the carriage. His foot touches the ground and, almost immediately, his world tilts to the side.

 “—?!”

A curse nearly slips out of Kim Rok Soo’s mouth.

He stumbles, trying to keep his knees from buckling, but his limbs won’t listen to him. Tremors wrack his body, leaving goosebumps trailing down his arms. The urge to throw up his lunch and breakfast all over the pavement rises in Kim Rok Soo’s throat.

The air no longer feels cold. It is downright freezing. The kind of cold that rubs your skin raw, leaving the skin peeling with every brush against the wind, needles prickling continuously at every tip of his fingers.

Kim Rok Soo kneels over the pavement, heaving. Sweat threatens to drench his body, but the feeling of it on his skin only makes him shiver even more. He lowers his head, staring at the tiny palms supporting his body off the ground. They don’t look reddened or blistered. 

‘What is this...?’

Pain mixes with confusion, distorting Kim Rok Soo’s face into a terrible grimace. His shoulders shake terribly as he tries to push himself off the ground. His body feels heavy, weighted like anchors thrown into the sea, an invisible pressure pushing him down, and down, and down. Why does it feel so familiar, he wonders.

A hiss escapes Kim Rok Soo’s lips. He strains himself just trying to stand up, fighting against an onslaught of fear that steadily worsens the longer he pushes himself to raise his head. 

The moment must have lasted for seconds, but it feels like eternity to Kim Rok Soo. Relief is mercifully granted to him with the faint feeling of a hand resting on his head. The terrible, persistent cold slips away, slithering towards the pulsating warmth. A soft hum reaches Kim Rok Soo’s ears.

The weight clinging to his back has disappeared at some point. Kim Rok Soo can feel the phantom pain of claws digging into his skin though, so the Dragon must have mistakenly clenched his paws in surprise before letting go. There is an oddly shaped blob in front of him, largely made up of white. He blinks, and as the blurry canvas in his eyes gradually clears, the blob turns into a man wearing a white priest outfit. It was not the ones that had greeted him at the gate. At some point, the two priests must have called this one over.

“Um...” Kim Rok Soo mumbles. He flinches when the three priests zero in on him. Wetting his lips, Kim Rok Soo offers a shaky, “Ah, I’m alright now.”

“You’re not,” the priest with a hand over Kim Rok Soo’s head responds easily. His voice is steady and clear, temperate and without any hint of wavering. Kim Rok Soo wonders if occurrences like this are common, for the priest to look so calm. 

“It’s not,” the priest speaks again. Kim Rok Soo’s face twitches. He tries to remember any passage in the novel that ever mentioned the priests of the God of Death reading minds. There is an amused lilt to the priest’s voice when he continues with, “Your face is easy to read, child.”

...is it?

Kim Rok Soo furrows his brows and chews on his lips. He does not voice his doubts, but the priest lets out a soft chuckle. When Kim Rok Soo thinks the priest is about to push himself back on his feet, the priest places his hands beneath Kim Rok Soo’s arms and pulls him along, easily perching him on his hip.

“...???”

Kim Rok Soo stiffens, and he cranes his neck to blink wide-eyed at the Dark Elves in disguise. Shawn is still seated at the front, acting as the coachman with a hat half tilted forward on his head. His face is contorted strongly. He almost looks constipated. Gilbert, who went out of the carriage at some point, has his arm in an iron grip with a deceptively placid smile. And Misha is…

Kim Rok Soo turns his head away with a gulp, eyes quaking.

Misha looks like she is about to set the temple on fire, caution be damned. She has a butterfly patterned handkerchief wrung in her hands, blue veins bulging along her wrist. One of the priests guarding the entrance sniffs the air and mutters, “Is that the smell of smoke…?”

“—cough, cough!”

“Aigoo, are you alright?”

“Did you not do it right, Diego? Should we call the bishop?”

The two priests immediately crowd around Kim Rok Soo. Their hands hover in the air, lips twisted into worried frowns. Clicking his tongue, the priest holding Kim Rok Soo—Diego—turns his body in a way that blocks their hovering hands. 

“Cut it out, you two. I did it right. There should be no pain left.”

He pauses, then turns to Kim Rok Soo. Like the other priests, only the lower part of his face is left visible, but Kim Rok Soo gets the impression that the priest is raising an eyebrow questioningly at him.

Kim Rok Soo coughs.

“There is no pain left,” he affirms, nodding his head sagely. And then, blinking, Kim Rok Soo rethinks his words and repeats himself. This time, there is a bewildered tone to his mumbling. “There is no pain left. Do you know what’s wrong with me?”

Diego hums. The pause continues on for longer than necessary. Scrunching his nose, Kim Rok Soo tugs at the white, priestly robe crumpled in his palms, showing his wordless protest.

“I know,” Diego answers eventually, batting a hand that drifted closer to poke at Kim Rok Soo’s cheek. One of the other two priests whines. “Nothing’s wrong, really.”

“How can there be nothing wrong?” Kim Rok Soo grumbles. “You just said you know!”

There is an odd twist to the smile Diego wears. Something wry and amused. He chuckles dryly, running a hand to smooth down the tufts of hair sticking this way and that on Kim Rok Soo’s head. 

“Of course there’s nothing wrong.” Diego starts walking towards the temple, still carrying Kim Rok Soo in his arms. “I’ve seen similar things happen with those who are sensitive to divine power. It’s not often, but it happens.”

Upon hearing that, the unease in Kim Rok Soo’s stomach reaches a new height. He swallows heavily, eyelids trembling and body going entirely stiff. He wants to question why, exactly, is Diego carrying him towards the temple, but for some reason, the image of Diego breaking into a sprint right into the temple and towards the nearest bishop flashes in Kim Rok Soo’s mind.

He stills his lips unwillingly and squirms, trying to wordlessly convey his reluctance. The priest, who Kim Rok Soo is starting to see as more than a little bit crazy, just bounces him like one would a fussy toddler. 

“Our meeting is truly blessed.” An incomprehensible sentence leaves the priest’s lips. Dread slowly, steadily builds up inside Kim Rok Soo, like a dam about to burst. “Not many people broke down like that. It was amazing.”

‘...what’s so amazing about someone dry heaving in front of your temple?!’

Kim Rok Soo wants to grumble, but he ends up admitting in a low voice, “I don’t understand.”

“There is nothing crueller than the fair yet unfair death.” The priest tilts his head, his smile full of teeth. Kim Rok Soo feels his probing gaze under the shadow of that hood, off-putting and all too intense. The full brunt of a burgeoning storm brewing at the far-flung ends of the northern sea. 

“For those who seek eternal rest, shouldn’t they know the true nature of it better than anyone else?”

The temperate, clear voice of the priest feels disconcerting. Too at odds with the subject he is speaking so callously; a boat going steady in the eye of the storm, rocking back and forth on treacherous waves, persistently pushing forth towards the blinking lighthouse in the distance.

“Us servants of the God of Death know the value of life very well.” A casual hand lands on the back of Kim Rok Soo’s head, patting softly. 

“The value of life…”

“Hmm. How old are you again? You look tiny.” The priest’s comment veers all of a sudden, nearly giving Kim Rok Soo a whiplash. “Four? Five? Older than that, maybe? You articulate really well.”

Kim Rok Soo’s face smoothens out. His eyes are lowered and the fluttering eyelashes hide his trembling pupils.

He does not know the true age of his body. None of the others bothered asking so far, perhaps coming to their own conclusions, and this kind of topic hardly mattered to the Dragon. Faced with such questions, Kim Rok Soo finds himself drawing up a blank.

With pursed lips, Kim Rok Soo turns his head away and shrugs, feigning indifference. The non-answer makes Diego blink. However, aside from a few seconds of quiet contemplation, the priest does not have any fluctuation in either tone or expression. He is very much like a lake without ripples, calm and unbothered, and the moment passes by without much thought.

“Well, you understood well enough so far.” He smiles. A touch of pride colours his face. “Some say our teachings are not suitable for children, but looking at you now, I think those morons just haven’t tried enough.”

No, those people are probably right, Kim Rok Soo can’t help but snark inside his head.

Most children have only the basic grasp on difficult topics such as mortality. While they may understand some part of it in a sense, it is not the kind of topic one would casually bring up in a conversation with children. Kim Rok Soo, on the other hand, is not one. Hence, he can keep up with this nonsensical train of conversation that would’ve thrown off any normal child long ago.

The adult masquerading as a child feels inexplicably bad at this thought. He purses his lips and shakes his head, pitying the fate of the children who will meet this priest in the future. The bright eyes peering up through a smattering of pitch black hair conveys an earnestness that looks endearing.

Diego stretches the thin line of his mouth wider across his face, drawing a curved grin. It hangs with a touch of fanatical enthusiasm between his dimpled, wheat-coloured cheeks. He regards Kim Rok Soo’s denial as a sign to continue.

“Pain is one way to know the value of life,” the priest says, tone almost a croon. Trying to be gentle, but not fully able to comprehend how ominous his sentence sounds. “Didn’t you feel relieved when the pain disappeared? You suddenly appreciate life a lot more, right?”

Making this point, the priest nods his head. He does not seem to mind Kim Rok Soo’s baffled silence, stepping towards the entranceway of the temple building with a spring in his steps.

Marble white, the shadow of the arched entrance falls over the two of them. Darkness covers half of the smiling priest’s face. A pair of glimmering emeralds shines within the cover of his hood, bright in the dark, curved into crescent shapes.

“Death is like that too,” he whispers. Lowly, and yet also tenderly, sounding no different from someone sharing a lovely, dearly guarded secret. “The closer you are to death, the more you will value life.”

Bird-like, the priest then tilts his head, as if asking if Kim Rok Soo understands. Kim Rok Soo’s words remain stuck inside his throat. He’s not even sure what he wants to say to that. His gaze shifts to the group standing in the middle of the path leading towards the temple building still, wary and indecisive, unsure whether to chase after him or not.

Misha meets his eyes. Her gaze is hard, and even wearing a soft blue robe in place of her usual dark coloured attire, she wields herself the same as her Dark Elves companions do. Deceptively relaxed but always on guard, the wrinkles on her face making her look fierce and unyielding. A warrior prowling amongst the common people.

She does not speak a word to the two priests guarding the gate. Shawn and Gilbert have taken over to smoothen the stagnant air that has fallen over them, chatting amicably with the priests, shifting their bodies from time to time to glance at Kim Rok Soo. The distance between them is quite large now, but Kim Rok Soo is certain the Dark Elves will not fail in closing the gap to snatch him back if they wish to. They remain quiet now, gauging the situation with careful eyes.

Kim Rok Soo lowers his gaze to the pavement, and shakes his head imperceptibly. A calculating glint rests in his eyes, flickering for but a second.

Misha raises her brow, face hardening, and she sighs. She turns then, towards the two priests, both hands crossed in front of her chest. She tilts her head slightly towards the temple. An acknowledgement, and a reluctant allowance. 

Sharp as she is, Misha knows they have to keep a low presence. Normal believers of the church would be delighted to have their child gain the attention of a priest. It means a chance at entering the temple one day, and with those not of noble blood, this kind of chance does not come often. 

One’s status does not matter much inside the temple itself.  But outside the temple, the family of someone who served the church would subconsciously be placed on a higher standing most often than not. Perhaps not as much as the nobles, but enough for them to enjoy the respect an average family wouldn’t have for their service to their god and their kingdom. 

As such, it is not unusual for priests to bring in potential members from the believers visiting the temple. This is what’s probably happening to Kim Rok Soo as well. Perhaps when he was dazed from the pain, Diego had spoken to the Dark Elves about this, hence why they stayed put despite their clear anxiety.

“...mm.”

An ambiguous hum escapes Kim Rok Soo. Almost like a sigh and almost not, at the same time. Diego’s eyes curve even more. Those emerald orbs disappear from sight, and Kim Rok Soo pictures him smiling widely with closed eyes beneath that oversized hood.

“See, you’re a smart kid,” says the priest. “After all, our god saw fit to bestow you his favour. He must’ve seen your potential.”

Those words, basked in both delight and pleasant surprise, make shivers run down Kim Rok Soo’s spine. His small face wrinkles like sour plum, distorting into a scowl. Flushed with annoyance, pink cheeks puffed out with the huff, like the pout of a child before throwing a tantrum.

Diego laughs, the sound soft and barely heard. He shakes his head. “Well, let’s go and see if I’m right,” he says, and turns slightly.

In his line of sight are the Dark Elves in the distance, being escorted by the two priests to park their carriage. The five seem to be pleasantly chatting in contrast to the wary, distant air from before. 

“Would you mind following me without your minders? People normally find divine power to be overwhelming, I’m afraid.” 

A contemplative hum falls from the priest’s lips. Kim Rok Soo’s face stiffens, but Diego’s attention remains wholly on the group of five. “It’s nothing serious,” he continues, “I want to see if my hypothesis earlier is true or not. It’s best if we head to the chapel for that.”

He pauses for a bit. His hand runs down the back of Kim Rok Soo’s hair, a thoughtful air exuding from his slow, repeated action. Anxiety spikes in the pit of Kim Rok Soo’s stomach.  

“In case there’s anyone incompatible with divine power here, it would be better to not implicate them.”

After that, the priest falls silent. He remains at the entrance way, with one foot inside the building and another on the pavement in front, seemingly waiting for an answer. Kim Rok Soo’s brows furrowed. Unsure of what to make of the priest's statement, he stares at Diego with guarded eyes. He can no longer see the glint of emeralds under the shadow of that hood.

“...I’m fine,” Kim Rok Soo answers a tad unwillingly after a considerable stretch of silence has passed, chewing on his lips. Diego nods, saying nothing in response. Kim Rok Soo opens his mouth and hesitantly clamps them shut.

- I’ll stay with your friends, human.

As they are about to head inside, a voice rings inside Kim Rok Soo’s head.

Almost a growl, it nearly startles Kim Rok Soo into flinching, echoing inside his skull somewhat like the time the Ancient Power spoke to him in the cave, but more distant. A radio catching just the right frequency for it to sound clean.

- Your father’s home feels cold and angry.

- It’s really, really scary!

- I have a bad feeling about it!

The Dragon’s words make Kim Rok Soo narrow his eyes. It is a wholly different attitude from when they arrived at the temple. The Dragon hadn’t sounded so concerned then, carefree and unrestrained unlike the caution he is showing now.

- This mighty Dragon will stay and guard your friends!

- He's your father, so he won't get mad at you, right?

- Just, um, don’t take too long!  

- Come back quickly! I’ll get angry if you don’t!

An eyebrow rises on Kim Rok Soo’s face. He wonders what the Dragon was talking about. Did the Dragon feel that the divine power is hostile to the Dark Elves, or did he know instinctively that the Dark Elves’ nature clashes with the holy ground in particular?

Or is it something else? 

These questions, Kim Rok Soo does not put into words. He simply lowers his head, hiding his eyes beneath his lashes. Diego’s footsteps echo in the hallway, his shadow swaying on the white floor. The edges of it blur and fuzz. A trick of the light that makes it feel almost alive. A third party tailing behind, quiet and mischievous.

The glint in Kim Rok Soo’s eyes sharpens. A pitch black glaze settles over the lower part of his pupils, pooling at the bottom.

Spanning across a considerable amount of acres, the Temple of the God of Death is not easy to navigate.

The hallways are long with open entrances, and some of the paths are carefully hidden by protruding walls. There is no clear sign of what path leads to which room, its interior similar to that of its exterior; marble white and somewhat sparse, with a sense of space that is a bit too empty to be truly comfortable, and yet not too sparse to feel unwelcoming.

A sense of separation from the world outside emanates from every clean-cut corner and furniture. Clinging to every surface that was cleaned so meticulously until not even a speck of dust can be spotted. 

In short, it has a stagnant feeling. The liveliness in the air comes mainly from its inhabitant’s bubbly nature, who openly express their emotions with their words and gestures, walking to and fro in groups along the winding paths and corners.

Despite this, since there are only two groups of three that Kim Rok Soo has come across so far, the whole place looks deserted. The rest should be lining up to greet the royal carriage at this moment. Had it not been for the whole episode with Diego, Kim Rok Soo probably would’ve already been scouring the temple with Shawn and the rest by now.

Aside from the priests, there are also a handful of believers walking around, dressed modestly in muted colours that do not stand out much from the temple’s clean appearance. They can’t help but stare when Diego passes them by, tilting their heads in curiosity upon seeing the tiny child resting his head on the priest’s shoulder with a sullen pout.

“Well,” Diego says, after they go up yet another flight of stairs. Torches line the walls, chasing away the deeper shadow from settling over the narrow path. “Here we are.”

He stops in front of a massive door. Unlike most of the bare corridor walls, the surface of the door is covered with intricate carvings, standing out from its plain surrounding. It does not creak when Diego pushes it open, giving way easily under the priest’s palm. And, swinging to make way for the two of them, it reveals a grand and majestic room.

“This is one of the side chapels,” remarks the priest as he steps inside. The door swings shut as soon as he retracts his hand. “It’s used more often by prospective priests, but believers come here to pray as well.”

He trails off a bit.

“...The ones who dare, anyway.”

And Diego’s head tilts again. His voice is entirely too light when he says this. It does not sound common at all for a temple to have a room that believers deliberately avoid, but looking at the sight in front of him, Kim Rok Soo can guess why.

In fact, the chapel itself is largely as one would expect. There are clerestory windows lining the upper part of the walls, with high ceiling supported by pillars on either side of the room. Church pews are sitting neatly in a row, facing towards the front, where an altar rests on a raised dais at the centre.

Behind it, towering over everything else with its height nearly as tall as the ceiling itself, is the statue of a cloaked figure looming half shrouded in the shadow.

“...mm.”

Kim Rok Soo frowns, turbulence brewing in the depths of his gradually darkening eyes. Pitch black orbs roam the scene in front of him, as his lips gradually smoothens into an unsure, awkward line.

A pressure not unlike the one Kim Rok Soo experienced when he stumbled at the temple’s gate surges throughout the entire room. The cause of it is unclear, but Kim Rok Soo gets the feeling that the statue behind the altar is a part of the reason. The longer he considers this, the more the air becomes more unbearable to breathe in.

The statue does not have a clear appearance underneath its massive hood. A pocket of darkness rests there, stark against the marble white of its sculpted figure. It dons a cloak that spills and fans over the floor, with the edges curved around the raised dais, lightly tattered in places. Looking deliberately torn, those tatters resemble claws reaching towards the altar, sharp as a scythe, wickedly sinking and rising in and out of the floor.

Among razor-sharp waves, the statue stands upright with its head slightly tilted down. The upper part of it is basking in the gentle moonlight coming from the clerestories, a streak of blue running across its hooded face, with the darkness beneath that hood remaining undisturbed.

It has one hand clutching an open book, revealing bones instead of flesh beneath the sleeve. Its fingertips are sharpened  and curved inwards in an angle that could’ve pierced the book at any moment. The other is facing towards the pews, beckoning with the clawed, skeletal fingertips slightly curling in towards the palm.

In truth, the statue is somewhat plain in appearance. But because of this, each meticulously sculpted detail stands out even more.

The longer one looks, the longer they will feel that its massive chest is rising and falling, its head steadily tilting lower as if granting the visitor its undivided attention. The hem of the cloak has the illusion of shifting, with the sleeve being pulled by the motion of raising its hands, and the lower hem seems to be clawing and trying to reach out towards the audience.

Looking at it this way, how can one remain seated calmly to pray? Feeling disturbed, Kim Rok Soo shivers and involuntarily leans back, lips pulled into a stiff frown.

“Are you afraid?”

Diego’s question comes with a tone that tells Kim Rok Soo he hasn’t expected it at all. Kim Rok Soo has the unbearable urge to hit the back of his head. If most believers are scared to come here, then how is Kim Rok Soo supposed to fare any better?

Oblivious to the child’s cutting stare—or perhaps unbothered by it—Diego merely hums. Whenever he does that, there is never an inclination to his tone. Flat and as undisturbed as his bearings, without any meaningful fluctuation.

“Don’t be,” is the priest’s horrible attempt at soothing him, “This statue is the most lenient out of the blessed relics, I can guarantee. At least, it doesn’t have a habit of lopping people’s heads off.”

A suspicious pause.

“Usually. I’m sure that one time was an accident.”

“....”

“Anyhow, you’ll be fine. Us priests of the God of Death can heal just as well as the Sun God’s priests.”

Is that supposed to make him feel better or worse?

Kim Rok Soo’s face sours. Red creeps up his neck from anger. He feels wronged and wants to hit someone on the back of their head. Preferably the crazy priest in front of him, already at a close enough distance for a beating.

In the end, he decides not to make too much of a fuss. Mainly because there are still people in the chapel. A few that are seated far away from one another, each with their heads tilted down. They did not look up even once when Diego entered. And now, when the priest strides forward, not even bothering to lower his voice, they don’t turn their heads or stare.

They keep their heads down, mumbling something underneath their breath. Kim Rok Soo’s eyes narrow. He stretches his neck, trying to listen, but catches nothing intelligible from their mutterings.

“And there you go.” Diego huffs, lowering Kim Rok Soo at the front-most pew while the child is distracted. “Quite a bit of a walk to get here, but this is the most suitable place for testing one’s inclination towards divine power.”

Straightening back up, the priest’s robe billows lightly. A small grin rests on his face. Kim Rok Soo blinks up at him with suspicion clearly painted all over his childish face. Diego clasps his hands in front of his body, the very picture of sanctity.

“The blessed relic accumulates divine power on a daily basis. Try praying for a bit, and we’ll see if it’ll react to your prayer.”

He raises his head, and his gaze falls onto the statue. The priest’s face is slightly more clear to see now, with high cheeks and a smattering of auburn hair brushing against the skin. With a light voice, he murmurs, “In case any fluctuation does happen, it will be contained inside this room, so there is no need to worry about losing control and harming innocent bystanders.”  

After saying this, the priest backs away. His hands are clasped behind him, and he takes a leisurely walk down the path lined by the church pews. Kim Rok Soo has to twist his body around to keep the priest in his line of sight. The frown etched on the child’s face grows more severe with every thudding footsteps.

“Where are you going, priest-nim?” Despite his apparent anxiety, Kim Rok Soo maintains a mask of politeness. His voice is appropriately obedient, and he doesn’t jump down to follow the priest.

Diego’s nonchalant voice drifts from quite a distance away, as he continues to walk towards the door. “It is only polite for me to not disturb your wholehearted prayer, so I shan’t be staying here.”

Kim Rok Soo’s face turns incredulous.

“Excuse me, priest-nim? It’s alright if you stay here!” He calls out in a slightly panicked voice. It echoes inside the chapel, sounding eerie and alien. “I won’t be disturbed, really!”

He will be disturbed if the priest leaves him alone. Ever since that whole debacle with Venion Stan, Kim Rok Soo is aware of how he has grown more sensitive to the divine item’s presence. Being left unattended to pray in a holy ground inside a room with a blessed relic is asking for trouble.

As much as he wants to curry favour with the priests, Kim Rok Soo does not want to be that close, thank you very much.

But the heartless man that he is, Diego merely pauses right before the massive door, head turned to reveal that glowing pair of emeralds. His lips are curved pleasantly. Kim Rok Soo’s words seem to have gone in one ear and out the other, merely white noise to whatever crazy assumptions the priest is cooking up inside his head.

“Be not afraid. I’ll be waiting right outside.”

After that, the massive door swings open and slams back shut without a sound.

Immediately, the dam in Kim Rok Soo’s chest burst, and a sea of curses flooded out inside his heart. 

Does no one have a normally-functioning brain here, to just throw a child into the chapel to pray and leave? What kind of priest does that?

What is Kim Rok Soo supposed to do here without proper supervision in the first place? Surely Diego didn’t expect a child this young to be acting with proper manners like grown adults and actually follow instructions correctly?

But, no! Of course he’d expect that! Diego had carried the assumption that Kim Rok Soo was suitably smart enough when he was preaching earlier, so this kind of thing should be more simple to understand, shouldn’t it?

...while that is indeed true, how can he leave so confidently, this guy!

Spilling out complaints he’d kept safely locked in the pit of his stomach, Kim Rok Soo fumes and glares darkly at the door. It is only after a few seconds does his steam run out, and he slumps into the back of the church pew with a tired sigh.

It has already come to this, what is the use in being so angry. Wasn’t it himself who had taken the initiative to enter the temple without the Dark Elves in tow? This was simply the easiest way to infiltrate the church without risking the turbulent relationship between the Dark Elves and the gods. He has a feeling he will get another earful from both Shawn and Bob once he comes out of here.

Consequences can be hard to swallow, but with all risks and annoyances comes blessings in disguise. Kim Rok Soo regains his composure, and feels a bit ridiculous at himself. However, he is also not afraid to be shameless, so he regards his little tantrum as deserving. He’s a child right now anyway. It’s not strange to have little fits every now and then. 

Shaking his head, Kim Rok Soo turns his attention back towards the altar at the front and the statue behind it. Goosebumps break out all over his skin. He remains ignorant to the cause, rubbing his forearm as a shiver runs down his back.

Logically speaking, none of the statue’s features look terrifying. The gentle moonlight should’ve made its carefully sculpted figure look majestic. Awe-inspiring, even. Perhaps more so to the believers of the God of Death. It embodies the vicious nature of death while packaging it as something welcoming. Perfectly in line with the teachings of the church of the God of Death in this world.

But for Kim Rok Soo, there is, somehow, nothing more terrifying than the statue in front of him right now. Its presence feels overbearing, pressing down at all sides. The languid coil of a snake flicking its tongue in search of a prey, slowly but surely becoming a noose tightening around one’s neck.

Faint murmurs of an unintelligible prayer rise and fall amidst the dreadful atmosphere, bouncing off the walls, and the night breeze blowing in from the open clerestories creates an ominous howling sound.

Caught up in the sensation of ants crawling all over his skin, Kim Rok Soo fails to notice the sound of rustling fabric approaching him. A shadow stretches long on the floor, wavering and ever shifting. 

“Looks terrifying, doesn’t it?”

An easy voice breaks the heavy silence, amusement brewing beneath the temperate tone.

“Can’t expect too much from people who’d worship death of all things, I suppose.”

The blasphemous sentence is spoken out loud inside the chapel, with the faint sound of prayers echoing in the back. Kim Rok Soo flinches hard, eyes shaking, and snaps his head to the person who has taken a seat right next to him. As soon as he does that, his flushed face loses all colours, turning pale in surprise.

“You...?”

The bewildered question slips through Kim Rok Soo’s lips in his daze. For a moment there, he can’t quite make his throat work. His mind comes up blank and there is only the rapid thudding of two heartbeats filling his ears.

The figure sitting beside him chuckles. Long legs are stretched out in front of the person, one foot crossed over the other, and the entire body is leaning against the back of the pew, both hands casually slung over it. 

“What’s with that look?”

The lazy tug of a grin on a pale face. Blood red strands of hair fall over a pair of mischievous eyes, a raised brow making the handsome appearance look somewhat thuggish. A strong, cloying smell of wine drifts to Kim Rok Soo’s nose.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“...Cale Henituse?”

Disbelief colours Kim Rok Soo’s voice. With his eyes full of scrutiny, Kim Rok Soo gapes at the nonchalant young man sitting beside him. Did he daydream and somehow conjure up delusions for himself? But no, the person in front of him remains as solid as ever when he blinks. 

Accepting the impolite stare, the trashy firstborn of Henituse County raises an eyebrow. A wicked smile rests on his cold, aristocratic face, which is marred with a lazy expression. With his head tilting back, the dark maroon hood slips off from his head, revealing a haughty and arrogant look, exuding the unrestrained air of one born into nobility.

“Hmm? You already know my name.”

Casual as ever, and with a pleasant, amused tinge to his grin, Cale Henituse’s voice carries the ease of someone discussing the weather on a walk through flower-filled meadows.

“I guess that god told you?”

Kim Rok Soo’s blank expression twists into apprehension. The thudding beats racing in his chest grow steadily louder, drumming beneath his skin, clamouring for release. He feels his hands shaking from the jolt of exuberance rising like the morning tides. An unpleasant loss of control passes by in an instant that feels like eternity.  

Flashes of stick figures surface in his mind. Four people. One god. Three ‘children’. A ‘family’, the book had written. The smallest one should be him, and one of the other two should be Cage, but he didn't know who the last one was supposed to be.

( Head for my church in Huiss. My oldest will be waiting there. )

The oldest...

Is it Cale Henituse?

But how is this young master related to the God of Death? And adding to that point, why the oldest? As far as Kim Rok Soo knows, Cage is supposed to be older in the novel. Kim Rok Soo is rather certain on this point.

Whys and hows and whats swirl in the child’s head, turning everything into a useless mushy soup of muddled thoughts and frantic, one-sided inquiries no one would’ve heard. While he has learned to be more cautious of the unreliable novel, Kim Rok Soo is still taken off-guard by what he’s currently facing.

Has the plot of the novel gone off the rails long ago? Otherwise, why would this guy be here? 

Kim Rok Soo’s lips hang in a downward curve on his face. He has some impression of the Henituse family’s famous firstborn son, but they were never more than a passing thought one would give to a particularly interesting side character.

Cale Henituse was merely a minor villain whose presence ended with a few passages in the beginning of the novel, mostly used as a catalyst to start the hero’s journey with his companions. Along with a few tidbits on his background, there is not much else Kim Rok Soo knows of him, except of how he offended Choi Han and the resulting consequences. In the end, even his fate in the war was ultimately unknown.

But now, here he is, sitting with a crooked grin right before Kim Rok Soo’s eyes. 

Moonlight scatters upon crimson locks, which slip through gloved fingers as the young man runs a hand through his hair. Every movement he makes looks meticulous. An elegance trained into flesh and bones bearing its fruits with every flick and shuffle.

He carries himself with a lazy, brazen air, not much different from how he was described in The Birth of a Hero, but something about him seems terribly... off.

He looks dangerous, somehow. Sharper and full of edges one would not expect from such a disreputable character. Even if the world had deviated from its written counterpart, would someone’s nature change so easily?

Kim Rok Soo straightens in his seat. His dazed expression makes way for a cold, calculating stare. The lively cheer playing out on his childish face recedes back like waves pulling from the shores. What’s left are the remnants of seafoam on the sands, the ghost of youth unchanged by the emptiness resting in the flat line of his mouth.

Cale Henituse bears a sharp amusement on the curve of his smile. Across from him, Kim Rok Soo’s gaze holds a deep well of darkness within.

Sitting like this, facing one another, the two bear an intrinsic sense of being both similar and not. As though two mirrors reflecting each other and finding themselves becoming more and more twisted in one another’s reflection.

This strange feeling arouses a trickle of displeasure in Kim Rok Soo. Just like with the Crown Prince, he has the inexplicable feeling that he would not get along well with the person in front of him.

“Are you the God of Death’s messenger?” The child asks, voice deceptively benign. His head cants forward just the slightest bit, hiding the unfathomable stare behind a curtain of black, akin to a tree hiding within the forest. “Are you a Saint of the God of Death?”

Cale Henituse’s grin is reflected in those deep wells of darkness, unruffled by the prodding gaze, a blaze of crimson burning bright in the moonless night of Kim Rok Soo’s eyes. Acknowledging the question with a tilt of his head, the young man steeples his hands on his thigh. His attention turns to the statue behind the altar. 

“Don’t mistake me as that god’s lackey,” he replies easily. The curve of his smile seems to toe the line between amused and bored. Irritation flashes in the glint of his auburn eyes.

“I am merely someone who made a deal with that god. Rest assured, I am not that closely acquainted with him.”

Kim Rok Soo’s hair lies scattered over pale cheeks, its colour that of ink staining a blank piece of paper. He scrutinises the young man in front of him and takes in the curled palms laid over the armrest of the church’s pew, with the nails curving inwards. Reddened flesh clues Kim Rok Soo in on how tight the other has been clenching his fists.

A deal with the God of Death…

“You’re not a messenger,” Kim Rok Soo says after a moment of quiet observation. “Does coming to meet me have something to do with your deal?”

Does he know how Kim Rok Soo came to be here, and why?

Long, gloved fingers rap the marbled armrest. Cale Henituse sits slouched without confirming or denying the child’s question, the sound of his fingers creating a dull symphony amidst the background noise of murmured prayers. 

One minute, two minutes, three minutes...

This mild attitude of not answering and not reacting goes on for nearly four minutes.

Something like a sigh wells up in Kim Rok Soo’s throat. He feels himself slouching as he throws himself back, shoulders hitting the back of the church pew with a light thunk . The vigilance coursing through his veins inflates like a popped balloon and, with it, the adrenaline pushing two discordant heartbeats to a rampant race comes a stuttering halt.

In its place, a familiar frustration bubbles and froths. With expert ease, Kim Rok Soo wields it into a weapon to dispel his own turbulent emotions, cooling down the hope that had come to a painful, near-boiling point. 

“Are all of you people acquainted with the divine so infuriating?” He can’t help but quip. A tick forms at the corner of his eye.

“Just say what you’re here to say. Why bring up something you don’t intend to elaborate on in the first place?”

Hearing his complaint, Cale’s lazy smile widens to a smirk. He places his chin on the back of  a gloved hand and a rascal-like attitude emanates from him. In an instant, the near glacial air that had fallen over the two of them melts away.

“Why? You’re one of us too.” He points out. A cat-that-caught-the-canary grin is shamelessly worn on his handsome face.

“Aren’t you the darling youngest of that god? You don’t even count as mere acquaintances.”

“...you don’t have the right to say that, mister oldest child.”

“ Pfft.”

Cale snorts and tilts his head back. Crimson strands of hair fall over his half-squinted eyes, and his shadow stretches long on the floor. The torches on the wall flicker. Sunset hues dye the edges of Kim Rok Soo vision, bleeding into the monotone scene, nearly as bright as Cale Henituse’s fierce, blood coloured hair.

“The oldest? Did he tell you that? What a funny guy.” 

The young man shrugs and holds out a hand towards Kim Rok Soo. There is a small splotch of red staining the cuff of his long sleeve, the sight flashing by in barely more than a second before disappearing when he moves to face his palm upwards.

“Lend me your book for a bit,” he drawls.

Kim Rok Soo frowns. He leans back ever so slightly, feeling apprehensive. “This is not my book,” he retorts, blinking when the outstretched palm opens and closes in an impatient gesture.

“Mhm, alright.” Cale nods. “Not your book, got it. Hand it over.”

“....”

What is this inexplicable feeling of facing a senior demanding lunch money in the middle of the school hall?

As the expression on Kim Rok Soo’s face starts to turn weird, the noble rolls his eyes and beckons with his hand. 

“I’ll give it back when I’m done,” he tries again. “C’mon, do I look like a bad guy?”

He does.

But Kim Rok Soo isn’t going to tell him that.

The other clicks his tongue, seemingly knowing what Kim Rok Soo is thinking. He says nothing of it when Kim Rok Soo finally hands over the book with pursed lips. Bearing a nonchalant raise of his eyebrow, Cale inspects the divine item laid out on his palm as one would a pebble by the river.

“Huh.” 

A mild expression crosses Cale Henituse’s face. He flips the book over and peers at it from this angle and that angle, seemingly taking in every subtle indents and details. Once he’s done, he throws it into the air before catching it back in one hand, repeating the gesture over and over, as if he’s really playing with a pebble.

Chuckling, a pair of dark auburn eyes shift from the divine item and past Kim Rok Soo’s quiet figure, to something behind the two of them. The upwards curve of his lips is sharper than before. An unwarranted aggression seems to settle in the air around them, heavy with invisible tension.

The fleeting image of crimson stain on a white cuff flashes by in Kim Rok Soo’s mind, and the child narrows his eyes.

“Do you know?” Cale hums, as he idly thumbs the cover of the divine item. “Mortal flesh isn't really suited to carry the power of a god.”

Disquiet flickers across Kim Rok Soo’s face, pale skin painted in a mixture of warm and cold hues by the torches and the moonlight seeping in from above.

He offers nothing in response, following the other’s gaze without a sound. His small throat jumps when he fully lays his eyes on what exactly Cale Henituse is looking at.

Remaining the same as where they had been when Kim Rok Soo entered the chapel, a handful of people are scattered among the rows of church pew, offering sincere prayers with their hands clasped upon their laps. In an extremely servile posture, their bodies looked almost as though it was folding in on itself, bent forward so low that their foreheads nearly touched their knees.

Except, now, they are no longer bowing their heads towards the altar at the front.

Kim Rok Soo inhales sharply, terror swimming through his veins as he sees the sight of gaunt faces twisted in agony. Blue veins bulge out of their necks, wrenched upward in a painful angle that has Kim Rok Soo feeling a phantom crick in his own.

Inside sunken eye sockets, unfocused pupils roll around and jump, searching desperately for something. Dried lips mutter an endless string of sentences Kim Rok Soo can’t clearly make out, with hollowed cheeks rippling as the ghastly crowd begins yet another litany of prayers, their voices growing more ardent by the second.

“What...”

Kim Rok Soo doesn’t manage to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Cale Henituse ignores the terrible sight behind them, casting his gaze once again towards the massive statue overlooking the chapel. 

“Divinity is the inherent opposite of mortality,” he murmurs. “That’s why the blessing to wield divine power is typically bestowed after someone is ordained or anointed.”

On the walls, orange flames tremble and sputter, spitting out golden sparks that briefly lick at the hem of the statue. That massive figure has never looked so much like a demon than now, a wrathful wraith eager to claw out of the marble it was encased within. 

Curving pleasantly above high cheeks, Cale Henituse’s eyes twinkle with mirth. Countless stars spun in the dark brown pupils, reflecting Kim Rok Soo’s disturbed countenance within.

“When one makes a vow to the gods, the brand of the divine is seared into their flesh.”

Schadenfreude drips from every pore of the noble’s body. The white book is thrown into the air yet again and falls into his hand without a sound.

“It becomes a medium to wield the power not meant for fleshy human bodies. Otherwise, they’ll just become a splat of meat under sheer pressure alone.”

Finishing with that vicious statement, Cale gradually quietens. He slouches against the backrest of the church pew with content, lazily half-squinted eyes. At long last, the smile that has persistently hung on the young man’s lips finally falls.

Without the endlessly amused smirk chiselled onto his face, Cale Henituse’s temperament looks far from friendly. His brows form a sharp dip on his forehead and his narrowed eyes carry a sense of scrutiny, while his arrogant demeanour only serves to alienate those who come near. That honed, erratic air clinging to his figure reveals itself more potently at this moment. A fickle sword that Kim Rok Soo can’t predict at whom its blade is pointed to.

The implication of what he just said is disturbing. Kim Rok Soo inevitably thinks back to that night in the viscount’s villa and the surge of divine power flooding his veins. Goosebumps rise on his forearms as he is suddenly, unpleasantly aware of how close he’d been to mortal danger.

Had it not been for the God of Death’s undisguised fondness, would Kim Rok Soo still be standing here today…? 

Alarmed and more than a little spooked, Kim Rok Soo takes a few seconds to calm his racing heart before he finds his voice.

“How do you know that?” He asks, voice wispy and low. He holds back the urge to turn around again, maintaining a straight gaze towards the crimson-haired young man peering at him with one eye cracked open.

And then, quieter, that question is followed with, “What happened to those people?”

“...hmm. Are you referring to that bunch back there?”

Cale Henituse rubs a finger on his chin, seemingly disregarding the first part of Kim Rok Soo’s question. His gaze flicks to the mumbling, zombie-like horde of people, a scoff escaping past his pursed lips. He closes his eyes and turns his head to the side. 

“Nothing they don’t deserve, that’s for sure.”

Cale replies in a way that answers neither of Kim Rok Soo’s questions. One of his arms dangles off the back of his seat, while the other is fiddling with the white book. He’s not even looking at anything in particular, but the brunt of his attention falls on Kim Rok Soo all the same. A hint of malice scuttles across his placid expression, nearly seething.

Was it you?

The question hangs in the air, unsaid and unanswered.

Kim Rok Soo recalls the brief glimpse he had of the people sitting behind them. Most look to be wearing expensive garments adorned with jewellery. Only a smattering few are wearing the attire of servants, with one of them dressed like a butler. 

Are all of those people part of a noble household?

This inevitable conclusion, Kim Rok Soo refrains from voicing. His vacant gaze roves over the room at large, from the uncaring Cale to the sparsely filled seats and its inhabitants sitting ramrod straight there. Finally, it ends up at the statue beckoning towards the masses, the billowing hood revealing only a pocket of darkness within.

A spot of black flits about the statue’s face. Once, and then twice, and then many more. Kim Rok Soo looks up to see a flock of doves perched on the sills of the open clerestories. Their necks are bent in an almost 90-degree angle beneath the lifted window flaps, as though trying to force their heads through the small gap just so they could peek inside. 

Stuck in such a narrow space, Kim Rok Soo can see their ruffled feathers sticking out of their bodies. One such feather slips from the open gap and falls inside. It descends ever so gently, twirling in the air before landing near one of the blazing torches.

Almost immediately, a brilliant burst of orange and yellow flares up, leaving behind nothing but an unrecognisable lump of char on the floor. A faint smell of smoke wafts in the air.

Unease flits inside the cage of Kim Rok Soo’s ribs. He swallows hesitantly, tugging on the front of his robe. A glower is etched into his face as he asks the slouching noble, “...you’re not going to make me a priest, are you?”

Apprehension turns his tongue clumsy, and the words are stuttered out without the intimidation Kim Rok Soo tries to show. Cale raises a singular, questioning brow at the abrupt change in topic, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, he lets out something that sounds like a chortle, humour cresting the curve of his eyes.

“Do I look like the type to serve in a temple?” He sneers. “What makes you think I can make you a priest? Do you want to become a priest?”

“Wha—of course not!"

“Well, there you go. That’s your answer.” 

Scoffing, he reaches out to ruffle a hand through Kim Rok Soo’s lock of midnight hair. The gesture is rough and lacking the gentleness Kim Rok Soo has come to expect from Bob and the Dark Elves, shaking Kim Rok Soo’s head back and forth like a tiny human rattle.

“You look positively terrified.” Even without looking, Kim Rok Soo can hear the grin stretching wide in that voice.

“Why are you not looking at me, hmm? What’s going on in that kiddy brain of yours?”

Slowing to a halt, the broad hand ruffling Kim Rok Soo’s hair turns to patting down the messy tufts of midnight lock sticking up this way and that. It also takes care to smoothen down the few tangled strands clumped together, unwinding them one by one, tending to the mess it made with unending patience.

The action is so uncharacteristically gentle that Kim Rok Soo is taken by surprise.

He gapes at the suddenly well-behaved young master, unable to understand—or comprehend—this abrupt change in attitude. Obviously, just a minute ago, he’d behaved like some kind of a ruffian, so why…

Why does Kim Rok Soo feel like he’s facing a different person from the one he’d spoken to until now…?

‘W-what’s gotten into this guy’s head all of a sudden?’

Flustered and thrown in for a loop, Kim Rok Soo attempts to push the offending limb away to no avail. It doesn’t budge in the slightest. The fruitless action only manages to amuse the other even more, it seems, and Cale returns to making an absolute mess out of Kim Rok Soo’s hair, earning an enraged hiss from the child.

Forehead wrinkled in vexation, Kim Rok Soo retorts sharply, “What kiddy brain! I’m older than you! What’s going on in yours?!”

Huffing and puffing with righteous indignation, Kim Rok Soo only feels a brief moment of respite as silence follows his impulsive shout, after which a laughter breaks out from above his head.

“Older than me, really?”

Cale snickers, interest gleaming in his eyes as Kim Rok Soo’s brain stutters to a slow, grinding halt. Mortification turns the child’s face as white as a sheet. A pale, pasty sheen that makes him nearly the same colour as his robe.

The hand that has remained on Kim Rok Soo’s head trails down to poke at his cheek. Once, twice, thrice. It persistently prods at the pasty flesh with great relish.

“What? Why are you so quiet now?” An almost mocking scoff slips from Cale’s sneering lips. “Look at you sulking again. Trying to turn into a human dumpling?”

Mouth clamping up from the shame of such a clumsy slip, Kim Rok Soo glowers darkly at the delighted noble. A playful smile widens on Cale’s face in response. His mirth-filled gaze roams Kim Rok Soo’s sullen, wrinkled expression.

Perhaps something has been found by the endlessly strange, endlessly contradictory young master sitting before Kim Rok Soo then, because his tone of voice turns more even. A moderate note that remains stable even as he continues his vexing attempt at irritating Kim Rok Soo.

“What’s wrong with being a kid?”

Cale states, seemingly out of nowhere. He tilts his head, peering at the stiffening child with unnerving focus.

Crimson strands fall over high cheeks as though a wave of blood is brushing against a bone-white shore. The twist of his lips convey a vague sense of knowing mirth. Something unfathomable rests in the curve of his eyes, the glimmer of those auburn pupils like blinking city lights extinguished at a steady interval.

“You’re younger than us, can’t we call you a kid?” is what he continues with, entirely too at ease.

An unholy grin splits his handsome, aristocratic face, sharp and filled with thorns. It feels both like a challenge and a pardon.

“We’re the ‘oldest’, aren’t we?”

An unfamiliar, friendly glint rests in the hollow of narrowed eyes.

Along with the familiar, strangely more comforting hostility dripping from an entirely too wide grin, the feeling of discomfort in Kim Rok Soo only continues to surge.

“Is-is that so...”

Kim Rok Soo hums stutteringly, an endless relief surging through him as the other shrugs without care in the world. He continues poking at Kim Rok Soo’s cheeks, seeming to take Kim Rok Soo’s slip of the tongue as merely childish temper. 

The wording of his sentence sounds a bit off, but perhaps the firstborn son of Count Henituse was talking about Cage as well, referring to Kim Rok Soo’s position as the (seemingly) youngest among three.

At this point, Kim Rok Soo doesn’t even have the motivation to correct that misconception, wrung completely dry of any more energy to care. He rearranges his expression into something suitably innocent and pleasant instead, simply agreeing with Cale’s words.

‘Come to think of it, It has been a while since I entered the temple.’

It should’ve been more than half an hour by now. Is Diego still waiting outside, or has he left to attend to the Crown Prince?

‘...in that case, it is more imperative to slip out of this temple as soon as we can.’

Kim Rok Soo doesn’t intend to prolong this interaction any longer. From the looks of it, neither does Cale.

“Was that all?” 

Drawling out these words, Cale Henituse leans back, amusement waning from his eyes. His gloved hand retreats as well, draped over the back of the church pew. His voice turns flat with the hint of a yawn.

“Shall we move on, then? I still have somewhere to be after this. Places to go, people to meet, and all that.”

Yet another whiplash strikes Kim Rok Soo as he takes in this shift in demeanour, but the devil-may-care attitude looks more charming now that Kim Rok Soo is filled with the determination to ‘stay out of trouble as much as he can’, as Shawn puts it ever so eloquently.

Run now, ask questions later, Kim Rok Soo firmly states in his head.

He absolutely, definitely must not come into contact with the Crown Prince. With how large the temple is, there’s very little chance of them meeting, but Kim Rok Soo chants this mantra continuously inside his head regardless, as if trying to manifest his will into reality.

Obediently, he nods to Cale’s question, hands propped on his knees. The picture-perfect posture of a diligent student patiently listening to his teacher’s instruction.

“Right. What should I do?” Kim Rok Soo asks, his small face scrunched in serious contemplation. “Do I need to swear on something? Should I pray?”

As though the idea itself is hilarious, Cale snorts. He sighs and shakes his head, muttering out a low, “You don’t need to do anything.”

With an enigmatic smile hidden behind strands of blood red hair and a pair of narrowed, arrogant eyes, Cale Henituse definitely looks the part of a villain. His features are handsome and sharp, denoting a fierceness that is somehow made more apparent with his laidback attitude. A strong smell of wine clings to his person, crafting the perfect image of an overindulgent, indolent young master. 

That very same young master is now reaching out a hand towards Kim Rok Soo. He slips the white book back into Kim Rok Soo’s palm, enclosing his hands over the child’s tiny ones so that the both of them are now holding onto the God of Death’s divine item.

“You don’t need to do anything,” the young man repeats, “You have already made your vow.”

“...huh?”

Uncomprehending, Kim Rok Soo can only stare in silence. His confusion goes entirely ignored as broad palms wrap around Kim Rok Soo’s hands even tighter, as if telling Kim Rok Soo to hold onto the book more firmly. 

A terrible inkling rises in Kim Rok Soo. He doesn’t have the time to unravel that loaded statement when the other whispers into the air between the two of them.

“Now, you just need a little helping hand to sear that vow into your flesh.”

Uttering that vicious sentence, a mischievous grin appears on Cale Henituse’s face. Kim Rok Soo’s forehead wrinkles in doubt. Sparks of apprehension threaten to grow into a blaze inside his chest, but it’s already too late for regrets. 

“Heads up, youngest,” Cale offers the baffled child a warning, “This’ll hurt.”

Kim Rok Soo opens his mouth to question what the hell is the other talking about, and ends up coughing raggedly. Quaking eyes roll around under fluttering eyelids.

Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold—

He can only repeat that one word inside his head, gasping desperately for breath. Thin white wisps escape from parted lips, which are gradually turning dry and pale. Each exhale feels as though blocks of ice are jammed inside his lungs, pushing down one another with rampant abandon as each struggle to overcome the other, tearing and clawing their way out.

Beads of sweat pool on Kim Rok Soo’s brow to trail down the sides of his face. He can feel his shirt being soaked in them, the temperature of his skin is gradually heating up while his insides are becoming more and more like a frigid wasteland.

He sweats and shivers and sniffles and everything feels horrible. It’s as if Kim Rok Soo has fallen sick with the worst fever ever known to mankind.

“Bear with it.”

In the haze of pain, he hears a clear, stern voice. Leather gloves press on the back of Kim Rok Soo’s hands which are soaked with sweat. It feels gross, but the firm pressure brings some lucidity back into his shaking eyes.

“I know you can bear with it. C’mon, breathe.”

Kim Rok Soo lets out a hacking cough. Something wet spills from his lips and falls onto the floor, splattering the sleeve of his robe with a messy stain, not dissimilar to ink in colour and viscosity. 

Through eyes blurred with unspilled tears, He can spot that very same colour darkening the edges of the divine item’s previously white cover. Light and darkness seem to twine together on the surface of the book, akin to the shadows under rolling, sea-blue tides; a phantasmagoria sinking inch by inch into Kim Rok Soo’s dazed consciousness.

Slowly, slowly, the light breaking through the surface of the ocean looks as though they are being swallowed whole. Darkness blooms from the centre of the massive whirlpool, unfurling its petals in mesmerising waves of grey that eventually turn an ominous shade of black. 

From a stretch of a cloud-filled sky, it plunges into the ocean and finally descends into the deepest depths of the abyss. 

[ ...death...shall not be... ]

[ ...the end... ]

Whimpering static buzzes in Kim Rok Soo’s ears; the disembodied, unclear whispers of an old radio narrating a horror story one summer night. It reverberates inside Kim Rok Soo’s skull as if intending to carve itself into sinew and bones.  

Young, and then old. High pitched, and whispery the next. It crackles and buzzes, stuttering back and forth between the short, simple sentences, its transmission jamming from an unknown cause. 

Far, far away, there is an indistinct sound of laughter and a round of raucous clapping. Kim Rok Soo squeezes his eyes shut, trying to make sense of what he’s hearing. 

Belatedly, he notices the absence of murmured litanies. The very air itself seems to fall quiet with nary a sound to be heard. He fails to hear even the flickering of torches lining the walls, as though the entire world has gone terrifyingly still; forever locked in a single moment that continues to stretch on and on without an end in sight.

“—shit–!”

A murmured curse and a sharp intake of breath.

Fingers press against the back of Kim Rok Soo’s hand, near bruising from how hard they are clamping down. The pain brings some semblance of clarity to Kim Rok Soo’s muddled mind.

He gasps, finding his lungs no longer encased in ice. His body is still covered in the remnant of a feverish haze, sweat-drenched with his limbs hanging weakly, barely held up by Cale Henituse’s firm grasp.

The book has fallen onto his lap at some point, the once clean and pure appearance replaced by a sinister obsidian shimmer. Under the light of the moon and the torches lining the walls, it resembles a void staring back at the world, the hazy reflection of fractured light dancing across its surface.

Kim Rok Soo swallows heavily. 

From above his head, he hears Cale Henituse’s wry laugh. It sounds nothing short of incredulous and exasperated. When Kim Rok Soo looks up, the expression on the noble’s face is far from amused.

“We better get out of here now.” Irritation tugs at the corner of toothily grinning lips. “If I’m right, it won’t take long before the priests wake up and swarm this place.”

Upon hearing that statement, Kim Rok Soo’s lips turn into a stiff, flat line across a pallid face. From the corner of his eyes, he can vaguely see bodies strewn about the place; slumped against the back of the church pews or laid out cold on the floor. 

This dreadfully familiar sight… Kim Rok Soo can only think back to that one fateful night at Viscount Tolz’s villa, and a not-so-small amount of panic churns in the cavity of his stomach.

“It seems I underestimated your bond with that god,” Cale murmurs, voice low but no less cutting for it. “I never thought a mere vow would have this strong of a backlash. We’re fortunate the relic is here. Otherwise, the whole of Huiss would bear the brunt of it.”

Kim Rok Soo has no idea of what he’s talking about, nor does he know what has happened outside the walls of the chapel, but there’s no time to waste right now. He stumbles to his feet, stuffing the book into his satchel, shivering at the chill travelling down his wrist as he does so. It seems like not much has changed with the book, even though, at the same time, quite a lot has.

A strange comfort rises from that thought. Kim Rok Soo doesn’t stop to ponder on this, footsteps halting as the door to the chapel begins to rattle.

Cale swears aloud.

“Was that one waiting outside all this time?!”

Frustration is evident in his voice. He looks ready to force his way out the door, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his hooded glare. 

Kim Rok Soo pays neither ruckus any mind, perking his ears as white noise buzzes and sputters like an old radio switched to life. Disjointed voices echo from a distance far too close for Kim Rok Soo’s comfort, tremulous and ever so quiet.

[ Behind the altar... ]

He can feel a breeze blowing against the hair of his neck, almost like an exhale of air. 

As the door heaves with great tremors, he makes a split decision and decisively yanks Cale by the sleeve of his coat towards the altar. 

“What are you—”

Cale falls quiet as they arrive in front of the statue. Right in front of the tattered hem of its cloak is an open space leading underground, a spiral staircase plunged into darkness as unfathomable as the abyss. There’s no light in sight and no torches lining the walls. Heavy dust blankets what few stairs Kim Rok Soo can see from the light illuminating the chapel. The air feels stale and suffocating, and just looking at it, Kim Rok Soo isn’t sure if the path will even lead somewhere safe.

“No, when did this…?” Cale mumbles, stunned, under his breath. “How is this here?”

“...I don’t know,” Kim Rok Soo answers shortly, unsure of the truth in his own words.

He shakes his head, clutching the satchel tight against his chest. Peering down the gaping maw of darkness, countless words hang on the tip of his tongue, but what ends up slipping out is a mere, “Are you coming with me?”

Cale regards him with quiet contemplation. The weight of his gaze is neither heavy nor light, and as the rattling of the door grows louder, the ghost of a smirk flits across his face.

“Count me in,” he remarks, as easy as breathing. “I can’t, in good faith, leave the youngest alone, can I?”

There should be no other meaning to his words, but the heavy air around Cale is an intangible weight shrouding the two of them. His words carry a strangely solemn note, as though something important has been decided at that moment.

Of what, Kim Rok Soo doesn’t know. His probing gaze receives no response other than a pat on his back and a drawl filled with impatience.

“What are we waiting for? You want to stay and greet the priests?”

“....”

He remains as insufferable as always.

Kim Rok Soo resigns himself to this turn of events. He shakes his head, and turns towards the pocket of darkness on the ground. Trepidation fills his lungs but he lets none of it show, pushing back the discomfort weighing down his limbs. 

“Let’s go.”

Kim Rok Soo takes a step forward. Cale follows, treading lightly into the opened jaws on the floor. The sound of something creaking and juddering echoes in the air, and as Kim Rok Soo peers back from the corner of his eyes, he finds the opened entrance sewing itself shut, stone pillars pushing out from the sides to clamp together like gritted teeth.

Right before the last sliver of light disappears, Kim Rok Soo catches sight of the blessed relic’s looming figure above, with its massive body positioned in a slight incline forward. Its head is tilted down with the flap of its hood wide open, revealing a glimpse of the face obscured from view.

Within the hollow sockets of marble and stone, burning red embers stare back at him.

Chapter Text

The absence of light shouldn’t come as much of a surprise but the child staggers to his feet as though it is.

His soles clip-clop against the floor as he wobbles. The tender flesh covering his aching eyes seems to quiver, and his short-winded breathing falls loud in the quiet. The stone-like expression hidden under the curtain of writhing shadows is marred with a touch of gravity that looks out of sorts with his young, tender-cheeked appearance, parted mouth stuck on the beginning of a gasp.

He appears to have forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing.

Words elude him. Gone running to who-knows-where while he’s stuck there, with twin carmine stars blinking at him in the distance—in the fake night sky that now envelops him and the world around him.

They wink slyly when he opens his eyes again. Still there, in the dark, like the calling card of a mischievous phantom thief marking their next prey. 

“Oi.”

A sudden pull yanks him by the collar. His shoulder hits something warm and solid. A chest, rising and falling in tandem to its owner’s aggravated voice. 

“You want to start moving or should I leave you behind?” 

Smoke drifts to his nose and sinks into his lungs.

A burst of orange chases away the suppressive shadows, dancing atop the lip of a rust-coated brass metal. Its glimmering surface, too, winks back at him. An act kinder than the searing pair of red blotting out his view of everything else, and a much more preferable one as well.

The flame of an old lighter reveals the familiar face of Cale Henituse.

“Tsk. Look at that pasty face. You really got spooked by a statue? How lame, youngest.”

Crimson hair curtains the young man’s forehead and cheeks haphazardly, a few strands straying too close to the fire as he lowers his head. A pair of incisors peek out from behind the mocking curve of his lips.

“Should’ve told father dearest how shitty his taste is when you had the chance.”

An unkind tone, and unkind words. 

That arrogant voice seems to be revelling in a vaguely antagonistic amusement, but the hand now lying on Kim Rok Soo’s shoulder is warm enough that the provocation is softened into something kinder. Something milder.

Something akin to pity, perhaps.

It pulls Kim Rok Soo back from the daze shrouding his senses, as if a mouse freed from an enticing trap. A terrible headache pounds his skull and leaves him nauseous. He shuts his eyes and blinds himself to the twin stars burning in the dark, feeling incomprehensibly stifled.

Not the time, he thinks, and not the place.

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

When he feels his limbs going steady again, nausea abating along with the sight burned into his eyes, he finds the young master’s face close to his own, a smile slicing viciously across his cheeks. 

“That’s a look I like, right there.”

A hand pats Kim Rok Soo’s cheek in a somewhat condescending manner. The child feels it dragging across his skin. Languid, cautious; ghosting over the skin as though it isn’t truly there, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ears.

The wry, wolfish grin plastered on Cale’s face makes the gentle touch feel almost like a teasing claw playing with its food. 

“Can’t be too skittish if you’re going to put your foot in all this end-of-the-world business, youngest. Don’t lose your head over every scary thing that goes bump in the dark.” 

Cale scoffs, and his tender imitation of wiping a bead of sweat from Kim Rok Soo’s forehead makes the child feel inevitably looked down upon. 

Kim Rok Soo stares into the tiny, flickering flame dancing away in the empty space between the two of them, like a clown performing to an audience of two. When he finally speaks, it starts as a low murmur that slowly, steadily gains strength.

“Human bodies can’t withstand the pressure of divine power.”

Caressed by the fire, his fleshy cheeks that should be healthily flushed are now wan. 

Two pools of pitch-black ink have nestled under his eyelids, dark enough they seem to swallow every bit of light left.

There’s the unexplainable feeling that they should shine the brightest, like polished obsidians, sprinkled by a sea of glittering light, but right now it holds neither warmth nor sentiment.

A cold slab of basalt, cut from the same darkness blinding the two of them.

“…this is what you meant.”

This fear.

This instinct.

This invisible weight pressing down on his head. 

A sensitivity to divine power, most probably nurtured from close contact with a god, has Kim Rok Soo’s living, beating heart within its relentless grip, and it is now showing that it has claws.

The marks it left on Kim Rok Soo aren’t visible on the outside, but he can feel it.

Paranoia has burgeoned inside from a tiny, insignificant sprout, and it will only continue to grow—a parasite gnawing bit by bit, trying to chip away at his sanity and rationality, until there’s little left but an empty vessel that can bend to its whims.

Kim Rok Soo’s lips curl. Perhaps in irony, perhaps in genuine amusement, or even exasperation. He cranes his neck back and gazes calmly at the young master’s stoic face, waiting. 

Evidently, something in that patient little face appears amusing to Cale, as he shakes his head with a scoff. 

“Are you slow, or just careless?” The young master’s smile is uncharitable. “If that bastard hadn’t taken a liking to you, I wonder how long you’d last.”

The look on Cale’s face is one of a spectator watching a good show; sparkling eyes, twitching lips, arched eyebrows—nothing sympathetic or considerate. It digs under Kim Rok Soo's skin like a thorn stuck in his flesh. 

That flash of irritation is caught by Cale’s keen eyes, and the young man chuckles. 

“How's it, those bastards’ so-called test of faith? It's nothing to sneeze at, right?”

A heavy hand lands on Kim Rok Soo’s shoulder, patting roughly twice before squeezing. It’s a grip as heavy as a shackle, accompanied by a bit of pain.

“Bearing the brand of a god may spare you from breaking under pressure, but you’d be surprised by how much more ruthless those bastards are with their followers…”

Those coldly gleaming eyes curve. 

If only they were as kind as the smile on Cale’s face, it would soften the hearts of those bearing witness to it. Instead, the hostility bare for all to see there makes it look creepy. The threatening nudge of a knife on one’s back, poking into the flesh; both a tease and a warning.

“Keep this in mind next time you decide to buddy up to one of those bastards, youngest.”

An insidious grin claws at the young master’s face, promising bloodshed through bared teeth and a wide stretch of lips. His gaze is thrown somewhere into the distance veiled by writhing shadows. 

“A trash ain’t supposed to be giving free lessons to the kiddies, but good kids like you won’t tell on me, yeah?”

Cale sneers, and the way he puts some distance between the two of them signals an abrupt, one-sided end to their discussion. The fuzzy flare of his lighter illuminates part of the stairwell that was obscured from their eyes as he does so, revealing a spiral of stone steps with walls closing in on all sides. 

Just like the brief glimpse Kim Rok Soo had in the chapel, the passage hidden under the temple’s floor is one marked by traces of long-time neglect. The lack of any apparent torch or window foretells a gruelling expedition ahead, with the hollow gap that is the centre of the stairwell staring curiously up at them, left bare without a railing to guard against an unfortunate stumble down its pitch black gullet. 

Perhaps taken in by the suffocating atmosphere, the child feels uncharacteristically bothered by the sound of his own breathing. It sounds so much louder here, somehow. Much more grating on his ears, bouncing off the walls as though the silent passage is actually alive and breathing.

His thin lips pursed, and his narrowed gaze falls onto the dust bunnies clinging to the hem of his trousers. It is unknown what he’s thinking at the moment, whether he’s mulling over Cale’s words or something else, but the young master himself doesn’t seem to care.

A sharp whistle pierces through the momentary silence. Cale trots forward without even glancing at the child, kicking up a cloud of dust with his shoes. There appears to be an interested gleam in those eyes peering over the unguarded ledge. A hint of a smile.

“See what I mean? Shitty taste.”

The young master kisses his teeth with his tongue. The lighter’s flame bounces feebly in protest as he goes on one knee and shoves an arm down, as far down as it can go. Sad orange sparks spill from a metallic lip to become one with the dark grey canvas, sinking into what looks like a wispy well of pasty grey.

Below them, just a few feet away, swims a murky layer of fog. Meandering mist claws at the ledge to no avail, reaching towards the lighter’s tiny ball of fire, with a few dissidents at the fringe content to just lap at the walls. 

Cale laughs meanly at the sight.

“What I wouldn’t give to see those priests losing their heads over this mess.” The young master sighs, as if lamenting the missed opportunity. “It’s a shame we can’t shove one or two of those cleanliness-obsessed bunch down here. I really want to see how their faces twist. Ignorance can also be considered a kind of fortune, eh?”

Ignorance…

Deep furrows wrinkle the child’s smooth forehead. A sense of misgiving arises from Cale’s crude, if somewhat insouciant attitude, but it doesn’t feel like something he can easily put to words.

A vague memory of the rigid, glimmering cloister comes to mind. The sparkling-clean halls, the labyrinth of passages and hidden pathways, and the priests with painted smiles traversing them with ease…

Something in his mind springs forward, and Kim Rok Soo’s whisper escapes without his notice.

“…are they really ignorant?”

“Hmm?”

“A secret passage inside the chapel frequented by prospective priests… Shouldn’t that be something the priests here know already?”

A secret passage may be considered a secret to outsiders, but it shouldn’t be the case for the occupants of the building it resides in. Because, in most cases, the existence of one is meant for either convenience or protection. A shortcut, or a safe emergency route. 

It should be something built for the sake of the people living there. 

For outsiders like the two of them, coming across one is a lucky feat, but those priests have been living here all their lives. Taking into account the odd layout of the temple itself, they must be used to the maze that is the Temple of the God of Death. 

Is there really no one among them who knows the existence of a secret passage under their own chapel? And if one knows, how long will it take until the rest knows?

“….”

This conjecture may be baseless, but it brings about an unpleasant realisation, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue.

There appears to be a hidden blade waiting in the dark. Whether or not it is aimed at their throats is something they can only find out.

Kim Rok Soo stares down at the dust clinging to the hem of his robe, and Diego’s mildly smiling face flits in his mind. Does he know…?

“…this is why I don’t like dealing with the divine and their followers. They make such a headache out of every little thing.” 

Cale speaks, full of complaint, but in fact, his voice takes on a somewhat gleeful tone. He rolls his shoulders as he straightens, as if trying to get rid of the kinks in his joints. Gold glimmers in the depths of his eyes, like a treasure chest half sunken among the wreckage of a rusted hull. 

Hesitation, it seems, is wasted on the young master who doesn’t lower his head even in the presence of a god.

“There's still nowhere else to go but down,” Cale says eventually, after a short while in which neither of them speaks. “Let’s just face things as they appear. Anyway, if push comes to shove, we’re the ones with the divine item. That thing has to be useful for something, right?” 

The satchel under Kim Rok Soo's hand trembles minutely. The child pats it lightly in response, as Cale cranes his neck and throws his sharp, undisguised gaze over his shoulder, as threatening as the cold edge of a blade.

“You’re not going to just stand there like a soaked puppy this time, are you?”

There’s no grin this time. No smile to soften the blow.

With no entertainment to sweeten the deal, Cale doesn’t seem like the type who would do such a thing regardless, even if he’s feeling charitable. Perhaps the fact that he did it once can be seen as a token of goodwill, but right now, he’s not offering a friendly exchange.

No, Kim Rok Soo thinks, what Cale is offering right now appears to be something else. Something not quite hostile, not quite amiable.

Something that seems to be screaming at Kim Rok Soo, prove yourself.

“….”

How nostalgic.

It feels almost like he’s back to those days in the Cataclysm, where every battle is one won by the skin of his teeth. Back then, there’s no shortage of people like Cale, like a pack of wolves nipping at Kim Rok Soo’s heels at every turn. 

A smile worms its way onto Kim Rok Soo’s face; nothing more than a disjointed mask of stitched, smoothly curved lips and eyes that continue to bleed ink.

“Too late for that,” Kim Rok Soo snipes back, “I’m already shaking in my boots. Should’ve told father dearest how shitty his taste is when you had the chance.”

“—hah!”

Cale’s grinning wildly now. The stretch of his lips is too wide to be described as pleasant, but thin enough it seems to cut through the fair skin and draw blood. 

“Touché,” he allows, with a dip of his head. His eyes glitter with mirth and a hint of incomprehensible satisfaction. “After you, then.”

He makes way for the child, like a gracious gentleman offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or like a slimy merchant with way too much cunning. 

Kim Rok Soo is hardly fooled. He chances a brief glance at the lighter that is held in Cale’s hand, only to find those leather-clad fingers tightening around it in response. That unbudging pose and the raised eyebrows cresting Cale’s narrowed eyes don’t exactly inspire a spirit of generosity even to the most oblivious of fools, even as the young master himself pretends otherwise.

So much for being gracious.

“…right.”

They’ve wasted enough time. 

Kim Rok Soo considers asking Cale to lead the way, but he knows better than to ask a wolf to heel. Perhaps once he has enough chips on his hand to bargain for obedience, but certainly not now. 

And so, off they go. Stomping their way down, step by step, with Kim Rok Soo braving the path in front. The lighter casts its gaze onto his back, benevolent enough to light his way, but it brings with it an unwanted acquaintance—the elongated shadow upon the floor. 

It walks the road ahead of Kim Rok Soo, eager and jolly, with gangly limbs and a jaunty walk that sways its head to the left and right, left and right, and left and right again. A curious trick of the light, if somewhat hair-raising.

Despite the rocky start, their descent is accompanied by a rather companionable atmosphere. Their footprints are stamped onto the patch of dust carpeting the stairs, perhaps to be discovered by the next batch of unwitting visitors, its thudding a rhythmic beat Cale begins humming an unfamiliar ditty to—something incomprehensible with a mess of words jumbled together to form a nonsensical rhyme.

The sound is not loud. Not quiet either. Just enough to make its presence known amongst the loud thumping of shoes against stone, like the background noise of a radio on a road trip. Calming, in a sense, though the lyrics leave much to be desired.

Kim Rok Soo breathes in, and out. In, and out.

Rinse and repeat.

The action of descending the stairs slowly becomes muscle memory, guiding his legs forward as his mind wanders. Gradually, the only thing he consciously registers in his mind is the thickening of the fog around them, dense enough for Cale’s lighter to begin having trouble piercing through its depths. And after that is…

“…ah.”

Flat ground meets Kim Rok Soo’s step. And the next. And the one after that. He stares down at his feet and is only able to make out the blurry outline of his knees.

They have arrived at the bottom of the stairs. 

“We’re here,” Kim Rok Soo declares. The sound echoes for a long time after. All around him is a world of muddy grey, shifting occasionally with the flickering of the lighter. A cold draft seems to blow from an open passage somewhere, rubbing against his cheeks and mussing up his fringe.

A noisy rustling of clothes answers Kim Rok Soo a beat later. Footsteps stomp towards him and stop somewhere to his left. “…I was expecting our jaunt to be short, but we’re not getting out of here easy, huh?”

Something vaguely human-shaped stands beside him. A patch of deep grey, almost black, with only the hand and wrist visible, is holding onto a dying fire.

The lighter is fighting for its dear life now, unable to push back against the fog. It vomits out the saddest looking glow Kim Rok Soo ever laid eyes on.

“The hell’s up with this place?” He hears the young master grumbling. “Be careful. This fog feels like trouble.”

Kim Rok Soo makes a vague noise of agreement.

“Just in case things get hairy, do you have another lighter to spare, young master?”

“A spare? Hmm.”

The human-shaped phantom tilts his head to one side and begins rummaging through his pocket. The noisy sound of rustling clothes continues on for a while.

“Here.”

The phantom pulls out something, handing it over with the same hand he uses to carry the lighter. Clamped between his pointer and middle finger is a small carton box with brittle and worn edges. A matchbox?

“Hardly as handy as a lighter, but it should be just as good. You might want to hold onto that for emergencies though.”

Kim Rok Soo glances down once more and ascertains the guess in his heart.

The thing given to him looks like a matchbox, but what’s inside doesn’t sound like matches. When he shakes it furtively, what he hears is not a rustle or a clattering noise. More like a tinkle, crisp and clean, like the chiming of bells. Kim Rok Soo wants to pull it open and see, but Cale puts a quick death to his nosy behaviour.

“Don’t mess around,” the young master warns, “I won’t guarantee you’ll still be in one piece if that thing drops.”

Kim Rok Soo stiffens, and his expression turns grave.

“…you didn’t sack me with a bomb, did you?”

Cale neither confirms nor denies.

The dubious silence leaves Kim Rok Soo apprehensive. He holds the matchbox tight with both hands, hesitating for a long time, but eventually tucks the insignificant looking matchbox into the pocket of his trousers.

Surely, no matter how trashy the young master is, he won’t do such a thing as giving explosives to a child, right?

Not that Kim Rok Soo is actually a child, but still…

Mulling over how to play the I’m-an-innocent-child-you-should-do-me-no-harm card with Cale, Kim Rok Soo doesn’t notice the noisy, restless shuffling of said young master just a few centimetres away from him. When he comes back to his senses, something soft and warm is stuffed haphazardly into his arms, winding a couple of times around one of his wrists. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be the hem of Cale’s wine-coloured cloak.

The child stares down at his blurry hands mutedly for a few seconds, and hears Cale’s whispered warning above his head.

“If you let go, I'll leave your head on a pike. Do you understand?”

“….”

“Understand?”

“…yes.”

The child’s twitching expression is hidden under the cover of darkness. His companion doesn’t sound eager to make himself clear despite the lacklustre response, standing up straight after receiving the desired answer. 

“Good. Don’t lag behind.”

The cloak wrapped around Kim Rok Soo’s palm goes taut and pulls him along the phantom now skulking in front. Kim Rok Soo staggers forward the first couple of steps before regaining balance. He huffs, close to rolling his eyes at feeling like a pup being led on a leash, but his feet voluntarily keep up with the young master’s pace.

There is nothing they can see aside from the feeble beacon close to flickering out in Cale’s hand, and yet, the young master marches on confidently. An odd, single-minded determination fastens his steps, pulling Kim Rok Soo helplessly along. 

It’s quiet now, all around. The kind that sucks out even the buzzing of a mosquito’s wings and deafens you with imaginary, incomprehensible droning cottoning your ears. Aside from the sounds they inevitably make as they tramp about the foggy passage, the place itself is deathly silent.

Nothing good. 

Too much noise is painful, but too little foretells disaster. 

Fists clenched, Kim Rok Soo braces himself for an unpleasant surprise waiting in the dark. But, alas, fortune smiles upon them today. The dreaded atmosphere doesn’t sharpen its knives, and soon, they arrive on a brighter path. One wider than the narrow passage they came in from. 

The boy looks up. Wisps of light pierce through the darkness, like nails driven through a flimsy fabric. It scatters a peppering of freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. 

A high ceiling. A row of pillars. White marble walls. 

Nothing different. Nothing new. But what catches Kim Rok Soo’s eyes is…

“Well, would you look at that? Finally, a sight for sore eyes.” Cale scoffs. “Better than that dreadful statue, that’s for sure.”

Kim Rok Soo’s eyes dart to the stained glass windows taking up almost the length of the entire wall, standing guard to his left and right, and can’t help humming in agreement. 

Amidst the endless white walls, white floor, and white pillars, there’s finally a touch of colour to this depressing place. Soft, brilliant colours; in cobalt blue, sunflower yellow, the green of newly sprouted leaves, and a fierce, burning scarlet…

Whereas the lighter’s flame is stifled by the fog, the light cast through those colourful glass appears to make the stubborn mist retreat, like a girl in an unexpected encounter with her crush. They shower the two travellers with a warm welcome.

A shame, though.

In the ruinously cold passage, the dreamy atmosphere it offers only makes it look sinister. An unattained dream dressed up in thorns. Its welcome is unwanted, though appreciated.

They walk again. Slower, this time.

The colourful, stained glass windows appear to be stretching indefinitely in the darkness, guiding their way forward, yet also wordlessly informing them of the lack of an end in sight. There’s only a singular path here, going straight ahead. No branch in the road, no doors, no nothing.

A scan of their surroundings shows nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be found here except for those windows, bright and ever cheerful. Kim Rok Soo finds their appearance incongruent to the temple’s clean-cut, almost washed-out atmosphere, like an unexpected splash of sunshine spilling through storm clouds. 

Strange, but somewhat fitting.

He inches closer to one, intent on taking a closer look, when a crisp sound rings. 

“Meow—”

Their footsteps halt.

There, at the other end of the passage, basked in a spotlight of blues and purples and reds, sits a stout, orange-furred cat.

It lays motionless on the ground, looking almost like a flattened pancake with maple syrup on top. Pale green eyes land on the two of them, with long whiskers twitching on its snout. It vaguely resembles the doves sitting on the temple’s eaves. Motionless. Perhaps too much so, that a brief glance will make it look more like a wax statue than something alive.

Has it always been there? Were they not paying attention?

“….”

The two sides stare at each other. 

“Meow—”

The cat rises to its feet. Its movement is smooth and agile. In one leap, it makes a distance between the three of them, trotting further down the passage, its gait slow despite the initial burst of energy.

The cat’s appearance arouses their vigilance, but at the same time, it is a hopeful sign that there’s an exit nearby, hidden somewhere in the shadows.

“…let’s follow for now.”

The consensus comes from Cale. Kim Rok Soo’s way of answering is to reach out and grab ahold of the young master’s cloak, tugging lightly. 

And so, off they go again.

Like Alice in Wonderland tailing after the jumpy white rabbit, the two Alices follow their newfound feline companion with cautious steps. Their rabbit hole doesn’t plunge underground. Rather, it stretches on and on, a tunnel pockmarked with colours and lights and bizarre images eternalized within thin golden frames.

Kim Rok Soo only has time for a brief glimpse of them. A quick turn of the head as he scurries forth. There’s nothing much to see there, though. Merely a field of thick, bowed golden wheats, with a clear sky above. Some of the others have notable differences—with people, without people, with crops, without crops, so on and so forth—but the crux of the scenes in the stained-glass windows is simply that: a rice paddy field.

What’s so important about a rice paddy that the temple has it made into intricate windows like this?

It feels like an alien insight is brushing against Kim Rok Soo’s mind but loses its grip at the very last second.

“…!”

And the end of the passage draws near. 

No, not the end. Another beginning. A fork in the road, splitting the way into branches that look no different from one another. 

Their footsteps stutter, but the cat doesn’t hesitate. It leaps to the path on the right, sauntering on four fluffy paws. Surprisingly, a door lies a short walk away, tucked between walls narrow enough Kim Rok Soo can extend both hands and touch the two sides at the same time. 

A fluffy paw nudges the door open. It gives way without a fight, unlocked and unguarded. Its hinges don't squeak and neither does the wood creak. On the other side of the door frame, a silent courtyard awaits.

Kim Rok Soo exchanges a glance with Cale and hastens to slip out. The cold night air fills his lungs. Crisp, frost-like, with a bit of a bite to it. The moon hangs high on the sky above. After being stranded for so long in the dark, the mere sight of it feels almost like salvation.

The child’s tight expression loosens. He bends down to stroke the cat appreciatively. Coarse fur sinks under the pads of his fingers, smooth and cold, and the round body feels stiff to the touch.

“Smart kitty.”

The boy smiles. Cale comes up next to him and throws an unreadable glance down at the cat, but says nothing. 

“Do you think the priests are still searching for us?” Kim Rok Soo prods, cautiously glancing around. An empty hall meets his gaze, devoid of people. Cale’s answer is one he expects after seeing the deserted place, “Not likely.”

It really doesn’t look like it. 

Much like the rest of the temple’s buildings, the courtyard retains that desolate, otherworldly air that is a cross between sacred and unwelcoming. Cement ground, a few boxy benches, marbled cloister as far as the eyes can see and, most importantly, white everything. Kim Rok Soo doesn’t even think he’s ever laid eyes on any greens here. No potted plant or grass growing in the temple grounds.

“We’re outside but…”

The high tower marking the front of the temple lies to the west of the courtyard. Kim Rok Soo can hear the faint sounds of cheering echoing even from this distance. The crowd outside still hasn’t dispersed, it seems, and the moon has only shifted a centimetre in the sky.

The night is young, so where are the priests and believers?

Cale clicks his tongue.

“In the middle of worship, probably. We should go around the central building just to be safe. That bastard’s priests in particular are sensitive to the presence of divine power. You going there will be like dangling bones in front of a starving dog.”

“…but there are also side chapels here, aren’t there? Which way should we go?”

“Hell if I know. You’ve got the wrong guy to ask.”

“….”

“It’s no use glaring at me, pipsqueak. Ain’t your friend smart? Why don’t you try asking the kitty?”

Throwing responsibility to the cat by their feet, Cale appears untroubled as ever. His hair is neatly combed and the coat under his cloak remains impeccably without wrinkles, even after their jaunt through the dusty passage. Kim Rok Soo throws him an envious stare and straightens a crooked collar, muttering to the quiet cat, “What do you think, buddy?”

“Meow—”

It gives another long, drawn-out meow, before strutting away. 

Kim Rok Soo’s expressionless face follows its lively figure, the hand settled over his satchel tightly clenched, knuckles turning white. Right as the cat turns around, however, a smile eases its way there, deceptively pleasant.

“Go on, buddy.” The child’s voice is mild. “Show us the way.”

“Meow—”

Kim Rok Soo lowers his head. He surveys their surroundings from the corner of his eyes.

Starkly clean halls and rigid, square-shaped buildings patiently await his inspection. All the same. Not a single thing out of order. The child’s eyes spin in their sockets to scan the wall behind them, body shifting ever so subtly in place, and…

Ah, there it is. The incongruent feeling comes from here.

Where they came out from, there appears to be nothing but a blank wall, as though the door has decided to grow feet and run off someplace unknown, skirting out of sight and mind.

Another quick scan tells Kim Rok Soo that the size of the cookie-cutter buildings around the courtyard, while decently large, shouldn’t be able to accommodate the length of the passage they just went through, and neither can he find the massive stained-glass windows that were as common as roadside weeds inside. 

“….”

At Cale’s sharp, knowing smirk, the child calmly withdraws his gaze.

Alice in Wonderland indeed.

‘White rabbit’ leads them to the other end of the courtyard. A cloister that looks no different from the rest. The residents of Wonderland are nowhere to be found tonight, leaving the two Alices free to roam about as they please, though the atmosphere itself is enough to put an end to any inclination of mischief and sudden bouts of curiosity. 

They traipse through a couple of corridors. Go up some stairs and down a few more. The walk is not long, but it can’t be considered short either. 

“Didn’t we pass that bench a while ago? Are we just running in circles?”

Similar structures. Unchanging appearance. Doors that lead to nowhere.

Trying to navigate the maze that is the Temple of the God of Death feels no different from running on a wild goose chase.

“Beats me. After the first couple of times, everything in this damn place looks the same.”

“…that one had a chip on its back leg. Looked a bit like a leaf.”

“You want a commendation for playing spot the difference?”

“….”

Every brisk step is accompanied by the faint sound of bickering. Good-natured, of course, but bickering. White noise to fill the quiet and calm down any jumping heartbeat.

Whether it works or not can only be confirmed by the involved parties, though judging from the two’s increasingly fast pace, perhaps this time it is destined to end in failure.

“So little trust in your friend. If you’re feeling adventurous, you might want to try climbing the roof instead.”

“All I’m saying is that some of the scenery looks familiar, but that’s not a bad idea— ack! ”

A collision. 

It happens just as they are rounding another corner, sending Kim Rok Soo stumbling back. He doesn’t fall, though, caught by a firm grip around his forearm. Saved in the nick of time.

“Careful.”

An opulent white coat appears before his eyes.

Gold lines the dark blue collar with much fanfare, in a pattern that is meticulous while appearing low-key. It’s a tasteful touch, drawing eyes in a subtle manner while also preventing itself from being too outspoken, the way an antique store stands out amidst a bustling city.

A noble?

Kim Rok Soo blinks and raises his head.

He sees the tip of a chin, sharp and defined, and a smile that looks a bit too friendly to be offered to mere strangers. Blond hair rests on the back of that person’s neck, tamed and obedient. 

“Your Highness!”

“…!”

One panicked call is all it takes for everything to turn into white noise. 

Kim Rok Soo’s eyes tremble as if seeing a nightmare coming to life, not even daring to raise his head any further. Like a turtle withdrawing into its shell, the child, too, appears to embody the ridiculous saying of ‘if you can’t see them, they can’t see you’.

“Your Highness, are you alright?!”

“Settle down. I’m not weak enough that a mere child can harm me, no?”

“M-my apologies, Your Highness! It wasn’t my intention to offend you!”

“Haha! I’m not offended. You are one of my dear subjects, how could I not know your care and concern?”

The person holding Kim Rok Soo rebukes his companion with a gentle tone. There’s a subtle strength in his voice. An undeniable authority that makes one think of a teacher standing on a podium, stern but soft, with a hint of soothing in the unwavering note.

It’s a familiar voice, if somewhat distant.

The hand holding onto Kim Rok Soo’s forearm pulls him up, while another one dusts off his clothes. The lowered head so close to Kim Rok Soo’s shaking eyes reveals a bright, almost blinding blond hair, glittering like a solitary sun in the night. He’s close enough to see the long eyelashes hiding behind that hair, though the face itself remains obstructed from view.

It matters little, though.

From the way the man is dressed to the way he behaves reveals an extraordinary presence, one not easily replicated by just anyone. Even without having to look at the face, it should be clear what this person’s identity is.

The child’s stiff expression slackens, and the prior conversation repeats like a broken radio in his mind.

Your highness, your highness, your highness…

Now, even Kim Rok Soo’s whole body has gone stiff, akin to a baby goat about to faint in fright, short of just falling onto his back. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing now.

In the midst of his daze, he feels an approaching warmth. Something is pulling him up into the air, grip firm under his armpits for leverage, and Bob’s advice comes swinging like a hammer to his head.

"Listen to your hyung-nim, okay? If someone tries to do this, don't make it easier for them to kidnap you. Try wiggling a bit more—”

Your Highness. In Roan.

Visiting the temple. 

The Crown Prince.

“—maybe hit them where the sun doesn't shine so you can bolt."

Kim Rok Soo’s tiny leg swings before he can even think about it and hits its target with terrifying precision.

The arms holding him jolt, accompanied by a sharp, stifled gasp of pain.

A scandalised shriek rings unpleasantly in Kim Rok Soo’s ears as he drops to the ground. His body twists nimbly in the air and lands on two feet, and he pivots on his heels in preparation to bolt—but a hand catches the back of his collar and swiftly pulls him under the weight of an arm.

A cloak falls over his face, hiding him from view. 

“Apologies, Your Highness. My cousin is a shy one. He’s a bit like a rabbit, ain’t he? Cute as a button but quick to bolt around strangers.”

From above, comes a hearty laughter.

Kim Rok Soo can feel the weight of Cale’s arm on his head, pressing down. The young master is treating him as an impromptu arm rest while chuckling, his amusement fanned by the crowd’s shrill yelling, which only serves to infuriate the Crown Prince’s cronies even more. 

For a while, there’s only a chaotic, raucous mess in the air, each voice indiscernible from the next.

“My cousin’s nothing but a wee child. It’s understandable for children to feel unsafe around strangers, hmm?”

Calmly, as though Kim Rok Soo hasn’t slighted the Crown Prince of his kingdom in a moment of panic, the young master tuts.

“Look, he’s shaking, the poor thing.” 

“….”

At the feeling of fingers tapping against his forehead, Kim Rok Soo reluctantly falls into the role of a shy, scared kid, clinging to Cale’s leg even more persistently than barnacles. 

The child is small and has a fair complexion. Under the right lighting, that pallidness can come across as pasty and sickly. With Cale’s dark red attire to serve as contrast, Kim Rok Soo looks akin to a pitiful, tender sprout wilting under the shades of a bigger tree, drained from energy.

Some sharp-mouthed fellows trail off awkwardly.

Meanwhile, the ‘shy and scared’ kid bows his head.

His little hand nervously fiddles with the brash young master’s trousers, gripping tightly enough the chubby fingers turn red, and there’s even a barely imperceptible sniff tacked on at the end of his wobbly voice.

“I’m s-sorry, Your H-Highness… I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

A little face peeks out. Not enough to reveal the person fully, but just enough to let the crowd spot a wobbling chin and the big, fat tears squeezed out from dry, reddened eyes. 

“P-please forgive this lowly one’s rudeness.”

That little head gives a clumsy bow. His staggering movement looks dazed—a scared rabbit tremblingly hiding in its burrow scrounging up what little courage it has to offer an apology.

As Cale lays a hand on that head and tenderly combing his fingers through the messy hair, Kim Rok Soo doesn’t even have to fake his shudder.

“….”

The ruckus comes to a hesitant stop. 

Partially due to the shameless duo, but also because of an unexpected party’s input cutting in at the right time. 

“—that’s enough.”

Remarkably composed despite the breathless attribute to his voice, the Crown Prince’s soft murmur is enough to stop the rampaging public opinion from festering any further.

His sigh is like the tide that laps against one’s ankles at the beach; refreshing and clear, washing away the tension that has fallen over the crowd. It brings a moment of clarity to the chaos. 

“Mister Cale is right; the child has apologised. Part of the fault also lies with me.”

That sly Crown Prince begins to put his glib tongue to work.

Kim Rok Soo can picture his weak and pitiful face even without looking, seemingly wilted from self-reproach, with an enduring smile that demands sympathy and understanding.

“If I hadn’t manhandled him, he wouldn’t be so spooked. I shouldn’t have acted so rashly in the first place.”

Gently, patiently, and generously—

“Look, even crying, the child is behaving admirably. It’s enough that he knows his mistakes, no?”

—shepherding his herd the way they ought to go. 

“Scolding must also be done appropriately. The child knows he’s wrong. Yelling at him more will only make him resent the lesson rather than respecting it.”

Logical reasoning and an ample amount of firmness to water down the tender display. Too much will be cold-hearted, while too little will be deemed as weak and emotional. A balance of both will prevent others from looking down on you and keep them soft-hearted enough to listen. 

The first prince, who loves his kingdom but can also use his people as a pawn, sighs weakly. A trace of disappointment lingers in the soft exhale. 

The bustling crowd stills. Their discordant orchestra is put to a stop by the conductor, who signals for a change in tune. The brief pause gives a glimpse to their bewilderment—perhaps even dissatisfaction—but of course, good sheep should follow their humble shepherd, just as an orchestra obeys their conductor. 

A tittering laugh breaks out amongst the crowd.

One starts, another follows, and soon, the jolly nobles begin singing the same hymn, no longer bleating over one another.

“The child’s behaviour was rude, but isn’t it good for children to be wary of strangers? Lord knows how naughty my little Louisa is. She’d go running off with anyone if only they’d offer her a candy or two! Goodness!” 

“He’s still at the age to make mistakes. Let children be children while they can. Just guide them more carefully in the future.”

“Indeed, His Highness is both wise and magnanimous!”

All sorts of sympathetic voices pour in.

They laugh at just the right moment and choose the right words to appeal to the Crown Prince, heaping praise upon the two parties involved.

Tacitly, they refrain from mentioning what happened outright. More for the Crown Prince’s dignity than anything else. But, perhaps, there’s a fair amount of pity involved there too for the child clinging to Cale’s legs, with only his messy tufts of hair visible through the gap in the young master’s cloak.

He’s hidden well, the child that has become the star of the show tonight. Shielded behind a cloak as dark red as the wine the firstborn of Henituse county is so fond of. 

A gloved hand lands on the child’s quivering head.

Looking up, they are met with a sneering Cale Henituse, his narrowed gaze cold enough to burn.

“Haha! Many thanks for His Highness’ mercy!”

The young master maintains a polite tone, but his stance speaks of a callous disregard to etiquette. He stands with the attitude of an entertained spectator, slouched and sloppy, with a bit of indulgence in the way he looks at them through slightly closed eyelids.

“It’s an honour for us to meet you, Your Highness, but alas, we’re in a bit of a hurry right now. We must take our leave soon.”

There’s a hint of irritation in his voice and his way of speaking brooks no argument. 

Perhaps the show is much too predictable, or perhaps it’s simply not to the young master’s taste.

Either way, Cale seems determined to cut his losses short with their dissatisfying performance. All he gives is a heavy sigh and a shallow bow, which Kim Rok Soo copies. 

“I wish you a pleasant visit, Your Highness! May the sun of our kingdom continue to shine even through the darkest night.”

“…we wish you a pleasant visit, Your Highness.”

Two voices, one cheerful and one timid. They form a unique harmony when put together. 

The conductor pauses, perhaps to survey these two disobedient sheep who intend to stray from the herd. His gaze falls on the tiny lamb hiding behind his ‘cousin’. A gloved hand falls on the lamb’s head, rubbing softly, and the conductor retracts his gaze.

“What a shame,” he laments. “I suppose this is where we part ways, then.”

“Do forgive our rudeness, Your Highness.”

“Ahaha! Why are you apologising, Mister Cale? It’s important to not be tardy with one’s appointment. Don’t mind this prince! Go ahead and attend to your business.” 

“Many thanks, Your Highness!”

“You thank me too much, Mister Cale.”

After a volley of pleasantries, the two black sheep separate from the herd. They do not look back. There’s no hesitation in their steps. No lack of reluctance. 

The shepherd and conductor—the Crown Prince of the Roan Kingdom—stares at their receding figures, until it is lost among the glistening, marbled corridors. 

Only then does he withdraw his gaze.

There’s reluctance in that action, but even that little, insignificant emotion is pocketed away, to be disseminated once more amongst like-minded company and friendly faces.

Right now, there’s a herd to lead, and a symphony to perform.

“Well, then. Shall we, ladies and gentlemen?”

Maintaining a polite smile, the Crown Prince trudges on.

On a small wooden table is a half-melted candle.

Wax gathers and solidifies by its feet, one drop upon another. And another.

And another—

The scent of citrus wafts from its charred wick, traipsing about in the small room. It fills every corner with memories of a blooming orchard, filled with ripe oranges waiting to be plucked.

The child in those discarded memories has long grown up, however.

That ratty, hole-ridden shirt no longer fits him, and neither does the wicker basket seem as large as it was all those years ago. They’re thrown somewhere in the room. Underneath the countless other curios he’d gathered over the years, tucked out of sight but still offering their company even now, lest he forgets his homeland entirely.

Ah, but here is his home, isn’t it?

Here are his brothers and sisters and teachers.

The cold, lonesome Temple of the God of Death.

“…he’ll like it here, won’t he?” 

His musing echoes in the room. 

“We’ve got lots of fun things. Playmates, pets, and what else, um…”

There’s just too many to count. Too many to be put into proper words.

After all, once the sun sets, there’s no shortage of exciting thrill to be had in the temple. The kind every adventurous children and adolescents these days seek.

He was once a child too, after all. A boy who’d sneaked out of the rundown shelter of the orphanage often, drawn in by stories of so-called abandoned bandit lairs and myths of a hero’s tomb. The leader of a bunch of other kids looking for a home they can call their own, away from the rule-abiding adults and those stuck-up snobs looking for charity cases.

Heart-pounding and gut-wrenching thrills… What more can a young boy ask for?

“We’re fit to take in another kid. Why not him? Why should we let him go with those outsiders?”

Clad in white robe, the man’s emerald eyes are like a pair of headlights fixed on an unchanging face—bright and clear, but unmoving. 

As he stares into the candle, downturned lips slightly pursed, he hears a faint laughter coming from behind.

“A growing boy needs more than playmates and fun to grow up proper. What can this modest temple offer compared to the world outside?”

Creaking, rattling, clattering—the sound of wheels turning echoes in the room.

From the open door behind the man comes a smiling, wrinkled face, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by a pair of thin limbs.

Her tightly shut eyes curve gently, the way people who like to smile would show their emotions with every muscle on their face, expressing joy without having to do much of anything.

“There’ll be plenty of time later to come back, but childhood comes just once. It’s better to teach the young’uns how to take a leap before age catches up with them. Otherwise, they’ll turn out like this old woman. Ho ho.”

Her voice, brittle as a twig, is filled with good-natured humour. Her palm roughly pats the withered, bony knee swaddled by her white robe, laughing at a memory only she knows. 

Behind the wheelchair, the teenage boy accompanying her frowns. He doesn’t say anything though, merely standing there with a pair of sharp, narrowed eyes. 

“…is that so?”

Diego’s finger taps against the table. 

Tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap.

His nail clacks against wood. A repetitive beat lingers in the peaceful quiet.

Outside the window, perched on the sill, a flock of doves turn their heads to peer inside the room, bead-like eyes hardly blinking as a weak wind brushes against their soft, slick feathers.

Diego can see his own reflection there, somber and gloomy, with his head lowered and expression made vague by the candle’s glow.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Did Cage tell you anything else, Sister Pauline?”

His gaze shifts. From the doves to the letter sitting on the table and, finally, to the warning scrawled at the bottom.

Close your eyes and pretend. Don’t bother him and don’t keep him in the temple either.

—Cage.

“Nothing much. Just another rant about how she’s going to excommunicate herself if we don’t listen.” The old woman sighs. “Honestly, that kid. I don’t know what to do with her anymore.”

“Does our lord favour rebellious children?”

For a moment, Diego’s expression twists into something apprehensive.

“Cage can hear our lord’s voice and that kid…” His words drift off, thoughtful. “He’s also someone our lord favoured, isn’t he?”

Diego remembers him vividly. 

Those thin, shaking limbs and the tears hanging on his eyelashes, held back by sheer willpower alone.

He’s a stubborn one, Diego can tell. Just as Diego can tell there’s something more to him than just a kid their lord has taken a liking to. Because unlike all the other children their temple has taken in over the years…

“…he reeks of death.”

Like rot and decay. Like withered vegetation under layers of frost.

It’s a biting chill that stung Diego’s nose and lungs. Unpleasant to smell and unpleasant to be near.

Those outsiders, too…

Can they take care of the kid if even a priest of the God of Death found it hard to bear?

Diego’s attention turns to the doves. Those obedient puppets sitting in a row, like a display on the shelf of some shady trinket shop located in the downtown area, where both a fortune teller’s crystal ball and old newspapers can be found in the same section.

Swift as lightning, his hand clamps around one of their slender, feathered necks. 

The bird lies motionless in his grip. It does not attempt to struggle, nor does it appear to want to struggle. There’s no warmth to be found in its cold body.

Pressing down a bit, Diego finds its texture somewhat similar to wet clay—deforming easily at the push of a finger.

“He smells like these things.”

Diego brings it closer to his face for a sniff.

There it is, the stench of rot and mould under a pine, woody scent.

Both of them are vaguely different, though. The difference between autumn and winter, with a noticeable lack of frost in this one.

Diego sets the bird down on the table. It hops back on its feet and huddles near the candle, even though Diego knows it has no need for warmth. Perhaps a kind of leftover instinct taking the wheel.

“Hey, old man, how do these things work again?”

Diego’s head swivels to the door.

He fails to find the one he’s looking for, however. Only the mocking sneer of the teenager behind the wheelchair.

The boy’s mouth parts, moving like he’s laughing, wide open with his throat jumping occasionally, but there’s only the clacking of teeth to be heard. Not even a peep of actual laughter. 

Ah, the kind of malicious humour prevalent in today’s teenage population never fails to astound Diego. He shifts his weight on one foot and waits until the soundless jeering subsides.

When it does, there’s not even a scowl left on the boy’s face. Just a roll of the eyes, bored from the lack of reaction.

Diego plasters on a wide, as pleasant a smile as he can, and young Matthew’s face sours instantly. The teen turns and waves his hand, calling someone over from down the corridor.

After that, comes a set of belated thumps.

An old man with a thick beard and long, greying hair appears in the doorway. A pair of clear, dark grey eyes squint with displeasure, scrutinising the mess cluttered around the room, and lands on the dove by the candle.

The unmoving bird perks up.

It jolts, a jittery movement that is a cross between comical and stilted, before taking flight. Landing on the old man’s shoulder, it gives a low coo before going quiet again. A puppet with its strings loosened. 

Diego gestures fervently with his hands, motioning this way and that as his mouth exaggerates every word slipping past his lips.

“Old man, do your puppets work long-range? Why don’t we send one to the kid for company? Children like pets, don’t they?”

A torrent of questions is unleashed to the unsuspecting priest. 

The old man pauses. Taken aback, perhaps. A tick forms in his jaw, which grows more severe as Diego continues to rattle on and on, his gestures an erratic spazz hardly anyone can even see.

Finally, after another half a second, the old man refuses to put up with it any longer.

“…Diego.” 

A whispered warning.

The old man’s voice is raspy and weirdly pitched, as though he’s speaking through a pinched throat. None of the three gathered appears bothered by this, however. Except for Diego, whose shoulders droop for an entirely different reason.

“Fine, fine. You ain’t gonna tell anyone anything about your precious puppets unless they take over your position. I get it.”

A good try. Unfortunately, it is one destined to end in failure.

Diego’s sigh is heavy enough to rattle his chest.

“Alright, we won’t snatch the kid. Let him be a free-roaming cub or whatever.”

Though appearing disappointed, Diego’s hands have never stopped moving. Still, those words admitting defeat taste sour on his tongue. 

There’s not much he can do in a three-against-one, however.

What a shame.

Diego turns to the candle, staring into its flickering flame. The sight of his stiff, straight back is filled with a sense of stubbornness that makes Sister Pauline laugh.

“Instead of fussing over the kid, you should think about what to do next with those vassals of Duchess Gyerre.”

Pauline claps her hands. 

Slowly, bit by bit, the tenderness in her expression melts away. Even the pink flush on her cheeks disappear. There’s only the shadows cast by her long eyelashes now scratched across them, sinister and eerie, and her grin reveals a row of uneven teeth. 

“They’re rotting again. With the way things are going, those guys won’t even last a week. Do something about that first, will you?”

“…ah? Again?”

Diego scratches his cheek.

His eyeballs turn in its sockets, recalling the people stumbling into the temple a couple of weeks ago, unsteady on their feet like drunkards woken up by an unpleasant splash of water, faces gaunt and horrendously sunken. The touch of death lingers around their neck, as cold and choking as the press of a blade on the guillotine.

Right. Those guys.

How miserable they are. So close to death and yet so far—stuck in a body that has long lost the breath of life, unable to pass on and unable to stay. They’re one grasp away from reaching that glorious eternal slumber, shackled only by the lord’s penance.

A trace of pity flashes across Diego’s face.

“I’ll schedule a healing priest to go in tomorrow. Has anyone figured out who cursed them?”

“Most likely a wandering priest of the God of Death.” Sister Pauline shakes her head. “We found no curse residue on our brothers and sisters in Roan.”

Pity.

It would be nice to have a taste of that curse.

Diego wallows in yet another missed opportunity. 

As though reading his mind word by word, the old woman in the wheelchair smiles. She clasps her hands together as if in a prayer.

“No need to look so glum, boy. Our lord’s mercy has once again fallen upon Roan. ‘Tis a time to rejoice.”

Moonlight spills into the room, embracing the shivering glow of the candle. Blue on orange. Like waves crashing upon golden grains of sand.

The four people gathered inside are clad in white, appearing dazzlingly pure. From head to toe, their bodies exude an inviolable air, as though untouched by worldly sufferings. 

“The Crown Prince has requested our church’s presence in the next nobles’ meeting.”

The old woman lays a wrinkled hand on her cheek. Her face gains an excited, almost feverish flush. “It’s regarding the Stan family’s second son’s… accident .”

Diego perks right up.

“You’re talking about the ghost story? Do we know who’s behind that one?”

“We don’t, but…”

Those shut eyelids twitch and tremble and, finally, open.

Inside are two empty sockets with a thin, fleshy membrane in the place of an eye, pale pink with bulging veins.

Sister Pauline’s smile is ever so gentle.

“There was a trace of our lord’s presence left in the villa.” Her curly hair bobs along to her nod. “The dispatched priests confirmed it.”

“Then…!”

“Yes. We shall pay the nobles a visit soon.”

Joy blooms on Diego’s face like a burst of fireworks. He looks elated. Drunk in the atmosphere.

Sister Pauline indulges him with a shake of her head. Behind her, young Matthew is carefully motioning something to the quiet old man, his face flushed with the same excitement.

The air of festivity present outside has finally infected the cold temple.

It injects their veins with a rush of fanatical passion, itching for tomorrow to come and replace today.

But, ah, there is still work to be done, isn’t there?

The day hasn’t truly ended yet.

The dove perched on the old man’s shoulder flaps its wings and goes out the window. It weaves a path through the square towers and arched pillars, until it lays its sight on the courtyard located to the left of the temple’s gate. 

Carriages and wagons are parked here, with coachmen leaning against their vehicles and chatting to one another. The air is ripe with idle talks and the latest gossip. Some reek of ale. Others of beer. A rare few smelled like wine.

The dove flaps its wings some more. It lands on an eave, head tilted down, and finally falls still again.

A second passes. 

Two seconds.

A cat’s meow reaches its ears and something orange leaps out from underneath the eave, followed by two cloaked figures.

The stars of tonight’s show—an oblivious black sheep and its trotting little lamb—finally make their appearance.

The scene of a reunion is at hand.

Their companions stand not far, huddled around an old carriage, ears twitching as though the wind itself is bringing its own whispers of gossip. A pack of wolves in sheep’s clothing almost snapping at their own tails. The love for their lost little lamb shines through the cage of their gritted teeth.

Just a bit more.

A little bit more…

As soon as the two parties reunite, won't that be the perfect, emotional curtain call...!

“….”

Red, indulgent as a glass of wine, flashes in the dove’s vision. 

The black sheep pushing the little lamb forward tilts his head. His blood red hair falls scattered on a smooth forehead, revealing an eye the colour of autumn leaves. 

Cale Henituse doesn’t even bother raising his head.

Blue and orange—the moonlight and the torches—tangle with one another over the young master’s wine coloured cloak, giving a languid atmosphere to the vibrant red Cale adorns himself with. It shimmers, almost like the surface of a lake, with blood staining its crystal clear water.

An elusive dream hiding a burgeoning nightmare.

Its dying farewell is as mesmerising as aurora borealis in the northern skies, barely allowing the puppet to spy the young master’s moving lips.

“—get lost.”

The puppet’s world fades into darkness.

Up in the tower, the old man’s eyes flicker, and he lowers his head.

Miles away, upon an endless stretch of sand where new mounds appear with the turning of the sun, a sandaled foot sinks into yet another blood red dune. 

An arid heat that threatens to scald the skin rises from below. It comes from the sky too. Like invisible, intangible raindrops, dripping onto their skin, eventually falling down in the form of a bead of sweat and sinking into the sand.

The sound of ragged breathing fills the air.

Shielded by only a flimsy, worn fabric, the figure leading the way nearly stumbles. His companions behind him reach out just in time, each holding onto an arm. They, too, are nearly out of breath, sweat running rivulets down their faces.

“….”

No one speaks.

A grim atmosphere settles among the group.

That is, until the one leading the way gives his order.

“…continue.”

It’s a sound that is squeezed out through gritted teeth.

The bowed head rises and a face littered with tattoos comes into view. White pupils, as clean as the first snow, seem to gaze at the procession of about fifty strong following his fading footsteps in the sand. 

“Nature will not lead us astray.”

Months of running. Months of wandering. Months of being hunted down like prey.

After being driven almost to the brink of despair, a ray of hope finally pierces through the gloom, pointing towards one of the forbidden regions.

Nature has not abandoned them.

It has merely been lying in wait for an opportunity.

The old man gnashes his teeth. His expression twists into a savage snarl. His body, built like a small mountain, bulges under his white shirt. 

“We will bring that bastard organisation down on its knees.”

A promise born from the mangled corpses of their kin.

The old Tiger raises his head and roars it into the sky.

The cawing of crows answers him, spinning overhead, a sentient cloud of black offering what little solace they can to the wounded beasts staggering below.

Gradually, the tired faces of the old tiger’s kin change into one of bloodlust, clamouring for an outlet. 

Their expedition across the blood red desert has to continue. The past lies in tatters behind them, but there is still a future they must protect.

“March on, Tigers!”

The old man’s roar is like the rustling of leaves in a forest. A persistent, windblown tree in the high mountain. He leads the way with a staff in hand, tracking a long trail across the sand.

One day, the Tigers will tear their enemies apart with claws and fangs. They will quench their grudge with the same blood and flesh that took away their young.

One day…

“….”

With each step heavier than the last, the Tigers march across the desert.

Chapter Text

Kim Rok Soo can’t decide which he hates more; Cale’s sneeringly punchable mug of a face or the gleam in his eyes as he spots Kim Rok Soo’s foot shifting a centimetre back, short of tripping on air right as they cross the yard and come face to face with a group of undoubtedly irate minders.

The young master’s a shark smelling blood in the water, eager for a bite but not voracious enough to finish the meal. Attention fixated with an unholy, sugar-high glee that tells of nothing but trouble. 

There's a tingle of doom knocking against the paper thin wall separating Kim Rok Soo and his recently docile occupant, then. A well-intentioned warning, perhaps.

Such a shame that Misha’s already a scant inch away and a late warning is really as useless as no warning.

“You little rascal!”

A fist comes flying. It lands with a barely audible thump on a head of soft, silky black hair. 

Ire deepens the grooves and dents marring Misha’s face. With her lips pulled into a scowl, she’s the spitting image of Kim Min Ah at her worst, all fiery temper that threatens to not leave behind even the ashes. 

“You’re trying to put me in an early grave!” She fumes. “Dragon-nims have mercy, I was this close to having a heart attack!”

Exhaustion drags down the sharp furrow of her brows. Unlike Kim Min Ah, her anger does not scorch so much as it simmers. A warm cup of tea pressed against the back of one’s hand instead of the prickling heat of a bonfire sitting too close for comfort.

There's no immediate pain. Only a constant, growing pinprick steadily progressing from the relatively comfortable starting point. It’s quite the effective way of making someone squirm with self-inflicted guilt.

Still. Kim Rok Soo made his bed. He gets to lie in it now.

Thus, the child squares his shoulders and admits his faults willingly, adopting a posture of docility. Even the mess of hair on his head lies flat and tamed. 

“Sorry.” He stares straight ahead, hands clasped together. Cale’s undivided attention is a knife stabbing him in the back, making the words come out stiff around his frozen tongue. “It was reckless of me to go running off like that. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Next time?” Misha cuts in, eyes narrowed into slits. “There's a next time, I see.”

“....”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, little man?”

The old Dark Elf crosses her arms and taps a foot impatiently against the ground. Her gaze, dim and unclear, drifts down to a sleeve stained black, breath almost hitching at the sight of it.

What else can Kim Rok Soo do but force out another contrived apology? 

“Sorry,” he says again, and attempts to put more sincerity into the word. 

“You better be,” Misha warns. “Don’t think I’m above tying you to Gilbert’s back the next time we go out. I’m sure Bob can testify to that.”

The snippet Misha lets slip has Kim Rok Soo's ears perking, though there's no change to his outward appearance. The child's head bobs up and down. The very picture of innocence. He even has the conscience to look as chastised as he should, stiff though his facial muscles may be.

In fact, the scolding is neither unpredictable nor surprising. Kim Rok Soo has already gone through much of the same song and dance the last time he went to snatch a baby Dragon.

And yet, there's a misstep somewhere. A tune that diverts from the rhythm Kim Rok Soo thought he’d bumblingly learned the order of.

The faces staring back at him are a desolate wasteland stirring up dust storms in the distance, hiding any discernable emotion from view. There’s something in the way they eye Kim Rok Soo that has the hairs on the back of his neck rise uncontrollably. A low air pressure that prowls about with its hackles raised. 

Concern, Kim Rok Soo can understand. Disappointment is an old friend Kim Rok Soo knows he’ll never part from. But what is that hiding there, underlying that easy to understand anger?

Before Kim Rok Soo can formulate an answer, he hears a voice drifting above the chilly night breeze, effectively putting his thoughts to a halt.

“Forgive me if I've been remiss, but I don't believe I’ve been acquainted with this gentleman yet?”

It’s spoken pleasantly enough to be mistaken for idle talk. Tone just the right side of inquisitive.

The bespectacled Dark Elf, who has been otherwise quiet until now, takes a half step forward, positioned close enough Kim Rok Soo can be shielded under an arm with one pull. 

The way he talks is reminiscent of a feather duster. In the way that the airy, light remark sweeps forward unpleasant bits and pieces previously hidden where the eyes can't see.

“Our Rok Soo rarely mentioned a thing about friends, you see.” Shawn forms his words around a perfectly polite smile, easy-to-read expression obscured under the glare of the street lamps. “It was quite the surprise to see him returning with someone in tow.”

And then, with a respectful dip of the head:

“I wonder if this gentleman would tell us what business he has with our ward? I’m aware our Rok Soo is a precocious kid, but I believe children should still look for a more… age-suitable playmate.”

A hand over the heart. An expression of mild confusion. And yet, there is a knife in the drawn-out tail of that remark. One that cuts through the—albeit hectic—peace and leaves the atmosphere in tattered pieces on the floor.

A purposeful silence descends, heavy with judgement. The spotlight falls onto the addressee who has yet to take his leave, watching everything with naked interest, blood red hair pliantly scattered above high cheekbones. 

Said ‘gentleman’ quirks a brow as four pairs of eyes turn to him. He’s standing a few steps away, dressed in burgundy and black with the hint of an ostentatious motif peeking out beneath his cloak. Even staying still, his presence commands attention, daring any passing eye to not look away. 

Under their none-too-amiable gazes, he offers a greeting, the way one would a neighbour on a morning jog, “Well met. I was not expecting this entourage either, but I suppose life’s full of surprises.”

Cale’s smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. Yet, the glimmer of mirth there is not pretense. 

“Much less here, of all places.”

“…pardon?”

Shawn’s expression shutters.

“Ah, was this gentleman expecting someone else?”  

“Eh… hard to say. Let's put it this way, I was expecting anyone else but you lot.”

Another tingle of doom raps at the intangible wall in Kim Rok Soo’s head, sharp and rapid.

Cale’s eyes curved. 

“It’s not everyday I see one of you walking so comfortably out in the open. What's with the change of heart?”

“...ho.”

In the wake of that cheery inquiry, the atmosphere may very well be decimated into atoms, any attempt at further reconciliation put six feet under with nary a chance of resurrection.

Like a well-oiled machine, the Dark Elves move to position, slipping to the rear and back. They numbered few. Not quite the lineup to form a wall blocking the young master’s way, but enough to offer a knife to the neck in a split second decision.

Said young master laughs. 

“No need to look so glum. I’m here for business.” Cale spreads his hands helplessly. “Not your business, mind you. It’s not like I want to be here either, but you don’t exactly get a say when the head honcho’s talking.”

“You’re with the God of Death,” Shawn concludes easily. None of the Dark Elves move even at Cale’s assurance. “The ‘oldest’?”

“…Tsk. That bastard’s going around spreading nonsense.” Cale reacts with an explosive sigh, arms crossed in front of his chest. “But yes, if you must, I’m the one that bastard sent on an errand.”

Shawn eyes the young master from head to toe. A frown lingers at the corner of his lips, never truly forming. 

There’s the faint beat of wings in Kim Rok Soo’s ears then. A weight carefully planted on his back. Kim Rok Soo moves carefully so as not to jostle his invisible passenger, stepping between Cale and Shawn. 

“He’s one of us,” Kim Rok Soo inserts, ignoring the way Cale’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead. “It’s okay, ahjussi. He’s safe.”

“...really.” Misha snorts through her nose while Shawn throws an assessing glance Kim Rok Soo's way. “I find that hard to believe.”

To the side, Gilbert’s smile is all sunshine and rainbows, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. A palm is tucked halfway behind his body, covered by a cascading sleeve. No one present misses the glint of a patterned hilt underneath.

As if the situation hasn't already taken a hard left turn with a pending crash on the horizon, the baby Dragon chooses that time to offer his input;

- …human.

- That guy has a lot of sparkly stuff.

There's a manic sort of calm in that childish voice.

- He's a bit strong, but it's okay.

- I’ll smack him on the back of the head. It’ll take, mm, maybe three or four hits! 

- Let's ask the giant Dark Elf to pull him to a corner first! 

“….”

Regrets, Kim Rok Soo has them.

Not the least of which is why, exactly, he didn't part ways from Cale Henituse at the earliest convenience.

“Calm down.” Kim Rok Soo tries going for common sense and addresses both sides with a stern set of lips. “We have eyes on us. Two from the gate and three behind the pillar there.”

He throws a subtle glance to where the shadows are particularly deep, hiding the rippling hem of a robe from view. The pressure in the air abates somewhat at the reminder. Not by much, but at least there’s room to breathe more easily.

With a patience he didn't know he had, Kim Rok Soo motions to the carriage with a tiny hand. “Let's head back and discuss things proper,” he proposes.

It's a good attempt at negotiating peace, all things considered. A-tried-and true method to make the Dark Elves cave, wavering in indecision with every calculated shift in expression. It is merely Kim Rok Soo's misfortune that he hasn't accounted much for Cale’s daring—and his propensity to let the world burn rather than watching from the sideline.

The instant, skyrocketing tension as soon as Cale takes an abrupt step back has Kim Rok Soo's headache tripling in intensity.

“Sorry. No can do. I have better things to do than playing house with a pipsqueak.” The young master grins, showing off a neat row of teeth. He’s terribly adept at ignoring the way Gilbert’s hand flicks upwards, almost level to his chest. “Got to call it quits early, kid.”

“…and where are you going?” Misha’s palms have turned into fists, veins bulging along her wrists. “You’re not running to report to the clergy, are you?”

“Hey, I’m not exactly bosom buddies with that bastard’s minions. You’ll find me elsewhere but here.” The combed fringe of Cale’s hair flitters about in mock dismay. “Can’t let you in on my exact itinerary, however, so I guess you’ll have to comfort yourself with just that.”

Misha’s knuckles crack with an audible sound. The heat around her swells, ballooning into the possible threat of an oncoming explosion. 

…Right. 

This is no longer a one step forward, two steps back kind of situation. This is beating a carcass and expecting it to dance. Or lighting a match in a room full of explosives and stubbornly thinking one will come out of it unscathed.

Foolish, really. 

Seeing as there's no longer a need to maintain any superficial peace, Kim Rok Soo decides that enough is enough.

“Alright, alright, just go!” The child extends both hands and uses all his might to push the young master’s legs, a scowl etched onto his fair face. “Stop picking fights and go already!”

“Taking sides, youngest? Now that's hardly fair.”

Cale’s expression is schooled into sorrow. 

“Who’s the one picking a fight here? I’m not the one holding a weapon.”

The young master is unbudging where he stands. A steel rod daring lightning to strike down. 

Kim Rok Soo does not take the provocation lightly. He leans in, pitching his voice low, lips curling the way Bob does whenever he flips through the morning newspaper. 

“You’re done sounding them out, so don’t make trouble.” 

A tranquil ocean rests beneath the child's feathery eyelashes. There is no sign of it rioting but unfortunate weather hardly comes with a warning.

Cale leers even closer, eyes aglow with intent. With a blade pressing against his back and the danger of a squall in front, his smile has grown teeth; “And what if I do?” 

“…you won’t.”

“Oh?” A slow blink. “So certain, are you?”

“Your deal hinges on me. The God of Death wouldn’t send you here to be a nuisance.”

“Just because of that? You trust that bastard that much?”

Cale’s almost sneering, but Kim Rok Soo's lack of retort appears to take him off guard.

Surprise bleeds into the young master's eyes. A blink-and-gone change that allows a glimpse into what lurks beneath that unchanging facade of temerity. At least, for however brief it lasts.

Kim Rok Soo trails a finger down to tap once, twice against the square shaped bulge of a swaying satchel. A memory soaked in sepia colour pushes itself to the forefront of his mind, starved for attention—a page as white as the first snow and crude drawings jumbling into nonsense.

“You’re safe,” Kim Rok Soo states without a ripple in his eyes. “The God of Death made sure of it.”

In spite of sentimentality and fondness. Regardless of any perceived human emotions…

Cale said it best.

Divinity is the inherent opposite of mortality. The common sense of a human will never fully translate into that of a god.

Above all else, the God of Death is a god who deals with vows and contracts.

(—Nobles come to finalise business agreements or marriage arrangements all the time, and the common folk tend to settle their debts and grievances there. 

In short, all kinds of messy things happen in that temple on a daily basis.)

“Your deal’s on the line. You won't throw away such a bargain for a bit of fun.” Kim Rok Soo’s smile is as mild as milk. “You’re a clever guy, aren't you, young master?”

The book didn't corroborate much on the Church of the God of Death. What few passages did, however, is more than enough to make Kim Rok Soo certain of this—A god with the ability to tie binding vows with life as the price can never be a simple dolt. Much less a weak hearted one.

A smiling buffoon though the God of Death appears to be, the most cunning merchant is never one who shows his horns. And a smart one will not allow a hostile environment between patrons.

The resulting pause is more damning than the drawn out sigh Cale lets loose after.

It's a forlorn thing. A bit like he’s just lost the chance to savour the last piece of cake before it was pried away from his fingers.

“…tsk, tsk. What a clever little ghost.”

The young master’s drooping eyebrows conceals the emotion swimming in his eyes, though it does not manage to hide the pleased curl of his lips. 

“Look, he can even show his teeth now. Children grow up fast, don't they?” 

“You're still talking nonsense? Get going already.”

“My, my. No need to get snappy. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

The dubious look that earns—from more than one pair of eyes—has Cale snorting out a laugh.

“If I had it my way, I wouldn't stay this long either. We… ah, no, I just need to make sure the previous lesson sticks.” An inexplicable darkness swims in his gaze. Deep, all-consuming. Destructive. “Good to see that it does. Keep it up, pipsqueak. Having a backbone matters more than one might think.”

Cale pushes away the tip of the blade so close to his ribs with a shake of the head. His smile is softer now. A little less like a shark snapping its jaws in front of your face.

The young master's hand rises, stopping just an inch before they can truly make contact with Kim Rok Soo's face. There's a breath in which Kim Rok Soo finds himself wondering what’s to come next—a consoling, near-mocking pat or something else. Something harsher—but… none.

Cale’s hand returns to his side. His head’s tilting with the air of someone physically here but mentally distant.

“This is it, then. Pity.” It's said like an afterthought. “Here's to hoping we’ll meet another day.”

“…I wouldn't count on it.” 

“Oh, youngest. You'll learn not to tempt fate. Another lesson in due time, I suppose.”

The crook of Cale’s curved eyes holds a glimmer of mirth. He’s stepping away before any of them can react, grin lazy yet effortlessly charming. 

“Don't miss us too much, little ghost,” the young master offers in lieu of goodbye, voice but a whisper brushing past Kim Rok Soo’s ears, “And don't die too soon.”

Above, the darkening sky ushers the fun-loving citizens of Huiss back to the comfort of home. Few persists in the cold, huddling close beneath awnings, eyes irresistibly drawn to the gate.

Amidst the throng of people eager for a glimpse of the prince, the young master is a lone figure trudging in the dark. A gloomy silhouette cutting through the warm picture in a dash of burgundy that bleeds almost like blood. There, and then gone in a flash. Leaving naught but the lingering scent of wine in the wake of his departure.

The curtain falls on this farce of a stage, at long last. 

Relief settles in, bone-deep, to replace the unnamed agitation drumming a discordant rhythm inside Kim Rok Soo’s chest. He takes a moment to revel in it. Breathes in and lets the cold air freeze his lungs, washing away any trace of sweet, headache-inducing stench reminiscent of a fiery red hair.

When he opens his eyes, all that lies before him is a yard of concrete and marble. Of pillars staked through the ground and euclidean spires beckoning travellers from afar. Of order and sanctity and little to do with the dreadful notion of death.

Peace dwells in this place, akin to one preceding the arrival of a storm. 

“….”

Kim Rok Soo breathes in, and out.

In, and out.

“…let’s go back.”

Sparing those towers and the cloisters fencing him in one last, sidelong glance, Kim Rok Soo takes Shawn’s offered hand and turns with a flourish.

The awaiting carriage takes off without a hint of reluctance. Its wheels thud and creak as they pass through the temple’s arched gate unimpeded, not unlike notes forming a sweet melody to fill the quiet; mechanical rattlings and pipes clanking, wooden boards knocking—a band of inhuman sound performing the illusion of life.

Kim Rok Soo rests his head against a palm, elbow propped against the window. He stares, unseeing, past the crooked wooden frame, gaze plunging straight into a chaotic landscape of shapes and colours.

Outside, the scenery on the road passes by in a blur. At the edge of it, peeking behind dots of warm gold and yellow, is a dash of white—pale grey now—amidst the bleak night sky.

Beyond the window, the temple of the God of Death watches their departure in stoic silence.

In the haze, Kim Rok Soo recalls the forgotten, innocuous weight sitting inside his pocket. He pulls it out and holds it loosely between his fingers. The red colour has been worn down by time, leaving a blush of peach pink upon greyish white, coarse to the touch and giving way easily under the press of a finger. 

Cale’s matchbox, now in the care of another, unwilling owner. 

Perhaps it’s an illusion formed by such a gloomy end to the day, or just the consequence of a mind pushed to the brink of exhaustion, but a sudden, inexplicable notion strikes Kim Rok Soo. A faint impression growing stronger by the second. 

Kim Rok Soo’s grip tightens. Fingers pressing hard enough faint indents are formed beneath callused pads. 

Looking at that temple too, Kim Rok Soo feels…

‘…it feels like looking at a cardboard tower.’

A cardboard tower on the verge of collapsing. Flimsy with neither support nor reason.

How odd, Kim Rok Soo thinks, to feel this way when those interlocked rectangles are the embodiment of the word ‘sturdy’. Built to last through the ages and stand strong against the currents of time, far from the threat of any sudden collapse. 

Just foolish nonsense, the child supposes. Something the mind comes up with to entertain itself. The kind of stray thought one gets stuck with in the shower or at the ungodly hour of two in the morning. He retracts his gaze and wills it away.

As the ride goes on, however, Kim Rok Soo can’t help but let his mind wander. Let it take the previous tangled, nonsensical thread of thought and weave it into a morbid tapestry. Into the decidedly cruel curiosity that overcomes Kim Rok Soo with such strong force he nearly chokes on it; feels it overtaking him like a puppet feeling a tug at its strings.

What a spectacle it must be when such transient grandeur meets its end, a voice much like his own whispers in reverence. When spires topple and marble crumbles, leaving only a trace of itself in the minds of those who once walked within its halls.

When it falls, will it fall alone, or will it bring everything down with it?

[….]

Radio static drowns out Kim Rok Soo’s restless thoughts. 

A speck of dust, carried by a breeze slipping through the gap between plaster walls and wooden beams, drifts across Kim Rok Soo’s bleary vision. 

The child tracks its trajectory with an absent mind. He’s sitting cross-legged, tiny face propped up by equally tiny hands. Beside him, seated on a throne of cushions, the baby Dragon eyes the book lying on the floor and reaches out to cautiously poke it with a claw.

“…That’s it.” Kim Rok Soo finishes recounting the night’s event, voice blurring at the edge. His mumbling carries the hint of a yawn. “Nothing happened.”

It’s an airy conclusion. Light as the pillows supporting Kim Rok Soo’s back and the ones thrown all over the rug, where they have all decided to sit in a circle tonight. And it’s true, Kim Rok Soo thinks, only feeling mildly miffed when the Dark Elves send him a look that is nothing short of chiding.

Misha’s jaw ticks and Shawn gets yet another of that odd, assessing glint in his eyes. Gilbert, meanwhile, slaps a hand on his knee and barks out a loud ‘Ha!’. 

“You really—to the Crown Prince!" The half Dark Elf chortles, expression beyond thrilled. Wheezes and snorts are interspersed in his question, “D-did Bob—hrk—did Bob t-tell you to do that?”

“…Um.” 

Well, not to the Crown Prince, per se, but the point stands, doesn’t it? Kim Rok Soo blinks, unsure.

Gilbert takes his silence as answer, apparently, because the next second, the man is howling his lungs out. He’s bent almost in half, shoulders shaking and arms clutching his stomach in a desperate grip. 

“Aha—oh gosh, no, ahem-” Gilbert tries, and fails, to get his breathing under control. Honestly, he's starting to sound more pained than humoured. “Cough, cough—sorry, go on-!”

“….”

The flat stare Misha throws Gilbert’s way is heavy with disappointment. 

Still, after a laborious fight against whatever shitty humour got Gilbert cackling like someone with more than a few screws loose, Misha manages to steer the conversation back on track.

“It’s been on my mind for a while, but it’s high time we return.” The old Dark Elf crosses her arms, disquiet painted clearly over her features. “We didn’t plan on leaving for this long. The mayor has been getting antsy.”

“Conversation over magic requires delicate attention,” Shawn agrees, “Some things need to be discussed face-to-face. He probably noticed some missing contexts.”

“But this place’s still such a mess. Can we leave as is?”

“Ah, that's more up to… Bob, isn't it?”

Kim Rok Soo pays half a mind to the rising voices putting their two cents in the discussion. He slumps against the Dragon, turning his attention above, blank gaze roving the ceiling as though trying to dig some world-shattering wonders from those aged, half-rotted wooden beams holding the roof aloft. 

Indeed, he can't help but think, it's almost time to retreat.

Roan is in a rather delicate political climate right now. Venion’s incident had not been talked about explicitly, but the way of the aristocracy is one of both scrutiny and caution. When a sudden, unexplained rumour is sparked amongst the common folk, there’s little chance they won't stick their nose where it doesn’t belong—even if it came in the form of baseless ghost stories.

Who amongst those living that glamorous high society life doesn’t have enemies? They’re all a bunch of snakes waiting to bite at every misstep. Kim Rok Soo dare say Venion Stan won’t have a stellar time ahead of him. 

‘Not to mention the Crown Prince.’ Kim Rok Soo drags a pillow close to rest his chin on it. ‘Knowing that guy, he’ll muddy the water even more and bleed everyone dry while the opportunity presents itself.’

Add in Cale Henituse and whatever mess is going on between the nobles and the Church of the God of Death, and Roan is truly on the cusp of a shitstorm. 

Kim Rok Soo’s already extensive list of problems continues to grow. At this point, there’s no telling when—and if—it will ever truly end. Probably never. Unless Kim Rok Soo finds a glitch to skip straight to the final boss fight like one of those speedrun videos.

The child exhales, sharp and long. 

It’s ever so quiet. A barely audible slip of air past pursed lips. But for some reason, it cuts through the din with the ease of a knife through butter.

The discussion stutters to a stop. And then, as though someone has tentatively pressed the resume button, it continues again. Slower this time. Murmured whispers echoing off the walls, velvety and plush in contrast to the earlier storm of words. 

In spite of himself, Kim Rok Soo feels his eyes locking shut. He barely remembers the moment absent thoughts turn into blurred, abstract landscapes of a half-remembered dream; fragmented pieces of something that lingers in his chest like longing given form, lodged in between rib bones and tender, easily bruised flesh.

He’s left chasing after its phantom ache the day after, squinting and squirming on the sun-spilled sheets. Wakefulness crawls vehemently from deep in the blissful void of sleep, dragging him by the collar to face a needlessly bright morning. 

For a moment, Kim Rok Soo stills. Holds his breath with the dread of someone robbed of something dear, something beloved. Something missed. 

But then, there’s a weight on the bed. A dip at the edge right by Kim Rok Soo’s tightly curled body. A hand running through his hair, slow and careful, deftly avoiding tangling any curled strand.

A familiar ruckus in the background—water sloshing and childish shrieks rising to cover a man’s tearful apologies—replaces the unpleasant buzzing in Kim Rok Soo's ears.

A slow, dragged out hum drifts amongst the noise like a raft buoyed on troubled waters.

“Five more minutes?” It asks of him.

Fingers ghost over Kim Rok Soo's temple, tucking stubborn strands behind his ear. 

Clarity replaces the jolt of panic rabbitting away inside Kim Rok Soo’s chest. Slowly. Hesitantly. A spooked deer making sure the rustling of leaves in the forest remains just that, with no shadow stalking the underbrush.

Kim Rok Soo feels himself settling back into a body that feels too small, too restrictive at times; too alien in moments where he's sober enough to notice the jarring dissonance in even the tiniest swing of his arm—before cracking open an eye.

The world spins before it reorients itself. Puzzle pieces slotting to form the full picture of Shawn, smiling with glasses left askew on his nose. A wicker chair that has seen better days looms in the back, tucked to the very corner like a discarded piece of furniture. Upon it, sits the gleam of a book spine caressed by the light of an oil lamp.

“…ahjussi.”

“Morning, little lord.”

The twinkle of Shawn’s eyes barely disguises the gloom encroaching his gaze. The bitterness marring his curved lips. Still, hardly a hint of temper shows in the way deft, nimble fingers press against Kim Rok Soo’s forehead, staving off the pressure building behind Kim Rok Soo’s eyes.

A breeze blows in, gentle, tousling the hair Shawn spent so much effort to tame. For a moment, all is peaceful. Not quite the noise-free ideal morning Kim Rok Soo envisioned but one he’s grown achingly familiar with. 

He lets it wash over him for a minute more—perhaps two, or three, or even four. Who’s keeping count at this point?—and only when he no longer feels so flat-footed does he wet his dried lips and return the greeting.

“Mornin’.” Kim Rok Soo blinks, slow and measured. “What time…’s it?”

“Half past six.” A finger taps Kim Rok Soo’s nose with a force so light it tickles. Pleasant laughter rings when the child doesn’t manage to hold back a sneeze. “Not going to sleep in today?”

“Mm…”

Wisps of orange slither across the wall. A play of light that holds the child’s attention for longer than it should have, as a contemplative quiet settles.

Something in Kim Rok Soo's gaze flickers and wanes to the ticking of the clock. 

Finally, a hum. A murmur against the pillow.

“You're angry, ahjussi,” the child declares, even-toned—more thoughtful than accusing.

The hand carding through his hair pauses. 

Perhaps such peace brings with it its own demons. That niggle in the back of your head that loosens your tongue and opens the floodgate, peeling open the skin to let the world have a glimpse of what lies underneath.

What coats Kim Rok Soo’s tongue after the silence turns stilted can’t be called regret, but it tastes close enough.

The child scuttles forward, limbs yet to be untangled from the blanket. His forehead hits the Dark Elf’s arm hard enough to bruise.

Beneath that bird’s nest of a hair is a pair of plain brown eyes dipped in a pool of red. Hardly the colour to gawk at. But Shawn seems to breathe a little easier at the sight, clamped fists loosening and trembling eyelids falling still. 

Sometimes, some things don’t need to be said. 

The hands on the clock stagger forth mechanically. Voices from the street begin pouring in, like a trickle of rain about to grow into torrents.

The warmth by Kim Rok Soo's side moves to hold him close. A cradle of arms so gentle Kim Rok Soo wants to just melt into it, free of thoughts and worries; be the child this body makes him out to be. 

…a tempting thought. Though one Kim Rok Soo won't be entertaining anytime soon. 

The Cataclysm was a good teacher. Harsh, but terribly effective. Every lesson Kim Rok Soo now bears upon his skin; spidery webs and cracks faded over time—painless now, though unforgettable in each and every moment it happened.

Sordid reminder, that. But at least it makes for a good remedial lesson if ever the need arises.

True peace exists when the enemies are trampled underfoot and six feet deep in the ground.

“Dongsaeng,” Bob starts the moment he plops himself on the porch, picture-perfect smile contrasting his twitching eye, “Do you have a grudge against the Crown Prince?”

“….”

“Did he do something wrong? Was it his face? Did he personally offend you in any way?”

There’s an almost comical attempt of composure in the way Bob’s seated himself, all prim and proper with hands on lap and back ramrod straight. His hair’s a right mess for someone who came strutting like he owned the street. A far stranger sight than the gleam of barely unconcealable irritation in his eyes.

It's a testament to Bob’s patience, Kim Rok Soo thinks, that he does not simply grab Kim Rok Soo by the shoulders to shake him despite looking like he very much wants to.

The child spares him a bemused, if slightly judging, side-eye. He’s paging through the divine item with half a mind, fingertips tingling with each careful trace against ink.

“Why,” Kim Rok Soo mutters, “do all of you keep asking this?”

And then, louder, “Who’d be stupid enough to believe something like that, anyway?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Bob’s riposte comes lightning-quick. “Someone who thought kicking a Royal was a good idea?”

There's a surprising amount of vehemence in that.

Kim Rok Soo can't help the second judging glance, and this time, he catches the grimace overtaking Bob’s calm, entirely-too-posh demeanour. It's a rare glimpse of immaturity that has Kim Rok Soo staring for seconds longer. An unguarded chink in the armour that draws people in. Or a feint before a strike.

A shame that such moments always slip by easy. There’s only another proper mask up to scrutinise once Kim Rok Soo regains his bearing from the—strange as it may sound but he can’t really put another word to it—aggrieved complaint.

This discussion is heading in an odd direction. Doubt niggles in the back of Kim Rok Soo's mind as he retorts, “You told me to, hyung-nim.”

“I didn't. Don't slander me. That wasn't supposed to- oh, bother.”

Palm meets face with a groan. Bob’s expression beneath can only be described as the lovechild of exasperation and despair.

“Dragon-nims have mercy. My own brothers are starting to look less troublesome.”

Kim Rok Soo blinks. Closes the book and scoots away from the Dark Elf as smoothly as he can. He's stopped right before he can bolt for the door.

It's minutes after a long rant about ‘misconstruing good advice’ and ‘stranger-danger but make sure there's both stranger and danger before going for radical action’ that Bob lets him go.

Suffice to say, Kim Rok Soo won't be attempting the same thing anytime soon. Not where Bob’s near enough to catch wind of it, anyway.

They’ve settled for the wicker chairs instead of the stairs now. Lounging just out of sun’s reach and idly noting the goings-on of today’s crowd. Their time of parting is soon; undecided for the moment but surely not long after the other three (plus one reluctant Dragon) return from whatever cleaning up they need to do.

Of course, as with anything else concerning this self-proclaimed hyung-nim, things are never easy. Kim Rok Soo is almost lulled to a false sense of security when Bob drops a question that has him stiffening a little too long to go unnoticed. 

“Have you met the Crown Prince, dongsaeng? Before the temple, I mean.”

Out of the corner of his vision, Kim Rok Soo sees Bob leaning back. One foot crossed over the other, with both hands hanging loose by his side.

In this angle, there's little of Bob’s expression—or the lack thereof—that Kim Rok Soo can make out, but his voice is clear enough to discern, ringing with the certainty of a blade freed from its sheath.

It strikes like one too. An ambush aiming straight for the jugular.

“The look in your eyes wasn't that of a stranger’s,” the Dark Elf notes, and it's terribly idle. A mere observation to list. “You don't know the Crown Prince, but you do.”

Today’s weather is pleasant. Not humid, but not unbearably stinging. Kim Rok Soo wonders then, how this conversation came to be, if not for a fever-induced hallucination. But the press of Bob’s knee against his own is solid. And the chill creeping up Kim Rok Soo’s arms as his fingers brush against the divine item’s spine is real.

Kim Rok Soo holds his breath. Tries not to mind the sweat dripping down his back. 

How does Bob know? Where exactly did he go? Was he inside the temple, close enough to the Prince’s entourage to notice that much?

Laughter defuses the solemn, entirely too still air. Out of the inn, a pair of mother and child walks hand in hand, leaving behind the distant jingle of a birthday song. Kim Rok Soo watches them go for the lack of anything better to do, lips pressed tight.

Bob turns then, a smile creeping up his face. What he offers feels like mercy but not quite, "Perhaps I saw wrong.”

It’s an offered hand. A way out magnanimously presented before Kim Rok Soo, dangling like a bait.

Kim Rok Soo gazes out into the sea of people. Spies those towering spires in the distance, ever the backdrop against the mundanity of Huiss’ daily happenings. He considers that statement—a peace offering, a bribe, a leeway that's much too indulging—for a long, long time, eventually settling with, “How about a deal?”

“…hmm?”

The book lies pliant in Kim Rok Soo’s hands, rarely well-behaved. It had glimmered like the most precious pearl cradled within the belly of the ocean, untouched by dirt and grime. Fitting for an item blessed by a god, for certain, but now there’s a bite to its lustre. A claim felt only in the way one feels the air before a plunge off the cliff. An illogical fear of suddenly falling in the longer one stares, down the pitch black rectangle and to the world on the other side; a trip someplace more sinister than Wonderland.

Now, there’s no mistaking which god possesses this book. Whose power runs through every page, every written word, every drop of ink.

Bob shifts, a previously unseen tension settling on his shoulders the moment Kim Rok Soo's gaze skitters up to him. He’s still admirably put-together in spite of everything. Not looking away despite the refusal to look directly at the divine item in their midst.

None of the Dark Elves mentioned a thing about the book’s change, though now Kim Rok Soo suspects it’s out of need rather than a want.

It’s quaint enough to ignore most times, but when one stares too long into the abyss, one tends to grow more aware of the way the air twists. The way it intends to suck the breath right out of your lungs. Every tide of emotion, every jumping heartbeat, every jolt in your veins—all of them strings to be plucked at will.

Whatever Cale did, it puts a face and name to the otherwise unspoken monster in the room. And giving identity to the grisly whispers of shadows skulking in the woods only makes its presence more real, more felt. Breathes life into it the way a self-fulfilling prophecy would. 

“….”

Chaos waits on the horizon. Its coming is inevitable, though the approximate time for its arrival has yet to be clear. Probably closer than Kim Rok Soo would like.

If so, then…

“A favour for a favour.” Kim Rok Soo’s head tilts. A concession. Though his voice hangs in the air like the devil’s whisper. “I’ll tell you something interesting. In exchange…”

A slow growing smile.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Scorching heat does not make for a pleasant trip, but alas, needs must. At least, that's what Misha tells him.

“It's a precaution,” the old doctor shares, gaze roaming the rise and dip of blood red sand. The Land of Death isn’t anything but foreboding to most, but there’s relief in her eyes. The satisfaction of having come back home. Of seeing a shelter. “The formation works one-way. You can go out directly from the city but not in. The closest one to home’s here, and it's about an hour walk back.”

Shawn’s chest rumbles with a noise of agreement. It travels all the way up his shoulders and back, where Kim Rok Soo finds himself playing the part of a glorified backpack yet again. Gilbert’s gone ahead of them, scouting the way, cloak billowing and steps agile as a cat. Beneath their feet, the arid desert wind swells and propels them forward, kicking up a cloud of sand and dust with enough force to be a whip to the face if not for the magic shielding them from the brunt of it. 

The Dragon is a presence felt but not seen, hovering close enough each flap of wings sends a gust Kim Rok Soo’s way. It’s hardly the tempestuous wind behind them—quelled almost forcefully as soon as it rises so as not to make a spectacle—but it sends the shawl shielding Kim Rok Soo’s face into disarray regardless.

Their departure can’t be called hasty. It's thought-out and planned, for one, and terribly careful in the way the Dark Elves are wont to be. There was enough time to clean up whatever mess needed cleaning before they booked it. Even had the leisure to bid Bob farewell with a considerably extravagant spread at lunch.

Still, it feels too much like a spooked getaway. The speedy rush of a highway robbery gang avoiding pursuit, jumping from one teleportation point to the next. A blink, and Kim Rok Soo is already on the last leg of the trip, closing the distance between himself and the City of Life.

Naturally, it’s also at this moment that the universe throws a wedge in their plan. Speaking too soon invites more trouble than it’s worth and what-not.

“…Hmm?”

As the wind roars and rears up all around, it comes into their sight. Slow as the turtle against the hare but primed for the win. A surprise that forces the Dark Elves to a sudden halt, abruptly enough that the whirlwind beneath their feet carves deep craters into the dunes. 

Red tints Kim Rok Soo's vision. Spinning in much the same way as a fun-house tunnel with all those neon lights strung from the bottom up. Makes him dizzy and has him watching for too long before he can make sense of what exactly he’s seeing.

Beyond the blood red sand and the evening’s orange-red sky, to the farthest distance the eyes can see, there is—

- Human, that's a lot of birds!

- I’ve never seen so many in one place!

The baby Dragon’s awed, cheerful voice rattles inside Kim Rok Soo’s head at about the same time Misha comments, in a voice so low as though talking to herself, “…crows?”

Then, louder. Alarmed, “Why are there crows in the Land of Death?”

Sharp whistles pierce their ears. Shrill, restless. Tinged with an urgency that has Kim Rok Soo’s heart stuttering for a beat. 

The part of Kim Rok Soo's mind that has been quiet until now perks up. Stirs for the first time in a while. There’s a hole in the wall. A single eye looking out, gazing at the patch of black in the distance. At the undulating blot against the reddening hues of the clouds. 

“Not even an ant would crawl into this place. What’s with the sudden migration?” 

It’s said lightly. With humour and a chuckle, even. But a frown has replaced Gilbert’s smile and his eyes have lost all glimmer of warmth. 

“That’s the way home,” Misha reminds, unsure. “Rather close to the door, I think. Maybe off a few feet. Do you think the mayor…”

“We got company ahead,” Shawn asserts suddenly, head tilted and hair aflutter in the breeze. At just the right moment to choke the breath right out of their throat and stifle the conversation. “Two groups. One’s injured, the other’s chasing. Will be catching up soon.”

“….”

“Malicious pursuers?” Gilbert asks, voice dropping an octave lower. “You think they’re one party broken up in the middle or…?”

“Doubt it.”

Shawn hefts Kim Rok Soo higher on his back, a sigh building in his throat.

“No sane person would willingly walk into a Forbidden Region. Only ones desperate enough to do so.”

Silence. One that Kim Rok Soo has become all the more familiar with. The kind that is filled with dread and teeth and a chill creeping up your spine.

It's not until a breath or two—or five or ten—passes that everyone seems to move again. Regains the soul that slipped away for just a moment. 

No longer are they looking at the twisting clouds of black above. Neither do they search for the stragglers hidden within its scattered shadows beneath, but far, far beyond. Past what little Kim Rok Soo himself can see. 

No matter what they have in mind at the moment, however…

“That's the way home,” Kim Rok Soo states, succinct to the point of unfeeling. The shoulder his head rests on jolts. “Even if we want to go around, they're right in front of the door, aren't they?”

The visage of a smug young master surfaces in Kim Rok Soo’s mind, along with a nasty drawl that has Kim Rok Soo all but scrambling to banish the godforsaken image from his mind.

Finally, he concludes it with a faint, downward curve of his lips, “There's nowhere else to go but forward.”

There’s silence again. Shorter, this time.

“Right.” Misha inhales sharply through her nose. “Nowhere to go but forward.”

There's conflict in her eyes. A clash of light and shadow that blurs the sharpness of her gaze. 

What she does next is not quite a plea. Not an order. A compromise, perhaps. The way elders would direct children the way they ought to go with nothing but an entirely too solemn face and a handful of candies sneaking into your pocket. 

She steps closer to Kim Rok Soo. Raises a wrinkled hand to trace a line across Kim Rok Soo's cheek, going up and hovering above his hair before pressing down on the pitch black tufts.

“When we get there,” Misha whispers, “Would you be a dear and tell the mayor we’ll get hold up for a bit?”

Her smile holds far too many teeth to be considered friendly, but the wrinkles around her eyes soften her aggression. Smoothens out her edges and makes one overlook the sweltering temper bubbling beneath her skin. 

“Tell him we’ll be back in a jiffy. We also need someone to escort the Dragon-nim to the city proper, right?” She says, not unkindly. “Can you do that for me?” 

The world seems to hold its breath as soon as her voice trails off. Anticipation building in the air along with something bitter. Something sad. Something Shawn very, very carefully tries not to show.

And Kim Rok Soo…

Kim Rok Soo recalls that moment in the morning. The quiet shared between Shawn and himself, heavy with words unspoken. The worry the Dark Elves have yet to address and the strange bout of silences they got into when they thought he wasn’t looking.

He rests his forehead on Shawn's shoulder and closes his eyes.

Kim Rok Soo knows, now more than ever, that a human does not simply change the way a skinwalker takes off old skin and walks into a new one.

A new environment requires a different outlook. Just as traffic rules change imperceptibly between countries. Still, Kim Rok Soo comes wearing the same face, the same name, and the same old habits nurtured carefully—albeit unconsciously—over years. 

He may not be the exact same person he was in that old, half-ruined world, but they are still the same at the core.

Selfish, inconsiderate Kim Rok Soo, who can never be as smart as Lee Soo Hyuk or as strong as Choi Jung Soo.

(Maybe it’s because every choice often leads to the same answer. The same destination. Every story ends the same way.

The kind where the faces of the bodies in the coffin are both friends and enemies and there is only Kim Rok Soo left standing before nameless cenotaphs—strong, unharmed, alive.

What much is there to consider, then?)

In the end, it is all too easy to make the choice.

“…Alright,” Kim Rok Soo whispers, with the barest hint of a sigh. “I can do that.”

When the world moves again, it's accompanied by a breathless sort of relief. An almost wordless surprise. Kim Rok Soo can't see the Dark Elves’ expressions, but Gilbert’s grin is audible in his voice. 

“We'll be counting on you, bud!” He cheers, as though they are not possibly going straight into chaos ahead.

The wind rushes in Kim Rok Soo’s ears. Howling and whistling as the Dark Elves dart across the sand faster and faster. As the symphony of caws and growls and clashing blades approach ever closer.

His heart’s running a race against another inside his chest. Sometimes winning, sometimes losing. Mind blank and half an ear lent to the baby Dragon who decides to take an irrational affront to the Dark Elves sending them both on their way because are they looking down on this mighty Dragon, human?!

Then, Kim Rok Soo feels hair tickling his cheek. Feels the shoulder pillowing his head shifting. Hears the ever louder shrieks of pain and anger ahead and—

A kiss lands on Kim Rok Soo's forehead. Tender, fragile. Making contact for only a brief second.

Shawn's voice is softer than even the wind, but Kim Rok Soo catches every word clear as day.

“Do you trust me?” Shawn asks. Pleads. “Trust us to prove we’re capable enough to care for you?”

To stand beside you, he seems to say.

And, really, some things don't need to be said. But Kim Rok Soo is not cruel enough to deny Shawn this.

“I trust you, ahjussi,” he answers. Plainly. Simply. The way a child would state that blue is the sky and green is the grass.

Just like one grown enough to understand blue is not only the sky and the sky is not only blue, however, Kim Rok Soo doesn't quite dare to say it out loud. Doesn't have the confidence with his chest puffed out, safe in the knowledge that the greenhouse keeps the worst of the weather away.

I want to, Kim Rok Soo doesn't say, but Shawn seems to hear it anyway. Sighs with too much fondness for it to be exasperated.

The smell of copper reaches Kim Rok Soo's nose. Strong enough to leave the impression of a metallic taste on his tongue. 

There's an even louder ringing of blades near Kim Rok Soo's ears, then, close enough it leaves a lasting echo. Something warm splatters on Kim Rok Soo's cheek. A choked gurgle cuts off all too suddenly.

Shawn’s laughter carries a gentleness that is at odds with the crisis at hand.

“It’s okay,” he says, perfectly pleasant, “I’ll just have to show you.”

Distantly, Kim Rok Soo can hear Gilbert's laughter. Wild, free, and way too cheerful to ever be genuine. Misha's quiet, but her presence never is. Heat brushes against Kim Rok Soo’s skin like the flick of a tail, and any smell of smoke returns just as quickly as it is swept away by the wind.

Shawn’s nonchalance in this situation is almost wanton, but it suits him surprisingly well. A fit tailored to perfection for the Dark Elf’s pleasant, all-too-placid and at times entirely forgettable presence. 

Or maybe Kim Rok Soo just hasn’t looked much into the Dark Elf’s closet. Had seen the skeletons but brushed it off as plastic halloween decorations, closed the door, and moved on. 

Won't be the first time he did that, really.

“Us Dark Elves are quite capable too, you know?” 

Shawn doesn't croon, but it's a close thing.

Kim Rok Soo tightens his arms around Shawn's neck. His eyes are still stubbornly shut, and he still has half an ear on the Dragon who is starting to recount every gory scene like an enthused sports commentator, but his chest no longer feels as heavy. 

In the back of his mind, there is a chuckle.

The hole in the wall shows the glimpse of a grin.