Chapter Text
The serpents, at this time of the year, are the most agitated. One can tell from their way of flight; their irregular whips of tail as they twirl through the sky, the lack of silence they harness while they fly against the four winds, the crackle of lightning pulsing wildly around their limbs and muzzle.
Jeongguk knows from first-hand experience, too, to never target a serpent during this season, especially not when it comes to close range combat.
But when the whistle of gale lashing against scales sails through the valley, reaching the top of the bluff where Jeongguk stands unmoving, the slayer is already placing a firm hand on the hilt of his sword.
His father is unaware of his whereabouts as of this morning which Jeongguk deems convenient because he’s been forbidden from slaying for the next month due to his recklessness. He’d been caught off guard whilst on a hunt three fortnights ago, resulting in the deep scar trailing from his neck to his hip bone. Even with the senior healers’ constant attention, they were unable to erase the wound completely.
Not that Jeongguk minds. He wears it with pride, praised all the more for his valour and fearless selflessness when it comes to protecting people. Revered and titled as the youngest hero, only twenty-five years of age yet bearing the slayings of more than a dozen serpents.
A roar of the savage beast rings in his ears, shakes the ground under him, a few boulders slipping off the steep cliff. It’s getting closer. Jeongguk gnaws at his lips and his inner cheeks, excited.
The weather plays in his favour on this day. No clouds threaten him of possible storms, of possible sources of lightning the serpent could use against him. The wind, albeit remaining, is not so raucous anymore like it was the morning before. It’s uncommon, truly, for so much peace lingering in the air when it comes to the territory of Townlong Steppes. Jeongguk is grateful.
Once again, the growl echoes and Jeongguk exhales, trying to bite back the thrilled grin that always appears when he’s minutes away from striking the prey. It’s the adrenaline quickly leaking into his veins and warming his limbs that makes him smile so madly, the feel of the cold weapon against his palm that gets his heart racing frantically.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a speck of sable flickering toward him. Lucky, Jeongguk thinks. An onyx serpent is a rather rare sight, let alone a catch. Its scales will make for a good trophy.
It’s still not cognizant of his presence as it aims in his direction. Jeongguk is hiding in between a copse of cherry blossoms and his armour is as per usual a dim, inky colour. Not so easily spottable when surrounded by the barks of dark brown, he’s aware.
He leans forward, the muscles in his legs flexing and tensing, prepared. This is the most difficult part of the hunt; bestriding a serpent and burying a sharp, jagged blade into its body to keep his own balance. His fingers clench, slacken and clutch the handle again, the leather adorning it squeaking with the repeated movement. His nerve endings are ablaze with thirst for blood, for a new trophy.
When the serpent nears the bluff, probably meaning to circle it or land atop, Jeongguk draws his sword, heaves a breath.
Then, he leaps.
The impact of the fall is something Jeongguk is long used to, and he’s careful to avoid the razor sharp spines protruding through the serpent’s back as he mounts the beast. His weapon punctures the scales smoothly and with almost no effort, causing the serpent to bellow in pain and thrash, distraught.
Its head turns, attempts to inspect what’s digging into its body. The glow in its eyes flares in distress, in defence and the slayer knows better than to keep looking, was already taught a lesson years prior after having the beam burned right into his pupils.
“There, there,” he says cockily through gritted teeth, ramming the venomous spikes strapped onto the back of his heels into the serpent’s stomach, “the quicker you calm down, the sooner it will be over. You’ll just give me a pretty, shiny scale and your life and I’ll be done with you.”
The beast, despite being poisoned and impaled, still moves with no expected limit. Jeongguk’s scowl deepens in concern, double-checking where the sword pierced the creature. The position is a tad off, too high, unable to deal a fatal blow. His feet feel uncomfortably loose, alerting him of the heels’ dullness and inability to anchor in the serpent’s body and inject more poison. Only now does he realise that he forgot to sharpen them.
He’s been careless, mindless with exaltation.
His free hand reaches for the substitute sword stuffed into his other scabbard, yanking out a thinner blade. It’s not at all suited for serpent slaying, but as the beast keeps writhing mightily and squirming in a manner that has the slayer tossing from side to side, it’s Jeongguk’s only hope.
He draws his armed hand back, then lunges with every bit of force at the proper place where the weapon ought to be stabbed during a hunt.
The blade is unable to force its way through.
Jeongguk curses upon feeling the grip on his main sword slipping, damp with sweat from exertion and the strength of torrid sun rays. Peering up, he notices the serpent heading towards a narrow pass, crowded with rugged crags.
His heart falls into his stomach.
Anxiety kicking in, Jeongguk grabs the helve of his sword with both hands, discarding the substitute, and tries to yank it out swiftly. The tables have turned with his luck, it seems- the barbed surface of the weapon won’t come out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”
Jeongguk looks down, met with an intimidating height over bodies of water and fields of hedges.
It’s unthinkable for him to jump off in this state; if he’s left unarmed during a slow fall, secured by his glider, the serpent can and surely will spin around, gaining an advantage. Jeongguk would prefer a death different from being speared onto edged fangs.
With no other time for contemplating, Jeongguk makes a decision.
He lays flat on the serpent’s back, the keen spines slicing his right temple and carving themselves into his armour, leaving a gash against his ribs. The pain is not so much as registered by the slayer; he only feels the deafening thud of his heart against his tongue, the sickening coldness of his clammy palms.
A moment later, he’s slammed against the side of a rugged bluff.
His gaze spins and blackens, breath knocked right out of him with a howl of anguish, pain shooting through his body and pulsating against his eardrums. Jeongguk’s grasp falls slack as do his legs, stunned by the blow, by its unexpected power.
The sound of his emergency glider deploying and shifting into place is the last thing he recognizes before unconsciousness takes him in mid-air.
♣
When he comes to, it’s to the scent of magic.
See, each type of sorcery has a certain redolence to it, a fragrance that tickles one’s nose or sits heavy on their tongue when inhaled. Nothing specific or able to be put in proper words yet it’s there. As it’s being cast, it sits unabating in the space surrounding one. Hovers with a hint of spice or a hint of sweetness, can be piquant, antiseptic, fresh or putrid.
This one, however, is so pleasant and so disappointingly faint that Jeongguk feels the urge to find its source, beckon it over, strengthen it.
His body throbs in agony when trying to move, eyes glued shut and limbs prickling as though stabbed with thousands of needles. Within few seconds of searching for the reason, the memories, all of a sudden, come flooding back into his brain - the panic, the pain, the-
“Don’t you even try it,” a soft, firm voice appears by his left side, startling him. If he had any strength in his muscles as of now, he would have reached for a weapon. But, like this, he can only lie and hope. “If you move right now, you’ll break the healing incantation. Stay still and rest some more, stranger.”
The melody of the voice is exceedingly beautiful, carried in the breeze, leaving space for the slayer to exhale a relieved breath. Jeongguk itches to gaze upon the face of its owner, urged to know who it was that rescued him after the fall.
His heartbeat slows back down, still wary but stable enough to stop thudding in his ears, enough to get his mind to clear away the clouds. The woollen padding under him, probably a mattress or at least a pile of duvets, makes him too warm, he notices vaguely.
“If your body feels heavy or hot it’s because of the strain I’m putting on it,” the voice informs, its tone strangely sad. The sound of glass clinking and wood creaking only feeds Jeongguk’s impatience but even his eyelids weigh more than a mountain. “I had to release a week’s worth of healing spells on you and I’m not even halfway done with the mending.”
Jeongguk, wanting to express his gratitude, hums hoarsely, throat parched and thick with lack of use.
His consciousness soon flits away, too, replaced by slumber.
The next time Jeongguk stirs, his eyes wake with him too, cracking open and, at last, letting sunlight in. Everything’s blurry, the rays sear holes into his eyes like he hasn’t opened them in days; it feels far too overwhelming. The pain, however, has dissipated for the most part.
Testing the waters, the slayer cautiously heaves up, the heels of his palms rubbing and pressing against his eyeballs to soothe the irritation. His muscles ache, more in sore and stiff disuse than in anguish, as he pulls himself up into a sitting position. His head spins, disoriented.
By and by, his stare roams the space enveloping him, squinted but surely looking around now.
“Where am I,” Jeongguk whispers to himself, taking in the amber, tinged with vermilion, painting the entire room. Walls are plain, a wood that seems to be wired together, and so is the floor of the tiny space. Despite that, decorations adorn it all the same, from round and rectangular rugs to painted works beaten into the walls with sturdy nails.
Right, Jeongguk belatedly realises- he’s not home.
A lantern sits idly by the bed, left on the ground. Next to it are scattered vials, empty save for two or three and one is tipped over, contents spilled out and seeping into the flaxen carpet.
The outside is what catches Jeongguk’s eye next. With the window left ajar, a pleasant gust of wind is let in every now and then. It smells tantalising, similar to how the magic smelt yet not quite identical. Vista he gets from glancing out the window is something his home, situated in betwixt the mountains, could only dream of.
Jeongguk swears if he watched closely, he may be able to see to the other side of the land from where he is; he assumes it’s a coastal village with how islets are scattered along the azure horizon, sea lapping at their sides. There are heaps of houses, shrines and stump benches visible alongside the groves of trees and bushery. Emitting a harsh rustle when shoved by wind, they momentarily silence the burble of the waterfall, beating and plashing against rocks in the far back.
A slight creak, barely-there, has Jeongguk’s attention snapping towards the source. The movement causes his neck to crack uncomfortably.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” ah, it’s the voice. It’s his healer, the witch. “I thought you’d still be sleeping.”
The beauty of the voice matches the person, truly.
At the sight of his features, coming into clearer focus with each step the healer takes forwards, Jeongguk’s breath becomes caged in his throat. His locks, mussed up and glimmering in the lustre, are a thing mystifying. One can see so in the cloudless dead of night when the fulgent cosmos appears in the sky, suffusing it like a pure canvas with violets and cobalts and everything in between. This wonder of a boy, regarding Jeongguk with a stare of starry amethyst, has his hair touched by the galaxy, the strands shimmering as they fall over his eyes and rest behind his ears, tucked.
His robes, dancing around his legs and reaching down to his ankles, are of a contrasting, snowy colour, boots or socks missing- not that the boy appears to mind. With hues of yellow streaking over the tapered waist and scarlet blossoms embellishing the ends of the healer’s long sleeves, he is a beauty to behold.
Prettier than anything or anyone Jeongguk has ever laid his eyes on, dare he say.
He lowers to kneel on the ground and Jeongguk swiftly draws his legs inwards, patting the mattress. Swallowing, he drops his scrutiny and offers, “Sit here. The floor is probably less comfortable.”
The witch obliges, folding his arms in his lap as he settles on the bed. Then, with a tentative smile, “I take it you’re feeling better?”
“A lot,” Jeongguk nods eagerly, anxious to show his gratitude. Who knows what would’ve happened were it not for the pretty healer’s presence. “I cannot express my thanks enough. Save for some cramps, I’m good as new.”
“Glad to know I helped,” offering a wider, more assured smile, the healer leans against the knitted pillows stacked neatly by the foot of the bed. Jeongguk is careful not to shift too often so as not to overhear the witch; he speaks rather quietly. “You weren’t in the best shape when I found you.”
Ah, right. “Where am I?” Jeongguk repeats the question from minutes before. This time, he waits for an answer.
He glimpses at Jeongguk with intense curiosity, looking as though he has a lot of things to voice, to ask. “Kun’Lai Summit. Zouchin Village. Heard of it before?”
Jeongguk frowns, “I rarely cross the borders of Kun’Lai Summit. Zouchin is unfamiliar to me.”
The serpent - or his glider - managed to carry him over the mountains, it seems. It will be bothersome and lengthy to return, let alone provide his father with a suitable excuse. He sighs, scrubbing his face in unease. This is what he gets for his rashness.
“What’s your name?” the healer, who’s been watching him the entire time, flinches at the harsh tone of the question. Jeongguk didn’t mean to speak in such a manner, hopes the healer understands as he mutters an apology.
He clears his throat. “Jimin,” and it suits him. It does. His hands, funnily small, toy with the locket clasped around his neck, rings sparkling around his fingers and ornaments clinking by his ankles when he swings his feet. Jimin is fond of jewellery, he notices.
Jeongguk catches him biting his lip when the silence expands, then decides to spare the boy’s nervousness. “I’m Jeon Jeongguk, from Vale of Eternal Blossoms. My family and I sojourn at Niuzao Temple in Townlong Steppes for now due to the sudden invasion of the insectoids, but my home is in Mogu’shan Palace. I come from the first of the four mighty clans residing there.”
Jimin is unfazed by the mention of Jeongguk’s family name, mouth parting only after the mention of the insectoids. The mere fact that Jimin is uncaring for Jeongguk being the supreme Jeon clan, the famed serpent slayers, forces a twitch into his eyelid.
“How come, then,” Jimin starts, lour marring his brow, “how come I found you by our shore? Zouchin Village is at the northeast of Kun’Lai Summit, far from bounds. And what are those insectoids you speak of?”
Sighing, Jeongguk ruffles his hair, scratching at his scalp. “It was a hunt gone unwell. I was reckless. My glider must have saved me and carried me all the way here-”
Jimin’s expression deepens, the healer standing up promptly. His hands cross over one another in front of his torso, shoulders pulled up tight. His throat bobs with a harsh gulp, audible in the quietude. An odd reaction. “A hunt? You mean- as in, as in-”
Maybe Jimin simply needs clarification. Zouchin Village is apparently far from mankind, so the news may travel slower in these lands.
Jeongguk, attempting to keep the prideful grin at bay, straightens his posture, chest puffed out despite himself. It’s been so long since he last introduced his own person without being recognized first.
He locks eyes with Jimin's amethyst ones, smirking smugly. “Indeed. I’m a serpent slayer.”
A nigh on eternal beat passes. Jimin reacts with a rigid, dry, “Oh.”
Oh?
“Should’ve assumed so,” Jimin sighs, blunt disdain protruding through his previously curious but calm, amiable stance, “with the armour and the weaponry, it could barely be anything else than slaying. Obviously it'd be the damned slaying.”
Jeongguk blinks owlishly, bewilderment filling him. Is Jimin, perhaps, looking askance at him? For serpent slaying? For guarding, protecting the lives of innocent mortals? His gut swirls alienly with something akin to discomfort except there’s smattering of anger, of frenzy.
“What’s with that attitude?” Jeongguk snaps without thinking. Jimin looks him dead in the eye, impassive gaze tipping into a glare at the slayer’s unexpected bark.
“I should be asking you that,” biting back, Jimin stabs a finger into Jeongguk’s chest with enough force to bury a nail into his skin, chest bared of armour and clothing from when he was being healed. “Is there a reason for you to kill them?”
Jeongguk lurches backwards, grasping the healer’s wrist to yank it away. “Are you honestly questioning that? They’ve been haunting people, chasing and devouring them and their families for millennia-”
Jimin scoffs, eyes rolling and head shaking. “That’s what you always say, don’t you?”
“What’s wrong about-”
“Have you actually,” Jimin tugs himself free from the slayer’s grip, fury overtaking him wholly- Jeongguk takes notice because the room smells of magic so very olid, it makes his throat close up in disgust. A flutter of dark aura enwraps Jimin. “Have you actually seen someone get eaten by a serpent? Has history had a record speaking of merciless slaughters, of people killed by serpents?”
“Of course it has!”
“Where?!” Jimin throws up his hands, uncaring for all the other vials he's toppled over with his feet, contents coating the floor messily, “Show me one scroll describing such an event taking place. Tell me, oh clever slayer, when has it happened?”
Jeongguk’s mind races, attempting to supply him with a year, a place or a species of serpent which had done so yet coming up utterly blank. His chest squeezes unbearably and his forehead creases further.
“Don’t act so fucking smart,” Jeongguk snarls, hands squeezing the wood of the bed. It creaks in protest, bending under the pressure. “I don’t have to remember everything at once. Besides, you think they’d fear them so much if there was no solid proof?”
“It’s not that you can’t recall a case at hand,” half-yells Jimin, “it’s that there is nothing of that sort written in the records to begin with! You just follow what the ancestors did, blindly walking in their footsteps and heeding their teachings no matter how mistaken they are.”
“What do you even know?!” growling, Jeongguk’s legs shoot up before he can realise it. His vision swims but he doesn’t let it show, propping against a table to keep his balance.
Jimin tilts his head, glowering at him, not taking a single step back regardless of the proximity they suddenly share. They stare at each other, rufescent umber burying into nitid amethyst, silence so thick and palpable that it could be sliced with a blade. Jimin keeps his arms crossed whilst Jeongguk stands straight, a sense of clashing resistance engulfing the two.
“Enough. I know enough,” Jimin sighs eventually, every trace of ire seemingly flushing away while he pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. The stench of magic dwindles slowly. Then, he quietly allows distance between them and orders, “Be gone by the time the sun sets, stranger.”
Stranger. The word now rubs Jeongguk in the worst way.
His throat itches, urges to speak, to convince Jimin and to set his mind on the proper line of thinking but, just when he’s about to raise his voice again, the healer turns on his heels and is gone by the time Jeongguk blinks again.
Jaw clenched, his arms near a tremor, a sense of not finishing what was started seeping through his pores in a gnawing way. Jeongguk is right, he knows he is, so why is Jimin being stiff-necked?
He stands there, teeth locked tight until his own bitterness abandons him, leaving him with a deep heave and a scrunch of his face.
Looking around, he sees none of his belongings and wonders if Jimin has thrown them away out of pettiness. The thought has his eyes rolling and shutting because he’s never been this irritated, doesn’t know what to do. Perhaps a duel with his challengers, probably seated in a lecture in Niuzao Temple at the moment, will clear his head.
With hesitant steps, Jeongguk explores the house, probing each room with reluctance. He feels like an intruder, especially so after learning what Jimin thinks of him; he should no longer be here to begin with, let alone search through the healer’s home in hopes of finding his things.
Then again- not that he cares.
In less than a minute, Jeongguk spots the gleam of his armour, reflecting the glimmer of the sun. There it is, laying on a modest table with cuts and dents running deep along the metal. Jeongguk cringes at the sight, hissing at the memory of why the armour came to be so worn down.
His shirt, folded over a chair, goes first. When it’s tugged on by the slayer, he’s provided with a whiff of cherries and apricots. It must have been washed by Jimin for it’s still wet at the sleeves, resting cold against his wrists. Jeongguk sighs once more. If only Jimin wasn’t so mistaken, their paths could adjoin instead of splitting so harshly.
Tunic of leather follows next as he ponders, then his armour and sword which-
Ah. Wait.
Jeongguk grasps by his hip naturally, hand coming up empty. He almost forgot; it stayed in the serpent, digging deep through its body when he was slammed off the beast. And it can never be found again, most likely.
“Oh no,” Jeongguk groans, fingers running through his hair. Today is not a good day, truly, he notes when the pinpricks of mild anger and panic appear in his frown. It’s an enchanted weapon passed down for decades upon decades and Jeongguk dreads the reaction he’ll get when his father becomes aware of the heirloom being lost.
Perhaps he simply doesn’t remember, perhaps he did manage to somehow obtain it back and his memory is just too vague to make out details. The hope Jeongguk almost starts pining onto the situation is lost when he searches through the house thoroughly again and again and again. If it weren’t for Jimin’s attitude, he would’ve gone out to search for the healer and ask him about the sword’s whereabouts but he cannot.
Thus, with upset, Jeongguk gathers everything belonging to him and sets out.
The villagers offer him weird, unabashed stares, ogling to the point where the slayer starts hating the attention. If they all share Jimin’s stance and if Jimin took the chance to spread the rumours about Jeongguk’s actions, he can only hope for them to let him leave wordlessly.
Some of them, however, pay him no mind, in the midst of conversations or tending to things around their modest abodes. A pair of men are repairing a sagged roof with practised ease, another one is picking plums in their garden. Groups of women are seated atop a mild cliff, submerged in an activity Jeongguk can’t quite discern for they’re huddled in close circles and clamour surrounds them. A child or two run by the slayer, one brushing by his thigh and shouting out a “Sorry!” as they chase after an animal of sorts.
There’s peace settling over this life, one which Jeongguk has never felt. His homeland is far from tranquil, with people either praising him excessively or rushing to make way when he’s passing. With chavs playing dirty tricks in order to wring out coinage and fame whilst the helplessly poor are forgotten.
Here, life is lived with love and equality, and while Jeongguk does enjoy the recognition he gets at his home, his heart still tugs at this unreachable sight.
The path gets less and less worn as the houses grow a tad small in his view. He strolls up the mountain with renewed strength from the healing. Above by the village sits a balcony with a scarlet fence enclosing it, protecting anyone from plunging metres into the hard ground.
Jeongguk stares at it for a good minute, legs cramping with the need to walk there and enjoy the vista for one last time, cramping with the restraint Jeongguk is channelling. The sourness from the absurd argument has yet to leave him fully, which is what prevents him from giving into it. Finally, he turns on his heel and continues the walk into the mountain.
♣
The sentinels’ eyes widen into round disbeliefs when they see Jeongguk at the top of the stairwell. After little less than three days, he finally reaches the gates of Niuzao Temple, armour badly damaged and sword missing. They speak no words, however, only scuttling anxiously to pull the gateway open and let the slayer in with hushed greetings of honour.
Jeongguk tips his head to them, a silent thank you, and passes the entrance with slight reluctance - he dreads the encounter with his father.
The trainees each have their own sections in the grounds of the temple, tents shielding them from the blazing sun. The healers’ tent is silent, concentration and the smell of magic oozing from between the flaps, while shouting and the sound of weapons slicing through the air comes from the tents of soldiers and slayers. Some that are taking a rest outside squint their eyes at Jeongguk as if to assure themselves that they are seeing correctly, only to dart away when Jeongguk meets their stare.
“Jeongguk!” A voice rushes to his side. Hoseok, his brother and a slaying partner, bumps his shoulders with him, clasping a hand against Jeongguk’s back. “Where have you been? I was almost getting worried! Gods, what happened to you? You’re all beaten up! And where’s your sword?”
“Hobi-hyung,” he sighs out a warning, expression darkening slightly at the bombardment of questions. “I’ll explain later.”
He seems to take notice of Jeongguk’s mood and settles for ruffling his hair before letting go, “Alright.” Softly, almost cautiously, he adds, “Father’s in the dining hall if you happen to be looking for him.”
It may make Jeongguk a coward but god, he does not want to look for him or meet him or bear the consequences.
“Thanks, hyung.” He scans the older man, “Have you eaten? You look even thinner than before.”
Hoseok has always been careless in these terms, going days without eating properly due to being too absorbed in his current activities. When addressed, he pales a little, “Ah, yeah, I was just, just busy with the cases of insectoids. And, we also have many new trainees this year so I have to make sure they’re training well.” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at him. That’s the worst bundle of excuses he has heard, since Hoseok is neither in charge of insectoids nor in charge of training.
Rolling his eyes, Hoseok stays quiet before sulkily admitting, “Seokjin has been away for way too long. He’s on some sort of foraging expedition, said to be quite dangerous,” his toe digs into a tuft of dried grass, “on top of that, he’s with Namjoon.”
“I’ve told you, he’s not trying to woo Jin-hyung,” Jeongguk reaches up to rub at his brother’s nape, finding it stiff and certainly painfully sore. For the hundredth time in the past seven years, he has to reassure Hoseok’s helpless crush on Seokjin, “Jin-hyung is clearly not more than a friend to him. As for the dangerous part, he can protect himself and stand his ground well.”
Hoseok peeks at him and before his mouth can voice the question, Jeongguk nods, “Yes, I’m sure and I’m not lying to make you feel better. Now, go eat and stop worrying yourself sick.”
Only when Hoseok wanders away, energy and mood renewed, does Jeongguk let his body slump against a pillar by the trainees’ grounds, exhaustion suddenly present with urgency.
It’s been long since he’s gone on such a strenuous journey without a steed or an experienced mage at his side to summon distance shortening portals. The healing did help but, without the rest he’s been ordered to get due to the previous hunt going wrong, he is quite out of condition. His stomach howls, having eaten not more than his leftover sustenances and seven handfuls of berries.
Jeongguk has time for mere few deep breaths before his father steps out of the dining hall, fierce intensity to his step. Rumours of his arrival must travel quickly. Though he’s far away, Jeongguk can easily guess who he’s looking for because when he spots the slayer across the layout, he sets out towards him with haste.
His cape, made of glimmering scales from his first slain serpent, flutters wildly around his figure, robes following the rapid movement. Nearing Jeongguk, the younger recognizes severe agitation in his father’s distorted face.
Without delay, Jeongguk falls to one knee and lowers his head. “Father, allow me-”
“You reckon you can fool around like this?” His voice is thunderous, startling the trainees enough for everyone to retreat back into their tents, leaving the two alone. Albeit curious, no one is brave enough to blatantly gawk at the dispute.
Jeongguk swallows dryly. Does he know of his whereabouts? How would he even be aware?
“Why the silence, Jeongguk? I’ve seen your armour missing, you couldn’t have gone out for anything other than slaying - and on your own to boot! Have you lost your mind?!” His father inhales to continue, then chokes on a gulp of breath, then asks in a rush, “Where’s your sword, Jeongguk?”
“I,” Jeongguk has prepared himself for this, has led hours-long monologues whilst on his journey and yet, right now, his mind yawns with emptiness, no excuses available at once. Clearing his parched throat, he stabs his sight into the polished surface of his father’s boots and repeats, “I-”
“Where is it, Jeon Jeongguk?!”
Jeongguk flinches against his will, memory refreshing itself and giving him another recollection of his near death encounter. His eyes squeeze shut, unable to think clearly. Finally, he presses out, “I don’t- don't know.”
“Ha! You don't know? How chucklesome, Jeongguk,” his father seethes but Jeongguk barely registers it, heartbeat rising enough to mute the outside. Involuntarily, he recalls the infuriating helplessness he felt, how convinced he was about his death at the age of twenty-five, how no one would know why and how he came to meet his fate’s end. His skin breaks out in shivers.
Over his line of thought, his father yells, “How dare you lose heirloom passed down through endless generations! And for what? Because you wanted to go against my will? Because you thought the reputation you have right now is not enough?!”
Jeongguk stays silent, untrimmed nails digging into his palms and knuckles cracking uncomfortably at the cramping squeeze. His lour sours further, mind urging his vocal cords to protest but knowing he has nothing useful to say - if he were to admit and explain what really took place, it would be no better.
To top it off, his father does have a point. Jeongguk doesn't quite understand what possessed him to do such a crazed act; maybe it was the yearning for a new trophy, yearning for news about him spreading mindlessly, yearning for thrill. He always yearns for thrill.
His father, aggravated by quietude, draws his own claymore and stabs its keen blade right through the layered flagstone under Jeongguk’s hand, right through Jeongguk’s hand. Growling, Jeongguk dares not move despite the blooming, spine-chilling pain, has never seen his father draw a sword against his own blood.
He presses his lips together, disturbingly cognizant of how bad he fucked up. His palm is oozing and he’s swallowing repeatedly, clenching his jaw as his father says, “I should cut your arms off for such shameless stupidity. It’s a disgrace to the whole clan to lose our heirlooms. Have you truly nothing to say?”
In the far back of his heart, a tickle of fury appears. Perhaps angry with himself, perhaps angry with his father. His neck strains, a part of him wanting to look into his father’s eyes, a part of him wanting to pull the sword out and nurse his hand.
The darkest part of him, however, wants to use the sword to do the same to his father. He can’t and he wouldn’t but he secretly wants to.
Still, Jeongguk offers nothing but silence. His father’s teeth audibly grind together for a good minute before spitting a sardonic laughter out. He pulls the claymore out as he hisses, “Fine, let it be so.”
Jeongguk stands up fast enough for his head to spin, then presents a deep bow of apology to his father. Hoping it will mend things at least partially, he declares, “I vow to bring the sword back.”
His father regards him with a muttered jumble of words that Jeongguk cannot hope to understand. Turning around with his hoary cloak and robes whisking after he tugs the claymore back into its sheath, his father takes his leave. Jeongguk watches him go whilst he wraps a torn part of his shirt around his hand. Bile is palpable at the back of his tongue, disgust rising acutely and dissolving the far-fetched oath he just took.
With vision clouded, Jeongguk’s feet carry him away. Upon seeing an available target - a helpless training dummy - he twists his fist back and slams it into the head of one figure, then a second, then a third, then a seventh, then a thirteenth. Not caring about the wood, straw and nails pooling under his feet, Jeongguk channels all his pent-up guilt and frustrations until his forearms ache, his wrists cramp and knuckles become numb.
Only then does he stagger, tumbling down. Falls flat on his ass, lungs heaving urgently to acquire needed oxygen. From behind him, a faint sigh sounds. “You feeling better after smashing the poor dummies?”
“Yoongi,” Jeongguk turns his torso to face him, squinting against the sun, “hyung.”
“Hey,” the older crouches next to him on the ground, the leather of his pants creaking. “Glad to know you’re back and alive. I was already desperate at the thought of having to hunt with Hoseok alone and listen to his monologues about unrequited love.”
Jeongguk smiles lightly, tiredly, at the concealed worry. “You have to listen to it even when I’m there.”
“But it softens the blow a bit, y’know,” Yoongi pulls him up, letting Jeongguk lean against him when he feels unsure on his feet at first. “Let’s get you some food and some healers.”
At the loud mention of ‘healer’ , Jeongguk’s brow twitches. A flash of violet passes his mind, makes his heart lurch. “Food’s all I want. I’m fine, just tired, I don’t want a healer.” Yoongi seems unconvinced, scrutinising the nursed hand, the split knuckles glistening with fresh droplets of blood, the trickling perspiration coating his complexion, but doesn’t go against the younger’s wishes.
The dining hall is, much to Jeongguk’s gratitude, half-empty by the time of their arrival, not more than a dozen seats occupied with trainees who either forgot to eat or were too busy to get some refreshments sooner. Some stare, yes, but there’s a nice smell wafting through the air which makes the goggling less intense. The pleasant strength of the food’s scent makes Jeongguk’s mouth water, stomach growling impatiently.
The handmaids rush to their side, setting tray after tray in front of the two deftly with a quick glance here and there, eyes curious to see the slayer at home after so long. One of them goes as far as trying to start up a conversation with him, querying his whereabouts coyly whilst tucking a petite lock of hair behind her ear, and scurrying away when Jeongguk answers with a shake of his head, “It’s too long of a story.”
At last, they’re left with their food. Yoongi digs in. Albeit starving, Jeongguk swallows the rice with great difficulty, a thick lump in his throat preventing him from eating properly. After a few munches, he blurts, “Aren’t you gonna ask me what happened?”
Yoongi looks at him, pressing down the second third of his meal. “Do you want me to?”
Jeongguk shakes his head slowly.
“Then I won’t,” Yoongi pats his back, fingers pushing one of the trays closer to Jeongguk as to encourage him to wolf the meat down, “If you want to talk about it, you will. All I can do is lend you a friendly ear when you come to me.”
The words bring lulling comfort to the younger, relief washing over him. He mutters his thanks and finally tucks into his own share of food. His heart feels strange, disorderly, but Jeongguk is unable to put his finger on the reason.
♣
For the umpteenth time this evening, Jeongguk heaves a sigh.
He never imagined staying inside the temple would prove to be such a difficult task. With the freedom he has been basking in for the past years, his state right now is a painfully stark contrast.
Since angering his father, nothing has changed so far - the man goes to almost absurd lengths to avoid spotting or interacting with Jeongguk – although they never talked a lot to begin with – and everyone can sense the aura of ire his father tends to carry with him these days. Thus, Jeongguk dares not sneak out, scared to worsen the already bad situation. He minds his manners more than ever before even when his father is nowhere in near sight, the argument still holding onto his shoulders, firm and burdensome. His fingers itch for a hunt nonetheless.
He spends many mornings, afternoons and evenings with the raw recruits, having taken over the responsibility of training them and supervising them during duels and such. No one has yet taken him on but there are a few quite promising characters among the trainees, a gleaming look of defiance almost, bold competitiveness that will soon erupt.
Jeongguk knows because he, too, was once the same.
Despite spending so much of his time with the bunch, today is an exception; they are out for a minor mission, something even the freshest of starters can deal with, and Jeongguk has been left behind. It is a quest arranged by Hoseok, after all, so the younger is not needed.
Jeongguk wanders through the sublime grounds and lofty corridors, wandering and hoping something catches his attention. At the very end of a bright cloister he has not yet explored, he peeks into a space too shaded, windows barricaded with thick curtains and only little rays piercing through the dark. He enters with slight caution, crossing the place and pulling the cloth back. A fine pool of dust descends, then settles.
A library?
Endless rows of books sit in tall shelves, seemingly untouched but traced with numerous prints of fingertips, Jeongguk notices when he peers closer. Propping his hip against the wall, he plucks a thick tome out at random. The title, carved into the front of the book with precise strokes, reads: ‘The Beginning’ and under it, ‘History of Serpent Slaying’.
At once, Jeongguk’s mind harks back to the day he met Jimin, the healer who spoke words of disapproval against slaying, who looked down on Jeongguk.
‘It’s not that you can’t recall a case at hand,’ Jeongguk remembers him saying, ‘it’s that there is nothing of that sort written in the records to begin with!’
Jeongguk lets himself slide down, his belt scraping against the wall as he does so. He stares at the book, a new determination igniting inbetwixt his viscera. A light smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I’ll find something,” Jeongguk mutters, a part of him wanting Jimin to hear these words, to sense the dedication rising in Jeongguk, “I will.”
♣
The countless hours in the library turn into days quicker than expected. Often does he forget to eat or sleep when the night settles in, replacing the sun with lit candles. The times when a handmaiden brings him food with the words “From your brother.” multiply.
On the ninth day of his research, Yoongi joins him, strolling into the library. Jeongguk is seated atop a cluster of books he has already gone through, not finding a single clue - all is too brief or too vague, too unclear for Jeongguk to consider it proof. So he keeps searching.
“Jeongguk,” Yoongi addresses him and the younger’s eyes flicker up as if to acknowledge his presence, then fall back down onto the letters, sorted in thin lines. Jeongguk blinks thrice, losing the sentence he was reading among the text. Annoyed, he clicks his tongue and sets the scroll down, giving Yoongi his full attention - not before he memorises the name of the chapter he was on. “Hyung, hey. What’re you doing here? Was I summoned by someone? Or do you need something?”
“Gguk, you’ve been holed up in here for over a week,” Yoongi tells him. Jeongguk frowns, about to argue, but. But when he glances out the window, the blossoms he last saw in full bloom have already fallen off all trees. Thence, after becoming cognizant of the truth in Yoongi’s voice, he presses his lips together and nods solemnly. Belatedly, he takes in the dry sting of his eyes.
“What’s got you so passionate about,” Yoongi scans over the pile under Jeongguk, raising a surprised eyebrow, “about history…? You always disliked when we had to study these kinds. Besides, we should know all of these by heart - our dad made us memorise them.”
Jeongguk sighs, scratching behind his ear. He scrutinises Yoongi, pondering how the older would take an hour worth of story telling about what happened during the disastrous hunt and the aftermath of it.
“Has it got something to do with the time you were gone?”
Swallowing, Jeongguk nods again. Before anything else can be said, Yoongi takes a few steps closer and sits on his haunches, giving only a small humming sound. Jeongguk offers a tight smile of appreciation and starts his telling. He leaves out the painful details of the encounter with the serpent, preferring to skim over that part so as not to worry his brother too much, so as not to show how infuriated his mind is from the memory alone.
He confesses to his recklessness, however, admitting that he was far too excited and forgot to sharpen his weapons, abandoned his precision. With a wince, he squeezes out that the sword was left inside the serpent’s body, surely anchored too deep in the flesh to fall out. Yoongi gives him a similar face, an expression of discomfort when imagining the situation.
Jeongguk continues, his tone inevitably dipping into irritation, as he summarises the argument he and Jimin had. At this, a knowing look passes over Yoongi’s mien, lips curving with subtle amusement.
“Since then, it’s been, sort of, in the back of my head,” Jeongguk says, taking notice of the scroll in his hands and how crumpled it has become. “I couldn’t think of any case before, so I’ve been looking for proof in this library. There’s plenty of material but it’s all obscure with little attention to details.”
Yoongi stays silent, his smile slowly dulling until it’s set into a thin line. “Not to, uh, not to be on Jimin’s side but,” Jeongguk tenses, back straightening sharply, “I mean, I have a pretty good memory and I draw a blank as well when thinking about a death or even an injury by a serpent. To think of it, I’ve never seen an actively aggressive serpent – one that would initiate contact and attack us first. So maybe, just maybe, he might have been right-”
“No, hyung,” Jeongguk grips the edge of the scroll once more, wrinkling the spent paper further, “there’s no way. We simply forgot. It must be in the records somewhere .”
“And if you don’t find it, what will you do?”
Jeongguk doesn’t respond, the knot in his throat too thick to let him, opting to bore his attention into the text and resume his focus because Jimin’s words cannot be true. Yoongi stays only for a while after that, watching Jeongguk’s conflicted eyes with equal gaze. Before long, he gets up and aims for the exit.
“Wait!” Jeongguk suddenly realises just as Yoongi’s foot crosses the threshold, “can this be kept a secret? In case…” he stops himself from saying, “in case Jimin is right.” Yoongi turns around to nod, then leaves with a gentle warning, “Don’t forget to eat.”
Once left alone, Jeongguk sags against the shelves.
He stares at the books, nearly searing holes into them and wishing he would find something, anything, that would prove his verity, his purpose. Or was what Jimin said really the truth? If the pillars on which his entire clan, his entire reputation, his entire career, his entire belief stand upon are fabricated, how should he accept that? How should he welcome the fact that what he dedicated his life to is not more than a tale of lies, possibly made to terrify and to encourage society to kill, to fear?
What also stuns him is how he doesn’t feel any disgust or reluctance for hunting after considering the possibility of serpents being harmless.
An uncomfortable feeling engulfs him bit by bit whilst he thinks, a tinge of anger and disappointment. He recalls how scandalised he felt when Jimin spoke those words, how fury overtook him when Jimin wouldn’t bend, how he suddenly regarded him as stiff-necked and insufferable instead of pretty. Jeongguk rubs at the bridge of his nose, eyelids falling shut in exhaustion and frustration.
Jeongguk visits the library the next day and the day after that and the day after that as well, but by the time the week ends, the room returns to its shadowy state, cast aside by the bitter, defeated and perplexed slayer.
♣
“Today, there is an important announcement for you to hear. For those who are absent, please ensure that the information is passed to them,” just as Yoongi speaks the first words, the entire swarm of people on the ground quiets. Yoongi is known for his earned respect among trainees and equals likewise. Jeongguk sends him a curious smile when their eyes meet. Yoongi, however, does not reciprocate it; instead, there’s a strain on his face as if the words he is about to state are not good news.
Jeongguk stands beside Hoseok who’s wearing a similar expression. He narrows his eyes at his brothers, not knowing whether to feel left out or more concerned. Still, he’s carrying a tiny feeling of betrayal. They should be aware he prefers hearing everything beforehand.
Either way, this does have the impression of a mission which means crossing the borders of this temple which, in the short term, is spectacular for Jeongguk. For all he knows, it might finally get his mind off the one thing he’s been moping over. Jittery and anxious, Jeongguk rocks to and fro on his iron heels, the scabbards sheathing a newly forged sword and dagger swaying with him.
“The lot of you should know about the invasion of insectoids - it’s the reason we’re sojourning in this temple to begin with,” Jeongguk cringes at the mention of the insectoids.
Albeit not afraid, the human-sized creatures tend to come off as petrifying whenever Jeongguk encounters them. Extremely deadly and carnivorous, they lurk in shadows and ambush carts or herds of people, skewering the helpless victims on claws, injecting them with venom or mutilating them with mandibles. Though, due to years of practice, Jeongguk’s agile and confident finesse is a sturdy shield against their movements.
“We’ve been going on investigations, missions and quests in order to get the matter at hand cleared out but, as of recently, it’s gotten out of control at rapid speed,” the crowd stays silent save for some agreeing with hums or hushed responses, “thus, the clans of Kims, Mins, Jungs and us have been asked to handle the situation. Properly.”
The sheet of paper lying by Yoongi’s feet is picked up. “Our objective is to guard any towns, villages, hamlets and settlements located in the endangered zones. We’ll stay in adequate outposts near the assigned places. Since the months are warm and mild now, there’s no need to worry yourselves about the weather.”
A sense of vague panic settles light, then heavy into the pit of Jeongguk’s stomach but he can’t quite put his finger on the reason for it. A trainee from the crowd asks, “When will this end? Will we be able to get back before the festival?” and another one joins with, “What if I need to leave? I can’t be far from my family for too long.”
“Until everything is deemed comparatively safe, at least, or until they retreat. We will have mages with us to take care of conjuring refreshment tables or teleporting us when necessary and raw recruits running additional errands. Any more questions- oh, and healers are considered as a matter of course.”
Met with silence, Yoongi clears his throat and flips open the papers bound together. “The parties have been decided this morning. I’ll read out the number and the members included only once, so listen closely.” He lets his voice rise in volume and names the first group, careful to pronounce everything properly so as not to give way to mishearings. Jeongguk picks at his cuticles impatiently, taking slow steps to get closer to the dais from which Yoongi is speaking.
He can’t help himself; his mind reaches deep into the day when he spoke with Jimin and while he does recall every single detail, the village’s name was the one thing he let slip. What if he’s assigned to that particular spot? Jeongguk cringes again, squeezing his eyes as he stops a dramatic sigh from leaving him.
He has a significant objective, he knows, and he should not stray from that, he also knows. But the image of coming face to face with the source of his inner conflicts is a little more burdensome than simply disregarding it without sizzling in guilt, shame even. Burdensome enough to make him forget that he, in fact, will finally be going past the walls of this temple.
“-number 13, comprising me, Jeon Jeongguk, Lan Wangji, Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian who will cover the area of Zouchin Province in Kun’Lai Summit.”
Mind clearing at lightning speed at the reminder, Jeongguk groans loud enough for the three trainees he’s been bunched with to shoot him confused, perhaps even scandalised looks. He knows them, is cognizant of their exceptional ability but that’s not the annoying part - returning to Zouchin Village is. Hoseok tilts his head at the younger, “Jeongguk, what’s wrong? Do you have an issue with your team? I thought you were getting along pretty well with the trainees.”
“No,” Jeongguk grouches, digging fingers into his hair until his scalp is stinging. “Not a problem with that part.”
When Yoongi finishes, he hops off the platform whilst parties gather; some are barely acquainted and find this time suitable for getting to know each other. Jeongguk can’t help his glare initially but forces himself to drop it once Yoongi walks over. “What’s the deal, Gguk?”
“Hyung,” he begins but Hoseok is standing next to the two, hands on his hips and waiting for the answer as well. Jeongguk clears his throat, not quite wanting to send Hoseok away and make it painfully obvious that there’s a secret kept. He settles for, “I’ve visited that place pretty recently, you could say. Certain people there are not the most welcoming, that’s all.”
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow, trying to read in between the lines. When he gets it he snickers, any trace of pity absent. Jeongguk drops his head heavily, shaking it. This mission is about to be a painfully lengthy one.