CW: Explicit language, blood & gore, violence.
“Mother, why is father not coming with us?”
Lady Hwan Jina tears her gaze from the window. She smiles tenderly at her eldest son, Second Lord Hwan Namgil, an austere teenager just blossoming from his adolescence. Out of all her children, he is most like his father in looks and demeanour, though he has a sense of integrity that is most definitely not inherent to Hwan Sun.
“He has been called to the Blue Plains by the Mother,” she explains, eyes growing hooded. “So we shall be visiting the Governor of Ojomito in his place. You will be my right hand man, Namgil nâz-am. And Ojomito is a very large and busy city. Will you help me with your brothers?”
Namgil flinches at the Western term of endearment but he gives a stiff nod. He raises his book and flips the page, golden eyes flitting from side to side as he continues reading.
“Mama, what’s Ojomima like?” Fourth Lord Hwan Bora shouts as he leaps from the opposite seat and into his mother’s lap. She deftly snatches him out of the air and traps him within her tight embrace. The six year old squeals and squirms, giggling as she tickles his belly.
“Ojomito, azizakam. It is a beautiful city that doesn’t know winter and the buildings are coloured like the rainbow. Ah, and the city overlooks the Southern ocean, which stretches out farther than the eye can see.”
“The ocean? Where the lulua whale live?”
“Yes, if you are a good boy, you might even see one. Will you be good and listen to me and your older brothers?”
“Maaaybe,” Bora singsongs, going dramatically limp in his mother’s arms. He glances up at her, eyes alight in excitement. “Can I have lugaimat?”
“We are going to the South, azizakam. There will be no lugaimat. But you can have your favourite picarones–”
“PICARONES!” The boy bellows before slipping bonelessly to the floor of the carriage. He then proceeds to inexplicably roll around like a stranded worm.
“Picaro! Picaro!” Bora’s excitement is contagious and soon the youngest, Fifth Lord Hwan Jun, begins to bounce in his seat while babbling after his brother. “Jun wan’ picaro too!”
“Will you both be quiet?” Third Lord Hwan Ilsung, whose beauty is egregious even at this tender age, whips open his decorated fan and waves it before himself. He moves with languid elegance, much like the ladies of the court he enjoys emulating. The haughty expression upon his subtly painted face is a perfect impression. “You are giving me a headache. I have a delicate constitution and I mustn’t be disturbed.”
Jina stifles a laugh and leans forward to gather her youngest child into her arms. Jun eagerly climbs onto his mother’s lap and clings onto her with his pudgy little hands. He is an adorable child with his round cheeks and long lashes that many find themselves crooning over. Of course, his gentle disposition causes him to flee such attention, choosing instead to hide behind his mother’s skirts – or his brothers’ bolder personalities.
She kisses his forehead and holds him to her chest, humming a calming tune. He snuffles and rests his cheek upon her steady heartbeat, gazing up at her with big golden eyes.
The clopping of hooves. The gentle sway of the carriage. Sun had offered her a car and a driver, but she had insisted upon a carriage, despite the rougher ride. To attract unnecessary attention would be the same as inviting trouble. And with all four of her children accompanying her on this trip, she couldn’t take such a pointless risk for mere luxury.
This had been her idea after all. Ojomito is the gateway to the stunning Southern ocean with a sweeping coastline of white sands and azure water. She wishes for her sons to experience this nature at least once in their lifetime. And she wants to be there when they do.
Jina parts the curtains and squints against the harsh light.
Outside, she can see sprawling mountain ranges and sunbaked earth. Fields of wheat and the scent of rich summer fruits. They seem to be passing through a bordertown where the people don clothing in styles of both the East and the South and sometimes both, with tantalising colours, dresses and robes. The people here are sun kissed and exuberant, living a world away from the suffocating walls of the Imperial city.
A stallion trots into view and upon his back sits a young, burly guard from the House of Hwan, disguised in plain travelling robes. The guard leans down and addresses Jina in a voice raised against the clamour of wheels and hooves, “Are you alright, my Lady? Is the carriage moving too fast for you?”
“I am perfectly fine, Batair. Thank you for your concern.”
“If you should require a rest, my men and I can keep the young masters entertained.”
The lady shakes her head with a warm smile. “They are manageable,” she says, tone lined with mirth. “Thank you, Batair. How long until we reach Ojomito?”
“I estimate a few hours past sundown, my Lady.”
“Any problems?”
“None to foresee, no.”
“Very good.”
“Butter!” A small face pops into view, tiny fingers clutching onto the window frame for support.
The guard grins and gives the youngest master a quick salute. “Young master Jun.”
“Butter, can I ride mah?” Jun’s golden eyes widen to the size of dinnerplates and glitter in anticipation. “Mah! Hello! It’s your frien’, Jun!”
The horse snorts and tosses his head in reply. Batair chuckles and pats his steed’s neck to soothe his unrest. “You can ride him when we reach Ojomito, young master.”
Jina smiles and idly brushes the soft tufts of brown hair from her son’s brow as the two converse. Her thoughts are with the other two men in her life however. Both significant and equally as troublesome as each other.
It has been many months since the Crown Prince injured Hwan Sun, and the prince’s status as a witch has spread far and wide. Of course, it wouldn’t surprise Jina if her husband had spurred such talk.
When she rushed her husband away to Healer Wu, her affair with Daiki had officially ended. Though he has since sent her letters – long, long letters – on the regular from the Blue Plains. All of which she stowed away and not once opened.
“–an’ Bobo hit my arm an’ it hurted lots,” Jun is saying earnestly to the guard, showing said ‘hurted’ arm.
Batair hums and nods, stroking his chiselled jaw in thought. “That is a serious accusation, young master. Had young master Bora apologised for this incident?”
“Nuh-uh,” Jun shakes his head wildly, eyes gone round. “But Jun will for-for–”
“Forgive?” Batair offers.
“–forgib ‘cus Jun is hero.”
“Ah. I was not aware that we had a hero in our midst!”
Jun smiles shyly and squishes a small fist into his plump cheek. “Mama says…”
“Hm. Now that I think about it, whenever you are scared you do act very, very brave.” Batair nods to himself, expression austere. “I think your mother may be right, young master. You most definitely possess the qualities of a hero!”
The boy’s face lights up, inciting a fond smile to grace the guard’s face. Batair stretches out his arm to ruffle Jun’s hair. The latter squeals and giggles before ducking back into the carriage.
“It is a relief that he has started speaking,” Batair muses, leaning back in his saddle.
Jina rouses from her thoughts to hum in agreement. “It has only been a few months but he has made such progress.” Her tender expression sends a light flush through the burly man’s face. “Largely thanks to you. Jun has taken quite a liking to you and your lessons.”
“Ah. ‘Tis nothing, my Lady. I have a brother that is of a similar temperament. He too was mute until seven years of age.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Tbe ajeuta tlw ab rqfjx?”
“Tfr, ws Ojvs. Po cba P atfc ws wbatfg, atbeut rtf kjr boafc bea bo atf tberf klat tfg kbgx.”
“Rba fnfc Qe Lbcu cbg atf Jilclm tjr tjv jr wemt remmfrr jr sbe.”
Djajlg mtemxifr jcv geyr tlr cjqf, gjatfg yjrtoei. “Ct. Tbe qgjlrf wf abb wemt, ws Ojvs.”
“Not enough, Batair.”
“The young master is a fast learner, so it is as much him as it is–” His body jerks to the side. Blood squirts from his throat, an arrowhead buried deep beneath his ear. His eyes are wide in shock, lips moving silently as he stretches out a shaking hand towards the lady.
She doesn’t stop to think. The door flings open and she hangs out of the carriage, grabbing him by the arm. His steed closes the gap between them as if he were aware of the lady’s intentions and with a massive heave, she drags Batair from horseback and into the carriage. The door slams close as soon as he’s inside.
“Mother!” Ilsung shrieks, scrambling into the furthest corner of the carriage. “Mother, what’s happening? What happened to Batair?!”
Namgil frowns and plucks Bora off the ground, containing the boisterous boy within his arms.
“Batair, oh Batair!” Jina presses her hands upon his blood-slick throat, mindful of the arrow shaft, but the blood keeps gushing from his convulsing body, painting the carriage floor red.
Batair gurgles wetly as he suffocates on his own blood, eyes bulging in pure, primal terror. He’s begging her silently, begging her to save his life, to keep death at bay. I have a brother. A family. An entire life to live.
And yet, she can do nothing. Nothing at all. Even as she yells at him to keep awake. Even as she desperately tries to block the endless flow of blood, his very life force, with her hands, her robes. Anything and everything she can think of, she does. And she can curse and cry and pray all she wants, fight to her limits and beyond, but she cannot hold back the flow of time, nor the loathsome, inevitable hands of death.
And slowly, his thrashing grows weaker. His pulse ebbs away. And it’s her face, her beautiful, tear-stained face, that is the last thing he sees as he sinks into Izayoma’s embrace.
His body is still.
His last breath warm upon his crimson lips.
The lady kneels beside him with her head down, frozen in shock, or perhaps in silent prayer.
Ilsung shivers and weeps in the corner of the carriage. The stoic Namgil pushes Bora’s face into his shoulder, keeping the latter’s eyes away from the grisly scene. The austere teenager stares at the encroaching pool of blood with a strange expression.
Jun sits by his mother’s side, clutching onto the gory hem of her robes, staring blankly at Batair’s face. It’s warped and unrecognisable, eternally frozen in its terror stricken twist.
The fifth lord doesn’t seem to be at all present, his goldens dull and lifeless, unmoving even as the carriage comes to a sudden, lurching stop.
Steel on steel. The whir of arrows zipping through the air. Panicked whinnies and restless clops of countless hooves. The voices of guards and unknown persons, raised in combat.
They are surrounded on all sides. There’s no escaping this.
Jina stirs and grabs the catatonic toddler, pulling him towards his brothers. She covers all four children with her body, arms outstretched and grim determination etched upon her blood-flecked features.
Four pairs of trusting eyes meet her gaze. She silently communicates her strength and reassurances. She is the rock they need in this very moment, the entity that is larger than a mere human, a deity who would keep them safe at whatever the cost. And it’s in that single look, that their fears dissipate. One by one. Their trust in their mother, stronger than their fear of death.
As the sounds of battle come to a deafening peak, she sings a lullaby from her homeland. Her voice is soft and tender, effortlessly travelling through delicate notes and minor melody.
And her voice never stops. Not even when the carriage door is flung open. Not even when a blade flashes behind. She continues on, only faltering when she feels a sudden agony erupts in her side, an immense pressure, and sudden drench of hot wetness spreading rapidly through her robes.
The last note is thread thin. It hangs in the air as she topples forward, eyes fluttering close, and she collapses atop her children, keeping them shielded even as the last of her cognition flees.
“You bastard, Hwan Sun!” The attacker snarls in triumph, yanking his sword free. A gory spray of blood follows the crimson blade. “I wish you a swift journey to the underworld.”
But Hwan Sun does not respond. His shadow-shrouded form lies limply in the corner of the carriage, hiding something beneath his body. His body, which is rather petite and small.
The attacker freezes. His blade knocks upon the flooded carriage floor. Blood mingles.
Blue eyes flinch wide.
Beneath his victim’s arm, he sees a pair of glazed golden eyes peek out at him. Tiny legs. Tiny arms. A familiar round face, small and soft.
Hwan Jun.
And beside him, clustered together beneath their mother’s body, are his brothers.
Hino Daiki stumbles back, sword clattering to the ground. The heel of his boot hits a downed horse. He sways, near losing his balance.
He doesn’t dare say her name. Because if he does, then it would become real. His blade, sinking into her flesh. Her blood staining his palms. Her life, taken by the very one who loves her the dearest.
A wretched, hysterical noise seeps from his gullet. That strange cry rises in volume and hysteria, and then he’s screaming, screaming so loud it tears at his throat. He grips his hair and drops to his knees, eyes rolling wildly in his skull. They turn sanguine in his madness, his mind-shattering fury and grief. There is not a shred of the prince to be found in this mindless, keening beast.
The last of the guards falls dead not a foot away. But the attackers don’t celebrate their triumph. They are simply focused on their leader, whose very sanity seems to deteriorate before their very eyes.
None dare to step forward. None dare to speak.
This is a sight too intimate, too harrowing, to interrupt.
The prince reels and grabs his sword, every movement clumsy and drunken. His intent doesn’t register with his men, all who seem to be frozen to the spot in confusion and shock. It’s only when he brings the blade to his own throat, with tears dripping from his jaw, that they finally lurch into action.
But the line of red that spreads across his flesh keeps them at bay. A warning. A threat.
The children are hysterical now. Screaming, crying, shaking their mother’s body. Wake up! Wake up, mother! Wake up!
This pain is Daiki’s eternity. There is nothing else in sight. Jina, his sweet, beautiful Jina. His beloved, his reason, gone. And by his own vengeful hand.
It’s without thought, without any remorse, that he viciously slashes his own throat–
Or so he would, if his hand had not suddenly flung to the side, tossing the sword to the battle churned ground.
Rin hunches over, trembling from head to foot. The prince’s turmoil, his unbearable suffering, batters him from every angle. It’s not just a pain of the flesh, but a pain that sinks to his very marrow, his organs, his soul. Even his mind does not escape unscathed, as battered as every other part of his being.
But he cannot allow himself to die.
It’s Jun that opens his wounds. The Jun from this memory. A child no older than five, with the dull look of the traumatised. They lock eyes and Rin physically jolts as an invisible hand crushes his heart.
“Little lord…”
Rin groans and keels over. This isn’t my guilt. This isn’t my burden to bear!
He tears his eyes away from the child, instead sweeping them over every figure left standing. They watch him in silence, trapped within the hazy ambiguity of the memory. They are faceless, features like stirred watercolour, as if Jina could not discern their identities.
Lost to time and death, perhaps.
His upper lip curls when he glances at the head of the carriage. He snatches up his sword, stabs the tip into the ground, and hauls himself to his feet.
“So this is how she died,” he sneers, bearing the crippling pain pulsing through his body. “Needlessly. And without meaning. A stupid mistake.” He barks a laugh as he hobbles to the front of the carriage. The prince’s fighters step aside, making way for their leader.
“How embarrassing.” Cold sweat beads his forehead. He maintains his grin, his mirth bold and crude. “How pathetic. No wonder Hwan Sun doesn’t want to talk about the lady’s death. It’s downright hilarious!”
Upon the last word, he grabs the carriage driver and yanks her from her perch. The woman barely has time to raise her head when Rin’s bloodied blade pricks the base of her throat.
He glares down at her with a smile, not a shred of warmth to be seen. “Don’t you think it’s funny? Why aren’t you laughing?”
The driver bares her teeth, silently fuming. She bats the blade aside and picks herself off the ground. Unlike the fighters, her features are distinct and clear. And reminisce of a certain lady.
“You should be dead!” she seethes, the driver’s form dissipating like wind-blown smoke. Her true visage is revealed. Beautiful and elegant, poised even in her stark fury. “You should have ended your life! Why do you point your blade at me?”
“Think I’d just lie down and die on your word?” Rin scoffs and jabs his blade closer, sending her a step back.
“YOU KILLED ME!” An unearthly scream erupts from her gaping mouth, jaws stretched to inhuman lengths. Though she has a petite frame, she seems to billow and expand, or perhaps the world shrinks around her, and her visage exudes the gravity, the immensity of her interdimensional mania. “YOU DESTROYED ME. YOU RIPPED ME FROM MY CHILDREN. YOU STOLE ME FROM THEIR FUTURES.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Rin snaps, chest pumping with panicked pants. He drags a foot back, alarmed by the monstrous sight of Jina’s wrath. “The man who killed you is dead! He’s dead, long gone to the underworld, if not to his next life. He’s not here!”
Jina throws her head back and releases another unearthly scream, a thousand screams from her lifetime joined in discordant harmony through time and space.
A violent hurricane rips through the contorted landscape, sending powerful winds whipping around their bodies. The carriage rocks dangerously, swaying at sharper angles with every gust.
Horses howl in terror and gallop riderless into the squall. Fighters struggle to remain standing, but many tumble to the ground, helpless to the relentless gales.
Jina’s flaming glare pierces the Rat, pinning him to the spot. She raises a hand and points at him with a sinister air, as if portending his end.
“You and him are the one and the same,” A thousand screams turn to a thousand voices, each stolen from a memory for this very moment. The voices laden with their own emotions and history, entwine together like threads in a loom. By sheer existence, they write her history. A record of Hwan Jina. Evidence of her life.
And it does nothing but send chills through Rin’s form, turning his blood to ice.
“You and him are the one and the same,” she repeats in her thousand voices. “You will destroy my child as Hino Daiki destroyed me. You will ruin my child’s name, his House, and his future. You will be his downfall. His death. You will bring nothing but eternal suffering and tragedy. You curse. You bad omen. You demon. You fiend!”
His wounds corrode. Blood soaks into his robes. He’s crippled, frozen, barraged. Her words are the noose that slips around his neck. The final encouragement he needs to end his own torment…
But why?
He shouldn’t have to be the monster, just because it is a role assigned to him. He shouldn’t have to be punished when no-one else is, especially not by his own hand. If the prince isn’t guilty, if the Mother, Hwan Sun, and the fucking bluebloods aren’t guilty – then why is he?
Rin slowly straightens up, eyes glazing over in the throes of revelation. Dimly, he’s aware of his wounds slowly closing. One by one. His flesh mending itself, becoming whole.
Guilt is pointless. It doesn’t achieve anything but cause anguish that goes nowhere. He won’t make the lives he took go to waste. Those stolen lives mean that he has more reasons to stay alive. And now, it’s not just himself. It’s also Jun he has to keep safe.
Mira’s voice wanders through the chaos and flickers to the fore: What if it came between your life and the young master’s life? Which would you choose?
Rin grips his sword tightly. If either he or Jun has to die, then he would just have to rid of every other factor instead. Whatever, whoever, that may be.
There is always a choice, after all. Even when there seems to be none.
Crimson glare flashes with his raised blade. His form softens, sways, and staggers. His eyes grow hooded, limbs flopping as if he were drunk.
And then, in a blink of an eye, he’s at Jina’s side, blade flashing. Her belly splits open and thick, slippery ropes of intestines burst from the cut.
He follows through the motion and falls bonelessly to the ground, sweeping his blade an inch above the dirt. The steel bites her ankles and slices through the joints, completely dismembering her feet.
A thousand screams rattle his skull, but he pushes through, instinctively running through the katas that had been beaten into his very core.
As he whittles her down and defends against her frenzied attacks, several foreign forms seep through. A foreign style that he doesn’t recognise. Fluid and lethal that utilises the blade with an agility and deft that the drunken wind-style does not. It reminds him of crashing waves and shards of ice, water in both forms and as lethal as the other.
Mizudori.
The name comes to him unbidden, perhaps from the obscured depths of his subconscious.
His spinning blade catches the side of her head and an ear goes flying, blood gushing from yet another wound on her severely damaged body.
Jina shrieks and lunges at her foe, arms stretching to impossible lengths as if they were made of rubber.
Rin leaps back but those clawed hands shoot after him. They snatch him by the throat. Crush his windpipe.
His eyes bulge. Agony ripples down his spine. Lungs burn and seize.
Relief is near imminent when another blade cleaves through Jina’s wrists. Her claws fall in twin thump, lifeless, dead weight.
Jina rears back, writhing and convulsing in agony. The very landscape twists around her form in nauseating sympathy, echoing her erratic movements.
Wheezing, Rin desperately pulls in breaths through his swollen neck and his knees buckle beneath his weight. Before he collapses, a pair of arms wrap around his torso, keeping him upright.
Rin blindly clutches onto the smaller figure’s shoulders, using them as a crutch until he can finally catch his breath.
“…Jun?”
The younger Jina – or rather, Jun – gives him a pained smile and nods. Though he attempts to keep Rin upright, he himself seems on the verge of collapse.
Rin hastily pulls away, forcing himself to stand upon his own feet.
The lord hunches over, clutching onto the grievous wound in his side. In his other hand, he grips Batair’s sword.
“Rinnie…I made it…I’m here…” Jun winces and grits his teeth, trembling in pain.
The raven worries his bottom lip and raises his hand, lightly touching the wounded noble’s side. “How did you…” He exhales sharply, unsure whether he’s relieved or worried. “I thought you were dead…” Mana flows from his fingertips and into the gaping stab wound. It doesn’t heal the flesh, but it should sustain Jun for some time. At least give him the energy he needs to stay upright and awake.
“Thank you, Rinnie,” Jun breathes, raising himself as the colour returns to his face. He gives his companion a furtive smile before turning his attention to his mother.
The spectre hovers in the air, whittled and gory. She wears impassivity and detachment, no longer tied to her sentiments and ascended above her humanity. Though the cruelty and loathing remains, clinging onto her stubbornly like a second skin.
Rin steps forward, Izayoma’s Call upon his lips, but the little lord walks into his path. The latter crosses the chasm and stands a breath away from Jina. He reaches out and touches her arm. There is no reaction.
“Mo…” His voice is weak. Hesitant. The word so foreign in a call. “Mother.”
This draws her attention. She tilts her head towards Jun. There’s a stirring recognition.
Where a younger Hwan Jina once stood, there is now the Fifth Lord Hwan Jun. A young man in his true form. Her youngest child, standing tall and strong. Dazzling as brilliantly as she had been in her own youth.
The Lost Prince is also gone, leaving behind Rin’s slight frame (much to his chagrin).
“Mother. I do not wish to fight you.” Jun gives her a hesitant smile, raising a trembling hand to her cheek. Her flesh is hard and cold under his fingertips, like malleable stone. “I know you are angry. It is unfair, for your life to be cut so short. But this is a memory. The Lost Prince has passed and so have you. Rinnie is not Daiki. I am not you. Whatever your fears may be for us, I can assure you, history will not repeat itself.”
She speaks without moving her lips. Her disembodied voice in solitude and a mere whisper, thunderous in the cotton-silence of dead air. “I sacrificed everything for the Hwan name. For you and your brothers. For your father. For the Crown Prince. I sacrificed everything and in return, I was killed by the one I loved. Betrayed and rend. And yet you threaten to dishonour my sacrifice by endearing yourself to this boy. And he to you.”
“How is that dishonour?” Jun withdraws his touch, unnerved by his mother’s callous stare. “Rinnie and I hold great affection for one another. In no way do we dishonour your sacrifice nor your memory.”
“You know not who he is. He will ruin you. Destroy you. Rip you away from this life as Hino Daiki did to me. This is my last act as your mother, azizakam. The only thing I can do in my death.” Her expression softens as she gazes upon her child. She brings her arms around his form, hands and feet growing back – bone to ligaments to muscle, fat, and meat. Layer by layer until finally, she’s whole again. But Jun doesn’t even notice.
He’s arched under her touch, forced into a tight embrace. His goldens are round and helpless.
“My brave hero,” she hums, tenderly, stroking the back of his head. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. How long I have wished to hold you like this. I have watched over you and your brothers for fifteen years, but in all that time I could not touch any of you. I could not embrace you when you cried, offer you comfort when you faced tribulations, nor celebrate your achievements. All I could do was watch from the shadows and pray that you stayed safe and well.”
“…Mother.” A sudden sob erupts from the shaken lord and he quickly buries his face into her shoulder. He wraps his own arms around her slender form, squeezing her tightly, clutching at her with desperation. “Mother, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. Please.” He cries like he’s five years old again, weeping and shuddering as he clings onto his mother.
Jina rocks him gently, singing a familiar lullaby to soothe her youngest child.
When he finally calms and raises his tear-streaked face, he sees Jina’s beautiful visage gazing down at him with a warmth only a mother can exude. He feels wretched, scared, and lonely, faced with the terrible prospect of having his mother torn away from him just when she had finally returned.
“I will always belong to Izayoma,” she murmurs without moving her lips, dabbing his cheeks dry with her sleeve. “But I am here for you, azizakam. You are in danger and yet you keep the threat so close to your heart.”
He looks conflicted. Yearning for his mother’s approval and yet disagreeing with her words. “Rinnie is safe,” he insists, voice thick and hoarse. Goldens shimmer with remnant tears. “Do you not see how hard he fights for me? To what extent he goes to protect me?”
She flits her eyes to the Rat. The latter stands not far off, watching mother and son silently with a glum expression. He meets her cold gaze with a cooler one of his own. Neither waver.
Quietly, so that only Jina can hear, the little lord whispers, “I love him, mother. I love him more than I have loved anyone, even myself. I do not remember my life before him and I do not wish to think of my life without him. Please, mother. Your history is not our future.”
There’s a long period of consideration. The silence is tense. It teems with hostility and frustration. But one look at her son’s imploring face is all she needs to acquiesce.
A mother’s heart is at once impossibly weak and impossibly strong.
“I will be watching, azizakam. I leave you now, because I am causing your body harm. But I will not leave your side. If he ever moves against you, know that I will do whatever I must to protect you.”
Jun’s lips quiver as he nods, expression crumbling.
“Oh, my brave hero.” Jina gathers him into her arms again, pulling him close. “How proud I am of you.”
And so, Lady Hwan Jina leaves without fanfare. And Jun stands alone.
The memory fades around them. Taking with it the children, the carriage, and the fighters. Batair and his brother. The bodies of the guards. A life once lived that can never return. Swallowed by the abyssal maws of time.
“…This is my first memory.” Jun lifts his head and meets Rin’s eyes. Despite his grief, he still has warmth to share with his friend. With the one he loves the dearest.
As if prompted by the lord’s voice, Rin moves to his side and supports his swaying form, finding that he now has to look up to keep sight of those puffy goldens. Alas, his height superiority had been so short-lived.
“I remember…” Jun continues, resting a palm upon the youth’s chest. “I remember her protecting me. She hugged me and my brothers, using herself as a shield as he ran her through with his sword. And all the while, she kept telling me to be brave. ‘My brave hero’ she said.”
The Rat’s own first memory flickers through his mind. Bo, staring down at him in a panic after bringing him back to life. And somewhere in the background, Dasom screaming and weeping, lost to her madness after trying to strangle her own child to death.
The saviour and the killer.
Is Jun right? Is their history not their future?
Doubt is like sepsis in his veins.
Jun suddenly sags in Rin’s arms, his legs completely giving out beneath. Unable to carry the lord’s weight, Rin lowers him to the ground, cradling him in his arms. “Jun?” Anxiety gives his tone a sharper edge. “Jun, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”
“Hurts.” The lord grimaces as he clutches at his side. The wound gapes and oozes, vibrant red blood trickling through his fingers. “You got me rather good, Rinnie.” Though he says the last in a light jest, this only seems to cause Rin much distress.
“You have to heal,” Rin says urgently, shivering as if he were kneeling in snow. “You can heal, Jun. You have to get up. You have to be okay. Otherwise all of this was for nothing!” He pushes his hand over Jun’s, pushing hard on the wound to stop the bleeding.
The lord cries out sharply, face creased in agony. “I-It’s alright, Rinnie,” he pants, eyes squinted and watering. “This is merely an illusion. Once I awake, I will not be injured.”
“But your soul will be, you idiot!” Rin locks his jaw in frustration, desperately wringing the last drops of his mana from his hollow core. “You have to heal before you wake up, Jun. That’s the reason I even came in here in the first place. You even got your old lady to piss off without using the Call – so if you’re hurt then it’s just a waste of my efforts, right?”
Jun chuckles weakly. “Thank you, Rinnie. Thank you for trying to save me.”
“Trying?” Rin gnashes his teeth, anger spiking.
And he bears down with a monumental strength, drawing from his upset, throwing oil onto the flickering flames of his will until mana starts flowing from his hands to the ailing lord’s soul. His core is empty, yet he manages a steady flow. He knows that this is his own life force, his very soul that he is using.
And yet, he doesn’t care.
His own spiritual form begins to break down. Cracks appear in his skin. He feels his bones crumble, his limbs buckle and break. He’s burning alive, turning to charcoal, and disintegrating into ash. And yet, the flow continues uninterrupted, until the little lord’s wound is completely healed.
Jun slips from his grasp.
The Rat floats through oblivion, called back to reality by his weakened tether.
I guess she is a good mother… too bad her way of showing it can be kinda dangerous
And honestly their first memories are really… well you get it
Also, why was jun unable to speak before? I think he was like, 5 yo in this chapter?
Yeah she’s erm…definitely blinded by her love sometimes V_V And as for Jun’s mutism, there isn’t a big significant reason for it outside of his character. He tends to shut down when he is overwhelmed or anxious and this had chased him into his adulthood. He was definitely a very sensitive and shy child to the point of having communication issues (as result of growing up in a family of intensely strong personalities lol) but Botain helped coax him out of his shell!
And you killed butter 😭
Butter had to die 🙁
Jeejohjoo has spoken 🤧 and we shall suffer
Omg Rin panicks T_T
Thank you for the chapter!! ❤️❤️
Ahhhh he’ll be okay. maybe 😛 Thank you for reading! <33
Wahhh… my heart! Also, why do I feel like Hwan Sun has something to do with Jina’s death?!?!
HMMMM >u> maybe…maybe not!!! Thank you for reading curio! ^3^ <33
looks at u wide eyed !! thanks for providing so many good chapters ahh