CW: Explicit language, graphic description of hunting/killing animal, mentions of cults/brainwashing, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of eugenics.
The Rat lies in the dirt, hidden by loping ferns dusted white by the morning frost. His prey chews on mushrooms in the small clearing, its opal fur near iridescent, shimmering with every minute turn. Its blue eyes are stark and deep in contrast, and the black antlers are like branches of ink reaching for the sky.
The royal deer (or rex cervorum according to Iris) is a creature that is emblematic of the blueblood values – luxury, elegance, and beauty. And though it is extremely agile and fast, there is one fatal characteristic of this creature. The royal deer, of all Cervidae (and perhaps even fauna) are incomprehensibly stupid.
“It’s why they are so endangered,” Iris told him as they trekked into the Black Forest. She pointed out a tuft of opal fur stuck to some brush. “They blunder through these woods like they have no predators. If there were no hunting ban, they would be entirely wiped out.”
“Then why do you hunt them?” Rin asked, pocketing the fur as they pass by.
“Because they are harmful to the local ecology. Despite how they look, they eat three times their weight and eradicate vital sources of sustenance for the native animals. When they were introduced, many species went extinct within the year.”
“Huh. So they’re a pest.”
“The worst kind,” Iris agreed with a deep grimace. “They aren’t natural. Rather, they are the product of experimentation by the Martel Empress-”
“Which one is that?”
“The one before the Mad Emperor–”
“They’re all mad.”
“Solaris.”
“Ah.”
“The Martel Empress gained her moniker in death due to her love of experimenting on creatures and humans alike, breeding them, affecting them with magic, until she produced what she would deem the most aesthetic and purest of specimens.”
It’s gruesome, Rin thinks as he watches the stag paw at the detritus. It’s not beautiful or pure at all. The thought of having the core of himself hammered out at the whims of a deranged Empress, twists his stomach into iron knots. He’s known evil in this cruel world, but there is little evil as nauseating as the Martel Empress’ unnatural work.
A stick snaps beneath him when he shifts and the stag freezes, staring in his direction. He freezes in turn, staring back.
For a long time, both predator and prey remain locked in this position, waiting for the other to move. And then, the stag zips off, disappearing into the thick of the woods in mere seconds.
“Fuck!” Rin clambers to his feet, brushing dead leaves and dirt from his front. “They may be stupid as hell, but they’re damn fast.”
“Patience, Rat,” Iris says, lithely dropping from the bough of a nearby tree. “Hunting is a game of patience.”
“Eurgh. I don’t think it’s my kind of game at all.”
The Guildmaster huffs amusedly and adjusts the bow slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed like he is, in simple hunter’s garb, earthen and comfortable for ease of movement. Her usual wild, springy hair is tamed in a high ponytail, and his in a tight braid. They look very compatible, though he’s loath to admit such a thing.
“He is easy to track,” she says, pointing out the deep hoof marks in the soft soil. “And while he may be fast, he cannot go far. We will catch up to him quickly. Come.”
They pick their way through the forest, ensuring their movements stay quiet. Their voices are barely above a whisper as they converse.
The air is crisp and dry today, but recent rainfall has wet the forest and her soils, effusing dormant scents stirred by the precipitation. Rin is greatly comforted by these scents, as if with every breath, he’s clearing his lungs of the city grime. When they take a short break (more for his sake than hers), he asks Iris why she called him out to hunt. She takes a moment to reply as she takes a deep drink from her water flask. A swipe across her mouth catches the stray droplets.
“I thought it was time we spoke. Properly.” She passes him the flask, her gaze as serious as her tone. “Though we have our differences, we are of the same design. Thus, I wish to know who stands at my side – not the Rat, but the one who wears his name.”
Rin swishes water around his mouth, chasing away the dryness, and returns the waterflask to its owner. “…I don’t buy it. We’ve known each other for years, and neither of us have ever pretended to like one another. So why now? What’s changed?”
“You have,” Iris says, simply.
The raven scoffs. “That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” She steadies her austere look at him, pinning him down by the weight of her bearing. “You have changed, Rin. I can’t say if it’s for the better, but you are different. Stronger. And I respect you for what you are doing for this city.”
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.
“And what’s that exactly?”
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“And yet you remain.”
“For my own reasons.”
“It matters not why you stay. If your presence is improving this city, then I hope you forget the South.”
“I never knew you for sentimentality, Iris,” Rin scowls, tugging his hood over his flushed face.
“Do not misunderstand me. You are still a rash, foolhardy child who thinks only of himself. However, I recognise your cause and will give praise where it is due.”
They continue forth as the sun rises to apex in the cloudless sky. The rich canopy of the forest gives them some reprieve from the blaring blue, but Rin still feels it bearing down overhead. An immense pressure that reminds him of his time in the pavilion with the Mother. How heavy everything seemed to be, the air, her stare, her presence – it was like he was suffocating.
Rin tugs on his collar, circulating air around his clammy skin. He forces himself to focus on the track ahead, but every so often, his mind would slip back to the blue above. The endless, perfect blue.
Just when he’s about to call it quits, Iris’ voice breaks through his sudden neurosis, unwittingly throwing him a lifeline. “You have not been drinking as frequently. I hear that some miss your daily rants outside the Sweet Brier Inn.”
He stares at her back that flexes with defined muscles as she deftly moves. Thick black curls bounce for every step. “You heard about that, huh?”
“You are playing with fire, Rat.”
“They’ve tried arresting me before. It never goes well.” He’s almost smug as he says this, drawing a reproachful glance from Iris. “Look, I’ve stopped. I was pissed and pissed, but now I’m over it. You don’t have to lecture me–”
“Why are you pissed?”
Rin puffs upwards and his bangs flip out of his sweaty face. “Why wouldn’t I be? The bluebloods tried to make me their pawn and when I refused, they kicked me out on my ass.”
“You are intimately involved with a blueblood,” Iris challenges, and he can hear the smile in her voice.
He rolls his eyes. “Jun is hardly a blueblood. Don’t bring him into this. It’s his old man and his crusty friends who are the problem.”
“And your response to their oppression is to drink and rant?”
“What else am I supposed to do? Turn traitor?”
“From the sounds of it, you already have.”
They walk in silence for a while as Rin struggles to find an aptly biting response. Turning up with nothing, he instead opts for honesty. “I’m sick of not being heard is all. Sometimes, I just want to be loud for the sake of being loud. Is that so bad?”
Iris slows down a tad, steps faltering as if she were surprised by his words. Eventually, there comes a quiet, “No. I understand it.”
“You don’t gotta be worried about me fucking things up,” he assures her, dryly. “Like I said, I’m over it.”
She gives him an odd look over her shoulder. “That is not what I want.”
“What do you want then?”
The Guildmaster pauses, one arm held out to stop him from moving ahead. They both watch a red fox slip past, giving them only a skittish stare before zooming into the underbrush. She releases a breathy laugh, almond eyes alight.
“Seems like our luck has turned for the better,” Iris says, quietly. She starts off down the track, gaze lingering on where she last saw that lithe red creature.
“Aren’t foxes bad luck?” he grouses, flinching as a thin branch snaps into his face.
“Ah, yes. The evil fox, luring men to their demise. I don’t believe in such a thing. Think they have nothing better to do than entrap foolish men?”
Rin watches her curiously, not used to seeing this playful side of the Guildmaster. For all the time he’s known her, she’s always been the grave-faced, ill-tempered stick in the mud, always too eager to beat him for one reason or another.
But here, in the forest, as they track down their prey, she seems relaxed, alive, and happy. He can almost see her sense of humour.
Rin shivers and rubs his arms, trying to rid of the bumps raised upon his skin. “Iris. You know something about this ring, don’t you?” he raises carefully, using her good mood to his advantage. “You know the guy who gave it to me. Beggarman.”
There’s no response. He waits for minutes, but all she ever gives him is a short shake of the head and the sound of her nimble footsteps, rustling through the detritus. He twists his lips to the side, irritation spiking. She’s not even trying to pretend anymore.
“Fine. I mean, it’s kinda obvious you’re in cahoots with the guy, but as long as it’s not a con to sell me off or steal my organs, then I don’t give a shit.” He whacks a nearby branch, snapping it clean from the trunk and grips it between his hands.
“Whyever would I want to steal your organs?” There’s a hint of laughter in Iris’ words.
“‘Cus they’re the healthiest, prettiest organs you’ll ever get your hands on.”
“Well, then. If you say it like that, how could I resist?”
Rin snaps the withered branch in twain. “Careful. I’m armed.”
She glances back at him, deeply amused, but within seconds she schools her expression into something more serious. Much more Iris-like. “I cannot yet tell you the purpose of the ring, but you will come to know of it very soon.”
He squints at her. “Are you in a cult?”
“Some may call it that.”
“Is that what this is? You’re trying to recruit me? Brainwash me?”
“I think there needn’t be any brainwashing. When you received that ring, you were told to define your purpose. What have you decided for yourself?”
“How did–?” Rin purses his lips, reluctant to continue lest he receive another elusive answer. He glances down at his hand. The black band glints in the dappled sunlight. “I wanna wipe out the bluebloods. Simple as that.” He quickens his steps so that he’s keeping pace with her, and he catches her expression. Pensive, yet pleased.
Seems like that’s exactly what she’d wanted to hear.
“Wipe ‘em out before they wipe us out,” Rin continues, encouraged. He makes a fist demonstratively, and shows Iris the white symbols floating in the black band. “See?”
“I see it,” Iris confirms, giving the youth that rare smile again. “Though I do not condone mass execution, I appreciate your resolve.”
“How else are we gonna get rid of them?” He treads carefully, watching her face as he poses his question.
There’s no immediate change. Just a stoic sort of satisfaction that she wears like a mask. “That is outside of my purview.” She runs her keen eyes over the churned soil and sets off in a new direction. “The Hunters’ Guild is not concerned with the war. Our interest lies with the city and her people.”
“So you keep telling me,” Rin snorts.
“Let me ask you this.” Iris squats down behind a large fern and gestures for him to do the same. Her voice becomes hushed and he has to strain to hear.
Ahead, in a thicket of mossy trees, the stag is rubbing his antlers against one of the trunks, oblivious to the two hunters only several feet away.
“How much do you value life?”
Rin gives her a sharp look, brows furrowed. Is this a trick question? He contemplates his reply as he readies his bow. The arrow is nocked. The string pulled taut. There’s a moment of tension. Of pure silence.
And then, he murmurs something that he’d heard Dasom tell him, many years ago: “I value the lives of those who value life.”
The arrow is let loose. It whistles through the air and strikes true – into the left eye and out the other. Blood and viscera erupts. The stag keens, buckles, and collapses. It dies without having seen the sky for the final time.
Iris rises to her feet. She’s giving him a strange look. “I have heard those words before.”
“It’s a cliché.”
“Quite a radical stance, wouldn’t you say?”
“Is that what you really believe?” he shoots back, meeting her gaze evenly.
She smiles and glances at the stag, which twitches as its blood slowly drains into the dirt. “You would make a good soldier.”
Rin shoulders his bow and follows her to their prey, feeling nothing. Feeling cold. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
“Would you feel the same if you were told to fight for yourself?”
They both stand over the rapidly cooling carcass, staring down at the royal deer. Those dazzling blue eyes are gone. The raven absently touches his eyepatch, stroking the silken material with his fingertips.
“My kill,” he announces, and she assents by giving him her hunting knife.
***
He’s in the shattered orb of the Watchtower, standing on the precarious edge of the platform. An inferno whips around his body, sending gusts of black smoke and embers billowing into the starry sky. There’s a full moon tonight.
Hanjuyang stretches out before him in all her broken glory. Pockets of battles and burning buildings sporadically paint her streets. The deafening clamour of war draws ever closer. Steel on steel, gunshots and cannons, screams and cries. He can taste the evaporated blood mingling with the smoke.
There are other colours tonight. Sunset red and royal blue, defined and distinct, blurred and intertwined, clashing and repelling at intervals with every draw to battle. He watches the sunset red overwhelm the royal blue, until every burnt and crumbling building in the city is awash as thus.
He is the Watcher, observing the end of Hanjuyang. His beautiful, broken city. His beautiful, broken people. The end of his world and the beginning of another. Luna hangs above, serene and silent. The Watcher’s own observer, his eerie companion and friend–
Rin jerks awake, gasping for air as if drowned. His heart pounds violently in his chest and it’s all he can hear, the irregular thud–thud-thud that rattles his brain. He winces at the growing ache behind his wooden eye, and he curls into himself, clutching his head. At its peak, the pain gets so bad, it feels like his skull is splitting in two, and bile crawls up his throat.
But Rin is no stranger to pain, and he bears it until it lulls to a tolerable throb.
The house is empty tonight. Jun’s side of the bed is painfully bare. It feels wrong.
When the raven touches the mattress, it’s ice cold under his palm.
The house at once seems suffocating, the darkness like cotton that restricts his every breath and motion. Feverishly, he scrambles out of the futon and rushes outside, barefoot and draped in only his sleep robe. The autumn cold is far more welcome than the one he leaves behind.
One numb foot after the other in a mindless wandering. His only companion the remnants of his dream flickering in the pitch of his missing eye, a jittery reflection in broken glass.
He finds himself standing outside the Rose Palace. The familiar external wall obscuring the gentle paths lined with red lanterns and the ponds teeming with koi and the villas, where clients and Roses would spend the night, in mundanity, in headiness, in violence. Without thinking, he scales the wall and lithely clambours onto the closest bough of the higan cherry tree. Amber leaves scatter and dance in the restless breeze, shaken free by his disturbance.
Silverswords and Rose Palace guards alike patrol every inch of the grounds, giving Rin no chance of sneaking past their immense force. He would be killed on the spot should he be seen. At the very least, incapacitated.
So he sits on the branch, bare legs idly kicking the air.
Another breeze currents through the branches and the dry leaves rustle like a thousand sighs. Loose tresses and dark robes flutter around the youth’s form. There’s a faint red glow in his singular eye, an ember in the coal-black of midnight gloom. Stubborn. Clinging to life. Ravenous for the one thing that’s wholly out of his reach.
He sits there until the bustle of the night lulls. The clients are either busy with their chosen Rose or retired to their homes. Only the guards remain, making their diligent rounds, never giving one break in defence, not one opportunity for this Rat to slip through.
Just as his hands and feets are starting to numb, he sees a small group of cloaked figures enter the Palace, accompanied by two Rose Palace guards. They have their faces hidden in the shadow of their hoods, but their movement is measured and confident. Their footsteps silent.
They disappear into the main building, presumably to meet with the Madame herself.
In the empty pitch of his wooden eye, he sees.
She’s frailer than he remembers, yet her bearing is as large and fierce as Iris’, if not moreso. He’s never seen her this assured, this calm, perhaps only in sleep. Funny, that his fondest memories of her are the times when she is unconscious – just a hair’s breadth away from death. But he could almost imagine then, that she was the mother she should have been, and he could curl up into her side and just be the child he should have been.
Dasom dances around another, dark eyes glinting playfully as her feet nimbly coast the ground. She’s laughing, aflush, near unrecognisable in her youth and apparent joy.
Lila captures her in her arms and reels her in, painted lips curled in an indulgent smile. She whispers something sultry in Dasom’s ear, and the latter responds enthusiastically, animated words snatched away by the wind.
They kiss with a hunger that Rin knows well, and when they part, they are not truly separated. They linger within the other, like they’re still locked in that heated kiss–
When he comes to, he’s staring blindly into the darkness with frozen sweat and ragged pants. His heart is in tatters. His mind moreso.
Like a long forgotten song recalled from the murk of history, he hears Lila’s voice, full of taunt and smirk. She tells him that she’s untouchable, that his army is like water battering an iron door. She describes how she set his mother alight, and in the same breath she describes how she set his mother alight.
“Fear not, Lila,” he whispers, lips as numb as the rest of him. “I will wait for you.” For what is hunting but a game of patience?
Ohh some iris and rin bonding time
Thank you for the chapter!! <3
Yes!!! \o/ Finally ^_^ Thank you for reading!!! <333
TELL ME IT WAS AN ILLUSION OR A HALLUCINATION PLEASE OMG
XDD which part????
THE END WITH DASOM OMG WTF HAPPENED
LOL it was a vision ^3^ And Dasom looks young in it. So you can interpret that as you will VuV