Chapter Text
The first news arrived not by decree nor a soldier’s horn...
It arrived as footsteps.
Two figures staggered into the mountain temple just before dusk; refugees, cloaked in soot and exhaustion.
A man with torn sandals, his hands raw from climbing.
A woman clutching a small bundle to her chest as though it held her very breath.
Halmeoni stirred on her mat, eyes opening just enough to see.
Sunoo was already moving, setting down the ladle, fetching water, tugging the door wide before the second knock could come.
“Sit,” he said quietly. “Rest your legs before they fold themselves.”
The man collapsed onto the stone step, trembling.
The woman knelt beside him, still clutching the bundle.
Sunoo pressed a bowl of water into the man’s hands. “Slowly. No one here rushes you.”
The man drank, water dribbling down his chin.
His eyes filled, not just with exhaustion, but the relief of being seen.
Halmeoni’s voice floated from within. “From whence come ye?”
The woman’s lips cracked. “The kingdom…”
She swallowed, then forced the words. “House Min… has fallen.”
The temple seemed to still.
The brazier’s smoke curled tighter, as if listening.
Sunoo lowered his gaze for a beat.
Then, gently, he asked, “What did you see?”
The man’s voice shook. “Banners burning. Priests cut down. The granaries...”
He broke off, pressing a hand to his ribs. “All ash. There is no kingdom. Only smoke.”
The woman’s grip on her bundle loosened.
A child’s wooden horse peeked out, its head chipped, its paint faded.
She held it up as though it explained everything. “This was all we could save.”
Sunoo bowed his head slightly toward the toy.
His tone softened, even reverent. “A good choice. Things that survive smoke… deserve to be carried forward.”
Her lips trembled, and for the first time she let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
Halmeoni’s breath caught faintly, but she said nothing.
Sunoo set another bowl in front of them, this one with broth.
He did not ask more... just waited, patient, the way mountains do.
After a long silence, the man whispered, “They say it was him. The hero. He cut through the hall alone.”
The woman nodded weakly.
“We did not see his face. But the soldiers… fled as if the gods themselves walked.”
Sunoo listened, steady as stone. His lips curved... small, not careless. “Then it seems the story has chosen its voice at last.”
The woman glanced at him, searching his eyes. “Do you… believe it?”
“Belief is for temples,” he said lightly, though his eyes did not leave hers.
“But faith is what keeps your feet moving until you reach another mountain.”
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🧹✨💨
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The refugees stayed three nights. The woman’s cough needed herbs; the man’s ribs needed binding.
Halmeoni dozed, her presence steady but quiet, and Sunoo tended to the rest.
He lit the fire. He brewed broth. He kept the silence from growing too heavy.
And when silence pressed too tightly, he opened it with words.
“So,” he asked on the second evening, ladle in hand, “what are the markets saying? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ Markets never shut up.”
The man huffed a laugh, clutching his side. “Even as roofs collapsed, a fishmonger swore his mackerel were fresher than his neighbor’s. Chaos, yet the same quarrels.”
“Ah.” Sunoo nodded gravely, slipping into his mock-olden lilt. “Truly, the people’s loyalty lies with fish.”
That earned a soft chuckle from the woman, who shook her head. “In the hills, we heard of the House of Park. They say luck follows them… that their granaries did not empty.”
“Aye,” the man added. “And that a merchant trades with them now. His ships never sink. His ledgers never blot. And he suddenly appears at one town to another.”
Sunoo arched a brow, pretending to weigh it like a scholar. “Mm. Fortune that neat is suspicious. But if anyone were to bend storms to behave… it would be the Parks, for sure.” He glanced between them, grin tugging at his lips before muttering. “Hopefully their slush fund doesn't get audited."
The woman relaxed against the post, smiling faintly. “You sound as though you know them.”
“I’ve… swept ground near enough,” he said lightly, poking at the fire. “Better men than me can tell the tale. But if rumor says they’re thriving, then good. Let rumor keep saying it.”
The man’s shoulders eased, his breath slower now.
“You make it sound simple.”
“Simple’s good,” Sunoo replied, tone gentler now.
“When the world is on fire, simple is the only bowl that holds water.”
The child hiding behind the woman laughed softly, and for the first time her hands loosened around the wooden horse.
When at last the refugees departed, the temple returned to its silence.
Halmeoni sank deeper into her mat, her eyes half-lidded, her breathing slow.
The rooms no longer echoed with strange footsteps.
And Sunoo, broom in hand, looked around the small courtyard and thought...
Ah. It’s only us again.
His days folded neatly into each other. Sweep the stones.
Tend the brazier. Boil the rice. Brew the ginseng. repeat.
Lonely? Yes. But not empty.
There was pride in small consistencies, even for one who knew he was no longer a witness to grand battles.
But sometimes he thought of the hut by the lake...its damp roof, its crooked shelves.
Did someone fold the laundry I left there? he wondered. Or did mold win, after all?
The thought should have stung. Instead, it lands softly, like a memory that knew its place.
He had grown used to this rhythm.
To being the background hum of a story whose main voices had gone elsewhere.
And he accepted it.
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🧹✨💨
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🧹✨💨
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It was late autumn when the night sang.
Not crickets, not wind.
Music.
At first, just a thin thread, like silk stretched too far.
Then fuller, winding into a melody that had absolutely no business echoing through this century, let alone this mountain.
Sunoo froze mid-step in the courtyard, broom bristles still pressed against the stones.
The temple fire hissed once, like it too recognized the sound.
And then it became clear. He recognized that music track edit from Youtube even after not having listened to it for so long.
TFW by Enhypen, slowed + reverb, best part only, 1 hr loop
He stared into the dark. “…No. Freaking. Way.”
Special, yah-yah...
So special, yah-yah...
“Who-who queued that? Like… bold choice. Artistically devastating choice.”
The notes tugged, retreating when he moved forward, swelling when he stilled.
A breadcrumb trail disguised as a playlist.
So he followed.
The forest, normally a maze of roots and tricks, behaved.
Paths opened.
Low branches lifted politely out of reach. Stones shuffled aside like guilty children.
And then, they appeared.
A hulking orc leaned against a tree, tusks catching the moonlight. He gave a slow nod, casual as a bartender.
A dokkaebi tipped his ridiculous hat, its gold nails gleaming like teeth.
A water nymph stretched, long hair drifting like smoke.
And fae, thousands of them, hovered like little lanterns, glow pulsing in rhythm with the song.
They didn’t menace.
They didn’t bow.
They just… stood there, lining the trail, like coworkers at an awkward farewell party.
Sunoo blinked.
Then pointed. “Wait. I know you. Weren’t you at the Obsidian Mountains? You tried to eat me.”
The orc grunted. “Thou kicked me in the shin.”
“Yeah, well, you deserved it,” Sunoo shot back.
The dokkaebi chuckled, staff knocking the ground. “Rumor sayeth thou wert taller.”
“Rumor needs prescription glasses,” Sunoo said, lifting his chin. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re still alive. I thought I drowned you at the koi pond?”
The nymph bowed low, ears twitching. “Thou walk with music at thy back.”
Sunoo pressed a hand over his chest. “Right? Spotify Forest Premium. They know the good stuff.”
The tiny little fae giggled behind them; soft, uncanny, but almost warm.
Their lights brightened, pulsing on beat with the looped song.
And together... they guided him deeper into the forest.
The forest broke open at last.
There stood the hongsalmun: a red gate where none had ever been
Its pillars rose stark against the dark, humming faintly... not wood, not stone, but event itself, nailed into shape by something older.
The air tingled.
His palms prickled, like they’d been laid on a drumhead.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice, and pressed his forehead against wood. “…Do we know each other?”
The gate’s answer was a low thrum.
The music fell silent.
The forest stilled.
And then...
Footsteps.
Slow. Certain. The kind of footsteps that belonged to no ordinary man.
A figure stepped through the gate, once hidden by the fog beyond it.
Not in armor. In worn travel clothes, dusted from long roads.
No crown. No banners. Just presence.
The hero.
Sunoo froze.
His throat went dry. His brain, unfortunately, went loud.
“Oh my god,” he muttered, pressing a palm over his mouth. “…It’s like meeting a celebrity.”
The hero’s eyes lifted, steady, calm, unblinking.
And Sunoo, for once in his life, bowed first.
The hero stood beneath the red gate, travel-stained.
Sunoo’s bow lingered longer than intended, his heart in his throat.
When he straightened, he managed, “Uh-thank you... For saving me.... Way back. At the House of Park territory.”
The hero’s gaze flickered with recognition.
A faint curve of his mouth. “Thy gratitude is well received. Late thanks are still thanks.”
That alone nearly floored Sunoo. “Great. Awesome. Perfect. Filed under ‘embarrassing things I’ll replay in my head forever.’”
The hero’s gaze did not waver.
“Thou knowest it, don’t thou? That thou wert never meant to walk this long.”
Sunoo paused, and felt like he was twelve again and being pulled aside by his mom to do the LGBTQ+ talk.
Sunoo’s lips trembled.
“I… was supposed to die. Early. The Shaman’s Assistant. Just another body on the road.”
“Aye.” The hero’s tone was reverent, almost weary. “The tale was writ without thee. In the prophecy, thou died nameless. Yet… thou lived. And in living, thou bent the cloth. Where fate closed, thou tore seams open,” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “I knew it the moment prophecy faltered.”
Sunoo blinked. “…Prophecy?”
“I dreamt them,” the hero murmured. “Always, the visions came, what battles would be fought, what hands would fall, who would guide me to each threshold. And in those dreams, you weren't there. Dead. Forgotten. The cursed prince would endure. He would walk with me, and together we would face the crown.”
Sunoo’s chest tightened.
“But the world I woke to was never the same as the world I dreamt,” the hero continued, eyes flicking skyward. “Each time, the threads shifted. Each time, paths bent differently. Because thou still lived. I followed prophecy’s whisper, but it was thy hand that made the steps.”
Sunoo huffed a weak laugh. “So you’re saying… i fucked up.”
The hero shook his head firmly. “Nay. Thou gavest me roads prophecy never showed. Fate pulled me elsewhere...” his gaze sharpened, reverent.
Sunoo’s chest tightened. Apologetic.
The hero tilted his head. "I hope thou knowest... prophecy alone did not lead me to the royal hall to defeat those tyrants. My feet knew where to turn. As though another hand… guided me.”
Sunoo’s breath hitched.
He remembered... the ritual at the pyre, his curse spilling black into the world.
His voice cracked. “…That was me.”
The hero did not answer directly.
His gaze only lingered on Sunoo, as though the silence itself was gratitude unspoken.
The gate thrummed faintly, heartbeat-strong.
Sunoo swallowed, words bitter and trembling. “Then why... why is all of this happening? And the demon... he said-he said-”
The hero’s eyes softened. “Because thy soul is not bound. Prophecy could not chain thee. Spirits know such hunger. Thou were endless, where all else must end. Even the demon who plagued our prince...he leaned toward thee. Found kinship. ”
Sunoo’s throat closed. “Jungkook…”
The hero inclined his head. “Aye. A fragment of the curse itself bent into submission.”
Sunoo laughed wetly, shaking his head. “So... oh what the fuck... basically I amended the entire trajectory of the deliverables just because I tried my best to stay alive. I made a mistake.”
The hero’s lips curved and reached out to cup Sunoo's cheek. “What is a mistake, if it turns silence into song? Without thee, Sunoo-ssi, there is no memory. Without memory, there is no tale.”
The words hit like a stone in still water.
Sunoo had no reply at first. Just a shaky laugh.
“Well. Guess I’ll have to send the author some fruit baskets.”
They fell quiet for a moment.
The gate hummed faintly, low and steady.
Sunoo broke the silence. “…And the others? The boys?”
At that, the hero finally turned, his eyes searching the forest behind him. “They have walked far from this mountain. Luck clings to them, as rumor says. They are… living.”
“Good,” Sunoo murmured, his chest warm and aching all at once. “That’s good.”
The hero’s lips curved faintly again. “You wish to walk with them longer?”
Sunoo’s laugh cracked. “Don’t we all want to walk with someone longer?”
The hero glanced back, just once.
And when Sunoo followed his gaze...
He froze.
In the distance, beyond the gate’s shadow, stood silhouettes.
Halmeoni. Upright, though she had left her cane behind. Her white hair catching the moonlight.
Sunoo’s throat tightened. Instinct snapped out first. “Halmeoni!” His voice cracked. “What are you doing out here in the cold? Without your cane? Get back to your quarters!”
No answer.
She just stood.
Watching.
Waiting.
The hero’s voice was quiet, steady. “Not all ghosts return to haunt. Some… return to honor thee.”
And as if the words summoned them...
The fog shifted.
Silhouettes moved.
One by one, they walked forward.
Jungwon first... the faintest grin tugging at his lips, the kind that always seemed to know more than he should.
Ni-ki next... taller now, steps restless even in silence.
Sunghoon... who emerged with a blade-straight posture, eyes glimmering like glass under moonlight.
Then Jake... shoulders lighter, the fire around his tails tempered, steadier.
And Jay... calm, sharp, watchful, like a wolf who had learned to rest without closing its eyes.
They did not speak.
They only stepped out of the fog, their forms wavering like mirages.
And then...
Heeseung.
Whole.
Silent.
Sunoo’s chest split open.
His feet moved on instinct, half a step, another... he was ready to run.
To cross the space between them.
But he stopped.
Halted himself mid-stride, heart pounding.
His throat worked around a word that didn’t come.
Heeseung’s gaze held him where he stood.
The hero beside Sunoo did not move.
He only said, “There are meetings meant for eyes alone. Not hands.”
Sunoo’s fists trembled at his sides, nails biting into his palms.
His voice cracked low, raw. “…I hate that.”
The hero’s reply was even. “So do I.”
They stood there, the space between them humming like the gate itself, the night holding all its breath.
Silently, Sunoo's tears fell as he watched each of the boys stand still from afar, watching him with a gentle smile.
Sunoo’s shoulders shook with the force of holding himself back.
He clenched his fists tighter, nails pressing deep. “I could…” His voice cracked. “…I could still go to him.”
The hero beside him didn’t look away from the fog. “And then?”
“…And then... and then what?” Sunoo snapped, more raw than sharp.
“You would cross. You would reach. But then… is that really what your heart speaks?”
The words hit like cold water.
Sunoo’s breath faltered.
Silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the gate.
At last, he said, “Then... what am I doing here? Still sweeping, still chanting, still holding ash in my palms? Everyone else… they became something. They lived. And me? I—” His voice cracked again. “…Am I still needed here?...”
The hero turned at last, meeting his gaze fully.
There was no pity in it.
Only gravity.
“You were the silence that remembered. The hand that folded what others dropped.” His tone softened, almost human. “That is not nothing.”
Sunoo blinked at him.
For once, he had no joke ready.
His throat worked, but nothing witty came.
Only truth, low and raw... “I’m so tired.”
Sunoo glanced back one last time.
The fog still held them... Halmeoni steady, cane forgotten, the boys beside her like echoes of their younger selves.
And Heeseung… Heeseung stood furthest, his gaze sharp, unwavering. Silent.
Sunoo’s foot shifted, instinct pulling him forward again.
His throat burned.
If I run now… if I reach…
But the distance was endless.
And in Heeseung’s stillness, in the way he didn’t move, Sunoo understood.
Some meetings are meant only for the eyes.
His breath caught, and with it came a laugh...small, broken. “…I hate this.”
The hero’s voice was steady, but softer now. “So do I.”
Sunoo swallowed, his fists trembling. “…Tell me, then. Was I-was I really needed? Or was I just…” His smile cracked, bitter.
The hero turned fully toward him, and for once his gaze warmed. “Thou wert the hand that kept the fire alive.”
Sunoo’s lips parted, but no words came.
Just breath.
Shaky, uneven.
The gate thrummed louder, a heartbeat pulling him in.
dum…
dum…
The hero inclined his head, almost a bow.
A gesture rare, reserved.
“Go... Rest... This story owes thee that much.”
Sunoo laughed again, wet and hoarse. “…Even my exit interview is this dramatic in a fanfic universe.”
This time, the hero smiled back.
Sunoo turned to the Gate, inhaled deep...long enough to make it count.
And with his chest burning, his eyes clinging to the last image of the ones he loved, he whispered, “Alright... It's time.”
He stopped himself from turning back to catch one more glance.
He stepped forward.
And the red closed over him like a curtain.
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Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound tugged him back.
Not drums.
Not chants.
A machine.
Slow, clinical, steady as a metronome.
Light burned his eyelids, sharper than any torchlight.
When Sunoo pried them open, the ceiling above him was too white, too clean.
“…the fuck,” he croaked. His throat was dry, his tongue heavy.
It was Chapter One all over again. Except instead of a hut smelling of herbs and woodsmoke, there was the faint sting of disinfectant and lemon floor wax.
A voice gasped. “He’s awake!”
Sunoo turned his head and blinked.
At his bedside sat his boss.
Boss Sunghoon.
Sharp suit, perfect posture, hair styled to the last strand. Same face, same cold eyebrows, same way he looked like he’d been carved out of marble and irritation.
On the other side, arms crossed and expression sulky but worried-his junior assistant.
Ni-ki.
He looked the same age as always, but his glare was that of a teenager caught caring too much.
Sunoo’s brain went into freefall. His pulse skipped a beat. No way. No way they look like…
But his mouth moved first. “...Wow. I really must’ve died if you two are crying over me.”
Sunghoon scowled immediately. “I am not crying.”
“He dabbed his eye with a tissue,” Ni-ki said flatly.
“That was dust,” Sunghoon snapped.
“In a hospital?”
“There is dust everywhere,” Sunghoon said through clenched teeth.
Sunoo wheezed a laugh, coughing halfway through.
“You nearly died,” Sunghoon hissed, leaning forward. “Do you realize the chaos you caused? A truck barreled straight for you-people thought you were finished! You somehow dodged it, then passed out cold on the street like a-like a”
“Like a damsel in a K-drama?” Sunoo offered.
Ni-ki bit back a laugh. “More like an extra who trips before the lead gets his lines.”
“Not helping,” Sunghoon snapped at him, then whipped back to Sunoo. “Do you realize the paperwork I had to sign to get you admitted?”
Sunoo raised his brows, still pale but smirking. “Wow. I survive a truck, and paperwork is what kills me.”
“Barely,” Sunghoon muttered, sitting back with a sharp exhale. “Just dont do this again, yeah? It’s bad for company optics.”
Before Sunoo could reply, the door slid open.
A doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand.
Tall, composed, with a steady gaze that could pin anyone in place.
Heeseung.
Sunoo’s stomach flipped.
His fingers clenched at the blanket. No. Freaking. Way.
The doctor smiled faintly. “Good evening. Vitals are stable. You gave us a scare.”
Sunoo’s mouth opened, brain sprinting in circles. He saw Heeseung…the Heeseung, and yet here he was, white coat, stethoscope, nametag.
He swallowed hard, forcing calm. “…Yeah. Sorry about that. Thought I’d spice up your shift a little.”
Heeseung’s brow quirked, amused. “Try to avoid a hit and run next time. I’d rather not meet patients this way.”
Sunghoon muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable…”
Ni-ki tugged Sunoo’s blanket higher, his voice soft. “Don’t do it again, Sunoo-ssi.”
Sunoo looked between the three of them…Boss Sunghoon, Assistant Ni-ki, Doctor Heeseung.
His chest ached with a mix of disbelief and something far heavier.
But he just smirked faintly, like nothing was wrong.
“Relax. I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”
The monitor kept beeping, steady and sure.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Morning came with clipped instructions, signatures, and the sterile shuffle of nurses.
The doctor checked his chart one last time, pen scratching like a gavel.
“Vitals stable. You may go,” Heeseung said, tone calm but eyes sharp. “But take it easy. No more… near misses with trucks.”
Sunoo saluted half-heartedly. “Yes, sir, Captain Doctor, sir.”
Ni-ki hovered close, arms crossed. “You better not make me finish your PPT decks again”
“Relax,” Sunoo said, slipping on his coat. “If I faint, I’ll make sure to do it stylishly. Maybe in the pantry this time, so you can throw rice at me like confetti.”
Sunghoon’s sigh could have extinguished the fluorescent lights. “Just go home.”
The hospital corridors were quiet that morning, save for vending machines humming like lazy cicadas.
Sunoo stepped into the elevator lobby…
only to bump shoulders with a man carrying a heavy duffel.
Broad-shouldered.
Upright.
His gait screamed military training even in civilian clothes.
A scar traced his jawline, faint but unmistakable.
“Apologies,” the man said immediately, steady, polite.
His voice had the weight of someone who had learned to measure every word.
Sunoo froze. His chest jolted.
Jay.
“Ah…no, it’s fine,” Sunoo replied quickly, recovering. His lips curled into a small smile. “Shoulder’s tougher than it looks.”
The man dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Still. Take care.”
He walked away, duffel strap biting into his arm, leaving Sunoo standing in the echo.
Sunoo’s fingers twitched at his side.
He almost called after him.
Almost.
But the elevator dinged.
He turned his head and froze again.
A poster stretched across the wall: some new action flick, all grit and fire.
The lead actor smirked from the print, hair windswept, sword angled just right.
Jake.
The jawline. The stance. The eyes that said don’t stare too long or you’ll regret it.
Sunoo exhaled, laugh caught in his throat. “…Seriously? Now in movie posters?”
He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. I’m officially haunted by an idol lineup.”
The elevator doors slid open.
He stepped inside.
The city air hit sharp when he left the hospital, too loud, too bright, too alive.
But beneath all of it, Sunoo carried the stillness of a red gate and the silence of a fog that once held ghosts.
He was going home.
The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
He stood there a moment, shoes still on, bag still slung, just staring at the room like it was a stranger he almost recognized.
The mat by the door was crooked, exactly the angle he always left it when his hands were full.
The plant by the window had been rotated, lush side toward the light.
The bowls on the shelf, stacked small to large, not large to small.
The kettle, handle to the right.
The towel, folded in thirds, not halves.
Sunoo’s throat tightened. He laughed under his breath, shaky. “…well, wadda ya know...”
It was his apartment.
And yet—it was Halmeoni’s hut.
Rearranged in small, stubborn echoes.
He slid down onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might explain itself.
It didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Keep your secrets.”
Later at night, his laptop hummed to life under his hands.
He logged into his AO3 account just to see how the story went.
Or if the author updated.
Just curious.
He opened the bookmark; the fic, the thing that had kept him breathing when nights got too long.
The bookmark gleamed. His anchor. His proof.
Click.
Error.
He froze.
Clicked again.
Error.
“…No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
History. Blank.
Twitter. Empty.
Tumblr. Dust.
Archive. Void.
His chest squeezed tighter with every dead end.
He clicked faster, harder, muttering.
“It was here—it was real—I saw it—I lived it—”
Nothing.
He slammed the lid shut.
Opened it again.
Same void.
His laugh cracked, jagged. “Unbelievable. I fight curses, gods, dynasties…and this? This is how it ends? A 404 error?”
He pressed his hands to his face, shaking.
His voice broke.
“You erase everything? Them? Halmeoni, the boys, even-”
His breath hitched. “…Heeseung.”
The silence answered, cruel and final.
And then…memories.
Not gone. Not really.
Ni-ki, brash and too young, whispering curses behind his lord.
Sunghoon, still as water before the strike.
Jake, roaring fire against the night.
Jay, blade-bright and unyielding.
Jungwon’s mischievous grin, tugging him along.
Halmeoni’scalloused hand, steady as stone.
The nymph’s bow, the dokkaebi’s laugh, the orc’s stubborn tusks.
The broom in his hand.
The gate in the dark.
And Heeseung…standing whole, silent, steady, like the memory itself had teeth and refused to let go.
Sunoo’s chest ached.
Tears burned…but behind them, something else rose.
Not despair.
Resolve.
Because if the world erased them, then he would rewrite them.
If memory was all he had, then memory would be enough.
He sat.
The laptop screen glowed back, blank and waiting.
The cursor blinked.
Steady.
Sure.
Like a drumbeat.
dum.
dum.
dum.
He exhaled, shaky but smiling now.
And pressed the key.
Post New Work.
He clicked Choose Work Title.
Then typed,
“Reincarnated as a Shaman’s Assistant?!”
The end