Chapter Text
A flower was placed on the wooden desk at the entrance of the library, petals a stunning fucshia with yellow swirls. The stamen peeked out between the thick crown of leaves, a fresh green the colour of unripe fruit. Seung-Gil blinked, hand reaching out hesitantly to accept the gift.
“You should come along tomorrow. The plum trees are in bloom.”
Seung-Gil smiled, archiving the flower inside a book for drying. He studied the face of the young boy in front of him, big eyes eager with anticipation. With a sigh, he shook his head. The boy slumped. Seung-Gil bit his lip, a shred of guilt warring inside him. It was an unusual feeling for him, but few could resist the charms of the blacksmith’s only son. Phichit Chulanont was his exception in everything.
“You never come outside anymore,” Phichit complained.
“My father said he’d show me the royal archives tomorrow. I’ve been compiling a study on woodland creatures that I want him to add. It might be good enough to surpass him.”
“And you need to take your father’s position to prove the system is wrong and also forest dwellers are misunderstood, i know i know. Still, I miss you.”
“You’re right here.”
This drew another whine from the boy. His father would say it was an unseeming behaviour for a sixteen-year-old, but Seung-Gil still comforted him with a light pat to the head.
“I think I might have a solution to all the disappearances.”
“You say that all the time. What’s the use of a researcher holed up in an archive? Come outside and explore with me!
Seung-Gil huffed, writing down another few sentences on the paper. If his letter to the king succeeded, he might not need to explore anymore.
“Are you at least coming to the spring festival? My mother has been working on a new sword design. There’ll be competitions.” Phichit grabbed his hand, placing another flower into it, a white lily. “You can read one of your poems there.”
Seung-Gil blushed, averting his eyes. He knew his father would have work for him to do; curating the royal library a huge task, not to mention a great honour. Paired with the self-appointed task of informing the people about the forest dwellers, he didn’t have much free time. Even if he did have time to write something, it wouldn’t be something he’d feel like showing off, most of his poems heavily inspired by the blacksmith’s only son. Said son was among the few people in the village oblivious to his floundering advances.
“Of course I’ll be there,” he murmured, caressing the petals of the lily. “The elders are passing on their trade. I’m ascending this year.”
Phichit grinned, punching him in the shoulder with a yell. “Awesome, I’ll see you there!”
He was out the door before Seung-Gil could protest.
The town square was lit by a huge bonfire and lanterns strung between the rooftops, small candles flickering hungrily within their confines. People were dancing and singing, all of them wearing colourful clothes and face paint symbolising their trade.
It was all quite overwhelming, making Seung-Gil feel dizzy from where he stood at the outskirts of it all, nervously picking at the sleeves of his oversized tunic. It was a plain beige decorated with symmetrical patterns, and his facepaint consisted of three black curving lines by each of his eyes, the sign of a librarian. His father was dressed similarly, carrying a scroll, undoubtedly containing his speech for the night. He gave Seung-Gil a light pat on the back to guide him forward.
The smell of burning wood and flowers hit him like a front, making the whole scene seem ethereal and magical. The baker and the butcher had dragged out a few long tables and were offering fresh buns and dried meat. On the other side of the ring, the farmers were serving beer and fruit. Beautiful flowers, some of them resembling the ones Phichit had picked for him, decorated the ground.
Seung-Gil bent down and picked one up, twirling it between his fingers.
“I’m gonna go prepare for the speech. Don’t get yourself in trouble while I’m gone.”
“I won’t,” Seung-Gil promised. He shuffled over to a bench, gratefully accepting the shield a set of low-hanging branches of a nearby willow provided him with. Seung-Gil closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe steadily.
“There you are!”
Seung-Gil looked up, relieved to see a familiar face. Phichit bounded up to him, shoving a cup into his hands. The other boy slumped on the bench with him, eyeing the festival with excitement. A crackling energy surrounded him tonight. Seung-Gil took a sip of the cup, grimacing when he realised it was beer. The slightly bitter taste made his tongue tingle uncomfortably.
“I met your father on the way. Can’t wait for his speech. It’s been long due”
“Curator training is longer than that of a blacksmith,” Seung-Gil stated drily. He downed the rest of his beer, looking over at Phichit. He was dressed in a red and black tunic with loose strips of orange silk draped around his shoulders and chest. It gave the illusion of flameswhen he moved. His face was painted with oranges and reds, symbolising the sparks of the forge. It wasn’t the first time Seung-Gil had seen his traditional costume, but it never ceased to amaze him. The vigorous nature of it just added to his bright personality.
They watched the fire burn in silence. A woman wearing the colours of a foot soldier was standing by the fire, her strong voice carrying the melody of an ancient song. It made people stop what they were doing in order to turn and listen. She weaved the notes of the song into a golden fabric, letting it fall over the assembly, muting it like a fire denied oxygen.
Beside her, Seung-Gil’s father stepped up, carrying his scroll. Everyone waited in anticipation. Seung-Gil’s father cleared his throat, opening up his scroll.
“Our country is one built on a rich history. Today, we celebrate. We celebrate the hardships of our ancestors, and we celebrate the years to come. As we stand here today and watch yet another spring grace us with its presence, we are lucky. We are lucky to receive the chance at a new start. We are lucky to be the new flowers blooming on the fruit trees, or the grass turning greener for each day.” Seung-Gil clutched Phichit’s hand in his.
“Spring is a time for change. As we put the past winter behind us, it is time for a new beginning. It is a time for solving problems and exploring new opportunities.” Seung-Gil’s father’s eyes travelled over the crowd until they found Seung-Gil’s, settling on him. A shiver ran down Seung-Gil’s spine, his body tense with anticipation.
“As you all know, we do not only celebrate the new. We have also gathered today to let go of the memories of those we lost in the previous year. It is with a saddened heart, I’ll have to say it was too many. For years now, we’ve lost good people to the woods. I say that this is the year that changes.”
The crowd broke out in whispers. Seung-Gil glanced over at Phichit, but he was too concentrated on the speech to notice.
“It is with great honour that I declare that my son has passed the admission into the royal curator league by presenting us with one of the most comprehensive documents yet. For the first time, we have a comprehensive study on the forest dwellers. Through his research, my son has unveiled things we did not know before about these creatures. It is with great joy I announce, in accordance with the royal guard, that we finally have what we need in order to wage war on the fey.”
Seung-Gil froze, his eyes meeting his father across the town square. The old man held his gaze for a moment, then shifted his attention to the woman who had been singing earlier. A military general, Seung-Gil realised. People were cheering, their excited voices carried through the night.
He almost missed his cue to come up to the fire, receiving the additional stripes of paint of a full fledged curator; two blood red stripes down the ridge of his nose. He bowed, then slipped into the crowd again, letting the bakers through to hold their ascension ceremony.
Several people tried to congratulate him afterwards. Seung-Gil just nodded, politely excusing himself from any conversation, even though his insides felt like lashing out at the many strangers crowding up in his space. He managed to make his way to the edge of the town square. The moon had risen and was hanging high on the sky, crescent shape reminding Seung-Gil of the symbolic sicle.
Phichit trailed after him not long after, mumbling apologies as he parted the crowd. He came to a halt by Seung-Gil, grey eyes almost as black as the fire illuminating his silhouette from behind cast harsh shadows on his front.
“Are you alright?”
Seung-Gil hesitated, not sure how much he could tell Phichit. His father had always been skeptical of the forest and its inhabitants, and he was a respected scholar. Of course the king would side with him. Seung-Gil thought of him and Phichit sneaking away into the woods, trying to catch a glimpse of the woodland spirits and the animals in there. When had he stopped protecting them?
He didn’t answer Phichit with just opened his hand. Phichit blinked, then picked up a flower from the ground and placed it into his waiting palm. Seung-Gil sighed and studied the leaves with disinterest. Normally, unraveling the secrets of the orchids Phichit brought him helped calm him down, but today, the flower felt just as dead as the rotting autumn leaves covering the ground in fall.
By the fire, the celebrations continued with renewed vigour. Phichit glanced at the people, before approached Seung-Gil carefully.
“I know you don’t feel like it, but we should enjoy the festivities while they last. You can figure out what to do in the morning.” He held out a hand to Seung-Gil, eyes expectant. “Dance with me?”
Seung-Gil let his eyes rest on his hand for a few seconds, heart beating hard against his ribs. He glanced up at Phichit’s face, then back down at his hand again, taking it with a slight frown. Phichit seemed unfazed by his supposed apathy and spun around.
Seung-Gil copied him.
It had originally been a war dance but had evolved into a folk dance over time. Seung-Gil knew the theory behind it but had none of the elegance Phichit demonstrated, the silk veils flowing around him as he circled Seung-Gil, face paint illuminated by the flames and creating a godlike illusion.
They moved closer to each other, their steps quickening and leading them to the faster paced part of the dance. The drums increased their speed. Phichit reached out his hand, a challenge, and Seung-Gil grasped him by the elbow. It was a part of the dance Seung-Gil had never known outside of theory. A choreographed sparring match, the loser being the first to either let go or collapse. Reinforcing his grip on Phichit’s arm, he forced the other backwards, all his years of reading and practicing poured into that single movement. Phichit stumbled a little but easily regained his footing again.
Seung-Gil decided he wasn’t going to lose.
They continued to step around each other, completely in sync. They were both sweating from exertion by the time one of them slipped up: Phichit had been slowing down a bit, providing Seung-Gil with simple steps to follow. He realised too late that it was deliberate. As Seung-Gil began a sequence hard enough to knock any exhausted person from the game, Phichit suddenly stepped forward, making Seung-Gil trip in his own feet and land on his back.
The crowd shouted around them, a wave of applause rippling through the audience. Phichit let go of his arm, grinning down at him before pulling him up to his legs.
“That was fun. Congratulations,” Phichit murmured, patting Seung-Gil on the shoulder. He accepted a couple of cups filled with a warm brew, handing one to Seung-Gil. Around them the dancing started up again, a few other pairs engaging in challenges as well.
“You’re the real winner. My father will be disappointed.”
“What, because you librarians are the ones who maintain the rules? It’s a warrior caste dance, he should be proud.” Phichit picked up a piece of meat, handing that to Seung-Gil as well.
“Seung-Gil I-”
“Phichit!” They both turned around.
“Yuuri!” Phichit’s face erupted into a grin, his body surging forward to tackle the newcomer into a hug. Seung-Gil watched silently from the sidelines. He recognised the boy, a former farmer, now recruited into the royal guard. Probably home for the spring festival before he returned to his duties again.
Seung-Gil watched the reunited friends talk, slowly slipping away. He let himself be drawn in by a group of farmers, proudly showing him their different brews and dried fruits from the previous year. It didn’t take much determination to ignore the ugly taste of the beer, downing several cups. He had never been drunk before, abhorring what the alcohol did to people, but tonight he couldn’t bring himself to care.
It made things easier. The world seemed less pressing; his senses slowed. His father would hate seeing him like this. Maybe Phichit was right. He worried too much. When one of the girls asked him to dance, he didn’t say no. It was nothing like that dance with Phichit, as her face paint was that of a warrior’s. She laid him into the ground early on, not even bothering to help him up before she moved on to the next person.
When Phichit found him again, he was slumped against a tree, hoping his father wouldn’t find him. The older boy frowned, sinking down to his knees in front of him. Phichit gently touched a hand to Seung-Gil’s forehead, tongue brushing his lips to wet them.
“I’m taking you home.”
“My father,” Seung-Gil began, but shut up when Phichit sent him a glare.
“I’ll take you to my house. Mum won’t tell.” Phichit unwound his veil, draping it across Seung-Gil’s shoulders and over his head. It was unusual to combine elements from different castes. It felt wrong. Phichit, on the other hand, nodded to himself, hauling Seung-Gil to his feet.
“There. He won’t recognise you like this. The adults have had much more than either of us.”
“Phichit-”
“Hush. Tell me if you feel sick.”
They moved slowly onto the cobbled roads leading into the village. Phichit kept one hand on Seung-Gil’s back as if he were afraid Seung-Gil would fall. The house of the blacksmith was situated at the far south of the village, the forge making the building loom above its neighbours, a sleeping dragon among sheep.
Phichit ushered Seung-Gil inside, sitting him down on his bed. Seung-Gil tried to protest as Phichit unwound himself and went into the kitchen to fetch water and a rag. Wordlessly he started to clean away the face paint.
“There was something I wanted to tell you. I know you might not like it, but please hear me out okay?”
“Phichit, I think I might be in love.”
“Huh, really, that’s great, tell me about it in the morning when you’re feeling better?” Phichit’s eyes flickered to the other side of the room then back to Seung-Gil again. He shook his head and knocked Phichit’s hand away as it approached his face with the rag again. He lowered his hand, settling it in his lap.
“If you’re not feeling well, we can discuss things in the morning. I guess there is no point in telling you now anyways.”
Seung-Gil shut his eyes, rubbing at them to clear his head. Phichit looked godly, the only light source in the room the smouldering logs in the fireplace. His face paint had smudged a little, making the orange embers look like shooting stars travelling across his cheekbones. Seung-Gil leaned closer, eyes fixated on the artwork.
The blacksmiths were not only skilled craftsmen; they were also artists. Unlike his own caste, Phichit’s represented creativity and precision. His father used to tell him stories about people marrying outside their caste group. Librarians should marry other scholars, blacksmiths should marry cordwainers or sculptors. Tradition had brought them to where they stood today.
Seung-Gil leaned in and kissed Phichit anyway. His brain was too dizzy to comprehend what happened next. Before he knew it, he was sleeping.
Seung-Gil was awoken by the sound of arguing. Blearily, he sat up, searching for the source of the sound. On the floor, Phichit groaned. Seung-Gil slung his feet out of the bed and stepped over his friend. His head was spinning a little, but he found his way to the source of the commotion easily enough. Phichit followed soon after.
Two people were standing in the kitchen, cursing each other out. In the doorway, the looming form of Seung-Gil’s fatherhovered threateningly. Seung-Gil swallowed, watching as Phichit’s mother yelled at him to get out of her house.
Much like Phichit, she was short of stature with a lean build. However, that hadn’t kept her from developing a fair share of muscle from working in the forges. Her choppy black hair was forced into a small bun at the back of her head, stray strands of hair finding their way out of their confinement.
Unlike Phichit, she did not have a bubbly personality. Instead, what stood in the kitchen was a force of nature, strong enough to move even the toughest rock. Seung-Gil’s father seemed realise he was losing the fight. He muttered something under his breath before withdrawing.
Phichit shoved Seung-Gil into the kitchen, alerting his mother of their presence. She turned, her eyes still fiery after the exchange with Seung-Gil’s father. Even without the ceremonial clothes of a blacksmith, she looked like she was fire incarnate.
Seung-Gil bowed, muttering a quiet apology.
“I’ll treat you to breakfast, then you’re out of here, that clear?”
Seung-Gil nodded, taking a seat beside Phichit on the kitchen stone bench. Phichit slid in beside him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. A plate of bread was set on the table with some dried fruits.
“Your father is not going to be happy when you return. Make sure you stay safe, kid.”
Phichit’s mother picked up a pair of gloves, leaning on the door. “Phichit, make sure he gets home safely.”
She exited with a huff, slamming the door shut hard enough to make the plants in the windowsill shake. Seung-Gil shuddered.
“She meant it well. How are you feeling?”
Seung-Gil yawned, resting his head against the wall. He picked up the cup of water placed in front of him and put it to his lips.
“I’m okay.” He grimaced, spitting the water back into the cup. “What is this?”
“Herbs. They’re a miracle cure to headaches.” Phichit picked up his own cup, downing the concoction with only a slight wrinkling of his nose. “I feel better already.”
“I guess we’ll be seeing less of each other now that I’m ascended,” Seung-Gil mumbled, swirling the herb water around in his cup. He knew it would be a pain to oppose his father, and try to make him change his mind about the fey. They had been involved in several cases of missing people, but it didn’t sit well with Seung-Gil to go to war with them. He had seen they fey up close. They might be devious, but they were willing to bargain.
“Come visit me every now and then?”
Phichit stilled on the bench, his eyes fixed on a single beetle that was making its way across the table. Its small legs carried it quickly across the wooden expanse, but not fast enough. It was a black puddle underneath Seung-Gil’s finger a moment later. Phichit’s gaze was forced up from the table.
“That was unnecessary.” He wiped the puddle away with his sleeve. “I heard you the first time.”
Seung-Gil grumbled, finishing his bread, standing up from the table. He took a look around, savouring his last moments of freedom before his duties inevitably began. “I’ll see you around.”
“Wait.”
Phichit stood up, awkwardly squished between the table and the bench. He held out his hand in a gesture to stop. “I need to tell you. I won’t be staying here.”
“What?” It felt like someone had ripped Seung-Gil’s stomach out. He forced himself to remain upright, impassive, even when his mind was screaming. Phichit shifted nervously, fingers biting into his palms. “I got drafted into the royal guard that night. That was what Yuuri was asking. They’re in need of more people at the borders, and they’ve had a hard time recruiting. They could use a blacksmith.”
“You’re leaving.”
“I’ll be returning every year for the spring festival.”
“You’re leaving.”
“Seung-Gil-”
Seung-Gil turned his back and walked out the door. This time, the flowers fell out of the windowsill.
He didn’t bother watching the newly recruited soldiers leave. He had enough to do in the library. His father had been angry when he returned, but his talk with Phichit’s mother seemed to have given him time to cool down. Seung-Gil was set to work with archiving.
There was enough to do. He didn’t dare go into the forests alone, something which slowed his research considerably. In many ways he was angry at Phichit. He had always been there for him to lean on in his research, the brave guard dog paving the way. He started to notice his absence in the most peculiar ways.
Some days, it was the lack of a presence hovering around him. Others, it was a reminder of cut flowers not lying on his desk but growing in the wild outside his father’s house instead. Seung-Gil cut them but didn’t dry them with the others. They withered on top of his writing desk.
By the time spring rolled around again, the amount of people kidnapped by the fey had not lowered, and his support slimmed. He remained silent in meetings with other librarians from the country, only speaking when spoken to. His studies slowly came to a halt. Rather than exploring anything new, he set his mind to math and problems with more definite answers.
He did not attend to the spring festival. The kids ascending that year were none of interest to him. Instead, he sat up all night, trying to calculate a way to finance the wars on the southern borders.
When he woke up the following morning, a single white lily was lying on his desk.
They kept coming every year, like clockwork. The day after the spring festival. It was never more, nor less. Just one, single white lily, petals slightly green on the inside. Nothing special. A common flower that anyone could have picked. Seung-Gil didn’t need to ask who had sent it.
He didn’t make any attempt to contact Phichit back. Instead, he pushed those memories behind him. He stopped trying to avoid conflict with the fey, armed fights becoming a banality.
He was 21, and this year his desk wasn’t adorned with a lily.
The spring festival had come and gone like always, the sun bright in the sky as if it was acknowledging the offals burnt for it the previous day. In the back of the library, a young boy from a town over fumbled with the stack of books his father had given him for shelving. There was a relaxed atmosphere, even though he couldn’t shake off the underlying sense that something was wrong.
The thing about missing things is that you don’t realise they’re gone until you need them. Seung-Gil, not in need of a flower, spent an entire day before he noticed. He was closing up for the night, his eyes straying to his desk, as if subconsciously searching for something. There was nothing of the usual which was amiss, which was, in the end, a part of the problem. He trailed his fingers across the sturdy wood, envisioning the normal order of things in his head, comparing it with the image in front of him.
“He didn’t come this year.”
Seung-Gil turned around, his eyes landing on the young apprentice working under his father. Minami Kenjirou had been staying with them for a year, practicing to becoming a scribe for the neighbouring town. He would, if things went according to plan, ascend the next year.
“Who?” Seung-Gil forced the image of tanned skin and sly grins out of his mind. No reason to get his hopes up. Minami made a vague gesture, as if he couldn’t find the words to explain.
“I met him when I was running early last year. He didn’t say who he was, just that it was a ritual of his. I assumed he would be back this year again, but he never showed. Is that what you’re looking for? The flower?”
“No, I-” Seung-Gil’s eyes trailed back to his desk again. Like before, there was no white lily, freshly picked, its leaves still moist with stored water. He swallowed.
“We should go. Father is probably waiting for us. You’ll need to change before we go dine with the Nikiforovs.”
“Are you sad?”
Seung-Gil huffed, gathering up his things. Minami bit his lip, his cheeks a light pink. He had been hanging off Seung-Gil since the day he came. It’s better if he learns early on what rejection feels like.
“I feel no different from any other day.” He hesitated, letting go of a sigh. “But thank you for asking.”
Minami beamed up at him, chattering cheerfully as they exited.
Seung-Gil grit his teeth, trying to recall the description a half-drunk Viktor had given him at the dinner the previous night. The former military captain was not someone Seung-Gil particularly enjoyed being in the presence of, but he was the only one possibly sitting on information that could lead Seung-Gil to Phichit.
Every footstep made echoes bounce off the stark stone walls in the abandoned hallway. Seung-Gil let his eyes scan the plain stretch in front of him warily, his pace quickening for every anxious heart beat. He had only been inside the regional fort once for a book delivery together with his father.
The corridor took a sharp turn, leading into an open space. The domed roof above him was decorated with depictions of epic battles and mythological creatures. A beautifully crafted chandelier was suspended from the highest point of the domed roof. Its candles burnt peacefully but did little to illuminate the vast room. Along the walls were several doors, possibly leading into even more confusing hallways.
Seung-Gil paid them no attention and continued forward until he reached the double doors at the end of the room. As Viktor had promised the previous day during dinner, the royal guardrs were still at the fort, taking their time to rest up after the spring festival. The room Seung-Gil was currently standing in, was simply furnished. A long wooden table took up most of the space, several dirty plates abandoned on its surface. Although the room wasn’t entirely empty, it appeared that most of the soldiers had already left after the meal. Seung-Gil stopped, seeking out the person he had been looking for.
A lot could be said about Katsuki Yuuri. Seung-Gil remembered him being mildly famous for his skill in the traditional dance challenge. Everyone had expected him to follow in his parents’ footsteps and take over the family inn, but at the night of his ascension, he drafted himself into the military. Since then, the soft young boy had grown into a capable soldier.
The room fell silent, people ceasing their conversations as they became aware of the newcomer. Yuuri rose from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor with the swift movement.
“Seung-Gil, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” Yuuri watched him with tired eyes, making no signs that would suggest he was planning to move anytime soon. Seung-Gil gritted his teeth and added with a weary voice. “Alone.”
The other soldiers started to whisper amongst themselves as the two of them moved out of the room, no doubt coming up with all sorts of wild assumptions. Seung-Gil really hated it at the fort.
As soon as they were alone, Yuuri brought out a couple of chairs and offered Seung-Gil a goblet of wine, which he bluntly refused. He did not sit down in the chair, preferring to loom over the older man rather than be at eye level with him. Yuuri did not comment on it,only leaning back in the chair with a sigh.
“So, what can I help you with.”
“You’re the leader of the unit Phichit Chulanont was assigned to five years ago.” Seung-Gil did his best to keep his voice even. It felt like all the resentment and bitterness he had been keeping under lock for five years suddenly came flooding through him. It was hard not to be swept away by the harsh tidal wave. Yuuri did not budge under his glare. Instead, the young commandant picked up a ceremonial knife that had been lying on the table beside him and studied it with disinterest.
“Yes, but he was reassigned a few months back.”
“I would like to talk to him.” There was an underlying desperation in his voice. Seung-Gil hated it. What had Phichit ever given him? What was he apart from a hurricane forcing its way into his life, making a mess of everything before leaving? I’m just looking for him so I can cut our ties and end this.
Yuuri held his gaze sternly for a moment before confirming what Seung-Gil had feared all along. “He’s not here.”
“Then where can I find him?”
“We got caught up in a conflict with the fey. The purges has been a successful way to deter them from taking human lives. However, we got into a skirmish with them a few weeks back. Phichit claimed he could solve it peacefully. His commander reported him missing a couple of days ago. There was no family left to notify, so his case was put down.” Seung-Gil thought of the steady voice of Phichit’s mother. Of her strong hands shaping metal into elegant weapons. She had passed away the previous winter, not even her fierce personality enough to stave off the sickness. What would she had done if she knew about her son?
“No one went out to look for him?”
“He was right. For all that the fey are a sleazy, backstabbing species, the conflicts died down. Whatever he did must have worked.” The older man looked away, his expression pained. Seung-Gil wanted to snort in disgust. If he really cared, Yuuri would had done more to stop Phichit, wouldn't he?
“And no one cared to find him afterwards?” Seung-Gil realised, to his surprise, that he was shaking. He shut his eyes and sunk his teeth into his lip. It did little to calm him.
“Don’t assume I didn’t care. He was my friend too, just as much as he was yours. I plead his case, but the general’s word is law.”
“We’re not friends,” Seung-Gil murmured. Yuuri watched him sadly from where he sat, ceremonial blade balancing on his thighs. For a moment, Seung-Gil could glimpse the boy that had left the village that spring all those years ago.
“He missed you,” Yuuri said quietly. He picked up the blade again, gripping the blade between his thumb and index finger, before extending it to Seung-Gil. “He made this for me a couple of years back. I have little use for it now that I’m mostly working with logistics. I can’t disobey direct orders, but if you head out to the forest of Hasetsu, that was where he was last seen.”
When Seung-Gil didn’t react, Yuuri rose and walked over to him. He grabbed his hand and tucked the handle of the blade into it, closing his fingers around it. “The fey, the fey are clever beings. Engaging in direct combat with them is useless. You can’t fight an enemy who will only show themselves the moment they strike you down from behind.There’s a reason the army was never an effective weapon against them.”
Seung-Gil glanced up from the blade to Yuuri’s face. It held a determination that hadn’t been there earlier. The look in Yuuri’s eyes told him it wasn’t only his own hopes that rested on his shoulders. “He talked about you a lot. We might not know each other very well, but I believe if there is anyone who can find him and face they fey on even ground, it’s you. Use your mind wisely when you interact with them.”
The hug came out of nowhere. Seung-Gil froze awkwardly, his hands clawing stiffly at the air behind Yuuri. It was over as sudden as it had started. Yuuri stepped back, face schooled into a cold mask. “You didn’t hear any of this from me.”
The dismissal was one even he could bow down to.
Hasetsu forest was like a fairy tale brought to life right before his eyes. His feet made muted noises against the undergrowth. Somewhere he could hear the faint sounds of birds chirping, and there was a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the tall trees, sending petals of the blooming fruit trees like snowfall into the air. There was nothing that would indicate something ominous residing among the old trees at all.
In his head, He envisioned a list of causes as to why people would die in such places. It all came down to a series of factors pertaining to the qualities of the individual. As one of the few who knew how to read and write, he had been keeping track of disappearances since he was a young teen. There was still some work that needed to be done before he could present his work as undisputed facts, but usually, victims shared one or more traits. Carelessness, arrogance, inexperience... the list could go on and on. What he was adamant on not including in his list was the influence of woodland creatures.
Of course, the fey had proven to be troublesome, but Seung-Gil was certain those circumstances was rarely showed the full truth. As whimsical as the fey could be, they rarely did anything unprovoked, and humans had been prodding at their borders for centuries. His whole life work based itself on the assumption that all the disappearances had been caused solely by human stupidity.
He grit his teeth, scowling at a crow watching him keenly from the trees. Its feathers were the colour of soot, and its left eye was missing, a grim warning not to proceed further.
Seung-Gil paid it no heed. Instead, he pulled out his map. The little information Phichit had given his superior before he left was sparse, but it was enough for Seung-Gil to narrow it down to a general area. The only problem was the vast amount of green.
The forest seemingly stretched on forever, the same sequence of landscape repeating again and again. He could have been walking in circles for hours and he wouldn’t have known. Frustrated, he stopped in the shade of a birch tree. The air was hot for a day this early in the year. If the dense foliage hadn’t protected him from the unyielding sun, he would have been roasted before he could even begin, he was already thinking about finding Phichit.
Closing his eyes, he thought back to the discoveries the two of them had made as children. Although it had been a move for Seung-Gil had been a move made to spite his father, the collection of information had always been a game for Phichit. He would remember every little detail whereas Seung-Gil was busy observing the bigger picture. He could use those details now.
He opened his eyes again, eyes scanning the landscape for any discrepancies. Fey lived underground, but he couldn’t quite recall the signs that hinted about an entrance to their tunnels. Phichit would have known. He would have spotted the place long before Seung-Gil. Whatever clued him in would be something ridiculously mundane like the temperature of the water in the brook or the smell of the wind.
Seung-Gil rubbed his temples. This was all stupid. Why couldn’t he just leave and go home?
He was just about to turn around when he heard a rustle. Faint enough that it could have been a small animal, but that was still more life than he had encountered ever since he entered the godforsaken forest.
He tried to listen for it, afraid that it might just have been hopeful thinking. The forest seemed as deserted as before. Green leaves and damp moss covered every surface.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Seung-Gil winced and spun around to find the source of the voice. The forest was just as empty. He shifted uneasily, forced himself to remain calm. Whoever was talking to him was well hidden.
“I made the deal. Tell the villagers they shouldn’t violate it unless they want the conflict to start again.”
“Show yourself.” Seung-Gil rested one hand on the knife he had gotten from Yuuri. It might’ve been made for aesthetic purposes, but it felt assuring to have some form of self-defence should his invisible enemy attack.
The trees shimmered before him, revealing a single humanoid shape. It was dressed in green, head adorned with a simple flower crown. Grey eyes seeked out Seung-Gil’s, holding him in an invisible grip. He was almost unrecognisable.
“Phichit?”
The creatures eyes widened for a moment before reverting to their previous impassive state. It couldn’t be Phichit. There was no life in the eyes of the person standing in front of him. Whatever it was haunted him like a badly made copy, similar down to the smallest detail on the outside but void of personality.
“You need to leave.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Go.”
“Tell me. I’ll leave, just tell me.”
“Seung-Gil.”
They both froze. Seung-Gil closed the distance between them, reaching out to touch his fingers to Phichit’s face. Maybe he expected them to go right through him or for his face to feel like moss, but the surface underneath Seung-Gil’s hand felt just like human skin. They had once found the body of a dead faery as kids. Its skin had resembled the forest floor. He was relieved. It gave way to bitterness soon enough.
“You said you’d be home by spring.”
“I thought you would have moved on by now. This was the natural choice.”
“This what?” Seung-Gil grabbed Phichit’s hand, holding it up for them both to see. Although his skin didn’t feel like moss, it had a faint green tint to it. His old friend held himself together with an inhumane gracefulness, his body rigid.
“You always said my humanity was my greatest flaw. Now you won’t worry anymore. I’ve given it up. A fitting sacrifice to seal the peace treaty.”
“I-” Seung-Gil let go of Phichit’s hand. He remembered a young boy, innocent to the horrors of the world and overly giving. He had been crying, his leg broken in an attempt to defend a stray duckling from a group of village boys. Seung-Gil had carried him on his back all the way home.
“You know now. If you’re lost, I’ll guide you out of the woods,” Phichit said. He laid his hand on Seung-Gil’s back, giving him a rough push.
“Wait.”
Phichit blinked at him. His silence was the only thing that betrayed his confusion, his face still wearing that serious expression Seung-Gil was slowly starting to hate.
“I want to speak with the queen.”
“Why?”
“It’s for my research. This could give me crucial information to overthrow my father from his position.”
Phichit squinted, then he nodded. This time, instead of pushing him, he took hold of Seung-Gil’s wrist, briskly dragging him further into the forest. It felt like they walked forever. Seung-Gil’s wrist was starting to hurt when they finally stopped in front of a small mound of dirt, the entrance to the seelie court.
Phichit lead him into a vast underground network of tunnels. Two faery guards who had met him at the entrance lingered behind them, none of them ever coming within a metre of Seung-Gil.
The air became stale the further down they went, dark walls of dirt pressing at them from every side. It felt asphyxiating, the darkness pressing against them. The sound of their footsteps was muted against the damp soil, but they were loud enough to feel overwhelming as the soft sounds were thrown off the walls, creating echoes along with the occasional drip of water.
Seung-Gil withdrew into his mind, not realising they had stopped before Phichit turned around to face him. He motioned for Seung-Gil to stay put, then slipped inside. The guards behind him whispered restlessly in a tongue Seung-Gil could not understand. He was forced to awkwardly keep himself company until Phichit finally returned a few moments later.
“Don’t eat or drink anything they offer you, and watch your mouth. They know when you're lying,” Phichit whispered. He gently pushed Seung-Gil forward through a gilded door.
It lead into an open room with a high ceiling, a few stray rays of lights finding their way down from above. In the centre of the room, a single throne stood underneath a curtain of ivy. Phichit guided him forward to the lit area in front of the throne.
The creature reclining on the throne was a stunning sight. She was of medium height, hair the colour of the setting sun framing her pale face. A beautifully carved silver circlet rested atop of her head. She regarded Seung-Gil with cool blue eyes and spoke with a voice reminiscent of a viper circling its prey.
“So you’re the one who dares trespass into our lands after we’ve finally made peace with your kind. Humans are truly incapable of not meddling.”
“With all due respect, your highness,” Seung-Gil said. He knelt in front of the throne, forcing himself to swallow his ego. “My business does not lie with you.”
“Is that so?” The seelie queen sounded vaguely amused. She bent over to what appeared to be a young guard and stage whispered into his ear. “He’s almost as rude as you, Yuri. You should get some tea for him. Maybe you could bond over lack of respect.” Yuri protested defiantly for a moment before yielding to the queen’s icy glare, exiting the room.
“You look tired, traveller. Could we offer you something to eat or drink? It’s in the court’s best interest to treat our guests well.”
“I’d rather not.” Seung-Gil’s eyes locked themselves in an invisible battle with the queen’s. Her lips quirked in a devious smile.
“State your business then.”
Beside him, Phichit was watching him quietly. He appeared to be indifferent to, although knowing him, Seung-Gil doubted that was the case. Still, it felt odd to see his childhood friend, who had always worn his heart on his sleeve, so guarded.
“You have something which belongs to me. I would like to see it returned.”
“Was he ever yours though?” The room fell silent. Seung-Gil became aware of the sheer number of fey staring at him, all with the same impassive look on their faces. “Don’t come here and think you’re clever. We know your motives, maybe even better than you do.”
“Then you should know I don’t have time for this.”
“He came here willingly. Our deal won’t be overridden just because some poor aristocrat boy couldn’t keep his feelings in check.” The queen’s voice was mocking. Phichit coughed, bowing to the queen.
“My apologies, your highness, this is not what he told me he was here for.”
“Your kind are liars, what did you expect?” She turned back to Seung-Gil. “As you can see, your friend is thriving here under my command. I would be sad to see him go.”
“If you won’t make a deal with me, how about a bet?”
The queen smiled genuinely for the first time during their conversation. “Go on.”
“If I can beat anyone in this room in my people’s traditional dance, I win. You’ll send one of yours to challenge me. If I win, he gets his humanity back and we both get to leave. If I lose, you’ll do whatever you’d like with me.”
“My people don’t know your human dances. This situation is rigged in your favour.”
Seung-Gil bit back a humourless laugh. He made eye contact with the queen once again, regarding her with a calculating look. He knew his next words would win her over. “You’re sadly mistaken. There is one person in this room I’ve never beat, and he’s not on my side.”
The queen smiled again, amused this time. “Very well then. Let the challenge begin.”
The young blond faery had brought out a set of drums. Unlike the drums they used back in the village, which was made from animal hides, this one was carved from wood. It gave a hollow but clear sound that echoed off the walls like hoofbeats upon a bridge.
Phichit stood impassively before him, his loose faery clothes billowing around. For a moment, they almost looked like the silk veils representing the flames of his traditional costume. There was no face paint marking their caste this time.
At the signal of the blond faery, they grasped each other’s elbows, waiting patiently for the drumbeat to settle. The pace was slow and steady at first, the first steps just a formality. Neither of them showed any sign of trying to knock the other out. Then, the drumbeat quickened remarkably.
Phichit made the first move to catch him off guard, face still wearing that same impassive expression. It forced Seung-Gil backwards, almost tripping him up. Still, he knew what was at stake and forced himself to remain steady.
It had been long since he last practiced the dance, so his moves were sloppy and unrefined. Phichit, on the other hand, moved as gracefully as ever. However, the advanced step sequences lacked their usual vigour, the cold jabs resembling Seung-Gil’s own style rather than Phichit’s.
Seung-Gil was confident he knew his style best out of the two of them.
He stepped forward, calculating every move and analysing the smallest change in Phichit’s responses.
As the dance dragged on, the court was starting to become uneasy around them. Unlike humans, they did not shout or egg them on, but whispered quietly among themselves. Seung-Gil realised he probably didn't have much time left before the queen would ensure his loss one way or another.
He stepped back, yielding to Phichit’s steps, remembering the move his friend had played on him all those years ago. It wasn't hard to play exhausted when he was drenched in sweat, his feet lagging. Phichit narrowed his eyes, quickening his pace. The fey weren't the only ones patient to end it.
The opportunity was almost lost on Seung-Gil and presented itself in a millisecond of hesitation from Phichit's side. Desperately gripping his former friend’s arm, Seung-Gil yanked him forward, hoping the slight stumble would be enough.
The sound of Phichit hitting the ground resounded through the court.
Out of breath, Seung-Gil sank to his knees, his clutching his chest as he heaved for breath. His tired inhales were the only sounds for a moment. Then, a slow applause.
The queen rose from her throne, waving the blond faery over. He sent Seung-Gil a disgusted snarl before tossing his drums away.
“I am impressed.” The statement was merely a formality, her voice as impassive as ever.
“I won. Now, release him.”
A wave of snickers broke out around him. The blond faery rolled his eyes before crossing his arms across his chest, as if Seung-Gil had just said something dumb.
“We hold no power over him. When he gave up his humanity in exchange for peace, we did nothing more than provide him with the means to remove it. Only a strong connection to his humanity can restore it. Of course, there's nothing in the way of him leaving as he is, although he wouldn't be able to survive on the surface for long.”
It was all deliberate. Seung-Gil could see the pieces falling into place. A set up to ensure the court’s pride wouldn't be harmed no matter the outcome. The queen would never have allowed him the challenge if she wasn't sure she'd win.
A strong connection to his humanity.
Seung-Gil’s hands flew to his side, where the adorned blade Yuuri had given him was sheared in a wad of cloth. He detached it from his belt and unraveled the canvas, revealing the sharp edge of the knife.
If what Yuuri said was true, the blade was crafted by Phichit. A product of Phichit's role as a human. A small part of what he used to be.
The court watched him, unmoving as boulders resting on the dry ground. Seung-Gil reached out for Phichit's hand and tucked the blade into it.
“Do you remember making this?” Seung-Gil whispered. Phichit looked hesitantly into his eyes. His grey irises looked just as cold as they had been out in the woods.
“This belongs to Yuuri,” was all he said. Seung-Gil grit his teeth.
“Try to remember . Remember what it felt like being in the forges. What it felt like when your mother painted your face and when you wore the fire red veils.”
Phichit's eyelids were heavy, covering the grey irises for a moment. He grimaced as if he just tasted something foul. “I never liked the forges,” he said. He handed the knife back to Seung-Gil.
“That was always my mother’s role. I am sorry.” Phichit stepped back. In the dim lift of the underground, he was starting to resemble the fey more for every second. If Seung-Gil hadn't known him before, he might not have been able to see the difference.
“There has to be something,” he mumbled. The queen shifted on her throne, impatient.
“Are you giving up?”
“I'm-” Seung-Gil looked at Phichit. He could feel his chest tighten. He had never thought about what it would feel like to lose his only friend. The years spent apart never had the finality over it that the current moment held. He grasped Phichit's hand in his, pleading soundlessly. The sombre look he got back made his stomach sink.
“Go home, Seung-Gil.” For a moment Seung-Gil could imagine a sliver of feeling in that inanimate voice.
“What am I returning to,” he muttered. Phichit's steely gaze held him trapped.
“You're the one who left me. It's about time you let me go.” The words hurt. Maybe it was the truth in them, but also the way they were uttered. Phichit's voice held no accusation.
“I-” he shut his eyes, willing a solution to appear. Wishing for the situation to be as solvable as one of his math problems, with a finite answer, doubly underlined. It felt like he was pushing against an unmoving wall, erected solely for the purpose of his misery. And then, he wasn't anymore.
He let go of his last hope the same way one might free a caught animal; resignation plain on his face, but his body lighter from the deed.
“I have my regrets,” he confessed. He trailed his fingers over Phichit's face, mapping it out for the last time. “You're my biggest. I wish I stopped you instead of running that night.”
“This is what I wanted.”
“Is it really?” Or have you forgotten? The dreams of seeing the world? Of traveling? I was never much outside the library but for you?” He laughed bitterly, dropping his hand to his side. “I’d go to the end of the world.”
Phichit blinked languidly, caressing Seung-Gil’s cheek. He leaned in and pecked it gently.
“Then go. See it for me?”
“How?”
“You were always the one finding the answers. Solve this one.”
Seung-Gil froze, searching for any sign that the words meant what he thought they did. For the first time in his life, he could feel determination start to take form. He pulled Phichit into a tight hug, allowed himself to relish in the feeling.
“I will be back.”