Chapter Text
This forest feels more friendly than the one back home.
The trees rise several yards above your head, bursting with flowering yellow buds and lush green leaves that bustle gently with the spring breeze. The twittering of birds fills the air, dancing like delicate song among the wind and the dull roar of the cicadas, and the flash of blue wings flit amongst the branches. A slight weight sits upon the air, the signs of a hot, humid summer on the horizon.
You tug at the front of your tunic until the fabric unsticks itself from your skin and sigh. Your knapsack presses against your lower back, the hard edge of the box inside digging into your spine. Dust from the dirt path slips into your sandals, an uncomfortable grinding between the soles of your feet and toes. It's been a couple hours since you left the city, and you've yet to meet another traveler on the forest path.
Once you find a shady tree, you take a short rest for a drink of water and a quick check of the map. Fennel Forest sat at the heart of the continent, on the outer edge of Sommer City and north of Lake Igban. You trace the small cluster of trees on the surface, canteen pressed against your neck to ward off the heat, and think. The forest itself is not a large one--it should take only a day to cross from one end to the other. You're no stranger to a long walk, but Fennel Forest is different from most.
It's a forest that thrives on magic.
Considered one of the nation's most sacred natural treasures, Fennel Forest is the center of the region's medicinal herbs and healing rituals. It holds some of the rarest herbs and roots in the world, whose potency could cure blindness or clear one's lungs of disease or infection. Even paralysis of the limbs. You’d heard stories about men brought back from death’s door by mixtures made from the plants here.
You pull an apple out of your bag and glance back down the path, from the direction you'd come. The sun glows through the thick foliage, radiant beams shining from the cloudless sky beyond. Every now and then, a leaf will fall to the ground and be tossed about by the wind. The occasional dragonfly zips through the air faster than the eye can see, tiny rainbows reflecting in their wings.
You should get back up again. You want to make it to the cottage by early afternoon if you can. Taking a quick bite of your snack, you hoist yourself back on your feet and grimace at the grit between your toes. You feel less hot after the short break in the shade, but a trickle of sweat still slips from your neck and down the curve of your back as you walk.
It's been nearly five months on the road.
You hope your brother is taking care of himself without you there to remind him to rest. The thought of Yoongi has a painful ache rising in your chest, a homesickness that had been a traveling companion from the very beginning of the journey. When the color of his hands had turned purplish, the muscles and nerves slowly atrophying, you'd finally set out in search of medicine. He must've been furious to discover the next morning that you'd left on your own. Thinking of his expression, of the indignant outrage that you'd ignore his order--his, the genius Min Yoongi's, surely the brightest mind in Tolktown-- never fails to bring a smile to your face. Until you remember how worried he must be that you're out here alone. But Seokjin had to stay behind to keep the farm up and running while you were away-- in his condition, Yoongi couldn’t harvest any of the spring crops, let alone carve wood in his workshop.
After months and miles, you'd finally made it to Fennel Forest. Now you just had to track down the priest and convince him to make a cure for your brother.
Another couple hours pass as you follow the dirt road. The path grows slightly narrower the closer to the center you get, until it opens suddenly onto a clearing bathed in sunlight.
"Oh." A small sigh slips from your lips.
You've never seen anything quite like it.
A cottage stood in the heart of several rings. Tufts of herbs rose from the ground in neat arcs, their brightly colored flowers and leaves lifting from the earth along spindly, wispy threads and waving gently in the breeze. Where one small section of plant ends, another begins, the boundaries guarded with rounded pebbles arranged in tidy lines-- spiny rosemary leads toward thyme, on to flat-petalled mint and violet wolf's bane. The tops of fennel, for which the forest is named and abounds aplenty among the brush, stands yellow and bright on the left side of the path leading to the cottage door.
You tread carefully across the clearing, awed by the natural beauty of the place. The cottage itself is nestled at the heart of the garden, a misshapen house built from river rock and thick oak planks. Sprigs of weeds and daisies pop out from the cracks between the rock and wood, their small happy faces bright spots that give the cottage a whimsical feel. Curved shreds of bark have been nailed onto the roof to drain rain. A teetering weather vane is perched on the apex of the roof, alongside an odd metal tube with two thin arms that hold a bronze globe on one side and a silver bowl on the other. You're not sure what it is—maybe a magical instrument of some kind?
A window is nestled into the front of the house, the pink glass translucent and crudely cut. You try to peer inside to see if anyone is home when something moves in the corner of your eye.
You straighten quickly and squint toward the edge of the clearing. A moment passes when everything remains still but the leaves above and the herbs below whistling with the wind. The forest looks peaceful, as empty as it had on the walk here, but you could've sworn you saw something by that cluster of trees. A couple steps brings you closer to the edge of the herb garden when the door behind you suddenly opens.
"Oh? Hello!"
Heart lurching in your chest, you turn on the spot. For a second you can only stare at the figure waiting on the doorstep, a whicker basket dangling from his hand.
The priest is not at all like you expected him to be.
He's young. Incredibly so. The priest couldn't be much older than yourself, his skin smooth and youthful and tanned, his high cheeks round and joyful. His shirt hangs by two thin beaded straps from his shoulders, the dips in the collar and armpits deep enough to bare his collarbones and the small rivulets of muscle along his ribcage. Tattoos spiral across his skin in soft, colorful waves--a cheerful fox with a wide smile sprints up his forearm, the pillowy feathers of an owl fall from his right bicep, a black rabbit noses along his neck and ear, interspersed amongst flowers and trees, a sun that beams from the top of his chest, just under the hollow of his throat. A forest drawn across his skin.
You're staring at his face, at the flashes of dainty earrings dancing along the shells of his ears, when you realize. Springing from within his thick, curly brown hair are antlers. Of the same kind that you often spotted on wild deer back home, when you helped Seokjin hunt down meat for the winter. Tall, twining bone the color of eggshells and stone sprout from the top of his head, carrying tangles of thread tipped with beads and herbs amongst their bows and branches.
You'd heard the stories about the priest and the forest, when you were passing through cities along the way. How people living amongst high levels of concentrated magic could take on its properties. The man who had disappeared into the forest years ago, only to return to his family with bear claws and a taste for red meat. The woman that had slipped into the river and woke up the next morning with fish scales running up her legs. You expected this. You did.
But actually seeing it in person is something else entirely.
"Hello?"
You startle and try to swallow past your dry mouth. "I--I'm looking for the priest of Fennel Forest."
His head tilts to the side, and the beaded strings and herbs clink against his antlers. "A priest? Uh... I don't know about any priests living here. I'm an herbalist." He steps tentatively closer, sweeping over you with a cautious glance. "Are you here to buy herbs?"
"Ah..." You pause, confused for a moment. Could 'herbalist' be another term for priest? You'd never heard the word before. And you only had a small amount of money stored to buy provisions for the way home--you'd helped trade your way here by doing odd jobs in the towns you'd stayed in. "Yes? I was hoping to find medicine. I was told that the priest of this forest could help me."
"Oh, I can! I can make medicine!" He replies happily, a too-wide smile stretching over his face. "Sure, sure. Here, I'll just put this down here for the moment, and why don't you come inside?" He drops the basket on the ground by the front door.
You follow him hesitantly as he pushes the door open again before pausing in the doorway. There it is again. The movement.
"Something wrong?"
"No, I just...." You trail off as you step inside and toe your sandals off next to his by the welcome mat. The dirt on the bottom of your feet makes you embarrassed and guilty to tread across his floor, but he's gesturing you toward a chair by the window. "Does anyone else live in the forest?"
"Hmm?" The priest glances up and meets your gaze, his hands busy shoving small squares onto a stone plate.
He's standing in front of a small kitchen, though not like any kitchen that you're familiar with. Shelves are built into the walls of the cottage, covered in assorted books and jars and loose clusters of herbs hung to dry from strings across the ceiling. A deep bowl, sheathed in bright blue stone, sits below two pipes protruding from the wall. A plaque of stone rests at top of the counter, really an assortment of low shelves with a thick oak plank providing a surface to cook on. Designs have been carved into every wooden surface in the cottage-- the shelves, the door, the table and chair you sit in. You run your finger along the edges of a fat, slumbering bear on the table in front of you and marvel at the intricate detail, the craftsmanship. Yoongi would kill to get his hands on this carpenter.
The rest of the cottage looks much the same, except for the beds stacked on top of one another in the corner of the room. Three sleeping pads and sets of sheets, three pillows. A stuffed raccoon lies upside down on the bottom bunk, a bandana tied around its neck. The bedside table is stacked high with books. The top bunk adjoins a window, where several bright flowers are sunbathing in a vase on the edge. A small bowl sits at their side, full of shiny, small things.
He definitely did not live here on his own, the priest.
"Are there other people that live in the forest?" You ask again as he makes his way toward the table and pulls out the chair opposite you. Another one sits to your right. At least three people then.
"Oh, sure. Several people," he answers candidly, nudging the plate closer. "Have a cookie. I'd make you a cup of tea, but unfortunately Taehyung broke the kettle last night trying to pop kernels inside. I told him we have a pan for that, but he's too impatient to find it when he wants it."
You blink. The priest is surprisingly chatty. Or maybe you’ve grown cynical like your brother.
"Why do you ask?"
"I just--I thought I saw someone, at the edge of your garden," you reply. You pick up a cookie at his request. It feels hard between your fingers, and you can see the edges of herbs and petals in the bread, but you take a bite anyway. It crumbles the moment reaches your tongue and the taste of rosemary and mint explode across your mouth. It's good. Really good. Maybe better than Seokjin's sugar bread.
"Oh, that was probably Jeonggukkie. He's a bit shy. My cute little brother~" The priest sighs fondly, waves a hand and shoves a whole cookie into his mouth, chewing neatly before he continues, "I try to get him to interact with customers and other visitors, but he usually squirms out of it before I have a chance to catch him, and Taehyung always helps him escape. He’s not very sociable. "
"Your brother..." You glance up at the antlers before asking curiously, "Does he also have the...the..." You lift a hand by your head pointedly, stumbling over the question, but the priest seems to understand after a moment.
"Antlers? Ah, no, he doesn't have antlers. The forest had something different in mind for Jeongguk, and for Taehyung too. It really just depends on the person and what the forest feels is best." He taps a finger against the tattooed bunny by his neck. "That's Jeongguk."
"Oh." You're not exactly sure what his tattoo has to do with it, but you can't bring yourself to ask just yet. It is curious though, you think, when you glance at the other tattoos along his skin. Did every animal represent a resident of the forest? Or just his family? "The rabbit? He...he turns into a rabbit?"
His mouth drops open in surprise before he squawks. "Turns into a rabbit? No, no, we can't do that. That's full transformation magic. Do you know how much magic is involved to do that? Especially Gukkie, he's so young. Even if he's talented, it takes years to manage that. He has the cutest ears though."
"I see." You don't see. You know nothing about magic, that there are evidently different kinds with different levels of difficulty. You'd only ever witnessed small rituals in your town, for fruitful harvests or good luck in the new year.
You fall silent, at a loss for what to say, but the priest picks it up immediately. "Shall we get down to business? You said earlier that you wanted medicine. Would you mind explaining a bit more about your situation?"
You hesitate. Yoongi's frail fingers, his skin bruised and blackened and trembling with every movement, come to mind. The workshop whose tools were growing dull with the march of time, their master kept from his craft. Your grandfather's old piano gathering dust and sitting untouched in the living room where music had once poured forth. The stifled pain in your brother's eyes at the silence.
"I don't have much money to offer you. I'm not particularly talented at anything, but I grew up on a farm so I can help you tend the garden, and I'm willing to work for as long as it takes to pay you for the medicine." You meet his gaze determinedly over the table, hope rising in your chest now that you're finally here, talking with the mythical priest that could cure all ailments. If the stories could be believed. "I'm a fast learner. I'll work hard every day, I swear."
"Ah, that's great!" He stammers, his eyes wide. "I wasn't really asking that just yet. I need to know what kind of medicine you're after before I can know what price or--or how long it could take to make it. I'm sure we can work something out....uh…." The priest freezes before clapping a hand onto the table, startling you. "We didn't introduce ourselves, did we? I'm so sorry, how rude of me. My name is Jung Hoseok!"
"It's nice to meet you...Priest Jung?"
"Just Hoseok is fine," he assures you, a laugh threading through his voice. "I'm not a priest."
"Right."
"And you?" He bites into another cookie and smiles. "What's your name?"
"Y/N."
"Hmm, I don't recognize that name. You must've traveled pretty far." Hoseok looks you over again with more consideration this time, before shoving to his feet, the beads knocking gently against his antlers again. A sprig of lavender falls from one branch to the table. "Let's get to work then, shall we? Tell me what you need."