Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.1. present.

      There is a faerie sleeping in the forest, they say.

There is a faerie sleeping in the forest, and he has been sleeping for millennia, they tell Yoo Jonghyuk. When he asks them who he is, they shrug and say they do not know. After all, he has been sleeping there even when there was no village at the outskirts of the forest.

The forest was larger, darker, then, they say.

The faerie rests in a glass coffin, and the village children sometimes sneak flowers atop of it.

Yoo Jonghyuk has been travelling for a long time, and for some reason he feels that this was his destination all along.

“Don’t go into the forest,” the villagers tell him. “The Ancient One does not welcome strangers.”

However, Yoo Jonghyuk is not one to listen to others, especially when they contradict his instincts. He straps on his pair of swords, one dark and one light, then follows the children into the forest. They rush ahead of him, fresh flowers in their hands and wreaths in their hair — smiling, they tell them it’s for the sleeping prince.

Apparently, the faerie sleeping in the coffin has many names here. Somehow, they all seem wrong to Yoo Jonghyuk — however, he does not know what name he should have.

“Here he is!” cheer the children. They clamour around the coffin, some of them going so far as to climb onto it. To them, this Fey is simply someone they have yet to befriend.

Yoo Jonghyuk stands in front of the coffin, hesitating. He does not know what he has been expecting, but this feels like it.

The man in the coffin is wearing white robes, and his hair is short and dark. His clothes are not clean, and his hands are stained with rusty blood, smeared onto his chest.

The faerie must have been sleeping here for almost an eternity, and yet the blood seems fresh, and the man is undamaged by time as well. Although his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed, Yoo Jonghyuk thinks that the man’s rest is anything but peaceful.

What is he dreaming of, he wonders. What is he dreaming, that he has not awoken in so long?

Is he waiting for someone?

There is a space just below Yoo Jonghyuk’s heart, has been there for as long as he can remember. Something is missing, but he does not know what.

Standing before the coffin, Yoo Jonghyuk stares for a moment, then places the lighter of his swords at the foot of the casket. For what reason, he does not know, but his instincts tell him that this is what he must do.

“I will be back,” he tells the man, before turning around and walking away.

The children stare after him, their colourful wildflowers scattered on the glass surface. Unnoticed by anyone, the faerie’s fingers give a single twitch.

      Yoo Jonghyuk sits at the entrance to the forge, sword placed over his knees. As far as he knows, he has always had two swords — it is only now that he wonders if the second belonged to another.

Exhaling, he stands up, only to pause as he hears something hit the ground. He looks down, frowning.

There, at his feet. Two rowan berries have fallen, and are rolling downhill.

Yoo Jonghyuk lifts his eyes again and checks his surroundings, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword, but there is nobody around.

Then, where did they come from? wonders Yoo Jonghyuk, checking his pockets.

He finds them full of rowan berries, and the seams’ stitching damaged, as if someone had unstitched them during the night, then sewn them the wrong side up.

Yoo Jonghyuk turns his pockets inside out, and lets the rowan berries fall to the ground and pile up at his feet.

“Show yourself if you want something. Your tricks are useless,” he tells the empty air. He feels no presence behind him either, and yet his pockets are once more full of rowan berries when he checks them.

“Annoying,” he mutters, emptying his pockets again, then beginning to walk away. 

And again, when he places his hands in his pockets, he finds them full of berries.

      Yoo Jonghyuk has a pocket full of salt, and a pocket full of rowan berries. His socks have been turned inside out.

He is itching to fight something.

“Show yourself!” he orders the forest, annoyed.

Nobody replies, except for a plant softly winding around his foot. Yoo Jonghyuk roughly steps away, walking deeper into the forest. Soon enough, he is standing before the glass coffin, staring at half-wilted flowers and an unwilted face.

On the ground, the fallen leaves are rotting.

He draws his sword, stepping closer to it.

“Who are you?” he questions, and his voice carries through the empty forest. There is no birdsong in the trees, nor insects buzzing in the air.

Just Yoo Jonghyuk, and a faerie in a casket.

“Tell me,” he orders the sleeping creature.

He feels a sharp pain in his temple and he falters, sword dropping at his feet — his vision is gradually growing dim.

As his vision turns dark, Yoo Jonghyuk thinks the faerie might be smiling.

2.1. past.

      “You better hope I don’t catch you,” grits out Yoo Jonghyuk, struggling against the vines tying him to the tree.

“Yoo Jonghyuk, hi! Didn’t see ya there,” smiles the dark-haired faerie. 

“Kim Dokja,” hisses Yoo Jonghyuk. “ Untie me,” he orders.

Using a faerie’s true name should force them to obey you, he is well aware. However, for some reason, Kim Dokja is the exception to this rule.

Maybe it is not his real name. Maybe, it is just one of the many lies Yoo Jonghyuk is sure that he breathes. Although he is well aware that faeries are unable to lie, the thought persists.

Kim Dokja flashes him a grin, and the vines fall to the ground, releasing Yoo Jonghyuk, who wastes no moment to draw his sword and advance.

“Fight me,” he tells the faerie, who is still giving him an insufferable grin.

“Hm,” Kim Dokja pretends to consider it, finger tapping against his chin. “Alright,” he cheerfully agrees, drawing his own weapon, its blade flashing light blue.

They both charge forward, swords colliding.

As in most of their previous fights, Yoo Jonghyuk’s blood boils with frustrated resentment. The faerie is toying with him, remaining on the defence with playful flourishes and teasing jabs that do not wound, while Yoo Jonghyuk fights with the intent to harm, to cut down.

To kill.

However, this time, the faerie underestimates him.

Yoo Jonghyuk kicks Kim Dokja’s legs from underneath him, causing the faerie to fall flat on his back, the tip of Yoo Jonghyuk’s blade at his throat.

For a moment, they stare at each other, Kim Dokja’s eyes wide in surprise, Yoo Jonghyuk’s breath coming out in hurried puffs.

“You win,” smiles Kim Dokja, and doesn’t even try to escape his hold. He stares up at him, unblinking and unfearful.

A challenge.

“You held back,” Yoo Jonghyuk accuses him. He still has not moved his sword away — maybe he will kill the faerie today. Maybe.

“Hm~” hums Kim Dokja, blinking. He flashes his pointed canines at Yoo Jonghyuk, still teasing and non-threatening. It makes Yoo Jonghyuk seethe. “Maybe.”

They wordlessly stare at each other for one more moment before Yoo Jonghyuk, glaring down at the faerie, steps away and sheathes his weapon.

He hates that there is no surprise in Kim Dokja’s eyes at how he has spared him. Surely, he would have been able to kill him.

Eyes narrowed, he looks at Kim Dokja — who had been staring at him with that careful, scheming look he has in his eyes whenever he thinks Yoo Jonghyuk is not watching. It is easy to forget that this is a monster in front of him, especially when he meets his eyes and smiles so brightly.

“Don’t hold back next time,” he threatens, but Kim Dokja does not seem apprehensive in the least at the promise violence lacing his voice. “I will defeat you once more, but fairly.”

A playful smile. “I know.”

“I hate your kind,” Yoo Jonghyuk reminds the faerie, lest the other start believing his own illusions. “I will kill you one day.”

Here, something flashes in Kim Dokja’s eyes, but it quickly disappears. His smile is now brittle at the corners. 

“I know.”

And because faeries cannot lie, they both know he is speaking the truth.

2.2. past.

      The air is humid, weighing down on Yoo Jonghyuk as he walks, annoyance sharp in his movement. There had been another patrol in the village, the King’s men shamelessly robbing the weak and the defenceless, and Yoo Jonghyuk was the one the villagers counted on to defend them.

He sighs, annoyed, a branch snapping beneath his boot.

Which is when he realises that something is wrong.

There is a haphazard path through the bushes, as if a large animal had been chased that way. However, the trajectory and prints in the mud point to another possibility.

Something human-like had been hunted here.

Careful, Yoo Jonghyuk crouches down and inspects the prints more carefully, following them slowly. Bare feet, boots, and, a few steps forward, a silver liquid staining the leaves.

Someone has been hunting faeries, someone other than Yoo Jonghyuk.

Hurrying his steps, Yoo Jonghyuk pushes the underbrush aside and keeps walking, until he finds himself in a clearing, two shapes a small distance away from him — one barely standing, the other injured, but more stable. There are bodies on the ground behind the less injured figure, dressed in royal colours.

“Ha!” laughs Kim Dokja, and Yoo Jonghyuk involuntarily flinches, eyes focusing on the injured faerie. Kim Dokja sways lightly on his feet, but still holds on to his sword. “I never would have thought—” he starts, but his words turn slurred and slow.

The soldier steps forward and Yoo Jonghyuk —

— Yoo Jonghyuk is suddenly standing in front of Kim Dokja, sword drawn and bloodied. The soldier crumples to the ground behind him.

“Why?” asks Kim Dokja as he sways to the side. His eyes are hazy and confused, but he does not fall.

Stepping forward, Yoo Jonghyuk steadies him. “I’m the one who will kill you,” he reminds Kim Dokja once more, the words stale in his mouth. 

“Ah, I see,” nods Kim Dokja, leaning into Yoo Jonghyuk’s supporting arm. “Well, if it’s you, I suppose it’s alright.”

They sit down on the log, facing the fallen soldiers. Yoo Jonghyuk finds that there is no pity inside of him when he looks at them, and he thinks that Kim Dokja probably feels the same way.

How strange — that he shares something in common with a faerie, and someone he has sworn to kill.

“Are you healing?” he asks Kim Dokja, who is leaning against him, his breathing unsteady and hurried. His eyes are closed, and Yoo Jonghyuk looks away from his fluttering eyelashes.

“Heh, Jonghyuk, are you worried?” teases Kim Dokja. “They will heal.”

Yoo Jonghyuk finds himself thankful that Kim Dokja did not wait for an answer, because, for once, he was unsure what he would have said.

“Hm.” He shifts his weight so that the faerie can lean on him more comfortably, but Kim Dokja does not comment on it. “I’ll patch you up.”

At this, the faerie’s eyes abruptly open and he scurries away from Yoo Jonghyuk, before hissing in pain at the movement. “Nonono, there’s no need for that!”

However, when Yoo Jonghyuk narrows his eyes threateningly at him, Kim Dokja obediently bows his head and unties his robes, uncovering his wounded abdomen.

The relative lack of protest on the faerie’s part should have been a hint to him — it is a gruesome injury, but nothing Yoo Jonghyuk hasn’t seen before. So why is it that his stomach is tied up in knots as he reaches forward?

Kim Dokja hisses in pain when Yoo Jonghyuk touches the wound, and the human suddenly remembers himself and hastily pulls away, a sour feeling in his chest.

Telling himself it is only anger, he reaches for the spare bandages he keeps in his cloak and pulls them out, beginning to wrap the faerie’s wounds, who squirms beneath his touch.

“Keep still,” Yoo Jonghyuk snaps, pulling at the bandage.

“Ah- ow! Yoo Jonghyuk, I thought you wanted a fair fight! Why are you— ow! Jonghyuk!” Pushing him away, Kim Dokja sways for a moment and glares down at him. “Why are you…” he begins, then his eyes sparkle and Yoo Jonghyuk braces himself. “Are you angry?” he asks, half-teasing.

Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t know why he doesn’t answer. There’s nothing strange in being angry — after all, he’s in the company of the one he’s sworn to kill. But… maybe?

And that ‘maybe’ makes him hesitate for a moment, which is all Kim Dokja needs to pounce.

“You’re angry!” he exclaims, slightly more subdued than normally as he clutches at his wound, but still infuriatingly chipper. “Does that mean we’re finally companions, Jonghyuk-ah?”

At that, Yoo Jonghyuk finally regains his voice. “No, we are not.” He reaches forward again, batting away Kim Dokja’s hands, and begins wrapping the wound once more, but with slower and gentler movements this time. “And don’t get into dangerous situations anymore,” he adds, tying up the bandage and glancing up at the faerie, breath faltering when their eyes meet.

Kim Dokja is smiling at him, but it’s different. Gentler. There is no teasing in it, only warmth, and his eyes are bright and clear, focused only on Yoo Jonghyuk.

Why is he staring that way? Yoo Jonghyuk asks himself, before hastily looking away, ignoring the rush of blood in his ears.

Standing up from his crouch, he glances down at Kim Dokja, who is still looking at him, but this time his expression is the normal, challenging one. He has tied his robe closed in those seconds that Yoo Jonghyuk has looked away, as if retreating back into his shell.

Yoo Jonghyuk forces himself not to feel regret at that.

“Can you stand?” Yoo Jonghyuk asks him. 

“Mhm,” confirms Kim Dokja, pushing himself to his feet and swaying only barely. There is a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, but Yoo Jonghyuk does not offer his help.

Decidedly looking away from the faerie, Yoo Jonghyuk finds himself questioning his objective for the first time.

Maybe, just maybe… But he does not let the thought continue. Instead, he follows Kim Dokja, carefully watching him.

2.3. past.

      The next time Yoo Jonghyuk sees Kim Dokja, they are not in the forest. The marketplace is filled with sound and the smell of spices in the air and, incongruously enough, Kim Dokja is amidst it all, ears round under glamour and wearing human clothes.

It’s… disconcerting.

There are two children at his side, which is what Yoo Jonghyuk decides to focus on as he walks towards Kim Dokja.

“Are these yours,” he doesn’t quite manage to ask, the question flat with what is probably coming across as indifference, but is actually perplexion.

“Yes,” answer the children at the same time Kim Dokja shakes his head amusedly.

The two are staring at Yoo Jonghyuk, seemingly attempting to gauge his worth. Yoo Jonghyuk decides to ignore them.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Dressed like a human, they both know he means.

“Just checking out the festival. The kids asked me to bring them,” smiles Kim Dokja, shrugging. His eyes are warm, warmer than Yoo Jonghyuk has ever seen them.

The information settles under his skin, curled and spiked, like an itch that will not abate. For some reason, it bothers him — that Kim Dokja can be warm, and that the smiles that he has given him were not the real thing.

Kim Dokja glances at him, questioning, and Yoo Jonghyuk realises that several moments have passed without him saying anything.

“I’ll join you,” he tells the faerie. Gaining information about the enemy, he assures himself; and he knows well enough that it is a lie, that he is only reaching for Kim Dokja’s sunlight, to have it for himself.

It is simple phototropism, and Yoo Jonghyuk is but a solitary, stubborn weed.

Kim Dokja doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head and looks away, and Yoo Jonghyuk does not get to see his expression. However, the children do throw him identical sharp glares, so their thoughts on the matter are obvious enough.

As they walk around the marketplace, the children darting ahead, Yoo Jonghyuk throws an assessing glance the faerie’s way and thinks that Kim Dokja is the embodiment of self-contradiction: for as persistent as he was in the forest about their companionship, now his eyes are decidedly turned away from Yoo Jonghyuk’s.

It piques his curiosity, as well as spurns him forward, closer and closer, until Yoo Jonghyuk is now firmly situated in arms reach from Kim Dokja, who throws him a strange look, then steps away. Yoo Jonghyuk follows.

But still, he’s unsettled. This is not close enough.

“Why are you acting like this?” hisses Kim Dokja when the kids are distracted with a toy craftsman’s stall. His head is ducked so that they do not see his annoyed expression, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

“Like what?” asks Yoo Jonghyuk. He watches Kim Dokja watch him.

“Like-” Kim Dokja makes a sputtering noise, gesturing to the barely half metre of space between the two of them. “Like we’re close, or friends, or something.”

Discomfort pools in Yoo Jonghyuk’s stomach, turning bitter when his first thought is You were the one who asked to be my companion. They’re not companions. Yoo Jonghyuk has no companions, it’s just him — that’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it always will be, with nobody to hold him back.

Especially not a faerie. Monsters are for killing, not companionship.

“I’m not,” lies Yoo Jonghyuk, urging himself to believe it. 

A dubious glance from Kim Dokja tells him just how believable he is.

Yoo Jonghyuk narrows his eyes at him, swallowing the bitter retort on his tongue — that is not the way he will harm Kim Dokja. Words are not to be used as weapons.

“Ahjussi! Look what I got!” calls the female child, rushing towards Kim Dokja and pulling at his robes until he lowers himself to her height. She’s holding a wooden sculpture of a creature with fangs the size of its limbs, and cradles it the way a mother would hold her child. “It’s a doll!”

Kim Dokja’s eyes soften and he smiles at her, the same smile he never gives Yoo Jonghyuk. “Very nice,” he praises her, and she flashes a smug look at the child beside her, who’s hugging a wooden beetle.

“Hyung-” begins the boy, annoyed, then his eyes widen sharply. “Hyung,” he repeats, voice trembling. “Soldiers.”

The King’s men crowd the marketplace, weapons flashing sharply in the sunlight. They haven’t drawn their swords yet, but Yoo Jonghyuk is well aware that it is only a matter of time.

Glancing at Kim Dokja, he wonders if the faerie will run away. Being a non-human creature, he is in the most danger, so it would make sense for him to run and avoid a disadvantageous situation.

“Ahjussi, let me,” hisses the girl.

“No, Hyung, let me,” contradicts the boy, and the two of them step forward, beginning to draw their miniature weapons.

“You two, go inside,” Kim Dokja tells them, not looking away from the soldiers. His eyes are cold and focused, and his smile is gone.

Yoo Jonghyuk cannot look away.

The kids mutter their dissent, but listen to the faerie and leave to find shelter.

When the soldiers charge forward, both Kim Dokja and Yoo Jonghyuk already have their weapons drawn and blades ready for impact.

Fighting beside a faerie, instead of against one, is thrilling — getting to see others struck down by blows he once would have had issues evading, grit their teeth against slashes that Yoo Jonghyuk knows the pain of.

And still, it is startlingly obvious that Kim Dokja is playing with them, and not letting go of his restraints.

Yoo Jonghyuk cannot help but wonder: what exactly is it that Kim Dokja is afraid of?

What is it that he is holding back?

Tearing his eyes away from Kim Dokja’s feral gaze, Yoo Jonghyuk barely has the time to notice it in the distance before it blinks out of existence —

— and back into it, right before him.

The witch raises her staff, eyes blazing, and the second that Yoo Jonghyuk hesitates almost proves to be deadly, her blow narrowly missing his temple.

Kim Dokja, pressing down on him, doesn’t even look at him before he’s moving once more. If he hadn’t pushed Yoo Jonghyuk aside, that blow would have taken his arm cleanly off.

Exhaling sharply through his teeth, Yoo Jonghyuk pushes his annoyance aside and rises to his feet, following Kim Dokja in the line of fire.

“You cannot defeat me like that,” laughs the witch, shooting at Kim Dokja, who deftly avoids her blow and rushes forward, sword swinging — but she’s already teleported a few metres away, and laughs at him. “With those restraints, it’s no wonder you’re no match,” she smirks mockingly, then shoots.

This time, Kim Dokja does not get to avoid it. It hits him squarely in the chest, and his body turns limp, arms dropping at his sides — a sway, and his sword drops at his feet, but he does not fall, still standing.

Yoo Jonghyuk begins to run, but a sudden wave throws him back and he barely lands on his feet, crouching and sword digging into the ground. Breathing heavily with exertion, he raises his head and feels all the warmth drain out of him.

In Kim Dokja’s place stands a demon, dark wings sprouting from his back, and his horns a stark contrast against the blood-red sky.

His sword is back in his hand, but it feels different now, thrumming with light and energy.

“That’s more like it,” smiles the witch. She raises her hands, and they burn red. “Now-”

Her words are suddenly caught off, head sliced cleanly off.

She crumples to the ground, and Kim Dokja stands above her, looking down at her body, sword dripping blood.

A beat of silence, two. Yoo Jonghyuk can barely hear his own heartbeat over the deafening silence in his ears.

Kim Dokja’s head turns, slowly. He looks at Yoo Jonghyuk for a moment, but his expression is obscured by his hair and the dusty haze in the air.

One more swing, and the soldiers all fall as well.

Only the surviving villagers, Kim Dokja, and Yoo Jonghyuk remain standing. 

As if waiting for something, Kim Dokja makes no move. Still, nobody is saying anything.

Kim Dokja turns away and disappears, leaving only blood and dust behind.

2.4. past.

      When Yoo Jonghyuk reaches the clearing, he finds Kim Dokja sitting in a tree, wings and horns gone, and eyes coldly gazing at the faraway ground below.

Something squirms in Yoo Jonghyuk’s stomach, and he steps further into the meadow to announce his presence. Sure enough, Kim Dokja’s gaze moves to him, and there is no more emptiness in it now.

Yoo Jonghyuk recognizes the emotion in his eyes as apprehension, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he just shifts his scabbard into arms reach — Kim Dokja watches the motion, and tenses up, eyes flashing.

“Kim Dokja,” begins Yoo Jonghyuk, taking another step. He is now beneath the tree, and he tilts his head up to stare at the faerie sitting in the branches. “Spar with me.”

Spar with me, not fight me. He had chosen his words carefully, and he knows that Kim Dokja noticed, because the tension has seeped out of his frame, and he’s smiling now.

“Of course,” grins Kim Dokja, the same smile he’d previously only directed at the children.

Yoo Jonghyuk stares at him, and allows himself to bask in his warmth.

When Kim Dokja charges forward and their blades crash against each other, Yoo Jonghyuk feels the corners of his mouth quirk upwards — his companion notices as well, and for a moment he just blinks, watching, then his own smile widens further, blinding.

Kim Dokja has always been watching, realises Yoo Jonghyuk, stepping sideways and tensing his arms as the blades slide, guards catching. It’s just that now Yoo Jonghyuk is also looking back at him.

And sees him.

Their blades separate, and they circle each other a few times, their footprints in the dirt coming full circle.

Kim Dokja flashes a smile, blade twirling. “How about we declare it a draw?” The tip of his sword rests against the dirt, but he does not sheathe it.

“This was just a spar,” counters Yoo Jonghyuk, putting away his weapon. “There are no winners or losers.”

“Oh.” Kim Dokja seems to have found something in Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes, because his own flash for a moment, expression open and surprised.

It tugs at Yoo Jonghyuk, and for some reason he wishes to draw it out once more.

Maybe that is what makes him take the extra step, to move closer, hand covering Kim Dokja’s. He looks up, and he doesn’t know what he expects, but it isn’t this —

It isn’t Kim Dokja paling, eyes widening, and taking a step back, their hands separating.

Yoo Jonghyuk feels his own expression shutter, and he looks away, willing away whatever emotions are fighting to rise to the surface. Has he imagined the signs? Was he fooling himself?

Both of them are silent for a few moments, and when Yoo Jonghyuk looks back, his eyes snag on the smooth surface of Kim Dokja’s forehead, where he’d pushed his hair back during their spar. There are no marks where his horns used to be, and Yoo Jonghyuk suspects that his shoulder blades bear no marks either.

When his eyes meet Kim Dokja’s, there is a question on the tip of his tongue, and Kim Dokja is seemingly aware of that as well.

But Yoo Jonghyuk is not one to use his words, nor is Kim Dokja one to offer any kind of information about himself, so both of them keep their silence.

And the things that they need to tell each other remain unsaid.

2.5. past.

      Kim Dokja’s silhouette is dark against the rust-coloured horizon, wings splayed and horns sharp. There are bodies at his feet, countless soldiers, and there is blood on his robes, most of it not his own.

He sways, wings furling and unfurling, and leans on his sword, but his face remains raised to the sky, as if defying the heavens.

Apprehension stretches Yoo Jonghyuk’s insides taut, but his feet remain rooted to the ground. He can’t move.

It’s just a dream, he tells himself. He cannot tear his eyes away from Kim Dokja, whose legs are beginning to wobble. You just need to wake up.

In the dark red sky, he thinks he sees a star blink down at him, but he pays it no mind, instead desperately attempting to move his feet.

“Kim Dokja!” he calls out, and the faerie turns away from the heavens to look at him. Yoo Jonghyuk thinks he might be smiling.

Then Kim Dokja’s knees buckle and he falls to the corpse-littered ground and off the edge of the horizon, teetering over the border as if he’d never even existed.

“Yoo Jonghyuk!”

The voice shatters the dream around Yoo Jonghyuk and he blearily opens his eyes, staring up at the clear blue sky. Kim Dokja’s face suddenly pops up above him and he blinks up at it.

“You fell asleep,” smiles Kim Dokja teasingly. “Who would’ve thought you’re a sleep talker?”

The remnants of the dream aren’t completely gone, and Yoo Jonghyuk tries to shake off their cold touch by sitting up. Kim Dokja moves aside to make room, but their knees still press together, warm and grounding.

It chases away the remaining cold, and Yoo Jonghyuk is finally able to move his focus to the faerie beside him.

“What did I say?” he asks.

It is only because he is already watching Kim Dokja that he notices the exact moment that his ears turn red — but except for that, he keeps his composure, his expression a teasing poker face.

“Not telling,” he smirks, but his ears are still red and Yoo Jonghyuk has to suppress the urge to reach out and find out if they’re as warm as they seem.

“Hm,” he hums noncommittally, moving his eyes away from Kim Dokja and towards the meadow. It’s wide and warm, but beyond its edges the forest stretches into the distance, dark and daunting.

They settle into silence for a few moments, but it is broken when Kim Dokja suddenly shifts his weight, alert.

“Do you hear that?” the faerie asks. His eyes are wide, and before Yoo Jonghyuk can even respond, they darken, horns sprouting and wings unfurling.

And it is not a moment too soon, because a shape is suddenly crashing into Kim Dokja, violently hitting the tree behind them, uprooting it in a mess of dust and rubble.

Rushing to his feet, Yoo Jonghyuk unsheathes his weapon and runs towards the two, but they’re already separating, the stranger thrown back to the opposite end of the meadow.

“Demon King of Salvation,” speaks the man. He also bears wings and horns, but his frame is much larger than Kim Dokja’s, and he casts a shadow in the setting sun’s light. His eyes flick towards Yoo Jonghyuk, and they flash purple. “And… Who is this?”

“I’m his companion,” declares Yoo Jonghyuk. The ‘Demon King’ title rattles in his mind a couple times, but in the end it is no surprise — after all, the horns and wings should have been enough of a hint.

Beside him, Kim Dokja, who has been silently assessing their enemy with cold eyes, turns to look at him when he hears his words. His expression only flashes vulnerability for a moment, then he’s already looking away and back at their enemy.

“Cute,” the demon flashes his teeth. “Now, Demon King of Salvation-”

His words screech to a halt when both Yoo Jonghyuk and Kim Dokja charge forward at the same time. The faerie arrives first, hovering above the demon’s head, sword flashing as he dashes him into the ground. Next arrives Yoo Jonghyuk, who finishes him off with a stab to the heart.

Drawing out his bloody sword, he stares down at the fading demon.

“Not… alone…” grins the demon.

As he dissolves into ashes, Yoo Jonghyuk lifts his gaze to the looming forest before them. Dark shapes dart through foliage and rush towards them, barely giving him enough time to lift his blade before they crash into him and Kim Dokja.

Yoo Jonghyuk has never been one for words, so he doesn’t bother to ask any questions, just tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword and grits his teeth, pushing back, metal screeching against metal.

His enemy sneers down at him, a flash of half-rottened fangs. Yoo Jonghyuk sidesteps and strikes towards the demon’s abdomen, drawing blood. Rushing back, he avoids the demon’s retaliatory lunge and stabs once more, now towards his chest, but missing by a hair’s breadth. Stepping out of the demon’s range, Yoo Jonghyuk manages a glance towards Kim Dokja, who is locked in combat with the other demon, both airborne and shadowed.

“Eyes on me,” snarls the demon before Yoo Jonghyuk, his rancid breath warning the human to step back just in time.

Turning his attention back to his opponent, Yoo Jonghyuk lifts his sword, eyes dark and narrowed. He’s had enough.

With one final lunge, Yoo Jonghyuk breaks through the demon’s defences, knocking his sword to the ground and kicking him in the stomach. The demon, taller than Yoo Jonghyuk by at least a metre, crouches over in pain, and that is opportunity enough for Yoo Jonghyuk, whose blade is already moving.

The demon’s head falls at Yoo Jonghyuk’s feet and his headless body sways once, twice, then follows suit.

Flicking his sword clean of gore, Yoo Jonghyuk lifts his eyes to the sky — the treetops are painted violet with demon blood, and rare streaks of silver for Kim Dokja’s wounds. The faerie is barely the size of the demon’s sword, yet it is he who stands upright, and his opponent whose movements stutter with pain. His horns are curved, unlike Kim Dokja’s straight ones, and they are silhouetted darkly and incongruently against the clear sky. 

Yoo Jonghyuk shifts his weight restlessly, earthbound. He has no long-range weapons, and can only watch the fight unfold above the clearing.

The demon says something, muffled by the distance, and Kim Dokja’s posture abruptly tenses, sharpens. Although Yoo Jonghyuk had thought that he wasn’t holding back, the change in his movements is obvious, darker and more ruthless.

Noticing Kim Dokja’s shift in emotion, the demon laughs, his whole body shaking. Yoo Jonghyuk can hear him from where he is standing and he stiffens at the obvious satisfaction in the sound.

His sword flashing white, Kim Dokja ducks his wings around his frame and plunges towards the demon, fast as an arrow.

He hits the target.

And then, they’re both falling out of the sky. Destructive energy envelops Kim Dokja, crackling and flashing violet where it hits the blood spraying from the massive demon’s wounds. When they hit the ground, the whole meadow shudders.

The demon laughs again, a terrible, gurgling, sound.

“ He is next. That is my answer,” Kim Dokja tells him, delivering the final strike.

The demon stops moving, but his lips are frozen in a scornful smile.

Kim Dokja stands completely motionless for a moment, pale robes stained violet, his skin dripping silver blood. Feet rooted to the spot, Yoo Jonghyuk watches him, insides churning.

He needs to reach out, something inside him warns, somewhat desperately.

His fingers twitch and tighten in a fist, helpless.

When Kim Dokja lifts his gaze, it is faraway, distant — he stares right through Yoo Jonghyuk, whose stomach tightens painfully.

“There’s something I need to deal with,” the faerie says, wiping his sword clean on the grass and sheathing it.

“What?” Yoo Jonghyuk has to force the words out. He has a terrible feeling about this.

“I’ll be right back,” Kim Dokja smiles, but it’s once more that cold expression that he used to show Yoo Jonghyuk, the one that does not reach his eyes. For a moment, he seems surprised at his words, as if he has just told a lie he was not supposed to be able to tell.

That is what catches Yoo Jonghyuk’s attention most, the fact that Kim Dokja himself believes to be lying.

“I don’t believe you,” Yoo Jonghyuk tells him, accusingly. Make me believe you, is what he doesn’t say. 

This time, Kim Dokja does not hear his unsaid words, and just tilts his head, staring down at the bloodstained grass.

“...” Kim Dokja’s lips are shaping the words, but Yoo Jonghyuk does not hear them. Can’t hear them, over the ringing in his ears.

Yoo Jonghyuk wants to move, to take a step forward, and reach out, but, like in his dream, he is once more stuck to the spot, stuck watching Kim Dokja leave.

   The days pass by. They fade into weeks, then months. A year, and two.

Still, Kim Dokja does not come back.

2.6. past.

      Breath clouding in front of his face, Yoo Jonghyuk takes a deep breath, tightening his hold on the hilt of his sword, which is slippery with blood.

At his feet lie, unmoving, half a dozen soldiers. Their captain is the last one left, and he sways, rushing to attack Yoo Jonghyuk in a last desperate attempt. 

He drops to the ground as well, and Yoo Jonghyuk pulls out his sword, expression cold and stony.

The meadow is empty and overgrown, as if in Kim Dokja’s absence the plants become threatening, dark.

Not only the plants have grown — the King’s men have also increased in number, and these days Yoo Jonghyuk finds himself spending most of his time fighting them back when they inevitably begin pilfering and robbing. 

The sword feels so heavy in his hand.

And yet, the soldiers don’t stop coming.

(And yet, Kim Dokja has not come back.)

“Oh, what have we got here?” asks a voice, and Yoo Jonghyuk turns around, guard instantly raised. 

“Who are you?” he asks. It’s obviously a demon, as tall as the one that Kim Dokja had fought that day, but his aura is much darker and threatening.

Yoo Jonghyuk has to grit his teeth with the effort it takes to remain standing in front of the other’s oppressive presence.

“You’re the Demon King of Salvation’s little companion, aren’t you?” asks the demon, amused and completely ignoring Yoo Jonghyuk’s question. Obviously, he considers him no threat at all.

Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes darken and he begins to draw his sword, but suddenly he’s flying back, violently hitting a tree trunk. Coughing painfully, he blinks away the spots in his eyes.

The demon stands before him, peering down at him. He’s no longer smiling, as if already tired with the pretence.

“Where is he?” he asks. His eyes flash red.

Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t say anything, just forces himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs. They’re definitely broken, he knows, as he draws his sword and readies his stance.

This time, the demon lets him, staring curiously down at him. He doesn’t have a sword, but his claws are just as sharp and he points one at Yoo Jonghyuk.

Pushing against the ground, Yoo Jonghyuk attacks first — it is easily deflected, and he feels claws slashing at his side even as he retreats.

“Not bad,” comments the demon. “But still not enough.”

Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t bother listening, just rushes forward once more, tip of his sword aimed at the demon’s weak point, right below his sternum.

The demon grabs him by the neck and tightens his grip — Yoo Jonghyuk’s vision flickers and his grip turns limp, sword falling to the ground.

“Where is he?” the demon hisses, peering into Yoo Jonghyuk’s face. He relaxes his grip just enough for Yoo Jonghyuk to take a stuttering breath and lift his knee to strike at the weak point.

Grunting, the demon tightens his grip again, and his claws dig into flesh painfully.

“You know what I think?” He shakes Yoo Jonghyuk like a ragdoll. “I think that you don’t know where he is at all.”

He throws Yoo Jonghyuk to the ground. “You’re not much of a companion,” he laughs.

Get up, Yoo Jonghyuk orders himself, before he can traitorously allow himself to agree. Get up and fight.

His muscles tense and he manages to turn over, but instantly falls back when he attempts to sit up. Blood is pooling around him, turning the frozen grass red like fallen autumn leaves.

Above him, the demon is already turning around, well-aware that his wound is not one that he can survive.

“Asmodeus you ***!” The shout startles the demon, and he grunts when a golden blur crashes into him and throws him to the ground. It’s a faerie, her eyes flashing righteous green, and she brandishes her sword, stabbing him in the stomach.

Asmodeus huffs in pain, but manages to rise back up. However, at this point, Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes are already closing, vision growing dimmer.

“Jonghyuk!” the voice startles him into opening his eyes once more, and Yoo Jonghyuk almost smiles.

His vision is hazy, but even so he can recognize Kim Dokja’s face hovering worriedly above his. Trying to part his lips, he finds it impossible; he only manages a huff.

Kim Dokja’s expression twists painfully, and he blinks rapidly, then lifts his gaze to the sky hatefully. His fingers are gripping Yoo Jonghyuk’s, but already there is little to no feeling in them.

“Come down!” Kim Dokja screams at the sky. In it there is a single lone star, blinking down at them even during daytime. “Come down, I said!” Yoo Jonghyuk cannot see his face, but even his limp hands can feel the tight grip that Kim Dokja has on him.

The star blinks once, twice, then disappears. At first Yoo Jonghyuk thinks that he is hallucinating, but the star does not reappear.

Instead, in front of them is a child dressed in white robes, blinking up at them, scared.

For some reason he seems familiar to Yoo Jonghyuk, but his dazed mind supplies no details.

Kim Dokja recognizes him though. His eyes instantly turn disdainful and, as if instinctively, horns sprout from his forehead and dark wings splay behind him.

The child cowers, staring up at them.

“ You,” hisses Kim Dokja. His hold on Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand relaxes, then tenses once more — as if he’d almost let go then thought better of it. He is gripping his sword tightly, Yoo Jonghyuk notices from the corner of his eye, but is holding himself back from striking the child. “Do you want him to die?” he asks threateningly.

The child shakes his head.

Kim Dokja’s frame relaxes just slightly. “Then save him.”

Again, the child shakes his head.

“Wh-” angrily starts Kim Dokja, but does not go on. Already Yoo Jonghyuk can no longer keep his eyes open, and they shut, but he forces himself to stay awake, to continue listening. “I’ll do it,” he grits through his teeth. “Save him, and I’ll do what you want me to.”

“Promise?” the child’s voice is a mere whisper, as if he is not meant to speak. Yoo Jonghyuk is not even sure if he has heard it at all, if he has not imagined it.

“I swear,” confirms Kim Dokja. Yoo Jonghyuk’s stomach sinks. This is bad, this is definitely a bad sign.

But he cannot move, cannot speak, instead is stuck listening helplessly.

The child doesn’t say anything else, but Yoo Jonghyuk imagines that he nods, because his body is suddenly lighter, stronger. Slowly, he moves his fingers. He can feel Kim Dokja holding them tightly. Blinking his eyes open, he stares at his companion sitting by his side.

Kim Dokja stares back, and his expression is strange and grim, but there is a smile on his lips and it’s the real thing.

Yoo Jonghyuk turns his head and, sure enough, the child is still there, staring at them as if telling them “Your turn.”

Sitting up, Yoo Jonghyuk opens his mouth to speak, but Kim Dokja stops him.

“Yoo Jonghyuk,” he says, eyes grim but lips smiling, “Fight me.”

Fight me, echoes in Yoo Jonghyuk’s mind. Not Spar with me.

He’s supposed to kill Kim Dokja.

Kim Dokja pushes Yoo Jonghyuk’s sword in his hands, then draws his own.

He attacks, forcing Yoo Jonghyuk to lift his weapon to defend himself.

“No,” he tells Kim Dokja. I don’t want to.

Kim Dokja hears his unsaid words, he knows. He smiles at Yoo Jonghyuk as if he’s being ridiculous, being stubborn about something unimportant.

It grates unpleasantly against Yoo Jonghyuk’s nerves, and for some reason he feels like crying.

A deal with a faerie is binding. An oath even moreso. Kim Dokja will die anyway from the promise he’d made, but if Yoo Jonghyuk is the one to kill him then the repercussions will be much less grim, and his soul will be spared.

It leaves a sour taste in Yoo Jonghyuk’s mouth.

Lifting his sword, he attacks.

He doesn’t know why, but for some reason he’d thought that Kim Dokja would defend himself. But he does not, and the blade sinks into his heart.

There is no silver blood. Maybe the deal is the cause.

Kim Dokja crumples, and Yoo Jonghyuk catches him before he hits the ground. There is blood on his white robes, his own human blood, and it smears where he holds on to Kim Dokja.

“Heh,” laughs Kim Dokja, and there might be no blood, but there is instead a gaping hole in his chest, where he’s been stabbed, that is spreading and swallowing him whole. “It was a good story, wasn’t it, Yoo Jonghyuk?”

The back of his throat knots painfully, and Yoo Jonghyuk swallows past it.

“I will find you, I swear,” he tells Kim Dokja, slowly and carefully. “And we will meet again.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes widen, and he grabs at Yoo Jonghyuk’s clothes as if to make him take his words back, but it’s too late — the oath settles between the two of them, just as the darkness swallows Kim Dokja whole. He slips through Yoo Jonghyuk’s fingers and disappears.

Yoo Jonghyuk is left behind kneeling on the ground, head bowed, two swords by his side: one dark and one light.

Truly, Kim Dokja’s salvation was a cruel one.

3.1. present.

   Yoo Jonghyuk remembers.

He remembers the child looking at him, smiling like he had read a particularly good story. Then he walked towards him, where he was kneeling, pressed a fingertip between his brows and told him You will meet again. When he stepped back, Yoo Jonghyuk’s oath was tied between his brows, stretched into the distance.

Guiding him along.

He remembers that when his first life ended, he followed the thread into the second.

And when the second one ended, he followed it into the third.

Each time he began a new life, the memories of the previous would fade, but still he would keep following that thread. Still, he would always have two swords, one dark and one light, one his own and one someone else’s.

In Yoo Jonghyuk’s 1864th life, he found a faerie sleeping in a glass casket.

He found Kim Dokja.

4.1. present.

   When Yoo Jonghyuk opens his eyes, Kim Dokja is stirring in the casket, eyelashes fluttering.

Yoo Jonghyuk pushes aside the lid, which slides cleanly off and hits the soft dirt dully.

Kim Dokja opens his eyes, startled, and meets Yoo Jonghyuk’s.

They soften and he reaches out, arms wrapping around Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck, ducking his head in the crook of his neck.

“You found me,” he says, voice muffled against Yoo Jonghyuk’s skin. His neck is becoming damp, and, slowly moving his arms to hug him back, he thinks he knows why Kim Dokja is hiding his face.

Indeed, he is proven right when Kim Dokja sniffles wetly.

“Why?” asks Kim Dokja.

To Yoo Jonghyuk it’s always been simple — “Because you’re my companion,” he answers.

“Oh,” murmurs Kim Dokja, his lips brushing against Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck. Tightening his embrace, he goes on, voice small and timid, “Thank you.”

Yoo Jonghyuk just smiles and says nothing, letting his companion’s warmth settle over him. He lets it fill that gap below his heart, the one that gapes like half-rotten leaves, and, for the first time in a very long while, he takes a deep breath and just —

Exists.