Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the end of a long day, a hard day, a typical day spent working toward the future Jinsung had so long desired.  Only the small lights of his and Viole's Pockets shone in the dark training cavern.  In the narrow zone of illumination his pupil lay on the ground, battered and spent.  Jinsung gazed down at him soberly.  The growing sensations of empathy and guilt curled round his old and withered heart.  

“Time to call it a wrap," he said.  "You’ve had about all you can take for today.”

Viole stirred, but didn’t speak.  A ribbon of blood ran sluggishly down his arm and his eyes remained half closed.  Concern creased Jinsung's brow.  A year—no, even a couple of months ago—the boy would have been back up on his knees, begging Jinsung to keep going, to train him more.  The isolation of his captivity, the separation from his treasured friends, had always been a greater torment to Viole than any physical agony.  He’d been so desperate to escape this place, he hadn’t even seemed to care when warned that pushing harder could threaten his very life.  

But Viole didn’t request this often anymore.  Had he at last accepted his physical limits?  Or was he starting to lose hope?  

“I have to be away for a week or so, Ole, starting tomorrow," Jinsung said.  "Hansung will pick up part of the slack, and I want you to keep drilling with the stone dolls, but you should still have more time to rest.” 

Viole dragged himself up to his knees, one hand pressed to his bleeding arm.  “A week?” he asked, voice cracking a little.  Poor kid hated with a passion being left in Hansung’s sole charge.  

“Sorry, Viole,” Jinsung said, hardening his heart.  “I’ve got business I can’t put off.”  He headed for the tunnel to the cavern exit before the boy’s pleading eyes could make this worse.  

Halfway back to the floating castle docked against the cliffs above Viole's caverns, Jinsung reached for his pack of smokes.  At once he realized he’d forgotten his jacket, with his cigarettes and lighter still in its pocket.  Now he’d have to face Viole again after that uncomfortable parting.  With a muttered oath, he turned to retrace his steps. 

When he reached the lower opening of the passageway, Jinsung halted abruptly.  Muted sounds carried from where his pupil again lay curled on the ground.

Viole was crying.  

Damn.  This was worse than puppy dog eyes.  Viole almost never cried anymore—at least not in front of his master—but when he did, it pierced Jinsung’s heart as little else could.  

In those days long past and not yet atoned for, had Jessamine, locked in the depths of his family's dark fortress, wept with this same hopelessness?

The muffled sobs across the cavern choked off.  Viole must have sensed his arrival; it was too late to leave and pretend he hadn’t been here.  Jinsung made his way back over the pitted rock floor, wishing he’d abandoned his jacket and cigs.  Ah well. 

As he settled to the ground beside Viole, the boy tilted his head down so his bangs hid his face.  Jinsung squeezed his thin shoulder.  

“I know life's rough right now, kiddo,” he said, "and you’d rather be anywhere but here.  But I promise this won’t last forever.  Probably feels like it has already, but when you look back later, you’ll realize it wasn’t near as long as it seemed.”

Viole did not reply. The only sound from him now was the soft plip plip of tears falling on stone.

“Want me to eat dinner down here with you tonight?" Jinsung asked.  "I could do that, if you’d like.”  If it'll make you stop crying.  If it'll help you know I care.

“Okay,” Viole mumbled.  Not a “Yes, please” or a “no thank you”—the kid was going to make him guess?  Seemed like more of a yes, though.  It was probably as much as Jinsung would get.  “Pull yourself together, then," he told his young pupil, "and I’ll see you in an hour.”  Retrieving his jacket, he went back up the passage.  

He did not listen for the sounds carried by the shinsu behind him.

During the short walk, Jinsung smoked the cigarette he had with some discomfort delayed, and considered the line between unhappiness and serious depression.  He suspected Viole had crossed it.  That wasn't good news for either of them. 

Well then, what was to be done? 

When Jinsung came through the hidden door to the test director's office, Hansung Yu glanced up from a pile of documents and arched a slender brow.  “My, my—you look like some unpleasantness went down.  Does Viole have a new collection of broken bones?  I hope it’s nothing bad enough to affect his training tomorrow.”

Jinsung slid another cigarette from his dwindling carton.  “It wasn’t like that.  He’s no more injured than usual.  I just had to go back for my jacket, and found the kid crying.” 

Hansung’s calculating yellow eyes narrowed.  Jinsung wondered at times if the man saw these lingering traces of childhood as a defect to mock or knock out of Viole.  He wished he hadn’t mentioned the boy’s tears.  “Listen, Hansung—I think he’s close to breaking.  We give him too much stick and almost no carrot.”  Jinsung seated himself beside the small lacquered tea table, draping an arm across his knee.  “If Viole's hope fades and he has nothing to work for, we’ll be left with only an empty, useless shell.  Something's got to change.”  

The blond man laid his paper down in perfect alignment with the rest, and gave Jinsung his full, almost unsettling attention.  “What do you propose?”  

Jinsung considered, watching a plume of smoke curl up from the glowing end of his cigarette.  “For now?  Perhaps a regular day off with no training.”

"Viole's been moping over his situation since day one," Hansung said.  "A day off won't change his attitude—I guarantee it."  

"He's never been happy here, of course," Jinsung admitted, "but he's been motivated.  Now he's losing that fire."

"Perhaps that's because you're too soft with him.  Viole performs best when he's provoked."

"Well, I've never needed to do that in the past," Jinsung said, "and I've no desire to begin."  He gazed out the window into Hansung's private courtyard, at the trees perpetually pruned into tortured shapes, twisted and unnatural.  "I think a day off now and then would improve his mood.  Let's try it and see who's right."  

“The boy detests being alone," said Hansung.  "He might fight you on this himself."

“Who said anything about being alone?  Hwaryun or I can keep him company.  No offense,” Jinsung added, “but I’m quite certain he’d rather be alone than be forced to spend a holiday with you.”

Hansung smiled.  It was not a very pleasant smile; it looked out of place on that angelic face.  “We can at least try out your suggestion.  If, contrary to my expectations, it proves effective, and Viole comes to look forward to these days—well then, we'll have a new privilege we can threaten to withhold when a mild threat is needed.”  

Trust Hansung to view a scheduled break day as just another chance to punish the boy.  How very different the two of them were.  Jinsung fought down an urge to stub his cigarette out on the little fiend's antique tea table.

“When do you wish to have your trial holiday?” Hansung asked.  “After you get back from your meeting with the Elders, I suppose?”

“Soon after, yes."  Jinsung knew which day he'd choose.  He'd meant to stay a few days longer in the Outer Tower when the conference was over, to indulge in his old memorial ritual.  He didn't trust himself to train Viole on that date ever again.  But spending the whole day spoiling Viole for once seemed more fitting, after last year's events—even if not so personally satisfying.  "It'll give Viole something to look forward to while I'm away and you’re cutting his spirit to bits.  I’m gonna eat down there tonight and talk it over with him, if it's a plan.”  

Hansung acquiesced with a graceful inclination of the head.

It would be a real delight, Jinsung thought as he headed for Hansung's private kitchen, to prove his supercilious colleague wrong for once when Viole felt better after a holiday.  Hansung's depth of insight into Viole's psyche had often been useful, he had to admit.  Now, though, he felt that of the two of them, he had finally grown more attuned to the boy.

He supposed the coming days would prove who was correct.

When Jinsung returned to the cavern with steaming hot peanut chicken he’d whipped up in Hansung’s kitchen, Viole was sitting in his usual corner, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them.  He’d dealt with his injuries and cleaned up a little.  Spotting Jinsung and the floating tray, he rose and went over to the flat, smooth spot where they’d eaten together a couple of times before.  Jinsung wondered if this was where Viole always ate, even when alone, or not.  The cafeteria takeout and instant meals Hansung fed him didn’t exactly call for formality.  

They unfolded the cloth Jinsung had brought, spread it out over the stone, laid the dishes on it, and began their meal.

“Viole,” Jinsung said once they'd had a few bites, "Hansung and I have decided that after I return from my business trip—once you and I have had a chance to refresh the skills we’ve been working on, perhaps—you’ll take a day off.  No lessons of any kind: only rest and refreshment.”  He watched for Viole’s reaction.  The boy seemed blank, almost uncomprehending.  “This isn’t up for debate, so you needn’t decide whether you like the idea.  What I do need to know is if there’s something specific you want to do that day.  My guess is you’d prefer not to spend it alone?”

Viole didn't speak, but his expression was unambiguous.

"I can keep you company, then," Jinsung said.  "Have any ideas for how you’d like to spend that time?  Within reason, of course.  Don’t ask for a radical favor like an outing to the Middle Area, because that’s not an option.”

Viole looked back and forth between Jinsung, the space around them, the food, his own hands.  It was clear he was struggling to process this digression from his regimented life.  At last he asked, very quietly, “Could we go outside?  I promise I wouldn’t try to run away.  You know I wouldn’t do that, Master.”  Left unspoken: Or else you’d kill my friends to punish me.  “I’d do whatever you told me to.  We wouldn't have to go far, just . . . out of the caverns?”  A note of pleading entered his voice.  

Jinsung took another bite of chicken, deliberating.  He hated to shoot down the boy’s very first request, and it was hard to resist that imploring look.  Viole seldom asked for anything; he accepted all they dealt him as if he had little concept of personal rights or needs anymore.  Possibly he never had.  After all, he’d grown up in a cave all alone, save for the girl who was his friend and jailor both. 

“Hansung would have to agree to it, too," he told Viole, "but perhaps we could go out at night, when it’s unlikely we’d be spotted.  Don’t get too set on it.  But I will bring it up.”  

He was rewarded with the faint, hopeful smile he saw all too rarely from Viole.  His heart softened even further.  By the Guardians, this kid was getting to him in ways no one had for a long, long time.  Jinsung would have to be very careful.  Already he was far too attached; the Elders and Slayers would not be pleased if they knew.  He wondered how much Hansung saw, and how much he passed on, and to whom.  Damn meddlers.

Across the spread of dishes from him, Viole sat waiting for him to finish his train of thought.  Oh, yes.  “So what else, kiddo?  We'll have a whole day to fill.” 

Viole rolled a chopstick back and forth between his forefinger and thumb.  “Could I maybe use a lighthouse?” he almost whispered, eyes flicking up to Jinsung, then back to his plate.  “To look at pictures of my friends?”

Ahh . . . another request that wouldn't please Hansung.  Really, though, if Viole was supervised, it shouldn’t be that big a deal.  Jinsung couldn’t imagine him trying to smuggle out a message.  Viole was too hyperaware of the threat to his friends’ lives if ever he stepped out of line.  And his skills with a lighthouse couldn’t be good enough for subtle tricks, given his background. 

“We can discuss that as well,” Jinsung said.  “But could you come up with something a little less significant, perhaps?”

Viole just sat there.  It was a good strategy, really.  If he only asked for two things, it would be hard to deny him both.

“Let’s try this instead,” said Jinsung.  “How did you spend your free time in the past?  With your friends between tests, or with that girl Rachel?”  He hoped this wouldn’t trigger an emotional reaction.

“Between tests?  I mostly talked to my friends or listened to them talk with each other.  There were a couple of parties where we ate snacks and they got drunk, but I didn’t drink; my friend Khun said I was too young.”  Absently Viole inspected a cracked and blackened toenail. “When Rachel wasn’t teaching me, she'd mostly tell me stories or talk about herself, or we’d visit other parts of my cave.  We did play games, though: board games, she called them, though I don’t know why since there was no board, only carved wooden pieces.  I liked those games.”

“Well, then, I’ll bring a few games to teach you," Jinsung said.  He stacked the empty dishes on the tray and rose, levitating it beside him.  “See you in a week, Ole.  Have a good attitude for Hansung so he won’t give you too hard a time, okay?”  

Viole nodded glumly.  

“Atta boy.”  Jinsung checked to make sure he wasn't leaving anything important behind, and made his third and final departure for the night. 

“What do you think?” he asked Hwaryun the next afternoon, as she piloted him to the Middle Area through a secret route.  “Would a regular day off help keep Viole emotionally stable and motivated?”

Hwaryun raised a single inscrutable eye from the instrument panel.  “You do know this path will lead to you becoming more attached to our little god?” 

Jinsung hadn’t yet considered the plan’s effect on anyone but Viole.  Trust Ryun to see other outcomes.  “Do you view that as detrimental to our goals?” he asked, facing the glass canopy before them but watching her from the corner of his eye.

“That depends on what you do with it," she said.

They continued on in silence.  Jinsung’s mind drifted to the start of his unexpectedly strong bond with his student.  He pictured Viole on the day they’d met, kneeling on the ground, eyes brimming with tears.  “How strong do I have to be to not lose any more friends?" he'd asked.  "I don’t want to say goodbyes anymore!”  Jinsung had identified with the boy ever since.  He, too, hated—more than anything—loneliness and the suffocating pain of loss; and he, too, had always felt a powerful drive to protect those he loved.  

Not that he’d ever done a very good job of it.  He wished to protect, but he’d always only destroyed. 

Chapter Text

The debates and infighting at the FUG conclave took longer even than Jinsung had expected—no amount of good wine and fine dining could make up for that ordeal—and it was nine days before he and the Elders finally wrapped up their business.   Jinsung had missed his babysitting job.  The minute he and Hwaryun arrived back at the F2 testing area, he left her to hide their hoverbikes in the ravine and went straight to see Viole.  He had good news he hadn't shared before he left. 

As he came along the lower passage to the cavern, Jinsung could hear a scornful voice echoing off the stone walls.  Hansung.  "This skill is called Straight Line Long Pierce for a reason, Viole.  The baangs should be aligned, not zigzagging like a child playing connect the dots."

I'm sure you learned the move faster than Viole, did you?   Jinsung settled back against the wall at the mouth of the tunnel to watch.  

Viole, as usual when with Hansung, looked tense.  His hands were curled into fists at his sides; his face was closed off, eyes concealed by his hair.  “I'm trying."

"Well, try again," Hansung said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Viole zeroed in on his target, a rock Hansung had suspended in the air ten meters off.  Three baangs appeared in a line above his head.  They hovered, pulsing, then sped forward and clipped the side of the rock.  

The boy shrank inward, shoulders hunching.  

“Congratulations, Viole-nim,” said Hansung.  “If your opponent happened to dodge left at the last moment, you would have scored a direct hit!”  He let the suspended rock fall.  It shattered with a deafening crash, shards skittering across the ground.  “Maybe next lesson you can make it worth my while to teach you.”

“If teaching me isn’t worth your while, maybe you shouldn’t bother,” Viole said.  His head was lowered, but Jinsung could see him trembling with suppressed anger and frustration.  "I never asked you to."

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy spending all your time down here alone in the dark, if we decide you’re not worth our efforts any longer, hm?”  Hansung's voice was smooth as silk.  “I wonder what will happen to those friends of yours if you turn out to be such a failure.  I do hope you never have to find out—the hard way.”  He glided toward the exit that led to his quarters, passing Jinsung with a wicked smile for a greeting.  

As Hansung's steps faded, Viole drew back a foot and kicked one of the stone fragments.  It bounced, rattling, across the cavern, the echo small and weak in that towering space.

Jinsung pushed away from the wall toward his student, hands in pockets.  “Don’t let Hansung get to you.  He’s more pleased with your progress than he lets on.”

“Master!”  Viole spun toward him with a complex blend of emotions on his face.  Predominant was relief.  “You’re back!”  He really must have been distracted not to notice earlier.

“Hey, kiddo.  Did you miss me?”  Jinsung tousled Viole’s bangs.  “You look fresh enough for us to train a bit today, eh?”  

Viole nodded assent.

When Jinsung had run his pupil through a few drills, he gave him a rest.  At first they sat on their usual slab of mossy rock in mutual silence.  Sometimes they talked during these breaks; others, they retreated each to his own thoughts.  Jinsung was waiting for Viole to ask if his requests of the week before would be granted, hoping the boy's excitement and anticipation would grow if he pursued the matter himself.  But Viole didn't speak of them.  Instead, after a while he said, “Master, you’ve had students before me, right?” 

“I have indeed.  Slayer Karaka was my student, not so long before you.”  

Viole nudged a pebble around with his foot.  “Did he want to be a Slayer?  Or did he not have any choice, either?”  Resentment crept into his voice, and he gave Jinsung a furtive glance, as if to be sure he wouldn't grow angry.

Jinsung disregarded it.  “Karaka was very determined to be a Slayer.”  Indeed, slaying Jahad was his older disciple's sole aim in life.  If only that were possible—if Karaka were the irregular, free of all restricting Guardian contracts, and with the potential to one day match Jahad.  Karaka flatly refused to believe in the impossibility of his goal.  Conceited kid, Jinsung thought with affection.  If only I could leave the job to you, instead of having to rely on my innocent child soldier.  His eyes returned sadly to Viole.

Whenever he pictured the meeting of Viole and Jahad, the very endpoint he was working toward, Jinsung felt a chill.  The mere idea of those two face to face was disturbing.  But of course Viole would be far older, far stronger—would have to be—before he ever confronted Jahad.  There was no need to picture him as his current fragile self in that encounter, Guardians forbid.  

Viole interrupted his unquiet thoughts.  “Did Karaka-ssi live down here, too?  Like me?” 

“No, Ole.  Karaka's a Scout, not a Wave Controller, so he wasn’t getting lessons from Hansung.  And he was already a Ranker when I began to teach him.  His training took place on higher Floors.”

Viole ran a finger over the scored stone beside him.  “I wish I were like Karaka-ssi, instead of staying down here, and being taught by Hansung.”

Jinsung didn't respond.  I, too, wish your circumstances were like his, Ole.  As long as you yourself were still the same.  The same person, that is—only happier.  Instead he asked, “So what was the worst thing Hansung did this time while I was gone?”

Viole's mouth jerked.  He turned his head away.

“That bad, huh?”

"He's always extra bad when you're away," Viole said darkly.

Jinsung would have liked to badmouth Hansung for a while, but that wouldn't be very politic.  Instead he said, “Let’s try working on your shinsu detection and reinforcement at the same time, Ole.” 

“Okay,” Viole said, standing.  His burning compulsion to train had lessened with time, but he showed no actual reluctance.  He knew the only way out was forward.

Jinsung pulled a strip of black fabric from his Pocket.  “I’m gonna cover your eyes and have you try to track my movements by my shinsu aura alone.  Use all your baangs to reinforce your body precisely where you sense the blow coming.  I’ll move a bit slowly, so you should be able to process in time to reinforce before I hit you, and I’ll strike lightly enough that it won’t hurt— if you guess the correct spot.  It’s gonna smart when you don’t, though, so focus hard, all right?” 

Viole nodded, his eyes on Jinsung's hands.

“Don’t let it bother you when you’re too slow,” Jinsung said, turning the boy and lifting his hair to pass the blindfold over his eyes.  Viole stood stiffly, arms hanging.  “I don’t expect you to be able to do it right every time, especially at first.  Just keep your mind on my next movement even after you mess up.”  He knotted the blindfold below Viole’s ponytail and stepped to the side.  “Now, focus on currents in the shinsu near you.  Can you sense this?”  He moved his hand slowly from right to left.  

“Yes."  Viole turned to face him, head tracking with the movement.

“Good!  How about this?”  Jinsung brought the edge of his hand up in a quick, short slice toward Viole’s bicep, but stopped short.  

“Was it coming toward my left shoulder?”

“You got it.  I’m gonna hit you in that same place now.  Try to reinforce there as you sense the blow coming.  Brace yourself, too, so you won’t get knocked down.”

Viole planted his feet.  After a couple of seconds, Jinsung gave him a light chop across the upper arm.  Viole skidded back, then straightened.  

“I think I did it right,” he said.  “Though I maybe reinforced too soon?  It was hard not to, when I knew the target area.”

“That’s why I won’t be telling you after this,” Jinsung said amiably.  “Ready for the real thing?”

Viole adjusted his hair tie above the blindfold, then steadied his stance.  "Ready."

They began a grueling pattern of blows and reactive shinsu strengthening.  Viole missed about two out of five to begin with, responding too slowly or reinforcing the wrong area.  But he improved as fast as always, and by the end of the lesson was missing only a seventh or eighth of the strikes.  

“Excellent work, Ole.”  Jinsung removed the blindfold and Viole gave his bruises a cursory inspection.  “Next time we’ll try speeding up, see if we can further improve your reaction rate.  For now, let’s take a breather, then have a spar.”

While they rested, Jinsung had Viole go over the names of all the Slayers, Elders, and Executives, quizzing him on the complex web of relationships within the FUG hierarchy.  Viole had a keen mind and was obviously trying, for the sake of pleasing his master, but it didn’t help that he had no interest in any of it.  Well, sooner or later this knowledge would be relevant to him.  

". . . Elder Khel Hellam," Viole recited, "Elder Sophia Tan. . . . " 

It infuriated Jinsung how many of the higher-ups thought Viole unfit to be given the Thorn.  And why?  On the basis of his lack of loyalty, as a member only through coercion.  Yet they were the ones who’d chosen this approach to begin with!  How could they fault Viole?  Even worse was their obscene belief this gave them the right to dispose of him, as of an ill-made dagger worth more melted down for the gold in its hilt.  Jinsung didn’t often turn his rage on fellow FUG members, but he’d been tempted lately—so tempted.

" . . . Lord Yama, and Lord Imort, and . . ."  Viole's litany of names and titles faltered, and he gave his master a nervous glance.  Jinsung breathed deeply to push down the fury.  Viole might interpret it as a response to his performance—the last thing Jinsung wanted.  "Starts with an 's'," he prompted. 

"Oh, Lord Seto," Viole said, and moved on to the list of Executives. 

Their spar was productive.  Viole used reinforcement in a more responsive way than he had the week before Jinsung left.  Anything he learned in a drill was immediately added to his fighting style: he was every teacher's dream student.  What a shame Jinsung couldn't show him off to the whole Tower yet.

When they’d finished, and Jinsung was stitching up the worst of his pupil’s gashes, Viole at last inquired timidly: “Are we still going to have that–that day off you mentioned?  Did you ask Hansung-ssi about me going outside?  And using a lighthouse?”  His hands bunched tightly in the loose grey cloth of his trousers.  Jinsung didn’t think the gesture was from pain.  

“We are indeed, Ole—tomorrow."  The day on which my world once died.  "And yes, we're gonna let you do both.”  Hansung had been unexpectedly quick to agree to let Viole look up his friends, concealing a small smile of secret . . . amusement?  Satisfaction?  

On the other hand, the blond man hadn't been at all enthused about Viole being taken out of the cavern.  Keeping the boy's presence here a secret fell within his purview, and Jinsung couldn't simply override him.  But they were in a down time between testing groups, with staff away in the Middle Area for break, making an outdoor excursion as safe as it would ever be.  Jinsung had gotten his way by hinting he'd take the matter up with Mirchea.  

“If you want any hope of doing these things more than the once," he told Viole now, "better stay on Hansung's good side—such as it is."

At the word "yes," Viole broke into a fleeting but radiant smile.  By the Guardians, it was no wonder he'd made so many friends even among his competitors, if he’d directed that stunner at them.  “Sit still," Jinsung said sternly as the boy shifted on their stone shelf in restless excitement.  "You’re throwing off my work, kid.”  But as he redid his last stitch, he found he was smiling, too.  Maybe relieving Viole's depression would be easier than he'd hoped. 

He didn't dwell on what he'd do if his efforts failed. 

At times Jinsung played with the idea of another life: one where he took Viole away from here—he suspected Hwaryun would help if he asked—and hid him in the Outer Tower.  He could raise and train the boy in the light and fresh air, away from Hansung's gratuitous cruelty.  Then Viole could climb the Tower and kill Jahad, all without being in thrall to FUG.  

Perhaps it was a sort of repurposed dream from those long-ago, hushed late night talks: "But where would we live, Jin?"  "Floor 2, maybe?  As far away as we can get."  "Won't they find us sooner or later?"  "Sweetheart, there are places in the Outer Tower where no one's even heard Jahad's name.  You know I'd take care of you and keep you safe."  "It's not myself I'm afraid for, Jin.  It's you!"

If only Jessamine had said yes.  If only he'd taken her away to safety whether she willed or no.  If only, if only. . . .

When it came to Viole, though, Jinsung had never more than played with the idea of flight.  It was only a way to temporarily stave off his sense of guilt—easier than calling up Mirchea to say, "This must stop." 

Fortunately, there were other ways to be Viole's defender.

When he'd left his pupil for the night, with promises to return after breakfast for the planned day off, Jinsung went in search of Hansung.  He was in his office, heating water in his latest luxury electric kettle.

“So, what did you do to Viole in my absence?” Jinsung inquired, putting a note of threat in his voice.  Hansung might be his FUG compatriot, the two tasked to work together on this project, but that didn’t mean Jinsung never used a little good old-fashioned intimidation on him.

Not that it typically worked.

“I taught him,” Hansung said, unruffled.  He selected a glazed teacup with a painted dragon coiling round the rim, poured into it a stream of steaming water, and tore open a plastic packet with the delicacy of an artist in her studio.  “That is what Lord Luslec charged me with doing.  Or perhaps you refer to how I disciplined the boy?”  He raised an eyebrow, as if it were preposterous Jinsung might consider that his business.  “You enforce your authority in your way.  I enforce mine in my own.”  

Jinsung gave him a look that would make most Rankers turn and flee.  Hansung merely took a composed sip of his instant coffee.  (How did the man manage to look so cultured while drinking such a disgusting concoction?)

“One day you’ll go too far if you aren’t careful, and Mirchea will remove Viole from under your authority,” Jinsung said.  “So watch yourself.”

"You're the one who usually leaves him bleeding on the ground,” Hansung countered.  

The memory of one year ago tomorrow surged through Jinsung's resistant mind.

His last strike had carried too much force.  He'd never meant to channel into his spar with Viole any of the fury of this day, the pent-up rage he usually unleashed at some exclusive Ten Families club.  Shinsu had rushed through his hand like an echo, with a deadly power he was too slow to contain.  Now Viole lay twisted and broken on the stone, blood rapidly pooling beneath him, frightened eyes pleading for help.  

What have I done?!  

Viole's eyelids flickered – drooped – closed.  

Jinsung dropped to the ground, reaching to gather up the dying child.  Then he stiffened as the past assaulted him: Jessamine limp and pale in his arms, the blood running down from her mouth. . . .  No, no, not again—Viole was not Jessamine!  Jinsung drew back from the boy's bloodied body, wishing only for escape.

Without warning, arms of red shinsu like a bizarre exoskeleton extended from and wrapped around Viole.  There was the crack of broken bones snapping into place.  Viole cried out, then sagged back, panting, as his visible injuries sealed shut.  

Jinsung gaped.  He knew the Guardian fragment they’d given his student sped up healing, but he'd never seen it manifest like this.  Profound relief washed over him.  Viole would not die.  

He didn't know if he was more relieved for Viole’s sake, or the sake of his own revenge.   

Hansung was watching him over the rim of his steaming teacup with the smile of one who's scored a winning point.  Arguing with this sleek, self-satisfied bastard always seemed to take them places Jinsung didn't want to go.  It wasn't worth the trouble.  He grunted, jammed his hands in his pockets, and stalked out.  

I only hurt Viole to train him, to make him stronger.  You hurt him and toy with his mind for your own twisted pleasure.  That's why he hates you and not me. 

At least, Jinsung didn't think Viole hated him.  Some days he wasn't quite sure.  

Maybe his efforts tomorrow would help with that.

Chapter Text

Today is Viole's holiday, Jinsung told himself as he descended the stone steps to the cavern in the morning, after a single hour devoted to his own grief.  Your focus for the rest of the day is Viole.  Don't dwell on the memories, the sorrow, the rage.  He couldn't give both Jessamine and Viole what they deserved from him today, and just this once, he was going to favor Viole.

Besides, Viole was his ultimate means of someday giving Jessamine what he owed her.  This was for them both.

Jinsung wondered if Viole knew the date.  Did he ever think of his own near death a year ago?  Or had it blurred into all the other injuries, the other days of fear and pain?  

Below, he found Viole sitting crosslegged with a fan of baangs splayed out in the darkness above.  

“Morning, kiddo.  I bought a few games on my trip for you to choose from.”  Jinsung pulled out the towering stack of boxes he'd carried down in his lighthouse.

Viole looked taken aback.  Perhaps Jinsung had gone overboard again?  He tended to do that on the few occasions when he bought things for the boy.  Spending money on Viole felt like some faint recompense for all FUG had taken from him, so Jinsung never spared any expense.  Not that he actually felt the difference; he had more money than he knew what to do with.  One day, he promised himself, he’d buy Viole a gift that put at least a little dent in his bank account.

They spread out the games and looked them over.  "This one," Viole said, pointing to a Go set.  "It looks a little like a game I learned from Rachel.  We had to draw lines on the ground with burnt sticks, though." 

"Good choice."  Jinsung explained the rules—not in fact quite the same as the game Viole knew—and they played.  

And played.  And played.

Of course Viole would fixate on a single game, Jinsung thought.  He was always so focused on whatever was before him at the moment.  

It was Jinsung's mind that began to wander.

For all the intervening millennia, he could remember in detail the last time he'd played Go.  He pictured again Jessamine's white-gold head bent over the grooved board, those sweet lips puckered in thought that was not of him.  How could he have been jealous of porcelain discs on a slab of wood?  Yet as Jess had reached to place a stone, he'd floated the board teasingly out of her reach.  The lively game of keep-away that followed had earned him that rarest of gifts: her laughter, light and girlish despite her usual stately dignity.  Jinsung had been so intoxicated by it that as Jess raised an arm, stretching for the withheld board, he put out a daring hand—and tickled her.  He hadn't expected she'd respond in kind, but he wouldn't have missed it for anything.

They never had finished that game.

"Your turn, Master," Viole said, and Jinsung returned to the present.  To his consternation, he saw Viole's latest move would allow him to capture a large group of stones.

“Well, you’re too fast a learner for an old man like me to compete with for long,” Jinsung grumbled as they counted their stones after the game.  He was chagrined at being beaten already, but also proud of Viole, who looked pleased, as much as he ever did these days.  The boy truly was brilliant.  

A check of his Pocket revealed they'd been playing for hours.  “Time for our first change of scene!  I’m going to teach you how to prepare pasta." 

Viole rose with an air both of eagerness and trepidation, and Jinsung led him to the usually forbidden passageway, taking the fork that led up.  When they reached its end, he moved the boulder blocking it with the wave of a finger.  He slid open a panel and they stepped across a tiny gap from the stone tunnel to the secret hallway within Evankhell's floating castle.  On their left, opposite the private entrance to Hansung's office, was the door to Hansung's personal quarters.  It was the first time Viole had been brought here.

Inside, Jinsung removed his shoes and flipped on the lights, checking to be sure they had the place to themselves.  Viole stood in the doorway, shielding his eyes.

"Too bright for you, Ole?" Jinsung asked.  Of course—Viole wasn't used to more than the weak illumination of their Pockets.  "Here, I'll dim it."  He reached for the slider to adjust the output of the overhead lights.

"No, please, I like it," Viole said, lowering his hand.  "I just needed a minute to adjust, Master.  I forgot anything could be so bright!"

"Sure, then."  Jinsung watched Viole study their surroundings with keen interest.  They’d emerged into the kitchen area.  Had the boy ever seen an ordinary kitchen?    

The room was not large, but quite adequate, with a stovetop and oven.  Though Hansung, of course, made more liberal use of the microwave.  Digging through the pantry, Jinsung had to root through numerous instant meal packets: ramen, 3-minute curry, quick rice, instant kimchi stew.  At last he unearthed a bag of vermicelli. 

“Ever learn to boil water?” he asked.  

Viole was playing with a refrigerator magnet which read "S-ranked Genius" in looping red letters.  He pulled it away, then watched in evident fascination as it clicked back in place.  Maybe he'd never seen a magnet.  After a minute he looked up, blinking.  "Boil?  I know about that, but I haven't done it myself, Master."

Jinsung showed him, then got him involved in making a simple pesto.  Everything was new to Viole: the ingredients, the concept of measuring them, the proper use of basic kitchen tools.  He took it all in with obvious interest.  This is working, Jinsung thought in satisfaction.  That dead, empty look in his eyes is nearly gone.  He should've put down real stakes for that bet with Hansung.  

“Do you know how to make pasta with cream sauce?” Viole asked as he stirred the green paste into the cooked noodles.  “They served it in the cafeteria.  My friends and I liked it.”

“That I do,” Jinsung said.  “Maybe one day we’ll repeat this and I’ll teach it to you.”  

Viole glanced up at him with a carefully guarded expression.  Afraid to get his expectations up, Jinsung supposed.  To hope and be denied would hurt more than choosing not to hope at all.  And life hadn’t treated Viole kindly thus far.  

Jinsung hid a sigh.  Someday Viole would come to appreciate what he'd gained during these years.  “Time to eat up,” he said, spooning out the product of their labors.  

When they'd finished their meal and taken their dishes to the sink, Jinsung asked, “Ever watch a movie, Ole?” 

“I saw one with my friends once," Viole said.  "It was kind of confusing, but interesting.  I hadn’t known there were tools that could catch moving pictures and sounds, and make them repeat.”

“Well,” Jinsung said, amused by the description, “I brought a movie for us to watch.  An adventure story.  I hope you like it.”  He led the way to Hansung's sitting room and loaded the file from his Pocket into the TV, feigning not to see Viole's longing glance at the window with its shuttered blinds.  Thin, pale fingers reached to brush the line of light upon the sill.  

Opposite the screen sat a bench, its back carved and painted in the likeness of a red and white koi.  They settled themselves on it, Jinsung resting his arms across its back, Viole perching attentive on the edge of the seat.  The film began. 

It was a story Jinsung had selected with care: a group of rebels setting out to topple a corrupt ruler.  It had been banned soon after its release, deemed a subversive influence, but was easy to find on the black market.  Viole was riveted to the screen the entire runtime.  He barely even blinked.  Jinsung watched him more than the movie, examining his reactions.  

When it was over and the credits began to play, Viole asked, “Master, you’ve met King Jahad, right?  What is he like?”  

So the boy’s mind was following the intended parallel.  “Well, he’s usually very contained, but intense.”  Jinsung saw again Jahad's mismatched eyes glowing with power, heard the tranquil voice with its undercurrent of anger.  “Aloof.  Arrogant.  Obsessive about the things and people that interest him.”  And may that never include you, he hoped fervently; may you not attract his notice until our day comes.  “He’s controlling.  Vengeful, even sadistic at times.  Self-deluded.”

“What is ‘sadistic’?” Viole asked.

“‘Sadistic,’ Jinsung said, "is Hansung at his worst.  A sadist is one who enjoys hurting or humiliating another.”

Viole’s shoulders tightened and his fingers curled into fists.  “Why? ” he asked.  “Why does . . . do some people like to hurt others?  I don’t understand.”  In the blue light of the scrolling movie credits, his face was almost more bewildered than angry.   “You aren’t like that.  At least, not with me.”

“No,” Jinsung said quietly.  “I could never enjoy hurting you, Ole.”

Viole’s brow suddenly furrowed.  “Sometimes I wish Hansung could feel what it’s like,” he confessed.  “The things he does and says to hurt me.  Does that make me a sadist?”  His eyes flickered toward Jinsung with an expression of shame.

Jinsung almost laughed aloud.  He closed his eyes briefly.  This innocent child. . . .  “Do you think you’d have fun if Hansung were at your mercy?  If you could torment him as much as you liked, would you enjoy that?”

Viole recoiled.  “No,” he said in a horrified voice.  “No, I wouldn’t want that at all.”

“There’s your answer, Ole.  You’re not a sadist.  Not even close, kiddo.”  You’re just a hurting child who longs for a little empathy.  I can give you that, if nothing better.  He reached to rest a hand on Viole’s head.   

Chapter Text

Jinsung and Viole spent the rest of their holiday afternoon baking treats, then made and ate dinner. As the hours passed, Jinsung watched the boy return more and more to his old self, curious and engaged and present. But Viole also grew visibly more keyed up. Games, a movie, food . . . none of these, Jinsung knew, mattered to him like what he'd asked for: time outside and time with a lighthouse. He'd know those would have to happen soon.

"Should be getting dark out now," Jinsung said as they finished washing the dishes. "For our excursion, we're gonna go back down to the cavern and out the other exit. Taking you through an aboveground door would be too visible, too suspicious if anyone saw.” He didn’t want Viole to think their return underground meant the promised time outdoors had been withdrawn.

Viole nodded his understanding, eyes bright.

They retraced the route they’d come, dropping off the devil’s food cupcakes and cinnamon rolls they’d baked in the cavern beside the Go board. By the time they approached the exit into the ravine, Viole radiated eagerness.

But it was when they stepped out of the tunnel into the bright night that he truly came alive.

"Ohh," he said softly, burying his toes in the fresh young grass. He ran his fingers through a longer seeding patch. "It's so . . ." He broke off, as if words could not encompass the fullness of what he felt.

A nighthawk called from the sky above—g’wik g’wik—and Viole's head cocked, bangs slipping aside. Then his eyes followed a moth that flitted by until it passed before the ring of ceiling lights. As it flew on, he stood for a minute gazing at them. Then he began to walk, skirting the perimeter of the pools.

Jinsung noted Viole did not go in the direction of the Wineglass.

It had been about two years now since he'd last come here with Viole. He and Hansung had brought the kid back to the tank where the piece of the Guardian had long been kept, awaiting the arrival of FUG’s hoped-for irregular. The arrival of Viole.

They had taken the boy down to the water's edge, when its level was lowest, and made him go in. He’d been afraid; he’d had one bad experience there already, and clearly didn’t trust them, could tell they meant to do something frightening to him. But Hansung's threats had terrified him more. So he’d waded in when ordered, looking back with pleading eyes as the water reached his waist, his chest, his chin.

They had not relented. This was necessary.

Once Viole had sunk beneath the dark surface, all Jinsung could think of was the scene below as the Thryssa found its prey and invaded him, taking up residence like a monstrous parasite. Jinsung hardly even knew the kid at that point, yet already the idea made him sick. At last the coils of one of Hansung’s shinheuh broke the surface and it spat Viole out, soaked and unconscious, at their feet. Jinsung had knelt and gathered him up, had carried him back, limp and dripping, to the bedroom they'd prepared for him in the cavern.

That was the point when he started to feel not only guilt but affection for the boy, and a protective instinct he’d had before with Karaka, though never so strongly. Viole was just so young and fragile and forlorn.

It had made the subsequent years much harder—to have to hurt, again and again, this child toward whom he'd begun to feel almost like a surrogate father. Not that Jinsung knew anything of fatherhood. He’d never had the chance: Jessamine had been taken from him too soon. "Father" was an inapt term, perhaps. But Viole was the closest thing he’d ever had to a son, closer than Karaka, who’d been too old for the same kind of bond. And Jinsung was certainly the closest thing Viole had ever had to a father.

Which was truly pathetic, when he thought about it. Viole deserved a much better, kinder father than him.

Jinsung did not delude himself: some of his training methods weren’t far from torture. He’d taught Karaka the same way, hitting him with each new Pierce Technique, the fastest first step to learning. But Karaka had been an adult, a Ranker, and already an insanely fast healer, and his consent that of a free man—a deeply committed one, at that. Viole was only a boy, a prisoner. Such a brutal approach wasn’t meant for the weak body of a brand-new regular. Jinsung used it anyway. FUG was not patient; Viole's lack of strength, compared to past irregulars, had been a deep disappointment, and the Elders clamored for rapid progress. But guilt became Jinsung's constant companion.

Some days he was glad to be able to feel such things again. Others he would have given a great deal to stop feeling.

In the ravine surrounding the Wineglass, a cool breeze picked up and blew against their faces. Viole closed his eyes and stood, head tilted back, drawing in long, deep breaths. "It smells so good here, Master."

"Does it?" Jinsung found himself paying attention to the night scents and movement of the shinsu as if he, too, had spent years confined underground. He could smell soil, grass, an unknown flower.

What smells were Viole’s daily fare in the cavern? Cigarette smoke, he realized ruefully, and Hansung’s vile coffee. Sweat and instameals and musty stone. Antiseptic. The metallic tang of blood.

Viole crouched, eyes wide with wonder, to watch a hedgehog scurrying through the grass, the green blades parting and waving as it nosed its way between them. He followed it, showing no sign of impatience when it paused here and there to snuffle at an insect or leaf, until it nosed into a narrow gap between boulders, traveling upward, away. Only when its soft scrabbling could no longer be heard did Viole move on.

There are no gaps for you, Jinsung thought heavily. No way of escape.

I'm sorry.

After an hour, Jinsung reluctantly got up from the rock where he’d been sitting. “Time to go back, Ole.”

Viole gave him a single brief look of dismay. Then, shoulders slumped, he obeyed, head swiveling for a last glance at the velvet sky, fingers reaching for a final touch of everything they passed: a spindly tree trunk, the leaves of a prickly bush, a lush vine climbing the crevasse wall. When they arrived at the dark tunnel mouth, Viole swallowed hard, then stumbled forward, hair hiding his eyes.

He moves like a sleepwalker—or a flow-controlled corpse, Jinsung thought as he sealed the entrance behind them. The sight hurt him with an almost physical pain. This broken boy was what they'd made out of the sweet but spirited child with whom they'd begun.

He looked away from the drooping head, hardening his heart. The young irregular was indispensable. Jinsung couldn’t allow affection or pity to destroy his resolve.

At least I have one treat left for him, he thought as they emerged into the cavern. He moved over to a rock where Viole could sit and brought his lighthouse into visible mode, then opened a search window. “Last stop for the night, Ole.”

Viole straightened, stirred to life again. He seated himself and stared at the keyboard.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me stay here alone with it, Master, if I promise not to send any messages?” he asked without any real hope in his voice.

“Nope,” Jinsung said, with a bluntness meant to discourage further argument. He did understand. Viole must hate to do this with his captor watching, seeing the faces of hostages who might one day be targets. It wasn’t like FUG didn’t have such material already, though. The kids even wore tracking rings.

Viole began poking the keys one at a time with a single finger. Then, as if flipping an inner switch on a skill he’d acquired but never used, he slid straight into typing with all ten—not expertly, but no longer like a child’s first awkward attempt. His hands were trembling, though, in a way unlike the clumsiness of inexperience. Ah, this was part of why he wished to be alone. He didn't want Jinsung to see the intense emotion he felt toward his friends—his greatest weakness.

Tough luck for them both that there was no other choice.

Up on the glowing screen came a cover of the popular magazine Our Tower Today. It showed a girl in a mustard yellow top, holding a red needle and posing for the camera with obvious self-awareness. Behind her stood several other kids who all appeared either amused or annoyed, with the exception of one who was rolled up in a blanket, asleep. “Endorsi Jahad and her team conquer Floor 20,” the headline read.

Viole sat very still. He spent so long perusing the single image that Jinsung grew bored. At last the boy moved on to other e-net pages. It seemed almost all the articles on this team were focused on the popular young Princess Endorsi. But there was one about her “niece,” Anak: child of a forbidden marriage between Princess Anak and one of King Jahad’s cooks—now, of course, both deceased. The “justice” system of the Jahad Empire at work again.

It was, Jinsung thought, as if Jahad, spurned by the one woman he’d ever desired, was determined to tear love away from these others who’d obtained what he lacked. The old fury pulsed in Jinsung's chest. He saw again—vivid as if today had been the cursed day itself, not the many millennia-old anniversary—his own love, bleeding and dying in his arms. He'd knelt there, helpless, refusing to accept, as she'd grown still and cold in his embrace. If only his loss were as temporary as Viole’s might be, if he could pull up images of Jessamine on his lighthouse and see what she was doing this year, this month.

If only he had any photograph of her at all.

He pictured her, sitting in the warm light that filtered through the fragrant peach blossoms, that last day before their brief life together had been shattered. Her green eyes dancing, the long hair spilling down her back . . . the curve of her throat as she bent toward him. The hidden meeting of their lips. Falling petals caressed her skin as if they loved her as much as he did.

Jinsung closed his eyes and let the dark tide of bitterness engulf him. His own family and Jahad and the whole godsdamned vile empire had taken all that sweetness and beauty away, torn it from his hands forever. All he'd been left with was loneliness and rage. Revenge would never heal him, he knew; he was far beyond that now. But if he could not be healed, at least they could be destroyed. He'd punished his family for her death already, left them behind in that castle drenched with blood. He would punish Jahad too, if he had to wait another ten thousand years.

But it wouldn't take that long.

He opened his eyes again and gazed on Viole, the only possible means to his revenge. The boy's value for this purpose outweighed all else. He was unique and irreplaceable, and was growing at a shocking rate. Jinsung’s revenge might not be far off.

Viole tapped awkwardly at the keys, searching for other names now. He didn’t seem to be finding these so easily. At last he pulled up an image where Endorsi was in the background, the screen dominated by a blue-haired boy, obviously a Khun, and a blond girl in a hoverchair. So that was Viole’s Rachel. And the Khun must be his friend Khun Aguero Agnis.

Viole was so still, he might almost have been held immobile by reverse flow. Then a faint quiver destroyed the illusion. He took a slow, controlled breath, then another. It was clear he was fighting not to weep.

Jinsung observed in grim silence. Damn this cursed guilt, tightening its grip on him. He wondered if he would have felt less or more guilty if he’d refused to allow this at all.

Viole typed again. Up came a photo of the Khun with a strange, squat crocodilian—Rak? The two looked like they were arguing, even close to blows. Viole seemed unconcerned. Raising a hand to the glowing screen, he touched the image with gentle fingertips. Then he got up so fast he tripped and almost fell, bolted across the cavern, and disappeared into his room. A wild gust of shinsu slammed the door behind him.

Ah—this was why Hansung had so readily agreed to the lighthouse request, Jinsung thought sourly. So much for his hoped-for success in their informal bet.

So much for Operation Cheer Viole Up.

Sighing, he vanished the lighthouse, lit a cigarette, and took a couple of drags, contemplating his next steps. Viole wouldn’t want to interact right now any more than Jinsung wished to witness his distress. But such vulnerable moments were opportunities he shouldn’t waste. He must strengthen Viole's bond with him; otherwise he’d fail to control the kid once he became too powerful to govern through force.

Besides, this day needed a more positive ending. Jinsung wasn't ready to admit defeat.

Shaking off his reluctance, he crossed the cavern to Viole's room. The boy knew better than to shut the door on him before he'd left for the day, but Jinsung wouldn't mention it.

He pushed open the door.

On the floor at the foot of the bed Viole huddled, quaking, face crushed into the folds of the bedspread. Jinsung ambled over and crouched to smooth back the boy’s tear-dampened bangs. "Hey now. No crying today–"

The shove to his midsection caught him by surprise. He blinked, brows knitting, as Viole curled back against the wall, face averted. Never before had the boy lashed out at him like that. At the end of this day of gifts, big and small, now Viole was rejecting his overtures of kindness?

Jinsung frowned. It didn’t seem wise to let the exchange end on that hostile note. Without stopping to consider more carefully, he drew Viole's shuddering body into the crook of his arm in what he hoped would be a comforting embrace.

As if he knew how to comfort anyone.

For a moment, Viole didn't react to the hug. Then he twisted, writhing like a maddened thing, angry tears streaming down his face. "Leave me alone!!" He struck out with all his puny force.

Jinsung only tightened his arms. There was no going back at this point, and the blows were useless against his ancient hide. As Viole knew full well.

"Master!" Viole half protested, half wept. Then, abruptly as the ebbing of a tidal wave, his resistance melted. He buried his face against Jinsung’s shirt and sobbed in tearing gasps.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Jinsung cradled Viole's head against him, murmuring aloud words of solace—half-truths and hollow promises. “I just want you to be happy,” he whispered, tenderness mingling with guilt. “One day, you’ll learn to be happy as Viole.”

The boy did not respond. His tears continued to fall, soaking through Jinsung’s shirt.

It wasn't enough, Jinsung admitted to himself, leaning back against the foot of the bed with Viole's weight resting against his ribs. He'd tried to help and only made things worse, made the misery of Viole's typical days stand out all the more in contrast. Reminded him more powerfully of what he'd lost. But, as with the rash embrace, it was too late to go back.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” he said when the flow of tears seemed less. “You’re gonna see them again someday.”

“When?” Viole’s voice broke. "How much longer do I have to wait?”

“I can’t promise you anything, Ole." He wished he could. "It’s going to take more time, but we’ll keep working to make you strong as fast as possible, all right?”

Silence stretched between them. At last Viole twitched his head in what might have been a miniscule nod. Slowly he pulled away, eyelids swollen, hair tangled, and the small, round impression of a button stamped onto his cheek. When Jinsung did not try to restrain him, he crawled up onto his bed, dragging the covers over him so that only his trailing ponytail could be seen.

“Sleep well, kid,” Jinsung said softly, and went out, leaving Viole there alone.

As he walked up the passageway to where the floating castle was docked, Jinsung pondered the boy's display of anger. Perhaps it was not despite, but because of this day of unusual freedom and closeness. Might Viole only now feel safe enough to express such antagonism? How deep did his resentment run? Jinsung shouldn’t be hurt by it, he knew; it was not an unjustified response to the hell Viole lived out daily, in which Jinsung was complicit. Still, it stung.

He didn't want this child he cared about to hate him.

When he arrived at Hansung's office for their planned evening meeting, it was empty. Jinsung leaned against the wall and lit his last cigarette. As he smoked, he imagined going straight back to the cavern and telling Viole, "Pack your things. We're leaving!" Heading for the hoverbikes and blitzing out of here.

He breathed out a cloud of smoke, the dream dissipating with it. If only. Viole needed a genius wave controller as his teacher; the path to reach a strength equivalent to Jahad’s would be steep enough even with Hansung's lessons. And cutting them off from FUG . . . it was all too easy to imagine Mirchea’s sense of betrayal, the cold rage he'd aim at Jinsung for stealing their precious irregular, son of Arlene and his lord. Jinsung didn’t want to lose that friendship. He had too few old friends left as it was.

But most inarguable of all, nothing but threats or force would keep Viole from following his friends. Jinsung would have to become the one to threaten or imprison him. That would change everything between them: the boy would despise him much as he now despised Hansung. Jinsung didn’t think he could stomach that. But neither could he allow Viole to abandon his training and rejoin his friends. No, the boy would simply have to suffer a bit longer so all the rest of them could have what they wanted. It wasn't fair, but the Tower had never been fair.

Hansung swept smoothly into the room, the skirts of his blue and yellow hanbok rustling. “So how did our little experimental subject respond to the day’s program?”

Jinsung gave him a level stare. Hansung couldn’t seem to stop himself from selecting words meant to provoke, as if he craved a little conflict to stave off boredom. If he knew the average number of lives Jinsung usually ended on this date each year, he'd be more circumspect.

But Jinsung had had his fill of conflict for the day.

"I have to admit it wasn't such a success as I'd hoped." He wasn't going to actually say, You were right; I was wrong. "I still think these days off are worth continuing, but perhaps only once a month or so."

Hansung's lips curled in a self-congratulatory smile, but he was wise enough not to gloat aloud over being proved correct. “Once a month it is. If he earns it, of course."

“What, will he not be earning it unless he’s fit to spar with Urek Mazino next month? You can hardly expect more from the boy than he’s already achieving.”

Hansung merely smiled again. "You should know by now that I never give anything for nothing."

Self-awareness could be a relentless enemy. Jinsung thought with revulsion, Maybe you and I are not so different after all.

As Hansung, humming an obnoxiously cheerful tune, began restocking his jar of instant coffee sleeves from a bin in the adjoining storeroom, Hwaryun drifted in. "So Viole's day off didn't end well."

“Afraid not." Jinsung didn't ask if she'd been down after him, or just knew. "Ryun, how can I make it up to him? Not for today, I mean. For everything else."

“Make it up to him? We took from him the ones he loves. Would you accept anything in exchange?"

Promise me—promise you'll never forget me. The ghost of Jessamine's beloved hand stroked his cheek.

"If I help him reunite with his friends someday," Jinsung said, "not only to see them in passing, but climb with them again—if I fight for that when others wish them kept apart for good . . . would he forgive me then?"

"He would," said Hwaryun. "And love you for it, too."

"That's good," Jinsung said quietly. The outline of a plan began to form in his mind. "It's what I've always wanted for him anyway. I can wait that long for absolution."

Stubbing out his cigarette, he stepped from the office into the darkened hall. Time to turn in for the night. Tomorrow would again be a long day of training.