Chapter Text
Felix loved the mornings in Faeremor. The forest seemed alive, every movement a reminder of the magic woven into this world. Mist coiled between the ancient trunks, shimmering with soft green hues, as though the forest itself embraced all it touched. Sunbeams pierced through the thick canopy, turning dew drops into tiny stars.
The whisper of leaves was like an ancient melody, each note filling Felix’s heart with peace. The forest, so serene now, offered him the solace he needed after the chaos of the previous night.
The storm had struck the valley with a force that seemed to defy nature. The wind bent and broke treetops, its howling a death cry of ancient spirits. Heavy raindrops lashed against his face, while the crash of falling branches roared like thunder.
Minho, Chan, and Felix had rushed to aid Jisung, whose exhausted silhouette still fought to tame the raging winds. When the sylph nearly collapsed, his strength spent, and Felix’s wings faltered under the strain, Chan stepped forward. Despite his battered hide, torn by flying branches, he shielded them from another onslaught of wind without hesitation.
When the storm subsided, Jisung collapsed onto the wolf’s back, and Chan silently made his way to the lake to recover. Minho and Felix stayed by the stream. Under the warm rays of the rising sun, the aasimar tended to Minho’s wounds. Soft golden light flowed from his hands, sealing cuts and leaving faint traces behind.
“You shouldn’t have taken such a risk,” Felix said, his voice trembling with worry more than reprimand. He looked at Minho, hoping he would understand. “One wrong step… and it could’ve ended differently.”
Minho merely smirked, his exhaustion visible even through his usual mask of sarcasm.
“If not us, then who?” he replied, his voice low and steady. “Someone has to look out for you kids.”
Felix didn’t respond, but his lips curled in a faint smile. He knew that Minho’s gratitude wasn’t spoken aloud — it was shown through his actions and his trust.
The forest elves, temporarily without homes, watched the brothers with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.
“He used to be so sullen,” noted Kyujin, one of the elves, delicate and graceful. Her voice was soft, tinged with warmth. “He wouldn’t let anyone but Chan heal him.”
Aasimar cast her a brief glance and smiled gently, his hands still glowing as they tended Minho’s wounds.
“As if any of you could do better than our sunny angel,” Minho quipped, turning toward Kyujin with a sarcastic edge to his voice.
The elf frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I do know magic, you know.”
“But you’re not Felix,” Minho replied with a smirk, though a flicker of pride shone in his eyes.
“Oh gods, no one’s insulting your kitten,” BamBam interjected, feigning surprise as he shook his head. His grin was soft, tinged with a hint of teasing. “Well then, harbingers of death, if you’re finished, can we ask for another favor? Or shall we call the dryads to help rebuild our homes?”
“Let them rest,” came a reproachful voice from the trees. It was Sana, one of the dryads, her figure seeming to blend seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. “They worked all night for you.”
Felix opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t tired, but Minho placed a hand on his shoulder, anticipating his response.
“Come along, angel,” he said, leading Felix away.
They left the elves behind, the whispered thanks and misty morning light making the forest seem just a bit brighter.
When they reached the small pool near Seungmin’s grove, hidden in the shade of ancient trees, Minho suddenly stopped. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly purple light, as if the stars of the Astral Plane had settled in his gaze.
Felix froze, recognizing the telltale sign. Minho’s expression turned distant, and his voice, usually warm or laced with sarcasm, was cold and detached:
“Black earth will smother roots, crimson light will blind the stars, and shattered love will pave the final path.”
Felix frowned, sensing the weight of unease in the air. The words were ominous, filled with foreboding, but their meaning eluded him.
“Minho?” he asked cautiously.
Minho blinked, and the light in his eyes faded, leaving only a faint weariness behind. He rubbed his temple and offered a small, sheepish smile.
“Again? So, when’s the rain coming this time?” he joked, trying to mask his unease.
Felix shook his head.
“This isn’t about rain. You said, ‘black earth will smother roots, crimson light will blind the stars… and something about shattered love.’”
Minho furrowed his brow, trying to recall, but eventually shrugged.
“I don’t know... It just came and went. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”
Felix eyed him with doubt but didn’t press further.
“It’s strange, though,” he murmured, lowering his gaze to the shimmering surface of the pool.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle ripples on the water. Minho’s words lingered in the air like the echo of a distant whisper.
It took Jisung a few days to recover from his struggle with the storm. He endured his brothers’ care with a habitual grumble, nestled in a fortress of soft pillows and books. Minho, ever the strict overseer, made sure no one let him get up too soon, while Felix spent evenings at his side, entertaining him with stories and games.
“Stop reading already; I’m falling asleep,” Jisung mock-complained as Felix turned another page. “How about we try rhymes instead?”
“Then you’d start whining that I’m distracting you from recovering,” Felix replied calmly, hiding a small smile.
Minho, overhearing them through the slightly open door, chuckled.
“Less whining, more healing. Two more days, and you’ll be soaring around as usual.”
Jisung huffed but stayed in bed obediently, though his eyes darted hungrily over the pages of his book, as if he was ready to escape into its world.
When Minho finally allowed him to leave his room, Jisung slipped outside in an instant, vanishing into the trees like a gust of wind. Two days later, he returned just in time for dinner, eyes gleaming and words pouring out in an unstoppable flood.
“Wait, wait—where do we start?” Minho raised a hand, trying to rein him in. “With how you got lost, or the theater performance?”
Jisung’s smile faltered for a moment.
“I didn’t get lost,” he began slowly. “But… something was strange.”
Chan, who had been reaching for the fruit basket, paused, his attention sharpening.
“Strange?”
Jisung frowned, as if searching for the right words.
“It felt like… something was watching me. Dark and menacing, but I escaped easily — just flew away.”
Felix tensed, but before he could speak, Chan asked gently,
“Are you sure it wasn’t just fear after the storm?”
“No,” Jisung replied firmly. “It was real.”
Tension filled the room, but then Jisung shook it off, smiling brightly again.
“Nevermind! You have to hear about the theater.”
His eyes lit up as he launched into a vivid description of the performance in the capital’s theater. He painted pictures of an enchanted moving castle, a mysterious wizard, a fallen star, and a cursed girl with such energy it felt like he had just stepped off the stage himself.
“They made everything so beautiful,” he said, gesturing animatedly. “Even the music felt otherworldly.”
He placed a book on the table.
“Here — it’s the inspiration for the play.”
Seungmin, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Changbin disappeared into one of the bedrooms with the book, and soon muffled laughter echoed from behind the door.
Minho listened, a faint smile tugging at his lips, before tilting his head slightly toward Felix.
“Hyunjin’s probably sketching scenes from the book already.”
Felix glanced up from his teacup.
“Which do you think he’ll pick first—the kiss scene or the witch?”
Feigning thoughtfulness, Minho replied,
“Both.”
Chan let out a soft chuckle, but his smile never quite reached his eyes. As Jisung, now animated, began describing the places he had visited while searching for spices for Seungmin, Chan’s gaze grew more distant with each passing word.
“They’re amazing,” Jisung said, his hands painting vivid pictures in the air. “In the jungles, there are talking birds—clever and cheeky, their feathers look like living flowers. The shores of distant islands glisten with obsidian under the sun, like black gemstones. And the winds? So strong, they could shove even a mountain into the sea. And the water… oh, it’s so clear, so vibrant, like liquid turquoise.”
Felix listened as Jisung’s usually contagious enthusiasm filled the room, but instead of uplifting, it echoed with a bittersweet tone. He turned to Chan and caught the reflection of that same turquoise in his brother’s eyes. But where Jisung’s voice carried wonder, Chan’s gaze held sorrow. The forest spirit couldn’t leave Faeremor for long. His connection to the heart of the forest bound him too tightly for the adventures he dreamed of to become reality.
Sensing the silence, Jisung quickly changed the topic.
“Remember when Changbin lost his stone?”
Minho snorted, his expression softening as he glanced at Chan, clearly trying to steer him away from somber thoughts.
“The one I brought back from the Feywild? Of course, I remember,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“He terrorized everyone for nearly a week,” Jisung added with a smirk, “until we figured out the stone had literally fused into his rocky hand.”
Chan’s smile warmed slightly.
“Hard to forget. At first, I thought we just weren’t looking hard enough. Then he showed us the stone and acted like it was some great discovery.”
Felix found himself smiling wider.
“There was also that thing with the bug,” he started, and Jisung immediately choked on his drink, nearly dropping his cup.
“Don’t remind me!” he protested, but Minho was already jumping in.
“Why not? I remember Seungmin wasn’t even trying to scare you. He just showed you a water bug. And what did you do?”
“Tore half the house apart,” Chan finished for him, and the room erupted in laughter.
Riding the wave of joy, Minho added another story:
“And what about that time you and Chan sleeped out in the woods? Travelers stumbled across a giant wolf and screamed so loud the dryads came running to see what was wrong.”
Chan chuckled softly, though hints of embarrassment colored his voice.
When the stories turned to Felix, Chan’s tone shifted, becoming quieter, almost reverent:
“You were so small when you first came here. So frail, barely breathing. But now look at you. You’ve grown so strong, and your wings… they’re beautiful.”
The words lingered in the air, timeless and tender. A hush fell over the group as each of them was drawn back to memories of the wounded angel they had rescued from a demon’s clutches.
“Why didn’t he follow you?” Jisung asked, breaking the silence with a near whisper. “He could have, couldn’t he?”
“He could,” Minho replied. “Maybe he couldn’t find the way out of the Astral Plane.”
“Or maybe Faeremor wouldn’t let him in,” Chan mused thoughtfully.
“Or…” Jisung hesitated, his gaze clouded. “Maybe he just didn’t want to follow you?”
“No.” Felix raised his eyes, his voice firm but quiet. “He would have found me if he could.”
All eyes turned to Felix. His face was taut with tension, his dark eyes blazing with a strange mix of anger and pain.
“Avaris… he wouldn’t have let me go so easily.”
Another heavy silence descended, thick and suffocating. The conversation had reached a boundary no one dared cross. One by one, the brothers retreated to their rooms.
Felix, who usually fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, found himself tossing and turning that night, unable to find rest. The echoes of their dinner conversation replayed in his mind, dragging him further from peace. When sleep finally claimed him, it wasn’t solace — it was a restless wander through the borderlands of his past and his nightmares.
Stone halls rose around him, their walls cracked and glowing with an eerie blue flame that seared even his gaze. The air was thick with the suffocating scent of sulfur and smoke, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. His hands were bound again by searing iron, and a draining weakness consumed him, sapping his will. Pain engulfed him, radiating through every nerve. Clawed hands tore at him again and again, stealing his light and his hope. The demon prince’s triumphant laughter echoed each time Felix’s shining blood spilled, feeding Avaris, making him omnipotent, eternal, invincible.
The scene shifted, and suddenly he was submerged in the Ocean of Death — dark and almost black, with faint glimmers of light on its surface. Endless whirlpools churned beneath him, teeming with trapped souls whose silent screams pierced the void. The frigid waves seemed alive, dragging him deeper. He tried to scream, but the sound was swallowed by the abyss. His heart pounded wildly until he realized the waves were closing over his head this time.
And then… A soft light pierced the darkness. It wasn’t bright, but it carried with it a sense of life. Alongside the light came the scent of moss and wildflowers — familiar, soothing, home. For a fleeting moment, Felix thought he had died and returned to Faeremor in another form. He breathed in the fragrance, and the nightmare began to dissolve, its weight lifting, leaving only a faint echo of fear.
When he opened his eyes, he was in Chan’s arms. The forest spirit held him firmly yet gently, as though afraid of causing further pain. Worry and guilt flickered in Chan’s tense expression.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was low, hoarse, thick with remorse. “I’m so sorry, Lixie. I didn’t think…”
Felix shook his head, his hands unconsciously clutching at the soft fabric of Chan’s clothes.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he whispered, trying to smile, though it came out weak and strained. “It was just a dream.”
In the doorway, he noticed Jeongin and Seungmin standing quietly in the dim light. Jeongin looked concerned, but there was more warmth than fear in his eyes. Seungmin, ever composed, assessed Felix’s condition with a calm gaze before giving Chan a brief nod. Without a word, they retreated back to their rooms.
Chan gently adjusted the blanket over Felix and asked softly,
“Are you sure? If you want to talk…”
Felix shook his head again, his eyelids growing heavier.
“I just need some sleep. I’m fine.”
He inhaled the floral scent that always reminded him of the forest, of home, of safety. The warmth of Chan’s presence brought back memories of his first weeks in Faeremor, when the guardian stayed by his side, protecting his sleep.
“Thank you,” he murmured, finally allowing himself to relax.
Chan exhaled softly, his deep, soothing voice a whisper,
“Always, Lixie.”
With those words, Felix drifted back into sleep. This time, there were no stone halls or flames — only the rustle of leaves, the shimmer of stars, and the quiet presence of his older brother, who would always be there.