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The wind nearly knocks him off his feet, making each new step through the deep snowdrifts even harder than the last. The biting snow painfully scratches his face and blinds his vision, stripping away any chance of finding the necessary landmarks on the path to salvation (if there even is one). All that remains is to hope for the favor of the taiga spirits who, as their kind Chief used to tell them by the big fire at night, never abandon their children in trouble. He didn't want to be the one to test that on his own skin, but no one gave him a choice.
The blizzard intensifies.
The only good thing about it is that all the tracks the boy leaves behind will soon disappear. Even the trail of blood. That probably won’t stop the predators, of course, but it should at least slow down the people. Seungkwan doesn’t know which of them he should fear more. Or if he should at all. He’s not sure he’ll survive long enough for anyone to reach him.
The wound in his side, hastily bandaged by a girl from their settlement—who is probably no longer alive—won’t let him slip into oblivion and dream of a bright future. The only light awaiting Seungkwan in his future is the cold moon’s reflection on the endless snow.
Seungkwan doesn’t want to think about the fact that, so far, he has been much luckier than the other villagers. At least he’s still alive. For now. Crying is not an option—his tears will freeze too quickly, sealing his eyelashes together and robbing him of his sight completely. Not that it’s of much use anyway, but still.
The smiling faces of his family, friends, and acquaintances shift in his memory, distorted by pain and fear. Seungkwan saw with his own eyes how life left his only sister. She fought to the very end, refusing to surrender to the enemy. None of them would have chosen the side of those people who came for their Chief’s head.
Seungkwan had also intended to fight for him—for the man who had always helped him and his sister after their parents hadn’t survived one particularly harsh winter. Seungkwan knew he could always go to the Chief for advice or support and that he would never be turned away. That kind man didn’t deserve such a death. But Seungkwan couldn’t help him. He couldn’t do anything at all after seeing, among the many furious faces of the enemy, one that was familiar. One so beloved that the air instantly left his burning lungs, leaving him gasping for breath in shock—right before he was struck by something cold and sharp.
Hansol had arrived in their settlement some time ago, before winter had fully set in. He had said that his father had sent him to learn about foreign cultures and build friendly ties with their neighbors. The Chief had asked Seungkwan if he would take in the guest from another settlement, and of course, he had agreed. The Chief knew how lonely Seungkwan felt in the big house after his sister had married. The Chief had thought he was helping Seungkwan find a new friend. The Chief had never been so wrong before. That mistake had cost him his life.
Seungkwan had, in fact, befriended Hansol rather quickly. At first, he introduced himself as Vernon and wasn’t the most sociable person, but Seungkwan had managed to break through the shell of his aloof politeness and found inside the kindest, gentlest, and most fascinating soul. Vernon had asked to be called Hansol—the name reserved for only the closest people—and every day, he told Seungkwan the most beautiful and touching legends of the taiga, the same ones his mother had once told him. She had passed away too early, and those stories were all he had left of her. Hansol didn’t like talking about her much. In fact, he rarely spoke about himself, his family, or his settlement at all. He had only mentioned that in his culture, children were given two names: one for everyone and another only for their family.
Seungkwan remembered what he had thought back then. Their Chief had once told them about a similar practice, explaining that people did this to protect themselves from the spirits of the taiga, who could not harm someone if they didn’t know their true name. The children hadn’t understood why anyone would need protection from the benevolent spirits they had been taught to thank for good harvests and good health. That was when the Chief had explained that it was usually bad people who did such things—people who knew their actions would anger the taiga. Seungkwan had been surprised because Hansol wasn’t bad. He was incredible. And he had trusted Seungkwan with something so deeply personal—his real name, the one meant to be kept secret from everyone.
And that was the only thing that the lovestruck fool could think about in that moment.
Foolish, foolish Seungkwan. He should have paid much more attention to it back then.
Hansol often left, saying he needed to visit other settlements as well. But when he returned, he always brought Seungkwan little gifts. They were never anything particularly valuable, but they were always exactly the kinds of things Seungkwan would have chosen for himself. Hansol always listened so carefully, noticing every little interest and habit. He hugged Seungkwan so warmly when they met and so desperately when they parted. As if he didn’t want to let go. As if he didn’t want to leave.
And then, one day, everything changed. They said goodbye as usual, and Seungkwan eagerly awaited his friend’s return (back then, he hadn’t yet dared to call them anything more than that). But the one who came back wasn’t him.
It wasn’t his beloved Hansol.
It was Vernon—unfamiliar and distant.
He no longer told Seungkwan interesting stories, and in general, he tried to stay as far away from him as possible. He disappeared somewhere in the settlement or locked himself in his room. Seungkwan, who had grown used to sharing meals with someone, found it especially painful to return to eating alone. The nightmares that had haunted him ever since his parents’ deaths—nightmares that had magically vanished in the warmth of another’s embrace—returned with a vengeance, as if to make up for all the time they had let him sleep peacefully.
Seungkwan had never been a truly confrontational person. He loved to argue and raise his voice in playful indignation, but real conflicts he preferred to resolve through calm conversation. If he had done something wrong, he wanted to know. He would apologize and do everything in his power to make it right. He didn’t want to lose Hansol, and he wasn’t about to let him make any unilateral decisions about their relationship.
Of course, Hansol probably hadn’t expected to be cornered one early morning and forced into a conversation. Seungkwan, in turn, certainly hadn’t expected Hansol to call their meeting a mistake and say that they could no longer be the way they used to.
Hansol had apologized and asked Seungkwan to just ignore him. He had promised that he would leave soon and stop bothering him.
Obviously, being left alone was the last thing Seungkwan wanted.
Brushing away angry tears of resentment, he had cut off the stream of blatant nonsense with an aggressive kiss, one that allowed no objections. Hansol was so surprised that he didn’t even think to resist. And then he, too, couldn't hold back his tears. Seungkwan called him an idiot and weakly hit every part of his body he could reach, but soon enough, he was immobilized in the most desperate embrace Hansol had ever given him.
Hansol kept repeating that he couldn't and shouldn't love Seungkwan, that it was dangerous, that it would inevitably bring him pain—so much pain. Seungkwan clung to him just as desperately, trying through his sobs to make him understand that, so far, it was only Hansol himself who had been hurting him with his strange behavior. That his love, on the contrary, was the best thing that had ever happened to Seungkwan in his entire life.
When Hansol carried him, exhausted both emotionally and physically, to bed, Seungkwan quickly fell asleep in the embrace of his beloved, lulled by whispers of how grateful he was to the taiga for bringing them together. And how sorry he was.
Seungkwan realized what he meant when he woke up and didn’t find Hansol in the house. And then he didn’t find him in the settlement either.
Hansol was gone.
And Seungkwan’s shattered heart could no longer hope that he would ever return.
He did.
Seungkwan would have laughed bitterly at that moment if his side hadn’t been burning with pain, and if people around him weren’t dying so quickly that they sometimes collapsed lifeless right on top of each other. Hansol, noticing him, had tried to rush toward him, but the crowd of fighting people got in his way, and soon enough, Seungkwan himself was pulled aside by someone's kind hands to receive urgent first aid.
Seungkwan kept trying to explain that he didn’t need saving, that help was needed by those who truly wanted to live. He no longer did. But the girl who had helped him disappeared just as suddenly as she had appeared.
Seungkwan liked to think that she had gone to find other victims of this cruelty rather than becoming one herself, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Everyone around him was dying, and he wasn’t far from it himself. The only thing on his mind at that moment was that he didn’t want to die there, in the epicenter of despair and pain.
Seungkwan got up and walked.
Amazingly, he managed to reach the edge of the settlement without incident (perhaps the kind spirits had decided to grant him one last wish) and then continued forward, straight into the strengthening blizzard. He had no destination, and his path was only vaguely defined—somewhere far away, where he wouldn’t hear the screams of others or see their distorted faces. Somewhere he wouldn’t remember his great love, which had become his downfall.
Seungkwan has no idea how long he has been walking. Maybe a couple of minutes, maybe a day, maybe even more. It doesn’t matter. He can feel the hot blood leaving his body—it is the only warmth he has left in this endless snow. His legs are weakening, he can no longer feel his hands, and his eyes keep closing, growing heavier with every second.
When Seungkwan finally loses all strength and collapses into the inviting, icy embrace, he thinks he hears his name somewhere in the distance. He hopes it is the taiga calling him, finally taking one of its unfortunate children into the long-awaited realm of spirits.
He realizes it isn’t when he opens his eyes again and finds himself in a cave. There is something soft behind his back, and a warm presence nearby. With weak surprise (for his tormented body and soul are no longer capable of anything stronger), Seungkwan notices a fire, carefully lit by someone who is now holding him gently in their arms.
There is only one person who can have done this, and Seungkwan is too exhausted to feel anything intense about it.
“Vernon,” he states dryly, not taking his gaze off the bright flames.
“Hansol,” the voice behind him pleads desperately.
Seungkwan lets out a bitter chuckle.
“No. Hansol once left me, promising, as always, to bring back gifts, and he never returned. I wouldn’t say I’ve come to terms with losing my friend and beloved, but I’ve gotten used to the fact that he’s no longer here. You’re Vernon, and I don’t know you. More than that, I don’t want to know you.”
A quiet sob follows.
“Kwannie, please, give me a chance to explain, I…”
Seungkwan smiles. How ironic.
“I already gave you that chance once, but you refused it. What’s the point now?.. My entire life is being destroyed, both literally and figuratively. Our settlement is in ruins, every person I know and love is dead, and soon enough… I’ll join them.”
The arms around him tighten, smearing his blood between them.
“No, please, don’t say that,” Seungkwan feels his hair dampen at the crown of his head.
“Why pretend that I haven’t spilled my blood all over this place?” he asks indifferently. “It won’t just disappear or magically return to my body simply because you refuse to acknowledge the obvious.”
Hansol presses a wet hand over his wound, as if that would help somehow. Judging by the fact that Seungkwan feels no pain from the movement—it probably won’t.
“Seungkwan, I never meant to, please, believe me… I didn’t know, I swear, I never would have…”
Seungkwan is surprised to feel a painful tug in his chest at the raw anguish in Hansol’s voice. It is still beating.
“Why do you leave?..” he sighs heavily, finally giving in.
“I didn’t know an attack was planned. My father really did send me to your settlement and others under the pretext I had told you. But over time, I started to realize that something bad was coming. We were never a peaceful settlement—my mother died at the hands of people whose home my father raided. She never wanted to take part in it, and… I didn’t want to either. And I never would have, I swear, not even under the threat of punishment from my father—who was always cruel enough in that regard, even to his own son. But I didn’t know.
When I finally realized that my father probably had no intention of building friendly ties with the neighbors, that his interest in the layout of your settlement and its valuables wasn’t for cultural exchange, I… I was so scared for you, Kwannie. I couldn’t think about anything else except that I was showing a cruel, greedy beast the way to your sweet home—the home that had always been so kind to me—with my own hands.
I decided that… if I kept visiting you but slowly started changing my stories about your settlement to make them duller and less interesting, I could eventually convince my father that attacking you was pointless. I had to push you away because, in the end, I would have to disappear from your life to keep it out of his sight. More than anything, I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had to do it to protect you.”
Seungkwan wants to sleep so badly.
“Of course, I was a complete idiot to think you would let me slowly destroy our relationship,” his voice holds a bitter smile, and Seungkwan involuntarily mirrors it. “You broke down the wall I tried to build between us so easily, and as always, you reached my true feelings. That was dangerous. I… wouldn’t have been able to leave if I had stayed with you any longer.
So I ran from you like a coward with my tail between my legs, foolishly believing my father would accept my stammering excuses about how useless your settlement was—so useless that even visiting wasn’t worth the effort, because there was nothing interesting or valuable to be found there. And he did accept them. Or at least, he pretended to—now I understand that. He had been planning the attack for some time, but he never told me. I didn’t know until the very last moment. And by then… it was already too late.”
Seungkwan nods absently, watching the flames in front of him slowly die. Just like him.
“Yeah…” he answers weakly.
“What?” Hansol barely hears his response.
“You’re right… too late. You should have told me back then, idiot.”
“You wouldn’t have let me go,” Hansol whispers, his voice trembling. Seungkwan feels a single tear slide down his temple—one for all the lost chances.
“Yeah… I wouldn’t have. But we… we could have figured something out together, right?.. We just needed to… talk.”
He can picture it. A perfect plan, something they would have come up with together—to save everyone and stay by each other’s side. Even if it’s just a naive dream. They’ll never know now. The dream will remain a dream, and Seungkwan… will simply die in the arms of the man who once gave him the most beautiful wings of love, only to tear them from him in the end.
Hansol lets out a loud, broken sob, choking on his tears.
“I’m so sorry, Kwannie…”
“I know,” Seungkwan uses the last of his strength to entwine his fingers with Hansol’s blood-stained hands, squeezing them weakly in a useless attempt at comfort. “I forgive you. You’re… just such an idiot. A stupid one, but… mine. What am I supposed to do with you?”
He laughs silently while Hansol whimpers behind him, his heart shattering to pieces.
“I love you so much, baby, please… I beg you, don’t leave me. I’m so sorry, so sorry…”
“And I… love you too… Hansol…”
Hansol feels the weak grip on his hands loosen completely, and he howls like a wounded beast, clutching the now lifeless body of the love of his life. The love he destroyed with his own hands.
“Please, no… No, I beg you, answer me, Kwannie… You can’t die like this, you… You don’t deserve this kind of death, sweetheart… Not like this… I beg you, someone… help me… Bring him back… please! It’s me… I’m the one to blame! Take my life instead of his. Spirits! Please… I’m Hansol, my real name is Hansol, do you hear me?! Seungkwan… has to live… All those kind people… Why did you let this happen?! Why did I let it happen?.. Please, taiga… you don’t abandon your children in times of need, right? Save him. I’ll do anything… anything you ask, just… don’t take him, I beg you… Please… save him… Please… please… save them all, you can, can’t you?.. None of them should have died like this… Save them…”
His desperate cries go unanswered, and soon, they fade away completely, as if no tragedy had ever unfolded that night.
For a long time, the blizzard carried his pleas across the endless expanse of the taiga, as if mocking him, echoing his desperate request to save them all. Or maybe… it was carrying his message to someone else.
By morning, the cave was buried under snow, hiding from the world the two frozen bodies and the long- extinguished fire, which, despite all efforts, could not warm the dead and was left untended by the one who had died inside alongside his beloved… because he no longer had any use for warmth.
Only in one house, deep within the snowy wilderness of the taiga, a light burned early that morning. Inside, two people argued loudly, only to suddenly fall silent, desperately kissing each other.
The blizzard interrupted them, crashing against the frost-covered window.
The taller of the two paused, as if he could hear something in the howling wind—perhaps the voice of the taiga itself—before taking the other's hands in his own and saying seriously:
“I need to tell you something, Seungkwan.”