Chapter Text
Raising his head would only invoke ire: he was already on thin ice by daring to try his luck at a slightly more affluent part of town. Nimble fingers shifted on the strings, plucking out a gentle melody that went largely unheard amongst the hustle and bustle of the townsfolk that never cast a look his way.
No-one bothered to spare him a second glance: he may as well have been invisible. The packed earth seemed harder beneath him after fruitless hours of sitting still, diligently playing songs that fell on deliberately deafened ears.
Times were hard. People became selfish. He couldn't blame them, not truthfully – not when he was intimately familiar with the gnawing hunger, eternally present in his gut. Food was a commodity too precious to pass out to an unremarkable busker, and the scarce money was hoarded even more so.
Work provided no coin, nor sustenance, but it gave his family a place to stay, off the streets. Exposed and barren it may be, but it kept a roof over their heads and three rickety walls to hold off the worst of the weather.
Jinu was the man of the family. It was up to him to provide for his mother and sister, after his father had gone to war and never returned. The old bipa had belonged to him, and the young man ached for the easier days, the memories of when his father would put time aside to teach him to play the stringed instrument, delighting the family.
Notes grew prolonged and mournful as his hands automatically slid into the final keens of the song. It resonated into sacred silence upon his lap, head bowed in prayer to his father's departed soul.
The world flooded back in: the rattle of carts, the chatter of barter, the clanging of a blacksmith. All easily drowned out his pitiful attempt at garnering attention. His stiff shoulders dropped, hands clutching tighter at the old wood.
He stared at the muddy puddle in front of him, the reflection of his face hazy, but he knew he looked exhausted and utterly pitiful. It was getting late. Time to head home.
Another day with nothing but shame to show for it.
What was the point? If he couldn't feed his family with his only skill, what good was he?
Something was dropped into his lap, landing safely in the folds of his loose trousers. He merely blinked at it, too tired to even flinch, and even as he stared, it took a few more seconds for the sight to register.
A loaf of bread. A full, fat, delicious loaf of bread that smelt and looked freshly baked, if a little cold.
His head shot up, gratitude on his tongue, but as he scanned the passers-by, none seemed to take in his presence. He slid the loaf cautiously under his shirt as he stood up, wincing at the ache in his body. Peering up and down the street revealed no culprits, and he perplexedly pressed the bipa against his torso, jealously hiding his precious bounty.
“...thank you,” he whispered to the winds, hoping that it would reach whichever kind stranger had gifted him the bread.
Whether he was dizzy with glee or hunger as he headed home, he didn't know – but his family would not starve tonight, and that was enough.
*
Jinu returned to that spot the next day, once he had finished menial labour for his landlord. A full stomach for the first time in weeks did wonders for his mood, and he eagerly sat down and started playing, finding himself running through some of the fewer upbeat tunes he recalled. It gained him a few glances, people's lips curving in involuntary, tentative smiles, which he was happy to return.
A payment in kind, he supposed, but not one that would keep him alive.
There was a fizzy kind of excitement in his gut at the prospect of another successful day: he was especially curious to see if his mysterious benefactor would return, or had simply been a generous traveller passing through. Dark brown eyes roamed the streets, never flicking too high when a trading cart rolled by, just in case they thought him a petty thief.
Perhaps he ought to be. It would be a more affluent venture.
But, no – if he was caught and put to death, there would be no-one to keep his family safe.
Such a fantasy was enjoyable to indulge in, though. His mind filled with thoughts of grandeur and great escapes with bountiful treasures, and his fingers instinctively translated it into mischievous music. He paused between songs to rub at an itch on his cheek, undoubtedly smudging dirt across pale skin, then froze in the action when he saw a golden loaf tossed his way. Once again, it landed in his lap.
Jinu covered it with his bipa and whipped his head up, only to stare in open-mouthed bewilderment when he realised there was no-one remotely near him. The few people around looked nearly as poor as him, engaging in idle conversations or trying to peddle their wares. There wasn't even a single footprint in the mud in front of him to indicate that anyone had been there.
“Thank you?” He murmured again, black brows pulled together and creasing his forehead.
A cautious glance cast around him before he dared raise his bipa to take a peek at his spoils. Sure enough, another beautiful loaf, the crust perfectly crispy and the insides likely wonderfully fluffy, just as the previous one had been. It was not a poor man's bread – that much wasn't hard to guess.
He squinted, pushing a thumb against it and tilting it slightly, wondering why it felt so cold.
Jinu blinked.
There was a fractal of frost fading on the crust.
It was summer – and it was hot.
Though the day was yet to end, he couldn't risk losing his food to an actual petty thief. His confusion could wait.
He hid the bread, grabbed this bipa, and hopped to his feet. Brown eyes took in the clear skies, unable to stop the childish part of him from wondering if someone was looking out for him.
The thought made him smile privately as he strode home.
*
Today, he vowed to be vigilant. His fingers knew the routine, thrumming tunes on old strings. Once could've been a coincidence, but getting rich bread two days in a row surely meant a routine, and he refused to let the anonymous person get away without a proper word of thanks.
Jinu observed as boots and shoes in varying states of disrepair stepped past, never stopping or faltering. The sun slid through the blue sky, time seeming to pass faster with his focus so intent, until shadows grew long and amber light cast a warm glow over the buildings. It shimmered gold in splashes of puddles as dwindling numbers of townsfolk went by. Still, he had not moved, ever watchful, ever poised, only his hands continuing to move across his bipa with the grace of a lifetime's teachings.
Hope was beginning to fade as darkness crept in. Perhaps the person did not wish to be seen. Reluctantly, he lowered his gaze, feeling the strain in his neck. There was uncomfortable heat on his skin from a day in the unforgiving sun.
The light was nearly gone entirely. Stalls had packed up for the night. Doors were closed, tangled with ritual strings to keep out the evil spirits.
Save a few who seemed to be sleeping outside, Jinu was the only one who remained, and he would be foolish to linger any longer – he remembered the tales of demons his father once recited, how they attacked villages at night and sucked out people's souls. Despite never once seeing any danger of the sort, and holding trust in the warrior women of folklore to keep them at bay, he knew that he should hurry back.
For sometimes, humans could be crueler than any demon could dream of.
Both loaves of bread had been nibbled sparingly. His family were too used to the frivolous nature of food coming and going to risk gorging themselves all at once. Enough remained to keep all three of them going for a few more days, at least, just as long as they ate as little as they could survive upon.
He sent a silent prayer to the village god in hopes that they would not go hungry again.
Tomorrow. There was always another tomorrow.
*
Tomorrows and tomorrows passed with no answer to his prayer. Hunger had returned to his gut after he let the last scraps of stale bread go to his little sister.
It was an even hotter day, merciless with rays of sun, no matter how much he tried to press himself back against the wooden shack in search of shade. He couldn't take the risk of moving to a different location, not when his presence was still new and untrusted in the area, in case he broke the tentative trust with the locals or overstepped into someone else's territory. Sweat poured down his face, and his mouth was dry, in desperate need of a drink he couldn't afford to get. Fingers still deftly worked away at the strings, despite being so agonisingly scorched and burnt red.
The heat made him feel even more despondent than usual, drearily wondering if the kind stranger would ever turn up again and take pity on him. It was strikingly clear, as each day passed, that no-one else would bother to offer him help, especially now whilst he was languishing under excruciating temperatures. Any townsfolk merely continued as they had been, too focused on their own business to consider offering so much as a place of shade: the dodgy stall across the street had enough to spare, but the vendor hogged the space unrepentantly, half-dozing in the shadows.
Weather like this could kill. Starvation could kill, too. He knew worse fates than death could await his mother and sister if he wasn't there to protect them.
His vision was beginning to swim with delirium as he sank down into himself, panting and sweating and coughing through his sore throat. Even his hands, ever-loyal, were becoming harder to move. Wooden planks creaked against the desperate press of his spine. He swallowed nothing but heat down his prickling throat, and squeezed his dry eyes shut, desperately searching within himself for the strength to continue.
With a jolt of fear, he realised he might be unable to survive the walk home.
He'd been too stubborn. Too determined. Too selfless.
And now this dusty corner of the alleyway would become his grave.
He begged his body to move. He wished for his father. He prayed to the deities for mercy.
His dizziness only increased.
A gust of blessedly cold wind.
“...orry, would've been here soone… plea… okay… nna be fine… open your eyes for… ease, I'm sorr…”
A slight jostle. His head spun. He realised his cheek was pressed into the baked soil. When had he collapsed…?
The icy breeze was more insistent, wrapping around him, touseling the few strands of black hair that had come loose from the topknot and stuck to his skin. Gentle hands, cooling even through his shirt, shook his shoulder. Something was placed in front of his face. It smelt good…
With a concerned amount of effort, he managed to peel one eye open, blearily trying to see through the blur. A package of some kind, wrapped in linen and tied with twine, sat in front of his nose. Behind it was an odd piece of pale, twisting wood, shaped like the staff of a shepherd.
“...es! See, you're… everything's… just keep… sit up?”
The stranger's voice kept wavering in and out oddly. Jinu felt the cold touch move to his cheek, such a blessing that he pushed his face into it with a sigh, eye closing in contentment. There was a shaky laugh, and another hand alternated between pressing against his burning forehead and the back of his neck. Whoever this person was, Jinu thought he might be in love with them.
“C'mon, now,” the voice sounded a little younger than him, and now he was focused on it, the words carried an accent that identified him as a foreigner. “You gotta try lift your head, at least. Y’can’t drink if you're lying down. Just tilt your head up a little? Please? Please…”
The sheer desperation in his tone had Jinu struggling to comply. He scanned through his body, summoning up every fresh spark of energy that had reignited at the promise of a drink. Jinu's face scrunched in a way that pulled at the sunburn, and he rediscovered one arm, managing to push himself up with all the effort he had left, trembling with the weight of it. There was a dent in the wall he managed to lodge himself against to keep vaguely upright, every heavy breath like fire in his lungs.
“Yes, great job! Now, look, look, you can see the package, so all y’gotta do is get out the waterskin, okay?”
All focus locked in on the package. It had been unwrapped and pushed close to him, right by his thigh, within easy reach. Black dots danced in his vision as his hands clumsily fumbled over the package, finding the promised waterskin by touch alone and frantically uncorking it and bringing it to his lips to drink with the fervour of a dying man. It slid down his throat and dribbled down his chin, blissfully cool, and he chugged more, thirsty, so thirsty–
“Whoa, there!” Cold hands grabbed at his wrists, and he nearly growled. “Don't drink so fast, you'll just chuck it back up and feel worse!”
Again, Jinu found himself reluctantly complying. There was truth in the words: he didn't want a repeat of his childhood mistakes. He resorted to hesitant sips with long pauses in between, which gave him enough clarity to finally take in the presence before him.
And he stared.
A windswept mess of short, stark white hair, so different from Jinu’s own pitch black, and of the other villagers. The eye shape was different, too, more rounded, with blue irises nearly the colour of lapis lazuli, favoured by the kings to show off their affluence. His skin was almost deathly pale, a lilac tint to his cheeks, lips, and tips of his ears. He wore some kind of off-white shirt under a leather tunic, with a brown cloak draped over his form, caught in an endless breeze. The trousers he wore were tight to his skinny legs, a muddy beige, ripped at the shins and wrapped around his calves with scrap pieces of twine. Whilst he looked passably poor, Jinu was perplexed to find he was barefoot – even those with nothing to their name would tie together some makeshift shoes.
It was difficult to judge for sure on the face of a foreigner, but he was fairly certain this boy was a few years his junior, and that… that didn't quite settle right with Jinu's pride.
“There we go, there we are, that's much better,” the stranger prattled on in that odd accent of his, smiling with teeth whiter than bone. “Better have a snack, I think. Get your energy up so you can get home. I hope there's somethin’ you like in here, I grabbed what seemed nice…”
Feeling more grounded and less faint, Jinu turned his attention fully upon the opened package, eyes widening at the sheer volume and variety of what was packed inside. A hefty jar of kimchi, another of rice, some bread rolls, and such an array of cured meats and fish that he couldn't even put a name to them. This was the food of kings, and yet, this boy had brought it to him.
Jinu lifted his gaze, awed and grateful beyond measure, staring steadily at the stranger's fascinating azure eyes. “Thank you.”
“It's no problem, I–” He went silent, lips parted and face slack with shock. “W-Wait. Wait. You… You can see me?”
Perplexed, Jinu's hand faltered as it clasped around a bread roll. “...Yes? Is that… a problem?”
The boy fervently shook his head, while demeanor lighting up with childlike glee. “No! No, no! This is– This is incredible! Thank you! Oh, my first human believer, I can't believe it!”
He chewed slowly through the heavenly bread as he attempted to make sense of any of that, analysing the strange features, almost otherworldly, almost–
Swallowing was difficult as the realisation crawled nervously up his spine.
He had prayed to the village god – and a divine child had arrived to save his life.
Could this boy be a wonhon? A young life tragically lost too soon, now guarding the village?
It would be rude to ask, he supposed grudgingly.
Jinu did his best to bow from his slumped seated position, inclining his head respectfully. “Thank you for saving my life. I am in your debt.”
There was some panicked spluttering. “Wha– no, no, it's fine! I love your music, and I wanted to help you. Uh… consider it even?”
He froze, gripped with sudden alarm as he glanced about himself, seeing nothing but earth and the boons brought by the boy. The familiar feeling of old, smoothed wood in his hands was an ache that only grew more visceral as the dread set in.
“My– My bipa,” he nearly whimpered, dropping the half-eaten roll into the package and brushing burnt palms over the soil. “It's gone.”
The boy shifted in his crouch, glancing around himself and the street. “It… wasn't here when I found you. Someone must've taken it when you were unconscious… but I'll find it! Don't worry!”
“It's gone,” Jinu repeated emptily, staring at his palms as his vision swam with tears.
“I'll find it,” the boy promised, smoothly standing up and kicking the odd shepherd’s staff into his awaiting palm as he stared skyward. “Wind!”
To his amazement, there was a gust of wind as he spoke, as though in answer. It carried a swirl of dust that encircled the being before shooting off down the street. The boy gave a firm nod.
“Right. You get on home, if you're feelin’ up to it,” he told the other, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I'll meet you there in a bit with your bipa… and some salve. You're gonna need it, huh?”
Before Jinu could even form a response, the boy let out a whoop of joy as he began to fly away, waving over his shoulder and grinning. Okay. Definitely supernatural. Perhaps not wonhon – perhaps gwisin was a better fit, with the casual display of magic, though he wasn't sure which category the boy might fall under… and it was best not to poke a sleeping bear, lest he invoke the wrath of a deity.
There was a patch of beautiful frost where he had been crouching.
After a moment of dwelling upon his shock, Jinu began the arduous task of heaving himself upright, keeping the rewrapped package tucked beneath his shirt and taking some deep breaths before pushing off the wooden wall and beginning to wobble his way back home. He side-eyed the stall owner, who was now fast asleep, slumped over his minimal goods, and wondered if it was worth trying to swipe something.
No. Survival came first. He'd been given a second chance, and he wasn't foolhardy enough to waste the blessing of a potential god.
A few people watched him stumble by from the safe shade of their buildings. Some seemed to be calculating whether he was worth mugging – but aside from the worn, handed-down clothes on his back, it appeared he owned nothing of value.
Finally, after a bleary eternity under the scorching sun, he spotted the shack he called home. Ragged, patched-up fabrics fluttered over the open wall, with the wilting remains of a thorn tree curled protectively around the edges of the wood. Comforting conversation reached his ears as he neared, causing his shoulders to slump with relief. He glanced back once, wondering if he'd ever see the being again, whether he'd see his father's bipa again, then turned and gently knocked on the wood of the shack.
“I'm back,” he said wearily.
“Oppa!” His sister exclaimed gleefully.
A pale hand pulled the fabric curtain, revealing his mother's gentle smiling face, creased with years of worry. Dark brown eyes, a mirror of his own, assessed the state he was in when he stepped over the threshold, and she gasped softly.
“Jinu,” she murmured, reaching out as though to touch the sore skin on his face, but hesitating. “Oh, Jinu, aga. You didn't have to go out today.”
It was only slightly cooler within the house – stifling and airless, but at least without rays of sunlight scorching through. He offered a weak smile, taking the package from beneath his shirt and placing it upon their rickety excuse of a table. The wrappings unfurled on their own, unveiling the delicacies within. His mother gasped again, palms going to her mouth as she stared in shock.
“What is this?” His sister asked, prodding at some of the meat they hadn't had since she was too young to remember – back when their father was alive to provide.
“It's tasty food,” he told her, going over to tear a piece off for her and hold it out. “Want to try some?”
She bounced in her seat, which groaned in protest, and eagerly plucked the piece of meat from his grasp and popped it into her mouth. Dark eyes went wide with delight as she chewed, letting out noises of appreciation. It made his awful day just a little better.
“More!” She cheered, only for her grabbing hand to be halted by their mother. “Ah, eomma, please?”
“Perhaps later, Jia,” she said firmly, a little breathless. “We need to portion it, remember?”
Jia pouted adorably, but nodded in acquiescence. “How was your day, oppa?” She startled. “Whoa! You're all red! Where's appa's bipa?”
Jinu faltered.
His mother gave him a cautious look. “...where did you get this food? You didn't steal, did you?”
“No!” He snapped, hurt that his mother would even ask. “It was given to me. Someone liked my music. The bipa was… taken. But he said he would bring it back…?”
“Did a nobleman pass through?” She asked in bewilderment. “This food is…”
“Not a nobleman–” he bit his lip, wondering if it was wise to reveal what had happened– “uh, I prayed to the village god, and… I think a gwisin of some kind may have answered…?”
The curtain of fabric moved in a sudden gust of blessedly cool wind. His family relaxed at the unexpected temperature change, but he couldn't help but tense slightly in anticipation, hesitantly padding over to peek around the cloth – just in time to see the boy set himself back down on his bare feet, staff tucked under his arm, a small wooden pot in one hand, and a bipa in the other. Blue eyes looked up and brightened, and he nearly glided over the ground with his cloak billowing.
“Hi! I found it! Here.” He passed over the precious instrument, and Jinu felt more at ease with it in his grasp.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “It was my abeoji’s. This means a lot to me. To us.”
The boy's visage softened in sympathy. “Then I'm extra glad to get it back for you. The thief mysteriously slipped on some ice and ran into a wall – it was very unfortunate.”
His lilac lips were curved with mischief. Jinu remembered the frost on the bread and on the ground. It wasn't hard to guess the insinuation.
“Jinu?” His mother called, stepping up behind him. “Who's there?”
“Ah, eomeoni, this is–” Jinu stopped, abruptly realising neither had introduced themselves, and he quickly bowed in respect. “I'm so sorry. My name is Jinu. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“I'm Jack,” the boy – Jack, definitely a foreign name – responded warmly, mimicking the bow after a moment of thought. “Jack Frost. Pleasure!”
The curtain was pulled far enough aside to reveal the visitor, but not too far, to avoid letting in more sunbeams. He felt his sister clutch onto his legs, hiding behind him and peeking out.
“Jinu,” his mother began slowly, concern in her tone. “...there's no-one there. Who are you talking to?”
“Wh– Eomma, he's right there,” Jinu responded, utterly confused.
“You're tricking us again,” his sister grumbled.
“You're tricking me!” He rebuked, but heard his own voice wavering with uncertainty. “...Jack?”
“Who's Jack?” She mumbled.
Jack visibly deflated, scuffing his feet on the ground with puffs of dust. “...uh, yeah, so, funny thing… People can't see me unless they believe in me somehow? One of the joys of being a spirit.”
Spirit. He was a part of the gwisin.
“That's why you were shocked when I could see you,” Jinu said in realisation. “Why can I see you?”
Jack grinned awkwardly. “Not sure? Might be better askin’ why you believe in me.”
“This is getting weird,” Jia commented uneasily, tugging at his trousers. “Oppa, stop messing around.”
“Before I fainted, I sent a prayer to our god,” Jinu considered. “When I woke, you were there.”
Jack tilted his head thoughtfully, nodding. “I guess that could work. Well, it clearly does work! You didn't even know my name, yet you still saw me.”
His mother let go of the curtain, gently grasping his arm. “You fainted?! Aga, you should rest–”
“I'm fine!” He retorted, holding the fabric wide and feeling the unnaturally cool air soothe his skin. “A spirit named Jack Frost saved me, gave us the food, and returned the bipa. He can only be seen by those who believe in him. Please, believe in him – he's more than deserving, after all he did for us.”
“Jack Frost?” His mother repeated warily.
“A spirit saved you?! That's so cool! I wanna see him, let me s…” She trailed off, stopping her jostling past her brother's legs as she stared. “Whoa. You look funny.”
“Jia!” Jinu exclaimed, horrified.
Unexpectedly, thankfully, Jack nearly keeled over laughing at the rude comment. “Thank you. I do, don't I? Not everyday you see someone with white hair, huh? Nice to meetcha.”
“Jia…?” His mother echoed, glancing down at her daughter.
Jia pointed insistently. “Jinu's right, eomma! Jack's right there! He's got white hair and blue eyes and a really tall staff! He speaks funny, too.”
Slowly, their mother raised her eyes, which gradually became wider until they settled upon the spirit's face. Jack gave an awkward wave.
“...a spirit…”
“Jack, this is my dongsaeng Jia, and my eomeoni Seul-Gi. It's an honour to have you here,” Jinu introduced with another bow, nudging his clueless little sister and stunned mother into doing the same.
Jack swept down into an almost theatrical bow of his own, cape draped over the arm that remained slightly raised with his staff. “It's an honor to be here, I assure you. I can't thank you enough.”
“What have you got to thank us for?” His mother queried, still utterly lost and uncertain.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile that was almost sad, almost delighted. “For believin’ in me. For seein’ me. Only the Hunters and other spirits can see me. To everyone else, I'm–” as though cued, a villager walked directly through Jack, who shuddered and swirled with snowflakes, then gestured and grinned self-deprecatingly– “invisible.”
“A ghost,” his sister whispered, huddling back against her brother.
“Sort of. Only to those that can't see me,” he assured her, crouching down and tentatively offering his pale hand. “People who can see me, can also touch me. Wanna try? I feel super cold, so don't get startled!”
Glancing up at her family for approval, she cautiously stepped forward, stretching out her own arm to stay as far away as possible, and then visibly holding her breath as she briefly tapped her fingers to his palm. They sat on his skin, and neither moved, though Jack gave an encouraging smile. She took her hand away with a soft inhale of surprise, staring at it curiously, then moved closer and decisively placed her little palm atop his.
“Oh!” She chirped, seemingly involuntarily, brushing skin against cold skin. “You’re freezing! Like magic! You're not going to melt, are you?!”
He laughed again, a beautiful, relaxing sound much more befitting of him than sadness. “No, no, don't worry. I'll get in trouble if I mess with the weather too much, though, so I'm afraid you'll have to put up with the heat. Oh, you'd best be gettin’ back in the shade! Can't have you gettin’ sunburnt, now, can we?”
She hummed, but didn't let go of his hand, instead increasing her investigation up to his wrist, playing with his fingers and tracing his blue veins. He chuckled, gently grasping her hand as he stood up, urging her back to the shameful shack they called home. Jia willingly stepped inside, but refused to let go, pouting and whining.
“Jia, I'm sure Jack is very busy,” his mother intoned quietly, nervously. “We don't want to impose upon the nice spirit, do we?”
The emphasis was lost on the girl, who scowled. “I'm too hot! I don't want him to go!”
Before an argument could break out, Jack tucked his staff under his arm and reached over to ruffle her dirty black hair. “No worries! I'm not busy, ma'am. I told the girls I might be a while, and they know what I'm like – I get distracted by everythin’ and end up comin’ back late almost every time!” He suddenly smacked his own forehead, letting out a groan. “Oh, man, speakin’ of distracted – I totally forgot to give you the salve, Jinu! Here, here. My bad. Sorry.”
Jinu automatically offered his palm to the wooden pot that the boy held out. The grain was smooth to the touch, and when he lifted the circular lid, the container was filled with some kind of cream. Cool breezes brought the scent of herbs to his nose and temporarily kept the burning at bay.
“Should help with the healin’,” Jack piped up, gesturing to the young man's reddened skin. “And soothe the pain in the meantime. All yours to keep, before you ask! We've more than enough back at the glade, and the girls were happy to share.”
That was twice he'd mentioned the girls. He'd also said that some hunters could see him. What made those hunters so special? Had he saved their lives, as he'd done with them? Unless these hunters were like Jack, since it sounded like they lived together, and perhaps they were some kind of gwisin themselves – but, no, he'd specified them separately.
Jinu paused. There were some human women in folklore blessed with sacred voices, to drive back the demons.
The girls weren't just hunters.
They were the Hunters.
How was he supposed to clarify something of that magnitude? He couldn't just ask the spirit, not when he was already deeply in the divine boy's debt!
“Jack, your kindness honours us,” his mother said, sounding slightly strangled. “We have little to offer, but you are more than welcome to come in and partake in the food you brought us.”
“Yes, yes! Please, Jack! Please, please, pl–”
“Okay, alright!” He laughed, letting himself get pulled into the shack and ducking as he passed the curtain. “You've made an excellent argument, gwiyeomi. Can't say no to that, huh?”
Jinu stepped back and let the fabric fall back into place. Sunlight glowed through, but the heat in the hut had been replaced with heavenly coolness that surrounded the boy. The soft warmth from outside, combined with the easy chill of inside, caused old memories to surface.
It reminded him of sitting by a firepit with his father on a crisp autumnal evening, safe and happy, and free of worries.
That was a long, long time ago.
“I don't need to eat though,” Jack clarified quickly. “Being a spirit and all. Besides, I brought this food for you – I want you to enjoy it!”
“Well, um, is there anything else we can offer you? As repayment for your generosity?” His mother asked nervously, shuffling around in the small space, looking in the hidden nooks and crannies where they secreted away anything of value to them. “Um, a bead necklace? Some fabric…? Uh–”
“Nothin’ needed, I promise,” he soothed, palms splayed harmlessly in front of him, before returning one hand to let Jia continue to play with it. “Your belief is more than enough repayment, seriously. It gets pretty rough when there's a whole world at your fingertips, but no-one to share it with. So, please, don't worry. The joy you've brought me today is worth a thousandfold more than anythin’ I could ever give you.”
“If you're certain,” his mother answered hesitantly, relieved and concerned all at once – dealing with a spirit shouldn't be this easy, surely? “Will you accept our hospitality and stay for the evening, then?”
“Stay!” Jia practically ordered, tugging at his arm, and ignoring the hisses of her name at how rude she was being to an actual real spirit.
“Ah, well, who am I to deny this little gongjunim, hm?” He said teasingly, affectionately, and she blushed and preened under the term of endearment. “I'd be more than happy to stick around. Best not go outside in this weather, though it's pretty borin’ to be stuck inside… so, you like stories, Jia?”
She perked up, sitting on the old stool. “Stories? Yeah! Eomma tells me stories, sometimes! Especially about the Hunters – they keep us safe from demons, did you know that?”
Jack's ice-blue eyes glinted with excitement, and he floated to the floor in a cross-legged position, leaning forwards and looking up at her. “Ooh, how about you tell me all your stories about the Hunters, and I'll tell you mine?”
Jinu caught his mother's eye. Without a word, he knew she was worried, too. No matter how kind the spirit seemed, how nice he was to Jia, how generous he'd been to all of them… One wrong step and they could find themselves on the receiving end of the otherworldly being’s wrath.
He wouldn't let his guard down, yet.
His mother took the nearly-forgotten pot from his trembling hand, and he lovingly leant the bipa against the wall, letting her carefully smooth the paste over his burnt skin. Jinu shuddered in relief at the cooling sensation that spread across everything the salve touched, feeling all tightness and pain slip away, as if by magic.
“–and just when the villagers were backed into a corner, all hope lost – bam! Three powerful women swept in with a song so beautiful it made the demons cower and flee, getting trapped beneath the barrier the Hunters made to protect our world: the Honmoon! Your turn, Jack!”
“Brilliantly told, gwiyeomi! Now, then… let's see… oh, I've got the perfect story for you. You wanna hear about the first time I met the Hunters?”
Jinu's gut twisted. He was right.
The spirit knew the Hunters.
Whether that made him trustworthy or not… they'd have to wait and see.
*
Having a full belly and no urgency to leave the shack was bliss. For the first time since his father had passed, they had no worries about food, and the portions were more generous than usual in celebration. The food was like nothing he had ever tasted before – certainly, it was nothing meant for the mouths of peasants. His sister's excitement was infectious, and she continually regaled the same stories that the spirit had told her, of his personal experiences with the Hunters, even though Jinu and his mother had been there to hear. He had to admit, the boy had a way with words, helped out immensely by shows of snow and ice to create ethereal illustrations. The salve had worked its wonders, too, as after the first day alone the redness had drastically receded.
Days were still hot, but it was made a lot easier by–
“Jack!” Jia cheered as the curtain billowed with an unnatural breeze, allowing the boy to float inside and touch down on bare feet.
“Jia!” He greeted with equal enthusiasm, sweeping her up into a weightless hug that had her giggling. “Guess what I've got?”
“Hmm… food? No, no, fabric! Or thread? Wait, um…”
With a flourish, he withdrew his hands from his cloak, bright metal shimmering in his palms. “Anklets! Like bracelets, but for your ankles! Cool, right?”
“Jack,” his mother gasped. “Oh, they're beautiful, but we can't accept! You honour us too much with your gifts!”
“Not gonna stop me,” Jack laughed, throwing one her way which she automatically fumbled to catch, staring at it in awe. “I'm pretty sure they'll fit all of you, but I didn't have measurements, so…”
Jia was hopping on one leg to try and put on the accessory, nearly falling over if it wasn't for Jack catching her with a grin. She pushed down the edges of her leather boot and eased the metal anklet open, then folded it closed around her ankle, where it glimmered in the muffled sunlight. Her dark brown eyes were wide with wonder as she turned her leg this way and that, admiring the pattern pressed into the copper and letting her weight get supported by the boy, who watched on fondly. She only stood by herself when she began to strut around the hut, chest puffed with pride.
A nudge to Jinu's shoulder had him glancing at Jack, who held out the final copper anklet, which Jinu hesitantly took. He spent a moment examining it before pulling up the leg of his baggy trousers and clasping it to his ankle, then let the fabric drop back down as if nothing was there.
That was something Jinu had noticed about all the gifts Jack brought them: it was always something small, something easily concealed. Thieves rarely bothered with their shack, having long since found it barren of anything worthwhile and unwilling to get any more black eyes and bloody noses from Jinu, but the memories and worries of being ransacked instilled the unshakable habit of hiding away all the trinkets that held value to the family. He appreciated the consideration of the observant boy, but it still didn't sit right with him to suddenly be showered in all these gifts without having done anything to be worthy of them.
“Thank you,” Jinu murmured, briefly lowering his gaze in respect before staring down at him. “...where do you get all these things?”
Jack shrugged shamelessly with an impish grin. “I take from those who have far more than they need. From those who won't ever miss it.”
“You steal?” Jinu clarified needlessly.
“Is it stealin’ if the wealth is being returned to those it was originally taken from?” He rebutted, quirking a dark brow in silent challenge.
“Just as long as my family is safe,” Jinu stated firmly, giving him a hard look. “I don't want cavalry at our home, believing us thieves.”
Jack shook his head, shooting a reassuring smile. “Trust me, you're safe. I'd never do anythin’ to endanger any of you. And on the teeny-tiny off-chance something does go wrong, I will be there. I swear it. You're under my protection.”
Jinu held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded, turning back to his little family. His mother was sitting and gently caressing the metal around her ankle, still in shock. Jia was giggling and sighing happily.
The copper around his ankle felt cold and heavy against his skin.
*
Jinu set his sister's portion of food onto her wooden plate, and she didn't hesitate to dig in immediately. He sorted his own meal, and then glanced at the empty stool where his mother usually sat. She was late home, and he was trying not to let his worry show. He knew he should've gone with her – but he couldn't leave Jia alone, either.
Laughter approached, alongside footsteps and light chatter. A porcelain hand pulled aside the curtain, and Jack bowed politely, gesturing inside.
“Oh, you needn't have accompanied me to the market, Jack,” his mother fussed, smiling gratefully nonetheless as she entered the shack.
“Jinu was busy lookin’ after Jia,” Jack countered easily, lifting the bag from her grasp and flitting around the hut to put everything in its place. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. It's no trouble!”
“You're too kind,” his mother said with a smile that made her look less haggard, more alive.
Jinu couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like that.
*
“Oppa!”
Jinu automatically turned, looking up from where he was tending to the bipa, except–
“Oppa, the coolest thing happened today!” Jia babbled, grabbing Jack's hand and pulling him firmly into the hut, and he gave a startled sort of laugh.
“O-Okay, gongjunim, uh– yeah, tell me everythin’!”
Jinu swallowed, and turned his back.
*
He didn't need to busk. Not anymore. Not now the spirit was providing them with everything they needed, and much more.
He didn't need to be home, either. Not anymore. Not now Jack was Jia’s big brother, and the capable son his mother needed.
It all made him head for the streets more frequently, clutching the bipa and settling back in his unofficial spot to mindlessly waste day after day, playing his fingers raw with nothing to show for it.
Perhaps this was the unspoken cost of gaining a spirit's favour.
He wasn't good enough to get anything. He wasn't able to help his family.
Despite being more well-off than they'd been in a painfully long time, Jinu only felt even more worthless than before.
A trading cart rattled past, carelessly splashing dirty water into his face and making the melodic tune twang into discordance, then silence. He miserably stared at his pitiful reflection in the autumnal puddle. Pathetic.
You can't do anything for your family. You're not good enough for them.
But I can help you be good enough.
An ember burned in his chest.
*
It was like a coin had flipped. The moment he started playing his bipa, he instinctively opened his mouth to sing, and instead of the mediocre voice that would crackle out before, there was a beautiful, silken tone that rang clear and true through the barren street, and suddenly it wasn't so barren anymore. People who once never looked at him, now crowded around him, unable to look away. Whispers spread, travelling carts would stop and stare, and some would hurry on their way with expressions of excitement. He revelled in their attention, drawing out song after song, getting to his feet to command their gazes even more strongly, so he could tower above them and be the one to look down. They'd shower him with tokens of appreciation and beg and plead for more music, and he lapped it all up, finally feeling worthy.
His life had changed overnight.
All at the cost of a small purple stripe on his bicep.