Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Eighth Sun Lord had died. The Second Sun Lord, or the Chief Advisor, was waiting in the clearing. Just outside Miroh, the capital city in her beloved kingdom, Levanter, there was the Yellow Wood, the largest forest in the kingdom and the perfect place to hold this meeting. The clearing was marked by a yellow banner between two trees, which the Second Sun Lord stood under and waited for the arrival of the new-born that was about to inherit a rich, upstanding legacy.

Dawn was rising in the sky, which was becoming a brighter blue by the minute. The Second Sun Lord stood and embraced the morning light as it illuminated her face. The birds started chirping in the trees and roused the final countdown to the meeting that will secure the fate of the kingdom for a lifetime.

After a Sun Lord dies, their power is reincarnated into a child born around the same time they pass. The parents always know if their child has the new power, because after the birth, they child glows for a little while, marking them as the inheritor of the Sun power. Even if the parents aren’t involved and don’t know anything about the Council who runs Levanter, someone around them would, and directs them to this spot in the Yellow Wood. The circulated legend about the spot in the Yellow Wood was useful for new parents to find its location. The meeting with the Second Sun Lord – or whoever the Chief Advisor is when a new child is born – happens a month after the death of the old Sun Lord. If the parent of the child fails to present themselves, a hunt is conducted to find the new Sun Lord. There has never been a case like that in at least two-hundred years. And the Second Sun Lord intends to keep it that way.

Everyone wanted their child to inherit the Sun power if they were born within a few days of the latest Sun Lord’s death. It was one of the highest honours. The Sun Lords made up the Council, all twelve of them. The Council made the laws, governed the people, and lived in the Inner City of Miroh, the fanciest, finest part of the large capital. The only position higher than eleven of the Sun Lords was the King, the First Sun Lord, possessor of the strongest Sun power, blessed by the Sun itself. Once the First Sun Lord had died, the Chief Advisor takes over the position until the next First Sun Lord is born and can take up their rightful duties.

After the Second Sun Lord finds the new Eighth Sun Lord, she will take them back to the Inner City, along with their immediate family, and raise them within its walls. She would train them herself, prepare them with all the skills they needed for when they got old enough to take up their role. Once that happened, they would write their full name in the Book of Rays, officially down in the history book that legally records all the old Sun Lords. After that, no one could strip them of their influence as a member of the Council. Before that, the Second Sun Lord needed to make sure they were competent at running the kingdom as tradition dictated.

She didn’t need to wait much longer before she heard a more deliberate rustling of the bushes and low branches ahead. Looking up, she moved just in time to welcome a woman confusedly making her way through the thicket. The Second Sun Lord stood straighter, commanding an air of authority and power. Pride swelled when she saw the woman spot her and instantly slow her pace, approaching with a respectful, tentative glide, head bowed. The Second Sun Lord remains still, staring at her until she is firmly in front of her. “Good morning, my Lord,” she greeted, bending over in a fuller bow.

As she was in front of her now, the Second Sun Lord finally cast her eyes down to the bundle wrapped up in thick, cosy blankets in the woman’s arms. The child was sleeping peacefully, nose nuzzled into the crease of one of the blankets. There was the next Eighth Sun Lord.

Before the Second Sun Lord could return the woman’s greeting, the two were alerted by the harsher, more frantic rustling of the shrubbery just outside of the clearing. They both quickly glanced in the direction of the new sound, just as a new figure burst through the boundary. Unlike the careful, composed way the first woman entered the clearing, the new woman was huffing out exhausted breaths, red-faced and head darting around in every direction. With how fast and jittery she was moving, she took a few tries to properly locate the two other individuals standing in the clearing. When she finally noticed them, however, she froze.

The Second Sun Lord was the first to recover, shaking out her reservations and returning to the matter at hand. The two women were staring at each other in confusion, mortification, equally affronted. The Second Sun Lord waited for them to make the next move, careful eyes observing the both of them closely. They seemed to notice the protected infants in each other’s arms at the same time. Because just like the first woman, the second was also cradling a baby. Two stricken gasps sliced the air at the same time.

“What are you doing here? My son was chosen; he glowed like the most promising sunrise just after his birth,” the first woman was the first to announce, peering out at the newcomer with distrust.

The second woman whimpered; the two others able to see the nervous tremor run through her body from the other side of the clearing. She shot her gaze between the other women, breaths getting no less deep as she shrunk into herself. She cradled her baby closer to her chest, wrapping protective arms around them. “I – I – my son glowed, too. Like the prettiest sunset.”

The first women scoffed, turning back to the Second Sun Lord, questions in her eyes. The Second Sun Lord tilted her head, sucked on her bottom lip, and regarded each of the duos. The silence stretched out, tension clinging to it, even through the considered crunch of foliage below the feet of the second woman as she made her way over to them. Even when she reached them, she stood a little apart, expression unsure.

The Second Sun Lord was the next to move. She extended her neck and made her way over to the first woman and her child, who was still noiselessly sleeping against her chest. She only made eye-contact with the woman for a fleeting second, eyes heavy with intention, before raising her hand and pressing it against the child’s forehead. The woman startled slightly, but when she acclimatised, she presented her child for the Second Sun Lord to inspect. With her skin in contact with that of the infant’s, she could feel the blooming thrum of the Sun’s power emitting from him. She kept her hand there longer than necessary, but pulled away eventually, humming in acknowledgement. The woman’s eyebrows were raised in expectation, bated breath held. Unfortunately for her, the Second Sun Lord stepped away before clarifying anything yet. Spinning on her heels, she stalked over to the other woman and her child next.

Part of the deal of possessing one of the Sun’s gifts was that one could sense that same power in other beings that wielded it. Not only could they sense its presence, but they could also make out the condition, strength and purity. It was what connected them all, made them aware of each other. And in greeting potential new Sun Lords, it enabled them to check that the child they were taking in definitely possessed the power their parent was claiming they had. It wasn’t uncommon for hopefuls to turn up with their newborn who hadn’t glowed once since birth, hoping to be whisked off to the Inner City anyway on a fluke.

As the Second Sun Lord approached the other mother, she noted that the second woman was a lot more apprehensive. She shuffled back slightly, lip wobbling and eyes darting around uncertainly. But the Second Sun Lord didn’t stop her advance. Eventually, the second woman ground to a halt, squeezing herself smaller as she succumbed to her fate and let the Second Sun Lord place her hand against her baby’s forehead like she had done to the other child. Much like his mother, the infant was restless, blubbering as he wiggled around in the blanket. The woman shushed him periodically, to very little result. The only part of his body that wasn’t really moving was a firm arm, the limb extended in a gentle grip onto the fabric of the mother’s tunic just over her chest. The child’s fist held onto his mother like she was his lifeline. The Second Sun Lord ignored the child’s method of self-soothing and took in the familiar rumblings of a Sun power underneath his skin. Identical to the other child’s, the new, unrealised power within him was just as alive and well.

The Second Sun Lord stepped back and positioned herself between the two women, a crease on her forehead as she surveyed both pairs. “It seems that both new-borns have the old Eighth Sun Lord’s power,” she informed.

It didn’t take long for the surrounding clearing to erupt.

“What? That’s impossible. Only one child inherits the gift!” The first woman gaped back at her.

“Please, this can’t be,” the second seemed close to tears already.

“My child was born the sunrise the day after the Eight Sun Lord was supposed to have passed; that has to mean something.”

“My son was born the sunset before, the day of the old Lord’s passing.”

The Second Sun Lord held up a hand, and the two instantly shut their mouths. The Second Sun Lord glanced between them, knowing that she held their futures within the palm of her hand. Riches were offered to the families of the Sun Lords from the moment they were accepted; each mother had a lot riding on their son. And the Second Sun Lord knew she was about to crush their hopes.

“While this is an anomaly, I can only accept one child as the new Eighth Sun Lord like usual. That means I have to pick one of your sons to come back with me and send the other away.” She spoke levelly, matter of fact.

Both women took a hurried step forward at the same time, eyes widening in alarm.

“Is that really true? Why can’t you accept both of them if they both have powers? Surely you can work something out?” The second woman to arrive panicked.

“I was here first, I wasn’t late. My son deserves to be the chosen one, he deserves the chance to be the Eighth Sun Lord,” the first jumped in.

It caused the second woman to frown, desperation clouding her features. She wrapped her son even tighter, if that was even possible, large doe eyes turning to the Second Sun Lord, imploring. “Please, please have mercy. My son being the new Eighth Sun Lord – it’s our only chance of staying together. It was a blessing when he glowed, it gave me hope that everything might work out. I love him so much; my son deserves an opportunity of a good life.”

The Second Sun Lord took another look at the woman. She was dressed in tattered garments, which were thin and grey and worn, hardly much protection against the crisp autumn morning air. The blankets that wrapped her son were equally as shoddy, holes and stains scattered all over them. Compared to the other woman, who was adorning a comfortable tunic, she was notably poorer. And younger, too. Naivety tinted her cheeks as she gazed up at the Second Sun Lord, a sheen of moisture welling up in her eyes.

“What nonsense,” the first woman chimed in. “You’re just trying to search for pity. She’s not going to pick the biggest sob story, but the child who deserves the spot the most. And my family are all capable merchants; my son comes from a line of strong, intelligent individuals. We are all available to help and support the Council in any way we can; my son will be less trouble, we won’t ask for more than you can provide, nor bother the Council with large requests.”

The second woman whimpered again, pitifully stumbling even closer to the Second Sun Lord. “No, no, we won’t be any nuisance. It’s just that you have everything I need to remain with my son. It’s just me, you see, and without more resources, I’ll have to give him up. You’re my only hope. Please.” She turned her son slightly, presenting him to the Second Sun Lord. “He wasn’t planned, but this is Jisung. Han Jisung. I love him with all of my soul, I don’t want to be parted from him. I only want the best for him. Please.”

The infant – Jisung – was still clinging to his mother, shaking in fear the more he was jostled away from her. He had large, round cheeks which bunched up under his eyes. His mother was blubbering herself now, choking down her own sobs. The first woman was eyeing her with distaste, twirling a corner of the embroidered, fresh blanket that covered her own son around.

“My son is called Felix. He is the light of mine and my husband’s life. We have been providing the Council with our linens for years. It would be an honour to serve you in this new way.” With that, she masterfully drops down to her knees at the Second Sun Lord’s feet, all without any sharp movements that wakes up her son – Felix. She presents herself as a loyal servant, baring herself to the Second Sun Lord as unquestionably faithful. She hums in satisfaction.

The second woman gasps in panic, quickly falling to her knees as well. The movement was a lot less controlled and graceful, done in desperate terror. The sudden shift jolts the infant in her arms, and Jisung lets out a startled whine. The second woman hushes him, attention solely on him while she does so, only darting back up to the Second Sun Lord when Jisung is close to settled again. Her eyes were wide. Without the considered submission, the kneel lacked the sincerity of the first woman’s. It was a mirror, an afterthought. In the women’s match against each other, determining who was most worthy of the gift only the Second Sun Lord could bestow, it was nothing innovative. It was a reaction.

“Please. Just give us a chance.”

The Second Sun Lord perceived both of them. Two very different appeals for the new Eighth Sun Lord. And the power was all in her hands. Although, she had to pick the one that she figured would benefit Levanter the most. The second woman certainly seemed desperate, but was that enough? No. She didn’t think so. What could she bring the kingdom? Meanwhile, the first woman was part of a merchant family, meaning she must have got connections, would be loyal to the Council and would be capable enough to contribute outside of raising her son. She had something they could work with, something they could use.

“Well, after much consideration, I decided that this child,” she gestured to Felix, “should be the next Eighth Sun Lord. I think that would be best.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much, he won’t let you down.”

It took a while for the decision to register across the second woman’s face, but once it did, her expression crumpled in anguish. Gradually, building like a slow candle burning, grief marred her features and a sob fell from her lips in a long, extended whine. She bent over, clutching Jisung tighter as she wailed. “No, no! Please, please. Reconsider. I can’t lose him – I can’t-” She stopped to choke on her own tears. Horror covered every inch of her screams. “Please take him. Take them both. Why can’t you take them both?”

The Second Sun Lord felt irritation prickle at her skin. How dare her authority be questioned, how dare her decision be appealed against. Once she said something, it was final. She stared down at the woman grovelling at her feet, disgust finally making its way onto her face explicitly. She was asking questions that couldn’t be answered. There was no way that this woman wouldn’t blab about this. There was no way that this woman wouldn’t do anything to keep her son. Including inconveniencing and defaming the Council. There was no way that the Second Sun Lord could let this slide.

Pulling the knife that she had stashed in her sleeve out, the Second Sun Lord slashed across the woman’s throat in the blink of an eye. The knife flew through the air effortlessly, splitting the woman’s throat open just as flawlessly. The woman was stopped mid-cry. She took a second to notice, surprise overtaking her expression as she was silenced. Betrayed, she gurgled up at the Second Sun Lord, but was unable to get any coherent words out. Body going limp, she fell backwards, landing with a crash on the harsh ground behind her. Legs twisted at an uncomfortable-looking angle behind her, she was splayed out awkwardly. Without the strength to keep her arms around her baby, they flopped down to her sides, rolling off the little lump. The baby in question landed on her chest, by some chance escaping a harsher landing.

For the first time since the woman entered the clearing, her son was stunned into complete silence. Jisung continued to clasp onto the material covering his mother’s chest, as if searching for his only and biggest comfort.

The first woman gasped, also shocked still. The Second Sun Lord rolled her eyes, bending down to clean her knife on the dead woman’s old rags. She slipped the knife back into her sleeve and stood, raising an eyebrow down at the first woman. Clearly sensing how impatient the Second Sun Lord was, she scurried up to her feet, a lot less dignified than she was when kneeling down. Felix remained asleep, by some miracle, despite the rocky surge upwards.

“Thank – thank you, for giving us this opportunity,” she stammered out. Her breaths were shaky, cowering before the Second Sun Lord.

“You’ll follow me to the palace for now, while we go over the details of what is expected of Felix as he grows up.” The palace was where all of the Sun Lords lived, although the King was the one that officially owned the building. It was at the centre of the Inner City, a large building with multiple wings and underground passages to all over Miroh.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Felix might live with his parents at their house sometimes, but he will spend the majority of his life at the palace. It is where he shall train to be the next Sun Lord, getting to know each of the existing ones, although the Second Sun Lord will take up the bulk of his education, working closely with him. She was the King’s most trusted confidant, only she was capable of moulding the next Sun Lord.

The first woman slinks up to her side, gazing down at the now crying infant on the dead woman’s chest. Jisung must have sensed that his mother was no longer responding to him, that she had gone unusually still below him. His half-screams pierced through the forest air, sending a bunch of birds scattering from the surrounding trees. “What are you going to do with him?”

The Second Sun Lord sighed disinterestedly. It was such a bother to find a home for this child. But someone would notice his cries, and she didn’t want anyone to stumble across the dead body before she got her people to come by and bury it. And track down whoever this woman was with around the birth of her child who might know that he glowed after birth – they needed to make sure that information wouldn’t circulate very far. It was such a hassle finding a new home for this useless infant. She guessed that it was pointless murdering it, since he wouldn’t remember any of this anyway. May as well let him grow up.

She turns back to the woman. “There’s a house in the woods that I passed on the way here. We can leave him on the doorstep with a note.”

Worry crossed the other’s features, uncertainty causing a crease to develop on her forehead. The Second Sun Lord could tell that she had something bugging her on the tip of her tongue. She huffed impatiently. If it mattered so much, she should just spit it out. The clipped tone of the huff spurred the first woman into a hurried explanation, blurting out her worries. “What happens if the Sun power develops in this other boy? What would that mean for Felix?”

Of course that would be what she was worrying about. How predictable. She wanted to make sure her son’s position was safe, that he would never be challenged in his role as the Eighth Sun Lord. The Second Sun Lord supposed she understood. Ambition was common in her world. This woman already had the makings of someone who would thrive in it. She was comforted that she made the right choice.

“It is impossible that his powers would develop without direction from anyone who knows how to wield them. Without training, he’ll remain a normal person. He won’t ever know that he has the capacity for the Sun power. Felix won’t have anything to worry about.”

The woman drew in a breath of relief, nodding securely at the Second Sun Lord. Trusting the obedience and loyalty of this woman, she nodded back. She had been taking the killing in her stride – or she was very good at hiding her concern and reservations. Either way, she could work with it. Since the woman was holding Felix in her arms, the Second Sun Lord reluctantly bent back down and scooped up the wailing child. “Shut up,” she hissed at it. The boy better silence himself before they got to this house she passed earlier. They didn’t want to wake the occupants up before she and the woman had left.

They waited until Jisung’s cries calmed down before setting off towards the house that the Second Sun Lord had seen. The woman stumbled after her, clearly willing to follow her wherever she would go. Good. That was as it should be.

Eventually they came to the house. It was surrounded by overgrown bushes and shaggy trees. It was a wonky, old thing; square and covered in wooden beams. Walking through the open front garden, they spotted a singular gravestone underneath one of the thickest trees. The Second Sun Lord approached the front door, then placed the blanketed infant on the step leading up to it. She was about to leave when the woman let out a hurried, “Wait!”

She snapped back around to catch the woman pulling a sheet of parchment from the bag slung over her shoulder, as well as a small tub of ink and a feather pen. All one handed, as she was still supporting Felix. Rolling her eyes, the Second Sun Lord took the infant from her so she could do whatever it was her guilty conscience required her to do. The woman bent down and leaned the piece of parchment against the stone step. In cursive, but legible writing, she scribbled two words, the infant’s name: Han Jisung. She slipped the piece of paper into Jisung blankets before standing up and taking Felix back, gazing down at her son with relief plastered all over her face.

Puffing air out between her lips, the Second Sun Lord strode off once more. They still needed to make their way out of the forest and back to the palace. She figured they better get going quick while Jisung was still asleep. She suspected that the child would start wailing again promptly. They needed to be far gone before then. The woman, with Felix, followed closely once more. Leaving the other child on the step of this secluded house, they made their way to the palace. They had a whole life ahead of them to shape – the cycle of the Sun Lords continued.

*

Jisung knew that the couple that raised him weren’t his parents. They never pretended to be. And ever since he learnt what parents were, he knew they weren’t his. For starters, they made him call them Sir and Madam, and treated him more like a servant than a child they’d taken in to raise as their own.

He knew they must have hated the early stages of his life, when he couldn’t do anything for himself. They had to deal with getting him milk, carrying him around everywhere, picking up after him. They left him alone in the corner of the house, in the furthest room, as much as possible, assuming that if they couldn’t see him, he was out of mind. Even if he cried, they’d ignore him at best, come up and scream at him at worst. Luckily, perhaps, he was so young that he could barely remember the earliest stages of his life. However, it must have installed something instinctual in him, something imbedded and interwoven in his approach to anything he faced in life. His anxieties and apprehensions around anyone, his drive to get things done as quietly as possible without attracting any attention to himself. The more he was noticed, the greater the chance of being punished.

He was separated from the rest of the world, isolated in this house in the middle of Yellow Wood. Sir and Madam didn’t like to leave the house much, and they didn’t like to send Jisung off either. They didn’t trust it. They didn’t want the eyes of the world on them. They reluctantly homeschooled him – when they had the time in between sending him off to do chores. They grew their own food in their overgrown garden, so there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for Jisung to ever have to leave. When they needed supplies that they couldn’t grow themselves, they’d send Jisung into a village a little way through Yellow Wood. They only had two rules: to keep his head down and only talk to the people they tell him to.

Jisung gets by. He follows orders as much as he could, doing everything in his power to stay on Sir and Madam’s good side. They liked to make him wait on them, clean around the house, polish all their shoes, assist Madam cooking, attend Sir at work (he was a woodcutter, good with an axe – it only made Jisung more determined to obey him). When he didn’t do a satisfactory job, he’d be slapped across the face. It stung. It made him feel like a failure. It was humiliating. It made him feel small.

When he wasn’t running errands, he was allowed to walk around the grounds. It was a miniscule getaway from everything. The forest around him was vast, a world away from the news of the bustling capital he’d overhear stories about when he visited the nearby village. Apparently, Miroh wasn’t too far out of Yellow Wood, but was the opposite direction of the house than the village was. Jisung had never been that direction. It seemed otherworldly, a universe away. So he settled for trekking in the gardens surrounding their little house. It was mostly covered by a canopy of trees, cast in shadow.

There wasn’t a lot to do, but he managed to make up his own games by himself. When he was in the village, he’d hear singers in the streets and as he passed the taverns. He got interested in the sweet melodies they’d create; the poetic way words were crafted in their heads and then out of their mouths. He listened to them as he passed, and imitated their rhythms when he was alone out in the gardens, far enough away from the house not to be overheard. If Sir or Madam heard or caught him, he couldn’t imagine how severe his punishment would be. A boy like him was meant to be seen and be helpful, not to be heard – as they liked to constantly remind him. Soon enough, however, after enough of his practise, Jisung started to compose his own little songs, stories wrapped in short verses. He jotted them down on parchment and hid them beneath his thin pillow. If they were ever found, there would be hell to pay.

In his wanderings around the gardens, in between his singing, he constantly passed the unmarked grave underneath one of the shadiest trees. It confused him. Neither Sir nor Madam ever mentioned it, but he often caught them looking at it with disdain whenever he passed it with them. They were people who didn’t often hide what displeased them, so it was odd to him that they never brought it up. But Jisung didn’t question them. He knew his place. If he had the nerve to ask them things, they would imagine that he felt like he was on their level, fit to know things they hadn’t willingly given him before.

“You’re such a burden to us,” Sir or Madam would say. “Since we found you on our doorstep with nothing but your name attached to you, we’ve had to sacrifice our own peaceful lives to raise you.”

Jisung learnt to be grateful and to accept whatever they gave him and not ask for anything more – and that included their punishments. He deserved them. He had to. Otherwise, they wouldn’t hurt him. Right?

The worst punishment happened when Sir or Madam felt like Jisung was testing their patience. To this day, Jisung doesn’t know their pattern, what constituted ‘testing their patience.’ It changed every time. They were unpredictable. Jisung supposed it was his fault for not working it out. The first time it happened, they were all sitting around the small wooden table in the kitchen, eating the porridge that Madam and Jisung had prepared that morning. They ate in silence. Jisung swallowed every bite daintily, just in case he made too much noise and was slapped – it wouldn’t have been the first time it resulted in that outcome. All was well until Sir presented Jisung with an opportunity. “Do you want to go to the sweet shop in the village today?” He was blunt, fixing hard eyes on Jisung. Madam was blinking at them, ever-so-slightly leaning forwards, as if to get a better view of what was about to go down. It put Jisung on edge. If she was focusing on what he had to say, it meant this was a test of some sort. The last time he was offered a treat – extended playtime for fixing some of Sir’s socks – Sir had raged at him after he accepted, shouting down his ear that he should never expect to be rewarded for doing the bare minimum, that he should never treat himself for living because he wasn’t worth it. This felt like another one of those tests.

Jisung hesitated. He struggled to work out what the right answer was, because declining the offer of a trip to the sweet shop equally felt like a trap – a prime way for Sir to claim that he was ungrateful for their kindness. He was stuck. He didn’t know what to do. He was only eight years old. In the end, his hesitation was the wrong answer.

“What are you waiting for? It is really that hard to answer a simple question? I always knew you were spiteful and miserable, too high and mighty to accept the pleasures we offer you. You’ve always thought you were above us.” Madam seethed, hissing at him at the end of her speech. Jisung sunk lower in his seat, heat erupting on his cheeks. He was small. He wanted to disappear.

“You know what? I’m sick of this coward.” Sir slammed his hands on the fragile table, making the contents on top of it rattle, as well as Jisung’s heart. He stood up, reaching over and twisting Jisung’s ear as he did so. Jisung shrieked, not expecting the sudden yank on his lobe. And then he was being pulled along as Sir stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall. The passages in the house were narrow and the floorboards creaked below their feet; as he was being dragged along, the passages were suffocating and ear-shattering as Sir’s footsteps pounded over them, his own stumbling to keep up. The pull on his ear was excruciating, and he couldn’t stop screaming from the pain. It must have only made Sir angrier, because he gripped tighter and walked faster. Tears sprung to Jisung’s eyes uncontrollably, and he’d never felt more pathetic. Sir would hate that he couldn’t take a simple punishment.

They stop in front of the cellar door. Jisung had never been down there. But it was always closed and dark and it terrified him. Sir shoved the door open, and it banged against the stone wall inside the cellar and ricocheted right back, swinging on its hinges as Sir fought with Jisung. “No, please, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again,” Jisung blubbered at the top of his voice. It was shrill and bounded off the walls. Pleas coated in terrified desperation.

But Sir wasn’t moved. His face was stony in anger. He wouldn’t be placated until Jisung was punished. Wordlessly, he moved his free hand to the top of Jisung’s back, and with one strong push, shoved him into the cellar. Thrown off his feet, Jisung tripped down the sharp stone stairs that descended, and he rolled down the majority of them. The edges dug into all of his joints and cut a gash on his forehead, just over his eyebrow. His vision blacked out as he tumbled down, landing in an undignified heap at the bottom. The floor at the bottom of the cellar was dusty, getting in his eyes and making him cough, his vision blur even more so that it was harder to breathe for him than it already was. His body felt like one big bruise. He ached everywhere.

He managed to peer up the stairs, where Sir lorded over him from the doorway. His silhouette was blocking the light, like a monster from the shadows crossing into the light to snatch him. Jisung whimpered despite himself, and the last image he saw of Sir was his scoff before he slammed the door shut and plunged the cellar into darkness.

The door blocked out all light from upstairs, solidly fitting against its frame. Jisung couldn’t see his own fingers even when he held them out in front of him. No matter how long he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his ability to see never improved. Swallowed completely in the pitch black, Jisung was cold and lost. He tried sitting up and bringing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and pulling himself even smaller. He still sat at the bottom of the stairs, heart hammering and skin tingling when he thought about moving deeper into the room. Anything could be lurking within. He shivered, sniffling into his arms.

He didn’t know how long he sat there – minutes felt like hours – but admittedly it couldn’t have been too long before he felt a first sharp, stinging pain down his side. Jisung yelped and sprung apart, pressing a hand over the area just above his waist which was throbbing in pain. Tears came to his eyes again, and he heaved out a sob. However, whatever was dwelling in the cellar with him had no sympathy for his cries, because two more slashes at his skin arrived not long after the first one. On the top of his arm and down the side of his thigh. He cried out in agony. Because even after the initial pain was gone, a lingering, pricking wound was left behind. Jisung pulled his fingers away from the first one eventually, then rubbed them against his thumb on that same hand. Between the two digits, liquid dripped down and smeared. It didn’t take long for Jisung to work out that it must have been blood. He couldn’t see anything in this room, but he was no stranger to bleeding.

After the first one had made the initial attack, it seemed to call all of its friends to come and get a piece of Jisung. He was helpless to stop them, alone and unanchored in the dark, unable to gauge what was hurting him and where they would come from. They descended on him, slashing at him, nipping at him, leaving bloodied wounds behind. He screamed out, begging for Sir or Madam to come at let him out. But it was in vain. He had to endure the consistent attacks that not even curling up could prevent. They injured whatever part of his skin that they could see, ripping at his clothes to get at the parts they couldn’t. Jisung’s throat ached from shouting, so eventually he had to leave it raw.

He didn’t stop crying throughout the ordeal. He had no idea how long it lasted. All he knew is that by the time that the cellar door was pried open again, he was on the verge of passing out. When Sir ordered him to stop being lazy and get up, threatening to close the door and leave him down there if he didn’t move right away, Jisung gathered all of his strength and sprung to his feet. He raced up the stairs on shaky legs, darting under Sir’s arm to burst out of the cellar. He leant against the wall in the hallway, heaving deep breaths and shaking. Just after that short burst of movement, and everything was catching up with him. Exhaustion clung to his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed.

Sir shut the door to the cellar then turned to look down at Jisung with a grimace. “Go clean yourself up. And then meet me down here. You’re helping me chop wood today.”

Jisung waited until Sir was out of earshot to let out another sob, catching it in the hands he slapped over his mouth. Everything hurt, and he still wasn’t done for the day. He trembled as he made his way upstairs. He caught himself in the mirror hanging up on the landing and had to grind to a halt in horror. The reflection that greeted him was a stranger. Every part of visible skin had been scratched up, and parts of his clothing was torn so that scratches could accumulate below hidden skin as well. On top of the jagged red lines, bite marks were dispersed between them. Blood was drying on his skin and matted into his hair. He’d have to pour water over himself to get it all out. His eyes were sunken and rimmed red, and even he could make out the haunted expression on his face. He spun away from the mirror as quickly as he could, nausea churning in his stomach. He rushed into his room to make himself presentable for the rest of the day.

After that first time, his visits to the cellar became more frequent. If Sir or Madam deemed his offence worthy of it, he’d be dragged towards it and thrown down the stairs once more. He’d sit in the dark and wait to be devoured by the creatures that Sir and Madam kept in their cellar. Offences worthy of the cellar could be anything from making a mistake chopping wood or in the kitchen to answering a question in the wrong tone or register. Like all the other punishments, Jisung couldn’t work out the formula; he didn’t know how to avoid making the mistakes that lead to being thrown in the cellar.

One time he was thrown back down. He’d done something or other wrong and Madam had scratched her nails over his neck before dragging him over to the door and chucked him down. The door was slammed shut as usual and the cellar was plunged into darkness. Instantly, he flinched. His chest heaved and his hands began to shake. Tears were welling up in his eyes, and if he could see anything in the darkness, it would have obstructed his vision anyway. Lump in his throat, Jisung was on the edge of a sob when the first scratch tore into his back, right in the middle, over his spine. Arching his back, screaming out in pain, Jisung collapsed onto his side on the floor. As more attacks came, he writhed on the floor and let the tears stain his cheeks. Blood ran over his skin, which sung out in agony. With sharp slices coming from unknown directions, all at once and changing constantly, Jisung’s head fogged up and dislodged itself. It throbbed, overwhelmed.

Coughing his sobs out in between the needle-like pricks over his body, Jisung brought his arms up to try and shield his head and face. He pulled his body tighter, wincing as the ache began to sink in. His body became alight again when the back of his hand was bitten into, the razor teeth of whatever it was rooting firmly into the skin and refusing to let go. Burrowing in further, its iron grip on his hand pulled a shriek from the lips of its victim. Jisung shot up into a sitting position, shoving his arms out in front of him, trying to shake the offender off his hand. He flung it off eventually, vaguely hearing the form splat on the ground below. But his attention was stolen by the ball of flashing light that erupted from his palm at the same time.

Jisung gasped. The light was swirling together, glistening in its flame-like entrails. It floated in the air for a bit, hovering but bobbing slightly, before sinking until it was just above the ground. Jisung blinked at it, whole body tingling – and he was sure that it was more than just the wounds from the cellar creatures. And with this light now in the room, stretching to illuminate every corner, Jisung could finally see his sometime-prison.

First he marked the dusty stone floor, which he recognised from his tumbles down into the cellar while he still had the light from the open door above to enlighten him. Next, he spotted the small, skittish creature a couple of feet away from him. He recognised it instantly. One of the myriads of creatures that harmed him when he was down here. The source of the worst injuries Jisung has received in his life. It looked like a hairless rat, two front teeth protruding under its snout and ending in the sharpest point Jisung had ever seen. Its skin wrinkled, and it had pink claws just as sharp as its teeth. However, it was cowering away from the light, making a noise between squeaking and clicking. It buried its face into its shoulder, stumbling away from the ball of light nearby. Jisung watched in stunned silence as its cries got louder, then it seemed unable to take it anymore, and finally jolted itself into action. Finding its legs, it scampered off to the corner of the room where the light wasn’t as strong as the surrounding area around the ball. When Jisung’s face turned, he was met with what might have been about a hundred more. All of them were pressed up against the walls, making that same pained noise as the one Jisung had flung off his hand. They were retreating from the light, it irritated them.

Jisung was still shaking. Many things consumed his body: pain, anxiousness, confusion, relief. He didn’t know how it happened, but that light has saved him from any more pain. Slowly, moving bit by bit as not to aggravate his wounds with sudden movements, Jisung sat up properly with his legs crossed underneath him. He inhaled slowly, calming his racing nerves. He sat with the pained noises of the creatures hammering in his brain, but at least he wasn’t being hurt anymore.

For the rest of the time he was stuck in there, Jisung waited, unmoving. He feared that if he did, the light would go out. He didn’t know how he knew, but he sensed that he was the one making it. And until the door to the cellar was unlocked once more, the ball of light blazed bright. The sound of the metal lock clicking startled Jisung, and he extinguished the light before the figure upstairs could notice it. Luckily, the hallway’s light from above deterred the creatures from coming anywhere near him after that. He stiffly pulled himself to his feet and escaped the cellar to Madam’s stern expression. The cycle continued, but now Jisung had a secret weapon.

The next time he was punished by being thrown in the cellar, he managed to create the entity of light again, which sone like the sunlight on a summer morning. He took the time he was locked down in the cellar to practise, quickly discovering more about himself and what he could do. He learned how to block out the shrieks of the cellar creatures. Just like when he was learning to sing and write, he poured all of his devotion and concentration into his study that nothing could tear him away. The same door that blocked out all the light from upstairs kept his own light down here secret, so Sir and Madam were none the wiser about his ability. He mastered how to create and take it away undisturbed and undiscovered. He got down on his knees and placed his forehead on the ground in a deep bow, thanking the Sun for his power.

The first time Sir and Madam recalled him from the cellar without any injuries, they were notably confused and enraged, beating him to make up for it. When that kept happening, they began getting angrier and angrier with him more often. The cellar punishment didn’t have the same emphasis without the wounds from the creatures, so they resorted to beatings for his worst offences, which the cellar used to represent. They still pushed him down to the cellar for some punishments, since they assumed that locking him down in the dark was efficient enough even without the additional attacks. He kept his ability to himself, close to his chest at the bottom of the cellar. It kept him occupied, distracting him from his other plights for the hours he was down there.

When he was sixteen, he was out in the nearby village running errands. It involved collecting some supplies from the bustling market. He was passing a stall selling some grubs for feeding birds when he overheard a conversation that made him freeze in his tracks, almost dropping his basket. “Did you hear about that man that found a bunch of Shadow Dwellers in his cellar the other day?”

“Oh, yes. I thought we’d finally rid the village of those beasts.”

“What are Shadow Dwellers?”

“Oh, there was a huge scandal about them some years ago. You must be too young to remember. They’re these hairless rat creatures, who are terrified of light. They survive in damp, dark places and can go years without eating. But when they find human flesh at their disposal, their primal need to attack and feast off it takes control. They are naturally aggressive; nothing can placate them.”

“What was that scandal from years ago, then?”

“Oh, that! There was this couple that was acquiring them through illicit means, creating a collection if you will. This was despite the fact that they are illegal to own, especially if you’re going to use them against another person. And that was just what these evil people did. They used their Shadow Dwellers to torture their son. Poor boy turned up looking beaten and bruised everywhere he went. Of course we didn’t know how he was getting injured at the time, but eventually someone with Shadow Dweller wounds came to the village and we instantly recognised the pattern of his injuries. The old couple must have caught wind that they’d been exposed, because they stopped turning up in the village. And as we were compiling evidence about their abuse, they must have fled. We only noticed when the village council turned up at their abandoned house. No Shadow Dwellers were in sight, so they must have taken them with them. But unfortunately, they did find the body of their son in the cellar. The Shadow Dwellers – and his parents - had finally gotten around to killing him before they fled. Monsters.”

The group at the stall gossiped a bit more, but Jisung couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears. He shook and struggled to breathe, everything around him becoming blurry as he ran away from the market, darting behind one of the walls that contained the market square. He sunk to the floor and closed his eyes, burying his face in his knees.

It didn’t take a lot to make the connection from the couple that killed their son and owned the Shadow Dwellers to Sir and Madam. Too many facts lined up. They hadn’t ended up running far, but clearly far enough that the people from the village hadn’t found them yet. He deduced that the unmarked gravestone in the garden was a reminder of their son. And because Jisung knew them, he deduced that the grave couldn’t have been a tribute to him, but a trophy of what they had accomplished – a result of their precious Shadow Dwellers’ achievement. Jisung wondered just how long he had. In his mind, it wasn’t a matter of if they killed him, but when. He felt time around him ticking away.

Jisung made his decision right then and there. He had to get out. The news inspired the possibility that he could escape. He packed a bag of all of his essentials, which he secretly grabbed the next time Sir and Madam sent him out to the village for errands. What they didn’t know, however, was that this time, he wasn’t coming back.

Before the left, he wrote the story about the couple with the Shadow Dwellers and their son on a piece of parchment, followed by directions to their house from the village. He hurried to the village and posted the parchment through the letterbox for the council house, praying that someone would find it and take it seriously. After that, not wanting to stick around in the place that gave him so many bad memories, he went back the way he came, passing the house and walking off in the other direction. Clutching his bag, nothing but desperation and hope in place, he made his journey to Miroh.

He lived off the little food he packed, rationing accordingly. And when he reached the city, the first doubts about his plan set in. Miroh was massive. Streets wound against each other, filled with people packed together, hurrying about, determined to get their business done. The outside of the city was mostly rows and rows of small coves of houses, where people were more spread out and the surrounding chatter was mostly joyful. As he travelled further in, however, the buildings got taller and more expensive. There were more communal housing or shops, constantly bursting with people coming in or out. The streets around were more packed by people moving around each other and the horse-drawn carriages that ploughed over the cobblestones without consideration for those on foot below. Jisung didn’t know where to go or what to do. Talking to people was terrifying; he’d never had an extended conversation with anyone other than Sir or Madam before. Just pleasantries when he was buying supplies. He was out of his depth with nowhere else to go.

He eventually plucked up enough courage to ask a street-seller if there were any shelters nearby. He followed her directions to the district hall for that part of the city. It was a square building made up of one room; airy and cold; it was where people could be sheltered for the night if they had nowhere else to go. Jisung was questioned extensively about why he was there by the people running it, who were trying to dictate if he deserved one of their beds that night. He trembled the whole time, but they eventually decided that he wasn’t going to cause trouble – what they based this off, he didn’t know – and let him stay. The beds they promised where no more than thin, narrow mattresses on the floor, each coming with one paper-like blanket and no pillow. By that point, Jisung was exhausted and refused to care about the state of it. He had a place to rest his head. He shivered the whole night because it was so cold; he could only imagine how much worse it would be if he was out on the streets.

The next day he trekked closer to the Inner City, where Miroh was said to be more commercial. A large wall ran around the Inner City, and there was one entrance passage at each corner of it: north, east, south and west. The gates that made up these passageways had two guards stationed either side of them; they were dressed in tunics and had swords strapped to their belts. Jisung gulped when he saw them and kept his head down, refusing to let them perceive him. Outside the east gate, which was where he found himself, was a market area. When he realised the possibilities, Jisung exhaled in relief. He spent the rest of that day searching for a job, digging his nails into his palms and pushing through his nerves. After exhausting hours of talking and trying to promote himself, he landed a job at a little florist stall in the market. When his position was confirmed, he almost burst into tears.

Now that he had a job, he could apply for a room in one of the communal houses. At the end of the day, he didn’t mind where he wound up, as long as he had a roof over his head. Luckily, the woman that ran the stall directed him towards a house that had a room going. He secured the small space and had a roof to lay his head under once more. Rent was expected after he received his first wages. The room came with nothing but another thin mattress just like the one he spent his first night in Miroh on. He had a chest of draws and a pillow to go with the mattress – but no blanket this time. It would be the first thing he’d buy outside of food and rent.

He started his job the very next day. It involved a lot of organising bouquets and dealing with customers wanting to buy them. It was repetitive, but Jisung was content. For the first time, his life was stable. No one seemed to want to hit him when he made a mistake – a wild concept to him which he took a while to properly understand. He got to know the regulars as the years passed, and through gossip, got to know exactly how the city – and the wider kingdom – functioned. It was in Miroh that Jisung found out just how little Sir and Madam had told him about the world.

The Council was made up of twelve members, each blessed with the Sun’s gift, being able to produce sunlight. The were revered, chosen by the Sun to lead them. Jisung’s attention was piqued immediately. He kept mum about his own ability, surprisingly identical to the people that were meant to be running Levanter, apprehensive about how people were going to react. He learnt that the power was reincarnated in a new child when its last owner died. And while there were only eleven active members of the Council, the twelfth, the Eighth Sun Lord, was being trained and was to assume the role in a couple of years. Jisung wasn’t one of the twelve, but he still had this gift. He didn’t understand why.

Apparently, the Eighth Sun Lord gave demonstrations of his power in the main square in the Inner City every week. According to his boss, who he questioned about it when they were packing the stall up one evening, the Second Sun Lord, the Chief Advisor, had set it up so the public could come and see her protegees progress – so that they could see with their own eyes that their new Sun Lord was real. It also brought the new Lord many supporters. He was the most popular Lord on the rise that the city had ever seen. Jisung was more curious than ever.

The first time Jisung had an afternoon off that aligned with one of the Eighth Sun Lord’s demonstrations, he made it his mission to head straight there from the market. It would be the first time he would see the Inner City. Outsiders were allowed in during daylight hours, but at night, the gates were shut and locked, and the guards only let people that lived within to enter. Jisung joined the throng of people shuffling through the gate, hidden in their midst as they passed the guards. The two at the gates looked nothing but bored as they ignored the crowds entering to see the spectacle. Jisung wraps his new coat closer around his body, pulling his shoulders and elbows in to make himself seem smaller. (After he realised that most of his old clothes had holes in, he invested in some new outfits).

As soon as Jisung observes the Inner City, he wonders how he could possibly be allowed in. He was impossibly out of place. Within the Inner City were some of the largest buildings that Jisung had ever seen; they were all brick, most with multiple wings. Greenery and flower gardens were primmed out front of them, and judging from the overhanging branches in between buildings, had courtyards within the middle of them as well. Jisung mindlessly follows the crowd, legs almost numb. The main square was filling in with the audience, who were congregating around a platformed stage at the back of the square. Jisung slot himself in the middle of everything – making sure he wasn’t conspicuous but had a clear view of the stage. The crowd around him were conversing with each other, but Jisung continued to keep firmly to himself. Minorly, his fingers trembled.

When the crowd started cheering, Jisung’s eyes snapped to the stage. A young man, around his age, was being welcomed. He held his arms out, beaming and waving at the citizens who greeted him. Jisung thought the boy had a sunny disposition, and probably would have thought the same even if he didn’t know he was one of the Sun Lords. He is instantly transfixed. The young man carries himself with ease, like he was meant to be standing in front of people and presenting himself, meant to be leading and serving the people. He begins with a massive smile on his face, friendly as he interacted with the crowd. His voice was surprisingly deep, and Jisung finally found out his name when he introduced himself – Lee Felix. Jisung’s breath stuttered as he gazed at Felix, stomach tightening. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

After some mingling with the crowd from upon the stage, Felix sets out to begin his demonstration. Grinning out, raising his hands with flair, it’s almost a dance as Felix spins his arms and lines of light seemingly spill from the tips of his fingertips. The light swirls together and forms one of the balls that Jisung has become intimately familiar with. The sphere itself shoots about the stage, cheekily dancing in front of the crowd who cheer at the ordeal. No one notices Jisung’s heart stop in his chest. It was the same. It looked exactly like the light Jisung made. Wispy, pale flames shining like a vibrant flare. Felix wielded his light expertly, confidently spouting multiple balls of light at once, all dancing around each other.

It's a captivating show, and Jisung understands why the crowd were so enraptured by Felix’s display. But Jisung could only last so long before his ears start to ring. He thinks he’s in shock. He’s more confused and helpless than ever. What is going on? What does he do?

Felix’s performance stops eventually, and he says his goodbyes to the crowd. At this point, Jisung isn’t registering moving himself back out of the Inner City with the crowd. His eyes were locked on Felix for as long as possible. The other young man hops joyfully off the stage and runs into the arms of six other young men their age, most hug him or ruffle his hair. Jisung ignores the pang in his heart and loses himself in the monotony of shuffling along with the crowd, leaving the Inner City.

Over the years, he goes back to watch Felix’s performances. He watches his ability develop, watches as he becomes even more respected as a future active Sun Lord. Jisung practises using his own Sun power in the early hours of the morning, tucked away in his small, rented room. He refuses to let anyone know about his powers – at least for now. He wouldn’t know where to begin. He wouldn’t know who to trust. He contemplates catching Felix after one of his performances, but he is always surrounded by his friends, and Jisung can’t push past the wall he’s built up between them. Felix is from another world, he felt almost deadly to approach. Jisung’s days blended together as he becomes used to his routine. It was a far cry away from the violence and tumultuousness of his childhood; he appreciates the stability it brings him. He and Felix turn twenty-one around the same time, and the other young man is given more responsibilities on the Council, joining them in their meetings in the Sun Temple next to the palace. He still stops by to do his demonstrations, especially since they had become quite a big hit. The people liked witnessing the elusive power, personally viewing the gift that they were told to revere and put their trust in. Jisung can’t keep away. It was uncanny seeing his gift being handled by another person. It’s still unreal to him.

Jisung’s life was calm, fading into the shadows of Miroh. It could only be so long before the storm would hit.

*

Felix had just finished one of his performances, and something within Jisung snapped. His tension had been building for so long, accumulating every time he attended the demonstrations, that the pile could only ever last so long before it toppled over. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Felix, something longing had been clawing at his chest. Something instinctual had been pulling them together. Jisung knew that realistically, there was only so long that he could stay away. And that day, he finally crumbled. The loose pieces of him had been left to the wind, and it was blowing him in Felix’s direction.

While he got interactions with his customers and his boss, it wasn’t the same as having a lasting, intimate connection with anyone. Jisung had been alone, truly alone, for his whole life and the desire to connect was finally crushing him. Jisung was lost in the middle of Yellow Wood again, but this time, he didn’t have a vague direction to follow. He was hopeless. He didn’t have the tools to navigate the process of making the relationships he wanted. He didn’t know the first thing about going up to talk to Felix – and probably his friends, by extension.

He didn’t think he paid attention to the entire demonstration that Felix just performed. He was trying to work his mind out of the forest, trying to coax it towards plucking up the courage to approach the people he needed to after the show. His stomach was rising in his body, flutters pricked the ends of his fingertips. The noise of the crowd was a faint hum in his mind. Nerves were an old friend – the closest relationship he’s had in his life. But his determination to finally gather some answers would have to overpower them this time. When the crowd starts to move, Jisung doesn’t shuffle along with them. His throat closes up as he moves against them, dodging around them as he hobbles closer to the little group beside the stage. They have been there for each of Felix’s performances that Jisung has seen. He wouldn’t be surprised if they turned up for every single one. Cheering him on, constantly. It made his chest ache, relief and longing combined.

Each step closer to them he gets, Jisung’s tremors increase. He tries to hide them behind movement in his hands, fiddling with his fingers, but even then, they were undoubtedly present. They hit each other even when Jisung didn’t mean for them to. He cleared his throat as he went, hoping that his voice would come out alright. His whole life had been building up to this crescendo, and he was balancing on the edge of the cliff, eagerly anticipating the climax – and however it would end. Uncertainty swam in his trembles, and he couldn’t help but notice that his pace slowed down as he closed in on the group.

His approach was noted by a couple of them, whose gazes shot up to him, guarded and distrusting. It made Jisung hesitate a bit, but he pushed on until he was standing within talking distance of Felix. By this point, seven pairs of eyes landed on him. He tensed even more but swallowed down the last of his reservations. This was it. There was no backing out now.

Felix was just as stunning up close. From here, he could see that a dusting of freckles covered his face, making his whole demeanour shine even brighter. His eyebrows were quirked, thick lips dropped open in confusion. The rest of his friends were equally as beautiful, all intimidating the lowly peasant boy that had come up to them for some reason. He stuck out like a sore thumb next to them, dressed in his second-hand clothes beside their fine, velvet tunics. Felix was a Sun Lord, but all of his companions had to be nobles – there was no way they could be anything else.

“May I talk to you?” He stumbles out, timidly bowing his head in Felix’s presence.

Felix spins the rest of the way round, small smile springing to his lips. He nods his head, gentle despite the prominent confusion on his expression. “Of course,” he replies, deep voice reverberating through Jisung’s bones much more effectively up close. “Go ahead.” With his anxieties, however, Jisung’s eyes are darting around, and he doesn’t miss the way a couple of Felix’s friends have zeroed in on them. They move a little closer to Felix, crowding in on their conversation, watching keenly. Their attention is like flames burning his skin, scorching, and leaving marks behind. His head is heavy again, making everything around him rocky, blurring his thought process a little. Felix hovering patently in front of him is the only thing that spurs him into speaking again.

“I’ve been to your demonstrations a few times – I mean, over the last couple of years that I’ve lived in Miroh – and – and – it always struck me that your power – that the Sun power that all the Council have – is similar to mine. I think – well, I know – or, assume – that I have the same gift as you. And I guess I was wondering – hoping – that you might know something - or, could tell me anything.”

Jisung winced at how he tripped over his words, stuttering over most of the syllables in his speech. He cannot look Felix in the eye while he is speaking, or he might squeak like a mouse and run away. Instead, he can only register the incredulous and baffled expression Felix and his friends are wearing once he glances back over. The pointed disbelief is enough to make him sink into himself, drawing his shoulders up. He swallows again.

The two friends closest to Felix hover even closer, eyes a lot more narrowed than Felix’s shocked ones. They scrutinise him, looking him up and down and judging whatever it is they see. One of them is the tallest in the group, lean and holding himself with confident ease. He had long, dark hair and a mole beneath one of his eyes, which had mastered the judgemental scan perfectly. The other was shorter, not that much taller than Jisung himself, but bulkier. His sleeves covered his arms, but Jisung couldn’t miss the way he filled them out. His hair was slightly curly, and he had lines on his face that suggested he usually smiled a lot more than he was now. All of them were serious, on edge since Jisung had approached them. It was unusual, for sure, but did they really distrust the public that much? Jisung supposed it made sense, being around the Eighth Sun Lord and all.

“That cannot be possible,” Felix eventually scoffed out, raising his eyebrows as if challenging Jisung to explain himself.

Jisung’s cheeks burned. But he tried to salvage whatever dignity he had. “I really can. I really can make sunlight like you and the rest of the Council.” He took a step forward tentatively, hands held out in front of him like he was trying to calm a rowdy wild animal.

The rest of Felix’s friends had closed around him protectively, crowding together like they were one entity, a shield made of steel. The two either side of Felix had each put a sturdy arm in front of him, meeting in the middle so their arms made an ‘x’ over each other’s. Felix took it in his stride, barely flinching at the offered protection. Clearly, it wasn’t anything new to him. Once again, Jisung’s insides clenched in want. They were all marking him as an outsider, putting even more distance between them even though Jisung had stepped closer. He was small in front of them, helplessly diminished.

Felix doesn’t do anything more with Jisung’s reiteration, only continues to study him. His confusion remains, but he seems to see something in Jisung that makes him huff and glance over Jisung’s shoulder out at the rest of the square. He returns with his lips closed in a tight line, and Jisung flicks a look back over his shoulder to see what Felix might have seen. The square has been cleared out while they were talking, apart from some guards milling about. They were basically alone.

“Show me. Show me your magic, then.” Felix raises his own hands, holding his palm out and swiftly lighting a little ball of sunlight. Much like the first one Jisung ever made in the cellar, it flickered faintly as it hovered, swirling wisps of flame-like essence swaying in the air. “See if I can sense yours like I can sense the other Lords’. See if you can sense mine.”

Jisung was confused at first, but then he let himself relax into the moment of seeing Felix’s power up close, and he felt it. Like being covered by a warm blanket, Jisung understood the sensation of Felix’s power, wrapping around him and keeping him contained but protected. Every stitch and fibre of his power was ordered and meticulously overlapped, layers and layers of careful consideration and care. It was reliable, unflinching. Set out to protect and supply. Somehow, Jisung knew instinctively what it was. He was feeling Felix’s power, gauging its intensity and aura. His breath hitched, sharp and startled. He had never had wonder well up in his chest so much as it did just then. It was like the threads of a connection was building, tying his fate to Felix’s from that moment onwards. He was just like him, how could it not?

“I – I can – I can sense yours.”

“Hmm.” The disbelief and distain were hidden in one of Felix’s friends’ hum, and Jisung felt hot with all the eyes on him again. He had a respite when Felix ignited his power. No one could look away when Felix was displaying his power, but Jisung’s contribution to the conversation again had made them all rise their shackles. They were back on duty to guard the young Lord.

“Show me, then.” Felix nodded his encouragement, and Jisung took a deep breath.

This was the first time Jisung would be showing his power to anybody. His hands shook as he rose them, holding his palms out much like Felix had. When he noticed that Jisung was complying, Felix snapped his fists shut and extinguished the ball of light. With the floor entirely his own, Jisung gulped. But then he let go. Recalling all the safety and release his power had given him, Jisung formed a small ball identical to Felix’s – a new chapter of his experience with his power but echoing with the desperation of the first time he discovered it. The power surged over his palms, glittering like the Sun’s most hopeful beams. Several sharp gasps rose up from the group, murmurs about how this wasn’t possible everywhere between affronted and in awe.

The only person that made no sound was Felix. Unlike last time, Jisung hadn’t really taken his eyes off him. Brows furrowed, he was tentative as he raised his hands once more, nudging them closer to Jisung’s creation. Eager to please, Jisung illuminates the ball brighter, displaying everything he had. But Felix was still cautious as he held his open palms closer to the ball, breaths coming out faster and faster. Jisung was the opposite. He had been holding his since he first lit the ball. Felix gets close enough to touch the flickering light, seeming to be feasting on its energy still like Jisung had done with Felix’s, and then he recoils almost violently. Wince like a hiss, he slaps his hands back against his chest, stumbling back a few steps away from Jisung and his light. His eyes were wide and accusing as he stared back at Jisung, who was shocked to the spot.

Felix’s friends jolt closer to him, all reaching out to place a steadying head on him somewhere. The two at the front push him behind them, so he’s now standing in between their shoulders, peering out at Jisung with startled eyes behind their razor glares. Flinching away himself, Jisung puts the light out and wraps his free hands around his middle, squeezing himself as he retreats from them. He bows his head again, instinctually offering an apology – although he was still unsure what he even did wrong. After Jisung moved, the tall man with the mole under his eye steps back to wrap a hand around Felix’s shoulders, protectively pulling him close. Another, bulkier man takes his place at the front, shielding Felix from Jisung. This new man was shorter than him, but if he thought the curly-haired man’s arms strained against his sleeves, this man’s muscles were practically bulging out, so much so that Jisung was surprised they didn’t rip the fabric right off. The three closest to Felix had the same determined, stony expression on their faces, accusatory as they glared at him.

Jisung was spooked, whimpering, and trying to find Felix’s eyes in between the mess of tangled limbs that had appeared in front of him. There was still enough of a gap in between them for him to meet them, widening his own concerned and bewildered ones at him. “What – what happened? What’s wrong?” He notices how his voice is thin, on the verge of breaking, watery and threatening to burst into a cry.

A disturbed curl of Felix’s lips makes Jisung’s heart shatter even more, disgust marring his features. He opens and shuts his mouth a couple of times, working out what to say, while Jisung works on reining in his runaway emotions, composing himself so he doesn’t let out a sob then and there. A pit had settled in his stomach, like it had turned hollow and hungry.

Felix seemed to work out what he wanted to say, because he sighs at Jisung, shaking his head. “Your power. Your power’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right. Whatever you have, it’s sick and infected. Twisted. I honestly have no idea why you have your power, but it’s not like mine. I really don’t know if you should be using yours, nothing about it feels clean. It’s too stressed.”

Jisung’s heart was beating harshly against his chest, his throat closed up and the fight to refrain from crying became harder and harder by the minute. Every word Felix spoke was like he was plunging a dagger into him, hitting his body all over. His knees shook, by some miracle still holding him up. He swayed on the spot but didn’t topple over. He was stunned. He didn’t know what anything meant, and he was so lost. He was in a bigger, denser forest now – and it was pitch black. All he could do was stumble around, hands in front of him, tripping over roots. “I don’t – I don’t understand. What? How? I can’t-”

He whimpered. Pathetic and distressed, his bottom lip wobbled as water filled his eyes. He was nothing but desperate as he stared back at them, hugging himself even tighter. But instead of approaching him, offering any kind of explanation, or reassuring him that he wasn’t dangerous in any way, Felix’s friends surround him in their tightest circle yet and start moving him backwards. Before he can process it, they are a firm distance away from him, backing up and retreating, making their escape. Jisung’s breath hitches again, and his trembles increase tenfold.

“I don’t think talking to us was a good idea,” the man with the curly hair was calling back to him. It was their parting words to him, instilling his regret that he ever thought this was a good idea in the first place. How could he ever think he could be close to Felix? How could he think he was special, that he deserved a place near the Council? He was clearly a bad omen, or Felix wouldn’t have jumped away from him so fast. He was meant to be alone. He was meant to keep his ability behind closed doors.

He received warning glares from Felix’s friends as they backed away, their defences shot straight back up, extra cautious. They moved gradually, tension in their limbs. It was as if they were expecting Jisung to make a sudden, aggressive thrust towards them. Jisung couldn’t even think of it. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again. He would be a permanent statue in the square.

Felix himself was alternating between shooting him scared, apprehensive glances and disgusted grimaces as he followed them, pliantly letting them drag him away. But he didn’t look away from Jisung until the last possible minute – when they all turned to bolt back towards the palace. The man with the mole under his eye was still clinging to Felix the hardest. His glare was the most hostile, venomous in its nature. It made Jisung flinch back, screwing his eyes shut. He half-expected blows to come raining down on him. Sir and Madam always did so when they were displeased, and these men hadn’t been pleased with him from the moment he approached them. It was an otherworldly miracle that they hadn’t punished him for upsetting them throughout their conversation. In his years in Miroh, he realised that not everyone was like Sir and Madam – dishing discipline when they decided they needed to – but his core, internal instinct to flinch away just in case had never disappeared. If there was anything Jisung knew about life, it was that there was always room for more hurt.

Felix’s words were playing on a loop in his head. They still didn’t make any sense to him. Was that really what Felix felt when he felt his power? It looked exactly like Felix’s, so how could it be so drastically different? Of course, Jisung marked that the energy from Felix’s power was different to his own, what he sensed when he used his own. But his own came so naturally to him that it didn’t occur to him to think that anything was wrong with it. The words dug into his skin and burrowed deep within, like parasites looking for a feast, eating him from the inside out. His mind was overheating trying to keep them within, getting foggier from the steam that rose up because of it. Headache roaring to life, Jisung finally kickstarted himself into moving back across the square. The group of friends were gone, leaving Jisung to hurry back towards the gate out of the Inner City in shame.

Broken-hearted, Jisung travelled back to his room. Just like his state during Felix’s demonstration, he was numb to the world. He needed to be to get back in one piece, without breaking down. He was shaky on his legs; his vision was fuzzy around the edges. Somehow, he didn’t cause any collisions as he traipsed through the streets. He wasn’t paying much attention, trusting muscle memory to get him back to his room. He was keeping the tears at bay while onlookers could potentially single him out, humiliating him further. He only barely succeeded. He gasped, hissing cries back into his mouth as he raced along, chest already heaving and threatening to burst any minute.

Jisung charged up the narrow stairs of the communal house he was renting, shutting the door to his room behind him as soon as he was firmly inside. He smashed against it, sharp pains travelling over his back against the hard wood. It didn’t take him long to register the new silence in the room, disturbed only by his own deep, hurried breathing. To his ears, his breaths were already clipped, more gasps than anything. The ache across his chest matched it. He succumbed to it as he slid down his door, landing as a heap on the wooden floor. He didn’t care about the bruises the harsh fall would have undoubtedly left on his body. Physical marks couldn’t compare to the turmoil that Felix’s words had left on him. Unable to bear the exertion it took to hold himself up, Jisung laid down on his side, bringing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. A compact ball on the floor, hiding from the world, Jisung allowed the sob to finally wreck his body. It hurt. Cries tore from his throat like they were slicing parchment, ripping the smallest fibre. Despite being so very alone – he was always alone – Jisung muffled his sobs into his legs.

This was the first time he’d reached out to people for something more meaningful than a job, searching to bear something personal and precious to him. Perhaps it was his fault for going in with hopes of being welcomed with open arms. No one had ever really wanted Jisung anywhere. He was a servant to Sir and Madam, a burden to have in their house. And he had betrayed them in the end anyway – just like they had betrayed their son. The people at the market only had him there because he could work for them, that was all. None of them would care if he perished one day, faded into insignificant nothingness. They might only notice when they didn’t have anyone extra to tend to their stall on the busy days. No one wanted Jisung, especially not with all his little abnormalities. The first people he tried reaching out a hand to, misguided hope that they’d catch him and embrace him, had turned him away and looked at him like a freak.

Jisung couldn’t fathom how his ability was wrong. Whatever he was, like Felix or not, he wasn’t doing it correctly. He had this ability, but it was poisoned. He didn’t know if it just reflected who he was, whether Jisung himself was inherently incorrect. He didn’t know how to make himself palatable, didn’t know what to do so that his power wasn’t a deterrent to the only other person he’d met that could relate to it. Jisung had never been right in his life, always mismatched wherever he was. He was never what anybody wanted. He was never around people that ever wanted to claim him, that believed wholeheartedly that he fit with him. He would always be an outsider, a strange man from Yellow Wood.

For the longest time, the only thing Jisung had to protect himself from the horrors of his childhood was his power. It stopped the Shadow Dwellers, saved him from a round of hurt and potentially from death. He cherished it, he felt blessed by it. And now someone with a lot more knowledge than him about their powers was telling him that it was bad, that it didn’t fit like the rest of them. He was shattered. The condition of his power was the thing that marked him as incomplete and other and wrong. Something to keep at a distance, to avoid at all costs. He might as well steel himself for the rest of his life coated in loneliness. He had tried to be open with Felix and his friends, tried to open himself to them. It was a chance for him to alter his monotonous existence, a chance to be accepted into something bigger than himself. But he had been rejected. Just like before, he was unwanted. He still had no idea how people found others to like them, to want to be close to them. Whatever he did wasn’t right. No matter what, he would never be enough for anyone, he would never work out how to be useful for anyone. No one would ever need him, or simply want to be around him without conditions, just because he lit up their life. That was the stuff of fiction, the kind of thing he sung about in his songs. It could never be Jisung’s reality.

If the power that protected him was deficient, maybe he was never meant to be saved? Maybe it was all a fluke, a cruel game of fate? And if his ability was so twisted, what did that make him?