Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Will you halt this eclipse in me?

Sleep Token - Look to Windward

Do you feel love?
I know I don't
With no one to hold
Do you feel love, love, love?

Bad Omens - Spectre

The sun beat down on him mercilessly. Jungkook longed for autumn. The season would bathe the surroundings in gold, making his self-imposed delirium of leather gloves much easier to bear. His sunglasses, which were always perched high on his nose in public, sold much better in summer than in winter.

Nevertheless. Jungkook licked the beads of sweat from his upper lip, tasting the salty tang on his tongue. Nevertheless.

His uniform of sunglasses and leather gloves were one of the survival strategies that someone like Jungkook had to adopt. To not be too suspicious, he changed the sunglasses against a cap as soon as the warmth faded and autumn came around. The cap shielded his eyes at least a bit from any light. Jungkook could manage.

The leather gloves he wore all year round, to make sure he had no skin contact with anybody, protecting himself from unwanted sensations that could spiral him into a zone-out.

People that had been too nosy in the past he excused with a chronic inflammation at his hands, a white lie that had kept the suspicions about his whereabouts at bay so far.

The climb up the mountain was arduous, but that was one of the things Jungkook had learned: as long as there was a path to follow, even if it was a hiking trail that stretched for miles, he always preferred that to sitting in a stuffy bus with other people. He had his noise-cancelling headphones in his ears, listening to his favorite music at the lowest volume. The music rang in his ears. Jungkook hummed to the tune.

He sniffed the air, his gloved hands clutching the straps of his overstuffed backpack. At least the mountain air was pure, crisp in its clarity. More pleasant than diesel-swarmed Seoul, where he could hardly breathe.

When he passed a batten sign with the simple inscription “Research Institute for Seismic Activities” and an arrow pointing to the left, he also turned left, following the winding road. He had been told that the research institute was remote, that the village below, which he had just passed, was mostly inhabited by older generations.

His colleagues in the research seminar on supernatural phenomena in folklore had looked at him strangely when he had simply shrugged his shoulders at the information. Jungkook did not publicly admit that he preferred these remote places to the hustle and bustle of the small islands around them. He had once supervised a research project on Jeju—never again.

The tourists had made it difficult for Jungkook, and not just in terms of research.

In terms of survival.

That was always the point, at least in Jungkook's meager life, which he had built up with a lot of sacrifice, effort, and struggle. Blood, sweat and tears. The peace he bathed in was fragile. The peace that leather gloves, noise-cancelling headphones, and a pair of sunglasses afforded someone like him.

A Sentinel. Undocumented. Jungkook refused to be known by the state.

A false peace, and yet: peace.

Jungkook was protective of it, held his life in his palms, quite figuratively, every day. Being undocumented was a gamble, and the few friends he had were always in worry about his legal state. Seokjin and Hoseok said he should go register, pay a fine, maybe go to prison for a year as punishment for lying to the government.

A government he didn't trust—a government that had violated, imprisoned, used and abused people like him for decades. Human rights organizations in South Korea had only classified Sentinels and Guides as deserving basic human dignity for thirty years. Just because they claimed to want to make things right now didn't mean their objectives would stay pure in the future.

Thirty years after South Korea's Sentinel-Guide Prohibition Act fell. Jungkook had been born at the right time, a fragile time, where they still had to register and be documented at the ministry for public monitoring and control. But they were now considered as humans, not as subhumans, something other and lesser than ordinary people. They were allowed to work, to buy a house, to get insurance and to be buried in their cemeteries.

Sentinels, who were stronger than ordinary people, were often encouraged to join the military. The very same military that had taken part in causing them great suffering in the past. Most Sentinels did, as it was still difficult to get a job, since prejudice hadn't died yet.

They were even allowed to marry. Although Sentinel and Guides had something specific of their own—the bond. A bond that was unbreakable. And inevitable. At least, that's what most people said. Jungkook wanted to prove them wrong.

Jungkook had lost most of his family to the government's actions in the past, the last of them his mother, who had died from a disease five years ago that had been caused by some strange experiment she had to take part in when she was just a child. No one had come to him to apologize, no state agency covered her hospital bills. That had been Jungkook alone, underfunded as a starting PhD student, living in poverty to afford his poor Sentinel mother a death in dignity.

As he stood before the research station, his eyes scanned the area. It was small but well-maintained, with carefully tended plants blooming along the entrance. Three researchers from the geology department were currently stationed here, though two would be leaving in the coming weeks. One geologist—Park Jimin, if Jungkook recalled correctly—was a permanent resident, only traveling back to Seoul for brief periods.

Jungkook hoped that his colleague would be understanding and that his visit would not be too much of an inconvenience. The research facility rarely hosted humanities scholars as there wasn't much for them to study there, according to his faculty. Not according to Jungkook, though.

He had come to investigate the intersection of mountain spirit beliefs and the history of Sentinels and Guides, which was part of a new research project that had left his colleagues back in Seoul perplexed. As always, he was trying to decipher what had been folklore and what had been fact. As one of the few scholars specializing in Korean mythology and its entanglement with Sentinel-Guide history, he was used to being the odd one out.

Jungkook took a deep breath as he stood before the door. Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, he turned off the music. Closed his eyes behind his sunglasses. Always making sure to prepare well to meet new people, people he wasn't familiar with and therefore posed a threat. Started counting down, the way he had trained himself to do to calm down.

He heard three heartbeats in that research facility. The clinging sound of someone washing the dishes, water dropping from an old tap, a radio playing K-pop. Jungkook bit his lips. He could do this. This would be a nice stay for some research, secluded from the bustle of a big city and with not many people around. They might find him odd because of his looks, but Jungkook was past shame and embarrassment.

The bell's ring was a low sound, surprisingly pleasant to his protected ears. He heard footsteps approaching, a beating heart coming closer, the steady pulse of blood flow. As the door opened, Jungkook came face to face with a problem as big as the moon, no, Saturn.

The man before him was a Guide.

Jungkook could tell the moment warm brown eyes, framed by long lashes, met Jungkook's behind his sunglasses.

He could only hope that the Guide was, like all other ones, a bit slow on the uptake of a new Sentinel in their proximity.

"You must be the new colleague," the man said, and a smile stretched upon his reddened cheeks. Freckles. Jungkook could tell that it was hot in the facility, warm air from inside brushing his face. He nodded, taking a step towards the other man, looking down at him. The man looked up at him, a twinkle in his eye, the beginning of an unspoken challenge.

"I am Park Jimin," he said.

So he would spend months of his research stay with a Guide of all people? Jungkook was in trouble.

"Nice to meet you," Jungkook said without a tremble in his voice. He opened his clothed hand and shook Jimin's, while he bowed, his eyes scanned Jimin before him.

Jimin wore old jeans that sat low on his hips, revealing his boxers. On his feet were mismatched socks. It was hard to tell if his sweater had shrunk in the washing machine or had been cropped. In those brief seconds, Jungkook noticed that the Guide was dressed far too warmly for the season, given how heated up the house had become in the late summer.

But that wasn't his business. Jungkook looked down at his clothed hands. They both seemed to be hiding as much skin as possible. A habit of their kind, especially when they weren't bonded.

Jungkook let air escape his lungs as Jimin turned around and started gesticulating, walking inside the building, explaining to Jungkook where he could place his backpack, asking if he might want a tea (that they freshly brewed from mountain herbs after an old recipe of the village's eldest, something Jungkook might like), explaining every corner and every room of the facility and where he would be sleeping (the room next to Jimin, thank you very much, destiny).

As Jimin introduced Jungkook to their two remaining colleagues, both elderly women who were wrapping up a research project and waved at him when they passed the study, Jungkook couldn't help but notice his hands shaking with Jimin's proximity.

Jungkook stifled any kind of irritating need that bubbled up as soon as he met a Guide.

He was content to be on his own. Jungkook didn't need anyone but himself.

Life at the research institute wasn't regimented. Basically, everyone could do whatever they wanted. Byul-yi and Yongsun were early risers and had already had breakfast when Jungkook slowly padded into the large kitchen, wearing socks, long linen pants, and a long linen shirt that covered his hands when he let his arms hang down. Jungkook was still wearing gloves, this time a different pair (he had about 20 gloves that he wore alternately). These were thinner and more comfortable.

Better when he was still fresh in the morning and more prone to overstimulation. It was quiet in the house; all he could hear was Byul-yi and Yongsun talking quietly in the next room, the tapping of fingers on a keyboard, and the bubbling of the kettle, next to the humming of the equipment that was taking data of the seismic activity around them.

Jungkook had swapped his noise-cancelling headphones for simple, stylish earbuds. He often wore these alongside his ear piercings, disguising them as accessories for those who were confused about why he wore them anywhere other than at concerts or in other crowded spaces.

He took some cereal and milk, which Jimin had shown him the previous day. Jimin had told him that he could buy anything he wanted to eat down at the village store, but that he usually made sure there was always coffee, tea, cereal, and instant ramen available for everyone to help themselves to (along with spices and sauces).

At first glance, Jimin seemed very accommodating and extremely friendly. Jungkook spooned cereal into his mouth and pushed away any nice thoughts he had about Jimin. It was okay to acknowledge that his temporary housemate was a nice person, but it could turn dangerous if Jungkook developed any positive relationship with him.

Jungkook wasn't bonded, that meant he was in a permanently vulnerable state. His powers were his alone to control. Jungkook didn't have help from a Guide most often. Sometimes, when his senses got overwhelmed too much and he felt insanity hammering at his skull, he visited illegal settlements where Guides sold a few minutes of their time, touching him.

Jungkook had an issue with establishments like that. Usually, he paid them to just hold his hand for an hour.

The few incidents where he didn't wear his gloves outside of his apartment.

When Jimin entered the kitchen, Jungkook surfaced out of his brooding. The Guide was wearing long pants and long sleeves, too, despite the late summer heat that held that research facility in a tight grip.

"Good morning," Jimin said, yawning. Keeping his eyes shut, he slowly walked to the kitchen counter, blindly grabbing a mug and the heated water. With a sigh, he opened the lid of some instant coffee powder that he had just poured into the mug. Slowly, Jimin tapped on the table and sat opposite Jungkook.

Jimin blinked at him, tired eyes slowly opening. Behind his lids, warm cocoa pooled. Jungkook tried a small smile. "Good morning."

Jimin nodded, running a hand across his face, and he took the first sip of his instant coffee.

They sat in silence, each busy drinking or eating. It was not bad. Jimin didn't stare at Jungkook's gloves, didn't stare at the earplugs in his ears. He rather mindlessly scrolled through his phone, his eyes getting brighter and more awake with every sip from his mug. Jungkook blinked and stared down at his empty bowl of cereal. He shouldn't be staring instead.

"What are your plans for today?" Jimin asked, yawning.

"I will spend the day doing some maintenance on the equipment. You might have noticed that this is a rather old facility. The equipment, too, needs some tending from time to time. But if you need help figuring out where everything is—be it here or down in the village—don't hesitate to tell me. I can make space."

Jungkook pushed the empty bowl away from him. He looked at Jimin's face, now open and awake, as if that coffee in his mug had magical powers unbeknownst to Jungkook and his still leaden tiredness that befell his body constantly.

He watched Jimin rummaging around in his pants to get a blister of pink pills from his pocket. Jimin popped three into his mouth and swallowed them. A big gulp of the instant coffee made him shudder.

"Sorry," Jimin said. "One would think I'd have gotten used to taking pills to function right, but that's not the case, I fear."

Jungkook thought the worst until Jimin quieted down that doubt, adding: "IBD. Without the pills, I would spend my day locked in the toilet or in my bed, hurting. Not very academic."

Jungkook's smile became earnest. For milliseconds, he had thought that Jimin took some weird kind of medicine because he was a Guide. Wouldn't be the first to do so.

"I plan on visiting the small cultural centre I saw in the village yesterday. I think it's a good start to figure out what kind of commemoration of folklore still exists here. Maybe I'll find someone to talk to, even. I also wanted to visit the village house. They told me they have a small archive I can look through."

Jimin nodded. "That sounds like fun! I must admit, I am curious about having a humanities scholar here. Usually, the ones coming here are just interested in rocks."

Jimin grinned at him, seemingly proud of his joke about geologists. Jungkook's smile deepened, involuntarily.

The moment Jungkook set foot outside the research facility, he took a breather. Opened his hands and closed them again, dressed in another pair of gloves.

Inside, the facility was heating up due to the relentless sun shining on it. Outside of its walls, the air had already become crisp. Autumn was arriving. Jungkook gazed at the trees lining the paths before him—one leading up the mountain, the other down to the village. Some of the leaves were already turning yellow.

He heard three heartbeats in the facility, now slowly becoming familiar. Jungkook closed his eyes. He counted in the back of his mind, readying himself for another day where he would likely meet strangers in an unfamiliar location. The nature surrounding him bathed Jungkook's protected ears in serenity. He heard birds sing, leaves rustle, the beating wings. He heard predators, foxes, roaming the thicket of the forest floor.

Jungkook took a deliberate step forward, down the path to the village. The sky above was painted in light blue, few clouds ahead. It was a great day to be walking outside and to get a feeling for the village. Jungkook was looking forward to get his first clues on where to look. Tomorrow, he had planned to check out the mountain shrine, depending on the size of the archival materials he might find.

The walk to the village took around thirty minutes. Jungkook enjoyed the sounds of nature around him. In the distance, the closer he got to the place with few old houses nestled together around a center where he presumed would be the great village house as well as the cultural center, and the more sounds of car engines as well as people filtered into his ear.

He first set out to visit the cultural center. In front of the entrance sat a bored man his age. His face covered by a cap, Jungkook cleared his throat to get his attention. "Ah, sorry," said the stranger, standing up immediately.

"Are you interested in visiting the cultural center? I'm here to sell tickets for it." Jungkook nodded and pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his cloth pants. "I'm Jeon Jungkook and I'm researching folklore. How long is the cultural center open?"

The man stared at him in bewilderment. "We haven't had a scientist visit us in a long time. I'm Mingyi. We're always open on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays."

Jungkook nodded and paid the admission price in cash.

The center appeared to still be closed. Mingyi unlocked the door for Jungkook and then began to open two of the windows in the medium-sized room. Dust danced in the sunbeams that fell through the windows. Jungkook could hear how nervous Mingyi was. He just couldn't quite understand why—he was just an ordinary visitor.

"I'll wait at the entrance. Take your time looking around, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask."

Jungkook nodded gratefully, "Thank you. Do you also have an archive? Or something similar?"

Mingyi nodded enthusiastically. "You'll find a small archive across the street in the large village house, where you'll also find the register of residents and other information. We also have some archival materials here in the cultural center. I can give you access to them if you're interested."

Perfect. That sounded promising. Jungkook smiled at Mingyi which caused the other man's cheeks to flush.

"That's perfect. Thank you! I will check out the collections today but I would be happy to look at the archival material you have stored here in the coming days. I will stay for a few weeks."

The cultural center was smaller than Jungkook had expected. And emptier, too.

He stood in the room, surrounded by faded photos of village festivals and exhibitions of traditional tools, covered in dust. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence, kicking up even more dust. With no other visitors there but Jungkook, Mingyi stood alone and somewhat forlorn at the entrance, acting bored as he stared at his cell phone to give Jungkook some privacy in observing.

There was only Jungkook and the weight of the mountain, whose history pressed down on him from the posters and objects on the walls around him.

The exhibitions were as he had expected: mountain spirit worship, shamanic rituals, harvest festivals. All of it sanitized folklore that had survived because it seemed harmless. Nothing about Sentinels or Guides—of course not. That history had been buried, persecuted, and erased. That's one reason for Jungkook's fantastic academic funding record, as he was one of the few people interested in what had been erased in the last hundreds of years since the government decided to prosecute and humiliate Guides as well as Sentinels.

Jungkook's profession had trained him to read between the lines. The locations of the shrines marked on old maps. The "protective rituals" that apparently served more than to just ward off bad harvests. References to "those with special eyes" that were carefully worded to mean nothing and everything.

Fragments. Always fragments leading to a shared communal history.

His heart tightened as he looked at a photo of villagers dressed in what appeared to be traditional clothing at a mountain shrine, their faces blurred by the ravages of time. Were some of them Sentinels? Guides? Or just people who had learned to forget the knowledge of their grandparents?

His reflection cast itself into the glass display case.

White fur. Long ears. His rabbit, manifesting behind him in the mirror.

Jungkook's breath catched in his throat.

Spirit animals were psychic manifestations—extensions of a Sentinel or Guide's essence that could project themselves when their abilities reached their peak. His rabbit had been with him since his Sentinel abilities first appeared when he was a small child, a familiar presence at the edge of his consciousness. But it rarely manifested as visibly as it did now. It took extreme circumstances to draw spirit animals into the physical world: danger, life-threatening situations, the moments before a bond was formed.

Or critical instability.

Unbonded Sentinels who lost control sometimes saw their spirit animals more frequently in the days before their collapse—a desperate warning from their bodies, trying to survive without their other half.

Jungkook's rabbit hadn't shown itself in months. He had been stable. Cautious. He had felt fine this morning, walking along the forest trail.

So why now?

The rabbit's dark eyes met his in the mirror, its ears pressed flat against its head. Fearful.

And behind it, something else was moving. A shadow, too big, too dark, shapeless and utterly strange—Jungkook spun around.

The room was empty. No sight of Mingyi who he had last seen standing at the entrance. Jungkook gazed at the watch on his wrist. He had spent two hours already in that room, making notes and taking pictures with his phone.

Jungkook blinked back at the display where the old photographs hid behind glass walls. His rabbit had been gone, the dark shadow behind it as well. Jungkook ran his gloved hand along his clothed arm. Goosebumps had spread the moment his rabbit appeared, and they refused to disappear as quickly as they had come.

The damage had already been done. Jungkook's heart was beating abnormally fast, and his pulse had skyrocketed. Jungkook closed his eyes and took deep breaths in and out, trying to signal to his body that he was not in immediate danger.

Although his rabbit had appeared. Strange.

He couldn't quite shake the feeling of danger looming in the shadows of that room.

Jungkook opened his eyes and pressed his fingers into his palms. He looked around once more and decided that he had seen enough for now.

Adrenaline was still rushing through his body as he left the cultural centre and ran into Mingyi, who was sitting on a chair in front of the entrance again, his eyes tightly closed. The man in front of him was sleeping in the afternoon sun.

Jungkook decided against waking the man. Instead, he ran across to the large village house, his supernatural senses still heightened. The usually quiet village suddenly seemed loud and unnatural to him. Jungkook still tried to breathe deeply and calmly, to get his body back on track.

When he entered the archive, he was enveloped by the familiar silence that archives always had. The smell of old paper and printer's ink filled his nose and managed to calm his erratic heart at least a little.

Two ladies were sitting at the counter, looking at him curiously as he turned to them and asked if they would allow him to look through the archives and if there was any specific data on folklore and cultural practices related to the mountain. He showed them his university ID to appear more credible.

One of the ladies, who seemed a little older than the other, nodded. "Please fill out this form first. Shin will gather the archival materials you need."

He was handed a thin paper and a pen and sat down close to the reception desk to fill in his personal information. It didn't take long before Jungkook was led into a back room after handing in the form. In front of him was a long table, a lamp, and next to it some equipment for reading digitized images and newspaper articles, as well as a copier.

Jungkook sat down on a squeaky old wooden chair and looked at Shin, who had already gone to the door.

"Is it possible to view the materials over the next few days?" He looked at the mountain of materials and boxes that the lady had kindly picked out for him.

Shin smiled at him, "Of course. We don't have that many visitors anyway. Take your time, and the material will be waiting for you in this room."

Jungkook nodded gratefully and then turned around to get an overview of the mountain of paper and floppy disks. He opened his notebook and placed his phone next to it so he could take recordings if necessary.

Jungkook practically threw himself into the materials in front of him. Time dissolved, as did the excitement that had gripped him at the sight of his spirit Guide. That was the good thing about his work—it let him forget everything around him. Jungkook focused, but at the same time tried not to focus too much.

Not that he zoned-out—when a Sentinel got too focused on one sense and became trapped in that sensory input, unable to pull themselves out. Without a Guide, Jungkook could never come back from that. As an unregistered Sentinel, that could turn out to be dangerous. That's why Jungkook forced himself to look up from his material and massage his face, a way for him to disturb the sense of absolute focus.

After spending three hours looking through the archives, Jungkook decided to call it a day. His head felt heavy, and the constant fatigue gripping Jungkook's body was overwhelming. It was time to get some exercise and stimulate his senses.

Jungkook said goodbye to the women, their eyes following him until he reached the entrance door. He promised to be back the following day. As he walked through the village back to the road leading to the research facility, he passed the supermarket.

Following a sudden impulse, he entered it. It would certainly be good to get some fresh ingredients for cooking. Jimin, Byul-yi, and Yongsun didn't seem to have eaten anything other than ramen or rice with eggs in the last few days.

It would also be good to prepare rice cakes for offerings if Jungkook were to visit the shrine on the mountain in the next few days. The shop was small, the wall-high shelves filled to bursting.

Nevertheless, it was well organized. Jungkook was once again the only one moving around in the store. The village seemed sleepier than he had expected. He hardly encountered anyone outside either.

After filling the small basket he had picked up at the entrance with vegetables and fruit, he walked over to the shelf that appeared to contain baked goods. There they were, all arranged next to each other as if Jungkook weren't the only one in this place who wanted to prepare offerings for the shrine.

Jungkook gathered the ingredients methodically: sweet rice flour, red bean paste, mugwort, and dried jujubes. It was everything he needed to make traditional offering cakes for the mountain shrine.

If there was any truth to his theory—if the mountain spirit worship here concealed fragments of Sentinel and Guide history—then he needed to understand the practices from the inside. Making offerings at the shrine might reveal something the sanitized displays at the cultural centre wouldn't. Participation often uncovered what observation missed.

The shopkeeper bagged his purchases. "Making offerings?"

"For the mountain shrine," Jungkook confirmed. "I'm researching the old traditions."

Something shifted in her expression. "You're the scholar staying at the facility."

Word traveled fast in small villages. He nodded.

"Be careful up there," she said. It didn't sound like friendly advice. It sounded like a warning. Jungkook wanted to ask what she meant—careful of what, exactly?—but she'd already turned away, busying herself with restocking shelves. The conversation was over.

He left the shop with his bag of ingredients, the village's main street stretching quiet before him. A few elderly residents sat outside their homes, their conversations dying as he passed. Eyes followed him, not unkind, but watchful.

Jungkook shook his head as paranoia started to creep up his neck. The ingredients rested heavy in the back that dangled from his arm. The long clothes in the still warm autumn wind were unfortunate as he walked up the forest trail. Sweat gathered on his face.

His breathing became erratic again, quickly undoing the progress he had made when he first visited the archive. After the dim interior of the archive and the small shop, the afternoon light felt too bright, and his eyes adjusted painfully, even though he wore his sunglasses.

Jungkook could tell that his senses were spiraling—every sound was too loud and every scent was overwhelming. The buzz of cicadas scraped against his ears like nails on a chalkboard. The forest sounds that had seemed peaceful that morning had turned into a torturous cacophony. Jungkook stood still, letting his breath flow and trying to calm down.

He needed to get back to the facility. Ground himself. Breathe. He couldn't lose his sanity. He had only been there for a day. Jungkook had been excited about doing his research here.

A soft sound cut through the noise.

Jungkook looked down.

A calico cat sat at his feet, its amber eyes fixed on him with unnerving intelligence. Its tail swished once, twice. Then, it stood and padded a few steps toward the mountain path before looking back.

Waiting.

Jungkook's breath steadied slightly. A spirit animal. He recognized it immediately—the way it moved with purpose and the awareness in its gaze. Calicos were Guide manifestations. Rare ones.

Jimin's.

Jungkook knew that it must have been Jimin's. A calico cat—how fitting to the man he had only came to know yesterday. The implication of the spirit animal here, at this feet, trying to Guide him back to the facility turned his insides into liquid.

The cat meowed and continued up the path to the facility. After a moment's hesitation, Jungkook followed.

Jungkook put one foot in front of the other. His pulse was still pounding in his ears.

But he didn't have to worry about that for too long: as they walked, something strange happened. The overwhelming cacophony assaulting his senses began to subside. The cicadas became background noise. His racing heartbeat slowed down. Even his paranoid thoughts came to an end.

The cat stayed exactly three meters ahead of him, never looking back, but somehow always aware of him.

When the facility came into view, Jungkook was able to breathe normally again.

The calico cat sat at the foot of the stairs leading to the door, where Jimin waited, backlit by the late afternoon sun. Silent. Watching. Jimin's arms were crossed, and his sweater was rolled up. His pants were somehow hanging low on his hips again, exposing his boxer briefs. Jungkook couldn't avert his gaze, he took Jimin in visually for the first time, his senses trying to hold onto the image before him.

Jungkook could identify filigree black patterns on Jimin's bare arms. Tattoos.

The calico cat disappeared with a meow. Jimin didn't say a word when Jungkook approached him. He just gave him a crooked smile, nodded, and disappeared back into his lab.

Jungkook broke out in a sweat as soon as he entered his room. He was endlessly exhausted from everything that had happened to him. He would have liked to confront the other man, but he was too weak to do so.

Jungkook fell into bed fully clothed and fell asleep immediately. He dreamed of shadows, his rabbit, and the calico cat.

The moment he opened his eyes, he was assaulted by the light streaming in from the windows without curtains. Jungkook blinked the sleep from his eyes and wiped his sweaty face. His mouth tasted like cardboard. He rolled onto his stomach, groaning. He buried his face in the second pillow next to him.

His thoughts, still sleepy, ran through the events of the previous day. It seemed as if he had simply slept through the night without dinner. Jungkook blinked at the old clock on his nightstand.

He had slept for fifteen hours. It was almost eight in the morning. With another groan, Jungkook sat up. His body felt sweaty and stiff, partly because he had fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes. His gaze fell on his backpack, full of the notes he had taken yesterday.

He reached for his cell phone on the nightstand. He had several messages from Hoseok asking him how his first day had gone and what he had already found. The battery was almost dead. Jungkook skimmed through the countless pictures he had taken yesterday, especially in the cultural center. His gaze lingered on the picture of the glass wall with the old photographs, in which he had seen his spirit animal and a strange shadow yesterday. He frowned, scanning every little pixel with his eyes to see what had frightened him so much yesterday that his spirit animal had appeared without him doing anything.

Speaking of spirit animals—Jungkook remembered the calico cat Jimin had sent him yesterday to protect Jungkook from sensory overload. A Guide manifestation, Jimin's spirit animal, to pull him back from the edge when his senses had threatened to tear him apart yesterday. That's what Guide manifestations did, supposedly. Filter the noise. Ground the unguided, the unbonded.

Jungkook hadn't asked for it.

Yet, it had saved his ass. He bit his lips. Maltreated the flesh under his teeth so much that it hurt. Jungkook wiped his eyes with his hand, a loud sigh escaping his lips. He should first wash away yesterday, put on fresh clothes, and then drink a coffee.

He would meet Jimin one way or another—they lived together. He wasn't sure yet what he wanted to say to him. First, it was mandatory to truly wake, so he could sort his thoughts that got even more confusing the more he remembered of yesterday.

The dull ache in his chest ignored, Jungkook stumbled with a bunch of clothes and his towel into the bathroom. In the distance, he heard three heartbeats, the hum of the machinery in Jimin's laboratory and Jimin's voice, as he sang quietly a beautiful, lonesome tune as he did whatever geologists did when they documented seismic activities of an old mountain.

The ache in his chest spread like a curse.

He met Jimin in the small courtyard of the research facility after he had already had two coffees and rice in his stomach. Jungkook sat on the bench and went through the notes he had taken the day before. With two markers and a fine pencil, he highlighted and made meta-notes, following his own little system. Jungkook liked to work analog first and then transfer the notes neatly into digital form.

The archive materials he had been given yesterday had focused specifically on rituals and legends. Today, he had the idea of asking for additional information materials about the mountain, such as newspaper articles. So far, the information he had received was quite similar to other mountain myths and folklore. Nevertheless, there were always specific details that had something to do with the locality.

And, so far, there was nothing that mentioned or hinted at Sentinels or Guides. That was not unusual, especially considering that South Korea had very successfully eliminated them as subhumans from every history. Jungkook chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pencil when a clearing of the throat startled him.

His senses were still raw and not quite settled. Today, Jungkook tended to focus too much on one particular sense (well, the taste of the pencil between his teeth) that he became overly focused and all his other senses became dull.

Only in this way was it possible to scare or even surprise Sentinels. Not too long ago, forced focus was used to keep Sentinels daydreaming in facilities. You didn't even need drugs to keep some of them calm.

The autumn sun bathed Jimin in a halo of light. His bleached blond hair danced in the light. Jungkook could see stubble on Jimin's chin, which made him absentmindedly stroke his own chin. He should shave tomorrow before his shower.

Jimin nodded next to Jungkook. "May I sit down?"

Jungkook slid to the edge of the small bench and nodded. He closed the book with his notes and, to be on the safe side, put the pens to the side where he had left off.

Jimin sat down, keeping a careful distance between them. He held a thermos and two cups. The scent of black tea—with hints of bergamot and flowers—filled the morning air.

"Sleep well?" Jimin asked, pouring the tea without waiting for an answer. He added milk from a small container, turning the tea pale brown. He slid one cup toward Jungkook.

Jungkook accepted it, grateful to have something to do with his hands. "Fourteen hours."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it. He had collapsed into bed fully clothed and hadn't surfaced until late morning, overwhelmed by exhaustion that felt like drowning. His dreams had been strange—shadows moving at the edge of his vision, his rabbit darting through the darkness, and Jimin's calico cat watching him with those knowing amber eyes.

Jimin's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his gaze. "The mountain takes its toll."

"It was just the altitude adjustment," Jungkook said too quickly. "And the trip up here."

They sat in silence for a moment. Jungkook sipped his tea—it was perfect, the milk cutting the bitterness just right—and waited. Jimin hadn't sought him out just to share his thermos.

"About yesterday," Jimin started, his voice careful. Neutral. "On the trail."

There it was.

Jungkook's grip tightened on the cup. "Your cat found me."

"My cat helped you." Jimin wasn't looking at him; his eyes were fixed on the tree line beyond the courtyard. "You were spiraling. Sensory overload."

It wasn't a question.

Jungkook wanted to deny it. He wanted to say he'd been fine and that he would have made it back on his own. But the memory of those moments—the cicadas like knives in his skull, his racing heart drowning out his thoughts, and the creeping paranoia—was too fresh. And somehow, he knew that lying to Jimin was futile. Jimin's eyes were so observant, Jungkook felt like an open book. He despised it.

"I didn't ask for your help," Jungkook said.

"I know." Jimin's tone was maddeningly even. "You didn't have to."

"I'm not—" Jungkook stopped himself, jaw clenching. He took a breath. "I've been managing fine."

"Have you?"

The question hung between them. Jimin couldn't know that Jungkook was undocumented.

Heat crept up his neck. He'd only been here one day. One day, and he already needed to be rescued like an unbonded amateur who didn't know how to handle his own senses.

"I appreciate it," Jungkook managed, the words tasting like ash. "But I don't need a Guide."

I don't need you.

I have no soulmate.

Jungkook didn't know how it felt to be protected and he wasn't eager to experience it.

Jimin finally turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable—neither angry nor pitying. Something else. It made Jungkook's chest tighten.

"Okay," Jimin said simply.

Jungkook blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay." Jimin took a sip of his tea. "But the mountain doesn't care what you need, Jungkook. It just takes."

"What do you mean by that?" Jungkook set his cup down harder than intended. Tea sloshed against the rim.

Jimin was quiet for a moment, jaw working like he was choosing his words carefully. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Almost resigned.

"The seismic readings have been off for a while now. Every winter, they get worse." He turned the cup in his hands, watching the tea swirl. "And this place," he trailed off, shaking his head. "There's something wrong with this mountain."

The air felt thinner suddenly. Jungkook's pulse picked up. "Wrong how?"

"I don't know." Jimin's gaze drifted toward the mountain peak, barely visible through the morning haze. "That's the problem. The data doesn't make sense. The patterns are all wrong. It's like the mountain is—" He stopped himself, took a breath. "Never mind. I'm a geologist, not a shaman."

But the way he said it, the tension in his shoulders, suggested he believed more than he was willing to say.

Jungkook thought of the folklore materials in the archive. He should keep looking today, ask about more recent material.

"You think I'm in danger," Jungkook said. Not a question.

Jimin didn't deny it. He took another sip of tea, then stood, leaving his thermos on the bench between them.

"It's just—take care, okay?" The words came out rougher than before, less carefully controlled. "Don't go off the trails alone. Don't trust your senses up here. They lie."

He started to walk away, then paused at the door to the facility.

"And Jungkook?"

Jungkook looked up.

"If you see your spirit animal," Jimin's expression was unreadable. "Pay attention to where it leads you. They know things we don't."

Then he was gone, disappearing back into the facility.

Jungkook sat alone with his cooling tea from Jimin's thermos beside him. In the distance, he could hear the mountain, the nature surrounding the facility—wind through the trees, rocks settling, something that might have been birdsong or might have been something else entirely.

His hands began shaking.

The archive building greeted him with the same familiar smell he had grown so fond of during his studies, so much so that he had struggled through his doctorate. Jungkook took a deep breath. He watched as dust particles danced in the light from the LED lamps.

His senses were still raw and not entirely under his control. However, Jungkook did not feel able to simply stay in the facility. He had visited the archive for over a week now, going through the material Shin had meticulously given him. And still, he felt not entirely himself.

That made him even more restless. He was a person of action, not of overthinking. And anyway, he had been through worse phases in his life. This was a piece of cake. Jungkook greeted the ladies at the reception desk, who were once again a pair, and then made his way to the small table with the archival materials they had laid out for him.

He placed his bag next to it and carefully laid his notebook in the middle of the table.

Then he turned around to walk back to the reception desk.

"Excuse me," he said quietly. The two women had their heads down and were dating new material that was piled up on a side table.

"Yes?" said the woman with the dimples, who had also picked out the archive materials for him the day before. Shin.

"I'm also interested in more recent materials about the mountain itself, especially newspaper articles. Could you pick out everything you have from the last thirty years? It doesn't have to be today, but I would like to compare it with the older documents I have from you."

Shin furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "Okay, yes. I can do that right away."

Jungkook thanked her profusely and made his way back to the small study next door.

The folklore materials were extensive and included handwritten accounts, photocopied manuscripts, and transcriptions of oral histories. Jungkook immersed himself in the work, carefully reading each document and transferring relevant information into his notebook using his color-coded system. He used a green marker for general folklore patterns. Yellow was used for location-specific details. Red was reserved for anything that might reference Sentinels or Guides, however oblique.

There was a lot of green in his notes. Some yellow. No red yet.

There were stories of mountain spirits that demanded tribute. Tales of travelers who heard voices calling them into the mist. There were legends of a sleeping dragon beneath the peak whose dreams caused earthquakes. It was standard mountain mythology, the kind Jungkook had cataloged in a dozen other regions.

But there were details that nagged at him. The way the stories always mentioned autumn. The emphasis on isolation and being alone. There was also the recurring motif of people walking away from their companions, drawn by something they couldn't name. They vanished into the fog as if they'd never existed.

Don't trust your senses here. They lie.

Jungkook shook off Jimin's words and kept working, his pencil moving steadily across the pages of his notebook.

An hour passed. Maybe two. The light through the window shifted, and his eyes began to ache from reading the faded handwriting. He was reaching for his water bottle when footsteps approached.

Shin appeared, her arms laden with a cardboard box. She set it down on the table with a soft thud.

"Everything we have from the last thirty years," she said. "Newspaper clippings, mostly. Some police interviews. A few things are from the research facility itself."

Jungkook's pulse quickened. "Police interviews in the newspapers?"

"Standard stuff: Missing persons, search and rescue operations." Shin adjusted her glasses. "The mountain sees a lot of hikers. Not all of them come back down."

She said this so matter-of-factly. Something someone might get used to, living in a mountain village.

“How many?” Jungkook asked before he could stop himself.

Shin paused, considering. "How many didn't come back? I'd have to count. Maybe fifteen. Twenty? Over three decades." She shrugged. "It's a dangerous mountain. People underestimate it, especially in colder months."

People who walked into the fog and never came back.

Jungkook's mouth was dry. "Thank you."

After Shin left, Jungkook stared at the box for a long moment. It was just newspaper clippings. Just research materials. This was what he'd asked for.

So why did his hands hesitate before reaching inside?

The first article was dated twenty-nine years ago: "Local Man Missing After Solo Hike — Search Ongoing." The photo showed a young man, perhaps thirty years old, smiling at the camera. Jungkook carefully noted the date, name, and circumstances in his notebook. The article was brief, he'd gone up the mountain alone and never returned. The search was called off after two weeks due to heavy autumn fog and incoming storms.

The second article was titled "Researcher Disappears from Mountain Facility." A seismologist disappeared from a mountain facility. Jungkook's pencil paused over the page. He was last seen leaving the building for a walk. His coat was found three kilometers up the trail, neatly folded on a rock. He underlined "seismologist" twice in his notes.

The third entry read, "Body Recovered After Six-Month Search." Twenty-four years ago. A hiker. They found her the following spring, after the snow melted. She was miles off any marked trail and half-buried in dead leaves.

Jungkook kept reading and taking notes. His handwriting grew messier as he worked faster.

Article after article. Year after year. The names and faces changed, but the pattern remained the same: solo hikers, researchers working alone, and people who went up the mountain and never returned. Most of the bodies were never found. The few that were found were discovered far from where they should have been, in places that made no sense.

His hands were shaking again.

Then he found it: A small article from eighteen years ago, barely a paragraph. "Investigation Closed in Missing Persons Case." The article only mentioned the victim's name in passing, but there was a detail that made Jungkook's blood run cold:

"Friends reported that the victim had experienced severe sensory disturbances in the days before her disappearance."

Sensory disturbances.

Jungkook stared at the words, then slowly and carefully wrote them in his notebook. His hand was shaking so badly that the letters came out jagged. He circled them. Once. Twice. Then he drew a red line underneath.

The victim's name was unremarkable. The circumstances were identical to those of a dozen other cases. But that one phrase—

His heart hammered against his ribs.

He dug deeper into the box, scanning articles with new urgency as his notebook filled with entries. Most didn't mention it. Why would they? But, every so often, hints were buried in the text. References to "heightened sensitivity to surroundings."

There were mentions of victims who had complained about overwhelming sounds or lights. One article quoted a friend of the missing person as saying that he "hadn't been sleeping well and kept saying that everything was too loud."

Jungkook's notebook page was now covered in red. Red circles. Red underlines. Red question marks.

Twenty people over thirty years.

How many of them had been Sentinels?

The room suddenly felt too small. Too close. Jungkook pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He needed air.

The mountain doesn't care what you need. It just takes.

What did Jimin know but was too afraid to say out loud?

Jungkook ran his hand nervously over his face. He felt a little nauseous, his heart beating fast in his chest. He looked at the material he had on the old legends of the mountain, and then at the newspaper articles and police reports, which painted a far more dangerous picture. Jungkook lifted a file to his face with the words “Statistics on Mountain Visitors” written in bold marker. He should also look at this and compare it with the victims who had been lost in the fog.

The file was thicker than he had expected. It contained decades of visitor logs, permit applications, and research station occupancy records. Jungkook carefully spread out the papers, cross-referencing dates with his notebook.

At first, the numbers didn't make sense. Thousands of people visited the mountain every year: Hikers, researchers, and tourists. The missing twenty should have been statistical noise—tragic, but not unusual for such a remote peak.

But then Jungkook started breaking down the data.

Most visitors came in the spring and summer. The mountain was accessible and beautiful. The trails were clear. Out of tens of thousands of summer visitors over thirty years, only three had gone missing.

Autumn was different.

There were fewer visitors in autumn—maybe a third of the summer numbers. The weather became unpredictable. The fog rolled in. Smart hikers stayed away.

Yet, seventeen of the twenty missing persons disappeared in autumn.

Jungkook's pencil hovered over his notebook. Seventeen out of twenty. That wasn't random. It couldn't be random.

He flipped back through the newspaper articles, checking the dates more carefully. September. October. November. One in late August. Another was in early December. But most were clustered within a six-week window from mid-September through the end of October.

His stomach dropped.

He pulled out another document from the statistics file: a breakdown of research station occupancy. The facility housed a low number of scientists year-round, but the numbers fluctuated. Summer brought teams of geologists, biologists, and climate researchers.

Autumn was quiet. Usually, only two or three permanent researchers remained.

Like now. Jimin had been mostly alone with his seismographs for three years.

Jungkook's hands were shaking so badly that his handwriting was nearly illegible. He forced himself to breathe and focus. There was more here. There had to be more.

He found it in the police interviews.

Most were brief, standard missing persons documentation. But a few were more detailed, especially the recent ones. They included quotes from interviews with witnesses. There were descriptions of the victims' final days.

"Subject reported feeling watched."

"Subject complained of hearing voices in the wind."

"Experienced disorientation and paranoia in the days before disappearance."

"Friends noted that the subject had become increasingly withdrawn and agitated."

The words blurred together. Jungkook recognized every symptom. Sensory overload. It was the cascade that happened when a Sentinel's abilities spiraled out of control without proper grounding.

He thought of yesterday. The cicadas were like knives. His heartbeat drowning out thought. Paranoia crawled up his spine.

You were spiraling.

Jimin had known. He had seen it happening and sent his cat because—

Because it had happened seventeen times before. Seventeen times, if Jungkook's suspicions were correct.

Jungkook flipped to a blank page in his notebook and started making a list. Every missing person. Every detail he could find: Age, occupation, last known location, and circumstances of disappearance.

A pattern emerged like a photograph developing.

Solo travelers. There were tiny hints, buried in witness statements and police notes, of sensory disturbances and psychological deterioration. Jungkook stared at his list. His own handwriting looked foreign to him; the letters were sharp and jagged from his agitation.

Twenty people over thirty years.

Seventeen in autumn.

Most of the showed signs of sensory breakdown, according to the articles.

The archive suddenly felt suffocating. The LED lights were too bright. The dust in the air got stuck in his throat. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud and erratic. Underneath it, he could hear something else—a sound like wind through the trees. Except they were inside. There was no wind.

With unsteady hands, Jungkook gathered his materials, shoving papers back into folders and closing his notebook. He needed to leave. He needed to talk to Jimin.

The mountain doesn't let Sentinels leave.

He froze with his notebook halfway in his bag.

Jimin hadn't said that. Had he? This morning in the courtyard? What had he actually said?

The mountain doesn't care what you need or don't need. It just takes.

Jungkook's breath came short and fast. He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

"Are you all right?"

He spun around. Shin stood in the doorway, concern etched on her face.

"You look pale. Do you need water?"

Jungkook realized that he was gripping the edge of the table so much so, his gloves made a scratching sound. He forced himself to let go and breathe normally.

"I'm fine," he said. "I'm just absorbed in the research."

Shin didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "We close in an hour. Don't forget to sign out."

After she left, Jungkook stood alone among the scattered files and his pages of notes. The archive smelled like old paper and something else. Something underneath. Like the earth after rain. Like the fog on the mountain.

It was as if the mountain itself had crept inside.

Jungkook closed his eyes. Breathed through his nose. He had to get a grip, pack his things and leave for the facility, to not wander the paths in the dark. With all that he had read today, he didn't feel like wandering in weather conditions that could be dangerous. Shin, and the other woman called Yunseo, waved him goodbye as he signed out with the promise of coming back tomorrow on his lips.

The walk back to the facility was eerie that time; Jungkook couldn't shake what he had read. Couldn't stop thinking about Sentinels getting lost at the mountain. He wondered why, and what exactly caused this. The answer might hide in the archive. Tonight, he had to sit down with a steaming cup of tea and think about what he might ask Shin to add to his already high pile of documents tomorrow. It was all about making smart choices and identifying patterns.

Somehow, his whole research slowly turned into an investigation.

Jungkook was good in finding patterns of lost traces that had been hiding in old papers, printed with fading ink. Jungkook focused on his feet walking up the trail, trying to not get his senses lost in the cacophony of whatever lingered in this forest.

As he stood before the facility, there was Jimin waiting on the small bench where they both had sat together that morning. In his hands an old book, which he didn't read. His head was facing Jungkook, eyes observant. Jungkook suppressed the feeling of relief that had welled up as soon as he noticed the other man.

"Hey," Jimin said and stood up with a sigh, "how was your research today?" The Guide opened the door for him. Jungkook stepped past Jimin, his nose getting caught on the scent of laundry detergent, earth and something sweet.

"Rich," Jungkook replied, pulling his heavy boots from his feet to place them at the door, "I got lost in the archival study. I am starving, didn't eat anything after breakfast."

Jimin nodded, "I have some leftover Ramen. The pot is still steaming on the stove. Help yourself. You'll find kimchi and pickled radish in the top compartment.”

Just the thought of it made Jungkook's mouth water. Jungkook thanked him and headed straight for the kitchen. Jimin didn't stay to chat.

It wasn't until he filled his bowl with steaming ramen and grabbed various side dishes from the refrigerator that he realized Jimin had taken care of him quite sneakily. The ramen made a perfect second helping. The kimchi, pickled radish, and even nattō—which Jimin ate daily to help with his IBD —were neatly arranged on plates for someone else to dig into with chopsticks.

Jungkook sighed as he chewed.

His heart grew warm. It hurt like crazy.