Chapter Text
“Shit.”
Seonghwa cursed as his hood flew off, the wind flying through his silver strands, the only thing keeping his face covered was the black scarf around his mouth. The cold air burned his lungs with every breath, each exhale fogging in front of him as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and torchfire. His heart thundered louder than the pounding of hooves, a frantic rhythm that matched the chaos of his escape.
He was currently galloping down the street of Stormhelm town, villagers and traders hurried out of his way when they saw him on his giant white horse. Market stalls rattled as he tore past, baskets of fruit tipping, bolts of fabric snapping in the wind like battle flags. Shouts followed him, some in alarm, some in anger, some simply startled cries, as people flattened themselves against stone walls and doorframes to avoid being trampled.
The royal guards were on him, trailing a few blocks behind. He could hear the metallic jangle of their armor, the sharp bark of commands cutting through the roar of the wind. The sound chased him like a living thing, a reminder that every second he stayed in the open streets brought him closer to capture. Stormhelm’s towering buildings boxed him in, turning the road into a stone corridor, and Seonghwa leaned lower over his horse’s neck, urging the massive creature faster, knowing the city itself was becoming his greatest enemy.
He could hear the way his horse panted, from being pushed for miles. Her breath came out in harsh bursts, nostrils flaring, white foam gathering at the bit. Sweat darkened her coat beneath the saddle, muscles trembling with exhaustion even as she kept driving forward. The sound of her struggle cut deeper than the shouts of the guards ever could.
He patted her, “just a little more.” His voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but his hand was steady against her neck, a silent promise that he wasn’t asking for this without reason. Guilt and urgency twisted together in his chest as he leaned closer, trying to give her what little shelter his body could offer.
He knew they moved faster through the forest, the uneven ground and narrow paths favoring those who knew how to ride them. The trees would swallow the sound of hooves, break up their trail, turn pursuit into guesswork. The knights had no chance here if they didn't know what was hiding.
He sped up, swinging around trees, dugging under branches. Leaves and twigs lashed at his cloak, snagging and tearing at the fabric as the forest fought to slow him. The massive horse maneuvered with surprising agility, shoulders brushing bark, hooves narrowly missing exposed roots. Every sharp turn sent a jolt up Seonghwa’s spine, but he didn’t dare ease up, fear riding him as hard as he rode her.
The branches grew lower, thicker, forcing him to flatten against the saddle, ducking just in time as limbs whipped past where his head had been moments before. Bark scraped, needles scattered, and the air grew damp and heavy with the scent of moss and crushed greenery. The world narrowed to the pounding of hooves, the snap of wood, and the burning in his thighs.
Until they were on the other side of the tight forest, light flashed in his face, giving his hair a pale shimmer. The sudden brightness was blinding after the shadows, sunlight spilling over him in a wash of gold and white. For a heartbeat, everything felt unreal, too quiet, too open. His silver strands catching the light like a signal flare he couldn’t afford.
From what he could tell, he had brushed the guards off, for now. The forest behind him stood still, no armor glinting between the trees, no shouted commands carrying on the wind. His chest heaved as he finally allowed the horse to slow by the smallest fraction, every nerve still screaming for him to keep moving. He knew better than to believe it was over, but for now, the silence felt like victory.
He skimmed the land ahead, searching for a familiar, old barn. His eyes scanned every rise and dip in the terrain, every dark shape on the horizon, hoping for the crooked outline he had memorized long ago. The open fields offered nowhere to hide, the wide sky making him feel exposed, as if Stormhelm’s eyes could still be on him even this far out.
As he rode further it came to view, and he pushed his girl a little more. The barn stood weathered and leaning, its roof uneven, wood darkened by years of wind and rain. Relief hit him so hard it nearly made him dizzy. He leaned forward, murmuring encouragement under his breath, heels pressing gently into her sides despite the tremble in her muscles.
Just a little farther. Just one last stretch.
He reached the broken gates, and sped down, jumping off his horse. The impact jarred his legs, but he barely felt it, adrenaline still flooding his system. He let go of the reins letting her follow him inside the old barn doors, inside shelter. Dust stirred around them as the doors creaked, the familiar smell of hay and old wood wrapping around him like a long-forgotten comfort.
"We're back!” he called out, his voice echoing softly against the wooden beams, half relief and half habit. He led his mare inside her stable, reaching into a bucket that sat at the floor, taking a carrot to feed her. She accepted it eagerly, lips brushing his fingers, and for a moment the world narrowed to something simple and real. He caressed her slightly, “good girl.” His touch lingered, grounding him, a quiet thank-you for carrying him through another escape.
Just then someone cleared their throat behind him, the sound sharp in the stillness. Seonghwa turned around to see an angry Wooyoung standing with his arms crossed. His posture alone said everything, worry, frustration, and fear tangled together behind a hard expression.
“Hello to you too,” Seonghwa tried to be funny, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Did you get chased again?” Wooyoung asked, his tone flat, like he already knew the answer.
And Seonghwa shrugged, “No,” the lie slipped out easily, too easily.
Wooyoung scoffed, “Well your horse here, looks like it just ran five marathons.” His gaze flicked to the mare’s heaving sides, to the sweat darkening her coat, evidence Seonghwa couldn’t erase.
Seonghwa kept feeding her carrots, "I don't know what you’re talking about.” He focused on the simple motion, anything to avoid Wooyoung’s eyes.
Wooyoung scoffed, uncrossing his arms, moving closer to where he was standing a few feet away. The space between them felt heavier than it should have. “Look, I don't care what you're doing, but I don't wanna be moving again, because you can't stay out of trouble.” His voice dropped, rougher now, the anger giving way to something more raw.
Wooyoung paused, “I don't want you to end up being killed trying to act like the legend you've been titled.” The words hung in the air, heavier than any accusation.
Seonghwa froze for a second, and the barn suddenly became too quiet. He tried to laugh it off, “You know I got that title for a reason,” but even to his own ears it sounded thin.
He knew wooyoung was right, he couldn't keep acting reckless, Wooyoung was all he had, and the other way around. They needed each other, and relied on each other. The truth sat heavy in his chest, unspoken but painfully clear.
“Do you think they'll be back?” Wooyoung questioned, softer now, the edge dulled by fear.
He knew they would be back. They always were. Him and Wooyoung had always been moving a lot, everybody wanted to get a hold of ‘The black light’ as they called him, the legend on his pale white horse. The name followed him like a shadow, turning every good deed into a target on his back.
He was no legend. Just a man trying to protect those the crown ignored, even if it meant standing against those who never learned what it meant to treat others like human beings. The reality was never as clean as the stories made it sound.
“Dont they always.” he sighed. The words carried more than resignation, they carried the weight of a life that never truly slowed, no matter how badly he wished it could.
Wooyoung moved up beside him, slowly removing the reins and saddle, the familiar motions practiced and gentle. Leather creaked softly as he set the tack aside, then went searching through the clutter until he found a brush, stepping back to help brush her off. The rhythmic strokes were careful, almost apologetic, as if he was trying to make up for the way she’d been pushed.
“Why don't you give her a proper name.” Wooyoung blurted out, the comment sudden, almost too casual for how tense things had been.
Seonghwa turned to him confused, “What do you mean?” he said slightly offended, brows knitting together.
“Eclipse is not a name meant for horses.” Wooyoung stated, brushing along her flank, his tone firm but not cruel.
“Who says that,” he spat back, more defensive than he meant to be, hand tightening briefly on the bucket before he forced himself to relax.
Wooyoung sighed, “Besides, you call her your girl, all the time.” He struggled to reach the back of her and up her neck, stretching on his toes, the brush barely grazing the higher spots. The small, awkward effort almost made the moment lighter.
“I can't see the problem in that,” Seonghwa replied, softer now, a hint of stubborn affection in his voice as he glanced at the mare. “She is my girl, what's wrong with reminding her.”
Wooyoung grimaced, throwing the brush back into the clutter, he was given up trying to reach up there. Dust puffed up as it landed, the small burst matching his frustration. He brushed off his hands, “I actually had this thing I needed to talk to you about.” His tone shifted, lighter on the surface, but carrying something heavier underneath.
Seonghwa finished giving Eclipse the last carrot, when he turned his attention fully on the male in front of him, setting the empty bucket aside.
"Should I be scared?” he asked, trying to keep it playful.
Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but Seonghwa could feel the slight hesitation in him, the pause before he spoke again giving him away.
“The prince is hosting this ball in a few days,” he paused, choosing his words, “And I happened to get invited.”
The prince? Since when did Wooyoung have an interest in the prince? The thought flickered through Seonghwa’s mind, sharp with suspicion and confusion.
Seonghwa could tell where this was going and he shook his head, “No Wooyoung, you know how much of a risk that is.” His voice hardened, the memory of too many close calls sitting just beneath the surface.
Wooyoung shrugged his shoulders, trying to make it sound smaller than it was. “Its a masquerade ball,” he said, like that explained everything.
That only made Seonghwa more confused. Wooyoung noticed this and internally face palmed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It's a ball where you wear masks, nobody will see your face.” His patience was thin, but his determination was clear.
It wasn’t because Seonghwa didn’t know what a masquerade ball was, he had attended a few before. Smaller affairs, held in the estates of lesser nobles or wealthy merchants, where masks were more for indulgence than necessity, and no one looked too closely at who stood behind them.
But this was different.
A royal ball was not simply a celebration – it was a stage. Every movement observed, every face remembered. And Seonghwa was no longer someone who could disappear into the crowd unnoticed.
Which was exactly why Wooyoung’s insistence on attending made no sense. The idea of him willingly stepping into royal territory didn’t sit right.
“Since when do you wanna attend royal balls?” Seonghwa asked, suspicion and concern threading through his voice.
Another thought hit him, sharp and unwelcome. “How did you get invited?” The question came out more pointed than he meant it to, suspicion slipping through his usual control.
Wooyoung paused slightly, looking more suspicious than before. His eyes flicked away for just a second too long, his jaw tightening. The silence that followed said more than any answer could.
Seonghwa let out a long exhale, running a hand over his face, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Wooyoung, I don't care what your reasons are, I can't risk anything happening.” His voice was firm now, not angry, but weighted with everything they’d already survived. Every close call, every narrow escape, every night spent wondering if the next mistake would be the last.
“Don’t tell me this is about someone,” Seonghwa meant it half-jokingly – trying to lighten the mood, but Wooyoung’s guilt turned even more shameful. His shoulders sagged just a fraction, the reaction small but unmistakable.
Seonghwa turned frustrated, the edge in his voice sharper now. “Serously? you wanna attend a ball all of the sudden cause you been fucking around with some royal?”
The words came out harsher than he meant, driven by fear more than anger. The idea of Wooyoung being tied to royal affairs, of him being pulled into that dangerous world, made Seonghwa’s chest tighten. It wasn’t just about the ball anymore. It was about losing the one person who had always been at his side.
“Do you have any idea what this could do to us?”
Wooyoung turned his head away, jaw tightening. He was tired of hearing all this talk about safety, tired of living like every choice had to be measured against fear. The barn suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in with all the rules and warnings that had shaped their lives.
“I know,” Wooyoung said quietly, then louder, frustration breaking through. “I know the risks, Seonghwa. I’m not stupid.” He finally turned back, eyes sharp but tired. “But we can’t keep living like ghosts. Hiding, running, moving every time someone gets too close. It’s exhausting.”
Seonghwa dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before stopping again. Wooyoung continued, “It might actually be good for us. To get out once in a while. To be normal for a night. No running, no swords, no guards on our backs. Just… people.” The word sounded strange in his ears, like something he barely remembered how to be.
“I’m tired of staying hidden away,” Wooyoung admitted, softer now. “Tired of pretending we don’t exist.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. The fight drained out of him slowly, replaced by something heavier. He leaned back against a stall door, crossing his arms, staring at the floor for a long moment. He hated how much he understood. Hated how part of him wanted the same thing.
“Maybe…” he started, then stopped, exhaling. “Maybe one night wouldn’t kill us.” The words felt dangerous, but also strangely relieving. He looked up at Wooyoung, a reluctant half-smile tugging at his mouth.
Then reality hit him, and he gestured vaguely at himself, dusty clothes, worn boots, travel-stained cloak. “But what the hell are we even gonna wear?” he scoffed. “I can’t attend in this.” The idea of him, the so-called Black light, walking into a royal masquerade dressed like a runaway mercenary was almost laughable. Wooyoung smiled mischievously, “Dont worry i got that fixed to.”
Of course he did.