Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

:: MAP OF THE KINGDOMS ::

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🐉

:: PROLOGUE ::

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The stars are a playground for the mighty dragon, its fire a supernova mosaic, its wings a light breeze from the mountains—or so the saying goes in Yongjeoju. 

Along the uneven cobblestone footpaths, a rhythmic thwick, thwick, thwick echoed against the outer walls of villagers’ homes, the sound of an object repeatedly swiping and tapping over the cracks between the stones. Most of the streetlights had begun to illuminate the narrow road as twilight fell, the usual ambiance of Eastern Hwaa Village in the kingdom of Yongjeoju beginning to shift to welcome in an evening of celebration, but there were footsteps headed in the opposite direction of most people. The Lunar New Year festivities had been carrying on all day long as people greeted the Year of the Pig, and a bevy of sixteen-year-old villagers had been given polarizing news—good or bad, as was custom for citizens of Yongjeoju. Cheers and tears would embellish the nighttime fireworks and musical selections.

“Where are you going, boy?”

“Who’s that?” sixteen-year-old Jeon Jeongguk asked in curiosity, slowing his steps only slightly. He knew he was late and that there was a high chance of being turned away at the door, so he was hesitant to run the risk of stopping now when he had found a good pace. 

“Hyungseop,” the voice replied. Kim Hyungseop. Nosy seventy-year-old blacksmith who no longer blacksmithed and instead resorted to drinking while waltzing around dangerous metals and fire.

“Hyungseop, I’m in a hurry. Can’t talk,” Jeongguk insisted, pushing forward on his journey uphill. He heard Hyungseop let out a mix of a snort and a huff, followed by a hiccup. Too much moonshine.

“Celebration’s the other way, you fool,” Hyungseop scoffed, but Jeongguk kept his back turned, nearly tripping over a flowerbed but finding his footing as he continued up the winding cobblestone path. If he didn’t make it to the soothsayer by the time the sun dipped below the horizon line of the Jamjali Sea, his one chance would crumble to ash and slip through his fingers.

When you reach the fork in the road, choose the lane on the left and count seven front doors. She’s the eighth. Those were the instructions that Jeongguk’s older and wiser best friend Hoseok had given him, because three years ago, Hoseok had been to see the soothsayer, where he had afterward spent his Lunar New Year celebrating with cheers from the good news. Blessed and marked by the soothsayer as a dragon rider, Hoseok had immediately enrolled in the Rider Training Program at Eastern Hwaa Academy instead of taking a traditional vocational path or a path of higher education like most others did. And when he came of age next year, he’d get the chance to throw himself into a myriad of near-death situations to tame one of the dragons that dwelled in the Balam Range of the Bomul Mountains. 

Jeongguk wanted that for himself.

Carefully, Jeongguk counted the openings in the footpath on his left— one, two, three, all the way until he found what he hoped was the eighth footpath. Hearing his own heartbeat in his ears, he turned onto the even narrower footpath. Tap, tap, tap, tap. With great care, he used the long cane that he had gripped in his right hand to feel the footpath so that he didn’t trip over anything, repeating the motion until he felt a small step.

“Please let me in,” he murmured to himself, reaching out his right hand to feel for the door. Once he was sure that there was a door to knock on, he used the grip of his cane and rapped it against the wooden surface three times.

“Announce your purpose,” a woman’s voice croaked, muffled beyond the door.

“I’m—I’m here for a rider reading,” Jeongguk declared after clearing his voice of the nervous lilt. Heavy silence followed, the quiet of contemplation, to a point where Jeongguk almost knocked again to make sure that he had her attention. But then he heard hollow footsteps, and the wooden door creaked open.

“It’s nearly sunset, boy. Come in, come in, my heavens. You’ve made it by the skin of your teeth,” she said with a warm, amused chuckle, opening the door further. “Come in—now, wait just a moment.”

Jeongguk teetered, one foot already up the front step as he steadied himself using his cane. 

“Do my eyes deceive me? You’re the youngest Jeon boy,” she deduced, and Jeongguk nodded. He was immediately recognizable for a handful of reasons, but some small part of him hoped that the soothsayer recognized him only because of his striking physical resemblance to his mother. After all, his mother was the woman who oversaw and continually funded the Rider Training Program. It was in the Jeon family’s blood to tame, bond with, and ride the dragons in the Bomul Mountains.

“Yes, and I’m here for a rider reading,” Jeongguk reiterated, humbly swallowing down his impatience as he took a deep breath. “Please. If I’m not too late.”

“No, not at all. Not for you. I should have remembered,” she replied as Jeongguk stepped up into the house. As she closed the door behind him, she added, “When I did your brother’s reading two years ago, I saw you clear as day. Never mind. Doesn’t need explanation. Come this way. Give me your hand.”

With a fragile kind of trust that he usually had to apply in everyday situations such as these, Jeongguk offered his hand, and the soothsayer took it and began to lead him through the home. The only thing Jeongguk knew as he walked was that the lighting was dim, the walls were narrow, and incense was burning somewhere.

“Through the curtain. My name is Hayoung,” the soothsayer rasped. Jeongguk felt the soft fabric of a curtain brush his shoulders as Hayoung tugged his hand to show him where the backrest of the chair was. Wary, Jeongguk scooted and sat down in the wooden chair, his knee hitting the leg of a table. He began to fold up the long cane that he had so he could tuck it beneath his seat, and Hayoung muttered to herself before settling down across the table from Jeongguk.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Jeongguk apologized. “I… I didn’t know if… I debated all day whether or not I should come. But I have to know. I can’t—yeah. I need to know, even if it’s a no. I just need that closure. I’m sure it’s a pointless reading, but I wanted to—”

“No reading is pointless,” Hayoung interrupted, shifting things around on the table. “Every reading I do has purpose. Open your mind, boy, or you’ll be doomed to a life of failures and bad karma. It will be what it will be. You’re here now. Be here.”

“Okay.” Jeongguk swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong, flowery incense that was burning. He heard the sound of a match being struck, followed by the faint crackle of candles being lit.

“Hands on the table. Palms up. Elbows lifted. Posture,” Hayoung commanded, and Jeongguk did exactly as he was told, feeling a slight tremble in his hands as he set them on the table. “Oil on your palms. Might be cold.”

Jeongguk clenched his jaw to keep from flinching as he felt drops of oil land on his palms. Hayoung’s wrinkled hands slid beneath his, and she used her thumbs to roughly wipe the oil all over Jeongguk’s palms, dragging her thumb up each finger so that the oil was spread evenly. It smelled like frankincense.

“I have to ask you something,” Jeongguk blurted out, hoping that speaking wouldn’t be Hayoung’s final straw. 

“You’re going to ask if being blind and cursed from birth will ruin your reading.” Hayoung set the bottle of oil down on the table with a snort of laughter. “I don’t dabble in doubts based on self-perceived physical limitations, Jeon Jeongguk. Be quiet.”

Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, Jeongguk nodded and chose silence, as recommended to him. Everyone in the village, including Jeongguk’s own parents and siblings, had spent precious years of Jeongguk’s life encouraging him to pursue a vocation in education or textiles, easily convinced that being a dragon rider was not in the cards for him. Being born blind with the skin markings of a dark magic curse made him an easy teenager to overlook for a rider reading.

Which was exactly why Jeongguk was here in secret at the last possible minute.

“The rider reading of Jeon Jeongguk shall begin,” Hayoung stated, and the hair on the back of Jeongguk’s neck stood up. “May the spirits of our ancestors be with me as I impart my knowledge to him.”

Hayoung’s hands landed on Jeongguk’s forearms near his elbows and traveled down to his wrists. She hovered her hands over Jeongguk’s palms, and then she clapped and smacked the table, startling Jeongguk.

“We’ll begin,” she muttered, grabbing his left hand. “Your non-dominant hand. There it is, right away. The line of darkness around the base of your thumb. A mark of a soul touched by dark magic. Cursed since birth, cursed in the womb. And here—a long lifeline that’s been crossed by a line of dark energy. Destined to be tangled up with the non-human sort. Dangerous, dangerous…”

Jeongguk could feel himself swaying in anxiety, because Hayoung was speaking to herself, not to Jeongguk. She continually traced the lines of his oil-slick palms with hums that Jeongguk couldn’t discern, and then she switched to his right hand.

“Right hand. Dominant hand. Rougher skin, more worn and weathered. The hand of a blind man,” she said, and Jeongguk pursed his lips, wondering if he should start using his left hand to hold his cane every once in a while. “The same lifeline crossed by dark energy. A line that indicates your soul’s preference for using heart energy and innate instincts instead of logic. Your words betray your heart, Jeon Jeongguk. Tsk.”

Jeongguk almost smiled, but Hayoung interrupted him by bringing his hands together, palms pressed to one another as if he was clapping or praying, his fingertips facing Hayoung as she held his hands together. 

“The powers of spirit will now reveal if you are to be blessed and marked as a dragon rider,” Hayoung declared. Then, likely for Jeongguk’s sake, she added, “The lines of the palms, from left hand to right hand, must show a specific pattern when lined up. I shall reveal.”

From beyond the house, the sound of fireworks echoed through the night sky, signaling that dusk had arrived and celebrations were beginning. Hayoung abruptly opened Jeongguk’s hands to reveal his palms, pressing the edges of his pinky fingers together. Silence. Another boom of fireworks.

“The mark,” Hayoung breathed. “I’ll be damned. Spirit has shown us the way. Jeon Jeongguk, you bear the mark of a dragon rider.”

“What?” Jeongguk whispered, elbows dropping weakly onto the table as Hayoung released his hands.

“May the ash of our dragon companions from the Bomul Mountains bless you and mark the beginning of your journey,” Hayoung continued, overlooking Jeongguk’s shock. “Jeon Jeongguk of Eastern Hwaa Village, dragon rider for Yongjeoju.”

Jeongguk flinched but curled his hands into fists when he felt Hayoung’s thumb against his left temple. She dragged the thumb across the expanse of his forehead, leaving behind what had to be ash from the remnants of a dragon’s fire. He felt a tingling sensation on his skin that was probably all in his head, but nevertheless, it was strong. He would leave Hayoung’s dwelling with ash on his forehead, a clear and unmistakable mark that no one could take away from him.

“What… What do I…?”

“What do you do now?” Hayoung chuckled, patting the table. “You sit still while I cleanse you with sage, and then you go home. Or you join the celebrations, because I’m sure your family will be pleased. Asking what to do… Your mother runs the Academy, stupid boy.” She said it with affection in her tone. “I must tell you, though…”

She hesitated, and Jeongguk felt an involuntary shiver rush down his spine. He chalked it up to the oil drying coolly on his hands, but something about Hayoung’s momentary silence was unsettling. She rustled around; Jeongguk heard a match striking, and then he smelled burning sage.

“There are things that I see for your future, Jeon Jeongguk,” Hayoung warned. At least, it sounded like a warning. “The darkness of death circles over your head like a vulture. Not your own death. The essence of it. You’re a child now. But as an adult, dark energies will try to consume you. It’s all there—” She reached forward and grabbed one of his hands, the sage still swirling around him. “All there in your palms. Death… death in ways I can’t quite pinpoint. Protect yourself, Jeongguk.”

“How… How do I…?”

Hayoung released his hands. “How do you protect yourself? That… I cannot say. My visions only provide me with so much. Take your reading results and go. That is my advice for you right now. Celebrate your achievements tonight. In a few years, I’ll look up and see you in the skies.”

There was a bit more rustling, and then a damp towel was placed into Jeongguk’s hands. He quietly and obediently wiped the oil from his palms and folded the little towel, leaving it on the table in front of him as the incense continued to burn, the smell of sage dissipating. After swiping his cane up from beneath his seat and unfolding it, Jeongguk stood up while swaying, and Hayoung took his hand to guide him.

“For thirty years, I’ve done readings,” Hayoung said as she led Jeongguk to her front door. “Make no mistake, Jeongguk—you’re not special. Your reading is just like every other teenager who’s walked in here. But let me tell you something.”

She paused near the door as the floorboards creaked. Jeongguk could hear the faint sound of celebrations still carrying on down the hills near the coast, near where his family home was by the water.

“Your path to becoming a rider is going to be ugly. It will not be the birth of a swan. But if you can do something with it… you could be special,” Hayoung said. “A dragon born of cursed hellfire and rage… yes, yes. Now get out of here before the streetlights go out. Go.”

She ushered Jeongguk out the door, and once Jeongguk had his footing on the cobblestones, he paused and pressed the tip of his cane into the ground, feeling exposed with the ash mark on his forehead, wondering if people would chase after him in the darkness on his way back to the village and call him a liar. His breath was ragged as he began to slowly meander away from Hayoung’s home. To his right, down near the harbor in the distance, another burst of fireworks cracked through the night sky. The same sky that Jeongguk would soon find himself flying through on the back of a dragon once he forged a bond.

Jeon Jeongguk, cursed from birth, blind from birth.

Dragon rider for Yongjeoju.

🐉

:: CHAPTER ONE ::

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6 years later…

“Where are you going, boy?” 

“Heaven. Won’t be seeing you there.” Jeongguk pauses only briefly when he hears the familiar croak of Hyungseop’s voice. He’s been walking along this particular path through the village for almost two years now and not because it’s the most convenient route—because it’s the safest.

Minus the heckling.

“Satan lives in you, boy! Blasphemy! You—” Hiccup. “You desecrate humanity by breathing! S-Sinner! Cursed! Demon!” Hyungseop spits out in his usual drunken stupor, and Jeongguk hears the teeter of a wooden stool followed by a grunt and the hollow thwunk of a bottle hitting dirt. He smirks.

“Are you on the ground, Hyungseop?” he asks, hitching his backpack higher onto one shoulder. “That’s closer to Hell, you know. No, no, don’t bother! Won’t be seeing you!” Jeongguk calls out over Hyungseop’s stammering and cursing. Hyungseop is nearly eighty now, and maybe most of his screws are loose, but he has the “cursed” part about Jeongguk correct, though Jeongguk has always joked with the drunkard that if he was actually possessed by a demon and not just cursed, it would be far more interesting for his overall character.

The path through the winding streets of Eastern Hwaa Village is engraved into Jeongguk’s mental map. It’s uphill to the peak of the village, and Jeongguk’s home is closer to sea level; the ironically westward-bound path does lead him directly to the cobblestones that line the streets outside Eastern Hwaa Academy, but Jeongguk has spent years cutting between two communal housing units to connect with the path that leads to the Bomul Mountains. Today, he’s vowing not to step foot into the Academy until after he successfully completes the taming and bonding process with one of the dragons in the Balam Range, the vast and precarious peak of the mountains where Yongjeoju’s dragon population dwells—there are upwards of 200 dragons in one range, and currently, only 104 of them are bonded with riders.

Jeongguk has failed to bond with one eleven times. He can’t fail a twelfth time.

He can’t accept going back to Eastern Hwaa Academy as a failure again. It’s been almost two years since he enrolled in the Rider Training Program as a marked dragon rider, and he’s the only trainee from his cohort who remains fully unbonded. That’s just karma, most of his classmates sneer, and although Jeongguk is tempted to shrug at that and agree, he also refuses to believe that Hayoung misread him six years ago.

Like most of his classmates claim she did.

“You wanna walk a little slower, Jeongguk? There are a few snails that just breezed past you.”

“Shut up.” Jeongguk takes a lucky swing with his cane and whacks Kim Namjoon’s shins, and Namjoon lets out a few choice curse words. Unfortunately for him, Jeongguk kind of meant that hit, though he won’t admit it. Namjoon is three years older than Jeongguk, 25-years-old, and he has a dragon. He and Indigo bonded on Namjoon’s first attempt. It gave Jeongguk an unhealthy amount of false hope, and here he is two years later, hoping that a shin injury will make Namjoon’s riding performance sloppy, thus encouraging Indigo to singe his hair or something as retribution.

“Ow,” Namjoon says, but he still smacks his hand against Jeongguk’s bicep and offers up his own arm, so Jeongguk grips the back of Namjoon’s elbow and starts walking, their backpacks bumping together. They’re each carrying the same crucial gear that all dragon riders should have; the difference is that Namjoon actually gets use out of his. Jeongguk’s gear is virtually brand new and hardly used. He’s only used it in mock simulations and practice scenarios.

“Hyungseop slowed me down by calling me a demon,” Jeongguk laments. “Are we that far behind the rest?”

“Nah.” On Jeongguk’s other side, Jung Hoseok scuffs his heels while walking. “The last dickhead just disappeared on the trail about a minute ago. So let’s go.”

Jeongguk has known Hoseok for well over a decade now, best friends since their school days; thick as thieves, the two of them, Jeongguk even following in his friend’s footsteps to become a rider trainee once he reached the proper age. Had Hoseok not become a rider, Jeongguk is certain he would have enlisted in the Queen’s Navy, because he’s agile with a phenomenal sense of direction and a stubborn streak. A sailor’s life would have suited Hoseok, but instead, he’s hiking up the mountains on Jeongguk’s right side while his boyfriend of four years guides Jeongguk to make the trip faster.

“Yeah, the dickheads who consistently get to take their pick at the best dragons suitable for bonding because they can see and leave me with the outcast,” Jeongguk grumbles. “Which—I mean, fine. Whatever. We can be outcasts together. I’d probably do better with an oddball for a dragon, anyway. But for fuck’s sake.”

Dragon riders for Yongjeoju can go up into the Bomul Mountains at any time to train and work with their bonded dragon. Namjoon and Hoseok can choose to go at any opportune moment with permission from the Academy until they’re graduates of the rigorous program at age 28—after that, they can visit their dragons at their leisure, and they’ll be in reserve for the kingdom if war ever knocks on their door. But Jeongguk cannot do the same. The Academy’s strict regulations prevent him from climbing the Bomul Mountains unless it’s on a scheduled supervision day with the program’s current lead trainer. Today is that day, and it only comes once every two months. Jeongguk’s patience is paper thin.

“I told you last time that any of the dragons suitable for bonding could be perfect for you,” Namjoon said. “Not a bad one in the bunch.”

Hoseok hummed in agreement. “It’ll be today for sure.”

“That’s what you’ve told me the last eleven times,” Jeongguk says dully. He fights the urge to release his grip on the back of Namjoon’s elbow, but for the sake of convenience, he holds on. The trek through the Og Range to the Balam Range isn’t the most forgiving journey, and it doesn’t matter that Jeongguk has done it multiple times. The ever-changing landscape courtesy of the winds and the storms that roll through make the unpredictable paths Jeongguk’s worst nightmare as someone who’s totally blind and only has the gift of light perception at best.

“Yeah, well, I have a good feeling about today.” Hoseok lets out a little grunt, which tells Jeongguk that they’ve reached the climbing phase of the journey. “Even though the conditions aren’t ideal. Hell if I know why Naros flies well in this kind of weather. He’ll be happy.”

“I don’t think—” Jeongguk, too, lets out a little grunt as he begins to climb the winding makeshift rocky path on his own. There are no railings. Any step could be his last, but he has his cane to find each step up, and he’s studied the paths consistently. If he falls to his doom, then he earned it. “I don’t think you realize that the conditions and the weather don’t mean a damn thing to me right now.”

Namjoon, walking behind Jeongguk as Hoseok walks in front, nudges the small of Jeongguk’s back. “Yeah, right now. Wait until you’re above the first layer of clouds and you can’t breathe well and it’s windy. Then—”

“You’ll regret it,” Jeongguk says the same time Namjoon does, because he’s heard this spiel a thousand times. It’s not new. His friends answer his gripes with the same tired pep talks that he’s heard since the moment he entered the Rider Training Program. Cruising through Level 1, called Onboarding, at age twenty with top marks made Jeongguk delusional because there was no practical element. He’s been stuck at Level 2 Unbonded for well over a year now, and it would be embarrassing if not for his circumstances. Namjoon and Hoseok are both sitting pretty in Level 4 Intermediate now, freshly graduated from Level 3 Introductory.

Jeongguk hates them both.

Although “hate” is a strong word. The consuming feeling of bittersweet resentment often hangs over all of their heads when they’re together, and were Namjoon and Hoseok not unfailingly supportive, Jeongguk would have ditched them years ago. But the fact is, they’re pretty much the only two riders at the Academy who give a damn about Jeongguk and want to see him succeed. The others would prefer if Jeongguk was dead, and most days, Jeongguk wished that was an exaggeration just so he could have a semblance of a chance.

“They’ll hold off until I’m there,” Jeongguk states as they finish climbing and begin to wind up the final ascent. He finds Namjoon’s arm again seamlessly.

“If they try to start without you, you know Gayeon will reprimand them,” Hoseok says, but he clicks tongue when Jeongguk snorts gracelessly. “I know. Yay. Another target on your back. Like you’re not used to it at this point.”

Jeongguk can feel misshapen rocks beneath his boots as he climbs. Namjoon used to tug him up the final incline, but that was two years ago when it was brand new to Jeongguk. Now, he’s practically pulling Namjoon along, even though all three of them have to slow their steps to acclimate to the change in atmosphere and catch their breaths.

“Wow, look at the clouds. It’s beautiful,” Hoseok comments, and for a moment, Jeongguk feels that ordinary pang of being excluded. But Hoseok adds, “Jeongguk, if you stop and turn and look down, normally you’d see both Hwaa Villages and the Academy and the harbor, right? But because the weather is shit, there’s, like, this blanket of grey foggy clouds, so we can’t see anything. But it looks cool.”

“Doesn’t Indigo like to fly through those kinds of clouds?” Jeongguk asks with a tiny smile. Namjoon snickers.

“She loves to dive and eat the clouds and burn through them with fire because she’s still a baby,” he says fondly, and it’s true. In dragon terms, although Indigo has been alive for 50 years, she’s incredibly young by typical standards, though wise beyond her years—much like her rider. She and Namjoon are inseparable. Their bond is something Jeongguk deeply envies.

Above them, Jeongguk hears a muffled roar, followed by the unmistakable flapping of wings in the breeze. That alone cues Namjoon to smack Jeongguk’s back encouragingly so that they can reach the peak of the Balam Range and join the rest of the trainees and riders.

“Let’s go, let’s go! Hurry up!” Son Gayeon calls out to them the moment they reach the plateau. As the lead trainer for Eastern Hwaa Academy’s Rider Training Program, Gayeon is their no-nonsense, fearless leader. She’s one of the most impartial people that Jeongguk has ever had the pleasure of knowing, which is saying something, considering most people shun him or brush him to the side. Gayeon is old enough to be everyone’s grandmother, but Namjoon always talks about the way Gayeon mounts her dragon, Suki: like a rider going to war. She’s never questioned Jeongguk’s place in the program, though everyone else has, and she gives him a fair shot, even though she can be harsh sometimes. That’s all Jeongguk has ever wanted or needed.

“Sorry, we were admiring the view,” Hoseok lies, and then he perks up. “Yah! Naros! What the hell is he doing, why is he butting heads with—hey! Doofus! He’s such a fool, what is he—?”

Hoseok runs away, probably joining the other Level 4 students with their dragons off to the right. Jeongguk can’t see a single bit of it, but from what Namjoon has always described to him in the past, the peak of the mountain where the dragons dwell is massive. There are countless caves spanning upward farther than the eye can see, where only the dragons can reach by taking flight. And that’s fine—a dragon’s cave is not meant for humans. Only if a human is explicitly invited into a dragon’s cave can they survive, because the magic beyond the threshold is so powerful and consuming that most humans lose consciousness after about one minute, and death comes for them after five or six minutes.

“All my Level 2 students—come over this way,” Gayeon instructs. “There are… mm, only seven of you today. I see who’s prioritizing their training. Anyway, eleven dragons are—running won’t strengthen your bond any faster, you idiot. It’ll only turn you into ash and bones, so use your brain. Now! There are eleven dragons available and behaviorally sound for potential bonding and bond strengthening today. This way, come on. Jeongguk? Move faster, boy, we don’t have all day.”

“Knock ’em dead,” Namjoon says, nudging Jeongguk in the right direction. The initial peak of the Balam Range is a safe place for trainees and riders alike to loiter because the dragons who wander around there know that their riders are coming. Indigo and Naros are probably just off to the side waiting for Namjoon and Hoseok because, like the other dragons waiting around, they’ve been tamed. They don’t feel threatened by other humans and unless they are provoked or insulted, they won’t attack.

The unbonded dragons around the western edge of the mountain range are a different story.

“Jeongguk!”

“You don’t have to guide me,” Jeongguk immediately says.

“I know that, dummy. I’m just walking with you.” Kim Kyumi falls into step alongside Jeongguk, and Jeongguk smiles when he feels a soft nudge on his arm. Besides Namjoon and Hoseok, Kyumi is just about the only person who partially understands Jeongguk’s struggle. She’s twenty-years-old and brand new to the program, having sailed through Level 1 to settle cozily into Level 2, but she was born with phocomelia, a genetic condition in which her left arm didn’t develop in the womb. She has a left shoulder and a left upper arm, but that’s where her arm stops and rounds into the stump that she used to nudge Jeongguk.

“I’m bonding with a dragon today,” Jeongguk proclaims with as much bravado as possible, and Kyumi hums. Jeongguk measured himself against her once. The top of Kyumi’s head comes to his armpit. She’s tiny and her colossal sarcasm tends to cancel that out. She’s also in the process of strengthening her bond with Tyghim, the dragon she tamed and bonded with two months ago. If she strengthens the bond today, she’ll be able to move up into Level 3, thus leaving Jeongguk in her dust.

“Is that what the dragons told you?” she asks. “Are you a shifter, Jeongguk? Is that your secret? Can you chat with them and confirm the upcoming bond?”

“If I could chat with them, I would have killed about five or six of my classmates by now,” Jeongguk replies, and Kyumi giggles, slowing her pace and using her foot to kick Jeongguk’s cane out of her path as they round the corner and wait for Gayeon’s instructions.

Jeongguk can hear them.

He can feel the vibrations underneath his boots from the heavy footsteps of the eleven unbonded dragons wandering around. He can hear the low grunts and rasping breaths that each dragon is emitting, walking towards them while knowing that one wrong move can result in a fire so hot that anything in the nearby vicinity will melt. And he can also hear the small noises, guttural in nature, that some of the dragons are making.

They’re communicating.

From dragon to dragon, telepathic communication exists, though despite centuries of studying, most experts still aren’t well-versed on the language that dragons use to communicate with one another. It’s clear that over time, most dragons in the Bomul Mountains have come to understand basic phrases of the human language to which they are exposed almost daily and pass that understanding down to other dragons, but the fact of the matter is that dragons have their own culture that humans haven’t grasped in its entirety yet. They have rituals, deeply rooted emotions, a hierarchy, rules and traditions. 

They have a king.

And it was only about 400 years ago that dragons in the Bomul Mountains began to accept human interaction instead of harnessing humanity in unspeakable ways that led to massacres. All of the dragons in Yongjeoju are fire dragons, though history has shown evidence of sea and earth dragons that are now long gone. It was touch-and-go for a century with the population of fire dragons, but along came a magnificent but disquieting ridgeback breed dragon that generation after generation has called “Azure.” 

The dragon king.

An almighty creature, Azure responds to the name he’s been given, so in Jeongguk’s mind, it’s clear that he’s accepted something from humanity. Only once in Jeongguk’s lifetime has he been in Azure’s presence from a distance, and once was quite enough. Namjoon describes Azure as “awesome,” and not in a cool way. His massive body is a weapon on its own, his scales containing sharp ridges that ward off predators, ridges that travel all the way down to his horned and spiked tail. His coloring, according to Namjoon, is a deep emerald green, but beneath some of his scales, there are clear indications of gold. His size is beyond the size of any of the dragons the Academy employs, and every dragon in the Bomul Mountains openly understands and recognizes that Azure is their king. Unforgiving, often malevolent, disinterested in human affairs and emotions, cruel and calculating, and willing to wage war for the sake of his species, Azure is something of a phantom who dictates from the shadows. Everyone knows where his cave is.

No one goes near it.

Trust between humans and dragons is fragile. Azure has made it quite clear that he allows humans to be around dragons. Nobody has the specifics on why the trust is so fragile and why Azure is the way that he is. Oral storytelling passed down from generations has always said that he had a rider once upon a time, but that the bond was forcibly broken. Not a single soul knows the truth, and they may never will. The only saving grace is that humans and dragons somehow coexist in a precarious peace wherein humans foolishly believe they’re in control, but it’s the dragons who have all the power.

“One at a time,” Gayeon quietly says to the group of trainees, all of whom are hovering close to her with backpacks on their backs, waiting for their turn. “Slowly. Slowly.”

Everyone signs a form at the Academy to say that they fully understand that every trip to the Balam Range could be their last. One wrong move and it’s all over, and Gayeon is not responsible for loss of life. It’s a risk they all signed up to take, and they’ve all been training day in and day out for this very opportunity. And now they’re all being thrown into a trial by fire, both figuratively and literally.

“If any of you fucking go near Simaj, I’ll kill you,” a grating voice threatens. That’s Lee Hyunjun. Twenty-one-years-old, on the verge of being bonded, and the one trainee that Jeongguk wouldn’t mind running a sword through at any given moment. He’s an absolute son of a bitch and is very open and honest about wanting Jeongguk dead, so Jeongguk likes to return the same homicidal energy.

“Move. Go. All of you. Go,” Gayeon commands, and all of the trainees begin to move forward. Jeongguk knows the terrain where the unbonded dragons wander on training days; it’s vast and barren with several small passes between rocky mountains that jut into the sky, often where some of the dragons will hide. It’s not a cramped or consolidated space, and it’s right near the edge of the mountain that leads to a steep drop to one’s death.

And Jeongguk can’t see any of it.

The other trainees move forward nimbly, quickly, their eyes locked on the dragon they want to call out to and begin to attempt taming for riding and bonding. Jeongguk can’t do that. He can’t lock eyes with a dragon and make that connection. He only has his cane and his backpack full of gear, and his reaction times are far slower in comparison to the others, but this is his twelfth attempt, and patience is a virtue that grates his nerves.

Jeongguk passes by Gayeon and rounds the corner. There’s already a lot of shouting happening, and someone runs past Jeongguk breathlessly, cussing. Nothing about taming an unbonded dragon is safe or easy. At the first hint of danger, Jeongguk has to sprint blindly, quite literally, because he has no way of anticipating whether or not the dragon is in tune with him. This time, like all of the other times, he’s been left with scraps. Six of the dragons are encumbered, so Jeongguk’s duty is to find one that isn’t.

“Ten o’clock!”

Kyumi’s voice rings out over the semi-muted mayhem as Jeongguk attempts to hone in on his surroundings and isolate sound. Ten o’clock. He shifts his body to a ten o’clock position just as he hears a mighty roar to his right. The fight-or-flight in his brain tells him to run, but his stubbornness wins out. He continues to swipe his cane back and forth on the ground in a close arc, tilting his head to listen.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” a loud voice bellows, and Jeongguk instinctively ducks and crouches down as he’s been taught to do when he hears the rushing blow of fire and feels the lingering remnants of heat. Someone’s dragon isn’t cooperating, but Jeongguk can’t let that become a hindrance. When he determines that he hasn’t been burned or injured, he stands up and continues forward, hoping that Kyumi hasn’t led him astray.

She hasn’t.

Jeongguk freezes when the ground quivers beneath his feet, and the air around him feels a bit stale and heavy with breath. With a single click of his tongue, the sound echoes differently to let him know that something is directly in front of him, and the puff of hot air that he feels confirms that. His mouth is dry, his palms are sweating, his heart is hammering against his rib cage, and his ears begin to ring as he hastily folds up his cane, because previous dragons have seen the cane as a weapon. The cane goes into the side pocket of his backpack, and immediately, the training kicks in.

The signals.

There are dozens of them—hand signals, a way to communicate with the dragons, a system that’s been used by Yongjeoju dragon riders for almost two centuries now. The signals are accompanied by vocal cues, but for the dragons who haven’t had time to get used to human language, the hand signs are key. The dragons have to learn them from Academy trainers at a young age, and from other dragons, to understand and relate the signals to human language quickly, even when they’re unbonded and have never seen the signals before.

The first position and signal—non-threatening. Safe. Jeongguk holds both of his hands up, palms facing the direction of what he hopes and prays is a dragon, fingers pointed to the sky. There’s a tense moment where he waits, a moment where he can hear the dragon’s body moving and feel the air shifting around him as if the dragon is bowing its head to figure out what Jeongguk is all about. Either the dragon accepts him or it devours him in flames. One year ago, a dragon lunged and clamped its entire jaw around Jeongguk’s classmate, snapping his spine before blood rained down on them all. The classmate vanished into the dragon’s mouth. Jeongguk had never been so glad to be blind.

“I can’t see you,” Jeongguk whispers, mostly to soothe himself. “But I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Dragons are exceedingly intelligent creatures, highly perceptive. They understand what a typical human should look like. Jeongguk does not fit that mold. His eyes are the first sign of misfortune, pupils a bizarre shade of dark blue that bleed outward so that the whites of his eyes aren’t as visible. A bit cloudy. All he has is light perception—he can tell that it’s daytime right now, and that’s about it.

“Rider,” Jeongguk says loudly when he feels safe. He closes his hands into fists and brings them together in front of him, knuckles to the sky. “Rider.” He knocks his fists together, but then he freezes, because the terrifying warmth of a dragon’s body is now slinking past his left side and wrapping around his back—the dragon is sizing him up, stalking him, sniffing him. Jeongguk can hear its tail scraping against the dirt ground, and the sheer size of the dragon once again makes him glad that he can’t actually see the formidable form of his opponent. If he could, he’s not sure he’d still want to be a rider.

When Jeongguk feels the dragon’s breath return to the front of his body, he tries again. “Rider,” he says while showing the hand signal, his knees buckling. Behind him, he hears a whoop of joy and the flapping of wings as someone takes flight. Whoever it is, they’re halfway to a bond, and Jeongguk’s jaw clenches.

“Not bonded,” Jeongguk says, turning his left fist sideways with his knuckles facing outward as he smacks his right hand’s open palm on top of the fist twice. “Not… bonded.” He repeats the motion, silently pleading with this dragon to understand him in some way. He digs his feet into the dirt to stand his ground even though his heart is about to drop out of his ass when the dragon suddenly attempts to intimidate him with a single nudge to the chest. It's using its snout, and Jeongguk almost topples, but he refuses to back down.

“Mount,” he says loudly, changing his signal. With both hands in fists, he holds his right fist pointing to the sky with his elbow at a 90-degree angle. He then pushes his left fist into the inner edge of his right elbow. “Mount.”

And then he bows. Jeongguk presses his hands flat against his stomach, hoping he’s facing the right direction, and he bows to the dragon, praying that he won’t feel teeth ripping his head off his neck or that he won’t be burned by dragon fire until he’s unrecognizable. He’s not in that position for long—the dragon’s tail swipes roughly at his ankles, and Jeongguk levitates in the air for a moment before hitting the ground hard on his right shoulder, the wind knocked out of him as he coughs. He can feel the warm sting of blood immediately around his calves and shins, but he’s had worse injuries.

The most dangerous thing Jeongguk could do would be to roll or turn his back to this dragon. That would be perceived as a sign of defeat and weakness, giving the dragon a reason to kill him. With his backpack of gear still on his back and digging into his shoulder blades, Jeongguk grunts and tries to stand up, but the dragon uses its snout again to nudge him like a warning for him to stay down.

But the dragon isn’t abandoning him.

It’s not killing him. It’s not attacking. It’s not walking away or flying away. And that’s the reason why Jeongguk grits his teeth and rises to his feet, because he has the dragon’s attention, which means that he can still attempt to mount and ride.

“Rider,” Jeongguk says again just as loudly with the same hand signal as he stands up. Behind him, he can hear more human shrieks and guttural roars from displeased dragons, but he can’t focus on that right now. He either tames this dragon and forms a bond, or he fails a twelfth time, and he won’t allow the latter to happen. “Mount,” he signals again, feeling a slight burn in his chest as he wheezes to catch his breath. In front of him, he hears the sound of lifted wings and the crackling of scales shifting against skin, followed by a rumble in the dragon’s chest.

The ground shakes beneath his feet. And then there’s stillness.

“Did you…?” Jeongguk whispers, feeling like he’s being spun in merciless circles. He clicks his tongue once, the sound bouncing off of the stationary dragon in front of him. The vibrations of the earth and the haunting stillness before him usually only means that the dragon is seated. Not tamed, still dangerous… but seated. Attention captured. Not stalking Jeongguk like prey anymore, but watching him carefully to see what he’s going to do next.

“Approach,” Jeongguk warns in a raspy voice, pushing his right hand forward with his knuckles facing the dragon, fingertips to the sky, and bringing the back of his left hand, fingertips to the side, to meet his right palm like he’s clapping. “Approach… approach.”

“STEADY! KYUMI, STEER LEFT!” Gayeon’s voice calls out as Jeongguk hears a shout and feels a rush of wind from the flapping of wings. Before him, he hears the dragon he’s attempting to tame rustle its own wings with a shake of its head, a raspy cry escaping the back of its throat as if in distress. For a moment, Jeongguk’s heart plummets, fearing the worst. But then, once again—silence.

“Approach,” Jeongguk says and signals one more time, and he takes the first cautious step forward. Then the next. And the next. He still has all four limbs, and he’s still on his feet. It’s now or never, so he shakes the backpack from his shoulders and drops it to the ground in front of him as he crouches, still tilting his head up so that the dragon doesn’t think that he’s attempting to attack. He can’t see, but he can at least pretend to make eye contact as he fumbles around for what he needs.

From his bag, he pulls out the folded, bulky saddle and harness with attached reins. He finds the fingerless leather gloves with grips and shoves them into his pocket, but he leaves the goggles in the bag in all his haste, mostly because he doesn’t have to worry about going blind. With the gear roughly secured on one shoulder, he moves closer, holding out his right hand in hopes of locating the dragon itself.

“Please trust me. Please… please… please…” Jeongguk whispers as he inches forward. Any other rider would be quick at this part. Any other rider wouldn’t give their dragon a reason to be impatient or attack. Jeongguk has been attacked four times for being too slow to mount before, resulting in failures. But this time, he’s inching forward at a clipping pace, because if failure has taught him anything, it’s that he has to be quicker.

“Oh, shit,” Jeongguk breathes the moment his right hand collides with the hard, impenetrable body of a dragon. His dexterous fingers flutter over just two scales, and immediately, he knows that he’s dealing with a hornwing breed just by the hexagonal shape of the scales. Hornwing dragons are known for their easily-tamed temperament, so by some stroke of luck, Jeongguk seems to have found a dragon that can be his match.

All he has to do is mount.

There are a handful of ways to mount a dragon, and the Academy almost always encourages wing mounting. Because of the monstrous size of a dragon compared to a human, climbing to mount a dragon is something that Jeongguk has been training to do for years, and it’s never an easy task. Even Namjoon and Hoseok still have to take care when mounting their dragons.

“Nice and easy,” Jeongguk says encouragingly, more so to himself than to the dragon. Because he’s studied a lifetime for this, he knows exactly where the wings of a hornwing dragon are located, so he finds the right wing with ease and trails it. Immediately, the dragon rears and kicks its front legs, so Jeongguk staggers backwards to protect himself, sliding one foot back and grounding himself with both arms in front of him, hands on opposite elbows like a shield, head still up so he doesn’t look submissive. His heart rolls against his rib cage as he waits, silently irritated that his progress has been ruined.

“Okay. I’ll be gentle,” he says. “Mount,” he says and signals again, walking forward with purpose, both his hands out in front of him like a zombie. When he collides with the dragon’s front leg, he takes a stab in the dark and moves on a diagonal until he locates the wing. This time, the dragon complies, though there’s a rumble from its chest that has Jeongguk clenching his jaw in fear.

Quickly. Mount quickly.

That’s all he can think as he secures his gear, finds the lowest part of the wing where it’s resting on the ground tucked against the dragon’s body, and climbs. The dragon bucks immediately, confused, its wing lifting as it tries to shake Jeongguk off, but Jeongguk has been here before. On his first two attempts at taming, he was flung off at such a velocity that he broke his leg the first time and rolled to the edge of a cliff and nearly plummeted to his death the second time. The third time it happened, it was Kyumi who shrieked and grabbed Jeongguk by the arm, yanking him away just as the dragon’s foot came down and pulverized the ground where Jeongguk had been only a second ago.

This time, though, he holds on.

It’s a challenge. Every muscle in his body is activated as he finds a horn on the wing, grips tightly, and reaches for his harness. Just as he feels himself sliding away, he secures the harness on the horn, which holds him in place as the dragon continues to rear and buck, wings flapping. Every time the wing hits the ground in protest, Jeongguk grits his teeth and grimaces, the painful vibrations shooting through his body as his thigh hits some of the other horns on the wing.

“STEADY, JEONGGUK! HOLD ON!” Gayeon’s voice calls out, and that’s all Jeongguk can focus on as he’s tossed around. If he flies off, the dragon will surely see that as a sign of weakness and attack. He has to stay on.

The dragon’s irate panic begins to subside, as does the wing flapping. Jeongguk’s ankles are still bleeding. His legs are bruised instantly now from the horns he’s been hitting while sliding around on the wing. His hands are aching and burning from having to hold on, but he’s still on. 

He wonders for a moment if the dragon can feel the curse.

Jeongguk always wonders if any of the dragons he’s mounted in the past are able to feel the dark magic curse that plagues him. But right now, when he’s so close to the dragon’s back, so close to mounting, he can’t think about that. His focus remains on climbing, so with shaking hands, he unhooks the harness from the horn he chose and flings it over his shoulder so he can continue his ascent.

Quickly, quickly, quickly. His body is fatiguing, but he ignores that as he climbs. The dragon is still twisting and attempting to get rid of the intrusion, and for Jeongguk, without vision to see the top, he has no idea how far he has to climb. Most dragons are between half and one story tall in height based on the span from the ground to their back, not counting how far the neck and head extend to the sky.

Finally, Jeongguk feels the crest of the wing. Panting, sweat dripping down his spine, he grunts and launches himself forward, tucking his body and scooting as fast as he can. The moment he feels himself level out, he yanks the saddle off of his shoulder, unfolds it until it’s a full saddle for him to sit on, finds the flat ridge with three prongs, holds on for dear life as the dragon bucks again, and shoves the prongs beneath the first massive scale he finds.

The dragon roars immediately, but Jeongguk clings to the pommel of the saddle, making sure that it’s secure beneath the scale that he’s chosen. As always, without vision to help him out, he’s winging it, but he seems to have found a good spot. When the dragon returns its feet to the ground, Jeongguk is tossed about, but he manages to feel where the prongs have lodged beneath the scales, and it’s good. It’s not perfect, but it’s acceptable. Trembling, Jeongguk throws the harness around his waist and wraps it around his right thigh, buckling it and securing himself as he settles down onto the smooth part of the saddle that sits between his legs. He’s kneeling on the dragon’s back in the preferred rider position. After hastily sliding the gloves on, he reaches forward and grasps the T-shaped pommel with one hand, grabbing the reins with the other hand. When he’s more experienced, he won’t need to constantly hold onto the pommel. But right now, he needs everything.

“Okay,” Jeongguk gasps, his adrenaline pumping. He’s only ever gotten this far one other time, and that dragon refused to fly. Flying is the only way to build immediate trust and form a bond, and Jeongguk needs that right now. “Come on. Let’s fly. Let’s fly so I can give you a name. Come on.”

Jeongguk gives the reins a strong tug; the movement shifts the large scale on the dragon’s back and signals that something, anything, needs to happen, and if this dragon is meant to bond with Jeongguk, then Jeongguk will have to teach it everything. They’ll have to work together to learn how to fly properly.

The dragon will have to learn how to be Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Come on.” He tugs again. “Come on. You can do this, you can do this—”

Jeongguk grips the pommel and flattens himself on the dragon’s back on his stomach when the dragon rears and tries to buck him off again. He’s nearly at a vertical angle before the dragon returns its feet to the ground.

And then he hears its wings rustle.

He feels the movement on either side of him. He hears the flapping. And then he feels the lift-off happen. He feels the lack of ground beneath the dragon’s feet, feels the wind whip through his hair. He hears the dragon let out a strangled roar, head shaking, and then its wings flap harder, the sound like music to Jeongguk’s ears.

“Yes, yes! That’s it! That’s it!” Jeongguk shouts encouragingly, tugging the reins again. “That’s it! COME ON!”

With a final push off the ground, Jeongguk’s stomach swoops, and suddenly, the voices that he’d been hearing for the last few minutes (Minutes? It felt like it had been hours of taming) are below him. This is it. He’s airborne. He’s flying, and all weather conditions be damned. All injuries on his body be damned. For the first time in almost two years, he’s flying.

“THAT’S IT!” Jeongguk shouts encouragingly again, and then he feels a forward surge, so he lets out a whoop of joy and clings to the reins, remembering his training; this isn’t a simulation anymore. This is the real deal. He’s flying in the airspace of the Balam Range on a real dragon that he tamed, a dragon that has somehow accepted him as a rider.

“JEONGGUK! HEY! WAY TO GO, JEONGGUK!” a voice hollers from a distance. It’s Kyumi. She’s still flying with Tyghim, probably forming a bond right this very moment, and now Jeongguk is about to do the same. He knows his directions. He’s flying blind in every sense, but he knows where they took off from, and he’s committing every little move the dragon makes to memory. He’s not far from the mountains, but he’s still flying. A victory is a victory.

“Left,” he commands, tugging the reins in a leftward direction. He feels the dragon’s body begin to curve left, and another rush of adrenaline shoots through his veins. Enthralled, the wind still whipping around him, Jeongguk reaches forward and pats the dragon’s scales encouragingly. “THAT’S IT!” he calls out, unable to keep the grin from creeping onto his face. All he has to do is continue to fly for ten to twenty more minutes uninterrupted, and the bond will begin to form naturally between dragon and rider. He hasn’t even had time to think of a good name, but now he’ll—

“Shit, shit, shit. Hey! It’s okay!” he calls out, correcting the dragon when they suddenly swoop low. The dragon hisses, twisting its body, and Jeongguk clings to the pommel. “What is it? Hey! It’s okay! Steady! We’ve got this!”

But the dragon is unappeased. Its long body begins to twist in protest, wings curling, and Jeongguk tugs the reins to the left, intent on circling back towards the mountains. Maybe they’ll have to land and check in with each other again. Maybe the dragon is spooked. Maybe—

“YEAH, EXACTLY! HE’S CURSED! YOU DON’T WANT THAT FUCKER AS YOUR RIDER!”

The dragon cries out and twists again, and Jeongguk feels his knees beginning to slide.

“HE’S DANGEROUS! YOU’RE NOT SAFE! HE’S CURSED! NOT SAFE!”

“DANGER! DANGER! THROW HIM OFF! YOU’RE IN DANGER!”

Jeongguk has a thousand things he wants to yell back into the empty air that’s around him when he hears not one or two, but three different voices hurling insults at him to intentionally spook the dragon, and he knows who started it. He has a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but he loses any chance he had to retaliate. A rush of fire soars past his head, the fire directed square into the face of the dragon he’s riding, and it causes panic. Jeongguk has no idea if he’s burned or not, no idea if he feels pain or not, because the dragon barrels in the opposite direction with a pained cry, tilting its right wing to the ground in an attempt to shake Jeongguk off. Its tail is twisting, body writhing, and Jeongguk can’t hang on.

“NO! JEONGGUK! JEONGGUK!”

Kyumi’s voice cuts through the mayhem, but Jeongguk’s fear is that her voice may be the last thing he hears. Against his will, he slides and misses the pommel, unable to grab it from the dragon’s frantic movements, and then he’s dangling in the air, held on only by the harness.

The dragon has flipped onto its side.

It continues to fly, though, and Jeongguk is gripping the reins for dear life, praying to every entity in the universe that the saddle is secured beneath the dragon’s scale well enough. If it’s not and it slips out, then he’s a dead man flying. It’s only a matter of time.

“Fuck! Come on! Fuck!” Jeongguk curses, kicking his legs as laughter echoes in the air surrounding him. The dragon begins to roll again, and Jeongguk grunts and curls his body into a ball as best as he can to minimize the impact from any horns that he might encounter. It’s a miracle that he only smacks his hip on one as he scrambles to find purchase on the dragon’s back again, but the damage is already done. The dragon is careening in a nose dive towards the mountain now, and Jeongguk only knows that because he can hear the shrill whistle.

That’s Gayeon’s whistle.

It summons all of the dragons and their riders. It’s a whistle in a specific sound and tone that untamed dragons respond to well, a sound that grounds them immediately because it’s distracting and disorienting and painful to listen to while up in the air. Jeongguk is barely holding on as the dragon sails towards the mountain—or, at least, what he hopes is the edge of the mountain.

They connect with the ground. Jeongguk knows better, so the moment he feels the dragon’s feet land, he yanks the saddle from beneath the scale and collects his gear, because he’s in grave danger if he stays for too long. The very second the dragon’s momentum slows, Jeongguk doesn’t stick around to face any consequences. He rolls, finds the dragon’s wing, and slides down it at the quickest speed possible, grunting in pain when a few horns catch against his thighs. His feet hit the ground first, and then he rolls again, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder as he does.

“Jeongguk, move!” Kyumi’s voice shouts, because she’s always the only one who ever bothers to look out for Jeongguk’s safety. Without hesitation, and while hoping and praying that he isn’t running towards the edge of the cliff because he’s disoriented, Jeongguk runs in the direction of Kyumi’s voice instead, listening to the dragon he just rode roar and stomp in anger, audibly insulted by what just happened to it at Jeongguk’s hands. 

He’ll never be able to attempt to tame that dragon again. His twelfth failure is now official.

“Oh no, is he gonna cry?” Lee Hyunjun’s voice says to Jeongguk’s left, followed by a snort of laughter. “Boohoo, the unloved ugly goblin can’t tame a dragon—”

“You spineless motherfucker!” Jeongguk shouts, throwing down his gear and marching in Hyunjun’s direction without a care in the world as to whether or not he’s aiming accurately. He doesn’t have his cane and he’s limping, but none of that matters right now. It’s a stroke of luck that Hyunjun doesn’t run away, though. Because he’s a cocky son of a bitch, he laughs, and Jeongguk feels two callused hands shove against his chest.

“Oh, so now the talentless mutt wants to call me names?” Hyunjun sneers. “The cursed spotted cow wants to fight? With what eyes? You can’t even see well enough to throw a punch.”

“I had that dragon—” Jeongguk reaches out to grab Hyunjun and misses, and Hyunjun and his friends laugh at Jeongguk’s misfortune. “Right where I fucking wanted it, you fucking waste of space—”

“You had that dragon duped, you piece of shit,” Hyunjun interjects. “You think a stunning hornwing beauty like that is gonna want you as her rider? She was bucking you off from the start! Get a grip!” he adds with a laugh, and then he does exactly what Jeongguk wants him to do—he shoves Jeongguk again.

Jeongguk smacks his hand over Hyunjun’s wrist, yanks, and pulls Hyunjun close enough to grab his head with both hands, forcibly bend him at the waist, and then Jeongguk brings his knee up to connect with Hyunjun’s nose. Hyunjun curses in pain, but Jeongguk keeps a hold of his hair with one hand, raises his fist, and punches him in the jaw with all his might.

“Fuck off, you bastard!”

“Go to hell,” Jeongguk spits out, recoiling with a gasp when he feels a fist in his stomach and another against his eye socket. The two blows don’t deter him, though, because he feels blood on his hands, so he keeps going. He grabs the back of Hyunjun’s neck, twists him, and ignores the fists against his ribs as he flings Hyunjun onto the ground.

“GET OFF OF HIM.”

“YOU’RE GONNA GET THE CURSE ON HIM.”

“KILL HIM, HYUNJUN.”

Jeongguk pins Hyunjun down onto the ground, squeezes Hyunjun’s hips with his knees, grabs him by the throat, and sends his fist flying into the side of Hyunjun’s head again. He feels two strong arms attempt to pull him off, but Jeongguk is too angry to be dissuaded. Another punch. Another. Hyunjun is clawing at him now, spitting blood in Jeongguk’s face and calling him a demon, shouting that Jeongguk’s mother should have killed him when he was a baby, that no one will ever love him, threatening to gut Jeongguk like a fish.

“DO IT,” Jeongguk bellows with one final punch, and then the hands grabbing him are too overwhelming for him to continue. He’s pulled off of Hyunjun and dragged, and he feels several people spit on him as they throw him to the ground—definitely Hyunjun’s friends.

“Enough!” Gayeon shouts, and her tone of voice is enough for everyone to freeze. “That’s enough! Get up. Hyunjun, get up. Jeongguk, get up. Unbelievable. Get up, Hyunjun.”

Jeongguk is already on his feet, swaying on the spot as he turns his head and spits out the bad taste in his mouth. His entire body has been ravaged, but there’s no doubt that he won this fight. Hyunjun can taunt him for all of eternity, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jeongguk, a cursed blind man, can beat the shit out of him. That’s where his pride lies.

“Go home. Hyunjun, Jeongguk, both of you—go home. Don’t even bother to stop by the Academy for debriefing. Go home and be a disgrace somewhere else,” Gayeon barks. “Go. For heaven’s sake.”

Jeongguk sets his hands on his knees to catch his breath, keeping his head bowed as Gayeon walks away from them in disappointment, focusing on tending to the other trainees who haven’t come to blows. Jeongguk spits out blood from the side of his mouth, and to his left, he hears a weak but condescending laugh.

“Minchul is throwing your bag into a tree right now. Good luck getting home, fucker,” Hyunjun rasps. “With any luck, you’ll step off the edge of a cliff and do us all a favor.”

“I could step off the edge of a cliff and die a horrible death—” Jeongguk spits again. “And it still wouldn’t make your father come home and love you.”

Jeongguk braces himself for another blow just in case. He’s not one to pull his punches when it comes to fights, because he’s been embroiled in them all his life. So he speaks now and thinks later. That’s always been his way of doing things. But Hyunjun doesn’t retaliate, and instead, he leaves while grumbling. Jeongguk straightens up, cracking his back several times in the process and wincing at the stinging sensation in his legs from the open wounds.

“Here.”

“Hm? Oh. Thanks. I could’ve climbed trees to find it,” Jeongguk says as Kyumi approaches and smacks a bag against Jeongguk’s chest without warning, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “You don’t always have to come to my rescue, you know.”

“Eh.” Kyumi uses the stump of her left arm to nudge Jeongguk. “You’ve had my back more than enough times. Minchul did try to take your bag, but I got to it before he did. Your gear is packed.”

“Did he threaten you? Call you names? If he did, let me know. I’ll impale him with my cane,” Jeongguk replies, and Kyumi giggles.

“Nah. He knows better. Gayeon’s giving you a death stare right now, though, so you should go. She’s pissed,” Kyumi warns. “Might wanna get ahead of the curve and tell your mother before Gayeon does.”

“Honestly, Kyu?” Jeongguk shrugs into the backpack and pulls out his cane, ignoring the horrid aches and pains of such movement. “I don’t give a shit if she tells my mother. Let her. All the better.”

“Well, Gayeon’s giving me the death stare now, so—”

“Go, go,” Jeongguk sighs, waving Kyumi off. She clicks her tongue, hesitates, and then runs off, leaving Jeongguk by his lonesome to make the trek down the mountains. Grimacing in pain, he grabs his cane from the side pocket of his backpack, unfolds it, and stands still for a moment, trying to orient himself to the space so that he can find the bend in the mountain that will lead him to the descent path.

Group’s gathered behind me. Hyunjun walked off to my left. Breeze is coming from my left and in front of me. He taps his cane against the ground a few times in an attempt to catch any echoes. Sound travels to my left. I’ll turn. The path is ahead to my left.

It’s always a risk, and more than half the time, he ends up colliding with trees or rocks, or he puts himself in a corner that he has to work his way out of meticulously. But Jeongguk was born blind and has been this way his entire life—he doesn’t know any other way besides getting tangled up in disorienting situations and using all of his brain power to worm his way out.

“Shit,” he curses quietly, because even though he found the path that leads down to the village, he’s in too much pain, so he pauses and shrugs off his backpack. There’s a bottle of water lying in the bottom of the bag, so he grabs it and leans against a jagged rock of the mountain, bending down so he can pour some water on the wounds he has. It stings enough to make him grit his teeth, but at the very least, it’ll sustain him until he gets home. 

“Fucking asshole,” he grumbles to himself as he begins to walk again. It takes about 45 minutes for him to climb the mountains with Namjoon and Hoseok. On his own for the descent, it’ll take him well over an hour. Surely he looks like a mess right now after yet another failed bonding attempt. His hair is falling out. The spots where Hyunjun hit him are throbbing in pain. He’s probably still bleeding in places. He’s limping.

The most Jeongguk knows about his appearance is that his hair is black and he hardly takes care of it. It just grows and he pulls it into a messy ponytail or rolls it into a knot and calls it a day at this point until someone tells him to get a haircut. He knows his height compared to Namjoon, and it’s about the same. And he knows that he has the marks of a dark magic curse all over his skin.

His friends downplay it and say they just look like birthmarks, but everyone in the village and beyond knows better. The largest mark is faded brown and covers the area from Jeongguk’s left eyebrow to his outer cheekbone, covering his entire eye. The other one is on the right side of his chin, much darker than the other. It’s the mark on his chest that usually scares people, because that mark is dark brown, almost black, and it changes shape on a daily basis. Jeongguk knows that it changes shape because he can feel the mark when he runs his fingers over his chest. There’s another reddish brown mark on his lower back and a final one on his left thigh, but the one on his chest is what terrifies people the most.

You never should have been born.

Your parents should have just let you die instead of fighting for you to live.

All that suffering in your infant years… you should have just given up.

You never should have been able to live outside the womb.

Your poor mother must have suffered so much carrying you, and now you’re a burden.

A man cursed by dark magic… and you want to be part of society?

Just being close to you makes me feel nauseous.

The maddening part is that much of the vitriol hurled at Jeongguk has some truth behind it. He was cursed while he was in his mother’s womb. To this day, his mother still becomes tearful because she doesn’t know how it happened or who cursed her or why. All Jeongguk knows is that the second and third trimesters of her pregnancy with him were a nightmare that could have killed her, and Jeongguk’s birth was traumatic at best. He knows that the physicians didn’t want to touch him when he was first born, so Jeongguk’s father had to wipe his newborn son clean and administer CPR to make him breathe. 

Jeongguk never saw anything but the inside of a hospital for almost six months after his birth. The local priest tried to save him thrice to no success. Shaman after shaman attempted to clear his curse—no luck. Jeongguk’s heart stopped five times before he turned one. But still, somehow, he survived. With all the marks, with all the scars, with all the trauma held in his body, he survived.

And now he makes everyone around him feel nauseous.

“YAH! JEONGGUK! HEY!”

Exhausted, Jeongguk slows down just as he’s passing by Eastern Hwaa Academy, because Hoseok is calling out to him. He hears rushed footsteps, and then a hand grabs his shoulder.

“For fuck’s sake, what the hell happened? Did you fist fight the dragon?” Hoseok asks.

“I fought an ugly beast named Hyunjun,” Jeongguk responds, and Hoseok makes a pft sound with his mouth.

“Okay, but did you do it?” Hoseok asks eagerly. “You have enough fucking battle wounds on you. Looks like you rode a hornwing. Come on. Come put your gear away like I did and tell me something good.”

“Can’t.” Jeongguk shrugs his shoulder out of Hoseok’s grasp, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Gayeon told me to go straight home and be a disgrace somewhere else, so I’m going to do that.”

“Shit,” Hoseok murmurs. “What happened?”

“Hyunjun kept running into my fists,” Jeongguk answers, and Hoseok snickers. “It was a hornwing dragon. I did everything right. She even tried to throw me off when I mounted, but I hung onto the wing and managed to get on. Secured the saddle and everything. She flew. It was great.”

“Holy shit, you flew? You were actually—That’s the first time ever,” Hoseok says, but instead of sounding like he’s on the verge of celebrating, he’s clearly clocked the way that Jeongguk is telling the story. He knows that it doesn’t end well.

“Yeah, and it was going well until Hyunjun and his dumbass friends decided to taunt my dragon while we were flying and spook her. She fucking threw me off in a panic and almost attacked me once we landed,” Jeongguk laments. “Any chance of bonding I had with her is gone now, so I beat Hyunjun’s ass in retaliation, and Gayeon didn’t like that.”

“So she sent you home? Instead of giving you a second chance? Is she an idiot?” Hoseok asks, frustrated. Jeongguk hears the sound of hands smacking thighs, so he can vaguely concoct some kind of idea of what movements Hoseok is doing. “Did she not see that Hyunjun ruined it for you? At this point, you should file a complaint. You have an entire group sabotaging you and she’s calling you a disgrace?”

“Yeah, and if I file a complaint, it goes straight to my mother, and I get an earful,” Jeongguk gripes, rolling his eyes. Hyunjun doesn’t just hate Jeongguk for being cursed and blind. He hates Jeongguk because the Jeon family is embedded in the dragon riding culture of Yongjeoju. Jeongguk’s bloodline has a history of renown for taming, bonding with, and training the dragons in the Bomul Mountains, and Jeongguk’s mother is the one who oversees and funds the Rider Training Program at the Academy.

“YAH! HOSEOK! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” a voice suddenly hollers from over near the Academy; Hoseok probably just ran out in the middle of debriefing with the other Level 4 riders, so Jeongguk takes a step back, heaving a sigh.

“Just go,” he says, waving his hand. “I’ll do the walk of shame by myself.”

“What do I tell Namjoon?” Hoseok asks, already backing up.

“That I failed. What else?” Jeongguk says, pivoting while sweeping his cane on the ground and putting his back to the Academy so he knows the route home. His skin feels sticky now, and he’s pretty sure he felt a few raindrops during his descent, so a storm is probably coming. Everyone always says that storms on Yongjeoju, small or large, strike a feeling of awe within anyone who has a heart. 

So either Jeongguk doesn’t have a heart, or they didn’t really account for blindness.

People wax poetic about how beautiful Yongjeoju is as a kingdom, and Jeongguk has spent his entire life reluctantly agreeing despite not being able to see its beauty. The palace is situated near what most villagers call the most beautiful region in the kingdom, just near the Port of Hwaa, and Queen Yeonmi oversees the people of Yongjeoju. Eastern Hwaa Village lies closest to the Jamjali Sea in the prominent dip of the kingdom’s land mass. It’s a port village, and its most successful infrastructure is fishing, followed closely by textiles. The village was built around the sea, not well-planned, so most of its houses are speckled randomly throughout the region. Yongsong Harbor is northwest of where Jeongguk lives, but only about a fifteen-minute walk. It’s convenient for him, and it’s also convenient for the person who shares a tiny cottage with him.

“Taehyung?”

“I'm here. How did—? Oof. Let me get some ice.”

“I'm fine,” Jeongguk insists as he turns and smacks his hand against the wall, feeling for the hook near the door where he can hang his cane. After kicking his shoes off and discreetly wincing from the pain, he straightens up as a hand touches his shoulder.

“Well, you clearly won. Who was it this time?” 

“Hyunjun.” Jeongguk says his adversary’s name like it's laced with venom. He sucks a breath in through his teeth and almost hisses when he feels the cold ice against his cheek. “I told you that I'm fine.”

“Yeah, congratulations. The less bruising, the better.” 

There is no sailor in the Queen’s Navy like Kim Taehyung. He's 24-years-old, strapping and clever, introspective with great social timing, and Jeongguk’s loyal friend. Jeongguk has had Taehyung in his life since their grade school days, when Taehyung told Jeongguk’s class bully that he was not destined to be a dragon rider and would instead end up as a drunkard on the streets. 

Liar! Liar! 

Except that kid is now an adult and is currently… a drunkard on the streets. The failed rider reading drove the guy straight to the bottle, and Jeongguk thinks the world is a better place without such a moron at the reins of a fire-breathing beast. 

Never mind the fact that Taehyung has the gift of soothsaying.

Nobody knows except for Jeongguk and one other important person in Taehyung’s life. Taehyung inherited the gift from his grandmother and has refused to share it with the world and rarely talks about it. Jeongguk has always assumed that the visions Taehyung receives scare him into silence. But then, once in a blue moon, he'll blurt out something magnificent to Jeongguk without elaborating, so Jeongguk doesn't push or ask further questions. He just lets Taehyung be.

“What happened?” Taehyung asks as he nudges Jeongguk with one elbow. Jeongguk knows his way around their tiny, cozy, cluttered cottage well, but he decides to take his friend’s arm and accepts guidance. He's proud, but not that proud.

“I failed. Again,” Jeongguk emphasizes with a hint of sarcasm. “I had this dragon exactly where I wanted her. Like, to the point where I was absolutely fucking positive that she would be the one. The bond would form. We were flying, and I had total control.”

Taehyung sighs; Jeongguk hears the sound of shuffling feet and objects being kicked out of the way. “But?”

“But fucking Hyunjun and his crew of losers got in the air and started taunting me and taunting the dragon, and they spooked her, and she almost threw me off,” Jeongguk continues. “I swear to heaven, if I didn't know how to stay in the saddle or use the harness, I would have died. I was literally hanging down one of her wings.”

“Hyunjun can eat shit,” Taehyung declares. “I heard his dragon is a runt and that it's suitable for him because he has a small dick and he can’t use his dragon as compensation. Brothel gossip.”

Jeongguk snickers, taking the ice and pressing it against his cheek as the backs of his knees touch the couch. He sits and slumps immediately, feet kicked up on the coffee table as he narrowly avoids what he thinks is a tarot deck. Could be a book. Either way, his comfort is more important right now.

“So what, you landed after failing to bond and he decided to throw punches?” Taehyung asks, sitting beside Jeongguk. “Like a weakling?”

“No, no. I landed and he called me a goblin, I think, so I started beating him up. And I was winning,” Jeongguk says with disdain. “He knew it, too, because his little posse started up with all the 'you’ll pass your curse on to Hyunjun’ insults. So I just pinned him down and decked him in the face.”

Taehyung laughs, lifting Jeongguk’s free hand and probably catching sight of his split knuckles. People avoid touching Jeongguk because they think that the curse will transfer. It won't. It's not like that. But that doesn't stop the entire kingdom from steering clear and complaining about his presence.

“Well, here’s to your twelfth failure. I’ll grab the whiskey,” Taehyung says, letting out a little grunt as he hoists himself up. Jeongguk hears the floorboards creak, and then Taehyung adds, “Dragon swiped your ankles, huh?”

“Shut up. Leave me alone to suffer in peace,” Jeongguk sighs, and Taehyung snickers as he traipses into the kitchen area. Their cottage is small—from the front door, the den is to the right and the kitchen is to the left, and there’s a narrow self-made pathway to the other rooms. Jeongguk’s bedroom is on the right just past the den. Taehyung’s bedroom is on the left just past the kitchen. Both bedrooms are cramped and tiny, and the shared bathroom in between their bedrooms is just as small, but it’s home. Jeongguk wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, seeing as he moved out the very moment he turned eighteen and invaded Taehyung’s space.

“I have a voyage in three days.”

“Damn. Where to this time?” Jeongguk asks as Taehyung sits back down and sets a bottle of whiskey onto the table with a thud. Two glasses clink together, and then Jeongguk hears Taehyung unscrewing the whiskey bottle cap.

“Just to the north side of The Isle of Bulsajo,” Taehyung replies. “So it’s not like we’re going far.”

“Shit. You won’t actually make landfall, will you?” Jeongguk asks. The Isle of Bulsajo lies to the north of the eastern tip of Yongjeoju and is about a three-hour journey by water. There are no visitors allowed to Bulsajo without a permit, and even then, the process is grueling. The isle is home to only a few hundred residents, and though the residents can come and go from the isle as they please, no outsiders are allowed to relocate to Bulsajo. The monarch’s unspoken plan is for the population to eventually dwindle and die, because the residents of Bulsajo are shunned and isolated from society for a reason.

“No, no. There were some reports of suspicious activities in the waters, and apparently, people think Yagjasan is trying to interfere with the people of Bulsajo,” Taehyung replies. “But whatever. I’d rather not deal with any wyverns this time around.”

Yagjasan is an entirely separate kingdom. Yongjeoju has the south island; Yagjasan has the north island. Fire dragons dwell in Yongjeoju, and Yagjasan has the Isle of the Wyvern and a thriving wyvern population. The two kingdoms have almost always known peace, coexisting in harmony. It’s the dragons and the wyverns that often create tensions between the two kingdoms, especially since both human populations are fiercely protective of their respective creatures.

“Yeah, well, be careful. Last time, you found three dead bodies in the water off of Bulsajo,” Jeongguk reminds Taehyung, accepting his glass of whiskey and taking a sip, letting it burn his throat and clear his sinuses on the way down. 

“Three dead bodies are the least of my concern when I go on voyages,” Taehyung says, and then he adds, “I just think about you whenever I go near Bulsajo.”

Jeongguk hums, frowning against the rim of his glass before taking another sip. Most people say that the residents of the Isle of Bulsajo are all cursed. Jeongguk has been told he belongs there on more than one occasion. Centuries ago, the isle was supposedly abandoned, until the reigning king at the time exiled one citizen to Bulsajo.

As it turned out, the isle was not abandoned.

A small but thriving native population dwelled on the isle, and when the king exiled a dangerous man named Lee Kitae, as the story goes, the king had no idea that Kitae had been to the Isle of Bulsajo many times before to test his forbidden dark magic on the residents. Although there is no thorough record of the atrocities Kitae committed, part of Yongjeoju’s painful history says that Lee Kitae was a necromancer—a formidable sorcerer who had the entire kingdom living in a state of terror and fear, a man who not only communicated with the dead, but re-animated the dead and used them for nefarious gains. And one of those gains was using the dead to impart a curse.

A curse that touched men and women throughout the provinces on Bulsajo. A curse that spawned the first generation of dragon shifters.

Dragon shifters are nothing more than a legend now. Part of the community for almost 50 years in the past, dragon shifters were contained only to Bulsajo; those born with the blood of a dragon shifter could shift into fire dragons, an unthinkable act, dangerous to the entire population of Yongjeoju and its purebred dragons. And Azure, the mighty dragon king, found out and flew to the Isle of Bulsajo to kill them all with fire—every last dragon shifter. The theory is that he killed them because they were a threat to the purebred dragon population, but not everyone stands by that theory.

Not everyone stands by the theory that Lee Kitae is dead, either.

“I think I’m just gonna make stew for dinner,” Taehyung says as he sets down what sounds like an empty glass of whiskey. “A little birdie brought me fresh bread a few hours ago, so we can eat that.”

“Oh, a little birdie?” Jeongguk snickers and winces as he sits forward, sliding his empty glass onto the table as well. “In the form of a prince?”

“What ever would give you that idea? Go take a bath. You’re gross,” Taehyung chides, so Jeongguk reluctantly agrees and heads into the cramped bathroom, cranking the faucet several times to pump water into the bathtub from the nearby well. He can hear Taehyung starting a fire for the stew as he gingerly peels his clothing off and leaves it in a pile on the floor. Washing such filthy laundry will be a problem for tomorrow’s Jeongguk.

Scrubbing away the sting of rejection and failure is painful. Jeongguk’s hands are burning from having to hold onto the pommel of the saddle for so long. He’ll have to have Taehyung help him bandage up his ankles. His face is probably bruised. After fumbling the soap three times, Jeongguk just gives up and sinks beneath the water for a moment, finding some semblance of peace now that approximately two of his senses are fully deprived.

What do I tell Namjoon?

It’s a strange kind of pain, disappointing his friends. Namjoon and Hoseok have believed in Jeongguk fiercely for so long, and time and time again, Jeongguk fails, yet they still champion him. Taehyung, too, who has watched Jeongguk fail dozens of times, still encourages him. Jeongguk’s family members are supportive, too, even though he’d rather avoid them right now. But still, six years ago, Hayoung said his path to becoming a dragon rider would be ugly. She certainly wasn’t wrong.

The sun is beginning to set when Jeongguk emerges from the tub and dries off; he can tell by the chill in the house and the lack of brightness. With a towel around his waist, he ducks into his bedroom by trailing along the wall with the back of his left hand, and he pauses, because he knows that he left a bag on the floor near the doorway. He inches his foot out, kicks it aside, and goes straight to the narrow, tall chest of drawers beside his bed to pull out some clothing. His bedroom is small—the bed is pushed up against one wall, and he has shelves covering his walls up to the ceiling where he keeps all of his trinkets. There’s a trunk beneath his bed where he stores his books, because they’re all written in braille, which means that one book usually comes in several volumes. There’s only one printing press in all of Yongjeoju that knows how to print braille materials for Jeongguk; it’s a minor miracle that he even has access to literature.

“Hey, Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” Jeongguk is already dressed with his towel in his hands when he hears Taehyung’s voice. When he pivots, he can feel Taehyung standing in the doorway because the cross breeze has vanished.

“I didn’t really know whether or not to tell you, but, um… I had a dream,” Taehyung begins, and immediately, Jeongguk’s grip on the towel tightens. Taehyung’s dreams are never just dreams. They’re visions. “During my last voyage. I didn’t think it meant anything at the time, but honestly… you should know.”

“What did you see?” Jeongguk prompts.

“You.” Taehyung’s voice contains a conviction that makes Jeongguk believe that this vision wasn’t weak at all, nor was it worth brushing aside. “I saw you… flying in a storm. Riding a dragon. Black and purple were the colors I saw the most. And you didn’t have a, uh… a saddle. No gear. Just you and the dragon. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but…”

“It can’t.” Jeongguk fiddles with the towel in his hands. “None of the dragons in the Balam Range are black. And I’m not bonded to any of them. So maybe it was just… a fluke. Or a warped vision of something else, or some one else.”

“It was you,” Taehyung replies with the same assured tone. “And it was clear as day. Maybe it’s warped, but I’m positive it was you.”

“Then maybe it’s a good omen,” Jeongguk says weakly. “I’d prefer not to fly through a storm, though, so if you could just let your brain know that, I’d appreciate it.”

Taehyung snickers. “Sure. I’ll just lucid dream my way into my own visions that act like fucking sleep paralysis demons and let them know to give you a better storyline. My apologies.”

He turns to walk away and continue dinner, but Jeongguk sets his towel aside and moves to stand in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Did you feel the essence of death?”

“Hm?” The floorboards creak near the kitchen as Taehyung shifts to look at Jeongguk again.

“In your vision,” Jeongguk clarifies. “Did you… could you feel the essence of death? Not even my death. Just… death itself.”

“Yes.” There’s a heavy pause, and then Taehyung clears his throat quietly. He knows what Jeongguk means. A soothsayer’s visions typically contain certain feelings, omens, vibes that others cannot perceive. Six years ago, Hayoung felt the essence of death clinging to Jeongguk. “Yeah. I… yeah. I always do. It never goes away. There’s always darkness surrounding you.”

Jeongguk feels a throbbing, stinging sensation in his cheek. He feels the pain of bruised ribs and the tingling of the wounds on his ankles. All of the evidence of a hard-fought battle makes his body ache, and the added weight of failure makes it worse. Still, though, despite all of that, he still lives in darkness, only seeing the light when he turns his face towards it.

But if there’s always darkness surrounding him, then turning towards the light will only cast shadows.

🐉