Chapter Text
"Sir? President Choi?"
Jong-In floated for a long time. On what, he wasn't sure. In what, was even more uncertain. But he must be floating, because the surface beneath him was moving, unstable, and Jong-In couldn't think of another time he'd felt like this, except for -
"President Choi, can you hear me?"
Jong-In frowned, or thought he did; he couldn't quite tell. The voice felt like it was everywhere, surrounding him, but at the same time it was blurry. Muffled. He could barely make out the words.
"Hunter Choi, if you can hear me, please squeeze my hand."
Jong-In tried, automatic and rote, which was when he realized he couldn't tell if he'd succeeded or failed because he couldn't feel his hands.
That was when he started to get concerned.
"Sir! Hunter Choi! Please remain calm!"
Jong-In had no idea who that voice belonged to, but someone needed to tell them that calm was a thing for people who had sensation in all their working limbs. Who could feel their hands, and feet, and faces, and bodies; none of which were things Jong-In seemed able to do.
"Sir, please! The equipment, you're going to -"
"Jong-In."
That gave him pause, because that voice he recognized, although he'd only rarely heard it use his first name with such a level of urgency.
"Jong-In," Cha Hae-In repeated, her voice even and steady. "You're safe. We're safe. We're out of the dungeon. You can be at ease."
Dungeon. Jong-In blinked, or tried to, thinking. He had no idea what dungeon she was referring to. One they'd been in, presumably; one he'd been in, and somehow lost track of himself while there, enough that he couldn't remember leaving, or why he might wake in a room where he couldn't feel his hands and face, a room with stale, sterile air, where the harsh beep of monitoring machines could be heard, and the scent of rubbing alcohol stung his nose -
A hospital. He was in a hospital. Something had happened in a dungeon, something had happened to Jong-In, because why else would he have no memory of leaving a dungeon, of experiencing something in it that could land him in a -
That was when Jong-In remembered.
That was when concern became panic.
"President Choi!" the unknown voice bleated in sheer terror. "Sir! Sir! You can't -"
"Jong-In, remain calm," Hae-In said quietly. "You must remain calm."
Jong-In wanted to, or part of him wanted to; he'd long prided himself on being one of the calmest among the S-Ranks. He'd heard the jokes that ran the gamut of the hunting world: Jong-In the Fire Starter, whose temper ran as cool as his powers ran hot. Jong-In the Wildfire, whose fuse burned longest but also sharpest, brightest. He'd cultivated a reputation as the cool center of a conflagration. Calm was part of who he was.
Calm had been part of who he was.
"Jong-In, you must calm down," Hae-In repeated, her voice strained in a way he'd never heard it before. "You've raised the temperature in this room by ten degrees. The equipment in here is very delicate. I promise you're safe. Please believe me."
Jong-In did. He did believe her. But he also remembered the dungeon.
"Fifteen degrees," Hae-In said, panting just slightly. "If you keep going, you'll combust something."
She was right. He knew it, but behind eyes that wouldn't open, he could see, he could see -
"I'm sorry," Hae-In murmured, and then there was a sharp pinch of pain at his left temple.
Then, nothing.
When Jong-In next woke up, the world no longer felt slow and underwater. If anything, it came back more quickly than normal. Unnaturally quickly.
Which made sense, because the dungeon was still there at the forefront of his mind and undoubtedly would've woken anyone quickly. What didn't make sense was how he still felt unnaturally numb, and now also unnaturally calm about that. About everything.
"It's a mood-regulating sedative," a voice said, as if reading his mind. Perhaps it was. "Fast acting, but at this dose the effects shouldn't last longer than two to three hours, so I'll keep my part brief. Can you hear me?"
Jong-In turned, blinking slowly at the woman in a white coat standing next to his bed. She had a clipboard in her hands, and a serious expression on her face, though it took him a moment to focus on it. His vision seemed to be a bit blurry. A quick glance around the room told Jong-In they were alone.
"Can you hear me?" the woman repeated patiently.
"Yes," Jong-In said, or tired to. His voice was more than rough; it was slurred, barely comprehensible. He frowned.
"You've been unconscious for three days," the woman explained, putting down the clipboard to reach for something at Jong-In's bedside. When her hand came back into view, she was holding a small paper cup of clear liquid. "I'm sure your throat feels dry as a desert. This should help. May I partially incline your bed?"
Jong-In blinked again, realizing as she said it that he felt shockingly parched. "Three days?"
"Yes." She waited patiently, one hand holding the cup, the other pressed to something on the side of the bed he laid in, presumably a button. "Your bed, sir. May I?"
"Oh," Jong-In said, distracted, trying to understand what else his body was telling him that he wasn't completely aware of yet. "Yes."
The bed slid smoothly into motion, inclining him into a halfway seated position that had no right to feel as comfortable as it did. He reached for the cup.
She didn't give it to him, instead raising it to hover near his face. "Forgive me, but -"
Jong-In didn't blame her and didn't question it. They could both see his hand shaking far too much not to spill.
"Of course," he muttered, a humiliated flush creeping into his face. He leaned over to make it slightly easier to sip from the rim. "Thank you."
She didn't reply, tilting the cup patiently until most of it was gone.
Jong-In pulled back, panting slightly, and wondered what it said that even such a small act as this was enough to wind him. Nothing good, probably.
"I'm Dr. Shin Hyun-Young," she said, after she'd disposed of the cup and he'd resituated himself. "Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"
Jong-In put on a charming smile, or as charming a smile as he could while most of his face remained insensate. "As long as I'm allowed to ask a few of my own."
Dr. Shin didn't return the smile, and she didn't relax; if anything, she got tenser. "Yes, I'm sure you have many. First, can you please tell me your name?"
"Choi Jong-In," he replied, having been through this process enough times to recognize the futility in protesting that she must already know his name.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Unless my eyes deceive me, a hospital," Jong-In said, keeping the smile plastered in place. "And judging by the decor, equipment and scenery, I'd say most likely the ASAN Medical Center in South Korea."
Dr. Shin did unwind a little then, startled and pleased. "Very good, Mr. Choi. I won't ask you to name the exact date, seeing as you arrived here unconscious, but -"
"10:57 a.m, September 22," Jong-In said.
She went from startled to shocked, but Jong-In judged the expression a good one; she didn't seem alarmed, merely surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
"It was a red gate," Jong-In explained, continuing when the look on her face remained. "We were in it ten days, from my perspective, before I was -" he licked his lips, his eyes stuttering away from her face, to the wall and then back "- which is ten hours from your perspective, and I'd guess after what happened we couldn't have been in more than another couple days, at most, or I'd be dead. So, ten to twelve hours of real time, three days unconscious in this bed, and we entered the gate in the early evening, so accounting for emergency evacuation to the AMC, that's approximately four days. Add in the fact I can see daylight, and we get 10:57 a.m, September 22."
Dr. Shin blinked, still looking taken-aback.
"10:58," Jong-In corrected himself, letting his eyes flit obviously down to her watch and back up again. The numbers drifted in and out of focus, shifting between being hopelessly blurry and sharply distinct, but it was a large digital watch; he could see enough to make the leap.
"Ah." Dr. Shin gathered herself, looking at her own watch with a smile. "I see. Well, it seems your mental faculties are as sharp as I've been told they should be, Mr. Choi. That's good news."
"Yes, it is," Jong-In said. "Now, if you wouldn't mind answering some questions of mine?"
Dr. Shin looked at him seriously. "First, I'd like to assess your injuries. You may have noticed that -"
But Jong-In was tired of being accommodating. "Respectfully, Dr. Shin, before discussing the outcome of the dungeon, I'd like to discuss its beginnings. Is there anyone from my guild on site that I can speak to first?"
Dr. Shin frowned, nodding. "Your Vice Guildmaster is waiting outside. She thought you might want information sooner than later."
"She was right." The brief, embarrassing memory surfaced of Hae-In having to subdue him before his panic could cause a serious incident, but he shoved it away. There'd be time to mourn his lack of social decorum later. "Please send her in. I'd love to discuss the fate of my injuries after, but for now, I need some information."
"I really don't think -"
"Please," Jong-In repeated as patiently as he knew how. Which wasn't all that patiently.
She looked deeply conflicted, but to Jong-In's relief she eventually nodded and moved slowly, reluctantly toward the door.
"Oh, ah, doctor?" Jong-In called. She turned back. "Is there any chance I could get some mouthwash?"
Three rounds of mint and a fully inclined hospital bed later, Jong-In felt human enough to greet Cha Hae-In as she entered the room, expectant and serious.
"Oh, don't give me that look," Jong-In said, trying for another charming smile; she didn't return it, but that was no real indication of how successful he'd been. Hae-In rarely responded to charm of any kind. "It's not so bad. I'm alive, and thanks to you, I didn't actually succeed in burning down this building."
"That wasn't what you were trying to do," Hae-In replied, looking at him steadily as she came to a stop.
Of course it wasn't. He'd just been panicking, out of control; trying desperately to escape.
"No, it wasn't," he agreed, as airly as he could, fixing that maybe-charming smile firmly in place. "But enough about me. What can you tell me about the dungeon?"
Her face tightened, her eyebrows beetling in a frown. "What, specifically, do you want to know? It was a slaughter."
"Elaborate."
"You were there for most of it, sir," Hae-In said.
"Pretend I wasn't," Jong-In suggested. "My mind's fuzzy enough on the details, it could almost be true. Treat it like you would any report."
Hae-In settled herself as she would in his office; hands at her sides, chin up, shoulders back. Parade rest. "Faced with what we thought was a high A-Rank dungeon, we pooled members from both primary strike teams to compensate." She frowned. "Unfortunately, it shifted red the second we got inside."
Not quite the second; there had been a handful just before, where things had seemed normal, untroubled. Then -
Jong-In swallowed, pushing the jumbled feeling of shock and panic away. "That much remains clear to me. I believe we were nine, ten days in before we started our descent to the boss chamber?"
"Ten," Hae-In confirmed. "And one of those spent searching for the dungeon lieutenant before we gave up and assumed there wasn't one."
"That was a mistake," Jong-In whispered, reliving the moment he'd realized it, the ominous pulse of awareness that had told him they were in trouble.
Hae-In bowed her head. "Yes. We were on our first approach to what we thought was the final stretch, when." She stopped, glancing away.
"When an assassin took me down," Jong-In supplied, voice dry and steady. "That part I do remember. What I don't remember is what happened after."
She nodded, looking back at him. "You were badly wounded. After neutralizing you, the assassin crippled one of our archers, took out both our healers, and cleared a path. Their mages finished our backline, then went after our remaining attackers and tanks from afar."
"Both?" Jong-In echoed. "The assassin took out both our healers?"
She nodded.
The odds of that were astronomical. The Hunters Guild ran lower raids with solo healers and dual tanks, but in high ranked dungeons they took double that, if not more. Redundancy was key, since no raid could ever afford to be entirely without either role, and they'd designed their backline defense to split the healers so they were never both exposed to the same devastating attack, should one occur. For that to happen -
"Son Ki-Hoon?" Jong-In made himself ask. "Lee Geon-Guk?"
"Ki-Hoon is alive," Hae-In replied, to his relief, but the glaring absence of the second name made Jong-In ache with regret. "He's the only tank who made it." She nodded her head to the right. "He's in the room next to yours. Han Se-Mi is with him."
"Good," he said. The relationship between Se-Mi and Ki-Hoon was an open secret at the Hunters Guild; Jong-In was glad to hear there'd been at least one happy reunion out of this whole debacle. "But that's over half of the strike team down in one fell swoop. I don't mean to doubt your prowess, Hunter Cha, but how did you manage to defeat the boss essentially on your own?"
"I didn't," she said. "I took down the lieutenant, but there was no chance of continuing through to the boss with so many of us out. We retreated."
"To nowhere," Jong-In said, imagining the scenario, the despair of knowing they were outmatched and could neither escape nor press forward. "The red gate sealed you in."
She lowered her head, looking defeated. "Yes."
"Then I don't understand how I'm still alive," Jong-In said. "That blade got me through the neck, and I felt it cut the artery. Even at my rank, and with constant pressure, there's only so long anyone can survive a wound like that without proper medical attention. So how am I still here?"
Hae-In's face changed, a flicker of anguish pulling her features taut. "The wound was cauterized."
"Cauterized," Jong-In repeated, that far away feeling getting a little further. His vision stopped doubling and blurred out entirely. His ears rang. If he thought about it long enough, if he reached back into those ruinous memories, he could see; he could remember seeing -
"Hunter Cha," Jong-In said distantly, "who got the assassin?"
Hae-In hesitated for a second too long. "Guildmaster, if you really don't remember, I don't think -"
"Hae-In."
She yielded. "You did, sir."
"I did," Jong-In echoed, the ghostly sense-memory of pain and terror and fire threading through him. "I burned her."
"You did," Hae-In agreed grimly. "You burned all of them."
Jong-In swayed, feeling his heart pounding, vaguely aware of the beeping screech of an alarm somewhere. "Not just them. My God, Hae-In, I -"
Hae-In grasped his arms, shaking him, staring him fiercely in the face. "It was a mortal wound, and you're as human as anyone. No human can control the death-spasm instinct to lash out when cornered, with whatever weapon they have on hand."
"And I always have fire in my hand," Jong-In whispered, remembering and remembering and remembering. "Did their mages really finish our backline? Or was that me?"
Hae-In's hands tightened. Her face twisted. "Their mages definitely struck first, but -"
"But there's no way to tell if they landed the killing blow, or if my counterattack did," Jong-In concluded, hoarse with every feeling inside him he didn't dare let loose.
"That's true," Hae-In admitted. "But what you did, your fire? It saved us, Jong-In. It did."
Jong-In shook his head, feeling sick. "I might have killed -"
"You saved us," Hae-In repeated firmly. "Their offensive line was hammering us. If you hadn't burned through them, if it hadn't created an opening for me, we'd all be dead. It gave us the chance to retreat to the fjord and set up fortifications and triage."
"Triage," Jong-In repeated. He wanted to shout; wanted to ask who exactly had still been alive to triage, but he forced himself to shut it down. This was no time for hysterics.
"You and Ki-Hoon were the worst off. We applied what first aid we could. Our remaining archer and melee fighter were able to take up rotating patrols. Lee Bora set ground defenses."
Jong-In had a sudden memory of her; of black hair, and screaming, and fire. He thought he might be physically ill. "Is Hunter Lee alright? Her arm -"
"The wound was severe, but she'll recover with full use of the limb," Hae-In said. "She was instrumental in covering our retreat. It's fortunate the boss wasn't mobile or motivated enough to come after us right away. It's probably the only reason we're all still standing here."
"You're still standing here," Jong-In corrected, his eyes fixed on the middle distance. He felt a little removed from himself; a little apart. "I'm laying down, quite useless." He offered her a twisted slash of a smile, bloody and raw. "Though, I suppose it's a small blessing to be useless instead of being the cause of more collateral damage."
"Jong-In, no," Hae-In said fiercely. "You reacted on reflex after being mortally wounded. Any hunter would've -"
"Mortally wounded and without access to healers," he interrupted, forcing the words past a throat tight with grief and self-loathing. "That's a fatal scenario. How did I last long enough for whatever miraculous circumstance preceded our deliverance?"
"President Choi," Hae-In tried again.
Jong-In didn't stop; he couldn't. If he paused for even a moment, to breathe, to think, he might start screaming. "Answer the question, Hunter Cha."
Hae-In clenched her fists, but she didn't gainsay him. "Fortifying in the fjord created enough time for Hunter Sung to -"
"Hunter Sung," Jong-In repeated faintly, fighting the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity. "Of course it was him. Of course."
Hae-In must've heard something in his voice; something ugly, something Jong-In hadn't intended to let sneak through, because she gave him a miserable look. "Jong-In -"
"Don't," he said, as steadily as he could manage. "I assume he used his teleportation skill?"
Hae-In bowed her head in a nod. "He arrived four days after we were forced to retreat."
"Four days," Jong-In echoed, thinking distantly that he was starting to sound like a parrot. "That's longer than I'd have guessed."
Longer than he would've expected to live.
"You're strong," Hae-In said, low and forceful. "You always have been. That's why you're Guildmaster of the strongest guild in -"
"So, Hunter Sung heard we were in trouble and came to help, as he so often does. But how did he even know we needed help in the first place?"
"Apparently, President Baek called him. Told him that if even the Guildmaster of the Hunters Guild couldn't take down a red gate in two weeks of time dilation, something must be seriously wrong."
"He didn't say that," Jong-In said, knowing it in his bones. That was far too polite and complimentary a re-telling; Yoon-Ho would've been much more insulting, and possibly more vulgar.
"It's what happened," Hae-In insisted. "Hunter Sung came soon after."
"I see," Jong-In said, trying to muster the proper gratitude for the man's rescue, but his physical numbness seemed to be spreading to his emotions; they felt as absent and hollow as the rest of him did, which was saying something. "Then I take it I owe my survival to one of his impossible potions?"
"No." Hae-In looked uncomfortable. "He gave one to Ki-Hoon with good effect. He tried to give one to you, but it didn't work. You were too badly injured."
Jong-In remembered seeing that once before; remembered the sight of Hae-In still and small on Jeju Island, the potion failing to revive her as it had the rest of them. He breathed slow and deep through the understanding that he'd hovered literally on the verge of death. "I see. I'm surprised he didn't just raise one of our perished healers as shadows."
She shook her head. "Their bodies were incinerated at time of death. There was nothing left for him to raise."
Incinerated beyond recovery or recognition. The reflexive power needed to fuel that flame would've been -
Jong-In felt very, very cold.
"And even if he had," Hae-In continued, "I don't think it would've made a difference. One of his shadows tried to heal you as well, but the time between injury and remedy -"
"Right," Jong-In said. There was no hard and fast rule on the length of time needed to successfully utilize magical healing, but there was no doubt that days was definitely too long. "But in that case, how -"
"Hunter Sung suggested the best way he could help was to kill the boss and complete the dungeon, freeing us to escape. I agreed. It took him half a day, which maybe speaks to the strength of the dungeon, if even Hunter Sung had difficulty."
Jong-In had seen Sung Jin-Woo and his army of shadows, and doubted any dungeon, red gate or otherwise, could truly give the man pause. The delay had probably been travel time and routing the boss, more than anything. Some dungeons appeared like a maze full of traps, exhausting hunters through sheer time, misdirection and exertion; this had been one of them.
"Five days, then, give or take," Jong-In said. "Fifteen in gate time, which is just half a day outside."
"Yes."
He closed his eyes. "That's a very long time to survive a mortal wound, cauterized or not."
"Yes," Hae-In agreed. There was a long, pregnant pause. "Jong-In -"
"You don't have to say it, Hae-In," Jong-In said. "It's obvious. An arterial injury seared deeply enough to not bleed out means serious damage. I imagine that explains why I can't feel most of my chest and face." He smiled at her again, charmed and charming, watching as she very carefully didn't respond. "I'd ask if I did it, or if it was their mages, but I expect you'd just tell me there's no way to know."
"There isn't."
"I suppose it's nothing but karmic justice, if it was my doing," Jong-In commented, still smiling; always smiling. "I'm impressed at your poker-face, actually, Hunter Cha. If not for drawing the logical conclusion from the sequence of events, I'd never have known from your expression that half my face had been burned off."
"Not half," Hae-In said gently; far, far too gently. "It mostly grazed you, except for your neck, cheek and -" She stopped.
"My eye," Jong-In filled in for her. "I might've guessed from the double vision. I suppose I'm lucky to have any vision remaining at all, actually." The heat had been so great that even Jong-In had felt it, like burning ice beneath the screams; the enemy's, his Hunter's, his own. "Come to that, I'm probably lucky to have my voice. That dagger came dangerously close to my larynx."
"There was a nick, but not deep enough to sever anything," Hae-In said. "Dr. Shin said you shouldn't have any lasting -"
"Ah, Dr. Shin," Jong-In mused. "Yes, it's probably good timing for me to speak with her again. Would you mind asking her back for me on your way out?"
Her face pulled tight. "Jong-In -"
"Maybe a glass of water, if you're so inclined?" he added, dismissing her as gently as he could. "Functional or not, these vocal cords have been sleeping for nearly eight days now. I'm parched."
Hae-In Cha was quiet, deferential, respectful; they got along well and appreciated one another in a professional context. But Jong-In wouldn't call them friends, and that was fine, that was good, because right now he didn't want a friend. He wanted a subordinate. Someone he could quietly order from the room. Someone he could bully away before he lost control of his expression.
Hae-In didn't want to go; he could see that. But she did, bowing her head, her hair swinging forward to hide her face. "Of course, sir. If that's what you want."
"It is," Jong-In said. "Thank you for your report. Good day, Hunter Cha."
"Good day, Guildmaster Choi," Hae-In said quietly, and left, and then Jong-In was alone.
Which was good; which was fine. Which was exactly as Jong-In wanted it.
Jong-In had always done his best work alone; had thrived, had persevered, had excelled. Had triumphed, first and foremost, alone.
Alone, he had no one to hurt but himself.