-

 

Flash.

 

anger. red hot anger, rising through his body, consuming him

 

Flash.

 

metal gleaming by firelight, he raises his arms to begin the plunge down

 

Flash

 

his mother’s eyes piercing through him, tear his gaze from the terrible, burning accusation, drive the sword down down down

 

Flash

 

a squelching noise, a sputtering gasp, wet gurgles as scarlet life leaks from the fatal wound

 

Flash

 

screaming, distant. blood like rust on the floor, on his hands, on his heart

 

Flash

 

his brother, dead on the ground

 

Flash

 

his brother, dead by his own hand

 

Fla-

 

stop! no more. no more

 

Flash

 

nothing.

 

-

 

It is quiet everywhere this morning.

 

The mist curls around his legs in thin wisps. He wears anklets of it each morning. His feet go pitter-patter on the stone trail as he proceeds on his daily morning trip to the river.

 

The breaths that huff from between his lips match the sighs of the long weeping trees that guard the worn path. He is but a shadow, shrouded in the white mists that perpetually cloak these dark, towering mountains. As he nears the end of the trail, the river sounds filter into existence: the gentle gurgles, the muted splashing that suggests languid movement. Soon enough, the river itself appears. He kneels down by its side and lifts a bucket off his back, scooping up clear water in easy, practiced actions. He sets it aside once it’s full and splashes water onto his face, rubbing away the previous day’s grime.

 

He stands, hoisting the bucket back up, and prepares to take the trip back up the mountain. Just as he’s turning to leave, the clouds part and welcome the sun, and a flash of golden light, reflecting off of something, fills his vision. He turns, looks around, and sees the source of the reflection: in a cluster of reedy plants farther down the river lies a small metal pendant. Setting the bucket back down, he wanders over and picks it up, holding it up to the sky.

 

It’s quite plain, really, just a circle of some sturdy metal on a length of worn leather cord. Where could this have come from? Curious, he pockets it and heads down the river even farther. He doesn’t have to go far before he finds something.

 

There are two legs protruding from one of the bushes that sits right next to the river.

 

He walks over, slowly, and kneels down next to the body, brushing away some reeds to get a clear look at the man’s face. It looks like a young face. Clear, unblemished skin, long eyelashes, gently curving lips — the features are almost feminine. He puts an ear to the man’s chest and hears a faint heartbeat. He sits back on his heels and regards the stranger, a curiously unfathomable look in his eyes, then comes to a decision. He picks up the man easily, hoists the bucket up with his other hand, and sets off back up the mountain path.

 

-

 

There are small cuts all over the man’s visible skin and probably worse under his tattered clothes. He thinks as he tends to them that it is no small miracle this man has survived the sometimes unforgiving river currents. He thinks that perhaps this man did not want to survive.

 

No matter what the man may have wanted, he is resting now on one of the flat floor pallets, the only kind of bed this lonely temple contains. Not the most comfortable situation, but if the monks of old could survive, then he can make do.

 

He’s just finished binding up the last cut when the man stirs. With a groan, he opens his eyes — they’re dark brown — and stares straight at him. A spark of panic flashes in their depths, perhaps as he remembers something, but it is replaced quickly by defensiveness.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Sehun,” he answers.

 

“Luhan,” the man responds without prompting. “Where am I?”

 

“In the mountains. The Wulong mountains, to be precise.”

 

Luhan nods. “The Wulong mountains. That’s far enough.”

 

Sehun doesn’t presume to ask where this place is far enough from, exactly. Luhan moves on quickly. “Wulong — that means Mist Dragon, does it not?” He looks around the room for the first time, and Sehun gets the feeling that nothing escapes him. “I know this architecture. This must be an old monastery. Deserted during the Peony Wars?”

 

He doesn’t bother to wait for any answers, knowing he is correct. “I never thought to end up in one of these.”

 

“I found you washed up by the river,” Sehun begins cautiously. “You were... not in good shape.”

 

Luhan doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’d hoped to never open my eyes again,” he says, and Sehun understands this is all of this man’s story he will be hearing. Luhan’s eyes wander around the room and then come back to fix on Sehun’s, and they look at each other, one man battered and wounded and the other poised but intensely curious.

 

The shriek of the teapot in the next room breaks the stillness in the air, and Sehun goes to pour the tea, freed from some strange tension. When he comes back with two steaming cups, the other man is asleep again. Sehun puts the cups down quietly and sits down next to the cot, watching Luhan breathe out in little puffs of air. He is here to stay, and they both know it.

 

-

 

Luhan does little to interrupt Sehun’s daily routine. He drifts around the temple by day, watches the shifting mountains by night. Sehun watches Luhan as Luhan watches the mountains, and with the both of them clothed in white robes, he feels that they could both blend into the mist completely, disappear forever.

 

When he meditates each day, eyes closed and legs crossed, he senses Luhan’s aura, circling him in a black halo. Sehun has never met anything like it before. This man’s soul is empty, Sehun thinks. He does not care for anything anymore.

 

He does not belong here, in the pure white mountains, but Sehun thinks that perhaps the mist will cleanse him, wash away that endless black.

 

-

 

One day as Sehun is setting out his meditation mat he feels somebody’s presence and looks up to see Luhan, standing silently in the doorway. A thought strikes him, and he decides to act on it.

 

“Would you like to meditate with me today?” It might help Luhan recover. He needs something to work on, something that will keep him grounded. Even as he nods, Sehun’s already going to grab another mat.

 

“Sit down.” Sehun pats the mat next to him and Luhan complies. “Have you meditated before?”

 

“No,” Luhan answers. “I’ve never understood how you can find peace by looking in yourself. All the mistakes you’ve made, all the decisions you regret... do they not only haunt you even more?”

 

“You’re close,” Sehun replies. “Meditation allows you to see your flaws, yes. But it is for that same reason that you can move past them. How can you heal if you never acknowledge who you are?”

 

“I know who I am,” Luhan bites back. “I have to live with myself every single day. And I know you think you can help me. But I will never recover.”

 

Sehun sighs.

 

“Let’s begin.”

 

All semblance of time disappears as they close their eyes. Breathe in, breathe out, and do it again. Luhan falls into the pattern easily enough. Clear your mind. Imagine mist curling into your head, wiping everything away, whiteness, blankness.

 

Breathe in, breathe out.

 

The fading light brings Sehun back into reality. He shakes Luhan gently and watches as awareness comes back into his eyes. “Not so bad, was it?”

 

“Something to distract myself with once in awhile,” Luhan shrugs. “I couldn’t really clear my mind that well.”

 

“You were on the right track,” Sehun replies. “I could hear it in your breathing. You did well for a beginner.” Luhan shrugs again and gets up abruptly, making for outside.

 

“Luhan,” he calls.

 

“What?” Luhan doesn’t turn around.

 

“It’s possible for you to recover. I want you to meditate every day from now on.” There’s a pause but no response, and then Luhan steps out the door.

 

-

 

Luhan still shows up daily anyways, and though Sehun hadn’t anticipated it happening, he begins to look forward to their meditation sessions more and more. Though he has never minded living by himself, it’s nice having someone else around to share the temple with.

 

The worrying thing is that Luhan isn’t showing any progress. He’s not sure if Luhan isn’t putting his heart into the sessions, or if it’s just going to be a long, slow path to recovery. His aura continues to radiate pure black, and the man himself remains every bit as distant.

 

Sehun resolves to break the monotony somewhat. As much time as Luhan spends outside, he’s never roamed much farther than the clearing around the temple. So when Luhan goes to get his mat one afternoon, Sehun beckons him to the door.

 

“Not today, Luhan. I’m going to show you around the area instead. I know you’re already very familiar with the temple itself, but you spend too much time cooped up in there. And though some would disagree, these mountains are very beautiful. There is much worth seeing.”

 

Luhan follows along without complaint as Sehun leads them down one of the paths connected to the clearing. “What do those people say?”

 

“What?” Sehun replies, pushing a branch out of the way.

 

“I mean, those people who say these mountains are not beautiful,” Luhan says.

 

“They say these mountains are haunted. That such abundant mist is unnatural. That evil roams behind every twist, every turn. Do you agree?”

 

“I... do not know.”

 

Sehun glances back at Luhan. He is looking out at the endless mountains, some emotion hidden in his dark eyes. “We’re almost there.”

 

“I do not know,” Luhan says again. “At times I have felt these mountains are a sanctuary, and the mist a shield. They have protected me for so long, after all. Other times I feel as if I am being suffocated. The mist, so white, so pure, yet so heavy —  it surrounds me always, choking me, demanding my repentance. But I have none to give.

 

“This place cannot contain me; I do not fit in. The mountains sleep, but I will never know such peace.”

 

“You are not the only tortured soul to have ended up in these mountains,” Sehun says, breaking the silence as they arrive at the edge of the cliffs. “Many a lost man or woman has found peace here, apart from the rest of the world. Others are not so fortunate.” He walks up to the very edge of ridge, Luhan close behind, and gestures downward. Together they gaze into the boundless mist. Beyond the first couple feet, there is only endless shifting white.

 

“There is a legend,” Sehun continues, “that hundreds of years ago, on this very cliff, a young woman jumped to her death. Nobody knows the exact reason why she did — some say she was separated from her lover, others that she was simply dissatisfied with her life. It is said that she believed only death would free her.”

 

Luhan is still staring into the depths of the mist. Sehun puts a hand on Luhan’s shoulder. “Such ends are not for men like us.”

 

Luhan brushes it off savagely, and Sehun senses him darkening. “You do not know who I am. We are wholly different people, you and I.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You are white, and I am black. When we meditate, I sense it — the colors. You know what it is that I speak of. ” He turns to Sehun, grabs his shoulders and shakes them, a wildness in his eyes. “Do you?”

 

“Yes,” Sehun concedes, and Luhan relaxes. “I am surprised that you have picked up on it. It often takes years of practice before one is able to sense auras. Do you know what the colors mean?”

 

“I can well enough guess,” Luhan says. “I have never needed the colors to know. You are pure, clean, whole. But I do not belong in this white robe as you do. I am sinful, beyond redemption. Hollow.”

 

“Once again, you are only partly correct,” Sehun sighs. “We all have our darknesses inside of us. Likewise, we are all capable of good. But we must try to come to terms with that darkness to come into the white. That is what life is about — finding peace with yourself. That is what gives life meaning.”

 

“I suppose you are perfect, then?” Luhan says bitterly. “That you have conquered your darkness? Your aura is completely white, after all.”

 

“I will never conquer my darkness,” Sehun answers. “You presume that life is a short battle; if you win, you are white. If you lose, black. That is not the way of the world. Our existence is a continuous struggle, a constant war, to emerge free from darkness, but we will never fully succeed. My aura is white, yes, but that is because I never stop struggling to rise above my weaknesses, my selfish desires. I maintain the white, but I cannot keep it.”

 

They stare at each other, a furious battle of wills, until Luhan looks away. “I will tell you my story,” he says quietly.

 

“Then we shall see if I can be saved.”

 

He walks along the edge of the cliff, arms held out on both sides. “I was — am — the son of powerful man. The family I came from was very well off, part of the high circles, had the king’s ear. I had...” he pauses, voice trailing off, “I had a brother.

 

“My mother took very good care of us, but she knew there was something wrong with me. I would become very angry, irrationally angry, at seemingly arbitrary times. I fell into fits of rage, and during those moments I had no sense of who I was. My vision flashed in and out, bright red, and I could very well hurt somebody and not know what I had done. I was a danger to my family.

 

“They brought a physician in. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong, either. So he told me the only thing I could do was try to keep it under control. My family had to be careful around me. They did not trust me, not even my dearest brother.

 

“One day, I lost control. I don’t remember much of it. I just know I was terribly angry, like I had never been before. I went on a rampage. My brother tried to calm me down, as he had done in the past, but I was beyond control at that point. Somehow I got my hands on a sword, and my brother wouldn’t give up, and I stabbed him. I killed him.

 

“I don’t know how I got away without being killed myself. The last thing I remember is throwing myself in the river.”

 

Sehun watches as Luhan reverses direction along the cliff. “You do not feel such rage anymore?”

 

“No,” Luhan says. “When I opened my eyes in the temple, after you saved me, I felt nothing. And how can I be saved if I feel nothing? If I am numb, empty, uncaring...”

 

His voice trails off, and Sehun exhales. “Let us return to the temple.”

 

Luhan lingers for a moment, gazing back at the mist, and then follows suit.

 

-

 

True to his own word, Luhan’s aura does not change — not that day, not the day after, and not in the days following. And as the days and then weeks pass, Sehun begins to feel an horrible, inexplicable sense of dread.

 

He wakes up one night covered in a sheen of sweat. He flips over, trying to making himself comfortable, and when he opens his eyes finds himself staring directly into Luhan’s. The air is thick and still, and neither moves as they look at each other, transfixed by some otherworldly force. Luhan’s eyes, dark in the night, refuse to let Sehun go.

 

They are pitch black.

 

The moonlight flickers, and Luhan’s eyes are normal again, and finally he looks away. Sehun sinks back into his cot, breath coming in barely suppressed gasps. He reassures himself that it was merely a trick of the light, but sleeps uneasy for the rest of the night.

 

-

 

The second time Sehun wakes up at night, dread screams in every bone of his body. Futilely, he turns to the other side of the room, knowing already that nobody is there.

 

He moves quickly, out the door and down the path that leads to the cliff. He follows the black trail that paints the air in great long streaks. The color ades the very atmosphere, so dark is the aura from which it emanates.

 

Black, black, black.

 

Luhan’s aura has never been blacker.

 

This is not the end. This cannot be the end!

 

Sehun emerges onto the cliffs.

 

“Luhan!”

 

Luhan is standing at the edge of the precipice, arms held out to both sides. He does not turn around, and Sehun sees that his eyes are closed.

 

“Luhan, you cannot do this!” Sehun pleads. “You cannot give up hope!”

 

“I have been beyond hope since the beginning,” Luhan says quietly.

 

“Lu— “

 

“I have the answer to your question,” Luhan says, opening his eyes. “About the nature of the mountains.”

 

Sehun falls silent.

 

“These mountains are not evil,” Luhan murmurs. “They are merely sad. Too many like me have wandered, lost, among them. Too many like me cannot save themselves from their own darkness. Too many like me cannot see the end.”

 

Sehun understands now that he cannot save Luhan. With trembling hands, he reaches into his robe and touches something cold. He withdraws a metal circle: the pendant found so long ago, and only now found again. He holds it out.

 

Luhan smiles. “Keep it. To remember me by.”

 

He smiles still as he falls backward, seemingly weightless.

 

And then the mist takes him, and he fades away into white.

 

-