The young man breathed deep. He shouldn’t be here and, to be honest, he wished he wasn’t. Royal eyes flashed to his direction and he ducked behind the wall his was hiding behind to avoid them. He wanted them to see him even less then than he wanted to be here. Here, behind a tall wall, fingers gripping its corner as he peaked his head around to see what he didn’t want to see.

The eyes finally moved on, their owner showing no reaction to seeing him. The boy didn’t know if that meant that he wasn’t seen or if he was just being played with. It didn’t matter either way. The boy wasn’t going to move. He was too entranced by the scene that played out in front of him. Another young man, about eighteen or so, was battling in the middle of a grand coliseum-like room. The dragoon he faced against was going easy on him, obviously. The boy could easily tell even from his distance. However, the other was being massacred.

The dragoon prodded with a sharp stab and his opponent jumped back, almost as if he was astonished, pulling both his sword and shield away from his middle. The lance had longer reach than the boy was able to outmaneuver, though, and the tip of the weapon nudged the middle of his chest plate. “No,” the watching young man said, “Block with the shield and knock the lance away. Then move in close and go for the stab.” The other dragoons that watched the match from above in their stone seats must have felt just as disapproving. They shook their heads as the sound of metal hitting metal sounded in the large arena.

The fighting boy staggered back after the hit, rubbing on his chest plate as if it would sooth the pain his chest must be feeling. The watching boy rubbed his chest as well. He took enough stabs there to know how that felt. He looked back out to the stage as the boy returned to the spar, taking a ready stance. “No,” the other whispered again from behind the wall, “Your stance is off.” The fighter stood with his legs wide and straight across from one another. He held his shield low, closer to his crouch than his ribs and his sword’s hilt was on the inside of his knee. “You’re standing as if you’re using a two handed sword.” He continued to whisper as if the boy could hear him, “You need to stand with one foot behind the other so you can brace yourself for a block. Keep the sword on the outside of your body so you won’t accidently raise your sword to block your chest.” He then gave an exasperated sigh as he pushed off the wall and shook his head in dismay. “He’s going to end up stabbing himself,” he exclaimed. That didn’t stop him from running back to the wall as the fight started again, though, gripping tight as he continued to watch.

The dragoon stood tall and at ease, swiping sandy blond hair from his eyes as he waited. He raised a bushy eyebrow at the awkward stance before shrugging and getting into a stance himself. He held his lance in the middle, letting the length of it cover across his chest and armor. The boy backstage instantly recognized the stance. This dragoon was a power house. He wasn’t about stabbing and he wasn’t about the fancy twirls that other users of long weapons did. He used his lance less like a spear or boa but more like a two-sided sword. “He was going to break clean through that flimsy stance,” the boy mumbled and he was right.

One moment the kid was standing, the next a hard shoulder knocked into the upper regions of his chest while a lance was pulled into the hollow of his knees. The teenager fell to the ground with a loud thump. His sword slid from his grip along with his shield when he hit the floor. The boy moved to retrieve them but was stopped by the sharp point that nudged his throat. He looked up to see the dragoon standing over him with the point of his lance at his throat. “Sorry kid,” the Imperial dragoon said, “Maybe next year.” The boy sighed before flopping back to the ground in defeat. The dragoon raised an eyebrow once again but still tossed his lance to the side and offered his hand. The boy took it, standing and recovering his lost weapons. “So,” the dragoon said, “Who’s next?”

The boy near the wall moved out of the way as the defeated teenager walked passed. He touched the other’s shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile as he walked pass which the other returned. The boy frowned for a moment, wondering why he was given the sad smile before he heard the dragoon’s words echo across the coliseum. “Who’s next,” the boy repeated. He looked around him to see an empty hall that was once filled with teens just like him. “Oh ,” the boy mumbled, “I’m next.”

The boy hesitantly stepped out into the arena. The dragoon stopped rolling his shoulder to watch him walk in. He instead rolled his fingers along the rigged green medallion that sat in the middle of his chest. It lit up when it was touched and the dragoon nodded his head, “I think so too.” He never took his eyes off the other as he shuffled to center stage, though. The boy shrank back from the stare, the dragoon’s eyes sharp under his unruly eyebrows. He stopped across from the other, unlatching his sword from his back. He then stood with his legs far apart, one foot just in front of the other as he settled the weight of his blade between his legs instead of his back. “Where’s your shield, kid,” the dragoon asked as he replaced his shoulder guard and faced his opponent.

The boy shrugged. “Don’t need one,” he answered, “This baby is both my sword and shield.” The dragoon nodded as though he just absorbed some important information, the medallion lighting up once more as he eyed the other’s large sword. The boy tightened the grip on his handle, feeling unsettled. He felt like he gave something away he shouldn’t have. The dragoon walked about the arena with his lance held loosely by his side, his steel-toe boots heavy on the polished marble floor. The sound was intimidating to say the least. The boy didn’t say anything in return to the scare tactic. He instead just moved along the area as well, making sure to keep the distance between them and his feet steady.

“You don’t need one, do you,” the dragoon answered, his voice sure and intrigued. The boy blinked up shocked as did the other dragoons that watched from above. “I can tell you this now,” the man said as he stopped pacing. He placed his lance on one of his shoulders with his hand closer to the lower end, his shoulders lax. The boy noticed the stance and it surprised him. It seemed like he was for the fancier stuff after all. “It’s going to be an honor working alongside of you.” With that he rushed the boy, turning his back towards him before turning back around and using the momentum to swing in a wide horizontal strike.

The move surprised the other and came out exceedingly quick. He raised his sword up just as quickly, turning to his left to block it easily. The block didn’t deter the dragoon though as he easily changed the direction of his swing, before grabbing it with both hands and spinning it over his head. The shining green medallion swung just as wildly as its owner did, glowing to display its excitement. The dragoon then quickly lunged forward, using the length of the lance to be far away but still able to stab. The boy blocked the attack with the flat side of his sword and shoved it away before moving in. He grabbed the dragoon by his forearm and pulled him close before going in for the stab.

The sound of metal on metal echoed throughout the room, the tip of the boy’s sword sitting just below the other’s glowing green medallion. The dragoons above were silent as they watched a teen hold a sword to their brethren’s armored chest. The boy nervously looked up to the stands in fear as he slowly let the other go. “I’m sorry,” he announced to the quiet room. He backed away with one of his hands raised in surrender, the other gripping tightly onto his hilt. “I was supposed to win, right?”

The dragoon across from him laughed, sitting his lance upright so he could lean on it. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re supposed to win.” The boy deflated some but still looked around him confused. “Don’t mind them,” the dragoon said, “They’re not used to seeing me lose.”  The dragoon offered the other an easy smirk, the boy’s returning smile not as easy. Seeing this, the dragoon walked up to him and slapped him on the back hard enough for the boy to fumble. “Besides they’re a group of old folks unlike us,” he commented off-handedly, “Wait, how old are you, brat?”

“Six,” the boy started. He cleared his throat when he realized that his voice was much higher pitched than he wanted it to be. “Sixteen,” he started again with his voice deeper, “I’m sixteen.” He could hear one of the dragoons above him repeat him in awe and he frowned. “Not too young, right?”

“No,” another voice called from the stands. The sound of it silenced the whispering dragoons that surrounded him. The man stood from his throne, his golden robes falling in small waterfalls around his strong frame. His matching crown sat comfortably among the chestnut hair on his head as if it never sat on anyone else’s. “Not too young at all.” All the room’s occupants fell to their knees once he stood but the man just smiled and waved the kneeling away. “Stop,” he said, “The attention should be on this boy.” He gestured to the boy down below. The boy did the same, pointing at himself. “Yes you,” he said, his smile turning soft.  “I, King of Imperial City, would like to personally welcome you to the Imperial Army, Jackson Wang.”

-----------------------------

Jackson blinked awake slowly, groaning as he tried to get his eyes to listen to his commands.  He squint them as he tried to get a good look around him without alerting anyone. He couldn’t decipher much, his head still foggy from sleep, but he was certain that the dark navy cloth he was surrounded by wasn’t the ratty army green he’s accustom to seeing when he usually woke up. “That’s not right,” he mumbled to himself as panic started to flow through him. No fugitive liked waking up and not knowing where they were.

 He tried to rise and find out but a strong hand grabbed him, pushing his shoulder to lay him back down.  “Calm down,” the hand’s owner said. The voice wasn’t familiar to Jackson and it surely didn’t calm him. He reached an arm across his chest in an attempt to shove the unwanted hand off, but paused in the middle of the motion. Hot unexpected pain shot from the middle of his chest.  The feeling was so potent and shocking that he gasped in surprise before he groaned pitifully and flopped back down. He remembered what happened now. He couldn’t help but laugh, the dream he had earlier suddenly becoming so freaking ironic. “I’m guessing you want to know what happened,” the voice asked. It was laced with amusement, the man most likely laughing at Jackson’s pitiful groans. 

“Actually,” Jackson began, ready to bombard the man with questions, but he cut himself short when the word caused him pain. He hissed then breathed deep, laying flat on his back in a hope to breathe the pain away. Though, with every breath he took he could feel the pull of stitches at his skin instead. He frowned at the unfortunately familiar sensation. Last he checked one couldn’t just stitch together the crater he knew was in the center of his chest after the Behemoth’s attack. He was confused for only the briefest of moments before things clicked.”Never mind,” he said instead, “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Mark healed him. More importantly, Mark reveled that he was a Red Mage. “So, I’m guessing the Behemoth’s down?” The blonde asked with his eyes still shut and his breathing still heavy.

“You guessed right,” the voice said. There was rustling for a moment, the movement quite near to Jackson now that he was sentient enough to hear it. The sound of a loosened top, the pop of a first aid kit and the wrinkling of a folded bag all echoed in the air. “Used a Thundaga and it was right out,” he continued, “You two weakened it pretty well, so we only had to add the finally touches. I’m just glad it’s over.”  Jackson noticed the relief in the other’s voice that showed his statement to be true.

 There was more rustling as the other moved closer to Jackson. Legs unraveling, the man most likely moving to a kneeling position so he could hunch over the blonde, before fingers probed gently at his chest.

Jackson grabbed the questing hand out of reflex.  He caught the other in mid-motion, the injured swordsman’s eyes still closed despite his bone-crushing grip. They both came to a sharp halt as Jackson peek an eye open. He finally saw who he was talking to and frowned once he realized it was the dragoon from earlier he held tightly in his fist. The upperparts of his red armor was gone now, the man covered in a navy tank instead. His raven hair was tossed carelessly upon his head, the front hanging gently on the pale lines of his face and over his sharp eyes. The beginnings of a golden chain dangled from his neck, Jackson figuring that the matching pendent was most likely hidden under his shirt. Well, the necklace erased any doubt that the swordsman had about the other’s authenticity. He was definitely a dragoon.

That didn’t stop Jackson from giving the other a warning glare as his grip tightened, thinking to himself that his dream has become even more ironic. The dragoon only raised an eyebrow, his face calm and patient yet full of the authority every dragoon had as he waited to be released. The look didn’t warn Jackson to let him go but ordered Jackson to let him go. “Where’s Mark,” Jackson asked his grip still tight. He might have owed the man much, but he wasn’t letting go until he was sure that the red was safe.

The dragoon sighed at the question, his face softening as if he understood. He then gently wrapped his free hand around the other’s wrist, massaging the tension that resided there away and slowly eased the other’s fingers loose. “He’s safe,” the dragoon answered. He pulled his hand out of Jackson’s loosened grip, turning to place the cotton ball he held onto a towel nearby. He then flopped from his kneeling position and placed his hands between his legs. He gave off the air of opened and laid back but Jackson could still see the line in his shoulders, the tension that told that he was ready to take him down if the blonde tried to flee again. “But you’re not,” he said seriously, “I just stitched your wound and I haven’t disinfected it or wrapped it yet. I need for you to stay still. I’m sure you don’t want your friend to come back and find you dead of infection because you felt like being stubborn.”

Jackson glared for only a moment before deflating, finding himself no match for the other’s common sense. He settled more in his resting spot, balling his hands into fist as he tried to force them by his side. “I didn’t grab you on purpose,” he supplied before asking, “Jaebum, right?” The dragoon nodded, his face softening in understanding once more before he reached for another cotton ball and the bottle of disinfect. He dabbed as gently as he could around the stitches, showing the other apologetic faces when he pressed too hard.

Jaebum finally tossed the ball away when he saw that his fellow warrior was drenched in sweat and his eyes were glazed over. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t pass out on me yet,” the raven said. He dipped a cloth in the bucket of cold water behind him and used it to wiped the dazed man down, removing the blood that caked on his hairline and face before wetting another clean towel and laying it on his forehead. “Stay with me,” he said as he tapped the other’s face. The blonde jerked awake at the taps, goofy smile on his worn face followed by a half-baked apology. The dragoon cracked a smile of his own as relief washed over him, thankful that this blonde before him was a fighter.

“You know,” Jackson started to say. He paused to flutter his eyes shut when another wet cloth passed over his face and sword arm. “You didn’t really answer my question.” The gentle movements stopped as the other looked to him in confusion. Jackson chuckled breathlessly at the expression. Confusion made the dragoon’s eyes smaller and fattened his high cheeks. Jackson honestly thought in his foggy mind that the expression looked cute on Jaebum. “You didn’t tell me where Mark was,” he supplied.

“Oh,” Jaebum said, “He’s with... Jinyoung.” The other man’s name was heavy on the dragoon’s lips as he tossed the cloth he was using backing into the bucket before facing towards the town.  Jackson could see the instant change as guilt weighed heavily on the other.  His shoulders were slumped and his head lowered. He watched as the man played with his lips as though he could physically force his choked up words to come out. “I just,” he began before sighing. He looked back up to Jackson, forcing his shoulders straight as he looked the man in the eye. Though his body strong, his sharp facial features where softened by his sincerity. ”Thank you,” Jaebum said. “He was my responsibility,” he continued as he looked at the other as if it was his life the swordsman saved, “And I was to one to endanger him, I should have been the one to protect him.”

Jackson shrank away from the other’s raw gratitude. It’s been a long time since someone thanked him like that – since he was seen as a hero. He honestly didn’t think he deserved it anymore. “Think nothing of it,” Jackson shrugged, “I didn’t think about it. I just jumped, you know.” He shrugged as best he could from his position, his fingers flexing along his sides as he tried to keep old memories of when he did deserve it at bay. 

“You just jumped,” Jaebum repeated. He leaned back on his hands, looking as though the comment left him flabbergasted. He then sat up straight before looking away from the other, shaking his head as he cracked another smile. “I guess the rumors were true, huh,” he asked. He then looked back at the other, something akin to admiration coming from his eyes. “You truly are the ‘Dragoon without a Dragon’.”

Jackson paused when he heard the name, his hands folding into fists once more. He swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat as years of buried memories flooded him at once. The images of dragoons patting him on the back, calling him one of them own, telling him that he had the heart and ability of any dragoon, then them praising him when he officially joined their elite force – it all passed by rapidly in his mind. When dragoons talked about him to their underlings that’s what they referred to him as, the ‘Dragoon without a Dragon’. It was an honor that any Imperial soldier would have dreamed of. That all seemed so long ago, though. That thought brought him back to the present where the other waited, a frown marring his once ‘cute’ features.  “So you know of me,” Jackson asked his tone cold and sharp.

“Why do I get the feeling that you didn’t want me to,” Jaebum asked. The dragoon slouched once more, but instead of looking relaxed he looked disappointed. He faced the former soldier with a frown. “Of course I know of you,” he answered, “You’re a legend in the Imperial Army.” He paused before a sheepish half-smile flashed on his face. “I mean,” he said, “You were. Now though...”

“Now I’m a disgrace,” Jackson finished for him. He stretched his arm over his eyes and sighed. The gesture made his chest sting as his stitches were pulled too far but this was better than seeing the disappointment all over Jaebum’s face. He was tired of seeing it. The faces of disbelief that slowly transformed into disgust – it still haunts him. Then the voices of dragoons asking why and how started to fill his head and he snatched his arm away in frustration.

“Stop that,” Jaebum ordered. He reached across and laid a hand on the blonde’s uncovered chest, forcing him still. “You’re going to pull your stitches out,” he growled, “And if I have to do that stitch job over again, I’m going to make it hurt.” Jackson glared but he knew that the other was right. He pulled his arm back to his side as the raven reached behind him and pushed to sit him up. “I’m going to wrap you up now,” he said formally. It was policy in the Imperial Army to inform a conscience patient of what they were doing next. “I didn’t tell you last time,” he said, “So I get why you went off on me.”

“Sorry,” Jackson started, “I didn’t mean to.” The raven just simply nodded in understanding once more. He then nudged Jackson’s elbow and the blonde followed the silent command, raising his arm so the dragoon could place the wrappings along his armpit. Jackson held the tail end while Jaebum wrapped it around him. The two worked in tangent to one another while they quickly wrapped the swordsman as if they were old friends and this happened often between them. Jackson mindlessly reached beside him, handing the other the medical tape before the dragoon even asked for it. It was taken without the other even looking up, Jackson easily lifting his arm again so that the other could finish.

“I don’t get it, though,” Jaebum started in the comfortable silence. He stopped to rip the tape off with his teeth, before tossing it carelessly behind him. “What happened? At one point you’re the first non-dragoon to become a commanding officer, leading your first platoon on a mission in Zyraion. Next you’re having a ‘psychotic breakdown’ and, well,” the man paused his voice dropping, “killing a group of child mages.” The raven pressed his hand along the tape he placed on the wrappings, ensuring it would stay on. He could feel the way the other’s body flinched under his fingers when he spoke of the children’s deaths; could see the uncomfortable, regretful grimace that masked his face.  The former soldier was filled with guilt and the dragoon knew from experience that psychotics were rarely guilty. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he reiterated. He then pushed away from the other, locking eyes with him before he spoke again, “But then again lies rarely do.”

Jackson blinked in shock before lowering his eyes and breaking the contact he held with Jaebum. He crossed his arm around his bandaged chest as if he was shielding himself. He wanted to seem small, the dragoon noticed. He was ashamed. “Is that what you think,” Jackson whispered, “That it’s all lies?” The blonde gave a mirthless snort before his expression fell. He chewed on his bottom lip and his eyes glazed over with an internal pain this time. “No one lied, Jaebum. It’s the truth. I wanted to save them, but I just-” The man shrugged as words escaped him. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even acknowledge it. So he ran instead. He ran and hid like a coward. He was no dragoon.

“You expect me to believe that?” Jaebum sighed. He turned his back to the self-proclaimed child murder, dipping his hands into the bucket behind him to clean them. Jackson looked at the other’s turned back in confusion. “You want me to believe that a man that can jump in front of a Behemoth to save a complete stranger,” he began, “Killed a group of kids? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it. You don’t have it in you, Captain Wang.” He then turned back towards the other with an angry, frustrated frown marring his features. “I’ve seen my fair share of evil,” Jaebum stated, “You’re not evil, Jackson. You didn’t kill those kids.” His blatant refusal of Jackson’s truth bewildered the swordsman. He looked back at his raven companion with his mouth agape, any rebuttals he had dying on his tongue. “Imperials have the tendency to lie,” Jaebum growled. He then pulled his necklace from out of his shirt, wrapping his fingers around the large dull red jewel that hung around his neck. “They pulled one on me before. I’m not letting them do it again.”

“Your dragon,” Jackson questioned confused. He looked at the red jewel that hung from the golden chain. Light should have sparked once Jaebum’s fingers met the jewel. The connection between the dragoon and his dragon should’ve illuminated it. However, Jackson notice there was no light at all, not even the light of the soul living within it. “Where’s your dragon, Jaebum?”

The raven face contorted to an ominous glare. The expression was so hateful it raised the hairs on the back of the blonde’s neck. He didn’t even think that the collected man he’s seen so far could make such a blatantly evil expression. “I trusted my dragon to the Imperials,” he seethed, “And they took him from me.” He squeezed the ruby pendent in the palm of his hand, applying enough pressure for it to leave an indent in his palm.

“Why would they take your,” Jackson began but he stopped himself cold. He knew that red armor and seen that ruby pendent. The raven was a fire dragoon. Fire dragoons are generations old, ancient even, and both they and their dragon were rumored to be filled to the brim with ancient magical prowess. “The Red Mage Experiments.”

The raven looked up wide-eyed, surprise overtaking the hatred that once marred his face. “You know about that,” he asked. The blonde nodded but his eyes were unfocused as if he was in intense thought. “How do you know about that,” the dragoon asked.

Jackson blinked away from his thoughts to answer the question. He features were solemn again, though, when he spoke. “I found out on Zyraion before... everything,” he mumbled, “They were experimenting on those children.”

The other’s expression was murderous once more and Jackson was sure that if he still had his dragon he would be puffing steam from his nostrils with every angry exhale. “That’s inhuman,” he said, “To do that to children.” He then deflated from his anger, the hurried run of his fingers in his hair slowing to a stop as he held his head instead. “To think that I almost subjugated Jinyoung to that fate,” he murmured to himself. The blonde looked up curiously at the whispered words. The dragoon shied away from the eyes, hesitating to answer the unasked question. However, he assumed it was only fair to share with the other as the other has shared to him. “I got a mission about a year ago,” he began, “To capture a powerful Black Mage that committed major transgressions against the Imperial Crown.” He sighed before running his palm from his hair to over his face, the hand bringing down his expression as it passed. “They wouldn’t even tell me what he did,” he said as he shook his head, “I should’ve known that something was up, but I was too trusting. I went out without a second thought.”  He breathed deep, gathering himself, before he continued. “Now that I think back on it, it wasn’t really a fight,” he said with the briefest of smiles as he reminisced, “He was holding back. We both were. I don’t know. I couldn’t go full force. He just didn’t seem like a criminal. He was an for certain, but not a criminal.” He then paused to laugh again, eyes watching the closed tent flaps. “He didn’t even deny the crimes. He only looked confused for a moment before telling me to come get him if I thought I could. I don’t know how to back down from a challenge and I didn’t know how to disobey orders, so I did. I brought him in.” The smile then disappeared off his face as he looked down to his hands. He ringed his fingers together before he looked up again and continued. “I got curious after they asked for my dragon. So I went looking,” he said as he looked Jackson in the eye, “I didn’t like what I found. My dragon was gone, long gone and the sassy mage I brought back with me was nearly lifeless. Not just him, either. There was a room of them, all in tubes with scars everywhere. I knew it was too late for the others but apparently Jinyoung’s a fighter. I busted him out there. I promised to never let any harm come to him again, especially not because of me. “

“I get it,” Jackson said. A small smile blossomed on his face as he thought of an overwhelmed redhead that just experienced his first major battle. He remembered grabbing him by his trembling shoulders and promising that he would be safe if he stayed with the blonde. “I made a similar promise – twice. I didn’t keep it the first time,” he said. He thought of a little boy that held tightly to his chainmail and whose tears dripped along his fingers to only be replaced with his blood moments later. “But I plan on keeping it this time.”

“You mean Mark,” Jaebum asked. Jackson simply nodded as he looked out towards Ferin. Jaebum noticed that he held his arm around his knee so his abdomen didn’t have to hold him up and irritate his wound. His face was content despite his pain. Jaebum looked at the other. Even injured and clearly weak, he still only thought of protecting someone else. The hero worship he felt as a rookie was slowly coming back to him. Jackson was once someone that both dragoons and non-dragoons looked up to. He was someone special. Having this conversation with him and having the man understand his need to protect made the dragoon finally understand why everyone held him in such high regards. It made him add the man’s tarnished name on the list of wrongdoings done by the Imperial government. It made him want to tear them down even more. “Come with me,” Jaebum ordered.

“What?” Jackson tore away from the tent’s opening, the dragoon’s order startling him. “Come with you where,” he asked.

Jaebum gave Jackson a wicked smirk and he shifted excitedly towards the other. “Come with us to Riel.” Jackson scrunched his eyebrows together as his face displayed his confusion. Jaebum continued before the swordsman could even ask. “There’s a rebel force there. We can help them.”

 “That’ll start a war,” Jackson returned. He leaned more into his raised knee, features hard. “I’m not dragging Mark into a war and I won’t abandon him either.”

“Jackson,” Jaebum sighed, “Let me level with you.” He then sat next to his former comrade in arms, bare shoulders pressed together. Jackson leaned into the subtle assistance, letting himself rest against the other in order to sooth the ache in his chest. “Things changed since you left. There’s always been strife between the Three Nations, but things aren’t as simple anymore. The strife between Zyraion and Imperial City is most likely a farce.” Jackson jerked back from the other before his wound punished him for his rapid movement. He then laid lax on Jaebum’s offered shoulder as the man gently probed to check to see in his wound was still stitched. “Be careful, brat,” he chastised. Hero worship be damned.

“Sorry,” Jackson almost pouted. It’s been a while since a dragoon called him ‘brat’. “But c’mon,” he continued, “Decades of tension can’t be faked.”

“It might not have always been that way,” Jaebum said. He took a quick peek down to ensure that the man was not bleeding through his wrappings before he continued. “But the latest has to be. They’re locking innocent mages, like Jinyoung, away in order to experiment on them! Who’s to say that he was the first? Who’s to say that he’s the last?”

“That does make sense,” Jackson nodded. He bit his lip for a moment, eyes fading in thought. “The Head Mage knew about the experiments that were conducted on those kids. He was the one to tell me about it. They needed someone to ‘take care of the failures’. They figured they’d put their best man on the job.”  Jackson could feel the anger that ran through Jaebum after he spoke. The shoulder under him rippled and tightened as the dragoon suppressed his outburst.

The tension then moved as quickly as it came, the man wrapping a friendly arm around the other’s shoulder as he spoke calmly into the other’s blonde hair. “We have to stop this, Jackson,” Jaebum said, “The war is inevitable. The least we can do is to become the ones to ensure that the right side wins.” Jaebum then leaned forward when he felt the weight on his shoulder get heavier, the blonde most likely falling asleep again. He caught the man about his shoulders and leaned him back so he could lie down once more.

“I can’t take Mark to a war, JB,” Jackson mumbled half asleep. The raven quirked an eyebrow at the new name but made no moves to correct him. He nodded, thinking that the gesture would pacify the drowsy man, but he was proven wrong when his wrist was once again gripped in a vice grip. He looked down to his capturer to see the other’s dark eyes were clear and unmistakably sentient. “I mean it. Mark’s running from the Imperials too. Running with you will lead us right to them. I can’t risk Mark.”

“I understand,” Jaebum answered, “You know I do.” He then gripped the other gently with his free arm, his eyes also serious and unforgiving when they met with the other’s. “But how long do you plan on running,” he asked. “They’re going to find you both someday, Jackson” he continued, “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You and I both know that the only way to truly be free is to eliminate the ones that held us to begin with.” Jackson then looked away and Jaebum instantly knew that the blonde saw his words as truth. He grip loosened and he flopped his arm on the ground in defeat. “Just think about it, Jackson,” Jaebum counseled, “And talk to Mark if you have to, but I have to be honest here. I want you both there.” Jackson simply nodded. “Good, now get some rest. The mages will be back soon and when they are, you need to be ready to move, okay.”

“Got it,” Jackson mumbled before promptly falling asleep.

Jaebum watched the other for a moment, eyes checking if his breathing was normal. He was satisfied when he saw the other’s chest consistently rise and fall before leaving the tent in order to look out for the mages instead. As he watched in the direction of Ferin, he let his mind wonder back to the other inside. That man inside wasn’t a murderer. Yet he carried the weight of it on his undeserving shoulders. Jaebum intended on fixing that.  Just as he intended on preventing another scar from ruining Jinyoung’s skin again, just as he intended on retrieving his stolen dragon from the thieves that dared to take him. The Imperials were going to receive the quick strike of justice they deserved and it was going to come from the blades of his double-sided lance.

AN:  I'm so sorry that this chapter is so late. July and August have been really rough for me. Plus the dialouge was a little unnatural the first three drafts so I had to keep rewriting and adjusting. I was driving  me crazy. I hate editing stuff. Anywho I hope you like it. btw, I was supposed to write Jinyoung's and Mark's time together in this chapter as well but it's already crazy long and late and I couldn't tact anymore onto this chapter so it'll have to wait until the next. I promise you'll get you mages next time.