Sehun isn't expecting much, which is not the kind of mentality he's supposed to have when he's being sent out to a war. Then again, his family isn't expecting much from him either. The servants were eyeing with pity before they left the manor, and his relatives had looked at him with distaste. His aunt and uncle had looked a little too relieved at having him sent off. 

The manor is his for the duration of the war, a stronghold that echoes loneliness in it's halls and abandonment in the stale air of each room. Sehun's room and the atelier are the only rooms with something other than bare floors and barer walls, and the dining-living room is minimalistic at best. Sehun envision numerous trips to the convenience store in the near future. If he lives, anyway. 

The Exordium Wars have been going on for a long time, long enough to have entire bloodlines dedicated to supporting it, be it by providing participants or providing arenas. It's held every generation, all over the world, and Sehun has the misfortune of being in the right generation and the right area. 

He's expected to lose without ‘bringing immeasurable shame unto his family’ or for that matter, the country, because this year is some sort of pride-fight against China. Which will impossible for him, since Sehun has only ever been good at wind magic and wow how pathetic was that, to be stuck on elemental magic. 

But despite knowing his chances Sehun doesn't really have another option in the wings, an alternate scenario in which he lives without worrying about centurial death-matches. So Sehun waits till nightfall, when he can summon a servant and stop delaying his inevitable death. 

Sehun waits with his legs crossed, seated across the atelier doors with what might be his last bubble tea in his hand. Beyond the hardwood carvings is his summoning stage, a square of paper weighed by sigils and mantras, embedded with magic. There should be a catalyst there, a guide stone for the Exordium to base a servant on. It is perhaps testament to how much his family hates him that there is empty air above the dais where his catalyst is supposed to be. 

Sehun's alarm rings. He looks down at where it's vibrating on his lap. 

It's 8pm, precisely. 

“Well, might as well.”

Sehun gets up, setting his cup down and letting his phone slide to the mat. He pads slowly to the atelier, sliding the door open and close quietly.

The atelier is lit by gems, which casts a soft, multicoloured glow around the room. If Sehun were to sit here and pore over the many scrolls, he would need candles. Electricity doesn't react well to magic and vice versa, but maybe he'd bring in the torchlight. It fared better than his first phone anyway. But Sehun isn't here to read. 

He's here to summon. 

-

Ten minutes later and Sehun considers saving his opponents the trouble and just throwing himself under the bus because. What. The. Hell. 

“Hello!”

Sehun is one hundred percent sure he did this right. He had the right runes, he checked. He had the right chant because he read that off a paper. Hell, he had the right mana and the right channels so why had this happened?

Curious, the servant tilted his head at Sehun. He was polite enough to keep himself folded atop the dais, still smiling childishly. 

“It's nice to meet you master-who-doesn't-seem-very-happy-to-meet-me.”

Sehun feels like apologising, because now he sounds like a kicked puppy. But then the servant deals the final blow. 

“I'm Zitao.”

“, you really are Chinese.”

-

“Summon a Korean they said. It'll be easy they said. The ing Exordium will do it for you they said.” Sehun muttered under his breath. 

The cashier staff looked up from her phone to make sure he wasn't stealing anything and went back to what looked like a heated moment in Candy Crush. Sehun was sure she couldn't hear him grumbling about the big secrets of magic with one ear plugged with music but Sehun supposed it was time to stop swearing and actually pay for the food. 

Oh, rice balls. 

“Stay immaterial!”

There was a pouty sigh in Sehun's head. 

Alright. I wasn't planning to pop out anyway. 

Sehun had kept Zitao in his immaterial form, since Zitao's outfit had resembled a low-key ancient Chinese general and Sehun had found rather quickly that he had what could be loosely defined as ‘itchy fingers’. 

After a five minute panic attack induced by the fact he had a Chinese servant when by all rights he should have summoned a Korean servant, he'd calmed down enough to see that Zitao had his hands in the atelier trunk and was happily trying to rearrange some ver expensive artefacts into an art installation. 

“No- oh my god- stop, why are you doing that?”

Zitao had batted his eyelashes at him and informed him, very seriously, that he had just felt like doing it. 

Okay, Sehun said. This guy is staying away from everything in the house that costs above a hundred won, Sehun swore in his head. 

Sehun managed to pay for his purchase before Zitao spoke up again, back to his happy tone Sehun had trouble associating with his face. He looked like gang leader, with the depth of his eyes and the handsome shape of his face. 

Master, we should at least get a plan, Zitao grumbles. You aren't planning to die are you?

“Well,” Sehun confesses, “I didn't really have any plans for surviving.”

Zitao materialises in a pop of magic, dark red and gold cloth spiralling out of empty space. 

“What.” He asks flatly. Sehun sighs and explains. 

“I'm pretty weak. My family is expecting me to die in the war and I… agree. I'm sorry Zitao, but you lost the draw in masters.” Sehun admits with a shrug. “I'm the weakest participant here.” 

Zitao loses the pout, the childish smile, and his expression sharpens. 

“You, however, got the best draw in servants.” Zitao scoffs. “I'm the strongest.”

“Really?” Sehun says dryly. Zitao notices the wry crinkle of his eyes and motions to something behind him, huffing. 

“I'll show you. Let's start with this guy.” 

Sehun notices a little too late that the streetlights have been tinged purple with magic and sound has separated itself from the dimension. 

“Well .” Sehun says, as an arrow comes flying at his head.