It is almost silent in the grand hall save for a few hushed whispers echoing in the large room. Most of the residents of the old castle have moved on from their late day meal and onto their own individual tasks.  The space is lit with torches lining the walls and candles atop the rickety wooden tables.

Joonmyeon sits with Minseok, rubbing tiredly at his temples as he looks at the piece of parchment laid out in from of him. Drawn on it is a map of the joint factions, messy scribbles littering the surface. Minseok dips his finger into the ink pot, too impatient to use the quill. He runs his ink-covered finger over Yoeri, a village close to the South Faction’s border.

“We’ve lost Yoeri to the South Faction,” he states grimly, looking up at Joonmyeon who sighs with exhaustion and runs his fingers through his greying hair. Half a year ago he didn’t have a single grey hair on his head.

The past six months have been unexpectedly long and gruelling. The joint factions, which used to be peaceful and harmonious, have split and are now embroiled in a messy cold war.

“We need to make a move,” Joonmyeon says after a moment of silence.

“I agree.”

“I’m open to any suggests as to how we go about this.”

Minseok traces his fingers over the map, the ink now dried on his index. They come to a rest over a spot on the map marked with an angry “X”.

“I have an idea,” he starts, “but you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

--

Out in the fields, two figures lunge at each other, one blocking the other’s downward chop with their forearm before attempting a punch with the other arm. Their attack is blocked as well and both figures jump apart for a split second before engaging in combat once more. Eventually, after another 15 minutes of sparing, the first figure has the second figure pinned to the ground with a hand wrapped loosely around the latter’s throat.

“I tap out,” the pinned figure huffs out from his spot on the ground. He can see the other’s grin even in the darkness. The figure stands up and offers a hand for the figure on the ground to take. The figure on the ground stands up, ignoring his comrade’s hand. The first figure isn’t offended in the slightest.

“Come on Antaeus, don’t be a grumpy goat.” He says to said man who is brushing off stray grass from his garments.

“We need to keep going,” Kyungsoo mutters, ignoring the first’s comment.

“Kyungsoo, it’s almost half past midnight. We need to wake up early tomorrow to train the other soldiers.”

“That is exactly why we need to keep going Zeus. I need to be better trained in hand-to-hand combat. If I’m lacking I cannot teach.”

Jongdae scoffs. “You will be a useless instructor if you face plant in the middle of training from exhaustion. If you don’t want to stop, I do. I’m tapping out for the night.”

Kyungsoo sends him a murderous glare before spinning on his heels and walking off into the night.

Jongdae merely laughs to himself before heading back to the castle. “What a drama queen,” he says as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, whistling a cheery tune as he makes his way to the old building.

--

Chanyeol is reading a new scroll, his feet resting on Yixing desk as the doctor sorts through his herbs and ointments. There is a comfortable silence between the two as each person attends their own respective task. They’re so absorbed in their own tasks that they both startle when someone bursts through the door. Both men look at the door to see who their unexpected guest is so late at night.

There stands Sehun, a scowl etched onto his face. In his right hand he holds Chanyeol’s septum, new and shiny like the first day he got it.

“It took me WAY too long to find you,” Sehun grits out, tapping his foot on the stone tiles beneath him.

Chanyeol jumps up, putting his opened scroll on the desk. “Aeolus!” he greets cheerfully despite the scowl on Sehun’s face deepening. “You’re so