His world was plunged into darkness.

They had blindfolded him, and they had done it tightly, that not even a sliver of light could penetrate through the slip of cloth. His robe and shield had been stripped away, leaving him from the waist up. They meant for him to feel every single biting nip of the cold morning air. Everything that would help subdue him was utilized.

To any ordinary man, it would have been the end.

But he was no ordinary man.

His other senses sharpened and became his eyes: He could hear their every breath, smell the sweat off their skin, feel the heat of their bodies… Slowly, their shapes took form in his mind. There were eight of them.

He smirked. It was child’s play.

And with a deafening roar, he was unleashed.

To the audience gathered outside the fenced clearing, it was a spectacle to behold. To one man, it brought guilt and sadness.

The High King looked on at his friend in worried appreciation. Yongguk was a harnessed warrior with the instinct of a predator. To watch him fight always brought to mind the image of a stalking tigress. He was just as magnificent, just as deadly, and, sadly, just as unforgiving.

The first attacker fell to the ground and the others quickly swarmed around. Yongguk was now crouched in the middle, one hand flat on the earth, head bent. It was his trademark stance: To the unsuspecting victim, it was an enemy surrendering. To those who knew him well, it was the Deliverer with only one thing in mind—death.

In a blink of an eye, he pounced again. This time, two men gave out a cry and surged forward with their swords. One was at his back, the other was running to him from the side. It was a worthy ploy, but it did not make any difference.

The sheen of sweat clinging to his torso defined his muscles as he swiftly twisted his body to eliminate the threat from his back and, in that same moment, turned again to his sword towards the man on his right. The tip swiftly came to a stop a few centimeters off the man's neck.

It was over in mere seconds.

Yongguk took off the blindfold and received his soldiers' bows with a curt nod.

“He seems more furious than usual.”

Park Jaebum turned to the sound of the voice and smiled for the first time. “Why, Chaerin-ah, how long have you been standing there and staring at him?”

The raven-haired beauty tilted her head to the King, the corner of turned up. “Enough.”

Jaebum laughed and moved to stand behind her. Wrapping an arm across her waist, he brought her closer to him. “Careful now, you’re starting to drool,” he whispered playfully in her ear.

Lee Chaerin swallowed her giggle as his breath tickled her skin. “You seem jealous, High King,” she retorted. She felt him smile against her hair.

“Never,” Jaebum replied.

They were silent in the comfort of their embrace, their attention once again on the soldiers battling inside the ring. After a while, Chaerin spoke again.

“He needs a woman.”

Jaebum choked on his laugh.

Chaerin swiped at his arm, blushing. “You know what I mean! He needs a wife, a family. He needs to settle down. He can’t forever be fighting…”

“Ohhh is that what you mean?” Jaebum teased.

“Come on, oppa, be serious,” Chaerin chided. “Yongguk oppa insists on living in the past. He needs to move on.” She stepped out of his firm embrace and turned around to face him. She looked into his eyes and said, “We’re the only family he knows. And I think we’ve turned a blind eye to his reality for far too long, fooling ourselves into thinking that that is what he needs. But who are we really helping? Him? I think not. I think we’re only helping ourselves…while him…he’s slowly dying inside.”

Jaebum looked away, his mouth set in a grim line.

Chaerin brought her hand to his jaw and slowly made him face her again. “You know this, oppa. I can see it in the way you look at him. You want to save him.”

“By finding him a wife, I can save him?”

Chaerin said softly, “Did it not do for you?”

~

The Land of Ilsan was once a prosperous civilization. At one point in time, its streets were lined with flowering trees and its people numbered in the thousands. The houses in the villages were adorned in fine silks and sweet-smelling potpourri. The air was filled with warm folk songs and joyous children’s laughter…

But that was eons ago.

Now, it was a dark and dismal place. The trees were dead, as were many of the people. The houses that remained were decorated with shields and spikes. In the air was the stench of blood and misery. It was, after all, a kingdom belonging to a feudal king.

In the dungeons of the King’s Palace, his favored knight was sitting on a slab of stone, slapping a glove on his thigh rhythmically.

“And here, I have here, Lord Hanbin, three young, solid men,” the merchant said, pushing them to the streak of light that had found its way through the gloom. “You can use these in your rice paddies or even in your battlefields. You know you are always in want of strapping men.”

Kim Hanbin remained silent.

The merchant hesitated before adding, “I can sell them to you at top price, my good man! One gold coin!” To this, Hanbin smirked. The merchant’s eyes shifted nervously. Bravely, he conceded, “Five silver coins then, my good man?”

Hanbin threw his head back and laughed. The merchant mistook it for good humor and joined him. It was a dire mistake. He did not see the sword until he felt it buried in his chest. He looked down in disbelief and then crumpled to the ground, dead.

The soldier standing behind Hanbin shook his head, smiling. Turning to the merchant’s wares, he bellowed, “Those of you who do not want to end up in the same manner, line up under the light.”

All of them hastily ran to the spot, save for one hooded individual who remained still.

One of the guards standing by the dungeon’s gates pushed the man towards the others and pulled out his knife.

Hanbin held up his hand and ordered, “Take off the hood first.”

The guard nodded and did as told.

And the moment the heavy cloth was off, Kim Hanbin’s breath caught in his chest. He had been expecting to lock eyes with a defiant, foolish man. What he saw instead was a beautiful face from his past.

Kim Himchan blinked against the harsh light and immediately started looking for her brother. She did not notice the man in the shadows staring at her.

“Jonguppie! Jonguppie!” She was breathless. She had been covered in that coarse, thick sack for God knows how long. Where was her brother? Her eyes were only slowly adjusting to the light. “Jongup! Kim Jongup!”

“What’s your name?”

Himchan's heart skipped. The smooth voice had startled her. She turned to its direction and finally saw the man sitting on the rock. He was clad in metal from neck to toe. His hair was loose around his temples and his eyes were a dark brown. From their depths, she could tell he was studying her.

He opened his mouth and from it came the words again, “What’s your name?”

Himchan swallowed and replied evenly, “Kim Himchan.” She somehow knew it was best to not let him see her fear.

The man continued to stare at her. “Kim Himchan... Jongup, Kim Jongup? I take he’s your brother?”

Himchan nodded slowly, fear creeping up her spine. His eyes would not leave her. It was unsettling. Suddenly, she felt cold. She rubbed her hands against her arms. The simple act drew the man’s gaze to her body. It stopped her in mid-motion.

His eyes then traveled the length of her, down to her feet, and back up to her eyes.

After a long pause, he gave her a smile, said, “I can help you find him, Kim Himchan...”

Himchan’s heart lifted. She started to smile. She was about to say thank you, when he finished his sentence.

“...for a price.”

And at those words, she felt her world closing in.

--

A/N:  Currently suffering from post-concert blues. Himchan. Banghim. ALL THE FEELS.