Pairing: Onew/Minho; implied Jonghyun/Key
Rating: R
Warnings: Death, Violence
Final Word Count: 32,767

Once upon a time there was a King and there was a Queen…



It was early. The air was crisp and the ground was still wet with dew.  The smell of fresh food wafted through the air. There was a dove perched on the main gates of the building and it sang a song, a faithful predilection to what was natural to a bird––freedom.

Had this been a regular morning, Lee Taehyun would have ordered an entire carafe of coffee brought to his room, heavy on the cream and sugar, just the way he loved and his wife hated, and indulge in its sweetness. He would have made the attendants tiptoe through the room as they delivered his morning treat, making sure they let Soojin sleep in. She hated to be awake before six.

If this had been a normal morning, he would phone his daughter’s quarters and goad her into sneaking off and getting ice cream before her mother and brother woke, an early birthday treat before her lavish feast that night. He would stop by his son’s bed, ruffle his hair a bit before laying a kiss on his forehead. He would tell Soojin how much he loved her. He would teach Eunsook more and more and more, until she couldn’t fit any more knowledge in her head. He would teach his son how to perfect the famous Lee double scissor move on the soccer field, the same one his father taught him as a boy.

He would do a lot of things. The regret tasted bitter. Not like his coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar.

The warden stood before them and yelled out the charges.

“His Majesty, King Taehyun, son of former King Jihu and Queen Dasom, Her Royal Highness, Queen Soojin, daughter of Ambassador Soo and wife Yul, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Lee Eunsook, daughter of King Taehyun and Queen Soojin, heir to the throne: You have all been found guilty of high treason against the newly formed autocracy–Eden. 

The punishment: Death by shooting.”

The warden took a step back and a tall man with a pinched face and shoulder length brown hair, some of it pulled back from his face by a single silver ribbon, stepped forward. His style of dress was tacky, hard on the eyes, something that look like it had been lost and discovered on the back shelves of a failing thrift store. A crushed red velvet suit and matching shoes––pretentious and oblivious at the same time.

“There is a saying,” he said, his lips were pulled into a tight line as he observed the crowd before him. ”In a progressive country, change is constant; change is inevitable. In order to usher in that change and bring life to the new, the old must be restrained… or blotted out. I have found it impossible to smother the flames of antiquity nor am I able to subdue The Royal Family’s acts of iniquity and outright treason against the wondrous vision I have for you all. For that, they must part ways with the world of the living. There are consequences.”

“What about the storms?” was yelled from the crowd of onlookers.

The storms, Taehyun thought, solemnly. The storms. Although he knew he should have remembered that, the storms had been the last thing on his mind since his family’s arrest that morning. Their family was given supreme authority over Seoul because of their supernatural abilities. Heaven’s Will is what the people called it. His great great grandfather, born a simple man, poor and sickly, had been able to, with just a thought, stop the endless winds and torrential downpours of the Celestial Storms.
If his family was gone...who would––

“We have not seem the storms in over a hundred years. The Lee Royal Family’s hold over us is nothing but a sham. And…we still have the domes."

A murmur of discontent rose from that revelation.

That’s right. The domes will protect the city. If the storms come back…the domes….the domes will protect everyone. Taehyun breathed a small sigh of relief. He did not want his people to suffer.

The man turned towards King Taehyun, his smile saccharine sweet. A hundred times Taehyun wished death on him, wished for the of flames at his feet, the sting of a whip across his back and a hundred times this man had prevailed against his wishes. Today made one hundred and one.  “Do you have any last words?”

Taehyun his dry lips and let go of his pride. He did what he said he would never do. He begged. “Please…let me wife go. Let my daughter go. They can be good to your vision. Loyal to it. Once I’m gone they will be loyal to it.”

“No!”

Taehyun angled his head as much as he could from his place on the raised white dais. His daughter Eunsook, his first born, Heir to the throne, stood, her face stormy as she stared the man down. Taehyun had instilled a deeply ingrained sense of authority in Eunsook. Not arrogance or haughtiness but the competency of command. To be the single voice that demanded loyalty. To be the person their people yearned to lead them. To look fearless in the absolute certainty that was fear. He was proud, so very proud of her. She was his dream. He was also heartbroken.

“You’ll have to wretch the word loyalty from my dead lips, you fascist scum,” she said, her voice low and full of venom.

“Those are pretty brave words. I actually think you mean them, Sookie.”

“Don’t you dare call me that! I’d rather die,” she spat.

The man smiled and motioned with his head towards the guards. The guard positioned behind Eunsook, mostly concealed from the crowd by the billowing layers of her all white hanbok, took a step forward and kicked the back of Eunsook’s knees. She collapsed to her knees with a grunt, her face still full of fire.

“So be it.”

The guard took a step forward and shoved Eunsook’s head down, her chin bouncing off her chest.

“You will pay for this.”

The man tilted his head to look down at her. “Am I? And who is going to stop me?”

 A pistol was placed at the back of her skull.

Soojin fainted. Taehyun began to scream for mercy.

“Oh, by the way. Happy Birthday, Princess.”

Boom.

Doves flew. 






Fifteen years later…

It was called The Reformation. THE Reformation, capitalized, so it made a statement. A grandiose one, full of strategically staged peace signs, and positive sociopolitical keywords thrown out to the media like bread to pigeons for consumption and mass output.  The decisive affirmation that wormed its way onto posters, signs, daily propaganda was this: “Where there is unity, there is always victory”. This solidifying message declared to those who fell under its veil that there would only be one.

Bull.

In the end there had not been one, but four of them, each named after something peaceful, something to assure the people that this course, this movement, this revolution was one of peace and serenity

Bull.

 “The Dove Initiative” was first. It was touted as a fix to the old regime. Not that there was anything intrinsically wrong with the old regime. That was what was always on the minds of the people. There was nothing wrong with the old regime because it was never considered a regime, in the negative way that word lingered on your tongue. Not a regime but a family; they were a family. But to those who followed Theo’s ideology like it was gospel, it was a symbol. A symbol that had to die.

The Royal Family had to die.

His Majesty, King Lee Taehyun, Her Royal Highness, Queen Lee Soojin, and the Heir to the Throne, Crown Princess Lee Eunsook were all executed as the crowning glory of Theo’s coup d’état, their exodus from the throne at the end of a pistol, their spilled blood the linchpin of a self-proclaimed revolution.

Minho remembered the first Reformation. He was nine years old. Even in his young mind he remembered it with crystal clear authority because he’d never seen so much red on white. He remembered his mother’s scream, his father’s anguished fall to his knees in the square as they broadcasted it for all to see. Minho didn’t remember feeling anything. He just remembered never seeing so much red on white, the blood of the monarchy splattered across a pristine white dais.

The Dove Initiative was followed by The Broken Rifle period––where guns from citizens were confiscated, broken and melted down to form a statue of the new leader, a French-Korean by the name of Théophile Prideux. His first official speech as the new Commander went like this:

“Il faut casser le noyau pour avoir l’amande”

It is necessary to break the shell to have the almond.

To which Jonghyun muttered from the crowd, “Il faut bonne mémoire après qu’on a menti.”

A liar should have a good memory.

The White Poppy bloomed in early summer under the glare of artificial sunlight. The storms had returned and the domes were erected and it’d been three days since they’d seen the sun. Still, there were festivals and parades all in the name of peace. Conversely, the blooming of the white poppies coincided with the blooming of las émission––a program broadcasted in each household, every seven hours, with messages for the citizens of Seoul, all to reaffirm what they already knew.

This was here to stay.

Yet it wasn’t until the Paper Crane Program that Theo––he encouraged them all to call him Theo––split the city into two.
Eden was his visionary masterpiece. It was what he saw the entire country could be––innovative, revolutionary and a whole bunch of other flowery bilge that spewed from his mouth.

Eden would be the cornerstone of democracy and an example to the rest of the world.

Bull.

Bull.

Bull.

Everything Theo said was complete bull.

At the other end of the democratic spectrum was Gehenna. Gehenna was the anti-thesis of Eden––an ode to their ancestors but a prison for those who believed in the old way. So while liberty was the face of Eden, confinement was the face of Gehenna.

The list of those confined to Gehenna was multifaceted: political enemies too valuable for Theo to outright execute, POWs, allies that he wanted to keep under his thumb, and members of the media who he considered a threat.

Theo also wanted Eden to look clean…pure, therefore anyone he considered a social pariah was charged with that––as if not living up to society’s ridiculous expectations was a crime––and sent to Gehenna, as well.

It was guarded like a prison and considered completely confined as a separate society, even if Eden was only a scant ten miles away.  Visitations were allowed but just like a prison, they were short, impersonal. There were some family members who hadn’t physically touched their loved ones in years. For those who weren’t given that privilege, they were lucky to see the light of day.

Some were forgotten all together.




Eden; Yongsang District
Choi Household
Eleven months before December 14^th


“It’s a job,” Minho muttered as he waved away his father’s cigarette smoke. “We have bills. It’s not like I have a choice. I turn down conscription, I go to jail.”

“So what?” his father said, low, as if if he said it that way, it would make it any less irrational, that it would make their circumstances change, bend the world to his will. It wouldn’t. His father wasn’t all powerful. “This isn’t just conscription. A Tower guard is a lifelong appointment. You only escape that with death.  Jail? Six months. It’s a daydream compared to The Towers.”

“I don’t like hard labor,” Minho replied. In the background the low hum of las émission played in the background. “This will be easier.”

That didn’t please Minho’s father. “Think about your life. No woman is going to date you. You can’t get married. You can’t have children. Think about…think about school!”

“I can’t go to school,” Minho snapped, his frustration boiling to the top. “I’m not Minseok, remember?”

The Edicts, laws passed under each Reformation shifted their world. Obviously. But the shift was angular and difficult to stand on.

Edict 4581b: Only the first son from each family residing in Eden is allowed to attend University.

That came with the White Poppy Reformation, their reasoning was that labor and education needed to be equally divided. One son went to school; the other sons joined the labor force. Women, on the other hand, were allowed to go indiscriminately. Many hated him but no one could deny that L’éducation des femmes was one of the more progressive things Theo had done.

Minho was a second son, so Minho was forced to join the labor force. His choice in the end had been the Towers. Watching over people seemed exponentially better than the back breaking work in the labor districts.

Minho turned from the mirror, his brand new Tower guard uniform crisp and lean on his body. He never fancied the color teal. Actually, looking at it now made him sick to his stomach.

“Minho, I just…”

His father was looking down at his the inside of his palms, his hands weathered and calloused from hard work. His father hadn’t grown up during Theo’s rule. His father’s youth had been spent under the loving veil of what many considered Seoul’s golden era. That’s how it was like under four generations of the Lee Royal Family. Still, his father had chosen to be a laborer. He now worked in the plant that controlled the domes. He chose his path. His son could not. “I wanted so much for you. I dreamed of it. I worked my fingers to the bone for your dreams and––“

Minho managed a smile for his father. He would not allow his father to be saddened over his child’s fate, a fate he could not control. “I was never any good in school, remember? All of those red marks? Detention all the time?  This suits me, this job suits me, Dad. It’s honest work. I learned from you that honest work is good work.” He gathered his father’s gnarled, dry hands in his own. “It’ll be fine.”

Minho looked back at his reflection.

It’ll be fine. 




Gehenna; Tower Seven
Jongno District

Orientation was filled with instructional safety videos, most of the information they’d learned in the four week training for Tower Guards. Still the repeated utterance of speeches littered with phrases such as “These people,” made Minho feel like it was a substitute word choice, that they didn’t regard the inhabitants of Gehenna as people at all. Minho did not like it.

To his right was Lee Taemin, also a second son, a man his junior by two years and who was a little more vocal about how displeased he was working here. Although Taemin was a second son, his family had leeway within Eden, so although he couldn’t go to school, he didn’t have to enter into a labor conscription. His uncle thought differently and he had been more or less forced into the position. He ran a hand through his thick black hair as he listened to thinly veiled references that were aimed at demeaning Tower residents.

“It’s a hole ran by ty people,” Taemin hissed as he was passed yet another manual––this one was titled ‘How To Evacuate Gehenna in Case of National Security Threats of Terrorism.’ Taemin tossed the thin spare booklet onto the table in front of him. “These people are treated like cows, herds of them. They really want me to believe they will be concerned with getting them safely evacuated in case of,” he stabbed the manual with his finger, “national security threats of terrorism?” He snorted.

“People value cows, Taemin,” Minho said in hopes of shutting the younger up. Minho liked the kid; he’d been an upbeat spark, a daily reminder of what youthful passion looked like during their training. Minho especially liked him because he said the things that Minho wished he could say. But since Minho liked being alive, and more importantly not dead, sometimes he wished that Taemin didn’t say the things that he wished he could say.

To his left was Changsun, another second son. He didn’t seem all that bothered by his new position, he actually seemed to like it. Taemin picked up on his colorless elation and baaa’d at him.

When Minho glanced at him and Changsun glared at him, Taemin shrugged. “He’s a sheep. A faithful little idiot sheep. There goes your shepherd, sheep boy,” Taemin said, pointing at a picture of Theo from the slideshow, “Go follow him into the depths of your own personal hell.”

Minho thought Changsun was going to kill him.


They were given a tour. Gehenna was a peculiar place. At the center of the secluded city was the remnants of Gyeongbokgung Palace––the ancestral grounds that Joseon and later Seoul’s Royalty used to inhabit. Although they were not allowed inside––that required clearance, background checks and special assignment–– they could still view it from the end of a long paved concrete road.

What made Gehenna special were the Ten Towers that surrounded Gyeongbokgung Palace like a charred fence.  The Towers were charcoal black as if they were covered in soot and dipped in tar. They stretched high above the walls of Gyeongbokgung Palace like ten dark beacons, ominous and foreboding.

The newly recruited guards were all assigned to the same Tower. Within Tower Seven, Minho was assigned to Section 4, a group of apartments that housed a general mix of people, but the main populous were mostly former members of the media. They are quiet for the most part, a lot quieter than Taemin’s section.

Section 13 was the Delinquent Row–it was where the orphaned kids of political enemies lived.

For their first day they were paired with an older guard, one who would show the ropes. Yet the entire thing was pretty simple. There were three rules: make sure no one escaped, make sure no one got hurt, and make sure no one died, including yourself. How Minho was supposed to guarantee that, he didn’t know.




Eden; Gwank District
University Square Apartments
Eight months before December 14^th


“The domes go up tomorrow.”

Minho sighed and looked up at the star littered sky.

“Three days of darkness. May the artificial light of humanity keep us safe from the Boogie Man,” Jonghyun drawled. “You know I always lose like three pounds when the domes are up? It’s like my body revolts not being connected to the sky. The real sky, anyways.”

“This storm is supposed to be mild. But ever since that disastrous one a few years back, they always overact during Celestial. I guess I get it. Don’t want to underreact. Takes twelve hours for the domes to go up.”

“And we give a mighty shout when they go down,” Jonghyun murmured. “My dad talks about what it was like without the storms and the dome and all of this…bull we have to deal with. He tiptoes on treachery and treason with every word. But he says he’s not scared. He says they put him near the Towers, he’ll free every soul in there.”

Minho grunted in answer. Like his son, Jonghyun’s father was a Lee Royal Family nationalist at heart. Never quite let go of the old days. It rubbed off on his son is layers, bright and gold, staining his lips, his words, his heart.

“Rapunzel,” Jonghyun said out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Rapunzel. That’s what it reminds me of. Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your golden hair, Rapunzel! Except for it isn’t hair and it isn’t golden. It’s tawny and rough––it’s a noose. It’s a ing noose and with every tug, Rapunzel is choked with her own hair. I don’t know if the ‘let down’ part of that fable is a self-fulfilling prophecy or not.”

Minho eyed Jonghyun out of the corner of his eye. “Dude. What?”

“The Ten Towers. They even have the little windows that are just big enough to stare out of. It’s cruel, really. You know it’s like one big unconstitutional autocratic prison? You know that right?”

Minho sighed and found himself looking up again. They were lounging on the roof of Jonghyun’s apartment building, situated just outside of Eden Universities. Jonghyun had a joint balanced between his lips and his guitar in his hands. He would strum a few notes, inhale, and then lay into Minho. It was a like a dance at this point. A slow pointless one that Jonghyun liked to dance. Step, blame, step, metaphor, step, lecture. As if Minho had a choice. As if Minho was responsible for the existence of Gehenna to begin with.

“Those people don’t even have rights. Dame Gothel. All of it connected.” Jonghyun took a drag from the joint. “And now they’ve drawn you in, made you complicit in their bull.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Minho said, right before he took a swig of his beer. He pulled at the stiff collar of his uniform before ing the top button.

Minho had been a guard at The Ten Towers for three months now to the day. Still the uniform, the sight of the teal and the gleam of the insignia made him sick to his stomach. Guards weren’t supposed to wear their uniforms outside of work. Get home, take it off, they said. You represent us, don’t let people see you wearing it while you’re ing around. Minho got a little bit of satisfaction from doing just that, the air fragrant of herb, Minho’s tongue heavy with the taste of crafted foreign brew. It was the only rebelling he had the courage to do.

“I heard they have an execution lottery system.”

Minho swallowed his beer harshly, almost choking, before craning his neck to the stoop where Jonghyun lounged against. “Where are you getting this from?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Jonghyun said plainly. “But that doesn’t happen? They say whoever occupies Naejeon supervises it.”
Minho rolled his eyes. ”There isn’t any lottery system. No one is being executed. And no one is housed in the Inner Court. Tell your “sources” to shut up. Spreading rumors is going to get them––“

“––Executed?”

Minho lowered the beer in his hands to the ground. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

Silence stretched between them. Minho turned away from Jonghyun and continued to drink his beer while Jonghyun continued to strum on his guitar, plucking the D string over and over again.

The D sounded like death.




Gehenna; Tower Seven
Jongno District
Six months before December 14th


Another thing they discussed in orientation––The Towers, despite the oppressive atmosphere where death lingered over you like a thin shawl in a blizzard, was a ‘community’ and they wanted it to feel like a community. Not a prison. Not a cage. Not forced segregation from the rest of society…but a homey comfortable community.  Because of that, at exactly nine, noon, and seven, the guards and the residents of each Tower would eat together.

Minho sat with Jihyoon, an aging ex-journalist, Changsun and Zico, another second son from Gangdong-gu and Jihyoon’s daughter, Minhwa.

The atmosphere fostered the perfect grounds for communal gossip which was probably the exact opposite of what the Warden wanted. The Warden for The Towers was, for the lack of a more sensitive word, an idiot.  He was from America, a place called Texas, and you would think with the sort of hardnosed prison system he’d come from that he would be a little more precarious with those under his watch. Yet he simply didn’t consider the danger that gossip created. Every resident of Gehenna was under constant watch––their very word was considered a threat against the nation. Even with the constant surveillance that the residents and guards in the Towers were under, it still didn’t deter lunchroom gossip. Thank God because it was consistently the only entertainment that the guards and residents ever got.

“What happened to Hyunjoon?” Changsung said at their favorite lunch table. It was one by the window, one of the few windows on the bottom floor.

“Who’s that,” Minho asked.

Each of them had people they knew from their Section. Minho’s “people” included an elderly woman everyone called “Baba.” There was also a man who used to be a part of the Circus before turning to reporting for tabloids. He told awesome stories, although most of them were about gruesome freak accidents he’d seen in his tenure. There were others, like a woman whose husband had been an outspoken Lee Family nationalist and was executed during the coup. She didn’t speak much.

“Hyunjoon? That guy, the one who keeps writing on his walls in blood? They took him to “Sector X” today,” Zico stated as he bit off a healthy chuck of apple. “Now call me crazy, but why Sector X? That sounds like the title to some B-Movie conspiracy theory movie. If they wanted to keep the people calm and not think they were being whisked off to the dark side of the moon, then they should have called it like…happy. I’d go someplace called Happy. Sector X, though?” Zico rolled his eyes. “That’s so goofy.”

Changsung turned to Zico. “What’s Sector X, anyways?”

Zico was what they considered a tenured guard. He wasn’t much older than Minho, but Zico didn’t choose to work here and the choice wasn’t mandatory through conscription like Minho, Taemin, or Changsun. He inherited the position at the age of thirteen from his older brother, who’d died in a Tower Five fire. Ten years he’d been a Tower guard.

“It’s an observation zone inside the psych ward on the 27^th level, where they, unbelievably, have carte blanch to move around. Which, to me, is stupid because it makes perfect sense to have a mentally compromised person on the highest level of the entire Tower. But maybe they are doing that on purpose. There is a reason they call Sector X residents, flyers.”

Minho shuddered because he’d witnessed a jumper on his second week. The woman’s name had been Rachel. From what he heard she’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The lithium hadn’t worked––or maybe it was safe to say that being confined in a Tower that rarely saw sunshine or proper mental or medical care hadn’t work.

Minho wasn’t easily moved by the sight of blood. He’d seen enough of it. The color red stained his mind. But spilled blood was drastically different than spattered blood from twenty seven floors up. Spilled blood was peaceful, moved like a song across the floor.  Splattered blood was disjointed, violent, angry. Splattered blood made his stomach roll.

"This place makes me feel like Bert, the Chimney Sweep," Changsung said, randomly, intuitively, as he took his fork and cut his cake in half. Delicately, he placed one half on Minhwa’s plate, smiling down at the young girl.

Zico squinted as he looked up the long cylinder opening at the center of the tower. "You mean that supercalifragilisticexpialidocious dude?"

“Yeah, him. This place looks just like a chimney, full of soot and smoke. You know what I miss? White. Eden has all of this color, bright blinding colors, purples and reds and blues and while Gehenna is grey and desaturated.”

Minhwa paused her chewing for a thoughtful second. “Gyeongbokgung Palace has white! The purest white ever in the whole wide world!” she said, excited, bits and pieces of her cake flying out of . “There’s a ghost there!”

Changsun grinned at her affectionately and playfully tugged on one of her ponytails. “There are no such thing as ghosts, Minnie and there is definitely no ghost that lives in Gyeongbokgung Palace.”

“Nuh-uh!” she challenged, her little face balled up in indignation. “Mommy told me so! She told me about the Last Royal Heir and she told me that his ghost still haunts Gyeongbokgung Palace!”

“Minhwa,” Changsung chided.

“It’s true.”

Minho, Changsung, and Zico turned their heads towards to Jihyoon, who has been watching the entire exchange with a grin hovering over her tea cup.

“Ma’am,” Changsun said, his voice low and grave, “with all due respect, that kind of talk is not welcome nor is it true. And think of your daughter. If anyone other than us were to overhear her speak of such things––“

Jihyoon placed her tea cup down and leaned forward on her elbows. She clasped her hands together and placed her chin on top of her entwined fingers. “Why do you think that I am in here? That my daughter is in here, in the first place? Because I reported something bad about the economy? Job creation? Corporate corruption? No. I spoke of the Last Royal Heir. I asked the important questions––Where is his body? Why wasn’t he properly buried? Why was his execution in private while they slaughtered his family like pigs at the market?”

“Ma’am,” Minho pleaded. “Please keep your voice down.”

“Why,” Jihyoon countered. “What more can they do to me? They’ve stolen my voice. My right to free speech. They’ve stolen my job, my livelihood. They’ve even stolen little Minhwa away from me.”

That drew a pause from Minho. “What?”

“She is young. Her old mother may corrupt her, they say, so they are sending her to Eden to work. I supposes it’s for the best. She doesn’t belong here. She should be in school, learning. She’s so bright.” She glanced down at Minhwa, who was already reabsorbed in eating her cake again with sorrow filled eyes. “They’ll be taking her at the end of the week. So,” she said, her eyes clear and defiant. “I can only speak my truth. I need to speak a truth so that when I am gone from this world, Minhwa will know. Know that her mother lived in a time when those who ruled over us cared. That the Lee Family cared. Even if it’s through a silly little ghost story.”

Everyone was silent.

“She has to know that.”




“So do you believe her?” Taemin asked, his face oddly serious for just hearing what surmounted to a ghost story.

“Do I believe she raised some valid questions about what happened after the death of the Last Royal Heir? Absolutely. Do I believe his ghost is inhabiting Gyeongbokgung Palace? Absolutely not. The place is a dump, no one can live there, not even a ghost.”

They were walking towards the work buses that transferred guards and workers from Gehenna to Eden. They’d passed under the shadow of The Towers and were now on the main road that led to the depot.

“Not entirely true. Naejeon is in perfect condition. The surrounding area is overgrown and shot to but The King and Queen Quarters were left in pristine shape. It was one of the only conditions Crowface––that wasTaemin’s nickname for Theo due to his pinched features and long narrow nose––honored from the Lee Family before their executions.”

“Okay, so they are in perfect condition––“

“AND they say some high up diplomat is living there now. They say he is a distant cousin of Queen Soojin and the one who was responsible for selling the Lee Family out.” Taemin shrugged. “All I saying is that there is someone supposedly there. But that’s a rumor. Everything’s a rumor. For all we know this “cousin” was just a cover story to explain the real life actual ghost living there.”

“I thought you were a little more grounded than this, Taemin.”

Taemin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m completely grounded in my hate for this system. They removed my choice but they can’t remove my hate. A story about who may or may not be the ghost of the boy killed way before his prime to appease the bloodlust of Theo’s militant fascism––”

Minho rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Wow.”

Taemin gave him a look. “I get it. You’re still more sheep than bull, Minho. It’s logical. People can get used to anything. The less you think about your oppression, the more your tolerance for it grows. After a while, people just think oppression is the normal state of things. But to become free, you have to be acutely aware of being a slave. Or in your case, a sheep.”

“A sheep.” Minho scoffed. “Okay, Assata, explain the storms.”

The storms were still a sore spot with the residents of Eden and Gehenna. When the Lee Royals were executed, the storms returned. They were blessed somewhat because they only came once a month now. Their strength had weakened but still, Eden and Gehenna erected the domes nonetheless. People believed the reduction in storms was the residual power of the Royals, that their love for their constituents was so great that even in death they fought to protect them. Of course no one could say that out loud.

Minho couldn’t say it wasn’t true. But still, if a Lee Royal was still alive, then the storms would not exist. The fact that they still did shut Taemin up.

“Okay, so there is no truth to Last Heir story but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a ghost in Gyeongbokgung Palace. There could totally still be a ghost. Hey!” he said as he turned around to walk backwards. “Want to see it?  Naejeon? From what I heard we can elect for sentry duty.”

“Why would they even need guards if it’s a ing ghost town?”

“Ha. Ghost town.”

“Be serious.”

Taemin pulled a face. “Fine. They need guards because the Outer and Inner court of Gyeongbokgung Palace are national treasures. It’s the only thing some of those old cronies have left from the Royal Empire. Someone has to guard it. If it’s us then we can personally dispel any “ghost stories”,” Taemin explained, his voice high with excitement. “C’mon! It won’t be bad! The background check takes, like two days. What? Are you scared?”

Minho scoffed. “I’m not scared because I don’t believe in ing ghosts. Or the tooth fairy or Santa Claus. I’ll take the stupid duty, if only to get away from Tower Seven. Seeing Jihyoon break into tears every five minutes is going to drive me to drink.”
Taemin shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t drive you to fly, then you’re fine.”




Gehenna; The Rose Road
Jongno District
Five and a half months before December 14th


A week later Minho approached the check-in point with a scowl. Between the Towers and the outlier that was Gyeongbokgung Palace was a long cracked paved road with bushes sprouting out of the ground every few yards or so. Many years ago, the bushes sprouted yellow bushes, the bisque color symbolic of new beginnings, faith, everything Theo thought the people of Gehenna had forgotten. They hated the rose bushes and someone began poisoning them. Ungrateful, he would say as he would finger the browning leaves. Now the rose bushes were dead, the only remnants of them were prickly branches and dried roots. It made the walk seem ominous.

The midway check in point was run by a man named Guru. Nobody really knew what he looked like because his station was so far from the Towers but everyone knew Guru managed the check point. Guru was the God of the checkpoint––nothing happened without his permission.

“I thought there was swh’upposed to be two of you,” Guru asked, his lisp prominent and wet sounding. He looked down at a clipboard, probably with his and Taemin’s picture on it. “Swhere’s the girly looking one?”

Minho frowned at that. Not only at Guru’s depiction of his friend but also because Minho knew Taemin wouldn’t be showing up.                               

Three hours ago…

“This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

“I’m sorry, man! How I was I supposed to know I wasn’t going to pass the background check? It’s all good, something came up anyways. ”

“It’s not ‘something’ Taemin. You want to get your wet. That’s not something, okay?“

“I’m going to have to correct you. That’s a lot of something. I may be skinny but––“

Minho groaned into the receiver as he unloaded into The Towers bus depot. He waved to a few other guards he recognized before he began to make his towards the clearance point for Gyeongbokgung Palace. He looked up at the “sky”. It was Celestial. Some say if you listened you could hear the howling of the wind and the beating of the rain against the dome roof. In reality you couldn’t. It was airtight and sealed. World War III could be happening outside of the domes and you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“Do you know how stupid and monotonous and hard that orientation was?”

“What was so different?”

“It was just…different.”

Minho couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had actually been the only person in their orientation. There were a few things he learned that wasn’t overshadowed by the overbearing message of exceptional confidentiality. The first thing he grasped as the lights dimmed and the training presentation started, one bookended by long winded speeches from Theo, was that no one wanted to do guard duty at The Palace. No one. Whether it was the scrutiny, the pressure or…even the ghost––Minho rolled his eyes––people ran in the other direction when the information sessions were held. When they found out Minho had not only volunteered but passed the background check, they rushed him into the orientation before he had a chance to change his mind.

The second thing he learned was why no one wanted guard duty at The Palace. Their motto:

Don’t talk to anyone, don’t address anyone. Keep your eyes forward on your path. Don’t look inwards.

Inwards meaning The Inner and Outer Court. BIG DEAL; who was he going to talk to in the first place? He didn’t believe in ghost, so he had no reason to search out someone out.

“Look. You’ll be fine,” Taemin said, interrupting Minho’s musings. “You don’t have to deal with anyone, no complaints, no section s trying to get you to spend a night with you––“

“Don’t you say another word.  You’re no help whatsoever.”

 “That’s the spirit, Minho!”



Guru clearing his throat brought Minho back to reality. “He shouldn’t be on there. He didn’t pass,” Minho said to Guru, simply, before scanning his badge across the reader that lifted the gate. Guru offered him a funny look before shrugging.

“It’s only you and another guy tonight, then. They gave you your post assignment, correct?”
Minho nodded.

“Try not to fall asleep. Ghost might get’cha,” Guru gurgled as he stepped back into his booth. Minho gave him a tight smile before taking off.



It was boring. Everything was so completely boring. Unlike Tower Seven, there was nothing in Gyeongbokgung Palace––especially the outer court. No sounds, no music drifting from the apartments, the melodious tunes of old trot music, the only sort of music allowed. There was no one asking him questions from the door of their apartments, old folded metal chairs placed between the doorframes where residents would lounge throughout the day after their shifts at the labor districts. There weren’t little children drawing chalk hopscotch squares on the gritty dirty pavement and there weren’t old men chasing them away so they could use the space to play Go.

It was quiet. There was no one.

He wondered how fast he could get out of this assignment.

Minho sighed as he turned a sharp corner. His route was from the main gate––Gwanghwamu––through the outer court––Oejeon––and to the perimeter of Hyangomun––the gate that separated the Inner and Outer Courts and guarded Gangnyeongjeon––the King’s Quarters.

All of this was pretty stupid he thought as he stepped through the columned opening of Naetanggo, the last corridor before he hit the perimeter of the Inner Court and had to turn around.  Gyeongbokgung Palace was a literal ghost town, so although he appreciated being inside of the Palace––being a third removed part of history even if it was just walking in the footsteps of his ancestors–– the fact that as a guard he had no one to actually guard was just plain old dumb.

Still that didn’t stop him from hitting his inspection points, on time and dutifully, as he shuffled near the three buildings that stood in front of the King’s gate. He checked the one to the far right, empty of course and then the one to the far left. His inspection ended at the center one.

“Sajeongjeon,” Minho mumbled as his fingers ran across the name plate on the building. He glanced up at doors, heavily decorated with images of dragons and phoenixes. Just as his fingers wrapped around the bonze handle to open the door, a light from behind the hall brightened the night air. And it wasn’t the artificial light he remembered from the afternoon sun hours ago. This light was natural, warm, like the sun.

Shocked, Minho’s hand fell away from the bronze handle and he instinctively backed away from the hall, stumbling backwards down the steps until he fell, his back smacking loud against the hard dirt.

Minho watched with a disconnected dissonance as the light came closer and closer, making its way from around Sajeongjeon’s bulk, seemingly floating up the path between the buildings.

Minho began to shake, his fingers inching towards his standard issued pistol, one he’d barely been taught how to use, when the light stopped.

“Who are you?” the light asked. The sound was melodious, floated above his head and around him like a warm bath.

Minho frowned then blinked and although his fear had not waned, the shock had recessed from his heart thumping hard enough he thought it might tear through his chest. The light, was much less a light, like some floating orb of energy, but a person, their figure glowing like a lamp. They had on all white, a silk longcoat and matching pants, pristine and unblemished, except for the shoulders where a dragon was embroidered in golden stitching.

Weren’t Dragons were the seal of royalty?… Holy . The––the ghost of the Last Royal Heir?

Minho squinted, trying to get a better look like that would help him decide. Lee Jinki was eleven years old when he was executed. No one really knew what he looked like… But it was fruitless either way. On the figure’s head was a satgat, the straw of the cone hat bleached white to match his attire. A long white veil was attached to the tip of the hat and flowed to his shoulders, concealing his face behind a layer of gauze.

When Minho didn’t answer, because he was sure he was going to piss his pants any second, the figure bent in half, practically shoving his face into Minho’s space, the light almost blinding.

“I’ve never seen you before,” the figure said. “Who are you?”

“I––I’m nobody. I’m nobody at all. I’m a guard and I––I…” Minho stuttered, his eyes wide.

“Well, that’s not possible, you see,” the figure said as he righted himself up. “You’re either nobody, or you’re a guard. Which one is it?” The man put one hand behind his back and began to pace. In his other he clutched a section of red stone prayer beads, which he worried back and forth between his fingers as he paced. “I know of a lot of nobodies and I know of guards. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you see. But I’ve never met someone who was both a nobody and a guard. That’s impossible…WAIT!”

The man turned towards him and the light that seemed to emanate from his body pulsed. Minho rushed to cover his eyes.

“Are you my new guard?” he practically yelled, his voice high with excitement before it crashed. “The last one hasn’t been back in many many days. All I have is Kibum now. But he’s not a guard, I don’t think he can fight. But you’re a guard right?”

“I’m not …I’m––guard,” Minho continued, still stuttering, still in shock.

“Not a guard? My word, then what are you? I like birds. Can you be a bird next? Specifically a Japanese Wood pigeon. I like those.” The man tilted his head and Minho got the impression he was accessing him from behind his veil. “You’d be a very tall bird.”

What?

“Are you a gh–gh–gh–“

The man frowned and crossed his arms. “You’re very weird.”

“You’re a gh–gh–“

Suddenly the shrill pitch of a worried voice rang out over the clearing, echoing off the walls. “Your Highness? Jeoha? Where are you? Why are you doing this to me?!”

The figure ducked his head and Minho could hear him gasp.  “Oh, no,” he exclaimed. “Kibum’s found me. He’s going to be so mad I left my quarters this late at night. Buggers.”  He turned towards Minho, bent down and pulled him up from the ground. Minho frowned. Ghost weren’t supposed to be able to touch other people. And ghost weren’t supposed to be strong. And this ghost was really strong if his grip were any indication.

“Hide me,” he whispered harshly, frantically, as his head craned towards the King’s gate.

“Hide you? Can’t you like disappear or something?”

The man blinked at him. “I can’t just disappear. What’s wrong with you?”

Minho rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, I can’t hide you, either.”

“Why? You’re big and strong and…” he pointed to the pins on the collar of Minho’s teal shirt. “These star things look really important and shiny which means you’re important and shiny, right? So I think you’re more than equipped to hide me so please hide me? Please?”

“You do know you’re glowing like a street lamp?”

The man paused and looked down. “Oh, right. That. Well, it’s so much easier than carrying an actual lamp.” Like a switch had been shut off, the bright light that radiating from his body dimmed until there was none at all. The figure went from looking like glowing spirit to a normal human being. “Okay, NOW hide me.”

“Are you a ghost?” Minho asked instead.

“A ghost? Um…if you can be a nobody and a guard and a bird, then I can be a ghost if that’s what you like. I tan a lot…I didn’t think I was that pale.”

“Jeoha. Answer me! Please?”

“I don’t have time for this.“ The man released a noise of frustration before grabbing Minho’s wrist. Minho yelped, again surprised by a few things. Mainly, the fact that the ghost wasn’t made of some sort of ectoplasm that passed right through his skin and muscle and bones and that he was tangible and real and warm and two, the ghost was strong. Inhumanly strong. Which…kind of made sense, he guessed. 

The man took off, pulling Minho along as he sped through the opening for Naetanggo and into the outer court. His veil fluttered in his wake and Minho got a better glimpse of him. He had jet black hair, a little on the long side, brushing right at his shoulders. Broad shoulders were showcased in the white form fitting top that molded to his upper body. Because he wasn’t wearing a shirt under his longcoat, Minho could clearly see the dark mole dotting the creamy expanse of his skin.

They ran; the white cloaked figure guiding him around buildings and over a wooden bridge. “We can hide by the gate,” the man said easily. “Kibum won’t come this far. He hates Seunguri. That’s the guard at the main gate. He said he smells like wine all of the time.”

“Oh, okay?” Minho breathed, his chest tight with exertion.

Minho spotted the gate as soon as they hit the main courtyard.

“There!” the man yelled.

Minho wasn’t quite sure what they were going to do when they got to the gate. They could continue running through it, but he figured that was a bit much. There were storehouses to the right and left of the main gate, and Minho figured those would be good hiding spots but really, was he actually going to entertain a ghost’s demands to hide from who Minho figured was another ghost, who seem to be playing  some sort of spiritual game of hide-n-go seek?

Yes.

Yes, he was.

This was the most fun he’d had in months. Years.

Minho’s smiled bloomed and began to stretch across his face until he was nothing but smiles. He threw himself into the escape, laughing as the man altered their path towards the storehouse to their right.

“How long are we going to hide,” Minho breathed.

“I dunno? It can’t be forever because that’s not fun but it has to be more than thirty seconds. See, I counted to thirty before I escaped out of my room. It seemed long enough but it really wasn’t.”

Minho couldn’t say he was used to the man’s…way of thinking, but it seemed appropriate on him. There was a steely confidence laced in his tone but a naivety that reminded him of childhood, of playing games and covering your eyes as you counted down to one, circle circle dot dot and tag you’re it.

For a moment, the man looked back at Minho and just through the gauze he could see a smile, wide, all-encompassing and for that moment, Minho didn’t care if he was a ghost, a man, or an alien hell-bent on destroying Earth. That smile was the only thing that mattered.

Can you fall in love with a ghost?

Yes. Yes you can.

“OPEN THE GATES!

The man skid to a stop causing Minho to bump into the back of him

The large red doors of Gwanghwamun, the main gate to Gyeongbokgung Palace, creaked open. A concession of armed soldiers in all black marched into the courtyard proper.

“Oh, no,” the man whispered. Minho craned his head around the man’s satgat and gasped. Soldiers in the courtyard were not a big deal.  They often came to the wide open space to train as their ancestors did. It was the man who trailed in their wake that caused Minho to panic.

Commander Théophile Prideux.

.

. 

Little was known about Commander Théophile Prideux other than he had an impressive military and political background, stretching from the shores of Jeju Island to the quiet streets of Lyon in France––that background in particular was the something that  few citizens of Eden and Gehenna knew little about.

Minho had only seen him in person a few time. The first time during the Lee Royal executions. The second was the training graduation for Tower guards. Both recollections were fuzzy. There was always something more important going on that took the focus off of their new leader. Lee Eunsook’s impassioned cursing, Taemin standing beside him, muttering under his breath about the boring speeches. The sun, the real sun, shining down on them.

What Minho did know was most people compared him to a poisoned apple. He was polished and tempting from the inside, but all it took was one bite, whether it was taken willingly or shoved down your throat, to kill you.

He was a political quack, your verifiable coo-coo for cocoa puffs dictator. This wasn’t new. He, of course, was not the sort of man that Minho wanted to cross. Minho wondered how close his feet where to that line.

Commander Theo walked up the slot of space afforded to him by his contingency of soldiers, his strides only slowing as he came up to them.

“Commander,” Minho started.  “I wasn’t expect––“

“Onew,” the Commander cut him off, “you’re very far away from where you’re supposed to be, aren’t you?”

Minho’s brow shot up as the Commander spoke to not him, but the man in front of him. He was also pleased, somewhat, to learn the man’s, and obviously not a ghost, name.

“Th–Theo,” the man whispered, his voice soft with fear. “I––I haven’t left the Palace. I was just…playing. You said as long as I didn’t leave––”

Theo smiled tightly before pacing closer to Onew. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. “I’m not mad, Onew. I’m just surprised. It’s not often you wander so close to the gate. I know you wouldn’t leave, my boy.  We wouldn’t want you getting hurt for disobeying me, now would we?”

Minho felt Onew shaking where his back was pressed up against Minho’s chest. It was then that Minho realized that Onew was trying to back away from Theo.

“I would never disobey you.”

“Good,” Theo said, lowly. It was then that he must have noticed Minho, although Minho wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice him in the first place. He was a whole head taller than Onew.

“Who are you?”

“I’m–I’m the new Palace Guard, sir.”

His gaze dipped to Minho’s name tape with a raised brow.

“Choi Minho?” he said evenly. He looked up at Minho and nodded. “Do Palace Guards usually run around, playing games?”
Minho’s mouth open and flopped closed.

“You work at the Towers, I’m assuming?”

Minho took a step from behind Onew and fell into military stance, this hands fisted and locked behind his back. “Yes, sir. Tower Seven. It’s my first year, sir.”

Theo twisted his lips, his brows furrowed and his eyes lost in contemplation before the storm cleared and he smiled. “Choi Minho. I’ll remember that.”

Minho gulped. The tension in the air was broken when hurried footsteps sounded behind them on the path leading to the main gate.

“Onew, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Regardless of whatever fear Theo instilled in Onew, he groaned and turned. “We didn’t hide good enough,” he whispered to Minho before he took off towards the newcomer. “I’m sorry, Kibum but–“

“No excuses! You worry me so much! One minute you’re bathing, the next you’re out running around like some child!”

Onew frowned. “You’re over exaggerating. I left you a note.”

“A note? A NOTE? It was an arrow! How was I supposed to know what an arrow meant?” Kibum screeched.

“It was pointing towards the door,” Onew said, as if Kibum were slow. ”People use doors to exit out of rooms. And sometimes after they exit they happen across a brand new guard-nobody-bird and they decide to play hide-n-seek from loudmouth court attendants.”

“That’s funny. Really, that’s hilarious. Just for that, you can forget about the dried persimmons I got for you.”

Onew gasped. “Kibum! No!” Kibum ignored his whine and continued marching forward until he was standing in front of Theo. Minho noticed that Theo had a look in his eye as he stared at Kibum. It was just short of a leer. Kibum was a pretty man. Smooth bright skin, long black hair braided down his back, tall, lean frame. Still, to see Theo openly stare at him was uncomfortable.

“Please forgive me, Commander, I planned on having him in place for your weekly tea sessions but he’s so damned hardheaded.”

Theo laughed. “Don’t be so hard on him, Kibum. He didn’t mean any harm. Did you, Onew?”

Onew shook his head quickly, before dropping his gaze. “No.”

“Excellent. Let’s have our tea.” Theo snapped his fingers and the soldiers filed forward, leading the procession deeper into Gyeongbokgung Palace. Theo followed, only pausing to stop abreast of Minho. He tapped Minho’s name tape, his face even and without emotion. “You’re dismissed for the night.”

Minho nodded and bowed and about faced towards the main gate, now very anxious to get the hell out of there.

“Oh, and Minho.”

Minho froze.

“I’m sure I don’t have to educate you on the importance of reticence, now do I?”

Minho shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Very good. Have a good night.”