final;

the streets aren't safe after dawn.

jimin knows this, everyone in the village does, how can they not? how can they not when the rising sun's early rays along the horizon brings danger and destruction to every single door like an unwelcome plague? the reality that any of them can perish at any flicker of movement, any instance of carelessness, to meet certain death with a storm of silver claws, razor wings, and pointed teeth?

jimin knows this because he was eight the first time the harpies had struck.

but it doesn't stop him from rising at daybreak today, like every other day since then, cooking a hasty breakfast on the ancient stove, and only eating the inedibly burnt parts so that his brothers can eat the good pieces instead. jeongguk's still growing and taehyung's been working too hard in the lab these days, with the threat of another attack lurking, and jimin knows that they’ve been skipping meals.

the black trench coat is heavy and dusty when he dons it, rolling up the sleeves once, twice, three times to rest at his wrists. it's mid-summer and he's already sweating from just putting it on, but he needs it. he needs it in order to blend in with all the other adults with impassive faces, and pretend that he is just as hollow.

he pauses by his brothers' rooms on his way out, sweeping down to the tangle of limbs to kiss them, letting his lips linger a little on skin longer than usual. jeongguk's nose knocks into his and taehyung's hand brushes the back of his neck at jimin's touch, but they both stay asleep, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

the vision of them so vulnerable makes something less like jealousy and more like heartache pound bitter in his throat. but he swallows it with practiced ease and with a deep breath, wipes all emotions from his face.

then he's out the door with few signs that he had been there.

➳➳➳

today the village is busy and jimin blends easily among the masses of black-clothed bodies, his own obsidian eyes trained forward and mouth a firm line, just like his father had taught him.

at the east-most corner of the street, he hears a scream that soon is drowned out by high-pitched screeching and he forces himself not to wince. even after all these years, he can never get used to it, though taehyung always insists that he never should. that true strength is really being soft in a harsh world, or something that jimin has a hard time believe.

but purpose is a strict master so he sweepingly surveys the area to make sure he's alone before making a sharp turn down a less-walked trail.

this pathway is too familiar for a minor like him, but what choice does he have? he isn't trained enough to be a hunter like jeongguk or smart enough to be a researcher like taehyung, and as the oldest, he takes it upon himself to provide for his brothers, even if they are not related by blood.

how ironic that they don’t have the same blood in their veins, but are forever bonded by the merciless bloodshed they have all shared, one way or another, he thinks.

swatting aside the low hanging branches that are becoming increasingly denser and less flexible as he goes, he suppresses the swelling sense of foreboding and dread, as he is prey walking into a predator's den, until he breaks through the forestine walls.

before him is an ancient oak tree that seems to unfurl father and higher across the clearing around it, almost as if its mere presence is enough to push the nearby trees away to bow at its labyrinthine roots.

jimin’s eyes easily find the shadowed figure perched on the topmost branch. his heart throbs inside his chest, but he’s done this more times than he’s willing to admit, so he’s striding up to the tree base with habitual ease.

“you have returned.” the voi