The sunlight is blinding.

You raise your arm over your eyes in an attempt to shield your face from the rays. A cursory glance around your surroundings tells you–that you have no idea where you are. Perfect.

“You’re in his mind,” comes a voice from–the skies? You look upwards, confused. “Describe your surroundings, by the way. As you go. I need to pinpoint just where exactly you are. You’re fine, right? The jump was kind of rough…”

Ah. Taehyung’s girlfriend. Back in the real world, outside of Yoongi’s mind, you’re strapped to the medical chair, one of her hands on your head, the other on Yoongi’s, and the rest of the squad crammed in room.

“Uh,” you say, tentatively. It feels strange just kind of standing there, talking. At something that isn’t physically there. “It’s–sunny. And–” you turn around in a full circle “–there are a lot of buildings–tall ones. It’s…cool. Clean. I see a few houses down this one alley and they are nice. Also, can other people like–hear me? I feel kind of stupid just standing in the middle of the street mumbling to myself.”

“No,” she laughs. “This is merely a memory. Other people can’t see you.”

“Oh, okay.” And, almost as if to prove her point, a child runs up from a nearby alleyway and, without even a moment’s hesitation, goes straight through you. The moment you had to marvel at the thought of being there but not really is immediately lost when you realize that the child is Yoongi.

Hurriedly, you make to follow after him.

//

He leads you down one of those pathways set with even, flat, white cobblestone, shrubs and small trees artfully planted at the peripheral. Houses rise from the hilltops, sprawling over the bright green grass. You can’t help but eye the luxurious estates enviously. Was this where he lived as a child?

The little boy in front of you continues to run. It makes sense, of course. For a mage as skilled as Yoongi, to have been a part of the League for so long, of course he’d probably have come from a long line of celebrated magic users…

A part of you wonders why you’d never known about this before. Another part of you aches with the realization that, despite all your thoughts, you really didn’t know much about him… at all.

Young Yoongi comes to an abrupt stop and you immediately slow down your steps so as to not run into him–except then you remember it doesn’t matter. With a huff, you run straight through his body. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Status report?”

You shrug, even though she can’t see. “Not much, really. Just a lot of running. I followed a child Yoongi–he’s adorable, by the way–to this affluent neighborhood. And now he’s–oh, he’s going down a path to one of the mansions. Did he come from a wealthy family? I know he used to live in the Capital but no one ever told me about–this.”

“Well, I asked Taehyung and co. about it just now, and yes, it seems that you are indeed approaching his house. Apparently he never really talks much about his past and origins though, so it would make sense that you don’t know.”

Even though she was probably trying to assure you, you can’t help the bitter taste in your mouth. The child approaches the doors to the mansion, only for them to swing open by themselves. A maid greets “the young master” and escorts him in, taking his well-fitted jacket. You almost fall over yourself when you see him smile happily up at her, mutter a cheerful thanks, and then practically skip up one of the sweeping staircases.

If it hadn’t been for the confirmation you received earlier, you would’ve thought you followed the wrong kid. Plus, it wouldn’t make much sense that his memory of some other boy would be this vivid and in-depth. No, this hasto be Yoongi.

So then, what happened…? Did he experience trauma of sorts? Probably.

“How is he, by the way? His mind?” you venture. You hope she can hear you.

“He’s doing okay.” Then, after a pause, she adds on, “As fine as anyone in a coma, that is.”

“Can you–are you able to check for any signs of psychological trauma in his mind?” you ask.

“Unfortunately, with the hellhound rampant, and me already conducting this operation with you, I am not able to.”

“Ah, I see.”

Yoongi finally makes it to be what you presume to be his bedroom: a large, spacious area, complete with furniture of gilded gold. A set of large, wide windows outlook the city skyline, framed by fluttering curtains. The entire decor of the area makes you wonder just how rich he was. Or is. Maybe that’s why he told you that one time, in which you two were bickering over the mission, that he didn’t quite care for the money.

Young Yoongi flops down on his King size bed, shuts his eyes, and promptly falls asleep. You chuckle at his chubby cheeks, flushed with exercise, pressed into the plush pillow.

//

He’s awake. Young Yoongi is awake and is getting dressed to “go out and play.” The maid helping him fusses and then gives him a brief lecture on being fair, sharing, taking turns, and treating everyone nicely and with respect.

He nods, but his adult behavior makes you wonder if he ever even bothered to listen to those words. Or if he even heard them.

In any case, the maid finally lets him out of the house with a warning that if he did not return home by curfew, his parents would make sure there would be “severe consequences.” With a nod and flutter of clothes, he is gone, and you are left to chase after him.

//

For someone of such high status and wealth, Yoongi did not seem to let it go to his mind. He played with everyone, people of all social classes and races. The younger ones looked up to him and the older ones took part in playful rivalries. You watch as the race leaf boats down a babbling brook, shouting, yelling, cheering their boats on.

There’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Yoongi was so happy and full of life as a child. He seems so drained and closed off as an adult.

“I’m picking up a few disturbances up ahead,” the mind reader warns. “Stay alert. This could be one of the hellhound offshoots.”

“Right.” You grit your teeth and forge on with the memory, casting sideways, tentative glances about. You consider sending out one of your scouts but–if you’re up against a hellhound, you’re going to need as much magic as possible.

Yoongi laughs mirthfully as his own little leaf boat tips and sinks under, skipping over rocks to pull the drenched thing out. He dangles it between his dainty fingers, watching it drip water from its tips.

You sense movement.

And it’s not the other children clambering over rocks and skipping across the grass–it’s fast and dark and menacing. It skirts across the shadows and exists only at your peripheral vision…

Your lance of magic is up and glowing before you even know it, clashing with the beast’s claws and protecting you from harm. Eyes narrowed, you jump backwards, readying yourself for another attack. You note how the children continue to play, seemingly unaffected.

Except… Yoongi seems to flicker, body occasionally dissipating into mere static.

“Looks like you’ve found one. Or rather, it’s found you.”

“Yeah,” you say, staring down at the beast. It snarls. “It’s so formless–its body doesn’t even seem to have a definite shape. It keeps on changing and its eyes are the only thing that doesn’t look like black smoke.”

“That’s just how they look in the subconscious.”

You roll your eyes and dodge another attack. “Attractive.”

//

“So,” Hoseok says, turning to look at Yoongi. “What were you telling us about that beast thing again?”

Yoongi startles out of his thoughts and looks up; everyone is staring at him expectantly. “Um, it’s dangerous, it can change forms, and it doesn’t ing die. Basically, we’re screwed.”

And also, he notes to himself, he seems unable to die as well… or maybe that was just the beast’s magic.

“Or maybe it can create some pretty damn realistic illusions,” Yoongi adds on, after a moment’s thought. Namjoon muses thoughtfully over his words.

“Um, guys?” Jungkook says. “Don’t you think we should wait for ________ to get back before we launch into our full scale discussion?”

“No need to,” replies someone. “I’m here now.”

Yoongi immediately perks up at the voice–and there you are. The person who he was missing but didn’t realize that he was. Still–he furrows his brows–something, no, everything about his current situation feels bizarre, way-off. He can’t seem to recall how he got here, or what he was doing before then… and for some reason he can’t stop thinking about his childhood days and when he would race leaf-boats down that brook.

And it’s not just him–there’s that weird beast thing out there. And everyone is acting way too nonchalant, way too dismissive about this entire fiasco…

“Hi, ________,” Taehyung says. “How’d it go? Find any leads? We were just talking with Yoongi here, and apparently he had a personal experience with the beast himself…”

You shrug and sling off your coat, draping it over your chair. “Nah, not really. All I ever learned were a few useless facts about the city, nothing much.” You turn to look at Yoongi, hands folded under your chin. “So, tell me again about this experience? What happened?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak–only to choke on his own words when suddenly everyone’s faces blur into a nondescript mass. The lights flicker. Somewhere out back the generator dies out.

And then–after a few moments of heart-pounding fear and apprehension–the lights come back on and everyone’s face is back to normal.

“Well?” you prod, completely unfazed. Everyone continues to look at him expectantly, as if nothing happened at all.

Yoongi swallows and thinks he’s going to be sick.

//

“I will admit,” you say, calling back your magic. “Out of all of the things I was expecting, the hellhound running away was not one of them.” You stare at the spot in which it’d disappeared, its shadowy form completely blown away by the vortex of wind that suddenly blew out of nowhere. Yoongi and the children continue to play. It seems the memory is back to normal.

“Well, you’ve definitely weakened it, that’s for sure. From here on it, the other shadows should be less… powerful.”

Panting, you sit down for a second, just to get yourself back together. There are multiple cuts and bruises all over your body, but in the subconscious, physical injuries tend to heal fast. Really fast. You study the cuts that are rapidly closing themselves.

“Reassuring,” you say. And it is, except you’re still not too keen on fighting multiple hellhound-shadow-things. Ones that can’t ing die and are deathly fast. “Where to next?”

“Hold on,” she says. “I sense a few outcrops in his subconscious, but I need to locate them… God, his mind is all jumbled because of the beast. Ugh, this is going to take me a second. I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay.”

A minute or so later, the world around you warps and you can only hope that she’s found the right place, and it’s not the hellhound coming to exact its revenge on you.

//

Yoongi leans against the bathroom door, panting heavily. Just outside he can hear the dull chattering of voices, of everyone else discussing their findings and planning out what to do next. He envies them, how their minds are clear enough to even think and strategize. He can’t–he doesn’t even know what the hell is going on, why all these visions of the past are suddenly haunting him all over again…

How… How…– Yoongi curses. He feels a ripping feeling in his chest. His breathing gets heavier even though the only thing he’s done is stumble from the bedroom to the bathroom. Is he going insane? Maybe.

“It’s gotta be him, you know.”

Oh god, he’s hearing voices now. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, snaps them wide open. He’s still alive, very much in the same place and certainly not dreaming or whatnot. He’s definitely going insane. As soon as they get back to the League, he’s scheduling himself for a psych eval.

“Really? Why?” Another voice floats in and he can’t help but shudder.

“It’s always the rich ones,” the first voice replies. “They can–”

//

“–grease palms, you see.”

You stare, quizzically, as the trow goblins discuss their theories in a back alleyway. So far, all you’ve managed to gather is that someone killed a group of their kind, and a few are a bit too eager to place the blame on Yoongi.

“Grease palms?”

“Yeah,” one says. “You know, bribing officials? I seen ‘em do it all the time! Happened when my daddy was killed. They didn’t even do an investigation.”

“God, that’s terrible!” a voice squeaks. “And are you saying that’s going to happen to them? That this–Yoongi–is going to grease the palms of the police department? That our friends will have died due to injustice? We–god, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” another voice grouses. “But we should definitely take this up to the Elders. They’ll know.”

“Alright then. Let’s go–we can’t waste any time now, can we?”

Their footsteps fade off into the distance.

Unbeknownst to them, Yoongi is crouched beside a barrel just outside of the alleyway entrance, frowning and frozen and looking absolutely terrified. You stare down at him with a frown. Did he try to fight back? To justify himself?

You catch sight of the bruises and cuts that peek out from underneath his dirtied clothes. Maybe he had. And maybe they didn’t listen.

Or rather, someone didn’t want him to tell.

//

Back at his home, he proceeds as normal. When the maids ask him what happened, if one of the neighborhood boys got a bit too cocky, Yoongi shrugs and replies that he had a few wrestling matches, here and there. They nod and then laugh about young boys and scuffles. You know it’s all a lie.

He’s always seemed to be an independent person, so the fact that he doesn’t immediately crack and spill the beans makes sense. You purse your lips and study him further. But still–to the point in which he suffers so much physical harm? Is he too scared to tell? Embarrassed? Or maybe, maybe he thinks that if he tells, he’d only be perpetuating the stereotype. That if his parents found out, they’d simply pay the goblins off just to get the whole ordeal over with.

“Careful,” the mind reader warns. “I’m starting to pick up something foul. It’s so close I can practically taste it. Eugh.”

“Got it,” you reply.

At night time, as the wind flutters through his curtains, he sits on top of his bed fit for a king and curls in on himself. He holds his hands over his ears and trembles with a desperate, trapped anxiety.

“I didn’t kill them,” he mutters to himself, over and over again. “I didn’t kill them, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me–” Slowly, he turns his heads towards you. Your body tenses. He shouldn’t be able to see you. Why is he turning towards here? “–IT WASN’T ME!” He stares at you full on and all of a sudden his voice is morphing, growing deeper, and his mouth is wide open with fangs and saliva.

“I DIDN’T KILL THEM!” He lunges right at you, eyes glowing and body forming into black smoke. You grunt, throwing yourself to the side as the Yoongi-hellhound thing craters the wall with a swipe of its fist.

His words devolve into primal snarls, guttural and low.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, regaining your bearings. There’s a throbbing pain on your side but you pay no attention to it. “Just a little shaken, that’s all.”

//

The lights dim and flicker again. Yoongi groans and slumps down, sitting himself onto the bathroom floor. To hell with this mission. To hell with figuring out this damn beast. He doesn’t think he’s going to leave the bathroom alive.

“Yoongi?”

Your voice is muffled through the door. “Hello? Are you in there?” You knock on it.

“Mmfph.” He can’t manage much else. His chest feels too tight. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me.

“Are you dead?” you laugh. “You’ve been in there for ages.”

Yoongi says nothing.

“Yoongi, if you don’t reply, I’m just going to come in,” you say, knocking again.

He tries to form a reply–he really does. But all he succeeds in is completely falling over, collapsing on his side like a ragdoll. Boneless.

You must’ve heard the thump of his body hitting the floor because the door almost immediately opens, you letting out a surprised gasp.

“Oh my god are you actually dead?”

//

You pant as you run down the darkened streets, eyes flicking from side to side. Nothing. There’s a throbbing pain on your side and you press your hand to it–only for it to come away bloody.

“Damn,” you mutter. “And the thing got away, too. Where the hell did it go?” You’re unsurprised when you receive no response from Taehyung’s girlfriend. Probably some interference or some due to the hellhound; that would definitely explain the fast-changing surroundings and random glitches.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a dark shadow moving swiftly against the wall. Without a second thought, you shoot a lance right at it, effectively cratering the stone. Clouds of dust billow from impact. When they clear, the shadow is gone.

And, before you can curse under your breath, the scene changes–again. It must be your injuries, or exhaustion, or whatever, because you immediately collapse from vertigo, mind whirling and limbs feeling numb.

With a grunt, you put a hand to your forehead, trying to grasp onto your surroundings. And when you do, the first thing you realize is that the moon is red.

Blood red.

Red as the moon the night Yoongi turned into a hellhound, which could mean that–

“–lonely! He’s afraid to be lonely!” A wind billows over you and suddenly dark chants from a nearby alleyway catch your ears. You hurry to round an alleyway, stopping short when you come across a small niche, hidden right between two towering, rusted buildings. It looks like you’re in the slums, somewhere in the back alley–

When you finally register what you’re seeing, your heart stops cold. Yoongi, pinned to the ground by a gravity field. Trow goblins, everywhere, screaming and chanting and hooting in a cacophony of noises. You can only watch on as he thrashes under the weight of the world, tears streaming down his face, voice raw and torn with desperation.

There’s a hellhound. Or rather, it is the hellhound, being hauled in. It’s a lot smaller, but the feral look in its eyes, the gleaming sharpness of its teeth–