-February 1st, 2015. Lyon 21:03.

The beautiful night sky of Lyon couldn’t compare to the bright lights of Paris, but Baekhyun loved the romanesque city nonetheless.

Nights like this when the city lights shone against the waters of the Saone river, reminded Baekhyun that he wasn’t far from Paris. Nights like this when the starry sky adorned the Fourviere hill, matching the beautifully lighted Basilica of Notre Dame and the Metallic Tower close by -which strikingly resembled the Eiffel tower- reminded Baekhyun that Lyon itself bore a unique resemblance to Paris that kept him grounded in France. Nights like these when the beautiful city of Lyon shared its peace would lead Baekhyun to believe, even for a mere moment, that he was alright. That life was alright.

But the ephemeral feeling died faster than the cigarette lit between his cold fingers. He looked away from the scenery and down towards his slim hands, observing how the translucent smoke dispersed into the winter night air.

He breathed in shallowly, not wanting the smoke to enter his lungs but enough to scent the distinctive smell of burnt tobacco. “I’m but a mere arsonist,” he quoted melancholically.

In four months, three years would have passed since he last saw the arsonist of his group. Nearly three years since he last saw their faces.

Baekhyun leaned against the railing of the balcony, stretching his arm away to avoid getting smoke impregnated into his clothes. He watched how the cigarette stick was consumed by the imperceptible fire and the carbonized tip crept lower towards his fingers -hands slightly red from the biting cold of the windy city. Time passed too quickly and he could intuit that something was up. He hadn’t seen Mama in three weeks, which was strange enough since her eagerness to teach him strategy never kept her away from his side for long. There was certain urgency in her endeavor to prepare him for whatever was to happen next.

Something was not right and that had him on edge.

He heard footsteps behind before a figure stood next to him, leaning his back against the railing. Baekhyun didn’t spare a glance as the taller male lit his own cigarette -he only recognized the person after noticing the pungent smell of weed.

“Man it’s freezing out here,” he spoke with his distinctive British accent after taking a long drag. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”                   

“I don’t,” Baekhyun replied in accented English, “I just like the smell of it.”

“Well that’s not weird at all,” he said amused. “Why?”

“Reminds me of a friend,” Baekhyun said with a passive smile, in French this time. He pressed the cigarette end against the metal railing, killing the fire as the rod scrunched up against its own ashes. “Boss is going to throw a fit, David,” Baekhyun nonchalantly noted as he pointed towards the joint between his fingers.

The British rastafarian tsked his teeth. “He wouldn’t make such a fuss if he actually tried it for once,” he shrugged his shoulders, voice chirpy as always.

“Well, where we’re from that ’s illegal,” he explained in English, mixing in some French whenever he forgot a word. “It isn’t even legal here, ya know.”

“Life’s harsh,” he shrugged his shoulders passively.

Baekhyun huffed amused. If only you knew, he thought with bitter irony.

“When are you going back?” the double bass player asked after taking another drag.

“Back?”

“Back to Korea.”

“I don't know,” Baekhyun feigned a smile, ignoring the sadness pressing into his chest as he checked his phone. “Don’t take too long, we’re up in five.”

Baekhyun dismissed himself as David hummed in agreement. Inside and down the flight of stairs he noticed that the bar was crowded, mostly by foreign customers or French patriots that enjoyed live music sung in a different idiom for a change. Baekhyun headed straight for the bar, towards the corner closest to the stage. As expected a cup of tea was already waiting for him on the counter top. He observed the mint-haired pianist warming up the audience with one of his own compositions, evoking the rawest emotions with intricate combination of keys.

Tonight he had the early shift, wowing the crowd before his senior would come next and swipe them off their feet. He wasn’t the main act, but he didn’t mind; for Baekhyun music was the way out. Singing was his outlet, a way to vent his thoughts and emotions through metaphors, keeping his true feelings out of sight while pouring his heart out through a song.

Singing had kept him sane enough to function in the ‘normal’ world.

The hum of the piano’s notes was finally dying down and the public applauded the talented young musician. Baekhyun watched as David descended the stairs and made his way to stand behind his double bass. Baekhyun hurried to finish his drink, bidding the bartender his gratitude as always.

Suzy called in sick, which meant Baekhyun’s set would be cut short. He could probably make it back home before midnight.

Mic check; breathe in. The crowd was obscured as the lights were only focused towards the stage. The nervous beat of his heart wasn’t because all eyes were on him -or so he wished to believe.

A nod from the mint haired pianist and the beat settled into two tones, deep and slow. Baekhyun closed his eyes and let the melody of the piano guide him into the mood. The double bass entered, joining the piano in melancholic harmony. Their slow rendition of the Bee Gees crushed hearts every time. They played the famous song brittled down to its most vulnerable expression while keeping the words the same, only sung with a different feeling behind them.

To Baekhyun those words meant more than a strut on the street and the game of hearts.

“I’ve been kicked around since I was born,” he sang as if the words were painfully true -tightening his throat to transmit the bitterness inside from all the hardship and unfairness he’s gone through.

“Stayn’ alive, stayin’ alive,” he sang with agony, as if he was merely staying alive rather than truly living.

“Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me,” he opened his eyes, trying to transmit the desperation inside. “Somebody help me, yeah,” he stretched out into a hum. “Life goin’ nowhere,” he sang with power, desperate, “somebody help me! Somebody help me, yeah,” he vocalized into a higher pitch, doing runs as he gradually deepened his tone. “Just stayn’ alive,” he finished with a heated breath, passion and pain mixing into his final words.

Just stayin’ ing alive.

After his set, Baekhyun checked his cellphone, the one Mama gave him when he moved away to Lyon. He was sure he felt it vibrate in his pocket sometime in the middle of his show. Finally he got a text after weeks of silence.

‘Breakfast. MM.’ it read.

“Hey,” he heard a voice next to him, making him jump in surprise.

“Hey boss,” Baekhyun greeted, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh so formal,” Heechul snickered. “You broke my heart again. Your voice is just, ugh, a bullet through my heart, ya know?” he said dramatically as he placed his hand over his chest.

“Thanks,” Baekhyun said shyly.

“ing beautiful. I swear not a single person didn’t shed a tear tonight,” Heechul exclaimed. Baekhyun just chuckled, already used to the bar owner’s exaggerated expressions. “Maybe I should have you as the main act instead.”

“And leave Jonghyun without his spotlight? I don’t think so,” Baekhyun laughed.

“Yeah, that would be hard to take from him,” Heechul muttered. “He might make an exception since he’s quite fond of you. We could sort things out.”

“No, it’s okay. I like my set,” he declined.

“Your set is meant to warm up the crowd, but you keep breaking their hearts so Jonghyun can sweep the pieces up together again,” Heechul remarked comically. “Though you did sound rather sad tonight. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he quickly replied. “Just, you know, acting,” he added.

The elder didn’t seem half convinced. “Well, maybe hyungnim can cheer you up,” he said excited as he swung his arm over Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Since you’re single again, let’s go clubbing. My treat.”

“Sorry, can’t,” he dismissed his offer, carefully getting out of the other’s hold. “My mother’s dropping by tomorrow morning. Having a hangover for breakfast would be rude.”

“Psh, your loss,” his boss waved him off dismissively.

Back at his apartment, he heard the piano as he walked through the door. He frowned, it couldn’t be Mama.

“I didn’t know you knew that song,” he commented as walked into the kitchen.

“It’s a classic,” Agent Moon said while he effortlessly pressed the keys. “I didn’t know you knew it.”

“Ken and I are pitching it for a duet,” Baekhyun explained, taking off his winter coat.

“It’s such a great song,” Moon commented

Baekhyun walked up to stand by the piano, Agent Moon looked up to him with a knowing smile. He started back at the top of the music sheet, honing the melody of the song with the keys of the piano.

“Tonight looking at the moon that is so melancholic,” Baekhyun sang the lyrics with a soulful voice, dragging out the words with a rougher tone, “Just like me you are lonely, living with an empty heart.”

He realized as he sang those words how accurate they were in describing how he truly felt. Baekhyun went silent, mind wrapped around the emptiness in his heart.

“You alright kid?” Moon asked, noticing the change in Baekhyun’s demeanor.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun forced a smile. “Just somewhat tired.”

Agent Moon just nodded, and resumed to play the piano. Moon had lived long enough with Baekhyun, so his guardian knew better than to pester him with questions –they both were fully aware of how hard the past years have been for the younger. Baekhyun had mostly been honest about his feelings but always tried to keep strong -rarely causing a scene anymore. When he didn’t want to talk, Moon knew immediately, because Baekhyun made damn sure that forcing him would lead to nothing. On the rare occasions Baekhyun needed to speak out his mind, when he needed someone by his side in search of comfort, he would reach out for Moon. Tonight wasn’t one of those occasions; his silence made it clear enough, so the best Moon could do was to stay close by while calmly filling in the silence with his music.

Baekhyun sat down on the floor, at the coffee table, his chessboard laid out with the game he was trying to break earlier -notes scattered about as he studied the strategies over and over again. Baekhyun frowned, leaning his chin against his bent knee, trying to retrace the steps that led up to the current setup. His goal was to get a pawn to turn into his second queen and trump the game.

“If you’re tired, you should sleep,” Agent Moon suggested after a while.

“Can’t,” Baekhyun muttered against his knee. “I need to master these moves -get the second queen. I need to beat Mama so she’ll tell me what happened to Minseok after the ‘thing’ in Russia.”

Moon sighed loudly. “Don’t you think she told you that just to make you break up with that girl?” he said, a little irritated.

Baekhyun frowned noticing the agent had forgotten his ex’s name -again.

“It worked,” Baekhyun said, shrugging his shoulders. “We both know I had to break up with her sooner or later. Mama just made sure I did it sooner.”

The room went silent.

“She’s using you.”

“I know,” Baekhyun said without hesitation, looking up to meet his guardian’s unreadable gaze, “She needs me.”

Moon shook his head. “Not like this.”

Baekhyun squinted his eyes, noticing how the thermal radiation emanating off Agent Moon’s body concentrated towards his head and his chest. Abdomen slightly flaring up while his legs seemed rather blue. Concern, fear, anxiety. Baekhyun might have a hard time reading his guardian’s schooled facial expressions, but under heat vision Baekhyun could pick up the physical signs of his emotions quickly.

“Why are you so worried?” he asked, trying to sound concerned rather than suspicious. “I know I have to do something, I know she needs me to do something. I don’t know what yet, but I think you do.” Moon’s colors shifted to surprise, Baekhyun knew he was right. “You know something don’t you? You wouldn’t be so worried about me if you didn’t know something was up.”

Agent Moon turned around in his seat to look at Baekhyun with his full attention. He sighed as he leaned his elbows against his thighs. “You know I’m not allowed to tell you things.” Baekhyun nodded. “But, let’s say that I’m not entirely sure what she’s up to but I understand why,” he paused, looking into Baekhyun’s eyes to make sure the younger understood what his words implied. Agent Moon knew something was happening out there, something that had to do with EX’ACT, and Mama was planning to do something about it. “I don’t think she’s wrong,” he continued after Baekhyun gave a brief nod, “but I don’t like the way she does things. I’m afraid it could end up getting you into something that might be too much to handle.”

Baekhyun remained silent, letting the weight of his guardian’s words sink in. Mama was planning something and needed Baekhyun’s help, which meant Baekhyun could easily get played by her, like she had played Kyungsoo before to get them out of the underground. That much he already suspected because of Mama’s eagerness to teach him everything she thought he might need to know. Baekhyun was well aware that being part of Mama’s plans implied being pushed through darkness for she wouldn’t reveal everything to him -she would play him on. That was something he could bear with if it meant that whatever they achieved would be for the greater good -for s to be safe and, hopefully, together again.

Baekhyun couldn’t remember when, but he had already accepted this. Though this time he believed it would be different from what happened to Kyungsoo, because this time Baekhyun was fully aware that Mama would use him as a piece on her chessboard.

He stood up and walked towards Agent Moon. His fake father looked up at him when he placed his hand on the elder’s shoulder.

“I don’t need you to trust her. I need you to trust me,” he said intently with a confidence so great, that he couldn't fathom where it came from.

“That means trusting her by association,” Moon said bitterly.

Baekhyun squeezed the elder’s shoulder to get his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Moon reached up to hold the hand on his shoulder. “That’s my problem Baekhyun,” he said with a half grin, “I trust you too much.”

-February 1st, 2015. New York 18:02.

All bundled up in his winter coat and a scarf wrapped around his neck, Jongin swung the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder -his bag felt like a ton of bricks and he had someone to blame for it. He was walking through the corridors of the dance academy, when he felt an added weight on his shoulder.

“Up for a hot chocolate?” his friend said cheerfully.

“Sorry Tae, not today,” Jongin declined as he finally got out of Taemin’s hold. “I have to visit my cousin.”

“Ah,” Taemin clicked his tongue. “The mysterious and reclusive cousin. Yeah, sure,” Jongin ignored the other’s skeptical tone. “We barely hang out anymore. You’re never available during the week and the only time I get to see you is during our Sunday practices, and I can’t even talk to you without getting scolded by Mrs. Volkov,” he complained.

“Sorry Tae, I just haven’t had the time,” he apologized as best he could.

His friend let out a sigh followed by a forgiving smile. “Oh well, maybe next time then?”

“Sure,” Jongin genuinely smiled.

“Hmm,” Taemin checked his cellphone. “Ravi’s already at the café. Should I just ditch him?” he snickered.

“Nah,” Jongin shook his head. “Does he still insist on being called Ravi?”

“Yep,” he replied as he slid his phone back into his pocket. “At least it’s better than being called Wonshik,” he joked, earning a playful punch from Jongin. “You know how he is. It’s all about Paris for him,” he shrugged. “What did it mean? Ravi?”

“I don’t remember,” Jongin said pondering. “Ravishing?” he joked.

Taemin laughed out loud. “Good one,” he chuckled.

All laughter died down once they stepped outside of the building and were shocked by the cold winter air of the big city.

“Holy , it’s ing freezing,” Taemin exclaimed as he tried to hide his face from the biting cold with his scarf.

“Should’ve worn something thicker.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you when I see you,” Taemin bid as he turned right.

“Bye,” Jongin bid as he turned left.

Hurrying into a brisk step, he walked through 3rd avenue. There was a great place to disappear from at an alley behind a sushi restaurant a few blocks down. Making sure no one noticed him when he hid inside the secluded alley. Jongin held tightly onto his bag and teleported away.

Bending dimensions, Jongin traveled safely until he reached the place he had in mind. Using his mental matrix projection, which served as an interdimensional map, he avoided appearing inside some object and found a clear place to stand. He appeared inside a spacious art studio, clear concrete walls decorated with finished paintings, while easel stands were resting against them along with canvases half done. The windows were big to illuminate the room with sunlight, but the day was already darkening into twilight. There was a long wooden table to his left covered with art supplies, leaving no space to put his heavy bag, so he just let it fall onto the floor.

The room was warmed by an electric heater. The pungent smell of oil paint assaulted his nose -no matter how many times he visited the studio, he could never get used to the smell. The room was nearly silent; Jongin could hear the sound of a brush against a canvas and the soft humming of a deep voice. He turned to see the other sitting with his back to him, facing towards the new painting he was working on. Headphones on his black-haired head, he dressed in simple clothes but still managed to look stylish with washed out jeans and a big loose grey knit sweater -loose enough that the collar fell low, exposing the ink print on the back of his shoulder.

Normally Insane, he read the tattoo. Jongin chuckled at how accurately those words could describe the mess of their lives.

He placed his hand on the broad shoulder, making the other look up. His eyes widened in surprise and then smiled in recognition.

“Jongin,” Yifan greeted with fondness emanating from every inch of his body, as he pulled off his headphones -Jongin could hear some steady trap bass buzz. He quickly set aside his brush to stand and engulf the younger boy into a warm embrace. “You’re cold,” the taller noted.

“I was outside,” he explained.

Yifan pushed him back at arm’s distance to take a good look at him. Jongin noticed the thermoskin compression glove confining Yifan’s left hand -his stiff joints must have been hurting again.

“I thought you were visiting Chanyeol this weekend.”

“I did. I went on Friday,” Jongin said while he unwrapped the scarf off his neck. “But I couldn’t stay because he’s moving to the beach side with his foster parents.”

“Why? Was there a problem?” Yifan asked worried.

Jongin shook his head. “Something about opening a new restaurant there.”

“Oh,” the taller nodded. “Where to?”

“Zihuatanejo,” Jongin pronounced in a ty Spanish accent. “It’s relatively close to Mexico City, so it won’t be hard for me to reach him.”

“Alright. That’s good,” he said, finally moving away to let Jongin see the painting he was working on.

“What’s it supposed to be?” he asked after contemplating the different tones of blue, spanning towards hues of white. At first he thought it was a sky scenery, but the brush were random and noticeable. There were brown tones in the middle that he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“A feeling.”

Jongin squinted his gaze as he observed the abstract painting with more focus. The darker hues of brown hidden beneath the disarray of misty blue looked like a silhouette, a very vague silhouette of a faceless person. Jongin stepped backwards as he stared at the unfinished work. He didn’t know why, but the painting reminded him of a memory they shared. Maybe the earliest memory Kyungsoo remembered and they inherited. There’s nothing visual in the memory, just the feeling of gentle hands picking him up and making him feel safe -making him feel like he belonged in their warm embrace.

Now Jongin understood what it was and it twisted a knot inside his chest. The feeling Yifan tried to illustrate through colors only; nostalgia for the embrace of someone unknown. Someone you didn’t know you needed in your life until you’ve finally met them.

“It feels lonely,” Jongin looked back at Yifan’s side.

The taller lightly shrugged his shoulders, moving away. “It’s hard not to feel lonely,” he simply stated as he went to pick up Jongin’s bag. “Holy it’s heavy.”

Jongin tried to chuckle, but the painting kept haunting his vision. It took him a minute to muster the strength to follow Yifan into the house.

Inside the spacious living room was warm, the fireplace had already been lit. Jongin slipped off his boots and walked towards the brown sofas, letting his tired body slump down into the commodious cushion. Jongin knew Yifan had better financial support from the Chinese branch, but the house was ridiculously expensive. The decor screamed high society. Classy furniture, fancy decorations, high ceiling with a crystal chandelier and a beautiful stone fireplace. Even the damn carpet was freaking expensive.

Yifan placed Jongin’s bag beside the sofa, avoiding the carpet. “What the heck are you carrying in here? Rocks?”

“Actually yeah.”

“What?”

“Open it.”

Yifan gave him an incredulous look before cautiously ping his bag. Rummaging inside, he picked out a big object carefully wrapped with newspaper. He placed the paper aside and stared at the object amazed. “What’s this?” he asked as he propped the circular stone on top of the bag.

“It’s an Aztec-Mayan stone calendar wall plaque,” Jongin recited. “It comes with two Head Mayan masks too.” Yifan’s look asked for a more specific explanation. “Chanyeol and his family went to the Riviera Maya last summer. He had it hung in his room, but once I said I knew where you were, he wanted you to have it.”

Yifan nodded with a fond smile, fingers grazing against the carvings. “I miss him.”

Jongin said nothing as he watched the older hold back any signs of sadness while he reveled in old memories. Jongin knew that feeling all too well. It had only been three weeks since he finally found the fire bender strolling down the streets of Mexico City. He wished he could take Yifan to visit Mexico or bring Chanyeol to Montreal, instead of being a messenger between them. But he’s gotten into enough trouble travelling on his own. His agent was against him teleporting to different cities, but they couldn’t keep him bound. After many arguments, his guardian finally conceded to let him search for s under the condition that he always returned to his foster home.

Kyungsoo knew this would happen. His future-self warned the other boy to teach him how to project his ability, to map out his surroundings so that he could search for them faster. But it’s been two years and eight months, and the only members he’s managed to find were Yifan and Chanyeol. No one else.

The world was a big ing place and the agents made sure to scatter them far from each other.

“He also sent homemade food,” Jongin finally broke the silence. “Some Korean, some Italian and Mexican he wanted you to try. There’s also candy and snacks. A pendrive with pictures, movies and music he wanted to share. Some songs are self-composed.”

Yifan tightened his lips together as he smiled -Jongin could notice the struggle in his eyes. He knew Yifan was getting emotional, he was happy and devastated at the same time. Jongin kept quiet.

Yifan gulped hard. “He plays music?”

“Yeah,” Jongin tried to sound chipper despite how exhausted he felt. “He’s pretty quick at picking up instruments.”

Yifan nodded and he started to pull out the many food containers stacked carefully between his clothes in his bag -each container had a sticky note with Chanyeol’s scribbled handwriting.

“Are you alright? Do you still feel cold?” he asked without looking up.

“Yeah, just a bit weary and cold,” he tugged his coat tighter around his body, still feeling rather chilly despite the warm interior. “I guess it’s the temperature difference. I mean, it is winter season but it’s still freaking hot down there. And , Montreal is much colder than New York.”

“New York?” the taller said just while he picked out one of Jongin’s ballet shoes. “You went to Mexico on Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you go back home before coming here? Or did you head straight to the dance studio?” Yifan squinted his eyes at him, ballet shoe tight in his grip. Jongin couldn’t lie to him.

He let out a tired sigh. “I stayed over at Chanyeol’s place and then left in time for practice.”

Yifan closed his eyes and let out an irritated breath. “You stayed in Mexico two nights?” Even though it was a question, he needed no answer. “How many trips have you made today?”

“Two.”

“Two? And you danced in between?” Jongin languidly nodded. “No wonder you look like ,” Yifan muttered standing up, cradling as many labeled containers possible with his long arms and ignoring Jongin’s mumble of being fine. “I’ll heat one of these up. You need food in you; otherwise you won’t make it back home.”

Jongin groaned slumping further down into the sofa. He did like the idea of eating, but he was too exhausted to even think about teleporting again. “Can’t I just stay here tonight?”

“No way. You’ve been gone too long. You’re going to be in so much trouble. Again,” Yifan stressed the last word. He calmed down before speaking again. “Korean, Italian or Mexican?”

“Chanyeol said his mother’s enchiladas were the best. Something about smoky chipotle pepper in adobo sauce not being too hot. Then again he said the same about chiles de arbol and I almost died,” he exaggerated.

Yifan looked at him warily. “I’ll heat up some and whatever non-tongue-burning dish I find. Just in case.”

“So there’s no one else in Mexico,” Yifan said disheartened after they had eaten dinner -his lips were bright red from the piquant food.

Normally Yifan would drink an espresso after dinner and Jongin would accompany him with green tea, but because of the enchiladas, they both opted for a tall glass of milk.

“I think I’ve finally realized a pattern,” Jongin said, fingers fidgeting against the cool glass.

“What is it?”

“They didn’t just separate us into different cities each, we’re scattered into different countries. One member per country.”

“That sounds more like a common trait than a pattern,” Yifan commented, rubbing his gloved hand.

“Whatever,” he brushed him off. “The thing is that, if I had known before, then I wouldn’t have wasted years searching all over the States. It’s a big country and I’m the only one living in it,” he bitterly rambled.

“Hey, hey,” Yifan reached across the table with his good hand. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known and the agents don’t help with this . You’ve done a great job doing this on your own,” he tried to appease him. “You’ve found me, and Canada is pretty big too.”

“I got lucky I found you before I moved from New York, otherwise it would’ve been another year wasted.” Yifan squeezed his hand to warn him to shut up.

“None of those days were wasted Jongin. Stop berating yourself,” Yifan’s tone was stern and unwelcoming towards Jongin’s self-deprecation. “You’ve done more than any one of us. You’ve found Chanyeol and me. You kept searching, Jongin,” Yifan held his gaze as his voice became even more sincere, “No matter how many cities you left empty handed, no matter the endless hours of travelling all alone, you never gave up. You kept searching.”

Jongin bit his tongue as a lump formed in the back of his throat. He knew Yifan was right, he knew that all his hard work and effort had gotten him this far. But still it wasn’t enough.

Jongin let out a shaky breath, feeling his eyes start to prickle. “I’m never going to find him in time,” he said dismayed, “Before I -I wanted to find him before I time travel,” he quickly brushed his teary eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Hell, I don’t even know where Tao is.”

“Come on Kai, don’t beat yourself up about it,” Yifan consoled him, using his old name that he hadn’t heard in so long. “We never have really known how things would happen, but they always worked out in the end. Tao probably has some idea of how you two meet up. And, well, you’ll find Kyungsoo eventually.”

“But what if I don’t come back?”

“What?”

“What if something happens and we can’t make it back?” Jongin asked, eyes wide and body trembling with fear. “I wanted to at least see him again before leaving-”

“Stop. Just stop,” Yifan hastily stood up and made his way to stand next to Jongin. He held onto the younger’s shoulders. “Don’t ever think that again, you hear me? You’ll be fine, both of you.”

“But how-”

“Shh,” Yifan squeezed his shoulders. “We got out because of you two. We’ve got this far because of you two. There’s no way it could go wrong, because it already happened. It already worked out because we are here now.”

Jongin stared in awe at Yifan’s dark unwavering eyes. “But we don’t know if they- if we ever made it back,” he spoke so softly that he thought Yifan wouldn’t hear him; but he did.

“Mama wouldn’t have ever sent you, if you two couldn’t make it back.” Yifan smiled in a way that assuaged every ounce of fear and insecurity in him. “Don’t worry, you’ll see him again.”

Jongin smiled brokenly, incapable of holding back his tears any longer. He wrapped his arms around Yifan’s firm waist and shielded his face against the other’s stomach. He sniffled a bit as he tried to keep his crying to a minimum. “How can you be so sure?”

He felt Yifan’s long fingers caress his head. “It’s a feeling Jongin,” he said calmly, “I have faith in both of you.”

Jongin couldn’t understand how Yifan had so much confidence in them, when he himself had grown nervous with each passing year, knowing that he would have to somehow manage to travel to the past with Zitao. However, within Yifan’s words of confidence, Jongin managed to find a pillar to hold onto and pull his moral back up. Jongin didn’t want to keep crying, he didn’t want to burden Yifan any further, so he closed his eyes and slowly calmed his breathing.

“I just wish I could’ve found more of us.” He didn’t look up, but he knew the other was shaking his head.

“You did your best Jongin,” he assured.

“Yifan, I got a call from the art gallery- oh…” His guardian abruptly stopped at the kitchen entrance once he saw the scene inside. “Uh, sorry, I umm.”

“It’s okay, Jinbao,” Yifan replied in Mandarin. Jongin didn’t know much of the language, but he was pretty sure Yifan’s pronunciation was perfect. “He’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Agent Wu dismissed himself without questioning.

After spending more time together, listening to Chanyeol’s recordings and a funny video message he sent, Yifan urged him to get back home and rest. He had been away for nearly three days, so he knew he was going to get an earful once he got back home -both from his foster father and his guardian agent.

Back in his room, in a house much more humble than the one Yifan lived in, Jongin let his bag fall onto the floor without care. His room looked cleaned up, though his desk was still messy with his books, notebooks and snacks -he couldn’t blame his mother for not wanting to clean that up. He contemplated the wall for a second, looking at the world map filled with pins on the occidental side. He had travelled a lot indeed.

The three hour difference between Seattle and Montreal meant that he was still on time to join his foster family for dinner, which sounded like a splendid idea, but Jongin heard a small growl. He turned to face his bed, where one of their poodle dogs was sitting, guarding his every move until he recognized him.

“Shh, Monggu please shh,” Jongin hurriedly tried to warn, but the little brown pup was too excited to see him back home and began barking loudly.

“Kim Jongin!” he heard his father holler from downstairs.

“.”

-February 2nd, 2015. Mumbai 12:31.

“Breathe in deep, one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three, four,” his mentor instructed. “Focus on your breathing. Tune out the exterior noise, slowly, with each breath. Still the mind.”

It was easier said than done.

Zitao never used to struggle to meditate. During his training in the first part of the trials meditation had been second nature to him, but lately his restlessness was affecting his skills. He had reasons to feel anxious.

Along the course of the two years away from his group, Zitao had a severe decrease in his visions. Normally it was a struggle to try to fit the images into a timeline, but now, well, he didn’t have much to fit into a sequence -and that terrified him. He had realized some time ago that he didn’t have any new visions. By eliminating the ones he already lived through and the ones he was sure didn’t happen at all, he was left with so little to look forward to. Now, he was able to estimate when his vision would occur. He could put them in order up until the last one, and the last thing he could foresee would happen right before he time travels with Jongin.

After that there’s nothing.

After travelling to the past, Zitao couldn’t foresee anything else. It terrified him to his very core. What if we don’t come back? he had wondered so many times. What if time travel is too hard on our bodies?

But as much as time travel scared him -there was a recurrent vision that disturbed the little sleep he managed at night. It wasn’t really a vision, it was a memory. This particular memory haunted him like a dark omen, warning him about something. His memory was of Yifan’s Tawny owl. It was from the day they finally escaped the dome, when the flock of flying boggers glided towards them to attack, and the little brave owl flew towards its leader and scratched the monster’s eyes. That’s all he could see, repeatedly. Dark silhouettes of a tiny bird attacking a monstrous bogger, sacrificing itself for the group’s sake. That day their brave little owl died trying to defend them.

Zitao never understood why though. He never understood how that little bird’s mind conceived the idea to help them escape, but he did know why that memory kept repeating in his dreams -his subconscious was warning him that Yifan was the Tawny owl of their group.

So yes, closing his eyes to attempt to explore his subconscious became a nearly impossible feat for him -because he did not like looking into his mind anymore. There was too much fear inside of him.

“You’re not even trying,” his teacher called for his attention.

Zitao opened his eyes, slouching his back forward as he rested his elbows on top of his crossed legs. The golden sun shone brightly through the cerulean sky -the seasons never seemed to change in Mumbai. There was a constant vibrance in the kaleidoscopic city, from the ethereal blue sky of the many deities, to the dusty streets; from the constant heat, the raucous spice markets, the endless array of flowers and the ever-golden sun. The colors of India screamed life -yet Zitao was hopelessly impervious towards their call.  

If life was full of colors, then Zitao had none -not even black. He was white, absence of color, devoid of life. He has been white ever since he was pushed inside that private plane and ended up far away from his group.

Zitao gazed away from the sky towards his teacher. The household he lived in was a monastery, and now he had been trying to meditate at a small outdoor temple.

“I can’t,” he replied in Mandarin, voice not sounding as frustrated as he felt. “I’m sorry Master Liu, I can’t.”

The Buddhist monk smiled gently. “You can’t because you don’t want to.” Zitao refrained from replying. He didn’t have to anyway, because the elder was right. “Why are we here Zitao? Why are we meditating?”

He really didn’t want to answer, he wanted to avoid the lecture. “To help me focus.”

“Why do you need that?”

“You know why,” he said tiredly, looking away.

“I do,” Master Liu said as calm as ever. “Sometimes I wonder if you truly understand why you need this.”

Zitao looked back at the serene man, not feeling as offended as he should. “I need to master my focus so I can time travel. I’m meditating to reach the highest state of consciousness I can achieve.”

Master Lui hummed as he momentarily closed his eyes -once he opened them there was an ever-knowing glint in his dark orbs. “Why would you need that?”

Zitao felt himself frown a little. “I need to liberate my sense of self to reach my highest state of consciousness, because my time manipulation is a metaphysical part of me.”

Master Liu softly shook his head. “It’s not liberating the self Zitao. It’s the realization of the self that liberates us,” he explained. “In Hinduism the state of perfect quietude, along with liberation from the samsara cycle, is reached through the unification of the realization of Atman, the inner self or soul, with Brahman, the Highest Reality of the Universe.”

“Aren’t you Buddhist?”

“I am,” he laughed lightly. “Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, in the heart every religion is meant for learning. And learning is multidimensional, we can learn from anything, anyone and anywhere,” he smiled in a way that Zitao felt the air become lighter and more welcoming. “Our learnings aren’t rules Zitao, they are guides. What is taught in every religion will create a guide for one to venture through their life, adapting their teachings to each individual's experience in this world. Religion is not meant to confine us, it’s meant to liberate us by the realization of the self and being conscious of how our self interacts with the world around us.”

Zitao remained quiet as he processed the words of the wise man. Stripping away the differences, every human was the same, they all longed for a meaning in life and some found guidance in religion.

“Buddhism and Hinduism have similarities. We both seek nirvana, to have our fires blown out,” the enlightened monk continued. “However, in Hinduism there is the idea of moksha which is a form of liberation. And within moksha there is conveyed a notion of timelessness.”

“So I’m supposed to meditate to reach nirvana?” Master Liu laughed. “A simple no would’ve sufficed,” Zitao mumbled not nearly annoyed.

“We’re not here for nirvana Zitao. At least not for now,” he smiled again. “I’ve done my research and I believe there is something you can learn from the realization of the self. What you are is not the same as what I am. You are timeless.”

Zitao frowned. “Okay, now I’m confused.”

The monk chuckled. “I may not understand the intricate inner mechanisms of how your mind works, but I do understand that there is a transient integration of space and time during the projection of synapses through the brain.”

Zitao’s eyes grew wide in amazement when he heard his teacher speak with technical terms he had never used before. “You really hit the books,” he commented.

“I actually read scientific papers for a change,” Master Liu chuckled and Zitao couldn’t help but chuckle with him. “Mind and soul as one; if the form of thought, consciousness, is created through the integration of these electrochemical interactions between the cells of the brain, then any state of self and any state of concious-subconcious is mediated by synapses,” he tried to explain as best he could. “For synapse to occur there is an electrochemical transmission between one neuron and the next, in the most simple context. Transmission requires the signal to travel through one cell to the other and that happens within a timefame -a fraction of a second.” He paused, recollecting his thoughts. “For there to be a consciousness, a self, there must be time. But time is different for you. In some way, you are timeless.”

Zitao was silent in a state of shock as his mind ran with thoughts. It wasn’t that he was timeless per se, it was that he was impervious to the effects of his time manipulation. He was timeless because he could manipulate time, stopping the world for others while remaining untouched. What his Master tried to explain was that without time -with time halted, a normal human being couldn’t ‘exist’, there wouldn’t be consciousness; there wouldn’t be sense of self. Without time there was no awareness of existence -no realization of the self; therefore people were dependent on time. Time could affect humans, but not Zitao. Zitao’s mind was unaffected by stopping time, thus he was timeless.

“I understand now,” he spoke slowly as his mind still worked double pace. “In some way my brain -my mind is timeless. But my body isn’t.”

Master Liu nodded. “That is why we’re here.”

Zitao nodded slowly, finally piecing all the teachings together into his perspective. “I need to learn realization of my self to be liberated into my highest state of mind, so that I can explore my consciousness, the metaphysical part of me that is timeless,” he answered without doubt, “Being able to do this will help me travel through time.”

The Buddhist monk smiled luminously, “You can.”

“I want to. I have to.”

“Then close your eyes, embrace your self and let go.”

Still, easier said than done.

But he did it.

He knew he was in a vision the moment he realized where his ‘self’ stood.

He was in a test room and he saw himself sitting in his meditation stance in the middle of a stage. He had seen this one before many, many times. Lab assistants were shuffling around from their stations, to the monitors and taking notes -but it wouldn’t matter, none of them could stop what would happen to the meditating boy.

Like many times before, Zitao watched as the meditating Tao’s face would contort in discomfort before going slack, with only the incessant beat of the heart monitor to indicate that he had died.

The noise dulled until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The vision faded and now he stood somewhere -nowhere. There were no surroundings, there was nothing, yet he could sense he was in fact ‘there’, wherever that was.

Finally he discerned a figure walking towards him -it was Spirit Tao, only looking much more alive, vibrant.

“That can happen to me right?” he asked knowing the other would hear, even if he wasn’t close yet. “I mean, I know managed to pull it off, but there’s still a chance it can go wrong,” he clarified, feeling no fear inside as he normally would. “I, I never could order my visions, but I feel like I can’t see further on. I think I can order them now.” He paused as he waited for the other to stand before him. “I end in Paris right? I’ll die like you did.”

“What do you mean?” Spirit Tao furrowed his brows.

“I’ll die because of time travelling.”

Spirit Tao shook his head. “I didn’t die trying to time travel, Zitao,” he admitted. “I ‘died’ because I came back.”

“What?”

“I turned back time, over three years,” he explained, “It was too much for my body to handle, I couldn’t get my consciousness back inside. So I ended up stuck inside you, my second Tao.”

Zitao gulped hard before speaking, even though he didn’t feel a lump in his throat. “I’m the second one?”

“Yes.”

“But, why? Why did you come back?”

Spirit Tao’s expression saddened. “Because he kept dying.”

“What?”

“No matter what I did, not matter how many times I turned back time, he kept dying,” he grimaced.

Zitao understood now why the memory of Tawny’s sacrifice haunted his mind. “Yifan,” he whispered.

Spirit Tao only nodded.

Zitao wanted to cry, but felt nothing in his eyes. “But how is now different? How will I know he won't…,” he couldn’t say the word. “How will I know that he’ll live?”

“Because this time it isn't me who’s living it. It’s you.”

“I don't understand.”

“You don't have to understand,” Spirit Tao smirked. “The visions never change. They're always the same but when you live through what you foresaw, it’s different right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Spirit Tao gave him a judging gaze. “Yes, yes. The visions I see in my dreams never change, but they don’t always happen exactly the same in real life. Sometimes they don’t happen at all.”

“Right,” Spirit Tao nodded. “Because you’re not living my life. Some things happen the way they did, other's you’ve changed and some didn't happen to you at all.”

“Wait, your life?”

“Your visions aren't of the future, Zitao. They're from the past.”

Zitao stared at his other self in what should be shock, but he somehow felt like he should have known all this time. “They're your memories.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Because I’m stuck in your head, you have my memories.”

“How?”

“I said you didn’t have to understand for a reason,” Spirit Tao chuckled. “We, we are far different from any other. Our consciousness exists in another level,” he tried to explain anyway. “You understand how it works right? How we work?” Zitao did know, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. “Our ‘self’ exists beyond the restrictions of time.”

“But, my body-”

“You’ve gotten old, haven’t you?” Neither needed to answer. “Time accumulates in your body. Every fraction of a second you stop time for the rest of the world, your body keeps ticking.”

“I know, I know. I can feel it,” Zitao reluctantly admitted. “So, if they're your memories, then what happens next? Why can’t I see past time travelling with Jongin?”

“I’m not sure. It won’t be the same for you,” Spirit Tao shrugged. “Time travel distorts our perception because two Taos exist during the same space-time event. I couldn’t conserve the memory.”

“That explains a lot,” he commented. He might be able to remember that day, but he couldn’t foresee it in his visions -in Spirit Tao’s memories.

“I didn’t live much further after that,” Spirit Tao recalled. “I manipulated time too many times and ultimately turned back time to the trials. To my end and your beginning.”

“He died after you got back from time travelling?” Spirit Tao nodded. “If it’s going to be different for me, then how do you know he will be safe this time?”

“Even though we’re meant to be the same person Zitao, we are different. You and I aren’t the same, your life hasn’t been the same as mine and that’s why I know that he won’t die this time,” he explained. “His death was destined in my life, not yours.”

“But then,” he frowned. “You sacrificed yourself to save him.”

“Hey, I’m still around,” Spirit Tao joked.

“It’s not the same though. You being stuck inside my mind instead of actually living,” Zitao said solemnly.

Spirit Tao smiled sadly. “It wasn’t my time to live in this world. It’s yours.”

-February 2nd, 2015. Lyon 09:00.

“You know this opening,” Mama said while moving her white pawn to e4, two steps forward to the middle of the board.

Baekhyun moved his black pawn two steps forward to position c5, preventing his opponent from taking control of the center with double pawns e4 and d4. Mama took out her light knight to position f3, diagonally behind her e4 pawn’s right side.

“We’ve played this way too many times,” he said as he moved his knight. “King's Pawn, followed by Sicilian Defense, popular and predictable,” he mumbled tiredly before drinking some coffee. His mood had become sullen because he had lost the previous match. Again.

“It’s only predictable if you want it to be seen that way,” she said as she maneuvered a pawn to g column. “It’s just an opening, easy and alluring. The real deal is what you do after it.” Her eyes shone with intricate creativity, “Pay attention to my pawns.”

They fell silent as they continued the game. Baekhyun gave little effort into trying to win and instead he eagerly tried his best to defend, attempting to ruin whatever plan she had. He would take any pawn he saw advancing and she would retaliate, but somewhere along the course of the game he realized that by taking her pawns she would advance with her response. Somehow her c pawn ended up two tiles away from his side of the board, but he had been too distracted by the apparent threat of her knight, which he eliminated with his king. Then he was threatened by her rook and her dark bishop, and during his attempts to turn the situation around for his benefit, her only pawn remaining from the slaughter had advanced all the way to his end of the checkerboard. She managed to trump the game with a second queen, by trapping him with her two queens and bishop; his own rook obstructed the only safe square left for the king, ruining any chance to try salvaging his king.

“.”

“I told you to pay attention to my pawns,” she shook her head.

“How did you do that?” Baekhyun asked amazed as he stared at the board. “I thought I stopped the pawns from advancing, I killed most of them. You, you distracted me didn’t you?” he accused, looking up at her. “I had to eliminate one more, but you steered my attention away. Oh wait, I did get rid of that pawn on c. So that means...” he clasped his hand over his mouth as he realized something. “You used my pieces to advance your pawn even further. Damn.”

Mama laughed at his exasperation. “Ignorance is deceptive. It wasn’t the first pawn I moved you had to be worried about, but the one last in line.”

Baekhyun shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll never be good at this.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself Baekhyun,” she said without haste. “You’re playing against me after all.”

“Do I hear some boasting in your voice?” Baekhyun teased but Mama waved her hand in a gesture of disinterest, not letting his childishness affect her.

Baekhyun took it upon himself to reset the board pieces, even though he didn’t feel like playing another match.

“What was the challenge I gave you, Baekhyun?” she spoke with something hidden laced into her voice.

Baekhyun huffed, placing down the light bishop. “To turn a pawn into a second queen.”

“I need you to be able to do this Baekhyun,” Mama’s voice turned serious, causing a stir of anxiety inside his chest. “I need you to deceive your opponent and steer a path that will allow a single pawn to turn into the determining piece.”

He carefully looked up at her. “Why? What’s happening?” Baekhyun narrowed his gaze. “I know there’s something wrong. Please tell me.”

“Agent Moon couldn’t tell you right?” Baekhyun nodded in response. Mama sat straighter against the couch, adjusting her sweater before playing with her necklace. “They’ve found Kim Chulsoo,” she paused to check his reaction, but he just stared back. “He turned sides and now is with Kim Jong Un in North Korea. That means that if Chulsoo gets in contact with EX’ACT, they can team up again and provide new experiments for North Korea -and they would most definitely create a war.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked bewildered.

“The Agency has a few infiltrators in the North,” she disclosed as if it was obvious. “There’s always an inside man, Baek.”

“So if North Korea gets with EX’ACT, it’s the ing apocalypse.”

She rolled her eyes at his choice of words. “The tables haven’t turned yet,” she explained. “We have to stop them at all cost, we must take down EX’ACT before they start experiments in North Korea. We must take down EX’ACT at all costs,” she stressed.

“How?”

“We give them what they want and then them over with it,” she said with a dark expression.

Baekhyun felt a sort of dread inside as his mind went wild with the possibilities implied in her words. Agent Moon warned him for a reason.

“But, but… Are you sure about this?” he tried to appear less startled than he felt. “About doing it this way?”

Mama stared back at him with a piercing gaze that made cold goosebumps course his body. “I might have done things considered to be wrong, but I’m never wrong, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun felt cold. He always tried to convince himself that whenever the time came to act, he’d be ready to go through it and confront the enemy with whatever plan Mama would come up with. He took in deep breaths to regain control of his emotions, now was not the time to panic nor to cower away. He looked back into her dark eyes, she said nothing as she waited for him to process everything she had said. If taking down EX’ACT was her top priority, he believed her. She had told him years ago that as long as EX’ACT was still out there, existing in the world, then they would never be safe. If there’s a chance that the leader of North Korea could end up using the company’s technology, then the fate of their home could be a bloody one.

The company had been hiding and avoided getting caught all these years, but once they start working again, Baekhyun knew they would hunt down his group. And if there was something he could do to prevent that from happening, anything to keep his group safe, then he was willing to go through it.

She saw the resolution in his eyes. “It’s going to be harder this time.”

“I know,” Baekhyun nodded, holding her gaze. “So, what’s the plan?”

“How do players usually start the game?”

Baekhyun frowned, not liking getting a question instead of an answer. “By moving a pawn.”

“Correct. By moving a pawn -not to sacrifice it, but to start the game,” she stressed the significance in her words.

Baekhyun’s frown deepened. What she meant about sacrificing, couldn’t be what he thought. Surely there’s no prior intention to sacrifice your pawn within the first steps, but pawns died all the time. They created a path for the game but were simple and easy to disregard. Unless, unless he played a little more like Mama did and actually used his pawns to trump the game.

If she wanted him to play that way, then there must be an initial step that would trigger her plan.

Why stress over not sacrificing but starting the game? Maybe the initial step could lead to the death of the pawn, even if it was unintended from the start.

What if he was that pawn? What if this was what Moon tried to warn him about.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He needed to know. He needed to know now.

“Am I that pawn?” he asked with a tremble in his voice.

“No dear, you’re not,” she calmly replied.

Baekhyun should’ve felt alleviated, but now he worried even further. “Then who?” he asked without actually wanting to hear the answer, so he quickly changed his question. “Where were you? Where have you been all this time?”

Mama caught his uncertainty, but followed along anyway. “I was in New Zealand.”

Baekhyun felt his heart beating in his throat. “Why?”

“To move the first pawn.”

“What?” he asked breathless.

Mama let out a deep sigh as she kept calm, playing with the bell of her necklace out of habit. “They’ve been hiding Baek, I need them to step out.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widened in fear.

“Oh my god, what have you done?”

“I started the game.”