Jeonghan supposed he shouldn’t cry for a man he just met.

But the tears ran down continuously down his cheek. Messy. Mixing with the dirt painted on his face and presenting him vulnerable to the enemies around him.

Yet he thought, maybe he wasn’t really crying for him. Maybe he was crying for the lost hope… of the broken promise. Maybe he was crying out of anger. Like a child that’s been cheated on.

When everything has been taken away from him, all that was left was his frail body for him to waste away and the little pinch of hope which unwelcomely found a place to settle on his brain. He still remembered what his mother said when she was forcibly taken away from him.

“Find him. Find your person.”

What a foolish thing to say to someone you wouldn’t see anymore. Too someone who was desperate enough to hold on to anything, no matter how questionable it was.

Because then even if he didn’t want to, he held on to it. He waited for him, craved for him. He wasn’t really expecting much. He just wants someone. A tangible entity that may give him even just a false sense of security. It was terrifying to be alone. To be stuck in the midst of thousands of struggling individuals yet have no real opportunity for interaction.

And now he found him. But instead of feeling alive again, all he ever feels is the urge to succumb to death.

Because what is there to live for, anyway? Now that he was captured and under the hands of these cruel people, he has nothing but a bleak future full of cruelty and suppression.

A hard kick was thrown at his sides again, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Amongst all the captives, he became the target of most of the hits--his previous outcry pushing him to the center of attention and irate of the capturers. There was no energy to fight back and all he was able to do was whine as he sank down further towards the ground.

There was just pain everywhere and he knew that in no time, he’d pass out--the dehydration and fatigue weighing down on him.

He rested his face towards the ground, the sharp little pebbles creating prickling dents into his cheeks. As he did so, his vision filled with feet of various people from the crowd-- burly, dirt-stained, some of them little but scarred nonetheless. They were people from the other side. Instincts told him to be mad. But deep down he knew none of this was their fault. They were victims too just like him.

It must be a sight to behold for them. A relief. The last of the war was over and Jeonghan, together with the other captives was the proof.

Soon the loud murmur was overpowered by the sound of the galloping horses. He directed his eyes towards the front, curious on who has come. Leading them was a man whose attire was decorated with little trinkets of gold on a sash. But he’s not the King, Jeonghan knew. He must be one of the higher officials.

There was a slight discussion until the man turned towards the generals. He said nothing but a resounding “You can commence.”

He knew what would happen now. A feast has opened. And Jeonghan, together with the hundred other captives was the laid out treat.

Soldiers would be the priority. Jeonghan knew from the hundred dreadful stories he heard that they’d have the privilege to take a person. And once they own one, it is in their prerogative what they would do to each. Most of the time, they treat one as a household worker, sometimes a display of status, and not