Baekhyun should not be here. He knows this. The Elders do not have to tell him. It is the type of inferred order, an extension of the rule stay away from outsiders.

 

But are they really an outsider if they’re inside the castle? Baekhyun parts the sheets into the entryway of the ward, spots him chest-bare upon cotton sheets. Streams of light saturate him in orange, drawing a pur from Baekhyun. He slips into the room, sheet ruffling back in place when he takes residence at the man’s right. He rests his chin on his forearms, alongside the man’s chest.

 

Chanyeol, the name Yixing calls him. It sounds like the sunrise. As if comforting the thought, Baekhyun feels ultraviolet heat up his neck and arms. His powers rumble in greeting, adding a shimmer to his skin. Tentatively, his fingers drift up Chanyeol’s wrists, dip the inside of his elbow, crest the arch of his biceps and shoulders to find solace on his left pec. Beneath it, there’s the strong thrum of a heartbeat. Baekhyun feels his head loll to the side as the finger of his other hand taps the rhythm. His prodding finger drifts up, past the flesh of a thick neck and sharp chin to the plushness of Chanyeol’s cheeks. There his hand cups, thumb brushing idly along the pattern of skin.

 

Something akin to peace lulls him, and continuously he the area, his fingers wearing like leather. Can I really be blamed for sneaking here when this awaits me in the north tower of the castle? He really can’t help himself. How many times now has he felt weakness in his legs adjourned by pressing thoughts? He’s drawn to the medical ward like plants to light. Just one more moment of this calm in his body. A soothe of comfort incomparable to anything he’s every experienced.

 

Baekhyun fondles for what may be a few minutes, but feels like an eternity. His hand is warm now, hot even from his ministrations. Reluctantly he pulls away, shakes off the near slumber he was reaching and stands up. His eyes drift from the cherub face to the toned chest and long limbs. He itches to linger, but he’s been gone too long from his room. The sleep smoked guards will awaken and alert an Elder. Baekhyun turns his back and walks to the entryway. As he lifts the sheet with the back of his hand, he feels a sort of looming behind him. He turns around, sees Chanyeol on the bed, the open window, the empty healing room. He shakes off the confusion and turns away. He still feels that looming over him even after he’s left.

---

 

“I understand your displeasure, but if this arrangement is to work you must talk with me Minseok.” Yixing’s knowing glance roves the Guardian’s stance. Spread straight and shoulder-width apart, arms crossed just under his ribs, blank expression in place. Or rather, Yixing thinks it more distasteful than blank. It never seems to matter, Minseok refrains from speech whether he dislikes Yixing or is dispassioned by him. And he’s determined to maintain it with his indicative week-long silence.

 

“If this is in regards to last week, Minseok I assure you-” Minseok looks distinctly displeased now.

 

Yixing sighs, pushes his hair back. How shall I amend this situation now? “We have started off on very bad footing. With everything that has happened. Again, I understand the alarm in revealing our situation to people whom are complete strangers to you. And again, I can do nothing but promise that our secret is safe. Contrary to your first impression, both they and I are decent men. I hope this week has made that apparent.”

 

He’s done everything he can think of to show Minseok his life. He’s taken him to the garden stretching around his house and let him help get things back in order before summer ends and fall takes its place. He’s taken him on his shopping trips to the Town Square, led him through Sehun’s general store, Jongin’s foreign goods shop, the Wednesday market, even a public hearing at the Town Hall. He’s introduced him to several of his friends, had tea and juice with some of his patients, and gone hiking in the woods nearby. After a blatant refusal to swim with Sehun and him yesterday at the nearby creek, Yixing needed his own break. He left the man to himself for an evening. Even that consensus felt like a failure. He cannot do that today. It is the last day before they are to return to the castle, and every second is another moment for Elder Seraph to rise.

 

Minseok schools his sour expression back to indifference and turns away, climbing into the automobile without a word. Yixing sighs again, closes and locks the door to his house. The sun beats down on his skin as he walks to the driver’s side with his work bag in hand. Sweat builds on his skin even as the drive gives it a cool wind.

 

Yixing’s first appointment is with a widow and her daughter. The widow, Mrs. Kang, has a love for gardening and baking, but the worst case of arthritis in the village, and perhaps a small touch of something in the head. Beside providing her with medication and balms to alleviate the pain, he also comes by twice every week to help her with some stretches while her daughter Seulgi goes to work at the mill. The trip there is rather quick being only a few kilometers down the road, but it would appear the towns people weren’t finished with their concern over their missing physician. They stop three times, and Yixing can feel the annoyance radiating from his seatmate.

 

They arrive on time for the 9 am appointment regardless, and Seulgi is the one who greets them at the door. “Doctor Zhang! I’m surprised to see you here, don’t you need more time to recuperate?”

 

Yixing bows his head to her as she motions them in. Her eyes rove over Minseok when he passes under the wood overhang into the foyer, frown unsure and guarded. If Minseok notices, he does not indicate it. “I think a week is plenty dear. You know of Xiumin I assume? He’ll be with me today for my appointments so I hope you don’t mind.”

 

Yixing makes a left into the parlor room and spies Mrs. Kang snoring away in her wicker chair with tea resting upon her side table. Yixing smiles fondly and places the book from her lap on the wood bookshelf. Leaning down, he rests both hands over the arms of the chair. “Oh Mrs. Kang, you’re sweet boy is here today. It’s time to wake up.”

 

Mrs. Kang stirs slowly, eyes opening as closes. They blink in confusion before taking in Yixing’s face. Then she startles, pressing her back deep into the chair. “Oh my word! The devils have finally come for me!”

 

Seulgi, resting against the frame of the opening, shakes her head. “No demons mother, just a certain someone you haven’t seen in a while.” Mrs. Kang frowns, fanning herself as Seulgi snatches a red cloth lunch bag from their dining table.

 

“Well honey don’t just be a nuisance, go and get these poor children a drink. And open up the shutters, it is stifling in here!” Rather than annoyed, Seulgi lets out a fond chuckle as she moves down the foyer and takes a right into the kitchen, “mother, the shutters are open.”

 

A wooden box as tall as she is, stands before her. She opens its lower cabinet and pulls out a pitcher of chilled peach tea. Turning left to the overhead cabinet, she removes two glasses. When she returns to the parlor, her mother is already standing with one leg propped up on a chair. Yixing holds her waist and knee and lets her bend forwards. She unruffles the purple tablecloth on the dining table to set both the glasses and the pitcher there, then pours drink into both.

 

When she turns she nearly runs into Yixing’s companion. The sight of his cat-like stare and messy pink spikes unnerves her. Carefully she side steps him, noting his taut compact frame and bulging forearm veins. She wonders in the back of her head what he has to be so tense over. He trains his eyes onto the pitcher, and then back to her, narrowing as if in question. She tilts her head. “You would like, some tea yes?” He is silent, and for an uncomfortably long time she fails to remember his muteness. She hands him the glass. Still he continues to stare at it, then at her.

 

“His village must be undeveloped. I think the drink has struck him into a stupor.” Seulgi laughs, awkwardly trailing off and rubbing the back of her head. She turns away and grabs her lunch cloth once again to leave.

 

Yixing looks up from massaging Mrs. Kang’s knees to Minseok glaring at Seulgi. He tsks. “Xiumin.” It’s strained, the way he says it. But Seulgi watches as this Xiumin person melts back into blankness. He holds the glass in both hands and sits in one of the dining table chairs. Seulgi nods slowly and makes her way to the door. “I’ll be back at the same time Doctor Zhang. Take good care of her till Irene arrives.”

 

“Will do, and you as well Seulgi.”

 

The minute her brown head is beyond his sight from the window, Minseok whirls from his seat to Yixing. His fingers clench over the glass. “This drink, is cold. How?”

 

Yixing, after a short moment of pause, rotates Mrs. Kang’s right leg counterclockwise. Looking up at her glazed out smile, Yixing murmurs beneath his breath. “A bit intense isn’t he?” In response, Mrs. Kang giggles behind her hand. “The shoes are lovely honey, I think I might try the velvet ones next don’t you suppose?” Yixing nods, and wordlessly sets a small book on top of Mrs. Kang’s foot. While she holds it up with her ankle, Yixing trains his gaze onto Minseok again.

 

“A week of no words and your first are for the concern of a drink? If I had known that I would have bought an icebox myself and served you.” Yixing grins at Minseok, slipping into his tongue with grace like a born native. Yixing can tell his partners annoyance by the way Minseok grits his teeth and tightens his mouth. “A bit startling the ease in switching between both, isn’t it? I find myself equally awed.”

 

Minseok ignores him. “The magic you use is...ahss-bahx?” The word feels so...soiling escaping his lips. He hears a chuckle, and meets an amused grin on Yixing. He clenches harder on his teeth.

 

“It is no magic Minseok, merely ingenuity and nature’s provisions. Here in the mortal world, we-”

 

“I’m going to assume their is actual meaning conveyed in those hick--clicks you’re saying Xing, because if not, I regret to inform you that you may be suffering the same ailment as Mrs. Kang here.” Minseok is startled as a voice blares into his ear from behind. He whips around, and is met with a sly and teasing face in the window. Minseok withholds the internal groan, and opts to glare at Yixing’s friend.

 

His least tolerated one.

 

Yixing is more forthright with his surprise, but plays a welcoming smile with it. He rests his fists onto his hips and regards Jongdae. “I am the physician here thank-you-so-graciously. And it is not hick-speak, it is Xiumin’s language.” Jongdae shrugs, and tugs himself up to sit on the sil. His legs swing just outside, as if infiltrating a person’s home was as casual as seeing an old friend. Yixing rolls his eyes and moves to stretching out Mrs. Kang’s upper extremities.

 

Following their new guest’s entrance, there is silence, with the occasional groan from Mrs. Kang or the whine from the chair she sits in. Yixing is not keenly aware of what is occuring behind him. Then the silence gives way to the creaking of wood and clunk of rubber. He imagines it Jongdae leaving the window and entering the parlor. He also assumes the increase in respiration to be Minseok, and the snickering to be classically Jongdae. The man has very creative ways to amuse himself, and that is exactly what Yixing thinks when the snickering mixes with grunts and huffs. Perhaps he should be paying better attention. It is slightly abnormal and it does strike a bit of curiosity in him, but his focus is still on Mrs. Kang, not the strange sensation building in his gut or the hairs on the back of his neck. Perhaps it is a mistake on his part, for he really should not be so surprised to hear Minseok burst.

 

Minseok hisses,  “Why is he here? Always just showing up places. He’s no other things to do? He can’t possibly be that free. And what is he whispering? He looks pleased with himself. If that vermon said even a single-” Yixing holds up a placating hand behind him once he’s mastered his shock, gives himself another moment as it turns to intrigue. Minseok is acting so, for lack of a better word, emotionally. He hasn’t gotten that much expression from him since the moment they first met. “Xiumin, calm. Jongdae, I do not know what you’ve done, but I would politely ask that you stop. We are currently guests here and I do not wish to break up...whatever it is that’s occurring.”

 

Jongdae snorts, regards Minseok with a disappointing smirk.  “We were just getting reacquainted is all. Wouldn’t want the princess to think we’re all blundering buffoons, wiping our asses with leaves and-”

 

“I could freeze the air inside your lungs if I wanted, so easy just to bring that cold out and-”

 

“Hey, he’s doing that clicky-thing again Xing with his tongue. He must be really irritated, you think if I throw something-”

 

“A nat really, a fly from a hog’s that just keeps buzzing and buzzing. Does he ever shut his mouth or is it just an open orifice for to-”

 

“You are very much doing the thing again. I thought we’d been over this already Minseok? People won’t want to talk to you if your body language is all-”

 

“Yixing he is coming too close, if he touches me I will ice his entire head over and smash it to pieces, don’t test me Yixing I will do it. I am never letting those dirty fingers of his ever get near my-”

 

Their volume rises in the span of several minutes to the point that even Mrs. Kang cannot ignore. “I think there is something wrong with your companions. They seem seconds away from a fight.” Yixing sighs, smiling in apology as he sets down her arm and places her back into the wicker chair. “I believe that is a fitting observation as I am now needed to diffuse the situation. You are all done for today Mrs. Kang. Irene should be over soon, but we will sit tight until she does.”

 

Mrs. Kang nods and watches as Yixing places himself between the two other men before her. They are very close, nearly chest to chest. She might have thought them to be long-lost lovers were it not for the smaller of the two balling his fists. She sees icicles dancing in one’s eyes, and lighting bolts in the other. She wonders what kind of a storm that would make them, ice and lighting. But ice is too cold, and lighting is too hot, like a flower growing in weeds, Mrs. Kang would call that flower “Perfect Storm” if she ever got to see it bloom. She admires the way Yixings vines seem to calm them, quell the thunder that is brewing, slow the flurry of snow. Wondrous, the things Doctor Zhang is capable of. She might even tell her caretaker Irene about it when she comes. She at least doesn’t dismiss her notions as delusions of an aging mind. Maybe they are delusions, she guesses that seeing things come out of people isn’t very normal.

---

 

Elder Reign is good at many things besides healing. To even qualify as an Elder that mentors the Guardians, one must be. But healing is what she knows best. It is integral to her, a part she cannot separate from herself. That is why, when enough time has past, and enough generations of Guardians with it, she will be ready for her final transformation and acceptance of the position as Healer head Elder of the council. But that could be centuries away at shortest, and she is feeling every second in the present, mostly due to the way she carefully lays her magic into Elder Seraph.

 

The caution is necessary, Elder Seraph’s enchantments were secure in their creation, anyone laying spells with intention to harm her would receive the same treatment tenfold. Worse though, is that the enchantments, figure eight series of energy roving her body like a pod, harbor rebound magic. They last forever like a magical scar. Extremely protective, borderline paranoid. Elder Reign is impressed Elder Seraph even had the forethought to do this before what must have been Baekhyun’s finishing blow.

 

She had not been able to see the full severity of the wounds before Elder Seraph was brought to her the day Junmyeon and Baekhyun went for Yixing. As such she was unable to deduce the kind of trauma her fellow Elder had encountered in her battle, and why she would lay such a costly spell. From what lingering scars had been there prior to Seraph’s magic healing her body, she might guess dermal-layer incineration. How unfortunate though, that her last trick to end Baekhyun forgot to incorporate elemental magic into it. The only reason he was saved from his own power melting him to ash.

 

Elder Reign snakes her energy, soft green like dewy grass, into those figure eights. They slip and slink along the curves with graceful and quiet ease. And then, just as slowly, they replicate. First two, then four, then eight, on and on till that pod of white infests with green snakes. They writhe and curl one another, soft sizzling to mimic Elder Seraph’s own energy. In a way, they are like bacteria, cohabitating with its larger, scarier host. Slowly but surely feeding off of it.

 

Intentionality is the difference between a spell and a curse. Spells and enchantments are momentary, whereas curses are eternal. Then there is just pure, visceral magic. A breed of its own, living and breathing and eating. It has no intention but to exist. And it will, surviving first off of the protective enchantments, then the healing waves caressing Elder Seraph’s skin, then eventually Elder Seraph’s energy itself. Elder Reign hasn’t let it get to that point though. Elder Seraph would become aware of her magic depleting and arise, healed or not.

 

No, Elder Reign only lets her energy fester till the protection is gone, and the healing magic starts to be consumed. As she has been doing the past week, she mitigates her little ‘infection’, just so that Elder Seraph’s healing is slowed and then resumed. Like a pendulum, slowed for as long as she chooses, but not stopped. Elder of Healing, Mentor to the Guardian of the Mind. And for good reason.

 

At the time that she had failed the transformation into a Guardian, when the turquoise jewel - currently in Yixing’s belly button - had violently rejected her magic and refused to manifest from the Head Elder’s amulet into her gut, she could not understand why. She was so bitter, and repulsed, and angry. She was a gifted healer from her home village in the mountains, she had spared and saved countless people’s lives. How was is that she was unfitting for the stone of healing? When she lets her mind linger over what she just did to Elder Seraph, and just who now holds the turquoise stone, she starts to understand.

 

Now she must retrieve Luhan for his bi-weekly training. It just happens to be the most intensive day of the week. She rinses her hands in the chamber pot in the corner of the room, then pats Elder Seraph’s bed in farewell. As she makes her way out of the private quarter, she finds some servants making their way inside to tidy. She smiles and nods at them, but they do not  acknowledge her. She huffs a soft laugh. Another day when she is yet to earn anything from the reanimated sticks and dirt but blankness. She supposes it’s a good thing that she finished when she did. She may not be able to earn emotion from them, but their empty heads make them very pliant for information abstraction. Elder Sebil has been secretive and suspicious of her. She wouldn’t want to affirm those suspicions.

 

Elder Reign makes her way to the end of the hallway, then turns left at the fork before her. The walls open up while the ceiling rises, moving her from a secondary corridor to the main connecting level of the castle. On the second floor here in this walkway, she can access the other three towers laying to the south, east and west of the north tower. It is the west tower that is her goal, as the Guardian quarters are here. This is where she will find Luhan.  

 

She proceeds forward from the hall entranceway down a floor of marble. Her eyes trail from pointed arches in the ceiling, down columns of multicolored stone blocks, onto the spread of painted images covering the floor. As her slippers scuff across the scenes, she finds her gaze drawn. It seems she’s fallen on the tale of mothers.

 

The first scene is a detailed mountain valley, lone river running center with currents she almost feels beneath her soles. The scent of hills and meadows trick her into thinking she’s there, toes crushing the grass blades. She runs along the lines of trees speckled with animals and imagines the clamour of their voices. Then comes her favorite part, the one most endeared to her. The stretches of forest surrounding the river in the valley break away into grasslands, and at the center where the hallway departs the castle and becomes an outdoor tunnel, emerges a small circle of women around a fire. Elder Reign shortens her gait just a bit to linger on the women. Their faces are bright and thrilling, their arms extended, their legs splayed and in jubilee.

 

Their image is mesmerizing, but skylight beams of heat from the ceiling windows encourage Elder Reign along. As she moves forward, the scene changes. Trees grow taller, wider, the river expands, the animals multiply. And the women are older, no longer singing and dancing, but on their knees with their heads bowed. Their hair appears even more wild, carefree in its fuzz and length. Elder Reign glances up a moment to look out the tunnel windows and sees the front of the courtyard. In her line of sight is the statue of the Goddess of Healing and Life, fawn held to her bosom with birds dotting her crown. She thinks she spies a head of black moving through, but ignores it for inclining her head low in respect to the statue.

 

Halfway down the hall, the scene shifts again. The trees have grown into the mountains and are nearly breaching the edges of the frame. Animals that could have been seen are swallowed up by growth. The river thins considerably, and the women age into a period of decline. Their hair and bodies are ravaged with twigs and dirt, their clothes tattered. Still, they kneel and hold their hands to the sky, as if asking the observer for help. There are bundles of cloth by their thighs.

 

Elder Reign makes her way past the last third of the hallway while her eyes pin onto the second to last image. As always, her focus zeros onto the bundles of cloth, now exposing the faces of babies, and the woman lifting those bundles into the air. They are haggard beyond measure in appearance, and their faces are desperate. A shiver crawls up her back as she reaches the final stretch of the walkway. The last image just before reaching the staircase looks the same as the one when the women first appeared, only the bundles are empty and the woman are weeping. Elder Reign ignores the courtyard and garden on her left for the forest yielding to her right. She sees the sun sitting high between the east and west tower and sighs. Early midday means she still has much to get done.

 

Just as she turns back towards the doorway leading to the west tower staircase, something catches her eye. Elder Reign stops, then slowly turns her head back to the garden maze in front of the courtyard. She spies a bob of black hair walking from the grounds into the west tower main entrance. Her senses are slow to catch up, but she shakes off her surprise and quickens into the stairwell. Down and through the first door, she catches that black head at the opposite end of the hall. Her suspicions are confirmed by the ice blue magical aura. One part of her implores her to leave and continue to Luhan, but the other begs her to follow. Elder Reign glances up the stairwell, then trails after Elder Sebil.

 

The west tower is fairly simple in terms of  layout. An L shape with the two points acting as rounded towers, and six levels connected by two opposite-end stairwells. Ground level is an open viewing and welcoming hall that leads out to the forest via double-doors of black ironwood, or into the garden and courtyard via a beechwood latch door. The first floor houses the cooking, dining, and supply areas for the servants. The cooking area includes an outdoor atrium that leads to a vegetable and herb garden behind the west tower. The second floor features the sleeping, bathing, and entertaining areas for the servants. Elder Rein is not surprised that Elder Sebil does not stop at either three levels.

 

Upon passing the third floor, housing the private quarters for the Guardians, Elder Rein’s curiosity is replaced by suspicion. Elder Sebil’s aura rises past the entrance to the fourth level, an array of various indoor training and convening rooms, and into the fifth level, the battlements of the western tower. Then Elder Sebil slows her pace. Elder Rein pauses as well, sees the blue still and poking out from underneath the door. She has half a mind to cast an enchantment over herself to hide when the light moves away again. Elder Rein stays where she is for a minute. When she is sure Elder Sebil is far enough away, She spells the door open silently. Through the sliver she’s made, she can see Elder Sebil reclining against one of the arched spikes with an oval of blue mist before her. Elder Rein mutters another quick spell to enhance her hearing.

 

“-dication of any other potential guardians. The village is completely devoid of any other magically inclined individuals.” Minseok, Elder Rein thinks, what an interesting development...

 

“Keep a wary eye Guardian of Ice, the pattern holds that where one is found, the rest are close by.” Elder Sebil lowers her voice. Likely, she is thinking about a certain guest in their ward.

 

“Not with the way things progress here. These humans rely more on monstrosities of nature than magic. No one with any ability besides Yixing - which is still questionable in my mind - lives here.”

 

To Minseok’s words, Elder Sebil nods. “Good, then it will make relinquishing him of his abilities all the easier. If you do find anyone, you know to bring them to me. And I trust the Guardian of Healing is finding things difficult with you?” Elder Rein hears him grunt in response. “As he should, an imposter has no place in this world of ours.”

 

“I wish to be done with this Elder Sebil. I dislike these humans and I am inclined to dislike them as well as Yixing more and more everyday. Might I come home earlier?”

 

To this, Elder Sebil narrows her eyes. “Your instructions were a week and a week you will endure. It’s hardly the worst task you’ve ever been given by me. Am I to understand that alienation of the Guardian of Healing is too much for you?” Minseok is silent to her question. Elder Sebil exhales, readjusting the sides of her robe. “The next time you think to complain, remember that it was your negligence in keeping track of your brothers that’s caused this mess. As such, you will do well to amend the situation by any means necessary. When your week is up, that human will not want a single thing to do with any of you. Are we in agreement?”

 

The mist buckles as if nodding. “Yes, Elder Sebil.” Elder Rein watches as Sebil trains another hard look onto the mist before slashing it away with her hand. She takes this as her sign to go. She mutters a verse, transporting herself from the fifth floor down to the third, the limit of her abilities. Luhan’s room is down the hall. She removes a vial from her robe.

 

Today, his task will be damning the river leading to their territory under the influence of a neurotoxin she’d been experimenting with. If all goes well, he won’t vomit and lose consciousness like last time. It’s not the first of her training regimens he’s failed, but where it normally takes a few tries before he can overcome his physical setbacks, he’s continued without success for several weeks. She’s yet to determine it a mental or emotional block as he’s got too good of a pain tolerance for it to be anything else. As she turns the vial over in her fingers, she thinks back to Minseok’s words and Sebil’s instructions. Her mind begins to run logistics.

 

Being skilled at many things has its benefits, but she is not so sure the one she is using at this moment counts. Spying, manipulation, defying fate itself - should Minseok accomplish his task - these were abilities she wishes she never developed, never had the need for. Maybe that unyielding prejudice was Elder Sebil’s disqualifier for being a Guardian, but this craftiness, Elder Rein is sure, was hers.

---

 

By Minseok’s estimations, the humans are just as hopeless as they are uninhibited. Welcoming the doctor home is not enough, they need to throw a village-wide gathering for his return courtesy of the governor's son, Wu Yifan. He assumes it will be a debaucherous event what with the way Yixing’s friends whisper about barrels of ale and wine. He is only proven right once the evening commences.

 

Where, when, and whom they went about recruiting to prepare the celebration, Minseok knows not. After Yixing’s morning and afternoon appointments, he remained at the man’s house while he prepared medicines for some of his other clients. Minseok didn’t see much of the other villagers activities until sometime before evening when all four of Yixing’s dear friends burst into the house and collected the both of them. They were whisked down the road into the communal square and presented with quite a surprising site. Now of course, the colorful banners, lively music, and grand feast have all dulled for Minseok.

 

The main road is lined with storefronts on both sides, but some trees from the natural landscape are kept and made useful with tied bows and long colorful pieces of fabric. Yixing informs him that this is typical, and decorations are switched depending on the day or event. The basic pattern for tonight is dark green, light green, and cream. Minseok supposes as he flicks a bundle with his hand that they must be Yixing’s preferred colors. Many of the celebrants he passes where them in their vests, pants, and dresses.

 

He walks the long stretch from Chanyeol’s blacksmith forge on the end, and stops towards the middle around Sehun’s general store. Compared to all the decorated buildings, he thinks the forge dark and dreary. Minseok wonders if the others feel the emptiness, the strange whirlpool of light away from the lanterns and torches into his welding house. He considers, as he had upon first finding himself in the midst of this celebration, that it is all just a travesty. This party is a pitiful attempt to chase out the melancholy loss. Minseok wouldn’t put it past them. They’re humans after all. Greedy, superficial, glutinous, lustful, aren’t these the hallmarks of humanity?

 

They burn trees and chase out animals that had once lived in perfect harmony amongst the greenery. They raise canals and strip rivers, toss their trash and excrements into the water without a care for who has to deal with it. They blast through mountains and haven’t the decency to order the rubble, nevermind the dwellers inside. They barely clean themselves or their surroundings, and then wonder why disease is so rampant among them. Even this feast, with all its luxuries, is a tribute to their wastefulness.

 

To feed the village of two hundred, there are lines of slaughtered hog and cattle stuffed and slow roasted with herbs and root vegetables over fire pits. The heat is stifling as he makes his way past them. Following the fire pits are tables of desserts and candies, dripping syrup and smells of smoke-perfumed sweat. He steers clear only to prevent the nausea from tugging on his gut. The lines of food meet drink in the town square where the promised barrels stand. Or at least, the ones still partially filled. While Minseok can anticipate much of the food going to waste, the drink is another story entirely. The humans seem to enjoy their fair share of brew.

 

Minseok hides behind a haphazard pile of upsided empty barrels while a group of apprentices stumble past him. He recognizes one from Sehun’s store when Yixing was picking up garden tools, and another from the town hall where Jongdae works. The third is a stranger, and Minseok is displeased with the state of his clothes. Patches of soaked cotton stuck to his chest and back. And that sweat will cake for the next few months before he decides to bathe. Disgusting. Sehun’s apprentice slugs his jar into the open barrel and pulls amber liquid up, a good half of it spilling over the lip and staining his work shirt. Jongdae’s is more successful in that he manages not to spill it on himself, but the dirt just before the barrel. The third, despite being the sweatiest, is likely the most sober of them for he has the good sense to keep his sleeves rolled and arm steady.

 

He expects them to leave and follow the cadence of pipe, strings, and drums into the town square. There is a decent group of players, a fiddler by the name of Henry that Minseok enjoys particularly, keeping spirits high and loose into the night. The tunes are upbeat, a medley of battle songs and triumphs and tavern classics, as Minseok overheard earlier. The townspeople skip and step and twirl around a leveled stage, sometimes stopping to a drunken monologue of debt to Dr. Zhang, sometimes running off into the nearby buildings for gods-know-what, sometimes falling into a stupor right there on the ground. And if that is not shameful enough, the accompanying trees and shrubs just outside the square hold giggling and sighing in between rustling of things Minseok knows not to be leaves.

 

He sighs. If this night is anything, it is a culmination of the things he knew, and continues to know about humans. Elder Sebil may be misguided in much of what she teaches, but in this her teachings are spot on. The only thing humans cause is destruction and that destruction is going to eventually require correction. It is only a matter of time before we must protect creation from them.

 

He glances down his left where the line of food stands and spots Yixing amongst his friends, or brothers as he insists. Minseok huffs. His time with Yixing is coming to a close, one week being the agreement with his Elder, and yet its been the longest, most pointless week of his Guardian existence. He concludes the discovery of Yixing as a Guardian to either be a mistake, or a fluke. Yixing carries some of the better traits of humanity: an innate gentleness and humility alongside an awareness of both short-term and long-term consequences, prudent and unflinchingly giving of his skills and possessions, respectful to an irritating fault. But he is the only one aside from brief instances of kindness done by his ‘brothers’. There are no other ‘Yixings’ in this settlement, so Minseok estimates that there aren’t any in the other settlements lying west of the village. They are better off sticking with tradition; wait for the amulets of the Head Elder’s to glow and seek the new Guardian itself. Perhaps one of the elves, or the witches might bear the Guardian of Wind or Space. Aside from Yixing, humans are more harm than help.

 

As much as it annoys him, Minseok admits this, and only this, that his initial impression of Yixing was wrong. He was influenced by his protectiveness over his brother, and by his understanding of humans. While he’s mostly avoided talking to the man for the past week, he has learned enough from watching his actions to acknowledge this. He’s seen so much of his Junmyeon in the physician that he begs time to move faster, if only so he could be with his brothers again.

 

The realization brings a sadness that hits harder than it should. Really, all this noise and mischief around him, the last thing he should be feeling is homesick. He’s not like his younger brothers. He isn’t moved so easily, or entertained by silly things. And yet, he can picture it, Zitao running the length of the sweets table to try everything. Baekhyun on that stage putting a show of his own making together, likely mocking one of the Elders if only to get Kyungsoo to laugh. Luhan dancing, no question, as wild as he does when he’s walking Minseok back to their quarters from the north tower. And himself, Minseok isn’t sure what he would be doing.

 

Dissatisfaction hits him, ending his stupor and blatant staring of Yixing’s family circle. He feels ashamed and disturbed. The last thing he should be reminded of are his brothers. This place, it is neither proper nor safe for them. He can barely believe Junmyeon spent three days here. The many dangers alone are- his eyes are drawn back to the group of five still standing in that circle, still conversing as if the world around isn’t needed. There’s little wonder about their closeness, even a stranger like Minseok can tell.

 

Watching Yixing guide conversation with his friends reminds him of Junmyeon. Soft-spoken, yet their words carry a heavy weight amongst the many. The way that Jongin bows his head and tries to burrow into Sehun’s neck reminds him of Baekhyun and Zitao snuggling during the cold months. They insist on everyone cramming into one quarter to be as warm as possible, even though the hay mats and tiny blankets aren’t meant for sharing. Even that nagging, pestering buffoon Jongdae when he’s latched onto Yifan gives him memories of a younger Luhan clinging to him, and him being too touched to push Luhan off. Yifan wears the same fondly exasperated pout, and he pulls Jongdae closer, just like Minseok would.

 

That ache in his chest grows when he sees the group huddle further, something serious in Yixing’s expression combined with his words softening them, sobering them. Their arms go from hanging at their sides or stuck in their pockets to wrapping around shoulders, the back of necks, tightly clutching waists. They’re nodding their heads, a collective agreement and an understanding. The bubble’s forming, Minseok can practically see the boundaries of air and somehow he feels like an intruder. He shouldn’t, it’s idiotic, he’s a good distance away, he’s no idea what they’re saying, nor should he care. But he knows those looks, the worry and fear, the reassurance and love. He knows exactly what they are talking about. And it shouldn’t make Minseok feel this awful mix of things inside him, it shouldn’t.

 

The intimacy is suffocating, a week is too long. Made to watch something he can’t have anymore because of a stupid human. Made to watch that human be praised and glorified for doing his job, for extending the barest minimum of kindness to a brother he didn’t know was suffering-

 

Minseok startles at the eyes boring into him. The usual warm brown has morphed to a sharp gold, alighted from within. He feels unstable, , rips his eyes away from him and rubs the wetness off his cheeks. Off-kilter, needs resettling. Minseok blindly snags a jar out of another villager’s hand as they pass and fills it with the wine. Their protests fall on deaf ears, a mind racing too fast to consider. He soaks his mouth in it, barely registers the burn, the taste. Doesn’t think as he does it again, and again.

 

It’s with a razor sharp sensation on his skin that he knows the eyes are coming closer. He can hear the crumble of boots on the road, and a blood rushing sensation enters him. He fills his jar once more and swivels on his heels. His eyes strain forward as his steps hurry towards the town center. With those eyes hot on his skin Minseok darts into the gyrating crowd. He knows he has to get a partner, has to get his arms occupied or else that foreboding thing coming for him will do something. He needs control, he needs - a familiar face appears. The old woman from this morning with her daughter and caretaker. Minseok gulps down part of the wine and storms to them.

---

 

Seulgi sees him first, startles only because of Minseok’s intensity, not his pointed strides. When he stands before her he nods his head to the dancing crowd. Seulgi frowns, looks from Irene reclined beside her mother and laughing about things only those two seem to understand, back to Minseok. She can’t see it in his face or stance, but there is a touch of desperation about the offer, as if he needs her to join him, not necessarily wants her to. Perhaps that is because she’s one of the few people he knows and recognizes from the village. Even then she would think he’d have a better time sticking with Yixing or one of his companions. He’s surely spent a nicer day sitting with Yifan than her. Seulgi is about to decline when her mother interrupts her.

 

“Oh dear me! You’ve got thunder on your heels boy! Careful or else it’ll crack a chasm and down you’ll go!” Mrs. Kang starts to get up, to do what Seulgi isn’t sure, but then Irene is laughing, pulling her back and whispering something to calm her. The light from the torches nearby casts a hazy orange glow over them. Seulgi rumbles a laugh. She can’t tell if the red in their cheeks is from the alcohol or if everything really is just amusing to them. Either way, Seulgi meets Irene’s grin with one of her own. And without saying a thing, she understands. Irene nods to the crowd and Seulgi huffs goodnaturedly. She supposes she could be a little free for one evening. Seulgi smiles at Minseok and starts toward the crowd. As she passes him she catches his shoulders lowering just slightly. Relief, it would seem, but she’s curious as to what. Is there really something scary enough to spook this icycle of a man?

 

They walk side-by-side into one of the open pockets of the dancing circle. It moves much like an ocean gyre, people pooling drunkenly into the edges but always following the spiral. It's fairly simple, and the music is an upbeat two-step melody, even children could grasp the rhythm and move with it. Yet it becomes apparent to both that one of them is much more proficient in dancing than the other.

 

Seulgi grabs onto Minseok’s shoulders, tries to hop and step in time, but Minseok keeps missing it either by a whole beat or a half-step and bumping into her. They go one, two, three revolutions like this and Minseok’s coordination gets worse. Seulgi’s even-tempered, she wouldn’t normally be frustrated or upset, but she also wouldn’t be insensitive. She attempts withholding her laughter, very much attempts, until Minseok gets off again and tries to overcorrect by pushing forward. This bumps them both into another couple, and the giggles bursts from her belly to saunter through . With her head still a little fuzzy from ale, she’s likely not to stop soon, so she waits for stony-faced Xiumin to glare or huff and leave her. Instead, his face burns pinkish red to the tips of his ears. In fact she feels him clutch her tighter.

 

At this, Seulgi is both touched and convulsed, burrowing into his neck to cover her squeaks. He holds her, bows his head in further embarrassment despite the upper tilt of his lips. Seulgi thinks they must look a mess right now, cradling each other and stumbling incorrectly to the music. Seulgi whips her head up, stares at him until he looks at her full on. She grins. “I promise you, if I wasn’t tipsy right now I could be of more help. But just know everyone here is too drunk to care or remember, so if you’ve got any grudges, I suggest using bladderedness to your advantage. That boy over there called my mother a hag. Should we go step on his toes?”

 

In Minseok’s drunkeness, he doesn’t comprehend a single thing she’s said. At times like this he would very much like to voice his disability. He supposes he could articulate in his own language and surprise her. This temptation does amuse him, but he can still recognize the need to uphold the persona. Mute villager with a small understanding of their language.

 

If he wasn’t so drunk he would also recognize how weak he’s being. Running to a human for help, avoiding emotions he shouldn’t be having in the first place, somehow getting her naughty intentions from the way she’s tugging him to a boy who’s very air is impudent, using ineberation as an excuse to cause mischief. In his right mind he would barely recognize himself, but he’s so warm at the moment, and he hasn’t felt warm in...well... ever. He’s only ever known coldness. Coldness and ice.

 

Seulgi is warm, and she’s nice, and she doesn’t make him feel like somethings about to give inside him. So he nods and stumbles along with her. He feels the tight coils in his frame loosen, feels the cold seep right out of him as another jar of liquid is shoved into his hand, as it drips down his throat. Feels the sharp hotness on his neck as he moves through the crowd and does eventually learn to dance with Seulgi’s guiding hands on his waist.

---

 

Baekhyun is pushing things now. Visiting for brief minutes during the day is one thing, but to sneak here at the heart of night? Oh he is insane. He has lost all sense and abandon with Elder Seraph still her wounds. As that old hag should, finally serves her right for treating me like a failure all the time. I sure didn’t fail when I sent that wall burning-

 

Baekhyun stops at the foot of the stairwell to the sound of padding footsteps from above. He breathes in deeply, quiets the racing of his heart and tugs at the spool of light in his belly. He feels it with ghost-like fingertips until he can hold a tight cord in his mind. Then he lets it grow. Grow until it covers his being. He stands on cold stone as a body of pale yellow light. Then, with a deep exhale he turns the cord. His yellowish sheen shifts. The yellow morphs to blues and greens and greys and then, to the color of the wall behind him. The outline of his body becomes shapeless, thins until there are not features to be distinguished.

 

By the time the servants make it to the bottom of the flight leading to the second level, the vision of Baekhyun is faded. They pass silent, and more importantly, unaware of the body mere centimeters from them. When they turn and descend the next flight of stairs, the outline of a body returns. By the time they are exiting the doorway into the first level, Baekhyun is fully present against the wall. He holds his breath just another minute, listens for any more footsteps, and then releases his most dramatic exhale he can manage. His gasps are pitiful considering how much Junmyeon works with him on controlling his respiration underwater. Baekhyun gives himself a longer than necessary moment to collect himself, then takes the stairwell two steps at a time. He gets another four flights before coming to the fourth level of the north tower.

 

He presses his ear against the door and listens for any sound. The only beings that should be out this late are guards. But Baekhyun isn’t worried. With his newly practiced and learning-to-master skill, he doesn’t have to rely on blinding anyone anymore. He can quietly sneak to and from wherever he wants provided there’s a light source nearby. Baekhyun gently presses the handle down and nuges the door open. He waits for any sign of movement, then pulls a shell from the waistband of his cloth. He reorients the shell so that its reflective inside is facing the hallway before him.

 

The image is blurry and distorted, so Baekhyun breathes gently onto the surface. The image splinters then recollects itself into clear and discernable objects. He spies the entrance into the ward just a few meters away with one guard posted outside it, and various artwork lining the walls. Then another guard on the opposite wall, across from the first. They still face each other when Baekhyun retracts the shell and puts it back into his waistband.

 

He takes another deep breath, dissolves the light that reveals him until he is invisible. Then he nudges the door open. He doesn’t try to hide it, lets the guards notice. He passes through and nestles himself against the wall, allowing the light to shift as his surroundings change. When one guard moves and makes their way past, Baekhyun exhales just a fraction, enough so that a silver light shines in the corner of the still-posted guard’s eye. She blinks at the distraction, then moves towards the other end of the hall. Once both of them are far enough away, Baekhyun slips through the folds of cloth into the ward.

 

He takes his spot, concealed at Chanyeol’s bedside from the entrance. Baekhyun releases the air in his lungs, and before he can pant, shoves his face into the fabric of the bed. There he heaves air against the sheet as a muffle. It takes him another excessive amount of time to right his breathing before he can raise his head, but when he does he feels his breathlessness all over again.

 

The moonlight from the window falls onto Chanyeol’s features, encasing him in a glow of blue and white. Baekhyun wishes to sigh and squeal and kick his feet at the sight. He reminds himself about the guards merely six meters away and instead, pulls his right hand up to place it at Chanyeol’s green-tinged bicep. He squeezes a bit greedily at the taught flesh. Even with an entire week of bedrest, the man manages to not lose a single inch of definition.

 

Baekhyun is a simple person, and anatomy is very simple. Structure relates to function, therefore large and soft arms must obviously relate to superior embraces. He imagines those arms wrapping around his back, squeezing him to his chest and leaving welts behind. Baekhyun sticks his hand into the crevice of Chanyeol’s chest and arm, gripping hard enough to bloom red finger marks. They vanish just as soon as the healing magic roves over them. It reminds him sadly of his own body.

 

He marvels at it. Always marvels at the ability to be marked, even if temporary. His skin is immaculate, unblemished. It’s impossible for anyone to be able to mark him. Sometimes he catches himself wishing he could. He wishes he had the scratches over Kyungsoo’s legs, or the bruises on Minseok’s back. Instead, his body is flawless, while he hurts everyone around him. His hand holding leaves skin red and inflamed. His smiles disorient people’s eyes enough to see spots. Even the occasional greeting kisses from one of his brothers ends with their lips singed. He spends so much of his life in constant restraint. Keeping his sunbeams dimmed, keeping his heat doused, keeping the raw energy submerged when all it needs is release. It’s an exhausting existence, yet in the moments when he is allowed to, he can hardly light a closet.

 

Baekhyun frowns, massaging over the skin of the chest, appreciates unconsciously the rough texture. It’s tough, worked over and hardened. The complete opposite of his. Must fate be so cruel, taunting him with a presence like fire, a body rough hewn like stone, and eyes of a coppery brown?

 

Eyes? There shouldn’t be- Baekhyun is up quick as lighting, barely catching himself from falling out of the chair. He blinks rapidly at Chanyeol’s face, trying to reconcile the split second where he was staring into eyes. Eyes. Baekhyun gasps. Open eyes. Baekhyun curls his fists, swallowing over a suddenly dry throat.

 

“Y-you... you’re not-” All the sudden, the drapes over the entrance to the ward fling open. Baekhyun jumps down, readies himself a ball of light to blind amongst other things, until he hears the harsh whisper of someone very familiar.

 

“Baekhyun! Oh... I swear if this idiot is already gone...Baekhyun! Gods can I get anything right anymore?” Baekhyun sighs in relief and raises himself above the bed. The ball of light in his hand is smothered.

 

“Gracious Tao, you could give someone a warning before you-”

 

“Agh!” Zitao’s shriek is loud and blatant and enough to startle the birds in the south tower. Baekhyun jumps and yells in response, and so does a low voice from behind. Both Baekhyun and Zitao shout at this and whip around. Once again, Chanyeol is lain on the bed still covered in green and maintaining a sort of sleep trance.

 

“I know you can’t understand me, but don’t even bother. I know you’re awake. I saw it in my vision. And don’t yell like that! I only made enough sleep smoke for the two guards. I can’t deal with any more.” Tao stares him down, waits with his arms crossed. Chanyeol does not move. Tao, never one for patience, pulls a rock from his waistband and tosses it onto Chanyeol’s chest. In turn Chanyeol startles, then sighs, and eventually opens his eyes. This time, and with a wariness that does not befit his beautiful face, he turns his head to both Zitao and Baekhyun. It is only then that Zitao’s response registers in Baekhyun’s mind. And the surprise is overshadowed by confusion.

 

He turns to Zitao with widened eyes. “Vision? You had a vision of this future? How did you even know where to find me?”

 

Zitao huffs, rolling his eyes. “Certainly without any of your help. Or Elder Ohm’s. I think the wench knew I had one, she just didn’t know about what. Tried to keep me busy by doing another scavenger hunt. Can you believe she really wanted me to find out where she left her walking stick? I mean gods, that thing has been lost for decades, how am I to even start with-”

 

“Tao, not the point. How did you know to come here, or that, uh, o-oh...” Baekhyun realizes entirely too late that all his fondling and sighing over the man before him might not have been so secret. He also realizes that he has no idea or inkling how to explain himself. Chanyeol is a human, and thus, cannot speak to any of them or understand them. The only one capable of communication is Junmyeon, and Junmyeon, well... Baekhyun chastises himself for even considering it. Junmyeon has gotten into enough trouble because of him. He won’t bring any of his brothers further into his mess. Zitao is bad enough.

 

“Ah, just as I’d seen...” Zitao murmurs. Baekhyun catches it and returns his attention back to Zitao. “What?”

 

“I saw this in my vision. I was walking into the ward, and spotted you two standing and staring at one another. You were encased in this ball of light, and him in a ball of fire. There was a flash and you two blurred into a deep blue. I didn’t understand it at the time but I realized where you were when I was walking outside the north tower.” Zitao nods to the window across from Chanyeol’s bed. Likely the very window Zitao saw since its the easiest to see into from the garden.

 

Baekhyun frowns. “Ball of light, I understand. Light is my ability after all, but a ball of fire? And deep blue doesn’t really make much sense since it’s nighttime. The moon’s light is more pearly than blue. I don’t-” Baekhyun and Zitao gasp as a surge of cold shocks their systems, and their stones bolt and sizzle in their bellies. They both fall and cry out in pain, and Chanyeol gasps again, but is unable to move to help them when they smash into the stone. His body is immobilized by the green magic covering him.

 

The moment is over as quickly as it comes. Their stones are alight and heated, but cooling rapidly in the aftermath. And in their hazy mind the only thing present is the imprint of a single name. They trade disbelieving looks, and jump up to race out of the ward. Chanyeol, the vision, even the sleeping guards laid out against the wall are forgotten. They make haste to reach the west tower, where the other Guardians would undoubtedly be, and equally worried as these series of events seem to be uncomfortably familiar.

---

 

Jongdae’s fists tighten. He doesn’t know why, but he’s very irritated.

 

The thing is, Jongdae whines and complains and generally makes a fuss about everything. His brothers dub him the brat and the loudest of the bunch, call him dainty to vex him more and turn his exclamations into hyperbole. But they also know his true nature. They know his behavior is out of boredom, not actual affliction. He’s a usually calm and satiated individual. A little excitement to keep him interested, a little fast-pace to keep his blood pumping, and a little quiet at the end of the day to keep him sane. He’s lived his life keeping this balance, and only upon imbalance of these things has he become anything close to angry or upset.

 

For instance, his field of work is about documenting all the illegal and illicit activities taken on by the people of the town within a very short timeframe. On the weeks when there is no active scribing needed - because there are no trials or jailings or hangings - and he’s forced to organize the records along with re-consolidate the seven scribe copies, he’s at his most perturbable. He’s willing to start arguments that make no sense if it will only give him something to think about. He’s short with the farmers at their stalls because the sign is crooked, or the milk is higher priced than last week. He’s willing to nose his way into all of Yixing’s appointments or Sehun’s restocking so he will be given tasks to do. And at the end of the day, when all his walking and talking has exhausted him, he falls into bed and rereads Jongin’s journals about his trade journeys and personal travels. Only to the images of ocean waves as big as cliffs, sloths of bears migrating over a meander, and tornadoes ripping buildings into a vortex of rubble, can he find rest.

 

And that is his favorite thing, reading. Books are so very exciting to him. They alone provide him with stimulation. Most times, he just brings a book with him to work to prevent himself from getting bothered. Yifan spoils him regularly with the newest editions from growing writers in the western settlements, alongside the additions of interesting and unique literature from Jongin’s trading. So really, the vast majority of his life is lived placid.

 

He is far from placid at the moment. In fact, he wants to start a fist-fight with a particularly fair-skinned, brown-haired, lithe young women by the name of Kang Seulgi. And this is despite having plenty of activity in the day to keep him entertained- and perhaps too because of Seulgi’s good character. This entire celebration for Yixing was in part a tribute to Chanyeol, to his fiery passion and light-bringing nature, and to not lose hope for his return. It was Jongdae’s idea to dress in Yixing’s favorite colors, as well as encouraging people to make Chanyeol’s favorite foods. He helped put up the banners in front of his friends stores, had plenty to drink and eat while the food was being placed, and even got a solid six rounds of dancing in. Up until Yixing’s heart-to-heart - he admits that although uncalled for, the rallying was appreciated - he was as pleasant as could be. Then he saw it. How he wished he hadn’t seen it.

 

From the moment Jongdae first met Minseok, he was struck by how much the man resembled a little scruffy pink cat.  The fact that they would prefer the nasty outside over a clean and safe home is insulting enough. They come in and cause a mess of your house, hiss over the smallest inconveniences, and refuse all affectionate touch regardless of intention, but have the nerve to cry the minute you ignore them or decide to take time for yourself.

 

Minseok acted as if the very air was dirt and the lot of them were blessed by his purified exhales. According to Yixing, him being something less than a deity but more than a mortal might explain this. But Jongdae is a firm believer that beginnings don’t account for endings. Neither should where you start be the only way you end. Maybe it is the notion of change in Jongdae and the notion of resolution in Minseok that clash. Maybe it is the need for action combating against the need for recess. Maybe it is because one is a melody, and the other is a harmony, and together they clamour instead of compose. Somehow, their bones and blood fight one another, and that was made known to Jongdae through Minseok’s first inquisitive glare.

 

How should one respond when a person you’ve never met hates you? How does one make a mangy wild cat their well-behaved friend? Simple, you make them realize how ridiculous they’re being. Eventually they will recognize your friendliness, and your genuine interest in them. That’s all Jongdae was, interested. Overlooking his concern for Chanyeol and the need to know that his friend was safe, Minseok was this tough guy with a young face, supposedly a wielder of ice - Jongdae has yet to bring that out but eventually he will - and upwards over two centuries old. Imagine the things he’s witnessed or done in his lifetime. There isn’t a book written that could entertain Jongdae as much as Minseok. But the man can’t communicate with him, and certainly won’t communicate through Yixing, and in all honesty hates being here.

 

Jongdae did what any insulted man would do. He turned the game of getting the cat to warm up into the game of pissing the cat off so it will run back to wherever the hell it came from. And maybe it was working. Working so well that the cat had to look so alone and sad and pathetic that a man like Jongdae couldn’t help but get upset too.

 

So Jongdae thinks his irritation is from this. The fact that Minseok refuses to interact with a single person all week, discredits Yixing despite being shown just how worthy he is to be a ‘Guardian’, and cries at a party because no one bothers to deal with him. Who would want to after the way he’s treated everyone?

 

Yet this same cold bastard has the nerve to choose a complete stranger of an organism he despises to warm up to. He really lets her put her hands on him, play with his pink strands, and funnel food and drink into him. He even dances for her, earning too many appreciative stares when the wine loosens his body in just the right ways. And this irritates Jongdae more. It irritates him so very much. It irritates him up until he’s yanking Minseok by the arm and nearly ripping the ‘v’ of his loose cream shirt open. It irritates him even more when Minseok looks genuinely surprised instead of annoyed or exasperated. As if, he’d all but forgotten Jongdae, when nearly an hour ago he was ready to sob because of him.

 

“It’s the man of the party! Jongdae, it’s so good to see you. You have got to tell Yixing that his friend here is a monster.” Seulgi drawls her words in a beer-buttered slur and normally Jongdae would be delighted. He finds drunk people very interesting. Instead her words irk him. “He’s a monster alright, more than you know.”

 

Seulgi just cracks at that, giggles overpowering her enough to lean into Minseok. And it must be contagious, for Minseok starts laughing. Jongdae’s breath catches at the sight, the big shiny top teeth and pink gums, lined with lips stretched wide and thin. His eyes bulge out even as his lids close and Jongdae doesn’t know what to do with his body because suddenly he can’t move or breathe and all he can see is this cute little peach smiling back at him. He’s forgotten altogether what he was angry about.

 

“Of course you’d know that, you cad. I meant a monster in the stomach department. He just takes it all, like where is it all going? He’s still so tiny and small and cute just ugh! We should keep him shouldn’t we Irene? Let’s keep him and feed him till he explodes!” Jongdae is reminded why he was angry. And now he’s angry all over again. Minseok just smiles and nods and even pulls her to his side. He doesn’t even know what she said.

 

Instead of agree with her, Irene smacks her in the arm, but that doesn’t seem to function as a no. She amends herself a second later with a chuckle. “Silly, he’s Yixing’s! And we don’t need a human feeding hole, we’ve got that cavern in your own gut to fill. I swear I make so much and she just it all up!” Irene says. Seulgi whines, then stumbles away from Minseok to fall at Irene’s feet. Something is said about being so full and tired, but Jongdae doesn’t catch it because the recoil sends Minseok into his arms. Then Minseok is smiling and laughing at him.

 

He tries to put his arms on top of Jongdae's so they can go swinging into the fray of dancers, but Jongdae is still immobile from the second blindside of Minseok’s smile. He ends up rocking side-to-side with that pretty grin of his and Jongdae needs to get himself situated because he’s not processing anything useful right now.

 

He blinks, focuses on the music and the lights around him instead of the person in his arms. Eventually his line of sight falls on a bench just a few paces off, and he begins to maneuver the two of them there. He doesn’t quite make it, as Minseok responds to the nudging with rocking back towards the dance center. After two more attempts he gives up and just holds him, Minseok swinging himself in the opposite direction. So they stand and sway as the music changes to a slow-paced ballad.

 

Jongdae thinks it’s nice. Minseok’s body isn’t much smaller than his, maybe even bigger. Minseok is well-muscled despite being short. And he fits rather well in Jongdae’s arms. Warm and sturdy but small and cute. When the man isn’t frowning or glaring, his face is very pleasant. Jongdae only now notices how dark and slanted his eyes are. Yet they look soft, dreamy even. And his voice, its sweet in its elevated tenor. Somewhere in their swaying - or maybe the alcohol reaching its peak - Minseok forgets that he’s supposed to be mute, and babbles in his own language.

 

His lips end up pursing, the bottom one pushing out a bit more than the top. Jongdae doesn’t know why this detail sticks out to him the most, but now that it does he can’t seem to ignore it. In fact the pout is getting deeper and that lower lip is getting bigger and Jongdae is really struggling to focus because he kind of just wants to bite it and see if its as plush as it looks and Minseok is severly pouting and trying to tell him something and Jongdae just does not understand what he’s supposed to do-

 

“I apologize, but I need to say this because I’m not in my right mind. If you keep doing that Minseok I will kiss you.” Just to emphasize his point, he presses his finger onto the lips and pushes them down. Minseok pauses whatever he was about to say, glances down to the finger at his lips, and opens his mouth to bite. Jongdae is flustered at first and whips his finger away, then readies himself to chastise because that kind of behavior is not appropriate even for a drunk Minseok. Except, he is once again caught by the pair of lips that have pushed into the most severe pout he’s ever seen. Minseok’s babbling renews tenfold and his lips are just too much to ignore. Jongdae can’t help himself. They felt so nice on his finger, he just-

 

He kisses him. It’s plush just like he thought but also hot, like his lips are burning. And his skin feels taut, like all of the water in it just got from inside. And it’s thrilling because he’s got this need in him that screams more so he doesn’t pull back Jongdae presses his lips down harder and Minseok responds.

 

He’s gripping the front of Jongdae’s shirt and pulling him so their chests are touching. The skin that connects should feel hot too, but Minseok is cold, so cold it’s refreshing and Jongdae needs more of it. His head is tilting and his lips are widening just a crevice so air can pass and then he’s going in a third time. Minseok’s own lips part and then they’re closer than before.

 

Minseok’s hands snake from the front to his sides just above his hips and he’s gripping so hard Jongdae likes it. He likes how cold his hands are because they temper how hot his skin is and he likes how he’s being pushed back until his calves hit the bench and he’s sitting down. He absolutely loves it when Minseok doesn’t break the kiss, doesn’t let there be any space between them, loves it when he slides right onto his lap.

 

Jongdae wraps his hand around and secures it on Minseok’s lower back, all without letting their lips part. He’s opening and closing his mouth over Minseok’s, letting them push and pull and breathe in each other’s air. It’s desperate and need-filling and good. He’s pressing Minseok’s stomach into his and holding Minseok’s neck so he can’t move and catching strands of soft and silky pink in his fingers and he’s moved because of how overwhelming it all feels. Sounds and smells are morphing and he’s just lost in it all because it all feels like Minseok, like Minseok is just filling and filling him, like it's welling in his gut and it’s so heavy he has to see because its too heavy all the sudden and when he looks down there's dark blue light glowing in between and he’s so confused he forgets to kiss back-

 

Minseok is up and out of his arms. It’s so quick he stumbles forward into the dirt and barely catches himself. It doesn’t take Jongdae long to look up but it takes him too long to realize. Minseok’s dark eyes are blown and panicked, his stomach is lit up like an inky blue lantern, and he’s shaking. Jongdae is surprisingly still, frozen, too disoriented by whatever just happened to recognize the fear. Then Minseok is off and running, or more accurately, stumbling away.

 

Jongdae doesn’t go after him even when his senses do return. He should, but he doesn’t. He knows even if he did, nothing he could say or do would fix it, fix them. Something’s broken inside him, fractured, and he’s watching the pieces stumble away from him. Getting further away with every step, with every step it hurts even more. It dawns on him then, just how much he’s ruined things. That hole in his chest is a lingering presence. There’s something he’s unleashed and he can no longer put it back.

---

 

Yixing knows there is something extremely wrong. His stone, which has only even grown to a pleasant hum when he’s engaging his powers, roars like an animal frenzied. And the image that cements itself into his chest rather than his head is Minseok. He knows there is something wrong, and it has to do with Minseok. His first instinct is to drop what he is doing and run somewhere off into the walking trails nearby. He’s not inclined to be impulsive. He’s not inclined to panic. Internally fret, yes. Become depressed or disheartened, yes. Run off at a dead sprint into a random patch of trees, no.

 

But Yixing also recognizes that ever since entering in his companionship with a certain water sprite, he’s not been himself. He’s been transforming little by little into something else entirely. And perhaps that is the something that has taken control of his body and started running. Yixing says not a word to Sehun or Jongin trying to climb the outside of the town hall building, and runs into the trees. He swerves down an unmade trail through some bramble and ends up both staining and ripping his pants. In this state he doesn’t really register it because all he can think about is getting to Minseok and helping him.

 

Eventually, and without recollection of how, he ends up at the grove right behind Chanyeol’s home. Behind one of the thickest trees, he spies a blue light beginning to fade. He makes his way around, and sees Minseok sitting at the base. He’s very disheveled, glossy from the moonlight, and panting. Without a word Yixing rounds him and sits before him. Minseok does not shift or glance up at him. Just continues to pant. The blue light fades almost completely before Yixing speaks. “Are you hurt?”

 

Minseok shakes his head. Yixing nods, withholds the strange and awkward urge to hug Minseok, tries another question. “Are you in need of something?” After a short hesitation, which cautions Yixing, Minseok nods. The mounting panic in Yixing lessens. His shoulders shrug a fraction. Yixing readjusts his position so he is closer now. He bows his head so he can meet Minseok’s dilated stare. “What do you need?”

 

For a while he doesn’t answer, just looks away and closes his eyes until his breathing slows to normal. When he’s settled, he leans up against the tree and looks out into the sky. “I need to confirm something.” Yixing swallows over the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t know why, but he gets the sense that he knows what he’s about to be asked. “Yes?”

 

Minseok meets Yixing’s gaze. His eyes, which are normally dark brown to even black, have a blue sheen. Yixing feels a little of his energy swell up to match. As if he is being challenged. “What happened during the three days of Junmyeon’s disappearance, and the times when he met with you in secret.”

---

 

Chanyeol is scared. More than scared. Petrified. Yes, petrified, because his terror is so all consuming he doesn’t know what to do with it. He lays in a bed coming in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours, days passing with nothing but the sun and stars as context. And when his grasp on reality finally solidifies, he realizes that he doesn’t know where he is, and listening to the people or things moving around him doesn’t help. He knows he isn’t in the forest, that much obvious, and he’s nowhere near the town, that much disheartening. He’s not seen nor heard a whisper of Yixing in his waking moments, let alone if he’s alive. And now two of these powerful beings know his awareness and will likely have him killed for it. They certainly had no issue letting the evils out there try to kill him.

 

The last thing he remembers is a big black feral beast snapping its jaws over his shoulder, and a litany of pain following it. Then, there were brief flashes of light and yelling, a distortion of sensation pulling him in and then out, the rustle of trees, and finally the feel of warm hands on his body. That was what initially woke him. Hands so soft it was impossible to think them Yixing’s. Much like Chanyeols, the doctor’s hands are calloused and rough.

 

Considering the hands and the damage his body had taken, he initially assumed that he was a part of some afterlife, and the hands of a spirit were dragging him off for judgment. His assumptions were not contradicted upon seeing a young man at his bedside. Everything about him was sculpted, sharp. Elfin facial features, petite form though rather broad in the chest, thick cow- strands of chestnut pillowing his head on Chanyeol’s arm. Had he not spotted the loincloth on his hips, he would have tried to speak to the man, maybe even ask if he could haunt Yixing a bit before receiving any eternal salvation or damnation. But he did see the white cloth and rope cord, and he was was struck by a familiarity of someone else wearing it. That was when he realized he was not dead, along with the discovery that he could not move, indicating he was also not free. Without any knowledge of Yixing or Junmyeon, or any idea where he was, he decided it was his best interest to maintain his appearance of coma.

 

He supposes he is lucky it was the man whom he woke to. He’s come to know a lady who frequently visits him, checking the health of his - surprisingly - fast-healing wounds. And by her lack of notice, or her intentional ignorance of his attention, is yet to prove trustworthy. After a short moment of seeing her back turned, he’s too afraid to talk or open his eyes. The woman is tall enough to make Chanyeol quak in his bed. And the man, he’s, Chanyeol isn’t sure how he feels about him. There’s a softness and a spark about him that keeps Chanyeol quiet and still in a not-afraid way when he continues to visit. His caresses are refreshing and reassuring to his chicken heart, and his scent does something to him. It's a strange phenomena of senses mixing. Smelling like the warmth of sunlight on skin. Or touch having the taste of moonlight. He lets him rub his arms, his chest, his face because he welcomes the presence whether it’s midday or the middle of the night.

 

Or at least, he did when the man didn’t know. Now he knows. And one of his friends or family does too. Now Chanyeol must figure out how to move, so he can very quickly find Yixing, and very quickly leave this place before they end up injured once more. Because when Junmyeon’s stone flashed, all the misfortune in his and Yixing’s life followed with it.

---

 

Minseok mulls over Yixing’s story. Compares it with the recount given to him by Sebil. Finds that he understands everything even less than before. How irritating.

 

Elder Seraph’s cruelty is not surprising to Minseok, he’s long been aware of Junmyeon’s tolerance against her abuse. However, if he thinks back to the days just before that last beating, Junmyeon had been stiff at meal times, practically silent, and refused to sit anywhere near Baekhyun. He’d even meant to ask his brother what was going on between them. He never got the chance of course. And he was gone then back just as quick. In addition, within a few weeks following his disappearance he was fine. Based on the mornings Junmyeon came to breakfast with a blinding grin, those must have been the nights he spent with Yixing.

 

But their talking and Yixing’s condition does nothing to explain his own predicament. His version illuminates Junmyeon’s behavior until his illness. Not the reason or trigger for the onset of it, and certainly not what follows. The only similarities their situations share is the burst of light and energy from the jewels in their bellies. Minseok had only known Jongdae for a week, had only been truly talking with him for a single night, lacking the sort of basis for communication that Junmyeon and Yixing had. Even more so, he was drunk and speaking in another tongue. Minseok was not endeared to Jongdae, barely even tolerates him. Junmyeon was enthralled by Yixing.

 

But something changed inside him. He needs to verify if it is in fact a bond initiation. With Junmyeon, the symptoms didn’t manifest until several days later. Minseok doesn’t have several days. He doesn’t even have a day, they return to the castle tomorrow. If there is even an inkling of a partial bond, Minseok must sever it, for a number of reasons. Not only would it be hypocritical given his chastisement of Yixing and disappointment in Junmyeon, he would be seen as a failure and a liar to Elder Sebil. How can I, the leader of the Guardians, make the same mistake as my brother?

 

He’s upset with himself immeasurably, being stupid enough to mistakenly bond with Jongdae of all people. And what frustrates him to no end, is he will never know how it happened. Yixing’s story didn’t explain it. And he was too lost in his own mind to remember what exactly he did before his energy surged. The ale had taken hold of him, made the boundaries he enforces crumble, made every sense dulled and muted and warm. He still feels its after-effects in the weakness of his legs, the slow-processing of his thoughts. And everytime he replays the moment when he was dancing with Seulgi, to being thrown into Jongdae’s arms, to somehow dancing with him, to even ki-

 

Minseok exhales with strong beratment and shame, digging his fingers into his scalp and pulling the pink strands. His focus becomes overwhelmed, and he is too angry to try to remember anything else. Its mortifying. Utterly mortifying. He’s never been so disgusted, never done anything so disgraceful before. He’s the Guardian of Ice and Cold. He is unfeeling, silent, controlled. He doesn’t become intoxicated, or partake in stupid human parties, or dance and trifle with them. One week and all his principles have burnt to ash and dust. He cannot leave this place quick enough, but he must make sure he corrects his mistake, if it has indeed occurred. And it would not have occurred if he had just-

 

“Minseok?” Right, I’d forgotten he was here...

 

“What Yixing.” Minseok releases the hold on his scalp to let his hands hang listless in his lap. They are still sitting on the ground behind the tree. Neither of them have made a move to leave. Minseok’s reason being his physical inability. Yixing’s reason being that he suspects Minseok is too weak to move. Thus they’ve sat out for the twenty minutes or so it took Yixing to relay the four months of his life prior to going after Junmyeon when he left. But with the length of silence interspersed with groans or huffs from Minseok, Yixing’s given in to his instinct for comfort.

 

“Is the reason you asked about Junmyeon’s bonding and transforming me because you think the same thing has happened with you?” Instead of answering Yixing, Minseok glares, which is answer enough by Yixing’s estimations. “Am I within right to ask who it was?” Minseok glares more intensely at him.

 

Yixing sighs, assumes that he will find out soon enough. The possibilities are few in any case. Minseok only acquaints himself with a handful of individuals. His friends being the primary, as Minseok refuses to really be around or near anyone else. It couldn’t have been Jongin or Sehun as they were with Yixing when the flash happened, leaving either Jongdae or Yifan. Yixing disregards Jongdae almost immediately. Minseok cannot stand to be around him, he wouldn’t have gotten close enough to cause a transformation or bonding. And if Yixing remembers his full ritual in that clearing correctly, it requires a kiss. Yixing snorts. No possibility for Jongdae then. Which means...

 

“I was thinking...” Yixing starts. Minseok’s glare has softened to an exhausted frown. “Huh?” Yixing looks him over, tries to see what about him would attract Yifan. In some ways their personalities are similar, their tempers ranging from reserved to aloof to chilly. Yifan often asserts himself the leader of their little team because he’s the eldest, but also because leadership is in his blood. Minseok is the appointed leader of the Guardians. Perhaps this shared nature is what compliments and endears them to one another? If Yixing thinks about physique, he is surprised. Yifan always struck him as a fan of the lithe and statuesque. Minseok is small and muscular. Quite the opposite in that department.

 

Yixing shrugs his shoulders. He won’t pretend to know what anyone likes or dislikes. He certainly never thought himself interested in a partner. He was of the understanding that provided they had a pulse and liked him well enough, he would be satisfied. Then he fell in love with Junmyeon and can’t imagine a life with anyone else. Their relationship is founded on less than a year of interaction, but they are soulmates. And now with even less time he both favors and is favored among the other brothers minus Minseok. So maybe it shouldn’t be surprising to think Yifan and Minseok bonded in that way so quickly. If Yifan is able to penetrate that cold core in Minseok, then there’s hope for Yixing. That is how he will look at it. “It’s not much different, I don’t think, from the relationship with your brothers.”

 

Minseok sighs, lolling his head to the side as a bout of nausea hits him. “What the gods are you talking about?” Yixing chuckles. Now that I think about it, maybe I should have tried this route from the beginning. The only thing Minseok holds dear are his brothers. Perhaps he should start healing their relationship by going through that shared affection.

 

“I know that you hold a grudge against me for being a human that wooed Junmyeon, and I must make clear that my intentions were innocent, but I can’t ignore my inherent attraction to Junmyeon either. I was drawn to his sincerity. I think he was drawn to my calm. Isn’t that how we’ve all found the people in our lives? We find something in their character that compliments or strengthens our own, and we become entangled. It is not something to be ashamed of. To a lesser extent I was drawn to my friends like this. Sehun for his easy-going and innocence, Jongin for his passion and beauty, Yifan for his wisdom and resolve, Jongdae for his laughter and energy, Chanyeol for his fire and strength. Was it not the same with Junmyeon, or Kyungsoo and you?”

 

The rebuttal from Minseok is immediate, instinctual. “Not even remotely. You are humans, and my brothers are chosen ones. There are no similarities to compare when the individuals are nothing alike.”

 

Yixing frowns. “I disagree. I see so much comparison. I see how deeply you care for them, how protective you become. Even mentioning Junmyeon makes you tense. You withhold a lot of your own emotions to be strong for them. You are willing to direct blame to yourself if it means sparing them hardship. You shelter them from things that are only theoretically dangerous, when much worse things await you in the future should your skills be needed. I tell you Minseok it is the same for me, and any one of my brothers. The emotions, the protective behavior, even the fawning that can become annoying to the younger ones, its all the same. Because Guardian or not, we are the same in spirit.” Yixing presses his hand into his chest to further his point.

 

Minseok’s voice sounds unconvinced, but Yixing has gotten better at reading his expressions. He sees a slight apprehension in his pursed forehead, as if he is saying things to reaffirm himself. “Emotions can be felt by insects and birds if one knows how to read them. But you do not put yourself equal to them do you? How can you say that our relationships are the same when they are not on equal ground to even be compared?” Yixing smiles then, and leans forward. It forces Minseok to lean back. With the alcohol he must have consumed, his barriers are lower. He’s more free to feel rather than think. Yixing thinks if there is any a time to convince him, it is now.

 

“Because we all come and go from this world the same. We have no say in where we go, how we go, or who we go with. We all must be born, and we all must die. If these states, birth and death, are equal then so too is the state of life. I can empathize with a plant because I understand that it is trying to survive, just like I am. I shouldn’t disregard it and let it die because I cannot be it. I should give it a fair chance. I would want to same treatment if someone ‘higher’ than me was in the same position.”

 

Minseok wants to argue, stubbornly disprove the reasoning. He isn’t sure why, but it’s a powerful inclination. Strong enough to activate his leader training and make him recognize the feeling for what it is. Childish. He’s being hard-headed. He needs to separate himself from his emotions, because they prevent him from seeing clearly. He takes a deep breath and allows the silence to wash away any and all thoughts of his own. Then he reconsiders Yixing’s words, all of them. And when he does, he finds them... insightful.

 

He didn’t want to believe Yixing because it trivializes his own role. He didn’t want to believe Yixing because it made all his suffering, and all his brothers suffering, seem less dignified and noble. He didn’t want to believe Yixing because at the heart of it all, he wanted to find Yixing. If such an honor were to be his, he wanted to be the one to find the lost Guardians. He was their leader, they should be called because of him. And yet, Junmyeon stumbled upon one because he was having his first real bout of rebellion. And even more, it was with a regular human. Really Minseok wanted to believe that he was better because of the silence, because of the rigid responsibility, because of the burns on his back, because of the cold. But there’s life in Yixing. There’s real life in him, and it brings everyone to him, and that threatens Minseok. Just like how his friends threaten him.

 

He didn’t let himself think the very things Yixing said, but if he were honest, the notions were always there. The more and more he observed Yixing and his friends, the more he thought they were alike. From his teachings it should be impossible. Guardians are the anomalies in a population. They are special, their talents superior, their morals straight and true. They can’t be like anything or anyone else. Minseok raises his gaze back to Yixing, feels chastised by his fond and open look. He realizes that thinking is flawed, there’s plenty evidence to show for it. That brings to question just how much more Minseok is wrong about. Perhaps he needs to reevaluate all the roles he’s been taught to have.

 

It is as if weight he had not realized he’d been carrying falls from his shoulders. Minseok flushes, ducking his head. He is still too drunk to trust his new-found thoughts. There is a lot surging through him, and he doesn’t have the energy to decipher and analyze it all. He’s spent so long thinking as a leader and a Guardian, maybe with the hours they have left before sunlight he can try thinking as Minseok.

 

“Tell me about them” Yixing furrows his brow. “Who?” Minseok clears his throat. “Your brothers. Tell me about them. How you met them, became friends, your feelings. I want to know.” Yixing smiles, and it is big and warm and relieved. Minseok feels warmth pool in his stomach when he sees it. He has to fight from smiling back.

 

Yixing explains. He explains it with a soft reverence in his tone. He explains being an orphan in a village up north and welcomed into the Wu household at five years of age on a tax collecting trip. He explains being raised as a second son with Yifan and a kinship of west-coast identity with Jongdae born from summer trips to their beachfront estate. He explains the addition of Chanyeol during his apprentice years, and many winter months sleeping together by the kiln in his father’s workshop. He explains the decision to start his own practice with a settlement traveling west of the established territories, and having his life saved by a merchant named Jongin and a general store owner named Sehun. He explains the months of letters sent to and from his Wu home, his summer escape, and his apprenticeship town, until a surprise visit birthed the reuniting of his three old friends. He explains the last three years of being settled and watching the town grow and grow with every successful birth. He explains late nights at the tavern, hearings at the town square, drives through the country in Sehun’s birthday gift automobile. He explains feeling a sense of rightness and peace whenever he is with them.

 

And when he is done, he asks Minseok to explain his relationship with his brothers. Minseok does.

 

Minseok explains being discovered by the mentor Elder’s as a babe, like all the other Guardians. Minseok explains being taken from his village and raised in a castle. He explains how he was taught to walk and to speak the ancient language. He explains being taught his purpose and mission as the leader of the Guardians. He explains how his lessons began to increase, from knowing how to cook and clean to knowing how to grow things, how to heal himself, how to fight, how to settle disputes. And despite learning all of this, how he was never allowed to meet his fellow brothers until reaching his first century. He explains learning how to manage Baekhyun’s temper, and how to overcome Zitao’s cowardice. He explains seeking advice from wise-beyond-years Junmyeon, and being doted on by Luhan, and even making sullen Kyungsoo laugh. He explains the day they first received a punishment from the Elders, and having to console the other Guardians when it became too much. He explains how the centuries blurred together as their training became more intense, how they withdrew further into each other rather than themselves-

 

Except, this part gives him pause, because Yixing asks him if he’s ever been consoled himself. And he suddenly cannot remember the last time he’d allowed himself to be anything but strong.

 

Minseok meets Yixing’s eyes in what can only be described as shock, and from the corner he spies a head of wavy brown. Anything he had been feeling up to that point evaporates. Yixing watches the warmth that had been steadily growing there freeze over. Figurative ice walls are thrown up as Yixing turns to see who disturbs them. He is disappointed when Jongdae starts to come out. Not in Jongdae, but in Minseok. He thought that with their intimate moment those reservations would have abided.

 

Yixing is about to tell Minseok that he shouldn’t feel so guarded, but sees that Minseok is no longer sitting behind the tree. He’s making a right towards the front of Chanyeol’s home and onto the street. Jongdae’s hand that had been raised to pause, falls at his side. His face is despondent, lost. Yixing blinks at the expression. Jongdae has only ever looked that way twice before. Both times were when he deeply upset someone and regretted not apologizing. Yixing looks back to the spot Minseok had just occupied, then up to Jongdae. His eyes widen in realization as Jongdae gives him a pleading look.

 

“I didn’t mean to Xing. I really, just, I... I’ve crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have and now...” Jongdae bites his lip, his shoulders tremble as he tightens his fist. Before Yixing can get a word out, Jongdae storms off back in the direction that he’s come. Yixing debates between going after his friend, and going after Minseok. Eventually he makes the decision that Minseok needs him more, as they’ll be travel partners tomorrow. So he uses his instincts to try and follow.

 

He makes it to the street, then heads up the road. He’s stopped by other festival-goers making their way home, often with slurred words of gratitude to Yixing, and ends up arriving back much later than he wanted. He sighs, not surprised that this was where Minseok went to hide. He’s a little bothered that Minseok is willing to jeopardize their progress because of Jongdae, but he tells himself that maybe another talk will fix things. If he can explain Jongdae’s impulsiveness when drunk, that might lessen the blow that Minseok’s initiated a bond with him. After all, no one knows Jongdae better than Yixing. And if the initiation wasn’t an accident then...things are going to be complicated in the near future.

 

Yixing opens the door, spies the house as he left it. Then he looks towards the back of the house in the alcove where his mixing table is. Minseok is holding up one of his vials and staring into it. Yixing feels cold all of the sudden, as if the late summer early fall heat’s been away. Minseok looks...frightening. There’s an ominousness about him, no, no this is nothing of the Minseok I’ve come to know. This is someone else entirely.

 

“Minseok...what are you doing?” He barely speaks above a murmur. Minseok appears to ignore him, twisting, flipping, down and up with the amber liquid. It’s like a fixation point in hypnosis. Only Yixing is disturbed, not entranced. In fact, he doesn’t even recognize the mixture. It’s been changed from a syrup alleviating cough to something thin and bloody. He flips the vial over again and watches the liquid move from the bottom to the top.

 

“Minseok?” Yixing tries. This time, Minseok sets the vile down onto the table. Then he shifts to face Yixing. His eyes are dark blue pools, and there’s a bottomless presence about them. Yixing wants to step back, run from the room. Which is ridiculous, Minseok won’t hurt me?

 

Minseok moves from behind his work bench towards the front, and leans on the edge. His voice is just as menacing. “Humans like creation, invention, innovation. These are all elements of science. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Yixing nods slowly, starts to move back to the door. “Yes...I suppose, but Minseok why are you-”

 

“And medicine, your specialty, is also a science. Therefore you can be considered a scientist.”

 

Yixing takes a deep breath, looking for clarity in Minseok’s eyes. Rather than a fog, its an abyss looking back at him. “I am an apothecary by license, so it is within bounds to call me a scientist. Do you perhaps want to make something with me, because if so we can-”

 

“Scientists conduct experiments.”

 

Yixing nods again, guides his hand to the door handle behind him. “Yes they do, but Minseok what exactly do you-”

 

“Then you can certainly understand, gods, even appreciate what I am about to do.”

 

Yixing’s heart stops, and he’s yanking on the tether of energy in his gut without realizing it. “Minseok wai-” Ice. Solid, impenetrable, immobile. A wall of ice lines his entire body. It overwhelms him. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t think. Yet, he can still hear.

 

“Too weak. Much too weak. But still, if you are a Guardian, your powers will save you. They have to, else they and you will be dead by noon tomorrow. Real Guardians become the new vessel for the energy, and the amulet holding them before become dormant until death of the Guardian. Placement in vessels unworthy results in funneling back to the amulet. Either your magic stays and defends, or it retreats and you parish. This is the test that should have been given. I let myself be muddled by your influence, your human ways and thoughts. Still, seeing him and talking with you, it gave me the clarity I needed. We may see eye-to-eye Yixing but our situations are still the same. Our jobs are still the same. And they would be much easier if we’d done this from the beginning. I won't let myself keep making the same mistakes. I’m going to correct them now, both you and Jongdae. I promise I will be back before either of you die.”

 

Yixing sees him pass, then hears the door slam shut. Inside him there’s something stirring, but he can’t access it. He’s so cold, there is nothing else in his mind or body. Just bitter, unrelenting cold.

 

The vial on the mixing table rolls off the top and smashes to pieces on the floor. It was frozen solid.

 

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A/N 

To Be Added  Upon Proof-Reading