o36

Of Gathering and of Letting Go

Luhan was muttering to himself when Jongdae pushed the door of his cabin open for her to step inside, so Jinqiong figured that he wasn’t doing too great. Jongdae had explained briefly that Luhan was very overwhelmed, but she still hadn’t quite decided to what extent after the mess hall. Now, listening to him (spellcaster philosophies indeed; she didn’t understand a thing), Jinqiong thought that overwhelmed didn’t cut it.

“Hey,” Jongdae said quietly. He was holding her back from entering the room. “Can we come inside?”

Luhan stopped his incessant rambling. “Jinqiong.”

A statement, nothing more. Jinqiong took a hesitant step into the room. She wasn’t too keen on talking to Luhan in such a state, and part of her was a bit worried that he’d do something wrong with the gem and somehow kill them all. Still, it wasn’t as if they had a better chance, so she picked it out of her pocket and stretched her hand forward, hoping she was at least facing the right direction.

Luhan took it from her hand. “There are strings,” he said, “that attach you to the gem.”

Sudden, the spellcaster philosophies didn’t seem so ridiculous—or, even if they were, her heart was pounding at those words, like something was beginning to make sense. She let Jongdae guide her, barely noticing his grip, before she managed to sit on a spare chair. Jinqiong could only assume Luhan was on his bed.

“There are what?” she asked him.

“There are strings,” Luhan repeated. “Around you. Around everyone. Yours are… tangled with the gem’s. We can’t possibly cut it because then we’d cut yours too, but if we can untangle… then you wouldn’t be stuck with the gem. There’s also another pair of strings that reach from far away into the gem. Red. They belong to the gem.”

She held her breath. “Is it Junsu?”

Silence from Luhan, the only sound her own breathing, which felt ridiculously loud. Jinqiong pressed her lips together. “Can you untangle my magic from the gem?”

More silence, just as discouraging. Then, “I’m not sure. You’re not… connected to the gem. It’s just wrapped with you. When the gem disappears, which it’s supposed to do after we’ve used it, then the strings should disappear, and you will automatically be untangled. But if the gem were to disappear, it feeds the red strings, which means those would disappear too. So yes, if we figured out how to cleave the magic of Junsu’s strings to the gem’s, then he would die. Yours should… automatically work out when we break Taeyong’s spell.”

The thought of having the gem attached to her felt wrong still, and she wished that Luhan somehow had a way to do it then and there. “Do we really need to worry about Junsu?” she asked instead. “He couldn’t follow us into the gates because the dragon would’ve been there, and—”

“We’re not alone in Hell’s Gate,” Luhan replied calmly. “Byun Junsu wouldn’t have hesitated if he hadn’t been able to follow us. He still has some cards to play.”

Jinqiong stiffened. “You’re saying Junsu is in the gates with us.”

“I’m saying that I think I can feel him in the gates. Not in the sector. But somewhere.”

Jongdae swore, standing next to her chair. All Jinqiong could register was a numbing coldness that had begun to spread. A sort of old horror she’d shrugged off—not that Hell’s Gate was better, but she had let herself believe that she’d be at least free of Junsu. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if he were really there, if whatever Luhan was sensing wasn’t the sector messing with him, because it had to be.

Jongdae’s voice was thin. “This is just a feeling, right?”

“The sector’s shown me things I would’ve never seen otherwise.” Luhan sounded much more lucid than Jinqiong prefered. She almost wished he didn’t know what he was talking about. “And I don’t think we’re alone. But it could also just be a guess. I’m not sure.”

He didn’t sound convinced.

“Junsu doesn’t have a map,” Jongdae replied. “He shouldn’t be able to even navigate through Hell’s Gate because of that. Even if he got through the dragon, he can’t get into the central island. Not as quick as us, anyway. By the time we free Taeyong, he’ll be dead—it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I don’t know,” Luhan replied. “Jinqiong, if you stay here, I can try to figure out more about the strings.”

Jongdae squeezed her shoulder. She could hear his words that he’d offered right before they’d left—bear with him—and even though her head was pounding from the fact that Byun Junsu could very well be there, she managed to keep her voice steady. “I have nothing better to do.” 

***

Baekhyun finished his first shift hours ago, but he didn’t come back to the cabin. The dizziness hadn’t gotten better and she’d spent the best part of the day confined in bed, sitting up once when Yuxuan gave her the medicine. Hei couldn’t tell if the medicine worked or not. Perhaps it would be worse if she hadn’t taken it.

Whatever it was, the afternoon was miserable. Baekhyun was right that she couldn’t get up, and although half the crew was incapitated, it still felt useless.

Then there was the matter of Song Jinqiong, which Hei didn’t want to think about. She told herself that it didn’t bother her that day when Jinqiong had snapped at her, because she had been in a bad mood. Because she had refused downright to talk to Jongdae, so it was understandable.

Except Jongdae and Jinqiong were obviously on decent terms from what she’d seen in the mess hall, or as amiable as Jinqiong and Jongdae could get, and her sister still seemed to be ignoring her. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t hurt. More obviously, Baekhyun had noticed.

He hadn’t said anything about it, though, when he carried her back into the cabin. Then he was off again, leaving her by herself and with the feeling that there was absolutely nothing she could do.

The afternoon flew past. The sector darkened for the second time, but nothing seemed to happen—it was as if robbing them all of a sense was a bad as the sector would get. Still, Hei wondered if they should expect worse. Maybe, by the next day, everyone in the crew would be unable to get on their feet.

A sharp knock on her door broke through the silence. Hei pushed herself up on her bed, ignoring just how badly her body reacted from that small movement alone, just in time for Jongdae to stick a head inside.

“What kind of person knocks and doesn’t wait for permission to answer?” she asked him.

He sauntered inside like it was his cabin, and Hei rolled her eyes at him. The fact that he was blind right then didn’t seem quite possible. “Baekhyun’s not here,” Jongdae replied. “I’ve been told you’re bedridden. And it’s not like you’d be able to do anything in bed anyway even if he were here—”

“Alright,” she interrupted. “Why are you here?”

“What if I’m just craving for your company?”

She made a face. “What if I told you I don’t believe that?”

He sat down in one of the chairs, one that had been surprisingly spared of Baekhyun’s piles of clothing. How Jongdae knew, Hei couldn’t tell. “Song Jinqiong’s asleep,” he replied, “so it’s a bit lonely.”

“She’s in your cabin?”

“Yeah. Until she can see, apparently. You don’t know how much of a pain it was to get her to agree.”

“You’re on talking terms.”

“She’ll come around to you,” he replied. “I just have a habit of getting on her nerves. It apparently works. I’ll try to talk to her about it more.”

Hei shrugged, pulling her blankets up to her chin. She wondered when the last time she’d properly talked to Jongdae was. It felt like something they’d done a long, long time ago, back when Baekhyun had been so wrapped up in killing his father, full of uncertainty about everything—a completely different time altogether. She hadn’t really talked to him properly after he’d shown up with Jinqiong, at least not like before. 

“Jongdae,” she started. Unseeing eyes lifted, like he could see, and he tilted his head in her direction, waiting for her to speak.

Hei paused. She didn’t know what to say. Then, “How are you?”

A genuine question she had wanted to ask for a long time. She hadn’t had the chance to before, and it seemed like a stupid question when she saw him everyday. But they hadn’t talked like they did before, partially because there hadn’t been time, and partially because Jongdae felt different. Hei just couldn’t put her finger down on whether it was good or bad.

A wry smile crept onto his face. “Isn’t the question a couple weeks too late, Hei?”

She flushed. “Just answer it.”

He crossed his arms. “Well, to be quite honest, the closer we get to Taeyong, the more I just want to go home and for all of this to be over.”

“You can’t be anything but quite honest,” Hei pointed out.

He scowled. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome,” she shot back. “But seriously. Since you came with Jinqiong, it’s just… it’s not necessarily bad, but you don’t feel the same. Do you know what I mean?”

“Neither do you,” he replied. “Neither does Baekhyun. None of the crew is. We’re not the same group of people who went into the gates the first time, and you know that. And it’s not just because Jinqiong and Yuxuan are here, and Minseok and Sehun are missing. We’ve all grown.”

Grown. That was a strange way to view it, and Hei had never looked at it as such. Growing up felt reserved for children, and none of them were children. Hadn’t been, for a long time. Yet at the same time, it made sense. Just as she wasn’t the same, terrified girl from Hua, jumping at the slightest noise and frightened by the mere aspect of her power, Jongdae wasn’t the angry scribe who had taken every chance he could to undermine Baekhyun, nor the clairvoyant who had translated the book, staying with the crew because he had nothing to go back to. Perhaps Junmyeon was there because of Jongdae, just like the last time, but Hei had seen the way he spoke to Jinqiong, to the crew, and he was different too. And Baekhyun—Baekhyun no longer seemed fearless, but shouldering very real fears that she herself was dealing with a year ago.

“You got quieter,” she told Jongdae. “You’re more… contemplative? I don’t know if that’s the word.”

“Quieter,” Jongdae echoed. “Maybe. Though Jinqiong would probably digress. She says, and I quote, you just love hearing your own voice.”

Hei rolled her eyes. Even if Jongdae couldn’t see the action. “That’s still true.”

“It’s not my fault my voice sounds nice.”

“The most unbelievable part about that is the fact that you can’t lie,” she muttered, and Jongdae laughed loudly.

“You know,” he said when he finally calmed down slightly, “you’ve gotten more calculating since I’ve remembered.”

“Calculating?” she echoed.

“Yes. Maybe because this whole thing—” he made a grand, blind gesture, “—was because you wanted to, and not Baekhyun, and now you actually have to… well, do something. Last time in Hell’s Gate, you were content with staying in the cabin or keeping me company. This time, you’re not. You were training with my brother the other day. You’re expecting the worst from Taeyong’s island, and you’re trying to prepare yourself for it.”

Hei frowned. “I don’t feel like I’m calculating anything. I just feel like I’ve been so useless the whole time, and given the fact that I dragged everyone here, the least I should do is make up for it.”

“Technically, Jinqiong and I dragged everyone here,” Jongdae replied. “But it’s still an improvement, you know?”

It didn’t feel like an improvement either, but Hei didn’t tell him that.

“One more thing,” Jongdae said. “Jinqiong and I were talking to Luhan just a while ago, and Luhan thinks that Junsu’s in Hell’s Gate also.”

Everything else they’d talked about faded, and Hei sat up so sharply that the room seemed to turn upside down. She ignored. “Junsu what?” she demanded.

“Apparently Junsu’s in Hell’s Gate,” Jongdae repeated. “Luhan’s been… seeing magic, I think. Whatever happened to us was the opposite to him—Baekhyun mentioned it in the meeting, right? Well, it might’ve been overwhelming to a normal person, but because Luhan’s a spellcaster, he’s seeing things that’s enhancing his magic also. He said something about the gem being tangled with Jinqiong’s magic, and Junsu being connected to it. And he also said that the sector told him that Junsu’s inside the gates as well.”

All of a sudden, the whole room was many degrees colder. Hei struggled to process his words, what it meant. How it was possible.

“Did Luhan say anything else?”

Jongdae shook his head. “He’s… not great,” he replied. “He’s kind of confused at times, then has these moments of lucidity. But it was all he got on Junsu.”

“How did Junsu get past the gates?” Hei shook her head. “The dragon would destroy anything that tried to go through. And even if he did, how would he manage to go through the sectors? Even if he can track the gem, it’s only a general direction that he senses it in, and without a map, that’s impossible. We have the only map.”

Jongdae raised his hands. “Woah,” he said. “Slow down. I can’t answer any of that.”

Hei slumped back into the pillows. “What’s the worst case scenario? Knowing Junsu, that is? If he… let’s say he got past the dragon, somehow has a second copy of the map—what’s the worst you think he could do?”

Jongdae pressed his lips together. “The worst case scenario,” he said slowly, “is that Junsu manages to get the gem, kills Jinqiong for it, and slaughters the rest of the crew, because he’s not past that if it hurts you both. And once he’s done, he’ll kill you and Baekhyun for what you did to him. And even that’s… not putting it graphically.”

Her stomach churned, and Hei wasn’t sure if it were because of his words or the nausea from before. “Not putting it graphically,” she echoed.

“Right,” Jongdae said. “Like I said, you and Baekhyun outsmarted him, humiliated him, then tried to drown him and his men. Maybe he wasn’t always like this, but… I think time locked up in Vasileia made him unstable. He’s going to want revenge. On particularly you two and Jinqiong. So if—if he’s made it in, if he makes it to the central island before we can break Taeyong’s curse—then we should also go prepared knowing that Junsu has prepared everything and that he fully believes he has the upper hand. He probably will.”

Hell’s Gate, as terrible as it had been, was supposed to be the one place they were safe from Junsu because he shouldn’t have followed, and because he shouldn’t have been able to navigate. But then again, he had done plenty of things that none of them had expected—gathering three ships to hunt them down, having so many members in his crew (or whatever he called that). On the other hand, they’d made too many mistakes: not taking him as seriously as they should’ve, letting him live, underestimating just what power and influence Junsu had—

“Power,” Hei said slowly. “What’s Junsu’s power? All I’ve seen was Jungwoo use his. Junsu has never used his. Did he around you, or…”

Jongdae shook his head. “He’s a brute killer?” he offered. “The stories say he revolted against his father, though, while he was lined up to be the possible next family leader. That he was close to killing his father. He was powerful.”

Her head was spinning, but the shock and the initial terror from Jongdae’s words had ebbed away. It wasn’t calmness, Hei was certain, but…

She ran through everything Jongdae had said. Junsu wanted them trapped. He wanted his perfect revenge, one in which he could make sure everyone that had wronged him was six feet under in the worst way possible. He knew enough about them to take precautions, and he wasn’t confident for no reason. He had ships lined with fighters and family members, and Jungwoo, who could rip away their powers without lifting a finger.

And Jungwoo—

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