A sigh. “Again, I really think you should stop training out there, especially in broad ing daylight. One of these days, someone is going to catch you out there, and then what?” His best friend expresses with tensed stress in his voice, his little hands curled in the fabric of his folded sweater as his brows tense downward beneath strands of silken hair. With words as terse as the desperate ground, he folds their weekly laundry with an odd aggression to his motions. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m really not a fan of public execution, especially not when my best friend is the subject of torture.”

Granted, neither he nor Luhan know anybody - at the moment  - who had been forced to succumb to the trials of public penance, although the boy’s younger cousin, Chen-le, had met fate’s ugly rear end three years ago when he’d gotten just a little bit too curious about what his newfound fire-based spells could do, and had accidentally set a fruit stand alight. Luhan had cried for several weeks straight and had refused to so much as think of touching mana ever again, after that, and Zitao has always held guilt about being adventurous while his best friend remains reclusive. 

Still, Zitao would never do anything that would hurt Luhan's feelings, including putting himself in danger. Sure, he thoroughly enjoys training in the peace and quiet away from civilization, but he, subconsciously, continues to refuse to step any closer to city lines where he lingers on the outskirts of the forest when he trains. “Hey,” he offers softly, carefully, taking the thickly knit sweater from his friend’s hands as the blue dusting the skin of his hand-backs glimmers in the light. “It’s gonna be okay - okay? I promise, I’ll be responsible.”

“No, I don’t think you really understand, Tao-ah,” his best friend stresses as he slams his palms down onto the edge of the washing basin, and the mage hates that trepidation in the boy’s voice, hates to hear the way it threatens to fray at the edges. “One of these days, something is going to find you, and I’m worried that if it’s not Qian or one of the townspeople, that it’ll be… it’ll…”

A frown. “Spit it out,” he coaxes with a flat expression, brows drawn downward. “You’re… scaring me, Han-ah.”

Luhan sighs, then, sadness etched into the bleary blur of his opalescent eyes. “I’m worried that it’ll be the Archfiend that meets your fate.”

Although heavily adventurous and probably still plenty naive for a seventeen-year-old mage, aspiring to be much more and then some, Zitao knows a fairytale when he sees one, and so, in immediate response to such a farfetched idea, he sneers. “What’s an archfiend?” He asks with a chuckle lacing his voice. “What are you talking about?”

Nevertheless, his best friend’s voice is just as linear as it had been this entire time, a dead giveaway that he is not making this up, for Luhan is a terrible liar. “You don’t know of the Archfiend of Ybaogan?” He asks quietly, stupidly, as though someone may be, somehow, eavesdropping. “You’re kidding, right? The most famous old myth that still breathes in this kingdom?”

Zitao rolls his eyes, then, his tied-back hair falling down his shoulder as he leans forward for another item of clothing to fold, since his best friend has taken a much-too-elongated pause to begin monologuing. “If I knew what it was, then I wouldn’t be asking you for an explanation, now would I?”

A sigh. “Don’t play coy with me, Tao-ah, this isn’t funny,” his best friend says, sadness soaked into his voice. This, clearly, is not a topic that he prefers to talk about, but Zitao has a funny habit of absentmindedly pushing buttons that he really shouldn’t, and now, he’s wedged himself into an uncomfortable corner between a secretive story and an upset best friend. “Okay, well, since you probably slept through that lesson in grade school - there’s this old myth from like, ten years ago, or something, that - in those woods, over there? The ones you always practice beside - the ones that separate the kingdom from the northwest and the southwest peaks? Rumor has it that an extremely powerful mage, one more powerful than anyone has ever seen, was chased into those woods for wreaking too much havoc on the empire, and they’ve stayed there, ever since. Legend has it that the Archfiend inhabits the forest and guards it, like a watchdog. You trespass, you die - understand?”

He snorts, then, as he sets aside the folded sweaters and reaches for a pair of trousers. “Okay, even though that’s possible, what makes you think that a mage would want to kill other mages? Sure, I get that they would want to hurt the townspeople, but why would they want to hurt me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Luhan presses sternly, side-eyeing the boy as he hands her a handful of his own underpants. “And you will continue to do nothing, until I tell you that you can do something. Sure, they may not have done anything, as of yet, but I’m not about to around and find out, Zitao.”

Zitao rolls his eyes, again. “I get it, mom. Thanks.”

This so-called legend settles funnily in his gut, for it’s not as far-fetched as he had initially believed, yet is ridiculous in the tiny little nuances of the idea. It is certainly not unlikely for an entity of such prowess to exist, especially one having been forced into hiding through the perpetual fear of the law. Zitao, if he had happened to be born as such an entity and if he had happened to be forced into owning powers strong enough to potentially devastate an entire kingdom, likely would have sheltered himself away, as well, out of the sheer fear that he may do irreversible damage when he least means to.

Then again, how can he be so sure that this so-called Archfiend is really all that powerful, if they really do exist? Sure, powerful mages are out there, and Zitao knows that he is certainly not one of them, lately only having been able to bend the chlorophyll within plants at free will and having learned to successfully manipulate the air to the extent of being able to launch himself into the sky with even so much as a sneeze. Does that leave room for demonic entities, though?  

His best friend sighs, however, as his long-nailed thumbs run over the intricately-woven knit of his favorite Cossack blouse in a lovely shade of pale periwinkle. “I know what you’re thinking, okay?” He stresses softly, as if he is simply tired of hiding some kind of secret, especially hiding it from his best friend, of all people. “I always knew that you would be the one we had to look out for, even since grade school, because you always challenged the truths of life. I always knew that we would have to be careful with you in this town, especially around those woods and especially with you being a mage. You’re too adventurous for your own good, Tao-ah, and we worry about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Caught with his wits tangled in an ugly knot, Zitao cannot help but to bring his hands down and into his lap, as he stares down at them and stares, unabashedly, at the fluorescent opal-blue glimmering beneath the translucency of his skin that marks him as something other than red-blooded human. He had never intended for his special abilities to cause harm to others, nor had he intended for them to upset others and cause them to worry for him, either. If what he was had to be shunned for a lifetime and locked away in the rulebooks under highly illegal, then why did he, of all people, have to be given this fated talent?

As someone who struggles with impulsivity and self-restraint, then why did he have to be put at the adverse forefront of a forbidden practice?

Gently, Zitao reaches forward beneath the warmth of the setting sun, and encovers his friend’s trembling hand with his own. “Hey,” he comments softly, his demeanor calm despite the heavy undertones of danger. “I’m not doing anything to get myself hurt - okay? All I’m doing is practicing. I’m not using my magic on people, and you know that - I want to use my powers to help the world and to help the people in Vehan, just like you, and just like Miss Qian.”

“Tao-ah, I know that,” Luhan shakes his head, his facade having dampened, “but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t in danger, so please, don’t go any closer to the forest when you come out here. I don’t… even if you don’t believe in it, I don’t want something to come out of it and come after you.”

Despite being helplessly curious, Zitao knows that, even if the legends were true and even if he were brave enough to challenge them tooth and nail, he would be nowhere near strong enough to fend for his own life if a skirmish did occur. Being a beginner elementalist, Zitao has very little actual battle spells - that is, to say, that weak fire manipulation could barely be considered a battle practice. 

It does make him pout, as the thought begins to simmer and reduce down, for his lack of immortality once more rears its ugly face within the recesses of his mind. Though he hated to admit it, his best friend was right - he was far too ambitious of a young mage, and far too risqué of a vagabond, as well. 

Besides, Zitao found much comfort in his friendly wind-daisies, soft petals of parchment which twirl in pirouettes among the summer breeze. He imagines the roots of trees soaked with glimmering, icy mana, streaking into his capillaries the moment he presses chaste palms flat against the damp earth. 

He smiles fondly at the memory, remembering just how cathartic lending his energy to the needy soil had been - and suddenly frowns. 

The forest is vast. Perhaps, it could be considered as larger than any realm he’s likely ever stepped foot into - likely ever will step foot into.

He must gape in awe, as the wind whistles past his ears, for the forest must hold treasures and delectables to be discovered galore - roots of mugwort, buds of pleasant slipper orchids and timid catchfly perennials, the fallen petals of a once-thriving passionate dahlia, in a rustic sienna color. 

He can imagine it vividly in his mind’s eye, the exhilarating rush of vitality flourishing into the silken pads of his fingertips, electrifying each sinewy tendon across his joints and every bulging artery ribboning across his musculature. The influx of power would be invigorating, birthing life to even his weakest of phalanges and renewing the withered bones, beginning anew. 

How was one meant to turn down something so enticing and so rare? 

“Then again,” Zitao starts up once more, and his friend groans quietly beside him, for that’s a warning sound that the awareness exists of more yet to come, “if nobody has actual proof of this beast, then why don’t I go get some?”

All he gets, then, is a wide-eyed stare. “Tao-ah, no. You’ll be killed.”

“Fifty bucks,” he grins, gleaming from ear-to-ear in sudden excitement, hands clasping at his best friend’s wrists in anticipation, for he’s never been so earnest to embark on a quest, before. “Fifty bucks says I can’t travel into the woods, alone, and come back with proof to put this legend to rest.”

a/n i came up with this idea in the span of 2 hours congrats i hope u enjoy xoxo

Pairing: Tao/Kris

Prompt: supernatural!au/magic craft & witchcraft

Length: chaptered

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence/injury/murder, past!character death, mentions of physical torture, shapeshifters/onmyoji, forced arsonry, spiritual sacrifice

• Inspired by the lore for Varus from League of Legends. 

hi hello if u are new around here, welcome my name is ricey and i write novels, which means i take forever to write things and therefore, this will not be updated until (likely) after the next update of dress me (or later, if i'm not done, which means be patient uwu)

and yes!! i was gone a while i'm sorry!! am back!! it was convention season so i was hardcore preparing even though it turned out to be boring and i didn't even enjoy it and i came home and my entire legs were scattered in bruises and i'm sore and tired and healing but am BACK xoxo

anyw another thing is i come up with ideas that i'm 99% sure nobody will like other than me but if u do like one of my ideas... welcome to the loser club we've got jackets :^)

ok let me wrap this up, see u later!!