Myungsoo felt himself afloat some strange cloud, in the midst of a white expanse. To the right, to the left, up and down, he twisted his head to find only the glazed, smooth colors of gleaming pearls. Peculiarly so, the mid-sized chamber was illuminated without the aid of natural lighting or oil lamp. Magic? his hazy mind questioned. He sniffed in the air and with a scowl, thought aloud, "Lavender? There is a lavender scent here." He nodded in disapproval and groaned.

His brain throbbed with an unyielding pain. He struggled but after some effort sat up and grasped at the linen sheets that covered his body. He was save a pair of breeches. The wound on his side was bandaged, but that was not completely white. Scarlet stains marred the bandages.

With a grunt, he summoned the cloudy images of the old king dealing a near fatal blow. He rubbed his face with wild, abrasive . A great portion of that night, day, or whatever it might have been in that underground fortress, was left blank in his memory. He cursed to not see Dongwoo around him. If he died, his dream of reaching Laroo in hopes of finding some means to kill Oscuridaon died with him. 

Hopefully he didn't...

With a strain, he got up from the bed and walked barefoot across the cold tiled floor to reach a door. He grunted and cursed from the anguish his wound caused. A little bit more to the left and Amahr's staff, or the beam that shot out of it rather, would have pierced a vital organ. 

As he pressed a palm against the varnished wooden door, he felt a presence standing just outside of it, so he quickly withdrew his hand and hugged the wall adjoining the portal. He breathed in slowly as he awaited his visitor to reveal themselves. 

A soft, almost melodic voice inquired with a short rap on the door, "Are you awake?"

Myungsoo narrowed his eyes and immediately searched his mind for any recognition of that refined, gentle cantor. It was no familiar voice. At any rate, he braced himself for an attack. The only voice he could truly trust was that of Myungeun's, but hers had resolved to remain an elegiac anamnesis.

 Upon hearing no response, the girl opened the door and immediately found herself in a stranglehold with her head pressed against the hard and chiseled chest of her captor. At first startled, she regained a decent semblance of composure once his arms loosened, allowing her to speak. Before she managed a word, he interrupted:
 
 "Who are you?" Myungsoo demanded glaring down at the pate of the girl.

But the girl was not alone. The mostly man reared back with his captive firmly held in his arms as a host of armored men crowded the room. 

 "Who are you all?!" Myungsoo roared. The effort to issue such a booming voice was not without its consequence. Well associated with battle and the dire results of all that follows grim, bloody conflicts, he knew by instinct what it was that crept up his throat. He tried to stifle that which lunged itself out his throat but couldn't fully restrain the force with which it hurled out. With his head turning to look over his shoulder, a bale mass of blood and phlegm ejected itself out his lips, staining them some.

An single arm working to keep secure his captive, the other quickly wiped away the traces of blood. He was unsure if any actually noticed the blood he spat behind him, but he did not want to hint at his less than capable self by leaving traces of it on his lips. Indeed, none could know because he was quick to hide that gross admixture underneath his heel.

What could be known was what shortly followed. The strength in his legs was waning. He had been standing for only a brief period, but those sturdy legs of his swayed as though they were flax caught in a windstorm. His captive wriggled slightly in his hold that loosened as a result of his quivering legs. He knew the girl had felt his thews weaken and could only guess as to what she gathered from it, that he was easy work for all those plated men.

She felt his arm damp from sweat and now fully recognized the inherent panic for self-preservation. Of course this scenario in which they were flanked by steel would frighten him, she thought. 

 "It's okay! He's only confused because of his condition!" the dainty woman said while pulling on his captor's forearm. Her guardians stood with their pikes aimed at the barbarian, never moving, never wavering. "Let go of me and they'll lower their weapons," she urged while tugging his arm down.

 His grip over her loosened some more so that they now rested on her s: holding onto her yet not fully. His mind had quickly calculated how many he could kill yet he knew it was for naught. He was unarmed and all but ; he knew his wound would open if he made any grand attack. Unfortunately for him, he was in her mercy. She was released from his arms and he was free to see who it was all these stalwart men guarded. 

The armored men bowed the knee when she waved at them with her tender hand. They left before bowing a second time, this time to Myungsoo. "May the gods bless you for saving the queen! You and the other savior!" they roared with exultation.

For the span of a minute, his attention lingered on the sight of the men exit the room. While all his faculties were not wholly claimed due to a persisting drowsiness and pain in his side, he was yet acute to notice their steps ended just outside the closed door. 

With eyes that smoldered with curiosity and discombobulation, he shifted his focus to rove the girl in front of him.

She was of skin as white as hoarfrost, her shapely, petite figure crowned by peachy lips and warm, tender eyes that shone like russet gems under the mysterious light of the chamber. Her hair ran like calm auburn streams down her soft, milky shoulders, past her bosom and reached her well-contoured hips. She was queen of minimalist elegance with her body wrapped in a simple sleeveless, white dress scarcely ornated with lavender trim that dipped at the neckline and plunged between her bust. She was Kei, beloved queen of Diciar who bore the golden circlet of royalty.

Fully aware of her office and lack of a proper introduction, she apologized with a curtsy, "I am the ruler of this-"

 "Yes, I remember now" he cut in with eyes that searched her with scrutiny. A finger scratching his chin, his eyes widened with full assurance of his words, "You're that wench we rescued. But where is Dongwoo? He's not dead, is he?" he added with a quizzical look.

 Kei hesitated, her words staunched by his lack of respect. "He is alive, but-"

 "Out with it. Was he harmed as I? I cannot recall..." he said as his hand gently caressed his side as if to soothe the wound. 

 "It's his mind you see." Her posture until now was regal, fully erect with the absence of a slouching spine. Yet, when she answered, her torso hunched in a little, as though a pang struck her stomach. The pain was real, it was a vicarious hurt that came from empathizing with Dongwoo's current state of misery.

 "Mind? What do you mean, woman?" He staggered back until his calves felt the edge of the bed, and upon contact, he sat down. He groaned as he mulled over what he remembered, but could not come to a satisfactory answer as regarding this "mind" problem Dongwoo was facing.

 She vented a deep breath, a breath of lamentation that sounded like the hum of a forgotten elegy. "I'll show you, but first I'll get some people to help you walk."

 "I can walk," he answered with a dismissive wave. "I've suffered worst than this which is but a mere flesh wound. Just take me to him."

....

Out the door, Myungsoo's eyes became slits as he glanced at the sight of an elaborately decorated hall. The ceiling was high and decked with glittering stones of lurid coloring, and the floor consisted of finely crafted jade tiles, each one bearing the etching of odd looking creatures borne out of a transcendental imagination. Pillars nearly 40 feet in height supported that lofty ceiling, and these towers bore similar beasts to that of the floor except these carried a fierce countenance with snarling mouths and jagged wings jutting out the figures' backs. The walls were white and filled with niches out of which ascended wispy smoke. The slowly dissipating vapor originated from golden censers and each trail of incense lent a subtle and enjoyable scent of lavender.

The window-frames that afforded bright natural lighting were of burnished wood that glistened as if with a morning dew; these casements were on either side of that cyclopean chamber. Most notably, at the far end of the room and adjoining the room he exited, sat the mark of royalty: the throne of Kei. It was forged out of a plated metal, perhaps silver, and its armrests were fitted with the same scarlet cushioning as the seat. The upholstery thereof boasted a floral pattern.

 "Follow me," Kei told him.

 He nodded and even from the 5 feet of space that distanced them could he inhale the scent of flowers that emanated off her. He hadn't noticed this before, but the acquisition of this knowledge told him his senses were gradually returning. He followed her from the corner of where they stood to the far away corner in the opposite side. All the while, their armored escorts, marveled at him with awe. "This is he who saved the queen," they whispered.

Another glossy-finish wooden door met their gaze. With a nod, Kei indicated her men to stay behind ere she and Myungsoo entered. They answered with a bow and filed themselves into two lines, one at either side of the door. They stood quiet, erect like guardian statues and brooded with the mien of battle-tried heroes. Among these stoic sculptures stood a man with softer features than his veteran companions. There was a lingering sense of familiarity to this man, Myungsoo observed, as if he had gazed into this face albeit a more younger version before. When he assessed this vague recognition, he stifled a smirk. It seemed that little girl that conversed with him on the night of carnage, on the night of Amahr and his Bugmen, would meet her brother again.

 "Are you ready?" Kei asked with a face dabbled in concern and a slightly shaky hand upon the door handle.

His tones were grim, unsure of what to expect. "On with it, let me see him." 

 She acquiesced and pulled on the handle, pushing the door inwards as she did. In contrast to Myungsoo's brightly lit room, this one was gloomy like a neglected, abandoned and forsaken home in shambles, occupied by the anomalies of dusk. The chamber was dark and ominous as if a fiend chained in rusty shackles abode therein. Acquainted with the dismal, sullen quarters in which men are barred from freedom and all the happiness of life, it was natural for Myungsoo to affirm the caliginous undertones already suggested: this chamber was more dungeon than any sort of proper living space. Dongwoo was hardly limned by the lambent glow of a torch that was affixed to the farthest wall. 

 Myungsoo rushed in, hugging his wound, and with an impassioned voice demanded, "Hell is wrong with you people to keep him here?"

 Kei's placid face was long gone and the visible manifestation of dolor occupied it. "It's what he wanted," she said with a groan, "he said this is what he deserves. When I constantly insisted to not have it this way-"

 "Close the door!" a screech insisted. This cry emanated from the figure that was bunched up into a ball against a wall.

Kei stifled a gasp and did as Dongwoo told. Myungsoo stooped to peek at his friend but the dim lighting afforded no clear vision.

Dongwoo began to wail and pound his palms on the wall, to which Kei ran to him and cradled his limp head. She hushed him as though he were a babe, rubbed his hurt palms with care and exchanged a glance with Myungsoo.

 "The devil happened to you, Dongwoo?"

 The lambent glow of fire intensified so that the room was now laid bare to the eye. Myungsoo could finally see his friend with clarity. He groaned to see him helpless with his wretched body spasming and his eyes glossy with innumerable tears. His tears, mucus and slaver trailed down his nose and cheek, even touching the queen's s, but she was unmolested. Kei pushed beyond herself to embrace this child of desolation. She hugged him tightly with his trembling head against her bosom and whispered audible missives of comfort and solace.

Myungsoo loomed broodingly over Dongwoo like a dusky obelisk. He mentally quested for answers whilst searching for any sign of physical trauma the boy might have suffered during the encounter with Amahr and his Bugmen. There was no sign of damage on him except a ruddy front, which he supposed he struck against a wall in a fit similar to the one he threw when at first he and Kei entered. What had happened to him? Kei was offering no answer, so dipping his head close to him, he asked, "Dongwoo? Talk."

Kei wagged her head and with a sigh, spoke, "I'm sorry, but for a while now- it's as though his intelligence is lost. At times he calls out your name or mines, mostly yours, but..."

Myungsoo clinched his abdomen and sat on the bed besides Kei and Dongwoo. He observed him, half angry and half worried. Without him, his journey to Laroo is lost. The half-muffled sounds of whimpers made him groan with a brewing sense of impotence. Dongwoo was too miserable to look at, he was more pitiful animal than he was man. Why is he like this?

Crossing his arms, Myungsoo commenced to venture through his memories again until it finally clicked. All of a sudden, he recalled the voice of a woman explaining how his life had been saved by his friend. It couldn't be...

 "Dongwoo?" Myungsoo asked while crouching to meet Dongwoo's glassy eyes.

He appeared as though dead, his vision directed toward an unknown expanse beyond the grasp of consciousness. Myungsoo brushed aside the matted hair that covered his front and stared into those eyes. Feeling his airway constrict, Myungsoo was swallowed by a doleful vision, a past bitter memory. He drowned in vivid déjà vu, holding his sister dead in his arms. Myungsoo slowly stood up and staggered back with a hand touching a warm oozing liquid. He immediately raised his hand to gaze at the trace of crimson that sullied his palm. His wound had begun to reopen.
 
 "I did this," Myungsoo mumbled. "He's like this because he killed a man..."

He was receding, slowly but surely increasing the distance between himself and the wretch. He didn't want to look at him any longer. Nay, he couldn't. He could not face him in this state.

 Dongwoo moaned and shifted his slack head with a languid wave to meet the face of his friend. "Myungsoo?"

He swayed his head in swift denial. "You're a fool, Dongwoo. Don't tell me you've never killed a man..." His speech was more a whisper than a sentence he intended to be heard. But, in that empty room, everything secret was laid bare, mumblings bouncing off walls like loud echoes.

 "He is no fool," Kei answered, "he is no fool to have saved his friend."

 "I'm not his friend!" Myungsoo snapped as he took another step back. 
The separation between them had widened by a significant margin, yet still... He was no vanishing shadow as he might've wished. He was incapable of dealing any type of physical harm but even so, Myungsoo felt like dying with every low-pitched groan and moan he issued.

 Without his noticing, his heel tapped a wooden barrier, cold to the touch. He had reached the exit. He lingered there, letting his hot back feel the smooth and cold surface of the wooden door, his eyes involuntarily sticking to Dongwoo. His breaths were coming in sharp and quick succession. He was panicking. He needed to leave and stop staring at him.

 "Stay with him, I think, no- I know he needs you more than he needs me. Talk to him some more, your voice will do him good."

 Myungsoo grumbled and made effort to swallow a ball of spit but no saliva was there; his mouth, dry and lips, chapped. He didn't like this. His damp fingers fidgeted until they finally clung to the cold door handle. It induced relief but only momentarily. Blurry visions of his dead sister assaulted him and he felt trapped, asphyxiating from lack of air. The more he stared at Dongwoo, the more he relived that dire memory. He grumbled and argued with himself over why he was feeling this way. My sister is dead and this fool means nothing to me.

With a firm downwards tug on the handle, he finally created a way of escape to that scene which had begun to encroach upon his own sanity. He pulled the polished door in and moved clumsily, like a fugitive stumbling when confronted with the law. Without looking back, he hurriedly scrambled away, leaving the door swung open and the guards to buzz around the room and him. 

 "I'm fine!" he told them. "I'm fine! Depart from me!"

Where else could he retreat but to his own room, provided by the queen?
...

 I'm not his friend, Myungsoo repeated while laying on his bed. His groans and sighs were restless, never ceasing, never ending. With a strain of effort he pulled himself to lean his back against the wall and let his vision wander aimlessly. This pure white chamber had started to sicken him.

He wanted a window, even a tiny gap in the wall or ceiling from which sunlight or moonlight might filter in. He wanted fresh air. Maybe it was a fever that accompanied his healing wound or possibly the stuffy nature of the room, but Myungsoo suffered from an intense wave of heat.

He discarded the sheets and after a grunt decided to lay on the tiled floor, thinking it might be cooler there. It was not. His fingers tugged at his locks and rubbed his face, his jawbone. He shifted himself impatiently and thought, I need to leave this damn place.

But Dongwoo. He checked himself and swore for thinking of him. That phantom apparition of Myungeun hovered over him and he his side to evade that suggestive stare.

I am not going to see him, he told the spectre.

The patter of light footsteps fell outside his door and the vision of Myungeun faded. He grunted and snarled as he struggled up the bed.

 "Myungsoo? Are you awake? This is Sujeong," a warm familiar tone inquired. 

Rearing up into a sitting position, Myungsoo ordered her to leave. Defiantly, keeping in mind his more than weakened state, Sujeong cracked open the door and entered. A conspicuous metal bucket was in her hand and a white rag dwindled down her shoulder. 

 "It's time for your bath," she asserted with a sigh.

 "Bath?" he asked with an incredulous glare.

 "Yeah," she said unashamed as she sat the pail to the side and took the seat next to him on the bed.

 "I don't need one, wench. Leave."

 With a rather obvious fake smile, she replied. "I've done this many times before when I lived in my home world, and I bathed you already for three straight days." 

He grunted in pain as his arm extended to reach the rag on her shoulder, intending to throw it at her. She scooted to the side before he grasped it and maintained her attention at the wounded wolf that he was.

 "Thank you for saving her- I'm deeply sorry about your friend."

 His teeth instantly set out to become grinding mortars as his ire was piqued. "He's not my friend. And," his words were truncated. It was as if a force, an inward power, decided to staunch his tongue. This only lasted a moment, but to him it lasted longer, longer than he would have liked. It was to the point that he began to reconsider what he was to deliver. But he pressed through his hesitancy and declared, "He's like this of no fault of my own. He brought this upon himself."

 Sujeong lifted her nose at him, "I didn't say it was your fault. But you're right." Her hand, like a caring mother's quested for his foot and gently, almost playfully yet not entirely, but with the intention of soothing his invisible concerns, rubbed it until he retracted it with disgust. 

 "What are you doing, ?!"

 A subtle smile adorning her face, her dimples poking through like small dark moons, she pulled back her hand. "You don't understand, but he did this because he chose you. He loves you. You're his first friend. He told me before the two of you set off to save the queen. You hold a special place in his heart. He valued your life as worth a death." She pulled a lock of hair behind her long ear and adjusted herself on the bed to sit more upright. "I don't think you've ever felt that before, right? To love someone to the point of sacrificing a life to ensure its survival?" She was talking about how he gave his life and his own desires to let his sister live for so long.

 Myungeun. That was the word, the name that shot through his chaotic mind. The naming of his dead sister stirred waters of melancholy and disillusionment while silencing all the other voices in his troubled mind. He felt conflicted. It was at this point that he wished to see her welcoming smile again. Just once more...

 "Go talk to him. I think he needs you."

 He groaned, but the sound thereof resembled the low growl of a wild cat. "Why do you and that of a queen persist with that? He is only my pawn to reach Laroo."

Mockingly, she threw herself back to lie supine on the bed. "I don't think you need him for that. From what I could gather, that jungle you keep mentioning is none other than the jungle of Vitah. I don't know where he arrived to appoint such a name to it, but they're both one and the same."

A cloud of confusion hovered over Myungsoo. He rubbed his chin and denied her comment fervently. Surely, she lied. Since ancient times, Vitah was uncharted territory. The single place Oscuridaon failed to step in was that one. His magic worked wonders there, but from afar. He had seen the despot stand outside that jungle on the edge of its border, but never inside. Surely something existed there that halted his entry.

Myungsoo stepped inside once in secret but a two-headed dragon stopped his path. It ascended from an unknown horizon to attack him. He slashed and stabbed but his golden sword failed to pierce, although he had been scourged himself. Mayhap the dragon was the fear of Oscuridaon? Who knew?

Laroo couldn't be Vitah. He had heard yarns of daring adventurers travel there to never be seen again; the work of the dragon, he affirmed. How could one live there, except there be a god to aid them?

 "No!" he said implacably at his own thought.

 "Well," the petite woman replied in answer to his denouncement. "the only way you can find out is if you talk to him about it. I'm surprised you never did." 

He retreated again to the plaintive narrative in his mind and asked searching questions about what he knew and what he thought he knew. Sujeong eyed him and could see her suggestion working to persuade him. 

When she saw Dongwoo wrapped up by the tendrils of hysteria and heard him cry out for Myungsoo, she knew it was he that could cut those very tendrils. Only Myungsoo could hack through those tendrils that sought to incapacitate Dongwoo. 

Standing by the door like a still and mysterious doll, she opened her small lips to ask, "Evening is here, you want supper? It's been long since you ate, I suppose. Dongwoo hasn't eaten either."

He grunted at his name being spoken. "No, now away with you!"