Prologue: Icarus
Prodigy
0. Icarus
The first thing he registers is the sound of wind and waves, and the feeling settles in after.
It’s cold, wet, the feeling of ripped clothing clinging onto skin and the salty smell of the sea air he’s well familiar with rippling over his body. He breathes a ragged breath, and the pain settles in.
It burns. His chest; it feels as if someone’s stabbing him with a thousand needles every breath of air he takes in. His head; the pounding in his skull as if there is something—someone—inside that’s begging to be freed.
His vision blurs with salt water as he tries to blink, tries to pull himself into a sitting position, though his limbs won’t obey him. Around him, there’s nothing but a stretch of a sandy beach, and behind him, the waves lap at his feet. He must’ve washed ashore somewhere; he doesn’t know where. His mouth feels painfully dry.
Closing his eyes, he tries to focus. It’s water; it should be healing him. But nothing happens—perhaps the wounds are just too deep, or perhaps his power has barely recovered from the last time he’s used it.
Images seem to scorch their way into darkened vision. Houses burning. Killing one guard. Then another. Before long, there are too many too count. The red of the fire, the red of blood, the robes of his family. It’s all too clear.
Something between a whimper of pain and a choked half-sob escapes him when he opens his eyes again. It’s agony to take another breath, but he manages. His left wrist burns with pain, but somehow, he manages to dig his palms into the wet sand and push himself up into a sitting position.
The sand stretches at his side, but ahead, it banks into stone. Above that, a small path leads to what looks like a cabin.
He takes another breath, this time more shallow. It still hurts, but slightly less than before as he tries to think what he can do. Sitting up was already too much effort—walking (or even crawling) away doesn’t seem possible. There are broken ribs, he supposes. Perhaps a concussion. Multiple stab wounds. A sprained wrist? Or maybe even broken. He needs some sort of medical attention, or even a healer—
“Hey.” A voice breaks through the whistle of the wind, and he flinches before turning slowly, cursing the pounding in his skull that’s turned everything into a muted whisper. “Who are you—God, are you okay?”
He can’t tell if his vision has been permanently impaired, or if it’s just temporary, because he can’t make out the face of the speaker until they’re extremely close. Somehow, he manages—dark hair that’s been left too long, brown eyes. It’s a boy, looking not much older than him.
“Hey, can you hear me?” His voice feels separated through a glass wall as he bends down in front of him. “What happened to you?”
He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything. No words come out, but the pounding in his head grows more insistent, louder. The only thing he manages out is another pained whimper—no words—before spots of darkness splash over the already-blurry vision.
“Can you, ah, I don’t know what to do—can you talk to me or I don’t know. What happened—”
He feels the support give away before he collapses again. The boy gives a quiet cry of shock, though he barely hears it.
He tries to remain conscious with one last, feeble effort. And then Baekhyun remembers nothing more but darkness.
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Yeah, he's sixteen and already suffering :)
i'm not sure when chapter one will be up, but at least here's a prologue?
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