I. The Higher You Climb, the Harder You Fall 

Baekhyun flinched when the man drove the spear of ice towards his shoulder.

He twisted aside, but it was too late to fully evade. The jagged point snagged his clothing, tore skin and flesh, but he focussed on turning it into water before it could do any further damage. The spear of ice immediately melted before it splashed harmlessly to the ground, the tip that had stabbed him instead alleviating the pain slightly as it melted into water.

It was enough to stop it from penetrating through to the other side of his shoulder, but it was too much of a distraction because his trainer landed another blow, square in the jaw, and he was sent stumbling back. Another jab, and Baekhyun had collapsed, the back of his knees burning. One more and he was kneeling on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and panting for breath.

The man stabbed his second spear of ice into the ground. “You’re lousy today,” he said flatly.

Baekhyun was still gasping for breath, but he managed to pull himself to his feet. “S-sorry,” he rasped, still out of breath. He managed to steady his breathing—somewhat, at least—and dust the dirt off his clothing.

“You’re distracted,” the man continued. “This isn’t the time.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

An impatient tap to the ground with his blade. “Get yourself cleaned up and see a healer for your shoulder,” he said irritably, gesturing at the red that was beginning to bloom on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Then meet us in the front garden. Dismissed.”

Heart pounding, lungs and head aching, Baekhyun all but ran for the other direction. He wasn’t sure what he felt; elated, perhaps, excited and nervous and so frightened that he thought all the emotions would explode, but he managed to keep calm as he hurried home. Sure enough, a healer was waiting for him in the kitchen. The stern-faced woman didn’t waste a word before gesturing at him.

It hurt like hell, but Baekhyun managed to pull his shirt off. It was ripped, drenched with sweat and blood and dirt stains dotted all over it. He could only imagine how much worse his face looked, but the woman was normally capable of fixing it.

He didn’t know her name, but he knew she was one of his family’s only healers. She couldn’t have been that old—perhaps late twenties or early thirties—but from the way she acted, Baekhyun wasn’t sure.

She glanced at his bleeding shoulder and harrumphed in agitation, but nonetheless, didn’t speak. Baekhyun sat down in his chair, used to the ritual, as she ran her fingers over his wound.

The process of it knitting back together didn’t feel much better than it had when he had been stabbed, but the pain was something he was used to as well. Baekhyun grit his teeth as she worked her magic, his skin forcing itself back together. His shoulder still burned after she finished, but she had already moved onto his face. In another thirty seconds, the woman held up a small hand mirror to show him.

Not only had the cuts and scrapes and bruises been fixed, but there seemed to be slight changes to his face as well. He still looked the same, but… his skin seemed to glow, hair taken on a glossier sheen. Carefully, Baekhyun brought a hand to his face, only to have it slapped away by the woman.

“Quit it,” she told him bossily, then waved her hand. “Go get changed. Your clothing is arranged for you in your room.”

He lowered his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

She waved him away. Baekhyun took the dismissal and mounted the stairs to his room, heart still pounding.

The clothing they had given him was simple. An all-black attire, although the black robe was lined with Vasileian sapphire-silver at the edges and at the cuffs.

He dressed quickly, then stared at his mirror for a good couple of seconds, trying to tidy his hair. Bright eyes gleamed back at him, and he tried to hide his excitement. He still hadn’t quite figured out just how he was supposed to act. His tutor had given him the worst possible advice: just as we taught you, which happened to be boring and stiff.

The last thing Baekhyun wanted to be his first impression to his father was boring and stiff. He tried to smile at himself in the mirror, but it only came out as a wince, and he cringed at the expression. Perhaps less of a smile would do. Maybe he could be stern, or smart, or talkative, or…

His reflection blinked back at him. And despite the fact that his skin practically glowed, despite the fact that his eyes caught light in ways that shouldn’t have been possible unless touched by a healer, despite all of that—he wondered if it would be enough. Impressive enough. Strong enough. Skilled enough. Smart enough.

He blinked again, then straightened the collar of the robe. Then, taking a deep breath, Baekhyun closed the room door gently behind him and trudged down the stairs.

His tutor, Byun Dowon, didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he pointed his finger at his right arm (“straighten your sleeves, they aren’t the same length”) before turning away to march down the road. Baekhyun hurried after him, anticipation so overwhelming that he thought he couldn’t keep still no matter who forced him and how hard he could try.

The road was familiar when he walked, trying to make sure that the dirt from the path didn’t get swept onto his clothing. Some of his siblings slipped out of their own houses when he passed, whispers following them, but Baekhyun stared ahead like he had been instructed. Jealousy or admiration or awe, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It hasn’t been eleven years of training to impress his siblings.

The walk must’ve been the longest one in his life, but a while later, Baekhyun found himself approaching the central building of the Vasileian inner city. Dowon didn’t wait for him before trudging forward, but Baekhyun stood still for a moment, allowing himself to take in the intricate architecture of the building, designed with marble and Vasileian sapphire-silver, the color glinting vibrantly in the light. Spring was approaching, and while the temperature in Vasileia never rose much all year round, summers were mild enough for some species of flowers. In the middle of a pile of half-melted snow, the beginnings of a small, purple flower bloomed.

Spring was hope, spring was new beginnings. Baekhyun hoped so hard for so many things he wasn’t even sure he could name as he jogged to keep up with his teacher.

The hardest part must’ve been the fact that he had been more or less given no information on his father, and Baekhyun didn’t know just what he was to expect. He had heard rumours of the Byun family leader, but none of them seemed consistent. Even if they were, it wouldn’t have helped him much, now that he was meeting his father himself.

He had imagined too many things his father could be, so many ways it would play out. Baekhyun had convinced himself over and over that his father couldn’t have called to meet him if he didn’t care about him, or didn’t believe him to be something—anything—special. On good days leading up, he had told himself that maybe his father would be proud. On the dejected days when training didn’t go well, when he received a couple more cuts and bruises than usual, he wondered just how much he would end up disappointing. 

Now, standing in front of the giant oak doors that led into the Great Hall, every single thing he’d been anticipated seemed to catch up.

Dowon looked back briefly over his shoulder. “Calm yourself,” he snapped. “Stop playing with your sleeves. You barely look presentable after that beating you got in training. I heard you weren’t paying attention.”

Baekhyun forced himself to stay still. “I was a bit distracted today.”

“Yes, I know. Sloppy work.”

“Sir—”

“You were nervous,” Dowon interrupted irritably. “Yes, I was told that too. You were scared of meeting your father, and so on. I don’t care what you feel right now. You’re going to act like we told you to, and you’re not going to disappoint or embarrass any of us. Only speak when you are being addressed. Does that make sense?”

Baekhyun took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dowon gave him one last scan, lips pressed together in that perpetually dissatisfied line, before he raised his hand to the metal part of the door, iron engraved in the wood and rising in patterns that came from the hands of an obviously skilled carver. His power rose, unseen but prominent in the air, before Baekhyun could nearly see the way it simmered around the giant doors.

Then, all of a sudden, it died down around them. Dowon didn’t spare him another glance as the doors swung open slowly, scraping heavily against the ground. Baekhyun straightened as much as he could without looking ridiculous, already feeling self conscious and awfully small against such a huge hall, and followed his tutor inside.

There were a row of Vasileia’s usual guards lined up inside, then, at the end of the hall, an empty throne stood on a dais. Baekhyun didn’t dare look away from the front like he had been instructed, so there was no telling what Dowon was thinking, but he tried to scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible.

Marble statues rose at the side of the hall, fashioned as pillars that held the high ceiling of the hall up. Tapestries depicting—Baekhyun wasn’t exactly sure just what they were depicting, but he could make out bits and pieces of Vasileia’s history—and wars fought, some against other families, others portraying soldiers lined up for slaughter in a battlefield. Sunlight filtered in through the stained glass.

Still, the throne was empty.

Baekhyun followed Dowon as he headed to the steps that led up to the dais and the throne, then stopped. Heart pounding so hard that Baekhyun was certain his tutor could hear it, Baekhyun mimicked his movements and resisting the urge to fix his collar or his sleeves or his hair, or anything. Standing still had never been his specialty, and now, it was even harder. He was itching to move. To do something that would combat the nervousness.

He didn’t, though, just stood with his back straight and hands at his sides like he had been instructed so many times, staring at the empty throne, heart jumping into his throat. His father—his father wasn’t there, and there were a thousand possibilities Baekhyun could begin to think of. What if he didn’t want to see him? What if he had decided it wasn’t worth it, or decided that Baekhyun wasn’t ready, or simply figured that he wasn’t worth the time?

They stood absolutely still before the throne for at least four minutes before there was movement at one of the doors near the side. It took the remaining bit of Baekhyun’s self control not to turn over and look, but through his peripheral vision, he saw a woman emerge from the door. Her footsteps clacked loudly against the marble floor before coming to a soft stop in front of them. Only when she stopped in front of them that Baekhyun dared look up to see who it was.

“Dowon,” she said. Her voice was high, a sweet lilt to her tone that somehow seemed to match her elegance, the way her blood red robe billowed around her as she moved as if it were made from the wind itself. She was beautiful. Her face—she couldn’t have been more than twenty six, with large eyes framed with dark lashes and pale skin that made her features stand out even more. Her lips had obviously been painted a shade that matched her dress.

In his peripheral, Baekhyun saw his tutor stiffen as she addressed him.

“Yes,” he finally answered tensely.

She smiled sweetly at him, but there was venom in her expression as well. “You’re not needed here anymore. He wants to see Baekhyun alone in his study. I’m sure your pupil is more than capable of finding his own way home after this, so you needn’t stay. I’d trust the Byun family’s prodigy is that competent, despite you being assigned to train him?”

Dowon seemed to forget all about his own lessons of remaining calm despite anything that might transpire, because he bared his teeth at the woman. “More capable than you are,” he spat.

She gave him a dangerous smile. “Would you like a reminder, Dowon?”

“,” he growled back.

Her expression didn’t change, and Baekhyun had half the mind to wonder through his panic if he’d gone positively insane and the exchange hadn’t just happened in front of him. Dowon was the most stoic man he’d met, if not ridiculously uptight, and he wouldn’t usually get so worked up. Before he could think more about it, the woman turned to look at him instead, her robe spilling like blood on the white floor. She lay an elegant hand on his shoulder, and even as she stepped down from the stairs of the dais, she was taller than him. “Byun Baekhyun,” she greeted. “Come with me. Your father is waiting.”

Baekhyun had to remind himself to breathe. All thoughts of his tutor and his relationship with the woman fled his head, along with the questions that had just started to form. My father. My father.

Still, he cast one more sidelong glance at Dowon. The man nodded permission before he turned around and left in a flurry of black robes.

She led him away from the dais, down a path to the side. The guards behind didn’t move as they walked, and Baekhyun tried to keep his chin up and back straight, even though the nervousness that had pooled in his stomach was now uncoiling, untwisting until it seemed to stretch into ever fiber in his body. What if he wasn’t ready—what if he did something wrong? What if he said something wrong? What if everything went wrong?

They exited through a small door at the side. Only when they were out of the room did the woman let her hand drop from Baekhyun’s shoulder as she tossed her glossy black hair over her shoulder.

“I hate that place,” she complained as she walked, her shoes clicking on the polished floors. “So big. He doesn’t even sit on that throne half the time.”

Baekhyun could feel his own eyes widen. He wasn’t sure if it was because the way she was talking about the aforementioned he or the shift in demeanor. “My father?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “The poor guards. They do have shifts, but standing there must be so boring. Don’t take that job if they ever offer it to you.”

Nonplussed, he tried to think of a thing to say. Perhaps a protest about how it wasn’t a job that he would ever take, that there had been rumors that he…

“Of course,” she continued, “I highly doubt they’d offer a boy like you a job like that. You’ll score something pretty high ranking in your family, I reckon.”

Baekhyun blinked once, then twice. Your family. Not our family, or the family. He couldn’t be too sure if he were reading too much into her words, because from the casual confidence she exuded, she had to have pretty high a position (to tell Dowon off like so, and to be the one to take him to his father). And to have a high position, she had to be of the family.

, Dowon had called her.

She had started walking again. Baekhyun glanced at the red robe one more time—he could only see her back, but it dipped so low in a way that would’ve been improper for people in the family.

Or maybe she wasn’t from his family. Baekhyun hurried after her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, curiosity finally getting the most of him.

She turned down a hallway, and Baekhyun took note of the way they had come inside. Down a set of stairs, two left turns, and he would arrive back to the throne room.

She waited a couple of seconds before speaking. “I’m Kwon Miran.”

Kwon. Not only was she not from his family, but she wasn't from a family at all. He wondered how Dowon knew her, and what their history was. And moreover, the fact that a commoner wandered so freely through these halls, bringing him to his father, when even someone who ranked as high as Dowon couldn’t come.

He tried to choose his words as cautiously as possible. “You know my father well.”

Miran gave him him a breezy smile. She wasn’t from a family, but she was still stunning. “We’re well acquainted,” she replied. “Anyway, we’ll be there soon. Are you excited?”

Baekhyun swallowed the lump in his throat, though the nervousness didn’t retreat. “Yes. I mean—it’s an honour to be able to meet him. Most people my age don’t have that privilege.”

Again, she took her time replying. Baekhyun snuck at glance towards her, perfect nose stuck high in the air and red lips pursed. “Yes,” she finally agreed, and he couldn’t tell if her tone was darker than before or if his mind was playing tricks on him. “It’s an honour.”

She didn’t give him time to decipher the meaning behind those words before they arrived at a door and Miran came to an abrupt halt.

It was another door like the rest of the building, though now that they had stopped, Baekhyun could see the way it was designed, the patterns carved into the mahogany wood. Like the rest of the building, it was elegant and regal, and he had to shove down the feeling of being awfully out of place and remind himself that not only had he dressed for the occasion but trained for it all his life.

“Well?” Miran prompted. “Just knock.”

Knocking seemed an awfully mundane thing to do when it was his father, but Baekhyun raised a trembling hand—then forced himself to stop shaking—before rapping against the wood. He tried not to flinch at how loud it was, but it was in the disconcerting silence, and all at once, every fear he had worked on burying seemed to resurface. The mantra of I’m not scared and I trained for this turned into the very, very clear fact that he was terrified that he would do something wrong.

There was silence for what felt like too long. Baekhyun was half wondering if it would be easier, albeit painfully disappointing, if his father chose not to see him at all when the knob of the door turned slightly on its own. Then, with an ominous creak, it swung open slightly.

Baekhyun gulped. All thoughts of calm and collected and cool fled his head, and he stood frozen, hands unacceptably sweaty underneath the long sleeves of his black robe.

Miran solved the problem. She leaned over him with such ease and grace, as if the man behind the door was just… another person, then pushed it wide open with a faux exasperated sigh. “He’s here,” she singsonged.

Baekhyun tried everything in his power not to gape at his father’s figure.

The room was indeed a study, though if he had thought any of his rooms were huge, this was gargantuan. In the center of the room was a desk larger than his bed (which was already relatively large), a chair with a back so high that Baekhyun was pretty sure he couldn’t see over the top if he stood next to it, and then tapestry decorating the wall beside it. The whole room was adorned with dark brown, brown-red, and lush, forest green.

Next to his desk stood the man that he’d spent all of his life training to meet—

Baekhyun wasn’t sure if he would’ve moved if Miran hadn’t given him a gentle push. She leaned over, red dress spilling onto the embroidered green carpet, and waved her fingers at the man—his father. “How long will you be?” she called, like she was talking to just another person. Baekhyun still reeled at her tone.

He glanced at her. “Just wait at the door,” he said quietly, and slowly, Baekhyun approached the room. He heard Miran retreat, her heels clicking, before the door closed and he was standing alone with his father.

The man looked… ageless in a way that Baekhyun couldn’t place a finger down on. He was—early forties? Late thirties? His hair, otherwise a dark black, was streaked with white in some areas. Sharp features, equally dark eyes, undoubtedly handsome, but… cold. The more he looked, the more uncertain he felt, until Baekhyun realized that he had been staring stupidly and forgotten just about everything Dowon had told him. 

Cursing himself, he scrambled to kneel. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head, erratically loud. How had Miran managed to speak about him so casually and informally was beyond him.

“Father,” Baekhyun managed. His voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it would, which he supposed was a bonus. It was small, though, shaky with disbelief and wonder and… something else he couldn’t quite place.

For five long agonizing seconds, he didn’t get a response. Then, “Stand up.”

Baekhyun went for staring at his feet when he rose, too scared to actually look his father in the eye. It felt surreal—he’d spent months and months looking forward to this moment, but now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t place a finger on how he actually felt. It was a jumble of emotions—awe, disbelief, and…

“Dowon has told me a lot about you,” his father said, and Baekhyun forced himself to raise his head. He met the same dark eyes that felt unnervingly like they were picking him apart piece by piece. There was nothing to hide, though, he figured. Nothing he had done wrong, nothing that would warrant the cold feeling creeping up his spine.

“It’s a honor to finally meet you,” Baekhyun got out instead.

The man tilted his head at him, and Baekhyun took the moment to take in his features. It was foreign, a stranger’s face, and for some reason, part of that disappointed him in a way he couldn’t explain. This was his father, but he didn’t feel… anything. Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising, because they’d never even met before, but for some reason, he couldn’t help but feel like there should’ve been something more.

“You’re quite the talk, Baekhyun,” his father finally replied. Baekhyun stood still as the man moved, steps fluid, like he was floating over the ground, not walking. “Are you really as good as they say?”

Baekhyun blinked. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“I’m sure you’re quite impressive,” his father mused. For some reason, the compliment didn’t feel like anything. “Dowon told me of your process and your power. Earth, air, water, fire, am I right?”

Baekhyun forgot what he had drilled himself about and began to chew his lip nervously. “I’m better at water and air,” he said, then chastised himself for the stupid response the moment it came out.

His father, a hand on the desk, leaned forward. “Show me,” he commanded, “one of the elements.”

A test. Baekhyun’s mind raced. Was it a test to see his power? Was it to see how competent he was? Still not daring to fully meet the eyes of the man in front of him, he opened his palm and called on the one that was easiest to show, and the one he favoured most: water.

Droplets, pulled from the moisture in the air, gathered above his hands. It was light enough not to require much air to keep it floating, but Baekhyun let it bob between the middle of them—the small orb of water, the size of a child’s fist. Then, when he thought that it had been long enough, he waved his hand and the water dispersed back into the air.

Sharp eyes pierced him, and Baekhyun didn’t have to look up to know that his father was scrutinizing him again. He waited nervously for a verdict. What if it hadn’t been enough? What if he had been expecting something more? What if this—his one chance—had been ruined by his own stupidity and inability to discern?

Then the man straightened. Baekhyun allowed himself to peer up, looking at his face but not quite meeting his eyes. He was half-certain that his father could hear his heartbeat as well, hear his thoughts that echoed so loudly in his head that it physically hurt.

“Baekhyun,” he started, his name spoken in a drawl, like he was testing out the syllables. “Do you know what they say?”

Baekhyun was glad that the sleeves of his robes were so long, because he could feel his nails digging into his palm from how hard he was clenching it. “No, sir.”

“The higher you climb, the harder you fall. Interesting little saying, right?”

He swallowed thickly. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. The higher you climb, the harder you fall.

It didn’t make any sense. None of it made sense, and the more he stared at the figure in front of him, the more foreign he seemed to see. For a couple more seconds, Baekhyun fumbled for things to say.

His father solved the problem for him. He rapped his knuckles on the giant desk twice, the sound reverberating harshly. Baekhyun barely had time to wonder what it was for when, nearly immediately after, the door behind him swung open. 

Miran poked her head inside, like greeting an old friend and smiled at them brightly. “Yes?”

His father’s expression didn’t change at her tone, nor did he look particularly surprised. If Baekhyun had been thinking straight, he might’ve noted more about it, but he wasn’t. His head was spinning from the words, from the exchange they had—brief, that was his only coherent thought, confusing and he didn’t understand why. He didn’t know if it were something he’d done or something even more out of his control that had ended this meeting—the meeting he had spent months training, preparing, hoping for—to go on a course he couldn’t even imagine. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad. It was simply…

“Take Baekhyun back out,” he instructed, then looked at Baekhyun. He didn’t smile, face set in that perpetual mask of impassivity, but instead said, “good luck with your training.”

Someway or another, through the confusion, Baekhyun managed to force his feet to move. He bowed—it was a miracle that he remembered—and he heard himself say father in a voice that didn’t feel like his own. Then he was moving not on his own accord but propelled forward by some sort of force as he headed for the door, a strange, unwelcome, unfamiliar numbness spreading from his chest.

The Byun family leader didn’t say anything else; no farewell, no more acknowledgement. Baekhyun didn’t either.

It was only when the door closed behind him and Miran, with her smile—that easy smile, like she didn’t have a care in the world—led him away that Baekhyun realized what it was that he felt.

He’d worked so long for this moment, and meeting a stranger wasn’t what he had expected, even though he should’ve. He didn’t recognize the man with cold eyes and sharp, regal features. He didn’t recognize the man with a silky voice, craftily chosen words and silver tongue. He didn’t recognize, couldn’t connect, couldn’t understand just what he had expected and at the same time, why it hadn’t gone the way he had expected.

All that, and as Miran walked him out, chattering something he didn’t quite comprehend and didn’t have the heart to listen to, Baekhyun realized that he simply felt empty.

______

Chapter one is FINALLY up!

Keep in mind that Baekhyun here is very, very different from the Baekhyun in Cutlass.

There's also going to be more backstory for other characters than I antipicated. But at this point, it's me, are you even surprised?

Please leave a comment! They're very much appreciated :)