V. The More You Obey, the Harder to Follow

Baekhyun made it home without any issue. Changing into a fresh set of clothing, he shoved the cloak and trousers under his bed and collapsed on the mattress, exhausted.

Not again. Never again. Today, and the last, had been a fluke. He wasn’t going back to see Heejin, he wasn’t going to leave ever again, he was going to focus on his lessons and become better and please his father and show that he could climb higher and higher still, and that he wouldn’t fall. Guilt clawed at him amidst the exhaustion; guilt at what he’d done, guilt at the fact that his heart still raced with excitement at the thought—the simple possibility of doing it again. Guilt, because this wasn’t what he had trained for, because it was so, so wrong.

I won’t fall.

***

Baekhyun woke up to knocking on his door. He jerked up, squinting at the sun that was pouring abundantly through the windows, where he’d been too forgetful (or too tired) to close the curtain.

“Baekhyun,” Miran’s voice sang. “I think it’s around time you woke up!”

Oh, no. He nearly fell off the bed. “I’m sorry!” Baekhyun yelped back, scrambling for his closet. “I’m—I will be out in a moment, just let me—ouch!”

There was a couple seconds of silence from the other end. “Are you alright?” Miran asked, sounding slightly amused.

He rubbed his sore nose, where he’d collided with the door of his closet. “Fine,” he croaked back. “Just give me a moment. I will be downstairs soon.”

Someway or another, he pulled on a clean shirt, clean trousers, rinsed his mouth, and patted his hair into a slightly more presentable shape. Judging from the position of the sun, Baekhyun was supposed to be awake hours ago. Dowon would’ve faulted him with no hesitation, as well as reported him to the woman who oversaw everyone’s training. Baekhyun could only hope that Miran would be more lenient. Stupid Heejin, he thought. Good riddance. I’ll never see her again anyway.

When he made his way down the stairs, Miran was standing over the stove once again. The dress she was wearing was much simpler than the ones Baekhyun often saw her in, but it was still pretty, with a blue floral design and a skirt that flared out from the waist. She was stirring a ladle in a pot when she turned and gave him a smile. “Good morning,” Miran greeted cheerfully. “Although it’s much closer to noon, I believe.”

Baekhyun stiffened. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to sleep for so long, but I was just… very tired last night, and I promise it will not happen again.”

Miran’s smile didn’t disappear, but she waved an airy hand. “We all need to sleep in once in a while,” she replied lightly. “Sit down. We’ll go through the lesson after you’ve eaten, which’ll be shorter than usual since you were late. Then I have instructions to send you to your weapons trainer, and then…” She tapped her nails on the counter, a steady click, click, click. “Oh, right. You have an evaluation this afternoon for your power.”

It felt like someone had punched the air right out of his lungs. “An evaluation today,” he echoed dumbly, then the horror of the fact drained steadily into Baekhyun. An evaluation. He’d barely practiced his power since seeing his father, meaning that he was nowhere near ready to be evaluated.

“Yes—would you mind getting me a bowl? I think it’s almost ready. You must be hungry, right?”

Baekhyun didn’t feel hungry; he felt nauseous. Still, he tried to mask it as he reached for the bowls in the cupboards, handing a clean one to Miran. His hands were shaking. Every single evaluation was done by people trained to pay heed to the details; how smooth his summoning was, how much bigger he could make a flame, how much quicker he could produce water by gathering the moisture from the air. Those were the things that were trademarked by practice, which he’d done awful little of during the past few days. At least not without his mind wandering elsewhere.

And bad performance would be reported, to Dowon, to higher-ups, to his father.

I won’t fall I won’t fall I won’t fall I won’t fall I won’t fall.

Miran handed him the bowl again. Baekhyun took it, barely noticing the heat against the pads of his fingers.

Distracted, that’s what he’d been. He’d disobeyed instructions, done sloppy work, messed with superiors… the list didn’t end any time soon. The thought constricted around his throat, like a tightening noose, until he wanted to physically claw at his throat just to breathe.

Miran sat down across from him as he ate his breakfast. She didn’t comment on anything, instead letting him eat in silence, and Baekhyun was too afraid to tell her he wished she would say something.

***

Lessons didn’t go badly. Training didn’t, either. Perhaps the nervous anticipation of being evaluated had lent a helpful hand to his instincts, because his trainer patted him on the shoulder when they finished, a rare sign of approval. Then Baekhyun was ushered into clean robes and herded to his evaluation.

Before he entered the room, a girl no older than twelve was being walked out. Her eyes were red and puffy. When her gaze met his, she immediately ducked her head and hurried away, all the while sniffling in an attempt to keep back tears.

Baekhyun looked at her, ready for age-old scorn to rise up. Those who weren’t powerful enough simply weren’t good enough for the family, and this girl clearly wasn’t. Unlike him.

He wasn’t expecting something else to constrict in his chest, an awful feeling that he couldn’t begin to place. All he could think of were the times in front of various trainers, the words not good enough twisting and twisting until it was the only thing Baekhyun could hear. It was when Baekhyun walked through the doors that he realized that looking at the girl had, for the first time, made him feel afraid.

His palms were sweating when he stood in front of the three evaluators. There were two men and one woman, all in their forties.

The man on the left held up a piece of paper. “Baekhyun,” he said. “It’s… let’s see…” He scanned the paper, leaving Baekhyun in nervous anticipation. “It’s been two months. Do you mind telling me what you were working on last time you were here?”

Baekhyun wet his lips and willed his hands not to shake. “For water, I was working on summoning it from air faster, and also summoning moisture in drier places. For air, it was to be able to condense it enough to create a shield. For fire… to be able to coax a flame from a spark, and for earth…” His mind blanked. Baekhyun had barely focused on earth at all. “I was… supposed to stabilize a structure.”

He’d practically guessed the last one, but to his utmost relief, the woman nodded. “Good. Let’s start with air. I talked to Sanghoon today, and he believes you’re more than capable of engaging in hand-to-hand combat while blocking blows with air.”

Baekhyun nodded slowly. So far, so good—this was something he’d practiced. Sanghoon, his trainer, stepped out from behind the door. He was wearing his usual clothing, and despite the two blades that hung from his belt, he didn’t make an attempt to unsheath them.

Breathing out deeply, Baekhyun forced himself to relax. Blocking punches with air was easy enough; the shield of air would be difficult to maintain against something that could cleave more damage, but hand-to-hand he could keep up with, without fault. He mirrored Sanghoon’s stance, for the first time feeling a bit of hope. Maybe this wouldn’t go as bad as he’d imagined.

Sanghoon lunged for him. The man was a vicious fighter, but most of the time they trained, Baekhyun had to do so without his power. Fighting him with the aid of air would be much easier than usual.

Sanghoon was terrifyingly agile for his size. Baekhyun had always relied on speed over pure strength, but with Sanghoon, he always felt like he was at a disadvantage in every aspect. The first punch the man threw at his side Baekhyun deflected before ducking away, and he managed up a shield of air before the second could catch him. Backing away slightly, Baekhyun raised his arms in a defensive stance again.

Another punch. Baekhyun didn’t block that one, but managed to use the momentum to twist Sanghoon around in an attempt to throw him in another direction. He didn’t put nearly enough strength into it, because Sanghoon, sensing the hesitation, swept a kick at him. This time, the shield was much less successful—the air only managed to delay him for a moment before his control wavered and Sanghoon’s foot slammed against his chest.

Focus, focus, focus—

The force sent Baekhyun to the ground, air knocked out of his lungs. For a moment his vision dotted in front of him, senses blurring, before there was a sharp grating noise.

The sound was all too familiar. Sanghoon had drawn his blades, which meant Baekhyun was supposed to go practically empty-handed against the best fighter of his family.

Fighting down the panic that was steadily settling, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to focus on the problem in front of him. “Pay attention,” Sanghoon hissed at him.

On that encouraging note, he slashed the blade down at Baekhyun.

Granted, Baekhyun had trained for this. He’d been able to block a punch or a kick with air, but a blade—the force was simply too much, the contact point too narrow, his concentration too divided. On his best day, he could barely last half a minute. And now, lagging behind in his training, lessons, everything, Baekhyun was certain that he wouldn’t even manage ten seconds.

Maybe it was the fear, acting as just enough of a driving force for him to condense a shield in time to block the sword that swung down. The man’s strength was brutal, and Baekhyun felt his whole body shaking as he tried to maintain his power. It shattered a couple seconds later, but there was sufficient time for Baekhyun to roll to the side, the sword slicing down in a deadly arc into the dirt where he had been a split second ago.

At the side, the evaluators were discussing under their breath. Baekhyun knew that what they were saying didn’t matter right then, that the task at hand was infinitely more important, but he could feel his concentration waning from the mere effort of trying to ignore their voices.

In that split second of distraction, Sanghoon the blade at him again. Baekhyun made the mistake of attempting to duck, but the man had anticipated the movement beforehand and landed a well-aimed kick on his side, sending him into the dirt once more. The blades flashed, and he raised his arms, conjuring up another shield.

Sanghoon’s blades, to his relief, were held off by the shield of air mere inches from him. Baekhyun knew instinctively what he had to do: throw Sanghoon off by pushing the air out and away from him. He needed to get on his feet, reset his stance, and gather his bearings.

But he couldn’t. He willed his arms to move, willed his power to obey, but neither followed. And all of a sudden, seeing the edge of the blade, all Baekhyun could think of was the way he’d held the knife to Heejin’s neck, hands shaking under the knowledge of how easy it would be. Dread pooled into him, and rather than throwing Sanghoon off, the shield dissipated entirely.

The blades flashed down faster than Baekhyun could blink. What a ridiculous end, he thought, stabbed to death by my own trainer because I couldn’t sufficiently control my power.

The thud as they hit the dirt next to him was deafening. For a long moment, Baekhyun lay still, panting and feeling nothing but guilty relief that it was over and he could stop fighting.

“Get up,” one of the evaluators said, and the coldness of their tone sunk in.

Baekhyun scrambled to his feet. He squeezed his fists shut and hoped nobody could see how hard they were trembling.

Sanghoon sheathed his blades. One of the men waved a hand at him, and in his periphery, Baekhyun watched as his trainer disappeared out of the door again. He stood unmoving.

“Baekhyun,” the woman said slowly, “have you been practicing?”

The cold fingers crawling up his spine seemed to dig spindly limbs into flesh. “Yes, ma’am.” He dipped his head and wondered if she could hear the way his heart was pounding.

Her next words made him feel like the girl he’d seen minutes prior, eyes rimmed red, face crumpled, posture crestfallen as she left the evaluation room. “If you practiced, you shouldn’t be sloppier than your last performance.”

It was all Baekhyun could do to remind himself to breathe properly. He racked his brain for an excuse—any possible one—but all he could think of was the two times he had snuck out of the inner city, disobeyed orders, woken up late, slacked in his training. He couldn’t even begin to explain himself to her.

He deserved this. After everything Baekhyun had done, he deserved the harshness of her tone, deserved the disappointment in their eyes, deserved the unwelcome churning of disappointment in himself.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and he really did mean it. “I… I have been distracted, but I promise I will do better.”

“Distracted?” Her tone was cold, like the phantom fingers still digging into his spine. “And what have you been distracted by, Baekhyun?”

His throat closed. For a brief moment, he was tempted to tell them every single detail: the hole in the wall, escaping, meeting Heejin, if only to get rid of the godawful guilt. But then the moment passed, and Baekhyun knew instinctively that he couldn’t, unless he wanted to forfeit everything he had ever worked for. He dipped his head lower. “My father,” he replied, hoping they’d take the half-truth and not question him more. “Ever since meeting him, I have… I have found it hard to focus.”

For a couple of dreadful seconds, the evaluators were silent. It felt like a verdict was being passed, like they were weighing each word for truth, and Baekhyun was terrified that one of them would find fault in it, and the pressure would snap just enough that he would spill every single mistake he’d made the past week.

But it didn’t. “Meeting your father was supposed to motivate you to train harder,” the man finally said, “not for you to slack. You will be expected to put on a perfect performance the next time you come. Am I understood?”

Next time. The relief that he was being given a next time should’ve been immense. So why—why did the words sound like a death sentence? Why did the prospect of there being a next evaluation, another chance to prove himself—why did that fill him with so much dread?

Baekhyun swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

He waved a hand. “Remember, Baekhyun. You’ve come this far because you’re gifted with a strong power and sharp instincts, and we expect you to make full use of that. You’ve been singled out because you’re better, so show that you are. Dismissed.”

He didn’t say anything else, none of them did. But as Baekhyun walked out, the words began twisting and twisting in his mind until he peeled the pretense away to reveal the ugly truth underneath. Prove that you’re better, or end up worth nothing.

***

Baekhyun trained until his entire body was aching and begging for him to stop. It was only then that he dragged himself back home, ate the meal the servants had prepared, and stumbled into his bedroom.

Weariness pulled at him, promising punishment and regret the next day, but for the moment, Baekhyun was too tired to ask someone to draw him a bath or even pull the blankets over himself. He lay there for some time with his eyes closed, and tried his very hardest to fight the dread of having to wake up the next day.

***

His body was in slightly less pain when Baekhyun got up, which was the good part. The bad part was that, judging from the position of the moon, it was only midnight and he’d barely managed to sleep for three hours.

For a good chunk of time, Baekhyun kept his eyes closed and willed himself to fall back asleep. It was no surprise that he didn’t, but a while later, he was once again frustrated. He was exhausted, so why was it so difficult to rest?

Maybe it was because the room was so cramped. Pushing himself to his feet, Baekhyun clipped on the cloak under his bed. Just a stroll. He just needed some fresh air to clear his head, then it would be easier to sleep. Even walking around in the gardens was fine, as long as he got out of the cramped space, out of the walls pressing in, out of the suffocating way the events from the day weighed against his thoughts his chest his lungs his everything—

Baekhyun was fleeing from his room, down the stairs, and out the front door before he could stop himself.

His feet didn’t lead him towards the gardens. Rather, he went down the path outside his house, exiting the residential areas, until Baekhyun was standing in front of the bushes that obscured the hole in the wall.

Spring was fleeting in Vasileia, but once one knew where to look, it was there: the head of a sprout peeking out with strange resilience from under the snow, the spread of a light green mist over trees and shrubs as leaves grew, the way the biting claw of the wind turned slightly more lenient. Underneath his feet, just a little ways off the path, the first signs of spring had flourished despite the cold.

For the longest moment, Baekhyun stood still on the cobble. He had promised himself he wouldn’t leave again. This was the exact opposite of what they asked from him, and he’d messed up far too much the past few days already. He willed himself to turn around and go back to the house. Because this—this was falling, and that wouldn’t do. For his family’s sake, for his father’s sake, he wouldn’t fall.

But for some stupid reason, he wanted to. He wanted to so badly that it hurt more than the evaluator’s words had stung.

A sprout crumbled underneath his foot as Baekhyun took a step off the path, then another, then another. Then he’d crouched down and pulled himself through the hole before he could let himself focus on why something so wrong felt so right.

***

Baekhyun knew full well he wouldn’t see Heejin, since her offer had been for three nights later, and it had only been one. Which was for the better, he told himself, since it wasn’t like he wanted to see her anyway. Really, he was better off not seeing her, because she was loud and annoying and dressed like a boy and her hair was awfully cut. She also had a way of speaking that made Baekhyun angry.

Just a walk, he told himself as he weaved through the streets. To clear his head, to look around, then head back and sleep, because he couldn’t afford to wake up late again. Miran was clearly more lenient than Dowon, but he didn’t want to push it.

The streets were, like usual, empty. Baekhyun kept to the shadows as he walked, all the while wondering what it would look like during the day. Would it be bright and bustling with street stalls, with people? Would it look just as cold, with faceless individuals hurrying down and minding their own businesses? Once he passed the test at twenty, he would be allowed to leave and see in broad daylight, rather than sneaking around like so.

That thought brought a bit of hope. Pulling his cloak tighter, Baekhyun continued down aimlessly, unsure what he was looking for.

It was another ten minutes later when he heard a noise down the alley. A crash, frightfully loud in the silence, and then the sound of someone speaking lowly.

Baekhyun stiffened. So far, a group of soldiers patrolling had been the only other sign of life he’d encountered, but this didn’t sound like it was from soldiers. Stiffly, he approached the bend with caution, wishing he’d been smart enough to bring a weapon with him.

It was hard to make out in the moonlight, but when Baekhyun peered around the corner, he was met with a small figure hunched on the ground, something much larger trapped over their leg. Then the person shifted, and Baekhyun immediately recognized the short hair, the large eyes, the ill-fitting clothing.

“Heejin?” The name slipped out before he could think about stopping himself.

The girl on the ground looked up with obvious alarm, hand travelling to her hip. Her brows furrowed when she met his gaze. Then recognition crossed her expression and her entire stance relaxed again.

“Boxian,” she replied back, voice strained. “I’m not even going to ask why you’re here. Can you get this crate off my leg?”

Baekhyun nodded wordlessly as he made his way towards her and bent down to help. He wedged his fingers under the crate, under which Heejin’s leg was trapped, and heaved it up with as much strength as he could summon.

It was extremely heavy, but Baekhyun still managed to lift it just enough for Heejin to shift quickly and pull her leg out from underneath. The moment she did, he let the crate drop, arms trembling from effort.

It hit the ground with a loud thud. Baekhyun barely had the chance to draw his fingers out before they were crushed.

For a long moment, Heejin sat still, panting. Baekhyun wasn’t sure what he should say. He watched as she tentatively pressed a hand against her leg, then drew it back as if she’d been burned.

“,” Heejin groaned. “I don’t know how bad it is.”

Baekhyun gaped at her.

When he remained silent for a couple moments more, Heejin glanced up at him, frowning. “What? You’re usually much more talkative. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He tried to find the right words, though they were difficult. Finally, Baekhyun managed, “Why is your language so coarse?”

She stared back with equal incredulity. “My language is what you’re concerned about?” she demanded.

Baekhyun took a step back, scandalized. “We do not endorse language like that. Especially not from girls.”

Heejin only glared. “Well, the priority shouldn’t be my language but my leg. Which really ing hurts.”

In what was a quite frankly astonishing display of self-control, Baekhyun didn’t rise to take her bait. Deciding to ignore Heejin’s clearly improper language, he bent down again beside her and squinted at said leg. It wasn’t bent in an unnatural angle, which was a good sign, but the place where the crate had made the most impact was bleeding through cloth. Tentatively, he pressed his fingers to her leg, slightly lower than the wound.

Heejin flinched violently. “,” she repeated.

At that point, Baekhyun wasn’t sure if she was saying it to irritate him or if it was a genuine reflex to the pain. He drew his hand back. “What were you even doing?” he asked. “How did it fall on you?”

“Well,” Heejin replied. She stared at her leg, but made no move to touch it again. “If you must know, I was trying to climb onto the rooftops, except I slipped and fell, and the crate fell on me as well.”

“Why were you trying to climb to the rooftops?”

“Because…” She paused. “Because I needed to get somewhere.”

“You told me the rooftops were not a safe way to travel, because it’s easy to get spotted up there.”

Heejin glanced up at him, then. Baekhyun stared back, wondering idly why he thought she was pretty when she really wasn’t.

Baekhyun, by some miracle, won that staring contest. Heejin took interest in looking at her leg again. “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone, Boxian.”

Baekhyun blinked. “What?”

“You said you have the honour not to go back on your word once you’ve given it. So can you give me your word not to tell anyone?”

It was strange. Strange that she was asking him for permission, strange that she was laying whatever this secret was in his hands, giving him a choice. Giving him the ability to promise on something so little and so great as his word.

“Alright,” Baekhyun relented. “You have my word, I will not tell anyone.”

Heejin nodded solemnly. “There’s an entrance on the roof that’s connected to a network of tunnels. I needed to use them to travel somewhere, but…” She grimaced at her leg. “I’m not sure how well I can move. I definitely won’t be able to get up on my own.”

“Somewhere?” Baekhyun echoed. “Where?”

“It’s…” Heejin shook her head. “I can’t tell you today.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because keeping it from you ensures you’ll come back, Boxian. I thought we’ve been through this already.”

Baekhyun continued staring at her. He knew what she was saying, but at the same time, didn’t. “Why do you want me to come back?” he asked. “Last time, you said you would tell me the next time you saw me, and that is now. So tell me. Why do you want me to come back? What do you want from me?”

Heejin’s expression didn’t change, her gaze didn’t waver. For a while there was silence spread between them, the chasm waiting to be bridged by her next words.

It was a laugh that came out. She was laughing, and Baekhyun didn’t understand why. Was she laughing at him or his question? Was he supposed to feel offended?

Apparently it was embarrassment that took hold, but he masked it with a scowl. “What?” he demanded. “Answer my question, commoner.”

Heejin managed to collect herself. “I don’t want anything from you,” she got out, still giggling. “And honestly, do you think you have that much to offer me? I just thought you were interesting, because you were the first person I’ve ever met from the Byun family, and you were… you were kinder than I imagined you people would be. And I like to meet new people.” She paused, then grinned at him. “Does that answer satisfy you, Your Highness?”

Baekhyun glared. “Maybe you will have to rethink the kind part if you call me another absurd nickname.”

Heejin had the gall to stick out her tongue at him.

“Immature,” Baekhyun sniffed. “How old are you, sticking your tongue out?”

“You talk like an old man,” Heejin shot back, “so you clearly don’t understand youth.”

“I do not talk like an old man!”

“If that makes you feel better, keep telling yourself that.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then the thought hit him that they were still out in the open, technically exposed to any guard that decided to come through the area. Putting aside the unmistakable urge to argue back, Baekhyun jerked his chin towards the rooftop. “You still need to get up there, right?”

Heejin nodded.

What was he even doing? Arguing with a commoner girl in the middle of the streets of the outer city, feeling the unmistakable urge to laugh when she did, as if—as if this were right? As if this wasn’t a place Baekhyun shouldn’t have even dreamed of being in? As if—as if somehow, the wrongness was so wrong that it had miraculously become right.

Because it felt light, talking to her. He could breathe easy, he could say what he wanted, and Heejin… didn’t want anything from him. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and Baekhyun didn’t know what to feel.

Finally, he kneeled down on the ground. “Get on my back,” Baeekhyun instructed Heejin, who blinked in surprise. “We must get out of here first."

___________

hello yes. prodigy is back too. 

kinda squinting at my chapter limit but i'm trying so hard to wrap it up but my brain!! is incapable!!! 
 

so ya if prodigy ends up like 15 chapters im sorry im trying HAHAHAHAHAH 

writing this is so weird cus im writing xmts at the same time and i have to constantly remind myself that xmts baekhyun is 9 years older than prodigy baekhyun and clearly much more mature and more confident and (somewhat) over his trauma but this kid is just a sad mess lol 

please leave comments <3