“Joohyun.”

“Yes?”

The day is warm as the two sisters do laundry, and would’ve been warmer if not for the cool shade of the trees. Joohyun, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, diligently scrubs and wrings their clothes in the soapy bucket while Jisoo hangs the wet clothes up on a drying rack constructed of two wooden poles and twine. Joohyun’s scrubbing falters when Jisoo remains silent in thought.

“What is it, Jisoo?” Joohyun asks again, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

Jisoo squats across from her sister and probes the bucket of water, swirling around the foamy soap with one finger mindlessly as she carefully chooses her next words. Although, there’s no easy way to approach the topic.

“Why don’t we ever talk to other tribes?”

Jisoo fixates on the lump of bubbles on her palm. She doesn’t need to look up to know Joohyun is studying her; her gaze is always piercing, it’s quite hard to ignore.

“Why do you ask? You know the answer.”

It’s always the same response. Joohyun says it in a way that implies the answer is as simple as common sense. Perhaps it is common sense. Jisoo knows the answer, yet she doesn’t understand it — and a certain Air member may be the reason for her incertitude. But does she really want to understand it? There must be a different answer; this isn’t arithmetic, after all.

“What if they’re friendly?” Jisoo reasons. “We’ll never know if we don’t talk to them. You told me it’s bad to assume the worst in people.”

From the corner of her eye, Joohyun wrings out the water of the last shirt, tosses it into the bucket of other wet clothes a tad more aggressively, and dries her hands with a rag. “Did you even pay attention in school?” Her chuckle is hollow. She knocks on Jisoo’s forehead, evoking a yelp. “Don’t tell me you’ve slept through them.”

Jisoo pouts and rubs the assaulted spot, guilt written all over her face. “Maybe.”

“Go study your history again. Maybe Gong Yoo can tutor you.”

☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯

Jisoo finds herself in front of the three-paneled door once more. Gong Yoo greets her in the same gray robes as he was in the last, having not changed one bit. Now that she thinks about it, albeit looking middle-aged, he hasn’t seemed to age since as long as she has known him. Why is he assigned the Elder and not the actual grandpas and grandmas in the village? He doesn’t even have a speck of gray in his fluffy dark hair. But to be fair, she hasn’t lived that long.

“Good evening Miss Kim,” Gong Yoo says, red eyes with their usual mystifying shimmer. “Is the medicine not to your liking?”

“Hello Elder,” Jisoo greets with a small bow. “I’m not here about that.” She pauses. “It actually tastes much sweeter, thank you very much.”

“I’m pleased my medicine is to your liking. What is it that you are here about?”

“I wanted to ask about something.”

Gong Yoo notes her darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “Would you like to come in?”

Jisoo hesitates before nodding. He steps aside, and a scent of jasmine and old parchment welcomes her into the library. “I’ll get us a cup of tea. Take a seat by the table.”

In the lounge, Jisoo sits crisscrossed on the cushion at the low round table, the opening of the second floor and its wooden rails directly above letting a soft stream of sunlight in. On the shelves line numerous ancient books and scrolls, and up the ladder are even more. She is convinced that at least some are meant for decoration because how could there be so many? So many books — all identical with their brown bindings — yet the only book Jisoo has touched happened to be the only book with nothing in it. Simply blank and pure parchment, but it held a strange energy she couldn’t comprehend. Before she could read the name, Gong Yoo plucked it out of her hand and chastised her for messing around during the arithmetic lesson. She never found it again, and he claims there is no such book.

From around the corner of a bookshelf, Gong Yoo returns with two cups in each of his hands. He sets one in front of Jisoo before taking a seat across from her. The distance of the table makes it feel like a conference of some sort.

“Thank you Elder.” Jisoo bows her head graciously.

“How is that astrology book? Do you like it?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Anyway, what is it that you want to ask?”

“I just wondered…” Jisoo trails off, averting from the Elder’s gaze that looks to dissect. He is a man of intellect, so perhaps he already knows why she is here light-years before she can even construct a coherent question that doesn’t sound like it’s from an absolute child. Doubt strikes. Is it dumb to ask? Everyone seems to have understood it well, whereas Jisoo is five hundred steps behind them. “Well, I was thinking…”

“What is it?” Gong Yoo coaxes gently.

Jisoo twiddles her thumbs, purses her lips, and blurts, “Why aren’t the tribes friends?”

The question lingers in the air for a moment. Gong Yoo’s eyebrows are raised, which increases the doubt tenfold. She knew it’s too dumb to ask —

“That’s a great question,” Gong Yoo says, much to Jisoo’s surprise. “The world would be a lot nicer if the tribes were friends, right?”

“Of course,” Jisoo answers with a frown. It’s an obvious deduction.

“The unique thing about history,” he rubs his chin, “is that we can learn from it. You would think that everyone would’ve learned from their mistakes with the privilege of history at our disposal.”

She isn’t quite sure what he is getting at.

“That is exactly the problem. No one has learned from their mistakes during the period of unity.” He clicks his tongue in distaste. “Tension was high; war was threatened every year over all sorts of things: ambitions, ideologies, disagreements. Even trivial ones. You must wonder why everyone couldn’t get along.”

She nods, lips parted to form the exact question.

“It’s the matter of difference. We’re all different.” His finger slides up. “The Air tribe is not the same as,” it slides left, “the Water tribe. Nor is the Water tribe,” it slides down, “the same as the Fire tribe. And of course, the Fire tribe,” he taps the table, “is not the same as us, the Earth tribe.”

“Is it really that easy to not get along?” Jisoo mutters, eyebrows stitched. “Just because we’re in different tribes?”

But I know an Air girl and we get along just fine.

“No,” Gong Yoo answers. “There can be disagreements within the tribes too. It’s not black and white, where everyone that isn’t us is our only enemy. It’s human nature for us to have different beliefs, thoughts, and personalities. You are not the same as your sister Joohyun, yes?”

She bobs her head.

“That is our most precious treasure as humans and, at the same time, is our biggest downfall. With all the fights, many Earths were slaughtered — almost to the point of extinction. However, we aren’t any less guilty than the others. The fault was within us as well because other tribes also experienced casualties. Although, fights were frequent between the Airs and the Fires. No one is entirely the victim no matter how much some people may think. Perhaps the only thing we’ve fallen victim to is ignorance.”

Jisoo recalls the instances when Joohyun would take her to the cemetery — a grove of colorful trees — to visit their parents at a particular pink tree with pretty pink leaves. Cherry blossoms, Joohyun calls them. She was too young back then to understand anything, but Joohyun would always cry those silent sobs that don’t really work because the grove is so quiet that it’s the only thing that resonates. It is only at the cemetery would her sister cry. She thinks about the times Joohyun would address the other tribes in disgust, particularly the Air tribe. She absolutely loathes them.

“Were my parents killed because of that?” Jisoo asks, barely under her breath, yet Gong Yoo catches the words.

“Yes,” he answers earnestly, sympathy written on his face. “Your father perished trying to settle a dispute with an Air. Fortunately, your mother was able to give birth to you before perishing as well. It wasn’t within your fault, just to let you know. Grief and illness are a nasty combination.”

Jisoo doesn’t know much about their parents; Joohyun never speaks about them. A sense of guilt manifests, heavy in her chest, knowing that she’s associating with an Air after everything her sister has been through. But how can it be Jennie’s fault? She had nothing to do with all the tragedy. They just happen to belong to two different sides of a war.

Something cracks. It’s not anything tangible, yet it hurts Jisoo’s heart and head and she grimaces. It’s painful; it’s sad, a spear through her chest that has pierced and fastened through her idealistic world of endless possibilities. The vileness seeps through, a black wound with no chance of healing.

“Hence, the tribes mutually agreed to isolate themselves from one another,” he continues. “Grudges still uphold till this day, but thankfully there are no fights.” He falters before sipping his tea. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

Jennie isn’t like that at all. Jisoo stares at her reflection in the teacup, untouched and long cold. Distorted among the leaves, they cast a dark shape over her face. She and I are the same. We want unity and peace.

But how can two girls, barely of age, be able to achieve something as drastic as that?

Like touching the stars. Impossible.

“Thank you Elder.” Jisoo flashes a small smile, stands up, and bows. “My question has been answered. I appreciate the hospitality too.”

“Of course Miss Kim.” Gong Yoo returns the smile. The red in his eyes flicker. “I’m always at your service if you have any other thoughts.”

☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯

Cherry blossoms shower the grove in soft pink. A few petals float without direction, landing on the crown of Jisoo’s dark hair as she brushes a layer of dirt off her parents’ graves. Their stones aren’t too worn compared to the others, situated shoulder to shoulder in the shade of the cherry blossom tree. Their names are carved neatly: Kim Hyunbin and Son Yejin.

The flowers in the tilled soil dance in the breeze. Just a lace flower because, according to Joohyun, it’s their favorite. Jisoo can’t say otherwise since she has never gotten to know them. It’s a pretty flower though and oddly fits the scene, the blue contrasting among the bed of pink.

If things were different, would Joohyun be the same?

“Am I doing the right thing?” Jisoo asks the stones. She likes to think the flowers are their way of communicating, although the only response thus far is dancing. “I want to think this is some kind of progress, even if it’s small.”

The frilled petals flutter.

“I like her. I like… Jennie.” Albeit the weirdness of talking to rock — Jisoo has never spoken to her parents alone, it’s always with her sister — it yields a sense of privacy and that’s exactly what she needs at the moment because admitting it had just released a weight off her shoulders. “She’s an Air but she’s nice. Pretty too. Might’ve tried to kill me when we first met, but that’s beside the point.” She pauses. “I’m joking; she doesn’t like killing. I wonder if you two would like her. I’m sure you would. She likes to paint. Mother liked to paint too. That’s what Joohyun said. I’m sure you’d get along.”

The flowers keep dancing. Do they ever lack vitality? Even without a breeze, they dance. It must be a good thing. It encourages Jisoo to continue.

“I don’t have many goals in my life. You must be disappointed in that aspect,” Jisoo chuckles softly. “But when I met Jennie, I suddenly found a purpose in life. I think I want peace. I want unity. I want a world where we don’t have to be afraid. It sounds impossible, doesn’t it? But I think it helps to hope. I wonder if you would think the same.”

Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. All the flowers did was dance. Even when Jisoo had long left and the grove fell into its usual tranquility, the flowers danced and danced and danced.

☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯

Tonight, the moon phase is the first quarter. One half is shrouded, the other half white and stark. Looking at the moon only adds to Jisoo’s impatience for the full moon, but she can’t help it. Not with a hundred thoughts and doubts and everything in-between racing through her mind in record speed for the past few days.

“Tomorrow I’m going to gather flowers with Junmyeon,” Joohyun announces from the table, pasting seeds on a paper with sap to make who knows. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Jisoo replies from the windowsill a tad too harshly, so she tries to say the next words softly. Dislike is hard to mask. “Why are you gathering flowers?”

“For Spring’s End. It’s in two weeks. Yuri came up with an idea to preserve the flower petals with resin. It’d make pretty decorations.” Joohyun pauses midway through sticking on one seed. “Do you want to run a booth? I think you’re old enough to. You can run one with Sooyoung and Yeri.”

“No thank you, it’s too much work. I don’t like planning.”

“I think it’ll be a good thing for you.”

“Knowing the both of them, I’m sure we’d get nothing done,” Jisoo insists. “They want to go play games, especially the one with the slingshot and targets.”

Joohyun chuckles. “Fair enough. You guys are still young after all.”

Young. The word leaves a bitter taste in Jisoo’s mouth. Too young this, too young that. Always derogatory. Jisoo merely hums in response.

Joohyun stands up from her stool and dusts off her hands. “I’m going to wash up. Remember to take your medicine before you sleep.”

That night, Jisoo falls asleep to the smell of lace flowers and no dreams.

a/n: gong yoo’s character doesn’t really make sense right now because I'm trying to establish a fantasy multiverse. i need to rewrite the tale of the stranger and the wolf lul because that’s like the origin of everything. but his background is not important to this story. In short, he’s an entity and will serve as like a continuity across all my fantasy fics if that makes sense