Gong Yoo slides the silver goblet across the desk, the metal of intricate design — loops, swirls, and whatnot — glistening through the strip of sunlight on the wood and into the shadow that is Jisoo’s side. The green liquid seesaws back and forth before slowing to a leveled stop, halfway empty.

“I’ve come to a realization that I may have caused you some stress from our last encounter,” he says and folds his hands on the desk. “Here is a tea meant for your relaxation.”

Jisoo eyes between him and the drink skeptically. It’s one of those sessions Joohyun occasionally forces Jisoo to go to, usually consisting of the Elder asking questions about her well-being in his office located in the left-wing of the library. Similar to therapy, but there’s nothing wrong with Jisoo’s mental state that deserves these sessions. She’d like to think so because it’s been so long since her last one — maybe over a year ago? If Jisoo excludes those voices in her head that pop in here and there, her mind is practically healthy. Joohyun was incredibly insistent about this one however, having it scheduled as soon as possible and going as far as to excuse her from berry duties.

Between work and going to the sessions, she’d pick the latter any day of the week. Even if it’s with the Elder, the very person she has been trying to avoid. Frankly, it isn’t like she’s been given a choice. She just has to go along with it.

And something tells Jisoo that it’s impossible to avoid the Elder forever. She has to face him some time or another. Today just so happens to be that day. To say she is nervous is an understatement, but she has built enough courage to at least sit in the same room as him.

Just don’t look him in the eye.

“It doesn’t look very tasty,” Jisoo clicks her tongue, looking at the weird-looking tea whose green swirls with a translucent white and terribly resembles the horrid vegetable broccoli. She doesn’t dare take a sniff.

“It doesn’t have a taste. It’s safe to drink, I promise.”

Jisoo’s hands stay firmly on her lap. Gong Yoo merely smiles and takes out some parchment, a quill and ink, and a metronome — a wooden triangular device with a lever that alternates side to side and makes these aggravating ticking sounds whenever it strikes the middle — from the desk drawer. He places the metronome between them, pulls down the lever, and releases it.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He proceeds with the session.

“How are you today, Miss Kim?” he asks, quill tip poised on the paper.

“Fine.”

“What did you do this morning before coming here?”

“Ate breakfast.”

“And yesterday?”

“Walked Jiwon around. Did some laundry.” She shrugged. “I don’t really remember.”

Gong Yoo scribbles something down. Jisoo doesn’t think she has said anything worth scribbling down. Bored, her eyes stray away from the man and observe the office. It’s small, prone to stuffiness, only occupying this desk and two chairs, a chest in the corner, and a bookshelf of books that look identical to the ones in the main library. That is most definitely decoration; there’s a line of dust on the shelves where the sunlight hits.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Children’s laughter wisps in from the opened circular window that frames the intersection of three pathways. They must be having fun.

“Was the breakfast good?”

“As good as breakfast goes.”

“What do you think about today’s weather?”

“It’s alright.”

“How is your tortoise?”

“He’s healthy. Rude sometimes.”

“Why haven’t you drunk the tea yet?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t think I’ve poisoned it, do you?”

Jisoo’s eyes snap from the window to stare into Gong Yoo’s red pair; a mistake because, although her heart lurches within her chest and her breath hitches and her body screams for flight, she can’t look away. It’s those outlandish questions he occasionally throws into the conversation, almost as if he wants to provoke her and they catch Jisoo off-guard because they aren’t necessarily far from the truth. At least it keeps the conversation interesting; otherwise, she’d doze off.

Yes.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She swallows thickly. “No.”

Gong Yoo’s eyes twinkle and he writes something else down. The parchment is on a slightly slanted surface, so Jisoo can’t see what he’s writing. Unfortunate considering she’s curious about the contents, but she respects the confidentiality. “Of course I haven’t. That’d be immoral of me to try to kill you. To kill anyone for that matter, don’t you think?”

“Of course.”

“How is your relationship with your sister?”

Jisoo hesitates. Gong Yoo’s eyebrows rise.

“Good.”

“Really?”

“As good as good can be.”

“Have there been any recent problems? Things you don’t like that your sister imposes?”

“Well.” Jisoo pauses. “She’s been giving me too much work lately. I barely have time to play with Sooyoung and Yeri. The only time I see them is at dinner.”

“Why don’t you like that?”

Because she’s doing it because she’s scared of something about me.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“I hate working. It’s not fun.”

Gong Yoo chuckles. “Work isn’t fun, but it’s a part of adulthood. Eventually, you won’t be able to play around like you used to and will have to work for most of your life to contribute to the tribe. It’s only natural.”

“But it’s too soon. Joohyun doesn’t even treat me as an adult. It’s not fair,” grumbles Jisoo. “Why give me adult work if she still sees me as a child?”

His expression softens. “Because, to Joohyun, you are her little sister. Someone she has to protect, someone dear to her. No matter how old you get, no matter how many gray hairs are on your hair, no matter the choices you make, she’ll continue loving you as her little sister and will treat you as such. It may seem unfair, but you’ll understand.”

Jisoo frowns but stays mum. It isn’t worth arguing about, especially with an adult that doesn’t understand people her age. Gong Yoo takes the silence as an invitation to move on from the subject.

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“Yes. Junmyeon gave us a sleeping incense.” Jisoo adds as an afterthought, “It smells nice.”

“That’s kind of him, don’t you think so? Do you appreciate his gift?”

Tick.

“Yes.”

“That’s great to hear. I’m glad things are going well for you. We’ll move onto the deeper part of the session, okay?”

Jisoo hums in response.

“And I trust that you’ll be more truthful this time?”

Before Jisoo can utter an answer, mouth gaping, flabbergasted from the indirect callout, Gong Yoo asks his next question.

“Did you fully understand what you saw on the day of Spring’s End?”

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“What?”

“Your fortune,” he clarifies simply. “Did you understand your fortune?”

The fear surges back, swift and petrifying as it was in the nothingness. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach, her breaths stop. The walls of the office shrink and the air is thicker, more suffocating. The children’s laughter disappears. The goblet shines in the dimming room, the green tea glowing within the silver bowl. A bead of sweat runs down Jisoo’s temple as her fingers tighten on the hem of her dress.

Gong Yoo waits patiently, unblinking.

“N — no.” The admission is extracted from in the most uncomfortable way, like a hand has reached down the entire length and yanked it out. She clears .

“It’s okay if you don't understand it.” Gong Yoo taps his chin. “It was a lot to show and we didn’t have much time before the fog recovered. I showed you as much as I could.”

“What’s this fog you speak of? I don’t understand.”

“Clouding everyone’s future is a fog. Some fog are easy to see through, some are harder. It varies from person to person. In my experience — and I have a lot — your fog has been the most difficult to see through. Hard to control as well. Like there’s something else, another consciousness, hidden deep within it and resisting.” Gong Yoo lowers his quill and clasps his hands. “It was quite fascinating. I haven’t seen anything like it in a long while. Two consciousnesses, that is,” he muses.

None of that made sense. And the way he isn’t remotely concerned about whatever nonsense he had just spewed is unsettling, talking about Jisoo as if she is some sort of research subject. What’s his deal? Two consciousnesses? Absurd — it’s just Jisoo and Jisoo only.

“Did you see my fortune?” Jisoo asks. “Did — did you see…?”

Jennie?

Tick.

Tick.

“No. Your fortune is all within your own privacy.”

Jisoo studies Gong Yoo’s expression for a hint of dishonesty, but he looks sincere for the most part. She exhales carefully to not make obvious her relief. Gong Yoo hasn’t written anything down in a while, although the subject at hand deems more valuable than those trivial ones minutes ago.

“No, I don’t understand my fortune,” she reiterates and her eyes cast down on the tea.

I’m too scared to try.

“Alright. It’ll come together down the line. There’s no hurry to understand it all. If you do by some miracle, your brain will most likely combust, so it’s best that you don’t.”

Jisoo looks at him in horror.

“Anyway,” Gong Yoo clears his throat. “Have you been regularly taking your medicine? A pill a day?”

Is he just going to disregard the combusting brain part — nevermind, the behavior isn’t anything new.

“Joohyun has been making me take two.”

“Two? Why?”

“That’s what I would like to know.”

He leans in. “Do you feel any different from when you took one? Any out-of-the-norm side effects?”

I haven’t been taking them.

“No.”

Gong Yoo scrutinizes her for a moment. Has he read through her lie? Jisoo tries her best to maintain a poker face, challenging his gaze that would’ve rendered her small. It’s only fair to be a little dishonest — he hasn’t exactly been honest with her either.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He stops the metronome with one finger, the stick pausing just to the left of the middle. He looks out the window and sighs.

“The day is beautiful,” he says, standing up from his seat. The chair legs groan against the wooden floor. “The beginning of summer is always vigorous. It’d be a shame to prolong this session any longer.” He walks around the table toward Jisoo, dragging his fingers along the perimeter of the desk. “So, I’ll ask you again.” He stops behind her. As much as Jisoo wants to turn around, she can’t, compelled to stare straight ahead from the crippling pressure. “Have you been taking your medicine?”

Yes.

“No.”

“There we go. It’s not that hard to be truthful, right?” His hand grasps the nape of her neck. Jisoo’s breath hitches because, albeit the gentleness of his hold, his hand is so large that he can probably snap her neck with one twist and ice cold. Not like Jennie’s cold, but a cold that’s harsh and stinging. “You’re very smart, Miss Kim. It’s becoming more difficult to hide this from you because you always manage to figure it out.” He clicks his tongue in distaste. “I told Seunghyun it can’t be helped. But it was his word against the village, and who’d follow a Chief that doesn’t listen to his own people? It’s only a matter of time.”

“For what?” Jisoo asks barely under her breath.

“When you feel yourself slipping, remember what’s important to you and hold onto it.”

He picks up the goblet from its stem and brings the brim to Jisoo’s lips. The tea is enchanting, mesmerizing to the eye as it swirls infinitely like an embodied galaxy illustrated in her astronomy book. There’s no pulling away because his hand keeps her head in place.

“This will stall. As much as I’d like to, I can’t help you any longer. I know you’re wondering, but I can’t tell you. Bad things will only come sooner if I do. It’ll disrupt the natural order and, as of now, you are not ready once it disrupts. It’s a pity that things have to come to this. For now,” his voice dips, jasmine scent stronger as he speaks into her ear. Words too dangerous to say any louder, words meant only for her, “keep pretending. Don’t let them know.”

A warning.

“And when they find out,” a slight exhale tells a small, reassuring smile, “don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Her lips part without resistance when Gong Yoo tips the goblet, her head naturally tilting up to let the tea fill her tongue and stream down with ease.

As the white light washes Jisoo, she notes how the tea really doesn’t have a taste. The Elder didn’t lie about that. Zero taste — no different from water — but it has a feeling: the warm feeling of home. It is only until the very split second before the light overwhelms her that she can pinpoint the precise feeling:

The earth, the forest, and the wind.

☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯⚏☯

“How was the session?” Joohyun asks when Jisoo comes home for the evening. Kneeled in front of a pile of dirt by the steps of their door, a lone sapling in the dug hole, she adorns gardening gloves and a bun. Some dark green strands are loose, a sheen line of sweat matting them to her neck.

“Fine,” Jisoo replies and peers over Joohyun’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Starting a small garden. I think it’ll make our home look nicer.” She pats the soil around the sapling, a mere stem of one leaf the size of a pumpkin seed. “Junmyeon gave me this one. It’s supposed to grow into a lace flower by fall.”

“Like the ones mother and father liked?”

“Yes.”

“Why bother? They’ll die. They have a life expectancy of a year. You know because you have to replace them every time they do.”

Joohyun’s shoulders tense. Her hands continue patting down the soil even though the soil is already smooth. Pit-pat. Pit-pat. The rhythm matches the pulsating tension caked in the air between them. There’s a strange sense of amusement stirring deep within Jisoo from her sister’s demeanor.

“Sometimes,” Joohyun treads slowly, “although all good things come to an end, it doesn’t hurt to cherish those good things in the moment. Actually, it helps. A lot.” She side-eyes Jisoo. “Are you sure the session was fine? Did it help?”

“What is it supposed to help with?” Jisoo asks, her tone disgustingly sweet. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Joohyun falters, slightly frowning and skeptical. Jisoo’s gaze bores into hers before she looks away, shaking her head dismissively. “Nevermind. Go wash up for dinner.”

So close. Although the chance of Joohyun revealing anything is rather slim, it doesn’t hurt to try. It doesn’t seem worth it to provoke the older girl further; she has returned to her gardening and the cold shoulder deters the will away and declares the end of the conversation. Without further ado, Jisoo whisks past Joohyun into the house.

Keep pretending.

She rummages through her chest for some clean clothes, settling for brown trousers and a white tee. Rabbit stares after her through the glass, meddling by his rock as if heckled by her presence from doing whatever tortoises do.

Don’t let them know.

Jisoo walks up to his tank, her clothes bundled up in her arms. They stare at each other for a moment.

“What am I hiding from them?” she asks.

Rabbit blinks. Of course, a tortoise wouldn’t know the answer to her undying question. Jisoo scoffs at herself for even asking.

“Your tank is a bit dirty,” she grumbles, inspecting the specks of brown dotted by the pebbles that make up the floor. “I’ll clean it tomorrow.”

As the cold water of the outdoor communal shower trickles down her skin, Jisoo begs the same question as Joohyun: did the session help? The Elder left no chance to ask any questions because he had long gone by the time she recovered consciousness, leaving her in an empty office and a sore neck from having been knocked out for the whole afternoon. Oddly enough, the session did help in some aspects; it made one thing certain: Jisoo isn’t crazy. Albeit the concerning amount of relief the revelation comes with, it’s something, and after so long of nothing, Jisoo will grasp onto anything, no matter how minimal.

The pieces are coming together: everyone’s weird behaviors, the medicine, the random headaches, Joohyun’s fear. The thread between everything is loosely tied, but it all makes sense when looking at the bigger picture. There is something going on, something that is beyond Jisoo’s control and barely within the Elder’s, let alone the village, let alone Joohyun. Jisoo may be grasping at straws, but it keeps her sane. If she has one thing, it’s this. She can’t let it go.

Don’t let them know.

Thus, like a good little sister, Jisoo accepts the medicine Joohyun gives her, making a show of popping them in only to hide them under her tongue. In the dead of the night, Jisoo spits them out and tosses them out the window into the bushes below.

Don’t let them know.

Thus, like a good neighbor, Jisoo greets everybody with a bright smile. She does her chores and duties diligently and to the best ability. She goes the extra mile to help fellow workers, much to their surprise. They appreciate her help nonetheless. A change for the better, they say when they think Jisoo isn’t around.

Don’t let them know.

The moon creeps closer and closer to its full light. Has time passed by that quickly? The lace flower Joohyun planted weeks ago has produced a young bulb the shade of baby blue. It looks rather cute for something that’ll wither in a year. Perhaps it does help to cherish things, whenever their expiration dates may be. She admits this to Joohyun, to which Joohyun beams a smile because they have come to a mutual understanding. Jisoo exchanges the smile and volunteers to take part in caring for the plant. At dinner, they toast to its longevity and health. Sooyoung and Yeri are perplexed, but toast along because the jovial mood is too good to pass up.

None of them have a clue.

Now the only piece missing is the reason behind all of this. The million-dollar question. The question whose answer Jisoo seeks the most and is most afraid of at the same time. Afraid of what it entails. Afraid of what it’ll mean for her and her future. Afraid of what it’ll mean for everyone around her. Afraid of how she’ll handle it. But the Elder’s warning only entices more curiosity, and within this circumstance, curiosity fares much stronger than fear.

What exactly is wrong with Jisoo?