chapter one

Ocalis — 177 years in times past

His lungs burned. Every breath he took felt like tiny, sharp daggers were digging into his sides.

Chanyeol felt tears prick at his eyes again as he remembered his mother’s dying face. He could feel the ghost of flames still on his arms and the warmth of blood running down his left thigh, leaving him colder and colder as every minute passed. Yet still, he urged himself and his horse forward.

“Come on…” he whispered to the animal he rode and to himself, “almost there.”

He could see past the outlines of trees; could see the walls separating the plains from the capital. There were twinkling lights ahead signaling that the guards were out on patrol. Distantly, Chanyeol could hear the sound of another horse behind him. He turned his head, trying to make out any shadows; to see how close they were. He dug his heels into the horse, begging it to keep going; to hold on a little longer.

Something flew past him, brushing his face before hitting one of the trees ahead of him. ‘.’ They were aiming for his head. Another second later, something else hit him, lodging itself deep into his right shoulder blade. Chanyeol grunted and rode on, thanking the Heavens that whoever they’d sent to kill him didn’t have better aim.

“Help,” he croaked once he’d felt he was close enough for anyone to hear him. Chanyeol’s vision danced in and out. “Please…”

He heard shouting coming from ahead of him. They were getting closer.

“Who’s there?” an imposing voice called out.

“Please help me,” Chanyeol repeated, trying to blink through the haze and tears.

“It’s a boy, sir,” someone from his left reported.

“It’s Captain Park’s boy!” another voice called out from somewhere to his right.

An arrow zipped past him.

Chanyeol blinked a few more times, trying to focus on the figure approaching him on horseback. A tiny light flew across his vision and then zoomed around his head a few times. ‘Fairy.’ Chanyeol thought as the little light flew back towards the figure approaching him. Chanyeol felt his world tilt as his body swayed. He could see the figure ahead jump off his horse and rush towards him.

“Easy,” the man said as he stopped next to Chanyeol, tossing his bow to the ground and holding his arms up to help guide the wearied boy off the horse. He saw the man look towards the direction Chanyeol had come from as his eyes hardened; then watched as he turned towards the group of men surrounding them, signaling them. A few moments later, footsteps moved away from them, along with more shouting that was getting more distant. “I’ve got you, son.”

Chanyeol sobbed at the word. “Attack,” he croaked. “He’s coming.”

“Who’s coming?” the man’s face kept coming in and out of focus.

Chanyeol shook his head and blinked. He could hear distant shouting around him. He blinked a few more times, trying to push the darkness away from his vision. “Jun,” he whispered as he lost the fight. He felt his body being lifted as the darkness overtook him completely.

✧

“Run, my son!” his mother screamed, blood escaping from her lips with another cough. “You must warn the General!”

Chanyeol shook his head, desperately wiping away the tears as he looked around the room trying to find something, anything, to put the flames out. 

“My son…” his mother called out to him again, “please.” He could tell the woman was losing strength as she all but gave up trying to push the ceiling beam off herself. 

“I’m not leaving you!” Chanyeol yelled back, angry at his mother for even suggesting it.

She looked at him, her gaze more desperate than ever. “Chanyeol, please. Now is not your time.” Another cough. More splatters of blood. “You must survive.”

Another piece of the ceiling fell in front of him. The flames grew. 

“No! Mother!” he yelled, reaching out to her. He could see her eyes start to lose focus; could see her lids slowly closing. “No!!”

“No!”

Chanyeol bolted up and instantly regretted it as his world swam out of focus. He groaned and brought a hand to his face to push his pointer and thumb against his temples. After taking a few breathes, he dropped his hand to survey his surroundings. He was lying atop a comfortable bed in a room that was decorated modestly. A window on the wall to the right was left slightly ajar, allowing ample sunlight and the occasional cool breeze of Spring to flow into the room. There was an arm chair that sat in the corner in front of him on the right side of the room a few feet away from the door. On the left side of the room, a vase of white hyacinths sat on a mahogany desk that was pushed up against the wall. The chair that Chanyeol guessed belonged to the desk sat directly adjacent the bed.

The turn of the doorknob alerted Chanyeol that he was no longer alone. He gripped onto the bed’s sheets as he stared at the door slowly opening. A boy who looked no older than Chanyeol entered, carefully holding a small basin of water.

“Oh!” the boy exclaimed as he looked up from the basin to Chanyeol, “you’re awake.”

“Where am I? Who are you?” Chanyeol asked, glaring at the grey-haired boy who continued to walk towards him. His eyes follow the boy as he stopped by the bed and set the basin down on the bedside table. “Well?” Chanyeol pressed, apprehensive.

“We should probably change your bandage…” the boy mumbled instead of answering, dunking a cloth into the water and ringing it out. “Mama said we must keep an eye on it lest it gets infected.” He turned towards Chanyeol, cloth in hand, and moved his hands forward. Only then does Chanyeol notice that both of his forearms are bandaged. Chanyeol reached out to grab the boy’s hand before he can touch him.

“I asked you who the you are.” Chanyeol only feels slightly guilty at the soft gasp of pain the boy emits.

“I’m the son of the man that saved you.”

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed. “Who is your father?”

“Lieutenant Byun,” the boy responded, twisting his wrist in Chanyeol’s grip. “Now if you would be so kind as to loosen your grip,” the boy continued, blue eyes rising up to meet Chanyeol’s, “it hurts.”

Chanyeol released his grip, dropping his hand as he directed his gaze downwards as well. He remembered vaguely the face of the man that held him in his arms right before he had passed out. The man’s face, while conflicted, was kind. If this boy was the man’s son, he meant him no harm. “I-I’m sorry.”

He heard the boy sigh and raised his head slightly to watch him rub at his wrist. “You’ve been through a lot,” he started as he moved to take Chanyeol’s arm into his hands again, “it’s understandable that you’re anxious. May I?”

Chanyeol nodded and sat in silence as he allowed the boy to maneuver his arms in a way that provided him easier access to his shoulder. He bit down on his lip to prevent a groan of pain from escaping when he felt the dressing being pulled away, and heard the boy in front of him hum as he gently dabbed at his wound with the wet cloth. The pain lessened marginally after a cooling balm had been applied before his shoulder was once again wrapped up with a fresh set of bandages. Chanyeol’s eyes followed the boys bloodied hands as he dunked them into the water; watched as the water turned even more red. He swallowed down the bile as he thought back to the red staining his mother’s body.

“There,” the boy turned to him, wiping his hands on a dry cloth. “The wound seems to be healing well, although I fear you may have agitated it from moving earlier. Don’t worry though, I see no signs of infection so a few more days rest should have you feeling better in no time.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol whispered.

The boy responded with a smile