Chanyeol slid his sword back into its sheath, the forest around him otherwise devoid of sound. Not even a single bird sang. He was alone.

 

Chanyeol might like being alone, at least a little bit. There's no one else to worry about when you're alone. At least, he thinks.

 

He brushed dust off of the sleeve of his armor with a gloved hand. He had been resting by the riverbank long enough for some to gather there. It didn't bother him much. His face must have been in worse condition, if his reflection in the water was any indication. His cheeks were coated in blood – whether it was his own or not, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. It was just there, and he didn't question it. Chanyeol tried not to question things; questions meant answers and answers only ever meant more questions.

 

“The Gods put demons in this world as a test of our virtue and strength,” Chanyeol's grandfather had said, his voice gruff and dry from age.

 

“If the Gods put them here, why do we kill them?” he had asked.

 

“As people, we each have duties. The rest is not to be questioned.”

 

Chanyeol replayed the memory in his mind many times. It was one of the last conversations he'd had with his grandfather, the man who had trained him to fight and be strong. In the absence of his father, he had no one to learn from. He had to learn how to fight – it was his destiny, he was told. His grandfather took young and weak Chanyeol under his wing and trained him to the best of his ability. He made him as strong as the other boys his age.

 

It hadn't been enough, though. Chanyeol could take care of himself very well, but when it came to the protection of others he was a lost cause. It was something he blamed himself for every day, loathed himself for. His grandfather had taught him everything he could, but it would have never been enough. The man could only teach him so much, and his time had come before Chanyeol was even twelve. He had been training himself ever since.

 

That was how he had met Baekhyun.

 

~

 

Chanyeol was fifteen years old and training with weapons by now, practicing with an old and worn down sword on an equally old and worn down tree. He wasn't very used to using weapons yet, let alone anything with even a mildly sharp blade. His hands didn't yet know how to hold it right and it slipped out of his grip, effectively missing the spot he had been aiming for and instead drawing a thick line of blood down the side of his leg. Pain was overshadowed by embarrassment, however, and he didn't think to tend to the wound. Instead he picked his sword back up as quickly as he could manage and looked around to make sure no one had seen.

 

He couldn't see anyone within his range, so he shrugged it off and continued practicing. He made more marks on the pitiful excuse for a tree with his pitiful excuse for a sword, and only stopped when he was sure that his aim had gotten at least ten percent better than yesterday. Maybe.

 

“You're gonna lose that leg one day, Park Chanyeol.”

 

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Chanyeol turned to face the voice, sword at the ready. He knew he probably couldn't fight another person just yet, but maybe he could at least intimidate them enough that they would think twice about trying to stick a weapon in him.

 

He relaxed, however, when a slightly younger boy stepped away from the tree he was hiding behind. It was just Jongin, of course. There was nothing to worry about there.

 

“Damn you, Jongin. Not all of us are as perfect as you,” Chanyeol snapped. Jongin was only a little younger than himself, but he was no doubt the best in their village when it came to fighting. He was good with weapons, especially a bow and arrow, and his agility made Chanyeol sick with envy. Speed was a gift to him as well; Chanyeol had never seen anyone come even close to catching him. Even he had a hard time keeping track of Jongin's movements when they practiced hand-to-hand combat together, which was Chanyeol's strong point.

 

“Kai,” the boy in front of him corrected. Jongin, Kai, whatever he was called. Most of the time he was just an annoying kid, though he did have his moments when Chanyeol didn't mind him. He maybe even liked him a little bit. He was well trained in healing, and without him Chanyeol might have died from blood loss. Twice. He was fun to practice with, something different and full of surprises and even though he frequently got his handed to him, Chanyeol enjoyed anything that might help him improve. But when they weren't training together, Jongin had an overconfident attitude that Chanyeol was just barely able to tolerate. “Excuse me for being concerned for your well-being. At least clean the thing, goodness. No one wants to look at your blood everywhere.”

 

Chanyeol just rolled his eyes and walked away, though there was a noticeable limp in his step. His leg hurt now that he was actually paying a bit of attention to it, and he decided Jongin was at least a little bit right; he should definitely clean it before it gets infected.

 

He didn't ask or expect Jongin to follow him, but the latter did anyway. They didn't say anything as they made their way to the stream not far from where they were. The water wasn't recommended to drink but it was just fine for washing away blood. Chanyeol sat down somewhat comfortably and pulled up the fabric of his pants enough to show the cut clearly. It wasn't pretty.

 

Jongin silently pulled Chanyeol's leg over the stream and carefully rinsed most of the blood away. It stung a little bit but he didn't move. Jongin was the one that came from a family mostly consisting of nurses and healers so Chanyeol let him do what he wanted without question.

 

After Jongin had wiped the rest of the blood off with a cloth he inspected the wound closely. He didn't seem to be worried, so Chanyeol didn't worry either.

 

“Looks fine, I can wrap it up for you if you'd like. Unless you want to go to Yixing and be subjected to whatever ridiculous healing technique he's come up with today. They usually work just fine, as long as you're okay with a little bit of pain.” He laughed when Chanyeol gave him a look. “Okay, a lot of pain.”

 

Being as wise and experienced with Yixing's treatment (torture) as he is, he decided he really liked the idea of Jongin bandaging him instead. The bleeding had already stopped so he didn't have to worry about getting very much blood on anything, but Jongin cautioned him that he shouldn't move around too much until it's started to heal. He wouldn't want it to reopen and bleed everywhere, right?

 

“Thanks, Jongin,” he says with as much of a smile as the younger boy will ever get out of him.

 

“Kai,” he corrects again. “My pleasure.”

 

“You know, Kai, you're not so bad sometimes. I'll never understand the nickname though.”

 

Jongin just rolled his eyes and went about his own business, telling Chanyeol that he had things to do. They didn't bother waving or saying bye to each other because they would no doubt see each other later on in the day. And if not, all the better.

 

Chanyeol stayed by the stream for a little bit just to wipe most of the dirt off of his face and hands. He felt dirty and sweaty and overall unpleasant, but that was only to be expected after nearly a full day of training. He had gotten up before sunrise that morning in order to escape the house without his mother's lectures about staying safe, and it was nearing sunset now. He faintly remembered leaving with the intention of picking up something to eat from the old woman that lived near him; she had been close to Chanyeol's father and offered to help him with his training in any way she could, even if that only meant cooking a little bit extra every morning.

 

He had forgotten about food, however, when he took another look at the sword he was carrying. It had been his grandfather's when he was younger, and even though it was not only older than he was but also an inanimate object, Chanyeol felt like he was almost being disrespectful to it by using it for training even it was the only one he had access to, so he had no choice. He would have time to get his own later on, but for now this one was good enough. After all, he didn't want to get a brand new one and end up slicing someone's arm clean off. That would be quite the mess to make Jongin clean up.

 

A growling sort of noise reminded him that his stomach existed and was, in fact, very empty. After he made sure his face was clean enough for him to be faintly recognizable as Park Chanyeol, he stood up.

 

The pain from the cut in his leg had faded to a dull sting by now, and he wondered if Jongin had put something on it while he wasn't looking. He was that kind of person, after all. He never would admit how much he cared about anyone, even people he didn't know. Chanyeol knew from years of experience that a cut bandaged by Jongin hurt much less than a cut bandaged by his mother, because his mother didn't have a somewhat secret stash of medical supplies in her bag. Or at least, if she did, she never used them on Chanyeol. She probably saved them for his sister.

 

After a few steps, he bent down and lifted the bandage away from his leg enough to peer in. Sure enough, there were some kind of herbs that were probably helping with the healing of the cut. Chanyeol couldn't recognize them by name but he remembered his sister telling him about them. She had shown him a picture and told him all about them, and he had listened because she always looked so happy when she even thought she was helping him in some way, no matter how small.

 

With a silent thank you to the Gods for putting Jongin in the same village as him, he made sure he hadn't forgotten anything of his and then went on his way. He had gotten almost to the front gates of the village when he saw a somewhat familiar-looking boy scrambling to pick up several items that had apparently spilled out of a large bag. Being the good person Chanyeol is(really he's just in a good mood today), he bends down to help. It looks like the medical stuff he's not entirely familiar with, so the boy must be delivering to the doctors in Jongin's family. Or Yixing.

 

“Thank you,” the boy said.

 

“It's nothing.” Chanyeol assured as he put the last item back into the large bag. Out of mere politeness and curiosity, he held out his hand – he was sure he had seen this kid somewhere but he wasn't sure of who he was, and he knows just about everyone in their village. “I'm Park Chanyeol. What's your name?”

 

“Byun Baekhyun,” he said quietly, his hand almost hesitating before grasping Chanyeol's. Chanyeol smiled, and it was just barely returned.

 

“Nice to meet you, Baekhyun. Need me to help you carry that? No offense, but you're way too small to be carrying something so heavy. How old are you anyway? Thirteen? Twelve?” Chanyeol asked. Baekhyun had to have been at least a head shorter than himself, and was the skinniest little thing he had ever seen. He wasn't speaking rudely and he didn't mean to be offensive, but the look that flashed across Baekhyun's face told Chanyeol that he definitely wasn't very pleased at all to say the least.

 

“If you're the same Chanyeol that Kai tells me about, I'm half a year older than you,” was the only response he got before Baekhyun grabbed – snatched might be a better term – the bag back from Chanyeol and started walking. Chanyeol shrugged and followed him into the village.

 

Thankfully his house was in the opposite direction of wherever Baekhyun was going, and he was saved from the possible awkward atmosphere of walking together with someone he had just rudely insulted, no matter how unintentional.

 

Now his only concern was getting past his mother and sister, though he was more worried about getting past his sister. Chanyeol's mother would give him the disapproving gaze of death and probably a lecture about sneaking away without her knowing. His sister, Yura, would see the bandage around his leg and look at him with eyes so full of worry, and demand he let her check it. Maybe even give him a lecture, too, but this time about being safe. The worried look wouldn't leave until the cut was gone, and even then she would tell him to be careful while he was training. Chanyeol hated it. He hated that his sister had to worry about him, he hated that she felt the need to learn about healing just because of him, and he hated that he hated it because she was his family and family are supposedly meant to look out for each other.

 

Chanyeol didn't want to have to depend on her, or on anybody. He didn't want to have to look after anybody. All he wanted was to be independent, only responsible for himself. He thought life would be much easier that way.

 

 

 

^{a/n: this was surprisingly difficult. and there's not much actual plot yet because it's the introduction, obviously, so bear with me here. also if you're not familiar with chanyeol's sister, here you go.}

^{please let me know if you like it, or if there's something you think i should improve! comments help motivate me to write more, but if no one seems to like it then i'll be discouraged from posting any more. so tell me what you think!}