The Seventeenth Tale

He was never one to hurt people; but it didn't necessarily mean that he was cowardly enough to allow danger to fall upon his friends.

He was a man filled with duty, a transcendent soldier working for the world's most dominant empire.

His life was perfect, just as anyone would imagine it. He lived in a world blinded by the richness of the upper class men, overlooking the lives of those suffering by the corrupted and treacherous hands of many government officials. 

One day, Namjoon saw the injustice of the world. 

He saw where the poor was left to fend for themselves—where children and adults, all sticks and bones and ribs sickeningly sticking out of their skin—grieved on the streets, sprawled motionlessly and breathing unevenly from the pollutants left by the rich and fortunate.  

He had presented himself to the king. He had only meant to negotiate, but had somewhat ended up fighting against him. 

He never realised that he had taken things way too far.

He had accidentally killed the love of his life.

He had lost his friends.

Yet, he felt proud of unveiling the secret of an illegally established laboratory.

He was sent to an exiled land, where he had found a forgotten city amongst the expanse of greenery.

He lifted his injured arm; observing the silver metal behind all the blood and loose skin. He clucked his tongue, and proceeded to examine the small cottage he had sought refuge in. 

Something cracked underneath his foot. He bent down to picked up a small rusty frame of a faded photo of a family of four.

He instantly froze as he recognised the boy next to a beautiful woman.

His body shook in disbelief.