***

Seonghwa winces at the commotion in the courtyard. The sun is bright against the cobalt blue sky, its circular beam shining down on the glinting armour and the sharp, iron swords that mercilessly clash with each other. The sound's loud and grating, along with the shouts of victory Suho hollers anytime he brings a new swordsman down to his knees.

Another one of the metal men attacks, purposeful and precise with the swift blow of his sword, but Suho blocks his hit as soon as he attempts this, muscles bulging under his chainmail as he rips off the man's weapon and presses his into his breastplate. Suho does the same with the next two attackers, even managing to smack off the latter's gauntlets to the stony ground. It makes noise, just like everything else.

"Good game, men," Suho greets the rest of the knights. His wet, raven hair sticks to most of his face, yet it doesn't hide the proud, cocky smirk growing over his features. To be able to fight off a lot of the knights at just sixteen years of age is certainly something to brag about, at least to him.

He turns, shifting his fingers down his hair as he takes in Shinhye's and Seonghwa's forms on the benches. "Did you two see that?"

Shinhye rolls her eyes, not too fond of her brother's antics even after thirteen years of enduring him. "Hurry up," she says, patting the hilt of her violet dress which hides a weapon of its own. "I need to attend dagger practice within five minutes, so please, dear brother, step off."

Suho pays her little mind, his attentive eyes falling on the youngest of them. Instinctively, Seonghwa tenses up, because even when he's currently doing nothing wrong the older boy seems to just be able read him like a scroll.

"Were you watching?" Suho eventually questions. "You need to be able to pick up some moves by now."

"He's only six," Shinhye rushes to Seonghwa's defense, something that comes once in a blue moon, even.

"This is what Father wants," Suho reasons, flipping around the glimmering sword in his hand at first before passing it to the boy responsible for gathering the practice weapons. "Seonghwa will have to begin sword fighting eventually."

Which isn't something Seonghwa's looking forward to in the slightest.

He hates the atmosphere, hates all the screaming and the sweat and detests how eager the men are to one-up each other even if it costs them their survival. The swords are too long -- too sharp -- and they reflect off the sweltering sunlight in the harshest of ways. Seonghwa can barely even look at them; why would he want to learn how to fight with them when he'd much rather read Hongjoong a story as the younger nods off, or share bean cakes at the back of the cottage as the starry twilight commences, drenching the trees in darkness?

"Are you okay?" Shinhye asks beside him. She's already on her feet, dagger in hand. The metal's adorned with blood-red crystals. They make him think of the fanged monsters Hongjoong dreams about at times, ones that disintegrate in number once Seonghwa reads to him just hours before he goes to sleep.

"I'm fine." Seonghwa isn't fully telling the truth. Rather, he's been lying for several months now, sneaking about to spend time with Hongjoong whenever he's sure he won't get caught. And with Shinhye's brown eyes on him like this, it makes it seem like she knows more than she lets on.

But that should be impossible. Seonghwa has yet to be caught socializing with the boy his mother told him to stop seeing, and he isn't keen on getting discovered now. So he looks away.

"Are you still staying?" His sister asks, whilst Suho is still busy at the courtyard, conversing with a hoard of much older, armoured men.

"I'm going home," Seonghwa tells her. Fortunately, nearly everything in this village is connected in a way, which allows for him to seamlessly travel down the stone paths in his black cloak without drawing a lot of attention to him.

"The sun is still up," Shinhye continues. If Seonghwa doesn't know better, he'd have assumed she was growing suspicious of him at his recent journeys. But she isn't, is she? "The marketplace is open."

Seonghwa stands. A bracelet made of twine and small beads slides down his thin wrist, exposed despite the cloak's heavy fabric. He quickly pushes it back up, but Shinhye has always been far too observant for her own good. "There is nothing to do here. I will head back home and do some reading."

Shinhye nods, saying nothing else. She isn't worried about Seonghwa moving about the village square without company, and neither is Suho. Empyrea has always been known to be safe, a haven from the other ones rife with blood thirst and internal unrest. This can especially be said for the palace. Seonghwa has never been to its town, but he's heard the stories, the twisted legends circulating the village about it.

The marketplace is just as busy as it was during the morning, a handful of vendors greeting Seonghwa as he passes by. Of course, he greets them back always, enduring their cooing and comments of how absolutely precious and kind he is. There is nothing else he can do but smile back and nod since he almost never buys anything, and he has a reputation to uphold. The Parks have been known as the perfect model family for generations, something that's been ingrained into Seonghwa from infancy.

He keeps his strides curt and composed, acknowledging who ever needs to be acknowledged, only stopping when he comes across the little shed a ways away from the other stalls and stores populating the area. It's then he finally obtains the courage to twirl the bracelet Hongjoong made for him a week ago around his wrist, the blue-green accessory a contrast to his dark and simple attire.

Seonghwa steps in through the opening, the wind battling against the material of his hood. He holds it firmly in place, looking around the filled pantry for the man who owns this shed. "Sir Shim? Good morning. Four blueberry cakes, please."

A man appears from the back, his aged face forming a welcoming smile at seeing the child there. His store is isolated, his clothes often doused in flour and other stains, but he makes the best cakes Seonghwa's ever known of.

"Good morning, Sir Park," the man says, adjusting his brown gloves as he pulls a paddle out of the humbly sized oven sitting off to the left. They're all cakes, toasty, warm and ravishing. Seonghwa can't take his eyes off of them.

Sir Shim laughs at this, stumping out some of the smoke in the oven with more firewood. "I'm afraid you will have to wait a while. A woman arrived earlier and ordered the first batch of blueberry cakes. Peculiar, she was. Wasn't keen on conversation with me either."

"What?" Seonghwa looks up from the steaming, glazed cakes, meeting Sir Shim's eyes. "Someone other than I came here to buy?"

Seonghwa has spent enough time here to banter with the man and not have it taken to heart. The man is one of the calmest, most comforting people he's ever met, apart from Hongjoong.

"Yes, child, I happen to have a steady flow of income other than you, thank you very much," Sir Shim answers. He leans across the counter, folding his arms in thought. "But I'd never seen that woman before. She looked like she'd never seen the sun in ages even when she's got freckles, as if someone was out to get her. I asked if someone had told her about this place. She said it was her son, apparently."

Shock spikes through Seonghwa's chest, sending a bundle of shivers down his spine. Though Sir Shim's description of the woman lacked more detail, there is no doubt in Seonghwa's mind that this is none other than Hongjoong's mother.

He chews his lip as he tries to sort out his thoughts, which attracts the attention of the owner.

"Something the matter, Sir Park?"

Seonghwa slaps four bronze quarters on the counter. He isn't fully sure it's Hongjoong, after all. "Nothing. I need to go in a moment."

Sir Shim nods, wrapping up the cakes a few minutes later. Handing them to Seonghwa, he asks if he's alright again.

And like before, Seonghwa tells him it is nothing.

***

"You must really enjoy blueberry cakes to make your mother leave the cottage and go buy them for you," Seonghwa tells Hongjoong that evening. They're in front of a pond, the trees spacious enough to allow the flaming orange sunset to bleed onto its shallow surface.

Seonghwa can see both their faces in it when he leans over, his content and Hongjoong's sunkissed. He doesn't think he can get used to it just yet.

Hongjoong is decked in a vest with sleeves that drown his limbs, knees bent to cushion his chin. His pinkish lips form a pout, one so different yet so familiar.

"I've grown to love it a lot," Hongjoong mutters, but the way he's speaking alludes to it not being the whole truth. He grabs a crooked stick off the rocks, scrawling mindless drawings into the soil. "Mama hates going out, but she'll rather go than let me leave."

Seonghwa unwraps a new slice of cake, but even when his stomach lowly grumbles at the delicacy, he encourages Hongjoong to take a bite. He can't exactly get himself full before he has to head back for dinner. "Take."

"It's okay." Hongjoong shakes his head, puffs his cheeks out. He avoids Seonghwa's eyes like the plague, so much that it gets the older worried.

"Look at me."

"I -- I can't," Hongjoong argues. He stops scribbling, thumb gripping the stick so roughly it breaks in half.

"Is it because it's been two days since I last came?" Seonghwa asks, brows furrowing. "I'm sorry. Mother was home all day."

Hongjoong shakes his head, inhaling a deep breath. He pauses, then snatches a few stones and throws them into the pond. "You..." He bites his lip. "You can't keep coming here."

Seonghwa's eyes widen. "Joongie -- "

When Hongjoong finally looks up, his brown eyes are glassy. He blinks again and again. "You can't keep coming, Seonghwa. Mama doesn't like it, and I don't want you to keep lying to your family."

"I don't want to stop coming here," Seonghwa replies, his jaw clenching. His chest squeezes, a lump forming in his throat. It's a feeling he loathes. "I just can't stop seeing you, you know that."

Hongjoong throws yet another stone, harder this time. His light brown hair shines, and when he tilts his head downwards, liquid drips down his chin. Tears.

Seonghwa immediately moves to comfort him, causing the cake in his hands to fall and splatter on the ground. But that is the least of his worries. He slips an arm around Hongjoong's broader shoulder, noticing how much the younger's body is shaking. "Hongjoongie..."

Hongjoong sniffles and coughs, his words coming out painful. "Y-You shouldn't keep coming, Seonghwa. Not when -- not when I don't look like myself anymore."

"I don't care about that," Seonghwa says. He tries to keep his composure, tries to act as the voice of reasoning. He tries to be strong for the younger boy, but it's hard to when the lump in his throat only grows and he can't stop himself from trembling. "You're my friend, and I don't want anyone else. I don't need anyone else."

Hongjoong wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, but more keep coming. And Seonghwa hates it. He wants Hongjoong's sunny, gummy smile back again.

"Listen to me, Joongie." Seonghwa turns the younger's tear-streaked face towards his. "I don't care that you look different. I don't care that your hair's brown now or that you're almost taller and bigger than I am. I don't care about any of that. I just don't want us to stop being friends, and there's nothing you can say or do that will change my mind. Do you understand?"

Hongjoong makes a choked sound at the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously close to a sob, but he nods nonetheless, albeit shakily. "I -- I understand."

Seonghwa rubs off Hongjoong's remaining tears until his cheeks are dry again. "Promise me you'll cry only when good things happen."

The sun settles into the horizon, darkening the sky, but Hongjoong's eyes continue to sparkle. "I promise." He sounds like he means it.

***

When Seonghwa turns eight, he gets to hold a sword for the first time. Granted, it is only a wooden one with designs etched into it that resemble the wind, but it's long, and far too weighty for the boy to handle.

His father's hand is even heavier resting on his shoulder that damp, lukewarm morning as he kneels in front of his son. Seonghwa can remember the rich mildew in the air -- as it'd just rained earlier -- and his father's recognizable musky perfume.

"It's never too early to start training," the man tells him. "The sword in your hand will go on to give you the ability to divide and conquer. You will learn to defend yourself and attack when necessary. You will no longer afraid to slay Man, and you will grow to become someone that is feared and revered."

Seonghwa can't take his words to heart, not when he's just a kid, and dislikes anything to do with weapons. He wishes this weren't real, wishes he can go back to the time where his only concerns were heading to the nursery on time and making sure that Hongjoong wasn't lonely.

But he can't. So he braves a face that is blank of all his fears, all his worries and nods. "Yes Father."

But when dusk approaches, tainting the indigo sky with trails of ink, Seonghwa jumps through the back door, hood thrown over his face to shield it as he begins his journey towards Hongjoong's home. He's gone there so many times now he can walk there with his eyes closed.

As usual, Hongjoong's mother looks less than impressed at seeing him in front of her cottage, but she lets him in for the sake of her son.

"I'm sorry for coming empty-handed, ma'am," Seonghwa says to her, always on his best behaviour whenever he meets her. "I couldn't bring anything from the kitchens for you and Hongjoong."

She just shakes her head, and even if she smiles a bit, the stifled atmosphere doesn't cease. It never has ever since she decided to keep her son behind closed doors for reasons even Hongjoong has kept the specific details out of. "Hongjoong is in his room. I advise you leave before midnight."

Seonghwa has been used to this arrangement for far too long, and although he wishes he can stay just an hour or two longer, he listens to her every word and descends down the minimal steps, heading for the first -- and only -- door he sees.

Hongjoong's sitting on the slab of hay that makes his bed, peering through the opening off his window. At Seonghwa's footsteps, he turns around on the mattress, his features lightening up at seeing the older's face.

"Seonghwa?" Hongjoong voices out.

Seonghwa's lips quirk in greeting, and then he's dropping off the cloak and jumping into Hongjoong's bed.

Hongjoong squeaks at the sudden intrusion, but the sound transforms into giggles in the nick of time. He grins at Seonghwa with that gummy smile of his that Seonghwa's grown to love a lot. "I've told you to stop doing that. It'll get your clothes dirty."

Seonghwa rolls his body over the hay mattress in retaliation to show he really doesn't care, not after he's been doing the same thing for a long time now. Yes, the servants who draw his bath complain about his skin and clothes sometimes, but they've never said a word about it to his mother.

Seonghwa soon stops, taking to leaning on his side as he rakes his eyes over Hongjoong's expression. The younger is doing the same, however a little less shamelessly.

"Father gave me a wooden sword for one of my birthday gifts," Seonghwa eventually speaks up.

Hongjoong cracks a big smile at this. "That's really cool."

Seonghwa chuckles, but his brows furrow at his friend's word choice. "Cool? The sword wasn't cold."

Hongjoong blinks, and when he looks away, his smile is completely wiped off.

"Joongie?"

"It's just -- " Hongjoong rests flat against the bed, looking up at the thatched roof. "It's something that just came to me, from him."

Seonghwa's expression tightens in confusion. "From who?"

"I really don't wanna talk about it -- " Hongjoong freezes, clamps his hands over his mouth. He swivels to the right, his back now facing Seonghwa. "Sorry."

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa pulls himself into a sitting position, "you know you can always tell me anything."

Hongjoong exhales, pouting. "Jongho. That's his name."

"Jongho?"

"I can't..." Hongjoong shakes his head, "I can't tell you much about it. In fact the only reason I'm telling you this is because you're my best friend. But the boy I look and sound like now... his name is Jongho."

"I don't understand," Seonghwa says, because he really doesn't. And he's scared too, even more so than he was this morning alone, because Hongjoong keeps looking away from him. He's shutting him out.

"Seonghwa, please." Hongjoong grips the mattress so tightly his tawny skin turns pale. But when Seonghwa places his hand over his, his fist relaxes a little. "I really can't tell you more. Not right now."

"Okay," Seonghwa nods. His head is filled with so many questions of him wanting to know about this Jongho boy and how in Mars Hongjoong came around to look like him, but he respects Hongjoong enough not to pry further.

"Thank you." Hongjoong entwines their fingers, squeezing gently. "And, happy birthday Seonghwa."

"You shouldn't have said that," Seonghwa laughs, low and rumbling against the back of his throat. It's a definite contrast to Hongjoong's bright, bellowing giggles. Whilst Seonghwa's laughter is like thunder and ice cold rainfall, Hongjoong's the sun and rainbow that peeks through when all of it is over. And like everything else on earth, both need the other to exist.

"Why?" Hongjoong questions, rubbing his thumb over the older's knuckles.

"The sword issue. I do not want to use a sword, but already know I have little say on the matter."

There's silence for a few moments, and then, "...Are you scared?"

The question takes Seonghwa by surprise, judging by how much be blinks. At his stupefied expression, Hongjoong giggles, pushing him a bit.

"I mean...are you scared of it? Of the sword."

Seonghwa stares at his lap. His and Hongjoong's legs are tangled, as they often always are whenever they end up on the younger's bed. "...A little. I don't think I will be able to wield it. And my father said I'd have to kill people with it in the future, Joongie. I don't think I can do that."

"I've always wanted to carry a sword."

"Why?" Seonghwa asks. "It is a weapon."

"Exactly," Hongjoong explains. "And with a weapon, I can always protect mama and Sungjong. I can always protect you."

***

When Seonghwa comes home later that night, he sees a dark figure heading for the backdoor as well.

He stills as the person turns, the ivory moonlight spilling over the jewelled hilt of their navy blue dress.

"Shinhye?" Seonghwa finds himself calling out, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

Shinhye presses a finger to her lips. "Let us keep our outings only to ourselves, brother."

Seonghwa releases the breath he'd been holding, catching sight of her simper.

His sister juts her chin at him. "Okay?"

Seonghwa nods, relieved. "Okay."

***

In the ninth year, just weeks after his birthday, Seonghwa has his first ever real fight with his mother.

It's a tumultuous morning, complete with heavy, dark clouds and icy rain that beat down on the soil with a vengeance. Seonghwa sits a few feet away from the balmy, sizzling hearth, the heat warming the tips of his toes as he clenches a parchment book with rigid fingers. Beside him is his mother, looking at him with stern eyes.

"The tutor told me you were uncooperative the last time he came here," his mother begins, her voice betraying how serious she is. "He told me you said you'd rather sleep than go through the new syllabus. So please, explain yourself so I can understand why you've been so difficult lately."

Seonghwa keeps his lips shut, not intending on saying anything.

"Park Seonghwa."

"I'm studying now, aren't I?"

"Look at me," his mother commands, and Seonghwa's jaw clenches. "I said look at me."

"I am looking at you, mother," Seonghwa spits, his tone harsh as he addresses his mother. The woman's eyes widen at first, but then they narrow.

"What is it that you want? You've been living well all this time, your father and I assured that. All you have to do is stay inside and study, but you've decided to start rebelling -- "

"I am not rebelling." This is the first time Seonghwa's ever cut his mother off, but he doesn't let the realization get to him, not before he makes his point. He's too angry at it all, too irritated by how unjust this arrangement is. "There is just too much going on! I have to now know how to use a sword, and the studying is getting too much to bear. The only time I get to myself is late at night, but I don't even get enough of it to sleep before I have to wake up for the next lecture. It's too much, mother."

And I don't get any time to see Hongjoong, Seonghwa wants to add, but wisely keeps quiet about that.

"It's not too much," Lady Park exclaims, the ire in her words nearly causing Seonghwa to drop the book.

"It's not too much," she repeats, "not when it keeps you away from that boy."

Seonghwa loses his breath. His heart drops.

"I've told you times without number that you aren't allowed to see him again. Even his mother said so, but yet, you keep disobeying my word, keep meeting with him when you think no one's looking. You can easily make new friends if you're so lonely, but you keep turning the other boys and girls away."

"I do not need anyone else but him -- "

"Not even me? Not even your family?" His mother questions, bewildered. "Your father, I, Suho and Shinhye, we're your family. That boy you keep seeing is not. Why do you care so much for him?"

Because he sees me for me. Because he knows me, even in the dark. Because he knows my name and cares about me. Because I am no one but myself with him.

"Because Hongjoong is my friend," Seonghwa tells her, feeling nothing but anger and betrayal at the way his own mother refers to the single most important person in his life. "And he will keep being my friend even if you don't like it."

"Seonghwa!"

Seonghwa drops the book and runs off, locking his room as soon as he enters. He hears nothing but static, his breathing coming out rugged and distressed.

He falls into his mattress, wraps an arm around the pillow, and cries.

***

Seonghwa makes it early to Hongjoong's home in the morning just in time for the younger's ninth birthday.

Sungjong, Hongjoong's older brother, is holding a bucket of floundering fish when Seonghwa arrives, his upturned nose forming a little scrunch as he flashes a faint smile Seonghwa's way. He's always been kinder than his mother at the boy's infrequent, but constant visits.

Before Seonghwa can even open his mouth, Sungjong points towards the opening of the forest. "Hongjoong will be back soon."

'Soon' turns out to be the next second, because someone new appears, hogging a bucket of their own. Their eyes widen at seeing Seonghwa there, but the shock quickly fades into something far warmer.

Hongjoong is thinner now, with chestnut brown hair reminiscent of the sand in those faraway lands Seonghwa had read about in storybooks. He's taller too, limbs long and slender, his eyes coffee brown and quite slanted.

But when Hongjoong smiles, eyes creasing at the corners, it's one and the same. And so Seonghwa races across the field and wraps his arms around him, burying his head on his shoulder. He misses the younger to hell and back, and after not seeing him for many weeks, he's more than ecstatic to just hold him like this again.

Hongjoong lets go of the bucket at the collision, but then he's laughing, little melodic huffs of relief. He sounds so relieved.

"Seonghwa?" He breathes, guffawing when said male turns his nose.

"You smell like fish, Hongjoong."

"I know." Hongjoong smiles, boyish and endearing. It's still the same after all these years, even with disparate physical features.

When he catches Seonghwa staring though, he averts his eyes, his smile dwindling. Seonghwa notices.

"Joongie, look at me."

Hongjoong listens.

"Happy birthday."

Hongjoong's smile returns, and when his older brother comes for the other bucket, Seonghwa spots the look on his face.

Sadness.

***

Despite the raw fish being absolutely vile to look at, Seonghwa remains through Hongjoong's mother scraping off the scales, removing the innards and then grilling the tender meat. Of course, the woman objects against it at first, stating how a boy of his status should have no place being this close to uncooked fish, but Seonghwa politely refutes all her words.

"I want to learn, and I want to help," he says, among several other excuses. "I like cooking, but mother would never let me near the kitchens."

"You shouldn't get your hands dirtied," Hongjoong's mother tells him, wiping off the sweat on her brow. The heat wafting off the pots and grill is near unbearable, but her grey sleeves remain lengthy, as they always are.

"I don't mind."

The woman stares at him for a moment, and for the first time in a long while, her lips curve upwards. She's smiling. "Hongjoong should be the one in your place, but there he is, hiding behind the table instead of helping his mother."

"Fish are scary!" Hongjoong defends from where he's at.

"Yet they aren't scary when you're eating them."

"That's a different story altogether, mama."

Hongjoong's mother chuckles, but it's leaden, thick with emotion. Seonghwa pretends he sees nothing as she hands him a small knife for the potatoes.

The meal -- an assortment of fish, potatoes and vegetables -- is soon prepared and served, which all four dig into. They don't talk much, but the atmosphere is far more amiable than every other dinner Seonghwa's been subjected to at his own home.

They save the pastries Seonghwa brought for later, and when the evening sun casts shadows over the trees, a blanket of stars stretching over the dark orchid sky, Seonghwa and Hongjoong gather on a floor of grass and ferns, staring at the translucent moon.

"I'll take you to see the horses one day," Seonghwa speaks up, breaking the silence. "I swear I will."

"It's okay." Hongjoong smiles at the older. "I still have those ones you got me when I turned three. They're still as shiny as they were back then."

Seonghwa laughs at this, but when he peers at the moon again, a certain type of dullness settles on his chest. The approaching night means he'll have to leave for his house in a while, which is something he absolutely hates. But he knows he has no choice. His mother had even been generous enough to allow him to do as he pleased today.

"Are you okay?" Hongjoong asks, voice as soft as the evening breeze. His arm is grazing the older's, the beads of their bracelets brushing.

"You're going to see horses in real life with me one day," Seonghwa says again. "You're going to ride one too, I assure you."

Hongjoong's eyes twinkle when Seonghwa faces him. Seonghwa thinks the stars in them are even prettier than the ones in the sky. "Promise?"

"I promise."

They both chuckle, hearts bursting with happiness, and Seonghwa is about to say something else when his cheek erupts with a painful sting.

"Holy Mars!" Seonghwa yelps and sits up, slapping said cheek only for it to start itching greatly. Heat pulsates around the area, and when his thumb rubs over its surface, he feels a bump.

Hongjoong sits up too. "It's a little red. Stay still."

Seonghwa obeys, remaining motionless as the younger boy leans in and blows over the angry wound. His breath cools it a bit, but it continues to itch. "I hate mosquitoes."

"Mosquitoes didn't do anything wrong," Hongjoong laughs, blowing on his cheek for the second time. "They're just existing; they can't help it being what they are."

There's a double meaning to his words that Seonghwa definitely catches.

"Hongjoong, I..."

"It's okay." The younger boy gives him a tight smile, and then places a kiss on Seonghwa's cheek. It's short, as faint as a feather, but it takes Seonghwa aback.

"Hope your cheek feels better now," Hongjoong says giggling, patting the same side he's just pecked.

Seonghwa blinks, coughs a bit. His chest feels light. "A little, yes."

Hongjoong pulls him into a hug, bringing them back onto the grass. "I'm glad."

A hoard of fireflies pile up ahead. One flutters towards them, its golden body lightening up the dark.

Hongjoong names it Mingi.

***

Seonghwa visits the kingdom of Adora on the second day of its week-long Fall festival. He's now twelve years of age, and this is only his second time travelling to the large town. It has everything he's ever wanted to see and more, except for Hongjoong.

In fact, the last time he'd seen the younger was two months ago. And it's mostly his parents' faults, with the repetitive sword practices and the numerous tutors.

Shinhye drifts off with him to the market square to look for clothes and other fabrics, and it's there Seonghwa finds a pair of bright lilac woollen scarfs that glitter when the sunlight hits them directly. He can't help but imagine Hongjoong in one of them, the younger's lips pulled into a blinding grin as he coos and admires the material. It makes Seonghwa break into a smile.

He buys the two of them immediately.

***

Shinhye wastes so much time trying on dresses and getting new scabbards for her oh so precious daggers.

"I need to look carefully, brother," she explains, shrugging. "Who knows when we'll get to come to Adora again?"

Seonghwa just rolls his eyes, eager to get to the next itinerary of the day already.

They get themselves doughnuts and other glazed bread, enough to share with the rest of their family. Seonghwa orders a set of blueberry cakes too, just in case he gets the chance to see Hongjoong later today.

"You must really care about him, brother," Shinhye says outloud as she stands in front of a squared mirror, checking the hibiscus-shaped accessory in her braided hair.

"Hm?"

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa's sister clarifies. "You like him. A lot."

"...Yes," Seonghwa meets her gaze. "I do."

Shinhye smiles, goes back to fixing up the jewelry in her hair. "Think I look pretty?"

"I'm not in the position to answer that."

Shinhye shoves him. "Brat. Hey, do you think mother would like -- "

A horn blares, and in the furthest distance lies a gathering of townspeople that grow in number with each passing second.

"What's going on there?" Shinhye says what Seonghwa is thinking. "Should we check it out?"

Seonghwa nods. "Okay."

He quickly learns he shouldn't have gone.

It all happens in slow motion, highlighted in fine detail.

The three individuals knelt on the raised platform, sacks covering their faces with nooses around their necks.

The echo of a bearded man's words as he announces their death that has been ordered for by the King.

Reapers, he calls the blindfolded people. Demons from hell raised to torment the living on earth and steal their souls.

He rips the fabric of one of the people's shirts in half, displaying the contorted black lines scrawled against their back like nefarious smoke. Their mark, the bearded man yells. A warning for the crowd.

Seonghwa can't breathe as the first person falls, muffled cheers erupting at all sides. He can't even move as Shinhye grabs onto his arm, urging him to move.

The second person is pushed off, her long, black hair shifting in the wind. On her wrist holds a familiar bracelet that catches Seonghwa's eye.

Shinhye pulls him backwards, most likely shouting at him to snap out of it. But it falls on deaf ears, because all Seonghwa can look at is the limp woman's wrist. All he can look at is Hongjoong's bracelet.

"Seonghwa!" Shinhye shrieks, dragging him out of the busy crowd. She doesn't stop until they're fully out of the ruckus, but the damage has already been done. There is nothing in this world that can undo this traumatizing event. "S-Seonghwa! Can you -- can you hear me?"

Seonghwa's legs give way. He drops to his knees, covers his ears with his shaking, trembling palms, and screams.