The fury shakes the ground

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Jungkook pulls at the fabric draped over his head, loose and lightweight. It falls with the afternoon breeze, coming from the ocean they just crossed. Cool. Gentle. No matter how many times his fingers stretch to lift it back up—set it in place once again—the hood doesn't stay there for long. Dark strands of his overgrown hair fly in the wind, brushing tickling ends over his cheeks and neck.

Beside him, Yoongi argues with the sailor. Low grumbles and waving hands. He doesn't really pay attention to what's said between them. The words exchanged in quiet tones isn't a concern of his.

He tries not to stare at the landscape, but it's been eight years since he's seen the other side of the expansive, blue ocean. With his family's exile came a limited amount of sights—volcanoes, mostly. Molten rock. Blackened sand. Other than that, the sea stretched around them in endless meters. For all Jungkook knew, they were the only ones who existed.

Until the letter came. A formal invitation from the Academy.

The journey would take a week, as explained by The Proper: an organization under the capital rule. Gatekeepers, mostly. Enforcers of the borders. They were in charge of their escort, but Jungkook had a feeling it had little to do with their safety. It was likely to ensure that nothing went wrong, just as it had eight years ago.

It was hard not to bring it up. Yoongi—his cousin—was tired of hearing it. The whole family was, but that was the reason for everything. It was why they no longer belonged amongst the people. Why families that had been tied together for decades turned their backs. Cast them out. Sent them away.

He doesn't remember much of his homeland. There was sand and ravines. A mostly barren landscape, but he knew it was once his home. Until it was stripped away from them, and they were sent to Erimos. Exiled.

"Enough, gentlemen," Jungkook hears. It pulls him out of his thoughts for long enough to catch the parchment robes brush against his pant leg. His eyes glide over it, but he doesn't stare for long. "Payment will not be necessary. We shall take it from here."

The Proper were... strange. The Capital deemed them warriors. Some of the greatest fighters of their graduating classes, but they had an air to them that didn't feel normal. Like all the other gods, they were immortal beings—having earned it through various trials. Their jobs are simple: maintain the borders, ensure trade, and escort passengers.

Politics weren't their concern. To join The Proper, an oath had to be taken. Sworn to uphold their duties. They also weren't supposed to form opinions.

Well, Jungkook felt a lot of judgment radiating from them now.

Urgent hands tugged the fabric of his hood up again in one harsh, fluid movement. "Stop letting it fall," Yoongi snapped, joining his side.

Bold of his cousin to assume he was letting it, but he doesn't say anything in response. Instead, he lifts his right hand to the cotton-like material, gripping it between two fingers to hold it still, even as the sea breeze rakes through it. The same sort of cloth wraps around his face—masking his mouth and nose. All that's truly visible is his eyes.

They'd been tasked to cover up as best as possible throughout the journey. An attempt to keep their identities a secret. Not that it mattered. Once they reached Asmana, no amount of clothing could keep who they were from reaching the crowds. The gods would talk. Rumors would spread.

Yoongi was adamant on following their rules—playing it safe—but what did they have to lose anymore? When they had already lost it all?

"It looks different," he mutters, muffled behind the cloth.

The land somehow looks more vibrant than he recalls. Blades of evergreen grass sway delicately in the wind. Yellow flowers dot the landscape. Hills stretch in the distance. The capital is but a speck from this point. A surprising realization considering the size of the mountain that claims the center-most part of the continent.

Beside him, his cousin scoffs. There's no malice in it, though. An empty sound. "Of course it does. We haven't been here since we were ten," Yoongi says.

That's the thing that messes with him the most. The fact that lodges itself in his gut like a powerful punch. Eight years of his life on this continent have been stripped away from him, and he'll never get them back. Jungkook won't get to grow up here. To race in the fields—discover the unknown.

Instead, all he'll remember in the badlands. Erimos. A barren wasteland that offers nothing but blistering heat and dangerous sandstorms.

His steps fall quiet as his eyes scour the surroundings. Jungkook wants to take in every little detail while he can. He wants to remember this moment now—for what it was—in case things don't work out like he plans. In case he ends up right back at the beginning.

Ahead of him, his cousin's steps have also fallen silent. The Proper stretch around them in a giant, spaced-out group. Their movements are quieter, like they glide across the earth instead of stepping into it. Not that he truly pays attention to it. His fist clenches at his side subconsciously, and Jungkook doesn't realize he's doing it until Yoongi gently lifts his wrist.

His attention averts then, casting aside the landscape in an instant. "Tell me what you're thinking," Yoongi demands. A soft attempt.

The words spill from his lips without restraint. Like water. "It's not fair," he argues. Part of him says to let it go. Forget the past. Try to move on, but how can he? How can he forget what happened and how it affected his family? Especially when everyone else gets to live their lives without punishment. Without exile.

Especially when it feels like everyone else has just forgotten them.

To an extent, Jungkook can understand why his parents were cast out, but Yoongi's? All because they're related by blood? All because they're cousins?

"I know," Yoongi whispers, gripping his wrist a little tighter. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get a silent message across; he understands. "It isn't."

There's so much to say, but it isn't stuff he hasn't already conveyed to his cousin before. Yoongi has heard it all—every thought, every rant, every frustration. Spilling his words now will just be another cycle of the same thing. The same ideas. Somehow, despite not saying anything, he still feels like he's being heard.

The grip tightens once more, then falls altogether. "But what are you going to do about it?" Yoongi asks.

To anyone else, it might be a low remark. Something to extinguish the embers. To Jungkook, it's a match to the flame. It ignites something in him, burning deep in his core. Not enough to cause a scene, but enough to hold onto. For now.

He doesn't say anything—doesn't have to.

Yoongi already knows.

*

The Capital, like everything else, is different from what he remembers. Darker, somehow. Like the beige stone is dust-covered. Marble pillars caked with dirt. The sun, however, is just as hot as it was eight years ago. Scorching on his skin. He's used to it now, though.

The foot of the mountain is intimidating, but Jungkook climbs the steps with ease. Forcing the confidence into his muscles. Letting it rest there as he ascends. Until his muscles ache and his legs feel like they're about to cramp up. Still, he pushes himself forward—all the way to the top.

In the center lies the colosseum, and the sight brings back moments of the disaster that struck. He sees it in the back of his mind, coming in quick flashes. The crowd on the stone benches. The rumble of thunderous footsteps. The heat of the battle. Then it shifts into painful silence—and dangerous storms.

Yoongi's shoulder taps against his. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, maybe a second at max, and then he looks away. In his cousin's gaze, he reads the message: keep moving.

It sits in his stomach like lead, though, even as he tries to push the recollection away. Maybe it's better to hold onto it. To dwell on it. At least then, his purpose burns through him. Jungkook can't forget what he came here for if the bitter feelings never leave.

Despite not wanting to, he turns away from the colosseum. His fingers tug on the fabric of his hood, torn with the harsh winds from their journey and dirty from the rain. It shields him for a moment longer—until people start to piece together who they are.

They started off with a big group of escorts. Jungkook counted ten of them. Now they're down to three. Two of them stalk ahead, still gliding against the packed earth of the mountaintop. A few days ago, the curiosity of it nearly wrenched the question from his throat—how do they do that—but now, he's lost all interest. Not that they'd tell him anyway.

His gaze lifts from their parchment robes to see the academy in the distance. It occupies the entire right-side of the capital. A good chunk of the landscape, it seems. Bigger than he thought it would be. The white stone of the buildings stand out, stark against the rest of the surroundings. Almost like they've been well-kept.

By the time they reach the front entrance of the academy, Jungkook can hear hushed whispers drifting in the wind. It turns the air stale and heavy. Like a weight shackling him to the earth. His eyes land on a couple of nearby gods. They aren't people he recognizes. Maybe a couple have hints of features he's seen before, but his mind is fuzzy when it comes to those details.

The rumors spread like a wildfire. It starts slow. A couple of heads turning. Then he hears them begin to question their identity—speculate who it could be. When words regarding The Proper emerge in the conversation, he knows they've pieced it together. Who else would be escorted here? Why else would the gatekeepers be this deep into the capital?

Two of their escorts bid their farewells, but the words are empty. Rehearsed. It leaves one left—the one who approached them as they got off the boat a week ago.

"Follow me," he instructs. As if they hadn't been doing just that.

Nonetheless, the gates of the academy swing open with a giant roar. Not rusty. Not squeaky. Powerful. At this side, his hands fidget with the need to grab something. A weapon, preferably. He brought every single one in his arsenal, stored away from him to withdraw. Jungkook almost does, but he knows Yoongi wouldn't approve.

Instead, the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the necklace dangling against his chest. The feel of the metal—cold despite the weather—is reassuring. Enough to fuel him with another wave of confidence.

His cousin leads the way, marching through the front gates, leaving all the gawking passersby behind. Without sparing a glance. Without giving in to their hushed voices. Jungkook follows Yoongi through the courtyard, stepping over delicately placed bricks and stones, all the way into the giant building looming ahead.

A gentle coolness brushes against his face—still covered by the material of his outfit. He feels it through the fabric. The man who escorts them speaks in low tones to someone behind a desk. Something like shock flashes through their eyes. Not that he was expecting anything else.

The interior of the building is just as white and pristine as the exterior. Well-kept. Maintained. For all the years it has been standing, it looks as if it was built yesterday. Not a single stone out of place. Nothing chipped nor broken. While the colosseum was truly the main sight of Asmana, the academy was far superior. The rankings of the gods were determined by the campus. Who became a god was determined by the campus.

He joins Yoongi's side, brushing his partly-covered knuckles over the back of his cousin's hand. A gesture to say he's here. That they're not alone in this.

"You will need to sign in," their escort instructs, turning to look at both of them. Indifferent, finally. He no longer detects the judgment he did on their first day of travel. "I am to escort you to your dormitories, then I will see myself off."

Jungkook doesn't nod. There's no reason to. His eyes gaze directly into The Proper's. It's enough to convey that he heard—and understood—what they needed to do.

A strange, but welcome, beat of excitement courses through him as he steps forward. Up to the stone counter to gaze down at the sign in papers. The quill falls into his grasp, tip of it ghosting over the parchment. Quick eyes scan the words written there. Consent. Acknowledgment. After this, there is no going back.

He wouldn't want to. After all this time. After all these years. This is the moment he's been waiting for. The day where he returns to the capital—and he's finally here.

The tip of the quill comes down, meeting the parchment. Darkened, slick ink spills from it as the doors open. He's mid-signature when the commotion floods into the entryway. Despite knowing he likely shouldn't, his gaze lifts. Slow. Deliberate. Silence descends. Thick and heavy. Restless.

Directly across the room from him stands Kim Taehyung, stunned. Dumbfounded.

There isn't much Jungkook remembers from eight years ago—aside from the event that landed his family in exile. His brother, banished. His mother, imprisoned. But he does remember Taehyung. A much younger, brighter version of the man who stands across from him now.

He takes a steady, deep inhale, reminding himself that they belong here. In the capital. Regardless of what happened all those years ago. Regardless of what everyone else thinks. He belongs here.

The excitement pulses stronger now. Genuine. Almost as powerful as bloodlust. Still, he finishes his signature, gently dropping the quill to the parchment, lips curving upwards in a ruthless grin beneath his mask.

He has one year.

And Jungkook vows to prove them wrong.

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Not beta read

Long awaited, I know<3 apologies

I purple you<3

~Pisan.