Medeia was so close, but the storm made it seem like it was realms away. Jin clutched the ends of his cloak, but the snow swirling around him yanked it from his grasp, sending it billowing in the winds. Dull, fuzzy light flickered in the distance, and the ice surrounding him blunted his hearing. He couldn't even tell where everyone else was. All he could rely on was himself.

When the first glimpses of Medeia cleared, lanterns hanging high on the wooden posts of the great wall came into view, swaying and chinking as they scraped the nails holding them in place. The gate was sealed, and even the gales of the storm did not make them budge.

Someone, who Jin later discovered was Jimin, pounded on the gate and screamed, "Anyone there!? We need shelter! Anyone in the towers!?" Only the storm responded with a burst of power that finally sent Jin's cloak flying. He, along with a few other voices, cursed. Jimin's pounding grew more frantic, more desperate. "Gatekeeper, open the gate! I command you to open this gate!"

Jin couldn't see, but he assumed sentries were watching them from their towers. He could feel the sharp stare of their gaze tracing his frozen skin, sending the faintest shivers through his blood. When Jimin's futile pounding resulted in nothing, Jin joined him and began smacking his palm against the gate. If the gatekeeper didn't want to grant them access, he would annoy them to their death.

Soon, everyone else got the hint and began beating the gate. They shouted at the sentries and demanded entry, only pausing when the winds became too strong and made them grab onto the wooden posts. When their fists were raw with blood and their arms leaden, a small metal slit in the gate popped open, and a pair of yellow eyes glared at them from behind.

"Great Lord Caeluros! What is the meaning of this?" a shrill voice cried. "The gate opens at dawn. It is the law. Leave, outlanders, before we shoot you down."

Digging his nails into the gate, Jimin matched eyes with the gatekeeper and said, "Open the gate. Now."

A scoff. The metal slit closed. The air around Jimin dropped impossibly lower than the frigid cold. He smacked his hand against the gate again. This time, a blast of ice sculpted itself onto the wood, looking like splashing water and stretching from Jimin's hand to the top of the gate twenty feet above. Even amid the storm, Jin heard a shout and the bark of orders and could feel the points of the arrows aimed at them before the metal slit opened once more.

"Impertinent fool!" the gatekeeper screamed. "How dare you threaten the town of Medeis! How dare you—"

With a curl of Jimin's fist, the ice shattered, and the gatekeeper fell silent. "Open the gate," Jimin said.

Those yellow eyes narrowed. "Return at dawn. We don't grant access to miscreants like you."

"There is a storm," Jin shouted over the raging winds. "We will die, Sir. We beg you to open the gate."

The gatekeeper regarded Jin thoughtfully but still replied, "No. We follow the laws of Lord Barion, and we folk don't have the coin to pay the fine." There was a slight pause, a shift. "But if you could offer payment, we may reconsider." Jin could feel the smirk radiating off him. Disgusting. He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and showed it to the gatekeeper, who chuckled. "That will not do, outlander. If you demand illegal entry, we demand gold."

Jimin opened his mouth, but Taehyung pushed to the front and raised a pouch that clinked with every movement. "We have gold."

Jin raised a brow because they certainly did not have gold. Nevertheless, a larger metal door opened, and a hand poked out, gesturing for Taehyung to hand over the pouch. Once Taehyung dropped it onto the hand, it retreated behind the gate. While the coins clattered as the gatekeeper counted them, Jin glanced at Taehyung. Up close, he looked haggard with shadows bagging his eyes, almost like a dead man walking. If Jin saw a reflection of himself, he wouldn't be shocked to learn he looked the same.

When Taehyung noticed Jin staring, he slightly blushed. Leaning in closer, he whispered, "I brought it through Anairum. I used to hide them from my brother when we were younger."

"How many more do you have?"

Taehyung grimaced. "Not enough. Two—perhaps three—but they are substantially smaller than the one I just had. And the coins are fake."

Jin bristled and subconsciously glanced at the shrouded towers. "Will the gatekeeper notice?"

Another onslaught of harsh winds hit them, so they braced against the gate. When it passed, Taehyung huffed and replied, "Hopefully not."

After what felt like an eternity, the clinks of coins stopped, and steps rushed up what sounded like wooden stairs. Jin could hear muffled shouts for the sentries to hurry. As he and Taehyung exchanged a look, a voice overhead hollered, "By Lord Caeluros, lower your bows and open the gates. Open the gates, I say!"

Discrete metal ticked and creaked as the right gate slightly opened, just enough for them to fit through, and the gatekeeper's hand motioned for them to enter. Hesitantly, Jimin squeezed through the gap first, and everyone followed him.

Through the gate, Jin found himself on an avenue that spiraled towards the towering buildings shining in the night. The storm was silent, and the weather was peaceful inside the town borders.

The gatekeeper smiled as he threw and caught his pouch of coins. "Lord Barion protects us from the whims of the Gods. And tonight, he protects you. Be grateful for our cooperation, outlanders, and enjoy Medeia in all its beauty."

"I hope word of our entry does not reach Lord Barion," Jimin said, about to cross his arms but stopping midway with a flinch. He lowered them to his side. "We wouldn't want trouble, and neither would you."

"Whose entrance? I have never seen nor heard of such a thing." The gatekeeper grinned. "I won't tell anybody. You have my honor." After that, he trotted back up the gate without another word, snickering, holding his pouch of gold close to his chest, his voice receding with distance. "We struck rich, boys! Those half-witted outlanders must—"

The howl of the winter breeze cut him off, but that didn't stop Jin from scowling. He turned to Jimin and asked, "Are all Umbrans in Medeia ill-mannered?"

Jimin was quiet, staring at the staircase the gatekeeper had climbed. "I cannot say."

"Ill-mannered or not, we have survived," Namjoon said, wrapping his torn cloak tighter around himself. He turned to Taehyung. "We must find an inn. Do you have any more gold?"

Surveying the area, Taehyung sliced the air with his hand and reached into a dark purple tear he had created. A moment later, he pulled another pouch, albeit smaller, out of the fading tear. "The coins are fake, but we can make do with what we have. If fortunate, we may have enough for a night at an inn."

Jimin shook his head. "If we are paying, we will pay fairly, with or without gold. Besides, based on how we look, the innkeepers will inflate prices. It is already a risk to accept the rowdy townsfolk during season's end. In their eyes, outlanders, or even peasants, pose greater risks."

From the back of the group, Two sneezed and wiped her nose with the back of her trembling hand. "As I said before, I am an assassin. Gold is no problem."

"I refuse to deceive my people," Jimin said with a tinge of displeasure as he narrowed his eyes and curled his lips. The town lights gleamed on the right half of his face but left the other veiled in shadow. "Do not assume we agree with your ways because we have yet to leave you behind. We are nothing like—"

Two pushed past Jimin and motioned for everyone to follow. "Do not take umbrage at my existence yet, Prince Jimin. Speak of how much you despise assassins later. We do not have shelter, and finding an inn that will accept the eight of us will take time." She pointed towards the main road spiraling around a great hill, weaving between countless buildings shining with increasing intensity. Shorter routes broke into lean alleyways on the sides as tributaries would to a river. People still wandered the streets—some drunken men vomiting behind a tavern, others attentive guards wrinkling their noses at their posts. Two sneezed again before walking away. "And you do not want to deceive your people, you say? Then was the gatekeeper not one of your people?" Before Jimin could respond, Two continued. "You have all the time to spout your nonsense later. Focus on the task at hand."

Patting Jimin's back reassuringly, Jin followed Two with a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Everyone else joined shortly, though reluctantly. They searched for inns and avoided taverns—Two had explained Darius and Meskit were more likely to attend them—and were turned away every time. Most innkeepers were friendly enough to say their rooms were full. Some outright said they didn't offer lodgings to beggars. And a few ushered them out with a walloping broom.

"And don't come back!" the old lady screamed from the front of her inn, waving her menacing broom with more force. "May plague find you! Curse you and your families!" With a huff, she slammed the wooden door shut, shaking the entire inn and causing a pile of snow to fall from the roof. Simultaneously, all the inn's lights went black.

Jin was panting, resting his hands on his knees, beaten and tired from running from inn to inn only to face rejection after rejection. It was like those days in Vita when he had searched for a master to teach him archery but worse since he looked like a beggar, not a prince. Wiping the sweat from his brows, Jin regarded Two with a sideways glance and said, "I thought you said gold wasn't a problem."

Two collapsed and sat crossed-legged, trying to catch her breath. "It was never a problem in Lux." She cast her eyes Jimin's way. "I am astounded to see the Umbrans are fiercer than Luxian merchants."

"Anyone would be fiercer when a group of outlanders asks for accommodation after paying with a pouch of fake coins," Jimin retorted, rubbing the cheek the old innkeeper slapped moments before. "Instead of deceiving my people, perhaps we should tell them the truth."

Two scoffed. "And hope they have the heart to let us in with no charge? You have too much faith in humanity. The only way that would happen is if you reveal your identity."

"Many inns in Tenebris are known for free accommodations for the less fortunate," Taehyung said, playing with his pouch of coins. "There must be one innkeeper here willing to do the same."

"We cannot hold faith with people we cannot control," Namjoon said, wiping a thin line of blood from his nose. "Two, why don't you take us to your consultant. . . Nero Daryxias? At the council of war, you claimed he owned an underground pub. He can provide shelter."

"I can't just waltz into his pub with seven princes on my tail. Nero will recognize one of you for all I know, and all hell will break loose."

Knitting his brows, Jimin asked, "Then what is the point of having you as a guide if your services are worthless?"

"To keep you alive, not throw you into the hands of death. Everything would be easier if you wouldn't be so damn stubborn."

Two, Namjoon, and Jimin began arguing head to head while Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok tried to hold them back. Yoongi laid himself on the ground, indifferent to everything around him. Distancing himself from the quarreling, Jin craned his neck to the dark sky, where the thick clouds and the murky barrier protecting Medeia from the snowstorm obscured the stars. In his pocket, he fiddled with a cracked arrowhead, and as a mantle of drowsiness fogged his mind, he recollected his hunt for an archery master.

Back then, Cardien deterred everyone from accepting Jin as a pupil until, whether from pity or lack of fear, General Ellyra had forced one of her captains to teach him.

"You utilize too much anger," Ellyra had said during one of her observations at the training grounds. She frowned at Jin, who had just missed his mark because the blood on his fingers made them slip. "When you draw your bowstring, you should ask yourself why you are aiming. An arrow is aimless without purpose."

When Jin had missed his mark again, he growled and snatched another arrow off the table beside him. He pulled his bowstring back, but it snapped in his face, slicing his cheek. Red had blinded him, but because Ellyra was watching, he calmed himself.

"Why is there a need for purpose?" he had asked, busying himself with retrieving another bow from the weapon rack. "Will purpose make my arrow aim true? Will purpose make me a better archer?"

"Purpose will guide you."

Jin spat. "Purpose is a false motivator for those who cannot give results." Nocking another arrow, he pulled the bowstring back and let it loose. The metal tip cut through the air, twirling so fast it was invisible to the naked eye before finally sinking into the bull's eye. Jin clenched his teeth and faced Ellyra. "You don't need purpose. All you need is to be skilled at what you are doing."

Ellyra had chuckled. "Skill or luck?"

A drunkard bursting out the swaying doors of a tavern across the street wrenched Jin from his reverie. While the drunkard doubled over to retch, a series of cheers and laughs sounded from within the establishment as two other men dragged the drunkard back inside.

"An arrow is aimless without purpose," Jin mused, humming. He watched beggars in tattered rags along the streets carrying metal cups, requesting passersby for coins. One man tossed a coin to a beggar, and watching the falling silver glint in the moonlight, Jin thought of an idea. Whirling around, he snapped his fingers in excitement and walked over to Yoongi, who still lay flat on the ground like a dead rock. Jin leaned over him and studied his face, warranting a puzzled glare.

"What are you looking at?" Yoongi asked, rubbing the bags under his eyes as if he could erase them. After a moment, a shadow of fear passed his face, and he shot up. "Is there something on my face? My eyes—"

"You look too old," Jin said, turning away from a bewildered Yoongi. As he walked over to the others still at each other's throats, he clapped his hands to gain their attention. However, they ignored him, so he tore them away from the fray one by one. "Enough fighting. Jimin, let go of Two's cloak. You, too, Namjoon. And Two, put that dagger away. How unsightly. I have a plan, so stop fighting like children and stand in a line."

"Stand in a line!?" Jimin exclaimed, his hair a matted mess, as he shook Taehyung's hand off his shoulder. "You must be out of your mind. You first forced me to"—he paused as if for lack of a better word—"collude with this assassin who betrays the very ideals of my kingdom, and now you demand me to stand in a line? I will not tolerate another one of your tricks—"

"Yes, yes," Jin said, shoving Jimin into the makeshift line forming. "We are all tired. We all disagree. It will all be better if we stand in a line."

Watching Jin manhandle a flailing Jimin into the line, Namjoon raised a brow. "What are you planning, Jin? We spent hours mindlessly following Two and visiting inn after inn. We will no longer stand for more fruitless action."

"It will only be fruitless if you don't join the line," Jin replied, motioning for Namjoon to stand at the front. Shaking his head, Namjoon begrudgingly complied. Once everyone was in place, Jin dragged Yoongi to his feet and placed him at the end. Then, he stared at them.

"What are you doing?" Two asked through gritted teeth. She tapped her feet and restlessly picked at the skin on her nails. "Has the cold devoured your common sense?"

"It has probably devoured all of ours." Squinting his eyes at Namjoon, who recoiled, Jin said, "Too large." That garnered a baffled glower, but Namjoon kept his mouth shut. Jin passed Hoseok, Two, and Taehyung with similar remarks before stopping in front of Jimin. "You have silver hair," Jin noted. "You look like an Umbran."

Jimin slowly nodded as if facing a deranged person but did not want them to panic. "I am Umbran. Your point?"

Jin abruptly grabbed Jimin's hand and uncovered the manacle around his wrist. "This is perfect," he whispered before Jimin tugged his arm away. Without explanation, Jin began pacing and stomping his feet around the area, looking for soft soil. A few exchanged concerned looks as Jin said, "I was contemplating what was wrong with our approach to finding an inn and remembered a lesson about purpose. That was when I realized we needed a better purpose for the innkeepers to grant us accommodation because we clearly lack the skills necessary to evoke sympathy." After slamming the sole of his boot into a pile of mud, he gathered a surprisingly warm chunk and rubbed it all over his palms. When he turned around, he met faces marked with disgust. "I believe I have found the solution."

"And what may that solution be," Jimin asked, cowering, taking a step back.

Jin smiled. "This."

Without warning, he rubbed the mud over Jimin's cheeks and hair, and Jimin howled as if Jin had burned him. Once Jimin was stained with brown splotches, Jin released him and shook the mud off his hands. In the corner of his eye, he caught a pair of guards staring at him suspiciously.

"All is well," Jin said as the guards approached.

"Have you gone mad!?" Jimin screamed, stumbling and landing on his rear. Spitting out a chunk of mud, he gagged. "You covered me in horse shit!"

Jin paused. "Oh." Sniffing his hands, he choked on the putrid stench that burned his nostrils. "That is repulsive," he said as he wiped his right hand on Namjoon's cloak, then his left on Two's. Cursing, Namjoon slapped Jin's hand away and retreated, while Two just glared daggers at him. The entire display seemed enough to intimidate the guards. Again, Jin raised his shit-covered hands and smiled. "All is well."

The guards darted the other way.

Dropping his foolish front, Jin cleaned what he could of the mud on a wooden post of a closed stall. He ignored Jimin's complaints and plucked the pouch of coins from Taehyung, who readily handed it over. Tossing it at Jimin's feet, he said, "Go to an inn like that and beg for a room." Everyone fell silent. The faint lights of the buildings spread over the cobblestone streets, looming like bright shadows gleaming on one or two wanderers who sent them awkward glances. When Jimin did not move to comply, Jin added, "Try to invoke sympathy with your performance. It will raise the chances of your success."

Jimin scowled. "You want me to deceive my people while covered in horse shit?"

"No, I want you to dance like a monkey and beg for alms," Jin said sarcastically. "Of course, I want you to deceive an innkeeper. Now get up and go to work. We don't have all night."

"I refuse to stoop so low as to embarrass myself—"

"Oh, embarrass yourself? Please, you are not the madman who dipped his hands in horse shit. Humiliation is the least of your concern." As Jimin pointedly glared at Jin and choked out a weary scoff, Jin studied the others once more and moved to stand before Jungkook. He pretended not to notice Two's raised brow. "You are young, too."

Jungkook trembled. "Are you going to cover me with manure?"

"No, no," Jin said, chuckling. "You look pitiful enough without it. Go with Jimin and beg an innkeeper for a room. And remember to squeeze out a tear or two. The performance will help."

Jin clapped Jungkook's shoulder, and Jungkook flinched. Shrugging away, he said, "I am not confident I can cry on command."

"Then you must learn on your way to that inn over there," Jin said, smiling and beckoning for them to be on their merry way. Before Jungkook left, Jin forced him to hand over the sword hanging on his belt. "It will only get in your way," Jin explained, pushing Jungkook towards Jimin.

With a curt grumble, Jimin snatched the pouch of coins from the ground and dragged Jungkook behind him, muttering under his breath. Once they stood before the inn, Jungkook glanced back with frightened eyes before Jimin pushed the doors open and pulled him along.

"Now, what do we do?" Two asked, tapping her foot, chewing on her bottom lip. Most likely unconsciously, but Jin didn't look too deep into it.

"We wait," he said, sitting and crossing his legs. "We wait, and we wait, and we wait."

* * *

This innkeeper was scarier than the last, and she didn't even have a broom.

Jungkook glanced around the quaint parlor, trying to ignore the sear of the innkeeper's gaze. Even though she braced her elbows on the front desk, she towered over him and Jimin, the ebony strands of her long hair falling at her sides like a veil, stressing the glare in her eyes.

Jimin didn't look deterred, standing with his back straight despite reeking of manure. He opened the pouch of coins and emptied it on the wooden countertop. Under the torchlight, the fake gold glittered like magnificent stars, bright with a deceitful luster.

"How many rooms can this afford?" Jimin asked.

Taking a coin between two fingers, the innkeeper hummed noncommittally. "You two stumble in here, looking all ragged and stinking of shit, yet you bring a pouch filled with wonder." She placed the coin between her teeth and bit—hard. A hum. "This doesn't taste like gold. It tastes like a lie. Perhaps if you, pretty boys, head to the brothel further down, they will offer you accommodation for a night's worth of work."

Jimin wrinkled his nose. If Jungkook wasn't mistaken, his eyes had flashed white, but Jimin quickly steeled himself—perhaps remembering his stubborn duty to his people—and calmly said, "I asked how many rooms the gold can afford here, not a brothel."

The innkeeper clicked her tongue and curled her lips as if contemplating. "None. I don't take chances with peasants." She pointed at the manacles around Jimin's wrist before grinning. "But I think you can pay in another way. You, young men, look strong, and my inn looks terribly kempt. No one comes here, even during this time of year. If you can clean the parlor and all the chambers, I will offer you accommodation." She paused before adding, "And free access to the baths. You look like you need it."

Jungkook took in the parlor again—the specks of dust covering every table, the looming shadows stretching below the wooden columns, the pops of cinder from the dying hearth surrounded in an encasing of cracked stone—before locking his eyes on the dark corridor leading to the rooms. The past collided with the present. A demon. Miasma. Run, his conscience screamed. Run, run, run—

He shook his head to free himself of his delusions. He was tired—that was all. The demon wasn't here; he was safe, but his heart wouldn't stop its thunderous pace because it knew if they failed to get a room, it was his fault for bringing everyone here. His and his fault alone. Thumbing his pendant, he gulped. "How many chambers are there to clean?"

"About twenty, but I'll let you pass with ten." Cocking her head, the innkeeper nudged her chin at the door. "Unless you have more friends waiting for you outside. I know how you people work."

Jimin exchanged a stern look with Jungkook before scooping the coins into the pouch. His movements were stiff to hide his manacles as if that would erase all suspicion. "We need to discuss this proposal privately before we accept your offer."

"No discussing. Accept it here, or the offer is off."

With a wry smile, Jimin closed the pouch tightly. "At least let us discuss with our friends outside."

"So you do have friends," the innkeeper said, amused. "How many? Two more? Three?"

"You will see once we discuss your offer with them."

The innkeeper grumbled and slumped against the counter like a calculating ragged doll loose on its strings. The puppeteer, the master. The master, the innkeeper. "I give you a generous offer, one no one else in Medeia would dare give, and you still think you have the choice to negotiate? Forget it. The offer is off. Go back to your friends empty-handed."

Apprehension curled its fist around Jungkook's heart, chilling, unrelenting. He could feel the draft of wind licking his skin already, the inevitable frowns and sighs at another failure. If he could put on a show as Jin had instructed, cry, beg, fall to his knees—

The moment you fall, your kingdom falls.

Why was he remembering that now? His pendant simmered in his palm, and in his peripheral vision, there was a shadow as tall and sturdy as a mountain, turning away, getting smaller, smaller, smaller.

You are nothing but a nuisance.

"Jungkook?"

Jimin stared at him with concern, a hesitant hand over Jungkook's shoulder. Suddenly, Jungkook felt the urge to hide his pendant, turn to the shadow and chase it, bring it back. But he clamped down on his instinct, and before Jimin could open his mouth, Jungkook turned to the innkeeper and said, "We'll take your offer. We'll even clean all the rooms if need be."

Catching Jungkook's eyes, the innkeeper smiled and quickly extended a hand. "I love that spirit, boy."

Jimin stared at Jungkook with eyes wide enough to pop out, but still, Jungkook grabbed the hand and shook it. The shadow vanished, his pendant cooled, and the apprehension enveloping him eased. The contract was sealed.

"Good," the innkeeper said. "Well, what are you waiting for? Bring your friends in, and get to work. The night is not eternal."

Grabbing Jungkook by the arm, Jimin hauled him towards the door and sent a few wary looks the innkeeper's way before whispering through clenched teeth, "Why didn't you haggle? Can't you see she needed labor as much as we needed accommodation?"

His head was buzzing. Jungkook couldn't tell Jimin what he had felt, embarrassed to share his weakness. "She was about to call the offer off."

"She wouldn't have done that. Now we have to clean all the rooms." White blurred blue irises. "Why did you say we would clean all the rooms?"

"I thought it would make her happy."

Groaning, Jimin was about to run a hand through his hair before he stopped short, opting to shake his head instead. "Well, everyone outside is about to be pissed."

"At least we have a place to rest," Jungkook argued, a slight blush on his cheeks.

Jimin let out a scoff that sounded like a high-pitched squeak. "Rest!? How will we rest when we must clean a parlor and twenty rooms?"

Jungkook had not considered that. More heat flooded his cheeks as he lowered his head in shame and did not lift it, even when the night breeze chilled his skin, even as he faced the others and told them the news, even when he heard the mixed reactions of groans and whispers of at least we have shelter, even as they cleaned with nothing but basins filled with water and rough cloth, even as the innkeeper yelled words of encouragement throughout their toils.

As Jimin had said, they did not sleep. When Jungkook had finished cleaning his last room, the sun was already rising, beams gleaming through the windows like a unicolor rainbow. Sweat drenched him, and his clothes stuck to him like an uncomfortable hug. Dragging the water basin, he was careful not to spill any water on the now-clean floors as he made his way down to the parlor. The innkeeper stood at the front desk, a delighted smile on her well-rested face. She pointed at a singular pair of neatly folded clothes on one of the wooden tables Namjoon had fixed hours prior.

"Take that and go to the baths. It is a gift for your services," the innkeeper said. "Your friends are probably asleep by now. They didn't try to clean every speck of filth as you did."

"Thank you," Jungkook said, wincing at his sore arms. He took the clothes and hesitated in the corridor.

"Take a left," the innkeeper said with a knowing grin. "It's the last door in the hall."

Expressing his thanks with a curt nod, Jungkook ambled over to the baths, his every step sharpening the pain stabbing his muscles like a raging fire. After walking through a snowstorm and cleaning an entire inn, he wanted to collapse, but he remained strong and clutched his fresh clothes. After a bath, he promised himself. Then, I can sleep.

When he opened the door to the baths, a wave of steam hit his face. Water droplets prickled on his skin as he shed his clothes and finally submerged himself in the awaiting warm water. The heat soothed his limbs and gave him enough energy to scrub the grime on his skin thoroughly away with a bathing cloth. He even shined his pendant still hanging around his neck.

Candles lit the dark room, and dead flower petals floated around him, bumping into his arms as they rode the waves he created with every movement. It was a far cry from the roses or lavender he remembered in his baths at Lux, but it would have to suffice.

Despite the steam, Jungkook could see his reflection in the water. He was gaunt, and his cheekbones were sharper than usual. The brown of his eyes had dimmed into a listless gray, and his shaggy mane of hair could pass as a lion's. When a droplet of water fell from the tip of his nose and caused ripples to blear his reflection, he frowned. Dipping his head underwater and resurfacing, he shook like a wet dog. He ran rough fingers through the strands of his hair, finding solace in the soft thuds of his pendant against his chest.

"Watch where you spray that water. It's splashing on me."

Startled, Jungkook screamed, and the sound echoed before he covered his mouth with both hands. Through the misty steam, on the opposite end of the bath, Jin was leaning back with a wet cloth covering his eyes, his arms draped over the edge. Flushing, Jungkook took his bathing cloth and covered himself underwater.

As if Jin could tell what Jungkook had just done, he chuckled and raised enough of the cloth to uncover one eye. "Don't worry. I'm not interested."

Jungkook cleared his throat and searched the area. "Is there anyone else? The innkeeper said everyone was asleep."

"Just you and me. Everyone else is in a room, dreaming sweet dreams. I was, too, until you woke me. But I don't mind your intrusion. My dream wasn't exactly pleasant."

An awkward silence passed, but Jin seemed content to let it continue. Jungkook was not. After another moment of fidgeting, he asked, "What did you dream about?"

"I don't quite remember. Something with home, my family, shooting arrows." Jin hummed. "Yes, it was the day we went hunting in the Navaera Forest. When I was young, younger than you, I believe. Have you ever hunted?"

"No."

"Then how do you Luxians spend leisure with family?"

Jungkook didn't have any memories of him with his parents. Not really. Most of them were worn over time, eroded into bits and pieces, scorched like burnt fabric, shrouded in the recesses of his hazy memory. But then, like a jolt of lightning, the smell of the Captus Sea flared in his nostrils. He remembered running along the shore, the sand encompassing his feet, laughter and squeals dancing in the air to a silent tune.

"I ran along the shoreline of the eastern oceans."

"Didn't take the kingdom without a naval fleet as sailors."

"We didn't sail." Jungkook recalled the horizon, the reds, oranges, and yellows coalescing like a magnificent oil painting. "We didn't need to. We could see the entire ocean from where we stood, the blue stretching forever in the distance. It was beautiful. So beautiful that I don't have the words to describe it."

"Sounds like a happy memory."

Jungkook frowned. The ocean turned red, and the sky wept blood tears. Laughter and squeals morphed into screams and sobs, and the scent of salt turned into bitter rust. His pendant burned. "No, it's not a happy memory. Not anymore."

Jin fell silent. "How so?" he asked at long last, caution thick in his voice.

Jungkook didn't have to answer, didn't want to, but the weariness clouding his brain and the comfort the warm water brought pushed him to say, "Someone ruined it completely. It's more like a nightmare now."

Jin sighed, removing the cloth and catching Jungkook's gaze. Jungkook couldn't tell whether Jin's eyes were red or the steam was playing tricks on him. "We're the same, you and I. We have cherished memories destroyed by a single person. I know how that feels. Frustrating. Dreadful. You start thinking if you rewrite the memory without that person in it, you can remove them, erase them as if they were never there. But then reality comes crashing down, and your efforts go to waste because that person returns and says, 'I am here. I am here, and you will never get rid of me.' It's almost like a living hell—having your paradise shattered."

Jungkook didn't know how to respond, so he just wrung the bathing cloth even though it was underwater. Licking his lips, he tried to think of a way to change the topic when Jin suddenly asked, "Did your family love you?"

Jungkook pursed his lips. "Yes. Although I don't remember my mother, I know she died protecting me. As for my father. . ." He trailed off, recalling his childhood, his abandonment. "He loved me in his own way."

His pendant glinted green, a reminder, a nuisance, a taunt. I am here. I am here. I dare you to get rid of me. Jungkook bit back a noise of irritation and ignored the memories of Uncle Aegus floating at the back of his mind. That man was not family.

When Jin didn't answer in turn, Jungkook asked, "How about yours?"

A dark glint of amusement passed Jin's eyes. "No. They hated me and still hate me. I guess we're not that similar, after all."

Chills ran under Jungkook's skin, and he felt cold even though the water was still warm. "Why do they hate you?"

Jin smiled, his face a blank slate, but his bright eyes wrought with masked pain. "Because I was the first-born, the heir to the throne, but I was not an elemental."

Jungkook had heard of the laws of Vita. The strict bias against humans, especially those in the royal bloodline. Not knowing what else to say, he lamely whispered, "I am sorry."

"Don't be," Jin said, abruptly standing and grabbing a drying cloth from a basket on the other end of the room. Jungkook looked away. "I apologize for even bringing it up. Excuse me if I made you uncomfortable. You have probably experienced worse under King Aethyrias."

After drying and wearing a fresh pair of clothes identical to the one Jungkook had received, Jin left without another word. For a long while, Jungkook revisited the conversation, wondering why he felt uneasy, as if he had said something wrong. And even when he retired to his room and laid on his bed, he couldn't help but ponder that melancholic gaze in the eyes of he who always laughed.