#anyway such a funny summation of her character... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

Darkmist (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash as part of the Deadly Intentions collaboration with @underthejoon @lamourche @floralseokjin @prolixitae @btssmutgalore and @taetaetrashhh

Creative Contributor: @taetaetrashhh for organizing the collab and this wonderful moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader (third person)

Genre: Hellhound!Yoongi / Magical!Reader / High Fantasy

Word Count: 30,868

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for mature themes and sexual content. Character death depicted (not main). Violence depicted in both fight scenes and flashbacks. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Y/N has always known she was different. A ward in a city where all know their name. A girl apprenticed to a blacksmith. And a shadow-singer – a magical being who controls the night and sees all within. Even those who would prefer not to be seen.

A/N: There is some Welsh mythology referenced to within the fic, but it is by no means canon. [ CROSS-POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE ]

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll’s only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N’s eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town’s blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man’s field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.

When she enters, Mervin looks up. “Morning,” he greets, smiling faintly.

Y/N nods, glancing at Rian. “Morning,” she says, smiling back.

Rian waves a spatula, then continues to stir. “Should I add sage?” She cranes her neck to look at them both. “Or would that be too savory?”

“Never.” Mervin drops a wink at Y/N. “Hard to imagine your cooking could take a wrong turn.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” protests Mervin.

Rian gives him a look. “And lies will send you to the wrong part of Annwn.”

Annwn – or, the Otherworld. It is the duty of all in their town, their province, their world to live a full, productive life and pass on in peace. The summation of decisions a person makes in their life will determine where one goes in the next – when they arrive in Annwn.

Mervin chuckles and returns to his ledger. “Why ask my opinion at all? Add salt instead.”

Rian nods, already reaching out for the canister. Y/N smiles, gripping her cloak tighter as she moves towards the door. The tavern is already busy – she can hear guests through the door, chatting and laughing. Y/N has no desire to see them this morning though, so she purposefully leaves out the back door.

When Y/N was twelve, she was already at work in the evenings. She helped when she could, clearing dishes from tables and washing them inside the kitchen. It was not unusual for those her age to work, but most had jobs which did not involve the town drinking.

People say many things when they are drunk; things they otherwise would not say to one’s face. One night in particular stands out in Y/N’s memory – the night she learned what the town thought of her situation. Or, most of them, anyways.

The town drunk – Trevor – brought this to her attention. To be fair, he did not know she was standing there. Did not bother to look over his shoulder and check if she could hear; he merely guffawed at a joke and barreled on with his story.

“Poor Mervin didn’t know what to do with himself, eh?” he roared, slamming beer down on the table.

Y/N flinched when ale flew over the top. She would be the one cleaning it up later.

“It was a late October morning – misty as Annwn, mind you! Mervin goes out early-like.” Trevor leaned in, cheeks ruddy with ale. “He goes to set out the milk bottles and there – on the doorstep! – was a baby. A baby!” he said to uproarious laughter. “Imagine, Mervin with his spectacles an’ whatnot, finding a child!”

Y/N did not see what was so funny about the matter.

She was twelve at the time, not stupid. She saw how the other villagers treated her, how they treated her family. Y/N knew they were different. Most of the men in Tywll were loud, boisterous creatures who frequented their inn – or, they frequented their tavern, at least. From what Y/N could see, they spoke much, complained often and solved very little.

Whereas, Mervin was magic. Not true magic – not the magic which makes villagers light pitchforks, chase down demons and witches at night. No, Mervin was magic in that he could change things. Armed with books and his numbers – admittedly, these seemed like magic to most – he created wealth for the town in the oddest of ways.

This made people regard him warily though, which Y/N did not understand.

On the night in question, Trevor was in an uproar. “Rian did the convincing,” he said, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Mervin took ‘er in, wanted to find a home but Rian put her foot down. Said it would stay with them.”

Hearing this information, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that true?” she asked, over the din of the crowd.

Before that night, Y/N had always thought Rian did not like her much. Y/N mistook her gruffness for anger, when in reality Rian was simply not prone to fits of emotion. She did not love magic or fairytales, but she did love Y/N.

Trevor’s back stiffened, hearing her voice. The rest of his table saw Y/N standing there and were suitably embarrassed by the turn of events – except for Trevor himself, who slowly turned in his seat.

“Go on,” he insisted, gaze clouded with drink. “Out with you, now! This place isn’t fit for a child.”

Y/N’s lower lip trembled and she turned around to flee, moving as fast as her legs would allow. It was Rian who found her later on in the pantry; she was the one who knew all her hiding spots. She did not say a word about the incident but gave Y/N a warm cup of tea and for the next month, Trevor was banned from the inn.

When he could return, Rian warned Y/N not to listen to nonsense. This was something Rian said often, and something she said even more to Y/N. Do not listen to nonsense, do not believe in fairytales. Do not search for saviors, magic, or destiny. Do not place faith in the books by her bed, since faith belongs to the gods alone.

Y/N would nod and pretend she understood – until Mervin would sneak in at bedtime to read another story. Their lives worked in this manner. Their family worked in this way, happy in the most unconventional of ways.

Waving at them, Y/N slips out the door. As it falls shut behind her, she looks up at the sky.

The first rays of dawn are slipping over the horizon – not enough to banish the mist, but enough for her to see by. Setting off down the lane, Y/N hums to herself. Tywll is a small town, tiny enough that there is only one road. Still, travelers come often from all parts of the province – it fuels their economy and makes them rarely want for anything.

Y/N’s shadow is cast as she walks, scrunching and stretching over muddied dips in the road. It rained all last night, making Y/N’s feet sink as she walks. Unfortunate, since she has only one pair of work boots.

It took Y/N a month to convince Owen to be his apprentice. It took longer to raise the necessary money for a leather apron and boots. Y/N is rather old to still be an apprentice; nearly twenty and still, she is in her fifth year. At least she is close to finishing, though. Y/N is a fast learner and, given a few more months, she hopes to be able to produce a piece to Owen’s satisfaction.

Luckily, Owen is not one of the many in town who refuse Y/N due to her gender. The main reason he balked was due to the cost of having an apprentice. The effort of slowing down to teach is enormous – although Y/N hopes she has more than made up for this cost over the years.

Ducking her head, Y/N continues on down the lane. She is lucky to have so many sources of happiness. Mervin and Rian care for her as their own. Owen, a blacksmith, is willing to teach her his craft. Truly, it is more than any one woman can hope for – which is why Y/N feels guilty to admit she is lonely.

Outside of the aforementioned people, not many in Tywll enjoy Y/N’s presence. Oh, they tolerate her. Most of them purchase her wares as a blacksmith, accept her ale in the tavern, but Y/N has always been considered an outsider.

She was not born here and so, will never belong.

Of the few who are kind, the only one nearing her age is Gwen – Owen’s daughter. He is a single father, if a doting one and Y/N has never cared to ask for the details. Anytime Gwen’s mother is mentioned, Gwen hastily interrupts with her skilled art of small talk.

Nearing a bend in the road, Y/N adjusts her cloak to glance over her shoulder. The mist in this part is thicker than normal, never fully dissipating even when the sun is high overhead. Tearing her gaze from the shadows, she looks ahead – and freezes.

A pair of red, glowing eyes stare back from the darkness.

There is no one else in the square.

Or, this is what Y/N thought when she entered – the pair of glowing, red eyes seems in direct contradiction to this. Darkness writhes around them, attempting to solidify but before this can happen, Y/N spins around on her heel. Grasping her cloak, she rushes out of the road.

Heart pounding, she darts down the alley which leads to the forge. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Y/N listens for footsteps which follow, but hears none.

If Y/N has learned anything from her fairytales, it is nothing good comes from a Grim. Grims are hound-like demons who lurk in the shadows, warning of nothing but death and despair. Sometimes, their meaning is even more sinister. Sometimes, Grims are the Cŵn Annwn themselves – the feared hellhounds of Annwn who answer to none but Lord Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld.

The Cŵn Annwn have one job. Find souls which belong in the Otherworld and bring them to their desired location – often painfully, and in the basest way possible.

Fighting a shiver, Y/N continues her journey. As she walks, she almost manages to convince herself it was nothing. It was likely only a dog in the shadows. The red glow probably came from the sunrise. Rian is right – Y/N’s imagination is far too active, drawing conclusions which make zero sense.

Except – she has this feeling in her blood, a singing in her bones. Heat stirs within her, as though seeking an unanswered call.

Ignoring all this, Y/N steps into the yard of the forge. Determinedly, she closes the gate behind her. Gwen looks up at the sound, ceasing her sweeping to give Y/N a wave. Switching her broom to one hand, she fixes her hair clip with the other – a silver and jade pendent Owen bought her last Yuletide.

Seeing her there, Y/N slowly relaxes. Nothing bad can happen in the presence of someone like Gwen. Lovely, serene and admired by all, Gwen is the pride and joy of Tywll. Y/N cannot even dislike her for this, though – Gwen is every bit as kind as she is beautiful.

“Hello, Y/N!” she calls out, smiling brightly. “Lovely weather compared to yesterday, no?”

Y/N shields her face as she walks, blocking the sun which breaks over the horizon. Elongated shadows stretch towards her, the longest they will be until the sun sets again. Y/N smiles, moving to answer when a dissonant crack sounds from above.

Both Y/N and Gwen look up, startled when a branch breaks loose from the tree.

Gwen’s lips part, about to scream but before she can, Y/N jumps into action. She moves without thought, throwing herself forward and wrenching power within. The branch veers off-course, smashing into the window – narrowly avoiding the door where Gwen stands.

Staggering backwards, Gwen drops the broom she was holding.

The window lies in shattered pieces, all over the lawn and the branch sticks grotesquely out of the house. Gwen stares for a moment before whimpering, tremblingly pressing a hand to her mouth – the window could have easily been her.

Owen appears then, hurtling head-long around the side of the building. He must have been in the forge, since he still wears his apron, only one of his work gloves discarded.

Skidding to a stop, he sees the chaos before him. “What happened?” he blurts. Gwen still has not moved, standing before the doorway. “What happened – are you hurt, Gwen?”

Gwen shakes her head, hair escaping her clip.

She points – finger passing briefly over Y/N – to land on the tree overhead. “It was the branch!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It broke off from the tree and hit the window right next to me!”

Rushing forward, Owen barely notices the glass crunching beneath his feet. Y/N sags, relieved by their distraction but neither one of them notices, too consumed by their relief.

“Gods,” Owen gasps, coming to a stop. He removes his hat, making a hurried gesture over his heart. “To think you were standing there. It must have been the storm,” he adds, glancing up. “Lightning must have struck last night, and rain loosened it further.”

Gwen nods, a bit dazed. “It must’ve been.”

Stepping forward, Owen wraps his daughter tightly in a hug. Y/N looks away, lowering her gaze to the ground. He mumbles into her neck – a prayer, or a thanks of some sort – which does not seem like something she should intrude upon.

Folding her hands behind her back, Y/N closes her eyes. Her heart races, as though she has run a far distance and her hands are badly shaking, which is why she conceals them. It has been a long time since she allowed herself a reaction.

It has been even longer since she opened that part of herself.

At last, Owen breaks free. “Y/N!” he calls, noticing her there. “I’m so sorry to scare you like that.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N says. Crossing the yard, she feigns concern scanning the bright shards of glass. “I’m glad no one was hurt. You’re sure you’re not?” she asks of Gwen, searching her frame

Smiling kindly, Gwen bends for the broom. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.”

Y/N nods. “Can I help in any way? Pick up the glass, or…?”

“Oh, yes.” Owen blinks, seeming to notice the mess. “Y/N, could you get pail from the forge? We can gather these larger pieces while Gwen sweeps up the rest.”

She nods in acknowledgement, gathering her cloak to hasten away.

As soon as Y/N turns the corner, she stops and sags against the side of the house. Breathing in deeply, her legs barely hold as they waver beneath her. Head spinning, Y/N chastises herself for such an obvious slip. The last time she lost control in this way, she must have been a child.

It cannot happen again.

Blankly, Y/N stares at the grey wood before her. Her vision blurs, threatening her happiness at having helped in some way. Because even if what she did was dangerous, at least Gwen is safe. At least Owen is happy, and their family remains intact.

It is hard to chastise herself for a result like that. Slowly pulling herself upright, Y/N regathers her bearings and goes to fetch the pail. If she is gone for too long, Owen will be suspicious.

Still, an inkling of worry lingers the rest of the day. Red eyes continue to haunt from the shadows, causing Y/N to wonder if she did the right thing. Each time she looks over her shoulder, there is nothing to see.

The morning passes by in a never-ending list of things to be done. Owen is the only blacksmith in Tywll – a fact not unusual for a town of their size, but due to a steady stream of travelers means he is constantly in demand. He is expected to know a variety of crafts, all of which can be daunting. Locksmith, silversmith, armory – Owen knows them all. It means Y/N, by extension, is expected to know them as well.

She does the menial tasks while he labors – pumping the bellows, replacing coal in the furnace and changing the anvil when Owen begins a new task. She is happy to do this, since it means she is that much closer to owning her own shop.

Around sundown, the work finally slows, and Y/N allows herself a moment of rest. Coming to a stop, Y/N wipes sweat from her brow and pushes hair behind her ear. The forge is sweltering even on the coldest of days, let alone midway through autumn. Still, Y/N has always preferred this to the chill.

Owen finished work nearly an hour ago – now he stands at the counter, wrapping an axe up in fabric. Although their town is too small to have a Lord or a Knight, they have several merchants wealthy enough to imagine themselves both. Cadoc is one of said merchants – a finicky man whose family has lived in Tywll for centuries.

He commissioned an axe from Owen last month, which was notable because Cadoc usually purchases his goods from Dowais –a larger town several kilometers away from Tywll. He rarely buys local, but for Owen, he seems to make an exception.

Wrapping the blade against harm, Owen looks at Y/N. “You’ll be fine closing the shop on your own?” he asks, already grabbing his coat.

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first time closing. Go on – Cadoc is not the type to be kept waiting.”

Owen chuckles beneath his breath. The statement is true – a fact they both know and yet, few would dare say.

“Alright,” he says, firmly grasping the axe. Pausing on the threshold, he glances over his shoulder. “If you leave before I’m back, take those extra nails home to Mervin. Alright?”

Y/N nods, busy scrubbing the soot from the metal. Once he is gone, she continues to clean. The forge stays open past sundown, but customers rarely stop by so late in the day. It is little risk to Owen if Y/N is here alone.

Glancing around, Y/N sets down her cloth and realizes the shadows are longer than she thought. Already, the day grows to a close and soon enough, winter will be upon them. Listlessly, Y/N wonders how many more seasons she will face in this town. Day in and day out, the same trials and tribulations. Why, it is almost enough for –

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the new voice, Y/N whirls and nearly trips over her water.

A stranger stands in the doorway, hat removed from his head. Y/N notices his hands first. They are large yet delicate, clasped around the brim of his hat.

She next notices his face as he steps into the lamplight. The man is beautiful – there are no other words to describe him. With pale skin and midnight-black hair, he might well be a painting. Indeed, Y/N wonders briefly if this is the case.

Then he blinks, shattering the image.

“We’re about to close.” Y/N drops her rag in the bucket. It seems uncomely to hold suds in his presence. “The master smith recently stepped out for a delivery. He will not return for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he says, glancing around. “I’m in no rush.”

Arching a brow, Y/N surveys his face. The man’s accent is not from around here; there is a formal drawl to it, vowels elongated in a way which speaks of nobility. Curiously, Y/N lowers her gaze to his coat. Finely made.

“Do you have a message I can give him?”

The man’s gaze lifts. “Perhaps,” he allows, laying a hand on the counter. “Might I ask who you are?”

“An apprentice.”

His eyes gleam, since this is not what he asked. “How intriguing.”

“Because I’m a woman?

His brows shoot upwards, withdrawing his hand. “Of course not.”

“Then, why?” she asks pleasantly.

“Actually, I did not come to inquire after your services.” He abruptly changes the subject. “But to offer you mine.”

“And what services are those?”

Rather than answer, the man glances over his shoulder. Through the windows of the forge, Owen’s main door is visible. Most of the glass has been cleared, but evidence of the accident remains.

The stranger’s lip curls. “Odd weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

The way he says this makes Y/N’s heart almost stop. It takes her a moment to re-start, a moment to recover and during this time, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“The rain has been unusually strong,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

The stranger says nothing else and there is no trace of humor to the inky black of his gaze. The rest of his clothing is also well-made, Y/N realizes – again, unusual for Tywll. This coupled with his accent has her hackles raised in alarm. This man is clearly an outsider.

Lifting her chin, Y/N attempts to look down her nose. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ll confess – I came because I’m curious.”

“About?”

When he leans in, Y/N catches a whiff of a scent not unlike burnt wood. “I arrived in the village early this morning,” he says.

“A lovely time of the day.”

“Incredibly so,” he says, expression inscrutable. “Dawn is the most honest time of day, I have found.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“Is it? The nighttime can mislead things. Darkness often conceals that which is best left alone.”

“Or,” Y/N offers. “It allows the freedom of no one else seeing.”

The man does not respond, silence growing between them until Y/N realizes she may have said too much. Schooling her face to neutrality, she offers a smile. “As I said. Are you sure there is nothing you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, no. Merely my services. I was traveling this morning and saw the branch in your window – you see, I’m a tradesman of sorts.” He pauses, flashing a smile. “I replace wayward things.”

“Replace?” Y/N’s brow furrows, glancing outside. “Like the window?”

“Amongst other things,” the strange man allows. “Odd, though, for the branch to have fallen that way. Based on the tree above, seems like it would have hit the front door.”

Y/N freezes, glancing up and in that moment, realizes her mistake.

The man’s smile sharpens – a razor in disguise.

Withdrawing, she shakes her head. “The oddest of incidents. Your concern is noted and appreciated, of course.” Heart racing, she turns to regather her things. “I’m afraid there are others in town who can help, though.”

He chuckles. “None like me, I can assure you.”

“Be that as it may, we have no need of your… services.”

“Of course,” he says, smile widening. “I must respect your wishes on the matter.”

Bowing low, he replaces the hat on his head. Y/N is somewhat surprised to find him giving in so easily. From what she knows of traveling merchants, they rarely take no for an answer. As he begins to leave the shop, the man pauses on the threshold and examines an object. Seeing what he looks at, Y/N stops with one hand in the rags.

“This…” He tilts his head to one side. “Is lovely, whatever it is.”

Y/N tries not to scowl.

She does not think he means this as an insult, but the man’s tone and mannerisms are so strange, she cannot help but react. The object in question is one she made late at night in the forge. It began as a lone ball of metal, but under Y/N’s careful manipulation became molten tendrils of fire which seem to dance in the lamplight.

It is useless, per Owen’s criticism, but still – he did not throw it out.

The stranger considers it a moment, then turns back to Y/N. “Did you make this?”

Y/N straightens. “Yes.”

He returns to the object, surprised. “It is quite good.”

“Truly?” Y/N attempts not to look interested but cannot deny that she is. She finds herself wanting to know more about what this mysterious stranger thinks. The thought catches her off guard.

Hiding a smile, he turns in her direction. “It is,” he insists, offering her his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, apprentice blacksmith of Tywll.”

“Y/N,” she says, holding out her hand in turn.

The moment their fingers touch, a fire blazes through her.

Immediately, Y/N releases him, as if burned. It is too late. She stares open-mouthed at her palm, unable to see any visible damage. Yet her skin feels oddly scalded, her bones ringing with strangeness only magic can forge.

Terrified, she glances up – and finds him staring back.

Darkness swirls in the bottomless depths of his gaze. “Who are you?” he growls, taking a hasty step forward.

“Is there something I can help with?”

Owen appears on the threshold.

The stranger halts, emotions clearly at war on his face. Slowly, logic seems to win out, and he reluctantly turns. Owen continues to stare, clearly unimpressed by his manner of speaking. Y/N assumes he did not hear much, but the little he did could not have been good.

“I apologize.” Genteelly, the stranger bows. “I was merely offering my services to your apprentice, should you need to replace your window. Terrible storm last night.”

Owen does not look away. “I prefer my customers wait outside until I arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies, for any offense.”

“None taken.” Owen watches him go. “You are a tradesman, then?”

The man comes to a stop at the door. “Of a sort.”

“Quite a good one, I’d imagine to be able to afford clothes like those.”

“I do well enough.”

“I see.” Owen still does not move. “Well, then. I would hate to keep you from it.”

The man pauses before nodding, reaching into his coat. “Here,” he says, turning to hand Owen a card. “I will be in town a few days longer. Should you have need, you’ll know who to ask for.”

Accepting this, Owen places it beside him on the counter. “Thank you.”

The man nods again before leaving. He hovers on the threshold, half in and out of the shadows before he enters the night. Owen watches him disappear, waiting until he is gone before turning around. Y/N does this as well, still clutching her hands as if burned.

Owen looks sharply at her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“What? No, nothing.”

“Then – touch?” Owen asks, and Y/N realizes he saw the man take his step forward. “Did he touch you?”

“N-no,” she stammers quickly, uncertain why she defends him. “Nothing of the sort.”

Owen surveys her a moment, then nods and walks past. “No good travelers,” he mutters, shutting the door – he is not looking at Y/N and does not see how the name sends a chill down her spine. “Always thinking they own the towns they stay in, huh?”

Ignoring the calling card on the table, Owen strides towards the furnace. Y/N watches him stoke the flames, oddly embarrassed by the whole interaction. It is not as though the stranger did anything untoward. He was odd, yes, but that hardly constitutes condemnation.

Besides, there is the small manner of his skin, like flames when they touched.

This is not something she can say to Owen, though and so, Y/N shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be angry about, I’m certain.”

Owen pauses, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Alright,” he sighs. Hovering a moment, he turns to meet her gaze. “Why don’t I finish the rest? You can head to the inn, come back in the morning.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes.” Owen waves a hand. “Go and help Mervin and Rian. Nice night like this, I’m sure the tavern is bustling. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N hesitates, before nodding and undoing the strings of her apron. The garment is covered in soot, but this cannot be helped in the forge. Y/N does her best to wash it with water before hanging to dry in the pantry.

As she exits the forge, she spots the calling card on the table.

Glancing upwards, she sees Owen’s back is now turned. Before she can think, she plucks the card from the table and slides this into her pocket.

Immediately, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the night. The temperature drops several degrees and she stops, wiping sweat from her forehead. Realizing the stranger saw her in such a condition, Y/N frowns as she sets off down the road.

Humming as she walks, Y/N pointedly ignores the events of today. A feat which proves to be impossible when she reaches the inn, coming to a stop in the coolness of its shadows. Fighting a battle within, Y/N slowly reaches into her cloak to pull out the card.

The card is plain – white, with silver filigree letters. The calligraphy is almost too delicate to be real, thin swirls of writing which transcribe only a name.

Min Yoongi.

Y/N flips the card over, expecting to see more, but it is empty. Frowning, she slips the card again in her pocket and resumes her path to the inn. Try as she might, Y/N cannot shake the man’s face from her mind.

The blood in her veins heats, nearly combustive at the thought.

Y/N enters through the back door to change into her clothing. Work in the tavern requires a dress, not pants and her hair up on her head. The new apron is stained with spilled food, not soot but the effect is largely the same.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Y/N grabs a tray by the door. “Where do those plates go to?” she asks Rumilda, their cook.

Rumilda is not of Tywll either, but has worked for the Talog’s since before Y/N was born. Even so, she is still considered an outsider as well.

“Table under the window,” she instructs with a wave. “The traveling couple with the newborn.”

Nodding, Y/N pushes open the door with her hip. As she enters the front room, she winces at the noise. Owen was correct – the inn is, indeed, busy tonight. Edging around a table of men playing cards, Y/N reaches the window and sets her plates down.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly. The couple voices their thanks, the father gently bouncing a child on his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, no,” says the woman, waving her off. “Thank you.”

Y/N nods, turning around with her tray to exit the room. Rian is at the bar, a large oaken structure which has stood the test of time. Rian always is the one pouring the drinks – she is best suited as gatekeeper, determining when men should be cut off. Mervin always stands at the front door. He greets guests when they arrive, tallying their bills and determining the price.

On a night as full as this one, Y/N imagines the rooms to be costly. Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N returns to the kitchen and sets down her tray.

“Lord, the inn is busy,” she remarks, already grabbing a plate. “Lots of strangers, too.”

Rumilda nods, ladling stew into a bowl. “Quite a few coming through town on their way to the autumnal festival in Dowais. Rian mentioned five alone this morning, though she expects there to be more.”

Nodding, Y/N picks back up the tray. “Where is this one going?”

“Table to the right of the fireplace,” Rumilda says. “One of the travelers from this morning, just off the road. Well-off, too, so take care not to spill.”

“Alright.” Y/N is mid-way to the door before her feet falter. “A solo traveler you said?” Wary, she glances over her shoulder. “You’re certain?”

Rumilda continues to stir. “Yes, yes, of course. Mervin gave him the best rooms in the inn. Why – Y/N?” Looking up, she squints through the steam. “You seem as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dazedly, Y/N pulls herself from her thoughts. “It’s nothing,” she says, continuing on. “Nothing at all. The table by the fireplace?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Hurry, now – someone that wealthy won’t be kept waiting long.”

Nodding again, Y/N pushes open the door. It swings shut, the noise of the tavern enveloping her smoothly. A solo traveler this morning and wearing finely-made clothes – Y/N cannot help but think of Min Yoongi.

He did say he would be staying in town, and theirs is the only inn in Tywll.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N tries to ignore the pounding beat of her heart. The man asked too many questions about her. Good questions, intelligent questions – ones which gave Y/N pause. Men like that are not to be trusted.

And then, there is the matter of the heat when they touched.

Skirting around the final table, the fireplace comes into view – and Y/N exhales in relief, not recognizing its occupant.

The man is not Yoongi; that much is certain.

He is taller, with lighter hair and a thoughtful expression. Rumilda was right, though – he is dressed immaculately, clearly in possession of wealth. His cloak is a deep shade of scarlet and he wears gloves on both hands; ones of fine leather Y/N could never wear in the forge.

Y/N stares for a moment before realizing her place and hurrying forward. The man is also quite handsome – this fact cannot be denied.

“Hello,” she greets, setting his stew on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man looks up, meeting her gaze.

Y/N blinks, the room slowing around her. His gaze is ice blue, almost impossibly so – it is unnerving, how beautiful his eyes are.

“How kind of you to ask,” he says, smiling easily.

“It’s only my job.” Y/N forces herself to respond. “I work in the tavern.”

“Ah, I see. Then, it appears I am in your debt this evening.”

Ducking her head, Y/N cannot help but be charmed. There is something about him which she finds calming – perhaps the lilt to his voice, or the easy smile to his lips.

“Not at all,” she insists, looking up. “This is my family’s inn. Our job is to make you comfortable. After all, you’ve paid for it.”

The man’s smile widens, leaning back in his seat. “Ah, I see. You make a good point. And what did you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “But it’s Y/N, all the same.”

“Y/N,” he says slowly, rolling the word. His gaze brightens. “A lovely name. Your parents have exquisite taste.”

The man glances up at the bar – to Rian – as if in deference, but Y/N does not correct him. Rian did not name her, neither did Mervin, but that hardly seems prudent to discuss at the moment. The stranger will learn soon enough of her past from the locals, if he decides to stay.

“Thank you.” Y/N manages to keep her voice level. “Now – truly, is there anything else I can bring?”

Smiling back, he lowers both hands to the tablecloth. Most of his clothing is simple, if well-made, except for the bright silver ring on his hand. There is a sigil upon it which Y/N finds oddly familiar. When the man sees her gaze lingering, he pointedly removes his hand from the table.

Y/N’s cheeks heat, gaze lifting to his.

The lines around his mouth seem somehow less genial. “Perhaps more wine? What vintage is known in these parts?”

“None, I’m afraid.” Shaking her head, Y/N tries not to dissect his reaction. Some people are merely private about their belongings, after all. “More ale than wine, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Just as abruptly, pleasantry returns to his face. “In that case, what would you recommend?”

The man’s hand is still hidden, Y/N cannot help but notice.

She hesitates before speaking, finding the entire interaction to be odd. Perhaps she is being too critical. Perhaps she is reading too much into his mannerisms – likely so. After seeing a grim in the shadows, the incident with the branch and meeting Min Yoongi, Y/N is certainly on edge.

“Oh, many things,” she says lightly. “Rian can make anything you like.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I do apologize – I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Alvah. I arrived to Tywll this morning and am thoroughly taken with your town.”

“Are you?” Y/N arches a brow. “You’ll have to explain to me why.”

Alvah pauses, as though uncertain whether she is joking before he bursts into laughter.

Y/N smiles reassuringly. “About that ale,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alvah murmurs his thanks as she leaves, but Y/N is already gone, plunging into the crowd. Tywll receives a lot of travelers, especially this close to the autumnal festival. It is not unusual for one or two to stay longer than intended, infatuated by the charms of ‘village life.’

They all leave eventually, though. Only the townspeople ever stay in Tywll.

Stopping at the bar, Y/N lowers her tray to the counter. “One ale,” she says, glancing at Rian. Alvah is hidden within the crowd, so she does not bother to look. “The table over by the fireplace.”

Rian nods, grabbing a glass. “I’ll have the new serving girl take this over to them,” she says, sliding a different cup towards Y/N. “Her other tables are in that area, anyways. I need you to take this wine upstairs. Room seven.”

Y/N blinks, seeing the fine vintage before her. She did lie a bit, telling Alvah they had none of renown. Rian and Mervin save a bottle or two for their most important guests. Rather uneasily, Y/N glances at the stairs.

“Oh,” she says, reluctantly taking the glass. Swiftly, she squashes the disappointment this brings. Alvah was kind, and not bad to talk to. “Room seven, you said?”

“Another solo traveler,” Rian nods. “Although he hasn’t come down yet. Paid a pretty penny though, so make sure he’s comfortable.”

Turning away, Y/N takes the glass from the counter.

Making her way towards the stairs, Y/N nearly spills several times. She is almost glad for the task, as it places her firmly out of reach of loud men and fast hands. The stairwell is a respite, a moment of quiet in the otherwise chaos.

As she climbs, Y/N begins cataloguing all she must do before closing. Help Rumilda scrub the pans, assist the new serving girl in calculating the bills – usher out drunkards before Rian catches wind. When she reaches the door to room seven, Y/N barely hesitates before knocking.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she is almost ready to put the wine down and leave when it suddenly opens.

“Thank you,” says a male voice, “but I – you!”

The inhabitant sounds familiar, if somewhat surprised and Y/N swiftly turns back around. Eyes widening, she nearly drops her wine when she comes face to face with a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

Min Yoongi stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Y/N blinks, recovering her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying at the inn.” Leaning a shoulder to the wall, Yoongi crosses his arms. “Or, are there other places in town to stay?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, then.”

Y/N glances past him, into his room. A flickering fire casts shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but a black steamer trunk – and Yoongi, who is looking at Y/N as though she might be a stalker.

Incensed by this idea, Y/N straightens. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she clarifies, glaring back.

Yoongi tilts his head. He is dressed more casually than before, in only a plain tunic and trousers. His boots lie abandoned at the foot of his bed – it is strangely intimate, to see him in socked feet.

Yoongi’s gaze moves to her hand. “Is that wine for me?”

“I’m sorry?” Y/N blinks.

“That wine.” He nods to the cup. “Did you bring that here for me, or are you merely doing a mandatory room check?”

“It’s for you,” Y/N blurts, unable to think of a response.

Shrugging, Yoongi turns around and leaves the door open. He pads to the fireplace, removing the iron to stoke the flames higher. Y/N steps into his room, hovering at the edge and wondering what she should do. The shadows seem to leap out, stretching for her – unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Yoongi does not seem untrained.

Warily, she takes a step backwards.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “Come in,” he says, replacing the fire iron. “Don’t just stand there.”

Teeth gritted, Y/N closes the door. When it was opened, she was too shocked by Yoongi’s appearance to think of questions to ask. Now, though, she can think of many things – and most do not require an audience.

“Why are you the one bringing me this?” Yoongi asks, watching Y/N walk closer. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Y/N glowers, handing over the wine. She is careful not to touch his skin in the process – oddly enough, Yoongi exhibits similar restraint.

“The owner of the inn asked me to.” Y/N hesitates. “They – I work for them in the evenings.”

Yoongi gives the wine a dubious swirl. “You work for them.”

“That’s what I said.”

Lips quirking, he lifts the glass to his mouth. Taking a slow sip, Yoongi does not look away and, apparently finding it to his satisfaction, turns to set this on the windowsill. The moonlight casts a pall over his features, making him seem otherworldly.

Glancing at the door, Y/N wonders how much longer to stay. There are still a million things to do before sleep – but still, she has questions for him. Who he is, why he is here, why his skin seems to burn and affect her so dearly.

Yoongi pointedly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Y/N is startled to find his gaze on hers. Strangely enough, she sees just as many questions within for her, as she has for him.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. While Yoongi stares, his gaze hardens to something like ice. “Do your employers know you’re a shadow-singer?”

Y/N freezes in place, feet rooted to the floor.

She cannot think beyond the pulse in her veins, the thud of her heart and the singular thought in her mind.

Run.

Run, she does.

Barely does she make it two steps before Yoongi appears, materializing easily between her and the door. His cup of wine is still held in one hand – setting this down, he wipes a hand on his trousers.

“You can try to run,” he starts, but Y/N is no longer listening.

Shuddering to a halt, she whips her head sideways. Rushing towards the window, she stops short when history repeats itself.

“Let me save you some time,” says Yoongi, stepping out of mid-air. “Any time you run; I will appear.”

Seething, Y/N pauses to consider her options. Simply put, there are none. None which involve keeping the world as it is, that is. Already, Yoongi knows what she is. It is only a matter of time before he tells the town, so the only thing left is her final defense.

Magic.

Swallowing hard, Y/N resigns herself to a fate long avoided. If her secret is out, she has nothing to lose.

Inverting her gaze, she reaches within. It has been such a long time since she allowed herself to descend. The sensation is akin to stumbling around in the dark, seeking out something which may or may not appear. Eyes clenched shut, Y/N empties her mind to push onward. There is a door always within, pulsing with power and beckoning her near.

It never leaves, calling out to her even when she refuses.

At last, fingers brushing wood, Y/N slowly unlocks it.

For a moment, nothing happens. For a moment, she stands there, body quivering with anticipation – and then.

Shadows burst forth, searing her veins like a drug.

The sensation is akin to fire, to bliss as greedily, Y/N inhales and savors the power. She shudders, overwhelmed by the magic after so long without. Darkness floods her body, searching for weakness, but finding nothing of note. Yanking this back, Y/N reigns in her thoughts and does not relent. Wrestling for control, she demands the darkness obey her, forces it to twist and bend to her will.

Take me away, she demands, teeth gritted.

When she opens her eyes, Y/N finds herself in the Shadow realm.

Unfortunately, so is Yoongi. Teeth bared like a dog, his eyes seem to glow red in the darkness.

The Shadow realm is not one to linger in. It exists, by definition, in between worlds. To her right, Y/N can see the sharpened edge of Yoongi’s bed, the cold black of his steamer trunk. It all wavers though, as if seen from underwater.

On the other side of her is pure darkness.

Growling, Yoongi clenches his fists and strides forward. “Idiot,” he seethes, gripping her elbow.

Y/N inhales, glancing at where their skin touches. Rather than burn, his touch now seems to enhance. Shadows twist around them both, emboldened by the strength of their combined power.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, staring at this in shock.

Shaking his head, he grips her even tighter and the real world appears.

Stumbling forward, Y/N feels drained by the abrupt lack of shadows – the abrupt lack of power to feed on. The real world feels too harsh, too cold and she longs for the sweetness of night.

Hissing under her breath, Y/N whirls to face Yoongi.

He stands across the room, picking a shadow from his tunic to fling into the fireplace. It hits a rogue flame with a sizzling sound. “Idiot,” Min Yoongi mutters, under his breath. Accusatorially, he looks at her over his shoulder. “What were you thinking, entering the Shadow realm like that?”

His gaze is intense, stalking forward but Y/N does not allow herself to be crowed. Holding her ground, she pokes his chest with a finger.

“Me?” she demands, stopping him in his tracks. “What were you thinking, coming after me? What… even are you?”

The question tapers off, losing steam at the end. He knows what she is – Yoongi knows Y/N is a shadow-singer, one of the feared brands of magic which thrives in the night. There are many kinds of magic, but shadow-singers are feared above all. Y/N is a human who can travel the Shadow realm, one who can bend the darkness to her will. That is what she did earlier, saving Gwen from the tree branch. The shadows knocked it aside.

Yes, Y/N is a shadow-singer and Yoongi knows it. And still, she does not know what he is.

Hesitancy enters his gaze. Some of his mask has disappeared from the first time they met. As though scrubbed away in the Shadow realm, he no longer seems entirely human. His eyes still glow faintly red, as they did in the shadows.

“Please, Y/N.” Yoongi twists his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short. You already know what I am. You have since you saw me this morning.”

“This – this morning?” Y/N repeats, mind reeling.

Yoongi came into the forge during the evening. If what he says is true, then it was not the first time they met. But Y/N met no other strangers during the day – unless. Slowly, her eyes widen with realization.

Yoongi is correct. She knows what he is.

“We met in the square,” Yoongi says smoothly, twisting a hand over his chest. Still looking at her, his eyes seem to gleam. “I am Min Yoongi, of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Y/N could not move if she wanted to.

It is so obvious now, in hindsight. Of course, Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – no other beings travel the Shadow realm so easily. No one else is granted that type of dark magic. The Cŵn Annwn are the final enforcers of the Otherworld, sent to the Real world to resolve the worst kinds of incidents. Namely, those which involve magic.

Seeing her face, Yoongi takes a step forward. “I see you know what I am.”

“I – I know you.” Y/N takes a hasty step backwards. Her back nearly collides with the wall. “I don’t understand why you’re here, though.”

“Don’t you?” Yoongi tilts his head. “You saved someone who was not supposed to be saved, Y/N. Lord Arawn is without a soul, and you are its cause.”

“Am I…” Y/N stares at him, mouth gone suddenly dry. “What... what does that mean? Am I to die in her place?”

Yoongi pauses a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.”

“How... how can you not know?”

“It has yet to be decided.”

“How convenient.” Y/N hesitates. “When will you know?”

Something like amusement crosses his face. “When Arawn decides, I imagine.”

“And when will that be?”

“Uncertain,” Yoongi says. “Until then, I am to keep an eye on the human – and on you, shadow-singer.”

Y/N flinches back from the name. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Y/N mutters, turning away. She probably should not turn her back on one of the Cŵn Annwn, but she cannot help it. Continuing to look at Yoongi now that she knows what he is seems impossible.

Every time she looks at him, she remembers the Shadow realm. She remembers Gwen, her power and with that power comes memories best left forgotten. She remembers a small village in the woods, the rending of screams in the night, a singed smell of flesh.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/N balls her hands into fists. Counting slowly down from ten, she waits until the screams fade from memory. Hastily, she locks the door in her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, Yoongi stands before her.

“Ah!” she yelps, stumbling backwards. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi recoils as well. “I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been silent for several minutes. Why are you trying to suppress your magic, witch?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Don’t call me a witch!” Y/N scowls, striding past him again.

Yoongi stares after her in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Someone could hear!” Y/N snaps. Coming to a stop at the table, she hesitantly drops a hand to its wood. “Don’t you know what those in the Real world do to magic?”

When she looks over her shoulder, he is looking at her.

“I… do know.”

Yoongi sounds almost remorseful and Y/N hesitates, thrown by his answer. “Then...” She pauses, shaking her head. “You know why I can’t admit what I am.”

“I do – to others. However, why can’t you admit it to yourself?”

Y/N stares back, unsure of the answer. There is something in his expression which gives her pause. Something about the way he said I do know, which makes her think he truly does. There are legends about the Cŵn Annwn which say they once were human – although how a human becomes Cŵn Annwn at all is a story not told.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat. “I take it your employers do not know what you are, then?”

“No, they don’t. And they are not only my employers – I’m their ward.”

Yoongi looks up in surprise. “You live here? At the inn?”

“Yes.”

He glances past her to the door. “Interesting.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Y/N interjects, walking until they stand nose to nose. “Which brings us back to you. What do you want?”

Yoongi arches a brow. “I told you. The Otherworld needs a soul.”

“Yes, but which soul? You’re being horribly cryptic.”

His upper lip twitches, unable to help himself. “As though magic could be any other way.”

Y/N’s teeth grit, about to give him a piece of her mind – when a singular thought occurs to her. “How did you know what I was?”

“A shadow-singer?”

“Yes,” she says. “How did you know I have magic?”

Yoongi looks at her a second, then stretches out a palm. “Touch me.”

Y/N’s lips part in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Skin to skin contact.” Gently, he wraps his hand around hers. The center of her palm tingles. “I can tell when someone has magic by brushing their skin.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, choosing to ignore the feel of his skin on hers. “I see,” she says, glancing down to look at their hands intertwined. Abruptly, she pulls hers away. “So, you knew what I was at the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?”

Yoongi exhales. “I – the master smith returned,” he mutters, brow furrowed – as if he does not understand it himself. “Like you said, humans do not react kindly to magic. The instructions I had were to identify the witch, keep an eye on you both – and await further instruction.”

“But what further instructions?” she asks, aware she is toeing a dangerous line. “Why wouldn’t Arawn simply take Gwen’s soul to restore the balance? For that matter, does Arawn come chasing after every soul who is saved?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “It is not my place to ask questions,” he says at last. “I know no more than you do.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room.

“Liar.”

His feet falter, coming to a stop. “What?”

“I said, liar,” Y/N repeats, calmly – too calmly. She knows she should not be saying these things, but she is tired. Tired of lying, tired of hiding and tired of feeling as though she has no control.

“Whose soul are you really here for?” she asks.

Yoongi turns slowly, disbelief in his gaze. “What do you want me to say?”

There is a growl to his words as he speaks, a trace of Cŵn Annwn within. Before, Y/N had almost forgotten to whom she was speaking.

“Do you want me to say your soul is more valuable to Arawn than hers?” Yoongi asks silkily. “Is that it?”

Y/N’s gaze widens as Yoongi comes closer.

“Do you want me to tell you he often does that?” he asks, gaze flashing with night. “Switches out one soul for another – one he deems more valuable?”

“Valuable?” Y/N’s voice is nearly a whisper. “For... what?”

Darkness crosses his expression. “It does not matter,” Yoongi says stiffly. “You already know too much. We all die eventually, Y/N. Annwn is without a soul now and someone must fill it. The possessiveness of Arawn might seem like a bad thing to humans, but it is necessary for reason to hold.”

“What good is magic if I cannot use it to save anymore?”

“What good, indeed?” Yoongi bites. “When you do not use it anyways?”

Y/N falters, having no response to this. He is right – before today, she had not used her magic in nearly fifteen years.

“That’s what I thought.” Yoongi turns, walking away to stare at the moon. “Perhaps we should leave things here for tonight. I think our intentions are known enough, yes?”

“Intentions?” Y/N nearly laughs. “What – that you’re a hellhound, I’m a shadow-singer and only one of us is in control of their soul?”

Yoongi’s mouth twists, looking up at the moon. “Neither one of us are in control of our souls, Y/N.”

Y/N stares at him for a moment. Whatever Yoongi thinks, he does not elaborate and eventually, she decides he is right. There is nothing more to be said – not tonight, anyways. Not with her soul hanging in the balance and Arawn on the horizon.

Turning on her heel, Y/N walks towards the door. “I’ll be going, then,” she says, one hand on the handle.

Yoongi does not respond.

Giving him one last look, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the hall. She pauses on his threshold, a thought occurring to her which needs to be said. Perhaps it is idiotic, but she needs to try.

“What if I offer myself?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Yoongi stiffens, looking at her. “You would do that?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “You would willingly give up your soul up for a human?”

“Not any human. Gwen.” Her jaw tightens. “Would it work?”

“It would be… unlikely.”

Resigned to the answer, Y/N nods. At least she asked – which is the best she can do. Turning away, she again grips the doorknob.

“Out of curiosity.”

Y/N stops, her exit halted again. “Yes?”

“It has been a long time since I met a shadow-singer.”

There is a note of longing to his words Y/N does not understand. It also is not a question.

“And?”

“It just is odd,” he exhales. When Y/N turns to look at him, he reaches out for the wine. “Odd, for humans to continually hide the things about themselves which are beautiful.”

For a moment, she stares and does not respond. Yoongi does not look at her though, says nothing more and at last, Y/N retreats to the hall. Shutting the door in between them, she stands for a moment before heading downstairs.

The shadows drift beside her in the darkness, begging to be seen.

Y/N does not look.

She rarely does.

“The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle.”

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N’s eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N’s power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych’s leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day’s work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N’s young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

“It is not their fault,” her father murmured to her mother. “Not really.”

Her mother’s hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. “No?” she exhaled, brow furrowed.

Y/N’s father’s lip twitched. “Humans know we can do incredible things,” he said softly, unheard by the others over the fire. “They watch us perform remarkable feats. So, when we can’t always help…” He shrugged, trailing off. “In their grief, humans often lash out.”

“And what of our grief?” Y/N’s mother glared at the Travelers. She was never very good at hiding her facial expressions. “What of our pain?”

“People are afraid of the unknown,” he said quietly. “They do not understand our magic and so, they do not understand us.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps.” Wrapping an arm around her mother, he squeezed gently. “But so are we.”

Y/N’s mother glanced at him, expression softening. It was clear she did not trust the humans, but she did trust Y/N’s father. Even now, many years later, their relationship has always been a paradigm for Y/N of love.

For the rest of the evening, her mother was silent, although her tight-lipped expression was evidence enough of her displeasure.

Y/N stopped listening to the storyteller at some point, too tired to remain awake. As she dozed against her father, she caught snippets of conversation around the flames. The Travelers mingled easily with the citizens of Crymych, pouring them wine and drinking with abandon. They toasted to their magic, to power and insisted it was something to be celebrated, even revered.

Remarkably, they were not lying – the Travelers did revere magic.

They simply considered humans too debased to use it.

That was the night Y/N awoke to a blood-curdling scream. She was old enough by then to sleep in her own room and she nearly fell on the floor in her haste to wake up. Kneeling on her mattress, she pressed her nose to the window – and jerked back in fear when crimson splattered the glass.

Y/N squinted, not understanding – but then saw the crumpled shape on the ground.

She saw the unseeing eyes of Emrys staring back at her.

Y/N screamed.

Hearing the sound, Emrys’ murderer whipped around, silver knife held aloft. Seeing her face, he snarled and raced for the door. Y/N did not stop to think, throwing herself off the bed and sprinting fast down the hall.

The front door rattled as she ran, shoulder slamming into it from the other side. At the end of the hall, Y/N skidded to a stop and threw open her parents’ bedroom door.

Her mother’s head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed as she clutched at her father. He was unconscious, held limp in Y/N’s mother’s arms while she roughly shook his frame.

“Y/N.” Dropping her father, Y/N’s mother stumbled from bed. She glances past Y/N to the hall, hearing the disturbance at the front door. “Get out of here. Now. Hide!”

Her father lay on bed, head lolled to one side. A five-year-old Y/N stared helplessly on, not understanding why he did not move. Then, she realized something important. Her mother had not drunk the wine that night. Her father had. Horrified by this realization, her legs froze in place – and the front door flew open, shattering against the wall.

“Hide!” Y/N’s mother yelled, rushing past.

Shadows swirled at her fingertips, yanked from the ground as her mother met him head-on. The intruder screamed, shadow shoved down his throat. Whirling around, Y/N rushed to her father and tugged on his hand. He did not move, drugged and unconscious.

“Wake up, daddy,” she gasped, vision blurring. Her mother screamed, dark shadows rushing through the entrance to the room. “You have to wake up.”

Y/N’s mother stumbled into the room, clutching her shoulder. Blood dripped through her fingers and, seeing Y/N, her eyes widened. “Hide!” she hissed, gathering a thick ball of shadow. “RUN!”

Shocked into motion, Y/N finally obeyed. While her mother gathered the darkness before her, Y/N darted past and into the hall. Their front door stood open, ajar to the night but as soon as Y/N reached it, she shuddered to a halt.

Her town was lit by fire.

Several homes were already ablaze, doused with kerosene and sent up in flames. They stood as terrible lampposts, lighting the carnage within. Blood pooled on the ground in dark puddles, multiple bodies lying limp and twisted between them. Dark shapes darted from the shadows, cackling with laughter and calling out to each other.

Slowly, Y/N took a step backwards.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the hallway behind her was clear. Her mother’s shadows were no longer there, which could only mean one thing – turning around, Y/N ran back inside.

Her feet pounded floorboards beneath her, hallway growing longer with each step she ran. When she finally reached the bedroom, Y/N realized in horror her father was dead. His throat had been slit ear to ear, blood ruby-red on the sheets. As for her mother, Y/N arrived just in time to see her gutted through with the knife.

Her mother choked, hands twitching around the steel in her gut.

Someone nearby screamed – in a far-off part of her mind, Y/N realized it was her.

Dropping her mother to the floor, the man slowly turned. Blood dripped from his knife to the ground – his black gloves were stained with it, his silver ring tarnished with crimson.

As he took a menacing step forward, Y/N came to her senses.

She ran.

Sprinting down the long hall, the world seemed to blur. Shadows stretched out to her eagerly, wrapping her body and calling her home. Closing her eyes, Y/N begged for safety – and when she opened them, she had entered the Shadow realm.

No one found her there.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tears herself from the dream to sit upright in bed.

The only sound in the room is her breath, which is deafening. Hands fisted in sheets, Y/N clenches her eyes shut and wills her heartbeat to slow. Chest rising and falling, Y/N reminds herself over and over where she is.

Tywll, not Crymych.

A tavern, not her parents’ home.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at the wall, Y/N’s cannot help but remember. For so long, she has tried to forget. To forget what she was – what she is – and how she became who she is now.

Haltingly, Y/N tugs back her covers to stand from the bed. Padding to her washbasin, she splashes cold water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, Y/N grips the bowl.

A stranger stares back at her.

Well – not a stranger, but Yoongi is correct. She is not a shadow-singer. She is not the person her parents raised her to be – but then again, the person her parents raised her to be is someone who cannot exist. The world will not permit her to.

Y/N does not know if anyone else survived Crymych’s massacre. In theory, they might have. Only the adults drank the wine, but Y/N cannot imagine anyone else lived through that carnage. If her mother and Emrys died, two of the strongest in their generation, it is unlikely anyone lived.

It is an accident Y/N is alive at all. She certainly did not intend to travel to the Shadow realm that night. It took her three days to make it back to the Real world and once she did, the Travelers were gone.

Her parents were gone too, but in a different way.

Swallowing, Y/N tears her gaze from the mirror. It has been a long time since she had that nightmare. She cannot help but blame Yoongi for it. If he had not shown up the way he did, asking about her past and forcing her to relive it, she would not have fallen down this hole once again.

And yet – glancing over her shoulder, Y/N ensures she is alone. No one watches her from the shadows, no one waits in the hall.

Closing her eyes, she reaches slowly inside to unlock the door. It does not take as long as before for her power to flow. Exhaling, Y/N sags in relief as her magic floods through her.

It has been so long, she almost forgot what a blessing it is.

The shadows twist around her ankles, climbing her arms to slip up her neck. Y/N relishes in it, tipping her head back to better enjoy the burn. The darkness has always been a comfort to her – it has always offered her protection, rather than fear.

Exhaling slowly, tears prick her eyes. Y/N wipes these away. It has been so long since she allowed herself to use magic. So long since she allowed herself to be real, to be true and to embrace what she is. The experience hurts.

It also feels right.

Once sated, Y/N releases her hold on the shadows. They do not flee from her this time. Instead, they seem to hover. She looks at them wistfully – until finally, Y/N leaves the door open and returns to bed.

Slipping under her covers, she draws them up to her chin. Her insides are aflame, but no longer does she find the sensation unpleasant.

Uncertain, she turns her head on the pillow. That spark, the feverish sensation – she realizes it was not Yoongi, exactly, but her magic.

Like calls to like.

Shivering, Y/N sinks lower and pulls the sheet overhead. Curling in on herself, she wonders if he even needs to sleep. She wonders if Yoongi felt anything at all when they touched. Then, Y/N wonders why she bothers thinking of him at all.

Pushing all this away, she allows the warmth of sleep to pull her under.

For the next week, Y/N distances herself from the inn.

It is not so difficult – claiming increased work at the forge, Y/N simply slips out early each morning and returns in the evening. When she does, she washes dishes with Rumilda and stays far from the tavern. In the morning, she helps Rian in the kitchen until it is time to go.

In this way, she avoids Yoongi.

Y/N knows this to be a hopeless endeavor. Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – it is impossible to hide if he truly wishes to find her. He can enter the Shadow realm, which is something Y/N finds intriguing, despite her feigned disinterest. She has never met anyone else who could. Y/N, herself has only traveled there twice.

Once, on the night of the Travelers and again, the night Yoongi found her.

Since he does not find her, Y/N assumes he has no need. This also interests her, along with the idea that Lord Arawn plays favorites. Not much is known about the dark King of Annwn, aside from his power and aura of mystery. Equally little is known about the Cŵn Annwn and yet, here Y/N is with one sleeping at her doorstep.

Closing the door to the inn, Y/N pulls her cloak close and sets off down the lane. She is later than she meant to be, due to Rumilda taking ill late last night. As Y/N darts around the tavern, her cloak catches on the edge of a barrel.

“Ah!” she yelps, swiftly jerked backwards. Her hand is already reaching for the clasp when a voice interrupts.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Glancing up, Y/N is stunned to see Alvah before her. She had almost forgotten his existence. His fingers work nimbly at her cloak and, once free, Alvah takes a step back.

Smiling at her, light brown hair falls into his gaze.

“I – thank you,” Y/N stammers.

“Not a problem,” Alvah says, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

He really is attractive. Y/N noticed it the other night in the tavern but now, in the clear light of day, the fact is infinitely more apparent. Tugging her cloak around her neck, Y/N nods and sets off down the road.

Alvah falls into step alongside her.

Y/N looks up, surprised.

Seeing her face, Alvah’s lip quirks. “I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m following you. Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She pauses. “Now, I am.”

He laughs easily. “Rest assured I’m not. I merely have business in town.”

“Business?” They continue to walk, turning down the next lane. “Most of our guests move on from Tywll in a few days. Isn’t the autumnal festival next week?”

“Ah,” Alvah says, as though he understands the confusion. “I’m not most guests, though.”

“Apparently not,” Y/N says, upper lip twitching.

They continue to walk on in silence, Alvah’s gloved hands are clasped behind his back. He glances sideways at her. “I’ll confess, I can’t leave until I accomplish something of worth.”

“Something of worth?” Unable to help herself, Y/N teases a little. “Can it be anything, or does it have to be something specific? Does a long walk constitute ‘something of worth?’ Does sowing a field? Planting a harvest?”

Alvah laughs and tips back his head. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Oh? What?”

“The merchant, Cadoc,” Alvah admits, faltering somewhat. “I need him to offer my father a trade deal. If I can convince him of this, I’ll be granted our land as its heir.”

“Oh.” Something akin to disappointment settles within Y/N’s stomach. The son of a landowner is far above her station. “That is something of worth, indeed.”

“I hope so. If I manage this, I hope I can advance in other aspects of my life.”

“In what way?”

Absently, Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. Her skirts drag through the mud and she is woefully aware she walks to the forge. Whomever Alvah’s future wife is, Y/N is certain she will not have hands dirty with soot and steel.

“In marriage, for one,” he says quietly.

It is at this very moment Y/N steps in a puddle and nearly face-plants in the mud. Alvah’s hand quickly steadies her, grasping her elbow before she can fall. Glancing upwards, Y/N’s cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Yanking her arm free of his, she clutches her cloak. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, looking back at the puddle. “I, um – I just don’t often speak about…”

“Marriage?” Alvah prompts with a smile.

Silently nodding, she turns down the street to the forge.

“Why not?”

Alvah follows.

Now, Y/N knows he is following her. There is nothing else this way but the forge and she glances his way, oddly pleased by the realization. “I would think that’s obvious, no?”

“Not to me,” Alvah says pleasantly.

Although it is still early, the town has begun to wake. Several townspeople throw open their shutters, sweeping their stoops in anticipation of a day’s work. Y/N glances their way, feeling the thrum of life in the air – and yet, none glance in her direction.

“I’m not exactly the sweetheart of this village,” she says, under her breath.

“I don’t know that’s a bad thing.”

Despite the thrill his words give her, they turn the next corner and come into view of the forge.

Alvah continues to walk, glancing her way. “Was that too forward?” he murmurs. “I apologize, if it was.”

“I – no. I only am not sure I agree.”

“No?”

Y/N sighs. “My current status limits my options.”

“Status?”

Coming to a stop at the gate of the forge, she gestures limply at its doors. “There are not many who wish to marry a woman apprentice.”

Alvah’s gaze brightens, realizing what she is saying. “You work... here?”

Y/N nods, lips tight.

“But that’s wonderful. Why, I – oh. What happened?” Alvah frowns, seeing the boarded-up window.

“Oh, nothing much.” Y/N shrugs, pushing open the gate. “There was a storm the other night. A branch fell.”

Alvah frowns, examining closer. “A storm? I – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Most townspeople would’ve already formed their own conclusions.”

“I don’t wish to be seen as most people to you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters, though she does her best to temper the response. It would not do to be attracted to Alvah. As much as he wishes to believe they could work, Y/N knows they would not. He is the wealthy son of a land-owning man and Y/N is, well, Y/N.

“A branch crashed through the window,” she explains, returning to his original question. “Narrowly missed the smith’s daughter, Gwen.”

“You don’t say.” Alvah resumes staring at the window. “What a lucky break it missed her.”

“Yes. Lucky.”

Alvah pauses, then looks at her cryptically. “This daughter – was she injured?”

Y/N is surprised to find him so interested. “I don’t think so,” she admits, startled into the truth.

Alvah’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m afraid I must apologize again. You’ve now seen me for what I truly am.”

“Which is?”

“Insatiably curious,” he laughs, offering a smile. “I ask far too many questions when I’m nervous.”

“Oh?” Y/N glances at the forge. “What would you have to be nervous of?”

Rather than answer this, Alvah gently takes hold of her hand. Y/N looks down in surprise, thrown when he lifts this to his lips. Brushing a kiss to her fingers, he slowly releases his hold.

Y/N stares at him in shock.

“You tell me,” Alvah says, low and direct.

When her lips part, but nothing comes out, he turns back up the road.

Y/N watches him leave, uncertain how she should feel. She rubs the back of her hand with one thumb, attempting to commit the gesture to memory. As nice as his touch was, it was only that. Nice.

It did nothing to spark the life in her veins.

It did nothing to stir the magic in her blood.

Turning around on her heel, Y/N enters the forge.

At the end of her day, Y/N is thoroughly exhausted.

She stands in the middle of the forge, bellows held in one hand while she strokes the flames higher. Owen left a half-hour prior to make another delivery, directing Y/N to finish up today’s metalwork. It was a large step towards her independence, being left alone in the forge.

Feeling prideful of this, Y/N sets the bellows aside and picks up a large piece of metal. She needs to create several more horseshoes, since the recent crowd of travelers has bled their stock dry. Holding the metal over the fire, Y/N slowly melts it in each direction. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she ensures no one watches and tempers the edges with darkness.

Yoongi chuckles and steps from the shadows. “Does Owen know you do that?” he asks.

Y/N yelps, nearly dropping the horseshoe in the flames.

Yoongi’s smile widens, walking closer. “What are you doing?”

Scowling, Y/N retracts the horseshoe to dunk in the water. “Creating something,” she mutters, staring into the bucket. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Yoongi comes to a stop at her shoulder, peering over. “Creating something with magic?”

Y/N’s gaze flies upwards. “Will you please be quiet?” she hisses. “Someone could hear.”

“Someone like Gwen?”

Swiftly, Y/N removes the horseshoe and stomps to the shelf. Satisfied by its shape, she places this down and whirls to face Yoongi. “Touch her,” she blurts. “And I’ll have something to say about it.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring his mirth, Y/N strides past him to undo her apron. The leather is heavy, sticking to her chest in a way she pointedly ignores. It is not as though Yoongi would ever look at her like that. However – when she glances his way, she sees Yoongi look hastily up.

Almost guiltily, he avoids her gaze.

Y/N pauses, uncertain what just occurred. Deciding she is imagining things, she resumes hanging her apron. “Leave Gwen out of this, alright?”

Disappearing from where he stands, Yoongi reappears beside her. “You know I can’t promise that,” he says, low. “Just like you can’t promise not to use magic. It’s not what we are.”

Enraged by his casual use of magic, Y/N lifts her chin. “Since you seem so intent upon continuing this conversation,” she hisses. “Let’s do it outside of my workplace.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabs her cloak to push open the door. Exiting the forge, Y/N sends a dark wave of magic behind her to clean its surface. Ignoring Yoongi’s smirk, Y/N strides down the road.

“So.” He catches up to her easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we continue our conversation now?”

“What conversation?” Y/N pulls her cloak tighter. “You broke into my place of work and now are stalking me home.”

“To the inn,” Yoongi corrects. “Where I also rent a room.”

“And the breaking and entering part?”

“Doors are... confusing for Cŵn Annwn.”

Scowling, Y/N lowers her voice. “Doesn’t excuse your impropriety.”

Yoongi shrugs.

He becomes uncharacteristically silent as they walk through the town. The town’s lamplighters are almost done for the evening, the contained flames of the lamps casting shadows over the ground. Y/N stares at it all, feeling their tug in her soul.

It seems now she has let magic back in, it will not be denied. If the time should ever come when Y/N must part from it a second time, she is not sure she will be able to do so.

Yoongi exhales at her side. “Actually,” he says, sounding hesitant. “I came by to ask you something.”

“Oh? How bold to ask more, when you already barter my soul.”

He scowls, looking her way. “I’m not bartering your soul, Y/N. You tangled with fate by saving that girl. That kind of thing has consequences.”

“What type of consequences?”

Yoongi pauses, only to chuckle. “Oh, no,” he mutters. “Only the dead and dying know that. You know, for a human, you have a worryingly low sense of self-preservation.”

“Perhaps if you were more forthcoming.”

“Oh, yes. Ask the night to tell you its secrets.”

The corner of Y/N’s lips lift despite herself. It is funny, in a way. The questions she asks Yoongi, the frustration she holds for him – they are in many ways similar to the frustration humans have with witches. She cannot understand him and his rules and so, she thinks him against her.

Subtly, she glances sideways.

Yoongi is already looking back.

Hastily, Y/N jerks her head forward. “What did you wish to ask me?”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi sounds disappointed, which causes Y/N’s heartbeat to race. She tempers it quickly, scolding herself for being so silly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Y/N nearly smiles. “More unusual than a shadow-singer walking with Cŵn Annwn through the town square?”

Yoongi laughs, a deep rumble. “Yes, more unusual than that. I only ask because, well – before my arrival, did you have any difficulty accessing your magic?”

Y/N pauses at the next street corner. The lamplight does not reach this far, giving them space to remain unseen.

“No,” she says, squinting upwards. “Or – I don’t know. I never really tried.”

Yoongi comes to a stop. “Never?”

“It was out of necessity.”

“I know, but…” Yoongi stares at her incredulously. “Damnation, Y/N. How long have you refrained?”

“Fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fifteen… fifteen years?”

“Yes, well.” Y/N exhales and resumes walking. “We all do what we must in order to survive.”

Seeming troubled, Yoongi falls into step alongside her. “The reason I ask, is many of my messengers have been odd since I came here. Reluctant to travel. One even mentioned this area being cursed against magic. Is that so?”

“I don’t really know.”

“He said a great massacre of witches and warlocks took place some fifteen years ago.”

Hearing her history said so casually aloud, Y/N’s feet falter beneath her. She comes to an accidental stop, staring blankly at his back. Vision blurring, her hands ball into fists.

Yoongi continues several paces before realizing she does not follow. “Y/N?” He turns, gaze widening when he sees her expression. “I – oh.”

He seems to do the math in his head. Fifteen years since she last used her magic. Fifteen years since witches and warlocks were murdered. The reality of her situation dawns on him, but before they can speak further, a door bangs open and drunk men tumble out. Yoongi unthinkingly moves closer, glaring at them as they pass.

Y/N shivers, rubbing her arms to regain control. “It’s fine,” she mutters, shaking it off. “Let’s just go.”

Yoongi looks at her dubiously but nods, following suit.

As they enter the main part of town, the moon breaks through the clouds. Silvery light casts the square in an otherworldly sheen, seeming to exist half-in and out of reality. Smoke curls over the roofs, grey against the inky black of the night. Tywll is quieter after dark, but only barely.

Across the street, a mother lingers in the door to her household. She chats with the milkman, a toddler clinging to her ankles while another one darts into the street. He does not pay attention, swinging around a lamppost and nearly hitting his head on a carriage.

As gently as she can, Y/N uses her shadows to urge the child back to its mother. When she turns around, she sees Yoongi watching.

“What?” she demands, walking faster. He says nothing, merely following suit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” Yoongi seems genuinely puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“You hid your magic for fifteen years.” Lowering his voice, Yoongi glances around. Apparently, her apprehension is catching. “You say it was out of necessity, because these people would have killed you otherwise. And yet – whenever you do use magic, it’s to their benefit. You saved Gwen from harm. You pushed that toddler to safety.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat. “And?”

“And,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s odd, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“That you would choose to help those who would kill you without hesitation.”

Her eyes widen, feet faltering, but she keeps walking down the road.

Seeing her reaction, Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?” he asks. “Was it something I said?”

“You just…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “Treat life so cavalierly. That’s all.”

Yoongi seems mildly offended. “I assure you, I do not.”

“But you do.” Y/N finally comes to a stop. “You’re an enforcer. You only deal with the dead, with souls who have already been weighed and found wanting. Souls without an option for redemption. I live here, though.”

“And where is here?”

“I live amongst the living,” she says. “In my eyes, there is always room for redemption.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers with something undefined. “There are some who would call you naïve.”

“I imagine so,” Y/N says, shrugging to walk past. “I’ve never much cared what people thought about me, though.”

After a moment, Yoongi gives in and follows. As they wind their way through the town, the lamps become more and more sparse. The pools of light lessen between them. Rather than be unnerved by this fact, Y/N welcomes it, embracing the night.

When they finally reach the inn, Yoongi stops.

“Well.” Y/N glances sideways, tugging again on her cloak. “Will you be in Tywll awhile longer?”

Yoongi cranes his neck up to examine the roof. “I imagine so.”

“I see. Are you coming in?”

Yoongi looks at her. “In a bit. I need to meet a messenger outside of town.”

His lips part, a question within but before he can ask it, Y/N places a hand on the doorknob. “Well, goodnight,” she says, pushing inside – until her hand is caught in his.

Startled, she looks down.

Yoongi’s hand has slipped easily through her fingers. He holds her gently, steadily, as though she is something to be treasured. When she looks up, she finds his gaze darker than night.

“I don’t wish to harm you,” he says, low and sincere.

This is what Y/N wanted from Alvah’s touch. This heat racing through her veins, this unbearable lightness of her heart – this is what she wanted from Alvah but instead, feels with Yoongi.

Swiftly, she tugs her hand from his grasp. Y/N cannot afford to forget their situation, not for a moment. Yoongi is here for her soul and at any point in time, may be forced to take her to Annwn.

Steeling her spine, Y/N pushes open the door. “Then don’t,” she says, walking inside.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Yoongi out in the cold.

Y/N leaves early the next morning.

Because of this, Alvah is not waiting to greet her. She did not expect him to be – based on their previous conversation, Y/N holds little hope for a relationship between them. Alvah was nice to talk to, but there is not much more she can ask.

Unlike Yoongi – Y/N’s teeth grit – who somehow manages to get under her skin every time.

Walking fast down the lane, her cloak brushes the ground. The moon has sunk below the horizon, which means the rising of dawn cannot be far off. Rubbing her arms, Y/N fights to keep herself warm.

At the next bend in the road, her feet falter beneath her.

Something is wrong.

The door to Owen’s home is ajar, left standing open to his front yard. Slowly, Y/N resumes walking and glances side to side. No one else on this street is awake yet, so no one else has noticed the disturbance.

As Y/N draws near, she becomes certain in her assessment. The front gate is unlocked, as though forgotten, or disregarded. Gently, Y/N pushes this open.

“Hello?” she calls, peering into the mist.

No one answers and Y/N is just considering leaving when Owen emerges from around the house. His appearance is off – apron half-tied and hair all askew. He looks past Y/N for a moment, before zeroing in on her face.

“Y/N.” Jerking to life, he rushes across the yard.

“Own?” Y/N frowns and pushes open the gate. “What’s wrong?”

“I – Gwen,” he pants, coming to a stop. “I can’t find Gwen.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N glances around, as though Gwen might pop up any moment. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” says Owen, frantically wringing his hands. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her bed, nor the kitchen, nor the forge. I – I looked everywhere I can think of, Y/N.”

“Alright.” Y/N steps forward. “Alright, we’ll find her. Perhaps she went out this morning? Did you need bread, or water?”

Owen simply looks at her, dazed. “No, no. Gwen never leaves before I start work.”

Y/N does not know how to respond. The best-case scenario is Gwen did leave on her own – otherwise, the possibilities take a darker turn. “Let me help you look,” she insists. “Maybe you missed her.”

Slowly, Owen nods and follows meekly behind when Y/N enters the yard.

The two search the house from top to bottom, the yard from back to front, but find nothing. Owen is correct – Gwen is gone and what is worse; her bed remains unmade. It does not seem she slept here last night. This has Owen beside himself, not understanding how he misplaced her.

Y/N assures him this is not his fault – perhaps Gwen left to meet friends. It would not be kind of Gwen to do so, to make her father worry like this. Indeed, it would not be like Gwen at all, but at least in this scenario, she would be safe.

Returning to the front yard, Y/N glances up at the house. “There weren’t signs of a break-in.”

Owen nods slowly. “A good thing.”

In a way. It means Gwen knew the intruder – it does not mean she is safe.

“We’ll find her,” Y/N exhales. “Maybe she went to the next village. Or, a friend’s house? Is there any place she might have stayed the night?”

Owen’s gaze sharpens. The implication in her question is clear – Gwen is young, beautiful and has many admirers. She might have run away on purpose.

“Possibly,” Owen says. His shoulders sag. “There was someone she was interested in lately, I know. Very recent. Gwen is a good girl, she really is, but… well, she can be romantic.”

For a girl of their age to be called romantic is hardly a compliment. Often, it means they lose their head when in love.

“Well, then.” Y/N sighs. “Perhaps we keep this quiet as long as we can.”

Owen hesitates because, on the one hand, if Gwen is in danger people should know right away. On the other hand – if she did run off with a man, it would cause irreparable damage to her reputation.

“We’ll give her until the end of the day,” Owen determines, reaching behind him to re-tie his apron. “If she is not home by then…”

Y/N nods, understanding the implication. If Gwen is not home by nightfall, the consequences cannot be stopped.

The day drags on longer than usual. Although much work is done in the forge, it seems to take twice as long. Owen keeps glancing out the window, as though he expects Gwen to return home any minute.

As the day wears on, the sun rises and falls, she does not appear.

Finally, Owen shoves his tongs in the water. “I’m heading into town,” he announces, undoing his apron.

Y/N looks up, wiping her brow. “You’re what?”

“Going into town,” Owen repeats, hanging his garment up on a hook. “I’ll see the sheriff and tell him what’s happened. Either Gwen is in danger, or she has run away. Either way.” He sets his jaw. “I’m bringing her home.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N does not wish to dissuade Owen, but she does feel a certain duty to point out the risk. “If she’s run off, perhaps…”

Owen stares out the window. A shadow crosses his expression, considering the unthinkable.

“And if she hasn’t?”

Were it anyone else, Y/N would consider running off the more likely option. Tywll is so small, it is rare someone steals a loaf of bread, let alone a woman. However, Gwen is not just anyone. She loves Owen dearer than anything else in this world – and Y/N knows she would not leave without saying goodbye. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Slowly, she nods.

Owen takes a few minutes longer before slipping out the door. Y/N begins cleaning the forge, but her head is not in the process. She is too distracted by thoughts of Gwen – where she might be, who she is with and what Owen will do, if she never comes home.

When she leaves for the night, Owen still has not returned.

Gwen does not come home that night either, nor the one following.

Rumors spread like wildfire through the village – malicious ones, dismissive ones. Ones which have Y/N waking from nightmares again, but this time they are not her own. At some point, Rian bans talk of Gwen in the tavern, but this does not prevent them from discussing in hushed tones.

Y/N overhears as she waits on the tables, replacing their ale and trying hard not to listen. At first, the town suspects Alvah, then Yoongi. They quickly move on when neither one leaves, nor their rooms contain Gwen.

It would not make sense to stick around after committing a crime.

And so, the town turns to other culprits. There have been many travelers in Tywll, traveling through for Dowais’ autumnal festival – it is hard to remember all, but the town tries. Y/N stops listening after a while, only caring about Owen and the safety of Gwen.

At the end of the second day with no sign of Gwen, Y/N begins to grow restless. Yoongi has not been seen much since Gwen’s disappearance. To be fair, Y/N has not seen him at all since they walked home from the forge, but his absence the past few days has been noticeable. As though he does not wish to speak and is avoiding her questions.

It would only be natural for her to suspect Yoongi and indeed, Y/N does for a time. Looking at things objectively, Yoongi is the obvious culprit. He was sent to watch over their souls and he warned Y/N that at any moment, he could drag them away.

And yet – if this is so, and Yoongi has taken Gwen’s soul, why is he still here?

For he is here, even if he is often absent. His steamer trunk is still in his room – Y/N checked this once, against her better judgement – and she has even seen him disappear out the front door. Yoongi is still IN Tywll, which makes Y/N wonder what he knows.

She decides to find out the very next night. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Y/N waits until Rian looks away before slipping upstairs.

The noise of the tavern muffles on the second floor. Y/N walks down the hall, taking purposeful care not to make too much sound. Room seven is at the end, its number in gold peeling letters upon the front door. When no one answers, Y/N tentatively pushes this open.

Yoongi is not here.

A candle sits on the front table, gathering dust. This does not surprise Y/N – if Yoongi is anything like her, he probably prefers the dark. Stepping further inside, she pulls the door shut behind her.

The trunk lies at the foot of his bed, a dark jumble of clothing within. This sight nearly makes her smile, since it seems so horribly human. The Cŵn Annwn should have clothing of shadow, or some otherworldly substance which does not exist in this world.

Speaking of which – shadows curl at Y/N’s ankles as she walks. This seems to happen more and more lately. Darkness spreads wherever she touches and each place she does, Y/N gleans a sense of the object.

Yoongi has not been here for hours.

Paused at the foot of his bed, Y/N looks around. Gwen is not here, that much is obvious – from what Y/N can tell, she never was. This means Yoongi must be equally perturbed Gwen has disappeared. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, after all.

Darkness pulses in the corners, beckoning her near. Y/N stiffens, realizing where Yoongi must be. If he is not here in Tywll, if she can find no trace of him in this world – he must be in another.

As soon as Y/N thinks this, the world wavers around her. Y/N forces this back and tries not to travel, but then wonders why. Yoongi told her not to enter the Shadow realm but then, he is not here.

Yoongi does not tell her what to do.

Inhaling gently, Y/N closes her eyes.

This time, she feels the world shift and when she opens her eyes, she is expecting the nightmarish landscape.

Still, the Shadow realm seems different today. Its edges are blackened, crumbled apart at the seams. Somewhere in the distance, Y/N hears a scream. Whirling, she faces the same way she came but sees nothing. The Real world wavers just beyond reach and all that exists here is shadow.

“Hello?” Y/N calls.

Her voice does not seem to echo. This makes sense – there is nothing here to produce the vibrations.

Slowly walking forward, Y/N peers into darkness. Her magic exists here, but less. Or – perhaps it is more. Her magic is stronger, but this place is made out of shadows. Being surrounded by so much makes her somehow feel small.

When Y/N takes another step forward, a shape stirs in the darkness.

“Hello?” she says, coming to a stop. “Who’s there?”

The shape stirs once more, beginning to solidify into something huge, something massive. Y/N’s eyes widen, head tipping back to see the end of it. She trembles, about to scream when –

Yoongi appears, dropping from the dark sky before her.

He snarls, gaze red and teeth bared – canines as sharp as hellfire itself. Yoongi does not glance at Y/N, only having eyes for the monster before them. He growls a second time in warning, one hand splayed to the ground.

The thing rears back, twitching grotesquely before it freezes in recognition. Yoongi stares at it silently, daring it to strike and slowly, the thing reneges and melts into twilight.

Yoongi remains frozen until he is sure it has gone.

His head snaps sideways to Y/N. “What were you thinking?” he growls, pushing himself up from the ground.

As he strides forward, he adopts a more human appearance. The red of his eyes dims, canines shortening but there is still something wolfish to his gaze.

Y/N stares over his shoulder, searching wildly for the thing in the shadows. “I – what was that?” she gasps.

Yoongi comes to a stop. “There are more things which travel the Shadow realm than just you and I, Y/N,” he says grimly.

“You!” she blurts, remembering why she came. “I was looking for you, Min Yoongi. We need to talk about Gwen.”

“Not here,” Yoongi mutters, gripping her wrist.

Before Y/N can protest, they melt away and reappear in his room.

Flinging her hand away, Yoongi strides across his floor. He comes to a stop at his bedside, grabbing a decanter and removing its top. Tipping the bottle sideways, amber liquid pours out.

As the daughter of an innkeeper, Y/N recognizes the sharp tang of alcohol. “What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkled.

“I’m drinking,” Yoongi says calmly, replacing the stopper. Turning around, he drinks the glass in one gulp. “I occasionally drink when others test my patience.”

“Your patience?”

“Yes, my patience,” he snaps. “You may be able to enter the Shadow realm, Y/N, but you are woefully unprepared for what you will find there.”

“Why? Because I’m human?”

“I – no.” Yoongi seems bewildered. “Because you haven’t used your magic in fifteen years, Y/N! You’re a child, learning to walk. If that Gwyllion had managed to touch you…” He pauses, refilling the glass without touching the bottle. “Your soul would’ve separated from your body and you would’ve wandered the Shadow realm for eternity. Is that what you wanted?”

A chill travels Y/N’s spine. A Gwyllion.

She has heard stories about the famed demons of twilight ever since she was little. Gwyllions lurk in the shadows, dwell in the places between realms and rip souls from their bodies. She never once imagined one could hurt her, though – her, a shadow-singer.

Shaking his head, Yoongi surveys her reaction.

“No,” Y/N blurts, trying to remain in control. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He glares at her again before tipping his second drink back.

“I…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “If you can re-fill that with magic, why bother by hand?”

“Why, indeed?” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe because I – unlike you – don’t draw attention to myself in idiotic ways. I finish the tasks I am assigned and when I seek information from others, I don’t take unnecessary risks!”

Y/N pauses, zeroing in on the last part of his sentence. “What information are you seeking?”

Yoongi takes a step closer. Smoothly, he waves a hand to make the glass disappear. “Gwen,” he mutters. “Your friend. The soul I was assigned to watch has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “You think I took her.”

“No.”

He blinks, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “If you had taken her, you would’ve already left. Since you’re still here, I can only assume it was someone else.”

Yoongi stares at her at moment and Y/N wonders if this is the first time someone did not assume the worst of him.

“Well, you’re correct.” Turning around on his heel, Yoongi walks towards his trunk. “I didn’t take her. That’s why I was in the Shadow realm at all – I was visiting another of the Cŵn Annwn to request information.”

“Did they have any?”

“No,” Yoongi mutters. “She’s gone.”

“I know that. Honestly, Yoongi, what have you even been doing these past –”

With a snarl, Yoongi disappears to reappear before her.

Stumbling backwards a bit, Y/N recovers quickly to glare. “One of these days, that shock factor is going to wear off,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand,” Yoongi insists. “When I say gone, I mean gone. I can’t find Gwen in the Real world. Nor in the Shadow realm. She’s not in the Otherworld. Gwen is gone.”

As Y/N freezes, comprehension dawning, Yoongi deflates.

“There’s something else going on here,” he says finally. “Some kind of magic I’m not taking into consideration. It doesn’t help most of my informants refuse to meet me in Tywll because of the Travelers.”

Y/N responds to this, automatic. “The Travelers haven’t been in these parts for years.”

“No, Y/N.” He looks at her gently. “They were quiet for a while. Recently though, they have been killing witches and warlocks up and down the north coast.”

Suddenly speechless, Y/N stares at him in horror.

“The last they were sighted was near here,” he adds, quiet. “If it helps, it is not as bad as the last time. Most speculate it’s only a few humans, not as many as before.”

Y/N cannot breathe. All this time, she should she was safe. She thought she could just wait out the storm and then, everything would be fine. It would seem the Travelers will not die, though and fleetingly, Y/N wonders if she will ever truly live.

Swallowing, Y/N moves towards the door. “Fine.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi exhales, clearly not believing her.

She turns back around. “What does this have to do with Gwen?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He seems to be at a loss. The trunk behind him is still open, as though it might suddenly contain answers. Y/N stares at this and wonders how Yoongi came to be Cŵn Annwn. There are times when he seems almost human and then other time, woefully not.

Like the Yoongi she saw in the Shadow realm, eyes red and snarling with warning.

“Take me with,” she says suddenly.

Yoongi blinks, startled. “I – what?”

“When you go to find more information.” Y/N looks up, taking a step closer. “The next time you go to the Shadow realm, take me with.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi looks at her, incredulous. “After everything I just said? You’re a liability, Y/N.”

“A liability you’re in charge of,” she reminds him. “You’re in charge of my soul, too, Yoongi. How would it look if I disappeared, too?”

Jaw snapping shut, Yoongi glowers at her.

Sensing she has hit a nerve, Y/N continues. “Besides,” she says, pressing on. “I can help. I know this town, I know its people. I can help you. Just – let me. Please,” she adds, voice breaking on the word. “Gwen was my friend. I need… I have to do something.”

Yoongi stares at her for a moment, uncertain. Finally, he exhales and turns. “Alright. When I have another lead, I’ll come get you. Satisfied?”

“No.” Y/N watches him walk towards the window. “I want to go now.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N nearly smiles, but catches herself. There is no condemnation to his tone and Y/N knows he does not mean to be rude. He is only stating the facts – straightening her spine, Y/N wonders when she began reading Yoongi so well.

She wonders when she began trusting him.

Because she does – or, she trusts him more than most in her life. With this realization comes a modicum of guilt because Y/N has now gotten what she came for. She has more information, along with a promise and so, she should leave.

Before anything else can be given.

“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the knob.

Hovering there, she considers turning around. The room waits expectantly behind her, as though Yoongi also holds his breath. Steeling her spine, Y/N forces such nonsense aside and steps into the hall.

As the door falls shut behind her, Y/N hears him exhale. The sound is ragged, meaningful but is cut off before she can dissect any further. Hurrying away, Y/N tries not to replay the sound in her mind.

Y/N is not woken the next morning by the rooster.

Instead, it is Mervin’s hand on her shoulder which rouses her from her sleep. He holds a candle above her, the flickering flame illuminating his frame. Seeing him like this, Y/N blearily focuses on his face above hers.

“What is it?” she murmurs, pushing herself upwards.

Mervin’s expression is grave, his features drawn.

Recognizing this, Y/N tenses. “Mervin?”

“It’s… it’s Gwen.”

He does not need to say more – the rest is clear. If this were good news, he would be smiling. If this were good news, Mervin would not be waking Y/N in the middle of the night.

Fingers trembling, Y/N reaches out for her dressing gown. “What is it?”

Taking a step back, Mervin places the candle beside her. “They found her an hour ago,” he says, hollow. “She was in the river.”

Y/N freezes, fingers clutching the fabric.

Mervin does not stay long, leaving soon after to give her a few moments of peace. Changing in a daze, Y/N walks downstairs and realizes halfway she forgot several steps in her routine. Her hair is rumpled, buttons mismatched, but no one in the tavern seems to notice. Much of the town has gathered before Rian’s fire, huddled in groups and speaking in whispers.

When Y/N enters, she sees Rian by the fire. The bread is forgotten behind her, half-risen on top of the counter. Mervin clasps her hand, talking gently into the side of her hair. The sight is so unusual, Y/N comes to a stop.

Looking up, Rian hastily wipes a tear from her cheek. “Owen came by,” she announces, briskly standing to return to the bread. “The forge will be closed for the foreseeable future, so there’s no work today.”

“Alright,” Y/N exhales, having expected as much.

She stares at the kitchen, amazed to find it much the same as before. It seems almost offensive, to continue feeding the town and housing their guests when Gwen no longer exists. It seems their life should also come to a stop, out of respect for hers.

Mervin spared her the details of Gwen’s death out of consideration but as Y/N walks through the tavern, she catches the highlights, regardless.

Gwen was found in the river. She was drowned, with nary a mark on her body. No signs of struggle. No signs of injury – self-inflicted or otherwise. Gwen was merely found dead, eyes glassy and wide as she stared from the river.

Already, there are whispers of magic.

Throughout the morning, Y/N continues to overhear conversations. It was unnatural, the way she died and so, magic is the obvious conclusion. A tragedy of such magnitude has never occurred here before. People have died, yes but not like Gwen.

It seems impossible for her to be gone and so, people look for impossible answers.

For the rest of the week, Y/N throws herself into work. It helps to keep her moving, to stay distracted from the idea of Gwen being pulled from the river. She does not see Owen, though she would like to. He is firmly embroiled in a nightmare of his own and Y/N knows his life will take time to heal. Instead, she busies herself with the tavern, the inn and does not think about Gwen.

Or, she tries.

This proves to be impossible when her death is the only subject Tywll is willing to talk about. Waiting tables each evening, Y/N hears gossip despite herself. The men all discuss the physical aspects of the death. How her lips were blue – cold, from the water – how her limbs were stiff, to the point where she could not be moved.

The women discuss what it means for their town. Gwen was a sweet girl; a good girl and it cannot be ignored she went voluntarily. There were no signs of struggle at the house. Whomever killed her remains at large and if they are near, everyone else is in danger.

Y/N continues to glance at the staircase, wondering when Yoongi will find her. Arawn cannot be pleased by Gwen’s early demise. Despite the ominousness of his presence, the Cŵn Annwn are never dispatched to intervene – only to bring humans to Annwn for judgement.

Although it may be foolish, Y/N finds herself believing him. This was not Yoongi’s plan, she can feel certain of that much. Yoongi might be many things, but he is not cruel – and the way they found Gwen was cruel.

Squeezing her body in between tables, Y/N comes to a stop at a large group of townspeople. The most important men are all gathered, Cadoc amongst them, and – to Y/N’s surprise – Alvah beside him. He speaks quietly with the older man and Y/N wonders absent-mindedly if he remains at work on his deal.

It would be highly insensitive if he were. As Y/N removes his glass though, she realizes they do not discuss business at all – but Gwen.

“I’m telling you,” Cadoc says under his breath. “You’re wrong. None of the men in this town would’ve laid a finger on her.”

Stiffening, Y/N places the glass on her tray.

“Of course not,” Alvah says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply they would. Only, it’s difficult to know anyone’s true intentions these days.”

Trevor grunts, from the other side of the table. “Man’s right. Would be madness to rule out the townsfolk, simply because blaming a traveler is easier.”

“Exactly.” Alvah glances over his shoulder. “Although…”

Cadoc squints over his cup. “Although, what? Spit it out, man.”

Shaking his head, Alvah wraps a gloved hand around his glass. The silver ring on his hand gleams in the firelight. “No, never mind. It is a silly thought.”

“What is?”

The rest of the table looks on, waiting for more. Looking up, Alvah realizes they hang on his every word. Y/N lingers too, motions slowed to ensure she hears what he has to say.

Alvah leans in. “Are there any in town who have… magic?”

“What are you implying?” Cadoc says sharply.

“Nothing,” Alvah says – quickly, as though embarrassed. “It is only… I have traveled much, my friends.”

The rest of the men grumble and glance at one another. Y/N finds it strange to see these men trust an outsider so quickly. Alvah has only been in Tywll a matter of weeks and, under any other circumstances, he would be a suspect of the murder.

“And?” Trevor demands, narrowing his gaze.

“And she died with no marks on her body,” finishes Cadoc, glancing at Alvah. “Is that what you’re getting at, boy?”

Alvah nods in relief. “Doesn’t it seem odd?”

“It does.” Cadoc inclines his head, hand tapping the table. “Still. It is rash to assume magic so fast.”

Y/N is surprised to hear Cadoc the voice of reason in this scenario. She has never much liked the merchant – he usually gives Owen impossible deadlines, and then even shorter ones follow when he manages to meet those.

“Obviously,” Alvah nods. “Likely, there is no magic involved. It is only strange, that’s all.”

“It is,” jumps in Trevor, gaze scanning the tavern.

Y/N turns before he can spot her. Reaching the next table, she purposefully remains within earshot. For the most part, they seem to have moved on – but then Alvah leans forward, whispering something to Cadoc. The first part is inaudible but the second, Y/N hears.

“… odd, he hasn’t come downstairs since they found her.”

Y/N’s blood chills when they look towards the stairs.

Glancing upwards, she sees Yoongi descending. He is dressed in his usual black, sparing no glance for the townsfolk before exiting the building. Multiple heads follow him, Y/N notices with alarm.

She is not sure how she missed this before. Of course, now that Gwen has been found, the town searches harder for her killer. It would seem they do not suspect Alvah, but they do Yoongi.

The wrongness of this twists deep in her chest. Yoongi did not kill Gwen; Y/N is certain. She may not know who did, but she is determined to find out. Which means it is even more imperative Yoongi take her to the Shadow realm. They need to find answers, and fast.

Before her expression can give her away, Y/N hurries into the kitchen. She stays there the rest of the night, helping Rumilda and washing the dishes. She cannot face the town now, unable to stomach their deliberate ignorance. It reminds her too much of Crymych, of her people screaming in fright and the horrible certainty those Travelers had when they killed.

Magic is evil and so, must be extinguished.

Scrubbing a pot harder, Y/N’s brows furrow. She cannot help but think yes, sometimes magic is evil – but in many ways, humans can be worse.

The evening is long. People do not want to leave the safety of the inn and its fire. Eventually, Rian is forced to shoo them all out with a rag, telling them to come back when they open tomorrow. Once they are gone, Y/N brings their dishes into the kitchen. She rolls up her sleeves, ready to work but Mervin reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Go and sleep.”

Y/N pauses, glancing at Rian but she also says nothing, scrubbing away at the sink. When Mervin arches a brow, Y/N sags in relief.

“Alright,” she says, untying her apron. “But if you need any help, I’m –”

Cutting her off, Mervin shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Despite her protestation, Y/N is glad for their intervention. While work kept her going at first, it now feels a drag on her senses. She misses the forge – the hot yield of iron, the simmering heat of the furnace. She misses creating something. She misses Owen’s quiet humor and eating with Gwen during supper.

It was a haven once to her, but it no longer exists. The weight of this falls upon Y/N’s shoulders with each step she climbs. Once in her room, she slowly undresses. Each layer she sheds gives no relief to her burden. Turning around, Y/N cannot help but think it should have been her.

She is the magical one, she should have stopped this from happening. She should have been smarter, should have seen the signs earlier and done something to stop it. For sure, she should have kept a closer eye on Gwen after the accident.

Their souls were linked, after all.

“Y/N.”

Whirling at the sound of the familiar voice, Y/N clasps a hand to her throat. “Yoongi,” she chastises, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yoongi winces and steps out of thin air. “I’m sorry,” he says, cloak swishing around him as he walks. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Does this mean you’ve found something?”

“Or nothing,” Yoongi exhales, coming to a stop right before her.

“You found something? Or, nothing?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re being purposefully confusing.”

“Not purposefully,” says Yoongi. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I have a lead on information. Someone who may know what happened to Gwen – but I’m not sure. Hence the something, or nothing.”

“I see.” Forgetting about undressing, Y/N grabs for her cloak. “When do we leave?”

Yoongi does not respond, so she glances over her shoulder. She finds him staring back at her, gaze oddly pleading.

Slowly, she straightens. “You promised,” she reminds him.

“I know I did.” Yoongi inhales. “I know, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Y/N narrows her eyes.

“You don’t,” Yoongi insists, stepping forward. His hands find her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Wherever his skin touches, a delicious heat thrums through her veins.

“Say that I don’t,” Y/N says, through gritted teeth. It takes everything in her not to be distracted. “I still want to come. You promised to take me.”

His brow lowers in frustration. “Even though your life will be in danger?”

“My life is always in danger,” Y/N says, breaking off. “It always is and I’m used to that fact but Gwen is the one who died. And I…” Exhaling roughly, she swallows. “It should have been… I could have…”

Understanding dawns on his features. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him helplessly. “No?”

“No,” he says sternly.

Y/N looks at him for so long, she nearly forgets what she wants. “All the same,” she says quietly. “I want to come.”

Yoongi returns her gaze, weighing the consequences. Whatever he sees in her expression must convince him because he finally takes a step backwards, holding out a hand.

“Fine,” he exhales, entwining their fingers. “Do not speak once we arrive, though. Let me do the talking.”

Y/N glances at him in surprise. Contrary to most men in this village, Yoongi has always listened to her when she spoke. He has never once tried to quiet her. Knowing he would not offer these boundaries without reason, she slowly nods.

“Fine.”

Yoongi nods, setting his jaw as they disappear.

They reappear on a damp riverbank.

Letting go of her hand, Yoongi swiftly steps forward. He peers into the shadows as Y/N crosses both arms. Their location is unfamiliar. Y/N does not recognize the place, nor their surroundings. They are not in the Shadow realm – but neither are they anywhere she has been in the real world.

Willowy moss drips overhead, creeping down tree trunks to blanket the ground. Glancing at Yoongi, Y/N wonders why he let go of her hand. Opening her mouth to ask, she remembers his warning and slowly closes her lips.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the edge of the river. “Hoseok?” he calls. There is no answer. “Hoseok, I know you’re here.”

Mist rises gently from the water. This is a wild place, Y/N realizes. She can feel this in her bones and no longer, is she certain they are outside of the Shadow realm. Perhaps this is simply an unexplored part, an unfamiliar part. Rubbing her arms, Y/N glances around and wonders if she has been foolish.

Perhaps she should have asked Yoongi where they were going before leaving – definitely, she should have asked something before blindly following.

A shape solidifies before them, stepping from darkness.

The man wears a dark cloak, like Yoongi, but the similarities end there. He is taller, with a narrower face and distrusting eyes. Inhaling sharply, the man’s nostrils flare and Y/N gets the distinct impression he is scenting them.

Yoongi watches lazily while he does this. “Are you done, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s head snaps down with a smirk. “Nearly.”

Exhaling deeply, Yoongi folds both arms over his chest. It is the oddest thing – although Hoseok searches the darkness behind him, he does not seem to see Y/N. It is as though she were not present at all, or somehow invisible.

“You stink like a human,” Hoseok says, eyes glowing red. “You’ve spent too much time with the mortals, I fear. Losing your touch?”

Yoongi does not react. “I have a job to do. Unlike you, I follow my orders.”

Hoseok’s gaze tightens. “Were your orders to get that village girl killed?”

“Someone else interfered,” Yoongi growls.

“Obviously.”

“Enough,” Yoongi drawls, waving a hand. “You know why I’m here. You said you have information. Get on with it.”

Hoseok calmly examines the back of his hand. “I did say that, yes.”

“So, do you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If I tell you, then what will you give me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “How about I won’t report you to Arawn for interfering with the investigation of another Cŵn Annwn?”

When Hoseok rolls his eyes, Y/N stiffens. Of course – Hoseok is also Cŵn Annwn. Looking closer, Y/N can see the truth of the matter. Hoseok’s red glowing eyes and the way he stepped from the shadows – obviously, he is Cŵn Annwn.

Still, Y/N cannot shake the feeling they are not the same.

“So predictable,” Hoseok mutters, glaring at Yoongi. “Always threatening to run and tell daddy.”

“The information?” Yoongi repeats, sounding bored.

Hoseok sighs. With a wave of his hand, a shadow appears in his palm. While Yoongi and Y/N watch, the darkness swirls and solidifies into a hair clip, lined with silver and jade.

Y/N nearly gasps, recognizing it to be Gwen’s. It is the one Owen bought her for Yuletide last year, the one she rarely removed because of how much she loved it. Remembering her promise to Yoongi in time, Y/N clasps a hand over her mouth. The noise remains stillborn.

Hoseok tilts his head. “Is this answer enough?”

Yoongi takes a casual step forward. “Did you get this from the girl?” he asks, examining the object. “Because I’ll be honest, Hoseok – pulling strange things from shadows has never impressed me.”

“It’s hers,” Hoseok mutters, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was the one who escorted her to the Otherworld. She drowned, yes?”

“Mm.” Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m afraid I need more than that.”

Y/N glances between them, hardly able to believe the callous way they discuss this; as though Gwen were an object, not a person. As though this were mere currency and she, a transaction. In a way, Y/N supposes this to be true.

“Blonde hair, rosy cheeks.” Hoseok arches a brow. “Rather attractive, for a human. Kept speaking of her father. Owen? Said she wanted to see him one last time – a predictable final request.”

“Alright.” Yoongi cuts him off, his distaste for the other Cŵn Annwn obvious. “I believe you. Now – the information?”

“Ah,” Hoseok pauses. “That.”

Twirling a hand, Hoseok conjures a soft plume of shadow. It snakes around his wrist, undulating gently with each twist of his fingers.

“I still don’t know what’s in this for me.” Hoseok smiles. “Until then, I’m afraid I simply don’t recall what Gwen said.”

Yoongi’s lips pull back. “Hoseok, you distasteful piece of –”

“Language,” Hoseok interrupts, holding up a hand. “And don’t try to threaten me with Arawn again. We both know he’s as displeased with you, as with me right now.”

Yoongi glares at him heatedly, clearly displeased by the way things are going. His eyes glow faintly red – not as noticeable as Hoseok’s, but the implication is there.

“I’ll relinquish the next hunt to you,” Yoongi says at last. He spits out the words, laying them at Hoseok’s feet. “The next time Arawn pits us against each other for a soul, I’ll let you win. Does that satisfy your request?”

Hoseok’s eyes gleam with interest. “It does.” He pauses, then laughs and twists the shadows before him. “I plucked this from the girl’s memory before transporting her to the Otherworld. It’s the last thing she saw before she died.”

Y/N watches a gloved fist appear from the shadows. The hand slowly flexes and unflexes, as though clenching life from a body. The hand wears a glove, finely made and on one finger rests a strange, silver ring.

Staring at this, the river seems to fade in her peripheral.

“Alvah,” Y/N breathes.

Yoongi goes utterly still.

Abruptly, Hoseok straightens and the glove disappears. Glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze widens – as though seeing Y/N for the first time. Taking a slow step from the shadows, Hoseok begins to walk forward.

“And who is this?” he asks, focusing in on Y/N.

Y/N swallows, meeting his gaze. Unlike Yoongi, there is no mercy to his expression. She gets the distinct impression this man enjoys what he does, who he is.

Hoseok comes to a stop, letting out a low laugh. “Yoongi,” he purrs, incredulous. “Are you up to your old tricks again? Bending the light. You devilish creature. And yet – also foolish,” he murmurs. “Bringing a human to neutral ground. Free for anyone to take.”

“She’s not yours,” Yoongi snarls, crouching reflexively in between them. “She’s mine.”

Hoseok’s upper lip curls. “Not here, she isn’t.”

Before Y/N can scream, Hoseok lunges in her direction. Yoongi is faster, his hand grabbing Y/N’s wrist to pull into night. Y/N gasps, vision unraveling as the world disappears. The riverbank slackens, Hoseok’s red eyes vanishing as they reappear somewhere else – only to disappear again.

They do this several times, visiting worlds Y/N does not know the names of. She sees an endless sea of metal, the tips of smoke curling from rooftops. This is replaced with a gaping, red maw in the ground. This vanishes too, and she sees Hoseok’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Then he is gone, and they stand on a riverbank, covered with mist – and then they are back in Tywll, stumbling against the inn.

Y/N lets out a noise as her back hits the wall.

Yoongi drops into a defensive crouch. In one hand, he brandishes a strange, silver knife – his other is thrown out, keeping Y/N back.

She blinks, not having seen him when he pulled this. Her back is pressed to the wall, heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing happens for one beat, then two. Hoseok does not appear from the darkness. They stay like that for a moment, breath coming in pants.

Finally, Yoongi straightens. He stares into the darkness, as though waiting for something and then turns around.

“You,” he blurts, the noise strangled.

Y/N stares back, struggling to comprehend what she just saw.

Yoongi slides his knife into his belt. “Explain,” he breathes, stalking forward. “Explain why you spoke back there, why you revealed yourself! Why you nearly go yourself killed.”

“I– Alvah,” she exhales, barely audible. Out of everything tonight, that vision remains clear. “The ring on the memory’s hand. I... I know it. It belongs to Alvah.”

Yoongi comes a halt inches away from her face. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” Y/N sags against the inn. Her knees buckle beneath her, barely keeping her upright. “Alvah has one just like it.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

He glances over his shoulder at the town. It lies silent, draped in moonlight while Yoongi considers. “Well, then.” He returns to Y/N. “Alvah is not who he says he is.”

She releases a breath, slowly closing her eyes. “Obviously.”

Y/N expects Yoongi to chuckle, or give some sort of admonishment, so when he does neither, she opens her eyes.

Yoongi stares back at her, inches away from her face.

“Yoongi?” she asks, self-consciously licking her lips.

“I… Y/N.”

He sounds oddly hesitant, standing before her in moonlight. Gaze darkening, his gaze roams the planes of her face. Y/N can feel this heat of this in her body, still pressed to the wall.

“Yoongi,” she breathes in.

Clenching his jaw, Yoongi closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Your name?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he repeats, barely audible. Eyes opening, he lifts a hand to slowly place on her cheek. “Don’t say my name like you wish there was more.”

“And what if I do?” she asks, made bold by the dark.

Yoongi’s gaze drops to her lips, unbidden. As though in a trance, he takes a step forward. The hand which was once on her cheek slips to her waist.

“If you do,” he exhales. “I may do something I’ll regret.”

“Do it.”

This is all the coercion he needs to kiss her.

Y/N inhales, breath stolen by the press of his lips against hers. She has been kissed before, but never like this – never with teeth and fire and meaning between them. Her arms twine around his neck before she can stop them, pulling him forward as her spine hits the wall.

Yoongi’s lips bruise her, thrill her and a thousand other contradictions. His tongue is greedy, seeking whatever purchase he can find at the seam of her lips. One hand cups her face, large fingers splayed until he pushes a piece of hair back. Y/N arches against him, assisting in letting him take what he wants. Her hands are equally needy, thoughts a blurred line between logic and sanity.

Suddenly, he gasps and pulls back.

Yoongi stares at her in shock, reaching tremblingly up for his lips.

Y/N stares in this direction as well.

“I – Y/N,” Yoongi breathes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her helplessly. “You know why.”

She does know, although she is loath to admit it. Y/N has always been a rational being. Logically, she knows this is the last person for her to fall in love with. Yoongi is not even a person anymore – not really.

And yet – her heart, the traitorous fool, beats solely for him.

Swallowing, Yoongi does not move. “Please,” he breathes, dragging his thumb down her jaw. His hand cups her chin, his body curved over hers. “You are not yet safe. Please, just… wait until I can ensure that you are.”

“Alright,” Y/N says, finally nodding. Softly, she places her hand over his. “But promise to return.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi bends for another kiss but before their lips can touch, vanishes away into darkness.

Y/N exhales, collapsing against the wall. In all honestly, she understands why he did this. Had he kissed her again, she would not have let him leave.

Slowly pushing herself upright, Y/N enters the house and returns to her bedroom. Slipping inside and up the stairs, she undresses swiftly and slides into bed. After a long moment, she gets up and locks both window and door.

Once satisfied, she crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling. Her mind refuses to turn off, dissecting each hour with unwavering precision. Each breath of wind against the side of the house makes her turn, certain Hoseok has found her. Y/N begins counting down the seconds until Yoongi returns – or, until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.

At some point, she must doze off because the next time she wakes, it is to black cloth over her nose. Inhaling sharply, no oxygen enters and Y/N flails, jerking against her intruder.

“Hello, Y/N.” Alvah’s smile is calm, cutting through the darkness.

That is the last thing Y/N sees before the drug takes hold and she falls back on the bed.

Head lolling onto her chest, Y/N jerks into consciousness.

Her arms are pulled tight behind her back, rope cutting into her wrists and holding her hostage. Firelight flickers in the corner of her vision as blearily, Y/N squints.

She cannot remember where she is, why she is here.

A roaring fire dances before her. Light from the flames leap over her skin, forming cruel patterns. Cringing away from this, Y/N realizes she rests on her knees. Wobbling, she nearly falls forward but the rope binds her in time, stopping the motion. Exhaling lowly, hair falls in her face.

Across the fire, someone chuckles.

Suddenly remembering the events of tonight, Y/N’s head lifts.

Alvah smiles from the other side of the flames, sharpening a knife in one hand. He is dressed entirely in black – tunic, waistcoat, overcoat and trousers. If Y/N did not know any better, she might think him on his way to a party.

Slowly, he stands. The silver of his knife gleams as he walks closer. “You left me no choice, you know,” he says sadly, stopping before her.

Y/N does not respond, twisting again in her ropes. Reaching out for her magic – she inhales. Nothing happens. The shadows refuse to come, her darkness lies vacant and still. The door remains stubbornly locked in her mind. Panic shoots through her, making her tremble. Each pulse of her blood feels sluggish and slow; Y/N can only assume this is because of whatever drug runs in her veins.

Alvah crouches before her. “Kissing a hellhound in the open like that.” Gently, he tuts and presses the knife to her chin. “Why, anyone could have seen you – and I did,” he says, gripping her hair and yanking back her head. “I saw you, Y/N and truly, I must thank you. Without that, I would’ve kept searching in all the wrong places.”

His hands are still gloved, identical to the mirage Hoseok showed. That strange, silver ring still rests on his finger. The sigil seems so familiar to Y/N and yet, she cannot quite place it.

“What?” Alvah laughs. “Are you choosing now to be quiet? A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t stop giving me information. Couldn’t stop telling me about the town. It’s people. All the… strange happenings going on.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks swiftly. Remembering their walk through the town, she now sees it from a different perspective. Alvah was trying to gather information from her. This entire time, he has been searching for magic.

“Ah.” His lips twitch. “You understand.”

“You,” she whispers, the word scratching her throat. “You thought… Gwen had magic.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I was most displeased when I couldn’t convince her to show it to me. Her death was an accident, you know. I merely thought she needed proper… incentive to perform. I was wrong.”

Y/N’s head spins, realizing what he means.

He tortured her. Alvah tortured Gwen seeking a confession, but never received one – because she was not magical. He tortured Gwen because he thought she was Y/N and eventually, Gwen died.

“You… monster.”

Alvah’s expression darkens. “Not a monster,” he hisses. “I am merely doing what’s necessary to rid this world of monsters. Of those who hoard their power and refuse help to humans.”

Y/N stares at him fearfully. “What are you?”

Mirthlessly, he laughs and releases her hair. Y/N’s head droops forward.

“Your worst nightmare, witch. I’m a Traveler,” Alvah breathes. “I was created to take the night from creatures like you.”

Imagines flash before her eyes, unbidden. Her parents’ bodies on the floor, Crymych awash in fire and blood. Her father’s throat slit, a knife plunged into her mother’s gut – and the human who did it, slowly turning around. She remembers him wiping blood from his knife, silver ring on one hand.

Y/N’s gaze flies to Alvah’s fingers.

Seeing where she looks, his lips curl upwards. “You recognize this?”

“Yes.” Y/N stares at the sigil, her knees pressed into dirt. “I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen it?” Alvah’s brow furrows. “In person?”

Y/N nods. “At Crymych.”

Alvah stares at her for a long moment. “Liar.”

Y/N stares at him, confused by his expression. Alvah looks back at her, as though she is the impossible one. But – the longer she thinks about it, the more it makes no sense. The Travelers who visited Crymych were adults – they were her parents age and older, but Alvah is her age. It is impossible for him to have memories of Crymych.

Unless.

“You killed Gwen,” Y/N says slowly, piecing it together. “But… she was killed by magic. Drowned, by a water-shifter.”

Alvah stares at her a moment before smiling. There is no mirth to the gesture. He starts chuckling, rocking back on his heels and swiping angry tears from his gaze.

Ruthlessly, he whips out his knife to point at her chest. “You,” he exhales, with something like relief. “I’ve found you at last.”

Y/N stares at him, wide-eyed. “Me?”

Alvah nods, frantic. “The child shadow-singer of Crymych. I heard all about you growing up.”

Recoiling, Y/N stares at his long, silver blade. She again reaches for magic, finding none, except – there. Barely anything at all, but something faint stirs in her veins.

Alvah snarls at her expression. “Surprised I remember? No? Ah, I see – you tried to use magic, and found that you can’t.”

When Y/N scowls, jerking forward, he laughs.

“Your magic will return when the drug wears off,” Alvah assures. “But that won’t be for a while. Not until after I kill you. Unless…”

Y/N stops struggling. “Unless, what?”

She needs him to keep talking. She needs Alvah to continue his monologue until her magic returns, or Yoongi discovers her missing. Glancing over Alvah’s shoulder, Y/N stares into the darkness at the edge of the campfire. Alvah must be the threat Yoongi’s contacts were afraid of. It is he who has been ruthlessly carving a path of blood up the coast.

“Come with me.”

Startled, Y/N’s gaze snaps upwards. “What?”

“Come with me,” he breathes, pushing himself upwards to stand.

Reaching behind her, Alvah swiftly cuts her ropes. Before she can fall, his hands grasp her shoulders to lift her to her feet. Y/N stares at him in shock, too confused to run.

“Yes,” Alvah breathes, his grip vice-like on hers. “I see it now. You were spared, just as I was. You were sent to Tywll to live amongst humans and see the good in humanity. You were a child, too – of course you were spared.”

“Spared?” Y/N stares in horror. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Withdrawing his hands, Alvah retreats to stalk around the fire. Once on the other side, he whirls to face Y/N. “I’m a water-shifter, like you said,” he exhales, pulling off his glove.

Flexing his fingers, he stares down at his palm. Brow lowered in concentration, he waits until a pale, spinning orb appears above his fingers. The water dances and glimmers, catching the light.

Y/N stares at this in horror. Gwen was drowned with that water.

“I’m also from Crymych,” Alvah breathes.

It makes sense, in a way. Y/N always wondered if others survived. If anyone did manage to escape the burning houses of Crymych, it would be a water-shifter.

When Y/N says nothing, Alvah closes his fingers. The water splashes over his fist to the ground.

“The Travelers spared me,” he explains. “They took me with them, taught me what a curse my magic was. They explained I would be saved if I joined them. If I used my magic for good, instead of my inherent evil.”

“By… killing those who have magic.”

“Yes.” Alvah steps forward, ecstatic she understands. “Exactly.”

“But how could that possibly be good?” Her words halt him in his tracks, leave him staring at her. “You were in Crymych, Alvah. You saw what the Travelers did. They slaughtered your family… your friends…”

His face hardens. “They did that for the greater good, Y/N. Our friends and family were corrupt, they were evil. They holed themselves up in the forest and refused to help. Y/N,” he sighs, walking back around the fire. “I know it’s difficult to understand. It was hard for me, too. But now I see,” he whispers, stopping before her. “And you can, too.”

He waits, looking at her expectantly and Y/N’s heart breaks a little for the boy he once was.

“Alvah,” she whispers, so pityingly she nearly breaks apart.

She cannot imagine what hell his life must have been. To see his own family butchered, then be taken by his would-be murderers and raised as their savior. A dark messiah turned against his own kind.

Slowly, Alvah pushes up the sleeve of his tunic. He reveals angry, red welts on his arm. “This is what the Travelers saved me from,” he insists. “A fire-starter was drunk that night and lost control. Y/N – you didn’t see what you thought you saw. The Travelers managed to pull me out of the flames. They were only fighting in self-defense, Y/N.”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, Alvah – no. It wasn’t self-defense. I saw them. I watched them murder my parents, I saw them put our elders to sleep. They laced the wine they gave them with drugs, like you did to me.”

Alvah’s gaze flicks towards the handkerchief on the ground. For a moment, doubt crosses his face, but this is banished as easily as it came.

“I – no,” he breathes, re-gripping his knife. “You cannot tempt me with lies. I know my purpose. I will remain true.”

Y/N stares at him, helpless. In her mind, the door is almost open – she wonders if this is Alvah’s first time drugging an actual witch. Either that, or he spoke longer than he meant to when he realized who she was. Perhaps he genuinely does think this is fate, that they are meant to be together.

Either way, the longer she stands here, the more she feels her magic pulse in her veins. Almost enough to fight against his.

“What will you do?” Y/N asks, watching him walk towards her.

“Will you join me?”

Alvah tries to keep his voice even, tries not to seem eager, but Y/N can see his obvious want. His hand flexes on the hilt of his knife and again, her heart slowly breaks.

“No,” she whispers.

His expression breaks, catches and then heals, all in one moment.

“Then, you must die.”

Alvah whirls, brandishing the knife and Y/N inhales to wrench shadows from darkness. To her immense relief, the darkness obeys. The surge is weaker than usual – she is weaker than usual – but her shadows coalesce before her, knocking his weapon aside.

Alvah curses, spinning and trying again. His knife cuts through darkness, slicing it open and Y/N gasps, stumbling backwards as though she, herself has been hurt.

“You see?” Alvah laughs. His breathing is heavy, light hair askew. “This is no ordinary knife, witch. It cures evil.”

He has returned to calling her witch, a sneer on his face. Y/N falters, grasping frantically for the tree trunk behind her. She glances to the side, searching for a way out because she does not yet have energy to attempt the Shadow realm.

When Alvah lunges, she dodges and stumbles down towards the river. Her feet splash into water, glancing over her shoulder to find him.

His laughter rings out behind her, following suit – albeit at a slower pace. “Ah,” Alvah teases, “you wish to fight on my domain, do you?”

Before Y/N can recognize what this means, the water rises around her. Her eyes widen, the only warning she has before she is dragged under. His water forms claws, grabbing her clothing and keeping her under. Y/N gasps, accidentally inhaling and choking on liquid.

The water enters her lungs, making her cough and in the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see darkness closing in. She wonders dizzily if this is what happened to Gwen – suddenly, her eyes open.

Gwen will not have died in vein.

Reaching deep within her – past the door, past limits she is not even aware of – Y/N tears darkness from the maw of power itself, yanking this to her chest and releasing into her veins. The heat simmers for a moment, unseen – and then she explodes.

Shadows erupts, twisting as they push out the water. Alvah falters at the side of the river, staring at her in shock. Y/N inhales, steam rising from her skin – and she opens her eyes. Her shadows shoot forward, streaming fast towards the bank.

Alvah screams when they wrap around him, binding his limbs and holding him hostage. Slowly, as if in a trance, Y/N walks from the water. Both hands are before her, twisting the shadows in ways she does not understand – she only knows what needs to be done and the shadows obey. It is like something else has hold of her mind, feeding her knowledge she has yet to be taught.

She is furious. And Alvah should pay.

Shadows are shoved down his throat, through his nostrils where they writhe in his lungs. Y/N twists them up, making it hurt and he screams out again. Inhaling sharply, she drags her shadows out to force him to his feet. With another twist of her hand, she scoops his knife from the ground.

Alvah catches this limply.

“Fight me, then!” she yells, tears blurring her vision. “Fight me on even ground!”

Alvah blinks, suddenly lucid as he lurches forward. Y/N dodges his first swipe. Her shadows wrap around his neck, pulling him backwards and she laughs, manic. Spinning, she faces him on even footing. Her darkness coalesces, forming a barrier as something moves in the shadows.

Y/N pays this no mind, too focused on her revenge. Darting forward, she knocks Alvah’s weapon aside. Her darkness is alive, pulsing around her in coils and blades. Whirling, she turns back and – Alvah’s knife sinks into her shoulder.

Blinding clarity bursts through her. Shuddering to a halt, Y/N gasps at the pain.

Teeth bared, Alvah wrenches the knife from her body. He prepares to strike again – until Yoongi appears, shoving between them and flipping his knife.

“Y/N, CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Hastily, she obeys. Blood trickles between fingers, shadows appearing to wrap around the wound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns away from his voice. From beneath her eyelids, she sees the clearing blaze suddenly with light. Y/N winces, lifting her uninjured arm to shield herself from the blow– but even so, it is painful.

Trembling back from whatever Yoongi is doing, Y/N staggers away. Even once the light has faded, the back of her eyelids gone dark, Y/N refuses to look.

Twigs crunch beneath boots, drawing closer.

“You can look now, Y/N.”

Slowly, she lowers her arm. Y/N’s shoulder still bleeds, blood trickling into the sleeve of her tunic. She does not care about this though, staring dazedly at Yoongi. He still holds a silver knife in one hand – when he sees her looking at this, it swiftly disappears.

Alvah is nowhere to be seen.

“W-where is he?” Her teeth chatter, glancing around.

“In Annwn,” Yoongi says simply. “He attacked one of the Cŵn Annwn. His life is forfeit to mine.”

“But…” Y/N stares, still not understanding. “He was attacking me.”

“Not in the version I tell Arawn.”

“Yoongi,” she exhales, an admonishment.

“Not here, Y/N.” Yoongi glances cryptically out at the river. “We must return to Tywll. I’ll need to return to Annwn soon for questioning.”

“Now?”

Yoongi pauses, glancing at her. “No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. Gently, he slides both hands into her hair. “Not now.”

“Then, when?” she asks, head tilting upwards.

Refusing to answer, Yoongi brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Never mind, when. Your soul is still pure,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, another question on her lips. “What do you mean by–”

Cutting her off, they dissolve into darkness.

They reappear in her bedroom, walls solidifying around them in a turret of grey.

Y/N exhales, sagging forward as his hands keep her steady. She looks up at Yoongi, weary from blood loss. His gaze darts to her shoulder and swiftly, he frowns.

“I-it’s nothing,” she breathes. “Really, I –”

Yoongi closes one hand over her arm, frowning in concentration. Y/N stares at him in wonder when warmth seeps into her skin. Beneath his palm, her muscles knit together, blood flowing again as her skin heals smoothly over.

Once finished, Yoongi exhales and takes a step backwards. He seems paler, slightly drained and yet, satisfied. His hand gently falls to his side.

Y/N stares at him, speechless. “I – how?” she blurts, gaze darting to his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, how did you find me tonight?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that all you want to ask?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head, still somewhat dazed. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. I found you by luck. I tried many places before that one.”

“And you’re… a light-bearer.” Y/N frowns, glancing down at her arm. She can still feel where the brunt of Alvah’s knife went in, where her skin broke apart. “Or a life-giver? What are you?”

Yoongi gives her a sad smile. “I was,” he corrects. “I was a light-bearer.”

“Then how did you heal?” Y/N’s head spins. “The last time I saw someone heal was, well... It has been awhile since I knew a life-giver.”

“The Cŵn Annwn are unique,” Yoongi says quietly. “We each retain the powers we die with, but… for each magical soul we transport, we glean their powers as well.”

It dawns on her then, what exactly Yoongi offered Hoseok. A win on the next hunt. He must have meant this. It is the job of the Cŵn Annwn to return magical souls to Annwn. Based on their conversation, it sounded as though Arawn often pits them against each other.

Which makes sense. The incentive is that whomever returns with the soul keeps the power.

Y/N’s skin begins to crawl. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“I have many powers, Y/N.”

“I see.” She looks at him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. “And what of the other thing you said? About my soul being pure?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Yoongi.”

“You shouldn’t know,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t place that burden on you.”

“Yoongi.”

Swiftly, he turns and walks the length of her bedroom. Y/N’s bed is pushed into a corner, the sheets still mussed from when she was roused from it earlier. Roused is a kind word. Looking at the mattress, Y/N shudders when she remembers Alvah’s hands on her body.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the window. “Have you ever wondered how one becomes Cŵn Annwn?”

“Often,” she says honestly.

For a moment, he simply stares at the town. The moon cuts through the plane, illuminating his face. “You kill someone with magic,” Yoongi admits at last. “And then you die. Instead of going to the Otherworld, you enter Arawn’s possession. It is why Arawn plays these games, you see. When he sees a magical human he wants, occasionally he sets them up to enter his service... later.”

Staring at Yoongi, comprehension begins to dawn – and with it, comes horror. This must have been what happened to him. With a sinking stomach, Y/N realizes how close she came to joining the Cŵn Annwn tonight. She nearly killed Alvah with her magic and if she had, that would have been it.

She would have belonged to Arawn, like he does.

“You see?” Yoongi exhales, searching her face. “I’m telling you things you shouldn’t know. I’m bringing danger into your life you shouldn’t have. I – we…”

Breaking off, he shakes his head.

“Yoongi.” Y/N walks forward. Coming to a halt before him, she looks up. “You saved my life.” Before he can protest, she adds, “And my soul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” His expression falters. “But then – maybe I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand, Y/N?” Frustration enters his tone. “I want you to live. No, need you to live. You deserve more than this half-life, this cursed life – you deserve freedom. Not a half-existence like…”

“Like yours?”

“Yes. Like mine,” he finishes, somewhat broken.

He does not move away though and so, she places both hands on his arms. Slowly, achingly she slides them around his neck. Her fingers brush the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Yoongi swallows. “You deserve more,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“And if I don’t want more?”

“You – you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh?” Y/N narrows her gaze. “From what you said, my options are clear. I can die a pure soul and go to the Otherworld – where you are not. Or, I die with blood on my hands and am cursed. But then, I would be with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. In contradiction to his words, Yoongi’s hands wrap around her waist. “Don’t act like it would be worth it.”

“Who are you to say it wouldn’t be?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Her thumb lovingly strokes the back of his neck. “I know you’re honest,” she says lowly. “I know you’re the only one who helped when I needed to find Gwen.”

He pauses. “I had other motives.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. There was more to it than that – you saved me tonight when you didn’t have to.”

“Again,” Yoongi exhales, tortured. “Other motives.”

“Not for my soul.” When Yoongi falls silent, Y/N continues. “Ever since you came, you treated me as an equal. More than that – you saw me in ways no one else would. You forced me to see myself that way, too.”

“I hope you do,” he murmurs, suddenly insistent. “I don’t want you to hide, Y/N.”

“You see?” she breathes, tilting her chin. “You say things like that, and then say I don’t know you. I know you’re feared, even amongst the Cŵn Annwn.” Her lips twist in an almost smile. “I know Arawn favors you above the rest.”

Based on Yoongi’s expression, this statement is correct. “It is never a good thing to be loved by the king of hell,” he says.

“Still. Do not pretend my options are clear, Min Yoongi. I know which path is unbearable, and it is the one without you.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, finally breaking. His hands close around her waist, drawing her near. The heat of his breath drifts across her lips.

Y/N’s heart stutters painfully. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her chin. “Please, Yoongi. Kiss m –”

Cutting off the word, he crushes her to him.

Longing leaps through her veins, her gasp eaten by his, swallowed by his kiss. As they collide, hands twining, fists clutching, Y/N loses herself in him.

She forces herself to be still, to not reveal how desperately she wants him. It is hard though, when he is kissing her with abandon, as if they stand at hell’s door. His lips tempt and torture in equal measure, and she is spinning apart.

Forcing himself back, his forehead finds hers. “Y/N,” he growls.

“Yes?”

Yoongi wrenches open his eyes. “Your shadows.”

Startled, Y/N glances down to find tendrils of magic around them. Darkness shifts at her feet, curling and uncurling and slowly, Y/N looks up.

“Is it strange?” she asks, still pressed against him. “I can try and stop it, if –”

Yoongi catches her hand, entwining their fingers together. “No,” he says, earnest. “Never.”

Y/N smiles, relaxing when he walks the two of them back to her bed. Her knees hit the mattress, pausing a moment before he kisses her softly. His mouth teases hers, pressing until her lips part and his tongue slips inside. Her hand moves under his tunic, brushing the skin at his waist.

Yoongi stiffens at this, groan caught in his throat. “Y/N,” he says, biting down on her lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” she purrs.

Growling lowly, Yoongi grips her waist and pulls her body to his. Y/N shivers, feeling the firm press of his muscle – Yoongi’s knee parts her legs, watching her lazily as her core aches around him.

“Is that all?” she asks, breath catching.

Yoongi’s gaze turns molten, slowly reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. “I can barely restrain myself as it is,” he confesses, pushing the fabric up her thigh. “If you continue to tease, I’ll stop trying.”

“Stop, then.”

Yoongi’s lips are at her throat before she can finish the words. He kisses her clavicle, working his way upwards and searing her skin. Grasping her jaw with one hand, he turns her head sideways to gently kiss the crux. Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries not to groan when his tongue laves the same spot.

He does not stop there, descending her neck with carnal sensuality. Glancing up at her bosom, Yoongi awaits further instruction. Eyes lidded and heavy, Y/N looks down at him and nods. Yoongi’s hand slowly works upwards, tangling in the laces of her bodice. His fingers and magic work until they pull back, dropping the string to the floor.

Y/N inhales, hands clasping her dress before it can fall.

Without her laces, her hands are the only thing holding fabric between them. Yoongi’s gaze darkens, intent as heat sinks between her legs. She wants him – badly but cannot of think how to ask. It does not escape her then, how many realms he is above her.

Softer than silk, his palm cups her chin. “Will you let me see you?” Yoongi says gently.

Staring back at him, Y/N slowly nods her head.

Yoongi’s hands slip down, interlacing their fingers to pull hers back. The dress drops to the floor and Yoongi inhales, dazed by the view. He stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her bare skin in moonlight. When he looks back up, his gaze seems to glow.

Not a red glow, like in the Shadow realm, but an unearthly silver – that of a light-bearer.

Y/N stifles a smile. “You said you were a light-bearer?” she whispers, shadows snaking his thighs. “Is this a side effect of that?”

Yoongi shivers, then nods. “Yes and no,” he growls, backing her up to the bed. “It is because of my power, but it is happening because I am indescribably happy.”

Before she can respond, his lips are on hers. Yoongi kisses her eagerly, messily as their tongues intertwine. No longer does Y/N deny what she wants of him. It is obvious anyways, in the needy press of her body to his. In the rutting thrust of his breeches against the silk of her core.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps, hands curling into his hair. “Yoongi.”

He swiftly pulls back to undo his belt. Sliding this free from his pants, it drops heavily to the floor. Staring at Y/N, his knees follow suit – one by one, kneeling before her.

“Please.” Yoongi licks his lips, tortured. “Let me taste you.”

Y/N stares at him in shock.

Yoongi mistakes this silence for hesitance. “I’m sorry,” he exhales, sitting back on his heels. His chest rises and falls against the dark of his tunic. “Are you… have you ever…?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, recovering herself. Swiftly, her hands wrap around the bedpost behind her. “I have lain with men. It is only, no one has ever offered me that… so freely.”

His gaze narrows, as though in disbelief. “Well, then,” Yoongi says lowly, sliding a hand up her thigh. “What foolish men, to deny a feast.”

Barely does she have time to comprehend before Yoongi is at her core, spreading her folds to examine her body. Exhaling, she stares at his crown of dark hair.

Yoongi looks up, a sinful smirk on his face. “I thought so,” he purrs, delicately swiping her mound with his thumb. Y/N shivers, trembling above him. “Already wet and wanting. Just begging to be eaten – I bet you taste sweet.”

He moves before she can answer, pressing a virginal kiss to her thigh. His other hand finds her knee, lifting her higher and pressing her ass to the bed. When his lips brush her core, Y/N slowly inhales. He kisses her gently, wet and open against her sex. It feels good, all his licking and teasing – until he comes to a stop.

When Yoongi smirks up at her, Y/N’s heart stops. She realizes he may be her undoing.

Slowly, his tongue drags up her sex. Repeating the gesture, he gathers her juices up with his mouth – sloppy and eager, until she is panting above him. Yoongi’s hand curls under her knee, opening her wider before he finally gives in and drape this over his shoulder.

Letting out a guttural groan, Y/N releases the bedposts to fist in his hair.

If anything, this spurs him on, tongue laving circles around her clit until she is eager and swollen. Y/N gasps out his name, thrusting against his face without meaning to. She is chasing something she does not understand, every inch of her body alive and on fire. At some point, his hand drifts down to her ass – then to her entrance, circling her core.

“Gods.” Still gripping her waist, Yoongi jerks back and wipes his lips with one hand. His mouth is wet, sinful and smeared with evidence of her arousal. “You’re so wet, Y/N. So perfect and needy. I – I need to be inside you.”

Hearing him say this, Y/N clenches around nothing. “Yes,” she breathes, as he stands from the floor. The front of his trousers look unbearably tight. “I want you inside me. Want you to stretch me out.”

Growling, he clutches her body closer. “I can use my fingers first,” Yoongi says sweetly, licking the shell of her ear. Tugging on this with teeth, he elicits a shiver. “Make it easier.”

“No.” Y/N grasps his chin, returning his lips to hers. “No, I want you inside me. Want your cock,” she murmurs hastily, already undoing his trousers.

Yoongi chuckles, letting her do so. “Do you? Where?” he asks, pulling his tunic overhead.

Lowering herself onto the bed, Y/N looks up and stills.

She has not seen him naked before. Only bits and pieces – the sliver of skin at his throat, a flash of underarm when he rolled up his sleeves. Those mouth-watering veins which wrap the length of his fingers. Y/N was right in assuming those veins wrap other things, too. Now though, he is bare, beautiful and entirely hers.

“What?” Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up, she pulls him down with her. “I only… I do not wish to be parted after tonight.”

Lowering a knee to the mattress, Yoongi’s hands cup her face. “Nor I,” he allows, giving in and kissing her fully.

Falling backwards, Y/N arches against him. Yoongi’s right knee nudges between hers, rubbing her center to provide the friction she craves. Yoongi releases a moan, feeling her slick on his thigh. Grabbing hold of her hips, he forces her still.

“Not like that,” he murmurs, kissing her gently.

Y/N melts forward, hands cupping to roam his body. Yoongi is equally greedy, exploring her skin with unrivaled attention. It is only when she feels his cock, hard on her stomach that Y/N remembers what she is after.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking down.

His cock is pretty, in a way she could not have anticipated. Wrapping a hand around himself, Yoongi slowly slides up and down on his length. Y/N watches this, lips parted as his red, leaking tip disappears and reappears between fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Yoongi chuckles and releases himself. “Alright. How?”

Slowly, Y/N turns around to rest on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like this. From behind.”

Yoongi stares at her in awe, pupils blown out with lust. “Are you certain,” he murmurs, already moving into position. “It will feel deeper this way.”

“Mm,” Y/N inhales, lowering herself to her elbows. “I – I like that. Like to be stretched.”

“I see,” Yoongi murmurs, bed dipping as he moves into place.

His hand slides up her core and Y/N shivers, ducking her head. Seeing her splayed in the moonlight makes his cock twitch. Her cunt is already dripping – Y/N can feel the arousal smeared on her thighs, dripping down to pool at her clit. Yoongi’s hand slides from her ass, cupping her pussy and feeling her wetness. He holds her like that for a moment, rubbing her clit with his finger.

“You like that?” he murmurs when she groans. Slowly, he slides his fingers apart and begins scissoring her clit. “What about that?”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs, pushing back on his hand. “Please – please.”

Yoongi smirks, rubbing her as she ruts up against him. As he moves forward, her pussy clenches and he presses his tip to her cunt. He inhales for a moment, as though in preparation. Gently gripping her waist, he slowly thrusts inside. Immediately, he is met with resistance. Y/N is wet, that much is obvious – her pussy leaks eagerly around Yoongi’s length, but she is still so tight. Needing to be stretched, like she said.

Y/N moans, arching her back to take him in deeper. Yoongi goes slow, letting her feel every inch. Y/N’s hands fist in the sheets, her mouth open with pleasure. God, it feels so good to have him inside her. Yoongi is only halfway and already, she has never felt this full. Already her body reacts to him in ways she does not understand.

Yoongi lowers a hand to her back, rubbing each side of her ass. “There,” he murmurs, pushing her down to take the last, final inch. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

“Am I?” Breathlessly, Y/N squeezes her walls around Yoongi’s cock. “Doesn’t feel sweet.”

Withdrawing slowly, Yoongi grabs her ass to shove back inside. Y/N moans, lurching forward as his cock grinds mercilessly to her walls. “Maybe not,” he admits, thrusting again. “What’s sweet though, is imagining what you’ll look like full of my cum.”

Whimpering, Y/N pushes backwards again. It is the first time a man has spoken so freely in bed and in response, Y/N feels on fire. Her nipples brush the mattress as Yoongi fucks into her, filling her body with each thrust of his cock.

“Oh – oh – oh!” she gasps, jolted forward.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, hand wrapping around her mouth. “As much as I love your volume, we are not alone in this house.”

His thumb slides down her throat, cock slipping in and out of her body. Spreading her legs, Y/N lets him take it, hard from behind and loses herself to the bliss. His hands are strong and sure on her body – as his hips bruise her ass, his hand cups her breast and roughly pinches a nipple.

When she groans again, louder, Yoongi growls. “Y/N,” he grunts, snapping his hips to her ass. “I meant it – I’ll stop, if you can’t be quiet.”

“Make me,” she gasps.

“Make you?”

“Mhm, make – mmph!” she yelps when Yoongi withdraws, grabbing her waist to flip her on the bed. Hovering above her, he grips her knee, yanks it up and thrusts smoothly back in.

Y/N gasps, lisp parting as she is wantonly split by his cock.

“Make you?” he growls, fucking harder. Y/N gasps, head thrown back when he begins pounding into her body. “With pleasure.”

His lips descend on hers, hot and needy as her arms wrap around him. Yoongi spreads her even wider, pistoning like a madman into the warmth of her pussy. Her walls clench tightly around him as he fucks her wide open. His tongue is in her mouth, hands hot on her body as he pins her to the bed. Y/N cannot think around the blinding, surging pleasure within her.

“Yoongi!” she gasps, head hitting the sheets.

He continues to move, rolling his hips as she shakes underneath him. “That’s it, Y/N,” he murmurs, sliding a hand in between them. “That’s it, darling. Let go.”

His fingers brush over her mound, doing skilled, nimble work as her body clenches around him. Everything in her body is so tight, searing and unbelievably full. Hands clutching his body, Y/N cries out his name as everything breaks apart. A deep, shattering wave arcs through her, eyes rolling back in her head as she loses control.

Fire and magic wrap them both, Yoongi shuddering into her neck as he also comes undone. Sated and blissful, Y/N relaxes against his chest. Softly, her fingers curl into the base of his hair. Yoongi exhales, brushing a kiss to her collarbone and softening inside her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “I do not wish to be parted.”

Her limbs wrap tighter, preventing him from leaving. “Then, stay.”

“Y/N…” Hesitant, he stares and then finally nods. “I will,” Yoongi murmurs, brushing his lips to hers. “For tonight.”

Waving his hand, he conjures a cloth at their side. Cleaning her off, he disposes of the rag. They lie down together, limbs entwined. Yoongi’s arm slides under her waist, her right hand on his chest as his leg drifts between hers.

“I could stay here for days,” Y/N whispers, eyelids already drooping.

Yoongi smiles, watching her shadows drift lazily up from the floor. “Me, too,” he murmurs, curling around her.

They fall asleep like that, two souls entwined.

When Y/N wakes the next morning, he is gone.

Even before she opens her eyes, she knows. She knows from the heavy feeling in her heart and the frigid space beside her in bed. And still – her stomach sinks when she opens an eye and sees nothing.

Well, not nothing. The blanket has been quietly tucked in, his clothing removed from the floor but a smooth piece of paper is placed on her desk. Seeing this, Y/N pushes her covers slowly aside to sit up. The morning air is cold, biting her skin but she largely ignores this, standing up from her bed.

The note is precise, to the point – much like Yoongi. He does not mince words, which Y/N would normally appreciate, but not now. Not when she is staring at lines on a paper and trying not to be furious.

We will see each other again.

That is all.

Y/N stares at this for a moment before the anger overtakes her and she crumples it into a ball. Breathing heavily, she stares out the window – the moves to toss it away but stops short.

Mechanically, she smooths out the paper. She stares at its lines for a second time, waiting for the hidden meaning. Surely, Yoongi would not leave without a reason. Deep down though, she knows what the reason is. Yoongi was unable to convince Y/N she was better off without him and so, he has removed himself from the picture.

Gritting her teeth, she resigns herself to this truth.

Yoongi is gone.

The sun is starting to rise, grey streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. Y/N is surprised no one has come to wake her yet, although admittedly, she has nowhere to be. Owen has not yet re-opened the forge. It has only been a week since Gwen was found in the river.

Remembering this, Y/N closes her eyes.

Last night seems like a dream. It seems ludicrous to think only a matter of hours ago she was stolen from bed, dragged to the river and nearly killed in the same manner Gwen was. She did not die, though. She fought back, Yoongi appeared, and – Y/N stops that thought in her tracks.

He is gone now.

Opening her eyes, Y/N stalks towards her wardrobe. Yanking clothes from the drawers, she dresses hastily before heading downstairs. Emotions churn in her stomach, each one grappling for attention over the other. In a way, this is easier – Y/N can push them all aside, forcing herself not to remember.

She does not think of Alvah, nor the manner in which she was taken. She does not think about Gwen, drowned under the river. She does not even think about Yoongi, the celestial being with stars in his eyes.

When Y/N reaches the kitchen, she pauses with one hand on the door. The images threaten to overwhelm then, rising to block out the day, but Y/N has always been good at compartmentalization. Shoving these behind the door, along with her magic, she arranges her skirts and steps into the room.

Seeing Mervin brings Y/N to a stop. Both Rian and Rumilda are gone, which is an oddity in itself. Mervin sits alone, reading his ledgers, an uneaten apple beside him. Rian will likely be alone in a minute to scold him for forgetting.

“Good morning.” Mervin pauses, scribbling something down in a margin. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Forcing herself to move, Y/N walks to the table. Pulling out the chair beside him, she slowly sits. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Melvin’s lips lift. “That is better than nothing.”

“True.”

He is quiet for a moment, turning the page in his ledger. Y/N stares down at the table, listening to the hum of people outside in the tavern. If feels surreal, sitting here as though nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. Gwen is dead, so is Alvah and Yoongi is – well, it does not matter what Yoongi is.

Yoongi is gone. The certainty of this sits hollowly in her chest.

“You’re reviewing the books now?” Y/N glances over, attempting to distract herself. “I thought you do that in the evening.”

Mervin nods, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Normally, yes. However, two of our guests departed this morning.”

“Oh?” Y/N fights to keep her voice neutral. “Which ones?”

“Oh, those two wealthy ones. Alvah – well, never caught his last name – and Min Yoongi.”

“I see.” Y/N’s lips tighten, attempting to stay silent – but unable to stop herself. “Did either one say anything before they left?”

“Well, let’s see. Alvah left before dawn,” says Mervin, setting down his quill. “The other stopped by and paid for them both.”

Y/N’s fingers freeze on the table. “He did?”

“Mhm. Said the town was lovely, but his work was calling. He said he would stay if he could, but it was imperative that he leave. Which seemed odd,” Mervin remarks, arching a brow. “I barely remember him leaving his room.”

“That’s true,” Y/N says, turning swiftly away.

She stares into the fireplace, willing herself not to think long on the matter. Yoongi needed to leave, it hardly matters if it was voluntary, or not. He is not here any longer and so, she must move on. They had a wonderful night, but it was only that – a night. He was right to insist they would not work. She is human, a witch and he is – more.

Gently, Mervin lays his hand over hers.

Y/N looks up in surprise.

His gaze is piercing, behind his spectacles. “You know…” Mervin hesitates. “We never expected you to stay here.”

“W-what?” stutters Y/N, dumbfounded.

Mervin smiles sadly. “We took you in, of course – we fed you, clothed you and loved you all these years. But… we never expected you to stay.”

Y/N finds herself at a loss. “You didn’t?”

“Not in a bad way,” he hastens, as though she might misunderstand. “We merely knew you were different; knew you were special.” Mervin pauses, purposefully not saying magic. “This town stifles people like you. Rian and I wanted more for you than that.”

“You both aren’t stifling.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows, smile lilting. “If you’re truly happy here, we would not kick you out. I’m merely letting you know... we understand if you can’t stay.”

“If I… can’t.”

He looks at her meaningfully. “If there’s somewhere else you must be. Or – someone else you must be with.”

Y/N stares back at him, dazed and wonders if Mervin also has magic. Only a mind-seeker could understand as much without her saying a word. Or – perhaps it is only a parent faced with the fate of their child.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers, feeling her vision blur. “Whatever happens – thank you.”

Mervin nods, smiling gently and withdrawing his hand. Picking back up his quill, he returns to the ledgers and Y/N stares at his books. All this time, she assumed because Yoongi was gone, she had been left behind. However – perhaps she is looking at this the wrong way.

Yoongi is gone, meaning there is nothing keeping her here.

All of a sudden, his note takes on a new meaning.

Boughs of the willow trees hang overhead, dripping to brush the grey banks of the river. Aberbwlch is a lonely stream, narrow where it separates the Real world from Shadow. Steam rises from its surface, curling shapelessly before dissipating to night. If there are any stars, they do not shine here.

On the bank of the river, a shadow steps from the darkness.

Her cloak is dark, trimmed with fur against the emerald green of the forest. She does not look at her surroundings, merely stares straight ahead.

“I know you’re here,” Y/N finally says.

A moment passes, maybe two before Hoseok appears.

He is dressed similarly to the first night they met, plain black clothing hewn from darkness itself. Cocking his head to one side, he regards Y/N warily. She is the one who arranged their meeting, after all.

“I was surprised to hear you sought me, human.”

Y/N’s upper lip curls. “Were you?” she asks. “You’re a terrible liar, Hoseok.”

Surprise flits across his face. Only a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs – it is not a pleasant sound. Lowering his chin, he regards her again.

“You are much younger than I thought,” he remarks, beginning to circle around her.

Darkness curls at her fingers, displeased by his movement. Y/N expression remains stoic, as though this whole interaction is merely a social call. In a way, it is. She has seen many things these past months; things she will never forget, and Hoseok’s actions are child’s play compared to those of the Shadow realm.

Slowly, she looks at him. “Is there a problem?”

Hoseok comes to a stop. “No,” he murmurs. “It is just odd. It is not often one of your kind asks for my help.”

“By my kind, you mean human?”

“No.” His smile flashes in darkness. “I mean pure,” he breathes, caressing the word. “There is not blood on your soul.”

Y/N nearly stiffens. “Then, you must know why I’m here.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Hoseok raises a brow. “Musings, if you will.”

“Then you know I am serious.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, gaze sparking with interest. “Or, perhaps I am merely curious of the girl who seeks the Otherworld.” Slowly, Hoseok takes a step forward. “Curious of the human who dares request an audience with Arawn – Lord of all things dead and unseen.”

Y/N stares back. “What would make you curious about that?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, Hoseok deeply inhales. Y/N does not move, tries not react while Hoseok scents out her intentions. It does not last long – his brow swiftly furrows, not understanding what he finds.

“It’s true.” Hoseok’s eyes snap open. He stares at her in wonder – and possibly, a touch of fear. “Your soul remains pure and still, you seek an audience with the devil. A meeting with Lord Arawn. Why?”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s façade slips and Hoseok sees the determination beneath. He sees her raw anger, the soul-wrenching longing and nearly recoils in shock.

“Perhaps he has something of mine,” Y/N says quietly. Just as swiftly, her boredom returns. “And perhaps I am determined to get it back – at whatever the cost.”

Her hand clenches around a note in her pocket.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot at this time! I know, I know, I set it up for a sequel. LOL right now though, I plan to leave this open ended. I hope you enjoyed!

#btsbookclub #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi scenario #yoongi fantasy #bts scenario #bts fantasy

2K notes · View notes

takerfoxx · 5 years

Text

Coming to Terms with Homura Akemi, My (Formerly) Least Favorite PMMM Character

Or, How I Learned to Stop Whinging and Love the Emo Meguca!

I have a…complicated history with my favorite anime’s main character (and yes, Homura is the main character. Madoka might be the title character and the show’s POV protagonist, but like most things in this series, that was a clever ruse, and it’s really more about Homura’s journey than Madoka’s). The first time I watched the show, I walked away feeling kind of ambivalent toward her, even mildly hostile. And that’s weird, right? I mean, just look at her! Look how her character arc plays out! She was practically grown in a lab to be my favorite! And you know what? In pretty much any other series she would have been my favorite, no doubt. She would have been a first pick Fav of the Day, the starring character in whatever fanfic I wrote about it, etc. But since the show she premiered in is anything but traditional, the way I eventually came to love each character turned out to be a little…unorthodox.

Now, I’ve gone over most of this before, so sing along if you know the words. My first time watching Puella Magi Madoka Magica went a little something like this:

Episode 1: Blue funny, Pink cute, Yellow badass, Purple mysterious.

Episode 2: Blue favorite, Pink alright, Yellow probably evil, Purple mysterious.

Episode 3: Yellow’s not evil after all, and now is the dead. My bad.

Episode 4: Pink getting all fucked up, SOMEONE SAVE BLUE!

Episode 5: Hate Red for attacking Blue. Kick her ass, Purple!

Episode 6: Still hate Red.

Episode 7: FUCK YOU, BUNNYCAT! Red’s not so bad after all. But someone save Blue!

Episode 8: Aw, hell no, Purple! You don’t threaten Blue like that! You go, Red! You’re pretty cool after…oh shit. BLUE, NO!

Episode 9: GO RED! GO PINK! SAVE BLUE! YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN…no.

Episode 10-12: Stuff is still happening with the plot, but I no longer care. My heart has been shattered, all light has gone from the world. My babies are gone. If only they had more time together, if only there was someplace they could reunite, really get to know one another, and go on adventures together…huh.

So yeah, that’s the story of how I fully got on board the KyoSaya train. Obviously, writing Resonance Days only solidified that, and coming across A Happy Dream by angel0wonder, AKA the potato lady AKA @smxmuffinpeddling (wazzup?!?!), pretty much cemented it as my top reigning OTP.

Now, obviously I got invested in the whole story as time went by. Subsequent rewatchings of the show, mainly through convincing people to watch it blind so I can laugh at them when they get to certain scenes (don’t hate, y’all did it too!) and taking part in online discussions really got me into the show as a whole instead of just being confined in my little KyoSaya bubble. But coming to love the other characters for their own merits took some time.

Mami was next. I’ll be honest, I just didn’t care all that much for her during my first watching, mainly due to believing that she would turn out to be evil for the first couple of episodes (I blame Disney and their recent trend of turning almost every kindly mentor/confidante figure into the bad guy lately), and me being more surprised that I was wrong when she died instead of being shocked that she was killed. Again, had nothing against her, that was just my reaction the first time around. However, she was included in Resonance Days because it felt like the logical thing to do, and she turned out to be so much fun to write for that I really came to love and care for her character in general, and her relationship with Charlotte ended up becoming one of my favorite parts of that story.

Madoka honestly took more time. I think the main reason I wasn’t all that invested in her is that she was pretty passive in the series proper while my attention was more on the more proactive side characters. And again, this wasn’t a bad thing! In fact, it was a clever bit of deliberate storytelling, as it’s revealed that she originally was a proactive main-character type, only to unintentionally get relegated to her observer role by the butterfly effect caused by Homura’s time loops. But anyway, the thing that made me turn the corner on Madoka actually also ended up being fanfiction, but not one of my own. Specifically, I came across a popular, yet also somewhat controversial, fic called Persephone’s Waltz (and wazzup, @erinptah!), in which Homura decides to just stop beating around the bush and lock Madoka up in a basement until Walpurgisnacht had passed. And as weird as it sounds, making Madoka a prisoner actually gave her more agency, as the fic really went into detail about the psychological effects of being a kidnapping victim, from the strange rituals to the escape attempts to coping strategies to Stockholm Syndrome to bouts of depression and so on and so forth, all the while never deviating from her core character. It really got me rooting for Madoka and, by extension, invested in her character in canon as well.

That just left Homura.

By then, I had gotten over being a little sore at her for trying to kill Sayaka that one time, and I was interested in where her actions would take the plot. I just wasn’t interested in her, per se, as I hadn’t had an icebreaker moment like I had with the other characters.

And then The Rebellion Story happened.

The Rebellion Story: PMMM’s End of Evangelion

Puella Magi Madoka Magica is often compared its nearly two decade-old predecessor, Neon Genesis Evangelion, and not without reason. Like Evangelion, it took a genre mainly known to be fun and kid-friendly (giant mechs for Evangelion and magical girls for PMMM) and turned it on its head, resulting in a brutal and twisted deconstruction that would end up altering the direction that genre would take for years to come. The key difference is that Evangelion’s brilliance was in many ways an accident, with the bizarre places it went being largely informed both by its troubled production and its showrunner’s personal demons staying bottled up through the early part of the show but letting them loose later on, whereas PMMM was meticulously constructed from top to bottom to become the hand-grenade to the genre that it would become. But in the end, the effects were the same. They even both had a follow-up movie that was not originally supposed to happen that ended up being highly divisive among fans due to the shots they took at the fandom that had sprung up around the original series, even if The Rebellion Story wasn’t nearly as spiteful as End of Evangelion was.

Now, I’ve already gone into at length about how PMMM brutally dissects and deconstructs the Magical Girl genre, and it did it so thoroughly that the genre itself was totally wrenched in a new direction, much like Evangelion did to the Giant Mecha genre. But after you’ve completely taken apart the genre in your first season, where exactly do you go? How do you continue when your work is seemingly done?

The answer: deconstruct yourself.

Much as Puella Magi Madoka Magica went after the Magical Girl genre, The Rebellion Story went after the fandom that had sprung up in the original show’s wake. The first third of the movie gives the fans what they claimed they wanted: a traditional Magical Girl reimagining of PMMM where everyone is alive and working together, everyone is mentally and emotionally healthy, the two fan-favorite ships are just a kiss away from being canon, Kyubey is now a cute and silent mascot that helps out instead constantly manipulating everyone around him, and even the most popular witch is back as a benevolent secondary mascot in a happy friendship with the character she had killed. We see Madoka and the Moemura version of Homura being adorable together, we see Kyoko and Sayaka goofing off, we see Mami cuddling with Charlotte with nary a head-chomp in sight, we see everyone being just being friends and protecting the city from weird but essentially non-threatening monsters. It is basically the summation of a hundred fanfics that had been posted between the end of the show and the release of the movie.

But this is still PMMM, and something is not quite right.

We all know what happens next. Homura starts subconsciously noticing that something is off, she gradually becomes Terminator Homura as she investigates the situation and regains her memories, and the perfect happy world is exposed for the farce that it is. Things collapse, and the truth is revealed: Homura had become a witch that had been trapped inside her own soul gem, those close to her had been lured in to complete the illusion, and of course it is all Kyubey’s fault. Because this is PMMM, and Homura doesn’t get to be happy.

But the movie doesn’t stop with that reveal. Once we learn the truth, it changes targets. It stops deconstructing the fans, and instead goes after something else.

It starts to deconstruct Homura Akemi, its own main character.

Despite her promise to continue fighting on in Madoka’s name to protect the slightly more kind world her beloved had created, Homura had found herself unable to cope without Madoka. Her mission had failed, and without that stabilizing force, despair had slowly crept in, corrupting her from within, to the point where (I believe at least) she had been fighting not to honor Madoka, but in hopes that she would fall in battle and be carried off by her goddess. She had been fighting not in hopes of building a better world, but as a way to seek release from her pain. She had been miserable in Madoka’s new world, even moreso than she had been during her time loops.

And because she had been foolish enough to tell the truth to Kyubey, the little rat had taken the opportunity to use her to set a trap. Madoka had been pulled out of Heaven right into the Incubators’ clutches, and it was all her fault.

Is it any wonder that she had been unwilling to accept Madoka’s salvation during the climatic battle? Is it any wonder that her own labyrinth had featured her own familiars dragging her away to her own execution? Homura hated herself. She hated what she had become, she hated what she had allowed to happen, she hated that she had failed so utterly and completely.

In fact, I’d say that this movie shows something about Homura that I don’t think a lot of people will appreciate me pointing out, and that is as much as Homura was single-mindedly devoted to Madoka, she never really came to know her. I mean, how could she? She only knew Madoka over the course of a few of a few infatuated weeks the first time around, which she then repeated over and over and over again, becoming increasingly traumatized over time. I don’t doubt that her devotion to Madoka is real, but The Rebellion Story does seem to suggest that after a while she was fixated on Madoka as an ideal rather than Madoka as an actual person, something to be protected and possessed rather than as a living, breathing person with her own autonomy.

Now, am I saying that Homura is a bad person and that anyone who felt inspired by her resilience and devotion is wrong? Of course not. Am I saying that anyone that ships MadoHomu is bad, promoting toxic relationships, etc.? Hell no! What I’m saying is that due to everything she’s been forced to endure and fight again, she is a very mentally unhealthy individual, one who is in desperate need of help. And if an actual relationship between her and Madoka is going to realistically work, well, first something drastic will have to happen to upset her new system and give Madoka her power back, but Homura is also going to need tons of therapy.

As I said before, Homura’s decision to rip Madoka out of the Law of Cycles and turn herself into Homucifer has been pretty controversial, with many people claiming that it betrayed her characterization. To those people, I would say that they never really knew the real Homura Akemi. The show set up an idealized version of Homura, and people had that ideal imprinted in their mind. And I can’t really blame them for that. The show ended on a big, optimistic moment with Homura making a big speech about how she was going to keep fighting in Madoka’s name. It’s all very stirring, and I can’t fault anyone who would feel betrayed by their Homura acting against that promise.

But as a sadistic bastard in another dark show that is now also very controversial once said, “If you think this story has a happy ending, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

Homura Akemi Did Everything Wrong, and It’s Okay to Admit That

Even though The Rebellion Story got me interested in seeing where the whole Homucifer vs. Godoka thing would go, I still wasn’t all that invested in Homura as a person. I was entrenched too deep in my KyoSaya world, and everything outside of that was just so much plot. Most of my focus was on Resonance Days, which just didn’t involve her at all.

It took years, but three things finally cracked me out of that shell. The first was writing Walpurgis Nights, of course. Granted, Homulilly was more of a Moemura than Homucifer, but that story really made me dive deep into her innate insecurities, to explore her struggles with self-loathing and her reliance on Madoka for any kind of validation.

The second was watching through a few blind reactions to the series, seeing how other people reacted to her character and the things that they picked up that I had missed. One thing in particular stood out to me: during Homura and Madoka’s first meeting in episode ten, Homura is actually shocked when Madoka casually addresses her by her first name, as no one ever called her by her first name.

And the third might get me some hate, but it was through coming across this little video:

youtube

Now, like many things I’ve discussed in this post, this video has been pretty polarizing, with some people outright hating it and labeling it as slanderous character bashing. The clickbaity title certainly doesn’t help, and I can’t say I agree with all of its points. But the video really isn’t the character-bashing piece that it might seem like. Rather, it’s as much a deconstruction of a character that has been heavily idealized by the fandom, pointing out the many mistakes and, while it certainly was not her fault, how she was driven more by a personal need for validation rather than selfless love.

That’s when it all clicked for me, all the little pieces coming together.

Despite how badass she appears to be, despite how unwavering her adoration for Madoka is, Homura Akemi is someone who was broken from the beginning, who was re-broken again and again, who never seemed to make the right choice, who was never allowed to have what she wanted, who was never allowed to win, until she finally snapped and ripped apart the carefully-laid plans and systems that seemed to be set against her.

Homura Akemi did everything wrong, and that is fascinating!

Consider: when we first meet her, she is a young girl who has known nothing but neglect, who has been shuffled around by an uncaring system her entire life, who is physically weak due to a heart condition, who is terrified by any kind of attention and is genuinely perturbed just by being called by her first name.

Of all the tragic backstories in the series, hers is easily the worst. Mami and Kyoko’s characterizations are both defined by having a single horrific event in their respective pasts that took everything away from them, events that shattered their worlds and which they blamed themselves for. But at the very least they had something before the cruel hand of fate reached into their lives. Homura never had anything! Her family is so completely out of the picture to not even warrant a mention! Her heart condition leaves her constantly balanced on the precipice of death and frequently leaves her weak and in pain. She’s never had a real friend, never had anyone close, never had anything that made her feel good about being herself. So when the Arch of Victory witch ensnares her with suicidal thoughts, it doesn’t really have to try very hard.

And then Madoka came into her life. A cheerful, outgoing girl who showed her kindness, one who called her by her name and said that it was pretty. Someone who came to her during the scariest moment in Homura’s life like a guardian angel and saved her. Someone who was everything Homura had ever wanted: kind, humble, encouraging, non-judgmental, loving, powerful, protecting, and the list goes on.

Is there any wonder that Homura became infatuated with her? Not one bit.

But then something terrible happened. Madoka and Mami were faced with the horror of Walpurgisnacht, and it killed them. Finally Homura had someone in her life that made her feel good about being herself, and that person was stolen from her. She had to watch Madoka fail. She had to watch Madoka die. And she just stood by and did nothing.

And it is then that Homura made her first mistake. Kyubey being the opportunistic manipulator that he is, he took advantage of her vulnerable state in order to add another soul to his quota. And of course Homura accepted; who could blame her?

But consider this: Homura could have wished for Madoka to be resurrected. Walpurgisnacht had been defeated; it was no longer a threat! Then the two of them (or three, had Mami been brought back as well) would have been together, fighting side-by-side! I mean, it would have eventually ended in tears anyway, but Homura had no way of knowing that. As far as she knew, she was in a traditional magical girl story that just so happened to have a bad end, one that she could have fixed.

Instead, she wished to be sent back in time to redo her first meeting with Madoka, only this time as a Puella Magi. That way, she could help Madoka and Mami prepare for Walpurgisnacht! She could protect Madoka!

It wasn’t enough just to have her dearest (and only) friend back in her life. Homura wanted to switch the roles. She wanted to protect Madoka like Madoka had protected her. She wanted a reason to keep existing, a mission, a way to prove her worthiness, because she still hated herself and needed something to validate her existence.

But it wasn’t that kind of show. She didn’t have all the information. How could she have known that Kyubey was being deceptive? How could she have known of the truth about witches? How could she have known that her time-looping would make Walpurgisnacht stronger? How could she have known that each loop would alter the timestream, entangling both Sayaka and Kyoko in its web?

Still, she kept trying. She made herself stronger and stronger in hopes that she would be able to stop Walpurgisnacht in time. She tried to warn everyone about Kyubey and the witches only to be disbelieved. She watched the others die around her again and again. She watched Madoka either die or succumb to despair and become a witch herself.

And then it happened.

That all-important timeline, where everything in her changed.

The one where she and Madoka finally successfully defeated Walpurgisnacht, but lost everything else. The one where they laid side-by-side in the ruins and the rain, as their cracked soul gems grew darker and the darker. The one where Homura resigned herself to becoming a witch.

The one where Madoka sacrificed her final grief seed, Sayaka’s grief seed, in order to save Homura. The one where she made Homura promise to go back and prevent her from making a contract in the first place. And the one where Madoka died again, not in battle against a witch, but by Homura’s own hand.

Something inside Homura broke that day, something that was never repaired and never will be. It was then that Homura shed the last remnants of the frightened, insecure girl she had been and became the Terminator-esque warrior that we were first introduced to. Her missions was clear then: stop Madoka from making a contract and defeat Walpurgisnacht by any means necessary. Nothing else mattered.

But despite all her resets, despite all her preparations, despite (supposedly) finally having all the information, Homura still kept failing! No matter what she did, Madoka always made a contract and became Kriemhild Gretchen. And Walpurgisnacht just seemed to be getting stronger.

Finally, in the timeline that encompasses the show proper, Homura learned the reason why. She was doomed from the start. Her own resetting of time was only building Madoka’s karmic destiny, increasing the power of both Walpurgisnacht and Kriemhild Gretchen. The more she went back, the more the universe itself stacked the deck against her, and now it was all but impossible. And what was worse, she had done it to herself.

Just look at her in that second to last episode, when she’s lying there bloodied and broken, when she’s about to go back yet again but stops herself. Just look at her face as her soul gem darkens as literal years of despair seep out of the defenses she had built up around herself. She knew that it was hopeless, she knew that both she and Madoka were doomed, she knew that she was seconds from finally becoming a witch after all of her efforts were for naught, and it terrified her.

But then, just as all seemed lost, Madoka herself appeared to save her, but did so through the last thing Homura wanted her to do. She took all of that karmic destiny Homura had burdened her with and made a witch that shook the very foundations of reality. Witches were removed from the equation, and Puella Magi who had succumbed to despair were simply allowed to pass peacefully instead of becoming monsters. The contract system and the advancements wasn’t removed, and the girls’ wishes weren’t negated. But the cruelest aspect of it was.

And all it cost was Madoka’s existence.

Yes, Homura was saved. Yes, Madoka was spared of dying or turning into Kriemhild Gretchen. But the person that Homura had devoted her entire existence to protecting was gone, and by her own hand. Only Homura herself was left to remember her.

Can you imagine how that must have felt, to be forced to soldier on while bearing the weight of that knowledge, to know that you had ultimately failed in your mission and had to go on without the only person that had ever meant anything to you? Sure, there was that whole “always be with you in spirit” thing, but that is a poor comfort to someone like Homura. Yes, the show ends on an optimistic note, with Homura promising to fight on in Madoka’s name, but it’s often been said that the only thing that give a story a happy ending is where you end it. And while I’m sure that many fans would have loved to believe that Homura had done just that, had fought the Wraiths to the bitter end until she was welcomed into Madoka’s arms, the sad fact of the matter is that reality is rarely ever so simple.

In The Rebellion Story we learn how true that is. Without her mission, Homura was unable to keep herself together, and despair did finally overtake her. But instead of peacefully disappearing and being taken by her love, she had made the fatal mistake of confessing to Kyubey of all people the truth about the way things were.

Now, why would she do that? Why tell Kyubey about the witches and how Madoka had changed things? Did she not suspect that he might do something with that knowledge?

Personally, I think she did. Maybe not consciously, but I feel that deep down inside, she hated what the world had become, not because the Law of Cycles had removed a significant portion of the pain, but because Madoka had to erase herself in order to create it. Yes, deleting witches was a net positive, but it wasn’t the positive Homura had been fighting to achieve. Madoka had made her promise to keep her from making a wish, and Homura had to execute her right after. So I do think that she told Kyubey the truth because part of her was kind of hoping he would intervene somehow and bring Madoka back.

And he did, and he did so though screwing Homura over. Again.

Within the labyrinth contained within her own soul gem, Homura build the world she had always wanted to exist. The endless loops had been washed away, and she and Madoka were fighting together in a joyful magical girl show. She worked so hard to build a place that would make her happy, but in the end she had been unable to accept even her own gift, in part because she subconsciously knew that something was off, but also because she had conditioned to be suspicious anything that seems like it would be working in her favor.

Learning the truth broke Homura yet again. She had done this. She had been the one to admit the truth to Kyubey, and he had used that knowledge to ensnare Madoka once more. Her love was again trapped by Incubators, and it was all her fault. Is there any wonder that while everyone was fighting to rescue her from herself, she was screaming for them to stop while her own familiars executed her over and over again?

Homura’s decision to rip Madoka out of the Law of Cycles and again rewrite reality is a controversial one, and I get that. But when you put aside the cool, determined badass that she presents herself as and look at the whole of her journey then it only makes sense. She was sick of it all. Sick of being manipulated by the Incubators and their contracts, sick of having her desires denied by the Law of Cycles, sick of being held back by her own inadequacies. She was sick of losing, and that was going to end.

The movie is called The Rebellion Story, and that title couldn’t have been more accurate. Because at the end, Homura rebelled against everything: against the Incubators, against Madoka, against herself, against a world that seemed set against her from the beginning. She forcibly seized control, dominating Kyubey and his ilk, ripping Madoka from the Law of Cycles and reprogramming her to be sweet and docile, and even erasing Madoka and Sayaka’s friendship so that Sayaka wouldn’t interfere. In the end, she finally won.

And she still hated herself. Even after overcoming everything and embracing her status as the world’s new Devil, we see her own familiars throwing trash at her.

And that is the Homura I came to love. The icy, mysterious warrior that she was presented as just didn’t do anything for me. But the broken girl who seemed to have the entire world set against her, that had what little happiness she had stolen from her time and time again, that made mistake after mistake as she tried to fight against the unfairness of everything and constantly made things worse, that finally said “Fuck it” and forced the world to bend under her will but still wasn’t happy at the end it all? Well, just look at the stories I’ve written, the kinds of stories I gush about. That is a story I can sink my teeth into. That is a character worth investing in, because she is just so damned fascinating!

Now, I’m not going to say that she’s my favorite character now, but her story is the one I’m the most interested in. And when we finally get that long-awaited follow-up, I’m definitely going to be swooning over any and all KyoSaya interactions and watching what happens to Mami and Madoka with rapt attention, but the bulk of my investment will be in Homura’s story, because in a very strange way, her story feels the most human.

Now I just wonder how many people I’ve managed to piss off.

#puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #homura akemi #Madoka Kaname #sayaka miki #kyoko sakura #mami tomoe #the rebellion story #essay #character analysis #don't kill me please i really do think she's an awesome character

148 notes · View notes