Work Text:
“Young Blood,” the tree groans at him, long limbs swaying as they caress his feathers. “You need to tell them. They will not hate you, Young Blood.” Ha. As if they wouldn’t. Roots shift and twist, unearthing a thin, spindly branch. One end has been sharpened to a talon’s fine point, and gleams with the weight of its secrets. “This is yours. I assume you know what to do with it,” the weathered World Tree says.
Haneul accepts with a delicate chirp, taking the branch in his beak.
Well. It made sense, Haneul thinks.
The fucking White Star did steal his face, after all.
It was a battle of wills, resolve, and power. Of the first two, both sides were nearly evenly matched. Of the latter… the side that many counted on lacked firepower. The White Star and his organization - Arm - had been around for decades, and worse still, were the hunters that had their own reasons for going after their most vaunted Hero, the first swordmaster to come from Roan in nearly two centuries.
Two of the world’s most powerful assassins, the master of Roan’s Magic Tower, and the King of Wolves were hardly a match for the might of an army nearly ten thousand strong, even if the fifth of their number was the most powerful man on the continent save for White Star himself.
And the bird.
One could not forget the bird.
Haneul was there on the front lines, the brilliant gold and scarlet plumage diving in between enemies, a sharp golden beak slicing at fingers, razored talons brought to bear as they dug into shoulders, into scalps, dragged men off of horses to be trampled underfoot, and more.
Haneul was a force of pure nature, defending his human, his beloved friend with as much fierceness and strength as any of their team, but even so.
Ten thousand men, trained and taught loyalty beyond their own lives, was much harder than those who valued them, who took caution.
Bodies fell in rivers of red, sweeping scythes of glimmering black trailing behind as they fell before the swordmaster and his heroic actions.
If Haneul was so inclined, he could write a child’s adventure book about the grandeur of the battle, the absolute stupidity of it all.
Instead, Haneul releases a piercing cry, swoops down to tug on the pauldron Choi Han had kept for him, and takes off once again.
“C’mon!” Choi Han calls his companions. “We need to break through!” Choi Han slams his blade forward, and a ripple of black throws dozens of men off of their feet.
Had they had more men, more resources, more defenses, they could have made it. They could have gone through the battle itself and not been forced to exhaust themselves on the peons that threw themselves on their weapons, willing to die to give their vaunted leader just a few more minutes to successfully complete his ritual.
Hell, the fortress itself was on a goddamn mountain from fucking hell.
Fuck the God of Death, Choi Han thinks, flips the blade around in his hand so he can smash the pommel into a man’s helmet with a resounding ring of metal on metal. Hanuel dives down before he can collapse entirely, sharp talons ripping the dagger out of the dying man’s wildly flailing grip. Ascending, the bird loops once in the air and flings the dagger with all of his might and speed, the sharp end burying itself in a man’s forehead.
“Good one!” he cheers his feathered companion, Haneul chirping happily above him. Ron’s dagger sinks into a soldier’s neck, and the assassin gives him a slightly amused look.
“Gush later. We’re still short on time. Sunset’s not that far away.” Ron’s head tilts to the sky, and Choi Han curses.
“Fucking - of course,” he hisses. “No chance of a flashy distraction, by any chance?”
“Not on our end,” Ron mutters. “Unless the Crown Prince pulls off a miracle and manages to get himself un-arrested for treason.”
Choi Han winces. Alberu being a dark elf had been revealed at the absolute worst of times, as though someone had known and had made sure to unveil it when they needed him most - a suspicion that, by Ron’s tight lips - had definitely been planned well in advance.
“Fuck,” Choi Han breathes, and blue bolts of lighting flash across the sky, dozens of soldiers smoking as they hit the ground. Rosalyn’s handiwork, Choi Han was sure. She’s breathing heavily, and he knows that she’s starting to get seriously winded.
They’re going to be exhausted to fucking death by the time they got there, what the -
A roar echos above them, golden scales glittering in a ripple of pre-sunset lighting as bright blue gathers at his mouth. Thousands of bright blue beams cut through the air in a razor’s glimmer, their very contact leaving bright explosions in their wake.
“Hi strong humans!” A cheerful voice says happily as a small black blur zooms to them. “Sorry we’re late, we had to break out the prince!”
“You what.” Lock’s incredulous voice is enough for all of them, the wolf boy wheezing as he rubs tender ribs from where a suicide bomber had attempted to take him with them. A limber figure jumps down from the golden dragon’s back, dark skin gleaming in the light.
“Sorry I’m late,” Alberu’s grin is viciously bright even under his veil. “Some idiots tried to stop Eruhaben-nim from testifying in my defense with some mana restriction chains. I’ll have a palace to fix when I get back home, but it's worth it, I think.” The prince says with a grin.
“Did you break the palace?” Choi Han says incredulously, before holding a hand up. “No, wait, let’s not. Let’s just get to White Star and put him down. Then we can swap tales of adventure.”
Alberu’s eyes are dancing, but the prince bows a little teasingly, a crackle of magic as he brings his spear to bear.
“You guys go on ahead. We’ll handle the army.”
“Be careful,” Rosalyn says. “There’s a half-dragon somewhere in here, and I don’t think they meant that in a good way.”
Eruhaben growls darkly, and Raon brakes nearby, looking upset.
“We’ll make them regret that,” Alberu promises, looking fierce in his full dark-elf regalia. Choi Han gives them an encouraging nod, and he calls for his partner, two long whistles and a short one. Haneul immediately brakes from where he’d been dive bombing a hapless soldier and quickly flies to him, landing on Choi Han’s shoulder with a delicate little chirp, feathers slimming down until they’re sleek and Choi Han can see fully.
“Hunker down, Haneul. We’ll be moving fast.” Haneul chirps an acknowledgement, nestling close, and Choi Han checks to make sure his team is fine, before turning on his heel and dashing up the mountain, his team hot on his heels.
This far up the mountain, it’s hard to see what’s going on, the slowly setting sun a reminder that they were running out of time to stop whatever insanity White Star had planned. Their vision is obscured by a suddenly thickening forest, branches erupting from the ground and climbing to the sky ominously, and Choi Han lifts his hand up, calling for a stop.
“Haneul. Guide us?” He asks, and Haneul nips at his hair gently, tugs a few times before launching himself up, singing sweetly. It’s tense while they wait, until Haneul trills off to their left, and the team follows the sound of his singing.
“The hell is going on with this?” Rosalyn wonders aloud, grimacing as a branch whips past her face. “First trees show up out of nowhere, and now they’re attacking us? There’s no way he has elves helping him, or elementals.”
“They might not have a choice,” Ron says darkly. “Dead mana is a horrible way to die.” Ron’s words quiet them, and they trudge onwards, Haneul’s singing and the cracking of branches their only accompaniment.
A sweet, piercing cry, and Haneul dives down again, Choi Han lifting an arm up so his bird can land on his arm.
“What did you see?” he asks gently, uses his fingers to ruffle his bird’s crest, and Haneul chirps at him, a worried thing. The rest of them wait as Haneul chirps to their leader, restless. If his relentless feet wasn’t a sign, his wilted feathers would have been enough, for Choi Han. “Children?” Choi Han says, frowning. “How many?” Haneul pauses, rocks back on his feet, and then chirps ten times. “Fuck. Any Elves?”
The shake of a red head, and a cheep. “Elementals?” A single nod. “Fuck. Okay, thank you.” A kiss to a beak, and he bounces his arm. After the third bounce, Haneul launches himself skyward, the powerful flap of his wings disturbing the air around them before soaring above them and a sweet trill echoing above their heads.
“Be careful, all of you,” Choi Han says quietly, and his team nods, hands reaching for their weapons.
“Let’s go,” Beacrox says strongly, and they move on.
Breaking through the last of the treeline, Choi Han skids to a stop, his team screeching to a halt at the sight.
The remains of the castle are smoking slightly, a crumbled ruin of granite and broken glass, bodies scattered everywhere. The reek of corpses makes them all cough, and carefully, they pick their way across the ruins. It’s a quiet journey, exhausting and worrying as they pick across the uncomfortably open field.
Haneul screeches above them, and that’s all the warning they need to duck, a spear of wood sailing above their heads and exploding. Haneul screeches in pain, ducking down and wildly flapping his wings as more spears come for him rather than his team.
“NO!” Choi Han nearly pulls up to protect him, but Ron yanks him back down.
“If you distract him, he’ll be worse off!” Ron hisses, and Choi Han bites his lower lip.
“Fucking bastard,” Choi Han hisses angrily, unable to ignore how his pretty bird was swooping and diving, evading as best as he could given the awful circumstances.
“Move,” Ron snaps, and Choi Han refocuses on the task ahead of him. He couldn’t afford to let Haneul down. Not now, when his pretty bird needed him on the top of his game and ready to put down a threat at a moment’s notice. He hated this. Ducking further, the group of five quickly race up the stairs, Haneul’s shrill cries ringing in their ears.
Once they’ve made it up to the plateau, Choi Han looks around.
“Split and cover! Beacrox, Rosalyn, you two take left. I’ll keep out of sight. Ron and Lock -”
“Cover the right, got it,” Lock says seriously, the boy darting off with Ron hot on his heels. Choi Han runs quickly, a brush of his aura scattering glass so he could slide behind a half-shattered pillar wide enough for him to hide behind.
“I didn’t take you for a coward, Hero of Roan!” White Star’s voice is aggravatingly familiar, a tone of mockery in his words. When Choi Han doesn’t do more than steady his breathing, the man tuts. “Tch. Playing hide and seek is useless when I know where you’re hiding, you know!” The man says, laughing. A flash of red, and Choi Han can see Haneul circling above them, wings flapping desperately as he dives and weaves around spears.
Fucking hell. How much power did this man have?
Choi Han swallows a breath. It’d been a hot minute since he’d used his little ventriloquism trick, but he needed to keep a cool head. Not lose his temper. Closing his eyes, he concentrates. He has no idea where White Star is, but that’s fine. He can just throw it as far as he can, then. Channeling his aura at a distance was nothing - he’d used this all of the time to avoid monsters in the forest.
“Are you sure you know where I am?” The sound is a little further than he’d expected, but he’s rewarded when the wooden spears stop flying Haneul’s way and slam off into the dirt, allowing his pretty bird to dive behind a pillar of his own, his tiny chest heaving up and down as he recovers his breath.
“... Where did- You pest!” The White Star shrieks, anger and rage at the realization that he’d been duped. Haneul looks at him, before hopping in place twice, and wiggling his tail-feathers a few times to the left.
Bless Haneul for being able to triangulate sound better than him. Another wiggle of his tail feathers, and two more hops, and Choi Han closes his eyes, throws his voice again.
“Aw, c’mon. Party trick like this is enough to scare you?” He asks, peering carefully around his pillar. He can see the faint figure of Beacrox and Rosalyn as they sneak off to the barricade of wooden spears that now conveniently hid them from view, before looking to see more spears having impacted on the right. A deep breath, and he steels himself to give Ron and Lock the time to get closer to the children Haneul had spotted. Lifting a hand, he gestures to Haneul, and his bird fluffs up, angry, before he shakes his head and gestures again. Haneul flaps his wings, and Choi Han glares back at him.
After a second, Haneul droops, hiding his beak behind a wing and warbling quietly enough that it only just covers the distance between them.
Good. Haneul would stay out of sight while Choi Han distracted White Star. He couldn’t risk Ron and Lock being seen. Pulling back, Choi Han quickly seeks out a quick path on top of the pillar, boosting his speed to climb up swiftly. At the last hand-hold, Choi Han dangles from one hand as he grabs his short-sword and heaves himself up, already drawing his blade in a black curtain of fire.
A dozen spears heading his way are quickly incinerated, and Choi Han flings himself from the top of the pillar, aiming for the space behind another where Rosalyn and Beacrox had hidden before they’d advanced on White Star’s position.
A second swing, and Choi Han melts the second volley as he rolls and slides to a stop behind his new protective barrier.
Now would be a good time for an explosion, Rosalyn, Choi Han thinks.
Right on cue, something explodes gloriously, little specks of fire scattering over the ground. Haneul takes the distraction to quickly wing closer, diving through the air and sharp claws puncturing the durable leather of his shoulder pad, his beautiful companion quivering anxiously at his throat, feathers flat. He tilts his head to kiss the top of a soft head, and Haneul calms down with an anxious little chirp.
“Hold tight,” He murmurs softly, and Haneul chirps, clings tight as another explosion rocks the plaza. The two of them make their way across, slowly sneaking closer and closer, before they reach the first of the wooden spears. They quiver anxiously when Haneul draws close, and his bird pecks at it gently, as if trying to reassure the wood.
Surprisingly, it works, and the branches stop moving.
“Elementals?” Choi Han whispers, and Haneul chirps softly, agreeing with him. “Tch. That dick,” he mutters, and Haneul gives a little cheep of agreement. Explosions are keeping the man busy, but Choi Han can’t risk his allies’ lives on that, and after a moment, he throws his voice again.
“Where’s your cockiness now?” Choi Han mocks, and he’s gratified to see that the spears impact his last hiding place, quivering violently where they land and building a forest of wood that he can use later to hide.
“Coward!” White Star shrieks, and Choi Han rolls his eyes at his bird, Haneul snickering behind a wing. “Do you think that you can hide forever? Sunset is coming, and when it comes, I’ll be stronger than before! You’ll be mere ants before me,” White Star gloats, and Choi Han grimaces.
They still had no idea what he was planning beyond a vague ‘Demon, but able to exist in the real world’. Neither of which was encouraging, Choi Han thinks.
“Remind me to get Vicross to interrogate his priest,” Choi Han mutters, and Haneul gives an affable little chirrup, nuzzling him warmly as he quickly races past the wooden spears and climbs up the steps.
Now that he was further up, he could see what this place was meant to be - a coliseum, of some kind. Given the scale, he’d bet it was something gladiatorial, which… was not reassuring. A glance back, and Choi Han wonders if that had once been a waiting area for gladiators, or if it had a deeper purpose.
Either way, he could speculate after the White Star was dead, and he quickly darts up the last of the steps.
Shit, is not a very eloquent thought when he sees the carnage of the battlefield.
The elementals that he can see are trapped in stone prisons well above his head, that reek of blackness twisted in obscene ways, and Choi Han cannot help but feel sympathy for the poor things, even as they were used against him. The coliseum has seen better days, a third of it sheared off and reclaimed by the forest around them, their broken steps threaded through the greenery of the vines.
Shaking his head, Choi Han quickly moves on. He couldn’t afford to be too soft, not until White Star was dead. The crumbling steps of the coliseum lead down to a set of indistinct figures - the ten children, he would guess. Glancing around, Choi Han takes a risk, leaping down a dozen generously sized seating platforms to land halfway down the slope, Haneul clinging to his shoulder pad in fright. Stopping, Choi Han winces as he realizes Haneul’s beak had taken a good chunk of his hair to cling to as well, as though chiding him for his risky behavior.
“Sorry, beautiful,” he murmurs apologetically, and Haneul hisses through his beakful of hair angrily before letting go. “No promises,” he says dryly, and Haneul lightly nips his ear, reproachful but affectionate all the same.
The stillness is broken by a sudden, earsplitting shriek.
“MAES!” Lock’s voice screeches, and Choi Han’s heart plummets.
Maes… Wasn’t Maes the name of Lock’s -
Haneul launches himself from Choi Han’s shoulder in the next moment, the bird swooping down to cover Lock - stupid, reckless Lock - as the boy skids to a stop in front of one of the bound children.
“No,” Lock whimpers, hand coming to rest against the little boy’s face. “No, no, Maes, Maes, please, answer me, please answer me Maes Maes Maes!” Lock’s screams do nothing to the little boy, his blue eyes gazing off into the distance as though Lock did not exist. Haneul flutters anxiously around the two, chirping warnings to Lock, who seems lost in his own world, unable to heed the danger he was in.
God dammit. Children, Choi Han bemoans, watching as the rest of his team was forced out into the open, congregating around the shell-shocked boy. Choi Han is the last, and his anger - despite being echoed by the others - is checked at the sight of Lock’s tear-stricken and grieving expression. Goddamnit. With a heavy sigh, Choi Han turns around, hands firmly set upon his weapon once more.
“You heroes really are predictable,” The White Star says mockingly, the man landing in front of them.
Next to him, Ron sucks in a breath, horrified, and Beacrox curses fluidly.
Red hair. Impossibly porcelain skin. Reddish-brown eyes, and a sneer on his handsome features.
“Young Master Cale?” Ron whispers, horrified disgust in his tone. Haneul, seemingly offended, shrieks a sharp battle-cry, the avian flying up into the air and beating his wings in clear offense.
“Young Master?” The man wonders, before a cruel grin appears. “Oh, Oh, I see,” the man cackles. “Do I look like a dearly beloved someone?” White Star mocks, his cruel sneer growing bolder. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’ve got the wrong man.” Here he eyes them. “Of course… if you would just tell me where he is, I’ll happily eliminate him.”
Choi Han has to bite back a sudden bloom of anger filling his heart. Bastard! He’d spent time with Cale - not much, true - but the redhead was far from being a worthy target of this man. Cale had been - if not kind, then at least understanding - of his plight of people, had listened to him before his sudden disappearance from the manor. Judging by Ron and Beacrox’s stiffened spines and furious countenances, there was more to the story than that, but now wasn’t the time.
“You’re going to die for that.,” Beacrox says evenly, and a quick glance shows Beacrox’s greatsword was already in hand, trembling with the force of his anger.
“Heh. Catch me then, little boy,” White Star says with a smirk.
And then he moved.
A single man against five well-trained team-members (and Haneul) should have been a walk in the park. A man with only a handful of Ancient Powers and a weapon should have been felled by them, their fluid teamwork, their speed.
And at best, all they were doing was annoying him. He moved like silk in water, poetry in motion, his steps practically dancing over empty space.
Part of Choi Han wants to blame Lock for their unsynchronized actions, and that was… certainly part of it. Lock’s swings were wild, uselessly swiping at empty air, the boy’s rage making him unpredictable.
Dangerous.
After a third wild swing nearly launches Beacrox, Choi Han whistles at Haneul. His pretty bird knows this song and dance, as do the rest. After Pendrick had nearly died, it’d been the only way to stop Lock’s rage - admittedly, in a painful way.
After another swoop to rake his sharp talons over the White Star’s mask, Haneul goes high and screeches.
Choi Han claps his hands over his ears a second before the noise starts, as does the rest of his team, before the unearthly wail sends everyone to their knees.
“Guh!” The White Star falls to his knees almost immediately, hands clamping over his ears despite the futility of such an action. Choi Han had learned from painful experience that once Haneul started to wail, there was nothing that would keep the noise out, no matter how desperate, how panicked, or how clever you were.
Lock seizes up, the berserk teenager twitching and convulsing wildly as the noise overrode his fury, the teenager sinking to his knees and whimpering weakly.
Behind them, the wolf children twitch, roused from their stupors.
Abruptly, Haneul cuts off, flying circles around them as the unearthly scream echoes in their ears.
Choi Han can feel the dread as it thickens on his tongue, Haneul diving down determinedly, beak aimed for that horrible white mask -
“Haneul no-” His words feel choked up, broken, as Haneul is seized by his small neck, the bird stopped still by the White Star.
“You…” the man spits angrily. “Are the most annoying, aggravating, despicable PEST I have ever dealt with!” His voice ends on a shriek, Haneul dangling weakly from the man’s tightly clenched hands. Choi Han felt breathless, weak, even, at the sight of his most precious friend struggling, his tiny feet kicking out in an attempt to claw at the White Star’s hand, muffled chirping noises leaving the bird’s undoubtedly mangled throat.
“Haneul!” Choi Han cries, stumbling to his feet. The rest of his team is already struggling as well, trying to get up, but they weren’t quite so used to Haneul’s death screeches, and all of them were wobbly on their feet. “Haneul please-” He chokes the words out in Korean, and at the sound of his words, the White Star’s head whips around, fury in his expression, and his fingers loosening from his precious bird’s neck.
A bird that - when Choi Han turns his head - is no longer there.
“Young Master!?!” Beacrox’s shocked voice makes all of them look, including the White Star. Dangling from his hand is an identical redheaded teen, though his hair is noticeably longer and messier, a wild glint in his eyes and a sharpened branch in his hands that gleams violently.
Before anyone can move, Han - Cale - whoever he is - buries the weapon into his own body.
Hurts!
That’s the first thought that comes to Cale’s mind, the young shifter whimpering in pain even as he buries the weapon even deeper, the branch of the world tree already absorbing his energy and growing roots around his hand as he yanks it free, blood gushing from the wound as he’s let go.
He won’t get a better chance -
The weapon digs into the White Star’s chest, Cale stumbling back and coughing wetly as the branch burrows into its prize. Dazedly, Cale glances over, can see their stunned expressions, and flinches.
Choi Han’s gaze has flattened again. Disgust. Anger.
Worst of all. Betrayal.
Cale stumbles unsteadily, coughs again as he shifts forms -
And is slapped away by a howling gale into a wall, where he cracks against it ominously. His tears splash over the hand that flings him away, their glowing droplets visible even at this remove.
“Young-”
“-neu-”
“-No!” The screams come in unison, a horrible mish-mash of noise, but Cale can’t - won’t - stay. The wound is wet and sticky, hurts in so many places, but he forces himself up and flaps weakly away, disappearing into the forest.
He had to escape. He had to avoid them, he couldn’t let Choi Han catch hi-
As much as Choi Han wanted to chase after Haneul - Cale? White Star’s twin? - he had a much more important priority.
(The part of him that had spent nearly seven years in Haneul’s company was screaming, begging him to go after his closest friend, his dearest confidant, but if he didn’t end this bastard right now, there would be no Haneul to go after.)
His eyes refocus on White Star as the man shakes his hand, reaching for the weapon buried in his chest, trying to yank it out.
“That - That pest!” White Star growls, taking a few unsteady steps back as his blood - blacker than tar, glittering like obsidian over concrete - drips from the end of the branch. “How dare it -” Choi Han almost dodges, but he remembers the children behind him just in time, blade raised up to block the wave of fire and earth roars his way, black aura consuming the wave and only remnants making him stumble back and fall onto his knees.
“Rosalyn!” Beacrox barks, pointing off into the distance. The mage’s eyes gleam, and she draws her power out to strike - one, two, three, four bolts of sizzling red, and the cages that had dangled the elementals above their heads burst open, their prizes freed and escaping.
“We need to end him,” Ron says shortly. “And then, we need to find the young master.” Choi Han gives him a searching look, but Ron only looks determined and angry, ready to put the White Star in his grave. Together, they advance on their still standing enemy.
Even as blood drips from him, he’s formidable, the red-haired man slowly growing more and more drenched, eyes wild and full of such rage that if Choi Han were a weaker man, he’d have recoiled. But Choi Han had faced greater woes, and a much more dangerous beast than this.
Slowly, they pushed him back. Step by step, away from the children and Lock, who had recovered some and now was herding the children away.
“Do you really think you can beat me?” The White Star says, a wild smirk curling over his arrogant lips. “Me?” He laughs, a psychotic, almost insane thing. “I won’t give you bastards that kind of satisfaction!” He laughs, and Choi Han grimaces, pushes him back further, closer to the center of the coliseum. “I’ve lived a thousand deaths! A thousand lives! Don’t you dare think you can -”
Blood gushes from his lips, a harsh greck noise leaving him that reminds Cale distinctly of Haneul. A single white flower blooms from the branch.
Rowan flowers. It’s one of the few blooms Choi Han knew intimately, having seen them in cemeteries all across Roan, and had watched how intimately they were cherished here. A tree that protected against dead mana, Choi Han remembers vividly.
A shrill, piercing cry echoes, and Choi Han looks up, hoping against hope that it’s Haneul, but alas. It’s merely a wood elemental, the creature drifting closer.
Another flower sprouts upon the branch, and White Star chokes on air, reaching desperately for the branch to tug it out, to no avail.
“What are you doing?” he screeches. “I am your mast- hurk!” More blood oozes out from his mouth, the man choking on air as the tree spreads over his chest like a virulent plague, the branches turning into roots and spreading themselves out viciously. “Th-this won’t -” Blood gushes from his lips, and Choi Han scowls at him, stalks closer. A lift of his blade, and he gathers his aura to send it singing along the ground, concrete splitting below the White Star’s feet. Thin shoots of green dance over the man’s feet, only to break as he stumbles back. More branches spread, more grass reaches, and Choi Han gestures with a tilt of his head towards Rosalyn, who quickly gets the memo. Summoning warmth, the woman spreads it over the ground as the sun begins its’ final descent to the earth.
One by one, they lend their strength, building up to a slow crest of energy, the branches reaching the man’s feet at last and rooting him in place.
“You’re going to die here,” Choi Han says with a smile. “This is the end for you.”
“Die? I can’t die, you pathetic little swordsman! I have survived thousands of reincarnations! You won’t be able to - Mgh -” Flowers pour from his lips, speckled with blood, and Choi Han watches as the branches close over his face, his hand still glistening from where Haneul’s tears had landed, the outstretched limb trembling as he tries futilely to escape.
“I hope you reincarnate as a slug in your next life,” Choi Han tells the tree, before turning on his heel. “I’m going after Haneul,” he says shortly, the teenager looking desperately for a sign of where his beloved friend had disappeared to.
Haneul - Cale - Whatever your name is, Choi Han thinks desperately. Hold on. I’m coming.
It hurts, Haneul thinks, and tries desperately to preen the blood free from his feathers. His beak tastes awful, the bird shivering from the chill, the ice of being alone as it grasps him. The part of him that is mostly instinctive doesn’t understand why he’s here, away from his human, from the boy who would tend to him as one might a lover, and he snaps his sticky-blood beak at empty air.
There is no way Choi Han loves him, not after learning that Haneul has been lying about who he was this whole time.
Trembling, he pushes up on his legs, talons clinging tightly to the bark as he tests out his wings.
Sparks of pain rip along the bones of his wings, and he gives a distressed squawk, wings snapping shut tight as he scrunches down, chest heaving in pain. Oh that had been a stupid move, Haneul complains internally, feels the ache in his breast as he hunkers down anxiously. He wasn’t sure this was going to be an injury he could heal from anytime soon. Settling down, his head bobs listlessly, the bird fighting to keep his eyes open, to keep himself alert. He knows that Choi Han is coming, and part of him is comforted by the idea, but the other part is that Cale knows it is not meant for anything good, that he will not be coming to save him.
No.
He’s coming for answers. Answers Cale doesn’t know how to give. His eyes slip shut despite his attempts to otherwise be alert, to stay aware. His head bobs down again, and that’s the last thing he remembers for a long moment, drifting hazily in the darkness of his mind as he struggles against the fight to remain conscious. Slowly, so slowly, his beak sinks into his breast feathers, and Haneul falls asleep, sinking into hazy, deluded exhaustion. His feathers ruffle slightly, and as Haneul sinks deeper into his tired figure, he almost - almost - thinks it would be okay.
Falling asleep and never waking up is fine, right? He sways with the breeze, can hear the steady drip-drip of blood as it slides down his feathers, and the little bird chirps slightly, almost a sneeze, almost a cry. His feathers ruffle again, blood-sticky beak opening and closing as he yawns, talons digging further into the dirt as he waits for it to finally be over.
Wait for me, Haneul thinks, his feathers relaxing and plumping out as he becomes more comfortable, as he waits for death. I’ll finally get to see you again, mother.
He’s not sure how long he’s there, swaying with the tree branch before he can hear the calls of his most beloved human, of Choi Han.
“Haneul!” The call echos, and his instincts rouse, screeching at him to answer his beloved human’s call. Haneul simply buries his beak deeper into his breast feathers, trembles as the tranquil state he had been in is completely shattered. He gives a small, alarmed little scratch of talons to the tree. “Haneul, my beautiful bird, where are you?” Choi Han asks, Haneul twitching at the obvious worry, the clear desperation. Is Choi Han truly looking for him? Is he truly desperate to find him? Was it to scold him? Shaking, he tucks himself closer to the bark, tries to flatten himself as close to the tree as possible without being seen.
Damn his instincts, Haneul thinks, as the part of him that was more bird than human demands he chirp, that he trill greetings, cry out for his beloved -
“Haneul?” The voice is soft, but he scrunches closer to the tree branch, a frightened chirp leaving him as he tries to hide.
Yeah, because you’re not bright red and gold, you dumbass, Haneul’s human brain mocks. The bird part of him is instead shrieking about how close Choi Han was, how having his human nearby would be better, how much more comfortable this would be if he could be comforted in his warm embrace.
As if Choi Han would love a liar.
“Haneul, please,” Choi Han’s voice is soft, cajoling. It takes every ounce of Haneul’s self-control to not simply spread his wings and glide down to where Choi Han waits for him, dark gray eyes worried and warm, even with the distance. He knew, knew his Choi Han couldn’t lie, had borne witness to his truly terrible lying first-hand.
But Haneul was terrified that all that was a lie. A cover for how he truly felt. What if Choi Han was only being nice because Haneul was injured? Because he was - the sound of boots on the wood, and Haneul shrieks, flaps his wings in an attempt to flee and damn near topples off of the branch. Only Choi Han’s warm hands stop him from his unfortunate demise, the bird warbling and shrieking in pain as his talons, having lost their purchase on the branch, sink into Choi Han’s arm guard.
“Haneul!” Choi Han’s voice cracks on his cry, and the man looks at him as he gasps for breath, trembling with fright and pain as his body coldly reminds him of what he had sacrificed to end up here. The large, warm hands of his Choi Han are impossibly gentle when he handles Haneul, long fingers caressing his head, the bird chirping slightly in distressed pain. “Haneul, my gorgeous boy,” Choi Han croons in broken Korean, the bird chirping anxiously and trembling in his loving hands. “My beautiful, darling little bird, please, look at me, okay?” he begs.
Haneul is a weak shifter, he thinks bitterly when Choi Han’s voice softens, the bird looking up into those sweet, loving gray eyes. Choi Han carefully pulls Haneul to his chest, and that dark head bows down to brush a little kiss to the top of his head, little kissing noises following as he gently caresses the top of his head with every touch of his warm lips.
“Shh, my little Haneul,” Choi Han murmurs, cradles him close. “Let’s go home.”
Haneul, head resting against Choi Han’s chest, wonders if home is the nest he’d once been in with his mother, the empty home where he’d been living, the forest Choi Han first met him at, or the soft cloak he nested in during their journey. And then he wonders:
Does he even have a home?
Ron is waiting for them, when Choi Han exits the forest, Haneul shallowly breathing against Choi Han’s armor. His eyes are glazed over from pain, feathers dripping blood in a worrying way and making Ron watch the boy in tense, almost worried silence.
It was no wonder his puppy master had fled from herbal and medical remedies to his ails - the boy had known they would do nothing.
And yet.
He’d said nothing. Not to Ron, not to his father - none had known his puppy master could not heal. None, that is, but the boy’s mother. Ron recalls the shredded coat that had laid on the ground of the alleyway, the bloody handprint, and wonders if his puppy master had known Ron would come to look for him, or if he had not cared, thinking himself expendable.
“I need Eruhaben,” Choi Han says shortly, his dark eyes unreadable and anxious as he lowers Haneul onto the stone dais that Ron was fairly sure was once a feast table. Haneul’s unsteady on his feet as he trots weakly off of Choi Han’s fingers, planting flat on the table with a weak cheep, his little legs giving out as he reaches steady ground. “Haneul!” Choi Han is fussing over his bird in an instant, carefully pulling him from the table to stroke his soft, fluffy head. Haneul gives a weak little cheep, the small bird flopping down on the table and panting, his little head unable to lift up as exhaustion takes its toll on his young master.
Ron carefully shoos Choi Han away, carefully cupping one hand and sliding it under the slim figure of the shifter. He can feel how blood is seeping into his glove, and cautiously, he scoots his hand further, the distressed and clearly bamboozled bird scrambling for purchase until tiny feet find his palm, the bird holding on for dear life as Ron lifts him up to try and inspect the damage.
Cheep! Young Master Haneul warbles dangerously, tiny beak attempting to peck at his probing fingers. He gets approximately one good little peck in before he has to stop, chest heaving up and down in pain, and Ron’s heart aches for the little boy in his memories.
Rooooon! I don’t - blegh - need medicine! The echo of his whining puppy master is visible in this little bird, the soft warbles and whines that left the red-feathered throat thick as though he’d caught a cold. Ron coaxes the bird to his fingertips, and frees his beak-captured finger to stroke a damp back.
“Gather herbs to ease congestion, and make sure to grind them fine so he can’t spit them out.” Ron suggests. Haneul gives a distressed chirp, spreading out over Ron’s palms and beating a weak wing against his wrist. “As well as something for infection.” The bird warbles at him, and Ron gives him a stern look. “Just because potions don’t work doesn’t mean herbal remedies don’t. Come with me, my little master,” He says soothingly. “A bath will be just what you need.”
Haneul warbles at him, but clings to Ron regardless, seeking comfort.
By the time Ron arrives, Lock is busy boiling the bathwater with herbs for infection, his once angry expression having softened with his siblings piled around him and curled up against his back.
“Haneul?” Lock asks instantly, and Ron hands the bloody bird into his hands, Lock cooing softly at the distressed Haneul as the bird attempts to bite his fingers. He barely gets his beak around Lock’s fingers too, the bird chirping muffled around the long finger, the boy making a little geck noises as he whines at them all.
“His injuries are infected,” Ron says. The bird whines softly against Lock’s hold as he ladles out the herb-treated water to let it cool and strips his gloves. Already, the infection is starting to set, and he carefully, affectionately strokes his back feathers, the bird whining softly.
“He will need to bathe in the water - the infection is too deep already.” Lock says softly. “Just like us.” The boy’s feathers ruffle in distress, and he fights a wince. His poor puppy master.
Let me take care of you, Ron wills, and when Haneul wilts in Lock’s palms, he strokes the top of his head once more. Allow me to make up for my neglect.
Haneul chirps weakly once more, and crawls closer, tiny claws digging into Lock’s palms for purchase.
The very act was enough to lift his dimming spirits. There was still hope left.
The world is a blur of colors and soft noises, his wings being lifted gently as warm water bathes his breast feathers, special care taken to his wings to allow Haneul to peer around in confusion.
Chirp, he says, and the hands washing his injuries pause. He’s lifted up, and a familiar mouth presses kisses to the top of his head. It feels so nice, so warm and loving, and Haneul stretches his little neck out, pressing against a warm mouth and chirping his kisses back in time to each little soft kiss to his head.
“It’s okay Haneul. I’m just washing you up,” Choi Han’s warm voice rumbles against his head, the bird chirping happily at every little kiss. His head sinks back down, and he gives a happy whining noise, feathers ruffling again. He’s dipped back into the water, the soft warmth making him chirp happily as he’s tended to. His brain feels fuzzy, tired. He doesn’t want to leave his human, and tiny talons kick desperately as he’s dipped into the thankfully shallow water. He pokes his beak through his feathers, preening out dirt and herbs from his delicate flight feathers and chirping in annoyance when a warm finger scratches right at the back of his head.
His annoyance immediately vanishes as the pleasure registers, and he bounces a little in place as Choi Han pampers him. Yes, scratch riiight there… Haneul makes a happy little trill, even as part of him registers something is wrong. Something is… something should be wrong, but Haneul is too happy with his cuddles to care, to want anything but the soft, gentle scratches of his human, of his human’s love and care and adoration. He butts his head against the questing finger, and then flops down into the water to eagerly ruffle his feathers happily, bouncing around to clean his feathers off.
So lost in his cleaning, he doesn’t even notice the way his human’s face falls.
Choi Han watches Haneul as his bird happily flaps around, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on. He splashes around a bit more, but when Haneul notices his expression, the bird chirps up at him, looking confused. His head tilts to a side, and he stretches his feathers, making a wet attempt to round himself out into his usual fluffy pleasure.
It fails, but Haneul’s weak actions make him smile bitterly, an attempt to gently tease affection making Haneul chirp excitedly, feathers sending hot water everywhere as he eagerly runs closer to Choi Han in the makeshift bath.
Chirp! Chirp chirp cheep! The bird croons. The words are empty. Haneul was too far in his own head to realize at all that his words were no longer the soft impressions they should have been, a communication unique to them.
And Haneul couldn’t even fucking speak to him. Choi Han does not clench his fist when his feathered friend happily climbs into his palm, the bird already preening himself dry with cute little chirps, bouncing up and down on his palm as he does so. A silly act, adorable, whining chirps, but words that made no sense to him, no understanding.
Knowing now that Haneul had been human all along, had been his friend and the boy who had saved him and brought him to Harris and yet had cherished him so much as to follow even after he’d been reunited with humanity…
“Dammit Haneul,” Choi Han whispers into his fluffy feathers, his pretty bird preening himself and whining when he doesn’t kiss him. “Don’t make me lose you before I’m able to tell you how much you mean to me.”
Oblivious, Haneul continues to preen himself, chirping at him in a way that would have once reassured him. Now, all it did was worry him. He cradles Haneul close to his chest, kisses the top of his head as the bird demandingly cheeps at him, little head stretched out to insist upon his affection.
Haneul. God, Haneul.
Choi Han wished he dared cry.
In the fuzziness of his mind, Haneul can only trot after his Choi Han, chirping and hopping behind him with happy little tail wiggles. He hops twice more, but he’s quickly stopped by the arrival of a white-gloved hand.
Cheep! Haneul says indignantly, ruffles his feathers at his interruption, but when Vicross pets the top of his head, he can’t help but lean into the gentle little scratch Vicross gives him. Cheeeeeep… he chirps happily at the touch. When the hand retreats, he gives an indignant chirp, and quickly scurries after the finger, trying to keep it pressed against the top of his head with a little warbling whine. He scrabbles after the affectionate hand and nearly trips over Vicross’s fingers with a wet whine when it stops. He’s gently picked up, and Haneul kicks his feet, chirping unhappily as he tries to get down before he’s facing a gently smiling Ron that is dangerously brandishing a cup of -
Lemon.
The enemy. He sniffs at it, and his tongue sticks out in disgust as he whines, before stepping a little closer. Lemon tea? Wasn’t Ron supposed to be mad at him? Ron never made him the good kind of lemon tea when he was mad. He tentatively takes a sip, and after a few beakfuls, Haneul settles down. He can see Ron wielding bandages like a knife, but Haneul is more focused on his drink, feeling Ron gently wrap something around his still sticky breast feathers, before tucking it nice and neatly away for him to feel cozy. He can’t fluff up for warmth, but that’s fine. Choi Han would cuddle him when he wanted. He finishes the tea, and he’s faced with a sweet skewer of finely cubed beef. Slowly, he pecks at it, and chirps when the sugary pleasure of the beef skewer hits his taste buds.
Ahh, his second favorite chef, cooking delicious meals as always. He chirps happily as he chows down, tearing out big beakfuls to further tear into and consume at his leisure, ignoring the eyes as they worriedly track him.
Behind Haneul, Ron and Vicross are watching him with matching frowns.
“He’s losing awareness,” Ron says softly at last. “Watch how he moves. He’s not as graceful as before.” He was tearing into the food like… like a normal bird.
“Choi Han cannot understand him anymore,” Vicross agrees quietly, and the bird chirps at Choi Han’s name, looking up and wiggling his tail in excitement. When Choi Han doesn’t appear, the bird wilts and returns to his food.
“Where is our wayward leader?” Ron wonders, and Haneul perks up, waddles closer, offering a piece of beef to them. Stranger and stranger… Haneul hated sharing with anyone who was not his human, so why was he offering to them now?
“Borrowed Raon to teleport Yvette over. They’re on their way, but we don’t know what’s going on after that.”
“That might not help. Look.” Ron nods his head towards the bird, where already, red blood was seeping through the bandages. “Haneul’s running out of time, and Yvette travels. We might not get them back here in time.”
Haneul gives a confused little chirp, and when his offered beef is ignored, the bird cheeps louder, tail fanning out and wiggling violently. Ron, much less worried about the germs, sighs and accepts it. Haneul watches him closely, so he uses a little sleight of hand to make it disappear. His worry for the bird increases when Haneul gives a happy chirp, hopping up and down excitedly before returning to his plate. More red spreads over his chest as he waddles back.
Both assassins look at each other, their worry deepening.
Dammit. The young master was not going to survive much longer.
Choi Han stumbles into the clearing, visibly filthy, and Haneul loses his little mind, cheeping anxiously and running over as fast as his little feet would allow.
Cheep! Cheep! Haneul cries, and Choi Han falls to his knees, watches his precious bird as his fluffy friend immediately tries to preen him, his little beak clamping on dirty hair. His words are still an inane babble, and Choi Han wishes he could be angry about that.
“Haneul,” He mumbles. “Oh Haneul,” He cries quietly in Korean. The bird is thin - too thin, his feathers flat and wrong, his bandages drenched with so much blood. Haneul is a wet little thing, warbling at him when he cups the bird into his palms, stressed chirps leaving the bird’s throat when Choi Han removes his dirty hair from Haneul’s grasp.
Cheep! The bird complains, and Choi Han kisses the top of his head, watches the bird try to round himself out for his human, only to wilt in pain, his tiny talons sinking into his hand. His Haneul. Precious Haneul, who watches him with a distressed cheep, ignoring his own suffering in favor of tending to Choi Han. The bird ruffles his feathers, but they stick together, and Choi Han carries him to Ron to redress his bandages. The assassin does so quickly enough, but Haneul kicks up a fuss until Choi Han leans over and offers his hair for the bird to preen, his precious Haneul immediately moving in to do exactly that, thoroughly distracted while Ron and Beacrox both tended to his injuries, the little bird whining slightly as he does so, but willing to hold still for him.
“I made a hot rock nest,” Rosalyn says to him, and he looks at his precious bird, who chirps at him weakly and waddles onto his hands yet again. He carries Haneul gently to his new nest, and the bird only cheeps in complaint at the heat once, instead happily wiggling his tail and finding the hottest rock to perch his behind on with a chirp.
That done, he looks up and wiggles his tail feathers out into a wide fan, chirping excitedly and hopping up and down in his most adorable way before he settles, obviously dizzy. His beautiful Haneul. His perfect friend.
Choi Han wants to cry. He steps back, and Haneul screeches wildly, getting up off of his rock to try and chase Choi Han, only to sag back down with a distressed little chirp, his blood dripping over the white bandages.
Cheep! The bird says, and Choi Han’s heart breaks.
“Shh, Haneul, I’m right here. I’m -” He collapses to his knees, reaches out for his beautiful bird, Haneul pecking his fingers reproachfully. “I love you,” he tells the bird suddenly, unable to keep the words from slipping out. “I love you so much Haneul. You’ve always been there, taken care of me, made me feel so, so much less alone,” He says softly. “Don’t you get it, pretty bird? You’re perfect.” He strokes the top of a fluffy head. “God. Please don’t leave me.” Haneul gives a weak little cheep, wiggling his tail in that cute way of his that Choi Han had remembered as Haneul’s little way of saying he loved Choi Han, even when he was angry. His tail would wiggle in this betraying way, and Haneul would hide his face in his wings, mortified at himself. As it did now, his beautiful friend’s tail wiggling violently as he covers his face with his wings yet again. A pet to velvet feathers, and he pulls away, Haneul hunkered down and watching him intensely.
“Here.” Beacrox offers him a slice of fruit, big enough for him and Haneul to share, and he offers it to his beloved friend first, the bird hungrily taking a bite. It’s messy, nothing like the refined manners of his usual eating habits. His partner chirps happily in thanks, and he takes his bite of food, smiling at Haneul. They eat like that, accepting each bit of fruit or meat that Beacrox provides, the chef looking worried at his bird.
“Hyung?” Lock says awkwardly, and Choi Han stands up, dusts himself off.
“I’ll be back,” He tells Haneul with a scratch of a finger under his bird’s chin, Haneul giving a confused chirp as he tilts his head to one side. The bird fluffs himself out slightly, but when Choi Han moves to leave, he loses his mind again, a high pitched screech making everyone in range jump.
“Good Lord,” Beacrox gasps, having jumped away from Haneul in alarm, the two of them looking at the bird as he wildly scrabbles on the blankets, the bird slamming into a rock and using his wings to prop himself up. Beacrox scrambles to his feet from where he’d fallen, Haneul chirping and struggling, little wisps of smoke coming from Haneul as he tries to climb over the rock nest to him.
“I thought you said there was no fire -”
“Don’t touch him!” Lock yelps, yanking Choi Han back as Haneul makes it over the lip of the nest, flopping down chest-first to his great distress.
Cheep! Cheep! Chirp-chirp cheep! Cheep! Haneul cries, more smoke drifting off from dulled feathers, their oils smeared with some kind of soot starting to spark and glow with the blaze of red that he’d seen before.
He’d seen this same light every time Haneul would fish around his breast feathers for whatever gift he’d smuggled away at the time, his feathers ruffling and little sparks of what he’d thought to be static electricity rising at his inquisitive touch.
“Haneul -” Choi Han chokes out, unable to move further with Lock keeping him back, keeping him away from his precious Haneul -
Haneul cheeps, and chirps, and squeaks, feet flailing wildly as more smoke pours from his little body. He wants Choi Han back, it’s so obvious, but Choi Han could only watch helplessly as smoke rises from his feathers like a funeral pyre, more and more smoke obscuring the smaller figure until at last, the first sparks of fire truly begin to rise.
From there, it was impossible to stop, the flames licking a bright red, dancing and waving with the breeze, with the flames turning red and gold and even green, at its deepest hues.
Choi Han can do nothing but watch his first friend go up in flames, hands dropping limply to his sides as tears track down his skin, hiccups leaving his throat. His beautiful bird, his precious friend, the only one in the world who had truly been his to call his beloved…
He watches the pyre in silence, the rest of the team huddling around him in solidarity. Once the last of the embers have burned, Lock lets him go, the little boy pressing his face against the back of Choi Han’s neck. It’s a nervous habit, his dongsaeng’s way of apologizing for things he knew he couldn’t truly apologize for.
“Haneul…” Choi Han manages, voice thick. “Haneul,” he says again. The pile of ashes shifts with the wind, and Choi Han sits there, watching it in silence.
“I’ll get an urn,” Rosalyn says quietly, her expression tight as she stands.
In the end, Choi Han is left alone to place the ashes of his best friend - family, Choi Han, you delusional boy - and filling the urn up with the dark red soot, tears sliding down his cheeks as he looks at what remained. The urn was soon almost-full, the last of the ashes a soft gold-orange, glowing in the light of the early morning. He carefully bends down to scoop it up, and the pile in his hands… wobbles.
Choi Han freezes, trembling from head to toe, staring at the ashes and unable to dare dreaming, dare to believe that it was a product of anything but his very own wishful thinking. But as he moves it to the urn, it wobbles again, a glowing bundle of light in the red ashes.
“Choi Han!” The cry of Yvette makes him nearly drop his precious burden. “Don’t - oh thank god, you kept his ashes,” the bird tamer says, kneeling down next to him. Their thick golden hair shines in the early morning sunlight, and they nudge his hands to the urn, have him deposit the glowing gold bundle inside, and press it into his hands.
“Yvette…” He says, slightly stunned.
“Raon found me - I’m so sorry I wasn’t here in time, I didn’t realize what was going on -” they cup his cheek, a big sibling’s worry on their face. “Are you okay?” They ask, and his heart cracks.
“He died. He died because of me, because I couldn’t protect him, I didn’t find him -” Yvette listens to him cry, their hand patting his back as they provide comfort.
“Choi Han,” Yvette says, voice quiet. “Please tell me you knew.”
Choi Han looks up at them, confusion on his face.
“Knew… Knew what?”
Yvette looks at him, then at the urn. “So much makes sense now,” they mutter.
“... huh?”
“Choi Han,” Yvette sounds a little exasperated, but soft, now, as though several puzzle pieces fell into place. “Haneul isn’t any ordinary shifter, sweetie. He’s a phoenix. He’ll come back.”
Choi Han’s mouth opens.
Closes.
And snaps shut as he looks at the glowing gold light inside the urn. The crack in his heart, the gaping wound that had opened when he’d witnessed his friend burst into flames mend, just a little, the hope almost too much to bear.
“Haneul will… he’s…” Yvette runs their fingers through his hair, hugs him.
“Hold on to him. He’ll come back,” they promise him, and he leans against them.
“I’m holding you to that,” he says wetly, and Yvette laughs at him.
“C’mon. Let's get him some sun.”