#Divinist

[cherrwysx-music]

♫ Divinist - Blood Dripping From The Knife On The Chest Reflect Your Truth ♫

[threeletterslife]

31 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of death

⨰ wordcount: 21.1k

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⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

The 11th city was a familiar place. Not so homely, but pleasant in its own way. Mostly inhabited by scholars and instructors of prestigious academies, it was quite the busy city. Yet there were no merchants who crowded the streets as they did in the 3rd city and no boisterous children running about as they did in the 10th. Your earliest memories were of adults heel-to-toe racing to their destinations with their noses stuck in their books. Your parents fit right into this crowd as divinist scholars, themselves. And if there was one thing in your life that has stayed constant from birth to the present, it was books—which you never minded. It was natural for you to take up reading when it was all that your mothers ever did. And besides, your home’s numerous reading nooks made it easy to cozy up with a nice fairytale and some thick, fleece blankets, listening to the soft crackling of candles and the pitter-patter of rain against the window panes.

When you were younger, possibly around six years old, your parents kept your birthstone in a little tin up on the top shelf of the tallest bookshelf in your home. It was a precaution most parents adhered to when their child was young. You were allowed to play with your birthstone occasionally but, of course, under supervision. Darlaean magic was never something to be messed with. And often, children did not understand the ramifications of this great power. Yet you were aware of it for as long as you could remember. Too often, you read (or really, looked at pictures) about antagonists in your fairytale books consumed by their greed and their thirst for control, attempting to break the limits of what their birthstones could achieve. There were those who tried to bring back the dead, those who attempted to force others to love them, and those who wanted to live forever. In the end, they would always spiral into mania or be forced into defeat by the protagonist. It went without saying that power came with handling the Darlaean birthstone, and that much sheer power always scared you—even as a child. 

But you were still fascinated with your birthstone. It was a beautiful, white diamond—so tiny, so easy to lose, that you always felt the need to guard it with your life. You loved the way it would glint in the sunlight and cast small rainbows on your palm. You loved the way it felt when you carefully rolled it around in your hands, memorizing its shape and size. You even adored that it wasn’t a perfect sphere and had a little characteristic black carbon spot near its surface. You used to tell your parents that you could tell your birthstone apart from an entire heap of other diamonds. They’d always laugh and pat your head as if you were telling a joke, but you were always serious.

Your birthstone became your most prized possession. You polished it, sang to it, treated it as your doll, which your parents also found quite humorous. Though you weren’t familiar yet with how to use your birthstone to channel magic, you could already feel the sheer energy coursing through your veins every time you picked it up. It was such a good, intense feeling that you would often beg your parents—whoever didn’t have her nose stuck in a book—to reach for the tin hidden on the bookshelf so you could hold your birthstone in your hands again. 

As you grew in age, your parents became more lenient with their household rules. They allowed you to eat sweets before bedtime. They began letting you sleep in during the weekends. They no longer kept the tin can far out of your reach. You realized only years later that they’d simply forgotten to hide it away once their research began picking up and their schedules became hectic. But you didn’t mind so much that your parents could no longer read to you before bed every night and were no longer present during dinnertime. Living in the 11th city, where you were practically the only child in a place bustling with well-read adult scholars, forced you to appreciate your own company.

You continued reading your adventure-filled fairytales, living vicariously through the topsy-turvy lives of legends and heroes. The best tales were always the ones with happy endings. And happy endings came when the protagonist was strong enough to defeat the villain. It made you starry-eyed and hopeful. When the world became doused in flames one day, you dreamed of being the one to extinguish them. Or, at least play a small part in it. And what better way to prepare for this moment than to practice your magic?

You spent hours hunched over on the floor of your living room, experimenting with your birthstone. The familiar smell of eucalyptus, the emerald green carpet underneath your legs, the wax candles lining the edge of the room (a total fire hazard amongst all of the books surrounding it)—they’re all sensories so familiar to you. Of course, on some days, patches of that emerald green carpet would be a bright shade of orange or clashing stripes of yellow and magenta. Sometimes the beige wax candles would flicker green for a moment. Other times, the eucalyptus leaves would turn a bright shade of pink.

You liked this natural ability to make changes. It started off small as color-shifting, temporarily changing the colors and patterns of any household item you could find—once even the grass patch outside your house, which nearly gave your good old neighbors a heart attack. But your abilities soon developed into size-shifting as well. Once, with a bit of luck, you managed to shrink an entire stack of books and in your excitement, displayed your fine work to your parents. Yet instead of being proud of you, your parents had a joint mental breakdown, for the stack of books you shrunk had been their lifelong research. Lucky for them, however, your alchemy skills lacked the finesse to make permanent changes, and in seconds, their research reverted safely back to its normal size in a few minutes. Even still, from that point forward, you avoided experimenting on books for your parents’ mental sake.

On your tenth birthday, your parents surprised you with a gift. You remember looking at the slender, mahogany box, excitement bubbling inside of you. Gifts on special occasions weren’t very normal in your household; birthdays usually passed uncelebrated, which you never really minded, but that only made this gift so much more special.

Yet inside the box was an ugly, gray quill, and right before the plumage began on the stem, your precious birthstone sat studded. You stared at it with a confused look on your face.

“It’s your trinket, dear,” Ma said with an excited smile. “Go on, take it out!”

Mother was also smiling, though she wasn’t as enthusiastic as Ma. “Quill trinkets are all the rage these days, Y/N.”

“It’s perfect for a scholar-to-be like you, honey,” Ma said.

Though you should’ve been grateful that your parents went out of their way to give you a trinket—something you’ll likely have until the rest of your life—it was hard to be happy when it was so… ugly. Though you never exactly had a dream trinket as many others do (you’ve always been more interested in the birthstone itself), nothing about a quill trinket sounded desirable to you. It was forgettable. Drab-looking, too. And you could already picture yourself running after it flying away in the wind.

Your mothers quickly caught on to your distaste.

“You don’t like it,” Mother said, her eyebrows furrowing just slightly.

“Eunbi, I told you you shouldn’t have asked Kihoon of all people for trinket suggestions for little girls!” Ma said accusingly. “What would a forty-year-old man know about what a child would want?”

“She’ll grow into it, Sura,” Mother said. “She’ll appreciate it when she’s older.”

“Face it, Eunbi. We fucked up. What ten-year-old would want a damn quill as her trinket?”

“I said, she’ll grow into it.”

“I like my trinket,” you lied to ease the tension in the air. “I really do like it, Ma. Please don’t be angry.”

She looked at you, shaking her head, her dangly earrings swaying back and forth. “Honey, I’m a divinist. You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Don’t lie to Ma,” Mother said.

“I’m not!”

“We can get you a new trinket,” Ma said. “Something that you like.”

“We have a conference next week,” Mother reminded Ma. “We won’t have time.”

“That’s okay,” you told them. “I like this one already.”

They were skeptical, but you proved to them that you did, in fact, like your trinket by carrying it around everywhere, keeping the gray thing pinned to your hair, behind your ear. But on particularly windy days, you always opted to stay home. 

Yet never once did you ever consider getting a new trinket; your parents would be devastated. And even with your lacking relationship with them, you never wanted to be their source of trouble. Besides, the heroes in your fairy tales told white lies to save others’ feelings, anyway, and you looked up to these heroes, so it was only natural for you to mirror their behavior. After a while, the quill trinket became a part of you, and you learned to cherish it—but only after you found a way to temporarily color-shift it into more appealing hues.

Your parents didn’t interfere with your life too much, but perhaps that was a good thing. You had more time for yourself. They did, however, occasionally ask how your grades were in school, being scholars and all. It made you feel a degree of pressure to perform well in academia. And for a while, you believed you would one day become an alchemist scholar, which would break your parents’ hearts if you told them, so you never did. They always believed you’d become a divinist as they were, which made sense considering there weren’t many moments where you sat down to discuss with them. So you continued to keep to yourself and read your fairytales as a source of company.

These stories quickly became your solace. On your short walks to school, you liked to pretend you were one of the busy adults, sticking your nose in your books and beelining to your destination. Except, while you were reading tales of great courage and empathy, they were reading their serious manuscripts. 

But your childhood wasn’t spent completely alone. You had plenty of friends from school, but they all lived in the 10th city, and you never wanted to bother your parents’ frequent silent reading times to invite them over to your home in the 11th. Besides, you preferred being alone. Other children sometimes tired you, though you never understood why. Perhaps it was because you quickly realized that there was a disconnect.

“My ma said that Pa’s gonna come back this winter! Maybe he’ll bring back some gifts!”

“Where did your pa go?” you’d asked, genuinely curious.

“Don’t you know? Jisun’s father went to war.”

“War?”

There are gasps.

“Y/N, you don’t know that there’s a war?!”

“How do you not know?”

“Why do you think we’re not allowed to go to the 1st city anymore?”

“O-Oh… I…” You had no excuse other than the fact that you were never taught that there was a war. Your parents never mentioned it, and you assumed the wars in your fairytales were always fiction. 

“That’s funny, Y/N. I always thought you were gonna fight in the war.”

“Me too!”

“Me?” you asked, bewildered.

“You always carry your trinket with you,” Jisun said, pointing at the pink feather behind your ear. “My ma says only soldiers carry around their trinkets everywhere.”

“I-I just like having it near me…” The heroes in your fairytales carried their trinkets everywhere, to be able to react swiftly when problems occurred. 

“My ma won’t even let me leave the house carrying my birthstone,” Jisun continued. “Do your parents want you to become a soldier?”

“No…”

“Oh.” There is a slight pause. “Wanna grab pastries at the bakery? It’s in the 10th city, though.”

“I’m okay,” you said. “I have to go home.”

You’d quickly left that day, locking yourself in your room and staring up at your ceiling in deep thought. A week later, you finally built up the courage to confront your parents.

“Mother, Ma, is there a war?” 

Both of your parents looked up from their readings in shock.

“Oh, honey…” Ma said. “Yes… the war…”

The ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ got caught in your throat, but it didn’t matter that you didn’t say it because they seemed to glean it from your expression, anyway.

“We didn’t want you to panic,” Mother said. “But the war has been going on for decades. Over a century, even. It’s a stupid game of power, anyway. The only thing affected by it is the lives of pathetic soldiers.”

“Eunbi!” Ma said. “She’s a child. Let’s try to have some filter, please.”

“She needs to face the reality of the war,” Mother said. She turned to you. “Don’t waste your time and breath on it, Y/N. We’re all above it.”

“My friends told me that they thought I wanted to be a soldier.”

“What?!” Mother said, clearly offended for you. “How?”

“Because I always carry my trinket around.”

“They… don’t carry their trinkets around?” Ma asked.

“No, Ma, they don’t have trinkets yet,” you said.

“What do you mean they don’t have trinkets yet?” Mother frowned.

“Well… It’s just that they’re not allowed to leave the house with their birthstones,” you tried to explain.

Ma turned to Mother, her earrings swaying to and fro. “Did we give her access to her birthstone too early?”

“...Mayhaps,” Mother said. “But it’s too late now.” She made eye contact with you. “Don’t listen to them, Y/N. They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re all children,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not going to be a soldier. That would simply be preposterous.”

“Yes, Eunbi is right,” Ma said, nodding her head. “You’re our destined little scholar, sweetheart.”

Your interactions with your parents were sparse, but that never meant that they didn’t care about you. They found their own ways to show you love, which would have baffled your friends, but your mothers’ peculiar parenting was what you were used to and what you found comfortable. They would often leave new books on your desk. These books were never fairytales—mostly divinist research. But there were occasional alchemy books, too, which you would read over and over again when you were looking for something heavier than your usual fairytales. On weeks when your parents were away to attend conferences, they left you a few extra notes to spend at the mini-markets in the 8th city. They would also leave your thick peacoat out on your chair before you left for school in the mornings if they foresaw the weather taking a cold turn later in the day.

They simply didn’t have time to show it much, but they loved you. And strangely, all you wanted to do was to make them proud, which made you hide away the side of you that longed to become a hero, a successful alchemist—for their sake. 

But there were still parts of your parents that you never quite understood.

They often talked about the 12th city, where the castle grounds lay.

“Oh, Eunbi, wouldn’t it be so nice if we could continue our research as royal divinists?”

“Yes, Sura, that does sound quite nice.”

But these conversations never amounted to anything. All your parents ever did was read; you seldom ever saw them write or conduct an experiment to back their claims. But they were divinists, and they were often blinded by their version of the future, no matter how idealistic it was. You didn’t like that they did this, of course. The heroes in your stories set off to make change; they would save entire towns and cities and kingdoms—sometimes even the world. You didn’t understand why your parents were so content with being stagnant on research that could allegedly impact so much. 

As you grew older, your patience with your parents grew thin. Maybe there was a little bit of resentment there as well, for how could you flourish and become the best version of yourself if your own two parents had made no progress at all? You wanted to make them feel proud, but you began wondering if they would even care if you achieved anything. It was a horrible thought to have. And maybe it was because you were 12 and your rebellious pre-teen phase was kicking in; you were at that age where everything your parents advised you to do sounded stupid or like a mere suggestion. Or maybe this was how you should have always felt, instead of forgiving them and loving them unconditionally. These thoughts and feelings bubbled up inside of you until one day, they burst.

“Alchemy?” Mother said with a frown on her face. “You never showed any interest in it… Sura, what do you think?”

Ma was also frowning. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” she told you. “Why such a sudden change?”

“There was never a change,” you tried to clarify. “I’ve always been interested in alchemy.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Mother sighed. “We always assumed you were going to be a divinist.”

“But how?” you said, growing frustrated. “Did I ever read your canvases with you? Did I ever play with your runes? Have you ever seen me pick up your research manuscripts?”

“Well, no, but honey, interests change,” Ma said gently. “Divination… Well, it’s in your blood, sweetheart.” Her nose ring seemed to twinkle as she said this, along with her dozens of other piercings. They did that a lot when she was deep in thought, which was just about every second of the day. Usually, you thought the light was pretty; today, you found it annoying.

“We don’t want you to go down an unfamiliar route,” Mother said.

“Yes, Eunbi’s right. You could get yourself hurt without our guidance.”

You had to resist the urge to ask them, ‘Guidance? What guidance?’ But you swallowed those words. It didn’t matter; they probably knew what you were thinking. “You wouldn’t understand,” you told them instead. “Alchemy is what diamonds are good at. Divinists wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, honey, your birthstone doesn’t dictate what type of magic you decide to specialize in,” Ma said. “There are plenty of diamond holders out there who don’t practice alchemy.”

“But I’m not one of them!”

“How would you know, Y/N? If you’ve never tried divination?” Mother asked. You could tell she was starting to lose her patience. And Ma looked ready to end the conversation.

You wanted to scream. ‘How would I know? I’ll tell you how I know! Because I’ve seen how consumed the two of you have become with divination! Because it’s all talk and no action! Because pattern-recognizing and intuition-honing isn’t real magic, and I want to do something that can make a difference!’

You didn’t say a single word but you swore you saw Ma wilt a little. That’s another thing you’ve always hated about divinists. It’s like they’re always in your head.

After this argument, your parents became even less attentive to you—if that was even possible. They stopped asking about your grades in school, stopped giving you extra allowance when they left for conferences, stopped gifting you books altogether. It made you feel unloved and unwanted, though you tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe their research picked up once more. Maybe they were hurt by your unsaid words and wanted some distance from you to sort their feelings out. Maybe you should apologize.

But the other part of you couldn’t understand why you should apologize for something you never said. And besides, if their love for you had purely been because they thought you were going to follow in their divinist scholar footsteps, then maybe you didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. And in that moment of sadness, confusion, and anger, you impulsively applied to the most prestigious academy in all of Darlae—in part of honing your alchemy skills but also to escape your parents, for the dorms in Botswana Agate Academy were rumored to be as lush as the chambers in the castle grounds. You didn’t think you were going to get in, but miraculously, an acceptance letter appeared in your mailbox one day. Welcome to Botswana Agate Academy, the title read. You nearly cried when you saw it. 

You told your parents, of course, and they congratulated you, as any reasonable parents would, but they weren’t so happy when they realized you were accepted into their alchemy division and that the academy required a hefty tuition fee. But attending Botswana was like a dream. They sent you a beautiful uniform, one that was as elegant and pristine as the school, and they even offered to embed your birthstone in a new trinket that was easier to carry around. You considered it, of course, but ultimately decided against it. The quill trinket was really the last thing that tied you and your parents together. And as much as you resented them, you still occasionally felt homesick and longed for the good days when they used to read to you in bed. Besides, you’ve grown quite attached to that ugly gray quill, and as impractical as it was, it was still yours. Like a little quirk. Many heroes in your stories had something that made them special, too. 

But ostensibly, you would’ve been considered special even without your unconventional trinket. Botswana taught you that you had a knack for magic. A “natural talent” was what your instructors were calling it. But they never realized how many hours of practice you put in to get this far.

You were adept in putting your skills into action, which showed that externally, you were, in a way, “talented.” But Botswana also emphasized the internal mechanisms of Darlaean magic, which included unfamiliar jargon and technical terminologies. You tried your best to keep up.

“The objective of today’s study,” Instructor Shin began, “is to delineate the differences between our two branches of magic and its three distinct types. Y/N?” she said, pushing up her silver-rimmed glasses and looking at you expectantly. With her thin eyebrows, even thinner red lips and pristine outfits, she was a respectable (and sometimes feared) instructor. Students often tried to impress her, for she was known to write excellent letters of recommendation to get into Botswana Agate’s sister academy for older students: Aven Quartz. 

You sat right up when you heard your name, your heart already thumping in your chest. Unfortunately, it was normal for instructors in Botswana to cold call, and while it wasn’t your favorite thing about the academy, you managed to survive by simply overpreparing. “If you could be so kind as to start off the lesson this morning,” Instructor Shin said in her rather soothing voice, “please give a general description, as per the assigned reading, of the two branches for the class.”

Your throat felt parched, but you spent three hours last night hunched over your textbook General Knowledge for Botswana Agate Students (the one that Instructor Shin herself wrote), reciting every line in the 50-page reading, committing it to memory, then doing it over again and over again with your own words until the chapter showed up in your dreams. Still, your mind teetered on the line of going completely blank—public speaking had never quite been your forte—but you also couldn't let your efforts go to waste. “I… I believe the two branches of magic are light and dark,” you said a little hesitantly, fiddling with the quill behind your ear. “Colloquially, we call them rational and emotional magic, but those terms are misguided and outdated. Um… dark magic, if I’m remembering correctly, is the kind of magic that requires deep focus, objective reasoning and logic to cast. If the caster is successful, we would call that charm, a hex. I believe that dark magic is said to be reliable and consistent but can behave unpredictably when attempted to be cast with emotion. And um, light magic… it’s the kind of magic that requires channeling one’s emotions to cast what we call a whim. Its range of abilities tends to fluctuate, depending on the caster’s emotional state, so it has the potential to be extremely powerful—arguably even more so than any dark magic.”

Your hands were shaking by the time you finished speaking, and it didn’t really help that Instructor Shin’s facial expressions were always unreadable, her red lips pressed together eternally. But you must’ve been correct because she gave you a small nod, thanked you for sharing and called on another student to answer another one of her questions about the reading. “Tell me, Joonhee, why are we discouraged to use light magic here in Botswana?”

Joonhee was charismatic and confident, and he never looked nervous when cold-called. “It can be dangerous,” he said without missing a beat. “We want our magic to be reliable and consistent, like Y/N said. Light magic is unpredictable and may go terribly wrong if say, the caster’s emotions are extremely negatively charged. It’s only really condoned for our soldiers to use in the war.”

“That’s correct, Joonhee,” Instructor Shin said, nodding. “Though light magic is a useful branch in the face of danger or chaos, it does not mesh well with our everyday charms. Of course, you will be naturally inclined to one of these two branches,” she told everyone, “but to do well in Botswana Agate, you must learn the importance of dark magic. Now, Jangmi, can you tell us if our birthstones dictate the branch of magic we naturally gravitate toward?”

“Our birthstones do not,” Jangmi said confidently. “But I think they do dictate the type of magic we are the best at.”

“To an extent, yes,” Instructor Shin said. “But the general consensus is that anyone can excel at either branch of magic and every type of magic. I, for one, am a so-called destined divinist,” she said, holding up her black pointer, adorned with an emerald at the top, for the entire class to see. “But I teach alchemy at Botswana. Some of you may know me as your instructor for Introduction to Alchemy, and I would like to think that I am fairly skilled at it. So, students,” she said, “never feel limited by your birthstone. Now, Donghoon, what are the three different types of magic and which birthstones are associated with what?”

But poor Donghoon looked like he forgot to do the reading yet again. “I-I… uh, a-alchemy,” he stuttered, “...and healing… um…” He struggled to recall the last one. 

“Divination,” Jangmi whispered next to him.

“Divination!” Donghoon magically remembered. “A-And… the birthstones associated… Uh…” He desperately looked down at the little pocket watch he always carried around—not to check the time, but to stare at the shining green peridot inside the glass. It seemed to make things slightly easier for him because you watched his eyes light up for a second. “For alchemy, there is peridot…” he trailed off, already stuck, but when he made eye contact with you, his eyebrows rose in remembrance: “Oh! And diamond…”

Instructor Shin was becoming impatient, however, so she interrupted him. “Let’s do our daily readings on time, Donghoon. Haeyun, could you tell us, please?”

“Yes, Instructor Shin,” Haeyun said. “There are four birthstones associated with each magic type. For healing, they are aquamarine, garnet, ruby and opal. For alchemy, they are diamond, alexandrite, peridot and citrine. For divination, they are amethyst, emerald, sapphire and zircon.”

“Correct,” Instructor Shin said. “Well, Donghoon, do you think you can enlighten us with your definition of alchemy?”

“I actually know this one!” Donghoon looked excited. “It’s the study of matter and small particles and using that knowledge to reshape our perceptions of them! The basics include color and size-shifting. More difficult charms include masking and true alchemy, which is just turning material into gold. Also, you can technically create things out of thin air, but it’s near impossible. But I’ve heard it’s been done before!” Donghoon sat back in his chair a little too smugly for someone who always neglected to do the readings. But his father was Head Instructor, so nothing could be done. 

“Very good, Donghoon,” Instructor Shin said, issuing one of her rare compliments. “You’re correct. While gold has no monetary value in Darlae, in the past, and before the blockade, we profited from our gold trade, thanks to our alchemists. You’ll learn more about this with Instructor No in Darlaean History. It is also nearly impossible, as you’ve said, to create something out of nothing, but it has been done in the past. Our head instructor, fifty years ago, accomplished this. Head Instructor Jeon was his name. He created a small wine glass from nothing, and we still have it in memory of him. It is displayed in our dining hall if you would like to see it after class,” Instructor Shin said quite proudly. “Now, who would like to explain healing and divination in their own words?”

Even though there was the constant fear of being cold-called, you quite enjoyed Instructor Shin’s General Knowledge course. It was one of those courses that every first-year Botswana Agate student was required to take—like Darlaean History—and you could see why. Though the class was often densely packed with information and the readings never seemed to end, it was also enlightening and put much of your early experience with magic into words. Some struggled with it more than others.

“Hell, I totally fucking blanked in there,” Donghoon said as he scratched his head and nearly spilled the contents of his book bag as he adjusted the shoulder straps. You helped him steady the bag and he shot you a grateful look.

“Are you sure you didn’t just forget to do the reading?” Joonhee snorted as he walked past you and Donghoon, not even giving him a chance to answer. It’s a little rude, but Joonhee’s always been like that: confident, charismatic and cocky.

“Don’t worry about him,” you told Donghoon as the two of you began to walk to your next class, which happened to be an unpopular elective called Fashion Studies. You were only placed in it because you enrolled late—your parents didn’t have the time to sign some papers that would’ve made you an official Botswana student. And Donghoon was only placed in it because he forgot to enroll in half of his classes.

“I don’t really worry,” Donghoon said. He just shrugged good-naturedly. “He and I are in different leagues. He’ll probably become the damn General of the Darlaean Army one day. I’d be lucky if I even pass a single class here.”

You frowned. “Don’t say that.”

Donghoon shrugged again. “I’m only here because of my father. Everyone knows that. I’m just waiting to be kicked out so I can achieve my lifelong dream of starting a tea shop. I don’t need alchemy for that.” He suddenly looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then, he leaned in with a mischievous look on his face. “I wouldn’t even need Darlaean magic. I’d need Solaria’s.”

You raised your eyebrows. Why was he telling you this? Was it a test to see if you agreed? He was his father’s son after all, and there was an extreme backlash in the scholar community against Head Instructor Kim for so openly supporting the Darlaean Army when Botswana instructors were to remain neutral about the war. You decided to tread carefully. “Really? With the elements and stuff?”

“Yeah,” Donghoon said. “I’d need fire to boil the water and earth for the tea leaves.” He looked at you strangely. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you? You don’t seem like the type.”

“N-No, of course not. I’m just… surprised.”

“My father and I are different people,” Donghoon said with a shrug. “He can eat shit for all I care. I don’t support the war. It’s just stupid. People dying left and right. And for what?”

“People die out there?” you asked incredulously.

“What did you think they were doing? Playing tea party? Of course they die out there—our people, their people. We just don’t hear the stories because we’re so far in, you know, being in the 11th city most of the time. Most of our parents are rich enough to keep us sheltered. And we sure as hell don’t learn about it in Darlaean History ‘cause ‘neutrality’ and all that bull. But we might start this new curriculum focusing solely on Solarian war crimes. Courtesy of my father, you know. He thinks it’ll help with showcases, which are military propaganda by the way.”

“Oh…” This conversation surprised you. Donghoon was often characterized as stupid and ditzy by others. He’s the spoiled, stuck-up brat who leeched off of his successful father and had rocks for brains. But that most certainly wasn’t correct. It simply looked like he cared about things outside what Botswana could offer.

“Anyways,” Donghon sighed, “you’re smart, so I’m sure you’ll make correct judgments.” When he caught you frowning, he grinned. “You act humbly, but you’re top of your classes.”

Your face heated up. “Oh, I… I still don’t understand why they publicly post the class rankings…”

“It’s ‘tradition for excellence,’” Donghoon mockingly quoted while holding in a laugh. “And it’s supposed to motivate people like me. Obviously, it’s not working. Anyways, you know, you’re really good at alchemy. Really, really good.”

“O-Oh,” you said, feeling bashful. “Thanks. But I’m not naturally good or anything. I just put in a lot of effort.”

“Mhm sure. There are people like Jangmi who put in the effort but still can’t cast charms successfully, you know. She’s within the top ten in every class except Intro to Alch—the only class that doesn’t use a textbook. Magic doesn’t come so intuitively for others.”

Donghoon was strangely observant. You looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know…”

Your response must have not been so satisfactory. “Hmph. You’re pretty shy, aren’t you?” Donghoon said. “I feel like every time we talk, well, I’m the one who’s talking.”

That made you crack a smile. “I enjoy listening.”

“Well, I enjoy talking.” Donghoon mirrored your smile. “Anyways, let’s go make some damn clothes while people die on the battlegrounds!”

From that point forward, you and Donghoon became close friends. He was easy to be around and didn’t see you as a competition as many of the other students did. He also always declined your offers to study with him, saying that it was only a matter of time before his father would have no choice but to let him drop out of the academy. “I’m aiming for failing grades in every single class,” he told you on your way to Introduction to Alchemy with Instructor Shin.

“Your tea shop dream would be closer than ever,” you said with a smile.

“You get me, Y/N,” was his enthused response as the two of you found your seats in the classroom in the second row.

Today’s class focused solely on color-shifting. Instructor Shin handed out red apples and told everybody to turn them blue. She gave no further instruction, stepping back and simply watching. For you, this was a simple task; after all, you’ve been color-shifting for more than half of your life now. First, you must become extremely aware of the feather behind your ear, feeling the power emanating from your birthstone. Then, closing your eyes, you imagined a world where apples were blue. They’ve always been blue! It was quite the norm. Blue apples growing on trees, blue apple pies, blue apple jam—you’ve all seen it before. Every time you’ve bitten into an apple, its skin has been a beautiful, shiny, navy blue. Why should the apple in front of you be any different? 

When you opened your eyes, sure enough, the apple sitting in front of you was blue—the same deep blue you’d imagined in your head.

Instructor Shin’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything.

Donghoon laughed. “Y/N, in three seconds?!”

You could feel the heat crawl onto your cheeks as you felt every students’ eyes on you. Particularly, you felt Joonhee’s glare at the back of your head. And for the next several minutes, you watched the students around you try their hand at color-shifting for the first time. Most of them were able to change the color of their apples, but it was rarely ever blue. You saw a lot of purples and oranges. And Donghoon, who by habit only practiced light magic, accidentally cast a frustrated whim, which made the apple rot rapidly before your shared desk.

He snorted at his own failure and turned to you. “See?” he said. “I told you that you’re good.”

“I’ve just done this before,” you said.

“How?” Donghoon asked. “Didn’t your parents restrict your birthstone access until you were accepted to Botswana? I know a lot of families who did that in the 10th city.”

“Not really,” you said. “They let me carry it around since I was ten.”

“Hell, they really trusted you.”

It was always a little more like they didn’t trust themselves with you, but Donghoon didn’t have to know that. And besides, now you were partly thankful for your parents’ negligence. It looked like strict parenting stanched magical growth. But thinking about your parents made you feel a little guilty inside since you knew full well that you partly applied to Botswana to escape them after your horrible argument. Still, you tried not to show your inner turmoils and shrugged.

“I guess they did,” you said. “You need me to shift that back? Temporarily, though. I don’t think I’m good enough to do it permanently.”

Donghoon’s eyes widened. “You know how to do that?”

“I’ve never tried, but all I’d have to do is imagine a world where nothing ever rots. And that it’s always been that way.”

“Dark magic, huh?” Donghoon said. “I didn’t pin you for that type, but you’re good.”

You shrugged, and in a few seconds’ time, the apple looked ripe and red again—at least for the remaining class period. You and Donghoon fell into deep conversation after that, mostly Donghoon complimenting your skills and you becoming embarrassed. The two of you failed to notice Instructor Shin looking straight at you with an unreadable look on her face.

Every circa, Botswana Agate Academy invited each student’s parents to what they called Consulting. This entailed the student’s instructors reviewing the student’s standing in their classes and offering the student potential career pathways or advice to excel in the future. Most parents who sent their children to Botswana wanted to know anything and everything about how their money was being used. Your parents, unfortunately, had to attend a last-minute divination conference with their fellow scholars. So last-minute that in fact, rescheduling your Consulting was impossible.

So you sat awkwardly before your three instructors, nervously playing with your trinket behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” you said, embarrassed. “I told them the date three weeks ago… And reminded them frequently…”

“It’s no matter,” Instructor Shin said. “Consulting only concerns you, Kwang Y/N, so you’re all we need to begin.” She shuffled the small stack of papers in front of her and her two co-instructors. “Your rankings are considerably high,” she began. “In the top fifty for all four of your classes. Number one for Introduction to Alchemy, among 600 other students. You’re off to an excellent start.”

You’ve never been able to take compliments well. “Thank you,” you squeaked, awkwardly looking at your hands.

“You naturally gravitate towards dark magic and you were accepted into our alchemy division, so I assume you are also alchemy-inclined.”

You nodded.

“I have a question for you, Y/N,” Instructor Shin suddenly said, which surprised you, for she was always the kind of person who knew everything. “Your parents are divinist scholars, yes? Did they also teach you the ropes of alchemy?”

You shook your head. “No, Instructor Shin. They didn’t.”

“Self-taught?”

“Well, I read many books,” you said. “Um… fairytales, really. But a lot of the… um, a lot of the heroes were alchemy-inclined, so naturally…” It felt so stupid to admit.

Instructor Shin nodded. “I am impressed,” she said, to your surprise. “I have not met many students who have taught themselves the ropes of dark alchemy so well in quite a long time. I want you to audit my Advanced Alchemy course, and if that feels like a better fit, I want you to take it instead of your introductory course and skip the intermediate course entirely. How does that sound?”

Your eyes widened. “A-Amazing,” you managed to whisper in awe. “T-Thank you. Thank you, Instructor Shin.” 

It almost felt like a dream. You? How could someone like you impress someone so skilled and intelligent as Instructor Shin? Not only did she want you to skip one course level but also two? How highly did she think of you to suggest such a thing? You would be sitting in class with students two or three years older than you!

It was the dream—to be able to hone your alchemy skills and actually be challenged in class. And yet… You nervously began to play with the feather behind your ear. Why did you suddenly feel an empty pit in your stomach? It was that feeling of dread, which was the last thing you should be feeling with all this good news. But you couldn’t help it. The thing about good first impressions was that there wasn’t much room to be better. (The charismatic villain in your fairytales always gave off a great first impression!) So how long would it take for Instructor Shin to be disappointed in you? How long would it take before you simply became another student in the crowd for her? How long would it take for you to lose the only support you’ve ever had?

You were no prodigy. You were definitely not a genius, either. What Instructor Shin didn’t know was the amount of time and effort you’ve put into your craft. You didn’t wake up one day able to color-shift in the blink of an eye. You worked your way up to it with much trial and error and sleepless nights in your living room. Your peers simply weren’t given access to their birthstones as early as you were. If they had, they’d probably be at your skill level or even higher. So what if you weren’t able to keep up? What if Advanced Alchemy ended up being too advanced for you? How disappointed would Instructor Shin be?

She seemed to sense your uncertainty, which was so palpable that even a non-divinist could feel it. To your surprise, she smiled, her thin red lips curving slightly upwards. You’ve never seen her do such a thing. But her smile was kind and warm and softened her eyes, and it alone almost made you feel a little better.

“My care for my students is never conditional,” she said gently.

Your head jerked up as you met her stare with startled eyes.

“No matter what you achieve and don’t achieve, I will always wish you the best,” Instructor Shin said. “But you don’t need to worry too much. I believe your accomplishments will stretch far beyond what Botswana Agate can offer. I don’t have to be a royal divinist to see it.” 

An unconditional support system. It felt almost unheard of—something you’ve only ever seen in fairytales. You’ve tiptoed around your parents for years in fear that they would treat you differently after you confessed to them that divination in your future wasn’t likely. In fact, they did treat you differently after your confession, which you supposed subconsciously taught you that maybe their care was somewhat conditional. 

So to have an adult tell you that they would never retract their care for you… It defied everything you’ve known up until now. 

You could feel the emotions swelling in your chest. On the one hand, you were grateful. You’ve always dreamed of having a mentor in your life who truly, absolutely cared for you, and you’ve finally found one. But on the other hand, what about your parents? How was it that an instructor you’ve known for one circa understood you better than your parents ever have? They couldn’t even come to your Consulting! Couldn’t make a thirty-minute slot in their schedules for you. But here you were, hearing from Instructor Shin that you were an excellent student. They would never know of it. Nor did you think they’d care. Or maybe they would. Maybe they were still waiting for you to apologize for that day. A small part of you wished that was true. Because them being angry at you would be infinitely better than them not simply caring. But deep down inside, you knew what was really the case.

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your face.

At first, they were tears of sadness, for you couldn’t help but pity yourself and feel horrible that you continued to push your parents away from your life. But when Instructor Shin took a sheet of paper from the stack in front of her and masked it into a handkerchief, handing it to you with a look of endearment on her face, your tears of sadness turned into tears of joy.

You wanted to achieve great things—not for fame, not for recognition—but for a cause bigger than yourself. Instructor Shin believed in you, so what was really stopping you? You wanted to leave a mark, an impact. Just like the heroes in your fairytales. Every great hero had a mentor who pushed them to be better and inspired them to be resilient. While dabbing your tears away, you vowed that you would work harder than ever before, for now, you had Instructor Shin, who was willing to give you unconditional support. Your dream of one day becoming a hero—of any scale—felt closer than ever before.

Surprisingly enough, Fashion Studies was quite interesting. There were no required readings, no required magic skill set. All you had to bring to the class was a creative mind and a penchant for aesthetics. There, you learned about different fabrics, textures, colors, and the latest fashion trends in Darlae. At first, you and Donghoon couldn’t care much about clothes, but by the end of the second circa at Botswana, the two of you were speaking in common fashion parlance, going on frequent shopping trips in the 8th city and finding the school uniforms to be restricting your artistic freedom. 

In your second Consulting at Botswana Agate, your Fashion Studies instructor, Instructor Yang noted that he never met students like you and Donghoon who were so excited to take his measly fashion course. Most students took electives that required “a little more brain-power” as Instructor Yang put it. You thought it was hilarious to hear that Donghoon was at the top of the class for Fashion Studies, which was the complete opposite of what he wanted.

“I got a little carried away,” was his excuse when you told him the news. “Hell, I’m gonna need to start slacking for my ultimate plan to work. There’s no way I’m going to let this class be the single piece of evidence my father uses to force me to stay here.”

With Donghoon trying to come up with more and more creative ways of getting expelled (refusing to wear the school uniform, never doing his homework, arriving to exams an entire hour late), your first year at Botswana was never dull.

Your Advanced Alchemy class was the perfect fit for your skill level too. You were being challenged (but not so much that you felt like you were behind), and the older students didn’t really see you as a competition but respected you as one of their peers. They also told you everything you needed to know about Botswana Agate—the good and the bad. But mostly the bad. 

“Did you know there are rumors that the curriculum at the academy will change soon?”

“They’re going to make it pro-war, those bastards.”

“Head Instructor Kim is going to run this place to the fucking ground.”

“I heard they’re going to be making courses centered around light magic.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I mean, you’ve seen how often soldiers have been patrolling the corridors and listening in on our classes, right? They’re totally trying to recruit for the army.”

“Yeah, I heard they’re going to start making showcases mandatory.”

“The next thing you know they’re going to make military enlistment mandatory.”

“I heard it’s like that in Solaria.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they just knock on your door, drag you out and force you to fight.”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“Well… To be honest, from our soldiers. So it could also be stupid propaganda. I mean, since we’re on a volunteer-based enlistment and our army would do anything to look better than the Solarians. But who knows? Things are changing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. If I were them, I’d be embarrassed that the war’s been dragging on for this long. It’s crazy that neither side has agreed to a truce.”

If there was one thing you knew very clearly about Botswana students it was that most of them hated the war. It must be some sort of scholarly instinct. But, of course, there were always outliers.

Joonhee and his band of friends were as pro-army as one could get. They saluted every soldier they passed in the corridors, straightening up their posture and pressing two fingers to their forehead with their other arm glued to their side. You knew Donghoon was joking when he said that Joonhee would one day become the General of the Darlaean Army, but it didn’t really seem like a joke anymore. 

“He’s batshit crazy, that one,” Donghoon told you, shaking his head. “He has to be the dumbest genius alive to waste his talents in the army.”

“Do you really think that they’re going to start to make showcases mandatory?” you said, brows furrowing.

“The parents would never approve,” Donghoon said. “Except my father. Even your parents don’t support the war.”

“So who the hell supports it?”

“Unfortunately, just about every other city,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just that scholars don’t believe in violence to solve problems. That and we don’t have that much hatred in our hearts.”

“I don’t get why your father can support the war, then.”

“Honestly, I think he’s after the money. You know, we get paid just to let the soldiers walk around our campus. The army thinks it’s ‘good exposure’ since they’re looking to recruit top talent.”

“Top talent, huh?” You sighed. “Your father must be getting paid one hell of a lot to let them change Botswana’s curriculum.”

“How do you think we bought our new summer home?” Donghoon laughed but soon stopped when you didn’t follow.

“I don’t get it,” you said. “Why would anyone want to go to war? Don’t you die out there?”

“Maybe they like the thrill,” Donghoon said. “I don’t get it either. You should ask Joonhee. He looks like he’s ready to enlist any day now.”

“But we’re only 12!”

“The younger the better,” Donghoon said. “We’re more malleable that way.”

“Malleable…” you repeated. 

For someone who claimed they never read, Donghoon had quite the vocabulary. He cursed like a sailor, too, which you’ve unintentionally begun picking up. But besides the influence of linguistics, the more time you spent with Donghoon, the more you became impressed with his character. To you, Donghoon was the protagonist in your fantasy novels—a little bit of an outcast but with a set purpose in life and a passion that never seemed to dull. He may be thought of as goofy by his peers and instructors, but it was all calculated. He was a lot smarter and wiser than people thought. And you liked that he knew so much more than you. You had a lot to learn.

“You know, the soldiers have been looking at the class rankings these days,” Donghoon told you, giving you a meaningful look.

“The rankings?” you said, a frown creasing your forehead.

“Yeah. I’d say expect to be harassed by them very, very soon,” he said. 

Sometimes it seemed like everyone except you was a divinist.

Donghoon’s prediction came true in just two days when three soldiers barged into your classroom, swinging the doors open so violently that they banged raucously against the walls. Their jet-black uniforms (even with the silver and purple stitchings) made them look like soot against the pure white interior of the room—like they didn’t belong here. And they didn’t. You could think of at least five other uniform designs that would’ve looked less intimidating, but perhaps intimidation was what they were going for. 

The loud noise interrupted Instructor Shin mid-sentence and she glared at the intruders for a split second before continuing her lecture on Darlae’s 12 cities as if nothing had happened at all. 

“Ahem.”

Instructor Shin ignored the soldier clearing his throat.

“Ahem.”

At this point, most if not every student had turned their heads toward the three soldiers at the back of the class, wondering if anyone was in trouble. Soldiers often audited classes but they never interrupted or drew attention to themselves. So this was quite new.

“If you could so kindly clear your throat outside so my students could continue with their lesson,” Instructor Shin sighed, looking up to glare at the soldiers. They looked unfazed, however.

“We’d like a word with a few of your students,” the soldier who was having problems with his throat spoke. 

“Then it must wait until after class,” Instructor Shin said, swiftly. She pointed at the door with her black pointer. “Please kindly leave.”

“This is an order,” the soldier said, not moving one bit.

“Oh, yes, from who?” Instructor Shin asked, her eyebrows raising as they did when she believed one was lying.

“From Head Instructor Kim.”

Instructor Shin didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t take orders from that individual,” she answered, and before he could retort back, she continued: “You are walking on the territory of scholars, soldier. We do not follow orders from anyone here. We question and we think for ourselves. You may suggest and you may discuss, but you do not order—especially not in my classroom.” She paused, still glaring at the three soldiers. “You may leave now.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense when they didn’t. 

“I’m under the impression that you’re merely suggesting we leave,” the soldier said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we are suggesting speaking to some of your students.”

Donghoon gave you a look from right next to you, and you can read what he meant as clear as day. ‘Can you fucking believe the nerve?’

“I will not allow my students to follow you out of my classroom and away from my supervision,” Instructor Shin said. “What you need to say to those students, you will say to everyone in this room.”

“You’re difficult, aren’t you?” the soldier said.

“As are you,” she replied. “Well? Don’t waste our time, now, soldier. Share with the class what was so important that you had to interrupt precious class time for.”

Another soldier stepped up, as if on cue, and pulled out a list from inside her stiff coat. “Lee Joonhee, Kwang Y/N, Choi Jangmi,” she read off in a monotone voice. Your eyes widened when you heard your name. “You have been selected as the top students in this cohort of the General Knowledge course. The Darlaean Army recognizes your excellent academic standing and would like to extend an offer to join our rigorous training program for adolescents. This is a valuable opportunity to strengthen your magic with future leaders of the army and prepare to fight for your nation to defeat our common enemy. Congratulations on your selection and we await your decision to accept.”

You could almost hear the ‘I told you so’ that Donghoon didn’t say but was most definitely thinking. 

There was also a deafening and painfully awkward silence that followed after the soldier’s speech. It seemed like everyone was staring at you, Joonhee and Jangmi. The other two were practically bathing in the spotlight, but you suddenly felt the need to duck down and hide from the unwanted stares.

The bigger issue, though, was the fact that the soldiers still hadn’t left the classroom. Did they expect the three of you to decide whether you would accept on the spot? And if so, how would you let them down politely but firmly? It was really no question that you didn’t want this. Why the hell would you want to uproot your perfectly fine life at Botswana to join some training program that would inevitably make a soldier out of you? The last thing you wanted was to become involved in the war. So why were they acting as if this was a wonderful opportunity for you? War was where you went to die. How could you set yourself up for death when you had yet so much to accomplish?

“I accept!” Joonhee announced, interrupting your thoughts. “I happily accept, sir.” He saluted dutifully. “Thank you!”

You and Jangmi glanced at each other.

“I’d like some more time to decide,” Jangmi finally said.

You could feel your heart beating in your head. Now all eyes were on you, awaiting your answer, and you hated it. You didn’t owe the army anything, so why was it so damn hard to say no? You could also use Jangmi’s answer to stall for some time, but that would mean they’d hunt you down later to get a definitive response. Should you keep your rejection short and simple? Or did you need to explain yourself to keep them from getting offended? But then again, why would you care that they’ll be offended? They were clearly not-so-great people, disrespecting Instructor Shin in front of her own students! Yes, you should simply reject them. They’re used to curt replies, you assumed, taking orders from right and left, so it couldn’t hurt them if you declined their offer.

With a deep breath, you collected the strength to finally give your response. But it came out as a loud, flat, echoing, “NO.”

The sound of your own voice startled you; it also seemed to startle many others as your classmates stared at you in what you thought looked like disbelief. But it made sense. You usually never spoke so curtly, and you surely never had a reason to raise your voice. You were immediately scrambling to explain yourself. “I-I mean, no thank you… sir. I mean, sirs. I-I would… I would like to focus on my studies.”

“Very well,” the throat-clearing prone soldier said. He didn’t sound disappointed, though he did still look mildly annoyed from the encounter he just had with Instructor Shin. He and the two other soldiers saluted to no one in particular, and they finally exited the classroom. 

When the heavy white doors slammed shut, loud chatter uptook the room. You and Donghoon watched as everyone else began to swarm around Joonhee.

“Why did you accept so quickly?”

“Are you going to drop out of Botswana?”

“Do your parents know?”

“Your parents are going to kill you!”

“Quiet!” Instructor Shin yelled in a voice so loud it echoed in the commodious room. Silence. Everybody scrambled back into their seats. Instructor Shin sighed as she gripped the edges of the marble podium. “I apologize for the distraction and for my harsh behavior. As you may already be aware, things are shifting here at Botswana Agate Academy. The army is looking to expand, and they would like to join hands with Darlae’s brightest. You will learn more about the war once some new courses are approved. I’m afraid it won’t be anything like Darlaean History, for those of you who enjoy that course. Things are changing, indeed…” She sighed again, shaking her head. “But for now, we will continue our lesson, students. And Joonhee? I’d like to see you after class.”

Everyone ooh-ed.

Donghoon rolled his eyes but you frowned. 

“What do you think she held him back for?” you asked Donghoon as the two of you walked out of Instructor Shin’s class.

“Probably to warn him about the army,” Donghoon said, shrugging. “Let him go for all I care. He’ll become General one day.”

“Do you think Jangmi’s going to end up declining the offer?”

“Maybe,” Donghoon said. “I’m not sure. Her parents are scholars like yours, though, so they’ll probably never let her go.” He turned to you with a smile on your face. “But good for you for yelling their rejection to their faces.”

“I didn’t mean to yell!”

“Well, you did, Y/N,” Donghoon laughed. “They’re delusional if they think you’d ever join their stupid little fistfight club.”

“I just think it’s crazy they singled us out,” you said. “It must be some sort of strategy. You know, to make us feel special and accept their offer. They made it sound so grand, too.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Donghoon snorted. “Let’s hope they don’t follow you around, though. I’ve heard they’ve been doing that to a few upperclassmen.”

Donghoon’s hopes, unfortunately, didn’t come true. By the time you were back home from the academy for winter recess, your parents had a stack of letters from the army waiting for you in your bedroom. 

“Honey?” Ma asked, a crease on her forehead. “Have you been getting involved with the army?”

“No,” you said, sighing as you threw the letters in the trash. “I’m just on their radar.”

“Their radar?” Mother said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s that pathetic Head Instructor of yours. Money-hungry pig.”

“Eunbi…” Ma said gently.

“It needs to be said,” Mother replied curtly.

“I’ve just been… Well, I know you haven’t been able to be there for my past Consultings, but I’ve been doing well at the academy,” you said, though admitting it feels a little strange. “I received an invitation to join their rigorous training program for adolescents. But don’t worry!” you quickly added after seeing your parents’ faces. “I declined.”

“They don’t take rejection well, it seems,” Mother snorted. “A couple of soldiers have been showing up at our doorstep and asking for you.”

“They have?” you asked in shock. 

Ma nodded. “But once we move, we should be left alone for a while. ”

“Not unless they’re so desperate they find our new address,” Mother said, shaking her head.

“Move?” you asked, eyes widening. “Why are we moving?”

You’ve lived in this home for as long as you can remember. How could you let go of the cozy living room with its infinite number of reading nooks? The tall windows, the emerald green carpet, and the security of your room—you didn’t want to leave it.

You caught Ma giving Mother a worried look, and Mother cleared her throat. “Well…” She sighed. “Y/N, as divinist scholars, Sura and I make sacrifices to continue our research. You know that, don’t you? Recently… we have realized that our finances have been…” She searched for a word. “Bare.”

“Bare?” you repeated. Are we poor? you wanted to ask. 

Ma answered anyway. “We’re not poor yet, sweetheart. We’re just a little in the rough, that’s all.”

“Sura and I have got it under control,” Mother said. “We’ll sell this home and move into a smaller one.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Ma said with a smile. It looked strained.

Your heart sank.

It was something to worry about. Your parents had been researching their entire lives, but they had never been close to bankruptcy. It dawned on you rather quickly that the only reason they were struggling now was you. You and Botswana Agate Academy. 

“I can drop out,” you offered. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted it. What if your parents agreed? What if they did pull you out of Botswana? The palace-like architecture, the beautiful classrooms, dining hall, dorms… The endless knowledge in the grand libraries… Hell, it was like a second home to you. Your very own fairytale. Donghoon would also be absolutely livid that you were able to leave before him. And what about Instructor Shin? Your unconditional supporter? She would be so disappointed.

“That’s not an option, Y/N,” Mother said, to your surprise. “You will finish your education—whether it’s in divination or not.”

“Yes,” Ma agreed. “We couldn’t ask you to make sacrifices, honey.”

You didn’t argue against that—you didn’t want to.

But it still hurt a few circas later when your parents greeted you at the new doorstep of a significantly smaller home. The roof was battered, the walls a little tattered. There were no more bookshelves, so the books stacked up like pillars supporting the low ceiling. It was a one-room home, with no more reading nooks, no more windows and barely any natural light. The emerald green carpet where you’d taught yourself color-shifting was nowhere to be found—sent off to the 8th city to be sold for extra notes. 

Your parents acted as if nothing had changed, however. And by that, you meant they were still a little distant, their noses buried deep in their books. It was almost as if they didn’t notice the change in the surroundings. But it was evident that they had lost weight. And it was hard to watch them hunch over and squint to read the small text in their manuscripts in the dim windowlessness of your new home.

If you were more adept in alchemy, you would’ve helped them remodel the home, but permanent shifts to larger items were something that even the best alchemists struggled with. It was also around this time when you realized that even after the argument you had with your parents earlier this year, they really, truly loved you. They wouldn’t be starving themselves, living in a small shack with no lights and bedrooms if they didn’t care. It pained you inside to think that you ever doubted them. How could you ever think that Instructor Shin was your only unconditional support when your parents had splurged the entirety of their finances on you? The guilt ate at you alive, and momentarily, your performance in the academy dropped as you processed your revelation. 

“Something is bothering you,” Instructor Shin said, pulling you aside after the Advanced Alchemy lecture. Her face was stoic, yet her tone was gentle. “Are the soldiers harassing you?”

You shook your head. The soldiers have already moved on from you and Jangmi, having found older and more talented students to prey on.

“You haven’t been paying attention,” Instructor Shin said, but it was without disappointment—as if she was merely stating a fact and delicately probing you to answer why.

“I’m sorry, Instructor Shin,” you said, looking at your shoes.

Instructor Shin gave you a look that you could not discern. “Final examinations are approaching,” she said. “Try your best.”

You nodded, though you were unsure how you were going to concentrate on your studies in the lavish libraries of Botswana Agate when you knew your parents were at home skipping meals to fund your schooling. When you made it out of the classroom, the grand doors shutting behind you, Donghoon was immediately by your side. He must’ve been waiting for you.

“What was that about?” he naturally asked. “Did she tell you off because your rank dropped twenty places?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t really a telling off…”

Donghoon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Not even a little scolding?”

“No… She seemed worried.”

“Well, did you give her something to worry about?”

How could Donghoon, the son of the rich Head Instructor of Botswana Agate Academy, understand the financial struggles of a meager divinist scholar family? And besides, if you told him that you were poor, he might try to help, and you would never want to burden him in that manner. 

So you shook your head again, forcing yourself to smile. “I think you’re rubbing off on me, Donghoon.”

He snorted in laughter. “Thanks,” he replied, though he didn’t look like he fully believed your lie. “I’m on a mission to become the worst student ever admitted to this damn academy.”

Then three days later, two weeks before final examinations, Donghoon managed to drop out. 

Well, dropping out wouldn’t be quite the right words; he was expelled. It took Donghoon almost one entire school year to realize his horrible marks weren’t enough of an excuse to convince his father to allow him to quit the academy. So he simply took another route and threatened to obliterate the most important artifact in all of Botswana: past Head Instructor Jeon’s alchemy miracle, the wine glass created from nothing. Donghoon was just seconds away from smashing the glass in front of everyone in the dining hall when his father ran in, completely red and breathless and expelled him on the spot. Donghoon left swiftly, having already packed his bags a week prior. It stung just a little that he didn’t really say goodbye, but maybe that was a good thing. You didn’t think you could’ve handled any more sadness. 

Losing a friend took a toll on you, and that, stacked with worrying about your parents, stressed you so much that you missed an entire week of classes. It was only two days before your first final exam when you realized that moping around pitying yourself was something that the hero of your fairytales would never do. How pathetic! What happened to the girl who wanted to make an impact? The little girl who one day wanted to be a hero? Why was she crying over a friend who was now much happier? Why had she stopped studying when her parents sacrificed so much to put her in this academy? 

You realized then and there that doing your utmost best in Botswana would be one of the biggest ways in which you could repay your parents—at least attempt to, for you could never truly repay what they’ve sacrificed for you. And so, in less than 48 hours, you crammed circa’s worth of information into your brain and practiced your alchemy skills until no end, forgoing sleep to do so. You managed to do decently on your exams, though not as amazing as you would’ve done had you never gone through a slump, but the recovery made you proud of yourself. 

And as if there had been no hiccups at all, life ambled on. 

Your third year at Botswana was much busier than the last two. You were juggling more difficult classes, along with two part-time tutoring jobs and another one as Instructor Shin’s Intro to Alchemy teaching assistant. The pay wasn’t outstanding for any of your odd jobs, but it allowed you to alleviate a bit of the financial burden off of your parents’ shoulders. You still managed to find the time to visit Donghoon occasionally, too. He had set up a nice little tea shop in the 8th city and loved to serve you his newest loose-leaf creations. Sometimes, he’d make his assistant watch over his shop and take you shopping around the 8th city—the two of you had never lost your penchant for clothes since Fashion Studies. You rarely bought anything, though you one day dreamed of owning closets filled with an assortment of fancy gowns and elegant petticoats.

You didn’t quite need to purchase clothes, either. You owned two pairs of the academy’s uniform, which was sufficient enough. And fabric was cheap in the 8th city’s mini-markets, so you purchased those in increments and shifted them into your desired designs. The shifts for larger pieces of clothing were only temporary, considering the expanse of the fabric and the complexity of the design, but after some trial and error (and an embarrassing number of sleepless nights), you were able to permanently shift scarves and gloves for your parents just in time for the winter.

Little by little, your alchemy skills grew. 

Color-shifting and size-shifting were now considered elementary in your more advanced courses, and it was now expected of you to be able to shift the colors and patterns of items permanently. Examinations often tested the longevity of your color-shifts, which was at times nerve-wracking because it took days of waiting to see whether your charms worked the way you intended them to. Size-shifting from small to large items, and vice versa, was still a difficult task, and it was tested less often as even more experienced alchemists struggled with turning a pencil into the size of a bed. And masking was not tested at all, for it was out of the scope of what Botswana Agate could teach its young students. But that never stopped you from attempting to master it; you would inevitably learn it in Aven Quartz, anyway—hopefully, you’d have the finances for it.

So you began small, masking quill pens into tulips, masking goblets into bowls. The masking never quite lasted, but the fact that it worked in the first place was a miracle. You sought extra guidance from Instructor Shin, who was more than delighted to help. And by the middle of your third year, you were comfortably able to mask smaller items for an hour (or two if you were lucky). It wasn’t good enough for you, but it was good enough for your instructors, who informed you of your high rankings time and time again during your Consultings.

What always fueled you to push yourself further was the memory of your mothers when you first visited your new home two years ago. Their thin faces, the cramped single room, the missing furniture, the low ceiling, their backs hunched over, them huddling over dim candlelight to read their books… You were determined to get them out of the situation that you had caused them. It felt like it was your duty—a noble thing to do as their only child. And it would require you to be quite an accomplished individual.

Your alchemy skills weren’t the only thing going through rapid changes in your life. There was also Botswana Agate, though you weren’t too sure if these changes were for the better. Head Instructor Kim approved several new courses, if you could even call them that. No true knowledge was being dispensed in those mandatory classes—only military propaganda. A new academy uniform made its debut as well, looking suspiciously similar to the dark attire of the Darlaean soldier uniform: jet-black with silver and purple stitchings and a belt that cinched in the waist. It became difficult to differentiate between student and soldier, and now everyone looked like soot against the pristine, white walls of Botswana Agate. The changes were only slightly irritating, especially when you happened to run into Joonhee in one of those indistinguishable uniforms and you were unsure whether he dropped out of the rigorous training program for adolescents or if he became one of those annoying soldiers patrolling the halls of the academy.

“Hey! Y/N!” he said, a little too amiably for someone who was never too kind to you before. “Hey!” he said again, jogging over to catch up to you. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You wondered why he was greeting you so warmly. But upon closer look, you realized that he was, indeed, wearing the Darlaean soldier uniform and was probably looking to recruit you for the damn training program once again. You could come up with an excuse and run away or pretend you didn’t even hear him, but that felt a little mean. What if he genuinely wanted to catch up? Maybe he volunteered to be here because he missed Botswana and his friends. But you were never his friend, so why was he seeking you out? Nevertheless, you could never be so rude as to turn a person away.

“Hi, Joonhee!” you said with a smile. Upon closer look, Joonhee seemed a lot older now, although it had only been two years. He was taller, obviously, nearly towering over you in stature, and he had his hair slicked completely back, which accentuated his high cheekbones. He’d lost the chubbiness in his cheeks and had a heavier look in his eyes. But perhaps that was due to the dark circles. You wondered if he spent many sleepless nights in the army. You would imagine so, with all that death and treachery around you, how could you go to bed? “Um, how’s the program going?”

“Really well,” Joonhee answered, shoving his hands in his uniform pockets. “I volunteered to station here for a circa or two just to say hi to everyone before your commencement next year. I’ll be busier then, so might as well visit now. Plus, they don’t let us soldiers in at Aven Quartz just yet.”

“Oh, busier, how?” you asked.

“I did well on my last several showcases,” Joonhee explained. “So they’re going to step up my training. I’ll be fighting in the war by the time I’m 16 or 17.”

“Fighting in the war…” You couldn’t comprehend how casually he said it. In just a few years, Joonhee would be risking his life for Darlae, but you simply couldn’t understand why. He was a perfectly fine student with a bright future in academia ahead of him. Why did he choose to leave? It was a question that you would likely never know the answer to—you simply weren’t close enough to him to ask, and you didn’t see yourself growing closer to him anytime soon.

Joonhee nodded with a solemn look of duty on his face. “Fighting in the war,” he repeated. “Hey, listen. I’ve been trying to find Donghoon around here. You’re still close with him, right?”

Immediately, you tensed up. “Do you… need to tell him something?”

“Yeah. I was going to apologize,” Joonhee said. “I was only 12, and I was a fucking ass to him and a lot of other people. I know better now. Gotta represent my nation and everything.” He said this very proudly, jutting out his chest. 

You’re pleasantly surprised. “Oh, that’s really nice of you, Joonhee. I can relay the message to him since he’s not here anymore. He dropped out. Er, I mean, he was sort of expelled.”

“By his own father?” Joonhee raised his eyebrows.

You nodded. “Yeah, it happened two years ago, a bit after you left, actually. A lot’s changed.”

Joonhee agreed. “A lot has…” There was a bit of an awkward silence before he decided to speak again. “Anyways, are you going to the showcase later this circa? I won’t be one of the judges, but I’ll be somewhere in the audience.”

Was this his smooth way of getting you to think about joining the army?

You shook your head. “They’re not mandatory anymore, and I’ve been busy with classes and my part-time jobs…” It was the truth, although it also sounded a bit like an excuse. But around three circas ago, the showcases were briefly made mandatory, until the fourth years refused to attend classes for two circas. Head Instructor Kim had no choice but to reverse the decision. If he hadn’t, you and the rest of the student body would have been forced to sit through nearly four to six hours of showcasing every circa, which meant watching every single Botswana Agate student put on a display of their skills in front of a row of Darlaean soldier judges, only to be given a numerical score. You would much rather get ahead in your classes or help Instructor Shin grade a few more papers in that time.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Joonhee said. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything. But if you ever have time… You know, just check it out. They’re offering money to high-scorers now.”

“Money?” you asked, though a little too eagerly. Embarrassed, you tried to play off your interest in surprise. “I mean, that’s crazy. I didn’t ever think you guys would offer compensation.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty new,” Joonhee said. “It’s a good amount, too. About 50 jungs.”

Your jaw dropped open. “50 jungs???” That’s enough to fund half a year’s worth of tuition! If you scored well on two showcases, that would mean you would be able to attend your fourth year at Botswana without financial worry. If you scored well on three showcases, you would have a profit! The image of your parents hunched over in their dimly lit home, thin and weary, flashed in your mind. 50 jungs would not be enough to buy a new home, but it would be enough to take care of several hearty meals. Possibly a few bookshelves as well. 

“Yeah,” Joonhee said. “You should think about it. You were always good at alchemy. I bet if you walked in and showed them some of your masking, they’d be sold.”

You weren’t sure how he found out about your masking practices, which meant somehow, the Darlaean soldiers were still watching you, but it didn’t really feel like it mattered in the grand scheme of things. You now had a shot at winning a generous sum of money, which would solve most, if not all of your problems. And besides, your participation in these showcases was not binding whatsoever. You were never going to enlist, no matter how many showcases you happened to attend.

“Thanks,” you told Joonhee. “I’ll… yeah. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“Tuition at Aven Quartz is more expensive, you know,” Joonhee suddenly said, which made you raise your eyebrows. “And they haven’t allowed showcases there yet; possibly never will. Just something to think about.” Before you could even react to his words, Joonhee saluted you. “I’ll see you around, Y/N. Talk to Donghoon for me, will you?” 

He marched away, leaving you slightly conflicted and confused. Just how much did the Darlaean army know about you? You thought you were off their radar, but it seemed that they were quite well-versed with your financial situation, which was strange because you never told anyone about it—not even Donghoon. You weren’t sure if you could trust them, but money was money and you needed it. Your parents would thank you, right? You were only doing it for them.

With the next showcase almost an entire circa away, you had more than enough time to prepare. And you did so in secret, hoping that none of your friends would find out—in fear that they would get the wrong idea. If the Darlaean soldiers knew you were capable of masking, they would naturally want you to showcase it. So you stayed overnight in the academy’s libraries, reading up on the extensive possibilities of masking, which led you down the rabbit hole of alchemy’s origins. Most of it was a reiteration of what you learned in Darlaean History in your first year, but your research enlightened you with some new information as well. The term alchemy used to refer to the transformation of chosen items into gold, which was the reason Darlae became the prosperous nation it was today. Before the war and the blockade, Darlae’s 2nd city was dedicated entirely to alchemists, and they would spend day and night turning things into gold, which would then be sent off to the 1st city to trade with vendors from other nations. Now, the 1st city was a base site for the army, and the 2nd city was where talented alchemists resided to create nasty charms for the war. As Darlae developed, alchemy became a broader type of magic, which encompassed all things transformation, and the true act of alchemy—turning things into gold—grew obsolete as gold became monetarily useless. But true alchemy was a difficult task regardless, as documented in every book you got your hands on, which made you want to achieve it more than ever.

You practiced relentlessly in the privacy of your dorm. When you weren’t studying or working your part-time jobs, you were exploring the works of true alchemy, which was even harder than you knew it would be. There were many failures, and many points where you wanted to give up and showcase something much simpler. But when you reached those low points, you mentally scolded yourself. How could you be so selfish, thinking about giving up and living in such a lavish dorm with your parents having sold their beds and now sleeping on the hardwood floor? You were doing this for them; you only wanted them to live comfortably, as they had done before your rash decision to attend Botswana Agate Academy to escape them. And perhaps this was the impact you were meant to make in the world—to care for your parents when they forgot to care for themselves.

It sounded rather selfless, yet deep down inside, you wondered if saving your parents from their financial burden would finally get them to look your way. If this showcase was going to be a pivotal moment in your complicated relationship with them, you were certainly not going to dawdle. You were going to perform with no regrets.

And so you did.

After nearly a circa’s worth of sleepless nights, of sacrificing a minor bit of study time to practice your showcase, you gave an unforgettable performance. At least, you assumed it was unforgettable. The theatron went completely silent the moment you turned that metal spoon into a golden one, and not a single person in the audience clapped. You stumbled off the stage, your ears ringing and your legs feeling wobbly. It had all happened much too quickly, the judges announcing your name, the shining lights in your face, perspiration dripping from your brow and making your hands all clammy. It was only after you were halfway down the hall from the theatron’s exit that you heard the roar of applause. 

It made you nearly trip over the air.

You had done it.

After so many failed repetitions, you had managed true alchemy! Your ears were still ringing, and the world felt as if it was spinning. Your accomplishment didn’t feel believable. Even up on that stage, you remembered, though it was hazy, that you would’ve been simply content with turning that silver spoon into bronze and hope those in the audience had bad eyesight. 

You had to tell Instructor Shin! She was always the first person you sought when you reached a new alchemy milestone. But… that didn’t feel too right today. If you told her about your success, she would question why you had been dabbling in true alchemy in the first place (since it was such an obscure practice), and unable to lie, you would tell her you participated in one of the showcases. You could imagine the disappointed look on her face. She would lose her trust in you! Another one of her students lost to the Darlaean army! And oh, if she found out you were convinced to participate because Joonhee recommended it… You might as well never return to your assistant job.

But despite your worries, you still somehow ended up in Instructor Shin’s office, where she offered you a nice glass of iced water mixed with fresh mint leaves. 

“A hot day today, isn’t it?” she said.

She must’ve been referring to your hot and sweaty face.

“Y-Yes,” you agreed, though she didn’t know that you had to imagine you were in a hot, pressurized inferno to transform the metal into gold. That, and the fact that you were nervous to talk to her, in fear that she would find out what you had done.

“I’m glad I ran into you in the hallway, Y/N,” Instructor Shin said, sipping on her own chilled glass of water while sitting at the edge of her marble desk. Your heart began to beat faster in your chest. Was she going to ask why she spotted you coming from the direction of the theatron, where the notorious showcases were held? You began to come up with all sorts of excuses in your head, though you knew that your execution would be horrible and you might as well have told the truth from the beginning. But before the worst of your thoughts could consume you, Instructor Shin continued. “I wanted to tell you”—you held your breath—“that I recommend that you apply to Aven Quartz Academy now, one year earlier than normal.” The glass in your hands nearly slipped. “I’ve discussed with your past and current instructors, and we have come to the consensus that Botswana does not have much to offer you anymore, Y/N. I—we— would rather that you move further along in your academic journey than stay here in classes filled with material that is review. I am more than willing to write your recommendation letter.”

Of course you’d love to apply early! That was all you ever wanted—to follow the natural scholar’s pace and study at Aven Quartz. You didn’t need to think much harder. “Oh, thank you!” you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement. “Instructor Shin, I—”

Tuition at Aven Quartz is more expensive, you know.

You froze momentarily.

And they haven’t allowed showcases there yet; possibly never will.

Oh no. 

Just something to think about.

Thanks to Joonhee, it was something to think about, indeed.

If you applied to Aven and were possibly accepted, that would mean your parents would have to pay the impossible tuition, more than double what they currently paid for Botswana. Your parents would have to sell the shack and live on the streets of the 11th city, foraging or begging for food! And there were only two more circas left until the end of your third year, which meant that even assuming you excelled in the rest of the showcases, you would still barely be able to afford half a year’s worth of schooling at Aven Quartz. 

If what Joonhee told you was true, and Aven would never have army showcases, you would never be able to help your parents pay for your tuition. Even if you stayed one extra year at Botswana, forgoing Instructor Shin’s offer to apply to Aven early, you still wouldn’t save enough money to comfortably pay for schooling at the sister academy.

“You’re in doubt,” Instructor Shin said, her red lips pressing into a thin line.

You hung your head low. “I… I’m just…” You didn’t know how appropriate it was for you to tell Instructor Shin about your financial situation, especially if she wouldn’t be able to change anything about it.

“Talk to me,” Instructor Shin said. “There must be a reason for your hesitation.”

Of course there was a reason. But you had never been one to divulge others of your private matters. 

“Y/N,” Instructor Shin tried again. “I cannot help if you do not tell me what is wrong.”

She did make a fair point. But how could she possibly help? This was between you and your parents! Yet Instructor Shin had helped you along at the academy for nearly three years now. She was practically your mother in Botswana. And what if she could help? What if you were underestimating what she could do?

“My family…” you began, your voice coming out much smaller than expected. You sipped your water, clearing your throat afterward. “My family is tight with money,” you told Instructor Shin. “My parents have been working hard just to pay my tuition here in Botswana, and I… Even I’ve been trying to work odd jobs to help. Aven Quartz is so much more expensive, and Instructor Shin, I… I don’t know what to do.”

For the second time in nearly three years of knowing Instructor Shin, her stoic barriers melted away, and she looked genuinely sorry. “I understand,” she said sympathetically. “Thank you for sharing, Y/N. Though I believe no amount of words and wisdom could convince Head Instructor Kim to lower the tuition at Botswana, I do believe it is a possibility at Aven Quartz. I am in good relations with the head instructor there, so I may pull some strings.” She paused, seemingly thinking of the right thing to say. “It would certainly be a pity for our nation to lose another talented scholar. I’ll do what I can. Meanwhile…” Instructor Shin trailed off, and you could sense that she was heavily debating on whether to say something. Finally, she sighed, tapping her fingers against her desk in deep thought. “But tell me, what do you want to do with your future, Y/N?”

You momentarily panicked. You hadn’t expected her to ask such a broad question! It felt like some sort of test—as if your answer would dictate how much effort she would put into helping you. But then another, possibly worse thought, occurred to you.

What if she knew? What if she knew that you were coming back from a showcase? What if she thought you were considering the army? Was that why she suddenly asked you to apply early to Aven Quartz? Was that why she was willing to go as far as to contact Aven’s Head Instructor to reduce the cost of your tuition? Was that why she was asking what you would like to do with your future?

When you hesitantly looked up at Instructor Shin, her sharp eyes pierced right into yours, and in them, you saw inexplicable omnipotence—as if somehow, she held all the knowledge in the world. For a second, it almost felt as if she was a divinist. But of course she would find out what you’ve done. Her words rang in your ears: it would certainly be a pity for our nation to lose another talented scholar—and her unspoken words as well—to the Darlaean Army. How could you ever think you could hide it from her?

And your future? Nearly three years ago, hell, even as a young child, you had it all figured out. Just like those protagonists in your novels, you were going to make a change, leave a mark somewhere, anywhere. You were supposed to extinguish the flames once the world was doused in them. Only now, that desire to make a change, that desire to be a hero, has manifested in your desire to change your parents’ living situation. 

“It’s all right if you do not know,” Instructor Shin said in your silence. “Not many of your age are sure of their futures.”

“But I think I do know,” you said, though it came out as more of a whisper. “I want to make a change.” You were painfully aware of how naïve that sounded, but it was the truth. This was what has motivated you for as long as you can remember. 

If Instructor Shin found your future aspiration to be callow, she did not show it. Instead, she nodded. “I will support any direction you decide to take,” she told you. “And I trust that you will make good choices.”

Her words echoed in your head even after you left her office, and they followed you as you slipped under your plush covers in your dorm. 

I trust that you will make good choices.

But what if every choice felt like a bad one?

A single day after your showcase, there was a knock on your dorm door. You weren’t exactly expecting anyone, so it was an interesting surprise to see two students—no, two Darlaean soldiers—standing before you. 

“Hello,” you said, unsure of what to expect.

They saluted in response, which puzzled you even more.

“Kwang Y/N,” the shorter one said while saluting, “you received a near-perfect score at your showcase the other day.” 

Your eyes widened. In your own daze at accomplishing what you believed was nearly impossible, you had completely forgotten to stay to hear your score! Were they angry at you for leaving without dismissal? Did they come to scold you and tell you that your showcase was now invalid? “I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly,” you said, but it came out a little desperate. “I-I was nervous and I—”

“No need to apologize,” the taller soldier said, shaking his head. “We would like to let you know that the judges believed your performance was exceptional. And once again, the Darlaean Army would like to extend you an invitation to join our rigorous training program for adolescents.”

Oh.

They weren’t angry at all. 

They only wanted to recruit you… Again.

Your mind began drowning in your options.

Either choice felt like a bad one: applying early to Aven Quartz and putting your parents in deeper debt (despite a reduced tuition) versus staying in Botswana to make more profit from the showcases and still putting your parents in debt. Yet, joining the training program was possibly the worst choice out of them all. How could you make the change you wanted to make when you were dead? What could you possibly get—what would anyone possibly get—out of you being in the army? Nobody in your life—except perhaps Joonhee—would approve. The idea itself was so preposterous that you couldn’t even consider it an option!

You’ve rejected the offer before. You could surely do it again, and this time, it would be easier as there would be no crowd of curious peers staring at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said with a shake of your head. It felt good to stand your ground. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested.”

“But—” the taller soldier began, yet he stopped himself. “Very well, then,” he said with a sigh. You were partly surprised at how easily he relented. “But our army has never seen a showcase like yours before. Just wanted to let you know.”

The two soldiers left you in peace, which was what you wanted since you opened your door and saw them. You thought that was a done deal, and you could go on your merry way to figuring out what the hell you were going to do with the two options you had left. But it turned out that you weren’t completely off the Darlaean Army’s radar. Exactly 24 hours after your encounter with the soldiers, there was that same knock on your door. 

Were they back to convince you to join? Were they going to threaten to not give you the money from your showcase? 

You were slightly nervous but a little irritated too. Why couldn’t they respect your decision? It wasn’t like you—a single 14-year-old—could really make a difference in the entire Darlaean army, so why were they being so persistent? Was it due to ego? Did they believe that no one could possibly resist an invitation to fight for Darlae? 

The thought increased your irritation, and you swung your door wide open, ready to somewhat politely give these damn soldiers a piece of your mind. But your plans dissipated when you made eye contact with a serious-looking man outside your door. He was older than any soldier you’ve seen so far and was tall and slender, with a high nose, downturned lips and glinting eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. His army uniform was uniquely adorned with silver shoulder epaulets, and a beautiful round opal decorated his belt buckle. The man exuded a quiet confidence, and that, coupled with the fact that his uniform looked high-ranking, suddenly made your brain turn to mush.

“Hello,” he said, his voice much deeper than what you expected. 

You stared.

Then, realizing you were being rude, you squeaked a delayed, “H-Hello.”

“I am Lieutenant General Son,” the man introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you, Y/N.”

You weren’t very familiar with army rankings, but his title contained the word General, which was enough to make you realize you were face-to-face with a very powerful individual. Your palms began to accumulate sweat, and you nervously fiddled with your trinket behind your ear. “N-Nice to meet you too. Sir,” you added in haste. Your eyes glanced behind the man and to the hallway, hoping that none of your peers happened to walk past in fear of rumors spreading that you were beginning to consider joining the Darlaean Army. You weren’t sure if you should invite the man into your dorm; that felt a little strange, for he was a complete stranger. It was also exceedingly peculiar that the Lieutenant General of the Darlaean Army personally sought you out. You decided to keep the conversation where it started, the door frame creating a border between you and the army official.

“I was told you have now twice refused to be a part of our training program for adolescents,” the Lieutenant General said. “Why is that?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I-I… Sir, I…” How could you respectfully tell him that you want nothing to do with the army?

“Your parents are divinist scholars as I understand,” the Lieutenant General continued, saving you from responding to his own question. “I suspect you’ve been conditioned to think quite poorly of the army.”

You stuttered, unsure whether to accept or deny his statement.

“And that is fine,” the Lieutenant General said. “I do not care what the scholars think of us. A nation cannot develop properly amidst a war. I’m sure you already know. Darlae may be rich in resources, but our scholars’ research will never see the light of day until the blockade is over and our 1st city is restored.” His eyes pierced into yours. “If you choose the army, Darlae will thrive from your contributions and your accomplishments will be tangible.”

Of course he came here to sell the army to you. That much was expected. What was unexpected, however, was the fact that he brought up quite a good point. It was true that scholars’ research was not the nation’s priority. Your work—if you did become an alchemist scholar—would be buried amongst the hundreds of other research manuscripts until the war was over. But then again, there also wasn’t much longevity in becoming a soldier, and you wanted accomplishments that would last. If you died on the battlefield, the only contribution you’d make would be becoming fertilizer for the soil. It was an overwhelmingly dark thought—that Donghoon would often joke about—but there was truth in it. You’d rather die knowing your work could be uncovered someday, instead of being a casualty count in a textbook decades later.

The Lieutenant General nodded in your silence. “I will save my compliments and further persuasion. I’m sure you’ve heard enough. Allow yourself time to ponder. I want an answer in three days.”

With that, he handed you a crisp envelope from inside his uniform jacket, and before you could ask what it was, he turned and walked away. You stared at the back of his head, processing the encounter in your mind. It didn’t seem like he was trying too hard to convince you to join the army—if that was his plan. He had left relatively quickly too. But perhaps he was busy. If he had given you the opportunity, you would’ve refused him on the spot. Now you had three days to come up with a kind way to reject the offer.

Sighing, you closed the door, sliding up against it and staring at the thin envelope in your hands. It was shut with a dark violet wax seal with the royal emblem stamped on it. It was no secret that the army was heavily funded by the royal family, but you never thought they’d make it so obvious. Carefully, you tore the seal open, half-expecting to see the money you won from the showcase. But instead, you found a single sheet of creamy paper and on it were a few words handwritten in black ink. You frowned. What had to be written that could not be said out loud?

Y/N,

A payment of five thousand jungs and ownership of a new home in the 12th city will be contingent upon your agreement to continue with the program. Consider it wisely.

Lieutenant General.

Your jaw dropped open. 

Five thousand jungs was more than enough to buy a new home from your parents. But they were offering a new home for you regardless! And in the 12th city! This was everything your parents had ever wanted. One could only be invited to live in the 12th city, and this was the invitation! Your parents could officially become royal divinists. Their lifelong dream would come true!

But… at what expense? This was obviously a bribe, which you were unaware that the Darlaean Army was capable of doing, for you’ve never heard of a story like this. Perhaps they were better at hiding things than you thought. Still, you didn’t understand. You’ve rejected them twice before. Why would they come back to you a third time? Was your showcase truly that remarkable? You would be but one single soldier! They probably sacrificed hundreds of soldiers per week, so why did it matter that you joined their training program? Wouldn’t you simply be a casualty to them sooner or later? A number reported to the higher-ups? 

Accepting the offer would mean doing away with all of your parents’ problems. It would also mean creating new problems for yourself. You would have to give up becoming an alchemist scholar. You’d have to give up Aven Quartz. Hell, you could kiss your friends goodbye; no sane Botswana student would accept the fact that you’d seriously consider joining the army. And though Instructor Shin told you that she would trust any decision you were to make, she would still be disappointed. 

You were in desperate need of brutal wisdom, to help you snap out of delusion—if you were in it—and there was only one person who you knew you could count on.

“Y/N!” Donghoon greeted you as soon as you stepped into his tea shop. He rolled down his sleeves and jogged toward you with a grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here! It’s been an entire circa!”

He was right. The last time you saw Donghoon, it had been to tell him Joonhee’s message, and he had simply shrugged it off, saying he never cared too much about Joonhee anyway. 

“Hey!” you smiled, though it was a little hard to with so much on your mind. “Is this a good time?”

“Did something happen?” Donghoon asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew you too well.

“Um… kind of,” you replied.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Donghoon said. He pulled up an extra wooden stool to the coffee table and sat down, gesturing you to do the same across from him. So you did, unsure of how you should start your story at all. “Whatever it is, it’s giving you frown lines,” Donghoon snorted. “Spit it out. You know I won’t judge.”

Somehow, you felt like he would. 

“It’s about the army,” you said.

Donghoon sighed. “Those bastards are still harassing you? Here, I’ll help you come up with effective ways to make them regret ever messing with y—”

“N-No,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s… Well, you know about the training program, right? The one they wanted me to join back since you were still in school.”

“Yeah…” Donghoon said, cocking his head. You could tell he was unsure where you were going with this. It made you want to tread lighter than before.

“Um… I…”

“You’re not actually thinking of doing it, are you?” Donghoon accused. His tone was sharp, and you were immediately struggling to defend yourself.

“N-No! I’m… But I’m just… I don’t know, I feel like I should consider the option at least.”

“Why?!”

You struggled to remain calm. “They’re offering me a lot of money. And a home in the 12th city.”

“All for you?” Donghoon frowned. “They told you that they’ll give you all that if you join?”

You nodded, pulling out the letter for proof.

Donghoon glanced at the words on the cream paper and shook his head. “You can’t do it, Y/N. You can’t become one of those bastards. Your life will be filled with blood and gore and death! Do you really want someone else’s guts on your hands?”

Even the thought made you want to hurl. “Of course I don’t! But…”

“This can’t possibly be about your parents, Y/N. They’re shit people!”

“They’re not!” You didn’t mean to yell, but it hurt to think that someone who had such a horrible father still believed your parents were just as bad. “They’re just busy!”

“That excuse works from time to time. Not every year since you were born!” Donghoon exclaimed. “They’re trying to bribe you, Y/N. Don’t you get it? You’re probably the most talented scholar they’ve ever seen. Why else would the fucking Lieutenant General come to see you himself? But you can’t bargain with your own life to make your parents happy! Let’s face it, Y/N, what have they done to deserve it?”

Anger flashed through you. “They’ve been living in a shack for two years to pay for my tuition!” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I’m sorry for yelling, but they care more than they let on, Donghoon.”

“So you’re just going to waste your talents in the army so you can repay your parents?”

“I’ll never be able to repay them. I was off frolicking in the fancy halls of Botswana while they were starving and sleeping on hardwood floors, Donghoon.”

“I don’t get it.” He shook his head. “You could’ve asked me for help. I can still give you the money you need.”

“You know I hate being a burden.”

He sighed. “I know… But don’t do it. You’ll figure out a way. Do you want to work part-time at my tea shop? The pay’ll be amazing.”

“Donghoon, I just need advice. Is it really such a bad idea? Maybe… I don’t know, maybe I’ll be able to make an actual change if I’m in the army. Even if I did become an alchemist scholar one day, my work would probably be buried because of the war.” You didn’t know why you were starting to defend the idea of joining the army. It felt wrong, especially to do in front of Donghoon.

“Of course it’s a bad idea,” he said as expected. “It’s a fucking horrible idea, that’s what it is. They’re going to turn you into a killing machine. They’re going to make sure violence is ingrained in your body. You won’t ever be the same again. They’ll have you become their puppet! You’ll fall for their propaganda! They’ll have you thinking that the Solarians are the scum of the earth!”

“But is that true?” you asked.

“Why the hell are you asking if it’s true, Y/N?” Donghoon said, exasperated. “How can you question common sense? Have you actually fallen for their propaganda already? How long have you been considering joining their training program?”

It hurt that he was accusing you of these things, and the pain caused you to react before you could think. “You don’t understand how it feels to not have money! You don’t understand how humiliating it is to even think about asking others for help. You don’t even understand the stress I’ve gone through just to keep myself in school. You wouldn’t get it at all because you’re fucking rich and you dropped out!” As soon as those words left your mouth, you regretted it. “Donghoon, wait. I didn’t mean—”

“Go fucking join the army, then.”

“W-What?”

“If money is more important to you, then go throw away your dignity. I don’t care. Go be like Joonhee and waste your talent.”

“Donghoon…”

“Maybe you’ll become the General of the fucking Army one day.”

“It’s not money that’s more important… This is about my parents.”

“You don’t owe them anything.”

“How can I not owe them anything?” you said. “Look, Donghoon, I’m not saying I’m going to join the army. I just… It’s a lot of money. That plus the new home in the 12th city… And I’ll be learning alchemy during that training program, but I’m being paid to do it! You have to understand that logically, all signs point to me at least contemplating the offer.”

Donghoon shook his head. “It already sounds like you know what you want to decide.”

“No, I—”

He abruptly stood up, cutting you off. “I would never even consider accepting an offer like this. But maybe it’s meant to be. You’ve always liked carrying your trinket around.” He glanced at the baby blue feather pinned to your hair. “If you’re going to be directly involved in the perpetual circle of violence between the two nations, then we should go our separate ways.”

Your heart sank. “Donghoon…”

“I don’t serve soldiers in my tea shop,” he said. “You can leave.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes. “I never said I was going to do it…”

He gave you a look that questioned your words.

You shakily stood up, lingering at the coffee table, unsure if you should really leave. If you went now, you would most likely never come back again. Donghoon has never tolerated anything involving the war; as soon as you even so much considered the idea, he’d already pulled away. But Donghoon seemed content with breaking up your friendship as he had already rolled up his sleeves and had begun working behind the counter again. It was as if the two of you hadn’t had a conversation at all.

Confused and hurt, you slowly stepped out of the tea shop, vision a little blurry from your tears. The more you thought about your lost relationship with Donghoon, the faster you began to walk, hoping to leave the sadness behind you. Before you knew it, you were running, though you could barely see ahead of you. Your quill trinket threatened to fall out of your hair, so you ripped it out and held it in your hands, not caring in the slightest that you were wrinkling the feather.

A sob left your mouth as you sprinted across Botswana’s empty corridors. Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled at him. Maybe you should’ve thought before reacting. Maybe you should go back and apologize. But your legs refused to stop, and you continued to run—though you didn’t know where—until you ran into somebody, nearly losing your grip on your trinket. If they hadn’t grabbed your arm with impressive reflexes, you would’ve tumbled back. When you looked up, hastily wiping your tears away with your uniform sleeve, you saw Joonhee. 

He frowned, letting your arm go once you regained your balance. You were too out of breath to apologize. “Are you okay?” he asked.

All you could do was shake your head.

He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he offered you some water and a handkerchief, which you gladly accepted. By the time you finally calmed down, you and he were sitting at the edge of Botswana Agate’s marble fountain—the same one that was trashed in protest when Head Instructor Kim announced the curriculum changes (that were really just army propaganda). Your trinket, though a little wrinkled and now its original shade of ugly gray, was safely pinned back behind your ear again. Joonhee sat silently, waiting for you to speak, though he most likely had hundreds of other tasks to attend to. Starting to feel a little guilty that he was wasting his time in silence with you, you blurted out a question that happened to cross your mind at the moment.

“Why do you want to fight in the war?” 

Joonhee turned to you, eyebrows raised. “That’s a loaded question. Have you got the time?”

You nodded. “Three days, in fact.”

He looked confused, but he didn’t question it. “I mean, I hate the Solarians, so naturally, I’d want to… you know, do away with them, I guess. But it’s a lot more than that, too. As a soldier-in-training, I get to represent Darlae. I get to fight for our beliefs and our pride, and I would die trying. You know, besides the 10th and 11th cities, people are actually proud to be Darlaeans. I think it’s because they don’t have their damn noses stuck in books all the time. They live in reality. They right the wrongs and take action when needed. That’s how I see it. I’d rather be out there fighting for my nation than fester in research that’ll be forgotten about when I’m dead.”

Death… You felt too young to be contemplating it. Sometimes it didn’t even feel real that you could simply cease to exist. The thought was terrifying, and you didn’t know how Joonhee was so content with it.

“But won’t you be forgotten about if you die on the battlefield?”

Joonhee thought for a moment. “Have you ever read The Wisdom Tree?”

Though you were confused why he offered such a topic change, you nodded. “I think I read it once when I was young, but it was a little too dark for me.” 

“Well, I grew up with that story,” Joonhee explained. “The main character sacrifices his life for someone he loves, yet he is never forgotten. His lover makes sure his name is never lost in history. Plants a sentient tree in his honor, and the townspeople forever seek advice from that tree when faced with difficult decisions. Hence, the title. But yeah. I trust my comrades to carry on my legacy if I die, and they trust me to do the same. You can die and still be a hero,” he said. “I’m willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. Shouldn’t that be our priority? Ending the war? 

“You know, when the blockade’s over, I want to explore the world. See what else is out there. Think of all of the books of different cultures and languages that I would find. I could go back to learning. Real learning. Not being cooped up and being fed outdated information because the nation doesn’t have enough funding for the academies. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll even publish a book of my own.” He turned to you, an amused look on his face. “Shocked?”

Of course you were shocked. You always assumed he volunteered for the sake of fighting, though you realized now it had been a horrible misconception. It was hard to believe that Joonhee’s the same age as you (a few circas older, though) when in fact he was starting to sound like the damn Wisdom Tree himself. You wondered if he gained this wisdom in the army. 

You can die and still be a hero.

Why did you never consider this? What was this odd comfort that washed over you?

Has the scholar community been wrong all along? Maybe soldiers didn’t crave violence. Maybe they craved to be heroes. And what was so wrong with that? Wasn’t that who you wanted to be?

“People die out there,” Joonhee said. “We all know that. But it’s never a waste. No one dies without purpose. Every soldier who falls on the battlefield brings us one step closer to winning the war.”

“You’re not afraid?” you asked.

“Afraid of dying?” Joonhee shrugged. “Not really. But maybe my sentiments will change when I go to battle in a few years. I’m pretty stubborn, though. I think I’ll survive.” He turned to you with no particular expression on his face. “You’ve got three days, huh?” he said. “I’d say let everything sink in. You’re smart. You’ll make the right decision in the end.”

What do you want to do with your future?

Come to think of it, you’ve never really had a clear dream. It was always about being a good person—someone undeniably altruistic and kind, who helped anyone in need, like the heroes you grew up with. For years you believed that to be a hero, you were required to be present for whatever big change you ignited. To be a hero, you believed that you were guaranteed to survive. 

But that didn’t have to be the case. 

You can die and still be a hero.

Of course death was still an opaque subject, but this realization gave you another option. If you were really going to make a difference in the world, if you were really to become some sort of hero, you were going to have to make sacrifices: first for your parents, then for the future people of Darlae—for the scholars who dreamed of a real education, for those who wanted to explore the world, for those who wanted a peaceful kingdom. If those sacrifices led to your demise… Well, it didn’t seem like the end of the world anymore. I’m willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae.

What brave words. You wished you could say the same thing with even half of Joonhee’s confidence. The truth was, you were still terrified. The war always felt like it was an untouchable force, something that no matter what you did, would never go away. But things were different now. You could make a difference. Every soldier who falls on the battlefield brings us one step closer to winning the war. Those words stirred something inside of you. 

Perhaps it was a sense of responsibility, a sense of duty. A real hero would die trying to fight for what would help their loved ones. A real hero wouldn’t care if their fight ended in death, as long as something was changed. A real hero would be selfless and brave and kind.

Gone was your prejudice against those who volunteered for the army. They were human too, not just violent people who joined for a taste of blood. They were aspiring heroes. Just like you. They wanted to right the wrongs, even if they ended up dead because they trusted their comrades to carry on their lives. It was so valiant, such a grand gesture that it made your heart beat faster thinking about it.

And the more you thought, the clearer your future became.

It was obvious the choice you had to make.

So when the Lieutenant General came knocking on your door three days later, you were prepared. There was not a waver in your voice, not a single doubt when you uttered the words:

“Yes, sir. I accept.”

You didn’t know what to expect as a reaction, but you should’ve known it wouldn’t be very reactive. The Lieutenant General only nodded, his expression unreadable. “Welcome to the Darlaean Army, cadet.” His dark eyes glinted. “You will begin in one week.”

In a singular week?

That didn’t leave much time.

You only hoped your parents wouldn’t be too angry.

“I believe we’ll be reacquainted on the training grounds,” the Lieutenant General said. “When that time comes, cadet, I expect you to salute when you see me.”

You nodded, standing up straight and half-ready to salute him now. “Yes, sir!”

You nervously entered your single-room home in the 11th city. Your parents were sitting in the dark, hunched over their books again, right where you had left them circas ago. You felt a little sick. If they reacted the way Donghoon did, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Mother? Ma?”

Your parents turned around, their hollow faces half-obscured by the darkness of the room. Ma was the first to speak. “Welcome back, sweetheart!”

“Did we miss the end of the school year?” Mother asked, setting down her book and blinking heavily as if the light that streamed in when you opened the door blinded her. 

“No, I came back on my own accord,” you said. “Actually, I, um…” Already, things weren’t going the way you imagined. You struggled to find the right words. “There was a showcase at Botswana several days ago,” you began carefully.

“Showcases are military propaganda, Y/N,” Mother said, standing up with wobbly legs. Her back never stood straight and she stared at you behind full eyes. “I hope you didn’t participate.”

You gulped. “T-They were offering 50 jungs for the best performance.”

That seemed to put Ma out of her weary trance. “They were? Oh, honey, did you do it?” There was a hopeful lilt to her voice, and you hung onto it, in hopes that they would forgive you for making a choice without their input.

“Of course, Ma. I, well, they liked my performance so much that they um, once again offered me a spot in their training program for adolescents.” The information spills out of you quickly, before your parents can even react: “They’ll be paying us five thousand jungs and have already invited us to live in the 12th city.”

“Five thousand?!—”

“Live in the 12th city?!”

Mother shakes her head. “Y/N, why would they offer you so much?”

Even you were unsure of the exact reason. 

There was a bit of silence. It seemed like neither of your parents knew what to say.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, Mother spoke. “Is this… Is this what you want, Y/N?”

“Yes, honey, do you really want to become a soldier one day?” Ma chimed in.

They didn’t seem angry or upset, just puzzled. 

“I do,” you said. “I really do.”

“Well…?” Ma looked over at Mother, who had harsh frown lines all over her forehead. 

“You’ve already accepted, haven’t you?” Mother asked.

You began to play with your trinket in your hair. “I-I did… Are you mad?”

“No,” Mother said. “Only surprised.”

“You’d finally be appointed as royal divinists,” you told your parents, worried that they were still wary of your decision. “And we’d get to move out of this home and into a much nicer one in the 12th!”

“Yes…” Ma said. 

Your parents looked at each other, and maybe it was because you weren’t very close to them, but you couldn’t discern what they were wordlessly saying. You weren’t a divinist, after all.

If they suspected that you only accepted the offer for their sake, they didn’t make it obvious. They never even asked what you performed for your showcase. Didn’t even ask why you had such a sudden change of heart. Instead, they rather quickly packed up the little belongings that they had and moved one city over to the castle grounds—as if they couldn’t wait to get out of the 11th city. Soon after, your parents became appointed as royal divinists, their lifelong dream coming true, and you became a young soldier-in-training, your dream of attending Aven Quartz long forgotten.

Everybody at Botswana was surprised when you left. Some even questioned the sanity of your parents, for what kind of scholars would selfishly allow their only child to die in the war so that they could work for the royal family? What kind of pathetic parents would use their children to achieve their dreams? 

But your parents never had to hear these talks, and neither did you after a while. Soon, you and your parents settled into your new, magnificent home in the 12th city. The ceiling was unreachable, mahogany bookshelves towering over the other delicately-crafted furniture. Even the emerald green carpet was back, though it wasn’t the same one you grew up with. But the countless windows, reading nooks and candles brought you nostalgia, and you cherished the homely feeling along with your parents, who gained back the weight that they lost and looked much happier than before.

By the time you left for the castle grounds, it felt as if you’d lived in the 12th city all of your life—as if you left behind all of the bitter feelings towards the army in the 11th, where the scholars sat, forever reading their books and doing nothing about anything. 

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⨰ a/n: behold the LONGEST lod chapter yet!! it took me over three months to write and edit :') hopefully you enjoyed this quick look at her early life! don't worry, jungkook will show up soon

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

[idealmombody]

Angels so rarely visit the mortal realm and even then hardly ever leave Divinist territory to the point where if you ever see an Angel walking down the street you know something very bad is going to happen soon. Divine punishment, misguided or not, is about to brought upon somebody and the Angel will not care how many non-faithful souls become collateral. In contrast, a Demon might be at your favorite burger shop solely because he wants to eat 20 hamburgers.

[reddus-sideblog]

M.E.R.C.s - Location is Everything

4-12-890 AR

A heavy knocking came from the small pod’s door. The android occupant bolted forward in his seat as soon as he could complete an emergency quick boot. His cameras were still recalibrating as he approached his pod’s door, and after unplugging himself from the power cable he hurriedly put the clothes he’d hung by the door over his frame.

    The pod was miniscule, consisting of a “hallway” just three meters in length, ending in a recessed alcove. The sole feature of the alcove, a seat with little padding, had a number of cables and plugs that allowed for an android to recharge and connect to the intranet from the convenience of their pod. Along the hallway and above the alcove there were a number of hatches that opened to shelves and cabinets for storage. Aside from these features the pod was quite barren, and of course cramped.

    “Seer Eckord? You on? I wanted to get going sometime soon, you better be packed.”

    Eckord cast his optics around the pod. What little that he owned was packed into a suitcase by the door and two cardboard boxes that were currently tucked away in a cabinet. The Divinist opened the door and greeted the two who had agreed to help him move.

    The young human and the android looked at the mildly disheveled Eckord expectantly. Deckord’s sun-bleached faceplate looked stern, but the cybernetic eyes behind betrayed his hesitance. 

    “Eckord,” started the other android. “You are ready to get moving, right?”

    “Yes yes, of course,” responded Eckord, pushing his suitcase towards his compatriots.

    The shorter human pulled the suitcase towards himself. The human was only a boy, not even out of his teenage years. Evan Theos, if Eckord’s memory banks were referencing the right memory. He had been a faithful assistant, and if Evan continued being so helpful Eckord was considering elevating the messy-haired, scrawny boy to the station of tech-supplicant, to continue aiding him in holy endeavors.

     The large labor android pushed his way past Eckord to grab the tech-seer’s boxed belongings. Accion’s large chassis made Eckord look like a pencil next to a steel girder, and the mono-eye android’s large manipulators were able to carry the priest’s belongings with ease. While not utterly militant, Accion usually wore surplus Machine Corps gear that had been bleached white, as few other pieces of clothing could accommodate his bulk.

    “Ah, yes, thank you Accion, I was about to grab-”     “Look, Seer, I want to get you moved into my place before sundown,” Accion said before pausing. “Sorry to be brisk.”

    Eckord accepted the apology as he readjusted his garments, attempting to look a bit less like he had gotten dressed in a hurry. The tech-seer’s chassis was on the thinner side, and the robes of his station came in sizes much more fit for humans. He probably should have had a tailor readjust them for his frame, but Eckord had put off the task since he had received the garments some decades ago.

    Accion nudged the tech-seer from his now former residence. Eckord looked at the diminutive dwelling, one among the two dozen others built in stacked rows in the weed-choked lot. He had lived in this humble home for nearly three decades now, and despite how meager it was, he was sure that he would somehow miss it.

    The three set off, crossing the span of the Hemotte Sector to reach the nearest metro-line station. While uneventful, Eckord took a final note of the sector he had occupied for some time now. It had definitely seen better days, but it was always hard to not think of the past through rose-tinted lenses. Before the pawn shops, gold lenders, and less-than-legitimate pharmacies had taken hold, Hemotte had been quite nice, really. A lot of young families had once walked the streets before they were cracked and pitted, and that was when the vacant lots here  had been parks.

    Eckord led the way down the steps into the Hemotte station, his metallic feet clacking on the concrete steps. Evan struggled a bit to get the overstuffed suitcase down the stairs, but insisted on moving the luggage himself, without Accion’s help. Eckord admired the boy’s spirit. The android knew that Evan was also a good soldier, but a certain partition in his mind couldn’t help but question if his family forcing him into the brigade’s service was for the better. Part of his reason for hoping to induct the boy into the Divine clergy was to move him away from the life of a M.E.R.C., but Eckord knew that unless he did something that the mercenary’s way of life would have its hooks in him.

    As they approached the graffiti’d subterranean platform Eckord noted some of the more colorful examples of language exhibited in the vandalism. He felt like every time he ventured out into Newland that he learned a new ethnic slur or curse word. The culture of the city-state, and the Capital language itself, moved at the flow of a rapid storm drain, while Eckord felt as though androids and the Divine Church moved at the speed of high-viscosity oil on a cold morning. 

    Rather than let himself be absorbed in quiet contemplation, Eckord engaged Evan in conversation, not wanting to waste the chance to learn of a younger human’s perspective on matters. He jumped from topic to topic, bringing up recent news from the last few years, prodding the Vatinsaran youth’s thoughts on each thing he could think of before moving on. The assassination of the president, the Holiday bombings, the resurgence of dangerous, decentralized movements like the Neo-Fasces and the Anti-Android Front. Eckord had his own ideas on the matters, but those mental processes, he knew, were quite removed from the thoughts of humans. Their conversation was cut short as their subway train arrived. Eckord saw what he swore was a fleeting look of relief on Evan’s face as he led the way onto the train car.

***

Besides the few punks that Accion scared off with a synthetic growl, the subway ride was relatively uneventful. Seeing brief slices of Newland as the train made its way from sector to sector was always an experience Eckord enjoyed. The crumbling underground of the Hemotte Sector. An elevated rail across a canal filled with boats. A much more well appointed subway station. The backlots of a number of industrial sectors. A quarantined sector blocked off by tall concrete barricades. A trainyard filled with freight. A packed parking lot feeding into a sports arena. Towering apartment buildings whose ground floors were stories beneath the subway’s elevated tracks.

    The city just seemed to go on and on forever. Eckord knew that he could look at a Newland atlas, or even install a map implant, but the technical part of the equation didn’t matter, it was something he felt deep in the seat of his soul. Much of the Divinist faith spoke of the spirit of machines, and of Great Works, but the android wondered if Newland itself could be considered a Great Work. The city was hundreds of years old, by some reckonings, and it had been made by untold millions of hands over the course of generations, and even now it fostered life among its buildings, streets, and megastructures. 

***

As Accion led Evan and Eckord out of the Bonville subway station, still carrying the tech-seer’s boxed possessions. Evan stopped as he finished pulling Eckord’s suitcase up the station’s stairs. He paused and sniffed the air.

    “Do you smell that?” he asked, before realizing the company he was keeping. 

“It smells like smoke,” Evan added, hoping to clarify his previous statement to the two androids that likely didn’t have olfactory senses.

    All three of them looked up at the sky, to see a number of black plumes rising up into the late afternoon air. Eckord heard his large friend mutter a low-volume curse before setting off towards one of the columns of smoke. Not wanting to be separated from his belongings for too long Eckord set off after Accion, leading to Evan running after the two androids in short order. 

    After a short spree of jaywalking and ducking through a number of alleys Eckord caught up with Accion, just in time to see the hulking android sit down on the curb, across from a burned out warehouse. Eckord resisted a disapproving vocalization as Accion dropped his boxes to the sidewalk with little care. 

    “My…” started Accion. He couldn’t finish the vocalization, and Eckord followed his gaze.

    The warehouse across the street was in ruins. The roof had collapsed in on itself, and the whole structure looked like it had been alight not all that long ago. It had been of a decent size, and what remained among the ruins was still smoldering. Eckord sighed. It seemed like both him and Accion were out of a home now.

    “Should we see if there’s anything we can salvage? Maybe there’s, um…” Eckord trailed off as he realized how little could possibly remain among the charred metal and synthwood.

    “Maybe. Deus willing,” replied Accion as he rose up from the curb, trudging into the wreckage.

    Evan had just caught up with the androids, and Eckord ordered him to watch his belongings as the two picked through Accion’s ruined warehouse’s remains. Evan nodded gladly, running with the weighty suitcase had obviously been draining.

    Eckord trotted across the street, following the path of the labor android, into the blackened, twisted wreck. Accion hadn’t gotten far into the warehouse, and he seemed to be transfixed by something in front of him. He started to discourage Eckord to come in further, but the tech-seer squeezed in past him.

    In the middle of an open area flanked by charred ruin was an intensely obscene monument. Constructed from charred synthwood timbers and bones, an Infernalite sigil was laid in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by the blackened remains of five people. Their corpses were butchered and mostly incinerated, with their heads, now scorched beyond identification, placed in key positions around the vile offering.

    Accion broke Eckord’s fixation on the heretical monument as he punched a crumbling brick wall in frustration.

    “OF COURSE! Fucking of course it was Deus damned Infernals!”

    Eckord hushed Accion, “Keep it down, who knows how many might still be around. We need to get going, now. We need to collect Evan, we need to get out of the sector.”

    Barely finishing his sentence Eckord flung himself out of the ruin’s still standing front door, intent on reaching the young Divinist that he had left to watch his belongings. Last rites for the deceased would have to wait until the living were attended to. The android seer realized with horror, as he reached the burned curb, that the youth had a small group of black-clothed people surrounding him. At least one of them was a devilkin, and another bore the skull mask of an Infernalite temptor. Eckord powered towards Evan, before he himself was sent flying.

    The tech-seer only realized what was happening a few moments after it had happened, when he was laying on the pavement of the street he was trying to cross. A car horn was blaring. Eckord tried to pick himself up, but he realized that the hinge of his right arm’s elbow was bent back in the wrong direction. The vehicle’s driver, a chimera woman, was leaning out of the window of the car, with an expression between annoyance and concern written on her features. Helping Evan once more rose to the top of Eckord’s task priorities as he clumsily got to his feet. The boy was still surrounded by the Infernalites but the lot of them were quite distracted by the spectacle that had occured out on the street, making them focus on Eckord.

    “Oh man, another priest!” cried one of the Infernalites, his voice dripping with eager malice. The Infernalite was a human with a shaved head and a tattoo of a Hellish glyph that covered most of his face. He stepped out onto the street as he approached Eckord, pulling out a wickedly curved knife.

    The thug held the knife aloft, calling out to the Hellish power that he’d contracted, “INFERNUS IN MACH-”

    He didn’t get to finish his invocation, as a fist the size of his own head knocked him out cold. Accion had charged out of the ruined warehouse, as he had lingered behind Eckord by a few moments. The Infernalite first collided with the hood of the car that had hit Eckord before collapsing to the ground in front of it. The chimera woman within the car seemed irate, but knew better than to get involved with the religious conflict unfolding in front of her.

    The other Infernalites, including the priest, were quite startled by the sudden appearance of the enormous android, and even more so by his dynamic entry upon the scene. Accion approached them, kicking their unconscious comrade out of the middle of the street, making him collide with the door of a parked car. The thug’s body left a dent.

    The Infernalists were almost frozen in terror as the hulking Divinist strode closer, with each one backing away as though they were moving in slow-motion. Eckord shuffled off the road, sticking to the sidelines as he watched Accion bear down on the Infernalites. The larger android was getting heated, which was bad for anyone standing in his way. Evan was sitting still, letting the Infernalites back off as Accion approached. He looked unharmed, but was unsurprisingly a bit wary of the situation unfolding around him. The human met eyes with the seer’s cameras. Eckord gave him a small thumbs up with his still functioning hand. Evan grimaced in return.

    Accion charged at the Infernalites, before stopping at the curbside to wrench a parking meter out of the ground. The thugs ran down a nearby alley, which partially spared them the android’s wrath, until he flung the piece of metal after them. Eckord didn’t see the impact but he heard a heavy clang and a yelp as it hit at least one of the fleeing demon-worshippers.

    Eckord approached Evan, and the boxes of his belongings. 

    “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to find out if they have more friends loitering about the sector.”

    Accion lifted the seer’s property once more, “I’m not scared of any of these low-lifes. But I don’t want either of you two being fried like those poor bastards in the warehouse, so where are we going?”     Evan piped up, “Well we could go to my family’s place. Mom and dad run a motel, I’m sure they’d be willing to start a tab for you guys. We’re just three sectors over, it’ll be quick if we ride the subway again.”

    The androids were already moving, with the young human pushing his way in front of the two of them.

    “That sounds perfect, private. I think that will do well enough for the two of us in the interim.”

    “Yeah, thanks kid.”

***

Eckord stared at the motel’s ceiling. Evan was a kind boy, but his parent’s motel left a bit to be desired. His monthly stipend from the Divine Church and the bullion he made from working for the 3rd Illigan Brigade was more than enough to pay for the motel room, but he was already missing his tiny pod. The noises of the other rooms, the bold vermin, and the beds obviously made for non-androids were all annoying him greatly. Eckord had never understood why organics loved when their beds were plush and smothering, and he still couldn’t see the appeal as he lay on top of the one provided for him.

    The seer shifted to his one side, looking at Accion sprawled out on the bed next to him. He was deep in his recharge cycle, and seemed less bothered by the accommodations than he was. Then again the huge M.E.R.C. had lived in a warehouse before this evening, so it was likely that little bothered him in general.

    Eckord rose and approached the window, looking out into the Newland night. Even when viewed from a rundown motel the city’s anima was so strongly apparent to him. The lodgings were far from ideal, but they were in the midst of the Crossroad City, so Eckord could hardly complain.

[sonofekares]

Folklore Motif - The Victory over the Serpent

Excerpt from the Graeca Sister’s Exploration of Divinistics

Particularly popular in the southern parts of Titan, the folkloric structure of usually a pair of heroes defeating a serpent that threatens to “consume the world.” The scholarly consensus is split on the origin of the tale as the use of serpent iconography is extremely general. It is however agreee the story must be quite old as it nearly always is involved in some form of creation myth, or generally “primordial” myth.

The serpent in question is often two headed and is believed to represent some form of death. In the Marian telling, the story recounts Enya defeating a python that prowled in the oceans, subjugating it (image shown above). This version of the story is generally agreed to be a much later construction, written as a mythologised telling of the Marian victory over the early Acrean pirate kingdoms.

In the Braellian version, Unville, representing primordial ambition slays Leviathan and splits him in half, the blood from his two halves forming the earth and the oceanic realm.

According to recent works by scholars at Emura-Taresh the story may be a retelling of the construction of the Mechanical God by the Moon Goddess, while others argue it is actually linked to a different folktale structure known as “The Old Death” arguing that the heroes represent the twin deaths and their defeat of the serpent was what lead to the old death disappearing as a frequent occurrence.

[cavedwellermusic]

Divinist - Divinist Official Premiere

We recently learned that Derry, Pennsylvania based death / doom / sludge metal act Divinist Band never had an official premiere for their debut self-titled EP that came out back in March. We here at CDM felt that the release was just too good not to get an official premiere, so it may be a little late but we would like to present that premiere to you today. You can now stream the full album on our YouTube channel or pick up a copy on the band's Bandcamp or through Necrotic records or on cassette through Rat Covenant.

[pinkpatchy]

Simblreen Treats!

Let’s see if I can fit them all into one post. I definitely got carried away with conversions and messing around with models... But it was fun to do!

I hope you enjoy them!

All of these are base game compatible except the wands that require the Realm of Magic expansion. You can find the wands with the debug cheat on under decorations and miscellaneous activities.

This is... long, so the link to get it all will be up here instead. They’re all split by which day they were released in!

~> Boop

If any of them break, please let me know and I’ll try to fix it!

The previews are bellow. I apologize if some aren’t the best, I had some struggles to deal with in the second week. 

👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Day 1 - Trick or Treat

Panda Outfit

Dog Outfit

Unicorn Outfit

Tomato Outfit

Cat Outfit

Skull Mask

Skeleton Bodysuit

Eye Circlet

Makeshift Thief

Metalhead

Overused Overalls

Zombi Mask

Candy Bowl

Pumpkin Candy

Scattered Candy

Franken Mask

Cat Circlet

Cat Mask

👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Day 2 - Halloween Party

Angelic Accessory

Cat Circlet

Cat Mask

Devilish Set (Includes Devilish Accessory, Devilicious Hair, Smudged Lipstick)

Skull Mask & Skeleton Bodysuit

Zombi Mask

Eye Circlet

String Of Bats

Flying Bats

Hallowed Shirt & Hallowed Leggings

Hallowed Shirt & Hallowed Pants

Thief Accessory & Makeshift Thief

👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Day 3 - Spellbound

Bewitching Hair & Starry Dress

Charmed Vest

Enchanted Ensamble

Sparkling Lamp & Fiery Dust

Wrench Wand

Carrot Wand

Pumpkin Wand

Flamingo Wand

Stars Wand

👻  ��� 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Day 4 - Cursed

Bulbaceous Mask

Arm Sling

Veiled Mask / Wronged Rituals Top / Wronged Rituals Pants

Divinist Circlet / Divinist Robes

Veiled Mask / High Priestess Dress

Priestess Wand

👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Day 5 - Death Won’t Keep Us Apart

There are two versions to the Wedding and Groom outfits.

The standard wedding dress has normal hands, the late wedding dress has a mangled skeleton hand.

The groom comes in both an outfit version and a tattoo version.

Crowned Veil / Wedding Dress / Groom

Wedding Arch

Pumpkins V1

Pumpkin Tower

Pumpkin Squash

Spine Candle

Skull (Open) Candle (also comes with a closed skull version!)

Hand Candle

Pumpkin Chair

Pumpkin Table

Ghastly Remains / Mysterious Stew / Rotting Remains

👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  • 👻  •

Spooks Secret Room

Spooky Ghost

Spooked Ghost

Spook Ghost

Balloons V2

Ruined Plushie

Angelic Doll

Rubber Ducky

Balloons V1

And that’s about it! Happy Simblreen!

[howlingday]

jaune arc is a wizard specializing in the Geas. a magic based around promises. the idea is that jaune offers up a payment (typically a service to the universe. in the form of a promise to act a certain way) requests compensation for it (in the form of a boon based on a concept. like using the concept of guardian leads to him being a better protector and so on) and then a consequence also based on a concept for if he fails to live up to his promise

this magic has been passed down through the ages by his family. along with a little enchanting and potion making (though 90% of that is just growing magical plants and then learning how to make meals around them) he's not well respected by his peers especially since his parents insisted that he get a normal education at beacon academy since being a wizard doesn't exactly pay well and most magical families have been living off their ancestor's wealth for generations.

desperate to have a friend who understands his hobbies and doesn't need to be lied to 24/7 about where he goes off to in his spare time he summons a familure. to his surprise, he doesn't get a dog, cat, or even a magical beast. he gets an honest-to-goodness pixy! her name is neo and while she can't speak like humans do her illusions let her communicate via writing. this might just be the start of an amazing partnership... if jaune can stop the mischievous pixy from causing so many problems around the school. TLDR: jaune is a wizard that can't cast normal spells trying to keep magic a secret from his friends as his new familure enjoys her time causing chaos (I'm aiming for eventual silent knight but we'll see how this goes)

What happens when two wizards meet? That's a bit of a complicated question. See, the term "wizard" is used as a generic term for magic users, but magic users partake in various blends of magic, and the wizard is an older, respected member of the magic user's community. To be called a wizard told you one of three things about a person.

First possibility was the person wasn't a magic user, but they acknowledged you as one. This is usually done by either the entirely new to magic, like a baby, or a recently blessed individual, like a thief who stole the right book.

The second possibility was you were, in fact, a wizard. Perhaps you destroyed a powerful foe, or you performed a great feat that impressed both peers and adversaries. For example, slaying a rampaging dragon or quelling a volcanic eruption earned you the title of wizard.

The third possibility was sarcastic mockery. You are a magic user, but your fellow magic user was not impressed by your performance. For example, a chronomancer wizard could tell divinist..

"You truly are a great wizard, Mister Arc," Ozpin said as he shook his head, "for only a wizard such as yourself could fail this horribly."

The two stood over the crag filled to the brim with cough syrup. What had started as a simple task had devolved into an act against nature. No, not an act. A sin.

The task was to cure a town of sniffles. Harmless sniffles that did little more than to inconvenience the children of the village. Ozpin suggested using his chronomancy to speed up the immune system. At worst, the children's life spans would be reduced by weeks, a month at the most.

Jaune protested, saying it goes against everything the Brothers and Oum stood for. He offered, instead, to simple use the will of his patron to heal the children. And using his knowledge of the divine, he suggested the Mother of Medicine to act as his patron.

He saw this as a sound option, so Ozpin relented, allowing the younger of the two to make his attempt. He even assisted by summoning his familiar, Glynda the Punisher, to aid in the commune. Jaune, feeling himself overwhelmed with magical energy, extended his arms. His familiar, Neo the Pestering, danced around his arm through the air, dipping her fingers into the magic aether.

"Oh, Mother of Medicine!" Jaune called out. The sky grew purple, a good sign of her presence. Lavender clouds rolled into view, blotting the sun and casting a great shadow on the ground. "We call for a favor-"

Jaune choked and his eyes widened. The clouds weren't lavender. They were periwinkle. The Mother of Medicine's divine color wasn't periwinkle. That color belonged to-

"Hello?" A voice from the heavens called down to the four mortals. The clouds parted, revealing the divine and beautiful face of the Tabby of Trickery. "Did someone call for me?"

To deny a goddess was foolish, but to reject one in favor of another was to invite disaster! Jaune thought on his toes and played a risky move.

"Oh, beautiful beauty," he called out, "we ask for your aid in this pandemic!"

"Pandemic?" Her golden eyes gleamed as she gazed over the four. "Four humans is hardly a pandemic. You had better be dying, because I was having a nap."

"No, uh, beautiful beauty of beautiful beautiful-ness!" Jaune gulped. "A village nearby needs medicine! Children are dying, and-"

The goddess yawned. She then reached into a cloud, and pulled out a brown flask of glass. "If I give you this, will you leave me alone?" Jaune looked to his group, then nodded at the goddess.

The clouds dissipated, along with the divine visage of the beautiful goddess. The sky returned to it's brilliant blue hue. Everything was back to normal.

The only oddity was the brown bottle rocketing toward them. Jaune blinked and saw Ozpin was already half a mile away. Once again, Jaune was envious of his mentor and friend, and his time-altering powers.

Neo guided him through the best path to avoid dying horribly. Their relationship was an odd one, as his pact with her benefited her more than him. Jaune would call on her for guidance, and she would guide him through the most entertaining path for the sadist, but she often had to pull back because a path led to his death, and by proxy, hers.

No, wait, it only benefited her, now that Jaune thought of it.

There was an explosive crashing sound. Jaune didn't see it, but he could both hear and feel it. It knocked him off his feet, and sent him forward onto elbows. He winced as he stood up.

"At least we're alive, right Neo?" The pixie didn't answer. She was too busy staring at the crater left by the gods themselves.

Or perhsps it was more of a lake? In either case, Jaune's jaw dropped. Easily a mile wide and probably half as deep, the crater was filled to the brim with a purple liquid.

"Well done!" Ozpin called from behind. Glynda silently glared, as she always did. "Only a great wizard could accomplish this."

"Like you've never made a mistake?" Jaune countered.

"More so than you, but never in a way that changed maps like this." Glynda shot him a look. "Changed landscapes like this."

"Well, we'll just have to bring this to the kids and see if this works."

"After you, oh, great and powerful wizard." Ozpin bowed.

"Shut up, Oz."

[ididneversignupforthis]

In Plato's Symposion the healer and divinist Diotima asks Socrates why we long for the good. To be be happy, he answers. And while he thinks the good to always being beautiful, he doesn't see everything beautiful to be automatically good. He also describes the desire in everyone to be perfectly happy, right now, forever. So what's the function of beauty?

[lux-ace]

undefined

LO Edit Set - Thanatos x Minthe 💀🌿 - pt4

🥺🖤🥰 by 💌sweetsmile_edits | perfect example of being imperfect‼️ by neosereniity | minthe, the river nymph by 😳divinistic🌸

These edits belong to their rightful owners in Instagram.

🎵: Harry Styles ~ Adore You | BBNO$ ~ Sriracha (prod. Lentra) | Justin Timberlake ~  What Goes Around... Comes Around [Radio Edit] [IG Audio]

[threeletterslife]

readers parents. grabs them by the collar. U WILL APPRECIATE HER U BUMBLING OLD FOOLS. GRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

its sooo hard bc readers parents remind me so much of my own,, somewhat overbearing,, detached but not detached???? u think theyre detached but the day u come to that conclusion suddenly their nice to u and everything feels normal again?? yeah. and i felt bad for them going into the middle when they started going into poverty but immediately!! immediately i dislike them again when they were all over jungkook just bc he had divinist potential rahhh i know how that feels,, being compared despite being the best version of urself for ur parents,,, ouhhh blood boils

unless it is unclear this is shake jungkook like an 8 ball anon haha,, gonna ramble a bit but my theory!! (puts on matpat hat) my theory is that i do not think reader will fall in love with jk again even after she regains her memories. despite having her memories back shes very different from who she used to be now + her yoongi situation not to mention yoongi and jk being so different in every way TT now im just thinking abt confronting hajin again,,, and hoseok,, will she retake her position as general i wonder.. what if she gives it up,, meets with her ex best friend,,, and something unfolds (i do not have that brain power to think more) i am also!! also very excited to see shit go down back in solaria i know yoongis PISSED pissed at his lieutenant rn grab popcorn everybody its time for drama,, and hopefully romance where reader and yoog get to live quiet lives in the countryside (yes im Still biased im weak for gentle guys okay general yoongi is so Gentle Guy. doesnt help that hes my ult bias gdhjska kisses jk on forehead sorry buddy)

I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS HALF A YEAR LATE 😭

Omg. I appreciate your theories so much. I don't want to spoil ANYTHING so I won't comment (IT'S KILLING ME), but I will say that I too am SO excited to share what happens AFTER the flashback scenes because you are very, very right. Shit will go down, and it's really gonna be time to grab some popcorn!!

[gloamingdawn]

 “💓” romantic relationship with Réalta - strange one I know, but an interesting thought experiment I hope! @divinists-daughter

I think this would be a very interesting pairing, but I also don’t think it would go particularly far. 

Firstly, I’m a sucker for contrast and these two would have that in spades: Lynesse is warm tones, golds, reds, and oranges. Lynesse is bold and brash, very physical, even in her use of magic. Lynesse is as lowborn as lowborn can be in Sin’dorei society. Lynesse is day, glory to the sun. 

Réalta is cool tones, purples, blues, and silvers. Réalta seems soft spoken and reserved, but not delicate, there is power in listening. Réalta is a Shal’dorei, one who was able to focus on high arts and likely has, or had, a place in society that allowed for that study. Réalta is night, moon and a sky full of stars. 

Secondly, I think they’d both be interested in actually getting to know each other because of the differences. Réalta has been utterly enchanting to watch at the poetry nights -- Lyn was unable to spend much time in Suramar and knows fairly little of Shal’dorei culture and would take interest in learning from someone so ethereal and lovely. Lyn is an extremely unorthodox Light user -- cursed, or blessed(?), by the goddess of a barbarian tribe just across Suramar’s border. It’s storybook, a fairy tale, one that’s potentially too good for Réa to pass up. All that mutual curiosity would be a major bonding agent, one that easily allows for a respectful coziness to spring up. 

However, in doing my research I came upon the fatal flaw for a romantic relationship for Lyn. Réalta appears to be asexual, and not knowing where exactly she falls in the umbrella makes this a little harder to pin down. While it’s a sexuality that Lyn kinda understands but wholly respects, having sex and being intimate during sex is and always has been a major factor in relationships for her personally. Once Réa’s preferences became apparent I’m not sure it would progress any further than a fond, otherwise supportive friendship. 

Thanks @ms-winford! For @divinists-daughter. This was a very fun thought experiment and I got to learn more about Réalta in a tumblr deep dive!

[reddus-sideblog]

M.E.R.C.s - Tech Support

9-23-890 AR

Joel pulled down the blinds in his office before he booted up his computer. He would have liked to leave them open, but it wasn’t just the glare on his screen that he was worried about. The geo-infernal plant sector he lived in had a number of other professional hackers in it, and this kind of paranoia usually paid off in the long run.

    As power flowed through Newland, so too did the intranet. The inextricable nature of the two made power plant sectors the place to be for those who were employed on the intranet, as power flowed “downstream” so too did data, making the upload and download speeds here better than anywhere else, even neighboring sectors. The rent in geo-infernal sectors was also particularly cheap, with the only real downside being the occasional lockdown from a containment failure, and the very occasional threat from Divinist extremists.

    Last week’s raid by Divinists had led to some gainful employment for Joel, as both the Northeast Yark Geo-Infernal Company and the militia of the nearby Fort Lath sector had employed him to run defense against off-site Divinist hackers who were targeting the plant. Judging by their latency the netheads that the church had bought must have been on the other side of Newland, or else they were green as grass. Putting up some encryption walls and attack barriers had done the job, but Joel also corrupted a few signals, to deter his opponents from trying much harder. 

    That gig had made the devilkin hacker his rent a couple times over, and after the conflict had died down he’d used the windfall to upgrade his computer. The old rig of his was falling behind more modern systems, and his technical skill could only compensate for so much. The red-haired hacker opened his i-mail to check his order status, and he also looked through his work account to see if anyone had sent him a business query. It would take a week or two for his new parts to arrive, but there was no reason he couldn’t line up a job to break them in in the meantime.

    Aside from the usual slew of spam and ads there were a few promising offers. One was the geo-infernal plant company looking to hire him for a full-time intranet defense position, another was from a Holy Mercenary Brigade recruiter, and the last one was an M-CA handler looking for a net specialist. Joel fiddled with the bangs that were growing past his curled horns for a moment. For some reason he was pretty sure that the HMB might have a problem or two with him. The last job seemed easy enough, though. It was in three week’s time, and the handler was looking for someone who could help their team avoid digital detection and mask their identities. He’d done similar jobs before, and the payout was going to be in the four digits. How could he not accept?

***

After paying for an intranet hookup and a coffee Joel was setting up his newly assembled computer in the Slaugh sector’s netcafe. The sector was a nice place, if you didn’t mind corporate aesthetics. The devilkin tied back his shoulder-length hair, took a sip of his coffee, put on his radio headset, and slid his interface goggles on.

    As the handler had explained it, the job was going to be fairly simple. Her boys were going to raid a Nu-Life Medical Research office to get some classified papers, and he was going to make sure that the team didn’t show up on any of the digital cameras or records. Of course that was easier said than done, really, but there was no point getting into the specifics with his employer. The devilkin lady had the air of someone who was used to being in charge, and he knew better than to try and explain too much to those types. 

    The handler had introduced herself as “Mrs. Fortune”, but Joel knew better than to take names at face value. The chrome-haired, shades-wearing devilkin lady had reeked of cigarettes and self-importance, but if she was actually going to hand over his pay at the end of the mission he was willing to say “yes ma’am” as much as necessary. Her business suit screamed “corporate noble” but that usually also came with a certain lack of care when gold was being thrown around, so Joel wasn’t going to be too obstinate about the whole affair. Still, a devilkin corporate noble wasn’t something he’d seen before. 

    Mrs. Fortune’s mercenaries were an odd bunch too, but in his time as a freelancer Joel had come to learn that there really was no singular, archetypical “mercenary” out there. A human who he guessed was an ex-cop, a lazy chimera with swords, and a devikin with big horns. All three of them were in their thirties, but Joel wasn’t one to talk, he was almost there himself.

    The intranet in the sector was pretty well maintained, which wasn’t surprising, given how he had had to pay $4 for a coffee. Money was in the air of this sector, and it made sure that nothing was visibly rundown. All the business buildings here were free from graffiti, dirt, and personality. After some initial probes he had a good mental map of how the intranet in the sector was structured. This netcafe was down the street from the sector’s network node, which was inaccessible thanks to the security provided by the Newland Security Consulting Firm. Still, his connection seemed to be fine, for what it was.

    “Joe,” came the husky, bored sounding voice of his handler. “Get into the building’s security now, the boys will be at the back door in a moment.”

    The job was going to hit the Nu-Life building, up the street. Joel followed the intranet’s flow up to the network node, then back out through the line that connected that building to the grid. As he mentally approached the building through the intranet his flow was stopped by an array of gates. The physical choke on the intranet coming in and out through the building wasn’t especially difficult to deal with, he just brute-forced through a line going into the underground parking garage, and he was into the building’s network. To his surprise the lock to get into the building through the parking garage was disabled, and as he looked at it by commanding a security camera in the garage he saw that it had been reduced to slag. Joel recalled that the catperson that was part of the MERCs he was working with had a heat blade, apparently he also had little patience.

    Joel began the process of removing the presence of his fellow MERCs from the building’s digital cameras. He really wished that they had waited a few minutes for him to set it all up. Them rushing in was going to make him also rush, which would inevitably lead to complications. As good as he was, Joel was still only so good at his job when it was thrust upon him. He grumbled, but he was able to keep up with his co-workers as they jaunted through the building, oblivious to the work he was doing. Their handler was giving them directions on where to go, as she read from the building’s blueprints. He had gone over the prints with her the other day, pointing out where the security for the building would be laid out, and going over the complications that could arise with the other three.

    One of those complications was occuring right now, as the team of MERCs ran into a patrol of security drones. Joel had been too busy covering up the group’s previous footprints to give them a warning ahead of time, but it seemed like they needed little heads up, as the three sprung into action without a single hesitation. Their devilkin companion laid down a burst of fire from his SMG while the human took out the heads of the drones. Their chimera took off faster than the camera could track, flying at the heaviest security drone with a suddenly unsheathed heat blade. In a span of less than half a minute the patrol was taken out. All that was left of the drones was bullet-ridden and sliced apart scrap. Joel had heard the Shogaian-looking ex-cop call the long-haired chimera “the Tygr”. At first he’d thought it was a joke, now he was starting to wonder if that catperson was actually the legendary assassin.

    “Hey, where was our warning on that one?” came the annoyed voice of the ex-cop. Joel was almost sure that his name was Stanley, but he had never been good with names, and getting it wrong right now would only make him more upset.

    Joel sighed, “You guys ran right in before I could set up the erasure, I’ve been trying to keep up with you guys, but its not easy to split my attention three ways.”

    The man probably named Stanley grumbled. He didn’t have a real response to Joel’s defense, so he got back on track with the mission. The gunfire would attract security, but they were near an elevator that would allow them to ascend to the twelfth floor easily before any flesh and blood security showed up to investigate the commotion. A number of employees had tried to trip the alarm button when they’d heard the gunfire, but Joel dismissed the signals one after the other. He also put the elevator that the MERCs were waiting for on an express route, moving them up to their destination without any interruptions. The noise they’d already made was a problem, but if they could speed up the process the job would be over before anything else went wrong.

    Joel slid up his interface goggles for a moment to take a breather, and a sip of his coffee. Being on site was much more exciting than hacking from his room at home. His thin tail whipped a little in excitement as he prepared to put the goggles back on. Right as he was reaching for the bulky headset he caught a glimpse of a squad of the Security Consulting Firm’s goons outside of the cafe. They were talking into radios and looking around. Joel guessed that they knew something was up, but that they weren’t able to pinpoint his location just yet. He shoved the goggles back on and looked in on his co-workers. Still on the elevator. He took the brief pauses to put up some additional encryption on his connection. With how engaging the work of hacking each camera that the squad blundered in front of was, he had almost forgotten to shore up his own defenses, which could be a very costly, if not fatal, mistake.

    The MERCs leapt out of the elevator and ran down the hallway to the record room that they had discussed in the planning meeting he’d attended the other day. Joel went through the intranet connection to each of the doors on the floor and locked as many as he could, trapping employees and security guards in whatever room they were in. He also suspended the elevator’s motors, and listened to the MERC’s chatter with their handler as she talked the human and the chimera through the process of finding the right file. Something about a legal case between Nu-Life and Fortune Bio-Solutions that had happened a few years back. 

    Suddenly the hacker realized that he wasn't alone in the building’s system. The door to one of the security force’s offices unlocked. One of the elevators became active.

    “I hate to interrupt, but could you find your files a bit quicker? Security is moving in on your position. I’m trying to slow them down but someone is undoing my work,” he said as he scrambled to redo locks and scrub the MERC’s visual signatures. “But uh, don’t worry, you’re off the cameras and records.”

    “Yeah, cool,” came the laidback voice of the catperson. His quick comment was followed by the roar of a high frequency weapon coming to life that peaked the volume from his mic before it was muted again. Joel winced at the noise but went back to the feed of the hallway outside the archives room that the MERCs were in. A squad of security was getting ready to charge into the room.

    Before Joel could give his allies a warning the door exploded open. Masked as they were, nothing came up on the camera’s feeds, but a conspicuous blur was taking out the corposec officers, tearing through their body armor and painting the hallway with the blood of a dozen men in the span of seconds. Joel was aghast at the chimera’s violent performance, and he stayed glued to the feed before being jolted away from it by the voice of his teammate.

    “Elevator, now!” barked Stanley. Joel obliged, sending them down to the parking garage levels with no stops.

    “Alright boys, I’ll have the car ready when you get down here. Joel, get ready to be picked up.”

    He didn’t need to be told twice. Once more Joel peeled off his ocular interface, reaching for his coffee before realizing that something was poking him in the head. The thing was the barrel of an SMG aimed right at his head.

    “Hands up. You’re coming to the station with us,” asserted the security officer on the other end of the gun. The squad outside had moved in while he was occupied with hacking the Nu-Life building, and that other hacker had probably gotten a bead on him while he was occupied with aiding the team inside.

    Ever since Joel had gotten an ocular interface he had known something like this would happen eventually. If he’d gone the full way and just gotten a brainjack he wouldn’t be in this situation. Hell, if he’d just looked through his exterior camera once in a while he would have been better off than he was right now. Still, seeing that kid get fried in his childhood when he tried to hack a bank machine with his cyber-brain had turned him off the idea of neural interfaces for the rest of his life. He sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time that he would be charged with cyber-criminality.

    “Hey, stay out, we’r-” came the voice of the security guard who was watching the door. A loud rev of a motor and a split-second later there was no more talking. Without moving Joel looked to the door of the cafe. Outside was his team, with the white-maned chimera standing over the recently decapitated remains of a corposec officer. The one holding the gun to the devilkin’s head tried to discourage him for a moment, before a shot rang out from the exterior of the cafe. The man collapsed, a clean hole blown through his forehead. Joel looked in surprise through the shattered pane of glass at Stanley, who waved at him to come get in the car.

    The devilkin hacker ducked down and began gathering up his computer gear, before running past the remaining security guards. The burly chimera was staring down the remaining NSCF officers, daring them to put his idling high frequency sword to use once more. None of them were anywhere near bold enough to make that gamble. The catguy shrugged and sauntered after the scurrying devil to the handler’s getaway car, only sheathing his sword before he threw himself into the long musclecar’s back seat. Joel watched the cafe roll away as Mrs. Fortune pulled away from the curb and floored the accelerator to break through the flimsy security gate at the sector’s perimeter. 

    He watched the Slaugh sector disappear as they sped up an on ramp up to the highway. It had been an exciting day, but Joel was pretty sure that he was going to stick to offsite work from then on. He exhaled heavily and let his mind wander, this was the last on-site job he was ever accepting.

[lilac-memorials]

Is there a WoW RP community discord? Or at least one for WrA? I’ve asked around but no one knows of any that isn’t just something specialized like for Kul Tiras or a specific character group/faction. (Tagging random WoW friendos to see if anyone knows or knows someone who might know!) @unabashedrebel @blackthorn-winter @rosie-blackwater @ladystillheart @iamladyproudmoore  @rowan-montgomery @poisonatreyu @nightvale-scales @horridpoppet @fin-mckendric @estonvega @corsair-extraordinaire @vindiraysa @embersign @duraxxor @toxicphox @wildname @divinists-daughter

[sildavar-archives]

📂 : How would you describe your character in two sentences?

Hmm... I know you said character not characterS but here goes!

Delesca) An amalgamation of cunning and arrogant villannesses from different movies, shows, books, plays and myths. She is also Freudian in some ways!

Aetas) My first serious character, started on a private server over a decade ago; he borrows some aspects from original FMA's Hohenheim and a little bit of Lestat from Interview with a Vampire. Fun fact: his name translates from Latin as 'a period of time, an era or an historic age' — he is a Bronze Dragon!

Korostykos) My Legion baby! A cool-headed Illidari with a kind heart, big muscles and an even bigger stomach; his name is a corruption of the word 'corrosive'!

Ebernum) A void-wielding shadowmage with a sad beginning and even worse end. He is the character I put most of myself into—I hope to bring him back soon.

Halathion) One of the only good people among the Sil'davars, he's a red-headed noble paladin with idealistic views on the world and not enough discipline. He's my moral good, spiritual/religious component.

Ilibrius) One of my favorite characters; this ancient high divinist represents the other side of the "spiritual" coin, the inability to keep promises and tell the truth at the cost of ego. His name is a corruption of the word 'equilibrium'!

Noxxigar) This guy is my lore junkie character, an Orc DK with a long history that highlights my commitment to the Warcraft franchise over the years. He is similar to Koro, except without the manners and cool attitude.

Syssinia) The antithesis of Delesca—she is all of the best maternal and powerful women from different movies, books, shows, myths, poems and plays. Her biggest influence is Yunalesca from FFX since she's a priestess with dark affinities.

Erythanos) This guy is my latest fascination; a Kaldorei spirit who still has a lot to reveal to even me. His name comes from one of my first RP partners back in Warcraft 3, 'Rith' and his biggest influence is Groveck Marcus from Vampire Hunter D.

Gravetalon) A Tauren plagueshifter I didn't get to do too much with, but nevertheless meant something to me. He was the last of his clan and died a gruesome death... but at least he helped someone along the way.

Jivisha) My sweet, sweet psychopomp Zandalari shaman. He's very mysterious and represents a lot of my occult interests.

Harukaze) My FFXIV Summoner... who still needs a lot of attention! I've not done much with him yet.

Whew! That was a lot, but I couldn't forget my babies. Thank you @ms-winford for the ask. ❤

[snowfallen-nymph]

Curse Me! Réalta, @divinists-daughter

"My... so many step forth this eve. Do we all suffer from a touch of morbid masochism?"

From beneath the fan of feathery pale lashes the lunars of opalite hues peered heavenward. The Nymph stood before the much taller Nightborne, and no matter how she perched in balletic formation upon the tips of her toes, she could never compare to her height, no matter how hard she try. Alas, the darling little one was all too used to such trivial differences, and often found respite in her bashful demeanor as her gaze fell back to the alluvial earth in thoughtful contemplation.

"A lovely creature you Shal'dorei are; a constellation manifested from the heavens. How opulence drips from your elegant form, exuding in ever sway of your step..."

When she speaks it is so very quietly, the cadence of saccharine syllables drifting softly into the wind. Though demure as the femme of porcelain and snow seemed, a coy little smile could not help but make itself mischievously known.

"It would be s-such a shame... if you found it quite a difficult task to uphold such fashionable standards. Mismatched accessories to compliment patterns that are out of season... or perhaps the spill of wine upon your gown at a regal event? Oh, clumsy me..."

{ @divinists-daughter She really isn't usually this naughty I sweeaaaar~ }