Chapter Text
PROLOGUE.
Somewhere on a thick summer day, a boy dressed in blue suede trails his Father through a bustling portside city.
Voices overlap and blend into a cacophony of sound. Laughter floats up above makeshift stalls where merchants clamor; the sound swells for a moment before it dissolves into the noise, indistinguishable. The vendors shout at passersby, dressing up their merchandise in tempting words and putting them out for show: glittering jewels upon shining trinkets, sweet meats and rare candies from across the way. Perhaps there is music, somewhere, drifting and weaving through the lilt in conversation.
The boy pulls on his collar and tugs at his sleeves. The heat is relentless. The sunlight seems to cling to his face and body, warming him to the core. If only his Father would finish up with whichever colleague or client he was speaking to today, perhaps then they could find a moment of solace in the shade.
The boy in mention is, in fact, a young man—the swift approach of Park Jimin’s 21st birthday is the cause of his accompaniment on these trips with his Father.
Jimin cannot pretend to be entirely interested, though the true purpose of shadowing these business endeavors is for more than mere entertainment. If Jimin is to become a formal apprentice to his Father’s work, then he must learn the ropes; the aim in having Jimin tag along is to instill an almost subconscious affinity for the inner-workings of his Father’s position as a Governor, since the young man will one day be one himself. Or, so his Father is always saying.
That is the hope, son.
For now, Jimin is content to be nothing more than what he’s always been: a boy. Free to roam as he pleases. Obedient enough to come along on these stiflingly formal trips, but not so obedient as to pretend to care for them. If being polite and staying out of the way was all he had to do to receive fancy dinners at no cost to him nor his Father, then he’d gladly do it.
Their small entourage meanders the marketplace.
It is, perhaps, the most rewarding thing about these trips with his Father—to get to look upon these small treasures, plucked from lives so distinctly different from his own that they may as well be alien. A woman to Jimin’s right sells copper figurines, melted into perplexing positions and sold by the pound. To the left of his Father’s colleague-or-client, a haggard old man sells watches and compasses and spectacles, all detailed with the most intricate designs and shined to shimmering condition.
It’s fascinating to know that these people make their living off of mere trinkets alone. It can certainly be told by the state of their clothing, although he can’t say they look quite as stuffy as he himself feels in this heat.
“Jimin! Do keep up, son.”
The boy nods, his rosy cheeks darkening as his pace quickens to lessen the space between them. Now, if any of these merchants just sold water, he’d be set.
Jimin’s eyes slowly wander back to the stands on either side of him, gaze catching every now and again on gleaming ornaments and finely wrapped gifts. His mouth waters as he passes a woman roasting meat skewers, and he sidesteps a ruggedly dressed man as he vows to solicit his Father for a nice, hearty meal once his deal is done.
The crowd seems to linger and thicken around one particular stall just up ahead, and Jimin rises on leather-clad toes to locate his Father, who has somehow drifted quite far upwards in the short span of time that his attention floated elsewhere. He startles, dropping to his normal height and scurrying forward, directly into the mass of people before him.
“Excuse me,” even to his own ears the request sounds meek, politeness overcome by the drive to bargain, apparently. He tries again, craning his neck to see through. What’s the point of expensive leather boots if the heel doesn’t make him tall enough? Jimin pipes up a third time. “Excuse me.”
Frustration is in the beginnings of settling in when he hears a voice somewhere behind him.
“—rarest treasures you’ll ever see. For a short time! Come while you can.”
Her voice does not match the face that Jimin sees when he turns. He expects to see a ghastly old woman, hunched and grimacing as though the words hurt to even come out—they certainly sound as if they do. Instead, however, is a woman not much older than he is, which is enough to spike his interest momentarily. Jimin stops his futile attempts to shove through the small wall of people in favor of drifting closer to the woman’s stall, her gravelly voice still carrying on about rare treasures when she finally spots him. She grins.
“What does your heart desire?”
The woman is tan, her skin unblemished and smooth. Her hair cascades in waves of dusted brown over her shoulders, hidden haphazardly beneath a colorful rag tied tightly against the top of her skull. One eye is hooded slightly beneath it, but the other is unsheathed and piercing into him, blue and blue and blue. Bluer than his rich linens, which is saying something.
Jimin can’t help but shudder. She shows no signs of pain when she speaks, but even the mere sound of her voice grates on his ears and leaves him feeling rubbed raw. Or, maybe that’s just his heavy coat. Nonetheless, her cutting voice and unwavering gaze leave an uneasy feeling in his stomach, to pair along with the growing panic of being separated from his father in a foreign city. Perhaps he should go. Perhaps.
“I don’t know,” he says.
The huddle of people at his side crescendo into a mass of shouting; someone wants to pay much less than the merchant is willing to sell for, and neither will back down.
At the woman’s stall, Jimin’s eyes linger on a shining bulb, lying delicately on its back among other pendants and jewels. It looks almost out of place, dull and unassuming against the sparkle of its neighbors. And yet, it still seems to stand out the most. Its body is made of a clear, glass-like substance, completely see-through save for the object encased within its solid confinement.
It's very strange, unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
The woman behind the booth stares at him, and Jimin notices. Her grin splits her face, wider by the second. Her teeth are bright in the high sun. He swallows thickly.
“What does the symbol mean?” he asks, glancing at the woman as he picks up the necklace. He can’t hold her stare for very long, but he’s content to study the strange design embedded in the resin of the pendant.
Inside the thick clear frame is a peculiar little symbol: a perfectly round circle with a solid dot directly in the middle, set off-center by a sharp triangle that protrudes from a spot near the top. Each side of the triangle is encased by two swirling lines. The symbol itself is the color of gold, and somewhat resembles the head of a bird if Jimin tilts his head and squints a certain way, but he still can’t make out what it’s meant to be.
“Auriolus Larum.”
Jimin’s gaze snaps up to the woman again, surprised; the language, unfamiliar to him, rolls off her tongue like liquid velvet, like a curse. She gives no sign of having spoken—just keeps on staring and smiling almost eerily, as if she knows a secret that he does not. His brows draw together in quiet discomfort as he clasps the necklace in his palm, the weight of the object feeling somehow heavier with her stare boring into him.
She says nothing more.
“How mu—” before Jimin can complete his inquisition, a shoulder at his side forces its way into his body, shoving him sideways and nearly off his feet. The boy bristles, the tips of his fringe brushing against the sheen of sweat that has gathered atop his forehead.
The negotiation at the booth beside them had reached a peak, manners melting away into a puddle in the heavy summer heat as shouts begin to give way to mindless argument. Jimin has spent far too much time here anyway; his Father is either long gone or waiting for him on the other side, but both spell trouble for him either way.
“Excuse me!” he yelps, affronted at having been jostled so carelessly. The bickering continues despite him, and he can barely suppress the roll of his eyes at such awful behavior.
The long chain of the pendant swings to and fro from where it’s draped against the side of Jimin’s hand, the bulk of the charm closed tightly between his fingers. The last thing he wants to do is break the necklace, and certainly not before he figures out how much it will cost him if he does.
When he turns back to the booth to ask, the woman is gone.
All of the jewelry, save for the one still clutched in his own hand, has vanished of any trace. All that remains is the stand itself.
Startled, Jimin leans hesitantly across the counter of the stall, peering inside to see if she had crouched down during the chaos. He finds nothing. His gaze stretches in several directions in search of the gravel-voiced woman, but there is no sight of her. Frowning, Jimin looks down at the necklace in his hands. He blinks, as if maybe that will disappear, too.
It doesn’t.
He hesitates again, unsure if he should just leave such a beautiful piece of jewelry on an empty counter, but torn on simply taking it without having paid a cent.
Although… the woman did leave it behind. And knowingly it seems, since she hadn’t taken her eyes off him once in the time that he’d been standing there. She must have known he still had it, hadn’t she? Why hadn’t she collected it before she’d gone?
Deciding to ask his Father what to do, Jimin turns again toward the wall of shouting people beside him and ducks to dive between their legs. The heat is almost suffocating when he’s doubled over and surrounded by bodies in all directions, but he comes out on the other side with minimal injury, thankfully, still clutching the necklace in one hand.
As he straightens to brush off his coat, someone screams above all the chaotic chattering.
“Pirates! ”
Somehow in the heat, Jimin’s blood runs cold.
Fear seizes his heart in an instant as the people around him immediately begin to scatter, and he doesn’t begin to move until he’s slammed into from behind, forced into motion through someone else’s panicked escape.
Although Jimin had never had a firsthand account with pirates, the stories he’d heard were enough to quell his curiosity completely. Pirates were a ruthless kind, creatures of their own volition with no remorse and a thirst for violence, for wealth and glory at any cost. To say Jimin was terrified of them was an understatement, and that was merely from retelling.
He needs to find his Father, quickly.
Darting forward with a newfound rush of adrenaline, Jimin shoves the pendant deep into his pant pocket. He stumbles over the uneven road, his eyes whipping around frantically in search of his Father’s familiar frame. His heart pounds against his ribs with a restless frenzy, urging him forward, forward, forward. He can’t see any pirates, and wouldn’t know what to look for in the first place, so he scurries and avoids every person he passes.
He can’t go forward for very much longer; straight ahead is the docks, and that’s certainly the place they’d be coming from, which means Jimin is just rushing straight toward the danger, and not away from it. Still, he knows his Father had been walking this way, and there was no way he could’ve doubled back in such a short amount of time. If he could just go quickly enough, surely they would cross paths and flee to safety elsewhere.
His Father is untouchable—so long as Jimin finds him, he will be safe.
His plan is cut short by someone who is most certainly, most definitely, a pirate.
Had it not been for the painful beat of his heart, the sight would have been almost whimsical; a man of the most extraordinary build, muscle stacked upon muscle as he looms at a precarious height. Even at a distance, Jimin can see his thick, dark brows, can see the facial hair like a forest, and the grime covering him from head to toe.
Once he sees the sword, he doesn’t stick around.
Jimin is panting by the time he makes it to a different street, rounding the corner of a cobblestone building to take shelter in a shadowed alleyway. The road is almost completely deserted, all signs of the people who had littered the vendor’s strip erased. It would almost look as if no one had been there to begin with, except for the fact that all of the stalls were left behind after being hastily cleared before the pirates could come and swipe their loot.
Jimin doubles over and leans heavily against the side of the building, fingers dragging the high collar away from his neck so he can breathe. He feels safe enough for the time being, tucked in between the stone buildings, beneath enough shade to be a decent cover until he catches his breath. Sweat trickles down his forehead, rolling down his temple and dripping onto the ground beneath him. He tries to keep quiet as he sucks in breath after breath, his pulse racing against the blood rushing in his ears. If only he could just have some—
“Water?”
The voice is hushed but calm, and Jimin is so flooded with relief after his initial panic that he doesn’t waste a second in taking the flask, chugging down the last few gulps inside the canteen. He nearly chokes, but the cool liquid does wonders for him, and he’s catching his breath in no time. Finally, he stands up straight to get a look at the kind stranger, plastering on his most thankful smile.
“I really needed that.”
“I could tell.” The man grins.
His skin is bronze, the unnatural red of his hair shocking and pleasant against the golden color of his face, which glows with the radiance of his smile. Jimin’s tense shoulders relax, his own smile warming and widening with relief. He shares a bewildered look with the kind stranger, shaking his head in amazement.
“Can you believe this?” His voice is still but a whisper, but he can hear a shrillness leaking into it, excitement or fear or both. “Pirates!”
The stranger mirrors his action, shaking his head with an unbridled grin. “I know, and I was just beginning to have a good time!” he agrees, nodding in the direction of the vendor’s strip. Jimin huffs out a laugh and drops his head to look at his boots, swallowing around the stubborn dryness in his mouth.
“Really, who do they think they are?” Jimin guffaws, going on; there’s agitation laced into his words, and he does little to hide it. He just doesn’t understand why they thought they could come as they please and do as they like. “A bunch of mindless barbarians, I think.”
Jimin scoffs, and then grimaces. He clears his throat, but the action seems to do more harm than good. It’s almost as if the sensation ripples upwards, tingles shooting across his tongue and crawling along the back of his skull. It’s weird. It’s… wrong.
Something is wrong.
“I know,” the stranger agrees, seeming not to notice Jimin’s predicament. Jimin’s fingertips probe at the base of his throat while the red-haired man speaks, frowning as his tongue seems to dry up even more. If he’s gotten heat exhaustion from all of this mess, he is really going to be upset, and so will be his Father if they need to call for the doctor upon their return.
The redheaded man is still speaking, the lilt of his voice chirpy and amused where he stands beside Jimin.
“They have no consideration for other people—it’s like they think they own everything, you know?” He laughs; the sound is melodic and sweet, twinkling. Jimin coughs, bracing his hands on his knees. His head swims. “Seriously, they’ve got guts to pull a stunt like this. Takes a lot of planning, to be a pirate.”
Jimin lurches forward, and steady hands are there to catch him before his face drives into the dirt. He tries to pick up his head, but overestimates the weight of his skull, and his neck gives way until his face points straight toward the white-blue sky. He blinks heavily, dizzied gaze trying hard to focus on the face in front of him. He can’t speak, or move.
But he can hear.
“I should know,” the man says, grin blistering. “I’m one of them.”
Everything melts into black.