Archive of Our Own

she fades into the flowers. 

dan-i’s used to this by now. the background role. being jerked around at the whims of the fates. and across the field, watching yeoryeong and the four kings, their hands extended to her. who do not need her. those jealous bystanders claw at dan-i’s humble clothes. the fates string together their lives. 

well, not for much longer.

the kings’ favored mortal, they call her, whispering to each other as she passes by. those damned beautiful godling kings. 

enough. she is tired of eyes that beg and taunt. dan-i’s footsteps are angry and heavy on the way to the library, and heavier still in the religious texts’ section. her hand hovers over one in particular. 

she knows its contents already. the circles it encourages drawing for transmutation. the legends of gods who came at the behest of a mortal. 

would a god respond to her? she, favored by young gods — she knows there would be hell to pay. 

a wry smile tugs at her lips. hell. it’s perfect. 

and when she leaves the library that day, the word witch follows her through the streets. 

.

(in some other worlds, they would call her persephone. she would be a friend of the flowers, gentle, loving. 

this is not persephone’s story.) 

.

she will not last forever. the four gods that favor her, that descend from the heavens to take her on walks and offer her practical flowers — they will forget her, as all immortals do. erosion of the mind. it is inevitable, when there is an eternity of memories to make. 

it hurts. sometimes being loved hurts so much dan-i wants to disappear. it’s love she knows she does not deserve. 

it takes a lot to kill a god. and yet, many years ago, a god with her face disappeared. she is the human replacement. 

being loved is… exhausting. 

.

the field is empty, save for the flowers. they turn their heads as dan-i walks, taking care not to crush their stems. the gods have not called on her today, and she wonders if already she is fading from their immortal minds. 

not that it matters. 

it is hard to draw a calling circle in grass. she traces the sharp angles of its pattern into the dirt with oil. 

calling upon the lord of the underworld requires a sacrifice. and what better than the sanctity of her only haven? 

as the grass bursts into flames, the ground trembles. the wind whispers, i’ve been waiting. 

dan-i presses her lips together and calls upon hades, lord of the underworld. 

the earth shakes, and where she’d drawn her circle of fire, a chariot bursts from the ground. dan-i stumbles back into the grass, bracing herself with her hands. 

“hello, little mortal,” says the lord of the underworld. he looks like sunshine. it is a strange contrast. 

“lord hades,” dan-i begins, but he cuts her off. 

“call me ruda,” he says, a smirk on his lips. “names change, my love.” 

“lord ruda,” dan-i amends, then continues, “i require your protection.” 

“from?” 

“from the four kings.” 

“and you would ask a monster such as i?” 

she stares resolutely into his eyes. “if that monster can help me,” she says, “then yes.” 

ruda bursts into a laugh. “i like you,” he says, leaning against the edge of his chariot, propping his chin up in his hands. “i will shield you in my underworld.” 

dan-i’s chest feels light. like falling. ruda extends his hand out to her, like the olive branches she wanders under on sunny days. without waiting to think about it, she takes his hand and steps aboard his chariot. 

. 

the descent feels half like falling, half like sinking. dirt flicks against her cheek. ruda’s eyes glow, paving the way down for them. dan-i gasps against the change in air pressure. for a moment, she thinks she is dying. 

no, she must be. after all, no one gets into the underworld alive. her soul is no longer hers to keep. 

well. she already knew that. she was ready to give it up. 

a life in the underworld probably won’t be normal, but at least she’ll be free. 

the air condenses around her. dan-i gasps and her breath comes out as mist, freezes in droplets, and is left behind. “hold on tight,” says ruda, and as soon as she wraps her arms around his waist, they pick up speed and go straight down. 

. 

after an excruciating few seconds, the ground opens up and they land solidly. 

“welcome to the underworld,” ruda murmurs. dan-i pulls her hands back — how dare she lay a finger on the lord of hell? 

“i’m sorry,” she murmurs. she sees the back of ruda’s head tilt in acknowledgement or confusion, one of the two. ruda does not respond, only steps down from the chariot. in front of them spreads the palace of hell. 

“this is my home,” he says wistfully. 

there is something hauntingly beautiful about the castle’s dark spires, the way it reaches to the unseen rock ceiling above them. the red-tinted air tastes like remorse. in the distance, around the castle, is elysium, its trees bright and sparkling — beyond that, in one direction, asphodel, and in the other, tartarus and the fields of punishment. 

but, for now, the palace: its spires, its obsidian walls, its unwelcoming gate. the river of lost objects and hatred flows under the bridge. 

“is this the styx?” dan-i asks. 

“yes,” says ruda. “my palace is surrounded by hatred.” 

dan-i almost rolls her eyes at the drama of it all. she’s used to reading lines like that in books and legends, but hearing them said out loud is a different story. 

the dry grass crackles where they step. ruda leads the way into the palace, his cloak sweeping around him. though the air is oppressive, it feels full of life in a way — a strange feeling for the underworld. 

“this is the back entrance,” says ruda, gesturing around them. when he looks back at her, there is a mischievous glint in his eye. “you should be honored to receive this privilege.” 

“yes, yes, thank you,” dan-i says impatiently. she’s starting to realize hades-ruda has a flair for dramatics. 

to be fair, who wouldn’t after being stuck down here? 

dan-i shakes that thought away. now she’s one of the people stuck down here. if she starts revelling in drama, she’ll ask ruda where the river lethe is. 

they sweep into the palace. ruda’s cloak billows around him; dan-i feels small and underdressed next to him. 

“lord ruda,” dan-i says, her footsteps slowing. “am i dead now?” 

ruda stops a few steps ahead of her. “sort of,” he says. he looks at the wall, his eyes sad. “so long as you are down here, you cannot die.” 

that doesn’t make any sense. “because down here, i’m already dead?” 

“in essence, yes,” says ruda. he finally turns to look at her. “where would you go if you died? you’re already here.” 

his gaze burns. dan-i doesn’t say anything more. 

. 

up on the surface, the ground trembles when the kings learn dan-i is gone. 

“i know where she went,” says choi yuri. 

. 

“this is your room,” ruda says. he swings open a door. 

it’s not anything special. a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf. a window overlooking a patch of asphodel. 

up on the surface, she’d been but a humble herbalist studying alchemy on the side. mainland alchemists cared more about the transmutation of lead to gold, but dan-i’s always been more interested in alchemy’s relationship to flowers. the changing of states. it’s hard to find asphodel flowers on the surface, too. 

“thank you,” she says. it’s set up exactly how she likes it: books by the bed, desk under the window. almost like ruda knew she was coming. “it’s perfect.” 

“i’m glad you like it,” ruda says. 

dan-i turns to him and looks him in the eyes. “how can i earn my keep here?” she asks. “it can’t be free.” 

the smile ruda responds with is knowing. “keep me company,” he says. “it gets dull down here.” 

she blinks at him. that’s all…? there must be a catch, but she’s down here anyway, sold her soul for freedom/captivity (either/or, they might be the same anyway), so it’s not like it matters if more favors come up down the line. 

“i’ll leave you to it then,” says ruda. his cape swirls around him as he turns on his heel and leaves, footsteps light on the heavy stone. 

the air in the room is surprisingly light, not at all like the oppressive heat that had always been described in books. the stories said the underworld was the realm of suffering, or, for people like her who had done nothing extraordinary, it was the realm of eternal monotony. but aside from the darkness and the red-tinted shadow of a sky, it’s almost welcoming. almost comfortable. 

keyword: almost. 

. 

the castle staff are downright cheery; their faces perk up when they see her stepping cautiously through the hallways. there is a gloom in the splotches under their eyes, but dan-i watches, transfixed, as that aching tiredness recedes from them. 

there is no use for food in the underworld, but dan-i seeks out the kitchen anyway. turns out they do have one, only because lord ruda enjoys eating and shares meals with his staff. it’s more of a social thing than anything else. manning the pristine counters is a man named lee jeong-in, his chef’s hat lopsided atop his head. 

“welcome,” he says. his voice is loud, booming, ricocheting off the monotone walls. “you must be the lord’s guest.” 

“that would be me,” dan-i quietly affirms. she has never been comfortable with people, least of all loud people. 

jeong-in bows deeply to her. “i’m honored to meet you,” he says, “though i wish i could make something for you.” 

“right,” dan-i muses. “food in the underworld traps you down here, right?” 

“yes.” jeong-in straightens with a heavy sigh. it’s a longstanding myth, so dan-i’s not surprised that it’s true. then again, she doesn’t really see how being stuck down here is very different from her current situation… 

she tells him as much. 

jeong-in shakes his head vehemently. the look he fixes her with is wistful, longing. “you still have the option,” he says. 

“of going back?” 

“of seeing the sun.” he leans against the counter. closes his eyes, like it hurts to look at her. “the sky. the flowers.” 

dan-i is quiet. she doesn’t know if jeong-in is dead, a spirit, or someone trapped here. what could she even say to that? since her body isn’t dead, does she still need to eat? 

did she make a mistake? 

. 

the little grouping of asphodel flowers outside her window marks the beginning of a footpath that winds around to the other side of the castle. at the end is a creaking black gate barely encapsulating an overgrown garden, weeds of every size and color, and a shed with a lopsided roof. it looks like the garden outside of dan-i’s old house did before she got there: overflowing, browning green leaves poking through the gaps in the gate, desperate. 

so she gets to work. 

the elaborate gate creaks when she pushes it and creaks when she pulls it, but after some maneuvering, it finally swings open. a barely-there path bisects the garden and winds around to the shed. the small building sags under the weight of the air. the door has a small cutout of a crescent moon at the top, like a makeshift peephole; although dan-i gets on her tiptoes, she can’t see through it. 

the door resists her push, but after a good five minutes of shoving all her weight into it, she finally tumbles through. the supplies are meager: a large shovel against the wall and a smaller one at its foot; some assorted chipped flowerpots; an array of seeds from the surface; and a bag of dirt torn at the edge and overflowing. dan-i is, right then, struck with a dream of how this could be. the way the earth would cling to her. the flowers that would inevitably grow, because flowers and beauty grow anywhere. 

she heaves the bag of dirt to the creaking door and leans it against the frame. then she takes the shovel and unravels the earth. tears it apart, speck by speck, shovel-stroke by shovel-stroke. she digs until there is nothing left of the weeds, turns over the ground, and lays the dirt from the bag. 

it’s her third day down here (she thinks, time is always so hard to measure here) and she’s already breaking a sweat. 

yesterday, she’d read aloud as ruda watched, her voice growing hoarse and gravelly. had not eaten anything. his eyes, rapt and attentive, fascinated, as she’d read, like a bird flapping in a gilded-gold cage. she’d chosen this, she has to remind herself. chosen, the only thing of her own free will. 

dirt cakes beneath her fingernails as she plants the seeds. narcissus and poppy and hyacinth. the flowers of sinners. 

the gate creaks. “i see you’ve found our garden.” 

dan-i stands slowly. “yes,” she says. she dips her head respectfully. 

ruda strides over and lifts her chin with the tips of his searing fingers. hot, like hell. a smile plays across his lips. dan-i isn’t one for poetry but in that moment she thinks she knows him, in the way one can never really be known. an oxymoron in and of itself. she tears her gaze away from his sunshine face. 

“i hope you don’t mind,” dan-i says. 

“i don’t,” he responds. warmly, as always. “you might just brighten the place up.” 

she ignores the blooming in her chest. maybe it’ll go away. “well, it’ll be slow going.” 

“it’s worth the wait,” ruda says, staring at her eyes, and dan-i’s not so sure he’s still talking about flowers. 

dan-i turns back and kneels, pats down the dirt. she swipes away the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand. ruda kneels next to her and presses his finger to the space where her hair meets her forehead. 

“what…” she starts, unsure. 

“you look hot,” he says. “let’s go inside.” 

“okay,” dan-i breathes. 

. 

the palace is blissfully cool, the chill bouncing off the stone walls. ruda leads her past the kitchen, where jeong-in does not offer her a drink, nor does she ask. an unfamiliar man with brown hair leans over the counter as they pass, rapping his knuckles against jeong-in’s forehead. 

ruda sweeps, as he always does, into the living room, or perhaps in this case, it would be more accurate to call it the death room. not because people died in there, but because none of them are technically living. a god is not alive in the truest sense of the word, and dan-i — well, she doesn’t really know. she’s somewhere in between. he takes a seat in the armchair and gestures for dan-i to sit. she does. 

“do you think anything will grow?” he asks. 

“there’s no sun,” says dan-i. “but maybe.” 

“is the sun necessary?” 

dan-i thinks, maybe with ruda around, his gold-spun hair and sunshine smile, it isn’t. 

. 

yeoryeong laces her fingers beneath her chin. dan-i has been missing for a week now. she and the kings have not descended for blessings since, have recanted all their well-wishes for the world: if there is no dan-i, then who cares what happens to everyone else? 

“it’s only been a week,” says jiho, but his eyebrows betray his worry. 

“she’s never disappeared for a whole week,” eunhyung argues. 

ju-in is silent. chunyoung is watching the surface through the clouds, like if he stares hard enough, he will see dan-i on her normal path from the library to home and back again. doing house calls, grinding herbs, weighing transmutable substances. 

“i don’t trust choi yuri,” says jiho. 

“she’s our only lead,” says eunhyung.

“i can find her,” says yeoryeong. “just give me more time. dan-i, wait for me.”  

. 

the river styx smells like grief. it smells like hatred. dan-i crouches at its bank and traces a stick in sand. what uses does the river of hatred have? 

“you’re here,” says ruda. he has a habit of sneaking up behind her. dan-i turns minutely and shrugs. 

“i am,” she says. 

“what are you thinking about?” ruda asks gently, sitting next to her. he crosses his legs in front of him. like this, he looks like any other boy that dan-i could’ve fallen in love with. 

“i wonder,” she says, “what the styx can be used for.” 

“nothing,” says ruda. “hatred is useless.” 

“it’s a good motivator,” dan-i points out, then wants to kick herself for speaking in metaphors. “anyway, why should the river of hate do nothing?” 

“there is too much hate here to do anything with,” ruda says, still speaking in metaphor. 

“then do something with it,” dan-i counters. “turn it into something beautiful.” 

when ruda looks at her then, his eyes sparkle. like a gem in the darkness. like the ocean. like the sun. 

.

ruda likes to listen to dan-i talk. he’s particularly interested in the things she has to say about the surface, she learns, not that she has too much to say about it anyway. but the way he looks at her like a sponge soaking up information — it makes her life up there seem exciting, seem magical. seem like a story worth telling. 

she’s telling him about the village’s vigilante group, her brief run-in with a man named gong haru just moments after he’d beaten evil breathless and left its offenders in the dirt, when ruda says, “do you miss it?” 

dan-i has to think about that. does she miss it up there? the way every day had something new to it? meant something because of how finite it was? 

“sometimes,” she admits. she misses the library and she misses the animated people on the streets, the brief moments of connecting with a stranger. she misses the strange overheard conversations. 

“would you go back?” ruda asks. there is something desperate in the timbre of his voice. 

“no,” says dan-i. “i wouldn’t.” 

“why?” ruda presses. 

she thinks about rose-colored glasses, and the fear, all-encompassing, until she couldn’t breathe. how debilitating it was to even exist. how petrifying. how, down here, she is allowed to be as she is, instead of what she should be. 

“i like it here,” she says simply. no room for argument. 

ruda bites down on his lip, but does not say anything else. 

.

a month passes, and green is beginning to poke through the dirt. dan-i visits the flowers, sings to them, and ignores ruda sitting at the gate, listening. head swaying along to her voice. 

one day, she does say, “isn’t there work you should be doing?” 

ruda laughs, a whole and lovely sound, one dan-i thinks she could get used to. she’s heard him laugh before, but not often, and not like this. she wants to learn more of his laughs. of him. the sunshine lord of the underworld.

“it’s all paperwork,” he says. “it doesn’t take long. i prefer this.” 

dan-i flushes, but she’s not exactly sure why. cheesy things like that shouldn’t get to her. it shouldn’t matter that ruda sees her the way she is, instead of the way he wants her to be. sees the dirt on her fingers and the stars in her eyes and does not mind these things she usually hides. all that shouldn’t matter. 

when she doesn’t respond, ruda says, “it seems the garden is coming along nicely.” he stoops and runs his fingers lightly over a tiny sprout. “it feels like only yesterday you had just torn up the earth.” 

“time is difficult like that here,” dan-i says quietly, more to herself than to him. he hears her anyway. 

“i suppose it would be,” ruda says. “there’s no sun to speak of.” 

“that’s not true,” dan-i says impulsively, and wants to kick herself for it. ruda cocks his head inquisitively, his gaze boring holes into her. 

“then what is?” ruda asks. “where is our sun?” 

dan-i takes a deep breath. “you,” she says, meeting his gaze. her eyes feel like fire. “you are our sun.” 

the smile he responds with is equal parts sad and delighted. “not a monster?” 

“maybe,” dan-i says. “the most gentle of monsters.” 

.

at the banquet table, ruda enthusiastically tears into his food. jeong-in and the soul collector, shin seohyun, sit across from dan-i, while magicians kim hye-hil and kim hye-woo sit to her left, mina across from them. ruda, on her right at the head of the table, sneaks glances at her and her empty plate, her open notebook. 

“what are you writing, dan-ah?” he asks. he’s taken to calling her that recently, she’s noticed. 

“i’m not sure,” dan-i says, tapping her pen against the page. she’s doodled a pattern of leaves on viney branches in one corner, and that’s all she has to show for the last hour. 

(she’d been trying to keep herself occupied while watching ruda fill out paperwork and meet with shades, but she’d gotten so distracted by the way he brushed his thumb against his bottom lip as he was reading—) 

“i’m sure you can come up with something,” says seohyun, a small smile on his face. ruda nods along. 

“you could try journaling,” hye-hil says. “maybe document your time here.”  

“no need.” dan-i draws in another swooping branch to her already complicated branch-and-leaf system in the corner of the page. “i’m going to be here for a long time.” 

she misses the flush on ruda’s face, as well as the worried looks the others exchange. 

. 

“here,” choi yuri says. it had taken a long time for her to get the kings and yeoryeong to finally trust her in showing them to the underworld, and she’s not about to give them time to change their minds. “this is where the path starts.” 

yeoryeong peers down the winding path cut from solid rock. there’s something foggy and mystical about it, a song that begs to be sung. it’s just the whisper of a tune, one she might’ve known once. but that is neither here nor there. 

“is it safe?” ju-in asks. 

“should be.” yuri slaps a hand against the rock of the cave’s mouth. she wants to see the way their faces fall when they learn dan-i ran away. she wants to see them suffer. those gods that never loved her, that loved dan-i for having the face of a dead and gone goddess. yuri looks close enough, doesn’t she? she’s good enough, isn’t she? 

“i’ll go,” yeoryeong says, ever the martyr. singularly devoted to one lost cause. 

“we’ll all go,” says eunhyung. 

they all look at each other. perfectly at odds, perfectly in sync. like they were made to be a team. and they were. jealousy burns in the pit of yuri’s stomach. she does not tell them that the caves are winding. she does not tell them the caves are designed to sow doubt, to drive mad. she does not tell them they could be trapped for months on end. 

“one at a time,” jiho murmurs. 

“me first,” yeoryeong insists. 

“okay.” 

. 

the buds of her flowers lean into her hands when dan-i hums to them. she’s not sure if they love the air she breathes or just her, but either way, it doesn’t matter much. they’re her flowers. she grew this, in the depths of the underworld, where things are not supposed to grow. 

“the garden looks good,” a voice says from behind her. struck with deja vu, dan-i whirls around. 

seohyun. she hasn’t talked a lot with him, but she knows the two of them are similar: both runaways from the surface. ruda had taken him in when his village planned to burn him, believing he was a witch. he’d prayed to the gods, and only ruda had answered. now he’s an immortal soul collector. funny how things turn out: a normal man suspected of being a witch becomes a god. takes those very souls who’d spurned him beneath the earth. 

“thanks,” dan-i says. she looks down at the narcissus at her feet, days away from blooming. 

seohyun steps forward to stand next to her, staring down at the budding flower. “you’re not having any second thoughts about being down here?” 

dan-i shifts her gaze to him without moving her head much. her hair hangs over her ear, pointing toward the ground. magnetized to that which is even lower. after a moment, she looks back at the flower. “not really.” 

it’s only a half lie. seohyun hums in acknowledgement, like he half believes her. 

“when these flowers bloom,” seohyun says, “they might want more sunlight. more than is down here.”

dan-i has no patience for cryptic metaphors, and she’s tired of everyone trying to convince her she doesn’t actually want to be here. “i thought you liked it down here,” she says bitterly. 

the smile on seohyun’s face is cryptic. mysterious. “i do. but it’s not the surface. it’s a compromise. it’s where people like us run away to.” 

“i’m okay with running,” dan-i says. “you guys are all trying to convince me i made some huge mistake. but i came here myself. it was my choice.” 

“was it?” seohyun’s smile is a tinge sad, now. “or was it the world that made life unbearable?” 

dan-i wants to snap at him. don’t make me second guess it, she wants to scream. she did the right thing. gods will forget about her before long, and she is content to fade into the background. it is exhausting to be loved by gods. she does not want to be a favored mortal. she wants to be like anyone else. here, she does not have to waste away. here, she can be herself forever. 

“you’re running late on collection,” dan-i says, quietly. seohyun’s gaze pierces her, trying to figure her out, but her walls are up. 

“i am,” he agrees finally, and leaves.

dan-i crouches in the dirt and breathes out deeply. 

. 

“dan-ah,” says ruda, and the way he says it reminds her of yeoryeong, “what are you thinking about?” 

“nothing,” she says. dan-i can’t shake the feeling that something is about to happen. she splays her hands out on the table and flexes her fingers. motion, to outweigh the panic. 

ruda catches one of her hands in his own. “you’re scared,” he says. 

“yeah,” dan-i breathes. 

“i’m sorry.” ruda hangs his head. as if it’s somehow his fault. 

dan-i wants to say, not of you. it’s not him she wants to hide from. she wants to say she’s afraid someone will take her away. that she’ll have to leave without ever fully coming into herself. but she can’t. how could she even begin to say it? how does she tell him she’s afraid of the people she used to know, of being loved? of fading away? 

all she manages to choke out is, “don’t be.” it’s enough, though. ruda tightens his grip on her hand and presses a featherlight kiss to her palm. dan-i’s face flares, but she does not pull away. 

. 

like always, dan-i’s intuition is right. her flowers are a day or so away from hopeful blooms when five people — no, gods — stagger out of the wall and crash into the ground. dan-i takes one look at them and runs. because she knows them. of course she does. and of course they would come to take her home. 

why had she expected any different? gods do not like being challenged. they do not like change. and they especially do not like to lose. it doesn’t matter what she wants. 

dan-i runs. and runs. she can’t breathe but she runs to the palace and past the kitchen and through the throne room. she runs until she is lost in its hallways and cannot find her way out again. it doesn’t matter who she is, she thinks. she is a convenience. a trinket that disappeared briefly, but lost things are meant to be found. 

finally, she slows to catch her breath, leaning against a pitch-black wall. the torches of this hallway are dim, their fragmented light dancing across dark stone. she thinks she hears her name ricocheting off the walls from behind her. 

what now? 

she’d said she was tired of running. didn’t she mean that? and yet, she’s hunched over herself, running. always running. dan-i braces herself against her knees and breathes in, deeply. 

can she make herself face the kings, yeoryeong? she’ll have to. if she wants to stay here without regret. ruda’s face flashes through her mind — she’s not worried about how he’d fare if she’s ferreted away, but a part of her aches to stay for him. It’s a strange feeling, to be the one now burdening another with love. 

dan-i blinks. what was that? love? 

...it makes sense, she begrudgingly admits. love. not that she’d ever known what it meant to be in love with someone before, but now she wants to learn. maybe she’s overstepping, but— 

she breathes in again. time to go back and face them. 

. 

ruda’s eyes crackle electric-blue. lips twisted in fury. “so,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “let me get this straight. you barge into my domain to steal away one of my residents, and you couldn’t even send a messenger?” 

yeoryeong swallows thickly, bravely. she will not cower in front of the king of hell. “this is the kind of thing you do when you love someone,” she says. “rationality has nothing to do with it.” 

another sigh. ruda feels that’s all he’s been doing since the four kings and their puppetmaster stumbled into his garden. more specifically, dan-i’s garden. remembering it makes his skin prickle with rage once again. it’s easy to imagine the terrified look on dan-i’s face, having to see the very people she’d run away from in the one place she’d thought they could never find her. if only he’d protected her better. 

“nor does your flimsy excuse for love,” ruda bites back. “if you cared about her at all, you’d let her go.” 

“be careful what you say, lord ruda,” jiho warns. “your reach only extends so far.” eunhyung cracks his knuckles. 

the tension in the room is taut and thick and humid. ruda clenches his fists so hard he thinks they might crack, splintering into rock pieces. 

suddenly, yeoryeong’s head snaps up, facing the archway. “dan-i!” she cries, taking a few steps forward. dan-i stands, unmoving, facing the lot of them. to his credit, ruda pretends his immortal heart does not skip-step over itself at the sight of her, half-petrified, hands shaking minutely. 

“hi,” she says, dipping her head in something reminiscent of a bow. 

“what are you doing down here?” yeoryeong demands. “come on, let’s go home.” 

“no,” dan-i murmurs, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. but they’re gods, and they hear. 

“what?” chunyoung gapes, a fish out of water. something — some kind of sorrow-rage emotion — clouds over his face, once impassive as the distant sea. 

“dan-i,” jiho tries, his voice carefully gentle, uncharacteristic, “you can’t stay here.” 

dan-i hugs her arms close to herself, like she’s trying to shrink into herself, into the ground, further down than they already are. ruda can’t bear to see her like this. “be quiet,” he snaps. “you all are in my domain. or did you forget?” 

“you do not own everything here,” yeoryeong snarls. eunhyung lays a warning hand on her shoulder. 

“no one,” dan-i says, her voice trembling, “owns me.” 

everyone looks at her. snapped to attention at her voice. maybe she was never a god, ruda thinks, but that talent of hers — to make people listen, to make people care about her — is something otherworldly. something none of them could begin to understand, much as they might try. 

“of course,” eunhyung says, his eyebrows furrowed. “you’re your own person.” 

finally, dan-i raises her head. and they see it is not entirely fear that laces her voice, but thinly-concealed fury. the room burns red-hot. 

“and you,” dan-i says, stepping forward; the kings step back. “you don’t get to tell me what to do.” 

“dan-i,” yeoryeong says brokenly. “this isn’t you.” 

“maybe it is.” her eyes are blazing now, fiery and fierce. “did you ever think of that? maybe i’m not the person you thought i was. who you wanted me to be. maybe you only saw me the way you wanted, the way that made you feel better about yourself.” 

“dan—” jiho starts, but she cuts him off. 

“no,” she snaps. “i’m not a god. i’m not the one you all lost. i can’t be a replacement. i can’t live like that. down here is where i want to be.” 

ju-in, who has been silent this entire time, says, “if that’s what you want, then we will respect that.” 

“ju-in!” yeoryeong shrieks, whirling around to face him. “you can’t—” 

“she’s right,” ju-in says. “we can’t control her. we want her near, but we’ve never asked her how she feels about it.” he meets dan-i’s gaze levelly, and she seems to breathe again. “i’m sorry, dan-ah.” 

the way he says it is so tender, so affectionate, that ruda wants to slap him. as it is, dan-i looks like she’s been struck. 

“ju-in,” she starts, then seems to change her mind. “thanks.” there’s a certain broken longing in her voice that makes her sound trapped, like a dove in a cage yearning for the dome of the sky.

“dan-ah,” ruda says, and everyone else stares at him. “can we talk?” 

when she looks at him, her gaze softens. grows steadier. “sure.” 

“you all, stay here,” ruda says, and leads dan-i out into the hallway with a sweep of his cape. he doesn’t look to make sure they get the hint, and a part of him doesn’t care. what he’s about to do is beneficial only for them.  

“what’s going on?” dan-i asks. there’s worry in her voice. worry for him. ruda’s stomach twists and turns. 

“listen,” he says. “what i’m about to say… i don’t want you to take this the wrong way.” 

dan-i’s eyebrows furrow. “what do you mean?” 

“i want...” he starts, and swallows thickly. tries. again. “humans need sunlight, right?” 

she scowls at him. “i made my choice, lord ruda. i cannot go back on my word.” 

“you don’t miss it?” he asks. 

“that doesn’t matter,” she says, quietly. “i like it here. how many times do i need to say that?” 

“okay,” ruda breathes. “the option is open for you at any time, if you so choose.” 

“lord ruda,” she says, “why would you do that?” 

he can only give her a bittersweet smile. if she doesn’t know already, he’s not sure if she ever will. and he’s not sure he can tell her he’s been in love with the very idea of her since the magicians had first prophesized she’d find him. dan-i searches his face for a moment, the picture of concern. 

“i can’t say,” ruda finally chokes. he can’t, as much as he wants to. now is not the right time. 

“okay,” dan-i breathes. “okay.” 

. 

“i’m not going back with you,” dan-i says. the kings and yeoryeong look as though they’ve been slapped, blinking at her roughly. 

“okay,” yeoryeong says, something hurt and breaking in her. “if that’s what you want, dan-ah, then i…” 

“let’s go,” ju-in says. he herds everyone out to the gates, where seohyun is waiting to guide them back to the surface. he casts a look over his shoulder at dan-i. “see you around, dan-ah.” 

dan-i feels like she’s choking, can only nod in response. is this what it takes? is this what she wants? 

not like she can go back on it now. she’s made her decision. she talked the god of the underworld into hiding her here. she can’t just leave. her word is her bond. 

what would even happen to her if she left, being half-dead and all? would her body wither, forcing her back here anyway? she scuffs at her eyes with the palms of her hands and finds them damp. 

“dan-i,” ruda starts, but she darts off to her room, unlistening. 

. 

dan-i has not left her room in days. 

of course, time is a bit difficult to gauge down here, where there is no sun to make the passing of days, and ruda is immortal, so it’s not like time should matter all that much to him, having a plethora of it. still, he’s worried. it feels like an eternity since he’s seen dan-i, and granted, five minutes feels like forever to him when it comes to not seeing her, but still.  

tentatively, he knocks on her door for what must be the tenth time since those godlings left. “dan-ah?” he murmurs. unsure if she can hear him through the door. 

there is no response. 

“dan-ah, can i come in?” 

shuffling. that’s how he knows she can definitely hear him, if her sounds are as clear to him on the other side. soft footsteps. the door swings open. 

dan-i’s hair is a certifiable nest on her head, sticking out every which way. there are bags under her eyes, and her skin has a pale, gaunt quality to it. she’s a sight for sore eyes, and ruda loves her. 

“you haven’t come out in a while,” he stammers when dan-i doesn’t speak, just stares at him quietly. “the flowers are going to die.” 

“are they,” she mumbles, one hand pushing back the hair in her face. it doesn’t help the mess, only makes it look even more disorderly. 

ruda looks her up and down. the flowers are fine; mina’s been taking care of them (“for dan-i,” she’d said when ruda had asked), but in that moment, he makes a decision. 

“get dressed,” he says. “i’m taking you somewhere.” 

“where?” 

he hopes the grin he responds with doesn’t bear any resemblance to a grimace. he’s trying his best. “it’s a surprise.” 

fifteen minutes later, dan-i’s brushed her hair and is wearing real clothes. ruda doesn’t say anything, just takes her hand and presses his hand to the wall next to him, where a door materializes. he swings it open. the inside is pitch-black. 

“after you,” he says. dan-i looks at him, half in fear, half in awe, and, not letting go of his hand, steps through. ruda lets himself be pulled along. 

. 

the two of them step out into a field with a sigil burned into the grass. dan-i squints into the brightness, the sun glaring down at them. they just stand there as her eyes adjust, hand in unlovable hand. 

even with her eyes burning, dan-i would recognize this field anywhere. how could she not? 

“ruda,” she says, finally able to see again, “what are we doing here?” 

“i heard,” ruda says carefully, “that sunlight helps people feel better.” 

dan-i looks down at herself, at the flowers healthily growing at her feet. “aren’t i dead? how am i…?” 

“i am the god of the dead,” ruda says. “i don’t quite know how to explain it, but in short terms, you’re immortal.” 

“i’m what.” dan-i stares at him, her face the very picture of disbelief. she’s already irritated at herself for going on a crazy dramatic monologue to her godly friends (ex-friends now, she guesses) and now he has the audacity to spring this on her? 

“you said it yourself, way back then,” ruda says. “you’re not exactly dead, but you’re not exactly alive anymore, either. so, where does that leave you? immortal.” 

dan-i buries her face in her hands. “fine. okay. that makes no sense, but i guess that’s how it is.” 

instead of responding, ruda sits in the grass. dan-i peers at him through her fingers, watches him tilt his head up toward the sky, basking in the sun. he makes eye contact with her and pats the ground next to him. 

with a huff, dan-i drops down. the grass tickles the bare skin of her legs. she thinks she could fall asleep in the warmth of the sun. maybe never wake up again. 

“i owe you the truth, dan-ah,” ruda says. immediately, any relaxation dan-i felt evaporates, replaced by prickly white-hot anxiety. 

“about what?” 

ruda looks her in the eyes. his gaze is a melt-worthy blue, tinged with gold. “the truth is,” he starts, sounding for the life of him that he’s picking and choosing each word as carefully as possible, “that i always knew you would call on me.” 

dan-i blinks at him. “well, the magicians are the fates, right?” 

“yes.” 

“okay.” she gives him a firm nod. the revelation isn’t as life-altering as she might’ve thought it would be. the amount that the gods know should never surprise her. “then it makes sense.” 

“and ever since,” ruda says, his cheeks flaring red, “i’ve been a little in love with you.” 

once again, dan-i can only blink at him. “you didn’t know me,” she says. 

“i know,” ruda bites. he doesn’t look very godly now, just looks like a boy on the verge of spontaneous combustion. “but i do now. and i love you more now than i ever thought i could. i love you more each day, dan-ah.” 

dan-i’s head is reeling. here’s ruda, a god, ruler of the underworld no less, telling her — telling her what, exactly? that he’s in love with her? 

that can’t be possible. it can’t be, and yet he’s looking at her so earnestly, so hopefully, she can’t pretend it’s not true. he loves her, and she loves him. in this moment, she’s just a girl, and he’s just a boy. they are shadowed by sun and death and the erosion of the mind but right now they are together and that is all that matters. 

“ruda,” she says. the words get caught in her throat. all she can manage is, “me, too.” 

a wide grin threatens to split ruda’s face in two. “really?” 

dan-i nods. once, slowly. then again and again, vehemently, reminding them both it’s true. ruda cups her cheeks, stilling the motion of her head. 

“that saves me a speech on how we have eternity,” he says. “that i could wait for you for eternity.” 

this almost prompts dan-i to roll her eyes. so needlessly dramatic again, and when she should be angry after all these life-changing revelations, instead she’s eyeing the way his mouth moves around his words. 

“haven’t you already?” dan-i quips, leaning her cheek into his palm. 

ruda’s smile grows larger and all the more effervescent. “i suppose,” he says. “how will you make it up to me?” 

dan-i inches forward, eyes still fixated on his mouth. “name your price,” she murmurs. 

“a kiss,” ruda says, “if i may have one.” 

“you may,” dan-i says. she presses her mouth to his quickly, a hand on his shoulder. as quickly as she’d leaned forward, she pulls back, and his face, eyes closed, chases after her as she moves, canting forward just barely. 

“another one?” ruda asks, his eyes fluttering open and pleading. dan-i sighs affectionately and kisses him again. 

.

“isn’t the sun nice?” ruda asks. they’ve flopped back into the grass, bellies up and facing the sky. 

dan-i breathes out deeply. “yeah,” she says. her eyes are closed against the sun but she can feel its warmth on her skin. it is nothing like the underworld. 

“i think we should come visit sometimes,” ruda says. 

she’s not sure how she feels about that. right now, the idea that yeoryeong and the kings are watching her — well, it’s scary, but somehow she misses them. misses their awkward love and their jokes and the walks they’d go on, the way yeoryeong would poke her head in through the window and say dan-ah, get your nose out of those books! and the way they’d all eat together and bicker. dan-i doesn’t regret anything she said — how could she when it was all true, was all festering — but she misses what she’s lost. 

“yeah,” dan-i says. 

“dan-ah,” ruda says. he shifts to his side to look at her. dan-i cracks her eyes open and watches him watch her. “you want to see them again, don’t you?” 

it’s hard to answer. but she does. “yes.” 

he smiles. there’s a hint of pain somewhere in there, something mourning. “they’ll forgive you,” he says. “if you forgive them.” 

“i have,” dan-i says. 

“i’ll leave you to it,” ruda says. he sweeps his cape over himself, and when dan-i blinks, he’s gone. 

. 

dan-i wanders back into town. it’s been a few months since she’s been here, but she remembers the way like she’s known it all her life. well. she has. 

the dirt road crunches beneath her shoes. it’s all she can focus on to keep her sane. at what point will she run into them? what would they say? what would she say? 

she’s spared from having to ruminate further on that particular question, because at the end of the trail, she finds the kings and yeoryeong sitting in a circle, with one additional member. as dan-i approaches, yeoryeong’s head snaps to attention. 

“dan-ah?” she practically whispers. 

“it’s me,” dan-i says. 

the additional member of the circle glowers. 

“how’d you get here?” yeoryeong stands and reaches out her hands, as if to grab hold of dan-i, but thinks better of it last minute. 

“ruda brought me.” dan-i says, then corrects herself: “lord ruda.” 

“why would he…” jiho mumbles, but doesn’t finish the thought. 

dan-i interrupts any further conversation with a deep bow. “everyone,” she says, and she can already feel tears pricking at her eyes, “i’m sorry.” 

“you don’t need to be—” one of them starts, she’s not sure who, but dan-i barrels on. 

“i’m sorry for trying to cut you guys off and running away. i’m sorry for all the trouble i caused instead of just talking about it,” she stammers. she’s being dramatic, but she doesn’t care. her cheeks feel damp and cold and warm and sunny all at once. 

“dan-ah,” yeoryeong says, and now she’s tearing up too, throwing her arms around dan-i. they hug and hug and hug, warm and safe and sorry. ju-in stands and follows, then jiho, then eunhyung, then chunyoung. 

“hello?” says the girl who didn’t join, the one dan-i doesn’t recognize. 

“oh.” jiho extricates himself from the group and introduces them. “dan-i, this is choi yuri.” 

yuri doesn’t extend a hand, or nod, or bow. just glares. 

“you think you’re a saint, huh?” she snaps. “you think you can just waltz back in here after everything?” 

“choi yuri,” eunhyung hisses. “i’d watch what you say.” 

yuri huffs and turns away, arms crossed over her chest. “fine. you’re all delusional. crazy. i’m a much better choice than her.” 

“can i smite her?” jiho asks. 

“no,” dan-i says. the others are already rolling up their sleeves, but she pulls at their sleeves. “hey, don’t waste your time. i’m just visiting, anyway.” 

yeoryeong searches her eyes desperately. “for how long?” 

the wind whispers to her, and dan-i answers, like she already knows, has heard it in a song somewhere: “three months every year. like summer vacation.” 

it’s a compromise and a privilege, to get to enjoy the sun after everything, to be back here with this love she’d once hated so much. dan-i had never known how much love she had inside of her, how much she wanted to be a part of them, a real part. 

the funny thing is, she’s not afraid anymore. her arms are open and wide, and she’s ready. 

.

“you’re heading back down?” ju-in bemoans, clinging to dan-i’s shirt. “don’t gooooo!” 

“i’ll be back next year,” dan-i says, patting his head. 

“we’ll miss you,” says chunyoung, his face carefully impassive. he is not the type to forgive easily, but he’s getting there. they all are. 

“we have forever now,” dan-i responds, grinning. 

yeoryeong drapes herself over dan-i. “and so we’ll see you again next year, right?” 

“yep.” 

“you’d better keep your promise!” 

she waves goodbye and makes her way to the field. that field, with grass growing in through the burnt patches of ground. life, and its ability to grow anywhere, regardless of its circumstances. 

dan-i faces the sky, the sun, and takes a deep breath in. tastes the leaves, the summer, the change of seasons. and when she looks back in front of her, ruda is there, chariot and all. 

“sorry i made you wait,” ruda says, but dan-i ignores him. she races up to him and throws herself into his arms. 

“you’re here,” she murmurs against his chest. 

“i’m here,” he says, and his body rumbles with it. 

dan-i leans up and he meets her halfway, mouths meeting, desperate and wanting. they’ve been apart just as long as they were together, and yet, it’s as if no time has passed. as if time stands still for them, in this moment, this feeling. ruda’s mouth is warm and his hands on the skin of her cheeks are searing. dan-i thinks she could melt into this, relish it forever, and never grow sick of it. 

“let’s check on your flowers, shall we?” ruda murmurs against her lips. “i kept them well for you.” 

“let’s go,” dan-i whispers. 

as they mount the carriage, ruda presses another kiss to her lips. “dan-ah,” he says. “i love you.” 

“i love you too,” she says. and they head back into the underworld. 

eternity is a very long time. but now that she has it, half mortal half dead, entirely something else, dan-i thinks, everything will be fine, so long as she has this: her sun in the underworld.