Chapter Text
The sky was choked with smoke again.
Above the broken skyline of Sector 6, what little light filtered through the smog turned the city into a graveyard of towers and flickering advertisements. Somewhere beyond it all, past the barricades and beyond the drones’ reach, something flew - something blue. Something humans were trained to hunt.
They called them Blue Birds.
Not quite human, not quite beast - towering, winged anomalies with sapphire feathers that shimmered like oil in the sun. They had hands, feet, faces. Some even spoke. But their wings made them dangerous. Unnatural. And so, the world turned them into prey.
But the last Blue Bird Seonghwa saw bled like a man and begged like a boy.
Seonghwa gripped his rifle harder than he needed to. His father’s voice still rang in his head like a second heartbeat: “You owe me this.” And maybe he did. But standing here now, suited in polished armour and drowning in orders, he didn’t know what exactly he was paying back.
He wasn’t alone. He never was.
Yunho was beside him, quiet today. He always was on flight days. He hadn’t spoken much since the incident last winter - the one Command covered up. San perched above them on a rusted girder, watching the clouds like he was trying to remember what hope felt like. Mingi tuned the scanner unit with practiced boredom, humming a melody that didn’t belong in a place like this.
None of them had chosen this life.
Some, like Seonghwa, had been pushed into the corps by family legacies stained with medals and blood. Others had no one - no parents, no place to go, just a signature on a conscription form and a bunk in the barracks. They were called soldiers. But they were just boys, surviving.
And they were good at it. Too good.
Footsteps crunched over the gravel-strewn rooftop behind them, measured and unmistakable. Seonghwa turned just as Hongjoong emerged from the stairwell, flanked by Wooyoung and Jongho. Even before the squad leader spoke, the weight in his gaze said everything.
“It’s time to move, boys,” Hongjoong said, voice clipped, the wind tugging at the hem of his coat. “Command reports a sighting just outside the walls.”
One by one, the team rose - Yunho slinging his rifle over his shoulder, San stretching out his limbs like a restless animal, Mingi muttering something under his breath as he powered down the scanner. Wooyoung cracked his knuckles with too much energy, while Jongho stood quiet and unreadable, jaw set.
Seonghwa didn’t move.
He looked at Hongjoong - not at the insignia on his chest or the rifle at his back, but at his eyes. There was a promise there. One made last winter, in the snow and the silence after a mission that went horribly wrong. A vow between two boys pretending to be men: We bring them back. All of them.
Hongjoong gave the smallest of nods. He hadn’t forgotten.
Because for all their grace and beauty, Blue Birds still killed humans. Talons sharp as knives. Wings strong enough to crack ribs. Some hunted first. Some defended last. Either way, bodies were left behind - and not all of them wore feathers.
Seonghwa finally stood, tightening his gloves. His stomach twisted the way it always did before a mission. Not from fear of dying - but fear of what he'd have to do to survive.
-
The truck rumbled through the outskirts of the city, its tires grinding over cracked pavement and rusted debris. Inside, the air was tense, the silence thick enough to drown in.
Yunho sat behind the wheel, knuckles white against the steering column, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. In the passenger seat, Hongjoong monitored the comms, fingers tapping rhythmically against the screen, jaw tight with focus.
In the back, the rest of the squad rode in silence - benches lining either side of the armoured vehicle, knees nearly touching in the tight space. Seonghwa sat directly across from San, their eyes meeting briefly before Seonghwa looked away.
San’s scar caught the light - a deep slash running from his left eye, now clouded and useless, down to the edge of his right cheek. A Blue Bird had done that.
Seonghwa swallowed hard.
He knew why they were here. Why the corps existed. Why their missions mattered. Blue Birds were dangerous. More than once, they’d nearly lost one of their own - San had been inches from death, Jongho still felt pain in his shoulder from last spring’s ambush, and Wooyoung rarely slept without flinching in his dreams. Civilians didn’t stand a chance.
But Seonghwa… had never pulled the trigger.
He’d seen them fall. Watched his squad fire. Watched wings crumple mid-flight, bodies crash into rubble and dirt. But his own rifle had never gone past the first click. Something always stopped him. A look in the Blue Bird’s eyes. A flicker of fear, or humanity, or something worse - recognition.
His father’s words echoed like gunfire in his skull, bitter and cold: “I need a kill from you soon, Seonghwa, or they’ll charge you with mutiny. You’d disgrace everything I’ve built.”
He clenched his fists on his knees.
None of them had ever wanted to kill. Not Yunho, who still flinched after every shot. Not Wooyoung, who laughed too loud to cover up what he’d done. Not even Hongjoong, who carried every casualty like it was carved into his spine. But they had done it. Because it was their role. Their reality.
Seonghwa stared at San again - at the scar, at the eye that no longer saw. He tried to summon something sharp inside him. Anger. Hatred. Rage.
But all he could find was the hollow space where those feelings were supposed to live.
Still, he breathed in and made the vow under his breath, low enough only he could hear it.
"I will make our family proud, Father."
“We’re close to the wall,” Hongjoong called back, his voice steady but low. “Make sure you’re ready once we clear security.”
The hum of the truck's engine deepened as they slowed near the gate. Everyone wordlessly checked their gear. Rifles locked and loaded, safeties off. This part was muscle memory now - ritual etched into bone.
When the scanners finally flashed green, the gates groaned open, and they rumbled through the last barrier of steel that separated the city from what lay beyond.
Outside the walls, the world looked like it had exhaled centuries ago and never breathed in again. What had once been towns were now graveyards of cracked concrete and half-standing houses. Nature had begun reclaiming it all - vines crawling through windows, moss softening rooftops, trees breaking through roads like defiant ghosts.
Seonghwa looked out the narrow slit of a window and thought it was beautiful. Peaceful, even.
But peace was never why they came here.
Hongjoong turned in his seat, facing them fully now. His expression was different - heavier, eyes dark with something unreadable.
“We’ve got new orders,” he said quietly. “Still shoot on sight. Still kill, if needed. But…” He hesitated, just long enough for it to feel wrong. “If you bring one down and it's still alive - we’re to immobilise and retrieve it. Bring it back.”
For a second, no one reacted. Then the confusion rolled through the truck like a silent wave.
They were an extermination squad. That’s what they’d always been. None of them had ever brought anything back - only bodies, and not always their enemies’.
“Why?” Wooyoung finally asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.
Hongjoong shrugged, but the movement was hollow.
“Something to do with the new research directive. High Command wants to study them - figure out why they’re so different. So… mutated.”
He said the last word flat, almost clinical. The kind of tone a doctor might use when describing a tumour. But it didn’t fool anyone. They all knew what that word really meant. A placeholder. A justification.
Because once, not long ago, Blue Birds had been human.
No one spoke after that.
The truck kept rolling through the overgrown deadlands, toward whatever waited in the sky.
The truck hissed to a halt in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees. Their trunks were thick and dark, their branches clawing at the grey sky like brittle fingers. The world out here felt quieter - like it was holding its breath.
“This is the location of the sighting,” Yunho called from the driver’s seat. “Everyone be ready.”
Without hesitation, helmets clicked into place. Armour plates locked down with mechanical precision. Rifles were shouldered, safeties disengaged. In the back, the six soldiers moved like clockwork, each motion drilled into them a hundred times over.
The rear doors flung open, and boots hit the ground in unison. The front doors slammed a second later as Hongjoong and Yunho joined them, the squad fanning out quickly into formation. Weapons raised. Eyes up.
Every branch creaked like a warning. Every gust of wind sounded like wings.
They moved as one - slow and controlled, rifles sweeping across the tree line, scanning both sky and ground. Seonghwa’s heart beat in rhythm with his steps. Adrenaline buzzed beneath his skin like static.
At the front, Hongjoong raised a hand, halting the squad. From his helmet, a soft blue light projected a flickering 3D map of the terrain in front of them.
“There’s a cluster of structures about two clicks northeast,” he said, pointing to a small grouping of buildings marked on the display. “Abandoned housing or an old maintenance outpost. Likely their nesting ground.”
“Nesting,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear.
San took point beside Hongjoong without a word. Jongho shifted to the rear, scanning behind them. Mingi adjusted the frequency on his wrist scanner, eyes locked to the pulsing radar.
Seonghwa’s rifle felt heavier than usual.
His trigger finger twitched against the guard, but not out of eagerness. His mind was already building the shape of what they might find ahead: wings curled inside rotting rooftops, feathers scattered among forgotten furniture, maybe even eyes watching them through the brush - not with malice, but with fear.
And still, one thought drowned out the rest.
“Today I will make you proud, Father.”
They were just cresting the ridge, approaching the perimeter of the marked structures, when a sharp voice tore through the still air:
“Hunters!”
Everything exploded at once.
From the rooftops and treetops, five Blue Birds launched into the sky, their wings unfurling in a violent rush of cobalt feathers and wind. The sheer force of their ascent kicked up a wave of dirt and leaves, and then the gunfire began - sharp, stuttering bursts that cracked through the trees like lightning.
“Eyes up! Fire!” Hongjoong shouted, already raising his rifle. “Split up if you have to - stay safe!”
The squad broke formation instantly, each one chasing a different target through the trees and sky, boots pounding, breath sharp in their comms. Yunho disappeared to the right, Mingi veered left. San vaulted a fallen tree like it wasn’t even there. Jongho took the rear. Wooyoung was already mid-sprint, laughing - whether from adrenaline or panic, it was hard to tell.
But Seonghwa didn’t move.
His rifle hung limp in his hands as he stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, staring not at the fleeing targets, but at what lay behind them.
It wasn’t an abandoned ruin.
The houses here were fully built - walls reinforced with new wood, windows repaired with scrap glass and cloth. A stone fireplace stood in the middle of the clearing, flames crackling under a cooking rack. Fish, freshly caught, sizzled over the fire. Nearby, makeshift furniture: stools, a table, hand-woven baskets filled with foraged herbs.
Not nests. A village. A home.
His heart hammered in his chest as the realisation washed over him, heavy and sickening. These weren’t beasts. This wasn’t a den. This was life. Family. Community.
“They’re living just like us,” he breathed.
But no one heard him. The clearing was already empty. The others had charged after their marks, rifles blazing, boots echoing through the trees.
Seonghwa stood alone in the silence, his finger still resting on a trigger he’d never pulled.
A flicker of movement caught his eye.
One of the wooden doors creaked open - barely a whisper - and a figure stepped out, staggering as though unsure of the ground beneath him. A Blue Bird. Younger than Seonghwa had expected, muscular arms, his feathers darker than the others they’d seen - deep sapphire with streaks of obsidian. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath ragged, eyes searching the sky like a frightened child looking for his family.
He’d been left behind.
Seonghwa froze, watching. The creature’s face was twisted in terror, but it was human - undeniably so. High cheekbones, wide eyes, trembling hands. His feathers shifted with every breath like they were alive on their own. Even in fear, even now, he might’ve been the most beautiful thing Seonghwa had ever seen.
Then the Blue Bird looked down - and their eyes locked.
Time cracked.
For a second, neither of them moved. The Blue Bird's chest heaved, his lips parted in panic. And then, suddenly, a scream tore from his throat - wild and sharp like a hawk’s cry. His wings flared open, stretching wide with a snap of wind and feathers.
Seonghwa jolted, instinct flaring. His rifle came up.
The barrel trembled violently, following the figure but never steady. His finger hovered over the trigger, twitching, uncertain. The Blue Bird stared back at him, unblinking, lips parted, panting. Waiting for the shot.
But Seonghwa couldn’t do it.
And the Blue Bird flew.
Wings swept down, powerful and graceful. The air cracked as he launched upward, past the smoke of the cooking fire and over the rooftops in a single, breathtaking burst of movement.
“No!” Seonghwa choked, and he ran.
Every strike from his father echoed in his muscles now. Every time he’d been called weak, been punished, belittled, warned - “You are not a soldier until you make the kill.” The looming threat of disgrace. Of prison. Of being disowned.
His boots pounded the earth, breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased the streak of blue disappearing into the trees.
He’d missed his chance. But maybe there was still time to catch it.
The Blue Bird weaved through the trees ahead, wings clipping branches, feathers scattering in his wake. He didn’t fly high - barely ten feet off the ground, skimming the forest floor like a panicked shadow. His flight was clumsy, frantic. Desperate.
Seonghwa sprinted after him, boots crashing through leaves and underbrush. The wind slapped against his visor, the forest blurring past. He raised his rifle again, breath sharp, vision narrowed.
Just shoot. Just end it.
He took aim, the barrel jerking with every step.
Take the shot, Seonghwa. Make your family proud.
But then another memory surged forward, sharper than any weapon he carried.
He was five. Too small for the weight of the rifle, too scared to question it. His cheek was still stinging from the slap - red and raw where his father’s hand had landed. His eye was watering, but his father stood behind him like a statue of fury.
"Take the shot, son," his father growled. "TAKE THE SHOT!"
Seonghwa’s fingers tightened on the trigger - his whole body trembling. And then, the shot rang out.
The Blue Bird in the sky shrieked as the bullet struck its wing. The sound it made wasn’t a monster’s cry. It was human. Pain and panic fused into one. It fell fast, feathers trailing behind it like pieces of a broken sky, and slammed into the ground with a hollow thud.
Seonghwa stood there frozen, unable to move. His first ever hit. And deep inside, the five-year-old boy who’d held his frist rifle was still screaming.
Seonghwa sprinted toward where he’d seen the Blue Bird drop, heart pounding in his ears, rope already clenched in one hand. He was moving so fast he almost missed the cliff edge that opened suddenly beneath him.
He skidded to a stop, boots digging into the dirt just inches from the ledge.
Below, the earth dipped into a narrow crevasse, a shallow ravine swallowed by moss and brush. And there - twisted on the grass, wings half-sprawled - was the Blue Bird.
He was screaming. Raw, hoarse pain tearing from his throat, feathers slick with blood. His right wing was mangled, crimson soaking the ground beneath it, and a jagged gash split across his temple, blood streaking down into his eyes. Dirt clung to his face in dark smudges. He was crying, struggling, flapping his wings in panic - but it only made things worse. Every movement caused a fresh surge of agony.
Seonghwa stood above, panting, trying to slow his breath.
Just rope him. Do it fast. Don’t think. Detach. Like Father always said.
He started down the rocks, boots scraping against stone, rope slung across his shoulder. His face was stone, but inside, his pulse thundered.
At the sound of footsteps, the Blue Bird looked up.
His eyes were wide, filled with terror. He tried to push himself away across the grass, leaving streaks of blood behind him. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. He flapped again instinctively, but his broken wing only crumpled beneath him.
Seonghwa hesitated.
His fingers tightened on the rope, but something inside him cracked.
He’s in pain.
He approached slowly, cautiously, ready to bind the creature’s wrists and ankles. The wings… the wings could be left alone, maybe. The right one wouldn’t lift anyway.
But every inch he closed, the Blue Bird shrank back further, flinching like a beaten animal.
“Please.”
The voice was human. It was deep. Clear. Trembling with fear.
Seonghwa froze. He looked around instinctively - was someone else here?
Then it came again.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
Seonghwa’s breath caught.
The Blue Bird’s lips were moving. His voice was broken and cracked, but real. Coherent. Human.
“I’ve never hurt anyone. I promise. I’m a peaceful bird.”
Seonghwa stood there, stunned, the rope hanging loose in his hands. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The world seemed to slow, sound fading into silence.
This was a voice begging for mercy. This was the moment everything Seonghwa had ever been taught began to unravel.
Seonghwa felt his chest tighten, something rising in his throat he hadn’t let surface since he was a child. He wanted to cry.
Everything he’d been told - all the briefings, all the propaganda, all his father’s cold commands - it was wrong. These creatures weren’t beasts. They weren’t mindless animals that hunted for pleasure. They lived in homes. They cooked meals. They spoke. They were afraid.
They were families.
Still, duty pressed heavy against his shoulders. He had to bring this one in. His father’s voice echoed cruelly in his mind: “No more mercy, Seonghwa. No more excuses.”
His fingers moved on their own, trembling as he crossed the space between them. The Blue Bird kicked weakly, eyes wide in horror, lips moving in panicked pleas that sliced through Seonghwa like glass.
“Please - please don’t - It hurts - please, I didn’t do anything-”
Seonghwa grabbed his ankle anyway.
The Blue Bird thrashed, one good wing flapping wildly, but he was too injured to do more than squirm. Seonghwa forced himself to work quickly, binding the bird’s legs with shaking hands, barely able to see through the blur in his eyes.
Every sob, every twitch, every broken word made it harder to breathe.
When the final knot was pulled tight, Seonghwa paused, his hands hovering.
He looked up.
The Blue Bird had turned his face away and shut his eyes, as if to make himself disappear. As if he’d accepted his fate, whatever pain was to come.
And for the first time, Seonghwa really saw him.
Even smeared in dirt and blood, his face was beautiful - painfully so. Jawline sharp, lips trembling, eyes squeezed shut like a child bracing for a blow. A red birthmark bloomed under his left eye, vivid against his pale skin. His whole body trembled with silent fear.
Seonghwa’s stomach twisted.
This is what I’ve become, Seonghwa thought. A monster wearing a badge.
He stared at the bound legs. At the ropes around the trembling ankles. At the tear tracks running down cheeks that looked no different from his own.
Then, slowly, he reached down - and untied the knots. The rope slipped free. The Blue Bird stilled.
A second passed. Then another. His eyes flew open. Wide. Disbelieving.
Seonghwa moved slowly, taking off his helmet, then reaching for the side pouch of his uniform. The moment he unfastened it, the Blue Bird flinched - sharp and instinctive, his wing twitching even in pain.
Seonghwa froze. “Sorry,” he said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not… I won’t hurt you.”
The words felt strange in his mouth - soft, human, the opposite of every command he’d ever been taught to give.
“I’m Seonghwa,” he added, gently easing the pouch open. “I just want to help. I swear.”
The Blue Bird didn’t reply - just stared at him, wide-eyed. The tear tracks on his cheeks had dried now, leaving faint streaks of salt and dirt behind. His brows were drawn in confusion, and though his body remained tense, he shifted ever so slightly backward - not out of fear, but caution.
Seonghwa pulled out his first aid kit, setting it carefully between them on the grass. He didn’t open it yet. He didn’t want to startle him again.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Seonghwa said, looking up slowly. “I was just… following orders.”
It sounded hollow even to his own ears, and he hated himself for saying it. But it was the truth. No matter how ugly.
The Blue Bird still said nothing, but his breathing had steadied. He was watching Seonghwa’s every move - still alert, still scared, but no longer bracing for a blow.
Seonghwa met his eyes. Steady. Honest.
“I want to treat your wing,” he said quietly. “If you’ll let me.”
The seconds that followed stretched long and tense. The Blue Bird didn’t blink. His face was unreadable now - eyes darting between Seonghwa, the kit, the path behind them. He could still try to run, even with one wing.
But eventually, he nodded - once, slow, unsure.
A fragile thread of trust had been offered.
Seonghwa nodded back, opening the kit with a soft click. Seonghwa worked in silence, hands steady but heart trembling.
He opened the antiseptic bottle and poured a small amount onto a cloth. As gently as he could, he began cleaning the wound on the Blue Bird’s wing.
The sting hit immediately. Yeosang flinched hard, a choked breath escaping through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice tight. “I know it hurts. But it’ll help. With care, I think your wing will heal.”
He didn’t know if he was saying it for Yeosang or himself.
Bit by bit, he wrapped the wing, careful not to press too tightly. The feathers were softer than he expected, impossibly delicate despite everything they’d just endured.
As he secured the final knot on the bandage, Seonghwa glanced up. “What’s your name?”
The Blue Bird hesitated.
Then, hoarse from crying, from screaming, from fear, he whispered, “Yeosang.”
Seonghwa’s throat closed. Guilt surged up, raw and jagged.
He’d hurt him. Chased him. Brought him down. Bound him. And now here he sat, treating the wound he’d caused like that might undo any of it.
He lowered his hands and sat back, facing Yeosang fully.
Yeosang slowly shifted, testing his wing. The movement was instinctual, desperate - a flicker of hope.
“Wait,” Seonghwa said, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t try to fly. You could tear it worse.”
Yeosang froze. His lower lip quivered. And then, slowly, tears welled in his eyes again.
“They left me…” he whispered. His voice cracked. “They all flew away and I couldn’t… I can’t fly anymore.”
Seonghwa said nothing, the ache in his chest unbearable.
“I’m useless now,” Yeosang continued, his words breaking into sobs. “What’s the point? I’ll die here, won’t I? I was supposed to stay with them-” He buried his face in his hands, trembling. “I wasn’t supposed to be left behind.”
His voice was soft, almost childlike in its despair. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just quietly, devastatingly lost.
And it shattered Seonghwa.
I did this to him.
Without thinking, he reached forward, placing a hand on Yeosang’s knee - grounding, warm.
“You won’t die here,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Yeosang looked up, eyes red and wet, mouth parted in confusion.
“I’ll bring you food. Treat your wing. Keep you safe. And when you’re healed…” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. “You can fly again. And go. Back to them. No one has to know.”
Yeosang blinked slowly, tears still clinging to his lashes. There was a long pause, filled only by the soft crackle of leaves and the distant wind.
Then, he nodded - cautious, uncertain.
But trusting.
Seonghwa felt something shift in his chest. The rope he hadn’t been able to untangle since childhood loosened just a little.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t following orders.
He was making a promise. To Yeosang. To himself.
Seonghwa glanced at Yeosang’s bandaged wing again, then remembered the fish - perfectly skewered, roasting over a hearth just like his own home. They eat like us. Live like us.
He reached into his own pack, unwrapping the rations he hadn’t touched since that morning - a small portion of dried meat, rice biscuits, and a sealed protein bar. Carefully, he handed them to Yeosang.
“It’s not much,” he said, “but it’ll keep your strength up.”
Yeosang hesitated, then took the food with both hands. He studied it curiously, sniffed it, and finally nibbled at the edge of the biscuit. His wings relaxed slightly, and Seonghwa could see the tension in his shoulders ease.
“We patrol this region every two days,” Seonghwa continued. “I’ll come back next time. Bring more food, fresh bandages. You just need to stay quiet. Stay hidden.”
Yeosang looked up, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. He nodded.
Seonghwa pulled a folded blanket from the bottom of his pack - the emergency one, thin but insulated - and laid it down beside him. “For the nights,” he said. “It gets cold out here.”
Yeosang reached for it with soft, hesitant fingers, as if it were something rare and precious.
Seonghwa stood, brushing off the dust from his knees, readying himself for the climb. But just as he turned, something gnawed at him. Without another word, he shrugged off his gear, dropping his pack to the ground, then unhooked the rifle from his shoulder and placed it gently beside Yeosang.
Yeosang stared. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll need protection. And supplies,” Seonghwa said simply.
“But won’t your squad-?”
“I’ll tell them I lost it during the chase. That I killed you. They won’t come looking.”
Yeosang was silent. He looked down at the gear, then back up at Seonghwa with something unreadable in his expression. Not quite belief. Not quite disbelief. Just… overwhelmed.
Seonghwa gave him a faint, reassuring smile and turned back toward the steep rock wall.
But then, just before he began the climb, Yeosang spoke.
“If…” he started, voice quiet and unsure, “If any of my family have been captured…”
Seonghwa turned to face him again, eyes meeting Yeosang’s.
“…Will you make sure they’re not hurt? That they’re safe?”
There was something so pure in the way he asked. No anger. No accusation. Just worry - gentle, human, and devastating.
Seonghwa’s chest ached as he nodded.
“I promise.”
Yeosang held his gaze for a second longer, then looked down, fingers curling gently around the blanket.
With one final glance, Seonghwa turned and began the climb out of the crevasse, the morning light filtering through the trees above.
Behind him, Yeosang sat alone, surrounded by a rifle, a blanket, and the first sliver of hope he’d had in years.
Seonghwa walked for what felt like hours. His legs were heavy, his hands still tingled with the memory of Yeosang’s trembling skin beneath the bandages. Every sound in the forest sent his nerves flaring - not out of fear for himself, but out of worry for the one he’d left behind.
Eventually, he heard voices up ahead. Familiar ones.
He pushed past a cluster of trees into the clearing where the truck was parked. His squad was gathered near the back, rifles lowered, heads scanning the trees.
“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong was the first to notice, striding toward him with urgency. “Are you alright? You were gone so long-”
He stopped in his tracks.
Seonghwa followed his gaze down to his uniform - soaked through with drying blood, smeared across his arms, streaked along his legs. Yeosang’s blood.
He swallowed tightly, keeping his expression calm. “I’m okay, its not my blood. I lost my gear during the chase, but I… I killed it. The blue bird.”
His voice barely held steady.
The others had turned to look now. Yunho, San, Mingi, Jongho, and Wooyoung - all of them still, quiet, unreadable.
None of them said a word of praise. No congratulations. No “you finally did it.”
Because they knew.
Seonghwa had never taken a life before. Never once pulled the trigger to end it. This job had always broken pieces off him - slowly, steadily - and now, even though they believed he’d finally done it, none of them smiled.
Instead, Hongjoong gently took him by the arm and guided him to the back of the truck. “Come on. Let’s get you warm.”
Someone - maybe Jongho - handed him a blanket. Wooyoung pulled him in without a word, wrapping both arms around Seonghwa’s and stroking up and down in soothing lines. The others made room, gave him space without asking questions.
Seonghwa let himself be folded into the warmth of his team.
But his eyes didn’t move.
They stayed fixed out the back of the truck, watching the trees blur as the engine started, staring in the direction of the crevasse. Of Yeosang.
Where an injured, frightened boy sat alone, armed only with a rifle he didn’t know how to use and a promise he had no choice but to believe in.
Seonghwa didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.
He just stared.
And silently, he prayed the lie he’d told today would be enough to protect him tomorrow.