Chapter Text
Jisung never wanted to be a heretic but he didn't get a choice.
He didn't even question it or defy it or try to change his fate.
He picked up that sword without hesitation. He knew it would be pointless to resist. If he didn't pick up the sword, destiny would get to him another way.
If he wouldn't try to fight the monsters, the guilt of not doing it would become a monster in its own way.
Jisung really wasn't a good fighter inherently.
He wasn't made for this life in general. Always on the road, never enough time to settle down, a shadow of danger always following him no matter where he went.
Not to mention the general hatred and spiteful sneers flung in his direction by the townsfolk he passed while travelling through the land.
People didn't want to look at him. His hopeless form and sharpened blade reminded them of the constant danger lurking around every corner.
His existence meant that reality was real and dreams were only dreams.
The sight of him reminded them of a world they used to have and lost. A peace they would never get back. A sky that nobody remembered the colour of.
Now they lived in tiny communities and towns built into caves instead of pompous cities and loft apartments.
The air was always filled with a stench of sulfur and poison, never fully clean and every breath cut short by the fear of taking a full lung of it.
They had to farm their own food in fruitless, burnt ground and filter dirty lake water three times before it was clean enough for drinking.
The sun didn't fully come out anymore, either - always a dooming blanket of dark clouds keeping the sky hidden.
But the worst part of this grey and dull life was the fear that always lingered.
There was never a moment of rest or peace. The dread was always there, waiting around every corner, in every dark shadow.
The fear of not only monsters but a raging gods wreath.
Seeing someone like Jisung reminded them of that fear. The fear that nobody dared to speak about but that also never completely went away either.
It hadn't always been like this. The gods used to be good and just.
When this world was freshly hatched. When the ground they planted their food in was brown like coffee and bearing radiant colours of fruit and vegetables. When the sky was still blue.
The gods were fair and powerful, respected by every living being as the forces of nature that they were.
The people knew an earthquake or a flood or a drought could be their end. They knew to honour the gods with presents and love.
But it didn't stay that way.
The people evolved. They started building machines and took more from the soil than they sowed. They took and took and took and didn't honour the gods anymore.
They didn't fear earthquakes because they could just rebuild their houses again, they didn't fear droughts because water was always there, bubbling right out of their own four walls. They did not fear floods because a new boat could always be built.
They stopped worshipping the gods and started worshipping themselves.
The gods felt betrayed and angry. They turned into abominations formed by poisonous hate. Their pure, ethereal forms became grotesque and rotten evil. Their eyes filled with blood, their hearts filled with oily grease and disgust.
If the people wouldn't love them - they should fear them.
So they took them to war.
The people didn't stand a chance.
The result was a world as it was now. A broken shadow of what it used to be. A world filled with despair and dread. A shadow lurking around the corner everyday, always ready to attack.
The war brought change in many forms. New people started walking around earth like the cruel Fae or the demons, citizens of hell. They brought magic that only they could use and built their grotesque but beautiful structures on top of humanities ruins.
It also brought people like Jisung. Or at least what he was trying to be.
Heretics - they were called.
People stupid enough to fight the gods, to test their patience and raise their blades against monsters and creatures.
The regular people despised the heretics. One would think they'd be grateful that somebody was brave enough to fight for them. That somebody would put themself between the innocent and the darkness and raise their sword against the odds.
But the heretics usually just made the gods angrier, more merciless and wicked.
At least that's what everybody whispered behind closed doors.
Jisung was already starting to get used to their stares and occasional slurs spit his way. He took it without complaining, more than aware of the people's fear and hopelessness.
He wasn't here to fight them.
He never wanted this, but he didn't have a choice.
◐
Jisung hesitantly opened the door to the inn in the middle of the small town he was passing through.
The innkeeper cursed at him and wanted him to leave, screaming and throwing her arms around.
Jisung put a fresh apple on her desk that made her shut up. The red colour looked unnatural in the dull little room. Oversaturated, like it didn't belong.
“Are you trying to poison me, heretic?” She spat at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion but her hands twitching towards the fruit in front of her. Fresh food was so rare, you had to hold onto it if you got the chance. Jisung knew that. It was his only way to bargain.
“I only kill monsters," Jisung said in a calm voice, keeping his gaze down. He'd gotten used to not looking people in the eyes. Sometimes they took it as a challenge.
Jisung could face monsters but people were a whole different story.
The room was small and stuffy. There was barely enough space to walk but he didn't care because he was inside and there was a bed.
Jisung washed up as best as he could and felt grateful when his back hit the mattress. Sleeping wrapped in a blanket out in the wild wasn't nearly as good.
In the beginning he was way too afraid to sleep outside, sometimes begging people on his knees to let him in. But the more he was trying to prove to them that he was human and on their side, the less they believed him.
The fear had almost swallowed him whole the first few nights sleeping outside.
The darkness whispered around him, the bony arms of shadows reaching out to his curled up form.
He soon came to realize that it wasn't much safer inside a house either. After he got ripped from his sleep by hateful hands, kicks to his belly and spit to his face. He decided the shadows weren't half as scary.
But from time to time he got lucky and could spend a night in a real bed without any disruption.
His sword right by his side, leaning on the nightstand.
Technically it wasn't his blade. He'd inherited it from his best friend Chan.
At least he assumed that Chan was okay with Jisung having it now. He wasn't quite sure. Chan never got the chance to actually say something to him about it.
Jisung knew the blade didn't fit him, like it wasn't willing to mold into his grip, still attached to its rightful owner.
He tried his best to use it to his full abilities but he knew a different sword would work better for him. He couldn't stand the thought of giving this one away, though.
He woke up the next day to snowflakes outside the window and groaned. Great, more cold is exactly what he needed.
A few months earlier he would've stayed in bed, curled up for the rest of the day not caring what was happening outside. He couldn't afford this luxury anymore.
So he got up, got dressed and fastened his sword before moving on. Nobody offered him breakfast or anything else when he left the inn. He didn't dare to ask, anyway.
The air was stale and freezing. Jisung immediately started to shiver and felt goosebumps climb down his back.
He pulled his cloak closer and started walking.
The road was only barely visible under the snow and he tried his hardest to stay on track. One wrong move and he could fall off a cliff.
Due to being so focused on the path ahead of him, he didn't notice the lanky armed monster creeping up on him until it was almost too late.
He ducked away at the last moment, a harsh gasp leaving his throat.
Jisung jumped a few steps back, unsheathing his sword and taking his fighting stance. The monster was an ugly abomination of what used to be a human at some point.
That was another sick joke from the gods, a way to torture humanity. Instead of just killing people they started turning some of them into atrocities.
The monster's skin was burned pitch black and its extremities were unnaturally long and bent. Its eyes gleamed blood red and its face was distorted and scarred. Long teeth like needles stuck out of its mouth, black ooze leaking from it.
A shiver ran down Jisung's spine at the sight of it. His most primal instincts were screaming at him to run. That this was unnatural, raw evil.
The monster lunged at him and he could barely block its claws with his sword blade. It was fast and aggressive, hitting him with one attack after another.
Unnatural, guttural sounds escaped its foul throat, sending shivers down Jisung's spine. He tried to stay focused and get an attack in but the monster's claws came down on him relentlessly.
Jisung could feel that his sword was sitting in his hands the wrong way, not made for him, not willing to obey him completely. He was a decent fighter, but the cold, the dread and the ill fitting blade made it hard for him to properly fight back.
The monster finally broke through his defence and the impact of one of the attacks left him breathless. He screamed out and lost balance, tumbling back a few steps and only avoiding another hit by a hairline.
Jisung knew he would only survive like this for a limited amount of time. It was a miracle that he'd made it this far already, really.
He knew he wasn't cut out for this life but he had made a silent promise to Chan. He couldn't give up until he'd fulfilled it.
The monster kept striking at him, the weight of the attacks hurting his arms were he barely managed to block them. He hadn't been able to get a single attack in yet.
Suddenly the monster stepped back just to attack in an even more aggressive manner, managing to yank Jisung's sword out of his grip. It landed against a rock a few feet to his left, the sound of steel on stone making him wince.
He fell on his back, trying to protect his head with his arms, waiting for the final blow to hit.
So this was it, Jisung thought.
He hadn't even made it that far up north and was already about to die. He could already imagine Chan's disappointed face in the afterlife.
Suddenly the monster let out a bone grinding screech and Jisung couldn't help but press his hands over ears protectively.
He held his breath and after a moment, the noise died down. He could hear a thud next to him and when he opened his eyes, the monster was laying dead on the ground and a man was standing above it. He was holding a bloody sword and staring down at Jisung with a cold stare.
He looked up at the stranger and froze when their eyes met.
The first thing on Jisung's mind was that he looked unbelievably beautiful - almost unnaturally so. His face was striking, sharp edges and cat-like eyes. His pale skin fit right into the snowy landscape, a stark contrast to his dark hair. He stared down at Jisung with a neutral, calculated expression, unable to read.
When Jisung took in the dead body of the monster laid out in front of him - now just a big pile of blood and gore - he quickly realized that this stranger had just saved his life.
He took his hands off his ears and slumped back down into the snow, chest heaving and a relieved sob escaping his lungs.
“Fuck…” he felt like his bones had turned liquid and he knew he had escaped death only by a second. If it weren't for the stranger he'd be dead by now.
“You suck at this.” The man suddenly spoke.
His voice was surprisingly high and light, his tone neutral. Jisung lifted his head a bit and was met with a cold, judging expression.
Even in the eyes of other heretics, he was a failure. There was no escaping the hatred and judgement.
Good, he deserved every bit of it.
Jisung slumped back down and breathed. “I know.”
He heard footsteps crunch in the snow and when he looked back up the stranger was a few meters away already, his back turned.
Jisung just sighed heavily and got up on his feet before he could catch a cold in the freezing snow. He needed to reach another town before dawn. There was no way he'd survive a night in the snow.
His knees were weak and shaky when he got up. He went to retrieve his sword and moved on. His heart was pounding in his chest and his cheeks red with embarrassment but he tried to brave through it. He wasn't made for this life but he had no right to complain, either.
He had no right to wish for anything else but this.
Jisung suddenly realized that he hadn't even thanked the stranger for saving him.
◐
Thank the gods, he didn't encounter another monster for the rest of the day until he finally reached a little town in a silent valley.
The cold had crawled inside his bones by now and he was shaking violently, yearning for a warm hearth or fire.
The town had an inn but unsurprisingly they weren't very happy to see him.
“You could share a room with the other heretic - or leave, I don't care.”
That made Jisung pause. The other heretic?
Could it be that the innkeeper meant the same guy who'd saved him?
Jisung had made a fool out of himself today. The other heretic obviously despised him, putting shame on the already sullied name of their profession. He really, really didn't want to share a room with that guy.
But the other option would be freezing to death so Jisung agreed and gave away his last red apple.
The innkeeper grumbled and Jisung wondered if they would just burn the house down with both of them inside - judging from the looks people gave him.
He went upstairs and knocked on the assigned room door. There was no answer and Jisung closed his eyes, cursing the gods for bringing him into this situation. He knocked again. No answer.
“I’m gonna come in.” He yelled towards the door and pressed the handle.
It was the same man he'd encountered that morning. The guy who'd saved his life from a monster Jisung should've been able to kill with ease.
Their eyes met instantly and Jisung felt cold dread run down his spine. That guy didn't look happy at all.
“What do you want?” He grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed, in the middle of taking off his boots. There were two narrow beds, thank the gods. But they were still very close and the little space was crammed and cold. Jisung could barely feel his toes anymore and hoped the blankets would at least warm him to some degree.
“The uhm -” he swallowed, casting his eyes onto the moldy wooden floor. “The innkeeper told me to take this room.”
The other man just blinked at him a few times, his face unmoving and devoid of emotion. “I already sleep here.” He said as if Jisung hadn't noticed.
“I know.” Jisung truly considered freezing to death for a moment. “They told me we should share, since…” he vaguely moved his hand between their swords. Jisungs at his hip and the others on the side of the bed.
The man huffed out a breath and his eyes took in the whole sight of Jisung. He felt like a bug under a microscope.
“So you really call yourself a heretic?”
Ouch.
He was right of course, Jisung was a sad excuse of a swordsman. He had learned basic swordfight training, they all had to do it from a young age. But he wasn't remotely good enough.
Not like Chan had been, or this guy was. Not like a true heretic. Jisung really shared nothing with them except for the sword. And it wasn't even his own.
“Is it okay if I take the other bed?” Jisung tried to hide how cold he was but a violent shiver gave him away. He didn't want to beg the man to let him stay but he would if he had to. There was no way he would survive the night otherwise.
The stranger seemed to notice Jisungs shaking and his eyes changed for a small second. As if he suddenly had pity for Jisung. Understandable, really. The sight of him must've been truly pathetic to look at.
“Okay. But you stay out of my way.”
Jisung wanted to cry from relief but kept it together and nodded once before locking the door. The other guy looked at him weirdly but resumed taking off his shoes and then armor.
Jisung did the same, stripping down to his thin linen clothing and curling up in bed, trying desperately to get warm.
The room was clammy and dark and there wasn't much warmth happening underneath that blanket. Jisung still shivered violently and wondered if he would survive a cold in these lands.
Suddenly the stranger spoke again. “You really do suck at this.”
Jisung looked over in surprise. The man was sitting on the side of his bed, watching him.
“W-what?” Jisung's teeth were chattering and he trembled violently.
“That whole survival thing. You really suck at it.”
Jisung didn't know what to say so he just kept staring at the stranger's beautiful face.
The other man finally sighed and got up, walking over to Jisung's bed.
“Scoot over.” He said and Jisung thought he may have heard him wrong.
“What?”
“Scoot over. You're gonna freeze to death otherwise.”
Jisung didn't move, frozen in disbelief.
The man finally rolled his eyes and grabbed Jisung's blanket, pushing him further to the left before climbing in with him.
Jisung didn't even push back, too stunned to speak.
He couldn't believe his eyes when that beautiful face was suddenly so close, lying on the pillow next to him. He wrapped one arm around Jisung and pulled him in, his face suddenly squished into the stranger's chest.
He almost moaned from delight when he felt the man's body heat enveloping him, his violent shivers slowly dying down.
They laid like this for a while, not moving even a little bit. When Jisung could finally feel his toes again he couldn't help but realize how insane this was. He didn't know this man and yet they were here, cuddling basically.
“Why?” He couldn't help but wonder.
The other was silent for so long Jisung thought he would maybe never answer. But then he heard that soft voice again, feeling his chest vibrate where he was pressed against it. “You may be a shitty heretic. But you're still one of us.”
Jisung took in the words and it made tears prick in his eyes. If only this guy knew what a fraud he actually was. He would probably send Jisung back out into the cold immediately..
“Thank you.” He mumbled instead, trying his hardest to press the tears back into his eyes. “For saving me today - twice.”
The stranger did not answer and just when Jisung was about to slip away into sleep he heard his voice again.
“What’s your name?”
Jisung opened his eyes in surprise. “Jisung.”
“I’m Minho.”
Jisung didn't dare lean back to see the stranger's face, too scared the other would back off completely and take his warmth with him - so he just stayed unmoving as he was.
“Thank you for saving my life, Minho.”
He must've sounded like he was still shivering because the stranger pulled him a bit closer. “Sleep now.”
Jisung didn't have the strength to do anything but obey.
◐
When Jisung woke up the next day, Minho wasn't in bed with him anymore. He sat on the other mattress, putting on his black leather armor, brows creased in concentration. Jisung didn't move. He watched Minho put on his arm brace and studied his face.
He still felt more than confused by the other man's behaviour. Heretics usually were loners who didn't meet or protect each other. If you choose this life you have to accept loneliness as a part of your being. Heretics did not act hostile towards each other like other humans did, but they never worked together either.
Jisung didn't really know why. It was an unwritten rule that everybody just accepted. Maybe Minho didn't care about that rule or he was just a good person who took pity on Jisung.
He'd slept better than he had in weeks. Minho's body heat had saved him from waking up every few hours and he felt well rested and cosy.
Jisung blushed at the memory of Minho's arms around him. He knew it was meant to be innocent. Just one person helping the other survive. No ulterior motives. It still made Jisung feel warm and mushy inside. He hadn't been touched by another person in months, especially not someone as attractive as Minho.
Who looked like a marble statue, really. Way too pretty to lead a grim and lonely heretics life.
Jisung's face started heating up when Minho's eyes suddenly met his own. He blinked a few times and stopped putting on his armor, watching Jisung.
“How are you feeling?” He asked softly.
Jisung half-hid his face under the blanket. “Good.”
“Are you warm now?”
“Yes.” He whispered. Too afraid to use his voice in the silence of the little room. “Thank you.”
Minho didn't respond but his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a smile. He got up and finished putting on the last of his armor.
Jisung crawled under the blanket, ready to wait out until he was alone again, when Minho suddenly spoke.
“You should get dressed. We have a long march ahead of us.”
Jisung froze, peaking his head out of the blanket again. “What?”
Minho stared at him in his neutral manner, as if he expected Jisung to just do what he said.
“You should get dressed so we can leave.”
Jisung tried to make sense of his words.“We?”
Minho blinked again, expression neutral as ever. “Yes. You should come with me.”
Jisung wasn't sure if Minho was being serious or making fun of him, his heart beating nervously. “Where to?”
“You will see. Get up, now.” Minho then decided he was done with the conversation and turned towards his bag, rummaging around in it. Jisung was still laying frozen, unsure what to make of the situation.
When Minho realized Jisung didn't move one bit, he turned around with a sigh. “You won't survive alone. I can teach you how to fight.”
Jisung's eyes turned wide. “What? Why - I mean, really? I -”
“We're gonna make a deal.” Minho said then, his face taking on a serious expression. “I will teach you and you will carry my stuff in return.”
Jisung blinked at him in disbelief. “You really are being serious about this.”
Minho stared back. “Yes.” He turned back to his stuff. “Unless you don't want to, that is.”
Jisung suddenly realized that this was a crazy opportunity for him. He always knew in the back of his mind that he wasn't cut out for this life. He was too weak and unskilled, he would've never made it up north and achieved his goal. His plan had been doomed from the start.
If Minho was really serious and willing to take Jisung under his wing, this would be his best chance of survival. He almost died twice just yesterday. There would be even worse things waiting for him, the further he got up north.
“Would you really do that?” He asked again, just to be sure.
Minho didn't look at him but nodded. “I could use the company.”
Jisung hadn't expected that answer. Minho was so hard to read. Jisung could never tell what would come out of his mouth next.
“Yeah, okay.” He finally sat up in his bed. The chill morning air embracing him. “That would be great.”
Minho turned around and when their eyes met, Jisung smiled carefully. Minho's expression stayed unreadable. “Get dressed then.”
Jisung flinched and got out of bed immediately. “Yeah, sure. Sorry!”
He put on his clothes and armor in the little bathroom as fast as possible. When he entered the room he half expected Minho to be gone. Just another person who played a cruel prank on him.
Minho was still there, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, already ready to leave. When his eyes fell on Jisung, he picked up his backpack and shoved it into his face.
Jisung tried to stay steady but Minho apparently carried stones around with him. He started to think Minho actually just needed a squire to carry his stuff.
◐
That's how Jisung started following Minho around, his heavy backpack slowing him down but still better than the weight he used to carry before: The fear of being eaten off the street.
Minho had such a strong aura to himself. He marched ahead with a sureness and poise Jisung could only dream of. Everything about him radiated strength and skill.
Jisung had met other heretics on his travels before. They usually walked a bit more hunched over, trying not to be perceived. They usually just nodded or didn't even acknowledge him. Just phantoms, passing by.
But Minho's presence was as impossible to miss as the snowflakes around them. He carried himself with certainty and awareness. He’d helped Jisung immediately without question and decided to teach him to fight.
Minho felt so out of place it kept Jisung truly fascinated. He was once again entranced by someone else's mysterious energy, like a moth to flame.
“Where are we headed, by the way?” Jisung asked at some point. They were still walking further inland, but Minho hadn't mentioned any destination so far.
Normal heretics usually just wandered around with no plan, just looking out for danger and monsters - unlike Jisung who was on a clear mission.
But Minho seemed to be heading towards something specific as well, as if he was searching. His step was sure and true.
“I’m looking for someone.”
Jisung decided not to get on Minho's nerves too much. He was hoping Minho would let him stay as long as possible that way.
◐
He got his first fighting lessons in the evening of that first day walking around together.
Minho had found a shallow cave that would provide some shelter for the night. He lit a fire and Jisung huddled around it for warmth after putting Minhos backpack down - trying to warm up after the long snow walk.
He made an indignant noise when he suddenly felt something blunt lightly hit his head. He looked up and saw that it was Minho's sword hilt. The other was standing above him, his eyes as cold and collected as always. “Get up.”
Jisung whined but did as the other said.
“Draw your sword.”
Jisung looked at Minho in surprise. He really wanted to do sword practice here and now? In the campfire light?
“What?” Minho asked, as if he'd read Jisung's baffled expression. “You expected a fancy training course?”
Jisung blinked a few times and finally did as told, drawing his sword with a little struggle. It was definitely too big for him, the sound it made while being drawn felt not quite right, either.
Jisung ignored it and got into his fighting stance. His wrist was still aching from where the monster had bombarded him with attacks.
Minho's eyes quickly fell onto Jisung's blade, but only for a little moment. He then got into position as well and Jisung braced himself.
It was laughable how quickly his sword hit the ground. He hadn't even seen Minho lunge forward.
He winced when the metal hit the ground with a clang and he looked up at Minho sheepishly. The other did not laugh or grin at him in satisfaction, though. His expression stayed as still as ever. “Pick it up again.”
Jisung sighed but did as told.
Minho beat him in seconds - again and again. He stood no chance. Jisung didn't count how many times Minho beat him but some time must've passed, Jisung's body hurting and dirty from being pushed to the ground over and over.
Jisung felt bitterness and despair crawl up his gut. He knew it would go like this but he still felt so embarrassed and pathetic. Minho probably already suspected him to be a fraud.
“It’s no use.” Jisung mumbled, looking at the ground to avoid Minho's eyes. “I’m not good enough.”
Minho didn’t respond and silence settled around them.
Jisung was about to go curl up next to the fire when he heard Minho's voice again. “Pick it up again.”
Jisung groaned and hid his face in his hands. “No it's useles-”
He was suddenly cut off by a hand grabbing his collar. He had no time to react before his back slammed into a tree, the air leaving his lungs in a sudden gasp. Minho stood only inches from him, pinning him to the bark with his entire body weight. His expression was still annoyingly neutral but his eyes had a crazy gleam to them.
“Minho, wha-?”
“That’s why you suck at this.” Minho suddenly said, his breath forming a cloud in front of his face. Jisung felt it on his lips.
He didn't respond but just stared at Minho in surprise.
“You suck at survival because you don't care if you survive.”
Jisung didn't know what to say.
“Your life is precious and you need to protect it. Don't just throw it away because you’re scared.”
He let Jisung go again, sitting down next to the fire, laying his sword across his lap and staring into the flames.
Jisung just watched him, still stunned by the sudden turn in Minho's demeanor.
“Come here.” Minho's voice was calm. Softer. Like a bell that jingled in the cold winter air.
Jisung gulped, picked up his sword and sat down next to him. Tears of embarrassment burning behind his eyes.
He watched Minho's side profile, lit in orange by the flames, eyes sparkling.
“How did you get that sword?” he asked and Jisung flinched. His heart started beating rapidly all of a sudden and he didn't know why. He could just lie or tell a half truth but for some reason he was sure Minho would be able to tell that he was lying.
“I, ehm-” he cleared his throat and stared at the blade in his lap. “I got it from a friend who died.”
He prayed to whatever god was merciful enough to let Minho drop the topic then and there, but of course he wasn't that lucky. There were barely any gods left that had anything but malice inside of their hearts.
“Your sword is rejecting you.” Minho suddenly said.
Jisung had only suspected something like this but he never thought it would actually be true.
He knew from Chan that a heretic's sword had a special bond with its owner. That they were blessed by priests to give it special powers. It wasn't just metal, the heretics' swords were somehow reacting and connected to their owners. But Jisung knew nothing more, he'd just hoped the sword would get used to him.
“What does that mean?” he asked timidly, his heart heavy with shame.
Minho still spoke softly, now glancing at Jisung's sword. “Give it to me for a moment.”
Jisung obeyed and Minho grabbed the hilt of Jisung's - Chan's - sword into his hand gingerly. Jisung felt a strange buzz in the air, but only for a little moment before it disappeared again.
Minho weighed the blade in his hands, turning it and taking a good look at it. After a moment he gave it back to Jisung and finally met his eyes. “It doesn't want to be with you. It's craving its real owner.”
Jisung just nodded sadly. “I know.”
He put it back into its sheath and met Minhos eyes again. “But its real owner is dead. I took it after he died.”
Minho searched Jisung's face for something and then stared ahead again. “It will never obey you.” Minho finally said.
Jisung's heart sank. He knew that somehow, he'd felt it already. He was too weak, not a real heretic and also the reason Chan was dead in the first place. Of course the sword wouldn't ever listen to him. Why should it?
“It will never obey you, because…” Minho fixed Jisung with an intense stare. “its original owner is still alive somewhere.”
◐
Jisung just stared at Minho wide eyed, trying to process the other man's words.
“What?”
Minho put his own sword away as well, then got up to kill the fire. “We should go to bed. It's getting late.”
Jisung jumped to his feet suddenly, mind racing. “What did you say?”
“We should go-”
“Minho!” Jisung heard his own voice echo in his mind, his breathing frantic. “What did you say?”
Minho stared at him for a moment. “The owner of your sword. Your friend. He should still be alive.”
“How do you know that?”
Minho blinked and if Jisung wouldn't have been distracted by the topic of their conversation he would have noticed that Minho had almost smiled at him. “You really know nothing about being a heretic.”
He walked towards the cave and Jisung stumbled after him. When they sat down on their blankets, shoulders touching, Minho continued. “A sword doesn't react like this, if the original owner dies. If you were there to take over the sword it would either accept you or slice you open - depending whether you were worthy or not.”
Jisung tried to process the words and make sense of this. The sword rejected him but not enough to kill him.
“If a sword is willing to be by your side but doesn't quite obey, it means it wants you to bring it back to its real owner.”
Jisung didn't realize he was crying until a tear landed on his hand. He stared at Minho - his face so close again. Jisung studied the other man's expressions. “So Chan is still alive?”
“Probably.”
Jisung wiped away the tears from his face and suddenly felt a strong arm around his shoulder, pulling him in.
“You’re not hopeless, Jisung.” Minho was so close, he could feel his breath on his forehead. “ You just need to find a way to actually want to learn how to fight. To let go of that weight dragging you down”
Jisung didn't respond. He knew he wasn't the most enthusiastic heretic out there. He didn't want this job at all actually. He'd loaded it on his shoulders out of survivors guilt, ready to do what it takes - for Chan.
To avenge him.
Because he tried to lessen that guilt somehow. He was just being selfish, really. Chan probably didn't care if he was avenged or not.
Now he wasn't so sure anymore what to do. If Chan really was still alive, Jisung needed to find him. Maybe he was in danger. Maybe he was alive, but barely. And Jisung could've saved him.
“Sleep now.” Minho said, pulling him from his thoughts. “We're gonna try something else tomorrow.”