Chapter Text
Academy Seven.
Widely agreed to be the most prestigious mage school in the world. The campus is built in the middle of an enchanted lake, surrounded by mountains and rolling bountiful fields. The buildings are made of grey marble and fine stone. The professors are exemplary, the courses rigorous.
And Park Jimin’s been accepted.
The boy comes from a long line of red mages. His parents, grandparents, great-grandparents are all red mages. And so on and so forth. If you're a Park, then you're a red mage, automatically. Everyone knows.
And Jimin is definitely a red mage. Only, not yet.
Which leads him to the present. Today, he’ll be officially sorted. There will be no more doubt. Only, - Jimin’s stomach bubbles uncomfortably - why is there any doubt in the first place? Why does he feel so nervous?
Jimin marches in line to the music, a jaunty, trumpet-heavy tune. The freshmen file into the stadium, modeled after the Greek Colosseum, an impressive, beige affair. Jimin takes his reserved seat. There are fifty or so new students, all fresh-faced and ready to be typed. They're dressed in white robes to showcase their blank, yet-to-be-sorted status. As they wait, older students and professors start moving into the vacant spots around them, donning their colors.
Jimin notes the neat rows, greens with greens, and reds with reds. There’s hardly any mixing. Before he can scan the rest of the stadium, a bespectacled woman appears in the arena. She’s dressed in red, a long flowing robe, and a pointed, buckled hat.
“Good morning,” she says, “I am Principal Min. Today is the Choosing. As you know, you will be typed into one of six categories: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, or purple. Don’t worry, our esteemed staff has never been wrong, so you can hold onto those retype petitions.”
There are a few nervous laughs. Jimin feels too sick to even fake it. He’s antsy, left leg shaking.
Jimin already knows the rules, the wooden dolls, the showcase, the timer. It’s common knowledge what the test entails. Jimin’s been practicing all summer so he can rank higher, and qualify for better classes.
“-can be typed before the limit. If your wellbeing is in jeopardy, the test will automatically end-”
Jimin loses focus, tuning out the speech. He casually scans the stadium again. There are some notable students who are quietly chatting.
There’s Lee Hoseok, nicknamed Wonho. He’s donning a thick red vest and his family’s crest, a ring of flames. His father is a famous, professional battler. His mother too. Wonho’s already made a name for himself in Battledome, playing for this school.
Jimin’s eyes flicker a few seats up. There’s the purple mage, Kim Namjoon, a Junior. He’s an absolute genius. He’s already added to the Archive, a published researcher in the field of Magic Theory.
“Step forward when I call your name,” the Principal says, pulling out a list, “You will have three minutes in the arena.”
The first ten or so choosings are lackluster, most of them are put into purple or orange. Jimin’s almost asleep when she calls the first person of interest.
“Jeon Jungkook,” the Principal says.
A tall boy, with round eyes, and slightly protruding front teeth stands. He kind of looks like a bunny. This is the Jeon boy? Jimin’s not impressed.
Jeons are as old as the Parks, and just like the Parks are known for being powerful red mages, Jeons are known to be extremely gifted blue mages. Old families, old magic.
Jungkook steps in the arena. The second the bell dings. The wooden dolls come to life, rushing towards him. The boy casts blue storm. It’s an advanced spell, which covers the whole area in ice shards. All the wooden dolls are torn apart at the joints.
The timer buzzes with fifteen seconds elapsed. The Principal speaks, barely conferring with the council. “Jeon Jungkook, blue mage.”
Jungkook curls his right hand into a triumphant fist, giving it a pump. Blue mages in the crowd, his seniors, cheer for him. One of the staff members gives Jungkook a blue sash to wear over his white robe. After, Jeon walks over to the thick of it, rowdy and welcoming. The blue mages mess up his hair and play fight with him. The boy smiles and shouts joyously.
In the noise, Jimin sees him, a void in the celebration.
But it can’t be.
This is not possible.
In the sea of colors, there’s a boy with tousled blond hair, all dressed in black. A circle of emptiness is drawn around him, as if other students are too afraid to sit near him. Of course, they’d be afraid.
He’s a black mage.
Black mages are rare, the rarest of the rare. Jimin could count the number of living black mages on his fingers and toes. That’s how few there are. But there’s one here at Academy Seven. That’s terrifying.
Even worse, the black mage is staring at Jimin, right now. He’s not blinking. He doesn’t even avert his eyes when he’s caught. He keeps his dark gazed trained firmly on Jimin. Why? Jimin’s stomach suddenly boils as he squirms uncomfortably, pinned by those eyes. What the fuck?
Jimin’s brain freezes on one unwanted thought.
The black mage is beautiful. He’s the most handsome person Jimin’s ever seen. Effortless blonde locks, a gorgeous curl in his lip, and those heavy, dark eyes.
He gorgeous, stunning, devastatingly so.
Jimin flushes red and looks away, pretending to be interested in the showcases. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the black mage hasn’t looked away. What the hell? Jimin starts sweating. He’s caught the attention of a dangerous man, unknown, unsortable, and unaligned.
But then-
Everyone look starts looking at Jimin. The boy shakes out of his stupor. The Principal has called his name three times. It’s his turn to show his power. God, why do his knees feel so wobbly?
“Park Jimin?” she says again, voice stern. Other students around him start whispering. Is this the progeny of the great and powerful Parks? This confused boy with the overly round cheeks.
Jimin gets up from his seat and makes his way to the middle of the arena. He’s on edge. All the practice he has put in seems to vacate his mind. He’s a mouse, hypnotized by the eyes of a snake. The black mage is still watching him from the stands, wide, surprised eyes.
The bell dings.
The disjointed wooden dolls come back together. They stand up slowly, mimicking real people, before advancing on Jimin. He sends out a few fireballs, hardly impressive by his family's standards. The crowd murmurs get louder, causing panic to shoot up his spine.
He’s fucking up. He’s gonna be placed so low in the ranks that he’ll have to take basic spell classes. What will his parents say?
A wooden doll appears behind him, catching him off guard. Jimin ducks, barely avoiding a left hook. Then he shoots out fire from his fingertips. Only it’s not fire, it’s ice, blue-colored, frost shards. It’s the standard for a blue mage.
But that’s impossible. No mage can cast two different color types like this. Unless-
Fuck
The crowd collectively gasps. Everything falls to a ringing, deafening silence.
Jimin is dizzy, nauseated, a high-pitched whine pervasive in his hears. More dolls come for him, unforgiving. At the last second, he raises his arms to protect his face and something dark oozes from his hands. It has the consistency and look of tar.
As soon as the substance hits the dolls, they implode upon themselves in the most spectacular fashion. What the fuck is happening?
It can’t be. This is shadow magic. It can only mean one thing.
“No,” Jimin gasps. ‘Please.”
The timer buzzes at two minutes and thirty-two seconds. Jimin knows his fate, as much as he wants to swim against it.
“Park Jimin, black mage.”
Jimin is sick. He might throw up. Everyone in the crowd stares at him, whispering. He’s the first Park in centuries to not type as a red mage. No, this is not right. This can’t be,
“Come with me.”
There’s a professor there suddenly, hand on his back, guiding him away from the noise, towards the exit. This can’t be happening. Maybe it’s a nightmare. Maybe he’ll wake up any second, warm in his bed, just like all the other times.
And yet, it feels all too real.
Everything’s a blur. When Jimin comes to attention next, he’s sitting in a chair, with a cup of water in his hands. How’d that get there? Where is he?
“How are you feeling Jimin?” a doctor asks. The professor who brought him there is standing in the background, arms folded. So much is happening. And god, he’s not a red mage. All those people saw him-
“Easy, Jimin,” the doctor whispers, “You’re okay.”
The man's voice seems so distant. Even though he’s right in front of Jimin, it sounds as though he’s speaking through a thick piece of glass.
“What are we going to do with him?” the professor says. “We can’t have another black mage here. Remember what happened last time.”
“We can’t send him away,” the doctor replies, “This could be his last chance.”
“We’re putting students in danger,” the professor says sternly.
Before they can discuss anything else, the door swings open, nearly falling off its hinges as it collides with the wall. The boy stands there, the black mage from the stadium, looking half-mad.
"Easy, Yoongi," the doctor says, hands up, voice calm. "Don't scare him."
“Where is he?” the boy named Yoongi shouts.
“Yoongi, you can’t be here. You need to go,” the professor barks, standing in front of Jimin protectively.
“Just let me-” Yoongi spits back.
Jimin locks eyes with him, and the whole world melts away.
“-see him.” his voice quiets, eyes going wide with awe. His mouth is slack as he just stares at Jimin confused and surprised, just like before.
“Hi,” he finally manages.
Jimin boils with anger, emotion suddenly spiking. “This is your fault. I was going to type as a red mage. What did you do to me?”
"I've been waiting so many years for you," Yoongi explains, "I know this is hard, but you're not a red mage."
“Yoongi.” the professor places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. “You need to go.”
Yoongi violently shrugs him off, “No!”
“Don’t-” the doctor tries to stop him, but Yoongi ducks under his arm.
The closer that the black mage gets, the stronger the feeling. Jimin’s a magnet, inexplicably drawn to the stranger. Something rushes through his veins, like liquid fire. It’s power, he realizes, so much magical power, he can’t breathe anymore.
There’s so much energy that pens, papers, and other assorted desk object start vortexing around the room. Jimin’s half blinded by his own hair, that whips against his face.
Yoongi’s reaching for him, a look of desperation on his face.
“Separate them,” the doctor yells.
The professor, an orange mage, melts the floor so that Yoongi starts sinking into it.
But it’s too late.
Yoongi’s hand lands squarely on Jimin’s chest.
They link, and the force of it shatters all the windows in the room. Link magic is when two or more mages come together to boost and cast larger spells. But there’s a growing pains period. Not all mages are compatible with each other.
The feeling is intense. Jimin shuts his eyes as it courses through him, his own power, and something else, something dark and terrible. It must be Yoongi's presence.
"Get the fucking principal!"
Arrogant but caring, proud but lonely. So fucking lonely.
"Fuck."
Jimin cries, unable to breathe. So Lonely. The boy is so lonely.
And Jimin accepts it, understanding it, instead of fighting it. Because he’s been lonely too.
The lights stop flickering, and whatever objects were in the air crash into the ground.
Something new washes over Jimin. The feeling between them is warm, safe, and soft. It spreads across his skin, fuzzy and comfortable.
"That was fucking dangerous, Yoongi," the teacher shouts. "What if that ended badly?”
Jimin is drowsy. It’s as if he's been swaddled in a warm blanket. The strongest of the feeling is right under Yoongi’s hand, still firmly planted on Jimin’s chest. He could sleep just like this, enveloped in this feeling.
"They're resonating," the doctor sighs, sweaty and taxed. "I think we're okay"
The professor pulls Yoongi back, breaking their contact. Jimin gasps, coming to his senses as he doubles over. The disconnect, the absence of the boy’s touch. It’s agony. It burns across his skin, and all Jimin can think about is touching Yoongi again, the reconnect.
“What did you do to me?” Jimin curses.
Before Yoongi can answer, the Principal arrives. She looks at the state of the room, then at Yoongi. Her face morphs into one of disappointment, as she guesses at what’s happened.
"You're in trouble, young man," she says, "Come with me at once."
Yoongi looks hurt, like all he wants is to do is grab hold of Jimin. If only.
But ultimately, he leaves.
Every step that Yoongi takes causes the ache in Jimin’s chest to intensify. It shouldn’t be like this. He doesn’t even know this boy. Yoongi looks back, a sorrowful, apologetic, and lingering gaze, before he disappears around the door frame.
“Jimin, is it?” the professor calls. His voice sounds so distant again.
Jimin feels horrible. He's not sure why. That warm feeling is gone and he so cold. He's hurting so badly.
"It'll pass," the doctor says knowingly. "We should take you to your room-"
"Does he really have to, maybe we can bunk him with the red mages?" the professor cuts in.
"You know we can't do that."
"I guess we'll have to move another bed in there."
"Damn, that's-"
Jimin can't follow the conversation. His head spins and he blacks out. He has his final thoughts.
His parents are going to be so fucking angry with him. He's a disgrace.
And…
When will he see Yoongi again? Jimin needs him.