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Fat droplets of rain beat against Hongjoong’s face, slicking his hair to his skin.
Trees and foliage rush past, leaving blurred mosaics of dark green and grey in his peripheral. He can’t see where he’s going, but the path he and his horse sprint through has been trodden many times, so he leans further into his steed, urging to go faster, as fast as he can go.
He grips the leather satchel across his chest, the treasure inside emanating an amber glow onto his stallion’s white fur. At any other time, he’d admire it. A dragon heart is a beauty he’ll never see again in his life. It’s been centuries since the last dragon was felled, and he and his squadrant would be celebrated–the whole kingdom would cheer for their improbable victory, throwing month-long parties and drinking beer stowed away for only special occasions. But now he rides through the forest, alone.
Limestone spires creep above the canopy of oak. The flags atop, previously checkered yellow and green, are instead pure black, an indication of the castle’s grief for the King’s death just a few months ago. Now, they signify the passing of the Queen this past afternoon, too.
The path clears, revealing the tiled arch bridging the forest and the castle’s back entrance. Besides the main gate, this is the only way in, with all other approaches being blocked by a gorge surrounding the kingdom.
Hongjoong yanks his reins back, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop.
A familiar figure stands in front of the wooden doors, protected from the elements by the stone roof above him. Sleek, black robes dress the man atop his mare, blending the two beings together. What’s usually a friendly expression is now replaced with something much colder. A promise that here, so long as they can’t agree, they aren’t allies.
“Seonghwa, get out of the way.”
He glances behind Hongjoong. “Where are your men?”
Hongjoong takes a sharp inhale. “None of them were moving.”
Seonghwa locks his eyes back onto the other, feigning disinterest. Neither of them move. The rain seeps deeper into Hongjoong’s clothes.
“If I do not get this heart to the heir,” despite the uneven rise and fall of his chest, Hongjoong keeps his voice even, “he will die.”
Silence bites at his skin just as the wind does. Time slipping past into endless oblivion, never to recover. Every second ticks down to the castle’s imminent descent into chaos.
“Maybe you should’ve been sent a little sooner,” Seonghwa deadpans.
His hand grasps the satchel harder, sending a sharp pain up his palm as the blade strapped to the satchel lodges itself into his skin.
“My men did not die for nothing,” Hongjoong spits through gritted teeth.
Seonghwa scoffs. “Yeah, well, you can blame the castle for that.”
“It’s a newborn, Seonghwa, are you really going to let a newborn die?”
He stiffens, tightening his grip on his horse. “Hundreds of infants have died from starvation because of the kingdom’s greed, this one shouldn’t be treated any different.”
Hongjoong rolls his head back, groaning and running a hand across his face, having heard this spiel far too many times.
“This is the people’s only chance to take the kingdom for themselves,” Seonghwa continues, “to finally live without being treated as scum.”
“Do you realize how many will die for your stupid rebellion?” Hongjoong dares a few steps forward. “The rich are greedy, yes, but so are the commoners. They’ll take everything and hundreds will die.”
“And more will die over the next thousand years with the lineage ruling.”
Despite their decades-long acquaintance, this is the sole topic they dispute over. Something they will never see eye-to-eye on.
Gripping his reins, Hongjoong dashes forward. He doesn’t have time for this, and if Seonghwa won’t move, he’ll just have to go around him.
Seonghwa responds, but not by blocking him, by running right at him. Hongjoong has no time to react as Seonghwa’s horse collides with his, knocking him onto the bridge. He lets out a cry, blood being drawn from his forearm.
Seonghwa jumps off his mare, unsheathing his sword. Hongjoong grabs his own, stumbling to his feet, barely blocking the swing the other takes at him. The blows that follow are nothing more than a practiced dance. Every jab is met with a block of equal force. In any other fight, they’d be evenly matched, but Hongjoong’s been battling for hours, his top still stained with crimson and vermillion blood. Every hit pushes him backwards, towards the bridge’s edge.
Hongjoong’s sword clatters to the ground as Seonghwa pushes him into the bridge railing, holding his sword to his neck.
Cold stone presses against his legs, the empty air below his torso more apparent than he recalls it ever being. He chooses not to register Seonghwa’s softened stare and loose grip.
He kicks his leg into Seonghwa’s shin, sliding his knife from the satchel to reverse the pin, and at the same time, Seonghwa moves to elbow Hongjoong in the face. He falls into Hongjoong, the dagger finding surface, and they tumble over the edge.
Wind deafens Hongjoong, the drag of gravity trying to return him to solid ground. He barely realizes he’s falling.
A thunderous crack sounds throughout the chasm.
Hongjoong groans, dazed. Leaves fill his vision, the bridge a grey blur far, far above him. A throbbing ache crawls up his back and into his skull. His eyes don’t want to focus.
Blinking, he waves an arm through the plants around him, pushing off soil onto his feet. He stumbles, regaining his bearings.
His head darts to his chest. Copper, glowing mucus drips from the satchel. His knife is gone.
Seonghwa. Where is Seonghwa?
Hongjoong’s gaze turns to the ground around him. He landed in a small patch of foliage, but just a few feet away is a rocky stream. His eyes dart across the current, leading to a large bed of rocks, the stream flowing straight through it.
A body lies in the water, unmoving.
“No,” Hongjoong breathes, tripping over himself to the man.
Seonghwa’s torso is contorted, uneven, matching the jagged forms of boulders beneath him. A bone in his arm is jutting out of him.
“No, no, no, no,” he drops to his knees, supporting his weight with his hands.
The handle of Hongjoong’s knife sticks out of Seonghwa’s chest, blood seeping out of the wound. It trickles down, creating wisps of saffron in the creek. Seonghwa’s mouth hangs agape. His eyes unfocused, glazed over. He’s completely still.
Hongjoong hovers his hand over Seonghwa’s shoulder, shaking. He searches Seonghwa’s eyes for any sign he’s still here. He can’t bring himself to touch him. Hongjoong's sight blurs, drops of tears mixing with the unyielding downpour. He shuts them, curling over himself and covering Seonghwa’s body. The rain drowns out the sounds of the creek and Hongjoong’s heaves, leaving him in a loud silence.
Orange oozes out of Hongjoong’s satchel, dripping between the blade and Seonghwa’s skin, finding its way into an emptying bloodstream.
Seonghwa’s finger twitches.