Chapter Text
At the edge of Olympus, where the clouds bowed low and the sky blazed in eternal daylight, two boys stood before the gates of a God.
The marble steps unfurled like a frozen river beneath them, gleaming under the noonday sun, though no hour had truly passed since time slowed on this sacred peak.
Above, Apollo’s palace rose into the sky, sculpted from sunlight itself. Its white marble walls shimmered as though lit from within, veined with gold that pulsed gently with divine breath. Slender columns soared into the heavens, their capitals blooming with carvings of laurel leaves, phoenixes, and suns mid-burst. The roof, tiled with delicate golden rays, scattered brilliance across the clouds like sparks from a forge.
Seungmin tilted his head back, trying to take it all in. So much grandeur, the heat, the sheer impossibility of it. His chest ached with something between awe and longing.
Beside him, Felix shifted. The sunlight kissed his skin like it knew him, threading through his golden curls and catching in his amber eyes. He looked like he belonged here, like the sun itself had carved him from flame and sky.
And yet his fingers curled nervously in the folds of his tunic. “We shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, voice barely a breath. “If we’re caught—”
“We won’t be,” Seungmin said, though the words nearly stuck in his throat. His heart was racing. His palms were damp. He had never climbed this high, never dared this far. Olympus was meant for the gods and their children, not meant for sons of woodland nymphs or strays from forgotten forests. But he had to know. Just once.
“I need to see him,” Seungmin whispered.
Felix hesitated, then followed.
The moment Seungmin’s foot touched the first step, the air shifted. Warmer. Thinner. Charged. A thrill raced down his spine as the entrance rose before them. The doors were massive, carved from sunstone, flanked by carved reliefs that shimmered as if alive. Apollo’s triumphs stretched across the stone like living memory. His slaying of the Python, his lyre raised in victory over Marsyas, his chariot slicing through the heavens.
Above it all, Apollo himself was etched in gold, radiant and still, his eyes half-lidded in quiet power.
They stepped inside and it was like walking into a dream. Sunlight poured through stained glass skylights, casting molten gold and sapphire patterns across the gleaming floor. Mosaic tiles swirled beneath their feet in shapes of firebirds and sunflowers, each one telling a story in stone. Statues of Apollo lined the halls, each more lifelike than the last, one mid-song, one with his bow drawn, one with his hand outstretched as though ready to lift the sun itself.
The air was scented with sandalwood, citrus, and something richer. Something light and sharp and endless. Seungmin thought it might be the scent of a God.
Felix lingered behind. “Seungmin,” he whispered, “we should go.”
“Just a little further,” Seungmin said, his voice hushed with wonder. Somewhere in this palace, his father sat among the Gods. He had to see him with his own eyes.
Felix’s gaze swept the corridor nervously. “If someone finds us—”
“We’ll say we got lost and came to seek help.”
Felix raised a brow, “Do you truly think they won't see through the lie?”
“No,” Seungmin admitted.
They wandered deeper into the golden halls, swallowed by light and shadow. Each step felt heavier, like the air itself pressed down on them, testing their resolve. The silence was velvet thick, reverent, and expectant.
And then it was broken.
A soft echo of footsteps rang out in the distance, measured, armored, drawing closer.
A guard appeared from the corridor ahead, tall as a tree and twice as stern. His armor was burnished bronze, catching the sun like flame, and he held a long spear with the ease of someone who’d used it more than once. His eyes, sharp as a falcon, locked onto them immediately.
“You there!” he barked, his voice a thunderclap. “What are you doing in Apollo’s halls?”
Seungmin froze. Felix went rigid, his amber eyes wide. Panic threatened to rise like a tide, but Seungmin shoved it down. He had come too far. He would not be turned away now.
“We — we’re kitchen servants,” he said quickly, the lie spinning from instinct. “They needed extra hands for the feast.”
Felix turned to him, eyes wild. But Seungmin stood his ground.
The guard narrowed his gaze. “Servants? I’ve not seen you before.”
“We’re new,” Seungmin replied, straightening his shoulders. “Just arrived. You wouldn’t want The Great Apollo’s guests waiting, would you?”
A beat of silence passed, thick with judgment.
Then the guard grunted. “Fine. That way. And don’t dawdle.”
They bowed quickly and hurried down the side passage, only exhaling once the guard’s footsteps faded.
Felix grabbed Seungmin’s sleeve. “Have you lost your mind, brother?” he whispered.
“Probably,” Seungmin muttered. “Come on.”
They found the kitchens. Large stone ovens, gilded cookware, trays heavy with ambrosia-glazed fruits and roast meats that shimmered faintly with divine oils. Each dish looked like it had been plated for a God, and it had been.
Soon, they stood outside the dining hall, each holding a golden tray. The plates felt impossibly heavy, but Seungmin barely noticed. His pulse beat like a drum in his ears.
On the other side of these doors, Apollo waited. The God of light. The God of music and healing and truth. Seungmin’s father.
“Seungmin,” Felix whispered, his voice trembling. “We can still turn back. Sneak out like we were never here.”
“I'm going in,” Seungmin said, though his fingers tightened on the tray to hide the shake. “Wait outside if you're afraid.”
But before he could take another step, someone stepped into their path.
She moved like moonlight, tall and poised, with silver eyes that glinted like frost under stars. Red hair coiled like a snake at her nape. She wore a white tunic, edged in gold, a crescent moon pin gleaming at her shoulder. Her presence stilled the air.
Artemis.
Felix gasped and the tray slipped from his fingers. Plates shattered like glass rain, golden goblets bounced and rolled, roasted pheasant and nectar-drenched pears spilled across the marble in an opulent mess. Ambrosia gleamed on the floor like spilled starlight.
Seungmin stared at the Goddess, heart falling straight through his stomach.
Artemis arched a brow. “That,” she said coolly, “was clumsy.”
Her gaze swept the wreckage, then landed on them. But there was no wrath, only observation under curiosity. The quiet, calculating patience of a hunter watching a trembling fawn.
She stepped closer to Felix. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Golden hair,” she murmured. “Eyes like amber fire. A son of the traitor, Helios.”
Felix lowered his head. His voice was a whisper, “Yes, my lady.”
Then she turned to Seungmin. She studied him with sharper scrutiny. His dark, murky eyes, the limp brown hair that caught no light.
“But you are not,” she said softly. “Not of the sun. Not wholly.” She reached out, lifting his chin gently. “Your father is Apollo but you take after your mother.”
Seungmin could hardly breathe.
“You are Syrhae’s children,” Artemis said after a moment, releasing him. “The nymph of the eastern woods.” He nodded, throat dry. “You came into Olympus. Into my brother’s palace.”
Felix looked down, ashamed, but Seungmin raised his voice. “I am to blame. I just… I had to see him. This isn’t Felix’s fault.”
Artemis tilted her head. Her expression softened, not with pity, but understanding.
“Ah,” she said quietly. “So it begins.”
Felix shifted beside him, his voice small and uneven. “This was my idea,” he lied. “I…”
He trailed off under Artemis’s gaze. The Goddess of the Hunt watched them with a cool, unreadable expression, her silver eyes reflecting a thousand quiet truths.
“You protect each other,” she said at last, her voice soft as snowfall. “Despite being only half-brothers, one with more… potential than the other.”
Seungmin blinked. He turned to Felix, confused. One with more potential? The thought had never crossed his mind. Felix had always just been… Felix. His other half. The one who chased fireflies with him in the woods. The one who knew when he couldn’t sleep. The one who never asked for anything but always stood beside him. There was no competition between them.
Artemis’s lips curled, just barely. “How rare,” she murmured, with something almost like fondness.
Then, after a brief silence, she turned and gestured toward the doors behind her, the golden crescent at her shoulder catching the light.
“Come with me, children.”
Seungmin’s heart skipped. He took a step without thinking. But Felix lingered, pale and tense, like he wanted to melt into the shadows.
Artemis didn’t rebuke him. She looked only at Seungmin now, her voice dipping into something softer, something that felt like kindness.
“If you wish to meet my brother,” she said, “then sit among his children and see if you still wish to belong.”
The words struck like chord inside him, bright, trembling, and uncertain. His breath caught. Behind him, Felix’s eyes widened, and Seungmin could feel the panic coming off him like heat.
But there was no turning back. Seungmin followed, and after a second of deliberation, so did Felix.
Artemis pushed the doors open with ease, revealing the room beyond. Seungmin had imagined this moment since he was a child. He thought his heart might burst when he stepped into the Sun God’s dining hall.
But Apollo was not there. A vacant golden throne sat at the far end of a sun-drenched table, haloed by flame and light.
The grand table stretched endlessly ahead, polished like still water, its surface laden with fruits that glowed faintly, goblets filled with starlight, and silver plates reflecting flickers of magic. Dozens of chairs lined either side, each one filled by someone glowing in ways Seungmin could never name.
The children of Apollo.
Some had sunfire hair that cascaded like molten gold. Others had eyes that burned with flame or shimmered like polished bronze. Their laughter was too bright. Their smiles held too many teeth. The very air around them hummed with divine energy.
Seungmin froze at the threshold.
He could feel it already. That aching, ugly contrast. The way he did not shimmer. The way he did not glow. His muddy hair felt dull, his skin dim beside theirs. He was a shadow in a hall of light.
Beside him, Felix was still, his golden hair haloed by the soft light streaming through the high windows. Even he looked more at home here than Seungmin did.
“Go on,” Artemis said behind them, her voice still gentle.
Seungmin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He swallowed hard. And then he stepped forward, forcing one foot in front of the other, even as his knees trembled beneath him.
The laughter died. The long, radiant dining hall fell silent. Goblets paused mid-air. Conversations froze. Dozens of golden heads turned toward the doorway.
Seungmin immediately felt the sudden press of attention, sharp and unwelcome. The air, warm and scented with citrus, turned cold against the back of his neck.
At the head of the table, a boy with curling sun-gold hair leaned back lazily in his chair, arms draped across the sides like he owned the place. His eyes glittered like molten coin as he arched a brow.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Looks like we have visitors.”
A girl to his right, with streaks of fire threaded through her hair, smiled without warmth. “Strange ones, at that.”
Their eyes moved over Seungmin and Felix curiously and cruelly, like they were insects in glass orbs. Seungmin felt his spine straighten on instinct. He squared his shoulders and forced a smile, even as his heart began to sink.
“I’m Seungmin, Son of Apollo,” he said clearly, his voice carrying farther than he meant it to. “And this is my brother Felix, Son of Helios. We—”
“We know who you are,” someone interrupted.
The voice came from a boy seated farther down, a few years older but holding himself with the easy grace of someone accustomed to being worshipped. A soft, golden glow pulsed around his fingers as he leaned forward, eyes unreadable.
“The flames told us already.” He gestured casually toward the hearth. Inside the stone fireplace, the flames flickered in unnatural shades. Deep cerulean, violet, gold… all dancing like they were listening. “You’re that nymph’s son, aren’t you?”
A quiet murmur ran around the table like a ripple over still water.
Seungmin’s stomach twisted. But he didn’t back down. “My mother is Syrhae,” he said. “She rules over the Eastern Woods.”
The boy raised a brow, a lazy smirk curling his lips. “A forest nymph? My mother always said they were the worst kind. Beautiful, wild things.”
Seungmin clenched his fists, nails pressing into his palms.
Another child leaned forward, intrigued. “What forest magic do you have? Can you make the trees bend and bow? Can you summon birds and snakes and beasts?”
Seungmin hesitated. Felix shifted beside him, clearly uncomfortable.
“I only have… a little forest magic,” he admitted. “Like my mother. I can aide in growing things. Heal small wounds. Sense where water flows underground.”
For a second, there was only silence. Then came the laughter, cruel and cold.
“Forest magic,” someone repeated, the way one might say dirt.
A girl near the end of the table tilted her head, her golden hair cascading over one shoulder. “That’s barely magic at all.”
Heat crawled up Seungmin’s neck.
Across from him, the older boy lifted his hand. A sphere of golden light shimmered to life above his palm, glowing brighter than any torch. It floated upward, then spun slowly in the air like a miniature sun.
Another child summoned thin strands of solar light between her fingers like silk thread. Someone else made the torches lining the walls blaze high, the flames roaring briefly before settling again.
Magic shimmered all around him, golden, divine, and effortless.
“Can you do any of that?” a boy asked, voice mocking.
Seungmin didn’t answer. But they already knew. Laughter rolled through the room again, cruel and casual.
He felt Felix stir beside him but didn’t look. He kept his gaze on the table ahead, jaw tight, his hands shaking slightly where they hung at his sides.
His heart had beat so fast when Artemis opened those doors. He’d imagined… he didn’t even know. Warmth. Recognition. A welcome?
He sat stiffly at the table. The others had already returned to their food and conversation, but he could still feel the ripple of their judgment in the air, like perfume that wouldn't fade.
Across the table, a boy with sunlit curls — Melaneus, someone had called him — grinned as he bit into a golden fig.
“You should see Father’s chariot up close,” he said, his tone boasting but familiar. “The gold almost burns when the sun rises. He let me touch the reins last solstice.”
Another boy, Iamus nodded. “That’s nothing. I flew with him last spring.” He flicked his fingers, summoning an orb of golden fire. “He said my control over solar flame is the best he’s seen in a generation.”
“Oh please,” Eriopis, a girl with piercing eyes snorted. “You’ve been training since you could crawl. Father doesn’t waste time on just anyone.”
Seungmin forced himself to listen as they recited the names of their mothers. Daughters of kings, priestesses of the old temples, powerful nymphs from ancient rivers. Every name carried weight. A legacy.
And Seungmin? He had a forest. A whisper of magic. And a face that none of them recognized.
“How often do you see him?” Seungmin asked quietly, trying to sound casual.
Iamus shrugged. “Whenever we want. He’s busy, but we’re family. He always finds time.”
“I trained with him at Delphi all summer,” Eriopis said, smiling. “He says I have the best aim of all his daughters.”
“Not everyone gets that privilege,” Melaneus added. “You have to earn it.”
Seungmin nodded faintly, trying to keep his expression still.
Felix nudged his arm gently. “Let’s go,” he murmured.
Seungmin nodded numbly. No one paid them any mind as they turned away, slipping from the dining hall like shadows. The golden light fell behind them, sealing itself inside marble and laughter.
Outside the grand doors, the corridor was colder and quieter. The warmth of Olympus didn’t follow them. Waiting in the stillness was Artemis.
She stood beneath a towering pillar, arms crossed, silver gaze like frost. Whatever softness she’d shown earlier had vanished, buried beneath the calm severity of a Goddess who no longer pitied them.
Felix faltered, hesitating beside Seungmin. Artemis’s expression didn’t change. Her voice was composed, but it cut clean.
“I trust you have learned your place. You do not belong here,” she proclaimed, silver eyes unwavering. “You never will.”
The words hit harder than he expected. Maybe because part of him had still foolishly hoped that someone would tell him otherwise. That someone would say he could belong. That he had a right to want more.
But Olympus had spoken. He could still hear the laughter, the way they had looked at him. The pity. The mockery.
“Go back to the forest, sons of Syrhae.” Artemis said. “You will not step foot in Olympus again. Do not think me cruel. I only enforce the natural order.”
The finality of it struck like a closing gate. He didn’t speak. He didn’t argue.
Felix’s hand wrapped around his wrist, grounding him before the weight of the moment could crush him. Without a word, Felix tugged gently, and Seungmin let him lead.
The path down the mountain wound through mist and memory. The brilliant marble of Olympus soon gave way to moss-covered stone and the scent of pine and earth. The deeper they walked, the thicker the trees grew, shadows stretching like arms to welcome them back.
The sun still hung above, but it was gentler now, filtered through leaves, fragmented by branches. The silence between them was heavy, thick with everything neither of them wanted to say.
Felix’s fingers occasionally brushed against Seungmin’s as they walked, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should. Finally, he exhaled and broke the silence. “Seungmin—”
“Don’t, brother,” Seungmin said, too quickly.
Felix fell quiet.
They walked another few steps in silence before Felix tried again, quieter this time. “I just mean… Artemis doesn’t know everything. She’s not the one who gets to decide where you belong.”
A bitter sound escaped Seungmin’s throat. A laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.
“Doesn’t she?” he muttered. His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t stop walking. And Felix didn’t answer. Because there was nothing left to say.
They continued through the trees until the edge of their clearing came into view. And the moment they stepped into it, Seungmin knew the night wasn’t finished with them.
Their home was a wide circle of moss and moonlight, ringed with ancient trees and soft glowing mushrooms and wildflowers. It had always been a place of peace. But tonight, it felt like a judgment chamber.
Syrhae stood at the center of the clearing, unmoving beneath the pale light. Her long brown hair spilled down her back like a waterfall of bark and silk. The moss-green of her dress tangled into the ground, her body half-merged with the earth that birthed her. She didn’t glow like the Gods. She didn’t need to. She was the forest, timeless and unforgiving.
“You are late,” Syrhae said. Her voice was like still water beneath ice. “And I already know where you have been.”
There was no use denying it. Her gaze swept over them both, cool and precise. But it lingered on Seungmin. “How foolish you are,” she said, shaking her head. “Sneaking into Olympus. Into Apollo’s halls.”
Seungmin lifted his chin. “I wanted to meet my father.”
A flicker of something sharp moved behind her eyes. “And did you?” she asked.
Seungmin hesitated. “No.”
“Of course not.” Her lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “You thought he’d look at you and know you? That he’d call you son and the heavens would part?” She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “Nymph-born or not, you’re still a child. And you’ve made us both look like fools.”
Felix stepped forward, as if to defend him, but Syrhae silenced him with a glance.
“You embarrassed yourself,” she said to Seungmin, each word dropping like a stone. “And worse, you embarrassed me.”
Then she turned away, as if bored, as if their presence no longer merited her full attention.
Seungmin stood still, the clearing quiet around him. The moonlight felt harsher now. Colder. The hush of the trees felt more like a warning than a comfort.
-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-
The forest was quiet in the early morning, save for the rustling of high branches and the gentle whisper of wind threading through leaves. Light filtered through the canopy in golden streaks, catching on dew-soaked petals and curling ferns.
Seungmin worked in silence. His fingers trailed across the damp earth, fingertips brushing over exposed roots and brittle moss. The dryads who complained to his mother this morning had been right. The soil, once rich with memory and magic, felt brittle. The trees were thirsty despite last night’s rain. Leaves curled inward, vines drooped, and the wildflowers had begun to lose their color.
So as punishment for sneaking off, his mother had set him upon the task. He was supposed to heal the soil. Supposed to feel the way his mother always did, how the land spoke to her, how it bent to her touch.
But all Seungmin felt was noise. He pressed his palm flat to the dirt, trying to breathe through it. He needed to focus.
And then—
A rustle. Not the breeze. Not an animal.
Seungmin stilled, sinking low behind a knotted root, and turned his gaze toward the noise. That’s when he saw them.
Two small shapes crouched in the underbrush ahead. A boy and a girl. Mortals? Their heads were bowed as they reached for a cluster of deep purple berries that grew in thorny tangles near the edge of the grove.
His breath caught. His mother had spoken of mortals with disdain. Creatures ruled by time, by hunger, by fear. Short lives, simpler magic, if any at all. Worthless, she’d said, unless they were born beneath temple ceilings or carried the blood of kings.
But watching these two now, Seungmin couldn’t look away. The boy was thin, almost painfully so. His dark hair was tangled, his limbs wiry with the kind of strength that came from labor, not leisure. His tunic was barely holding together, stitched and restitched with mismatched thread. His feet were bare, soles blackened with earth. There were scratches along his arms and dirt on his cheeks.
But his hands moved carefully, tenderly, as he guided the girl beside him. She was younger and smaller. Her clothing was patchy, her face streaked with soil, but her laughter was bright and unbothered. When she nearly dropped a handful of berries, he caught her wrist quickly, steadying her basket with a quiet chuckle. Then he ruffled her hair, and she giggled before returning to her task, proud and determined.
They were whispering to each other. Laughing, even.
Seungmin blinked. They were so… alive. So full of something he couldn’t name. They didn’t glow with divine light. They didn’t wield flame or bend sunlight. But they moved like the world belonged to them, like their smiles were enough.
He sank lower into the underbrush, letting the vines curl around his ankles, the soft hush of leaves hiding him from view. He watched as the boy reached for another cluster of berries, his hand hovering just above the deep purple fruit. His little sister mimicked him, stretching on her toes to pluck one from a bush nearby, her small fingers brushing the glossy skin of the berries.
Seungmin’s breath caught. Those weren’t safe.
“Stop!” he warned, stepping forward without thinking. His voice cut through the hush of the woods like a gust of wind snapping through leaves.
The boy froze. The girl jerked back in surprise, her hand dropping away from the bush. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the boy turned. His posture stiffened immediately, eyes locking onto Seungmin. Seungmin could see the absolute fear. The instant calculation. The way the boy subtly stepped between Seungmin and his sister, his arm twitching as if ready to pull her behind him and run.
No one had ever looked at Seungmin in fear before. It was almost amusing. He opened his mouth to explain, to reassure, but the boy was already moving.
He bowed low, his forehead nearly brushing the forest floor. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed his sister’s hand and tugged her into a bow beside him, shielding her with his body.
“Great One,” the boy murmured, voice tight. “Please… please don’t harm my sister.”
Seungmin’s heart thudded. What was this?
He took a shaky step back, “I’m not—”
“We didn’t mean any offense,” the boy rushed on, his head still bowed. “If we trespassed or disrespected your grove, I’ll take the punishment. Just… please don’t hurt her.”
Seungmin’s pulse raced. His mouth had gone dry.
He had spent his entire life unnoticed. Overlooked. Barely acknowledged by the Gods. Barely tolerated by his mother. Weak, unimportant, always reaching for something beyond him. But now, this mortal boy knelt in the dirt like Seungmin was made of lightning and stars. As if Seungmin could smite him down with a breath.
“You don’t have to do that,” Seungmin said quickly. “Really. I’m not a God.”
The boy didn’t move. He asked with his forehead pressing into the soil, “You… you're not?”
Seungmin hesitated. The answer had always been complicated, heavy with shame.
“I’m… My mother is the nymph Syrhae who presides over this forest.”
The boy finally looked up. There was a soft intake of breath, the barest widening of his dark eyes. His sister clung to his arm, her gaze darting between them, still silent, still tense.
“A… a nymph?” the boy echoed.
Seungmin nodded, then glanced at the berry bush. “Those would’ve made you sick,” he said, shifting the subject. “Maybe even kill you.”
The boy stiffened, his gaze flicking back toward the bush. Suspicion lingered in his expression.
“Is this a trick?”
Seungmin stepped closer and pointed. “The leaves. See how the edges curl inward? And the stems? Look close. They have tiny thorns just beneath the first knot. The safe ones don’t.”
The boy stared at the plant for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out and gently knocked the berry from his sister’s palm. She blinked up at him, confused.
“No,” he told her softly. “Not those.”
She didn’t argue. She just nodded and let them fall.
Seungmin watched her, then the boy. The way he positioned himself, the way he watched over her. He was just a child and yet he carried himself like someone who had already learned how to shield someone else from the world.
“What’s your name?” Seungmin asked before he could stop himself.
The boy hesitated, glancing down at his sister.
“Minho,” he said eventually. “And this is my sister Minyeol.”
His voice was still cautious. Still guarded. But it held a quiet strength.
Seungmin nodded once, then lowered himself into a crouch, trying to seem less towering, less like whatever power Minho thought he saw.
“I’m Seungmin.”
Minho watched him, unsure.
“Friend?” the girl asked her brother suddenly, her voice high and small.
Her brother gave a nervous shrug. “I… I don't know.”
She blinked, then offered Seungmin a berry from her basket. One of the safe ones, bright red and gleaming in her palm.
Seungmin took it gently. And for the first time in days, he smiled.
“This is your home? The forest?” Minho asked cautiously.
Among moss and roots and wild, tangled things? Did he belong here?
“It's where I live,” he said finally.
Minho looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a quiet grace that surprised Seungmin, he dipped his head, not in fear, but in respect.
“Thank you,” he said.
Beside him, Minyeol echoed softly, “Thank you.”
Seungmin blinked. No one had ever thanked him before. Not even the dryads when he mended their roots.
Before he could find words to answer, Minho gently took his sister’s hand and began to step back, still watching Seungmin. It struck Seungmin that the boy was waiting for permission.
Seungmin gave a small nod and they turned to leave. He stood frozen, watching them go, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. For the first time in his life, he had done something that had nothing to do with Gods, with power, or with proving himself. And yet… it mattered.
“Wait.”
Minho stopped. Minyeol paused beside him. He didn’t look afraid anymore. But the caution in his posture hadn’t faded.
Seungmin hesitated, then gestured toward the berry bushes. “I can help you find the safe ones,” he said. “So you don’t get sick.”
Minho studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought. Then, finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”
Seungmin stepped forward and crouched beside a bush with silvery leaves and pale red berries. He brushed his fingers lightly over the leaves. “These are fine. See how the edges are smooth? And there aren’t any thorns on the stems.”
Minho knelt beside him, his movements quick but careful. He picked the berries with ease, fingers steady from habit. Minyeol watched them both before joining in, scooting closer and mimicking her brother’s motions.
They worked in silence, and the earlier tension melted into something quieter. Something easier.
Seungmin glanced at them as they worked. There was something captivating about the way they moved together. How Minho instinctively kept one eye on his sister, always positioning himself so she wouldn’t stumble, always giving her the better berries for her basket. No magic. No divine glow. Just care. It reminded Seungmin so much of himself and Felix.
After a few minutes, Minho sat back and brushed the dirt from his hands. “So… how old are you, really? A thousand years? Older than the trees, than the rivers?”
Seungmin blinked, caught off guard by the question. Age didn’t mean much to him. Not with his blood. Not with the way his body would soon stop aging altogether. Time passed differently when you were born of Gods and wild things.
But still, Seungmin was a baby in the face of immortality. “I’ve walked these lands for thirteen years,” he answered finally.
Minho raised an eyebrow. A slow, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “A mere thirteen?”
Seungmin snorted softly. “I'm glad that it amuses you. What of your age?”
Minho’s smile widened, and he plucked a berry from his basket, rolling it between his fingers, “I'm older than you by two.”
Seungmin tilted his head, curiosity tugging at him again, “And you've always lived in the forest?”
Minho nodded, “In the village on the outskirts.”
“What’s it like?” Seungmin asked. “Your village? My mother… She forbids us from stepping outside of the boundaries of her protection.”
Minho looked over at him, slightly surprised by the question. “It’s… small,” he said eventually. “Crowded. Smells like fish and woodsmoke most of the time. But it’s home.”
Seungmin leaned forward, resting his arms loosely over his knees. “Are there many mortals in your village?”
“A few dozen families. Mostly farmers. Some fishermen. Everyone knows each other. You can’t sneeze without five people asking if you’re sick.”
Seungmin tried to imagine it. A place where people noticed when you were gone. Where you were missed. Where your name meant something.
“You live with your family?” he asked.
Minho nodded. “My father. And Minyeol, of course.” He glanced at his sister, who was curled up against a low bush now, berry-stained fingers clutched around her half-full basket, eyes fluttering with sleep.
Seungmin followed his gaze. “Is it… difficult?”
Minho nodded. “My father’s leg was crushed during a storm. Can’t work the fields anymore. So I do what I can. Help people. Take odd jobs. Mostly just try to keep Minyeol fed and safe.”
There was no complaint in his voice. Just quiet fact. Truth worn smooth by repetition.
Seungmin didn’t know what to say. The way Minho talked about his life was so different from anything he’d ever known. Seungmin’s mother had raised him to see every choice as a strategy, every relationship as a ladder to climb. Power. Position. Legacy.
And yet Minho didn’t seem bitter about his life. He didn’t speak with resentment in his voice. Just quiet steadiness, like he had already made peace with the weight he carried.
The forest around them was quiet now, save for the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. The air was cool, scented with damp moss and something sweet. Somewhere in the trees, a bird called out once, then fell silent again.
For a long moment, they just sat there, shoulder to shoulder with the sleeping girl between them, and said nothing at all.
Then Minho stretched and looked up at the sky. “It’s late,” he said. “We should go.”
Seungmin felt a pang he didn’t expect. He didn’t want the conversation to end. He didn’t want them to leave. But Minho was already rising, brushing the dirt from his hands and nudging Minyeol gently awake.
“Thank you for helping us,” he said.
Seungmin nodded. “Be careful on your way back.”
Minho gave him a small, crooked smile. “You as well, Seungmin.”
And just like that, he took his sister’s hand, and together they disappeared into the trees. Seungmin remained where he was, staring at the place where they had vanished, the night suddenly feeling a little colder. A little emptier.
-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-
Seungmin sat on a smooth stone stool in his mother’s chamber, the air heavy with the scent of pressed blossoms and cloying oils. Syrhae’s fingers moved gently through his hair, working out the tangles, massaging fragrant oil into his scalp. The motion was unhurried, rhythmic, almost soothing. A rare moment of calm between them.
“You’ll be as handsome as a God when you’re older,” she murmured, threading her fingers through the dark strands. “Even without divine power, beauty is a blessing of its own.”
Seungmin said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on the curved walls of the tree-hollow they sat in, watching the moonlight spill across the bark like liquid silver. His mother had always cared about how he looked. Always kept him polished. Presentable. Until now, he’d never questioned it.
She picked up a carved comb and began brushing again, her touch light as wind through reeds.
“I know you think I’m too harsh,” she said after a pause. “But if you listen to me, if you heed my warnings, you will have a life of comfort. Of blessings.”
Seungmin swallowed. “Blessings?”
Her hand paused for only a heartbeat before she resumed combing.
“The Gods don’t offer favor freely,” she said. “They reward power. That’s what they see. That’s what they respect.”
Seungmin lowered his gaze. He thought of the children in Apollo’s hall. He thought about their laughter, the light that danced in their hands, the effortless magic stitched into their very skin. He had no such glow. No divine gifts. He had nothing they would notice.
“Go, child,” his mother urged, her fingers giving his hair one last brush. “The night is young. Sometimes, I fear you wiser beyond your years. Tonight, why won't you eat, drink, and make merry with your brothers and sisters?”
Seungmin stepped out into the clearing, the soft brush of night air folding over his skin like silk. The stars above filtered through the canopy in broken glimmers, dancing like scattered thoughts across the forest floor. The sounds of laughter rose like smoke, light and aimless, unburdened by thought or expectation.
His mother’s children ran barefoot through the moss and earth, their limbs dappled in moonlight, voices high and bright. One had woven a crown of clovers, another chased fireflies with fingers outstretched.
There were so many now. Twelve at least, maybe more, each one a different shade of dusk and sunlight, a different curl of hair or glint of nymphish mischief in their gaze. All of them beautiful in that otherworldly, half-wild way. All of them unremarkable.
At thirteen years old, he and Felix were the oldest. That fact used to comfort him, like a badge he could polish when he felt himself start to fade into the trees. But now it only made the distance feel starker. They were still young, but no longer young enough to be chasing butterflies or drawing secrets in the mud. And not old enough yet to be useful. Just waiting. Lingering, until their mother saw a use for them.
He watched as one of the little ones stumbled, scraping a knee on the roots. No one cried. Their kind rarely did. The child blinked, then clambered up again, already distracted by the moon-colored beetle crawling nearby. The others ran in circles, pairs and trios and laughter woven into branches.
Seungmin remained apart, still half-shadow. He didn’t remember most of their names. A few had been born just last summer. One, he thought, had already been sent away, to the halls of a dryad queen who needed an attendant for her gardens. Another might soon follow, taken by one of his mother’s sisters to be raised in a court where their songs were sweeter, or their hair matched a certain shade of bramble.
That was the way of it. If you did not shine, you were traded. Wrapped in silk, kissed on the brow, and handed off before you even knew to resist. He wondered if any of them would remember each other in five years. If he would.
Felix was nowhere in sight. Seungmin didn’t expect to see him. His brother hated the nights. The music, the revelry, the constant weightless joy that somehow made you feel heavier inside.
Seungmin longed to be carefree again. To revel with his brothers and sisters. To join hands and sing and dance and feast. He was a child after all. But it all felt like a trick of the wind. An illusion spun by the breeze.
He didn’t think about where he was going at first. Only that he needed to move, to escape the suffocating weight of his mother’s expectations. But as he wandered through the trees, his mind drifted back to Minho.
To the way he had spoken about his village. To the way he had smiled, even when talking about hardship.
Before he realized it, Seungmin was following the path Minho had taken. The trees thinned, the soft glow of distant firelight flickering through the gaps. The scent of earth and woodsmoke drifted through the air. And then, just ahead, he saw it.
The village was nothing like Olympus, where everything gleamed and towered with divine perfection. Nor was it like his mother’s home, where the forest pulsed with ancient magic.
The village was small, a collection of wooden houses huddled close together, their rooftops sloping unevenly. Some houses had thin trails of smoke curling from their chimneys, the smell of bread and stew lingering in the air. A few lanterns flickered outside doorways, casting pools of golden light against the dirt paths winding between homes.
It was simple. It was ordinary. And yet, Seungmin couldn’t look away.
From the shadows, he watched as people moved about, some gathering water from a well, others quietly tending to their fires. He caught glimpses of laughter, of hushed voices, of small comforts shared between neighbors. Then, his eyes landed on one particular house near the edge of the village.
The door was slightly open, candlelight spilling onto the ground. Inside, Seungmin saw a familiar figure, dark-haired and thin, sitting at a rough wooden table.
Minho.
He was speaking with a man who sat across from him, his posture stiff, his hands resting heavily on the table. Seungmin couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could see the way Minho nodded along, the way his fingers absentmindedly twisted a piece of cloth between them. An elderly man looked weary, his leg stretched out awkwardly, as if pained.
Minho smiled as he spoke, but there was something in his face. Something tired, something resigned. Seungmin watched, a strange ache forming in his chest.
So, Seungmin stepped out from the trees.
He hadn’t meant to make a sound, but a twig snapped underfoot, sharp and sudden. Heads turned.
A woman by the well dropped her bucket with a loud clatter and locked eyes with him. Her eyes widened, jaw going slack.
And then she shrieked.
The entire village erupted. Women screamed and darted inside their homes, slamming the door behind her. A man dropped to his knees, hands clasped in frantic prayer. A little girl burst into tears, scrambling after her father, who was already pulling her inside by the wrist.
“It’s a forest spirit!” someone shouted. “Don’t look at it!”
“Please!” another man cried. “Take my goats! Spare my children!”
Seungmin stood frozen in place. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He raised his hands slowly, palms out.
“Wait, I’m not — I’m not going to hurt anyone!”
But no one heard him. No one wanted to.
The crowd scattered. Doors slammed. Shutters snapped shut. Even the dog that had been barking earlier now whimpered and crawled under a cart.
“I didn’t do anything,” Seungmin whispered, throat tight. “I didn’t—”
A hand grabbed his arm.
“Come on,” Minho hissed, dragging him back into the trees. “Before someone does something terrible.”
Seungmin stumbled after him, dazed, heart still hammering. They didn’t stop until the village was far behind them and only the forest surrounded them again.
They paused near a cluster of mossy stones. Seungmin was breathing hard, still clutching Minho’s sleeve like it was the only solid thing in the world.
“Why were they scared of me?” he asked, his voice trembling. “I did nothing to harm them.”
Minho sat on a twisted tree root, brushing dirt off his pants. “Spirits from the forest — nymphs, dryads, whatever you are — don't come to the village unless they want something. And when they want something, it usually goes badly for us.”
Seungmin just stared at him.
“People here,” Minho went on, “they’ve seen things. Fields cursed for no reason. Children going missing. People walking into the forest and never coming back.”
“I’d never do that,” Seungmin said quickly. “I’m not like that.”
“I know,” Minho said, and his voice was calm, but quiet. “But they don’t.”
Seungmin sank down beside him. His hands were cold.
“I just wanted to see what your life was like,” he said softly. He looked down at his hands. He wasn't a spirit. Or a God. He was something in between.
Minho glanced at him, eyes widening slightly.
Seungmin blinked, “What is it?”
“You look…” Minho trailed off, shaking his head. He muttered softly, “Pretty.” But he wasn't smiling. He looked… Afraid.
Seungmin looked down at himself. Same robes as always. Earthy greens and browns, embroidered with small blossoms along the hems. The faint shimmer of vine-like thread wove through the fabric, and his crown of braided branches and white flowers still rested gently on his head.
Pretty? Was he really? Seungmin sat in stunned silence.
“They say it's the pretty ones who play games with us,” Minho said cautiously. “Lure us in. Sing to us. Watch us. Some of them take people. My… My mother disappeared when I was little. They say a spirit called to her once and she followed it into the sea, swept away by the tide.”
Seungmin sat back slowly, feeling like something inside him was shrinking. “I’m sorry. I.. I would never, Minho. I would never hurt you. I would never hurt anyone.”
“I believe you,” Minho said gently. “But the others won't.”
Seungmin wrapped his arms around his knees. “I only wanted to talk to you,” he murmured. “I thought perhaps we could be friends.”
His voice broke at the end. He turned away, but it was too late. The tears came, hot and fast and humiliating. He tried to wipe them with his sleeve, but they kept falling, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
“I didn’t want to scare anyone,” he whispered. “I just wanted a friend.”
Minho didn’t speak right away. He just scooted a little closer and placed a hand gently on Seungmin’s back. His fingers trembled, but his palm was warm.
“It’s okay,” Minho soothed. “We… we are friends already, aren't we?”
But the comfort only made the tears come faster. Seungmin pressed his face to his arms, hiding from the world.
And then, something stirred. Where his tears touched the mossy ground, tiny blossoms began to bloom.
Delicate white petals opened one by one, pale and glowing faintly in the twilight. Vines curled from the grass, weaving around their feet, soft and warm. The flowers swayed in the stillness like they had always been meant to grow there.
Minho stared. “Did you just do that?”
Seungmin sniffled, wiping his nose. “I guess? I didn’t mean to.”
Minho blinked, looking around in awe. “It’s beautiful!”
Seungmin looked down, surprised by the quiet magic blooming beneath him.
“I don’t even know how I did it,” he said.
Minho reached out, brushing his fingers against a pale blossom that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. The petals were luminous, like spun glass dusted with frost, each one etched with veins of silver light. They quivered as he touched them, though the air was still.
“They are unlike any bloom I have seen,” he said softly, wonder curling in his voice.
Seungmin lingered in silence, then knelt upon the grass. When his hands touched the stems, the flowers turned gently toward him, as though recognizing a kinship older than memory. Their glow deepened, casting soft reflections on his tear-streaked face. He plucked a few. The stems were cool as river mist, pliant in his grip. As he rose, tiny specks of light like falling stars, rose from where they had grown, then vanished into the night air.
He stepped forward, hesitant. “Take them,” he said, his voice quiet and unsure. “They are yours, if you will have them.”
Minho’s eyes widened, “I can't. Surely, I can't accept these?”
Seungmin insisted, “We're friends, aren't we?”
Slowly, the mortal boy accepted the offering, cradling the blossoms with the care one might offer to sacred relics. They glowed brighter in his hands, as though they, too, were pleased.
“You honor me,” he said with a gentleness that brought fresh tears to Seungmin's eyes.
The clearing seemed to exhale, bathed in the soft gleam of moon and bloom. The flowers Seungmin had not touched began to open wider, stirred by an unseen force, and the scent of frost and wild honey filled the air. It was as though the night itself held its breath.
And then—
“Seungmin?” The voice was calm, but it struck like thunder.
Felix stood at the edge of the grove, his arms crossed over his chest, his golden hair haloed in moonlight. The amber in his eyes caught the starlight like twin blades, sharp and unreadable.
Seungmin’s heart clenched. He had not heard his brother's approach. That alone told him how deeply he'd lost himself in the moment.
Felix’s gaze moved over the scene. The mortal boy, the glowing flowers, the tears still fresh on Seungmin’s face. His expression darkened.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, low and grave. Not angry but puzzled. Guarded.
Seungmin faltered. The words caught in his throat.
Felix stepped forward, his gaze flicking toward the village beyond the trees, then back to the bouquet cradled in Minho’s arms.
“You should not be here,” he said, quieter now. “If Mother learns of this…”
Seungmin flinched. The warning rang true. Their mother’s wrath was not a thing one invited.
“You know what she thinks of their kind,” Felix added, his voice turning colder.
Seungmin saw Minho’s eyes narrow in offense and attempted to shield his friend. “Minho meant no harm. He has done nothing to deserve scorn.”
“That is not the matter,” Felix said, his arms still crossed, though there was a tremor beneath the steel. “You were seen. Perhaps not yet by the others, but if word spreads and if it reaches her—”
Seungmin’s thoughts turned to their mother’s voice, always clipped and cruel when she spoke of mortals. Always filled with disdain.
“They grovel before the divine,” she once said, “yet they know nothing of reverence. Short-lived, foolish things. Easily broken. Easily used.”
But looking at Minho, his bare arms grazed and bruised from the forest path, his clothing torn by use, the way he held the blossoms as if they were sacred, Seungmin saw none of what she described. He saw life. He saw kindness. He saw something more godly than anything he had seen in Olympus.
“I wished only for his friendship,” Seungmin whispered.
Felix’s gaze softened, just slightly. But his voice remained firm. “We must return. We tarry too long.”
He stepped closer and placed a hand upon Seungmin’s arm. There was no force in the gesture, only urgency.
Seungmin turned to Minho. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice thick.
Minho nodded, eyes steady beneath the moon. “I will not forget this,” he said.
And the flowers in his arms glowed brighter, as if echoing that vow.
As Seungmin let Felix lead him away, he kept glancing over his shoulder at the boy who stared after him with bright eyes.
They walked in silence for a long while, the forest closing in around them like a held breath. The darkness felt heavier here, thick with roots and watching eyes. Seungmin glanced back more than once, though the faint glow of the village had long since vanished beyond the trees. His arms hung useless at his sides, and the soft whisper of leaves against his robes sounded far too loud.
Felix kept pace beside him, rigid, jaw set. At last, he spoke, “You should not have gone there.”
“I know,” Seungmin answered, but the words barely reached the air.
Felix exhaled through his nose, “You are fortunate I found you first.”
Seungmin said nothing. His steps slowed. The weight of what he had done settled over him like damp fog. He did not regret it. Not truly. But regret had never mattered much to his mother.
After a moment, Felix spoke again, quieter now, “The forest saw you. The trees. The vines. The wind. The moss beneath your feet.” His gaze flicked upward, uneasy. “They remember. They whisper. You know this.”
Seungmin swallowed.
“Even if no mortal ever speaks of it,” Felix continued, “she will know what you've done. The forest carries every footstep back to her.”
A chill crept through Seungmin’s bones. He had seen it before. How his mother answered questions never spoken aloud, punishing failures no one had confessed. The forest was her witness. Her voice. Her reach. And he had walked openly into a mortal village crowned in leaves and blossoms, offering enchanted flowers to a boy she would call less than dirt.
“She’s going to be furious,” Seungmin said softly.
Felix did not deny it. He only looked at him and said, “Yes.”
Every creak of bark sounded like judgment. Every sigh of wind felt heavier. Seungmin flinched at each rustle, wondering how many whispers had already raced ahead of them.
She was waiting. Syrhae stood at the edge of the clearing, unmoving, wrapped in moonlight. Her robes were made of the blackest petals, layered over her body and flowing around her feet. The forest itself seemed to shrink back from her presence. No insects sang. No leaves stirred.
Felix slowed and remained behind, eyes lowered. Seungmin stepped forward alone, dread pooling in his chest.
She did not raise her voice. She did not need to.
“Did you truly believe,” Syrhae said softly, “that I would not learn of your trespass? I show you kindness and this is how you repay me?”
“Mother…” Seungmin stared at the ground and shook his head. “I only wished to see my friend.”
“Foolish child,” she cut in, stepping closer. “You did not think.” Her eyes burned cold. “You were born of bark and sunlight, not smoke and mud.”
Seungmin’s hands curled inside his sleeves.
“You are mine,” she continued, her voice sharpening. “You are not meant to walk their roads or offer kindness to fleeting creatures who would worship you one day and curse you the next.”
Words pressed against his throat and went nowhere. He stood, frozen.
“You are forbidden,” Syrhae said, and now her voice left no room for mercy. “You will never again set foot in a mortal village. You will never speak to those filthy villagers. Never look upon them again.”
Her gaze sharpened. “If I so much as smell their smoke upon your robes,” she said, “if their dirt clings to your feet, if their names touch your lips, I will know and you will live the rest of your immortal existence in a cage of thorns.”
Seungmin did not move. He stood alone in the clearing long after she was gone, the moss beneath his feet cold as stone. And somewhere deep inside him, something broke cleanly and quietly.