Fantasy — 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙣𝙚'𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙡

hanaera has heard whispers from the wind, rumours from up above and down below. she has heard it as one of the first, because words need language to speak and there is only one other soul that she constantly keeps tabs on. so yes, she has heard it, the rumour, that myeong-un has been looking to extend the lifespan of a mortal.

she considers killing the mortal immediately, making it look like an accident because to do that is as easy as one two three. all it would take is spell anger and a desire to hurt, all it would take is sleepiness overtaking a driver at a (in)opportune moment. she considers finding this mortal and tearing them in two herself, because they can’t even fathom the weight of myeong-un’s love for them, to risk the life of immortality just for more time. she doesn’t know what emotion she is feeling more strongly; anger at him, for being so idiotic? jealousy of whoever they were, for him to love that much? wrath at the audacity of the cosmos, for daring to take away one of the only constants she still has? she doesn’t know. emotions are easy and hard all at the same time, a contradiction that makes it so fitting to fall under her domain. all she knows is that this wouldn’t do, that she has to stop this foolish plan in its tracks. it doesn’t matter that it’s been centuries since they’ve dated, or that myeong-un holds the rights to his own deific life. what matters to her is that he is a constant, that everyone she loves on this earth will die because that is mortality, but not him and never him. not if she has anything to say about it.

it has been a few decades since this deity stepped on chinese soil, having found it easier to go on when changing the scenery ever so often. people romanticize immortality in the strangest ways, spinning the concept with their own fantasies like reality isn’t so heartbreakingly cruel. they rarely speak about the burden of time and hanaera kind of hates them for it as equally she envies them for their blissful ignorance. they are yet to find out that forever is a gift craved until it is won, and that death is more sacred than living. they don’t know that immortality is not a blessing brimming of rich inventions and good deeds but rather a curse of perpetual loss and recurrent boredom. they don’t know that they are already eternal in the ways they exist in moments and memories like a speck of ink in the poem of the universe. they don’t know how much the goddess of emotions wishes could be them: freed from the shackles of eternity.

hanaera has long accepted her role in this cosmos, has long learned that her destiny was not hers to weave and never has been. so all that she can do is be – only to be is no longer fostered by something as mercurial as being good. the deity has long traded the virtues for the vices, has no longer found amusement in upholding the boring concept of peace, instead revelling in chaos. so she starts some illicit affairs, ruins a few deserving lives, toys with people just to see which way they jump – anything to keep eternity a bit more entertaining. and she would have continued doing so, would have gladly flirted with that beautiful woman in rome and follow the red thread of fate towards another morning waking up in someone else’s bed. yet, ironically so, it’s this very string that pulls her across the globe, away from those indulgences. back to fate himself.

still tethered to the very presence of something as wretched as destiny itself, the goddess is called to the city of dandong. finding myeong-un’s current location was not the most difficult, though her current source did evoke a raised eyebrow. why exactly her dear friend seok-kun possessed over those details formed an odd inquiry on its own, but prodding for motive had to wait for another time. there were more pressing matters at hand, such as preventing her beloved from repeating the same mistake his antecedent made. so she keeps the question buried (but not forgotten) for now and utilises her powers to gain entrance to the purposed building (all it takes is a charm or two, a push and pull of emotions).

it's not difficult to find the person she is looking for, and hanaera quickly crosses the room when she does. she nonchalantly taps his shoulder, and meets his gaze with a smile impeccably easy. “hi love, miss me?” she spreads her arms as if expecting to receive a hug. no, it does not matter that it has been eons since the two have seen each other or that her presence here is as abnormal as the devil in heaven. she’s hanaera after all; the goddess who is nothing but erratic - the one for who smiles and flirtations come as easy as breathing. he should have expected nothing less, and even so, she adds just a little bit more fuel to the flames. a bit more spark to the fireworks of surprise.

“I heard you are trying to free some people? well, I want to help so where can I sign up ?”

personally, hanaera has never understood his propensity for wanting to do these projects to help people. all that work isn’t going to change human nature which is to…... no, maybe myeong-un will actually succeed in liberating this poor country from their dictator regime, and maybe the rush of gratitude that they will give him will be grand – but she knows it won’t last. it will just be right on to the next one, because there is always war, always injustice.

she’s stopped caring about saving humans centuries ago -- she still can’t fathom why he keeps trying.

It's winter again.

The earth settles into a chilling slumber as the terrain unfurls its snowy blossoms. Snowflakes land on skin like ephemeral, ghost-like kisses, and the world descends into a time of beautiful stillness.

At least, that's the image Myeong-un prefers to paint.

In reality, winters in Dandong carries none of the delicate beauty found in the countryside, with its endless ivory expanses and marengo mountain ranges. Instead, the city's industrialization seeps into every blessing nature grants it; metal trees with their glinting branches are artificial and lifeless under the falling snow, and the city is awash with desaturation. Dandong winters are cold and gray and disappointing, with slushy, ashen snow blanketing the tinny metal structures that crowd the entire city.

Winter has never been a particularly cheery time for Myeong-un, but standing in the center of Dandong, with the Sino-Korean Friendship Bridge, and its rusted metal bars, on one end of his sight, and tall, monotonous buildings filled with identical gray apartment rooms on the other, does nothing to brighten his mood.

Winter is the season of endings -- the gradual, silent conclusion to another passing of time. How many years has it been since Myeong-un first walked on Earth? He can barely remember the time when he was a mortal, the time when he grew up on dirty streets with glorious beaches only a few meters away, the time when his home country was thrust into a war with Japan.

Now he is over four centuries old. Myeong-un has seen over four hundred winters and four hundred summers -- four hundred conclusions and four hundred climaxes. He has been all over the globe, from the northernmost recesses of Siberia, to southern Italy during the height of summertime. He has seen his home country descend into one war after another, until the same brutal knife of fate that split the nation right down the middle left a resolute strike in Myeong-un's heart.

When Myeong-un fell out of the realm of the living, immortality was not a tantalizing prospect. It seemed like it would be a shackle that would tie him to his inevitable misfortune, a binding promise to eternal existence. After so many years, and with the knowledge that his life will never cease, every coming winter wears at Myeong-un's bones and sends a pulse of apathy through his heavenly being.

Life gets tiring when it's constant. No, life gets tiring when the one living it is endless and eternal, while everything around him grows and dies within a blink of an eye.

But Myeong-un has a duty on this earth, and every breath he takes in the eternity of his existence is a breath that will go towards fulfilling it.

"Do-ha." Myeong-un's steady gaze, trained on the metal world around him, stutters when a familiar voice whispers the name he has carried for the past few years. He turns, and there he is: Go Won-woo.

Go Won-woo -- how can Myeong-un even attempt to describe such a man? The god, in his centuries of life, has never met such a paragon of a man as he. The most Myeong-un can do to describe him is this: Won-woo is the culmination of every virtue that has caused a human to linger in Myeong-un's mind to this day. He is the apex at the end of a crescendo, the highest, most glorious point before an inevitable fall. He is a soft smile, a twinkling eye, the brush of picturesque fingers on one's cheek. He is the undeniable passion in the gaze of a lover, the heartwarming nostalgia of eating a childhood dish, the jump in one's heart rate when they taste something as addicting as love for the first time in their fleeting lives.

There is no shortage of poetic words Myeong-un could spew, and he would still never come close to describing the merit of this one mortal's soul.

"I managed to catch the bakery right before it closed," Won-woo continues once he captured Myeong-un's attention, his voice like a light breeze, floating through a lavender field at sunset. He hands one of the many bags in his grasp to Myeong-un, who quickly accepts it before urging the other man to let him carry more.

"I got the standard pastries for everyone else, but I managed to get the last seasonal wife cake, just for you." Won-woo smiles before tapping one of the bags Myeong-un is holding. The god peers into it, catching a glimpse of a pastel pink box with a pretty silver ribbon.

"I thought you'd like it," Won-woo concludes, his eyes crinkling from his broad smile as he runs a hand through his hair.

Wife cake, Myeong-un muses to himself. Was that intentional?

Nonetheless, he's flattered. Won-woo truly is the perfect mortal.

"Thank you." Myeong-un says, making sure to look in Won-woo's eyes to convey his gratitude. "That was very thoughtful of you." Myeong-un lets his lips twist into a small smile and his tone lighten with humor, though everything he says is genuine. "You're so kind to everyone, it's about time you get your own gift."

Myeong-un could've sworn that he saw a faint flush on the other man's cheeks, but it is winter in northern China, and now isn't the time to entertain wild fantasies.

"Oh, no, please, Doie, that's not necessary," Won-woo, the perfect, magnanimous character, as always, gives Myeong-un a friendly nudge, the gesture a little awkward due to all the bags in his hands.

"All right, let's head back to HQ." Myeong-un nods, and the two of them retreat to the inconspicuous building only a couple of blocks away.

Once they return, Won-woo turns and grabs the bags out of Myeong-un's hands before the latter can protest, leaving only the bag with his small wife cake, packaged in something too elaborate for such a simple pastry. "I'll take these to the common room," he assures, smiling before he leaves. Won-woo is always smiling.

Myeong-un can mask the dopey smile threatening to take over his features, but the joyous glint in his eye remains unhidden. What a virtuous human -- I truly am blessed right now.

Myeong-un hears the muffled din from a few rooms over, but instead of joining the rest of the organization members, he moves towards the window, peering at the metal landscape and the sheer gray skies before him. He enjoys taking a few moments to himself -- a few moments to remove himself from the bustling, material world, a few moments to breathe and slow down.

When one's lifespan gets to the length of a deity's, time seems to move far too quickly.

And when one exists for centuries upon centuries, near nothing surprises them anymore. When one sees the rise and fall of multiple civilizations, the splitting of worlds, the breakthrough of humans to their next step of evolution . . . well, there isn't much one hasn't seen, at that point.

But even Myeong-un's perennial lifespan cannot give him the knowledge of the cosmos. He may be a god, but he is not omniscient, and the universe never fails to take him aback.

"Hi love, miss me?"

Hanaera.

How many years has it been since they met? How many years has it been since they parted? How many years has it been since Myeong-un chose to abandon his divine companions for the mortals below?

Myeong-un can't remember. He can't remember the last time his gaze wandered over Hanaera's features, he can't remember the last time they laid in the same bed. Time is fluid and unbidden and it escapes him.

“I heard you are trying to free some people? Well, I want to help so where can I sign up?”

Myeong-un gapes.

The universe really is full of surprises.

What does she want? he can't help but wonder. The tides of his suspicion are rising. Since when was Hanaera interested in these kinds of things?

While the two of them may not have associated with each other since Myeong-un resigned himself to the mortal world, Myeong-un is in no way unaware of who Hanaera had become. Hearing of her gradual undoing through the whispers of others was heartbreaking for Myeong-un, like the ebb and flow of slow-acting poison. Nonetheless, he refused to let himself linger; some may call that cruel, but Myeong-un has a duty to humanity, and as a god, that is the passion he must pursue relentlessly.

He can't believe that Hanaera is standing before him, in all her dangerous beauty, asking to help him on his crusade. Myeong-un knows that the current Hanaera can't be interested in such things, but her true intention is out of his grasp.

"Hanaera," he murmurs in a hushed tone, fully aware of the loud chatter in the background. He stares her up and down, still too shocked that she's actually there, in the flesh. He asks his most pressing question bluntly -- best get it out of the way. "What in Sang-je's name are you doing here? What do you mean you want to help?"

Myeong-un pauses before he asks the question that hurts the most to say. "How . . . how can I know if I can trust you about this?"

the wariness from myeong-un is so palpable he might as well be announcing it for the world to see, scepticism rushing out of him in a wave instinctive and honest enough to offend those of delicate hearts – though, not her (not anymore). shock swims in those irises, blending masterly with the earthly shades that once weren’t so wicked in their symbolism, and hanaera revels in the moment despite the lack of warmth from the world’s very aurora. why? because despite the time it’s been since the two have been in each other’s gravity, he knows her as well as she knows him, and that’s comforting in the same breath it’s dangerous.

hanaera smiles at him as he ultimately verbalizes the suspicion that blooms inside him like a rose, makes sure not to have it look mocking even if she can’t help but make it amused. he is correct to doubt the intentions – as he should – but he doesn’t need to know that. to give a good act, after all, is to make sure all the emotions behind it are true. to pull of a lie, all one has to do is to fall along with the tide, let the hurt of the character become your own. some say that truth and lies are merely vibrations in the air, inconsequential to the medium through which they might travel. others say that one lie holds the power to tarnish a thousand truths. hanaera does not bother with the philosophies, thinking herself too wise to trust those man-made ideologies and too old to care. all she believes is that destiny has woven an iniquitous web that has aligned both deities of fate in ways the two could not begin to comprehend -- not with their eyes set on a path not even her, who’s known for doing everything life allows, dare tread. all that hanaera knows is that those threads are wound around her soul, tugging at the strings of a heart bound in (false) wires of immorality – twisting and begging to do something.

but when one lives in an empire of lies, truth becomes treason, and this deity can not yet trust myeong-un to change ways if her words unfolds the secret she has stored under her bones. not when his very soul is drenched in martyrdom, his ambitions virtuous to the point of danger. so dancing around half-truths it is (because he knows her well enough to not believe any lie she gives at face value). myeong-un might come to hate her when the deed is done, the threat purged, and hanaera might find herself staring down at the fragmented shards of her heart once more when that time arrives, but it will be worth it -- for losing him to death is a greater heartbreak than anything else.

hanaera lets out a mere hum in response and moves her head side to side, as if playing with the question he had just thrown her way. “how can you trust me..” she repeats with a slow lilt, before fashioning another flirty smile, “why, i thought you knew me woonie; have i ever lied to you before?” the edges of her lips drop into neutrality, knowing very well that the sentence doesn’t lend her much conviction. this deity might be good at acting, good enough to fool gods, but not him. never him. “you think i don’t care for those matters and you are half-right. i didn’t. ” she decides to say, because to sell a lie is to douse it with some truth. the utilisation of past tense is done with intention and the goddess considers her options for a split-second, before falling into improvisation. “but i have gotten quite bored, and a little tired, so i was thinking that it might be nice to try something completely different. try the whole savior thing like you again after so long.” it’s somewhat believable, at least. hanaera has done countless of things to save herself from boredom, and it’s honestly much more convincing that she is here for that than some bullshit like the good of her heart.

“i’ll be an excellent soldier.” she continues, words easy, persuasive as can be. “you know how good i am at influencing people, make them want to act..” and that’s what he wants, what he’s always chasing for, right? action -- moving forward, doing something for someone else. myeong-un is a bleeding heart of the highest magnitude, and hanaera remembers how it was what drew her to him to begin with.

she wraps her arms around his right arm, closing the distance between with such ease it appears like their bodies naturally fit together. sometimes she does believe that her and myeong-un are two puzzle pieces meant to slot together, but that is until she remembers life isn’t that easy, and that they’re always growing, always changing. still, it doesn’t stop the goddess from flirting with her ex. “what do you say? we can have the old duo back together.” she whispers into his ear. the deity of emotions then gives him a meaningful look, convinced that the following sentence will tip the scale in her favour.

“ how about this: i will do anything you want to prove my commitment.”

"How can you trust me . . . why, I thought you knew me Woonie; have I ever lied to you before?"

Myeong-un chews his bottom lip. He has nothing to respond with; every time his mind wanders toward Hanaera, all he sees are memories that glitter as if diamonds were embedded in them. He thinks of the glint in Hanaera's softened eyes. The quirk of her carmine-painted lips. Her laugh, melodic and irresistible like a siren's song.

But those are moments of decades past. Nonetheless, Myeong-un almost wishes he could see Hanaera in a truer light. It has been so many years since their break-up (that he initiated), so many years to move on. He can't tell if he's merely nostalgic or if his heart still sings for her -- a ballad muffled by the passing of time. Frankly, he's confused. Hanaera's presence twists his psyche into a knotted conundrum.

"You think I don’t care for those matters and you are half-right. I didn’t." "But I have gotten quite bored, and a little tired, so I was thinking that it might be nice to try something completely different. Try the whole savior thing like you again after so long."

This is the Hanaera Myeong-un has grown to expect. Even in her brighter days, the goddess of emotions was always fickle. Myeong-un's lips quirk upwards in an instinctual half-smile. The two of them aren't the same -- not at all -- but he finds himself fond and reminiscent as memories of Hanaera and her material form in front of him begin to bleed together.

he murmurs. He remembers his Hanaera -- the Hanaera whose kindness shone in her eyes, the Hanaera who presided over her domain with pride.

The words go unsaid.

"I’ll be an excellent soldier." Myeong-un could swim in the honey-sweet charisma of her voice. He can't tell if he's drawn by her natural charm or his memories. "You know how good I am at influencing people, make them want to act."

Myeong-un stands there, still unmoving, even as Hanaera slinks closer. She's right -- she is good at influencing people, at getting things done. It is a quality Myeong-un always admired about her, and admittedly, it pulls at him like a riptide. For a god like him, whose string of fate runs on, never-ending, time and seasons blur together into a stain of indistinguishability. Like when you smear oranges and greens and purples together until it blends into a dull grey-brown.

Yet somehow, despite all the changes he has seen humanity grow into, the earth still seems to inch instead of sprint. Nothing seems to change. Humans may have the world at their fingertips in the form of those ingenious little smartphones of theirs, but they are still hateful and divided. Some live in five-story chateaus, while millions across the world find themselves slumped on the streets. Some are able to pay their way into success, but there are those who are shackled by the same system that enables the former. Everything shifts around, but nothing seems to change.

Hanaera's offer pulls him in. Maybe with her, he could do a little more.

"What do you say? We can have the old duo back together."

Myeong-un chews his lip and furrows his brow. Hanaera's aroma swims around his face.

"How about this: I will do anything you want to prove my commitment."

Now that catches his attention.

he murmurs to himself.

The decision takes no time at all to make. Because even if he had to toil over how effective or helpful Hanaera would be, it would all boil down to one thing.

When Myeong-un broke up with her so many decades ago, it wasn't because of them. It was because of the humans. It was because of his passion. Myeong-un carries no grievances about the goddess; in fact, the ember inside him that craves her friendship still burned bright from time to time. Now that Hanaera has returned, offering her services . . . well, it was a win-win, wasn't it? How could Myeong-un deny her?

Myeong-un comments, a wry tint to his words. His eyes, half-lidded, trails over their forms. They follow the lines of their connected arms, the long expanses of pale skin.

Myeong-un turns to meet Hanaera's eyes. He doesn't even have to tilt his head; she was always able to match his height, meet his eyes. They are equals, in every sense of the word.

he continues, voice firm, Myeong-un huffs out a soft laugh, leaning back against the wall and fully conscious of the brush of Hanaera's form against his. The familiarity of it pulls him in, but the distance that time has created pushes him back. Myeong-un smiles at the thought, the corners of his eyes creasing.

Hanaera may never care for humans as much as he does; Myeong-un is an idealist, but even his fantasies have limits. But although he wasn't there to see her undoing, and although he hasn't been there for her in the past hundred years -- Myeong-un cannot deny his endless faith in her. Hanaera's presence gives him pause, without a doubt, but Myeong-un is not blind to the truth. Hanaera is not someone to be underestimated, and fickle goddesses are never stagnant.

Myeong-un goes on, drawing lines and spirals on his thigh with his fingertips.

Myeong-un meets Hanaera's eyes again, his dark irises glinting with steady intent. he urges. They may have a history together, but no god can infringe on his goals, and time has made Hanaera's familiarity too unsettling for Myeong-un to be comfortable.

A few moments pass. Myeong-un's gaze is unbroken.

"Hey, Doie!" Won-woo's muffled call jerks him out of his reverie. Myeong-un hears the man's approaching footsteps, steady like the ticking of a clock. "What's holding you up over there?"

"It would be better if you offered your services because you cared about these humans,"
hanaera did care once upon a time. it was the kind of care that ran so deep every little hurt inflicted on them was a knife into the heart to her. her care was a blessing turned curse, the belief that held it so tightly together shattered like a dream does upon awakening. hanaera had abandoned the religion where the virtues could conquer the vices, humanity’s path of atonement having crumbled before her as decennia turned to centuries. hanaera had stopped caring because the hurt sat too heavy on a soul shackled by eternity, stopped because the scars still throb till today. she stopped, and even wonders ,to this day, how myeong-un has not.

they were human once, indeed, but the goddess doesn’t see that fact as one of favour.

there’s a reason why hanaera has long abandoned these ideas of good and bad. everything is arbitrary (until it isn’t). you make your choices and you let the cards fall where they may. so, an assurance to be good? doesn’t mean a thing. but he doesn’t know that, nor does anyone else. too many people believe that the stars are aligned for them, that the cosmos provides a light true enough to banish the shadows of false gods who whisper sins rather than decency. they cling to the false prophecies woven together by unknowing or wilful ignorance -- blind to the cruel patterns of the cosmos and deaf to the damning lullaby of humanity.

"Even if it's just another one of your escapades, I'm happy that you're giving it a chance. And who knows? Maybe you'll grow to like it as well."

There is a small chuckle running past her red lips, speaking bemusement in one simple tune. they both know the goddess of emotions does not believe in the pleasure of charities. committing your life to these sort of fruitless endeavours is for the ones in the gutter looking up at the stars, unable to afford the glitter and gold of their dreams. not for the one sitting on a throne of opulence and power. this does not mean hanaera doesn’t do good in this world; it just isn’t the good of the same measurements as myeong-un. while he seems to construct weapons out of virtue, she has always been more interested in drowning them in their own vices. if myeong-un is destined to bring a little piece of heaven to earth, hanaera’s legacy follows the depths of hell. it isn’t one her ex approves of, she knows, but it is something that has stuck to her for so long it has become a comfort. and as long as the oh great sang-je doesn’t come knocking on her mythic door, she does not see a reason to quit. it’s may very well be ruinous – but how else can one, unbound by time, live these days, except in the midst of ruin?

the goddess listens to her old love as he speaks about the mission, eyes trailing the pale lips that she briefly ponders about kissing just to paint them hers red. hanaera does listen, because she wants him to trust her. maybe not to do good, but definitely to take care of him. to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like borrowing time for a mortal in the grasp of the very thing they wish to escape. her expression remains easy, a smile dancing on her lips as she responds in true hanaera fashion. “gathering intel, you say? does this mean we are going to travel and charm some people?” eyes sparkle like stars flooding a sapphire sky. seduction has been one of her favorite pastimes. why? because lust is beautiful – like stepping into a wildfire and wanting the burn to consume you. lust is gorgeous, and easy too, the way most beautiful emotions aren’t. “I will help.” she adds. but only to gain your trust.

the woman stares back into the irises, makes herself familiar with the stars waltzing in shades dark yet aglow. myeong-un’s presence still comes with a dose of melancholy, a remembrance of a chronicle that ended too soon. he is that perpetual feeling in a world full of temporary things, one she doesn’t wish to share with anyone. the goddess drinks his features in like he is an oasis and she a lone wanderer in the desert. moments pass, and she almost dares to do something as risqué as inviting him back to the hotel she’s staying at.

just to 'go over the mission’.

[just to get him to herself for some time more].

but then there is a movement; a man that hanaera didn't notice because she was distracted. it should not mean much, but hanaera knows when the emotions heighten in such a way she has to clamp down the urge to shut it down, knows when the picture definition of affection shines behind that disposition.

this is him.

words leave the man’s mouth, yet all she can focus on is the churning jealousy rising up in her bloodstream. myeong-un isn’t hers – hasn’t been for centuries – but the goddess of emotions has always been a jealous woman. hanaera wonders, idly, what exactly she is jealous of. is it the way the two glance at each other like they are each other’s eternity? is it because she can sense a devotion so strong it’s like his with her was never true to begin with? or is it the way she herself is the goddess of emotion, yet love has always been something that's slipped away from her grasp no matter what? hanaera doesn’t know. what she does know, however, is that she hates this mortal.

her grasp on myeong-un’s arm tightens. “doie?” she lets the nickname roll of her tongue in a questioning manner, before blinking. “ah-“ fabricated recognition fills her expression and a bit too sharp of a smile adorns her features. “you must be the won-woo do-ha told me about. it’s good to finally meet you -- i’m im hye-na, me and do-ha go way back.” her right manicured hand is extended to the mortal, while the other remains firmly wrapped around myeong-un’s bicep. her smile widens just a tad. “ i heard you two are busy building a resistance and have come here to offer some assistance.” the following wink is clearly more directed to the god beside her than the lowly mortal, but hanaera breezily continues, all while pushing back the urge to scream. “speaking of the resistance, why don’t you show me around the place, doie?” she smiles sweetly at her old love, eyelashes batting.

“we need to discuss how exactly you want me to gather that intel anyway.”