Chapter Text
Mingi’s vision blurred, his step faltering. The rain lit his arm on fire and he grunted, pressing down harder on the injury and trying desperately to stop the bleeding. The barbed arrow tip still lodged in his shoulder jostled and he let out a hiss, biting down on his tongue. He didn’t stop running. He couldn’t stop. Not until he was sure Jongho got out.
Blood was flowing down his arm, leaving light red droplets against the dirty cobble floor. A blood trail, washed away by the storm. His body felt cold, and it wasn’t just the pouring rain making him shiver. He could feel his consciousness slipping. He’d been bleeding for too long. The smell of death lingered over him.
One singular promise echoed in his head, and he forced himself to keep his eyes open, keep moving forward. He needed to make sure the only family he had left would survive. Even if he didn’t.
An anguished cry rang through the air, a scream for help so distinct that it made Mingi’s heart stutter, his entire body stilling.
A cold shudder ran down his body. Mingi’s muscles tensed, a low growl escaping his throat.
He ran, chasing the far away sound despite how much moving hurt. His useless wing dragged against the floor, bleeding where the skin had torn and the membrane looked mangled. He wasn’t paying attention to the uneven forest floor and his wing caught against a jagged stone. Mingi cried out, falling to the floor with his left wing curling around him protectively. His nostrils flared, taking in deep breaths to ease the pain. His eyes burnt, his entire body shook as he willed himself to stand up.
He had to keep running. They needed to take advantage of the rain. It washed away their traces. Now was their only chance of escaping their captors. He forced himself to run harder, ignoring the throbbing pain spanning from his shoulder down the length of his arm. He just knew he had to keep running.
Then he saw it.
Mingi’s heart throbbed at the sight of a cage made of long black metal. Metal so strong that their fire wouldn’t melt it. He only felt his anger rise at the sight. Contraptions created specifically to capture their kind. As if they were mere animals to be hunted. And for what? For the humans to waste their scales on mere jewelry. What a mockery.
Hatred cursed through Mingi, and if he could, he would've rampaged through the human villages, making them pay for all the pain he and his kind had to go through.
He stopped a few feet away, chest heaving. He gasped for breath, ignoring the pulsing pain.
The black dragon inside the cage turned his head and whimpered, eyes— eye finally meeting Mingi’s.
Mingi’s blood froze. His insides twisted, nausea churning. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
His eye.
His baby brother’s eye.
Mingi let out a deafening cry, running to the bars. He clutched at the metal, ignoring how his own arm burned, and reaching out for the dragon instead.
A saddened wail escaped the dragon, and Mingi’s knees finally gave in. He dropped to the harsh unforgiving floor, eyes still stuck to the spear protruding from Jongho’s eye. Those hunters had no reason to do that. A dragon’s eye was useless, they gained nothing from maiming it. They were doing it out of some sort of sick twisted pleasure, enjoying finally besting such a magnificent creature.
The dragon was at a corner of the dark cage, curled up over his own body, snout pressed to the ground, much too submissive, terrified. He made himself as small as he could, protecting his still beating heart to the best of his abilities.
“Mingi…” The dragon’s voice was but a mere tremble, full of desperation. His one eye glimmered with unshed tears, and he let out a breath, the steam momentarily warming Mingi.
“Your eye— Jongho, what have they done to you—” Mingi didn’t realise he was sobbing, tears that he’d been holding back for so long flowing down freely. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry… I should’ve protected you better… What did I… This is all my fault—” Mingi stammered, pressing his forehead against the cold metal.
Jongho let out another breath, this time intentionally blowing it in Mingi’s direction. Comforting. Mingi raised his head, staring into the younger dragon’s eye. He swallowed, pulling himself up with too much effort on shaky legs and leaning heavily against the bars.
“Mingi— Your wing—” Jongho gasped. He raised his head, trying to get a better look of the bleeding shoulder and wing.
Mingi shook his head, immediately regretting the action when he felt his vision swim. If he could’ve, he would’ve curled his wing and hidden it from Jongho. But his wing remained splayed, much too damaged for Mingi to even feel it, much less move it.
The dragon let out a drawn out whine, a cry of pure agony, and Mingi’s face twisted. “I’m fine,” he whispered. He tried to be comforting but urgency bled into his tone, “Jongho, l-look at me, I’m fine—” His words were panicked. He took a sharp breath of air in, and his chest hurt a lot more than he’d like to admit.
“I need to get you out...” Mingi wheezed. His breath was coming out laboured. He blinked, realising his vision had gone black for a second. Jongho let out a piercing scream, startling Mingi.
Ah.
His blood had been steadily streaming out his arm, pooling around him. He hadn’t even realised how much blood he was losing now that he was no longer pressing at the wound, too preoccupied with Jongho.
Mingi pushed himself forward, stepping with his bare feet onto the pool of his blood. He walked slowly, rounding the cage until he found the lock. With trembling hands, he turned the key—that he’d stolen—feeling his entire body sag with relief when he heard a resounding click. Jongho was free.
Mingi took a few steps back, watching the younger hesitantly push the prison door open, almost in disbelief that it was just that simple. The dragon raised his head, a hopeful glimmer in his eye and bound up to him, running through the door, finally free from the suffocating black metal.
Mingi swallowed roughly, staring at the spear still stuck in Jongho’s eye. The wound was bleeding slowly, the blood dark and sluggishly making its way down the dragon’s face.
Despite that, Mingi wanted to open his arms, feel Jongho’s warm scaly skin against him. He wanted to feel Jongho’s embrace, to hug the dragon one last time. He felt his eyes become hot and wet again, and another tear escaped, mixing with the blood and mud covering his face. His body felt so heavy.
He placed a hand on Jongho’s snout. “You need to leave.” He tried to push him away but Jongho resisted. “Go, Jongho. Before they realise and catch you again.”
“What about you? You’re in no condition to fly,” Jongho argued. He was almost purring, trying to sooth himself. “I can’t just leave you behind.”
He could almost see Jongho frowning at him. This was the first time, in what felt like months, that they were seeing each other again, yet they were already separating again. But they knew—staying together was too dangerous.
Mingi was so tired. He just wanted them to be safe. For once, he wanted to be able to stay with Jongho without worrying if either of them would suddenly die at the hands of hunters.
They’ve spent such a long time in captivity though, so tortured, starved and sleep deprived, that it all seemed so far away now.
“One of us at l-least should try to… to m-make it out alive.” His teeth chattered, and he felt a shiver run up his body. He leaned against Jongho, unable to hold himself up anymore, and he vaguely registered that his vision had gone blurry. He was barely staying conscious, using the last of his energy to keep his eyes open, if only to make sure Jongho flew away from here.
Black spots danced around the edges of his eyes. His shoulder felt numb. Mingi swallowed hard. He felt nauseous again, except this time he could taste bile on his tongue. “Leave,” he insisted, trying to sound stern. It came out a breathless whisper, gone with the wind. Jongho heard him though, attuned to his every move, every breath.
Jongho’s eye blinked a few times, clearing away the wetness that had gathered there.
“You need to come with me,” Jongho suddenly said. “Climb on my back, I’ll carry you.”
Mingi’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. The world spun. Mingi bit the inside of his cheek, pressing his eyes shut. Everything felt hazy, and even the rain sounded far away.
“You... won't be f-fast… enough,” Mingi argued, his words coming out slurred. His breathing was laboured. “I’ll only s-slow you down.”
Jongho was a Borkan dragon, a volcanic breed known for being strong and reliable, with a wide back and a bigger body than most dragons, so he trusted Jongho to carry him in any other situation. But he wanted Jongho to get away from this place as fast as possible, and if Jongho carried Mingi—even if Mingi was currently in his humanoid form—he wouldn’t fly fast enough to escape the hunters. Not with his eye injured and with Mingi’s entire wing and shoulder dripping blood that will lead straight to them.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” Jongho hissed. “You’re the only family I have left.”
Mingi’s heart ached at the words, at how true they rang, despite Mingi and Jongho not being from the same clan. They were the last remaining dragons of the east, so precious, yet hunted to extinction without any consideration for how their disappearance will offset the balance of nature.
Mingi wanted to argue. He wanted to demand Jongho leave, to not bother trying to save him, since he was as good as dead either way.
He didn’t have the chance to voice his thoughts though before his vision darkened, his breath faltering. Abruptly, Mingi felt his entire body stiffen then sag. He heard a muffled scream above him. He tried to look up to see what was happening, recognising Jongho’s voice and faintly registering his panicked pleas, but he couldn’t lift his head to comfort him, his body feeling heavy, consciousness slipping far away. He let his eyes flutter shut, dimly aware of the blood that had pooled around him as he lay in it, much to the dismay of the other dragon who had thought him dead.
⟡
Mingi felt cold.
His eyes felt heavy. He could hear— wind?
He tilted his head, feeling the world tilt with it, and he groaned, trying to raise his head.
Something underneath him shifted, and he thought he’d heard some faraway mumbles, but he was much too disoriented to discern the voice telling him to sit still. All he could feel was the biting wind against his cheeks, his body much too cold— he would’ve thought himself dead if not for the warmth underneath him.
The warmth shifted, and Mingi realised— they were moving. Where were they going?
Who’s they?
He opened his eyes, weakly fluttering them against the harshness of the air.
Blue surrounded him from all sides.
And underneath them was a layer of pure white.
He must be dead.
“...gi! Mingi!”
Mingi could finally discern the voice that had been screaming at him.
He turned his head, slowly, as if he was faraway, his soul detached from his body.
“Jongho…” He stared back at the young dragon. The black Borkan had his head turned to him, eye on him. The other still had a long stick protruding from it, oozing black. Despite it, the dragon’s expression was determined rather than pained.
Mingi gasped, his mind finally catching up.
“The hunters—” he gasped weakly. He glanced back down at the pure white underneath. Just how far up did Jongho fly them? No wonder he’d felt so cold. Their kind was never meant to fly this high up, they were volcanic dragons, belonging close to the earth’s warm crust.
“I had to go above the clouds to escape them. I still don’t know—I spotted a village at the top of the mountain earlier, I’m circling back to it. We have to land soon, you’ve been— No! Mingi, stay awake, stay wi…”
His voice faded away again, and Mingi’s head filled with cotton, heavy and leaning forward against the scaly neck of his friend.
His eyes shut close despite Jongho’s voice growing louder, and feeling farther. He felt the dragon shift underneath him, speeding up. Mingi trusted him and let his body sag once again.
He’ll apologise to Jongho later. For worrying him and for making him carry him when he should’ve escaped far away, far enough that no hunter could ever reach him again.
His body felt so cold, shivering despite the heated scales underneath him.
⟡
A sharp pain in his arm jolted Mingi awake. He was no longer in the sky, he couldn’t hear the whirling wind anymore, couldn’t feel Jongho’s jagged scales, but he still felt much too cold.
He swallowed harshly. He felt a hand on his arm. Someone was touching him, hurting him. He tried to pull away, and the hold tightened. His heart skipped a beat.
Panic rose in his chest. It couldn’t be them, right? Those hunters couldn’t have found him and Jongho that fast. Right?
But the hunters were here. They were grabbing him by the arms, dragging him back into his cell, trying to pick his scales off of him one by one—
Mingi gagged, inhaling harshly, and the hands on his arm shifted, raising to his back, to his neck. It only made him want to scramble away. He was trapped again wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he have just died, then neither he nor Jongho would be trapped in this place ever again.
Oh god, where was Jongho?
He narrowed his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. His vision was much too blurry, he could barely make out the shapes around him. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes, and he tried to blink it away. Whoever had been holding him turned to face him, and Mingi’s breath caught, fear rendering him frozen. A human.
The shape was blurry, but it was undoubtedly that of a human.
Not again, he thought, panic rising. He refused to be caught again. To be at the mercy of those heartless creatures.
Where. was. Jongho?
He snarled, thrashing out of the person’s grip. It startled the human, but he was quick to grab him again, whispering something that Mingi couldn’t hear.
Mingi let out a scream, and another, and then screamed again, louder, more desperate. He was screaming for Jongho without realising. His vocal chords strained, he sounded hoarse, winded, but Mingi didn’t stop. He wanted to scream for Jongho, but his mind was muddled and the words didn’t make any sense, blending into garbled noise.
His eyes looked wild, pupils dilated, as he looked around, pushing himself away from the grip that was holding him tight. It was one man, but Mingi felt the ghost of a thousand touches all across his body. He panted, pushing the hand away. He would never allow a human to touch his scales ever again.
“Stop— That’s dangerous, stop moving around—” The human sounded confused, almost panicked, and yet he kept a surprisingly soft tone, as if trying to soothe a spooked animal.
It did nothing to appease Mingi. If anything, he felt closer to death than he ever did before.
His screams doubled, and he leaned forward, pushing his body off whatever ground they’ve laid him on, and trying to get up, even though his body burned at the movement.
Someone else rushed into the room, shuffling into the room but hovering just out of sight.
“Help me hold him down, he’s lost too much blood and I think it’s causing him to be delirious,” the human was addressing someone out of Mingi’s field of view, his tone still as kind, but a certain edge had seeped into.
The new person finally approached, grabbing Mingi’s other arm and forcing him down again, despite Mingi doubling his effort in twisting out of the hold of his captors. The man leaned forward, shushing him with a small voice. One of the man’s hands landed on Mingi’s chest, where his heart had been beating so wildly that Mingi was surprised it hadn't broken through his ribcage yet, causing a bloody mess on the floor of his human captors.
“Hey— Hey Ming, look at me, you’re safe.”
A shiver ran through Mingi, and his eyes, despite how unsteady they were, darted to the man. It sounded so much like Jongho. Through blurry vision, he noted the stocky body. It looked like Jongho as well.
But Mingi knew better. He’d lived through this hell once before, he knew how the humans operated. The hunters would never allow him to see his brother.
He let out a whimper, blinking his eyes, trying to make out the man’s form. The man’s hand shifted, going up to his hair. He gently ran his hand through the fiery strands, pushing the long bangs out of the distressed dragon’s face. It was soothing, and Mingi’s chest rose and fell, breathing slowly ever so slightly at the familiar movement. Sweat clung to Mingi’s forehead and a few strands stuck to his skin, drenched as if Mingi had purposefully doused them with water. The man took notice, wiping away the droplets with his hands.
“Shit, Khouya, you’re so cold,” the man swore.
Mingi’s eyes widened.
He couldn’t see too well, but that was undeniably Jongho’s way of calling him. It was their native tongue, the dragon way of saying “brother.” Was Mingi hallucinating? So desperate for the other that he’d become delirious? But the hand still at his temple felt much too warm, burning even, against his sickly cold skin, and Mingi couldn’t help but instinctively lean in, slightly tilting his head.
Not-Jongho for a moment kept his hand against Mingi’s skin, allowing Mingi to settle. Mingi found the hand to be the only thing grounding him in the too foreign room. It was a simple touch, warm and familiar, from a man who spoke his tongue and who looked and sounded like his brother. Without realising, Mingi had been staring, blinking hazy eyes up and wishing that it really was Jongho. But then Not-Jongho tensed, his stare fixated on something behind Mingi, and with great effort, Mingi tilted his head away from the comforting touch to follow the man’s gaze, turning to face the other human in the room. He heard a harsh voice, much too loud for the quiet room. “What is that?”
Mingi frowned at the tone. It was jarring, to say the least, to feel such a soft touch yet hear his voice dripping of venom. The other human was holding something in his hands, long and glinting against the low light. Mingi was unable to make out anything further, no matter how much he tried to squint, but it unsettled him.
His heart climbed to his throat, breath quickening. He felt too disoriented and now the man was holding something clearly pointy, Mingi was slowly realising that he couldn’t feel the entire right side— arm, shoulder and wing— none of it. Just what was happening?
“Calm down,” the human said, “That arrow hit vital blood vessels, he needs sutures.”
“The arrow— It’s barbed, isn’t it?” Not-Jongho sounded unsure, voice quivering. He leaned forward, looking at Mingi’s arm carefully, though not making any moves to touch. Mingi stared up at him, breath quickening.
The other man paused, expression contorting. “Yes. I’ll need to make an incision around the wound. Now, please leave me—”
“I can’t leave him!” Not-Jongho screeched indignantly.
“Trust me, I know you’re distrustful of us, but he needs help, and so do you with that eye of yours. That also needs proper cleaning and bandaging. It’s too dangerous to go around with a gaping wound like that.”
The man hesitated for a few minutes, then jerked his head in a nod. Mingi opened his mouth, not wanting to part with the one comforting presence in the room. He couldn’t get any noise out, couldn’t do anything but pant, brows creased and red eyes staring desperately at the man.
“Will…Will he be in pain?” Not-Jongho asked, hesitantly.
The human shook his head. “I’ve already given him a herbal mixture containing monkshood and thorn apple— It should’ve knocked him out so I’m not sure why he’s still awake…” The human cast a look at Mingi, who frowned once he realised they were talking about him. The human sighed. “I’ll give him a stronger dose. I guess dragon bodies work differently to those of humans. Even the blood is… I’m surprised he’s alive with how much he seems to have lost.”
Mingi bristled at the words, heart rate spiking once again. Tension returned to his body, and he dug his hands into the material under him. He knew too well that nothing good ever came from being unconscious around humans. For a second, Mingi’s head cleared, adrenaline coursing through him and waking him. He needed to get out of here before they gave him whatever concoction they were talking about.
As if he sensed his train of thought, Not-Jongho shifted the hand in his hair and shoved at his chest, pushing Mingi down suddenly and holding him there. Mingi realised it was too late when something bitter was being shoved in his mouth against his will. He felt the goo on his tongue, the taste so strong and putrid that it almost made him gag instantly. Mingi twisted his head, wanting to spit it out, but a large hand immediately held his mouth shut. Another hand cradled his neck, raising his head just so, in a way that pushed the goo down his throat, despite how it burned. Mingi felt like he was being suffocated, pushed to swallow something or otherwise he’d choke. His eyes burned, and a tear escaped, rolling down one of his cheeks.
A hand let go of his mouth, instead wiping the proof of his frustration gently.
“I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good,” the human spoke softly, sounding as apologetic as his words seemed to be.
“You’ll be fine, Ming, I promise,” Not-Jongho’s voice whispered in his ear, soothingly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Mingi’s eyelids felt heavy, and despite the fear climbing in his chest—the panic that clawed from inside as he processed he had been drugged —his head lolled to the side a few minutes later, his consciousness slipping and cutting off the quiet whispers of the people still holding him down. The world turned completely dark.
⟡
The sound of shuffling. Red spots burning behind his eyelids. Something brushing against his arm.
Mingi stirred, and with some effort, he managed to open his eyes. The light blinded him, and he grunted, turning to push his head against the soft foreign material under him. He should’ve paused, thought about why his head wasn’t in the dirt or against rocks, but rather surrounded by what felt like feathers. But he couldn’t, not when his head felt so heavy, the fog descending on him and refusing to disperse. He could feel hands gently prodding at his body, and he shifted, allowing them to access the part of his body that they’d been trying to reach. A soft giggle ricocheted against the walls, a whispered thanks, and then the hands continued their ministrations. They were touching his shoulder, somewhere around his protruding back wing muscles. They carefully darted around the skin, barely ghosting over it, and it sent a shiver through the sleeping dragon.
It took several minutes for the dragon to feel the hands leave, and for him to shift on his back. He could feel the direct sunlight on his skin, against his eyes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He blinked, slowly letting the haze lift, though he could feel the slowness of his limbs, the not-totally-gone sleep haze, or perhaps sickness haze, that numbed him down. All he could do was stare at the sunlight, basking in its glow and not really registering how he was seeing the sun right now and not the thick leaves of the forest. The movement on his side pulled his attention away, and his gaze landed on a man who had been standing next to the bed.
The man blinked, staring at Mingi with wide eyes, his mouth open and shaped in a silent “o”. It seemed he hadn’t expected to be caught, or hadn’t expected Mingi to wake. Mingi blinked back, not registering why this stranger was nearby. He stared at him, and in his confused state, all he could think was that the man looked pretty. Too pretty to be a human.
His eyes were round, a rich brown that almost seemed to flicker gold. His lips were full and pink. His hair was an even lighter shade of brown, cut short, with small curls framing his face.
Mingi stared, and the man stared back, neither moving.
Then the man’s features softened further, and he backed away from the bed. He had been careful in his movement, as if to not startle him. Mingi watched him with interest, unconsciously gripping at the material that had been draped over him.
Had he passed and met an angel?
The man’s expression pinched, his nose scrunching, eyes bright with amusement. Mingi didn't understand what could've garnered that reaction. His heart started beating at an even faster rhythm in his chest.
“It’s still early, you should sleep,” the man smiled, and Mingi’s eyes followed the way the lips pulled up, mesmerised.
The man’s words had an instant effect on him. At the mention of sleep, Mingi’s eyelids drooped, his consciousness slipping once again.
He stirred again later in the day. Or, Mingi assumed it was later, from the darkness that the room was plunged in. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, his shoulder was burning, and his skin felt clammy, heat covering every inch of skin and making him perspire. He grunted, a low wail escaping him, and shoved at the material covering him. His own arms shaked, his right side had refused to even obey him, arm heavy and stuck to his side. Mingi’s eyes blew wide at the sensation, and he tried to move his arm again, growing more agitated by the second the longer he couldn’t raise it, or even feel it. He could move his fingers at least, and he dug his fingers into the fabric under him, knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. Nausea was rising in his throat, and he closed his mouth, trying to breathe through his nose and push down the acid that started to coat his tongue. Pained grunts vibrated through him, his mind racing at the inability to move his arm.
He almost started sobbing, almost started throwing up too, but then arms were quickly coming under him, pushing him up into a standing position against the wall behind him. The coldness was a momentary reprieve, and Mingi cranked his eyes open. In the moonlight, he could see the pretty man, looking at him with wide eyes and creased brows. The man pushed at Mingi’s hair, and his mouth moved, speaking words that Mingi didn’t process through his haze. He shook his head, the movement disorienting him and making bile rise to his mouth. This time, he couldn’t push it back down.
A bucket was being shoved into his lap, and Mingi was retching before he knew it. The hand had shifted to his back, rubbing circles while Mingi continued to heave, shivering like a leaf in the wind. Not much was coming out, his stomach had been empty the day before, but he still felt the tug of his stomach, that awful sensation of something that wanted to be out of his body.
“You’re alright, I’ve got you,” was all Mingi could make out from what the man was repeating over and over again.
He also made out a few curses that had fallen from the man’s lips. Mingi closed his eyes, leaning forward against the bucket, and when he opened them again, the man was no longer by his left side, hovering next to him. The man was now sitting on his right side, unraveling Mingi’s bandaged arm and shoulder in a hurry. Mingi blinked. When did he get there?
Another shiver racked through his body, and Mingi cried out at the pain in his chest. His left hand came up against his sternum, clawing at the tightness he felt there. His heart squeezed, and Mingi felt his breath catch. He inhaled, but no air was reaching him, and Mingi panicked, panting harder, doubling over himself, not caring for how the bucket was leaning precariously over his lap.
Hands were suddenly over his own hand, and Mingi looked up, eyes blurry and disoriented. The other man was now even closer to him, and he brought Mingi’s hand to his own chest, where his heart was beating at a much calmer pace than Mingi’s. The man took a deep breath in through his nose, letting Mingi feel the way his chest expanded with oxygen, then he slowly deflated, letting it all out through his mouth. He did the action, again, and again, and soon Mingi was unconsciously following along.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
His heart calmed, though it still throbbed, and the man lowered Mingi’s hand from his chest. He didn’t let go, keeping Mingi’s hand in his lap, while his other hand touched Mingi’s forehead.
“You’re burning up,” he mumbled. His voice was addled with worry and tiredness. He pushed Mingi to lay back down, then stood up. Mingi, in his delirious state, reached out to stop him. The man looked back, surprised. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered that promise, then rushed away, out of Mingi’s sight.
The sound of shuffling, then the feeling of something cold and wet against his skin startled him. Mingi flinched against the odd sensation, and the wetness stayed against his forehead, dripping against his temples. He wanted to remove it, but his breathing had slowed, and his hands had dropped uselessly by his side. All that was left was for his eyes to roll back enough for him to see black.
Mingi wasn’t sure how much time had passed. His entire body felt as if it was burning up, breaking and rebuilding itself. It was an odd sensation, to both be aware of the passing of time yet not be awake for it. He couldn’t move, trapped in an infinite inky blackness, slipping in and out of consciousness. But he knew days were passing. In the rare instances he did wake, he would always be consumed by intense pain that had spread throughout his entire body, flames coursing through his blood. In those moments, he couldn’t focus much, turning bleary eyes to the gentle hands that guided him into a more comfortable position. Those hands were always there, holding onto his own hands, pushing his hair back, cleaning his sweaty skin and murmuring comforting words. Mingi would listen, would seek the hands out. They were his anchor in the darkness, a lighthouse in the middle of the storm that raged inside him.
His mind was hazy, stuck in a comatose state.
Some days, Mingi would manage to catch bits of the conversations that were spoken in hushed tones around him. Mingi’s brows crinkle, fingers clutching at the material under him, and he’d strain his ears trying to pick out the words. “Infection,” “wound,” “malnourished.”
The voices were faint, and Mingi’s heart’s thumping was loud in his own ears.
He’d tire himself, trying to listen, trying to make sense of the flying words that he’d managed to catch. But his body hurts, and his eyes are already closed and all he could do was let the warm sunlight lull him back to sleep, pulling him under.
⟡
Mingi felt his mind slowly coming to. A dull ache pulsated through him, and he grunted. He felt exhaustion weighing down his body, rendering him unable to even move a muscle. He breathed deeply, basking in the quiet, only listening to the thudding of his heart and the sound of his slightly uneven breathing.
He cracked an eye open and realised the entire room was drowned in darkness, the only hint of light was the moonlight coming in through the cracks of the closed window blinds.
Through his muddled brain, he wondered how he knew there was a window there. This room seemed foreign, Mingi had expected to wake up in his cell, not in a place aboveground. He also faintly registered the soft material underneath him, hugging his body and melting around him comfortingly. It was a sensation unlike anything he’d experienced for the past few years. He’d gotten used to sleeping on the harsh cold floor of his cell, never once had the hunters provided him with any bedding or cushion to sleep on. And even before that, he had the habit of sleeping on the forest floor, and the grass blades weren’t exactly the most comfortable bed to sleep on, although better than sleeping on stone.
An earthy smell filled Mingi’s senses and the dragon took a deep breath in, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of nature.
The sound of a door being pushed open jolted Mingi out of his trance, the small moment of tranquility shattered just like that.
Mingi’s eyes flew open. His heartbeat quickened, breath caught in his chest. Visions rattled in Mingi’s head, all crashing down on him in one fell swoop. His stomach twisted as his memories rushed back.
The heavy rain, the smell of iron in the air, panicked screams from Jongho.
One thought came to the forefront of his mind and a tightness gathered in Mingi’s chest, pressing on his ribs; Jongho.
Mingi pressed his lips together, holding back a whimper.
He could hear shuffling in his room. Whoever had come in was clearly up to something but Mingi couldn’t move, couldn’t look up and see what the intruder was doing.
Panic rose in his chest the closer the shuffling sounded.
Mingi tried to think, tried to organise what bits of his memories he could recover. He could deduce he and Jongho had successfully escaped the hunters, he remembered flying away, remembered feeling the air get colder. They were further up north. If Mingi had to guess, Jongho probably got them to the other side of the mountain, higher up where the human hunters didn’t dare to go. And even if the hunters had followed them and caught them, they wouldn’t have provided Mingi with a room that allowed the light in or a bedding that comforted his aching muscles.
Mingi’s eyes flickered around, trying to discern the state of the room. Without being able to move his head, his vision was limited to the ceiling and the walls.
Wherever he was, Jongho had managed to get them away, Mingi was certain of that, yet dread slowly filled him.
The shuffling came closer, stopping at the edge of Mingi’s cot, and Mingi held his breath, panicked eyes looking around for any hint of the stranger. His skin was certainly starting to sweat, cold beads rolling down his temples.
A soft hum broke the silence. “Is he experiencing night terrors again?” A faint masculine voice wondered.
Mingi’s body tensed at the sound of the man so close by yet out of his scope of vision. He tried to twitch, but it was as if his body was leaden. Then all of a sudden, a young face was leaning down and staring at him, blinking with wide eyes.
Mingi nearly screamed, though the terrified sound had died at the edge of his lips as he stared up at the man. The man, to Mingi’s surprise, yelped, jumping away.
“You were awake?” the man hissed, an edge to his voice.
Mingi let out a faint huff of breath, laboured and weak. The man’s annoyance quickly melted, replaced with worry. Mingi watched the crease of his brows. His black eyes glittered in the soft silver light, and the man pushed his lips forward. The jut of his lip made him look even younger than he seemed, a childish pout on his face. It did little to quell the worry in Mingi’s heart at being so helpless in the presence of another.
“Are you in pain?” The man now hesitantly asked, leaning forward again. Mingi failed to answer him, he’d been directing his entire energy in staying alert, watching for sudden movements. His heart had picked up, chest rising and falling much too fast.
The man frowned, and he shook his head slightly. The movement rendered his black hair almost seem purple, the light reflecting off of it tinted lilac. Mingi blinked and the colour dimmed, so Mingi was certain it was a trick of the light. His hair still had an odd shine to it, as if the hair was coated in oil.
“Shit, I need to call for Yunho,” the man muttered, and he was gone before Mingi could even process the sentence.
Mingi squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need even more people here, he wanted to tell the man so, but he was already running to fetch the other person he had mentioned.
Suddenly Mingi was all too aware of how trapped he was. He was completely hopeless, at the mercy of people whom he didn’t know, in a small dark room. A shaky breath left Mingi’s lips. He could only hope, in the back of his mind, that Jongho was faring better than him. The younger wasn’t as badly injured as he was, but that was before Mingi had passed out. Who knew what happened after? If the hunters had thrown any projectiles, had aimed and hit true like they did to him.
The patter of feet, multiple this time, pulled his attention again. He still couldn’t move his head, but he opened his eyes, staring at the general direction of the door with shaky eyes.
Mingi could hear the quick vomit of words as the men approached, one of them clearly in a hurry, trying to get his point across as fast as he could.
“...completely unresponsive! He was just staring at me, terrified! I think he’s still in a co—”
The man’s mouth clamped shut, the footsteps coming to a halt. Mingi knew it must’ve been the other man, Yunho, who shut him up. He seemed to hold a higher position, if the black haired man had rushed to get him.
The new man was slow in his approach, steps purposely heavy to alert Mingi of his presence. The tangled mess on his head was a clear indication that he’d just been woken up, brought in such a hurry that he had no chance to fix his hair before being dragged here.
The man lifted his lips in a smile, and Mingi blinked up at him. In the back of his head, the man felt oddly familiar, reminiscent of warm sunlight and gentle hands. Mingi furrowed his brows, not understanding where such feelings could be coming from. He tried to dig deeper, try to discern the blurbs of visions that he was seeing, but his head hurt, brain too muddled to remember anything past which was at the surface.
“Hello,” spoke the man. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m the doctor that’s been taking care of you while you were recuperating.”
Mingi didn’t respond, but the man didn’t seem to be expecting him to. Instead, he raised a single finger in front of Mingi’s eyes. “Can you follow my finger?”
He moved his finger slowly from the right to the left then back to the right. Mingi followed the movement, then blinked back up at the doctor in confusion.
The doctor pressed his lips together, nodding to himself then turning to address the other man.
“He’s fully conscious, and it doesn’t seem like he’s experiencing a night terror or the usual nausea.”
Mingi felt small, simply staring at the doctor, unable to understand what he meant.
The doctor turned back to him, and he smiled reassuringly. For a moment, it worked, and Mingi’s heart slowed to a much healthier pace. He didn’t understand why the man’s face worked in calming him, he just knew that, instinctively, he could trust the man to not hurt him.
“Can you tell me what you remember? Your name?” The doctor asked.
Mingi wanted to open his mouth, to answer him, to ask questions in turn, but his tongue remained stuck to the top of his mouth and he swallowed, blinking furiously. No matter how much he tried to command his body to listen to him, he couldn’t move, as if his entire body was locked, or was under the command of someone else.
One stray thought sent Mingi’s pulse skittering, and he took a deep breath in, eyes widening in terror. Oh stars, was he paralysed? What did they do to him?
His chest rose, then deflated much too quickly, the movement erratic. The doctor noticed, and his expression crumbled.
“Can you… Can you not reply?” The man muttered softly, eyes widening as he took in Mingi’s still form, save for the rise and fall of his chest.
There must’ve been a stool next to Mingi’s bed because the human sat, disappearing from Mingi’s view and pulling himself close to the dragon’s bed.
“Can you move your hand for me, Mingi?”
His name spoken from the stranger’s mouth sent an electric jolt through Mingi’s body. He didn’t understand how the man knew his name, or why the name sounded so precious coming from his mouth. But he couldn’t reply. He could only stare helplessly up at the walls, eyes darting in a panic.
The man’s hand came up to Mingi’s face, cupping it gently and turning his head towards him so that Mingi could see him more clearly. The doctor’s brows were pulled close, his lips downturned. He bit his lips, worrying the skin there, and his eyes roved over Mingi’s body.
He leaned closer, and Mingi breathed in the smell of herbs and fresh flowers. Then the doctor took Mingi’s hand in his and all of Mingi’s attention was directed towards that touch.
The doctor’s human felt cold, soothing. Mingi hadn’t realised how warm his body had felt until now.
“I think he’s experiencing a sort of sleep paralysis,” the doctor turned to address the other man. “You can leave, Woo. Thank you for telling me, but I can take care of this on my own.”
He heard a relieved sigh from the other end of the room.
Mingi had in all honesty completely forgotten that another person had come with the doctor. With his head now angled to the side, he could see a man standing at the threshold of the room, with his arms folded in front of him, watching the two anxiously. The man gave a terse nod and then turned around, leaving the two alone.
Somehow the doctor’s presence had been so soothing that Mingi had let down his guard enough to lose track of the people present. The doctor, unaware of Mingi’s inner turmoil, directed his gaze to him. He smiled, something small and shaky. “Don’t worry, I’m here. Just focus on my hand, can you do that?”
The doctor squeezed once, to emphasise what he meant. Their hands were slotted together, and Mingi closed his eyes, swallowing and letting the touch anchor him. He tried as much as he could to squeeze back, directing his entire energy to moving his hands. With much effort, his hand twitched. He opened his eyes, staring up at the doctor again. It wasn’t a squeeze, or even any significant movement, but the doctor brightened, his lips pulled into a much bigger smile. His cheeks bunched and pushed his eyes into pretty little crescents that shone brightly with the moonlight reflected off them. Mingi stared at him, a little dazed that such a small movement could garner such a reaction.
The doctor squeezed back, much tighter this time, and let their hands fall on the bed.
Mingi wanted to squeeze back, if only to keep the man looking at him like that, but his body failed to cooperate. He settled on staring at the man, simply taking in the way the doctor seemed to glow, feeling genuine happiness that Mingi was responsive.
The doctor let out a soft sigh. “You’ll be fine. I think you woke up too suddenly, and your body triggered a paralysis. It should fade away soon.”
Mingi hoped the doctor was right. It felt like he’d been stuck unable to move for hours, even though he knew logically it shouldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. With his breath evening out, and his mind feeling safe, despite the stranger holding his hand, Mingi’s eyelids started to droop.
The doctor’s smile softened. “You should sleep, it’s still late,” he murmured.
Mingi wanted to disagree. He had much he wanted to ask. He wanted to know where Jongho was, what he was doing here, why were these people claiming to be taking care of him. But he couldn’t voice any of them, even though he could feel his tense muscles loosen, his tongue detaching and his mouth falling open. His eyes found the doctor again, and the other seemed to understand Mingi’s worries. He squeezed once more.
“You’re safe now Mingi. You can rest.”
The words found their mark in Mingi’s heart, warming him from the inside out. It was a pleasant warmth, buzzing through him, filled with comfort. Mingi’s eyes slipped shut, and he let sleep take him once more.
Distantly, he felt the soft motion of a hand brushing through his hair, but Mingi was, at that point, too deep in his slumber to question the touch.