Long Journey || ATEEZ

Jongho's Despair

2017

The Prophet looked straight into the young demigod's eyes, her own lighting up with a silver crystalline glow, before the deep purple curtains were swept forth around the two, and she closed them. The air crackled with divine, prophetical energy as the Prophet's slender fingers tightened around the demigod's larger fists. One second, two seconds, three, passed, until her eyebrows furrowed, and her nose crinkled. Her eyes flew back open, returning back to their normal shade of purple.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, shaking her head and releasing her iron grip on his larger fists. "There's nothing I could sense."

The boy's hopeful expression at once shattered, turning to expected disappointment.

"It's fine," he said dismissively, trying to mask his rapidly falling spirits. "It's not your fault."

The Prophet stared at the boy with pity, wondering if she could do anything to help.

She knew, deep down, she couldn't. Not at this point, anyway. Though she had seen a vague something in the near future, a large mass of something she didn't know what – it was nothing of her concern. It was something that would appear and aid the wannabe hero naturally. He wasn't to know about it. And that closed the matter.

The demigod got up, bowing his head and saying his goodbyes. He probably wouldn't be seeing that Prophet again; after all, this was the twenty-third Prophet he had met, and none were successful up to this point.

"Have a nice day," the Prophet called out uselessly as the demigod exited the dark, candle-lit room.

* * *

Jongho sighed as the afternoon air hit him, shaking his head slightly so that his burnt-brown hair flopped over his eyes again. The future wasn't looking good for him. As far as he knew, of course. The Prophets might say differently. But unless a Quest were to come his way, the next years of Jongho's life were looking bleak to him.

Jongho had dreamed and dreamed of receiving a Quest from a Prophet, then earning an official hero title, only for them to be ripped down and dismissed as futile fantasies. All the Prophets, all twenty-three of them, had shook their heads, and told him there was nothing – no Quest, no hero title, no hope.

Without a Quest, Jongho would never be able to achieve his dream.

As he headed back home, dispirited and tired – despite it only being just past midday – he shoved his hands in his jean pockets, pulling his leather jacket closer around him. As he went, some people gave him weird looks, wondering why this teen was walking around wearing a black leather jacket – in the middle of summer.

"Help!"

A cry stopped him in his tracks, as a man, looking no older than thirty, was thrown right into his path. His clothes and hair bedraggled and messy, his pale olive eyes were wide and fearful as he scrambled to get away.

Passersby screamed and ran away, staring at something just behind the man.

Jongho cast his eyes sideways, wondering what had gotten the streetly crowd into such a panic, and locked eyes with a ghoul.

Gaunt with a gaping mouth and blank eyes, its vaguely humanoid features creased into a shapeless grin as it lumbered with frightening speed towards its prey. The man's legs began to pump forwards and back, trying in vain to propel him backwards. His words came out in a fearful mumble, whimpers and stutters punctuating them. The ghoul lunged.

Jongho's fists went out of their own accord, and connected with the ghoul's blueish jaw. It flew backwards and landed in the opposite wall with a sickening crack. It groaned, and tried to pull itself out of the wreckage of bricks, but Jongho was onto it already.

In a matter of seconds, it had been completely annihilated. Green oozed out of its ears, its face even more deformed than it originally had been. Jongho wiped off his slimy knuckles, and pulled himself to his feet.

"Th-thank you," the man said, approaching the stocky demigod.

"Woah."

"Did you see that?"

"Absolutely fucking wrecked that ghoul, mate."

Whispers rose from the crowd that had gathered in the time Jongho had fought the ghoul. (A very one-sided fight, one may add.)

"Do you plan on becoming a hero?" a woman asked.

"Well yes..." Jongho started.

"A great idea! I can't see you going any other way, young man!"

Jongho laughed in embarrassment, while inside a bitter snake took up its place. I can't see you going any other way. What was that meant to mean? That his life was going to go to shit because the godsdamn gods had given every other aspiring hero a Quest except him? That because of this, he'd just be a useless waste of space?

And what of his father, Jurna? It was clear the God of the Winds had no interest in his son, or helping him.

The snake writhed and slithered down his throat, clogging it up, and stayed there. Quiet anger swept through it, and Jongho took off into the alleyway before his emotions could boil over.

The crowd called after him, including the old woman who had spoken to him and the man he had saved, clamouring for more, asking questions, how strong was he, when was he going to become a hero, what kind of quest had he received. Jongho ignored them. He could have stayed to clear up the mess he had made, but it was fine. The police would take care of it anyway.

* * *

His feet led him back home almost instinctively, and he stared up at his apartment with blank eyes, before walking into the building, and heading up the stairs.

Jongho had never seen the point in taking the lift. It was a pretty pointless invention for the lazy and the idle, he thought as he jogged up the stairs. It was something his mother had always told him when he was a kid. Naturally, he agreed.

Finally, he arrived at the eleventh floor, and tapped in the passcode into the little lock outside his door, and made his way inside.

The door closed with a little click and beep as the device locked it once again, and Jongho began to pull his trainers off.

"I'm home, mum!" he called, and made his way to the kitchen.

"Hey sweetie," his mother said absent-mindedly as she continued to chop up some spring onions at a speedy pace. "How was the meeting with the Prophet?"

Jongho sighed a heavy sigh as he recalled the earlier events.

"Not any use at all. She said there was nothing, " he replied, sitting down on the sofa. "Just like the other twenty-two times."

"Come on, sweetie, I'm sure you'll have your time soon."

"I've literally tried everything, though," Jongho muttered bitterly. "I've meditated, cleaned out my chakras or whatever – I've even gone to the temple and prayed to Dad, given him some offerings and stuff, like the priests told me to! What's his deal, anyway? Always off doing...goddy stuff. Does he even care about us? I thought he loved you, Mum."

"Oh sweetie," his mother said sympathetically. "It's just that the Ancients and the Majors don't like gods meddling in mortal affairs – that's why he doesn't visit that often. You know how stuffy they are."

"True, and maybe that's why they're not giving me a Quest," the demigod muttered bitterly. "Cuz I'm Dad's kid. The kid of a god."

"I'm sure it's not that," his mother said encouragingly.

"Well it better," Jongho mumbled bitterly. "Or else I'm screwed."

He picked up some leaflets.

Zeratik College: The best in the city. Apply Now!, it read. Jongho sighed again. If this hero thing wasn't going to work out...then it was towards education again; something he was dreading. But did he have that much of another choice?

He sighed.

If the gods did not consider him worthy, then he would make himself worthy.