Radiant

Prologue

 The rain is unrelenting as it pounds mercilessly against his skin. It congeals his lashes together and burns his eyes. His bare feet slap against polished, gleaming marbled streets. The cold seeps past his feathers and the thin, itchy loose hospital gown to soak into the marrow of his bones.

A shiver forcefully races down his spine, teeth clicking together painfully. He sprints through the darkness. His eyes adjust easily to the ominous black, shifting the vesper into shades of gray and sharpening them into focus.

Lightning cracks across the sky, briefly bathing the marbled streets an a eerie white light that is swiftly followed by booming thunder.

A gasp lodges in his throat, stumbling when his feet slip on the marble and he recoils backwards in terror at the sound.

A shot of white-hot pain echoes throughout his arm, earning a small cry to peal past his lips. He grapples to clutch at it tighter, ignoring the thick streams of crimson that soak his hands. It melds with the rain and splatters against the marble in a macabre of pink.

Large buildings tower on either side of him, glistening with golden shudders and manicured grass. The streets are completely barren of people, the hour late and the storm forcing them to remain locked away in the safety of their shiny homes.

Breathing ragged, fingers tight over his injured arm, he inhales sharply at the distinct sound of books hitting the pavement in rapid succession. It propels his legs forward, stifling the scorching throb of his arm. He bursts through the trees, running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

The weight on his back is steadily increasing, legs quaking at the affected weight of his soaked-through feathers. Even if he could fly, there is no way that he'd be able to stay in the air with the weight of water in his wings.

He forces his legs to remain steady, clenching his wings tighter against his back as another crack of thunder rips through the raging sky.

Gasping, he skids to a halt. The pain in his arm is becoming unbearable, knees knocking together and joints stiffening from the endless chill. His eyes lock onto a thin, narrow alley tucked between two large, brick buildings.

Casting a panicked look over his shoulder, he scrambles for the entrance of the alley. The sound of the boots get louder and heavier. A whimper hitches in his throat. He cradles his bleeding arm tighter against himself. He doesn't dare glance down at it; to gaze upon the damage he is certain has mangled it.

Fear squeezes his heart. Yoongi scours the alley, chest heaving in shallow breaths when he notices a large, gray dumpster tucked away in black shadows. It's half-hidden by the night and high enough off the ground that he's certain he can shelter himself beneath it.

Even if he has to squish his wings. Even if it hurts. He is no stranger to pain.

Ducking behind it, he flattens himself himself as much as possible and scrambles to crawl underneath the metal. Water trickles from his black hair, dripping into his eyes just as the sound of boots hit the entrance of the alley.

Using his free hand, he clamps it over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Split up into two groups," Brigadier General Choi Hanbin shouts, his booming voice echoing over the barren streets. Yoongi curls up further, stifling any sounds with his hand. "It couldn't have gotten that far. Look everywhere! We need it back alive."

"Roger that, sir," a cacophony of voices replies, boots spreading out.

"It won't be able to make it far out here," Choi snarls ruefully. "It's wounded, so find it before it bleeds out or breaks its' wings from this rain."

"I'll call in a nationally emergency and tell the people that a Radiator escaped," one of the solders says. "Anyone who has seen it will call us and we'll get it back."

"Very good, Sergeant."

Yoongi holds his breath when two pairs of boots wander down the alleyway towards her hiding place. Unease churns in his gut, threatening to spill the meager contents across the marble. He manages to swallow it down, biting the inside of his cheek when they shake the dumpster, check inside of it, and then dash out of the alley.

Trembling, he remains absolutely still. He listens to the sound of the rain hitting the asphalt and the lingering tendrils of voices and boots until he hears nothing but the howling wind and pounding rain.

Scrambling out of his hiding place, he retches violently. He practically chokes on his own bile, coughing and spitting. He moans under his breath; the edges of his vision are dark, splotches of white dancing in front of hi.

Chest heaving, Yoongi shoves himself to his feet.

I can't stop now.

Yoongi doesn't allow himself to linger. He scurries out of the alley, sprinting in to the opposite direction that the Paladins traveled. The rain stings as it hits him, blinding him, but he doesn't stop until his toe clips the raised sidewalk.

A scream rips through his throat when he careens to the ground. He rolls at the last second to avoid his injured arm, landing roughly on his side, and nearly snapping his wing in half. Air is knocked from his lungs as he rolls, clenching his wings tight to his back to protect them from receiving further damage.

Sucking in helplessly, tears stinging his eyes, Yoongi wails soundlessly. He goes still, splotchy vision going in and out, and the strength flees his aching, exhausted limbs.

Yoongi doesn't fight it this time as the rain pelts his skin. Tears streak down his cheeks, fusing with blood and rain. A rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips, staring up at the moonless sky clouded with the storm.

Is this how it ends? How fitting, he supposes plaintively.

After everything he has been through, everything he has endured, and everything he didn't, lying in wait in the rain to die after finally escaping seems rather anticlimactic.

His injured arm hangs limply next to him, wings stretched over the polished shiny marble, and a flash of rage burns hot in his belly. A burst of laughter bubbles up. It isn't like he had anything to live for, after all.

He never really did.

Yoongi prays, however, that at least Seokjin and Namjoon make it. That they're sage, somewhere, over the Wall. That they get to witness the outside world. Get the sweet taste of freedom.

A hint of a smile softens his hardened features, cotton beginning to muddle his thoughts. His vision dims around him, breathing slowing to something shallow and foreign. He can't quite picture Seokjin and Namjoon anymore- the image of them smudged like rain and ink.

Yoongi allows himself himself to float away, maybe join the stars that he has never truly seen. He only hopes that he can shine half as bright in death.