•Fly high, my pretty angel...•|A jongsang story|

•🦢🌿3.My Precious Crown🌿🦢•

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  Yeosang awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds, the sharp scent of earth and foliage filling his senses. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was or how he had gotten there. The world around him was a blur of green and brown, shadows dancing across his vision as he blinked away the haze of unconsciousness.

   He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body, forcing him to lie back down. It was then that he noticed the state he was in. His once pristine white robes, which had always gleamed like fresh snow, were now stained with blood and dirt, the fabric torn in several places. His golden hair, usually perfectly groomed, hung in disheveled strands around his face, matted with dried blood and mud. He could feel the earth beneath him, cold and unyielding, pressing against his back, and the weight of something missing, something important.

   Slowly, Yeosang turned his head, his vision gradually clearing as he took in his surroundings. He was lying in front of a massive gate, its iron bars intertwined with thick branches and vines, as if the forest itself had claimed the structure as its own. The gate towered above him, imposing and ancient, yet there was a strange beauty to it—a sense of something both sacred and forgotten.

   The branches twisted and curled around the gate in intricate patterns, some of the leaves still green, while others had withered and turned brown. Small flowers, pale and delicate, clung to the vines, their petals trembling in the faint breeze. The iron of the gate was old, worn with age, but still strong, the blackened metal etched with symbols and runes that Yeosang couldn’t quite decipher in his current state.

   He reached out a hand, fingers trembling, and brushed against the ground beside him. The cool dirt and fallen leaves crumbled beneath his touch, grounding him, reminding him that he was still alive, still here. But as his fingers trailed across the ground, he realized with a jolt what was missing—the crown.

   His crown, the one adorned with green stones that shimmered like the waters of the swan lake, was gone.

   A wave of panic surged through him as he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the pain that flared in his side. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of the crown, but it was nowhere to be seen. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as the world spun around him, and stumbled forward, scanning the ground for the familiar glint of emerald and silver.

   Nothing.

   The crown was gone, lost somewhere in this unfamiliar place, and with it, a part of himself felt lost as well. That crown was more than just a symbol of his status as a warrior; it was a connection to the swans, to the lake, to everything he had been trained to protect and serve. Without it, he felt… incomplete.

   Yeosang’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened, but the memories were fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror. He remembered fighting, the clash of steel, the cries of his enemies, and the blinding pain as he was struck down. He remembered the darkness that followed, cold and suffocating, and then… nothing. Just the emptiness that had swallowed him whole, until he had woken up here, alone and disoriented.

   He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and turned his attention back to the gate. There was something about it that called to him, something familiar yet elusive, like a memory just out of reach. He stepped closer, the branches brushing against his skin as he approached. The air around the gate was thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something ancient and powerful that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

   Yeosang reached out to touch the gate, his fingers brushing against the rough iron. The metal was cold, but beneath the chill, there was a faint warmth, as if the gate itself was alive, pulsing with energy. He could feel it humming beneath his fingertips, a low, steady rhythm that resonated deep within his chest.

   For a moment, he stood there, his hand resting on the gate, trying to understand what he was feeling. But the pain in his body, the confusion in his mind, made it difficult to focus. All he knew was that he needed to find the crown, to find the swans, to find his way back to where he belonged.

   With a heavy heart, Yeosang stepped back from the gate, his hand falling to his side. He glanced around one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the crown, but the forest remained silent, offering no clues. He was alone, cut off from everything he knew, everything that had given his life meaning.

Yeosang POV

I stand in this forsaken forest, the once vibrant world now shrouded in uncertainty. My garments, once pristine, now marred with the stains of battle and the unforgiving earth, hang heavily upon me. The weight of my wounds is nothing compared to the emptiness where my powers once thrived. I extend a trembling hand toward the ground, willing the familiar surge of energy to awaken. The air around me should be humming with life, ready to respond to my call, yet there is nothing. Only silence.

I focus, narrowing my gaze on a cluster of leaves that lie scattered near my feet. In the past, they would have risen with the slightest command, swirling in a graceful dance, bending to my will. But now, they remain stubbornly still, mocking me with their lifelessness. My fingers twitch, a futile attempt to summon the forces of nature that once flowed through me so effortlessly.

“Come.” I whisper, my voice barely audible, almost pleading. But the leaves do not stir. The power that was once as natural to me as breathing has vanished, leaving me bereft of the very essence of who I am. Panic flickers at the edges of my mind, but I push it down, refusing to succumb to the despair that threatens to engulf me. There must be a way to reclaim what I have lost.

The green stones of my crown—the link to the swans, to the life-giving waters of the lake—are gone. Without it, I feel severed from the source of my strength, as if the roots that connected me to the earth have been cruelly severed. I press my palm against the trunk of a nearby tree, seeking solace in its solid presence, hoping to draw some remnant of power from the connection. But the bark remains cold and unresponsive under my touch, no warmth, no pulse of life. I am truly alone in this.

How can this be? The power of nature, of growth and decay, was always mine to command, gifted to me by the swans, by the very essence of the lake. And yet now, it is as if the forest has turned its back on me, refusing to acknowledge my presence, my pleas. I feel as though I am nothing more than a mere mortal, stripped of the divine gifts that once set me apart.

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, centering myself. This is but a test, I tell myself. A trial I must overcome to reclaim my rightful place, to restore the balance that has been disrupted. But even as I think this, doubt gnaws at the edges of my resolve. How can I overcome this when I do not even know what has caused it?

The leaves rustle in the breeze, untouched by my will, and I am reminded once more of my helplessness. It is a bitter pill to swallow, this realization that I am no longer the warrior I once was, the protector of the swan lake. Without my powers, without my crown, what am I? Just a fallen warrior, lost and powerless.

I open my eyes and step back from the tree, a cold resolve settling in my chest. If I am to regain my power, if I am to find my crown and restore what has been lost, I cannot linger here in despair. I must move forward, one step at a time, and reclaim the strength that has been taken from me.

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   But Yeosang couldn’t stay here, lost and helpless. He had to move, to find a way forward, even if he didn’t know where that path would lead. With a final, lingering look at the gate, Yeosang turned and began to walk, his steps slow and unsteady. The branches seemed to part for him as he moved, the forest shifting around him as if guiding him somewhere, though he didn’t know where.

   All he could do was follow the path, hoping it would lead him to the answers he sought, to the crown he had lost, to the swans that called to him like a distant memory. And as he walked, the image of the swan lake flickered in his mind, a place of peace and beauty, untouched by the darkness that now surrounded him. But it wasn't the lake...

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