The Celestials [Taegyu]

Chapter 09 ; Mysterious Man

song ; cry (cigarettes after sex) - instrumental
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Viken watched as Lucien cradled Cassian, his pale figure trembling in his lover's arms. Cassian was in torment- perpetually in torment.

And why?

Because Viken had written him that way. His fingers had traced every wound, every struggle. The once resilient man, full of strength and grace, had been reduced to this broken shell. And it was all his fault.

I did this.

I brought them into this nightmare.

He could see it mirrored in Lucien's eyes. The anger, the desperation- everything Lucien felt for Cassian was real, painfully real. Yet, none of this should have existed.

It was all fiction, mere words and sketches on pages. But now, it had morphed into their reality.

I should never have woven him into the story. Cassian didn't deserve this.

Why did I-

The memories of his sketches, the countless hours spent crafting Cassian's character, washed over him like a wave. He had imagined Cassian as a beacon of strength, yet delicate enough to serve as the emotional heart of the tale, the one who would break but still endure.

Viken had created those eyes, those stunning golden eyes, filled with both hope and sorrow- he had chosen to inflict pain upon him, to subject him to trials that no one should have to face. His breath hitched in his throat as the weight of his guilt pressed down on him, sinking deeper into his very core.

They were living through this nightmare, enduring the pain, and it was all his doing.

Viken's fists clenched at his sides. How could he have been so naive to think he could control any of it?

How could he have believed, even for a fleeting moment, that he could play god, manipulating lives without facing the repercussions? He had created the High Priest as the personification of evil, the villain who would push his characters to their limits.

But now, the High Priest was real, and his malevolence was spilling out of the pages and into their lives. He had convinced himself that he could handle it, that it was just a story. But it was no longer fiction; it was reality, and he felt utterly powerless to stop it.

He felt trapped, suffocating under the weight of his own creation. Every scream, every drop of blood- it was all on him. His mind screamed for an escape, for a way to rewrite the narrative, to undo the damage.

But there were no erasers in this world, no opportunity to redraw the lines.

This was their reality now, and Viken was powerless to change it.

They trust me... but they don't even know who I am. They don't realize I'm the one who brought this upon them.

A cold sweat trickled down his back. How could he face them, burdened with the knowledge of his guilt? That he was the architect of their suffering?

The source of the High Priest's terror? The cause of Cassian's pain? He had no right to stand beside them- to pretend he wasn't the very reason they were trapped in this nightmare.

His hands trembled. The urge to flee, to abandon everything and disappear, surged within him.

I don't deserve to be here. I don't deserve to save them.