Sacrifice || ENHYPEN FF

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 127

~surprisingly im alive~

-Start of Chapter 127-

Two days.

It's been two days since that incident.

The storm as died down, settling into a dull sky veiled with ash-grey clouds, the gloomy wind dragging itself through the kingdom - slow and heavy, as if it, too is mourning.

The halls of the palace are draped in black. The windows stay closed, the curtains drawn. 

No has spoken much. Most of the work has been halted and everyone keeps their heads down.

Jia has been mostly quiet. Sometimes she disappears for hours. When she does show up, her eyes are red and puffy. After all she was a dear friend of Jia's. Riki is always the first to find her - silent yet gentle. Heeseung follows after, careful with his words, always offering a hand which Jia seems reluctant to take.  

She blames herself for not staying close to her friend when the smoke flooded the room.

I cry when no one's watching. In the quiet corner of my bedchambers I let it all out. For a girl I barely know. Fore a girl who handed me tea with a smile. Who was taken away for no reason, just like my mother.

I can't stop being reminded of that days. The stairs. The blood. The silence that followed after. I was five.

I still remember that silence. 

And, now... it's everywhere again.

I should've seen it.

The thought keeps echoing over and over. My vision- my power- it was supposed to warn me. if only I could control it. But it failed me. Or maybe I failed it. Failed her. If I'd seen something, anything... maybe that girl would've still been here. 

This power.... it's a curse.

And Jungwon? 

Oh how cruel fate is...

Jungwon hasn't spoken a single word ever since that night. He didn't cry once after coming to the palace. Not that night. Not at the funeral. 

He didn't even blink. Just stood there, stone-faced, unmoving - like grief couldn't reach him.

Like it never had.

He hasn't come out of his bedchambers once.

Not even when Jay knocked.

Not even when Riki yelled his name.

Not even when I sat by his door for an hour, softly calling his name, hoping maybe something—anything—would reach him.

But it didn't.

No one's seen him. Not really.

He's choosing to bury everything again. To shut the door, not just to his room, but to everything he worked so hard to open.

The warmth in him—the part that dared to love—died with her.

And all that's left is the shell of the boy he used to be.

~~~~~~~

I haven't slept. Not really.

The night stretches endlessly, thick and starless outside my window. The silence is louder that it should be - so loud it rings in my ears. I sit curled on the cushioned bench next to the glass, knees pulled to my chest, the side of my head resting against the cold pane.