Chanel's Fics

The Boy With Nine Petals - Hunhan

THE BOY WITH NINE PETALS

Summary: He once took a series of pictures of the world and thought he captured a man crying tears of silver.

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There are nine flower petals pressed against the skin of his left cheek. It’s some odd initialization ritual that the gods have implored upon him and though it feels sticky and uncomfortable, he doesn’t complain. He can see his reflection against the golden goblet resting on the pedestal beside him and he thinks the crimson red petals are a nice contrast against his unfortunately pale skin.

The elders, those of elevated position, are chanting the expectations that dot his very existence. Oh Sehun, child of the deceased messenger of heaven and hell and a bastard of a man who fled upon pregnancy—he is a mutt, a combination of mortal and immortal. Too tainted, in all honesty, to frolic in the high heavens but much too pure to linger aimlessly on the otherwise dirtied earth.

“Each of the nine petals represents the obligations you must now uphold as the successor of your mother—“

His mother, he believes, took her own life. Though he doesn’t know why considering the golden blood coursing through her veins according to rumor, he can only assume she dove backwards into the River Styx for the opposite result: not immortality, but mortality. Of course, Sehun isn’t sure if that’s really how it works but his mind has always been one of an abnormal sort, always thinking past the carefully positioned barriers once implemented since his conspiracy of a birth.

“—and you, as neither mortal nor immortal will be granted access to the heavens and the depths of hell; your ability will bring you no fame nor honor and should you wander in between for too long in hell or even on earth where masked splendors taunt the finest of demigods, you will not be immortal to the tantalizing lies and you shall forever wander wherever you find yourself lost in.”

Sehun nods.

“Do you accept your responsibility as the mediator between the high and low poles?”

He nods again, a sinfully sweet smile dancing upon his lips as he extends his hand loosely, letting the sharpened edge of a dove’s feather pierce the skin of his thumb per ritual. The tiny droplets of blood that accumulate are crimson, just like the petals against his cheek and from the corner of his eye he can see the gods around him hesitate as though afraid to near the blood of a lesser being. Still, he presses his thumb against the parchment before him, watching as smoke arises where his mark of acknowledgement has been pressed.

“The lost souls of the earth are now in your hands.”

He found the man the next day among the wandering souls caught between heaven and hell with no deciding factor to send them to either.

His so called responsibility is a lie, he decides. All he does is wander to and fro in purgatory, watching as the shells of people reach out to him in desperation, asking him to guide them to where their fates lie. When Sehun feels generous, he reaches out and lets his fingers brush another’s just to watch their cold hearts swell in metaphorical joy only to be torn down yet again as his feet lead him elsewhere.

There are no true obligations; no genuine need for him to flock a bunch of people to heaven or to hell because these people lost in purgatory are there for a reason, bound for near eternity sans one or two bodies every month that are quite obviously destined for better or for worse.

On his first day in the blasted place, surrounded by never-ending walls of white and the lost gazes of one too many people, Sehun immediately feels disgusted. They are desperate, desperate people who don’t know what to do to define themselves as sinners or the redeemed. They are people, he thinks, but in all honesty mere caskets of bitter personas that despise death.