There's a fire burning in his veins and lungs... But he himself is very tame.
Chiaki doesn't know much about his past---he knows he's an orphan, but nothing else comes to mind when he thinks back to his previous life.
But when he looks and bathes in...
(A/N *cries* This chapter took way too long to come out, thanks for waiting.)
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In a lavish room, a small figure spread messily under the cover of a thin, embroidered blanket.
He stared up at the sky through the window, unable to take the disorganized silence in his head.
The bed wasn't soft under his back. It was hard and layered with a beautifully woven straw mat, but he couldn't care less about such fine artistry at the moment. Its beauty didn't seem fitting for something as dirty as he was. His skin felt cold from where the thin blanket didn't cover, but his limbs made no move to pull it closer---he didn't want to touch it any more than he already was. His back hurt and his throat was hoarse. If he moved, only a sharp pang would hit his nerves, so he tried his best not to squirm around---he was told no to move, anyways.
He swallowed his tears, trying to switch his focus on reality towards the birds flying around in the sky, but the smell of sweat and incense only brought him back.
Through his spent voice, he started humming.
It hurt, but he'd rather feel that than the searing burn on the back of his neck, or the cold in his chest, usually very warm.
A bird with plumage like that of a red dragon perched onto the window still, twittering as if to join in his song. He didn't mind. It made him feel less lonely.
He stared at both the red bird, and the blush of pink dawn of the rising sun.
.
.
.
"Human trafficking."
"Are you serious?" Hak muttered, incredulous. He didn't remember hearing anything about human trafficking last time he had been here in Awa. He didn't know if Mundeok had known, either, but the thought of being in the dark about such a serious and big matter made him mad.
"Mostly women and children. He's a filthy bastard," the man chuckled sardonically.
"But slavery is illegal in this country."
"But with a new king on the throne," the stranger quickly inputted, casually waving a hand out, "who knows what'll happen." He suddenly interlaced both of his fingers together, elbows propped onto the table. For a second, he looked disgusted, a small wrinkle near his visible purple eye.
