Destined {𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾}

Chapter Eighty-Seven

PRESENT DAY

Fields of white roses stretched on as far as he could see, the sky unnaturally pale – and yet it felt normal, like he'd seen this very sky countless times before. Minho smiled as he gazed upon the white roses, though confusion struck him when he noticed red splattered on one of the flowers.

He walked towards it, tilting his head to the side. That was strange – that wasn't supposed to happen. Kneeling beside it, he lifted the flower gently. When he pulled his hand away – it was smeared with blood; his eyebrows furrowed, and as his gaze lifted again, he noticed another, a few feet away.

Slowly, he stood, and approached that one, too. There was a trail of the white roses painted red all across the field, going in a single, direct line. He followed the trail, curious and afraid of what he would find there; something had disturbed the peace of this place, this place that he somehow knew.

He stopped, sure that someone was calling his name, but there was nothing but wind blowing softly across the flowery plains. He looked around, but he was unable to detect the source of the sound; his eyes caught another red rose, leading off in a different direction, and he began his trek again.

There, in a grassy clearing surrounded by those red roses, stood a somewhat familiar figure. Hesitantly, he approached, unsure of whether there was danger or not. He squinted against the glaring, comforting sun, surprised that his skin did not prickle as it always did nowadays whenever he came into direct contact with sunlight.

It was nice – it felt... normal. Like it always had, like it had on days where he'd gone on beach trips with his friends in college, how he'd go on walks with past lovers. His life had taken a crazy turn – and although he could no longer bathe in the sun like this, or do any of the things he'd once done, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

His smile softened, and finally he made it to the clearing, stepping past the red roses. Dark eyes met his, and he nearly jumped back. Finally, he could recognize the lone figure sitting in the center of it. Chan smiled softly, beckoning him forward; for a reason unbeknownst to him, he did as he was told, sitting a few feet away from the Vampire King.

"This place is always comforting," he said, smiling wistfully to the sky. "I come here whenever I can't think. It seems you've decided to join me today." Minho simply stared at him, silent. They remained in that silence for a long while, and Minho wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what the other would say, and yet there was some small part of him that ached at the sight of him.

He didn't know why.

"I'm sorry," Chan said, finally, and Minho startled at the sincerity in his voice. "I didn't think... they'd let you become... this way." He shifted, turning his body to face Minho's, his eyes sad. "I never meant for you to suffer this way. Believe me when I say that I would never harm you intentionally." He sighed and turned to stare up at the sun, closing his eyes wistfully.

"I summoned you here, Minho, because... I have an offer for you. This war with the werewolves, is something I began out of spite, and revenge. I had a chance to make it right – and I lost it. I am willing to put aside my grievances with them if you join me – I can help you. I can help you navigate this... change in you better than they can. Because I can understand."

Minho stared at him, eyebrows drawn; that did make sense. That made a lot of sense... His mind felt suddenly fuzzy, and he blinked, shaking his head as he attempted to clear it.

"Minho."

Chan looked up as a voice broke through the serene atmosphere. Minho looked up, confused; who was that? It sounded familiar; his stomach flipped a little. Chan looked at him again, expression somber again. "Think about it, Minho. If ever you decide to join me... you know where to find me."