With no hope left that he would escape the fate that he knew would befall him, his mind began to shut down. He still awoke every morning, but he ate the food that was delivered without thinking about how it tasted, and when it was finished, he sat on the floor and stared into space until it was time for him to go to sleep. The new Seven Star prison guards hadn’t confiscated the books Chungho gave him, but he didn’t read them. He didn’t really have it in him to do anything, anymore. Sitting there, his mind empty like a puppet with cut strings, it was almost as if he were already dead.
Gyuvin didn’t mind it. His end was coming, whether he liked it or not. What was the point in trying, when at every turn it seemed like there was someone against him? The seniors at the Peak had been out to get him ever since the first ranking. Ricky, of all people, believed he was a criminal. Hanbin was gone, and in the shadow of his death came Gyuvin’s greatest fear; that there was a chance he’d been the one to hurt someone he loved. Even his own sect had turned their backs on him, or would soon do so, once Minwoo had decided he’d waited long enough without hearing back from him.
He didn’t know how many days passed like this, slipping by without him noticing. He never saw Chungho again, although he allowed himself a glance out into the corridor every couple of days, just on the off chance that something would be different. But every day was the same, just one Seven Star Manor cultivator pacing up and down the Fortress corridors, occasionally checking inside of his cell to make sure he was inside, and regarding him with a look in his eyes that screamed you’re worthless, lower than trash. Gyuvin might have been angry in the past, but he didn’t have it in him to feel anything more than emptiness as of late. The wounds on his arm had healed early on, a natural result of the sheer amount of spiritual energy flowing through his body. He’d tried washing the bloodstains out of his sleeve, but he hadn’t had much success; they’d been so caked into the white fabric that no amount of cleaning talismans were going to get them out. He used the sharp edge of a broken ceramic pot to cut the bloodstained part of the sleeve off, and left it. Now that Chungho was gone, it seemed unlikely anyone was going to bring him a new set of clothes.
One afternoon, as Gyuvin sat in his usual spot in silence, someone appeared in the doorway of his cell, and his heart skipped a beat. Was it the day of his trial already? Were they here to deliver him to his death?
The person at the door was draped in the signature dark crimson outer coat of Seven Star Manor cultivators, the collar lined with white fur, the hood pulled up over his head. A red veil obscured the bottom half of his face, and as he stepped through the barrier and into the cell, Gyuvin stood up and backed away out of caution.
“W-who are you…?”
His throat was dry. It had been days, maybe even weeks since he last spoke. He couldn’t remember.
The veiled cultivator lifted a hand to pull back his hood. As he did so he whispered something Gyuvin couldn’t hear, and as his eyes met the light from the one dim lamp at the corner of the cell, a silver chain whip flared to life in his hand, glowing blue in the darkness.
“Zhanghao-hyung?”
For the first time in weeks, Gyuvin felt something, like he’d awoken from a long slumber. “Hyung, why are you here? I-“
“Don’t call my name,” Zhanghao answered. The veil still hid the bottom half of his face, but his eyes were alight with wrath Gyuvin had never before seen in him. “Put a silencing talisman on the door.”
“Huh? What, wh-“
Xuanhua burned brighter in his hand, as if incensed on its master’s behalf. “Do it,” Zhanghao repeated. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
Gyuvin drew a silencing talisman with quick, practiced motions. His body ached a little from the lack of use of his spiritual power, like the feeling of finally getting up after being sick in bed for days. The invisible barrier that covered the doorway gleamed gold as the silencing talisman took effect.
The next second, Zhanghao lifted his arm, and Xuanhua sent an earsplitting crack against the stone floor, throwing blue sparks into the air. Gyuvin jumped from the sudden noise, lifting his arms to protect himself out of instinct. “Hyung, what’s going o-“
“You killed Hanbin,” he spat, his voice deadly like a viper’s venom. “Did you think you were going to get away with it so easily?”
“Hyung,” Gyuvin answered immediately, half hurt, half terrified. “I didn’t kill Hanbin. How could you even believe that?”
“Hyunjae-sunbae said it was you,” Zhanghao said. “He said your polearm dealt the killing blow. Holy weapons can only be used by their master, so who else could it have been if not you?”
Gyuvin felt hot tears flood his eyes, and he wiped them away with a quick swipe of his sleeve. “I don’t know what happened that night, hyung, but I never wanted to hurt him. He was my best friend. I wish I knew who killed him but it wasn’t me, and I’ll swear it on the last shred of my honor.”
“What’s your honor even worth now that you’re here?” Zhanghao threw back, gesturing to the rest of his cell. “I know who you are, Kim Gyuvin, and I know all about what happened to your father. I guess it’s like they say, isn’t it? Wouldn’t he be proud to know his son turned out exactly like him?”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying not to be like him,” Gyuvin said softly, his throat tight from the effort it took not to cry out loud. “I’m nothing like my father. And I’m sorry about Hanbin-hyung, I really am.”
“You don’t get to say that,” Zhanghao answered, shaking his head. “We had so much ahead of us. You don’t even know what you took from me.”
“Maybe I don’t know that,” Gyuvin said. “But I know what I lost. I lost him, too, and it hurts like hell.”
Xuanhua’s aura dimmed just the slightest bit, and Zhanghao advanced towards him. “Enough talking.”
“So are you here to kill me?” Gyuvin felt something heavy materialize in his hand; Yuexi had summoned itself without him having to even think about it. “As revenge? If you are, I’d gladly die.”
Zhanghao laughed softly, bitterly. “Your death is for the Coalition to order. If I killed you, I would be just like you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Give me your hand.”
Gyuvin complied, offering a hand, and the tail end of Xuanhua wrapped around his palm, its deadly sharp scales arranging themselves to lay flat so it didn’t cut him. “What are you doing?”
“Finding out the truth,” he said, not looking up. The chain whip glowed with a stunning blue aura. “I’m being selfish, but I need to hear it for myself. I’m going to interrogate you. Xuanhua will know if you’re lying.”
Gyuvin nodded, relieved. A holy weapon would recognize that he was telling the truth. If Zhanghao could speak for him at the trial with this information, he could turn the tide.
“Where were you, at the exact moment Hanbin was murdered?”
Gyuvin took a deep breath. “I do not know when Hanbin-hyung was murdered, only that I saw the body soon after.”
“Why did you see his body?”
“It was dark, and it was laying on the ground right in front of me. I was just standing outside the Peak grounds. I tried to save him, but I lost consciousness.”
“Why did you lose consciousness?”
“I don’t know.”
Zhanghao sighed.
“Did you kill Hanbin? Answer it, once and for all.”
Gyuvin answered with assurance. “No, I didn’t.”
A split second later Xuanhua blazed alight, and the scales that had lain flat raised like outstretched claws, digging deep into his hand, blood dripping from between his fingers onto the stone floor. He held back a scream; the pain was all-consuming, filling his mind like smoke, and when Zhanghao pulled Xuanhua away he collapsed onto the floor, his breath coming in gasps, black spots swimming across his vision.
Blood bubbled up in his throat as he coughed, and he cradled his wounded hand in his lap; Xuanhua’s scales had cut so deep he could almost see bone. “What happened? What was that?”
Zhanghao swiped his hand in the air, and Xuanhua dissipated into nothingness. “You lied. I told you Xuanhua would know if you did.”
“But I didn’t lie,” Gyuvin pleaded, his mind a hurricane. “Please, hyung, you have to believe me. I don’t know why that happened…”
“I tried to save you, Gyuvin, you know I did.” Zhanghao took one last glance at him, his eyes filled with something that wasn’t hatred. Disappointment, maybe. Pity. Grief. “You brought this upon yourself. All who do evil will one day get what they deserve.”
He pulled his hood back over his head and disappeared out the doorway, and Gyuvin let his eyes close, his blood pooling beneath him where he lay still.Â
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