Chapter Text
It’s the cold rather than the first rays of sunlight that wakes Jimin up in the morning.
It’s not unusual, especially starting autumn, since his shed isn’t particularly warm. There are more gaps between the wooden planks than Jimin can cover, and the straw roof is not any better. Jimin opens his eyes slowly, burrowing underneath his blankets to at least get some extra warmth. He gives up on sleeping—once he’s awake, he can’t just fall asleep again—and steels himself to get out from under the covers.
He ends up rolling on his blanket and wrapping himself in it as he stands up, shivering. His legs are sore from all his dancing yesterday—and that’s when it dawns on him.
It’s tonight.
Despite his stomach growling, Jimin suddenly loses any appetite he might have had. It’s not like he didn’t know about it. He’s always known, ever since he was old enough to understand what the words sacrifice meant, old enough to ask what the marks on his back meant. It still doesn’t make it any easier to navigate, even though he has no choice but to accept his fate. That’s why he went all out with the dancing last night—one last goodbye to all he’s always known, before…
Before.
There’s a sudden, loud knock at his door then, which startles Jimin fully awake.
“Coming,” he mumbles, stepping down the wooden planks of his ‘bedroom’ and slipping into his tattered shoes to throw the door open. He still carries the blanket with him, because it’s cold. He leaves the kitchen fire on when he goes to sleep, but it’s long gone out, naturally.
He’s absolutely in no state to be greeting any guests, but Jimin can’t find it in him to care anymore. It’s the last day, anyway. Who cares?
The village chief and one of the village elders are standing at his door. The Head Priest of the nearby shrine is with them, as well. Jimin’s empty stomach drops.
He ignores the judgmental looks from the three men and blurts out, “Already?”
The village elder—a puny old man with a skin so wrinkled Jimin is surprised it doesn’t crack when he breathes—is the one who replies to him. “Yes, boy.” He gives Jimin’s slovenly appearance a curt once-over, then clicks his tongue in disapproval. “There is no need for you to change now. You will wash up at the shrine.”
Jimin swallows down his reply. It’s useless to put on a fight anymore.
Not that it has ever worked for him.
He nods, wraps the blanket more firmly around himself, and steps out. He doesn’t bother locking the door behind him—there is nothing left behind worthy of carrying with him, nothing he would miss if it gets stolen. The shed itself is just a place to sleep.
Jimin hasn’t had a place he could call home in a very long time.
He snaps himself out of his depressing thoughts to focus on his path. He’s walking a few steps behind the priest and the village head, in front of the elder. He finds the formation strangely funny. He doesn’t need a guard. He doesn’t plan on running off. Where would he even go?
The city, an annoying, unwelcome little voice in his head says. That had been—not an option, really. More like a dream, a long time ago. Like every childish dream, however, it was inevitably shattered by reality. Jimin’s reality.
They go through the Moonflower House on their way to the main street. The alley where Jimin’s shed is located is connected to its backyard, as all the land is actually part of the same property. The Madam catches Jimin’s eye and tilts her head, then takes a long drag of her pipe before letting the smoke out. The tobacco is intense, and not particularly high quality, as is the usual for her.
Some of the courtesans and courtesans-in-training—the younger ones, who Jimin has little relationship with—take a peek at the procession with wide, curious eyes, half hidden from prying eyes. They don’t do a good job at subtlety, though, and the Madam catches them right away, sending them back to their rooms. Jimin’s noonas are probably sleeping, after a strenuous night at work.
Jimin thinks the village elder behind him says something under his breath. He’s not interested in anything he has to say, so he doesn’t bother asking.
The main street is not as busy as it usually is in the morning. Because of the festivities, most shops and booths have a late opening, in order to keep working into the night. Yesterday was only the first night of a three-day festival, after all.
Jimin won’t get to see the third day, though. He shakes his head to rid himself of that thought. Unwelcome, unwelcome.
“Jimin!” a voice calls. Jimin turns around, trying to place it. He looks up—and finds one of his noonas, leaning out a second-story window. She delicately holds her smoking pipe with long, elegant fingers. Her hairdo is slowly coming apart, but she still looks like she was plucked directly from a painting, with her perfectly sculpted face and impeccable make-up.
“Noona!” Jimin calls back. She doesn’t say anything back, just squints her eyes and reaches into the low neckline of her robe with her free hand. She pulls something out, then expertly throws it at him. Jimin reacts quickly enough to grab it before it hits the ground, startled.
When he finally gets a proper look at it, his heart skips a beat. That’s—
He looks up, question ready to spill out of his lips, but the village elder clicks his tongue at him. “Snap out of it, boy.”
Right.
There is no time for Jimin to have an emotional meltdown. He slips the gift—can it even be called that?—into his pocket and turns back around.
He doesn’t look back again.
Jimin has been to the Moon Shrine once, as a small child, and remembers hating the seemingly endless steps as much as he’s hating them now.
He’s lost track of the time they’ve spent climbing up the stairs up to where the shrine is built, but it feels like a lifetime and a half. He’s impressed the old man beside him can keep up with them, truthfully.
They eventually reach the top of the stairs, and see the Moon Shrine a few meters away. The construction has always struck Jimin as strangely… exuberant. Jade columns, gilded accents, and vibrant colors. It feels more like a Palace than a place of worship.
But the Order that manages the shrine is the oldest in the entire area, and the one reason why not only Jimin’s village, but all the nearby villages, have not only survived but also thrived all these decades, so he guesses it only makes sense. Many a local lord must have generously donated in their tenure.
“This way,” the Head Priest says, taking the lead.
The interior is comparatively simpler, more subdued and sober, in a way. Jimin doesn’t have much time to appreciate the architecture, though—he’s quickly whisked away so he can be purified.
‘Purification,’ he finds, involves both an ice-cold bath to rinse himself and lots of steam to make him sweat any and all impurities off, and then more cold water. If the walk and the stairs up to the shrine didn’t wake him up completely, this definitely has. It’s the strangest experience of Jimin’s life so far.
He is not particularly looking forward to that changing anytime soon, but he knows he has no choice on the matter.
Once his ‘purification’ by water is done, Jimin is led to a heavily incensed room. It makes his nose itch. The priest who guides him is not the one who was at his doorstep in the morning, but rather a young man, probably close to Jimin’s age. He didn’t bother to introduce himself, and Jimin doesn’t ask for his name. He studiously avoids Jimin’s gaze, which grates on his nerves.
The man’s tone aggravates him even more. “Sit,” he orders, gesturing to a section of the wooden floor that looks exactly the same as the rest of the room.
Jimin weighs his options. He’s used to being disrespected on a regular basis, mostly by men who like to make themselves feel superior, but he’s never quite learned how to let it slide. On the other hand…
Jimin sits down, as graceful as any courtesan, posture perfect and head held high. He looks the other man dead in the eye as he does, and his gaze must be intense enough that he doesn’t dare break eye contact. Jimin is only wearing a plain, white robe—not unlike common women’s undergarments. It’s usually meant to be worn under other robes, but Jimin is a sacrifice. Does he even have the luxury of clothes anymore?
He expects to sit in silence for hours, until the Sun sets and he’s whisked away to fulfill his duty, but hardly any time passes before the door is sliding open again.
It’s the Head Priest this time, carrying—clothes?
It’s definitely fabric, at the very least, and even from a distance Jimin can tell the quality is high. Even the highest ranking courtesans from Moonflower House wouldn’t have come across robes of that quality often.
Jimin thinks he manages to keep his expression consummately neutral, but his curiosity must be apparent regardless. “For you,” the Head Priest says, with a nod.
The Head Priest lays the garments down, as if presenting them as an offering. Not directly on the floor, but on a thin rug Jimin must have missed when he first walked in.
There are several pieces of clothing, equally delicate and richly embroidered. They are, surprisingly, quite gender neutral—Jimin wouldn’t be able to guess if they were meant for a man or a woman. The colors are light, but not dull. There are accessories as well—a belt, norigae. Shoes, as well.
Jimin is thoroughly confused. “For me?”
He feels… Well, undeserving of such nice clothes. It is extremely odd, considering he’s about to be sent to his literal death.
The Head Priest looks at him, but doesn’t answer.
Jimin changes his question. “Why?”
There is a beat of silence.
“It is the Moon’s design, Park Jimin,” the Head Priest says. Which doesn’t actually answer Jimin’s question.
The Moon’s design.
He has been hearing that phrase since he was a child.
He has never understood what it means.
They leave Jimin alone to change into his new clothes, eventually.
Even though he is wearing several layers of clothes, he feels light, almost weightless. It’s certainly the nicest Jimin has ever felt in an outfit, used to cheap fabrics and almost threadbare hand-me-downs. He does his hair differently than he usually does, only tying part of it in a bun, topped with an ornate headpiece. The rest falls to his shoulders, flowing like black ink.
He still has the parting gift his noona gave him. It still feels unreal—that she’d go so far for him. The “gift” is a hollowed, round piece of actual jade, delicately carved with the pattern of a flower. A moonflower, specifically—a rare blossom that is said to grow in the Forest of the Beast. Very few people have actually seen one in full bloom, and its seeds are extremely hard to procure, as well. The people talk about it like it’s a folk tale. Maybe it is.
Just the design of one is expensive enough to buy out the contract of a courtesan, Jimin is well aware.
Maybe she hopes to get it back later, he bitterly thinks. He still slides the ornament into his norigae, so that it hangs off his belt, and feels… less lonely, somehow.
The Sun is going down when the door to Jimin’s room slides open again. He isn’t awarded the courtesy of knocking.
“It is time,” the junior priest says.
‘It’s your time,’ is what Jimin hears.
He takes a deep breath in and turns around to leave. Here goes nothing.
The Shrine has filled with people since the morning, and Jimin immediately feels the urge to turn around and escape from the intense stare of the villagers. That they announced his appearance with a resounding gong does not help.
They are looking at him like it’s the first time they’ve seen him, even though there is not a single person present who doesn’t know who Jimin is. It makes his skin prickle, and Jimin is the furthest from shy a person can be.
He’s the main event tonight, and he despises it.
The Head Priest is, of course, leading the ceremony. Jimin has been present at the last Harvest Moon Festival, so he should be familiar with the ritual, but he completely zones out the moment he steps outside the Moon Shrine. There are words being said, prayers being recited, dances being performed. Jimin is not meant to be part of any of that. He’s just meant to stand tall and pretty, still as a statue, until his time finally comes.
The Procession starts when the Moon is about to reach its peak in the night sky.
They walk to the back of the Moon Shrine, the part that borders the forest. The Forest of the Beast.
Jimin’s heartbeat picks up as they draw closer to it, skin clammy. He suddenly can’t remember how to walk—even though he doesn’t stop moving at all. He feels the heavy gaze of the villages on his back, hard, expectant. There are torches lit, marking the proper entrance to the Forest. The flames make the shadows dance.
Jimin can’t help but reflect on his life up to this moment, when he’s finally in front of the first tree that is part of the forest. He can’t think of much—just twenty-one years of a rather insignificant existence.
But it’s not like he had much of a choice, right? Born to a courtesan who died during childbirth, father unknown. Marked by the Moon when he was born, but that Mark turned to be nothing more than his death sentence. As far as he knows, Jimin had been born on a night not unlike this one—the night of the Harvest Moon.
Came with the Moon, left with the Moon, Jimin thinks. After all, it’s Her design. It’s kind of poetic.
Suddenly, all the talking and murmuring around Jimin abruptly comes to a halt, and that’s how he knows—it’s time.
No more delaying the inevitable.
Jimin blinks his haze away, forcing his eyes to focus again. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it, either—he looks back.
It’s silly. Nothing will change.
Yet he does it anyway.
He meets a pair of wide, dark eyes he never thought he’d ever see again, and almost falters. Almost.
Jimin forces himself to look at the Forest ahead. Nothing will change.
His legs are trembling.
He still steps forward.
Jimin leaves the torches behind more quickly than he expects. Even without the torchlight illuminating his path, the Moon is bright enough that Jimin can keep his pace—slow, but steady. He’s in no rush to get to his death.
The Forest, now that Jimin is no longer surrounded by other people, is eerily not silent. Jimin has never really believed the tales about the beast that dwells in here, but he’s never ventured into the woods before, either. Least of all at night. He never imagined it would be so… noisy.
Just how many beings are out there, looking at him from the cover of the dark? Not any that Jimin can see.
It sets him on edge.
Finally, the trees ahead give way to a clearing. Almost perfectly circular, with an altar in its center. It’s small, but delicately carved out of pearly white stone and surprisingly well-maintained. The forest shrine of the Moon Goddess.
There’s a basin at the altar’s foot. As Jimin approaches, he sees it slowly fill with a silver-white liquid, and he almost falters in his step.
It must be a trick of the light, he reasons. There’s no way the basin could just… fill on its own. Either that, or he’s already hallucinating. Great.
He kneels before the shrine, paying his respects to the Goddess. Even though you picked me to send me to my death.
When he opens his eyes, Jimin reflexively looks up at the sky. The Harvest Moon is big, bright, and seemingly unmoving. She has watched him throughout the night, without a single word. Well, of course. It’s the moon. It’s not like the moon can talk.
He looks back down, at the basin in front of him. It looks like an oversized alcohol cup, in Jimin’s opinion. The resemblance makes him do something stupid: he reaches for the cup.
What am I doing? Jimin thinks, but it’s as if his body is moving on its own accord. He picks up the cup. This is sacrilege. And drinks the silver-white liquid.
Fortunately—or not, depending on how you view it—Jimin doesn’t get smitten right then and there. In fact, he enjoys every last drop of the silver-white liquid in the cup. It is some sort of alcohol, even though it doesn’t really look or taste like rice wine. For the first time in years, Jimin feels… alive.
“Hope you didn’t mind,” he mutters as he gently places the cup back in its place. The Moon Goddess is already going to kill him, anyway. At least Jimin enjoyed his last moments.
Now he only has to wait for the beast to appear and kill him. Or simply wait out his death in the forest, if it doesn’t come. Jimin doesn’t think he can make it out alive on his own, with nothing on him except his beautiful, but impractical, robes.
This is so stupid. Of course he’s going to die in this forest, and not because of some magical, non-existent beast. Twenty-one years, and Jimin has nothing to show for it. Will anyone even remember him?
Maybe Jung—
“You are different from the others,” says a voice behind him.
All of Jimin’s muscles tense up in response, and he suppresses the urge to jump out of his skin before turning around. He didn’t hear any footsteps, or anything, but maybe someone from the village—
At the edge of the clearing stands a figure, clouded by the shadows of the trees. It’s just right out of reach of the Moon’s light, so Jimin can’t tell who it is.
“Who are you?” he asks. A pair of eyes glint in the darkness, but that’s all that tells him he’s talking to a person and not a vaguely human-shaped tree. “This forest is dangerous, you should leave.”
“Why?”
“They say there is a beast in the woods.” Even though I’m sure it’s just a folk tale.
“I am well aware,” the figure says. It sounds… amused. Jimin narrows his eyes, slowly standing up.
“Well? Then leave.” Is there anywhere to run? Jimin wonders.
“I have nothing to fear.” The figure finally steps into the light, and Jimin… simply doesn’t know what to think.
Strands of long, silver hair frame an almost equally pale face. A face that looks too young to sport white hairs. Sharp, feline eyes stare lazily at Jimin, as dark as a starless sky. They look mildly curious, but unhurried. The person’s expression is otherwise unreadable.
“Why is that?” Jimin asks, taking a measured step back. The newcomer looks about as tall as he is, and Jimin is confident in his physical abilities, but he’d much rather avoid an actual fight.
The stranger cocks his head to the side, blinking slowly. His robes are dark and simple, but made with materials almost as nice as Jimin’s own. “I have nothing to fear because I am the beast.”
A snort escapes Jimin’s mouth before he can process it. “That’s not funny,” he says through gritted teeth. If this is a prank, it’s in horrible taste.
“It was not meant to be,” the weirdo says. He takes another step forward, and then—
And then tails sprout out of his back. A ridiculous number of them, as well—but honest-to-the-Moon-Goddess, actual tails. Long, furry tails, the exact shade of silver of the stranger’s hair.
Jimin almost slips off the altar in surprise.
“I—” Jimin starts, but snaps his mouth shut right after. Are these about to be his last words? “You—” He gestures vaguely with his arm, eyes open so wide they almost hurt. “You have tails?”
“Nine of them, yes,” the apparent Beast says, his voice sounding almost bored.
“Y-you’re a nine-tailed fox?” Jimin stammers. The Beast doesn’t deem it necessary to answer. He just raises an eyebrow, rather than explaining himself. Obviously. “That’s not what I expected.”
The fox blinks. “What did you expect?”
Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know. Something less… human-like.” He clears his throat, awkwardly. He straightens up, too. He’s sure he’s at least a little bit taller than the Beast. “So. Will you kill me now?”
The Beast of the Forest, the infamous creature that has haunted the woods surrounding the five villages in the region for generations, mercilessly demanding a human sacrifice every five years to satiate his bloodthirst, the literal reason why Jimin is in this forest tonight, folds his arms over his chest, hands disappearing into the long sleeves of his robes. He gives Jimin a cursory glance from head to toe, and looks unimpressed.
“Why would I do that?”
“Why—” Jimin sputters. “Is that not the point of a sacrifice?”
The silver fox shrugs. “I do not care for sacrifices. You humans started doing that on your own accord. I never asked for a sacrifice. You are just always too eager to spill your kin’s blood.”
Jimin doesn’t really have an answer to that, other than, “Oh. Yeah, I guess you are right.”
Silence falls over them. As silent as a forest can be, anyway.
Jimin breaks it first, because the uncertainty is eating at him. “So… Now what? What will you go with me?”
“Nothing. You are free to go,” the fox says.
Those should have been the words Jimin wanted to hear the most. They should have filled him with relief, happiness, joy.
But— “Go where?” he asks, mostly to himself. His voice is barely above a whisper. “My village sent me here to die. They don’t want me there.”
And… that’s just the way it is, isn’t it? Jimin never had a place he belonged to from the start, which is why nobody batted an eye when he was declared a sacrifice. Moon’s design or not, nobody would have stood up for him either way. The only person who ever tried also left him.
He’s worthless.
He slides down to a sitting position again, as if deflating. In the blink of an eye, the Beast is standing in front of him—still a quiet, inscrutable presence.
“If you want death, I can grant you that wish. I will be quick, and painless, and you will suffer no longer,” he says. He sounds distant, unaffected. He, too, couldn’t care less whether Jimin lived or died. “If you want to leave, I will not chase you. You can always start a life somewhere else.”
Jimin wants to laugh. He’d tried that, and his attempt was shattered into pieces so small it was impossible to rebuild his hope from the remnants. It still is impossible.
He looks up, and almost startles when he finds the fox’s face so close to his. It is hard to swallow past the lump that has lodged itself in his throat, but Jimin tries his best.
“You said…” he starts, blinking quickly. He doesn’t want to cry in front of a mythical beast, that would be so embarrassing. “You said I’m different from the others. Do you mean the other sacrifices?”
A beat of silence. Then, “Yes,” the fox replies, simply.
“Because they were all young girls?”
The fox nods. “Partially,” he adds, almost as if compelled. He looks as startled to have said that as Jimin feels hearing it. “I do not know what was different this time around, for you to be sent.”
“So was the Moon’s design,” Jimin mutters in response, almost mindlessly. He blinks. Why did I say that? “I don’t know what that means, though,” he quickly adds.
The change in the fox’s expression gives Jimin pause. It is not a change in expression, per se—since he does have a perfectly blank face—but rather than his posture shifts. It becomes tenser. He takes a step back, and Jimin realizes.
“You. You know what that means.”
“No.”
Jimin jumps to his feet, and almost headbutts the fox on the chin. “You do know what that means. Tell me!”
“No.” The fox shuffles back. More than a fox, he looks like a scaredy cat, Jimin thinks. He studies Jimin like he expects him to jump him.
“Too bad for you. I have made my decision,” Jimin declares. “I am not running, and I do not wish for you to kill me, either. I want to find out the truth.”
The fox ignores everything Jimin just said and turns to leave, but Jimin couldn’t care less. He didn’t know he was so desperate for answers, but in hindsight it makes total sense.
His whole life has been determined by something completely out of Jimin’s control. Completely out of any human’s control. But if the Beast of the Forest is the key to the truth…
Jimin doesn’t think it twice before jumping off the shrine and following the fox spirit. It is, possibly, the stupidest, most reckless decision of Jimin’s life, but it also feels like the only right choice.
“Hey!” he calls out to the fox. He’s much faster than his bored, lazy demeanor led Jimin to think, but he doesn’t mind getting his fancy robes dirty to keep up with him. “Wait up! Hey!”
The fox abruptly stops, whirling around in place. This is the first time Jimin is seeing an actual emotion on his face—irritation.
“Fine! I heard you. You can stay with me, so just… stop screaming. I value my peace.” The Beast sighs. Jimin punches the air, victorious. “I will not answer your questions, but you can stay.”
For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Jimin smiles. “We’ll see about that.”
The fox glares at him, briefly, before turning again.
“Wait!” Jimin exclaims before he can start running away again. “What is your name? I’m Park Jimin.”
The fox looks at Jimin over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You should not give your name so easily,” he chides. Jimin waits, expectant. “…Yoongi.”
Yoongi. “That’s a very… shiny name,” Jimin says.
The fox—Yoongi—sighs again. Jimin bets he’s already regretting his choice.
“You can’t go back on your word now!”