Chapter Text
Jimin felt something was wrong that morning the moment he pulled into the hospital parking lot and slammed his car door. He could always tell when a shift was about to drain every last drop of energy from his soul. He felt it in his gut—and that intuition was his greatest advantage at work. No one ever knew what anesthesiologists did – for real- unless they were one, and preventing disaster was most of it.
Nonetheless, when Mrs. Kim, one of the O.R. nurses, greeted him with a smile and, “Good morning, Dr. Park!” he could only reply with a sly smile.
“It’s not going to be a good morning if you and I are stuck in the Emergency O.R. all day. Ready? Got a good night’s sleep?”
She smiled as she headed toward the O.R., adjusting her surgical cap. “Plenty.”
He put on his scrubs as usual, cracking jokes with his colleagues who, one by one, came into the changing room wearing the same tired faces, only to hide them beneath their work outfits that left only the eyes visible. It was convenient—unlike lawyers or other types of doctors, those who worked in surgery could easily mask a bad hair day or a pimple.
Lee Junghyun entered and went straight to his locker next to Jimin’s. “You’re my anesthesiologist all day, right?”
Jimin rolled his eyes and slammed his locker, arching a brow at him. How the other loved to torture him. “I’m not your anesthesiologist, but yes, I’m in the emergency O.R. for the next twelve hours.”
Junghyun chuckled. “Great, because a homeless woman with abdominal pain just came into the E.R.—appendicitis, if you ask me. As soon as labs are back, let’s take her to the O.R. And don’t let ortho book it before me, or I won’t speak to you for the next month.”
“That would actually be a blessing.”
Jimin was about to head toward the O.R. to check on the woman when Junghyun stopped him with a simple sentence. The changing room was empty now, everyone off to their tasks.
“Taewoo called. He misses you.”
Jimin’s heart sank. He closed his eyes, refusing to bite at the provocation. He knew Junghyun meant no harm, but he didn’t need to think about Taewoo this early on a day when hell was bound to break loose.
The clearer the orders, the easier everyone’s job. Jimin was great at giving orders.
The woman was in pain and in a clear state of psychomotor agitation they had no time to address before the surgery. He ordered a tox screen and paged psych, then moved on to his job. Whatever the baseline, he was going to keep that woman safe throughout the procedure.
Except he knew it was one of those days. One of those days when he could feel everyone’s emotions crawling over his skin—Junghyun’s mounting nervousness, Mrs. Kim’s anxious thoughts about her boyfriend. Worst of all, the patient’s scattered mind affected him; he sensed her distorted perception of reality, flashes of images that weren’t his own. He had trained himself to hide that side of him—a survival strategy—to function at work and in daily life. But he also knew he’d drop exhausted and wrung out as soon as he got home.
“Mrs. Kim, please start the remifentanil infusion.”
“Yes, doctor.”
The woman’s deep black eyes stared at him as if he were about to kill her. He was, in a sense. He leaned close, keeping the oxygen mask hidden behind him, since it triggered anxiety in many patients.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’re here to help you. Just breathe. The pain will be over soon.”
He could sense the opioid spiking in her system as she tried to fight it. The worst part of the…connection, if one could call it that, came just before induction, when the mind lost its brakes before shutting down under hypnotic agents. That’s when the ugliest images and most closely guarded secrets slipped into him. Lights and circles flashed before his eyes; he just had to endure.
Then the woman grabbed his arm with a strength that shouldn’t have belonged to someone like her, almost crushing bone, and the O.R. staff began to panic. Jimin looked at her, wide-eyed, nausea rising, because he immediately realized she knew. She knew he was reading her like an open book.
“You feel it too, don’t you? Tonight. The other world is coming. Tonight.”
He trembled, sweat gathering under his scrubs. Junghyun stared at him in disbelief, and Jimin knew he had to pull himself together. He couldn’t let this cloud his judgment or halt his actions. He swallowed the knot of pain in his throat.
“Mrs. Kim, please administer 100 mg of propofol.”
“Yes, doctor.”
The lights before his eyes flashed once more, too quick to catch a clear image, his ears ringing.
Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. It’s just a matter of seconds.
He wanted to sigh when it finally stopped—when the neurons quieted until there was nothing but silence again—but he couldn’t. He had to act like nothing had happened, even with every eye in the room on him. He cleared his throat and gave the order to proceed.
No one questioned him, luckily, even though his hands shook a little as he secured the airway. Only eleven more hours. He’d get through them, somehow, as always.
When he finally went home that night, it went as predicted: he collapsed on the couch with no strength left to cook or do anything productive. He cracked open a beer and let the fizz distract him from his spiraling thoughts. After a while, he decided some fresh air on the balcony might clear his head.
The light of that April evening gave him goosebumps. There was a strange electricity in the air, a vibration he couldn’t place—or maybe he was spooked, and every sensation was just a reflection of his inner turmoil. He could see the storm approaching from the distant northern mountains, but it wasn’t a usual storm. It was darker, and a numbness crept through his body. He couldn’t stop thinking about what the woman in the O.R. had said.
The other world is coming.
She was clearly psychotic and needed an urgent psych referral, which he had placed. Yet something in him had shifted, uncomfortable and unresolved.
Lightning split the sky; he held his breath for the answering crash of thunder.
He had the impression that the vibrations were making his whole body tingling and the metal necklace with a blue pendant he wore around his neck down to his chest was burning him.
He braced himself, and when the thunder was over and he was about to go back inside to shelter from the oncoming storm, he heard it: a soft, desperate mewl from the bushes beneath his apartment.
“Oh, come on…”
He could have called the fire brigade, but they were probably about to be swamped, given the brewing storm. He sighed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the garden.
His apartment complex opened directly onto the park. As he walked and felt the first drops of rain, he glanced around to see if anyone else had heard the cry for help: no one had, everyone too busy locking themselves inside. The mewling grew louder as he approached. The kitten was likely hiding in one of the bushes by the park entrance. The few raindrops became a downpour just as he reached them. He’d skipped the umbrella and opted instead for cat treats – which he always had in store for the neighbor’s spoiled cat- and a towel.
“Where are you, kitty?”
He stepped carefully—and the kitten bolted out toward the park.
“Oh no, come on, it’s dangerous! I’m not going to hurt you…”
He could barely see it in the dark—jet black with only a pair of yellow eyes glinting. But he could feel its terror and distress; his heart raced as he pushed deeper into the park to catch it.
“Hey… kitty…”
He had the impression the trees had grown darker, taller. He shook his head. Impossible—just fear playing tricks. More lightning, more thunder, more rain hammering the trees. Jimin’s breath hitched and his pulse climbed as he went farther, the kitten’s cries drowned by the wind tearing through the leaves. Then the light hit him—and by instinct he threw himself to the ground.
That’s it. I’ve been struck by lightning. It’s over.
He thought of all the patients he’d seen scarred by lightning—unrecognizable, trapped in endless suffering.
No, no… if it must be, let it end here…
But he felt no pain. Was it his dying body releasing endorphins to cope?
As the shock eased and he listened, he realized the storm’s noise had stopped. He could hear himself breathing, clear as day. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dying. He looked up to see a clear sky between the trees and frowned. How had the storm cleared so quickly?
The kitten was nowhere to be heard. He shook his head and decided to head home. No point searching in this vast park. But when he turned around, there was no path back to the street—just trees in every direction.
He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and calmed his heart.
Okay… I see what happened. The lightning struck close by, I got disoriented, wandered off, and now I don’t remember. That’s the obvious explanation. I just need to check GPS.
He often spoke to himself to self-soothe, and it almost worked—until he pulled out his phone and found no service. Not even GPS worked—his location was frozen at the park entrance.
Okay… okay, must be a blackout from the storm… yes…
He turned and tried to find his way back on his own, the chill air on his face, curling into his black leather jacket. Leaves rustled behind him; he spun around—nothing.
“Hello? Kitty, is that you?”
The park fell silent again. He switched on his phone’s flashlight to move forward. How far had he gone? Impossible to tell. If only he could tell north from south, but the trees were too tall and only a few stars showed. That’s why explorers checked direction before venturing into a forest, he guessed.
He stopped when something blocked him. Something cold and sharp—a blade. A blade to his throat.
He froze and slowly raised his free hand. One of his best qualities: in a crisis, he was calmer than usual, mind clearing enough to think fast.
“Listen, I don’t have my wallet, just my phone… you can take it.”
But the deep voice behind him spoke words he didn’t understand. “Not another step, Zatar.”
Jimin’s mind shifted strategies—maybe self-defense. He’d taken his share of Taekwondo classes, but the blade pressed his throat; one wrong move could be fatal.
“I… I don’t understand. I have nothing to give you. Please don’t hurt me, I won’t report you to the police…”
He felt a shiver down his spine at the thought that maybe the man wasn’t interested in money or objects. He would’ve defended with claws and teeth, but the sheer terror was starting to make him nauseous.
That’s when he realized the blade at his throat wasn’t a normal knife, not even a big one. It was a sword. The air left his lungs.
“Don’t play dumb, Zatar. Drop that witchery in your hand. I’ll take it for examination. You’re lucky the grand master wishes to interrogate all intruders, or I’d have slit your throat here and now.”
Grand master?
He was beyond confused, but he complied. He had no choice. Some kind of role-playing game? Had he stumbled into a Satanic ritual?
He dropped his phone as ordered. The man patted him down for weapons. Humiliation burned; tears threatened. The blade moved from his throat as the man stepped in front of him, sword still leveled.
“Against that tree. Now.”
Now Jimin was sure he’d stumbled into a roleplay. The man wore a black uniform from head to toe—black shirt, pants, boots, and cloak—only a brown leather belt breaking the monotony, with at least two more daggers hanging. His hair was black, disheveled, tied back in a small bun. Jimin complied, arms up, as the man picked up his phone and studied it.
“You Zatars come up with a new evil thing every month, I swear. Is this Yoongi’s latest invention?”
I must take this to examination, but with Namjoon gone…How could we have no intel on this new weapon?
That’s when Jimin realized those weren’t his own thoughts—he had heard the voice from… from…
The man glared—and a crushing headache split Jimin’s temples. He screamed.
“Don’t try it, bastard! I have a mind protector with me, and I’m skilled at mind-shielding. There’s nothing you can do!”
“I didn’t do anything! Make it stop!”
When the pain finally receded, Jimin was breathless and powerless to resist as the man tied his hands with a rope that scraped his skin with every loop. A nightmare—he had to be in a nightmare.
“Listen to me, my name… my name is Park Jimin, I’m a doctor. I don’t have my wallet here to prove it, but I live in the apartment complex by the park’s east entrance… just let me go, I won’t go to the police…”
The man finished tying him and yanked the rope, making him stumble, sword still trained on him.
“Don’t try to confuse me with nonsense. You’re coming with me. Another word, and you’ll regret it.”
Jimin could feel his own sweat pouring on his back, the stench of raw fear. “Just… tell me where I am, please.”
The man laughed cruelly. “You want exact coordinates now? So you can report to Yoongi later? Let’s just say you’re deep in Eran’s territories. You weren’t supposed to cross the line at least one hundred miles west. In fact, I forgot something—thanks for the reminder.”
He blindfolded Jimin. Panic surged. “Come.”
There was no point arguing. Whatever this farce was, answers weren’t coming. Jimin followed for what felt like at least an hour, tripping now and then, skinning knees and arms. Could the park be this big?
Finally he could hear other people’s voices – not that it was in any way reassuring- and the scent of burned wood and meat filled the air. Noise of knives cutting food and laughter reached in his ears, but it all came to halt when they came close.
“A Zatar? In our perimeters? Jeongguk, this is terrible.” a woman said.
The man’s name was Jeongguk.
“They’re shameless these days… he was just north of the river. We need to strengthen the northern patrol.”
“Thank the gods, it was you out tonight.”
They walked through what was definitely a camp and then reached a building of sort; he was unceremoniously thrown through the entrance and almost stumbled again, took all his core strength to not fall on the ground. He could smell wood and something burning, maybe the scent of eucalyptus in the background.
Jeongguk removed the blindfold. Jimin squinted. No electric lights—only torches on stone walls, the air damp. A wooden staircase led up and that’s when he realized that they were inside a tree, the building was engraved in the most gigantic tree he had ever seen. His eyes opened in sheer disbelief.
“Up”
He obeyed, careful not to trip—enough bruises already, and he was confident he’d sprained an ankle earlier. They came to a tall wooden door guarded by soldiers dressed similarly to his captor, though with more color. They glared at Jimin; he glared back, anger finally overtaking fear.
“Is the grand master inside?”
“Yes, he’s having dinner.”
Jeongguk nodded. The door opened—apparently, the grand master’s dinner wasn’t sacred enough to prevent interruptions. A grand hall lay within, tables empty save the dais, where a figure hunched over a copper plate.
Jeongguk waited for the doors to close and for the man to notice them. “Taehyung, I found a Zatar roaming freely in Eran’s territories. My fears have foundation. The northern patrol is weakening day by day. We must act.”
Taehyung stood and approached. He looked about the same age as Jeongguk but carried a strange aura. He wore a long red robe that fell to his ankles, a small circlet on his head set with a red stone. Jimin’s headache worsened; he closed his eyes, desperate for relief. The high priest’s steps were small, measured, as he approached Jimin and his captor.
“Are you sure he’s a Zatar?”
Jeongguk hummed. “A strange one, I admit. Not armed in the usual way, except for this.” He handed over Jimin’s phone, still on with its flashlight. “He keeps babbling nonsense. But I’m sure he’s one of them. I… I let my guard down and he tried to pierce my mind.”
“I did no such thing!”
Taehyung stared, and Jimin was compelled to shut up. The man’s eyes were brown pools that seemed to scorch his skin whenever they fell on his face.
“How could he? You had the stone with you.”
“I know.” Jeongguk said with gravity, as if the implications were there for everyone to see.
Taehyung finally addressed Jimin, who wished he could disappear into a heap of mud. “Did Yoongi train you himself? You can answer by your own will, or I can make you gulp a truth potion. The first option is less painful—but you know that much.”
Jimin stood, knees and wrists aflame, and faced Taehyung. He took a breath and glanced around. “You must believe me when I say I don’t know who Yoongi is. I don’t even know where I am, who you are. I don’t know what a Zatar is, I don’t know what Eran is… You make no sense to me.”
Jeongguk scoffed, crossed his arms, and grabbed an apple from the table to munch with a careless attitude that infuriated Jimin amongst his panic. “They’ve trained them exceptionally well, I’ll give them that.”
But Taehyung studied him more intently, as if reassessing. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“Jimin… my name is Jimin.”
Hope flickered in Taehyung’s gaze—maybe he was questioning his own assumptions. “Where are you from, Jimin?”
“I’m from South Korea. I live in Seoul, but my parents are from Busan. I’m thirty-two and I’m a doctor. There was a bad storm and I heard a kitten meowing. I followed it into the park, lightning struck, and I found myself lost. Then I met him—and he brought me here. Please believe me, I’m very confused.”
Taehyung lifted the phone, the flashlight blinding Jimin for a beat. “What is this?”
“It’s my smartphone.”
Silence suggested his words made no sense to either of them. “It’s… a common object we use to communicate. If you give it to me, I can prove I live in Seoul and that I’m a doctor…”
Jeongguk lunged, putting his blade between them. “Don’t give him that thing, Tae!”
Taehyung shook his head and set the phone aside, glancing at it again. “So, you claim you belong to a world we do not know, Jimin. Am I correct?”
Jimin brightened slightly. Maybe it was roleplay after all—maybe they were at the end of the trial and could move on with their lives. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Then why…” He stepped close and tugged Jimin’s necklace from beneath his T-shirt. The blue stone burned with a newfound light in the torch glow. “…why are you wearing a Koyar stone around your neck?”
“Koyar… what?”
Taehyung’s eyes went cold; Jimin’s blood froze. “I… I don’t know… my grandmother gave it to me. I’ve had it since I was little… I don’t know what Koyar is, please…”
But Taehyung wasn’t listening. He looked to . “Interrogate him. If he doesn’t yield, we’ll stand trial tomorrow; he’ll fight it less if he’s tired. This…” He ripped the necklace off, breaking the chain. “…comes with me.”
“No… no, no! Please!”
Before he could say more, Jeongguk shoved him down the same stairs as before and down further, where the roots of the tree formed a nest of corridors. The air became humid and the stench unbearable, it was pitch black save for a torch. He was tired, he wanted to go home.
Instead, he was forcefully led to a row of cells and thrown into one with no care.
Jeongguk locked himself inside with him. He drew a dagger and leveled it, standing straight to express confidence.
Jimin was utterly terrified. Was he about to torture him?
“So… let’s start at the beginning. Why are you here, Zatar?”
The candle on the wooden desk flickered over letters, documents, and books strewn across it. Taehyung paced his chamber, eyes drifting to the window and the moonlit shadow of trees, thoughts dragging him elsewhere. It was deep night, yet he couldn’t sleep—not after what had shaken his evening. A deep sense of danger coiled in his gut as he rolled the Koyar necklace between his fingers, seeking a pattern he could not see.
A knock startled him, though he had expected a report. “Come.”
Jeongguk entered. Taehyung didn’t bother turning; he could see the captain’s reflection in the window, the inquisitive eyes, the nervous hand worrying at his sword hilt.
“Has he yielded?”
Jeongguk shook his head and exhaled, still speaking to Taehyung’s reflection. “He keeps denying it. Yoongi trained him exceptionally well, I must say.”
Taehyung tightened his grip on the jewel, then finally turned. “What if he’s telling the truth, Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk scoffed, boots thumping the wooden floor as he paced. “You know what Yoongi is capable of. We don’t know what he would do to gain intel on our territories.”
Taehyung sighed, lifting his chin to face him at last. He was their leader and spiritual guide in the resistance against the evil pressing at the borders—yet in that moment, he felt himself waver. He hid it well; his - seemingly youthful- face was burdened by years of experience and wisdom.
“Tomorrow… Tomorrow we will hold trial before the whole council. There we will decide.”
Jeongguk’s onyx gaze fixed on him, trying to pry into the torment rising in the grand master’s heart. Taehyung could feel the doubts forming in the young captain’s mind.
“Do you have anything else to tell me, Jeongguk?”
The young man nodded, still playing nervously with the hilt. “You know our forces in the north, at the Nabur Pass, grow weaker by the day. They’ve captured twenty more of us. You know very well that every member we lose strengthens Yoongi’s ranks. Without Namjoon at our side, we’re lost. Let’s not give him more room. We found an intruder beyond our borders wearing a Koyar stone, trained in mind-barrier craft. We need no more proof to know the longer we keep him among us, the more we expose ourselves to risk.”
Taehyung studied him, reading the worry in his eyes. Jeongguk was a loyal soldier; he’d do anything for their cause. Of that much, Taehyung was certain.
“Jeongguk, I already told you there will be judgment tomorrow. We’ll administer the potion if needed, and whatever he hides will come out.”
“Namjoon’s been a hostage for a month now. We don’t know what Yoongi knows.”
Taehyung let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking his head. He folded his arms, staring intensely. “The secrets of the adepts of the Way of the Forest are known only to its members. You know that perfectly well.”
Jeongguk grew more agitated as the conversation went on; Taehyung could feel his heartbeat accelerating. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember the last time calm had graced the captain’s heart.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Master. But know this: I won’t let a spy ruin everything we’ve built. At the first misstep, I’ll cut that boy’s throat.”
Taehyung stood, gripping the necklace as if for support. His gaze hardened, full of disdain, but Jeongguk held it without flinching. “You will do nothing without my consent. No unnecessary blood will ever be shed under the Sacred Tree. That is our pact.”
“It’s your pact, not the joyaks’. You know perfectly well what you did by bringing us into your ranks.”
Their locked gazes drew them so close Taehyung could feel blood pumping from Jeongguk’s heart to his mind, feel youthful energy mounting in the captain’s chest. Jeongguk, for his part, felt Taehyung’s calming influence, the centuries-old wisdom radiating from eyes that had seen more than anyone could imagine. Taehyung’s hand, always warm, cupped the young man’s cheek, caressing features that hadn’t known a true smile in a long time.
“Don’t fight me, Jeongguk. You know I’m not your enemy. I never have been.”
They held each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Jeongguk laid a hand over Taehyung’s. “Can I stay?”
Taehyung broke the connection, lowering his gaze and pulling away. “It’s better if you don’t, Jeongguk. One day you’ll understand.”
Jeongguk let out a cocky little laugh, shaking his head before looking once more at his leader. “You treat everything as if time were always at your disposal—it’s typical of your kind. But I’m a man and a soldier; the only thing that counts is what we do now. See you tomorrow, Grandmaster.”
He left, slamming the door behind him, making sure the guards outside knew there had been disagreement. Taehyung closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of silence, letting the sounds of the forest steady his mind. He still held the Koyar stone tight in his hands.