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[attr="id","sybariscol"]SUN HA-NEUL

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[attr="id","sybariscol"]AN ENDLESS DREAM

you're nervous, and for a good reason, too. from the borders of your vision, you see shadows waver and bend, and then flee away when you turn to face them. you're confronted with what you ought to see: nothing, but the feeling of terror settles heavy in your stomach, pressing down upon your shuddering shoulders with a force unknowable. an icy sweat breaks out on your neck and across your forehead; you feel your heart quicken with an unrelenting thump-thump-thump. there's no way to ease it, now that nauseous thoughts had begun to spin around in your head.[break][break]

a piercing stare burrows into the back of your head. death looms tall over you, you swear you see the glint of a scythe before everything cuts to pitch black. all your worries, your fear, your dreams, your memories, all ebb away just like that. snipped with a pair of gilded scissors, your heart goes still, and your blood begins to cool on concrete.[break][break]

the shadow shifts, lifts his rifle and stomps out his cigarette. smoke curls after him as he disappears, back into the unknown which you rightfully feared.[break][break]

[attr="id","sybariscol"]I'VE GOT, I'VE GOT ONLY MY BONES

the year is 1991, a lone figure stiffly shuffles across myca's rolling dunes. sand whips up from the wind, stinging anything not covered by cloth, and the moon hangs heavy and crooked in the sky. the air is bitingly cold, but wrapped up snug in blankets is a small, wriggling babe. the woman who carries him hugs her close to her chest, but her warmth doesn't reach him. it flees, further, further.[break][break]

by some divine intervention, or luck as many would call it later on, a small patrol finds him beside the statue of a woman, cradled in her arms. sun jun-ho, the man who headed this patrol, picked him up and returned with his men back to the town of troia. sun iseul and jun-ho would gleefully accept the gift brought to them, believing him to be heaven-sent, hence his name: ha-neul.[break][break]

[attr="id","sybariscol"]I'M CRYING TO THE DARKEST SKY

you idly turn over your hands in front of your face. your knuckles are bruised, bloodied. every breath of air you suck in burns your lungs, you taste the grit of sand in your mouth as you're knocked down, again and again. your muscles ache with soreness, your bones creak in defiance as you push yourself up onto your feet. a clear determination reflects in the hard, basaltic color of your gaze. you are a warrior, this was predestiny. your hands are far too rough to be gentle, to know anything else but to fight and defend what was yours. you realize this when you were young.[break][break]

you accept your calling without much fuss, son of troia, and so do others. here, you meet the people who will become your lifelong friends. caelan lyall is one of them. as you train with them, your bonds become strong, your trust in one another profound. with every patrol under the beating sun, every threat vanquished from troia, and waking moment you find yourself in arms alongside your comrades, your friendship grows a little further. you find that bonds like these are hard to come by, and harder to keep.[break][break]

[attr="id","sybariscol"]THERE'S NOTHING MORE I WANT

for years you've never heard of the curse called "stoneskin." it's exactly as it sounds, a curse that will slowly petrify you from the inside out. it's rarity made many believe it was just a legend — a story not dissimilar to the boogeyman — but the reality of it began to sink in quickly for the town of troia. the coalition scrambled to its feet after it had sunk its teeth firmly into troia's neighbors, spreading through the weaker, taking the stronger with it. fear grips your heart, and it's chillier than anything you've experienced before, as your gaze settles on an indomitable enemy. its cure is elusive, even for experienced physicians, and every lead led to disastrous dead ends. until one day, a particular physician arrived in troia.[break][break]

things looked promising, for a while. you have learned over the years, belonging to this lovely but dangerous desert, that hope can be fickle. you try not to expect too much, and risk being disappointed. so when the leading physician, one man named andras fekete, fell ill to the selfsame curse he was researching, it was difficult for you to accept it. you refused to accept failure, not when andras seemed so close to finishing his research.[break][break]

your father and mother look proud of the determined son they raised when you announce to them that you would leave to help find the cure for your ailing home. one of the last things you receive from your father and mother was a tight hug and a gentle kiss upon the forehead respectively.[break][break]

you leave with a handful of others, but you all scatter to the wind like dandelion puffs. a wide search is needed, for time rushes relentlessly, waiting for no one. your determination stirs something in your chest, you are touched by the leylines that run beneath the earth you tread on. someone calls to you, his voice rough but warm. commanding, firm, wise.[break][break]

you find yourself among a den of snakes, and they coil tight around you, never quite relinquishing their grip. you remain for a while, longer than you intended, wrapped up in little things that become far more than you bargained for — but that's how they get you, right?

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