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It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the Qilin would use Nagyunn’s own tactics against him, but somehow, it does.
He walks into that forest clearing knowing full well that the Qilin will weaponize any weakness he can find. In fact, Nagyunn even knows which weakness the Qilin will go for, because it’s the same one he would leverage in his place: Nagyunn is completely isolated right now. Listing Lauzun as a traitor may have proved his objectivity, but it has also given the Qilin something he can use.
Nagyunn is keenly aware of all this. So when a steady gaze meets his and the Qilin says you’re the only one I don’t suspect at all, it shouldn’t mean anything. When the Qilin’s sharp eyes soften a fraction, and he says, voice earnest, so I wanted to ask you: are you hiding anything from me?—none of it should mean anything at all.
And yet he finds his mouth moving of its own accord, forming the words, “I am…”
Nagyunn.
“—not hiding anything.”
A pause. Nagyunn keeps his expression carefully blank.
“I see,” the Qilin says at last. “Alright, you may go.”
The weight of his stare follows Nagyunn the whole way back.
You’re the only one I don’t suspect at all.
Yeah, right.
He wants to hate the Qilin, because that careful shift in facial expressions was almost convincing. He’d almost told the truth, almost believed that the knight was on his side, almost…
But it’s not the Qilin he hates, really. It’s himself. He knew exactly what was coming, and even still, he almost fell for it. He’d thought being aware of his desire for reassurance and safety would be enough to keep himself in check, but it must still show somehow. He can’t imagine the Qilin would have tried this tactic on any of the others.
And that, too, is Nagyunn’s fault. Desperation is easy to use. He has to be stronger than this. Even now, the Qilin is always watching him; no matter what that knight says, he is not beyond suspicion.
Still, it’s comforting, in a way. Nagyunn’s lived in a village that hated him all his life; if there’s one thing he excels at, it is social engineering—and if this is the game the Qilin wants to play, if he’s going to pretend his words and his trust are worth a damn thing, then Nagyunn is more than willing to play along.
—
Eventually, because the Qilin does not approach him again, Nagyunn approaches him first. He brings with him the bluntest question he can think of, as a test. How much will the Qilin reveal when directly confronted?
“You say you’re weak, but you fight pretty well, Qilin-nim.”
Nagyunn receives an incredibly judgmental stare for his efforts. “Are you making fun of me?”
He falters for a moment—he didn’t expect a response that hostile—then soldiers on. “I would never. It’s just that you said you’re about Yulnia’s level, but you fought well against the skeleton.”
The Qilin continues to level a flat stare at him, but deigns to give Nagyunn a brief lecture on knowing his limits. Most of it seems pretty self-explanatory. He gets the feeling the Qilin is just saying nonsense to get Nagyunn to leave him alone.
Just when he thinks the conversation is over, the Qilin says, “Najin.”
He tilts his head expectantly.
“Your plans have been incredibly risky thus far. I’m going to assume that’s not by design.”
“Of course not, Qilin-nim,” he replies obediently, even as his mind razors in on what the Qilin is really saying: I know you’re forcing the knights to rescue you on purpose. Is he telling Nagyunn that he must start relying on his own strength?
The Qilin scrutinizes him, eyes blank and unreadable.
“I don’t know if it’s arrogance or recklessness,” he says at last, “but neither will inspire much confidence in a knight, so it’s important to lose those habits now. I answered your question because your peers are following your example; I hope you’ll put the information to good use.”
Well. On the one hand, it’s good to know that the Qilin doesn’t oppose Nagyunn’s intentions to position himself as the apprentice’s leader. On the other, he means everyone is watching you, and Nagyunn can’t tell if it’s a threat or a subtle reminder of his responsibilities.
Perhaps both.
“I understand,” he says. “I’ll be more careful this time.”
(Of course, because everything he tells the Qilin is a lie, he very responsibly proceeds to pick a fight with the Elephant the next day.)
—
It is good, Nagyunn thinks, that the Qilin is so reliable, even as the knight is ushered away by the Turtle and the Elephant for causing trouble at the city gates.
But being able to depend on the Qilin is a far cry from being able to trust the knight. Nagyunn’s own recklessness aside, it can’t be mere coincidence that the most suspicious member of the class keeps being placed in the most dangerous situations. In the end, he’d do well to remember that no matter how helpful the Qilin may be, he will always think of Nagyunn the same way Nagyunn thinks of him: too perceptive to be used, too many secrets to be trusted, too similar to be comfortable.
It’s this thought that ultimately pushes Nagyunn to make a blatant grab for the apprentice’s commanding position. After all, the sooner he secures his place within the knights, the less he will need to worry about the Qilin’s inscrutable whims.
But even here, the Qilin is one step ahead of him. All it takes is a simple this incident is my fault. I apologize, and Nagyunn’s careful efforts are all down the drain.
It wouldn’t be a problem ordinarily. There will be other opportunities, and the Qilin won’t be able to block all of them forever—but it’s troublesome that Nagyunn doesn’t know why the Qilin stopped him. He has all but told Nagyunn that he expects him to lead the apprentices tactically. So what purpose does his interference serve now?
He hints at it, in the alleyway, probing carefully for information.
The Qilin says, “It’s a little early for you to be taking on that kind of burden.”
Nagyunn blinks, mind flipping through the possibilities. The Qilin trying to protect him would be utterly inconceivable. He’s never shied away from dumping a knight’s responsibilities on Nagyunn’s shoulders before, and it’s unlike him to be so sentimental in the first place.
So does this mean he failed the Qilin’s test today? But what did he fai—
The Qilin asks:
Who are you?
And Nagyunn’s whole world grinds to a halt.
Momentarily. But then his brain kicks back in, and finally, he understands what the Qilin is trying to do.
He hasn’t failed yet. This conversation is the test.
So Nagyunn avoids the question.
The Qilin takes it all in a stride. Next up is there’s no way you could block that attack. Since you’re weak.
Nagyunn doesn’t answer that one. The Qilin’s not suspicious of him anymore, necessarily, he’s just worried. He doesn’t want Nagyunn ascending to leadership until he is sure that Nagyunn is not just using the other apprentices to cover for his own lack of strength. So as long as Nagyunn keeps quiet, he’ll draw his own conclusions to fill in the gaps, the same way he always has when he’s caught on to something he shouldn’t have.
Does the Narin have another ability that you’ve kept quiet about?
Of course not, Nagyunn tells him, and it’s not even fully a lie.
But it’s not the truth either.
He can tell the Qilin is debating whether or not to call him out on it, but in the end, all the knight says is, “It’s a shame. The one I trust the most is you.”
Interesting.
That line is a trap, for sure. Nagyunn could sidestep it. It’s been laid out so clearly, after all. But then they’ll keep circling each other like this forever, always watching for the smallest slip-ups—like that moment in the forest, the too-telling phrase of you don’t think they’d abandon one of their own? Do you know them well?
The alternative:
He could just give in. See where the Qilin would like to go with this.
“It’s because you say things like that that I don’t trust you,” he says.
The Qilin considers him for a moment, sighs, and says, “Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll let you in on a secret.”
…what kind of offer is that?
Well, Nagyunn should probably have expected this. After all, he’s known from the start that there’s no real emotion attached to the things the Qilin says or does. Whatever they’re playing at is built entirely on a transactional exchange of information alone.
But the fact that the knight is trying to make an advanced payment now concerns Nagyunn. He must want something big in return. Nothing good can ever come out of that.
As if sensing his hesitation, the Qilin adds, somewhat ominously, “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you now.”
“It seems it won’t do me any good to hear about it…” he hedges.
“Don’t worry,” the Qilin says. “It won’t do you any harm.”
Typical. The Qilin must know that’s hardly the only worry on Nagyunn’s mind, but it’s the surface-level one that’s easiest to address. And Nagyunn can’t bring up his true concerns if he wants to maintain this illusion of trust.
Smart, really. The Qilin played his hand first, and by doing so, he’s forcing Nagyunn to choose his position within the knights now. If he accepts this offer, there is no turning back from this game.
But if he doesn’t commit to this, he’ll never get what he wants anyway.
As if sensing that Nagyunn has reached a conclusion, the Qilin begins to talk.
—
When the explanations are all said and done, Nagyunn tells the Qilin, “I can’t figure out what you want.”
“To gain your trust,” the Qilin says simply. “I told you. I hold you in high regard, Najin. We need a commander right now, and it has to be someone like you. Still, I know you’re hiding something—not because you want to deceive me, but because you don’t trust me.”
In there, a subtle request: trust me. Confide in me. See what I have offered you?
The Qilin is waiting for his payment now. It’s just another test, in the end: can the Qilin force him to reveal things when necessary? Will he continue their game or turn away?
Nagyunn’s turn. He opens his mouth. Some things are safer to reveal than others. The Qilin likely already suspects his ulterior motives, even if he doesn’t have enough information for the full picture, so it should be safe to tell him about—
I am not Najin.
For a moment, the temptation to give voice to these words is overwhelming.
The Qilin has just entrusted his biggest secret to Nagyunn, and the urge to exchange it for his biggest secret sits heavy in his chest, the desperate need to let his burden go rising up his throat.
It’s not like the knight doesn’t already have suspicions. Who are you?
How much harm could it do to answer?
(Secretly: he wonders, if he told the Qilin, would he help Nagyunn? The Qilin has already helped him out of many situations that he lacked the strength to handle on his own. If he acknowledged that he’s just barely treading enough water to survive at any given moment, if he admitted to his powerlessness, would the Qilin be willing to accommodate that?
If he told the Qilin the truth, would he force him to stop living as Najin?)
Nagyunn grips his spear tighter and forces himself to snap out of it. And—right, look at that, the Narin. Why would the Qilin feel the need to register it under his name if he truly trusted Nagyunn?
He should know better than to listen to the knight’s empty words by now. This is also a test. There is a right answer. His identity is not it—but his real intentions within the knights might pass for one.
So this is what he tells the Qilin: a tale of revenge, of slow-burning rage.
He does not tell the Qilin about the way the world fell off its axis when his brother died. He does not mention all the things he has given up to pave his way forward in a world without Najin.
He does not talk about who he really is, after all.
(Secretly: what he won’t admit to himself, much less to the Qilin—he doesn’t want to be known as Nagyunn, not even in the man’s mind. Because if he was strong enough, if he had been born with the right kind of talents, if he had been capable enough to escape detection, he would have lived out the rest of his life as Najin.
It’s not an option, of course. But he’d like to pretend for a little while longer.)
—
Under the pouring rain, it is the knights who pay the price for this moment of doubt.
They get lucky in the end. A burst of sunlight stored for just the right moment; a friend in the right place, at the right time, able to read Nagyunn’s movements just well enough to coordinate with them; and the Qilin, as always, intervening at the last moment.
He steps forward alone against the masked bandits. Golden eyes blazing, voice lost amidst the downpour, his hands turn within an invisible lock.
Cerulean blue streaks across the sky. The scent of burnt ozone fills the air.
Paimel half-carries Nagyunn away from the fight, but he has seen enough to know what the Qilin has done. Four years of power, gone in an instant. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The Qilin has been stockpiling his ability for good reason, and really, this all could have been avoided…
…if only Nagyunn had been honest with him.
His vision fades in and out. Everything hurts, and everyone almost died because of him, and in his haze Paimel’s shoulder feels uncomfortably like Najin standing by his side, a cruel reminder of the last person who died to protect him from the masked bandits.
In the back of his mind, a small voice whispers: when will you stop killing others to clean up your own mess?
—
It’s only five minutes, but it feels like an eternity passes before the Qilin finally returns with Ruth in tow. He’s mostly fine. It comes as a sharp relief.
The Qilin passes out moments later, but it seems the Fox is tending to his wounds, so Nagyunn slips off to talk to Ruth. Right now, it’s more important that he stop the spread—
Nagyunn.
—of his true—
You don’t know a thing about Najin.
—identity.
(He grips his spear tighter. So he traded his identity for… what, exactly?
What does he do with this knowledge he can’t confirm,
a brother he can never speak to again,
all these questions that he has no one to ask?
What is he supposed to do now?
Where does he go from here?)
At the peak of his turmoil, as reliably as ever, the Qilin steps in. Eyes glowing in the dusk, voice icy, he forces Ruth to stop talking—just shut up and follow me—and drags him away.
Their fading footsteps leave only emptiness and confusion in their wake.
Nagyunn has no idea what to make of… anything, really. He doesn’t know which part of Ruth’s confession to believe, he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with this information, and he’s not even sure why the Qilin helped him. Because the knight almost certainly knows the truth by now, and yet he still stopped Ruth from talking. Which—
Is not a problem, per se, except that in the midst of everything else, it feels almost like a helping hand reaching for him in the dark. And for a second, Nagyunn feels the flutterings of hope in his stomach, and for a moment he is that optimistic boy from Woodion who dreamt of ice deserts and unknown continents and he thinks maybe I can actually trust—
—but that boy who lived in Woodion was naïve in a lot of ways that he is not any longer. And when the Qilin tells him prove yourself under the deep blanket of night, he remembers that he is not Nagyunn anymore, he is Najin; and here, at last, he finally has confirmation of the truth that he has been chasing for so long.
I will help you, the Qilin is saying, as long as you continue to be useful to our cause.
It is not trust. It is a transaction. They have been playing this game for so long that Nagyunn… forgot, for a moment, what the Qilin is really like.
But as he raises his spear and a wicked grin spreads across Ruth’s face, he vows that he will not forget again.
—
At the end of the long day, he finds himself in a familiar dream. He’s standing before a house that no longer exists, screaming at people he has no hope of ever defeating, gripping a carelessly tossed sword with foolhardy bravado. He tries to move his feet, screams at himself to do something different, don’t engage, run faster, maybe Najin will—
But it’s not Najin protecting him. It’s Lauzun, arms bloody, face pained. At his feet, Yulnia is bleeding out. Nuljin lays beside her, unmoving. Marsha and the Fox and Wadrin are—
A battered hand closes over his own. A body throws itself onto the tip of his sword.
He looks up from the hilt of the sword against his own will, and instead of glassy red, his eyes meet piercing gold.
Blood pours from the Qilin’s mouth as he rasps out, as calm as ever: “You’ll get us all killed someday, Nagyunn. You should have died for us, not keep asking that we save you.”
The next breath he takes is painful, lungs rattling with blood, and when he speaks again all he’s able to form are weak, disconnected syllables.
The Qilin’s body goes limp.
Nagyunn wakes with the phantom weight of a corpse pinning him down and a scream dying in his throat.
He clamps a hand over his mouth and swallows the noise, shakily. He jerks himself upright, hands trembling, the sticky sensation of the Qilin’s blood still etched into his skin. It’s not real, it’s not real, his hands are clean and he knows it’s not real, but he’s still shivering and he thinks he might be sick and it could very well have been real and—
He squeezes his eyes shut and digs fingernails into his palm, forcing himself to calm his breathing. He’s just worried about the path his revenge will take, that’s all.
It’s just a silly little nightmare.
(But since when did it matter to him if the others lived or died?)
—
He trains to forget the nightmares, but they never quite stop. Most days it is simply Najin, just Najin, but the others die for him plenty too, and it never gets much easier to bear. Nagyunn gets better at swallowing his screams, though.
In the midst of all this—not that he could have known at the time, of course—the Qilin’s final test comes for him. It begins just like any of the others. He puts a hand on Nagyunn’s after training and says, “Come with me for a moment,” and Nagyunn complies.
The Qilin’s question is blunt and deceptively simple. “Why do you want to become a knight?”
The instinct to lie rises reflexively. “Since childhood, it has been my dream—”
After a few moments of rambling, the Qilin cuts him off. “Stop, stop. What’s up with…” He sighs. “Let me ask you one more thing, then. Your revenge and the way of the knights. If a situation arises where the two are incompatible… which will you choose?”
Well, which does the Qilin want to hear? It’s obvious, but at the same time it’s not, because he knows this is just another test, and perhaps the Qilin will just assume he’s lying, and…
In the end, he settles for a non-answer. “When the time comes, after evaluating the situation, I will choose the one I think is right.”
The Qilin closes his eyes. “Alright, got it.”
A pause. Then—
“By the way, Nagyunn.”
And that sets off alarm bells. The Qilin has never, ever called him by that name, and—
“I’m only going to say this once,” the Qilin tells him, voice steady, gaze unyielding, “so listen closely. The road ahead of you is hard, but you’ve proven that you’re determined to see this path through, so I am not going to stop you.
“And I will not save you.”
Nagyunn holds his gaze. Right. That’s fine. He’s known from the start that the Qilin is someone who will ultimately throw him away if it’s for the greater good; he’s ruthlessly practical like that. The same qualities that make him so reliable are also what make him someone Nagyunn will never be able to fully trust. But he’s not at all surprised by any of this. He is only surprised that the Qilin would admit to it out loud.
(And, truthfully, he’s thought for a while now that perhaps he’s beyond saving. What is there left for him, of him, when his revenge is gone? No one mourned the person he was, and no one will mourn him for the person he has become.)
“Having said that,” the Qilin continues, softly, “I want you to know that you are not alone. I see that you can’t trust me, even now—”
Nagyunn winces. Maybe he should get out of the habit of defaulting to trying to bullshit the Qilin. It never seems to accomplish anything anyway.
“—but you’re aware you can rely on me,” the Qilin says.
Well… it’s true that he no longer worries about whether or not the Qilin will show up. He simply jumps in, knowing that there will be someone to catch him at the end.
He does not deny it.
The Qilin seems satisfied by that. “Good. We’re on the same page. Then, as much as it is possible, I will help you with your revenge. Use me as you’d like.”
“And in return?” Nagyunn asks warily.
“In return,” the Qilin says, “when your revenge is complete, and your time and energy can be spent elsewhere, I will use that to shape you into the leader we need.”
Nagyunn stares blankly. There must be a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but for once in his life, it is completely indecipherable to him.
“…I don’t understand you, Qilin-nim,” he finally says. This is just another trade, just another test, but the Qilin’s true motives are so much more inscrutable than usual. “You don’t even trust me to consistently choose the knight’s path. What if I cannot become the sort of knight you want me to become?”
The Qilin studies him for a moment.
At last, he says, “You’re right. It is a big gamble. But you have a very valuable skill set, and it would be beneficial to both our goals if you would be more honest with me.”
“You haven’t been honest with me either.”
“No, I have not been. But I will try to be, moving forward.”
“And how can I trust that?”
“You don’t have to,” the Qilin says simply. “Look, I know you’re aware that I will always be limited in what I can do by the nature of your class and my own position as a knight. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But I do want to help you, even if you can’t believe me. So learn to ask for help, and let me help you. Because I hate to see you keep throwing your life away at every opportunity like this.”
Nagyunn stiffens. “I’m not—”
Golden eyes stare at him.
He closes his mouth and looks away.
The Qilin’s voice is strangely gentle when he speaks again. “I’m not condemning you, Nagyunn. I know why you’re doing it, and I know why you joined us, and I know the things the weak will do to survive. So I won’t tell you to stop anymore. Just be honest with me, and I will help you where I can. And when you’ve completed your revenge and you don’t know where to go from there, I’ll give you something to believe in again.”
He hates how well the Qilin can read him. I’ll give you something to believe in again is such a horrible, nebulous thing to promise. And even still, he can feel the yearning crawling out his throat.
He knows it would be a mistake to believe in someone like the Qilin. It is foolishness to trust, to hope, to want. But he has been adrift for so long after Najin’s death that he would do anything to have someone to rely on again—even if that someone is as unknowable as the Qilin.
Maybe the knight genuinely wants to help. Maybe he’s only saying these empty words because he knows Nagyunn wants to be saved, and they both know he’s the only one of the knights who is willing to provide that illusion of comfort. Maybe it is, as he says, a combination of both.
Ultimately, Nagyunn thinks that it might not really matter either way. Mercy is intangible and manipulation has failed him. It probably can’t hurt, at this point, to start making bargains with someone who knows all his weaknesses and exactly how to exploit them. If nothing else, the Qilin is certainly offering him a future, dangled out on a string in front of him; all he has to do is take it.
It’s already so much more than he has been able to picture in a long, long time.
He closes his eyes.
“Alright, Qilin-nim,” Nagyunn says. “I understand. Let’s use each other to our fullest.”
—
Later, to the others, the Qilin will say this:
You are our number one, Najin. No further explanation is needed.