Chapter Text
In the land of Ingary, where such things as seven-league boots and infinite dimension space coats really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born as the eldest of three. Everyone knows you will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes.
Kim Dokja was the eldest of three siblings. His mother was well to do and kept a bookshop in the town of Market Chipping, where she had taken in the two younger sisters. He grew to be cunning, a reader following his name, and the plainest of the three. This was no real challenge, though, as both Jung Heewon and Yoo Sangah were said to be the most beautiful girls in their town. They shared their brother’s crafty spirit, spending nights laughing away about the outrageously false stories they’d told passers-by that day, or what new gossip the three of them had dug up about mayor Myungoh’s foolish son. The two women would share the futures they imagined for themself, often devolving into arguments as Heewon was by no means accepting that she- after Dokja- was the least likely to succeed. Their brother would always pull them apart, reassure them both, and remind them that they had a chance and simply needed to be resourceful enough to take it. Following this, of course, were platitudes about his own resourcefulness, skillfully and nonchalantly waved away with the frequently repeated- “I’m the oldest. I know what I've got ahead of me.”
So, resigned to his uninteresting fate as the eldest, Kim Dokja read, found even more ways to sneak about, and worked faithfully as a librarian; spending hours in the stacks, searching out new worlds to get lost in, far away from his boring existence. He would frequently be found wandering the town with his nose in a book, barely a thought given to the world around him, sometimes even walking the streets while doing so. More than once, he’d been pulled out of the way of a carriage, too distracted by the novel at hand to even realize the driver’s shouts.
It was around this time that people started talking of the Witch of the Waste again. Strikingly beautiful but incredibly dangerous, this time she was said to have threatened the King’s family, and killed the guard captain sent to deal with her. After this, a tall black castle appeared on the hill above Market Chipping, sending the country into a frenzy. Everyone was fairly sure the witch was back on the prowl, ready to snatch up any poor soul out on the streets at night who dared enter her view. Even worse, the castle never stayed in place. It would roam the hills, sometimes only a smudge in the distance of the moors, sometimes coming as close as just beyond the farthest farmlands. If you watched long enough, you could see it move, grey smoke pouring out of its tall turrets, metal clanking and hissing as its legs carried it from place to place. Some days it seemed like the castle would stroll right into town, leaving the mayor so panicked he tried to call in the King’s guard himself.
The castle just stayed on its lazy route around the wilderness of the country, and the people came to know that it belonged not to the Witch of the Waste, but to the wizard Yoo Joonghyuk. The wizard Yoo Joonghyuk was, regretfully, not much better. He was known to lure young girls to his castle to eat their hearts. The ladies of Market Chipping were forbidden to walk the streets alone at night for fear of being his next victim, a fact that lent only annoyance to the younger two sisters, and smugness to the older brother, free to go wherever he wished.
When the spring came that year, beyond the threats of witches and wizards, Lee Sookyung sat down her children, and told them of her temporary retirement.
“I've run this place too long,” she explained, packing her clothes into a large suitcase, “I haven't had a break in twenty eight years! I'll be going out to the country to visit my friends for a while. one of you will stay here. the rest, I’ve set up with something to keep you occupied.” Always a long-term thinker, their mother wouldn’t leave them without a ways to get by. Heewon was given an apprenticeship at the bakery, her determination single-handedly raising their sales by almost double on her first week. Sangah, as the youngest, was shuttled off to their mother’s friend’s, set to have a long, quiet apprenticeship.
“Aileen Makerfield? Isn’t she a witch?”
“Well, yes, but she’s less grandiose than most. She's got a nice home and clients all around the valley. I'm sure you can learn something from her and continue on however you’d like, after.”
Of course, this all made sense to Kim Dokja. The middle sister would work hard, make a name for herself around the town, end up in a profitable business and maybe even find a nice young apprentice to marry. The youngest sister, most likely to find her fortune, would have magic on her side, and rich friends around the country to mingle with. Of course, the oldest would be the one to carry on in the bookshop. And of course, this was the end that he’d wanted all along.
“Mother, are you sure you want me to keep the shop? I mean, think of how much more efficient it would be with Heewon in charge!” he acted affronted, but the gleam in his eye matched his mother’s. “I know you too well, Dokja. You’ll do fine. Try to get the books on the shelves before you get lost in them, won’t you?”
And with that, they parted, dispersing around the country to find whatever was at the end of their fate. The bookshop was run well, with the only complaints being of newcomers not yet used to the skinny man lurking about the stacks, books piled high around him. Letters came from sangah telling him of Miss Makerfield’s clock shop and the delicate magic she poured into her repairs, the spells she’d finally gotten the hang of, the beauty of the countryside. Messages of good health and almost-too-annoying admirers came as well from Heewon, though neither had enough free time to visit each other despite being in the same town. That was alright with him, though. He loved his sisters dearly, but to have the entire property to himself and his novels was more than he could ever ask for.
Of course, for a man with so many stories within him he had to tell them to someone, the plot and setting and characters for whatever novel he’d thrown himself into pouring out of his mouth at the slightest interest from a customer. He’d even started recommending books to his regulars and new customers alike, almost like he had an extra intuition for what stories would latch onto which people. Everyone who he’d recommended a book to would report back that their lives felt just a bit more interesting after reading, and it almost seemed like I had a bit of the story in me as well, and would you mind showing me what else I should read? Maybe something about a wealthy man this time, with a very profitable cabbage farm?
He reveled in the gossip that his customers brought in as well, always learning the newest bits about who had been caught with whom, the latest scandals from the upper class in the city, and of course, the whisperings of witches and wizards. Everyone agreed that the wizard Yoo Joonghyuk was to be feared, warning of the girl that he’d picked up in some fishing town just last month, so terrible, and she was only thirteen, and so on. After that would always come the hiss about the Witch of the Waste and her latest appearance cursing some poor farmer to be her lawnchair. Kim Dokja started to believe that perhaps the wizard Yoo Joonghyuk and the Witch of the Waste should just get together and be done with it.
There was gossip too, about the beautiful girl at the bakery who had whipped all the other apprentices into shape after only a few months of working. Every day men would complain of their failed marriage proposals, but cheer for the piles of delicious cakes she’d convince them to buy that same day. A couple times he’d hear about someone who miraculously came across buried treasure or met a count in the dead of night and was spirited off to his manor in the capital. “Interesting things can happen here, but never to me,” was his constant lament.
On the morning of May Day, Kim Dokja realized he had read every book in the shop.
With nothing to do, and no customers for the holiday, and having not seen Heewon in far too long, he threw on his least wrinkled outfit, and headed to the square. The streets were full to bursting with people laughing and drinking, soldiers marching to triumphant trumpet calls, confetti raining from the sky. Brightly colored pennants hung from lines across the houses, accenting the dresses and outfits of the people, and the vibrant market stalls they wandered between. The ladies blushed in their finest outfits, waving their white handkerchiefs at the men as they staggered past. People poured out of the inns and onto the street, reveling in the high sun, cares of witches and wizards forgotten. The black castle sat far into the moors today, the smoke trail just visible if you unfocused your eyes, away enough to lull the people into a sense of peace.
Kim Dokja slithered through the crowd on his way to Cesari’s, annoyance building as his shoes were stepped on and shoulders bumped hard enough to nearly toss him to and fro. Finally spotting a deserted alleyway, he moved through the throng of people, stumbling out in the quiet back street and dusting himself off before returning to his quest. Only two streets away, however, he was accosted by two drunken young soldiers, swaggering towards him and coming to lean on the doorframe by his head.
“What a mousy man,” the mustached one mused, “it seems we’ve found a little lost mouse in this alley.” Kim Dokja bristled, fingers digging into the books he’d wrapped for Heewon. “I'm not sure what you think you’re doing here, but I'm on my way to see my sister.”
“Woah, it’s an angry mouse! Careful, you’re gonna make him bite!”
“He's not that bad, I think he’s kinda cute.” the red haired soldier moved to grab at him. Dokja pulled back to hit him first when-
“There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.”
A sharp voice rang from the alley behind him, and a tall figure in a dark black coat moved in between the two parties. Both soldiers took a step back, clearly not keen on backing down. “We were just talking to this young man here and-” the protest was cut off by the man pulling aside his coat to reveal a long black sword, glinting menacingly in the shaded alley.
“Oh, were you. It seemed you were just leaving.” With a wave of his hand the soldiers straightened, and with another they moved in tandem to march themselves past the other pair and out of the alley.
Kim Dokja stood stunned, hands still gripping the books so hard he thought he’d get bruises. “Now then,” the black coat wearing man finally turned to meet his eyes, face unreadable, “come with me. Someone’s following me.” His arm hooked out for Dokja to hold. Slowly, he did, eyes still squinting in confusion and suspicion as they walked towards Cesari’s. Their steps made matching clicks on the cobbles, pulling them at a steady pace away from whatever was behind them. Dokja snuck glances at him as they walked. The eponymous coat hung off his broad shoulders, surrounding him in a clear night’s sky. Perfectly tousled black hair fell over neat eyebrows and deep grey eyes, long eyelashes blinking away the strands. His nose and chin seemed to be at perfect angles, his jaw nearly as sharp as the frown on his lips, curling in a way that suggested he spent most of his time doing so. As he was observing, the man flicked his eyes towards him, leaving Dokja flushed with shame and annoyance at being caught. “Damn Black Coat,” he thought to himself.
They soon became aware of an ominous, inhuman, sludge-like sound from behind them. Dokja turned to look but Black Coat jerked his arm forward. “Damn, they still caught up to me.” Their pace increased, tar creatures melting from the walls like shadows given gooey substance, hordes falling onto the cobblestone and forming into more beings. Soon, a writhing mass of almost-humans followed them, arms reaching out to suck them in and drown them, creatures amalgamating into being on the street ahead of them- the festivities just beyond the dreadful, twitching wall. Dokja panicked, his frenzied run somehow on pace with the stride of the man still holding his arm, “They’re right ahead, we need to-”
“Hold on.” was the only warning he was given before his arm was jerked upwards, launching the two into the sky. Dokja gasped, legs curling up and hands clinging to Black Coat’s arm, earning him an annoyed growl. “No, straighten your legs, and walk. I'm not carrying you.” Black Coat strolled just as casually along the breeze as he had back on the ground, Dokja’s feet seeming to plant on something solid rather than the air below him. His hand still on Black Coat’s arm, he stepped across the sky, revelers below unseeing, before being deposited on the balcony of Cesari’s.
Black Coat seemed to hover on the bannister, the loose sleeves flapping gently in the wind around him, face still stony. “I'll draw them off. Wait before going home.” He turned his head to glance out on the people still dancing in the square, eyes scanning the crowd for more creatures. Kim Dokja stood stooped, catching his breath, mind racing with questions and expletives. “Thank you, whoever you are, for getting those men away. Next time, I’d prefer not to be met with melting demons after, but nonetheless." The man’s stone face changed a bit at this, his lip quirking up into almost a smirk. “Next time, I’ll leave you to them.” He swept his arm in a bow, the inside of the pitch black coat billowing and seeming to glimmer like it held the stars in its lining, before he leapt backwards off of the bannister and into the crowd below. Dokja ran to look at the ground, but there was no trace of the man.
“A man… walking in the sky? I heard you came down from the balcony but… has reading all those books melted your brain?” Jung Heewon leaned back on her crate, voice astonished and eyes narrowed. Upon his entering the shop proper, she’d yanked him away from the throng of customers and into the back room, the other employees graciously leaving them to catch up.
“It's true, I swear!” Dokja leaned forward, hands waving about, “He told me to walk, snobby bastard. Like I was supposed to be perfectly comfortable with the whole thing.” He sagged in defeat at Heewon’s brows climbing even higher on her face. “As my sister, shouldn’t you believe me?”
Heewon barked out a laugh, throwing her head back. “As your sister, I’m the first to believe you’re crazy!” Her arm landed around his shoulders, pulling him closer and ruffling his hair. Dokja smiled, pulling away and settling back on his crate. Heewon's expression turned pensive. “I suppose this is a land of magic, though. Maybe the man you saw was a wizard,” the frown on her face deepend. “Maybe even the wizard Yoo Joonghyuk. You should be careful the rest of the day.”
Dokja waved a hand. “He only goes after pretty girls, of which I am neither.” Heewon jumped up. “No! Brother, you are very pretty. Maybe the prettiest boy in all of Ingary!” She accentuated each protest with a hit to his arm. She sat back down, shoulders sagging. “Though, maybe I have spent too long away from home. It’s been months and I’ve barely seen you, and you just spend your days reading in that shop.”
“Heewon, I’m alright. Now, you should be returning to your job. Don’t let me keep you.” Dokja rose, stretching his back and readying himself for the trip back home. “You turn around, Dokja, or I will- What? Yes, yes, I’ll be back in a moment- Dokja!” Heewon struggled to get away from her coworkers, who buzzed about her like curious bees. Dokja held in a laugh as he walked out of Cesari’s during the confusion.
On the train home, he thought of her words, the mysterious man, the tar-creatures… and the just barely-there smirk that man had given him. “Settle down, Dokja.” he said to himself, miserably. “Even if he had been the wizard Yoo Joonghyuk, he’d never go after you.”
Stepping into his bookshop, he locked the door behind him. He moved through the darkened book stacks with practiced ease, finding the lamp on the counter and clicking it on. The dim light illuminated the front of the store just well enough for him to discard his coat, the windows letting off a slight glare. As he turned to go up the stairs to the apartment, he heard the jingle of the front door bell. Peeking out from around the stacks, he called a confused, “Hello?”, only to be met with the clicking of heels on the tiled floor.
Stepping fully into the entryway, Dokja saw a shorter woman in a large wide brimmed and pointed hat, casting her face in shadow but for the reflections of dangling metal stars from the brim. Below sat a seemingly luxurious and expensive black coat, the collar’s thick fur puffing around her neck and meshing with her neatly cropped black bob. Under the coat, she wore black pants, their flare cascading over her heeled black boots, evidently the source of the noise. Everything about her screamed richness and drew in your attention, her ensemble giving her the air of a shadow given human form, darkness almost dripping off the ends of her coat.
“What a run-down little bookshop.” The woman stepped further inside, door shutting behind her. “Though you certainly look more run-down by far.” Dokja bristled, the anxiety and agitation of this strange woman in his shop curling into anger deep in his chest. “I don’t know if you’ve read the sign, but we’re closed. You can come back in during our open hours, though I’m not sure you’ll be welcome then either.” He brushed past her to the door, holding it open for her.
He felt a pulsating on his arm, and in looking down he noticed an oozing darkness on his shoulder where he’d touched her. It was hot, and reminded him almost of-
A laugh rang out through the book shop. It was harsh but oddly lovely, like throwing fine silver into a mill. When he looked back up at her, her eyes shone with a sort of amusement. “You have a lot of nerve standing up to a witch like that. Especially one of my caliber.”
Dokja’s stomach dropped. “The Witch of the Wastes,” he whispered. She’d reminded him of those liquid monsters from earlier, he now realized, the way magic emanated from her, though a twisted sort to be certain.
She seemed to grow monstrously bigger in the dimly lit space, suddenly towering over him, her form stretched in impossible ways. “This should teach you not to meddle with things that belong to me.” Her shadow grew in front of her, winding its way through the tiles to Dokja’s legs, where it seemed to grab a hold of him, pulling him down to his knees. “You must be mistaken! I haven’t done any meddling!”
Again came her grating laugh. “Ah, but you have. And now you will learn your lesson.” As soon as it had all started, it stopped, and she was simply a woman standing in his book shop. She turned on her heel to leave, stopping at the doorway to call back over her shoulder, “The best part about that spell is you won’t be able to tell anyone about it.”
And with a soft jingle and click of the door, she was gone.
Dokja sat, still kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest and pulling his hair and checking himself all over for any injury. Seeming unharmed, he rose, though his knees gave more protest and wobble than usual. “Must still be shaken,” he muttered to himself, locking the door once again and giving himself a nod once he saw it was secured.
Slowly making his way to the apartment upstairs, he passed his mother’s vanity at the top of the steps. He stopped, intending to search his face for any deformations, only to find an old man staring back at him.
He screamed, pushing himself back from the vanity, and the old man did the same. Regaining his composure some, he leaned back towards the mirror and pulled at his cheeks, feeling weathered and wrinkled skin beneath his fingers. His hair, once a shining black, was now a light grey, and his deep brown eyes had a milky sheen to them. “I’m going mad. I’m losing my mind.”
Dokja pushed himself away from the mirror once more, and trod off to his room. His bed beckoned him warmly, and the familiar sight cooled his nerves, if only slightly. He didn’t even bother removing his clothes from the day, opting instead to collapse onto the mattress. Staring at the ceiling, his thoughts wandered once again. What could that woman have meant by meddling? Why did she remind him of the living tar he’d encountered just earlier that day? And where did the Wizard Yoo Joonghyuk fit into all of this, if that indeed was him?
Half-drunk on the experiences he’d had that day, and believing that everything would once again be normal in the morning, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.