heonynchans | Waking Up (A Century Late)

The first thing Changmin registers upon waking up is how goddamn bright it is. Sunlight hits him dead center, a soft blanket of light covering over him as Changmin blinks. His hands come up to block it as he tries to sit up, feeling his joints creak. His system flash signs of damage everywhere, from the loose bolts on his kneecaps to the tears in the metal skin that protected Changmin through countless battles. He tries to open his mouth to check the rest of his sensors, pleasantly surprised to find out the air tasted like flowers and honey. His eyes refocus as he surveys the area. He’s in a forest, where flowers and foliage line every inch of the ground. Like a sacred meadow, of sorts.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice calls out, gentle and coaxing. Changmin swivels his head, scaring a small colony of birds as he meets eyes with a stranger. The stranger has a blue eye on his left and an empty, gray one on the other, soft glittery wings sprouting from his back and an outstretched hand, holding some kind of dust. Changmin cocks his head in confusion.

“Who are you?” Changmin asks. The stranger smiles a little wider, sprinkling the specks of dust onto Changmin’s leg. It seeps in, repairing the old circuits as Changmin watches in awe, his systems reporting the damage behind healed completely. Changmin turns to the stranger again, only to find him gone.

“Wake up, my little cyborg. Things have changed a lot over the hundred years you were gone,” the stranger’s voice echoes back, nothing but a whisper as Changmin blinks. The taste of flowers and honey still greets his sensors like the scent of motor oil in the workshop he was built in. Changmin frowns, wondering why that memory would resurface.

“Where am I?” Changmin asks, flinching as he realizes how glitchy and distorted his voice module is. He’ll have to find someone to help him with that.

“A small forest just outside of Caledon,” the voice calls back to him. Changmin scans his surroundings, trying to find a trace of the weird sparkly human with magic cyborg repairing dust. He tries to stand up, only to find his metal joints creaky and rusted. Changmin gulps.

“I wouldn’t try to go back to the city if I were you,” the voice tells him, gentle and full of sympathy. Changmin frowns.

“Why not? I need to get back home,” Chagmin argues, pushing himself up. HIs legs give out almost immediately, joints locked and unable to squeak as he falls onto his face. Changmin scowls into the dirt, feeling an earthworm crawl up his ear. He reaches his hand up to swat it away, only to find a small bullet hole through the limb.

“It’s been 100 years, little cyborg, your home is no more. The war reshaped Caledon, and the humans don’t want your kind amongst them anymore,” the voice whispers, soft and comforting while its words did the opposite. Changmin scowls.

“But why? We were on their side the entire war! The fae were the enemies,” Changmin lashes out, pushing himself up to a more stable standing position. His heat sensors blare red as he feels his body go into overdrive from the sudden flurry of activity. Changmin winces. What happened? Before Changmin can move again, a delicate hand rests on his shoulder, gripping it as Changmin trunks around and pulls out the blade built into his hand. He swings wildly, barely missing the stranger’s nose as his eyes widens.

“You’re quite the grateful one for someone who just reactivated you after a century, Ji Changmin,” the stranger deadpans. Changmin’s emotion calibrating sensor blares at him, detecting the way his heart skipped a beat as Changmin stares. The stranger was, for the lack of a better word, beautiful. Soft pastel pink hair cupped his face like roses adorning a bouquet. A sparkly layer of dust covers his milky skin, glittering in a million hues of pastels as a pair of see-through, baby blue wings hangs from his back. He’s wearing clothes from Changmin’s time, so a century must not have changed things too much, if the graphic tee and black jeans are anything to go by. Changmin feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, cyborg senses recalibrating entirely as his brain shuts down for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” Changmin whispers, any means of a brain to mouth filter gone as he gapes. The stranger rolls his eyes.

“Good to know that’s what cyborgs thought before they murdered all of us,” the stranger mumbles. Changmin blinks, brain whirring at top speed as he slowly registers the stranger’s words. He has wings. And magic. And he’s very pretty.

Oh no.

“You’re a fae,” Changmin whispers, realization dawning to him. The stranger rolls his eyes again, crossing his lithe arms as a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Surprise, killer boy. A lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

Changmin later finds out that the war had ended about 90 years ago, but the true struggle hadn’t ended, when humans started turning on their allies. Cyborgs were dismantled and killed by the hundreds, leaving the survivors scrambling into the forests in order to hide. The last of the fae found most of them then, and that was a swift end to so much of the robot population. Changmin had died already in the war, but his circuits were still somehow alive. Chanhee, the fae, tells him the workmanship on his circuits are excellent, somehow still functioning after a century of rust. Changmin asks him why Chanhee is helping him, only to receive a tightlipped smile.

“You don’t know who made you, do you killer boy?” Chanhee muses. Changmin scowls.

“Stop calling me that!” Changmin hisses, Chanhee raises his eyebrow.

“But that’s what you are, no?” Chanhee points out, to which Changmin can only shrink and bite his lip. There’s a heavy silence between them as Chanhee leads Changmin through the forest to a place Changmin has to go to, wherever that is.

“Changmin,” Changmin finally breaks the silence, voice nothing but a mumble. Chanhee cocks his head, confusion drawn on his face.

“Sorry?” Chanhee asks. Changmin scowls, defeat in his eyes.

“My name is Changmin. Call me Changmin or whatever it is you want tom just not killer boy,” Changmin mumbles again, a little louder this time. Chanhee gives him a sympathetic smile.

“So the murderer has a heart and a name? He did even better with you than I thought,” Chanhee muses, jumping over a tree root as he reaches out his hand to Changmin. Changmin stares at it in confusion.

“Why are you helping me? Didn’t I kill a couple dozen of your friends and family? I’m a war cyborg,” Changmin asks. Chanhee sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Did that cyborg really hit your memory module that bad?” Chanhee mutters, grabbing Changmin by the wrist as he pulls his past a curtain of trees. Changmin winces, blinking his eyes to adjust to the brighter light of the clearing. When he can finally lower his arm, a large tree of sorts greets him. Its branches are littered in rope bridges and small treehouses, fae flying out and about the tree, the sound of soft tinkling bells ringing in the background as Changmin gapes. A fae spots him, registering his scratched metal and Changmin steps back, readying himself for a fight. Instead of attacking him or even calling for help, the fairy’s eyes light up like fireworks. He turns to face the tree and cups his hand, shouting to the winds and Changmin can feel confusion taking over his expression.

“Guys! Chanhee found him!” the fae calls excitedly. Changmin frowns, eyebrows knit together as he whirls to Chanhee.

“What?” Changmin asks, half air as he tries to wrap his brain around the concept. The cyborgs murdered thousands of fae, and these fae are… glad to see him?

“You’re not a normal cyborg, dumbass,” Chanhee snickers, turning to him with a smile.

“You saved this colony from your own kind in the war, before disappearing for a century. You abandoned your own kind for us, how would we not be grateful?” Chanhee explains, tugging Changmin’s wrist as he pulls him into the colony. His pretty hands have unpredicted strength in them, tugging Changmin into the canopy of fairy lights and magic dust. His joints feel revitalized with an odd kick to them, as if the fae magic responds to him with love and care.

“Come on, it’s time you meet who made you do it. Younghoon has been waiting for you for a century.”