WARRiOR (Akatsuki no Yona Fanfic)

4. Final Straw

When mother passed away, Noo-ri cried, but not because she was gone.

The sun was scorching that day, an irritable burn against his skin as he clawed against the too-hard soil. His nails were cracked and stuffed with mud-- truly, this was completely unbecoming of a lady.

The only thing he could use as a grave were three stones from the river beside it-- they were white, and shone. They were pretty, mother would have liked it.

What a fucking joke.

"Noo-ri," someone said behind him, shadow cast over his figure, "if you're done over there, you should hurry back."

He crunched the last of the overturned soil in his hands into the ground, flattening it nicely with his palms, then squeezing the stone into the little mound in hopes that it would stay in that spot for long enough.

What a fucking joke.

He stepped over to the river, and rinsed his hands through. He cringed as the cold seeped into the flesh of his nails, stinging sharply like little stabs and bites.

Straightening his skirt, he turned in the direction of the village, and for a second he doesn't go in that direction.

For a second, he considered running in the opposite direction, and never looking back. He would go in there and enter Xing territory, and wait for either the guards or some lowly stranger to find him and maybe not kill him.

What a fucking joke.

He returned to the village, and he continued working.

Continued working for the cruel ruler who wouldn't spare a bit of medicine for a poor old woman on her deathbed. Wouldn't even allow the pitiful little daughter, barely fifteen, to bury that diseased body inside the village. So she had to come to the river in the outskirts, and gouge out a barely capable hole on her own.

If you have time to mourn, that person dared to snide, do some work while you're at it.

What a fucking joke.

Noo-ri looked at Sang's statue, standing proud and yet no one had time to really look at him, no one had time to listen to the real stories about him-- and he almost, almost screams at him-- you died for your king, you died for your kingdom.

So why is the world in shambles?

What a fucking joke.

-

"You want to escape?"

When she heard that, she thought he was mad. A group of girls in the basement of their town hall, they were supposed to move crates to store gunpowder in this space for storage.

The girl Noo-ri was closest to, her name was Da-hee. She was strong and she was charismatic. She could the whole group up with her teeth if she needed to, and through her words alone, not a single girl complained about the harsh labour.

Actively, Noo-ri signed to her and hoped she would understand.

She didn't.

"I know you're upset about what happened to your Umma," she reasoned with him, speaking in the casual slang for mother, "but medicine is running short in Fire Tribe Lands. Using fever and cough medicine on her would mean the younger kids won't get to use it too."

And as excruciatingly unfair as the phrasing was, she was right.

The Fire lands were a place where sickness came easily. Whether it be from the harsh sunlight, the dry lands, or the neglect of the Fire Tribe general in supervising these conditions.

If they buried that body in the village, when they still didn't know what kind of sickness it was-- what if it affected the crops? They couldn't risk such a thing. It was a miracle he wasn't forced to burn it.

They were a poor region of the country, after all.

And all their general cared about was their military might. In a way, the lord of this little village was exactly the same. Was this the Fire Tribe mentality? How sickening.

King Hiryuu would have never wished for this. He would be miserable to know that his descendant land fell this way.

"And besides, Noo-ri," Da-hee put an assuring hand on his shoulder (his left shoulder, his scar) and smiled. "We're only so weak because of the Sky Tribe! They have such lavish conditions, and yet-- they don't even try to help us."

King Il was widely despised around these parts. Couldn't he see? We're suffering here, please lend us your aid! And he would shut the door, and never hear a thing. That may be because he never leaves the palace at all.

(Though, Noo-ri may never know how much of that sentiment was warped, and how much was the painstaking put-right-out-there truth.)

"For your Umma, and everyone else that's sick and dying right now," she held his hands carefully, calluses warm against smooth skin-- she looked at him sadly, pitifully, and broke out in a soft sob, "let's win this war for them, Noo-ri."

Sometimes, Noo-ri could see where she was coming from. He would sympathize and be enchanted by her words, because she understood, and she's right, you know? And now that his heart was so hurt and so weakened, he needed someone to put all this hatred on.

Turn your hate toward the Sky Tribe, that was the sentiment now, everything is their fault. It's their fault we're so poor and helpless and full of sick. They live in luxury while we starve in drought. It's only natural that we finally bite back, because this injustice has gone on long enough.

If it had been anyone else, Noo-ri may have fallen for it.

But he knew better.

He found himself clearly hearing the bullshit in the beauty. It was sheer charisma, and held no sense-- so it took all he had in him to not throw up right there.

How could they have fallen this far?

How could the world be so disgusting?