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Amadeus | Chapter One: The Plague

Genre: Werewolf AU, slight Fantasy AU, Musician!Reader

Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: animal attacks, violence against animals,

Synopsis: Chan belongs to the Order of Amadeus who work to keep the kingdom safe from the lycanthropy plague spreading among the populace. You can only hunt so long before you become what you hunt.

Y/N is a violinist in a traveling music troupe-one of the few left in the kingdom. One morning when she is practicing in the woods, a man emerges from among the trees and changes her life forever.

Down a member, the Order of Amadeus continues their mission to end the lycanthropy plague, but their missing member remains in the back of their mind as they narrow in on the worst wolf of them all.

It all started one day when an injured wolf hobbled into a village on the edge of the forest. Blood spilled from its shoulder and it panted as it made its way into a field of sheep. The farmers were used to watching for wolves emerging from the forest, usually staffing a local teenager to sit at the edge of the field and watch. A shotgun leaned against the watch stand, dusty

When she noted the scruffy gray form moving towards her, the girl squinted her eyes as she reached for the shotgun. Her hand on the cool metal of the barrel, her fingers didn’t wrap around it as she noticed the weakened gait and the blood dripping from its shoulders, down the front leg, and between the toes of the paw.

The girl knew she should shoot it and put it out of its misery, but her job was to protect the flock of sheep and this wolf was obviously no threat to them. Slowly climbing down the elevated watch stand, the girl approached the wounded animal. 

The wolf approached her as if it was there specifically for her. Laying down on its uninjured side, yellow eyes watched as the girl lightly touched the wound, blood coating her hand.

“How did you manage this?” she asked as if talking to a house cat.

The wolf let out a whimper.

The girl looked around, hoping her bosses were not nearby. She knew this would likely get her thrown off the job, but the animal was helpless. Remembering that a blanket was kept in the watch stand, she climbed back up and brought the layers of thick cotton back down. 

“I’m not sure how much I can do, but this should stop the bleeding.”

Pressing the blanket firmly against the wolf’s shoulder, she used both hands to lean her weight against it. She held the pressure until she felt blood soak through and then she shifted the blanket and repeated. Eventually, the bleeding subsided.

The wolf still panted, though it leaned over to lick its wound. She took the opportunity to admire the animal. Gray, tan, and brown hairs mixed together gave it almost a dappled look when the light hit it just right. If it were not for the long ears, wild eyes, and engorged white teeth, one might mistake the creature for a stray dog.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

It was her employer, the farmer. He walked towards her, his eyes wide and nearly bugging out as he took in the scene.

“Are you crazy? Why are you so close to that? You should’ve shot it.”

“It’s injured. It wasn’t going after the sheep.” Her eyes looked between the farmer and the wolf, and a sudden deep rumbling emerged from deep in the creature’s chest.

The farmer’s dark eyes switched from anger to fear and back again. He reached for the shotgun and aimed it. The barrel pointed at the wolf’s head, the girl heard the safety click off and she felt something push her forward like a parent’s hand on a child’s back.

The wolf–aching and angry–lunged forward at the same moment. Colliding with the girl, the wolf’s yellow eyes were focused only on the man holding the shotgun. It opened its mouth and bit down.

Two Weeks Later

“The wolf is dead!”

Bells chimed and people emerged from houses and businesses as the crowd of the village’s men walked into the square. Torches illuminated the branch slung over the shoulders of two men. People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the creature, but instead caught a glimpse of bloodied human skin.

“You’ve killed a man!” 

The body was that of a young man, probably no older than twenty-five. His dark hair hung down as if standing up along the back of a threatened wolf. Each of his limbs was tied to the branch with coarse rope. Mouths dropped and villagers gasped. Children swept behind skirts.

The men looked between each other. “He was a wolf when we shot him.”

Silence fell. If he was a wolf and then turned into a man that could only mean one thing.

Two More Weeks Later

Sweat pricked at the girl’s brow as she seized. The wolf bite had healed over and was pink. But, there was a burning inside of her that burnt hot and smoky like a fire at the end of summer when they cured the meat for winter. Her mother held her hand with worried eyes.

“It’s just the worry,” she said. “You’re not going to turn. Don’t worry. They must’ve shot the wrong one.”

The girl knew that wasn’t true. The man’s corpse had a deep wound in his shoulder. Though, it was healing. It didn’t surprise her that the wolf was a werewolf, there was something about its eyes that felt human. Something that made her trust him. The villagers said that it had all been a trick, but it didn’t feel like one.

The doctor came an hour later. She barely noticed the point of the knife piercing her skin and the blood flowing from her arm. He took some strongly scented paste and rubbed it under her nose and behind her ears. 

“This is all I can do,” the doctor said. “We must wait the night to see if she turns.”

“And what if she does?”

“Let’s pray she does not.”

At midnight, the moon was at its full height. And that is when it began.

The girl’s seizing became more violent, the chair beside her bed flipped over and the medications left behind by the doctor spilled. An inhuman scream left her lungs as her clothes split open and her body transformed. Her toes grew claws, her eyes shifted from dark brown to a rich yellow, and her teeth grew pointed.

Her mother watched in horror as her teenage daughter became a wolf before her eyes. She began to slowly back towards the wall, her eyes wide. Was her daughter still in there? Or was she a wild animal who would rip out her throat?

Word spread the next morning that the girl had turned. The house was dark, but listening closely villagers caught small animalistic whimpers. The doctor had gone in but left less than a quarter-hour later. Rumor had it that she was chained by the neck in the house. That she was angry and feral, no semblance of the teenage girl left.

As the full moon once again emerged, the village went quiet, forgetting momentarily about the wolf in one of the houses in the village. Those who did think of it were only thankful that it was not their house or daughter.

Glass broke and a howl reverberated off the night air.

The plague began.

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Amadeus | Chapter Two: The Elite Eight

Genre: Werewolf AU, slight Fantasy AU, Musician!Reader

Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: violence, gore, weapon usage, sacrifice, injury, chan being too selfless

Synopsis: Chan belongs to the Order of Amadeus who work to keep the kingdom safe from the lycanthropy plague spreading among the populace. You can only hunt so long before you become what you hunt.

Y/N is a violinist in a traveling music troupe-one of the few left in the kingdom. One morning when she is practicing in the woods, a man emerges from among the trees and changes her life forever.

Down a member, the Order of Amadeus continues their mission to end the lycanthropy plague, but their missing member remains in the back of their mind as they narrow in on the worst wolf of them all.

“We have a report out of a small village in the West,” Minho said, placing a small dot on the map spread out on the table. The cases of the lycanthropy plague had grown in the past ten years. At first, The Order of Amadeus was created to try and find a cure for the werewolves. From different herbal combinations to bloodletting to trying to prevent turning, nothing worked.

Unlike previous plagues which were predictable, lycanthropy affected everyone differently. Some were permanently turned, some turned every night, and others only when the moon was full. The Order never knew how to interpret this and it made curing it nearly impossible.

After two years, the First Minister’s son was bitten and disappeared. The Order immediately stopped work on a cure and instead focused on aggressive containment. A team was sent to find the First Minister’s son while another worked on rounding up as many wolves as possible. If they could keep control of the wolves who already existed, they could prevent creating more wolves.

“It seems to be a small pack of between three and five,” Minho said. “It’ll take us most of the day to get there.” He didn’t need to say more before the Order’s elite eight were packing up their things. Knives slid into sheaths, leather guards stretched over limbs, and bullets clicked into the chamber of guns.

Minho was in charge of tracking known packs and new reports. They were prioritized based on the known threat level. Some packs existed deep in the forest and thus were not a priority. However, others liked to make their ways into villages like this one. Small villages were the most vulnerable to a large outbreak.

Chan fastened on his leather guards, noticing how cracked and stretched they had become. He’d been with the Order the longest of the elite eight. He’d signed up when he was just a teenager after seeing his sister get dragged off by a wolf and never come back. Chan always worried–and secretly hoped–he’d come across her eyes one day.

The village was near the border of the kingdom where forest claimed most of the land. Many of the villages in the area were plagued with wolf activity. Chan was certain they had even been to this village before. He recognized the brick belltower as they entered around twilight.

Villagers, of course, armed themselves, but it was rare that someone outside of the Order killed a wolf. Chan scanned over the waried faces of the villagers. Mother’s eyes begged them to protect their children. He looked away and continued forward to the inn where they booked up the remaining rooms and prepared for the night’s hunt.

Laying out their supplies across the small cots, the team worked together wordlessly. They’d done this countless times at inns around the kingdom. Nets, knives, guns, and traps were among their supplies. While the Order of Amadeus plans to capture wolves and keep them alive whenever possible, most of the time, the uncontrollable and wild nature of the wolves made it difficult.

Night fell and the elite eight of the Order of Amadeus gathered. Tying masks over their nose and mouths to quiet their breathing, they glided into the forest. Walking a few feet apart, they spread out among the trees and waited for one of the signs of wolves.

Chan instinctively glanced around at his team. While no one had ever been appointed the leader, he had naturally taken on the role. Everyone knew this was a dangerous job, but he would never let anything happen to them. After losing his only sibling, they had become his brothers.

The signal came. A deep growl came from deep in the forest, but not too far away. Chan’s muscles tightened as he held his hand inches away from his belt where his weapons were fastened. Everyone stood in similar tense positions and waited to hear the wolf’s next move. They tended to stalk and move slowly.

“Backs to the trees,” he said, breaking the silence for only a few minutes. Chan followed his own order and pressed his back into the bark of the tree as his eyes worked to try and spot the wolf in the dark. The last thing they needed was the wolf sneaking up on any of them. In this position, they stood a chance.

Another growl. Closer.

The wolves were intelligent and often retained memories as their wolf selves if they turned at all. However, their human part was nearly completely repressed when they were a wolf. Though, Chan often questioned the assumptions because wolves they came across more than once seemed to recognize them. Something he did know was that the human forms of wolves did talk about the Order.

Rustling sounded and the wolf emerged from the underbrush. It was gray, scraggly, and skinny. Its eyes scanned the men among the trees, a snarl curling its lips. Obviously, this wolf was not part of a pack. It was either newly turned or outcasted.

Chan’s eyes also scanned down his fellow Order members. Everyone stood at the ready, but the wolf could go for any one of them. It was inevitable that the wolf would eventually attack. All of them had been on the receiving end before, but Chan always worried that one would eventually manage to catch someone off guard.

The wolf sprung towards Hyunjin. He quickly deflected using his arm and the thick leather encircling his forearm and bicep. Using the wolf’s momentum against it, Hyunjin was able to dive out of the way and the wolf landed facing off-angle of the tree where it aimed originally.

Quickly, Hyunjin’s lithe form made it to the next tree over where Jisung stood and drew the gun. All eight pairs of eyes focused on the gray form as it raised and turned to face the men of the Order. Its yellow eyes stood still as the creature panted. Even the air halted, the familiar wind in the trees dying out.

A howl erupted from the wolf as it raised its head to the sky. A chorus of howls responded and Chan met Minho’s eyes. This wasn’t a lone wolf.

Everyone seemed to move in unison.

Changbin and Felix kept watch on the present wolf. Jisung, Hyunjin, and Minho all prepared their weapons and tightened their leather straps. Jeongin and Seungmin turned their backs against one another to watch for the approaching pack. Chan watched each group, helping out where he could. Eventually, he too watched the forest.

The wolf paced.

The wolf paced.

The wolf paced.

A wolf with beige-gray fur sprung from the trees and the three prepared members jumped into action. Keeping the first wolf at bay, Chan knew there would be more. Seungmin and Jeongin’s bodies stiffened and their eyes tried to catch the slightest movement, the glint of yellow eyes, or the crunch of leaves beneath paws.

No warning came before three more wolves leaped out at once. Chan took out his knife to keep the wolf snarling at him from jumping. He held it a few feet in front of his neck–usually a wolf’s target–so that if they pounced, the knife would dig deep into its throat instead. Most wolves were smart enough to realize this and would either seek an easier target, or snarl and circle him until they trapped the wolf.

A scream sounded and Chan turned, his knife still held out, and saw a wolf on top of Jeongin. His guard kept the wolf’s teeth from sinking into his skin and the man’s strength was the only thing preventing his demise. Chan knew strength would eventually give out and he sprung towards his friend and fellow Order member.

He was the leader. He sacrifices. He takes risks.

Chan threw his body weight against the wolf. The wolf responded by digging his claws into his armor sending himself and the creature into a struggle. He heard Jeongin trying to yell and distract the wolf, he felt the weight of his knife leave his hand.

The wolf’s teeth aimed for his neck, but he brought his forearm up. The creature’s mouth wrapped around his leather guard. This had happened many times before. The thick leather protected him long enough to earn the upper hand. But, Chan’s guards were worn and cracked. The brown leather became thin.

Chan cried out in a way the Elite Eight of the Order of Amadeus had never heard before. Minho quickly came up behind the wolf and killed it with a swift slice across the beast’s throat. Blood spattered on Chan’s face and across the leather protecting his chest. Though, no one paid attention to the wolf’s blood, but rather the human blood dripping from Chan’s arm.

“You know you might not have been infected,” Jeongin said, his eyes looking at Chan like a village child about to burst into tears.

“You know we have to assume I am,” he said. “I can’t go back to the village until we know for sure. I’ll make a camp and you guys head back to headquarters.”

“We’re not leaving you, Chan.”

The rest of the Elite Eight nodded their heads. Chan had been there for all of them, he had practically raised Jeongin who’d come to them when he was still a schoolboy. Their eyes did frequently wander down to the bandage that Chan’s wound was already bleeding through.

The group stopped since it was the early hours of the morning. They were about a mile outside of the village now. They shouldn’t risk getting much closer in case Chan did turn. Minho turned back toward the group.

“Let’s get some rest,” he said. “We’ll wait a day and think about how to proceed.”

It was just before dawn.

Chan had not slept, but could hear the slow and steady breathing of his friends–his brothers. He could not let them make any tough decisions or put them at risk in case he did lose himself. Truthfully, he was scared, he hunted wolves for most of his life, and now he may become one.

Would he lose all his memories? Would he lose his free will? What if he turned and never turned back? Too many thoughts raced through his head as he grabbed his pack and reached into Hyunjin’s and took the rest of the bandages. Placing them in with the rest of his few belongings, he walked in the direction of the woods.

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Amadeus | Chapter Three: The Violinist

Genre: Werewolf AU, slight Fantasy AU, Musician!Reader

Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: violence, animal attack, violence against animals, mention of familial loss, injury

Synopsis: Chan belongs to the Order of Amadeus who work to keep the kingdom safe from the lycanthropy plague spreading among the populace. You can only hunt so long before you become what you hunt.

Y/N is a violinist in a traveling music troupe-one of the few left in the kingdom. One morning when she is practicing in the woods, a man emerges from among the trees and changes her life forever.

Down a member, the Order of Amadeus continues their mission to end the lycanthropy plague, but their missing member remains in the back of their mind as they narrow in on the worst wolf of them all.

There was nothing you loved more than a foggy, misty morning on the edge of the forest. The dew kissed your skin as you left your tent with your violin case slung across your body. It was made of fine brown leather, a gift from your adoptive family for your birthday earlier in the year.

The violin itself had been your grandmother’s and thus was made of an antiquated willow wood that was rarely found in modern violins. However, your troupe liked the older, deeper sound provided by your violin, becoming a mainstay of their sound. 

You walked lightly to prevent waking anyone in your troupe, especially Anton. He had become your de facto older brother since you joined the troupe. He did not like your morning trips into the woods to practice saying that you would one day come face to face with a wolf. Yet, in your two years traveling with troupe, never had seen the glowing, yellow eyes of a wolf up close.

Whenever you and the troupe camped near the woods, you often heard their howls and barks in the distance. Sometimes, it would send shivers down your spine, but then you would glance at the shotgun outside each tent and feel a bit safer. Never had anyone needed to use one but as one of the few traveling music troupes in the realm, you all had to take precautions.

Reaching a lone black poplar tree near a quick running brook, you slung the case over your body and undid the clasps to bring out your violin. It was stained a red-brown which everyone likened to your hair. When your grandmother gave you her old violin, it seemed like it was an indication you were meant to have it.

Placing the instrument between your chin and shoulder, the leather of the chin rest having worn a lighter color where your skin so frequently touched it. Bringing the bow to the strings you began to play. You were not playing any tune, in particular, preferring to let the light pressure of your wrist guide you.

The tune turned somber as it so often did. Unless following the notes laid out on paper, it seemed impossible for you to play a happy song since an avalanche destroyed your village. You still do not know how you ended up at the lodge at the bottom of the valley where the avalanche did not reach. Yet, you’d woken up on soft linen sheets with your violin case laid next to you. The sheets caressed it just as it gently wrapped around your bruised body.

At the lodge, you’d taken to entertaining the guests by the shores of the lake and sometimes in the late evening in the lounge. When the troupe stopped in the nearby village, Anton heard you playing by the lake one day. After an impromptu audition, he asked you to join the musical troupe because their strings section lacked and use the unique sound of your willow violin.

You were thankful to have found a family after losing your own. Still, it was in these early mornings that you became pleasantly somber. Watching the sturdy winter tadpoles practice swimming against the current, you heard a sound among the trees. The bow ceased its fluid movements as you looked around, not catching sight of any glowing eyes or bared teeth. 

It was early, but well past dawn. You would never venture into the woods in the dark. Though, you had heard rumors of eternal wolves–werewolves that never left their wolf form–daytime wolf attacks were rare. It was more likely to be a hare or deer whom you often see eating their breakfast during your practice sessions.

The bow glided over the strings again. The music floated high into the trees almost blending in with the sharp breeze as if it belonged there. You hummed along with the tune absentmindedly, your feet soon joining in to slowly move to the sorrowful melody. This was your favorite part of playing, the way it made you feel like you were lifted high in the air.

A growl sounded in dissonance to the violin. Bringing the violin away from your chin and expecting to meet a snarling wolf, you instead came face to face with a brown bear. Having grown up in the far West mountains, bears were much more manageable than wolves. Yet, you’d never come this close to one before.

Dropping your bow and gently placing the violin against the black popular, you remained facing the bear. It was just like meeting any other predator–never ever turn your back. Once the violin sat in its case, you raised your arms over your head and theatrically curled your fingers into claws.

Your father always told you that if you meet a bear make yourself as big and loud as possible. Your voice was held down with fear, but you managed to force the bear to take a step back, but it still stood with its back slightly arched and fur raised. The bear was skinny and mangy, tufts of missing and matted hair dotting its otherwise beautiful fur.

Bears rarely sought out humans for food, company, or otherwise. However, this one was desperate. It growled again showing ulcerated, bloody teeth. You kept your enlarged stance, but nothing could widen your body. The bear was at least four times your size, even with its diminished frame.

You managed to let out a yell, but it did not deter the bear. The beast raised up on its hind legs, doubling, if not tripling, your stature. As it began to come down, it moved towards you. This time you let out an unrehearsed scream and fell backward.

Before the bear’s claws could come down, it suddenly turned, its massive paws landing inches from your head. You heard a man yelling to your right. Anton?

Except it couldn’t be Anton because the camp was to the left. The right was further into the forest. Standing up on shaking legs, you eventually caught a glimpse of a man. He wore some sort of armor and appeared to have a knife, but a small rapier was hardly going to defend against a bear..

You realized he had thrown a rock at the bear which must have distracted the bear from you. The man and the bear fought in a way that looked like two humans. The bear tried to bite and the man dodged. The bear tried to swipe and the man countered. It was so natural and nearly unbelievable to watch. 

Eventually, you realized you should help, but had no idea how. You had no weapon or strength to fight off a bear. You’d already tried what you could. During the tussle, you noticed the bear’s interest in the pack the man wore. 

“Your pack!” you shouted, hoping he would hear you. The man brought his attention to you, only for the bear to get a successful swipe in that knocked him to the ground. Running towards the tussle, you reached them in time to see the bear ripping the man’s pack from his back.

Once it was free, you used all of your strength to pull the man out of harm’s way. It was only when you had managed to pull him a few feet and the bear had fled with the pack that you realized the man was helping you by pushing himself along with his feet. It was awkward, but you got him beneath the poplar to examine his wounds. 

The bear’s swipe had left a slash across his chest. He wore leather armor, but it appeared old and soft. The bear’s claws had slashed right through it, blood staining the light brown hide. You also noticed bandages around his forearm which had bled through hours before. You considered your options. He needed more help than you could give him in the forest, but you feared he would bleed too much walking back to the camp. 

“I apologize for this as we just met,” you said, reaching to unclasp his armor and unbutton his shirt. Thankfully, the slashes were shallower than they looked. You did not have any bandages, but since it was towards the end of mid-winter you wore your thickest petticoat with multiple layers of soft cotton and fleece. 

Reaching down for the man’s knife, you cut a strip of white cotton from your petticoat and pressed it to the wounds on his chest. While the man was conscious, you worried since he stayed nearly silent and still beyond his labored breaths. You certainly did not expect him to make small talk, but something seemed off. 

Applying as much pressure as you could muster, the blood soaked through the cotton rather quickly. You cut another strip and repeated until it took much longer for the blood to soak through. As you worked, you spoke to him, trying to keep him awake.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said. “I’ve never encountered a bear before. My older brother always says I would meet a wolf out here, but that was the only time something like this has happened.” You noticed his eyes peering up at you as you talked. 

“My name is Y/N, by the way. I’m a violinist in a traveling troupe that’s passing through. Once I get your bleeding under control, I’ll take you back to the camp. We have a lot more supplies there. Our flutist, Maria, also trained as a nurse at one point, so she will be able to do a much better job.”

The man’s lips quirked into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re doing a good job.”

It was the first thing he said, yet, it sent a shiver down your spine that was not from the cold. “You’re regaining strength. Can you keep pressure on your chest?”

The man complied and used his good hand to keep the bandage pressed firmly against his wound. Moving from his chest, you looked at the bandage on his wrist. You knew that you normally were not supposed to remove an old bandage from a wound. But, this one was so dirty and blood-soaked that you saw no other option. 

Unwinding the old bandage, you noticed the small clots of blood and breathed a sigh of relief. Still, you could tell it was a fresh wound. Cutting one last strip of cotton from her petticoat, you wound it around his wrist careful not to get it too tight.

“Stand up,” you said after tying off the makeshift bandage on his wrist. As he stood up, you took the two ends of the bandage and tied it behind his back. Picking up his shirt and the leather armor, you handed it back to him. For the first time, you noticed his hard muscles. Turning away to give him some privacy as he got redressed, you carefully arranged your top skit back over your petticoat.

“You’re bleeding,” he said from behind you. Facing him, you gave him an odd look, seeing that he was dressed and picking his knife up from the ground.

You do not remember feeling warm blood, but as soon as he mentioned it, awareness came back to your body and you felt pain on the side of your neck where you’d hit the bark of the poplar tree when the bear attacked. 

“It’s all right,” you said. “It’s just a scrape. Come on, let’s get back to camp.” Reaching for your violin that thankfully remained untouched, you secured it in your case before the two of you headed back towards the edge of the forest.

“Y/N!” Anton yelled when he saw you. He looked panicked, likely having noticed your absence lasting later than normal. “Where the Hell have you been?!”

“Where’s Maria? He’s injured,” you said, gesturing to the man who had slung his arm around his shoulders due to the settling pain from his wounds.

Anton’s tall form continued to stay close as Maria–hearing her name–emerged. She was one of the oldest members of the troupe. Plump with gray eyes and graying hair, the man seemed to relax when he saw her like a son seeing his mother.

“What the fuck happened?” Anton asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was from the Southern provinces evident by his dark skin and accent that carried a lilt. 

“I was practicing,” you said. 

“You were practicing?” He quirked an eyebrow before scoffing. While he seemed angry, you noticed the relief washing over his features. “And then what happened?”

“And—then—a bear attacked—”

Anton let out a sharp breath. “See, this is why I don’t like you practicing out in the woods. You never know what is lurking in there.” He sighed and placed each of his arms on the tops of her arms. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a few scrapes and bruised pride,” you said, giving the man who had become your older brother a small smile. “That man—” It was only then you realized you did not know his name. “--he distracted the bear. Since he was injured I owed him a debt and brought him here.”

Anton was not a fan of new people that were not explicitly invited. You understood, but also wished he was not so strict about maintaining what he called “the integrity of the troupe.” Still, you knew he would make an exception this time because the man had saved your life and was not really in a state to cause much trouble.

“Very well,” Anton said. “We shall provide aid, but do not go getting attached. As soon as we reach the next village with a bed in their infirmary, we are parting ways.”

Chan woke up hours later. He noticed the sun was beginning to dip below the trees and the hour before sunset was upon them. The woman named Maria had stitched his wounds. Her eyes lingered on the bite wound, but she simply disinfected it and did not ask questions. For that, he was thankful. 

It was not long after he awoke that the violinist—Y/N she’d said her name was—came into the tent carrying a tray. On it was two blue ceramic bowls, a small plate of greens, and a roll. She sat down beside him and placed the tray over his lap. 

“I know it’s not a lot, but Maria said you can’t gorge yourself immediately.” Taking one of the bowls from the tray which seemed to contain a stew with a dark colored meat and a few types of vegetables.

Chan studied you, noticing that you had changed and your hair looked freshly washed. The scrape on your neck had been bandaged. He had noticed your natural beauty when he first came upon you playing in the woods. Hearing the somber song, he was surprised to find you dancing to it. He’d watched and listened for a moment, closing his eyes and nearly falling asleep since he had been up the entire night.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a sip of the stew and found that the meat was lamb—his favorite. Dipping the roll in the broth, he nearly salivated down his chin as he took a bite. This is certainly not the meal he expected from a traveling musical troupe, but he could not complain.

“Thank you,” you said. “It took a lot of bravery to take on that bear. I cannot repay you enough.” You bowed your head in respect and thanks.

Chan felt odd accepting your thanks as it was more instinct than anything. His training was to prevent beasts from ravaging the human race. Sure, normally, it was wolves, but all large carnivorous creatures were alike. Yet, he did not reveal his true identity to you. You would only feel more indebted to him and maybe even less lucky. He did not want you to feel like you were simply part of a routine.

“It is only what any respectable person would do.” He was already almost done with his food, absolutely ravenous after going nearly an entire day without any food. You seemed to notice and placed your roll on his tray. 

“Also, I never got your name,” you said, your smile reaching your eyes.

Chan thought for a moment. As he was from the Eastern provinces, he carried both his original name and the name that he used in places unused to the tongue of the Eastern provinces. He pondered which one he should tell you, but remembering he used his birth name in the Order, it became an easy decision.

“Christopher. My name is Christopher.”

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