Cicu

The sky above them was the color of a fresh bruise, a sickly violet that pulsed with a rhythmic, low-frequency hum. It wasn't the sky of Seoul, and it certainly wasn't the sky of the Horizon. It was a ceiling of static that pressed down on the four men huddled in the ruins of what looked like a glass cathedral.

Hongjoong leaned over a jagged shard of translucent stone, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge. His stomach twisted into a Gordian knot for the hundredth time that hour. There was nothing left in him to give, but his body didn't care. He retched, a dry, racking sound that echoed through the hollow chamber.

"D-don't look," Seonghwa whispered, his voice airy and strangely melodic. He was sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, his long fingers knitting together invisible strands of light. "The angels are shy today, Hongjoong. They don't like it when you're sick. They’re trying to help, see? They’re weaving the air back together."

Hongjoong wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. He looked at Seonghwa. To anyone else, the eldest member of Ateez looked like he was losing his mind, his eyes darting toward empty corners and his lips curved in a serene, terrifying smile. But Hongjoong knew Seonghwa was just trying to survive the fracture in his own psyche. The transition between universes had snapped something in him, turning the world into a kaleidoscope of hallucinations.

"I don't care about the angels, Hwa," Hongjoong rasped, his voice barely a ghost of its former power. "I need to find the rift. We can't stay here. The atmosphere is literal poison to us."

A sharp, piercing shriek tore through the air, vibrating against the glass walls.

Hongjoong flinched, the sound stabbing into his ears. On a makeshift bed of discarded cloaks, Wooyoung was curled into a tight ball. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut so hard his lashes trembled. The pain came in waves—invisible, jagged lightning that traveled through his nerves without warning.

"Make it stop!" Wooyoung screamed, his voice breaking into a sob. He thrashed, his fingernails digging into his own forearms. "It feels like my bones are being turned into glass! Please, someone, just break me!"

Yunho was standing a few feet away, staring out a shattered window at the shifting horizon. He didn't move at the sound of Wooyoung’s agony. He didn't even flinch. He just stood there, tall and imposing, his dark hair messy and matted.

"Yunho!" Hongjoong called out, trying to stand but falling back to his knees as another wave of nausea hit him. "Yunho, help me with Wooyoung. Get the water."

Yunho turned slowly. His eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, were clouded, drifting as if he were looking through Hongjoong rather than at him. "Who?"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his voice cracking. "Your brother. Help him."

Yunho tilted his head, a flash of irritation crossing his handsome features. "I don't know why you keep calling me that. And I don't know who that is. I’m waiting for the bus. It’s late. The schedule said 4:15, and it’s..." He looked down at his bare wrist. "It’s late. You’re all being very loud at the station."

"Yunho, we aren't at a station," Seonghwa said softly, standing up and gliding toward Yunho with a grace that felt otherworldly. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from Yunho’s shoulder. "We’re in the Garden of Whispers. Can't you see the flowers growing from the floor? They’re blue, just like your favorite sweater."

Yunho snapped his arm away, his face darkening. "Stop talking nonsense! I need to go home. My mom is making dinner. I have practice. Why are you all following me?" He pushed past Seonghwa, his movements erratic and clumsy. "I don't know any of you! Leave me alone!"

The rejection hit Seonghwa like a physical blow, but he didn't let the smile slip from his face. He simply turned back to the empty air and began whispering to his "angels" again, asking them to forgive Yunho’s temper.

Wooyoung let out another guttural scream, his body arching off the floor. The pain was at its peak, a white-hot iron searing through his joints.

Hongjoong forced himself to crawl across the floor. Every movement felt like dragging his body through thick sludge. He reached Wooyoung and pulled the younger boy’s head into his lap, ignoring the way his own stomach rebelled at the sudden shift in position.

"I’m here, Woo. I’m here," Hongjoong whispered, stroking Wooyoung’s damp hair.

"Kill me," Wooyoung wheezed, his eyes flying open, glazed with tears and pure, unadulterated suffering. "Hongjoong, please. It won't stop. It’s everywhere. It’s in my teeth, it’s in my eyes... please."

"I can't do that," Hongjoong said, his own tears finally spilling over. "We’re going home. I just need to find the frequency. This world... it’s vibrating at a different rate. That’s why you’re hurting. Your molecules are trying to adjust to a rhythm they weren't built for."

"I don't care about the physics!" Wooyoung shrieked, his body convulsing again. He gripped Hongjoong’s shirt, the fabric tearing under his strength. "It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"

Hongjoong looked up, desperate. He saw Yunho pacing the perimeter of the room, muttering to himself about a lost key, a lost life, a lost identity. He saw Seonghwa laughing softly at a patch of sunlight that wasn't there.

They were falling apart. If he didn't find a way back today, there wouldn't be anything left of them to save.

"Seonghwa!" Hongjoong shouted over Wooyoung’s whimpers. "I need your help. I need you to focus. The 'angels'—can they see the light? The real light? The tear in the sky?"

Seonghwa paused, his head tilting to the side. He looked at the ceiling, his eyes widening. "The tear? You mean the silver thread? The one the spiders are weaving?"

"Yes," Hongjoong lied, his voice urgent. "The silver thread. Where does it lead?"

Seonghwa pointed a trembling finger toward the center of the cathedral, where a massive crystalline pillar had shattered, leaving a jagged stump. "It’s anchored there. But the spiders are angry, Hongjoong. They don't want us to touch it. They say we belong to the violet now."

"We don't belong here," Hongjoong said, gritting his teeth as he felt another surge of bile. He forced it down, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. "Yunho! Come here!"

Yunho stopped pacing. He looked at Hongjoong, and for a fleeting second, the fog in his eyes seemed to lift. He saw the vomit on Hongjoong’s chin, the agony in Wooyoung’s twisted limbs, and the vacant, terrifying beauty in Seonghwa’s gaze.

"Hongjoong?" Yunho whispered, his voice small. "Where are we? Why is Wooyoung crying?"

"We’re lost, Yunho. But I found the way. I need you to carry Wooyoung," Hongjoong commanded, seizing the moment of clarity before it vanished. "Now. Before the bus comes."

Yunho blinked, the mention of the bus grounding him in his delusion while allowing him to function. "The bus? Is the stop over there?" He pointed to the pillar.

"Yes. Right there. Carry him."

Yunho moved with a sudden, jerky efficiency. He scooped Wooyoung up into his arms. Despite his mental decline, his physical strength remained, though he handled Wooyoung with a terrifying lack of coordination. Wooyoung let out a choked moan as the movement sent fresh jolts of pain through his spine.

"Easy, Yunho, easy," Hongjoong cautioned, pushing himself to his feet. The world spun. He felt like his brain was sloshing around inside his skull.

They made their way to the center of the room. Seonghwa led the way, dancing between imaginary obstacles, his hands gracefully waving away invisible insects.

"They’re biting!" Seonghwa giggled, though blood was trickling from a scratch on his cheek where he had clawed at himself. "But it’s okay. Their venom tastes like honey."

As they reached the shattered pillar, the humming in the air intensified. It became a roar, a physical force that made Hongjoong’s skin crawl. He looked up and saw it—not a silver thread or a spiderweb, but a shimmering distortion in the air, a rift of pure, blinding white light that flickered like a dying candle.

"There," Hongjoong said, coughing violently. "We have to jump. All at once."

"I can't," Wooyoung sobbed, his head hanging back over Yunho’s arm. "I can't move. Just leave me. I’ll stay. The pain... maybe it’ll stop if I stay."

"No!" Hongjoong grabbed Wooyoung’s hand, squeezing it hard. "We go together. Always. Remember?"

Wooyoung’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the joker returned, a ghost of a smirk touching his pale lips. "You look like hell, Hyung."

"You don't look much better," Hongjoong managed a weak laugh.

Yunho was staring at the rift, his brow furrowed. "This isn't the bus. This is... this is the ocean. I remember the ocean. We were on a ship, weren't we?"

"Yes, Yunho," Hongjoong said, tears blurring his vision. "We were on a ship. And we’re going back to it."

Seonghwa stepped toward the light, his face radiant. "The angels are opening the door. They’re singing our names. Can you hear it? It’s the song we wrote together."

Seonghwa reached out, his hand disappearing into the white void. He didn't flinch. He looked back at them, his dark eyes momentarily clear, filled with an ancient, nurturing love that transcended his broken mind.

"Come on," Seonghwa said. "The stars are waiting."

Hongjoong grabbed Yunho’s jacket, and Yunho clutched Wooyoung tighter. Together, they leaned into the roar of the rift.

As the light swallowed them, Hongjoong felt his stomach finally settle, but his heart felt like it was breaking. He didn't know if their minds would heal once they returned. He didn't know if Wooyoung’s body would ever be the same, or if Yunho would ever remember who they were without being prompted.

But as the violet sky vanished and the familiar scent of salt and old wood rushed up to meet them, Hongjoong held on. He held on to the only thing he had left: the three broken men who were his entire world.

The transition was a scream of silence.

Then, the hard, solid deck of the *Cromer* rushed up to meet them.

Hongjoong hit the wood first, his lungs gasping for air that didn't hum. He rolled onto his side, expecting to vomit, but the urge was gone. He was just empty. Weak, but empty.

"Wooyoung?" he croaked.

A few feet away, Wooyoung lay flat on his back. He wasn't screaming. He was breathing in long, shaky gasps, his eyes staring up at the familiar, dark clouds of their own world. "It’s... it’s gone," Wooyoung whispered, his voice raw. "The fire... it’s out."

Yunho was sitting up, rubbing his head. He looked around the deck, his gaze landing on the masts, the ropes, and finally, on Hongjoong. He didn't ask about a bus. He didn't look lost. He looked terrified.

"Hongjoong? Why are we on the floor?"

Hongjoong let out a sob of relief, crawling toward Yunho and pulling him into a desperate hug. "You're back. You're all back."

"Of course we are," a soft voice said.

They turned to see Seonghwa. He was standing by the railing, looking out at the dark sea. He looked normal, his posture straight, his expression calm. But as he turned to face them, the moonlight caught his eyes. They were still too bright, still dancing with the remnants of a world only he could see.

"The angels followed us," Seonghwa whispered, a gentle, haunting smile on his lips as he gestured to the empty air beside him. "They said they like it here. They said they’ll stay a while."

Hongjoong’s heart sank. They were home, but the journey had left scars that no map could explain. He looked at his members—the survivors of a cosmic wreck—and knew that the real battle to bring them back had only just begun.

"It’s okay," Hongjoong said, standing up and reaching for Seonghwa’s hand, even as the older man spoke to the shadows. "We’re home. We’ll figure it out. Together."

Around them, the ship creaked in the wind, a steady, rhythmic sound that drowned out the echoes of the violet sky. They were Ateez, and they were broken, but for the first time in an eternity, they were breathing the same air.

And for now, that had to be enough.