Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The chamber was warm, heavy with the scent of beeswax and wine. Gold-threaded curtains shivered faintly from the draft Yuder had allowed in before sealing it shut. 

The nobleman stirred, half-waking to the faint shift of air. His eyes blinked open, confusion, then horror dawning in them as he recognized the shadow at the foot of his bed.

“W-wait-”

His voice broke on the edge of panic, but the sound never reached beyond the room. The wind stirred once, and the air folded in on itself, sealing the walls in perfect, breathless quiet.

Yuder stepped forward. His expression didn’t change. His hand didn’t tremble. He moved as if performing a task rehearsed countless times before, the same fluid motion that began and ended lives with unerring precision. The blade rose, caught the candlelight for an instant - then fell.

A single scream, cut short. One clean strike. The light left the nobleman’s eyes before his body even slumped forward.

If there was any mercy left in Yuder, it was this - the quickness of it.

The silence that followed was almost reverent.

He withdrew the sword, wiped the blood onto the corner of the bedsheet. The silk turned dark, gleaming for a heartbeat before cooling. Yuder barely looked at it. His eyes were dull, colorless, emptied of everything that once gave them meaning. The light had gone out of him long ago.

He turned away, scanning the room once out of habit. No movement, no witnesses. His wind still curled softly at the edges of the chamber, loyal and voiceless, holding the scream that never escaped.

For a moment, he thought he should feel something - pity, disgust, relief - but there was nothing. His body simply knew what to do. 

Kill. Clean. Leave.

He slid the blade into its sheath. His steps were measured, soundless. By the time the last flicker of candlelight touched his back, he was already gone.

The room, now sealed in stillness, smelled faintly of blood and extinguished flame.

Slash.

Scream.

Slash.

Scream.

The pattern had become as familiar as breathing. It was all Yuder did now - breathe, obey and kill.

He moved through blood and silence as if they were the same thing. The nobleman’s chamber, the next manor, the next name on the Emperor’s parchment; it no longer mattered who they were or what they’d done. Treason, conspiracy, dissent, it all blurred into the same shade of red.

A month.

It had been a month since the first order.

A month since the day his sword had found the chest of Kishiar la Orr.

The thought brushed against him like a cold wind. He did not flinch. He no longer had the strength to flinch.

The streets outside were quiet when he emerged. The night stretched endlessly, painted in ink and frost. He walked through the alleys without sound, his cloak dragging faintly against the cobblestones. His body moved the way it always did, but somewhere deep inside, something faltered.

A pulse behind his eyes. The faint tremor in his hand. The unbearable weight pressing on his lungs.

He paused beneath a half-collapsed archway and leaned against the stone, his breath shallow. The smell of iron clung to him, though he’d long since stopped noticing. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, out of habit more than need. He told himself to move.

He needed to get back. Back to the cavalry headquarters.

Back to whatever was left of what he once was.

The world tilted slightly. His vision blurred at the edges, swallowing the lamplight into long, bleeding streaks. He blinked, but the darkness did not clear. His knees gave out before he realized he was falling.

The last thing he felt was the cold cobblestone against his palms, the weight of his body dragging him down, and beneath it all, that same familiar emptiness.

When Yuder woke, the first thing he noticed was the smell of herbs.

His eyelids felt heavy, but when he forced them open, he saw a low ceiling lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of powder and roots. The scent made his head swim.

“You’re awake.” A voice said.

It wasn’t gentle, that voice - it was flat, almost bored, but there was a thread of concern woven through it that Yuder’s dulled mind caught on.

A man was leaning over a counter nearby, grey hair tied loosely at his nape, eyes the pale green of washed-out glass. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, fingers stained with tinctures and powder. His presence was... grounded, like an old tree.

Yuder blinked slowly. “…Where?”

“Pharmacy.” The man didn’t look up from the mortar he was grinding. “You fainted in the alley. High fever and starvation. I thought you were going to die, but apparently you’re too stubborn for that.”

Yuder said nothing. The quiet between them stretched, filled with the muted scrape of stone and the faint drip of rain.

“You reek of blood." The man - Enon, he'd later learn - continued after a pause.

“It’s not my blood,” Yuder murmured.

The pestle in Enon’s hand paused mid-grind. Then resumed. “Thought so. You didn’t have any cuts on your body to warrant that stench.”

Yuder wondered what kind of horrors this man must have witnessed to treat an assassin’s confession with such casual ease.

Enon’s tone stayed casual, almost lazy. “Now, I don’t want to know what you get up to in the night,” he said, tapping the edge of the mortar, “but doing so with a child in your belly is just ridiculous-”

Yuder almost missed it. His mind, fogged and slow, caught only the shape of the words.

“…What?”

Enon clicked his tongue. “Playing dumb now? Really? Such a good role model you are.”

When the silence that answered him turned sharp and electric, he finally looked up.

Yuder was staring at him, his eyes wide, pupils pinpricks of disbelief. For once, the assassin’s stillness wasn’t practiced. It was shock, pure and unguarded.

Enon’s brows drew together. “You…” He stopped, blinking once, twice. “You didn’t know?”

The words fell into the space between them like a dropped blade.

For a long time, neither of them moved. The lamplight wavered, throwing the faintest tremor across Yuder’s face that suddenly looked too young, and too pale.

The silence in the pharmacy stretched thin as a thread.

Enon, after a long moment, turned away again, muttering under his breath as though the air itself had wronged him.

“Unbelievable. Grown men running around without the faintest idea what’s happening inside their own bodies.”

The rhythmic grind of mortar and pestle resumed, a steady heartbeat in the quiet.

Yuder’s gaze lowered to his hands. There was dried blood beneath his fingernails. 

His mind barely registered the fact now; the words still echoed through him in a dull loop.

Pregnant.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. The sound never made it out of his throat.

In the corner, the herbs Enon had been drying over a low flame hissed faintly. The scent of sage and resin was thick enough to burn his eyes.

“You’re two months along,” Enon said finally, his tone clipped and professional. But the edge of disbelief hadn’t left it. “How in the Emperor’s name did you not notice? The signs are all there - fatigue, nausea, shift in aura.."

Yuder did notice. He just didn't care enough to find remedy for it.

“Well.” Enon blew out a slow breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is a bloody mess.”

He moved efficiently then, shoving aside a tray of tools, pulling down jars of crushed roots and preserved petals. His hands were steady, practiced like he’d done this before, too many times. Yuder didn’t need to ask what he was doing.

The faint clink of glass made his stomach twist.

“Pregnancy in male omegas…” Enon muttered, half to himself, half to the silent man behind him. “I’ve only heard of it. The body rejects it after a while, or it takes both down together. It’s rare enough that I almost didn’t believe the reports.” He paused, then added flatly, “Never seen one end well.”

He turned then, meeting Yuder’s unreadable eyes. “If you want to live, you’ll end it now.”

Yuder said nothing.

Enon ground another herb - dark, earthy, almost black when crushed, and added water from a kettle. The smell that rose was pungent, metallic. He poured the mixture into a small cup, the liquid a murky crimson-brown. It looked like something alive that had forgotten to die.

He set it down in front of Yuder with a soft clink.

The sound was almost gentle.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Enon said, voice low. “It’s fast. And painless.”

With that he left, without any lecture nor judgment.

The potion sat between his hands, its thin curl of steam rising like a ghost. Yuder stared at it for what could have been seconds or hours. His mind was white noise, a hollow, blinding hum that drowned everything else out.

He’d faced a thousand different kinds of death - blade, poison, betrayal, fire. But this… this was something he could not fight. Something he could not even grasp.

His pulse hammered against the base of his throat, fast and shallow. He looked down at his hands, the calloused, blood-roughened fingers that had killed and killed countless. They were steady now, unnervingly so, as if even his body refused to accept the truth.

He tried to think - what now? what do I do? 

But no answer came.

Enon’s words rang in his ears, every one of them a sentence.

Never seen one end well.

He knew that. He knew it the moment it had been said. Male omegas bearing children - it was a biological aberration, an accident of bloodlines and instability. The body tore itself apart trying to sustain something it was never built for. Two months, Enon had said. If he left it alone, if he simply endured, he’d be dead by three.

He was good at dying. He’d done it enough times in service to the Empire.

His gaze fell to the potion again. The easy way out. The only logical one.

He could drink it now. End the danger before it took root. It would be cleaner, kinder, smarter.

And yet…

His thoughts began to unravel. He could see the threads of old fears, older loyalties tangling around him.

If by some miracle the child survived…

Yuder’s stomach clenched.

If the child survived, it would be Kishiar’s.

A direct heir to the imperial line.

He could see the consequence play out in brutal clarity: the whisper spreading through the court, the paranoia in Emperor Katchian’s eyes twisting into something rabid. The Empire would never allow it. Not the ministers. Not the guards. Certainly not the Emperor himself, who saw ghosts in every shadow.

That child would be hunted from the moment it breathed.

And Yuder - Yuder had no one.

He had no allies, no confidants, no safe place to run to. His name was a curse now, his existence tolerated only out of necessity. He could not even ask for help without risking another knife in the dark.

The reality pressed in around him like a closing fist.

He imagined it anyway: a life of hiding, forever looking over his shoulder. A child growing up in whispers and fear, learning to move silently, to live unseen. Never to see sunlight. Never to hear laughter echo around.

A life defined by shadows.

What kind of father would he be, if he became one through that? What kind of life would that be for a child?

He swallowed hard. His body was cold all over, a tremor building in his chest that refused to stop.

The ideal solution was simple. And it was in his hands.

He lifted the cup.

The surface of the potion quivered, reflecting the dim lamplight. It looked like congealed blood. Perhaps that was fitting.

He raised it to his lips. The steam burned against his nose.

And then, without reason, without warning, Kishiar’s face rose before him.

Not as he’d been in death, but alive. Laughing. His golden hair catching sunlight, his gloved hand raised in polite salute. The faint warmth in his eyes when he looked at Yuder - always amused, always distant, and yet strangely gentle.

It hit like a knife to the chest.

The memory of his voice, his smile, the white gloves stained with red; the image refused to fade.

He had killed Kishiar. With his own hands. Watched his life slip away, the breath leave his body, the warmth cool beneath his palm.

This-this was all that remained of him.

A heartbeat. A chance, impossibly cruel and impossibly fragile.

The potion trembled in his grasp.

He could not make his hand move. His throat locked. His heart screamed something he could not name.

He should drink it. He had to drink it.

He couldn’t.

The cup slipped. It shattered against the floor. The potion spread out in dark rivulets, seeping into the cracks like blood returning to the earth.

The sound broke something in him.

Yuder folded forward, fingers clutching his knees. His breath came too fast, too shallow. The numbness that had anchored him since morning shattered, leaving nothing but raw, suffocating panic. His chest hurt. His hands were cold.

For once in his life, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t be Yuderian Aile, the unflinching, unshakable commander who’d once stood beside a man who made the sun look dim.

He was just a man, terrified of what he’d done, of what might come, of the faint pulse inside him that felt more like a curse than a miracle.

He pressed his forehead against his knees, his breath breaking apart. A thin, almost soundless gasp escaped him. A sound of someone breaking where no one could see.

The potion’s bitter scent lingered in the air.

When Enon returned, he took one look at the shattered glass and the trembling figure hunched over it. His expression softened before he clicked his tongue and muttered, “Damn fool.”

He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t scold.

He only sighed, found a clean cloth, and began to mop up the spilled potion in silence.

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

The assignment has been completed. All designated names eliminated. No witnesses.

The capital remains stable.

A minor complication has arisen. A local apothecary informed me I am… expecting. Two months. He believes the chances of survival for either party are low.

He advised termination.

I am aware the logical course is compliance. The situation is untenable.

If the child is born, it will not live long.

If it does live, it will be hunted.

The father is you.

It is difficult to determine whether this is punishment or mercy. You would likely call it foolishness. You would tell me to act without hesitation.

I find I cannot. I have not yet drunk the medicine.

I find myself waiting for your order.

I am aware this is irrational. You are no longer here. Still, I cannot seem to act without your command.

You once told me obedience was my strongest flaw.

Perhaps you were right.

If this is insubordination, forgive me. I will record this as a delay in execution.

Y.A

Chapter Text

Beyond the shutters, the sky was faint and colorless when Yuder opened his eyes.

He hadn’t slept. His body felt carved out with exhaustion, a constant, dull reminder that he was still alive when he shouldn’t be.

He folded the thin blanket with the precision of habit, straightened the cot, and reached for his cloak by the fire. The scent of herbs clung faintly to it. Enon was nowhere in sight. Good.

He tied his hair back, pulled on his gloves, and moved toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice came from behind the counter.

Enon stood there, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hair mussed, eyes filled with irritation.

“I’ve taken enough of your time,” Yuder said. “I’ll leave the payment on the table.”

"Sit down.”

“I have work to do.”

“Work?” Enon’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you call whatever suicidal crusade you were on before you passed out on my doorstep?”

Yuder didn’t answer. His hand brushed the doorknob.

“Try taking one more step,” Enon said quietly, “and I’ll dropkick you where you stand.”

The air shifted with the kind of intent that came from someone perfectly capable of making good on their threats. Yuder stilled, then turned his head slightly.

“You don’t strike me as someone violent.”

“You don’t strike me as someone intelligent, and yet here we are.”

Yuder blinked. Then, slowly, he sat.

Enon exhaled, long-suffering, and began clearing a space on the counter. “You fainted from fatigue, fever and malnutrition. You’re barely stitched together, and you think running into the snow is a fine idea. Saints preserve me.”

“I’ve endured worse.”

“I can tell.” Enon’s tone flattened. “That’s not a compliment.”

He set down a crystal sphere, a dish of salt, and some other miscellaneous magical items Yuder couldn't recognise. Yuder only had a moment to wonder why an apothecary possessed such useful implements and clearly knew how to use them before-

“Hold still.” Enon warned.

“What-”

“Checking whether your miraculous ability to keep breathing is divine intervention or my medical competence,” Enon muttered. He traced a sigil in the air; green translucent light pooled at his fingertips. “Try not to die mid-spell.”

The light skimmed over Yuder’s skin, cool and invasive. It sank past flesh, deeper - and then, Enon froze.

“…What the hell.”

Yuder’s eyes flicked open.

Enon leaned closer, gaze darting across invisible lines only he could see. “Your soul- it’s riddled with holes. Tears, fractures, missing pieces - like someone took a chisel to it.” His voice had gone low with disbelief. “You shouldn’t even be standing.”

Yuder said nothing. The emptiness in his chest had long since stopped being new.

“You shouldn’t be conscious,” Enon muttered. “You shouldn’t even be alive. How are you-” He broke off, grimacing. “Forget it. You’ve been like this a while, haven’t you?”

Yuder’s silence was answer enough.

Enon pressed his lips together, then moved his hands lower, toward Yuder’s abdomen. His brows furrowed. The glow pulsed, flickered once, then split into two.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

“What is it?”

Enon rubbed a hand down his face. "Two. Two distinct soul-lights.”

Yuder stared at him, unmoving. “Twins.”

“Twins,” Enon echoed grimly. He could only glimpse such things with proper sight; the superficial check last night had missed it, but the truth was worse than he’d guessed. “You’re carrying two lives in a body that’s already falling apart.” He met Yuder’s eyes. “You do understand how impossible that is?”

Yuder’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers curled slightly against the table. “I see.” He said at last.

“That’s all you have to say?” Enon barked a laugh without humor. He exhaled, then leveled his look, “Tell me you’re not planning to keep them.”

Yuder didn’t answer.

“Tell me,” Enon pressed.

Yuder’s tone, when it came, was even.

"I am keeping them."

“Do you want to die that badly?”

Yuder’s eyes stayed fixed on the shuttered window. “It makes no difference.”

Enon swore under his breath. He leaned forward, his voice getting sharper. “Who’s the bastard that knocked you up? He needs to take responsibility!”

Even though silence was still the answer, this time, it felt tinged with something unbearable.

“Fucking-" Enon exhaled through his teeth. "Sure. Don’t tell me. At least give me your name.”

“Yudrein-” Yuder stopped, the word catching. Then, quietly, he amended,“...Yuder Aile.”

Enon studied him for a long moment. “Fine, Yuder Aile. Since you’re intent on surviving your own stupidity, you’ll do it under supervision.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“I don’t care. You’ll come back. Weekly, that is. If I find you collapsed in a ditch, I’ll drag your corpse back and reanimate it just to yell at you.”

Yuder looked up at the man, unable to comprehend why he cared so much about a stranger who washed up at his shore with the stench of blood reeking from his being.

Enon squirmed under the sincere gaze. Then, he nodded to himself, as if deciding on something. " And from now on, you will call me 'hyung'."

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

The apothecary’s initial diagnosis was incomplete.

It is not one, but two.

He called it a miracle. The condition makes survival less likely. The body was already strained beyond repair; now it is asked to divide what little strength remains.

I returned to the capital to deliver the report. His Majesty received me personally. He expressed satisfaction with the results and commanded I remain for further orders.

He also observed that my complexion had improved. I informed him it had not.

He laughed.

He spoke at length about loyalty - how well-trained beasts require neither chains nor reward. Then he remarked that even a beast may imagine itself free, given soft hands and a full plate.

I did not answer.

He dismissed me with gifts: robes and gold. I accepted all of them. Refusal would have drawn more notice.

I left before sunrise.

He must not learn of this. Of them. If he does, I will not have the means to prevent what follows.

I have concealed my condition and fatigue as best as possible. Enon says concealment will not last beyond the fifth month. I will leave the capital before then.

He continues to insist I rest. He scolds often. I let him.

The snow has begun to melt. The air smells of wet grass. I keep thinking of the southern gardens - the ones you preferred, where the wind carried the scent of cedar.

I wonder if spring has reached there too.

Y.A.

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

By the third month, I know my life will be in danger if I keep the children. Enon has said as much, again and again. I told him not to repeat himself. There is nothing to decide. If this is what takes me, I will let it. I am tired of running from the inevitable.

 Perhaps that is weakness. Or perhaps it is the only choice I can make for myself.

The Emperor has not spoken since the last assignment. His silence feels deliberate - a waiting game I no longer have the strength to play. Before his attention returns, I have begun training Ever Beck to take my place. She learns quickly. Too quickly. Her convictions are ironclad. She will not bend the way I did. That terrifies me.

If she stands her ground, he will break her. If she kneels, she will never forgive herself. Either way, the Cavalry will pay for her spine or her silence. I told her that she and the Cavalry must survive above all else. She looked at me as if I had said something shameful. I suppose it was.

Steiber assists her. He is loyal, and cautious in the way that good men are before the world teaches them cruelty. I have been speaking with them more than I ever intended. They seemed surprised that I could speak at all. Perhaps they thought obedience meant muteness. Perhaps they were right.

They are beginning to trust me. I wish they wouldn’t. Trust is dangerous. But I need them to believe in the Cavalry more than they believe in me. Only then will it survive. I must leave it in capable hands before I am gone. 

Otherwise...

Otherwise everything - even the blade I raised against you - will have been for nothing.

The fatigue worsens. The black spots return when I train too long. Enon threatens to confine me if I continue. 

He mutters that I am built to destroy myself. I did not deny it.

He reminds me, at times, of you.

Not in the way he speaks - he has none of your composure - but in his persistence.

I told him once that persistence is only admirable when it serves purpose.

He said I should consider my own words.

I find that difficult.

Y.A.

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

I have reached the third month. Survival is not due to a miracle, but due to Enon’s intervention. He revealed himself, as the guardian of the Seven Walls of Luma - an immortal, confined to the capital, assigned by the great mage to act only in moments of true peril. I feel unworthy to share this with you, even in writing. These letters must be hidden more securely.

One evening, I arrived at the Pharmacy, blood running from my eyes and nose, limbs trembling beyond my command. He did not hesitate. His magic sustained my soul - and theirs through the night. I do not know if it is strength or cruelty that allows a man to endure such sight without faltering, only that I remain alive because of him.

For the first time in many months, I felt something akin to warmth toward another human. The thought occurred to me - that someone might miss me if I were gone. That thought is terrifying. And yet, I suspect he would.

When I expressed thanks, he seemed uncomfortable. He insisted that he alone did not sustain me; that another presence lingered beside him, aiding. I could not inquire further; exhaustion took me, and I had already closed my eyes.

He gave me a talisman. It rests now upon the hilt of my sword, intended to protect the integrity of my soul, and those within me. It stays as a reminder - If I survive, and so do they, for now.

I do not know what will come next. That I can still write to you is, perhaps, evidence that survival is not entirely beyond me.

Y.A.

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

It has been five months. The condition is now visible, though I maintain what composure I can. Fatigue is my constant companion. Body aches and cravings are ignored; indulgence is a luxury I cannot afford. This month was meant to mark my departure from the Cavalry. I had planned to fake my death and seek refuge under King Ejain in Nelarn.

I did not.

Ever and Steiber remain unprepared. The Cavalry is not yet secure. I cannot risk leaving them before they are capable. Nor can I impose the life of an assassin upon them. The stakes are too high.

Another assignment arrived. A noble, suspected of treason. I bowed in obedience, though my head rang and my vision threatened to fail me. I did not faint - I endured. The Emperor commented on my weight, mocking the gain as though it were evidence of indulgence or weakness. He compared me to a fat pig. I held my composure, ensuring only the surface was visible.

Killing is heavier now. Filthy. To extinguish life while harboring another is a burden I bear alone. The twins’ presence within me makes each death more irrevocable. I have resolved that these sins are mine; they will not touch them. 

My body no longer obeys as it once did. I was nearly caught in the noble’s manor, slowed by this weight, yet I survived.

I went directly to Enon afterward. His scolding was predictable, though he did not comment on the blood lingering on my cloak. He did not need to. He understands. He has heard, he has seen, he knows the unspoken.

I have given him fragments of myself: my status, my duty, my burdens. Not all, but enough. He deserved it, after what he revealed to me. I did not speak of you, though I suspect he knows, or at least senses, the truth. His network is precise; he understands the stakes. And yet he remains willing to sustain me, to guard what is within me.

I do not know how to express my gratitude in words. Instead, I buy lemons and place them in his hands - an offering - the closest I can come to showing what I feel. That is all I can do.

I continue. I bear what is mine, and what will be theirs.

This is what remains for me to do.

Y.A.

To Duke Kishiar la Orr.

It has been eight months.  

I requested bindings from Enon to conceal my form. He scolded me for half an hour, saying I risk my body too greatly. He made me wait and when he returned, he placed a ring in my hand - a disguised artifact, something I've seen you wear often, modified to conceal my body entirely. While worn, I appear as a normal man. The Pharmacy remains the only place I allow myself to forgo it; sometimes, I even sleep wearing it.

The children are unruly. They kick relentlessly. The first time I felt it clearly, I called Enon over. When he felt the second kick pressed against his palms, I saw his eyes glimmering briefly, a wet sheen he quickly hid. He brewed another bitter concoction as a pretense. I drank it immediately. I cannot say why I summoned him, only that I needed him to witness it.

He has taken it upon himself to come to the Cavalry quarters, several times, though I cannot fathom why he endures it. The first time, I was buried in paperwork. He dragged me to the sofa to rest, despite my refusal. Something about his reprimanding look makes me yield. Ever and Steiber witnessed this. They were surprised, and appreciative. I do not understand their reaction.

Enon’s presence has sparked rumors. Some of the rowdy members claimed I had found my next victim, after the your death. Being an omega in power seems to excite them. It angers me, though my body limits my response. The Emperor himself summoned me. He senses the regard I now hold for Enon. I know he would not hesitate to use Enon as leverage if I ever disobeyed. That is what I feared. I shared it with Enon. He dismissed it, saying he knows how to protect himself, unlike others. I said nothing further.

The rumors had another consequence. One heat-addled alpha intruded upon my quarters at night, believing me amenable to his whims. I did not restrain myself this time. Ever and Steiber arrived; they were equally enraged, and escorted him to the cells without hesitation.

I reflect often on those like myself, with omega second gender. If I, commanding the Cavalry, am not safe, what hope is there for the weak and helpless? The heat stations I built are insufficient. I must do more.

I am not certain I will ever find the right means, but I will continue.

Y.A

The air in Enon’s pharmacy smelled of dried herbs and simmering potions, a comforting chaos of scents that Yuder had come to associate with safety. He was folding the last of the herbal packets with habitual precision when Enon appeared at his side with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter.

“When do you plan to leave that hellhole of a headquarters?” Enon asked, voice edged with exasperation.

“Soon,” Yuder replied, not looking up.

“ ‘Soon,’ he says. You were attacked in your own bed chambers, for fuck’s sake! Someone could have-” He threw up a hand. “Grow a backbone and leave!”

Yuder’s hands paused, folding a packet a little slower.

“Do you really think that circus is the right place for your children to grow?” Enon pressed.

“I cannot leave yet,” Yuder said, soft, resolute.

“Then when, damnit? Why do you care so much about the Cavalry?”

“Because…” Yuder exhaled, shifting the topic. “You understand I will have to leave the capital if I leave the Cavalry?”

Enon’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not an idiot. I know. Don’t look at me like that.”

“But what about your-”

“Special circumstances call for special actions,” Enon interrupted. “I'm sure Luma will understand.”

“You will accompany me?” Yuder asked, the question almost hesitant.

“You would die without me. And I’m not letting that happen. Think of the little ones.”

Yuder's expression pinched. He reached for the counter and handed him a lemon, a gesture he finds himself doing often these days. Enon's eyes softened imperceptably.

“Make a decision soon.”

Yuder nodded and rose.

“Wait.” Enon got up, pressing the disguising ring into his hand. Yuder nodded again.

“I’ll take my leave now,” he said.

Enon pinched his cheek and glared.

“I will take my leave now, hyung.” He amended.

Enon let go. Yuder stepped toward the door, with his talisman on his sword hilt and his ring concealed.

The cold light of the street outside hit him as he opened the door, but before he could fully step out, his gaze caught movement across the street. 

A man stood against the wall, effortless in his stillness, and seeing him, Yuder froze.

“Your senses have dulled, Sir Ail.”

Chapter Text

The capital had changed.

That was the first thing Nathan noticed when his boots crossed its cobbled borders again after his self imposed exile. The air no longer smelled of sunlight. The banners still bore the same colors - gold and crimson, but they hung limp, their fabric dull beneath the pale sky.

He had sworn never to return.

But the emergency at the northern fortress demanded his presence; and in truth, he did not fight it. Perhaps he had wanted to see it for himself: the world his lord had once ruled, still turning without him.

After their liege's death, the halls of Pellata Castle turned into a mausoleum.

The acolytes who once moved with purpose through its marble corridors now spoke in whispers, as if raising their voices might disturb the memory of the man they’d lost. The torches burned low and unrenewed.

Without their sun, everything froze.

Nathan stayed because he did not know how to live elsewhere. Duty was a habit too ingrained to shed, even when its purpose had already turned to ash. Each morning he trained alone in the snow-bitten courtyards, the ring of his blade against the air echoing through empty halls. Each night he stood before the sealed doors of his liege’s old chambers, for a moment, waiting for a command to come in.

Kishiar La Orr.

Even thinking the name felt dangerous. Like stirring a half-buried ember and finding it still burned.

He had been brilliance made flesh. A man who walked the edge between crown and ruin and smiled as if he were born for both. To serve him was to burn willingly, to be drawn into his orbit and never wish to leave.

Nathan had followed him into wars and whispers alike. He had carried out orders and guarded the man’s back when the empire itself turned its blades toward him. And even then, Kishiar had smiled that same calm, cruel smile.

When the order came to retreat from his liege’s side during the final days, Nathan had refused to believe what it meant.

 “Go. You are to stay alive.”

He had heard those words before. The first time his liege had fallen, by some miracle, he had risen again. Nathan had seen him return from the dead once - so why not again? Surely the sun could not be extinguished twice.

So he obeyed, because his lord commanded it. And he waited, clinging to a fool’s faith that his liege would return, wounded but smiling, the way he always did.

But the messenger came instead.

And the name he carried on his tongue, the name that ended everything - Yudrein Aile.

The one Kishiar La Orr trusted above all.

The one he had defended, sheltered, and gods help him, loved.

Nathan knew that Kishiar wished it so. That Yudrein’s blade had been struck by his own design, that it was mercy, not betrayal. That his lord had chosen his own death.

But knowing and accepting were not the same.

He'd obeyed his liege's will again, swallowing the order with the same loyalty that had defined his life. Yet something inside him had splintered that day; a small, wordless thing that refused to heal.

Yudrein Ail.

The murderer. The man Kishiar had loved enough to die by.

Nathan did not know what he hated more; that Yudrien Aile had killed him, or that Kishiar La Orr had wanted him to.

Or.... That Nathan was told to do nothing about it.

.

.

.

The city around him was louder than he remembered.

He walked its streets like a ghost returning to the world of the living. Every sound seemed too loud, every color too bright.

 The capital had not mourned as he had; it had kept breathing. Trade still bustled, merchants still shouted, and laughter still spilled from tavern doors as though nothing had changed.

He nursed his drink in a nameless tavern that stank of old sweat, tucked into the shadowed corner where the hearth’s light did not reach. Around him, the capital’s voices rose and fell in a drunken rhythm, and he listened, with the sharpness his lord would've expected him of.

The talk drifted from grain prices to the new taxes, from the young king’s reign to the nobles who circled him like vultures. Then came whispers of unrest; riots born from hunger and indifference, and of noblemen dying mysteriously, one after another. 

“Another noble’s died,” someone muttered.

“Good riddance,” another spat. “They’ve never cared for the slums.”

Nathan sipped in silence. The world, as always, spun on.

And then-

“…that Yudrein Aile,” a man whispered , slightly muffling his words beneath his hands, but Nathan's attention had zeroed in on him the moment he uttered that name, "Heard he's behind all these murders."

“Thinks he can hide behind that apothecary now, doesn’t he?" A man in uniform scoffed, "Playing the poor little commander, all pale and sickly - maybe he finally caught something from that quack he’s so fond of.”

Laughter rang. It was ugly and braying.

Another voice joined in. “Maybe he’s found himself a new healer. Or a new bed.”

More laughter. 

Nathan’s hand tightened around his cup. 

“Didn’t he kill the Duke with his own hands?” someone whispered. “Now he’s cozying up with a commoner. Gods, the man’s cursed-”

He didn’t realize he’d moved until the cup struck the table with a crack. The sound cleaved through the laughter. The tavern fell silent.

Coins clattered as Nathan threw them down and stood. His cloak flared as he turned, cutting through the thick air like a blade.

No one met his eyes.

He stepped into the street, the wind cold against his face.

It was foolish to care. He told himself that. Foolish to waste thought on the man who had slain his lord. He should return north, forget the capital, forget him.

But then-

Across the square, a figure moved through the crowd.

Even cloaked, that gait was unmistakable: 

Yudrein.

The bitterness simmered in Nathan’s chest, coiling like a spring. Every instinct in him ached to confront the man, to draw his blade and settle accounts in the name of his liege. His hand itched toward the hilt at his side, and yet… he could not. His liege's words rang in his mind, resoundingly:

"Let your anger find no mark, Nathan - for in him lives what I could not carry to death."

Still, the sight that met him in the alley cut deeper than any blade ever could. For a commander of the cavalry, Yudrien had no reason to be wandering this part of the capital. The alleys here reeked of damp and rot. This was no place for a man of rank - certainly not for the one who had once stood at the Duke’s right hand.

So why was he here?

Nathan’s training overrode his hesitation. He moved soundlessly along the rooftops, his shadow pacing Yudrien’s through the maze of narrow lanes below.

Yudrein’s stride was steady, but… slower than Nathan remembered. It was measured, almost cautious. For a man of his caliber, that was unnatural.

As if he were… tired.

Nathan frowned. The Yudrein he remembered would have sensed him long ago; but now, he moved as if he was blind to the shadow trailing him.

Yudrein turned down a narrow street and stopped before a small, timeworn shop. The painted sign above the door had long since faded, but Nathan caught the faint scent of herbs and crushed blossoms even from his perch.

A pharmacy.

Curiosity seized him. He dropped soundlessly into the alley and crept closer, keeping his presence veiled. Through a narrow vent at the side of the building, he caught a sliver of the room inside.

He did not know what compelled him to look.

Yudrein had removed his cloak and was speaking softly with the apothecary - a grey haired man with his hands stained with herbal juice. The tone between them was… familiar. Easy. 

Nathan’s jaw clenched. The rumors came unbidden to his mind - the whispers in the tavern, the laughter that had followed.

He watched as the man reached for something on the counter, their hands brushing, and saw the way Yudrien’s expression softened. 

It was unbearable.

The man who had slain their sun stood there as if the world had forgiven him. As if he had the right to live gently, to be ordinary.

Nathan’s hands curled into fists. The bitterness rose again, choking him. How dare he move on? How dare he breathe in peace when his liege lay cold?

He told himself he would turn away. He would leave.

But just as he shifted to withdraw, Yudrein did something that froze him in place.

He lifted his hand - and slipped a ring from his finger.

The faint gleam of metal caught the lamplight.

Nathan’s eyes widened. 

And then, he began counting back months.

"For in him lives what I could not carry to death."

The bell above the pharmacy door chimed softly as Yuder stepped inside. Enon looked up from behind the counter, his eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion.

“Why are you back so soon- oh.”

His gaze shifted over Yuder’s shoulder, brows shooting up when he saw the unfamiliar man trailing in behind him.

Yuder hesitated only a moment before answering, “He’s… an old acquaintance.”

Enon’s eyes darted between the two of them, assessing. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing, only gestured toward the cot by the wall. The air was thick enough to taste as the three of them crossed the small space.

Nathan remained standing for a moment before lowering himself onto the opposite cot, his posture straight and restrained.

Yuder sat across from him, the quiet between them stretched taut. “Sir Zuckerman-”

“How long are you intending to stay in the capital?” Nathan cut in.

The interruption startled both of them. Yuder blinked, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “…Why would I leave the capital?”

Enon shot Yuder a look.

Nathan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes drifted downward, deliberately, toward Yuder’s midsection. The part of him carefully disguised by magic. The realization dawned in Yuder’s dark eyes.

“Ah,” Yuder murmured. “So you’ve seen.”

Enon straightened immediately, his entire body going taut. The air around him shifted, suddenly hostile.

“Yuder-”

But Yuder was already removing the ring from his finger. “It’s fine.”

The illusion dissolved. The air shimmered faintly before settling. Beneath his coat, the swell of Yuder’s stomach became unmistakable.

Nathan’s eyes darkened. “How many months?”

“..Eight.”

The answer hit like a blow. Eight months. 

Nathan’s thoughts spun in silence. The timeline aligned cruelly: the conception before the Duke’s death, the impossibility of infidelity. Yudrein may have been many things, but faithless was never one of them. 

It left no room for doubt.

The children were his.

Which meant-

Nathan’s voice came rougher now, stripped of pretense. “You need protection. The king’s reach doesn’t extend to Pellata- if you can make it to the northern stronghold, it’s four days’ journey-”

“Sir Zuckerman.”

The interruption was soft, but firm enough to silence him. Nathan looked up.

“I cannot leave the cavalry,” Yuder said.

From the side, Enon groaned softly, dragging a hand across his face. “Not this again.”

Nathan stared, incredulous. “You’re still managing the cavalry? In this state?”

“Finally,” Enon muttered, “someone else who sees the absurdity.”

“I’m training my replacements,” Yuder replied, ignoring them both. “They’re still lacking. The cavalry hasn’t stabilized yet.”

Nathan’s jaw flexed. Rage threatened to boil over, but he swallowed it. “You are carrying a child.”

“Children,” Enon interjected grimly. “There are two.”

Nathan froze. “Two?”

It felt like the air was punched out of him. A male omega carrying twins - he’d heard of miracles, but never one that had lasted this long.

Yuder’s expression didn’t waver. “I will not let the Cavalry Corps perish.”

“And what happens,” Nathan asked, jaw clenched, “if your replacements aren’t ready by the time you give birth?”

Yuder said nothing. The silence was an answer in itself.

Nathan’s tone sharpened, heavy with accusation and realization, "You truly plan to give birth here, don’t you?"

Still no answer.

Enon turned toward Yuder, disbelief evident on his face.

“Then what?” Nathan pressed. “Hide the children beneath the headquarters? Let them live in the shadows of your duty?”

“Enough,” Yuder said.

Nathan exhaled slowly, his fury cooling into something heavier.

“If my conjecture is right,” he said, “then you are the responsibility of Pellata Castle. As such, I cannot allow you to risk yourself - or them - like this.”

Yuder’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot force me.”

“Yuder,” Enon warned quietly.

Nathan held Yuder’s gaze for a long time before saying, “Fine,then I will remain here. You know the stakes. You need a knight at your side."

Yuder stared at him, disbelief flickering behind his guarded eyes.

“...Do you not hate me, Sir Zuckerman?” he asked at last.

“I do,” Nathan said without hesitation.

Enon stiffened, fingers inching toward his blade.

Nathan didn’t flinch. “But you’re carrying something I am bound to protect. That makes you my duty.”

Yuder’s gaze lingered on him, for a long while.

“Your duty,” he murmured, “was to him.”

“And still is,” Nathan said.

Yuder’s hand drifted to his stomach, absently protective, as if to shield something too fragile for the world.

And Nathan stayed silent, bound by duty to a man he hated, and to the life he could not let fall - because some debts were heavier than anger, and some promises outlived death.

Nathan returned quietly; like a shadow reclaiming its place. His post was the same - Cavalry Commanders’ adjutant - but the faces he served were different. Only Steiber and Ever knew of his presence, and their astonishment had been palpable when he had first appeared in the office. The others, unaware, never ventured into Yuder’s office space; Nathan made sure it stayed that way. He made himself scarce when curious eyes wandered too close, preferring to observe from the margins.

He hovered at Yuder’s side, insistently. He made him take breaks, brought him tea, ensured he ate, sorted correspondence. Everything was executed with the efficiency of a man who had trained his body and mind to serve. Yet his eyes, always trained on Yuder, carried a different weight than before - a coil of anger buried beneath layers of duty.

Not once did he call Yuder 'Commander.'

If Yuder noticed, he didn't say anything. Perhaps he didn't care enough.

It was all going smoothly. Until, of course, it did not.

Summons arrived attached to a dove's leg on an otherwise pleasant morning - another mission from the Emporer.

Yuder returned later, more exhausted than Nathan had ever seen him. His coat hung loosely, but it could not disguise the weariness etched in every movement, the tremor in his breathing. Nathan’s jaw tightened.

“It is not acceptable for you to take this mission in your state,” Nathan said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the restrained violence of a drawn sword.

Yuder didn’t look up. “What else do you suppose I do?”

 “You can barely walk across the room without losing your breath. And now you intend to take another of His Majesty’s" Nathan ground his teeth"...dirty tasks?”

Yuder’s hand stilled over the page he was skimming through. “It must be done.”

“Then let me go.” Nathan’s words came out before he could stop them. 

Yuder finally looked at him, and Nathan almost wished he hadn’t. There was nothing in those dark eyes but exhaustion. “No, you will not.”

Nathan’s jaw tightened. “You think I have never taken a life?"

“I think you are still a knight of honour,” Yuder interrupted softly. “You should remain one.”

“You would take another life… while carrying your own?” He stopped, his words heavy with disapproval.

Yuder’s hand drifted, slow and instinctive, to his midsection. His expression did not waver.

“There is no one else to do it,” he said softly. “And no one else who should.”

Nathan blinked.

“These are my sins to bear,” Yuder continued, voice scarcely above a whisper. “Not yours. Not anyone’s. I chose this path. I will see it to its end.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The candlelight shivered between them, painting Yuder’s face in fragile gold, his exhaustion clear in the shadows beneath his eyes.

Nathan’s throat tightened. He had thought his hatred unbreakable, a weapon honed by principle. But standing here, before a man willing to damn himself rather than let another lose honour, he felt it slip, splinter, and crumble into something raw and aching.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“Then I will accompany you.”

Yuder’s gaze flicked to him, faintly startled. “That will not be necessary.”

“It is,” Nathan said, unyielding. “You won’t make it far on your own.”

Yuder hesitated, the smallest fracture in his composure visible in his countenance. “…Very well. But you stay outside.”

Nathan inclined his head. “As you command.”

.

.

.

The manor loomed ahead, oppressive under the night sky. Yuder’s steps faltered almost immediately, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Nathan was there instantly, hand steady at his elbow, supporting him. 

By the balcony overlooking the noble’s chambers, Nathan adjusted his hold, lifting and supporting Yuder with fluid, controlled movements. He moved with the agility of a predator, ensuring that Yuder’s weight and the life he carried were never jostled. He stopped just short of the doorway, and Yuder nodded to him in silent acknowledgment before stepping into the shadows of the room.

Nathan waited, watching the still night.

The scream came suddenly - the sound of life and death colliding reverberating in the silent night. Nathan closed his eyes. A man’s life taken, Yuder’s hand inevitably bloodied. He could hear the shuffle of guards moving through the manor, searching.

When Yuder emerged, Nathan’s gaze locked on him. His hand was coated in dark, sticky blood. His eyes, were dimmed even more so than before, hollowed by the weight of what he had done.

Nathan did not hesitate. 

He placed his hand over Yuder’s, letting the stain seep into him. The red of life taken pressed against his own skin, and in that instant, he felt a tether form to the act itself.

It was not his deed, yet he carried it. Yuder flinched and yanked his hand - a brief reflex to pull away, but Nathan’s grip remained firm. His other hand pressed against Yuder’s back, steadying and guiding him without strain.

Together, they moved. The night swallowed their forms as Nathan guided Yuder through the shadows. In the dim, silvered moonlight, the only truth was the red that stained both their hands and the unspoken covenant it represented.

By the time they reached Enon, Nathan’s palms were also stained with dark blood. He set Yuder down with care, and watched as Yuder received his fair share of scolding from the enraged apothecary.

Later, Yuder returned from the Emperor’s court with a bundle of gold and silk that he tossed aside with none of the pride or triumph that usually accompanied such spoils. Nathan’s gaze followed him, noting the hollow slump of his shoulders, the faint tremor of exhaustion in his hands.

 For the first time, the strict certainty of his liege’s designs faltered in Nathan’s mind. He saw the magnitude of the burden Yuder bore and felt the first stirrings of something threading through the remnants of his tightly controlled hatred.

Life, Nathan realized, could be far crueler than death.

Chapter Text

Nathan was already packing when the first contraction hit.

The sound of fabric folding was steady and unhurried. Beside the desk, Yuder sat rigid in his chair, his gloved hand pressed against the armrest and his breath measured through clenched teeth. He made no sound, but the faint tremor in his fingers betrayed him.

Nathan finished buckling the last strap and turned,

“All is ready.”

Yuder inclined his head faintly. The reply was silent, cut short by another wave of pain tightening through him. He exhaled slowly through his nose, mastering the breath the way he might before a strike in battle.

Nathan moved to help him up. Yuder didn’t protest the touch, though pride twitched visibly at the corner of his jaw. But before Yuder could rise fully, a dull thud came from the windowpane.

Both men froze.

A dove perched on the sill, feathers mottled with pale rain. A wax seal gleamed red against its leg. Nathan and Yuder exchanged a glance. Then Nathan crossed the room and drew the window open, untying the thin parchment from the bird’s leg.

Yuder’s voice was faint, “Let me see it.”

Nathan hesitated a moment before handing it over. He watched as Yuder’s eyes scanned the lines once, then again. The color drained slowly from his face.

“The Emperor,” Yuder said at last, setting the parchment down. “He summons me to the Dawn Palace.”

Nathan’s gaze flicked toward the sealed letter again, his tone dropping low.

“You cannot go-”

“I know.”

The words hung in the still air. The wind outside scraped faintly against the shutters.

The contractions had begun that morning, faint and irregular at first, now tightening into something relentless. Enon waited at the pharmacy with his instruments ready, the herbs prepared, and the coat sterilized. They had planned for everything except this.

Yuder’s hand pressed briefly against the swell beneath his uniform, hidden from the world. He shut his eyes for one measured breath. His indecision months ago had led them here - too late to travel and too dangerous to leave.

He could have gone to Pellata, or Nelarn. He could have played dead and vanished from the capital before this day came. But he hadn’t. He stayed, stubbornly, for the Cavalry and for a crown that saw him as a pawn.

Now it was too late.

“The Emperor will send search parties the moment he learns I've not answered his summons,” Yuder said, matter-of-fact as ever. “No place within the city walls will be safe.”

Not even Enon's pharmacy.

 “...There is an abandoned shack at the outskirts, past the grain warehouses. I once took shelter there when enemies were close. It’s obscure, defensible and far enough from the roads.” Nathan suggested, but it fell like a decision.

Yuder nodded slowly. His mind was already moving several steps ahead. Even if they hid, the Emperor would not stop at the first search. He would scour the capital, then the provinces. 

They needed an excuse - something that would justify Yuder’s absence and stall the Emperor’s suspicion long enough for the twins to be born.

An excuse… or an emergency.

His gaze sharpened.

There was only one emergency high enough to justify defying an imperial summons.

“Monster subjugation,” Yuder said aloud.

Nathan’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. He understood immediately.

If there were reports of monsters in the outskirts, the knights would hesitate to interfere. And if word spread that the Cavalry Commander himself had gone to subjugate them, the imperial order would hesitate twice. It was the perfect alibi; it's reckless, yes, but plausible.

But-

Before Yuder could speak again, Nathan was already at the desk, pulling fresh sheets of paper toward him. The quill scratched steadily against parchment.

Through another wave of pain, Yuder forced the words out. “Who are you writing to?”

“Enon,” Nathan said without looking up. “To inform him of the change in plans.” The next line came almost seamlessly. “And Mick Shuden. He will provide the necessary monster spoils for you to present to His Majesty later.”

Yuder stared at him, surprise flickering through the strain. Nathan’s ability to anticipate him was something that once unsettled him. Now, it steadied him.

It was comforting to have someone understand you without words.

“You’re certain he’ll provide them without question?” He asked. He hadn’t known the Shuden Company maintained close ties with the Pellata duchy.

Nathan sealed the first letter with wax. “He will. He’s loyal to Pellata. You needn’t worry, Sir Ail.”

Unbeknownst to Yuder, a third letter was already half-written, addressed to Hellem, whose influence would ensure Shuden’s cooperation. It was a discreet request, couched in vague phrasing, asking for her assistance in persuading Shuden to send the spoils quickly and quietly. If his words were not enough, her words certainly will be.

“I’ve requested six months’ worth of spoils,” Nathan said as he reached for the dove.

Yuder’s voice was steady, though thin. “Make it a year’s worth.”

Nathan glanced up, surprised.

“It’s an emergency worth risking insubordination,” Yuder said, leaning back against the chair. He was called 'the beast' for nothing. Despite his weakness against monsters, he could still bring down enough beasts at his best. “You may pay Shuden with the gold in my coffer.”

Nathan held his gaze for a moment, something akin to admiration flickering for a fraction of a second, then inclined his head. “Understood.”

He amended the line without another word and sealed it.

Yuder watched as the dove took flight into the grey morning, wings scattering droplets against the glass. His breaths came shallow, measured. Every rise and fall of his chest carried a relentless ache. He was hesitating, knowing he had missed some loose ends.

Nathan’s voice inevitably broke the silence.

“Your assistants will be questioned.”

Yuder turned his head slightly. “They know nothing.”

“That’s precisely the problem.” Nathan met his gaze evenly. “If they’re interrogated and know nothing, they will speak the truth. They’ll say there were no monster reports. And that you received no such summons. It will raise suspicion.”

The logic was unassailable. Still, Yuder’s instinct recoiled from it.

Trust was a habit he had long since unlearned. Trust was a blade he had fallen on once and never recovered from.

“…Someone has to be in the know,” Nathan pressed, "Someone who will lie without hesitation. And who has the authority to make that lie believable.”

Yuder’s gloved hands curled faintly over the armrest. In his absence, the deputy commanders are the ones who will bear the brunt of questioning.

"I’ll fetch Steiber and Ever.” Nathan sighed.

“They’ll ask questions.” Yuder said, reluctant.

“They will. They deserve to."

Nathan’s tone was calm, but it left no room for argument. He lit the candle sealing wax and stepped out into the night.

.

.

.

The sound of boots approached long before the knock came.

Steiber entered first, his cloak damp from the drizzle outside. Ever followed, her steps brisk and alert. They both paused at the threshold.

“Commander,” Ever greeted, puzzled. “You sent for us?” her gaze flicked toward the window. It was not like Yuder to summon them after dusk. 

Yuder inclined his head, “Close the door.”

The weight of command lingered even in those quiet words. Ever obeyed, shutting out the wind. Steiber’s eyes darted between the packed satchels, the extinguished seal wax, and Nathan standing silent at the desk.

“What happened?” Steiber asked, his voice calm but wary.

Yuder did not answer immediately. The silence stretched taut between them. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the dull throb deep in his abdomen. His pride urged him to stand tall; his body disagreed.

He gestured faintly for them to sit. Neither did.

Nathan spoke instead, “His Majesty has summoned Sir Ail to the Dawn Palace. But Sir Ail will be unavailable for a time. You two are to manage the Cavalry in his stead.”

Ever’s brow furrowed. “Unavailable?”

Yuder drew in a slow breath. “There will be word tomorrow of a monster outbreak in the western outskirts. It will be handled under my command.”

Steiber blinked. “Handled - sir, forgive me, but how can you lead an operation if you intend to be-”

Yuder interrupted, tone mild. “That is what you will say when you’re asked. You received the report from the scouts. I left at dawn to subjugate it myself.”

Ever exchanged a glance with Steiber. “Commander, I don’t understand. Why the secrecy? Are we to-”

She stopped. Because Yuder had finally moved.

His gloved hand reached for the clasp of his coat and unfastened it slowly.

Nathan turned away, respectfully.

When Yuder stood, the lamplight caught the curve of his abdomen.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Ever’s mouth fell open, words caught somewhere between disbelief and horror.

Steiber’s eyes widened, his composure fracturing for a moment.

Neither spoke.

Then Yuder flinched.

It started as a tremor, a small convulsion that bent him forward before either of them could move. A muffled sound tore from his throat, raw and restrained. His gloved hand seized the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, breath stuttering out in a hiss.

The shock broke instantly.

“Yuder!” Steiber’s voice cracked the silence as he lunged forward, catching his commander’s shoulders before he could fall.

Ever was right behind him, stripping off her gloves, already reaching to steady Yuder’s other side. “He’s contracting,” she breathed, panic edging her voice. “Now-? It’s starting now?”

Yuder straightened up, shaking off their hands. "I'm fine." He croaked. 

Ever's voice trembled with fury, “Fine? What is fine about this? You’ve been leading the cavalry in this condition?”

Yuder said nothing.

Steiber exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gods above… Commander, you should have told us.” 

Ever looked like she might strike someone "Who-” she stopped, biting the rest of it back. Her jaw clenched. Now was not the time. “What do you need us to do?” She asked instead.

Yuder finally met their eyes. “Lie,” he said simply. “Just once. And make it believable.”

There was already an apology in his gaze for making them do this. He never wanted to involve them, nor burden them like this. They were both honest individuals - he knew he was asking too much. And they were only just beginning to trust him.

Steiber and Ever looked at each other. Then they gave a solemn nod. “Understood.”

Yuder startled at first at the easy acceptance, then his shoulders eased just slightly. He met Nathan’s eyes from across the room and knew he’d made the right choice.

For the first time that night, he allowed himself to believe they might survive this.

By the time they reached the outskirts, the storm had turned vicious.

Rain drove sideways, carried by the wind that tore at cloak and hair alike. The night was black and sightless, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning that painted the fields in violent white.

They had left the Cavalry grounds without a trace - thanks to Steiber’s interference at the gates and Ever’s distraction in the records hall. Neither had spoken a word when Nathan led Yuder out through the narrow passage behind the western stables. But their worried eyes had followed him as far as they could.

Now that silent loyalty burned behind Yuder’s closed lids as he leaned heavily against Nathan. Every step jarred his body, pain biting deeper with each movement. He could feel the contractions tightening with merciless rhythm, dragging the breath from his lungs.

Nathan’s arm was the only thing keeping him upright. His clothes were plastered to his skin, his hair dripping into his eyes. His ability - whatever flicker of strength he’d used to slip them through the outer wards and unseen watchposts - was running thin. The storm distorted everything; even the air felt heavier here.

When they finally stumbled into the clearing, the shack stood waiting, a dark smudge against the silver blur of rain. Its roof sagged to one side, but it was shelter enough.

Nathan shouldered the door open. It protested with a long creak. Cold air rushed in as they crossed the threshold, water pooling at their feet.

“Sit,” Nathan said, voice roughened from strain.

Yuder obeyed, or rather, he collapsed onto the cot with something between a controlled motion and a fall. He tried to steady his breath, but it came too fast. Every contraction felt sharper than the last, as though the pain itself had teeth.

Nathan knelt beside him, pulling the soaked cloak free from his shoulders. Steam rose faintly from the fabric in the cold air.

“Enon’s on his way,” he said, almost to himself, wringing the edge of his cloak dry before throwing it over Yuder’s legs. “He’ll be here soon.”

Yuder didn’t answer. His lips were bloodless, eyes half-closed, as if listening for something beyond the thunder. The muscles along his jaw clenched, a wounded sound escaping him.

The storm roared harder, rattling the wooden shutters.

Nathan pressed a hand to Yuder’s shoulder, firm and grounding. His own pulse was uneven. He had seen Yuder wounded before, but never like this. There was no enemy to strike at here, no battlefield to stand on. Only the slow, inevitable breaking of a body too proud to yield.

Lightning flared through the gaps in the boards, throwing both of their faces into light - Nathan’s drawn tight with worry, Yuder’s lined with agony and the faintest stubborn calm.

Nathan went around and lit a candle.

Yuder exhaled a shuddering breath. “He’s late.”

“He’s coming,” Nathan repeated.

Thunder answered for him.

Outside, the wind screamed against the roof. Inside, Nathan kept his hand on Yuder’s shoulder, the other braced against the cot as if he could hold the world steady by force alone.

For now, that was all he could do.

The storm had not reached the palace, at least not within its gilded walls. Here, warmth and laughter reigned. Golden light shimmered over crystal and silk; a dozen chandeliers burned like captive suns above the banquet hall.

Emperor Katchian reclined in his seat, a smile playing about his painted mouth as servants filled his goblet once more. He was draped in red and gold, his rings catching the candlelight every time he gestured. Around him, the nobles murmured and toasted and laughed, pretending not to glance at the lightning flashing beyond the tall windows.

“What weather,” one of them said lightly, raising his glass. “Even the heavens are restless tonight.”

“Perhaps they disapprove of Your Majesty’s taste in wine,” another joked, earning a ripple of polite laughter.

Katchian’s answering smile was thin.

As time passed and the musicians played, the Emperor’s mood curdled. His laughter faded first, then his patience. The empty seat near the foot of the dais - the one reserved for Commander Yudrein Ail - remained empty.

He swirled the wine in his cup, watching the scarlet liquid tremble with each distant rumble of thunder.

“Where is he?” he asked finally, voice soft but cutting through the noise like a blade.

The chamberlain bowed low. “Your Majesty, no word has been sent from the Cavalry headquarters-”

“Unacceptable.” Katchian’s goblet struck the table with a sharp crack. Conversations faltered. “He was summoned. Does he think himself above an imperial command?”

A few courtiers shifted uneasily. The musicians stilled.

Behind his calm facade, fury and paranoia tangled in Katchian’s chest. Yudrein Ail - the beast in human guise - had defied him. Was it insolence, or treachery? Could it be that the rumors were true, that he was plotting something beyond obedience?

Katchian’s pulse quickened. He imagined that stoic face turning cold with rebellion. He would not be humiliated.

“Send search parties,” he said, rising. “Comb the Cavalry grounds and the city. Find Commander Yudrein, and bring him to me immediately.”

The order had barely left his mouth when the great doors opened. Two figures entered, drenched from the storm - Ever Beck and Steiber Varne, deputy commanders of the Cavalry.

They both kneeled on one knee and bowed their heads, their boots dripping onto the marble floor.

“Your Majesty,” Ever said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs, “Commander Ail sends his apologies. A monster outbreak was detected on the western border. He has gone personally to contain it.”

A murmur rippled through the nobles. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed.

“Alone?”

“With an escort, Sire,” Steiber said, bowing his head. “The situation demanded swift action.”

Katchian’s fingers drummed on the armrest. “Then he will require reinforcement. I’ll send the Imperial Guard-”

“No!”

The word slipped out before Ever could stop it. The silence that followed was suffocating. Her heart lurched. She caught herself, bowing again so low her forehead nearly touched the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I only meant - sending the Guard now might alarm the provinces. Commander Ail wished to resolve the issue quietly, without drawing attention to a possible weakness near the capital.”

The Emperor stared at her, expression unreadable. The air between them stretched thin as a drawn wire.

Then he laughed.

“Ah. How considerate of him.” His eyes gleamed, sharp and cruel. “Very well. Let him prove himself useful, then. I expect a full report and results.”

The nobles echoed his laughter. The Imperial Guardsmen at the wall let out discreet sighs of relief.

Ever and Steiber remained kneeling until the Emperor’s attention shifted away. Only then did they rise, their backs stiff, their faces composed.

When they finally turned to leave the hall, their gazes met discreetly.

Neither spoke, but the thought was shared between them as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud.

Please, Commander. Be safe.

The storm had turned merciless.

Rain lashed against the walls of the shed in endless fury, and wind howled through the gaps in the boards like a living thing. The flickering candle struggled to stay alight, casting more shadow than warmth.

Inside, the air was thick with pain.

Yuder clung to the edge of the cot, every muscle trembling, every breath stolen by the tearing agony that came in waves. His body was no longer his - it was fire, it was thunder and it was breaking apart.

Nathan’s arm held him upright, steadying him through the shuddering spasms that wracked his frame. His own face was ghost-pale, his jaw locked against helplessness.

“Breathe,” he murmured, though the word sounded hollow even to himself. 

Yuder tried. He really did. But each contraction tore a raw sound from his throat. There was too much blood already pooling beneath him, too much weakness dragging him under. He could feel the children inside him straining, one small heartbeat tangled with another.

The door burst open with a crack of thunder. A figure stumbled in, rain streaming from his cloak.

“Move aside,” Enon gasped, shoving the door closed behind him. His hair clung to his face, soaked to the root, but his eyes were alight with grim focus. “How long has it been?”

Nathan’s voice was tight. “He’s been in pain for hours. The contractions are too close together. There’s too much-”

“I can see it.” Enon’s tone softened only a fraction as he dropped his satchel beside the cot and knelt. “Gods, Yuder.”

Yuder tried to speak, but only a hoarse breath came out. He had not realized how easy dying could be until this moment. His skin was clammy; the tremors had become constant. The world blurred at the edges, sounds muffled as if he were slipping beneath water.

“Stay with me,” Enon said sharply, pressing two fingers against Yuder’s pulse. “Don’t you dare go now.”

Nathan was already moving - fetching cloth, pouring water from his canteen, holding a candle close while Enon worked. The smell of iron filled the air, mixing with the storm’s scent of earth and rain.

The next contraction hit like lightning. Yuder’s body arched, a strangled cry tearing from him before he sagged forward, gasping for air. His vision flared white, then darkened again. He could feel himself slipping.

“Yuder!” Enon’s voice was distant, fading. “No - wake up! You have to push. Do you hear me? Now!”

But Yuder couldn’t. His body refused. It was as though something inside him had gone quiet, shutting down to spare him.

“Enon-” Nathan’s voice cracked. “He’s-”

“I know!” Enon’s hand pressed down, glowing faintly. Pale light shimmered beneath his palm, flickering like a candle in the wind. His magic pulsed once, then faltered. The storm outside howled, drowning his whispered curse. 

Nathan’s hand tightened on Yuder’s shoulder, grounding him, refusing to let him fall.

Then- Something shifted.

A warmth brushed against Enon’s magic, soft but immense, like sunlight filtering through storm clouds. Another presence answered his desperate call. It flowed through his spell, steadying it and lending strength. Enon didn’t question it. He didn’t dare.

The bleeding slowed. The rhythm steadied.

“Now, Yuder,” Enon commanded, voice trembling with urgency. “Push. One more time - now!”

Yuder obeyed. Somehow, from the depths of pain and exhaustion, he found it in himself to move, to fight, to live. He bore down with what remained of his will-

and the air split with a newborn’s cry.

A boy.

Alive.

Enon let out a ragged breath, tears blurring his vision as he lifted the small, wailing child into the candlelight. “He’s breathing.”

But it wasn’t over.

“Yuder - one more time. You can do this. Just one more.”

Yuder’s eyes fluttered open. He was so pale he looked carved from marble, lips tinged blue. His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Nathan said fiercely, leaning close enough that Yuder could see the raw desperation in his eyes. 

Yuder’s lips twitched with the faintest ghost of a smile before another wave of agony consumed him.

The second child - a girl - came silently. Too silently.

Enon’s heart dropped. He worked fast, clearing the airway, rubbing her back, murmuring encouragement through clenched teeth. “Come on, come on, little one- breathe for me-”

Yuder stirred weakly. “Why… why isn’t she crying?”

Enon didn’t answer. He blew a breath into her mouth, rubbed harder, his hands shaking. Nathan’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the cot.

“Come on,” Enon whispered. “Please-”

Then, with one sharp smack, the tiny body convulsed-

-and a thin, quivering cry filled the air.

Yuder’s head fell back, a shuddering breath leaving him as his eyes fluttered closed. Relief rolled through him so powerfully he almost wept. Enon caught the second child, checked her breathing, then looked to Nathan. “They’re both alive.”

Nathan’s breath hitched. For a moment, he could only nod, eyes filled with something he couldn't name.

Enon worked quickly, his hands slick with blood and trembling with exhaustion as he stitched Yuder back. Nathan held the infants, one in each arm, their cries soft and uneven. The basin they’d found in the corner served as a makeshift bath; he wiped the blood from their tiny limbs, wrapping them carefully in what dry cloth he could find.

The candlelight caught the faint shimmer of gold in their damp hair, their eyes the pale blue of new life - eyes that would soon turn red. It was unmistakable.

Royal heirs.

Born in a forgotten shed on the edge of the empire.

When Enon finally handed them to Yuder, the world seemed to quiet.

Yuder looked down at them, dazed and trembling. His hands, calloused from battle, shook as they cradled the impossibly small forms. The boy stirred first, pressing his face weakly into Yuder’s chest; the girl blinked, a single tear tracing down her cheek like dew.

Something broke inside him then.

His lips trembled. His eyes burned. And yet, he didn’t cry. He only held them closer, bending until his forehead touched the crown of each small head.

If Kishiar had been here-

if he could see them-

what would he have said?

Would he have smiled - that quiet, rare smile that once made Yuder forget how to breathe?

Would he have reached out, proud and delighted, and called them beautiful?

Or would he have turned away, leaving him in the cold, like he always did at the end of their trysts?

Yuder shook his thoughts away. He looked at the darling lives in his arms and pressed both children closer, whispering under his breath both Nathan nor Enon could barely hear.

“Kaira,” he murmured, looking down at the little girl. “The first light that breaks the night.”

Then, his gaze softened on the little boy. “And Kavian… the calm that follows the storm.”

Outside, the thunder rolled one last time, its fury fading into the horizon.

Inside, three men sat in silence - each one pretending that the wetness in their eyes was from the rain.

And amidst the thunder and blood and the steady rise of two fragile heartbeats-

-life began again.

Chapter Text

To Duke Kishiar La Orr,

The roads to Pellata are not kind in this season. The storms roll without warning, and the winds along the ridge threaten to turn a man from his path if he isn’t careful. I travel by night when duty allows. The journey is shorter that way.

Even so, the Cavalry requires its commander, and His Majesty’s attention - though less constant - has not yet turned away. It grows harder each month to balance what must be done and what I wish to do.

The children remain in good health. Their sixth birthday approaches; I will need to find a confectioner in the capital and order the sweetest cake there. I do not know whom they inherited this sweet tooth from.

Kavian has grown quieter, though not in a worrying way. He listens before he speaks and smiles before he acts. Yet it seems he has learned from someone that his silence can make mischief more effective. Yesterday, he coaxed a stable hand into a harmless prank on Stewardess Enk and pretended to be entirely uninvolved. I did not call him out on it.

Kaira, on the other hand, does not bother with disguises. She refuses to walk when she can run, refuses to whisper when she can sing. The servants say they never lose track of the pair for long - all they need to do is follow her laughter. She has them all wrapped around her little finger.

I visit when I can. They never ask why I come only after dark, or why I leave before the first light touches the hills. Children are generous in that way; they do not yet expect explanations for absence.

But I no longer know how much I can keep from them.

Yesterday, the children found a portrait of yours. They stared at it for a long while and asked who you were. Nathan intervened before I could answer. He said it was of a great man’s. Good. I did not have an answer anyway.

The children said you looked lonely. I could not look at them for a while.

When I managed to finally look back up again, I found that they were right.

You do look lonely.

...Are you lonely, still?

Y.A.

The northern sea murmured beyond the cliffs, its waves breaking white against the rocks before rushing back in sighs of foam. The air smelled of salt and rain. Below the wind-bent pines that lined the shore path, two small figures darted barefoot over the pale sand, their laughter scattering like gulls.

“Kaira, that’s not how crowns are supposed to look!”

“It is if I say so!” the little girl shot back, her fingers full of broken shells and seaweed ribbons. She was crouched in the sand, tongue poking out between her teeth as she tried to weave the fragile pieces together.

Kavian sat beside her, carefully balancing a crab shell on his knee. “You’ll scare the sea fairies away if you yell.”

Kaira blinked at him, indignant. “You can’t scare sea fairies. They like noise, it makes them curious.”

“Uncle Nathan said they only come when it’s quiet.”

“Uncle Nathan says too many things,” she said decisively.

“Uncle Nathan is standing right here,” came a low voice from behind them.

Nathan stood near the driftwood fence with his arms crossed, his coat pulled tight against the wind. His usual composure was slightly undone by the crooked ring of seaweed and shells still hanging around his neck - an earlier coronation he had tried and failed, to avoid.

“You weren’t a very good sea king last time,” Kavian replied without looking up. “You fell asleep in the middle of the tide offering.”

Nathan’s mouth twitched. “I was pretending to sleep.”

“That’s what lazy kings say,” Kaira said, threading another piece of coral into her crown.

Before Nathan could defend himself, both children leapt at him, triumph shining in their eyes. He gave up the fight before it even began, lowering himself to one knee as they descended upon him with a new shell crown.

Kaira’s fingers moved fast and messy, whereas Kavian’s were slow and careful. When they finished, he wore a lopsided crown of half pearls and half cracked shells held together by frayed twine.

“There,” Kaira said, beaming. “Now the sea fairies will listen to you.”

Kavian nodded gravely. “You look better like that, Uncle Nathan.”

Nathan let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “You’ve improved since last time. This one doesn’t have crab claws.”

Kaira giggled. “That’s because Papa said it hurt you before.”

Nathan froze briefly, then reached up to adjust the crown with deliberate calm.

“Papa would’ve liked it,” Kaira said suddenly, turning toward the water. “He looks too serious all the time. He needs a crown too.”

Kavian’s hands stilled. “He’ll come soon,” he said softly. “He always does.”

The sea breeze rose, tugging at their hair. Nathan looked toward the horizon - the line where clouds met water, lit faintly with gold. He didn’t answer.

Then Kavian gasped, spinning around. “See? I told you! He’s here!”

Both children turned toward the path that wound down from the cliffs. A tall figure had appeared there, dark against the pale sky.

Yuder stood at the edge of the shore, travel cloak damp with spray, the insignia of the Cavalry catching the late light. Though exhaustion still clinged to him, his gaze softened when it found them.

“Papa!”

Their voices cut through the wind. Kaira and Kavian ran across the sand, stumbling over driftwood and shells, and Yuder barely managed to lower himself before two small bundles of warmth and laughter pressed against his chest.

“You’re late,” Kaira declared, breathless.

Yuder looked down at her, his expression unreadable but his hand steady as it smoothed her windswept hair. “Am I?”

“Last time, you said you’d come before the sea went sleepy,” Kavian reminded solemnly.

“The sea is still awake,” Yuder replied.

“Barely,” Kaira said, clinging tighter.

From a distance, Nathan watched the scene unfold. His mouth curved faintly, and his posture softened as Kaira turned and waved him over.

“Papa, look!” she called. “We made Uncle Nathan a crown! But you don’t have one.”

Yuder’s brow lifted a fraction.

“Of course not.” Kavian huffed. “You’re the fairy general!”

“Ah!" Kaira exclaimed, "We can make you one too!” She said excitedly.

Yuder looked at them then. Two small figures bright as flame against the gray sea. All the fatigue from using his ability through the night to reach Pellata from the capital seemed to dissolve at the sight before him. His eyes softened, just a tad bit more.

“Then I suppose I must,” he said quietly, as he lowered himself into the sand.

They cheered. Tiny fingers worked feverishly, weaving bits of seashells and pearly fragments into a fragile circlet. When they set it atop his dark hair, Kaira laughed until she nearly fell, and even Nathan’s stoic mouth curved into an unmistakable smile.

For a little while, the shore was nothing but laughter and the sound of waves breaking gently against the rocks.

Yuder opened his eyes to stillness. Kaira was pressed close to his side, her small fingers tangled in his shirt; on the other, Kavian slept with one arm slung across Yuder’s chest as though to pin him there. Their breaths rose and fell softly, steady as the waves outside.

He had meant to leave before sunrise. It was easier that way - to go while they still dreamed, before their voices could reach him. But he had lingered too long, and now their warmth made the decision heavier with each passing moment.

Carefully, he pried their fingers loose, pausing each time they shifted. Kaira murmured something, frowning in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Yuder adjusted the blanket around them, his hand hovering a moment too long over their hair before he finally withdrew.

He dressed quickly, his motions silent, and stepped into the corridor.

The halls of Pellata were cold, the scent of sea salt woven into the stone. Waiting by the main archway were Stewardess Enk, Cook Shusiener, Captain Welliven, and Nathan - the small circle that had once watched his every move with barely concealed resentment.

They had been Kishiar’s loyalists once, and Yuder’s guilt had been a wound they could not touch nor forgive. But time, and the sight of Yuder’s quiet devotion to the children had slowly thawed that frost.

Yuder never noticed. He thought their politeness was duty, nothing more.

“Stewardess Enk,” he greeted quietly. “You’re awake early.”

Her arms were folded, but her mouth softened. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t vanish without breakfast.”

Shusiener snorted. “And someone has to make sure you don’t starve halfway to wherever it is you vanish to.”

Welliven, towering beside them, looked awkwardly at his boots. “We packed something warm. The cliffs will be frozen over past the ridge.”

Nathan stood slightly apart, coat collar turned up, hands tucked behind his back. His face was unreadable in the torchlight.

Yuder inclined his head. “Thank you. I’ll return before the month’s end.”

“Make it sooner,” Shusiener muttered.

Yuder’s hesitantly nodded. He took a step toward the main door-

“Papa?”

He froze.

Two small figures stood at the end of the corridor, their hair mussed, still in their nightclothes. Kaira rubbed sleep from her eyes while Kavian blinked owlishly, clutching the wall for balance.

“Papa, where are you going?” Kaira asked, her voice catching halfway.

Yuder turned. “Back to the capital. I told you I would have to leave.”

“You said later,” Kaira insisted, her lip wobbling. “You said when the sea went sleepy again!”

Kavian’s face crumpled as he understood. “You’re leaving now?”

Yuder sighed and crouched down, opening his arms. “Come here.”

They ran to him. He held them both close; one clinging to his neck, the other pressing his face into Yuder’s chest.

“I’ll come back soon,” Yuder murmured.

“No!” Kaira’s cry tore through the hall. She beat at his shoulder with her fists, sobbing. “You always say that! You always go! You always-” her voice broke into hiccups, “-miss the stories, and the crowns, and you never wake us up-!”

Kavian said nothing, but his hands gripped the front of Yuder’s cloak until his knuckles turned white. Tears streamed down his cheeks silently.

Yuder’s breath caught. He had faced many a threat without trembling, but the sound of his daughter’s sobs and his son's sniffles shattered something deep within him.

He gathered them closer, “I must go. Just for a while.”

“No!” Kaira screamed again. “You said you wouldn’t leave anymore! You promised!”

“Kaira,” Yuder tried. But she kicked at the floor, her small body shaking with fury.

Enk wiped at her eyes discreetly. Shusiener muttered something under his breath and turned away. Welliven looked as though he might offer to carry Yuder’s packs himself just to stop the sound.

Nathan stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “Children.”

Kaira only wailed louder, burying herself against Yuder’s chest. Kavian’s fingers refused to let go.

Yuder hesitated; every instinct screamed to stay, to hold them until they stopped crying. But duty had its own cruel rhythm.

He met Nathan’s gaze helplessly.

Nathan knelt and pried Kaira’s arms loose, ignoring the sharp little fists that beat weakly at his hands. “It’s all right,” he murmured, steady as the tide. “He’ll come back.”

“Don’t want him to go!” she cried, twisting in his grip.

"Papa please," Kavian’s voice broke. “please, don’t go.”

Yuder’s jaw tightened. He smoothed Kavian’s hair once, then gently pushed him back into Nathan’s waiting arms.

“Be brave,” he said softly. “Both of you.”

And before his resolve could waver, he stood.

The sea wind burst through the open archway, carrying the chill of dawn. Power shimmered faintly at his fingertips and then, he was off.

He did not look back. If he did, he knew he would not move.

Kaira’s loud cries and Kavian's soft sniffles echoed against the stone for a long, long time.

By the time he stepped through the Cavalry’s northern gate, light had already begun to fade behind the clouds. His body still thrummed faintly with power, the remnants of his ability straining against exhaustion after the long return from Pellata.

The halls were quiet. Only a few lamps burned low along the walls as he made his way to his office.

Deputy Commander Ever Beck was already there, waiting beside his desk with a stack of reports. 

“You’re back,” she said, straightening from her bow. Her tone was crisp as always, but her eyes flicked over him, reading the fatigue that no amount of discipline could hide. “The restraining devices for high-level Awakeners are failing again. The last batch from the Artificers’ Guild cracked under minimal resistance. We’ve had to double containment efforts.”

Yuder slipped off his gloves and set them aside. “How bad?”

“Two fractured restraints in the last week,” Ever replied, handing him the report. “No casualties, but it’s only a matter of time if this continues.”

He scanned the first page, his eyes flicking across the data before closing the file. “Send a requisition to the central research unit. Tell them to revise the alloy structure. Use the new stabilizing crystal we tested last month.”

“Already drafted,” she said. “You just need to sign it.”

He nodded, signing swiftly before setting the papers down. “Good. That will be all.”

Ever didn’t move.

He looked up. “Something else?”

Her gaze softened in an almost imperceptible way. “...How are the children?”

The question caught him off guard. His expression didn’t change much, but something gentler flickered across his eyes.

“They are,” Yuder admitted, a small trace of warmth colouring his tone. “They’re healthy,” he said at last. “Happy. They’ve grown taller. Sir Zuckerman takes good care of them.” 

Ever smiled, the tension in her posture easing. "I'm glad."

Ever and Steiber had been the only members of the Cavalry who knew of the children’s existence. The first time they’d seen them - those two small beings with gold hair and crimson eyes - any question of their lineage had dissolved from their minds.

Neither of them had ever asked who the father was. They hadn’t needed to.

Instead, they had helped Yuder, ensuring no trace of the children reached outside the Cavalry walls until the children weened off and were ready to move to Pellata.

Ever finally said, “Steiber will be glad to hear they’re doing well. He still talks about them sometimes.”

Yuder blinked, then gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. “Tell him I said thank you.”

A companionable hush fell over them, touched by unspoken familiarity.

Then came the sharp tap-tap-tap of claws against glass.

Both looked toward the window. A white dove perched on the sill.

Yuder frowned. The seal tied around its leg was unmistakable - Nathan’s.

He crossed the room and unfastened the letter, breaking the wax seal with his thumb. His eyes scanned the words, and his face drained of color.

The children cried themselves to illness. It’s serious. Please bring Enon with you.

Ever’s voice broke the silence. “Commander?”

He looked up slowly, the calmness on his face strained, the faintest thread of panic creeping into his usually steady gaze.

"The children fell ill." Yuder said quietly, more to himself than to her. “He’s asking for Enon.”

Ever straightened immediately. “Then it’s bad.”

Yuder’s jaw clenched. 

She hesitated, then said firmly, “Go. I’ll handle everything here. I’ll send you correspondence every day. Don’t worry about the office.”

He didn’t argue. He offered his thanks and was out the door in an instant.

Enon was in the middle of grinding some medicine when Yuder pushed the door to his pharmacy open.

Enon looked up from the counter, startled. “You’re back already? What-”

“The children,” Yuder interrupted, breath uneven. “Sir Zuckerman sent word - they’ve fallen ill. He said it’s serious. He wants you to come.”

Enon froze. He rarely left the capital; Yuder and Nathan knew it. But if it still requires his presence then-

“Get me ten minutes,” Enon said, already gathering his satchels. “I’ll bring what I need.”

They left together, stepping into night. Yuder’s hands trembled faintly as he reached for his power, still frayed from the earlier journey, but there was no other choice.

“Hold on,” he said quietly.

Enon gripped his shoulder. The air shuddered around them, warping like glass under pressure. The capital vanished in a rush of wind.

.

.

.

They stood upon the cliffs of Pellata, the white waves curling far below. The castle loomed in the distance through the morning mist.

Yuder’s body faltered once, his energy pulled thin by the effort of carrying two across such a distance, but he forced himself forward.

He didn’t pause to rest. The moment his boots hit the cobbled path, he broke into a run.

He had to see his children.

Captain Welliven, who’d been waiting by the entrance, looked up in relief.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here-”

“Where,” Yuder cut in, his breath sharp.

“Their room. Our healer, Nathan and Enk are with them.”

He didn’t wait to hear more.

The corridors blurred as he moved, Enon close behind. Yuder pushed open the chamber doors. Nathan turned at the sound, but Yuder’s eyes had already gone to the small shapes lying in the bed.

His children were flushed crimson, skin burning with unnatural heat. The healer at their side dabbed their temples with trembling hands, but they didn’t stir.

He ran to their side, worry vibrating off of his being.

“…Kavian. Kaira.” He called, as he placed his hand on top of their heads.

No response. Not even a flicker of movement.

Enon brushed past him, crouching beside the bed. His hand hovered over the twins’ chests, eyes narrowing as he gauged their pulse, their breath, the energy flickering faintly beneath their skin.

“This isn’t…” Enon murmured, more to himself. “It’s not a simple fever. Their vessels are unstable - there is too much energy clashing at once. The power can’t find a path, and their bodies can’t contain it.”

Yuder’s stomach dropped. “Unstable?”

Enon nodded grimly. “I’ve heard tales that royal heirs rarely live past thirty. I always wondered if it had something to do with unstable vessels. But to see this-” he exhaled. “It confirms it. Their bodies are burning from within.”

Yuder’s gaze flicked toward Nathan. The man’s expression was drawn - but not surprised.

“Sir Zuckerman?” Yuder called.

The man averted his eyes.

"Sir Zuckerman." He repeated, his voice low.

At last, he looked up. Reluctance flickered into resignation.

The healer and Stewardess Enk exchanged uncertain glances, then quietly slipped from the room, leaving behind only the faint rasp of the twins’ uneven breathing.

Nathan’s shoulders sank. “...His Highness suffered the same.”

Yuder froze. 

“And Emperor Keilusa before him,” Nathan continued, voice subdued. “Both shared the same flaw. The Emperor’s vessel broke - he died of it.”

The words sank like stones into Yuder’s stomach. That implies-

A broken vessel meant death.

Despair began to take root in him, cold and heavy.

Before he could ask about stabilizing it, Nathan hesitated, then went on.

“But His Highness… overcame it. Through awakening.”

Yuder stared. Enon frowned beside him. “Explain.”

“...When His Highness was young,” Nathan said slowly, “he reached the brink of collapse. His power had grown too great for his vessel. He was at the brink of death. But that crisis was the moment he awakened, - and that energy stabilized him. For a time, he was… well. Healthy, even."

Nathan’s eyes drifted, his tone softening. “He even spent years researching ways to awaken Emperor Keilusa the same way. But before he could…” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Yuder’s voice cut through the silence. “What happened?”

Nathan swallowed, throat working. “During the Red Stone retrieval mission… His Highness was caught in the explosion. The same power that once saved him turned on him. The Red Stone’s energy ruptured his vessel. He… never recovered from that.”

Yuder went still.

Cold sank through his veins.

Fragments of memory tore through him, memories he buried inside, memories he refused to question - the echo of a sword drawn, the deserted corridors, Kishiar’s gaunt face under dim light. 

That smile. The calm curve of his lips as Yuder’s blade pierced his-

So he murdered an already dead man.

It should ease his mind. It should make the blood on his hands less vivid.

It didn’t.

His heart still ached.

And Kishiar still wasn’t here.

“Yuder.”

Enon’s voice broke the silence. Yuder blinked, realizing he’d been staring into nothing.

Enon exhaled softly, eyes flicking to Nathan, who couldn’t meet his gaze. Then he turned back to Yuder. “I’ve administered general medicine for now. It should ease their fever, but they’ll need more care. I’ll stay with them until they recover.”

He paused, then added firmly, “And you will go and rest.”

Yuder opened his mouth to protest.

Enon cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You traveled to and from Pellata without rest - once even while carrying another person. You’ve overexerted. You’re no good to them like this. Rest. That’s an order.”

For a long moment, Yuder said nothing. Then he closed his eyes and nodded once, tightly.

He turned back to the bed. The twins’ breathing had steadied, their faces no longer as flushed. He brushed the damp hair from Kaira’s forehead, wiped the sheen of sweat away, and pressed a trembling kiss there, then to Kavian’s.

When he rose, he did not look at Nathan.

Yuder found himself, some time later, standing before Kishiar’s portrait.

Moonlight spilled through the high windows, washing the painted figure in shades of silver. Kishiar looked back at him with that same impossible smile. 

Yuder’s reflection wavered faintly across the glass. He looked at it as if it might yield some answer, some explanation for what remained after all the years, all the blood.

Behind him, Nathan’s shadow lingered silently.

“…Black Swamp Formation,” Yuder said at last. His voice was hoarse, as if the words had scraped their way out of him.

Nathan looked up, startled. Yuder’s gaze remained fixed on the portrait.

A suicide tactic.

You sacrifice your king’s piece to try and win the game.

Only, sometimes there exists a substitute piece. Something built in secret, shaped out of loyalty. It carries on the game after the king falls. It doesn’t win. It can’t. It’s only meant to survive long enough to bear the loss until the board resets.

To suffer the defeat the king piece couldn't.

Yuder exhaled a hollow breath. “He taught me this one himself.”

Kishiar had taught him every formation, every cruel brilliance in the game of strategy and statecraft. He’d known, but he hadn’t seen this one. Not until now.

The corners of his mouth moved, but not enough to be called a smile. His eyes glinted faintly.

"So I'm the substitute piece." 

'Was that all I was to him?'

Nathan’s fingers twitched before falling still again.

The moonlight shifted across his face, catching in his lashes. His next words were almost lost to it.

“Even my guilt isn’t mine.”

How dare he grieve? How dare he complain?

He killed him.

A puppet that killed it's own master.

Even if the puppet master made the puppet to stab himself-

The puppet still killed him.

The silence that followed felt endless. In the portrait, Kishiar’s painted eyes seemed to soften with something like pity.

Yuder turned to leave, not able to stand in front of his portrait any longer.

“...You are not supposed to be the substitute piece.”

Yuder stilled.

Nathan’s voice trembled, “You were his special piece.”

The moonlight touched the edge of Yuder’s face, catching on the wet shine of his eyes before he blinked it away. He stood there rigidly until the air grew too heavy to bear.

Then he turned, the whisper of his cloak trailing behind him as he walked away down the corridor.

Behind him, the painted Kishiar still smiled - serenely, eternally.