‘Has Karina been fed?’

Hamae nods at the mention of the others’ horse, freakishly similar to him in more ways than one; long white hair, piercing red eyes, loud and agonisingly lazy on the road. Hamae thinks Kayaras would sulk alone for months if they were ever separated. To find such a horse is incredibly rare bad luck alone, considering a horses nature is to run, and even more so since she is practically a four- legged version of the man. Despite being advised numerous times to pick another horse, Kayaras stubbornly insisted on keeping Karina for the simple reason of looking alike, so, perhaps he thought she was a symbol of good luck sent from the heavens. He would be a fool to still have that mindset.

A picky eater with strict dietary necessities, to put it nicely. Only the most luxurious of the lot, stomping her feet into the ground if the food is not catered to her linkings and not even bothering to pay it any mind if served in too small a portion. If she were a noble lady, she’d be the biggest and whiniest of them all.
Thankfully, Kayaras isn’t a noble.

‘Yes,’ he starts, ‘beansprouts, fruits…’

Fresh grass, little bit of this, little bit of that, and it’s no wonder this horse is so slow. If Hamae ever changed his diet like Karinas for a day, Socials Sect would surely go bankrupt.

There was another laboured breath, unsure now, before he leaned back to his seat. His arms clutched tightly to his stomach in painful discomfort and the action took another shaky groan with it. Without much will to do anything else, Hamae remained still where he was, chest rising up and down unnaturally shallow and caught between the occasional gasps that sounded oddly quiet.

Moonlight rested itself down onto everything inside the room through framework that decorated the space between inside and out with weeping florals- ones that had been chosen years ago with Hamaes strange hobbies in mind.

Light, feathery taps began sounding upon those same frames, and though it was unclear what exactly it had been, the noble became more alert and unconscious at the same time. Perhaps much too much at a time for his weary state as of recent.

When the air became tinged with a smell that of copper or impurities, Hamae lifted his blood-stained hand off of his side and eyed it just for a few seconds as if to confirm he was actually dying. Knowingly or not, at some point, he had become too careless with his movements, and too blind to take note of any abnormalities within his body.

He quickly covered the wound again with the same hand that saved his absent- minded stupor and waited.

Not for the tapping to stop, because it was more like pleasant raindrops knocking at the wooden framed glass of the room that brung stability, if anything.

For someone to notice how the scratching of his quill had stopped- how it was replaced with breaths caught between oceans of unforgiving chastise. Which made his mind wander- for what? Punishment for years of unrelenting dedication to reforming a country long devastated by fierce chains, or working tirelessly in the name of the people he swore so surely to keep safe?

The nobles head fell back with a forced sigh that sounded more guttural than the last, turning just enough to notice the small peony that had sat on his desk since the last of his knights visit. A beautiful little thing, dainty enough to just about take up your palm, even if slightly frayed from its lack of roots.

It didn’t do anything- it didn’t sway nor did it flutter in a manner that would have caught Hamaes attention, but he still ended up looking at it; the most fragile thing in his sight, but it still tugged at his wound until it opened entirely, which sent another wave of aching to the deep of his stomach.

Despite himself, his difficult breaths became sobs, and that small peony dissolved into a blurred mix of pinkish shades before long. Hamaes glassy exterior shattered with intangible force which, perhaps, wouldn’t have been enough to reap tears in any other case. However, now, it would be too straining to call for someone, to move, to give any kind of signal. The man was helpless, and he’d begun to realise just that.

He was helpless to a pitiful extent- from the tight shut of his watery eyes to his teeth that gritted in pain, helpless for the sake of some silly dream he’d envisioned. To think one noble could only do so much, this one was a fool.

In a desperate attempt to alert anyone, Hamae kicked the side of his desk and hunched over at the immediate throb in his side that followed; his wet cheek hit the desk and then made another loud sound that couldn’t be missed.

It didn’t matter to Hamae anymore- he might have even wanted nobody to hear it, so that he may die quietly. After all, it was more convenient. His reputation wouldn’t suffer a stain such as the one that sullied the surface beneath his face, and nobody would know of this tragic display.

Another broken sob escaped his throat as the door on the opposite side of the room gently cracked open, letting warm light seep through. The tapping seemed to have stopped.

Hark, the light It will bring its body in plight Take the forgings of misery, Of guilt, And of madness with its flight Coos in her ears, ‘With the love of years, Wed but still full of fears, What he, the tyrant hears, Silent to you, Hidden with the corrupted’ So that she, the demons lady Will be driven like a restless maiden She talks, Talks when dark it is outside And to no post, she is tied None but Macbeth, Who so shamefully revels in death.

Somewhat a mantra, somewhat a prayer, A string of helpless consolation, Then be cursed to damnation, Perhaps for a woman such as she, The arms of hades are naught but invitation Perhaps a light she should see, Beloved and abhorred banshee, Sewn with the dagger twisted in her gut, A light in the deepest pit of hell.

Freedom to the sworn king, all hail Malcolm! Freedom to Scotland, freedom to the people, And lest we forget- freedom to Lady Macbeth, Rotted beyond her beauty, Sounded ‘come, my love, it is time’ To which read out loud as a chime, Nature born child of Satan And a slave to asmodeous’ chains, She comes forth to the burning gate In more relief than ever to appreciate That now, Though standing at the complete mercy of The devilish arms, Kneeling with her thane of glamis, Knows eternal fire to repel the night.

Striding in a little less elegance than he usually would uphold, (though his lengthy robes made him no less so) Hamae reached a small stream of water and came to no quick halt, rising off of one foot to come over it.

‘Had I known you were in such good shape, my lord, id have invited you to sparr with me much sooner.’

Kayaras followed from behind at a similar pace, but didn’t struggle in the slightest to reach his trained lord. Having been exhausted countless times taught his body well, even if it hadn’t been used for it’s intended purpose in a while.

Yes, a breath of fresh air and free reign is exactly what he needed after being cooped up in that estate for so long.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have as much free time as you do.’

Hamae continued.

‘Not that i’d wish to spend any spare moments clashing swords with a shirker.’

Kayaras had nothing much to say to that.

The further and further they ran, the clearer a distant waterfall had come to be. Clear water, clear river.

The two men came to a stop by the edge of the riverbed.

‘From here? What are we doing?’

His noble did not reply, crouching instead with a gloved hand on the wet soil. To observe the water? To pluck a cattail from its stem? Kayaras would never know. This noble was hard to read.

Nevertheless, kayaras stood standing by his side and kept his gaze on the large waterfall that guided the rivers water, along with pebbles of all sorts, down its steep path. It cascaded beautifully, heavy in its course, but beautiful. Very much so.

He smiled a rare smile for a careless man such as himself at noticing these captivating details.

Then, he shifted his gaze over to his lord on the ground, still curious as to what exactly Hamae was examining with such focus.

‘Kayaras,’

‘Yes, my lord?’

Hamae stood up and fixed his clothes with the hand he hadn’t placed on the ground, turning his head to face the other.

‘I plan on searching the area for a few hours. Will you stay or go?’

‘I have no objection to staying, my lord!’

He may have spoken in a little more excitement than he intended, but anyway, there was no chance he was returning to the estate after just now realising how good the air smells (mind you, the estate isn’t really as cramped as he makes it out to be).

Having shown more eagerness to spend his time boring outside rather than working on something useful, Hamae, understandably, looked at kayaras disappointed and unsurprised. Well, it’s not as if this behaviour was new. Don’t look at him like that!

The noble sighed and looked away. He supposed it was on him for giving the man a choice.

‘Very well. Get to searching.’

He’d been lying before, by truthfully, and shamelessly, his heart had waivered and knelt to ignore every single law he’d known since birth at the cost of kayaras’ reciprocate feelings. When this began, he did not know. All he knew at that point was a fatal disease within his head that would not cease its torture until something was done about it.

Any normal outsider would call this love, or some other form of a watered down term which just begins to sound like nature between two close people. No, not love. A phycological connection that twisted its roots so far deep into hamaes insides, it was impossible for kayaras to do the same. His was a surface level understanding that had not yet reached that far.

It was a sick thought to be asking this of his right hand man in such a vulnerable state, fists closed against kayaras’ chest and head lowered in a pitiful manner anyone would have described as unbecoming of a noble.

There, weakly sat before kayaras’ form against a sturdy tree, as far as he could have dragged himself away from the fighting. They would have been caught eventually, but just for now, just for two minutes, they had time.

Even so, kayaras was in complete shock. All of this had hit him so suddenly in such a short time and it left him unsure or what to do or say.

Hamae’s breath was so heavy he thought he might have passed out right then and there, but through broken sounds and sobs, he managed to speak.

‘I’m sorry that-! I shouldn’t be-.. I should not..’

Kayaras’ hands remained hovering and shaking around the others doubled over form and became so close to caressing his back but paused once hamae’s croaked voice uttered something again.

‘I’m a disgrace to my king...,’

A pause.

‘…Kayaras, would you believe me if i said I’ve allowed myself to fall for your stupid antics?’

He quickly became confused, wondering why this was being brought up now. Hamae had always fallen for his antics. He’d always been patient.

‘I’ve become so deplorably weak for you, Kayaras.’

That previous confusion was cleared away now by something far worse. His hands remained ghosting around hamaes back, completely torn apart and overwhelmed by the swelling of his thoughts. He’d felt more things than he ever had before in those few seconds that he sat with a quivering lip, staring out at the trees ahead, so utterly defeated, defenseless.

How could he have been so unknowing? So blind?

And most of all, unprepared?

Having nothing to offer to hamaes confession, kayaras looked down at the top of his head, soaked by the rain, and remained in troubled silence.

Somewhere between those lines, he’d begun crying unknowingly. Out of what, Sadness? Pity?

Kayaras cursed himself because it was unclear. And also partly because he’d rarely cried before. There were two things the rain was good for previously; fruitful soil and keeping angry birds at bay. Now, the third was hiding tears. Even if hamae couldn’t really see them, it still felt humiliating to cry over something he should have, in theory, easily moved on with.

With an uneasy gut, at last, kayaras placed his wet hands on the nobles back, feeling how he began sobbing loudly again.

‘Don’t cry, please… my lord..’

Seran, beloved leader and graceful daughter of the satian empire, one inspired by the wonders of the common folks love and admiration toward a great emperor, hoping one day, she would be empress, too. the goal was so very close; in reach, within sight. The final act before her reign would be her fathers, lying upon his bed and slowly drifting off into endless rest with his hands on his stomach.

This act was a tragic one, but a shining light for she who was to see nothing but fulfilling days ahead of her. Should it ever rain from then, the people of satia would cherish it longer than they ever had before.

All thoughts of success following her crowning ceremony, however, beautiful as these thoughts may have been, they had all become a terrible lie over the course of the time she’d spent with her father. Watching, only observation from the palace grand balcony afar might have been enough to force any heir to turn their backs; forget all about the rewards reaped from such disaster.

Seran stared for far too long. Then, slowly, a desperate feeling of helplessness began to crawl through her limbs, weakening every muscle from fingertips to heel. There it was, that need to fall through that floor and take the sword in her fathers stead.

Still, with everything to do but nothing ever followed through, watched, lacking any kind of control over anything. The thousands of bodies fixed to the ground with weapons like pins on a board, ground half covered with their blood so painfully carelessly. After all, who was to be accounted for, where casualties in battles such as these could never be dug individual graves?

No bigger than a cricket, overcome completely by fear, seran tripped back over her own feet and leaned toward the doors. Fear not out of concern for her own safety, but rather her future people’s once in her shaking hands that were all too knowing of her roles implications.

Too afraid of taking on a powerful position that may very well have become unforgiving with time, and against all her good will, seran fled the palace with no further sound.

This one was her act; a shameless last attempt at saving satia and its grace after being deterred from it. As righteous as she thought it may have been, it was equally as detrimental. To the empires walls, everything within, to its last remaining royalty, but most of all, to its people. The aftermath of her good thoughts had left an entire empire of people enslaved to those of capacita.

Seran never got what she wanted, she was punished with her upbringing and given false light in a helpless situation. Hope, she thought, hope for all people of satia and forgiveness in her pitiful stupor.

Once out of anyone’s sight, her reputation had been tarnished with the same chains that were violently hung around the necks of her very own people, never to be restored. And in that exact manner, seran vanished from the memories of them all once unbound.

No wanted posters were hung. No rewards were offered.

oh, marea how many stars were you to count until you could lie peacefully underneath your grave? could i have possibly saved your grace and watched over you from above, rather than carve myself onto your stone and stain it of my wail for as long as it holds me together? if i span my wings over you, rotting underneath the ground; i could have saved you from all meteors and strikes of lightning, but not this, i hope my presence in the absence of you will bring honour to all of the inscriptions written to tell the world my failure.

kayaras was the warmest shade of pink, welcoming tint of peony and dawn which so heartlessly spread itself across every feature. dusk was not too far away, and it was winter. night would reach the balcony rails on which he rested his head and though it did not have arms, it rooted and nestled between his pores until the sun was to rise again. still for a long while, he leant his face back gently to face the crescent of the watchtower with the black feathers of it in a dull and frosted reflection that for a few moments faltered uncontrollably without much strain.

a cold hand cupped it’s skin, and took his tears along with it for the sake of not having done so before— or just to feel the thick layer of porcelain that wouldn’t ever have become so fragile this way.

it was held, it was caressed, he had been cursed and he had been hit,

but never believed he would be told such a callous lie. something promising; words that sent bravery surging through his system enough to motivate thousands of men into walking a death parade. and if words capable of such a thing were so carelessly spoken to a child, no older than 10, then perhaps to be cursed was to be saved.

the mirror of metallic velvet was well justified, and well deserved, however this one was too weak to serve it. instead, he remained still, though his mind ran by an abundance of questions. questions that would never be answered, given he was too quiet to voice, and the wind blew far too wild at their heights.

despite everything, there was one flame that remained bright enough to stay with him until night passed, until his body became fine spades hung below the rails. he grazed his cheek, barely, as if he was too afraid to stain the blessing of light he was beginning to accept.

he had been.

‘kayaras?’ he called

‘don’t move, please wait.’

then the ringing of his steps became softer and softer the more he waited. this was what being old felt like. this was sitting out by the patio on the last day of summer and watching sylvia wander about the roofs of the residence. that, except it was white outside and he missed his companion just barely. maybe he had seen hamae for the last time a few seconds ago and missed the chance to hold him close before death in its purest form followed pursuit.

if it would bring warmth in even the smallest degree, his eyelids shut tight and his mouth pursed. a miracle to thank god for that he had the strength to still believe in peoples words at the peak of his destruction; that time in which he could think of nothing but the lies he’d been told. hamae, are you still on your way? will you reach with enough time to let me hear what you have to say?

yes, being old was counting your days with nothing to do in your weak body, being old was counting your seconds under winters unforgiving hands. he was becoming old fast, old before 30, and past the point of recovery. how could this be? just a few days ago, he was the most handsome young man the locals had ever seen.

the heavens offered a fate kinder this time, and presented this one infront of kayaras soon enough to catch him conscious. the man was uncharacteristically clumsy in his movements when he tried to cover the hollowness ringed in red. hamae, wont you speak to me?

it was clear this state was losing and will was not enough to hold it together anymore; he kept tending to the helpless gashes, silver memorised and at some point, began crying.

how come this one never showed such care when kayaras was still beautiful?

unsure of what to say, he picks his hand up and places cold fingertips on the others layers of dark clothing hung by the waist. hamae notices it and utters the sincerest of apologies over and over whilst covering the most of the injury he could and never stopped until he was sure of its revival. he never took his time, possibly because he wanted to embrace kayaras as soon as he could, possibly because he knew kayaras really didn’t have any chances left. today, it wasn’t his fault. he placed a pair of tender hands behind his head and placed his face in the slight comfort of his chest so that kayaras wouldn’t hear the pitiful sobs forming in his throat.

this one listened carefully, and internally thanked hamae when he couldn’t block the sounds with just his chest.

the crescent began to sway again and encouraged hamae to look back up at kayaras. his eyes travelled downward in nothing but dearness and smiled. he smiled and cried in the others palms because despite all of his past shortcomings, hamae decided to stay.

‘kayao… kayao.. don’t smile at me.. i will become weak. do you want me to become weak?’

his hands went to cling on the softness of cracked skin that was his cheeks with yearning that could closely compare to utter despair.

yes, let your guard down.

particular notices, stamped and plastered all over the walls of satia like a hungry man’s den silently weeping for more. this one wasn’t alive anymore, however, despite all of the phantoms roaming it’s hollow roofing. they create wind- rotten, musky wind. it’s no wonder the archaeologists of this day don’t dare step foot near these tall ruins.

perhaps it’s just kayaras’ wondrous imagination, or a curse of some sort, but the winds running past the shattered windows glass orchestrate an awfully familiar set of notes that he tries to ignore with every waking bone in his body. then again, it is the wind, and it is never to cease; for as long as the phantoms haunt it.

170, 180, 190 now; he counts along the run down walls filled and overwhelmed with letters and notes that can only be read by the oldest of residents. a peculiar note in particular can be distinguished easily from the others, written in hatred and anguish like kayaras has seen no other through a couple simple strokes.

the wind bellows past this one too, and takes the hanging edge with it into the sky and out of his sight. those all too familiar notes make place for the second time since kayaras decided to enter here through each individual paper and he begins to reconsider the planned time of his return. with a quick rise of his chest, he readjusts his collar in the same manner his superior always does and moves on. little words are spoken, even less sounds are made, instead replaced with this now irritating gust.

should he leave? should he stay? the questioning quickly simmered down as kayaras reaches a point wherein the end of the wall is visible, paused by a tall church. more abundant in height than ground, it falters at the melodious wind and looks as if it may collapse any day now. he stops to stare at it for a moment, ringing out weakly on a large bell being swayed continuously at the peak.

in fact, these notes are not at the winds fault. if he’d known the bell was chiming instead of it, he would have climbed the damned thing and taken it down long ago.

kayaras begins walking down the last of the dressed walls, reaching the churches slanted doors with the bitterness of an old man. despite having such a hindered posture, the tattered wood crowns over his stature in mocking rebellion. if doors and bells could talk, he’d say they aren’t very distant in terms of volume.

well, that is, until the bells chiming becomes increasingly louder with furthering seconds and seemingly unaffected by the wind; instead, by something far worse- the same nature of a violent phantom seeking vengeance. at first it had been calmed, but now restless, banging and shouting with no intention of quietening.

even so far up, closer to the sky than it is to kayaras, can still be heard; painfully at that. he covers his ears at no cost, and each waking second becomes a new height for the bells ringing to reach, merciless in its disarray. it is no longer a composed set of notes, but rather a boisterous one.

furthering with no return it’s torture, kayaras finally decides to run back to the residence.