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The moon gleams like an eye in the half-lit sky, playing twin to the sun that is fading into the west. They’re larger than Viktor ever remembers them being, looming close with a brilliance that makes him dizzy on his feet. He stumbles once, twice, then realizes the landscape is twisting. The ground beneath him begins to roll like like a serpent, and the distant horizon bleeds and widens. It lasts forever and happens instantly, and he can no longer tell if what he sees is sky, earth, or sea.
“Can you hear?”
The whisper feels like a breath against his ear. Viktor draws a hand to his chest and tries to calm his heartbeat, but the whisper persists, haunting him like a ghost.
“Tired…”
“Feeling…is it enough?”
Viktor closes his eyes and tries to remember. There’s something important that must not slip his mind. It was...?
“Do you believe? Will it stop you…”
“Where does your destiny lie?”
He isn’t alone here. Even with his eyes shut, he can sense the others surrounding him.
“Your heart…what is your truth?”
“Can you hear…?”
“Feelings…enough to turn it around.”
“ Stay close to me, Viktor. ”
Viktor blinks awake and then shields his eyes from the morning light. Sunbeams pour through the east line of windows, painting the wallpaper and the furniture that decorate the bedroom. As the seconds crawl past, he becomes more aware of his other senses. There are songbirds outside, welcoming the dawn. The blankets surrounding him feel tangible and real. He senses a shift from the foot of the bed and sits up to see Makkachin crawling up to greet him a good morning, the same as always ever since she was a pup. Viktor sighs and rubs away the sleep from his eyes.
“The dream was a dream,” Viktor murmurs, running a hand through his tangled hair. He breathes another sigh and chuckles. “Of course it was.”
The time is earlier than his usual waking hour, but he nevertheless rises and readies for the day. There are many tasks to oversee before tonight’s ball. A head start would lessen the burden. What would the servants think when they realize he’d cleaned and dressed himself today? The thought of their aghast expressions puts him in a mischievous mood, and so Viktor neglects to tie back his hair, letting the silver locks loose to flow over his back and shoulders.
He’s finishing the last touches to his outfit and fitting on a belt when he glances out his windows and down. His lips lift at the corners at the sight of the autumn-shifting landscape, and then pull into a full smile when he imagines the changes in the secret garden. Many rare and beautiful flowers bloom within the grounds of the royal palace, but the private garden of the late queen is Viktor’s sanctuary and personal treasure. His mother had loved flowers, and had taught her eldest son to love them too. Then, the secret garden became his garden, and for years Viktor had guarded it to be only his alone. It was his refuge, his haven, his heart. He hadn’t known any other way to love the flowers besides keeping them for himself.
Now, he knows better.
A garden is most beautiful when shared with someone you love.
“You’re getting better at this,” Viktor muses as Yuuri threads another white violet into the crown of flowers forming in his hands.
“At making flower crowns? Am I?” Yuuri chuckles and fixes a pink carnation, untwisting a petal from a stalk of white heather. “Well, I have an amazing teacher, just for me.”
Viktor leans forward and catches his lover’s hand. He presses a kiss there, against the knuckles, and delights in the blush that overtakes Yuuri’s face. “The amazing one is you. My eyes can’t bear to look away.”
The flustered man fumbles for words before placing the flower crown over Viktor’s head. “It feels strange to hear that from you. Nobody can ignore you when you join the ballroom.”
“Oh?” Viktor’s smile is at odds with his skeptical tone. “You did a very good job ignoring me for a while.”
Yuuri bursts into a laugh. “I didn’t know what to make of you! There was just too much being thrown at me, how was I to know what to do?” His smile slips slightly. “And…I ignored you because I didn’t want want you to see my shortcomings.”
“But I love you.” Viktor’s chest swells with overwhelming affection. He falls forward into the grass, wrapping Yuuri in his arms. “I love you and every part of you, even what you try to hide.” He traces the seam of Yuuri’s mask and cradles his cheek. “My heart sings every time I remember you.”
Viktor tackles his princely duties in high spirits, uplifted by the thought of Yuuri. He hadn’t seen the mysterious man for some days now, but there was no doubt in his mind that his dark-haired lover would appear tonight. The royal palace hosts many grand parties, but the masquerade balls held on the solstices and equinoxes are its fame. Each quarter serves as opportunity to relax behind anonymity, spurring many rumors about secret, mysterious guests. Viktor is a thoughtful and thorough host, and knows that security wouldn’t allow guests without invitations, but he enjoys the fun curiosity roused by the seasonal parties. It puts Viktor in the mood to make tonight more special for the two of them, and he gets the idea to bother the Royal Chef for a favor. When Viktor descends to the kitchens in the later morning, it’s to find that he isn’t the only prince to be bothering the royal staff today.
“Are you hiding from Yakov again?” Viktor teases, approaching the blond seated by a table piled with fruit.
His younger brother snorts and slouches lower into the seat. “You’ve no right to talk when you’re a bigger headache to him than I’ll ever be.”
“That’s true.” Viktor selects an apple from one of the baskets and examines its color. “What do you think, Makkachin?” Viktor asks his steadfast companion, “Puff pastries or blossom tarts? Or maybe I should seek out a bottle of honey apple wine? Which would Yuuri like best?”
“Idiot, don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Yuri says with scowl.
“Yurochka, silly. Are you still asleep?” Viktor chuckles and bites into his apple. Instead of the sweet taste he expects, the fruit is sour against his tongue. Viktor frowns, puzzled, and delicately spits the piece into his hand. “I mean Yuuri! Yuuri Katsuki. Come now, don’t be childish. You act like you hate him, but we both know that’s untrue.”
“What are you talking about?” The younger prince isn’t angry now. The scowl remains, but there’s a different look in his eyes, and it is this—the honest concern from his brother—that has Viktor realize that something is wrong. “Katsuki? Who the hell is that?”
“But do you ever forget me?” Yuuri asks against his lips.
The question is so absurd that Viktor laughs. “I could never forget you, not even in my dreams.”
Everyone has gone mad. It’s the only conclusion that makes sense to Viktor. Sometime between yesterday and now, the world had forgotten Yuuri Katsuki. Even Chris is acting like the man had never existed, and the young duke is the friend who had encouraged Viktor’s romance the most. The prince’s despair darkens as the day goes on, finding no one and nothing to prove that the past many months were real. Viktor knows they were real—his feelings are too deep and complex to be faux—but a truth that is true only to himself is not enough. He doesn’t know what is transpiring, let alone how to undo it, and his limited power is an unfamiliar frustration. Without any any other choice, the crown prince waits and hopes for a sign.
“Well met, mon frère!”
Viktor turns at the familiar greeting and wonders if he has the current patience to deal with this man. The red, leaf-shaped mask hides his face well, but there’s no mistaking the young king of the neighboring country. Certainly not with that boisterous voice. Jean-Jacques smiles and claps a hand on the prince’s shoulder.
“What a strange trick to find you alone and not dancing. Are you sick?”
Viktor glances at the empty space beside the king. “I could say the same for you. Where’s your better half?”
“Ah, so observant to notice!” Jean-Jacques laughs and then breathes a mournful sigh. “My Isabella is at home, her home. A sudden matter needed her attention. I could’ve forgone the party, but it’d be so rude and ignore the fancy invitation, no?”
“How kind.” Viktor’s gaze wanders over the faces of the guests, restless and searching for a familiar black-and-crystal mask. The masquerade is alive with laughter and music, but he can’t enjoy the satisfaction of another well-executed party. His anxious heart won’t allow him.
“I hear that your brother is performing tonight, and they say he is as talented as you. Graceful as a fairy.”
“Yes.”
“Funny how I’ve yet to see any of your dances in person. That isn’t purposeful on your part, is it?”
“Hm.”
“That would hurt me, truly. Sure we have our differences, but we are friends. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Mm.”
“Good, then I’m choosing your next dance partner.”
“Hm—” Viktor blinks. “What?”
“This is a party, your party.” Jean-Jacques waves an arm, gesturing to the ballroom as a whole. “You should be enjoying it, more than anyone else here. Don’t worry, I’ll pick out a pretty one.”
“No, tha—”
“You like them with black hair, don’t you?” The young king drags Viktor along by the shoulder, overpowering the prince’s reluctance with physical strength. “How about that one?”
“Quit this!” Viktor snaps, losing his remaining calm. He dislikes how Jean-Jacques moves others to match his pace. It’s an impressive talent in a leader, but a tiresome one for anyone allied to him. The prince narrows his eyes and sharpens his tongue for a scathing remark when he stops, eyes wide, catching sight of the target the king had chosen for him.
Black hair and dark eyes, but not the ones Viktor longs for. The man’s feathered mask matches the many colors of his outfit, and the absurdity of the ensemble would’ve been laughable if it didn’t so strangely suit him. Guests pass him fascinated looks, but the man is busy selecting a bottle of wine from a table.
His friends may have forgotten his lover, but Viktor remembers his lover’s friend.
Desperate hope overwhelms the prince and he rushes forward, feeling panic when the feathered man disappears into the crowd. He moves people out of his way and murmurs fast apologies for his unkindness. His haste makes him clumsy and Viktor nearly misses his mark, but rainbow hues catch the corner of his eye and he turns just in time to see his quarry exit to a private balcony. The prince hurries and slams through the double doors, only to halt at the scene of the feather-masked man straddling the lap of another gentleman. A gentleman who looks very much petrified, and very much resembles the visiting lord of Hasetsu Castle.
“Stop!” Viktor commands.
The colorfully garbed man blinks up at him, listing slightly to one side. “No.”
Lord Nishigori sends the prince a pleading stare, and Viktor tries again. “He’s a married man!”
“S’ho? I dun’t mind.” slurs the young man. His body wobbles like his words, an indication of the many drinks he must’ve imbibed. “Why you care, you…” He throws his head head back, eyes squinting as his mouth works for a name. “His your Highness?”
“Your Highness!” Lord Nishigori shouts, alarmed. He leaps to his feet and sends the drunkard out of his lap. The young man seems unharmed by the tumble, but huffs and pouts at being alone on the garden bench. “My apologies for—it isn’t my intent to act or do such—!”
“I can guess the circumstance. No harm, Nishigori-dono.” Viktor flicks his eyes between the two men. “I have some words for my other guest, so please—return to the party and enjoy.”
Lord Nishigori’s expression relaxes into relief and he takes the offered leave without hesitation. The drunkard frowns as the stock man’s escape and kicks his feet in annoyance when the balcony doors shut again. “Royal pain moooodkiller. I liked th’ shoulders on him…”
It’s a first for Viktor to receive such blatant disrespect. He has the mind to punish the man for the offense, but his want for the truth outweighs his pride. “What happened to Yuuri?”
“Hm?” The man sits up and slouches over the back of the bench with a yawn. “Whooo? His smaller Highness is…dancing maybe?”
“No.” Viktor inhales a shaky breath, refusing to accept this clue as a dead end. “I know you. You are…your name is Seung Gil and you always arrive here with Yuuri. You’re his friend and I shouldn’t know you or recognize you or you shouldn’t be here if Yuuri isn’t…” The words choke him, but he forces them on. “…isn’t real. I know he is! What happened to him?! Is he hurt, is he alright, don’t lie to me—I want the truth!”
The demands sound childish released into the night air, and regret joins the pool of Viktor’s mixed emotions. He gasps from embarrassment and from the effort of raising his voice. His heartbeat feels loud, thrumming behind his ears and in his throat. He’s come to his senses, but his body refuses to calm down. The skin behind his neck prickles and there’s a tremor in his hands. Unease threads into and tightens his muscles, and this terrible feeling is too familiar. Viktor searches his surroundings, but there’s only Seung Gil with him on the balcony. Seung Gil, now standing on two steady feet and without the mask, watching him with sharp eyes clear of any drunken haze.
“Congratulations, your Highness. You pass the prerequisite for the Trials. Do you accept?”
Gentle hands run through his hair, lulling him into a light doze. It’s that perfect time of day when the sun isn’t too bright and the ground is still warm. The tickle of grass feels pleasant against his back and his lover’s quiet breathing is the perfect sound to fall asleep to.
“Viktor.”
He tilts his face to show that he’s listening, and hums at the ghost of fingers tracing his brow and his nose. The light touch feels oddly cold.
“If you ever tire of me, it’s fine to let me go.”
The warm and comfortable feeling vanishes, gone like a fantasy, and now Viktor is wide awake. He stares up at Yuuri, incredulous. “ Why would you say something like that, like you're trying to test me?”
The black-haired man smiles and laughs nervously. “The world can hate me for tying you down, but I don’t want to be hated by you.”
Viktor narrows his eyes and reaches up to hold Yuuri’s hand, entangling their fingers together. “ Yuuri is the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to. I don't really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it love. Do you doubt me?”
A blush blooms under Yuuri’s mask and colors his face a pretty red. “No.”
“Then be more selfish with me.”
It’s akin to the difference between looking at a window and then beyond it. Viktor had been looking at Seung Gil, but now he's looking at Seung Gil and more. He doesn’t see it with his eyes, but it’s undeniably present, and the impressions sweep through him like pieces fitting together—warm earth and autumn leaves, bittersweet wine, the delirium of life. It’s a wonder how he hadn’t noticed before, but then again, he supposes that he’s only human. Viktor doesn’t know what’s being asked of him, but knows the importance of his reply. Only heavy consequence could follow a choice delivered by a god. “What is—”
“Crazy bastard, how’s he supposed to understand that?!”
The prince startles at the new voice and watches in amazement as a man simply appears before his eyes. The stranger is tall and handsome, with olive-toned skin and a thin face. Seung Gil remains unfazed, if not unimpressed by this new event.
“It’s an important question.”
“You skipped all the important details!” The man’s scowl deepens at the other’s lacking reaction. “Whose bright idea was it for this duty to fall to you?”
“Wasn’t that your—”
“Shush!” the newcomer hisses.
“You do it then, Mickey. Since you’re good with words.” Seung Gil nods his chin at the prince and flops back onto the garden bench. He picks up his pilfered wine bottle and wrestles with the cork. “Give him a poem or a serenade.”
“Tch. Your humor gets worse with every incarnation.” The tall man switches his violent gaze to Viktor, and the window-seeing revelation repeats. Only this time there is sunlight, the precision of knowledge, musical words and sound.
There are now two gods before him and Viktor doesn’t know which to address first.
He isn’t sure how to address them. He’d never prepared himself for an encounter of this nature before.
“Viktor Nikiforov.” The newcomer god crosses his arms as he speaks. “You’re a talented and clever man. Reason should guide you to the obvious truth, but I will make it plain. Yuuri Katsuki is one of ours.”
Yuuri is…?
The words fit themselves into the mystery of his unremembered lover, aligning like perfect pieces to a puzzle.
“Love is the most volatile of worldly experiences, yet you shamelessly seduced Eros on your own.” The god sighs as if reprimanding a child. “As our rules stand, the affair couldn’t be overlooked, so we’ve removed him—from you, and those around you. This is the natural way of things and we require no thanks, but should you refuse it—”
“Give him back.” The god looks affronted by the abrupt interruption, but Viktor glares at him, voice cold and tense with anger. “It doesn’t matter who else he is as long as he’s Yuuri. And you insult yourself with your expectations. What would I thank you for? For stealing my loved one? For invading my home? You speak as if reasonable, but seem to be lacking in common sense.”
“Oh.” Seung Gil bows over his knees with silent laughter. “Oh, I like him. Viktor Nikiforov, I grant you the favor of Dionysus. May it serve you well.”
“That isn’t how this works!” The taller god’s face flushes dark with frustration. “The rules—!”
“Screw the rules, Mickey. He practically gave us his answer anyway.”
“Only my sister is allowed to address me as—”
“Fuck your sister.” Seung Gil gets to his feet and takes a swig of wine.
“You dare—”
“No, literally. Fuck your sister. It would save us all the headache, Apollo.” He pushes past the sputtering god and approaches Viktor, shortening the distance between them. “Yours isn’t the first case of a scandalous mortal lover. The problem doesn’t lie with you personally. Entanglements like that cause trouble, what with inheritance and wars and such. So we have an old-fashioned tradition.”
The prince narrows his eyes, recalling the earlier question. “The Trials?”
Seung Gil nods approvingly. “Your prevailing memory of Yuuri is proof of an honest heart. It qualifies you for the Trials. Complete all three, and your relationship will be acknowledged and blessed. Fail even one, and nothing.”
“Nothing?” Viktor echoes.
“You return to your life, none the wiser.” The other god elaborates, having reined in his temper. “With your memories emptied and replaced, there won’t even be a name to remember.”
“Then my decision is obvious, isn’t it?” His mind is still reeling from the enormity of his new knowledge, but his voice remains steady with determination. “I accept the conditions for the Trials.”
Seung Gil looks at him solemnly. “Then the first Trial begins now. You must acquire a token from the love-cursed witch.”
“Once upon a time, there was a man who drove himself into madness. He was the son of a witch and had talent like his mother, and was fascinated by the incredible power that laid in the ability to love. The old magic was special, accessible to everyone, yet rarely did anyone master its depth. There was potential there that the man consciously wanted for, and so he sought to conquer love as use the power as his own.”
“Hm,” Viktor mumbles, pressing his cheek into his lover’s shoulder, “This doesn’t sound like a happy story.”
“You wanted to hear what stories I know, didn’t you?” Yuuri turns his body to provide a more comfortable perch for his listener and brushes stray pieces of goldenrod from their clothes. “This is a tale I picked up while passing the east. Some say that it’s true.”
“It’s a typical lesson on tragedy, isn’t it?” Viktor chuckles at the pout that Yuuri sends him. “Alright, alright. Go on, my storyteller.”
Yuuri sighs and resumes the tale. “He fell into love eagerly, taking its red threads and weaving them into his soul. He grew famous as the most powerful arcane practitioner in the land, and he enjoyed his fulfilled ambition until ruin inevitably came.
“The witch-born was thoughtless, a man in love with love. His lover felt the loneliness of being more convenience than value, and as time went on, her eyes and heart wandered away from him for another. The witch felt pain like he had never imagined, the threads in his soul cutting deep into his core. The manipulation he played on love now constricted him, so he sought to cure the ailment by convincing his old lover back to his side.
“She refused, of course. There was no love left in her for him. The witch wailed and cried, choked by his threads, and lost all reason to his soul-wrenching sorrow. He terrorized the land, plaguing it with curses, and was only forced to cease when a hero intervened. With the return of his senses, the witch was horrified by he’d done, and so he made a final curse.”
“A curse?” Viktor frowned. “How would one more wrong fix anything?”
“He cursed himself.” Yuuri’s expression became sad, as if he could share the pain of the story’s character. “He iced his heart so that the threads wouldn’t tighten, and then disappeared into the mountains so that no harm could come from his foolishness again.”
Viktor waits a long moment in silence, and then raises his head from its comfortable rest. “Wait, that’s it? That can’t be the end. What about his lover? And the hero? What happened to his soul?”
“That’s as far as the story goes.” Yuuri shrugs and laughs at Viktor’s dissatisfied reaction. “Maybe you could ask him one day.”
The prince huffs and shakes his head as the wind tousles his long hair. “Oh, how terrible I am in my future, to come face to face with a witch.”
“Never,” Yuuri declares. He catches strands of silver hair and tucks them behind Viktor’s ear. “No part of you could ever be terrible, least of all to me.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Princess Y—”
“Oh, none of that. I’ve been to many of your parties and long recognized us as equals.” The young woman smiles, and there is as much kindness there as there is wit. “Call me Isabella. It will be my christened name upon marriage.”
“Then return the same favor and call me by Viktor, if you will.” The prince chuckles and regards the palace’s interior, finding the arches and colors different but no less impressive than his own home’s design. It’s a pity that he would only be staying for a day.
“Then please, Viktor. Walk with me down this hall. The tea room should be ready for us.” Isabella indicates the path and matches pace with her guest so that they may continue their talk. “I will do my best to answer your questions, though I am perplexed by your interest in the Whispering Forest. The trees on the mountainside are beautiful, yes, but that place is home to ghosts and demons. It is not safe to venture there.”
Viktor responds to the implied concern with warm gratitude in his voice. “I am aware, thank you. I’ve…heard the story before, not too long ago.” His slight pause doesn’t go unnoticed, but Isabella sensibly allows the conversation to move on. She provides him with the information he sought her for, and introduces him to the historians who know better about the mountain’s history. The more he learns, the more aware he becomes of the danger. Maybe a wiser man would’ve forfeited that night, but Viktor is a fool in love, and so the morrow comes with him crossing the tree line of the witch-haunted mountain.
The ascent is hard on the body and harder on the mind. Soft and uneven ground has him minding his feet to avoid injury, but careful steps don’t stop the voices from leaking into his ears. He can hear them, constantly. The eerie forest lives up to its name and the unnatural whispers are worse than he’d imagined. They trickle into his mind like oil, staining his thoughts and loosening his resolve. He doesn’t understand the languages of most of them, but knows their intentions are all the same.
Break.
Surrender.
Stray.
Unravel.
The ferocity of the voices increases as the daylight grows weaker, and Viktor rests his efforts before it becomes too dark to properly make shelter. When the sky gains the red-orange glow of sundown, he sets a cup down beside his camp and fills it with the wine he’d received as his favor.
Before the prince had departed eastward, he’d called on the favor promised to to him by Seung Gil. Good wine has many uses—a truth potion, a sleep medicine, or a mood-maker to those that imbibe it—and a bottle from the god’s personal storeroom possesses that usefulness and more. Viktor has no weapons or abilities that could combat the wraiths and demons that prowl the night, but he pours the wine and leaves the cup overnight. When he awakes at daybreak, he remains unharmed and his offering is gone.
The cycle repeats twice more before the prince stumbles across a cottage in a wide clearing. At its door, bathed in the sunset, stands a pale man with black hair and dark sapphire eyes.
“The tea is ready,” the witch says in lieu of greeting, and the prince tiredly follows the man inside. It’s a modest home, cluttered with shelves of books and items the prince has no names for. The herbal drink nearly scalds his tongue and Viktor realizes just how cold and weak his body has become. “Take it slowly. I will be speaking first.”
“…Thank you, Georgi Popovich.”
The witch’s mouth quirks into bleak smile. “You sought my name. How rare. Did you think it would help you?”
“Maybe.”
“I am an evil witch.”
“In stories, yes.” Viktor takes a shaky sip of his tea. “But you are also a brother from my country, and I want to call you by name.”
Georgi folds his hands over the table between them. “I can see why Eros had taken a liking to you, but you hardly have much to gain from accepting the deranged Trials.”
Viktor snorts unbecomingly. “I underestimated the concerns of his family, but as unwelcome their involvement is, at least it signifies acknowledgment.”
“Unwelcome, you say,” Georgi says. He reaches out a hand to the side and the kettle floats off the stove to refill both their cups. “Or perhaps in your interest.”
His hands tighten around his warm drink. “Yuuri is—”
“He is a god.” The witch’s eyes flash silver for an instant. “What will you do when he outlasts your beauty and youth? No matter how you romance it, your life is only a fleeting moment in his. Will you shackle yourself to such a partner? Someone who will leave you—has left you—to suffer your mortality alone?”
“I don’t believe—”
“Don’t lie to me on this mountain.” The words cut like a threat, but Georgi goes on. “There are monsters in the shadows, but the voices that followed you are not from here, they are your own.”
Viktor falls silent.
“This forest is a forsaken place, and your doubts are loudest in loneliness. You don’t wholly believe in happily ever after, so why bother, young prince? Return home, find a wife, and have a family that will not leave you behind.”
“No,” Viktor says before thinking. When his mind catches up to the word, his decision stands no less firm. “No, I will not forfeit here.” Despite his unsteady legs, he rises from his seat to stand. “I can go farther, will go farther.” He pulls his hunting knife from its sheath and raises it parallel to his chest.
The witch gives it wary regard. “What are you—”
“My beauty and youth?” Viktor gathers his hair and presses the knife against the strands. He applies pressure and strength until the blade cuts through. “Those fade no matter what. I’ll sacrifice them here if I need to. I fear as any mortal man does of wasting away into a raisin, but any time apart from Yuuri is a waste to me. Even if it scares me, he is the future I've chosen.”
Georgi stares at the shaking man before him, still haunted by his forest experiences yet unwavering against the evidence of his fears. “Trusting him may not end well for you.”
“When I open up, he meets me where I am. This time is my turn, and I will meet him where he is.”
When the night begins to lighten, Georgi walks him outside so that they may see the sun rise together. The air feels cold against the bare nape of his neck and Viktor indulges his compulsion to run fingers over the back of his head. The hair feels smooth there, thanks to the help of the witch. Living as a hermit meant caring for himself, so Georgi had become quite the talent with a pair of scissors.
“The token?” Viktor asks.
“You have it,” Georgi answers, and the prince looks down at the old cup in his hands. “They always receive it, but the choice on whether to keep it is not mine. Ah, there is Guang Hong.”
Viktor raises his eyes again to witness a rainbow rising through the sky. The colors arch and then fade as they pass overhead, and then a boy appears before them, dressed in white and endowed with wings.
“Viktor Nikiforov.” The lad smiles, charming and shy. He is the first deity to lack the arrogance that Viktor has thus far encountered from his kind. “I am Iris, messenger of the gods. You’ve succeed the first Trial, and I am here to deliver your second.”
“How interesting.”
The prince glances to the witch. “Interesting?”
Georgi touches a hand to his chin. “This is the first that I’ve seen you show interest for these, Mila.”
A woman’s laugh echoes around them and Viktor watches in amazement as the owner appears before their eyes. She wipes a tear from eyes and tosses her fiery-red hair. “How unkind you are, Georgi. Giving me away and ruining my fun.” A teasing grin adorns her face and when she turns her gaze to Viktor, he sees mastery of crafts and war. “I am here, dear champion, to grant you the favor of Athena.”
“A favor,” Viktor breathes, “Are the terms the same?”
“An item or a task unrelated to your quest, yes.” The goddess sweeps out her arms. “Call my name when you’ve decided your choice.”
“No need to wait. I have it now.” The prince clasps the witch’s shoulder. “Untangle the threads inside the soul of my friend. He has long suffered the effects of his mistake and deserves repair.”
Georgi looks to him with wide eyes. “Foolish prince, don't waste the favor of deity!”
“It is my investment,” Viktor declares firmly, “I wish for us to become friends. Though the years may have changed it, there is still a place for you to return to. Come home.”
“Oh my.” The goddess gasps and presses hands to her face in excitement. “I would be glad to.”
“Mila, it can’t be so simple.” The witch, for the first time, looks helpless, and Viktor remembers the disappointing ending of the story.
“Then I will make it simple.” Viktor straightens his back and lifts his face. “I order you, as the Crown Prince and future king of the country that saw your birth. Return.”
The goddess erupts into laughter again. “Even if you refuse that, you cannot run from me, Georgi. Our oaths are sacred and he has my oath.” From the way the gods addresses him, the witch seems to be a liked man despite his past. As the goddess and witch continue to bicker, Viktor feels a light touch as the messenger god takes his hand.
“Let’s leave them be.” The young man giggles and flutters his wings. “They can go on like that for a while, and I don’t want to keep you in suspense for the next task. Are you ready?”
Viktor smiles his thanks. “As I’ll ever be.”
The god lifts his wings, arching them excitedly as he proclaims. “With the end of the first, now is the second Trial. You must collect leaves from the Tree of False Dreams.”
“Favorite drink after a long day?”
“Sweet potato shōchū ,” Viktor replies easily, and then weaves another aster to the garland. Through their combined effort, the chain of flowers spanned half the circumference of the garden. “An ambassador brought it as a gift one time. I became obsessed with it and am now on very good terms with his country.”
Yuuri laughs at the confidence of the unexpected answer. “Champagne for me.”
“Oh, I already know that,” Viktor says in a sly voice. He glances at his lover and smirks. “You put on quite the show when given the chance for it.” His teasing earns him a faceful of rosemaries, but it’s worth it to see the conflicted embarassment on Yuuri’s face. Despite the ever-present mask, the black-haired man is incredibly expressive. “My turn. Favorite summer activity?”
Yuuri thinks for a moment as he adds coronilla flowers to their impractical garland. “Rather than changing hobbies by season, the seasons change my hobbies. When the lakes melt their ice, I naturally switch skating for swimming.”
“You know how to swim?”
The out-of-turn question makes Yuuri pause. “You do not?”
“Well, I never really had the time to learn,” Viktor admits sheepishly. He rolls a blade of grass between his fingers. “I suppose I should learn to eventually.”
“I’ll teach you,” Yuuri says.
Viktor’s chest flutters at the offer. “Would you?”
“Of course.” The masked man climbs to his feet and offers a hand to Viktor. “Let’s go.”
The prince gapes and takes the hand. “Wait, right now?”
“Why not?” Yuuri pulls him forward and up, laughing at the prince’s stunned expression.”I’ve seen several ponds in your other gardens, we can use one.”
Viktor huffs wryly. “Is it such an important life skill?”
“The most important,” Yuuri says, dipping his head in a solemn nod. His grin ruins the authority of the gesture, as does the gentle action of placing a sprig of delphiniums by Viktor’s ear. “It’s best to prepare for the future, is it not? Who knows if it will save your life one day.”
The realm of the Underworld is a much more different place than he’d imagined. The sky glimmers and moves likes the inside surface of water, and casts a faint glow that shades the landscape in green. There is grass here, much to Viktor’s surprise. He’d not expected to find something so mundane in an otherworldly realm.
“Please do not wander,” Guang Hong warns, bringing the prince’s attention back to his guide. “There are rules here that even I must abide of, and I cannot help you if you leave the main path.”
“My apologies,” Viktor says, backing away from the edge of the traveler’s road. The black pathway is strange, hard like rock but smooth like a serpent. He asks about its nature and Guang Hong replies an unfamiliar name.
“Asphalt.”
“Is that an exclusive material to here?”
“No, it is exclusive to time.”
Viktor frowns at the perplexing answer, but asks no further about the matter. It’s something strange that happens in the Underworld—whenever he pursues a lengthy conversation with his guide, the answers jumble into gibberish that defy mortal sense. Guang Hong doesn’t seem to mean any harm by it, so Viktor attributes it to the realm and does his best to not mind. The progress to his goal depended on him, and the winged god only served as an escort to keep him safe. They pass by other peculiarities along their trek—all sleek and metallic in their design—but the approaching circle of trees captures the prince’s attention. “Are those…?”
Guang Hong laughs. “No, those are ordinary trees.”
Just like ordinary grass, then. The trip feels less dangerous than anticipated, and Viktor wonders at the oddity of that. It goes to reason that the consecutive Trial should be more difficult than the last. His expectations begin to shift as he rethinks where the real trouble would lie. If it isn’t the journey itself, then—
“Who is that with you, Iris?” The voice rasps from off the path, but Viktor sees no one to attribute it to. In fact, he hadn’t seen any inhabitants since they’ve arrived. The invisibility trick done by Mila comes to mind and Guang Hong’s warning to stay close gains a heftier weight.
“It matters not,” says the messenger god. His voice deepens to a startlingly dangerous tone. “He is with me.”
“Hm,” the voice rumbles, “But he seems to be one of ours. Not all, but quite the number of us. Can’t spare time for a chat?”
“Stop with the baiting.” Guang Hong raises his wings to their full length, shielding Viktor behind him. “Or I will send word of your behavior.”
The voice—no, they were voices, chortle in amusement. “Not in the mood, little messenger? Pity.”
Guang Hong doesn’t waste a further second, urging Viktor forward as he continued to display his wings. When he finally lowers him, Viktor asks for the identities of the interlopers.
“Grief, Cares, Sleep, Anxiety. Countless others. They like to linger here.”
“They’re beings?” Viktor says, eyes widening.
“Depending.” Guang Hong smiles as if in apology for another odd answer. “The tree will be around the bend soon. It is off the path, so—”
Viktor foot catches on a crack in the ‘asphalt’, and he pitches forward, missing his step. Both hands brace down to catch his fall, but instead of smooth rock, his palms land over cold blades of grass.
The realization strikes that he’s fallen off the road, and the prince turns to return and falters, finding the pathway mysteriously gone. Where once was a road now coursed a black river, and nowhere in sight could he find his winged guide. They sky above still remains the same, but he could spy shadows and silhouettes now, some shaped like humans and some very not.
Panic seizes his heart for a moment, then Viktor breathes and focuses his thoughts.
The Trials were perilous, but not meant to end his life. Someone will come to find him, he knows this, but would his rescue signify his failure to complete to task? Viktor doesn’t hesitate once the possibility crosses him mind. Even when he notices the silhouettes taking notice of him, he presses onward, heading to an elm tree that towers in the near distance. The Tree of False Dreams sits on a cliff by the water, bright and ethereal under the Underworld's green sky. Its twisting bark glows pale as bone, and the brilliant blue leaves glimmer like precious jewels from its boughs. Had it been another circumstance, Viktor would’ve spared more time to admire the elm’s beauty, and perhaps he would’ve noticed them then, sleeping amongst the foliage with their twitching teeth and claws.
When the prince’s hand closes around thin branch to shake it, a cacophony of shrieks splits the air as a cloud of creatures rise from the topmost boughs. There are many, too many for Viktor to count them, and they fly as a swarm, dropping towards him as predators. He doesn’t know what they are and doesn’t hope to find out what they want. A step backward brings him to the edge of the cliff, and he makes the instant decision to take the only escape he can.
He feels the creatures shred the end of his coat as he leaps away from them, and holds his breath as he hits the river, diving down and staying under despite the terrible cold. As he swims, he remembers the five infernal rivers said to encircle the Underworld, and he prays that the black water one doesn’t belong to that count. His body begins to go numb, but he persists in staying low in the darkness, waiting out his attackers with stubbornness so strong that he doesn’t notice when his vision fades to a deeper and darker black.
Viktor holds Yuuri’s hands in his own, committing their shape and warmth to memory. “I hate it when we say good-bye.”
“I share the feeling,” Yuuri agrees quietly, also mourning the end of their evening together. He lifts one of his hands and presses it to his prince’s cheek. Viktor’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into the touch. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Then don’t,” Viktor whispers into his palm. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay by my side.”
“That’s…” Yuuri breathes out sharply and withdraws his hand. “I don’t want to drag you with the complications that come with me. Things are simpler this way.”
Something hot stirs in Viktor’s heart and he grabs the hand before it could fully leave him. “If you will have all of me, Yuuri. I want to accept all of you too. Your flaws and problems included.”
“You don’t know that means,” Yuuri denies, frantic. “You don’t know what—”
“There’s a place you just can’t reach unless you have a dream too large to bear alone.” Viktor copies Yuuri’s earlier action and caresses the other’s face, running his thumb against Yuuri’s tear-streaked cheek. “I get the feeling that there’s no place I cannot go if I have you to guide me. No, it’s more than a feeling. It’s the truth.”
Yuuri shudders and laughs despite his obvious conflict. “How do you always say these things? Doesn't it make you feel foolish?”
“It’s fine,” Viktor says leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m fine with being a fool for you.”
“Viktor Nikiforov, I grant you the favor of Hades. Awaken.”
His chest seizes with pain and Viktor hacks with each breath, curling to his side as water empties from his stomach and lungs. Kneeling over him is a severe-looking man, garbed in black from head to toe. Through his exhaustion, Viktor recognizes him as yet another god. One that feels cold and secretive, just like the realm around him. The spoken oath registers to his tired mind, and the prince grimaces at his circumstance. He’s too poor in shape to properly greet the King of the Underworld.
“D-D-Did he have to do it like that?” Guang Hong says, fretting from somewhere nearby. Viktor turns his head to see his lost guide standing to the side of him with a hand anxiously tugging at the sleeve of a dark-skinned man.
“It’s the simplest way to do it,” the man laughs. He has a good voice, one that dances with playfulness and wit. It conjures thoughts of faraway places, diplomacy, and of the everyday citizens of his home. “Though I would pay good money to see Otabek administer a Kiss of Life.”
“Phichit.” The dark god shifts and rises to his feet. “Did you plan this?”
“Ehh? Me? You’re blaming me, now?” The dark-skinned points at himself in exaggerated offense. “I was only here to extend my invitation to you! How awful to doubt me.”
“The false dreams rarely act so violently against disturbance.” The stoic god seems troubled. “It’s the first I’ve seen them behave so.”
“Doesn’t that just make the current champion amazing?” The sunny, smiling god claps his hands. “False dreams cling to hope. For the little biters to go into a frenzy like that…”
Guang Hong flutters close when Viktor attempts to roll forward. He helps the prince sit proper while apologizing for his neglect as a guide.
“Not your fault,” Viktor coughs. His throat feel scratchy and raw. “Was I…did I—”
“You did not die,” the god of the dead declares. There’s a hint of a relief in his expression. “I merely raised your consciousness.”
“And congratulations!” The one called Phichit skips forward, meeting Viktor eye-to-eye. “You passed the second Trial with flair, huzzah! That was an impressive swan dive you chanced back there. Most excellent.”
“Hermes.” The god of the Underworld narrows his eyes. “Do you swear that you—”
“Had nothing to do with this. Really!” Phichit raises his hands to show them empty. “Not my choice, I tell you. If I didn’t have the party to plan after, I would be all in. I swear, the higher ups planned this all out somehow. What bullies, conspiring to cut me out of the game.”
“You tend to be a biased trickster.”
“But it’s for Yuuri!” the god wails. “Of course I would’ve—”
“You said I passed.” Viktor steadies his feet under him and repeats the words to confirm them again. “I passed, so tell me the third Trial.” No matter how great the terror is in the last task, he was resolved to see the end to it.
The three gods exchange looks, and then concentrate their gazes to the most talkative of their group. “What, me? Oh wow, I’m so honored to included at the very last—”
“Hermes,” the god of the dead says darkly.
“Say no more!” The playful god spins on his heel, turning back around to Viktor. There’s annoyance in his expression from the banter with his peers, but it fades when he faces the prince, traded away for a smile that seems to bear pride for the silver-haired man. “Oh, champion. You’ve proven your spirit before the witch and measured your hope against the dream-gathering tree. With the end of the second, here is your last and third Trial.”
Viktor listens with baited breath.
“Find your lover and bring him home.”
“How did I let you drag me to another one of these, Phichit,” Yuuri laments, finishing another flute of the rosé champagne.
“Because that’s what best friends do, Yuuri,” the trickster god hums. He bumps shoulders with his moody companion. “They come to each other’s parties and pretend to have a good time.”
“Ugh.” The god of love hands his empty glass to a passing attendant and scans the crowd for more servings of drink. “If it isn’t for work, you know I don’t like these things too much. Couldn’t you have celebrated the invention of the steam engine in else ways?”
“But you know what this means for me, Yuuri!” Phichit’s eyes begin to shine. “Trade! Expansion! A whole new world will open!”
Yuuri laughs as his friend’s increasing excitement. “Yes, yes. Transcending boundaries.” He glances around the room to point out a familiar face. “There’s Mila, over by the pool of mermaids. Sara complained just yesterday that she only ever talks about locomotives now.”
“Oh?” Phichit starts walking before finishing his good-bye. “I’ll catch up with you later, Yuuri!”
The god of love chuckles at the giddy retreat of his friend, and then sighs as he remembers his depressing lack of drink. If he could only find Seung Gil, he’d be set for the night. He edges around the ballroom floor in hopes of spotting the colorfully garbed god, but instead gets surprised by the sudden warmth of a hand closing around his own.
A man bows before him, dressed in a violet jacket that becames sheer at the sleeves. Gold embellishment decorates the beautifully crafted outfit, but it’s the ice-blue eyes that has Yuuri captivated to the spot.
“May I have this dance?” the stranger asks. Despite the mask shrouding his face, he is undeniably handsome. Seeing the silver hair, perhaps a fairy? Yuuri spends too long in his thoughts, then realizes that he’s delaying his answer.
“Um! Yes, I am—uh, you see…” The stranger smiles encouragingly, causing Yuuri to blush. “I’m not very good at dancing, at least not unless I’m far less sober.” He laughs, screaming internally at himself for the impulsive confession. “You know, you seem familiar. I could find you a better partner if you’d like—? It's partly what I do."
The man continues smiling and gently tugs him to the dance floor. “I could search the whole world. There’s nobody better than you.”