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Kouen waits in Balbadd steeling himself for the worst but not expecting it. This war has only so many possible outcomes. While the vast majority favor Kouen, every casualty they face will cost Hakuryuu more and Kou most. Neither of them can afford a war drawn out into endless months indiscernible years. Not if they want to survive what will come after. However, the likelihood of Hakuryuu proceeding with that in mind is negligible. After all, this war has nothing to do with Kou or the Empire or who sits on the throne.
For that reason, they must act where Hakuryuu will not, and have compassion for whatever circumstances led their people to stand opposite them. Whether that reason is fear, family, or blood makes no difference. Strange, then, to think not all that long ago blood might have changed everything. Had that woman wearing Gyokuen’s skin put her plans to action sooner... Had Hakuryuu been a little older…
Nostalgia is powerful, but it weakens with every passing year as the ideals they’ve clung to grow increasingly malleable. Misshapen yet recognizable, and not at all what they were at the start. How could they be when the world has been changing at a rapid rate. This world resembles the one from ten years ago in impressions only. They stray far and farther, until their beliefs, their morals, have little choice but to twist in accommodation of a worldview Emperor Hakutoku could not have conceived of.
Hakuryuu calls up only the haziest gleam of it. If you’re old enough you can’t look at him and not see His Majesty or their Highnesses. Perhaps that dream is enough for some, but it shouldn’t be. Knowing what was and what could have been, but not what will be under Hakuryuu, who has no experience in leading or military, limited education, and is too selfish to see beyond his own hurt.
Hakuryuu is a general in name only. He cannot be a king. He is not a soldier.
He is Emperor, but in none of the ways that matter.
There is only so much Hakuryuu can do, so much havoc he can wreak as he lashes out in shortsighted, impotent rage. He will make mistakes, cut corners, sacrifice those he has no need of. That means more work for them, to limit those costs Hakuryuu deems acceptable when they aren’t. It means this war may not have to be dragged out to the point of unsustainability.
But that’s also why they can’t underestimate the lengths Hakuryuu may go to. Plus, the loss of Judar on top of that. Will he be more desperate now, or less? The strength of a magi was more than half his force. Without Judar, his resources, and more importantly his magoi, is finite.
Kouen should be grateful they won’t have to contend with a magi, but a part of him regrets the lost knowledge. They might need it in the future. Sooner than they can afford. All of the metal vessels in the world wouldn’t make a difference to that woman, but is she the exception or the rule?
Of course, that’s assuming their success in Judar’s absence, which is not guaranteed, but this conflict no longer relies on tangible strength. In Koumei they have the shrewdest strategist in all of Kou, and while Kouen knows he can’t dismiss Hakuryuu’s unknown skill outright, he cannot imagine it comes close to challenging Koumei’s level of education and experience. The real question is: will Hakuryuu’s hate addled mind be wise enough to respect his known opponent or is he past caring?
His actions until now lead Kouen to believe it’s the latter. He hopes that means this will be over sooner rather than later. Patience is not a trait he’s refined over the years, and it grates with his siblings’ lives on the line. Is Hakuryuu’s spite so all consuming it extends to them specifically? Will he aim for Koumei in hopes to get this over with?
There’s no way for Kouen to know.
It’s not productive to linger on, so he pushes the thoughts from his mind—until something worse fills the cracks they leave behind.
He cannot help but wonder, did his choices push them further down this once preventable path? Some were right at the time. Others justifiable. Rationalized away. They weren’t wrong. Not then and not now. Yet… when he visualizes them in his mind, this hierarchy of his prioritization, it maps out an inverted constellation that was never meant to be but is. Months ago, years ago, a decade in the making and it’s not one thing or two or a dozen.
Kouen can’t think of a single instance that would have made a dent in the lines plotting their course, but doesn’t have the conviction to believe that true. He is only a fallible human. All this time he has acted in accordance to what his guilt dictated, for better or worse. By virtue of that he has failed Hakuryuu a time too many, irreconcilably, and he doesn’t know where the fatal strike lies. Now, they’re here, and a single choice has been made available to him. As much as he wants to believe it’s out of his hands, he’s the one who’s been steering them.
All he could do—all any of them can ever do, is move forward. So that’s what he did. To the best of his ability, even when it felt he couldn’t, he kept his eyes on the future he didn’t ask for and didn’t want. He didn’t embrace it, any of it. He lived with his reality. That’s not wrong, and he doesn’t know if Hakuryuu can’t see that or doesn’t want to.
He doesn’t know if Hakuryuu is stuck in a past he barely knows, or if everything has been calculated to an end more nefarious than Kouen can conceive. He doesn’t know if this is what Hakuryuu considers right. If Hakuryuu has simply decided this is the most convenient way of acquiring a throne he never once showed interest in.
Or, perhaps, it’s something else entirely that Kouen cannot see. Through no fault of his own Hakuryuu has always been difficult. Even when his heart wasn’t set on declaring his family traitors and usurpers Kouen had no idea how to approach him, let alone how to do it effectively. Words to say, actions to take, when to do either, everything eluded him on the most basic level. The few things he could offer felt uncalled for at best and inappropriate at worst. Nothing progressed, and somewhere in the midst of it all reaching out became extraneous.
Years bled on completely thoughtless, and Kouen never came closer to understanding what was in Hakuryuu’s heart or the emotions stitched to his wrist. At the time—most of the time, rather, it didn’t seem like a problem. Not one of this magnitude. Hakuryuu took expected formality and turned it into a means to keep them at a distance. He was considerate but never stuck around longer than required. He wasn’t content, how could he be as both a prince and an outlier, but there was never anything hinting at the resentment boiling to a fever pitch within.
It is strange to think a few short years ago Kouen could not sense anything amiss. As a survivor of the time before the Empire formed Kouen is no stranger to killing intent. He’s not a stranger to it as a crown prince either. For most of his life he has waded through an unending torrent of terror and death. He knows when someone has designs on his life. He knows when they’re steeling themselves to act. Yet, when that someone was Hakuryuu the realization came too late, and it has nothing to do with him being family.
He noticed, of course, as the rest of their family did, that Hakuryuu was different when he returned from his study abroad. Arm lost below the elbow, a metal vessel, and a sour disposition twisted with so much apathy it was impossible to tell how he might feel about either of those developments. Even Hakuei could not say, and was reluctant to admit he would not open up to her, that something else had happened and something was wrong.
Even when he called for Gyokuen to take the throne.
Even when he attacked Gyokuen in the middle of the day shortly after, heedless of the destruction or who might bear witness. Or the consequences, had he succeeded.
If Hakuryuu wanted Kouen dead that desire was smothered under the weight of his hate for his mother.
Phenex was a precaution, one that was meant to protect Hakuryuu as much as it protected the stability of the Empire as a whole. Except, it was protection from that woman and Kouen. He sees that now. The solution facing him in the present is the same one he was supposed to come to at that time. Rather than face that, Kouen dithered and delayed and now their people are paying the price.
So are his siblings, who have been left to face Hakuryuu in his stead, with jobs harder than his would have been had he handled this sooner. They may not be close with Hakuryuu but they are family, and Kouen knows it gives them no joy to face him under these circumstances.
With Kouha and Kougyoku there aren’t any cracks for sentiment to worm its way into on either side. They won’t hold back. Both will wield their metal vessels with the strength of their beliefs, with the determination to live and see them through.
So it comes as a surprise to Kouen when word reaches him that things are over, and Hakuryuu has been apprehended rather than cut down. It is a greater surprise to learn Kouha and Kougyoku, who faced him directly, are no worse for wear beyond superficial injuries Hakuryuu did not personally inflict.
This should be heartening news. It is, in fact, but dread curls in his gut all the same, cold and sharp, digging into his bones like it wants to break through to the surface. Too intense for concern, but not the familiar ringing ache of his guilt either.
Kouen pushes it aside, and sees the preparations already half-made to their completion. In less than a week they’re making their way back to Rakushou. In two they’ve arrived and it’s too soon.
At first Kouen busies himself with the necessary. Or, he tries to. On the governmental side the most he can do is oversee and stumble away when the title of Emperor swings too close for comfort. Things aren’t quite in disarray; Hakuryuu didn’t get around to enacting serious change. The most he seems to have done is emptied the palace of anyone who wasn’t a guard and exchange flags. The imperial magicians are gone, and their absence is barely noticed as their positions are promptly filled by individuals Koumei deems fit. Authority switches over as if they had a break rather than a war.
Peace doesn’t find them. It can’t when the entire world knows they’re weaker, knows they’ll need time to find their bearings. If Sindria or Reim or even Kina wanted to attack, now would be the time. That’s where Kouen focuses his attention during the first weeks.
The need to reinforce their borders, affirm their solidarity. A civil war will not break them, has not broken them, even though in some ways it already has. Above all else, the Ren family is meant to be whole, a reliable example their people can look to. Now they’re dismantled, never to be whole again, and the entire world knows it.
They need to root out spies that almost certainly slipped in while their forces were split and muddled.
They need to be wary of dissent Hakuryuu’s brief rule might have beget. Do his hidden supporters possess enough conviction to act before he’s executed? Does he hold that much influence? Kouen cannot see it, but at the same time Hakuryuu is Emperor Hakutoku’s son, his only surviving son at that, and that alone carries immeasurable weight. There will surely be those who refuse to abide his death, even knowing what he’s wrought.
For that reason he ought to get on with it. Leave no time for doubt, no room for resistance.
This is Kouen’s responsibility. His duty. As their peoples’ chosen Emperor who has yet to take the title, as Hakuryuu’s brother, as Hakuryuu’s retainer who failed to save the most important people in his world. This is Kouen’s comeuppance, and he has no right to turn away from it.
Yet, that is exactly what he does.
The first two weeks are justifiable. The country’s overall stability is more important than a prisoner’s sentencing.
The third week his evasion is apparent but no one dares to call him out on it.
In the fourth week Koumei comes to him. The subtle twitch in his carefully held expression is enough to tell him what this visit concerns.
Koumei stands shoulder to shoulder with him on the balcony even though the sun has lowered almost enough to blind them. After a moment he says, without preamble, “Hakuryuu isn’t eating.”
This information renders him so dumbstruck his mouth hangs open, caught on unrelated explanations to an inquiry that wasn’t posed. He draws a breath, only to release it slowly when his mind fails to supply an appropriate response.
Koumei glances at him in his silence. “My brother and king, how would you like to proceed?”
“Since when?”
Koumei shakes his head. “I couldn’t say.” After a pause, he adds, “I haven’t seen him. I hear he’s lucid, although not particularly talkative.” He gives Kouen a generous amount of time to answer, and when it appears one isn’t forthcoming, he says, “We haven’t discussed the execution in detail yet, I know, let alone announced it, but we could—”
“I’ll handle it.”
Koumei turns his upper body to look at him fully. The weight of his gaze is almost judgmental but Kouen doesn’t allow its probing to reach him. “That is to say?”
“I’ll pay Hakuryuu a visit.”
The following silence verges on disagreeable, but Koumei keeps his commentary to himself. If he voiced any of it, after all, it would only be unproductive commiserating. “As you wish.”
When Kouen arrives to the cells he’s informed it’s been a week since Hakuryuu last ate, and even then it wasn’t a full meal. Hakuryuu hasn’t finished a meal regardless of how much or how little they give him since he’s been here, but he has been keeping hydrated. Just the relaying of this information makes Kouen feel as though the act is one of hostile rebellion for a cause Kouen must now discern.
The door is pushed open for him, and inside Kouen sees… a boy. Small. Smaller in the torches’ crossing light that doesn’t quite reach him. Dull shadows creep upon him with such mounting density it is as if they long to consume him. His white robe, pristine when given, is creased with the faintest tracks of dirt; it hides and highlights and limbs he’s lost. In their absence is a single manacle around his neck, affixed to the wall by a chain almost as thick as Hakuryuu’s arm.
Gaze already cast aside Hakuryuu doesn’t react to his presence. The angle is just enough to leave his neck and chest exposed, his collarbones looking sharp but not sunken. His posture is inclined but not bent. His shoulders are straight, firm in a guarded way that suggests he’s fully aware of his surroundings.
Kouen dismisses the guard and takes several steps within, stopping just shy of where the light is brightest.
Still nothing from Hakuryuu. No twitch, not even a blink.
That’s fine. Hakuryuu doesn’t need to speak. But Kouen does need to know he’s listening.
“Hakuryuu,” he says, and is suddenly overly conscious of the beating of his heart. Too full, too big. Guilt reverberating in his chest like a disturbed pond.
Hakuryuu deigns him a glance filled to the brim with disdain. It’s woefully out of place for a losing commander, but fully suited to a petulant child. His lips curl into a faint attempt at a sneer before his head lists to the side, black hair draping across his face. Against iron, Kouen can see his throat move as he swallows.
The twinge Kouen feels isn’t quite pity, but it’s not regret either.
“Hakuryuu, you need to eat,” Kouen says, more as explanation than demand. If Hakuryuu actually followed any of his orders they wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.
Predictably, Hakuryuu says nothing.
“You know this is something we can’t ignore.”
The issue here is that none of them—Kouen included—can begin to speculate what Hakuryuu’s angle is, what he might be hoping to accomplish through this. He has nothing to bargain with, no knowledge or allies or treasures. All he has left is his life, which doesn’t count for as much as he might think it does. They aren’t looking for excuses to extend his stay. Surely he doesn’t presume they are.
“Did you wish to see me?” Kouen asks as the thought occurs, without consideration to how likely it may be or if it’s wise to voice.
Hakuryuu scoffs. “I wish for you to go away, Kouen.”
One of Kouen’s eyebrows twitch at his outrage. There’s so little malice in his tone all it can pass as is juvenile offense. Perhaps this is Hakuryuu at the end of his rope. Or maybe it’s no more than irritability brought on by hunger, same as anyone else.
“If you eat, then I will,” Kouen tells him. Not a reasonable deal by any measure, but he’s willing to pretend it is.
“Fine.”
Kouen blinks. Easy compliance isn’t exactly what he was anticipating, and he’s not convinced this is that. This should be an outcome Hakuryuu foresaw when he put this plan into action. The price of his obedience is missing. In his one word acquiescence there isn’t room for double speak or tricks.
Hakuryuu tilts his head towards him, raises his eyebrows in mock question but his expression sits stubbornly empty otherwise. His gaze flicks to the open door behind him as if to command him to leave before his face becomes once again concealed by hair. The movement is so smooth Kouen can’t quite tell if it’s intentional, if he means for Kouen to think he’s hiding, trying to goad him to question.
Asking why would be playing along in this futile game of Hakuryuu’s. But still he wants to. Why, if all it took for him to eat was telling him to do so, did it take Kouen coming here? If he wanted to keep Kouen away, why did he choose to do something that was bound to get his attention. Did he think Kouen would care so little, have such limited sense of responsibility, that he would relegate the task to another? To someone who might struggle handling their prince, no matter that he’s a prisoner.
Kouen can’t find it in himself to believe that’s the case. It feels more like he made a self-destructive choice without any regard to the obvious consequences, and now it’s somehow Kouen’s fault for being here. It’s remarkably… young, and earnest. And at odds with what Kouen has come to expect of him. He wants to engage so that he may come closer to understanding this inscrutable boy who remains ever out of his reach.
How much will reality overlap with the script Kouen’s head wants to supply?
Knowing is not worth much anymore.
Instead of any of those questions what comes out of Kouen’s mouth is, “We have a deal, then, Hakuryuu.”
Kouen takes his leaves, and tells the guards to inform Hakuryuu he’ll be back if he doesn’t follow through on his word. Just as a reminder. If he’s genuinely opposed to Kouen’s presence the threat of it should be compelling enough.
That it is not enough goes practically without saying.
Before the week has reached its end Kouen is back in front of Hakuryuu, who refuses to look at him like a child caught misbehaving.
“They’re lying,” Hakuryuu offers of his own volition and without Kouen saying a word. “I’ve eaten. Do I need to throw up to prove it?”
Kouen sighs. “I know you have. You need to eat everything you’re given, Hakuryuu.” He doesn’t know how Hakuryuu could have possibly thought otherwise.
For a minute he thinks Hakuryuu is going to argue with him, say that’s not what they agreed upon and accuse Kouen of being the one playing games. But instead Hakuryuu asks, “Is it poisoned?” which he doesn’t know how to take. Kouen can only frown, wondering what inspired the question.
“Of course not.”
Hakuryuu directs a miserable look his way, not quite managing to glare. He’s going to call Kouen a liar; the intent is in his eyes, but the accusation never comes. “Just get on with it,” Hakuryuu says, impatient but with a forced flat tone.
Kouen’s frown deepens. “With what?”
Hakuryuu does glare now. “The execution. What’s the point in stalling?” He opens his mouth, seeming lost, his eyes searching the space between them. “What do you want, Kouen? I… I don’t have any answers to give you.”
That gives Kouen pause, although he shouldn’t let it. Just… there isn’t a hint of guile anywhere in Hakuryuu’s demeanor. He looks more sincere—more vulnerable than Kouen can ever recall seeing him. Hakuryuu has too much pride for it to be an act. Of that much Kouen is certain.
“What makes you think I want anything?”
Hakuryuu exhales roughly and takes quavering breath. “I’ve been kept like this for weeks. What am I meant to think?”
There’s an unspoken plea in his voice asking for this all to be over, knowing exactly what that entails. There’s no solace in that. It only makes Kouen yearn for that present they couldn’t have. He wonders if Hakuryuu can feel it, too, like a tugging between them that refuses to lean one way or the other, imperceptible but undeniable.
“Perhaps I have answers to give you instead.”
Hakuryuu regards him suspiciously, saying nothing.
Kouen takes a step closer. He crouches, but it isn’t enough to bring them level. No matter what he does he will loom. To others the combination of his size and reputation would be threatening, but Hakuryuu knows him. Despite what he espouses, deep down he knows Kouen won’t do anything to him. Not here. Not now. Not for anything he may say or do while chained. Hakuryuu simply watches with an empty expression and loose shoulders.
“Hakuryuu,” he says, well aware what’s he’s about to say is too little too late but needing to voice it all the same, “there are things more important than your personal revenge.”
“You are wrong,” Hakuryuu answers, voice unrelenting and cold and taut. Brittle in its naked desperation.
“Am I? Kou, your people, the world. An emperor, a king, needs to be able to put these things before himself.” He pauses, considering. He studies Hakuryuu’s face, downtrodden and brimming with twisting emotions Kouen couldn’t begin to name. “Hakuryuu, do you want to be Emperor?”
Hakuryuu scoffs, his face contorting as though in pain. At first it seems he’s going to speak, but then he looks away. It’s answer enough.
“You may not approve of the methods, but we are trying to erase war from this world. For the sake of that, we… I have had to accept certain things, such as working with Gyokuen. To gain strength so that we might accomplish that dream.”
Hakuryuu is shaking his head and his eyes rove, trying to keep Kouen from view as much as possible. “That’s nothing but lip service to perpetuate a pipe dream.”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless it is my dream. A dream I inherited from your father. Your brothers shared it, too.”
“And she killed them!”
The outburst leaves Kouen tense, arms positioning to retaliate if necessary, heedless of the fact Hakuryuu cannot reach him, cannot hurt him. The only person Hakuryuu can hurt is himself. His breath comes in ragged gasps like he pushed all the energy he had into that shout.
Still not looking at Kouen, he says, “They couldn’t work with her. So why must you? You coward. You could have…”
“What could I have done, Hakuryuu? I was not there during the Great Fire. I could not save them and I am sorry for that. You want me to have killed her, but how? I—”
“I killed her. So don’t tell me that you couldn’t have. There is nothing I did that you could not have done.”
That’s debatable. Kouen didn’t have a magi choose him. Even if Judar had, Kouen doubts he would have been of much help ten years ago. He doesn’t know how they managed to defeat her, but he has no doubt Judar was the deciding factor.
Anything relating to Judar is an unwise topic to pursue, however. No one needs to make that misstep for him to know.
Instead, Kouen says, knowingly, “And did it make you feel better? Did you accomplish a single thing by killing her?”
Hakuryuu does not answer right away. Then, he gives Kouen a look of unfathomable disappointment, like Kouen shouldn’t have to ask and Hakuryuu shouldn’t have to say. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
It’s said in a challenging way, laid out like bait, but Kouen won't rise to it. He just lets it sink through his chest the way an anchor would.
“You’re here,” Kouen agrees, and it feels sadder than it ought to. Kouen stands up with a sigh. This isn’t what he’s here for. He doesn’t know why he has to make this harder than it needs to be. “Will you eat, Hakuryuu? Are you trying to antagonize me into scheduling your execution?”
Hakuryuu leans his head back against the wall, looking at Kouen briefly and then past him. “I’m just… not hungry. I don’t want to eat. It’s nauseating.”
“Even so, you need to.”
“If I wanted to kill myself I’d strangle myself on this chain.”
“Hakuryuu.”
“You don’t have to worry about your traitor killing himself before he can be executed. No need to waste your time.”
“Hakuryuu…”
“Kouen.”
They stare at each other for an impossibly long time. Kouen doesn’t know to what end.
Is it supposed to be reassuring that Hakuryuu isn’t going to kill himself, that he wants Kouen to do it for him?
It’s not. It’s very much the opposite.
Just as Kouen turns to leave he hears Hakuryuu murmur, “You could have been Emperor.”
Perhaps he’s not meant to hear it, but if Hakuryuu were committed to that he would have waited until Kouen was out of the room. He looks right at him, not giving him any space. “What was that?”
Hakuryuu shakes his head. In the shadow his eyes gleam with unshed tears. They don’t fall when he blinks. “You could have been Emperor,” he repeats, with a wistfulness that echoes Kouen’s own.
“I suppose I could have,” Kouen says slowly, like it’s a truth he’s never acknowledged before. “I’m sorry that I disappointed you, Hakuryuu.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
No, Kouen supposes it doesn’t.
“It hasn’t mattered for a long time,” Hakuryuu says, looking at Kouen without seeing him.
It hasn’t mattered, but that doesn’t mean it never can again.
He resumes his walk to the door, and just before he walks through the frame says, “I’ll be back, Hakuryuu.”