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He’s thrown on the ground, muscles aching every time he tries to tense up, blood trickling down from multiple wounds. Khun tries to push himself up on his arms, at least glare at the person before him, but his limbs refuse to cooperate. Behind him, Maschenny merely has to keep the tip of her spear to his back, and if he pushes himself back too much, he’ll impale himself straight through. In her hands is the firefish. Khun can’t see the flame, but he feels the spontaneous bursts of heat as it struggles in her grasp. He had made a mistake, drawing it out to heal his electrical wounds.
Outside, he can hear the distant sounds of fighting, explosions, yelling if he strains his ears. It doesn’t matter how hard they struggle. They won’t reach him in time.
In front of him sits Khun Eduan, legs crossed. Khun can’t see his expression, but he guesses it’s one of indifference. Eduan has never cared about his children unless they are powerful like Maschenny or Asensio. And even the attention he gives them is sparse.
“Aguero Agnis, right?” Eduan drawls. Khun grits his teeth, strains to look at least somewhat dignified in front of his father, but Maschenny’s spear grazes his back, sending a small shock up his spine, and he falls slack again. “Why did you bring him to me?”
Khun can hear Maschenny’s noncommittal hum. “You said you were mildly interested in the war. I thought you might want to meet one of FUG’s chief strategists.”
“I don’t work for FUG,” Khun growls. It’s dangerous, speaking up like this against two of the most powerful people in the Tower, but he doesn’t care. He’s likely to end up dead either way.
“Ah, yes. One of the Irregular’s strategists,” Maschenny corrects herself, sounding amused.
“The son of V and Arlene,” Eduan muses thoughtfully.
Why are you more interested in Bam than your own children? Khun wants to shout. But he isn’t expecting anything else.
“If you want to kill me, you might want to do it quickly,” Khun rasps out. “I’d hate to see what Bam would do when he sees this.”
“I think you should worry more about yourself than your friend,” Maschenny remarks.
Khun refuses to answer her.
“Ah, well. Anyway,” Maschenny lifts his limp body off the ground. For a brief moment, Khun’s gaze locks with his father. Eduan’s eyes are an electrifying blue, scrutinizing him closely. “Shall I throw him back to his friends? Personally, I’m a bit invested in the changing tide.”
“Wait,” Eduan says. Maschenny raises an eyebrow. “You were the son that helped Khun Maria at the cost of your own branch. And the son that stole from my treasury.” He doesn’t speak them like questions.
“Yes,” Khun declares as clearly as he can. “I don’t regret it.” Even now, the spite rises up in him, furious and cold. “Should I be surprised that you actually know something about your son?”
“You had a cousin, I think.” Eduan’s fingers drum against his chair. “She was pretty mad when you left.”
Kiseia. Khun’s already encountered her once in the Hidden Floor. He doesn’t need to see her in person to know she’s furious with him. And she has all the right to be.
He swears his face remains neutral, but Eduan’s lips quirk up slightly. “I don’t expect you to be loyal to me. Or to your family. I didn’t think any of my children had loyalty at all until I heard about you and the Irregular.”
Khun eyes him warily. What’s the point of all this—
The door flies off its hinges, smashing to the ground next to Eduan. At the doorway, Bam breathes heavily, Shinsu swirling around him. “KHUN!”
“Ah.” Eduan tilts his head ever so slightly. “I guess we’re out of time.”
An orb forms above them, ominous and threatening. The Thorn fragments glow brilliant red behind him.
“Bam—” Khun doesn’t get another word out before pain courses through him, and he falls to the ground. The last thing he sees through his blurry vision is a rush of crimson before everything suddenly cuts to black.
He opens his eyes to a white ceiling. Or is that just his blurry vision? He can’t tell.
For a moment, he can’t feel his body at all. He tries to twitch a finger, but he can’t tell if it’s actually moving or not.
Then the pain sets in.
It starts slow, a slight tingle in his arms. Then it intensifies as it spreads to his chest. Khun grimaces—the only movement he can really seem to make right now—trying to lift his head to look at his injuries. He can make out faint white blurs—bandages, maybe?—but besides that, his body refuses to respond.
Something creaks. A door, probably.
A shadow covers him. Khun tries to squint at the figure. Short blue hair, blue eyes, but that could be almost anyone from his family. They look vaguely familiar, though…
Then the person speaks, and dread settles in him. “Hello, Aguero.”
“Ki—Kis—” Khun opens his mouth to speak, only for him to realize that his throat is parched .
“Can you sit up?” He can’t read the tone of her voice. Or maybe his senses are just dulled from injury.
He strains to get his muscles to work. Slowly, he tenses his arms, pushes hard, and gets himself up just a little before his right arm spasms, and he collapses back down.
Kiseia clicks her tongue, but suddenly arms are around him, pulling him into a sitting position. Khun tries to help, but the moment he’s up, his leg flares in pain, and he nearly falls down again.
His head is tilted back slightly, and something is pressed to his lips. Water. “Slowly,” Kiseia orders. “Make sure you swallow.”
It’s embarrassing and humiliating, relying on someone just to get him to drink , but Khun does as he’s told, too tired and in pain to resist. A little water drips out of his mouth anyway, but most of it trickles down his throat. Some of it goes into his lungs instead.
He bursts out in hacking coughs, the pain much worse with the tingling shocks in his chest. Kiseia grabs him firmly and holds him until the coughs subside to harsh gasps.
“I told you to drink slowly,” she sighs. She sets the cup down on the nightstand next to the bed.
“W-Why are you—” Khun cuts off, wheezing. “How—”
Kiseia seems to understand his question anyway. “You tell me. Why did Maschenny dump your unconscious body in front of me and tell me to ‘Do whatever you want with him’?”
Memories come flashing back. “Bam,” he murmurs. “Where’s Bam?”
“Bam?” Kiseia repeats. “Who’s that?”
When Khun doesn’t answer, her gaze darkens. “He better not be someone like Maria .”
“…N-No,” Khun says, when she looks ready to kill him. “He’s…better.”
That doesn’t seem to placate her. “I should’ve just killed you,” Kiseia mutters.
“Why didn’t you?”
Kiseia’s glare is cold, but her voice comes out quiet. “It was too easy,” she says. “I wanted to. I was ready to slit your throat.” Her knife flashes briefly into view, before she flicks her wrist and it disappears. “But it wouldn’t be satisfying.”
“You wanted to kill me when I was lucid?” Well, Khun can’t say he’s surprised. Kiseia has always been fairly sadistic.
“I wanted to see if you were still worth killing,” Kiseia snaps back. “And I’m still trying to figure it out, so I suggest you stop tempting me.”
“That’s unlike you,” Khun notes. “You’re going to give me a chance to recover and run? Where’s the ruthless assassin that murdered all of our sister’s opponents?”
“Our sister is dead, thanks to you,” she retorts. “And besides, you wouldn’t get anywhere in that condition. Have you even looked at your injuries?”
Khun glances down. His chest to the torso is wrapped in bandages, along with parts of his arms and legs. He forces himself to move his arm around to feel the bandages, just to prove that he can, and immediately regrets it when pain spikes through the limb. Still, he doesn’t flinch.
Kiseia watches his trembling arm with an unimpressed look. “Stop looking so pathetic. I’m going to get food. See if you can keep that down.”
She leaves the room without another word. Khun watches her go.
It occurs to him how quiet this place is. He must be in a house, but he can’t tell exactly where it is. It’s definitely not his old home.
Kiseia comes back with a tray of rice, vegetables, and some…odd-looking orange lumps on the side. “Salmon,” she says when she catches him squinting at it. “I mashed it up so you don’t have to chew as much.” She scoops a bit into a spoon and holds it up to his mouth. “Eat.”
Khun is tempted to take the spoon himself, but something tells him that he probably wouldn’t be able to hold it, and Kiseia would only be more irritated. He leans forward, takes the bite, chews and swallows. It’s not the best meal he’s ever tasted, but isn't the worst, either. “Not bad.”
Kiseia’s frowns. “I only learned a little from Mother, so I apologize if it’s not up to your standards, Brother .”
“I never said that,” Khun replies. He eats another bite before asking, “Where is Mother, anyway?”
“Dead,” Kiseia states bluntly. “She was caught off guard by an assassin from another branch soon after you left.”
“Oh.” Khun takes a few silent bites after that. An apology would only be mocking. “Was—was she buried?”
“What do you think ?” Kiseia seethes. Khun flinches involuntarily. Right. He shouldn’t have expected a funeral. Those were a luxury in this family.
“So…what do you do now?” he asks hesitantly, after a moment. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
Kiseia shrugs. “I live on my own. Sometimes I’m an assassin for hire. It pays pretty well, and no one expects you to have an allegiance to anyone.” Because I’m not making that mistake again goes unsaid.
“I see.” Khun eats about half the plate of food before he shakes his head at the next offered bite. Kiseia shrugs and finishes the meal. It vaguely reminds Khun of when they were young, when they would sneak food off each other’s plates when Mother wasn’t looking.
“I contacted your friend—Bam, was it?” she says after another period of silence. “He’ll be here soon.”
Khun stiffens. “Why?”
“Why he’ll be here soon? He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Kiseia sets the food tray down on the table. “I’m not a caretaker. I couldn’t take care of Mother after you left, and I do not want to take care of you,” she declares. “That’s your friend’s job, not mine.”
“Then why don’t you kill me?” He still remembers Data Kiseia, all sharp blades and cutting words.
Kiseia sighs heavily. “I don’t think I’d get anything out of it anymore. Whether or not you’re dead or alive doesn’t really matter to me. It won’t bring back our older sister, it won’t bring back Mother.” She looks at Khun, and for a moment, Khun can see the exhaustion in her gaze, the resigned slump of her shoulders. Then it hardens back into something impenetrable. “Nothing new ever happens on this Floor. It’s just the same cycle of killing.” She tilts her head, studying him. “Maybe if I let you go, something interesting might happen one day.”
“Something interesting, huh?” Khun glances out the window. “You know, that’s what I thought when I first met Bam. ‘If I follow this boy, something very interesting will happen.’ And I guess it did.”
Kiseia follows his gaze outside. “If you say so.” She turns back to him, offering a hand. “Can you stand?”
It takes a few minutes, but Khun manages to get to his feet, wobbly but standing. With Kiseia’s help, he manages to make it downstairs and out the door. In the distance, he can see an airship approaching.
Once he’s safely leaning against a wall for support, Kiseia draws away, heading back. “You’re not going to wait?” Khun asks curiously.
She shrugs. “I’m not interested in your friends. The sooner you get out of my sight, the better.” Her voice drops slightly, though, as she turns away. “Goodbye, Aguero.”
For a moment, Khun wishes that he has more to say. That they could talk like they used to, sharp and emotionless, but with the familiarity of siblings that could rely on each other. Now, though, there’s nothing left to say but— “Bye,” Khun murmurs, as Kiseia vanishes back into her house.
He looks up and waits for the airship to land.