Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They had an agreement.

Well, an unspoken one, but an agreement all the same. 

Yes, the marks on their skin resembled each other, but that didn’t necessarily demand them to do something about it, did it? Who cares if the universe suddenly decided that it was a good idea to tie their fates together—to make them, out of all people, soulmates? 

Apparently, they should. 

But still. 

It made no absolute sense, more so since they started on the worst footing allies could ever manage.

The last vestiges of triumph after Elias sealed his alliance with the rebellion had quickly simmered down when Yun discovered that the swordsman was a loose cannon. He’d already lost count of the times Elias had decided to follow his jurisdiction while out on the field, abandoning Yun’s orders and moving on his own. Granted, he never failed in meeting the job’s objective, but that didn’t account for his tendency to be reckless either. 

Elias Everstied was a man of many things. He was as sharp as his blade and as righteous and honorable as his surname. But at times, he was also annoyingly obstinate and simply unyielding to good plain common sense; enough to drive Yun closer to pulling his hair off its roots.

“Well, I can see why that would be difficult for someone like you,” Elias had shot back when Yun decided to bring this up one day, “especially since you’re so used to getting your way.”

“A bit ironic coming from you, isn’t it?” Yun retorted, standing his ground. “I gave you my word, Everstied. You could at least spare me some respect.”

“And when will your word mean anything?” Elias turned on his heel. “For all I know, you could be using the rebellion to suit your own benefit, anyway.”

Yun had already practiced an impassive front too many times to flounder at that insult. But that didn’t stop him from searing his glare on Elias’ back when the man left the office.

The acrimony was thick in the air whenever the two of them were in each other’s vicinity. Sometimes it tempted Yun to fan the flames, just to see Elias get all stiff and riled up. Sometimes Elias would return the favor, and more often than not, it made Yun consider throwing Elias back behind the bars, even when he knew deep down that he had no such plans on seeing it done.

And then they discovered that they were bonded. 

There wasn’t really an exact science to soulmates. The elder folk said it was by some unidentified force—fate, they presumed—that determined who belonged to whom, with nothing but a mark on their skin that signified their bond. The marks could appear anywhere at birth, but it was believed that they were constant in one single fact: they were never wrong. 

Yun would gladly beg to differ. 

It’s almost cliché how it happened—he and Elias had been reaching for the same scroll among the delivered reports when their hands brushed, and Yun’s chest erupted straightaway with a burst of crackling warmth that drew him in like a current. It was a foreign feeling, yet the cogs in his brain had instantly clicked into place the moment his eyes met Elias’ equally surprised ones. 

A soulmate.

Both of them had recoiled, as if that one single touch had scorched their fingers. Yun’s eyes were almost immediately drawn to the exposed skin between Elias’ open collar, zeroing in on the soulmate mark he’d just realized was there all along. It was almost as if it beckoned him to look, in the same way he felt the taller man’s gaze on his arm—pointed despite the sleeve covering Yun’s own mark, like he suddenly knew that it existed right at that spot. 

Soulmates. Them. Fated. 

Them. 

It was completely ridiculous.

They didn’t talk, and with one look at Elias, Yun knew they never would.

Or at least not yet.

Mutual animosity aside, they both had a country to save and an entire government to defeat. To ‘talk’ about how they were supposedly each other’s better half had easily fallen to the bottommost depth of their respective agendas.

Which was why Yun desperately hoped that to be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

Had he only known that crossing paths with your soulmate meant having your emotions intertwined from then on, Yun would’ve thought twice about breaking the Everstied out of prison himself . There were certainly other ways to sway Elias into joining without personally meeting him. He could’ve sent a paid proxy, or pulled a few more strings—or to make things infinitely simpler, he could’ve formed a counter-revolutionary measure that didn’t need an expert swordsman to lead the charge. Granted, it would place a few drawbacks in the original plan, and their chances at gaining public favor would decrease to nothing without the Everstied name to bend the people. But Yun surmised roughly that he could very much live with that more than the knowledge that he was now transparent to the person he least wanted to be vulnerable to.

He definitely didn’t need to know the exact extent every time the Everstied’s irritation spiked to dangerous levels—which was a constant thing, apparently, and usually whenever Yun was involved. Of course it was whenever he was involved.

And he absolutely did not need the same Everstied looking at him strangely from across the room every time Yun felt a volatile stir in his composure. 

Yun could never understand why other fated pairs found this convenient. Frankly, it was more of an unnecessary attachment than a practical medium of communication. It was intrusive. It was uncomfortable.

Perhaps, one thing that made this entire situation remotely bearable was knowing that Elias likely shared the same sentiments as he did. The scowl his face would take on whenever they’re together was far too telling; all the more reason to believe that the universe had made a grave error in mapping out their so-called ‘destinies’. 

Yun always prided himself in being unpredictable. It made shaping strategies against enemies of a higher power a lot easier when they knew nothing of what was coming for them. He was always prudent, always making sure that there were no loose ends and no openings that were too revealing. 

But all this fuss about soulmates had given Elias the perfect window of opportunity to read him like an open book, and Yun couldn’t exactly say that he’s feeling ecstatic at the mere idea of it.

“You withdrew.”

Like now, for instance.

Yun looked at the man in question. “What?”

Presently, they were in one of the Capital City’s neighboring towns, intending to gather intel from a tipped source. The surname ‘Sauzac’ was one of their leads, which, as it turned out, wasn’t too difficult to locate when a boy with the matching profile approached to sell them newspapers. It had been surprisingly quick. 

Well, not until Yun decided to let him go. 

“You backed down,” Elias remarked, his expression bemused as he nodded to the street where the boy had disappeared into. “That was Sauzac, right? It should’ve been easy to convince the kid into telling us what he knows, but you let him go. Why?”

Yun scowled. As if he already didn’t know why.

“He’s just a paperboy,” he explained, laying out the more prominent facts instead. “No matter how much he frequents the Capital City, Sauzac wouldn’t be able to give us much to figure out.”

“But it’s a start,” Elias argued. “Or at least it would have been.”

“Yes, it would be,” he corrected, slowly twisting to face the taller man. “Did you notice the blue badge on the boy’s inner shirt?”

It took a second for understanding to dawn on Elias. “Low clearance level.”

Yun nodded. “Right. The only way to visit the Capital as regularly as he claimed was to be granted a degree of access from the Civil Registry.”

“Which is in the form of those tiny badges,“ Elias supplied. “But a boy his age wouldn’t have been able to get that on his own.”

“So it’s highly likely that he has contacts within the office. And given that we’re dealing with a young’un here, my best bet is that it’s someone living under the same roof as him.”

That made Elias halt in his tracks. “Is that why you let him go? So we could follow him home?”

Yun shifted his weight. “Maybe?”

Elias’ face fell. “You’re not seriously thinking about barging into some random kid’s house, are you?”

“It’s not exactly ‘barging’ if humble tourists come to your door to ask for directions, is it?” 

His frown crumbled deeper. “That’s probably one of the worst cover-up stories you’ve ever made.”

Yun lightly shrugged. “If you come up with something better, which I highly doubt, feel free to tell me.”

“And if they really buy this nonsense about travelers specifically coming to their doorstep to ask for help, what then? Do we even know who exactly it is that we’re looking for?”

“In our little talk earlier, the boy mentioned that he only lives with his father,” Yun said, moving towards the route the kid had gone to. “So if I’m right, we already know who we’re looking for.” 

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then perhaps that’s what a bodyguard is for.” Yun smirked.

Elias rolled his eyes. “Fantastic.”

And so they marched on, following the dirt path leading to the boy’s house. It wasn’t really a long walk; just a short street leading to a residential area behind the establishment buildings lined on the main street. If things went in their favor, they’d be leaving with new intel about the Capital’s ins and outs. If things went south, well, there’s always the option of leaving witnesses unconscious and hightailing it out before they were further exposed on their bluff.

After all, it was why Yun chose to let the kid go and bother themselves with locating the next best source of information.

It was definitely not because of the rope burns around the young boy’s wrists and the bruises that were barely visible under his shirt’s collar. 

But the way he caught Elias shooting him a mildly contemplative glance from the corner of his eye, told Yun that the swordsman knew: this was definitely all about that.  

They had an agreement.

It was a flimsy agreement at most, if Elias was being honest, because no matter how much they tried to avoid the subject, it still became a huge elephant in the room.

Like during that one incident at a traveler's inn, for example.

“How long will you be staying?” The person at the front desk, a woman who seemed too bubbly for that time of the night, had asked them.

“Just until morning,” Yun replied, his good-natured smile plastered on.

“And that fellow over there?”

It had taken Elias approximately three solid seconds to realize that it was him the lady had been referring to, and three seconds more to understand what she was asking about by the suggestive expression on her face. 

“Ah, he’s um—” 

Yun faltered, struggling to find the right word that would suit whatever their cover-up was for tonight. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been easy to say that he was his bodyguard—which was the truth, but it would also be weird to say it in a public setting. Comrade might be good enough, though it would be saying it generously, and partner would be a very far stretch.

But it was easy before they found out about the soul bond. Their shared soul bond. The mere thought of it threw a wrench in their already embrittled alliance, and now anything related to how they were associated with each other clearly didn’t place them under ‘normal circumstances’ anymore.

“He—he’s a friend,” Yun blurted out, and Elias’ eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Yeah, he’s with me.”

That, Elias figured, was also a stretch.

Perhaps it was better, though. It might not sound accurate because, despite the rebellion and everything else that came with it, he and Yun were most certainly not friends. But he supposed the discomfort of that title was easier to bear than the fact that they were soulmates—the one thing that was still incredibly difficult to believe but allegedly proven true by the marks on their skin. 

They didn’t discuss it. Not yet at least, especially with Anwei’s state of affairs growing critical by the day. If they wanted the fight to be over and done with soon, they couldn’t afford to be anchored by such trivial things just yet.

But still. 

The first encounter with the government’s armed forces happened sooner than expected, blowing in with the frigid north wind. During another one of the rebellion’s reconnaissance missions, it swiftly occurred to them that the only way back out to safety was to fight their way through the stationed guards who were in the middle of their patrol. With the element of surprise on their side, it was the first time Elias witnessed the rebellion—or at least what Yun had managed to gather for now—in action, and he would only be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t impressed.

It was also during that same day when he discovered that the group’s opinions didn’t align sometimes, even with Yun’s judgment being the only thing that mattered. When a plan was proposed to steer the armed troops to a dilapidated part of town—where casualties were predicted to be lesser due to civilian lives there being ‘less significant’—Elias was quick to disagree, much to the surprise of everyone else. Not only was he usually untalkative during these kinds of meetings, but this was the first time the rest of the coup had actually heard him raise an argument—firmly , at that.

He noticed Yun starting to watch him since then. To anyone else, it would’ve been dismissed as Yun’s habit of getting lost in his head and staring into space. But if you’re someone who’s set to have a fragment of your attention hyper-fixated at the supposed match of your soul at all times, it would be hard to ignore the staring. It just so happened that Elias was that ‘someone’.

Maybe that’s how Yun had noticed him quietly sneaking out of the camp in Valenmans after their most recent battle. The camp had been the better option instead of their headquarters, mainly because it happened to be closer and their group was in dire need of a respite. Elias could only hope that Yun didn’t see how he’d dropped his body to sit on a rock a little too heavily, or the wince he wasn’t able to squash when his stinging shoulder predictably protested at the movement.

“Far be it for me to criticize, but I never pegged you as a loner.”

Elias sucked in a breath. “Sure.”

Yun hummed curiously. “You’re not denying it.” 

“Is that so surprising?”

“No, it’s just amusing to watch when you get all defensive.”

Oh, the nerve— “Well, in case it hasn’t occurred to you,” Elias fixed him with a stony look, “I don’t give a damn about what you think of me. And I don’t get defensive.”

“You want to test that?” Yun's eyes flashed in quiet challenge. “I could get Aleida here in no more than a minute if I tell her about that bleeding shoulder you insist on hiding from the med bay. See then if your claimed un-defensiveness can withstand an angry physician once she hears about this.”

He did see, then. Of course, Elias thought dryly to himself. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

Yun sighed. “This is hardly the time for bravado, Everstied.”

“What’s this about?” He drawled, exasperated. "I just wanted a little peace and quiet."

“I think you don’t want people seeing you weak, that’s what this is about. Did you get a blow to the head, too? Or was it only your pride that took the hit?”

“I’m fine,” Elias reiterated with more force, eyes sharpened to a glare. “This doesn’t need to concern anyone, especially Aleida.”

That gave Yun pause. “Oh?” He backpedaled, and Elias vehemently ignored the way his eyebrows dubiously climbed up his forehead. “Especially Aleida? Does she scare you, Everstied?”

Elias looked away. “Who doesn’t she scare, honestly,” he huffed.

He didn’t miss how Yun seemed to straighten at that, humming in thought. “Fair.” 

Perhaps, if there was something worse than being forced to surrender to the ADP, it’d be placing one’s self at Aleida’s mercy. Everyone was always vigilant about not getting extensive injuries that warranted a visit to her medical tent. Elias would even daresay that his time at the dungeons served a far better fate than submitting himself to whatever the woman could do as soon as she found out that he’d gone on recklessly and gotten himself wounded. 

Make no mistake, Aleida was a medical marvel. Many lives were saved because of her and her expertise. But it’s the reproaching lecture they’d always be getting an earful of whenever she’s tending to their injuries. It was always harsh, always too straightforward and imparting of her irritation and disapproval. Sometimes, it even unnervingly resembled that of a disappointed parent. She was gentle when needed, but at most times, she wouldn’t be above leaving you with a gaping wound wide enough to have your guts spilling over the floor. It came to a point that most of them would stop to wonder if the real threat resided at the heart of Anwei, governing over the people, or at the heart of the rebellion itself. 

“You still need to have that gash checked, though.” Yun pointed out.

Elias rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’ll live, thank you.” 

“Not when you’re coloring the ground red, you won’t.”

“And since when were you an expert?” 

“I’m not, but I have a good pair of eyes and a brain. Do you?”

Elias scoffed, but chose to not offer another reply. Any further and this would escalate into another argument, and Elias frankly didn’t have the energy for it now. Not far away from them, there was an oak tree with thick, long roots extending above ground. Maybe if he feigned interest in it, it would help Yun pick up the hint that he wanted this conversation over. 

“Take off your coat.”

Now that made Elias turn so fast he swore he heard his neck crack. “What?”

“Your coat. Off.” Yun repeated.

“I heard you the first time.”

“Then you should’ve understood me perfectly.”

“No,” Elias straightened up, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Why should I strip off my coat?”

“So I can take a look at your wound, what else?” 

That’s not happening. “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t think you can tend to that injury with one of your arms incapacitated either,” Yun shot back.

“And what makes you think I need your help?”

“You really don’t want me making good on what I said about bringing Aleida here, Everstied.”

In no more than five seconds, the coat was on the ground, discarded, and Elias fixed his gaze back on the oak tree with fierce determination. He didn't look at Yun, lest he’d be driven by the urge to punch him. But he sensed him crouching down beside him, and he felt not the slightest modicum of pleasure at all when the distance between them narrowed significantly. He immediately felt the press of a wet cloth—something Yun seemed to have procured out of thin air—against his shoulder, wiping off the blood and disinfecting the gash. Elias scowled throughout the whole thing, barely holding himself back from lashing out at the smug look the other was having a very poor attempt at hiding. 

Among everything else, this was what Elias hated the most. Rebellion aside, he absolutely hated the fact that Yun always found it easy to steer him to do his bidding. It did not help that Yun was also connected to him in a metaphysical sense. His wit was an asset, yes, but there were already too many instances where Elias wished nothing but to go back in time and knock some sense into his past self so he wouldn’t take back the Everstied relic from Yun. The extended sword had come with a proposition—or a ‘chance to make things right’, as Yun had fancily supplied—and, even if it was against his better judgment, Elias reckoned he could have gladly lived nonetheless even without taking it back. 

“What happened back there?” Yun suddenly asked, gesturing to the wound. 

Elias let out a noncommittal grunt. “Pincer attack.”

Yun paused. “Someone actually managed to catch you unguarded?”

“I’m not invincible, in case you didn’t know,” he deadpanned. 

“I know that,” Yun said, returning to the gauze he was rolling out. “It’s just surprising that you let a soldier come up behind you, is all.”

Yun knew him well, he’d give him that. 

It was odd, to say the least. Elias was always vigilant when he fought, to the extent that Yun had even attributed him once with an incredibly well-developed sixth sense. It was one of the many things that made him formidable on the battlefield. 

But sometimes, even he had to admit that his focus wasn’t entirely fool-proof. He was injured because he’d been distracted—although he wasn’t about to tell Yun that.  

“There were captives,” Yun started again, and Elias’ stomach all but dropped. “You saw them?”

He did. People, huddled in a cramped prison wagon with black bags covering their heads, their wrists held together in iron manacles. He didn’t know the offense that warranted their capture, but he was sure that they were civilians—men, women, and children alike. Noncombatants. And yet they were treated like they committed the greatest form of treason to the country.

The sight unearthed long-buried memories that Elias would’ve preferred to remain buried. And the next thing he knew, armed soldiers were advancing from both sides, barely snapping Elias back into reality as he parried the frontal assault and sidestepped the one from behind. The attack missed his back, but it still managed to nick his shoulder. 

He realized soon that he hadn’t actually given Yun an answer, unintentionally letting the question hang in the air. But Yun surprisingly didn’t complain.

When the gauze was pressed to his shoulder, a sharp rush of prickling pain made him flinch, tearing a hiss from his lips.

He didn’t miss how Yun coincidentally jumped beside him when he did. “Sorry,” Yun briskly muttered, turning back to the gauze with a now more apparent frown on his face.

Elias felt it then—a tide of worry, distant and fleeting. It washed through him over an undercurrent of unease, emotions that definitely weren’t his.

He shifted on his seat once he felt Yun’s hands leave his shoulder for good, the gauze now set firmly in place. A question arose in his throat, but Yun was already standing before he could get a word out. Yun gathered the med kit in one arm, giving Elias one solitary nod. And then, without further ado, he turned on his heel, making his way back to camp to give Elias some time alone. It wasn’t discussed, but Yun knew he needed it anyway.

He didn’t even let Elias thank him.

Chapter Text

After Valenmans, Yun and the rest promptly returned to headquarters, both to get a move on things and to not put the people in Valenmans at any more risk with their presence there.

As much as the people insisted on having their gates open to Yun and his allies for as long as they needed refuge, the camp’s plight remained obvious. Some time ago, Valenmans had started as a relief camp, meant for those who had been evicted by the government or were in need of a safe sanctuary while avoiding them. Then, as the years traveled by and the Democratic Party’s regime continued to corrode the country, the camp’s residents grew in number, and soon enough Valenmans became a small community—a settlement of sorts for those who needed reprieve from the corruption of Anwei. It took massive and collective effort, but they’ve managed to stay away from the ADP’s radar ever since.

Yun had no intention of disrupting their security. So, as soon as he and his allies were back on their feet, they left.

Their headquarters this time was an abandoned mansion, built in a town that’s far east of the Capital City; close enough to be in contact, but distant enough to be undetected for as long as they could. The mansion had once been a residence of noblemen, judging by the Romanesque structure that dated far back when Anwei was still under the monarchy. It’s old with stone walls bedecked in ivies, but as long as it provided them a roof on rainy days and a shelter during cold nights, it was enough.

It’s roughly a few weeks later when Yun came across Elias again outside of their usual strategy meetings and minor expeditions. He’d been on his way to the room standing in as his current office when he saw a figure in the deserted courtyard, completely unbothered by the distantly grumbling, dark afternoon sky.

By the looks of it, Elias was running through sword forms, eyes sharp and body flawless as he changed from one stance to the next. In his hand was the same sword Yun had used to bargain him into joining their cause. It gleamed even amidst the dim vicinity.  

Now, seeing Elias with a sword wasn’t exactly a new sight, even for Yun. He’d already witnessed him fight on multiple occasions, and he trusted Elias’ skills enough for him to not actually give it a second thought ever since. 

But something about him now made Yun stop in his tracks.

It would only take a blind man to not see his grace, natural and elegant, with every advance deceptively light but executed with a precision powerful enough to catch any opponent off-guard. The Everstied sword sang as he swung it in a perfect arc, narrowly missing a nearby wooden column as Elias danced with an imaginary challenger.

He was beautiful.

The man’s exceptional prowess was unsurprising of course. Hardly anyone could possibly not know the Everstied prodigy, more so when the name alone held great influence over the entire country. It was why Elias became one of the key figures in their strategy. He was strong—tremendously skilled and just as powerful. At this point, Yun had no one he could completely trust his life with other than Elias himself.

Yet it all boiled down to the fact that Yun only ever saw Elias with a sword during their battles, right when they’re all hard-pressed on defending against an enemy of their own and all Yun could do was cast Elias a quick glance to check if he was still up and fighting. So now that he was, for once, really stopping to look, he found himself stepping into the courtyard, interest piqued and drawn by the still unknowing figure of the swordsman. 

And then there was a stir, too abrupt and quick for Yun to even think about dodging. He was just about four steps in when the tapered end of the sword suddenly appeared only inches in front of his neck, and he immediately erased that thought. Maybe not so unknowing, then.

Yun saw Elias pause for a split-second, surprise flashing on his face, before, “What are you doing here?” 

His eyes were still sharp, and Yun was unsure if that was due to him not yet breaking out of his laser focus completely, or that for one second there he had fully intended on striking Yun down.

Well, that wasn’t so bad in hindsight. Perhaps if he was meant to die one day, he wouldn’t mind if it was dealt with Elias’ sword. “Just passing by. Thought I’d keep you company for a while.”

Elias looked at him through a narrowed gaze, clearly seeing through the charade. “You sure do have a lot of free time.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Yun said, eyes encompassing the courtyard in a show of nonchalance. “But some air would be nice before I dive again into more... serious matters.”

“Sure.”

Yun cast the glistening blade under his chin a questioning glance. “You can put the sword down, now.”

Elias sent it the same look, as if actually mulling it over for a while. He stared at it, and stared, and then flatly, “No.” 

Yun reeled back slightly. “No?”

"Tell me the real reason why you’re here, and I might consider lowering it.”

Yun sighed. “I already told you. Fresh air—” 

“—is a load of crap, especially when it’s coming from you who’d willingly rot inside his office.”

Yun’s expression flickered to a frown. “And what’s so strange about me keeping you company, Everstied?”

Elias sent him a look, apathetic, and it was all it took for Yun to know that Elias knew he was trying to evade the question. He cursed to himself. Over time, the swordsman was growing too perceptive for his own good, and it only gave Yun more incentive to hate the mistake of a soulmate bond through and through.

Yet Yun would also much rather be dangling off the edge of the tallest rampart in the ADP’s main office before he admitted that Elias was breathtaking while fighting, so he quickly searched for the next, best palatable reason he could concoct. 

His eyes eventually landed on a lone pair of practice swords left on a nearby rack, and he was struck with a somewhat acceptable and yet also, without a doubt, the worst bluff he’d ever come up with. 

“Spar with me.”

Elias’ blinked owlishly, looking almost as if Yun had gone and slapped him across the face. “What? ”

“Spar—” Yun finally sidestepped the blade pointed at him, heading to retrieve said practice swords before tossing one to Elias, not bothering if he’d thrown accurately enough for the taller man to catch. “—with me.”

Unsurprisingly, Elias caught it with ease, even amidst his blatant shock. “You? Asking for a spar?”

“I don’t think there’s anybody else in this courtyard.”

“Do you even know how to hold a sword?”

“That’s quite the offense there, Everstied.” Yun feigned an affronted tone. “I may not come from a family as privileged as yours, but such things as the basics of the sword were drilled into me when I was barely twelve.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. Among other things, sword-fighting had been a part of his education, because one who cannot hold a sword is no man, as his father would say. He was taught everything there was to know about fighting with a sword—which was not much, looking back on it now, especially if one was to go up against an Everstied, highly trained and with sword-fighting practically ingrained into their bones, of all people. 

The fact that he was also asking to cross swords with a prodigy did not help with his case.

But then again, tallest rampart and all that, he supposed this was a better fate than submitting himself to the world of shame that was inevitable if Elias caught wind of how his sword forms had seized Yun’s rapt attention. 

And so he unsheathed his practice sword, adjusted his hold on the hilt, and turned to Elias to execute the final push— “Come now, Everstied. Prove to me that your name isn’t just for show like what your jail warden used to say.”

—and quite possibly the final nail to his coffin. 

Like a switch being flipped, Elias’ face fell, initial confusion entirely lost from sight as he went stiff. There was a palpable shift in the air as Yun watched Elias slide his sword back to its scabbard, suddenly dead silent. He set it aside before facing Yun again, practice sword now raised. His time at the dungeons had always been a subject that was too sensitive to breach, and Yun had gone and used it to provoke him. And provoked he was, indeed. The glint in his narrowed, red eyes showed that he was very, very far from pleased with Yun right now. 

This is a bad idea. Yun’s thoughts helpfully supplied. Still, he stood ready, falling into stance as he watched Elias, waiting for him to attack. 

Elias’ form was a bit different from his, more refined and distinct, and even that alone had already radiated more finesse than any other fighter’s that Yun met in his entire life and his thoughts conveniently provided once again, this is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to not notice how striking Elias was in this light. Even with the dim atmosphere the cloudy weather had brought along, Elias seemed to stand out like a pale torch in the middle of the ill-lit courtyard. His expression was carefully blank, but if the faintly sizzling rage felt deep in Yun’s guts—which Yun was completely sure didn’t originate from his own—was anything to go by, everything behind that blank facade gravely contradicted it. 

When Elias finally sprung to action, he was fast. Had Yun not raised his sword quick enough to deflect him, his throat would’ve been hit. And knowing Elias’ current resolve, the swordsman definitely wasn’t above doing exactly that. Quickly taking the opening provided by his parry, Yun finally leaped from his spot to lunge at Elias, almost, almost catching Elias off guard with the speed that propelled the move. Elias dodged, sidestepping the attack with grace before answering with another one of his own, this time aimed for Yun’s midsection. Fatal if the sword was a real one, Yun realized as he barely drove his own to block it. Elias had without a doubt applied more force in this one swing, because the impact hit hard enough to push Yun a small distance away and leave him staggering for a millisecond. 

But he didn’t have the time to be winded because Elias was in front of him again, sword drawn back to deliver one powerful swing, and this time Yun didn’t trust himself to be strong enough to block that so he evaded, diving away just in time for the blade to barely sweep atop his head. He seized the opening provided by his lowered angle, and he struck, successfully and finally landing a hit on Elias’ lower hip.

Of course, his arms didn’t exactly have the strength of a seasoned fighter, so the strike didn’t do more than cause Elias to momentarily lose balance. His gaze instantly turned scathing at that, like he hadn’t expected Yun to land a hit at all and now it only irked him further that he was proven wrong. 

Yun found no pleasure in doing this either, but nonetheless he parried every thrust and dodged every swing—well, only most of them. 

The fight became suffused with a distinct kind of seriousness after that. They exchanged blows, Yun landing one hit to Elias’ every three, both of them collecting bruises and other injuries in varying magnitudes. It dragged on until they’re breathing heavily—more Yun than Elias—and were covered in sweat despite the gloomy weather. 

To be honest, Yun was mildly surprised that he’d managed to last this long. He knew how to fight with a sword, sure, but it wasn’t exactly his preferred choice of weapon. Had this entire ordeal gone in his favor, this duel would’ve been settled with pistols, not blades. So it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he hadn’t used a sword in a fight for a long time.

Still, even if he reaped nothing in this fight but a fresh collection of contusions across his body, at least he wasn’t the only one. He might not have had a chance against Elias Everstied in the first place, but he’d most certainly made him work for the win, and that alone brought him ample unholy satisfaction that he was sure to bring with him for the rest of his lifetime. 

He didn’t know when Elias stopped seeing him as a threat, but at some point, his blows that were meant for inflicting injury gradually turned to blows meant merely for landing a hit. He didn’t mitigate the force of his strikes in any way, no. But his advances soon became calculated, more strategic than the rash and anger-driven attacks he’d dealt a while ago, and Yun felt them slowly adjust to a somehow more moderated spar.

It wasn’t long before Yun was driven to go on the defensive, forcefully pushed back by Elias’ strikes in rapid succession that it nearly made him lose his footing. Yun started to back himself towards the sword rack, moving completely by memory while he did his best to fend off the straight attacks in front of him. Then, once he was positive that the rack was within arm’s length, he drew his sword back to deliver a hasty, offhanded stab. Just as he’d predicted, Elias’ answering swing sent Yun’s practice sword flying out of his grasp. But, not to be bested just yet, Yun plucked another scabbard from the rack in one fluid motion.

And immediately found himself with the tip of a sword under his chin, again. 

Elias was fairly frazzled, with beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face and a few lilac locks falling out of the tie that held his hair high. And yet, he still gave Yun a triumphant look. “My win.”

Yun was convinced that he looked no better than the taller man at all, if not worse, especially since it was him who mostly took the brunt of their exchanged blows earlier. But he still managed a smirk. “Your sword would beg to differ.”

Elias’ eyes flew down when he felt a small poke, and Yun could only snicker quietly as Elias frowned at the Everstied sword pointed at his abdomen. “You cheat. ”

“And you’re a dead man,” Yun declared, slowly turning to watch the end of Elias’ practice sword still pointed to his throat. “Well, both of us are.”

“Give back my sword.” 

“Only if you lower yours.” 

“This is not up for negotiation, Yun.”

“It is once I’ve stated my terms. Lower yours first.”

Elias clenched his jaw. “Now that's hardly fair, don't you think?” He tauntingly pressed his sword more onto Yun’s neck. “You have a real blade in your hand and I don’t.”

“Like that has ever stopped you before,” Yun countered. “I still haven’t forgotten when you threatened that one poor fellow in Valenmans with a tree branch.”

“He was a pickpocket,” Elias argued back. “And to be fair, that branch did nothing more than knock him out. Now hand it over.”

“Like I said, lower yours first.”

“You’re the one with the advantage here!”

“I know better than to take any chances.” Yun affixed his trademark grin on his face.

Judging by the instant crease in Elias’ forehead, the swordsman was likely one breath away from full-on strangling him then and there. “You—”

Chirp!

Yun’s smile fell. He paused, the grip on Elias’ sword slackening for a brief second as his ears struggled to register that tiny sound. Even Elias himself had gone still, equally puzzled, with all traces of irritation now partially lost from his expression. Their swords temporarily forgotten, both of them turned to look up to find the sound’s source.

Only for Yun to realize that he couldn’t move his head as much as he’d wished to because there was a strange weight sitting on top of it.

All he heard from Elias was a very uncharacteristic snort before the taller man slapped a hand to cover his mouth, completely forgetting that their soul bond was still existent therefore Yun could absolutely feel every bit of the amusement he was trying to suppress. Yun stared curiously at him then, now very bemused—and unsure if it was due to the chirp he’d heard or the sight in front of him because, was Elias laughing?

His answer came in the form of another chirp from above, and realization instantly dawned on him like a lightning strike.

If his speculations checked out—the weight, the sound, the displacement of air above him, the convulsing swordsman in front of him—then he was perfectly convinced that right at this moment, there, perched atop his head, was a bird.

A bird. On his head.

He’d need a few more seconds to properly process that.

Duel completely forgotten, Elias doubled over, the hand on his mouth becoming utterly useless as poorly repressed giggles slipped past his fingers. At this point, Yun was torn into thinking that maybe Elias didn’t wish to scare the bird away with the noise, or that he simply didn’t want to grate on Yun’s nerves any further because Yun knew his face was positively growing more half-ashen and half venomous by the second. 

Yun sighed heavily. The bird trilled and squirmed in protest at the sudden movement, and Yun, despite being unable to see it, promptly sent it a warning look.

That became the last straw. The howl of loud and unrestrained laughter filled the empty courtyard as Elias finally lost it. “Did you just glare at the bird?!”

Yun eagerly directed his death stare at Elias, but this only sent the swordsman into another fit because apparently, the overall image of a scowling, incredibly peeved Yun who looked one second away from committing homicide, and with a tiny bird sitting on his head like it had claimed it as its newest nest, looked all too amusing. Yun almost had half the mind to run Elias with his own sword, just to see if he would still be laughing by then.

Eventually, the bird chirped again, and Yun felt it weakly flap its wings on top of his head as it struggled to remember how to fly. The telltale labor in the attempt gave Yun pause and eventually, he realized its dilemma, annoyance now partially forgotten as he looked towards the bird’s direction with renewed interest and worry. He could assume that this bird was a newborn, only recently learning flight but definitely not a master at it yet.

If only the bird had chosen to land on another place—or perhaps, on another head—then he wouldn’t have been too indignant about this whole situation.

He’d barely noticed Elias quiet down, seemingly seeing the bird’s predicament too. Suddenly, he started to reach for it with a hand, and for a split second Yun thought that Elias was going to knock it off his head or something else. His instincts flared, and he went rigid with panic, because as much as he hated his current situation, he absolutely didn’t have the emotional capacity to see a baby bird plummet to its death just yet. 

Thankfully, Elias stopped as well, and for once Yun was grateful for the metaphysical bond that tied them to one another.

He, however, refused to acknowledge the brief look that Elias’ face took on as concern when the taller man turned to him.

Casting him one last glare as if to say stay there, Yun steadied his head, looking back up towards the bird and silently urging it on to keep trying. The flapping grew more brisk, albeit slowly, and Yun decidedly held himself as still as he possibly could. 

“Nod your head,” Elias suddenly whispered.

Yun glanced at him, confused. “What? Why?”

“Just do it!” 

Yun furrowed his brows, a little skeptical, but obediently tipped his head upwards. It was light, but enough to not jostle the bird too much that it would risk sweeping it off Yun’s head before it could even take flight. For a moment, nothing happened, and Yun immediately opened his mouth to chew off Elias for making a fool out of him, but apparently, the little push was all the winged creature atop his head had needed. As if on cue, the bird slowly lifted itself from Yun’s head, its wings flapping wildly around it as it rose more. 

The baby bird was barely half an arm’s length above Yun’s head when it dangerously faltered for a millisecond, and Yun swore his heart practically beat itself out of his ribcage in panic. His own arms nearly flew upwards to catch it. But thankfully, the bird regained its balance, and once it was sure of its own stability, it quickly flew away, eventually disappearing over the roofs that framed the courtyard. 

There was a chorus of relieved sighs. Yun quickly felt weak in the knees, nearly toppling to the ground if it weren’t for the scabbard—which was still in his hand all this time—holding him up. At the resounding clang it made when Yun planted it as leverage on the floor, Elias swung back around to look at him, eyes immediately zeroing in on the brandished sword still in his other hand.

Yun half-heartedly leveled him with a challenging stare, but seeing as Elias did not seem like he was going to waver any time soon and Yun honestly did not have the strength left to deal with any further disagreement, he wordlessly slid the sword into its sheath, pulling himself back to his full height as he extended it to Elias. He ignored the odd sense of déjà vu at the back of his mind when Elias snatched it out of his hold without delay. 

“Well, I guess we have our winner,” he quipped. 

“Oh, shut it,” Elias snapped. “The bird doesn’t count.”

“I think the bird’s opinion is worth some consideration.”

“The bird’s ‘opinion’,” Elias dryly supplied with air quotes, “was dedicated to finding its closest, possible nest, which happened to be your head by the way.”

Yun, despite the direct jab, only shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about you, Everstied, but I’m exhausted.” Finally giving in to his body’s protests, he dropped to the floor on his rear, crossing his legs as he sat. 

“Then go back to your office, idiot,” Elias said, somehow not realizing that he was sitting down too. 

“I said that I would keep you company, didn’t I?” Yun tilted his head.

“Strange,” Elias mused curiously. “I don’t remember needing it.”

“Har-de-har.” Yun childishly pondered how good Elias’ face would look with the sole of his boot pressed against it, but immediately thought against actually throwing said boot to test it. He’d already relinquished his advantage by handing the Everstied sword back to Elias’ hands. He couldn’t afford to provoke Elias now. 

“Where’d you learn how to fight?” Elias suddenly asked, slightly taking Yun by surprise.

“Oh, what’s this?” He smirked. “Have I actually gone and impressed you?”

“What I’m saying,” Elias intoned, blasé as he briefly rubbed his temple, “is that someone who’s only equipped with the basics of the sword could never last long in a fight against me. So how did you?”

“Is the fact that I’m a natural not enough reason for you?” Yun questioned, only to receive a completely glassy look in return that rendered any following fib ineffective. “Well, I may or may not have exchanged a few blows with Cassius back when the rebellion was still newly-formed. But that was a long time ago.”

“You?” Elias echoed, face warped incredulously. “You sparred with Cassius?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Yun shot back flatly. “I went against you today and managed a draw with all limbs still intact.”

“That’s because you cheated.” 

“I don’t remember any rules that said anything about re-equipping weapons.”

“It was an informal spar,” Elias stated. “Nobody brings real weapons in those kinds of matches. Why do you think I set aside my original sword in the first place?”

“To have it as a reserve?” Yun put forward. 

Elias hung his head, sighing.

“Well, at least I can see now why you’d ask a spar from me. You were either capable yourself or just plain stupid.”

Yun grinned. “So you were impressed, then.” 

“You stopped listening after I said ‘capable’, didn’t you?”

“It was the only thing out of your mouth that actually made sense.”

Elias snapped up to glare at him. 

“Which reminds me, by the way,” Yun casually leaned back on his hands. “You have sparred with Cassius once before.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And he certainly gave you a run for your money, didn’t he?”

“He’s a seasoned soldier,” Elias acknowledged with a noncommittal shrug. “He’s fought for the country for nearly half his life. Going neck to neck with an Everstied definitely won’t be difficult for a fighter of his caliber.”

“Indeed,” Yun concurred, eyes gleaming cheekily. “Enough to beat you, in fact.”

“I was out of practice,” Elias sharply defended. “I would have fared better in a real fight.”

“So you’re saying that you’re more likely to beat Cassius if you fight him in earnest?” Yun asked curiously.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Elias paused, and Yun quickly noted the slight pensive set his shoulders took on as he looked down at the Everstied sword lying on the ground beside him. “Sparring with Cassius and seeing his style, it… kind of reminded me of my father, I guess.”

Yun sat straight at that, intrigued. “You’ve crossed swords with the Lord Everstied?”

“Oh, many times.” Elias ran a cursory finger across his sword’s scabbard. “Learned my techniques from him, actually.”

“And Cassius reminded you of him,” Yun quoted with a tilt of his head. “Why?”

Taking a slow, deep breath, Elias turned to him. “Tell me, when you went against Cassius, was he easy to manipulate?”

Yun trailed back to his own first spar against the ex-military fighter, recalling every sensory detail from the way he’d met every advance and parried every hit. “Quite,” Yun admitted. “But either way, his natural abilities were far too superior for me to win.”

“Exactly,” Elias granted with a nod. “Like Cassius, Father was also a formidable fighter. His advances were always eloquent. He hid nothing, no ploys or underhanded maneuvers of any sort. In essence, his style was very easy to read.” He looked back down at his sword then, sounding not so much like a highly esteemed swordsman and more like a well-behaved son. “And yet I could never fight on equal footing with him.”

“You’ve never beaten him once?”

“I have won against him, sure,” Elias affirmed. “But only when he lets me.”

Yun couldn’t help but frown at that. “You think he underestimates you.”

“I know he underestimates me. Not even being a prodigy can change that,” Elias muttered with a despondent huff. “Well, it’s not like his opinions were unfounded, anyway. I may be a paragon of the Everstied prowess, but I could never hold a candle to my father and his skill.” 

“You give yourself too little credit.” It slipped past his mouth faster than he could process it, surprising them both, and Elias looked at him then, a sincere curious look in his eyes.

“Do I?”

Yun went silent. Some part of him, deep, deep in the depths, was telling him to argue. It wasn’t unusual for Yun to not see eye to eye with everyone he encountered, but now, the urge to take issue with the nonsense Elias had just spewed from his mouth only grew the longer he let the words hang in the air. Something about Elias undervaluing his own capabilities in favor of the Everstied patriarch’s slanted opinion of his own son just didn’t sit well with Yun. It didn’t sound right, especially coming from someone—dared he say—as illustrious as Elias. It just wasn’t right.  

But what surfaced in his head instead was the image of a man, tall and domineering, with the same crown of jet black hair and a menacing set of amber eyes. What took form instead was that all too familiar condescending stare, and Yun’s mind briefly stuttered over the realization that he and Elias finally had something they could mutually agree on.

“And what do you mean by that?”

Yun startled, blinking as he refocused on his surroundings and the odd, quizzical look Elias was giving him. “What?”

“Something we could both finally agree on?” Elias reiterated. One of his brows was arched in question, and it took Yun roughly a few more seconds for it to dawn on him.

Ah, he’d said that last one out loud, didn’t he.

“Let’s just say,” Yun sighed, now finding it hard to look at Elias too, “that Gumang was no different from the Lord Everstied in that sense.”

Don’t get him wrong, Anwei’s Secretary of State might be a corrupt leader, but he was a good father—at some point, anyway. He’d set himself as an example for Yun to follow, dug his own footsteps for Yun to fill in. He’d done a lot of things anyone’s typical father was expected to do; insisted on education, enforced discipline on a regular basis, gave counsel on life-changing decisions, and a lot more that Yun would take hours to list and yet fail to be enthusiastic about all the same. For the most part, his father had undeniably shaped him to be what he was today.

That excluded the less favorable parts, of course.

The less favorable parts, as he’d like to call it, were the ones spent in the dark corners of his father’s home, quiet and alone as his younger self would nurse the brand new red on his cheek or the bruises around his wrists. The less favorable parts were the moments spent under father’s disappointed glare, or the tutelage that only grew stricter by the day. The less favorable parts were the standards he could and would never meet, in spite of the kind of person his father had wanted him to be. 

The less favorable parts were the parts that no longer had his mother in the picture, no matter how hard Yun wished her to be.

“Has anybody ever told you,” Elias suddenly asked, startling Yun back to the present for the second time that day, “that you’re a spitting image of the State Secretary?”

A wry scoff tore itself out of his throat. “All the time. Why?”

“Nothing, I just thought it would be odd,” Elias said with keen regard, “for the Secretary of State to look the same, if you ever decide to take on the mantle.”

For a while, Yun didn’t know if he should laugh or scorn. “If it eases your mind, Everstied, I will never take my father’s seat in congress at any cost. He may have fostered me to be his legacy, but that dream has bit the dust when I left.”

“I get that,” Elias commented truthfully. Something in his seated form seemed to loosen as he gave it more thought. “Well, it’s good that the resemblance stops there, anyway.” 

And Yun bristled.

Like slow creaking gears, his mind descended on a downward struggle to wrap around what Elias just said as he looked at the swordsman with wide eyes. Elias must have sensed the question coming even through the shock because he spoke before Yun could even open his mouth, “You do realize that, don’t you?”

“And what,” Yun winced at the rasp in his voice, quickly taking a moment to clear his throat. “What makes you think that?”

“Various reasons,” Elias said. “But the revolution, for one. I don’t think you’d ever consider leading this fight against the Democratic Party, and your father, if you were still following in his footsteps now, do you?”

“Then you don’t know my father at all,” Yun charged, his tone sharp. “He’s everything you don’t want your country’s leader to become. He’s deceitful, he operates for the sake of his own benefit. He uses the people, Anwei, to fulfill his own ambitions and he could care less of the lives that get caught in the fray, and if memory serves me right, you used to think of me the same way.” 

And Elias was only right to do so. Without all the noble reasoning and the righteous objective to correct the things the ADP had done, one could think that this—the revolution, the uprising, the coup—was all but a mere farce to appease Yun in his deep-rooted desire to finally measure up to something. One could think that Yun was using people to do his own bidding as well, all for the sole purpose of opposing his sorry excuse for a father. Many people shared his ambitions for the country, true, but Yun knew he was too superficial a person to be capable of an act as gallant as leading a counterrevolution to save the country. He wasn’t a hero. It was laughable for him to even be considered as one. The blood of the devil that led their country to ruins coursed through his veins, so who was to say that he lacked the potential to become a devil as well?

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, wasn’t that what the people used to say?

“Who’s giving himself too little credit now?”

Elias had crossed his arms, looking all too judging as he fixed him with a gaze that made Yun feel like he’d seen every word that materialized in Yun’s thoughts. “Pray tell, since when have you ever been unconcerned with innocent lives? Last time I checked, when someone proposed to lure the military to the outskirts of town because the civilian lives there wouldn’t be too big of a casualty, you disagreed.”

“That’s because y—”

“And yes, it may be true that you’re using the rebellion to suit your own benefit,” Yun instantly grimaced, recoiling ever so slightly because that— “but it was us who made the choice to join you, wasn’t it?”

A beat of thunder unceremoniously made the skies growl, reminding the world of the impending storm looming above it. The air felt heavy with a scent of ozone, tense and mildly pungent, yet both of them paid all of it no heed. Even when the clouds overhead thickened with gray and a passing breeze threatened to extinguish the few barely lit torches, they remained there, unstirred.

“You do look like him. Very much, in fact.” Elias pinned him with a hard look. “But you’re not him.”

And even amidst the cacophony of nature’s roars, his words still echoed loud and clear. 

All too soon, the first unmistakable drop of rain hit Yun’s right temple, rolling down his cheek in a clear thin rivulet. But he didn’t flinch, not even when the rest began falling down the courtyard, soaking his and Elias’ clothes and coloring the dry floor wet. 

You’re not him.

Elias looked up to the skies then, imitating Yun’s earlier stance and leaning back on his hands, mindless of the wet dirt that would definitely be coating his fingers upon contact. Yun looked too, letting the fat droplets hit his face and set their course down his neck. The skies had already been dim when he’d entered the courtyard, but now it seemed to be a stone’s throw away from replicating the night, even when he was sure it was only past three in the afternoon. 

You’re not him.

Yun didn’t know how or why a faint bubble of amusement had begun rising in his throat, but soon enough his head was bowed, shoulders shaking as peals of laughter slipped out of his mouth unbidden.  

The swordsman turned back to him, looking very confused, and Yun immediately went to explain before Elias could start thinking of a second head bursting out of his neck. “It’s nothing,” Yun waved a hand dismissively, his lips still stretched in the widest they’ve been for as long as he could remember. “I just thought that maybe the reason why the world decided to make us soulmates is because we’re both the banes of our fathers’ existence.”

The s word slipped past his lips more easily than he thought it would. But he couldn’t be bothered to worry anymore about how it was practically a taboo between them, because right then, after a beat of silence, abrupt, vibrant laughter soon covered the rain-filled courtyard. Elias reclined, body trembling with hysterics loud enough to be heard even through the downpour. Yun shook his head, finally leaning back as well with the grin still tearing his lips apart. 

“Ah, what a pair fate has tied together for a lifetime,” Elias sighed in mock awe.

Yun snorted so hard, he swore his nose spat water.

I’m not him.

Chapter Text

Things progressed like usual in the succeeding days. Delegated duties were executed, new minor alliances were arranged, and just recently, a layout of their final plan—the ultimate strategy to their coup d'état—was finally drafted. It’s still a rough version of the overall objective, especially when they still had yet to consider all the possible repercussions, but it was a start. 

There was an infinitesimal shift, however. 

Somehow, over time, his encounters with Yun gradually turned frequent and their conversations became . . . easy. 

This didn’t slip past Elias’ notice. And initially, it didn’t bother him.

Actually, no, that’s a blatant lie.

Sword in hand, he pivoted on his heel, turning on his own axis as he swung the blade down in one graceful arc. 

It would be wrong to call it a drastic change, though; more like something had fallen into place between them.

But that wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising to Elias was that it hadn’t been so bad at all.

Elias knew for a fact that Yun trusted him. That much was already established long before this civil footing was formed between them—well, as civil as previously-reluctant allies could get, anyway. But Elias soon discovered that Yun’s trust in him spanned out beyond the limits of pure business when their conversations started to veer from the usual state of affairs into light discussions of the most random, cursory questions and simple retellings of the instances in life they wish they could relive. 

He rotated again, swiftly stabilizing his center of gravity as he repeated the action towards the opposite wall of the courtyard. 

They never touched the practice swords again. Elias knew better now than to assume a fair match from Yun after what went down in their previous spar. Instead, when strategizing and meetings extended well into the evening, they would both find themselves easing into unspoken breaks. The conversation would drag on over dinner instead of tea, and on rare occasions, they would even break out the alcohol. 

“Care for a drink?”

Yun had pulled out a wine bottle one night, and Elias watched with curiosity as he fished two glasses out of his desk drawer. “You keep glasses under your desk?”

“It’s imperative to come prepared, of course,” Yun quipped.

“For drinking . . .” Elias trailed off vaguely. He was sure there was supposed to be a question there somewhere. 

Yun ignored him, tipping the bottle to pour a fair amount on each of the glasses before extending one to Elias. When Elias only gave it a questioning stare, he sighed. “We’ve been going over these plans for hours, Everstied. It won’t hurt to loosen up every once in a while.”

Elias wasn’t exactly someone who could hold his liquor very well. 

But Yun didn’t need to know about that. 

The soles of his feet dug into the ground as he moved to another maneuver, going on the offensive as he let his sword slice the air. 

Although, questionable decisions aside, that wasn’t where everything had started to go downhill.

Elias let himself believe for a certain amount of time that all was good and normal. But, like the moments of peace in his life, even that didn’t last long.

Three weeks, after their sparring incident and one excursion later, Elias had come to realize one thing.

Yun Cheng was becoming a problem.

For a while, Elias thought it was because of that one particular reconnaissance job.

“This is ridiculous.”

“That’s the seventh time you said that.”

“Nobody told you to keep track.”

“Then quit whining like you’re the only one apprehensive about all this.”

Elias sighed. “You just had to settle on the craziest undercover idea, didn’t you?”

“Unless you want to draw unnecessary attention by being anything else,” Yun had retorted, straightening his tie, “then be my guest.”

“And yet you turned down the suggestion to come as attendants,” Elias reminded him. “They’re more invisible during public events.”

“We’d need proof of identification for that. Processing one is too tedious,” Yun explained. “Not to mention, attendants have limited access to most of the premises.”

“So do guests,” Elias sharply pointed out.

Yun grinned, oddly reminding him of a cat. “Not if we play the right cards.” With one swift tug at the handle, he pushed the door open, finally stepping out of the automobile. “Last run-through?”

“We locate Isley, you strike up a conversation with him and talk like you’re interested in investments to keep him busy,” Elias had recited, exiting as well to stand beside Yun. “And while you’re getting all chummy, I’ll slip out of the main hall and find my way to his office, third door by the second hallway closest to the foyer, and take a look at his files.”

“Guards will be stationed everywhere,” Yun muttered. “Unbutton your shirt and mess up your hair so you can have an alibi in case you’re seen. Smudge some rouge on your neck and collar for further effect.”

“In other words, pretend like a womanizer who’s lost his way chasing after a missus.” Elias still remembered rolling his eyes when the idea was first proposed. “Then I fix myself back up, return to the main hall while you make up some unfinished business that needs immediate attending, and we see ourselves out of the building.”

“Mhm,” Yun hummed in approval. “If things go the way we want them to, we'll deliver the papers to our source in the local telecast. They’ll take it from there. Our job will be easier by then.”

“Easier said than done,” he’d corrected, running his eyes over the enormous mansion in front of them from floor to roof. “You know, if I’d only known that the job description involved diving back into the lion’s den, I would’ve thought twice before joining.”

“We are meant to go into the lion’s den one way or another eventually. And plus,” Yun had shot him a sidelong look. “You did think twice, but you took the sword anyway when I offered it back. Guess I’m simply that charming.”

“Crafty, you mean,” Elias corrected. He sent the building a last once-over before he sighed in resignation. He turned to Yun, offering his elbow out. “Shall we promenade, then? Get this thing over with.”

Yun chuckled, smoothly stepping into role as he slipped a hand under Elias’ arm. “Lead the way, husband.”

No, that definitely wasn’t the decisive part in this whole situation. Although, as to why he’d agreed to that kind of disguise in the first place was a question he still couldn’t pinpoint the answer to.

An ill-timed turn made Elias falter in his step, and he growled in annoyance. Straightening up, he readjusted his stance, swinging back his sword before repeating the maneuver. 

No, the decisive part then was something that hit him just last night, when Yun found him sitting on the balustrade of their headquarters. The decisive part was when Yun had called his attention in his usual way, and Elias suddenly found it strange.

“Why do you always call me by my surname?” He’d asked with narrowed eyes. “I have a perfectly functional given name, you know.”

“Why, is there something wrong with your surname?” Yun questioned back.

“It just sounds,” he shrugged, “I don’t know, too stiff?”

Yun raised an eyebrow at that, softly huffing. “I don’t want to hear that from you,” he’d said with a pointed look. “You, who seems to have an endless supply of very creative names for me.”

“Why, do you have any other name than ‘idiot’? Or any of its equivalent terms?”

“Exhibit A.” Yun theatrically gestured to him, his tone satirical. Then, like a flick of a switch, he smirked. “Careful though, I might start thinking of them as endearments.”

Elias strongly scoffed in derision. “You wish.”

Yun leaned on the pillar across the one Elias had been sitting against, head inclined to study the night sky. “Why are you here, though? Can’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” He hummed. “I could say the same thing to you.”

“Sleep and I have never been on good terms, you know that.” 

“Mm.” Elias gently threw his head back to rest it on the pillar, setting his gaze on the starless sky.

They’d lapsed into a long, comfortable silence by then, wallowing in the tranquil atmosphere and letting distant noises that one could only hear during nightfall fill the air. It was the kind of peace Elias had long since wished for, even before his unsanctioned release from the dungeons. And yet he knew that it would only stay as that, a mere wish, if everybody left Anwei to be governed by those self-proclaimed leaders. 

It’s just his luck, perhaps, that Yun wasn’t ‘everybody’. 

Admittedly, it was also true that Elias had once thought of Yun’s ambition to be selfish. He assumed that Yun was only using the rebellion to suit his own goals, that he was no better than the ones responsible for all the strife that ran through Anwei today. But it soon occurred to him that the notion might have come from somewhere more angry than rational. Elias had been filled with pent-up frustration and a hunger for revenge, and he’d unknowingly began to direct the blame to the nearest outlet he could associate it with: Yun. 

It’s for that same reason that he’d been all too reluctant to take part in this counterrevolutionary measure Yun had masterfully crafted. His doubts were quite obvious too. But in the end, he also couldn’t deny that an uprising would be the most reasonable course of action if they wanted to overthrow those who’d assumed power by the same means. A vague memory of his family, chained down and stripped of their liberty, surged into his mind unprompted, and his mood instantly soured. After that incident, it was nothing but darkness inside walls made of concrete and an isolation that was a far cry from peace. His face fell to a scowl, feeling the familiar buzz of rage deep inside him at the thought.

Yun soon sent him a look in silent question, the telltale signs of worry downturning the corners of his lips and Elias was instantaneously reminded that Yun could very well have that rage reflected to him without a hitch. 

It had been one of the few instances where Elias found himself cursing the soulmate bond.

“I thought of my parents,” he’d revealed without a second thought.

The subject of their pasts wasn’t uncharted territory. It had already come up a few times, in fact, especially in their newfound ease when talking to each other. Nonetheless, it was still a sensitive subject, one that they’d both rather avoid discussing as much as possible. 

But something about the peace in that evening seemed to have lowered his defenses around Yun for a while.

“It was the middle of the night when they came. No signal, no warning, just an onslaught of firepower and blaring battle cries.” He clenched his jaw, eyes glazed as the memory flashed before him. They couldn’t seek refuge with a military outpost back then. Someone had let the radicals in and they had no idea who. They didn’t have the time or the chance to gauge how deep the treachery went. It could’ve been one man, or a hundred. “The king went ahead to protect his family, and mine hung back to slow the radicals down. But then they came straight for us,” his sword’s hilt was a phantom between his fingers as he flexed them, “like we were the target, like we held precedence over the Royal Family.”

“You were backed to a corner,” Yun put forward.

“Which was a first, by the way.” He squirmed in his seat. “We were at the castle, the most protected building in all of Anwei and yet—” He turned away, the words lodged in his throat. He inhaled sharply. “It was the last time I saw them.”  

The night air suddenly felt heavy, like a harbinger of an incoming storm. 

He offered no more, and Yun simply hummed, staring back ahead.

For a brief terse moment, Elias had feared that he might have unknowingly spoiled the mood. The evening had started off good, and it hadn’t been his intention to reveal that much. But later on, Yun abruptly stood back, straightening his spine when he took a deep inhale.

“Well then,” he said, sweeping off imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I guess I better turn in. And you?”

Elias had replied with a nod to the door. “I’ll follow later.”

Yun returned the nod, turning on his heel as he made his way back inside. Elias let his gaze wander over the sky again, only listening to the receding footsteps.

Until it stopped. “Elias.”

And, despite everything he’d said, his world still stopped. The sound burned itself into his mind like a thunderstrike that he had to physically stop to process. He turned to Yun, knowing full well that his face betrayed nothing of his surprise.

Suddenly he felt like he was in that hallway again, standing a few feet away from Yun after he’d proposed to him his initially outrageous plan of unleashing a rebellion against Anwei’s new leaders. There was that same glint in his eyes, bright and precisely reflecting his conviction as he met Elias’ stare.

“We’ll win this,” he declared, firm and absolute. It was simple, probably the shortest form of reassurance anyone ever heard from someone like him who tended to bedeck his words with fancy attributes. It wasn't spoken in a loud manner either, but it still rang through the quiet night.

And Elias, without question, believed him.

He hadn’t been sure if he’d said it back, verbatim or not, but his words dissipated into the air between them either way.

And then Yun smiled—a real one, not that ironic grin he used in the presence of society. It was true, mercilessly robbing his breath away in an instant. “Goodnight, Elias.”

Elias had remained there, suddenly lightheaded, even when the door closed behind Yun as he disappeared inside. 

His next swing didn’t come with enough force as he’d intended to, rendering him off his balance for a brisk second as his stance dangerously tipped to the side. Elias sighed in surrender, lowering his sword as he pulled himself to his full height. He set his gaze on the sky, now bright in the hours of the morning and not the night, and he briefly wondered if a benevolent being truly existed somewhere above there. 

That was it. In that moment, alone in the balustrade and shrouded in the evening’s silence, the realization had come to him over the erratic beating of his heart. 

Yun Cheng was becoming a problem. 

Cassius had been with Yun long enough to know that there were some things you just didn’t ask questions about. 

The leader’s head was a puzzle; a network of thoughts going back to back at once, which used to work out fine if you didn’t add superficial democrats and civil unrest and literal war into the mix. Sometime before, Yun would open up about his own dilemmas, usually in the form of dazed monologues or pensive mumbles, and Cassius, who’d usually be in earshot, would take it all in without interrupting. Sometimes he would amenably respond when he figured that Yun was deliberately talking to him, and sometimes all he’d do was stand there, a firm presence on the sidelines, as he listened to Yun’s muttered complaints after hitting another snag in his plans. 

But these days, Cassius was beginning to get too caught up in rebellion business. He’d been relieved of his previous duty as Yun’s temporary bodyguard when the Everstied had come to join their ranks, and now he’s charged instead with herding the other fighters. As someone who’d dedicated more than half his life to the military, this was more up his alley, and it had been hectic since the rebellion gradually grew in numbers. Sometimes Cassius would even find it hard to keep up with what their leader was planning on doing next. 

That’s why he found out about the soulmate situation purely by accident. 

Yun didn’t really put much effort into hiding his soulmark. Sometimes his sleeves would pull a bit too far back, and the edges of a brand would peek out. Cassius had also seen it in full view a couple of times, yet he could never figure out the appropriate words to describe it. 

And Cassius might not exactly have the best memory, but he was sure that he’d seen that mark on Everstied's neck once.

It happened in their spar, when the young prodigy had aimed a strike at his hip, expecting Cassius to deflect it. Unknown to him, it made his left side vulnerable for a split second, and that split second was all Cassius needed to sidestep the attack and swing his practice sword at Elias’ neck. It ended the match, with the tip of Cassius’ weapon pointed against his collarbone. The angle accidentally made the edge catch on the fabric of his shirt, peeling off the collar slightly. And that’s when he saw it.

Yun’s mark.

Of course, Cassius was in no position to ask. Despite it being a universal phenomenon, he knew that the notion of soulmates was a subject too intimate to be discussed by mere comrades. 

But, for all his propriety and his penchant to remain on the sidelines, Cassius still found himself curious. 

There were actually certain advantages to being able to blend into the background. It made observing the world easier when the rest was assured into thinking that he was not there.

And because of this, he started noticing things.

Mere months after Elias joined the rebellion, the leader had started to become more . . . tolerant, so to speak.

He was significantly less harsh when it came to executing plans. He’d given the men a bit more free reign—although not too much, and it also passed on a lot more weight to Cassius’ responsibility as their charge. During missions, Yun started to go the extra mile in preparing every possible precaution for every possible outcome. The lesser the risk, the lesser the casualty, as he’d said. Yun had always been meticulous, but these days he was beginning to become more attentive too.

What came out more as a shock though was his improved compliance with a certain swordsman.

“Hey,” Elias called as he entered the leader’s office one day. “Did you go out at all today?”

Yun hummed indifferently. “Yeah, this morning.”

Cassius, who had been present as well to deliver a report, shook his head when Elias turned to him in silent question. He didn’t.

The swordsman sighed. “Did you eat, at least?” 

When silence became his reply, Elias rolled his eyes. He snatched the pen out of Yun’s grip, ignoring the indignant squawk from below as the ink strayed off on the parchment.

“C’mon, you need to eat.”

“Elias—”

“That paperwork won’t be going anywhere.”

“But I need to—”

“What you need is a change of scenery, come on.”

Yun’s forehead creased as he looked at him in scrutiny. “And that’s the mess hall?”

“Yes,” Elias said. He nodded towards the door.

Yun sighed heavily. “You’re irritating.”

He rose from his seat anyway, grudgingly setting aside his paperwork as he followed Elias out.

“More you than me, Yun.”

You’d have to excuse Cassius’ surprise, because the last time he checked, he was sure that the two of them had been going for each other’s throats. 

It all made sense, eventually, after Cassius stumbled upon the whole soulmate incident.

It explained the stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking and the smaller distance they both stood from one another. It explained the supportive statements on meetings and the concerned warnings on missions. It explained the light peeking through the cracks of Yun’s office door during ungodly hours of the night. It explained the silhouettes he’d see on the balcony in passing whenever the headquarters was quiet.

But more importantly, it explained how Elias had become a regular fixture whenever Yun was in the room, a common sight beside the leader.

It shouldn’t be unexpected, considering that he was Yun’s bodyguard. But Cassius had witnessed their bad blood firsthand before when Elias was still a fresh recruit. He’d heard Yun seethe in his office about Elias’ latest failure to follow the plan. He’d seen Elias completely obliterate a training dummy in the courtyard while cursing Yun’s name to the clouds. They could barely stand one another before. So Cassius was naturally surprised to see them looking like they couldn’t stand away from each other now. 

He had been with Yun long enough to know that there were some things you just didn’t ask questions about. That was a fact.

But there were also some things you just couldn’t help but ask questions about.

So one day, he finally dared.

It was when the three of them had found each other in Yun’s office once again, and Elias just left for a personal errand he had to do. Cassius thought of making his exit too, but he quickly dismissed it and stayed rooted to his spot beside Yun’s desk.

“Sir.”

Yun looked up from the report he’d just been given. “What is it?”

He squared his shoulders, assuming his formal stance as he glued his eyes to the door. “I wanted to talk to you about Elias.”

There was a clink of ceramic, most likely the tea Yun was drinking. Cassius heard him shift, his tone taking on a more curious tilt as he spoke before sipping. “What about him?”

“Do I need to give him the shovel talk?”

Yun choked on his drink. 

Things changed when spring came around.

There was a kind of zest in the air, practically a sparkle, that added a bounce to the youngsters’ steps as they gallivanted through town. 

Spring festivals were always a grand annual affair, and the city of Nanhe was host to its greatest celebration Anwei had ever known. Nanhe was an enclave of Anwei’s ethnic roots. It’s home to the traditional folk, along with a myriad of cultures and an ambiance that hearkened back to a bygone era in Anwei’s long history. 

Today, the city was bright with stringed, colored lanterns and torch poles. A wooden platform was in the plaza, large and full of dancing, jovial townsfolk. A musical ensemble filled the enclave with songs, and all kinds of food stalls surrounded the area, each emanating mouth-watering aromas of delicacies and traditional cuisine. 

To Yun, it was like a breath of home. True home.

Living under his father’s roof had introduced him to lavish balls and sophisticated dances, moderated by genteel etiquette. But this? This was freeing. It was lively and unpretentious and a far cry from the dull soirees he used to go to. 

He might not be fond of reminiscing his younger years, but diving into streets abuzz with celebration was the kind of memory he always found comfort in. It had already been a decade, give or take, since he’d gone to one. And even when he’d already grown out of that childish part that had him tugging at his mother’s skirt to every single booth, he still found himself halting in his tracks to take in the sights.

The festival easily painted his lips with the barest hint of a smile, captivated as he reveled in the life of the city. 

Eventually, through the wave of patrons and visiting tourists, Yun found a familiar figure. The man was out of his uniform, settling instead with a loose dress shirt and dark pleated trousers. Most of his upper body was obscured by a cloak, with a hood covering his face. But he still stood out with the way he was looking above and over the heads of other people as he waited by the sidewalk, intent on keeping away from the crowds. 

Smiling, Yun promptly ambled over before the man could pop another nerve after having been made to wait for too long. 

“Hey!”

Elias spun quickly towards him, and his face slackened with exhausted relief. He spread his arms in obvious question. “Where were you?”

“Got caught up,” Yun gestured to the general direction of the festival as he stepped beside him. “You good to go?”

“As long as you are,” Elias said, hood casting a shadow over half his face. His eyes were narrowed, openly glaring at the dingy establishment by the far end of the street. “Don’t you think it’s a little too out in the open?”

Presently, they were headed for a tavern built at Nanhe’s plaza. Yun was set out to meet with an informant he’d commissioned to amass inside intel from the Capital City, and they’ve agreed on a rendezvous there, a place selected at random that’s public enough to shake off any possible pursuers. 

“The tavern’s landlord owes me a favor,” he informed. “I figured it’s time I put it to good use.”

Elias huffed. “Should’ve known.”

The sun was set high above the sky, highlighting the city’s vibrance even more as they weaved their way through town, hoods up. The streets were decorated with swathes of warm, bright banners and fabrics, while numerous stalls and emporiums lined the pavements. 

History told of how this place had once been razed by an ancient war, forcing the locals to flee their homes in fear of being caught in the crossfire. But what had once become a battleground, scorched and void, now breathed life once again in fields of blossoms and restored foundations of society.

Yun couldn’t help but pick up on a few rackets happening around them as they passed.

“Madam, how much for a bag of kumquats?”

“The dances will begin in the next hour!”

“How does that help?! You haven’t even drawn your card!”

“They’re gearing up for the parade, I think.”

“No no no, Mǎi looks better in red, not gold.”

“I heard the locals will be showcasing a fireworks display tonight.”

“Fireworks?” Yun thought aloud. “That should be interesting.”

“Seriously now?” Elias groaned, swiftly stepping aside the pathway of a craftsman carrying wooden poles. “This place is so busy.”

“It’s a festival, what did you expect?” Yun asked as he surveyed the vicinity. 

People practically absorbed the city in every corner. There were spectacles in every turn, revving up as the place proceeded to brim with cheer. A huge audience was gathered at the plaza, huddled around the stage where a crew of folk dancers toed across the floor. They also passed by a corner arrayed with assembled fireworks, true to the words of the passerby earlier. 

Multiple traders and tourists had already crossed their path as they neared the tavern. Yun already lost count of the stalls and hawkers they had to slip past as they walked side by side, careful of the people they would sometimes run into. Every so often, Elias would step in front of Yun, more to prevent him from brushing against passing patrons than to walk ahead. 

But after the fourth time someone managed to knock a shoulder against him and nearly dragged him away from the force of it, Elias seemed to have had enough.

“Yun.” 

Yun took a moment before he noticed the hand the swordsman was extending, and he sent it a puzzled look.

“At this point, you’ll get lost in the crowd if I let you out of my sight,” Elias grumbled. “Come on.”

Elias didn’t even give him a second to pause once their hands were interlocked. Yun swallowed hard as he followed, letting Elias guide him through the throngs of people. They walked around clutters of tourists and bypassed merchants with ease, pace in sync, and Elias’ hold on him unyielding. Yun was left to stare at his back. His hair was tucked into the cloak, leaving a slightly odd sight of Elias’ backside because Yun almost never saw him from behind without his hair out in the open. 

Yun learned a lot about Elias in the months they spent working together. Maybe more than he ever did about anyone. 

It was still an odd feeling, though. Every time he found himself watching Elias’ form, there would always be this gentle billow of something sweeping past him no matter the circumstance. It was, in a way, comforting. Even when he thought he didn’t need a moment of respite, he would always be met with it in the firm presence of the swordsman.

Another person bumped against his shoulder, and Yun found himself squeezing Elias’ hand just a little tighter as they walked. He nearly froze on the spot, caught in surprise, when he was answered immediately with the same tightening pressure; lithe, warm fingers squeezing his palm in reassurance for a fleeting moment. Eventually, a shadow was shed over them, and only then did he realize that Elias had succeeded in pulling them both under the cover of the building adjacent to the tavern. He detached his hand from him, and Yun strived to not miss it as it left his palm.

“Good work.” Yun cleared his throat, immediately brushing off unseen dust gathered on his cloak because his hand was now feeling a little too empty and he didn’t quite like it. “Now, we should—”

“Uhm . . .”

There was a new voice, stopping them from moving altogether. Frowning, Yun spun to find the speaker, only to stop short once again when he found a little girl, dressed in bright yellow robes, standing by the sidewalk corner and looking at them with wide, reddish-brown eyes. 

Yun blinked, frozen with indecision. He met the girl’s curious gaze with his own. 

She couldn't possibly be older than four. Her robes were fashioned in Anwei's traditional style, but the hems were practically brushing against the ground as she sheepishly stepped further. She was holding something behind her back, and her eyes were speedily darting between Yun, Elias, and the ground. 

“What are you doing here, kid?” Elias asked, stepping beside him.

The girl squirmed on her feet, nervous. 

“She followed us?” Yun turned to Elias. 

The swordsman only shrugged. “Hard to know,” he nodded to the main street’s crowd they just exited from, “but maybe.”

Both of their attention snapped forward again when the girl began to move, and Yun unconsciously felt his spine grow stiff at the suspense. The girl sauntered towards them, and slowly, she pulled out something from the back of her robes. 

A red flower.

A hibiscus bloom, upon a closer look. 

Yun’s forehead creased, and he knew that Elias was just as stumped as he was, judging from how the swordsman gave no coherent reply to whatever the girl was trying to do.

Then she suddenly gestured to Elias with the flower, and it swiftly dawned on Yun.

“You want to give it to him?”

At that, the girl meekly nodded, all the while glancing at his companion every now and then.

He could sense Elias’ confusion skyrocket. “Why . . . ?”

The girl’s face became contemplative; then, as if copying Elias’ earlier action, she nodded towards the main street’s crowd too.

Yun squinted. “She must’ve seen us in passing . . .” he trailed off, eyes drifting to the hibiscus flower that was still being offered in the girls’ hand. Yun suddenly felt himself grin. “Well, go on then,” he urged, facing Elias. “Can’t keep the young lady waiting.”

The swordsman was rooted to his spot, clearly hesitating as he looked at Yun. Yun met his gaze with a meaningful glare, gesturing to the child with a jut of his chin.

Elias looked forward. 

And the instant his eyes widened, Yun knew Elias was a goner.

The little girl, practically engulfed in the yellow-patterned robe that seemed a tad too large for her, was standing on her toes, one hand fisted on the fabric of her outfit and the other stretched up, holding the red flower to Elias. Her eyes were even wider than before, almost sparkling in anticipation. 

He didn't need to be told twice. With a resigned sigh, Elias descended to his knee, gently taking the flower out of her hands with hesitant fingers. The hibiscus hovered between them, and Yun could only imagine the unsure look on the swordsman’s expression as his gaze flickered between the flower and the girl.

And then she grinned, surprising them both with a gleeful cheer. 

She looked up at Elias, proudly showcasing her missing front teeth as she pointed a finger at him. “Shuài gēgē!”

Yun watched as Elias reeled back, both in surprise and his ever-perpetual confusion. Yun quietly snickered.

Soon, a woman rushed into the shaded corner they were currently at, gasping with relief when she found the child. “Míng’er! Don’t go running off on your own like that. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The girl didn’t even seem fazed by her arrival. “Mā, shuài gēgē!” she reiterated to the woman, still pointing delightedly at Elias.

At the sight of Elias and Yun, the woman quickly composed herself. “Oh, gōng zǐ, please excuse my daughter. We didn’t mean to trouble you.”

“It’s alright, madam,” Yun assured with a good-natured smile. 

After a very animated farewell from the toddler, she and her mother were soon gone, leaving the two of them on their own once more.

“Shuai gege,” Elias echoed as he rose back to his feet, the foreign word sounding off on his tongue. “What does that mean?”

Yun softly snorted. “She said you looked funny.”

The swordsman looked at him, eyebrows arched in a clear doubtful look. 

Yun ignored him, reaching for the hibiscus instead. “Here, Elias.”

Yun hated the fact that he had to slightly lean up on his toes to reach the taller man’s head. Yet surprisingly, Elias put up no protest, only staring curiously as Yun peeled the hood off his head. Then, with a gentle hand, he tucked the stem of the red bloom on Elias’ ear, hanging a few forelocks of his hair alongside it as well. 

It matches his eyes, Yun thought. The little girl had good taste. The red hibiscus sat perfectly against Elias’ head, a stark contrast to his lilac hair but a striking likeness to his irises. With the bright blue skies as a distant backdrop, Elias was perfectly juxtaposed to seem like he was hoisted straight out of an artist’s magnum opus.

Yun swallowed. How did breathing work again?

Elias hadn’t looked away, he soon realized; and for a horrible heartbeat, he was unable to do the same. Elias had always been handsome, and no matter the circumstance, be it when he’s gaunt from battle or begrimed with dust and dirt, it would still remain true. His expression had smoothened into something questioning, and Yun momentarily wondered what Elias saw in his own expression right now.

For another heartbeat, he agonized the impulse to close the distance.

“How is it?” Elias asked, slightly tilting his head.

The haze shattered, and Yun dropped his heels back to the ground. He seared the image into memory, lost in the awe he hoped wasn’t reflected on his face, before he gave Elias a small, lopsided grin. “Funny.”

The swordsman’s expression dropped and he rolled his eyes, huffing indignantly.

Chapter Text

It was always a constant wonder to Yun if he’d somehow made an enemy of the universe in his previous lives. Day after day, it seemed to enjoy making a mockery of him in every way possible.

Before, he always pondered, in that little childish part of him that so loved his mother’s stories, what his soulmate was going to be like. He found it hard to believe at first. Think about it: one person, somewhere out there in the world, destined to be yours?

It sounded nothing like a universal fact and more like the perfect recipe for bedtime stories.

But Yun knew—as much as the world was a cruel place and that the idea of ‘fate’ was nonsensical and that it was only a matter of time before some intrepid researcher discovered the actual reason why people really shared their emotions with another person—he knew that despite all that, there was a tiny chance, as astronomically small as it was, that he would be one of the lucky few who happened to have a soulmate who lived up to all those legends and folktales of old.

His parents were each other’s halves, as shown by the identical marks on their skin. He was witness to their love in the years when he was a child. He’d looked at them more than once, eyes of childlike wonder trailing after every kiss and every affectionate caress, and decided that he was going to find his one day. That someday, he was going to live and love someone just as much as his parents loved one another.

It wasn’t until he was a bit older, after the flames of chaos were fanned and the country was burning with civil unrest, that he gradually realized and understood that his mother would have been better off if she’d never met his father. 

It wasn’t until he was sitting outside his mother’s door, limbs heavy with exhaustion while trying to ignore the gaping hole in their home that was the size of his father, that he decided the idea of soulmates to be one huge lie. 

But then, the years blurred by, breezing past the burgeoning wreckage that was Anwei, and now the universe seemed to up its game once more when he’s presented with a swordsman, tall and dignified, with a striking set of eyes that looked as though it could see past all the veneers Yun had built throughout the years. That, and a very familiar mark branded just right above the contour of his collarbone.

And Yun knew then, with instinct so deep it burned along his bones, that said soulmate was Elias. 

What a mockery, indeed.

He toyed with the idea sometimes. More than once, he’d feel the world freeze on its axis, and he’d find his respite in the form of Elias Everstied. He found contentment in their talks, and ease in their banter. He carved a little home for himself in the sparse moments they shared, either in his office, the headquarters’ balustrade, the courtyard, or even out to the world, completely at the mercy of what the current Anwei had to offer. In times where he knew he needed an anchor, all it would take was one chanced glance at Elias’ unfaltering figure just a few steps away— always a few steps away—and he’d sigh with the rarest relief. Long before he knew it, Elias had become a constant. So perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth a try. 

It didn’t take long to realize how wrong he was. 

No, it didn’t take much, actually. All he needed was the one trip to Nanhe, a returning private informant, and the piece of intel he’d been waiting for. 

It was night, with Nanhe’s skies already dark. The ever-busy streets of the city bustled past the windows of the room they rented in the tavern for the rendezvous, but Yun turned ultimately deaf to it as his eyes glued themselves to the thin stack of files his informant had slid onto the desk. 

“What do you mean . . . ?”

The document appeared to blur in front of him, fading into inscrutable smears and yet the thick black strokes of a signature still burned like a brand into his mind. 

“Exactly as I'd said, sir,” the informant relayed. “Everything has already been planned out from the beginning.”

Dread, thick and viciously suffocating, rose in his throat when the realization fell onto him like a guillotine to the neck.

“A trapped knight is a failed knight.”

Of course. 

He wasn’t sure of what happened after that. His informant had talked a few minutes more, slid a list on top of the document— names of the ADP board members, he said— and Yun was handing over an envelope of payment. Then they were both rising from their seats, the informant taking his leave without delay, and Yun was stepping out of the room. He knew his feet had moved, albeit aimless, but he walked on. Somehow.

And the world stopped again. There Elias was, outside the door to stand guard, just a few steps away. 

Yet Yun was at loss for breath.

He thought he’d grown used to it—used to the feeling of the world crumbling to his feet. It already happened before, several times. Now, it was happening again, and yet there he was, unable to move in the face of it.

Elias straightened when he noticed that Yun had stopped, no doubt sensing the growing turmoil weighing Yun down.

“What’s wrong?”

Everything was. But he didn’t need to know about that.

Distantly, from outside, Yun heard a sharp zooming sound, like a projectile piercing through the air. 

And then a loud, crackling boom.

Loud cheers resounded outside as colorful, sparkly lights reflected on the corners of Yun’s sight, and it clicked: fireworks. Huge and dazzling fireworks broke the sky outside, echoing through the nearest window and bouncing off the hallway’s walls. It struck Yun, harsh and almost acrid, because earlier in the day he’d looked forward to it. Earlier in the day, when he heard someone mention fireworks, he’d perked up in excitement, eager to see and experience the show alongside the man he’d taken to Nanhe with him.

He found none of that excitement now. Only a heavy chest, and a sluggish observation of that same man now starting to stare worriedly at him. 

The hibiscus that was still tucked into Elias’ ear was a fist to his beating heart. 

That was it.

Yun realized he was in love with Elias Everstied in the same breath he realized he was going to lose Elias Everstied. 

That was it.

When weeks blended and flowed into one another, at the onset of summer, Elias finally noticed it.

Yun was keeping his distance.

Not literally, that is. Elias still saw him occasionally at headquarters, passed by him at hallways, watched his six at expeditions, and talked to him most especially when the state of affairs was direly urgent. 

But there were no more sporadic encounters on the balustrade, no more interludes after strategy meetings, no more wine glasses on the desk.

And Elias would rather tear out his own guts before he’d admit it.

But he missed it.

For a handful of nights, he’d linger outside, either to bask in the night air on the balcony or to see if the stars were feeling confident enough to show up among the skies. And some part of him—a very small part, he swore—-would always be on the lookout for a distant creak of the doorway or for that one familiar gait to come approaching. 

But ever since Nanhe, there had been none. Not even once.

The soul bond was of no help, either. A lot of people claimed that having a soulmate would help you understand a person better than others—that finding your soulmate made you complete, even in a metaphysical sense. But it had been weeks now, and Elias still got nothing. No ripple of irritation that used to go off when Yun stumbled upon a block in his plans, or even that tide of smug satisfaction Elias used to feel in the presence of Yun winning over another ally. Nothing. It was like Yun had shut down, emptying his heart and locking up parts of him that were too vulnerable and revealing. Almost as if he had stopped feeling altogether.

It was wrong to think, because as far as he was concerned, Yun was the most sensitive person he ever met, even though he had his own odd ways of showing it. 

It had taken Elias some time to realize it too; that the Yun he knew now was vastly different from the one he’d thought him to be when they first met. That Yun was an egomaniac, unabashedly bold, and all too cunning. He’d known how to play Elias way before Elias could even begin to counter any of his claims. 

But it wasn’t the soon-discovered soulmate bond that made him see through it. True, the bond did somewhat help him realize it along the way. But he remembered, merely days after his official alliance with the rebellion, Elias had witnessed Yun discuss trade with another prospective recruit for the first time, and he quickly took note of the things that were uncannily familiar. For instance, the haughty tilt in Yun’s stance, back straight and chin tilted up ever so slightly to assert superiority. His declarations were slippery, but deliberate, almost as if carefully staged to make his audience have second thoughts in believing him before he delivered the finishing blow—a surefire way to guarantee that they were his for the taking. 

But most importantly, his conviction. Beyond all the charades, his conviction was the one thing you could never mistake. That whole encounter was almost reminiscent of that time when Yun finally extended the Everstied sword back to him in that hallway—and Elias realized then and there that everything was done with practiced ease, most likely performed on numerous occasions. The Yun Elias saw when he was being persuaded into joining was barely the surface of everything.

Since then, he’d been unsure of how he should take the realization that his soulmate, the one he used to hardly believe was fate’s choice to be his better half, was in fact more human than he’d initially thought him to be. That that soulmate, as pompous and deceptive as he might seem, was more real when he actually cared. 

But now, none of that was in sight.

Things had changed when spring came around this year.

And the day Elias fully understood that change, it happened like this:

“Cassius, did the report from the Capital arri—” Yun paused as soon as his eyes fell on Elias. “You’re not Cassius.”

Yun looked like he hadn’t been out of his office since yesterday, which wasn’t too impossible, knowing him. Even at this distance, he could see Yun’s eyes, bloodshot and his amber irises lackluster, as if the gleam had left them overnight. His hair was slightly tousled, and Elias swore he was wearing the same clothes he had on the last time Elias saw him twelve hours ago.

“No, I’m not,” he muttered, entering the office. “Cassius was caught up with something, so he asked me to deliver the report to you instead.” He raised the packaged file in his hand to show him.

“I see.” Yun promptly returned to what he’d been working on, picking back up his pen as he said, “You can put it on the desk.”

Elias compliantly neared him, placing the file in the space between a stack and the desk lamp. He warily studied Yun’s figure, quickly noting the deeper slump on his shoulders as he worked. There were empty mugs of caffeine on a smaller table to Yun’s right, and the main desk was cluttered with a mix of plan blueprints and paperwork. Elias knew that Yun wasn’t the most orderly type in their bunch, but this state was starting to concern him.

“Yun, is ev—”

“Did you need something?” He suddenly asked, cutting Elias off.

Elias frowned. “Is everything okay?”

This time, Yun stopped to meet his gaze, and Elias finally managed to have a closer view of him. He looked tired. “Yeah. Why?”

That was odd. No evasive tricks, no mocking jabs, no ‘I’m actually feeling fantastic’ with sarcasm oozing from every word.

“Just wanted to check up on you,” Elias said, not knowing what to do with his hands so he slipped them into his pockets.

Yun’s face was reticent, unusually dull as he regarded Elias with a stare before he turned back to his work. “Sure you did.”

Elias didn’t miss the bitterness in his tone. 

Slightly irked, he pressed forward. “Yun—”

“Please close the door as you go.”

He didn’t even look up.

Oh, Elias thought, his stomach slowly twisting into tight coils as understanding settled in his chest. He wasn’t wanted here.

It stung like salt in raw wounds. This cold indifference burned hot and it stopped the breath in Elias’ lungs as he slowly stepped back, relying solely on memory as he headed for the door. He allowed his legs to move, not entirely mindful of where he was heading because what he needed now was to get out of there fast. 

He wasn’t even aware that he’d been holding his breath until the door closed behind him.

For the remainder of that day and for the span of that week, he was uneasy.

It went on for almost a month. Yun kept him at arm’s length, shutting him out— literally sometimes—and treating him the same way he did to everyone else at headquarters. It was like Elias had blended in the background for him, unworthy of his undivided time and effort. 

Elias tried to not mind it at first—the looks he refused to return, the calls for his name he pretended to ignore, the dismissals he gave in every attempted approach, Elias disregarded it all. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. 

For once, Elias was caught with a feeling he couldn’t describe right away. It ate at him, slowly, painfully. 

When Yun finally decided to talk to him, it wasn’t until weeks later.

And Elias wasn’t a stranger to betrayal, no. He just didn’t think that another one could begin to compare with what had been done to his family. 

That day, he stood corrected.

“You . . . what?” 

“I want you to execute someone for me,” Yun repeated, his exasperation clear. “His name’s Mikael Sauzac. You’ll find all the information you need in that envelope.”

Yun went back to whatever paperwork he’d been attending to, seemingly uncaring of the fact that he might as well have issued a hit list to Elias. 

Still reeling from the order he’d been given, Elias peeled open the envelope, straightening the document out of its folds to scan it over. 

The profile that greeted him instantly rang an all too familiar bell.

“This is the paperboy’s father,” he muttered, looking over its contents one more time before turning to Yun for confirmation. “You want me to kill the paperboy’s father.”

Yun spared him a glance, unnaturally deadpan. “Is that not obvious?”

“But didn’t we already settle matters with him months ago ?” Elias raised the document in question. “Why deal with him now?”

“I’ve changed my mind. We don’t know if we can trust him to keep his mouth shut about his encounter with us. I received word recently that Mikael Sauzac has been in contact with one of the ADP’s board members.” Yun leveled him with a serious look. “I don’t know if he tattled on us, but on the off chance that he did, I want him gone. As soon as possible.”

Kill orders weren’t new. In the rebellion, to take lives was necessary as a means to an end. In disputes and battlefronts, Elias had driven his sword through armed forces and congress associates more than a handful of times. It wasn’t gratifying in any way, but Elias found assurance in the fact that the men he killed already had blood on their hands first, way before their blood stained Elias’ own. They were men who were legitimately guilty, as proven by once-concealed evidence that the rebellion always managed to uncover. They were barbarous murderers, fraudulent politicians, and scheming traitors. They were worth the fate Elias had given them.  

But how was Yun so sure that Mikael Sauzac deserved the same?

There were no tabloid excerpts in sight, or recordings, or even some covertly taken photo of him being in contact with said board member. Nothing, not a single thing in sight that could justify why he needed to be exterminated. 

All they had was mere hearsay.

Could Elias even kill someone based on mere hearsay?

Not to mention the fact that Yun had never issued a direct kill order before. It was always through combined action. He’d summon everyone, relay their next objective, and enclose the kill initiative along the way. Killing was only part of the bigger picture. It had always been like that, because the broader the line they could draw to set them apart from the actual murderers who had now assumed power in congress, the better.  

But this? This was pure assassination, with no other primary motive. 

This would mold Elias into a pure-blooded killer.

Which was why when he was faced with Mikael Sauzac, trembling all over yet still bravely standing in between Elias and his frightened son, he couldn’t do it.

The paperboy he and Yun had met months ago was wailing. There were no longer blemishes and bruises on his arms, and Elias momentarily felt relieved at the thought that they had successfully managed to impart their sentiments to his father the last time they’d come here. But suddenly all their efforts seemed null, because the boy was crying again, this time holding desperately to his father but crying in fear still.

Elias couldn’t do it.

So he returned to headquarters with an unsullied sword. And at last, after weeks of nothing, he finally sensed something.

Anger.

“What do you mean you weren’t able to do it?” Yun dropped his quill, the legs of his chair emitting a menacing drag against the floorboards as he stood. 

“I meant it exactly as I said it,” Elias admitted, meeting Yun’s eyes. “I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t kill him?” Yun echoed, the venom in his voice loud and clear. “How could someone like you not kill a single person?”  

“You didn’t tell me wh—”

“Was he armed? Were there reinforcements?”

“No, but—”

“Did he give away some hidden advantage we didn’t know about?”

“What? No, he was just—”

“Then how?” Yun pressed on.

Elias grit his teeth. “I didn’t want to do it.” 

His words were succeeded by a pregnant silence, thick and palpable as Yun’s face fell into a blank veneer.

And then he laughed. He hung his head and he laughed, sounding so hollow and so very close to hysterical that Elias felt himself freeze.

“Didn’t want to do it,” he echoed, the crooked smile on his face not looking like it belonged there at all. “Didn’t want to do it, he says.”

Elias stepped forward. “Yun—” 

“Do you even realize what you’ve done?” Yun whipped up, his expression now pinched into a scowl. “Sauzac knows about us. He has the perfect ammunition against our forces. One word to the ADP and everything we’ve done to get here will all be for naught.”

“You don’t know that,” Elias countered, responding to Yun’s growing ire with his own. “Yun, we haven’t seen him for months. If he’s as loose-tongued as you claimed, the ADP should’ve been at our gates months ago.”

“The ADP will also be at our gates any second now because you let him go,” Yun spat, relentless. “My orders were clear.”

“And you expect me to just nod and accept them?” Elias shot back. 

“We are at war. If we’re exposed, the government will show no mercy and we won’t be able to survive that kind of threat.”

“But Sauzac shouldn’t suffer for that.”

“Oh, and suddenly you’re the arbiter of what should and what shouldn’t? Just because I ordered you to kill a civilian, now you’re acting like you’re above murder?”

Elias stepped back. “So you admit it then? That he’s a civilian?”

“A civilian with affiliations that could mean our undoing.”

“But a civilian all the same!” Elias seethed, slamming Sauzac’s file onto the desk. “What is wrong with you?! ”

“You’re really asking me that when you’re the one who spectacularly failed? No, what is wrong with you.” Yun punctuated with a pointed finger. “I have done everything to get us here and you—”

Three sharp knocks at the door cut him off. 

“Sir?” Cassius’ voice resounded beyond the wood. “There’s mail for you. From the Capital.”

Both of them froze.

A missive straight from the main city only meant one thing. 

The government was on them.

Yun’s glare turned scathing, spearing him with blunt apathy as he straightened up. “You best hope that you fix this soon before you stop being of use to me, Everstied.”

His footsteps were distant, even as he rounded the desk to head for the door. It was as if Elias was hearing him walk through opposite ends of a tunnel.

“I was wrong,” he said, and distantly, he heard Yun stop. “The resemblance doesn’t stop, after all.”

A faint grating sound on the floor indicated that Yun had turned. “What?”

Elias moved to leave. “You resemble him,”

He didn’t need to say who he was talking about.

“In every sense of the phrase,” he muttered, loud enough for Yun to hear as Elias passed him, barely brushing against his shoulder, on his way out.

Chapter Text

Valenmans had been welcoming to them, as always. The stationed keepers acknowledged Yun upon sight and signaled the gates to open. It was already dim with the cusp of twilight, and residents were slowly retiring to their homes when the troops made their entrance. The people greeted them, with some even making the effort to approach and welcome them and Yun amenably responded with grace, offering his thanks for the ever-present hospitality. 

The camp was almost a safe haven, as he often liked to think, if only not for the fact that they were exerting efforts every second to go undetected by the government. 

Amidst the warm greetings, however, there was only one person who drew near that radiated with the same amicable air, but the expectant look on her face was more potent. Yun finally dropped the grin.

“Headquarters has been compromised,” he’d said as soon as Aleida stopped in front of them, and her face instantly fell. With a sympathetic nod, she beckoned them inside.

All that happened hours ago, right when the sun was dipping beyond the horizon and the evening air was faintly breezing past their cheeks. Now, pitch black skies had fully enveloped their part of the world with not a single star in sight. 

The chill was the first thing that hit the camp right before the rain started to pour. It drove the children to run towards the nearest shade and the camp’s builders to unfurl a tarp over the half-done houses. All outdoor activity came to a halt as the grounds became more drenched by the minute. 

Aleida had harangued him to dinner, not even giving him a chance to say anything when she immediately attached a threat to throw him outside if he so refused to go to the mess hall and eat. Yun wasn’t usually picky with sleep accommodations, but to decline dinner would also mean declining Aleida, and he knew better than to say no to the woman. 

The mess hall was remarkable only in its being significantly larger than all the other buildings in camp. Despite the chill bite of the air outside, the hall was warm and busy, filled with the evening rush for supper. Cooks were running to-and-fro, all armed with either a pot of food or a jug of water as the residents helped themselves to their meals.

For Yun, dinner was a quiet affair— well , as quiet as sitting beside a gaggle of camp residents could be. Dinner was also a brief affair, which he decidedly didn’t put much thought into as he soundlessly finished his broth.

Then Aleida waved him to follow her to the clinic. 

“I figured you need a breather.”

Yun looked up as soon as the door closed behind him. 

“It’s not much, but,” Aleida momentarily paused to take out a wine bottle from the shelf beside her desk, brandishing it to him. “What do you think?”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Good enough.”

Aleida snorted. “Brat.” 

Yun watched her put the bottle on the table before proceeding to bring out the glasses kept in her drawers. “Still haven’t broken out of the habit, I see.”

“Don’t act like you don’t keep glasses under your desk too.”

“I learned from the best.”

She chuckled, making quick work of the bottle before pouring equal amounts on each glass. The rich burgundy liquid faintly sloshed as one of the glasses was extended to him. He took it in one hand, slowly swirling the wine around in delicate movements before he took a sip. It was light on his tongue, the balance of sweet and bitterness sliding smoothly down his throat.

For a split second, an image sparked to life in his head. His office window, opened as the evening enveloped the room. His office’s sole lamp allowed two silhouettes to linger on the walls, forms reclined against the seats that bracketed a desk cluttered with maps and reports. 

Yun quickly took another sip to wash that thought down.

“Thirsty?” Aleida asked.

“Only a little,” Yun waved her off.

“Mm. You’re not telling me something.”

Yun’s forehead creased at the offbeat question. “What do you mean?”

“You have that look,” Aleida observed, lowering her drink. “You’re thinking of doing something reckless.”

Yun shook his head with a hint of a scoff. “That’s untrue.” 

“Is it now?” Aleida cocked an eyebrow. “You know the last time I saw you looking like that?”

He leveled her with a resigned, questioning stare.

“Back at your father’s residence,” she said, meeting his gaze with her own. “You used to look like that whenever you’re left with no other choice, when you’ve run dry of ideas and your last resort was to throw caution into the wind.”

Yun felt himself tense. “Is that what you really brought me here for?” he asked, placing down his glass. “To corner me?”

“Partly,” she confessed, taking a careful sip.

“And mostly?” 

Aleida sighed. “You look lost, is all. Like for once, you look like you’re feeling out of place, even when you’ve been to Valenmans more times than I could count on both hands.”

Yun really couldn’t get anything past her. That much he believed even more now.

“Are you brooding because one of our greatest chances at defeating the ADP is currently confined to his bed?” 

His face twisted into a scowl. He didn’t need to be reminded of that. “He was being stupid,” he muttered, although it lacked the spite he was aiming for.

She huffed a laugh. “Glad to see you’re getting along so well.”

“Oh, absolutely. Like a fuse and a match.”

“You know, it was me who tended to him earlier,” she explained, a knowing look on her face. “And I can see that you two may not be on the best of terms right now, but even when concussed, he was asking of you.”

That had Yun facing her again, head tilted in question. “He was?”

“He wanted to know if you were okay,” she said, before shrugging. “Personally I think it was the concussion talking, but who am I to judge the bonded?”

Yun blinked. “Wait, you knew?”

She gave him a dead look. “Sweetheart, I may be getting well into my age but my eyes are as clear as ever. I know a soulmate bond when I see one.”

He rocked back onto his heels, suddenly uneasy. His hand rose reflexively to trace the outline of his mark, branded over his arm and covered by his sleeve. It wasn’t his intention to not tell Aleida, really. But, other than the fact that the subject never came up between him and the physician, he once thought that the fewer people who knew, the lesser the risk and the easier it was to, well, deny. 

But then again, the woman was just as sharp as her surgical blades. Yun was sure he wouldn’t be wrong to guess that she already knew everything right off the first time she met the swordsman.

“How does that work, anyway?” he asked. “You being sentient to bonds?”

“I’m simply gifted in a lot of things.” She winked. Yun softly scoffed, rolling his eyes in derision. 

Then she finally asked the question, “Yun, what really happened back at headquarters?” 

Yun’s shoulders sank.

Too many, he thought. Too many to retell. He shifted on his foot and straightened his spine, as if preparing for a long-standing wrangle as he trailed his eyes away. “We were warned that the ADP had located us,” he informed, turning to eye the table instead. “We left as soon as we confirmed it.”

“And how were they able to find you?” Aleida tipped her head. “At the exact headquarters too. The last time you had to move, it was because government authorities were just in the vicinity. But now they pinpointed exactly where you were.”

“We were careless,” he said. “Apparently not all the people we’ve encountered can be trusted to uphold their end of the bargain.”

“Somebody ratted you out?” 

“Something like that.” 

“You have any idea who?” Aleida tipped her glass up to her lips again with a careful sip. 

“Mikael Sauzac.” 

“Hm,” Aleida hummed thoughtfully. “He works at the Civil Registry, doesn’t he?”

“That’s him,” Yun nodded. “We met him a few months ago on our trip to one of the Capital’s neighboring towns. We settled on a few terms and we agreed to keep the encounter between ourselves.”

She suddenly paused. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Yun raised his head in silent question.

“If your encounter with him happened months ago, why's he suddenly acting up now? If he was going to report you anyway, why delay?”

‘...Yun, we haven’t seen him for months. If he’s as loose-tongued as you claimed, the ADP should’ve been at our gates months ago…’

“Unless this was something more recent,” Aleida wondered aloud, trailing off.

He bit his lip. 

Something more recent traveled back to only one incident in particular. Something more recent was when Yun handed over a file with that exact same profile, a single order from his mouth. It was when he’d come face-to-face with hot, sizzling ire and a look of complete distrust he never thought he’d see again.

Yet there he had been.

“I ordered him killed.”

For the briefest moment, Aleida's face went slack with shock. It was, Yun thought with wry delight, probably the only time in his life that he’d managed to catch her off guard. 

“Killed?” Aleida echoed slowly. Her gaze wandered away from Yun as she let the word roll over her tongue. “So you weren’t thinking of doing something reckless, since you’ve already gone and done it.”

Yun’s eyebrows furrowed. “He was dangerous. I had no choice.”

“You chose to abandon reason.” Aleida turned back to him, her face twisted into a grave expression. “You could have talked with Sauzac. You could have been civil. Instead, you go after his life because you were being paranoid.”

“I was being prudent,” Yun sharply corrected through gritted teeth.

“Prudent?” she echoed, incredulous. “And where exactly did that lead you? Certainly not any safer than the rest of us."

Yun frowned. "Aleida—" 

"Maybe if you never gave Sauzac a reason to lose his trust in you, then you wouldn’t even be on the run in the first place.”

“He betrayed our trust first when he met with a board member of the Democratic Party in secret.”

“Really?” Aleida crossed her arms. "Where?" 

Yun sucked in a breath. “My informant didn't say. But he heard it from the locals.”

Aleida breathed a noise of disbelief. “That’s it? You sent a kill order after a man just because of street gossip?”

”I know it may seem absurd to you but I only did it to keep us all safe. I have always done what I needed to do to keep us away from the ADP’s radar. I make no apologies for my methods.”

“God, are you hearing yourself now? How are you supposed to keep us all safe if you’re going to kill every man you're suspicious of the next time around? You’re even incapable of keeping your own word.”

Yun straightened defensively. “That’s—”

“And sure, you can justify everything with strategy, discretion, you against them, them against you. But at the end of the day,” she speared him with a steely gaze, “the enemies you have now are the ones you created, the ones you choose to oppose.”

His mouth went shut.

“Is that what you want for Anwei?” she asked, her voice now no louder than a murmur.

He held her gaze defiantly for a few moments before looking away.

“Yun, what’s going on?” she pressed on when she was met with silence. “You’re usually not like this.”

“Like what? Like my father?” Yun questioned, even as his throat slowly started to seem like it was closing on itself. “You’re the second one to tell me that today.”

“Do not change the subject.”

“Nothing is going on.” 

“And do not,” Aleida slammed down her half-empty glass with a menacing bang against the wood. “lie to me.”

Yun quietly cursed.

“I know you, Yun. You don't usually resort to rash decisions unless something happened beforehand that made you raise your defenses.”

The woman took a step forward, stance ramrod and sharp in the exact way that made their men cower in her presence.

“So what is it?” 

And for once in a really long time, he was, without a doubt, cornered.  

There were a lot of things Elias would have gladly woken up to without; the splitting headache, for one, and there’s also the part of opening his eyes to a pitch black room with not even an open window or a lit candle. The first few seconds of blindness nearly had him falling over the bed, though he supposed it was partially his fault for thoughtlessly making a beeline for the bed as soon as he’d arrived earlier.

He fumbled for his sword, sighing with relief when his hand touched its hilt by the bedside table. He felt for his forehead next, his thumb immediately finding the gauze plastered against where he figured was the stem of his headache. That soldier really must’ve gotten him good in the head. His ears were still ringing, although faintly. 

With a groan, he pulled himself up, planting his feet on the ground and holding the table as he rose. Perhaps there was something good about the pitch black after all because otherwise, he’d be seeing the world spin as vertigo landed its hit. He stalked for the nearest window, moving solely by memory and quickly unveiling the pane as soon as he found it. The glass was wet from the rain, but the room still bathed in traces of artificial light coming from outside, and only then did he trust himself to locate the room’s own lamps.

Only then, too, when the space was properly illuminated, did he finally see his sword again.

The scabbard had red specks by the tapered end— blood, he assumed. 

He didn’t need to grapple too much for the cogs in his brain to work. He knew exactly where it came from.

The swarm of soldiers had been difficult to miss during their escape. They’d managed to get far from headquarters when the military force came, but not far enough to secure their ride out of there yet. He remembered expertly dodging to different nooks, hiding behind random establishments whenever the area wasn’t clear. Yun was hot on his heels, giving him directions as to where the ticket to their escape would be found. 

He remembered his hold on his sword being particularly, extremely tight. 

He remembered the harsh course of adrenaline in his veins, propelling him with a single goal to get them out of there. He didn’t know if it was hardened by the faintly stewing temper in his chest or something else, but what he did know was that he was still mad; that he was frustrated, and he was hurt.

But he also knew that somewhere beyond the fog in his mind was reason. Part of him acknowledged that his last conversation with Yun was unfinished, that there was still more to realize if the anger and the yelling died down and they were given the chance to actually talk. Something was not right, and he wasn’t foolish enough to ignore what every fiber of his being was practically telling him.  

But there, hidden in a nook as they waited for the marching military to pass by, he felt nothing but anger. 

Anger was safe. Anger was better than the crushing weight of disappointment. It grounded him, made him look straight forward. Anger was better than the hurt keeping him in a chokehold; because to feel angry helped him forget the sting of Yun’s last words to him.

Anger was better.

So if it meant grasping the hell out of his sword in a white-knuckled grip, then so be it. 

He was driven by that fervor when they neared the vehicle’s location. And he also believed in that same fervor to get them out of there faster. However, right when they were one junction away from the vehicle, the sight of a small group of soldiers made them retreat.

The vehicle was parked in the shade between two buildings, and the men were dawdling by the other end of the small alleyway. There were only four of them, but even so, it was going to be impossible for Yun and Elias now to reach their ride without being seen. 

He’d distantly heard Yun mutter under his breath, likely putting together an alternative strategy on the spot. Elias had intended to sit and wait, because he knew nothing good would come out if they charged here without caution.

That was until he picked up on the conversation being exchanged between the soldiers— 

“We have their headquarters surrounded.”

“The target’s nowhere to be found, though.”

“Could he have been forewarned about the ambush?”

“Likely, but that doesn’t make a difference. One way or another we will be leaving with Yun Cheng’s body no matter the cost.”

—and he froze. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Yun call for his attention, but he didn’t turn. He was rooted to his spot.

The last statement bounced off in his head, echoing endlessly like a broken record. Next thing he knew, his feet were beginning to move. He sauntered inside the alleyway, deaf to Yun’s warnings, and he loudly cleared his throat.

“Hey!” 

All heads had turned to him, and he watched as varying degrees of recognition dawned on each of their faces. He was probably a sight for them with his lilac hair and red eyes; anyone would be able to recognize those distinct sets of attributes from a mile away.

The attributes of an Everstied.

“What are you doing?!”

That was Yun. He was standing outside the lane, still hidden from view, but from the look on his face Elias was able to tell that he was a step away from jumping in too. It made Elias pause for a second. His mouth formed around the word ‘stay’, but oddly enough, it never came out. 

Instead, in a sudden moment of spite, he intoned with a noncommittal shrug. 

“Fixing my mess.”

Then he charged.

Everything had been a blur of battle cries and metallic clangs, of mangling assaults and torn skin. Four against one weren’t fortunate odds, but Elias had fought with even poorer stakes before. Cutting down a pair and disarming the other two was barely a challenge for him at all.

It was almost too easy.

Elias had maneuvered himself with efficient speed, swinging and cleaving his sword with cool ferocity. He didn’t give the soldiers a moment to process it, even as specks of blood sprayed hot onto his face. 

This was the kind of zeal he was familiar with. This was the kind of fight he took in stride. He felt no guilt when his blade sliced skin, nor did he recoil when the blood splattered on his skin. 

He didn’t kill them, but he certainly made sure that there was no way they’d be able to hold a weapon again anytime soon. 

It was in the wake of the fight when he finally managed to suck in a deep breath. 

…only for that same breath to leave his lungs as quickly as it came when he counted three bodies on the floor.

The hair on his nape bristled, and he pivoted on his heel as soon as he felt it.

When his eyes found the missing man rearing up with a wooden pole behind an unknowing Yun, he felt the blood in his veins freeze to ice.

His feet left the ground. He didn’t even bother unsheathing his sword again, because all that mattered now was that if Yun took that hit, it was going to be bad.

He still had to talk to him.

His sword’s scabbard hitting flesh was the last thing he remembered before his world turned dark.

Thinking back on it now, the pole should’ve dealt more damage than a concussion. It was a thick piece of wood with a few splinters scattered on one visible side. Add that to how far and long the soldier had reared up the swing, so the blow should’ve prompted a heavier injury—maybe even a minor memory loss at most.

Aleida figured that it was his last-ditch effort that helped, back when she was tending to him at the infirmary. That one hit from his scabbard must’ve crashed hard against the soldier, enough to mess up his trajectory and the original force he was gearing up with. Hence, the concussion.

It didn’t make it hurt any less, though.

He dropped his rear back onto the mattress, heaving another sigh as he eyed his sword. 

He honestly didn’t know what had come over him back there. One moment, he trusted his duty to hold him back from lashing out at Yun, and then the next, he was putting his life on the line for him.

He was thoroughly at a loss.

Suddenly, there were footsteps outside the door, and Elias was already reaching for his sword when the door opened to reveal that same man plaguing his thoughts.

And his eyes fell on him.

Yun.

The world paused, everything going to a standstill as the silence condensed.

He almost forgot. They’ve always shared a room every time they went to Valenmans. The camp already had limited scopes for resources as it was. It was only by the people’s insistence that he and Yun were given a room, and Yun didn’t find the need to exhaust their hospitality any further.

The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe in. At this point, even something as thinly pointed as a needle would be enough to slice it up. Neither of them moved from their spot, waiting with bated breath for someone to take action first.

Until the pounding in his head kick started once again, and he quickly broke eye contact to hide his wince.

Right. He was concussed. He probably shouldn’t forget that.

Without a single word, he turned his back to Yun and slipped back onto the bed, lifting the covers to draping it over his body as a hint that he was going to sleep.

And sleep he did.

Chapter Text

When Yun opened his eyes, he briefly forgot where was, almost ready to step out to the headquarters’ corridors and travel towards the bathroom like he always did after dozing off in the middle of the night. It took him long moments to realize that he was looking at an actual bedroom’s ceiling rather than his old office’s, and the warmth that surrounded the lower half of his body was from a blanket. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room, and it all came back to him. Right. Valenmans, after having been nearly ambushed and caught by the government and fleeing with a knocked-out swordsman in the backseat.

The rain had subsided, instead replaced by a lingering pitter-patter as the last of the downpour splattered on the roofs. Their shared room was dimly lit as the world slept. Yun had no idea what time it was—the door was closed and all the singular window gave away was a dim shine of the artificial light—but judging by the lack of the usual hubbub outside, he could guess that it was well past bedtime. Midnight, perhaps. 

It was, quite dauntingly, the kind of silence usually heard at the onset of nightmares.

Yun chanced a look at Elias, peacefully asleep, and he reckoned that the thought wasn’t off the mark at all. Like a vague film, the recent events clawed at the far reaches of his memory, threatening to overwhelm him once more but—

He sighed as he turned to curl onto his side, pulling the blankets up and forcefully pushing those thoughts away. His limbs were numb and his bones were aching. Exhaustion had settled deep into the crevices of his body, and yet he once again found himself troubled enough to be rid of some much-needed sleep. 

From outside, moonbeams fell in through the windows and he offhandedly counted the dark stains on the room’s ceiling. The receding rain faintly slapped against the roof, a gentle and familiar rhythm, but it didn’t lull him to sleep anymore as it did to him earlier in the night. 

So his thoughts began to drift. They drifted to his weary men marching up to Valenmans after another break-neck escape. They drifted to the armies of law enforcement swarming the city. They drifted to one strong back, looking particularly tense as it disappeared behind the door to his office, the man’s final words echoing in his head.

“You resemble him, in every sense of the phrase.”

His chest ached.

He should be used to it by now. People had left him more times than he could count on both hands in his life. He should already know that all those he held inside the exact same space where his chest ached would always leave him behind at some point. Some so sudden, and some he’d already foreseen. The sudden ones hurt the most. It was like the world being ripped under his feet, leaving him alone to catch and rearrange the fallen pieces of himself. The ones he foresaw still hurt too, but remotely less. Because by that time, he’d already learned how to protect himself. He learned how to leave first, way before the other one could even think about stepping out of the door. After all, what better way to turn the tables than beating them at their own game, right?  

He glanced at Elias again.

It’s only a matter of time, now. 

Which was why it shouldn’t be getting to him in the first place. He’d chosen this. He’d chosen to keep his distance, to keep one foot at the door at all times. He’d chosen not to feel. He shut him out, and this wasn’t his first time to do so. So he really should be used to it by now, and—

A pained breath escaped him, his vision dissolving as it suddenly burned. 

This was his weakness. This was something his enemies could drive their attacks towards. 

If he was being rational, he shouldn’t be allowing this weakness to exist; not for the rebellion’s sake, not for Valenmans, and certainly not for the people of Anwei. The rebellion deserved a strong leader, because having a strong leader made the unit a stronger defender. That kind of defense was what Valenmans needed, and if they could do it for them, then they could do it for the rest of Anwei too. 

Nobody needed a coward, like a little boy running to the safety of his room as soon as the waterworks hit. Nobody needed this side of him, where his emotions were unshackled and out of his control. He was useless this way. 

But a tear trickled down his cheek anyway. He wanted to be angry at himself for it. Anger was strong. He could rely on anger to hold himself together, to keep the infallible veneer believable for at least a little bit longer. Anger was secure, more than whatever this was, plaguing his chest like a sea anchor. 

But when he searched for that anger, ready to ignite the spark into a blazing fire, he found none. 

It was not there, as if it had never laid waste to his being before. What he managed to dig up instead was exhaustion, bone-deep and heavy, along with a sick echo of pain. It was overwhelming, enough to drag him deeper into a downward spiral of his own self-pity. 

He harshly wiped away the wet tracks left on his cheek, furiously going after the ones that still kept on dripping. When his efforts proved futile, he dropped his head, growing listless atop his mattress as he breathed. 

He felt hollow. 

And perhaps, despite his meager sleep, Aleida’s wine had loosened his tongue.

“I messed up today.”

It took him a second to recognize his own voice; no louder than a whisper and spoken so softly that only he could hear it. 

“I made choices that I’m not proud of.” He inhaled sharply, looking to his side. “Choices that I knew hurt you.”

Elias’ lightly snoring form greeted his statement, and he chuckled wryly to himself. Not that he was expecting a response, anyway. 

“You asked me once before why I insisted on calling you by your surname,” he continued, training his gaze back to the ceiling. “You said that it sounded too stiff, and that you have a perfectly functional given name, to begin with.”

The silence clung to the air, save for the leveled breaths the room’s other occupant was taking.

“I never really gave you a proper answer, didn’t I?” 

Normally, Yun would just settle with a quick, indifferent response. He’d tell Elias that calling him by surname helped keep everything professional; that they were nothing more than just a disgraced swordsman and a disowned son seeking justice. But he knew that the real reason ran far deeper than that.

He called Elias by surname because it was easier. It was safer.

Calling him Everstied helped Yun remember that Elias wouldn’t be here in the first place if it weren’t for his duty. Calling him Everstied was a reminder of how important the swordsman was to the rebellion, of what use he was to Yun’s plans.

Or at least it started out that way.

With time, he realized that he didn’t want to call him by the first name because it was dangerous—too familiar, too sincere, too permanent. Calling him by his first name placed everything into a certain perspective.

And it scared him. 

Yun didn’t want that.

There was a physical pain in his chest—an awful tight feeling that was hard to breathe around and it only got worse the longer the silence permeated the air. 

He wasted so much time distancing himself, always planting a foot out the door just because he didn’t know what having a soulmate was supposed to feel like. Sure, he’d seen and heard sundry stories of how it typically played out, even witnessing one firsthand with his own mother and father.

But even that didn’t end up well, didn’t it?

And back when this was all new, he’d heard the spite in Elias’ voice, saw the uneasy way he stood in Yun’s presence, felt how unnerved he was at the thought of their bond and he assumed that fate had made another grievous mistake even when everything beyond that had told Yun differently.

He’d wasted so much time determined not to feel any of this. He’d even convinced himself he was incapable of it.

What a fool.

“You’re a coward.”

Yun startled under his covers, harshly snapped back to reality when a new voice pierced the air.

“And an idiot, too.”

Yun sharply cursed everything—Anwei, the world, the universe, the heavens, everything. He stayed motionless on his bed, obstinate as he staged a steady rise and fall of his chest. Maybe if he feigned sleep, he could—

“I know you’re awake. I can feel your distress all the way from here.”

Of course, Yun thought derisively. Soulmate bond and all that.

He still refused to untangle himself from the blanket cocoon he’d decided to bury himself under, and instead opened his eyes to burn holes at the wall his bed was pushed against.

“You’re not going to be able to sleep with nerves like that. Calm down.”

That’s easier said than done.

Practically beseeching his own head to quiet down, he closed his eyes again for the nth attempt at embracing sleep. If he could get just a few minutes of peace, that would be enough. For both of their sakes.

But sleep was being cruel tonight. No matter how he blinked or curled or breathed, it would not come. 

He realized even more how fruitless it was when Elias spoke again behind him.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Silently cursing again, he finally spoke up, ignoring the question. “How long have you been awake?”

A sigh. “Probably a little while after you did.”

“Did I wake you?”

There was a long pause. “It’s kinda hard to sleep,” Elias grumbled, his voice still gruff from sleep. “Especially when there’s a warzone in your chest.”

Yun’s breath hitched. “So you . . .”

“Heard all that? Yes,” Elias replied. 

Oh, joy. He was never drinking with Aleida ever again.

There was a small shuffle, like something shifting against the bedsheets. “You know, you never really told me what happened back in Nanhe.”

Yun frowned at the sudden subject change. “Nanhe?”

“What you and that informant discussed,” Elias elaborated. “I know there was more to it than just the list of ADP board members.”

Yun grimaced. “No.”

“So there was something.”

“Just go back to sleep, Everstied.”

A pregnant silence hung over the room when Elias didn’t respond for a while. Yun was about to dismiss the entire thing completely when he heard a defeated sigh. “You know it’ll make things much easier for both of us if you just tell me.”

He made it sound so simple, like Yun could just spit it all out with nothing holding him back and expect Elias to accept and forgive whatever it might be. 

"There's nothing to tell," Yun said, though it came out sounding a little weak, like the only person he was trying to convince was himself. It was a half-truth at best, because there was definitely a lot to tell even if he had no intention of telling it. 

Yun finally dared to turn his head, meeting Elias’ gaze from across the room. Elias was giving him a long hard look, red eyes almost faintly glowing with an ethereal light from the shadows as they stared at Yun, almost like they were trying to pry into his very soul.

Talk to me.

Yes, it would help. Yun knew that he was going to have to tell Elias. He had no way of evading the subject now that Elias had caught on. But that didn’t exactly make it easy to find the words, especially when the thought alone made his insides tie into knots, and . . . part of him knew he wasn’t ready to jump off that cliff.

There was always something uniquely maddening about fear. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, in any case. Every person, at some point, had come to experience that heavy, visceral grip, threatening to tether them to the earth. At some point, everyone had stood before the culmination of their grandest nightmares, and became irreversibly crippled by the sheer force of it— broken, even.

But Yun did not cripple. He wasn’t raised to be someone who’d cave so easily under any form of duress, no matter how brutal. 

No, Yun did not cripple. What he did instead was direct the damage to something else. An outlet, a scapegoat, a target, anything. It had always been that way. It was how he’d dealt with the horrors he found while under his father’s wing. It was how he’d dealt with the ensuing panic brought by the possibility that he could lose someone he cared about tomorrow, or maybe as soon as the next hour, in the same way, he did with his mother. Then, he’d bounce back, forever marred by the prior terror but at least he was back. That was all that mattered.

But now, he wasn’t sure if there would come a chance at recovery from this.

“Did you know it was my father that gave the order to bring down your family?”

What followed his words was a long, agonizing moment of nothing. For a second, Yun let himself believe that Elias had gone back to sleep, but one look at the other side of the room quickly debunked that thought. 

“I’m guessing from your silence,” Yun turned away, unable to look at Elias’ baffled expression any longer, “you didn’t.”

With a quiet grunt, he sat up, watching as his blanket pooled around his hips. It was made of cotton, likely fabricated from the fibers the residents cultivated in their fields. It fended off the cold for a good while.

“A little while back, it was disclosed among government officials that it was the Secretary of State who issued the decree to exterminate the Everstieds. They decided to keep it from public knowledge in light of the continuing civil unrest. But not everyone can be trusted to keep a tight lip, even in the government.”

Perhaps there was an advantage to people being tattletale. Otherwise, his informant would’ve never uncovered findings as confidential as this. 

But that was still not something to be proud of, because it showed how flawed the system truly was, how countless holes have already punctured its growing foundation. A crooked government fostered a crooked country, and right now Anwei was becoming exactly that.

“I don’t understand,” Elias spoke up, and from the corner of his eyes, Yun could see that he was sitting up as well. “We’ve already established that your father is aligned with the ADP. It would only make sense that he’s played a hand in what happened to my family. So why would you be agonizing so much over it?”

Yun felt a wry smile tug at his lips. He didn’t know if he should be glad that Elias was quick to come to that conclusion, brushing it off like it was common knowledge when everybody else would’ve been stumped by the fact that Yun’s father was responsible for the Everstieds’ fall from grace.

“Because Gumang may have been the one to send forth the attack,” he closed his eyes, “but it was I who told him how.”

Chapter Text

“Your pawn?”

Yun glanced at him, setting down his smallest chess piece near the board’s middle. “Why not?”

“You’re compromising your king with that move,” Gumang said, relocating his rook. 

Yun shrugged. “Figured they’re better off closer to ground zero than guarding the king.”

His father scoffed, shaking his head. “And that’s what makes your strategy messy.” He took Yun’s pawn. “If I were you, I would start with the knight.”

“The knight is the trickiest piece on the board.” Yun lifted his bishop, placing it on a black square close to the middle. “Moves unconventionally, but the range is limited. It can be vulnerable, even more so at the center.”

“Wrong again.” Gumang brought his horse piece to the center of the board, dropping it on a white square. “This position maximizes the number of moves a knight can make, not limit it.” 

“Not if it’s surrounded.”

“Surrounded? Ridiculous,” Gumang huffed. “There will always be a way out, whether it’s through the holes in your pawns or the . . .”

It was right then when Gumang realized there was in fact no easy way out—not for the knight he’d placed in the middle of the board, lest it harmed the rook he’d moved earlier to take out Yun’s pawn.

Being on a white square meant that his knight’s next possible route should be on a black square. But all the black squares within a three-space radius were already occupied by either a pawn or a bishop —Yun’s pieces.

Gumang’s face slackened with surprise. All those preceding moves, seemingly thoughtless and random, had actually been a maneuver meant entirely for this outcome. Yun had forgone all other strategies—and, in a sense, his chances at winning—for the sole purpose of trapping Gumang’s controlling piece: his knight. 

“Why?” he found himself asking, looking back at Yun. “My knight isn’t the only one pivotal. I still have a king and queen at my disposal, and now you’ve given yourself a great deal of openings. I can easily outplay you at this point.”

“Your knight definitely begs to differ.” Yun gave his trapped piece a pointed look. “And I never intended to go after your king or your other pieces. By all means, go ahead and win.” 

Gumang narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem determined to win this time.”

“Chess is a game of concept. It doesn’t really matter to me if I checkmate or not. What matters is that I,” Yun leaned forward towards the board, “have robbed you of your attempt at controlling the game early, and I did it by incapacitating your knight at its supposed seat of power. That alone,” he playfully flicked at Gumang’s trapped knight with a finger, causing it to fall over, “is enough victory for me.”

Gumang was ringingly silent. Yun straightened his back, secretly finding an unholy amount of satisfaction as he watched his father become tongue-tied for the first time ever. 

There had been a moment there, when Yun thought twice about which strategy to use. Losing was out of the question of course, and winning against his father was not an impossible feat. But these past few weeks, it had drawn no contrast anymore if he’d won or lost. No matter the outcome, all he’d received from the other side of the board was a noncommittal nod of acknowledgment or a monotonous “good game”, and he was rapidly growing tired of it.

So he rethought his advances and reconsidered his plays. If winning or losing traditionally wasn’t going to get him anywhere, then it was about time that he played the game on his own terms. 

Then Gumang started his game with a maneuver Yun was familiar with: he developed his knights early. It was the beginnings of a strategy that always ensured his father’s win, and Yun immediately knew that he was en route to defeat the second Gumang brought out his knight before his pawns. 

So he altered his course. 

And when it dawned on Gumang what Yun had planned ever since the beginning of the game, the silence that followed was pure vindication.

Yun always knew that he could turn the odds of any fight, but there was something different about being able to see the slack-jawed expression on his father’s face when he finally understood Yun’s motives, the visibly baffled realization that had taken over Gumang’s ramrod form. 

It was glorious.

“You’ve been planning this ever since my first move,” Gumang muttered, eyes running over the chessboard as if replaying every advance Yun had taken prior to this.

“What gave it away?” Yun asked. 

“The simple fact that your pawn structure is ripe to topple and yet,” Gumang picked up his fallen knight, “it still feels like I’ve lost to you.”

Yun felt his lips stretch into a proud, lopsided grin.

“It’s not a difficult maneuver, really,” he elaborated, encouraged by his father’s praise. “And if you think about it, it’s the most realistic strategy.”

Gumang lifted an eyebrow, confused. “Why so?”

“If there will ever be, say, an attack on the Royal Family,” he speculated, “the first act of defense would come from the military, which in this case, can be the pawns.” He gestured to the small pieces. “But in the assailant’s perspective, the military won’t be their biggest worry at all. If their target was the Royal Family, then their first real problem at a fight would be…”

Gumang’s face quickly smoothed with understanding. “The Everstieds.” 

“The knights,” Yun confirmed with a gesture to the horse pieces, “in this case.”

His father’s expression became thoughtful. “So you’re saying that in order to take down the Royal Family, the assailant would have to defeat the Everstied guards.”

“‘To defeat’ is an interesting choice of words. It’s possible, but there’s hardly anyone in existence who could go head to head against an Everstied and win.” Yun picked up his bishop, one of the pieces he’d used to trap Gumang’s knight. 

“So we seize and subdue them, just like what you did,” Gumang mused, eyeing the bishop in Yun’s hand. “A trapped knight,” he rolled his horse piece between his fingers, “is a failed knight.”

Yun hummed. “But that’s all theoretical, of course,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “It’s not like someone can actually manage such a feat against the Everstieds anyway, let alone attack the Royal Family.”

A glint appeared in Gumang’s gaze, a quicksilver flare of interest that burned bright only to fade just as fast as it came. “Of course.”

In the small, quiet space of their room, every sound seemed impossibly loud. The faint murmurs of outdoor noises echoed through the crevices in the wall and the opened windows. Half lit by golden hues cast by the threadbare artificial bulbs outside, Elias roughly shoved a hand through his hair, unsettling and causing locks of lilac to fall around his ears and face.

“Chess . . .” he trailed off numbly. “My family’s ruin was decided through chess.”

Yun bristled. He hung his head, absentmindedly rubbing the calluses on his fingers.

“And your father decided to admit this now, why?” Elias continued, his voice gaining volume. “To give you credit?”

“To pass the blame,” Yun rectified, not looking up. “To some people, it would seem like the State Secretary’s suddenly feeling like being a proud father to a wayward son, but what he’s really doing is painting me guilty for everyone to know and believe, especially to y—” 

His words tapered off abruptly. He didn’t need to finish that for the both of them to understand.

“The people are not blind. Word of the insurgence must have spread, and my father hopes to tear us down before it could escalate beyond the government’s control. That’s why he’s doing this,” Yun passed a sidelong glance at the large and vaguely suffocating space between his and Elias’ bed, “by sowing infighting in the rebellion.”

There was a long pause. “He wants me to hate you,” Elias put forward, his voice slightly quieter, almost tentative, like all the fight had temporarily left him. 

“And do you?” 

Elias’ jaw clenched, guarded, and visibly unimpressed. At the lack of a spoken response, Yun sighed. Stupid question.

“Of course you do.” Yun felt something twist in sick amusement inside his chest. “Personally, I think he didn’t need to go to such lengths. There’s already a lot of that hate going around.”

Borne of my own doing, no less.

There was a change in the air, palpable enough to feel like the skyrocketing tension had robbed the space of oxygen.

“Go on. Say it.”

Elias let out a long breath. “Say what?”

“That I was an idiot,” Yun viciously spat, eyes snapped open and bright with frustration. “Gumang praises me and like a bumbling fool I soak it all up.”

“Yun—”

“So eager to please, so desperate to finally amount to something. And of course, to him it was nothing but a means to his own goals, and I, his own son, nothing but a tool.” The words came out of him slowly and painfully, every word dragged from the very core of him with barbed intensity. “When I found out about this back at Nanhe, I had no idea what to do. Which is funny because normally, I would always know what to do, but then . . . I don’t know.” He swallowed, fully understanding the gravity of those three last words. “I thought telling you would give me answers, but I’m even more lost now,” he admitted, almost miserably, as he finally turned to look at Elias again. “Is ‘sorry’ even still worth something?”

Elias’ expression was unreadable, and for the first time since discovering their soulmate bond, Yun felt alone.

His victory during that chess game now felt bitter, felt wrong, because once again his father had managed to engineer it into his own win. Gumang wanted to throw the rebellion into disarray from the inside—and he did. Maybe not in the way he’d been expecting, but he did. And what sickened Yun, even more, was the fact that it was he who gave his father that leverage. It was him, stupid stupid him, who led them to where they were now.

It was all him.

“I promised you that we were going to win this. I asked you to trust me, to believe that I can make things right for Anwei, for the people, for your family, but . . .”

How could he now? How could Elias even begin to trust him when he was the very reason Elias sought retribution in the first place?

“You weren’t wrong,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he talked around the bitter taste on his tongue. “I am my father’s son.”

Through and through.

No matter how much he tried to deny it.

“Why . . .” Elias broke off, the struggle to form the words evident in his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why hide it from me?”

And wasn’t that the hardest question?

Yun's heart ached, so much that he wished he could tear it out and throw it far away from him. But since he couldn't, he lied to himself, insisting doggedly that it was his ribs that hurt, not the beating organ they were supposed to protect.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Yun said, his voice coming out in a whisper as he shook his head. “I don’t want to lose you, El—”

His breath stopped in his throat. Was he even allowed to call him that?

“Lose me?” Elias echoed, sounding just as strained as he was. “What, you’re scared that the rebellion won’t succeed if I’m gone? You’re scared of losing your biggest asset, is that it?”

“That’s not what I—” Yun whirled to look at him, ready to protest. But the words died in him when he realized the small, tiny truth in that. 

It wasn’t the whole reason, no. But that’s the one thing he couldn’t lie about, not to himself. The rebellion was what drove him to take one foot in front of the other every single day, even when he was feeling like the soles of his boots were digging holes in the ground with every step he took. The rebellion was what brought purpose to the life he’d chosen, even during the days when he wondered what would’ve happened if he didn’t run away from his father’s home that night. The rebellion was important to him. That was a fact he couldn’t hide.

But that wasn't the whole reason.

His silence, however, had made Elias think so.

“Are you serious?” Elias asked, the breathy edges of his words a telltale sign of horror and disbelief. His voice regained bite. “Is that really all I am to you? An asset? Another chess piece at your disposal?”

Yun quickly went to argue. “You’re not an asset, Everstied, I—”

“There it is!” Elias sprung from his bed, wildly gesturing to him in a fierce fit of incredulity. “That is what I am to you. An Everstied. Always an Everstied , who wouldn’t be here in the first place if it weren’t for his duty. An Everstied who is so important to the rebellion and your plans.”

Yun stopped short when he recognized his words. “How did you—”

“You almost had me fooled,” Elias continued, not hearing him, eyes distantly glazed. He had a hand on his chest, the fabric of his shirt creasing at how hard he was pressing and rubbing above it, as if there was a persistent ache he was trying to soothe. “I can’t believe it. For a while there, I actually thought you were being real. I thought the reason why you were so racked up with guilt was because you actually saw me as someone more than just an advantage, but no. I was wrong. I am an Everstied, and to you, that is all I will ever be. I was wrong, and you,” he seethed through clenched teeth, “are an excellent liar. Just as you’ll always be.”

That stung. Yun wasn’t going to deny that. It felt like a knife had been spiked between his ribs and it brutally twisted and twisted the more he listened. 

“You are.” Yun swallowed, willing his voice to endure the bile in his throat. “You are wrong. I do see you as more than an advantage.” Then, as he moved his lips, something in him boiled up and out before he could pull the reins on it, years of courtly training falling to the wayside as his cracked voice took on a new strength. “Or at least I thought you were. And now you are very bold to stand here, thinking that I, or the rebellion, will still have a use for someone like you.”

He regretted those words as soon as they left him.

For a sharp flash, he felt it before he saw it: cold, painful betrayal in Elias’ eyes. It froze over the bond and to his entire being. And then, something else. It cut like a laser. He’d seen that look before, once during their sparring encounter at the old headquarters’ courtyard, and the other times on battlefields against the military army. 

Because for a split second, then and there, Elias saw Yun as the enemy.

He looked poised to unsheathe his sword, and Yun felt his spine go stiff. But the sword was not drawn and no blood was shed. The cold was still there, though, and the longer he felt it, the more he was convinced that the cold was infinitely more torturous than being stabbed. In the end, Elias only pivoted on his heel, took his sword in one motion, and then started heading for the door.

Yun’s heart fully stopped.

He didn’t even think when his legs started moving, didn’t even look at the sheathed sword to see if it was still sheathed, didn’t even pause to recognize what he was trying to do. 

“Wait.”

He realized a second too late that he’d reached out, powered forward by true fear and the bizarre sense of déjà vu. 

“Please.”

Elias had stopped. Yun looked at his hand holding on to Elias’ arm, fingers gripping it like a lifeline. He wasn’t strong; his arms were as brittle as a tree branch and Elias could easily throw him off if he wanted to. But he didn’t. Yun couldn’t dare look up, not even to check if Elias was looking back. All he knew now was that if he let Elias pass those doors, there were less to no chances of getting him back.

And that’s exactly what terrified him most.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said. It was low, almost a murmur, but it was true. And by the silence of the room, he knew it was heard. He ignored how his voice wavered at the end. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Something told him that both of them knew that, now more than ever when the yelling had somewhat subsided and the anger had simmered down. But one just needed to hear him say it.

“It slips sometimes,” he reasoned lamely. 

He felt Elias turn to the side, making Yun look up. Elias was once again unreadable, but his stare tethered Yun to the floor.

“I can see that,” Elias commented slowly, now a bit more composed.

And suddenly it wasn’t just about their fight anymore.

“You were listening,” Yun muttered, memory traveling back to when he’d first woke up. “And I was talking.”

“Out loud,” Elias added, slightly switching his weight to his other foot. “You have this really weird habit of saying your thoughts aloud sometimes. Did you know that?”

“Rude of you to call it weird,” Yun straightened up, hand still around Elias’ arm, “but yes. Apparently.”

Elias arched his eyebrows. “You just realized it now, didn’t you?”

“Apparently.”

Elias huffs. Then, his tone changed again. “You also said that the real reason why you called me by my surname ran far deeper than just you trying to keep it professional between us.”

Yun tore his gaze away, his stomach coiling. “...apparently.”

With a quiet sigh, Elias fully turned, stepping directly in front of him. Yun still didn’t let go.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Yun?”

It was the same question he asked earlier, right when they were just groggy with sleep and self-hatred. It was the same question Yun left unanswered.

But not anymore.

“I love you.” 

It was freed from his lips far easier than he’d expected. Yun’s tongue was smooth when it came to twisted stories and fabricated facts, but this was the first time the complete, unadulterated truth had felt so easy to say.

He heard the exact second Elias’ breaths stopped, and he finally dared to look at him again.

Elias was wide-eyed. His lips parted almost breathlessly. Yun’s own next breath was shaky, suddenly dense with emotion as he continued.

“And I thought that if I didn’t call you by your name, it would make the sight of you leaving hurt less.” His throat was heavy and thick, and he knew he hadn’t meant to say this much, hadn’t meant to lay all of his pain out like this. “I love you,” he said again, “so much that it already hurts even when you’re there and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when you’re not.” 

Elias’ face fell, crumpled with a heartbreak so obvious that it tore Yun’s own.

“Why are you so convinced that I will leave you?” Elias asked almost helplessly. 

“Because you will,” Yun responded without missing a beat, even when his voice broke. He didn’t know when his sight had begun to blur, or when there was a wet trickle that streamed across his cheek and to his chin. “Everybody will at some point. And you— you will too. If not by this, then by the war. You’re bound to me by your duty and nothing more. The soul bond was a mistake, and I—” he inhaled sharply, the bitter taste back in his mouth, “I’m part of the reason why you lost everything. I don’t deserve your loyalty. It’s wrong. I don’t—”

Yun didn’t deserve him.

But Elias shook his head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

There was no spite in the way he said it, but Yun felt it all the same.

Yun bowed his head, sagging as exhaustion settled in. Laying out every bit of his truths took everything in him. This was why they hated feeling like this. He hated to collapse his walls, to tear out his own heart and offer it to someone on a silver platter. 

“You know,” Elias started, shifting again on his feet. “Back when we were fleeing from headquarters, the only thing that kept me from lashing out on you was the urgency to get us out of there. I had a duty after all, even when I didn’t feel like protecting you at that moment.”

Yun winced, suddenly wanting to pull away. He didn’t want to be in Elias’ space for this.

However, right when he was about to pull his arm off, Elias’ hand was there, battle-worn and calloused, and wrapped around his own. It grounded him, in the same way that it made him freeze.

“But then I heard the soldiers talk. It was you they were after." Elias stepped towards him, narrowing the already meager space between them, "And I don't know what came over me, but I thought if I drew their attention to another target who’s of equal value to them somehow, then they’ll be off your tail for a while.”

Yun’s head whipped up at the implication. Elias’ face brooked no room for doubt. He was telling the truth. 

This time, it was Yun scowling.

“You idiot,” he chastised. “We still would have reached the automobile without you risking your life for me. I had a plan.”

Elias’ lips curled slightly as he exhaled. “I know.”

Yun lightly shook his head, his frown deepening in confusion. “What are you really trying to tell me?”

The fingers around his tightened. And for the first time that night, Elias looked uneasy. He pressed his lips into a line, expression thoughtful as he mulled over the right words to say.

“You betrayed me today,” Elias said eventually, making Yun flinch. “You threatened to discard me, called me incompetent, and you indirectly engineered my family’s downfall. In your eyes, I was nothing but an advantageous ally. And for all that, I should resent you.”

There was a protest at the tip of Yun’s tongue, but he bit it down. If this was how Elias wanted it to go, then he wasn’t going to stop him. If Elias was going to use Yun’s faults as a response to his confession, then Yun wouldn’t blame him. It hurt, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t get to decide that.

But a warm hand on his cheek immediately drove his rotating world to a screeching halt. 

His sight refocused, and he was suddenly face to face with Elias, even more closely now than before. 

“And yet,” Elias stroked his cheek, his breath warm on Yun’s face, “when there was danger tonight, when there was a target on your back . . . I only thought of you.”

Yun’s breath fully hitched in his throat.

“I don’t think the soul bond was a mistake. I used to, but when I realized that I was beginning to protect you by my own will and not by my duty, when I started to look past your errors and understand you for who you really are and not by who you want the world to believe, I knew that fate did not miss.”

Elias’ free hand came up to the other side of his face, brushing over the curve of his cheekbone as they stared eye to eye. “You were made to be mine, Yun Cheng, just as I was made to be yours. I’m not bound to you by duty alone. So no matter what, there’s nothing that you’ve done or you’ll do that can make me leave you.”

Another tear rolled down Yun’s cheek, quiet in its descent. But Elias caught it before it could reach his chin, wiping it away with a soft caress of his thumb. Yun’s lips parted, slowly forming around words—

Then Elias kissed him.

He'd tilted his head up, ever so slightly, and kissed him.

And the world broke open.

It was soft. Like the touch of the sun’s first rays on skin or the subtle slide of a raindrop off a nose. Elias pressed against him so tenderly, mouth laxing, like two forces melting into one. One of his hands moved gently, brushing Yun’s hair away from his face as it cradled the curve of Yun’s cheek. The other slipped around Yun’s waist, a firm pressure that held him closer. 

It took Yun a few seconds more to remember how to move, and when he did, Yun rocked up on his toes, curling his fingers into the fabric of Elias’ shirt between their chests. His world narrowed at that moment. Like for once, he felt perfectly whole, even as Elias broke away—tilted his head, nose lightly brushing against his—and sought Yun’s lips again, unfailingly tender but firm as he pressed back. Shivers crawled all over Yun’s body, sticking the hairs on his skin right up. 

It made it hard to think, everything else closing in on the way he held Yun’s waist and nipped gently at Yun’s lower lip. It made it hard to breathe, more so every time Elias swiftly drew away and Yun would follow him, leaning more and more into his warmth as if deprived of it.

The room was quiet save for the small, smooth sounds of the kiss, their own breaths loud to their ears until Yun finally had to tug his mouth back, otherwise he’d risk passing out then and there. But he stayed close, feeling every point of contact from the chest pressed against him to the thumb caressing his cheek. Elias opened his eyes to look at him properly, his gaze glittering with something Yun didn’t think he could justify with words. 

His hands were still around him, and Yun cherished their warmth as he sobbed through a laugh. 

“You are unbelievable.”

Elias chuckled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That makes two of us.”

Yun sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, slightly shaking his head. “If it means anything, I’m so sorry. For your family, for Sauzac, for everything else I—”

“Hey, hey,” Elias held his jaw, slightly tilting it up again so Yun would meet his gaze. “Stop. That’s enough. I don’t blame you for what happened to my family. And yes, I may have been pissed after Sauzac and that dismissive stunt you pulled before that—”

“That’s exactly why I’m s—”

“—but I get it now, Yun. I understand,” Elias said, firm and leaving no room for argument. “We’re past that. And I’m not going to waste time trying to hate you because I know that it won’t be true.” 

Yun could feel his eyes well up again, and he hated it—hated how he’d been driven to this state of vulnerability where he was always one sentiment away from crying. But Elias was sincere. He could feel it, even more now when the heavy air that clouded them had begun to dissipate like a vapor, enough for him to sense the bond again. 

Then, as if noticing the same thing, Elias closed in again. One hand trailed towards Yun’s neck, coming to rest over the steady beat of his pulse. It thrummed like a battle drum beating out of its rhythm. The other hand took his wrist, the one Yun had left against the front of Elias’ shirt. The way Elias met Yun’s eyes before wandering off, sliding ever so slightly down, was hypnotizing. He raised Yun’s wrist, the movement fluid and gentle, before he pressed his lips against his palm in one reverent kiss. Yun’s stomach fluttered at the touch. 

Elias then hooked a finger on Yun’s sleeve, delicately pulling it down to the curve of his elbow. Yun’s eyes followed helplessly, his breath hitching when he saw the unmistakable proof of Elias’ claim to his soul: one mark, shaped with the exact same curves and the exact same edges as his own. His soulmate. 

Elias ran his finger over the mark, sending a shivery, pleasant warmth down Yun’s spine. 

“I was looking for you, you know?” Elias said, eyes on Yun’s mark. “There was a time when I searched for this mark everywhere; on each kid I befriended, on every stranger that passed by. Until it was passed to the backburner for a while after everything that happened with the ADP and my capture.” Elias led his gaze back to meet him. “And then I found you.”

“And then you found me,” Yun echoed, almost instinctively. “Were you disappointed?”

“I was overwhelmed,” Elias admitted, his expression thoughtful. “I didn’t exactly know how to deal with the fact that the soulmate I’ve been searching for was a cheeky, underhanded, egotistical bastard—”

“Yes, I get your point,” Yun drawled, deadpan.

Elias stifled a laugh, but the smile on his face was genuine. “You were wrong, by the way.”

Yun lifted his eyebrows in silent question.

“I didn’t lose everything,” he said, looking at Yun’s mark again. “I just found something worth keeping. So no, I didn’t lose everything.”

Yun didn’t think he was capable of having a response to that. The word ‘why’ almost formed on his lips, pitched forward by the tendrils of doubt still clawing at the edges of his mind. 

But then, as if reading his mind, Elias met his gaze again. “I love you.” 

The words drifted over the space, pronounced so profoundly that they stole what was left of the breath in Yun’s lungs. Elias offered no more, just those four words hanging in the air between them, and Yun realized that it rang true. 

Because when all was said and done—after all the lies and the anger, beyond all their failures and their misgivings—nothing would change the fact that Elias loved him too.

Yun’s heart twisted, leaped, and his limbs began to move. For the first time that night, he took a step forward, propelled by a spark of courage he never knew existed. His arm was still in Elias’ hand, held secure in his grasp, so he raised the other one instead, letting his fingers whisper on the divot of Elias’ collarbones. The skin exposed under the open collar of Elias’ shirt was warm beneath his fingertips. There was a shiver in Elias’ next breath as he traced the collarbone’s contour, gaze following his fingers as it finally located the all too familiar brand, right below the junction of Elias’ neck. His soulmate mark. 

“I’m sorry for what I did, Elias.”

He could vaguely see Elias slightly hang his head. “Yun, I told you we’re past all—”

“I know but I need to say this,” Yun said, his voice gaining strength. Elias’ eyes softened, and when he put up no more protest, Yun deeply inhaled. “I’m sorry that I tried to deny you. It was wrong, and dismissing the bond only made things take a turn for the worse. It’s not that I didn’t want you or that I only saw you as an asset. It’s just, with the war and the ADP and everything else that’s happening, finding your soulmate in the middle of it all was just . . .”

“Terrifying,” Elias finished, picking up where Yun trailed off. “I know.” 

Yun sighed, but whether it was nerves or simple relief, he didn’t know.

“And besides, you weren’t the only one in denial,” Elias continued. “So, I’m sorry too. You’re right, dismissing the bond only worsened things, and I won’t pretend like I didn’t play a part in it. This has gone way too out of hand and we both have equal shares of the blame.”

Yun felt a tiny curl on one corner of his lips. “We had an agreement, you know.”

Elias raised a brow. “An unspoken one.”

“Yes, well . . .” Yun released a breathy chuckle, his stomach weirdly fluttering. “This,” he gestured to their marks, “still became the elephant in the room, even after all that fuss.” 

Elias softly snorted. “We were idiots.”

Yun dropped his head against his shoulder, smothering his face on Elias’ shirt as an arm wrapped around Yun's waist in return. “That we were.”

They stayed like that for a while, basking in the silence and each other’s presence. Yun listened to Elias’ breaths, nearly letting them lull him to sleep as he lay in his embrace. He didn’t care that the night was late, or that they definitely needed the sleep they would’ve gotten if all this hadn’t happened. Right now, in this moment of respite from the cruel world they lived in, all he thought about was the pleasant hum in the bond.

“Elias.”

“Hm?”

“After the war,” Yun slowly raised his head, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. “When this is all over . . .”

Elias smiled, already knowing. “Us?”

Something in Yun’s chest seemed to falter, like a reassurance that felt too good to be true, but good all the same. 

And for the first time in a long time, Yun finally let himself hope. 

“Yeah. Us.”

He still hated how he had to lean up on his toes, but he found no complaints when he closed the distance this time.

A house—simple, but well-built—sat in the middle of a quiet street.

It was hidden behind the buildings that bordered the city’s main streets. It was peaceful that day, with the sun bright above the city and seeping faintly through the trees overhead. The only sound heard was the distant cacophony of society and the occasional breeze that rustled the leaves softly.

Then, like a balloon popping in the middle of a clearing, the house’s front doors banged open, and out came a young boy scampering with obvious glee. There was a bounce in his step, and in his hand was a small pouch of coins. His newspapers had sold out today, and his father had been absolutely floored the minute the boy came home with money instead of the usual leftover prints.

The coins could buy him lots of assorted snacks, and his father, all too glad at the rare occasion, let the boy indulge himself. Just this once.

With eager feet, he bounded for the market, his mind already envisioning all the sweets he could get his hands on. Later, he would remember to buy his father something. Some tofu might be good. The old man liked tofu, and he was sure that a few of these pretty pennies could buy him a bowl of it.

He sprinted across the street, making a mad dash for the nearest store he could see. There were a lot of stores in the market that sold nice sweets, but he only had one favorite. The lady there was nice too. 

However, right as he was about to step off the main road, something in the corner caught his eye.

He backpedaled, taking careful steps as he inclined his head to the size, huge doe eyes zeroing in on the back alley sandwiched between two buildings just across the adjacent street. Shade was cast by the towering establishments, and it had brought on the dimness in the alley despite the blazing sun. But even then the boy was able to notice the two figures standing under that shade. 

One was taller than the other, though not by many inches. The figure’s hair was longer too, like a girl’s. But they were standing like a man so the boy was not sure. The other stood closer to the back alley’s opening, leaning against the wall and seeming like they were watching the busyness of the streets. Though if he looked closer, somehow, he could spot a vague glint of gold from the second one. It reminded the boy of the neighbor’s cat who would always perch on the fence whenever he was passing by. Its eyes were gold too. 

Soon the second figure straightened up, turning back towards the taller one. It was only then, with both the figures’ backs turned to him, that the boy noticed what looked like a paper stack tucked under one of the taller figure’s arms. It was quite hard to tell from this distance, but the boy had dealt with enough newspapers in his life to recognize one a mile away. 

What were they doing with so many newspapers?

But before he could ruminate on it further, the familiar voice of his favorite shop owner called out to him, grabbing his attention. Right, he was going to buy sweets. And maybe some tofu, too.

He returned to his path, barely catching a glimpse of the two figures interlocking their hands as they walked towards the other side of the alley.

And then they were gone.