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The sound of hooves was thunderous.
War cries and swords clashing, along with the thick stench of death, filled the air.
Aguero had led his army, determined and confident to defend his country, but now his conviction had crumbled.
He slashed his sword down from atop his steed, and another enemy head rolled, but his attention was elsewhere. Every enemy soldier that approached was ruthlessly and effortlessly disposed of, but Aguero’s eyes didn't even see them. No, his wide, disbelieving eyes were locked onto the enemy general, who was cutting down Aguero’s comrades without a care.
That general… He looked familiar. So familiar that Aguero’s heart pounded with excitement and ached with distress. He wouldn’t - couldn't - mistake that face. It may have matured, the jawline sharper, hair much longer, and eyes leaking a bloodthirsty light, but it occupied Aguero’s dreams every single night.
He looked just like the servant that Aguero fell in love with seven years ago.
**
Seven years ago.
"Your highness, this boy will be your personal servant from now on."
Aguero glanced at the nameless butler, lifting his head from his calligraphy practice. His cold, apathetic gaze skimmed over the butler - one of many who are so frequently recycled that he couldn’t summon the effort to learn their names - and then he looked at the young boy, who had stumbled forward after a small push.
The boy was short, skinny, and had a pallid complexion. There was nothing unusual about the servant, as they were usually commoners or even orphans picked up from the street. Aguero assumed this brown-haired, scruffy boy who had been neatened up was most likely the latter.
Just another unlucky fool.
Aguero’s gaze settled on the wide, golden, doe-eyed stare of the boy for a total of five seconds. He concluded that this one looked about eleven years old, four years younger than himself. Innocent. Naive. An idiot. The boy probably thought he had been lucky enough to enter the palace and wouldn’t have to fight for food and comfort ever again. Little did the boy know that living in the palace of the Khun’s was even more horrendous than living on the streets.
Without a word to his new servant or even a change in his expression, Aguero returned his attention to the piece of parchment in front of him and picked up his brush.
He didn’t notice the bright flash in the young boy's eyes as he turned away. Only a single, absentminded, uncaring thought floated in his mind.
I wonder how long this one will last.
A week had passed with no upset.
Other than their first meeting, Aguero hadn’t looked at his new, young servant once. When the boy helped him dress, Aguero dazedly looked at a wall. When the young boy tasted his food for poison, Aguero stared at his food bowl with undecipherable thoughts. Even as the boy wiped Aguero’s body during a bath, Aguero would gaze at the rippling water and his own distorted expression.
In his opinion, there was no reason to pay attention to this young boy, who was not only younger than him but also a walking corpse waiting to take his last breath. In a place like the Khun palace, where assassinations are as common as trees in a forest, a Khun prince like Aguero would be lucky to be uninjured for a month, let alone a measly servant boy. Aguero felt it pointless to conjure any sort of relationship with a person who would likely lose his heartbeat at any moment.
Although Aguero can’t deny that the servant boy did make it somewhat difficult.
Aguero was used to the maids and slaves approaching him with bowed heads and trembling hands. Fear and aversion were the usual reactions of any worker brought into the palace. Only commoners, those on the absolute bottom rung, those like his current servant boy, would be unaware of the perils within the palace walls. This showed on the young boy's face.
Despite his usual indifferent looks, Aguero found it rather difficult to ignore the bright, sparkling gaze of his new servant boy.
The boy stared at him openly, as if he had no filter. It was as though Aguero were a piece of art framed in a gallery, displayed for others to view and admire. The concentrated and appreciative gaze unsettled Aguero. It was uncomfortable to be looked at with such pure eyes, and Aguero fought his internal heat to prevent the blush from rising to his cheeks.
Outside the palace, when he visited the commoners on a rare occasion, Prince Aguero was used to the humble, awed stares of his people. But that was to be expected. They held the same emotions and gazes for any of his brothers and sisters, for any member of royalty. Within the palace walls, Aguero was stabbed with contemptuous and calculating eyes or ignored completely. A gaze like the boys, one that seemed to look into his very soul, was one that was hard to disregard.
The boy himself became impossible to spurn just a week after he had arrived.
It happened one day during archery practice.
The scene was flooded with blue. The same familiar blue that was claimed by the Khun family genes. There were about twenty Khun children standing around in groups. All whispering together and throwing disdainful glances at others. A typical gathering of Khun's. They seemed to form cliques, but each of them knew the supposedly friendly forces were just waiting for an opportunity to stab them in the back, quite literally.
Aguero stood alone.
Only his short, eager-looking servant stood by his side. Aguero wasn't interested in playing friendship games. Instead, while his brothers and sisters gossiped around him, he stayed silent, staring at the dusty ground below his feet.
The instructor arrived and clapped his hands for silence, and the children obediently lined up. They ran in their groups of twos and threes to pick targets and began their practice. Aguero had a target all to himself.
Lightweight bows and arrows with blunt points were used. Enough to pierce the paper targets, but not enough to kill a person unless your aim was exceptional. Although the Khun family shoved their children into what seemed to be a survival game, they did at least take some safety measures so that something as simple as target practice didn’t turn into a bloodbath. However, maiming but not killing a competitor was still plausible and very much on the mind of these young, innocent-looking children.
All except one.
Aguero focused on his target. He raised his bow and drew back his arrow. Usually, his mind would be split into different directions, aiming for the bullseye while also keeping an eye on his siblings, but today was different. His sister, Maria, one of the only family members he thought he could trust, had given him some worrying information. Aguero was thinking of countermeasures, absentminded, and not paying attention. One of the biggest mistakes a Khun descendent can make. One that Aguero should never have made.
"Your highness!"
"Aguero!"
Numerous panicked calls, both genuine and fake, rang out, and Aguero’s hooded eyes darted towards the whistling arrow flying in his direction. Time seemed to slow down as Aguero’s eyes opened wide.
The feathers of the arrow fluttered in the wind, and the polished arrowhead glinted under the bright morning sun. Aguero forgot about his earlier distraction and was solely focused on the point aimed directly at his head. Calculations whizzed through his mind one after another, and his feet were frozen to the ground. Even if Aguero wanted to dodge, he had already realised there wouldn’t be enough time.
This was the end of his line.
Or so he thought.
Just as Aguero prepared to squeeze his eyes shut and embrace peace, a small hand shot in front of his face in a blur.
The arrow stopped. The sharpened point touched the drop of cold sweat on the tip of Aguero’s nose. Aguero’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, as loud as a stampede of wild, ferocious animals, and Aguero understood how close he had come to losing his life.
It was planned.
Muffled noises sounded around Aguero, but he could only see the blurred figure across from him as the arrow was taken out of his vision. As his sight cleared, Aguero’s rampaging heart let out a deafening roar as the person holding the bow, aiming in his direction, smiled at him.
Maria.
He was betrayed.
The last traces of familial trust shattered like dropped porcelain.
Eventually, the buzzing in Aguero’s ears faded as a voice, persistently calling "Your highness," perforated his shields. There was a vague tugging on Aguero’s arm, and he dazedly glanced towards his new servant, who was holding the arrow that almost took his life.
"Your highness, let’s go back and rest.
The boy gently pulled on Aguero’s arm, forgetting his station as a lowly servant but successfully dragging Aguero out of despair. The pair stumbled away from the training grounds amidst the whispers and murmurs of gossip.
**
The boy once saved Aguero’s life, and that fact only made it more difficult to bear that this time, he had come to harvest Aguero’s head.
Aguero’s hand fisted around his horse's reins, and his shirt flittered in the breeze. He sat arrogantly without armour, as he had donated his own to protect his soldiers, whose coverings had been destroyed.
Vicious shouts and bloodcurdling screams were silent in Aguero’s ears. The swords aiming for his throat and heart were deflected like paper, and Aguero’s eyes never once wavered from the dashing sight of the enemy general atop his majestic horse. The enemy general seemed to be the same, cutting down Aguero’s men like blades of grass as the distance between them hastily lessened.
Aguero couldn’t understand it. When his servant disappeared all those years ago, Aguero’s half-mended heart shattered yet again. He had waited seven years - seven long years - for his servant to return to him. His searching bared no fruit, and now, on a bloody, murderous battlefield, Aguero met the boy he had yearned for - covered in blood, but handsome nonetheless.
The heart that Aguero thought would never beat again began to hum. The fractured shards did not mend, but they trembled in his chest. The striking man, covered in elaborate armour, drew closer until their horses were just noses apart, and they both stopped. Both Aguero and the man dismounted.
There was no intimate embrace, as Aguero had dreamed for the past seven years. But there was also no violent exchange of swords, as would be expected of opposing generals. Instead, there was a silence that seemed to swallow everything around them.
Complicated and confused, Aguero bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow. Anguish and conflict enveloped him, and he stared into eyes that resembled the warm, soft rays of the sun. A lump formed in Aguero’s throat, and his voice cracked when he finally spoke.
"Bam."
**
When the boy first arrived at the palace, his eyes were filled with awe. His tiny frame appeared overwhelmed with the splendour, and he gaped with admiration at the expensive and intricate designs. He painted the perfect picture of a ragged orphan picked up off the streets and taken into the palace for the first time.
The boy was very good at acting.
While he outwardly looked wonderstruck, internally he was calm without a single ripple. In fact, he even silently sneered, his calmness tinged with mocking. Despite his sardonic feelings, the boy’s gaze remained naive and foolish, the irony hidden deep inside as he thought of his own home.
It was then that the boy met his new master. A prince by the name of Aguero. The prince sat at a desk, calligraphy brush in hand, his movements elegant. But there was a cold, despondent air surrounding him.
"Your highness, this boy will be your personal servant from now on."
The prince raised his head, paused his movements, and glanced at the boy. The boy met the glacial, cat-like stare of the prince, and it was as if those pretty eyes stared right through him, seeing nothing. A shiver tickled the bottom of the boy’s soul, and he blinked twice at the prince.
After a brief look, the prince then returned to his original task, apathetic about the boy’s arrival and even more so about the calligraphy he created. A small emotion sprouted in the boy’s heart, and his eyes flashed as he continued to watch his supposed new master.
From then on, the boy loyally followed the prince wherever he went. The boy performed his expected tasks diligently, placing extra care in everything he did. If the boy had to explain why he was putting so much effort into a job, he would have to say that it was out of pity.
That was all, at least at first.
When the boy first saw the lonely, isolated prince, he thought he was pitiful. The prince was born into the Khun family, one of possibly hundreds of the king's spawn. He would have to fight for his right to survive, let alone the possibility of becoming the ruler of the kingdom in the future. The boy was already aware that the Khun palace was a free-for-all, a place where only the strong could remain.
Seeing the prince, who knew his own place and fought to live, yet at the same time also seemed eager to embrace death, the boy felt it was truly pitiful.
This prince had clearly been worn down to the point of waiting for defeat, but it could be seen by the dignity with which he carried himself that his pride refused to let someone beat him when he could so easily win.
What a contradictory person.
It intrigued the boy, and without realising it himself, he began to pay more attention to the prince. For example, he discovered that the prince was actually younger than him. The prince was fifteen years old, and, in spite of the boy's youthful appearance, he was actually sixteen. It made the boy somewhat happy to find out that they were similar in age.
The boy also discovered interesting traits that belonged to the prince. Such as the prince’s love of sweets. It was subtle, but the boy noticed that there would be a slight shine in the prince’s lifeless eyes whenever a delicious, sugar-coated pastry was presented to him. It was a complete contradiction to the prince’s stoic appearance, which looked like he would shun anything that could be perceived as a weakness. The boy would secretly purse his lips to hide his snickers as he watched the prince take tentative bite after bite, savouring the taste. It was adorable and filled the boy’s stomach with bubbles.
However, there were also times the boy served the prince and found a frown growing on his own face with discontent. Like the times the boy bathed his highness. When the boy first saw the prince’s naked body, he was stunned by the scars that covered almost every inch of his skin. Perhaps he should have expected it; after all, the prince grew up fending off attacks against his life, but the red and white welts against his milky skin still shocked the boy. Rather than giving off the feel of a determined royal fighting for his rights, in the boy’s eyes, it looked more like a child that had suffered abuse. The boy felt discomfort whenever he saw the cruel marks that were usually hidden by fine clothing, and his hands were as gentle as silk as he carefully washed the prince’s body.
A week passed just like that.
The prince didn’t interact with the boy unless it was to order his servant to do something, and the boy quietly watched the prince, unknowingly assessing his every breath. This state remained until the prince’s archery practice.
With an arrow in one hand and the prince in the other, the boy was just as dazed as the prince. A cold sweat soaked the back of the boy’s shirt, and the hand holding the arrow shook. A moment of terror blanked his mind before he quickly regained his senses and calm.
"Your highness, let’s go back and rest."
The boy urged his master, shiftily observing their surroundings. They needed to leave. Not only to prevent any further attempts on the prince’s life but also to question why an orphan dragged in from the slums would have the ability to catch a flying arrow with his bare hand. Sweat formed on the boy’s forehead, and he rushed to pull his master away.
As they hurried to return to the prince’s quarters, the boy was in chaos.
Why did he stop the arrow?
At the time, he reacted without thinking. He heard the gasps of the surrounding royals, and he saw the arrow carve an arc directly aimed at his master. The boy should have remained calm, but a ripple of horror clenched his heart in a fist, and his hand had moved before his brain could process anything.
Did he stop it so that he could remain in the palace?
It was common knowledge that the servants, maids, and slaves were often punished for any violence within the palace, while the princes and princesses who launched the attacks were never held at fault. But that shouldn’t be it. The boy had manipulated his way into the palace knowing it was a tiger's den he was entering, and he had plans in place for this sort of incident.
Then why…
The boy glanced at the prince he dragged along with him. Fluffy, silver-blue hair; a smooth, straight nose; eyes like dull gems that would surely be beautiful if they shone. Overall, a very appealing appearance.
The boy thought, Could I be… attracted to him?
Once the thought entered his mind, the boy’s heart thudded. It was like a motor had started, and his heart was brought back to life after silently sleeping for thousands of years. A vigorous flush coloured his cheeks, and he lowered his head as they entered the prince’s quarters.
While the boy opened the lid on his new-found emotions, the prince stumbled to a chair and collapsed into it. The room was quiet as the prince sat and the boy stood a few feet away.
The boy’s mind reeled. It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t have these things called feelings. This prince is considered a target, albeit not directly, but still, the boy should erase anything that could be a detriment to the goal of the mission. He should get rid of him. He should eliminate this threat to his task.
"What is your name?"
The question disrupted the boy’s spiralling turmoil, and his head shot up, looking directly at the prince. The prince sat not far from him, gazing at the boy who had saved his life.
The boy startled. A violent tremble from his toes to the crown of his head. He stared at the prince, at the prince's once empty, vacant eyes, and the change in them stirred something in the boy’s soul. There was a flicker, a glimmer of hope, that sparked the pair of gorgeous eyes to life, and the boy fell to one knee.
Holding a fist over his own heart, the boy reverently looked up at the prince, then killed his dark, intrusive thoughts.
"Your highness, Prince Aguero; my name is Bam."
**
"Bam."
Aguero whispered the name with a tremor on his lower lip and a knot in his throat. He stood a metre away from the tall, imposing general of the opposing army, not daring to take a step closer in case the figure evaporated into thin air.
"You… where did you go?" Aguero asked, his voice scratching his throat, cracking and breaking. "Why are you here?"
The questions were uttered as if they weren’t on a bloody battlefield. It was as though the two had reunited with time to have these conversations and not have to worry that a soldier - or even the person opposite them - could take their heads at any moment.
Bam slashed his sword down as one of Aguero’s soldiers charged him. His gaze was like ice, freezing over anything and anyone that entered his sight. He flicked his sword; a smattering of the enemy's blood splattered on the ground; and Bam sheathed his sword.
Taking a single step towards Aguero, Bam’s glacial expression melted under the heat of his burning gaze. A small smile, out of place in the current, fierce war, tilted his lips, and he outstretched his hand in Aguero’s direction.
"Aguero, I’m here to rescue you. Just like you wanted."
**
After the incident with the arrow, the relationship between the prince and the boy changed.
Aguero, who had shown no interest in his servant, soon became talkative. The rare, uninterested shouts to command his nameless servant turned into frequent, sticky calls of "Bam", just for some company. Aguero’s tightly closed buds started to open, blossoming with beautiful blue petals that captivated their audience. How could Bam resist?
The conversations they had riveted Bam. Aguero’s expressions were always captivating. Like the time Aguero discovered that Bam was older than him. The defiant look of shock on Aguero’s face caused Bam to chuckle, and the embarrassed blush that swept over Aguero’s cheeks, plus the angry demand to stop laughing at him, was cute in Bam’s eyes.
There was also Aguero’s pride. Bam had seen it in Aguero’s previous lifeless eyes, but now that the prince’s eyes had brightened, his pride was all the more compelling; charming, even. The way the teenager held his chin high as he braggingly talked about the times he had schemed and conspired against his siblings was extremely attractive, and his smug, superior expression as he detailed how he had used his siblings' plots against them was very tempting.
The worst was when Bam bathed Aguero. The prince was obliviously flirtatious. He didn’t seem to understand how inviting his relaxed, sultry smile could be, and Bam felt he was lucky that his self-restraint had been trained. Bam felt this all the more when he identified the change in Aguero’s feelings towards himself.
At first, the life-saving experience could be said to have kindled hope within Aguero. There was someone who genuinely cared enough for him to save his life. Perhaps it was just the servant performing his duty, but Aguero was eager to convince himself that it was more, like a child starved of affection. Over the course of six months, the embers of hope spread and grew from a small, weak flame to a tall and imposing inferno.
As the pair interacted, hope for affection twisted into reliance to survive. The boasts of achievements to show his might quickly turned into subtle brags to convince the other he was worthy. The easy flushes of skin from initial embarrassment were soon delicate tints of hyperawareness.
How could Bam not notice that the prince seemed to be unable to do anything without him when he was originally so self-reliant. How could Bam not notice the way Aguero began to hint that he could protect his servant if he remained loyal to him. How could Bam not notice the crimson heat of Aguero’s ears that had never appeared before when he gently washed the prince’s hair.
Aguero was the same.
The prince noticed his servants' diligence in performing whatever task he could to please his master. Aguero noticed the boys’ earnest interest in his stories and the promise to remain by Aguero’s side. Aguero even noticed the older teenagers' arousal during the princes’ bath time and had to pretend that the reaction didn’t also excite himself.
But, both the prince and the boy should have known that the good times never last.
It was a particularly dreary day.
The prince was lazily leaning on a window, watching the grey clouds float by, when he quietly whispered a thought he had held ever since he could remember.
"It must be nice to live outside the palace walls."
Bam paused his movements. The calligraphy equipment he was tidying suddenly felt heavy in his hands. Seemingly absentminded, he responded, "Does your highness wish to leave the palace?"
"Mm." Aguero hummed, his elbow leaning against the windowsill, and his chin rested in his palm. "I just think it would be nice to get away from all the scheming and deception."
Bam continued tidying the desk, but, if one paid attention, it could be seen that his actions were clearly distracted. He had thought that Aguero enjoyed the life-or-death games with his siblings. Although when Bam first arrived, it could be seen that Aguero had lost interest in life, now that Bam is by his side, Agueuro’s thrilling tales prove how much he likes playing games with his mind.
"Why?" Bam asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
Aguero gazed up at the sky until a single raindrop landed on the glass window pane. He watched as the drop trickled down the glass, and his lips curled into a self-deprecating smile as he finally answered.
"I’m tired."
**
"Aguero, I’m here to take you out of the palace."
Aguero’s mind flashed back to the past - to the last time he had seen Bam. The conversation where he admitted he was tired and that he wanted to leave. A moment of weakness that he should never have shown because that night his servant had left. No word, no letter, not even a single, short note. His servant had vanished into thin air.
Back then, Aguero had expended no effort to find his servant. He assumed his siblings had spotted their peculiar relationship and had planned to remove the servant from the picture. Aguero unleashed all of his abilities, cutting down his siblings one-by-one in an effort to find his beloved servant. But now, standing on a blood-covered path, Aguero faced his greatest adversary, who also turned out to be his childhood love.
"Come, Aguero." Bam beckoned with his large, blood-soaked palm. Finally seeing his old master, Bam was overflowing with joy, as the plan he had brewed for the past seven years was now at an end. All he needed was for Aguero to take his hand, and they could have their happily ever after. "Aguero, come with me."
Back then, Bam had been ruminating on Aguero's wish. If he could take Aguero out of the palace… Coincidentally, that night, Bam had received his weekly messenger bird, along with the summons back to his own country. Immediately, Bam had made up his mind to rescue his beloved and had planted his own spies within the Khun palace to ensure Aguero’s survival all these years. Although the spies weren’t required to protect Aguero at all.
The reports that Bam received from his own underlings proved that Aguero was quite capable of taking care of himself. He successfully wiped out a number of his brothers and sisters, heightening his presence and making him well-known as a ruthless Khun prince.
Aguero even left the palace walls himself, though it was only to enter the surrounding cities, towns, and villages. Bam’s chest swelled with pride as his subordinates reported back on Aguero’s popularity in the kingdom. He was a rare Khun prince who actually cared about the citizens and made an effort to aid the commoners. A far cry from the usual Khun trash that only cared about themselves and their own survival to the detriment of their own people.
That was why the current war was taking place.
Bam belonged to a group called FUG.
The group had a penchant for declaring war on countries and kingdoms that did not care for their citizens. It may sound as if they were working for the good of the people, but Bam knew better than that. However, although the group was purely acting for power, they did at least treat the people better than the country's original masters. Bam couldn't care less about this. He only cared for one person.
Having made a deal with the leader of FUG, Bam had one chance to steal Aguero during the battle, and the group had promised they wouldn’t touch a hair on his pretty, blue head.
Now, it was time to take Aguero away.
"Aguero."
Bam called out, a little impatient to take this person into his arms and gallop far, far away. But as he took a step forward, assuming that Aguero was frozen with joy at being reunited, Bam had to jump back a step as a sharp sword blade cut down in front of him.
"Aguero?"
Shocked at the sudden attack, Bam unsheathed his sword and blocked a second attack aimed at his throat. Confused by the others actions, Bam took another two steps back as he blocked the third sword slash. "Aguero! What are you doing!? It’s me! Bam!"
Of course, Aguero knew exactly who he was attacking. He hacked his sword down in a neat, precise arc, striking at the deadly sword of the enemy general, the infamous General Viole, Aguero’s first love, Bam.
Anger, betrayal, pain. All of these emotions caused a whirlpool in Aguero’s eyes as he took a step forward with every threatening swing of his sword. He pushed Bam backwards; his old servant clearly wasn’t vying for Aguero’s blood, but that didn’t stop the tears from stinging Aguero’s eyes as he forced them not to fall.
What was Bam doing? What was Bam thinking ?
Seven years ago, Aguero had given up on life. Clouds had gathered around him, and he wanted to drown in the rain. But, one day, the sun gradually emerged, evaporating the water and reflecting a resplendent rainbow. It filled Aguero with the desire to survive, and although he was tired, he had a dream that one day he could live in peace. Aguero was bathed in a warm and gentle light.
Then, the light vanished.
Aguero was plunged into darkness.
From the day his light vanished, Aguero understood that he had to fight for the light. He fought his brothers and sisters with a new vigour, and he left the tall palace walls, coming face-to-face with his people. Aguero worked hard for the commoners, all while searching for his light, and he found more rays of sunshine along the way.
The happy, smiling faces of dirty, common children flashed in his mind. They listened to his stories with rapture and begged him to tell them just one more. Elderly citizens, working hard to feed the mouths of hungry babies, still offered Aguero and his troops a cup of rice in gratitude whenever the soldiers protected their village from bandits.
And his men.
The troops on the battlefield, sacrificing their lives to protect their kingdom. They may be fearful of their indifferent leader, but they also knew just how warm his heart could be. The army never rushed into a battle they couldn’t win, and the strategies their general created were always flawless. The respect and awe they felt for their leader as they willingly followed him into war radiated from their bones, and Aguero could feel it.
Aguero knew that each and every one of his men fought not only for their own lives and the lives of their families, but also for him. They trusted Aguero. They trusted their prince. They were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect their kingdom and their leader, and now they were staying true to that promise.
Rage built up and up in Aguero’s gut, until even his fingertips and toes trembled with fury, and every stab of his sword was laced with lethality. His eyes were tinged with red as the dying screams of his comrades, of his men , sounded in his ears, and their blood soaked his boots.
Unleashing his wrath, Aguero attacked Bam’s defensive sword, which never offered a return strike.
"You!" Aguero finally spoke, his voice hoarse and strangled. "How dare you?"
Unheeding of Bam’s surprised, panicked expression, Aguero continued his onslaught, occasionally sparing his sword to skewer any enemy soldiers that dared to approach.
"What right do you have to come here and attack my people!?" Aguero roared with distress. The shining blade of his sword was relentless. "Who asked you to come and rescue me!?" He slashed down at a tricky angle and skillfully took a step closer to his opponent, who dodged the attack of his sword hilt. But Aguero had prepared for it and dashed forward, sweeping his sword diagonally, finally tripping General Viole’s solid feet.
Bam stumbled backwards. He lost balance and fell to the muddy ground, and he looked up at the graceful yet furious enemy prince. He tried to plead, with a dumbfounded look in his eyes.
"Aguero, please…"
The sharp, glinting point of the sword aimed between his eyes, and Bam’s words trickled into nothing.
Aguero hadn’t changed. His chin was still held high, prideful and arrogant. His hand was steady and ruthless. Only the anger in his beautiful eyes was intimidating, but Bam found it all the more mesmerising. Bam gulped, but wasn’t given the opportunity to speak and offer repentance or explanation.
"I don’t need to be rescued." The tightness in Aguero’s throat almost choked him, and, although he held his sword with a steady grip, he still couldn’t stop the tip from quivering in his hand. "Not when your so-called rescue is paid for with the lives of my people." Aguero barely blinked as he took a large, ragged breath, swallowing down his emotion. He tightened the grip on his sword hilt, the blade still pointing between Bam’s eyes. He spat, "You shouldn’t have come back for me."
The sword in Aguero’s hand was raised high, and Bam watched the beautiful visage of the person he loved about to take his life.
Somehow, Bam felt at peace.
Only deep regret unsettled his soul. The regret of leaving Aguero back then. The regret of returning to Aguero like this.
If only he had gone about this differently, perhaps they could have had a happier ending.
A single, quiet laugh escaped his lips, and a small, soft smile appeared. Bam closed his eyes, ready to accept his death at the hands of his most beloved. This is what he deserves.
As he waited for the inevitable blade to fall and take his last breath, Bam embraced the darkness behind his lids. Only a high-pitched whistle coursed through the air, followed by a heavy thud and a grunt of pain, disrupting Bam’s contradictory tranquillity.
Bam opened his eyes. He was still on the bloody battlefield, and Aguero still stood in front of him. But Aguero’s sword had fallen to the ground, and a look of surprise had widened his eyes.
Aguero blinked twice, and his hand was raised to his chest, to his heart, where the shaft of an arrow proudly protruded, the fletching feathers twitching with the wind. His shaking fingers wrapped around the shaft, and Aguero coughed, blood pouring from his mouth like wine. His ragged breaths grew all the more tumultuous, and, with a heartfelt laugh, Aguero ripped the arrow from his chest as if the pain didn’t exist, and he tossed it aside. Hot, red liquid painted his filthy shirt.
"You didn’t catch it this time." Aguero rasped, and the irony lingered on his lips. The colour faded from his already pale skin at a concerning speed, and the life that was in his eyes began to fade. Aguero looked at Bam, and for the first time since they reunited, he smiled.
"I guess this is my retribution."
With these final words and a grin curling his crimson-splattered lips, Aguero toppled forward and was caught in Bam’s shivering arms.
An earth-shattering disbelief shook Bam’s world, and he clung to the hastily cooling body in his arms. He stared at the beautiful face of his enemy and couldn’t even bring any tears to his eyes. Bam could only blink, breathe, and cling to the unmoving body.
In the middle of a devastating battleground, an imposing and merciless man revealed his heart as it whispered in anguish:
No, this is my retribution.