Chapter Text
Centuries ago, four gods ruled the country of Alcolm, symbolizing the four principles;
Dharr, the god of duty and discipline.
Nomi, the goddess of law and order.
Athius, the god of mortality.
And Ceri, the goddess of love.
They existed in harmony, guarding the humans below, as they were worshipped. In their honor, statues and temples were built, scriptures written, and humanity awed. Soon enough, they were wedded—with Dharr and Nomi reigning in the northwest, and Athius and Ceri presiding in the southeast.
Years later, they had children who served two similar yet different roles.
Iro, daughter of Dharr and Nomi, became the lawmaker, writing the commandments all mortals were strictly to follow. Kavih, son of Athius and Ceri, became the poet, writing prose and poetry with a love for humans and their world, fueling their passion.
The two became quick friends. They coexisted, and although they were stark opposites, they were two halves of the same coin.
Only, by the eternal undoing of their love—
Rui surveyed the burn marks, sighing to himself. He gently laid the scorched pages upon his bedside table, underneath the lamp’s golden glow and above the scraps of poetry and letters. Those were the only known remaining details of the gods’ war after humanity was implored to burn any evidence centuries ago.
After consulting countless books in his family’s library and searching for hours without end, this singular page was all he recovered.
He scans it over again. Biting on his bottom lip, he wonders if all this is for nothing.
Why would his parents hide this from him? Why would anybody?
The gods’ war was only a topic to hang in the air, always above Rui’s head but never close enough to reach.
He knows he should give up. Stop while he is still barely toe-deep in the water. Before he delves too far. Before he drowns.
But… he needed the answers. He needed to quell his strongest fears.
Because if not, the end of the world will be alongside the end of his world.
And he will not lose her again.
⋆༺𓆩FIVE DAYS AGO𓆪༻⋆
“Getting soft now, are we?” Mizuki asks with a smirk that could rival Rui’s. She strikes. Both sides of the training dummy drop to the grass in a weak thud. Feeling accomplished, she brushes her flowing hair out of her face. It’s never been this windy before, but, she’s not entirely against it.
“You’re not allowed to do that, you know.” Rui skirts around the question. “We keep having to replace those.” He grunts as he struggles to pull his sword out of his dummy’s head, but to no avail.
Rui commends her skill with the blade. It’s difficult to cut through the dummies, believe him. Those things contain stronger stuffing than they seemingly appear.
Mizuki rolls her eyes, then sheaths her sword. “There you go again, nitpicking everything. As if you’re doing any better!” She whines jokingly and settles on the ground, hugging her knees. “And did you just strike the head? You’re too predictable, Kamishiro.”
So what if he’s predictable? He doubts he’ll ever need to use a sword. He refuses to use a blade. Violence can only lead to war. That’s his philosophy.
“I… Ugh… Never asked for this to begin with…! Gods !” He swears as the blade abruptly pulls out. He controls it in time, but not enough to avoid getting nicked in the shoulder. He groans. Blood seeps from the wound, dripping into small circles on the ground. The weapon slips from his grip and clangs once it crashes at his feet.
Mizuki immediately rushes into action, arriving at his side and surveying the wound. “Ah… It’s but a tiny cut.” She huffs in relief, then scrunches her eyebrows, her gaze sharpening. “There you go again. You need to be more careful!!”
A warning he’s been hearing for years. He remembers being fourteen, sulking after his father forced him to learn alongside the knights-in-training. It was torture—having to commit to something he didn’t believe in.
Days pass, and he could barely handle the pressure tearing at his body. On the brink of collapse, he was pitted against a pink-haired girl who effortlessly blocked all his swings. She predicted his every move no matter how many desperate slashes he threw. Unfair! He thought. Why would they pit a beginner against a skilled fighter?!
Rui knew that if he lost, he’d have to complete a hundred push-ups and withstand the verbal abuse of his instructor after the king ordered them to hold nothing back with him. His body weighed heavily. He could hardly take any more strain. This was it. He was going to die.
A bit dramatic, but that came alongside his wit in writing.
She noticed his state and, in a moment of sudden pity, let herself lose against him. Despite everyone’s suspicions about how she could fail after performing so well, they let him win. He was free.
As he headed for the bench, she followed.
With a smile brighter than the glint of her blade, she sat beside him and said, “You need to be more careful, you know?”
“Rui?!” Her voice rips him out of memory. She’s the only person who’s dared to refer to him as ‘Rui’ and not ‘Kamishiro’ or ‘Your Highness’. She’s become one of his closest friends since…
He’d rather not think of it.
He fishes out a handkerchief and presses it to the cut. Slowly, the deep red stains into the pristine-white fabric. “I’m steadier with a pen than a blade, I’ll have you know.” He hisses at the pain, biting down on his lip to calm himself. “I refuse to learn how to handle an instrument meant for harming others. So help me.”
“And if you needed to protect yourself, what then? Will you lull your attacker to sleep with your poetry?” Mizuki asked, her tone more aggressive than intended. From the hurt in Rui’s expression, she quickly turns away, her gaze pointed somewhere in the distance. “…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it—But still. You have to understand.”
She turns back to him, concern shaded over protectiveness. “You’ll be a king soon enough. If you cannot defend yourself or your people, what would happen to the kingdom? What would happen to you? I wouldn’t forgive myself if you died in battle. I won’t always be there to protect you.”
“Mizuki…” Rui stepped closer, one hand on her shoulder while the other held the handkerchief. He winced at the jolt of pain but held firmly regardless. “I’ll be safe, promise. I would never resolve any conflict through violence.”
“You know that’s not what I mean—”
“Besides,” Rui cut her off, his tone dropping alongside his hand. “For all I care? This kingdom could burn to ash, and I wouldn’t shed a tear.”
Mizuki opens her mouth to say something, but shuts herself down. No use in budging a stubborn boulder. “If you so wish. At least get that checked out in the infirmary, alright?”
He nods and turns away, heading into the castle.
Mizuki stands there, arms crossed in disapproval. She flickers from looking at the back of Rui’s head to the blood below. The air hangs heavy around her, as if threatening to consume her. Weird… She thought, but shook the feeling off and walked away.
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
The burnt scent of aged books greets Rui as he enters the castle’s library.
Spines of leather-bound books fill the walls—centuries of history, stories, and philosophy, all packed in a spacious room. Rui smiles as he welcomed the scene. He takes his usual seat before the lone desk below the towering arched window, cracking open a leather-bound compilation of essays from his favorite philosopher, right where he left it. He winces at the sting from the bandaged wound and shrugs the pain.
Ever since he was young, this library has become his haven. A space solely used by him, save for the random scholar popping in from the kingdom. He misses those days, when he’d sneak out of training and hide away in the library, lost in the shelves.
As the morning light streaming in dissolves to dusk, Rui, like clockwork, shuts the book and recovers a hidden journal.
Finding his quill and ink pot, he begins writing.
This thought is nothing recently discovered. It is nothing worth jotting down or to be read. It is in every novel ever bound. It has been known and felt by countless individuals—from the philosophers and poets I adore to the gods we worship above—throughout our infinite expanse of time.
But, I’ll admit this now without hiding behind my words.
I miss you. Most deeply. Most ardently.
My memory of you is etched in every line of my brain and every line I write on paper—seared and branded with an intensity and longing so scorching. I write this in hopes your spirit receives my ink-colored cries, or to be able to read all my selfish thoughts in our embra
“Do I have something to tell you!” A voice, followed by the warmth of a hand on Rui’s shoulder, made the poet drop his quill, staining the page in black.
Rui produces a voiceless scream, save for the clear fear and shock in his expression. His head snaps to whoever this intruder is, only for him to relax when he realizes it’s Tsukasa—Rui’s second closest friend, and the only other who frequents the library like him, precisely the way they met.
“Learn to knock!” He coughs into his palm, promptly closing his journal, and turns to face the blond. “What is it?”
“Apologies.” The pompous historian, without delay, leans his back against the table. He snaps his fingers to a tune in his head as he speaks. “Well, there’s rumor of activity in the center—” He notices his bandaged shoulder. “Another injury?”
Rui nods and mutters yes, but doesn’t speak of it, too interested in the topic at hand. “Activity? And this isn’t some simple trick of the eye?”
Tsukasa raises a brow, though shrugs it off. “Mhm. According to a stationed knight, he noticed slight movement with the gods’ ashes.”
“This is… peculiar indeed. What sort of activity are you referring to?”
“It’s not much, but the wind began to pick up. And somehow, it was enough to move them.”
“So they truly aren’t immovable…” Rui puts a closed fist to his chin in deep fascination. “This is quite concerning. What does this mean? Is this a sign? A warning?”
Tsukasa shrugs, disappointed in his exhalation. “Wish we could know. I’ve yet to find any archive or account of the gods’ war. Only time can tell.”
“I see.” Rui nods in similar sorrow. “In any case, inform me if there are any updates. Don’t tell the citizens until we’re sure. For now, could you scour your records once more?”
“You got it, your highness.” Tsukasa salutes teasingly, then stands back up. “Hopefully this is just some abnormality without reason. I don’t want to imagine what this could mean for us in the future.”
“The gods vanquished themselves long ago. I’m sure this is just the shifting of a new season.”
Tsukasa stops at the doorway, halfway out. “I’m hoping you’re right.”
Rui smiles. “Most of the time, I like to think I am.”
With that, Tsukasa leaves and closes the door behind him. As Rui returned to his journal, his head went as light as smoke.
Before he could register what was happening, his vision goes dark as he crashes to the floor.
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
Muffled pleas beg for her mercy, yet she answers in cold silence. The tip of her sword scrapes against the stone floor like a spark ready to ignite, the sound echoing across the stone of the cramped, shadowed room.
This wasn’t the first time she’s had to do this. Yet, it never gets easier. The blood never seems to disappear—the stubborn thing—from her clothes or her mind. An eternal stain on her conscience.
She stops like a lion ready to lunge at their prey. Closing the distance, she rips the sack off the man’s head, the sobs and begging surging forth. “M-Money! I have tons! Just, please, let me go! I swear I’m not a traitor!”
To Nene, this was an obligation. Duty. A performance in terms both to please her ever-demanding father and prove to herself she can be an actress.
This isn’t her. She used to be a simple girl with a love for swordsmanship. She never expected to become the weapon herself.
Now, in the dark, padded walls of the execution chamber, she wonders what could’ve been if she were born under different circumstances.
She grips the handle of her blade, trembling. Before she could hesitate further, she finished the job, and the sour iron smell of the dripping red greeted her with congratulations.
After cleaning herself off, Nene leaves the room, seemingly unfazed.
In the hall, she passes by a head of ginger hair. “Hey, Kusanagi.” She stops in her tracks and turns to the voice.
“Yes, Shinonome?”
“You good for a quick duel?” He smirks as he places a hand on his hip.
Sure, why not?
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
Two swords clash against each other. Through sheer willpower, the shorter girl effortlessly overcomes the taller boy. With haste, she retracts the blade and swings, stopping by a hair from the boy’s neck.
“I’ve got to say,” The boy says, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his palm as he sheaths his blade. “I’m genuinely impressed with your skill, Kusanagi. It’s as if you were training your swordsmanship straight out of the womb.”
That’s close enough to when I started training. She wishes to say, but holds it down in her head. “And you’re quite an equal match, Shinonome.” Nene huffs, withdrawing her blade before undoing her pulled-up mint hair. “But I’m afraid you’re only a few steps behind me.”
“Sure.” Akito scoffs before he settles upon a nearby bench. His orange hair frizzies again when another gust passes, causing him to tsk and mutter under his breath. “What’s with the air today? I don’t recall any day it’s been this windy,” He says as he runs a hand through his hair, attempting to fix it.
“Surely it’s the ever-shifting climate.” Nene rolls her eyes.
Akito raises a brow. “Don’t you want to sit?”
“I’m fine where I am.” Nene stands her ground.
The knight frowns, temper rising. “You’re allowed to rest. Must I remind you every second?”
Nene narrows her gaze as her free hand tightens in on itself. “Rest is useless. I’m fine.”
She turns to re-enter the castle until Akito calls out to her. “The kingdom isn’t at war, you know? You can relax, Kusanagi.”
She brushes him off. “I can tolerate the pain. And if anyone were to get in my way, they’ll be dealt with accordingly.”
Akito stops himself from arguing further, narrowing his eyes at her. “So be it.”
She nods as if signaling the conversation’s conclusion. “If you’ll excuse me,” She says and turns to leave.
In a few minutes, she was to meet with her father about “important matters regarding the kingdom”, or whatever that meant. “Always so vague,” she mutters as she passes through the desolate halls of the castle. The emotionless stone walls lit by flickering lanterns, the oppressive architecture, and the cold silence that haunts the area—it was home to her. Luxuries and leisure were fleeting and distracting.
She knocks on his office door. No answer. She enters anyway.
Though he was nowhere in sight, her father’s lingering aura hits her in the face alongside the dry air. Stuffed bookcases hug the walls on both sides. Nene recalls times she’d sneak in here as a young girl to steal books to read. Her gaze lands on the usually cleared desk where papers have been scattered across.
Approaching it, she glances over the table and reads the contents. Due to an incident regarding the Kamishiros… The rest is obscured with scribbles of ink. She reads another page. …considering murder. Possible supernatural elements involved. She continues to scan, but a spilled ink pot blacked out most of the information. How could her father—someone so calculating and tidy—create such a clutter? Was this premeditated, perhaps? Did he know someone would—
A creak startled her, and she promptly corrected herself. The flash of a golden, intricate crown, is the first thing she sees before the king enters, looming over Nene like a tower, always on the brink of toppling. Prideful. Dangerous. Conniving.
“I see you’re early.” He glares, expression unreadable. He watches her as if solving an equation, observing as if she were an experiment.
Nene nods.
“I have some news to share,” He says without greeting. Straight to the point, just how he always is. “Kingdom Cycnus has reached a threatening level in power. They’ve been developing their troops for decades, but it’s spiked to a staggering point. We’ve planned to send an informant to discern how they enhance their power.”
Ah. Kingdom Cycnus.
Nene recalls the languid days she spent there, with that prince, Rui Kamishiro. How the two would roam aimlessly around, trying local delicacies. Or how the green fields welcomed her like a second home, as Rui read from a poetry book.
Nene doesn’t remember the last time she felt so free since then.
And though the face of the boy she knew has faded into a blur, she grips her sword’s handle with a vengeance.
She’s trained enough to kill whoever took his life. And she’s ready to return if that means finding the truth.
The rush of footsteps comes to a halt before the two. A girl with pink hair opens her mouth to speak, but starts wheezing to catch her breath.
“What is it?” The king asks, frowning at her interruption.
“Oh—Nene!” Emu says as she glances between father and daughter, a wry smile on her face. “I… was looking for Your Highness, but I guess you deserve to know too…”
“Is something the matter?” Nene asks with crossed arms.
“Y-Yes… The gods’ ashes. They’ve started to stir, you see… It started with a breeze, but now they’re fluttering in the wind! We’re not sure what this means, but—”
Before Emu could finish her sentence, Nene screams and falls to the ground, knocked out cold as her mind is overtaken by a vision and memory not her own.