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You’re early.”
Yuder tilts his head. He looks every bit unbothered he did in his profile photo. Had Keilusa not researched, the unsettling calmness would have made him assume that Yuder was a spirit from the Great Sarrain Forest instead.
Keilusa doesn’t dwell on the lack of answer.
“You knew my brother well.” He started. “And you knew the Forest better.”
Yuder nodded. “I was born in the Forest.”
Well. Keilusa tapped his finger on the table.
“You must know the Forest well?”
A nod.
“Will you help me?”
“…nothing that enters the Forest leaves that Forest.”
“You did.”
Silence fills the office room.
“Mr La Orr. You will not return the same. If you return at all.”
A terrifying possibility. Nothing could guarantee that Keilusa wouldn’t meet the same fate as his brother. Not even Yuder, it seemed. Everything he had worked for will all go in vain— the company, his achievements, the life he led. Everything. Just like what happened to his brother.
“It’s fine.”
But for Keilusa, his brother was everything.
“Alright.” Yuder stood up. “I’ll give you three days to decide.”
They stand in front of the gate on the sunrise of the third day. Yuder shot the lock, and the gate swung open with a loud creak of rusted hinges. A frog hops past on the cobblestone, like it was the most natural thing. It smells like damp earth—something dark infused with the rain.
The forest looks wonderful; it’s beautifully green and bright.
The bright sunshine dimmed with each step. Something tugs at Keilusa’s heart to walk forward into the road.
Yuder stopped on his path, his blank gaze turning to him.
“Don’t panic.” His voice is soft, calm. Like an anchor. His steps are soft, even on the dried graveyard of leaves. A gun points at his shoulder and fires.
A screech, and the hand that was on his shoulder shrinks back like an admonished child.
He turns back.
He doesn’t turn back.
He turns back.
The blades crawl out of his skin, each jutting at the oddest angle. The cadaver around bleeds, but that nauseating smell does not assault his nose. And when he smiles, Jimmy’s teeth are somehow sharper than those blades.
Keilusa couldn’t figure out his face, but he knew it had to be Jimmy. The fencing prodigy who had pestered Kishiar to train him. It was adorable, how the young boy followed his brother around like a duckling, just like his brother had once done for him.
But Jimmy wasn’t this young in years. He couldn’t be; Jimmy was a teenager, blooming powerfully into an adult.
Jimmy wasn’t delicate. Jimmy didn’t smile like that.
Was it really Jimmy?
Jimmy shrank back further, back crouching like a startled little porcupine. The bullet in his hand didn’t heal, dripping blood on the snow. Slowly, the metal contorted into another blade, a barely visible shard of metal among the bed of calluses.
“Your Majesty…” That young voice, it was definitely the one he had placed in his mind with Jimmy's face. “…I didn’t mean to…”
Yuder’s expression shifted, the nearest thing one would get to a frown. Of course, it didn’t make Keilusa feel any better. His shoulder tingled and itched from where Jimmy had touched him. Keilusa closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe. If he didn’t, he’d be no different than this “Jimmy” in front of him.
As predicted, Jimmy became upset at the lack of response.
“I really apologise!” Jimmy shuffled in his spot, unable to come closer when Yuder was guarding Keilusa’s front. Though his eyes look dead, the effect of sincerity is no less.
Keilusa softens.
Keilusa frowns.
”I see…”
Keilusa ignored his heart, which tried to beat out of his chest. He ignores his head too.
He looks at Yuder instead. Jimmy should have hated him, but the young boy directs all his teeth in a too-wide a smile. Yuder puts the gun back into its holder, not put off at all.
“Of course you’re commander’s br—!” Yuder shoots a reprimanding look. Jimmy disappears entirely, and the scenery shifts to black.
“Don’t take too long.” Yuder watched, like he always did. Jimmy didn’t, out of respect. Or maybe he did. Keilusa couldn’t tell anymore. “Commander will be happy I brought you to him!”
The pen in his hand is grimy with his sweat. Metallic, bright and sharp—it feels like a sword laid bare on his mahogany desk. Keilusa grappled for the cap, his hands resisting the irrational urge to pick it up. Alas, it is not yet Keilusa’s Forest. He raised the blackened tip to his neck, slowly.
The ink left a trail on his pallid skin. His blood froze over, a beautiful trail of blades blooming from the roots of his life essence. It chokes his throat, drowning the his lungs with blood—each breath is a struggle that wanes. His mouth opens in a scream, but all that it manages is a wet gasp.
“Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?”
The blades dig deeper and deeper. And as much as it hurts, the fact that he won’t be able to see his brother ever again is the thought that pricks his heart more so. The savage sensation stings his eyes; the tears are the cusp of flowing.
A man like Yuder would’ve looked away. But Yuder was not the man Keilusa thought he would be. The gun is pressed to his forehead, but the look in Yuder’s eyes isn’t mad. It’s not even triumphant.
It’s nothing. A nothingness that seemed to snatch his soul away.
The gun clicks, and the only thing keeping Keilusa awake is the cold metal of the muzzle.
“…I wish you good luck for the next time.”
In the end, it is also the reason why he closes his eyes.
That’s a lie.”
Jimmy’s eyes look back up.
“Your majesty knows us the best, it seems.”
A sheepish smile, and the boy disappears like he never existed. Yuder watched impassively.
“You look surprised.”
Did he? Keilusa touched his face—it was still his. Something didn’t feel right; that something tugged at his heart strings, to snatch it from his chest. To rip and lay it bare in this accursed Forest to bleed and be gawked at.
“Do you regret turning around?”
“Yes.”
Yuder eyes glowed like little jewels. Or perhaps like the eyes of a predator. A great shadow broke over their figures, encapsulating them in a chasm. Belatedly, Keilusa realised that it was a great tsunami of dirt.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a bit then.” Yuder’s voice was slow, calm—like the death in his eyes. Keilusa tried to catch a breath, but that too was sucked from him.
Yuder approached with silent, silent steps. He didn’t look scary. On the contrary, the eerie glow served to make him more beautiful. Keilusa, on the other hand, felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in years.
They stood inches away, before Yuder melted into his Forest. The distant snow blacked. His ears rang. His eyes hurt.
In the distance, he could see Faria smiling. Her hair was open, like on the day he had met her.
It was the last glimpse of the golden field of wheat, and the mornful sun set for the night to follow
Keilusa blinked, and let himself melt.
“…I hope you think better of us next time.”
“No.”
“You’ll fit right in.”
Yuder throws away his gun. The ashes gobble the metal up, falling, clogging up their throats and beings. It isn’t cold anymore, but that’s because Keilusa can’t feel cold anymore.
He turned back. There it is, his grave. There’s a garland of forget-me-nots and chrysanthemums underneath the laburnum. Beneath is the cold, harsh stone. Below it is the soil. Below that, is the coffin. And under all those pretty wraps, are the foul remnants of flesh and bones. The ants pick their treat, the stray maggots that found their way nestled in his pores. Keilusa shrank back, bile rising to his throat.
Yuder stands beside him. Calm and dead, like him. “You cannot turn back now.”
Keilusa doesn’t move until Yuder turns back and walks. He should’ve been frozen in fear, but he isn’t; curiosity doesn’t weigh heavy on his mind anymore.
A walk of what felt like an eternity leads him over a bridge.
The charred stone stood stronger than he had expected. The ashen path blew little puffs of dust with their measured steps. Yuder looked up, and the wind howled deafening, drowning anything else.
But drowning didn’t mean disappearing. The cry of a child bubbled through the air like a gasping breath.
the air dropped a degree or two. The blood in his veins froze and then pumped harder. The wind howled louder, the child wailed louder— The heart-wrenching sound. That godforsaken sound.
Keilusa couldn’t dare himself to breath. Yuder frowned.
“Don’t look down.”
He looks down.
He doesn't look down.
He looks down.
And then he doesn’t.
There are bloody hands grasping at the piers, raging and sorrowful.
They don’t scream. They disappear after a moment. Inside, Keilusa feels like the bridge—drowning in his rage, in his grief. Something ugly rears its head inside his heart. He gags, but nothing comes up. Something ugly chokes his breath and life.
Yuder watched. He watched like he had seen it once before.
“Let’s go.”
Where to? Keilusa is unable to speak. His vocal chords feel taut, rearing for a scream he manages to swallow. Yuder presses the nozzle of the gun to his head.
He is the grim reaper; his gun and eyes hold a death that drowned and ate away.
“A good monarch never leaves his ailing subjects behind. He acts when he sees their pain.”
Keilusa did not ask, bowing his head with a leaden heart.
He doesn’t look down
At this point, his gut screams at him not to. It’s like Yuder is his instinct, sharpened and honed beyond comprehension.
Their boots crunch over the graveyard of leaves. Calm, clear. It’s too quiet, Keilusa realises. The crickets don't chirp, let alone the birds. The forest is barren; the lush green leaves that had greeted him in had long left these dried trees.
The dense fog covers the sky above and the ground below in a casket grey. Keilusa can't tell the time of the day anymore.
The entrance to the rumoured castle is easy enough. Simple, made of entwined and engraved bricks. Strangely enough, it looks like a house.
The staircase up is winding. Sunlight slowly filters down from a window he cannot see. The gun muzzle pointed up, and the shot resounded, with a soft sound as a blur fell behind him. He could hear bones crack as they tumbled.
There was the grimy, ink stained hand. Connected to it, was the familiar face of a Kanna Wand.
A Kanna Wand. Keilusa knew it wasn’t the one he knew. As the head of the maintenance department, Kanna Wand was more intelligent, kinder.
Saner? Perhaps. But it isn’t that Kanna Wand. This one wears an apron and a ruined dress. Her skin is untouched, so much that she blends into the winter scape. Like a snake ready to strike. The only flaw remains is the singular bullet on her forehead. The blood that flows is inky, dripping rivulets down her brown hair and dull eyes.
Keilusa clenched his teeth and remained silent.
“Commander would be happy if I brought him, right Yuder?” She laughed, a sound pathetically unused. Her hands glow, and she smiles wider. “Oh, he’d be a wonderful tale for the little twins to hear. It’s unfortunate the commander loves him so much.”
Her shoulder healed as his blood, skin and being bled. His story, his essence was absorbed by the impatient chasm, devouring each and every breath and moment he had taken in this life.
Yuder’s body did not move. And in his last moments, Keilusa realised that they seemed closer to death than Kanna’s.
Don’t look back.
He doesn’t need to be told.
“I know you.” The voice giggles innocently. Keilusa feels his hands turn clammy. Nothing moves, and for a moment he breathes.
“Your story smells delicious.” The voice is like a young woman’s. “The cape, the sword, your head. It seems so tasty— but oh, was that rude?” What cape? What sword? He looks down, and cannot see them on his body, dwarfing his flesh in impossible ways. He looks up, and Yuder stands, looking all the same.
Kanna senses his intentions.
“Oh, you must go. Your majesty, please do visit when you can.” The voice fades after.
They climb to the top of the tower. The sun fades away. The wind stills.
The world around him holds its breath.
“Brother!” The sound is so distant. So brilliant. Keilusa looks up. There is his brother, smiling from the little ledge of the veranda of their home that overlooked the forest. Kishiar walks to him, his hands open. Keilusa smiles back, soft cheeks stretching. He gives him a rose candy, which Kishiar munches on. A sticky hand entwines in his hand, sweaty with exertion.
“Lu!” The sweet dream is monotonous—smiling and laughing. “Brother, come with me, I found a new place today!”
Don’t look back.
“Akit.” Yuder hasn’t moved an inch, face placid like the air in his lungs. His heart feels like it would stop any moment, tethering the edge between a life with and one without his brother. The ledge is close, and Kishiar just a bit farther. “It doesn’t feel right.”
Curiosity simmered in Akit’s eyes. It’s well hidden, but not enough for Keilusa to miss. Another wrong thing—his little Akit couldn’t hide his emotions nearly as well.
Kishiar, on the other hand, could. He could hide his emotions like he was wearing a second skin over his first. A sweet monotonous dream that smiled and laughed. Perfect in all ways anyone should never have needed to be.
“Kishiar.” He spoke up. His voice was a stranger to himself, speaking with a strange conviction his mind wasn’t comprehending. “Will you come back?”
Akit smiles, taking a step forward. They’re in Keilusa’s office. A pristine room of drudgery, once that had been his bedroom when he was ill. Kishiar ran a hand over the cross the priest had given him, uncaring.
Kishiar had been a boy-turned-blasphemy in the eyes of their church, a man better off dead.
“Brother.” The voice belongs to a man. “Brother, I love you a lot.”
“I know.”
“Go then,” Keilusa blinks, and he finds himself facing the wall. Yuder sits on the guest chair. “And don’t look back.”
And all of a sudden, the wind blew. Around him, on his skin, into his lungs—finally returning his stolen breath. He looks at the man’s gloves, like he could look through the glove and the flesh. Yuder’s gaze is incomprehensible.
”You must have realised this situation.”
The office spins. Yuder’s steps are as silent as they were in the forest, and his motions are just as quiet when he places the gun to Keilusa’s forehead. The actions is a familiar stranger now.
“…but there are more important things to realise.”
Their surroundings darken; a shadow creeps steadily on them. A jerking movement catches Keilusa’s attention, and as if on cue, that object crashes in front of them. It’s a generic wall clock, the one he had ordered in bulk last month for the offices. Alas, the clock had given up on working the moment it fell down.
“Was that your first turn?” Yuder looks up at Keilusa. “It would be a surprise if you reached here on your first turn. And if it isn’t—“
There's knowledge in his eyes. The clock slowly struggles.
“—Do you remember your mistakes?”
He takes his gloves off. There are black veins on his hand, running like cracks and disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt. The clock ticks again—backwards.
“I was born in the Forest.”
The office fades to that haunting white of ashes. It’s silent like death. The wind doesn’t blow and Keilusa doesn’t dare breathe.
“And nothing that enters leaves that Forest.”
"You can only try, Your Majesty. I hope that there is a world where you can escape it."