Archive of Our Own

“What is that?”

Elysia was full of secrets. Ancient artifacts hiding in every nook and cranny, undisturbed nature concealing mysteries not even the ancient elves were aware of.

Finding some powerful discarded knick-knack was a pretty much weekly occurrence.

“How am I supposed to know?”

An ornate wooden box with golden decoration, fitting in the palm of a hand.

“Open it.”

“Do not open it.”

Raia opened it.

ooOoo

Nozel awoke to strong wind flying through his room like northern hale. It tipped his mirror over, sending shards of broken glass all over the floor, and blew his blanket on top of his wardrobe, leaving him blinking in confusion and shivering from the icy assault. His window and door were closed. What the-

ooOoo

Strong wind rushed out of the box. For a second the elves could see nothing from the flurry of hair pushed into everyone’s faces, but the gust passed as quickly as it’d come.

The box was empty.

“Cool. Pet wind,” said Raia.

ooOoo

A gust of wind nearly knocked Fuegoleon off his feet just as he rose from the bed. The air it carried was warm, almost friendly, but the intensity had him gripping a bedpost for dear life. It passed by in a flash, in through his window and out through the door, slamming it open on its way to escape.

Odd. It should have been too early in winter for such winds.

ooOoo

“Wait!” said Fana. “Patri – did something happen to you?”

ooOoo

Nebra headed for breakfast in the Silver Eagles headquarters as usual. She had a long winter of training ahead of her – if she wanted to beat Noelle and make her family proud in the fight against the Spade Kingdom, she had to start training early every day.

So early, in fact, that she caught her brother on his way to the training grounds as she made her way to the cafeteria.

He greeted her with a nod and a polite “sister” as he passed. Nebra returned it thoughtlessly, then paused as something … weird registered in her brain.

“Brother?” she called to his back.

Nozel turned with a quizzical hum.

Goodness. There was no mistake.

Nebra screeched. “What’s that on your face?!”

ooOoo

The Wizard King called an urgent Captains meeting.

Fuegoleon and Dorothy were the first in the hall – he greeted her as they took their places at the table. The Wizard King himself still hadn’t arrived, but Marx’s distressed voice carried from some hallway nearby, indicating that he couldn’t have been far.

“Do you know what this is about?” asked Fuegoleon. He disliked feeling uninformed – it reminded him of that mission to the forsaken realm with Nozel, an experience that taught him the limits of his knowledge as to the lives of the very people he was sworn to protect.

Ignorance was a dangerous thing among people with power.

Dorothy looked at him with her head tilted. She had a unique talent in making people feel like specimens under a magnifying glass. Fuegoleon endured it through experience alone.

“You mean you don’t know?” she returned cheerfully.

He couldn’t stop himself from frowning. The implication that he should have known something but didn’t sat like a stone in his stomach. Like failure.

He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Jack and Yami filtered into the room, followed by Rill. They were talking loudly among themselves, to nobody’s surprise.

“I ain’t never seen a plague like that,” Jack was just saying with his customary maniacal intensity, as though something was just waiting to be sliced up right in front of him.

A plague. Fuegoleon heard the word and his breath caught in his throat. First the elves, then the whole demon scandal, now a plague. The Clover Kingdom was weakened – a plague could completely devastate them. They had only so many healers, and there was only so much anyone else could do-

Dorothy kicked him under the table, lightly. Fuegoleon turned to her sharply.

“Not that kind of plague,” she said, cryptically.

He opened his mouth (again) to demand details, but just then Kaiser entered the hall, countenance steady as he calmly took his seat. Behind him, Charlotte followed, only … she was behaving weirdly.

The confident, stoic leader of the Blue Rose Knights looked … jittery. Flighty. Her eyes scanned the room as she entered with hesitant steps, settling on Yami frantically. Ah. So she was having yet another bout of her infatuation. Fuegoleon felt his heart ache for her. It must not have been easy to love someone so boundlessly oblivious as the Black Bulls Captain. Yami was undoubtedly the only man left in the Clover Kingdom not privy to Charlotte’s feelings for him.

Still, normally the Blue Rose Captain was perfectly capable of keeping her heart’s troubles out of sight. Fuegoleon looked closer. There was something else out of place …

A blue scarf wrapped around her shoulders. What purpose could it possibly serve? She was already decked out in armour – even if she somehow felt cold, such flimsy wool would do nothing through the metal.

Truly perplexing.

Yet, weirdly, that was not the most perplexing occurrence within the span of two minutes.

Just as Charlotte sat down gingerly, eyeing every spot in the room as thought hunted by a pack of wild animals, the Wizard King strolled into the hall, his expression too grave for the face of a young boy.

“Still missing two?” he observed as he took his place at the head of the table. “This can’t wait-“

He hadn’t yet finished when a characteristic set of heavy footfalls came from the open door. Fuegoleon, naturally, recognised his rival by his confident gait, and turned to see Nozel enter the room.

He was struck speechless. Nozel stood as proud as he always had, a royal through and through with all the regalia to go with it, including his ridiculous braid, only …

How to even describe it? Nozel’s face was defiled. From his left cheek, up across the cheekbone, at an angle over his eye and under the braid through his forehead until it just touched his hairline above the right eyebrow – a black mark had appeared on his skin, one obviously of a magical nature. It was bulbous and uneven, and three bold streaks cut through it, oddly reminiscent of claw marks gouged into flesh, as though a large predatory cat had taken a swipe at him. When he blinked, Fuegoleon saw they extended over his eyelid as well, like scars.

Such a chilling scene. The hall grew silent, everyone staring at their fellow Captain, who allowed them two seconds of ogling, pretending to ignore it with royal indifference, before he stepped over the threshold and approached the table.

Him moving seemed the break the spell. Jack, spread in his chair disrespectfully, cackled. “You’ve got it too, eh?”

Got what? Fuegoleon felt a buzz under his skin, a quiet terror as worst case scenarios rushed through his mind, indistinguishable from probable suspicions.

Nozel glared at Jack and didn’t deign his insolence with an answer. The Wizard King was looking more and more grave.

“Does it hurt?” he asked Nozel.

The Silver Eagles Captain shook his head. Fuegoleon released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“I do not feel it at all,” Nozel explained drily. “I did not realise it was there until it was pointed out to me.”

The Wizard King nodded. “Good. William is not here yet, but we can’t wait forever. We’re receiving reports from all over the kingdom. Marks are appearing on people in every realm. Hundreds, if not thousands since this morning.”

Fuegoleon was shocked. It was early afternoon – what affliction, what magic could spread so quickly?

“The marks appear on different locations in the body, and are visually distinct,” Marx took over, raising his hand and activating his magic to show them. “But we’ve seen rare matches, as well.”

Images flittered through his blue mana field – a woman with a dog’s head on her neck, looking scared and confused. A man with a flower bouquet on his thigh. Two children, looking alike enough to be siblings, with matching fireworks on their forearms. And old woman with lightning across her knee. Tens of similar images.

Fuegoleon drew some conclusions as he watched the examples fly by. All the marks were black, always. Anyone could be affected, regardless of age, sex, and magical ability. It was happening all over the country, simultaneously. If it was someone’s deliberate endeavour, it must have required tremendous effort and power.

 “Some say the images depicted have a special significance to them or those close to them,” Marx continued. “None of the affected report any pain or adverse effects.”

“For now,” Jack snickered.

“We don’t know if this is being done by someone with malicious intent,” the Wizard King wisely ignored him. “We don’t know where they come from and what causes them. Or whether someone could use them in some way.”

“One hell of a plague,” commented Yami idly.

“They are calling it that, but the comparison is inappropriate,” said Marx. “It does not appear to be contagious, as contact with ‘infected’ does not lead to marks appearing on people who did not already have them. Every report claims the marks appeared this morning at the latest – people woke up with them, and no new ones are appearing. Whatever it is, it seems it has already spread.”

“Conventional disease protocols, therefore, are ineffective,” the Wizard King continued. “Besides, it would be impractical to quarantine this many people. This is affecting up to a quarter of the kingdom by some estimates.”

A quarter of the kingdom. A much larger number than those affected by elf reincarnation. Fuegoleon felt rising dread, then immediately suppressed it. He was a Magic Knights Captain. He would face this as he would any other challenge.

“Since we’re talkin’ numbers, I got one too,” Yami broke the contemplative silence. He lifted his arm.

Indeed, on the back of his upper arm was a mark. Black thorny briars, wrapping around what looked like the edge of a blade. Fuegoleon looked at it. Seeing it in person rather than through Marx’s memory magic, the contours of it appeared much clearer. The black was deep and rich, almost mesmerising with its shine, the lines clear and defined, delicate. On Yami, the mark looked like … like art. There was no other way to put it. It had a warmth to it, as though someone had painted it on him with love.

Looking back at Nozel, the mark on his face was completely different. The black wasn’t as deep, looking more like ashes smeared on him, giving him a sickly look. The clear lines were absent – instead, the mark bled under his skin, fading and fading to paler greys until it disappeared, more a stain than a painting. Splotches of it stood darker against his skin, as though the mark was folded in on itself, as though its ugliness was concealing something else underneath.

Why was his different?

Fuegoleon had little time to wonder about it, because next to Yami, Charlotte squeaked like a scared child, flinching so hard she nearly fell off her chair. Could this have something to do with her weird behaviour this meeting? With her … infatuation …?

Wait a second. Yami had briars on his mark-

“Please forgive us for arriving late.”

Fuegoleon’s neck snapped painfully from how quickly he turned to look at the door. There was William, mask off and expression placid, in full regalia like the rest of them. And he wasn’t alone.

Fuegoleon’s last meeting with the elf Patri had ended … uncompaniably. His flame fingers curled into a fist without his input, and he manually relaxed. Despite having a perfectly functioning limb thanks to his magic, a twinge of pain still travelled up his arm, as though his body was crying out in anguish over lost flesh. He ignored it, but could not ignore the way the elf refused to even look his way. He was hunched over slightly, clutching a large tome tightly to his chest, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly uncomfortable with being there.

“William,” the Wizard King greeted amiably. “And you brought a friend.”

Fuegoleon would hesitate to call him ‘friend’, but he could admit the Clover Kingdom and the elves at least weren’t enemies. Anymore.

William nodded. “He came to me with an explanation of this strange phenomenon we’re experiencing.”

The entire hall gasped. The elf shrunk in on himself even more.

“Well? Speak,” Nozel demanded.

The elf swallowed audibly, then approached the table. As he placed the tome atop it, Fuegoleon finally caught a glimpse of the other side of his face.

He had a mark too. On his face, only, unlike Nozel’s, his actually looked good. It was a perfect circle around his black eye – one half of it dark traversed through by pale lines, the other half light traversed by dark lines. It reminded of an iris itself, so that his eye appeared several times larger, entrancing. This too, was a beautifully elegant piece of art, unlike the smear on Nozel.

The elf flicked the tome open. On the page waited rows upon rows of tiny script in a language Fuegoleon did not read, but also an illustration – two blank figures with star-shaped black marks, one on a hip and the other on a collarbone. The two figures were connected with a red line in the drawing.

“It’s ancient elf magic,” Patri explained tentatively. “It shows a uh … a connection between two souls.”

“A connection,” the Wizard King repeated.

“A bond. It’s like … someone you’re meant to meet. Someone whose life will have as much meaning to you as your own,” Patri seemed to be searching for his words. “In ancient elf legend, each soul is split in two during creation. And these marks are meant to indicate that second piece – a perfect match.”

“Oh?” the Wizard King was now sounding intrigued, but the elf didn’t notice.

“It’s not exactly like that. They’re not always positive. Life isn’t a fairytale. But uh, yeah, it marks a very deep connection. Compatibility. It may … it may be easier to just show you.”

“Show us?” Julius practically vibrated with excitement.

Patri finally lifted his head fully and turned this way and that to give everyone around the room a chance to see the mark on it. Meanwhile, William shed his cloak gracefully and opened his tunic.

Fighting past his initial outrage at the indecency, Fuegoleon focused on what was being shown to him. There, on William’s chest, right above his heart, rested the same mark. An eye split in two, one part dark and the other light. The boundary between them, now that Fuegoleon was looking, actually curled like the edges of William’s scar.

“So um,” the elf continued, awkward or maybe … flustered? William, as per usual, was completely undisturbed. “The mark consists of an image with two elements – one for each person. It’s supposed to demonstrate their harmony.”

He then glanced over at William, bashful and hopeful like a youth asking out the object of their affection. William, for his part, returned an indulgent, fond look. No one privy to this scene could have doubted that their souls were indeed connected – that they had been destined to meet.

Charlotte was somehow both beet red and deathly pale at the same time. She was clutching the scarf over her shoulders as though afraid it would fly off, as if there was something to see underneath it. A suspicion was forming in Fuegoleon’s mind, but he had no desire to become an involved party in that whole debacle.

His concerns lay mostly with his rival.

“Is it dangerous?” Nozel was just asking.

“No, no, not at all,” Patri was quick to reassure. “It is just that – a visual representation of two souls connected. Nothing more. They can’t um … they can’t be removed, but they won’t harm anyone either.”

“Can’t be removed!?” Charlotte squeaked.

“What is it with you today, prickly queen?” frowned Yami.

William was just finishing putting his appearance back in order.

“There’s no need to panic,” he finished for his friend, who was flailing around trying to react to Charlotte’s panic. Patri glanced at him gratefully then snapped his book closed.

“Yes, exactly. You’re perfectly safe.”

That, predictably, was the final straw. All the excitement in Julius at the prospect of new interesting magic practically exploded as he promptly skipped around the table to corner Patri and William, stars in his eyes as he interrogated them about these soul marks.

Fuegoleon was watching Nozel. An image of two elements – the claw marks presumably represented one person, but the uneven, misshapen mass beneath them …?

He wanted to ask the elf about it, but he was currently being subjected to the assault that was Julius Novachrono’s attention.

“And how did it show up now?” the Wizard King was just demanding, looking up at the elf like a child asking for sweets.

“We, um … we accidentally … released it,” Patri stammered.

“So it’s your fault?” Nozel glared down his nose at him.

The elf flinched when he looked at him. “Um, yes … but we didn’t know what it was at the time …”

“You admit you were irresponsibly handling unknown magic?”

“We didn’t even know it was magic!”

“Where did you find it, where did you find it?” Julius, in a complete disregard for decorum and dignity, tugged on Patri’s sleeve to get him back into the conversation.

Thus Nozel’s protests went completely ignored.

ooOoo

This was perhaps the happiest resolution a Captains meeting had ever had. There was no crisis – no danger to their people so soon after cataclysmic disaster. Nozel was glad for it as he watched Julius drag William and the elf away, burying them with questions like an avalanche. Marx, ever the responsible adult, remained behind to coordinate the relief effort – the people needed to be informed that there was nothing to be worried about.

“Captain Silva?”

“Yes?”

Think of the devil. Marx always looked like one extra thing on his plate would lead to the immediate collapse of the kingdom, but his appearance was particularly pitiful at that moment. Julius had, predictably, abandoned him in this endeavour.

“I was hoping you and Yami could lead the information campaign. The people will find the marks less threatening if they see that Grand Magic Knights have them and are fine.”

And Nozel’s was perhaps the most obvious of all. Even the elf, Patri, who also had one of his face, did not look as jarring as him.

Nozel suppressed the instinct to deny out of sheer indignation. He wasn’t some kind of show animal to be paraded around. But the people of the Clover Kingdom came first, and news of his … condition would spread sooner or later. He had no desire to hide his face – his pride forbade it.

Besides … besides. He was already hiding his neck. He couldn’t bear more secrecy.

“Very well,” he nodded to Marx.

“Great. We’ll start the tour in the noble realm and finish it in the forsaken realm.”

Tour. Great.

“I trust you with preparations,” Nozel told him, leaving no room for argument.

“Yeah,” Yami rushed to agree. “I got a couple o’ kids back at the hideout with these beauties. Gotta go back and tell ‘em they ain’t dying.”

“Statistically speaking, every brigade should be affected,” Marx nodded. “Inform them too and instruct them to assist with spreading the information if they have the time.”

Time was a luxury resource for the Magic Knights, with an entire kingdom to rebuild in front of them. Each and every one would still accept the new task, Nozel was certain.

With no more reason to remain in the royal castle, Nozel departed for the Silver Eagles headquarters.

ooOoo

Usually when people stared at his face it was to admire his features – whether it was because they found him beautiful or striking in his strict coldness, the expressions were always awed and reverent. Seeing disgust and hesitation there instead was a novel experience.

After an afternoon of just his brigade doing it, Nozel had had about enough of it. He retired to his quarters in a foul mood, and, feeling particularly self-deprecating, he sidled right up to the new mirror.

He always kept one in his bedroom. Ostensibly to help with his unique hairdo, but it had a much simpler function as well – he could hardly see his own neck without one.

The collar was difficult to remove by design – a precaution against dislodging during battle. For all the practice he had, it still took him nearly a minute to undo all the fastenings and see the curse choking him from within.

His first curse, now. For all that the marks were supposedly happy (in most cases anyway), Nozel could see nothing but yet another stain placed on him by another, branding him amongst his peers. A second curse, this one much harder to hide.

He couldn’t even understand what it was supposed to represent. William and Patri were obvious enough – their eyes blended into one, blessed to finally see each other after years of sharing a body, being denied basic contact, unable to meet face to face. Yami had Charlotte’s briars and his own blade – Charlotte presumably had a matching one, and were Nozel a betting man he’d guess on her shoulder, made all the more obvious by her attempts to hide it with a scarf of all things, after her armour already took care of the job.

And on his face? Gashes as though left by claws – an animalistic person, perhaps? Or associated with animals? He could think of several candidates, and one thing was for certain – those were not his element in the image. The claws marks were not those of an eagle. That left the unsightly … blotch, for lack of a better word, to be his part of this soul bond. Was his soul truly this ugly? A shapeless, pale thing. Misshapen and spread thin.

Had Megicula done this much damage to him already?

A knock at his door. Nozel glared at it – this late in the evening, it could only be his siblings or his valet. He began fixing his collar back into place.

“Speak.”

“Lord Vermillion here for you, My Lord,” came the voice of his valet, wise enough not to attempt to enter without being invited.

That could only really apply to one person, unless Leopold had grown bold enough to seek him out for late-night sparring matches.

“I shall receive him in the parlour. Have refreshments brought,” he instructed through the door.

“At once, My Lord.”

Nozel listened to the retreating footsteps. It was not unheard of for Fuegoleon to seek him out at unusual hours of the day, but it was not customary either. He must have had an important reason for coming. With the way disaster was piling on top of disaster these days, Nozel could only feel weary at his rival’s visit.

Still, he was a royal – he greeted disaster with a stiff upper lip and practiced indifference. Once his collar was firmly in place and his appearance checked to show no signs of the toll the day had taken on him, he headed out to his private parlour.

Predictably, Fuegoleon waited for him by the third window. He had always preferred that spot – whatever he saw through it, Nozel had never cared to ask. He was also not surprised to see his visitor had not touched the refreshments on offer – he was not one to be distracted from important business.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, cousin?” he asked as he approached, stopping at a distance such that he and Fuegoleon could talk easily and at the same time maintain the personal space they both cherished.

Fuegoleon turned. His features were drawn, as though the news he carried were grave indeed.

“I discovered something just now,” he explained. “Something you should know.”

He sounded worried. That automatically worried Nozel as well.

“Enlighten me.”

He expected a lot of things. He expected a letter, or message, or some other form of communication to be passed to him. He expected a stoic representation of the facts. He expected an emotional outburst, even. In short, he expected Fuegoleon to tell him something, in one way or another.

He did not expect his rival to begin undressing.

Nozel’s first reaction was to protest – what sort of indecency was this? In Nozel’s home no less? Had Fuegoleon forgotten his upbringing – did he wish to bring shame upon his royal name?

The indignation died in Nozel’s throat as Fuegoleon’s shirt fell open and revealed the black mark beneath.

It was on his left side, spreading across Fuegoleon’s ribs, slanted just like Nozel’s was. Its lowest point reached just past the dip of his waist, while the tallest aligned with his chest. A mess of uneven greys cleaved through by three claw marks.

Lion claw marks.

Nozel couldn’t claim to be surprised. In fact, it made sense – Fuegoleon had been one of the people he’d considered during his musings on the matter. The two were rivals, after all. They’d grown up close. It was not unexpected that their souls were a match.

“I see,” he nodded.

Fuegoleon returned the nod just as stoically, then started closing his shirt back up. Seeing him do that, Nozel felt the inexplicable urge to stop him, to reach out and touch the mark he saw on his own face, now marring someone else’s skin. He wanted to see if it would feel as cold as it looked, if this curse of his had somehow transferred over and corrupted Fuegoleon’s fiery flesh – if he had dragged yet another victim into his personal hell.

He squished the impulse like an impudent insect, of course. It was irrational. He cared little for the mark itself, for all that it sullied his face. Fuegoleon wore it better, at least, although he had the privilege to be able to hide it.

“I found it just now,” he explained, somewhat apologetically.

“I am hardly in the habit of beholding my own body on the daily myself,” Nozel dismissed it with a wave. “This certainly uncomplicates some things.”

Fuegoleon hummed in agreement. Of course he understood – any uncertainties about a Magic Knight Captain’s life were potential breaches of security. If there was an unknown person out there whose soul was a perfect match for Nozel’s, who could tell what such a person might do were they to ever meet. What if they were an enemy? What if they thought themselves entitled to something? Indeed, past the initial surprise, this was a particularly acceptable outcome.

“Thank you for informing me in a timely fashion,” said Nozel once his rival was fully presentable again.

“Honour demands it,” Fuegoleon returned.

Nozel envied him, sometimes, to be able to afford to so ardently care for his honour.

“Do Mereoleona and Leopold have any?” he asked. Fuegoleon had come all this way – there was no reason not to have a proper conversation.

“She’s not around. Leo doesn’t. I think he was disappointed.”

Children. Leopold should have been happy to remain free from the cruel clutches of destiny. To this day, Nozel felt his own tight around his neck, a leash in all but appearance as it tugged him closer and closer to Megicula and the inevitable confrontation that would, by any reasonable estimate, end with his defeat.

And now, to Fuegoleon. Thankfully, the two had already met, therefore there was no need to concern himself with any potential developments. He knew what their future was going to look like – the same it always had, their reliable, companiable rivalry. Each racing for the top of magical ability, albeit, unknown to Fuegoleon, for different reasons. Supporting each other along the way, covering for each other’s flaws. Working in tandem when necessary.

They did, Nozel reflected, share a harmony already. Fate, at least in this instance, had shown mercy on him.

“Solid and Nebra are clean as well,” he reported. “I have not yet seen Noelle.”

Fuegoleon looked at him knowingly at that, as though he was privy to every detail about Nozel’s difficulties communicating with his youngest sister. Unfair, because Nozel had not discussed the matter with him, with anyone, for that matter, therefore any opinion on the matter was pure speculation.

As though sensing his displeasure at the topic, Fuegoleon pivoted to something else. “Would you like me to accompany your information campaign tour?”

He struck yet another distasteful topic. Nozel felt his nose curl under the braid. “Forgive my crassness, but I believe all education would leave the mind of any noble lady to see you undress.”

Fuegoleon huffed, seeing the humour in it. Nozel had only partially meant it in jest – he had eyes. Only a person without any would miss the attractiveness of the Crimson Lion Captain, missing limb be damned.

“Then I shall leave the matter to your competent self, cousin,” Fuegoleon bowed at him slightly. Nozel returned the gesture. “Do you wish to keep this matter entirely private?”

It was tempting, but impractical. Nozel could imagine a plethora of unavoidable scenarios which would reveal the truth. Mereoleona dragging her brother into a volcano hot spring with her. His clothes incurring damage during battle. The simple desire to share the public bath with his brigade, an activity Nozel was aware his rival was partial to. The comfort of training without cumbersome upper layers. Asking Fuegoleon to hide this as though it were a shameful secret would be unfair.

“I trust your discretion,” Nozel shook his head.

That settled, the two finally sat down to indulge in some tea. They discussed general Captain business – how their respective rebuilding efforts were going, the recovery of their brigade, especially members who’d been reincarnated as elves. General gossip, although Nozel would never call it that.

(… maybe … just maybe, they bemoaned the unbelievable denseness of Captain Yami with regards to Charlotte Roselei. That entire situation was becoming too ridiculous to behold.)

As night engulfed the city completely, Fuegoleon left with polite thanks for the late reception. Nothing between them had changed.

ooOoo

The tour started at the capital. Three demonstrations on the three biggest squares – Marx relaying most of the information, Nozel and Yami showing their marks and explaining again that they weren’t dangerous.

The origin of the marks was kept secret – the last thing they needed was more elf tension. They were still rebuilding – all Magic Knights were focusing on moving the kingdom forward, doing everything they could to stop the people from fixating on the past. The recent preoccupation with demons was useful in this regard, for all the wrong reasons. But Nozel’s dislike for Damnatio’s methods was a topic for another time.

As a royal, Nozel was no stranger to rhetoric. Back when the origin of the marks was unknown, people looked at him with suspicion, some even with pity. Now, despite their best efforts to present just the facts, the people were imbuing the phenomenon with a certain romanticism, reading meaning into bonded souls where there should not have been any. They found the idea of fated meetings enticing. People looked at him with awe and jealousy now – business as usual.

Yami, with his penchant for walking everywhere in a thoroughly indecent state, was even more popular. People saw the briars on his arm, a subtly feminine symbol, and gossip was spreading like wildfire. The public wasn’t privy to Magic Knight Captain business; therefore the identity of this mysterious female paramour was left to speculation. One in three young ladies seemed to think she could turn out to be the one, despite Marx reiterating again and again that if marks were going to show up they would have done so by now.

The more annoying type of matchmaking the citizenry entertained themselves with was nothing new, but these soul marks had granted it hitherto unseen popularity – debating the “compatibility” of Magic Knights. They were prominent figures, and therefore some of their privacy was forfeit. Nozel was used to it doubly, for a royal’s lot implied the same thing. Still, he was often appalled by the lack of subtlety some of these brave theorists possessed. Over the years, completely against his will, he had been subjected to talk of him indulging in secret liaisons with nearly everybody who was anybody, from both fellow female Captains, to members of the Magic Parliament, to his own brigade members, to the Wizard King himself, and, yes, Fuegoleon. That one was particularly tenacious given their close relationship and public rivalry, but after nearly a decade and a half of it Nozen would claim to be used to the whispers.

Now talk was even flying about him and Yami, despite their marks being plainly different. It was exhausting, but what part of being a Magic Knight wasn’t?

The rest of the noble realm went much the same – a lot of travelling, a lot of talking, a lot of people gawking at him. The same old song.

The marks are not dangerous. They should not hurt. They cannot be removed. They can be everywhere on the body – check yourselves and your children thoroughly. Even the soles of your feet. Even your back.

After multiple people came up asking if they should divorce their spouses because their marks matched someone else, they started adding more detail.

Any two souls can be bonded – friends, enemies, relatives, siblings. Complete strangers. They do not indicate feelings. Just because your partner is bonded to someone else does not mean they do not love you. Just because you’re bonded to someone does not mean you love them.

A complete mess. Nozel had half a mind to march up to William, demand the current location of the surviving elves, and fly over there to deliver a very stern talking to about playing with unknown magic. This was all demonstrably their fault.

Touring the noble realm took only three days but Nozel was already exhausted. He figured by the time they reached the boonies he’d be a husk of his former self. Yami, to his credit, showed remarkable resilience – so long as he had a place to take his impossibly long shits at the end of the day, he was fine.

The common realm was calmer. The people were less used to Magic Knights there, and Captains were revered as though they were the King himself. The awe on people’s faces was more pronounced, and they took more care to engage in their cooing and gossiping out of earshot.

Little by little, Nozel was growing used to seeing the mark on his face. It was a stark change, yes, and one he would not have chosen of his own free will. But the knowledge that it represented a bond he had forged willingly, with a person he had chosen as his equal years ago, whom he respected and trusted – it alleviated some of his distaste. This was not a violent claim on him the way the curse around his neck was. It was a claim, yes, a claim from destiny, but Nozel could stand with his head held high and reject any predestination. He had chosen Fuegoleon as his match, his rival, long before soul marks had ever been a thing. Fate had no part in it – he was not a slave to its whims. In this matter at least. This mark was nothing beyond a more public affirmation of the relationship that existed between him and his cousin, a relationship that was already public. He refused to forfeit any more of himself.

Besides, once he looked at it without the stigma of words like plague, its overall appearance turned far less repulsive to him. If he looked at the mirror from a specific angle, he could even find the claw marks charming.

So passed a week in the noble realm. Yami smoked and shat and was oblivious even when people commented on how the briars on his skin reminded of the Blue Rose Knights Captain. Nozel juggled answering questions and coordinating repair efforts, loathe to be idle when his people needed him.

He missed his siblings, and he missed his rival. Both old, familiar aches. Fuegoleon had spent six months in a coma. Noelle had been away with the Black Bulls for almost a year already. Nebra and Solid considered him too uncool, whatever that meant in younger sibling vernacular, to spend much time with him outside brigade matters. He hadn’t been truly close with them since their mother died.

His throat hurt sharply every time he even thought about her, as though the curse was giving him a warning, as though it mocked how his thoughts were supposedly so obvious to the casual observer as to warrant punishment, as though he wasn’t a royal well-versed in the art of preserving what little privacy he was afforded. As though it was of utmost importance to remind him that he had no autonomy in the matter at all.

“You alright, royal stuck-up?” came Yami’s disrespectful drawl.

Nozel snapped his head to look at him. That infuriating man stood with his cigarette held between two fingers, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, waiting for something. One of his Magic Knights, the jittery spatial mage, was observing nervously next to him.

“Pardon?” Nozel returned. He would not admit out loud that his thoughts had wandered so far that he’d lost the conversation completely, as well as missed the appearance of a third party.

“My kids are getting into trouble. Mind if I dip to sort them out?”

What a question. Nozel huffed at the stupidity of it. “It is a Captain’s duty to support his brigade.”

“Oi oi, always so uptight. See ya later, braid-guy.”

Nozel sputtered in indignation, but Yami and the spatial mage were already gone. He composed himself and looked around for Marx. Predictably, he’d not been informed of Yami’s departure. Typical.

ooOoo

Maybe it would not have happened if Yami had been there. Maybe it would have.

ooOoo

They crossed into the forsaken realm that day. It was only Nozel’s second visit, and the change shocked him just as much as it had the first time. It wasn’t merely that the people were simple and unrefined – their environment was such as well. They lacked most technologies commonplace in even the common realm, most market goods, most food items even. Their building materials were weaker, their crafts and agriculture primitive. The land producing its people, the people producing their land.

Years ago Nozel would have been disgusted to step foot in such a dirty place, to mingle among peasants. He still was, but he was also ashamed – these too were his people. As a royal, each of their lives counted for as much as his own. Yet most of them had never even seen a Magic Knight before.

Inexcusable. It was not justifiable. On some unconscious level, Nozel had thought, like most royals and nobles, that they simply had no magical problems over there. It was the peaceful countryside, the people barely had any magic at all. What could bother them?

That was a poisonous way of thinking. The people were threatened by beasts and bandits like anywhere else – they simply had no support from the Magic Knights. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, and was evidently due to relearn.

“The children were playing in the forest,” a distressed village chief was explaining, winded from flying all the way over from the boonies only because he’d heard there were Magic Knights in the region. “They fell into a hole. There’s a cave system beneath. The mana is so strong, we can’t even go down to look for them!”

Despite the shoddy description, Nozel recognised the characteristics of a dungeon. One could hardly imagine a more dangerous place for small children to be.

Obviously, he departed immediately with the village chief to offer his assistance.

ooOoo

In the grand scheme of things, the hours leading up to entering that dungeon turned to something of a blur. Nozel remembered the village chief’s droning most of all. The man was besides himself with worry, understandable under the circumstances, but unfortunately he had no self-control or filter. The entire way there, he prattled on about the children, how their parents kept telling them to stay out of that part of the woods, how sweet they were, how they were excited to be starting school next year, oh no, what if something happens to them, their little village will never get over it, they already lost one child during the rampage, oh oh oh …

Nozel jumped from his eagle with a headache.

The entrance to the dungeon was less a mere hole in the ground and more a tunnel opening from an old ruin. The crumbling stone walls reached only up to Nozel’s knees, but he could understand how they might be exciting to small, imaginative kids. Beneath the moss and the mud, a trap door stood open, a slippery stone staircase descending into the darkness. Nozel could practically see the mana sealing the entrance. Whatever was down there, it did not want those kids to escape.

Some mana was no match for a Grand Magic Knight. He hushed the muttering village chief (Of course, Lord Silva! At once, Lord Silva!) and cast Mana Zone around himself. Nothing short of a strong magic region could stand up to him now, and although this barrier was by no means flimsy, it did not make the cut.

“Wait here,” he told the chief, who nodded mutely, then headed down the stairs.

The tunnel descended at a steep angle, deeper and deeper into the earth, growing darker and colder with each step. Fleetingly, Nozel wished for his rival’s company. He dismissed the thought quickly. The constant talk of soul bonds must have infected him with sentimentality. He certainly needed no help to handle so small a challenge.

Soon there was no light whatsoever. Nozel found his way by following the mana current, allowing it to pull him towards its centre. He could hear nothing, not even the children. He tried not to imagine the worst.

Abruptly, the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. He could see light in the distance, faint and blueish, but it allowed him to see the stone floor. Paved. Human construction.

Still letting himself be pulled along by the mana, Nozel approached the light source – it was a crystal, about as large as Noelle, thin and translucent. It gave off a pulsing glow, illuminating a small circle around itself. This, Nozel realised, was the mana source of the dungeon, the strong magic item contained within.

At its base slept two children.

Alarmed, Nozel crouched to check on them. He could see no injuries, but the conditions weren’t right for sleeping – the cave was too cold, the children must have been too scared. He tried shaking one awake – not a stir. Something had put them to sleep with magic.

Cautiously, Nozel lowered his Mana Zone just a smidge. Immediately, he felt the mana from the crystal push against his defences, trying to put him to sleep as well. He blocked, then reinforced his Mana Zone some more for good measure.

The mana coming off of the crystal wasn’t malicious. This was simply a magical item designed to induce sleep, functioning as intended. It could certainly be useful if it could be brought under control. Nozel decided to bring the children out first, re-seal the dungeon, then return for the crystal at a later date – no one had the time for such research now.

So decided, he picked up one small body – then froze.

At the edge of his perception, another mana signature stirred. It felt colossal – no match for his Mana Zone, of course, but much more imposing than the crystal. Once again, he sensed no malice, but also distinct combat ability. If there was a creature lurking within this cave, a precaution placed by its builders, Nozel would need his magic. He could not defend while both of his hands were occupied.

Although he found it a pity, the safety of the children came first. Nozel summoned a spear of mercury and stabbed it into the core of the crystal.

The delicate item shattered with nary a sound. The mana in the dungeon dispersed. The children awoke with pained groans.

Nozel shushed them, leaning over their bodies but looking to the side, monitoring the other mana signature. Without the strong magic item’s interference, he could sense it much clearer, and for now it seemed subdued, as though asleep. He’d rather keep it that way.

“Stay calm,” he told the children, then helped them up one after the other.

“You’re Captain Silva,” one of them whispered in awe.

“Yes. And you shouldn’t have come down here,” he admonished sternly.

The children began mumbling apologies and explanations, which he shushed again.

“Hold onto my cloak,” the instructed, then started forward.

The tunnel was relatively straight, branching only in a few places. Nozel remembered the way and led the children confidently, keeping a close eye on the foreign mana as he did.

That might have been a mistake. He was too focused to notice one of the children slipping before it was too late – the little one lost its grip on Nozel’s cloak, tumbled down, then rolled.

The other called its name, but Nozel was already on the move. He dashed for the child.

Too slow. This was a truly inopportune place to fall down – right by the child opened one of the branching tunnels, this one so steep it was practically a slide. The child rolled right over the edge and its cry of terror echoed off the walls.

Nozel cursed under his breath. “Stay here,” he ordered the remaining child sharply, then jumped into the tunnel.

The slide was short – only fifteen or so metres. Still an uncomfortable amont to roll on rough dirt in the dark. Predictably, he found the child at the bottom, confused and winded. Even from the few metres separating them, Nozel could see the scrapes all over its tiny body.

Wait. That wasn’t right. They were underground, with no light …

There was a lake in the cave – shallow, crystal clear, with pretty white pebbles on the bottom. A waterfall bubbled softly on the other end. The water glowed faintly, a pale sky blue, like something out of a fairytale. It was a scene too gentle for a dungeon.

Nozel did not trust it one bit. He took a stride towards the child, then realised the child was also walking. Towards the water, to wash the bloody scrapes.

“Wait!” Nozel yelled, cursing himself for not paying closer attention. He broke into a sprint.

The child looked back at him, but its momentum was too great – one step, and its foot plopped into the lake.

Nozel thew himself forward, yanking the child back with a rope of mercury. It worked – the small body left the lake as soon as it touched it. The inertia sent Nozel forward – straight into the water.

He was right not to trust it.

Instantly he felt his power depleting – an invasive feeling, like it was being sucked out of him. In just one second, he couldn’t maintain Mana Zone anymore. At the same time, his physical strength bled out of him in one giant wave, and he nearly fell to the ground.

That was the moment he realised he wasn’t getting out.

“Run!” he yelled at the child as something burst from the water in a flurry of movement.

Chains, large and ice cold, closed around his wrists with a metal clang – they dragged him backwards, deeper, and he barely had the strength to reach out and conjure a series of steps for the child to climb to return to the main tunnel.

He saw the small figure hesitate, looking back at him as he lost the battle to stand his ground, forced back one step then another by the yanking chains.

“Run!” he shouted again. “Get your friend, then straight ahead. Run, now!”

Finally, he watched the form of the child disappear above. Good thing too, because at that moment the drain on his strength became too much – he collapsed on his knees, and the chains dragged him through the pretty white pebbles straight back. He gasped from the twist in his shoulders, afraid they might dislocate, but quickly the angle changed and his arms were being anchored on either side of him, stretched to the point of pain.

He was right beneath the waterfall. What had once been a bubbly stream now roared like a beast, a white-water inferno bearing down on him with the power of collapsing stone giants. Even if he’d had any strength remaining, Nozel wouldn’t have been able to pull himself up. It was all he could do to remain on his knees, to keep his chin pressed to his chest to shield his airways from the water. It afforded him an excellent view of the lake, the pretty white pebbles, the angry foam pushing and pushing, the mana it poured on him to try and drown him in that fairytale-beautiful glowing blue water.

He could admit, distantly, in the part of his mind not preoccupied with surviving, that this was truly the most ingenious dungeon trap he had ever seen.

ooOoo

“Closeness” was relative among royals.

Fuegoleon was close with his siblings – he and Mereoleona had an explosive but close-knit relationship. They assisted each other against outside threats, but could never maintain peace when left on their own.

He had a different relationship with Leo, whom he was raising – his younger brother admired him much more than Mereoleona ever had, and because of it their relationship lacked the open ease the two older siblings shared. The authority between them was simply too uneven. Despite it, they were honest and loving with each other, and Fuegoleon prided himself on retaining his teenage brother’s trust even though youths that age were typically slow to give it and quick to withdraw it.

Fuegoleon had yet a third kind of closeness with Nozel.

Yes indeed – Fuegoleon was spending his time away from his rival contemplating soul bonds.

He could hardly have been faulted for it. It was the topic of the kingdom, and one that personally affected him. His work was consuming but not challenging, and as he directed his Magic Knights on their various tasks, his mind had ample time to wander.

The truth was, if Fuegoleon had been asked, before the whole affair started, who he would guess he’d share a soul bond with, he would have said Mereoleona. It seemed natural to him, and he would have assumed it to apply to most people in comparable circumstances (grew up with a sibling close in age, single, dedicated fully to their profession). He had not been surprised, exactly, to see a mark matching Nozel’s on his own body, but it did make him reconsider his understanding of closeness.

Nozel was a closed-off, private person. A steel elemental, cool and precise, where Fuegoleon, like all Vermillions, was a raging fire, an uncontrollable force. Their contrast was apparent, and as children Fuegoleon had been glad to find reprieve from his sister’s flaming temper in someone who understood manners and restraint. That reprieve had its negatives – Nozel was not the type to bare his heart, not even to those he trusted most. Thus their relationship had always been lopsided, for Fuegoleon’s fire burned too bright for him to truly conceal anything.

In certain ways, Nozel felt closer to Fuegoleon than Mereoleona – as youngsters, the rivalry between siblings, personal and unrelenting, pressing on them like an unwilling burden, had cut like a knife. Their fight for parental and teaching approval had taken precedence over far-off ambitions for the Wizard King throne. The rivalry entered willingly had felt like an adventure rather than an obligation, a vow more so than a cursed family heirloom. That had allowed a peace in their relationship, unsullied by the shadow of passionate, sharp teenage aspirations. Despite choosing each other as rivals early on, they’d been free not to truly compete with each other until they entered the Magic Knights.

Back then, naturally, Fuegoleon had not had the presence of mind to properly cherish the peace Nozel inadvertently granted him. Like all teenagers, he took the good things in his life as more or less given. But the fact remained – back then Fuegoleon had needed stability to contrast his sister’s volatility, and Nozel had been just the thing. Secretly, Fuegoleon had been glad to be able to keep up – Mereoleona overshadowed him from the start, and as a youth it had been difficult to bear. With Nozel, the two of them pushed each other ever forward, unintentionally but steadily, and at times it felt like something they were doing together, a welcome contrast to the lonely life of royals.

In certain other ways, Nozel was much farther away. He’d always been physically unreachable, for instance. The two sparred often, and it was easy to draw yet more comparisons between siblings and cousins. The two Vermillions always fought up close and personal, often devolving into fisticuffs. Fuegoleon could not remember the last time he’d touched Nozel. He’d never minded – he wasn’t a tactile person himself – but now that he was thinking about the relationships in his life, the thoughts demanded his contemplations. He felt, often, that he’d never managed to touch Nozel in more ways than physical.

Their relationships were different now from what they’d been as teens. Fuegoleon had long ago let go of his bitterness over his sister surpassing him – his priorities lay elsewhere, and a throve of personal accomplishments served well to patch his ego. He may not have been her match in raw magical output, but his eye for strategy and levelheadedness in battle allowed him to defeat comparable foes. The two of them still fought, as all siblings were wont to do, but he no longer felt left behind or lesser.

His and Nozel’s rivalry was sharper. The throne of the Wizard King was a reward dangling close in front of their noses – both wanted it, only one could have it. Naturally, that introduced a certain tension. Royals were prideful – neither wanted to show weakness, the possibility of defeat.

And yet …

They did. Rarely, but their rivalry was founded on much more than petty competition. Its base was unwavering, deep respect. They each admired the other, considered them worthy. One’s rival reflects on them, after all. Fuegoleon would have no one else as his rival, because no one else deserved that kind of attention from him. He showed his weaknesses because they spurned Nozel forward, and Nozel’s progress in turn beckoned him ahead. There was nothing accidental about it – they each went into their training knowing part of their expected result was improvement in their rival as well.

These thoughts were all well and good – Fuegoleon could contemplate the intricacies of a proper rivalry for a very long time. But were they closer now? Were their souls more of a match than they had been before? Why was it so hard to confront this question directly?

Nozel was still closed off. That was a fact that Fuegoleon accepted and respected – his cousin’s private matters were his, and he had no desire to force the issue.

Despite the aforementioned intricate rivalry, the two of them relied on each other more. As Captains, they simply had more responsibilities, and thus needed support more often than they had in the past. That was a type of closeness, but the professional element prevented Fuegoleon from considering it personal closeness as well.

Despite growing exponentially busier, they shared each other’s company more. Fuegoleon prided himself on being the person Nozel went to when his patience and nerves gave out. They shared a sense of humour, which helped them trudge through many a boring social event.

In sum, their personalities were compatible – that much was obvious. Then why, Fuegoleon realised was the central question underpinning all of his musings, did it feel like there was an impenetrable wall between him and the person closest to him?

ooOoo

The cold was the worst part.

Nozel quickly grew numb to the pain of tons of water crashing relentlessly down on his back – it existed, it ate away at him from the background, but it did not command his attention. Truly, the stiffness in his joints was worse, a mounting tension never releasing. The pretty white pebbles dug sharply into his knees, making him twitch unpredictably, and each time it happened Nozel let out a surprised hiss, struggling to keep his footing.

No, the pain he could manage. The cold was chipping away at the will keeping him upright.

He was drenched, but it went deeper than mere water passing over his body. The chill of the dungeon was like a power of its own, a force capable of strategic premeditation. It sank hooks deep into his flesh, select entry points, and from there it spread like a disease. He felt his bones as shards of ice, digging into him. His muscles glaciers, his very blood frozen in his veins.

Nozel hated the cold. Always had. The last time he’d felt warm he’d been held in his mother’s arms, and even the faint memory of it was being stolen from him, washed away with the tide, dissolving into nothing. With each passing second his tired body screamed at his exhausted mind that he was making it up, it wasn’t real, as though warmth did not exist in the world and had never existed.

ooOoo

On day three of Nozel’s educational tour, Fuegoleon summoned his discipline and reigned in his idle philosophising.

He and Nozel were close – period. Soul bond or not, that was a fact. He was getting so lost in comparing the people in his life – the complex threads they wove into the tapestry of his life – that he was forgetting that the soul marks were, in the end, a curious bit of magic and nothing more. They did not signify a realised connection – they denoted no relationship.

Shamefully, Fuegoleon had fallen victim to the fanciful musings of the masses, indulging in baseless speculation and gossip, even if just in his own mind. Dissecting every facet of his and Nozel’s companionship was unbecoming – not to mention disrespectful. Such scrutiny and over what? A parlour trick. Their decades-long relationship deserved more than that.

Asserting his reason so, Fuegoleon resolutely stopped thinking about it.

ooOoo

Even later, Nozel could never tell exactly when he started hallucinating.

There was nothing but the deafening roar of the water around him, its glow blinding, the sheer might of its volume agonising. Within that deep, guttural groan, he thought he heard voices.

I love you very much, my dear.

Not even her exact words. This wasn’t the mother of his memories, yet that spectre of the past was fading, inaccessible beneath the noise. Undeserved.

ooOoo

Brother Nozel? Why did you send me away?

Not Noelle. She would never ask so bluntly, just as prideful as any royal. How could he explain to her that he believed he was keeping her safe? That the curse around his neck was a danger he believed she couldn’t handle, that pushing her away would protect her?

Did I … did I really kill mother?

Not Noelle. Not Noelle. She’d never believe that. Noelle was smart – she knew their mother loved all of them so much, that she would lay her life down for any of her children in a heartbeat. She did. Noelle was smart.

ooOoo

You’re an embarrassment of a Captain!

Not Nebra. She was far away.

I wish you weren’t my brother!

Not Solid. Not Solid. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

ooOoo

You branded me. You spent years despising the brand somebody else left on you, and now you’ve done the same thing to me.

Not Fuegoleon. He didn’t know about the curse. He didn’t.

Nozel trashed – the chains quickly yanked him back in check. He stopped struggling – the force holding him decreased.

The trap fed on his mana. As soon as he ran out, it would release. He just had to wait it out. He had to endure until it was over.

ooOoo

I loved you when you were little.

He’d always been little. She’d never met him as an adult. This gentle whisper sounded like her but it was not her voice.

ooOoo

His mind held up surprisingly long, all things considered.

ooOoo

Allowing you to become a Captain was a mistake.

Why? He’d given his all into it, he’d pushed so hard, worked himself to the breaking point, so why? He was in so much pain, why wasn’t the Wizard King helping him?

I hate you.

Deserved. Nozel had failed her, he’d failed his little sister in every possible way, he’d done his best to protect her, to save her from going through the pain of growing strong to protect herself and he’d failed.

I asked you to protect my children. I asked one thing of you, Nozel, and you disappointed me.

He’d tried so hard. All these years, every second with a chokehold around his throat, fighting to put one foot in front of the other, he’d tried. It was so hard, it hurt so much, why wouldn’t anyone help him?

You never asked for help.

It hit Nozel with cruel clarity, then, that he’d never heard Fuegoleon sound disappointed in him before.

ooOoo

His world narrowed down to the water beneath him, the pretty white pebbles glistening in the sky-blue glow. Nothing mattered but maintaining the distance between himself and these pebbles. Nothing mattered but keeping his battered body upright, because the second those pebbles touched the mark on his face he would drown.

ooOoo

Keeping his eyes open grew harder. They burned in the gentle glow of the lake.

ooOoo

His lungs screamed from the damp air.

ooOoo

He couldn’t stop shivering. Every minute movement sent tingles of pain through his arms. He begged silently that they would just fall off.

ooOoo

Nozel was the only one to inherit his mother’s steel element. Secretly, he’d always considered his father’s water to be inherently weaker. An eternity beneath a waterfall was teaching him otherwise.

Despite his best efforts, he was bent nearly in two. His arms arched up and back, his shoulders burning with the strain. The force of the water had pushed his clothes down, pooling them at his lower back, exposing him to the harsh torment. The current whispered in his ears, threats and promises and more threats – the pretty white pebbles beckoned alluringly. It could be over. It could be over nearly instantly. What was even keeping him upright? Did he like the pain in his knees that much? Did he enjoy the fresh suffering each crystal clear drop tortured out of him?

You’re my least favourite child. Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. You never stood a chance to make me proud.

Nozel hadn’t cried since the day his mother had been taken from him. Staring straight down at his very possible doom, he honestly couldn’t tell if any of the numerous droplets breaching the pristine surface came from him.

ooOoo

By the time the tip of his nose touched the water, the hallucinations had mostly abated.

He hadn’t given up. That much he could still claim for himself, humiliatingly defeated by a dungeon trap of all things though he was. He never surrendered. Never stopped fighting. His strength just wasn’t enough.

“Brother Nozel!”

Terror unlike any he’d ever felt flooded Nozel as he realised the sound was too muted by the waterfall to be one of the sharp hallucinations. It was real. His clothes were a mess. Noelle was really here and she might see-

A crash sounded somewhere – outside the cave.

An echo – just an echo. Noelle was near, but she hadn’t yet seen him.

Nozel was almost out of mana – if he could hold out for just a bit more, if she got lost in the cave system, he could still fix this.

He pulled weakly against the chains. His entire body was numb, each movement sluggish and uncoordinated. He persisted. The trap fed on his mana – the more he struggled, the more energy it needed to keep him at bay. He could force it to drain his reserves faster at the cost of hastening his own exhaustion. High risk, high reward.

There was nothing he wouldn’t risk for his siblings.

But he was not good enough.

He was already dangerously close to the water – one slip, one second of his knees giving out, and he was as good as dead. His frantic, undignified movements only aggravated the situation. There was only so much strain a human muscle could take.

Nozel felt something in his core give and collapsed forward. The chains yanked his arms back, not slowing his descent for even a second, but adding fresh, excruciating pain as something popped.

His face hit the water with a splat. The cold rushed into his eyes, his mouth, his nose. His brow touched the pretty white pebbles. This was it. He was going to die. He was going to drown in five inches of water. He was going to leave his mother unavenged.

“Nozel!”

“Brother Nozel!”

No. No, no no. For him to hear them so clearly from beneath the water, they must have been close. They must have been in the cave. He opened his mouth to warm them, to yell at them not to come any closer, the trap was still active and it was big enough for more, but of course nothing came out but the last of his breath, bubbles tickling his face as if to mock him as dread squished down the last of his hope, the final meek delusions he’d constructed for himself to keep his sanity. In the end, he couldn’t protect anyone.

And then it stopped.

Everything happened at once. The chains gave out and Nozel fell fully into the lake, no strength left to even pull himself up. The waterfall ceased completely. Silence, blessed silence, descended into the cave.

Then there was splashing, offensively loud, then burning hot fingers gripping his shoulders, pulling him out.

Nozel couldn’t open his eyes from coughing, but he knew perfectly who was in front of him. Who else had a hand whose touch licked like a literal flame?

“I have him – go help the others!”

The words barely registered, and there were more exchanged afterwards, but Nozel could follow nothing more. He couldn’t keep himself upright – he couldn’t open his eyes.

“She’s gone,” Fuegoleon spoke quietly, and Nozel felt himself deflating, slipping out of the supporting grip. The first spark of relief since getting caught in the trap fluttered to life in his chest. She hadn’t seen. It was of utmost importance that she not see.

“She didn’t see anything,” Fuegoleon reassured, his scorching hands roaming Nozel’s wrecked body, fighting for purchase.

Had he said that out loud? It didn’t matter – what mattered was that Noelle didn’t know.

Nozel heard Fuegoleon grunt, then felt himself being pulled up. A doomed effort – his feet couldn’t support him, he couldn’t feel them at all, couldn’t move them even for a twitch. To his credit, Fuegoleon quickly caught up to speed and gave up on the dignified method of supporting a mostly-walking-on-his-own Nozel. He gripped Nozel’s slippery skin tightly and dragged him through the water.

Nozel flinched at every swish. He couldn’t stop trembling.

Touching the dirt shore drew an unbecoming whimper out of him.

“Flame Recovery Magic: Crimson Lion’s Mane!”

The warmth on his iced body came as such a shock that Nozel’s breath fled his lungs in a gasp and his limbs flailed. One of them made contact – he heard Fuegoleon exhale, and for a fleeting second guilt stabbed his chest, but then the recovery magic hit and he blessedly felt nothing at all.

Seconds or many centuries later, his eyes blinked open. A gorgeous mantle of moving flames covered his entire body, animated and red-hot, familiar like his own mercury. Fuegoleon was leaning over him, adjusting his clinging wet clothes beneath the spell.

Still in a daze, the first thing Nozel noted about him was his expression – stern, focused, those sharp Vermillion features still as though carved from jade. Mesmerising. Then his reason caught up to him and he hurriedly glanced down at his cousin’s neck – nothing. No cursemark. He either hadn’t seen, or hadn’t connected the dots on what he’d seen.

The relief crashed over Nozel like a wave, nearly overwhelming. He must have made a sound, because Fuegoleon’s head snapped sharply to meet his eyes.

“Does it still hurt?”

Nozel didn’t have it in him to speak – his throat was completely dry, scratchy, and he feared his voice would come out like a child’s – and so he merely shook his head.

Fuegoleon, bless him, believed him, and finished clumsily tying his collar to the front. He then let the crimson mantle fall on Nozel fully, and warmth sank into his skin, chasing out the cold as though it’d never existed.

“Stay awake,” Fuegoleon said sharply.

Nozel hadn’t even felt himself close his eyes. He made a sound to reassure his rival – he wasn’t that stupid.

“Nozel! Stay awake!”

Of course he was staying awake. He wasn’t that stupid-

ooOoo

Nozel blinked awake in his own bed in his own room.

For one blissful second, the entire ordeal was just a dream. Then he felt his body – his back, on silk sheets, one giant bruise; his knees trembling minutely even as he lay still, a warning to not even think about rising; his shoulders tender and swollen.

It had happened. He’d survived it.

He was thirsty. What irony. Nozel forced his stiff neck to move, and found a glass on his nightstand. He also found someone in his armchair, dragged next to the bed.

Fuegoleon was gazing out the window, deep in thought. His brow was set in a frown, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

How many times had Nozel sat in a similar chair, wearing a similar expression, keeping vigil over someone who might wake in a minute, might in a year? Might never? How many hours had he spent guarding a wounded body, nurturing the bond between them from the brink of decay with his patience and his will and his unshed tears?

Not because of any silly pull of fate. Because he’d chosen to, of his own free will.

Nozel was fairly certain he’d made no sound, but Fuegoleon turned to him regardless. For a few moments, the two merely looked at each other.

Nozel refused to consider the reason he sank deeper into his bed was because the patient attention waiting for him in his cousin’s eyes soothed him. He was an adult.

He made a gesture at the glass and Fuegoleon passed it to him. Without fuss, he helped Nozel into a halfway sitting position, just enough to drink, then eased him back down.

As he returned to his chair, he spoke. “The children made it out alright. A bit spooked by the dark, but neither of them realised what was going on. They thought you stayed behind to fight a monster.”

That explained the delay in rescue – the locals thought he was doing his job as a Magic Knight and hadn’t raised the alarm until he’d grown worrying late. Factor in the remote location, the time needed first for the news to travel, then for backup to arrive – the odds were stacked against him. Poor luck, the same Nozel had enjoyed his entire life.

“That trap got you good. Two dislocated shoulders, blocked circulation, severe bruising and internal bleeding. Owen drained the pneumonia out of your lungs for three hours.”

Nozel was glad he hadn’t been awake for that.

“How long?”

“Seventeen hours. A bit more and the hypothermia would have shut down your organs.”

Given that he’d been drowning at the time, Nozel considered hypothermia at the very bottom of his priorities. Still, it reminded him of something.

“I didn’t know you could do recovery magic.”

“It’s still in the practicing stage. We didn’t bring Mimosa with us.”

It had felt more than adequate to Nozel in the moment, but he knew his rival did not suffer from false modesty – the spell probably truly was nothing special. Yet. But the heat he’d felt – that had been real. Nozel was sure of it. Even now, his skin radiated a faint chill, rebelling against the notion of warmth even though someone had piled three blankets on him. He longed for that heat again.

He said nothing of the sort out loud, of course. He still had his dignity.

“Noelle?” he forced himself to ask.

“She’s here,” Fuegoleon looked at him then, as though expecting something. Nozel couldn’t begin to understand what. “The messenger ran into a few Black Bulls in the forsaken realm. Their spatial mage came to find me.”

Of course it had to be the Black Bulls. Nozel sighed.

“Any trouble?”

“There was a great magical beast lurking in the dungeon. The mana the trap drained from you interrupted its slumber. It was very reluctant to allow anyone in.”

Meaning they’d had to fight and probably kill it, while he’d been helpless to do anything-

“The children handled it,” Fuegoleon told him gently. “They’re more capable than you give them credit for.”

Nozel felt himself bristling. The insinuation that he was a poor judge of ability-

He couldn’t fully summon his own indignation – their voices must have finally attracted attention, for loud, rushed steps echoed beyond the bedroom. There was nary a second of warning before his door burst open (so loud!) and Solid and Nebra ran into the room with crazed urgency unbefitting royals.

“Brother!” they cried in unison and sprinted towards the bed.

Nozel closed his eyes as though that would halt the approaching headache.

His siblings hesitated at his bedside for a second, shifting like small kids as they exchanged glances between them. Eventually, Nebra grasped his hand in both of hers and sat sideway on the edge of his bed.

“Nozel,” she whispered, then choked.

She was crying, he realised abruptly.

Behind her, Solid was wiping his eyes on his sleeve, resolutely keeping quiet though his bottom lip was trembling.

Something sharp and painful lodged itself between Nozel’s ribs. Though every reasonable part of him was telling him to mind their dignity – there was guest in the room for crying out loud! – he pushed himself up and pulled Nebra into his chest.

Good lord, it hurt. Every part of him hurt, and he could only wrap one arm around her because he needed the other to barely stay upright, and the way she clung and rested most of her weight on him was not helping.

There was nowhere he’d rather be.

Nebra’s tears and snot gathered on his silk sleep robe. He couldn’t stop a grimace from overtaking his face as he realised it, but he forced all complaints down. Over Nebra’s shoulder, he saw Solid snicker at his reaction, then school his features at Nozel’s answering glare. He seemed in good spirits once more.

He embraced Nebra for as long as he was able – much too short, as he felt his arm on the brink of giving out. Before that could happen and embarrass them both, he gently pushed her away and reclined against the headboard.

“Unbecoming,” he admonished, then cleared his throat. “You’re a royal – show your upbringing.”

“Yes, Nozel,” Nebra sniffled, then straightened. Her eyes looked back at him red and puffy, but she steeled her expression and stood. “Do you need anything?”

“Peace and quiet,” he sighed.

Solid and Nebra nodded and retreated quickly. Nozel glanced at Fuegoleon, who’d remained unobtrusive in the armchair throughout the entire exchange. He looked sombre, as was appropriate, but Nozel knew him, and could see the faint glint of amusement in his eyes.

He envied his cousin, who had always communicated with his siblings so easily. Were Fuegoleon on the bed and Leo the one crying, Nozel was certain his rival would have found the words. Would have told his little sibling he was sorry to worry him, that it was fine. That he was not weak for crying. That he was happy to see him.

There was yet another silhouette in the doorway. Nozel blinked, making out the hunched form backlight from the hall.

“Noelle-”

“I’m sorry, Brother Nozel,” she whispered. “I’ll leave you be.”

Nozel winced as she turned away. He wanted to call out to her, ask her to come in, but how could he? How could he speak, when every word out of his mouth was dangerous, when the wrong sound at the wrong time would doom her to his own suffering? He’d trained himself so rigorously to never let out the words he truly wanted to say, because those words would hurt others. Because his burdens were his own to bear, and the only way he could ensure no one else would be ensnared by fate was to keep them all at a safe distance.

By the time he’d realised silence could hurt as well, it’d been too late. He’d become too set in his ways, the collar around his throat too tight to fight against.

For all that he prided himself on his royal will, Nozel had surrendered to his flaws long ago.

Glancing at Fuegoleon hurt in a way it hadn’t before. Nozel had never looked at his rival in shame, yet he felt it now as his cousin became intimate witness to just how badly he’d failed a task Fuegoleon himself excelled at. Their rivalry was founded on respect, on recognising the other as worthy competition, yet at that moment Nozel couldn’t lay claim to any worth next to his rival.

Fuegoleon looked at him sternly, knowingly. Normally that look would annoy Nozel – what does he know? – but at that moment it chastised him. Shamefully, weakly, he looked away, unable to bear it.

Silence settled, torturous and loud. Nozel cursed himself over and over again, yet was too anguished to fend for himself or ask for reprieve.

Giving credit to his shame, it was Fuegoleon who breached the gap that by any account should have been breached by Nozel.

“She’ll forgive you,” his cousin said softly, with the kind of finality only Fuegoleon was capable of.

What good was absolution in the face of his sins? The curse around Nozel’s neck tightened painfully, a mocking agreement that indeed, he was little beyond a wretch. Forgiveness would be insult to the injury at that point.

“Pray,” he managed, his throat suddenly dry, his tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Do not speak of this.”

The coward’s way out. Nozel had never felt more unworthy. He failed to live up to standard, a disappointment through and through, and after he’d put his claim on Fuegoleon’s very skin.

That fact that he’d played no active part in it was irrelevant. He’d spent months keeping his vigil above his rival’s bed, despising from the bottom of his heart whoever had dared to maim him by dishonest means, whoever had left a permanent trace on his flaming body. A small mark may have been little compared to a lost limb, but Nozel felt just as much of a scum for putting it there while not worthy for the regard it implied, the regard his status as Fuegoleon’s rival and confidant implied.

“Nozel.”

He did not sound disappointed, but then again, Fuegoleon Vermillion was above such things.

“You would do well to follow your own advice,” his cousin told him. “Wallowing in self-pity is unbecoming. Show your upbringing.”

Nozel sputtered in indignation and turned sharply to face his rival. The gal-

Fuegoleon was looking awfully smug, lounging casually in the armchair with his ancle crossed other the opposite knee. Nozel had never seen him quite this easy-going, and it was enough of a shock to his system that he snapped out of his foolish downward spiral.

With a nod, he acknowledged that Fuegoleon was indeed right. This … this pouting and sulking was unbecoming of him. He was a royal, and Grand Magic Knight and Magic Knights Captain, he had his pride and he had the confidence that he could accomplish anything he set his mind to. Including being a worthy rival. Including defeating Megicula. Including sitting upon the throne of the Wizard King.

Thus settled, Nozel took the time to assume a comfortable position. He had a feeling he would be out of commission for a bit, and it was wise to get used to his bed in the day hours for the time being. Fuegoleon helped him adjust his blankets, and his fingers brushed against Nozel’s collar.

His sleep robe collar. That someone had put him into after bringing him here.

Dread flooded Nozel.

“Nozel,” Fuegoleon’s voice was grave, all trace of lightness forgotten. “Is that a c-”

Nozel didn’t even feel himself moving. He hadn’t imagined he had the strength, but one moment he was on his bed with Fuegoleon hovering over him, the next he was upright, clutching at Fuegoleon’s shoulder because his legs couldn’t support him, one hand clasped maniacally over his rival’s mouth.

His mind was completely blank. The only thing that existed was preventing Fuegoleon from saying it, because then it would be too late. His neck was clear, there was still time. Nozel only had to prevent him from saying it, without saying it himself.

Fuegoleon, predictably, did not react charitably to such assault. He lunged backwards, trying to dislodge Nozel, but he couldn’t let that happen. He snapped his other hand from his cousin’s shoulder to the back of his head instead, making it harder for the hand keeping Fuegoleon silent to be removed.

He held on with all he had. He stared into Fuegoleon’s angry eyes and shook his head, trying to convey in the only way he could think of how dangerous this was, pleading silently for trust, for the confidence his rival had always afforded him.

Nozel could only imagine what he must have looked like – weak, wounded, unkept. Probably crazed, refusing to say anything and shaking his head like a madman. He could think of nothing else to do. His heartbeat thundered too loudly in his ears to hear reason.

He realised, at about the same time he grew light of breath, that Fuegoleon had stopped resisting, stopped trying to push him away, and was instead, in fact, holding him upright. One of his hands rubbed up and down Nozel’s flank, on the left side, the spot where Fuegoleon’s soul mark lay, up and down.

Any disgust Nozel might have felt at being soothed like a spooked animal evaporated as Fuegoleon stared right back into his eyes (not the damn mark. His eyes. Him) and nodded, once. Sharp, resolute. Understanding.

Nozel cautiously drew his hand back. Fuegoleon nodded a second time, lips pressed into a line, unspeaking.

With relief flooding through him, whatever adrenaline rush had pushed him forward left Nozel completely. He slumped, and Fuegoleon grunted as he caught him.

He was warm – Nozel, through the mental and physical exhaustion, noted that as Fuegoleon, patient as a saint, delivered him back to his bed. He was so warm. Only, warm wasn’t the right word. A blanket was warm. Sunlight was warm. A candleflame was warm. Fuegoleon was incendiary, an inferno, his intense heat qualification enough to dub him a true Crimson Lion. Holding onto his flaming arm, Nozel was unsurprised that it didn’t burn him, but he wished ardently that it would, that he could feel that heat sink into his bones and chase out the cold trapped in there for years already. Selfishly, he coveted that heat for himself.

After he was all set up in bed (again), Fuegoleon watched him for a few long moments. He had agreed not to speak of it, and Nozel trusted his word. Yet he was evidently thinking about it, and Nozel knew better than to expect someone as tenacious as his rival not to seek out information in other ways.

“Patience,” he begged. Promised.

Fuegoleon nodded. A vow sealed.

Before they had a chance to talk about anything else, Nebra returned, once again perfectly composed, to announce Owen had arrived to start the rest of Nozel’s healing.

ooOoo

If there was something Fuegoleon understood about his rival, it was Nozel’s pride. He was the archetype for a royal – any hint, a mere suggestion of lack of composure he regarded with utter contempt. Cognisant of that, Fuegoleon left him to lick his wounds in private, and retreated to his duties for the rest of the week.

Inevitably, his thoughts wandered.

He remembered the moment he’d crossed the portal to the dungeon, a battle already brewing by its entrance – the Black Bulls (and Leo, for some reason, although that shouldn’t have been surprising – he and Asta were rivals, after all) versus an angry, territorial beast.

Using the brawl as a distraction to sneak in with Noelle – following the mana into a side tunnel.

He had expected to find Nozel wounded – the information given to them had been battle with a monster, so that had seemed like the most plausible explanation for why he hadn’t emerged on his own. The possibility of a trap hadn’t occurred to Fuegoleon until he’d seen the water.

But the specifics were beside the point. Fuegoleon was a reflective person, true, but he knew well to differentiate between learning from the past and letting it enslave him. The shock and rage he’d felt back then belonged to that cave, not to the present.

What was worth contemplating, in his opinion, was Nozel’s reaction. He’d been trapped for hours, to great toll on his health, yet the first thing he’d said to Fuegoleon, in a horse voice scratchy with delirium, had been to not allow Noelle to see.

It had seemed so normal at the time. Fuegoleon, conscious of Nozel’s pride and the older brother instinct to never allow their younger siblings to see them in pain, had shielded her view even before being asked. Had the situations been reversed, he wouldn’t have wanted Leo to see him either – how easily he’d rationalised his cousin’s behaviour. Hadn’t even questioned it.

Now he was aware there was something deeper. He hadn’t recognised the curse as such at first, thinking it just another bruise, of which Nozel had sported too many owing to the trap. After Owen had taken care of most of that damage, the nature of the black mark had become evident. Fuegoleon had personally made sure Nozel’s collar covered it after that.

It sat wrong with him. He hadn’t even heard of curses before the Spade Kingdom had become a direct threat. To think his closest companion had walked around with one, hidden right beneath his nose, for how long? Fuegoleon tried to think of the last time he’d seen Nozel’s neck. His memory conjured nothing but the elaborate collars his rival incorporated into every outfit, regardless of the weather. Could this really have gone on for so long? Years?

Surely not. Nozel was a Grand Magic Knight, a Captain on par with Fuegoleon – the two of them ranked among the top in the kingdom, in the continent. Surely sigh a peak couldn’t have been reached with a handicap such as a curse?

Asta flashed in Fuegoleon’s mind. Indeed, he was well-aware any hardship could be overcome – any obstacle surmounted. It was not the notion that Nozel had struggled more than he had to get to where they both were that unsettled him – if that were true, it would not disturb but motivate him, ignite the spark of pride and competition in him that had always kept him toe to toe with his cousin.

No, the source of his discomfort was something else.

Why didn’t he tell me?

Nozel was a private person. He guarded his weaknesses more zealously than any royal. Yet Fuegoleon had believed, owing to their rivalry, that he was granted more confidence. That Nozel confided in him the way Fuegoleon did.

Had he deceived himself? Had he misjudged their relationship? That was the truly unsettling thought – that he’d put more stock into their companionship than Nozel ever had.

His thoughts strayed back to the soul marks then. He knew, rationally, that they meant absolutely nothing – that he should refrain from drawing any conclusions regarding his connections based on them. And yet … and yet.

He and Nozel had been meant to meet. Their souls matched harmoniously. Was he supposed to disregard that outright?

Frustrated, Fuegoleon gave up on reading the reports on his desk. Outstanding conduct by his brigade, stars awarded – he truly could not absorb any of it. He looked out the window – the Royal Capital was mostly completely rebuilt, owing to weeks of efforts. The rest of the kingdom was following slowly.  

He’d missed so much … but it wasn’t the time to think about that. He’d made his peace with it already. He had been able to help save his kingdom, in the end. Who could have asked for more?

His one regret was failing to support his brother along the way, but then again, Mereoleona had filled in for him.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He and Mereoleona covered for each other. Until a few days ago, Fuegoleon would have said that he and Nozel covered for each other too, in their own ways.

Had he been wrong about that?

He groaned. Sulking about it in his office wasn’t bringing him any closer to a solution. This uncharacteristic passiveness was unbecoming of him – it was time to act.

He stood. Sunset was approaching, but he was certain Nozel would not mind the imposition.

(Fuegoleon had been told, by an amused Mereoleona, that Nozel had, at several separate points, visited his bedside at night and stayed until daybreak.)

Sneaking the distance across their respective palaces brought him back to the old days, back when they were kids and no curses or soul marks existed.

ooOoo

After four days of strict bedrest, Nozel was becoming stir crazy.

The silence was bearable. His entire brigade queueing in front of his bedroom wasn’t.

He appreciated the gesture for what it represented – their respect and affection. He loved his peace and quiet more.

Noelle did not return to visit. He told himself it was for the best.

Finally able to walk on his own again, albeit not for very long, Nozel enjoyed his last day of Owen-mandated inactivity by hiding from every unprofessional visit. He re-discovered broom closets and servant passageways of the Silva palace he hadn’t laid eyes on since he was a preteen. Owen would probably object to all the dust he inhaled, but Owen wasn’t there to see him.

Finally satisfied with his adventures after the sun had set, Nozel returned to his chambers.

Only to be immediately greeted by his very anxious valet. “Visitor for you, My Lord.”

Years of practice allowed Nozel to stop himself from growling. “Who?”

“Lord Vermillion, My Lord. He’s been waiting for a while.”

Nozel felt his shoulders drop several inches as he exhaled. “I will receive him now. Dismissed.”

“Shall I have refreshments sent, My Lord?”

“No need,” Nozel waved him away and headed for the parlour.

Fuegoleon waited by the third window. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening. Once he and Nozel locked eyes, he turned to face him completely.

“And here I was told you were ‘busy’,” he huffed, amused.

Nozel looked at him, uncomprehending.

Fuegoleon huffed again, then took the three steps between them and pulled a cobweb from Nozel’s hair. Ah. Broom closet present.

He scoffed, refusing to be embarrassed. Walking anywhere in his palace was his damn right, including dusty, cobweb-y spaces. If Fuegoleon had wanted a swifter reception, he should have come at a more acceptable time.

“I took a walk,” he explained, mostly to see his rival’s mounting amusement.

Fuegoleon smirked, a small and private thing, gone in an instant. He crossed his arms.

“And here I hoped I could invite you to walk with me.”

Nozel was fairly tired after days of taxing recovery and his truly exhausting enterprise over the day, but he nevertheless nodded.

They walked shoulder to shoulder over to the gardens – a veritable maze of tall hedges and out of season flowers that both of them could traverse with ease. Had been able to for years, if not decades. The winter air was crisp, and their breath came out in faint clouds.

There was no light in the gardens – Fuegoleon conjured a fireball and set it perpetually a couple of steps before them to illuminate the path.

The two started making their way towards the centre of the maze.

Nozel decided to take control of the conversation before it was taken from him.

“I know you have questions,” he opened drily. “I cannot give you answers yet.”

“I assumed as much,” Fuegoleon nodded. “That is not why I’m here.”

“Then why?” Nozel frowned.

Fuegoleon hesitated. Nozel had never seen him hesitate before. He had half a mind to halt, grip his cousin and twist him around until they were face to face, but the respect he felt stopped him more so than propriety.  

His patience was rewarded – a couple of turns later, and Fuegoleon glanced his way again.

“If you could tell me, would you? Would you have told me before?”

Before what? Before they became Magic Knights? Before their rivalry was serious?

Before the soul marks?

Nozel grit his teeth. As with everything related to the stupid soul bond, his initial reaction was frustration. But that was not fair – Fuegoleon had not brought them into the conversation, not even implicitly. This was just Nozel’s residual frustration talking. He took a deep breath, forced his jaw to relax. He owed it to his cousin to give the question due attention.

Almost his entire conscious life, speech had been forbidden to him. Not completely, but meaningfully – he felt the cursemark pushing against his throat with each inhale, each swallow. His every word had to pass through the grate of it, a fine sieve which dictated whether those he cared for were safe, whether he had a chance to avenge his mother. Moderation had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember.

If that were no longer the case – no, if it had never been the case, would he have spoken of it? Would he have gone to Fuegoleon for help?

How could he answer such a question? How would he even go about it? The possibility of it felt nebulous and distant, even as demons were within sight, the battle ever approaching. It was all less real compared to the squeeze around his neck.

Was it a fault with him that he could not imagine himself free?

“I do not know,” he admitted, both thankful to be able to offer the truth and annoyed that the truth wasn’t something more.

Fuegoleon frowned, the expression severe on his defined features, then nodded solemnly. Whatever he thought of that, he did not share. Instead, he reached out – he took Nozel’s arm and linked it with his own.

Nozel, whose legs had begun to hurt, silently accepted the support. On, towards the centre of the maze they went.

Even through their clothes, Nozel felt his rival’s heat. It was his flesh and blood arm he was holding onto, but it might as well have been naked flame. It was welcome in the quickly cooling winter night.

Pressed together like that, Nozel’s thoughts strayed, as they often had since the fateful night in the dungeon, towards the man whose soul apparently matched his own.

He’d never given much thought to the multitude of intimacies he and Fuegoleon were afforded. He certainly couldn’t walk like this with another member of royalty or nobility, in the middle of the night in a deserted garden. He couldn’t receive anyone else in his private chambers so late at night. He couldn’t have anyone else keeping watch at his bedside unsupervised.

Their lives blended together seamlessly, the product of careful work on their part to circumvent protocol and tradition while respecting their status as royals and Grand Magic Knights. It was certainly not all sunshine and roses between them, but such an arrangement would be antithetical to a proper rivalry.

Rivals, cousins. Nozel had other cousins, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to walk arm in arm with him. There was no other person alive whose touch he desired.

He desired not only the present they shared, but the future. The promise that, so long as they were deserving of each other as rivals, they would have each other’s confidence and attention. It went beyond trust – Nozel trusted a lot of people, was forced to trust them owing to a myriad of factors. He couldn’t safeguard an entire kingdom on his own. But none of these people had promised him a place at their side for as long as they were both chasing the same goal.

And therein lay the crux of the issue, didn’t it? Had they ever chased the same goal? Fuegoleon – magical excellence, the Wizard King throne. Nozel – his revenge. His freedom. For the majority of it, at least.

Unconsciously, he gripped Fuegoleon’s arm tighter. Even if it was invalid, even if he’d cheated to get what he had, he still did not want to lose it.

“Have a care, cousin,” Fuegoleon admonished softly, then peeled Nozel’s hand away slowly. He smoothed out his disturbed sleeve, then linked their arms the opposite way, so that he was holding onto Nozel instead. Granding him the heat he craved but denying him the grip, the claim to control, the entitlement.

Or maybe it was just to protect his clothes. Maybe Nozel was reading too much into it. He sighed, then rubbed his forehead as though that would save him the headache.

They reached the centre of the maze. In the middle of the small clearing waited a fountain, drained of water for the winter. Immediately in front of it was a bench. Nozel had never sat on it, the spot too inconvenient to seek out with any regularity.

Fuegoleon steered them that way, and extinguished his fire as they sat down. The darkness engulfed them, so complete one might have forgotten they were in the middle of the Royal Capital, that there were two royal palaces bordering this place.

Nozel was loath to admit an ache curled in his chest when Fuegoleon let go of him.

He looked to his rival in the darkness. He saw a silhouette, a bright red mark on a forehead. A pair of eyes. He wondered what Fuegoleon saw. If the soul mark somehow stood out even in the blackness of night. If there would ever be a moment where they could forget it existed.

He longed so painfully to reach out. He didn’t.

“Do you still want to be the Wizard King?” Fuegoleon asked at length.

“Yes,” an automatic response. Nozel was not as cowardly as to not think about the future after he’d avenged his mother. It had admittedly few constants in it, but this was nevertheless one of them.

“Then do you still want to be my rival?”

Nozel hissed, eyes narrowed as he wondered, mutely, what could have prompted that question.

“What is this?” he asked, forgetting to bury his defensiveness.

“Do you not answer?”

“Of course I’m your rival!”

“But do you want to be?”

Nozel was no admirer of little semantic games. He dismissed it with a huff.

“Whatever thoughts cloud your judgement, banish them. Nothing has changed.”

Fuegoleon sighed. “I fear my understanding has changed.”

And just like that, Nozel deflated. Lowered his head as though he wasn’t a royal, as though the darkness could conceal him from his own shame. He hadn’t cried since the day he’d lost his mother, yet he felt like he could weep as yet another person began slipping through his fingers like water.

His cousin’s voice brought him back to the present. “Would you have told me?”

A second chance. Practically a plea – Fuegoleon was handing him the opportunity to make it right on a silver platter. To pull the veil back in place, to obscure the messy truth, to bring it all back to the way it’d been before. He could fix everything, if only he sacrificed the only possibility (of a kind) to tell the truth he’d had in his life.

A very straightforward choice. His freedom, or his soul.

Nozel bowed his head. “I do not know.” He had nothing but himself to give. Nothing but the truth.

Fuegoleon was a fire burning next to him. His palm came to rest on Nozel’s shoulder.

“Sleep well, cousin.”

And then it was gone. Slipped away into the night along with Fuegoleon, down a different path, away from the Silva palace. Away from the one who’d fed him only lies, except the one time it mattered. Away from Nozel.

ooOoo

The sun rose the next morning like it always had. For a second, Fuegoleon was nearly offended at the audacity, then he caught the absurdity of his own thoughts and banished them.

He was, on occasion, prone to sentimentality. Losing a rivalry going on for two decades was just the sort of thing to put him off work in favour of melancholy – no. Not a rivalry. Nozel had confirmed to him, in the gardens, that they were still rivals. Yet the sense of loss lurking in Fuegoleon’s chest was undeniable – just what had broken between them under the cover of night?

As he forced himself out of bed, Fuegoleon caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His wasn’t as large as Nozel’s, but he still saw the black mark on his left flank. Seeing it for the first time, he’d felt proud, fond. Now its appearance brought him a heavy helping of misery. Was this what lay broken among the flowers? The companionship that supposedly spanned down to his soul?

Fuegoleon sighed, gathered his spirit. He’d suffered defeat before. He did not like it, but he could survive it. He could put one foot in front of the other. He could be the Grand Magic Knight he’d always strived to become.

Nozel had always been a private person. He’d either handle his troubles, or he wouldn’t. He’d either come to Fuegoleon afterwards, or he wouldn’t. Much as Fuegoleon hated to think himself helpless, he’d done his part, said his piece. The ball was in the other court.

ooOoo

He was surprised to find Mereoleona at the breakfast table – her comings and goings were as unpredictable as the wind. He hadn’t seen her since the battle against the demon Zagreb.

She grinned up at him while wolfing down impressive quantities of food.

“Older sister,” he greeted her, then picked out his own breakfast, prudently moving it outside the reach of her clutches.

“Idiot younger brother,” she winked at him. Winked.

Fuegoleon frowned, then forced his expression relaxed again. Nozel had taught him not to give in to provocation. It was harder with Mereoleona than with most enemies, but he was learning. Making progress.

“Heard about some marks making their way around,” she mentioned casually.

“I assume you don’t have any?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “What is the point of those things anyway?”

“They reveal two souls destined to meet.”

“Sounds like bull.”

“People believe it,” Fuegoleon shrugged noncommittally. It was hard to feign indifference when he himself believed it. How could he not?

Mereoleona eyed him over a jam scone like he was prey. He withstood her scrutiny only because he’d felt her claws before and knew he wasn’t so quick to buckle under them.

“You got one?”

Fuegoleon nodded. As per Nozel’s instruction, he’d trusted his discretion on the matter. He’d neither hidden nor paraded the mark. If asked about it, he’d divulged its nature, and if asked again he did not deny who matched it.

“Show me,” she demanded.

Fuegoleon rolled his eyes. She’d barely heard rumours about the soul marks and was already demanding he undress at the breakfast table.

He indulged her, of course. Secretly, he was curious about her opinion.

“Looks like ass,” she laughed at him.

… honestly, he didn’t know what he’d expected. He sighed, then started bringing his clothes back in order.

“You know who has the other one?”

Fuegoleon made sure he was presentable first before replying. “Nozel.”

“Ugh. That royal jerk is even more overbearing than you,” she scoffed.

“Our cousin-”

“But he’s easy on the eyes,” Mereoleona completely ignored him. “I thought his soul thingie would look good too.”

Fuegoleon wouldn’t describe Nozel as ‘easy on the eyes’ because he wasn’t twelve – the proper word for his rival was ‘handsome’, as applicable to any adult royal (Mereoleona included). Vocabulary aside, he couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Had he himself not thought the mark strange when he’d first seen it, before he’d even noticed he had the same?

What must have Nozel been thinking of it, straight across his face?

“What now?” Mereoleona asked, oblivious to Fuegoleon’s inner turmoil.

“Pardon?”

“You’ve already met,” his sister pointed out like he was stupid. “So what now? It’s just for decoration? You didn’t need any help getting uglier, foolish little brother.”

Fuegoleon exhaled steam through his nose, then forced his fists to unclench. Not at the table …

“What now?” he repeated, the held in a sigh. “Nothing changes. Why would it?”

Mereoleona looked at him with a blank expression for a moment, then shrugged. Apparently the matter was finished to her. She continued her breakfast.

Fuegoleon ate alongside her for a time, gathering his thoughts. Eventually, he grew tired of thinking.

“Want a fight?”

His sister grinned at him. “Thought you’d never ask.”

ooOoo

An hour later, Fuegoleon delivered a devastating punch to Mereoleona’s face – powered with everything he had, including Salamander. He was proud of himself.

Unfortunately, at the same time he also ate a devastating punch to the face from Mereoleona – powered with everything she had. By the smug look in her eyes, he could tell she was proud of herself.

Officially all burned up like candles, the two slumped to the floor of the training hall, now so steamed from their combined flames that it resembled a sauna more so than anything else. Fuegoleon shed his cloak and fell on top of it. Mereoleona remained propped up on her elbows, breathing heavily yet triumphant.

“Last one standing,” she teased.

Fuegoleon made a half-hearted swipe at her, which she cheerfully dodged. Then she fell on her back.

“You’re doing it again,” she said out of nowhere.

Fuegoleon, blissfully tuckered out from brawling, took an embarrassingly long time to absorb her words.

“Doing what?” he returned, because he truly had no idea.

“That,” she gestured at his torso.

Perplexed, Fuegoleon glanced down. There he found his own hand resting on his flank, thumb stroking his tunic above his soul mark lightly. The motion was subtle but undeniable – back and forth, back and forth. He frowned, then stopped. How long had he been doing that?

As if hearing his thoughts, Mereoleona added. “You were doing it at breakfast too.”

Had he really? Whyever would he do that? As far as touches went, this was oddly … intimate. Something one might do to express a great deal of affection. Fuegoleon liked his body, but not that much. He wasn’t (shudder) Kirsch.

Next to him, unaware that he was approaching a mental crisis, Mereoleona stretched with a mighty yawn.

“That rival of yours sure is keeping you sharp,” she proclaimed approvingly. “Hit him in the face from me.”

“Is that how you thanked him for visiting me?” it slipped before Fuegoleon managed to stop himself.

He’d deliberately not asked details about Nozel’s visits to his comatose bed. He’d known his cousin would appreciate his privacy. But now he needed to know. He didn’t even know why, but he felt it acutely.

“Nah, I kicked him out when he got too annoying. He kept staring at your forehead. Bet it was holding you back. Who’d wanna wake up to that?”

While the mental image of Nozel eyeing him like an actual eagle was an amusing one, Fuegoleon frowned as an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. Deliberately this time, he stroked above the soul mark again, and some of it abated. Not nearly enough.

He’d said his piece – he still believed that. The ball truly was in Nozel’s court. But maybe, just maybe, Fuegoleon hadn’t been entirely fair to ask what he had of him. Maybe it had been the wrong thing to ask. Maybe he could have found a different way.

Perhaps he still could.

ooOoo

Shame, if nothing else, was a good motivator.

That came as a surprise to Nozel – as the perfect royal, he rarely felt shame. Barring, of course, the one that stared at him in the mirror from around his throat every day.

Perhaps it spoke poorly of his character that doing wrong by one person in his life pushed him towards another one. Avoidance was unbecoming, but what could Nozel say to Fuegoleon when the truth hadn’t been enough?

“Ah? Silver royal ass?”

Yami was as crass as always. Nozel tried not to grimace, knew he’d failed when the man laughed boisterously at him.

“Oh ho ho! What brings you to our dirty hideout, your royal highness?” he sneered.

Nozel had indeed never deigned to visit the Black Bull headquarters before, and honestly, he’d thought he’d never have to. It was indeed dirty, and shabby, and impractically remote given that they were Magic Knights. Then again, this brigade allowed peasants in, so it was to be understood from the get-go that standards did not exist to them.

But apparently they vetted very carefully who went through the front door, since the Captain himself had greeted Nozel as he tried to enter.

“I wish to speak to Noelle,” he replied as coldly as he could muster.

“You came all this way? What, did a cousin die or something?”

Nozel bristled at the implication that he’d only visit on such an occasion. He also bristled at the implication that he would visit on such an occasion – he was a royal, he had countless messengers at his disposal. Delivering news was beneath him.

“Will you let me in?” he demanded.

“Yeesh, learn to unscrew that stick up your ass a little,” Yami shook his head, then finally moved his considerable bulk from the doorway.

Nozel stepped inside with mild trepidation.

The front door led to a large open room, likely the Black Bulls’ communal space. A half-naked witch was sleeping on a sofa with a wine bottle clutched in her hand. Close by a mage Nozel had never seen before, face as white as milk and heavy black circles around the eyes, was sowing what looked like dolls, smiling creepily.

The witch snored.

Nozel’s opinion of the Black Bulls soared even lower – an impressive feat he had previously considered impossible.

“Where is Noelle?” he asked, trying to stand as far away from all furniture in the room as possible.

“Oh, she’s out,” Yami threw out casually, already halfway through a door leading deeper into the building. “She’ll be back for dinner, probably. You’re welcome to wait if you want.”

Nozel sputtered. He, firstborn of the Silva royal house, wait in this place? For his younger sibling, no less?

Absolutely not. Not even shame could force him to endure such humiliation. This was irrational anyway – it wouldn’t fix whatever had broken between him and Fuegoleon, and he and Noelle had a … passable relationship either way. There was no need to do something so stupid just because, what? He felt inadequate as an older brother? Noelle was independent – she didn’t need an older brother anymore. Honestly, she probably didn’t even want one. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie, and damn Fuegoleon for making him think otherwise with his perfect relationship with Leopold!

Nozel pivoted on his heels, fully intending to march out of this dingy place and never return. Fate, however, was not on his side – when had it ever been?

Just as he lay eyes on the door, it opened, revealing two boyish figures. Asta Nozel recognised, and the Magic Knight with him was also mildly familiar. One of the peasants in the brigade, with clothes and hair of a delinquent. Utterly distasteful.

He had every intention of ignoring both of them, but then Asta opened his mouth.

“Captain Nozel?” he tilted his head to the side like a confused animal. “Why are you here?”

Who was this little whelp to question him?

“Searching for Noelle,” Nozel hissed through his teeth.

Asta either did not recognise the aggression, or was completely unperturbed by it. For the sake of his ego, Nozel choose to believe the former.

“But she’s not here right now,” he pointed out as though Nozel did not already know it. “She and Miz Charmy went shopping.”

“I do not care where she is, I-”

“You can wait here, though!” Asta beamed at him. “She won’t be long. She’ll be happy to see you!”

What did that little whelp know?

Only, Nozel wasn’t stupid. He could try to delude himself, but he knew very well Noelle would probably appreciate the visit.

Damnit. He couldn’t just leave after this.

Stoically, feeling very much like he was headed for the gallows, Nozel nodded. “Very well.”

This was what he deserved for trying to emulate Fuegoleon, he reasoned. He was not his cousin – such … sentimentality really wasn’t his style. Honestly, he could have sent her a letter. Or a summons. He shouldn’t have tried to offer a gesture, that was beneath him. What had he been thinking?

“Great! Come sit over here …”

Asta led him to a table close to the massive fireplace with passably comfortable seating around it, and hopped over to some cabinets to fish out stuff “to nibble on”. Nozel had far too much self-preservation to eat anything offered to him here, but he was also too well-mannered to say so.

As the boy laid out the spread of old scones and pitiful biscuits, Nozel caught a glimpse of his clavicle through his open uniform shirt. The mark there gave him pause.

Thinking about it, Yami had mentioned, back during the beginning of the whole soul mark debacle, that he had ‘a couple of kids’ with them. For some reason Nozel hadn’t even considered that Asta could be one of them – wouldn’t a complete lack of magic prevent such a thing? But that was an absurd thought, and Nozel felt foolish for thinking it.

He must have stared too long, an unforgivable blunder, for Asta paused in his relentless chatter (that Nozel had paid precisely zero attention to) to look down.

“Have I got something on my shirt- oh!” when he looked back up, he was smiling excitedly. “So you saw it?”

“Accidentally,” Nozel admitted reluctantly.

For some reason, that caused the boy to plop down on the sofa next to him and open his shirt more to display the full mark as though Nozel had asked him about it, all the while sporting a smile so wide his eyes were forced closed.

“Isn’t it cool?”

Nozel automatically frowned in distaste at the notion that the damned things could be ‘cool’, but he forced himself to look at the mark for the sake of politeness.

It was two clovers – one with four leaves, the other with five, mirroring each other on his skin. The motif was complete with delicate, precise lines and deep colour. It was, Nozel had to admit, aesthetically pleasing.

“It has an appeal,” he agreed, not testily, because he was a royal and royals were above being testy.

Asta seemed to accept any answer, even the most passive aggressive one, as encouragement. He droned on.

“Yuno has the other one! We’re not only rivals – we were meant to meet!”

Nozel nearly bared his teeth at that.

“Did you not grow up together?” he questioned, for some reason displeased with this peasant’s understanding of soul bonds, as though Nozel was a stern instructor and the boy before him his pupil.

“Oh yeah,” Asta nodded at length. “We were both abandoned in front of the church in Hage – the Father raised us with the other orphans. We used to only eat taters for every meal!”

Nozel couldn’t even begin to guess how that was relevant to the story, but Asta still wasn’t done.

“We always wanted to become the Wizard King to prove anyone could do it. Even peasants. Even poor orphans. So that we could take care of everyone and make them happy. That’s how we became rivals.”

He sounded so … joyous, laying out his life’s ambition like that. Nozel was almost touched.

“It’s an admirable aspiration,” he allowed. “But impossible. Driven or not, you’re still peasants. A peasant could never reach the mastery needed to become the Wizard King. And you don’t even have any magic.”

“I know, I know,” Asta waved those legitimate arguments away with a smile, like they meant nothing. Nozel was astounded. “It’s okay that you think that. I haven’t become the Wizard King yet. But once I have, you’ll see!”

“You won’t,” Nozel repeated, as though a simple failure in communication was all that was.

“Yuno might, and I’m Yuno’s rival, so I also might,” Asta beamed at him. “I’ll never give up. I’ll become the Wizard King for sure!”

“You and Yuno are not the same.”

“Of course we aren’t,” Asta sighed fondly, still annoyingly not discouraged. “Yuno is so cool … he’s a Vice Captain already. And he has more stars than me. Sometimes it feels like he’s always one step ahead. But I always catch up, in the end!”

Nozel had nothing to say to that. Plainly put, he could not comprehend what Asta was telling him.

“I do not see how you could be his rival.”

“Why not? We’ve been training since kids.”

“That is not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Nozel, frustratingly, had no definitive answer to that. The most he could offer were diversions.

“A rival is supposed to provide adequate challenge. Your difference in level is simply too great.”

“Huh? But me and Yuno haven’t fought yet! Who knows, maybe I could beat him!”

That was not an impossibility. Nozel had witnessed the young peasant fight enough times to know not to underestimate him. That anti-magic of his was unerringly effective. Yuno possessed raw mana comparable to a royal (as much as Nozel did not wish to admit it), yet it would be unfair to declare him the winner outright.

“You are not of comparable status. The Golden Dawn is the peak of Magic Knights, and the Black Bulls are the bottom.”

“But we’re both peasants, though,” Asta, impossibly, did not seem the least bit offended at that blatant insult – merely confused. “Sure, the Golden Dawn has a better reputation, but we’re all Magic Knights.”

Nozel truly wanted to tell him that there were Magic Knights, and then there were Magic Knights, but he was beginning to understand that such an argument, impossible to support empirically, would have no effect. He was already feeling stupid for engaging with the boy in the first place, he had no desire to dumb his rhetoric down for the sake of it as well.

“Besides,” Asta interrupted him. “Yuno called me his rival himself. I didn’t make him. He wanted to.”

That, out of all things, was the line that caused Nozel unbearable pain. He nearly recoiled away from the boy, stopped himself at the last second with all his royal resolve.

Coming here was a mistake. Staying was a second one. Listening to this a third. Nozel was not one to misstep so many times in a row. His closed fists were shaking. He still had time to leave.

“You have a soul mark as well, Captain Nozel.”

Somehow, the blatant stupidity of that statement shocked Nozel out of the intensity of his emotion. He stared at the boy, only now realising just how surface-level any thought in his head went. Indeed, Nozel had a soul mark. It went right across his very face. It was as impossible to miss as his signature hairstyle.

Despite his staring, Asta still waited for him to acknowledge his remark. Feeling incredibly stupid, Nozel nodded slowly. “I do, yes.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Who it is, as if the mark itself was a person and not a meaningless imposition. Nozel had a feeling he was going to hate the things for the rest of his life.

“Fuegoleon Vermillion,” he replied, because it wasn’t a secret, and he refused to feel any more shame.

Even if Fuegoleon wanted nothing to do with him (a dramatic exaggeration that Nozel allowed himself given the situation), those were still his claws across that mark. He still had the same one, and would carry it for life.

“Captain Fuegoleon? Ha! You’re rivals too, aren’t you!”

For some reason, the news seemed to excite Asta.

“Yes,” Nozel nodded, but he didn’t know himself if he was lying or not. Fuegoleon had left that night, but he hadn’t denounced him. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on Nozel’s part.

“Awesome! You were destined to be rivals like me and Yuno!” Asta cheered.

That was the last drop.

“We were not destined,” Nozel snapped. “That’s not what those mean.”

“No?”

So innocent, so genuine. Nozel longed to punch him for how honest he was in his confusion.

“Fate is not some puppeteer moving us across time,” he hissed. “There was no destiny. I decided Fuegoleon was capable and noble enough to be my rival, and I made it so.”

Such a pointless outburst. Letting the ignorance of a peasant get to him was beneath a royal. Nozel didn’t care. He hated, from the bottom of his enslaved soul, the very notion that he’d been passive in this vital aspect of his life.

“But you met,” Asta pointed out like it was clever.

What was that supposed to mean?

“Yes,” Nozel glared at the boy.

Emboldened, Asta repeated. “You met. You might not have, but you did. Isn’t that fate?”

“Of course not. We were royals of the same age, how could we not have met?”

“But you could not have been. You could have been born just a noble, or even a commoner. It was fate that you were royals of the same age, just like it was fate that me and Yuno were left in front of the same church on the same day.”

Such a simple conviction, and a simplistic understanding of fate. If you had not been born you, you’d have been born someone else – a tautology, meaningless. Yet the peasant obviously believed it, obviously believed destiny had played a part in him and his rival meeting.

Slowly, Nozel deflated. It all hurt too much.

“How could this be fate?” he asked softly, and felt the curse around his neck tighten, even though the topic wasn’t nearly a forbidden one. “Mere chance?”

Asta blinked at him, truly confounded. “What else would fate be?”

A jailer. Enslaver. Inescapable chains. A chokehold. A mother wasting away in her bed.

Nozel was so tired. “Tell me more. About you and your rival.”

Sparkles appeared in Asta’s eyes. With enthusiasm Nozel would never have considered possible, he launched into a tale of Yuno and himself. Even if he’d tried to, Nozel couldn’t have followed all of it, and he wasn’t in the mood to try. Still, bits and pieces made it to him.

When I see him get strong, I always wanna grow even stronger!

When we were kids, I wanted to protect him. He can protect himself now, but I still want to do it, hehe.

He can be such a jerk sometimes, but he always helps me get up when I need it.

Before I got my grimoire … I thought I wasn’t good enough to be his rival. He didn’t buy it, though. He always believed I would be able to keep up with him, no matter what!

In a way, the juvenile perspective was refreshing. Much as he hated to admit it, Nozel could hear parts of himself – or rather a part that had once existed within him that he’d fully outgrown, thank you very much – in those ramblings. The unwavering faith in another. Bright, unrestrained joy at being presented with a challenge. The thrill of jumping over obstacles, only to find bigger ones beyond and then jumping over those too. Always seeing the same face waiting at the top.

The notion of fate soured those feelings. The idea that he’d been yanked along that path, with no choice in the matter, that those meetings had not been the result of his will and determination, but of prewritten destiny. That nothing he’d done could have prevented it, that it was all the same as the black hand choking back his words. Whatever that child thought, fate was not mere chance – reality was far less generous that teenage delusion.

Nozel said none of those things. He was growing weary of Asta’s unwavering, irrational optimism. He managed to somehow remind of Fuegoleon’s spirit while channelling none of the maturity and level-headedness the Crimson Lion brought with him wherever he went.

Just as he lost the thread of the monologue completely, something sharp whizzed past Nozel – only his reflexes, honed over years, saved him from being hit square in the chest. As he steadied himself from that desperate dodge, Nozel glared at the direction of the offense.

There was yet another Black Bull youth grinning back at him with unnerving intensity. Nozel knew this one – he was a lightning mage, known for being a maniac. As if to confirm his thoughts, cyan arcs shot through the air around the boy.

“You look strong,” he giggled. “Come fight me!”

“Luck-senpai!” Asta protested, but the youth – Luck, evidently – was already throwing a second lightning bolt at Nozel.

Such impudence just couldn’t go unaddressed.

“I will not hold back,” he threatened the youth, although in truth, he was, of course, going to hold back against his junior.

Luck laughed delightedly back at him, his lightning arching further and further. “Let’s fight, let’s fight! Let’s fight until we kill each other!”

Nozel blinked. It occurred to him that he may have misjudged the situation.

ooOoo

An hour later, he developed new respect for the Black Bulls’ battle maniac.

The youth still wasn’t at his level, but he had admirable instincts and carried himself in a fight surprisingly well. Nozel deliberately refused to overpower him outright, keeping the fight going, and at several points Luck surprised him with his ingenuity in attacking and positioning.

It was nothing like his matches with Fuegoleon, but he couldn’t call it boring. Nozel was choosing to count this as him doing Yami a favour by training a member of his brigade.

The fact that they were outside played to his favour – he spotted the group of Bulls returning to headquarters straight away.

He blocked Luck’s newest attack and promptly pinned the youth to a tree with a screen of mercury, pressing down just enough to emphasise his words.

“Well done. Go off now – I’m busy.”

He heard whiny protests and ignored them. He’d come on a mission after all.

He caught up to the group just as they were filing through the door. Noelle was among the first (good, she was a royal, it would be unbecoming to wait on others), but Nozel called out to her.

She turned around with surprising speed, looking unnerved for a second. As she confirmed that it really was him calling her name, she deflated, then looked at the ground. She seemed so much smaller than the Noelle who’d made others carry her shopping and insisted to be first through the door.

Nozel hated seeing it. He reminded himself that everything he’d done had been necessary to protect her from his curse, that she was better off for it – free, safe. Away. The curse tightened on his throat as if to mock him.

Finally, after the other Black Bulls had filtered in, she approached him.

“Brother Nozel.”

She sounded uncertain.

“Noelle.”

Nozel debated asking her back inside, where she might feel less exposed. But her comrades were there, and he found the greenery around the Black Bulls headquarters soothing.

Besides, if he stalled any longer he wouldn’t be able to gather the bravery to say what he’d come to say. He steeled himself.

She beat him to it. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He blinked at her, stunned. His little sister was still looking at the ground.

“When I saw you there …” she continued quietly. “It was horrible. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

Any and all words deserted Nozel’s mind. What was he to say to that? What could even be said? That he’d rather she hadn’t seen him at all? That the pain he’d felt was nothing next to what he’d thought he had heard her say? That the worst suffering of all was not the one that nearly drowned him, but the thought that he’d failed to protect her?

Would these bold proclamations even mean anything without being able to reveal what he’d been trying to protect her from? Would such desperate attempts count for anything in the face of his dismissal?

Would any of that actually be the truth?

In the end, he said none of it.

“I did not require your assistance.”

Noelle pressed her lips into a line. Nozel was at a loss as to how he’d caused that – the words should have reassured her that she had not failed, that he had not expected her to rescue him. Yet she did not seem reassured.

He’d come intending to tell her so many things: explanations (as much as he was able), reassurances, even apologies. He’d come thinking himself prepared to talk about their mother (to the extend allowed to him) and how much Noelle resembled her. How proud he was to see her grow strong despite him pushing her away.

In the end, he said none of that either.

“I came to ask if you had a soul mark,” he dropped the first thing that came to mind, then felt incredibly foolish. But the words were out, and his pride would not allow him to take them back. “Solid and Nebra do not.”

Whatever Noelle had expected, this had clearly not been in. Nozel himself was surprised at the senselessness of the inquiry, a rare betrayal from his usually clever wits. It had been weeks since the marks were first “released”. If he’d really cared about them enough to come all the way to the Black Bull’s headquarters in person, he would have done it sooner.

She seemed to think so too, because she blinked in hesitation before replying. “I do.”

She did. For some reason, that pained him. No, not ‘for some reason’ – he knew exactly why. He’d gone his entire life trying to shield her from the clutches of fate – all for naught. Another tally in a long list of failures against her.

“May I see?” Nozel himself was unsure why he asked. He refused to imbue the things with any significance, especially any that might bind his little sister to a random person who supposedly had a soul that matched hers.

And yet he wanted to know – it was imperative to see one of those elegant, beautiful marks. A reassurance that whatever rot Megicula had planted within him that made his own mark into an abomination had not spread to those he worked so hard to protect.

Still hesitantly, Noelle rolled her right sleeve up – there on her pale forearm rested the mark.

A wand – the wand, the one Noelle used to focus her magic – around which wrapped … what was that? At first Nozel confused it for a type of cloth, but upon closer inspection it appeared to be hair. A very long ponytail.

Clean lines, dark colours, beautiful composition. A proper soul mark.

Something in Nozel uncurled at the sight. He nodded in satisfaction.

“Do you know who shares it?” it felt prudent to ask. That way he could also judge if Noelle intended to pursue a relationship of any kind with this person.

“I have an idea,” Noelle nodded. “I haven’t had a chance to visit her.”

Still unclear then. That was fine – there was time. Nozel made a mental note to keep tabs on this girl, whoever she was, as soon as her status as Noelle’s soul bond was confirmed.

“What about yours?”

The question surprised him – he would have assumed the news to be common knowledge by now among Magic Knights at least. Still, he replied dutifully.

“Fuegoleon.”

“I see,” Noelle nodded.

And the conversation died. Nozel had so many things he wanted to say, and no way of saying them. Worst of all, he could see Noelle wanted to hear something from him. He could tell by the hopeful look in her eyes, the stance she’d assumed, curled in on herself yet vibrating with anticipation. It was his chance to fix things, to encourage her to rely on him.

He did not know how. He’d never known. So he said nothing.

After a few seconds, Noelle seemed to realise that whatever she’d hoped for wasn’t coming. She exhaled, deflated, looked back down at the ground. Nozel wanted to reach out, to soothe her somehow, but how could he? He didn’t even know how to heal his own ache, the most he could do was hide it from her.

“I’ll be going away,” his sister eventually told him. “To train in the Heart Kingdom.”

That gave Nozel pause. He was aware, of course, of the plans to send Magic Knights there to train under their Spirit Guardians for a coordinated attack against the Spade Kingdom and its demons. He’d been unaware Noelle was to be one of those choice few Magic Knights.

“Good,” he praised, and meant it. “Do not dishonour our name.”

He intended it as encouragement – it would certainly have encouraged him. Confusingly, Noelle winced as she heard it.

“I … I will do my best, Brother Nozel!”

Still staring at the ground.

… at least she had spirit.

Nozel was at a complete loss of what else to say, what else to do. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, the motion too similar to fidgeting, entirely un-royal-like, completely beneath him, so he steeled himself and faced the challenge with a stable stance and his head raised high.

He still had no idea what to say.

“You’ve grown strong,” he settled on a neutral statement of fact instead. “Grow stronger. We’re counting on you.”

Finally she looked up to meet his eyes. “I won’t disappoint you.”

She was a Magic Knight of a fine class – what talk of disappointment could there be at this point? Pointing out obvious things – perhaps this brigade was eroding her rhetoric abilities.

Still, Nozel nodded charitably in agreement, then turned to leave.

This … was not such a disaster after all. Maybe he could, through careful training and small steps, learn to be more like Fuegoleon after all.

ooOoo

Two weeks passed in a blur as every Magic Knight in the kingdom trained for the upcoming confrontation with the Spade Kingdom and their demons. Nozel threw himself into it more than anyone, a thrill in his veins at the chance to finally meet Megicula face to face again and deliver his vengeance.

After a day of gruelling practice, he was on his way to the Silver Eagles headquarters to check in on his brigade’s progress, when his rival came to him.

“Cousin,” Fuegoleon opened.

He sounded neither coldly indifferent nor offended. As far as openings went, this was an agreeable one, Nozel felt.

“Cousin,” he returned. “How may I be of service?”

“Mereoleona has left the capital again. I’m looking for a partner to spar with.”

Nozel kept his expression carefully blank even as excitement stirred within his guts at the thought. He and Fuegoleon sparred less frequently than he’d like – with how busy their schedules were, and how capable they were of training on their own, it normally seemed like an unproductive way to spend their limited private meetings. Especially given that it was its own kind of thrill, to reveal a dramatic increase in power in the heat of real battle rather than under controlled conditions. They were both royals, after all – dramatics were far from foreign to them. Yet that willingness to fight him meant something – that Fuegoleon still cared about their relative levels, that their rivalry still mattered to him.

Nozel took that olive branch. “I can oblige.”

The two headed outside the capital, past the entire noble realm, in fact. They had a preferred secluded spot where the destructive consequences of an earnest fight wouldn’t be an issue.

It was a twenty-minute flight there. They took it in fifteen. Nozel felt oddly … he would not use the word giddy because he was an adult, but … joyous, that the both of them harboured equal enthusiasm for this spar.

They landed in the clearing of an abandoned quarry – the rocks all around them were neither flammable nor could suffer mercury poisoning, therefore both of them could unleash their powers without holding back.

Pulling his grimoire from its pouch set Nozel’s blood boiling. He watched his rival’s movements like an eagle.

Fuegoleon had a slight smirk playing on his face as he assumed his battle stance. It probably meant something that Nozel felt proud to have made him happy, but he was not sure what.

He opened with a barrage of silver bullets which his cousin countered with Salamander. The battle began in earnest.

The rough rock around them amplified every sound, elevating each shout into a roar, each crackle of flame into a wildfire, each snap of mercury a stiff whip. The world faded to nothing in the background, obscured by a dense wall of fire and silver – so unrelenting went both of their attacks.

Push and pull. Nozel’s mercury melted in the heat, and he reforged it again. Fuegoleon’s flames crashed against silver shields like waves upon the shore, and he ignited them again. For each step one of them gained he was forced two steps back, and so the dance continued.

Soon it became clear that Nozel’s exhaustion, stemming from a full day of independent practice, was taking its toll. He was already at a disadvantage owing to the affinity of their attributes – with Fuegoleon sparring fresh, he had little chances of victory. But he did not yield. He did not even consider it. He’d fought against his rival his entire life – against those poorer chances, against that disadvantageous affinity. Despite it all, he’d always managed to match him, to stand proudly next to him as his rival’s equal. He refused to surrender to predetermined failure, to be guided into a predecided result without a fight. He would not be bound to fate.

He pulled up on strength usually only reserved for deadly foes. Liquid silver rained from the sky like rays of light, completely under his command. Nozel would not surrender to destiny.

He pushed Fuegoleon on the defensive. Then pushed him more. Pushed him enough for his flames to burn less hot, for sweat to gather on his brow. For his rival to bare his teeth like the lion he was, the thrill of the struggle clear in his eyes, in his grin.

Then Nozel stopped pushing. He’d drained himself completely. That dungeon trap hadn’t managed to deplete his mana in seventeen hours – he’d done it himself in thirty minutes.

He took a deep breath. He was happy. Of course he was happy. He’d performed up to standard – he’d presented adequate challenge. Fuegoleon was pleased with him.

Then why did it hurt so much? Why was everything around him agony?

His knees gave.

ooOoo

Fuegoleon extinguished his flames as soon as he saw Nozel whip his mercury away. The both of them panted deeply, pleasantly exhausted. Salamander puffed against Fuegoleon’s back, sleepy and content.

This was what he’d come to Nozel to do – a reminder of what they still had, fate or not. Soul bond or not. Deeper meanings or not. Their rivalry was real, even if it didn’t represent all Fuegoleon wished it would. He was happy with what he had. He was happy with what Nozel wished to show him of himself.

He thought he’d made his point quite clear. Looking at the satisfied look on his cousin’s face, he felt proud of his ingenuity. Nozel was a man of action, after all – he would appreciate such a demonstration much more than words, Fuegoleon was certain.

But then the expression on Nozel’s face changed, replaced by something painfully reminiscent of resignation.

He buckled.

Fuegoleon leapt.

ooOoo

Nozel didn’t make it to the ground. Fuegoleon caught him with an honest to heavens growl, right in his ear.

“You’re heavy,” he complained with a grunt. His hold remained steady.

Nozel clutched his arms and buried his face in his shoulder. He had no words to speak. No strength to keep himself up. Fuegoleon was forced to keep him halfway upright awkwardly, but he didn’t care. The spar didn’t matter to him anymore. His dignity might as well have been a paltry trinket. There was nothing in him, nothing left to hide the ugly truth behind. All he wanted was to hold on, to be warm. It had been so long.

“Nozel,” Fuegoleon hissed in his ear, alarmed. Nozel didn’t want to worry him. He wanted Fuegoleon to keep looking at him like standing next to Nozel was a privilege. He wanted the rivalry they used to have.

Only that wasn’t true. Many truths were unavailable to Nozel, kept away behind an impenetrable black wall, but not this one. Their rivalry was still there. The harmony of their companionship was still there. Nozel wanted more. He didn’t know when he started wanting it, how long this feeling had hidden from him, but in the warmth of his rival’s acceptance, he saw it clear as day. He wanted to never let go.

He had nothing to give but himself, and he wanted desperately to give it.

“I chose you before,” he told Fuegoleon’s tunic, because everything that he was felt too fragile to look up at that familiar face. “Before. We were rivals before.”

Before what, he couldn’t say. He knew this wasn’t what Fuegoleon wanted, that even after all this time he still couldn’t give him what he wanted. What he wanted was a lie, and Nozel was tired of lies. There was no one else he could share the truth with – no one else who could gift him the opportunity to offer it. The truth he’d pushed down so long it tasted like bile on his tongue. It was the only thing truly his anymore – the one thing he had untouched by the yoke of fate. He could only pray his cousin understood him. He could only pray it made a difference.

Fuegoleon finally stopped fighting against gravity. He sat down on the dusty ground, a king in the dirt, and Nozel held on to him. Even after a taxing battle, he was still warm.

He held Nozel tighter. There could be no mistake that he wasn’t simply keeping him upright anymore but embracing him. Keeping him close. He was so warm.

Nozel felt his breath by his ear.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” said Fuegoleon and damn him, he was treating Nozel like a child that needed reassurance. Perhaps that was all he’d ever been.

Nozel clutched his tunic, his cloak. He was so afraid of losing another person.

Fuegoleon’s palm draped atop one of his own, his other arm steady around Nozel’s back. “Have a care, cousin,” he told him kindly, then helped him open his fist. It somehow felt harder than lasting seventeen hours in a death trap.

After uncurling his fingers, Nozel could finally breathe again. The tension in his aching muscles faded away, and he straightened, glad to be moving and steady on his own even as his cousin’s hand remained on his shoulder to support him.

He looked at Fuegoleon. There was no judgement in his expression, only patience. And … relief? Nozel had to look carefully – indeed, his rival looked relieved.

The idea that he too had agonised over their relationship these past few weeks soothed him. The battle he was fighting was not nearly as uphill as he’d feared.

“What has troubled you?” Fuegoleon asked. It was an entirely fair question – Nozel had just dropped into a near catatonic state on him.

He sighed, tired at himself and his own dramatics. “Foolish things,” he admitted.

Fuegoleon huffed in amusement. He lay back, and Nozel extracted himself from him. Remaining entangled so … horizontally was intimate beyond what he was willing to handle at the moment, especially given his fresh revelations about … other things. Things he’d have to discuss with Fuegoleon at some point, preferably soon, but definitely not now, when their companionship still felt so fragile. He needed to clear some urgent matters up before even thinking about developments in other directions.

He lay himself down gingerly next to his rival. It seemed fair that the both of them should leave the spar equally dirty. The rock was firm beneath his back and he could feel the dust sticking to his hair, but the sky above, golden with the approaching sunset, made it worth it.

Emboldened by the easy acceptance he’d just received, Nozel found his cousin’s hand and squeezed it firmly, once, before letting go gently.

“You told me your understanding has changed,” he prompted, swallowing around his own fear of that so treacherous an enemy, change. “Tell me.”

It was Fuegoleon’s turn to sigh deeply – rueful, even bashful by some standards. Dramatics were the prerogative or royals after all, and Nozel was well-aware he was not the only one afflicted with a penchant for them.

“Foolish things, as you say,” said his rival at length. Then he turned to look at Nozel, and his purple eyes were calm, steady as the flames that flickered beneath his skin. “Before, you said?”

“Before,” Nozel confirmed. He’d been sure, back in the garden, and just now as he’d confessed it, that it would not matter, that it was not what Fuegoleon has asked back then. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he’d misunderstood what Fuegoleon wanted (maybe, quipped the uncharitable voice in his head usually reserved for judging others on their social etiquette, Fuegoleon himself didn’t know what he wanted. Nozel hushed it, but secretly agreed with it. Just a bit).

“Then all is well.”

Nozel frowned. “Just like that?”

“Foolish things indeed.”

Then what had he spent so long suffering over? When he could have been focusing on other things? Things he hadn’t yet realised at the time, but still. That energy could have been expended on more productive avenues.

That was the problem with unfated paths – nonsense that could have well been avoided ended up very much not avoided.

Frustrated, Nozel rolled his eyes to the sunset. Then he looked back over at his rival and basked in the relief.

Fuegoleon looked peaceful, radiant in the golden light. Then he got an uncharacteristically sheepish look as he cleared his throat.

“Hum. I apologise. For-“

Hesitation was a novel look on him.

“For?”

“Leaving you in the garden without a light source. I … did not think it through.”

Fuegoleon Always-Go-In-With-A-Plan Vermillion not thinking something through? It was a day of surprises.

“I forgive you,” Nozel declared magnanimously. He had only walked into hedges twice on his way back to the Silva palace and was thus willing to extend some good will.

“Thank you,” Fuegoleon replied in his royal court voice.

The two looked at each other with perfect seriousness, as though some important negotiations had been brough to a close with a compromise nobody was perfectly happy with but had no grounds to refuse. One second, two. Three. Then a crack, a smirk. Then they were laughing at their own theatrics.

The sound carried in the quarry, much more boisterous than either man was being, but there was no one around to hear. Nozel felt pleasantly empty by the time the last huffs died out.

“Will you tell me now?” Fuegoleon prompted.

Nozel grimaced from the embarrassment. His set of foolish things could not so easily be summarised into one thing, but he owed it to his rival’s honesty to try. “The marks,” he finally settled on.

“Do you dislike them that much?”

It was a blow to the ego that the one plastered on his face was severely lacking in the aesthetic aspect, but that was not his main problem with it.

“I cannot stand for what they represent. Fate had no part in me choosing you.”

Fuegoleon hummed thoughtfully. “You speak as though fate has stolen something from you.”

Nozel reached up – barely brushed the tips of his fingers over his collar. As a child, he’d fussed with it all the time, always anxious that it could have moved, that someone might see. With time and discipline, he’d trained himself out of it. This action was deliberate – a gamble on what he was and was not allowed to get away with revealing.

“Fate steals your choices,” he pointed out.

Fuegoleon hummed a second time. Slowly, he reached out and took Nozel’s fingers between him own, pulled their hands down to rest comfortably over Nozel’s chest.

“When I think of fate-” he started calmly “-I think of Leo.”

That was not what Nozel had expected. He stared with a frown.

Fuegoleon smiled as he continued. “Anyone could have been my brother. Anything could have happened to me while I was raising him. And Leo could have chosen to become anyone. But he grew up into a fine young man, and thanks to fate I got to see it. Thank to fate I got to choose him. And choose you.”

Nozel turned away, back towards the sunset. His lips pressed into a line. He simply could not agree, but he did not want to argue with his rival either. He wanted those foolish things to stay foolish.

“Are you afraid?” Fuegoleon asked, not unkindly.

That was just offensive. “I’m a royal,” Nozel snapped. “I know no fear.”

“Everyone knows fear. There is no shame in it. Shame lies in not conquering it.”

Such a Fuegoleon thing to say. Nozel grit his teeth.

“I have conquered all I ever stood against.”

“And fate meant that I was there to see it. Most of it,” Fuegoleon added, for the first time expressing a hint of bitterness about his coma.

“You see it so generously,” it felt wrong to accuse level-headed, wise, reasonable Fuegoleon of naïveté, but Nozel saw it in him then.

“It is my choice,” asserted his rival. Then, drily. “You, on the other hand, are making no choice at all.”

“You dare!?”

The audacity. Nozel had half a mind to challenge him to another spar. He had gone his entire life clawing back just a little bit of his autonomy to make choices, and here Fuegoleon stood (lay), barely knowing anything, making such broad statements so confidently. Just another perfect example that soul bonds were a load of ass indeed.

He angrily began to rise, fully intending to stalk away and deliver his righteous wrath onto unsuspecting foliage. Thinking of William’s arguable involvement in the whole affair, he figured the trees deserved it.

Fuegoleon shot up after him and grasped his upper arm. Ironic – in nearly any other situation Nozel would have enjoyed a steady touch from him, but at that moment it just annoyed him. He turned back, full of defensive aggression and nearly no one to release it on.

Fuegoleon met him with aggravating calmness.

“You asked me to speak. Listen to me!”

Nozel grimaced, then weighed his dignity against his desire to release his rage. He huffed angrily and turned to face his rival once more.

The serious look in Fuegoleon’s eyes melted most of his defensiveness away. Then Fuegoleon did something that disarmed him completely – he brought his right hand up and pressed it, all red wild flames, to the side of Nozel’s face. His thumb circled his cheekbone, over the soul mark.

This intimacy they had never breached before. Nozel was left powerless by the tender touch, both triumphant to have received it and wary of what it might bring.

More than anything, he wanted to mirror the gesture, but he refrained.

“I do not know how it came to be,” Fuegoleon began, and although neither could say it, they both knew what it meant. “But I do know that you are letting someone take yet another thing from you. You treat these marks as though they belong to the fate you believe has caged you, when in fact they have always been yours. Yours and mine.”

Nozel was speechless, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of this rationale. He swallowed, but no words came to him. He’d trained himself so thoroughly not to use them that now when he wanted to find them they fled.

Fuegoleon understood, however. He didn’t let go. “Make a choice. Do not let yourself be imprisoned by the past.”

Nozel swallowed. More than anything, he wanted his rival to be right. But doubt was not so quick to disperse after months of gathering in his mind like angry clouds.

“What if it’s not mine?” he asked quietly. His mark was different from everyone else’s. He could only think of one reason why.

“Then make it yours. It is your right,” Fuegoleon’s lips quirked near imperceptibly as a sprinkle of humour touched his tone. “Yet again you would do well to follow your own advice, cousin. You are a royal. Life has afforded you more than near anyone else. Act like it.”

So simple. Yet again his rival’s wisdom proved boundless beyond Nozel’s own. It was all so frustratingly clear when Fuegoleon said it.

“How do I do it?” suddenly he wanted to know. He wanted to have things truly his own other than the bile of truth.

“How did you make me your rival?” Fuegoleon returned, at that point thoroughly amused. “Be creative, Nozel.”

So smug, but Nozel was willing to excuse it. His cousin had reason to act such, after all.

Claiming that mark for himself would be something he needed to think on. This meeting had left him so much to ponder – some things he was eager to contemplate, others not so much. But he was no longer afraid, nor was he alone.

He stood, then offered his hand to his rival and pulled him up too. The two of them looked ridiculous, dusty and dishevelled. They grinned at each other like teenagers, just for a moment, just because there was no one to see. Then they were royals and Magic Knight Captains again, adults with responsibilities who began to dust themselves off.

“Thank you,” Nozel eventually found it in himself to say. Manners demanded it, after all. “For talking some sense into me.”

It was embarrassing to say, but watching Fuegoleon be pleased with himself to hear it made up for it somewhat. Nozel was still surprised by how overwhelmingly this sudden need to ensure his rival’s happiness burned within him.

His cousin gifted him a fond smile. “Same to you. I was beginning to think myself into cursed circles.”

Thank goodness Nozel hadn’t been the only one.

He extended his hand. “Rivals,” he offered solemnly, but he knew the excitement thrumming just under the surface was audible to the one who needed to hear it.

Fuegoleon grasped it without hesitation. “Rivals.”

ooOoo

On the way back from the spar, Nozel was invited to the Crimson Lion Kings headquarters for tea. He was not entirely presentable, but didn’t want to refuse. He felt owed some quiet time with his cousin after all they’d unintentionally put each other through. They walked into the compound shoulder to shoulder.

This late in the evening the courtyard was mostly deserted – a few overachievers (the polite word which Fuegoleon would use to designate them. Nozel preferred “desperates”) were still training here and there, but most of the Knights were in their beds.

Most.

“Brother!”

Nozel recognised Leopold, of course. He turned to see his younger cousin approach.

Leo was running, a broad grin overtaking almost his entire face.

Fuegoleon, who up until that point had calmly walked next to Nozel, took off as well.

Nozel could only watch, dumbfounded, as his rival swept his young brother up in his arms and spun him around, laughing all the while, with no regard for the fact that they were in public. Leo’s smile had grown so wide his eyes were closed by the time he was delivered back to the ground.

“I did it! I cast a rune spell!” he exclaimed, looking up at his brother proudly.

“Well done!” Fuegoleon ruffled his hair and grasped his shoulder, an easy smile on his own face. “Keep improving, Leo!”

“I will! I’ll show you what I’m capable of in the invasion!” Leo hopped, then saluted, then hopped again – an overexcited young cub.

“Get some sleep, start early tomorrow,” Fuegoleon pushed him lightly in the direction of the dormitory.

“Yes, sir!” Leo quickly hugged his brother one last time, then ran off.

Nozel was still standing dumbly where he’d been left. Fuegoleon straightened his clothes a bit, then walked back over to him. He linked their arms.

“See? It’s not as hard as you think it is,” he teased gently, then continued leading the way.

Being forced to take a step snapped Nozel out of his stupor. He grunted noncommittally.

Fuegoleon threw him a knowing look. “It’s not as scary either.”

Nozel could only throw his nose up at that. He really wanted to argue that Leo was simply more reasonable, more agreeable than his overly-emotional siblings, but his pride forbid him such obvious lies.

Fuegoleon took pity on him and patted his arm encouragingly. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Easy for him to say. Nozel was too tired to argue.

He wanted to believe that he could have that with his siblings. Maybe. Someday.

ooOoo

For the next few weeks, all was calm.

The kingdom had been nearly rebuilt, and all attention was on the upcoming confrontation. Noelle and Leopold (among others) were staying in the Heart Kingdom. Magic Knights, having emerged victorious from battle with one demon, were eager to cut their teeth on another one. Morale was high, and training did not get in the way of their regular duties. Even the forsaken realm was seeing a constant Magic Knights presence these days.

Nozel was distracted.

The sun had set an hour ago, and he was in his room, doing what he did nearly every night – staring at his mirror.

He had truly taken his cousin’s words to heart. He had a choice, one of few afforded to him, and he was going to seize it. It was only a matter of will.

To this effect, he was trying to get used to thinking of the soul mark on his face in a positive light. It was his – he was going to learn to like it. He had pride and ego aplenty; it should have been an easy task to transfer some of it onto the mark.

He was expending a considerable amount of concentration on the task. With all the staring he’d been doing, he was confident he could draw the mark from memory. The claw marks stood out sharply in brilliant black – those he quite fancied. Upon diligent inspection, one could recognise them as lion claws, and the angle of them emphasised the planes of his face, contributing to his regal aura. They were really quite acceptable.

The rest of it, though … there really was no way to contextualise the mess of overlapping greys that would make it look less like he’d taken a stroll through an uncleaned chimney. The pale tones did not work with his complexion at all, making him look sickly, and the darker ones gave him a sunken, skeletal look. It was all quite hopeless.

With a sigh, Nozel turned away from his mirror, gathering his will for another attempt. He was stubborn enough to succeed, he was sure of it.

Unfortunately, his gaze landed on the armchair by his bed, the one he had never moved back to its original place. The one Fuegoleon had sat in during his vigil above Nozel.

Disaster! Despite his best efforts, Nozel’s thoughts immediately rushed to his cousin. He tried to reign himself in, focus on the task at hand, but that just made it worse – now he was thinking of Fuegoleon and the soul mark, which naturally meant the soul mark on Fuegoleon, which just had to be in a position less safe to think about than his face. Fuegoleon sported what Nozel thought of as the perfect build: refined muscles while still maintaining a slender frame, toned arms and broad shoulders and sculpted back-

Nozel stood up from his vanity, furious. Really, this whole thing was ridiculous. He had never had trouble with thoughts about Fuegoleon before. He’d seen the man undress countless times, had even seen him completely naked in communal baths, and had never felt the slightest bit affected. Sure, he had always recognised his rival as handsome, but that was so common among royals and Magic Knights he’d never paid it any mind. Now it was like an infection, as though it was the way of nature that a simple fact which had gained no additional significance whatsoever suddenly got to demand all his attention.

Damn Fuegoleon for training his body so well. Damn him for showing Nozel the mark on his bare skin instead of just telling him about it. Damn him for his powerful voice and uncompromisable honour and impeccable taste. Damn him for touching Nozel’s face so-

Nozel began pacing. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. He was an adult, and despite what would be expected of an unmarried royal, far from a virgin. He was above such childish infatuation, plain and simple.

Yet with the awakening of certain … feelings within him, urges had seen fit to follow. He found them distracting and annoying (and really, the whole thing was his cousin’s fault for provoking these feelings in the first place). There was simply too much to do to think about passions of the flesh with Fuegoleon. Besides, other considerations had to come before such fancies could even be entertained.

Nozel continued pacing. These were well-threaded mental paths, rationalisations he’d thought himself through again and again, approached from every angle. Just like images of his rival in various stages of undress, these musings too refused to leave his mind.

First and foremost was the vital question of whether his interest was even returned. Nozel was above sighing after an indifferent man like a bored maiden of the nobility, and so he had made up his mind to bring the topic up to his rival at the earliest possible convenience. He evaluated his chances as decent – he was no less handsome than Fuegoleon, of similar status, and had a lot to offer both in terms of company and carnal doings. Plus, he and Fuegoleon already indulged in a plethora of intimacies, what hardship could but a few more possibly present?

There existed the faint possibility that Fuegoleon had simply no interest in men in the first place, in which case no quality of Nozel’s would make a difference, but he doubted that to be the case. His cousin was so open-minded, exclusion of this type would come as a great shock indeed.

After establishing, for the fiftieth time, that any advances he chose to extend would most likely be positively received, Nozel moved on to less urgent but still meaningful considerations. Fuegoleon was not technically the Vermillion heir, but Mereoleona had all but transferred the title on to him de facto. Nozel was the Silva heir, and was expected to secure the future of the bloodline. If he saw fit to entertain the company of men, polite society demanded that he at least produce himself a couple of children beforehand.

This could be circumvented given that both families had further younger siblings still, but it was not a sure bet. Noelle, if rumours from reliable sources (Dorothy) were to be believed, was infatuated with the peasant Asta, and this union could naturally produce no legitimate heirs. Her soul mark, if she were correct about it, also pointed at a woman, which Nozel naturally refused to believe meant anything, but it sadly did reinforce a belief he’d had about his youngest sister since she was little … Which was, of course, entirely her business. Nozel had no right to question her, or demand that she fulfil his duties on his behalf.

Solid and Nebra, to the best of his knowledge, were still secure bets, but he knew that if that changed, the responsibility would once again fall on him. He had no idea whether Leo was a viable option, and even if he appeared to be he was still young, things were not set in stone-

Nozel paused his pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. Such nonsense. Involving the children into his exercise in madness as well. Unbecoming. Beneath him. What even were these thoughts? He had never cared about this aspect of royal society. At thirty years old, word had been making the rounds about him dying an old bachelor for years now. Never once had he felt any need to entertain those whispers, or even considered correcting his conduct on account of them. The same was true of Fuegoleon, who was even a year older and thus, in the eyes of nobility, practically unmarriable at that point. Truly, this would only be a valid concern if any of them were already married, which they were not, and evidently, would never be. The life of a Magic Knights Captain did not allow for such commitments – neither of them would allow himself to become a neglectful husband. Truly, Nozel was driving himself mad over nothing.

He resumed his pacing and his wonderings.

Progeny was not, and would never be, a serious consideration. Even if whispers flew in the upper echelons of society, what fault could they find with the dedication of two Grand Magic Knights who were also Captains? It was all but written law at this point that the two of them would sire no kin and that was that. Truly, what a waste of time.

This entire exercise was a waste of time, but Nozel could not stop himself, feeling as though he was bound for rejection if he had not thought every such thing through thoroughly. Battle preparation, of a sort. If he was to present his case to Fuegoleon, it had to be flawless. He had to have an answer on hand for every possible objection, otherwise why bother?

At the bottom of the list was the negligible matter that they were cousins. Eccentric, to be sure, but such relationships were nothing new among royals across the continent, and the fact that they weren’t even first cousins robbed the scandal of most any teeth. The eccentricity did become a bit much when it was factored in that they were both men, but it evened out to a few raised eyebrows that they could afford.

Similarly, the door was open for Fuegoleon to have a personal preference against it, but once again, his open-mindedness spoke to the contrary. Nozel was confident he could present his case compellingly enough to dispel the hesitation, if it existed at all.

These three factors were the easy part. Nozel could dismiss or rationalise them more or less effortlessly to arrive at the conclusion that pursuing a physical entanglement with Fuegoleon was perfectly achievable. It all went worse from there.

The sad truth was that Nozel did not want a purely physical entanglement. He wanted it, for sure, but not as a solitary reward for all his efforts. His greed, the prerogative of a royal, pushed him to covet greater intimacies, and those were near impossible to confront.

Closeness was relative among royals. He and Fuegoleon already had each other’s confidence, and while their rivalry was not friendly they were nevertheless companiable. They were close, was the point, even by the standards of royal society, where reputation and achievement amounted to much more than amicable relations did. To want more was pushing against dangerous lines, yet Nozel craved. He still remembered gentle fingers ghosting over his face, and that was an intimacy his rapacious heart desired.

His pacing sped up to near improper levels as he delved into those torturous thoughts.

He wanted to have a claim. To his rival’s attention and his affection. To his time and effort. To his mind … and to his heart. He wanted more things to himself, and one of those things was Fuegoleon – not as a rival, but as a man. Strengths, flaws, virtues, sins, and yes, body. The whole of him, in a way no one else would be allowed to have.

Those were dangerous thoughts. He could, as the kids said, ‘fool around’ with Fuegoleon – the jump from rivals to lovers, seen in the greater scheme of things, would be minor indeed. They could indulge such impulses with minimal disruption to their preestablished routines. Nozel, for the reasons he’d so exhaustively laid out for himself (to the detriment of his floorboards), had ample reason to ask for such a change and indeed very little reason not to ask. It would be safe, and in some ways satisfying, to take his rival to bed and leave it at that.

What grounds did he have to ask for more? To demands exclusive rights and privileges when a more convenient arrangement would satisfy his needs just fine. When the only thing he had to justify such a demand with was desire, a fickle and needless thing that Fuegoleon was under no obligation to entertain?

Not even Nozel had the ego to make such a request. But the dry knowledge of it did nothing to quench the flames of his desire.

There. Another solid round of useless philosophising completed. Nozel had drawn and redrawn his battle plan countless times over the past few weeks. He was confident that, if presented with the appropriate opportunity to seduce his rival, he was perfectly prepared to accomplish it. And it was the most he was prepared to accomplish, to great personal distress.

He was no closer to thinking of the soul mark as truly his.

ooOoo

Fuegoleon was in great spirits.

He was steadily catching up on all the adventures he’d missed during his six-month indisposition. His training progress was immense, and his brigade handled the challenges presented to them with flying colours. The only negative in his life was Leo still being away, but … well. Fuegoleon had always known his little brother would ‘leave the nest’ eventually, and although for him that would be a short distance indeed (the brigade was his to lead if he wanted it once Fuegoleon became the Wizard King), he was still owed his independence as a fledgling adult. Fuegoleon knew he couldn’t instruct and watch over him forever.

Mereoleona was also away, but that had been the norm for half their life by now. With an entire brigade to run, Fuegoleon could not complain of loneliness.

He did see Nozel less often than he would have liked, but that too was par for the course. They each had innumerable responsibilities, and sadly rivalry was not a valid excuse to squander them. In truth, the frequency of their meetings hadn’t changed compared to before Fuegoleon’s coma, but these days he found himself desiring his cousin’s company more.

Sentimentality was his burden to bear, however, and he did not bother his rival more often than necessary. During their brief, mostly accidental meetings, he could see Nozel was preoccupied with his own doings as well.

Case in point: during a routine Captain’s meeting, Fuegoleon caught Nozel throwing glances at him on five separate occasions. The looks, accompanied by deep frowns and huffs of frustration, always lingered somewhere on his torso, on the left side. Fuegoleon knew his rival enough to know he was still pondering the grand mystery of the soul marks.

At least he was persistent. A bit dense, but persistent.

Fuegoleon waited for the meeting to end, and, as he was about to head out, stopped by his rival to ask playfully:

“Had any luck?”

Nozel threw him a fantastically sour look at that, almost pouting at being made fun of. Fuegoleon laughed for a moment, then forced it down to save his cousin further attention and embarrassment. Nozel was at that point looking profoundly unimpressed.

“Apologies,” Fuegoleon offered, although he couldn’t find it within himself to override his amusement with true penance. “I could not resist.”

“You ought to work on your self-control then,” Nozel quipped, arms crossed. So entitled. Fuegoleon wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I could assist, if you wish.”

“That is not necessary.”

Stubborn as well, but Fuegoleon appreciated that about him. There were few faults to find with his cousin, and most of those that did exist Fuegoleon did not truly mind. Unoffended, he bid his rival farewell and headed off.

Or at least he tried to. He made it to about the end of the hallway.

“Lord Vermillion.”

Fuegoleon frowned as he turned back around. It was unusual for William to address him so formally – sure, the man was a mere noble (an ostracised one at that) and thus technically below Fuegoleon in status, but he’d never cared for such things. In his mind, the fact that they were both Magic Knights Captains set them all on equal footing (commoners and peasants included), and he was sure the other man agreed.

He was immediately wary of the use of his title, even though William had applied it perfectly respectfully.

It was the first time they’d been alone since … since.

“Lord Vangeance,” Fuegoleon returned with a frown.

William smiled sadly at that, glancing down at the mask he held in both hands.

“Apologies. I realised it was … distasteful, as I said it.”

“Start again, then.”

“Fuegoleon.”

“William.”

His fellow Captain smiled faintly at that, in that way he always did – amicable and mellow where Fuegoleon had always been bold, fiery.

“May I take some time off your afternoon? There are things I would like to discuss over tea. Nothing urgent.”

That was an unusual request – William had always been somewhat reclusive, a bit of an outsider really, for all that he was popular with the people of the kingdom. It was not unheard of for him to socialise, but he’d kept mostly to himself since the defeat of the demon Zagreb, for obvious reasons.

To his shame, Fuegoleon felt a spark of hesitation in his chest, a flash of pain through his flame arm. He swallowed his doubts, made the choice to trust his comrade.

“It would be an honour. I have not enjoyed Golden Dawn hospitality in a long time.”

“I should hope to rectify that,” William agreed. “Shall we?”

As the most elite squad, the Golden Dawn headquarters occupied a prime spot in the royal capital, outshined only by the royal palaces themselves. While the splendour in the design was not to Fuegoleon’s preference, he could appreciate the taste in the execution, the mix of the modern comforts within and the formidable traditional façade without, making the complex an enviable place to call home.

“Greetings, Captain!” Magic Knights called as soon as they were through the main gate.

William nodded at his brigade members as he led the way.

“Welcome back, Captain!”

“Captain, hello!”

By the time they’d reached the main building, William had bowed his head slightly, as though to obscure the private smile that curled his lips.

Fuegoleon debated with himself whether to say anything. In the end, his curiosity won out. “I see they think no ill of you.”

William hummed as he held the door open for him. “Indeed. I put them through a lot, yet they still find pride in calling me Captain.”

“It is a great honour.”

“It is,” William nodded. “I cherish it accordingly. Please, this way.”

His office was simple in comparison to the rest of the headquarters, but perfectly functional. He had a small sitting area to the side, where he bid Fuegoleon make himself comfortable as he went about preparing the tea himself.

“Magic Knights are too often inexperienced in housework, I find,” Fuegoleon said as he watched, recalling countless examples of messes resulting from innocent ventures in his own headquarters’ kitchens. Not that he himself was some great cook, but he had never started a fire while boiling noodles, or indeed attempted to cook noodles without any water in the first place.

William chuckled quietly at that. “Indeed. I find such tasks peaceful myself.”

He brought a tray with two teacups over. Fuegoleon took his, still too hot to drink, and inhaled the fragrant aroma. There was a herbal note in the otherwise fruity blend, giving the impression of a forest-mixed tea. An interesting choice, one more popular with peasants than nobility.

“I hope it’s to your taste,” William told him as he shed his cloak and settled on the other side of the low table.

“Perfectly. Thank you.”

Fuegoleon hated this careful atmosphere they both maintained, yet how could he disperse the oppressive politeness? William’s eyes kept darting to his right arm despite his obvious efforts to not allow it.

In a rare fit of vindictiveness, brought about by his general frustration with the situation, Fuegoleon flexed that arm, lightly, a motion that could be attributed to a trick of the dancing flames. William winced.

With a sigh, Fuegoleon set his cup back down.

“Apologies. I am being terribly rude,” William sounded less apologetic and more tired. Fuegoleon could sympathise.

“What did you want to discuss?” he probed, keeping his voice neutral. The sooner they finished the discussion, the less time either of them would have to suffer the weight of slights gone unaddressed.

William’s eyes met his then.

“In truth? Nothing much. I had ideas about apologies, but they seem inadequate.”

Fuegoleon had not expected that, but at the same time he was not surprised.

“You did nothing,” he pointed out drily.

“I allowed a lot of things to happen. And despite everything, I cannot truly condemn the one who made them happen.”

Despite missing a lot of developments in this story, Fuegoleon still understood perfectly well whom he meant.

“He was deceived, like all of us.”

“He was. But he still made choices, and I still condoned those choices. As frustrating as it is, I cannot offer a satisfying apology because I do not feel truly repentant.”

It was indeed a frustrating thing to hear. Fuegoleon had been taken from his brigade, his family, for six months. He’d missed Leo’s developing rivalry, his sister’s brief stint as Captain, the subtle rearranging within Magic Knights lines that led to the Black Bulls no longer occupying the lowest spot on every ranking. He’d slept through half a year of his life, and never gotten an apology from anyone.

But then again, he’d never needed an apology. Never asked for it.

“Your feelings are your business. This kingdom has forgiven you, and the credit our people give you is deserved. That is all that matters to me. You are an honourable man, William.”

William inclined his head. “Perhaps. In any case, it is that same honour that demanded I speak with you today. I want you to know that no matter what I do or do not feel, I still wish what we did to you did not happen. One day I will be able to apologise to you truly – I will work to make it happen.”

There was some satisfaction to be found in that, Fuegoleon supposed. “Then I shall await your success.”

William nodded, then took his teacup and drank. As he did, he brough his other hand up – a subtle gesture – and the back of his palm pressed lightly over his chest, a spot that felt notable to Fuegoleon. He wracked his memory for its significance. Ah, right. William’s soul mark was there.

Fuegoleon checked himself to make sure he was not touching his own mark – since Mereoleona had made him aware of the habit, he’d noticed it appearing at random times. He was not embarrassed by it, exactly, but did not appreciate anything less than perfect control over his body either. Given that he was evidently not the only one affected by this, he briefly wondered whether the marks were in truth not as static as the elf Patri had proclaimed them to be.

William, thankfully, did not notice him looking – he appeared contemplative, his eyes far away. Fuegoleon was still somewhat unused to the view of his face without the mask. He still wore it in front of the public, but among his brigade and with fellow Captains it was off more often than not. A change no one had explained to him, meaning it had sprung up during the time he’d missed.

“Since I’m here,” he started, emboldened by William’s stated desire to do right by him. “You can give me explanations, if not apologies.”

“Certainly. I must admit, I thought them too … unpalatable to offer. Empty platitudes.”

Fuegoleon appreciated the foresight. If nothing else, William had not come to him with hands full of meaningless gestures.

“There are things I do not understand.”

“You were gone a long time,” William whispered, face carefully neutral.

“I was told the elf Patri reincarnated within you before the rest. Yet he did not control you like the others.”

“Correct. He shared my body, and I allowed him to use it as he saw fit.”

“Why?”

The sad smile was back, only not exactly the same. William appeared oddly wistful thinking about it, beneath the sadness.

“He was truly not like the others. From the very start, I felt he was there. His soul was within my body, asleep,” William brought his hand up to his chest deliberately this time, pressing on the centre of it. “Right here. He was a small, frightened thing. I knew nothing about him, except that he’d been hurt. His sorrow was my constant companion, and from the second I was old enough to know anything I knew I wanted to protect him.”

Fuegoleon frowned. “Sorrow does not sound like a good companion.”

William gave a short chuckle at that. “It does not, no. But to me it was. Though it may seem pathetic, it gave me a purpose.”

That did not sit right with Fuegoleon at all – to live for the sake of someone else. Oddly, he thought he was beginning to understand Nozel’s hangups about fate a little more.

William chuckled again, softly. “You’re making such a scary expression. It was not like that. I know it sounds … forcing, but it was a blessing to me. Do you know how I was raised?”

The sudden change in topic gave Fuegoleon pause. The Vangeance name was well known among nobles and royals, and Fuegoleon’s education covered the family’s history, naturally. He had the facts as officially recorded, yet he somehow felt this was not what his fellow Captain was asking about.

Still, he gave what he had. “You were an illegitimate son. Lord Vangeance took you in when his heir passed away.”

“An heir and a spare,” William agreed. “Did you know I grew up in the boonies before he took me in?”

That had not made its way into his instruction, maybe because William was a little younger, and his acceptance into the fold had happened after Fuegoleon was done learning about various noble families. He’d kept his knowledge up to date to fit his status, but the personal affairs of others had never interested him much.

“No.”

“I had a feeling you weren’t one for gossip,” William returned humorously. “Have you been there?”

“Once.”

William nodded like he had expected that.

“The people are kind, except to those who are different.”

His hand felt to his lap at that, idly stroking the mask resting there. Fuegoleon followed the motion, displeasure building somewhere within him.

“I was born like this. The life I led was not worth living,” William shared with no emotion at all – as though giving him facts devoid of opinion. “I had no good reason to live it, but I had my wish to protect the one who shared it with me, albeit unknowingly. Without doing anything, he made it bearable.”

“You must have felt bitter.”

“I suppose I did. But I never blamed anyone. I had known no other life, after all.”

“It was unfair.”

“Indeed it was. I know you’ve always been averse to such circumstances. This tale has a point, believe me.”

Fuegoleon nodded. He respected his fellow Captain enough to know he wasn’t trying to garner sympathy to distract from his actions.

William stopped stroking the mask, picked it up, and set it on the table gently. His face took on that sad, wistful expression once again.

“Life with my father was not much better, but by then I had felt Patri stir, bit by bit. I felt like my wish was coming true, that I had taken care of him somehow. That sense of purpose counteracted any abuse I suffered. I finally felt peace. Then he awoke. It was confusing for both of us at first, but it wasn’t long before he understood me completely. I can’t tell you what that feels like – I suspect no one but us will ever know. What I can tell is you is this – it was the first true happiness of my life,” William paused there, and looked him in the eyes again, full of conviction, every bit the powerful Captain of the Golden Dawn. “My precious companion who had melted my suffering away to nearly nothing asked that I help do the same for him. That is why.”

There was nothing to say to that. Fuegoleon’s sense of justice forbade him from entertaining even thoughts of half the things Patri had done chasing relief from his pain. But he hadn’t asked why Patri had done what he had – he’d asked about William, the human who had been willing to give his body and comrades away for someone else’s justice. He now knew the answer, and it needed no comment from him. The past was the past.

“And now?” he found himself asking before he’d thought it through.

“Now?” William returned quizzically.

Fuegoleon tried to force the vague feelings in his head into a coherent question. “What has become of you now?”

“I am the Captain of the Golden Dawn. He is the leader of the remaining elves,” the smile Willian gave him was lopsided, somehow both sad and humorous. “I have not forgiven him, because in my eyes he’s done nothing that needs forgiving.”

“And he is the match to your soul,” it seemed … odd, to leave it out. William had shown his mark to the full gathering of Captains, after all – he must have attributed it some significance.

“Ah, yes,” William nodded, for once his smile appearing relaxed, pleased even. “I am glad of it, although I preferred it when our souls were connected directly. I have been learning recently that speech is incredibly inefficient in transferring information.”

“Now I believe it when you say no one but you will ever know what it’s like.”

“My burden to bear,” William quipped softly, and for a moment the two sat in easy silence, each with his amusement. Then, “Do you have a soul mark?”

“You are not one for gossip either.”

“Indeed not.”

Despite himself, Fuegoleon felt a smile slipping onto his face. “Nozel.”

“Hm,” William nodded like it made sense. It came off oddly flattering. “You’re a good match.”

“What makes you say so?” Fuegoleon did not disagree. He just valued second opinions.

“My personal understanding of soul bonds, I suppose. I must admit, I have not thought about it in detail.”

Fuegoleon had known, through contact with him on official business, that William could be terribly noncommittal when he wanted to be, but this conversation was reinforcing that knowledge with a heavy hand. Talking to him was harder than pulling an admission of emotion out of Nozel, in some respects.

“Let’s hear it.”

The look William gave him then had something knowing in it, as though Fuegoleon had revealed too much. He refused to be affected – unlike Nozel, his ego wasn’t easily bruised. The expression was gone as soon as it had appeared, and William took a drink of tea, evidently to organise his thoughts.

“I believe there are many ways souls can match,” he began at length. “There is me and Patri – our souls are so remarkably similar they could inhabit the same body seamlessly. Our harmony is implicit understanding – we find peace in each other.”

Fuegoleon assimilated his meaning, but that was definitely not the relationship he and Nozel shared. It also wasn’t the relationship he wanted to have with Nozel.

“There is also my Vice Captain, Yuno, and his childhood friend Asta-”

“Rival,” Fuegoleon interrupted on instinct – the exact terminology was personally important to him, after all.

“Yes, you are correct,” William nodded, and Fuegoleon elected to believe that he’d imagined the amusement in the other Captain’s voice. “Yuno and his rival Asta. Their souls are remarkably contrasting. Yuno is solitary and introverted – Asta social and extroverted. Yuno is permanently serious and Asta is forever cheerful.”

“You are merely describing their character,” Fuegoleon interrupted a second time despite himself.

William did not seem offended. “Indeed I am. What is a soul if not the fundamental makings of a person?”

“What you list is not fundamental. An introverted person can become extroverted. The cheerful can become sorrowful.”

“True. But if a person who has never seen the silver lining in clouds suddenly became an unwavering optimist, has their soul not changed? If the only fundamentals were those of our features set in stone, each soul would be a match to every other, for we are all the same when stripped down to solely what cannot be transformed over the course of a lifetime.”

“That would mean that a soul in a bond can change. If the bond is founded on a certain state of the soul, would it not dissolve after such a change?”

“Perhaps fate accounts for it, and when a soul changes so does its bond. Or it may be that bonded souls change together and the bond remains the same. Or one morning two people will wake up without their soul marks. I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

Fuegoleon had no more counterarguments. “You’ve convinced me. Please continue.”

William gave off an air of great satisfaction. “So I shall. Yuno and Asta could not have souls more different, yet they walk the path of life shoulder to shoulder; striving towards the same heights, forever in competition that develops and refines their future adult selves. Guided by the good of those they love, their harmony lies in completing each other.”

“You have not thought about this in detail,” Fuegoleon deadpanned.

William huffed in amusement. “I gave it a great deal of thought when choosing a replacement for Langris. Yuno puts a lot of his faith in Asta – I was afraid his dedication to the brigade would suffer for the sake of his rivalry. But he is also fiercely loyal to his comrades, and finds strength in those who rely on him. I was glad to see my worries were for naught.”

“He will make a great Vice Captain,” Fuegoleon agreed.

“And a great Captain, when the time comes. I believe he has the makings of a Wizard King as well, but time will tell. They’re still young.”

“Too young,” Fuegoleon sighed. Perhaps his current troubles caused him to misremember the past, but he did not recall facing this much hardship when he’d been a junior Magic Knight. He couldn’t help but feel that the current generation had been dealt a rather poor hand indeed.

“In my experience youth shines under pressure,” William mused, then shook his head. “But then again, I am very selective of my brigade. Would you like to hear the rest of my thoughts?”

“Certainly,” while of good resemblance, the bond between Yuno and Asta did not completely suit Fuegoleon and Nozel either. He couldn’t help thinking that there was something there he did not grasp, and William’s contemplations had proven illuminating thus far.

“Then there is Charlotte and Yami.”

“Have you seen her mark?”

“I cannot with full certainty claim she has one, but it is rather obvious, is it not?”

Privately, Fuegoleon thought so too, although he tried avoiding the topic on account of how embarrassing it was for all spectators. “For the sake of argument,” he allowed.

“Indeed. In our thought experiment, Charlotte and Yami neither complete each other, nor are particularly similar. Their interactions are, pardon my bluntness, somewhat tortured. Yet their souls are in harmony. Why could this be?”

“I’m sure you have an opinion.”

William’s smile grew soft. “I do. I believe they are the type of people who are not fated for any particular reason. They just choose each other.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps I am too sentimental. But I believe the mastery of fate over humans is not one-sided. On rare occasion, we too are masters of fate. Precisely when we choose each other.”

Maybe there was a knowing look there, maybe not. Fuegoleon was too busy thinking to pay it much mind.

It was not unlike the wisdom he had shared with Nozel – that the soul marks were theirs before anyone, anything else’s – and yet his fellow Captain had given him a new perspective. Mastery over fate was the type of over-ambition that drove men into either madness or villainy, but the kind William described was so gentle, so warm – so human.

“Choose each other how?” he demanded. Nozel would surely dub such overt eagerness as unbecoming, but Fuegoleon wanted to know. He felt on the cusp of a revelation, of finally untangling the knot of hesitation between himself and Nozel, and he longed to be done with it already.

There was definitely a knowing look there, some private amusement the other man derived from their interaction. Fuegoleon couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended.

“Who can say?” William shrugged. “To know one’s choices is to know one’s self. I knew immediately that I had chosen Patri as my friend, my secret to keep while his soul slumbered next to mine. Yet it took me quite a bit longer to know I had chosen him as my companion in life and love as well.”

That revelation did not come as nearly as great a surprise as it should have.

“You care about him a great deal.”

“More than I care about myself. I’m sure it’s a familiar feeling to you,” a pause. Then. “With Leopold.”

Fuegoleon cleared his throat to hide his fluster. “Of course.”

Leo … was the second person he thought about. Damning, given his position as a guardian, but Fuegoleon attributed the lapse to the fresh memory of a recent meeting with a dungeon waterfall trap. Not that any of these thoughts would ever leave the privacy of his mind, of course.

William hummed noncommittally and drank some tea. Fuegoleon followed. He set his cup down and stood up.

“You’ve given me much to think about. Thank you.”

“I should thank you for indulging me. If there is more you wish to know, or if the mood strikes you to discuss another thought experiment, I would be happy to offer my company.”

“I will be sure to remember it,” Fuegoleon bowed his head lightly. “I can leave on my own. Thank you for the tea, William.”

“Much obliged. And … I’m sorry.”

It was a good attempt. Fuegoleon paused with his hand on the door. He couldn’t claim to have forgiven, not quite yet, but … It was his choice, whether to hold on to the pain of the past.

“I never held it against you. Or your love.”

William’s eyes looked a bit glassy at that. “I will be sure to let him know.”

ooOoo

Given what transpired but a few short weeks after this conversation, Fuegoleon was glad to have cleared these things out with William before his fellow Captain was kidnapped.

The conversation on soul bonds did indeed provide him with ample material for sentimental contemplation. He blamed his increasingly philosophical mood on Leo being away and the headquarters feeling lonelier without him.

Since the appearance of the soul marks, he and Nozel had walked one large circle to end up right where they started. At the time Fuegoleon had been relieved to be spared losing something he held dear, but as time allowed him clarity and William’s thoughts helped him contextualise some of his own, he recognised disappointment within himself.

It felt as though the disruption in their routine should have been an opportunity to change things – to grow beyond what they’d been for twenty years. Yet neither of them had taken the initiative, and the moment had passed them by.

Wiser to his own desires, Fuegoleon welcomed the possibility of change. But he was wary. Nozel was so … reactive to being pushed in one direction or the other. Fuegoleon couldn’t help but fear that if he initiated the escalation in relationship he longed for, he would push his rival away. Yet the thought of remaining forever in a limbo of indecision was just as unappealing.

The time for battle dawned before he’d figured out a strategy to deal with this conundrum.

ooOoo

Time went by in a blur. As the battle drew near, other matters were unceremoniously pushed to the side. Nozel thought no more of the marks – he had no time.

Meeting up with the strike team to infiltrate the Spade Kingdom filled him with equal parts dread and determination. Over sixteen years of his life were about to come to a head – he would either triumph over Megicula or he wouldn’t. He would either be free or all would be lost.

Most of all, he was going to protect Noelle. No matter the cost.

He found his place next to Fuegoleon as they prepared to be transported to the battlefield. His rival was solemn, determined.

“See you after it’s done,” he spoke, unusually casual. His eyes kept darting back to Nozel.

Nerves. Nozel could sympathise. “Try not to die,” he returned drily.

They headed into battle.

ooOoo

To Nozel’s opinion, the most notable part of the confrontation itself was Vanica Zogratis making fun of his soul mark.

“Whoa, it’s so ugly!” she exclaimed in the middle of parrying his attacks. He tried his best to ignore her. Keeping up the barrage and supporting Noelle was taking the majority of his attention anyway.

But she just had to keep talking.

“I haven’t seen you in years, Nozel, you got so cute! Too bad about that one, though. Do you recon it’s my fault?”

He felt his blood boil. The audacity.

“So what if it is?” he hissed at her. How had he ever allowed this woman to take anything from him? “What’s it to you? It’s mine.”

Noelle gave a rallying cry at that. She attacked, and he watched her back.

And they won.

ooOoo

Nozel gasped, then staggered as the pressure from his throat lifted.

“Brother Nozel!?” Noelle rushed to him, but he held up a hand to keep her away – his other one went to his neck, slipping beneath the collar as though he would feel the mark’s absence there.

His skin felt like it always had, but it was gone. He knew it was gone.

“Brother Nozel?”

… Dang it. Now that he was physically able to, he still didn’t know how to talk to Noelle!

He just had to do it like Fuegoleon would. It wasn’t as hard as he thought. It wasn’t as scary as he thought.

The mantras duly recited, he forced himself to look up, to meet her eyes. She blinked at him, as though surprised.

“Nozel-”

“Listen,” he rushed to interrupt, because otherwise he was never going to say what needed to be said. “Noelle. Our mother would be proud of you.”

“I … know. I just heard.”

So she had … Nozel felt incredibly stupid. He wracked his brain for something else.

“Your performance was admirable. You will undoubtedly gain a few ranks as a Magic Knight.”

“That’s … good. Nozel-”

Still not correct??? He was growing a bit desperate.

“I’m proud of you!” he was also proud of himself for coming up with this one. He’d never thought about sharing it before.

Noelle stared at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates. She hiccupped.

NO! How did he manage to make her cry?

“I’m sor-”

His little sister threw herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her face pressed into his shoulder as she sobbed.

“I finally grew strong,” she whispered through sobs.

“I’m proud of you,” he repeated, because it seemed well-received last time.

She cried louder and held him tighter.

Huh. Should I say that to Solid and Nebra as well?

In the background, Asta was helping the Queen of the Heart Kingdom up. They had all made it through. For a moment, Nozel thought that would be the end of it.

Unfortunately, it was not.

ooOoo

After it was really over – Yami and William saved, demons well and truly banished, crisis officially averted – Nozel sought out Fuegoleon.

People gaped at him on the way – he even heard a few audible gasps. The looks were mostly aimed at the general vicinity of his head, which he took to mean the lack of collar was noticeable. He certainly felt its absence, but it was a good kind of weirdness – finally he was allowed to forgo the collar if he wanted.

He doubted he often would, though. It matched his personal style.

He saw him directing the flow of exhausted Magic Knights and frightened ordinary citizens – a steady island in the sea of disorder. Fuegoleon seemed to tower over them in his effortless authority.

Nozel was no less grand – the sea of people parted for him without a thought. In a few strides, he’d reached his rival.

Fuegoleon turned as he saw him approach and paused. His left hand went up to brush against his side, just for a moment, before he too took a step forward.

“Nozel-”

“Silence! Megicula cursed me,” Nozel interrupted. Same as with Noelle, there were things he needed to say, but couldn’t maintain the will to say them forever. “Vanica Zogratis challenged my mother right after Noelle was born. She couldn’t win, but her devil cursed my mother and then me. I couldn’t speak of the curse, on fear that it would spread. Since then I’ve trained to grow stronger and enact my revenge. That was after I became your rival.”

Over the course of his speech, Fuegoleon’s expression gradually softened until it settled into a fond, warm look. He waited patiently, taking a step every few words until, after the last admittance, he could wrap Nozel in a one-armed hug.

“You’re brave to tell me,” he murmured in his ear.

Nozel swallowed. He refused to blush. It was just … he hadn’t been this close to Fuegoleon since their spar. And he’d thought all those ridiculous thoughts …

He snapped out of it once his rival took a step back. The look on his face had become smug at some point.

“It’s a nice change,” he said, out of nowhere.

“Yes,” Nozel rubbed his throat. “I’ve always had an exemplary neck.”

“Not that,” his rival huffed in amusement.

Nozel glared at him, uncomprehending, but always sensitive to being mocked.

Fuegoleon blinked in shock, then frowned. “You didn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Look at your face, Nozel.”

He summoned a disk of mercury, trying not to surrender to paranoia as it formed. Fuegoleon said a nice change …

Behind the lion claw marks flew an eagle – wings spread, talons poised at the ready. Rich, vibrant black, clean lines. No more ash stains on his face.

Nozel saw his eyes widen and banished the mirror. Fuegoleon was grinning subtly next to him.

“Indeed,” he cleared his throat with all the composure he could muster. “It is a nice change.”

“Is it easier to make it yours now?”

Nozel was tempted to tell him he already had, but that was an explanation he would rather not delve into. Instead, he just lowered his head to hide the smile.

“It always was.”

Fuegoleon hummed in agreement and for a second the two just stood there. Alive, after everything. In harmony.

“It should have been a lion with eagle talons,” Fuegoleon mused.

The gal. “It is on my face,” Nozel snapped. It had damn well better he his complete symbol.

His cousin laughed at him. Nozel could not find it in himself to mind.

He glanced around. It was full of people, but no one was paying them particular attention in all the bustle. He swallowed, gathered his nerve.

“Fuegoleon.”

The man swallowed his laughter and looked back at him, warm. “Nozel.”

“There is something we must discuss.”

A frown. “Right now?”

“I would like to, yes.”

It was so hard to suppress the embarrassment. Stupidly irrational – he was a royal, he could discuss his private matters as he damn well pleased. Only … well, he was only human. All the rhetoric and strategizing and philosophising meant nothing when faced with the weakness of the heart.

He’d prepared a whole speech, practiced it even. It flew right out of his head.

Fuegoleon was waiting for him to say something.

Nozel gulped, tried to push the nervousness down.

“Recently, I have found myself harbouring certain … feelings.”

“Feelings,” his rival parroted evenly.

“Towards you.”

“Should I surmise then, cousin, that you’d been indifferent towards me this entire time?”

Nozel scoffed. Did he have to be so uncooperative?

He steeled himself again. Now that he’d been provoked, he would not stand down. “Feelings of a specific character.”

“They usually have one, I’ve noticed.”

“This boorishness does not suit you, cousin. I am trying to tell you something.”

“You are correct. I apologise,” Fuegoleon cleared his throat and the smug look finally left his features. He gave Nozel his undivided attention. “And why should I know of these feelings?”

That was the hard part. “I would like you to … accommodate them.”

“Accommodate them how?”

“Fuegoleon!”

“Nozel,” although his voice was frustratingly even, once Nozel looked close enough he noticed something beyond obstinance in his rival. In went into his entire demeanour, from his posture to the subtle emotions passing fleetingly across his features. Hesitance. Uncertainty. Hope.

It occurred to Nozel then, that attitudes pertaining to their relationship had been uncharacteristically matched between them over the whole debacle started by the soul marks. It would perhaps not be in haste to extrapolate a similar result in this instance as well …

He threw caution to the wind. This wasn’t about what he could have, it was about what he wanted to have.

“Accommodate them fully. Return them. I want all of you, and I want no one else to have you.”

He’d never said something so bold. He almost expected to feel that familiar tightness around his throat, a warning not to overstep his bounds. Only he had no bounds. He was a royal, he was a Magic Knights Captain, he was free, and his desires were his own to share and satisfy.

He was done compromising with the chains of fate.

For a moment, Fuegoleon looked at him with an unreadable expression – proud, powerful, untouchable. Then he reached out – his palm, warm, settled on Nozel’s cheek, fingers ghosting over the true mark, the proper mark.

“Only if I get to have you too,” it came out with a touch of relief, a long-held breath released.

Nozel felt his heart flutter. Embarrassing. Unbecoming. He was an adult.

He nearly choked in trying to say with dignity, “I can concede to that. If you think you can take it.”

He could admit that he was not an easy person to love. He could even admit that it was mostly his fault, but only to himself.

“Hm,” Fuegoleon nodded contemplatively. “You do have flaws.”

“Countless,” Nozel sighed. “I can’t talk to children.”

“They’re not children anymore.”

“I still can’t talk to them.”

“You’ll get better.”

Easy for him to say. Nozel did not point that out.

“I can be … standoffish at times. But so are you!”

“I do not deny it.”

“We both suffer from a sizeable ego.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“I can’t remember the rest of my flaws.”

Fuegoleon threw him an unimpressed look at that. “You care too much about status.”

Nozel did not consider that a flaw at all.

As if sensing that this was a fight he would not win, Fuegoleon sighed and rolled his eyes. He brought his other hand up to Nozel’s shoulder and pulled him in to slot their foreheads together.

“I can’t wait to overcome most of those flaws with you.”

Nozel had run out of words – he could only nod. He wanted so desperately to return the gesture then, to touch with the same grace he was given. So he did.

ooOoo

It took a few days for their responsibilities to let up enough for them to meet at a discrete location, finally alone, and get to work.

They said gratification tasted sweeter when it arrived late – after a few hours of “fooling around”, Nozel was of the opinion that he should have chased his gratification sooner.

Lying on his side on the nondescript bed in the nondescript room, he traced the lines of the mark on Fuegoleon’s flank. The wings of the eagle, powerful and broad over his ribs. The lion claw marks, chasing, challenging. Turned towards each other, forever. Beautiful on tanned skin, tantalising, beckoning. Had it really been half a year since it had appeared? Had he truly waited this long just to touch it? Its warmth was addictive.

Fuegoleon watched him, patient and attentive. It was really quite different, Nozel could admit, to have his naked body laid out so still for private viewing, rather than filtered through all the commotion of a public bath. Open to touch, giving its heat freely. He felt rather privileged indeed. Despite his own nakedness, he felt not a trace of cold.

“What now?” Fuegoleon asked after a time, once the silence had run its course.

“Now?” Nozel hummed. He understood the significance of the question. He could choose to rest – his mission was complete, his mother avenged. He was free. “Now I will become the Wizard King. I’m going to beat you.”

A brilliant smile split his rival’s features then. Fuegoleon rose, and Nozel rushed to meet him halfway. Always. Forever.