Chapter Text
Camulus could say with all certainty that he disliked war. Hated it, even. That irony was never lost on him- the god of war who detested the very thing he embodied. Why did the gods persist in it? All this slaughter, this endless spilling of blood and anguish- for nothing. For politics. For pride. For power. It sickened him. He had watched men and boys alike tear themselves apart on the battlefield, their deaths echoing in his immortal memory long after their bodies had rotted to dust. And tonight, once again, it weighed on him.
Sleep had long abandoned him, not that he needed it. The curse of divinity meant rest was only ever an illusion anyway. Yet he walked, a god adrift among his mortal camp, boots crunching softly over the brittle grass. The hour was late; his soldiers were asleep, their snores faint and uneven through the canvas walls. All the torches had been extinguished, their flames snuffed like so many lives he had seen extinguished before. Darkness cloaked the camp. Quiet.
All but one tent.
Kanoz.
Camulus slowed his stride. The name alone carried a weight he could not explain. Kanoz -the boy he had knighted only days ago, so young, barely fourteen, still small in his armor though he tried to stand tall. A boy whose life had already been carved by loss: a father rotted from the inside by drink, a mother wasted away by sickness, leaving him as the sole protector of his little sister. Since arriving, the boy had hardly spoken. Camulus had noticed. He always noticed. The boy trained with a kind of feral desperation from dawn until dusk, his thin arms trembling as he swung a blade too heavy for him. And when he allowed himself moments of stillness, he would sit by the river nearby, staring into its slow black waters as if searching for something inside himself.
Camulus had not minded. He gave his boys freedom enough to stay up late, to train when they needed. Yet… this night was different. This night, Camulus could hear something soft and hollow coming from the boy’s tent. A sound that did not belong in any camp, let alone his own.
Kanoz was crying.
The kind of crying Camulus had learned to recognize: not the sharp, angry sobs of a tantrum, but the small, numb, breaking sound of a soul too tired to even weep properly. It stilled him outside the tent flap. In all the days he had known the boy, Camulus had never heard Kanoz cry. Never seen so much as a tear glint on his cheek.
He pushed the flap aside and stepped into the dimness.
Kanoz sat curled against the tent pole, knees drawn up to his chest, thin fingers clutching at the coarse blanket as if it were an anchor. His hair- messy brown strands that had grown long in disarray- shadowed his face. He startled when Camulus entered, eyes lifting. Dark hazelnut eyes, ringed red.
“Y-Your Majesty?” His voice cracked. He scrubbed at his face with the cot covers, wiping tears away as if ashamed.
Camulus sighed softly and lowered himself to sit beside the boy, the canvas rustling beneath them. “Kanoz,” he said, voice low, almost fatherly, “you know you may drop the formalities when we are alone.”
“It’s… rude to do so,” the boy murmured, his gaze falling again.
Camulus chuckled faintly, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “Oh, Kanoz, my boy. It’s not rude when you and I speak as people. No need for titles when the world isn’t watching.” He studied the boy a moment, eyes tracing the hollow cheeks, the thin wrists. “Why are you awake? You’ve training in a few hours. Rest matters.”
“…Nightmares,” Kanoz muttered.
Camulus’ expression softened, sympathy clouding his sharp features. “Ah. That’s why you’ve been training yourself to exhaustion- so you might sleep without dreams?” He reached out, his hand hesitating for only a breath before resting gently on the boy’s narrow shoulder. The god could feel the bones beneath his palm. The boy was far too thin.
“Ah,” Kanoz said, attempting a small laugh, “I thought I was hiding it well.”
“You do, in public,” Camulus replied, shaking his head with a quiet tsk. “But I notice more than you give me credit for.” He exhaled slowly. “You’ve been pushing yourself far too hard, Kanoz. It’s not healthy.”
“Neither is war,” the boy muttered bitterly. “But who cares?”
Camulus blinked at the edge in his tone. It startled him; Kanoz was normally so soft-spoken. A kind, quiet boy. He tilted his head, his expression sharpening. “Kanoz. Look at me.” When the boy did not, Camulus’ voice dropped lower, firmer. “I do care. You’re my knight. I will not watch you grind yourself down to nothing. I’ve seen the weight you’ve lost, the sleep you’re missing. You’re killing yourself at this rate.”
“…Hopefully,” Kanoz whispered, his voice almost swallowed by the dark.
Camulus’ eyes widened. The words landed like a blade in his chest. He stared, dumbfounded, before drawing in a sharp, steadying breath. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want to die. Not in war. That’ll hurt too much, won’t it? I-I don’t want it to hurt.”
Camulus closed his eyes, fighting the sudden surge of anger- no, not anger, fear. “If you think killing yourself slowly is any better, you’re wrong.” His grip on the boy’s shoulder tightened, no longer gentle but like a manacle. His eyes flashed with something raw and unguarded. “Do not think such an idiotic thing. Ever.”
“…I’m so scared.”
The words hit him harder than anything before. The honesty cracked something in Camulus’ chest, the god’s anger bleeding away into a deep, aching sorrow. Without thinking, he pulled Kanoz against him, an arm wrapping tight around the boy’s small frame, holding him firmly to his chest. He buried his face briefly in the boy’s hair, the scent of sweat and river water filling his lungs, and let out a shuddering breath. “Shhh… it will be alright. I’m here.”
“For how long?” Kanoz’s voice trembled. “For how long will you put up with me before I’m not good enough? Before I die for your war?”
Camulus’ arms tightened around him, his heart aching. Did the boy truly believe he was only a pawn to be thrown into the fray? That his worth was measured only in blood spilled for Camulus’ name? He closed his eyes tightly, clutching the trembling boy as if by holding him he could erase the thought. “Gods above… no. Kanoz, no.”
“You don’t want this!” the boy burst out suddenly, pushing back just enough to meet Camulus’ gaze, eyes glistening. “Then call it off- make peace with Sideruem already! It’s gone on long enough!”
Camulus shook his head, jaw tight. He put his hands firmly on the boy’s shoulders, forcing Kanoz to look up at him. “You think I haven’t tried? Peace is something Sideruem refuses.”
Kanoz’s lip trembled. “Then I won’t let my sister grow up in this war.”
“And you think I want her to?” Camulus’ voice broke. “You think I want any child to endure this? You think I want war at all?”
“Then call it off!”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?!” Camulus snapped, the words erupting before he could stop them. His grip on Kanoz’s shoulders tightened, his eyes blazing. “I’ve tried dozens of times. Every single time, Sideruem refuses. Nimue will not allow it!”
“…Nimue’s a bitch,” Kanoz muttered darkly.
Camulus let out a strangled, almost broken laugh despite himself. “You don’t know the half of it…”
He reached up, running a hand through the boy’s messy hair, noticing the shiver running through him. His anger melted into something softer.
“…I’m so scared,” Kanoz whispered again, voice small.
Camulus’ heart clenched. He pulled the boy close once more, wrapping his arms around him as if he could shield him from the world. His hand stroked Kanoz’s hair gently, soothing. “I know you are. It’s alright to be scared, little one.”
“I’m going to die out there.”
The god’s grip tightened instinctively. He could not bear the image of Kanoz lying lifeless on some battlefield. He shifted, pulling the boy onto his lap, holding him as a father might hold a child. “Hush…”
“They’ll kill me… Connie will be alone… Mum will be alone…”
Camulus tucked the boy’s head into the crook of his neck, his hand rubbing circles into his back. He had no words. Promises of safety would be empty. Death waited for everyone on the battlefield — even those under a god’s banner.
“Hey.” Kanoz tilted his head up slightly, eyes wet but steady, those sad dark-chocolate eyes that reminded Camulus of a dog at his master’s command. “You’re a god. Am I going to die?”
Camulus’ breath caught. He wanted to say no. He wanted to swear the boy would live to see peace, to grow old and safe. But the truth weighed heavier. He closed his eyes, his voice barely audible. “I… wish I could say you won’t. But war is dangerous, Kanoz. There’s a chance…”
“Connie?”
That single name nearly undid him. He tightened his arms around the boy protectively. “Don’t think about her now,” he murmured desperately.
“I have to,” Kanoz said, voice breaking. “If I’m gone, she needs someone. I won’t let her be married off - I won’t-’’ He went quiet, nuzzling against Camulus’ chest. “When I die… can I have tulips? Red ones. Or Chocolate Cosmos. And if Connie dies, she’d want red roses.”
Camulus’ hand trembled as it stroked the boy’s hair. Red tulips. Chocolate Cosmos. Red roses. He burned the request into his mind. “…Of course,” he whispered. “Anything you want.”
“…Thank you. I’m glad, in a way, if I die, it’ll be for you.”
The words stabbed deeper than any blade. Camulus took Kanoz’s thin hand in his own, clutching it tightly. His voice came out rough, almost a growl. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say you’re glad to die for me. I… I can’t lose you, Kanoz.”
“But you will,” the boy murmured.
…..
…..
Two years.
Two long years of battles won and lost comrades buried, of mornings that began before dawn with steel clashing in practice and nights that ended in quiet talks by the fire. Two years of watching a boy grow into a young man- too quickly, too harshly. Of teasing, of laughter rare but real. Of secrets whispered in confidence. Of Camulus, god of war, daring to call that boy his son.
Two years. And at last, Sideruem had faltered. They had raised the white flag. For now, the war was over.
The camp was a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. The dead were being counted, names called out like prayers to a sky that did not listen. The wounded cried out in pain as healers worked tirelessly, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke, of ash clinging to every tent and soldier’s cloak. Families of the fallen gathered in clusters, some in silence, others breaking beneath the weight of grief.
Camulus had been moving among the wounded, his large hands unexpectedly gentle as he bound gashes and steadied his trembling men. It gave him something to do- a way to keep his mind from the ghosts of all he had failed to save. He glanced up once, across the rows of battered men, and saw Kanoz in the distance. The boy was speaking with the families, his posture stiff but his expression carefully composed, doing his duty. His hazelnut eyes softened when he knelt before a crying child, and hardened again when he shook the hand of a grieving mother. Camulus thought, not for the first time, how proud he was of him.
But then it happened.
A soldier pulled Kanoz aside. Camulus was too far to hear the words, but he saw it- saw the way Kanoz’s face changed in an instant, the way colour drained from him, the way his shoulders dropped as though struck by an unseen arrow. The boy’s lips moved but no sound carried across the camp. Then silence. Stillness. His eyes were wide, his body trembling.
Something was wrong.
A jolt of dread pierced Camulus’ chest. He abandoned the wounded man beside him and moved quickly, almost running, his heart hammering harder with every step. The sight of Kanoz’s expression alone was enough to set alarm bells screaming in his mind.
“Kanoz!” he called, his voice cutting sharply across the noise of the camp. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
The boy looked at him, and his voice cracked like shattered glass.
“Connie.”
The name landed like a punch to the gut. Camulus froze for the briefest heartbeat, his mind spinning. No. No, it couldn’t be. Not Connie. Not the sister Kanoz had sworn to protect, the girl Camulus himself had promised would be safe.
He rushed the last few steps, his hands gripping the boy’s shoulders tightly, almost desperately. “What about Connie? Kanoz, what happened to Connie?”
The boy’s lips quivered. His words came out broken, half-choked with disbelief.
“…Sideruem troops… didn’t see the flag. They-she’s- You said she’d be fine!”
Camulus’ chest hollowed. The accusation tore through him like a blade. He had said it. He had promised. And now… gods above, he had been wrong.
“I-I-” His voice broke, raw, guttural. “I was wrong, gods damn it. I was wrong!”
Without thinking, he pulled Kanoz into his arms, crushing the boy against his chest. The motion was desperate, born from guilt and fear and a need to shield him from a pain that was already too late to prevent.
But Kanoz shoved against him, his voice cracking in fury. “Don’t touch me, you bastard! You said she’d already left for Kessho! Why was she still at the docks?!”
Camulus faltered, his grip loosening as if he’d been struck. His voice came weak, trembling. “I thought-I thought she was safe, I-”
“But she wasn’t!” Kanoz’s voice rose, sharp and broken. His whole body trembled with rage. “And now she’s fucking dead!”
The words slammed into Camulus with brutal finality. Dead. He shut his eyes tightly, the pain in his chest spreading like fire, sharp and merciless. He had lost countless soldiers, seen mothers weep over sons and sons over fathers. But this… this was different. This was Kanoz’s sister. This was a promise broken.
Kanoz’s body shook in his arms like a storm barely contained. For all his years of training, of bravery, of trying to be more than he was, he was still just a boy. A boy broken by loss. Camulus tightened his arms around him again, trying to be a harbor in the tempest.
“Shhh… it’s ok, just breathe, Kan-”
“I can’t!” Kanoz screamed into his chest. His voice cracked under the weight of grief. “I wasn’t there-I should’ve been there! Oh, gods, I hate Sideruem, I hate Nimue-I hate you, I hate this kingdom, I hate everything—”
The words sliced him open. Camulus flinched as though struck, but he didn’t let go. He knew the words were born of pain, not truth. Still, each syllable stung like fire.
“I know,” Camulus whispered hoarsely, his hand stroking Kanoz’s messy brown hair, holding the boy tight against him. “I know. Let it out, little one. Just let it out.”
“…Get off me.”
Those words cut deeper than any sword. Camulus’ hands trembled where they gripped the boy’s tunic. He wanted to keep holding on, to protect him from drowning in grief. But slowly, reluctantly, he loosened his arms. He stepped back, the air between them suddenly vast and cold, like a gulf that could never be crossed again.
Kanoz wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, hazelnut eyes bloodshot and burning. His voice was ragged, hollow. “…I-I need to go on a walk.”
Camulus’ heart sank. Every instinct screamed to forbid it, to keep the boy close where he could protect him. But he knew he couldn’t cage him. Not now. The boy needed space, even if space meant danger.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice into a whisper. “Just… promise me you won’t do anything foolish?”
“I hate promises.”
The words were sharp, final. And with that, Kanoz turned and walked away, his figure growing smaller with every step, until the shadows of the camp swallowed him whole.
And that was the last time Camulus ever saw his knight.