Chapter Text
It was one of those days when the kingdom seemed to hold its breath.
Rest was not permitted, the bells rang to signal the beginning of labor even before dawn and, despite that, everything felt unsettlingly quiet. The cold was beginning to descend from the mountains. It was not yet the heart of winter, but the poorest already knew it well. At night, the wind slipped through the cracks of houses made of wood and clay, stealing what little warmth there had never truly been enough of.
The king, as was customary, took no part in that routine. From marble balconies or halls adorned with foreign tapestries, he boasted to other monarchs about how his people were the purpose of his life, the first he was meant to protect. Polished words, repeated until they lost their shape... empty promises.
No one had expected help for a long time.
The peasants worked the fields until exhaustion, only to watch the grain they themselves had sown be seized, stored, and eventually resold... sometimes at twice its value. Even so, no one protested. Not out of loyalty, but out of weariness.
Royal guards watched every street and every market entrance. They were feared, yes, but most did not come from nobility. They were sons of peasants, young men who had taken up the sword in hopes of escaping misery, of raising their families’ names at least one step above the mud. Many believed, or needed to believe, that merit alone would one day be enough to rise.
Tsukasa was different.
He had grown up without knowing hunger or fearing winter. His parents had once belonged to a respected family in another kingdom. War had forced them to abandon those lands and seek refuge here, where the king was a former ally. He did not hesitate to house them in one of the many residences tied to the crown, more out of respect for their surname than true generosity.
The blond boy who had possessed everything in his childhood still chose the path of steel.
He did not need money.
He did not need to cleanse his family’s name, yet there he was, serving as a royal knight.
Not out of ambition, but out of an almost stubborn sense of honor.
Every morning began the same way. Cold metal fitting against his body, the familiar weight of the sword resting at his hip, the sound of straps tightening with a precision learned more through habit than discipline. While other knights prayed to rise in rank or be noticed, Tsukasa only checked that his armor was clean, that his cloak did not trail dust, that his presence left no room for doubt.
The court trusted him. Not because of his diligence, though he never failed in his duties, but because of his surname, the history that preceded him, the certainty that he would never act on impulse. That was why his assignments were always the same... quiet, precise, far from chaos.
He guarded palace corridors during important audiences.
He escorted foreign nobles to their chambers.
He accompanied royal caravans only as far as the land remained safe.
Never beyond that.
Orders were not debated. They were accepted, carried out, and forgotten.
That was how the kingdom functioned.
That was how order was meant to work.
And Tsukasa, even as he understood it, could not help but notice the cracks.
He saw the younger knights return exhausted from the outskirts, fresh mud still clinging to their boots and their faces hardened by the hunger of others. Men who believed, with an almost childlike faith, that obedience would one day be enough. That the king would look at them and speak their names aloud.
That never happened.
Tsukasa knew it.
Only a few months earlier, that unchanging routine had shifted completely.
That morning, like so many others, he had gone to the royal messenger’s chamber. It was a narrow room, always steeped in the smell of melted wax and damp parchment, where announcements were delivered without explanation. There, he usually waited for simple orders, escorting a visiting monarch, guarding one of the king’s children during their whimsical walks through the castle, or even accompanying the cooks when they had to transport food from the outer storehouses.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
This time, however, the words were different.
Brief. Dry.
—We have a new special resident —the messenger said, without raising his voice much—. The king needs him alive. You are to bring him food three times a week.
Tsukasa did not react at once. He nodded by reflex, as he had learned to do from a young age, but his mind was already working in silence.
Special?
The king was not a man given to generosity, much less to that kind of consideration. If someone received preferential treatment, it was usually for a clear reason, wealth, lineage… or political usefulness.
A foreign prince?
Some disgraced noble it was still convenient to keep alive?
The blond knight adjusted the strap of his glove, ready to leave and head to the great kitchen to fetch a basket prepared in advance. He could already picture the procedure, stale bread, some salted meat, and perhaps dried fruit if the storehouse was feeling generous.
But the messenger was not finished.
—Even so… —he added, this time in a lower, more cautious tone— keep an eye on him. The king does not care for him, he only needs him for his power. Do not let this special treatment go to his head.
Tsukasa looked up then.
He asked nothing. It was not his place.
But something, for the first time in a long while, tightened in his chest.
Power.
There were not many in the kingdom who could be described that way without resorting to the sword.
—Understood —he finally replied, his voice steady.
He left the chamber without looking back.
The corridor leading to the kitchens was full of movement. Servants carrying sacks of grain, assistants hurrying with pitchers of hot water, cooks giving orders with their sleeves rolled up. The contrast with the conversation he had just had was almost jarring. Here, life went on unaware of any “special residents.”
In the great kitchen, the master cook recognized him at once.
—Another escort? —he asked, wiping his hands on his apron.
—No. Provisions —Tsukasa replied—. Three times a week.
That was enough.
They handed him a sturdy wicker basket, prepared with more care than usual: fresh bread, a small portion of meat, dried legumes, and even a modest bottle of watered-down wine. Beside it, a pouch of coins.
Tsukasa took it, surprised by the weight.
—This is more than usual —he remarked without thinking.
The cook shrugged.
—Direct orders. They said he had to be kept alive… and in decent condition.
That did not reassure him.
He tucked the basket under his arm and slipped the money into a small leather pouch. As he left the kitchen, he could not help but wonder who required such specific care and, at the same time, such constant surveillance.
The route they had indicated was not one he usually took.
It led him away from the noble quarters of the castle, down less traveled corridors, and finally beyond the main walls, toward a detached structure, nearly forgotten. It was not a formal prison. Nor a residence.
It was… confinement disguised.
The king needs him alive.
Only for his power.
Tsukasa tightened his grip on the basket’s handle without realizing it.
Their first encounter was… strange.
Tsukasa knocked on the door with his knuckles, once, without force. From inside, he sensed movement, light footsteps, a shadow sliding along the wooden wall.
He knew for certain someone was there, yet he did not insist. He did not knock again. He set the basket down by the entrance, placed the pouch of coins beside it, and left without looking back.
That became his routine for nearly two weeks.
Arrive.
Leave the basket.
Leave.
Little by little, he began to know that “special resident” without ever truly seeing him. Through the smallest details, the basket sometimes shifted when Tsukasa passed by again, the wine disappearing first, the bread carefully broken apart. There were never words. Never a greeting.
Until, by accident, he saw him.
That morning the wind was colder than usual, and something hung outside the residence... bundles of dried flowers, herbs tied with worn strings. Tsukasa paused for just a second, intrigued. Then he saw him.
The man was crouched with his back turned, grinding something in a stone mortar. His movements were slow but precise, almost ritualistic. He bore no resemblance to the image Tsukasa had formed in his mind.
He did not dress like royalty.
The tunics were too long, too loose, frayed at the edges. There were no embroideries, no noble colors. His hands were dirty with dust and sap, his nails stained. His skin looked pale, marked by deep shadows beneath his eyes.
Gaunt.
He was not a pampered prince.
He was not a fallen noble.
Tsukasa watched him for only a few seconds, just long enough to feel that sharp, uncomfortable sting of curiosity. Then he reacted. He set the basket down in front of the door, left the coins at the side, and turned away, pretending nothing had happened.
No one had ever explained who that special resident truly was.
No one ever mentioned him again.
But the king insisted on keeping him alive… and comfortably so.
Tsukasa was already about to leave when a voice stopped him.
—Stop bringing vegetables.
It was not a shouted order. It was soft, tired, deep.
Tsukasa came to an abrupt stop.
—...huh? —he murmured.
—You heard me —the voice continued—. Stop bringing vegetables. They're a waste. Double the meat portions instead.
Silence.
The knight did not know what to say or how to react. The tone was not arrogant, nor was it grateful. It was... practical. As if this were the most logical thing in the world.
—And stop bringing me coins —he added—. It’s not as though I intend to go down to the village to buy things.
Silence again.
Tsukasa nodded without realizing it, though he was not sure the other man could see him. He left with his heart pounding in his chest, not from fear, but from something far harder to name.
The next day, there he was again, standing with the basket filled as usual: legumes, fruit, some meat, bread, and the pouch of coins hanging from his belt.
He remembered the request clearly.
“Stop bringing vegetables.”
What was he supposed to do?
No new instructions had been given. The king had not changed his orders. Technically, nothing was to be altered.
But something within him... something stubborn, almost childlike, decided otherwise.
That afternoon, Tsukasa returned to the kitchen.
He traded the legumes for more meat. Salted meat, fresh cuts, even a small smoked piece reserved for officers. He left the vegetables for others. Then, without thinking too much about it, he removed the coins from the basket.
He would not bring them this time.
Not as payment.
Not as a bribe.
When he reached the residence, he set the basket down in front of the door as always.
But a strange wind slipped through the trees, traveled along the stone path, and pushed the wooden door open with a slow, deliberate creak. The door swung open on its own.
There he was.
Arms crossed, his posture relaxed, almost careless, it contrasted sharply with his tired, piercing, sharp gaze. It was probably the first time they made eye contact, and yet Tsukasa felt a chill run down his spine.
Yellow eyes.
They did not shine like in stories. They were not monstrous. They were human... too attentive. As though they were weighing every thought before it could even form.
The most unsettling part was not that.
It was that he had already been looking toward the door.
From a worn chair placed directly in front of the entrance, as if he had been waiting. As if he had known something would change that day.
—I see you listened.
The voice was the same as before, calm, slightly hoarse, effortless. Rui straightened lazily and raised a hand, nothing more than a vague flick of the wrist.
The basket lifted from the ground and began to float slowly, as though the air itself were holding it up.
Tsukasa stood frozen.
His training was useless. His body did not react. He did not reach for his sword. He did not step back. He only watched, pulse racing, throat dry.
—Ah… —Rui murmured, tilting his head—. Lamb?
The basket turned slightly in the air, obedient.
—I didn’t think you’d go to that much trouble.
Tsukasa opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Rui smiled.
It was not a kind smile. Nor a cruel one. It was amused. As if the situation genuinely entertained him.
—I didn’t expect a royal guard to indulge a whim —he added—. They tend to be more… rigid.
The basket lowered and landed softly inside the residence.
—Did I surprise you?
Tsukasa swallowed.
—You… —he began, then stopped—. This… is forbidden.
Rui tilted his head, assessing him.
—Levitation? The meat? Or the magic?
A heavy silence followed. The wind picked up again, dry branches creaking.
Rui studied the knight’s face closely, as though reading something deeper than fear.
—Look at you —he said softly—. The king sent you without telling you anything, didn’t he?
Tsukasa did not answer.
—Of course he didn’t —Rui continued—. They never explain anything. They only expect obedience.
He let out a brief, almost weary nasal laugh.
—Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.
That finally made Tsukasa react. He took a step back, his hand at last brushing the hilt of his sword.
Rui noticed and raised both hands, exaggerating the gesture.
—Easy. If I wanted to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
—I’m a sorcerer —he finally said, without drama, glancing toward the basket—I was brought here to… protect the kingdom.
Tsukasa did not lower his guard for even a second.
—Are you a slave?
The question came out dry, direct. He had heard the stories. Chained witches, mages used as weapons... nothing good.
Rui let out a brief, incredulous laugh.
—No. —He shook his head—. My father is an inventor. My mother, a witch. I am… maybe a scholar.
He shrugged, as if the title did not matter much.
—I needed refuge. The king needed something he didn’t understand. So I agreed to come here in exchange for protecting this little kingdom.
Tsukasa frowned.
—Protect it from what?
Rui opened his mouth… and did not close it again.
—From plagues, from diseases no one knows how to name, from winters that arrive too early, from desperate people who would do anything to survive —he listed casually—. Magic is not always fire and destruction, even though that’s all people remember.
He began to pace the room as he spoke.
—I travel through small kingdoms, port cities, nomadic settlements. Each culture understands magic differently. Some write it, others sing it, others carve it into stone or bone. If you cling to only one method, you never understand the whole.
He was speaking faster now, with a strange, contained energy.
—Here, for example, they believe healing is prayer. In the north, healing is exchange. On the islands, healing is lying to the body until it agrees to live. Fascinating, isn’t it?
Tsukasa watched him, unsure at what point the conversation had slipped beyond his control.
—You can only… —he interrupted— levitate things.
Silence fell at once.
Rui stopped. Then he looked at him and laughed.
It was not a cruel laugh. It was genuine. Almost childlike.
—Is that what you think?
Before Tsukasa could react, he felt something strange in his hand.
He looked down.
The hilt of his sword had changed. The blade no longer gleamed. It was dull, rough.
Wood.
His heart gave a violent lurch.
—What did you do? —he demanded, drawing the blade fully.
The weapon was now a poorly carved wooden sword, like a child’s toy.
Rui watched the scene with obvious amusement.
—Relax —he said—. It’s just an illusion.
With a snap of his fingers, the sword became steel again.
—Of course I don’t just levitate things.
He leaned against the table, arms crossed, his smile crooked.
—My name is Rui —he added at last—. You must be the knight far too decent for this place.
His yellow eyes settled on him once more, intense but curious.
—Tsukasa, right?
It was not a question.
Tsukasa blinked once... then again, nodding more out of inertia than conviction.
The way Rui had spoken his name unsettled him. Not like a threat, but like something inevitable, as if it had always been there, waiting to be said.
The knight took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He squared his shoulders, reclaiming that air drilled into him through years of discipline.
—Are you a sorcerer… or a seer? —he asked cautiously.
Rui raised an eyebrow.
—Is that what worries you most?
Tsukasa did not answer right away. His gaze flicked briefly to the sword, making sure it was still steel. Then he looked back at him.
—You know my name —he said—. And I didn’t tell you.
Rui studied him in silence for a few seconds. That yellow gaze softened slightly, as though he were weighing how much to say and how much to save for later.
—I’m not a seer —he finally replied—. They tend to be terrible mages and even worse listeners.
From that point on, the days stopped being a predictable sequence of errands and silence.
Whenever he had to bring food to Rui, he ended up staying longer than intended. At first, it was merely a matter of courtesy, set the basket down, listen to a few remarks, nod, and leave.
That was proper.
That was what was expected of a royal knight.
But as time passed, without realizing it, he began to truly listen.
Rui talked too much. He spoke as if silence unsettled him, as if he feared that if he stopped, his very existence might fade away. He talked about books, about theories, about magic that was not meant for war or to impress anyone, but simply to understand the world a little better.
Tsukasa did not always understand everything. In fact, most of the time, he understood almost nothing.
Still, he stayed.
He began to take an interest in him in a way he could not name.
The first time he found him studying magic, he had almost turned and run.
Symbols were drawn on the floor, crooked lines that seemed to twist under the candlelight, and Rui knelt in the center, murmuring words in a language Tsukasa had never heard. The air felt heavy, charged, like before a storm.
For a moment, he thought it must be some forbidden ritual. Something dark. Something the king would certainly never allow if he knew of it.
Tsukasa’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword.
—If you’re going to draw that, give me a warning first —Rui said without looking at him—. You’re distracting me.
Tsukasa took a step back, his heart pounding.
—W-what… what are you doing?
Rui lifted his gaze with evident weariness, as if the question was more bothersome than alarming.
—That? —he glanced at the floor, then back at him—. Nothing exciting. Nordic runes.
Silence.
—…Runes?
Rui let out a brief, dry laugh.
—It’s not a satanic ritual, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though I admit the first impression helps keep people from getting too close.
With a lazy flick of his hand, the lines on the floor began to fade, as if they had never been there. The weight in the air slowly dissipated.
—They’re just ancient symbols —he continued—. Language. At its core, magic doesn’t always need blood or sacrifices, Tsukasa. Sometimes it just needs understanding.
Tsukasa took a long moment before letting go of his sword’s hilt.
That day, he did not leave immediately.
He sat in one of the old chairs in the residence, stiff, attentive, listening to Rui talk about lost cultures, how magic varied depending on place and people, how each kingdom decided what kind of sorcery to fear and which to tolerate.
As the weeks passed, Tsukasa began to understand him a little more. He no longer heard mere fantasies or the ramblings of an isolated scholar, now he understood alongside him. It wasn’t long before he began to help: gathering materials, finding forgotten books, even contacting people who might be useful. It was not his duty. No one had asked him and yet, being there, listening, doing small things for him, made him feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
For the first time, someone forced him to look beyond what had always been presented as true, correct, or real.
—I… —he said after a moment of silence—. This might sound silly, but when I was a child, I always wondered if pegasi were real.
Rui did not interrupt.
—Whenever I asked the servants, they ended up scolding me the same way —Tsukasa continued—. Saying I was too absorbed in fantasy and not focused on my duties as a noble.
It was late. The sun was shyly disappearing behind the lush hills, painting the sky in muted tones. Tsukasa should have returned to the palace hours ago. But why? To go back to watching over the princes like an armed babysitter? To taste dishes in case any were poisoned?
—Pegasi? —Rui murmured, completely relaxed on the grass—. I didn’t think you were the type of person to get excited seeing a unicorn with wings.
Tsukasa rolled his eyes as he bent to pick a few wildflowers. Rui could have made them disappear with a gesture, but he seemed to enjoy watching him struggle against the mosquitoes, focused, patient.
Oh… what a dedicated man.
—They exist —Rui added casually—. I’ve never seen one, because they’re rather useless, but they say they live near fairies.
Tsukasa stopped.
—Fairies…? Do things like that really exist?
Rui glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a faint, tired smile, almost indulgent.
—Do you think people would bother inventing, classifying, and researching imaginary creatures for centuries without a reason?
Rui looked up at the sky for a moment. The first stars were beginning to peek through thin clouds, as if unsure whether it was worth showing themselves completely. The air had grown colder, heavy with humidity and the persistent buzzing Tsukasa tried to ignore with increasingly fragile dignity.
—Fantasy is not another world —Rui said at last—. It’s the same one, just seen without fear.
Tsukasa moved a branch with his foot and shook his neck as something brushed his skin again.
—If that’s the case, then that world is full of small, annoying creatures —he grumbled—. I don’t understand how you can sit here so calmly.
Rui let out a short laugh, barely a whisper.
—Mosquitoes. Insects. Simple things. They mean no harm, they just exist.
—Well, they exist to ruin my night —Tsukasa replied, swatting at the air again.
Rui watched him closely, not with cruel mockery, but with a gentle, almost amused curiosity. That knight, capable of felling men with a sword, seemed completely defenseless against something so tiny.
—It’s curious —he remarked—. You fear things you cannot control, yet obey orders you could question.
Tsukasa did not answer immediately. He sat beside him, a little closer than he would have considered appropriate anywhere else. The grass was damp, the earth cold beneath his hands.
—Perhaps because orders don’t buzz around my head —he murmured.
Rui smiled faintly.
There was a comfortable silence. Not empty. One that didn’t need filling.
—If one day you decide to take the day off —Rui said suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to him—, we could go farther. North, perhaps. There are valleys that still haven’t made it onto maps.
Tsukasa turned his face toward him.
—For what?
—To hunt a pegasus —he replied with complete calm… then added, tilting his head—. Or just admire it, if you don’t like the idea of killing it.
Tsukasa let out an incredulous laugh.
—Are you serious?
—Completely. I can show you the world of fantasy —Rui said—. Not the one they use to scare children or justify wars. The real one. The one that exists even if no one wants to see it.
Tsukasa lowered his gaze, watching his own hands, marked by training and duty. He thought of the palace, the torches, the patrolled corridors. He thought of how easy it was to stay there, just listening.
—Maybe… —he said at last—. But only if you promise to keep the insects away.
Rui laughed this time, heartily.
—Now that’s a difficult spell.
Neither of them said it aloud, but both knew they would do the same thing the next day.
The basket.
The path.
The hill.