Chapter Text
““Commander?”
Yuder called out hesitantly as he set foot into the Commander's office. The faint scent of ink and parchment greeted him as usual, but something was amiss. Even to someone without keen eyesight, the unsettling atmosphere would be impossible to miss. Kishiar, seated at his desk, was lacking his usual lustre complexion. His red eyes were subdued, and a melancholy look was cast over his face.
The piles of letters stacked on his desk remained untouched. Instead, he stared directly at Yuder as if he were looking at a ghost. The silence stretched in the air for too long, making him hesitate. Yuder opened his mouth to call out to him again, when—
“Hah… Is this perhaps a dream?”
Kishiar muttered faintly under his breath, causing Yuder to open his eyes wide.
Did Kishiar have another nightmare about the previous game? Why didn't he tell him? It was typical of Kishiar to cover up his anguish from others, like he did when he first dreamt of Yuder's execution. A sense of self-loathing and guilt washed over him for not noticing.
As he walked around the desk to stand directly in front of him, Kishiar's eyes followed his every movement like he expected him to disappear. Yuder frowned.
“Commander, are you here with me?” He spoke, voice gentle.
Kishiar lifted a hand as if to reach for him, but then paused, fingers curling back into his palm like the moment would crumble under his touch. Yuder took a step closer to him.
“Commander.”
Slowly, he lowered himself to sit on his lap—careful and deliberate—giving Kishiar every chance to stop him. When he didn't, Yuder gained more confidence, pressing their knees together till there was no space between them.
Pressing his forehead against the other, they shared the same breath. Yuder could see the faint knitting of Kishiar's brow, and the haunted look in his eyes. Wanting to chase it all away, he whispered, “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, Kishiar.”
Kishiar's breath hitched, “Don't.” There was something fragile in his voice that made him pause.
“Yudrein Aile.”
Yuder's heart stopped. The sound struck him—heavy and daunting. A name that he had long since relinquished, one that belonged to a past he could no longer return to.
“I'm not the Kishiar la Orr you know.”
Yuder couldn't move. His fingers on Kishiar's uniform unconsciously tightened, like he was trying to ground himself in reality.
The heat beneath him became too clear. A line of thoughts flashed through his mind, haunting and fast, clashing against each other. But one remained poignant among them all like a broken melody.
Where is his Kishiar?
“Then..” He tried to keep his voice straight, “Where is he? Kishiar…of now, I mean.”
Kishiar kept his eyes downwards, “I don't know.”
“The body, and the memories—these are all his. But the consciousness isn't. I was in the cracks, and before I knew it, I somehow found myself here.”
He looked up at Yuder, hesitant, as if to gauge his reaction. Yuder didn't know how to react. Two people who were the same yet entirely different at the same time. He loved them both. Because the one in front of him right now was his past—without him, he would not be living the beautiful, fortunate present.
Kishiar seemed to appraise whatever he saw on Yuder's face as negative, because he soon bowed his head. “I'm sorry. I never wished to take more than what I already have from you.”
“I know,” Yuder whispered, voice small even to his ears. He knew that now.
“No. In spite of dying, I still manage to always keep hurting you,” Kishiar's lips curved in a bitter smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “I know I have never been good at keeping promises. But I promise you, I will fix this.”
Yuder wondered where he had seen that expression on Kishiar before. The piercing pain in his eyes, which he had failed to recognise before, or the self-loathing smile he wore, seemed strangely blatant today.
The memory struck him all at once. The voice spoken in the same, heartwrenching voice after the lingering heat of a night neither of them could forget. The same look he wore before everything fell apart—seeing it on this Kishiar made his chest ache in an unfamiliar way.
He exhaled slowly, “Then fix it. But until you do, I'm right here.”
Kishiar's breath hitched. Yuder rested his forehead against Kishiar’s again and closed his eyes—not with decision, but quiet acceptance.
———
Enon sat back in his chair, looking between the two of them, “I won't lie to you,” his voice was stripped of its usual levity, “I don't know what is going on.”
The words fell heavy in the room. Yuder fell into their weight, without knowing. He unconsciously turned to look at Kishiar la Orr beside him on the couch, who had a strange look on his face.
Enon clicked his tongue, breaking the silence. “Hey, kid, don't make that face. If I had to make a conjecture?” He shrugged. "Maybe it's an Awakener's ability? Who knows, the effect will probably wear out on its own then!”
Kishiar's brow knitted, “That is,” he said quietly, “If that's the case.”
“Hah, what did you just say, you–”
The noise dawned over Yuder's head, not fully making sense. His gaze was fixated on Kishiar's hand. The same faint scars, and the same calluses. Everything about the body was unchanged. But the presence within it was entirely different.
“If it's an Awakener's ability,” Yuder finally said, “Then wouldn't both sides be aware?”
Both men in the room turned towards Yuder.
“If that is true,” Yuder tightened his grip on Kishiar's hand, “Then, maybe you should see this game for yourself.”
Enon rubbed a hand over his face, sighing, the sound loud, “If anyone can survive an overlap like this,” he muttered, "Then it's your damn Commander.”
Kishiar looked at Yuder for a long moment.
Then, he slowly nodded.
———
There was no body in the cracks.
Only hands.
A pair of gloved hands, white and pristine, curled inwards, bracing for resistance that never came. There was no ground beneath them—only the slow, small drifting of space that refused to acknowledge form.
Kishiar la Orr does not know how he got here.
Yet his consciousness remained intact, stretched thin but unbroken, despite his disoriented surroundings. He could think. To Kishiar, who believed that alone could prove existence, it was enough to endure the dark.
His mind raced with questions as he quietly speculated. An interchange in conditions.
That would mean his other self was currently in his place.
The thought lingered in the air, like something fragile.
With his Yuder.
The fingers unconsciously tightened around the palm, although there was no sensation. Kishiar silently stared at the cracks, which had no opening or closing. He tried to imagine what was taking place beyond the rift in the dark.
‘...It seems that something interesting has happened.’