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“Mother, look at that!”
Kishiar, a bright, rosy-cheeked boy in the middle of an overcast winter day, pointed to a most unfortunate sight during his mother’s hunt. He looked back and forth between the scene and his mother, whose expression changed from that of a focused fur hunter to a pitying onlooker.
“Oh dear, they’re stuck together,” she sighed.
Stuck together were two stags with interlocked antlers, standing at a standstill before struggling to break free from each other. They both looked exhausted and desperate, and all Kishiar wanted to do was assist, but his mother held him in place.
“We don’t have the tools to help. We’re more likely to get hurt if we interfere,” she said as she crouched to his level.
His boyish innocence got the better of him, and he turned away from the scene nearly crying. Surely there had to be something that could be done. He couldn’t imagine being stuck like that, but he imagined that it had to hurt.
“What’s going to happen to them if they stay like that?” he hesitantly asked.
“They’ll both die, either from starvation or from predators,” she answered carefully.
As they lingered on the scene for a moment longer, the little boy couldn’t watch on. He resigned to his inability to do anything and trudged in the opposite direction. His mother took one last look at the pitiful scene and accompanied her child, wondering how she was going to help him process what they had just witnessed.
It was a memory from the days before his vessel showed signs of dysfunction. A memory before his mother was gone. Although most memories with her were filled with nothing but happiness and the feeling of complete protection, it was one of those necessary, sobering experiences that led to a child’s world expanding and maturing.
With the sudden remembrance of that day, Kishiar didn’t bother pretending to be asleep anymore. He opened his eyes and scanned the room. Dawn was just breaking and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Yuder slept next to him undisturbed, the fire was still going, documents stayed piled upon the nightstand, and nothing seemed to be misplaced. Although that pile did seem a little taller than last night. When did Nathan sneak in to do that?
He carefully slipped out of bed as to not disturb his beautiful assistant, but just as he stood a crashing wave of stabbing pain pulsated from his chest. It felt like his pain, yet not. He understood this pain, yet didn’t. It felt kind of like…
“Yuder?” he calmly asked.
He turned towards Yuder and gently leaned on the bed, but what he saw left him frozen in place, silently panicking. The back of Yuder’s neck, as well as the entirety of his upper back, were covered in love bites. Those couldn’t have possibly been put there if they had made love like they usually do. Yuder couldn’t stand facing away from each other, and he would’ve never coerced him to do anything different.
Did he somehow lose control at one point? Was this deep pain he was feeling Yuder’s? He continued to stay frozen in place until Yuder unexpectedly jolted up and turned his way with a look of shock. Also a look he hadn’t quite seen before, and his heart sank.
“What are you still doing here?” Yuder asked after a moment of opening and closing his mouth, unsure of what to say, a kaleidoscope of emotions sweeping across his face, from stock to frustration to confusion and then feigned indifference.
Kishiar moved to brush his hand, but the next abnormality he noticed were his own hands. Call it the state he had been in for most of his life compared to the freedom of a mere three years, but he hadn’t noticed it right away. Both of his hands donned white leather gloves. He had seen these before within the world of the cracks in Paletta.
Just as the cold touch brushed against Yuder’s skin, it caused him to flinch and pull away. His movements still conveyed a confused hesitancy, and his uncharacteristically furrowed expression told Kishiar that what he needed to do now was keep a small distance. Something had definitely happened for them to act so unlike themselves, and he wanted to take it one step at a time.
“I think it would be a good idea to call the pharmacist here. Priest Lusan will also help you regain some calm. Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out,” he quickly assured as he stood and walked toward the wardrobe in a panicked stride.
“Who is Priest Lusan?”
Kishiar halted as he picked out a shirt. Suddenly it seemed to click for him, with just one question. That’s all it took, given what he had observed for the past few moments.
How was this even possible?
When did it happen?
What anomalous phenomenon could have possibly-
“Yuder.”
“...Yes, Commander?” Yuder answered with a tone expectant of a scolding.
“Who is the Deputy Commander of the Arcanum Division?”
Yuder stayed silent before sulkily answering, “It’s me, who else?”
With his back still turned toward the wardrobe, Kishiar slid his right-hand glove down and stared at the ugly mess that marred his hand. A wound so grotesque and evident of his hubris that it made him nauseous. For sure, the only reason nobody knew about a wound this serious was because of the magical effects of the gloves, which were impervious to blood, puss, and dirt alike. The fact that it was this serious meant no amount of divine power could fix it, either.
This was, somehow, the world of Yuder’s first life.
Yuder’s physical state and attitude made sense, as well as the sharp pains permeating his chest that were his, yet not. He had felt Yuder’s emotions before, so plentiful that it was hard to recall them all. The sensations were like a gentle touch, an invisible nudge, or a blow from an opponent standing at a distance. What he felt now, however, was akin to a choke hold compared to those. What were generalized sensations were now so deep that it was difficult to tell if they came from his own wrecked body or somewhere else.
Is this what entwined stags feel like? he wondered.
“Nevermind. I’ll see to the training rounds today. Just rest,” was all he could muster.
Yuder snapped up straight and hurriedly began to put his uniform on. “And be accused of more unfair favoritism? I’m not sick.”
Unfair favoritism? Nobody in the Legion would have ever dared to suggest that. Unless that, too, was different. Yuder never dwelled on his past for too long when they discussed it. There were simply things he didn’t delve into detail about. He was so used to an image of a Yuder treasured and admired by the Arcane Legion that this almost made him burst out into laughter. Suppressing it, he sighed.
“Please. If I have to order you to do it, I will.”
This made Yuder stop. He straightened up, glared slightly at his commander before he took off the black tunic of his uniform, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Without another word, he flopped and curled onto his side. “If it’s an order,” he hissed.
With that, Kishiar finished putting on his own uniform and left, taking one last glance back before leaving. This Yuder stayed put, but he could imagine the pout. Now that he knew where he was, he recalled the same Yuder in memories he had dreamt of before. A younger, less regulated, less traumatized version of the person he loved so dearly. Though traumatized still he was, this young man wore his heart on his sleeves and wasn’t afraid to show it to anyone.
Was what he was experiencing here also some type of dream? It felt so lucid that it felt him at a complete loss of how to navigate it. He couldn’t know for sure, so he concluded that the best way to go about the day would be to simply observe. At best, this would be a new way to understand Yuder. At worst, it would unintentionally hurt him even more.
Nathan stood unperturbed outside of his office. It was reminiscent of his days in Paletta when he was bedridden. Was this something he did when his vessel was destroyed once again? Not knowing when in the previous life he was transported to, he needed to understand how to best act around him. So, as he always did before, he opened up to Nathan with, “Any updates?”
“The piece of tongue that the Paletta Knights recovered from the fight scene had remnants of a magic circle, according to Lady Hellem.”
A tongue and a magic circle? That sounded like the ordeal they faced when Yuder fought against Pethuamet. The magic circle was an artificially created amplifier that the Western Mage Union created to study the Magic Springs in the Sarain Forest. When it had been consumed and absorbed by the monster, it only grew in size and strength. When Yuder was showered in its blood upon its defeat, the effects were absorbed within him. Kishiar had considered it a true test of his own magical abilities when he sought an antidote for it.
Come to think of it, Yuder had never gone into detail about the Pethuamet outcome in his first life. Knowing how far he had gone to subdue it, even at the cost of his own life, it must have been catastrophic enough to warrant it.
Feigning ignorance, Kishiar asked, “Does she know what it was for or how it affected the monster?”
“She says it’s a trademark of the Western Mage Union. It was likely the cause of the monster growing so powerful. Do you want us to lead a team to their base within the forest?”
Remembering the destruction that had befallen their headquarters even with the less destructive outcome, Kishiar could only imagine what had become of it in this scenario. “Yes,” he replied. “Treat it as a recovery mission.”
As Nathan disappeared around the corner, Kishiar sought out the training grounds of the Arcanum Division. However, even as the sun had long been risen, there were only perhaps a dozen members warming up. Stiver Randley was among them. He recalled that the man, presently the Deputy Commander in his current life, had been left behind while teams were dispatched to the West to conduct monster raids. There had been three dispatch teams from his recollection, but perhaps it was different here.
“How is everyone holding up?” he calmly but boldly asked, letting his presence be known.
Stiver and the eleven others on the field perked up in awe. They gathered at his call and saluted. With each one answering that they were waiting for reports from the monster raid dispatch in one way or another, Kishiar could see the worry in their eyes. If there was already one commonality between the personnel of Yuder’s past and his present, it was clearly their care for one another.
“Also,” Stiver interjected, “it appears we’ve experienced our first deserter.” He let his arm down and exhaled deeply.
That was when Kishiar sensed the first distinct difference among this group compared to what he knew. Suddenly everyone’s faces soured and grew dismissive.
“It was Hartude.”
“He could never really reign in his fire abilities, you know.”
“That Deputy Commander of ours grew impatient with him last month, and then he showed open insubordination. I think he kinda checked out after that.”
“He was supposed to come back from suspended leave two days ago, but he hasn’t shown his face.”
The tone and attitude of these members was different from what he expected. Especially since the person they were talking about was Devran Hartude, arguably one of the most beloved members of the Arcenum Division. He had indeed gone missing after a week of vacation was over, and it turned out to be because he was framed for murder. Had Yuder also gone to save him then?
He couldn’t know.
“We’ll look into it. All it takes is a good, long talk sometimes,” Kishiar said as he tried to sooth the sour atmosphere.
Stiver let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps in this life, he still held that mature, watchful eye that attracted him to the position of Deputy Commander in the first place. “Indeed. I have kids. Sometimes all it takes is a talk.”
As they began their scheduled training, he noticed another stark difference. The weather indicated that it must have been late autumn, early winter. Yet the competence these members displayed wasn’t even half of what they could show by winter in his current life. If they were like this, how were the members on the front lines of the raids faring?
He strolled over to the Robustus Division grounds, where the members he was most familiar with were the same. They were filled with the same anxiety, awaiting news of the well-being of their comrades. Especially Gakane, who he could feel just from small talk was the member that they admired the most. The Living Rose of the Arcane Legion lived up to his reputation both then and now. It warmed his heart.
“By the way, Commander,” one perked up. “We heard that you took down that huge monster all by yourself.”
“Right! They say you were moving so fast that you became invisible!”
“Wish we could’ve seen it!”
He had taken down Pethuamet? He was moving so fast that he became invisible? That was inconceivable. How could he, when fighting against monsters in Charloin was enough to strain his balance?
He looked down at his right hand and figured he didn’t need to ask himself any further. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he scanned the looks of admiration and curiosity got the better of him.
“Do you want to see how fast I can go?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.
As the nearly dozen there cheered and clapped, Kishiar took off his overcoat and rolled up his sleeves. This was merely an excuse to sooth his own curiosity. Just what had he gained from the Red Stone in exchange for a destroyed vessel?
He postured himself as a fighter in the ring would, looked within himself for the first time since he found himself in this era, and hit what felt like a huge, raging, decentralized river of power flowing within. It was unlike the state of his vessel before he became an Awakened. Before, his vessel felt like a dam with multiple cracks, with water gushing out from them. That dam would burst at any time, but here? That dam had burst a long time ago. It was astonishing, truly. How was he even still standing, let alone walking around and conducting walk-throughs?
In an instant, he had sprung into the sky, past the clouds, and could see the curved horizon in the distance. He floated in suspended motion and gawked. His eyes widened in bewilderment and a smile spread wide across his face. In another second, he was back in the exact spot of the ground he had taken off from, creating a crater in his wake. Members of the Robustus Division were sent flying, and as if everything appeared in slow motion, he hopped on the rubble in the air and safely guided each one back to the ground.
When he let go of the hold he had, time caught up with him. His landing felt like an explosion had gone off, and although the magic barrier protecting the grounds was in place, it still attracted the attention of the other divisions and the royal knights alike. Half of the Robustus members were shaken and speechless while the others were left unconscious.
“What on earth happened?!” a knight bellowed.
Kishiar, instinctively putting on the carefree duke act, stood a little slouched over and scratched the back of his head. “Oh, just some training. Don’t mind us~” he trilled.
However, the Arcane Legion members who had gathered kept their distance, with looks of both horror and concern. Stiver slowly approached with his hands held in a defensive position.
“Commander,” he cautiously said, “I think you need to leave.”
Hearing those words felt like a punch to the gut. In his era, members of the Robustus and Arcenum Divisions alike had practically lined up to try and take him on. He held back, of course, but it was thrilling at times nonetheless. He felt that he had used the same amount of force now as he had all those times before. Were they truly that under-trained? He couldn’t stop to give them pointers now. He was supposed to be observing today.
In the excitement of exercising overflowing power, he had forgotten.
Just as he was about to excuse himself, he stumbled and collapsed. As the commotion spread and Stiver knelt beside him, he could feel blood pooling in his mouth. His vision became red and he had no choice but to close his eyes as he felt liquid pouring from their corners. His body was wracked with a searing pain that he had never felt before. It felt like he was being pierced, roasted, and singed from within. It was the pain he had felt during those final days in Paletta before awakening, only multiplied by what felt like hundreds of times.
All he could hear was a persistent ringing in his ears. He didn’t register someone putting a biting block in his mouth, someone taking him away on a stretcher, or the hands that were put on him as his insides were calmed in the office of the Imperial Physician. He couldn’t register anything until the sky was dark outside and he could finally open his eyes again.
He felt dry and sticky blood clumps around the corners of his eyes and picked away at them. He tried to sit up, but the pain prevented him from moving even a little bit. He sighed and felt an inner revulsion that he hadn’t felt since he accidentally injured Yuder with his sword aura in Charloin.
I really do serve better as a player than a game piece, he lamented in self-disgust.
His body screamed at him in turmoil, and a strong push emanating from within him threatened to tear his insides straight from his body. He recognized this as his Awakened power, but he had never felt it act like this before. He cursed at it, hoping it would calm down but it unrelentingly persisted.
Was this the backlash of using his body as the Red Stone medium? While Yuder had grown to sync with its power and use it to his advantage, what was he supposed to do with it if it left him in this state? All he did was jump and then come back down. To think he had taken on a monster.
He felt the familiar sensation of a flow getting ready to burst. He couldn’t. Not there. The people of the Seventh Wall would be devastated. He fought through the pain and stood, planting himself for another gigantic leap. Please, he begged, please let this just be a dream. Please let me wake up.
Just before he gathered a burst of power, the door swung open and he heard a familiar shout.
“Commander!” the sweet sound of a savior rang through the room.
He collapsed again, except he didn’t hit the floor completely. A gentle wind caught him before his head hit. The one who used this power quickly hoisted him into the air and laid him back on the bed. He then climbed into the same bed, muttering incoherently all the while.
Yuder hid his face against his shoulder, but he could see his hands trembling. Had he done this before? It seemed likely.
Just as he registered what had happened, he felt the powers within him calm themselves. Raging rivers became controlled, except for his Awakened power, which reached out to the beautiful soul next to him like a possessed, mangled piece of rope. Its mangy end trails latching onto any sort of stability it could find. Yuder winced but fought through it.
This power was affecting him psychophysiologically. In his era, they were connected deeply through emotions. Back then, with the effects of the Red Stone’s power, it could have been even more far reaching. Like a ball of wool messily strung together with many knots. He froze upon this realization. He recalled a memory from long ago of two stags locked together in an embrace towards death. He recalled the memory of syncing with this very self he was occupying now, wondering if the pain of his body exploding would be felt on the “other end” of their bond.
Was this moment not proof of that, if this wasn’t a dream? If this actually happened to some degree, was this where his hypothesis came from? He couldn’t blame him for concluding that. Seeing this Yuder sweating and gritting his teeth as he held onto him would obviously make him conclude what was to be done about their “Connection.”
As the pain in his body finally faded away, he embraced the one responsible for it, as much as he squirmed to try and get away. After a futile effort, the young man accepted it as it was and laid there stiffly against his chest. He didn’t know if even that was appropriate for their relationship, but he didn’t care. Another night would go by, and things would move as they should’ve.
Just as the thought of wanting to change things after all slipped into his consciousness, his world went black. He found himself sitting in an overbearing and dark place. Distant roars and groans echoed around him, and he spotted a small crack close-by. Behind him, a pair of white gloves floated midair. Four fingers were visibly limp, indicating the being had taken yet more damage. Now that his mind was coming back to him, he recalled being hit with a power that propelled him into a crack during an encounter with the Black Moon Order.
“Wow. I may be the first person to survive having their bodies thrown into a crack,” he said as he tried to lighten the circumstances. The white gloves stood still, and he could definitely feel no laughter emitting from it. “I am still alive, right?”
The gloves tugged at his sleeves harshly and then promptly threw him out.
I can’t even be snarky with it. I messed up.
Perhaps it was mad that he interfered with one of its life experiences. He’d certainly scold whoever tried the same, for sure.
He caught himself in his landing before he stumbled onto the ground. What he saw around him was definitely a sign of a battle. A border town had been decimated, although there were no signs of corpses. Meaning their evacuation had been a success, at least.
He felt a strong tug from within. Touching only what he could touch, what felt like a single tug turned into hundreds of small threads, swinging in harmony with one another. They stretched beyond the forest, where the next meet-up was located. He could already feel the threads getting shorter and shorter.
Yuder must have found him. Frankly, he couldn’t wait to see him again.