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Kishiar slipped through the window in one fluid motion – nothing in his expression betraying the way the climb had torn at muscles already past their limit, nothing revealing how the world had tilted treacherously before righting itself.
He did not allow himself to pause.
The scent in the room reached him first. Sweet. Familiar. Dangerous. It slid through his ribs like light through cathedral glass. It steadied him. It weakened him.
He should not have come. He had known that before his hands ever touched the stone. And yet…
Yudrein stood behind the Commander’s desk, firelight carving him into something almost sacred – sharp lines, unyielding posture, a figure already belonging to the seat Kishiar had vacated. Severe and beautiful in equal measure. Alive in a way Kishiar no longer was.
He had built this.
He had chosen him.
He wanted – with a hunger that bordered on prayer – to cross the room and press his mouth to the line of his jaw, to feel that warmth against the cold creeping steadily beneath his own skin.
Instead, he summoned the familiar smile. Easy. Indulgent. Untouched.
Yudrein spoke before he could, cool voice cutting sharply through the air. “What is this?”
The paper struck the desk between them.
Kishiar needed only a glance. An imperial report. Peletta. Treason murmured between neat lines of ink. Something Yudrein should never have risked touching.
His stomach dropped. His heart leapt.
He knows what that means. Yudrein had stolen this for him. For an answer. For trust.
The realization was intoxicating in the most shameful way. A starved, covetous part of him surged to life. Deny everything. Say the word. Watch him choose you.
He looked at him properly then.
At the careful restraint in his expression. At the expectation he tried to hide. At the fear he would not admit. At the hope that refused to die.
If I deny it, you will believe me.
There was no doubt.
If he denied it, Yudrein would believe him. If he believed him, he would stand behind him. And if he stood behind him, then he would burn with him. Because that is who Yudrein was. Beautiful, dedicated, loyal Yudrein…
The sharp pulse through Kishiar’s damaged vessel answered the thought like punishment. His vision flickered at the edges. The body he had already ruined in secret reminded him of its limits.
He felt something else, too. A thin, frayed pull in his chest. As if the air between them had tightened. As if the hope in Yudrein’s gaze had brushed against something deeper – something binding and delicate and already wearing thin.
If he chose him, that thread would tighten. And it would snap. He would drag Yudrein into that ruin.
He already had.
He should have walked past him that first night in the courtyard. Should have left the young deputy alone beneath the stars instead of stopping to watch the way moonlight traced his shoulders. Should have grown bored. Should have protected him from himself.
Instead, he had lingered. Listened. Shared strategy over quiet nights. Shared a bed. Accepted the devotion in those dark eyes as if he had any right to it.
Greed. For that rare, unguarded smile. For that brilliant, inconveniently honest mind. For the warmth of his body beneath his hands.
He had taken and taken and taken.
And now Yudrein stood before him – loyal, earnest, incandescent – offering him treason in the shape of trust. His eternity was not meant to look like this.
He should have been cruel from the beginning.
The false smile remained on his face – indulgent, irreverent. His roiling emotions held as tightly as he held his fracturing vessel.
“This is the thirteenth report about the unrest in Peletta.” Yudrein continued when his façade of indifference hung in the silence.
“Oh my, thirteen reports. His Majesty must be tired of checking them all.” The mockery tasted metallic. He let it linger.
"You can't claim to be unaware that these reports keep coming, more frequent and negative. Why did you expel the Imperial Knights staying in Peletta?"
"Do you know how much they've been eating at my castle without working since I returned to Peletta? Margaret was angry, saying she couldn't feed them anymore. If I didn't deal with it, I might not get my meal either."
"Are you joking even now?"
"I'm serious... What response were you expecting? That I should rebel since we've shared a bed for a long time?"
There. He felt it. Not just saw it. The air between them constricted. The fragile thread in his chest gave a sharp, warning sting.
Yudrein steady himself. Hope cracked. The recoil echoed through Kishiar’s ribs like a dull blade dragged across bone.
“...Why don't you deny it?" The question was quieter. More dangerous.
"What are you talking about?"
"Commander, you could deny that going to Peletta and passing on your position doesn't mean you won't acknowledge the Emperor. You can say you'll reduce the scale of the Peletta Knights if they cause unrest, and you can explain the goods that were said to be heading to the castle if you want to."
"You call me Commander once again." He laughed as he deflected, forcing himself to remember what was important as much as he was forcing Yudrein to. "It has been almost a year since you became Commander, yet you have not adapted to it? I hear the Emperor was quite impressed with the strength of the new Arcane Legion Commander."
He watched disappointment flicker across that unguarded face. Watched it hurt. Felt it hurt.
Kishiar had to look away. He picked up the report, using the motion to steady the tremor beginning to whisper through his fingers.
“...This, too, is the same. To bring something that should never be taken out to the person in question.” He stepped forward. Each measured step required more from his failing vessel than he allowed to show. “Do you still think of yourself as a member who can fix things if you mess up? If our new Emperor had known about this, he would never have let it go.” He folded the paper with slow precision. “Perhaps the beheading of a traitor would have been the responsibility of the new Arcane Legion Commander.”
Yudrein clenched his teeth and bowed his head, eyes flashing with frustration. And still – still – there was no withdrawal in him. He would choose him. Even now. Even like this. The realization nearly broke him.
That was precisely why Kishiar had to destroy it.
He reached out with his gloved hand and held the paper toward him. The leather brushed Yudrein’s fingers. A spark, a shudder. He wanted to tear the glove off. To feel the warmth of him properly. To press his forehead to Yudrein’s and confess every selfish thought. To drag him close and say ‘don’t look at me like that’.
The page slipped. Fell.
“…Yudrein.” He kept his eyes on the paper instead of the man. Weak as he was, he would break if he looked. “You’re fearless, and that’s the problem.” Truth, thinned to something survivable. “But I won’t deny that it fascinates me.”
And that fascination would ruin him. Fearless, honest, loyal Yudrein… Kishiar would not let it condemn him.
“But there's a limit to what I can overlook out of mere interest. Even though you're young, don't you know what the priority is?” He forced the final cruelty into something almost idle. “Did you think that if I denied the rebellion, you’d simply believe me?”
The silence that followed was glacial. And somewhere beneath his ribs, something gave way. Not loudly. Not enough to stop him. But enough.
“I suppose I must go now.”
He bent, retrieving the paper once more. This time he placed it firmly into Yudrein’s hand and did not release it until he felt resistance. One heartbeat too long. He memorized the warmth through leather.
This is the last indulgence. The last weakness. The last time he will allow himself to feel the shape of him this close.
He straightened and turned toward the window without looking back.
He would break if saw Yudrein’s face, he knew he would. The chasm that hollowed out his chest already filled him with agony, if he saw that chasm reflected in Yudrein’s expressive eyes…
If he looked back, he would stay. If he stayed, Yudrein would choose him. If Yudrein chose him, that fragile, shining future would burn down to ash beside him.
So he did not look. He did not hesitate. The emptiness inside him widened – not a dramatic shatter, but a deliberate hollowing.
Let him hate me. Hatred will keep him upright. Hatred will sever what love cannot.
The ache in his chest was not only his own. He welcomed it. This is the penance. He had stained something sacred with his hands.
This wound would be his alone. He would carry it quietly. He would not have to carry it long.
And Yudrein – radiant, stubborn, unbearably dear – would live beyond him.
Even if Kishiar died without ever hearing his name spoken softly again.