Archive of Our Own ^beta

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

Henry IV, Part 2 (Act 3, Scene 1), Shakespeare

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tabito Karasu wonders about death the same way holy men wonder about God. In the same way a king might wonder about the inevitable end of his reign. And in the same way anyone might wonder about tomorrow.

That is to say, simply, he is terrified of Death. Death, he always thinks, is a pointless thing to be afraid of. It’s the most attainable thing in the world. All human beings, without exception, will die someday. That is unavoidable and the most ultimate truth. It’s a falling to be so afraid of something that will catch us all someday. Tabito has never been reasonable.

There isn’t a moment in his day where he isn’t thinking about it. Not just his own, but Death to all. He can look around a crowd he is in, pulling at his hood to conceal his face better, and all he can think is that in a hundred years, none of them will be here. Maybe this crowd will be occupied by new bodies and faces. Maybe. But Tabito will be too dead to know.

It makes sense for him to think of Death so much, given his profession. One can say he is Death, a dark stranger in the shadows that nobody is aware of until the body hits the floor in a pool of blood. That’s the nature of it. You may think about it all of the time but the hardest it hits you is when it happens. Tabito always watches it; he likes to watch the moment a life is taken and he has noticed that no matter how stealthy he is and no matter how much he takes them by surprise, he finds that, eventually, they always catch on. It’s rare that they die without the realization that this is their last moment alive. Tabito sees their faces: some of them are horrified as Death comes to them, some of them are at complete peace and tranquil, and some of them are loosely troubled. But before they die, they all know. They all know what is going to happen, as sure as a holy man is of the existence of God, but is still so afraid of Him. Tabito has watched this change of expression so many times but it never fails to make him squirm a little. Knowing must hurt.

Tabito hates to admit it but it always affects him. How many people has he killed? Hundreds, ever since he was a child with a dagger in his hand that was longer than his head. He is the most feared assassin in the land. Ruthless and brutal; they say there isn’t anyone alive that Tabito cannot kill. Emperors, kings, clergymen, merchants, the ordinary people that may have the misfortune of making some enemies. As soon as Tabito strikes a deal with his client, it can be guaranteed that the clock will start ticking, marking the inevitable end of that poor soul’s life. Everyone knows that and they fear him for it.

As formidable as the reputation is, he doesn’t deserve it.

His hands always shake when he reaches deep into his coat to pull out his throwing knives. When he hears the first desperate gasp of air, his own body tenses. And he always swallows so hard when his victim hits the floor, their hair wet with blood, and he thinks God. What have I done? He can’t help it.

He tries to recover quick enough because most times, he needs to escape the scene. There’s no time to dawdle and he does end up controlling his fast breathing, managing his weak and quickened heart. Tabito has never personally known a soul he has killed; why should he fret over it? There’s no use for it. But as he leaves the body behind, he always starts to think about his own death. 

It’s ironic. To think of all the suffering and death he had brought with his presence, but he cannot stomach the idea of the favor being returned. Death is inevitable and he always thinks about when the inevitable will come to him. 

It’s strange as well, because Tabito is not sure if he is even in love with his life. Maybe it's the uncertainty. You never know when you’ll die and that thought terrifies him. Death will catch him by surprise one day and it’ll feel like the foreboding knock of a stranger. He will flinch and he will be overcome with terror, but he will have no choice but to open it. And beforehand, he’ll never know when that knock will come.

There’s a man kneeling on the altar, his hands met together in prayer. Though he is dressed in costly robes, he’s letting them touch the dusty ground. Tabito has a clear view of him from the balustrade above; he can see him but the man cannot see Tabito, since the man with the expensive tastes has his back to him. Does he know he will die today?

The man in question is a merchant. Tabito knows nothing about him, not even his name. He was on his way to the Northern Kingdom by horseback, when suddenly, he was approached by another man. Then, after being paid a sum of money, he listened to a description of a wealthy merchant, and was told to find him and kill him. As long as the price is right, it’s rare that he ever refuses an offer, so he cleaned his knives and began to find this merchant.

He discovers that the merchant is a religious man. Tabito finds him at the village temple, praying, and he is sure that the muffled sounds he is hearing are soft sobs. How touching.

The man is so wrapped up in his prayer, he hadn’t even noticed Tabito at all. Plus, there wasn’t anybody in the temple either: just the merchant and his future killer. It’s just too easy. Tabito only needed to climb up the staircase to the mezzanine and assume his position. It was only a waiting game after that.

Tabito watches the merchant, a small breath escaping him. The merchant’s head is bowed low, something he finds so frustrating. In this position, he can’t aim for the blood vessels in his throat. His right hand is hidden deep inside his dark coat, his grip tight on the hilt of his throwing knives. He is just waiting for that right moment and then, he won’t waste a second. And finally, he gets what he wants. The man slowly raises his head, pulling it up to the air until he seems to be staring right at the vast ceiling with beautiful murals on it. He raises his hand like he’s praying again.  His throat is completely exposed and Tabito will not miss when he goes in for the kill.

And like always, Tabito hesitates. 

His hand shakes when he reaches into the depths of his coat, pulling out the knife that has been with him since he was a boy. Silver with a design of a small crow on the hilt. It's a knife in a set of ten, but Tabito doesn't think he needs more than one for the kill. He takes it out, glancing at it. His grip is loose, and then, it tightens until his knuckles turn white. He looks back at the man. He'll be dying today. Life is so fragile. He takes a deep breath. He thinks he told himself to not waste a single moment, but he never did listen to himself. Because seconds go by, and Tabito still hasn't made a move. The man is still looking up in the air and Tabito can see his expression. There's something breathtaking about it. Will he even care that he dies? Will he just be happy to meet his Creator? Well, that's not for Tabito to know.

Right. Tabito doesn't know this man. Knows nothing about him, knows nothing about his life. He shouldn't care so much whether he lives or dies. This is the thought that Tabito has before finally, he raises his hand and aims. Then, he throws, letting the knife fly down so fast, it's almost a blur. 

A second passes. It feels more like an eternity. Tabito watches as the knife hits the desired location—of course, because Tabito never misses—piercing the man's jugular vein. It's a perfect shot, Tabito should be impressed. In that second that passes, there isn't a single sound. Silence as the man collapses to the ground, his hand going to the place in his throat where he was struck. Then, when the pain registers, the man lets out a wail of the deepest pain like Tabito had dug into his chest and pulled out his heart. It almost hurts Tabito's ears: so annoying, but finally, the man's voice gives out and there’s nothing that the man can do. 

Tabito has watched this sight so many times, had dreamt a duplicate of his scene in his nightmares, but it never does get easier. It's easy to hear about the death of somebody. Oh, did you hear? That butcher of a man, Tabito Karasu, killed so-and-so. Their body had been found bleeding out in some temple. Well, isn't that a shame? People talk and Tabito gives them a lot to talk about. But it's another thing entirely to witness it with your own two eyes.

Blood oozes from his throat, gushing out. It’s steady, not spurting out like it would have done if Tabito had stabbed elsewhere. Thick and it keeps flowing out and out and out, like a wine bottle tipped over. The porcelain tile of the floor around the merchant, previously a regal tan, is coated purely with maroon blood; it isn’t even the typical crimson color that blood usually is. He had tried to convince himself before that it was alright, he did not know this man. But upon seeing the man again, bleeding out with no sign of stopping, Tabito feels that familiar sense of horror and dread like he does every time. It’s like he can’t help himself.

He’s dead. The man is dead. Tabito knows exactly how long a man lives before being attacked like that. The seconds are barely in the second digits. Yet, the blood flowing hasn’t stopped yet. Tabito let out such a shallow exhale, moving towards the staircase. He can’t leave that knife behind, jammed against a vein. His limbs feel like lead as he walks, blood pounding in his ears.

At least, he reaches the altar and he looks down at the man. His eyes are closed, his mouth open pathetically. Tabito accidentally steps on the pool of maroon, cursing under his breath when he realizes. That’s no good. It’s guaranteed that he’ll leave clear footsteps when he walks. He doesn’t want to be tracked and he can’t risk that. He takes off the stained shoe, throwing it aside. He doesn’t need it.

Then, he kneels down. Up close, the sight is even more grotesque. Tabito grimaces, the smell so strong now too. He doesn’t need to stay for long; he doesn’t have any more business here. He just reaches forward, angling the man’s head up to pull the knife from his throat. Succeeding, he pulls himself up to his true height and wipes the blood off the blade with the edge of his coat. That’s it, he’s done.

He turns around, spying the temple exit. Thankfully, no visitors had come in. Tabito can wordlessly slip out, returning back to his horse, his payment safely stashed into his saddlebag, continuing his journey again. He lets out a sigh of relief, stalking out.

Tonight, he knows that he’ll see the man again in his nightmares. Blood gushing from his neck in endless pools and Tabito will be helpless. He brought upon this himself, but that doesn’t make it easier. God. Just thinking about it now. Did any other murderer have such a weak heart?

At least, it’s a job done. There’s nothing Tabito is better at than his job.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Everyday, Yo thinks about how he wants to be anything but this.

Can he be the breath of warm air during spring, after a cold, hard winter? Can he be the free mare that runs and gallops as she pleases? Can he be the reflection of the sun on the blade of a sword? Can he be the gentle, quiet sheep that grazes near the beautiful lake? That’s what his family name means, anyway. Sheep. His mother used to tell him that his ancestors were shepherds. That’s where the family name comes from. Those humble beginnings and now, the family are the ruler of the lands. This story would always fill a young Yo with so much hope. If a shepherd could be the king or queen, couldn’t a prince be anything but?

Yo doesn’t believe any of it anymore. He doubts that the story is even true.

Losing this hope does him good, he realizes now. It's incredibly naive to hope for something of that nature. He was born for this, and he doesn't know how life can possibly be different from this. It only makes him feel more terrible by thinking about a better life, a life that is close to what he wants. Makes him long so strongly for impossible, unreachable things. It hurts to live like this, that's true, it's better than anything. 

Yo is perfect. Nobody is perfect, but Yo is. What does perfect mean, anyway? People say different things, but Yo has his own definition. It's simple: it's when you do the things that are expected of you. To deter from that is what makes you imperfect. If you abandon these expectations completely, then, well, Yo doesn't know. He has never even considered something like that. Nothing less than perfect. He never goes against these standards set on him and that makes him the Perfect Prince of Praes. 

Everyone thinks that. Everyone knows that. They all rest easy knowing that after Hiori's father, the king, passes away, the kingdom will be in good hands. Yo will make such a good king, that's what they all whisper. Yo should feel proud of that. He is doing everything so well and they all love him. But he feels nothing but dread and something so hollow is trapped snugly inside his chest. 

He wakes up at the crack of dawn everyday, even the days where he feels a kind of tiredness seep into his bones. Yo pulls himself up, sitting upon his luxurious bed, the most comfortable linen sheets gathered around his waist. He'll let out a yawn. Sometimes, he is awakened by his valet, but most times, he wakes up on his own out of habit. He'll stand up, walking over to the grand window in his bedroom to draw the curtains. The sunlight is dim, the morning not yet set in. After he admires the sky for a few minutes, mapping out the colors in the sky and watching the birds fly off, he'll take a bath. His valet had already drawn it for him. 

The water is always so cold in the morning. Yo braves through it, sitting against the cold tub, letting the water wash his body. His valet always washes his hair for him, that's how it's supposed to be, but he always squirms when those fingers thread through his air. It's uncomfortable and it makes his skin crawl. He just wants to be alone. It's too much. After his bath is over, his valet dresses him as well, clothing him in expensive robes. They sit uncomfortably against his body too, but Yo doesn't think that he has ever worn anything that fits him and feels like home. Being comfortable seems like a foreign idea. Yo is used to feeling a tightness in his chest, that cramping sensation inside that makes him unable to breathe. 

After getting dressed, he meets with his tutor, who walks him to the chapel so they may pray. But he always lets his mind wander during prayer. He doesn't care for it much, and he knows that his parents don't either. They are only involved in it to save face. So, Yo doesn't feel too terrible for not being interested. After prayer, he is taken to the Grand Hall to take his meal. That is where he meets his parents. His parents talk to him in a seemingly affectionate way, but Yo has realized a long time ago that it doesn't mean anything. These words don't hold any weight; they might as well be talking to a foreign diplomat rather than their only child and heir. They inform him of the events of today, what he should expect, and instruct him on what he should do. Listening to them makes him want to die, but he grits his teeth and listens along anyway, nodding along. What's the point of making a fuss when he knows that he'll do it anyway? It will only do him harm. 

After breakfast, he meets with his tutor again and his studies begin. He pours over his books and he finds it so boring. He is meant to learn languages, theology, law, and the ways of diplomacy. The words in the pages of the books are so small, he always has to squint and it gives him such a headache. But still, he memorizes all the necessary facts and his tutor calls him a bright boy who will make such a wonderful king eventually.

This is how he spends most of his early morning: studying in the library until his eyes go blurry. Finally, when his tutor is satisfied with the day's progress, he is allowed to close his books shut. After that, he is escorted out to the bailey, where a senior knight waits for him. This is the man that had taught him all he knows about combat, directed him to hold a sword and how to use it well. The knight is a man of only a few words, and Yo does not know much about him but he owes him a life's debt. With this knight, Yo trains for hours. Around other people, his movements are impassioned and lack finesse, but he isn't unskilled by any means. He stabbed wooden dummies and practiced duels with his teacher. Sword-fighting is his favorite but that's the only thing he can do. He is skilled in archery, in lancing, and his poleaxe strikes the deepest. By the time it's over, Yo's forehead is drenched with sweat, his breath falling fast and hurried. This kind of wear on his body... It feels good. It doesn't feel terrible and it doesn't make him want to die. He looks at the knight and a smile on that cold teacher's face tells him that he did a good job today. Yo is glad. 

After training, he makes his way back to the castle. Now is a moment of rest and relaxation for him, though he never does feel particularly relaxed. He has his dinner and sometimes, his parents sit with him, but other times, he eats alone with his household. Afterwards, he goes to meet his parents, if he hadn't already. His mother always tells him to sit with them so they may listen to the musicians together. Yo obliges because of course, what perfect heir would refuse such a good-natured offer? His father will, sometimes, ask him to play the harp for them, and Yo obliges again. He isn't as good with the harp as he is with other activities, but it's tolerable. The song he makes is never sweet, but it's melodic in its own right. 

Evening sets in eventually, and Yo stands up from his armchair. The best part, or the worst part of his day begins, depending on his father's mood. If his father is in an adventurous mood, then Yo is subjected to hell. Because the king will had the mood to go hunting in the forest, and he will ask Yo to accompany him. Yo always dreads such an offer; he hates it so much that even hear that suggestion makes his skin burn. But he has no choice. He has never had a choice. He replies with a quiet, “Yes, father,” and he gets dressed in his usual hunting gear. 

He and his father are accompanied by knights, by grooms, foreign ambassadors that might be staying over at their castle, the vassals and courtiers. It's always a big party, which makes it even worse. They'll venture into the forests on horseback and while his father is loud with conversation, he will stay completely silent. Hearing his father speak is grating to his teeth and his grip on his concealed bow is always tight. 

Their hounds guide them to their prizes. The most prestigious prize is the stag and the wild boar, and his father always seeks to hunt at least one down in their hunting evening. But mostly, they don't succeed, instead having to content themselves with smaller game like hares, foxes, and wolves. But if they ever did come across a stag or a boar, his father would always turn his gaze towards Yo. This would be the first time he ever looks at him in these hunts. And when Yo notices that glance, he'll know what to do. He'll creep his hands into his coat, pulling out the bow. Taking a deep breath, he'll pull out an arrow as well, aiming at the helpless animal. He draws his bow and shoots. 

The arrow zooms through the air, going so fast that it seems to hit the target instantly. Yo watches the sight. He watches as the majestic animal lets out a pained wail, turning its head and collapses to the ground. It's a slow death for the animal and Yo is forced to watch every minute of it. They wouldn't be able to collect the game otherwise. Yo watches the animal finally die, dark blood coating the grass, so pathetic. Yo feels nothing at all. 

He can't stand these kinds of evenings. But he loves the alternative.

 It is the only time he gets to be completely alone. Well, even that's erroneous to say. He is aware that the servants always keep an eye on him, but still, if Yo can't see them, that means they aren't there. He chooses to be blissful, and instead, simply enjoying his time, because this may be the only time during the day where he can be happy. 

But even that might be incorrect to say. No, he isn't happy. He doesn't think he ever was happy. He doesn't feel completely at peace either, because, again, he doesn't think his mind had ever known peace. But in these evenings, he may have gotten close to it. In this sense, Yo is naive. His evening, simply put, is spent outside in the royal courtyard with a sword in hand. That's his favorite thing to do. To fight alone with his sword. 

It's strange to think about. How had he gone into something like this? He isn't particularly fond of any other thing that is required of him. And it's just the sword he loves. But it doesn't matter; he doesn't need to ruminate on it. The point is, this is the activity that brings him the most peace. 

And he's so skilled at it. He doesn't like to be vain but he is almost sure that he can beat most knights at this weapon. Of course, he practices so much: no wonder he's good at it. But they say it might be a born skill. His mother tells him how both she and his father had always been such expert combatants. Admittedly, upon learning that this is a trait that he shares with his parents, it does take the fun out of sword-fighting considerably. But he bites his tongue and still, he goes at it.

He is lightfooted, his strikes always so fast as he keeps on torturing the poor practice dummy. His heart is pumping, the sensation almost pleasant. Yo is almost never aware of his movements; it all seems to come to him naturally without him even knowing. It's like his body is moving on its own. It's not a bad feeling at all. Quite the contrary, he relishes it. He gets to shut off his mind, stop thinking too much about what to do with himself, and just... Yo doesn't know how to explain it. It's as if if he is a bird in the sky and he is looking at himself, the prince fighting alone in the courtyard. 

Eventually, his limbs feel tired from the activity and his mouth feels so dry. The first time his legs feel like they are made of lead, Yo ignores that feeling, continuing without a care. But he really can't ignore it for long, because soon, he feels like he might just collapse to the ground. Yo doesn't like to be interrupted from his hobby, from that strange third-person state, but he knows that he is fallible. He gets tired, and besides, unless he takes his rest for a few moments, he won't be able to keep going, however frustrating it. So, he sits back on the ground and reaches for his waterskin, pouring the cold water to his mouth. 

The ground is so soft. It's a gentle landing and Yo has the distant desire to just lay his head down and watch the sky and the birds. No, he cannot indulge such a simple desire. He doesn't want to get distracted. These few minutes of rest, he needs to get it over with quickly. 

Yo closes his waterskin, folding his knees up with a sigh. He wraps an arm around himself. The sky is beautiful today. It's such a wonderful spring day, perfect for training outside. He looks up; the sky is so vast and so is the clearing. He wonders how it's possible to be so small. Yo has always felt this. Small. Insignificant. Like he is nothing at all. It's impossible to imagine that he's something. 

Birds fly by in the sky. Crows, it looks like. And sparrows, but they fly closer to the ground. Yo is so much larger than a crow, but with how far away they are, he looks just about the same length as them. He looks back down. He can't look anymore. He'll end up drowning. 

But when he looks down, there isn't much to look at, to focus his gaze upon. There's the clearing he is in, but that's not anything special. Just the forest ahead. When he was just a boy, he must have imagined himself running off and escaping through this forest a million times. But looking back, Yo realizes how stupid the idea is. There are still servants watching him, and they would stop him before he can go too far. But Yo can't blame this younger version of himself. He remembers how helpless he had felt, so the only thing Yo feels is pity. 

And there's his sword. It sits next to him against the grass. It's a weapon of the highest quality, forged by the most skilled blacksmiths. The blade is a silver, reflective. He reaches for the hilt of his sword, holding it up until he can see his own reflection on the blade. 

A young man looking back at him. That's him. The Prince of Praes. 

It makes him so sick to realize that he looks so much like his parents. He is truly his parents' child. What's a more horrifying thought than that? 

Yo can't bare to look at himself any longer. He exhales deeply, putting the sword back down on the ground. Extending his legs, he lies his palms flat on the ground, putting his weight against it. Closes his eyes. He just hates his circumstances so much. 

Why couldn't he be something else? What grave sin had he done in his past life to be subjected to this? To feel so trapped, so helpless all the time. He lets out a soft sound of pain: he can't help it. Who is to blame for the way his life is shaping to be? His parents. It makes sense to blame them. They're the ones who had decided he should be born. They're the ones who had laid such expectations on him. 

Yo hates them so much. In his more passionate fits of rage, when his anger exceeds everything else, he imagines the most horrible things. He imagines himself during the dead of the night, sneaking off to the courtyards to retrieve his sword. He had been gifted this sword by his father and there's another sword that he had been gifted as well, but he refused to use it after he had learned that it had belonged to his father in his youth.

 He imagines himself sneaking back into the castle and slowly, creeping to the largest bedroom of the castle: his parents' chambers. Somehow, he'll be able to open the door and enter without making a sound. After that, it would be just so easy. So easy as he approaches their bed, both of his hands on the hilt of the sword. He'll raise it as high as possible and he isn't completely heartless, so maybe he'll start to feel a choking sensation in his throat as he bites back a sob. But this brief moment of potential remorse will not last long, because he'll pull the sword down and as quickly as possible, he'll slit their throat. He hasn't decided yet who will die first, but they are equally to blame, so it doesn't matter. Yo will watch the blood surge from their throats, wetting the linen pillows. They wouldn't even feel a thing, which would be a kinder death than they deserve. It would be so easy. Easier than living this kind of life. 

He imagines himself sneaking back into the castle and slowly, creeping to the largest bedroom of the castle: his parents' chambers. Somehow, he'll be able to open the door and enter without making a sound. After that, it would be just so easy. So easy as he approaches their bed, both of his hands on the hilt of the sword. He'll raise it as high as possible and he isn't completely heartless, so maybe he'll start to feel a choking sensation in his throat as he bites back a sob. But this brief moment of potential remorse will not last long, because he'll pull the sword down and as quickly as possible, he'll slit their throat. He hasn't decided yet who will die first, but they are equally to blame, so it doesn't matter. Yo will watch the blood surge from their throats, wetting the linen pillows. They wouldn't even feel a thing, which would be a kinder death than they deserve.

And when Yo returns to real life, when his fantasies break away, he feels even more terrible. He has to be evil, how can a normal person think such a thing? Horror settles over him, horror of the deepest kind. But at the same time... 

It would be so easy. He has that distant idea of how easy it would be. Easier than living this kind of life.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tabito must be the most hypocritical person in the world.

Just yesterday, he had killed a man praying so passionately at the altar. Had killed him when he was at one of his most vulnerable states. Today, Tabito does the same. He stands by the altar and kneels.

It’s funny. It’s so funny. Tabito doesn’t even particularly believe in any god. He thinks it’s impossible that there is a divine power out there. The ultimate Creator of the Universe. That’s a moronic idea. But that’s not something that deters from one of his habits: praying. After every kill, he finds a temple that he knows, with people he knows, and sinks to his knees. He whispers all his sins to nobody and prays that he may find peace of mind one day.

A long time ago, Tabito had made the realization of why exactly human beings believed in a higher power and the answer is simple. They want to believe in something bigger than themselves. They want to believe that their mistakes don’t mean anything because the world is just so vast. Nothing can come close to how huge the idea of a god is, so humans don’t need to hyper-focus on their faults and their shortcomings. In the grand scheme of things, nothing matters, and human beings find that so comforting. Tabito is no different. He wants comfort; he wants to believe that none of this matters. 

But his prayers are so empty. Despite how consistently he visits the temple to pray away, he never truly means it. It’s just such a shame. He wants to feel what saints feel when they pray to their god. Love and comfort, solace and that feeling of being understood. But he is far from a saint. Maybe he’s beyond any help. 

Does Tabito even deserve the solace of a god?

This temple is beautiful. It’s one that he has visited so many times, since the Northern Kingdom, the place where he is currently, is almost like a home to him. The nature of Tabito’s work is that he always needs to be on the road, either hiding from the authorities or satisfying his clients’ requests. But this kingdom, Tabito finds himself returning here so often. It’s a plus that he is protected here, since the king, King Ego, had been one of his clients’ in the past. And it looks like he may be a client again, considering that Tabito had been called to King Ego’s court. After he finishes his prayers, he will make his way to the castle.

The temple isn’t unlike the one he had been to before, the place where he had killed that man. There’s people here and Tabito is not entirely alone, but this temple is just as lonely as the previous one. That’s what it feels like. The altar is grand with glass art against the wall, depicting a particular scene. In his childhood, Tabito might have learned what this scene was supposed to be about, but that happened a long time ago and he doesn’t remember anymore. He doesn’t remember the names of anyone, any particular event, any specific tradition that the believers hold close to their hearts. He just knows the capital-g Gods, and even then, he doesn’t know them so intimately. He picks a god and prays to it, with no result.

Tabito lets out one final sigh mid-sentence. It just isn’t working. He isn’t feeling comforted at all: that death is still on his mind. Tabito keeps thinking back to all the blood, how his throat had been bleeding so profusely. He thinks back to how the merchant had looked, praying, and he feels a tightness in his chest. There’s no point. He feels all of this guilt and shame now, but that will never stop him from seeking out more jobs. He is truly so hypocritical. 

He places his hand against the floor to help himself up as he stands up. Adjusting his coat, he bows one last time before turning his body around. To his pleasant surprise, a deeply familiar man is standing behind him, as if waiting.

“Yukimiya,” Tabito greets, an easy smile on his face. “It feels like forever since I last saw ya.”

The last time Tabito had seen Yukimiya might have been a year ago, the last time he had visited this kingdom. He looks just about the same as well: dark hair parting just the same way, his orange eyes shining with the same kindness, the same round spectacles upon his eyes. He is dressed in his usual clothing as well: black, loose robes draped over his body, a uniform customary for a person like him to wear. Yukimiya is a youth cleric to this temple, a position that he has assumed with pride. Tabito is almost jealous of how easy it is for him. Yukimiya is the kind of man who worries about nothing because he truly believes with all his heart that the gods have a plan for him. He can never truly be happy because he is aware that God may take it away from him, and he can never truly be unhappy because it’s only a trial from God. It will pass. What a naive way to look at everything, but Yukimiya is a good friend. 

“You’re right,” Yukimiya said amicably. His hands are in front of him, his hands clasped together. “I thought you’d forgotten this place.”

“Never. Ya know that. This is the only place on Earth where I’m welcome. Can’t really forget that easily.”

Yukimiya chuckles, the sound light. He knows about Tabito’s career as an assassin and admittedly, it had taken a while for him to warm up to the idea. Tabito doesn’t blame him, but he’s glad that Yukimiya is fine with him. He even enjoys listening to Tabito’s missions and details about his work. God knows that you need a friend around here. 

“What brings you here, anyways? Client? Or were you just feeling sentimental?” 

It’s now his turn to laugh. “Client. And yer never gonna guess who it is. It’s the king.”

Yukimiya’s eyes widen, an eyebrow shooting up. Tabito had been just as surprised before, when he had first received that scroll that ‘requested’ Tabito’s visit to the Northern Kingdom’s court. Of course, it isn’t really a request—the king of the Northern Kingdom never made requests—but more of a demand. So, Tabito had obliged, buying a horse to make the journey. 

“He’s your client? King Ego?” 

Tabito shrugs. “Who else?” 

King Ego had been his client in the past as well, the mission being to assassinate a member of the royal court of another kingdom. Tabito had finished the job effectively; he would say that that had been one of his best. A royal banquet that he had broken into. He had killed that court member in front of hundreds of people. In the chaos, he had slipped out. So easy. 

Doing that job for him had brought him to King Ego’s good books. Granted protection, a large sum of money as payment, the promise of him always being welcome: all of the good stuff. But being called again is strange. 

“Do you think he wants you for another one of your missions?” Yukimiya asked, crossing his arms in front of him. 

Tabito shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I think so. I am ‘bout ta go over to the castle ta meet with him. If it’s a job, I’ll know who it is that I have to finish off.” 

Not kill. Yukimiya doesn’t like hearing that word and Tabito doesn’t like saying it.

“I suppose. You have to come by again afterwards and tell me what he wants.” 

Tabito can’t help but let his lips curl into a sneer. “I don’t know, Yukki...” He teases, drawing out the words. “That’s pretty confidential information. And besides, I thought ya said ya didn’t like hearin’ about these things. Ya call it vulgar or somethin’.” 

Yukimiya scowls, but Tabito knows it’s not serious. “Well! I am still curious about what you get up to. It’s literally the king who’s your client as well. It’s not just any assassination.” 

Tabito did know that. It’s not going to be that merchant in the church; it’ll be something more serious, something more difficult and pressing. 

Speaking of the merchant in the church. 

“C’mon. If ya really are ‘curious ‘bout what I get up to’,” Tabito repeated, “I’ll tell ya about yesterday.”

In a clipped, impersonal tone, Tabito begins to recall yesterday’s events to Yukimiya. He doesn’t mention how his hands shook, how he felt so much disgust looking at the body, about how he had dreamt the death all over again last night. He never mentions those details. 

By the end of Tabito’s story, Yukimiya has a slightly distressed expression on his face. This particular death must have hit him particularly hard, seeing that the victim had been a fellow follower just like him. But even if Yukimiya wants to chastise him, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he lets out a sigh. “Well, you did what you had to do.” 

“The pay was pretty good,” Tabito said absentmindedly, “Five whole bags of gold. I ate a hearty meal that night.” 

Yukimiya doesn’t reply to that particular jest. He looks thoughtful, as if he is mulling over what Tabito had described. Finally, after what seems like hours, he speaks up again, his voice small. “You said that man was in prayer when you had struck him.” 

Tabito nods. “Definitely, he was.” 

“I was just thinking... It's said that if a believer dies during prayer, he’ll be guaranteed a passage to Heaven. This merchant will be sent directly to Paradise.” 

“Oh,” Tabito makes a small noise. “I forgot ‘bout that.”

Tabito hadn’t considered that. He isn’t a big believer in the Good Place, and the Bad Place, but this merchant had been. It’s interesting to think about. Maybe he had actually done that merchant a lot of good. He had killed him while he was praying, that’s a guarantee to Heaven. Who would say no to that?

“It doesn’t affect me much,” Tabito shrugs again, “It’s not like I want him ta suffer for all of eternity. He means nothing ta me. All I know is that there’s no way I am going to Heaven.” 

Yukimiya purses his lips together, shaking his head, and Tabito doesn’t possibly think there’s a way to argue against that. “Don’t say that. Don’t act like you’re doomed; you’re not. Maybe if you asked for forgiveness and began to repent... but that’s only if you desire it.” 

Tabito wants to laugh. Yukimiya is really so naive sometimes. He is doomed, and Tabito doesn’t even think that fact is tragic. He is beyond repair, a true example of the scum that exists in the world, and he should be fine with it. He had dug his own grave and laid on it. “I don’t know, Yukki. All I really desire is ta be satisfied.” Satisfied with life, satisfied with my actions, satisfied with myself. 

“That’s sound. Don’t we all want that?” Yukimiya replies. “You should join me for prayer, maybe. It’ll bring you a lot of comfort and it could bring you satisfaction as well. Even if it’s only for a moment.” 

Tabito shakes his head. Prayer sounds so suffocating right now, and furthermore, he still has that audience with King Ego. “Thanks, Yukki, but I’ll really need ta go. You know how the king gets. Before I leave for the mission, I’ll come visit you again, yeah?”

 Yukimiya seems disappointed that Tabito has to go. “Yes, I’d like that. Have a good day.” 

With that note, Tabito picks himself up, gathering his belongings that he had left by the pew. Time to make his way up to the castle.

It's always so strange to be back. The Northern Kingdom is unlike anywhere he had been to before. For starters, he is allowed to wear his hood down, his face unobscured. There's no posters pinned up, detailing his arrest. Wanted. Dead or Alive. Tabito Karasu. Reward: Fifty bags of gold. A life-changing amount of money and Tabito is almost proud that he is so valued. Nobody recognizes him here and even if they had, nobody would care. 

And nobody here is good-natured. When he passes by the streets, nobody sends a smile in his direction. Their faces are all cold, and their hearts might be as well. These people only think of themselves; he doesn't think he's ever seen a display of camaraderie within the people. They are all just concerned with themselves. When he passes by, nobody averts their gaze towards him. Tabito has made a thousand observations about the populace of this kingdom and he is almost certain on what the cause may be.

King Ego. The ultimate ruler of this kingdom.

His castle isn’t so far from the temple, though Tabito knows for a fact that it’s not out of convenience at all. King Ego only believes in one God, which is himself. He doesn’t even care to pretend otherwise. Tabito thinks him the most peculiar person he has ever had the misfortune to meet. Well, it doesn’t matter much. He isn’t concerned with where he gets his money from. 

Tabito walks languidly; he isn’t in much of a hurry. King Ego has always been straight to the point: it really won’t take long for their meeting to be over with. He reaches the gate, meeting the guards there. Reaching into his coat, he pulls out the scroll that he had been sent.

Uttering no greetings, he says simply in the lingua franca, “I’ve got an audience with the King. Tabito Karasu, at yer service.”

If it were anywhere else, Tabito would never have had the courage to reveal his name. That would have been a bad idea, but around here, he is protected.

The guards talk amongst themselves in a quieter volume. Finally, one of them nods. “Yes, we were expecting you. Give up all your weapons and leave them here, and we’ll escort you to the throne room. You’ll get them back after the meeting.”

Tabito can’t help but smirk. They just knew him so well.

He lets out a sigh and digs into his coat, pulling out the weapons that he has within reach. His crossbow and its bolts, his ten-set throwing knives, his dagger, all strewn on the table in front of him. His hands go to undo the buttons of his cloak and he pulls it forward. His emergency knives, extra bolts in case he needs more. The guards watch him, unamused. “Is that all?” The guard asked, tilting his head.

“I think so.” 

“I don’t want to have to pat you down.”

Tabito shrugs. “C’mon, why don’t ya relax? I am not going to kill him. He’s my client.”

The guard looks even less impressed. There is a frown on his face, his pale eyebrows knit together, and Tabito is having a lot of fun at the moment. “We can never be sure about you. You’re trouble. I don’t like to disparage my own king but he doesn’t have a shortage of enemies.”

Tabito clicks his tongue. “Ya have got to know my reputation. If I wanted ta kill him, nothing could stop me. No point in even trying. So, just let me in.”

Tabito holds his gaze and he knows it’s a dangerous thing he had just said, but his conscience is clean. He is only jesting; he has no intention of assassinating King Ego today. Nobody has hired him to, and Tabito has never killed anybody because of his own desires. He doesn’t think he is capable of killing anyone out of his own rage. 

“You don’t convince me much, Assassin,” there is something scathing about the way he utters Tabito’s title, “But I don’t think you’re so stupid to reveal your plans before you’ve even gone past the gates. I am inclined to trust you. Even if you break my trust, I have faith in myself. I am willing to lay my life for my king.”

“How romantic,” Tabito rolls his eyes. “Ya do have a lot of faith in yerself. Ya forget who yer talking ta, though.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. They call you the most feared assassin in the lands. But you’re just a kid. How old are you? Just twenty?”

“Nine-and-ten,” he corrected. “I don’t like how yer underestimating me.”

“I am not. I am only saying that I have decades of experience on you. I know how you all work. I have saved the king from countless assassination attempts. If you try to do anything, I’ll save him again and it’ll end in your death.”

Tabito isn’t too scared of this guards’ threat. “Well, it won’t come to that. I am not ‘bout to try anything.”

“Let’s hope that is the way it goes. Are you finally ready to go through?”

Tabito nods and that irritating guard begins to lead the way, passing through the gate. King Ego’s castle is on top of high ground, and Tabito wonders what approach Ego had been aiming for. Is it so he can be as close to the Heavens’ as possible? Is it to highlight how above he is over everybody else? It can’t just be for protection, although that is a bonus.

The castle resembles a fortress, and it’s difficult for Tabito to admit that it’s quite beautiful. It’s surrounded by a moat and the plaster walls are snow-white, with elegant curved roofs. Finally, the guard enters the castle and Tabito follows along. The staircases are steep and narrow, and climbing it is making Tabito dizzy. But this castle is familiar to Tabito; he has been here before. So when the guard reaches a particular floor, he knows that this is where the throne room is.

The guard makes a turn and it doesn’t take much walking until they reach another door. He pushes it open and leads Tabito in, and lo and behold, he is back in the same room he had been in two years ago. The throne room of King Ego’s castle.

It’s a dim place, just as Tabito remembers it. Not a lot of light at all, and the large windows are draped with heavy curtains. Only a few torches burn low along the walls, providing the room with enough illumination to see, at least. The ceiling is high, ribbed with dark beams and decorated with faded frescoes. Just like with the temple, Tabito doesn’t recognize these scenes. Tabito looks down; the floors are a black marble with a dull sheen to them. He looks back up again. At the far end, there’s a golden throne, though the color of that is dull as well, raised upon a platform. A curtain is draped behind it, a deep blue in color. A man is sitting upon the throne and if he hadn’t had the crown on top of his head, everybody would have mistaken him for being just any man. King Ego isn’t even dressed luxuriously: just dark robes similar to what Tabito wears too. He is leaning his elbow against his armrests, his expression almost bored.

The guard bows low and Tabito follows after him, though it isn’t as low. He doesn’t have much fondness for authority figures but he is sure that the guard may just kill him if Tabito shows Ego a lack of respect. “Tabito Karasu, Your Highness,” the guard introduces, pronouncing every syllable. He takes a step back, letting Tabito be the center of attention.

King Ego moves his head, regarding Tabito for a moment. His eyes are almost hidden away by his rectangular glasses, but when he had moved his head, Tabito had caught sight of them. Dark and completely blank. Finally, he moves his hand dismissively. “I know that, obviously. Thank you, Noa, for bringing him here. You can go now.”

Tabito glances behind him, watching the guard swallow. “Are you certain, your Highness?” The guard asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I am sure. If he kills me, that’s his loss. I don’t require you here.”

The guard nods, turning on his heel. With one last sharp glance towards Tabito’s direction, he turns around, exiting the throne room. Tabito watches him go and then faces Ego again.

“Ah, we meet again, Assassin,” King Ego utters. He doesn’t sound too impressed either. That same passive boredom, like Tabito is just the dirt under his shoes. “You did a good job last time. I got a lot of value out of it.”

“Yer welcome,” Tabito replies, putting his hands inside his pocket. “I’ll do a good job this time around too.”

Ego doesn’t smile, but he nods nonetheless. “That better be the case. This one’s going to be more challenging than the last one, so I require more effort from you.”

Straight to the point. That’s expected from King Ego; that’s just how he works. There really isn’t any need for pleasantries and Tabito finds it refreshing. He always likes to get it over with as soon as possible. “Ya don’t have ta worry ‘bout that. I’ve never failed in my life. Who do ya want gone?”

Ego pauses for a moment, as if he is mulling all of it over. “Are you aware of the alliance that’s happening between Tenebis and Praes?”

Tabito nods. Of course he is. He makes sure to keep up with the news about the kingdoms in these lands. Most of the people he had had to assassinate in the past are related to politics. Members of court, nobles, royal advisors, even kings and queens. He supposes that Ego’s request will be to assassinate an individual of that nature. 

Tenebis and Praes are two kingdoms; Praes is in the south, while Tenebis is in the west. Both are kingdoms of immense power with large territories to back them up. An alliance would only make both kingdoms stronger.

“Good,” Ego begins. “To celebrate their alliance, Praes will hold a festival this weekend. The usual idiotic display of pomp and splendor and goodwill.”

“And I suppose ya want me ta use that festival ta my advantage?”

For the first time, even considering their last meeting two years ago, Tabito sees Ego’s lips curl up into a smile. It’s not a friendly smile; it’s absolutely demented. But that’s something Tabito had already assumed about that man. There’s no chance that Ego is a normal, sane person. “Precisely. An assassination during the festival would cause an uproar. And amidst that chaos, it’ll be so easy to station my military and take control. And then, it’ll be all mine.”

Yeah, Ego is definitely a little cuckoo in the head. But that doesn’t bother Tabito. As long as he gets paid at the end and can comfortably work with him, he doesn’t have a single complaint. “Which one do ya want me ta finish off? Tenebis royalty or Praes?”

Ego doesn’t even need a moment to think. “Praes. That kingdom is the closest to mine and larger than Tenebis. That’s why I said that this mission will be more challenging than the last. You’ll have to kill three people instead of the usual one. The king of Praes, the queen, and their son. They have just one heir with no spare and he has almost reached maturity. He will be eight-and-ten next month. You’ll be able to complete the mission, right?”

Is that even a question? Nothing is ever challenging for him. He had killed five people at once in the past, and he had hardly had any trouble. This would be a piece of cake. Just the king and queen, along with their spoiled, sheltered brat of a son, Tabito is assuming. Princes are always the same. During a festival as well, whenever everyone’s guard will be done. “Consider it done.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s discuss payment, shall we?”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

An air of festivity and celebration had already settled itself in the air. Praes has always had a particular reputation associated with it and it's critical that they don’t divert from it. Praes is the perfect kingdom with a benevolent king and queen ruling, with jovial and happy people, with a stable economy, and last but not least, a promising future that King Ginji and Queen Junko’s heir will bring. It might as well be a wonderland. It's more than essential for the kingdom to display this very image and amplify it, especially with the arrival of the Tenebis royal family. This festival is just the perfect excuse to showcase how great the kingdom is. A perfect excuse to brag really.

Yo isn’t feeling particularly festive.

He hates these occasions so much. These grand events with thousands of people. Greeting all those guests with that pleasant smile on his face, complete with a polite bow; the joust Saturday afternoon that he is supposed to command; the banquet, where all the food tastes stale in his mouth; the ball, where he has to socialize some more, engage in conversation with the guests and dance with them if they ask. It’s so stifling, so tiring and Yo can’t believe he’ll have to face this for the rest of his life.

The Tenebis court will be arriving on Friday afternoon; it’s Thursday now. Yo feels a kind of pit in his stomach. He is not eager at all, but he supposes he can use the commotion to his advantage. Everyone is so busy; the housekeepers and chambermaids are at work, doing last-minute cleaning, turning the castle completely spotless. The cooks have been cooped up in the kitchen for an entire week, making elaborate meals for the banquets. The knights are busy in the grounds, either practicing for the jousting tournament that will be held Saturday or preparing themselves to act as guards or watchmen. The king and queen as well, have been running around the castle, making sure that everything is going as planned. Even Yo has been busy. He keeps going forth between attending meetings with the rest of the royal court, sitting right next to his father, and going down to the grounds to train alongside the knights. He isn’t going to be jousting with his knights, but he will be the Marshal of the Field, the referee of the match. Besides, he had heard of the Tenebis Prince and his reputation. He had heard that the prince had a habit of challenging anyone to a sword-fight. Yo doesn’t want to lose and be an embarrassment.

It’s a miracle that amidst that, he still has some time for leisure. After a meeting with the court, stepping out of the Privy Chamber with a low sigh. Yo knows another meeting will be held in a few hours, after certain things are completed. It’s so mind-numbingly boring but still, Yo has to sit through them. He watches the advisors leave, discussing amongst themselves in low voices that he can’t make out. 

His mother exits the room as well, and when she leaves, she catches sight of Yo, giving him a hollow smile. That’s what Yo thinks the quality of the smile is, at least. After he had realized the truth about his parents—the truth being that his parents never did love him—he had stopped seeing affection in any of their actions. 

“Be good, Yo, alright?” she says, before walking off, her gown trailing behind her. Yo hadn’t even gotten the chance to reply.

Now, what shall he do now? Like he said, the next meeting is in a few hours, so he has time to kill. He does not have training with the knights either, as they are preparing for the parade. Yo will not be joining them; he is joining his parents, of course. Should he go down to his usual place in the courtyard and train with his sword alone for a while? But that’s what he usually does and though he loves it, he wants to go and do something different. Well, everyone in the castle is very distracted. Nobody is keeping an eye on him and would it be right to let that opportunity go to waste? Maybe… he should put on his disguise and visit the town, what lies beyond the castle. It probably has a different face now too, just like the castle, with everyone focused on making the kingdom appear as perfect as possible.

He quickly heads over to his chambers, breathing out a sigh of relief when he finds his valet nowhere to be seen. Yo heads over to his closet, digging through it until he reaches the very back. He finds what he is looking at: a dark cloak that will hide away his body and a hood that will hide away his face. He should put it on when he goes downstairs. 

Yo tucks his disguise under his arm quickly, not wanting to waste any time. As he is about to leave the closet, though, his eyes find a particular compartment in his chest of drawers. Yo’s eyes widen as he remembers what exactly this compartment holds. With bated breath, he opens it. His dagger that he has hidden away. It’s beautiful: the hilt is curved from a single piece of ivory, a topaz set into the pommel, the color of the stone matching his eyes. But it’s deadly as well, the blade of watered steel and double-edged. Yo reaches for it, his grip on the hilt tight as he considers if he should bring it with him. Well, he would be lying if he said he isn’t a little paranoid about the outside world. It’ll be unwise if he goes off without any kind of way to defend himself. And the weapon is small, practically impossible to detect. He straps the dagger to his thigh to be hidden away under his cloak, and finally, he leaves his chambers.

As fast as possible, he climbs down the staircase, his steps hurried. He hopes nobody sees him leave. If his parents find out… they won’t. He hopes. It isn’t the first time he had snuck out to town, but he does it very sparingly. Finally, he reaches the foot of the stairs and hiding in the shadows, he puts on his attire. Yo pulls back his hair; his cyan hair is just too distinguishable. If anyone caught sight of even a lock of hair, he would be recognized immediately. 

Yo had always been quite the curious child, so much of his childhood had been spent exploring the castle, finding out its secrets. And so, he knows exactly how to sneak out without the guards catching sight of him. He doesn’t walk towards the gates; instead, he takes a turn until he finds himself in between a narrow passageway, hidden behind a cupboard. This passage is meant for servants to move around the castle with privacy, without the nobles catching sight of them. He stumbles forward, a hand over his mouth since the corridor is so dusty. The air here is damp and smells of old stone. At the end of the corridor lies the postern gate, a door so small he has to crouch to reach the iron bolt.

The hinges groan and finally, he manages to push the door open, entering the outside world.

The kingdom of Praes is built around the castle. The castle is the heart of it and from the two windows of the highest tower, one can see the entire kingdom laid out before them. It is rare that he goes out to the town, spending most of his time in the castle and only leaving with his parents to distribute largess in the town square, or when he has official business and he has to show his face. But aside from that, he is fairly sheltered, only having the barest idea of the very kingdom he is supposed to be ruling over. 

For a moment, Yo stands frozen in the shadow of the buttress, his heart hammering against his chest. He’s out of the castle, but he really doesn’t know where to go from there. He wishes he had a tour guide, maybe, somebody to show him the sights and tell him where he’ll enjoy himself the most. What place has the best food? What place has the most lively people? Somebody to answer these questions, but truly, he has no one.

His first few steps are tentative, his boots unaccustomed to the uneven tilt of the cobblestones. The floors of the castle are all of marble and polished oak. But everything outside is so rough, and he is so unfamiliar with everything. He keep walking, until he manages to find people. There’s a lot of people, and it’s so different from what Yo is used to. People of all walks of life. Commoners with their untidy clothes, soldiers with their proper uniform, merchants who are dressed in their fancy attire. And it’s so loud. Everybody seems to be talking all at once and their voices are laced with excitement. Excited over the festival, about the new alliance. Yo wishes he could feel even a quarter of their joy. All he feels is the most potent sense of dread.

But things are… different since the last time he had come out of the castle. Previously, he had thought the air was thick and acidic, smelling of ammonia and raw hides from the butchers’. There had been the staunch odor of the gutters too and Yo had found it almost difficult to breathe the first time. But today, it smells almost lovely, the scent of herbs and rose petals lingering in the air. When he ventures further, he finds the source of this new scent though. The streets are strewn with sweet-smelling rushes and flower petals, possibly masking the terrible odor that Yo always used to smell before. Yo looks up, taking slow steps down the sidewalk. From second-story windows, the finest rugs and silks are held to add more color, it seems. Yo looks around; the massive stone walls are draped in tapestries and silk banners as well. The roads are lined with freshly painted way-markers, the grass shorn perfectly. Yo had also seen beggars along the street previously, but now, they seem to have all been moved away. Everything has taken on a new face for the festival.

But in his marvel, Yo must have walked too far away. His eyes wide, he had been walking, his eyes looking over everything. Somewhere along the way, he had taken the wrong turn, and now, everything is somehow darker. Yo swallows hard; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that he should definitely not be here. He is about to take another turn to leave but then, all of a sudden, he feels something cold and slimy against his mouth.

“Lost your way, boy?”

The voice is like grinding gravel, something rough and unforgiving. A man who smells like the rot of the town. His other hand is tightly wrapped around Yo’s right hand, the grip almost crushing. Yo feels panic settle inside him, his heart beating so violently against his ribs. He wants to scream, he should scream, but his voice had disappeared completely. Yo’s stomach bottoms out, a cold, oily sensation spreading from his chest to his fingertips. He regrets every single decision he has ever made in his life. Just why had he left the comfort of the castle and ventured into the dangerous outside world? He is like a lost lamb, naive and weak, walking right into the jaws of dangerous wolves. He squirms in the man’s hold, not wanting to be completely useless. But his struggle only makes things worse when he feels his hood falling from his head, exposing his hair and face.

Yo hears the man make a genuinely surprised sound. But then, it all falls away and everything becomes so much worse. He can hear the sneer in the man’s voice and he feels his face draw closer. “Oh, isn’t this so interesting?” the man says, his voice making Yo even more terrified. “Today must be my lucky day. The prince has found himself in my alley.”

At that moment, Yo doesn’t think at all. Everything freezes and then, it starts up again, but this time, it feels like he has lost complete control of his body. It’s like he acts automatically, his limbs moving on its own. His free hand reaches into his cloak, the hilt feeling ice-cold against his palm. He moves it with such fluid, mechanical precision and it all feels so natural for him. Of course, he had trained with the sword so many times. A dagger is just a miniature version. When he slides it against the man, the blade plunging into the man’s stomach, it feels like home. 

The man’s eyes widen, the yellowed whites of his eyes reflecting the dull alley light. And then, he simply crumbles. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t yell, doesn’t even give out a gasp. His expression is just one of horror as he slumps to the ground against Yo’s boots, his blood soaking into Yo’s cloak, the color so dark.

Yo stands over him. His grip has become loose on the hilt and the stone in the pommel shines just like his eyes do. He waits for something to happen; he waits to feel something. He waits for the wave of horror to wash over him like a storm, he waits for the crushing guilt, the bile in his throat, maybe, or the trembling of his hands. 

Nothing happens.

Instead, all he feels is something hollow and he is so still. Yo is finding this more terrifying than the murder itself, the fact that he feels nothing at all. It feels as though this moment is a scene from a play and he’s in the audience. He is not a part of it at all, he is completely disconnected from this moment. Yo doesn’t feel triumph from this moment either. He isn’t proud that he had killed a man. It’s nothing, how can he explain into words how nothing he feels at the moment. There is no guilt, no glee, nothing hot or cold. He doesn’t feel like a murderer. He has never felt like a prince or a hero. Nothing. Nothing at all. 

He just keeps staring at the dead, bloody body in the ground. A pool of blood had gathered around him and it’s really seeping into Yo’s shoes. He’ll need to wash this off before making his way back to the castle. Amidst his thoughts though, he hears the sound of hurried footsteps and this time, he isn’t quick enough. Yo is not quick at all; his hood is still down and he is standing over the dead body with a bloody knife in his hand. He feels horror again, his heart spiking up and he doesn’t even have time to run—

A man runs up to the entranceway of the alley and it’s somebody that Yo had never expected to ever see in his life.

Tabito Karasu. The man in all of the wanted posters. The most feared assassin in all of the lands, somehow, he is standing before him. His hood is down as well and Yo recognizes him perfectly. And his eyes are wide as well, looking at the body, and then at Yo. Yo hopes to God that Tabito doesn’t recognize him. “The Prince…?” the Assassin pronounces, his lips parted.  

Well. Yo never wins, does he?

Luckily, though, that’s the moment he feels his movement coming back. He quickly puts his hood back on, his knife hastily tucked back under his cloak. Before the Assassin can say a word or do anything, Yo makes a run for it, running past him and out of the Assassin’s sight. He wins in the sense that he doesn’t see him follow.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

At first glance, everything people have been saying about the kingdom is completely correct. It’s like a wonderland; a perfectly peaceful place with just the kindest people, not a speck of corruption in sight. Everybody is wearing smiles and they are talking to each other amiably. The roads are clean and spotless, they might as well be paved with gold. Even the air in the kingdom is light and smells like rose petals. When fairytales talk about the perfect kingdom, they must mean Praes. He doesn’t blame Ego; anybody would want to invade this nice, happy kingdom. Or maybe Tabito had just caught them at a particularly good time. They had just made an alliance with another kingdom after all; maybe they are trying to impress. Tabito thinks they are trying too hard. Praes is so perfect, it looks completely superficial. He understands instantly that this is all a facade to hide a deeply rooted decay. He doesn’t care enough to investigate it though; this is not the reason why he’s here.

It's Thursday afternoon now, and Tabito really has nothing to do concerning his mission. The festival officially starts tomorrow, when the royal court of Tenebis arrives with their fleet of horses and knights. As Tabito looks around, he comes to the conclusion that today is the day they're making the kingdom appealing and perfect. That doesn't affect Tabito at all. He is just waiting for the festival to begin so he can use that chaos to make his move. There's no point in acting now. 

So, currently, Tabito is aiming around town, trying to get a feel of this place. He recalls what he knows about this kingdom from word of mouth. Just a wonderful place. The king and queen are supposedly benevolent, the heir completely fit for the role of king in the future. Tabito knows his fair share of royalty and if there's one thing he knows about them, they are never what they seem. It's just an undeniable fact. He strongly doubts that the Praes royal family is angelic at all. 

He keeps walking through the window. Tabito is almost bored by what he sees. Just a typical, wealthy kingdom, getting itself ready for a festival. Tapestries, banners, people cleaning up, beggars and paupers being ushered away. Typical.

But when Tabito ventures deeper, he does find something interesting. A place where that sickly sweet smell of rushes hadn't quite reached yet. A place where the air is heavier, thicker, and uncomfortable. So, this is the gutter of Praes. Every kingdom's got one. A place where the most desperate people live. His interest finally piqued, he keeps walking. 

Though he is looking ahead, he still has acute awareness of his surroundings. And he sees something in the corner of his eyes. He knits his eyebrows together, turning his head. There's a hooded figure in the distance, who seems a little lost, lingering in front of an alley. And then, suddenly, he feels an arm emerge from the darkness of the alleyway, making the grab for the figure.

 Tabito widens his eyes. He watches as the hooded figure is backed into the alleyway. This is obviously a hostile interaction, that fact registers itself into his mind quite quickly. A mugging probably, and Tabito needs to think fast on what he should do. Well, the answer is obvious. He can't just stand around. Sure, he is no better than that attacker. He has a kill count that even he cannot quantify. But he is not completely heartless. The person being attacked isn't one of the individuals he is assigned to kill. It's only right to save them.

Having made up his mind, Tabito runs towards the opening of the alley as quickly as he can. He can't really afford to be even a second late; in case something horrifying had happened to that person. But in his hurry, he feels his hood fall from his head, his face visible now. He hesitates, but he decides that he doesn't really have the time to be fixing himself up. He hopes that he does not regret that decision too much. 

He finally reaches the alley's entrances, about to lunge forward to stop that man. But what he sees makes his breath escape his lungs. 

A man, well, a boy by the looks of it, since he can't be more that eight-and-ten, with a bloody dagger in his hand. And by his feet, is the body of that other man, the one who had attempted to attack him. He is clearly dead, surrounded by his own blood and Tabito's eyes darts to that dagger, before shooting up. No, wait, the boy... 

Cyan hair in curls, the matching pair of eyes, so large and round. He is dressed in that cloak that Tabito had seen just a moment ago, but his hood must have fallen down just like his hand. Tabito recognizes his face immediately and he is struck at the revelation. The Prince of Praes, Yo Hiori. "The Prince...?" Tabito blurts out, his voice so quiet. 

Tabito doesn't know if the Prince's eyes widen so much because he recognizes Tabito as the assassin, or if he is only struck because Tabito had seen him kill somebody. Well, Tabito doesn't have the opportunity to learn because the next thing he knows, the Prince sprints past him, disappearing out of his sight. Tabito watches him leave, still digesting what had just happened.

Tabito really needs to rethink everything he knows about Yo Hiori, the Prince of Praes, the heir that he is meant to kill. 

It's not to say that he knows very much about the young Prince. All he knows is that he is an only child, the kingdom having no spares. If he dies, the entire balance of the kingdom's power is thrown off, pushing the kingdom into more chaos. But the rest are assumptions that Tabito makes. He had assumed that Yo was the typical prince. Spoiled and coddled, the type of person to have never known struggle in his entire life. But it appears that Tabito needs to let that assumption go. What he had seen in the alleyway... it's an image that he thinks will never leave him. Expensive boots seeped in blood and dirt. The blade of a decorative and a bejeweled dagger dipped in that same blood. Blue eyes staring at a dead body in the ground. Tabito tries to remember: had there been even the barest flash of guilt or horror upon those eyes? 

As it turns out, this prince has a stronger stomach than Tabito.

Suffice to say, though, Tabito is so completely captivated. He almost forgets that Yo is supposed to be one of his victims, the heir ordered by Ego to kill. But at that moment, as the image of Yo standing over the dead body keeps coming back to his mind, the image affects him so much that in Tabito's walk to his inn, he realizes that whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see is the prince. What had Yo done to him? He makes a note to himself to use the festival to his advantage; he has to know more about Yo. Tabito tries his best to pretend that this is all just for the sake of assassination, that he has no desire to learn more past that.

Tabito had been counting down to the hour of the festival almost obsessively. He has the schedule memorized perfectly. The morning, the parties of the two kingdoms will go on an allied hunt together. Of course, Tabito will not get to be privy to that. But then, when the afternoon will begin to set in, when the day is its warmest, he knows that there will be a grand jousting tournament that he is allowed to attend. This will be the perfect opportunity to observe further.

Finally, Saturday afternoon arrives. There is a feeling of anticipation in the atmosphere as everyone is eager to watch the jousting match play out. The teams are not separated based on kingdoms, rather, they have been integrated to avoid discord between the two kingdoms. Both teams have an equal mix of knights and warriors from Praes and Tenebis. Tabito is not very interested in the jousting match itself; he is eager for another reason entirely. And he very much hopes to catch sight of his reason.

Dressed in his usual attire of dark cloaks, he joins the rest of the audience. The air smells of expensive incense as people have come here, dressed in their best, and horse sweat. Tabito stands shoulder-to-shoulder with merchants and minor gentry, everyone leaning over the wooden railing of the tilt-yard.

His eyes scan the crowd of royals and nobles in the Royal Box, groups of people who are completely separated from the commoners like him and the people around him. But he does hope to catch sight of Yo in that crowd. Tabito has never known himself to pick favorites but now, he finds himself paying very little attention to the actual king and queen. No, the only one he wants to watch is the prince. He purses his lips together, his eyes moving listlessly. But turns out, he is looking at the wrong place, when in fact, he should be looking alongside the list. Because there Yo stands, dressed in to be easily noticeable to the warriors, holding a white baton across his knees. When Tabito finally spots him, he can’t help but sneer as if Yo is an old friend. Oh, so he had assumed the position as the Marshal of the Field, as the referee. This should be interesting.

The crowd is chaos. Everyone is cheering, their voices loud as they wait for the tournament to begin. Tabito can see the nobles in the Royal Box excited as well, though they look just a little more measured. But when he looks back at Yo, he sees that Yo is completely still. His face is neutral, unmoving, with his eyes so hollow and blank. Tabito tilts his head, noting that down. It’s almost a sad expression on his face. 

Twenty-four knights on their horses, twelve in each team. The knights are all dressed in heavy steel plates, fixed helmets on their faces. A brightly colored surcoat is draped over each knight, denoting their team. They hold no coat of arms since the match is mixed, and they are distinguished only by the color. Blue and red. That’s simple enough. The horses are massive, barrel-chested destriers, their hooves churning the dirt under them. Each knight is holding a lance, all of them prepared to start at any moment. 

“Laissez-aller!” Tabito suddenly hears and he gives a start. His eyes follow the sound and finds that it had come from the prince. Tabito realizes that he never had heard Yo’s voice before. He has the same accent as he does, but Yo’s voice is not as deep as his. And it’s so completely neutral too, as if Yo really is just so empty. 

Yo drops the baton, the game commencing. The explosion of noise that comes after that is deafening. Taking the signal, the knights charge at each other at top speed. Hooves hammer against the ground and Tabito really would not be surprised if an earthquake happens right now, at this moment. The knights lean forward, lances leveled, turning themselves into human projectiles. Tabito isn’t really that interested in the match; he’s not even watching it. No, his eyes are firmly on Yo and they will not stray any time soon. 

But then, all of a sudden, Tabito hears something shatter. His eyes dart momentarily to the list. One knight’s lance had shattered against their opponent’s shield, sending a spray of splinters into the front row of the stands. 

Tabito’s eyes go back to Yo. He watches him lean forward, his eyes narrowed, instantly calculating the ‘points of honor’ in his head. When he reaches his conclusion, he claps politely with a lack of passion. He raises a hand to the heralds, signaling a ‘clean strike.’ The match is allowed to continue again.

The match passes without much incident, going perfectly smoothly. It’s a fair game with no foul hits and Tabito had seen Yo quietly count up the points based on broken lances and strikes to the helmet. The twenty-four riders wheeled their snorting destriers back into perfect formation, a heavy, expectant silence fell over the arena. Once again, Yo politely claps, a stilted smile on his face. His heart really isn’t on it. The Prince stands, his movements not suggesting any kind of intense triumph. He aims his smile at the visiting lords until finally, he raises the white baton for the last time to signal the end of the combat. With a quick motion, he drops the baton again, landing on the sand. 

Yo announces the winners, his voice level. The red team wins and the crowd cheers; they appear to have been quite satisfied with the game. He clears his throat, letting the heralds the final fanfares. He is almost about to turn his back, returning to his court in the Royal Box but then, he is stopped.

“Prince Yo.”

The dust of the joust has barely settled when a single rider breaks formation. The moment that Yo had turned his gaze back to the list, Tabito does the same, trying to find the source of the booming voice. The voice is definitely coming from the list, from that one single rider, maybe. With a metallic groan, the knight reaches up and wrenches his helmet free. It isn’t an older knight that looks up, but a young man with long, sweat-slicked, pale hair that turns electric blue at the end, his grin sharp. It’s the Crown Prince of Tenebis, Kaiser, who had been breaking lances on a horse while Yo had been quietly refereeing the match. 

“A fine tally of splinters, Marshal,” the young prince taunts. He tosses the helmet into the dirt, his hand going to his waist as he unsheathes his sword, the steel catching the sunlight. “But you’re going to make a bad king if all you do is just sit around and count wood. You see, a king needs to be abrasive, a man of action, if you will. But you seem to me to be quite dull. How about you prove me wrong?”

Prince Kaiser dismounts from his horse, looking proudly towards Yo. He saluted with the blade, the point aimed directly at Yo’s chest. “A bout of swords, here in the sand. How does that sound?”

A collective gasp ripples through the stands. Tabito’s gaze is fixed on Yo, wondering what he may do. Well, he had made his observations and he thinks they are enough for him to conclude that Yo will, indeed, take up on that duel. And Tabito is proved correct soon enough. For a moment, Yo doesn’t move. He is only staring at Prince Kaiser, blinking. But then, he seems to have made his decision. His lips curl into an honest smile, his hand unsheathing his own sword. “I would love ta have a friendly duel with ya, Prince Kaiser,” Yo hums, climbing down and slipping into the list. Everyone’s eyes are firmly on the pair of princes. 

Prince Kaiser shifts like a flame, his movements more like a dance as he works almost ruthlessly. He swings his sword in an arc, lunging with a flamboyant thrust aimed at Yo’s shoulder. “Let us see what the future king of Praes is made of.”

And that’s when Tabito realizes that Yo is one of the most skilled swordsmen he had ever seen. Yo steps inside the arc, a movement so precise it seems like he hadn’t moved at all. Kaiser’s blade hisses past his air, cutting only air. Yo closes the distance between them, using the guard of his sword to intercept the other’s reach. 

Kaiser spins for a backhand cut, but Yo parries with a solid block that stalls the momentum of the attack. Before his opponent can recover his balance, Yo steps forward, his footing firm in the sand. He catches Prince Kaiser’s blade in a bind, twisting his frame and disarming him with a swift motion. The golden sword spins through the air, landing several feet away in the dirt. 

That’s it. That’s the end of it. It ends, without question, with Yo’s victory. The roar that erupts from the stands is a physical blow, a tidal wave of sound that seems to shake the entire place. Thousands of Praes voices cheer at once, all feeling a kind of immense patriotic pride. Their own Prince had so easily defeated the foreign prince. 

“Ya play well, Prince Kaiser,” Yo congratulates, and he sounds honest. He reaches his hand forward towards the defeated prince. “I think yer going ta make a good king one day.”

Tabito must be the only person in the entire crowd that doesn’t cheer. He stays completely silent and unmoving, his throat suddenly so dry and his heartbeat so fast that it hurts. He leans against the support beam, his breath hitching as if he had seen the most captivating sight. He watches Yo help the Tenebis Prince up. He is chivalrous too, with the way he smiles at Prince Kaiser. Goddammit. He wonders if he’ll ever get an honest smile aimed at him. He doesn’t even deserve it. 

A strange, painful fascination tightens in his chest. He had been sent to end this bloodline, but now, that’s the very last thing he wants to do. Tabito doesn’t want to kill him anymore, no, he wants to… He wants to make Yo’s heart beat. He wants to take away the hollowness that Yo must feel and replace it with something. This feeling, he hates it. It’s making him weak and he is so scared of it. He had never not killed anybody that he was supposed to. But now, he is willing to not only do that, save Yo’s soul, but to save everything about him. 

Yo Hiori, the Prince of Praes. Heir to the kingdom. Rest assured, he will not be dying. Not if Tabito can help it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Everyone keeps talking about how beautiful the ballroom looks, how prettily it had been decorated for the festival. Light is spilling from the towering chandeliers on the ceiling, all of them molten gold. Wax drips slowly from the dozen candles, catching itself on the bobeche. The floors are a polished marble, it almost looks sparkling and so polished. When Yo had been just a child, he had always been worried of slipping on them. There are velvet banners hanging between windows, heavy and dark, embroidered with crests in gold thread. And there’s so many people here. So many, Yo can barely find the faces of his parents. They are all dressed luxuriously, in satin and silk, sporting jewels as well. Servants move around the ballroom as well, refilling goblets with red wine and vanishing almost instantly after their job is done. It’s beautiful. Everyone involved in the decorating process had outdone themselves.

Yo doesn’t think he has ever been to a place uglier than this.

It’s so suffocating. So, so suffocating. The doublet he is wearing fits close to his frame, a deep blue in color, with fine embroidery along the edges. A mantle rests over his shoulders, fastened at the collarbone with a clasp of metal. It falls straight down his back. His sleeves taper to his wrists, and he is wearing golden rings on his fingers. He doesn’t like jewelry at all, usually covering up his hands with silk gloves, but he has been made to wear it. The gloves in question are tucked into his pocket. At his throat, a high collar frames his face; it’s so stiff. His hair has been styled as well, now falling flat and neat on his head. He hates it. He hates it so much. His clothes feel so itchy, it’s almost intolerable. Yo keeps pulling on his collar. It’s so hot in this room as well, with everybody cramped together. The jewelry he is wearing are also so uncomfortable, picking at his skin so intensely. Already, he wants this night to be over with, and the sun hadn’t even set yet.

The music in the room is soft and people around him dance slowly. Yo hears the tuneful notes of string instruments: the violin and the harp together, with the faint sound of drums. It echoes faintly across the room. Yo’s parents would want him to ask someone to dance, to be good-natured and amiable, but he can barely move without feeling like his entire body is on fire.

Turns out, though, the dancing thing doesn’t turn out to be an issue. He feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns around. A woman with pretty eyes who must be older than he is. She is dressed in a beautiful dress, something flowing and loose. She asks him for a dance and though Yo’s throat feels so dry from discomfort, he accepts the offer. 

Dancing is so difficult as well. His shoes are so tight on him as well and so, it’s so hard to move in them. But still, he leads the woman in a dance, his movements poised as always. He is good at dancing as well; he has to be. He has an image to maintain as well, one of perfection. But then again, it’s a laughable idea now. Him being perfect. He has blood on his hands; he had killed a man and had felt nothing out of it. How is that anywhere near perfect?

The song comes to an end and Yo lets go of the woman he had been dancing with. “Thank ya,” he says with a smile. “I really enjoyed our dance.”

The woman smiles pleasantly as well, nodding as she walks away. Yo watches her leave, letting out a soft sigh. He turns around as well, drifting across the ballroom. He really has nothing to do tonight. Should he just wait for more people to ask him to dance?

“Yo! My son!”

Yo gives a start. His father, of course, with his deep voice. He feels a kind of dread creeping in; the last thing he wants is to spend any time with his parents. For a moment, he wonders if he should pretend that he hadn’t heard him and sneak away. But there’s no point because his father had already begun to approach him. Yo bites his bottom lip, bowing his head down out of respect. His father is holding a goblet of wine, taking sips from it every now and then.

“Yer enjoying the ball, I hope?” His father asks him, nudging him playfully with his elbow.

Yo tenses at that touch. “Yes, father. I am enjoying myself quite a lot.” He is lying through his teeth but he really cannot reveal to his father that everything feels so uncomfortable, and that he would rather be anywhere else in this world.

“That’s good to hear, son,” his father nods, taking a sip of the wine. “This entire event is going very well, better than I have expected. Our alliance is secured perfectly. Everyone’s having a good time at this festival. I’ve done a good job, if I do say so myself.”

Yo nods as well. He is only following social conventions, his body moving almost automatically regardless of what he thinks or feels. “Yes, father, ya did. Thank ya for hosting such a wonderful festival.”

At that compliment, his father grins, clapping him on the back. “You flatter me too much, but thank ya too. Ya know, one day, yer going to be the one hosting these festivals and parties. Isn’t that somethin’ ta think about?”

Yo swallows hard, feeling that familiar discomfort increases tenfolds. He really wishes his father hadn’t said so. He hates thinking about how inevitable his own life is. After his father’s death, he’ll inherit the throne. He’ll be the one making the diplomatic alliances, hosting the balls, and talking smoothly to everybody, working selfishly for the kingdom’s own benefit. “Yeah, that really is somethin’.” Yo really doesn’t have much to say.

“Yer going ta do just fine. Watching ya this weekend just confirmed it. I have a lot of trust in ya; I just know ya will make the finest king. Better than me, I hope.”

“Thank ya, father,” Yo replies, his voice clearly a little choked now. King. That’s in his future. And unless he dies before his father does, there is no way to change such a fate. Suddenly, he feels so sick to the stomach. “I am sorry, father… but I’ll have ta go now. I don’t feel well, I think I’ll get some fresh air.”

To his immense relief, his father doesn’t press on, doesn’t question him. He just nods, walking away to entertain his guests. 

Yo feels like he’s going to throw up. He can feel his stomach turn, a physical reaction to his father’s words. Of course, he knew that he would be king. It has been decided since the moment he had been born and he had been raised up with that expectation. But in the middle of this ballroom, with thousands of people surrounding him, his father’s words echoing in his ears: one day, yer going to be the one hosting these festivals and parties, it all just feels so much more real. He has to smile that measured smile, speak in that hollow and impassioned voice until the day he dies. Yo can’t think of any other possible option. This is it. This is the rest of his life. It might as well be over.

He hadn’t been lying when he had said that he would get some fresh air. Yo lies about almost everything, but it’s these little things that he ends up following through. He walks aimlessly, his shoes sounding so sunken as they walked across the marble floors. Leaving the ballroom, he walks down the hallway. He wants relief, just any kind of relief, and he wants to feel at peace for just a moment. Is that even possible?

Yo comes across a door and he recognizes it to be the door to the balcony. Perfect, just what he needs. Fresh air. He pushes open the door, sighing with relief when he finds it unlocked. Yo closes his eyes as he is hit with cool air, and for the first time all day, he isn’t feeling completely uncomfortable. The coolness is helping his skin not feel like they are burning anymore; he rolls up his sleeves and takes off his rings to put them in his pocket, stepping forward. The floor under his feet is stone, just slightly uneven. A waist-high railing runs along the edge, the white, wooden balusters curved with beautiful patterns. He walks up to the edge, placing his hands on the railing. He looks up at the sky and to his dismay, it’s not even night yet. He has so many hours to go until the party ends and he can’t possibly stay here all night. 

The sun is about to set, so it’ll be night soon. The sky is beautiful this time of day, full of hues of pink, orange, and red. The shadows are long, stretching across the ground. Yo runs a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“Prince Yo…” Yo flinches at the sound of an unfamiliar voice behind him. “Yer remarkable.”

Time stops for a moment. Yo slowly begins to turn his head and the sight he sees makes his breath catch in his throat. A man is standing before him, wearing a dark, loose cloak over his body, obscuring his frame. He has his hood down, so his face is exposed, and recognition floods through Yo’s body like a tidal wave. It’s the man that Yo had encountered just a few days ago, the one who had witnessed him kill that man. The man who is also… Tabito Karasu. The assassin that everyone had heard of.

When Yo had encountered him face-to-face for the first time, in between that alleyway, of course Yo had recognized him. How couldn’t he? The Assassin must be one of the most known characters of all of the lands, and Yo had seen those wanted posters countless times. He had always found the face to be quite handsome, but that’s only secondary. He couldn’t believe it, that he had somehow met that man, and that man had witnessed him kill somebody. Yo’s hood had also been off and the Assassin had definitely caught sight of his face. But he had been hoping that he didn’t recognize him to be the Prince of Praes. But that desire is futile, because there he is, standing before him, uttering his name. What is he doing here? Is he here to assassinate somebody? Assassinate him? 

Is it so terrible that Yo wishes so badly that the latter is true? If he dies, he doesn’t have to live this life anymore. He doesn’t need to be so trapped. 

What comes after the utterance of his title and name… Yo can’t seem to digest. What had he just said? Yer remarkable? Suddenly, he is unable to speak at all. He only watches Tabito, whose sharp eyes seem to be looking right through him, the matching mole under his eye so striking.

“Yer… yer just something else, Your Highness. I’ve been watching ya and yer tournament; yer a natural leader. What are ya not good at? Yer exceptional at combat, with diplomacy, with command too. Everyone in yer kingdom loves ya. Not ta mention, what happened the other day at that alley… yer fierce as well. I didn’t expect that from a prince.”

Yo can’t believe what he’s hearing. Is he in a dream? Is that it? Is he going to wake up and find that none of this had happened, that maybe, he had never even met Tabito Karasu? Maybe none of this is a dream, and Tabito is here to assassinate him. But Yo had always heard that the Assassin’s methods are always quick and precise. Why is he stalling with words and saying all of this?

“But in the end, it’s obvious yer not into it. Ya don’t want to be a prince or a king, right? Yer so hollow, so… fake. It’s pitiful ta see. If I killed ya right now, ya’d be happy since I am taking ya out of misery and stopping that future from happenin’.”

For a moment, Yo is very, very still. He is completely unmoving, as if he had been struck. He should feel insulted, maybe. Nobody had ever said that to him, had called him hollow and fake. But… everything that Tabito had said, it’s all so true. This scares him so much, even more than death. 

His heart is beating so fast, it’s almost painful. It feels as though he is feeling something for first time, like everything before this moment, during the sunset, in the balcony, had been all a lie and this is the only real thing. Yo supposes that it had been a lie. He had lied to everybody. But this man, the Assassin Tabito Karasu, saw through that lie. 

“…Yes. Yer amazing,” Yo croaks, his voice still strained. He still finds it so difficult to speak and his mouth is still so dry. It’s strange, calling the most feared assassin amazing, but this is the same man who had… said all of that to him. Had recognized how pitifully he had lived his life. “How can ya even tell that? I just… nobody has ever said that ta me.”

A smirk falls into Tabito’s face and by the looks of how the corner of his lips crinkle, Yo can tell that he wears this smirk often. “Well, I am an analyst. I observed ya carefully; I always do that before finishing somebody off. Don’t worry though, I am not going ta kill ya or yer parents. I was supposed ta, but I thought against it. Don’t ask questions.”

So, Yo had been right. Tabito had been hired to kill him and his parents, by somebody. He takes a deep breath. To think: if things had gone as usual, Yo wouldn’t have been alive now. And Tabito… he thought against killing him. Why is that? What had motivated that decision? Yo wants to ask so badly, but Tabito has specifically told him not to.

Still, the hurdle in his heart drops and he asks something different entirely.

“…Do ya like to be ‘expected’, Assassin?”

“Hm?”

Tabito’s eyes widen at the unexpected question.

“It’s just that… I’ve always lived a life of bein’ ‘expected’. I’ve always acted a certain way according ta what people wanted, and have tried ta fall perfectly into my role as a prince.” Yo pauses. Why is he even saying this to Tabito, to one of the most wanted men in the lands. But it’s too late. He had already begun his stream of words and they don’t seem like they’ll stop any time soon. “So, maybe… that’s why I came ta hate the idea of being king.”

“Boring.”

Tabito’s eyes look sharp again and though Yo had recognized his face to be handsome, he can understand why he is so feared. 

“Eh?” Yo squeaks.

“Ya don’t have to worry about how it looks to other people until later. First of all, it’s about yerself. Expect from yerself. Excite yerself.  That's the only way ta get anything done, ya idiot.”

With that being said, Tabito walks towards the railing, leaning against it. There’s still a sizable distance between them both. This distance… It feels like Tabito is in another world, one that’s so far away from Yo’s own world. He turns his head, watching Tabito with wide eyes, lips parted. He can’t take his eyes away from him. Tabito’s sharp features are illuminated by the low sunlight, the lights creating almost a halo around his head. The effect is so striking, it takes Yo’s breath away. Yo had never felt this way before. He can feel his face flushing, his heartbeat still so fast. Tabito… he saw into Yo’s heart and saw something that nobody had ever seen before. He observed it, analyzed it, saw through it, and gave him the words. 

Tabito begins to climb atop of the staircase railing. Yo watches for a moment before he processes what is happening. He gasps aloud, his eyes widening. Tabito, catching sight of that expression, makes a dismissive sound. “Don’t follow me. I’ll see ya soon, yeah? That’s a promise.”

Tabito’s feet are on the railing, his hands holding on as well as he hovers over it. His dark cloak billows behind him and in this angle, he looks exactly like his namesake, the crow. As he finishes uttering his words, Tabito leaps down, falling. Yo can’t believe this sight, but hey, Tabito had been nothing but full of surprises. 

There Tabito goes, exiting his life as quickly as he had entered it. Yo feels as though he had met the most important person of his life.