Archive of Our Own

Fluixon Aculon has thought of two-hundred ways to kill himself today. 

Actually, scratch that—his eyes caught sight of a little rat slithering around from a faraway distance when he glanced to look below his garden from the window of his chambers. He then realized that he could attach that said rat with a glass jar, stick it to his face, and perhaps burn the bottom of it by placing his face right in front of his chamber’s fireplace, which will force the rat to escape by very violent means. So technically, that is now two-hundred and one ways to kill himself. 

It was a very brutal way to die, but as he looked at his own reflection, and the countless servants pampering him up, he believed that any kind of death would feel less painful than what was awaiting for him in the future. "Hold still, your highness."

Fluixon's jaw tightened. "I am holding still." He grumbled, but truth be told, his right leg was jittering like a mad man, which is what was causing the inconvenience of his servants. 

"...Right, my apologies, your highness." The woman behind him made a small, apologetic noise and continued arranging the collar of his ceremonial robes. Her fingers were careful, as they had practiced this moment countless of times to the point it had become clockwork, tugging the pale fabric into place beneath the heavier layers of embroidered silk until it sat perfectly against his neck. 

Somewhere behind him, another servant was sorting through a tray of jewelry. Somewhere to his left, someone was burning incense that smelled overwhelmingly of hyacinths and something strong and musky that made the back of his throat itch.

The room was also warm, it was always warm in the preparation chambers. The windows had been shut since dawn, their shutters drawn against the desert heat even though the morning had barely begun, and gold light leaked through the narrow gaps between them which painted thin bars across the floor. 

Beyond those shutters, Fluixon knew the palace would already be awake; the wedding procession would be assembling, the courtyards would be filling, the musicians would be tuning their instruments, and the kitchens would be working themselves into exhaustion.

Somewhere, guests from across the empire—and beyond it—would already be arriving in their finest clothes, carrying gifts, or if Fluixon were to rephrase it more to his liking, political favors disguised as gifts, all of them waiting to watch the youngest prince of Aculon marry a stranger.

A stranger whose name Fluixon did not even fucking know, that was the most embarrassing part of this arrangement. 

He knew their title, he knew their family, and he knew what territory they controlled and which trade routes their household had influence over. He was told and lectured about the approximate value of the dowry, the treaties the marriage would reinforce, the concessions the Aculon Empire would gain, and the concessions the Sultanate would receive in return.

He also knew which ministers had argued in favor of the arrangement, and which ones had opposed it. He remembered the date of the engagement announcement, and the exact wording of the decree his father had signed.

He knew, learned, and remembered all of that.

Yet the most ironic part of it all, was that despite the tedious months—hell, even years—that this supposed marriage had been planned, Fluixon Aculon still did not know the person he was supposed to marry.

The part that made it even more humiliating was that Fluixon had met them twice. Once at a formal banquet three years ago, when they had been seated so far away from him that conversation had been impossible, and once last winter, for precisely seven minutes, when their respective fathers had decided that their children ought to become acquainted.

For seven minutes, Fluixon could not give a single damn to remember whatever the hell happened in every single minute that occurred. The other person had spent most of them talking about themselves like the most boastful idiot alive (and even then, Flux still could not remember their name.), and Fluixon had spent most of them trying not to look at the clock.

Apparently, that was enough to constitute a foundation for marriage. "Your highness." Someone called, he blinked as he looked at the direction of the voice. The servant holding his sleeve was looking at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"...The cuff, your highness." Fluixon looked down, the cuff had not been fastened. "Oh." He extended his wrist almost robotically, and just like that, the servant secured it smoothly. "There."

"Thank you." He thanked her without even raising his head up. She smiled anyway, there was something painfully sincere about her smile. "You're very fortunate, your highness."

…It seems his act of thanks was taken as a cue to be able to start a small conversation that he did not want to participate in right now.

Fluixon looked at her through the mirror because of that; she was young, younger than him, perhaps, though it was becoming difficult to tell anymore. Everyone in the palace seemed young compared to him lately. She had carefully pinned hair, a plain dress, and the nervous expression of someone who had spent the morning making sure not to touch anything expensive enough to be punished for breaking.

She smiled again. "To be married into such an important family." She had the gall to clarify. Fluixon stared at her reflection as he nodded numbly.  "Yes," he agreed, and yet the word tasted like ash.

The servant didn’t notice though, as she seemed to be satisfied with his answer. After a short pause, she returned to her work.

Fluixon looked at himself, the youngest prince of Aculon was staring back at him, and even though they were really just the same person, his own reflection was almost unrecognizable.

For starters, his robes were white, more specifically, white silk layered beneath white silk, embroidered with fine gold thread that depicted the crest of Aculon so delicately that the image was almost invisible unless the light caught it. Then, beside it’s crest was a sun surrounded by seven rays, each one supposedly representing one of his father's victories.

Seven.

His father had always liked seven—seven victories, seven lands, seven years of war, so on and so forth. Fluixon had once asked why, and his father had looked at him for a long time before answering. "Because six is insufficient."

…Fluixon had been six years old at that time, he had not understood what that meant, and if he were brutally honest, he still did not know what that meant even up until now. 

A servant approached with the jewelry. "Your Highness."

Fluixon couldn’t hold back his flinch as his train of thought was cut off suddenly, the servant must’ve noticed as she paused and stepped back slightly. 

Fluixon sighed. “Yes?” He forced himself to talk, just so the servant knows he’s not upset or anything. Her shoulders visibly relaxed at that. "The necklace, your highness; his majesty selected it personally as it is customary.” 

Fluixon looked at the necklace in her hands, he wanted to laugh brittly as he thought: ‘Of course he had.’—the necklace was gold, set with pale stones. It must’ve been the Sultanate’s family heirloom, judging by the craftsmanship, it looked heavy enough to bruise his collarbone if he wore it too long.

He hated it already. "Fine." Yet, as a good prince would do, he accepted it anyway, despite how begrudgingly he had felt about it. 

She stepped behind him, and in a blink of an eye, the clasp clicked, the necklace settled against his skin coldly, Fluixon resisted the urge to pull it off. Instead, he looked at the mirror again.

The palace had taught him how to smile before he had learned how to properly read; it had taught him how to stand before he understood why people stood, how to bow, how to speak, how to listen, how to lie, how to identify which noblemen wanted favors and which wanted blood.

It had also taught him that silence was not the same thing as peace, that a room could be full of people and still be a prison, and most importantly, it had taught him how to look happy without actually feeling it. 

So, he smiled. "There," one of the servants murmured as he did, he tilted his head up slightly to look at them, but when he did, they immediately settled their gaze down on the floor. 

Fluixon really loathed whenever they did that, it made him feel inhumane. "What?" He asked gently. 

"...You look happy now, your highness." The servant supplied, they looked as though they were trying their very best not to cry on the spot. 

Fluixon almost laughed, not at their sorrow, but at the irony of what they just said, he kept smiling. "Do I?"

"Very much so."

"Good." He looked at himself, he wondered if the expression would still look convincing when they carried him to the altar; he hoped it did, he had years of practice, after all.

"His Majesty expects you downstairs in an hour." The voice came from near the door, Fluixon's smile disappeared. He didn't turn, one of the older attendants was standing beside the entrance, hands folded in front of her. "He has requested that you be ready before the procession begins."

"I heard you the first time." He couldn’t help but spit out bitterly, he never liked how specific the servants could get sometimes, he wasn’t that obtuse. 

"The king will be displeased if you are late."

Fluixon wanted to strangle himself by this point, he believes the lengthy silks are lengthy enough for him to do so. "I said I heard you." 

The woman lowered her gaze. "My apologies, Your Highness."

Fluixon closed his eyes. For a moment, he let himself breathe, then he opened them again. "...Sorry." He suddenly apologized for his outburst. 

The woman looked surprised, you see, the youngest prince of Aculon rarely apologized to servants, not because he thought himself better than them, but because apologies were dangerous in the palace. 

They implied vulnerability—vulnerability invited familiarity, familiarity invited loyalty, and loyalty invited consequences. His father had a way of making every personal connection into a political weakness. Fluixon had learned that lesson young.

"You're forgiven," the woman said softly, he almost smiled, then the door opened. Another servant entered carrying a long, narrow wooden box.

Fluixon recognized it immediately. ‘Fuck.’ He cursed to no one but himself internally. 

The servant stopped just a few feet beside him. "The ceremonial blade, Your Highness."

"I know what it is." Fluixon couldn’t help but get pissy again. 

"It must be worn." Fluixon did not reply, so the servant gulped as they shakily tried to convince him once more. "The tradition—"

Their attempts at convincing him were quickly shut down. "I know the tradition." The servant looked helplessly toward the others, but unfortunately for them, nobody dared to move.

Fluixon stared at the box, Inside was the dagger he was supposed to wear at the wedding.

It wasn't a weapon in any meaningful sense. The blade was too ornate, too carefully decorated, and too impractical to use to even be considered as one. Its handle was gold, and its sheath was engraved with the names of previous Aculon princes who had carried it during their wedding ceremonies.

Overall, it was a symbol—actually, everything he was wearing right now was a symbol: the clothes, the jewelry, the dagger, the wedding—hell, even his own body.

He was beginning to suspect that if they could have embroidered the name ‘Aculon’ across his forehead as if he were some sort of property, they would have. "Give it to me." He gave in anyway. 

The servant hurried forward, the dagger was fastened to his belt. Fluixon looked down at it, the gold caught the light and it shimmered so beautifully, as much as Fluixon hated to admit it.  "Beautiful," someone said.

"Yes," Fluixon murmured in response, he touched the handle. "Beautiful." He wondered whether anyone would notice if he stabbed himself with it.

It’s such a silly question, of course they would, with the amount of servants nearby. His father would be furious and disappointed if he had heard about it instead of worried. Then, because apparently the gods had a sense of humor, the thought made him laugh; a small, quiet sound.

Several servants looked at him. "Are you all right, Your Highness?"

He dismissed their worries easily. "I'm fine."

"You seem nervous."

"Nervous?" Fluixon parroted, the servant nodded. "About the wedding." They said quietly. 

Fluixon looked at her, and then at his reflection, he wondered how many times he had stared at his reflection and still looked so sullen every time he did. "I'm not nervous."

The thing is, he really wasn’t, at least, not right now; perhaps, he had been afraid of this day once, and maybe he had been afraid when the engagement was first announced, especially when his father told him the marriage was not optional.

He had been afraid when he realized that there would be no escape through argument, no loophole in the treaty, no compassionate minister willing to challenge Elanuelo's decision, and he had even been afraid when he'd discovered that his future spouse was, essentially, a stranger.

But fear required the possibility of something changing, after learning about whatever the hell his future was about to become, Fluixon Aculon had eventually understood that nothing was going to change at all.

After all, he had long stopped believing anyone would save him—if that could ever become a possibility in the first place. And so, sometime during the winter, fear had given way to something else; resignation, then resentment, then eventually… nothing.

He felt nothing about the wedding, about the marriage, or about the future everyone else had carefully arranged for him. He simply wanted it to end.

The servant smiled. "You must remember your duty, your highness."

Fluixon wanted to jump off of the window of his chamber after the servant had the audacity to utter that horrible phrase in front of him. He wondered if she knew how often those words had been used against him.

Perhaps not, because to every bystander who had the privilege to not be born under a tyrannical empire, duty was something noble, honorable, and a quality a prince should be proud to carry.

No matter how many privileges Fluixon had compared to her, he envied her and the one privilege he could never attain: freedom. "Of course," he said, his voice was gentle when he said it. "How could I forget?"

As if on cue, a bell rang somewhere in the distance, once, twice, then a third time. The servants looked toward the windows. "The procession preparations." someone whispered.

Fluixon watched the gold bars of sunlight across the floor; one hour, perhaps even less, they would come for him—they would lead him downstairs, put him beside a stranger, ask him to smile, ask him to swear vows he most likely didn’t even write himself, call him fortunate, blessed, the pride of Aculon—and after that, his life would no longer belong even vaguely to him.

He would belong to two families instead of one. He would be a bridge, an alliance, a treaty with a heartbeat, and a prince-shaped seal stamped onto a piece of paper.

Fluixon stared at himself, he wondered what it would take to disappear—not die, despite the two-hundred and one ways he had already thought about it—but to disappear.

There was a difference to it, after all: death was a permanent solution to a temporary problem, on the other hand, disappearance was freedom.

He had thought about it before, he had spent years imagining places outside Aculon, cities he had only seen in maps, countries he'd only heard described by merchants, coastlines he'd never touched… and Pandora.

Pandora was the one that had stayed in his mind constantly. 

He had heard stories about it since childhood. A city beyond the desert routes, glittering somewhere at the edge of every merchant's exaggeration. A place of impossible wealth and impossible indulgence, markets that remained open through the night, towers that rose like mirrors into the sky—Grand hotels. Music. Gardens. Water.

Pandora had so much water, it was an archipelago, after all. The stories regarding it changed depending on who told them. One merchant insisted Pandora had fountains made entirely of silver, another swore there were restaurants where kings could eat without anyone knowing they were kings, furthermore, a traveling performer once told young Fluixon that the city had entire districts where nobody cared who your parents were.

That story had stayed with him. At his young age, it sounded impossible, but as impossible as it did, it also sounded beautiful.

Fluixon had never seen it, but he wanted to, more than he wanted almost anything.

His eyes drifted toward the window, somewhere beyond those walls, beyond the palace, beyond the empire—Pandora existed. Maybe it wasn't as beautiful as people said, maybe the fountains weren't silver, maybe the food was terrible, and maybe the city was crowded and loud and filthy and nothing like the stories.

Fluixon Aculon didn't care, though, at least it would be something he chose. "Your Highness?" Someone snapped him out of his thoughts. 

Fluixon looked back. "Hm?" The servant nearest him frowned. "You were staring."

"Ah, my apologies, I was thinking." Fluixon hummed quietly, this is the second time he had apologized, and it honestly could be a historic record for the servants around him. "About the wedding?" Another thoughtfully asked. 

Fluixon smiled. "...Something like that."

Then, there was a noise outside. It was small, almost imperceptible, and honestly speaking, Fluixon didn't notice it immediately, nor did the servants.

The palace was never quiet. There were always footsteps in the corridors, guards changing posts, servants carrying trays, voices accompanying each action, as well as constant opening and closing of doors to go from one chamber or corridor to another. 

So when something struck the other side of the door—Fluixon didn't look up at that, because it was the silence afterward that made him turn.

The room had gone strangely still, the servant holding his sleeve had stopped moving. Fluixon looked at her, then toward the door.

Nothing.

"Did you hear—"

A body collapsed outside.

The sound was soft, almost disappointingly soft, then there was the sound of a dull impact, accompanied by a scrape, then nothing again.

Fluixon's smile vanished, one of the servants gasped in horror as they seemed to both feel dread at the same time. "Your Highness—" The door opened, not quickly or violently, it simply moved inward.

A figure stood on the other side, they were dressed in dark clothing and a long cloak that covered their features heavily. The strangest thing though was that there was no insignia, no royal colors, no visible crest.

The only noticeable color was the color red; there was blood on his blade.

He stepped inside with the most silent footstep imaginable, Fluixon didn't move like a dumb idiot. The figure then raised their head, and the only thing Fluixon saw were golden eyes shimmering as coldly as the gold his ceremonial blade does when light hits it. 

For the briefest moment, neither of them said anything, then one of the servants opened its mouth to scream, but the assassin moved. Fluixon barely saw him, one moment the man was at the door. The next, he was across the room.

The first servant fell.

Another tried to scream, but not even a second later, a flash of steel shined alongside the sound of a clean slice and blood splattering as a result. The second body hit the floor before the sound had even finished leaving her throat.

Someone tried to run, but before they had even taken another step. The assassin caught them.

Then, there was silence.

Fluixon stared as he blinked once, then twice, he scanned his surroundings around him—three bodies gone in three swift movements. There was no wasted motion, no shouting, no threats, or some sort of dramatic declaration of vengeance.

Just the beautiful art of silent efficiency.

His heart began beating faster, but do not be fooled, it is not because of the reasons you might be thinking of; it was not fear. 

Instead, it was because the awful realization of his reality seemed to have finally clicked inside his mind: Fluixon Aculon is about to be assassinated on the day of his wedding. 

The man turned, and their eyes met again.

Fluixon had imagined dying countless times, an assassination attempt was actually included in those imaginary scenarios he had—he had imagined poison, a fall, a duel, his father's executioners, an enemy's arrow.

But the only unique thing about the reality was that he seemed to have missed one detail; Fluixon had never imagined an assassination would be this quiet.

The assassin approached, Fluixon stepped backward once, but the figure followed as they stepped twice.

Fluixon's heel touched the edge of the dressing table, and a clear realization settled in his mind: there was nowhere else to go.

The assassin raised his blade, Fluixon moved to the side, but the sword flashed and caught him anyway as pain exploded through his left arm. He stumbled sideways, the blade had caught him just below the elbow.

It was not deep at all, it was unlike the clean cuts his servants had experienced, a painless and quick death. Instead, it seemed his assassin wanted to make him suffer as enough blood dripped and ran warm beneath the white silk he wore. 

Fluixon stared at the red spreading across his sleeve, then he looked up, and this was where Fluixon’s quick wits had come to use, because he noticed something strange—the assassin had stopped to look—not for long, and it was barely even a heartbeat, but Fluixon saw it.

Their golden eyes dropped to the wound, then returned to Fluixon's face, as if even they weren’t sure—as if they were hesitating. 

Fluixon's breathing was fast, his heart was hammering, but he wasn't screaming, or crying, or even begging. And because of that, something strange passed across the assassin's face—confusion.

Fluixon noticed, and suddenly, the fear became useful.

 He had always been good at reading people and finding the smallest hesitation. You could always count on him to notice something a person would not mean to reveal.

The assassin's grip tightened around the blade. Fluixon looked at it, then at him, and then, against all odds, Fluixon Aculon laughed like a maniac. 

The figure stilled as he stared, as if they were witnessing the most absurd action right in front of their eyes, and technically, they were. 

Fluixon knew that, the assassin probably knew that too. What the latter didn’t know, though, was that in that simp

le moment of Fluixon laughing, he had already come up with a plan. “You are horrible at this.”

That made the figure’s golden eyes flicker as they almost flinched. “Excuse me?” His voice was lower than Fluixon expected. It sounded kind of young, too, maybe around the same age as him. 

Fluixon swallowed, his arm hurt like hell, blood was dripping onto the floor, and one of the servants' bodies lay only a few steps away. He should have been terrified. Instead, his mind was racing—Who had sent him? How had he entered? Why hadn't the guards heard? Or were they dead like his servants? How many people were outside, then? How long before someone discovered the bodies?

And, most importantly—Will his plan work? Fluixon looked at the blade again. "If you were going to kill me," he said quietly, "you would have done it already."

The assassin's eyes narrowed. "I was interrupted." He actually answered honestly, it was kind of cute, and Fluixon almost smiled because of it. "That’s a lie.” He declared. 

The man's expression hardened. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do." Fluixon pressed his uninjured hand against his sleeve, blood soaked into his fingers. He looked at it briefly, then back at the assassin. "You hesitated."

The room went still.

Something changed in the atmosphere, it didn’t take a genius to feel that. The assassin took one step forward, but Fluixon did not retreat. "You think I'm afraid."

"I know you're afraid." He spat back as he abruptly raised his blade once more, the tip of it sitting just in front of Fluixon’s neck. 

"Of course I am." That seemed to surprise the assassin, he took his quiet shock as an opportunity to continue. "I'm just not afraid of you." It wasn't entirely true, his shaking fingers said otherwise, but that didn’t need to matter right now.

The assassin stared at him. Fluixon could practically feel him trying to decide whether to believe it, many thoughts surfed through Fluixon’s mind simultaneously: ‘Good. Let him think. Let him wonder. Let him underestimate how much I desperately wanted to go and be free.’

After all, there was something else the assassin didn't know, something no one in this palace knew, only he did.

Fluixon Aculon did not want to survive the wedding.

He wanted to escape it.

And suddenly, standing there with blood on his sleeve and a stranger's blade pointed at his heart, Fluixon realized that fate had just handed him something much more useful than an escape route. It had handed him a man who already knew how to kill him—a man who had already gotten inside the palace despite its heavy security, and a man who could probably get him out of it in the guise that he had actually died alongside his servants. 

Fluixon looked at the assassin as he thought about his beautiful plan, he took one slow breath. "Let me guess."

The assassin said nothing. "You're here for the wedding."

Nothing.

"More specifically, you're here for me."

Still nothing.

Fluixon smiled faintly. "Which means someone doesn't want me to marry." The assassin's eyes flickered. There—Fluixon had him at the palm of his hands, although he was not fully there yet, if he fucked this up, he could easily slip beneath his fingers. So, he continued. "And whoever sent you is probably expecting something more than my corpse."

The assassin's jaw tightened, Fluixon felt something close to satisfaction. 

The assassin’s reaction made him presume that he must have been right. After all, it did make sense; a dead prince in general was not useful, but a  dead prince murdered publicly on the day of his wedding? A prince murdered inside his own preparation chamber, moments before he was supposed to seal an alliance with the Sultanate? That was considerably more useful.

Especially if the killer could disappear afterward, if the blame could be directed somewhere convenient.

The Bastion of Peace came immediately to mind.

Fluixon had been watching them for years. The name alone was enough to make ministers uncomfortable. An organization born out of the pure hatred they had for the Aculon empire—they had their hands in far too many disputes for a group that claimed not to take sides. And if the Bastion wanted Aculon destabilized, what better way than to turn a wedding of union into an international incident?

His father would retaliate without a doubt, maybe not for his son, but more so, for embarrassing his empire like that, then at the same time, the Sultanate would demand answers.

Someone would point a finger, someone else would point another, and while kingdoms tore themselves apart trying to decide who had ordered his death—the Bastion would disappear.

Fluixon's smile faded as he realized another thing, though. "No, you're not here because of the bastion of peace." He muttered, pretending to talk to himself, but he deliberately made sure his voice was loud enough for the assassin to hear.

The assassin's eyes sharpened. "Huh.” was the only mumble to leave his mouth.

Fluixon's heart skipped, not because of the assassin itself (surely not?), but because the man had spoken so little yet already confirmed what he hadn't meant to confirm.

He had been watching for a reaction, now, Fluixon had one. "You know who the bastion of peace are, hm?"

The assassin said nothing. "You didn't come here on their orders directly, but you expected me to." Fluixon felt a strange exhilaration as another pause occurred; he was bleeding, three people were dead right beside him, and an assassin was standing three feet away from him. Yet somehow—some-fucking-how—Fluixon was winning.

He looked toward the closed door. "Tell me something."

The assassin's blade remained raised. "What?"

"How much are they paying you?" He asked the question so eloquently you’d think he was merely speaking about diplomatic affairs. Instead, it was because the pieces of the puzzle seemed to have finally clicked inside his head once more. 

An assassination on the morning of his wedding, inside his preparation chambers. Three dead servants, probably one dead guard outside, and an assassin who had somehow managed to slip through the palace's security without raising enough alarm for the rest of the building to notice.

Fluixon's mind raced as he realized how comical it almost was, really.

He had spent the last several months trying to figure out how he was going to escape his marriage (if he had ever even gotten the chance), and now someone had apparently decided to solve the problem for him.

…Granted, they were trying to solve it by murdering him, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

His eyes moved toward the assassin again. His golden eyes were the first thing he noticed again now that the initial shock had passed. They were bright even beneath the shadow of the cloak, an unusual shade of gold that reminded Fluixon of the jewelry around his neck, though unlike the jewelry, there was nothing decorative about them. They were sharp, focused, and irritatingly calm.

The man looked at him like he was already dead.

Fluixon hated that, not because it frightened him, but because it was presumptuous. He was still alive, wasn't he? This damn assassin couldn’t even bring himself to kill him.

As if the assassin had heard his mind, he moved, Fluixon barely had enough time to react and even be offended that his question asking how much he was offered was ignored, because the blade the assassin held came toward his chest, his body twisted to dodge it, as the steel passed through the empty space where his heart had been a moment before, the edge catching against the fabric of his robes before Fluixon shoved himself sideways.

The assassin followed immediately. Fluixon stumbled backward, his shoes catching against the edge of the carpet. He almost fell, and make fun of him all you want, but he unfortunately wasn’t as strong or flexible for situations like these, his father had never even given him proper sparring sessions because his only purpose was to be a bridge for a union. 

His left arm burned where the blade had caught him earlier, and the blood from the cut was beginning to soak through the white silk more noticeably now. This was becoming rather inconvenient.

He ducked beneath another swing, the blade passed over his head. Fluixon's heart hammered from pure adrenaline. There was no way he could fight this man, that much was obvious. He had never been particularly strong to begin with, and even if he had spent his childhood watching his family train with swords, there was a very significant difference between observing ceremonial swordsmanship and whatever the hell this man did. After all, this wasn't fighting, this was killing.

Fluixon stepped backward again, the assassin advanced. "You know, I take it back—" Fluixon said breathlessly, "I think—” another swing, he swore he saw a little bit of his hair get cut off. “—we've established that you're very good at this." He complimented him. 

Actually, the assassin should be thoroughly grateful, even, the youngest prince of Aculon seldom compliments anyone at all. Despite the very privileged compliment, there was no response, at least, not a verbal one, instead, the blade rose.

Fluixon swallowed. "I mean it, really!” He raised his hands up, but he immediately regretted it as the wound on his left arm stung like a motherfucker, he made sure he didn’t obviously wince, though. “...Very impressive." He added.

The assassin held no care as he lunged, Fluixon threw himself to the side, the blade struck the wooden dresser behind him with a sharp crack.

Fluixon stared at it.

The assassin pulled the weapon free. "You're annoying." It was the first thing the man had decently said ever since he had decided he needed Fluixon’s heart stabbed against his blade.

Fluixon blinked. Then, despite himself, he smiled. "Awh, thank you." The assassin looked genuinely irritated at his response, as he spat out again, "You talk too much."

“The people of this palace would say otherwise.” 

The assassin stepped forward. "Stop.” He ordered him, his voice wasn’t that deep anymore, but it still held a tone that sent shivers down Fluixon’s spine.

"Nuh-uh.” Fluixon answered cheekily, then the assassin lunged again, Fluixon barely ducked. "You could at least tell me your name!” He opted to try another route instead. 

The assassin did not answer, instead, he swung much more quicker, Fluixon nearly got sliced again. "How improper." He clicked his tongue, and he honestly almost bit it as he had to jump to the other side to avoid another deadly swing from the assassin. 

"I'm here to kill you." The assassin deadpanned. 

"Yes, I gathered." Fluixon backed toward the dressing table again, his eyes darted around the room—to the door, the windows, the bodies, the dagger at his belt.

There had to be something—anything—to help him, because Fluixon couldn't overpower him, nor could he outrun him. The windows were several floors above the ground. He had considered jumping from them earlier, but that had been in the abstract and preferably without a homicidal stranger chasing him.

Besides, dying by falling off his own balcony on his wedding day would be a rather embarrassing way to go. His eyes returned to the assassin.

The man was watching him carefully, as if he were waiting. Fluixon realized something then—the assassin wasn't rushing anymore. He was studying him.

…That was interesting. "You don't know me.”  Fluixon suddenly declared. "...I know enough." The assassin fired back, but he retorted just as quickly. "Do you?"

"You're Fluixon Aculon."

Fluixon rolled his eyes at that, “That’s basically public information, try again.” 

"You're the youngest prince of the Aculon Empire."

“Still too common.” Fluixon said disapprovingly. 

"You're the target." The assassin said that line with so much annoyance in his tone, Fluixon tilted his head as his interest piqued at that. "And that's where you're wrong."

The assassin's expression barely changed. "How?"

"Because you think I'm your target."

"I know you're my target." He deadpanned, for a split second, his tone wasn’t as scary as it was anymore. 

"No." Fluixon smiled. "You think killing me is your objective." He corrected, the assassin went quiet at that—’There.’ Fluixon thought, that was another reaction—a tiny one, but Fluixon nonetheless saw it.

He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who lied to his face while pretending they weren't lying. Ministers, nobles, diplomats, generals, servants, relatives—everyone in the palace had something they wanted and something they didn't want him to know.

Reading people had become less of a skill and more of a survival instinct. The assassin's silence told him enough. Fluixon straightened slightly. "You might be here for me, but you didn’t come here because you want me dead."

The assassin didn’t answer that though his eyes did hold a particular glint, something very similar to the feeling: ‘what the fuck is this man saying.’ —His grip tightened around the sword, Fluixon continued before he could interrupt. "You’re here because someone wants the consequences of my death."

The man's eyes narrowed, the room was silent. Fluixon could hear his own breathing; he could hear the distant bells outside, and he could also hear, somewhere far beyond the walls, the faint sound of musicians beginning to play.

The wedding was starting, how wonderfully timed.

"Think about it," Fluixon said, his hands raising like how it usually did when he was about to go through a whole ass monologue to convince someone. The assassin didn't move. "You've entered the palace, killed my servants, killed a guard, and attacked me inside my preparation chamber."

Fluixon glanced toward the corpses. "That is not exactly subtle."

"I don't need subtlety."

"You do." He insisted, the assassin's eyes sharpened. "If you kill me here, the palace goes into lockdown."

"I'll leave before that."

"Will you now?” 

"Yes."

Fluixon laughed quietly. "You really believe that?"

"I've gotten this far."

"Exactly." The assassin frowned, Fluixon took another step backward. "You've gotten this far because everyone outside this room still thinks the prince is getting dressed for his wedding." He gestured vaguely toward the bodies. "That changes the moment someone opens that door."

The assassin glanced toward it briefly, Fluixon smiled. "I know you’re careful enough to enter this palace miraculously undetected." He praised, and the man looked back at him in response. "Which is why I don't think you're stupid."

The assassin's expression remained unreadable. "So," Fluixon continued, "if you're not stupid, you should know that the moment someone finds those bodies, every guard in this palace will be looking for you."

"I can handle guards."

"I don’t doubt that." Fluixon shrugged, "In fact, I believe you can kill ten." His gaze dropped to the bloodied sword. "Perhaps twenty, even." Then back to his face. "But there are hundreds in this palace."

A pause.

"And eventually, even if you manage to escape, they'll know what you look like." The assassin's eyes narrowed again, Fluixon continued. "You've hidden your face well, but not perfectly. You're already injured—"

"I'm not."

Fluixon looked down, there was a tiny tear along the assassin's sleeve. A thin line of red beneath it, it wasn’t as bad as Fluixon’s, but by this point, he’ll take anything he sees as leverage against his perfect plan. "You are."

The assassin glanced down, his expression darkened. "And now you know that I noticed." That earned him another silence, Fluixon was beginning to enjoy this.

Perhaps it was the blood loss, or maybe because he had somehow accepted somewhere between the fight that his impending death is now waiting for him, or perhaps he was simply insane. Regardless, he was enjoying himself. "If you kill me here," Fluixon said, "you'll be trapped in the palace."

"I'll get out."

“You might.” Fluixon looked at the bodies again, "But you'll have murdered a prince inside the most heavily guarded empire on the morning of his wedding, and eventually, even though you might just be a decoy, you'll die along the way, too."

The assassin's face remained still. Fluixon could tell, however, that he was listening. That was enough, he took a slow breath. "Do you know what happens after I die?"

The assassin did not answer, so he continued.  "The wedding won’t happen, which will result in the Sultanate demanding answers, and because of that, my father will eventually demand them, too."

Still nothing.

"The palace will close its gates, the military will mobilize, every border will tighten, every nobleman in this empire will start looking for someone to blame." Fluixon's smile disappeared. "And if the Bastion of Peace is involved, even if not with you directly, they'll make sure the blame lands somewhere convenient."

The assassin's eyes changed—only slightly. But this time, Fluixon saw it immediately—Bingo.

Fluixon's mind began moving faster, he had suspected it from the beginning—the timing, the method, the wedding, the fact that the assassin had no insignia, the fact that the attack had been precise rather than chaotic, the fact that whoever sent him had apparently wanted the prince dead but had also arranged for the assassination to happen at precisely the most politically volatile moment possible.

It wasn't simply murder. It was a spark, and someone wanted the Aculon Empire to burn. Fluixon looked at the assassin. "Like I said, you’re not working for them."

The assassin said nothing to confirm it. “But you must've gotten yourself entangled with them just for some—” Fluixon gestured mindlessly as he couldn’t find the proper word. “Payment—offer—anything along the likes of it.” 

The man's jaw tightened, Fluixon almost snorted at his reaction.

This was ridiculous.

He was standing in a room filled with dead servants, bleeding from the arm, wearing enough gold to probably feed a village for a year, negotiating with the man who had been sent to kill him. And somehow, this was the first time all morning that he felt like he had any control over his life. "How much are they paying you?" He repeated his question once more. 

The assassin stared at him, as if he only registered the question now, despite it being asked earlier.  "What?"

"Your payment."

"Why?"

"I'd like to know how much my life is worth."

The assassin's eyes narrowed. "You can't buy me."

"I haven't offered a price yet, c’mon.” Flux smiled smugly, “Try me.” 

"I won't take your money." The assassin concluded it at that.

Fluixon sighed. "Fine." He looked around, he was definitely not done yet, he had already gotten this far, he has nothing to lose now, literally. Their following conversation was honestly really repetitive and stupid, as Fluixon offered everything he knew had usually sparked people’s interest, needs, and wants: Land, power, political immunity—you name it. 

He had even gone as far as to offer information, like he was some sort of gatherer of intel and not a literal prince. The assassin merely replied with a very boring and annoyed, “No.”

"You don't even know what information I was going to offer." Fluixon almost pouted. 

"I don't need it."

"You might." He kept on insisting. "I don't." The assassin insisted back. 

Fluixon had to resist the urge to lift his wounded arm to drag it across his face in utter frustration, he glared at the man quite comically. "You are remarkably difficult to negotiate with."

"You are remarkably difficult to kill." The former retorted, Fluixon almost smiled and thanked him, but he quickly added. "That wasn't a compliment." Before he could. 

"I'll take it anyway." Fluixon shrugged, the assassin raised his sword again, and his smile faded because of it. "Wait." The man stopped, Fluixon looked at him—really looked at him—there was something almost familiar about the way he carried himself, though Fluixon couldn't place it. It was like some sort of stiffness, and a sprinkle controlled stillness, too. The sort of posture he'd seen in soldiers who had been trained not to react until commanded.

There was something else beneath it, though, something more personal. The assassin didn't look at Fluixon like he hated him, that was the part Fluixon knows he can use to his advantage. There was no rage, no satisfaction, no cruelty. He looked at Fluixon like he was completing a task.

And Fluixon knew tasks. He had spent his entire life completing them, there was so little to do in an empire that never gave you freedom to do anything but pitiful tasks. "You're not angry with me."

The assassin's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You don't hate me."

"I don't have to."

"Exactly." Fluixon took a slow breath. "Which means this isn't personal."

"It isn't."

"Then we have something in common." The assassin looked at him strangely. Fluixon gestured toward himself. "I don't want this marriage."

Silence.

"I never wanted it." He emphasized greatly, the assassin's expression didn't change at his attempt at a sob story, though. "My father does."

Nothing.

"The Sultanate wants it, the ministers want it." Fluixon's eyes dropped to the gold dagger at his belt. "But I don't."

The assassin lowered the blade slightly, Fluixon felt himself relax when he noticed—he was so fucking close he could feel it beneath his fingertips.  "I have spent my entire life being told what I'm supposed to do." He laughed bitterly. "Where to stand. What to say. Who to speak to. What to wear. Who to smile at. What to eat. What not to eat. What to think."

He looked at the blood on his hand. "And today, apparently, who to marry." The assassin stared at him. "So when you came through that door..."

Fluixon looked up. "...I thought that, perhaps, the gods had finally decided to do me a favor."

The assassin scoffed. "You think I'm saving you?" 

"No." Fluixon smiled. "I think you're giving me an opportunity."

The assassin's eyes narrowed. "An opportunity for what?"

Fluixon looked toward the window, the golden sunlight was brighter now, the bells were louder. The wedding guests must’ve been waiting, so was his future—everything he'd spent his entire life dreading was waiting on the other side of the door.

Then he looked back at the assassin. "To disappear."

The assassin stared, Fluixon let the word settle between them. Once again, he had spent years imagining how to disappear. Now, for the first time, it sounded possible. "Help me," Fluixon said—no, pleaded.

"No." The answer came immediately, Fluixon blinked; he was almost offended—he was sure he did his best pleading expression as he said that damn phrase. "That was fast." He huffed. 

"I am not helping you."

"You haven't even heard of my full proposal."

"I don't need to."

"That's unfortunate, ‘cause I’m gonna say it anyway." The assassin raised his sword again in retaliation, Fluixon sighed. “Okay, you're making this unnecessarily difficult."

"I'm here to kill you."

"Yes, you've mentioned." The assassin took a step forward, Fluixon didn't move. "Then why aren't you running?" He had the gall to ask. 

Fluixon smiled. "Because I don't think you're going to kill me." The assassin's expression darkened. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"You don't know me."

"No." Fluixon's smile softened. "But I know people." He pointed toward the door. "If you kill me here, you are signing yourself to die in this palace with me.” Fluixon doesn’t know why he emphasized the last part, it was really not needed. 

He pointed toward himself. "However, if you let me disappear, everyone will believe you've already killed me, and if everyone believes I'm dead..." Fluixon's eyes gleamed. "...then you've technically completed your mission."

That was the moment the assassin finally understood how serious Fluixon was—he could see it happen; the slightest shift in his expression, the slight widening of his eyes, and the moment the pieces connected, just as he did earlier. 

He had realized that Fluixon Aculon, the youngest prince of the Aculon Empire, wasn't asking him to spare his life; he was asking him to fake his death.

The assassin lowered his sword again, not completely, but enough. "You want me to pretend I killed you." The assassin reiterated slowly, like he could not believe the words leaving his mouth either. 

“Well,” Fluixon shook his head. "you could actually kill me after, if you really need to."

The assassin's eyes narrowed, he looked more confused now, despite the cloak still partially covering the entirety of his face. "What?"

"Not here, though." Fluixon gestured toward the room, as if what he just said was so obvious. 

"You expect me to believe this?"

"No." Fluixon laughed softly. "I expect you to understand it."

The assassin stared at him, Fluixon stepped closer, just a single step, because he wasn't stupid enough to be that physically close to someone who could still kill him. He stopped just outside the range of the blade, then, he pointed toward the bodies. "If I disappear, they’ll search less for you, and search more for my body.” 

The assassin's eyes narrowed. "And if they find no body?"

"They'll just assume you’ve already discarded it and leave it at that."

Fluixon noticed the disbelieving glint in the assassin’s golden eyes, as if he underestimated just how distant the empire truly was to him. "And if they don't?" 

He answered the question easily. "Then they'll waste countless months searching for one." The assassin's gaze remained fixed on him. "Where?" Fluixon knew exactly what he was going to say, he had known since the moment the assassin stepped into the room. "Everywhere, except for…”

He could feel the excited shivers vibrate all across his body as he finally said, “...Pandora.”

The assassin went completely still, he genuinely looked like a statue right now. Fluixon's smile widened. "You know it?"

"...I've heard of it."

"Good."

"Why there?"

"Because no one in Aculon controls Pandora. It’s a huge archipelago. Merchants, smugglers, exiles, travelers, nobles, criminals—everyone just passes through there."

Fluixon's voice became quieter. "No one will care who I am."

The assassin looked at him by then, it was the first time since earlier that he had seen the golden eyes shimmer again. Fluixon realized, perhaps for the first time, that he had said the very dream he had always kept to himself out loud—’No one will care who I am.’

In Pandora, he is not a prince, a son, an heir, or an Aculon. There, he will be just Fluixon. The thought made something inside his chest ache. "I've heard stories," he admitted.

"Stories." Saparata repeated, Fluixon nodded at that. "Yes, stories."

"You're risking your life over stories?"

"I'm risking my life over the possibility of freedom." The assassin shut up quickly at that, Fluixon looked at him as he continued again. "And besides." He smiled. "If Pandora turns out to be terrible, I'll simply blame the merchants who lied to me."

Ironically enough, the assassin almost laughed. Fluixon knows that because he saw a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. He stared at it for a long time to the point the assassin's expression immediately hardened.

The next action Fluixon does is probably one of the stupidest things he could possibly do: tease the living hell out of the man who could kill him in a single strike. "It won’t hurt for you to smile, y’know.” 

"I do not smile.” The man retorted at the speed of light. 

“Impossible.” Fluixon waves his hand in utter disagreement. “Everyone smiles, even I do.” — ‘Albeit rarely.’ He left unsaid.

“Not me." The assassin replied rather stubbornly, Fluixon rolled his eyes, it was as if he were talking to a literal child, and not a dangerous individual. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're going to die."

"Eventually." The assassin's sword lowered another inch, Fluixon watched it happen. Neither of them spoke for several seconds. Then the assassin finally asked: "And why exactly would I help you?"

There it was.

The question Fluixon had been waiting for. He looked around the room for the nth time today—at the bodies, at the blood (honestly speaking, he must be desensitized at the sight of it by this point.) at the ceremonial dagger hanging uselessly from his waist, at the door behind which the entire empire still believed he was preparing to become a husband.

Then he looked back at the assassin. "Because if you kill me here, you have nothing to gain." He merely paraphrased a previous sentiment earlier, although with much more reverence in his voice.

The assassin clicked his tongue quietly, as if he was disappointed by the repeated response. "You seem to have forgotten I was hired to kill you.” 

“No I didn’t.” Fluixon looked at the dead servants again. “I did not mention that because even though you’d have murdered a prince inside the most heavily guarded empire on the morning of his wedding, both of us know you won’t even see the light of day before you are eventually caught.”

The assassin said nothing, Fluixon stepped forward. "Which is why I’m offering you an opportunity.” The assassin's golden eyes shimmered so brightly Fluixon swore he wouldn’t mind getting burnt by it, he held his gaze. "Help me disappear."

Silence.

For the first time since the assassin had entered the room, Fluixon wasn't sure what would happen next. He had gambled everything on a stranger—His life. His future. His freedom—And perhaps, if this worked, the entirety of Aculon would wake tomorrow believing their prince was dead.

Fluixon almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. He had spent two-hundred and one different ways imagining his death, but none of them had involved an assassin becoming his accomplice.

Perhaps that was the problem with trying to plan your own escape. Sometimes the only way out of a cage was to convince the person holding the key that opening the door was in their best interest too.

The assassin stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he agreed, “Fine.” He quickly added something before Fluixon could get too excited about the fact he had finally won the assassin over. "I have a condition, though.”

Fluixon's smile slowly disappeared. There was something in the way he said Pandora—as if it was laced with deliberacy and danger—he knew immediately what type of condition was coming. "Which is?” 

The assassin's voice was calm. "When we reach Pandora." He raised the sword slightly. "You die."

Fluixon stared at him as he thought, ‘Wow, he actually took my word of being able to kill me after literally.’—the thought should have frightened him, but by this point, everything that should have frightened the prince had only made him feel more hopeful. With this, he found himself strangely relieved, because the assassin hadn't said no, he had said when.

Even if that ‘when’ was laced with his life on the line, Fluixon could not back out like a scaredy-cat now. He looked toward the window, at the sunlight, the palace, and the life he did not want waiting downstairs. Then he looked back at the man who had entered his room to change that said life. "Okay."

The assassin seemed almost surprised. "Okay? You agree?"

 "Everyone dies eventually,” Fluixon shrugged. “I would rather die in the place I have dreamed of since forever than in the empire that had never made me feel like I could be human.” 

The assassin hummed curiously at that, “You trust me to bring you all the way to Pandora and not just kill you the second we’re out of Aculon’s territory?"

Fluixon laughed heartily at that—it was his most genuine laugh in his whole life. "Absolutely not." He immediately said, "But," Fluixon continued, "if you wanted to kill me immediately, you already would have." He repeated his sentiment from earlier.

For the first time, the assassin looked almost amused. "Touché.” He stared at him for a long time after he responded, Fluixon held out his uninjured hand. "Do we have a deal?"

The assassin looked at his hand, he didn't take it for now. Instead, he said: "What's your name?"

Fluixon blinked. "You know my name." He reminded him, the assassin knows much more about Fluixon than he does about him.

The assassin shook his head softly. "I’m not talking about your full name.” He clarified, “I’m talking about your name.”

It took Fluixon a few seconds to genuinely process what he meant; he was talking about the name Fluixon wanted to go by—not Fluixon Aculon. 

There was something strange about being asked that type of question, no one in his life had ever asked that. Still, Fluixon answered. "You can call me Flux.” 

The assassin nodded once. Then, after a pause, he finally took his hand and shook it gently.  "Saps Saparata."

Flux hummed as he repeated it quietly. "Saps Saparata." The name sounded unfamiliar, yet, somehow, he suspected he would remember it.

“Flux,” Saparata also tested how his name sounded when spoken as he finally sheathed his blade. "Tell me how we get out."

Flux smiled very brightly at that, he could finally stand upright without his legs quivering or his fingers slightly shaking. "Now that's the first sensible thing you've said all morning."

Saparata gave him a flat look, he ignored it as he turned toward the mirror. His reflection looked back at him—White silk stained with red, gold jewelry, a ceremonial dagger.

The youngest prince of Aculon; he looked exactly like the person everyone downstairs expected him to be, perfect. Fluixon reached for the necklace around his throat. "First," he said, "we're going to need to make sure everyone believes I'm dead."

He pulled the clasp free, the necklace fell into his palm, he lifted his arm with an open wound and made sure the remaining fresh blood dripped into the necklace like some sort of sick bloodbath, the assassin could do nothing but stare in awe. 

"And then..." His smile returned. "...we're going to have to make sure they never find me."

—

The first thing Saparata did after agreeing to help him disappear was take off the cloth he was wearing.

…Sorry, that was a crude way to word it, Saparata had taken off his cloak.

Flux stared. There was nothing particularly remarkable underneath it, but it was rather comical that the assassin—I mean, Saparata— apparently considered this the appropriate moment to start undressing in front of him.

Ironically enough, he was also not prepared to finally witness his supposed-to-be killer’s appearance in its full glory. "Do you really have to do this right now?" Saparata gave him a flat look, like he didn’t know what he was talking about. 

"Your disguise.” Flux clarified, “Don’t you need it for when we go outside?” 

"Oh." Saparata hummed, “No, because it’s not like we’re gonna waltz out in public.” He shrugged. 

Flux blinked. "Right."

Saparata pulled the cloak fully over his head and tossed it onto the nearest chair. Beneath it, his appearance was not what Fluixon had expected. 

For someone who’s wearing dark, fitted clothing meant for movement rather than appearances, he sure was eye-catching enough with how pale his hair was and how much his golden eyes had complemented it—he honestly get why Saparata needed the cloak before, because if he had simply walked into the palace, Flux believed the guards would think he’s a visiting prince from a neighboring nation.

Flux did not realize how long he had been staring and dozing off until his attentions was caught back again when Saparata reached into a small satchel at his side, 

Flux's expression immediately became suspicious."What is that?"

"Clothes." Saparata threw them at him, Flux caught them against his chest. He stared down, and when he did, there was a very long pause. "...Absolutely not." He suddenly declared. 

Saparata looked unimpressed. "Put them on." He ordered Flux, the prince held the clothes between two fingers as though they had personally offended his bloodline.

They were so fucking ugly.

There was no kinder way to describe them—the shirt was some sort of coarse, pale-ish purple fabric that looked as though it had been designed specifically to make its wearer miserable. The trousers were equally dreadful, practical and loose enough to allow movement, but entirely devoid of anything remotely resembling elegance. Alongside it were a pair of worn boots that felt like a withered cherry on top.

Flux slowly lifted one of them. "This is disgusting." He said with the most distasteful tone he could possibly let out. 

"It's clothing." Saparata deadpanned. 

"It's an insult to fashion."

Saparata merely sighed in response, Flux looked up at him. "You expect me to wear this?" He asked with partial offense.

The former’s answer came quickly. "Yes."

"I am a prince."

Saparata stared at him like he had grown two heads, "You stopped being a prince the moment you asked an assassin to help you disappear.”  That shut him up, but since Flux is the most hard-headed person in the Aculon Empire, it only lasted for a second. "Temporarily." He defended himself.

"Dead men don't need fashion." Saparata said matter-of-factly. Flux furrowed his brows at that. "You seem very committed to reminding me that you're planning to kill me."

Saparata didn’t even try to deny it as he lifted one of his shoulders as a half-assed attempt for a shrug. "I thought that was clear."

"It was." Flux unfortunately confirmed solemnly. He looked down at the clothes again and held the shirt up. "Where did you even get this?"

"A servant, I think."

Flux widened his eyes at that. "You robbed one of my servants?" He almost squawked. 

“Not your servants.” He opted to reply, deliberately ignoring the robbing accusation, Flux wasn’t going to let him slip, though. "But you robbed it?” He pushed further.

"I took it." Saparata decided to correct his phrase. 

Flux gave him the most ridiculous stare ever. "That's literally robbing."

Saparata turned away, Flux watched him for a moment before letting out a long, suffering sigh. "You sure do complain a lot for someone who pleaded to help you do a crime much worse than robbing." He changed the topic swiftly. “Plus, the only thing you want is freedom, so my actions should not matter to you.” 

"I also wanted luxury.” Flux decided to reply with another fact because he unfortunately cannot deny the ‘freedom’ part. “Pandora has luxury." He thoughtfully added. 

Saparata paused. Then, without turning around, he drawled sarcastically. "Well, unfortunately, we're not in Pandora yet." He glanced over his shoulder. "If you’re so desperate, though, you can have both when you're dead."

…For a moment, Flux simply stared at him.

Then, he laughed—It escaped before he could stop it. A genuine laugh, it was so bright and sudden and completely inappropriate for a room that still smelled faintly of blood. It wasn't loud enough to be heard outside, but it was real. It was probably the second genuine laugh he'd had all day.

Saparata looked at him strangely, Flux covered his mouth, still grinning."That was horrible."

“What the fuck was horrible? I wasn’t joking around, dude.” Saparata said with his mouth slightly agape, his face was scrunched up into an expression akin to confusion. 

“I know.” Flux answered with a muffled voice as his mouth was still covered. "It was still horrible."

“No it wasn’t, I am serious, stop laughing.” 

Flux had to slightly slap his face just to get rid of the feeling of wanting to laugh, he let out a long exhale as he laughed. “Sorry, I have a tendency to laugh at terrible jokes.” 

“I am not joking!” Saparata’s voice was dangerously loud now as he ruffled his hair that was as pale as snow roughly. Flux had to restrain every fiber of his being to not laugh again as he shushed him.

Then, he looked down at the clothes again, his smile lingered. "...I still hate these."

Saparata rolled his eyes, "Put them on." He ordered him again. 

"You're very bossy for someone who is supposed to be my accomplice." Flux complained. 

Saparata crossed his arms as he fired back, "You're very annoying for someone who is supposed to be dead."

Flux's grin widened. There it was again, that strange, almost effortless rhythm they had somehow fallen into. 

It should not have worked. They had known each other for perhaps less than an hour, and frankly, one of them had entered the room intending to kill the other, yet the other had somehow convinced him to postpone the murder until they reached an entirely different island.

Now they were arguing about clothing.

Flux supposed this was what happened when your life became completely ridiculous. He turned toward the changing screen. "Don't look."

Saparata raised an eyebrow. "I’d rather gauge my eyes out than look.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.” Flux quipped as he disappeared behind the screen, carrying the clothes with him. "If you do look, though," he added, "I'll consider it a violation of our newly established partnership."

"We don't have a partnership." Saparata replied bluntly, Flux was already behind the screen and working around the silks he was wearing as he replied back. "We’re accomplices, though, of course we have a partnership."

"No we don’t.” Saparata quickly denied, Flux scoffed as he tried again. "Travel companions, then?"

“No.” Saparata said plainly.

"Friends?"

“Don’t push it, Flux.” 

Flux pulled off his ceremonial robe, "You're remarkably difficult to befriend." He sighed deeply, he doesn’t know how many times he has uttered the word remarkable now. 

"I'm not interested in being your friend.” Saparata answered with a tone covered with poison, Fortunately enough, Flux was desensitized with tones filled with poison when he had reached the age of six years old. "That's what everyone says before they become interested." He replied easily. 

Silence is what followed after his reply, Flux smiled to himself as he mentally ticked off the fact he had won against Saparata again. The white silk slid from his shoulders, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, removing those clothes did not feel like undressing. It felt like shedding something.

The robes were heavy. He had not realized how heavy they were until they were no longer on him. The gold embroidery dragged against his skin, and the ceremonial dagger remained at his waist, gleaming uselessly in the dim light.

Every piece of it belonged to someone else—His father. His family. The empire. The life waiting downstairs. Flux removed the gold embroidery first, then the dagger, then the rings. One by one, he placed them on the small table beside the changing screen.

The final ring was the one he hesitated over. It bore the Aculon crest. He had worn it since he was old enough to understand what it meant—Prince. Son. Property.

He turned it between his fingers, then set it down. For a moment, Flux simply stood there barefoot, dressed in nothing but the simple underlayers beneath his ceremonial robes. He looked at himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. His appearance without the jewelry, without the white silk and gold, made him look significantly younger, smaller, and almost ordinary.

He wondered whether that was what freedom was supposed to look like; Maybe it was not supposed to be grand, nor beautiful, just unfamiliar.

Flux pulled the ugly shirt over his head, it scratched irritably. He immediately hated it. The trousers were somehow worse. He emerged from behind the screen wearing the assassin's idea of a disguise.

Saparata looked him over. Flux spread his arms. "Well?"

There was a very, very, long pause, maybe even longer than the time Flux stared at Saparata when he took his cloak off, then, with a tone Flux was not familiar with yet, Saparata shrugged and said. "You'll pass."

Flux stared at him. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"I look horrible."

"That's kind of the point." Saparata told him plainly. 

Flux looked down at himself. "I look like I sleep underneath bridges." The shirt hung loosely from his frame, the trousers were practical and plain, and the boots were slightly too large. He looked nothing like a prince. He looked like someone who could disappear into a crowd.

…That realization softened his irritation, just by a little. "...It works." He finally admitted. Saparata nodded as he agreed wordlessly. Flux glanced toward the table, the gold was still there—his old life was still there. It was strange how little it seemed to matter now.

 "What about my hair?" Flux pointed at it, it was already pretty ruffled up to his standards, with how much he had to dodge Saparata’s attacks just a few minutes before. 

Saparata surprisingly shook his head though as he ordered him again, "Mess it."

Flux looked offended. "My hair?"

"Yes."

Flux sighed dramatically. He ran both hands through it until the carefully arranged strands fell loose around his face, Saparata watched him carefully, and after a while, Flux was sure he looked like the world’s poorest prince now. 

"That’s better." Saparata hummed in approval, Flux scoffed as he put both of his hands on his hips. "Don't sound so pleased."

"I don't."

"You do."

"You have the emotional range of a brick." Saparata stared at him, Flux smiled. Then he remembered the bodies; his smile faded. A few minutes ago, this had been his preparation chamber. Now it was the place where the youngest prince of Aculon had died.

At least, that was what everyone downstairs would eventually believe. Flux turned toward the mirror, his reflection stared back—no gold, no white silk, no royal crest. Just a young and pretty man in old and ugly clothes with blood drying along his left arm.

He barely recognized himself. "How do we make them believe I'm dead?"

Saparata moved toward the bodies. "That part is easy, you already did some work for it." Flux watched him crouch beside one of the servants. "What are you doing?" He asked dumbly.

"Making a scene." Saparata pulled a strip of cloth from the dead servant's clothing. 

Flux understood immediately—they did not need a body, they needed evidence. He almost forgot the blood he dripped across the heirloom necklace he took off earlier. All they needed was enough of his blood, enough of his chamber’s destruction, and enough uncertainty that everyone would construct the death themselves.

The palace did not need to see a corpse to believe its prince was dead. It only needed to believe someone had been desperate enough to take it.

Saparata looked toward Flux. "We need more, though." Flux lifted his eyebrows, he only realized that he was referring to his blood when he caught him staring at his left arm’s wound. He casually raised it to him "I have plenty."

That was only partially true, by this point, the cut had begun to dry. Flux approached the table and picked up the ceremonial dagger.

Saparata's hand immediately went toward his sword, Flux noticed—Saparata must’ve thought he was about to attack him, he didn’t know why he’d ever think that, Flux wasn’t stupid. "Relax." He raised both of his hands up to plead innocence, 

“Your dried up blood will work fine.” Saparata informed him, then, he added a simple warning "You shouldn't be holding that." He gestured towards his dagger. 

Flux blinked once as he tilted his head. "Why?"

"You might stab yourself." Saparata said, Flux stared at him, giving the former the flattest look ever. "I've been considering it for years. If I wanted to do it now, I wouldn't need the encouragement."

Saparata's expression changed, only slightly. "Besides," he added, "I have a better use for it." He pulled the blade across the edge of his already wounded sleeve, widening the torn fabric rather than cutting his skin.

Fresh blood welled through the cloth, Saparata watched with an unreadable expression. Flux pressed the sleeve against the floor near the bodies—a smear, then another. Enough to suggest a struggle, a lot of blood loss, and make whoever found the room believe that the prince had not gone quietly.

Saparata moved with him, adding his own touches; A broken chair. The overturned jewelry tray. His beautiful silky clothes knocked onto the floor. The open window—Everything was arranged carefully.

It looked far from careful, though, but I guess that was the best thing about it. A staged murder looked suspicious, but a chaotic one looked real. Flux knew this because he had spent years listening to ministers explain how investigations worked. He had never imagined he would use that knowledge to fake his own death. "There."

Saparata stepped back, Flux studied the room. It looked convincing, more than convincing, actually, it looked quite tragic. He could already picture the pitiful scene his chamber had become for his empire: the youngest prince of Aculon had been attacked on the morning of his wedding, his servants were dead, his blood was everywhere, and his body was gone.

The palace would assume the worst.

Flux swallowed. "They'll believe it."

"They'll have to." Saparata picked up his cloak again, but he only wrapped it around his shoulder instead of fully wearing it. "We leave now." Flux nodded, he followed Saparata before he looked around the room one last time.

There was no dramatic farewell, or a sentimental goodbye. He couldn’t possibly give one when all this empire had given him was absolute misery, and even when his chamber looked like it had gone through the terrible right now, in Flux’s eyes, it had been the first time his chamber had looked free. 

Still, he took his time to take in the sight of it: his mirror, his bed, his table where his jewelry remained, his balcony where he had spent countless nights staring at the world he could not reach.

He had lived here for most of his life, now, he was leaving it behind. "Come on." Saparata's voice pulled him back.

Flux turned. "Where?"

Saparata walked toward a narrow wooden door hidden behind a hanging tapestry, Flux blinked as he recognized it clearly. "Oh." He hummed, the assassin looked at him. "You know this passage?" Flux smiled. "I know every passage." He admitted. 

Even though Saparata did not ask, he stepped forward to prove it; He pressed onto something, and just like clockwork, the tapestry was moved aside. Behind it was a narrow doorway, almost invisible against the stone, and when it did darkness waited beyond.

If Flux recalled correctly, this was the servants' passage. He stepped toward it, Saparata followed. When he stepped through the doorway, he had the idea to look back at his chamber once more; his old life was sitting there in pieces—everything that had made him recognizable as Aculon’s Prince Fluixon Aculon.

Yet, he did not look back, because the moment he had used all his wits to convince his killer not to end his life right there, he had already solidified his decision to leave all of it behind..

The passage was narrow enough that their shoulders nearly brushed the walls. It smelled of dust, stone, and old wood, there were no windows, no decorations, no gold, or even any guards. Just a cramped corridor running through the bones of the palace.

Flux breathed in deeply. For some reason, he felt calmer here than he had in the preparation chamber, Saparata noticed. "You know where you're going."

It wasn't a question, but Flux answered anyway. "Of course."

"Which way?" Flux looked at him weirdly, he’s positive Saparata knew the answer, he doesn’t know why he had to ask Flux like he was texting him. "Left." He answered anyway. 

They both turned left, they continued. After a few steps, he asked, "How do you know this place?" Flux shrugged. "I told you, I know every passage."

"Why?" Flux didn't answer immediately, they passed another intersection. Flux turned right without hesitation, Saparata followed, then another corridor, another staircase, and another hidden door. Each time, Flux knew exactly where they were.

He did not need to think, his feet simply remembered, Saparata eventually stopped, Flux turned around. "What?"

"You've done this before."

Flux blinked. "Yes."

"Why?" Saparata repeated his question. 

Flux furrowed his brow; the answer was obvious to him, and even though he had explained most of his reasoning to Saparata earlier already, perhaps it still wasn't obvious to everyone else. "I wanted to know where I could go." He answered plainly.

Saparata said nothing, Flux looked ahead.the passage stretched into darkness. "When I was younger, I used to think the palace was just big." He smiled faintly. "Then I realized it wasn't big." He began walking again. "It was just complicated."

Saparata followed as he allowed Flux to continue on with his story. "Every corridor leads somewhere. Every staircase has another entrance. Every room connects to another room. There are servant passages beneath the kitchens, maintenance tunnels behind the eastern wing, old military routes beneath the throne hall, drainage channels running beneath the gardens..."

Flux continued speaking casually, as though he were describing something completely ordinary. "I started memorizing them."

"All of them?"

"Eventually." Saparata was quiet, Flux glanced back. "When my father told me where I had to be, I couldn't argue." He stepped down another staircase. "When he told me who I had to meet, I couldn't refuse."

Another turn. "When he told me what I had to wear, what I had to say, what I had to become..." His fingers brushed against the stone wall. "But I could decide which corridor I took to get there." His voice softened. "It was stupid."

"No." Flux almost flinched as he looked, and when he did, he did not expect that Saparata was already watching him. "It wasn't."

Flux looked away at that, he didn’t know why his chest churned when Saparata suddenly denied his sentiment, but he continued on anyway. "I used to spend hours wandering around the palace when nobody was looking. I memorized which doors creaked. Which guards changed shifts early. Which servants took shortcuts. Which staircases were abandoned. Which corridors had windows."

He laughed quietly. "I even memorized how long it took to walk from my room to the western gate."

Saparata stared at him. "How long does it take?” He asked genuinely, Flux didn’t even need to ponder about it as he answered,  "Like—seventeen minutes?” 

"Running?"

Flux shook his head. "Walking."

"That's impossible." Saparata huffed, Flux smiled. "Twenty-two if I was wearing ceremonial robes." 

Saparata looked almost incredulous, Flux laughed softly. "What?"

"You've been planning this for years."

Flux stopped, the words hung between them. For once, he didn't immediately make a joke, because Saparata was right—He had, not this exact escape, he wasn’t that insane to daydream his escape would be in the form of an attempted assassination.But the idea of leaving? That had lived inside him for years.

Every corridor he memorized had been another possibility, every hidden staircase had been another imagined route, every secret door had been another place where he could pretend, just for a few minutes, that he could choose where his life went.

He had never had an opportunity, until today. Flux looked down the passage. "I suppose I have."

Saparata's voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Then why didn't you leave before?"

Flux smiled again, it was not a happy smile this time. "Because I didn't have anywhere to go." That answer seemed to settle something, Saparata didn't ask anything else. They kept walking. The further they went, the quieter the palace became, the wedding bells were muffled by stone, the music disappeared, and the voices disappeared. Eventually, even the footsteps overhead faded.

Flux only realized after he felt the familiar doorknob to the last door of the passage that he was smiling again, not the practiced smile he had worn for the servants, not the diplomatic smile, or the expression his father expected.

A real one.

Fluixon Aculon was leaving—actually leaving. He could feel the thought moving through him like sunlight, the palace doors would close soon, guards would swarm the corridors. His father would learn his son was dead. The Sultanate would demand answers. The wedding would become a political disaster.

The empire would search for his body, and somewhere beneath all of that chaos, the prince everyone thought they knew would simply cease to exist. For the first time in his life, Flux had no idea what would happen tomorrow.

The uncertainty should have made him terrified for his life. Instead, it felt like breathing. Saparata looked back at him. "What?"

Flux realized he had been staring. "Nothing."

"You were smiling."

"I am allowed to smile."

Saps tilted his head at that, “I didn’t say you couldn’t, it’s just—what’re you smiling about?” He asked, Flux thought about it, then he answered honestly. "I'm leaving, is that not reason enough to smile?”

Saparata said nothing, as if he finally understood fully just how much Flux had actually wanted this.

 Flux turned forward again as he opened the last door. The passage’s darkness then shifted as a bright light greeted them. Somewhere beyond that bright light was the outside world, somewhere beyond that was the desert, and somewhere beyond the desert was Pandora.

Everything he had never been allowed to choose was just somewhere beyond now.

Flux took another step. For the first time, he wasn't imagining leaving anymore. He was doing it. And perhaps that was why, despite everything waiting for him beyond the palace walls, he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

He had spent years preparing for an escape that had never existed. Now, suddenly, he had one.

He intended to savor every second of it.

—

By the time they were far enough from the Aculon Empire that the palace was no longer visible even when Flux turned around, he had decided that freedom was, in fact, extremely overrated.

His feet hurt, his arms hurt, his back hurt, and, the most important complaint of it all, his clothes were still so fucking ugly. 

Another thing was that this was the first time he had to sleep with no bed. Flux had not realized how much he depended on beds until he was several hours into walking through the desert with an assassin who apparently believed that stopping for rest was some sort of moral failure.

“How much farther?” Flux asked, Saparata did not look back as he answered, still walking like this was pure lightwork to him. “Far enough.” He hummed thoughtfully. 

“That is not a—” Flux let out an exaggerated exhale, “—measurable distance.” He finished with exhaustion evident in his voice.

“It is when you're walking.” Flux stared at the back of Saparata’s head, he had vaguely considered pulling on his stupid ponytail in retaliation just from how annoyed he was right now.

You see, Flux had spent the better part of the following days following Saparata through stretches of sand, rocky terrain, and the occasional sparse patch of vegetation, each step taking them farther away from the only place Flux had ever known. The palace had disappeared behind the horizon hours ago. The roads had gradually become smaller, then vanished altogether, until eventually there had been nothing but desert around them.

Here, there were no guards, no walls, no towers, no banners bearing the crest of Aculon, no servants, no wedding, and no tyrannical father. It should have been exhilarating, and actually, it was, but he also couldn’t deny that his feet really hurt like hell right now.

“How much farther?” Flux asked again, Saparata sighed. “You asked that six minutes ago.”

“I know.”

“And five minutes before that.”

“I was hoping the answer would improve.” Flux defended himself, Saparata popped his hopeful bubble so brutally he wished he had just killed him right then and there. “It hasn't.”

“That seems unnecessarily pessimistic.” Flux grumbled bitterly, Saparata finally glanced over his shoulder. “You're the one complaining.”

“I am making observations.”

“You've been making observations for days.” Saparata said with a deadpan expression, Flux did not back down despite it. “Because there are many things to observe.”

“Such as?” Saparata asked, and later on, he would come to regret asking in the first place. “For starters,” Flux spoke up as he gestured broadly at their surroundings. “Sand.”

 Saparata stared at him. “There is a lot of it.” Flux pointed out. Saparata tried to go along with it, “I noticed, yes.” Flux nodded approvingly at the fact he tried. “And it's everywhere.” He continued. 

“Yes.”

“I don't like it.”

“You're in a desert,” Saps said helpfully, even going as far as to raise his index finger up. “Your complaints will only go in vain.” 

“I am aware.” Flux withered as he said that, “I just kind of miss the empire’s snowy plains.” Saparata turned forward again, Flux did not notice the small smile that formed on his face as he said, “Ah, so are you saying you want to go back?” He pretended to wonder curiously.

Flux flinched like a cat who had just seen a cucumber as he shook his head. “Fuck no!” He said very eloquently, “I’d rather you kill me right now than make me go back there.” He shivered at the thought of it.

Saparata laughed quietly—Flux blinked as he realized how melodic it kinda sounded, is this the first time he had heard of it? He wasn’t too sure. “I’m getting to that part.” He quipped, referring to the ‘killing’ Flux part. 

Flux trudged after him “You really need to stop speaking about my impending death so reverently, or else I’m gonna start assuming this is how you cope with the fact you might miss me when I die.” His boots were sinking slightly into the sand with every step.

Saparata rolled his eyes at that, “No way.” He had denied it so confidently, then, they settled into silence again after that.

This was not how he had imagined leaving Aculon. In his head, escaping had always been considerably more elegant.

There had been horses, sometimes. Once, he had imagined stealing a ship. Another time, he had imagined disguising himself as a merchant and simply walking through the gates with a sack over his shoulder, because apparently his younger self had believed that palace guards never looked at merchants properly.

There had been one particularly elaborate fantasy involving a stolen carriage, three changes of clothes, a secret passage beneath the western wall, and enough money to spend the rest of his life somewhere no one knew his name.

Not once had he imagined walking, especially not walking this much. “You said you knew every passage in the empire,” Saparata said after another long stretch of silence.

Flux brightened slightly. “I do.” He confirmed. 

“I thought that meant you had some idea how to travel.” Saparata shrugged, Flux tilted his head at that as he didn’t quite get his sentiment, “Like—travelling outside of the empire?”

“Kind of.” Saparata started, “I mean—you couldn’t possibly be stuck all the time around the empire, right? You must’ve had some sort of diplomatic arrangements and parties you were required to attend.” He explained.

Flux blinked in slight surprise at that, a little thought about how Saps knows that much about princely duties wandered in the back of his mind, but it quickly dissolved as he answered. “Yeah, I did, but it didn’t really feel like travelling when I was kind of like—asleep at the carriage most of the time.”

“Ah,” Saparata hummed, “You’re one of those pampered princes, then.” He concluded. 

Flux squawked at that, “No I am not.” He denied it quickly. “Actually, my lifestyle is very unrelated to my travelling experiences.”

Saparata stopped, Flux nearly walked into him. “You've complained about your feet for the last hour.” The assassin turned around slowly.

There was something deeply irritating about the expression on his face. It wasn't anger, exactly. It was the expression of someone who had reached the end of his patience and was now considering whether throwing Flux into a ditch would somehow make the journey easier.

“You memorized every corridor in an entire palace,” Saparata added, Flux was about to say ‘yes’, but the assassin just kept on going. “Every staircase, every servant passage, and every shortcut.”

“...Yes.” Flux nodded dumbly, before he shook his head as he scrunched his face up into a confused expression. “Where are you going with this?” He asked.

Not even a second later, Saparata answers his question swiftly, “And yet, somehow, you have absolutely no stamina.”

Flux blinked. “That is a completely different form of exercise.” Saparata stared at him, Flux stared back. “You thought,” Saparata said slowly, “that memorizing corridors is some sort of exercise?”

Flux did not answer that as he decided the sand was suddenly very interesting now, so Saparata continued. “You've spent years walking around that palace.”

“Wandering.” Flux opted to correct him, Saparata gave him an unamused look at that, “Same fucking thing, Wifies.” What—who the fuck was wifies—oh, nevermind, isn’t he that famous scientist around their time that developed the theory of relativity?

…Actually, does the theory of relativity even exist in medieval timelines—“Exactly.” Flux didn’t even deny it, however, he added a very important detail. “It was inside, though, with a very comfortable floor, and no humidity that is bound to kill me before you do.”

Saparata's eyes narrowed to an expression akin to anger, whether it was because of his retort or the idea that something that wasn’t Saparata could kill Flux, he did not know. “Apparently you didn't think to build your stamina while doing it.”

Flux looked offended. “I was a prince.”

“That isn't an excuse.” Saparata quickly dismissed it, Flux fired back exasperatedly.  “It is an excellent excuse.”

 “It isn't.”

“It is, it has worked for me my entire life.”

“That's unfortunate.” Saparata almost made a gesture akin to a mocking cry, but Flux crossed his arms and retaliated before he could. “You're being very judgmental.”

Saparata had to bite back his cheek to restrain himself from smiling as he said, “You're walking like an old man.”

“I have been walking for hours.” Flux defended himself once more, Saparata tilted his head at that as his lips curved. “So have I.”

“You're an assassin,” Flux pointed out with an annoyed tone in his voice. “you're professionally obligated to be physically capable.”

Saparata stared at him for a moment. Then he turned around and started walking again, Flux followed, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable.”

“I heard that.” Saparata drawled without turning back to look at Flux.“I intended for you to.” The latter said matter-of-factly. 

They walked for another hour, Flux stopped complaining, not because he had run out of complaints, he had simply run out of breath.

The sun gradually began sinking toward the horizon, washing the desert in long shadows and turning the sand from harsh gold into something softer. The heat that had clung to Flux's skin throughout the afternoon finally began to retreat, leaving behind a coolness that crept steadily into his clothes.

He had never really experienced the desert like this, he had seen it from palace windows, of course, from balconies, the backs of carriages, and heavily guarded processions where servants carried umbrellas and soldiers rode alongside him, but never like this—never with nothing between him and the horizon.

It was unsettling; the world felt enormous. Aculon had always seemed enormous too, but its size had been defined by walls. The empire had borders, roads, fortresses, checkpoints, cities, palaces. Everything had a name and an authority attached to it.

Out here, there was simply space, too much of it, actually. Flux found himself looking toward the horizon more often than he meant to. Somewhere beyond it was Pandora. He couldn't see it, he didn't know how far away it was, and he didn't even know whether the stories had been true. But for the first time in his life (he has a lot of first times, please spare him), the distance between himself and somewhere else was not determined by whether his father allowed him to go there.

It was simply distance, and Flux had come to learn quickly that distance could always be crossed. Eventually, Saparata stopped. Flux almost sighed in relief before he noticed the assassin scanning the area. “We're stopping?”

“For tonight.” Flux looked around, there was nothing—no building, no shelter, no walls, no roof. Nothing except a cluster of low rocks that offered what could generously be described as protection from the wind. Flux stared. Then he looked at Saparata, then back at the rocks. “You're joking.”

“You should know by now I rarely joke around.” Saparata stated as he already started walking towards the rocks. “That's where we're sleeping?” He forced himself to ask despite his shaky voice.

“Yes.” Saparata confirmed it simply, Flux looked absolutely horrified. “We're sleeping there?” He repeated again out of utter disbelief.

“We are.”

“On the ground?” Flux was more terrified right now than he was when his life was about to be assassinated. “Outside?” Saparata looked at him as though he had suddenly become profoundly stupid. “We've been outside all day.” He reminded him.

“I was hoping that was temporary.”

“It is.”

“When do we get somewhere with a bed?”

Saparata actually paused to think about it, “in Pandora.” He answered honestly, Flux's face brightened. “Really?”

Unfortunately, Flux got too excited to the point he had forgotten one very important detail. “If you're alive by then.” Saparata added thoughtfully, the white-haired boy had the gall to smile a little as he said it.

His face fell. “You really need to stop saying things like that.” He repeated his sentiment once more. Saparata ignored him, he dropped his satchel onto the ground and began pulling out what Flux assumed were supplies. There was a small cooking pot, a waterskin, some dried food, a blanket, and a few pieces of equipment Flux couldn't identify.

Flux stared at the blanket longer than the other materials, then, a very obvious problem suddenly clicked into his mind as his eyes squinted at Saparata. “That is one blanket.”

Saparata blinked as he stared, “Yes.” He nodded slowly. 

“You brought one blanket.” Flux’s voice sounded like he really wanted to be engulfed by the sand and die from asphyxiation. “And there are two of us.”

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” Saparata looked at him and raised his hands to slowly applaud, but Flux hissed and interrupted him before he could actually do it. “You're not planning to make me sleep on the sand, are you?”

Saparata snorted, “In my defense, princess—” Flux could not hold back his offended yelp at that, “What the fuck do you mean, princess?” 

Saparata ignored him as he continued, “I did not know I would have another person tagging along my journey, so all my supplies are supposed to be for one person only.” He explained briefly, gesturing towards himself, he paused for a while before he pulled out another, smaller piece of fabric.

Flux stared at it. “That is not a blanket.”

“It is enough.” Saparata declared as he already started to spread it out. 

“For what?”

“Sleeping.”

“That looks like it could be used as a piece of fucking tablecloth at my empire.” Flux sneered as he crossed his arms stubbornly. 

“Well, call each and every townsfolk out there, because,” Saparata shook his hands like he was trying to do a jazzy gesture. “We are no longer in the Aculon Empire.” 

Flux looked personally betrayed. “I have slept on silk my entire life.” He was so close to sulking right now. 

“That explains a lot.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Saparata?” He hissed his name out with every bit of venom he could possibly spit out.

Just like Flux with Saparata’s verbal  venom before, Saparata was not affected by his respective venom, either. “Nothing, Flux.” 

“It clearly means something.” He pressed further, but all Saparata did was turn away and began preparing their camp, Flux remained standing where he was. He looked around again—the desert was getting darker, the temperature was dropping, and there was no bed, no ceiling, no servants, no walls.

He had never slept outdoors, not even once. Ever since he was a child, there had always been some kind of roof above him. The palace had always been there, massive and suffocating and impossible to escape, but at least it had been familiar.

The desert was unfamiliar, everything about it was. The wind whispered across the sand, carrying grains against his boots. Somewhere in the distance, an animal made a strange, lonely sound that Flux immediately decided he did not like.

He turned toward Saparata. “What was that?”

“An animal.”

“What kind?”

“I don't know.” Saparata answered honestly, Flux's eyes widened at that, but he looked away before Saparata could turn around and notice. “What do you mean you don't know?”

“It means I don’t know what animal that was, Flux.” He deadpanned. 

“You're supposed to know these things.” Flux narrowed his eyes at him as he stepped closer to Saparata—and before you say anything, it is not because he was scared, Fluixon Aculon never gets scared at anything, especially not at animals.

“I'm an assassin.” Saparata suddenly reminded him, Flux huffed, “So?” 

“I kill people.” Saparata didn’t even stutter as he said it, “I’m not some sort of huntsman or marshal.” 

“You don't know anything about animals?” Flux genuinely could not believe that, Saparata rubbed his temples with a suppressed groan simmering in his throat as he answered, “I've never had to kill one, so no.”

“That seems like a gap in your education.” Saparata gave him a look. “Big words for someone who also doesn’t know what animal made that sound, no?” 

Flux sighed in defeat, he sat down—Immediately, sand found its way into his clothes. He stood up again before he could even think about it. “No.”

Saparata looked over. “What?”

“I refuse.”

“To what?”

“This.” Flux gestured toward the entire desert, Saparata blinked once, then twice, as he gestured back. “There's nothing to refuse.” He muttered simply. 

“There is absolutely something to refuse.”

“You can refuse to sleep.” Saparata fired back, and with all the stubbornness inside Flux’s body, he confidently said, “I will.”

Saparata chuckled once at that, “You'll regret that.”

“I have regretted many things today.” Flux stated, Saparata groaned as he went back to what he was doing. Flux stood there for another few seconds before eventually sitting down again, this time carefully—the sand still got everywhere.

He hated it, he hated the way it slipped beneath his clothes, he hated the roughness against his skin, he hated the lack of walls, the open sky, the unfamiliar noises, the absence of anything soft. Most of all, he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. At the palace, even when he had been miserable, he had known where every door was.

He knew where the guards stood, which corridors were safe, which windows overlooked courtyards and which overlooked gardens, where servants slept, where weapons were stored, which staircases led to the throne hall, which doors could be locked from the inside.

He knew the palace.

He had spent years making sure of that. Here, he knew nothing, not even where he was supposed to sleep. Saparata eventually handed him a piece of dried food. Flux examined it suspiciously. “What is this?”

“Food.”

“What kind?” He asked warily, Saparata simply brought it closer to him to assure him that it was perfectly edible food. “Dried meat.” 

Flux sniffed it, he shuddered as he did. “It smells like leather.” He muttered with utter distaste.

“It tastes better than leather.” Saparata reasoned with him, Flux scoffed as he waved Saparata off, but still took the piece of meat despite his act of nonchalance. “How would you know?” He asked rhetorically. 

“I've eaten leather.” Saparata answered seriously, Flux stilled at that as he slowly turned his head to look at the man, coincidentally enough, he was already looking back. “…You're lying.”

There was a very uncomfortable pause after that, Flux was so close to actually gagging and believing it until Saparata couldn’t hold back a snort as he leaned back. “Yeah, I am.”

“You’re a horrible person.” Flux huffed, raising his hand to punch Saparata’s shoulder, which the assassin dodged without even moving too much. Flux smiled despite himself, he ate the meat. It was, unfortunately, not particularly good, but he miraculously ate it without too many complaints anyway.

Night settled slowly over the desert. The stars appeared one by one, then by dozens, then by hundreds until the sky above them looked almost impossibly crowded. Flux laid on the blanket, staring upward.

He had seen stars before, of course he had. The palace had a plentiful amount of balconies, but the palace had always framed the sky in a way that made it seem too plain, but tonight there was nothing framing it, there was just darkness stretching endlessly in every direction.

Flux had the strange feeling that he could fall upward if he stared long enough. “This is uncomfortable,” He said. 

Saparata, already lying down several feet away, didn't open his eyes. “It is.”

“The ground is hard.” Saparata hummed in agreement as Flux continued, “There's sand in my clothes.” He hummed again. “My arm hurts, and it’s so cold.” 

“Yes.” Saparata hummed mindlessly for the third time, Flux frowned as he looked at the laying man. “Are you going to acknowledge anything I say?”

“No.”

“You are a rude, rude man.”

“Go to sleep, Flux.” The white-haired man dismissed him gently, Flux grumbled something incomprehensible before he shifted beneath the blanket. “I can't.”

“You can.”

“I've never slept outside.”

“Congratulations, princess.” Saparata opened one eye just to see Flux’s offended expression at his nickname. “There is always a first time for everything, plus, I promise you’ll survive.”

“That isn't particularly reassuring.” Flux complained, but Saparata didn’t even bat an eye as he replied swiftly, “It wasn't meant to be.”

Flux looked toward him. Saparata had the cloak he had worn inside the palace on the ground, but it was still within reach beside him. If Flux were more honest with himself, without the cloak, the assassin looked strangely different beneath the stars. Like he was less like a shadow that had stepped out of a nightmare and more like an angelic prince.

Flux quickly looked away—not that he actually meant the princely part. In fact, he didn't know why he had noticed. Perhaps because there wasn't much else to look at. He stared upward again. “What if someone attacks us?” He asked suddenly as he remembered the animal noise from earlier. 

Saparata didn't hesitate. “I'll kill them.” He said it so plainly it sounded like it was pure instinct to him, Flux was quiet for a moment. Then, because apparently his brain was incapable of leaving well enough alone, he turned his head. “What if it's you who attacks me?”

Saparata looked at him, the silence stretched. His golden eyes reflected the faint light of the dying fire. Then he answered, perfectly flat, “Then you're dead.”

Flux stared at him. And somehow, instead of being frightened, he smiled and thought the reply was just like he had imagined it. “Right.” He laid back down, that was apparently the end of the conversation.

Saparata closed his eyes, and Flux stared at the stars. For several minutes, he remained awake, listening to the wind and the crackling of the small fire between them.

Eventually, his thoughts began to blur as it circled back to his initial complaints—his feet hurt, his arms hurt, his back hurt, his clothes were awful—the only thing different was that he had new complaints now; the ground was uncomfortable, there was sand everywhere, and somewhere behind all of those complaints was a strange, quiet realization that he was outside.

Actually outside—no guards stood at the edge of his vision, no servant waited to wake him or tell him when to rise, no one was coming to dress him in the morning, no one would tell him what to eat, no one would tell him where to stand.

Tomorrow, he could most likely wake up whenever he wanted. The thought was so absurdly simple that it almost made him laugh. Instead, Flux closed his eyes. “Goodnight,” he murmured, he didn’t know why he had, he and Saparata weren’t close like that yet, but it was too late to take it back anyway.

There was a pause. Then, from somewhere beside him—“Goodnight.” Unfortunately, Flux did not hear it, because by the time it had been uttered by the white-haired man who had opened his eyes to stare at his sleeping figure—strangely, with no intent to kill at all—he had already slept.

—

The next day, Flux had woken up to warmth.

That was the first strange detail he had noticed, the second was that the sun was already high enough to illuminate the desert around them, and the third was that something heavy had been draped over him.

Flux blinked sleepily, when he looked down. There was a dark fabric covering his shoulders and chest—He recognized it immediately; this was Saparata’s cloak.

…He had not remembered having Saparata’s cloak when he slept, hell, the only thing he remembered was that he was shivering like a coughing baby due to the temperature of the desert last night. 

He slowly lifted one hand and touched the edge of the assassin’s cloak. Flux turned his head, Saparata was sitting several feet away, already awake, he was sharpening his blade, and it seems he hadn't noticed that Flux was already awake yet, he didn’t even bother to look at him.

Flux looked at him for a long moment. There were several questions he could have asked: Why had Saparata given him the cloak? Had Saparata noticed he was cold? Had he been awake during the night even though the last time Flux looked, his eyes were closed? Had he put it over Flux deliberately? Had he regretted it afterward?

Flux could have asked any of them, but obviously, with the amount of pride he had left in him, he didn't. Instead, he pulled the cloak a little more securely around himself.

Saparata continued sharpening his blade, neither of them said anything, and Flux thought how strange it was that the silence didn’t feel as uncomfortable anymore. Flux eventually sat up, the cloak slipping slightly from his shoulders.

Saparata glanced at him once. “You slept longer than I expected.” His voice was filled with the type of calmness that Flux could assume that he had noticed Flux was awake even before he had properly registered the cloak, he just decided not to acknowledge him yet. 

Flux rubbed his eyes. “You didn't wake me.”

“You looked tired.” He said casually, Flux paused, and Saparata seemed to realize what he had said only after the words had already left his mouth, he immediately returned his attention to his blade.

Flux looked down at the cloak, he didn't mention it, and the assassin didn't mention it either, but for some odd reason, that made it feel more important than if either of them had.

—

Around the time they found the oasis, they had already been travelling around a whole month, to the point Flux had stopped asking how much farther they had to go.

However, that did not mean he had suddenly developed patience. He had simply learned that asking Saparata for directions was an excellent way to receive an answer that was technically correct, but also completely useless.

They had been walking since morning, following a route that Flux couldn't have named even if he tried. Saparata seemed to know exactly where he was going, which Flux had initially found reassuring and had since decided was probably the most irritating thing about him.

Then, sometime in the late afternoon, Saparata stopped, Flux nearly walked into his back again, he had begun to suspect that Saparata did this deliberately. "Why did we stop?"

Saparata didn't answer immediately. He was looking ahead, Flux followed his gaze, then immediately, his eyes brightened with delight. At first, he thought he was imagining it. There was a faint line of green beyond the dunes, barely visible against the endless gold. Then he saw something else—a shimmer, almost silver beneath the sunlight—water.

Flux blinked. "...Is that real?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Saparata glanced at him. Flux gestured toward the horizon. "Because I've been walking through this fucking desert for a whole month. At this point, I wouldn't put it past my mind to invent an ocean."

"It's an oasis." Saparata supplied for him. Flux stared, then he started walking faster.

"Flux." Saparata called for him as he shortly followed, his tone held some sort of warning to it, or a scolding, Flux couldn’t tell from his sheer excitement. 

"I am walking." He tried to reassure Saparata, but his hurried and excited tone did not feel reassuring at all.

"You are running."

"I'm walking enthusiastically." Saparata sighed, but he followed. The oasis wasn't particularly large, at least, that’s what Flux initially thought—he didn’t really have an expertise in oceans in particular to know which bodies of water were considered large or not. 

There was a pool of clear water nestled between low palms and clusters of stubborn green vegetation, surrounded by pale stone and patches of soft earth. A few trees leaned toward the water as though they had grown there specifically to escape the sun. Beyond them were signs of life—a small collection of tents and wooden stalls, merchants already beginning to pack away some of their wares as the afternoon faded.

Compared to the grandeur of Aculon, it was almost laughably small. And yet, Flux stopped walking just to admire it. For a moment, he simply stared.

It was beautiful, not in the way Aculon was beautiful—Aculon had been built to be beautiful. Every arch had been commissioned, every garden had been planned, every statue had a name attached to it, even the snow-covered plains surrounding the empire had somehow been made to feel like part of the family's possession.

This was different. The oasis had no reason to be beautiful—It simply was. The water moved gently beneath the sunlight, the palms rustled in the wind, small flowers had grown between rocks where no one had planted them, and the entire place seemed almost offensively peaceful.

The best thing was that nobody owned it. Flux realized that was what fascinated him most. It had no royal seal, no servant waiting nearby to tell him whether he was allowed to touch something, no one had ordered the water to be there, or even commissioned the trees.

It was simply there.

Flux smiled, Saparata noticed. "You like it."

Flux looked at him. "Obviously." He said it like he didn’t even need to think about it. Saparata snickered lightly, "I thought you'd complain about the lack of marble."

Flux scoffed. "I can appreciate things without marble."

"Can you?"

"I can." Saparata gave him a look that suggested he was unconvinced, Flux ignored him. He walked closer to the water. The closer he got, the more impossible it seemed that something this clear could exist so close to a desert. He could see the pale stones beneath the surface. Tiny fish darted between them, disappearing whenever his shadow crossed the water.

Flux looked down at himself, then at the water, at his boots, then back at the water. Saparata immediately seemed to understand. "Flux." Saparata warned him again. 

Flux blinked innocently. "I haven't said anything."

“You don’t need to say anything for a genius to figure out what you want to do.” Saparata stated rather bluntly, Flux looked offended in response. "You don't even know what I was going to say or do."

“I do, though.” Saparata said it so easily neither of them realized how odd that sentiment sounded, not until he said, "I know you." That stopped him for half a second; it wasn’t particularly profound, the assassin had simply said it so casually, like he had already learned enough about Flux to predict what he would do next.

Flux decided not to examine why that felt strangely pleasant. Instead, he sat down on one of the rocks. He began removing his boots.

Saparata watched him. "What are you doing?"

“I thought you knew me.” Flux retorted quickly, “If you did, you should know what I’m about to do is incredibly obvious.” 

"Flux—” Saparata could not even try to talk him out of it before he was shushed by the prince. "I've been walking for days."

"I know."

"My feet hurt, and there's perfectly beautiful water that could heal that pain.” 

“This oasis does not have healing properties." Saparata informed him obviously,  Flux did not listen as he pulled off his first boot. “Who cares?” Flux smiled. "You know, for an assassin, you're incredibly dense."

"Put your boot back on, princess.” Saparata opted to reply instead, Flux now wanted to go to the waters more after he had repeated the stupid nickname, the only difference was that his reasons are now accompanied with the excuse of wanting to drown Saps Saparata alongside it.

"No." Flux concluded. 

"Flux." The second boot came off as Saparata called for him, then the socks. Flux stood. Saparata's expression became increasingly suspicious. "Don't."

Flux stepped into the water, and as humiliating as it was, he immediately stopped. His entire body jolted—the water was freezing, not cool, or refreshing, but a ‘walking barefoot in snowy path of Aculon’ type of freezing. "FUCK!"

Saparata stared like he was watching a chicken dance, Flux took another step, his face twisting from shock. "Why is it so cold?!"

"It's water." Saparata said unhelpfully. 

"That doesn't answer my question!" Flux’s voice shivered as his legs felt like they were being succumbed to the point of numbness. "You wanted water." The assassin shrugged, enjoying Flux’s suffering after he had deliberately ignored his warnings. 

"I wanted warm water."

"Well, you didn't specify, so you really can’t blame anyone now, hm?” Saparata quipped, Flux glared at him, the white-haired man had the audacity to look amused.

Due to his utter stubbornness and pride, Flux waded deeper anyway. The cold eventually became bearable, and then, almost unbelievably, quite pleasant too. The water curled around his ankles, his calves, his knees, washing away the dust that had accumulated on him throughout the journey.

He sighed. A genuine, contented sound escaped him before he could stop it. "Oh." He muttered to himself, Saparata remained near the shore, Flux looked at him. "Come in." He invited him. 

Saparata shook his head softly at that. "I'm fine here."

Flux squinted his eyes as he analyzed the former’s appearance: As much as he tried to act like the big guy, the evident tension in his shoulders and the sullen look on his eyes said everything he didn’t need to say verbally. "You look miserable." Flux deadpanned. 

"I'm not, I always look like this."

 “Yeah, and you didn’t stop to think about how miserable that sounds?” Flux laughed, It was different from the laughter he'd given Saparata when they had first escaped. That had been a hollow laugh of surprise, this was lighter—almost careless. For perhaps the first time since leaving Aculon, Flux didn't feel like he was constantly waiting for something terrible to happen.

The only thing he needed to submerge himself in was water, sunlight, and an extremely annoying man standing several feet away pretending he wasn't enjoying watching him.

Flux's smile widened. Then he scooped water into both hands, Saparata's eyes narrowed as he immediately took a step back. "Don't."

Flux froze. "Don't what?" He batted his lashes as he tilted his head, he did not notice Saparata’s visible gulp as he shook his head firmly. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one you're making." Flux tried his best to look innocent, unfortunately, he failed, but it’s fine, because before Saparata could run away, he threw the water. It hit Saparata directly across the chest.

Silence.

Flux's giggle died down as Saparata looked down at the darkened fabric of his clothes, then back at Flux, he involuntarily swallowed. "...Don't." It was so ironic how he was the one saying that word now. 

Saparata slowly stepped forward. "You have five seconds."

Flux stared, he wasted around two seconds before turning around, he muttered a very quiet, "Oh, fuck." before he instinctively commanded his feet to run, despite a quarter of it being submerged in the oasis’s waters.

Behind him, Saparata moved. Flux had perhaps three seconds to celebrate the fact that he had successfully escaped before he realized something very important.

Saparata was fast. "WAIT!" Flux found himself screaming uncharacteristically loud—actually, that was probably the loudest he has ever screamed in his whole life. "No." Saparata declared, and I can’t even count the amount of irony that has happened in this situation, but Flux felt more genuine fear over that singular word than when he had first met Saparata as an assassin.

"I TAKE IT BACK!" Flux cried, Saparata’s voice was dangerously clear and close as he replied, "You have zero seconds, then.” 

"That's not how counting works!" Flux ran harder, water splashed around his legs as he stumbled through the shallows, laughing despite himself. He scrambled out onto the sand, nearly tripped over his own discarded boots, recovered, and kept running.

Saparata was gaining much more momentum as the distance between them closed. 

 "You're cheating!" Flux accused him, "I'm faster than you." Saparata said matter-of-factly. "That's not what cheating means."

“It is to me!” Saparata caught up with him near the palms, Flux yelped and immediately tried to change direction, but unfortunately, it was too late.

A hand caught the back of his shirt, Flux was pulled backward. He barely had time to protest before Saparata dragged him toward the water. "No—no, no, no—" He repeated until his pleas turned incomprehensible.

Saparata did not take pity on him. "Should've thought about that before throwing water at me."

"I was testing your reflexes!" Flux reasoned. 

"You failed."

Saparata splashed the water so hard Flux swore some of it even got caught in his fucking mouth. Yet, even when it did, he was so giddy about the whole situation that he could barely stand.

Saparata finally released him. They stood there, both breathing harder than they probably should have been, Flux's hair dripping water down his face and Saparata's clothes thoroughly soaked across the chest.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Saparata looked at him, Flux looked back, and suddenly Flux laughed again. Saparata's mouth twitched. "What now?”

Flux grinned, “You could’ve killed me by drowning me, but you didn’t.” 

Saparata gave him a flat stare at that, “You keep on berating me about bringing your impending death up, and yet you do it just as much as I do.” He huffed as he stood up and started walking back towards the shore. 

Flux followed him, still laughing. “I’m just saying, you’re going soft, Saps.” That was the first time Flux actually called Saparata by Saps only.

He did not notice the way Saps nearly stilled as he heard his name spoken so softly like that. For those few minutes, neither of them was a prince or an assassin. There was no Aculon Empire. no assassination, no bargain over a death that had not happened yet. They were simply two idiots running around an oasis in the middle of nowhere.

Flux then thought, perhaps because he had never had enough of this sort of thing to recognize it properly, that this was what true freedom was supposed to feel like.

—

Flux learned shortly afterward that the oasis was more than a place to rest.

Once they had dried off enough to avoid looking like they had fallen into the water—which, technically, they had—Saparata led him toward the collection of stalls surrounding the edge of the oasis. "We need supplies," he explained.

"More dried meat?"

"Food." Saps corrected him, Flux scoffed lightly, "I was hoping you'd say something more enthusiastic."

The assassin rolled his eyes fondly as he replied smoothly, “if you want more dried meat, then sure, why not.” He shrugged, then, he also added. "We could get fresh water, too."

“Hm.” Flux hummed as he approved of it nicely. "Acceptable." He said, then, right after that, "Oh,” Saps suddenly remembered something, “We should get more clothes, too."

Flux immediately looked interested. "Finally."

"Don't get excited." Saps berated him immediately. Flux groaned as he gestured to the poor excuse of clothes he had, "I have been wearing this shirt for days."

"So have I." Saps informed him plainly.  "Yes, but at least you look like you chose it." Saparata glanced down at his own clothes, he did not know what Flux meant by that. "They're practical."

"They're ugly."

"Practicality does not always have to be aesthetically pleasing to the eyes, princess.” Saps said without much thought as his eyes scanned through the scale. 

Flux grumbled a little complaint at that as his brows furrowed. "That's not an excuse."

"It is when you're trying not to be recognized." Flux sighed dramatically, Saps continued walking. "We need a few more things before we leave—Disguises, mostly, then some food.” Saparata paused before he added, “Ah, and medicine for your arm."

Flux's expression changed slightly. He glanced down, the wound wasn't as bad as it had been on the first day, but it still ached beneath the fabric. "I'll survive, though.” He admitted quite honestly. 

Saps didn’t budge as he said. "I know." Flux squinted his eyes at him, he wanted to prod him for further answers. "Then why do you care?"

Unfortunately, Saps didn't answer as he deliberately turned around and kept walking, Flux stared at his back for a moment, then he simply begrudgingly followed without another word. The market was small, but busy enough that Flux immediately understood why Saps had chosen the oasis.

Travelers passed through constantly. Merchants sold food, fabric, tools, maps, trinkets, weapons, and practically anything else someone might need after crossing the desert.

Nobody paid much attention to them, that was probably the whole point of their stop here. Still, Saps pulled his cloak over Flux's head before they entered the busiest part.

Flux stopped. "...What are you doing?"

"Covering your face." Saps hummed, Flux scoffed as he crossed his arms, he started to hate when Saps would answer his questions with the most obvious statements in the world. "I can see that."

"Then why are you asking?" Flux grabbed the edge of the cloak and looked down at himself, he was almost completely hidden beneath it. “I just doubt people would care about two passerbys when the market is so busy; this just makes us look even more suspicious.” He gestured towards what Saps was doing. 

Saps remained insistent about it though, in fact, he walked even closer to Flux, distance was practically non-existent between them now. “You can never be too sure.” He answered vaguely. 

Flux narrowed his eyes at him, "So your solution is by shielding me with your cloak?”

"Temporarily, yeah.” Saps nodded slowly. 

"You're aware people will see us together and assume—"

Flux couldn’t even finish his sentence as Saps cut him off rudely."They'll assume you're sick." He muttered, his golden eyes glanced to stare at Flux, who stared back with confusion written all over his face. "That's worse."

"Then stop complaining." Flux groaned, but he pulled the cloak tighter anyway. It smelled faintly like smoke, leather, and the clean, unfamiliar scent that had become distinctly Saps Saparata’s scent over the past few days.

Flux frowned, that was another thing he didn't want to think about right now. They stopped at the first clothing stall, which made the merchant in charge of the stall look at them up and down with a polite smile. "Greetings!” They greeted politely, “I presume you two are travelers?"

Saps nodded. "Looking for something?" the merchant asked heartily, Saps replied quickly, "Two sets of clothing, please, anything simple will do.” 

The merchant immediately began pulling fabrics from the stall. Ultimately, Flux became interested as he saw the array of fabrics the merchant started shifting through. He had spent his entire life around expensive clothing; he knew silk by touch, and he knew which dyes were difficult to produce, which embroidery techniques took months, which fabrics came from which regions, and which colors were associated with nobility.

The merchant brought out a dark purple tunic, with another pair that had white as its color instead, Saps touched it. "How much?"

The merchant named a price, each tunic is sold for one hundred emeralds only!”

 Flux nearly choked internally as he thought; ‘That's ridiculous.’ —He might’ve grown up in luxury, but even he knows when merchants were just scamming you for the love of the game. Saps glanced at him briefly before the merchant frowned at their lack of response. "Too expensive?"

Flux opened his mouth to speak, but he was swiftly cut off as Saps turned back toward the merchant. "What if I take both?"

The merchant gave him a number, “Ah, trying to grab a deal, I see.” They chuckled lightly, but even Flux could tell it was pretty hollow. “Alright then, you may take two for seventy emeralds only!” 

“Ah, I see.” Saps pretended to think about it, “Though, the stall on the far end offered the same tunics for forty emeralds per pair.” He countered smoothly. 

The merchant’s eyes widened at that as he laughed nervously. “Ah—Haha! Surely you jest?” They questioned brittly. 

Saparata smiled—it was the first time Flux had ever seen that expression on him, not the small, reluctant smile he'd worn at the oasis, nor the dry amusement he sometimes showed when Flux said something particularly ridiculous.

This was different, because as Saps kept talking smoothly, Flux could only think that the assassin looked strangely… Charming.

It was almost unsettling.

Saps’s posture changed subtly; his shoulders relaxed, his voice softened, he laughed at the merchant's jokes, complimented the quality of the fabric, pointed out flaws in other pieces without insulting the seller, and somehow made the entire conversation feel like two old friends discussing business rather than a buyer trying to reduce a price.

Flux watched in fascination. He had not realized that Saps could negotiate—no, actually, that wasn't quite right—he could persuade. Once again, there was something almost princely about it. He knew exactly when to flatter, when to push, when to retreat, when to smile.

Flux had spent his entire childhood watching nobles do this. He had watched diplomats charm his father, he had watched ministers flatter fellow ministers, and he had watched princes like him negotiate alliances over dinner. Yet somehow, Saps Saparata was doing it better than most of them.

Eventually, the merchant sighed. "Fine, thirty emeralds for both."

Saps named an even lower price, the merchant stared at him in absolute disbelief, Flux almost laughed at how quick the merchant’s charmed expression morphed into realization that he had fallen into Saps’s trap so quickly. 

The merchant groaned. "Fine." Saps smiled with the same charm as he handed the emeralds over. "Pleasure doing business."

Flux waited until they had walked several stalls away before speaking. "You were enjoying that."

“I really didn’t, honestly.” Saps snickered, “It’s hard to enjoy it when I’ve done that same trick multiple times to the point it’s starting to feel like a bore to me.” 

Flux hummed as he couldn’t find a rebuttal to that, instead, he thoughtlessly stated an observation he had been keeping to himself, primarily because of his stubborn dignity. “Y’know,” He started, "You looked like a prince, back out there."

Saps froze; this time, Flux genuinely walked into him because of his abrupt stop, he was about to complain, yet his words trailed off as he was met with the assassin’s startled expression. "A prince?"

"...Yes?” 

Saps stared at him for a long time before slowly saying, “What made you think that?” 

Flux blinked as he shrugged. "You were charming." He admitted plainly. 

"I was negotiating."

"You were charming while negotiating; those aren't mutually exclusive." Flux paused. "That's why it was impressive."

Saps’s expression shifted—only slightly, Flux wasn’t sure if he actually noticed it or just hallucinated it. Then, the assassin looked away. "Let’s try on your new clothes."

Flux wanted to say more, but Saps was already dragging him somewhere private enough to change.

When they did change, Flux emerged first. The new clothes were simple compared to anything he had worn in Aculon. Dark trousers, a fitted dark purple shirt, and a long outer layer with fur that sat comfortably against his shoulders, nothing was embroidered, and there was no gold or crest.

He looked at himself. For a second, he didn't recognize the person in the reflection, then Saps stepped out. When Flux turned to look, he promptly forgot what he had been thinking in the first place. 

Saps Saparata's disguise was almost unfair.

The clothes suited him so much Flux was kind of insulted by it; beige-like fabric against pale hair, a fitted coat that made him look less like a wandering assassin and more like some wealthy traveler who had simply decided not to explain himself.

Flux stared, Saparata raised an eyebrow. "What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing.” Flux looked away. "It’s just that—you're annoyingly good-looking." He whispered ever so quietly, he froze when he did, he definitely did not mean to say that verbally. 

Flux looked back to stare at Saps to see if he noticed, but all he was met with was the unreadable expression of the assassin. He cleared his throat as he took Saps’s silence as a cue that he did, indeed, not hear what Flux had said. 

He turned toward the mirror again. Honestly, in his very humble opinion, he looked good too. Even without the gold, without the ceremonial robes, without the Aculon crest sitting against his chest, and even though he looked less important, less recognizable, and overall ordinary, he still liked the look he had at the moment than he ever did with expensive white silk. 

Saps stood beside him shortly after. For a moment, their reflections looked strangely natural together: a traveler and another traveler, nothing more.

Flux swallowed. He didn't know why the sight made something in his chest tighten. Perhaps it was because he had spent his entire life being told exactly what he was, and now, standing beside an assassin in borrowed clothes, he looked like someone who could simply walk out of a market and disappear.

Saps glanced at him. "You look quite happy." He pointed out, Flux looked back. "So do you." Neither elaborated, they didn't need to, anyway.

After that, they bought the rest of what they needed: food, water, bandages, a few basic medicines, a new pair of boots for Flux after Saps finally admitted that his current ones were terrible for long-distance travel, and enough miscellaneous supplies to make the next stretch of their journey easier.

By the time they left the market, the sun was beginning to disappear, Flux had his own cloak now, and Saps still had his. Neither of them looked like they had just gone from Aculon anymore.

They returned to the edge of the oasis, Flux sat near the water, stretching his legs. Meanwhile, Saps unpacked their new supplies and began sorting them.

The silence between them had changed—it wasn't the dangerous silence from the palace, or the tense silence of two strangers measuring one another. It was something easier now, something that didn't demand to be filled.

Flux looked at Saps, a few thoughts slipped into his mind: he had questions, many of them. He had been collecting them for days—some were about the journey, little were about the assassination, and most were about Pandora.

But there was one that had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind ever since Saparata had first told him he had somewhere else to go.

Flux glanced at the assassin. "Saparata?" He called for him. 

"Hm?" The white-haired man hummed mindlessly, though, soon enough, his mind would screech to a halt at Flux’s following question. 

"Where are you from?"

—

For a while, Saps did not answer.

It wasn’t like Flux had not expected an immediate response, exactly. He had learned enough about his traveling companion by now to know that Saps treated questions as though they were objects that needed to be inspected before deciding whether they were worth picking up; sometimes he answered, sometimes he ignored them. Occasionally, which Flux was beginning to suspect was his least favorite option, he answered with something so unhelpful and rage-inducing that it somehow created three more questions for him to ask.

This time, however, the silence felt different.

The waters of the oasis moved gently behind them, catching the last of the afternoon light between the palms. Their little camp had already begun to look temporary, which was perhaps fitting. Everything they owned could be tied to a pack, and everything they had done since leaving Aculon had been measured in how quickly they could leave it behind.

Saps tightened the strap around one of the bags and stood. "Come with me."

Flux stared at him; there were, in Flux's opinion, several perfectly reasonable responses to being told this by the assassin who had promised to kill him at the end of their journey.

He chose the least dignified one. "Where?"

Saps glanced toward the western edge of the oasis. "Somewhere."

"That's not a place."

"It is today." 

Flux narrowed his eyes. There was something profoundly irritating about Saps's ability to say things as though they were self-evident truths. He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who spoke in carefully constructed sentences, every word polished until it meant precisely what they wanted it to mean. Saps, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable allowing words to remain coy and unfinished.

It was infuriating.

It was also, Flux had to admit, occasionally refreshing. "Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Saps looked at him. "No." The answer came too quickly, Flux's suspicion sharpened rather than disappeared. "You've said that before."

"And you're still alive."

Flux let out a single chuckle, "An incredibly compelling argument." He rolled his eyes. Saps didn’t answer as he turned away, already expecting Flux to follow him.

For a moment, Flux remained where he was, watching him walk toward the dunes. Then he sighed, pushed himself upright, and followed.

He told himself it was because he had agreed to trust Saps, which was technically true, but it was also true that he had absolutely no idea where he was going and that wandering into the desert alone seemed like an exceptionally poor way to exercise his newfound freedom.

So, he followed, as they left the oasis behind without another word.

—

The landscape changed gradually. The palms thinned, the ground becoming rougher beneath their feet. The usual dusts of sand gave way to patches of hard-packed and scattered sandstone. The farther they walked, the less often Saps glanced behind them.

That, more than anything, made Flux uneasy, after all, Saps had spent the entire journey watching their surroundings. 

He noticed tracks, movement, distant figures, and changes in the wind. He seemed to possess an irritating sixth sense for danger, which Flux had initially attributed to him being an assassin and had since decided was probably just an occupational hazard of having survived long enough to become a skilled one.

Now, though, he barely seemed to notice the world around him, as if his attention was somewhere else, then, as Flux observed further, he had noticed that the tension in Saps’s shoulders had changed.

It was subtle enough that Flux might not have noticed if he had not spent the past several days learning the shape of Saps without meaning to. Normally, Saps carried himself with a kind of contained readiness. Every movement seemed economical. Even resting, he looked like someone who expected to need his body at a moment's notice.

Now there was something heavier in the way he walked, as if he was walking into something closer to memory, but when Flux looked ahead, there was nothing there. At least, nothing that he could see.

The sun was lowering behind them, stretching their shadows across the earth. The air had begun to cool, and somewhere in the distance a cluster of shapes broke the otherwise endless horizon.

They were ruins.

Flux slowed.

The remains were scattered over a broad stretch of land, half-swallowed by sand and time. Broken walls rose from the land at uneven angles. There were collapsed buildings whose foundations remained stubbornly visible beneath the dust, sandstone streets disappearing and reappearing between dunes. A tower had fallen sideways, its upper half lying in fragments several yards away from the base.

There was no one here—no merchants, no soldiers, no travelers, nothing but the chilly wind.

Flux had seen ruins before. Aculon was old enough that history seemed to exist everywhere, sometimes preserved carefully behind palace walls and sometimes left to crumble beneath the weather.

The scenery in front of them felt different, though. Perhaps because it was Saps who had brought him here.

Flux looked at him, Saps had stopped walking. He stood several paces ahead, staring at the remains, his face had gone very still.

Flux had become familiar with Saps's expressions by accident; irritation was obvious, amusement was rarer but more recognizable now, usually appearing in the slight curve of his mouth before disappearing again, concentration tightened his eyes, and suspicion sharpened everything.

His expression right now was none of those things, Flux had never seen someone look so completely absent while standing directly in front of him. "Saps?"

No answer.

Flux followed his gaze toward the ruins. "You've been here before." It wasn't really a question, because he tended to have a habit of assuming his assumptions were right before they were even confirmed. 

Saps's fingers tightened once around the strap of his pack. "Yes." The word was quiet, something about the place had changed him so thoroughly that even Flux, who had spent most of his life learning how to talk his way through silence, did not know what to say next.

He looked more carefully; there were remnants of painted stone beneath the dust. Faded symbols, fragments of carved pillars, a broken fountain in what must once have been a central square.

And then Flux saw the crest.

He knew it—not well, or even personally, but he had seen it in books, in maps, in the margins of reports that had been passed between Aculon's ministers when he was young enough that he had only half understood why certain names made adults lower their voices.

That was the crest of the fallen kingdom of Theria.

The word surfaced slowly; he remembered being a child when news had arrived that the kingdom had fallen. He remembered the palace reacting to it with the strange detachment powerful people often had toward disasters that happened somewhere else.

Flux had been told very little, he had not asked much during then, as there had always been something else happening in Aculon—a potential war somewhere, a treaty somewhere else, another meeting, another lesson, another reminder that he was a prince and therefore ought to understand things that no one had bothered to explain to him.

He looked at Saps again. "Were you from Theria?”  Saps finally looked at him, there was no surprise in his expression, and Flux didn’t need a verbal response to notice the subtle hurt in the assassin’s eyes to know the answer to his question already. 

Flux's mouth went dry. 

He had heard stories about Theria's fall, he had never imagined that one day he would stand inside what remained of it beside the person who had lost it. "You were from here."

Saps looked toward the broken buildings again. "It used to be mine." The sentence was not dramatic, ghat was what made it hurt, Flux found himself looking around with a new perspective injected into his mind—Mine.

Not my home.

Not where I was born.

Mine.

A kingdom reduced to broken stone, and Saps standing in the middle of it as though some part of him was still trying to recognize the place. "...You were a prince." Flux stated plainly, he wanted to add: ‘The prince of Theria.’ to be more specific, but even he knew when not to rub more salt onto someone’s wound.

Saps gave a small and stiff nod. "Once."

Flux blinked, did not know why that word stayed with him, perhaps because he understood it all too well.

The title of prince had never felt like something Flux possessed. It was something other people possessed through him. A name attached to his clothes, his meals, his schedule, his future. A word that had followed him from room to room until he could no longer tell where it ended and he began.

Now, if you really think about it, Flux had once been a prince too, but at least in his situation, he was fortunate enough to be given the opportunity strip himself off of that title

Just from Saps’s expression, Saps was less fortunate in that aspect.

Flux looked across the ruins again, the next question seemed less certain than he wanted it to be. "What happened?"

Saps did not answer, he walked forward instead. Flux followed quietly.

They passed through what had once been a street. The remains of houses stood on either side, their walls broken open to the sky. In one doorway, a fragment of a golden tile remained untouched beneath layers of dust. 

Saps stopped beside it, he crouched, and his hand hovered over the tile without touching it. Flux watched, there was no reason for him to be so interested in a piece of broken ceramic, and yet Saps looked at it as though it were something precious. "You remember this?"

Saps's hand lowered. "I remember what was here."

"What was it?"

Saps looked at him. "A fountain."

"I gathered that." Flux did not mean for that to sound sarcastic, he quickly added another question as he gestured vaguely toward the ruined basin. "I mean, what was it to you?"

That single question was how the story came out.

It was not done in a neat sequence as if it were a confession. Flux had the distinct impression that Saps himself did not want to tell it and was only allowing the words to escape because the ruins had loosened something inside him that he could no longer quite hold shut.

His family had been here, his older sister who was the princess next in line to be a queen, and even his twin brother. They had been there before the fall, before everything became a matter of survival.

Saps spoke of his sister first—Jophiel, the name sounded strange in his mouth, not because he disliked saying it, but because he sounded younger when he did. There were names that belonged to the present and names that belonged to the person someone had been before the world had changed them. Jophiel seemed to belong to the latter.

"She used to stand between me and everyone else," Saps said eventually. He was looking toward one of the ruined houses. "Even when she knew she couldn't stop them."

Flux did not interrupt. "She thought if she stayed close enough, they would have to go through her first." His voice remained level, but his eyes had moved somewhere far beyond the ruins. "My brother was worse."

"Worse?"

"He followed me everywhere." There was the faintest shift at the corner of Saps's mouth, not quite a smile, but something that akin to remembering a smile. "He followed me everywhere. If Jophiel was trying to keep me alive, Micro was trying to make sure I never did anything stupid enough to require saving."

Flux could almost picture it—a younger Saps, walking onto these streets with two people always somewhere nearby; an older sister watching over him, and a twin refusing to let him out of sight.

It was strange to imagine, the man beside him had become so entirely self-contained that Flux had assumed he had always been that way, but apparently not, apparently, there had once been people around him who made being alone unnecessary.

"Did it work?"

"No, not particularly.” Saps allowed himself to let out a soft laugh. For a moment, he seemed almost peaceful, then the expression disappeared.

Flux understood, suddenly, that this was how Saps carried grief—not by talking about how much it hurt, or by saying he missed them. He remembered the annoying things, the foolish things, the ordinary things.

The pieces that made people feel alive rather than dead.

"What happened to them?"

Saps's expression closed. "I don't know."

Flux blinked, his quiet tone made him almost miss what he had just said, and the answer was so simple that it took a moment to understand. "You don't know?"

"No." The wind moved through the broken walls, Saps looked down. "I never found them."

That was all.

He did not say dead, he did not say alive, all his statement had was that there was no certainty to hide behind. Flux suddenly understood that this was worse than either.

Maybe that was why his voice remained so strangely steady. If he spoke about them as though they had simply gone somewhere, maybe some part of him could pretend that they still existed somewhere in the world.

After all, Death had an ending, but not knowing—or, with a much more familiar word, disappearing did not.

He thought of all the years he had spent assuming that the people in his own life would simply remain there because they had always been there. Palace walls had made the world seem permanent. Servants returned every morning. Guards changed shifts. Ministers came and went. Family members disappeared into rooms and eventually emerged again.

Aculon had taught him that nothing truly changed, perhaps that was why he had never learned how frightening change could be.

Saps stood among the ruins of his kingdom, and Flux could not think of a single clever thing to say, so he didn't. They walked until the remains of the city thinned into open ground.

Saps eventually sat on the edge of a collapsed wall, Flux hesitated before joining him. There was enough space between them that neither had to touch.

For a long while, they simply watched the sun descend. It was not comfortable, but it was not uncomfortable either, it was simply quiet. Eventually Flux asked, "Who found you?"

Saps's eyes remained on the horizon. "The person who hired me." There was something strange about the way he said it, Flux waited. "They found me after Theria fell."

"Your employer?"

"Yes." Saps rubbed his thumb slowly over the edge of his glove. "They gave me food. A place to sleep. Clothes. Training." He paused. "I had nothing." Flux listened. "So they gave me something to do."

There it was, the part that made Saps's voice change—barely, but enough. "And what they gave you to do were acts of assassination?” Flux filled in the blank spaces of his story. 

"Technically." Saps continued watching the horizon. "I owed them everything, after all." The words sounded rehearsed, as if they were repeated too many times.

Flux knew something about that; he had heard Aculon gave you everything often enough that the sentence had stopped sounding like praise years ago—elegant clothes, excellent education, protection, a title, a future, a life—everything.

…Except choice.

He looked at Saps. "Do you still owe them?" Saps's jaw tightened at that, Flux immediately regretted asking, assuming it had landed differently, were this the Flux who had just met Saps, he wouldn’t even care that the question pissed the assassin off, because he would’ve realized he could use it as leverage.

But now, Flux did care, because the man beside him was no longer the assassin from before, now, they were now the forgotten prince that resonated with Flux too much for his own liking. 

For several seconds, Saps said nothing. Then, very quietly, "I don't know." The admission seemed to cost him more than anything else he had said.

Flux looked away, he understood that feeling more than he wanted to. The idea of being owing was supposed to be simple—someone did a good deed to you, you owed them gratitude, they gave you a life you otherwise would not have had.

But what happened when the life they gave you became another thing you could not leave? What happened when survival came with a set of conditions? What happened when someone pulled you from one ruin only to decide what you would become afterward?

Flux had spent years being told that he was fortunate,pPerhaps that was why he suddenly understood Saps's silence, even though their lives weren’t the same in the slightest.

Saps had lost a kingdom, and Flux had never been allowed to have one.

Saps had watched a home disappear and had been forced to leave it despite never dreaming to, and Flux had grown up inside one and spent years dreaming of escape.

The shapes were different, but the cage was not. "I think," Flux began slowly, "I know what it feels like."

Saps looked at him, Flux almost laughed at himself, he sounded dangerously close to the sort of person who gave speeches, he reconsidered to phrase it differently because of it. "Not this." He gestured to the ruins.

Saps's gaze remained on him. "I don't know what this feels like." It was perhaps the most honest thing Flux had said to him since they met. "But I know what it's like when someone gives you a life and expects you to be grateful without ever asking whether you wanted it."

Saps said nothing.

Flux looked down at his hands, that was the time he had realized that the admission made the ghost of his princely self no longer haunt him.

The rings were gone, the royal fabrics were gone, even the ridiculous clothes Saps had forced him into had begun to feel less ridiculous simply because they belonged to no one.

He wondered what Saps saw when he looked at him—A prince? A target? A burden? Or perhaps just another person who had been handed a life and discovered, far too late, that receiving it did not mean owning it.

"I used to think being a prince meant I was lucky," Flux said, his voice becoming quieter. "People kept telling me that."

He glanced toward Saps. "They don't tell you how much of your life belongs to everyone else."

Saps's expression shifted, only slightly, but Flux saw it. He did not press, instead, he leaned back against the broken stone and looked toward the sky.

There were stars beginning to appear. For some reason, that felt appropriate. After a while, Saps spoke again. "My sister used to tell me I complained too much."

Flux turned his head, the smallest trace of amusement had returned to Saps's voice. "She sounds intelligent." 

"She was, but I never would’ve admitted that in front of her.” Flux smiled, Saps looked down at the dust between his boots. "My brother agreed with her."

"Then he was clearly also an intelligent one."

"He usually was." The silence afterward was softer, Flux selfishly let himself imagine the people Saps had described.

Jophiel standing in front of him, his brother walking beside him, and a family that had once occupied these ruined streets, there were people who knew Saps before he became this—before the blade of a sword, before the cloak, before the carefully measured answers and the constant vigilance.

Flux wondered if Saps remembered himself that way too. Or whether the person who had survived the fall of Theria had become so different from the boy who lived here that even he could no longer find the resemblance.

He didn't ask, some questions were not meant to be answered simply because they could be asked, so instead, he had decided to share a part of his soul that even people of his empire and kingdom would never have the privilege of knowing. 

"Y’know, my brother used to do that too."

Saps looked at him. "You had a brother?” 

"I did." Flux smiled faintly. "Ender was older. He was supposed to be responsible, which meant everyone expected him to be responsible, which meant he spent most of his childhood looking as though he'd been personally offended by the existence of younger siblings."

Saps watched him, Flux found himself talking more easily than he expected. "Then there was Cynikka." He paused. "My twin." He had not intended to say her name, the words simply came.

"We were terrible together." 

Saps's mouth twitched. "How terrible?"

"Extremely." That earned him the smallest sound from Saps, a sound close enough to laughter that Flux decided not to embarrass him by acknowledging it.

Flux looked back toward the ruins. "I haven't seen either of them in years." He did not explain why, he didn't need to, the words had already carried enough. 

There had been so many things he had taken for granted in Aculon—the sound of his siblings' voices, the certainty that someone would be waiting somewhere, the knowledge that if he disappeared into one room, he could eventually walk into another and find someone familiar.

Even the people he had resented had been constants, it was strange how easily a person could mistake something being painful for something being permanent.

Saps did not ask, that was one of the things Flux was beginning to appreciate about him. He had a remarkable ability to leave a door open without standing in it, Flux breathed out slowly. "I don't know if they're alive."

Saps's gaze remained on him for a moment,  then he looked away.

"I get it." Three words, there was no pity, no false reassurance, just the simple recognition that Saps sees Flux. 

Flux had expected him to understand less, but for the first time since they had met, Flux looked at Saps and did not feel as though there was some great distance between them. 

Despite their circumstances being wildly different, and their lives had been shaped by different kingdoms, different losses, different people, underneath all of it was something uncomfortably familiar.

They had both been children surrounded by expectations they had never chosen.

They had both learned early that being loved and being controlled could sometimes look remarkably similar from the inside.

They had both lost people they could not replace.

And both had learned, in their own ways, how to survive without asking permission.

It was almost ironic.

Flux had spent the first few hours of knowing Saps way back then convinced that he was an unreasonably grim assassin with the personality of a locked door.

Saps had presumably spent those same hours looking at Flux and seeing an overindulged prince who complained about sand, clothing, food, walking, sleeping arrangements, weather, and practically every other indignity associated with leaving a palace.

Neither impression had been entirely wrong.

Don’t get it wrong, though—Flux was still slightly spoiled, Saps was still difficult, they both still complained, and they both still had the emotional communication skills of a brick wall.

And yet, somehow, beneath all the differences, they were beginning to look less like opposites, and more like two halves of one piece; like two people who had been taught to survive by becoming very good at being whatever the world demanded.

Flux had become charming because charm gave him room to maneuver, Saps had become controlled because control kept him alive.

Flux filled silence because silence had always meant someone else was deciding something for him, Saps accepted silence because there had been years when words had not changed anything.

Neither method was particularly healthy, but both had worked. That was perhaps the most unsettling thing about realizing they were alike.

Flux leaned back against the stone. "I thought you were going to be unbearable."

Saps looked at him. "You've been saying that since the first day."

"I've revised my opinion."

"That sounds dangerous." Saps quipped. 

"I now think you're only mostly unbearable." 

Saps considered this with grave seriousness. "I'll try to improve." Flux laughed, it was quiet, and the sound faded quickly into the ruins. Saps did not laugh with him, he simply looked toward the broken city again, expression settling back into that familiar calm.

Flux understood now that the calm did not mean emptiness, it meant endurance.

Saps had learned that if he treated terrible things as ordinary, they became easier to carry—not funny, not painless, just survivable, Flux understood that too.

They remained there until the light began to disappear, eventually, Saps stood. "We should go."

Flux rose beside him, he looked back once. Theria seemed different in the fading light—less like a ruined kingdom, and more like a place that had simply been waiting for someone to remember it correctly.

Saps turned away first, Flux followed. They walked out together, and neither of them said anything for a long while, there was no need, anyway.

They had started this journey as two people who had every reason to misunderstand each other: a prince who thought an assassin was trying to kill him, and an assassin who thought a prince was probably going to be an unbearable burden.

Those impressions had not exactly disappeared, Flux was still fairly certain Saps was going to kill him eventually, and Saps was still fairly certain Flux complained too much.

Although now, walking beside him through the darkening desert, Flux found himself wondering whether perhaps that was enough—not trust, and certainly not forgiveness, something smaller, and much more dangerous—understanding.

For the first time, Flux was beginning to suspect that when they finally reached Pandora, dying might not be the thing he was most afraid of anymore.

—

Pandora was everything like Flux had imagined.

Which was, admittedly, saying very little, because imagining when the palace became too small, he had imagined islands, when his father became unbearable, he had imagined ports where nobody cared about bloodlines, when ministers told him what his future would look like, he had imagined a place where a person could simply wake up one morning and decide to become someone else.

Pandora had become the name attached to all of that—Freedom, possibility, a place where no one knew him, and fortunately enough for him, his imagination was just right on the bullseye, except he did not take into account one, specific detail:  it was loud—painfully, gloriously loud.

The city they entered sprawled along the coast in a chaotic collection of buildings that seemed to have been constructed according to whatever architectural whim had possessed whoever happened to own the land before them. Stone houses crowded against painted wooden storefronts. Narrow streets twisted between markets and taverns, sometimes widening without warning into little plazas where merchants shouted over one another.

There were sailors, traders, travelers, people carrying weapons openly, people carrying weapons less openly, and people who looked like they had not obeyed a single law in their entire lives and people who probably wrote the laws themselves.

Nobody looked twice at Flux—that was the first thing he noticed. Flux stopped in the middle of the street, and a man nearly walked into him, muttered something rude, and continued without a second glance.

Flux watched him go. "Saps."

"What?"

"Nobodies are ignoring me."

Saps looked at him. "...Yes?” He replied, unsure how he was even supposed to answer a statement like that. 

Flux turned slowly, a woman passed them carrying a basket of fruit. Two children ran between them. A merchant argued loudly with someone over the price of cloth.

Nobody cared.

Nobody knew.

Nobody even seemed particularly interested in the fact that a former prince of Aculon was standing three feet away from them.

Flux smiled—it started small, then it grew. Saps noticed, but he did not say anything. Perhaps he understood that some moments were better left alone.

They found somewhere to stay that evening. It was not a palace, obviously, Flux considered this a major improvement. It was a tiny room above a merchant's shop, with a crooked window, a bed that was slightly too short, a table with one uneven leg, and walls thin enough that Flux could hear someone arguing downstairs about fish well past midnight.

He loved it immediately, Saps did not understand. "You like this?"

Flux looked around the room. "There are no guards."

Saps shrugged. "No servants."

Another shrug. "No one knows who I am."

Saps glanced at him. "That's the point."

"I know." Flux smiled. “That's why I like it." The room was small enough that they could hear each other breathe, there was no grand staircase, no embroidered curtains, no family crest, no portraits of dead Aculons watching from the walls, no one waiting outside to tell him where he was supposed to be.

It was hideous, but it was perfect.

—

The next morning, Flux found a barber. Saps had tried to convince him that cutting his hair was unnecessary, but Flux had informed him that Saps had no understanding of presentation.

Saps had responded that they were hiding from an empire, Flux had responded that there were limits to how badly a man should be expected to look while doing so, and an even funnier retort: “My hair must at least look good when you come to the point of needing to kill me in this damn heaven.” 

The argument had lasted longer than it should have, but that retort made Saps shut up immediately. When Flux stepped outside afterward, several inches of his hair were gone, he kept touching it—it felt strange, but also lighter.

His face looked different without the familiar framing of his hair, and for a moment he barely recognized the person reflected in the window of a nearby shop, he looked younger—not like a prince, just like a man.

 “Y’know,” Flux suddenly started, he looked towards Saps, who was strangely looking at Flux like he was having some sort of revelations with himself, but Flux was too happy to even point it out. “I was considering telling the barber to dye a streak of my hair white.” 

That comment snapped Saps out of his thoughts, “Why?” He asked, Flux merely shrugged in response. “I don’t know, I think I'd look good with one.” He hummed, raising his hand to touch a few strands of his hair. “Don’t you think?” 

He did not notice how Saps visibly gulped as he answered, “I think you look…” He trailed off slightly, “...Fine as is, plus, you already have a few purple streaks right now.” He added as he glanced at Flux’s natural purple highlights, he even almost raised his hand to touch it before realizing how odd that would be. 

Flux blinked as he thought about it for a moment, and for once, he actually found himself agreeing with Saps, so he put the idea off the table for now. 

Other than that, they bought new clothes, too—not disguises this time, actual clothes—a shirt that fit properly, trousers that did not look like they had been stolen from someone twice his size, boots that were worn but comfortable, and a coat without embroidery, jewels, or anything remotely resembling Aculon royalty.

Flux stood in front of the mirror for a long time, Saps was sitting near the door, cleaning his sword. "What?"

Flux looked at him through the reflection. "Nothing."

"You've been staring at yourself for five minutes."

"I've never seen myself look this ordinary."

Saps looked up. "Is that a problem?"

Flux considered it. "No." He smiled. “I think I like it."

Saps returned to his sword. "Good." That was all, but Flux kept smiling. 

—

The first time someone asked Flux his name in Pandora, he almost gave them the truth.

It was such a small thing that the impulse surprised him.

They had been standing in front of a merchant's stall, arguing over the price of a pair of trousers Flux had already decided he wanted. The merchant was old enough to have stopped being impressed by beautiful people and wealthy clothes, which meant he was proving remarkably difficult to negotiate with. Flux had discovered that Pandora's merchants did not care that he was a prince. More importantly, they did not know he was one.

The realization still felt strange, the merchant looked between them, then at the coins Saps had placed on the counter. "And you?" he asked Flux. "What's your name?"

Flux hesitated, not because he had forgotten, but because, for the first time in his life, the answer was actually his to choose.

He could have picked anything—there was no courtier waiting to correct him, no servant listening for the proper title, and no father nearby to remind him that his name belonged to a family before it belonged to him.

He glanced at Saps, he was watching him with the patient suspicion of someone who already expected this to become troublesome.

Flux smiled. "Oskar."

Saps's expression changed by approximately half a degree, the merchant accepted it without question. "Right. Oskar."

Flux nodded. "Yes." They paid for the trousers and moved away from the stall before Saps finally spoke.

"Oskar?" Saps suddenly said the name and it made Flux look at him with an immediate scowl forming his face. "What?"

"You chose Oskar."

"I did."

"Of all names."

Flux stared at him for a moment, then looked down at the trousers tucked beneath his arm as though they might somehow offer an explanation. "I like it."

Saps's mouth twitched. "It sounds ridiculous."

"Excuse me?" Flux stopped walking."You have absolutely no authority to criticize my name."

"I wasn't criticizing it."

"You said it sounds ridiculous” Flux deadpanned, “That's criticism." Flux narrowed his eyes. "You are simply jealous because I came up with something memorable." He added. 

"I think you came up with something stupid." Saps fired back easily, a lithe smile forming on his mouth. 

"Well, fortunately, no one in Pandora knows that."

Saps continued walking. "They know now." Flux followed him, offended. "I chose it because it sounds ordinary."

"It sounds like a man who sells onions."

"That's oddly specific."

"You chose the name."

"You are being unnecessarily cruel."

Saps glanced sideways at him, his judging stare made Flux draw himself up with as much dignity as a man wearing borrowed clothes and carrying a bundle of trousers could manage. "I could have chosen something worse." He reasoned. 

"You could have, indeed.” Saps nodded solemnly, which earned him the faintest hint of a smile.

Flux hated that smile, mostly because he was beginning to like seeing it.

Then, with the best comical timing the world could ever rehearse, the universe decided Saps had been enjoying himself too much.

When they went to the next stall to buy dried fruit from another merchant, a man suddenly looked at Saps, his eyes narrowed. "Wait."

Saps went still, Flux noticed immediately. The merchant leaned forward. "I know you." Saps's hand moved, almost imperceptibly, toward the inside of his coat, Flux's amusement disappeared, immediately assuming the worst. 

The merchant stared at him for another second. "Silas?"

Saps closed his eyes very briefly. Flux looked at the merchant, then at Saps, then back at the merchant. "...Silas?" Flux dared to repeat the name. 

The merchant smiled in recognition. "Yes. Silas. He was a good customer of mine a few years ago."

Saps looked like he wanted the earth to open beneath his feet; Flux, unfortunately, was delighted, he snapped his head towards Saps he swore he heard it crack. "You've been using Silas?"

Saps gave him a warning look. "Don't."

"No, no. I need to understand this." The merchant was watching them with growing confusion, Saps rubbed a hand over his face as he immediately muttered an apology and a nice ‘it was nice seeing you again’ to the merchant before hurriedly dragging Flux before both of their identities were exposed. 

After they strayed far away from the crowd, Saps sighed deeply. "It was a name." He defended himself. 

Flux's grin widened. "You told me Oskar was stupid."

"It is."

"Silas is worse."

"It isn't." Saps immediately disagreed as he folded his arms. 

"It absolutely is." Flux had to hold his stomach to prevent himself to prevent a tremendous laugh from breaking out of his mouth. Saps stared at him. "You chose Oskar."

"You used Silas." Flux retorted back. 

"It worked well.”

"So did Oskar."

"It did not." Saps huffed with utmost annoyance, he was already walking again to god knows where, but Flux suddenly perked up. "Wait," Flux said, following him. "I have questions."

"No."

"How long were you Silas?"

"No."

"Did you choose it?"

"No."

"Who chose it?"

"Flux." Flux laughed again, unable to help himself. For perhaps the first time since they had left Aculon, Saps looked genuinely embarrassed. It was a deeply satisfying sight, and, unfortunately, it made Flux like him even more.

—

Everything was becoming easy—not life, though life was still complicated.

There were still moments when Flux woke up expecting palace walls and found a cheap ceiling instead. There were still times when a loud noise made him instinctively look for guards. There were still mornings when he reached for clothes that were no longer there.

But, he was happy—genuinely happy, not the polished happiness expected of a prince, or the pleasant smile he had learned to wear during ceremonies, or even the carefully measured expression that meant ‘yes, Father, I am listening’—just happy.

He wandered markets without permission, he bought food because he liked it rather than because it had been selected for him, he stayed up too late, he slept when he wanted, he complained about the weather and then went outside anyway, he learned which streets sold the best pastries, and he learned which tavern had the loudest music.

He learned the names of constellations from a sailor who had spent twenty years navigating by them, and then spent an entire evening explaining them to Saps with far more confidence than was warranted by the fact that he had only learned them that afternoon.

Saps listened alongside him, sometimes he pretended not to, but sometimes, Flux caught him looking up. Those were the moments Flux treasured most because nobody was watching, and telling him how to behave.

Nobody cared.

Somewhere along the way, Saps stopped walking several paces ahead of him, he began walking beside him.

It was such a small change that Flux almost missed it, then there was the cloak again. Flux had developed a habit of stealing it, not because he needed it, mostly because Saps always looked mildly offended when he did.

The first time, Flux had taken it because he was cold, the second time, because it was comfortable, the third time, because Saps had been irritating him. After that, neither of them bothered pretending there was a reason.

Saps would take it off, Flux would take it, the former would stare at him and he would smile. Eventually Saps simply started leaving it where Flux could reach it.

That was when the problem became impossible to ignore.

Saps had been watching him in a much more different way now, not in the way he had watched him in Aculon, where he was a target, or as something that needed to be guarded until it could be delivered somewhere.

Instead, he watched Flux laugh, he watched him argue with merchants, he watched him fall asleep over books, he watched him complain when the bread was stale, he watched him sit on the roof of their little residence and name constellations badly, he watched him become someone who had never existed inside Aculon, and somewhere during those days, the order changed shape in his mind.

At first, it had been simple: Kill the prince, then it had become more complicated before Saps could comprehend the order given to him before—Deliver the prince's heart.

Now there was only Flux; the man who complained about the food, the man who couldn't sleep during sandstorms, the man who kept stealing his cloak, the man who knew all the constellations, the man who laughed at his terrible jokes even when they weren't jokes, the man who had looked at a ruined kingdom and understood something Saps had never been able to explain.

The man who had trusted him enough to walk beside him anyway.

Saps stopped thinking about the order around this point, That was the part that frightened him. He had spent years understanding exactly what he owed, he knew what he had been given, he knew what had been asked of him, and he knew what would happen if he failed.

Money had never been the important part—The order was. The debt was. The promise was. But now, whenever he imagined fulfilling it, he did not see a prince. He saw Flux sitting on a market wall with powdered sugar on his sleeve, he saw Flux asleep beside a dying fire, and he saw Flux laughing so hard at something stupid that he had to lean against him to stay upright.

He saw Flux looking at the stars, and Saps discovered something he had never expected to discover: He didn't want the money anymore, he didn't want the debt cleared, he didn't want the promise fulfilled, and, the most important one of all, he didn't want Fluixon Aculon, the youngest prince of the Aculon empire, to be dead.

The realization came quietly, it was like a simple, horrifying understanding that if someone asked him to do it now, he would refuse. That should have frightened Saps more than it did, instead, it felt like relief.

Until the knock came.

It was late, Flux was asleep, but Saps was awake as he always was, he was laying beside Flux thoughtlessly when he had heard it. The knock came again before he could even get up; three, deliberately measured knocks.

Saps's hand went to his sword instinctively, but his movement caused Flux to shift as he stirred. "What is it?" He mumbled sleepily. 

"Stay here." Saps said it in the gentlest tone possible, yet that honestly woke Flux up more as he suddenly felt his concern rise. "Saps?"

Saps was already at the door, he did not open it just yet as a voice came from the other side. "Saps Saparata, open the door." He went completely still.

Saps knew that voice—not personally, but he knew the kind of voice. An order disguised as a request. He looked toward Flux, and the prince was no longer smiling.

The room seemed suddenly much smaller, Saps moved away from the door so quickly Flux almost let out a surprised yelp. "Get up."

Flux did, but he suddenly felt a strange sense of fear as he asked, "What happened?" Saps did not answer immediately, there were footsteps outside now—more than one person, too many.

Flux’s mind moved quickly as he had realized their predicament: Someone had found them.

That was impossible—or rather, it should have been. The fake death had worked, Aculon had believed the palace evidence. At least, they had believed enough of it for him to get Flux out.

Unless, someone had not; unless someone had noticed the missing body, and had realized that a prince who had supposedly been murdered in his chambers had never been found felt a little too off. 

Flux closed his eyes for half a second—someone had found them, not because Saps had betrayed anyone, but because the order had changed.

Someone wanted certainty, and there was only one way to provide it.

The door splintered, Flux flinched, Saps moved in front of him instinctively. There were people outside, more than they could fight openly. "We need to leave." Saps ordered as he already had the packed essentials they needed. 

Flux stared at him. "Through where?"

"The window." He huffed out, he quickly opened the window from the back, and just like that, they ran.

The next few minutes blurred into noise—shouting, footsteps, steel.Saps kept Flux behind him whenever he could once there were actual assassins that caught up to them, striking only when necessary, never wasting movement. 

Unfortunately, there were too many. They were being herded, and the problem was Saps realized something too late; they were not trying to kill them immediately, they were trying to separate them.

One of the attackers came from the side. Saps turned, he blocked the first strike, but the second caught him—not deep, but enough that it made Saps stagger a little. 

Flux saw the blood, something inside him went cold. "Saps."

"Run.” Saps didn’t even look at him as he ordered that, it made Flux furious despite their situation at the moment. "No." He huffed stubbornly. 

Saps looked at him. "Flux." The use of his name stopped him, Saps's expression was hard. "Go."

Flux looked past him, then at the street, then at the attackers. He had spent his entire life being told that his greatest value was what his existence represented—his blood, his title, and his position. He had been trained in diplomacy because he was useful, he had been taught politics because he was useful, and he had been forced to learn how people lied because he was useful.

For the first time, all of it became useful for someone he actually cared about. Flux stepped backward, then he smiled. Saps knew that smile. It was the same one Flux wore when he was about to do something deeply questionable. "What are you doing?"

"Saving us."

"You don't know how."

"I've been trained by some of the most manipulative people in Aculon." Flux looked toward the approaching men. "How difficult could it be?"

It did, in fact, turn out to be extremely difficult, Flux’s plan of action was simple: Act innocently at first as he tries to grasp what the assassins want from him, then try to negotiate his way out by circling them all around to the point they got too confused with his words and scurry away.

Unfortunately, they were very… hard-headed in a sense that they were too dumb to even register the eloquent words Flux was using.

The thing that must’ve shocked them the most was that they thought they would find a frightened fugitive when they were searching for Flux, what they did not realize was he had spent his entire life learning how to make powerful people believe exactly what he wanted them to believe.

With that, he lied, he redirected, and he created just enough uncertainty between the men to make them hesitate. He told one that another had already found them, he convinced another that the employer wanted Flux alive, although this one was particularly harder to do.

“The boss specifically wanted your heart.” They spat out with venom, “How could they possibly want you alive.”

Flux blinked, before he raised both of his hands up in defense, “They wanted my heart, yes” He started, “But could you imagine the rage you will instill upon them when you give it to me all battered up and bruised? It’s much more plausible if you brought me alive so they could personally dissect and take my heart themselves.” He said it with a scary kind of calm. It was like he was explaining basic things to a toddler, in fact, he even included that killing him would be an ‘outrage’ to anyone who had sent them because he was just… that important. 

Once everyone seemed convinced enough, Flux grabbed Saps when they weren’t looking and hurriedly ran away, he once again did not notice how Saps looked at him as if seeing Flux manipulate people so effortlessly made him look like a saint instead of some sort of wicked force.

By the time they realized none of it was true, Flux and Saps were already gone, they ran until the city disappeared behind them. Only when they reached the outskirts did Saps finally collapse against a wall.

Flux caught him. "Saps." He said his name with frightening concern; it almost sounded foreign to his voice.

"I'm fine." Saps reassured him, but the cough he let out after wasn’t exactly all that reassuring. 

"You're bleeding."

"I noticed."

"You're very calm about that." Flux looked at him. Saps gave him a tired glance. "Would you prefer I started thrashing this place like a mad man, making myself bleed more?” 

Flux almost laughed, Instead, he helped him sit. There was blood on Saps's side, not enough to frighten Flux (that’s false, but don't tell him I told you that) but enough to matter. He tore a strip from his own shirt, Saps looked at him. "What are you doing?"

“Trying to help you survive.” Flux pressed the cloth against the wound, Saps winced, Flux froze slightly as he looked up. "Did that hurt?"

"No."

"You literally just flinched."

"I was reacting to the weather, the night’s cold today.”  Flux stared at him, Saps looked away. For the first time, Flux understood what it meant to be the one taking care of someone else.

He had been so utterly useless for so much of this journey; Saps had found water, shelter, and he had even fought for him. He had watched the roads, and carried the things Flux could not.

Now Saps was injured, and Flux thankfully knew what to do, because that was one thing Aculon had given him that he could not entirely resent. He had been taught how to tend wounds, not because anyone expected him to need the skill, but because princes were supposed to know everything.

Apparently, that ridiculous education had finally found a purpose. Flux cleaned the wound carefully, Saps watched him, and neither spoke for a while. Then Flux asked quietly, "Why did you agree?"

Saps's eyes lowered. "To what?"

Flux tied the bandage. "To take me to Pandora."

Saps did not answer, making the silence stretch. Flux looked at him. For once, he did not fill it, he simply waited. Saps stared into the darkness beyond the ruined wall, jaw tight, hands resting loosely over his knees.

There were a dozen answers he could have given: The money. The mission. The escape. The plan. The debt. The promise—any of them would have been true.

But one detail that made Saps not answer any of those was that, at the moment, none of them were the answer he believed in anymore.

Finally, Saps looked at Flux, and with a devastating realization, he had absolutely nothing prepared to say, because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

“I…” Saps’s mouth was agape for a long while as he tried to find the right words. “I—I mean, you gave a pretty compelling reason for me to.” He shrugged helplessly.

Flux stared at him for a short moment before replying, “Ah,” He hummed as he continued to aid Saps, “Was it when I told you I’ll allow you to kill me?” 

Saps blinked, “Well, no—”

“Actually, that's another thing.” Flux enthusiastically cut him off, Saps could not even bring himself to be offended at the moment. “Y’know, I have to give it to you, you’re kinder than I expected when you let me experience the joy of Pandora before my inevitable death.”

“Flux—” Saps tried to speak, but it went in vain.

“I’ll surely miss it, but I think I owe my heart to you now that my end of the bargain is fulfilled, no?” Flux hummed thoughtfully. 

“Can you please—” Saps flinched when Flux leaned closer to him with a reverence in his eyes that should never be seen in a scenario like this, “I’ll feel better if it’s you who gives my heart to your employer, you’re the only one I trust to do so.” 

Saps shook his head as he groaned, “Can you please let me speak?”

Flux blinked. Then, very slowly, he lowered the cloth in his hands. “Oh.”

Saps looked at him with the same annoyance he had back at the desert and when they were yet to be close. Flux smiled as he remembered it—it was a small smile this time, less teasing and less of the deliberate amusement he used whenever he wanted to make someone uncomfortable enough that they forgot what they had originally intended to say.

“Go ahead.”

Saps stared at him for another second, as if he had finally been given permission to say something he had been trying to form for several minutes and had somehow already forgotten every word.

The night around them was quiet, it was almost strange. They had spent weeks running from death, now death was sitting quietly between them, waiting for someone to acknowledge it.

Saps looked down at the bandage Flux had tied around his side. “I was going to kill you.”

Flux almost wanted to snicker at his choice of wording, there was no dramatic pause after it, and no attempt to soften the words, but what was Flux expecting anyway? Saps had always been terrible at softening things. “I know.”

“No.” Saps shook his head. “I don't think you do.”

Flux said nothing, Saps drew a slow breath. “When I found you in Aculon, you were the target.” He started officially. “That's all you were supposed to be. I was given an order—‘Kill Fluixon Aculon, and make sure the prince doesn't survive the wedding.”

Saps’s fingers tightened slightly over his knee. “I agreed.” His gaze lowered.  “I wasn't pretending when I told you I'd kill you in Pandora.”

Flux shifted involuntarily—that one hurt, he didn’t know why it did, but he didn't let it show immediately. He had known, hadn't he? They had made the bargain together.

He had understood exactly what Saps had meant every time he reminded him that his life had an expiration date. He had even joked about it, because joking had always been easier than admitting how much the thought slightly unnerved him.

Still, hearing it said plainly was different. “I believe you,” Flux said quietly. “It’s why I reminded you about it, didn’t I?” He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the bloodied cloth. “It’s only fair I give you my heart so you can fulfill and complete your mission.” 

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to, though,” Flux looked up with slight surprise, Saps's expression had not changed. “Because I… I changed my mind.”

There was something almost unbearably simple about the way he said it.

“I don't know when,” Saps continued. “I don't know if it was when I saw you for the first time and I couldn’t comprehend your beauty to the point I hesitated—”

Flux’s eyes widened like saucers as his mouth fell agape at that sudden information being dropped so casually, “You thought I was beautiful the moment you saw me?” He said with utter awe, Saps's hesitation before made so much more sense now.

Unfortunately, Saps’s only narrowed his eyes at him as he continued, although his ears were tinted with a faint shade of pink now. “I don’t know if it was when you showed me the palace passages, or when you laughed at me in the desert, or when you started stealing my cloak.” He sighed.

Flux's mouth twitched. “I knew that cloak was going to be important.” He commented offhandedly. 

“Don't even start.”

“I'm only saying—”

“Flux.” He stopped, Saps looked away again. “I don't know when you stopped being the prince I was supposed to kill.”

Flux swallowed. “And now?”

Saps looked at him. “Now I can't.”

The words settled between them. “I just know that eventually, when I thought about killing you, I couldn't picture it anymore.”

For once, Flux didn't have a joke. He had spent so long imagining what freedom would feel like; he had imagined running from the palace, seeing the sea, and eating food nobody had chosen for him and sleeping in rooms nobody had assigned him and waking without someone standing outside his door.

He had imagined Pandora so many times that he had built an entire life inside his head before ever seeing it, but in all those imaginations, he had never imagined this: Someone choosing him.

Not his title, not his blood, not what his death would mean, but just as him—as Flux. 

Flux looked down at his hands. “So,” he murmured, “what happens now?” Saps did not answer, his silence when he couldn’t answer was becoming familiar. He glanced at him. “You really do hate answering questions.”

Saps chuckled lightly, “Sorry, I really don't know.” It was perhaps the most honest answer Saps had ever given him.

Flux smiled faintly. “That's unfortunate.”

“I know.”

They sat together for a while, the wind moved through the soft ground. Somewhere in the distance, something called to something else in the dark.

Flux looked toward the landscape of Pandora. The central city they went in was still there, he could see a few distant lights between the buildings, tiny and warm against the darkness.

They could go back—the thought came suddenly, not to Aculon, necessarily, but they could go back find another city—which when Flux thought about it, he had once heard about a city called Luminara that was hailed as the quietest city in Pandora, perhaps they could find another room there, and simply disappear once more.

Overall, they could stay in Pandora. Except—Flux looked at his hands again. The problem was that staying in Pandora did not erase what had happened.

As much as he hated it, he was still Fluixon Aculon. Somewhere beyond the horizon, his father still ruled, the empire still existed, the palace still stood, the wedding that had never happened would still be discussed.

There would be questions, rumors, people looking for answers. And if they ever found him—Flux closed his eyes. He had spent his entire life dreaming about what he would do if he escaped.

Now that he had escaped, he had discovered something profoundly inconvenient; Escape was not the same thing as knowing where to go.

“You could go back.” Saps said it so quietly that Flux almost thought he had imagined it. He looked over, and the prince of Theria was watching the city. “Back where?”

“Aculon.” Flux laughed once, it wasn't particularly amused. “That's a terrible suggestion.”

“You could reclaim your position.” He continued anyway. 

Flux stared at him. “My position.”

“You're still a prince.” Saps reasoned with him, “You could tell them that—that you’re not dead, and you just got taken away, you could say that you escaped from your captor, and they’d probably hail and celebrate your return—”

Flux looked at him with the most incredulous expression ever. “Saps.”

“What?”

“If I were to go back to Aculon,” Flux started very slowly, “They would probably put me in another wedding.”

Saps went silent, Flux smiled. “There it is.” Saps looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, Flux cleared his throat as he clarified,  “That expression.”

“What expression?”

“The one where you realize you've made a terrible argument.” Saps scoffed as he shoved him away, and then wincing as his wound stung slightly.  Flux laughed softly.

Then, the laughter faded, because the idea had not been entirely ridiculous. Because despite his utmost hatred for his empire, he could go back.

He could walk into the palace with his head held high and watch every person who had mourned him realize that he had survived, he could reclaim the title that had been taken from him by a lie he organized, he could force his father to acknowledge him, and he could use everything he had learned, everything he had been taught, everything he had hated about his upbringing, and turn it against the people who had controlled him.

He could become a prince again. Perhaps he could even become a good one—the thought was almost tempting. because for the first time, the title didn't sound like a cage.

It sounded like power, and Flux understood power. He knew how to use it; he knew how to smile at the right person and say the right thing and make a room full of powerful men believe that an idea had been theirs all along.

He could expose Bastion of Peace, the people who had ordered his assassination, and expose Saps's employer; the idea of exposing Saps’s employer thrilled Flux much more than he liked, maybe because it held the possibility of freeing Saps from the chains of what he felt like he needed to comply with. 

He could force answers, make people pay, and start a war if he wanted to. That last thought made him go still—a war, gor him, because he, a noble prince who had disappeared, would officially be confirmed to be alive, and everyone would want to know who had done it.

Flux had spent his entire life being told that his existence mattered. He had never been asked whether he wanted it to.

“I could go back,” he said. “I could reclaim everything, I could expose your employer.” Saps's jaw tightened at that, but Flux didn’t notice. “I could make Aculon hunt them, and by doing so, I could start a war.”

Saps didn't deny it, the silence that followed was different, weighing much more heavy than any of the silences they had experienced before.

Flux had once thought freedom meant being able to do whatever he wanted, now he understood that freedom was much crueler than that. Freedom meant having to decide what he wanted in the first place. He had spent years dreaming about escaping his father, but he had never considered what he would do after.

Flux looked at him. “What would happen to you, though?”

Saps's voice was quiet, he had not looked away from the city when he answered. “If Aculon starts a war,” he continued, “people like me will be sent first.”

Flux's chest tightened. “Would you go?”

“I don't know.”

“You'd be ordered to.” Flux pointed out, Saps nodded wordlessly in confirmation at that, it put him in an uneasy state. “And you'd obey?”

Saps took a long time to answer. “I don't know.”

There it was again, that uncertainty—the same uncertainty that had followed Saps through the ruins of Theria, the debt, the employer, the orders, and the life he had been given after losing everything. For the first time, Flux realized that Saps had been standing at the edge of his own freedom too.

He had simply never known what to do with it, Flux leaned back against the ruined wall. “You know,” he said, “we're remarkably bad at this.”

“At what?”

“At Being free.”

Saps considered that, then he laughed hollowly as he agreed, “Yes, we are.” Flux smiled, then he looked toward Pandora again. “I don't want to go back.” He finally concluded, but in all honesty, the thought of Flux meeting death was much more plausible for him than the thought of ever going back to the Aculon Empire.

Saps turned to him, Flux's expression had changed. “When I was younger, I used to imagine leaving the palace all the time. Sometimes I imagined coming back just to prove I could, and sometimes I imagined walking into the throne room and telling everyone that they had been wrong about me.”

He laughed softly. “I had entire speeches prepared.”

“I believe that.” Saps chuckled quietly. 

“Of course you do.” Flux rolled his eyes as he breathed in slowly. “But now that I can actually go back…” He stopped,his voice was quieter when he continued. “I don't want to.”

Saps watched him. “And that’s because?”

Flux thought about it deeply, because he could not simply say: ‘because of you.’—that wasn't enough, not for something this important.

 “I like being nobody.” His expression softened at that. “I like waking up and not knowing what I'm supposed to do.” He smiled. “I like choosing my own clothes.”

“You still dress badly.” Saps added, Flux ignored that. “I like buying food because I want it. I like walking wherever I want. I like being called Oskar.”

Saps's mouth twitched. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“It is a terrible name.”

Flux looked offended. “You've brought this up enough.”

“I'll bring it up forever.”

“You won't have the opportunity if you keep annoying me.” Saps gave him the faintest smile, Flux looked back toward Pandora. “I don't think I want to be a prince anymore.” The words felt strange, he had expected them to hurt, but they didn't, they felt like setting something down

“I think I want to be Flux.”

Saps stared at him. “Just Flux?”

“Just Flux.” Flux smiled. “No title, no obligations, and no empire.” Saps nodded slowly. “And if they come looking for you?”

Flux's expression turned thoughtful. “Then I'll lie.”

Saps raised an eyebrow. “You're very good at that.” For a moment, they both laughed, then Flux reached over. His fingers found Saps's hand, Saps looked down, Flux almost pulled away, not because he was embarrassed, but because suddenly the gesture felt far more significant than he had intended.

Saps turned his hand over and intertwined it with his, Flux’s hands lingered as he stared at both of their ring fingers and traitorously thought: ‘One day, I’ll put a ring on it.’ 

It was such a ridiculous thought to have for someone you’ve known for a short while, not to mention, someone who had initially intended to end your life.

But lately, Flux had realized that everything that has accumulated in his life had always been ridiculous, so surely, the thought of having a wedding he would actually want wasn’t one of the worst thoughts he could have, right?

So, for now, there would be no vows, no promises that they would spend the rest of their lives together, and no declarations about forever.

There will only be two people sitting in the ruins outside a city that did not know either of them, both exhausted, one injured, both hunted, and neither particularly certain about what tomorrow would look like.

But someday, Flux will make sure that he’ll fulfill those three aspects mentioned earlier—if Saps doesn’t beat him to it, that is. 

Saps didn't let go, and Flux didn't either. After a while, Saps spoke. “They wanted your heart.”

Flux looked at him, there was something almost unbearably calm in Saps's expression. “And?”

Saps's thumb moved once across the back of Flux's hand. “I think they can live without it.”

Flux found himself laughing before he could stop it, not because it was funny, but because it was simply the only sound that could possibly fit inside his chest at that moment. “You really are terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Romance.”

Saps frowned. “That wasn't romance.”

Flux smiled. “It was to me.” Saps groaned as he brought his hands up—which were still intertwined with Flux’s—near his face to hide his embarrassed expression, his cheeks were slightly red, but Flux decided, mercifully, not to mention it.

They stayed there until the sky began to lighten. When morning finally came, Pandora looked the same as it did before they had escaped its central city. The ships moved along the horizon, markets would open soon, and people would argue over prices.

Someone would probably overcharge Flux for fruit, someone would call him Oskar, someone might call Saps Silas, and whenever Flux thought about it, he had realized he was already looking forward to it.

They returned to the little room above the merchant's shop later that morning—nobody stopped them, nobody recognized them, and nobody knew that one of the men walking through the street was supposed to be dead.

Flux climbed the stairs, opened the crooked door, and stood inside the tiny room they had once thought was temporary.

The bed was still too short, the table still had one uneven leg, and the walls were still thin enough that someone downstairs was already shouting about fish.

Flux looked around, Saps stood behind him. “Y’know, I really don’t want to stay here.” Flux grumbled, his spoiled act slowly rising again, Saps crossed his arms in the familiar way he had whenever Flux started acting all pampered again. “Why not?” 

“The central city of Pandora just doesn’t fit my taste.” Flux shrugged. 

Saps tilted his head at that, “Really? have you not dreamt of this moment ever since?” 

Flux smiled, he stepped inside before he answered, “I did, but I also think a quieter place in Pandora would suit my dream with you more.” 

Saps followed, the little addition of ‘dream with you’ made something settle in the prince of Theria’s chest warmly. “Are you talking about Luminara?” He hummed as he closed the door behind them.

Flux perked up by that, “You know of it?” He asked curiously, Saps nodded slightly, “I have, but I have never been to it.” 

“Huh.” Flux rested his chin on his finger as he thought deeply, “That’s great, now we have a place we can explore together for the first time.” 

Saps chuckled at that, “You make it sound so easy, as if we are not both fugitives by this point.” Flux merely dismissed it, “We’ll live.” He concluded, and against all odds, Saps could not bring himself to argue or deny the sentiment. 

Somewhere very far away, Aculon continued believing that its youngest prince was dead. Perhaps someday, someone would uncover the truth. But for now, the empire had lost its prince, the palace had lost its heir, and the title had been buried with a body that had never existed.

To the rest of the world, Fluixon Aculon was gone, and the youngest prince of Aculon was still proclaimed as dead.

But to Saps Saparata, the fallen prince of Theria, the death of Fluixon Aculon led to the birth of Flux, and he would be the only one in this lifetime to ever have the privilege of witnessing it happen, while also having the knowledge of the truth. 

And as they prepared themselves for their future in Luminara together, they both concluded that they couldn’t possibly ask for anything else; no matter the possible challenges and consequences that would eventually bite them right back, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.