Chapter Text
Myopic days are filled with the scent of cloying amaltas, the harvests of bark and flower-fruit sap by the barrels spread across rooftops and warehouse fields to the point it permeated the air more sharply than any other scent on the breeze. Yuder remained perched at the ledge, legs idly kicking over the valley and the distant speck of houses of the closest town in the area, everything nestled between the snow-capped mountain ranges.
The wooden carving in his hands took on further shape, slowly etched by careful winds and the occasional application of fire to treat the material further. He used a knife for the finer details, and eventually, the bear figurine comes into view of the world itself. Crude. Amateur. Yet a new creation nonetheless.
Another quiet day, another quiet routine. Hours are tracked by the wood shavings and the call of migrant birds as the seasons shift.
Just as Yuder readies to return to the cabin, the world pulses wrong, and it takes a few moments to locate the source of the disturbance.
The town, the population of barely a thousand, becomes enveloped by a rift tear, the effects of the barrier enveloping the area in a red bubble; if left alone, it will turn opaque, and then black in a matter of hours before everything's consumed by the rift.
It's how monster nests are created in their world.
“Shit.”
And then he's flinging himself off the ledge, using the frigid winds to control his descent. Panicked screams echo as monsters pour out of the unstable rifts by the dozen. Yuder hopes he gets there fast enough, teeth grit.
~ * ~
“On your right!”
With barely a second to spare, a hastily erected barrier blocks the incoming swipe. Taloned paws scrape against the magical fortifications before the bear-like monster emits a shrill scream, rearing its head to ready another attack.
“Delta squadron, flank it. Remember the weak points.”
The communication channels crackle to life, and the units move to bring down the bigger threats. Yet, even as Kishiar relays succinct orders, his attention already shifts to the next priority. He brings up the digital map to track everyone's positions and vitals, keeping count of the monsters pouring through the rifts. Strategies develop and get discarded a dozen times over in a matter of seconds, everything calculated to bring about victory despite the odds.
“More spawns on the eastern side. Avians this time. Who's gonna tell R&D their prediction on this rift was off by an entire week?”
“Zip it, Hodge. At least we had an auxiliary group stationed here to monitor it.”
The operations team pauses their chatter to promptly relay the influx information as the greater rift develops further.
“Commander, stability's dropped down to 67%. Degrading faster than our troops can handle.”
His fingers twitch against the console. Kishiar is well aware of the fact. At this rate, they won't be able to hold the monster breach until reinforcements arrive. Another tap at the different screens as he guages the Arcane Legion’s progress of containing the outbreak. Regrettably, even the evacuation is taking longer as more rifts than expected ceaselessly appear throughout the town.
“Any signs of the gatekeeper?”
“Energy is coalescing in this sector, near the church, but it's too soon to tell,” Hodges responds, bringing up a visual of the various energy readings.
“Irving, take over relays. All units prioritize safety. Get everyone out of the rift's perimeter.”
“Commander, don't tell me—” Irving stutters, wide-eyed and growing paler as Kishiar rises, leaving the makeshift command center put together in one of the residents' homes. Gulping, the man does as ordered, expression stricken even as his voice holds steady to continue guiding the scattered units.
Everyone in the room pauses, their concern palpable as their beloved commander takes to the field.
“It's too risky! Commander, we'll take care of it.”
Kishiar looks over with a faint smile, appearing as confident as ever. “What kind of leader would I be if I sat behind somewhere while everyone risked their lives? Worry not, Wand. We will see through this mission.”
“Commander…”
And just like that, the Commander's reliable silhouette disappears amidst the monsters, assisting the legion in taking down the immediate threats. The goal: make it to the church and destroy the gatekeeper to stop the influx of rift tears.
Even as the Legion grows bolstered, flagging morale increasing against the dire odds, they try harder than ever to focus on what's in front of them, and not what will happen to their Commander if he exerts too much power again.
It's too soon…
But what can they do?
~ * ~
A powerful gale knocks back a cluster of small monsters, their type prone to swarming around their targets. Once far enough from the civilians, icicles rapidly form around their limbs before the scavenger monsters are frozen solid — and shattered into pieces in the next blink.
The ground shakes. One of the larger monsters that charged into the town square, reminiscent of a centaur but with two monster species fused into a hellish visage, crumples backward as a blazing pitchfork pierces its torso. The other nearby monsters get crushed by the violently shifting earth, pierced by sharp roots in quick succession.
Yuder forges onward, his footsteps swift enough to avoid leaving any trace of his movements. Besides a cursory sweep to check on their pulses, he doesn’t stop for any of the survivors that gape the methodical way he cuts through the monsters. Is he a monster, too? This rift outbreak is getting worse by the minute, but at least there's a simple solution to end it. By the time he arrives at the right location, guided by a hunter's instinct, there's already someone else challenging the gargantuan gatekeeper.
Six-armed and relentless in its assault, the demonic visage bears down on its current opponent while snarling; the fight makes a greater mess of the area as the biggest rift behind the monster seeps out a noxious green-black gas.
Miasma. Beyond the monsters pouring out, the area effect makes it nearly impossible for humans to regain any lost territory due to the poisonous air. Yuder tries to contain the worst of it by wrapping gusts around the rift, maintaining a barrier with one hand while observing the fight.
His physique undeniably powerful, the other manages to parry and evade the strikes in smooth succession, making it seem more like a dance instead of a struggle for survival. The gatekeeper looms several feet higher, its hulking size an advantage combined with its deceptively agile movements — an attribute Yuder addresses by modifying the terrain. The very mountains the town is nestled in groans in assent, raising platforms for the man to utilize as the ground turns muddy.
To his credit, the blonde man takes merely a few moments to adjust, glancing over with a sharp look before redoubling his efforts. Competence looks good on anyone, but Yuder could admit it looks particularly winsome as the man smiles, features sharpening as he jumps higher before diving down with a precise, powerful cleave of his sword.
A fight that takes at least a dozen awakeners working together is quickly resolved by two instead — and Yuder sighs in relief, releasing most of the energy he’s been channeling. The large monster's body begins to dissipate, limbs flaking into ash with the core damaged, and soon enough, what's left of it is only the anchoring orb that keeps the rifts open. Its smooth, almost gem-like surface glints red in the sun as the greater rift’s barrier slowly dissipates, the air around them knitting closed, whole, back to normal while smaller rift-tears return to nothingness.
Yuder recognizes it as one of the gatekeeper’s eyes, the glossy surface belying the sheer magnitude of power resonating from within. Making a faint gesture to move the red orb closer, the winds gently tossing it toward him, Yuder places it, the size of it no larger than an apple, into a small bag holstered to his thigh. He should take care of the remaining monsters instead of dawdling, and then later dispose of the orb before it causes more trouble.
“My sincerest thanks for your aid, stranger. I set out, uncertain on surviving this encounter, but it seems fate deigned to send over a miracle for even someone like me.”
He's a nice voice, too. A steady cadence that sounds reliable. Yuder looks at his expression for a few moments, responding with a faint nod to at least acknowledge the words. Adjusting his hood to shadow more of his face, unused to being studied so openly, he takes another glance at the stranger before turning, ready to leave the awkward atmosphere.
“Wait! Please, if I could only have a moment—”
A hand reaches out, grazing against Yuder’s elbow in an effort to stop him. The action causes both to freeze, the stranger’s sharp inhale sounding more painful than any injury sustained during the fight. Even that whisper-faint touch proves enough to establish a connection; however brief it might’ve lasted, mere seconds at the most, it will be impossible to deny, let alone ignore.
This man…
“You’re in toxicosis,” Yuder states, his turn to look closely.
Any normal esper should’ve been unconscious at the very least from the levels of toxins built up in the man’s body. The fact that he’s still steady on his feet is a feat, appearance barely winded with none of the usual symptoms to accompany such a horrible state. Black veins, pallid skin — and not to mention, the most dangerous one leading to a loss of control over one’s powers. Yet, the other remains lucid, though Yuder notes the tightening around his red eyes. Whether it’s from stress or wariness remains to be seen.
“To condense the matter, yes. It’s a complicated condition, to put it lightly. Your senses are keen to perceive it in such an acute manner. If I may… you’ve quite the unique circumstances yourself. It’s rare for a guide to be an awakener as well.”
Yuder narrows his gaze, already concluding where this topic will lead. In this world, someone will always try to use someone else. Isn’t that how the hierarchy of the most powerful guilds was established? Without power and the will to use that power, no one could amount to anything of worth in the eyes of the influential.
The man curls his hand closer to his chest, keeping a respectful distance now that Yuder’s attention remains root-bound for the moment. “Apologies. Although it was not my intention to suggest anything untoward, it seems my statement offended,” he says, perhaps reading his thoughts. “You’ve your right to privacy and your reasons for wishing to keep it that way. Simply, I would regret it very much if I didn’t at least offer introductions to my savior.”
“You were handling fine on your own.” Yuder wants to leave the conversation at that, insides itching at the sincerity at play. Too much attention. Too much of everything as his senses recall the vividness of their brief connection.
“You are far too generous and kind in that assessment, but I will take your compliment regardless. My name, worthless as it might seem, is Kishiar La Orr. May I please ask for yours?”
Before Yuder could respond, or at least run away properly, the red orb resonated at a violent tempo, sending out a wave of light. A second rift tear? Yanking it out of the satchel, it's only by a hindbrain instinct, all his muscles primed for survival, that he throws it away from them — every sense screaming at him about the imminent danger. Even then, having barely held it for a few heartbeats, the orb sears white-hot-painful against his hand as if he’s holding something molten.
Wordlessly, Kishiar rushes to his side, already summoning a barrier to protect them from the orb as it begins to break apart.
“It’s exploding. Brace yourself!”
Yuder looks at his troubled expression, the golden-tinged barrier, and—
Closes his eyes as the world lurches sideways.
And remakes itself.
Nothing but darkness. A ringing in his ears. Something drips wet across his face; the effort it takes to pry open his eyes is more monumental than moving entire mountains. Breathing ragged, Yuder tries to regain his bearings one by one despite his blurry vision, vertigo making his head feel leaden. The blast radius leveled the entire area around them in a perfect circle, reducing the church and the other nearby buildings to a ruined foundation with barely anything left standing.
Judging by the level of destruction, it should’ve been a larger range. He tastes the residue power on his tongue with each inhale, taking in everything. Damn. A moment’s carelessness could’ve killed him and the stranger.
Wait.
Yuder staggers upward, wiping the blood from his head wound while scanning his surroundings again. Where did Kishiar go? A single step, and he regains his balance before tripping face-first onto the ground. It's then he spots the humanoid lump right next to him. Terrible is an understatement for his state, and Yuder kneels, carefully rolling Kishiar onto his back to check his vitals. Faint. Fading. Even through his leather gloves, the state of the man's inner workings couldn’t be relayed any clearer as Yuder tries to categorize the extent of the damage with his basic medicinal knowledge. Between the critical levels of toxin build-up and the force of the explosion, the prognosis isn’t ideal. Kishiar’s heart echoes weak-weak-weak with each pulse, put under too much strain; a human’s body has its limits, even when blessed by powers beyond imagination.
Despite his aversion to contact and people in general, Yuder tears off his gloves with his teeth and places his hands on Kishiar’s chest after ripping open what’s left of his shirt. He barely notes the star-shaped burn on his right hand, exhale slow and steady; preparations done, the guiding begins with a slow trickle that quickly devolves into a deluge of the other’s excess power pouring into him now that it has a clear outlet. It's vicious, all teeth, a mindless force fit for nothing but to devour everything in its path, but Yuder guides it. He’s no choice but to do it and succeed . No need to add another life to his guilty conscience.
When was the last time Kishiar received any type of guiding? The amount of toxins in his body suggests it's been several years when it should be done every few months. Just how on earth was he functional? What insanity, truly, to put one’s body through such stress for apparently no reason.
Panting, Yuder continues to adjust the bramble-knot of the man’s energy. His eyes widen as he recognized two distinct powers grappling within Kishiar, and it takes careful nudging to untangle the distinct energy signatures into a less hazardous state. An awakener and an esper, too. Little wonder his physical form strains from the different powers trying to establish dominance over the other. Maybe that’s why he recognized the same in Yuder; nevertheless, he’s decided on the fact he never wants to talk to Kishiar again after this even as something in his heart echoes. It protests, almost, as his senses dive deeper into the connection, the natural bond that builds in such circumstances.
No one warned him it would feel so intense.
A quiet life. That’s all that Yuder wants. And this man’s presence spells the opposite for him in every way as Yuder finishes the guiding session.
No longer in a critical state, Kishiar will require some medical treatment before he’s on his feet again — and judging by the approaching individuals, their energies fraught with worry, they must be his companions. Good. Yuder won’t need to seek them out.
Sighing, finally taking in the exhaustion in his body, the various aches and the deep-set resonance in his own core that pulses like an inflamed wound, a sure sign that he overdid the guiding, Yuder reaches for his gloves. Set to leave and be done with this whole day.
Only to have a weak hand encircle his wrist.
“Wait…”
“Commander!”
The voices are too close, now. Yuder abandons the gloves, pulling his hand away with far more gentleness than required. Kishiar looks at him, those red eyes bright with an unknowable mixture of emotion. Wonderment. Desperation. An expression that begs him to stay.
Yuder turns his head away, summoning the winds to hasten his retreat while pretending he couldn’t hear anything.
It’s better this way. A quiet life requires a severance of the self.
He doesn’t look back, either, and disappears into the forest to lick his wounds. And to try and forget he ever met Kishiar La Orr.
~ * ~
It’s dark outside by the time he wakes up again. A sharp inhale and a slower exhale, the sensation of his body being hale and whole, and Kishiar continues staring at the ceiling, slowly sorting through everything that happened with a building sense of giddy. A measure of awe. Some part of him still thinks it's all too impossible to believe, and yet he cannot deny his own memories. The mysterious cloaked guide with eyes dark as a starless night… The pair of gloves are the only evidence of his existence, and he tilts his head to look at them lying innocently by his bedside.
“Commander, you’re awake!”
“Beck. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
At the news, the other two deputies enter the medical tent, followed by Nathan. Professional despite the tangible curiosity he feels from each, the deputies dutifully give out each of their reports. The list of casualties, injured, the extent of the damage, and the estimated arrival time of their reinforcements.
All in all, while they suffered losses, the situation is far better than expected.
“We thought you were dead… When I heard from Kanna you went to the greater rift by yourself, Commander…” Ever says, gripping her own bandaged arm.
“Ah. It seems a lucky star was watching over me.” Kishiar smiles, voice tinged with laughter.
Kanna’s expression fell further at that, her hands wringing every which way. “Is it true? The medical team said your readings have improved. Did you really receive guiding?” Nothing short of a miracle, they each exclaimed while staring at medical records and current vitals.
“I suppose it is. Nathan, have you had any luck with finding the other person that was there?”
“Nothing yet.”
Kishiar nods, too laden with thoughts to let the disappointment linger. It’s only a matter of time before he could track down that mysterious individual and learn of their name.
“Commander…” Even Ever appears shocked. The knowledge that Kishiar successfully underwent guiding without his body forcefuly rejecting it seems to be the second miracle of the day, perhaps even more remarkable than dealing with the greater rift with so few casualties.
“Ask the townspeople if they know anything about him. And relay to headquarters that we will be stationed here for the time being to offer aid.”
None question the obvious motivation for staying, and one by one, the deputies leave to execute the rest of his orders.
Nathan pours tea from a thermos, offering the perfectly steeped cup wordlessly.
“Do you believe my decision to be foolish as well?”
To stay instead of returning to the capital and the ongoing political games between the factions there, each vying for greater control.
“To know there is a compatible guide out there… I have no reason to dissuade you,” Nathan replies, taking in Kishiar’s appearance openly. As if he didn’t allow himself the chance prior until matters calmed down more. “The doctors said you wouldn’t need to undergo any injections for the foreseeable future at your current state.”
Kishiar drinks the tea, and not for the last time, marvels at how light his body feels; the chronic pain is gone like an afterthought. Channeling his power is barely burdensome now. Even breathing has become effortless, lungs no longer constricted, his circulation steady, steady. So this is what it’s like to have a healthy body — he’s forgotten the sensation. Once more, Kishiar thinks he's taken his youth for granted.
“Perhaps I’m merely feeling far too desperate to find them.” Isn’t it shameful? His smile turns rueful, and yet Kishiar wants, more than anything in existence, to speak with his savior. “I couldn’t even get their name. Ah. It’s maddening, Nathan,” he adds breathlessly, fingers pressed to his forehead and hair in disarray as his attention shifts to the window and the wilderness beyond the glass frame.
“Have patience.”
He huffs a tired laugh at that and finishes the rest of the tea.
Once Nathan takes his leave, left alone to brew in his own thoughts, Kishiar reaches over to inspect the gloves; thumb smoothing at the rough leather as he tries to distinguish the faint scent of herbs and sweat lingering in the material. Anything at all to narrow down the search.
“Ah… I pray that you are well,” he murmurs, clutching the gloves close.
~ * ~
“Oi, Yuder. You look worse than the dead. Fever like this— Wait. You didn’t.”
Enon squints, applying more salve to the burn on Yuder’s hand. “These symptoms. Who in the hell did you guide?”
Expectedly, much to the applause of the crowd, Yuder turns his head to the side and remains reticent on the matter. Stubborn bastard.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos much appreciated! I'm only about 400 chapters into the novel, but this story has me in a deathgrip. I hope to write more of this au because my brainstorming notes are have gotten ridiculous.
Chapter Text
It takes over a grueling week to recover from the guide overclock. His body turned feverish and wrung out of energy from absorbing excess toxins. Coincidentally, it's also the longest Yuder's been bed-bound since awakening five years ago; those initial years spent learning about his powers and subsequent limits by going after rifts alone.
And like the time an unstable rift flung him out into the mountains, Yuder once again finds himself recovering under a certain herbalist's roof; the spring-warm breeze ruffling the curtains as Enon putters around the cabin, organizing herbs and other myriad supplies while occasionally muttering under his breath.
The radio crackles with a jingle, interrupting the music as an announcer relays the upcoming weather and recent news.
[An update on the Greater Rift that appeared on the outskirts of the North Alpen district. Thanks to the Arcane Legion's recovery efforts, spearheaded by none other than their leader—]
As the channel cuts off, Yuder looks up, automatically marking the page of his current book at Enon's stormy expression.
“I think you should leave.”
“Alright.”
At Yuder's dismal response, Enon groans and rubs his head, frustration lined in his grimace. “Get a backbone one of these days, Yuder! I’m not kicking you out. It's just… there's been a lot of people asking after you.”
Locals that remain aware of Yuder's less-than-legal activities but turned a blind eye to it for years, all because it saved the smaller settlements from paying exorbitant fees for guilds to clear out any rifts. Now, everyone's gossiping and swapping rumours because it's a hot topic, worth some incentive.
“You prefer to keep a low profile. *I* prefer you to keep a low profile, but the last stunt's gotten attention. Luma's balls, guiding that kind of esper…” Enon steps closer to poke him between the eyes. “Listen, the Legion's not going to leave the region for a while. If you head for the capital and stay out of sight for a few months, then you could return once things settle. I've a friend who could get you situated there.”
Enon's put a lot of thought into this, and the notion he's worried to this extent makes Yuder grip the edge of the table, unsure on how to process the prickle-sharp care directed at him, a dilemma he's struggled with for as long as they've been acquaintances.
“Isn't the capital where they're based out of?”
“And it's home to nearly hundreds of thousands of people. Don't do anything reckless, and you can blend in.”
“If you believe it's best.”
At yet another flat response, Enon pokes his forehead again. “It's an idea. One of many we could come up with. You don't have to do it if you don't like it.”
“It's a good idea.” Not to mention, Yuder dislikes the thought of sitting around while being sought after — the worst type of animal to be cornered by anyone. Still, above all else, he’s against giving Enon more trouble than he already has.
“Get packing then. We'll get you on the first train in the morning.”
By nightfall, Yuder's organized his meagre belongings into one rucksack and discovers a medicine-laden bag next to it by dawn's light. Enon glares at him, daring him to try and argue against the supplies. And silently, Yuder has little choice but to be indebted even further.
“Thank you.”
Enon's brows twist. “Don't mention it.” Really, don't.
Down the mountain path, the early morning quiet lending a hazier quality to the landscape as birds begin greetings, they make their way to the railway station outside the town. An hour's walk at most, and most of it remains subdued between them, quieter than expected.
Enon keeps glancing over, frown set at an angle parallel to disapproving. Closer to thoughtful.
Yuder refuses to categorize it as regretful or worried.
“Send me a message once a week. You'll have to stay away from rifts since they're all regulated by guilds. Be careful, and—”
“Don't guide anyone or act recklessly.”
Enon clicks his tongue. “I was just going to say don't act recklessly. You shouldn't guide anyone for your own sake… But you're the helpful type. Just don't do it anywhere a guild might catch wind of you.”
Is he the type to help? The only reason Yuder goes solo into rifts is to grow his own power and be competent enough that no one would dare to use him; remain independent and free of obligations. Is that not the definition of selfish?
An altruistic nature is beyond him. And yet Enon calls him helpful when all he's done is take advantage of the apothecary's caring nature.
“Whatever you're thinking about to have that kind of expression, stop. Take care of yourself, and protect your peace,” Enon adds, echoing the words Yuder told him years ago.
All he could do was nod. Mercifully, Enon refrains from pushing further on the topic — offering a final wave as the train pulls away later, his figure shrinking into a speck amidst the wider landscape. Swallowed by memory.
Yuder cannot help but wonder if they’ll see each other again.
~ * ~
Seven weeks. Hours of searching and digging and chasing after rumors across that snow-capped region with nothing to show for any of it. How disheartening, and yet Kishiar feels as if it's what’s owed to him by the world. Fate remains a cruel arbiter of his life, though he would be a boorish man, indeed, if he blamed anyone else for this misfortune.
“We’ve left behind a skeleton unit in the Spirit Mountains, as you requested. The remaining Legion members have returned without anything new to report. There is the matter of your meeting with the Prime Minister later today.” The last sentence is delivered alongside the cup of white tea as Nathan sets aside a new stack of paperwork at the corner of a neatly-kept desk.
It’s still a pity Kishiar couldn’t participate in any of the searches personally; the mantle of leadership waits not for personal affairs when responsibility calls upon him every waking minute. He could only spare a handful of days to linger in that area under the guise of preparing for further rift activity. Fortunately for the locals in those towns, nothing happened as they recovered from the Greater Rift.
“Thank you, Nathan,” Kishiar says, already working through the delivered correspondence. After some minutes, tapping the end of his pen against the signature line of a funding proposal for esper-related research, he looks out the window — at the sight of the sprawling city rather than his poor reflection in the clear glass. “Humor me for a moment, if you would. Do you believe it’s a distraction to keep looking for that individual?”
Nathan’s expression remains composed. “It was not a meaningless subject to look into. If I could add a personal remark, I will say it feels important to look for answers when it comes to your wellbeing, sir.”
Most discussions have the terrible habit of returning to his health in the end. Indeed, descendants of the La Orr line carry a sickness in their bloodline; the necessary handicap for the incredible feats they’re capable of accomplishing, blessed by the gods thousands upon thousands of years ago, according to the legends.
Modern science has proven it as the result of inbreeding across generations. It’s quaint to see how much a simple medical report on a piece of paper dispelled the magic that seemingly surrounded their family’s history.
“Regardless, it’s clear that the guide doesn’t want to be found. Beyond the rumors, they cleared out minor rifts on their own, and then the lack of any tangible record could lead to several conclusions about their origin,” Kishiar confirms.
“I believe it’s premature to give up on it entirely, at least.”
Kishiar smiles, hands folding across the wooden desk. “It is an interesting mystery, is it not? Despite how thoroughly the Republic keeps records of any specialized individual, there’s no mention of any guide of their capability in the past three decades.”
Perhaps, as Nathan posed during one of his many sleepless nights, the guide might have connections to the Underworld; it would explain their apparent exile in the far reaches of civilization, away from people and isolated in the wilderness.
“Could you tell my brother that we’ll have to have lunch in my office today instead of the meeting place? I doubt I will be finished with this paperwork anytime soon.”
Nathan glances at the already half-done workload but bows his head regardless. “As you say.”
~ * ~
The music in the square becomes more upbeat. The crowd cheers as a live band plays some blocks away, the music from their stage loud enough to be heard even during the usual city-loud clamor. Amidst the dazzling lights and festivities, Yuder unloads the delivered supplies for the restaurant, moving dozens of boxes by hand. Manual labor that pays out a decent sum, if at least to fund his current, modest lifestyle.
“Yuder! Could you give me a hand with orders upfront?”
Without delay, he goes to do as asked; discreetly moving the last of the ingredients inside with his powers before they spoil from the summer heat.
At the front of the restaurant, a harried hostess tries to keep up with the crowd, juggling their requests along with the pile of online orders building up by the register. It takes an hour for the rush to die down, the festival nearing its most popular point: the fireworks.
“You’re a lifesaver! Thanks, Yuder. Will you be going to watch the fireworks show later?”
Yuder’s already turned away, set on returning to organizing the restaurant supplies. “No.”
Out back, enveloped by a momentary privacy, he indulges in a smoke break — the cigarette tasteless and no more effective than chewing on grass due to his body’s resistance. Still, it’s a habit. Something close to normalcy to practice around so many people.
Exhale slow, slow, gaze set at the distant point of blue sky yet visible amidst all the sprawling buildings, he looks down at a familiar sound. The cat meows again, its scratchy vocals somewhat comforting as it weaves closer for food. Another habit: keeping leftover chicken for strays even after the owner caught him once and admonished him for it already.
As a point of respect, Yuder avoids touching the cat unless it does it first and merely watches it devour the food. It flicks its ears, wary of threats while trying to eat as quickly as possible, and isn’t that a relatable trait? One of many, one could assume, when it comes to unwanted things left to the shadows.
It flicks its ears again. Yuder feels the change before he hears it: screaming. The air changes pressure, though barely palpable at a distance from the rupture point. Soon enough, the emergency notification blares into action, warning citizens of a nearby rift outbreak. Against the panicked flow of the crowd, a lone figure goes against the current to approach the danger. It’s none of his business; the proper people will come to contain the rift. Yet, judging by the reverberation, the prickle-sharp warnings against his senses, it’s not a minor one.
Isn’t the Capital supposed to have barriers and regular scans to avoid any Rifts from opening within its territory?
Whoever’s responsible for safety will agonize about it later. For now, Yuder makes his way across the rooftops, the wind at his back. Closer to the rift, more of the buildings begin to display unusual damage — an odd, inconsistent effect related to some rifts without a clear cause of why it happens — supposed by researchers to be related to time and anomalies related to rifts tearing open a hole into reality. As if time speeds up at the focal point of the rift before it bleeds outward, affecting everything in range; an instant decay of everything as if years have passed in the blink of an eye.
Yuder saw, sometimes, signs of civilization in a few of the rifts he cleared out in the past. Crumbled buildings of indeterminate origin, humanoid skeletons. Ruin upon ruin, like an omen spelled out in the sand.
Monsters are already crawling out of the rift in large numbers, feasting on the bodies of those who could not run away fast enough. Armed with nothing but a nearby umbrella, Yuder sweeps the surrounding area to confirm he’s alone. Five minutes, maybe, until a guild shows up.
Inhale. Steady, steady. And then, an enormous fire engulfs the majority of the monsters to reduce them to ash. He needs to take care of this quickly, though he spares a moment to apologize to Enon; it seems he couldn’t keep a low profile for longer than two months.
Brandishing the umbrella like a blade, enhancing its surface with water, Yuder leaps into action and cuts down any remaining monsters, running full speed toward the rift. Around him, the glimpses caught in the periphery vision, the evidence of an interrupted festival lies strewn about. Food, drinks. Broken cameras and children’s toys. A doll with a broken face.
The obituary will be long, he thinks.
~ * ~
“Commander! Civilians have been evacuated from the immediate area. The unit is ready to deploy into the rift, and the city’s armed forces are sending out espers to assist any overflow.”
Kishiar wastes no more time, maintaining a calm cadence while voicing more orders. Medical care and triage for the wounded, sweeps for any monsters that have a multitude of places to hide when it comes to urban areas, and then the matter of the rift itself. “Wand. Can you confirm it’s a time-flux?”
“Yes, Commander. There’s one more thing… reports say a person ran into the rift not even ten minutes ago. No uniform, but they were holding an umbrella .”
Could it be?
The deputy sees a smile quirk at the corners of her Commander’s mouth, sharper than the usual ones he shows in public, before he sets out for the rift.
~ * ~
Rain falls in reverse within the rift, the landscape dotted with ruined buildings. Even the most skillful of historians would struggle to detail everything, though the popular theory remains that the worlds within rifts are beyond their reality. Theorists debate the origin of rifts quite enthusiastically; however, none have come closer to solving the mystery for many, many decades.
Time-flux. These rifts, while extremely rare, are one of the more dangerous ones to close due to the degradation effects. Those accompanying Kishiar are espers who can maintain personal barriers or awakeners with physical-augmentation abilities to resist the unnatural decay inherent in these spaces.
“Looks like whoever got here first took care of the monsters.”
Ever inspects the bodies, the wounds precisely lethal. Economic attacks, suitable for someone who braved rifts alone.
Kishiar signals for them to proceed.
As they pass through a broken archway, the landscape shifts, violently dizzy with its sudden change. A different biome greets their view; instead of crumbling cities, an empty desert bodes a far more difficult trek through the rift. Beside the dangers of decay, it’s the unpredictable nature of time-flux rifts that pose the greatest challenge.
There’s a reason one such rift is cordoned in a nearby country, kept under guard and heavy surveillance, because prior attempts at closing it were met with nothing but failure.
“Stay alert.”
The unit responds affirmatively, weapons at the ready as they go further into the desert. An occasional monster, their bodies serpent-like to suit the environment, sails through the dunes to attack them, but between five highly-trained individuals, they take care of any threats with efficient practice.
However, that leaves the question of how they’re supposed to leave this area and progress to the next.
“Commander! I see something up ahead.”
In the distance, shimmering like a mirage, an outline of a building comes into view. A temple of some sort, half-eaten by the desert and time. Like the previous area, monster corpses littered across the way, the bloody path trailing inward into a dark corridor. Kishiar stretches out his senses, and upon feeling nothing, concludes this is the gateway to the next zone — ideally the last where they can destroy the rift’s core and close it out.
He’s not naive enough to hope the person he’s looking for is on the other end as well, but he takes a gamble on it before passing the threshold.
Blinking, reorienting his center of gravity, Kishiar takes in the room. Perfectly circular. Opposite of it, there’s a man standing in front of the raised platform situated in the middle of the room, his dark gaze fixated on the apparent rift core.
It looks like a human child. Asleep as it cradles a broken doll.
Ah. So that’s how it is. Kishiar cannot say he wouldn’t hesitate, either, if he were in the other’s shoes.
“Are you alright?”
The man flinches, breaking out of the thoughtful haze with a lurch. He levels Kishiar with a sharp look, the stance he takes up with the umbrella reminiscent of a sword-art designed for light, quick movements.
Well trained, indeed. The time with the Greater Rift wasn’t a fluke, not that Kishiar needs further proof to know the individual has great skill.
“Did I take too long?” he mumbles, sparing a glance to the sleeping core. As if it’s a punishable flaw to falter in the face of such needless, wanton cruelty that the universe demands of him to finish his objective here.
Kishiar raises a hand. “No. Your choice to quickly enter the rift saved more than you realize. I ask that you do not rush on this matter.”
While speaking, Kishiar takes another look around the room, trying to spot any clues — as well as any sign of the unit. Worry won’t do anyone good, but it’s still concerning to realize he alone entered the space.
“There’s nothing more to think about.” Then, quiet enough that Kishiar wouldn’t have heard it without enhanced senses, the man says a heartfelt apology, hand raised to deal with the core.
Unable to stand by and idly watch, Kishiar motions with his hand to push him away. “You needn’t do the grizzly deed yourself. I insist that you stand down. If it helps, consider this a form of repayment for our previous encounter,” Kishiar says, tone steel-edged.
As Commander, he has a duty to the people and their safety. These are his burdens to bear.
“Are you really going to fight me on this?”
Already recovered from the skill, the other sounds exasperated, though his expression remains empty. There are so many questions Kishiar wants to ask him instead of deliberating over the rift core. Who is he? Did the guiding cause any pain? Why does he venture into rifts alone?
Instead of any of these questions, determined to carve out some time where they could discuss everything calmly in the near future, after they’ve closed the rift, Kishiar lifts his hand once more. “Yes. I hope you can forgive my stubbornness.”
Then, as if waiting for the perfect moment, the core opens its eyes — star-speckled and inhuman — before it laughs, clapping its hands to pitch the room sideways.
Kishiar braces himself as well as his current companion, shielding them both from the explosive force slamming into them. Another wave, and then the walls begin to crumble, breaking apart like brittle glass.
Free fall, he realizes. Above and below, nothing but an empty void warps into view, and hovering in the emptiness, just a few scant inches away from his fingertips, the core waves, almost coy.
Notes:
me using this fic as an excuse to put these guys into Situations: woe, horrors be upon ye.
Thank you all for reading! I apologize if the pacing seems fast, but especially in regards to Yuder's pov, he's very, very reluctant to share information. Promise there are backstories and interpersonal relationship development happening soon <3
Chapter Text
Crack! An open palm slaps him across the face.
“You don't have the luxury to hesitate, let alone think! You are a tool to be used by your betters. Never forget that, boy.”
That's right. The memory flickers past, sharp and burning like a brand, embedded into the skin and forever inundated by his nerves; a phantom pain alongside many others that he earned over the years. Punishment. Mistakes. It hurt all the same.
He shouldn't have hesitated. Now Yuder’s not the only one to pay the price.
Solitude tends to turn life stagnant, and it’s fitting for a tool to evade close connections the same as any incoming weapon. Yet, is it a side effect of the guiding, now months behind them, for his senses to reach out, spiderweb-delicate? To snag on the edges of Kishiar’s existence, satisfied, at least, that the other is still breathing despite their current predicament?
Yuder floats on the wave of the moment as the nothingness expands, as if it all exists outside of reality, and don’t they, here, within the rift? Taking a few more heartbeats to reorient himself, arguably more familiar and more at ease within a rift’s unstable environment than most, he regains a semblance of space and momentum — realizing that it’s due to Kishiar’s efforts they’re at least floating rather than careening into the void just beyond the event horizon.
The rift core's keeper flits above them, firefly-indulgent in its movements. A new type of monster, then. Yuder spots the actual core embedded in its chest, the crystalline surface shifting with pearlescent colors. Without the need to keep up its camouflage, the monster sheds more and more of its human guise until it resembles something closer to an insectoid cephalopod.
“As far as tactics go, this creature is rather laid back about killing us. It doesn’t need to do anything more than to wait for us to tire out and fall,” Kishiar comments, steadfast as he keeps channeling power into maintaining their stability. Still, Yuder notes the precipitation at his neck. The strain gathering across those golden features like fractures across a winter lake’s surface as his hands glow with power. “I can get you closer to it, provided I can trust you to handle the rest.”
To maintain such composure in their situation is impressive, and Yuder says as much. Blunt, as always.
Kishiar arches a brow before grinning. “Well, there’s another reason I am trying to show off my best qualities.”
Striving to impress? Now that sounds exhausting. Concluding the conversation, Yuder prepares to finish off the rift core — readiness signalled with a nod. Then, there’s the odd sensation of something pulling him toward Kishiar, like a slingshot being stretched taut, before all that kinetic energy is released with a sharp push . Precise and powerful, far more concentrated than the way Kishiar pushed him against the wall earlier; that was a warning, this is now a directive.
Yuder’s body flings forward like a projectile, aimed directly at the monster. Summoning a gust of wind to stabilize himself, closing the once considerable distance in seconds, he strikes out with the umbrella and freezes its limbs. A follow-up kick shatters it before he digs his fingers into the flesh around the rift core, ignoring the ear-splitting screech the small monster emits as it flounders to get away.
It almost seems… terrified. Of him. Or is it another tactic, a behavior learned after mimicking human appearances?
One of its remaining limbs strikes against his hand, sending a needle-sharp sensation to shoot up his entire arm. Poison? Yuder grits his teeth and continues yanking at the core while the monster tries to dislodge him with frantic movements, flying in haphazard patterns. He doesn’t have any more time to waste! With a final, rough tug, Yuder yanks out the core and sighs, relieved that it's still intact.
In time-flux rifts, killing the core keeper doesn’t guarantee success; the fact is reinforced as he and Kishiar remain drifting in the void. Though, without anything directing it, the core pulses — and the space warps, becoming littered with various debris. Steel beams, rebar, trees. Edges of buildings and the remnants of a world’s destruction. Various things flicker in and out of existence, and Yuder grabs onto a small ledge to stop his fall with a pained grunt. Right. The poison. More importantly—
Yuder scans his surroundings, trying to find any sign of Kishiar.
He said he trusted Yuder to take care of it. Even as the rift rapidly deteriorates into chaos, Yuder cannot leave without at least trying.
…better suited at killing people. You can’t save anything. It goes against your nature.
There, some leagues below, the edges of that white uniform come into view as Kishiar’s form slowly falls further into the void, his expression twisted in pain, and it doesn’t take long for Yuder to realize the other’s close to his limits. Damn esper overdid it again, though it seems to be something of a habit; one that could be empathized with if Yuder thinks about it too long.
Focus. Yuder breathes out and stretches out his right hand, the left still clutching the rift core. He tries, tries, tries to tug Kishiar somewhere solid with the winds; yet something, the rift itself, keeps a grip on him even as Yuder pours out more and more effort. A feeling not dissimilar to when he guided the man, like fighting the currents of an ocean. Like swimming against the force of a tsunami. Failure after failure, his vision falters, fades, and a worse pain twists in his stomach. Right. Poisoned. (What a hassle.)
He grasps at nothing. Yuder’s monumental efforts amount to nothing , and Kishiar keeps drifting further away. Against expectation, he’s serenely staring up at Yuder, mouthing something while plummeting to his demise.
‘Escape.’
Fuck that.
This is why Yuder prefers to go into rifts alone. This is why it’s better he’s left alone. Alone, his mistakes only cost him.
Ignoring the protests of his wretched body, energy levels reaching their limits — able to sense the time-flux’s erosion eating away at his weakening resolve, chipping away at what’s left of his defenses — Yuder wracks his brain for ideas. Anything. Just a few more seconds.
His hand tightens into a fist. Time. Isn’t that an element?
It’s a hazard like any other within a rift. Tangible even if it's not entirely physical like the winds. Time: he can buy time. Unbeknownst to him, the rift core in his grasp glimmers bright, responding to his resolve.
Closing his eyes, Yuder pictures time as golden granules in an hourglass and imagines each particle floating upward instead of falling, falling. Reversing its flow, guiding it away from where it wants to go with the same moon-weight effort of redirecting the tides, and around him, the rift obeys. The space slowly mends itself as time moves backward, retracting the lethal flotsam collected across different realities. The white nothingness fades to twilight, and briefly, Yuder catches a glimpse of a vast galaxy — a gigantic eye staring down at him — before they’re back in the previous room in the next blink, the walls perfectly whole and circular once more.
As if nothing at all happened.
Yuder gasps, his body wracked by an excruciating coughing fit as he spits out blood and blackened bile. His insides feel scraped-out, nerves raw and limbs weak. Vision flickering further, he uses the last of his strength to tilt his head from the floor. When did he collapse on his back…?
The motion blurry, a gloved hand comes into view. Instead of the expected pain, it brings a soothing sensation as strong fingers gently press against his jaw to check his pulse.
“Handled it,” Yuder mumbles, barely noticing the rift core crumbling to pieces next to him. Nor his blackened hand.
Everything hurts. It feels worth it, though.
Depleted of all power, the rift will begin to close soon, and a blue-green portal flickers into existence as the exit sign next to them. Slowly, like a simulation coming to an end, the area begins folding into itself, dissipating into perfectly geometric shapes; codes and data that appear as nothing short of a fantastical spectacle to the naked eye.
He sometimes wondered what would happen if he could stay inside as a rift closed. Many speculate that these spaces offer a glimpse into the afterlife or that one of them holds the answers to the universe. For Yuder, if he were to voice an opinion, he would state he liked the quiet.
All his life, he's searched for a quiet place to rest, but it's not here. Rifts rejected him if he lingered too long anyway. Biting his lips to stifle noise, Yuder forces himself to sit up despite the dizzyingly endless pain pulse-throbbing throughout his being with each breath.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as reckless as you, my friend. Nor as interesting.”
“Not your friend.”
“Allow me the pleasure of trying to befriend you, then,” Kishiar responds just as easily, his hand now hovering at Yuder's shoulders. Not quite touching anymore, but palpable all the same with an oddly reassuring presence. “And I must apologize. I'm only capable of easing the poison's symptoms at the moment. The worst of your injuries will have to wait for proper medical care.”
“It's fine.”
Being able to move is all he needs, anyway. It takes two attempts to stand up, and he's silently thankful when Kishiar refrains from supporting him when he sways in place.
“Your abilities are remarkable,” Kishiar begins, though he closes his mouth at Yuder's glare. Those red eyes flick over his body, noting the immediate tension, muscles readying for flight. “Interrogating you is the last thing on my mind, I assure you. It's merely a compliment.”
Kishiar extends his hand, and without thinking too much over the gesture, Yuder raises his, too. A gentle, warm pressure envelopes the burnt skin before more healing magic pours out. Brows furrowing, Yuder twitches his fingers one by one as they regain feeling. “You shouldn't be using your powers for something like this.”
“Nonsense. If I see a situation where I can offer aid and provide relief, how can I not act? Not to mention, it is only fair I return the favor however I can after your guidance.” Kishiar hums while inspecting his work. Didn't he just say Yuder will need medical care?
He's already done more than enough, Yuder thinks with a deepening frown. Yet, before Kishiar withdraws his hands completely, Yuder taps his index and middle finger against the other's palm, deliberate with the point of contact. The toxins have built up from the fight, though the level seems manageable. It doesn't stop him from trying to ease some of it from Kishiar's systems.
After all, Yuder is trying to avoid running into anyone again. Better guide him one more time before moving out of the Capital; give the other less reason to seek him out. Transactional and impersonal, that's all there is in any relationship between espers and guides.
Give and take. Yuder's used to it. To being useful.
Immediately, as if firmly rejecting that notion, Kishiar's hand encircles his wrist. “You do not need to do that. I will not ask you to strain yourself further… Not to mention, it seems you dislike the process, my friend.”
Dislike it? When did he give out such an impression?
“Yuder. Just call me that instead,” he says after a prolonged pause, pulling his hand away. There's no point in touching each other without a clear purpose.
Kishiar’s smile turns brilliant, dazzling bright as his eyes flicker hearth-warm. He acts as if he's been granted a gift. “Yuder. You honor me.”
Finally, recalling where they are and the current situation, Kishiar looks around as Yuder bends down to pick up the broken umbrella. It's no use to anyone, but it feels rude to leave it behind when he's borrowing it.
Around them, the rift turns darker, reminiscent of a cloud-choked night sky. The only point of light seems to be coming from Kishiar's expression, though Yuder tries not to let his attention linger.
The exit portal safely returns them to their world in the same ruined spot where the rift occurred.
“It's raining.”
Yuder turns his head as Kishiar gently reaches out for the broken umbrella, his movements graceful and fluid as he opens it. Bent, full of rips and tears, it does a poor job of keeping them completely dry as the rain keeps pouring, and yet—
It's a nice gesture. Having someone else try and shield him for something so insignificant is a nice gesture.
With that thought, his body decides it's as good a time as any to finally collapse, adrenaline giving out to a lifetime of stress and exhaustion, paid out with interest.
“Yuder!”
“Commander! You're safe!”
Yuder drifts into darkness, held steady and secure by someone's embrace.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! Yuder tries so hard in the idgaf war but loses spectacularly each time.
Chapter Text
The sharp smell registers before anything else: antiseptic and traces of bleach. A hospital room, somewhere to recover. Reluctantly, Yuder opens his eyes to face reality — and finds not the dark, windowless room he's expecting, more a jail cell than a haven from past experience, but sunlight in abundance. Large windows allow a nearly panoramic view of the city’s skyline, dotted with high rises and the distant Rik mountain range. A sight he rarely saw during his stay in the lower district and amidst its tightly packed buildings, too busy with work and keeping his head down.
He takes stock of himself next, noting the bandages and the nearby machinery monitoring his vitals. A steady heartbeat to prove he's yet human.
“It's good to see you awake, Yuder. How are you feeling? It's been four days since the rift.”
Yuder stiffens, fingers twisting into the bed sheets at Kishiar's voice. The fact his senses failed to alert him about someone else being in the room unfurls anxiety through his chest, twisting and winding tight, tight.
Four days. Too long.
“You're safe here. No one besides myself and a healer that I personally employ looked after you,” Kishiar adds, rising from the desk near the corner of the room, diagonally opposite Yuder's bed. “I find myself once more in your debt. Meeting twice under such circumstances… Wouldn't you say it goes beyond coincidence?”
Yuder’s already swinging his legs over the bed, determined to crawl out the large windows to escape this conversation. One that Kishiar most likely prepared for during the time Yuder was unconscious.
“I arrived not too long ago to look over some paperwork during a lunch break. I will not stop you if you wish to leave, but I must kindly ask you to endure a few more minutes.”
Kishiar is a man to whom charisma is innate, traits of a leader, a self-taught talent honed to an artful, dangerous edge. As an unknown variable with neither identity nor background, he must consider Yuder as someone to understand and gain advantage over. It's only logical. Kishiar even further demonstrates his reasonable nature by speaking gracefully and offering Yuder his folded clothes, washed and mended. Cheap, nondescript things found in general stores that didn't need to be taken care of when the more effective choice would've been to discard them. Regardless, Yuder reaches out to accept them.
“These as well. I hoped to return them to their rightful owner,” Kishiar adds, expression genial while presenting the leather gloves Yuder considered lost.
“You expended a lot effort to win a stranger's favor.” Yuder's voice scratches the air from disuse as he inspects the familiar, worn texture and sets them atop the clothes. “These were a gift. Thank you for returning them.”
Kishiar's smile turns softer. “Think nothing of it.”
Silence lulls the conversation without awkwardness, spoken words exchanged for lingering glances. Yuder feels himself being studied, though it feels less invasive. Less of a specimen to cut open and more of something to understand . Perhaps closer to trying to read a book in a foreign language.
It's indeed a lot of effort to waste on a stranger.
“You said a few minutes,” Yuder reminds, already changing out of the hospital gown.
Kishiar looks away to offer a semblance of privacy, hand curled over his mouth to hide the new expression. Was he not expecting Yuder to put on his clothes immediately? It's not as if there's anything to look at beyond an unsightly battleground of scars and bone-tight flesh.
“I promise not to take up too much of your time. It's apparent you went to great lengths to keep your identity private, and I will not ask more than what you're comfortable revealing,” Kishiar begins, composure smoothed out to a gem-prismatic glimmer. Pleasing to look at and something to covet — only if you could afford to pay the steep price. “You're not registered as a guide or an awakener in any country's system. Nor do you seem to be operating as an independent agent. I will ask you this, Yuder: What do you seek out in this life?”
Contemplative, Yuder runs his thumb over the star-shaped scar on his hand. “It's clear the Arcane Legion's leader also went to great lengths to unearth this information.”
“I apologize. And please know I am equally remorseful for losing any goodwill garnered since our first meeting by prying into your past,” Kishiar replies, hand placed over his heart. His expression is molded into something genuine, though Yuder wonders how much of it is an accustomed mask. “I would like nothing more than to further our relationship with honesty. Any questions you have for me will be answered truthfully.”
Big, bold words. Fanciful in their sentiment if they could be believed.
Yuder unfolds his arms, posture marginally less defensive while standing steady across from him. Muscles already begin to protest, but those aches are more easily dismissed than his own curiosity.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Do you believe in fated pairs?”
Yuder furrows his brows. His otherwise blank face says enough when Kishiar continues: “It is expected for those of Orr blood to manifest early, and I've yet to break that tradition. Since then, it's been a challenge to find any guide that could tolerate my resonance.”
Baritone painting the air warm, each sentence unhurried, paced with deliberate care, Kishiar pours him a glass of water. “My brother's wife could manage better than most, but is it not wretched to depend on such a connection? I’ve managed this condition with medicine and discipline for many years. Then you appeared out of the blue.”
Yuder accepts the water, focusing on the cold-smooth texture of the glass as a grounding technique. “Are you asking for a guide contract?”
“No. Not at all. Even if you were the only guide left in the world, I wouldn't ask nor force you to guide anyone if you remain against it. You did not choose to be one… Simply put, I only wished to say you are a remarkable individual. I am still grateful for the last time, even if it was done under duress, and once was more than enough.”
Kishiar's flow of words trickles past his reservations in a gentle manner, serene as a forest creek tucked away somewhere secluded. Nothing that demands exact responses. Yuder finds the deliberate consideration dangerous, but more than the inherent risk of conversation, he reluctantly finds it pleasant.
Besides Enon, he couldn't remember anyone else he exchanged more than five words with in recent years.
“To your first question… I only want to live a quiet life. You seem to want otherwise.”
“Hah. Almost impossible, no? I will be honest. From a purely objective standpoint, you would be a great asset to any guild. To me , if I were to speak solely about your benefit as a guide. However, I will not force you. Merely, and forgive me for speculating again, you seem to be running from something. Rather than doing it alone, I offer you resources from our guild so you could plan your future, at least.”
An offer difficult to refuse, perhaps too good to be true.
Yet, Kishiar's demeanor remains honest; open as he remains at some distance by the window, the noon-bright sun outlining his figure like a gilded frame around a painting.
“And you want me to stay in exchange,” Yuder concludes.
“Nothing more than that.”
Tapping his fingers against the half-empty glass, Yuder can't evoke an immediate, better alternative. And neither would it be fair to run back to Enon after failing to avoid the Arcane Legion. A few weeks, at most, and then he could leave. Maybe travel farther east, this time.
“Alright.”
Kishiar smiles that dazzling smile again, seemingly overjoyed by the answer. “You will not regret it. Shall we celebrate our agreement with a late lunch?”
Right. He does feel somewhat hungry, though the notion of actually eating makes him want to go back to sleep.
Kishiar taps a few sentences into his phone, and it doesn't take long before someone knocks, letting themselves in after Kishiar's approval.
“Yuder, allow me to introduce you to Nathan, my steward. If you cannot find me for any reason, you are more than welcome to seek him out for any request.”
Nathan sketches a half-bow toward him, and Yuder responds with a slow nod as they maintain eye contact, assessing each other for a heartbeat. Distrust. That's something more familiar, at least. Something Yuder can navigate better than the odd, almost uncomfortable generosity Kishiar exudes — it's not without cost, but the genuine intent remains the prevalent detail stuck in his mind. Even if he weren't a guide, more sensitive than most when it comes to reading emotions, a type of empathy he wishes he lacked, Yuder thinks he would know if Kishiar ever lied to him.
It's a certainty akin to battle instinct, yet he couldn't explain from what source it originates, like trying to discern why roses suddenly bloomed in a frozen wasteland.
The gentle click of porcelain interrupts these thoughts, and Yuder returns his attention to the unfolding moment. Nathan adjusts the cart nearby to act as a table, revealing a light spread, simple in flavor. As he pours tea into two cups, the brewed liquid tinted red by the herbs, Yuder regards the calluses on his hands; the marks of a swordsman, perhaps even a lifetime of the profession, judging by his confidence and economical movements.
A skilled steward who is loyal and trusted wholly. If Kishiar finds Yuder too much of a hassle to keep, like a mutt that won't stop biting the hand that will presumably feed it, will Nathan be the one to put him down?
Bowing again, Nathan exits discreetly while Yuder mechanically spoons the chicken congee into his mouth. “Can I leave this room?”
“Certainly. If you’d like, I could offer a tour of the various departments we have on campus. Or at least accompany you to your new quarters,” Kishiar says, seemingly content with only drinking tea. He watches Yuder with that unchanging expression — smile affixed with such ease that Yuder wonders if he will ever tire of maintaining it. “It’s easy to get lost, and you might see patrols escorting recruits back to the barracks once in a while.”
“Do you not have work to do?” It sounds like a waste of the Commander’s time to play tour guide.
“As I see it, one of my duties is to ensure you are well received as a guest.”
“It sounds like you need to relegate your work more, Commander ,” Yuder replies, dry as the desert.
Kishiar laughs, sliding over the bowl of pudding. “Much to my chagrin, I must admit it’s difficult to find a good assistant these days. Feel free to offer any recommendations.”
“I don’t know anyone,” Yuder says after a moment, eyeing the dessert. It would be childish to push the bowl back, so regardless of his dislike of sweets, Yuder eats it without comment.
Something in his expression must’ve changed when he spots Kishiar’s eyes brighten. “There’s no need to rush. We can leave once you’re ready.”
No point in wasting time. Yuder drains his cup and motions to stand. “Let’s go.”
~ * ~
As expected, Yuder’s behavior is a source of great entertainment. Kanna Ward’s readings from the leather gloves expounded vital information, and slowly, piece by piece, each conversation adding to the portrait that is Yuder’s life, Kishiar gathers more context about him. Interest piqued since their first meeting, now increased tenfold by the other’s avoidant nature, Kishiar guides him through the guild’s campus out of personal interest — expounding on the purpose of each building and the departments within. The administrative offices. Barracks. Recreation and training halls. Yuder refrains from commentary, only sparsely asking questions about certain locations.
Pointedly, he pays more attention to patrol patterns, the number of personnel, and exit routes than the history of the architecture that Kishiar shares or the sprawling gardens that often garner compliments from other visitors. One could easily guess Yuder’s attitude is from a trained, perhaps even necessary habit due to his wariness.
Indeed. Timid would be a false descriptor. More accurately, he’s quietly self-assured, similar to Nathan. Often weighing his words with the same provident care a hunter might treat the arrows in their quiver while roaming the wilderness. An individual more accustomed to solitude, even going as far as delving into rifts by himself.
Kishiar wants to know what he did before that. He wants to learn everything possible about Yuder. Out of pragmatism, yes. However, it’s not the sole reason for his burning curiosity. Who wouldn’t be curious about such a man? Who wouldn’t be curious after a lifetime of disappointment, the days passing by in a listless daze — mind and body rebelling against existence, slowly crumbling from within — only to have such a monotonous pattern be cleaved open by a single all too brief exchange? It’s as if Kishiar could finally breathe after carrying a suffocating burden atop his lungs, perhaps the weight of it accumulated from the sins of his past lives should he believe in such things as the priests do. A reprieve given by someone much kinder than what most would assume.
To remain kind despite a life of adversity and pain is a telling characteristic. Yuder is an incredible guide, and beyond that, he is someone full of hidden depths. Hadn’t Kishiar been lucid during the rift, he would’ve doubted the validity of anyone’s statement if they reported Yuder could also manipulate time.
Recalling that memorable incident, briefly glancing at the other’s profile, Kishiar delves further into guesswork. What on Earth could cause someone this powerful to seek safety in places as dangerous as rifts?
And despite Kishiar’s expertise at solving mysteries, he is positive that exercising patience will yield far more rewarding experiences in the future between them.
“Ah, you’ve something right here,” Kishiar says, pausing at the garden's edge, between the borders of lush plants and asphalt. He thumbs at a stray eyelash stuck to Yuder’s cheek, pleased when the action is met with only a slight shift in expression. Not even a flinch, let alone a frown. Perhaps Kishiar remains in his good graces yet — or so he hopes. “A letter or joy?”
A raised brow indicates the obvious question. One Kishiar answers gladly: “You could consider it a quaint custom in this case. When someone finds their companion’s eyelash, we tell them to make a wish before placing it near the heart to guarantee it comes true.”
Yuder stares before angling his head away, teeth worrying his bottom lip. How cute. Is he uncertain about how to respond? “You can do it instead.”
“Make a wish for you? You are too generous, Yuder.”
After a moment, Kishiar places his thumb over Yuder’s heart, the pressure light, barely touching the coarse material of his shirt. Observing every minute reaction, indulging more than he knows he should by pushing at proximity, it’s with a leisurely movement Kishiar withdraws the touch.
“What did you wish for?”
“Telling wouldn’t make it come true. Worry not,” Kishiar responds, smile broadening. “You’ll know when it comes true.”
Settling the matter at that, they conclude the tour by returning to the main administrative building. Members, each of them known by name and rank, greet him in passing as Kishiar heads toward the elevators. Notably, most look at Yuder with a mixture of awe and wariness — their perception fueled by rumors.
“The building has forty floors, and an additional five you can access by stairs. Your room will be on the thirty-first floor, next to mine.”
Yuder, leaning against the transparent walls with his attention on the growingly distant view of the city, cants his head. “Next to yours,” he repeats, inflection flat when Kishiar spoke those words so blithely. “A questionable choice.”
It’s quite the security risk at first glance. “Do you object to it?”
The other offers a slight shrug.
“Would you like to hear the reason for it? The truth is that, simply put, I am the only one capable of restraining you should you become a threat," Kishiar states tactfully.
He sees Yuder’s spine straighten, profile highlighted sharply by sunset hues as the elevator continues its ascent. “If you’re certain.”
In turn, wonder brightens Kishiar’s expression at the underlying challenge . “It would be satisfying to find out, wouldn’t you agree?”
Yuder hums, though there’s a sharpness to his eyes. A glimpse of the predator beneath the quieter mannerisms of the man. Kishiar, admittedly, looks forward to learning more about each of his facets — even the dangerous, blade-sharp edges that will be present.
The elevator slows, opening its doors to a wide hallway with only three doors visible. Kishiar walks Yuder to his assigned room, then pauses at the threshold.
“Good night, Yuder.”
“Commander,” Yuder returns. He seems to be debating on something, maintaining steady eye contact during those fleeting seconds while Kishiar resists the urge to reach out. “Or do you prefer if I say your name… Kishiar?”
Kishiar blinks. Perhaps Yuder could hear his heartbeat kick up the tempo, traitorously skipping a beat. “You are not a member of the guild. There’s indeed no need to address me by any title or rank.”
Satisfied by the answer, Yuder nods before retreating into his room, leaving Kishiar alone in the hallway for moments longer.
Gods. He wants Yuder to stay.
Notes:
Kishiar is trying SO hard to play it cool, but he's already smitten. Hope y'all enjoyed the banter! I'm having a blast writing them. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, it's greatly appreciated.
And Kishiar, the sap we know he is, wished for Yuder to have more reason to smile :')
Chapter Text
The breeze drifts in, lazy and meandering, stirring up motes of dust, brushing Yuder’s unruly hair with the familiarity of the act that’s nearly lifelong.
“Good morning. How long have you been awake?”
With the bitter chill seeping into his bones, Yuder gradually relaxes his jaw as the question dissolves amidst the early morning mist, the air chilled by spring’s winter-ebbed rain. Alertness, an understanding of transience and life’s fleeting nature. The sun’s not yet due for a few more hours, judging by the lingering twilight, and the wariness embedded into him — even while leaning over the balcony so many floors above the city, high enough to offer an eagle’s eye view of everything — lingers persistent as decay. It lingers like injuries old and new, and Yuder squeezes the metal railing as he listens to Kishiar move around on the adjacent balcony, the shared space divided by wooden slats that offer some privacy.
“I’ve rested enough.”
There’s the usual reticence in the air that accompanies most that wake at this early hour, and then there’s Yuder . Someone ambivalent about revealing any truth no matter the season or time of day. A character trait. A fatal flaw should anyone else weigh in their opinion. He's well aware of his shortcomings and people’s frustrations when forced to interact with him, and yet the man some feet away from him smiles as if it’s only natural to do so in his presence.
Kishiar’s half-obscured profile remains pointed forward, overlooking the city, but it’s difficult to shake off the weight of his attention. The awareness that he’s the target of someone's focus somehow fails to provoke a defensive response of any significance. None of the usual bristling or the need to keep to the shadows itches down his spine, and Yuder wonders if Kishiar did something while he was unconscious for the past four days.
It’s a sensible thought, born out of the frustration of not knowing and losing so much time. Of feeling betrayed by a body that could’ve kept going.
“Since we’re both up, shall we have breakfast together? We can go up to the terrace and enjoy the sunrise,” Kishiar says, feather-light in the suggestion.
Yuder agrees quietly, and notices Kishiar’s rather dressed-down state as they meet again in the hallway to ascend the stairway. It’s odd to see the Commander in a pair of unassuming slacks and long sleeves compared to the flawless, heavy layers of his uniform. Well, it’s not like having breakfast with him is important enough to dress up for, Yuder concludes.
Kishiar opens the door marked as the thirty-third floor, revealing what Yuder assumes is a communal space; some tables and chairs, bookshelves bracketed by a sectional couch, then a kitchenette. A few more odds and ends are scattered about, though it all raises the question of who else besides Kishiar has clearance to these top floors.
“Do you have any preferences?”
Shaking his head, Yuder remains seated at Kishiar’s firm but gentle insistence; relegated to uselessly watching as the man prepares breakfast. Somewhere between whisking eggs and brewing tea, Kishiar rolls up his sleeves — and Yuder observes the flex of those muscles more than the ingredients being used. Once more, he’s struck by how strange it is to feel less cautious than he should be around a near stranger, and certainly not someone as high profile and dangerous as the Arcane Legions’ leader.
“Going for as long as you have without adequate guiding… You risked an overload during the greater rift.”
Kishiar hums, his back turned while busy at the stove. “Would you like to know why I founded this guild? Any organization on a larger scale composed of espers was unheard of due to their rather woefully territorial nature, as you must already be aware of. Governments and countries regulated espers and guides through contractual obligation, treating them as independent agents for decades, and they continued the practice with Awakeners. However, they did not account for rifts to grow more dangerous and even more difficult to handle for a lone esper, no matter their capability.”
While trying (and failing) to imagine Kishiar posturing and acting aggressively with another esper, Yuder recalls those years with a pinch to his brows. The widespread panic and casualties as once renowned espers, ranked high and untouchable, failed to deal with greater rifts. And he remembers, too, how one in particular begged for mercy at his feet, too much of a coward to return to the frontlines even when ordered by their country.
It’s a satisfying memory. A private one he skims over before returning his attention to the present, gaze lingering on the refined motion of Kishiar’s hands.
“Awakeners seemed agreeable to cooperation, united by the need to protect rather than chase after prestige. The rag-tag group that closed the very first greater rift created a new precedent, and it would’ve been short-sighted to dismiss their success as a mere fluke. The safety and strength of our country, as well as personal freedom, the chance to grow, is all that matters, and I wished to create a space where these goals could align,” Kishiar continues, thoughts laid out in an organized fashion like the food he’s plating.
“You’ve recruited a number of espers in the guild so far.” At least a dozen from what Yuder could sense during the tour; though it’s unclear how many of them are also Awakeners. Still, it’s an impressive number to keep under control.
“Humans are not supposed to be lonesome creatures. Community and connection are arguably our best assets in the face of great danger. Perhaps it was a mistake of our predecessors to encourage espers’ preference for seclusion — and it certainly was a mistake to treat guides as nothing more than tools for their use.”
Kishar lays everything out on a tray, and Yuder, in an effort to contribute, opens the terrace doors while holding the pot of tea. The view is indeed beautiful, the dawn’s tender light beginning to tease at the twilight horizon as birds begin to chitter, but Yuder’s attention coils those words further and further like a garrote wire, trying to wrap around the steel-fortified conviction that’s inherent to Kishiar’s tone. A righteous man with noble goals.
And for his designation to be spoken and recognized in such a way is… strange. Yuder cannot think of any other way to describe the feeling. He’ll untangle it later if necessary.
“Admittedly, it hasn’t been without its challenges. However, no matter how an esper complains about their nature, I believe it’s merely a matter of discipline rather than an innate, uncontrollable urge that makes cooperation among our own kind arduous.” Kishiar pulls out a chair for Yuder as he speaks, expression perpetually warm. “As well as common decency.”
Yuder wouldn’t blame the sun for hesitating to rise when it has such fierce competition.
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Yuder says, seated across from him. Mindful of manners, he quickly tacks on: “Thank you for the food.”
Kishiar watches him carefully pour the tea, hands folded on the table — in no apparent hurry to eat as the conversation trickles, laceration sluggish. “As a leader, I’ve no intention of sitting back while those under my command risk their lives. Any resulting outcome I would’ve gone through is of no consequence when people are saved in exchange.”
An answer Yuder half-heartedly expected. Still, it’s nice to confirm it. “You shouldn’t let yourself get to that state again, regardless.”
“Hearing your concern warms my heart. There’s no need to worry as it will be a while yet before my body comes close to that point since your timely intervention,” Kishiar says, those red eyes half-lidded, creased further at the corners by his warm smile. “Besides, it would be highly irresponsible of me to leave behind an important guest by acting recklessly.”
“But not your guild?”
“It would be a poor chain of command if the organization were to topple simply because its figurehead perished.”
Yuder wants to agree to seem palatable, but most of the leaders he’s met rarely want their success to outgrow their shadow. Studying Kishiar’s features as he sips tea, Yuder pokes at the egg yolk. Watches it bleed gold across porcelain that’s already earned scratches from his crude fork handling. The world is composed of fragile moments like these, far more brittle than most realize. Kishiar speaks of the Legion outliving him, as if legacies could truly live up to expectations, and Yuder could list out a hundred empires that toppled for lesser reasons.
Instead of saying anything, Yuder waits — and it isn’t long before Kishiar’s voice returns to grace the air, the cadence steady, steady. He reminds Yuder of the sea, his heartbeat comparable to the ebb and flow of the waves consistently eating away at cliffs and shorelines.
“Incidentally, I will be unfortunately occupied for the rest of the day. Nathan will provide you with a clearance pass. While a few off-limits areas require an escort, you are welcome to explore as you please.”
Nothing is strictly forbidden, is what Yuder infers. What an unprecedented level of freedom and trust. “What if I’m someone sent to infiltrate your guild?”
Kishiar’s eyes glint, further brightened by the encroaching sunrise as he gestures between them. “Then I hope whatever information you glean will better assist others when it comes to emulating the guild’s structure and purpose.”
In response, Yuder merely tilts his head. “And if I am an assassin?”
The city’s quiet at this hour. Idyllic. Only the rustle of leaves as the breeze whispers past spring-burdened trees, the mountains in the distance and the full undivided attention of an esper that seems, for a heartbeat, interested in testing that theory. His demeanor doesn’t sharpen. The opposite, in fact, as Kishiar leans closer, testing the boundary by brushing their knuckles together. “I wouldn’t ask for a sweeter death, then.”
Yuder’s pupils dilate, dark and abyssal. The air draws taut. He breathes in a slow breath and tastes Kishiar’s sincerity. It’s sweet. Thick. Redolent with power and the familiar urge of wanting to reach out and guide. A part of Yuder that’s never really dormant, merely unneeded at the time, longs to pull at the other’s life-strings with the same unnatural (cruel) ease he wound a clock hand’s times backwards. Make it all flow the way he wants rather than follow the natural pattern.
“It seems the Commander’s more reckless than he himself believes,” Yuder says dryly. He moves his hand to cut into the barely touched breakfast. Steel scrape-scratches the plate further. “It should be a relief to know I’m not here for either of those goals.”
“Regardless of your reason for staying, I highly doubt you will be anything but fascinating in my life, Yuder.”
The sun finally breaks past the mountain range, cradling this section of the world in a hue of the summer to come. Yuder thinks it could’ve stayed hidden for a few minutes longer as he stares at Kishiar’s smile.
~ * ~
Dressed in his old, plain clothes, fingers yet lingering on the fresh stitches and new patchwork that’s mended the already threadbare things on occasion, Yuder wanders around the guild’s campus with the shiny security pass around his neck. A lot of people look at him, cautious at a distance. Some nod in silent greeting, though it’s clear no one really knows what to do about his presence freely meandering about what is, by regulation, a space that’s not open to the public.
Not that he considers himself a civilian by any means.
“Watch out!”
Danger. On instinct, Yuder holds out his hand to slow the projectile sailing through the air, disturbing and slowing the trajectory with a forceful gust of air. It’s a steel ball, dented from use, and Yuder lifts his head to observe a well-built man frantically run over, auburn hair reminiscent of autumn leaves.
“Sorry! Are you alright? We were training, and I wasn’t expecting the ball to get so light after my teammate used their power to change its weight. It’s a relief that it didn’t hurt you.”
Ah. That’s why it was so easy to stop despite its dense appearance. Yuder nods, already leaning down to pick up the ball — only to furrow his brows when it petulantly refuses to budge. Returned to its original weight? What an interesting power. If they can control the exact duration, then the uses for it could be endless…
“You’re Yuder, aren’t you? Gakane Volunbalt, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“You know about me?” Still, after a few moment’s hesitation, he mirrors the other’s gesture and completes the handshake. The brief touch confirms his suspicions even through the gloves; Gakane’s one of the awakened espers, his aura hot like embers. Nothing close to Kishiar’s searing presence, of course, but strong nonetheless.
“Lots of rumors going around about your skills. And that you’re the one who miraculously guided the Commander,” Gakane says, hefting up the ball. At least he needs both hands and a good deal of effort. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you like to watch how we train? You can see for yourself how the training fields work.”
Well, he is curious about the Legion’s methods and variety of powers.
A few minutes later, Yuder’s standing by the edge of a large field, one of many that have runes inscribed around its perimeter to fortify its durability against multiple awakeners testing out their abilities. Arms crossed, figure half-obscured by shadows, he takes note with a placid appearance, though keeps his thoughts private. If he were to conduct the performance evaluations he abided by during his own training (a long time ago), then only a handful would pass the first rounds. And out of those handful, a meagre few would have any potential to outlast the years necessary to graduate.
It’s an unkind view of everyone’s hard work.
“E-excuse me.”
Yuder turns his head at the bird-fleeting interruption, his posture straightening at her severe expression. She looks…pained. Every part of her body taut with tension that it’s a wonder he couldn’t hear her bones creak.
“Is my presence a disturbance?”
She startles, immediately gesturing the opposite as her brown hair sways with the movements. “No, no. I just wanted to introduce myself properly and say it’s good to see you awake. Recruit Kanna Wand, Omnis division.”
“Yuder,” he says, perhaps needlessly.
Kanna seems to relax by degrees, hands clasped over her chest. “It’s nice to meet you. I was one of the members assigned to your case. Finding more about you, that is. I can “read” information about an item, and your gloves were very well cared for… Enon, that’s the person who gifted them to you, right? It’s clear you care for each other a great deal.”
‘You need to take care of your hands more. Prevent future hurts because if you don’t, then who will?’ Enon said, picking out the splinters from his hands. A pair of new gloves awaited on the bedside table, the air sharp with the scent of medicine.
Yuder couldn’t tell him that he didn’t quite care what happened to him, but he accepted the gloves without much protest. He accepted the kindness and knew it would only be repaid in suffering. Enon, heedless of the danger, placed a cool palm against his forehead. ‘Stop staying out in the sun when it’s noon, too. The work can wait.’
She places a hand over her mouth with a slight gasp, her demeanor turning nervous. A touch fearful, too; it’s one of the few he could recognize at a glance.
Yuder inhale slowly. Slow enough to regain his composure. Did he end up giving Enon more trouble even after leaving? Did they—
“The Commander made sure no one approached him during our search for you, I promise! And I also wanted to apologize for prying into your life. Especially when the impression from those gloves made it clear you preferred to be left alone… Will you be staying for a while?”
“You have a powerful ability.”
Something like that would’ve made his line of work simpler; any amount of information is an edge against opponents, and in the world he’s most familiar with, where he earned lessons and scars in equal, painful breadth, information proved time and time again as the one tool that could overturn everything in a single moment. The difference between success and death.
He wants to ask what else Kanna learned about him. Those gloves, even if directly spared from bloodshed, were worn by him for many seasons.
“It’s not perfect, but I’ll take the compliment from you.”
Her body language appears genuine. Somewhat open as they maintain a polite distance. Placing aside those burning questions, Yuder converses with her about the applications of her skills and offers his perspective to further its usage. Kanna…is pleasant to talk with, at least. Friendly enough to be disarming for most. Perhaps mirroring her ability, she’s forthcoming with information, her background, and the story of how she joined the Legion.
“I nearly failed the test until the Commander gave me something to analyze,” she says, leaning against a sycamore tree. The group training nearby brings their session to a halt, preparing for what Yuder assumes is the dinner hour. “It was a broken dog tag… Serial number scratched off and everything. It belonged to Henrick Jones, one of the internationally recognized espers. Officials thought he was MIA in the rifts, but I saw… I saw how he died there. And I’m thankful you kept our people safe from that fate.”
Her gaze remains steady on the horizon, resolute. One fist over her heart, and Yuder understands she’s no stranger to loss. “It’s good you find purpose in your work,” Yuder says, brushing aside the gratitude that sits like a rockfall in the pit of his stomach, uncomfortable and heavy.
“I hope you can find a purpose you like, too, Yuder.”
He wonders if that’s even a possibility.
~ * ~
Gakane and Kanna invite him to the mess hall. Seeing he has no other plans for the evening, Yuder accompanies them — and while conversations lower in volume when Legion members notice his presence, it’s far from stifling as he keeps his gaze lowered.
Soon enough, with his current company easily carrying out a conversation that Yuder can offer brief responses toward, the atmosphere sheds some of its tension. A handful more recruits drift toward their table, introductions on the tongue and gossip at the ready. Is this how they usually behave? These people who swap mundane topics along with their mirth, effortless as breathing. As if they’re not expected to die for the sake of duty.
“Loud, aren’t they?”
Yuder cants his head, a spoonful of something sweet in his mouth. “They’re lively,” he responds, scanning the other’s features for familiarity. “You were part of the team in the rift.”
“Yeah. Ever Beck. Can’t say it wasn’t the worst rift I’ve experienced. Enlightening, for sure.” Ever picks at the food, and Yuder feels one of her legs jittering under the table. “Have you been in those time-flux ones before?”
Nodding slightly, Yuder notes how a few more conversations grow hushed, their attention clearly straining to hear for whatever comes next. Curiosity. Interest. Wariness. The air sharpens gradually, and the edge points to his neck.
“That was the third one. Different from the others I’ve seen.”
“How so?” Kanna asks.
“Bigger. The intention felt,” Yuder pauses, searching for the closest word while his frown deepens. A description for the distinct sensation of being hunted instead of the rift simply existing. “Malicious.”
“All those damn rifts are dangerous. Last one me and Quincy were deployed to was filled with those snakes on legs. Horrible.”
New voices broke through the silence, and the topic shifts toward the worst monsters they’ve faced. A heated debate, by the sounds of it. Yuder remains quiet for most of it, unsure of how to leave the area without it being abrupt.
“Hey, Yuder! What’s worse? Ant-minotaurs or those slime things?”
Neither. He doesn’t want to answer honestly. After all, the worst monster isn’t found in the rifts.
“Commander!”
All at once, the group hastily stumbles to their feet to salute. Still seated, Yuder watches Kishiar enter the mess hall, the white of his uniform gliding through the crowds — naturally at ease at navigating everyone’s attention while balancing respect.
“At ease. There’s no need for formalities while you’re eating,” Kishiar says. Bearing amicable as he checks in with people by name. Does he often socialize with the Legion like this? It could explain the general atmosphere of loyalty. Then, something in his expression shifts as he approaches Yuder. “I’m afraid I have to borrow Yuder for the rest of the evening.”
Five minutes later, Yuder’s riding up the elevator of the administrative building. Instead of the top floors, they stop at the twentieth. Following Kishiar’s hasteless, steady stride, their destination becomes apparent as they stand in front of a large double door that leads into an office space. Expensive furniture. A large heavy desk, more bookshelves. A space inundated with work from every angle. Kishiar gestures for him to sit on the sofa before settling opposite of him, each motion full of grace, exact in their purpose and position.
“You should get a plant,” Yuder comments. He regrets saying it immediately, mouth thinning.
“Would you be willing to water them? Much to my embarrassment, I must admit that the few attempts at adding some greenery ended with them wilting for one reason or another.”
“I may be able to remind you when to do it.”
That earns brief laughter, further resulting in Kishiar’s mouth to curve upward. A softer look than anticipated. “It would be appreciated. Especially if you pick out the plants yourself, Yuder.”
What is this conversation? Yuder, spine rigid, meets his gaze. “What did you want to talk about?”
Kishiar threads his fingers together, legs crossing as he studies Yuder. Sand trickles, counting the seconds as the hourglass on the desk empties itself. “I will preface this by stating you needn’t force yourself to answer. Neither will the terms of our arrangement change,” Kishiar begins.
It’s the Commander sitting across him now.
“What do you know of the Diarca family?”
Yuder stiffens. Feels his heartbeat slow and grow heavier. It’s almost as though he’s alone in the ensuing quiet. Familiarity, if anything, with the inevitable result that is solitude’s embrace slowly turns into a foregone conclusion as memories burrow through the tightly bound mental barrier, accompanied by a tinny ringing.
Sunset. Time to go. Yuder says nothing as dusklight percolates in the room. Then: “I’ve heard of their influence and trade ventures with rift materials, but nothing more.”
“Thank you for your answer,” Kishiar says, sounding genuine.
Yuder breathes. A lungful. Normal. Casual. “Why do you ask?”
Kishiar holds his chin in thought. “They asked for you by name.”
No point in refusal, then.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! I'm sure you guys can guess where this is heading in terms of Yuder's backstory with the Diarca family. Also yay friend trio moment! But I'm not sure of how much I can keep Gakane and Kanna in the focus writing-wise, but please know that I think of them and Yuder as kittens in a basket that shouldn't be separated for long.
While Yuder was walking around and socializing, please imagine Kishiar just sitting at his desk and debating on abandoning his paperwork to play tour guide with Yuder all day. And he wants to make Yuder breakfast and dinner every day (for life) bc watching him eat and figure out what he likes will be in his top 5 favorite activities ^^
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