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Daichi’s heritage had always been of royal blood, and although his grandfather did not make a perfect leader, he always had the people’s best interest at heart. He was not a rich man, and he did not turn to the gods to change that. He was, however, a good man, and Daichi loved his grandfather dearly.
But Daichi’s father did not grow to share the same beliefs. Where his grandfather was generous, his father had been cruel and unjust. As his grandfather tended to his people, Daichi’s father looked to his riches. The day he sat on the throne, the world seemed to be chained at his feet.
His father’s kingdom was large, blessed by the sun god Apollo when the king abided to his every order like a slave. Prosperity and absolute authority was a grand prize, but it changed a greedy man like no other. Once he came of age, he married the young daughter of a wealthy neighboring kingdom, and his mother, the poor soul she was, stuck to the king’s arm like the many women that had laid upon it before. She did not hold Daichi when he was born, only returned to the king’s side and followed him around like a mindless spirit. That was how she stayed until her last breath.
And while being the crown prince of his father’s prosperous empire had been the greatest blessing, Daichi was starting to acknowledge the shackles that were tightened around his wrists. He learned that he was merely raised to be one of the pawns that served his father, and although Daichi greatly respected him, he knew that his father had no regards for Daichi’s personal wishes.
He realized that it was foolish to divulge in his own desires, more foolish to try to voice them. His father never listened, and as he grew older, he also learned that it was easier to keep things to himself. Princes were taught to be virtuous and dignified, and although Daichi did not consider himself as such, the golden circlet in his hair would never fail to remind him of his heritage.
As the sun rises in that simmering summer heat, Daichi leans against the balcony’s stone railing, watching as servants and guards mill about his castle. No one seemed to notice the prince’s quiet gaze, but he did not mind. Unlike his father, Daichi was never fond of servants bowing at his feet.
He watches intently now as he spots a head of grey hair walking across the hall. The servant boy carried a handful of wine jars in his arms, carefully twisting through the crowd on light feet. His tunic, slightly stained and dirtied from his duties, hung down from his lithe frame, all bones and pale skin. Despite his standing status, his eyes were always bright, glinting like golden crowns under the sun.
“If you stare too long, the crows will pluck out your eyeballs,” Asahi tuts from behind him. Daichi jumps, whirls around to face his guard. “I am sure you have heard that somewhere.”
Daichi scoffs quietly. “You should scold me more often. I’m sure my father would appreciate it.”
Asahi stiffens at the mention of the king. He bows low.
Daichi looks down at his friend and raises a brow as he asks, “What is it?”
“A word from the king,” Asahi says. “He is looking for you.”
“Are you his messenger now?”
Asahi ignores his remark. “You did not attend archery lessons.”
“I did attend, and I hit every target on its mark.” Daichi rolls his eyes. “There was no reason for me to stay.”
“You did not have to run off.”
The servants have disappeared to attend to their jobs by now, and the castle grows quiet as the bustling steps of people die down. Daichi glances down, looks around to see if anyone had been left behind.
“Daichi,” Asahi says when his eyes start to drift. “Are you listening?”
“I have always been listening.”
Asahi straightens, sighing. “Come, I will escort you to your father.”
“There is no need. I will see him myself.”
He could not tell if Asahi tried to stop him; Daichi had quickly disappeared into the hallway the moment he finished talking. It was rather improper, but he never liked talking about his father.
As he turns the corner into his father’s throne room, he slows. It is eerily quiet, devoid of his father’s voice booming across the stone. The guards bow to him as they open the door, and he walks inside.
The throne room is empty, aside from the guards stationed by the doors, and a grey-haired servant boy sitting on the floor, silently scrubbing at the ceramic.
He looks over his shoulder as Daichi’s steps echoed through the room, then turns around to kneel. Daichi comes to a halt in front of him, his palms itching as he watches the boy bow lower.
“My prince,” he says. His voice carried softly, like gentle birdsong.
“Is my father here?”
“I am afraid he has just left,” the boy says. “If you wish, I can alert you when the king returns.”
“No, that is alright.” Daichi chews the inside of his cheek. “What is your name?”
The boy looks up in surprise. His eyes are even darker up close, shades of brown that danced like the paintings of a clay pot. He struggles to speak for a moment, then clears his throat.
“My name is Koushi,” he says.
“Koushi,” Daichi repeats. “Do you tend to the gardens?”
Koushi shakes his head. “No, I am only a wine boy.”
“Oh,” Daichi says. He scratches the back of his neck. “I often see you in the gardens. I thought you…”
Koushi blinks up at him, his gaze questioning. “I am rather fond of the gardens. I apologize, I will not stray from my duties.”
“That is not what I meant,” Daichi quickly retorts. “I am… fond of the gardens as well.”
Koushi smiles then, a small twitch of his lips that was hardly noticeable in the dimly lit room. “I see.”
The itching feeling on his palms return, though for an entirely different reason. Daichi gives his own small smile, and his heel begins bouncing against the floor.
“I will take my leave now,” he says.
Koushi lowers his head once more. “It has been a pleasure, my prince.”
Daichi walks into the hall, scolding himself not to look back. He finds Asahi, and they disappear into the archery fields.
Koushi walks past him multiple times throughout the day, but he does not offer more than a smile and a court bow. It was wise to avoid direct interaction as they are in the public eye, but Daichi could not help but feel as if he had hallucinated their meeting. It was irrational of him to expect much, and as he looks down from his chamber balcony, he begins to wonder.
In the depth of night, the garden grows dark as a brooding thundercloud. Hanging torches illuminate the vast edges of the field, and Daichi catches a shadow glooming about, grey hair and white tunic blowing in the wind.
“Who is that?” Asahi asks from beside him. He squints against the darkness.
“Koushi,” he answers. “A wine servant.”
“What is he doing out at night?”
Daichi leans forward, resting his elbows on the railing. He keeps his eyes on the scene below. “He likes the gardens.”
“Oh,” Asahi says. He taps his fingers against the stone absentmindedly. “Do you… like the gardens as well?”
“What?”
Asahi watches him intently, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.
“Oh,” Daichi stutters. “No, no—”
Asahi grins, wrapping an arm around the prince’s shoulders. He shakes them, then throws his head back and laughs like an old drunk.
“I never thought I would see the day,” he says, clearly amused.
Daichi shoves the guard’s arm off. “You are mistaken.”
“Right, right,” Asahi moves away and walks towards the doorway. “I think I will be heading to my chambers for the night.”
“Good night.”
“Good night. Oh, and”—Asahi turns back around—“the guards around the garden will be leaving soon.”
Asahi walks back into the halls, dragging an oil lamp with him. When his light fades into the shadows of the night, Daichi ties his sandals around his ankles, and sneaks outside.
Koushi turns around just as Daichi steps out of the shadows, nervously approaching as if he was a startled doe. Koushi moves to bow lightly, but stops as Daichi raises his hand. His confused gaze returns; the gentle curving of his eyebrows, his lips turned downward.
“There is no need for formalities here,” Daichi explains. “It is just us, and the moon.”
Koushi laughs, and it spills like sunbeams among the clouds. “Forgive me, but that is not how royalty works.”
“Then I suppose things work differently with me.” Daichi sits on a stone bench, crossing his ankles. He pats the empty spot beside him, but Koushi does not move.
“My prince, you should not be out here so late,” he says.
Daichi raises a hand, and he points at the highest tower of the castle. It was his father’s chamber, blocked out and heavily guarded, as if he were a prisoner. His finger moves, tracing the stone roof. “I have climbed to that roof at the darkest hours of the night. It is peaceful up there, and the stars are bright in the summer.”
“That is dangerous. Wouldn’t the king be upset if he knew?” Koushi asks.
“He does not have to know, as long as I keep quiet.” Daichi turns to him. “Will you keep this one quiet for me?”
Koushi’s lip twitches. He walks over, then settles on the bench beside him. “I will take your secret with me to the grave.”
The wind blows once more, sending Koushi’s hair blowing like vapor in the summer air. He is so close that Daichi can see each strand, and below it his beauty mark, hidden underneath the crinkle of his eye. He smells like grape vines and the flowers, of the sun and her kisses.
“Tell me,” Daichi says. “What is it about the garden that you grow so fond of?”
Koushi wrings his hands around his tunic. “I have served the king since I was a boy. I have rarely left the castle, and I have never seen all that the world has to offer. This garden… it is like a glimpse of the outside.”
“Have you once dreamed of leaving?”
“There are some days I wished I had carried myself through the gates,” Koushi admits. “But my place is here. I shouldn’t leave, not when I am unsure if I will survive on my own.”
“Then let me show you around.” Daichi stands, and he offers a hand. “It is the least I can do.”
Koushi shakes his head. “Do not talk as if you owe me.”
“I do owe you,” Daichi says, “for serving my father all this time. Come, before the guards return.”
They stroll the perimeter of the garden, dragging dirty hands along the walls as they chatter. It had been a few summers since he truly enjoyed the night, and although the flowers were not as bright as they are under the sun, the colors still stood out like butterfly wings. Koushi’s eyes flit to every corner of the garden, as if it was his first time being there. It was not, he says. But it is the first time I am not alone.
Daichi tells him the name of every flower like the many times his father had made him recite them as a boy. He knows this garden like the back of his hand, and he knows each stem carried a story. In those days, he hadn’t cared that the bigger flowers came from the east, or that the colorful ones rooted in the north. But now, as he watches Koushi trace their delicate petals with pure awe, he’s glad he still remembers.
“Oh.” Koushi stops in front of a patch of purple flowers, their petals big and curled like ocean waves. The center is splotched white, glowing yellow around the edges. “What are these?”
Daichi looms over the patch. “Ah,” he says. “These are purple irises from the neighboring kingdom, where my mother was from. They were planted the day they wed, in honor of my father’s bride.”
“Oh,” Koushi says again. “They are lovely. The king must have loved her.”
Daichi inhales sharply, and Koushi startles at the sound. He clasps a hand over his mouth, likely assuming it was deemed inappropriate to speak of the late queen, but Daichi assures him with another wave of his hand.
“I suppose that is what people would presume,” Daichi says. “But it has always been… more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“These flowers,” Daichi knelts on the ground, and Koushi follows beside him, “they are natives in my mother’s homeland. They are the symbol of her blood, of royalty. Since my mother was the youngest daughter, she was not entitled to bring them here. But my father had insisted, saying it would strengthen the family name.”
Koushi hums, nodding along to his words. “He planted... another kingdom’s royal name in his own castle,” he says.
“Right.” Daichi stands to brush at his knees. “It is not something worth mulling over, of course. My mother’s family would never send men to fight for something as little as a flower.”
“But it is rather discourteous, is it not?”
Daichi nods. “My father would do anything to boast. He thinks everyone is beneath him. It is no surprise that he would insult his own wife."
Koushi quiets, his eyes pinned to the purple petals in front of him. Daichi watches him carefully, notices that his fingers twitched as if he wanted to touch, but it never moved from his side. Then finally he stands, dusting soot and soil from his legs.
“There is so much that I do not know about,” he says softly. “It is strange. I have always wanted to learn, but I feel that it is not my place to know.”
“There are no secrets between these walls.”
“That is not what I meant.” Koushi smiles to himself. “It is more about our differences. A prince and a servant, we are not the same.”
Daichi shrugs nonchalantly. “You talk as if I am a god.”
“I know you are not, but…” Koushi stares closely, his eyes narrowing. “You are not like your father.”
He is observant, in the same way a mouse stares through the branches of an old oak tree, unsure if the hawk was friend or foe. He is careful with his words, but Daichi knows now that there is an underlying curiosity behind what he says. Wariness is only expected, but he did not cower underneath the prince’s gaze like the others.
Daichi could only blink, slightly baffled by his honesty. Though, he feels there is something more to what Koushi had said, as if he was trying to get another point across. A test, perhaps? Or had it been… reassurance?
“I am glad to hear that,” Daichi says. He does not know what it means now, but judging from Koushi’s relaxed form, he assumes it had been the latter.
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the moving glow of torches returned somewhere behind them, and Koushi quickly closed his mouth. The dull sound of voices and the clanking of armor carry through the garden. Koushi taps his foot impatiently.
“I want to know more.” Then he ducks his head, eyes hidden beneath light hair. “I… want to see you again.”
The itching of his palms return, accompanied by a fluttered squeeze of his stomach. Daichi huffs softly.
“You are not afraid?”
“What is there to be afraid of?” Koushi looks up. “You are not a god.”
Daichi smiles then, and it is returned through the soft beams of moonlight. He moves to answer, but the sounds of approaching guards begin to crowd closer. In an instant, Koushi moves to run in the direction of the opposite entrance on soundless feet.
Just as he’s about to disappear behind the wall, he looks back, and it is a shared promise between them.
Daichi sees him every night. Most times it is the garden, other times they are behind the pillars of the courtyard, hiding from the guards stationed outside that mill about during their duties. It is something he learns to look forward to, strapping his sandals on in the dead of night and climbing down from his balcony. After a few weeks, Koushi tugs him away from their constant meet-up locations, and they walk the castle grounds in the dungeon-like shades of the dark.
Koushi is good at sneaking, Daichi finds, and he is the first to react to a guard’s shuffling sandal or the hoot of a dove. When their laughter grows too loud, Koushi quickly shushes him with a hand on his arm. And when Daichi drops an apricot on the dining hall floor, Koushi flicks it away with a swift kick, then pulls them under the tables as a servant girl comes to investigate.
“You seem to be very skilled at this,” Daichi whispers when the girl leaves. It is even darker under the table, but he makes out the faint lines of Koushi’s shoulder blades, and the nape of his neck where grey hair ends.
“It is not my first time,” Koushi whispers back. “Stealing food is wrong, but it keeps us servants alive.”
“Oh.” Daichi shuffles around on his knees. “I… did not know that.”
“I guess there are things even you are unaware of,” Koushi says, more to himself. “Her footsteps are gone. Hurry, let’s leave.”
Koushi hauls him to his feet. They run through the echoing hallways, their shadows flying across the walls like a dancer’s graceful form, even if Daichi was anything but. He watches Koushi from behind, his bare feet almost silent as he skips across the stone floor. He was like the village thieves his father despised so much, and Daichi almost laughs to himself when he remembers how impressive he thought they had been.
Feeling bold, Daichi quickens his pace until he runs in front of Koushi. He grabs his hand, then sprints along the maze of the castle as he lets his feet guide him. He had gone through this path many times before, and it had been in the days where his feet were only half the size that they are now. His footsteps are louder, and he falls unsure if he could still climb the stones like he used to, but Koushi was already following him blindly. He would not turn back now.
He slows when they reach the higher grounds of the castle, tiptoeing through as he finds the usual window. Daichi pokes his head out, and when he confirms no one is watching, he turns to Koushi and gestures outside.
“You go first. I will make sure you do not fall.”
Koushi looks at him as if he was mad. “This is near the king’s chambers. Where are you taking me?”
“The highest rooftop in the whole kingdom,” Daichi says. “Come, before anyone sees.”
“But—”
The sound of footsteps return; heavy shuffles of sandals against stone from the same direction they came. Daichi plants himself between Koushi and the source, nudging him towards the window with his back. Koushi makes a small noise like a gulp, then climbs out of the window to latch onto the stone crevices of the wall. Daichi follows suit, hanging beside Koushi and wrapping an arm around his back to steady him.
Once the glow of torches fades down the hallway, Koushi turns to him, and with a nod of his head he begins climbing upwards. The scrape of fingers and feet against the mossy wall is loud, and Daichi hopes the guffaws and roaring chatter of the guards hide their scuffles.
Koushi reaches the rooftop first. He looks up, and the stars stare back at him.
“Huh, that’s odd,” Daichi whispers somewhere behind him. He pulls himself up on thick arms and drops quietly into the stone. “They are usually brighter.”
“But they are so close,” Koushi says. “It is like… I can almost touch them.”
It is dark enough that Koushi could not see his own hands in front of him, and he heavily relied on his hearing to know Daichi had sat down beside him. The rooftop was small, barely enough for the both of them, and Koushi finds himself shoulder to shoulder with the prince. Yet he could not bring himself to mind as their legs dangled over the side of the wall, occasionally bumping when swung back and forth.
“The older I become, the less I find myself sitting here,” Daichi says. “I know I could not prevent it, but I only wish time would slow.”
“I know it is hard, but you should remember,” Koushi points, even if Daichi could not see it through the darkness, “everything changes, in the same way everything stays. Look, the stars are still here, even if they are not as bright as they used to be.”
He listens as Koushi’s fingers trace across the stone, the rough edges picking at his nails. He wishes he could see him, but then Koushi would be able to see him too; his nervous hands, the restless bounce of his thigh, and his ears, reddened at the tips.
A question sat on the edge of his tongue, but it felt heavy and big in his mouth, and he could not bring himself to speak. As if Koushi had read his mind, he laughed quietly.
“I will still be here,” he says. “As long as you do not fly too close to the sun.”
“Do not worry. I am not known for my greed.”
“I will have to take your word for it.”
“That’s good.” Daichi grins. “I am a man of my word.”
“You’ve heard, haven’t you?” Asahi asks him, leaning against one of the courtyard’s pillars, his spear already discarded somewhere. “Princess Kiyoko is looking for a husband.”
Daichi wipes the sweat from his brow. “I didn’t know such matters would reach your ears. Especially before mine.”
“They say—” Asahi stops. “You have not heard?”
Daichi shrugs, moving to remove pieces of his armor. Asahi’s forehead wrinkles at this.
“I know her,” Daichi says. “She had attended our banquets in the past. She was a shy girl, and grew into a beautiful woman, from what I heard.”
“And you did not hear that she would be wed?”
“It does not matter to me.” Daichi’s brow furrows, turning away from his guard. “I do not wish to marry her.”
He hears the clanking of metal against metal behind him, and knows that Asahi had stacked his armor against the wall. There are heavy footsteps as Asahi stands behind him, claps him harshly on the back.
“That is not what I meant,” he says.
“I know,” Daichi replies. “But my father has not discussed marriage with me. You do not think he would suddenly change, would you?”
“No, I do not. But the king is as unpredictable as a storm. And when it comes to his judgment, you are not exactly the luckiest of us.”
Daichi smiles, shaking his head. “I was hoping I would not hear that from you.”
Asahi leads him in the direction of the dining hall, and sits across from him as the girls serve them trays of bread and cheese, goblets brimming with wine. The scent of it makes Daichi woozy, and he pushes the bowl away when his stomach lurches. Eventually, he stops eating altogether, sitting quietly as he waits for Asahi to finish.
Noticing his discomfort, Asahi hands him a jug of water. “What will you do?” he asks.
“About what?”
“If your father wants you to marry her.”
Daichi rests his chin against a palm, his other hand tracing the golden intricates of his goblet. He doesn’t know why Asahi had bothered to ask. “It is just as you said,” he says. He takes a long swig of his drink, then wipes the edge of his mouth. “I have never been the luckiest of us.”
Daichi lets himself be led across the grassy meadow, his fingers tightly held against another. The forest stood a few meters to their left, obscuring them from view in case one of Daichi’s guards noticed his absence. When Koushi frolics towards the summit of a small hill, he sits near a bed of flowers, dragging Daichi down by his hand.
“Summer will pass soon,” Koushi says. “Look, the flowers are starting to wilt.”
Beside him, Daichi nods. “In all honesty, I have never been great with the heat.”
“Neither am I.” Koushi smiles. “I have always preferred the springtime.”
Koushi twirls a dark red rose in his hand, mindful of the thorns that litter the delicate stem. He turns to show it, and Daichi blinks at him, tilting his head in confusion.
“For you,” Koushi clarifies. “Take it.”
“Do you know the story of the red rose?” Daichi asks. He looks at Koushi, whose eyes flit to him in widened curiosity.
“I do not,” he says. “Tell me, please.”
And Daichi tells him, words tumbling out of his mouth the way his teachers repeated the tale to him as a boy; of the beautiful goddess Aphrodite, so stricken and deeply heartbroken as she cries for her ill-fated lover. The way the roses had sprouted from her tears, painted red with the blood of the hunter Adonis. It was the symbol of the most passionate form of love, born from the heart of the goddess herself.
“Falling for a mortal has never ended well,” Koushi says when he finishes. “Don’t the gods ever learn?”
Daichi chuckles. “Asteri mou, watch yourself. The gods will not be happy if they hear.”
Koushi laughs to himself, and Daichi feels his breath leave his lips. “And who is to say I have not fallen for a mortal myself?”
The wind picks up as they make their way around the open field, the scent of wildflowers and sunlight swirling like a summer’s breeze. Koushi tugs him along the path, stopping every now and then to kick a pebble or run his hand over an old tree’s bark.
When they reach the creek, Koushi hops onto the first boulder, then the next, and the next, until he stands in the center. Daichi follows. He slips on a rock, feels hands wrapping around his arm to pull him to his feet.
Then Koushi is there, brown eyes and sunkissed skin and beauty mark mere inches from him. He sighs, warm and light, and Daichi feels the fast thud of his heart in his throat.
“My prince,” he laughs. “You are not as swift-footed as I thought you were.”
Daichi grins at him, his eyes twinkling. “How do you know I did not do it on purpose?”
Koushi lets go, and Daichi laughs as he falls into the water. He pulls Koushi by his ankle, who yelps as he is dragged under. The creek is cold and shining and flows like the gentle breeze. It was perfect. The summer heat could not reach them there.
Later, when they sit on the rock’s edge, tunics wet and dripping from the water, Koushi plucks another rose. He runs a tender finger over the petals, soft as silk. “I wonder what it is like,” he says, “to have your heart and soul taken from you.”
“I could not imagine a greater grief.”
Koushi hums. His voice is like a lyre. “I do not think love exists without grief. Like the goddess, whose love did not show until her partner dies. It is like summer and winter, you cannot have one without the other.”
Koushi hands the flower to him, and in his carelessness Daichi pricks his finger on a thorn. He watches as blood beads on his fingertips, then runs down the length of his palm. The color scared him now, but he was no god, and wherever Koushi went he could follow.
In the early afternoon of autumn, orange leaves shroud the courtyard as Daichi makes his way across. The cold air swipes harshly against his tunic, dragging up his spine like a chill. He’s familiar with this feeling, the growing queasiness that came with seeing his father.
He walks stiffly, head held high to hide his discomfort, not that it would change much. The guards at the doorway bow when they see him, but Daichi had been too rigid to acknowledge them. He walks inside and kneels in front of the king.
“You called me, father?”
“Bow correctly, boy.” His father’s croaky voice booms across the hall. Daichi bows his head lower, bending his spine like an archer’s bow.
“You remember Lord Shimizu’s daughter.” It was not a question.
“Yes, I remember her.”
His father inhales wetly, rasping when he says, “You will go and ask for her hand in marriage.”
“What?”
His father, thin and frail as he was, straightened on the throne, as if trying to assert authority in the too large throne room. The back of the seat loomed tall and heavy behind him; it was no seat for an old man, but his father was prideful, and he would not let his age be held against him. He glares down at his son.
“Father,” he gulps. Whether he was afraid of the king or the throne, he could not tell. “You could have told me sooner.”
“It does not matter. I have prepared gifts for the princess,” his father replies. “You will take your men with you, and you will return with your bride.”
Daichi’s knee digs into the concrete as his thigh begins to shake from the uncomfortable position.
“Do not disappoint me.” His father narrows his eyes at him, his gaze sharp as a starving vulture.
“I won’t.”
The king leans back on his chair, and his body sags in satisfaction. The opened windows of the throne room illuminate his father’s sunken face, his sickly yellow skin pulled taut against his bones. He resembled a corpse, and the thought almost pleased Daichi.
“You may bring your men for the journey,” his father says. “You are dismissed.”
Asahi’s grip on his wooden sword loosens, and he almost drops it had Daichi not barked at him to come to his senses. His mouth hangs open, eyes unblinking as he stares at the prince.
“Why are you surprised?” Daichi asks. “You were the one who told me.”
“I did not think it would happen, I swear on the gods!”
Daichi sighs. He raises his shield in defeat, then drops his weapon on the dirt. Asahi follows suit, and walks closer to offer a hand, pulling Daichi to his feet.
When Daichi brushes the dirt from his tunic, he notices Asahi’s frowning stare. “What?”
“You are… awfully calm about this.”
Daichi does not answer. He merely shrugs, then bends to brush the dirt from his legs.
“What will you do?”
“What can I do?” Daichi grumbles. “It is unlike me to disobey, and my father would never allow it.”
From his low angle, Daichi catches his guard’s hands balling into fists at his side. “So you are going through with it?”
“I suppose.”
“What will you tell him?”
Daichi freezes. He stands, eyes downcast as he says, “The same thing I told you.”
As the sun falls into dusk, and their shadows disappear into the night, Asahi gathers the wooden swords and stores them in the courtyard shed. He holds the oil lamp high as they make their way back to the castle, side by side.
Just before they part into their chambers, Daichi grabs his shoulder.
“You will come with me, right?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Gather the strongest recruits,” Daichi says. “But do not tell them yet. Not until I have told Koushi.”
He bows lightly. “Alright.”
Daichi could barely sleep for the next four days, nor did he eat or drink. He paces the length of his chamber until his ankles become sore, and he’s dragging his feet across the floor. Sometimes, Asahi watches him from the doorway, but he has been put in charge of the guard recruits, and Daichi does not see him until dinner.
Asahi scolds him when he does not finish his meals, but as they turn to their chambers for the night, Daichi notices that Asahi’s plate was not empty as well.
Eventually, he walks out and makes his way to the gardens. He does not bother avoiding the guards in the hallway, his thoughts a bustling and blaring mess as he tries to find the right words to say.
“Is something bothering you?”
Koushi stands before him, his head tilted to the side. Daichi takes a moment to blink; he did not realize he had made it all the way across the castle.
“I… have something to tell you.”
Koushi’s smile slips off his face. Daichi takes his hand and leads him to a stone bench.
“I am to leave for Princess Kiyoko’s hand.” It comes out weak. He lets his voice be carried by the wind.
He looks up, studies Koushi’s face softly. The glinting brown of his eyes, his unruly silver hair, his eyebrows, curved and twitching as he frowns.
“I see.” Before Daichi could answer, Koushi spoke once more, “I have expected this of you.”
Daichi bends down, catching Koushi’s gaze as it lowers. “Are you angry?”
“I do not think I deserve a say in the matter.”
“Then I ask, as your prince.”
Daichi reaches out to lay a gentle hand on his cheek, bringing his head upward. Koushi turns his head, his warm breath tickling the rough skin of Daichi’s palm where he leans into it.
“You should be thrilled,” Koushi says. He cups Daichi’s hand, pressing it against his lips. “She is the most beautiful princess, is she not?”
“She is not you.”
Koushi smiles. “No,” he says. “But if you are not happy, then let me rejoice for you.”
“No, Koushi—”
“It’s alright,” Koushi says. “I understand.”
His mouth opens in an airy laugh, soft as the murmurs of a weeping spring. “It seems like fate has never been in our hands, don’t you think so?”
Daichi hums. His voice cracks at the end. “The gods do not favor us, it seems.”
He pushes Daichi’s hand away from his face, clasping them together on his lap. “Then let them order us around for now. You should go.”
“Will you wait for me?” Daichi asks him.
“Of course.”
Daichi knows it had to be the most selfish request he has ever made in his life, but the thought of Koushi waiting for him helped ease his burdens somewhat. Had Koushi not been so willing, perhaps Daichi would never find the spur to go through with the marriage, and he could not help but wish Koushi had disagreed. It might have been easier on his part, but Koushi was never the kind of person to make things easier for himself.
He would not let Koushi’s patience go to waste. It was another promise he deemed worth keeping, and it was far more important than the thought of disappointing his father.
“Okay,” he says, and his internal torments die down, if only a little.
He does not see Koushi for the remaining days. The servants bustle about as they gather horses and saddles, prepare food and other necessities for camp. The princess’s gifts are carefully wrapped and stored in their biggest wagon, hooked to Daichi’s strongest horses.
He does not like the thought of it. Instead, he helps Asahi gather their men for the journey. Most of them are his usual guards, others a handful of promising recruits that Asahi had picked out himself. They are strong, Asahi tells him. Their loyalty deep and undoubting. Daichi appreciates this greatly, but in the midst of his jumbled mind could not bring himself to remember their names.
On the morning of his departure, Asahi pries Daichi’s reins from his hands. Before he could speak, Asahi nudges him gently towards the direction of the castle.
“Go,” he says.
Daichi blinks at him. “I cannot. My father—”
“I will not tell him.” Asahi smiles. “Hurry.”
His feet swiftly carry him across the courtyard before Daichi realizes he doesn’t know where to look. He checks the wine cellar, runs through the dining hall, asks each of his guards before one of them finally leads him to the servant’s chambers. There, he knocks on the door to Koushi’s room, huffing from the ordeal.
The door swings open and Koushi’s eyes widen, hurriedly stepping into the hall. “My prince, you—”
“Koushi,” Daichi quickly cuts off. “I… I will be leaving soon.”
“O-Oh. Of course.” Koushi bows. “Have a safe journey, my prince.”
Daichi grits his teeth. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he takes a deep breath to steady them. He takes one of Koushi’s hands.
“I will come back for you,” he blurts out.
Koushi startles for a minute, then he shakes his head. “You must come back with your bride. It is what your father wanted.”
“I will marry her for my kingdom. But there is nothing more. I want you to know this.”
Koushi shakes his head again, but this time he smiles. “Keeping such promises will be your downfall.”
“I do not mind,” Daichi says. “Not in the least bit.”
Koushi looks at him carefully, runs his gaze over each of Daichi’s features as if he was memorizing them. His brown eyes shone like beach pebbles. “Please, return with her.”
Daichi nods.
In their silence, Koushi’s tears begin to fall, fat drops that roll down and fall between their feet. He stares at the ground blankly, seemingly unaware for a few moments. Then he looks at Daichi’s startled expression, touching his cheeks and vigorously wiping at his eyes.
“Forgive me,” he chokes. The smile he plastered begins to wobble, but it stays nonetheless. “I told myself I would not cry…”
Daichi reaches out to touch his face, but Koushi catches his hand, turning his head away. When the tears did not seem to stop, Daichi wraps his arms around him, gently pressing Koushi’s head against his shoulder.
“Be careful out there.”
Daichi hums. “I will.”
“Keep your sword at your side.” He sniffles.
“I will.”
“I will be waiting,” Koushi says. “Come back to me.”
Daichi leans down and presses his nose against grey hair. Koushi smells like wine, like the fresh soil after a rainstorm.
“I will.”
The path was quiet, with nothing but the squeaky wagon wheels and the soothing clop-clop-clop of hooves against the stone. The trees around them had begun to wilt, dry leaves swirling around as the winds blew. Bald branches stuck out like spearheads, scratching at arms and shoulders when the horses drew too close. As the seasons came and went, the early winter breeze howled as if eager to let itself be known.
Asahi’s horse trots next to his, his breastplate reflecting the sun as it slowly lowers over the mountains. “You seem… distracted,” he says.
“I have a lot on my mind.”
Asahi studies him closely. He hums to himself, scratching at his thin beard. “But you’ve been looking… happy.”
Daichi turns to him. “I could say the same thing about you.”
“Me?”
Daichi cranes his neck to look behind them, at one of the boys sitting on the wagon’s seat. He had a shorter build, with black spiky hair, blonde tufts peeking out from the front of his helmet. He laughed with the other wagon boy, a taller one with a bald head, and did not seem to care that his voice carried itself to the furthest soldier, loud and obnoxious as a mule’s call.
Asahi follows his gaze. He turns back to blink at him.
“Did you think I would not notice?” Daichi gives him a knowing look. “I have known you my whole life.”
Asahi says nothing, merely slumps against his saddle. He refuses to look Daichi in the eye, which is as much as an answer he needed.
Daichi turns back when the boy’s laughter dies. He was focused on the road now, him and his friend, and when he notices Daichi looking, he gives a curt bow of his head.
“I do not know him,” Daichi says. “He is new, is he not?”
Asahi nods. “He is a good man, very skilled in defense. Perhaps even better than me.”
“His name?”
“Nishinoya Yuu,” Asahi says. “Best in his village, from what I have heard.”
Daichi flashes him a grin. “You have heard much.”
They tether to the side of the road as night fell, unloading supplies and building fires to stave off the cold. Daichi helps his men set up camp, and in his own occupation almost missed the way Nishinoya Yuu had made his way over to Asahi.
They are talking, hushed whispers shared against one another. Their grins were brighter than fire embers that danced across burnt wood, and Daichi thinks, if I could not have mine, surely the gods will let you have yours.
The world fell under the blanket of night, stars peeking from tree tops and thick branches, twinkling like fireflies in the emerald grass. Daichi finds himself alone on the edge of camp, settling in the grass with a soft huff.
He pours himself a jug of wine, lets the earthy smell of it remind him of someone he had left back home. The sound of his men jabbering behind him fades into white noise, and as Daichi lowers himself onto his back, he dreams of brown eyes, bright as the rippling ocean that shone under the sun.
Meddling with the gods had always led to an unforeseeable outcome, and while being acknowledged was a great honor, the people would rather stray from their affairs. Most cases it was fear, or perhaps the underlying assumption that humans are lesser than those of immortal blood, but some humans, those with the highest pride and a thirst of power, are better known to carry out these perilous acts.
The gods often found it amusing, watching these wretched beings climb their way to the top on hands and knees, for no matter how far they scraped on bloody fingernails, their feet would never leave the earth.
As the king fell from the god Apollo’s favor, he fired one last arrow at the land. He did not aim for the king’s head, but the damage was far greater than a single man’s fall. As the arrow landed on the furthest village, sickness spread like a quenchless fire. It moves faster than a storm, swifter than an eagle through the air, and in a matter of days the kingdom had fallen into panic. The plague travels from the east to the west, just as Apollo rides his sun chariot through the endless sky.
Commoners flee their homes to plead by the castle’s closed gates, praying for the gods to help them. The crowd of villagers grew, but the gods did not bat an eye. They had never cared for people that wailed with meaningless apologies.
“My lord,” the general says as he kneels. His armor is hastily clasped on, his eyes frazzled as a cat’s fur. “The people are restless. They will not leave.”
The king grumbles in mock reply. “Keep the gates closed. No one in the castle is allowed to venture outside the walls.”
“The prince is still away.”
“His return will be delayed,” the king says. “I have sent a messenger to bring the news. He will not be returning until it has been dealt with.”
The general begins to tremble under his gaze. “My lord, the people are dying, and the sickness is spreading from one village to another. What do we do?”
“Burn them.”
“Pardon?”
“Burn the villages!” the king bellows. “Every sick one. If the people escape, kill them immediately.”
“My lord,” the general replies meekly. “There are families who have not caught the plague. They are helpless, we—”
“Nonsense. If they have not caught it, then they will soon enough. Deploy the soldiers tonight. I do not want to see another living soul at the gates.”
The general turns his head downwards, letting his spear roll off to the side. When he quiets, the king raises a brow, and steps off the throne to loom over him.
“General,” he says. “Need I repeat myself?”
The general shakes his head. “No.”
“Then I take it you will obey my command.” The king turns away. “I expect great things from you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Koushi,” a voice calls, steady as a tree’s hollow bark, “you have been scrubbing the same spot for a while now.”
“Oh!” Koushi leaps to his feet. He drags the wooden bucket across the floor, then drops on the other side of the room. “My apologies.”
Tadashi watches him scrub at the floor before coming over, gently wiping clay pots and vases that litter the floor. Koushi looks up when a pair of feet stops beside him.
“You have been quiet today. Is there something on your mind?” Tadashi asks.
“Have I?” Koushi blinks. Tadashi drops to the floor beside him. “Ah, it’s just, the plague…”
Tadashi hums. His tunic slips off his shoulder, and he fixes it with a freckled hand. “It has been quite hectic here. And food is running low, since traders are not allowed into the castle.”
“We might be sent out to search for food. Though, I am not exactly sure if we would be welcomed back.” He did not mean to scare the younger servant, but their circumstances were critical, and there was no use in hiding it.
“Yes.” Tadashi smiles sadly. “Well, I did not grow to have the life I wanted, I do not think I would mind death all that much.”
Had he been in a different situation, Koushi would have agreed. But someone was waiting for him, and Koushi had sworn he would stay. He could not afford to give up so easily.
“How is Kei?” Koushi asks.
“I have not seen him.” Tadashi runs a gentle finger across the clay, the surface clean and smoothed down with precision. “All the guards have been sent out by the king’s command.”
As if a breeze has swept in, the room turns cold like the castle's marble stone. Koushi sighs, and his breath carries more weight than it should.
Tadashi turns to him. “I hope the prince will be alright.”
“I think he will be just fine.”
“How can you tell?”
Koushi stands, wiping at his forehead. He hauls the bucket into his arms and steps out, and Tadashi follows him. “He is not one to break a promise.”
Daichi hastily attaches his bridle, no more eager to return home after months away. His horse begins to fret at his brisk movements, whining loudly when he pulls it too tight. It kicks, but Asahi is there in an instant, soothing it with a hand across its flank. He looks over the horse to give him an unimpressed stare.
“What?” Daichi scoffs. “I know you are just as impatient to leave as I am.”
“Yes, but please refrain from showing it. It is ill-mannered towards the princess.”
“Oh. Right.” Daichi scratches the nape of his neck.
Asahi sighs then, shaking his head fondly. Daichi looks at him, and Asahi’s eyes are almost wistful, similar to the days they had climbed giant trees and ran through the mud as boys. They are gentle, even beneath his helmet.
“I am glad you have someone waiting for you at home,” he says.
Daichi blinks at him. “Where is this coming from?”
“Nothing. I am just… being honest.”
“Asahi, you always do this,” Daichi whines. “Do not get sentimental with me, not now.”
Asahi crosses his arms defensively, but he pouts nonetheless. “What is wrong about that?”
“It does not match you. You are a soldier, the best among my men, yet you act like a misty-eyed maiden.”
“I am just happy for you. I know the gods haven’t been kind when it comes to things like this.”
Daichi nods, though his face is solemn. He could not tell exactly why, but the mention of the gods had stirred something awful in his stomach.
Across the field, trumpets blew. Daichi’s men scramble to their feet to stand in lines, and Daichi makes his way to the front. As he bids farewell to the princess and her father, the dreadful weight only moves up until it settles heavy across his chest. He is so used to feeling like this by now, and he still loathes it all the same.
He lets his thoughts be dissolved by the sound of horse hooves and the murmured cheering of his men as they begin to make their way home.
The first thing Daichi notices is the smell; thick, humid waves of burnt oakwood and the rustic scent of blood. His men seemed to notice as well, wrapping cloth over their noses, and in their confusion the horses began to grow restless. Daichi quickly leads them out from the forest path, the smell growing stronger as they near the exit.
In the distance, smoke rises from multiple spots, black as a hellhound’s coat. Daichi glances behind him to see his men gawking, their eyes white as they point and murmur. He recognizes the forest as the kingdom’s western region, and if he had remembered correctly, then the smoke—
“Hey!” someone yells from the crowd. Nishinoya Yuu. “That smoke is coming from my village!”
When everyone merely looked helplessly at him, Nishinoya turned to Asahi, who redirected his gaze to Daichi. It was silent between them, but Daichi did not need words to know.
Daichi crosses the distance, and in mere seconds they stand before the burning ruins of a small village. Remains of wooden houses are scattered throughout the clearing, some of which still held a dying fire. When Daichi looks inside, he is immediately engulfed in the smell of burning corpses, the stench making his throat burn and his eyes water. They are hardly recognizable, reduced to mounds of thick ash.
Asahi calls him from the outer sides of the village, pointing at a dead woman that was sprawled across the dirt. Her chest gaped with a sword wound, blood seeping out and pooling around her body. She looked as if she had been running towards the forest, then slashed before she could make it.
“What… happened here?” Nishinoya says, slumping in front of a burned house. Asahi walks over to rest a heavy arm across his back.
“Was there a battle?” one of the men asks.
“There are no signs of fighting,” Asahi answers. “It looks like they were… ambushed.”
“Ambushed?” another pipes up. “Was there a war?”
“No.” This time, Daichi speaks. He glides his hand over a burnt wooden plank, pats down the small fire that bloomed on the edge. “We were only away for three months. That is little time to strategize an ambush, much less start a war.”
“Then what do you suppose happened?” Asahi asks.
Daichi makes a sound like choking. “I do not know.”
“Let’s keep going,” Nishinoya says behind them. Everyone turns to him, each of their faces a mix of hopeless confusion and unkept terror. “We might be able to ask someone from another village.”
It was the thing with soldiers; they are never given time to grieve, when one hesitant move could mean certain death. Daichi leads them forward, trying to pretend he does not see the hard edges of his men’s facade. He does not know if the gods will let him return to this village, but Daichi has never been dependent on their judgement in the first place.
He takes the route that drives through the heart of every village they pass. They are getting further from home; heading east whereas the castle stood in the northern region. He lets impatience get the best of him as the horses sprint down the grassy path, their hooves thumping like thunder against the ground. It is futile; no matter how fast they move, it is always the same.
The burned remains of multiple villages. Their houses are gone, bodies burned and scattered in the mud. Daichi looks down at the lifeless women and children, the pit in his stomach growing cold. They force themselves to keep moving, desperation seeping forward as they continue searching for a surviving settlement.
“It is useless,” Asahi says as they pass the eighth village. They had been running for half a day, and everyone slumped in weary defeat. “All of them are gone.”
Nishinoya lets out a frustrated howl. “We cannot find clues like this.”
“Wait,” Daichi says. “Have you noticed a pattern?”
The shouting and wailing stops, and everyone falls quiet, turning to him.
Daichi points forward, his finger in-line with the horizon. “The village remains have been decreasing since we moved. The bodies, too. In the first village we passed, they were still intact, but the last one had been nothing but bone.”
Asahi is the first to speak, his fingers dragging through his thin beard. “So they… had started killing in the east and made their way to the west.”
“Right,” Daichi says. “But the east region borders the sea, and if they came from neighboring kingdoms…”
“...Then there should be ships at the border,” Nishinoya says. He salutes, his breastplate ringing in the light. “I will go alone and see.”
“You cannot go alone. It might be dangerous.” Daichi turns to Asahi. “You will not go with him?”
“I was ordered to stay by your side.”
“Then I order you to go,” Daichi says. “Return before sunrise tomorrow, but be cautious, and be silent.”
Asahi and Nishinoya bow, then their horses set off with a quick jab to the flank. They race through the field, and into the eastern horizon where the sun had lowered.
In the distance, two torches head to their direction in the hours before dawn. The horses squeal their arrival, hooves kicking up dirt and grass as they ran. Daichi wakes with a start while the men around him had begun to shake each other awake.
Nishinoya arrives first, Asahi tailing him just a few feet away. His eyes shone with hazy exhaustion, but his spine straightens as he salutes to the prince. “We have returned.”
“And?”
“There were no signs of ships.”
The men behind him break out into murmured chatter, their disbelief clear through the night. Asahi arrives to confirm what they saw, and Daichi could only curse quietly. A small part of him had expected this, but it was too harsh, and he could not bear to think of what truly happened.
Still, he would not leave his men to wonder in the dark. He urges them to mount their horses, then picks up the reins to his own. The men turn to him, blinking owlishly.
“Where do we go now?” Asahi asks.
“Back to the castle. I have to speak with my father.”
Nishinoya frowns, his eyes red around the edges. “But we still do not know.”
“If there were no ships, then they must have come from this kingdom,” Daichi says. “And there is only one other group of soldiers that are not mine.”
Asahi lunges, grabbing his arm. “Wait, Daichi. Do you really think… the king did this?”
“I cannot say for sure.” He paces around Asahi, and his men trail behind him. “But if we do not go now, then we will never know.”
The gates of the castle are strangely empty. Only a few soldiers mill about, a contrast to the usual crowd that stood in front of the walls. Not only that, but the loud chattering and scuttling of servants within the castle seemed muted. It was as if the whole building had been placed underwater, noises blocked out and far away.
Daichi and his men trotted slowly, most of them wary and exhausted from their ordeal. As soon as they walk out of the forest, the soldiers at the walls turn to them, their expressions stiff. There was not an ounce of welcoming Daichi usually received from his previous trips. Then, to his surprise, they moved into offensive positions, grabbing at spears and swords. Some had begun to nock their arrows, and aimed at Daichi’s head.
Asahi throws himself forward, placing himself between the guards and their prince. He holds his shield high above his head and braces for impact.
“Do not fire!” Daichi bellows. “It is Prince Daichi. I have returned.”
The soldiers do not lower their weapons, but they turn amongst each other in confusion. ‘The prince?’ he hears some of the mutter, followed by ‘why is he here?’ After a few moments, more men began to lean over the wall to look. They gaped at each other, scratching their heads like monkeys, seemingly at a loss of what to do. Daichi was used to the staring by now, but this was… odd, being treated like a stranger in his own home.
Asahi steps aside as Daichi lays a heavy arm on his shoulder. “Open the gates.”
One of the soldiers answered, “We have been ordered not to.”
“By who?”
“The king,” he says. “He had ordered all gates shut to avoid the plague from entering.” He looked peeved, as if he had repeated the same sentence multiple times before. But Daichi paid it no mind, instead, letting the words travel into his head.
“The… plague?”
The soldier opens his mouth to reply, but a hand reaches over to pull him back. Another soldier speaks to him, loud enough for Daichi’s men to hear. “Perhaps the prince is unaware. He had just returned, after all.”
“Impossible. The messenger should have reached him by then.”
“Open the gates!” Daichi interrupts. His horse whickers loudly. “I will not tell you again.”
He hated it, having to use the same menacing tone his father had used whenever Daichi went against his orders, but it was proven rather effective at times. Like now, as he watches the soldiers tense from head to toe, glancing down at him, clearly intimidated. Daichi stands his ground, glaring that same fiery stare that had his servants dropping to their knees at his feet. It reminded him so much of his father, and he absolutely despised it.
The soldiers came to a silent agreement, then scrambled down the walls to pull the gates open. As Daichi and his men made their way through, no one dared to look him in the eyes.
In the hallway of his father’s chamber, Daichi reaches a hand to grasp at the metal knobs, but quickly flinces back when a spear blocks his path. The guards stationed by his father’s doors had placed themselves in front of him, the wood of their spears shoved into his hands. Daichi feels his eyebrow twitch in irritation, but he wills himself to calm down. It would be bad if he started a fight, and here, of all places.
“My father. He is inside, is he not?”
“The king is inside, but we cannot let anyone in. My apologies, my prince.”
“The plague?” Daichi asks. He receives a nod in return. “I am not sick. Just let me through, I need to speak with my father.”
The guard does not move. If anyone else had been there, he would have let them tug the back of his tunic to hold him back, but he had only himself, and the pressuring thought of maintaining his posture.
“Daichi, there you are.” In his irritation, Daichi had missed the pounding footsteps of his friend as he jogged through the hall. Asahi steps between them, tugging Daichi’s arm in the direction of which he came. His eyes were stern, no doubt trying to let a silent message get across, and Daichi’s protests died in his throat.
He lets Asahi tug him out of the halls, stepping through pillars as he tries to keep up. He realized then that the inside of the castle seemed devoid of any living soul; the chambers and hallways were empty with the sounds of busied hands and bustling feet. Once they are safely away from any lingering ears that might hide about, Asahi leans in to whisper.
“There is a servant in the gardens that wishes to speak with you,” he says. “You might want to hear what he has to say.”
“Is that all?” Daichi stops mid-walk. “Asahi, I was just about to see my father.”
“I know, but this is important, just come with me. Besides, I do not think you would be let in.”
Daichi grumbles, but continues to follow him. It was when they stepped down from the stone stairway leading to the gardens that Daichi recalls familiar words: servant, garden, him. He quickened his pace, turning to Asahi as they approached the gateway.
“Servant? Did you say servant?” He lets his heels bounce from the stone, his chest warming at the thought of seeing that face. “It is him, right? It’s…. oh.”
Sitting on a single stone bench of the gardens is a young boy, his green-ish dark hair straightened down over his head. His legs swung back and forth over the ground, and he wrung his hands around his dirty tunic anxiously. Upon closer inspection, Daichi sees freckles dusting his cheek bones and over the bridge of his nose. When they walk out from the gateway, his eyes flit to them, and he scrabbles to bow politely.
Daichi glances at Asahi over the boy’s kneeling form, but Asahi does not look back, his eyes stilling on the boy’s back.
“I am grateful that the prince has abided by my wishes to see him. Thank you, great one.”
“Please, there is no need for formalities here.” Daichi tugs the boy to his feet, who startled at the gesture. “What is your name?”
“My name is Tadashi,” he says. “I overheard from the guards that the messenger did not reach the prince, and I assumed he would be unaware of our situation.”
Daichi and Asahi turn to glance. Asahi nods at him.
“And you will tell us?”
Tadashi nods. “I have been here for a while. I am one of the few who is still around.” Then he begins to fidget again, twisting and pulling at the hem of his tunic. “However, I… would like something in exchange. I will tell you what has happened, and in return I would like to ask something of the prince.”
His gaze flitted to the ground, shrinking into himself as his words died in his throat. He flinches when Daichi lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, and looks to see solemn eyes staring back at him. They were not unkind, but his gaze was nonetheless concerned.
“I will answer your question,” he says. “Tell me all that has happened.”
The king had been punished roughly a few days after the prince had left for the princess. Although the sickness merely took root in the east, the unaware villagers had brought the plague with them as they traveled. They bled through their mouths and ears, skin pale and sunken as they wandered around like spirits of the Underworld. It was like they were not even human, Tadashi says. His shoulders trembled as he recalled.
Their kingdom had turned into a nightmare as village after village was destroyed under the king’s orders. Houses were burned with their families still inside, and anyone that had escaped were chased down and killed. There was no cure, and with such little time it had been impossible to find one. They were forced to submit, powerless and clinging to the king for help, who merely turned away.
When an unsuspecting merchant had entered the castle, servants and soldiers alike began to fall ill. The king ordered them taken away to be killed, then locked himself away in his chambers. It has been two months now, and the kingdom has drastically changed for the worse.
“We realized it was pointless to hope,” Tadashi says. He caresses his arm, as if trying to console himself. “No one helped us, and it does not look like anyone will.”
Daichi’s hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking and digging his nails into his skin. Had he been here, he wondered if he would’ve been strong enough to kill his own father. No, it was something he had always thought about. There was no doubt he would take pleasure in watching his father’s weak body crumble under his foot.
Then Asahi taps his wrist, and Daichi exhales, slowly releasing his palm. “I wonder why the messenger did not reach us,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, I wish I had returned sooner.”
Tadashi shakes his head. He gave him a kind smile, though his eyes were glum. “Please, do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”
It was a reassurance, but Daichi could not help the taunting voice in his head. There was nothing you could have done.
“Thank you for telling us, Tadashi,” he says. Tadashi bows, his hair brushing to cover his face. “I will fulfill my part of the exchange.”
Tadashi’s eyes turn sadder. He crosses his arms across his chest, and his shoulders slump forward. “I… do not know if it is right to ask you of this, but…” His voice drifts. “The servants and soldiers who had turned ill were taken away, and a fellow servant of mine, my friend, was taken as well. I will not leave to retrieve him, but please, I wish to know where they have taken him.”
This time, Asahi stiffens, rubbing a palm across his mouth. Daichi and Tadashi turn to him, but Asahi looks away, avoiding their gaze.
“If you know something, speak,” Daichi barks. “We made an agreement.”
“I know,” Asahi mutters. “I overheard from the guards, but I do not know if it is true.”
Tadashi grabs his wrist, his thin fingers wrapped around Asahi’s muscled arm. “Tell me, please.”
“I… do not think you will like what you hear.” Asahi rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “One of the guards was talking about the southern region. I think it has something to do with the missing servants.”
“The southern region?” Tadashi repeats.
“But there is nothing there. It is barren land,” Daichi says.
“No, it was used before, remember?” Asahi says. “Back in your grandfather’s time.”
“My grandfather? Well, there were many wars at that time, the only reason they used it was for battle, or—” Daichi’s eyes widened, his head shooting upwards.
Asahi nods. “A burial mound.”
Tadashi stills. He brings a hand to clasp against his mouth, muffling his breath as he heaved. Asahi smoothes a hand down his back, but quickly grabs his shoulders as Tadashi’s knees buckled against the weight.
“No…” he chokes. “My friend, he…”
“What was his name?” Daichi asks.
Tadashi gulps, burying his face into his hands. “Koushi.”
“Koushi?” Daichi shouts. The sound of blood roared in his ears, and his vision blurred as he turned around, his eyes flying over the garden. The trees, the flowers, the mossy stone walls of the courtyard. There was not a single person nearby, he knows this, even as he searched for a head of grey hair. “He’s not here? He’s—He’s ill?”
“Daichi, calm down.”
“I… I have to go. The burial mounds, I am going to find him. I…” Daichi turns back to the both of them, his voice cracking. “I have to find him.”
“Daichi, wait. You cannot go,” Asahi says. “He might already be killed.”
“No, I have to see for myself.” Daichi’s hands shook where he had grabbed Asahi’s arm. “Please, let me go see him.”
Asahi sighs heavily, wrenching his arm from his grip. Tadashi watched them with sad eyes, and although he did not say it, Asahi knew he was pleading as well. It was written all over his face, the burning of his stare and his mouth shaking as if to say please, he is still alive.
“You will start packing tonight,” Asahi says, his voice stern. “But I will not let you leave until you have rested.”
Tadashi speaks, “I cannot go, but please, let me help prepare supplies.”
It was the first time Daichi had bowed to someone other than his father, and it was the greatest shame for a prince to submit to those that are below them. But gods, he feels like he might shatter his golden circlet in half had he not been under the watchful eye of his guard.
Asahi and Tadashi watch his retreating back, then turn to take their leave.
Even though winter was around the corner, the night had never been this dark before. In the hidden field beside his castle’s garden, Daichi stood beside his wagon, already loaded with the things he would need. The southern region was further than both the east and the west, and although Daichi had never traveled by himself, he was slightly dazed to find that he grew impatient with the night.
Tadashi had provided him with food and drinks, and fur pelts that he brought by Daichi’s request. He tries not to notice the shaking hands of the younger servant, slipping and tumbling between sacks and jars. When they speak of Koushi, Tadashi turns away and wipes his eyes when he thinks Daichi does not see, then goes back to arrange supplies in the wagon. He was endearing, and Daichi’s chest warmed as Tadashi recalled his memories. It gave him all the more reason to find Koushi.
Daichi looks up, observing the dark blanket of the sky. The gods would never listen to prayers of a foolish prince as him, but still Daichi clasps his hands together, and he breathes into the night. Please, gods, do not take him from me.
As the moon drifted higher, Asahi walked out of the shadows. He did not bring a torch, in fear that the other guards would find him, and stepped blindly through the grass. Daichi turns to him as Asahi inspects the wagon.
“This is more than what you will need,” Asahi says.
“Yes. Koushi would not be allowed inside the castle, so I will take him somewhere safe.”
Asahi looks up at him. In the darkness, Daichi could not see his eyes, but he did not have to look to know he was frowning. “And will you return?"
Daichi does not answer. His fingers run across the rough quilted saddlecloth.
“Alright,” Asahi sighs. “If that is what you wish, then I will not stop you.”
“I understand that you are angry with me, and I—”
“I am not angry.” Asahi steps forward to rest his arms above the wagon’s uneven planks, growing old and creaky with age. He knocks against the wood, and it whines back at him. “You are as bull-headed as the day I met you.”
“And yet you have never tried to stop me,” Daichi says. He chuckles, airy as sea foam.
“Mmm. I should have stopped you that day you climbed that fig tree and broke your leg, or that time you snuck into the girl’s chambers.”
“Do not talk so freely! I was merely searching for the dice that the lady had taken from me.”
“I know.” Asahi’s eyes crinkles. “But for this, I will not regret letting you go.”
The torches of the castle walls begin to vanish one by one, and Daichi pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. He drapes a cloth on the wagon then moves to the front seat, taking a deep breath as he grips the reins. When he turns, Asahi is watching the moon, his face illuminated from it’s grey-ish glow. His eyes are closed, peaceful, as if he was praying.
Then the horse lunges forward, and they wave at each other as Daichi moves further away from him. Asahi speaks, and although he was too far to hear, Daichi could tell from the way his lips moved.
Goodbye, he seemed to say. For now.
When Koushi wakes, he notices the soft bumps and steady rumbles of a plank underneath his body. He hears the unmistakable squeaking of wagon wheels, and realizes quickly that he is being taken somewhere. He shoots up into a sitting position, which had been a grave mistake as his skull knocked against a wooden plank and his stomach lurches. Koushi clasps a hand to his mouth, then leans over the wagon to hurl into the dirt path below.
The roaring of blood in his ears and the awful retching blocks out the voice around him. A hand settles gently on his shoulder blades as Koushi dry heaves into the dirt. He startles when a water pouch is shoved into his hands.
Then he sees kind, dark eyes and tanned skin. He sees a white tunic beneath a scratched breastplate, toned arms coming around to hold him steady. He looks up, and a golden circlet gleams beneath dark hair.
“Here,” Daichi says. “Drink slowly.”
“Prince Da—” Koushi hacks into a coughing fit, leaning forward to let spit dribble from his mouth. Daichi’s hand caresses gentle circles into his spine, tugging grey hskinair back against his forehead.
After Koushi’s fit settles and he gasps a couple gulps, he takes a long look at the prince. “My prince, why are you here? ” he croaked. “Am I dreaming?”
Daichi smiles, and it is as light as willows in the wind. “No. I have returned.”
Koushi frowns. “Why so soon?”
“I will explain later.” Daichi reaches out, lacing his fingers with Koushi’s nimble ones. “I… I missed you. I’m sorry for everything that has happened.”
“Do not apologize.” Koushi smiles gently. “I missed you too.”
Daichi’s hand tightens around the grip. He drapes a bearskin hide across Koushi’s shoulders, then moves to the front of the wagon to take the reins. As the wheels rumble on the dirt path, Koushi takes in his surroundings; the wagon is piled with sacks of food, multiple pouches of water, and a mountain of fur pelts behind him. At his feet were axes and firewood, and other tools that Koushi does not recognize.
He realizes with a quick look around that he also does not recognize the path they are taking, or the forest that it homes. The sun shone over the tree’s bald branches, but the road darkened as they moved.
“Where are we going?” Koushi asks.
Daichi glances over his shoulder, then turns back. “The eastern region,” he says. “Somewhere the guards will not find us.”
Koushi sits upright. “You cannot go there! The plague, there is higher risk in the east.”
“All the villages have been reduced to ashes,” Daichi says. He sighs, wiping a hand across his eyes. “No one will bother us there.”
“Then let me travel alone.” Koushi moves from his position in the back of the wagon to sit behind Daichi. “You will catch it from me if you stay.”
Daichi does not turn around. “No. I will not leave you again.”
With a whip of the reins, they glide through the forest path. Daichi does not look back, and with a sinking feeling Koushi finds that he should not be looking as well.
“Ah, I see.” Koushi tugs the hide tighter around his body, shielding himself from the cold winds. “The king has locked himself away in the castle?”
Daichi hums. He holds the lantern further, trying to navigate through the night as the wagon continues to rumble. “I could not take direct command, not while my father is still alive.”
“Does he plan to hide until the plague is gone?”
“I do not know,” Daichi says. “But I can only assume he has no plans to help us.”
Koushi quiets, and Daichi glances behind him to look. Koushi’s eyes are closed, but his breathing is too erratic for him to be asleep.
“How did you find me?” he asks.
“A boy named Tadashi said you are sick, and you were going to be killed. I found you just before they could.”
“Tadashi,” Koushi gasps. “How is he?”
“He seems healthy, if that is what you mean.”
Koushi slumps against the fur pelts, burying his face into his hands. “Thank the gods.”
“He is safe inside the walls of the castle, they all are, as long as no outsiders make it through the gate.” Daichi sighs. “You could stand to be a little more conceited, you know.”
Koushi smiles, laying a weak hand on the small of Daichi’s back. “I could say the same to you, my prince.”
“We are here.”
The wagon comes to a halt in the first bouts of dawn, right as the sky begins to light with the early glows of the sun, bright as the golden fleece. They stop in a small forest clearing, and there in front of them is an old, torn down wooden house, moss and cobwebs hanging from the damp walls. Orange leaves are piled around and on top of the cabin, and when Koushi listens, he hears the distinct sound of a roaring river nearby.
Daichi helps him step off the wagon, then reaches over to carry the fur pelts inside. Koushi follows him, and soon he is stepping into the small house. There is a fireplace in one corner, a single bed in the other, and various jars and sacks scattered through the wooden floor.
“Asahi and I stayed here when we trained as boys, but it has been neglected for a while now,” Daichi explains. He dumps the fur pelts on the bed. “It is not the same as when we had left it.”
Koushi bends to pick a jar off the floor. He swipes at the dust, and the carving stares back at him, swirling patterns of brown and gold that danced across the hard surface. He runs his fingers through the colors. “No. It is lovely.”
He turns to Daichi, who sits on the bed, stretching his aching limbs. “Let us bring the rest of the things inside, and then we can cook a meal.”
Daichi opens his mouth, but shuts it after a while. Instead, he nods, and they make their way out to the wagon.
In the endless hours of the night, Daichi busies himself as he pokes at the fire, watching embers dance in the air like small fairies.
The late autumn air has grown colder, but the house is engulfed with gentle warmth and the smell of burnt firewood. It reminded him of the days he and Asahi would climb the roof of the house to catch squirrels, then tucked themselves in front of the fire when the sun lowered under the trees. Memories crowded forward, and a fire ember flies over his ear, whispering about the times when he had known nothing, youthful before its charm was spent.
There is a light cough behind him, and Daichi turns to see Koushi sitting up, leaning heavily against the bed’s headboard as he shakes with rough spasms. Daichi is by his side in an instant, rubbing his shoulders and up to the back of his neck.
Koushi looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, blinking slowly through his tears. “Did I wake you?” he rasps.
Daichi shakes his head. He runs his hand through grey hair, tucks it behind his ear. “Go back to sleep.”
“I cannot sleep,” Koushi admits. He looks down at his hands. “I think it is the sickness. My mind refuses to rest.”
Daichi nods grimly. He sits beside Koushi’s knees, and his feet touch the floor. The last time he had been here, he was still able to dangle his legs over the edge of the bed. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m fine. But you should sleep, my prince.”
“I cannot sleep as well.”
Koushi tugs at the sheets across his lap. “Then, why don’t you tell me your stories?”
“My stories?”
“Mmm. I have served the king my whole life, and yet I know so little of you.”
“What do you want to hear?” Daichi asks him.
“Everything,” Koushi says. “All that you have remembered.”
And Daichi lets those same memories haunt him as eagles haunt the mountain air, swirling and watching and waiting. Some memories he was fond of, but there was very little that it drowned under his sorrows. He was not a good prince, and he had never been an obedient son. But here, in the dimly lit house, damp and dusty from so many years spent alone, he could almost pretend it never mattered.
If his mother was still alive, he knew she would not look at him differently than she did when he was born, but Daichi finds that he does not care. His father was so distant that Daichi could not feel the stinging skin where his father’s hand had met his cheek, or the glares that sent needles straight into his core. He was free, for the first time in his life.
“And the princess?” Koushi asks after he stops. “Was she as beautiful as they say?”
“Yes,” Daichi answers. “She was very lovely.”
“You married her, did you not?”
“Oh.” Daichi rubs his palms together. “We did not go through with the agreement.”
Koushi studies him, his eyes droopy and red. “Why is that?”
Daichi shrugs. “She said I would not be happy with her. Or rather, she said I would not live long enough to see.”
“Not live long enough?” Koushi repeats. He brings a hand to tap his chin. “Do you think she knew about the plague?”
“I do not know. Though, she had been blessed by the goddess Aphrodite. It is not out of the ordinary to assume she knows something we do not.”
Koushi hums, agreeing. “Being favored by a god, I could not imagine the power.”
“I do not think it is something you should want to seek,” Daichi says. “My grandfather says there is beauty in struggling, and it is what we humans are built for. I have always thought my grandfather was foolish for not asking the gods for the things he most desires, but I see now that he was right. My only regret is not being able to tell him sooner.”
“I think he knows that you understood.” Koushi touches his arm gently. You are not like your father.
“I hope so. I wish I could have stopped my father before this happened. It is too late to save anyone now.”
Koushi’s hand travels up the length of his arm until it rests on his neck. Then he traces the tanned skin there, splays his fingers across Daichi’s cheek. “You were just as clueless as the rest of us.”
Daichi lets his head be tugged until he lays it against a lean chest. Koushi’s sternum is hard, his collar bone jutting out against pale skin to poke Daichi’s temple, but he was warm, and his arms were light where it curls around his back, the other one settling in his hair. Daichi turns to bury his nose in Koushi’s tunic. He smelled of autumn leaves and the damp moss of the wooden walls. He smelled of rain, the wet soil, the thunder clouds of the night. He did not smell of wine.
Koushi’s heart beats through his chest, and it travels through his core. It was undoubtedly loud, as if it was desperate to make itself known. So Daichi listens intently, and he knows the sound is memorized into his own heartbeat, even if one of them will go quiet.
Asahi stands on the edge of the forest clearing, a little hesitant to make himself known, but Daichi had trained for most of his life, and could easily tell the difference between the gentle wind and a human’s soft breath. Daichi turns to him, struggling to hold his ground as his weak muscles groan from the movement.
His breastplate gleamed underneath his cloak, but Asahi had discarded his helmet before he left. Brown hair tumbles over his shoulder, loose strands coming undone from the string in his hair. Asahi watches him silently, and Daichi stares back, eyeing the sack thrown over his shoulder.
“Has my father sent you?” Daichi asks. He did not yell, but the silence of the forest made it seem so.
A look of hurt passes over Asahi’s face, but it fades quick enough that Daichi almost misses it. “No.”
Daichi wraps his cloak tighter around his arms, and begins trudging his way across the snow.
“How did you know I would be here?”
Asahi grins then, a puff of smoke rising from his mouth as he laughs. “A lucky guess,” he says. “Though, I do have fond memories of this forest, I hope you have not forgotten.”
“I remember the day you fell into the river, and cried the whole way home when your tunic was swept away by the water.” Daichi’s eyes crinkle. “It’s good to see you, Asahi.”
“You as well. Here.” He throws the sack onto Daichi’s arms.
It is filled to the brim with food; fresh bread, fruits, pouches of nuts and wrapped cheese. He sees animal skins as well, folded neatly, thick enough to drape over a bed. He was rendered speechless as he pulls out thickly cut meat, still red and fresh where it peeks beneath a thin cloth.
“I thought you might be running low on supplies,” Asahi says. “Yuu and Tadashi helped me put this together.”
“I… I cannot thank you enough,” Daichi breathes. “But… isn’t the castle running low as well?”
Asahi shakes his head, and his eyes turn solemn as an owl. “No. We were told to ransack the villages that we burned. It is horrible, what we are doing to them. I am starting to think it is futile to survive.”
“I’m sorry,” Daichi says, and his chest tightens.
“Don’t be.” Asahi shakes his head. “I am glad you are here, away. I do not think I could stand to see you kneel under your father like the rest of us dogs.”
Daichi throws the sack over his shoulder. He looks down at the snow, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “I do not think I will make it back. Or alive, for that matter.”
His pulse fades into a dull thrum as Asahi falls silent, and he expects that Asahi would lash out and yell. But when the guard still does not answer, he looks up, and instead catches his sad gaze. He is visibly upset, but not in a way Daichi would have thought. He looked… defeated, the same expression he wore when they marched past the burning villages of the western region.
Asahi runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “You have gotten sick, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“But you wanted this,” he says. “I can tell that you are happy here.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Then that is a good enough answer for me.” Asahi raises his hand in a wave. “You had better make it to the end of winter, and I might just come see you again.”
“I will,” Daichi says. “You’ll see.”
“Goodbye for now, old friend.” Asahi turns and starts trudging through the snow.
“Wait, Asahi!”
Asahi does not stop, but he turns his head slightly, an indication that he was listening.
“When you make it back, tell Yuu and Tadashi—tell everyone that I said thank you. And tell them,” Daichi’s voice breaks, “tell them I am sorry.”
Asahi glances back at him to nod once, and it might be a trick of his eye, but Daichi thinks he sees tears brimming the edge of Asahi’s eyes. He continues walking to the edge of the clearing, then vanishes into the trees.
Later, when he returns, he finds Koushi sitting on the wooden bench outside the small house. His tunic is messily slipped on, a bearskin hide draped across his thin shoulders. His skin is deathly pale, eyes glossy as he stares down at the snow. He does not look up, not when Daichi walks up to him.
“It is too cold out here,” he says gently. He coaxes Koushi to stand, but he does not budge. “Come inside, I will start a fire.”
“You have not slept in a while.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and Daichi did not hear it the first time. When he turned, Koushi was still staring at the ground, but he was smiling sadly now. “You have not eaten, either.”
Daichi sits beside him, setting the sack on the ground, and holds Koushi’s cold hands where they are folded across his lap. Koushi looks down at their conjoined hands, but his gaze is distant, as if he could not seem to focus.
“You did not have to hide it,” Koushi continues. “I know it is because of me.”
Daichi runs his thumb across bony knuckles. “It was bound to happen.”
“But I—” Koushi suddenly lurches forward, coughing and hacking onto the ground. His hand comes up to cup around his mouth, and blood seeps between his fingers, darkening the snow between their feet.
Daichi quickly scoops him into his arms, carrying Koushi inside the house. He rinses the blood from his mouth and settles into bed. Daichi leaves to start a small fire, then returns to his side, piling their cloaks onto his lap.
“If I did not catch it from you, then I would have caught it from someone else. It is inevitable.”
“Yes,” Koushi says. “You should not have to care for me while you are sick as well.”
“I do not mind.” Daichi reaches to take his hand. “Not if it’s you.”
When Koushi pats the empty space beside him, Daichi crawls inside. He leans against the headboard and lets Koushi tuck the remaining cloaks around him.
Across the room, the fire begins to die, but Daichi does not move from the bed. It is warm enough where he is, and although Koushi’s body grew colder by the day, he was still here, breathing quiet as the hush of night.
Koushi sighs. “I do not think I will make it to spring,” he says.
Daichi brings a hand around his shoulder and pulls him until Koushi lays against his side. “Have I told you that winter is my favorite?”
“You did not.” Koushi smiles. He brings Daichi’s palm to his mouth, then presses a soft kiss. “Then I guess I will have to stay with you for winter.”
Daichi nods firmly. “And I will stay until spring.”
When Daichi cracks his eyes open, the darkness of the house stares back at him. The fire must have died some time in the night, and the room only lights from the dim glowing of the snowfall. Daichi feels his eyes droop close as he listens to the soft breathing at his back, then Koushi turns around on the bed, his palms pressed against the small of Daichi’s back.
“How did you know I was awake?” Daichi murmurs.
Koushi sighs, his breath warm on the back of his neck. “Your breathing changed.”
“Are you still unable to sleep?”
There is a shuffling movement that Daichi assumes is a shake of his head.
Daichi turns around in one swift motion, then he wraps his arms around Koushi’s form, pressing their bodies together. Koushi is colder than he expected, and he grows smaller as the days fly by. Despite all this, Daichi feels the loud beating of his heart against his stomach.
Koushi buries further into his chest, his arms coming around the front to grip Daichi’s tunic. He settles underneath Daichi’s chin, and his hair brushes at the rough skin. It is lighter now, or perhaps it has been light since winter started, the colors fading to resemble an owl’s feathers, ashy under the branches of the forest. Koushi’s hand moves upwards, cold fingers against his arm.
“Aghapimenis,” he says. “What will you do once I am gone?”
Daichi leans down to kiss his hair. “Nothing.”
“Will you return home?” Koushi asks softly. “Surely you have to tell your father.”
“He does not have to know. And really, I do not think he cares.”
“Then, what about your men? You friend, Asahi. Will you not tell him?”
“He knows me better than I do.”
As the night drifts by, Daichi is snapped out of his thoughts as his tunic grows wet with tears, the fabric sticking onto his chest where Koushi cries. His small whines and hiccups are muffled against him, but the sounds travel through Daichi’s entire being like waves in the ocean. Daichi presses him closer and buries his nose into his hair, which smelled like the freshly melted snow.
“My throat is hurting. I do not know how long I have until I cannot speak.” Koushi’s shoulders trembled. “There are many things I want to say to you, but I do not know how. I do not know where to begin.”
“You do not have to say them if it means you will grieve.”
Koushi shakes his head against his chest. “If I do not grieve, then how will you know I have loved you all this time?”
Daichi looks down to find brown eyes staring back at him, red and puffy. Koushi’s face was damp with tears, and his mouth clamped tightly together when he breathed, but he was as beautiful as the goddess herself. Daichi would never forget that.
“You were right,” Koushi says. “I have always been afraid of you.”
Daichi listens, his fingers threading into grey hair.
I was afraid when you left, he says. The day they had parted, even when Daichi had promised to return, even when his foot carried him further from home. The hollowness of the castle without its prince, devoid of laughter and the sound of mischievous climbing. I was afraid I had lost you then.
The day blood poured from his mouth, and vision did not come to him so easily. The stumbling and leaning when he walked, the painful itching of his lungs when he cried. I fell ill, and I was terrified, because I thought I would never see you again.
“I was not afraid of the prince,” he says. “I was afraid because I wanted him for myself. I did not love anyone else but him, and I knew then, that I had flown too close to the sun.”
Daichi leans to plant a kiss on his warm forehead. Then his nose, the thin skin of his eyelids, his wet cheeks. He lets his lips linger there for a bit longer. “I have always thought you were the sun.”
“That is ridiculous.” Koushi sniffs against him. “I have never done anything to receive such praise.”
“Neither have I. That is more proof to believe either one of us could be the sun. But, really, I often see myself chasing after things that could not be mine.”
“Isn’t that what humans do?” Koushi says. “We desire, and we chase. That is really all there is to it.”
“Yes. I suppose greed is not all that bad.” Daichi pulls him closer.
The snow falls closeby, piles of it mounting on the windowsill. When Daichi breathes, the cold air makes its way through his tongue and dries the walls of his throat. It had started to ache, he realizes, but not nearly as painful as Koushi’s. He did not like the thought of being further from death, but Daichi knows he would not let himself stray again. Wherever Koushi went, he always followed.
As the light snow turns into rough, heavy storms, Koushi falls bedridden, barely able to sit up on his own. His skin sinks right into bone, the knob of his wrists and knuckles jutting and pale. He does not sleep, and his throat grows raw and bleeding when he eats. His eyes, bright as they had been before, are now hollow as the souls of an echo.
Most nights, Daichi wakes to the sounds of retching and hacking as Koushi throws up the little food he had left in his body. Other nights, Daichi wakes to the silence of winter, and Koushi is sitting up, watching the snowfall through red-rimmed eyes.
He does not speak, and he does not smile. When Daichi sits on the frosted bench outside, he could hear soft sniffles and hiccuped crying coming from the house. It is loud in the hushed the forest, but he gets the feeling Koushi would not want him to see. So he stays outside, listening.
Then one day, when the sky turns grey with snow storm clouds and the river’s frozen surface cracks, Koushi’s breathing turns shallow. He gasps desperately, his chest heaving with the effort, and Daichi jolts awake to calm him. Eventually, his breathing slows into deep exhales, and his voice is barely audible through the harsh rasping.
“I do not think I can keep my promise,” he says.
Daichi shakes his head. “It’s alright.”
Koushi’s coughing fit returns, and his breathing quickens again. Daichi pats his back until Koushi regains his posture, then looks at him with dewy eyes.
“You have struggled for far too long,” Daichi says. “You do not have to stay.”
Koushi reaches up and brings a hand to his cheek, swiping at stray tears with a weak thumb. He manages a small smile, and it is as beautiful as the sun. “Ta matia mou, I’m sorry. I have to leave you behind.”
“Will you wait for me once more?” Daichi asks.
“I will wait,” Koushi says, “until the end of the world.”
The next time Daichi wakes, Koushi is silent beside him. He is cold, and his eyes are black as the starless night sky.
On the last day of winter, Asahi returns, bringing news of the king’s death. Daichi does not question him, nor does he bother to listen. He watches Asahi limp through the melting snow, his limbs shaking with the effort to keep himself up. He falls to his knees, and Daichi can only watch in sadness, being bedridden himself.
Asahi looks around the house, growing dark as the fire embers sink into wood. It is empty, aside from the prince, who sits up on the bed. He holds an old urn to his chest.
“I told you I would make it to the end of winter,” Daichi says. He coughs, and blood seeps from the corner of his mouth.
“You are indeed a man of your word.” Asahi looks down at the urn in his hands. “I’m sorry, Daichi.”
“It was inevitable. I can only do so much.”
“Do you… want your ashes mixed?” Asahi asks, his lips shaking.
Daichi turns to wipe the blood from his mouth. His tongue sits heavy, strongly engulfed in the taste of copper. “I cannot ask you to do such a thing when you are sick as well.”
Asahi shakes his head, and brown hair sweeps across his shoulders. “It takes time for the sickness to take down a giant man like me.”
“I know. But still, I mustn’t trouble you.”
“You should have said that when we were boys,” Asahi says. “I have stood by your side through all that you have done. Let me do this, it is the last thing I can do for you.”
Daichi’s thin fingers brush across the urn. It is dusty and old, but it fits perfectly into the curve of his arms. He turns it around, as if looking for something, but the painting does not chip away, and the images do not blur into his mind. Instead, there are memories, hazy like a summer day.
The earthy smell of rain dew and grapevines. Colors; grey and brown and the brightest gold of laughter. Quick hands pulling him to his feet, the sweet hum of his voice, and small fingers, wrapped around the stem of a rose. For you, he says. Take it.
It’s the warmth of a dying fire, slowly consuming him in the moisture-laden house. The steady breathing of someone behind him, and when he looks, he is there. His small head draped across his chest, the fur pelts on his lap, and tears beneath his sickly red eyes. Aghapimenis, soft as the melody of a buried love.
Daichi turns, and Asahi is beside his bed. He is crying, and it takes a moment for Daichi to realize he is crying as well.
“I will be here until spring,” Daichi tells him. “Will you… come by then?”
Asahi nods, hesitant as he may be. “You are barely alive now. Why do you insist on staying?”
Daichi sighs, and his breath stutters in his throat. “Because I am a man of my word.”
The clouded gates of Mount Olympus parts as the goddess walks through, her flowing blonde hair dancing behind her like waves in the sea. She makes her way across the gardens, then upwards to the stairs of where her father’s throne room lay. Inside, she stops before a beaming god.
“The others will not be pleased at what you have done,” she says.
The god turns to her, his eyes golden as his hair. “I have done far worse,” he answers, and there is humor behind his words.
“You destroyed an entire kingdom with a single arrow.”
“The king was a greedy man,” the sun god says. “I was merely testing him.”
“You unleashed a beast upon a coward’s home thinking he would save his family.” The goddess raises a hand, her jeweled rings glinting. “Look what it has come to.”
Apollo hums, and his youthful complexion almost turns innocent in the light. “His people suffered under his rule, and he continues to seek riches while they fell.”
The goddess watches him stroll around on light feet, his curly hair bouncing as it resembles the sunlight. His golden eyes are playful, even as he speaks with the thundering voice of their father.
“His son is unwilling,” he continues, “and his empire crumbles under a single misfortune. It is for the greater good, don’t you think so, fair one?”
Aphrodite narrows her eyes. “You have done it on purpose?”
Apollo shrugs. “I am only taking advantage of my power. He was under my favor, after all.”
Aphrodite sweeps her hair over her shoulder, her red lips turning into a frown. She shakes her head, tuts like the soft chirping of doves.
“It is a shame,” she says. “The prince would have made a fine leader.”
“Do not worry.” Apollo climbs onto his golden chariot, his hands wrapping around the reins. He whips, and his four horses kick at the air. “He will get his turn.”
The sun travels from the east and sinks in the west, and it flies over the barren land, empty with the remains of a once flourishing empire.
“Captain!”
Daichi whirls around as a fist collides with his chest. A boy bounces in front of him, his grey hair ruffling in the air as he delivers blow after blow against his torso. Daichi shields himself on tanned arms, swatting fists away.
“Congratulations on getting the position, captain!”
“Thanks,” Daichi wheezes. “Now, quit it, Suga. You’re killing me.”
Sugawara pulls back, throwing his head back as he laughs. Daichi continues pulling his team jacket over his shoulder, then wraps a scarf around his neck.
“I knew you’d get the position,” Sugawara says, grinning. “You always had sort of a… leader aura. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Daichi blinks at him. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” Sugawara picks his school bag off the floor to sling it over his shoulder. “And we should celebrate! Let’s stop by the convenience store.”
“Were you just trying to flatter me?”
“I meant what I said,” Sugawara retorts. “Though, if you wanna buy me a pork bun or two on the house, I wouldn’t be completely against it.”
He locks the club room behind them, and the soft scrapes of shoes against the pavement drifted to the sunset. The sky shone with dark thunder clouds, and the winds howled with the warnings of a storm. Their little town had an awful habit of drenching rain during the colder seasons, but the snowfall that follows were always hazy and beautiful.
Sugawara walks ahead of him, inhaling the cold breeze. He laughs, and fog huffs out of his mouth like fire smoke.
“Where’s your scarf?” Daichi asks him. “You’ll freeze out here.”
Sugawara hums, uncaring as he spreads his arms. “It’s fine.” Not a minute later, his face scrunches up and he sneezes into his sleeve.
“Told you.” Daichi sighs. He moves to unwrap the scarf around his own neck, but Koushi stops him.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says again. “I always get sick when it’s cold, anyway. But, I like winter. It’s my favorite.”
Daichi watches him stroll down the sidewalk, his palms coming up to cup at his pork bun, digging into the warmth. “I always thought winter felt hollow,” Daichi admits.
Sugawara turns to him. “Like... being lonely?”
He nods. “Something like that.”
Sugawara tilts his head upwards. He raises a hand to the sky, traces a cloud with the tips of his fingers. “Winter makes me feel like… I’m waiting,” he says. His pale hand is a stark contrast to the greying sky. “I don’t know what for, exactly. But, I’m always just… waiting.”
“Waiting?” Daichi asks. “For the next season, maybe?”
Sugawara grins, and his eyes shone like golden threads under the moonlight. “Yeah. Maybe.”