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"The external injuries have been treated."
The man in front of Kishiar slammed a medicine bottle down onto the table. In the medical ward—usually so quiet—the sound rang out sharply, almost dangerously loud.
"He’s fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about." He stressed the words, chewing on each one as if they were something he clearly hated the taste of, barely holding himself back from spitting them out. "Except for that damn coincidence and that damn carelessness this idiot had to— Damn it."
The man stopped speaking and took a deep breath. In the end, he swallowed everything back down into his chest without letting it out—both the rest of the curse and whatever would have followed.
Sunlight from outside the window reflected across the white blanket of the patient’s bed, bright enough that simply looking at it felt warm. Yet Kishiar’s whole body felt so cold that he could no longer be certain even of something as simple as this.
He looked at the person lying on the bed, thinking that he should pull the blanket higher over him, but in the end he did not even dare to reach out his hand.
"And the inside?" Kishiar whispered.
At last, Enon turned to look at him.
And for the pharmacist who was known as the sharpest-tongued yet the kindest-hearted in the Arcane Legion, his patience toward his commander was exceptionally low.
"His soul is torn."
"...Torn?"
"It is." Enon frowned. "Torn in half —like a fucking piece of paper."
Enon crossed his arms and turned to look at the person at the center of the matter, still lying unconscious on the bed. Even without seeing those amber eyes, he knew Enon was in a bad mood.
Kishiar did not consider himself any better than the other man.
Because the cause of everything came from an Awakened whom Kishiar had never seen before. It was the aftermath of a power its owner still could not control, and no matter how much he asked, the meaning behind all those words trembling with fear amounted to nothing but I don’t know.
Because in the end, the person most knowledgeable about this still lay injured and unconscious on the bed.
Half of his soul was torn apart.
"Will—" Kishiar opened his mouth. The fear in his chest was almost turning into something even uglier, yet he could not stop it. "—Will he wake up?"
He did not want to become someone who could do nothing like that, yet Kishiar La Orr was so afraid that he regretted asking the question.
It was a good thing Enon did not turn to look at him, did not care in the slightest to know how he felt. From head to toe, there was nothing in his demeanor except irritation and irritation bordering on madness. And given the situation, Kishiar almost found himself beginning to feel a trace of hope.
Because even though the other man’s face was twisted with annoyance, the voice that came out was clearer than anything.
"Dream on if you think I’ll let that foolish child lie there in a vegetative state."
The Arcane Legion’s pharmacist muttered several more quiet curses under his breath.
Kishiar fell silent for a moment.
In the medical ward, the only sound left was Yuder’s breathing as he lay unconscious on the bed. It was so faint that Kishiar almost began to fear that the sound might fade away together with the sunlight slowly sinking beyond the window.
He let out a slow breath. "What about the side effects?"
Enon clicked his tongue.
"It affects many things."
He turned his face away from the man on the bed, as if he could not bear to look at him any longer. Then he raised a hand and pressed hard against the bridge of his nose, as though trying to suppress the headache that had surged to its peak.
The expression on Enon’s face as he spoke was almost like someone gritting his teeth while swallowing poison.
"Mostly memories."
***
Nathan brought the news from the medical ward to Kishiar the following afternoon.
And late that night,
Yuder was sitting on the bed in the medical ward.
Aside from Kishiar standing in front of him, there was no one else in the room. Only the faint shimmer of starlight in the sky bore witness amid the darkness of night that lay over everything like spilled ink.
Yuder sat there on the bed.
He was still wearing a patient’s gown beneath the blanket that covered only his legs, his head lifted as he looked at Kishiar—quieter than the soft lament of the wind threading through the leaves and the silent trunks outside. And the numb chill clinging to the tips of Kishiar’s fingers made him want to pull the blanket higher to cover the other man more fully.
But in the end, he could only stand there.
Kishiar had imagined many possible reactions from Yuder.
He thought that at first the other man would probably be shocked, and then try to make sense of what had happened.
After that, it might turn into anger.
Kishiar had thought Yuder would be angry. But he had forgotten that the man before him was neither the Yuder he knew, nor the young commoner who had only just stepped out to see the wider world for the first time.
That time had already passed—eleven years ago.
It had been a decade already.
Kishiar quietly walked over and sat down on the chair beside the bed.
He met those deep black orbs before him—darker and calmer than any night—and suddenly realized with a sharp ache that this Yuder was thirty-one years old, just like him.
He had been Yudrein Aile for eleven years.
Kishiar whispered, "Yuder Aile?"
The hand resting on the other man’s lap twitched, yet the expression on his face remained cold and perfectly composed. "Yes, Commander."
Back then, Kishiar had looked at Yuder Aile with the interest of a jeweler who had happened upon a diamond in the mud.
But Kishiar now—when looking at Yudrein Aile, when meeting those eyes that made him want to ask what kind of ghost had been haunting the other man so cruelly—could only cling to the forlorn hope that the answer would be no one.
He still held onto that forlorn hope that Yudrein Aile had not spent an entire decade being haunted by the selfishness of some ghost.
"I believe our pharmacist must have told you quite a few things already—"
Kishiar looked at him. "But if there’s anything else you wish to know," and his voice grew softer than ever, "…you may ask me."
Kishiar watched Yudrein Aile blink slowly, clinging to the forlorn hope that the answer would be something else. But the other man only asked, "And you would answer, sir?"
Kishiar had never imagined that a question like that could hurt this much. Yet Yudrein must have endured it all along.
Kishiar swallowed the bitterness in his throat. "…Of course." He almost wanted to drop to his knees right there—but he knew well that if he did that, whether it was Yuder or Yudrein… neither of them would welcome such an act.
"I will answer you. Certainly."
All he could do was cling to that forlorn hope.
Beyond the window of the medical ward, there was nothing but starlight spilling down like a pale wash across the floor and the occasional wail of the wind. Yet everything from the outside world stopped at the edge of the glass, and nothing crossed it to disturb the heavy silence that filled the room.
It was so quiet that, at last, Yudrein Aile spoke.
"Enon said that I am currently serving as your assistant, Commander."
Kishiar drew in a breath, almost hearing nothing but the pulse beating at the side of the other man’s neck. "…Yes."
But then he laughed.
"It truly couldn’t be helped—when you are so devoted, so capable, and so brave." He tilted his head slightly. "So perfect that I nearly despaired… of finding any way to keep you by my side."
"Fortunately, you are far too kind." A faint smile touched his lips. "Kind enough to agree to become my assistant."
Yudrein Aile stared at him for a moment longer before letting out a quiet sigh.
"Then I suppose you must have many things to deal with after this."
"Not quite that many," Kishiar shook his head. "As the commander of the Arcane Legion, the fact that you were injured to this extent is considered my responsibility."
Yudrein frowned slightly. "How could that be your fault…?"
Many times in the past, whenever Kishiar had spoken ill of himself in jest, Yuder would frown just like that as well—as if it were something that could never simply be joked about, and as if Kishiar had never once been capable of making a joke that was funny to him.
He would look at Kishiar La Orr like this, with eyes clearer than any night—open to the utmost, beautiful to the utmost, and pure to the utmost.
As though, in Yuder Aile’s eyes, no matter the moment, Kishiar La Orr would always remain just as pure.
The words burned in his throat, spreading to his chest, yet he smiled.
"I’m sorry."
When the listener looked as though he was about to protest again, Kishiar continued, "I wouldn’t be able to sleep all night if I didn’t say it. Surely you wouldn’t be so cruel as to leave this poor man awake the whole night, would you?"
"…What—"
"Seeing my invaluable assistant lying there on the bed like this, completely drained of strength, only makes me feel even more guilty." Kishiar licked his lips lightly. "If you don’t want me to feel any more indebted than I already do, then hurry and recover your strength."
If it had been the Yuder Kishiar knew, the other man would have seen through him from the very beginning, and all these words might have sounded rather pointless. But Yudrein Aile, who had only just awakened, was not yet sharp enough to stop him.
Kishiar smiled at him. "I’ve bothered you enough for tonight. Any other questions can wait."
The other man clearly had countless questions pressing at his lips, yet he did not utter even half a word more. And that only made Kishiar want to reach out, seize that careful restraint, and pull him into an embrace.
"Get some rest," he whispered.
That night, Kishiar did not reach out his hand.
***
"I can return to work."
The other man said it the following night.
"My injuries aren’t serious." Half of his soul was gone. "There’s no need to make such a big deal out of it." Half of his soul was gone, and his memories were gone as well.
Kishiar looked at the patient who had only just regained consciousness a day ago for a long while.
"Yuder Aile," he called.
The young man’s hand twitched slightly. "Yes, Commander."
"Even if I may be a rather incompetent commander of the Arcane Legion,” the other man’s brows furrowed sharply, and Kishiar continued, "I still don’t send someone who has just been injured back to work."
"I’m no longer injured, sir," said Yuder, who was still Yudrein Aile. "It’s true that my memories have not yet returned, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything at all."
Kishiar blinked at him, then let out a quiet laugh. "Of course not."
He imagined the mission he had assigned, the place he had not gone to, the traces of battle he had not taken part in, and the pool of blood glittering faintly on the ground. And then, whether it was Yuder Aile or Yudrein Aile—nothing would remain.
He laughed again.
"I know very well how brave and strong my assistant is."
He remembered clearly what that feeling had been like.
Kishiar let out a faint sigh. "It’s me who cannot do it."
"Commander, that—"
"But in any case, the doctor’s orders are final, aren’t they?"
Yudrein paused.
"If our pharmacist says you may leave the medical ward, then you may leave." He met the other man’s eyes. "But there will be no work."
Kishiar looked at Yudrein, who returned the gaze. In the air between them lingered only the cloying sweetness of fruit on the verge of turning bitter.
And at last, his assistant nodded. "I understand, sir."
Yuder Aile, who had forgotten his role as the Commander of the Arcane Legion’s assistant, was not all that different from usual. Yet Kishiar found himself wishing that Yudrein Aile—who still clearly remembered that he was the Commander of the Arcane Legion—could be just a little more cruel.
Because even when Kishiar asked, "Then what do you remember?" Yudrein still did not grow angry with him.
"Yes?"
"You said your memories have not fully returned yet." Kishiar leaned back against the chair, while Yudrein’s whole body tensed. "So I wanted to know—if that’s the case, what do you remember, Yuder?"
He wished the other man would be just a little crueler to Kishiar La Orr.
He did not want Yudrein to do nothing but remain startled like that—wary like that, staring at Kishiar’s hands like that.
He did not want the other man to be able to do nothing but keep wondering like that—yet never receive an answer.
"Yuder Aile." The name Yudrein tasted bitter on his tongue. Kishiar swallowed it down. "I already told you—"
The starlight beyond the curtains barely reached the other man’s face. Yet to Kishiar, who was looking at him, it felt as though the entire night sky lay before his eyes.
"I will answer you. Certainly."
And even if he had to die a thousand times more, Kishiar La Orr would not regret it.
***
The weather was clear today
The sky stretched wide and open, not a trace of cloud or mist to obscure it, displaying a brilliant color as far as the eye could see. The wind slipping through the gaps between the structures sent brittle, dry leaves on the ground drifting up to head height. Everything that met the eye was wrapped in dazzling, shimmering light—like an illusion so vivid that it could not be distinguished from reality with the naked eye.
Kishiar stood behind the window, watching Yudrein as he began training with the others in the training yard.
He had told Kanna Wand and Gakane Volunbalt as much as he could to explain this situation, yet he was not certain whether the answer that was truly needed should come from the two of them—or from Eaver Baek.
Kishiar knew that over the past several days, visitors had come and gone from the medical ward without pause. He knew that Yudrein both recognized and did not recognize those people. And he knew very well how the other man must have felt.
Fortunately, it was obvious that there was only one person whose presence in that place could make the Yuder who had become Yudrein uncomfortable—
himself.
Kishiar did not move from where he stood.
Sometimes, he could not help but wonder what Yuder would have been like if he had never joined the Arcane Legion. Because amid the faint clatter of metal echoing through the window glass, all Kishiar could see reflected in those beautiful eyes was his own will.
He watched Yudrein gripping his sword. Watched Yudrein fighting. Watched him move his body according to instincts carved deep into his bones.
And within it, he saw fragments of himself—like a swordsmith who had forged a weapon from his own flesh and blood.
He found himself wondering what kind of life Yuder would have lived if he had never met someone like Kishiar La Orr.
Kishiar remembered the first time Yuder had taken up a sword before him. The strange flicker of feeling that had passed through him then had been dangerously irresistible—like the sweet fragrance of fruit inviting one to bite into it, to taste it, something so beautiful that it made him want to seize it for himself.
Even knowing that once he reached out his hand, there would be no turning back, he had still been unable to restrain himself.
Kishiar stood motionless where he was.
The sound of metal striking metal continued to rise in rhythm from the training yard outside, softened by the distance and the glass that stood between them. Yet every movement Yudrein made was as clear as though he stood only an arm’s length away.
The wooden sword flew from Volunbalt’s hand with a sharp bang.
Sunlight from the sky poured down over everything in the training yard until the brightness was almost blinding. Yet Kishiar could see nothing but the dark figure of Yudrein standing there.
His head slowly lifted, as though some instinct had whispered a warning to him. Then those night-colored eyes turned upward, looking straight toward the window.
Kishiar knew that the other man’s mind could not remember. But perhaps this was the marrow of his bones stirring, his very soul—stained through and through with Kishiar—now looking back at him.
And in that moment, it felt as though the entire world was passing judgment upon Kishiar La Orr.
He did not turn his gaze away even when Nathan came to stand behind him.
"Nathan," he called. "Go and prepare a purifying stone and some holy water for me."
"Yes, sir."
"And—" Kishiar fell silent for a moment. At last, he allowed himself to draw a breath.
"Bring Yuder as well."
***
Since the Yuder Aile he remembered had become the Yudrein Aile who seemed to ache every time their gazes met, Kishiar La Orr himself had become nothing more than an ordinary man who could not be certain of anything at all.
"Why did you call for me, Commander?"
In every action he took, in every thought that crossed his mind, Kishiar could no longer make a single decision without suspicion following close behind like madness. He could not even meet the young man’s eyes before him—let alone make amends for the countless wrongs he himself had committed.
He did not even dare to think about the thing that had made the other man become what he was now.
"Take off your gloves."
Not even a little.
If he were to speak of this to Yuder, the other man would surely do something entirely unpredictable—and perhaps that alone would be enough to make Kishiar stop being such a coward.
Coward.
He wanted so badly to stop being a coward, to be even half as brave as Yuder Aile. But all someone like Kishiar La Orr had ever been able to do was sit on the bed and wear a beautiful smile—because otherwise he would destroy everything, and there would be no one to say that it would be all right.
But if it were Yuder—
If it were the Yuder Aile who remembered Kishiar in ways he himself could no longer bear to recall.
If it were the Yudrein Aile who knew.
Yudrein, who sat on the sofa, stiffened slightly. He stared at Kishiar for a long moment before finally lowering his gaze to his own hands.
Kishiar knew that he himself wore no white gloves. He knew that Yudrein must already have removed his black gloves once before. He knew that the other man had already seen the scar on that hand of his.
If it were the Yudrein Aile who knew.
The young man before him removed his gloves.
Sometimes Kishiar could not help but wonder whether that other version of himself had already forgotten—that Yudrein’s angry expression and the cold dismissal in his voice had never meant he would ultimately refuse to obey.
Had he forgotten that in those beautiful eyes, no matter how much anger filled them, there had never once been the slightest doubt in Kishiar’s decisions?
Unless it was he himself who had forgotten.
"Commander… may I ask you something?"
Kishiar La Orr looked at Yudrein Aile, who returned his gaze.
"Of course," helpless and despairing, with nothing else he could do. "What would you like to know?"
After making so many mistakes.
The magic fireplace in the sitting room made no sharp crackling sound like an ordinary hearth, yet its light bathed Yudrein’s face, bright enough to reveal his pale skin and the dark eyes fixed on him.
"This time—"
Kishiar knew that Yudrein did not know him.
And yet he could still see himself reflected there—see a soul full of wounds that was his own. He saw the bearing of a commoner who had suddenly been forced to stand as a leader of others, saw the countless small things that had been shaped by the foolishness of a single man—left only with the hope that even if he himself collapsed, the thing forged by those hands would still remain standing.
Kishiar looked at Yudrein Aile before him.
"…I didn’t make a mistake, did I?"
Duke Peletta had always known how to choose his words.
But Kishiar La Orr, sitting there, could not think of a single answer that would not wound Yudrein Aile.