They sat side by side, hand in hand, the barren land stretching wide and empty before them.
The moon hung full and unflinching above, its pale light tracing their joined fingers as though sealing something unspoken between them. For a long while, neither spoke.
The quiet was almost tender, almost unbearable.
At last, Alexis's voice broke it, low and rough. "…I'm sorry."
Hiral turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable in the silver glow. "Sorry? For what?"
Alexis swallowed, the words dragging from deep inside him. "That I wasn't fast enough. That I didn't reach Eldara on time."
Hiral's gaze drifted back to the jagged ridges below, silent for a moment that stretched too long. When he did speak, his tone was steady, but the edge of weariness carried through.
"Then I should be sorry as well. I was already there, and still I couldn't save their king, nor their prince. The weight of starting this war rests on my shoulders, Alexis."
Alexis immediately drew breath to protest, but Hiral lifted his chin faintly, continuing before he could speak.
"I already saw the spark forming in Eldara's plight, yet I moved too late. That is my failure. I bear that blame."
The words dug into Alexis, sharper than he could stand. He tightened his hold on Hiral's hand until his knuckles whitened. "You're not some god, Hiral. You can't be everywhere at once. You can't carry all of this on yourself—it's not your fault."
His voice grew harder, stubborn, unwilling to bend. "And it damn well isn't your fault that our King declared war because of our shortcomings! They asked for aid, but it was my kingdom that didn't answer in time. Mine. So if there's blame to take, let it rest on me."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind sighing across the barren expanse. Then Hiral gave a small shake of his head, and in the faintest curve of his lips was a tired smile—gentle, resigned.
"…You and I both know it isn't that simple. We both are at fault. One way or another, we played our parts." His dark eyes flickered with moonlight as he turned them toward Alexis, steady but shadowed.
"The question now is not who shoulders the guilt, but how we carry it forward. How do we deal with it… when both sides hunger for blood?"
The night pressed heavier around them, and though their hands remained bound together, the weight of the war pressed just as tightly between their fingers.
Alexis broke the silence first, the stubborn set of his jaw firming.
"Then take me as a prisoner again. Make it public. Demand my uncle halt the war in exchange for my release."
Hiral stilled. Slowly, deliberately, he slipped his hand free from Alexis's grasp.
Alexis blinked in confusion—until a sharp sting made him hiss. Hiral had pinched his side, hard.
"You really do enjoy painting me as some tired, cliché villain," Hiral muttered, eyes narrowing.
"That wouldn't work, and you know why. Your king already doubts you. He thinks you hunger for his downfall. If you're seen as my captive again, it won't force his hand—it'll humiliate him outright. He'll see it as betrayal."
Alexis gritted his teeth, unwilling to give ground. "At least it would force the Kingdom of Ro to be open for negotiations."
But Hiral only shook his head, his tone grim.
"You underestimate the Empress. She would never let you remain safe in my hands. She would order your execution simply to spite your king, and the fallout from that…"
He looked away, jaw tightening. "It would only stoke the flames further. War would devour everything."
"Then let me take you as a prisoner," Alexis shot back, his eyes fierce. "Force her to negotiate."
That earned him a sudden laugh—low, sharp, incredulous. Hiral shook his head, a ghost of a smile curving his lips, though his eyes remained cold.
"The Empress bowing her head for me? You give her too much credit. No, Alexis, she would use my capture as a rallying cry. She'd twist it into fuel to draft more soldiers, to inflame her people into hungering for blood. My chains would be her banner."
The weight of the truth pressed between them. Then, unexpectedly, Hiral's gaze softened, his voice lowering to something almost fragile, almost aching.
"Or…" He let the thought hang before breathing it out, wistful. "…we could run. Sail far from here. Watch the sea again, free of these crowns and banners. Just you and I."
Alexis's heart skipped. His lips parted, ready to agree without hesitation, without reason—
But then Hiral looked at him. Looked deep, too deep.
And before Alexis could speak the word, Hiral's hand moved swift as lightning. A sharp strike at the base of his neck, and darkness swallowed Alexis whole.
When Alexis's body slumped, Hiral caught him, cradling him with a care that belied the ruthlessness of his action.
He lifted Alexis over his shoulder, carried him to his horse. As he adjusted the man onto the saddle, a faint glint caught his eye—
A small koi-shaped necklace, half-hidden beneath Alexis's tunic.
Hiral froze. His eyes softened, unreadable emotions swimming beneath the surface of his composure.
He leaned close, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Alexis's ear.
"Good night, Alexis," he whispered, so quietly the night might swallow it whole.
Then he led the horse through the barren lands until they reached a small camp of locals. Their firelight flickered against weathered faces as they rose to greet him knowingly.
"I ask that you please watch him for the night," Hiral asked, his tone carrying both respect and plea. He pressed a small sack heavy with jerky into their hands. "Please see to it that he's safe until dawn."
The locals exchanged glances, then nodded.
Only then did Hiral let go of the reins. He stood for a heartbeat longer, eyes lingering on Alexis's sleeping form as though memorizing him once more.
And then—wordless, expression shuttered—he turned, mounted his own horse, and rode back into the night.
****
The camp was stirring as dawn bled into the horizon. Smoke from cookfires curled into the pale sky, carrying the scent of barley porridge and spiced roots.
Hiral dismounted quietly, but his presence did not go unnoticed.
Seran, waiting near the main tent with arms folded, caught sight of him. His sharp gaze swept over Hiral's face—the solemn lines carved deep, the silence heavier than steel.
"You went to clear your head," Seran said evenly, "but it seems to have cost you your heart."
Hiral paused mid-step, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned toward his second. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"
Seran didn't flinch.
He studied his commander with that rare frankness only he dared.
"Your back is straighter than I've ever seen it. You walk with resolve—like a man who's finally made peace with his decision. But the way you carry it… it's as if you had to rip your heart out to do it."
For a beat, silence stretched. Then, to Seran's surprise, Hiral huffed softly and shook his head.
"I didn't know you fancied yourself a poet."
A faint smirk curved Seran's lips, but his eyes stayed grave. "You can joke if you like. But it doesn't change what I see. You've chosen a path, Hiral. And I only hope it doesn't burn you hollow."
Hiral didn't answer that.
Instead, he drew in a long breath and glanced toward the paling stars. "It's dawn already. Rest will have to wait—I need to oversee the new recruits' training."
"No." Seran's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "You'll eat first. Whatever you think you're made of, you can't run an army on willpower alone."
The corner of Hiral's mouth twitched in amusement at his friend's stubbornness. "Very well," he conceded, and allowed Seran to usher him toward the mess line. He took the steaming bowl pressed into his hands and ate without complaint, though his thoughts drifted far from the camp.
Later, after he had freshened up and donned a clean tunic, Hiral stood at the edge of the camp. The sun was rising now, gilding the horizon with fire. He watched it in silence, but his mind betrayed him—
I hope he didn't wake with a stiff neck.
The thought of Alexis groaning, cursing, massaging his own neck with that familiar stubborn scowl—it pulled an unbidden smile from him. Just for a moment. Just enough to feel the warmth in his chest.
Then it was gone, replaced by the steel resolve Seran had noticed.
Because now, Hiral knew. He had seen it clearly in the night's quiet. There was a way to end this war—not merely with swords and treaties, but with something greater.
A path that could carve a future worth staking everything he had left, even his heart.
And Hiral was ready to walk it.